AN: I will have to admit I've had this one done for a hot second, I just hadn't gotten around to posting it. This is a bit fluffy with cult undertones, if you want some sinful smut with heavy cult tones then I heartily recommend @redfoxwritesstuff 's fic, Legacy. It's absolutely immaculate.
CW: Cult undertones, manipulation undertones, pregnancy, pregnant! reader, human! Vox, use of Vox's human name (Vincent)
Summary: You find out you're pregnant and you're terrified of how your husband will react. After all, a child will only get in the way of your plans, right?
Word Count: 1,334
You had been an outcast your whole life. You had never fit in at school, barely had any friends, and those who claimed to be your friends ended up leaving you for bigger and better things. By the time you were an adult you were convinced that you were broken. That everything you touched would be tainted.
You had been prepared to give up on everything when you met Vincent.
He was a charming man, who came into your life when you were at your lowest. He saw the good in you, gave you hope for a future you never thought you'd ever get to have. He gave you everything and slowly you started to realize that you weren't broken, that you did mean something. You meant something to him.
It was only natural that you joined what he was trying to do, charmed by his wit and silliness. He was two sides of one coin, everything that you had ever wanted in life. In a partner. When he had proposed to you, you had been overjoyed, not hesitating to say yes. That had been a few years ago.
Now you felt numb as you stared down at the pregnancy test in your hands, the two solid pink lines mocking you.
You felt your stomach drop, your heart racing faster. You were terrified. A baby was the last thing you needed, the last thing Vincent would want, surely.A child had no place in your life, no place in what you were trying to do. The both of you couldn't build what you needed to, with a baby in the way.
The front door opened and closed, signaling your husband's arrival home. You cursed softly, quickly shoving the pregnancy test at the bottom of the trash can, ensuring it was hidden. You washed your hands just as he entered the bedroom, calling your name.
You took a deep breath, calling out to him, "In here, love!"
He stepped into the bathroom behind you, smiling at you in the mirror. He pressed his chest against your back, holding you tightly.
"Hey, baby, how was your day?" He asked, pressing a kiss against your temple.
You gave him a forced smile, hoping he didn't see just how forced it truly was. "It could have been better, I haven't been feeling well, lately."
He hummed, rubbing his thumbs over your hips, "I've noticed. Maybe you should go to the doctor?"
You nodded, "yeah, maybe."
You watched as Vincent pulled away from you to go relieve himself. You watched him for a moment before you slipped out of the bathroom. You had dinner to make and a future to think of.
When he finally joined you in the kitchen, a whiskey in hand, you had managed to upset yourself. You had gotten so lost in your anxieties and worries that you hadn't even realized you had been crying. He set down his whiskey, stepping up beside you.
"Hey, woah, what's wrong?" He asked, his voice soft as he turned you to face him, his eyes full of worry.
He cupped your cheeks, his thumbs wiping away your tears as he searched your face. You bowed your head, unable to look him in the eye. How could you face him when you were carrying a secret that could very well ruin everything? You shook your head, a sob escaping you.
Vincent frowned, pulling you into his arms. He held you tightly, swaying you side to side as he shushed you. He ran his fingers through your hair, trying to do what he could to offer you comfort.
"Talk to me, baby, tell me what's wrong." He prompted quietly, "you know you can talk to me."
You wrapped your arms around him, burying your face against his chest as you sobbed. It was cruel almost, that the very man who gave you such comfort, had the power to destroy you. A thousand doubts swirled in your mind, worries that no matter what he did or said, he would never be able to truly put to rest.
"Vincent-," you choked out, the words dying in your throat as you swallowed thickly.
"I'm here," he murmured, holding you tighter, "I'm not going anywhere."
"You will," you bit out, your chest aching. "I've ruined everything."
He pulled back, his eyes darkening, his voice firm as he cupped your face, "hey, none of that."
You sniffled, the tears coming faster as you broke down, "but I have! Everything we stand for, everything you stand for, I've gone and fucked up!"
His jaw clenched, his temper flaring at your insistence that you fucked everything up, without telling him why you thought that. His hands slid down to your shoulders tightening there.
He said your name firmly, "Talk to me, damn it! What happened? What did you do?"
And finally the dam broke and the words spilt out of you in a whisper and a torrent of more tears. "I'm pregnant."
Vox froze, his eyes widening as he beheld his wife in tears, shaking and upset. You tried to take a step back, but he wasn't going to allow it. He yanked you forward, wrapping his arms around you again. He held you close, his grip tight.
"You didn't ruin anything." He murmured, pressing a kiss against the crown of your head. "In fact, you've given me the greatest gift of all."
