#you should familiarize yourself with your coverage

[schaeferlusaque]

People love to pay a monthly premium for insurance and not know how to use it. God bless, you are all so stupid

[fanged-fanfics]

☆ But The Night, He Calls Me — Bruce "Batman" Wayne x GN Civilian!Reader Fic ☆

Genre: Fluff || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

It was hard to imagine a time where anything noteworthy in Gotham didn't happen during a dark and stormy night. The city was a pretty big pull for raincoulds, low hanging fog, and a general morose look. But above all else, it was your home, though you didn't prefer to walk out at night these days. With the notoriously shoddy work of the GCPD and crime rates almost triple as high compared to the neighboring cities, you didn't exactly feel the wet concrete and dark alley corners beckoning you anytime soon.

The roof, however, was a different matter. Your roof— or, well, the roof to the apartment complex you lived at— became a frequent spot to the one man who could ever make a dent in Gotham City crime. The very same man you could see perched on the edge of the parapet right now. You approached slowly, taking careful steps as to not make a sound. After painfully long moments of inching, you were almost close enough to reach out. You shuffled just a bit more, preparing to make yourself known-

"Go back inside" the dark figure cut in, low gravelly voice clear and familiar. You sighed deeply, giving up and moving to step up to the vigilante's side "How do you always do that?". "I'm a detective, it's my job" the Batman said flatly. You leaned against the parapet he was standing atop "It's uncanny is what it is. After all these months you'd think I'd be able to get the drop on you at least once". "Villains who have been chasing me since the beginning of my career haven't managed it either, don't be too discouraged" Batman replied.

You chuckled a little, looking over the edge of the roof. The crime fighter's dry humor was a reason the two of you got along so well. After meeting by chance a few times, it became a more regular occurrence to meet up like this. Sometimes you'd get to see him spring into action, or maybe even return from a fight. But tonight, it seems, was uneventful. "Slow day?" You asked. "There's never a slow day in Gotham," Batman responded "You just need to know where to find the action". You couldn't help but snort a little at the claim "Okay, tough guy, so why haven't you set off yet?". "There's no point to a stakeout if you jump in before the crook" Batman said, and you gave a thoughtful nod in reply.

"You should really go back inside" the caped crusader spoke up "It's late. You've got work, I'm sure". "Got the day off, actually, detective" You responded "And I can't sleep knowing there's a bat on my roof". That got a faint hum from the dark knight, the closest you got to an amused reaction from him. The wind picked up from the just-passed storm, bringing a chill that bit your cheeks and clung to your clothes in one large wave. You couldn't help but shiver, tugging your jacket tighter around your pajamas.

Batman kept his gaze on the streets below, watching as puddles rippled with the last few drops from the sky and lamps flickered from lack of care. He was in tune with every foot of concrete road, attuned to any and every movement. The only thing that pulled his attention was when feeling his long billowing cape being tugged. His head looked over, seeing you wrapping the inky black fabric around your shoulders. "What- what are you doing" Batman asked, mildly confused. "It's not really fair that you're the only one that gets to wrap up in this thing" you said, scooting closer to him for more coverage.

"I do that to cloak myself" Batman countered, sliding off the parapet to be standing on the top of the roof beside you. "Right. And I'm using it to warm myself" you said casually, shuffling to his side. You honestly expected him to give some gruff, witty comment and snatch the cape back. If it were any other situation, with any other person, maybe he would have. But instead, he just looked back to the streets, using an arm to hold out more of the martial for you. You smiled, tucking fully into his side and now being fully wrapped up. "Better?" Batman asked, avoiding looking down at you. You nodded, leaning on his shoulder "A lot, yeah. Thanks, Bats"

Batman gave a short 'hm' in response, going back to being silent. But he kept an arm around your lower back, keeping you held close to his frame. As much as he was trying to avoid it, it did poor things to his heart to see you shivering in the cold because of him. He very briefly placed his chin atop your head, using his free hand to tap your shoulder. "Ten minutes. Then you're going back to bed"

"Fine, fine" you said, nuzzling up to him a bit more "Ten minutes". Batman hesitated a little, before allowing himself to wrap his arms around you fully. He gave you a brief but strong embrace, letting you soak up his warmth just for now. He could spare ten mintues. It's not like any villain could outrun him for long, anyways.

[bunnib4b3s]

Xavier - Cozy Comfort

Synopsis: Getting hurt is part of the job, no need to fret when your loving coworker and boyfriend is there to help and take care of you

Genre/Warnings: Fluff, hurt/comfort(?), kissing, cuddling

Word Count 600+

Living in Linkon during winter seasons was not for the weak. There have been many occasions of the sharp wind hitting your face at unbelievable speeds, combated with the falling snow whipping at your face making it impossible to see.

