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luciferlightbringer · 8 months

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Love In a Hopeless Place

Chapter 1

Hey all! This is Dany (they/them) and its my first time writing a fanfic, so please be nice :) This will be multiple chapters but I'm not sure how many, so we will see how this goes! This chapter is mostly set up :) Lucifer x prostitute fem!Reader Word Count:2.6k words CW: Mentionings of suggestive sexual content, prostitution, angst, sadness, depression (there will be more fluff/smut in later chapters)

Chapter 1|Chapter 2| Updated through Chapter 12!

Light of the morning started to stream into the large bedroom through a small gap in the curtains, the light hitting at just the right angle as the light slowly moved throughout the morning until the light started to cascade down the face King of Hell.

Lucifer began to blink his eyes open, groan, and shift away from the thin line of light that had disturbed him from his well fought for sleep. After a few minutes he sighed, lifted his head up high enough to look at the clock before letting his head drops back into the pillow with a groan.

"Too early," Lucifer mumbled to himself against his pillow. But after a few more minutes, he started to stretch and sit up in bed, because he needed to, because he was the King and eventually there would be some meeting or paperwork that he would need to attend to.

Lucifer briefly glanced over to the side of his bed, her side of the bed, well... not anymore. Not for the last seven years. He felt a familiar tightness start to form in his chest as he stared at it.

Lucifer shook his head as if to try and shake the bittersweet memories of his life with Lilith away, crawled out of bed, and went to his wardrobe to find some clothes for the day before the sad thoughts could stop his momentum. He put on his signature white and red suit adorned with little gold details, black bowtie and boots. He did the best he could to smooth out his messy blonde hairs before popping on his hat that was wrapped in a golden snake, along with an apple and a crown. Reminders of Eden.

Looking at himself in the mirror he looked pleased with his outfit, thinking of how if he looks fun, he will feel fun, and if he feels fun, he can get through another boring day... probably. Lucifer grabbed his cane and left the room to go to his study, flashing his big toothy charismatic grin to his staff and getting a quick update about his meeting later with the Sins from his secretary as he walked down the hallway.

As he got to his study, the maid was finishing setting up his breakfast for him at his desk. She turned, gave Lucifer a quick bow before leaving the room and closing the door behind her. Lucifer turned to his desk and dropped the smile, something about it felt a little more painful today. He chalked it up to one of those days when he really didn't get good sleep, as opposed to the nights of just... regular bad sleep.

Lucifer ran his hands down his face and looked at the stacks of disorganized paperwork covering his desk, and sighed before taking a sip of his morning tea.

He sat down and got to work on the paperwork, trying to get as much done as he could before the meeting he had later that afternoon. It was gonna be a long day

____________________________________________________________

Before long, Lucifer was off to his meeting. He normally hates meetings, but he enjoyed getting to see some of the Sins, like Bee and Asmodeus, so that made it at least a little more tolerable. The meeting went by rather quickly, luckily, because most of the other Sins also normally hate meetings, and if the ran too long, people like Mammon would start complaining.

Asmodeus was the best one to have at meetings, he normally was in a good mood and either contributed ideas or was good at getting Mammon to shut up for a few extra minutes so that Lucifer could finish. Unfortunately, Asmodeus was also really good at picking up on when Lucifer's smile felt a little more forced than usual.

After the meeting, the other sins started to leave, and Asmodeus quickly grabbed Lucifer's attention before he teleported back home.

"Ah, Ozzie! What can I do for you, my friend?" Lucifer said turning towards his friend with a smile and a flick of his cane.

"Are you... doing ok Lucifer?" Asmodeus said cautiously, all three of his faces showing slight concern.

"Well ya of course! Why wouldn't I be?" Lucifer shifted a little as he stood, leaning slighting more on his cane, fidgeting with his suit jacket, and looking behind Asmodeus to check that everyone else was gone.

Shit, was it that obvious? I thought I keeping it together well, Lucifer thought to himself.

"Well... its just that... how do I put this... " Asmodeus put his hands together, and sighed, "You seem a little tense. Not like in a way that everyone can see, though. But... I just know you," he said putting a hand on his hip.

Lucifer deflated a little, dropped his smile and crossed his arms, "Fine. I just... didn't sleep well last night... I guess"

"Because?" Asmodeus asked, knowing there was probably more to it.

"Just the usual stuff, feeling lonely, boring meetings, more paperwork than I can deal with, its just all... ugh... draining..." Lucifer said sadly.

Asmodeus frowned, "And what do you do when you are feeling this way?"

Lucifer thought for a few minutes while, messing with his cane, "Lock myself in my office and make rubber ducks... or... stare at my ceiling... for hours."

Asmodeus rubs a hand down his main face before sighing and looking again at Lucifer, "If I may, Lucifer, you need to do something other than rubber ducks or staring at walls. I mean, there is nothing wrong with the duck. Just maybe try to get out there? Make some new connections, talk to someone other than just your staff, the Sins, or the Overlords. Literally anyone."

Lucifer scoffed, "Like who? I don't know if I am ready to try building anything with anyone again yet." Lucifer said looking at the ground.

"Well... when was the last time you talked to Charlie?" said Asdomeous

Lucifer flinched at hearing the name of his estranged daughter, they had not been close for a long time, not since she was small, definitely not since Lilith left him.

"Like... a month ago over the phone. We only ever talk for a few minutes at a time for small things... I don't know if she really wants anything to do with me. Or what I would even say to her" Lucifer said softly.

Asmodeus sighed, "Well you could always hire a prostitute or something to keep you company." He chuckled to himself.

Lucifer looked up as Asmodeus and blinked "I beg your pardon?"

Asmodeus holds up his hands innocently, "I'm just kidding!"

Lucifer looked off to the side and though for a second about the idea.

"Wait, are you actually considering it?" Asmodeus asked, a slight hint of amusement in his voice.

"Maybe. I guess... I could try it out and... if I don't like it or them I just never have to see them again... Right?" Lucifer looks at Asmodeus, who returned an encouraging nod. "But I don't know how the process works though, also, I kinda don't want it getting out that I've hired a prostitute," Lucifer said hesitantly, taking off his hat and running his fingers through his hair as he starts to stress about the idea.

Asmodeus' three faces lit up with joy, "Well lucky for you, I am just the guy to help you with this!" Cuz you know he is the Sin of Lust and all.

Asmodeus grabbed out his phone and started typing furiously while Lucifer looked on confused, curious, and a little nervous.

"I'm sending you my favorite recommendations, they always have the best options for prostitutes/call girls, and are always discreet. You can even use a fake name, maybe have a driver go pick them up, and pay in cash! Nothing gets traced back to you. I've helped some other Sins and Overlord get set up before." Asmodeus chimed as he wrote out his text to Lucifer, and then paused and looked up at him with a little bit of nervous regret for letting that last comment slip. "But you didn't hear that from me."

Lucifer mimed a motion of zipping his lips, locking it, and throwing the key behind him as he gave Asmodeus a wink.

Asmodeus smiled, then went back to his text "Ok, you will just need to call them and tell them what type of person you want, ok? I've put them in order of my most to least value places, they are all good though."

Lucifer continued to think about this new idea, a mix of emotions swirling in his stomach. He hated that it came to this, but Asmodeus was right, he was so fucking lonely and burnt out that he could not stand it. Lucifer didn't really know what he needed, but maybe a night of emotionally detached sex would blow off some steam. Worst case was that he hated it and sent the prostitute home early with a "sorry for wasting your time" tip. Ya... this could work.

______________________________________________________________

A couple hours later:

The phone began to ring in a smoke-filled room that was only lit up by a few dim lamps and some neon lights flashing in the window that flashed things like "Girls, GIrls, Girls", pictures of dicks, and boobs, the standard classy brothel window decor. A short, stout pig-looking man coughed, cleared his throat, and picked up the phone.

"Luxurious Lady's Lounge, how may we service you today?" the man said in his most charismatic voice, but not without hints of sleaze leaving their own lingering notes.

The man on the phone was requesting a companion for the night and asked for discreet services.

"No problem chief, we use codenames for a lot of our clients and ladies. How would you like to be addressed?" asked the pig-man.

The man on the phone hesitant for a moment before responding with with name, Lance.

"Alright, Lance, and what kind of companionship are you looking for tonight?" asked the man, now starting to eye the available options of people in the room as the man on the phone spoke.

Across the room, closer to one of the few lamps in the room, you sat lounging on one side of a large soft couch, waiting for your next possible client after just finishing an in-house session. You were a newer resident of hell, only had died a few months prior, and had found yourself in hell. A little disappointing, but not surprising, as the life you had been born into did not give you many chances to do much more than accept the opportunities that helped you scrape by, none of those opportunities being very virtuous, and that is what you still continue to do here in hell.

Upon arriving, you had quickly learned in hell that money unfortunately still mattered, which meant you still needed a job, and most jobs in general were awful, but you just needed something. During your first couple weeks in hell you looked at your options, until eventually Larry, the pig-man on the phone found you and took a likely to you, which led to you taking the job here. It was fine, sex was fun, it paid the bills, and you didn't think that sex would ever mean anything more than a fun pastime in hell, so why not?

"Alrighty! Well lucky for you Lance, I have just the girl for you." Larry laughed as he looked across the room at you and gave you a wink with one of his red eyes. "Her name is (y/n), and she will be ready for you at 9 pm sharp. Sound good?"

New client, 9 pm. You look at the time, you have an hour. You start to walk up to the desk, but wait for Larry to finish the call to get deals.

"Ok great, she will be ready for pick up then," Larry hangs up the call and turns to look at you as he takes a drag off of his cigarette. "Alright baby doll, you got a new one for the night, code name is Lance, wants to keep it discreet. Got it? Just looking for a nice, sweet girl to show him a good time, lonely bachelor type, and he will be sending a car for you at 9 pm. Make sure to be out there early and looking pretty, ok?" he said wiggling his eyebrows.

"Of course," you said smiling. You turned on heel to go back to the make up room to get ready. Sometimes his sleaze made you feel a little uneasy, but he looked out for you and, at least from the rumors you heard, you would later be here then working for some hot shot like Valentino who gets a temper with his employees. At least Larry kept his hands to himself, but his gaze always roamed freely.

As you start to walk back you hear another woman's voice hiss out, "Oooooo baby doll is getting a chauffeur, he sounds rich, make sure you don't fuck it up sweety!" followed by a group of obnoxious giggles.

Ugh, Cynthhhhia. One of the mean girls of the lounge, a snake-woman with a viperous attitude. She hangs around three other girls that are only slightly more tolerable when they are not hanging around her.

You continue walking to the back room without breaking your stride or looking at her, only responding with a sly smile and a "well maybe if you weren't such a mythic bitch, Larry would schedule you with some high rollers too, Cynthia."

"That's Cynthhhhia you li-" and the sound is cut off as you walk through the door to the back. All you can hear is the murmured yelling of Cynthhhhia and Larry trying to get her to shut up. She was mean to everyone, no one really knew why, or cared. You learned pretty quickly that it was better not to get pulled into the drama, but sometimes you couldn't help but throw a quick jab back at her.

Satisfied with yourself, you sit down to freshen up your makeup. New clients sometimes made you nervous because you never knew what to expect, but that was also half the fun. You liked getting to know new people, people seemed to like you well enough, you already had a few regulars that requested you frequently and tipped well. It wasn't glamourous, but it was something.

You finish up by putting on a simple pretty dress that was more appropriate for your journey through the public than the lacy lingerie you were wearing, partly because the client asked for the interaction to be discreet, also because you have learned that clients like to have a "reveal" of sorts most of the time. The look on their faces was always fun.

You look at the clock, it was almost time. You get on your long black coat that was lined with faux fur I mean you may be in hell, but you still didn't feel good about real fur jackets, and you walk out to the front of the brothel to wait for the car.

After a few minutes of waiting and a couple of cat calls from men walking down the street, a nice black car puts up front. A man in a suit rolls down the window and looks out at you with a stoic face, "y/n?"

You give a little wave and say "That's me, baby."

The man nods and the back door unlocks. You slide in and close the door. As the car starts to drive off you settle into the soft car seats, mentally getting ready for another night of work.