He pulled back slightly, cupping your face again as he thumbed away your tears. "We created this child together."
He let out a laugh that bordered on manic, "Baby, this is the closest I've been to a God!"
He kissed you then, a deep, passionate press of his mouth against yours. You gasped into the kiss, letting him slip his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss even further. When he pulled back, your tears were starting to dry and you were both panting.
"Vincent," you whispered, swallowing hard. "I thought…"
"Well you thought wrong," he muttered, "this is the best thing you've given me, doll. Don't you see? We've created this life, we did that!"
He pressed his forehead against yours, his nose brushing against yours. "I love you, baby, don't you ever think I don't. Not when you've been here by my side all this time, not when you've given me this opportunity."
You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath before you voiced your fears, "You don't think it will get in our way? You're not going to resent it, resent me?"
He cupped your face, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his voice firm and full of conviction, "never, doll. I promise you, nothing you do would ever make me resent you. Nothing our child does will ever make me resent them. Now, how about I finish making dinner and you go sit down?"
He pressed a kiss to your lips, a quick, chaste kiss before you nodded and slipped from his arms. He leaned out of the kitchen, making sure you were following his instructions.
He smiled softly, his heart welling with love for the woman he called his wife. He was certain you would have more insecurities and he was determined to put them all to rest no matter what it took. After all, you had given him the best gift in the world. What better way to be closer to being a God, than to create life, especially when that life was created with the woman he loved most?
"Hey," he called softly, catching your attention, "Believe me, baby, this is the next step. With our child, we'll ensure our future. We'll be able to continue everything we're working towards for generations to come."
You smiled softly, your fears slowly being sent to rest. As he disappeared back into the kitchen, you took a deep breath, relaxing back into the couch. Perhaps everything would be okay in the end. After all, Vox was right. your child would carry on what the both of you were working towards.
AN: This one got away from me. I was looking up the proper usage of Em Dashes and I learned a new word—Interlocutor. I also spent way too long analyzing Alastor when he rejected Vox. My OC is in it too lol.
I took the prompt and I ran in a vastly different direction with this story. (There are bits I'm keeping in intentionally, this is purely from my brain with little edits. "Editing" just meant rewording and adding more paragraphs. xD) I'm posting this now solely to stop myself from adding to it.
Anywhozle, have the gift of this fic (whenever you're seeing this) and Happy Holidays! :)
CW: A little OOC (I mean come on, I'm giving Alastor a phone!), Lucifer mentioned, ace Alastor, OC, anonymous chatting, flirting over text, vignettes, rejection, brief sexting, dick pic mention.
Summary: Vox disappears from the public eye following his little "display," and Alastor finds himself growing bored without him. He gets a phone to antagonize the King of Hell for his amusement, but gets distracted by an anonymous sinner instead.
Word Count: 6,061
Alastor didn't like this.
Not one bit.
He adjusted his monocle, his smile a thin, strained line as he tried to figure out the small digital device in his hand. It was on behest of Axel that he even had the blasted thing, and they had scoured the corners of Hell to ensure that it wasn't a VoxTek product. Which he was thankful for. He didn't need a constant reminder of Vox in his pocket. Especially after Vox's little… display a few months back.
The TV demon had disappeared from the public eye completely, clearly humiliated at his failed power-grab. And while Alastor had delighted in it at first, now he just felt bored. He didn't want the constant reminder of Vox, yet here he was thinking about him anyway. He clicked onto an app on the phone, trying to ignore the thoughts swirling in his mind, threatening to pull him down. Ever since that time he spent "under" Vox's thumb, he had been almost craving the man's attention. He was fun to toy with, easy.
Predictable.
And now Alastor had no one to play with and so he had to find his own source of entertainment. Which is why he had gotten a phone. It was mainly to antagonize the King of Hell by sending taunting texts. But this little app had certainly caught his attention. He liked it's simple format.
He liked that he was completely anonymous.
He didn't need anyone knowing that the Radio Demon was on "social-media" or whatever it was called. No, he was convinced that would ruin his reputation, a reputation that he was slowly building back up. He had spun the story of his "capture" from Vox, not needing to do anything more than tell the truth. He had played the man like a piano. Or a cheap kazoo, as Axel helpfully supplied.
He scrolled through the app idly, more so doing it to ignore his thoughts than anything else. He paused on a post that caught his eye, a stupid pun that was enough to draw a chuckle from him. He clicked onto the profile, curious as to what other things this anonymous poster had to say. He found himself scrolling through the entire account, charmed by the way the poster spun words. Whoever it was had seemed genuine enough that even Alastor followed them.
