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impale-me-radio-daddy · 7 months ago

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The Lookalike (Part 9)

☒ Summary: The first thing you remembered after your death was an argument. “No, this isn’t one of my fucking sluts.” The man behind you exhaled, frustrated. “This is a present for you. Something to help you work through your Alastor fixation.” You awaken in Hell as the near-spitting image of a certain infamous radio host. Unfortunately for you, you immediately fall into the clutches of his nemesis, then into the arms of the Radio Demon himself. The final instalment in the Lookalike series (well, maybe there's room for a little epilogue as a treat)- I hope you guys have enjoyed the ride!

☒ Warnings: hermaphrodite!reader, deer!reader, crying!reader, they/them pronouns used, explicit sexual content, Alastor X reader, Vox x reader, Alastor x Vox, threesome reader is in Hell for a reason, canon typical scenarios.

☒ Series Links: Part I Part2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 6 BONUS SCENE Part 7 Part 8 Epilogue

Who am I? The question chewed at the edge of Vox’s psyche through his ride back to the tower, and through his day. Yeah, who were you? Who the fuck turned up in Hell looking like a freshly minted Radio Demon? Who were you that Alastor was willing to put his signature red tailcoat on your back? Vox swore to himself as he returned to the covert footage of you. Not for the sex, no. But the audio. Sweet nothings on your lips behind closed doors, your unguarded words intended for Alastor’s ears only.

“Oh? You were an antiquarian?”

“Close. I used to curate a museum.”

Vox grinned to himself. It wasn’t much of a clue to your identity, sure, but he also knew the date of your death pretty much to the day. That narrowed it down a lot. One of Voxtek’s most lucrative activities was keeping track of the dead- through obituaries and missing person reports from the living world. More people than not ended up in Hell, and there was always money to be made tracking down a new arrival. Vox put a search out for museum curators dead or missing in the last month, and, on a hunch, narrowed it to the US.

There were a handful of candidates, but running an eye over the list, there was only one person you could be, realistically speaking. Only one museum that you could have run.

“Welcome, welcome, one and all,” you spoke to yourself under your breath, words buzzing behind your teeth in practiced harmony as you walked, the phrasing coming to you without thinking after years of practice, to help you slide into the transatlantic accent. “To the Louisiana Historical Radio Museum.”

The territory that Kennedy claimed as overlord wasn’t far from the hotel, so you walked it, the smell of burning plastic cooling on the evening air. You had a smile on your lips as you strolled, humming an old jazz standard. Sinners cringed, backing into dark alleys and doorways to avoid being in your path, and you twirled your cane. Your resemblance to Alastor was more a hindrance than a benefit here, in that it curtailed several possible avenues of approach. Difficult to form a friendly connection, or talk your way into someone’s home, when you wore an outfit synonymous with the word monster. But that was probably just as well- you were hungry for a kill, and desperation was a quality that people could smell a mile off. Besides, your new body did afford some advantages, ones you had spent your weeks at the hotel honing.

Stepping into one of the back alleys and letting the shadows shroud your form, you pressed your talons to the wall. Sharp and strong, they found purchase, and you scaled the side of the building within a few seconds, crawling up and onto the roof. That was a feat that you would have struggled to replicate with your human body, but here you were a different creature, all sharp edges and horrid, grinning points.

The first thing Vox did after finding your name was to check for it on the Voxtek systems.

There were certainly a lot of people down here who wanted to find you. Most names popped up with half a dozen requests, tops- usually immediate family, a lover. You had… huh, that was a lot. And over how many years? Vox felt his screen lag slightly as he scanned the names. None of them relations. Older than you, or close in age. Unless you were the world’s greatest Lothario and all these guys were queuing up for a post mortem hook-up, there was only one kind of person who got this kind of ask list before they died.

“Jesus tittyfucking Christ,” said Vox, mostly to himself. What the fuck had Val been thinking, dumping you on his bedroom floor without so much as a background check? No wonder Alastor liked you so much.

Years of practice had taught you that killing was more art than science; that the most thorough of preparations could be derailed in an instant and that opportunities would present themselves, if you just allowed them. The universe opened itself to those who were generous, and if you left yourself flexible to the how, the act itself was often simply a matter of having the guts to do what the moment needed. This didn’t mean that the task before you didn’t fill you with trepidation, however- quite the contrary. Kennedy was bigger than you physically, an overlord when you were not, and you had little understanding of how or why physical capabilities varied from sinner to sinner. Niffty, for example, was deceptively strong despite her small size- you had seen her do things like break the lock on the cabinet behind the bar in search of bugs to kill.

You had overpowered Alastor, briefly, but that was with angelic wire and the element of surprise, Alastor with a wound across his chest. Relying solely on physical superiority wasn’t smart, and neither was picking a situation where Kennedy could fight back.

Alastor clearly thought you were up to the task. He’d given you his red tailcoat to wear, and you could tell how precious it was to him, from the way he fretted over the way it hung, the ragged edges on the tails. He wouldn’t have let you wear it if he thought you would fail. But his confidence in you was no reason to be foolhardy.

You stalked from roof to roof across the overlord’s territory, noting the deployment of the soldiers in Kennedy’s livery. They loitered, undisciplined, at street corners and food stands, harassing passing sinners, but they were out in force.

“Ugh, there you are.” It took you a second to realize the billboard was talking to you, another to realize it had Vox’s face, scowling at you from an ad for Vox brand soda. “Why the fuck don’t you have a phone yet?

“Maybe because I don’t want people knowing where I am at all times? Not that that seems to be working.” You walked to the edge of the roof, gauging the distance with your eyes, and leapt the width of the narrow alleyway to the next building, landing with a bark of laughter, a giddy feeling in your chest. In your previous life, parkour hadn’t been so much a hobby as an occasional necessity, but your new body took to it with aplomb, your feet finding their place with a flex of your new ankles and knees.

“Seems like yesterday that you could barely walk, now look at you.” Vox leered at you from a second billboard as you walked the roof, long shadows and sharp angles. On top of your head your antlers thrummed, branching in the darkness.

You glanced up. “You helped me find my feet. I’m grateful,” you said, and felt your smile grow wider as a blush, an actual, honest-to-god blush bloomed on Vox’s wide, rectangular face before you turned away, leaping a second alley. Oh, you were graceful now.

“Hey! Can you stand still for one fuckin’ second? I wanna talk to you.” Vox was on the billboard on top of this building now, his face taking the place of the chef in an ad for Voxtek brand ovens.

You relented, squatting down by the frame that supported the billboard, checking out the layout of the streets below and hooking your cane across the back of your shoulders. “Can it wait? I have plans tonight.”

“Oh, fuck my life.” Vox shook his head and you watched with interest as the giant chef on the billboard crouched down to the bottom on the frame. “Of course you’re going after fucking Kennedy.” It was curious, how his demeanor had changed since the overlord’s meeting- there, he’d been keen to scare you, telling you at length about Kennedy’s powers and deeds- but now he seemed resigned to your hunt. What had changed? Had he actually talked to Alastor?

Your plan for tonight had been to scope out his living arrangement, maybe a little stalking, but Vox didn’t need to know that. Instead, you asked a question. “Are you going to stop me?”

Vox raised an eyebrow, the virtual plate of venison behind him steaming. “The fuck would I stop you, baby deer? Hell’s most wanted making their spectacular debut?”

Hell’s most wanted? You felt your ears flatten to your skull, a shiver in your gut. What the fuck did Vox know? “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Now, now.” Vox grinned, a glint in his eye. “If you wanna pretend to be Alastor, you’ve gotta smile at least,” he said, and you reached to your face, finding your mouth a single, serious line. You corrected it as Vox continued. “Yeah, there’s a few south americans with a longer list of victims than yours, but I think I’m entitled to some fucking creative license on this, ya know.”

