#out of the closet and into the streets!!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

neoheros · 7 hours ago

Text

the miya household is always the go-to household for all kinds of celebrations alike. you name it: birthdays, anniversaries, friday night dinners – check, check, check.

atsumu has always grown up in a home where his mom would host the parties for all her grown-up friends, and he’d always be the type of teenager to hide away in his room until the last of the guests finally leave.

it was a silly thing to do looking back on it now, but that was the old miya household.

in the new miya household (population: you and your husband), the two of you can’t just hide away in your broom closet until the last of the guests leave — it is your apartment after all.

at first, it was the big things: msby jackal’s celebration of their first tournament win (where hinata broke a window because he claims bokuto pushed him into it) or akaashi’s job promotion party (where the champagne bottle was so unfortunately aimed that when the corkscrew came flying, it hit the other non-broken window).

two broken windows later, it eventually died down to the little things: small get-togethers, a friend too intoxicated to drive needing a place to stay, or one of your favorites: friday night dinners.

“we’re home!”

there’s the sound of shuffling keys and shoes being taken off at the doorway, rustling of brown paper bags and footsteps.

you pop your head out from the kitchen and it isn’t a surprise at all to you when you see all four of your best friends (one being your husband) standing by your door way, all adorned with cheeky smiles and chinese takeout.

you call to them, “coats here, everybody!”

hinata goes over to you first, still as sweet as ever, and gives you a tight embrace (the same one he gives you every friday night), and you take his coat with a light smile on your face.

bokuto gives you his coat next, paired with an embrace of his own, your smile widens as you immediately recognize the coat you bought him for christmas last year, well and taken care of.

sakusa isn’t wearing a coat or a jacket tonight but still, he approaches you next to the coat stand anyway, and he embraces you just for seeing you again tonight, saying “thank you for having us”.

when you married atsumu, you didn’t realize you weren’t only marrying into his family, but his friends as well.

“you guys just missed samu, he dropped by for a weekly restock.” you tell them, pointing to the plastic bag on the table filled to the brim with the onigiri you’ve learned to love so much.

shoyo plops down on his usual spot on the sofa, “man, i wish onigiri miya personally delivered to my house too.”

“not to mention free of charge.” you add – proud.

he sinks deeper into his seat, “that’s just not fair.”

you seat farthest from tv, on the edge of the table and by the armrest, a seat empty next to yours as you wait for your husband.

“sorry sho,” you shrug, not sorry at all, smug smile on your face and you say, “it’s simply the perks of having the owner of onigiri miya as your brother.”

“that is such a lie.” atsumu rolls his eyes, and he takes his assigned seat next to you, hand immediately finding yours once he gets close enough. “i am also his brother — twin, even! — and i do not get half as much the perks you get.”

“well.” sakusa sits across from you, “i can understand that.”

and bokuto, in between sakusa and hinata, nods, “yep.”

“i can’t believe i’m getting bullied in my own damn home.” atsumu grumbles, and he stabs his broccoli on his plate with a fork.

you tease him, “you can’t?”

the rest of the evening feels warm. the windows are open to let in the fresh air of the streets of japan, the hustling and bustling of the bypassers outside your apartment building easily drowned out by the warm conversation shared in the warm flat.

( “no more hoisin sauce?” bokuto asks, digging around the stack of empty paperbags, fork in his mouth as he talks.

sakusa replies, barely looking up from the movie on the tv set, “sorry, finished it.”

and bokuto says, casually, “i’ll bring some over tomorrow. you guys need a restock anyway.” )

the five of you, sat down on the living room in front of the television, sharing mindlessly stories about your day, laughter and insults and compliments shared as food is passed around.

atsumu takes the red peppers from your dish as you laugh at something hinata says, he remembers - always - red peppers make you sneeze, so it goes unsaid that he takes them.

he does this so often that sometimes he doesn’t even realize it. he does this so often that he’s probably done it over a hundred times by now — like it’s part of him, like a habit.

you take some of your chow mein and place it on his plate, he doesn’t ask you for any, but you give him some anyway. you don’t even look at him as you do so, like it’s completely second nature for your hand to give him some of his favorite noodles and you don’t even have to think about it — like it’s part of you, like a habit.

“so, what time’s the game tomorrow?” you ask, and suddenly he’s out of his thoughts and back on the living room couch.

hinata looks to you, excited, “are you coming? it’s been so long since you last came to watch us.”

“well, depends on the time,” you tell them, “i’ve got a study group tomorrow in the morning.”

“study group?”

“i know right,” your shoulders fall, “our gen chem professor had us divided into study groups so we could easily catch up on her lessons.”

atsumu shrugs, “so? ditch ‘em.”

“i wish.” you sigh, “they’re the kind of people i just know wouldn’t have let me sit with them at the lunch table in high school.”

“oh, i know those people.” shoyo shakes his head, “had those people everywhere i went in junior high.”

you look at atsumu, “but you probably could have sat with them, you’ve got an aura like that — like you could be cool — but you’re not.”

that makes him roll his eyes, “who’s not cool? i am the coolest one in this table — and for yer information, i wouldn’t sit at any table ya weren’t welcome at.”

(sakusa nods at you, and bokuto says, “same here!” and hinata says, “me too!”)

“matter of fact,” you husband, offended at your doubt for him, continues, “i would flip that goddamn table.”

(and sakusa nods again, and bokuto says, “yup!” and hinata says, “definitely!)

your face feels warm, and you feel stupid for even bringing it up.

“you guys are silly.” you’re not as loud as earlier, but still, you say, “thanks.” and you bite back a smile.

“so…” shoyo grins at you, “ditch ‘em?”

“ditch ‘em!” bokuto repeats.

and for a second all of you look at sakusa, his turn to speak apparently, and he sighs, defeated, shoulders falling and he relents, and says, “fine. ditch ‘em.”

the three other guys cheer loudly and you roll your eyes.

“well, that makes four of us.” atsumu tells you, proud, “you’re outnumbered, honey.”

“fine.” you’re defeated, “i’ll ditch ‘em and come watch you guys play.” and the table erupts in cheers again, and you feel your heart become so full.

atsumu kisses your cheek and you swat him away.

“i’ll text natsu that you’re coming, she’s been pestering me over and over again when you’ll come next,” shoyo tells you, bright smile on his face.

bokuto nods, “i gotta tell akaashi too, maybe we can get everyone there like a reunion or something!”

and this makes you laugh, because, “you guys are acting like i haven’t come to watch you guys play in forever.”

and sakusa tells you, “it has been forever.”

“well, i guess a reunion or something would be kinda nice? we can have everyone come back here, bring out a few drinks.” you think out loud, relenting to the pleas of your oldest friends, and you can’t hold back a smile even if you wanted to.

“if anyone breaks a goddamn window in my home, everyone is getting charged the repair bill.”

the night ends quicker than you want it to, suddenly it’s 10 pm and the warm night starts to get colder.

“thank you for dinner, miyas.” bokuto tells you, grinning ear to ear as you walk him to the doorway, a barrage of shoes laid out on the floor, reminding you what a full house you have tonight.

you hand him his coat and his hat, and he embraces you tightly, one that you will never not return.

hinata comes up to you next, “thank you for dinner and please please please come tomorrow.”

“yes sho, i will be there.” you tell him lightly, and he embraces you as well (the same one he gives you every friday night).

the last to come up to you is sakusa, his hands already in his pockets, eyes tired and all. he doesn’t have a coat or a jacket, but he comes up to you anyway.

“thank you for having us.” he tells you, like he always does, and he gives you a short kiss on your right temple, like he always does, “it’s good to see you.”

you pat his arm, “you say that every friday night, omi.”

“what? no kiss for me?” atsumu calls from the side, arms crossed over his chest.

and sakusa replies, eyes narrowing, “never.”

(they have this conversation every single friday night.)

and just like that, all three of your guests for the night have left, leaving behind only two pairs of shoes left by the doorway — yours and your husband’s.

atsumu makes his way to you, his arms finding your waist immediately as he pulls you into his embrace, hugging you like it’s all he’s ever done correctly.

the apartment is quiet now with just you and him, and he loves this as much as he loves you.

“finally,” he tells you, smiling wantonly, “just us two.”

you smile back at him, “we have so many kids.”

and he nods, “even more tomorrow.”

your apartment, your home, it isn’t anything impressive, really. it’s not big or expensive or fancy, but for some reason, it’s always been the go-to place for everyone to have drinks at, for dinners to be shared, for windows to be broken.

“you really okay with that? the reunion thing here?” your husband asks you, his tone gentle, “its okay if you’re not, we can just cancel on ‘em. have the night to ourselves.”

you raise a brow, teasing, “and do what exactly?”

atsumu gives you a knowing grin, “i’ve got a list in mind.”

you laugh, “i bet you do.”

he comes closer to your face, “i can cross one off on it right now.”

and he kisses you then, the same way he does every single day of his life, the same way he plans to for a million years more.

you feel his smile melting into his kisses.

then he pulls away, smiling at you, voice gentle, cheeks pink, and heart full, “thank you for dinner, miya.”

you laugh again, and with the same amount of gentleness, you say back, “thank you for dinner, miya.”

atsumu knows you could never be unloved by him — you are too tangled in his mind, in his soul that you might as well take his heart entirely — it’s already full of you anyway, it has been since the day he’s met you.

“and no, we are not cancelling on them.” you tell him, pulling away, “i miss our friends and i know you do too.”

he tells you, “fine.” and he pulls you back in, nose close to yours, wide grin on his face as he takes you.

he wants to kiss you again, but to be fair, he wants to do that all of the time.

you give him a smile, “i’ll let you cross another thing off that list of yours if you do the dishes.”

and he groans, “you know omi already did them.”

“man, we have got to get lazier friends.”

“well, we can always call that study group of yours.”

(the two of you say friends, but it feels a whole lot more like family.)

together you and atsumu create a home filled with flowers, kindness, cozy pillows, and loud music. in your halls there is rest, good sex, good sleep, books, and dancing. there is space to be you, there is space to be him, there is space to be be the two of you, and there is love, there is love, there is love.

