#radiostatic x reader

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

Reddest Flags, Longest Nights

⩙ Summary: The year is 1989. The Berlin Wall has fallen, and Nintendo have just overseen the release of the Game Boy. The first ever episode of Baywatch has just aired, and Ted Bundy has just been executed by electric chair. Vox's relationship with the Radio Demon is on the rocks. Their solution? To add a third person to their bedroom: you

⩙ Warnings: Explicit sexual content, Vox X reader X Alastor, Radiostatic is a committed relationship (well, they're trying), Reader is a girl and she has a pussy, tentacle sex

⩙ Other notes: This is set in a sexy alternate universe for the characters in @bapple117's Bluest Monday

“I'm not for sale,” you say. It's a truly stupid, suicidal thing to say, with the Television Demon's talons wrapped around your arm, and his associate the Radio Demon watching with amused interest as Vox pulls you into their private booth.

“Come now, dear, that surely isn't true.” It's not Vox who speaks, but Alastor, his tones the same genial, cheerful ones he uses for his broadcasts. “Everyone has a price, after all.”

“Everybody fuckin' wants something, yeah.” Vox agrees, releasing your arm once he's convinced that you won't immediately bolt away. He's not slurring his words, but his movements are clumsier than you would expect. He's drunk, you realize. Both of them are. “People want power. Money. Control.”

“Sex,” says Alastor, flashing a grin at Vox, who makes a noise like someone just tuned him to a dead channel, his face filling briefly with static.

“Shh-yeah, some people want sex, Al. That's a normal fuckin' thing to want.”

Alastor's smile grows, a little smug, a little cruel, and his red eyes turn to you. “What about you, dear? Do you want sex?”

“Al! You can't just fuckin' ask a girl that!”

“Last I checked I was better informed on etiquette than you, old chum,” Alastor's smile slides sideways. “And besides, if our interests align, there's a deal to be had.”

You hadn't come to the club intending to sell anything, but the two demons are adept negotiators- Alastor assuring you that no, he doesn't need your soul per se, just your services, services of a personal, private nature, and aren't you inclined to give those, isn't it in your own best interests? All the while Vox is giving a more direct incentive, the front of his boxy face focused on you, entirely you, dexterous talons skating over the exposed skin of your forearms with enough pressure to make you shiver, with the implied promise that he could touch you in less socially acceptable places, if only you would agree to what the Radio Demon was offering.

You're tempted. You're so, so tempted. You know that this is a bad idea, that these two are bad news to be around, that you should just go back to your normal sinner life, but instead you find yourself leaning in to listen more closely to Alastor's solicitations, and Vox, still touching you, grows bolder, his hand dropping below the table to stroke your thigh.

The top of your thigh at first, skating the seams of your clothes, then dropping to your inner knee, Vox's claw drawing a daring line from your knee and up your inner thigh to your panties.

Your breath hitches, and Alastor tips his head at you, expression amused. “You seem distracted. Would you like me to repeat that last part?”

“Would ya like me to repeat that last part?” asks Vox, his grin as wide as his face and lecherous.

“I can make him stop, if you'd prefer,” says Alastor, with a casual menace.

It's hard to listen to the full terms and conditions with Vox's fingers massaging the fabric of your panties, and maybe that's the intention, but you can't bring yourself to ask him to stop, or even to ask Alastor to ask him to stop.

“What've you got to lose?” says Vox, his heavy box of a head nudging against your shoulder as the pads of his fingers press against your now slick-drenched gusset. Your thighs press together, his hand trapped between.

“Of course,” says Alastor. “If you'd like to think about it-”

“Oh, she's thinkin' about it, Al,” says Vox, his tone laden with filth.

“I'll do it!” you blurt, and both of their faces light like pinball machines. “I mean, yes.”

“Splendid,” chirps Alastor. “Now, as a rule, I will close a deal with a handshake, but for this-”

A kiss.

You've never imagined kissing the most terrifying demon in all of Pentagram city, so you have no idea what to expect, but Alastor's hand on your cheek is a feather light touch, a swirl of green magic around you. His lips on yours are chaste, brushing rather than prying, in stark contrast to Vox, who takes the opportunity to push your panties to the side with his fingers and stroke a slow line along your slick-coated inner lips. You whine against Alastor's mouth, and he slides his hand to the back of your head, holding you there as the deal is sealed.

That’s how you go home with them, Alastor holding the green chain that fastens to the shackle around your neck. Vox drives uptown, away from Voxtek, away from the Radio Demon’s broadcasting tower, and you end up in a quiet, well-appointed apartment in the most nondescript tower block that you have ever seen.

You note the shoe rack; the way that Vox’s shiny black dress shoes are stacked up next to Alastor’s bespoke deer-soled boots, and it occurs to you that this isn’t just Vox’s playboy apartment, as you’d expected. The two of them live together. There is only one bedroom.

“So, what now?” asks Alastor, holding out a gentlemanly arm for you to lean on as you remove your shoes in the entrance. “I believe your suggestion was to try new things, yes?”

“Jesus, Al.” Vox’s sigh is heavy. “We’ll just go to the bedroom, undress, and, uh, see where we go, yeah?”

“See where we go?” Alastor’s voice inflects upwards into his upper registers, the sound of a capacitor about to burst, and you realize that you are in considerable danger.

Alastor is grinning, but his body language is stressed, his ears back, lips pulled back over his gums to show the most of his teeth. In your second possibly suicidal move of the night, you squeeze his arm, where you have been holding him since taking off your shoes.

Alastor’s gaze snaps to you, eyes dangerously red, but there’s uncertainty in the corners of his smile. He kissed you, back in the club, you reason, so he can’t find you entirely objectionable. You lower your gaze, sliding a hand up his forearm, and his ears shift, subtly. He exhales, a little of the tension going out of his chest, and you slide your hand to his upper arm, pushing him back against the coat rack behind him, pressing him against an electric blue shell jacket, and he just lets you.

If Alastor were half a foot shorter you would kiss him, but as it is he stares down at you, his smile a question, until finally he gets what you’re trying to do, and bends his knees fractionally so that you can stand on tiptoes and press your face to his.

You can feel his smile under your lips, parting as you dare to pry, your tongue finding his teeth, and then the tip of his tongue, cautious against yours. You can feel the little shiver of his breath, his hand down your back. At first you think he’s about to slip his hand under your waistband, but instead he spreads his large hand under your ass, cupping it, and lifts you off your feet.

You feel a moment of vertigo, and a swoop in your stomach that is definitely not vertigo as Alastor holds you with your face level to his and slips his entire tongue into your mouth. You took him initially as a conservative kisser, but perhaps he was holding back before. You groan against his lips, feeling heat spread into your lower half as his tongue explores your mouth, the tip probing the roof of your mouth, the soft flesh of the insides of your cheeks. It’s not just the kiss but the feeling of helplessness that it brings, of being held aloft by a being so much more powerful than you. Your knees press the coats either side of Alastor’s waist as he cradles your ass, your tongue lapping against his, eyes closed, arms locking around his shoulders. By the time he breaks the kiss you are gasping, heart pounding in your chest, and Alastor gives you an appraising look.

“You are very small,” Alastor comments, his face a little flushed from the kissing. He doesn’t set you down, however, shifting his forearm under you as you wrap your ankles around his waist, his staff in his other hand.

“Ah, she’ll do fine, Al,” says Vox with a glance over his shoulder, unbuttoning his shirt as he stalks through the living area and into the bedroom. Alastor follows, carrying you as if you weigh nothing.

Seeing the bedroom only serves to solidify your impression that the two of them live here together. There is definitely Alastor’s side of the bed, with red deer themed slippers poking out from underneath, and Vox’s side of the bed, with a digital alarm clock and a special pillow with a square cutout for his head. Two powerful demons, together in secret. It’s enough to make your head spin as Alastor sets you down, gently, on the his side of the bed.

“Alright, let’s fuckin’ do this.” Vox clambers onto the bed, shucking off his shirt, a pause before he reaches you, his hand on your knee. “You too, Al.”

“Must I?” Alastor gives a sideways sort of smile.

“You don’t say that in front of a girl!” barks Vox, and you get the impression he would be pulling his own hair, if he had any. “You’re gonna hurt her feelings or some shit. And yeah, Al, you gotta join in. Otherwise it’s just me fuckin’ a girl on the bed in front of you, and that’s not really a fuckin’ threesome now, is it?”

Alastor smiles thoughtfully. “You did say we would see where we go. I could read a book.”

“Fuck my life,” Vox mutters, flopping back, his boxy head hitting the duvet heavily.

You tug on Alastor’s sleeve again, catching his attention. “You don’t have to do anything.”

“I’m aware,” says Alastor, expression guarded, smile thin. He pauses. “Are your feelings really hurt?”

Your smile is wry. You’d be lying if you said his reticence didn’t hurt, at least a little. “My ego, maybe?”

“Ah.” Alastor looks down at you, and you are caught for a second by just how red his eyes are, like rubies, or pools of fresh blood. His fingers whisper across your cheek, pushing away a strand of hair. “We can’t have that now, can we?”

Tossing his staff onto Vox’s supine form, Alastor climbs onto the bed. He cups your face in his hands and kisses you for the third time that evening, all pretense of propriety gone as he pushes you onto your back, your head onto his pillows and his tongue snaking its way into your mouth. It takes your breath away; you can feel nothing else, only the dance of your tongues and lips, slick with saliva, Alastor’s hands sliding down to your jaw and your neck with the barest pressure. He traces the lines of your arteries, almost absently, and you moan into his mouth as you feel your body respond to him, your pulse growing insistent between your legs. You spread your knees without even thinking about it, your cunt level with his navel as you lie shameless and gasping and red-faced beneath him.

“Now we’re talkin’” Vox grins sidelong at the two of you, propping himself up on his elbows. “You are such a fuckin’ tease, Al.”

“Mm…” Alastor looks down at you, his lips parted and shiny with spit. “I do hope that’s a compliment.”

“Thank you,” you breathe, and Alastor presses a finger lazily to your lips, his eyes narrowing fractionally as if to say no thanks needed.

Vox, meanwhile, is removing your panties. He’s not shy of the Radio Demon’s body either, his hand on Alastor’s flank as he makes the space he needs to get them off. In short order you are naked, your clothing peeled away and the sheets warm against your back, though with the gazes of the two men on you, the room feels far from cold. Vox is down to y-fronts, which his cock strains against valiantly, while Alastor keeps his trousers and shirt, his tie and waistcoat discarded beside the bed.

Vox kisses your breasts, not even trying for your face, Alastor sitting back to give him better access. Vox’s lips are strange, part of the curvature of his front glass and yet not, warm and staticky against your skin, supple as his lips curve around your nipple and suck. His tongue is stranger yet, its sensation alien as the buzzing of fluorescent lights as he traces a circle around your areola and brings your nipple to a shivering point. Vox repeats the action with your other breast, Alastor stroking the vents on the back of his boxy head, his expression unguarded and fond.

“Al-” Vox makes a frustrated noise, his breath hot on your breast. “Pay attention to the girl.”

Alastor smirks, his expression almost flirtatious. “I was,” he says, his eyes meeting yours briefly, “But you and your big head got in the way.”

“Oh for crying out loud, Al.” Vox pinches the top of his frame with two fingers, his other hand on your breast. “There’s plenty to be done here-” Vox’s hand moves down your body, over the softness of your stomach and to your sex, a reassuring squeeze on your hip.

Alastor looks at you, your pink cunt spread open for him, and his brow knits slightly. He’s still touching your leg, hand stroking your shin where it rests against his waist. He’s nervous, you realize. Afraid of fucking up. Afraid of spoiling things.