He knew. He had your identity, somehow. And likely the names of the people you had killed who had ended up in Hell. Which would be all of them, if there was any justice in the universe. You breathed out, slow and even, careful to keep your smile in place this time. “Alright. What do you want?”

“Why didn’t you kill me in my sleep?” Vox asked. You thought he was joking at first, but the expression in his eyes told you otherwise. You thought of the nights you’d spent with him, body curled round his, your cheek against the lower edge of his screen. He had been completely unguarded in those moments, and you had been his prisoner.

You gave Vox a puzzled smile. “You were giving me orgasms and food, why the fuck would I kill you?”

“Oh.” If anything, Vox seemed taken aback by your response. Was that more pink and red on his screen? “I, uh- I could do that again.”

“Was that all? You’re not going to threaten me?” You stood, spinning your cane around your wrist. “Like I said, I do have things to do tonight.”

“Now, wait! Wait just one goddamn second, baby deer.” Vox followed you across the billboard as you walked. “I can help.”

That did make you pause. In the mortal world you would have refused without a second thought- an accomplice was a witness and a liability. But here? In Hell, there was no law enforcement save what the overlords dispensed. You would never have asked Vox for a favor, but if he was going to offer his services? For free? Alastor would probably be sniffy about it, but who could blame you for making use of all the resources at your disposal? You looked up at him again. “Can you edit camera footage in real time?”

“Uh, sure.” Vox grinned. “You want me to edit you out of it, yeah?”

“Mhm.” You nodded. “And you’re doing this gratis, right?” This bit was important- you didn’t want to end up owing your soul for something like this.

“Relax, baby deer, trust me,” said Vox, eyes half-lidded, and his voice might have sounded seductive if you weren’t thinking about bloodshed. “No charge, just helping a friend out.”

It took most sinners years to get to the point where they could allow their bodies to shift beyond human norms. Even then, most people made it as far as some horns, some claws, a bit of size before their mental preconceptions, or whatever most people had, stopped them dead. But here you were, full fucking cryptid, crawling the fucking walls. Yeah, you didn’t have Alastor’s freaky shadow powers, and you were still pretty much the same size as you had been, but it barely mattered in this context, with the dark covering you. You were still a monster with glowing dials for eyes.

Vox might have assumed Alastor had done something to you to make you this way if he hadn’t known your history.

Vox might have remembered to be scared if he wasn’t rock hard in his pants just from watching you.

It was almost a shame that you resembled Alastor so strongly. A newly fledged sinner taking down an overlord would be big news, enough to fill the channels with speculation and talking heads for half a cycle at least, but someone who looked like Alastor doing it was just Radio Demon bites man, an item for a slow news day.

Editing you out of footage in real time wasn’t difficult for Vox. You were eerily good at finding the blind spots on the security feeds as you made your approach to Kennedy’s building, only lingering in exposed sections when the alternative would see you in a sinner’s line of sight. Sometimes you would look up at a camera, a tilt of your grinning head to acknowledge his presence as a viewer.

The whole thing was kind of fun, if Vox was honest with himself, the only thing missing from the whole caper being an earpiece to let him annoy your with commentary. It reminded him of accompanying Alastor on his errands, back in the old days, when Alastor would display his full demonic form and then give a small, backwards glance to Vox, to check he was being properly admired.

You hummed the opening bars of the saints as you scaled the wall of Kennedy’s building, ascending to the penthouse. Security cameras were trained on the outer walls to prevent exactly this sort of egress, but you trusted Vox enough that you paid only minimal attention to them, keeping to the blind spots where you could, crawling in shadows where you couldn’t.

You’d been through longer dry spells than this one in your lifetime. A six month stint here, a year there; all of them spent in a state of tension, a spring wound tightly enough that the metal threatened stress fractures. In the few weeks you’d spent in Hell you’d had sex and entertainment aplenty, that ought to have been enough to take the edge from your need. Why then, did this feel worse? You could feel the anticipation running through you, taste it like blood in your mouth. You wanted violence. You wanted pain. You wanted control.

Perhaps that was why you felt like this, so needy that your fingernails ached, that your teeth grew long and pointed in your grin. When you’d held yourself back before it had been of your own accord, lying low to avoid scrutiny, from the police or from your quarry, but here you had been a prisoner of circumstance, first a literal prisoner and then constrained by your own nascent body. You hauled yourself over the ledge and onto the external sill of the penthouse windows, briefly confronted by the reddish glow of your own eyes in the reflection. The glass was single glazed, not shatterproof, the latches easy enough to manipulate from the outside. You could get inside any time you wanted.

You crept round the penthouse from the outside of the building, looking into each room in turn. A lounge area, a kitchen with a breakfast bar, open plan. A bathroom, a jacuzzi tub pressed up against the window for a questionable view of Pentagram City’s skyline.

Finally, the bedroom. Kennedy, asleep. But the effects strewn around the floor of the room belonged to more than one person. You remained still, listening, and sure enough there was a sob from behind the closed door of the ensuite bathroom. Partner? Whore? Probably the latter, given the man had killed his last three partners. Either way, it didn’t matter- it was still someone who would scream if they saw you.

You paused. You didn’t really want collateral, but having a witness was bad too. Not as bad as it would be topside, but Alastor wanted the killing to reflect on the reputation of the Radio Demon, which was easier if no-one saw.

You sucked your lip, thinking. Fuck it. You were unlikely to get a cleaner opportunity than this, and even if it went completely to shit, you still had avenues of escape available. It wasn’t like there was a police force in Hell, anyway.

With a well-placed percussive strike to the frame, you damaged the latch enough to slide open the window and stepped into the room, tucking your cane under one arm as you dropped to the floor.

Opening the bathroom door brought you face to face with a pig sinner with running mascara. You clamped a hand over their mouth to stop them crying out in surprise, then lifted a dramatic finger to your own smiling lips. They nodded once, in understanding, and you released their face before gesturing to the bedroom door. Go. Now.

They obeyed, an expression of terror in their panda-ringed eyes, and you turned to the bed, your quarry’s sleeping form, a surge of ardor coursing through your body. The fleeing pig sinner was likely to alert someone, but you stopped to soak in the moment anyway, the air in your lungs feeling briefly like fire, your pulse resounding through your tongue and through your loins. Here you were. Here was your true self. Glimpsed in the mirror of the walk-in wardrobe, your antlers looked like the tops of dead trees before a yellow moon, like old bones emerging from the bayou in a season of drought, and your breath was the noise of rain on powerlines, an ominous, crackling hum.

There wasn’t a struggle. Only release, sweet and wet and bloody.

What the fuck was taking you so long? For some reason that Vox didn’t understand, Kennedy had neglected to install cameras in his penthouse suite, and he cycled impatiently through the feeds outside. There was certainly something happening inside, a few of Kennedy’s goons milling around the doors. But no sign of you. Vox waited.

He was fairly sure you weren’t in trouble, but what if you were? You were a new sinner, after all, even if you were a murderer, no souls to your name, and no-one knew how exactly how the strength of someone’s soul was determined.

Finally, he phoned Kennedy’s number.

You looked up from the mess of blood on the bed at the glowing blue rectangle of the phone on the dresser. Vox, the screen read.

Oh, your hands were so slick with blood. It took you a couple tries to activate the touch screen, your fingertips leaving red-brown smears that made the screen trip out.

“Vox!” You felt so good now; it made you want to sing. There was blood on your tongue and on your face. “I got a phone!”

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, you fucking ate him, didn’t you.” Vox’s irritation seeped through the surface of the phone, and he sighed. “Listen carefully, baby deer- you need to get the fuck out of there.”

“What? Why?”