160 notes · View notes

littlest-w01f · 2 days ago

Text

Liar

Azriel x Reader

AZRIEL MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: You fucked up royally by lying to your mate for weeks, now you must suffer the consequences.

CW: Dom/Sub dynamics, master title, scary Azriel, slightly dub-com punishment, chains, whipping, aftercare

a/n: I kinda wanted to dabble in this

Anger radiating off your mate. He was walking away from you. Well, he'd ordered you to follow, but he was walking away. Your heart pounded in your chest as you hurried to catch up to him, each step echoing through the quiet streets. You could feel the heat of his rage emanating from him like a palpable force, making the air thick with tension.

As you drew closer, you noticed how tightly his broad shoulders were hunched, his usually confident strides now purposeful and aggressive. His dark hair, normally perfectly messy, was dishevelled, sticking up in every direction as if he'd been running his hands through it in frustration.

You reached out a hand, trying to touch his arm, to calm him, but he brushed it off roughly, not even glancing back at you. "Don't," Azriel growled, his voice low and dangerous, his siphons glowing. "You'll only anger me more."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as Azriel's harsh words stung, but you refused to let them fall. You swallowed hard, steeling yourself against the hurt. This was the first time his anger had cut this deep.

A part of you wanted to call after him, to plead for forgiveness, but the pride that had always defined you since childhood held you back. You weren't at fault here, you had your reason. You were not in the wrong. Still, tears fell from your eyes.

Azriel's rejection stung, but you swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in your throat. You knew better than to push when he was this upset. Instead, you fell into step beside him, matching his long, angry strides with your own determined ones.

The silence between you grew heavier with each passing moment, until it felt like a physical weight pressing down upon your shoulders. You glanced over at Azriel, taking in the rigid set of his jaw, the way his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. "Azriel..." You froze when he paused in front of the cave that led to his dungeons in the House of Winds mountain.

"Get in." He said, quite literally shaking with anger, when you didn't move, he growled, "Now, y/n!"

Your heart raced at the command, fear and uncertainty swirling within you. But something in Azriel's tone made you obey without hesitation. With trembling legs, you stepped inside the dark, damp cavern of his dungeon.

Azriel stood before you, his eyes blazing with a mix of fury and something else, deep, almost primal. He advanced towards you, each step deliberate and menacing. "You lied to me." His voice was a low rumble, sending shivers down your spine. "How dare you lie to me about something this big?"

"I didn't lie, Az." Perhaps this was the wrong time to stand your ground, but you felt this wasn't your fault. Not your fault that Eris was also your mate, or that he'd taunted you with that fact, told you he would steal you away from the mate you wanted. "I didn't..."

"You say you didn't lie," He growled, "But you kept it from me. You knew what you were doing." His voice cracked on the last word, revealing the depth of his hurt. He had found the letters Eris had written to you, a few taunting, a few flirty. You really should've burned them instead of hiding them by throwing them in the back of your closet, where he'd found them, and read each one. His pretty hazel eyes turned dark. "Strip, and stand by the chains. 10 lashes for your lies. And that's being generous."

Your breath caught at his command, and your body went rigid. "But, Az. I didn't-"

"30." He cut you off, standing off by the racks, deciding which whip to pick to deliver this punishment. "I will add 5 for each word you say."

A gasp escaped your lips at his brutal order, but you quickly bit it back. He was being unfair, it was just a little secret, but you didn't say it, knowing defiance would only earn you more pain. Slowly, you began to undress, each item of clothing falling to the cold stone floor with a soft thud. You kicked off your boots, peeled off your gown, unwound the laces of your underthings.

When you stood naked before Azriel, you couldn't meet his gaze, instead focusing on the heavy iron shackles hanging from the ceiling. He approached you, his footsteps echoing ominously. You flinched when his fingers brushed against your shoulder, guiding you closer to the chains. The cool metal bit into your skin as he secured your wrists and ankles, leaving you exposed and vulnerable.

He watched you with an impassive expression, his gaze lingering on your curves before meeting your eyes again. Then, he selected a long, wicked-looking whip from the rack. It wasn't the worst of his weapons, its leather strips gleaming ominously in the dim light, and he cracked it in the air to test it out. "You will count each strike, and say, 'I will never lie to Master'. Perhaps if the lesson sticks before the 30 strikes are done, your punishment is over."

You nodded, swallowing hard as you tried to steady your breathing. Azriel circled around your chained-up form, raised the whip high, then brought it down in a swift arc across your back. The crack of the leather against your skin was followed by a searing pain that made you cry out. "One... I will never lie to Master," You managed to choke out, tears streaming down your face. You hadn't lied. You just hid the letters that the autumn heir you did not want had written to you. You could handle Eris on your own.

He struck again, this time on the other side, the whip biting deeper. "Two… I will never lie to Master." Your voice shook, but you repeated the phrase, willing yourself to endure. You felt a bitter hint of sadness hit you with the pain, you'd wanted to handle it alone. You could've done it.

Azriel continued his merciless assault, the whip cracking down repeatedly, laying open red welts across your back and shoulders. Each blow sent fresh waves of agony coursing through you, making you gasp and sob. But still, you counted, still you spoke the phrase, even as your mind reeled and your body trembled.

By the ninth strike, your voice was hoarse, your words slurred. "Nine... I will never lie to Master." By ten, tears streamed relentlessly down your face, mingling with the sweat beading on your skin. "Ten... I will never lie to Master." You didn't understand how he was so mad at you over such a little thing. He praised you when you proved you could handle yourself, and this was no different. He should be feeling pride that you'd wanted to be capable of this.

11, 12, 13... The numbers blurred together as the whip continued its relentless rhythm, each strike burning anew into your already tender back. Your body shook with the effort of maintaining your stance, of not collapsing under the onslaught of pain and humiliation. Your mind felt foggy, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the ordeal.

With the fourteenth, it hit you with the crack of the whip. You had lied. Kept important information about your life from him. A choked-off sob left your lips, your mating vows, you had broken your mating vows, keeping this from him, from lying to him. You were a liar, and you ruined your relationship. You haven't been handling Eris, you threw him in your closet with the letters, hoping he'd give up and you wouldn't have to.

15, 16, 17, 18... As the whipping continued, you finally understood the true extent of Azriel's hurt and betrayal. He'd trusted you completely, and you'd shattered that trust with your deception. The realisation pierced your heart like one of the whip's cruel lashes. Sobs wracked your body, your voice reduced to ragged, hiccupping cries. "Nineteen... I will never lie to Master... Please... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... Az... Please I'm sorry."

Azriel's whip stopped mid-air at your tear-filled apology. For a moment, Azriel simply stared at you, his grip on the whip tightening until his knuckles turned white. Then, with a curt motion, he tossed the weapon aside, the sound of it clattering against the stone floor echoing through the chamber, he allowed his distressed shadows to rush to your aid, covering your back with their cooling touch, he knew he might've gone too far, and some did hiss at him for that.

He stepped closer, his eyes searching yours, trying to gauge the sincerity behind your words. You could see the turmoil raging within him - the hurt, the rage, the love. "Why, y/n? Why keep this from me?" His voice was rough, barely above a whisper. "I thought we shared everything."

You hung your head, unable to meet his gaze, ashamed of your actions. "I… I didn't think it was a big deal," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Eris was always trying to get under my skin. I didn't want to worry you, make you angry with me." A bitter laugh escaped your lips. "Clearly, that was a mistake."

"I know he already was. I read his letters." He tilted your chin up so you'd look up at him, wiping away your tears. He sighed heavily, his expression softening slightly. "I understand why you might have felt the need to protect our bond from him, but you should have trusted me enough to share your fears and concerns directly. Keeping secrets from me is unacceptable, y/n. We're mates, partners. Our bond relies on honesty."

"I'm sorry, Master..." You gasped, more pained by the heavy emotions than the healing scars on your back, a fresh wave of tears and shame washing through you, "I don't... I don't want him, Master. I only want you. I'm sorry... I'm..."

Azriel's expression softened further at your confession, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. "I believe you, y/n. I know you don't want Eris. He's not worthy of you." He pulled you close, enveloping you in a warm embrace, letting you rest your head against his chest. "I forgive my love, there's no need to apologise anymore, your punishment is done. But remember, honesty is essential in our bond. No more secrets, no matter how small they may seem."

He held you for a long moment, his heart beating steadily beneath your ear. When he finally released you from the chains, he winnowed you to sit on your shared bed, his strong arms supporting your back. "Let me tend to those wounds," He murmured, producing a small vial of shimmering liquid from your nightstand after resting you on your stomach, streaks covered back to the chill air.

He poured some of the clear liquid onto your back, the soothing balm immediately easing the fiery ache of the lash marks. You leaned into his touch, a sigh of relief escaping your lips as the pain subsided, replaced by a tingling warmth, the scars healing instantly.

After applying the healing balm, Azriel carefully massaged the soothing cream into your skin, his fingers gentle yet firm, ensuring every lash mark received attention. You felt his concern and care for you in every touch, his love a tangible presence wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

As he worked, you felt your tense muscles begin to relax, the soothing sensations calming your frazzled nerves. Azriel's touch was both tender and reassuring, a stark contrast to the harshness of the whipping moments ago.

Once he finished treating your wounds, he helped you onto your back, tucking a pillow beneath your head. He sat beside you, brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead, his hazel eyes filled with a mix of affection and remorse. "I shouldn't have lost control like that," he admitted softly, "But seeing those letters, knowing you'd hidden this from me... It cut deep. I'm sorry."

His shadows curled around your face and body in comfort, "Az... I understand why you did it. I shouldn't have kept something like that from you."

"I've never done anything to you before discussing it, I'll never do it again." He vowed, leaning in, capturing your lips in a gentle, apologetic kiss. When he broke away, his eyes searched yours, seeking reassurance. "Can you forgive me for losing my temper?"

"Of course, Az," You replied, smiling softly up at him. "I know you didn't mean to hurt me. You just felt betrayed, and rightly so, cause I betrayed you. I promise to be more open with you in the future, to tell you everything, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem to me."