A moment later a notification popped up on his phone, a message from the anonymous user. He clicked onto it, curious.
SharkAvenue69: hey I noticed you liked a lot of my posts… I guess we're on the same wavelength…huh?
Alastor chuckled, amused by the unintended pun. And then he decided to humor this mystery person with a response, to see what would happen. To see if he could toy with them and gain enjoyment from playing yet another game.
Jazzy247: I suppose you could say that…
SharkAvenue69: sooo…did you want to talk?
Jazzy247: what did you have in mind?
SharkAvenue69: well…how about jazz?
Alastor didn't know where the time went. He found himself actually enjoying the conversation he was having with "Shark-Avenue-sixty-nine." The conversation had shifted from jazz to other forms of music, to performances that they'd seen while alive, or in Hell. Alastor's responses might have been a little slow as he navigated typing on the blasted cellphone he now owned, but his interlocutor didn't seem to mind. Days bled into weeks, and weeks bled into months. Every message from SharkAvenue69 had Alastor's pulse racing in a way it never had before. The feeling was foreign and quite unwelcome.
Axel was sitting next to Alastor in the lounge, when she noticed that he was rubbing at his chest as he tried to read the book in his hand.
"Is your scar bothering you still?" She asked, watching him.
He let out a frustrated sigh, forcing the words out through his teeth, "no, it's not. I just have this ache in my chest every time he messages."
That caught their attention, "every time who messages?"
Alastor paused, realizing he hadn't exactly said anything about the person he had been speaking with. He took a long moment before he responded expecting Axel to tease him, "every time a… friend texts."
"I didn't know you had other friends," Axel quipped, flashing him a teasing smile, "I thought I was your only friend, now you're telling me you have others?"
Ah, there it was- his teasing. He rolled his eyes, continuing to idly rub his chest as though to soothe the ache that had settled there. He set down his book as his dreaded cellphone made a noise. He turned it on, clicking into his messages, eager to see what Shark Avenue had said. They had long since departed the original app they connected on, opting into texting one another's private numbers, on the understanding of never to call. Never to push that boundary.
He had saved him as "Shark Avenue," dropping the 69. He had been informed it was a sex thing and therefore it was a funny number to use ironically. He didn't understand it, but 'Shark' had, which led Alastor to believe that the sinner he was speaking to behind the screen was someone much younger than him. Someone around Axel's age perhaps. His eyes flitted over the message, a soft heat finding its way to his cheeks. His stomach twitched with that feeling again. No less foreign, but increasingly familiar.
Shark Avenue: You know, I've been wondering about what other talents that mouth of yours holds... Besides the silver tongue, that is…
Axel smirked, catching sight of the message. "Oh, I see. You're being flirted with."
"I'm being toyed with," he replied sharply.
Axel shifted closer, "well, what are you going to say in turn?"
Alastor paused, he wasn't sure. He didn't do flirting. He didn't understand it. Didn't see the point to it.
"I'm not," he decided, turning off the offending device.
"Aw, come on, you're just going to leave your friend hanging?" Axel pouted at him.
"What am I to say?" He asked, glancing towards the fireplace.
She hummed, gesturing for him to hand her his phone. Alastor pulled the device back towards his chest, his eyes narrowing and his smile straining. She held up her hands in surrender when he let out a soft growl, turning on his phone and replying to Shark.
Jazzy: I can sing.
He sat back, proud of his deflection. Then a ping called his attention back.
Shark Avenue: I wish I could hear you sing…
Shark Avenue: and maybe one day you'll give me that honor…
Alastor's heart skipped a beat.
Shark Avenue: So, you said the other day you were a serial killer… me too! Want to confer?…
Axel shifted closer but Alastor quickly shut the phone off, blocking off their view from his conversation. "Really now, my dear, I thought you were more respectful of my privacy!"
They sat back, "Sorry, Al. I'm just curious about the person who's bold enough to flirt with the Radio Demon."
He hummed, tucking his phone away, "none of your business."
"I get it, I won't ask again," he said, standing up from the couch and stretching, "but if you ever need help flirting with him, let me know."
He sent him a playful wink before he headed out of the room. Alastor felt his eye twitch.
A day later he text Axel:
Jazzy: …I need your help.
Alastor despised that he was asking for help. He didn't need anyone's help! He was the most powerful sinner in all of Hell! But here he was, asking for help with flirting. All because of some anonymous sinner who he had grown fond of.
Master-of-None: Oh-ho-ho! Send me!
With Axel's help, suddenly their conversations were flowing. After a while Alastor felt that he had finally gotten the knack of flirting, though he never initiated it.
Jazzy: Morning, my dear… what are you up to today?