“Wait-” Vox’s face is thoughtful as he reaches the same conclusion. “You’ve never eaten a girl out, have you?”

“I’ll have you know,” says Alastor, his spine straightening a little. “That I ate two ladies just last week.”

“No, fuck- I mean… eat pussy, Al.”

Alastor raises an eyebrow. “Certainly not!” he pipes. “The taste is revolting, the fur gets stuck in my teeth, and they have too many small bones.”

Vox gives a growl, and you find yourself holding back a laugh. Alastor catches your eye again, his eyes narrowing, red and beautiful as he bends to kiss your knee, a brush of his thin lips. “As my friend here has surmised, I am new to the neighborhood,” he says, his smile a little embarrassed as his gaze travels your inner thigh. “If you would be amenable to showing me around?”

You had expected the Radio Demon to be dominant in the bedroom, to take charge and fill the room with slapping, squelching sounds, but instead he is quiet, his gaze intent as you nervously spread yourself for him. You don’t know what directions he might want, so you hesitate, shrinking back as his eyes seem to drink you in.

“May I?” he asks, and when you nod, he drags a finger through the wetness that seeps viscous from your cunt; a slow, deliberate touch that seems to set every nerve ending in its path aflame. He pulls the finger away, his expression fascinated as a clear string of slick stretches between his finger and your cunt. “How interesting!” he exclaims, before popping the finger in his mouth, eyes closing as he savors your taste.

Vox rests Alastor’s microphone across his knees, impatient. “Al, you’re meant to put your face down there.”

“I’m building anticipation,” says Alastor, his lips a thin smile. “And if you had an ounce of natural showmanship, you would understand that.”

Vox shakes his head, his hands and mouth going back to your breasts, your shoulders and your neck. Vox’s head is too large to comfortably fit in the crook of your neck, but his tongue more than makes up for that, slithering bright across the sensitive flesh of your throat as his claws gently knead your breasts. The biggest side effect of this is that Vox’s large head blocks your view, and you cannot see what Alastor is doing.

There is a cannibal overlord between your legs is the first thought that registers as Alastor’s lips move glacial up your inner thigh. He kisses, he sucks, and he tastes, his fingertips ghosting feather light over your hips and stomach, tracing lines from your navel to your mons.

Vox finally deigns to kiss your mouth as Alastor reaches your cunt. Alastor parts your labia, his long tongue stroking between your folds as Vox’s tongue slips into your mouth, the doubled sensation delicious in its intensity. Alastor’s movements are hesitant, almost conservative, but your cunt is sopping wet enough that even the stripes he licks up your inner labia have you moaning into Vox’s mouth, your hips bucking needy into Alastor’s face.

Alastor’s fingers squeeze into the flesh of your ass, holding you firm as he tends to you, his face pressed firmly into your cunt, lips dragging across slick pink flesh as his tongue probes, a breath of pause between each attempt, his hands weighing how much each teasing lick makes you strain against his grip. His nose brushes your clit, which makes your entire body twitch, and he repeats the action more deliberately a second time.

It’s not long before he has found the most sensitive parts of your anatomy, along with the pattern of touch that best makes you arch your back and cry out. Alastor’s tongue moves back and forth, sweeping hot and wet and divine over you as you spread your knees as wide as they will go, your stomach tightening as you arch your back.

“Holy fuck.” Vox breaks your kiss to look impressed, one clawed hand kneading your chest. “Al, you’re gonna make her cum.”

Alastor doesn’t answer, a primal growl into your cunt, and you cannot answer, the only noise in your throat a mewl of helpless pleasure as Alastor, a man who has spent decades in Hell inflicting pain on souls attacks your nerve endings with a furious precision. You’re going to cum, and you don’t have a choice about it, not with his grip steely on your hips. You want to beg, but your lips can’t even form words as Alastor’s tongue robs you of sense, of language, of decorum, each movement of his mouth sending you hurtling towards the edge. Vox’s hands on you are marginalia to the treatise on pleasure that Alastor’s mouth writes.

It occurs to you, as your orgasm hits, crashing over you and shattering you into pieces, that Alastor might have ruined sex with other men for you. Alastor carries on, tongue pressing into too sensitive flesh through your aftershocks, even as you whine and try to twist away, until Vox touches his shoulder and stops him.

“She’s done, Al,” says Vox, his claws gentle in your hair, and you whimper against the warmth of his chest as Alastor releases you. “Hey, babydoll,” murmurs Vox, the proximity of his screen making the hair on the top of your head stand on end. “You good?”

“Y-yeah.” You swallow, language returning to you in bits and pieces, and look at Alastor, who kneels between your legs still, his face glistening with your juices. His eyes are uncertain, and you reach out to him, catching his thin wrists and pulling him to you.

“You’re good at that,” you say, looking up at Alastor as you lie sandwiched between the two of them, Vox’s strong arms around your waist, Vox’s cock pressing into your lower back.

Alastor kisses you, tasting of you, and pulls back, looking pleased with himself. “It’s a lot like torture,” he says, eyes half lidded. “All I need to do is listen to your screams.”

“God fuckin’ damn it, Al,” grouses Vox. “It’s always the horror show stuff with you.”

“God forbid a man have hobbies,” Alastor’s head tilts, but there’s no venom to his reprise. “And for your information,” he adds, a glance at you. “It’s not always torture. I also enjoy dancing.”

You laugh into your hands, the afterglow of your orgasm filling you with a pleasant kind of warmth, and Alastor steals another kiss, grinning all the while.

“What now?”

“Now?” Vox grins, dangerous. “Now it’s your turn, Al.”

Alastor’s smile becomes fixed. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Vox’s smile grows wider, and he disentangles himself from you, a crackling kiss to the side of your head. “C’mere.”

Alastor gives an undignified squeak as Vox leaps and tackles him into the bedsheets, dexterous claws on the buttons of his shirt and his fly.

“Impudent! I can undress mysel- mm!” Alastor is silenced as Vox catches his chin and kisses him, open mouthed, long blue tongue lapping your juices from Alastor’s chin, and you watch as Alastor melts for the Television Demon, his shoulders going slack, his shadow splaying itself across the pillows. Alastor’s shirt comes off without complaint, and you crawl over to touch him, your hands on his narrow chest, his shoulders, his arms, as Vox undresses him the rest of the way. Alastor’s heart is beating fast; you can feel it through your hand on his sternum, like a butterfly’s wings beating futile against a glass windowpane, but it slows as Vox kisses his back, and Alastor places a clawed hand over yours. “I suppose you both mean to fuck me,” he says, a little sulkily.

“You tryna say you don’t want that, Al?” Vox’s teeth glow as he grins. “You don’t want me to fuck you as the lovely girl here sucks you off?”

Alastor’s smile purses, but he can’t bring himself to say no, not with you staring up at him prettily and Vox growling sweet nothings into his neck.

His cock stands at attention, the tip red and angry, and you take him in your palms before you get on all fours and take him in your mouth, feeling the quiver that runs through his stomach as your mouth envelops him.

“F-fuck,” Alastor hisses, filter failing, his hand in your hair as Vox’s talons circle his narrow waist. He’s sensitive- you can tell that much from your first few sucks, his precum salty and organic tasting, each movement of your tongue drawing soft noises from his throat. Part of that might be Vox working him open, your position in the bed lowering fractionally as Vox pushes Alastor’s knees apart.

“See, you want it, don’t you Al? Gettin’ completely fucked.” You feel Alastor’s talons tighten in your hair as Vox pushes into him, Alastor’s cock twitching against the back of your mouth, and you breathe through your nose, enjoying the feeling of Alastor coming undone.

“Vox!” Alastor’s voice is tight, high in his register, and Vox slows, stroking him and easing him through sensation, the two demons’ hips moving in tandem as Alastor ruts into your mouth, a strangled noise in his throat.

“Say you like it, say we fuck you good,” Vox growls soft, but the only things coming from Alastor’s mouth are obscenities, his senses overwhelmed by the two of you working together.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Alastor’s chest heaves, his eyes screwed shut, his lip bleeding where he has bitten it, his cock hitting the back of your throat with every roll of his hips, a lewd little whimper escaping his lips with the apex of each of Vox’s thrusts.

“There you are,” Vox breathes, seeming to sense Alastor’s imminent climax before Alastor himself. You feel Alastor’s cock swell in your mouth, his grip tightening. “We got you, Al. Let go.”

“Don’t -ngh- tell me what to do,” says Alastor, emptying his load into your mouth, hot and salty. He gasps, and you swallow it down. “Shit.”

“Oh, you’re so good, Al. So fuckin’ good.” Vox’s voice is a groan as he presses his face crackling into Alastor’s hair and starts to fuck him in earnest.

You move your face from Alastor’s cock, and it would be the easiest thing in the world to lay back on the pillows with Alastor’s microphone and watch the show, but instead Alastor grabs your wrists and pins you under him as Vox pushes him to all fours, and Alastor kisses you, unreserved and passionate. He tastes of you, and you of him, small whimpers still escaping him as Vox fucks him. Your fingers are in his hair, over his ears, over his antlers, his thin back, and he holds you to his chest, lips locked with yours as Vox finishes inside him, the three of you shivering with it, the room still in the aftermath.

“Ngh.” Vox’s screen shows a test card for a good twenty seconds. “Fuck.”

“Yes,” Alastor agrees, a slow exhalation as Vox withdraws from him.

The three of you are side by side in the bed for a moment as Vox drops to the sheets. Vox’s breathing is labored, Alastor’s more controlled, and neither of them speak.

Alastor rolls onto his back, turning to Vox. “You’d best wash up.”

“What?” Vox narrows his eyes. “Why?”

“It’s rude,” says Alastor, with a coy smile. “To keep a lady waiting.”

“Oh.” Vox stares at you as if he’s just remembered you are there, face coloring. “Oh. Shit. Yeah. Keep her warm for me, Al.”

Alastor takes his staff back in one hand, and pulls you to him with the other, your head nestled nicely against his bony shoulder as you watch Vox disappear into the bathroom, water running. It feels as if you could both drift off like this, comfortable and satiated, and you almost do, until Alastor’s fingers start tracing a slow line from your knee to your thigh, and your eyes flicker open.

“He’ll be pissy if he finds us asleep,” says Alastor, his tone amused. “So, unless you want to see him blow a fuse-”

You swallow as you feel him part your labia with his fingers, careful with his claws as he drags the pads of his fingers through the slickness that seeps from you. “Is this really the best way to stay awake?”

“Probably not,” admits Alastor. “But it is one of the more entertaining ones, don’t you agree?”

“Very,” you agree, your breath hitching as Alastor’s finger graces the base of your clitoris, drawing a small circle, pressing your flesh against the bone of your pelvis with his fingertips. “I am very entertained right now.”

“A performer is nothing without his audience,” quips Alastor, but his smile seems genuine. You’re wondering how he’s going to manage his claws if he fingers you when he extrudes a long black tentacle from his back. “Open wide now.”

Your legs spread, Alastor strokes your knee, the back of your calf, the arch of your foot, and his tentacle slithers, wrapping fully around the meat of your thigh before its tip teases at your cunt.

He doesn’t penetrate you right away, which is a good thing; ready and willing as you are the tentacle is girthy. Instead, Alastor teases with it, his smile relaxed and his ears pricked as he listens to your breathing, your sighs. Your words, when you are able to use them.

“There, there, just there,” you tell him, and your reward is a squeeze of his hand on your ankle, his breathy voice in your ear, telling you what a good audience you are tonight, how supportive, how participatory. The tentacle moves in tandem with his hand, the tip twirling at your entrance as he strokes the folds of your cunt, dragging slick from your hole up over your clit, coaxing it from its hood, his touch so light that it makes you hold your breath, and then firm, a pressure that has you gasping, moaning so loudly that he holds his microphone to your lips and asks you to repeat yourself.

