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It was three in the morning when Vox woke up with a start.
It wasn’t a gradual awakening, the kind where you float between dreams and reality. It was a whip-crack of consciousness, an urgency so physical, so primal, that his body tensed before his brain had even finished processing what was happening.
His three-month belly was a perfect sphere beneath the sheets, and Alastor’s shadow, which had developed a new obsession since the news was confirmed, was coiled around him like a lazy snake, its cool velvet texture pulsing softly in a rhythm that mimicked a heartbeat. It caressed his skin with a tenderness it had never shown before, as if it knew exactly what was growing inside.
Alastor slept behind him, his chest pressed against the curve of Vox’s back, an arm wrapped around his waist just below his belly, his hand resting on the roundest part with a possessiveness that even sleep couldn’t dissolve. His breathing was deep, rhythmic—the breathing of a predator finally allowing itself to rest because it knows its treasure is safe.
But Vox couldn’t wait.
“Al!” His voice came out sharper than he intended, and his hand found his husband’s arm, shaking it back and forth with an urgency that would have been comical under other circumstances. “Al, wake up. Al!”
The effect was immediate.
Alastor sat up abruptly, his body going from absolute stillness to maximum alert in a fraction of a second. His red eyes opened with a dangerous gleam, and the shadows on the walls came alive with a sharp, violent movement. They spread out like tentacles, searching, scanning, looking for the threat that had disturbed his Omega.
The curtains rustled without any wind. The candles that had been out for hours flickered to life with a soft crackle. In the corners, the shadows condensed into pointed shapes, ready to strike.
“What’s wrong?” Alastor’s voice was a deep growl, thick with static, and his hands were already on Vox, running over his body, searching for wounds, for danger, for anything that could be wrong. “Are you okay? The babies? Does it hurt? Who touched you? Tell me who—”
“The babies,” Vox interrupted, and his voice had a tremor that made Alastor tense every muscle in his body. “Al, the babies…”
Alastor stood quickly, his shadows expanding in every direction, already scanning for weak points in the tower’s defenses, for the face of any demon who had dared approach his family. His mind calculated, planned and killed.
“What’s wrong with them? What’s happening?”
Vox looked at him from the bed, his eyes shining with an intensity that Alastor, in his state of high alert, took one second too long to interpret.
It wasn’t pain. It wasn’t fear.
It was something simpler.
“They want chocolate with cheese,” Vox said, and his voice was a mix of urgency and pleading that brooked no argument. “Right now, Al. The babies are craving chocolate with cheese.”
The shadows on the walls stopped.
The candles flickered, confused.
Alastor blinked.
Once, then again. His shoulders, which had been taut as violin strings, began to relax as his brain processed the information. His expression went from murderous fury to a kind of bewildered disbelief in a matter of seconds.
“Chocolate… with cheese?” he repeated, as if the words didn’t quite fit together in his mind.
Vox nodded vehemently, his hand on his belly, feeling the movements that had already become familiar over the past few months.
“I was sleeping and suddenly… bam! I can’t stop thinking about it. I need it. They need it. Al, please, if I don’t eat chocolate with cheese in the next five minutes, I’m going to cry.”
And from the way his eyes were starting to glisten, Alastor knew it wasn’t an exaggeration.
For a moment, just one moment, the great Alastor, the demon who had made Overlords and common sinners alike tremble, stared at his Omega with an expression anyone watching would have called baffled.
But then he knew he had two choices: get the damn chocolate with cheese, or face the hormonal consequences of a three-month pregnancy.
He made the wisest decision of his long existence.
“Chocolate with cheese,” he murmured, already moving toward the door, his black robe floating behind him. “Anything else? Anything specific? Toasted? Melted? With some kind of bread?”
Vox smiled, a radiant smile that lit up the room. The shadow adjusted itself more snugly around his belly, as if sensing his excitement over the craving.
“With toast,” Vox said, settling back against the pillows with an expression of pure satisfaction. “And lots of melted chocolate to savor it properly.”
Alastor stopped at the door, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. When he turned around, his smile was wide and his eyes gleamed with a tenderness few had ever seen.
“Anything else, mon cher?”
Vox thought about it for a moment, his hand stroking his belly with deliberate slowness.
“The chocolate with cheese first. Please, Al.”
Alastor laughed, a warm, deep sound that echoed through the tower’s hallways.
“Whatever you say, dear. The cravings of my offspring are my priority. As ridiculous as they may be.”
And as his Alpha disappeared down the stairs toward the kitchen, Vox curled up between the sheets, the shadow coiled around him, and smiled. Because yes, three months of pregnancy had their complications. His feet were starting to swell, his back ached sometimes, and he had cried three times that week over perfume commercials he didn’t even like.