Shark Avenue: Eh. Talking to you?… I've not been doing much lately. I've gone on a sort of…sabbatical.
Alastor chuckled, kicking his feet behind him idly as he messaged Shark, a habit from his living days.
Jazzy: Oh come now… there must be something else you do to fill your days. I'm not that entertaining...
There was a pause for a long moment, one that unsettled Alastor. Shark was usually pretty fast when he replied to him. He wasn't doing anything but talking to Alastor, he had said it himself. So why was he taking so long to reply? And why was it bothering him that much?
Shark Avenue: You're…important to me. I wasn't at the best place when we started talking. You've helped me feel better…
Oh. Oh.
He smirked. Now he had something to hold against Shark, something he could use to play with him.
Jazzy: What a thing to confess!
Three dots appeared on the screen, telling Alastor that Shark was currently typing. But he wasn't done, because despite his instinct to toy with this sinner, he found himself wanting to be honest for once.
Jazzy: My dear, I must admit, I've grown…fond of you as well…
The dots stopped short, then appeared for a longer moment before disappearing again. Then, a new message.
Shark Avenue: Really?
The Radio Demon felt slightly insulted that his word was being questioned. But then again, his first intention had been to toy with Shark. That was until his desire for someone to see him won out. There were no stakes in this, Alastor reminded himself. He didn't know who Shark was and Shark didn't know who he was. They would never push for more (although they had certainly talked like it) and that was a mutual decision. It was more than enough. Complete anonymity in exchange for complete honesty.
Jazzy: Yes, really… Have I given you reason to doubt me?
Shark Avenue: …you haven't. But others have…
Jazzy: Then they are fools…
He nearly asked for a list of names to eliminate, before he stopped himself. They could share a few things, but names and places—anything that could lead to their identification, were forbidden topics. It was a line he would not cross.
Jazzy: Perhaps we should speak of a lighter matter? Hobbies, mayhaps?
Shark Avenue: Uh, yeah, sure… I'm a bit of an inventor…
Alastor woke up with his phone resting lightly in his hand. He had fallen asleep talking to Shark. Trying his hardest to stay awake as he text. Now, a half typed message sat unsent, his train of thought long gone. With sudden clarity Alastor realized, to his absolute horror, that he was in love. He tossed his phone to the end of his bed, as though tossing the device away would banish the care and affection that had already settled in his chest. He rubbed at his sternum, his brows furrowing as his smile cracked at the edges.
Fuck.
Fuck…
FUCK!
He pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, a screech of static interference escaping him as he fell back onto his bed. He didn't do feelings and he most certainly did not do love. He was incapable of it! A killer like him could never experience it, could never know what it felt like- he had felt his mother's love hadn't he? And loved her in turn. He shook his head, banishing the thought, this was different. This was… Shark. A random sinner he was talking to that meant nothing to him.
Alastor repeated it over and over to himself like a prayer.
Shark means nothing to me.
Shark means nothing to me.
He means nothing to me.
He means nothing to me!
He means…something to me.
"Fuck," he whispered, the ache in his chest lingering.
He could disappear. He could push Shark away. He could, like he did to Vincent all those years ago, shatter him. But as he grabbed his phone, he knew he couldn't. He didn't know Shark and Shark didn't know him. There were no stakes to this, no harm in letting himself be hopelessly in love with someone he would never know. Still a part of him resented the small device he held in his hand. He should have never let Axel talk him into one, even if it was to antagonize the King of Hell. Now, the device was proving to be his downfall.
He erased the half typed message and sent instead:
Jazzy: Good morning, dearest. Sleep well?
Shark Avenue: pffft… you're cheesy. Yeah I slept well hbu?…
(Yet another thing Alastor had to ask Axel about. What did "h.b.u." mean?)
The conversations Alastor had with Shark took a turn once he realized he was in love with him. The flirting came easier, probably because he was constantly practicing it, but also because now he meant it in one way or another. He wanted to affect Shark in the same ways he was being affected.
Which had led to this.
Alastor looked over the photo again, ensuring that nothing was visible. He refused to accidentally reveal his identity from a single photo. When he was absolutely certain Shark would not be able to tell who he was, he sent the photo. The photo was of his chest down to the top of his pants, showcasing his slim physique. He had been careful to hide his new scar within the fluff on his chest, just in case. You could never be too careful, after all.
Jazzy: your thoughts, my dear?
Shark Avenue: fuck…I- fuck. Can I send a photo in turn? It'll…
Shark Avenue: Can I send you one of my cock?