“Because Kennedy’s goons think the Radio Demon is in there. Look, baby, you’re dangerous, I get that. I respect it. But you’re nowhere near Al’s level. You’re not gonna hold your own against twenty guys with machine guns. Get the fuck out of that building.”

Somewhere between the swearing and the threats, you started to feel a little more like your normal self. You glanced back at the bed- the remnants of Kennedy didn’t look like anything other than random, discarded meat- he wasn’t coming back, and hopefully that would be good enough for Alastor. “Got it,” you said, and after a couple of failed bloody finger swipes, managed to hang up on Vox.

Popping Kennedy’s phone into your pocket, you headed out.

The path to the hotel ought to have been clear. It had been, when you had headed out. But on your return you found the final intersection before the hotel populated by gangsters, guns trained in all dimensions. They looked nervous. You caught a whisper on the air. Radio Demon.

Of course. You had been seen.

Of course. They were waiting for you. For Alastor.

You stared at the line of goons guarding the intersection, the hotel just beyond them. You tried to take a step forward, but something stopped you, the rattle of a chain, and a pressure on your ankle. Of course. No bringing trouble to the hotel. That had been one of the conditions of your original contract with Alastor, and it was coming into play now. No going through. And chances were that Kennedy’s people had surrounded the hotel in the hopes of catching Alastor. What were your options? You could stay on the streets for the night, bloodstained and dangerous, and hope that you didn’t get caught in any acid rain.

Or you could take your second option. Gingerly, you reached into your pocket and pulled out Kennedy’s phone. His contacts list was sadly devoid of people you knew, so you phoned Vox again.

“Yeah?” He picked up before you had the phone to your ear, and you grinned at the thought that he was waiting for a call back.

“Can I crash at yours tonight? Some guys have barricaded the road to the hotel.” You paused a beat. “No funny stuff.”

There was, of course, another reason you wanted to see Vox. The list of your quarry who were still in Hell was a temptation and a half. Even now, when you were full and sated, with Kennedy’s blood still drying on your skin, you could feel the appeal of it, the symmetry- to hunt the bad men that you had hunted before.

Vox sighed as he grabbed a pair of tumblers and a bottle of yamazaki single malt from his liquor cabinet. This would be so easy, if only he could hypnotize you. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t- he could feel the give of your mind with each little push- you were strong willed but that was all. He had taken stronger minds than yours. He had taken Alastor, for fuck’s sake, had made his eyes glaze over and his slight body go limp under his influence. He had pushed Alastor’s mind, and he’d told himself it had been worth it, up until the point when Alastor had found his abuse, and those red eyes had turned from hard-earned trust to betrayal.

So no, he wouldn’t hypnotize you, even if you had just walked straight into his personal quarters looking like you just walked out of an abattoir and asked to use his sound system.

He’d been right about his impression of you over the phone- you were euphoric and reckless, probably as a side-effect of eating Pentagram’s newest overlord. VNN already had reporters on the scene and there was barely a scrap of Kennedy left, with at least two witnesses now claiming to have seen the Radio Demon.

You were sat about a foot from the speakers, cross-legged, sit bones on the floor, your right hoof resting on your left knee as you basked in the music. Vox crouched beside you, pressing a tumbler into your hand, and, as he was close, pressed his face to the back of your head and breathed in your scent. Fuck, you even smelled like Alastor now; the same mix of musk, formaldehyde and blood that Vox remembered.

Gently, you grabbed the edge of his screen and moved him away. “Stop that.”

“Why should I stop?” Vox asked, his voice coaxing. “You’re worried Alastor’s gonna be mad?”

“No, I think he’d be upset. And I don’t think you want him to be upset either.” You raised an eyebrow at him, and Vox felt a chill run down his spine. “Do you, Vox?”

Fuck. Vox pulled a face. “Am I that easy to read?”

“Maybe.” Your smile was small, and your ears twitched at some unheard thing. “You’re going to need another glass.”

Vox frowned. “For you?”

Your smile grew wider. “For Alastor.”

“Alastor?” Vox repeated.

“Speak of the devil,” said Alastor, his elocution crisp as he manifested from the shadow. “And he shall appear.”

One of the most basic workings in Vodou, the one that Alastor’s mother had warned him to avoid being trapped by, was the exchange of fluids. If a man consumed the menses of a woman, it was trivially easy for her to control him, track him, whatever she wanted. The same was true with men and their seed, and it behooved any practitioner to be careful who they accepted food from. A mutual consumption was a stronger link still, a little of the practitioner in the target and a little of the target in the practitioner.

Though you were neither male nor female, his own personal blasphemous sacred twin, there had certainly been enough exchange of fluids between you. Alastor could feel the power latent in the link; an ancient, primal sort of magic. It wasn’t the sort of thing he usually dabbled in, and if his microphone had been intact he wouldn’t have even considered it, but in his current state it was a comfort. He tuned out the banal late night chatter at the hotel bar in favor of the link to you, the smile on his face automatic. He felt you as you moved across the city, to your intended location, and then your return path to the hotel.

And then, your failure to return.

“Sir?” Niffty asked, a small hand on his knee. Something must have showed in his eyes, because both Angel and Husk were looking at him too. “Is something wrong?”

Alastor gave a terse smile. “Never better,” he said, rising from his seat. “I have merely remembered an errand I must run.”

And run was the operative word, as yet again the conditions of his deal with you compelled him. He would keep you free of being Vox’s prisoner. He had promised.

He had slid across the city and through the tower, a shadow, depleting precious reserves of power, his compass to you unerring, and his heart had lurched when he had found you in Vox’s personal quarters, sat in front of the sound system. When Vox had knelt to smell your hair, Alastor had felt his antlers creak as they grew, fierce and territorial.

Vox’s voice was wheedling, the same tone that had always worked on him somehow. “You’re worried Alastor’s gonna be mad?”

“No,” came your voice, a touch more forceful than you usually were. “I just think he’d be upset. And I don’t think you want him to be upset either. Do you, Vox?”

“Am I that easy to read?” Vox’s face was pathetic, and Alastor’s heart lurched again, with something like pity this time, or perhaps regret. They had been friends once, great friends.

“Al-” Vox breathed, eyes wide.

Alastor stepped past him, to you. His smile was wan. “Darling, you smell like bloodshed,” he said, proffering a red-taloned hand and helping you to your feet. “We should go.”

“Vox was just pouring us drinks,” you said, not wanting the evening to end particularly. Vox still had your list of victims, and the sound system was just as sublime as you thought it would be.

Vox gave you a grateful look, and waggled his expensive bottle of single malt. Alastor looked between the two of you, and sighed. “I suppose we can stay for a round or two,” he said, spreading his fingers. “But at least put some decent music on.”

That was how you had ended up on the couch in Vox’s private quarters, half sitting on Alastor’s lap, a glass of whiskey in your hand, listening to the musical stylings of Papa Celestin on Vox’s frankly impressive sound system as Alastor, now down to shirtsleeves, told stories about some of the band members- who had played with who and who had cheated at cards. It seemed like every time you had nearly finished your drink Vox was there with the bottle again, not just for you but for Alastor. A few drinks later, the playlist had moved on to Johnny Hodges ballads and Alastor was handsy, his talons tracing lines over your antlers, your neck, your back, and down over your hips.

“And then his brother formed a band with Scrapper Blackwell’s bassist,” said Alastor, fingers pressing over your tail. “Mimzy was dating their percussionist for a while.”

“Wait a damn minute Al, you’ve told me this one before.” Vox was temptingly close on the couch next to you, but he made no overtures, apparently content to watch Alastor run his hands over you. “I thought you said it was the pianist?”

Alastor hummed, one claw hooking its way into your already loosened bow tie and pulling it open. “Maybe it was both. That would explain why the rhythm section was so lively.”