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Thanks for reading! Let me know if you want added to the tag list for future chapters! 💖

#lucifer morningstar #lucifer magne #lucifer hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer smut #hazbin hotel #fanfic writing #fanfiction

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bellaxgiornata · 3 months

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Accidents

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Mom!Reader Word Count: 1.7k [Collection Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: fluff, humor, and Matt getting an unwelcome surprise

Summary: While distracted talking to you, Matt forgets the first rule of diaper changes.

a/n: Yet again another blurb that grew into the length of a one-shot... I also couldn't get the mental image out of my head of this happening to Matt, so here you go! Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Collection Tag List: @danzer8705 @glowstick-lesbian @flowher @geminadeckerwritesstuff @shiorimakibawrites @beezusvreeland @ebathory997 @maryyymothhh @4happilyeverafter @sleepysleepymom @kezibear @charmedkim @midnightramble @carolinaxvz @1988-fiend @marcysbear

Leaning forward towards your laptop on the coffee table with your legs curled up on the leather couch, you reread the paragraph you’d just typed. For the past few weeks this was where you’d been stationed at home fielding emails from work when you were supposed to be on maternity leave.

While you'd been working this afternoon, you’d occasionally paused to glance across the living room, your eyes landing on the bassinet that you’d pulled out from the bedroom earlier. Every few minutes you felt compelled to check and make sure your one month old little boy was still peacefully napping. And every time you did, you longed to be finished with the work you weren't even supposed to be doing–let alone thinking about–so you could get back to just spending time with him.

Releasing a tired sigh, your attention returned to your laptop. As you worked, you became so absorbed in composing the email to your colleague that you hadn’t heard the apartment door open behind you. Neither had you heard Matt hanging up his cane on the wall hook in the entry hall, or the sound of him slipping out of his dress shoes over the loud click click click of your typing. It wasn’t until you felt hands gently landing on your shoulders that you suddenly jumped a couple of inches on the couch in surprise, your head flying over your shoulder as your heart rate spiked.

Matt leaned over the backrest, a cheeky grin on his lips. “Evening, sweetheart,” he greeted.

“Shit, Matt,” you said, throwing a hand over your heart as his hands released you. “I didn’t even hear you come in.”

“I know,” he replied. “You seemed very deep in concentration.” His brows dipped beneath his dark glasses, his head canting to the side as he paused in thought. “You’re not working again, are you? Because it sort of sounds like you’re working.”

Blowing out an irritated sigh, you nodded. “Try telling my boss that. I swear, every afternoon there’s something she can’t seem to figure out without my help. Though technically what she’s contacting me for isn’t violating any of the terms of my leave, so I can't exactly refuse her.”

Matt’s mouth pulled into a frown as he began to undo the knot of his tie. “Unfortunately,” he muttered. “Though I wish she’d leave you alone. You’re already doing enough as it is.”

“You're not the only one wishing that,” you grumbled.

Turning around and focusing back on your partially written email, you were vaguely aware of Matt making his way around the apartment, slipping out of his suit coat as he walked. But when he paused just in front of the bedroom door, a smile slipping onto his face as his head turned in the direction of the bassinet beside it, your fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Watching him over the screen of your laptop, a small smile spread onto your own lips. You remembered how he had been so nervous about becoming a father. You remembered all the late nights he'd paced the living room talking a mile a minute, worried about all the what-ifs he feared would happen and how he was afraid of being a disappointment. But even as you’d listened to his nervous chatter, you'd never once doubted him. You’d never questioned the fact that he'd be a great father.

“Someone’s sleepy,” Matt observed, attention still on the bassinet.

“He’s been out for a couple of hours now,” you told him. “Downed a full bottle of milk and passed right out. Though I give him a couple of minutes before he wakes.” You shook your head, eyes dropping fondly down to your sleeping son. “I swear he’s got a sixth sense or something,” you said. “Because he always knows every single time you come back home.”

“Like father, like son,” Matt joked.

You rolled your eyes as Matt disappeared into the bedroom, sliding his tie out from beneath his collar. Attention returning to your almost finished email, you hoped you could finally write the last paragraph so you could send it and forget about it.

“Hopefully he at least grows a better sense of self-preservation,” you whispered.

Matt chuckled in the bedroom, the sound drawing forth a smile as you continued to work. Though you’d only managed to type a couple of sentences before the sound of soft, irritated cries rose from across the room. Eyes raising from your laptop yet again, you glanced at the bassinet. Sure enough your baby boy was awake.

“I swear, he always knows,” you muttered under your breath.

Before you could even rise from off the couch, Matt appeared back in the living room. He’d apparently only managed to remove his dress shirt and glasses before he’d been interrupted, leaving him standing there shirtless with the belt buckle on his dress pants undone.

“I’ve got him, sweetheart,” he told you. “Just finish your email. Pretty sure he just needs a diaper change. Nothing I can't handle.”

“Are you sure?” you asked. “I can get him if you want to finish getting out of your work clothes.”

Matt waved you off as he made his way over to the bassinet. “It’s fine,” he assured you. “Plus, I missed the little guy today.”

Silently you watched Matt, distracted by him bending over the bassinet and scooping your son up into his bare arms. He carried him across the room to the changing table you’d both struggled to set up just before you'd given birth–a comical memory now.

“By the way,” Matt said, gently lowering your son onto the changing table before unsnapping the bottom of his onesie, “Foggy, Marci, and Karen were wondering what time would work best for us to have them stop over this weekend.”

“Oh?” you asked, perking up on the couch. “So they’re finally coming to meet the little guy?”

“Now that things have slowed at the office a little,” Matt said, undoing the dirty diaper on your son as he glanced back over towards you. “Yeah, they were hoping to. Is that alright?”

“More than alright,” you told him. “I could use some company that isn’t a crying baby for once.”

Matt’s eyes narrowed at you. “You have me, don’t you?”

A teasing grin slid onto your face as you fought back a laugh. “I said what I said, Matty.”

The corners of his mouth curled up into that smartass grin he often had before he hit you with a witty comeback of his own, but before he could retaliate, you saw what Matt failed to notice just a second before he realized what was happening. Eyes going wide, you abruptly pointed at the baby behind him as a stream of fresh piss shot up into the air. It wasn’t until the stream hit Matt square in his bare chest, his mouth dropping open in shock, that he realized his son was peeing on him.

“Not again !” Matt exclaimed, hurriedly focusing back on your son.

Throwing a hand over your mouth to cover your laugh, you rose from the couch and rushed over as Matt fumbled to grab a fresh diaper from beside himself in order to cover your son’s continuing stream. Struggling to fight back your amusement, you couldn’t help but find it funny that this wasn’t even the first time this had happened to him.

“The man without fear indeed,” you said, still choking back your laughter.

“What?” Matt distractedly asked.

“You,” you replied, coming to a stop beside him before lightly pushing him out of the way with your hip. “You're quite fearless to change a baby boy's diaper while repeatedly forgetting to keep him covered so you don't get peed on.”

“Well I was a little distracted,” he grumbled.

You held out a clean baby wipe towards Matt, still biting back the amused smile on your face. Matt accepted the wipe from your hand before beginning to clean off his chest.

“You know,” you began, focusing on finishing the diaper change, “for someone with heightened senses, you’d think out of the pair of us that it would be me who kept accidentally getting peed on. But no. Somehow it's always you.”

“Hilarious,” Matt deadpanned.

“I think so,” you teased. “But why don't you jump in the shower?” you suggested, picking the baby back up into your arms when you'd finished securing a clean diaper on him. “I'm sure you don't want to smell like pee for the rest of the night.”

Matt stopped wiping at his chest, his hand dropping back to his side as his shoulders slumped. With his attention returning to you, he asked, “You love when this happens, don't you?”

You shrugged your shoulders, still grinning. “I mean, it's kind of funny how you don't ever seem to learn,” you answered. “Because you’d think after the second or third time you’d remember the dangers of not covering him during a diaper change. Especially after that night last week.”

Matt shook his head, his expression still entirely unamused. “No, not you,” he said. He raised a hand to point a finger at the baby in your arms. “I was asking the little guy.”

Your gaze dropped down to your son before it returned to him. “Matt,” you said, once more struggling to fight down a laugh, “he's barely a month old. He can't even laugh yet. There’s no way he’s doing it for shits and giggles.”

“Uh huh,” he said, turning and making his way towards the bathroom now. “I bet that’s the real reason he always wakes up when I come home.”

Your brows jumped up onto your forehead. “To pee on you?”

“Yes,” Matt called back over his shoulder, the hint of amusement now in his tone. “Just to pee on me.”

Grinning down at the little boy in your arms, you eyed him curiously. “Is that true?” you cooed at him. “Do you do that on purpose? Did you just wake up to pee on your dad?”

Your son only looked back up at you, his mouth opening wide in a yawn before he slowly closed his eyes again.

“Huh,” you mused, carrying the now sleepy baby back towards the bassinet. “Maybe there’s some merit behind that idea after all.”

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock humor #matt murdock x you #matt murdock #daredevil

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rileyslibrary · 10 months

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Ghost helps Riot decorate the Christmas tree at the base.

Fluff. A gift for my friend, @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot with her OC, Christine “Riot” Vega. (Awesome render here!)

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“It’s too tall.”

“Or, maybe you’re too short.”

Riot shifts her gaze from the Christmas tree to Ghost. He doesn’t regard her back, yet she knows there’s a smile underneath that mask—one of those triumphant, snarky, arrogant, ‘i-got-her-again’ grins.

“Behave, Lieutenant,” she warns. “I’m 1.70, in case you didn’t read my file.”

“Congratulations to the whole 1.70 of you,” he replies and playfully pats her head. “With or without the shoes?”

Riot rolls her eyes and swats his hand away. “Can you just get me the ornament boxes from the warehouse?” She asks.

“You have to be more specific, love,” He says. “The warehouse is a two thousand square meter void filled with cardboard boxes.”

“I don’t have the coordinates, Ghost.” She replies, smirking. “You can ask Gaz whether he planted a GPS tracker in them or, here’s a better idea: how about you search for the boxes labelled as ‘Xmas’?”

Now, he’s the one rolling his eyes. He murmurs a “how unique” and walks to the door to fulfil her request.

While waiting for Ghost to find and retrieve the boxes, Riot tests the new Christmas lights they bought by plugging them into the socket. Once she confirms they work, she starts wrapping them around the tree. Although the task appears to be assigned to just the two of them, it took all five—including the captain who gave the roles—to make it happen.

Gaz chose the tree and bought extra ornaments, then Soap measured its dimensions, ensuring enough lights to cover it. Once aligned, they raked the entire base to decide on the perfect spot. Their prerequisites? It had to be a place where everyone could see it and would do it justice. Unfortunately, they couldn’t agree on a specific location, so they met in the middle and decided to place the tree in the mess hall, the exact same spot it was last year. And the year before it. And the year before it.

Then, it was up to Ghost to carry the tree, and the captain instructed him to help Riot with the “heavy-duty” tasks. Now, all that’s left is for Riot to decorate it.

“I still don’t get why you get to decorate.” Ghost says, placing the boxes on the floor. “Why are we doing chores like measuring and carrying boxes while you get the fun stuff?”

“Because whoever did it last year did a terrible job,” she retorts, emphasising ‘whoever’ and handing Ghost a light strip to continue up to the top. “You guys didn’t even shuffle the decorations. Not to mention that the back was empty.”

“Nobody sees the back,” Ghost argues.

“You don’t?” Riot smirks.

“Nobody sees the back of the tree,” Ghost corrects.

“Well, I do,” she replies, pointing at the top of the tree, “and go a little bit lower over there.”

“Like that?” he asks.

“Like that,” she confirms.

After finishing the light placement, Ghost sits on the sofa. He takes an ornament shaped like a candy cane from one of the boxes and starts playing with it. Riot, on the other hand, gets straight to the job. She opens the boxes and grabs two ornaments. She places one on the tree, removes it and tries the other. She concludes on the latter. She turns around to search the boxes for more ornaments and catches Ghost fiddling with the candy cane.