Alastor blinked in surprise. He had never had much interest in seeing anyone's genitalia. His own had always just been there, not something he ever gave much thought. Did people find them sexy? It made no sense to him. But here Shark was asking for his permission to send a dick-pic. (Axel so helpfully called it that the other day when she was teasing him about it—she was lucky he was fond of her, else he might have killed her.) All in response to seeing his abdomen. It was almost comedic, but Alastor decided to humor him regardless.
Shark Avenue: if not that's okay! I don't mind, I uh…can send something else… or nothing at all! Whatever…
Jazzy: you may.
Shark Avenue: oh fuck, really? Okay! Well, you can always delete it if it makes you uncomfortable and tell me…please…so I don't accidentally send another one…
Shark Avenue: image.jpg talking to you makes me so fucking hard…
Alastor took a deep breath, centering himself before he pressed into the chat. A soft blush settled onto his cheeks as he froze in place. Because there on his screen, was a cock, yes, but not just any person's cock.
"Shark's" skin was a deep blue, the head of his cock a bright cyan, matching the claw tips of the hand wrapped around it.
And Alastor recognized who it was in an instant. He'd seen that dick months ago, flashed in his face much to his utter discontent, while he had been bound to a desk chair. And if he hadn't recognized the cock, he would have known Vox by his hands.
He clicked off his phone and tossed it to the side, ignoring the way his own penis had twitched to life in his slacks. Alastor fell back against his bed and let out a noise of utter agitation and anguish. He didn't want to think about the fact that he had, by complete accident, become friends with Vox again. He didn't want to think about how he had fallen in love with the sinner again. (he would never admit it had happened in the first place.) And he most certainly did not want to think about the fact that he hadn't pushed Vox away this time—he should have, just as he did so long ago, but he hadn't.
Alastor didn't reply for the rest of the day, but he heard each notification and read each text received.
Today 12:00 PM
Shark Avenue: hey, I'm sorry… I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. You can delete the photo….
Today 1:25 PM
Shark Avenue: listen…I don't need the sexual side of things. Your companionship is all I need…
Days later Alastor received multiple pings of drunken texts from Shark Vox far too early in the morning.
Today 9:03 AM
Shark Avenue: listne I don't need…that. K need u
Shark Avenue: can bed talk?
Shark Avenue: I miss yyou…pleade ralknn to me?… Jazz…
Shark Avenue: I'm doorrry…
But Alastor never replied. How could he? What would he say? "I'm sorry, Shark. I've realized who you are and I can't do this anymore?" Or, "This was all a lie. You never meant anything to me." Maybe even, "you're pathetic to think this could have been anything more than a game to me."
But he didn't say any of those. Instead he got trapped in his head wondering what would have happened if he had said yes to Vox all those years ago. What would have happened if he had said yes to him when he had just been Vincent? It wasn't lost on him that he could have been out of his deal with Rosie much, much, sooner. But he had been scared.
And that realization right there didn't sit right with him.
The Radio Demon, scared?
Ha!
But it had been the truth. He had been scared that Vox just saw him as another stepping stone, another person in his way to eliminate. And hadn't Vox proved him right over the years? He had been trying to eliminate him, over and over. But that had been after his rejection. Fuck, what if he had said yes?
Alastor got lost in hypothetical after hypothetical. He realized that Vox had always just wanted this, wanted this level of companionship and mutual respect. The picture-box had respected him and his boundaries for the most part when they were friends—his touch had been tolerable once. Together they could have been the strongest in Hell. But Alastor hadn't wanted to share the spotlight, not so unlike Vox when he was alive.
And now he was regretting that night. He regretted laughing in Vox's face and mocking him, because he had cared for Vox. He had respected him. He always blamed Vox for ruining things, but really, it had been him who had done that. Hadn't it? And now he was realizing it. And so he sulked.
Believing that he could never fix this.
His phone got banished into the ether, and he considered it as good as non-existent. Besides, the device annoyed him anyhow and he saw no point in having a phone. It had been a silly notion all along, something he only humored Axel with for his own amusement. He shoved the truth to the back of his mind, covering it with excuses because he didn't want to accept that the only good the useless thing had done for him—was to reconnect him with Vox.
Axel was fuming when he got back to the Hotel. He bee-lined straight for Alastor, actually managing to startle him.
"You," he growled, "my room. Now."
Alastor wasn't going to be told twice, not when Axel looked like they were seconds away from murdering him. He had never seen them look so angry. He slipped into the shadows, following after them as they made their way to their room. He stepped out of the shadows into the room ahead of them, idly leaning on his staff.
She entered and slammed the door shut behind her before whirling on him. "You need to text him!"
"Text who?" He feigned ignorance, looking down at his nails with sudden interest.