You relaxed into his touch, your earlier violence rendering you satiated and languorous; content to go where he led you. You smiled up at Alastor, baring your neck to him as he undid the top button of your shirt.

Vox made a noise in his throat. “Al? Are you-”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Alastor’s grin was lopsided as his attention flicked to Vox. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, after all.”

To make a point, Alastor dipped his head to kiss you. It was messier than he usually was, Alastor’s breath reeking of alcohol, and his tongue caressed your lips and cheeks, tasting the blood that stained them.

“Fuck,” Alastor breathed, his pupils wide as he broke the kiss. “Darling, you taste like dead overlord.”

“You would know, Al,” Vox shot, and Alastor grinned.

“Vox,” he called, like a man trying to coax a pet dog. “You really should have a taste.”

You sat up and watched with amusement as Vox feigned insouciance, shuffling closer to you on the couch as Alastor held you, one arm possessive around your waist. You wondered for a second if he would take the coward’s way out, and press his tongue to your forehead or your cheek, but Vox, with an expression close to awe, pushed a little of your blood-matted hair back from your cheek, his talontips under your jaw, and kissed you.

Vox’s lips were the tingle of static, his tongue shivering hot as it twined against yours, pressing up against your teeth and your gums, and you groaned into the kiss. Alastor’s grip on your waist tightened, and you felt him grow turgid, cock pressing up against your ass as Vox kissed you.

When Vox broke the kiss his eyes held something akin to despair, fingers trailing on your jaw as Alastor pulled you to him, a fierce, possessive look on his face. You rolled your hips back, grinding against Alastor’s erection through layers of fabric, and enjoyed the shiver he gave; the way his cock grew hard and hot, his face pressing into your neck, points of his teeth grazing your skin with lines of hot sensation that you would probably regret in the morning.

Vox hesitated, wary of Alastor’s jealousy, and you caught him by the collar, pulling him in for a second kiss. His chest pressed against yours, sandwiching you between him and Alastor, Alastor’s tongue tracing hot lines against the sensitive skin of your neck as Vox’s tangled in your mouth, the heartfelt groan that Vox gave resonating through the three of you.

“Thank you,” gasped Vox, his eyes closed, though you weren’t sure if it was directed at you, Alastor, or God. It didn’t matter. You traced the hard lines of his square face with your fingers, feeling Alastor’s hands on your hips, pulling you firmly against him, as if to remind you whose bed you slept in. You turned your head to kiss Alastor, the kiss breathless and full of urgency, his teeth nipping bloody at your lips, and Vox’s hands were at the buttons of your shirt, peeling back the fabric that stuck to your skin with half-dry overlord blood.

Vox’s talented lips kissed over your chest, then your stomach, the static from his screen making your skin prickle as your hairs stood on end.

“You want the television demon to blow you, darling?” Alastor murmured, his lips brushing the fur on your ears, the tips of your antlers, and his words went straight to your cock, stirring you to half-mast. “You want his mouth on you?”

“Yes,” you murmured, and that was all it took for Vox to have your pants off, Alastor releasing your hips for long enough that Vox could maneuver you into a position where Vox could blow you. The upper edge of his rectangular head was level with your diaphragm as he took you in, his tongue gentle as he coaxed you to hardness. The inside of his mouth was warm, his tongue almost buzzing against your cock as he wound it round in a spiral, and you shivered as he did, resisting the urge to grab him by the edges of his face and fuck into him. A whine escaped your throat, low and needy.

Alastor kissed your neck, his eyes curious as he watched Vox take you to the hilt in his mouth. “But where does it go?” he asked, his gaze on the back of Vox’s extremely flat head, red eyes narrowed.

You closed your eyes, still basking in the sensation of Vox’s tongue around your shaft, the soft flesh at the back of his mouth. “The Head Dimension, of course,” you said, and you felt Vox nearly gag with laughter; not an entirely unpleasant feeling, except that he pulled his mouth from your cock almost immediately.

“Jesus, Bambi, don’t make me laugh like that!” Vox gaped at you, wiping a digital tear from his face. “Fuck!”

Alastor tittered, the noise silvery, his narrow chest shaking with mirth as he leaned into your shoulder. “He’s just pissy that he didn’t think of that first,” he said. “Wordplay was never his strong point.”

“I’ll show you my strong point,” muttered Vox, peeling off his own shirt as he did.

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll get to that eventually,” said Alastor, and you remembered how his cock had twitched inside you each time he had teased Vox in the armchair. “In the meantime-” he continued, hooking a clawed hand around your hip and pulling you to him once more, turning you to face him in his lap. “We have more important things to deal with.”

“The fuck did you do to their back, Al?” complained Vox, his hands warm on the furrows that Alastor’s claws had carved across your shoulders the night previous, but Alastor ignored him, kissing you lightly as he guided your hand to his fly, the fabric there taut with his arousal. You touched him, through the fabric first and then unfastening his fly and easing him out, a surge of sympathetic lust through your core as you held his cock in your hand, palm curling round his hardness. The noise he gave was a soft one, an exhalation of breath through his nose accompanied by a beat of deeper than appliance pitch humming.

You palmed Alastor’s cock, and his fingers went to your antlers, dancing lightly across the tines, each touch of his a musical note that resonated through your skull, your spine and down to your core, making you tremble, aching with want as you watched Alastor’s antlers expand in turn. Vox didn’t touch them, but you could feel him watching keenly, his own electrical powers a fuzzy interference at the periphery of your senses as you pumped Alastor’s cock with your hand.

“Inside me?” you asked Alastor, not least because having his cock in your palm made you ache with desire, and Alastor nodded, leaning back a little to let you straddle him. You guided him with your hand as you lowered yourself onto him, watching the delicious way he smiled as you did so; the way he bit his lip, his eyes fluttering half closed.

“Fuck,” Alastor spoke the word like a prayer rather than a curse as you sank onto him, Vox’s hands on your shoulders, then your waist, Alastor spreading his knees to let Vox between them.

“You look so fucking pretty like that,” said Vox, his voice full of gravel as he reached around you, hand finding your cock and folding around it, but his eyes were on Alastor, as well as you, as he spoke.

Vox’s grip was as firm as it had been when he had crawled into bed with you on your first night in Hell, and no less effective, pumping in time as you rode Alastor, your thighs working to lift and lower you. At first it seemed like Alastor would be content to be ridden, his face flushed and his hips staying in place as he made soft groans of appreciation, but when he kissed you and a squeeze of Vox’s hand made you whimper against his lips, Alastor’s hand joined Vox’s around your cock, talons curling around the back of Vox’s hand and forcing him to tighten his grip.

There was a moment of electricity then, Vox’s breath stilling in his throat, his bare chest pressed flush against your back.

“What’s the matter?” Alastor asked Vox, his expression sly and teasing as he forced Vox’s hand to grip you, started it moving again at a steady, sublime cadence. “You’ve never objected to a guiding hand before.”

Vox’s audio glitched before he spoke, accompanied by a myclonic jerk that you felt through his chest against your back, his hand involuntary squeezing around your shaft. “A-Alastor,” he stuttered, his audio still clipping, for all the world as if their hands were clasped around Vox’s cock rather than yours. “Oh, god.”

Alastor smirked against your neck, pretending careless superiority, but he couldn’t hide the pleasant twitch of arousal his cock gave inside your cunt when Vox moaned his name. Vox was right, though; Alastor did look beautiful, color on his cheeks that could have been the drink or arousal or both, his lips parted, as he panted through his jagged teeth, still smiling, always smiling, as his hair fell in strands across his face, his antlers handsomely tall.

When had you become so fond of him, you wondered, as he guided Vox’s hand in a pattern that had you aching for release, a pulse through your core as precum beaded at your tip. You stilled your hips as the sensation of their hands together on your cock threatened to overwhelm you, sinking down fully onto Alastor’s cock and pressing your face into his shirt with a whimper.