“You can go if you’re bored,” she says. “I won’t finish anytime soon.”

“That I figured,” he murmurs under his breath, making Riot instinctively place her hands on her waist. He lets a sharp chuckle and shakes his head. “I’m alright here.” He assures her.

But of course, where else would he be alright if not here?

Time passes quickly. Ghost and Riot reminisce about their past Christmases—childhood festivities, memorable Boxing Day gifts, favourite holiday foods, and the annual movies that defined each season. Yet, these beautiful memories end at a certain point unique to each. Maybe those memories have faded away, or perhaps they have purposefully chosen to let them go. And when that happens, when they approach that personal boundary, they stop dwelling on those past celebrations and turn to each other, to the present, to fill them with joy.

Sometimes, Riot shows Ghost different ornaments, and he either picks one or dismisses the options with a casual “whatever” or “there’s no difference.” Other times, Ghost critiques her progress, giving feedback while she decorates. He points out areas needing more attention or playfully suggests she’s gone overboard elsewhere. In return, Riot replies with a firm yet joking, “Go on; you do it then”, and shuts him up.

She lifts one final piece into the air and shows it to Ghost—the Christmas tree topper.

“Seems that I’m too short to reach the top,” she pouts.

“Nonsense,” he whispers and stands up. “It’s the tree that’s too tall.”

He walks towards her, grabs her waist, and lifts her up.

“Now I get why the captain assigned me for the heavy-duty stuff,” he says.

“Drop me, and I’ll stick you up there instead of the topper.” She warns him, chuckling. “Take one more step forward, please.”

Ghost does as told, and Riot places the topper at the top. She adjusts it and lightly taps Ghost’s hand to put her down. They take a few steps back and marvel at the result.

“What do you think?” Riot asks, still looking at the tree.

“Seems alright.” Ghost shrugs. “Should we turn the lights on?”

“No,” Riot replies. “I want all of them to be here when we do it.”

He turns to look at her and nods. She meets his gaze and smiles.

“Thank you for lifting me up.” She says.

“No,” he replies. “Thank you for lifting me up.”

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#cod oc #call of duty oc #cod original character #call of duty original character #christine riot vega #riot vega #cod fic #cod fanfic #ghost x oc #ghost x riot #simon ghost riley x christine riot vega

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cookinguptales · 1 year

Note

Can I ask you to do a post about Disney & disability please? You mentioned it and I’d love to know more!

Well, my notifications can't get any messier, so why not?

This post got very, very long because I ended up talking about a lot of the accessibility solutions in detail (and... ranting about how accessibility at Universal was so bad that I got physically injured there) so I'm putting it under a cut for you.

To preface this, I have mobility issues (as well as a lot of food intolerances/allergies) and general chronic illness, my sister is Deaf, and I have friends who regularly attend the park with autistic family members with high support needs. These are the disabilities I have experience with, so while I've heard a bit about others (such as portable descriptive devices for visitors with visual impairments) I can't speak as much about those accommodations.

I have also traveled quite a bit, mostly as a disabled adult. I can work from anywhere and my family enjoys traveling, so I've been very lucky in this regard. I also used to live in central Florida, not too far from Disney, and benefited from their FL resident rates.

So I'm coming at this from a person who has a lot of experience traveling while disabled and a fair amount of experience going to WDW, though I haven't been nearly as often since I moved out of Florida.

(Good fucking riddance.)

So know that I am speaking from experience when I say I have never, without exception, been to a single place half as accessible as Walt Disney World. It is literally the reason my family would go there; it was one of the only places we could all safely go together. One of the only places I've been on earth that even approached their level of thoughtful accommodations is Barcelona, which apparently did significant renovations throughout the city in order to prepare for the 1992 Paralympics.

(Hey, if anyone is reading this from Barcelona: I teared up the first time I used one of your curb cuts in my wheelchair, just so you know.)

Going through those parks in a wheelchair is a breeze, though you will probably have to fight a lot of clueless parents with strollers who are hellbent on using resources intended for wheelchair-users and then glaring at you when you try to use them yourself. Level ground, spacious sidewalks, accessible transportation, well-kept gradual ramps, roomy buildings, lots of accessible restrooms, alternate entrances at many rides for wheelchair users, special wheelchair rows in movie theaters that we're loaded into first, accessible queues in most rides designed or renovated in the last fifteen years, special viewing areas for shows/parades/fireworks so you don't end up staring at able-bodied butts for a half hour...

Like, structurally-speaking, the parks are very easy to get around in if you're a wheelchair user. That was built in and you can see a lot of very mindful design choices. As far as the rides go, most of their rides actually have special cars that you can load into while still in a wheelchair. They're pretty neat. I can transfer, but that means often leaving my wheelchair and/or cane with a cast member during the ride. They are always, without fail, waiting for me on the other side of the ride, no matter how far the exit is from the entrance. I have never once had a problem with this. A cast member will be there to put my assistive devices in my hand before I even have to think about getting up. Guaranteed.

Wheelchair users always used to be able to skip the line, but there was unfortunately a problem with able-bodied people pretending to be disabled to skip lines (because god forbid they not have access to a single thing we have to make our lives livable) so now there's a system where if you cannot wait in a line, they'll basically give you a special time to come back that's equivalent to the length of the line. Which feels fair to me as someone who often cannot be in even an accessible line for extended periods. (I have problems with sunlight, heat, and often need emergency food or restroom.)

More important than all this, though, is the fact that cast members are impeccably well-trained in all of this. Any disabled person can tell you that the most accessible design on earth isn't worth shit if the people working there aren't well-trained. (More on this later, when I take a giant shit on Universal Studios.) But Disney trains their employees, many of whom are disabled themselves, incredibly well.

Every employee will know where the accessible entrances are. Every employee will know the procedure for getting a return time. Every employee will know about first-aid centers, and every employee will know where the quiet areas are for people with sensory issues. Every time you make a reservation for a meal, hotel room, transportation, etc. they will ask for all accessibility needs and they'll be ready for you.

Every waiter you have will be incredibly careful and knowledgeable when it comes to special dietary needs, and chefs will often come out to discuss them with you. They often have specific menus for different dietary needs, and they are scrupulous when it comes to allergens. I have a few intolerances that suck and allergies that could kill me and I have always felt very safe in their hands. This ranges from fancy sit-down restaurants to quick service burger places.

And -- honestly, I have just always been treated with respect. I know that sounds like a low bar, but most people do fail to clear it. Disney has their employees very well-trained on how to interact with disabled guests. People speak directly to me, never to the able-bodied people over my head. They never treat me like I'm a child. They never ask invasive questions or make uncomfortable jokes. They never, ever get impatient with my accessibility needs.

The few times I have misjudged things and have injured myself or gotten extremely ill, they were professional and caring as they provided much-needed first-aid. It's kind of embarrassing to be doted on by a costumed character while you wait for a doctor to come help you sit up again, but also kind of endearing, I'll admit.

They also, in addition to captioning all videos in the park, have some of the best sign language interpreters in the world, bar none. They're very personal and professional, they're easy to reserve, they will always be in a visible place during shows, and they're incredible performers as well as being very technically proficient. In addition to the professional interpreters, many cast members, performers, and characters can sign as well.

In addition to that, and this brings me to my next point, you'll meet a lot of disabled employees throughout the park. In front-facing positions. Deaf employees, employees using mobility aids, etc. They're well-known to hire disabled people and treat them well. This is. Fuck, this is incredibly rare, I say as someone who was never able to find a job in Florida with my health conditions. It's the moral thing to do to hire disabled people, but also -- selfishly, there's something so heartening and normalizing about seeing people who look like you working at the park. I'm happy every single time.

I have a little less personal experience when it comes to accessibility for neurodivergence, despite being neurodivergent myself, but I've been told that Disney is very, very accommodating for people on the spectrum. A lot is done to lessen crowding, waiting, sensory overload, etc. for autistic guests. Cast members are usually super good at this; finding designated quiet areas, helping autistic guests avoid more crowded areas, keeping them out of long lines, making sure they have access to any particular experiences that are special to them, etc.

For folks who need help from their group, whether that's an autistic child who needs to be with a parent or a disabled adult who needs someone to push their wheelchair or anything else, Disney has a rider switch-off model. In other words, if you're there with both of your able-bodied parents, for example, and you need one of them to be with you at all times and you don't want to be on the ride yourself, Disney will allow one person to go on the ride while the other waits for them to finish, then will allow the second person to go on without any additional wait. This makes sure that everyone in the family gets equal access without leaving disabled people alone. (Which... can be a very shitty feeling, I assure you.)

I know that Disney has also pioneered a lot of assistive technology. The accessible rides, obviously, which can be ridiculously cool (like Toy Story Midway Mania has an accessible car with alternative "guns" for people with dexterity limitations so they can play the carnival games as well) but also handheld assistive devices for visually impaired guests, etc. Like they are literally inventing new forms of accessibility technology, which is so cool.

And honestly, I'm always learning about new ways they assist disabled guests. I've stayed in Disney's accessible hotel rooms before (they're very nice!) but I don't like to swim so I've never been in the pools. But even just this week, someone told me that Disney has pool lifts for disabled guests, which I had never even considered. That's so cool.

The best part about accessibility at Disney is that in some ways it's very casual. A lot of their design decisions are so intuitive that you never even notice how accessible the parks are until you go somewhere where that's... not the case.

Like -- just so you don't assume that any of these things are industry standard, let me tell you about the two times I went to Universal, a park very close to Disney. I went there once for an event and once with my family.

The first time I went was for an event at the opening of the Harry Potter park. (This was before JKR made her most appalling views public, to be clear.) It... was frustrating. Guests asked if there would be food and drink available for people with special dietary restrictions (such as sugar-free butterbeer) and were pretty much told that no, that was not something they were interested in pursuing. It became very obvious very quickly that the park itself was so narrow that it only barely fulfilled ADA standards -- when empty. We were told that JKR had actually specifically insisted that it feel "cramped". Which is a nice way to say that I couldn't actually get around in any of the stores while people were in them.

It was overall a frustrating experience, but it was like. One night. I figured it was probably a fluke and they were still ironing out all the details. So I ended up going back with my parents later.

Y'all, it was a shit show.

Broken elevators that prevented disabled guests from accessing rides. Performers being up on raised platforms/sidewalks so disabled guests couldn't get to them. Sidewalks being made inaccessible by putting movable signs directly in the middle of them. Stores (even outside of the HP part) that were so damn narrow that I actually ended up getting hurt trying to navigate one of them. And no -- it was not easy to get first aid.

And my god, was the training bad. We went to one of the new HP rides, asked if there was a specific entrance for disabled guests. We were told no. We waited for a very long time in a line that honestly I shouldn't have been waiting in, but I wanted to be a good sport. I was pretty sick by the time we got through it, and the line itself had some very dangerous inclines/turns for wheelchair users. We get to the front of the line -- and the employee asks why we didn't just use the accessible entrance. 🙃

(Side note: several of their rides are also just unrideable if you don't fit within a pretty narrow body type of thin and able-bodied, so... there's that.)

We'd asked repeatedly and gotten incorrect answers, and I'd been put in physical danger as a result. Wild. I started to notice that if you asked different employees, you'd get different answers about almost anything, really. Just exceptionally poor training. Even stuff that should've been a no-brainer, like loading wheelchair users into a stationary movie theater, ended up creating chaos when they did it incorrectly and we had a giant wheelchair pileup.

Like -- let me stress to you that many of the things that happened could have caused actual injury to people. Some of these situations were dangerous. And some of them were just alienating, like when I'd have to wait outside a store while my family could go in.

I never went back after that. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ We just kept going to Disney.

One thing that'll probably show how good Disney is at accessibility is the whole Make-A-Wish thing. A lot of people know that it's a popular Make-A-Wish request, and you're likely to see at least a couple kids with Make-A-Wish buttons during your visit if you keep an eye out. One reason for this, is that, y'know, Disney World is fun. Kids want to go there. But more important, I think, is that Disney can accommodate people with at-times severe medical needs. Those kids can safely go anywhere and do anything in those parks that able-bodied kids can, and that's important.