But he had Alastor. He had his babies. And in a few minutes, he would have chocolate with cheese.
He didn’t need anything else.
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The car had barely stopped in front of the mansion when Vox was already yanking the door open with a sharp tug. His round five-month belly was noticeable even under the elegant formal suit, and his pace was fast ,or at least, as fast as his condition allowed, as he crossed the entryway and headed straight for the main staircase.
Alastor's shadow slid behind him, moving flush against the steps, always ready to cushion any fall if his Omega slipped on his boot heels.
Alastor walked several paces behind, loosening his bow tie with a tired but patient gesture.
"Darling," he said, his voice calm but firm enough to be heard as they climbed, "I was not flirting with that Omega."
Vox didn't respond. He only quickened his pace, his screen glowing with an annoyed tint, until he finally reached the door to their bedroom. He stormed inside like a whirlwind, and Alastor followed, closing the door softly behind him with a quiet click.
When Vox turned around, his enormous eyes were full of tears. They shimmered like two drowned stars, trembling and accusatory, and his voice came out broken and shrill.
"Yes, you were! You laughed with him..." His lips quivered. "It's because he's thin and small, isn't it? I'm fat and ugly now..."
A tear rolled down his face.
"You don't like me anymore!"
The pillow flew through the air before Alastor could blink. He dodged it with a slight tilt of his head, and the pillow crashed against the wall behind him. He couldn't help it — a small smile curved the corner of his lips.
God, his Omega was precious like this. All fire, all drama, his face flushed and his belly beautifully round. Alastor felt his chest fill with an almost ridiculous tenderness.
"Baby," he said, stepping toward him, "I was not flirting with that insignificant Omega. I don't even remember his name."
Vox opened his mouth to protest, but Alastor was already drawing him in with a firm arm around his waist. His other hand descended gently to rest on the taut curve of his five-month belly, where life pulsed warmly beneath his palm.
"There is no Omega more beautiful than you," Alastor murmured, his voice deep and rumbling. "Round. Radiant. Carrying my pups. How could I look at anyone else when I have this in front of me?"
Vox sobbed, a small, choked sound that he tried to turn into an indignant huff.
"I don't... I don't want you to hug me right now," he mumbled, but his arms were already rising to wrap around his Alpha's neck, and his body was melting against Alastor's as if he'd never intended to resist in the first place.
The shadow, which had stayed close but without touching the furious Omega, finally curled itself around their ankles.
Vox buried his face in Alastor's neck, and his voice was barely a damp whisper against his skin.
"Do you really... still find me beautiful?"
Alastor pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, those two bright, misty stars, and smiled with a softness that would have been terrifying to anyone else.
"The most beautiful in the whole damn Hell," he whispered, and the truth in his voice was so absolute it left no room for doubt.
Then, with an elegant movement, he began guiding him toward the bed. His fingers traced a slow path along Vox's hip, and his voice dropped to a seductive purr that made the Omega tremble in his arms.
"Do you want me to prove it to you, mon cher?"
Vox, his face still damp and his eyes shining like beacons in the dim light, nodded before his mouth found Alastor's.
---------------------------------
Going out was getting harder and harder.
Alastor had noticed it since week twenty-eight, but now, with Vox at seven months and that belly round as a full moon, leaving the mansion had become an absolute torture. His feet moved toward the door, yes, but his heart, his instinct, every fiber of his Alpha being clung to the warmth of his home, to the scent of his Omega, to the sight of that round belly moving with every breath Vox took.
He didn't want Vox to go out anymore. Not even into the garden. In his most vulnerable months, with that enormous belly where his pups were growing, Alastor preferred to keep him safe in his nest, wrapped in blankets and shadows, protected from the cruel and filthy world around them. He himself wanted to stay home with him. To care for him. To kiss every inch of his Omega. To caress that round belly and feel the babies moving beneath his palm, tiny kicks that made him smile with a gentleness he had never known before Vox.
He loved burying his face in his Omega's thicker thighs, now softer, fuller, and simply inhaling. That electric, sweet almond scent that drove him mad, anchored him to the earth, made him feel complete in a way that even power or blood could not achieve.
But an empire didn't maintain itself.
And that night, Alastor had had to go out. A business meeting, a couple of settlements, the usual. Nothing he hadn't done a thousand times before. But now everything was different.
Because Vox had looked at him from the threshold of the nest, with those enormous bright eyes, wet and pleading, without saying a word, just watching him while holding one of his jackets against his chest. And Alastor almost, almost, canceled everything. But responsibility weighed heavily, and he had promised to keep them safe, and to keep them safe he needed power.