He helped you roll onto your side, facing him, and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. You snuggled into his embrace, feeling safe and cherished. "I love you, y/n," he whispered, nuzzling your hair. "And I know I was harsh earlier, but I needed you to understand the gravity of keeping things from me, especially something like a bond with another person. Now, let's forget about Eris and focus on us."

He kissed the top of your head, and you felt your heart swell with affection for this man who loved you so deeply. "I don't want him... I want to reject the bond. I've been reseaching it how to reject a bond. I only want you."

Azriel's kiss on your head lingered, his lips brushing your hair softly as he processed your words. "Rejecting a bond is serious business, y/n. It's not something to take lightly. Are you certain this is what you truly want?"

He pulled back slightly to look into your eyes, searching for any hint of doubt or second thoughts. "Because once you go through with it, there's no turning back. You'll sever all ties with Eris permanently. Is that really what you desire?"

You met Azriel's gaze, your own eyes shining with determination and conviction. "Yes. I'm sure. I don't want to be bound to anyone else. He means nothing to me compared to you. I want to be fully yours, completely devoted to you and only you."

You reached up to cup Azriel's face, your thumbs stroking his cheeks. "I love you, Az. More than anything. And I know that if I stay bonded to Eris, it will only cause problems and heartache for both of us in the future. Releasing that bond is the right decision for me, and for our relationship."

You met Azriel's gaze, your heart pounding in your chest as you considered the weight of your decision. Rejecting the bond with Eris meant cutting all emotional and spiritual ties with him forever. It was a permanent choice with far-reaching consequences. But looking into Azriel's eyes, seeing the love and devotion shining back at you, you knew in your heart that this was what you truly wanted.

{General taglist- @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-angst @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith @velarisnightsky444 @minnieoo @mellowmusings @daughterofthemoons-stuff @tele86 @thelov3lybookworm @romanticatheartt}

{Azriel taglist- @fxckmiup @annamariereads16 @saltedcoffeescotch @fieldofdaisiies}

#acotar #acotar series #acosf #acowar #acomaf #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel angst #azriel x reader #azriel acomaf #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel fanfic #acotar azriel #azriel x you

54 notes · View notes

prettydaisygirl · 19 hours ago

Text

zombie au with Rafe Cameron x fem!reader who are... friends now? ✿ 1.9k words

cw: zombie apocalypse but there aren't any zombies in this one, fem reader, cursing, reader thinks rafe is a jerk, reader likes books

rafe cameron masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

You try not to let disappointment consume you as you helplessly search through the shelves of the abandoned pharmacy. It’s clear the place has been ransacked before, probably a few times by other survivors just as desperate as you. You scan each level, hoping for a bottle of anything at this point.

You can hear Rafe digging around in the back rooms. You aren’t sure what he thinks he can do with the old papers and calculators in the offices, but he insists on going through them every time you’re in a new building. You think it’s a waste of time. Not that you’ll ever tell him that.

“Empty.” You call out, your voice echoing through the large room. You can hear him grunt, a loud thudding sound as he continues his quest. He doesn’t respond. Not that you’d expect him to.

You sigh, running a hand through your matted hair. Not even a goddamn bandaid in this place. You make your way back over the fallen shelves, stepping carefully over them before reaching down to grab your bag. You can still hear Rafe digging around.

“Find anything?” You call out, but again, he doesn’t respond. Asshole.

You push your way out of the pharmacy and onto the street. The sun’s light shines down bright from high in the sky, gracing your skin as you stretch gently. You reach your arms up, feeling that pleasant burn move through your muscles. Sleeping on the ground for months now has been shit for your back.

The door opens behind you roughly, slamming against the wall as Rafe kicks it open. He looks just as intimidating as he did when you first ran into him. Though rougher, more scars and new facial hair over his jaw that you hate to admit makes your heart race.

Rafe sends you an unimpressed look, adjusting his own pack on his back.

“You shouldn’t have come out here” His voice is low and rough, his boots hitting the pavement as he steps away from the pharmacy and further into the street.

“I needed some fresh air” You excuse. He doesn’t want you to be out here on your own. Not that he cares. You know as well as he does that he only keeps you around because there’s safety in numbers. He needs someone to watch his back.

“Fresh air” He repeats, his voice as unimpressed as his gaze. His nose twitches. “Fresh air that smells like rottin’ fuckin’ corpses.”

“Did you find anything?” You ask, turning to look at him with your arms crossed over your chest.

“Nah, place has been wiped clean” Rafe grunts and then spits on the ground. You try to hide your disgust. “Fuckin’ bullshit”

“D’ya wanna search another? Or head back?” You ask him, already tired of his frustrated ranting. You’re both miserable, but you try not to complain. Mostly because you’re afraid he’ll ditch you if he suddenly deems that you’re too annoying to continue keeping around.

He seems to think over your question for a moment, pondering as his blue eyes scan over the street around you. It’s quiet, not another soul in sight. Not even an undead one.

“Let’s go back.” He says plainly, legs already moving to carry him down the road and out of town. Back to the old farmhouse you two have been camping out in for a few weeks now.

You follow him, making sure to stay close enough to see him but far enough back to not get on his nerves. He walks with a swagger, and you wonder how he has any extra energy to spend looking like an absolute bastard in the middle of the fucking apocalypse.

You both scan the farmhouse and the surrounding fields upon your return. You don’t find anything, though you always have hope that extra food or supplies will magically manifest in the pantry or one of the coat closets. They’re as empty as ever.

You groan as you finally set down the heavy bag, going through to unpack the meager supplies you had managed to find during your run today. An old can of soup that you set aside to put with the others. A granola bar. A small pack of tissues. Nothing great.

You’re trying to untangle your hair when Rafe stomps into the shared bedroom. He hadn’t wanted to share with you, but it’s safer. Everything is safer when you two are together, even despite the tension.

Rafe groans loudly as he sets his own pack down. He stretches his back and you keep your eyes on the supplies in front of you to avoid your gaze following the patch of skin revealed on his stomach every time he does that. You really try hard to ignore how attractive he is. His shitty attitude usually helps.

Rafe’s eyes finally move over your form as he tugs off his heavy boots. His brow furrows as he eyes the way your fingers tug at your hair strands.

“The fuck are you doin’?” His voice is accusatory, his eyes narrowed.

“Um, untangling my hair?” You look up at him, arms aching from the angle you’re holding them at.

His eyes move over your form again, lingering on your face before he scoffs and shakes his head. “Whatever.”

A few minutes later, and you’re standing, preparing to head downstairs to eat something when Rafe says your name. He drops something onto the floor in front of you with a loud thud. You reach out to investigate, finding it to be some young adult novel you’ll probably love. You raise your head, staring at Rafe with a dumb look on your face. He scoffs.

“So you don’t fall asleep during watch or nothin’. Whatever.” He shrugs casually, and you find yourself frozen for a moment, eyes locked onto him as you will your heart to stop racing and the warmth to leave your cheeks.

It’s late when you two finally decide to eat something. Rafe lights a fire in the fireplace, warming up old cans of ravioli and soup to share. The both of you usually try to stretch out your rations, unsure when you’ll be lucky enough to score more cans.

Your ravioli is half cooked, and you drink from an old plastic water bottle that’s crumbled from weeks of use. Rafe practically inhales his can of soup, gulping it down with no hesitation. You can’t blame him. These days the hunger is like one of the monsters, trying to claw its way out of your stomach, consuming every thought.

Rafe tosses his empty soup can aside, the rattle echoing through the living room. Its walls are covered in dust, the house beginning to show signs of lack of upkeep. No one left to paint, to clean out the gutters, to replace the windows.

“What uh… what’s that book about?” Rafe’s voice speaks up gruffly as he leans back against the couch. He asks you like he didn’t grab the book for you. You had just taken another bite, slowly chewing your food when his words catch you off guard.

“Just… I don’t know. Some fantasy book about dragons or something.” You shrug, knowing he’s probably just asking to fill the quiet, his voice a tired, low drawl. He looks tired too, you notice. Your eyes scan over his prominent features. You hate that you find him attractive, that you would have even before all of this mess with the undead deciding to rise again.

Rafe hums softly, and you think maybe that’ll be the end of the conversation about the book. Especially when he stands with a groan, putting out the fire in the fireplace and stomping his way back into the bedroom. You finish up the can of ravioli, setting it aside. You close your eyes, leaning back against the couch, and let yourself breathe. Just for a moment.

You remember the old days, when you could turn on a sitcom and relax, let your brain rot while you avoided thinking about whatever was stressing you out at the time. Your job, school, your parents, whatever it was. You find there’s even less time to relax now, despite the lack of a job or school or parents. Now, when you’re awake, you have to focus. Any hesitancy could mean death. For you, or for Rafe, which would ultimately still mean death for you.

You’re so lost in your thoughts, you don’t hear him come back to the living room. You jump when his voice sounds from right above you.

“You comin’?”

Your gaze darts up to his, heart racing. He smirks when he realizes he scared you. You stand, following him back to the shared bedroom.

Rafe decides you should take first watch tonight. Maybe he’s more tired than he’s letting on, but he climbs into his pile of old blankets as you take post on a chair, book in hand.

You flip aimlessly through it for a moment before opening up to the first page. Your eyes scan the first sentence, and you pause when hear Rafe shuffle. You start reading again, and again, he moves.

When you look up, Rafe’s eyes are already on yours, less intense than usual in the darkness of the bedroom. You pause, and for a moment neither of you say anything.

“You… okay?” You ask him quietly, trying your best not to squirm under his stare.

“You…” Rafe clears his throat, “You uh, gon’ read that book?”

You glance down at the book, looking over the cover again while you let his question hang in the air for a moment.

“Yeah, think so” You tell him, shrugging a bit. “You were right, I think it’ll help keep me awake.”

Rafe hums, and the room is silent for a minute before his voice cuts through again. Deep and rough.

“Maybe you should… read it out loud. That’ll help ya stay awake even better.” He says it without looking at you, and you can’t help the look that crosses your face. You think for a moment that he isn’t serious, that he’ll laugh and roll over. But he doesn’t.