“What’s this?” Alastor turned his teasing smile on you now, rather than Vox. “So close already?” He nipped at the edge of your ear, not hard enough to do damage, but enough that you could feel the fine points of his teeth, and you gasped. “You know, of course, that it won’t save you? That we will keep going until we’ve had our fill of you?”

“We?” Vox repeated, his voice uncharacteristically quiet and hoarse, and your stomach swooped as you caught the implication too. “That mean what I think it means, Al?”

“My delightful friend here has two holes, after all,” said Alastor, pressing his cheek to your antler. “It seems a waste to use only one of them.”

You half expected Vox to run off and get a toy, but instead he fetched a bottle of lubricant from a compartment under the couch, and kissed his way down your back, over your shoulders and the claw marks that Alastor had made, his screen warm against the small of your back, making the fur on your tail stand on end.

“You’re gonna love this, baby deer,” said Vox, one hand on your back pushing you forward over Alastor. “Trust me,” he added wryly, when you gave a doubtful backwards glance.

“With your tongue?” Alastor’s tone was both scandalized and fascinated as he peered over your shoulder at Vox.

Vox didn’t bother answering him, simply spread your ass apart a little with his hands and set to work. His tongue was like white noise on your skin as he lapped at your entrance, wet and hot as he dragged it over sensitive flesh. You felt exposed; even like this, with Alastor’s cock to the hilt inside your cunt, you felt exposed. You cried out as Vox’s tongue made egress, the narrow tip pushing past your tight ring of muscle and then inside.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, your face in Alastor’s collar again, and Alastor must have noticed how Vox’s tongue pressed against your walls, against his cock inside you, because he looked sharply at Vox.

“Keep doing that,” he said, a sharp note of desire in his voice, and you felt Vox’s groan as he pushed his tongue a little further in, the sensation all slickness and pressure as his tongue stroked Alastor’s cock through the thin layer of your flesh.

Alastor found your cock with his hand again, his smile cruel as he caressed your shaft. “You’re going to come, aren’t you, darling? You’re going to spend yourself with Vox’s tongue up your ass.”

It wasn’t fair. You could barely think straight, let alone give any answer other than an obscene, whorish whimper, not with both of them working your insides and Alastor’s knowing hand on your cock. The first time you’d met, he’d shown you how he knew your body better than you did yourself, and that was still true now, the strength of his grip and his tempo nothing other than perfection as he ground his hips up into you, rutting into you and rutting against Vox’s tongue, each movement one of blinding ecstasy, sensation so strong that it seemed to bleed into senses other than touch. You had no chance to catch your breath, no surcease from the assault, and no choice other than to feel yourself fall, your whole body seeming to seize in orgasm, the cry in your throat free of static as your cunt and cock pulsed in time, painting a white line up Alastor’s red shirt and spattering his cheek.

“See? What did I tell you?” Vox’s grin was triumphant as he pulled his tongue from you, his claws caressing your tail. Your body was still sensitive from the aftershocks, and his simple touch brought another one on, an involuntary animal cry in your throat. Vox scoffed and squeezed again, threading his talons through your fur, the sensation alone enough to make your stomach flutter, and through the corner of your eye you saw him take one of the discarded whiskey glasses and drain it, swilling it around his mouth before he swallowed.

“Oh, oh, sweetheart,” Alastor wiped your cum from his cheek and brought his fingers to your mouth, slipping his talons between your lips for you to suck clean. His voice was a croon, his breath hitching with each spasm that wracked you. “You fit me just perfectly, don’t you?”

You hummed around his fingers in response. It was an act of trust, just as much as the sex was- your teeth were every bit as sharp as his- and his fingers felt good in your mouth, like a gift. You closed your eyes, tracing the delicate lines of his fingers with your tongue, and felt as Vox lined himself up behind you, the warm tip of his cock resting first against your tail, then sliding down, the tip leaving a trail of wetness as he lined up with your entrance, the tip brushing against the flesh he had lapped with his tongue a few moments before.

Vox breathed out heavily, talons cradling your hips. “Are you sure about this, Al?”

“I think it’s customary,” said Alastor, a little snippily. “To ask that to the person you are about to fuck.”

“Shit.” You felt the tension in Vox’s body at Alastor’s rebuke. “You, uh, doin’ okay there, baby deer?”

You released Alastor’s fingers from your mouth, and turned your head to Vox, as far as you could twist with Alastor still inside you. Vox leaned in to accommodate, and you caught his lips with yours, hooking your forearm round his screen to keep him close as you kissed him, Alastor pressing his lips to your neck as you did. Taking the kiss as assent, Vox pushed into you, slowly.

Your inebriation and your orgasm helped make you loose, and Vox had been liberal with the lubricant on his tongue, but with Alastor inside you as well the fit was a tight one. Alastor tensed when he felt Vox push his way into your ass, his hips stilling and the soft hiss of static escaping his lips.

“God,” mumbled Vox as he bottomed out, his claws on your hips tight enough to mark you. “Fucking god. Al.”

Alastor didn’t bother with words, but the strangled noise in his throat might as well have been agreement.

Both of their eyes fluttered closed, and you felt a tremble in Vox’s arms. They could feel each other. They could feel each other inside you, both of them together stuffing you to the brim.

“I- I’m gonna move now,” said Vox, a pleading edge to his voice. He swallowed, edge of his screen knocking briefly against your antlers. “Tell me if it hurts.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” you managed, briefly getting yourself to a state where you could form actual words rather than animalistic whimpering. “Just full.”

“If he hurts you,” said Alastor, into your collarbone. “I will eviscerate him.”

“Fuck me.” Vox exhaled again, sounding more like himself. “I have never seen him this fucking protective. Of anyone. But sure thing Al, I'll go gentle.”

True to his word, Vox went slowly as he fucked you, fucked both of you. Post orgasmic and still sensitive, the sensation of it filled your awareness; at the apex you were so full that everything pressed together, Vox’s cock pressing into Alastor’s through your thin divider of flesh, Alastor’s cock pushed almost by default into the sensitive spongy tissue that he would usually need to angle his hips to find. There was no escape, not for you nor for Alastor- Vox’s cock stroking his as much as it was fucking you, and you found yourself crying out in tandem with him, the same sweet noises from both your throats, the sound so close that it made strange beats and harmonies around you. Vox kissed you, sensuous and open mouthed, then Alastor kissed you, fierce and possessive, then Vox again, lapping up the blood that Alastor had drawn from your lips, your head swimming as two sets of claws held you in place.

You grew hard again, your body responding to being pressed between the two of them and fucked, and Vox took your cock in his hand, a victorious growl from his throat.

“You wanna cum round Al’s cock again, don't you, baby deer,” Vox’s voice was thick with desire, his hand firm as he handled your already overstimulated cock. Even a gentle stroke would have been too much, and his manipulation was more than that.

“I can't-” you managed between gasps of air. With both of them in you, you were stuffed to the brim, each roll of Vox’s hips bringing tears to your eyes. “Too much. Please.”

“You want him to feel you twitching around him, though, don't you?” Vox’s voice was coaxing, the hand that wasn't stroking your cock hooking round your waist, the heel of his hand pressing into your stomach, below your navel, pressing everything together inside you. “You want him to feel good, don't you?” said Vox, his breath hot on the back of your neck, and you stared into Alastor's lust-blown eyes, feeling the way Alastor trembled each time Vox ploughed into you, only your inner wall separating them.

“Yes,” you whimpered, but it was Alastor who cried out, drawing blood from his own lip, his hands tight on your hips. Alastor came a second before you did, his seed inside you a wave of heat as your cunt pulsed around him, your cock twitching weakly in Vox’s hand.