She let out a frustrated groan, plopping herself down into her chair heavily. "Come on, Al, I figured it out. It's not hard to do when you've been temperamental and are suddenly not slinking off into the shadows to use your phone."
"I lost it." A simple deflection as he narrowed his eyes, daring Axel to step out of line.
"Don't give me that crap. And Vox has been acting like a love-sick puppy that was kicked down a flight of stairs. He was the one texting you, wasn't he?" They asked, their tone softening when they asked if it had been Vox.
Alastor didn't want to reply, but he knew that Axel had figured it out and there was no denying it now. "I…found out it was him, yes."
"And you broke his heart. Again." They deadpanned.
To that, he took insult, static picking up around him heavily. "Excuse me? I didn't break his heart!"
She shook her head, "he's been pathetic, Al. Taking it out on his employees, including me, by the way! Just text him for fucks sake."
"And say what?" He asked, a note of desperation entering his tone, so unlike him. "He sent me a…picture, and then I stopped talking to him. There's nothing I can say that will rectify this."
He lifted his staff into his hands, tightening his hold around it, "there's nothing I can do to reconcile everything!"
"Then ask him to meet up." They suggested and they were certain his smile was about to drop.
It frayed at the edges but stayed stubbornly constant, his eyes the only sign of his distress.
"I will not." He stated firmly, trying to convince himself more than her.
Inside he was a whirlwind of emotions, his chest aching as he was transported back to that evening, nearly 71 years ago now.
Soft music played in the background from the jukebox directly behind Alastor and Vox, his whiskey was low and he actually felt relaxed for once. Vox's presence seemed to do that, even as the box-headed demon rambled on about modern entertainment starting with radio. He hummed, resting his cheek on his hand, he was just a little bored of Vox's continued talking, if not a little overstimulated. The man certainly liked to hear himself talk, didn't he?
But he was also perceptive, "Ah, am I boring you with my compliments?"
Alastor's smile widened, but managed to stay soft, his eyes flickering with amusement and a little bit of affection that he would deny ever feeling. "perhaps…"
Finally Vox decided to get to the point, something that Alastor was eager to hear. His smile softened again, perhaps it was the whiskey in his system, or perhaps it was Vox himself. Alastor would blame the whiskey. He felt Vox lean in but he didn't move. He was watching his friend associate talk, taking note of his expressive face. His gaze wavered once when Vox placed his hand on his shoulder. It was an unwanted touch, but it had been soft and fleeting on Vox's part. It was a touch that Alastor trusted him with.
He was amused that Vox "getting to the point," was him continuing to ramble. He should have known that the TV-headed sinner would blabber on, still Alastor listened, he always did. He chuckled softly when Vox imitated him, all the way down to his monocle. It was cute. He was left smiling bigger now thanks to Vox's antics, the sinner had always been rather entertaining.
"…it's in your best interest to hear me out."
Finally! Vox was getting to the point.
Alastor sat up, perking his ears up in interest, prompting the other sinner with, "I'm listening, pal."
He turned to the barkeep, requesting another whiskey before flicking a gold coin to the bird-like sinner in payment. He rested his hand over the glass, watching Vox's animated proposal. Vox leaned down, resting his hands over his shoulders, his touch firmer—it was unappreciated. Alastor's radio waves picked up on Vox's antenna, something that happened when they were that close. Vox stepped back quickly to disconnect the connection.
"…Me and you! We could rule Hell. Together- as partners!" Vox offered him his hand.
Alastor who had started lifting his whiskey glass to take a sip, paused. Blinked. And set the glass down again. He looked at Vox's offered hand, then up at his earnest face. Realizing he was being completely genuine, though Alastor hoped that it was all just a bad joke. What they had was good, he was okay with how things were now. Acquaintances who remained civil as they did their own things. It was safe that way, always ensuring that he would be the one out on top. Always the strongest sinner in Hell. A partnership would shatter that illusion and risk his downfall. Which was something he could not afford.
So he laughed. He laughed maniacally, throwing his head back as he fought to deflect Vox's offer. He leaned in, laughing at the sinner's extended hand, laughing in the face of his offer.
But his eyes were dark, his brows furrowed, something he tried to hide, "Oh, you're serious!"
He bowed his head, his shoulders shaking as he shook his head. "Oh come now, Vox!" He kept laughing even as it strained and broke at the end, something forced out of him.
He sat back up, voicing things that he had kept at the back of his mind for as long as he had known Vox. Things that he had excused because he was fond of the other sinner, things that felt like the perfect ammo right now.