So you do. You start reading to him, your soft voice filling the bedroom. The only light shines in through the window, pale moonlight that barely illuminates the pages enough for you to see the words.

You’re only a few pages in when you look up again, and Rafe is asleep, lips parted softly as he breathes. You pause in your reading, eyes lingering on his handsome face once again. He looks softer in his sleep.

You start again, voice quiet and low as you make sure not to wake him. He looks peaceful, more than he has in a while anyway. You want to think maybe you bring him some kind of comfort. That maybe, just maybe, he needs you just as much as you need him.

By the time you finish the chapter, his soft breaths have turned into soft snores. You place the book down on the ground beside you.

“Goodnight, Rafe.” You whisper. And this time, his lack of response is comforting.

°˖✧✿✧˖°

#daisy's writings #rafe cameron zombie au #rafe cameron #rafe cameron au #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #obx rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x self insert #rafe cameron x fem!reader #rafe cameron drabble #obx au #obx

36 notes · View notes

juatanothersideblog · 2 days ago

Text

Yeah, I remembered she spoke about her focusing on asexuality on Ace Couple podcast.

youtube

Royce: This next question is asking a little bit about the specifics of your identities, both being asexual and aromantic. They want to know: do you consider those like two distinct sort of identities or orientations, or are they kind of the same? Do you think that, like, one of them is maybe like a primary, secondary, are you more impacted by one or the other? And they’re also curious about goals for activism. Are there any challenges in getting people to understand or be aware of aromanticism over asexuality? Given that they’re closely tied together but still kind of distinct groups with their own concerns.

Yasmin: Yeah, I mean, it’s a good question. I feel like in terms of my, like, initial life experience, they’ve kind of just blended into one. Like, I didn’t really use the term aromantic until I actually met people in the asexual community and realized that not only asexual people are aromantic. I kind of assumed that– well, I mean the first asexual people I met when I was like 15 were a homoromantic couple, but I kind of assumed they were an anomaly, and that the majority of asexual people would be aromantic was my thoughts as a teenager. Because I was like, if you take the sex out of romantic relationships and aren’t you just like really good friends? Like, why would we use other words? I didn’t really get it at that age. It wasn’t until, like, I just started meeting people and I was like, “Oh damn, actually I feel like I might be a bit of a minority. I kind of assumed that everybody was thinking the same way.” And so, yeah, I was– I didn’t really start using the term aromantic until, I guess, you know, the activism started really. But then I wasn’t really out and using the term asexual that much either, to be fair.

Yasmin: But yeah, so I guess for me my perceptions of asexuality and aromanticism just kind of blended into one, for the most part as a teenager, discovering this at like 15 and then pretty much being in the closet until my early 20s anyway. But it’s weird because I feel like, societally speaking, your romantic orientation makes more of a difference than your sexual orientation. Because that’s the one people are actually seeing, as they say, you know, no one actually knows what you’re doing in the bedroom. But people do see the person you’re walking down the street with. People see the person you’re marrying. They see the person you’re having a family with. Like it’s people’s romantic attractions and interactions that you actually visibly see more than their sexual orientation in a sense.

Yasmin: So in that sense I feel like technically it makes more of a difference to my lived experience. But then our society is founded upon prioritizing your sexual orientation, terminology-wise. Like, demographically, it’s what is your sexuality, it’s not what is your aromatic orientation. And that’s kind of the reason why I tend to lead with asexuality more and I talk about it more because, like, it’s harder to initiate a conversation on the basis of romantic orientation without then explaining that whole concept and distinguishing between the two and blah, blah, blah. So that’s why I lead with asexuality. But yeah, so, I think it’s–

Yasmin: As to whether– which one’s easier to talk about, asexuality is. Because people are talking about sexuality more and people are talking about romance within those conversations inherently, so both of them do end up coming up. It just might not be what I’m like leading with. Like, I feel like when people are like, “Oh, you don’t talk about aromanticism that much.” It’s like I feel like I do a lot. It’s just not as explicit. But if you read between the lines, that is what I’m talking about. But then there’s also been times, especially like in February, when there’s, like, Valentines, or certain places that are very interested in, you know, living life without romantic love and blah, blah, blah. So in those kinds of settings it is easier to kind of lead with aromanticism. Like I think recently I’ve ended up doing a lot more–Like I’ve been asked to do more, like, philosophical panels, and those topics are never about sexuality, it’s always about romantic love and the concept of love and all that kind of thing.

Yasmin: So yeah, it kind of depends on the setting. But yeah, it’s definitely easier to do activism around asexuality just because it is a type of sexuality and all of our legislation and all of our information is sexuality first. But that doesn’t– But I also feel like in many ways, even in me doing that, I think if I was asexual and not aromantic, it would have been more beneficial for me in lots of settings. Because I think, as a girl, people love to, like, talk about your romantic experiences and your romantic dramas. And like, that’s kind of like– That would be a really easy media hook. And I often get asked to do that and when I’m like, “I don’t have anything to say.” They’re like that– They’re not interested in talking about it from an aromantic perspective of getting that in there. They just wanted to know about your being asexual and struggling to date is kind of the only thing that they were interested in. So yeah, I don’t know if that answered the question, but hopefully.

So yeah, it seems she talks about asexuality more but also media is less interested in hearing her talk about aromanticism. I just wanted to share her own words on it.

I think a lot about how Yasmin Benoit (aspec activist, lingerie model, and currently working on a doctorate) is seen so much more as an asexual activist than an aromantic one. In reality, she's very much both. She's asexual and aromantic, and she talks a lot about each... But her being asexual is what always gets elevated. People hire her because they want to speak about asexuality. When she gets interviewed, it always is represented as an interview with an asexual activist. And sure, part of it is that "this woman who poses in skimpy outfits is actually asexual" is a headline that gets more clicks, but I don't think that's all of it. I think it's also that publications and organizations and events contact her because they know that for their diversity initiatives, they should have someone ace. So they bill her as ace. But aromantic is not on their lists or initiatives. Journalists don't contact her because they want a story about aromanticism, they do it because they want a story about asexuality, and even though she'll usually mention both, they'll mostly ignore the aro part.

I don't really have a point, exactly, I just think it's messed up that you can be openly aromantic AND asexual and talk about them fairly equally (at least to my eyes; it's not like I've counted the ratio of her articles or interviews or Instagram posts) and still be reduced to just asexual in the eyes of the world. Like, we see this happen with every single aroace character and that's also a problem, but at least they aren't real. Yasmin is.

#Youtube

114 notes · View notes

astraljedi · 16 hours ago

Text

I can't find a pulse My heart won't start anymore (Frank Castle Imagine)

Request: Did you watch DDBA season finale? I need a scene where reader arrives in the car with Karen after Matt and Frank jump from the apartment. Maybe since Matt calls shotgun, reader sits in the back with Frank and the last time they saw each other they hooked up

Pairing: Frank Castle x Female Reader

Warnings: Mention of blood, open wounds, cursing, smutty flashback scenes, this does not have a happy ending (sorry)

Word Count: 4.3K

Song: You're Losing Me by Taylor Swift

a/n: I started writing this and suddenly my direction for it change completely, oops. This is loosely based on DDBA Episode 9, but I ended up changing the ending (because this is fanfiction and I can).

- I gave you all my best me's, my endless empathy And all I did was bleed as I tried to be the bravest soldier Fighting in only your army Frontlines, don't you ignore me

Courtesy of the city-wide blackout, darkness swallows up my quiet apartment. I fumble through my storage closet, the weak flashlight from my phone barely illuminating anything as I try to find the battery-powered candles I know I stashed somewhere.

“Fuck this,” I groan, dropping to the cold floor with a thud, my back hitting the hallway wall. Just as I start contemplating whether I could survive the night in complete darkness, my phone vibrates. “Karen” flashes across the screen.

I bring the phone up to my ear. “Hi, gorgeous,” I answer.

“Are you home? I’m on my way to pick you up,” Karen says quickly. I hear her curse, followed by a sharp blast of her car horn. I wince and pull the phone away from my ear.

“Yea—”

“It’s urgent. I’m four minutes away,” she cuts in. “It’s Matt. He needs us.”

The second she says his name, I’m on my feet. I grab my things and dash out of the apartment, I place the call on speaker and use my flashlight to guide myself down the flight of stairs

“Two minutes,” Karen says through the call, keeping me posted.

“I’m outside,” Out of breath I step onto the chaotic street. Helicopters roar over the city, car horns blare from every direction. I hear people screaming, smashing car windows and I beg for Karen to pull up soon before the chaos reaches me.

Karen pulls up fast and hard, tires screeching seconds later and I sprint to the passenger side, barely managing to close the door before she slams her foot on the gas.

“Where is he?” I ask, panic clear in my voice.

“His apartment.”

“What? I thought he was in the hospital.” I glance at her, my gut twisting. The blackout’s only made the streets worse, but we’re not far.

“I’ll explain later.” Karen’s eyes are fixed on the road, but I can tell she’s hiding something. She’s fighting her hardest to keep her lips sealed, her brows furrowing together.

I narrow my eyes. “Don’t look at me like that,” she adds.

“Just spit it out, Karen.” I demand.

“It’s also Frank,” she sighs, not able to keep it in for long.

My stomach drops. I stare at her, not saying a word.

Frank.

I haven’t seen him since the night we were tangled in my bed sheets. Our never ending cycle fueling the tiny spark that was left.

I thought I’d finally tamed the spark, but Frank Castle doesn’t let you put out the flames. He is the fire. The oxygen. The thing that keeps it alive, even when he doesn't even try.

He will alway try to push me away but the flame always remains.

Frank is the man who picks up the broken pieces of my heart. He builds it up, structures the pieces perfectly for him to smash it back to pieces like a sandcastle he worked so hard on building. He always leaves, and I’m always the one left behind, stupidly clutching to his empty words and promises.

“What?” I whisper, leaning my head against the headrest, my chest already pounding. Just hearing his name sets everything inside me on fire.

Karen parts her lips like she wants to say more, but an explosion goes off—loud and nearby. I grab her free hand, our minds in sync.

Please let them be okay, I beg—whether to God or the universe, I don’t know.