“Fuck-” Vox breathed, clinging to you tightly, the edge of his screen digging hard into the tops of your shoulders as the feeling of you and Alastor coming dragged him over the edge, his composure lost, and you made a noise in your throat as you felt him shoot his load in you, into your already overstuffed hole.

For a moment, the two of them inside you filled the entirety of your awareness, the pulsing warmth that filled your stomach, the tight grip that both Alastor and Vox had on you. Then you sank forward onto Alastor’s shoulder, and the grips became slow caresses, claws gentle against your bruised skin. Both of them praising you, neither man quite ready to look the other in the eye. They pulled out of you, and it occurred to you that you needed a shower, but you had barely enough energy left in you to lay back on Vox’s couch, your forearm over your eyes.

The last thing you remembered before you blacked out was Vox pouring another finger of obscenely expensive Japanese whiskey, some Ella Fitzgerald playing as the two of them admired how pretty you looked with their cum leaking out of you.

If this was Hell, then what the fuck went on in Heaven?

#alastor x reader #vox x reader #alastor x vox #alastor x reader x vox #radiostatic x reader #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #hazbin x reader #antlerplay #vox x y/n #vox x you #vox x alastor #radiostatic x you #radiostatic x y/n #radio demon x reader

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magics-neptunes-things · 5 months ago

Text

Olympics Games (One Love 9)

Hi guys :)

I don't want to talk about today's game so straight to the new chapter from One Love ♥

Please enjoy :)

TW : None

(1) | (2) | (3) | (4) | (5) | (6) | (7) | (8)

Ona is tired. Like fucking really tired. She never felt as exhausted as she is right now after loosing the semi-finale of the Olympics Games. And what is rather alarming, is that she’s not only physically tired but her mental health is pretty low too.

Like some of her national teammates, Mariona for example, she played a lot of games during the last season. She played during the World Cup last year, the National Cup too and now she has the Olympics to play. The tiredness was easier to manage while they were winning, but it’s not the case anymore and she’s exhausted.

She’s exhausted to have to fight against her Federation and she’s exhausted to have to deal with the shit their coach is doing with the national team. They need someone who fight for them and know what she did and it’s not something they have now. Without pretension, Spain's team has some of the best players in the world and they aren’t in the Finale.

Ona knew that Lucy reserved a plane to come to see her play Saturday at Paris, not Friday at Lyon. She felt so exhausted and angry after their lost game that she didn’t have the strength to cry. She hated that game, hated the way the staff made them play and hated the way Cata Coll was the one who took the lost on her back.

She almost burst into tears when she saw that her family was waiting for her outside the stadium after the game, and she let herself being wrapped and cradled in the maternal embrace of her mother. Something she hadn’t done in years, probably at the beginning of her teenage era.

She just wants to sleep until she feels rested, go home to her dog and her girlfriend. But that’s not possible because her girlfriend is in fucking London, and that’s basically what she said while crying in Aitana’s arms way later that night, when her friend came to see how she was doing.

She had Lucy on FaceTime earlier and she managed to keep a more or less neutral face, even if the English woman obviously felt the disappointment she could feel. She had the right words to comfort Ona, like always, and it really worked. Until Ona realizes that it’s really all she will have during the next months, while she was brushing her hair after her shower. And that’s when Aitana came.

Ona doesn’t know that her friend texted Lucy right after that to inform her about Ona’s state of mind. She repeat everything that got out of Ona’s mouth even if it was in a confuse way. But Aitana managed to understand everything and was able to repeat it correctly to Lucy.

Lucy was supposed to be at training on Friday, so Ona doesn’t think anything more when Laia Aleixandri and Aitana take her outside of the hotel to grab a coffee somewhere. Ona loved coffee, they only had to say that word to convince her to follow them.

“Who suggested you that place again?” Laia asks Aitana while they were entering the shop.

“Oh, a dear friend of mine who played here for three years before going to Manchester and then finally coming to Barcelona”

Aitana smirks while she looks at Ona from the corner of her eyes, the younger one raising her eyebrow while looking back at her. Of course she understands that Aitana is talking about Lucy. The shop is almost empty at that time of the day. The place is what you probably find on Pinterest when you write “coffee shop”, Ona thinks. It’s all wood, peaceful colors and amazing smells, mix of coffee and pastries.

“Here, there she is actually.”

Ona’s head makes two abrupt movements, one to go on Aitana face (she was looking at the menu hanging on the wall while trying to decrypt those Frenches words when Aitana spoke again) and another to go where she was looking.

And actually, yes. Here she was, Lucy Bronze, casually sitting on a booth, grinning at her.

Ona’s mother probably wouldn’t approve of the words that come out of her daughter’s mouth at this particular time, but Ona doesn’t care. She doesn’t care either about the other people who are inside the shop too, because her girlfriend is here and that’s all it matters.

Lucy got up while the Spaniard came to her senses and that she joins her before passing her arms around her waist.

“Hi” Lucy smiles at Aitana and Laia when Ona buried her face in her neck and hair.

She’s glad that with time they decide to be less strict about the public display of affection. At first, they didn’t want the world to talk about their relationship more than their football skills. Plus, Lucy didn’t want Ona to have to face some of her creepy fans, but it was still happening anyway. So, one day, she surprised Ona by grabbing her by her waist from behind, in the middle of a pitch. And since then, they aren’t really thinking about it.

“What do you want to drink?” Lucy asks the two other girls.

“Nothing, we were just bringing you your girlfriend” Aitana smiles.

“Well now that you are here you still can take something” Lucy points. “Their latte are amazing”

“She has a point” Laia smirks.

Laia and Aitana went to ask for their drink at the counter and during all this time Ona hasn’t let go of Lucy. The dark haired woman puts her total attention on her girlfriend at that moment, lifting her face by sliding a finger under her chin.

“Hey” Lucy says softly, making Ona smiles.

“Holà”

“You look exhausted”

It wasn’t a remark saying in a bad way, Lucy is more concerned about her girlfriend than anything. She already saw the dark circles under Ona’s eyes when they called each other but it’s more impressive here and now. She frowns, realizing in what state her girlfriend is.

“I am” Ona shrugs.

Lucy doesn’t have time to say anything else because Laia and Aitana were coming back to say goodbye.

“You have to be at the hotel in four hours Oni, don’t be late, yes?” Laia reminds her.

“Don’t worry” Ona smiles softly.

They went out, Laia kissing Ona's cheek, and Ona turns again in Lucy’s direction. She has realized by now that Lucy hasn’t command anything for herself, which is pretty strange. She might be the coffee addict in their relationship, but Lucy likes it too.

“What are the plans?”

“Well, at first we are going to take some drinks and something to eat. And then I’ll take you to one of my special spots around here”

“Sounds perfect” Ona smiles.

Ona follows Lucy to the counter and looks one more time to the menu to choose a drink. She asks for a cold caffe latte while Lucy asks for a Macchiato. They take some pastries to go with it, Ona choosing to follow Lucy’s lead about it. As long as there are some with chocolate, she will be okay anyway.

When they get out, Lucy takes Ona’s hand in hers and the gesture itself makes Ona’s heart fluttered. They don’t talk a lot during the walk to Lucy’s secret spot, just enjoying each other presence. Sometimes, Lucy points a building or a park to Ona, mentioning some memories she has there.

They finally arrive somewhere next to one of the two rivers traversing Lyon, and after several yomps, they finally are where Lucy wanted to take Ona. She never lets Ona's hand go one time.

“Tadam!” the English woman sings, making Ona laughs.

“It’s beautiful” Ona says, smiling softly while looking around them.

They can see a lot of the river from her and the other side, but she’s pretty sure that they aren’t visible themselves.

“Beautiful view for a beautiful girl” Lucy winks at her. “Come on, sit with me.”