When Alastor’s tentacle pushes its way into you, you are ready, more than ready, speechless at the girth of it and giving heady little gasps as you feel yourself stretch around him.

“You’d better not reach the climax before Vox gets back,” says Alastor, a soft murmur in your ear as you whimper, senseless against his chest. “He really will blow a fuse if you do that.” He’s enjoying himself, you realize. He’s playing with you, his smile relaxed as he manipulates your body to his liking.

But you are already mounting the summit, your body helpless in Alastor’s clutches. He barely needs to use his fingers, not with the tentacle pressed into you, an obscene squelching noise as he curves it in and out of you; Alastor simply holds his fingertips over the tip of your clit and lets the motion of the tentacle do the rest of the work, each brush of contact with the exposed nub of flesh like a lick of flame across your nerves that makes you cry out, over and over, until your throat is hoarse with it.

You cum as Vox returns, a spasm through your body, your cunt fluttering around Alastor’s tentacle, and the Radio Demon grins at Vox.

If Vox’s eyes weren’t just images displayed on his screen, they would be bulging right now. He stares. Alastor grins at him.

“Al.” Vox’s lips are an annoyed line as he watches Alastor pull his tentacle out of you, your cunt fluttering around nothing. “How the fuck am I meant to compete with that monster?” His cock is well proportioned to his frame, but it’s nothing compared to the tentacle. You look between the two demons, hoping they’re not going to fight.

Alastor’s grin widens. “You’re a resourceful man, Vox. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

Vox shakes his head as he climbs back on the bed. “You’ve always gotta fuckin’ upstage me, huh.”

“That’s why you like me so much,” says Alastor. “Isn’t it?”

“Ah, fuck you, Al,” says Vox, all bark, and Alastor beams at him.

Alastor pulls you on top of him, your back to him, and hooks his chin over the top of your head, so that you both face Vox when he climbs atop you, on his hands and knees.

Vox kisses you, softly, hand cupping your face, and you feel Alastor’s sound of approval through your back, the low hum of an electrical appliance.

“You ready, babydoll?” Vox asks, and when you nod, he pushes into you.

You feel him. Your orgasm has made you tender, Alastor’s tentacle has made you tender and you feel every inch of Vox as if your cunt were just made yesterday, shipped direct from the factory.

“Oh fuck, that’s nice babydoll.” Fragments of test card float on Vox’s screen as he pauses, in you to the hilt. “You feel fuckin’ nice. Fuckin’ soft, god.”

You feel Alastor huff into your hair with amusement, and he reaches for your legs, pulling up your thighs and then your knees, pulling your legs flush with your chest; a mating press for you and Vox.

Vox grins, his hands joining Alastor’s on the underside of your knees, and he fucks you in earnest.

That his cock is smaller than Alastor’s tentacle doesn’t matter one bit, not when you’re pressed like this, his cock able to reach the deepest parts of your tender cunt with ease. He fucks you, and you cry out; not the mewling whimper you had before but a full throated cry that escapes you at the apex of each thrust, your throat already sore, your voice cracking, but crying out regardless.

Vox’s monologue is all sweet, sweary nothings- you’re doing so good babydoll, so wet for me, so soft, so good, so fuckin’ good and Alastor’s commentary is drier- do you think you’ll be able to walk again after this? Now that’s a scream worthy of my studio, all the while you are crying out, tears in your eyes, a pressure in your abdomen, Vox hammering into the most sensitive parts of you, over and over and oh.

Your cunt flutters again, Vox growling a good girl before his seed floods into you in hot, pulsing waves.

You lie there, boneless, seeing stars, the three of you breathing hard. Vox drops his face onto your chest, and you stroke his hot vents, as you’ve seen Alastor do. Alastor lets go of your legs, a kiss to the top of your head.

“Fuck,” murmurs Vox.

“Seconded,” you croak.

“Mm,” buzzes Alastor. “Quite.”

Vox rolls off you, and you roll off Alastor, the three of you side by side on the bed, points of contact between you; your leg crossing Alastor’s thigh, Vox’s arm across your stomach.

It is a long, hazy moment before Vox sits up, digging through the dresser on the Vox side of the bed, and pulls out a pack of cigarettes.

“In the apartment?” Alastor complains, sleepy.

“It’s a fuckin’ special occasion, Al,” says Vox, leaning over you to place a cigarette between Alastor’s smiling lips. Alastor takes it, and Vox lights it, before offering the box to you. “You smoke?” he asks.

If you didn’t already, it was a hell of a time to start.

[nyx-umbrakinesis]

Alastor and Vox come through the door and you're sat on the ground by the floor length widow looking out at the storm.

You don't turn as you hear them approach.

Vox: "What's wrong babydoll?"

Alastors ears twitch and his smile freezes as Vox reads your body language so accurately.

You don't respond, the tear tracks down your face matching the window pane.

Alastor also gets on the floor with you both, his hand rests on your shoulder.

Alastor: "Darling, please, tell us."

You: "Am I just a selfish burden? Do I make you feel uncomfortable? A chore?"

Your voice is low, but they both hear you making eye contact over your head. Alastor is the first to wrap his arms around you, pulling you back onto his lap, his cheek resting on your hair as the dam breaks and you sob.

Alastor: "Never, not now, not in a certury, will I find you a chore, my love."

Vox wraps his arms around you both and you bury your head in his chest, wetting his crisp shirt, but he doesn't mind as you fall apart.

Vox: "All relationships have give and take love, if they can't see you for your kindness and wonder, when you're low, if they can't also respect your feelings then they weren't a true friend... Can we..?"

You: "no... Don't, I still care, they aren't bad, I just..."

The tears keep coming and Alastor and Vox remain, sandwiching you between them, their warmth and the storm an anchor in the waves of your grief.

They both press kisses and reassurances upon you as they help you ride things out, letting you know they won't be going anywhere.

[jazzmasternot]

Vox came to me in a dream and told me to post this.

[totallyhinged]

i’m normal about him i swear

find me elsewhere: p*treon | e*sy | insta

[dewdropdinosaur]

White Gold Glitters Too

ALASTOR x READER SMUT Summary: Lucifer takes too much of a liking to Alastor's wife and he seeks to claim her and prove his dominance. Fucking her for Lucifer to hear sounds like a good option. Warnings: NSFW/18+. MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Oral Sex, Reader has a Vagina, Heavy Sex, C*m, Implied P in V Sex, Jealous Fucking, Mention of Restraints, Tentacles I have never written smut before...so I am sorry. REQUESTS OPEN

Alastor, the infamous Radio Demon from Hazbin Hotel, was known for his charismatic yet enigmatic presence. He ruled over his domain with a devilish grin and a penchant for blood. But beneath his charming facade lay a heart that beat fiercely for one person: his beloved wife, Y/N.

Y/N was the epitome of grace and beauty, with a kindness that melted even the most hardened of souls. She had captured Alastor's heart as soon as they had entered through the doors of the hotel, and he would do anything to keep her by his side. Having been newly wed, Alastor’s possessive nature seemed to rear its head often when it came to his bride. 

However, trouble brewed when Lucifer, the fallen angel and hellish king himself, began to take an seeming interest in Y/N. His smooth words and suave demeanor drew her attention, much to Alastor's dismay. Alastor’s confidence was shaken when Lucifer Morningstar began to show a keen interest in Y/N. Despite her loyalty to Alastor, Lucifer's suave demeanor and irresistible charisma stirred a jealousy deep within Alastor's demonic heart.

It has begun innocently enough, with Lucifer's smooth compliments and flirtatious gestures towards Y/N whenever they crossed paths. Then it turned to a hand atop hers or brushing hair out of her face while she worked on fixing up the hotel. At first, Alastor attempted to suppress his jealousy, masking his feelings with his trademark grin and witty remarks. But as Lucifer's advances towards Y/N became more pronounced, Alastor's facade began to crack.

One fateful evening, as the flames of Hell danced in the distance, Alastor found himself unable to contain his simmering jealousy any longer. He watched from a distance as Lucifer flirted shamelessly with Y/N, his patience wearing thin with each passing moment.

His once cheerful demeanor turned dark as he became increasingly passive-aggressive, making evil eyes at the short king(yes my dears, narrators can make a joke occasionally.) But still, Lucifer persisted in his advances, seemingly unfazed by Alastor's silent warnings. Y/N, momentarily stepping away at Charlie’s call for some assistance, left the two men alone in the lobby. 

“Well, well, if it isn't the charming Lucifer. Quite the show you're putting on tonight”

Lucifer smirked, “Ah, Alastor, always a pleasure to see you. And might I say, your wife looks positively radiant this evening. You picked a good one.”

Alastor forced a smile, a natural habit of his that was wearing on him. “Why, thank you, Lucifer. She does tend to have that effect, doesn't she? Though I must say, your interest in her appearance is unexpected.”

“Oh, Alastor, there's no harm in appreciating beauty when it's right in front of you. And your wife is truly a sight to behold.” Lucifer leaned closer, using his elbow to nudge Alastor in the ribs playfully; unaware of the brewing violence in the red demon before him. Or maybe he did know and elected to ignore it. Lucifer did get terribly bored. 

Alastor spoke firmly through clenched teeth “Indeed, she is. But I must warn you, Lucifer, my patience wears thin when it comes to matters of the heart.”

“Just engaging in some harmless conversation. Does that bother you?

“Of course, how silly of me to assume otherwise.” Both men quipped back and forth so sarcastically it could've been considered the eight deadly sin. 

Returning from aiding the princess, Y/N resumed her place by Alastor’s side and back into the conversation. Unable to contain his jealousy any longer, Alastor put a hand on his wife’s shoulder and looked towards Y/N with a forced smile plastered on his face. "Darling, would you care for a stroll?" he offered, his voice dripping with false sweetness.

Y/N, oblivious to the turmoil raging within her husband, nodded with a smile and waved goodbye to Lucifer. As they walked through the dimly lit corridors of Hell, Alastor's mind seethed with anger and resentment. 

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Alastor halted abruptly and turned to face Y/N. "Tell me, my dear, what is it about Lucifer that captivates you so?" he demanded, his words laced with bitterness.

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise at the sudden change in Alastor's demeanor. "Alastor, what are you talking about? Lucifer is just being friendly," she protested, confusion etched on her face.

"Friendly? Yes, that's one way to put it. Though, his friendliness seems rather... focused, wouldn't you say?"

Y/N glanced at Alastor, sensing the tension in his voice. She attempted to defuse the situation with a reassuring smile.

Y/N: "Alastor, there's no need to worry. You know where my heart lies."

Alastor's smile tightened, his grip on Y/N's hand becoming just a tad too firm.

Alastor: "Of course, my dear. I'm well aware. But it's amusing, isn't it? How Lucifer seems to find you so... intriguing."

Y/N shot Alastor a puzzled look, sensing the underlying resentment in his words.

"Alastor, you're being awfully aggressive. Is something bothering you?"

Alastor's grin widened, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes as he turned his gaze back to Lucifer.

Alastor: "Bothering me? Not at all, my dear. Just finding it fascinating how Lucifer can't seem to keep his eyes off you. Quite the dilemma, wouldn't you agree?

Alastor refused to be swayed by her words. With a fierce determination, he pulled Y/N flush to his chest and pushed her back against the wall, his grip possessive and demanding. Peering down into her eyes, his own glowed with a dark green hue. 

"I'll show you who the better man is, my dear," he growled, his crimson eyes blazing with intensity as he slammed his lips to capture hers. Moaning into the kiss, Y/N slowly brought her hands up to find themselves tangled in Alastor’s red locks. 

