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tune-on-in-folks · 2 days ago

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I did see that and I'm excited for it! I will be waiting here patiently for all the snacks.

I am having fun writing! First in a while lol. Kinda lost sight of why I write for a hot second there. But that's why I adore you and @redfoxwritesstuff because you both always inspire me so much!

Chapter 5 - Final Transmission

A/N: I'm so wordy. I could've went on for like another 20+ chapters but alas. Here's the final stop.

TAGS/WARNING: f!reader, married to vox, vox does love reader, infidelity, non-sex repulsed alastor, alastor is in hell for a reason, soft alastor, jerk alastor, possessive, no use of y/n, vox tries, reader tries, alastor is a control freak, power imbalance, alastor being alastor, p in v, cuckolding, bittersweet as promised

<- PREV | TABLE OF CONTENT

Alastor's palm came to rest against your cheek, slow and deliberate. The touch was eerily reminiscent of your husband's the night before. Gentle. Warm. But there was something different in it now. Something unnervingly tender.

“Talk to me, my Canary,” he murmured. His voice was softer than before, lacking the razor edge that usually accompanied his words. The ever-present grin still stretched across his face, but it was dulled now, smoothed into something strangely human.

You shook your head, trying to hide the tremble in your jaw. “There's nothing to talk about, Alastor, I...” The words cracked and fell apart inside your throat. You bit your lip, hard, chasing control, chasing anything to stop the rising tide within you. The iron taste of blood flooded your mouth, bitter and metallic, but even that couldn’t anchor you.

“Just please,” you whispered, eyes falling to the floor. Your voice came out fragile, small. “Don’t tell him.”

Alastor hummed quietly. His thumb brushed against your lip, slow and careful, coaxing you to stop hurting yourself. His touch was oddly soothing. It made the shame burn even hotter.

“Aren’t you a miserable little thing?” he whispered. Then he leaned in until his forehead rested gently against yours. The contact sent your breath stuttering in your chest. “Where did your smile go, darling?” he asked, voice low, wistful. “I remember it so vividly. You, on that stage, glowing under those dying lights, surrounded by haze and cigarette smoke, while half the room tried to drink their sadness away. But you—”

He inhaled sharply, almost in veneration.

“You stood there like a goddess. Untouchable. Unstoppable. Not even sorrow dared lay a hand on you. And when you sang,” his lips hovered just above yours, his voice dipped to a whisper, “you made the world stop and listen.”

The memory unfolded before you like a ghost. You could see her—your younger self—standing under the stage lights, older in makeup than in soul, pretending confidence she didn’t have. But when the music played, when the first note struck, she let go. She sang like she was trying to drown out every ache in the world.

“You... watched me?” The words slipped out before you could stop them. Your eyes met his, wide and disbelieving. His features were unrecognizable from anyone you knew back then. “Were you there?”

Alastor's eyes softened, closing briefly. His forehead pressed a little more firmly against yours, his hand never leaving your cheek.

“You could say something like that,” he said lazily, the words coated in something that almost resembled regret. “But then one day... you vanished.”

Your stomach turned. You knew what came next.

“Until I saw you again,” he said, opening his eyes, “in the tabloids.”

The warmth shattered like glass.

Your breath caught as old wounds tore themselves open. Your hand shot up and yanked at your hair, fingers tangling in the strands, pulling. You wanted to rip the memories out by force.

The performance. Vox’s grand debut. Your chance to shine. Your chance to prove that you were worthy of the stage beside him.

You had choked. You had failed.

Not just yourself, but him. Vox, who had believed in you, who had handed you the spotlight, who had tried to shape you into something brilliant.

Instead, you had become his embarrassment. His failure. His burden.

The press tore you apart. Vultures fed on your humiliation, using your breakdown to slander him. His enemies smiled behind their teeth while you crumbled under their judgment.

You became the blemish on his otherwise immaculate record.

No apology could ever scrub that stain away. No song. No word. No touch.

You had broken something precious. And it would never be whole again.