All in all, the parks are just so accessible and you will never, ever be made to feel like you're lesser for needing those accommodations. You will be treated so well and you will not have to worry about accessibility because the cast members are always doing it for you. They'll usher you into the correct entrance as soon as they see a mobility device, and they'll do it with a very warm welcome. It's one of the very few places on earth where I have never felt like a burden.

Again, y'know, I know that Disney does not have a perfect track record on a lot of issues. I would never defend them from rightfully earned criticism. I strongly support labor action against them, and I do think they should be criticized whenever they fuck up. I have been uncomfortable with the sheer amount of power they have both in Florida and in the entertainment world just because no one should have that much power. But I am far more uncomfortable with that power being stripped away for blatantly discriminatory political reasons.

I do have some loyalty to Disney just because there is no other place on earth where I've been able to safely have fun with my friends with so little agony. That's... I mean, it's important, really. To be able to just exist in public without getting grief for it. And I have some loyalty to them because they were a safe space for me as a young, queer kid who was not safe being out in other areas of my life.

(Like, I am talking about actual literal safety. I kept seeing notes on my post saying that Disney didn't care about creating a "safe space for queer people" but as someone who lived in Florida for the entirety of my teenage years? It was the safest goddamn place there.)

I do not have enough loyalty to defend them when they do immoral bullshit, but I do have enough to make sure that people know the good that they do as well.

I want other businesses to follow Disney's model for disability. I will praise them forever for what they've done in that regard because if I don't, there's no reason for other companies to follow suit. I want to praise them for the good things they've done so they have incentive to keep doing it, and other companies have an incentive to do it as well.

Like bro, I just wanna be able to move around and be treated with some dignity, y'know? My bar is so low. lmao

But yeah. That's why you always see so many disabled guests at Disney. It's literally the only place some of us can go to have fun.

#disney #disability #ableism #replies #honestly I used to go to the parks a lot but I wouldn't presently consider myself a superfan of disney or anything #but goddamn it sometimes you just wanna be able to go out and do the same things as everybody else #and disney always let me do that

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renonm · 5 months

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OMG HII MASHLE BLOG AND MORE SKDJKDKS umm can I request reader x either orter or rayne coming back from a mission and they turn into a child ( kinda like that one episode where lance and dot became babies hahaja) like maybe kaldo or ryoh drop the reader at their office and they gotta babysit them hehe thank you if you ever take up on this request! ~ ᗢ

> || Orter Mádl x gn!reader

A/N: Hey chat maybe if this gets a lot of likes I’ll do Rayne(after like.. a few requests, trust!!) Sorry that it took so long and it turned out to be shitty lol, uh barely proofreaded, hope y'all enjoy tho

As someone who strives to work a lot, there particularly have always been tasks that mostly have been assigned to you that could be considered odd… There would have been examples now, but it’s sort of the best to specifically forget about it…, which kind of is fairly significant.

Today generally was just like any ordinary day, checking paperwork, sitting on a chair, and remaining in your office for the entire day in a particularly major way. However, this could have been considered the most normal workday you've ever had for the generally entire week. Unfortunately, no.

It was supposed to be a normal day! Till someone knocked at your office door. It slowly creaked itself open, revealing Kaldo, that man who has a weird addiction to honey, walked in. Carrying what almost looked like a baby. Go get your glasses checked. (Do you even wear any?)

“Good day, Mx. (L/N). I, the Flame Cane, Kaldo Gehenna, Have come to assign you with a very important ta—“ “Get straight to the point.” You interrupted Kaldo as he spoke. Another task? Why yes, “Alright, I will… So, please take care of ‘little’ Orter.” The Flame cane spoke in what seemed to be a ‘forced formal tone’. You had easily identified that he was trying to make this quick, perhaps he had other activities for the day But wait, what did Kaldo mean by ‘little Orter’? Did he mean Wirth?

“Wirth?” You asked, but you took realization as you fixed your gaze on the baby, it was Orter. Orter fucking Mádl. The Sand Cane. Mr. Grumpyface. The book nerd. It was him! He got turned into a baby??? HOW???

If there’s something to expect in working at the Bureau of Magic, it is that they can assign weird and obscure tasks that could be considered as “vague.” But if it was for protecting the people, then so be it. For the sake of the people… Focusing back on the current events,

“No, Orter.” The man paused before speaking again. “He got turned into a baby because of an individual move he made on a mission… But, ah, look! Isn't he so cute?” Kaldo poked Orter’s cheeks, sure, he may be cute, but Kaldo may have forgotten that Orter could use 10% of his sand magic, therefore he used it to spray sand on the white-haired man’s eyes, temporarily blinding him. It was a funny interaction, you chuckled. But knowing that you had to take this seriously, you nodded. There goes your free time, but it's for a comrade! And that comrade is Orter…. Yikes…. Okay, maybe you’d want this.

“Alright, I'll take him in, you owe me one though, Kaldo—” Before you could continue, the Flame Cane already left in a rush, leaving Orter at your desk. Now it was just you and that baby. Even being in such a small form, he still glares intensely. A question lingers in your head, how do you take care of babies? Is it necessary to treat Orter as one? After all, this effect only looks momentary. No one knows how long. But what you know is that the black-haired child(man) would not want to be treated as a baby. He is physically 23, he can grind you to sand! But now, he is in what can be considered one of the most vulnerable states he has ever been in, if not the most vulnerable. No wonder why Kaldo urged you to babysit him. This was urgent for the sake of the Divine Visionaries. Losing Orter was a monumental risk. How bad can this be?

Really bad.

Time had passed, and both of you were in a staring competition. Though, you guys were well acquainted or even best friends! Or maybe even more than that. Yet this feels awkward. You have no experience with babies. How does one talk to a baby? “Goo goo gaa gaa???” You said to Orter in an attempt to communicate with him. He stared back. Then proceeds to use his magic to throw sand on your eyes. The pain was minimal, at least. He taps at the paperwork you were supposed to finish. You got reminded! But where to place the baby… Surely now, he was tasking you to finish it. HE WAS GLARING.

There was only one choice. Actually, there were plenty but Orter was your friend, of course, you’d want to spend time with him, even as a baby.

Placing baby Orter near you!!! Surely the chair you were sitting on had some space for one more!! So you carried him and placed him near where you sat at. Pat pat, patting Orter’s head felt quite nice. (Orter may feel the same way but refuses to express it.)

“Stay here, alright?” You instructed to Orter wagging your hand… He’s gonna be pissed once he turns back to normal, WAS IT NECESSARY TO TREAT HIM LIKE AN ACTUAL BABY??? Why yes, of course. Did he resist? Not much, he only sat down next to you peacefully, Damm. You're gonna make fun of him after this.

A few hours in(it's been a few minutes, this is just exaggerated.) and you already feel fatigued after working, glancing at Orter thinking he was asleep and perhaps you can slack off, nope. Still awake. This made you consider your strength. Why are you scared of a baby? well, this is Orter you're babysitting, but by the looks of it, Orter is the one babysitting you. “What uh… Are you hungry young one?” You asked and he nodded no in response, instead, he pointed at your paperwork, ordering you to stop focusing on him and to finish it. Of course you had to follow that.

(If this were to ever be in a modern setting, he would be the definition of the boss baby.)

Okay, this time, it had been hours in, and you now feel sincerely tired. Taking a glimpse at the window, it was already afternoon, taking a small check at Orter, yes! He's finally resting!! Staring back, you can see how Orter looked relaxed by simply getting rest, even as a baby, it felt like it was enough. Working at the Bureau of Magic requires a lot of sacrificing of schedule to keep the world at peace. The Sand Cane was dedicated to that. Even the fact that he somewhat turned into a baby. You had always admired his hard work, and now, here he is. Asleep near you as a baby. You’d love to tease him once he turns back. Only if you’d survive the sand attack. That was for him to settle, now it was safe to slack off. You’ve finished the majority of your tasks anyway, so you relax in the chair, leaning in, closing your eyes as you process your thoughts on what happened today. Whatever, just make sure that you wake up earlier than that cranky-ass baby with glasses. You refuse to get sand in your eyes again.

An hour or two had passed, ah yes, the Excellency(you) had awakened from their slumber. (exaggerated again… lol..) But something felt so odd, that caused you to open your eyes, just to reveal that a coat was draped around you, whose coat was this… Looking to your side, Orter was gone. KALDO WAS GONNA KILL YOU.

“I'm right here,” Orter called, which caused you to look in front of the desk, it was him. Sitting across the desk, yours specifically. What should concern you more? The fact that he wasn't wearing his coat and gave it to you, or the fact that he was reviewing the paperwork you did earlier??

“Oh, uhm. Sorry, I suppose this is yours—” You were about to return his jacket, it felt morally wrong to take it, because…. It's not yours?

“No, keep it for now.” Oh? Orter even insisted that felt odd, yet appreciated by you. It looked like an invite that he was letting you tease him. He looked back at your work and nodded in approval, that was good. At least you weren't gonna pull out your soul out of your body this time. “You have surprisingly done well.” Well, obviously! It’s about time that someone notices your efforts. Who wouldn’t want to compliment you? (Probably Orter.)

Both exchanged gazes with one another, Orter’s grasp on your paper softened, eventually placing it back down on your table. He looks up at you, with a gaze that looks like he’s expecting you to speak. “Ah, uhm, yeah. I worked hard for those!! Haha…” You exclaimed, trying to lighten up the mood, but was met with even more awkwardness. As much as you hate to admit, it was hard to pick up a proper conversation with him. Always so stoic, so subtle… Yet so handsome? What’s there to dislike… Well, probably the fact that you assumed that he was oblivious.

Orter stares at his watch before looking back at you, “Meet me after work, I’ll treat you for a drink. As my compensation.” He said, of course, the person you are, you tried your best to remain a stoic face. One thing about Orter was, he was straightforward. You nodded, “Quite demanding, aren't we? Fine, I shall accept, but you must tell me the reason why you’re doing this—” poof. Orter was gone already? This was the second time that someone left while you were talking. However, you were left with a feeling of bewilderment. He technically asked you out.

Outside your office, Orter remained still. What is this that he felt? Love— was it? He was a man who could mask his emotions well, but his ears were red. He hid it well. Not to mention, he planned to purposely leave his jacket to you, so that you were forced to go to meet up with him. You looked nice in his coat. Enough for Orter to let out a small smile as he visualized the scene again. “Nice,” he muttered.

“My, my, I wonder why Orter is suddenly smiling out of L/N’s office.” A man called out, it was Kaldo. Orter frowned once again and glared at the Flame cane. “You saw nothing.” The Sand cane spoke out in an authoritative tone before leaving. In the end, this was all Kaldo’s planning, to force Orter to take the shield(which turned him into a baby) and for you to take care of him. He knew that Orter was too inexperienced and lacking in romance. He needs honey to celebrate, yippee.

But, it’s a date, right?

#zzenoids #orter madl x reader #mashle x reader #mashle #orter madl #soreythatidied

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writing-havoc · 1 year

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Hey! How're you? I hope you're well.

I absolutely adore your works and I hope it's okay to make a request? It's just a little idea I had, sort of inspired by your latest fic :)

Where the reader is a part of the crows and one night she finds this small child outside the club and she feels really sorry for them and brings them into the club and tries to help them? Maybe with a bit of Kaz x reader? Whatever you feel inspired to write to be honest :D

I hope this is okay, I love your works so much! 💖💞

Enough

♡ Summary: You do your best to care for a little boy you found while Kaz cools down

♡ Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Reader

♡ Fandom: Six of Crows, Grishaverse

♡ Warning(s): Hunger, Child Abandonment, says Yn twice

♡ WC: 4.6k

I could have sworn there was a mention of like, a café by name in the books somewhere but I couldn't find it? I just made one up but man this is gonna drive me crazy lol

Anyway, here you go! I hope it is to your liking and tysm for the request and kind words <3 so glad my fic could inspire!

Please excuse any grammar and spelling mistakes

∘₊✧──────────────────✧₊∘

Finding a child in an alleyway was not something you expected to tick off your bingo card so soon. Taking the child with you to the Crow Club with plans to look after him wasn't even on the card. And yet, here you are.

