better a collar than a ring [Radiostatic Yuri Week 2025]
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After a last-ditch effort to save herself, Vox's soul is no longer her own - and Alastor has her old friend just where she wants her.
For Day 1: Lingerie
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“The terms were very simple,” Alastor says, a touch of amusement warming the edges of her words as she steps forward into Vox’s space, shards of glass crunching beneath her heels. “And you agreed quite happily, if you recall.”
“Happily,” Vox repeats in a low, bitter voice as Alastor perches beside her on the arm of the chair. Vox doesn’t flinch away—if anything she leans in, albeit unconsciously. Muscle memory is a powerful thing. “Like I had a choice.” From this higher angle Alastor can see the rapid rise and fall of Vox’s chest, a pleasing swell that betrays her apprehension.
For day 2: Boob appreciation
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Don’t fucking touch me, she wants to spit, even as she lets her forehead fall against Alastor’s chest, throat aching with unwanted memories when Alastor’s arms encircle her. It feels like returning to a once-abandoned home of years gone by, and she wants to scream.
For day 3: bathing together
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the agonising anticipation of waiting by issu (Issushaim)
Fandoms: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon)
10 Sep 2025
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“Are you alright, dear?” Alastor mumbles sleepily against her neck, her puffs of breath tickles of sweet agony. Vox’s skin is on fire, every point of contact torture she can’t get enough of.
“Can’t sleep,” she whispers hoarsely, “I might get up and—”
Alastor's arms tighten around her, claw tips digging sharply into Vox’s flesh. “I’m comfortable,” she says petulantly, and Vox already knows she’s not going anywhere.
For day 4: body worship
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Time passes.
That’s about all Vox can say regarding the matter, really, because there’s not a clock to be found in the entire goddamn suite. Hours, days, weeks, perhaps even months blur and blend into an amorphous haze, and Vox has long given up on trying to keep track. What would the point be? Alastor—very deliberately, Vox knows—keeps no regular schedule. She’ll disappear for an indeterminate length of time to 'take care of hotel business' (her words), only returning to check in on Vox right as she’s nearing the end of her fucking rope.
And, oh, it’s fraying real thin.
For day 5: wedding attire
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Eternity is an awfully long time to hang on nothing but a promise.
For day 6: toxic yuri
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The room is still spinning around them, Vox’s throat dry and stomach nauseous as she looks up, eyes abruptly stinging. Why him?
Why him?
Angel stares down at her, expression twisted in a conflicted amalgamation of incredulity, hatred, disgust, and worst of all—pity.
For day 7: free day
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The hands that settle on her shoulders are warm against the cool clamminess of her skin, and still all Vox feels is a desperate sense of relief. She closes her eyes and tilts her head back as the familiar sensation of Alastor rubbing her cheek against the edge of Vox’s screen envelops her, the tightness in her chest loosening with a shaky exhale. Whenever Alastor returns, it’s hard to think of little else.
As the hotel becomes aware of Vox's situation, the question remains: though freedom will be had one way or another, who will end up paying the price?
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