Chapter Text
Vox, the king of media, also an absolute asshole behind the scenes, arrives at the Hazbin Hotel as Lilith Morningstar. He doesn't want family bonding; he wants Lucifer's influence and Charlie's raw potential to fuel the Vees' empire.
Alastor is the only one who sees through the disguise. He doesn’t expose Vox immediately—that would be too boring. Instead, he lingers in the shadows, whispering just loud enough for Vox’s internal microphones to pick up
Alastor: "My, my... the 'Queen' seems to have a bit of a flicker in her eyes today. Almost like a dying CRT." "Tell me, dear, do you remember the gutters? Before the neon? You smelled of copper and desperation back then."
Vox: (Teeth gritted, maintaining the Lilith persona) "Your delusions are showing, Alastor. Perhaps a nap is in order?"
Alastor: "A nap? No, I was just remembering a certain pathetic, lonely little screen begging for a scrap of relevance. You can wrap yourself in silk and divinity, but you’re still just a weak piece of hardware playing dress-up."
Lucifer: "Lilith, darling, you’ve been so... quiet. Is everything alright?"
Vox (as Lilith): "Of course, Lu-Lu. Just okay."
Alastor (leaning in): "He’s wondering if his signal will hold, Your Majesty. It’s hard to be a God when you started as a glitch in the trash."
Lucifer: "He?"
Vox (In Mind): I will fucking burn that deer alive. HE'S ALWAYS RUINING THIS FOR ME. I am the CEO of everything! I am not weak. I am not that pathetic loser anymore.
Lucifer questions Alastor’s reference to "he," prompting a tense confrontation pointing at "Lilith" , Vox as Lilith, quickly intervenes to silence the Radio Demon instead of a confession.
Vox dismisses Alastor's comment as a resentment, aiming to deflect suspicion while internally struggling to maintain control of the situation.
Lucifer tilts his head, eyes narrowing as a flicker of red sparks in his pupils. "‘He’? ‘His’ signal? Alastor, don’t speak in riddles. What exactly are you implying about my wife?"
Alastor’s grin widens, static beginning to hiss from his shadow. "Oh, just that the reception in this room is getting a bit... pixelated."
"Ignore him, Lu-Lu," Vox purrs as Lilith, fingers digging into Alastor’s jaw with a strength that isn't purely feminine. "The 'Radio Demon' is just prone to interference when he isn't the loudest voice in the room. He’s reaching for something that doesn't even exist."
He leans closer to Alastor’s ear, his voice dropping to a silken, deadly thread. "Be careful, darling. If you keep talking, I’ll make sure your next broadcast is dead air."
Vox tries to distract Lucifer with a more romantic gesture leaving Alastor,
Vox gives Alastor’s jaw one final, bone-deep squeeze before dismissively shoving him aside. He turns toward Lucifer, his Lilith-expression softening into a look of practiced, intoxicating devotion.
"Ignore him, Lu-Lu," Vox purrs, his voice a flawless mimicry of Lilith’s silken tone. He winds his arms around Lucifer’s neck, pulling the shorter man’s face into the crook of his shoulder to block his view of Alastor’s grin.
Vox leans in, brushing his nose against Lucifer’s in a delicate touch of affection, his voice dropping to a warm hum. "I’ve missed you. Why waste another second on insignificant inconvenience when you have me right here?~" (vox pointing at himself)
Behind Lucifer’s back, Vox’s eyes dart toward Alastor—one eye momentarily flickering into a hypnotic red—sending a silent, harsh "fuck you" Say another word, you red prick, and I’ll turn your shadows into dead air. before he presses a soft, lingering kiss to Lucifer's cheek.
Lucifer’s shoulders drop, the tension bleeding out of him as he leans into the touch with a long, shaky exhale. The terrifying King of Hell vanishes, replaced by a man who looks profoundly, almost pathetically, relieved. He closes his eyes, resting his forehead against Vox's waist.
Lucifer exhales, all the fight leaving him as he melts into the embrace. "You're right... I missed this. I missed you."