We turn the corner and spot Matt and Frank in the street. Karen and I both sigh, out of relief at the sight of them. I exhale shakily as Karen and I step out of the car. I crunch down on shattered glass, our eyes rising to Matt’s apartment in flames.

“Get in,” Karen orders, her voice calm but I know the adrenaline is rushing through her body. Just like mine.

“Shotgun,” Matt mutters, wincing as he holds his side.

I walk up to Matt, letting him lean on me. I don’t acknowledge Frank at first, my eyes stay fixed on the floor while walking to the car. I guide Matt into the passenger seat, the blood from his injuries smudging my fingers. When I turn around, Frank’s already holding the back door open, waiting for me.

He doesn’t say anything, his lips tightly shut. I glance up at him and I regret instantly. His dark unreadable eyes tracking every move.

I slide in without a word, pressing myself against the opposite side of the car. He gets in after me, knees spread, taking up space like he always does. His knee brushes mine, and I pretend not to notice—even when Karen hits a pothole and the jolt makes our skin connect again. That same electricity sparks and settles beneath my skin.

The silence is loud. The chaos of the city seeps in through the windows—sirens, shouting, the distant rumble of helicopters.

I keep my gaze on the window, but I can feel his eyes still on me. I sit stiffly, forcing slow breaths through my nose, trying to calm the tremble in my hands. I place them gently on my thighs, hoping that they stop before I make a fool out of myself.

But my heart resists to calm down, each beat slamming relentlessly against my chest like it's about to jump out.

Frank’s safehouse is a mess—guns on the table, loose bullets in trays, knives stacked beside open boxes, and God knows how many other weapons scattered everywhere. The scent of him hits me the moment I step in—smoke and leather. A scent I’ve spent time scrubbing off me and my apartment.

Matt and Karen sit on the other side of the room, sitting on some foldable chairs while she focuses on cleaning the wound on Matt’s chest gently.

Across from them, Frank rips a suture kit open with his teeth and pulls the neck of his shirt to study the open wound.

“Let me help,” I say quietly, my voice softer than before—calmer, somehow. Maybe because I’m too exhausted to keep up with our game.

Or maybe because looking at him bloody and bruised—pulls all the fight out of me.

He doesn’t hesitate, he leans back on the chair and hands me the already-threaded needle. At this point in our relationship—if we can even call it that—he trusts me enough to stitch him up.

This is something I’ve done for years now, always looking after him. Countless late nights of him limping into my apartment bleeding. Only for me to panic and lecture him while guiding him to the couch.

“That’s it,” he says, watching me patch the torn-up skin on his hip. My eyes are wide, focused, like I’m trying to memorize how to breathe through it. “You’re a natural, sweetheart.”

His praise settles something wild in my chest. I try to breathe steady, but my hands are trembling.

When I finish the last stitch, I finally let out the breath I didn’t even know I was holding. His hand moves to my face, fingers warm against my skin as he cups my cheek. His thumb brushes over my jaw, softly.

“Next time, you’re gonna be a pro,” he murmurs, then leans in and presses a kiss—gentle, lingering—on the corner of my mouth.

I chuckle, shaking my head like I’m not spiraling on the inside. “Don’t make it a habit.”

A sharp groan from Frank snaps me back. I press the cloth against his injury—harder than I need to but I don’t apologize.

Frank Castle can feel pain after all.

My eyes stay glued to the wound, watching the thread slip through the torn skin.

But I don’t look at him, I remind myself that this is still the man who left before dawn. No explanation with no goodbye. Too cowardly to call it off for once and for all for both our sakes.

From across the room, I hear Karen’s voice, low and comforting as she murmurs to Matt. The sound of the needle moving through Frank’s skin mixes with the buzz of a police radio filling the silence.

Then Matt’s voice cuts in. “You called Frank, huh?”

Karen hesitates. “I heard Poindexter escaped. Called Frank and hopped on a plane.”

“What about her?” Matt adds.

My hand stills for a second, eyes flicking toward them. They don’t notice, but Frank shifts beside me. He’s listening, too.

Karen mumbles something I can’t make out—but Frank hears it, his body stiffening from her answer.

I tie the final knot with more force than necessary and pull the last stitch tight. Frank winces, his hand shooting out to grab my arm on reflex. I hold the cloth to his skin one last time and then set the needle and thread down on the table. It’s his mess to clean up.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Frank says, voice low and rough.

Karen looks over. “Everything okay over there?”

Frank sighs. “Never been better.” He gets up, brushing past me—his knuckles graze my thigh longing for something he won’t let himself indulge in.

I bite the inside of my cheek hard, chewing my words down.

He moves to the small kitchen, grabs a pill bottle and crunches a few of them in his mouth. “Who wants a cup of coffee?”

“Got any oat milk?” Matt stands up, already half-dressed in his suit.

Frank chuckles and hands us a cup of black coffee—no milk, no sugar. Bitter and hot.

I take a sip and move to stand next to Karen.

“So… he went after Matt Murdock. Not Daredevil,” she says finally. “That’s bold. Even for Fisk.”

Matt hesitates. “Listen to me. Turns out it was a hit…” He swallows hard. “On Foggy.”

“Holy shit,” Karen and I say at the same time.

“Vanessa Fisk hired Poindexter to take him out.”

Karen’s already fighting tears. “Why?”

“I think there’s something in the motion he was about to file,” Matt explains, jaw clenched. “He was moving to dismiss the case,and Vanessa made sure he never got to it. I think maybe I missed something back then.”

I drain the rest of my coffee and set the empty cup on a cluttered spot on the counter. “Aren’t the files in storage?”

“That’s right,” Matt says. “Can you guys be my eyes?”

“Always,” Karen answers without hesitation.

They start gathering their things, barely saying another word. I do the same—sling my bag over my shoulder, but my feet won’t move.

I look at Frank at his little workstation, gathering his gear and loading bullets quietly.

“You coming, Frank?” Karen asks.

“Got shit to do,” he mutters, not looking up.

Matt tries to warn him—Fisk is coming, and it’s only a matter of time. But Frank doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t respond. Just keeps loading his gun.

Eventually, they give up. Karen grabs what’s left and heads for the door and Matt follows her.

But I stay, feet glued to the ground.

“Don’t do it, Frank,” I say. My voice is raspier than I expect.

He doesn’t look at me. “It’s not up for debate.”

The lump in my throat that I’ve been choking down all night finally rises.

“Just like how you left me that night?” I snap. “You fuck me, then disappear without a word—like I was just a little plaything for you to use and throw away.”

His dark and emotionless eyes finally lift to mine, studying me while the words weighed heavy on his tongue.

“Sweetheart,” he says, “I’m not the guy you created in your pretty little head.”

My lips part, in disbelief. His words tear through me—and suddenly I’m the one who needs stitching.

His words echo in my head and I laugh bitterly in disbelief while I walk towards the door. I throw it open and slam it behind me, the metal frame rattling loud and harsh.

I don’t even hear it.

“…Stay safe,” Frank mutters behind the door, shaking his head.

He had to do it, he had to break me.

My fist clench on my side and I see Matt and Karen standing at the end of the hallway. But neither of them dare say a word. Karen won’t meet my eyes, and Matt’s trying his hardest not to say something I’m not ready to hear.

And I try not to think about how Matt could probably hear my heart shatter the moment Frank said those words. I walk past them without looking back. Because if I look at them—if I let Karen’s pitying eyes find mine—I’ll break.

The storage unit is dark, only the light from the moon through the window and our flashlights hellp us look over the unit. I should be focused on combing through the files, looking for Foggy’s motion that has to be somewhere in these dusty boxes. But my mind keeps wandering—lingering somewhere else. To someone else.

His fingers slip downwards, getting coated by my juices instantly. “My poor thing, no one knows how to please you like I do.” “Frank,” I whimper, as his fingers circle my clit.

“You okay?”

Matt’s voice is low, careful—just barely louder than the rustling of paper and thuds of boxes being shifted around. Karen keeps her eyes fixed on a file, but I can tell she’s listening now too, her ears perk up. “Your heart is drumming hard again.”

I blink, and glance up at Matt. His head’s tilted slightly, something he does when he’s focusing on the sounds around him.

“Again?” I give up on the file in my hand and shove it back into the box. Some old tax thing. Not what we need.

“It spiked when you were fighting,” he says softly. “And also now.”

Karen looks over from her corner and raises an eyebrow. “God, that is really not fair,” she mutters under her breath.

I try to act normal, like he didn’t just read me to filth—but my hands betray me. A box slips through my grasp and slams on the floor.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

“You heard his too?” Karen asks, pointing her flashlight to another box.

“Oh yeah,” Matt says calmly. I swallow hard and crouch down to gather the scattered files off the floor.

“I’m sure it was the adrenaline,” I offer, trying to sound collected. But my voice comes out higher and a little too defensive.

Matt backs down and doesn’t argue back. He just goes back to his box.

“Hey, this is it.” Karen strains a bit as she pulls out a heavy box from one of the shelves. “A year and a half ago.” The box thuds when she sets it down.

“Here, let me help,” I offer, grabbing the flashlight from her and holding it steady so she can see.

“Yes! Okay, here’s the motion Foggy filed,” she says, pulling out a thick manila file.

“Good work, Karen Page,” Matt praises, stepping closer.

Karen flips it open. “Foggy was going to argue that…” She trails off, eyes skimming the page. “Whoa.”

She keeps reading. “Due to the unique nature of the Red Hook Port Location, no crime was committed in New York state or even the United States of America. Therefore, the court has no jurisdiction to prosecute.”

“What?” Matt’s brows pinch.

“There’s a photocopy,” I say, reaching over to pull out the paper that’s halfway slipping from underneath. “Red Hook Charter, 1855. Holy crap. It’s a free port.”

“Exempt from the jurisdiction of the city,” Matt mutters. “and the country for that matter.”

“What would that have to do with the Fisks?” Karen asks, looking at Matt.

Matt exhales, slow and heavy. “Vanessa has used the port to store art for years now. I mean, if it’s a free port, she’s doing it without customs, without taxation, without fear of seizure.”