A raw, guttural sound tore from your throat, too twisted to be a sob, too broken to be anything else. It echoed deep within your chest, vibrating through brittle bones that could no longer hold the weight of your shame. You clutched at the remnants of yourself, desperate to keep the pieces together, but they cracked one by one, splintering along old seams you had prayed would stay sealed.

You came to Hell with hope. Maybe if you were good enough, perfect enough, obedient and beautiful and loyal, he would see you as worthy again. Perhaps if you loved him hard enough, if you served your punishment with grace, he would forgive the mess you made on Earth. Perhaps you would stop being a burden. A failure. A disappointment.

But here you were again.

Falling.

Breaking.

Failing.

Your hands flew to your mouth as the sob clawed up your throat. You tried to muffle it, to bury the guilt before it shattered like glass and carved through your skin. You curled in on yourself, aching for the darkness that would swallow you whole.

Alastor pulled you into his arms without a word, your face pressed against the hard wall of his chest. His voice was a murmur, gentle and cold, like silk on glass. “There, there,” he crooned. “I’ll soothe away all your pain, darling.”

His fingers slipped through your hair, stroking softly. Comforting. Dangerous.

And in that terrible, fragile moment, you let him.

Once more.

Once again.

Because a failure never stopped failing. A weak woman never found her strength. No matter how much you tried to rewrite your story, you always ended up in the same chapter. The same shame. The same sin.

His lips touched yours, light and coaxing, as if he were kissing a bruise. Tears spilled from your eyes. You didn’t stop them.

A harlot never stopped being a harlot.

You should have pulled away. You should have screamed. But the silence inside you was louder than anything. You were tired of being perfect. Tired of sitting on that shelf, untouched, unloved, collecting dust like a forgotten prize. You wanted to be touched. Needed. Wanted. Held like something precious, not pristine.

How long had it been since you were kissed like this? Since someone reached for you without hesitation?

Alastor’s lips moved against yours, patient and slow, until you parted your mouth and let him in. You fell back onto the bed, the mattress soft beneath you. Your heart clenched, but you didn’t stop. Alastor followed you down, trailing kisses along your jaw, then your throat. His claws slipped beneath your dress, dragging downward. The fabric gave way without protest.

You gasped as he caressed your breast, his palm firm and steady. Your body arched into him, your breath catching when he nipped the sensitive skin just beneath your collarbone. He pressed his weight over you, his legs settling between yours, his heat blooming where you were aching the most.

His eyes gleamed with something feral. Something insatiable. His chest rose and fell in time with yours. One of his hands gripped the sheet beside your head. The other unfastened his belt, the sharp metallic clink splitting through the air like a bell of finality.

“How bold of us to defile your matrimonial bed,” he purred, lips curling into a wicked grin. His eyes glowed brighter now, hungry and red.

You flinched as your underwear tore, but the pain was lost beneath the rush of sensation when he pressed the thick heat of his cock against your folds. Slowly, deliberately, he rocked his hips forward, grinding into you. The head of his shaft slid through your wetness, slick and eager, smearing your arousal across his skin.

Your mind screamed that this was wrong. That you still had a chance to turn this around.

But...

But your body trembled beneath him, and your heart whispered what it had always known.

You would rather be ruined than forgotten.

Once again, you were falling.

Not drifting, not slipping, but plummeting into a descent that left your soul screaming.

The demon teddy bear sat on the vanity, its stitched face turned away from you. It refused to look. As if even it, a thing without a heart, felt shame in your place. But you didn’t stop. Your legs wrapped around Alastor’s waist, pulling him closer, guiding him deeper into this spiral you could no longer resist. You welcomed it. You invited the ruin with open arms and trembling thighs. You let your vows burn, let them disintegrate beneath your desperation, grinding them into dust and ash.

Because if Vox’s love wasn’t enough for your greedy, starving heart, then you deserved to suffer. You deserved to bleed guilt until your soul collapsed in on itself. Let it hurt. Let it hollow you out until there was nothing left but the ugly truth you had buried beneath rehearsed smiles and hollow apologies.

