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A single, sharp thump against his ribs. Hard enough to feel. Hard enough that his breath hitched. He couldn’t stop watching Vox. Vox shining. Vox gloating. Vox destroying the King of Hell in front of thousands. Vox basking in triumph like it was a second skin.
The cameras zoomed in on his grin. The curve of neon light across his face, lit like desire or malice or both. Alastor’s fingers flexed against the restraints. The ropes burned. He liked it. Hated that he liked it. His smile didn’t break, but it faltered, just a flicker, a millisecond, a glitch. He felt heat coil in his gut, something foreign and unwelcome and dangerously alive.
“Damn you,” he whispered, barely audible, his radio voice cracking beneath the words.
(Alastor reconsiders his feelings? for Vox after the Vox Populi performance)Series
- Part 2 of part-time soulmate, full-time problem
Bookmarked by mingcha
04 Jan 2026
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The silence stretched between them then, thick and awkward. Not because they had nothing to say; because they had too much. Too many questions neither wanted to voice first. Too many unspoken rules from Hell suddenly meaningless here.
Vox finally stood, joints cracking in protest. Annoying. Stupid human body. “Look. All I know is we woke up like this. On Earth. Together. With all our memories and none of our powers. So, congratulations, deer boy, you’re stuck with me.”
Alastor pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling sharply through his teeth. “Let me get this straight. I have been forcibly deposited into a mortal vessel, next to you, with no warning, no explanation, and no immediate means of escape?”
“That’s the gist,” Vox said.
Alastor stared at him.
Then laughed.
Or Alastor and Vox find themselves into a different realm with human bodies.
Series
- Part 1 of part-time soulmate, full-time problem
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Bookmarked by mingcha
04 Jan 2026