“She could launder money legally,” Karen says, stunned.

“Wow. That sneaky motherfucker,” I mutter under my breath.

Matt nods, voice low. “This is about the Fisks building their own city-state.”

Karen starts closing the files carefully. I reach for my bag, tossing it over my shoulder as I grab my flashlight.

“Let’s go see what they’re hiding,” Matt says, already halfway to the door.

When Karen drops me off, the street is calmer than last night from the havoc that broke out from the blackout. My neighbors and the local store owners are out sweeping debris, the air thick with tension from the mayor’s call for martial law.

I unlock my apartment, and the pale pink glow of sunrise pours through the windows like none of last night even happened. Like we didn’t just unravel the reason Foggy was targeted twelve hours ago.

I peel off my jacket, kick off my shoes, and head straight for the kitchen. I’m too tired to think, too wired to crash. I just need something in my stomach before my head crashes on my pillow for the rest of the day. Sleep feels like the only escape I’ve got, the only way to try and push Frank’s voice out of my head.

I reach up to grab a cereal box and a bowl, the perfect lazy breakfast. I open the fridge and grab the milk carton, but the second I shut the door, a voice startles me.

“Got some coffee, sweetheart?”

I spin around so fast the room tilts and the carton slips from my hand, crashing to the floor. The cold liquid flooding the tiles around my feet.

Frank is on the floor, bloody and horribly beaten.

He’s slumped against the wall, one hand pressed over his ribs, clearly in pain—but still somehow smirking through the mess of his split lip and bruised face like nothing.

“Frank,” I breathe, the mess forgotten as I drop to my knees beside him. My hands hover, desperate to help but terrified of hurting him more. “Why are you on the floor?”

“I didn’t want to ruin your couch,” he mutters.

A strangled laugh escapes me. “Now I have to get rid of this rug.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay. I got it for cheap at a thrift shop.” I shrug, I need a new rug anyways.

“No.” He shakes his head, wincing as he tries to sit up straighter. I start to stand, to look for the first aid kit, but he catches my wrist before I can move away.

“You’re not a plaything,” he says. “You’re more to me than what I can express.”

I freeze, but I don’t pull away from his grasp. “Can we not do this right now?” I swallow back a sob, looking away from him.

“I didn’t mean it. You know me.”

“Do I?” I say, raising my voice. “Because sometimes, for a second, I think maybe this is it. Maybe he’s finally giving me his all. And then you’re gone before I even realize what’s happening.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Come on,” I say, wrapping his arm over my shoulder, bracing myself under his weight. “Let’s get you up.”

He stumbles, groaning with every movement, but I manage to carry him to the bathroom. I push the door open with my shoulder and ease him down onto the wooden stool by the tub. My hands are trembling as I twist the faucet, waiting for the water to heat up—warm enough to soothe his muscles.

The silence in the room hangs heavy between us, but his eyes stay on me, tracking every step I take.

I kneel in front of him and grab the scissors. There’s no way I’m asking him to lift his arms, not with the state he’s in. I cut through his shirt carefully, revealing a mess of bruises and cuts that make my stomach twist.

“Jesus, Frank,” I murmur.

I reach for the first aid kit, my hands moving on quickly. I start with the dried blood on his chest, cleaning each wound slowly. He winces under my touch, but I try my best to be gentle and not cause him any more pain.

When I finish, I rise and step between his legs. I lift his chin, tilting his face toward the light. My fingers graze his swollen lip, his scraped cheekbones. His hands settle on my hips, holding on as I clean him up.

Once I’m done, I help him to his feet, bracing him again as I unbuckle his belt. My eyes flick up to his. “This okay?” I ask, and he nods.

I undress him carefully, and help him into the tub. He sinks into the water with a grunt, letting it pull the weight from his bones. His eyes fall closed as his back hits the cold wall, and I sit at the edge of the tub, dipping the sponge into the warm water before running it slowly over his shoulders.

The water clouds pink with leftover blood, and my hand moves to his chest—his heartbeat steady beneath my touch. The same place I used to lay my head. The same place that used to make me feel safe, but I don't know if that place is meant for me anymore.

I let my fingers linger, the sponge discarded to the side and forgotten. My hands move slower, softer, over the places I used to kiss him and never get tired of.

And just for a moment, I let myself feel it all. The weight of everything I’ve been carrying. The ache that never really goes away. The sharp sting of anger and heartbreak. And the love I try so hard for him to accept, to let me in all the way.

Tears slip down my cheeks. I try to hide it, keep my sniffles quiet, but he notices.

His eyes open, and his hand comes up to wipe my tears away. I lean into his touch, even though part of me wants to push it away.

“Talk to me,” he says.

“I didn’t think we would find ourselves like this again,” I admit.

“I thought you wouldn’t let me in,” he replies, his voice rough.

“That’s never been the problem. That’s why we keep ending up here, stuck in this cycle.” I pull away from his touch, but he grabs my hand before I can go far, squeezing it tightly. “I’m just tired of this, Frank.”

He doesn’t interrupt. He just listens.

“I don’t care about flowers or fancy dinners or anniversary gifts. That’s not what I want. I want mornings and nights with you. I want the little things—the moments when I’m trying to pick a fight with you because I’m being a brat and stubborn, and you diffuse the bomb with a kiss or a joke or by just… being the version you only let me see.”

His mouth tugs up in the corner, a soft and familiar smile.

“You love flowers,” he says, and it makes me laugh through the tears. “Don’t try to act like you don’t,” he adds with a low chuckle, wincing as it pulls on his ribs.

“I do,” I admit, then pause. “But I love—” The words catch in my throat, and I look away again. “I need to know you won’t leave. That you won’t shut me out. I need you to fight for me the way I keep fighting for you.”

I don’t wait for his reply. I stand up from the tub, my fingers slipping from his hand. I grab a towel and help him stand slowly, carefully, easing him out of the tub. I hand him the towel and step out of the bathroom, needing a little space—just a few seconds to breathe before the weight of everything drags me under again.

In my room, I pull the bedsheets down and place a change of clothes at the end of the bed. One of his old t-shirts, the soft one that somehow still smells like him, and the sweatpants I stole from him and refuse to give back.

When he walks in, towel slung low on his hips, my storm-filled eyes meet his. His gaze locked on me as he grabs the sweatpants and carefully slides them on. I step closer, press my hands gently to his chest, and push him to sit on the edge of the bed. I grab the t-shirt and help him pull it over his head, mindful of the fresh stitches on his shoulder.

Do something, babe. Say something. Lose something, babe, risk something. Choose something, babe, I got nothing

“Get some rest,” I murmur, helping him ease down into the mattress.

“Baby—” His hand catches my wrist before I can walk away. His grip is loose, but it stops me in my tracks. “I can try. But you have to be patient with me.”

I swallow hard, blinking up at the ceiling before I meet his eyes again. “I’ve been patient all this time, Frank,” I say quietly. “For years I’ve been the one picking up after us. Looking after you when you’re hurt—even when you hurt me first. I need you to do more than try”

“There’s things I have to work out and fix first,” he mutters.

“This is what I’m saying,” I breathe. “You always have something first. There’s always something before me.” I force the lump in my throat down, even though it burns.

He hesitates, but he lets my hand go.

“I’m never going to be your first choice, Frank. This was meant to fail and break from the beginning.”

My voice betrays me while I try to fight back the tears. I hate it—how it makes me sound like I’m begging. When I’m already done with trying and fighting for something that keeps bruising me.

Still, I pull the blanket over his chest, and I lean down and press a kiss to his forehead, maybe for the last time.

Then I turn and walk toward the door. “Good night, Frank.”

I can't find a pulseMy heart won't start anymore

#frank castle x reader #frank castle imagines #frank castle fanfic #frank castle x female #frank castle imagine #frank castle smut #frank castle fic #the punisher x reader #frank castle fanfiction #daredevil born again #ddba

38 notes · View notes

nightlyrequiem · 14 hours ago

Text

DIGEST

"Just the scattered remnants of a society frozen in its last moments."

Chapter 4. Angel with A Shotgun

AO3 Masterlist Previous Next

w/c- 2,761

Humanity has fallen, rotting monsters roam about freely, and you were bit. However, when the fever passes, you're alive and whole. For now. Soon the wound begins to fester, and you need to venture outside to get antibiotics or risk succumbing to an infection anyway. Though it turns out the dead aren't the only things you have to worry about.

A/N- I was originally going to have evil infected children attacking Reader and Valeria, but I changed my mind. Maybe they'll come back in future chapters but for now, no evil children

Tags/Warnings: Tags Will Be Updated as Story Progresses, WLW, Dysfunctional Relationship, Gore, Apocalypse/Infection AU, No Use of The Word Zombie, Violence, Gore, Angst, Valeria is a Bad Person, Seizures, Mild-Body Horror, Horror, Thriller

The closet door creaks open quietly and a foot prods your shoulder none too gently.

"Rise and shine." Valeria's rough voice calls out to you. You shut your eyes tight against the splitting headache that's taken up behind your eyes. You shift and wince. You're sore all over from sleeping on the hard floor again. The scent of bleach assaults your nose but you don't move. "I said get up." Valeria says, even less friendly. She reaches down and grabs ahold of your arm, yanking you up.

You slap her hands away and shakily push yourself up.

"Fuck off." You snap. Your voice is rough and scratchy from dehydration. You shove past her into the living room, now aglow with morning sunlight. It seems extra harsh and bright today, your eyes instinctively squinting and aching. Sweat runs down your back, making your shirt stick to your skin.

"Let's go. We've got a long day ahead of us." Valeria calls out to you.

Your bags are still right where you left them on the front step. Valeria leans down and effortlessly slings them over her broad shoulder. While you walk, dirt and gravel crunches loudly from under your feet. Valeria leads you down the empty street. You're missing the car already. Sleeping in the cramped closet on the hard floor has left all your joints aching with every movement. You're hunched and panting, struggling to get enough air into your lungs. It's torturous- your thoughts are interrupted by sudden movement in the field beside you. You turn your head and squint. You thought you saw something small and dark darting between the overgrown yellow grass and foliage. But all you see is the golden stalks gently swaying in the breeze. Even if there is something, it's probably an animal of some kind.