You were a liability.

A mistake.

A weight.

Let that truth punish you. Let it twist deep. Let it scar.

Alastor drew back just enough to position himself. His cock pressed at your entrance, and slowly, achingly, he pushed inside. The stretch made your spine arch and your lungs forget how to breathe. That feeling of fullness, of being claimed so completely, flooded every sense you had. You felt yourself unravelling. He groaned, deep in his throat, as he sank into you fully, inch by inch, until he bottomed out.

When his eyes opened, they found yours.

And then he began to move.

The bed cried out with every thrust, its wooden frame groaning in time with your body. Your moans joined, raw and helpless. The shame curled around your limbs, but you didn’t push it away. You embraced it. You deserved to feel it.

You were in Hell for a reason.

Maybe God knew all along what lived inside you. Maybe He knew you were never made for heaven, that your soul was twisted from the start. Depraved. Hungry. Always needing more and never satisfied. You told yourself it was about love. About loneliness. But maybe that had always been the lie. Maybe you just wanted to be touched. Wanted to be ruined.

You kept crying, and you didn’t know if it was from pleasure or pain. Your smile twisted through your tears, as if your body couldn’t understand that this wasn’t joy. That this was punishment.

And Alastor laughed, pleased and cruel. “Ah, how pretty your smiles are, my Canary!” His thrusts grew sharper, harder. His hands gripped your hips tight enough to bruise. “Tell me, does it feel good?” he asked, voice lilting with sadistic delight.

His hips snapped forward, striking your clit just right. You screamed, the jolt of pleasure like lightning, white-hot and dizzying. You nodded through the noise, breathless and eager. You didn’t want it to stop. You wanted to drown in it. Let it break you. Let it consume every inch of you so you would have nothing left to mourn.

Then he pulled out, sudden and commanding. Before you could even breathe, he grabbed your body and turned you toward the door. Your knees dug into the mattress, hands clenching the sheets as he twisted your hair around his fist.

He drove into you from behind.

“Ah!” you cried, the angle striking somewhere deep, making your body jolt. Your dress hung in ribbons around you, your breasts swaying with each thrust. Alastor’s pace was brutal, merciless, and you took it. You took it because you had nothing else left to offer. Nothing else to give.

Your body was flushed, tingling, soaked in heat. The world narrowed to the rhythm of his hips and the breath in your throat. For a brief moment, you forgot the guilt. Forgot the past. Forgot yourself.

All you could feel was the now.

The beautiful, excruciating, intoxicating now.

Alastor’s hand gripped your breast, kneading the soft flesh with a hunger that matched the rhythm of his thrusts. His cock slid in and out of you, wet and thick, dragging pleasure from your core like a song you didn’t know you could still sing. His lips grazed the shell of your ear, breath hot and wicked, sending shivers cascading down your spine.

“I can give you this, my precious bird,” he whispered, voice silk and sin. “I can make you feel adored again.” Each word wrapped around you like velvet chains. “I can take you back to the time when the world knelt at your feet.”

Your thighs trembled as arousal spilled down them. The slap of skin on skin filled the room, filthy and beautiful. His promises clung to your mind like perfume. You wanted to believe them. You wanted them to be real.

“Just say it,” he moaned, his hand pressing between your shoulders and forcing your chest flat against the mattress. Your cheek smeared against the sheets, drool wetting your face as he gripped your hips and drove into you with reckless abandon.

Your eyes fluttered. The head of his cock ground into your g-spot, again and again, pulling sharp cries from your throat. His balls slapped your clit, fast and heavy, sending bright, unbearable sparks of pleasure bursting through your body.

“Go on, my pet,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Say it. Say you're mine.”

Your heart beat so hard it rattled your ribs. If it meant this wouldn’t stop, if it meant you could keep this burning high, you would say anything. You would give him the world. You would give him your soul. And as if he could hear your thoughts, Alastor yanked you up by your hair, holding you there with cruel tenderness.