Ona obliged but chose to sit on Lucy’s lap rather than the big rocks around them. The former Barcelona player doesn’t seems to mind though, letting an appreciative hums passes her lips. Ona puts her head on Lucy’s shoulders, decided to enjoy their closeness.

“I’m happy you’re here” Ona whispers when she remembers herself that Lucy shouldn’t actually be here.

“A little birdy told me that my girlfriend was struggling away in Paris. Couldn’t let her alone, could I?”

“Is this little birdy called Aitana, by any chance?”

“It is” Lucy laughs before kissing Ona’s cheek. “I would have preferred that my girlfriend talk to me about that herself though”

Ona bites her lips, feeling a little guilty for hiding things to Lucy. It was easier to do by phone than in real life. When they are together, it’s impossible for her to do it. Lucy is able to read her expressions and her body language easier than anyone. Sometimes, Ona even has the feeling that Lucy can understands her better than herself.

“I didn’t want to worry you. I’m just tired, really. I will be okay.”

Lucy hums, not really sure about that statement. It looks more than a things Ona is telling herself or repeating to her friends and family, to reassure them. She knows very well how much worried her mother can be for her daughter.

“I know you will be okay. You’re the strongest person I know. But that doesn’t mean you are feeling fine now or that you aren’t allowed to feel a little low.”

Ona sighs softly, stroking Lucy's arm with her fingertips.

“It’s just frustrating you know? We are good and we were supposed to go on the final. But what are we supposed to do when they manage us that way?”

“I know” Lucy sighs too.

She really wants to help her girlfriend but like a little more than one year ago before the World Cup, there is nothing she can do. Other than hearing Ona’s frustration and sympathize with her. Which she tries to do the best as she could, of course.

“You deserved to go to the finale. But you still have a medal to fight for. And I beg your pardon if I’m wrong, but it seems like you like Bronze, no?”

Ona, who was looking at the river in front of them, smirk before turning her face to Lucy. The English woman was fighting against her smile, trying to keep a straight face. Which is almost impossible to do.

“You haven’t even kiss me and you start with your awful flirts attempts already?”

Lucy laughs and puts a hand on her girlfriend’s cheek, the other staying where their both were before, on Ona’s waist to stabilize her.

“You are right, first the kiss”

Ona is smiling when Lucy presses her lips against hers. They have kissed a lot already, an infinite number of times. They shared tender kisses, shy kisses, hot kisses, goodbye kisses and reunion kisses. But Ona can swear without a doubt that every time she has the same feelings to fly somewhere above the ground when Lucy kisses her.

She actually groans in annoyance when Lucy stops the kiss, crossing her arms behind Lucy’s neck for another kiss. This one is maybe a little less innocent than the first, but she doesn’t care. She missed her girlfriend, she needs comfort and she knows that almost no one can see them.

When it ends, Lucy takes Ona against her, the head of the younger one finding her place back on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry you had to cancel your travel to Paris” Ona mumbles finally.

“Don’t. You don’t have to excuse yourself for anything. I shouldn’t have anticipated things like I did, I’m the one who is sorry. I shouldn’t have put more pressure on you like this”

“You haven’t…”

Ona starts to answer, frowning, but Lucy puts a finger on her lips to make her stay silent. Their gazes cross and Lucy takes off her finger from Ona’s lips only to put hers against hers again.

“No football talks until you have to go back to the hotel”

Ona rolls her eyes with a smile but accepts gladly, sitting to be able to look at Lucy easier than before. She missed her like crazy, so why not to take advantage of this time to look at her the more possible? She always have been fond of her face, her smile, her hair, her eyes... Everything. But Lucy soon feels a little uneasy under her girlfriend’s gaze. She’s usually the one who is creeping on Ona, especially in the morning when the Spaniard is always asleep longer than her.

“What are you doing?” the English woman asks.

“Admiring you” Ona answers while Lucy rolls her eyes. “You are so beautiful. I want our children to have your eyes. And your smile.”

“Nah. They all will be mini-Ona” Lucy smirks. “With your beautiful smile, hair and freckles”

Ona pouts when Lucy boop her nose with her fingers, but it’s quickly erased when Lucy kiss her again.

“Barcelona agreed to give me ten days of rest after the Olympics” Ona informed her.

“Finally, you will be able to breath. What will you do during that time?”

Ona shrugs without looking at Lucy. She wants to go to London and having some days with Lucy at least, even if the weather seems to have already said goodbye to summer. But for a maybe stupid reason, she doesn’t want to be the one asking if she can come. She doesn’t want to impose herself in her girlfriend’s life.

“Probably sleep all day long” Ona finally answers.

“Yeah?”

Ona nods and there is a moment of silence.

“Want to come to sleep in depressing and cloudy London?”

Ona smiles and nods again, this time while looking at Lucy with a smile. Lucy is smirking too, one of her arms always around Ona waist. She kisses her hair this time, when Ona sinks her face under her chin.

“Can I take Coco with me? Even if he seems have a blast in my family’s trail, I miss him.”

“Of course you can. Narla will be happy to see him again”

Ona smiles wider and sink even deeper in Lucy. She misses the comfort of her arms. She’s not really used to lose anymore and the only time it happened last year, Lucy was here with her. It will be a process she will need to start to learn again.

“Did you come her a lot while you were in Lyon?” Ona asks casually.

“Only when I needed to clean my head. But I usually came her alone.”

“Usually?”

Of course, it was the word who seems the most important for Ona. It makes Lucy smiles and rolls her eyes again.

“Nah, more like always”

When Lucy walks back Ona to her hotel, she offered her a big hug and a long kiss goodbye, even if they know they will see each other after the game. It’s only when they heard Alexia loudly clearing her throat that they remember where they were. Lucy looked over Ona’s head while Ona turns herself to see the Spanish’s captain looking at them with her arms crossed on her chest.

It might be an impressive sight, but Ona spots quickly the hidden slight smile and the fun in Alexia’s eyes.

“I better go” Ona smiles at Lucy.

“You better” Lucy laughs before kissing her one last time. “Go, Superstar. See you after the game”

Ona rolls her eyes and keep Lucy’s hand in hers as long as possible when she starts to walk to Alexia. The blonde passes an arm around Ona’s shoulders, who take a last look at Lucy before entering the hotel.

“See you at the stadium, Bronzey” Alexia says at the same time.

Like the other time when she came to watch Ona playing, Lucy is sitting near her family. The “O. Battle 2” clan is today joined by Ona’s grandparents and some of her cousins. Lucy knows them all, the Catalan girl having took her at every birthday or family celebration since last summer.

She was next to Ona’s brother, listening to him talk with her father in Catalan. And she’s proud of herself when she realizes that she understands almost everything. She turns when she feels someone putting a hand on her shoulder, smiling when she sees Lia Wälti, wagging discreetly like every time.

“Lia, hi!” Lucy smiles before hugging her.

She knows well the Swiss woman now, having watched some Spain’s games with her since she was with Ona.

“Mind if I seat next to you for a bit?” she asks after they great each other.

“Of course not. Are you here alone?”

“Kind of. Mario’s family is here, but…”

She shrugs, looking at the field where Germany just entered to train. Her unfinished sentence makes frown Lucy, who looks at her with concern.

“Aren’t you getting along with them?”

“I hardly know them honestly. I saw them like four times since I’m with Mariona. When I come to see her in Barcelona they are obviously still in Mallorca”

Lucy nods softly. She has to admit that she knows Ona’s family a lot better than Ona knows hers. She never asked herself how Ona feels when she’s with the Bronze, but the younger always seemed happy to pass time with her brother’s kids or her parents. She seems to have a great bond with Jorge, and Sophie too.

“How is Mario?”

Lucy feels a soft guilt, she should maybe have checked a little more for her former teammate and frien. They are close after all and moving both in London at the same time. Lia shrugs one more time.