Imagine that plus fighting wanders in that weather with just your uniform. Obviously the winter under shirt has more coverage, like instead of it being a crop-top, it covered your entire stomach and the shirt was just a tad thicker. All because of “safety”, you were left freezing fighting wanderers without a jacket all evening alongside Xavier.

With the sun going down, you felt yourself succumbing more to the cold, and you movements becoming more rigid as the wanders were managing to get closer. Suddenly you feel a hit and warm blood roll down your back as you fall face first into some snow.

“Ah, shit.” You groaned as loudly as you could.

Suddenly you are picked up, and the familiar scent of laundry detergent blesses your nose as you look up to see a familiar, but concerned face.

“Are you alright?” Xavier brushes the hair and snow off your face as his eyes become wider with worry.

You nod your head and huff, “Can we get out of here before I die of frostbite. My toes are already numb, and I’m slowly losing feeling in my calves.”

Xavier nods and gracefully carries you back to HQ for some stitches on the wound on your back, and to properly warm-up.

Once back in Xavier’s apartment all patched up, you both ordered take-out and sat in silence, taking in one another's presence.

The warmth of Xavier's apartment slowly seeped into your bones, chasing away the lingering chill. You huddled deeper into the blanket he had draped over your shoulders, savoring the comfort it provided. The aroma of hot soup wafted through the air, making your stomach growl in anticipation.

Xavier sat beside you on the couch, his presence a steady comfort. You noticed how he kept glancing at you, concern still etched on his features. Finally, he broke the silence.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I should have been more careful out there. I never meant for you to get hurt."

You turned to face him, touched by the sincerity in his voice. "It's not your fault, Xavier. We both know the risks of our job."

He reached out, gently taking your hand in his. The warmth of his touch sent a flutter through your chest. "Still, I can't bear the thought of losing you. When I saw you fall..." His voice trailed off, eyes clouding with the memory.

Impulsively, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him. He stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, pulling you closer. You breathed in his familiar scent, feeling safe and protected in his embrace.

"I'm right here," you murmured against his chest. "And I'm not going anywhere."

His gaze softened, and he leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. You sighed contentedly, snuggling closer. Xavier's lips found yours next, the kiss soft and sweet. It warmed you from the inside out, chasing away the last remnants of cold.

As you broke apart, you both yawned simultaneously, then chuckled.

"Bed?" Xavier suggested, and you nodded gratefully.

You curled up together under the thick blankets, limbs intertwined. Xavier's arms encircled you protectively, and you rested your head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.

"Goodnight," you whispered, already feeling sleep tugging at you.

"Sweet dreams," Xavier replied softly, placing one last kiss on the top of your head.

Warm, safe, and content, you drifted off to sleep in each other's arms, the harsh winter night forgotten outside your cozy sanctuary.

A/N: Kind of shit, but I was itching to write after completing my bio stem cell research paper T-T

[thollandsgirl2013]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐥

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → fluff, awkwardness, new relationship

Summary → Peter walks in on you sleeping in a towel.

Peter was excited, practically bouncing on his feet as he approached your house. The two of you had been dating for a month now, and he loved surprising you whenever he could. You worked long shifts at the café and were always tired when you got home. He figured surprising you today, spending time with you and Maybe if possible, having dinner together, would be a great way to relax.

Your mom opened the door, smiling when she saw him. "Peter! What a surprise. Come on in."

"Hey, Mrs. Y/L/N. Is Y/n home?" Peter asked, stepping inside and rubbing his palms together nervously.

"She just got home not too long ago. She's in her room, probably resting. Why don’t you stay for dinner?"

Peter grinned. "Thanks! I’d love to."

Your mom chuckled at his eagerness. "Go on up and say hi to her. Just knock first, you know how Y/n can be after work."

Peter nodded, making his way to your room. As he climbed the stairs, he felt that familiar nervous energy bubble up in his stomach. It was still new—this whole relationship thing with you. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was, but that didn’t stop him from feeling jittery around you sometimes.

When he reached your bedroom door, he knocked softly. "Y/n? It’s me, Peter."

Silence.

He knocked again, a little louder. "Y/n? You there?"

Still no response. He furrowed his brow, listening closely, and then decided to quietly open the door. Maybe you fell asleep. As he stepped inside, he froze, his eyes widening at the sight before him.