Stray leaves flutter around your legs, nature's promise of the upcoming fall. It's a stark reminder that the world hasn't truly ended. Human beings are not the center of the universe, and the Earth doesn't care if they're here to witness it's seasonal changes or not.

"Hey."

You look up, noticing that Valeria has trailed way ahead of you and has stopped, noticing the growing distance.

"What are you doing? Hurry your ass up." She demands. You hadn't even noticed that you stopped walking completely. You break into a jog to catch up to her. Valeria shuffles behind you and prods you in the back warningly. Keeping one hand on your arm.

Valeria inspects the various different cars you pass by. Most are locked, many have no fuel. Though you manage to find a granola bar in the backseat of one. And even though you feel nauseas you wolf it down before Valeria can catch you. While she's rooting through a minivan, something scrapes against the pavement behind you. You whip around, startled. A cloud drifts over the sun and shades the street. Something flies over the chain-link fence beside you and lands on the street stiffly. You jerk back with alarm, looking at the small, gray furry shape and little striped tail. The smell hits you and you gag. You look towards the field. Someone threw a dead, rotting racoon at you.

Yet again you see nothing, but you feel eyes burning your skin like a colony of fire ants.

"Can we go now?" You ask Valeria.

"In a second, I want to check the trunk." She answers.

"No, I mean now. Something's... wrong here." You reply, backing up towards the minivan and not taking your eyes off of the field. That's what you're supposed to do with cougars. Turning your back to them triggers their prey drive. And even though you know it's probably not a cougar, the same logic can probably be applied to whatever it is. Valeria stops and pokes her head out.

"What happened?" She asks, lowering her voice. You point to the dead racoon. Valeria climbs out and stands beside you. Frowning at it darkly.

"It was thrown over the fence." You tell her. She looks towards the field as well, sharp eyes scanning the tall grass and weeds.

You expect her to dismiss you when she sees nothing but it seems even she's feeling spooked.

"Let's go." She says. Valeria grabs the bags and pushes you forward. When you make it passed the elementary school the feeling of being watched subsides. You come upon a street lined by tall trees offering temporary relief from the sun. It's a quaint little neighborhood. Wirth short stone retaining walls along the lawns and little stone steps leading up to small but charming houses. Painted faded blues and yellows. Some with brick accents.

"This one looks cleaner than the others." Valeria speaks up, veering towards a little yellow beetle. She's right. There's not much dust coating the pale yellow car. It shines proudly in the dappled sunlight like a blonde pearl. You frown at it. Valeria cracks open the passenger side door and looks around for a key.

"It looks a little too clean, no?" You say nervously. "Why would it be so clean? Maybe someone else is using it..."

Valeria scoffs.

"Look around, Chica muerta viviente, they aren't here now, are they?" She retorts, not looking back at you. She's right. There's no signs of life anywhere. But for all you know, the owner could be inside one of the many houses nearby. Maybe even watching from the window. The engine growls to life loudly. "Aha! Lo sabía." Valeria mutters smugly. You look away from her and almost jump out of your skin at the sight of a person standing at the end of the street. One who wasn't there mere seconds ago. They're incredibly short and you realize it's a child. Your mind instantly flickers back to the little infected girl from the river house.

It's a little too far away for you to discern any facial features properly but you know it's looking at you.

"Hello?" You call out, concerned.

"What the hell are doing?" Valeria snaps, jumping out of the car. "Keep your voice down!"

"There's a kid over there." You say. Valeria glowers at you and turns to look where you're pointing, shoulders tightening when she spots the small, lonely figure.

"... Christ. One thing after the other, huh?" She mutters. "Get in the car. I've got it wired." She tries to push you towards the beetle but you stay put.

"We can't just leave it!" You protest, staring at her defiantly. You can see the patience physically draining from her eyes but you continue anyway. "Surely you're not so cruel as to leave a child like that?"

"I am, actually. I've done a lot worse than leave a child in a dangerous situation." She hisses, grabbing your arm tightly. "And it looks like it's been doing just fine-" Her head snaps back to the child and she stops. You look as well and frown. There's another child now. Still at the end of the street but a little closer now. Half peeking out from between two cars.

Another one slowly climbs on top of a car. Crawling on all fours like an animal. It strikes you that perhaps these aren't human children. But they can't be infected surely. Infected don't come out during the day. You swallow, throat feeling tight. At least, none that you've seen. They're too far away for you to see, but your gut is screaming at you that those aren't children. You glance at Valeria then slowly back away band crawl into the passenger side of the beetle. Shortly joined by Valeria, who promptly closes her door and locks all four of them. You twist around in your seat to watch the little creatures from the back window. Studying their still forms. Valeria puts the car into reverse and pulls away from the curb, then drives off. The children get smaller until they disappear from sight when you turn a corner.

You wipe sweat from your brow and take in the interior of the car. It's neat, with the dashboard being coated in a thin layer of dust. There's a string of pink beads tied to the rearview mirror. They sway with the car's motion and when they hit the two ceramic cherries hanging on the other side of the mirror, they make a 'clink' sound. You have to squint against the blurry movement outside. It's starting to make you dizzy. You're bone wary and decide to just close your eyes for a little bit.

You end up falling asleep. The movement from the car slowing down and stopping stirs you. When you look outside, you see that the buildings have thinned out. Leaving large gaps of fields between them. The sun is now sitting a little below the tree line and the scent of oncoming night is starting to set in. Valeria puts the car into park. You look to your left, seeing a gas pump. Valeria gets out and you yawn weakly. Wanting to go back to sleep but no matter which way you position yourself, you feel cramped and achy.

While Valeria pumps gas, you decide to get out of the car to stretch your legs. You move to quickly though and soon double over, retching onto the pavement. Valeria stays silent, uncaring if you're okay. You spit and wipe your mouth. There's a pleasant breeze in the air and it's a lot less stifling now that the sun is lower in the sky. You wander over to the gas station and peer into the dark interior. A foul smell drifts out towards you, and you wrinkle your nose, disinterested in finding out what it is. You turn back around and shamble back towards Valeria and the beetle.

Valeria's done pumping gas. Now standing in front of the car with one of the maps spread out over the hood of the car. You limp up beside her and peer down at it over her shoulder. She follows one of the many overlapping lines with a pen.

"We'll be in North Dakota by sundown." She says.

"How long will it take to get to Mexico from there?" You ask, scratching your arm.

"A couple days, maybe." She replies, surprising you. "But that's being optimistic. Not counting on any barricades or the car running out of fuel."

"Oh. I thought it would take longer than that." You say, frowning. Mexico. The thought of being so far from home, even when that home isn't the same anymore, fills you with uneasiness.

But without heat, there's a good chance you won't live through the winter. Even with insulation, coats, and blankets, the bitter chill has a way of getting inside. Still, you're a little nervous about being with Valeria. You're still not sure of her intentions. She says she wants to use you as a shield but somethings just not adding up. You can't help but feel that she has something else planned for you.

"Let's go."

Valeria doesn't stop. Driving straight through Corinne, Weyburn, and Estevan. When you pass by a sign welcoming you to Bowbells, the sun has set completely. Infected are already out and about. As you drive by, they scream and give chase, but they aren't faster than the beetle. They pour out from buildings and alleyways. Some drag themselves along the ground with a surprising speed.

"Shit." Valeria curses, catching your attention. You perk up, worried.

"What?" You ask. She slows to a stop and you look ahead. The road is blocked by a military barricade. Abandoned tanks left sitting behind them ominously.

You scream when a hand slams against your window. A horribly disfigured face stares at you through the glass, mouth gaping and full of rotted, yellow teeth.

"Oh my god, they're so loud!" You hiss, covering your ears to ineffectively block out the crying and screaming. They quickly surround the car. Slamming into it with their sickly bodies. They crawl over themselves trying to get at the living inside. Your heart slams against your ribs painfully, you're afraid you'll pop a blood vessel from how afraid you feel. Valeria slumps back in her seat and rubs her jaw.

It sounds like thunder the way they're ramming into the car. An orchestra of monsters singing for you. Your head is on a swivel, terrified that they're going to break the glass. Something like popping begins to sound from somewhere outside. A few of the infected immediately turn to the noise and bolt away towards it, but most of them continue to cluster around the living prey they can still see inside the car. The one at your window slams it's hand against the glass and to your horror, a spiderweb like crack instantly spreads. The glass shatters and you scream, jerking back and crowding Valeria.

She curses.

"Get off! I can't get my gun!" She snarls. The infected starts trying to force itself through the opening but as it places a hand on the glass, cutting open it's palm, it's head explodes into a mess of gore and viscera. You shield your face with your arm and feel it spatter onto your shirt and skin. The smell permeates through the car. Something overripe and rotting. Around you the infected begin dying. You watch on bewildered as holes open up in their heads. Is this divine intervention, or something caused by the disease?

The night soon becomes eerily quiet once more. The only sounds being yours and Valeria's ragged breathing. You can feel her hot breath puffing against the back of your neck. Her body behind yours trembling.

"You folks alright in there?" A male voice calls out. Neither you nor Valeria answer. It could be another infected. Gravel crunches as heavy steps make their way towards your window. Valeria pushes you forward and snatches her gun from her waistband, aiming it ahead of you. It doesn't even occur to you to cover your ears. You hiss and shut your eyes when a blinding light flashes inside at you. Hitting you square in the eyes.

"Who the fuck are you?" Valeria barks aggressively.

"Well now, that's not very polite." The man chuckles. "I just saved your lives. Now, you're welcome to get out and follow me, I've got a group and we've got a safe place not far from here. Or you can spend the rest of your night in the car with the gaping window and this awful reek. Your call."

With the light still directly on your face, you keep your eyes shut tight. Valeria thinks over her words. And she's probably thinking the same thing that you are. The man is right. It's only a matter of time before the other infected come back. Or for new infected to catch the smell of death and blood and come check it out. And with the window now broken, you're nothing more than sitting ducks.