Trailing his hand up to her waist, Alastor gave it a tight squeeze that made his wife squeak. Chuckling at the reaction, both their lips remained interlocked for what seemed an eternity. Deciding she had enough teasing, Y/N grabbed hold of Alastor’s cane and used its shadows to transport them to their shared bedroom. Taking the hint, Alastor walked their bodies to the king sized bed and laid down on the red silken sheets. Now with back flush against the mattress, Y/N wasted no time in relocking her lips back to her husband's. 

Nimble fingers traced up her waist, tugging softly on the waistband of her shorts before suddenly ripping them off of her body. Exposed to the cool air, Y/N let out a gasp of surprise that was quickly replaced with a lewd moan as Alastor traced a knuckle up her clothed core. 

“Darling, tsk tsk. We haven’t even begun and you are drenching my fingers through these clothes.” Continuing to drag his finger across her pantie-clad slit, Alastor mumbled the words into the base of her neck. 

“Stop–fuck–stop teasing Al.”

“Oh but dear, that’s half the fun.” Despite his words, he obliged her request by removing the offending garment from her body.​​ Working his way down, his face ended between her thighs. His eyes widened at the glittering white gold slick that painted her hole. 

“Gorgeous darling, glittering gorgeous.” Diving in, his tongue lapped up all the juices that spilled from her needy cunt. Sucking softly here and there while delving as deep as his tongue would allow(he would not admit to using magic to make it longer), Y/N let out wanton moans and lewd hisses of pleasure. Gripping the sheets beneath her as her eyes remained shut in ecstasy. To make matters worse, or better depending on who you ask, Alastor inserted his finger into her while continuing to feast. He could see her holding back some of her noises, desperate to control her lust.

"Darling, do not hide from me."

"But normally you don't want people to hear--"

"That does not apply today. Let all of Hell and that filthy king know you are mine."

Stretching her open, he added another finger; scissoring her wide. Y/n’s eyes rolled into the back of her head and her body involuntarily shifted away from the overstimulating assault. Taking his other hand, Alastor placed it on her hip and held her in place. 

“Unless you would like to be restrained, I insist you remain in place.” Perking up at the thought, Y/N gulped. Being restrained by Alastor’s slick tentacles, forcing her legs open so he could do as he pleased; letting him use them to fill every hole piqued her interest. Perhaps for another time. 

The thoughts and stimulation from Alastor’s mouth and his fingers nearly had her cumming, mumbling incoherently for just a bit more to push her over the edge. Smirking, Alastor brought a third finger into her hole, its walls squeezing onto him for dear life. Using his thumb to rub against her clit, the stimulation was bearing nearly too much. 

“Go on Y/N. Tell me….tell me how I can only make you feel this good. That even the King of Hell couldn’t make you cum just from his fingers.”

That’s what did it, Y/N felt the coil in her stomach snap as she cried Alastor’s name. Surely, the whole hotel had heard her by now. Just as Alastor wanted. Cum now coated his fingers and the bedsheets below as her high overtook her senses and she saw stars. 

Drawing his fingers slowly out of her and bringing them to his lips, Alastor sucked on the white gold juices. Both parties covered in a layer of thin sweat, panting heavily and overcome with arousal. Walking his hands forward till both of his arms caged her in on the bed and she could feel his growing bulge against her thighs, Alastor whispered darkly. 

“Now dear, feel like letting Lucifer know how good round two is about to feel?”

[themmidraws]

250 posts!

Holy shet

LETS FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I HAVE POSTED THAT MUCH!?!?

(99% is original content)

[gyubby99]

If you don’t know me I eat up any vox ship there is and they’re all so funny because imagine cupping your partner’s face.. and you’re cupping a fucking TV.

Imagine admiring your partner from the side.. and their side profile is fucking THIS

And those characters that are being shipped with vox, even self inserts or ocs.. they’re all like “This is the man I want” like brother WHAT 😭😭

[fraugwinska]

A very incomplete list of Hazbin Hotel Fanfiction Authors/Geniuses

I cannot believe the awsome, talented, absolute magnificent people I've met through this fandom. Writing FF for Hazbin Hotel has become one of my greatest joys in life, and reading the stories and creations of my fellow friends and idols is something that can brighten my whole week - and we don't gatekeep. So, if you're in search for a good read, here are a few of the SUPER AWSOME people I stalk (and I want to stress - this list is never going to be complete, but I'll try to edit it as there are just SO MANY GODDANG MASTERS out there!) @bapple117 If you love #RadioStatic, you have to read 'Bluest Monday' (completed) and the follow-up 'Say Hello, Wave Goodbye' (WIP) She'll break your heart in the most beautiful way. If you don't fancy that but Alastor is your go-to, then you will want to dive in head-first into "If You Can't Say Somethin' Nice, Don't Say Nothin' At All" (complete). But as before, be ready for a rollercoaster of emotional moments and extremely spicy shenanigans.

@hazelfoureyes Goddess of the smut, Hottest writer in Hell - If you're horny, Hazel has got you covered. Especially her 'The safeword is Radioapple'-Mini-series will make you sweat like a Zumba-Instructor on crack. Be prepared to blush, tremble, die and immediately ressurrect, because yes. She is THAT good.

Clover/corruptedteacups on AO3 With whooping 75 chapters and 300k+ hits, her Fanfic 'The Red means I Love you' is one of the best, most detailed slow-burn-pining-angsty-smutty-will-they-wont-they Masterpieces I've read so far. Alastor is magnificent and I guarantee you'll fall in love with Clover, the bunny who captures the heart of you deerest red demon.

@melodyonthewireless Highly underappreciated (imho), her fic "A Match made in Hell" (WIP) follows her OC Sybil down to hell, into the Hazbin Hotel and consecutively the arms of Alastor - but don't you dare underestimate the pink, harmless looking doe. Sybil's witch powers and her sassy, witty personality is quite the match to the established readio overlord. It's such a read, and the wait between chapters the sweetest agony!

@macabr3-barbi3 She delivers every. single. TIME. Her Short stories and One-Shots are like Pringles - Once you pop, you can't stop. I'm deeply in love with 'Dream a little Dream' (WIP), 'Nothing I can't Handle' (WIP) makes me run for a cold shower and did I mention the countless one-shot-candies that make you mouth water and your toes curl?

@slutforalastor/InconspicuousBosch on AO3 Whether it's the One-Shots on tumblr (omg the PRIEST ALASTOR BIT *fans face*) or the incredible Choose-your-Path-Fic "Say it with a smile" (completed) - you will be both amazed at the artistry of the wording and storybuilding and blushing at the sheer craft of the smut and sexual tension.

@impale-me-radio-daddy Founder of the kink #antlerplay, his series of 'The Lookalike' is steamy, outrageous, utterly magnificent and filthy down to the bones. Be prepared for some serious questioning of your own preferences, because you WILL get some epiphanies. And that's a PROMISE.

@hurthermore Listen. LISTEN. Bimbo is the mini-series that had me on a friggin CHOKEHOLD. It takes a special talent to make one so invested in THE radio demon, gentleman a la carte Alastor believably pining after and pounding a lovable, dumb airhead sinner with a fable for skimpy dresses and leave you at the end wanting for seconds and thirds!

As I said, this is a highly incomplete list, and I'll absolutely edit this list as I go. But I needed to put this out in the world. To all of the above, and all of those which I didn't include YET but most certainly will -

I ADORE YOU, I PRAY AT YOUR FEET, YOU ARE AMAZING BEINGS AND I LOVE YOU.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

[voxslays]

Lucifer, Alastor, Vox, Adam, & Angel Dust as the five stages of grief

Warning: Mild mentions of death, depression, & murder. also the death of our almighty queen Y/N

Lucifer: Depression

He would definitely be numb to the whole ordeal. Having lost his first wife, Lilith, and now losing you?

He would probably cling onto your dead body and cry. Charlie might try to pull him off, but he won’t budge. How could he possibly let you go?

After your death, he would often be seen by the hotel residents, either crying while holding up your picture, or staring into space.

Charlie would try her best to comfort him. Afterall, you were like a second mother to her. But nothing could take away his pain.

He would probably grieve your death for the rest of eternity, but eventually (and slowly) start to get over it.

Alastor: Anger

After he murders ẃ̸̝̝̰͋͒ḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ṽ̵͇̟̺̣͓̰̭̲̼̻̪̩̰͒̓̿̄̾̔̊͝ͅë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠ d̶̡̲̗̼̮̤̤̳̲͖͓͍͔͓̓̎̽́̽̏̐͂̆͆͘͘͘ǎ̴̯̀͠r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝d̶̡̲̗̼̮̤̤̳̲͖͓͍͔͓̓̎̽́̽̏̐͂̆͆͘͘͘ t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅ ḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝u̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅ t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ l̶̬̞͎̖͉̹̝͕̝͖̣̉͆ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅṽ̵͇̟̺̣͓̰̭̲̼̻̪̩̰͒̓̿̄̾̔̊͝ͅë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅf̵̢̻͈̫̬̻͔̘̞͈̆̇̍̈̌͊ͅ ḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝i̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅs̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅ l̶̬̞͎̖͉̹̝͕̝͖̣̉͆i̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅf̵̢̻͈̫̬̻͔̘̞͈̆̇̍̈̌͊ͅë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝, and broadcasts their screams as he slowly mauled them to death. Like Lucifer, he would probably cling onto your dead body. It would take the whole hotel crew to pull Alastor off you.

The whole hotel crew would hold a miniature funeral for you.

Alastor’s mental health would probably start deteriorating quickly–not that it wasn’t before, and he would probably kill any sinners who reminded him too much of you.

If the pain became too much, he might even leave the hotel forever.

Adam: Denial

He would probably laugh.

There is no way you, the almighty Y/N, his lover, could be dead. Right?

He would probably just stare in disbelief.

After your death, when people would come up to him and say how sorry they were that you were dead, he would simply stare in disbelief.

Your funeral? He’s still in denial. Expecting you to wake up, open the casket, and jump out.

Months later, he would stay up late at night, hoping, praying, begging, for any sign of you. He would still expect you to walk through the front door and jump into his arms.

Vox: Acceptance

Vox would grieve just as hard as the others, however, he would quickly accept the harsh truth that you will never come back to him.

Although he would accept your death, It would take him a while to move on – probably years.

He would try to talk to a therapist to get rid of these complicated feelings he had buried deep inside, knowing that you weren’t going to come back.

Valentino and Velvette would comfort him throughout the whole ordeal, having deep complicated feelings for you of their own.

It's safe to say that it took Vox at least five years to move on.

Angel Dust: Bargaining

Angel Dust would hold your cold, lifeless body, and shake it, saying things like ‘come on sugartits!’ or ‘it's time to wake up!’

It takes Angel a while to comprehend things.

Angel probably would think he could’ve saved you if he had been a better person, or if he had changed something even slightly.

He would bargain with himself, deep inside begging you to come back, even though he knows you may never return.