There you were, lying across your bed, indeed fast asleep, but wrapped in nothing but just a towel. Your damp hair spilled over your pillow, and your cheek was squished against the fabric, giving you that adorable post-nap look. Peter's heart skipped a beat, and not just because you looked so beautiful. He immediately felt awkward, his cheeks flushing bright red.

“Oh… oh no," he whispered to himself, quickly shutting the door behind him. He looked away, trying to figure out what to do. Should he wake you? Leave? He didn’t want to make things awkward, but the last thing he wanted was for you to wake up and freak out because he saw you like this.

Peter bit his lip, staring at the floor. "Okay, uh… just breathe, Parker. It’s fine. It’s totally fine."

He approached the bed cautiously, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. You looked so peaceful, your chest rising and falling gently as you slept. Part of him wanted to let you rest—you worked so hard all the time—but the other part was panicking because, well, towel.

"Y/n… Y/n?" He whispered your name softly, hoping you’d wake up without too much of a start. He lightly touched your shoulder, and that seemed to do the trick. You stirred, letting out a soft groan as your eyes fluttered open.

"Mmm… Peter?" You mumbled, still half-asleep.

"Uh, yeah. Hey," Peter said, his voice slightly strained as he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. "Sorry, I… I knocked, but you didn’t answer, and your mom said I could come up, and… you were asleep. In...a... a towel."

Your eyes shot open as you processed his words, immediately realizing your current state. "Oh my god!" You yelped, sitting up and clutching your towel tightly around yourself. Your face turned beet red as you pulled the blanket over your body for extra coverage.

Peter quickly turned away, raising his hands in surrender. "I didn’t see anything! I swear, I just—uh—I just… didn’t know what to do!"

You blinked a few times, your heart racing from the embarrassment, but after a moment, you couldn’t help but laugh. Peter was a flustered mess, standing there with his back turned, still rambling nervously.

"It’s fine, Peter. I’m not mad," you reassured him, though your voice still held a hint of laughter. "I was just… I fell asleep after my shower."

Peter slowly turned around, relief flooding his features. "Oh, thank God. I thought I’d ruined everything for a second."

You smiled, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself as you sat up more comfortably on the bed. "No, you’re fine. I’m the one who fell asleep in a towel. That’s on me."

Peter chuckled nervously. "Yeah, I mean, you must’ve been really tired." He gestured toward the door. "Should I, uh… wait outside while you get dressed?"

You nodded, feeling your cheeks heat up again. "Yeah, that’d be great. Give me like… five minutes."

"Right! Five minutes. Got it." Peter quickly shuffled out of the room, shutting the door behind him. He leaned against it, letting out a long breath. That was definitely not how he expected the evening to go.

Inside, you hurriedly got dressed, your heart still racing from the awkwardness. You couldn’t believe Peter had seen you like that, but at the same time, you couldn’t help but smile at how sweet and awkward he was about the whole situation. It was kind of cute, actually.

After a few minutes, you pulled on a comfy pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, feeling much more relaxed now that you were clothed. You opened the door and found Peter standing in the hallway, still looking a little sheepish.

"Okay, I’m decent now," you said, smiling at him.

Peter turned around, grinning nervously. "Awesome. So… dinner?"

You laughed softly. "Yeah, let’s go."

---

Dinner was surprisingly less awkward than you thought it would be. Once the initial embarrassment wore off, you and Peter fell back into your usual rhythm, chatting and laughing over the meal your mom had made. Peter was his usual dorky self, cracking jokes and making you smile, and soon, the towel incident felt like a distant memory.

"So," Peter said between bites, "I was thinking… maybe after dinner, we could watch a movie or something? You know, since we haven’t really had a proper date night in a while."

You raised an eyebrow playfully. "You mean, apart from you seeing me half-naked earlier? That wasn’t enough excitement for you?"

Peter nearly choked on his food, his face turning red again as you laughed. "Okay, okay, I deserve that," he said, holding up his hands in surrender. "But in my defense, it was an accident."

"An adorable accident," you teased, making him blush even more.

"Y/n!" He groaned, covering his face with his hands. "You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?"

You grinned, leaning across the table to give him a playful poke. "Nope. But it’s okay. It’s part of your charm."

Peter peeked out from behind his hands, his lips curling into a shy smile. "Well, as long as you still like me, I guess I’ll survive."

You smiled back at him, your heart swelling with affection. "Of course I still like you, Parker. You’re my favorite dork."

Peter’s face lit up at your words, and he leaned across the table, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. "And you’re my favorite person."