Vox smirks into Lucifer's shoulder. Victory. He’s got the King of Hell wrapped around his finger, and Alastor is just... background noise.
Vox leads Lucifer away to savor the win and they spend a night together,
Vox guides Lucifer away with a triumphant, swaying grace, leaning his head against the King’s shoulder as they leave the rage filled deer behind. To Lucifer, it’s a romantic reunion; to Vox, it’s a hostile takeover of the King’s heart. And approval..
The night is a blur of high-stakes performance and hidden adrenaline. In the dim, low glow of lucifer's bedroom, Vox plays the role of the devoted Queen to perfection. Every time Lucifer looks at him with those wide, lonely eyes, Vox feels a surge of electric superiority. He isn't just fooling a sinner; he’s playing the "Big Boss of Hell" like a fucking pawn.
As Lucifer eventually falls into a deep, contented sleep beside him, Vox lies awake in the dark. The "Lilith" mask stays on, but his mind is racing at lightning speeds. Vox has always had sleeping problems even with the Vees it would take long for him to sleep. He would spent the night thinking about his next big move or some undesired sexual fantasies about ALASTOR.
Vox watches the rise and fall of Lucifer’s chest, a digital smirk tugging at the corners of his borrowed lips. He’s not the "trash" Alastor remembers.
While Lucifer sleeps, Vox drops the "Lilith" skin like a heavy coat, his blue screen casting a jagged, neon glow over the velvet curtains.
He moves through the room with predatory efficiency, his claws scraping quietly he digs into the Royal data base and rummages through spare drawers. He’s looking for the ultimate leverage—something to keep the modern stars under his heel and the Radio Demon in the dirt.
He finds it: a hidden ledger detailing "Old Hell" pacts—names of ancient souls that today’s "it-girls" and "pop-stars" are secretly indebted to, those popular bitches owe those ancient motherfucker their savings. He’s found the strings to every puppet in the pride ring.
Suddenly, Lucifer stirs, a pained, sleepy mumble breaking the silence. "Lilith...? Darling, where did you go...?"
Vox’s heart skips a beat. In a flash of blue static and a digitized hiss, he forces his Sinner form to collapse back into the elegant curves of the Queen. The "Lilith" hologram snaps into place just as Lucifer’s eyes blink open.
"I'm right here, Lu-Lu," Vox purrs, his voice hitting that perfect, velvet frequency as he sits in bed next to lucifer. "Just checking the archives, I dont alseep this early."
Lucifer pulls him closer, burying his face in Vox's holographic hair. "Don't leave again. I can't lose you twice."
Vox smirks into the darkness, his internal HUD displaying the stolen data he just secured. He’s got the secrets, and he’s got the King.
Vox stays until morning to ensure Lucifer suspects absolutely nothing.
Vox decides to see the mission through, settling back into the bed as the perfect, dutiful Queen. He adjusts the thin, silver straps of the nightgown—a sheer, elegant piece of holographic data that feels like real silk to Lucifer’s touch. The King clings to him like a man drowning, and Vox, ever the businessman, realizes that staying the night is the ultimate insurance policy against Alastor’s meddling.
As the hellfire sun begins to bleed through the heavy curtains, Vox wakes up —flawless and composed. He spends the morning indulging Lucifer’s whims, listening to his rambling ideas for new circus-themed ducks, all while his internal processors are busy encrypting the stolen files he snatched during the night.
By the time he prepares to "leave for a few errands," Lucifer is practically glowing, completely convinced his wife is back and more attentive than ever. Vox leans down, giving the King a final, lingering kiss on the forehead that tastes like pure manipulation.
"I'll be back soon, darling," Vox promises, his voice a silken lie. "Try not to let the Radio Demon give you a headache while I'm gone!~"
As soon as the heavy doors of the palace slam shut behind him, the Lilith facade ripples and dissolves into jagged blue pixels. Vox stands in the hallway, his screen flashing a triumphant bright cyan. He adjusts his coat, his sharp teeth bared in a genuine sharp grin. He has the King’s trust, the Morningstars’ secrets, and enough dirt to bury every stars in Hell. And somehow use as blackmail.