[chaggieslovechild]

with being valentine's day and asexuality trending, there is something I've wanted to say to fellow hazbin stans and alastor simps' (myself included), as an aroace: it's okay if you shipp him with anyone. other characters, your ocs, yourself, what have you

it's okay if you want to write or read smut with alastor, it's okay if you want to draw or see him naked or in lingerie. it's okay if you want to see him flirting and making sexual innuendos or what not

you are NOT invalidating his asexuality or aromanticism. you are NOT offending asexuals, aromantics or aroaces. you are NOT being acephobic or arophobic. you are NOT being a bigot if you like alastor in any sort of sexual situation.

if you take anything from this post, just let it be this: have fun. you don't need anyone's permission to shipp him (or any other character, in any other media) with anyone else. the scenarios you create in your head or with a bunch of friends will not interfere with the series canon, where - as of season one release - he's a canon aroace character with no interest in a romantic or sexual relationship with anyone. that won't change anything. at the end of the day, canon is one thing and fanon is another, different thing.

do what you want with alastor! like any fictional character, he's your little play thing to do whatever you want. you are only borrowing him from the creator and making a slightly, different version of him to fit your personal tastes. it's not hurting or offending anyone.

draw him in lingerie. in sexual scenarios. as a sex worker. as someone with a high libido. as a hypersexual. write him in anything you want, with whoever you want. it's free real estate

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

The Lookalike (Part 9)

☒ 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, then into the arms of the Radio Demon himself. The final instalment in the Lookalike series (well, maybe there's room for a little epilogue as a treat)- I hope you guys have enjoyed the ride! 

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

☒ Series Links: Part I Part2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 6 BONUS SCENE Part 7 Part 8 Epilogue

Who am I? The question chewed at the edge of Vox’s psyche through his ride back to the tower, and through his day. Yeah, who were you? Who the fuck turned up in Hell looking like a freshly minted Radio Demon? Who were you that Alastor was willing to put his signature red tailcoat on your back? Vox swore to himself as he returned to the covert footage of you. Not for the sex, no. But the audio. Sweet nothings on your lips behind closed doors, your unguarded words intended for Alastor’s ears only.

“Oh? You were an antiquarian?”

“Close. I used to curate a museum.”

Vox grinned to himself. It wasn’t much of a clue to your identity, sure, but he also knew the date of your death pretty much to the day. That narrowed it down a lot. One of Voxtek’s most lucrative activities was keeping track of the dead- through obituaries and missing person reports from the living world. More people than not ended up in Hell, and there was always money to be made tracking down a new arrival. Vox put a search out for museum curators dead or missing in the last month, and, on a hunch, narrowed it to the US.

There were a handful of candidates, but running an eye over the list, there was only one person you could be, realistically speaking. Only one museum that you could have run.

“Welcome, welcome, one and all,” you spoke to yourself under your breath, words buzzing behind your teeth in practiced harmony as you walked, the phrasing coming to you without thinking after years of practice, to help you slide into the transatlantic accent. “To the Louisiana Historical Radio Museum.”

The territory that Kennedy claimed as overlord wasn’t far from the hotel, so you walked it, the smell of burning plastic cooling on the evening air. You had a smile on your lips as you strolled, humming an old jazz standard. Sinners cringed, backing into dark alleys and doorways to avoid being in your path, and you twirled your cane. Your resemblance to Alastor was more a hindrance than a benefit here, in that it curtailed several possible avenues of approach. Difficult to form a friendly connection, or talk your way into someone’s home, when you wore an outfit synonymous with the word monster. But that was probably just as well- you were hungry for a kill, and desperation was a quality that people could smell a mile off. Besides, your new body did afford some advantages, ones you had spent your weeks at the hotel honing.

Stepping into one of the back alleys and letting the shadows shroud your form, you pressed your talons to the wall. Sharp and strong, they found purchase, and you scaled the side of the building within a few seconds, crawling up and onto the roof. That was a feat that you would have struggled to replicate with your human body, but here you were a different creature, all sharp edges and horrid, grinning points.

The first thing Vox did after finding your name was to check for it on the Voxtek systems.

There were certainly a lot of people down here who wanted to find you. Most names popped up with half a dozen requests, tops- usually immediate family, a lover. You had… huh, that was a lot. And over how many years? Vox felt his screen lag slightly as he scanned the names. None of them relations. Older than you, or close in age. Unless you were the world’s greatest Lothario and all these guys were queuing up for a post mortem hook-up, there was only one kind of person who got this kind of ask list before they died.

“Jesus tittyfucking Christ,” said Vox, mostly to himself. What the fuck had Val been thinking, dumping you on his bedroom floor without so much as a background check? No wonder Alastor liked you so much.

Years of practice had taught you that killing was more art than science; that the most thorough of preparations could be derailed in an instant and that opportunities would present themselves, if you just allowed them. The universe opened itself to those who were generous, and if you left yourself flexible to the how, the act itself was often simply a matter of having the guts to do what the moment needed. This didn’t mean that the task before you didn’t fill you with trepidation, however- quite the contrary. Kennedy was bigger than you physically, an overlord when you were not, and you had little understanding of how or why physical capabilities varied from sinner to sinner. Niffty, for example, was deceptively strong despite her small size- you had seen her do things like break the lock on the cabinet behind the bar in search of bugs to kill.

You had overpowered Alastor, briefly, but that was with angelic wire and the element of surprise, Alastor with a wound across his chest. Relying solely on physical superiority wasn’t smart, and neither was picking a situation where Kennedy could fight back.

Alastor clearly thought you were up to the task. He’d given you his red tailcoat to wear, and you could tell how precious it was to him, from the way he fretted over the way it hung, the ragged edges on the tails. He wouldn’t have let you wear it if he thought you would fail. But his confidence in you was no reason to be foolhardy.

You stalked from roof to roof across the overlord’s territory, noting the deployment of the soldiers in Kennedy’s livery. They loitered, undisciplined, at street corners and food stands, harassing passing sinners, but they were out in force.

“Ugh, there you are.” It took you a second to realize the billboard was talking to you, another to realize it had Vox’s face, scowling at you from an ad for Vox brand soda. “Why the fuck don’t you have a phone yet?

“Maybe because I don’t want people knowing where I am at all times? Not that that seems to be working.” You walked to the edge of the roof, gauging the distance with your eyes, and leapt the width of the narrow alleyway to the next building, landing with a bark of laughter, a giddy feeling in your chest. In your previous life, parkour hadn’t been so much a hobby as an occasional necessity, but your new body took to it with aplomb, your feet finding their place with a flex of your new ankles and knees.

“Seems like yesterday that you could barely walk, now look at you.” Vox leered at you from a second billboard as you walked the roof, long shadows and sharp angles. On top of your head your antlers thrummed, branching in the darkness.

You glanced up. “You helped me find my feet. I’m grateful,” you said, and felt your smile grow wider as a blush, an actual, honest-to-god blush bloomed on Vox’s wide, rectangular face before you turned away, leaping a second alley. Oh, you were graceful now.

“Hey! Can you stand still for one fuckin’ second? I wanna talk to you.” Vox was on the billboard on top of this building now, his face taking the place of the chef in an ad for Voxtek brand ovens.

You relented, squatting down by the frame that supported the billboard, checking out the layout of the streets below and hooking your cane across the back of your shoulders. “Can it wait? I have plans tonight.”

“Oh, fuck my life.” Vox shook his head and you watched with interest as the giant chef on the billboard crouched down to the bottom on the frame. “Of course you’re going after fucking Kennedy.” It was curious, how his demeanor had changed since the overlord’s meeting- there, he’d been keen to scare you, telling you at length about Kennedy’s powers and deeds- but now he seemed resigned to your hunt. What had changed? Had he actually talked to Alastor?

Your plan for tonight had been to scope out his living arrangement, maybe a little stalking, but Vox didn’t need to know that. Instead, you asked a question. “Are you going to stop me?”

Vox raised an eyebrow, the virtual plate of venison behind him steaming. “The fuck would I stop you, baby deer? Hell’s most wanted making their spectacular debut?”

Hell’s most wanted? You felt your ears flatten to your skull, a shiver in your gut. What the fuck did Vox know? “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Now, now.” Vox grinned, a glint in his eye. “If you wanna pretend to be Alastor, you’ve gotta smile at least,” he said, and you reached to your face, finding your mouth a single, serious line. You corrected it as Vox continued. “Yeah, there’s a few south americans with a longer list of victims than yours, but I think I’m entitled to some fucking creative license on this, ya know.”

He knew. He had your identity, somehow. And likely the names of the people you had killed who had ended up in Hell. Which would be all of them, if there was any justice in the universe. You breathed out, slow and even, careful to keep your smile in place this time. “Alright. What do you want?”

“Why didn’t you kill me in my sleep?” Vox asked. You thought he was joking at first, but the expression in his eyes told you otherwise. You thought of the nights you’d spent with him, body curled round his, your cheek against the lower edge of his screen. He had been completely unguarded in those moments, and you had been his prisoner.

You gave Vox a puzzled smile. “You were giving me orgasms and food, why the fuck would I kill you?”

“Oh.” If anything, Vox seemed taken aback by your response. Was that more pink and red on his screen? “I, uh- I could do that again.”

“Was that all? You’re not going to threaten me?” You stood, spinning your cane around your wrist. “Like I said, I do have things to do tonight.”

“Now, wait! Wait just one goddamn second, baby deer.” Vox followed you across the billboard as you walked. “I can help.”

That did make you pause. In the mortal world you would have refused without a second thought- an accomplice was a witness and a liability. But here? In Hell, there was no law enforcement save what the overlords dispensed. You would never have asked Vox for a favor, but if he was going to offer his services? For free? Alastor would probably be sniffy about it, but who could blame you for making use of all the resources at your disposal? You looked up at him again. “Can you edit camera footage in real time?”

“Uh, sure.” Vox grinned. “You want me to edit you out of it, yeah?”

“Mhm.” You nodded. “And you’re doing this gratis, right?” This bit was important- you didn’t want to end up owing your soul for something like this.

“Relax, baby deer, trust me,” said Vox, eyes half-lidded, and his voice might have sounded seductive if you weren’t thinking about bloodshed. “No charge, just helping a friend out.”

It took most sinners years to get to the point where they could allow their bodies to shift beyond human norms. Even then, most people made it as far as some horns, some claws, a bit of size before their mental preconceptions, or whatever most people had, stopped them dead. But here you were, full fucking cryptid, crawling the fucking walls. Yeah, you didn’t have Alastor’s freaky shadow powers, and you were still pretty much the same size as you had been, but it barely mattered in this context, with the dark covering you. You were still a monster with glowing dials for eyes.

Vox might have assumed Alastor had done something to you to make you this way if he hadn’t known your history.

Vox might have remembered to be scared if he wasn’t rock hard in his pants just from watching you.

It was almost a shame that you resembled Alastor so strongly. A newly fledged sinner taking down an overlord would be big news, enough to fill the channels with speculation and talking heads for half a cycle at least, but someone who looked like Alastor doing it was just Radio Demon bites man, an item for a slow news day.

Editing you out of footage in real time wasn’t difficult for Vox. You were eerily good at finding the blind spots on the security feeds as you made your approach to Kennedy’s building, only lingering in exposed sections when the alternative would see you in a sinner’s line of sight. Sometimes you would look up at a camera, a tilt of your grinning head to acknowledge his presence as a viewer.

The whole thing was kind of fun, if Vox was honest with himself, the only thing missing from the whole caper being an earpiece to let him annoy your with commentary. It reminded him of accompanying Alastor on his errands, back in the old days, when Alastor would display his full demonic form and then give a small, backwards glance to Vox, to check he was being properly admired.

You hummed the opening bars of the saints as you scaled the wall of Kennedy’s building, ascending to the penthouse. Security cameras were trained on the outer walls to prevent exactly this sort of egress, but you trusted Vox enough that you paid only minimal attention to them, keeping to the blind spots where you could, crawling in shadows where you couldn’t.

You’d been through longer dry spells than this one in your lifetime. A six month stint here, a year there; all of them spent in a state of tension, a spring wound tightly enough that the metal threatened stress fractures. In the few weeks you’d spent in Hell you’d had sex and entertainment aplenty, that ought to have been enough to take the edge from your need. Why then, did this feel worse? You could feel the anticipation running through you, taste it like blood in your mouth. You wanted violence. You wanted pain. You wanted control.