He's small, top of his head barely reaching your belly button, and his hands are freezing from where they hold onto your own.

You had found him not twenty minutes ago, and planned to just leave him there like any sensible person. But unfortunately, you're not as good at turning your moral compass upside down like everyone else.

So you got his attention, approaching his little shelter and offering him the last slice of bread you had swiped from someone's open kitchen window. He was hesitant to reach for it, hands slowly edging toward you as if you'd rip it away any moment, and with a certain gentleness took the piece from your hand and began to nibble on it.

His clothes were dirty, dipped in whatever dirt the Barrel has rubbed off on him and drenched through to the bone. Things were coming apart at the seams and the soles of his shoes you can tell were about to separate from the rest.

You had asked him where his parents are, and your heart immediately sunk when he looked away and towards the canal, his tiny nibbling seizing.

That was what snapped the little string you had holding you back, the other side tied to your sense of reasoning.

He's just a kid. You were just a kid once. Arguably still are. You'll be damned if you had to watch someone who was no older than 7 go through the same fate you did.

But your sentiments were short lived, starting and ending with you, as the moment you stepped through the doors of the Crow Club with the kid clutching your hand, Kaz was narrowing his eyes and his teeth were gritting.

You glared at Dreg members around you, daring them to stop you as you made your way to the back of the club where all the alcohol is stored. Nina and Jesper were setting up chairs, and you gave them a blank look as you entered the room, the sound of metal thumping rhythmically following.

"Yn." A rough gravelly voice calls behind you.

You ignore it, looking at the kid. "Is it alright if I lift you up? Just to here, hun."

In the softest voice you ever heard, the kid says "Yeah." and allows you to put your hands under his arms and lift him onto a crate.

"Yn," Kaz calls again, making your blood simmer.

There's really nothing you can do here. The Club is going to open in a few moments for the five o' clock rush and there's not any spare clothes. You'll have to wait until you can go to the market later to fetch him some clothes and bathe him at the Slat.

The ferrule of a cane drags across the floor, and you roll your eyes.

"Give me a moment, okay?" You say to the kid, waiting for him to nod before turning around, exiting into the main bar area.

"Are you mad?" He hisses at you, hand gripping his cane so hard you can see it shake. "What could have possibly made you think bringing a child here would be a good idea?"

His anger isn't too surprising. But if you're being honest, it's annoying.

"I was thinking that he has nowhere to go." You say, voice low as you walk away from the door a little more. Kaz follows you, eyebrows still snapped together and a hardness to his jaw you don't think you've ever seen directed at you. "He was outside and shivering inside a make-shift shelter made out of fruit crates and a tattered towel. He needs a place to stay."

"I don't care what it needs. It has no place here." His eyes flicker to the kid.

You cross your arms, anger bubbling in your chest. "He is not going anywhere. He is cold, and small, and hungry, and we have everything here and at the Slat to keep him comfortable."

His eyes snap back to you. "This isn't a daycare. We can't just swing our doors open to any lost kid you manage to find on the streets. This is the fucking Crow Club."

"I know damn well what this place is, Kaz." Your jaw hurts from how hard you're clenching it, head starting to pound at your temples. "I'm not blind nor incompetent. But he can't weigh more forty pounds and he's way past the age for that to be acceptable. I cannot, in good conscience, let him go for him to starve and eventually die on the streets."

He goes to say something, but stops, eyes flickering around your face. Your jaw is set, features no doubt mirroring his as you stand your ground, hands on your hips and feet stood apart.

"Please, Kaz."

You don't care that he runs this place. You're not about to be pushed around and bullied into staying complicit while this kid dies.

And he knows this.

So he closes his eyes, looking away from you as he takes a deep breath, collecting himself. His hand is no longer shaking, but you can tell he's still angry, ready to swing at both the imaginary and the physical.

He takes one last breath and looks at you, eyes only just softer than before. "You are responsible for him. He's hungry? You feed him. He's hurt? You fix him." The crows head of his cane comes up to look at you. "If he causes trouble, you deal with him."

You smile for only a moment before you push the cane away from your face, his barrier down. "He's well behaved. It'll be fine."

"You better hope so." He mumbles under his breath, walking away slightly off rhythm.

You watch him leave, members parting when they see his mood. A few even nearly knock over a chair when he gets a bit too close, Nina and Jesper arching their brows as he disappears out the door.

A few people are staring at you, eyes hungry for gossip and a glimpse at the kid you ushered in not minutes before.

You ignore them in turn for trying to figure out what to do with him.

He's sitting on a crate of Kaelish whiskey, legs shut tightly and dangling off the side, arms wrapped around his torso. But he's looking around, taking in the stockpile of alcohol.

"Alright, first things first." You say, leaving a crack in the door as you step into the room. He's jumpy, staring at you with analyzing eyes. "What's your name?"

He opens his mouth to say something, but then pauses, quickly shutting it.

You chuckle. "Listen, kid. Whatever you've got to hide, I don't give a shit. You're in the Barrel now, the only names that matter here are who you've decided to roll your dice with and those who call themselves bosses."

He thinks about it then, eyes narrowing and feet rubbing against eachother inside his tattered shoes. He wets his lips.

"Leopold."

It's... a little far from what you were expecting. You just barely stop yourself from snorting. "You'd have been better off lying."

His face blossoms in red, embarrassment clear as he begins to shut down.

"Hey, hey. I'm sorry." You're still smiling so it doesn't help much. But you kneel down in front of him. "It's customary here to at least make light fun of others when you first meet them." He's not convinced, but he's a little less prickly now, so that's something. "Is Leopold what you'd like to be called? Or is there a different name you have in mind?"

Again, he thinks about it.

"Leo, is fine."

"Leo is much better." You pat his knee, standing up.

His cheeks are still red, but you can tell he feels a little more confident now.

The arms that were tightly coiled around his waist have loosened, resting on his legs. His feet are swinging, just barely, and his back has straightened.

A thought comes to mind when you see his shoe begin to slip off his foot.

"How hungry are you?" You ask.

And before he can answer, you hear a rather loud grumbling from his stomach, and a bit of a pained expression falls on his face.

Your smile drops a little. "Well it's good to see you haven't got comfortable with being hungry yet. Come on." You wave him over as you swing the door open. "We're going to get some waffles."

"Waffles?!" You hear from your left.

Leo jumps in surprise, not expecting the voice.

You, however, were expecting it. Counting on it, even. "Yes, Nina. You can come if you want!"

It's faint, but you can hear her go "yes!" and the sound of a chair scraping against the floor. "No need to ask me twice!"

You look at Leo as he approaches the door, hands fidgeting with eachother.

"None of that." You say, tapping his hands, which in turn makes him fling them apart. "When you walk out of here, in front of all those people, pretend to be confident."

His eyebrows knit together, so you take your finger and smooth it out. "You don't have to actually feel confident, but those guys out there? They're vultures, and I dont think you have the heart to take the amount of teasing and bullying they'll inflict on you if they see you fidgeting like that." You grab his shoulders, and watch in amusement as he stiffens into a board. You give him a thumbs up, then tilt his chin parallel to the floor, bringing it out of its nook in his chest. "Fidgeting is reserved for those who have earned their place here, when everyone knows that if they mess with you, you'll hold your ground."

He's sweating, and his eyes are big and wide, but it's a little better than whatever he had going on before.

You usher him out the door, closing it behind you. People are still staring, and others are giving mean side eyes, but you ignore them, smiling at Nina from where she stands by the door.

Her face gets wider when she sees Leo next to you.

"Oh you're the little bugger that had Brekkers panties in a bunch." She leans down, ruffling his hair. "You and I are going to get along swimmingly."

Leo cringes, scrunching in on himself and away from her hand. He's absolutely not pleased, you think, as Nina takes her hand back.

Lazily helping him sort his hair back out, you start to wonder what this kid even likes.

"Nina, this is Leo. Leo, this is Nina, greatest wolf tamer to grace Fjerda's soil."

Nina scoffs, kicking her leg out and knocking your shin with the toe of her boot. "The whole world, thank you very much." She turns out the door, holding it open for you both as you exit.

You do your best to keep the kid close as you make your way through the streets, idly chatting with Nina as you shove Leo around into various alley ways when you see someone you don't have good relations with and pulling him away from an oncoming carriage when he gets lost staring at the boats that roam the canal.

He has to be an artist's son, or maybe a writer's. You don't know anyone who just stops in the middle of the road to look at boats doing their job and floating on water.

It's actually a miracle you make it to the little diner in one piece.

Inside it smells strongly like shitty coffee and various breakfast foods given the hour, much to both you and Nina's delight.

You're just happy to be out of Barrel air for a moment. Even if you were only just across East Stave and a two minute walk would plant you back in the slums, you swear the air quality just immediately skyrockets the second you cross the bridge.

The menus of this place are built into the tables, Grisha engraved into a thin piece of metal while a thick card on a rack displays the specials.

A booth a little ways away from the corner suits your group well, though you do regret not giving Leo a wipe down before coming out here.

It does seem like he attempted to clean himself off. Probably while Kaz was lecturing you. The dirt that was under his fingernails seems to be picked out, and the smudges on his face are considerably fainter.

It's a good thing you didn't walk into one of the nicer diners around here. But from your experience, the shittier the establishment the better their food will taste.

If you don't feel at least a little unsafe walking by it then it's probably not worth the kruge.

You shimmy into one side of the booth first while Nina slides in on the other side. Leo follows after you, sticking as close as he can while still giving you a bit of arm room.

"Alright." You smile, looking at the little breakfast section, scooting in just a bit more so Leo can look at the menu as well. "I know I said waffles, but really you can order anything you like."

"You're paying, yes?" Nina asks.

You roll your eyes. "Yes, Nina. I'm paying. Though do try and feel a little guilty for my poor pocket."

She doesn't say anything, eyes roaming over the whole breakfast section rather than stopping on just the waffles like usual.

Maybe you'll get some lunch to balance out the sugar that's about to grace the table.

The smallest of taps tickles your shoulder. "What's this?"

He's pounting at the menu, the item catching your eye. "Ah, I forgot these places give awful names to their foods. It's an omelet," you clarify, "with little veggies mixed in. Probably cheese in the middle."

His eyes go wide as you mime the size of such a dish with your hand.

"Would you like it?" You ask, gently probing at the little bits of personality that have managed to unravel themselves in the short time you've known him.

He looks at you, hesitant as he nods. "Yes please."

You smile. "Nice choice, kid."

The praise makes him smile, just as a waiter comes and begins to take your orders.

Of course, Nina gets a few plates of waffles with various toppings that she found interesting with a plate of toast, Leo gets his omelet with extra cheese, and you indulge yourself with a pile of hashbrowns and eggs over top.

Mixing it all together on your plate always sends Kaz into a frenzy. You hope he can feel the monstrosity being prepared and weeps at the sin you're about to commit.

"Does that man hate me?" Leo suddenly asks.

You scrunch your brows, discreetly looking around. "What man?"

"That man from before, that yelled at you." He says, rubbing his finger over a fork he received. "Did I get you in trouble?"

Nina chuckles. "Kaz is just like that. Out of everyone in that place your protector here is of the least likely to get in trouble."

You smile at that, thinking of Kaz's tendencies.

What Nina said isn't exactly true. You get in trouble just as much as the rest of them. Kaz just forgives you easier, is more willing to talk and come to a compromise.

Tonight you'll walk into his office and he'll still be steaming, angry at you for not clearing such a major change with him. He'll glance up at you, shoulders stiff and that cavern between his brows only getting deeper.

But if things go right, that edge he has a habit of keeping sharp will dull, his jaw will slacken, and his eyes will soften. He'll still be the hardstrung mini boss hell bent on making up for the past, but he'll settle down in the present for a little while, drinking the warm tea you set on his desk and heart a bit more open to you.

"No, I'm not in trouble." You fix his collar. "Just have some explaining to do."

Leo frowns, opting to pick at the metal menus. His leg is bouncing up at down, temples flexing. "So he is mad at me?"