He left.
But Vox's scent went with him.
It was soaked into his clothes, his neck, his hands. That electric, sweet smell, so intense now with the advanced pregnancy, followed him like a second skin. Alastor knew others could smell it. He knew his presence screamed that he had a pregnant Omega waiting for him at home.
It bothered him. But he tolerated it.
Until another idiot Alpha approached.
He was a minor sinner, the kind who thought they were important for controlling three blocks of a forgotten district. He approached Alastor in a run-down bar where he had gone to gather information, and noisily inhaled the air near his shoulder.
"Well, well," he said with a greasy smile, "what an incredible scent you're carrying, Mister Alastor. Is that your Omega? Smells... delicious."
And he leaned in. He leaned toward him, bringing his nose to Alastor's neck, inhaling deeply to feel more of that Omega scent, his Omega's scent, his pregnant Omega's scent.
Alastor felt the world turn red.
His hand went through the Alpha's chest before he could exhale. Hot blood splattered his face, and he didn't stop. He couldn't. Instinct roared inside him, bestial and blind: no one smelled his Omega. No one approached what was his. No one breathed the same air that carried the essence of his pups.
What followed was not a fight. It was a massacre.
Alastor took his time. He tore. Broke. Bit. He reveled in the crunch of bones and the gush of viscera. He left the bar dragging blood through the streets, and then continued through the entire neighborhood. Minor sinners, bystanders, anyone who crossed his gaze. There was no mercy. No reasoning. Only the Alpha, only the owner, only the monster who would protect his family with fangs and claws even if he had to burn all of Hell.
When the red fog finally lifted, Alastor was standing in the middle of an alley soaked in red, breathing heavily, his jacket sleeves in shreds and blood dried up to his elbows.
He blinked.
Vox.
He had to go back to Vox.
He arrived at the mansion when the night was already advanced. He entered without making a sound, but the shadows greeted him with an anxious whisper, moving toward him as if recognizing his return. He climbed the stairs with heavy steps, trying to compose himself, to soften the murderous edge still gleaming in his eyes.
When he opened the bedroom door, the dim light from Vox's screen illuminated the nest.
Vox was there, curled up among pillows and blankets, one of Alastor's jackets crushed against his face. His enormous belly rose beneath the light fabric of his pajamas, and his hands rested on the perfect curve, caressing it with slow gestures.
As soon as he felt his presence, Vox sat up. Or tried to. With a seven-month belly, moving was an ordeal: first he braced his hands on the bed, then turned carefully, and finally stood up with a small effort that made Alastor take a step forward instinctively to help him. But Vox was already walking toward him, swaying slightly, with those enormous eyes full of relief and something that seemed about to spill over into tears.
"Al," he murmured, and his voice was small, fragile, so different from his explosive personality. "You're finally back."
He sank into Alastor's chest without waiting for an answer. His arms wrapped around his waist, his face buried in his neck, and Alastor felt his whole body trembling. The electric, sweet almond scent enveloped him completely, and for a moment, the smell of blood and death dissolved.
"The babies won't stop moving," Vox whispered against his skin, and his voice was one of contained relief. "They missed you so much. I missed you so much."
Alastor closed his eyes. His arms wrapped around his Omega's back with almost desperate pressure, and his hands found their way to that round, taut belly. Beneath his palms, he felt a tiny movement. A kick. Or maybe a fist. A life claiming its place in the world.
"I'm here now," Alastor said, and his voice came out hoarse, broken by everything he couldn't say. "I'm here now, darling."
Vox lifted his face. His eyes looked at him, pierced through the shadows of his soul, and for a moment Alastor feared he would be bothered by the smell of blood on him or the same liquid on his skin.
But Vox only smiled, tired and beautiful, and rested his head on his shoulder.
"Come with me to the nest, please?" he asked, and it wasn't an explosive order or a dramatic tantrum. It was a request, soft and sincere, the voice of an Omega who needed his Alpha.
Alastor lifted him carefully —one arm under his back, another supporting the precious weight of his belly— and carried him back to the nest. He settled him among the blankets, stripped off his stained jacket, and curled up beside him, one hand always on that round belly and a promise whispered against the top of his head.
"I'll stay here, mon cher. Sleep," he said in a hoarse voice, and Vox purred, curling against his chest as if he had been waiting for this comfort for hours.
----------------------------------
The ninth month had arrived, and with it, Alastor's definitive confinement.
There was no Overlord meeting, no settling of scores, no business deal worth more than being at home. His empire could wait. His responsibilities could burn in the fires of Hell for all he cared. Nothing, absolutely nothing, was more important than being here, than being with Vox.