Perhaps that was why you felt like this, so needy that your fingernails ached, that your teeth grew long and pointed in your grin. When you’d held yourself back before it had been of your own accord, lying low to avoid scrutiny, from the police or from your quarry, but here you had been a prisoner of circumstance, first a literal prisoner and then constrained by your own nascent body. You hauled yourself over the ledge and onto the external sill of the penthouse windows, briefly confronted by the reddish glow of your own eyes in the reflection. The glass was single glazed, not shatterproof, the latches easy enough to manipulate from the outside. You could get inside any time you wanted.

You crept round the penthouse from the outside of the building, looking into each room in turn. A lounge area, a kitchen with a breakfast bar, open plan. A bathroom, a jacuzzi tub pressed up against the window for a questionable view of Pentagram City’s skyline.

Finally, the bedroom. Kennedy, asleep. But the effects strewn around the floor of the room belonged to more than one person. You remained still, listening, and sure enough there was a sob from behind the closed door of the ensuite bathroom. Partner? Whore? Probably the latter, given the man had killed his last three partners. Either way, it didn’t matter- it was still someone who would scream if they saw you.

You paused. You didn’t really want collateral, but having a witness was bad too. Not as bad as it would be topside, but Alastor wanted the killing to reflect on the reputation of the Radio Demon, which was easier if no-one saw.

You sucked your lip, thinking. Fuck it. You were unlikely to get a cleaner opportunity than this, and even if it went completely to shit, you still had avenues of escape available. It wasn’t like there was a police force in Hell, anyway.

With a well-placed percussive strike to the frame, you damaged the latch enough to slide open the window and stepped into the room, tucking your cane under one arm as you dropped to the floor.

Opening the bathroom door brought you face to face with a pig sinner with running mascara. You clamped a hand over their mouth to stop them crying out in surprise, then lifted a dramatic finger to your own smiling lips. They nodded once, in understanding, and you released their face before gesturing to the bedroom door. Go. Now.

They obeyed, an expression of terror in their panda-ringed eyes, and you turned to the bed, your quarry’s sleeping form, a surge of ardor coursing through your body. The fleeing pig sinner was likely to alert someone, but you stopped to soak in the moment anyway, the air in your lungs feeling briefly like fire, your pulse resounding through your tongue and through your loins. Here you were. Here was your true self. Glimpsed in the mirror of the walk-in wardrobe, your antlers looked like the tops of dead trees before a yellow moon, like old bones emerging from the bayou in a season of drought, and your breath was the noise of rain on powerlines, an ominous, crackling hum.

There wasn’t a struggle. Only release, sweet and wet and bloody.

What the fuck was taking you so long? For some reason that Vox didn’t understand, Kennedy had neglected to install cameras in his penthouse suite, and he cycled impatiently through the feeds outside. There was certainly something happening inside, a few of Kennedy’s goons milling around the doors. But no sign of you. Vox waited.

He was fairly sure you weren’t in trouble, but what if you were? You were a new sinner, after all, even if you were a murderer, no souls to your name, and no-one knew how exactly how the strength of someone’s soul was determined.

Finally, he phoned Kennedy’s number.

You looked up from the mess of blood on the bed at the glowing blue rectangle of the phone on the dresser. Vox, the screen read.

Oh, your hands were so slick with blood. It took you a couple tries to activate the touch screen, your fingertips leaving red-brown smears that made the screen trip out.

“Vox!” You felt so good now; it made you want to sing. There was blood on your tongue and on your face. “I got a phone!”

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, you fucking ate him, didn’t you.” Vox’s irritation seeped through the surface of the phone, and he sighed. “Listen carefully, baby deer- you need to get the fuck out of there.”

“What? Why?”

“Because Kennedy’s goons think the Radio Demon is in there. Look, baby, you’re dangerous, I get that. I respect it. But you’re nowhere near Al’s level. You’re not gonna hold your own against twenty guys with machine guns. Get the fuck out of that building.”

Somewhere between the swearing and the threats, you started to feel a little more like your normal self. You glanced back at the bed- the remnants of Kennedy didn’t look like anything other than random, discarded meat- he wasn’t coming back, and hopefully that would be good enough for Alastor. “Got it,” you said, and after a couple of failed bloody finger swipes, managed to hang up on Vox.

Popping Kennedy’s phone into your pocket, you headed out.

The path to the hotel ought to have been clear. It had been, when you had headed out. But on your return you found the final intersection before the hotel populated by gangsters, guns trained in all dimensions. They looked nervous. You caught a whisper on the air. Radio Demon.

Of course. You had been seen.

Of course. They were waiting for you. For Alastor.

You stared at the line of goons guarding the intersection, the hotel just beyond them. You tried to take a step forward, but something stopped you, the rattle of a chain, and a pressure on your ankle. Of course. No bringing trouble to the hotel. That had been one of the conditions of your original contract with Alastor, and it was coming into play now. No going through. And chances were that Kennedy’s people had surrounded the hotel in the hopes of catching Alastor. What were your options? You could stay on the streets for the night, bloodstained and dangerous, and hope that you didn’t get caught in any acid rain.

Or you could take your second option. Gingerly, you reached into your pocket and pulled out Kennedy’s phone. His contacts list was sadly devoid of people you knew, so you phoned Vox again.

“Yeah?” He picked up before you had the phone to your ear, and you grinned at the thought that he was waiting for a call back.

“Can I crash at yours tonight? Some guys have barricaded the road to the hotel.” You paused a beat. “No funny stuff.”

There was, of course, another reason you wanted to see Vox. The list of your quarry who were still in Hell was a temptation and a half. Even now, when you were full and sated, with Kennedy’s blood still drying on your skin, you could feel the appeal of it, the symmetry- to hunt the bad men that you had hunted before.

Vox sighed as he grabbed a pair of tumblers and a bottle of yamazaki single malt from his liquor cabinet. This would be so easy, if only he could hypnotize you. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t- he could feel the give of your mind with each little push- you were strong willed but that was all. He had taken stronger minds than yours. He had taken Alastor, for fuck’s sake, had made his eyes glaze over and his slight body go limp under his influence. He had pushed Alastor’s mind, and he’d told himself it had been worth it, up until the point when Alastor had found his abuse, and those red eyes had turned from hard-earned trust to betrayal.

So no, he wouldn’t hypnotize you, even if you had just walked straight into his personal quarters looking like you just walked out of an abattoir and asked to use his sound system.

He’d been right about his impression of you over the phone- you were euphoric and reckless, probably as a side-effect of eating Pentagram’s newest overlord. VNN already had reporters on the scene and there was barely a scrap of Kennedy left, with at least two witnesses now claiming to have seen the Radio Demon.

You were sat about a foot from the speakers, cross-legged, sit bones on the floor, your right hoof resting on your left knee as you basked in the music. Vox crouched beside you, pressing a tumbler into your hand, and, as he was close, pressed his face to the back of your head and breathed in your scent. Fuck, you even smelled like Alastor now; the same mix of musk, formaldehyde and blood that Vox remembered.

Gently, you grabbed the edge of his screen and moved him away. “Stop that.”

“Why should I stop?” Vox asked, his voice coaxing. “You’re worried Alastor’s gonna be mad?”

“No, I think he’d be upset. And I don’t think you want him to be upset either.” You raised an eyebrow at him, and Vox felt a chill run down his spine. “Do you, Vox?”

Fuck. Vox pulled a face. “Am I that easy to read?”

“Maybe.” Your smile was small, and your ears twitched at some unheard thing. “You’re going to need another glass.”

Vox frowned. “For you?”

Your smile grew wider. “For Alastor.”

“Alastor?” Vox repeated.

“Speak of the devil,” said Alastor, his elocution crisp as he manifested from the shadow. “And he shall appear.”

One of the most basic workings in Vodou, the one that Alastor’s mother had warned him to avoid being trapped by, was the exchange of fluids. If a man consumed the menses of a woman, it was trivially easy for her to control him, track him, whatever she wanted. The same was true with men and their seed, and it behooved any practitioner to be careful who they accepted food from. A mutual consumption was a stronger link still, a little of the practitioner in the target and a little of the target in the practitioner.

Though you were neither male nor female, his own personal blasphemous sacred twin, there had certainly been enough exchange of fluids between you. Alastor could feel the power latent in the link; an ancient, primal sort of magic. It wasn’t the sort of thing he usually dabbled in, and if his microphone had been intact he wouldn’t have even considered it, but in his current state it was a comfort. He tuned out the banal late night chatter at the hotel bar in favor of the link to you, the smile on his face automatic. He felt you as you moved across the city, to your intended location, and then your return path to the hotel.

And then, your failure to return.

“Sir?” Niffty asked, a small hand on his knee. Something must have showed in his eyes, because both Angel and Husk were looking at him too. “Is something wrong?”

Alastor gave a terse smile. “Never better,” he said, rising from his seat. “I have merely remembered an errand I must run.”

And run was the operative word, as yet again the conditions of his deal with you compelled him. He would keep you free of being Vox’s prisoner. He had promised.

He had slid across the city and through the tower, a shadow, depleting precious reserves of power, his compass to you unerring, and his heart had lurched when he had found you in Vox’s personal quarters, sat in front of the sound system. When Vox had knelt to smell your hair, Alastor had felt his antlers creak as they grew, fierce and territorial.

Vox’s voice was wheedling, the same tone that had always worked on him somehow. “You’re worried Alastor’s gonna be mad?”

“No,” came your voice, a touch more forceful than you usually were. “I just think he’d be upset. And I don’t think you want him to be upset either. Do you, Vox?”

“Am I that easy to read?” Vox’s face was pathetic, and Alastor’s heart lurched again, with something like pity this time, or perhaps regret. They had been friends once, great friends.

“Al-” Vox breathed, eyes wide.

Alastor stepped past him, to you. His smile was wan. “Darling, you smell like bloodshed,” he said, proffering a red-taloned hand and helping you to your feet. “We should go.”

“Vox was just pouring us drinks,” you said, not wanting the evening to end particularly. Vox still had your list of victims, and the sound system was just as sublime as you thought it would be.

Vox gave you a grateful look, and waggled his expensive bottle of single malt. Alastor looked between the two of you, and sighed. “I suppose we can stay for a round or two,” he said, spreading his fingers. “But at least put some decent music on.”

That was how you had ended up on the couch in Vox’s private quarters, half sitting on Alastor’s lap, a glass of whiskey in your hand, listening to the musical stylings of Papa Celestin on Vox’s frankly impressive sound system as Alastor, now down to shirtsleeves, told stories about some of the band members- who had played with who and who had cheated at cards. It seemed like every time you had nearly finished your drink Vox was there with the bottle again, not just for you but for Alastor. A few drinks later, the playlist had moved on to Johnny Hodges ballads and Alastor was handsy, his talons tracing lines over your antlers, your neck, your back, and down over your hips.

“And then his brother formed a band with Scrapper Blackwell’s bassist,” said Alastor, fingers pressing over your tail. “Mimzy was dating their percussionist for a while.”

“Wait a damn minute Al, you’ve told me this one before.” Vox was temptingly close on the couch next to you, but he made no overtures, apparently content to watch Alastor run his hands over you. “I thought you said it was the pianist?”

Alastor hummed, one claw hooking its way into your already loosened bow tie and pulling it open. “Maybe it was both. That would explain why the rhythm section was so lively.”

You relaxed into his touch, your earlier violence rendering you satiated and languorous; content to go where he led you. You smiled up at Alastor, baring your neck to him as he undid the top button of your shirt.

Vox made a noise in his throat. “Al? Are you-”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Alastor’s grin was lopsided as his attention flicked to Vox. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, after all.”