You glance at Nina. She has a tightness to her lips, not knowing what to say either.

A joke, then. "He's not allowed to be mad at you before he meets you. However, I will be mad at you if you piss yourself in this booth."

His cheeks turn scarlet, not knowing where to look anymore. "I didnt know where the bathroom was."

"It's fine." You look towards the back, pointing to a hallway. "Down there, there's a bathroom. Lock the door behind you and knock before you go in."

He looks a little angry when you say that, but gets up and sulks his way over to the hallway. At least he already knows basic manners, then.

You turn to Nina, a deep sigh escaping your lungs.

She snorts. "I can see you turning older from where you sit."

You kick her foot under the table. "I couldn't leave him. Can you check up on him when we get back to the Club? I don't imagine he'll want me poking around at him trying to find a wound that doesn't exist."

"Seeing as you bought me breakfast, I suppose I have to return the favor."

"Thank you." You grab her hand, the both of you squeezing. "I'm sorry for tricking you."

That makes her let out a belly laugh, a short "ha!" while her cheeks glow. "If your tricks always start out like this then you wont see me complaining. Besides," she looks towards the back of the diner, "he's a cutie. Wouldn't want him dropping dead anytime soon."

"I'm mostly just worried about how calm he is. I mean, would you be this fine with a stranger picking you off the street and taking you to get food?"

Nina sighs, giving your hand another light squeeze. "Im not sure he knows he should be afraid. Which is more of a curse than a blessing. He's what, six?"

"Probably? My oldest quess is seven, but with how small he is compared to how well-mannered he is he could be ten for all I know."

"He'll be fine. And so will you. Just take it as it comes as all the advice I can offer you. He's probably going through shock."

Leo slides back into the booth, hands slightly damp from what you hope is water and not urine. Somehow the food is already done within the short amount of time you order, and a waiter is sliding the dishes onto the table.

The omelet doesn't stand a chance in front of a young boy, and a quarter of it is nearly gone before the waiter leaves.

You spare a glance at Nina, who's looking at the rapidly disappearing slab of eggs with amazement."Well if he wasn't before he definitely is about to be."

-----

You tuck the kid into bed, freshly washed and with a clean set of clothes on his body. His hair was actually a much lighter shade of brown than you thought, and beneath all that grime rested a few freckles and an old scar.

Nina had checked him all over for any sort of injury, and found nothing besides a bit of high blood pressure, which wasn't surprising given he was absolutely starving.

A bit of food in him for the next few months should help tremendously, you think.

He just got done stuffing himself with some soup you made for you and the Crows, ignoring the fact that the Slat was filled to the brim with people who also wanted some. It was enough for them that you pointed to a box of recipes and some spare ingredients, cheers sounding throughout the building.

Kaz had took his and disappeared up to his room before you could say anything, still visibly irritated.

Nina thinks he's about six, which could be why he's relatively quick to trust.

"Are you sure he's not mad at me?" Leo asks, patting down a pillow you just sewed together and bring you out of your thoughts.

You squat by your bed, head in your hands. "Maybe," you sigh. "But it's not from anything you did. He just doesn't like to be mad at me so he's using it up on you."

"Thats not very kind."

You want to wrap this kid up tighter. "No, it's not." Instead you turn the lantern beside your bed down to a very low flame, creating a soft glow throughout the room. "But it's Kaz."

Leo takes that explanation like a champ, like he actually understands what that means, and let's his eyes fall shut.

You pick up the hot tea you made earlier, using your key to lock the door behind you as you make your way over to the attic.

Strangely, you feel anxious as you ascend the stairs. The tea shakes in your hands, rattling a little against the mismatched saucer plate. But you open his door and are met with the exact situation you predicted earlier, your shoulders relaxing.

"Tea will not stave my mood." He turns over a piece of paper, setting down an ink pen.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." You set the tea on his desk, avoiding the wells of the door. "I am simply offering a nice cup of tea for my nice boyfriend who is totally not about to shove his nice cane up my nice ass."

"The last place my cane will go is up your ass." He sets the page down, looking up at you. "That's incredibly unsanitary."

You root around on his desk, looking at the various papers he's marking and reading through. "And the blood isn't?

"Arguably easier to clean." He takes a packet out of your hand and replaces it with a different one. "Educate me as to why bringing a child into my club was a smart decision."

Immediately you deflate, falling back into a chair. You cringe when the wood digs into your bones.

Honestly, you already told him everything. He's small, food was available, you had space he could occupy, why not?

"I've already told you, Kaz. I had the ability, and I dont really see a reason why not. Why don't you educate me?"

He looks about ready to strangle something, exasperated sigh shoving it's way out of his lungs.

"What are you going to do on the ocassion he gets in the line of fire? How are you going to react if his parents find him? When they take him back? Can you say with absolute certainty that this child wont destroy you?" He stands with every question, looming over his desk with his hands splayed over the surface.

"Could you have said that about me when we got together?" You counter.

It's a rare thing, to see Kaz go quiet and contemplative.

You don't particularly enjoy it.

"I can't say that should any of those happen I won't be a little devastated. But is it really justifiable to push him out just because he has the potential to hurt me?" You stand too, the packet still in your hand. "As you said, he's my responsibility. When it comes to that, I'll take the fall. You don't have to be as worried as you are-"

"I do." He interrupts. "I do, because he's important to you. And unfortunately our moods and overall state of mind have an overwhelming effect on the other."

You take a moment to look at him, purple blotches under his eyes and his scars highlighted by angle of the light. He's exhausted, and it kind of hurts to realize some of that might have been your fault.

But you're not sorry.

"He thinks you hate him."

"I don't know enough about him to properly hate him."

You smile as he sits down, bringing the cup of tea with him. He's far more relaxed than before, and is just this side of tired that you see his eyelids begin to weigh down, a deep breath is all it takes for the tension to leave his brows completely as the warm beverage meets his mouth. You swear you hear him moan when he feels just how warm it still is.

"Thats what I told him, but I don't think he believes me."

"Suck to suck. Look at the packet."

It's rather thin, you realize, black string tying the pages together. On the front, which you skimmed and didn't really read earlier, it says "Tips for new Adoptees".

On the inside are various tables and notes Kaz seems to have scrounged together, his messy cursive completely filling the pages to the point you have trouble figuring out where a thought ends and another begins.

"Huh." Is all you say, chest heavy and feet scuffing the floor.

You dont... you don't know what to say. You're reading something about how much a child costs but you're not really taking it in. It's more than you could have ever imagined.

Kaz sets the tea down. "I imagine Leo isn't going to be the last. You know where the extra paper is."

He makes your heart so warm. It makes it hard to be annoyed at him for doubting you.

The stairs leading up to the attic creak, and immediately you and Kaz are on guard, your hand moving to your back where little daggers decorate your belt.

Leo's face pops into the room, and you immediately relax, an exasperated sigh exiting your lips. "Hey, Leo. What's going on?"

He inches into the room, hands tentatively still holding onto he door. "I feel bad about going to sleep in your bed. And I wanted to say sorry for doing what I did, Mr. Kaz."

Kaz quirks a brow. "And what is that?"

"Um..." Leo freezes, looking away. "I don't know."

Immediately you look at Kaz, raising your own brow. He gives you a look that you know would kill you if it could, and you smile.

"Leo, come here and meet Kaz." You wave him over, setting the packet aside.

He hesitates, making a move to walk into the room. But when his eyes land on Kaz, he stops.

"He doesnt bite." You try and crack a joke, and while he doesnt laugh, he does drop his shoulders and release the iron grip from the doors side.

Kaz stands and walks around the table, limp pronounced as usual without his cane as Leo closes the door and makes his way across the room.

They stare at eachother for a few moments, coming just a few feet apart behind your chair. You watch their eyes scan over the other, Leo eyeing Kaz's limp and little scars and Kaz inspecting Leo' clothes and the way his ear is slightly folded inwards.

Surprisingly, Kaz offers his gloved hand first, and Leo takes it almost instantly. You watch as they share a firm handshake, nodding at eachother.

"Please to make your anquaintance." There's a slight fumble to Leo's words, and it takes everything in your power to not interrupt their moment and correct him.

But Kaz just nods, releasing their hands. "Pleasure is all mine."

You smile, the little interaction forever cemented into your soul.

Leo definitely isn't going to be the last kid coming through here. Not when Kaz let's a smile pull at his lips just so, and makes a pen appear out of thin air for Leo to look at.

For now, however, this is enough.

∘₊✧──────────────────✧₊∘

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#ask #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz brekker imagine #six of crows x reader #six of crows x y/n #six of crows x you #six of crows fanfic #six of crows imagine #grishaverse x you #grishaverse x reader #grishaverse x y/n #fanfic #imaginesfire

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impale-me-radio-daddy · 4 months

Text

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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ilikeredcars · 11 months

Text

Two hearts, one love

Charles Leclerc x Wife!Reader

Summary: Formula's one cutest couple also happens to be between a reporter and a certain pilot in red

Warnings: Broken bone (leg)

An: Hiiiiii!! I'm very very proud of this work (so if you don't like it pls don't tell me 😌) anywhoss, just remembering yall that I'm brazilian so English is not my first language, that means you have to forgive me if I make any mistakes LOL, ENJOYYY!

Being a reporter for Formula One truly isn't easy, but you love it and always did. You were indeed always fascinated by all the cars, drivers, teams and everything that had to do with the sport, so it wasn't surprising to anyone when you graduated college and soon got a job as a reporter to a highly successful TV channel. Your job was great, you could do together the two things you loved most, work for TV and Formula One. And that is how you met the third thing you love most: Charles Leclerc. He had just signed with Scuderia Ferrari when you two met. It was your first year as a field reporter, which meant you went around interviewing drivers, mechanics and team principals, basically anyone that you passed through who had time and knowledge enough to be interviewed. The day you two officially met was in the first Grand Prix of the season, it was qualifying day and Charles had just done amazingly well for such a young driver, fortunately the universe was on your side and you managed to get a interview with him, il predestinato, all dressed in red and with sweat dripping from his hair to his forehead and onto the sides of his face, that was the first time you saw him so close, and the moment he looked inside your eyes, the driver knew that the purpose of his life, was to make you his wife. And he did it, two years later you married in a beautiful church just outside Monaco, and it was the happiest day of your lives.

Current days

It is race week! And you couldn't be more happy with the excitement of every fan who passes by your side, you just love everything the paddock has to offer, maybe except for the giant cast on your right leg that couldn't go by unnoticed even if you tried. The week before you were walking home and in your way you encountered an old lady whose cane had fallen, without thinking twice you bent down to pick up the object for the poor woman who could clearly barely bend down, unfortunately for you, a car next to you lost control and hit you hard, fortunately he was not driving at a big speed and so the only injury you received was a broken leg, you were released from the hospital a day later with a cast on your leg and a crutch. And that's how you ended up here, this is officially your first race as Charles' wife and not as a reporter and you couldn't be more excited, with Charles help you got out of the car and was immediately flooded by questions and fans wanting to take a picture with your husband or wanting an autograph, you told him it was okay and gave him space to talk to the fans for about ten minutes. After some of the fans went away he walked slowly toward you with a giant smile on his face, "Sorry about that mon amour, let's get you to the garage okay?"

"Okay" You smiled and gave him a small kiss to his cheek, "I love you so much angel" "And I love you more bébé"

As you were walking to the red garage that was near the end of the paddock a reporter stopped you and you immediately recognized her as Rachel, the girl who was filling in for you until you took off your cast and could go back to work.

"Charles! YN! How are you love? Are you getting better after the accident?" She asked smiling towards you. She had a microphone in her hand and the cameraman had the camera pointed at you, Rachel can be your friend but this was still an interview and you had to be careful with what you and Charles said.

"Hey Rach! Fortunately I'm great! The accident wasn't too bad and I'm not feeling pain at all!"

"That is awesome YN!"

"Yeah! And let me tell you a secret..." You felt your husband's hand wrap around your waist and smiled. "...I have this great guy by my side who is helping me with everything I need!"

You turned to Charles who gave you a passionate smile and slowly pulled you in to give you a loving kiss (appropriate for the cameras around you, of course), you smiled and found home in his embrace.