"Fine." Valeria hisses. Not happy about the situation. "But I'll put a bullet in your head if you try anything." She warns. You feel the warmth leave your face and you crack open your eyes. Watching the man stand up and back away. Valeria pushes you off of her and you slowly open the door, climbing out and immediately stepping onto the squishy corpse of an infected.

You gag and hop over it onto clear pavement. Valeria joins you and stands tall, not even sparing a single glance towards the corpse ridden ground. Even when you're not looking you can't escape it. The smell is everywhere and so overpowering that your eyes water. You look at the man. He's older, maybe in his forties. With a beard peppered with gray. He smiles and his cheeks puff up like a chipmunks, and a shotgun gripped in his right hand.

"Name's Chuck, nice to meet you." He says, holding out a big hand. Valeria doesn't make any moves to shake it, radiating hostility. Not wanting to offend your armed savior, you quickly reach out and shake it. Introducing yourself and Valeria. He grips your hand uncomfortably tight. "Great. Let's get going then, shall we? It's only a matter of time before the lurkers come sniffing around." He slings the shotgun over his shoulders and easily steps over the bodies. You and Valeria follow more cautiously. You should feel excited about the prospect of more survivors. It should make you feel hopeful, but as you follow behind Chuck, all you feel is a deep pit of nervousness in your gut that makes your arm itch and your bite throb.

#valeria garza x reader #valeria garza cod #cod mwii #modern warefare ii #valeria garza x fem!reader #cod mw2 #valeria garza #cod x reader #cod #valeria garza x you

19 notes · View notes

rubbishraven · 2 months ago

Text

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

46 notes · View notes

cakerybakery · 4 hours ago

Text

They were visiting Cannibal town and Lucifer had been feeling cheeky as he donned the pretty pink flapper dress from the back of his closet. It needed a little magical tender love and care but soon the beads shone and the snags and holes were repaired.

As they walked down the street to see the overlord Rosie, they attracted attention as outsiders.

Lucifer never had an issue with folks knowing about his crossdressing. Adam looked a little less comfortable as he walked, the plug in his ass was possibility for the reason of that. It was a sturdy one.

Or perhaps Adam was nervous about being in cannibal town. They did enjoy some good plump flesh around these parts and several were eyeing up Adam in a less than polite way.

He himself would avoid this part of his city if he could. Avoid the whole unsavoury lot if possible. Sadly, on occasion, he needed to remind the overlords that they come and go, but they stay longer when on his good side.

In dealing with the overlords, Lucifer has found it preferable to walk into their territory and remind them that it is, in fact, his territory and they're merely renting it from him.

They walked into Rosie's shop and she was very welcoming. Certainly not a lady to be easily startled.

"What brings you down to our little area, your highness?"

"Your majesty. And I'm simply doing the rounds as it were. Seeing how you're treating my hell." Lucifer's presence was enough to make the busy store deserted.

Within moments there was only the four of them.

Alastor narrowed his eyes at them and Adam started to growl.

"Down boys." Lucifer chastised.

"I'm sorry, your majesty, but we have a rule against dogs in the emporium." Rosie smiled, but it was as empty as her eyes.

Lucifer smiled back. "Of course. And I trust that applies to your dog as well." He pointed out Alastor, making the sinner twitch and Rosie laugh.

He handed Alastor Adam's leash.

"Wait for us outside." Lucifer ordered.

Alastor looked as though he was going to say something but Rosie cut him off with a noise of agreement and the deer seethed on his way out of the door.

From the corner of his eye, he watched Adam's tail sway and he crawled, nearly as naked as the day he was created, back out onto the street.

His puppy was being so good. His cock and mouth were muzzled, and thick pads protected Adam's knees and hands so Lucifer had walked him all through hell. He would deserve a treat later.

The meeting with Rosie was politely tense. She was very good as the head of the beast that was cannibal town. She stood her ground well until the end.

She offered him some local delicacies, he was aware that she expected him to decline, instead he popped the morsel in his mouth, and thanked her.

Rosie's hands jumped just a bit. Her wide eyes dilating and the curls of her mouth twitching.

He'd thrown her off.

Good.

When possible, he'd throw the human flesh up. But that would be further away and in a more private place.

Outside, Alastor was teasing his dog.

Adam was doing well, he must really want his reward, growling and snapping behind his muzzle, but still on all fours.

Lucifer grinned as he hadn't been noticed yet. With a snap, the muzzle and leash tying Adam to a sign post vanished and Adam quickly sunk his teeth into Alastor's leg.

He pulled his dog off before Alastor could do more than scream in pained rage.

"Your master is calling you," Lucifer smiled snidely and left as Rosie came out to see what the commotion was.

When they finally left the area, he got rid of the snack and they continued on to Adam's reward.

The puppy park was leash free and Adam's ass was wagging when they got there.

Lucifer took the cock cage off and pulled the plug out. "Go on, boy. Have fun."

He settled himself on a bench and pulled up his dress. Lucifer pulled his erect cock out of his lacy black panties and stroked himself as he watched a large puppy mount Adam.

None of the sinners and hell born were larger than Adam, but a few came close.

Adam lopped his tongue out into the dirt as he panted, he let out a happy whine and Lucifer fondled his balls knowing the sinner trying to impregnate his dog was about to make him cum.

Like the well trained bitch, Adam was, he came untouched. The first sinner finished up and a second one pushed his face into the gasping hole to lap at the cum before mounting Adam himself.

A hellhound made used of Adam's inviting mouth and Lucifer could see Adam's throat bulge as he easily deep throated the hellborn's prick.

Stroking faster, Lucifer was building up to his own release as another hellhound took position at Adam's ass.

Adam looked a little pained as he was fucked from both ends, but he didn't tap out, so Lucifer wet the head of his prick with precum and watched as the hellhounds knotted his dog.

The dogs grinned as they trapped Adam between them. Filling him with cum from both ends.

Rolling his eyes back, Adam's cock spurted again, and Lucifer came over his hand.

He wiped it off on his dress and waited for the hellhound to release Adam before collecting him.

Lucifer picked up his dog and carried him home through a portal. The tired mutt passing out as he leaked.

Plugging Adam's loose ass with the biggest plug they had, he cuddled his pet on the bed.

Adam slept for a while and when he woke up, he yawned and licked at the dried cum on Lucifer's hand.

"Hey boy. Did you have fun?"

Barking, Adam nuzzled Lucifer's hand.

"Come on boy. Bet you're hungry and thirsty after that big walk and romp in the park." Lucifer got up and Adam followed on all fours eagerly.

After Lucifer poured Adam a bowl of water to drink from he started making their steak supper.

He'd have to feed his dog well, Adam deserved it for playing so well with others.

"Dude," Adam stared into Lucifer's closet over his shoulder, "do you have dresses?"

"Asks the man in a dress." Lucifer continued to go through his closet to find the right outfit for Charlie's open house at the hotel.

"It's not a dress." Adam defended himself and burned with indignation. "It's a ceremonial robe."

Lucifer turned to look at his annoying shadow. Since Adam's fall, he'd stuck to Lucifer like glue, mainly to piss him off. "That you wear all the time."

"It's a robe... thingy. And you have real dresses!"

He scoffed. "You're just jealous of how hot I am in a dress. Or anything really. Now if you don't mind, I'm trying to pick out something to wear."

"I don't mind at all."

The cheek of the man.

"Fine then." Lucifer summoned a partition to change behind and began to strip. "You can help me decide then."

He pulled a tux out and got dressed. Affixing his bow tie, Lucifer stepped out. "Well? How do I look?"

"Over dressed."

"True. But how do I look? Sexy? Hot?"

Adam rolled his eyes. "I'm not gay."

"Don't have to be to know when another man is attractive."

He shrugged. "Fine, then."

Lucifer grabbed outfit after outfit. Dress shirts with slacks. A t-shirt and jeans. He dressed in a suit he wore for when he actually went into work and had to dress up instead of being in his casual four piece at home suit with matching top hat and cane. Each outfit change made Adam mutter it looked fine and wriggle in his seat.

Then he felt a little silly and grabbed some of the dresses for his fashion show.

A red silk number he'd picked up in Rome a thousand odd years ago. He couldn't quite remember why he had it. Was he disguised as some noble lady?

It was why he had most of his dresses. To make deals with mortal men, arrogant men easily led to more private areas when beckoned by a pretty woman.

He stepped out and Adam's uncomfortable red face went pale. His jaw went a little slack and Lucifer giggled. He knew he still looked great in a dress.

Lucifer tried on a couple more period pieces before grabbing a couple more modern dresses.

Those were actually a couple the Lilith had decided she didn't want. Lucifer scaled them down a little.

He stepped out in a skin tight black number, and because he could, Lucifer had applied a little red lipstick he found in the clutch that went with the dress, copying what he'd seen Lilith do a million times to apply it.

Adam's eyes lit up seeing Lucifer, and he stumbled over his words to try to say Lucifer only looked okay.

But Lucifer felt like he could do better. He wanted Adam to just drool over him.

He didn't actually own this getup.

And it wasn't really a getup so much as lingerie.

He added ruffles to the bra to give the illusion of, well, having really anything other than a bit of barrel chest. And some to the bottoms to match. Lucifer settled on a soft yellow colour. And removed the gel keeping his hair up.

This time when he stepped out he could feel his face flushing, maybe he'd gone a bit too far.

But he couldn't deny the effect. Adam seemed to have lost his voice and as Lucifer approached to ask how he looked, Adam could only squeak.

Lucifer liked this effect on Adam. He touched Adam's knees.

The room was warm and the air heavy.

Even with Adam sitting on the bed. Lucifer had to tilt his head up, but he pressed his lips to Adam's.

Adam pressed back, his hands grabbing hold of Lucifer and pulling them flush together.

Lucifer's eyes closed and he wrapped his arms around Adam's shoulders.

When they pulled apart, Lucifer's voice was husky. "I told you I look hot." He tugged on Adam robe to pull it off. "Adam, I'm going to fuck you into the mattress tonight."

Adam could only whimper as Lucifer pressed him to the bed. "Okay."

#Dom In A Dress AU #not sure what part #five maybe

65 notes · View notes