To make a point, Alastor dipped his head to kiss you. It was messier than he usually was, Alastor’s breath reeking of alcohol, and his tongue caressed your lips and cheeks, tasting the blood that stained them.

“Fuck,” Alastor breathed, his pupils wide as he broke the kiss. “Darling, you taste like dead overlord.”

“You would know, Al,” Vox shot, and Alastor grinned.

“Vox,” he called, like a man trying to coax a pet dog. “You really should have a taste.”

You sat up and watched with amusement as Vox feigned insouciance, shuffling closer to you on the couch as Alastor held you, one arm possessive around your waist. You wondered for a second if he would take the coward’s way out, and press his tongue to your forehead or your cheek, but Vox, with an expression close to awe, pushed a little of your blood-matted hair back from your cheek, his talontips under your jaw, and kissed you.

Vox’s lips were the tingle of static, his tongue shivering hot as it twined against yours, pressing up against your teeth and your gums, and you groaned into the kiss. Alastor’s grip on your waist tightened, and you felt him grow turgid, cock pressing up against your ass as Vox kissed you.

When Vox broke the kiss his eyes held something akin to despair, fingers trailing on your jaw as Alastor pulled you to him, a fierce, possessive look on his face. You rolled your hips back, grinding against Alastor’s erection through layers of fabric, and enjoyed the shiver he gave; the way his cock grew hard and hot, his face pressing into your neck, points of his teeth grazing your skin with lines of hot sensation that you would probably regret in the morning.

Vox hesitated, wary of Alastor’s jealousy, and you caught him by the collar, pulling him in for a second kiss. His chest pressed against yours, sandwiching you between him and Alastor, Alastor’s tongue tracing hot lines against the sensitive skin of your neck as Vox’s tangled in your mouth, the heartfelt groan that Vox gave resonating through the three of you.

“Thank you,” gasped Vox, his eyes closed, though you weren’t sure if it was directed at you, Alastor, or God. It didn’t matter. You traced the hard lines of his square face with your fingers, feeling Alastor’s hands on your hips, pulling you firmly against him, as if to remind you whose bed you slept in. You turned your head to kiss Alastor, the kiss breathless and full of urgency, his teeth nipping bloody at your lips, and Vox’s hands were at the buttons of your shirt, peeling back the fabric that stuck to your skin with half-dry overlord blood.

Vox’s talented lips kissed over your chest, then your stomach, the static from his screen making your skin prickle as your hairs stood on end.

“You want the television demon to blow you, darling?” Alastor murmured, his lips brushing the fur on your ears, the tips of your antlers, and his words went straight to your cock, stirring you to half-mast. “You want his mouth on you?”

“Yes,” you murmured, and that was all it took for Vox to have your pants off, Alastor releasing your hips for long enough that Vox could maneuver you into a position where Vox could blow you. The upper edge of his rectangular head was level with your diaphragm as he took you in, his tongue gentle as he coaxed you to hardness. The inside of his mouth was warm, his tongue almost buzzing against your cock as he wound it round in a spiral, and you shivered as he did, resisting the urge to grab him by the edges of his face and fuck into him. A whine escaped your throat, low and needy.

Alastor kissed your neck, his eyes curious as he watched Vox take you to the hilt in his mouth. “But where does it go?” he asked, his gaze on the back of Vox’s extremely flat head, red eyes narrowed.

You closed your eyes, still basking in the sensation of Vox’s tongue around your shaft, the soft flesh at the back of his mouth. “The Head Dimension, of course,” you said, and you felt Vox nearly gag with laughter; not an entirely unpleasant feeling, except that he pulled his mouth from your cock almost immediately.

“Jesus, Bambi, don’t make me laugh like that!” Vox gaped at you, wiping a digital tear from his face. “Fuck!”

Alastor tittered, the noise silvery, his narrow chest shaking with mirth as he leaned into your shoulder. “He’s just pissy that he didn’t think of that first,” he said. “Wordplay was never his strong point.”

“I’ll show you my strong point,” muttered Vox, peeling off his own shirt as he did.

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll get to that eventually,” said Alastor, and you remembered how his cock had twitched inside you each time he had teased Vox in the armchair. “In the meantime-” he continued, hooking a clawed hand around your hip and pulling you to him once more, turning you to face him in his lap. “We have more important things to deal with.”

“The fuck did you do to their back, Al?” complained Vox, his hands warm on the furrows that Alastor’s claws had carved across your shoulders the night previous, but Alastor ignored him, kissing you lightly as he guided your hand to his fly, the fabric there taut with his arousal. You touched him, through the fabric first and then unfastening his fly and easing him out, a surge of sympathetic lust through your core as you held his cock in your hand, palm curling round his hardness. The noise he gave was a soft one, an exhalation of breath through his nose accompanied by a beat of deeper than appliance pitch humming.

You palmed Alastor’s cock, and his fingers went to your antlers, dancing lightly across the tines, each touch of his a musical note that resonated through your skull, your spine and down to your core, making you tremble, aching with want as you watched Alastor’s antlers expand in turn. Vox didn’t touch them, but you could feel him watching keenly, his own electrical powers a fuzzy interference at the periphery of your senses as you pumped Alastor’s cock with your hand.

“Inside me?” you asked Alastor, not least because having his cock in your palm made you ache with desire, and Alastor nodded, leaning back a little to let you straddle him. You guided him with your hand as you lowered yourself onto him, watching the delicious way he smiled as you did so; the way he bit his lip, his eyes fluttering half closed.

“Fuck,” Alastor spoke the word like a prayer rather than a curse as you sank onto him, Vox’s hands on your shoulders, then your waist, Alastor spreading his knees to let Vox between them.

“You look so fucking pretty like that,” said Vox, his voice full of gravel as he reached around you, hand finding your cock and folding around it, but his eyes were on Alastor, as well as you, as he spoke.

Vox’s grip was as firm as it had been when he had crawled into bed with you on your first night in Hell, and no less effective, pumping in time as you rode Alastor, your thighs working to lift and lower you. At first it seemed like Alastor would be content to be ridden, his face flushed and his hips staying in place as he made soft groans of appreciation, but when he kissed you and a squeeze of Vox’s hand made you whimper against his lips, Alastor’s hand joined Vox’s around your cock, talons curling around the back of Vox’s hand and forcing him to tighten his grip.

There was a moment of electricity then, Vox’s breath stilling in his throat, his bare chest pressed flush against your back.

“What’s the matter?” Alastor asked Vox, his expression sly and teasing as he forced Vox’s hand to grip you, started it moving again at a steady, sublime cadence. “You’ve never objected to a guiding hand before.”

Vox’s audio glitched before he spoke, accompanied by a myclonic jerk that you felt through his chest against your back, his hand involuntary squeezing around your shaft. “A-Alastor,” he stuttered, his audio still clipping, for all the world as if their hands were clasped around Vox’s cock rather than yours. “Oh, god.”

Alastor smirked against your neck, pretending careless superiority, but he couldn’t hide the pleasant twitch of arousal his cock gave inside your cunt when Vox moaned his name. Vox was right, though; Alastor did look beautiful, color on his cheeks that could have been the drink or arousal or both, his lips parted, as he panted through his jagged teeth, still smiling, always smiling, as his hair fell in strands across his face, his antlers handsomely tall.

When had you become so fond of him, you wondered, as he guided Vox’s hand in a pattern that had you aching for release, a pulse through your core as precum beaded at your tip. You stilled your hips as the sensation of their hands together on your cock threatened to overwhelm you, sinking down fully onto Alastor’s cock and pressing your face into his shirt with a whimper.

“What’s this?” Alastor turned his teasing smile on you now, rather than Vox. “So close already?” He nipped at the edge of your ear, not hard enough to do damage, but enough that you could feel the fine points of his teeth, and you gasped. “You know, of course, that it won’t save you? That we will keep going until we’ve had our fill of you?”

“We?” Vox repeated, his voice uncharacteristically quiet and hoarse, and your stomach swooped as you caught the implication too. “That mean what I think it means, Al?”

“My delightful friend here has two holes, after all,” said Alastor, pressing his cheek to your antler. “It seems a waste to use only one of them.”

You half expected Vox to run off and get a toy, but instead he fetched a bottle of lubricant from a compartment under the couch, and kissed his way down your back, over your shoulders and the claw marks that Alastor had made, his screen warm against the small of your back, making the fur on your tail stand on end.

“You’re gonna love this, baby deer,” said Vox, one hand on your back pushing you forward over Alastor. “Trust me,” he added wryly, when you gave a doubtful backwards glance.

“With your tongue?” Alastor’s tone was both scandalized and fascinated as he peered over your shoulder at Vox.

Vox didn’t bother answering him, simply spread your ass apart a little with his hands and set to work. His tongue was like white noise on your skin as he lapped at your entrance, wet and hot as he dragged it over sensitive flesh. You felt exposed; even like this, with Alastor’s cock to the hilt inside your cunt, you felt exposed. You cried out as Vox’s tongue made egress, the narrow tip pushing past your tight ring of muscle and then inside.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, your face in Alastor’s collar again, and Alastor must have noticed how Vox’s tongue pressed against your walls, against his cock inside you, because he looked sharply at Vox.

“Keep doing that,” he said, a sharp note of desire in his voice, and you felt Vox’s groan as he pushed his tongue a little further in, the sensation all slickness and pressure as his tongue stroked Alastor’s cock through the thin layer of your flesh.

Alastor found your cock with his hand again, his smile cruel as he caressed your shaft. “You’re going to come, aren’t you, darling? You’re going to spend yourself with Vox’s tongue up your ass.”

It wasn’t fair. You could barely think straight, let alone give any answer other than an obscene, whorish whimper, not with both of them working your insides and Alastor’s knowing hand on your cock. The first time you’d met, he’d shown you how he knew your body better than you did yourself, and that was still true now, the strength of his grip and his tempo nothing other than perfection as he ground his hips up into you, rutting into you and rutting against Vox’s tongue, each movement one of blinding ecstasy, sensation so strong that it seemed to bleed into senses other than touch. You had no chance to catch your breath, no surcease from the assault, and no choice other than to feel yourself fall, your whole body seeming to seize in orgasm, the cry in your throat free of static as your cunt and cock pulsed in time, painting a white line up Alastor’s red shirt and spattering his cheek.

“See? What did I tell you?” Vox’s grin was triumphant as he pulled his tongue from you, his claws caressing your tail. Your body was still sensitive from the aftershocks, and his simple touch brought another one on, an involuntary animal cry in your throat. Vox scoffed and squeezed again, threading his talons through your fur, the sensation alone enough to make your stomach flutter, and through the corner of your eye you saw him take one of the discarded whiskey glasses and drain it, swilling it around his mouth before he swallowed.

“Oh, oh, sweetheart,” Alastor wiped your cum from his cheek and brought his fingers to your mouth, slipping his talons between your lips for you to suck clean. His voice was a croon, his breath hitching with each spasm that wracked you. “You fit me just perfectly, don’t you?”

You hummed around his fingers in response. It was an act of trust, just as much as the sex was- your teeth were every bit as sharp as his- and his fingers felt good in your mouth, like a gift. You closed your eyes, tracing the delicate lines of his fingers with your tongue, and felt as Vox lined himself up behind you, the warm tip of his cock resting first against your tail, then sliding down, the tip leaving a trail of wetness as he lined up with your entrance, the tip brushing against the flesh he had lapped with his tongue a few moments before.

Vox breathed out heavily, talons cradling your hips. “Are you sure about this, Al?”

“I think it’s customary,” said Alastor, a little snippily. “To ask that to the person you are about to fuck.”

“Shit.” You felt the tension in Vox’s body at Alastor’s rebuke. “You, uh, doin’ okay there, baby deer?”