Your voice broke from your lips in a sob. “I’m yours. I’m yours,” you cried, the words ripped from your chest, soaked in desperation.

But then he slowed. His pace faltered, then changed. He fucked you shallow and slow, too slow, dragging out the tension just when you were so close to falling apart.

“Please,” you begged, your hands scrambling behind you to clutch at his hips. “Please, don’t stop. I need it. I need you to keep going.” You were gasping now, your voice crumbling as the tide inside you fought for release.

You just wanted to forget. Forget everything. The guilt. The promises. The suffocating weight of who you were supposed to be.

But Alastor’s hand gripped your face.

And he forced you to look forward.

To face the door.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The door was no longer fully closed.

It hung slightly ajar, just enough to see the cold blue light seeping in through the crack. Just enough to make out the outline of electronic eyes watching you. Familiar. Frozen.

Your heart stuttered.

No.

No, no, no.

Alastor's thrusts returned with ferocity, slamming into you, cruel and knowing. He could feel how close you were. How your body was already clinging to the edge.

And all you could do was stare.

Stare into your husband's glowing eyes as he watched you, silent and still, while you let another man wreck you.

A strangled cry escaped yours, one born from pain and from pleasure. Your muscles seized as pleasure suddenly was ripped apart, letting you see flashes of white, as you sobbed from coming on another man's cock.

You couldn't look away, tears flooded your eyes, hair stuck to your messy, teary, sweaty face. The picture perfect of an imperfect, filthy doll.

And...

...You smiled.

You smiled because oh… Vox finally looked at you. That this was your true face, the one that wasn't hiding behind make up and designer clothes. This raw, animalistic look, the one born from pain, from inadequacy, from debauchery, this was you, wasn't it?

Alastor laughed, high and manic, as his cock pulsed within you as he came and pumped his seed into you. “Ah,” his arms caged around you, his cock still deeply seated into you. “I always get the last laugh, right, old pal?”

You felt Alastor grinning against your neck, as the darkness slowly swallowed your sight.

The next time your sight returned, you were in another bed. Soft, plush, with crimson sheets, and high windows filtered by the hellish light.

Your inner walls seized as Alastor's seed spilled out from you. Momentarily stunned, you looked around and Alastor was back to his prim, calm, and confident self. His attire pressed and perfect as he crossed his legs and grinned at you.

“Now, I have you, right where you belong,” Alastor's voice was soft, almost a whisper, yet his words were loud in your ears.

Your eyes slowly blinked. A dusty photograph slowly slipped out of your mind. It was something distant, something you didn't think much at the time. There was a man, he was half creole and half white. He had a popular radio show, and he… he wanted you on it before you were whisked away by Vox.

You had rejected him, and you didn't think much of it at that time.

But, back then, he asked you…

“Won't you sing for me, my Canary?”

Your eyes blinked away from the old faded memory, of a face you could hardly remember as the voice of the past and the present merged together.

“Pardon?” your voice hoarse from use.

It was then that you noticed it. The way the shadows played against the wall and on Alastor. It reminded you of black bars, of a cage.

Alastor’s figure shifted in the light, and for a fleeting moment, he looked like a spectre behind those bars, watching you from the other side. Or perhaps, you were the one locked in.

Maybe you have always been.

And for a moment, something in your chest cracked—gentle, mournful.

A whisper of a song you hadn’t sung in forever.

Searching Lost Record 01 -> (coming soon after Summer Smash Event)

Thank you for reading the end of White Noise. This was with the effort of my beloved community voting for a bittersweet Cuck!Vox. Now, for those who feel sad that the story ended too soon, fret not my dears! I am cooking some bonus content (that's right, more than one!) for this story. It will be released after my Summer Smash event ends ❤️

So, until then, stay tuned 📻

Ko-fi! -- Voxtek Server -- xReader/OC Community

#I adore so many people in this fandom #I love this little corner I've found myself in #<3 #hazbin hotel #alastor #vox #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #vox x reader

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