“She’s tired. I really hope they will win today, I’m a little scared for her mental health if they don’t” she sighs softly. “How’s Ona?”

“Same things. At least after that they will have some days to rest”

Lia hums softly. They don’t have to say what they think about the Liga’s schedule and the Women Football’s in general. They both think the same and understand each other quickly.

“I’m happy that Mario will have less games to play next year. I was concerned about her having an injury, even if I was the one getting one after all”

Lucy smiles at that. It’s honestly a miracle that her knee seems to be always fine after all the games she played last year. Lucy got a little distracted when the speaker starts to present both teams, frowning when she hears “Felicita Rauch”. She hasn’t realized until now that Ona will play against her ex.

“Oh shit” she mumbles.

“What is it?”

Lia got distracted too, but only because Mariona came on the pitch with some of her teammates and staff members. Like every time, Mariona looks for her and send her a wink, which Lia answer with a heart with her fingers.

“That’s Ona’s ex” she mumbles again, indicating Feli by a nod.

“Oh.”

Lia doesn’t really what to answer, she knows Feli well, they played together at Potsdam for four years before she went for Arsenal. It was before the things between Ona and Feli, though.

“Didn’t she mention anything?”

“No” Lucy frowns.

“Probably because it doesn’t have any importance for her” Lia says with a gently smile.

Lucy groans in answer. She still struggles some times with her new jealousy, who appeared when she starts dating Ona. She hates when people she doesn’t know touch her girlfriend, not knowing what intentions are behind that kind of touch. She doesn’t mind Ona’s friends hugging her of course. But having to play against her ex, it’s something different.

“Have you already been in that situation?” Lucy asks soon after.

“Not really”

“I hope she won’t take advantage of that game to try to reconnect with Ona” Lucy frowns.

Lia giggles softly next to her, making Lucy stop glaring at the poor German player to look at the Swiss Woman. With all of that, she hasn’t realized that Ona has entered the pitch too and that the Spain’s team has started the training.

“I’m sorry, but she probably knows you both are together and that’s it will be a lost cause”

That’s true, and finally it’s wasn’t a bad idea to stop hiding things, Lucy thinks. She seems a little relieved when Lia points that fact.

“Plus, you are wearing a Spanish jersey with her name and hanging with her family in the stand, this is probably another indication of how much you are into each other”

Lucy relaxes completely this time, her shoulders falling back a few centimeters. Lia is right once again, and she is glad about it. As if to press this point, Ona’s dad comes back with a carton of beer, holding one to Lucy with an affectionate pat on the back. He proposes one to Lia too, who refuses with a smile.

She keeps an eye on Feli anyway, after seeing that Ona doesn’t seem to take one look at the German team. She plays as a defender, just like Ona, so they shouldn’t have to face each other a lot during the game. Lucy feels like a creeping fan when she looks attentively at how Ona and Feli greats each other at the beginning of the match, but other than a smile, there is nothing. Ona has a full match face.

(She always found her sexy at that very moment)

In the end, they didn’t win. It would be irrelevant to talk about Montse Tome management once again, Lucy thought. She would have preferred to find her girlfriend with bronze around her neck, not to see her sad face and the sadness of her other friends.

“What does that bitch want?” Lucy grown when she sees that Felicitas is actually coming to Ona.

She looks at her tapping softly on Ona’s shoulder while the girl was standing next to Alexia, Salma and Mariona. Lucy isn’t able to understand what they are saying, but she sees Ona’s hesitation at what Feli is asking her. Then she shrugs and nods before getting out of her jersey to hand it to her former girlfriend.

“Is she…?” Lia asks next to her.

“Looks like it” Lucy shrugs at her turn.

If Felicitas puts Ona’s jersey without hesitation, she sees Ona looking for her in the stand. It’s only when Lucy smirks at her that the Spaniard puts it too, making what it can be described as a slight smile.

“Can’t wait to see Twitter going mad” Lucy comments.

She hears Ona’s family laughing with Lia. She can’t herself explain why it doesn’t bother her, but just after their exchange of jersey Feli went back to her team and Ona seems to ask the permission to go in the locker room. She jogs to go with Patri, relief on her shoulders.

Half an hour later, when Ona comes to her family in the VIP section, she looks once again exhausted. She’s wearing her Spain’s training kit again and goes right to Lucy’s arms. The English woman smiles softly, hugging softly Ona.

“I’m sorry about the defeat” Lucy whispers in Ona’s hear.

“It’s over now. I just want to sleep for four days” Ona mumbles, somewhere on Lucy’s shoulder.

The dark-haired woman laughs softly, releasing Ona for her to be able to say hi to her family. The Battle seems sad for Ona but relieved to see that she will have some rest, finally.

The next day, they are on a plane for London, Ona half-asleep on Lucy’s shoulder. Coco is on the end of the plane with other animals, sleeping peacefully like his human. Lucy has passed a hand under Ona’s shirt to stroke her back softly, helping the younger one to feel relaxed.

“Are you sleeping?” Lucy asks softly.

“Only resting my eyes” Ona mumbles, making Lucy laughs.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure”

She yawns but sit a little better, just to be able to watch Lucy’s face while the older one is talking. Lucy needs several seconds to focus and stop beaming in front of her girlfriend’s cuteness.

“Why did you get your ex’s shirt?”

“It’s sound so bad saying like this” Ona winces. “But I don’t know. She asks and I say yes. And then I looked for you before wearing it and when you smiled at me I thought it meant that you were okay with it?”

“I was” Lucy assures her quickly. “But I was wondering... We never really talked about it, are you still talking to her?”

“No” Ona shakes her head. “She likes my Instagram's posts from time to time but that’s all. This jersey’s swap doesn’t mean anything, really.”

“Ok. Great, because you made the social media going crazy”

Ona smiles when she sees her girlfriend relax against the back of her seat. She kisses her jaw and then her neck, it’s impossible for her to reach another part of her from her position.

“I don’t care what they say. I’m in love with you.”

“I’m a lucky girl” Lucy smirks.

“Nah. I’m the lucky one.”

#woso imagine #woso fanfics #ona batlle #ona batlle imagine #lucy bronze #ona batlle x lucy bronze #ona battle #lucy bronze x ona batlle

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tojisnexfwife · 7 months ago

Text

Sweet lies part two

Pairing •Toji x gn!reader

Warnings• Angst!, Cheating, suggestive (they like lowkey make out), manipulation, UNHEALTHY RELATIONSHIP!, Cursing. Lmk if i forgot any!

Word count • 1079 words

A/n • I had this pre written ever since i put out the first part but was so hesitant on posting it LMAO! Enjoy! Masterlist is pinned!

You knew life after the honeymoon phase was rough but nothing could’ve prepared you for the drastic switch in you and Toji’s relationship. About two months the after you guys got married is when you realized the mistake you made. Your days went from him coming home from work and showering you with affection to him coming in with an inaudible hello. You were confused on what you could be doing wrong. He was coming home to a clean house with food on the table, a bath prepared and you all dolled up for him, just how he liked it. This went on for months and throughout those months he’s just been coming home later and later. The man who was once coming home every day at five now walking through the front door as late as ten at night. It didn’t bother you until your 26th birthday.

You woke up excited to celebrate your first birthday as a married woman. For your birthday last year Toji went all out so you couldn’t help but let your expectations be high! Toji wasn’t there when you woke up, which was normal because he usually leaves extremely early in the morning. You spent your day pampering yourself to the max, expecting to maybe go out later. Soon enough five o clock rolls around. You sit pretty and patient on the couch, telling yourself he’s just running a little late. You wait… and you wait.. sending text after text to your husband every hour.

Hubby💍❤️

5:30pm

Y/n: Hey babe coming home soon?