You released Alastor’s fingers from your mouth, and turned your head to Vox, as far as you could twist with Alastor still inside you. Vox leaned in to accommodate, and you caught his lips with yours, hooking your forearm round his screen to keep him close as you kissed him, Alastor pressing his lips to your neck as you did. Taking the kiss as assent, Vox pushed into you, slowly.

Your inebriation and your orgasm helped make you loose, and Vox had been liberal with the lubricant on his tongue, but with Alastor inside you as well the fit was a tight one. Alastor tensed when he felt Vox push his way into your ass, his hips stilling and the soft hiss of static escaping his lips.

“God,” mumbled Vox as he bottomed out, his claws on your hips tight enough to mark you. “Fucking god. Al.”

Alastor didn’t bother with words, but the strangled noise in his throat might as well have been agreement.

Both of their eyes fluttered closed, and you felt a tremble in Vox’s arms. They could feel each other. They could feel each other inside you, both of them together stuffing you to the brim.

“I- I’m gonna move now,” said Vox, a pleading edge to his voice. He swallowed, edge of his screen knocking briefly against your antlers. “Tell me if it hurts.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” you managed, briefly getting yourself to a state where you could form actual words rather than animalistic whimpering. “Just full.”

“If he hurts you,” said Alastor, into your collarbone. “I will eviscerate him.”

“Fuck me.” Vox exhaled again, sounding more like himself. “I have never seen him this fucking protective. Of anyone. But sure thing Al, I'll go gentle.”

True to his word, Vox went slowly as he fucked you, fucked both of you. Post orgasmic and still sensitive, the sensation of it filled your awareness; at the apex you were so full that everything pressed together, Vox’s cock pressing into Alastor’s through your thin divider of flesh, Alastor’s cock pushed almost by default into the sensitive spongy tissue that he would usually need to angle his hips to find. There was no escape, not for you nor for Alastor- Vox’s cock stroking his as much as it was fucking you, and you found yourself crying out in tandem with him, the same sweet noises from both your throats, the sound so close that it made strange beats and harmonies around you. Vox kissed you, sensuous and open mouthed, then Alastor kissed you, fierce and possessive, then Vox again, lapping up the blood that Alastor had drawn from your lips, your head swimming as two sets of claws held you in place.

You grew hard again, your body responding to being pressed between the two of them and fucked, and Vox took your cock in his hand, a victorious growl from his throat.

“You wanna cum round Al’s cock again, don't you, baby deer,” Vox’s voice was thick with desire, his hand firm as he handled your already overstimulated cock. Even a gentle stroke would have been too much, and his manipulation was more than that.

“I can't-” you managed between gasps of air. With both of them in you, you were stuffed to the brim, each roll of Vox’s hips bringing tears to your eyes. “Too much. Please.”

“You want him to feel you twitching around him, though, don't you?” Vox’s voice was coaxing, the hand that wasn't stroking your cock hooking round your waist, the heel of his hand pressing into your stomach, below your navel, pressing everything together inside you. “You want him to feel good, don't you?” said Vox, his breath hot on the back of your neck, and you stared into Alastor's lust-blown eyes, feeling the way Alastor trembled each time Vox ploughed into you, only your inner wall separating them.

“Yes,” you whimpered, but it was Alastor who cried out, drawing blood from his own lip, his hands tight on your hips. Alastor came a second before you did, his seed inside you a wave of heat as your cunt pulsed around him, your cock twitching weakly in Vox’s hand.

“Fuck-” Vox breathed, clinging to you tightly, the edge of his screen digging hard into the tops of your shoulders as the feeling of you and Alastor coming dragged him over the edge, his composure lost, and you made a noise in your throat as you felt him shoot his load in you, into your already overstuffed hole.

For a moment, the two of them inside you filled the entirety of your awareness, the pulsing warmth that filled your stomach, the tight grip that both Alastor and Vox had on you. Then you sank forward onto Alastor’s shoulder, and the grips became slow caresses, claws gentle against your bruised skin. Both of them praising you, neither man quite ready to look the other in the eye. They pulled out of you, and it occurred to you that you needed a shower, but you had barely enough energy left in you to lay back on Vox’s couch, your forearm over your eyes.

The last thing you remembered before you blacked out was Vox pouring another finger of obscenely expensive Japanese whiskey, some Ella Fitzgerald playing as the two of them admired how pretty you looked with their cum leaking out of you.

If this was Hell, then what the fuck went on in Heaven?

[jazzmasternot]

I feel bad for my future husband bc I just know ima be making him dress up as Alastor in bed. Ima be like

“cmon babe put on the red wig and pinstripe suit”

“Yes honey 😔”

[bunnylove1]

some of yall be falling for him

….

he’s my husband

[dewdropdinosaur]

Fixer Upper

ALASTOR x (F)READER Summary: Someone dared to break Alastor's precious radio and his wrath is inconsolable. But turns out you may have some small tricks up your sleeve. Warnings: NONE For the dearest @anon-of-the-void. My darling, it is a pleasure as always to write these for you.

In the bustling chaos of the Hazbin Hotel, where demons sought redemption amidst the fiery chaos of Hell, an unlikely friendship blossomed. Alastor, the infamous Radio Demon, found solace in the presence of Y/N, an inventive soul from the Victorian Era who had found herself amidst the peculiar denizens of the underworld.

Y/N was a tinkerer, always tinkering away in her workshop, concocting gadgets and gizmos that would make even the most adept engineers marvel. Alastor, with his vintage charm and macabre wit, found her creations fascinating, and the two formed an unusual bond over their shared love for innovation.

One fateful day, disaster struck when Alastor's beloved old-time radio, his prized possession from his living days, broke down. The demon was devastated, his usual jovial demeanor clouded by a rare display of anger. The residents of the hotel trembled in fear, knowing the havoc that could be unleashed if the Radio Demon's rage remained unchecked.

Alastor's crimson eyes blazed with fury as he prowled the halls of the Hazbin Hotel, his usual jovial smile replaced by a menacing snarl. The residents cowered in fear, whispering among themselves as they caught glimpses of the Radio Demon's wrathful form.

"You there!" Alastor's voice boomed, sending shivers down the spines of those unfortunate enough to cross his path. "Do you have any idea of the inconvenience of my beloved radio breaking? The nerve, the audacity!"

Niffty, the hyperactive cleaner demon, spoke with a frantic passion as she viewed the mangled radio."Alastor! I'll do it! Let me clean it please!"

Alastor's laughter rang out like a chilling melody, sending a chill through the air. "Oh, my dear Nifty, no thank you. This requires some…interrogation but feel free to clean up the aftermath."

Angel Dust, lounging lazily on a nearby couch, scoffed, "Oh, lighten up, Al, it's just a stupid radio. Besides, it's not like anyone listens to your old-timey tunes anyway."

The room fell silent as Alastor's gaze bore into Angel Dust, his smile twisting into a sinister grin. "Is that so, my dear Angel? Perhaps I should demonstrate the consequences of underestimating the power of music."

With a snap of his fingers, Alastor summoned a spectral microphone, its ethereal glow casting eerie shadows across the room. "Now, let's see who's laughing when I unleash the full force of my wrath upon this wretched offender!"

The residents of the Hazbin Hotel trembled as Alastor's menacing laughter echoed through the halls, knowing all too well that when the Radio Demon was in a foul mood, no one was safe from his terrifying fury.

As fear spread throughout the hotel, Y/N knew she had to act swiftly to quell the storm brewing within Alastor's heart. Ignoring the warnings of her peers, she clandestinely snatched the broken radio and retreated to her workshop, determined to restore it to its former glory.Under the cover of night, she stealthily crept into Alastor's room, her pockets filled with tools and determination. With deft hands, she dismantled the broken radio, each cog and wire familiar to her skilled touch.

Hour after hour, Y/N toiled away, her nimble fingers dancing across the delicate machinery. With each adjustment and tweak, the radio gradually came back to life, its familiar crackle filling the air once more. But as the night wore on,  fatigue gnawed at Y/N's bones, her eyelids growing heavy with exhaustion. But she pressed on, fueled by determination and a desire to see her friend smile once more.

Finally, with a soft click, the radio sprang to life, emitting a crackling sound before filling the room with the familiar strains of vintage jazz. Y/N let out a sigh of relief, a triumphant smile gracing her lips as she admired her handiwork.

But as she stood there basking in her success, fatigue finally caught up with her. With a yawn, she sank into a nearby chair, her eyes fluttering closed as sleep claimed her.

Unbeknownst to her, Alastor had been silently watching from the shadows, his expression unreadable as he observed Y/N's tireless efforts to fix his broken radio. When he saw her succumb to exhaustion, a pang of concern tugged at his heart, softening the edges of his usually stoic demeanor.

Quietly, he approached her slumbering form, his footsteps barely audible against the creaking floorboards. Gently, he brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch light as a feather.

"My dear Y/N," he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur. "Such devotion, such selflessness. You truly are a marvel."

A warmth blossomed in Alastor's chest as he watched her sleep, a feeling he couldn't quite put into words. For the first time in centuries, he felt something akin to tenderness stirring within him—a feeling he realized with a start was nothing short of admiration.

With a soft sigh, Alastor leaned in closer, pressing a gentle kiss to Y/N's forehead before picking up her form and striding over to his bed; tucking her in with the utmost care. As he stood there in the dimly lit room, surrounded by the quiet hum of the fixed radio and the soft breathing of his friend, he knew at that moment that he was irrevocably touched by her kindness.

And as the first light of dawn painted the sky, Alastor silently vowed to cherish and protect Y/N, for she had not only fixed his broken radio but had also managed to mend something far more precious—his wounded heart.

The next morning dawned upon the Hazbin Hotel, the air tinged with a sense of relief as the residents basked in the knowledge that Alastor's beloved radio had been fixed. Alastor strode into the lobby with a confident swagger, his usual grin plastered on his face. With a flick of his wrist, he turned on the radio, the familiar crackle of static filling the air before giving way to the melodic strains of love songs from a bygone era.

The residents exchanged puzzled glances, their confusion evident as they listened to the unexpected playlist. Angel Dust raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. "Well, well, looks like someone's feeling a bit sentimental today."

Alastor's grin widened, though there was a hint of something softer lurking beneath the surface. "Ah, my dear Angel, music has a way of stirring the soul, don't you think?"

As the love songs continued to play, the other residents couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth wash over them. Even the gruffest demons found themselves tapping their claws to the beat, caught up in the unexpected romance of it all.

But as Alastor's gaze lingered on Y/N, who stood among the crowd with a shy smile, a wave of realization washed over him. It wasn't just any love songs he was playing—it was a silent declaration of his growing affection for the inventive soul who had captured his heart.

And as the music filled the room with its sweet melody, Alastor couldn't help but feel a surge of hope coursing through him. Perhaps, in the midst of Hell's chaos, there was still room for love to blossom—a love that transcended time and defied all odds.

With a soft chuckle, Alastor stole a glance at Y/N, his heart swelling with newfound courage. For in that moment, amidst the gentle strains of love songs and the soft glow of morning light, he knew that he was falling—falling head over heels for the one who had fixed not only his broken radio but also the shattered pieces of his soul.

[foxydope120]

og artist: @sunlit-mess I FINALLY finished this one! So, here’s some head cannons!

He wore his glasses ALL THE TIME. The other V’s couldn’t get them off of him

when harmed you could hear TV static that got louder, causing the other person in the room to go deaf for a couple hours

as he started to gain popularity he also got overly cocky

his suit would often slip off easily because it was a little big on him

He most likely sh if he doesn’t get someone buying his products

a little worrisome about his business failing

him and alastor were friends until they got into a “little” fight

[luzzbuzz]