"Okay okay, let's let the lovebirds be! Haha! It was great seeing you both. Good luck on the race today Charles and hope you get better YN!"

"Bye bye Rach! Thank you!"

"Merci Rachel" Said Charles before turning once again to you and helping you continue your way toward the garage. As soon as you entered the space you grabbed your husband's hand carefully.

"I love you so so much and I'm so proud of you my love. You have no ideia how much I look up to you"

"Je t'aime tellement mon ange, je l'ai toujours fait et je le ferai toujours"

*I love you so much my angel, I always have and I always will*

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fluff #formula one x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #charles lechair #ferrari #charles leclerc x wife #charles leclerc x reporter #formula one #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc blurb #cl16 #cl16 x reader #cl16 x you #charles leclerc x yn

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d6volution · 10 months

Text

Caning with... Caine.

caine/gn!reader

reader can't help but try and seduce their way into the ringmasters pants. unfortunately, things don't work out well for them.

tags: caning, impact play, crying, slightly mean caine, no aftercare.

art creds.

You reap what you sow is how the saying goes right?

You'd been purposely tying to seduce the ringmaster all week. He caught wind of it rather quickly. Not only of your inappropriate actions but your clothes too. They stuck to your body too tightly or showed too much skin.

You honestly didn't even know if your seduction tactics would work... he wasn't human, after all.

And if that was the case, would it explain why this so-called punishment of his felt ridiculously intimate?

"C.. Caine, is this really necessary..?" you asked, arms struggling and wiggling in the binds he so acutely tethered in the famous box tie. The silky red ribbons he used were soft but firm and tight against your skin. He had you bent over his desk. Face pressed against the cold oak.

"Certainly, pain is the best teacher after all!" He said with enthusiasm. The tip of his cane was rolling against the fat of your ass. "Oh, and don't you worry, y/n! I'm sure after this you'll be in perfect shape to rejoin the others."

"Now... keep count for me, dear." His voice seemed to get low, sending a chill down your spine.

He wasted no time. The wooden cane smacked your rear , causing it to jiggle deliciously. Caine's eyes were glued to your ass. You flinched and could hardly contain the yelp that pried itself past your lips. "O.. One—"

Whack! The sturdy cane made contact with your skin before you could finish speaking.

You whimpered like a wounded babe, lips stuttering out, "T.. Two." Your ass was already on fire, and you squirmed as your body tried to brace itself for another, "Come now, y/n , where did all that fiery energy go? Perhaps the only thing your little head is good for is conjuring up unseemly thoughts, hmm?" He hummed, before— whack!whack!whack!

You cried out, and apologies spilled from your lips. You felt your eyes glossing over with tears.

"Hh—hhn..! m'sorry.. c..caine.. please..!" You whimpered, and your legs threatened to give out, shaking as you tried to steady yourself against the desk that was now wet with your tears. But it was hard to do with your arms quite literally tied behind your back. He'd only just started, and you were hardly hanging on. The force he put behind those hits was lethal. Yet you felt a familiar warm sensation pooling in between your legs.. punishment or not, you were finally receiving attention from him.

Caine tutted in disappointment, "I asked you to count, not for a shallow apology, sweetheart." The cane dropped down on your ass once more, and you could hardly think of where you left off. Every number you missed or messed up was an added hit.

You couldn't see the expression he wore on his face from behind you. He looked hungry. Eager to hear more of your yelps, yearning to see your legs tremble as the welts on your ass grew.

"I'm afraid you're only making this harder for yourself—" A strange noise emitted from behind you, where Caine stood. It was the ring of his iconic wacky watch.

"My my! An alert at this time of day! I see.. saved by the bell then, y/n!" He said with the old enthusiasm he harbored from earlier. The ringmaster snaps his fingers, and your binds are released just like that. You crumble to the floor, and Caine simply watches, "Bubble, take care of them and see that they get to their room uninterrupted, will you? I think our little troublemaker here has learned their lesson." Caine said whilst using the end of his cane to tilt your head up to look at him. This exchange lasted for a moment before he removed the cane.

"Anyways! I have very important matters to tend to!" And with that, he disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Of course, this was all a lie.

A ruse, so he could put as much space between you and the sudden tightness of his pants.

You were certainly turning out to be more trouble than he bargained for.

#the amazing digital circus #minors dni #tadc caine #the amazing digital circus caine #caine x reader #caine x reader smut

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blackshadowswriter · 2 years

Text

Make It Better┃ Matt Murdock

Summary: You've had nothing but bad experiences with men and periods, something Matt will not stand. He's determined to make it better for you, and oh, he succeeded.

Words: 3,840

CW: period stigma (dickhead men being assholes about periods), smut (nipple play, clit stimulation, praise kink, aftercare)

AN: I've been seeing quite a few period comfort fics with Matt on here, and the writers were all like "my period just started, so I wanted to write this," and like, are our cycles all aligned? Because me too bitches, and I decided to join the party ✌

Periods. Menstruation. That time of the month.

Call it what you want. There was no disguising the harsh truth once a girl got hers—that periods were plain misery.

Your old Sunday school teachers from middle school when your parents dragged you to church told all the girls how their monthly menstruations were a blessing from God, a sign of fertility and womanhood. All of the class had gazed up at the nun preaching this with expression ranging from amazement to apprehension to downright horror.

You were one of the last group, and you had found out soon enough that you were right. Despite all the praises that nun had sang to God for "blessing" the girls with their periods, there was no hiding the fact that periods were downright torture.

There you were on a Friday night in the present, thinking of that nun and her insistent voice ringing with memory in the back of your head: "Remember, girls, always thank God when your monthly menstruation begins for God has blessed you with fertility of a woman."

Bullshit. Absolute fucking bullshit, you thought.

And there you were, curled up in bed, cursing that nun in your head with language that could have given the aurora borealis a run for its money.

Dull throbs of agony worked its way from your lower abdomen all the way through your body, resonating to your back, to your chest, to your thighs. You were tangled up in the sheets in the fetal position, unwilling to move any more than was necessary at the moment even though such movement would be inevitable. You'd already ran through three tampons, and your period had just started this afternoon.

The first and second days were always the worst.

A miserable noise escaped your lips as you rolled over slightly onto your boyfriend's side of the bed. Speaking of which, he should be back from work soon—

The sound of the front door opening met your ears, paired with the familiar tap of a cane echoing through the living room to the open door of the bedroom.

"Sweetheart, I'm home!"

Any other day, the low timber of Matt's voice would have had you springing up from the bed or the couch or wherever you'd nestled and racing into his arms. Today, however, you simply burrowed further into the bed, groaning.

"Sweetheart?" Matt appeared at the doorway, the concerned furrow of his brows evident as he made his way to your side. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just...bad day," you mumbled, your voice muffled by the pillow you had buried your face in, unwilling to face the embarrassment of telling Matt what was going on. While the two of you had been dating for months now, this was the first time you'd gotten your period since you moved into Matt's apartment with him. This was an unfortunate side issue you admittedly hadn't been thought about when you agreed.

"Yeah?" The bed dipped down slightly where Matt sat down next to you. His calloused fingers were in your hair a second later, gently scratching your scalp. The heavenly feeling of his hands in your hair usually had you purring and curling against him, but all it did today was make you whine. "Tell me about it then?"

You sighed softly, shifting your position as you uncurled your legs to stretch them out. "Just everything bad in genera—Matt? You alright?"

He had gone stiff, his blank eyes darting around and his mouth set in a hard line. In a second, his hands were around your waist, hauling you up from the bed and dragging your form towards him.

A disgruntled huff flew from your lips at the sudden movement. You wound up in Matt's lap, which was something you usually wouldn't protest against, but the situation in your bitch of a uterus sent a fresh wave of pain stabbing in your abdomen. "Matt!" you complained. "What's going on?"

"Where is it?" Matt demanded, his ever gentle hands roaming up and down your waist and skimming across the sides of your thighs as if looking for something. "Who did it to you?"

"Did what?" you asked in confusion.

"I can smell it," he growled, teeth slightly bared as he hunted for the perceived threat. "Who hurt you?"

"N-no one hurt me," you said, utterly bewildered, watching him search for any sign of injury along your body even though there was none. Perhaps this was just a clever ploy to feel you up. You reached up to tap the side of his cheek. "I think your bat senses are acting up, Matt."

He softened at your touch, but his hands remained persistent, roaming across your legs. Oddly enough, his touch was centered in the general area of your hips and thighs as he skimmed for any hurt. That was only further cementing your theory of him just trying to get handsy. "I can smell your blood, sweetheart," he rumbled. "Where are you hurt? Tell me who did it to you."

You froze. "Y-you...can...smell..."

Matt's head tilted to the side. "There's blood around the area of your thighs," he murmured. "Who hurt you?"

Realization washed over you like a bucket of icy cold water. You slumped forward with a groan, pressing your palms to your forehead. Embarrassment was searing its way through your face, turning your cheeks bright red. "No, Matt, no," you sighed, grimacing as you searched for a way to explain. "I'm not hurt. No one hurt me. I'm...I'm fine."

"I can smell blood," he insisted. "You're hurt."

"I'm not hurting," you groaned, tipping your head forward to bury it in your hands, wincing when the movement only amplified your cramps.

Matt's brow furrowed as he tilted his head further towards your chest. Oh shit, you thought as you realized he was listening to your heartbeat, likely hearing the lie in your words that you weren't hurting while your cramps were mowing down every nerve in your fucking uterus.

His hand stilled on your left thigh, and he slowly rubbed a circle into your skin with his thumb. "Why won't you tell me, sweetheart?" he asked softly. "I can tell you're in pain, I can smell the endorphins. What's wrong?"

You flopped backwards onto the bed with a wince. "'M not hurt," you mumbled sullenly. "They're just cramps."

"Cramps?"

Burying your face underneath to pillow as if it would hide you from your humiliation, you grumbled, ""M on my period, Matt."

Your legs were still resting across Matt's lap, so you felt the moment he stilled at your words. You cringed beneath the pillow, waiting for one of the inevitable responses you had heard from men all the time: ew, that's disgusting, get off me, go away—

"Oh," he said softly, a faint note of what sounded like relief in his voice. That made no sense; why would he be relieved? He should be disgusted, he should be grossed out, he should be telling you to get off his bed.

The bed shifted around you, and Matt's legs slid out from underneath you. Your eyes closed in resignment, but at least him just leaving was better than him kicking you out, you decided.

Instead, an strong arm snaked around your waist, and the comforting feel of Matt's warm weight was draped across your back. He pulled you into his chest, spooning you as he wrapped his arms around your scrunched-up form. His lips ghosted across the side of your neck to press a kiss along your jawline.

"Oh, sweetheart," he sighed in your ear. "Are you alright?"

Your brain took a few seconds to adjust to the fact that Matt was still here, Matt hadn't run away, he hadn't asked you to leave, he was cuddling with you instead of treating you like some disgusting animal, he was still here—

You frowned and rolled over onto your back to look up at him. "Why aren't you running away?"

"Why would I?" Matt asked, confused. His tone, sincere as it was, only served to befuddle you even further. He really, truly saw no reason to leave you. How?

"I'm on my period," you said slowly as if his radar hearing hadn't heard it loud and clear the first time.

Matt nuzzled his face against your neck, tangling his legs with yours. "And?" he murmured sleepily.

"I thought...are you not, you know...grossed out?"

"Why would I?" he asked again, his fingers coming up to stroke the side of your face. "It's just blood, isn't it? Sweetheart, you can't possibly think that blood would scare me away? I bleed every night." His voice was tinged with amusement.

"It's different," you mumbled, turning to hide your face against his throat, pleasantly surprised when he let you. Gentle hands slid up into your hair, stroking the back of your head tenderly.

Matt hummed in disagreement. "How so? Blood's blood."

"It's..." You huffed out a sigh of frustration. "God, Matt, do I really have to explain how periods work to you?"

"I did pass high school biology, thank you very much," Matt laughed.

"Then you do know that my bitch of a uterus is currently pouring buckets of blood out my fucking vagina?"