He couldn't take the risk.
The thought of Vox giving birth to his pups alone, without him, made him physically ill. A knot of anxiety tightened in his chest every time he imagined it, and the shadows on the walls grew restless at the very thought. So no. He preferred to stay. He would take care of everything else later. When his pups were safe in his arms. When his Omega was safe.
Vox, for his part, was radiant.
His belly was a perfect, enormous sphere, so large that walking had become an odyssey of small waddling steps and frequent pauses. But that didn't dampen his enthusiasm. Ever since the clock marked the start of the ninth month, the Omega had become a whirlwind of orders and arrangements, reorganizing the twins' room over and over again.
"More to the left!" Vox exclaimed, pointing with an imperious finger as a small servant adjusted a curtain of glowing stars on the wall. "No, my left! Can't you tell left from right?"
Three more servants scurried behind him, carrying cloud-shaped pillows, blankets embroidered with tiny electric bolts, and a mobile of vintage microphones and old-fashioned screens that Vox had specially ordered. He moved around the room with that mix of clumsiness and determination that only a pregnant Omega could have, one hand always resting on his belly to balance the weight, the other gesticulating orders with overflowing energy.
Alastor's shadow slid behind him like a faithful serpent, always inches from his heels, ready to catch him if his shaky legs gave out. Every time Vox bent down to adjust something, the shadow tensed. Every time he took an unsteady step, the shadow spread beneath his feet like a protective rug. Alastor, from the doorway, watched with a crooked smile, his hands behind his back and his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
His Omega was a dictator in slippers and an enormous belly, and Alastor had never been so in love.
But his favorite moments weren't those.
His favorite moments came at night.
In the nest —that giant structure of pillows, blankets, and soft fabrics they had built together in the center of their bedroom— the world shrank to just the two of them. Alastor leaned back against the headboard, and Vox settled against his chest, his back pressed to his Alpha's torso, his enormous round belly rising like a full moon beneath the loose fabric of his pajamas. Alastor's hand always rested on that perfect curve, and beneath his palm, he felt life. Tiny movements. Little kicks. Somersaults. His pups, restless even in the stillness of the night.
Silence enveloped them. Only the soft, rhythmic sound of Vox's breathing, the slow beat of his own heart, and sometimes, very rarely, a small bubbling noise coming from his Omega's belly could be heard. Alastor smiled at that. Nothing else existed. There was no Hell, no Overlords, no empires to rule, no enemies to destroy. Just them. Just their little world of two (soon four) enclosed in a nest of fabrics and shadows.
Alastor looked down and watched Vox sleep.
His enormous bright eyes were closed, tiny lashes resting on his luminous face. His mouth was slightly open, and a small line of drool glistened at the corner of his lips. His breathing was deep and peaceful, and his whole body had relaxed against Alastor's as if that were the only safe place in all of existence.
Alastor's smile softened. It lost all its edge, all its threat. It became something vulnerable, almost human, that no other demon had ever seen, nor ever would.
His Omega was so beautiful like this. Relaxed and trusting. Full of his babies. Letting himself be pampered, letting himself be cared for, purring softly in his sleep whenever Alastor caressed his belly in circular motions. There was nothing more precious in all of Hell. Nothing Alastor treasured more than this moment, this sigh, this peace.
He imagined Vox in a few weeks, perhaps a few days. He imagined him with his pups curled in his arms: two small bodies wrapped in blankets, two pairs of bright eyes (would they inherit their mother's screens? Or would they have their own crimson eyes?), two tiny little hands gripping Vox's fingers. He imagined him whispering silly songs to them, rocking them gently, kissing their foreheads with infinite tenderness.
He would be such a beautiful mother.
And then, when the twins were asleep and safe, Alastor would take him again. He would carry him to their nest, lay him naked beneath him, and remind him how much he loved him. Vox would moan and cling to him, and maybe, just maybe, he would fill him again. Because Alastor wanted more. He wanted an entire pack. He wanted to see Vox round and radiant over and over again.
He was sure Vox would love that idea.
Certainty flooded him like a warm wave, and before he knew it, a deep purr vibrated in his chest. Low, guttural, purely Alpha. The sound made Vox stir slightly in his sleep, seeking more warmth, more contact, to be closer to him.
Alastor closed his eyes.
He buried his face in the nape of his Omega's neck, inhaling deeply that electric, sweet almond scent that was now more intense than ever and mingled with his own —forest and damp moss. The shadows in the room relaxed completely, enveloping the nest in a warm, protective bubble.
Nothing else existed.
Just them. As it always should be.