Things he was using to convince himself and Vox that he was as he said, "so weak!" If Vox saw the distress on his face, he was certain that the man would just assume he was seeing things.
Vox seemed genuinely confused, if not a little shattered. Alastor grasped his hair, trying to push down his own emotions fighting back against him. He didn't do partnerships. He didn't do friendships. And he most certainly did not do feelings. He forced himself to laugh, banging on the bar-top as if to squash down his emotions, while punctuating his amusement.
"You need me to join your team!" Alastor's smile was strained, his brows furrowed.
He was in for a penny, he might as well be in for a pound. "…asking for assistance? A partnership?"
Alastor didn't do partnerships, he didn't do friendships, and he didn't do feelings. Ever. It was time to nip this in the bud before it had time to bloom into something there was no coming back from.
"I am quite disappointed in you." It was the truth.
Alastor had been eager to see where Vox might go as he grew stronger, as he built himself up from nothing and gained almost as much power as Alastor had. They could have been civil, bouncing off one another for years to come. But as Vox muttered something about them being friends, Alastor felt something inside himself snap. A fear.
And he didn't do fear either.
"Friends‽ There are no friends in Hell, Vincent." He got in Vox's face, hiding his initial anger behind a manic grin. "I thought that was something you understood! How embarrassing…"
"Al?" Axel asked cautiously, taking a step towards the Radio Demon as he stared off into the distance.
Alastor came back to himself, turning his back to her as he snapped his fingers to summon his phone from the ether—where he had banished it to a little over a month ago.
"I'm not going to," he insisted as he powered the device on and clicked onto his chat with Vox.
Axel let out a soft breath, "sure, Al. Good luck," he headed towards the door, leaving the room.
Jazzy: …do you want to meet up? We have some things to discuss…
Nearly instantly Alastor's phone pinged with a response.
Shark Avenue: hey! Hi! Uh, yes. Name the time and place. I'll be there…
Axel stood outside his bedroom for a beat, then turned back and pushed inside, "hey wait a second! This is my… room…" he trailed off as he realized Alastor was already gone.
Alastor was an anxious ball of nerves, shadows dancing at the edge of his body like they were ready to yank him into the ether at a moment's notice. He had named the place. He had named the time. Now he just needed to wait for Vox to show.
He was certain he was an idiot. Why did he have to choose the same bar he had rejected Vox in all those years back? Would Vox even show knowing what the location meant to him? The bad memories it must have invoked? He was still spiraling when the bell over the door sounded, announcing a new arrival, and in came Vox.
His head was back on his body—that had been obvious by the fact that he had sent Alastor a photo of his cock. He looked… good, all things considered. Like he hadn't nearly gone insane trying to blow up all of Pentagram City just to "wipe that smile off Alastor's fucking face." Vox had a hopeful, almost boyish spark in his eyes, the same spark that Alastor had crushed 71 years ago. A spark that died again in an instant when he saw Alastor sitting at the bar, watching him. Alastor was in the same exact seat he had been all those years ago, in hindsight, it was a bad decision.
The Media Overlord's shoulders dropped as fast as his smile. His expression darkened and he pointedly ignored Alastor as he approached the bar. He wasn't going to give Alastor the satisfaction of his attention. He didn't need his failure rubbed in his face. If he wasn't meeting Jazz, he'd have just left.
"Salutations, old pal." The Radio Demon greeted.
Vox sighed, agitated, unable to withhold a response, "look, Alastor, can we not? I get it, I know, I'm a weak, pathetic failure. Blah, blah, blah. Just leave me alone, I'm… waiting for a friend."
Oh, Alastor just can't resist teasing him. He'd done this song and dance with Vox for years, but now it was different. Now it was softer. More important.
His grin widened, "oh, a friend? And what does this friend look like, maybe I can keep an eye out for you?"
Vox sighed, refusing to look at him. "Fuck off."
"Oh come now, sweetheart, surely you won't leave me hanging?" He was being an asshole and he knew it, "you don't want to leave your friend disappointed, now do you?"
"You," Vox snapped before reigning himself in, "are not my friend, now leave me alone. I have someone more important than you to meet."
Alastor swirled his finger around the top of his whiskey glass, "More important you say? And what happens if he never shows?"
Claws gouged deep marks across the counter top and finally Vox looked at him. "You know what? Fuck this. I'm not going to stand here and be mocked by you. You are not going to ruin the one good thing I- the one good thing…"
He trailed off, doubt flooding through him and infecting his systems in a way that only Alastor could do. He pushed away from the bar, already planning on texting Jazz to reschedule. Panic shot through Alastor, here he went fucking things up again. He caught Vox by the hand, desperate to get the sinner to stay. Vox turned towards him sharply, more than prepared to shove him away.