The rest of the evening was spent cuddling on the couch, watching movies, and just enjoying each other’s company. All the awkwardness from earlier melted away, replaced by the warm, comforting feeling that came with being around someone you cared about.

And while Peter would probably still blush whenever he remembered the towel incident, it didn’t matter. He had you, and that was all that mattered.

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

[angeliteeyes]

Okay, so can we get a follow-up up for Madam Herta with Oni S/O? Like basically how the relationship actually starts and everyone's reaction to it. Since they're kinda opposites personality wise. Honestly, I'd kinda like it if S/O met Acheron and they have a moment of "I'm not the only survivior type beat." I love it even more if they're siblings with Acheron being the older sister~

Hello!!! Nice to hear from you again 💜

Funny you bring up Acheron being their older sister, I actually also planned for them to be siblings and to draw them together for you! (　＾ω＾) but that's for another time. For now...

Herta x Oni Reader - How You Begin Dating

-> Masterlist with all Herta x Oni works

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

To the rest of the space station's passengers, you were the bane of their existence. Every day with you aboard inevitably brought chaotic antics and countless pranks, followed closely by the sound of familiar laughter behind them. In other words, you were a problem.

Which is exactly why Herta likes you so much.

"Madam Herta, please understand. That Oni causes nothing but trouble here. We need you to do something about her!"

You rush to hide yourself behind the wall nearby. Next to Herta was one of the scientists, begging for her to take action against you. Honestly, it hurt a little. What was so wrong about having a little fun while she's keeping you stuck here? You hadn't even used electricity on the power panel since your first day sneaking in.

"Hm. So what you're saying is that you're too weak-willed to overcome a simple obstacle in your line of work. Is that right?" Although her face is angled away from you, it's easy to imagine the cold, stern expression she must be wearing. You've seen it plenty of times before during her "you've crossed the line" post-prank lectures.

"No, that's not—"

"You're fired." A silence fills the room as the scientist stares blankly at Herta. "Go on, leave. I won't tolerate an employee with such a wimpy, pathetic attitude."

Their mouth opens and shuts several times, trying and failing to find words to say back. Ultimately, they leave without a word. Herta remains where she stands in the center of the room, eerily still.

"And how long does said trouble plan on hiding from me? I know you're there." Ah, darn. You sheepishly poke your head out from the coverage in response, rubbing the back of your neck in embarrassment.

Ever since she outsmarted you and refused to let you leave the station, you couldn't help but try to avoid her outside of her required "study sessions" with you. It's not that you dislike her or anything. If anything, you'd grown rather fond of her and how entertaining she was. It's just... a bit embarrassing. You, the great Masked Fool, defeated by her? Actually—it's not that surprising, but still.

"Sorry about that, Herta. It's kinda hard to walk in when someone's insulting you, yknow? She hums in response.

"Pay no mind to that person. They're hardly worth your time anyway. More importantly" — she reaches out to rub the base of your horns — "I've prepared a test for you." Your body squirms from her touch. It feels wonderful, but you'd never tell her that.

"Mmm... I'm sleepy though. Can't it wait?" You whine at her, but to no avail.

"No more complaining, you little brat. Besides, this one should be rather easy for you—that is, if my assessment is correct. Which it is, obviously." Her hands glide down to cup your face, pressing your cheeks in on both sides.

"Your test starts now. Better get running along now, alright? Go and have some fun like you always do."

Herta walks away from you, blatantly ignoring your confusion and yelling for her to come back. You groan out of frustration. Her desire to follow any and every whimsy of hers wasn't exactly new to you, but it still managed to catch you off guard from time to time.

"What the heck is she on about this time? Ugh, whatever. I'm hungry."

Deciding to ignore her declaration for the time being, you head on over to the cafeteria nearby. Surprisingly, you got along with the food staff rather well, and even received extra fruit from them often. The reasoning as to why eludes you.

"Hey guys! What's on the menu today?" You raise your hand up to greet the head chef, a cheeky older lady. You have a sneaking suspicion she's the one that piles up your plate so high.

"Why, hello dearie. Actually, Miss Herta told me to give you this. She said you'd understand what it meant?" Confused, you shift your vision down to the object she was holding. It was a... key? You reach your hand out to take it, rolling it around to inspect it further. Yep, definitely a key, but what for? You sigh. Guess that's where the test part comes in.

You wander around the space station, searching high and low for any suspicious objects.

Nothing here, not this room, nope, nuh uh...

At your wit's end, you storm off towards where Herta headed off to earlier, hoping to find some answers. Inside, you find the one and only genius sprawled on top of one of the couches.