An amused smirk lifted the corner of his lips up. "That wasn't exactly how they phrased it in school, but I guess the general idea was the same."

"How are you still here?" you demanded. "Why aren't you leaving? Or kicking me out of the bed or—or—"

A dark shadow crossed Matt's face, any trace of humor disappearing from his expression. He licked his lips slowly, and when he spoke, his words were tainted with restrained anger that you understood wasn't directed at you. "Have others done that to you before? They kicked you out of the bed?"

"Um...well, all of my exes were grossed out," you mumbled, watching the corner of Matt's lips tighten in displeasure. You had no idea why he was so angered by this new information—was that not how all men treated periods? "Some just had varying levels of reactions."

Matt curled his lip, teeth clenching and eyes burning with fiery fury. "I hope none of them ever find themselves in Hell's Kitchen," he said darkly. "Or I'll be having a talk with them at night."

You had no doubt Matt wasn't referring to a nice little innocent-blind-lawyer-here-to-help talk. Most definitely, more of a break-your-bones-as-the-devil kind of talk.

"Why?" you asked, infinitely confused. "I mean...I thought it was normal for guys to, you know...react like that."

Matt scoffed harshly. "No," he growled. "Those exes of yours are all assholes." He stroked the side of your face tenderly and dipped his head down to kiss you, soft and sweet, a stark contrast to the anger thrumming below the surface in his body. You tilted your head up to return the kiss, your head still caught up on the fact that holy shit, he was still here, he hadn't run away.

"I love you," you sighed against his lips, feeling him soften against you.

"I love you too, sweetheart," he murmured. Matt nuzzled against your neck, trailing kisses along your throat as he entwined his legs with yours. His arm slid firmly around your waist and pulled you into his chest, kissing your lips again.

Eyes fluttering shut, you relaxed in Matt's arms, savoring in the feel of his heavenly soft lips against yours. You were just getting comfortable, all cuddled up against him when another vicious cramp rolled across your stomach. A sharp whine at the pain falling from your lips broke the kiss as you drew your legs up to your chest with a miserable groan.

You rolled over, burying your face in the pillow. "Stupid—fucking—cramps," you hissed.

Matt rubbed your back sympathetically. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said softly. "I wish I could make it better." You could hear the frustration at his helplessness in this situation bleeding into his voice.

"Yeah, I wish you could too," you mumbled, pressing the heel of your palm against your closed eyes as if the darkness would minimize your pain. Alas, it did nothing except make little stars pop up behind your eyelids from how hard you dug your hands in. "It's fine, Matt. This happens every month. I'll live. I'll just...ride this out until it's done."

"I don't like it," Matt grumbled. "I don't like you being in pain.

"'You can't do anything about it," you reminded him gently, shifting in bed to look at him, hiding a grimace at the throbbing cramps the movement brought. You reached up to brush your fingers along his cheek. "It's not like you can go all Daredevil on my uterus. Which wouldn't exactly help anyways."

A thoughtful hum vibrated against your skin as Matt pressed a kiss to your shoulder, running his fingers along your arm. After a few moments of consideration, he said quietly, "You know...I read something the other day. About periods."

"Yeah?" You lifted a teasing eyebrow that you knew he could feel if not see. "And what exactly, Mr. Murdock, were you doing reading about periods?"

He huffed out a laugh. "Doesn't really matter," he said evasively, and your eyebrows traveled further up your forehead. "I read that oxytocin can help relieve period cramps."

"And?"

"And..." Matt nudged you over on your back, hovering his body over yours and dipping down to kiss you. "You know what releases oxytocin?"

"'M—not a—scientist—Matt," you complained as he started pecking you on the lips like a fucking bird. "I don't know—cuddling probably?"

"Mhm," he agreed, easing up on his insistent pecking and trailing his lips down to your throat. "That's one. What else?"

"You're not my 9th grade biology teacher," you huffed, grimacing through more cramps and drawing in a pained breath through clenched teeth. "What else releases oxytocin then, professor?"

Matt lifted his head from your neck, and the devilish grin he flashed you was practically dripping with sin. "Orgasms," he said with a perfectly innocent face.

You blinked. "Wha—Matt!"

Your question dissolved into a yelp when Matt yanked you towards him suddenly, bracing himself on his elbows over you, one of his hands cupping your jaw as he kissed you languidly. His insistent tongue slid into your mouth the second you opened it to him, the molten heat of him melting into you. Despite yourself, you let out a strangled moan, your own hands reaching up for him.

"Matt," you panted against his lips. "I can't—I'm sorry—not right now, I'm on my period."

"Oh sweetheart." He cradled the side of your face in one hand and slid his hand down to your thigh thigh, hiking your leg up around his hip before dipping his head down towards yours, his lips hovering an inch from yours. "You don't think that'll stop me, do you?"

"Mhm," you mumbled between his kisses. "Matt—'M bleeding—'s not gonna be pretty—"

"Well, lucky for me, that won't be a problem, will it?" Matt asked, that hungry, ridiculously hot smirk cropping up again as he dragged your lips back to his, hands gliding up across your waist. You had gone to bed in a pair of panties and an oversized shirt, and clearly, Matt was taking advantage of your lack of clothing.

Not that you were complaining in the slightest.

But the fact still stood that there was enough blood pouring out of you to fill the goddamn Nile River.

It was hard to form a coherent thought between Matt's insistent kisses and his exploring hands, and you wanted nothing more than to just melt into his arms and let him do whatever the fuck he wanted to do to you. Normally, that was a good enough plan but not on your period. You would bleed all over Matt's silk sheets, and you didn't think Matt could handle the smell nor you the embarrassment.

"Matt," you whined as his hands got more adventurous, sliding up underneath your shirt to gently massage at your skin.

"Shh," he murmured, nipping lightly at your neck while one of his large, calloused hands found their way up to your breasts. You arched into his touch when he brushed his fingers softly over your nipples, a breathy moan escaping your lips despite yourself. "Just let me take of you, okay? Let me make it better for you, sweetheart. Let me help you. Can you do that for me, honey?"

"I—fuck," you gasped when he rolled your nipple between his fingers, your sensitive body reacting instantly to his touch. Heat coiled between your legs, and you automatically tried to squeeze them together, but Matt was still cradled between your thighs.

But he felt the way you clenched around his broad hips, a low chuckle sounding in your ear. "Sounds like you want it, sweetheart," he mused, switching to cup your other breast in his hand with a reverent murmur of your name. "Don't fight it—it's okay. Let me make it better, okay?"

"Fuck," you groaned, instinctively grinding your hips upwards into Matt's. "Yes, yes, okay. Fuck, yes, Matt."

The sinful smile he gave you made it all worth it. "Good girl," he praised softly, grin only widening when you whimpered at the name. "Let's get this off now, hmm?" he purred, tugging at your shirt.

All too eager, you practically ripped it off your body with a panting groan as Matt lowered himself down so that his body molded against yours, the almost burning heat of his mouth gliding up across your stomach to your breasts. He sucked one gently, swirling his tongue around your oversensitive nipple before switching to the other while you moaned above him. Your breathless gasps of his name only urged him on further as his fingers danced down towards the waistband of your panties, skimming across the soft skin of your hip.

"Matt," you groaned when he curled his fingers in the fabric, ready to tug them off. "I—mphm—gonna get blood on—on the sheets—"

"Don't care," he said absently, shifting down the bed to settle between your legs, already sliding your panties down your legs. "'S just blood, and they're just sheets. I want you."

Before you could even begin to comprehend just how much that one statement meant to you, Matt's fingers were diving into your folds, swiping across both blood and wetness before bringing them back up to circle your clit achingly slowly. A broken whine spilled from your mouth, the first caress of pleasure coming after days of pain and cramps like a glimpse of sun breaking through clouds.

You gasped Matt's name in both praise and plea combined, nearly writhing when he finally applied more pressure where you desperately needed against your sensitive clit. Hips bucking up into his hand, you let out a needy moan, eyes rolling back into your head while he worked his fingers in the magical way only Matthew fucking Murdock could.

"That's it, sweetheart," Matt cooed, speeding up the pace of his fingers. You could hear the absolutely sinful sound of your slick against Matt's fingers as he stroked you faster. "You're doing so well for me. Just let go, I got you."

The praise had you panting and gasping like each breath was the last one you could take. Fiery pleasure was scorching its way across you, starting at the point where Matt was touching you so well and burning across every nerve in your body like a supernova exploding into existence.

"So close, sweetheart, just let go," Matt encouraged, gliding his fingers over your swollen bud. "Come for me, sweetheart."

And then, he slid a hand up your body to roll over your nipple at the exact moment he brushed his fingers up against that spot on your clit, and that was it. You cried out, Matt's name echoing on repeat in the bedroom while molten heat rolled across your body in a tidal wave, days of pent up stress melting away as you finally gave way to pleasure. Your body trembled as you came down from your orgasm, and your head fell back against the pillows with a blissed out moan.

"Mm...Matt," you slurred, still drunk on the feel of your slowly receding pleasure.

"Yes, sweetheart?" he called, sounding oddly distant.

You peered blearily at the doorway, only now realizing that he had disappeared from the bed. Your heart sank, lazy afterglow of pleasure giving way to gripping anxiety once more. God, this was what you had been afraid of. Even Matt, as wonderful as he was, would also be grossed out by your blood all over him, something you couldn't blame him for—you probably looked like an extra for the Walking Dead down there. No wonder he had left. Your head flopped back down, an empty feeling worming its way into your chest.

But then the bed shifted again under Matt's weight, and you looked up, confused once more, to see Matt sliding back in bed with you, a warm washcloth in hand.

"What's wrong?" he asked you, his now clean hand coming up to stroke your cheek. "I heard your heart going up. What happened?"

"I..." You watched in a state of half disbelief and half awe as Matt gently wiped away the blood smeared along the insides of your thighs with no disgust, no judgement, no desire to hastily sweep away the evidence—just sweet, genuine care. On a normal day, this would warrant a thank you, a gesture of affection in return, or just anything to thank him like a normal person would.

But this wasn't a normal day, and you promptly burst into tears.

The cloth was all but abandoned on your leg as Matt moved back up to cradle you against his warm, broad chest without a word.

"I'm sorry," you sobbed. "I don't even know why I'm crying. I'm not usually this emotional, I swear—"

"I know, sweetheart, I know," he said softly, brushing your hair away from your face. "It's okay, I know."

"It's just—" you sniffled, blinking back more tears. "None of my other boyfriends did this. They all treated me like I was dirty or—or contaminated, and I thought you were leaving me, but you've been s-so good to me."

"It's the least I could do, honey," Matt assured you, tilting your head up to place a gentle kiss on your lips. "Because I love you, and I want to help you any way I can."

"I love you so much," you mumbled against his lips, slumping against him in peace before you sat up, realizing something. "Oh God, Matt, I'm sorry, I didn't take care of you, I meant to—"

""Hey, hey, no," he soothed. "It's okay, that was about you. You needed it, don't worry about me."

"But—"

"No," he said firmly. "I'm good, sweetheart. Now, let me clean you up, and we can go to bed, alright?"

"....Okay," you agreed quietly when Matt gave you that stern look that you knew meant he wouldn't budge on this.

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you were curled up in bed like a pair of koalas, legs entwined and arms around each other. You nuzzled further into Matt's arms when he dropped a kiss into your hair.

"I love you," you murmured sleepily. "How did I get such a wonderful boyfriend?"

You felt Matt's lips turn up into a smile where they were pressed against your forehead. "Hmm, I don't know, but I'm sure your boyfriend doesn't deserve you."

"Stop it," you scolded, reaching up to cup his cheek. "If anything, I don't deserve you. You take care of me so well, Matt."

Matt smiled, his blank eyes fixed on your face as he turned his head to kiss the inside of your wrist lightly. "Always, sweetheart," he vowed. "I love you."

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AN: Funny how the smutty fic is the first Matt fic I post even though I have so many swimming in my drafts. Almost like it's a sign of some sort 🤔I'm working on those req though, I promise, guys

If you enjoyed, please remember to like, comment, and reblog! 🖤

My Matt Murdock Masterlist

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