Alastor didn't allow him, instead he yanked him down into a kiss, one born from panic and desperation. For a brief moment, the tiniest, briefest moment, Vox let himself enjoy the kiss. Before he shoved himself back, wiping at his mouth and glaring daggers at the Radio Demon.
"What the fuck?" Vox sneered, not sure what to make of fucking Alastor kissing him!
Alastor's voice was soft, vulnerable, and lacking the radio overlay, "We've always been on the same wavelength, Vincent… And if you still wanted to hear me sing, I could."
Vox opened his mouth, disbelief and anger flooding him in equal measures as he recognized those words, "Excuse me?"
The Radio Demon took a deep breath, "Axel had to inform me what '69' meant. I much preferred to refer to you as "Shark Avenue" and then "Shark." In hindsight, I should have known it was you, only you could be so obsessed with sharks."
Vox stopped.
He stood stock still, his antennae drooping, his mind racing. This was a cruel joke. This was Alastor kicking him while he was down and rubbing salt in the wound.
"Holy…" He laughed maniacally, "you're Jazzy24/7? Fuck! Of course you are! Of fucking course you are!"
His systems glitched, his face playing out the struggle of his emotions. Alastor waited patiently, his chest aching when he saw the tears building in the corners of Vox's eyes.
"…Should have known it was too good to be true," his voice was thick, full of defeat and anguish. "It's always another one of your games. When will it be enough for you, Alastor? When I'm dead?"
The Radio Demon felt a spark of annoyance, but shoved it down. He knew that he was the one who had hurt Vox all those years ago, he was the reason he had given him reason to doubt his sincerity. And he had played him, over and over, and over. He needed to be patient.
"I'm in love with you, Vincent." He said it before he could stop it— with such conviction that he even surprised himself. "All I'm asking for is a chance. I know I don't deserve it after everything I've done."
A beat of terse silence passed between them.
"Fuck off," Vox barked out a dry laugh, not believing him for a single moment.
Alastor refused to be deterred, he had over seventy years to make up for, "but I'm asking for it anyway, because somehow, someway, we became friends again. And I fell in love with you again." His voice caught in his throat.
Vox was certain he was dead or at the very least dreaming. He wasn't this delusional, was he? This wasn't real, it couldn't be happening. Alastor couldn't be saying these things while sounding so genuine.
"If you'll have me, old pal," Alastor offered his hand to him, a mirror to how Vox had once offered his hand, "we could try again."
"You think I'd trust you?" Vox found himself saying, his chest aching.
He refused to allow Alastor to shatter his heart again, he had sworn to never let himself be hurt like that again.
Alastor countered, "you trusted me enough to send me a photo of your cock, didn't you?"
And Vox shut up immediately, guilt flashing through him, he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly more Vincent than he had been in years, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
The Radio Demon laughed and shook his head, "…I consented to the photo. It was me recognizing you that… scared me."
Vox's ego grew a size, "you recognized me by my dick?"
Alastor was not letting Vox have that, "well your hand, but yes, I did."
The TV-headed demon sat down next to Alastor, falling silent before hesitantly asking, "…so, what now?"
The Radio Demon took a second to ground himself, to accept that this is what he wanted. That he wanted it with Vox. That he was okay sharing the title of Hell's strongest sinner. (though he'd definitely be insisting that he was stronger than Vox regardless if they were the strongest sinners in Hell—together.)
"Whatever you want, my dear. So long as you'll have me." It was a confession of sorts, one over seventy years late, but a confession nonetheless.
"Fuck yes," Vox breathed, choosing, despite his better judgment, to trust Alastor, "I'll have you in whatever way you'll let me have you. That's all I ever wanted, radio and video, together."
A beat, and then Vox grinned, unable to help himself, "so, what'd you think of the dick pic?"
Alastor rolled his eyes, but his smile softened into something genuine. This is what he could have had with Vox, this is what he was going to have with Vox. He would make certain of it.
In episode seven when Vox is talking to Charlie on the phone to invite her to his "little shindig," he's tapping his fingers on his desk, and I need that as a gif. Please and thank you. 🙏
So that Vox project I'm working on... (There's technically two.)
It somehow went from a snowball to an avalanche...
I'm excited about it, but it's also threatening to bury me alive, so in the meantime I'm working on my other Vox project. That I'm also excited to share with everyone.
It's not technically Wednesday but I'm giving y'all a sneak peak of both projects anyway.
(also I'm very aware of my kinktober-not-so-october and I am working on it. I just needed a break from it because I was burning out real bad. 🫶)