"Impressive. My calculations predicted that you'd give up and run over to me approximately two minutes earlier than you did. Looks like I have more research to do." Her eyes narrow as she smirks upwards at you.

"Yeah yeah, big deal. So what, did I pass the test? I got the key like you wanted." You took it out of your pocket to show her. She casually stretches her limbs out like a cat before making her way over.

"Patience, dear. Your test hasn't even started yet." With a smirk, she gently pulls at your waist to guide you forward. Her hands rest on your sides the entire way, until you eventually reach a corner of the room. Now that it's closer, you can clearly see a large metal safe, protected by a lock.

"This box here contains something I think you might like." Her hand trails across your dominant arm, before pivoting to holding your hand. You gulp, key tightly grasped. She then positions your hand directly in front of the lock, expressing her intent.

"Within this box is a special teleportation device that can take you to wherever in the galaxy you choose to be. In other words... you could leave." Her breath presses gently on your ear. "So, my dear Oni, what's your choice? Will you take this chance to travel the world and leave this station?"

An unspoken third question lingers in the silence.

Your body buzzes with excitement. Literally, since your lightning powers are acting up. Oh, man... You'd get to be with Sparkle once again, instead of simply messaging her. You could bask in the warm glow of the sun, racing along the streets as law enforcers chased after you. You could have your normal life back, all from one insignificant flick of the wrist. You begin to giggle to yourself.

But then you see her. The woman who turned your world upside down in a matter of seconds. The one who'd essentially offered you her own space station as a playground under the guise of imprisonment. The one who defended you against any harsh remarks that came your way.

To any other person gazing at Herta, she'd look largely the same in this moment as any other. Cold, uncaring, removed. But you knew better than them. Behind her icy exterior lay a hidden vulnerability, covering itself in a blanket of snow and frost. It stared at you, beckoning you. It whimpered in a hushed voice at you, calling out for an answer.

Will you stay?

"Herta..." Your gaze softens at the weight of her proposition. Yes, you want with all of your being to explore the world outside, but this... This just wasn't right. After all of your late nights together filled with laughter and light-hearted bickering, the times when your lips hovered dangerously close... No. You wouldn't—couldn't—abandon her.

"I think you forgot something."

Her expression shifts slightly. "And whatever would that be?"

You angle your body to face her, inching closer to her, then—

"There's another keyhole right here!" You shove your clenched fist forward, aiming for the center of her chest. Herta freezes for several seconds as the cold metal presses into her exposed skin.

"...Pfft." Herta bursts into a maniacal fit of laughter. Tears begin to form in the corners of her eyes as she clenches her stomach and bends forward. Before long, your laughter mixes in with hers.

After many minutes pass, she gains enough composure to remain upright. She lifts a finger to dry her eye, sighing. "Even I didn't expect this kind of outcome. You really are something special, aren't you?" Herta, looking gleeful and warm, grabs your hands.

"You passed the test. As a reward, you have earned the right to become my life partner. Oh, and you may use the teleporter as much as you please—so long as you return back to me." Still swept up in the moment, it takes you a little to process her exact words.

"Life partner? Isn't that just marriage?" She hums.

"Don't sweat the details. You do want to be with me forever, yes? Why else reject such a generous offer, except if you became infatuated with my beauty?" As her hands pressed into her hips, you couldn't help but laugh.

"Guess I really am a fool, after all."

---------------------------------------------

Bonus: Sparkle's reaction

Sparkle

(You can't be serious. I've been working my butt off to figure out a plan to sneak you out... and here you are smooching her??)

(Meh, whatever. I'll just use the fireworks to snatch some goodies or something! See you soon (ФωФ))

[kmi-02]

Pairing: Husband!Phillip Graves x F!reader

Wordcount: 3.3k

Warnings/tags: mdni. SMUT, porn w/o plot, fingering, riding, unprotected sex (p in v), no use of Y/N

"Love?" You ask softly, voice barely heard above the buzz of the TV. The side of your body rests on the doorframe, watching your husband's lost in thought expression as different colored lights flash on his face.

He's startled out of thought, not expecting you to be up so late. His eyes find your darkened figure and all he can give you is a tired smile.

"Can't sleep" his hand reaches for the remote and lowers the, already low, volume a little more "Didn't mean to wake you"

"No, just-" you start to explain, letting him know it wasn't his doing. Your arms hug your waist in an attempt to warm yourself, Phillip's flimsy shirt didn't serve as enough coverage when out of bed "Woke up and you weren't there"

"Sorry, darlin'" he replies with an apologetic frown. As his eyes adapt to the darkness, he notices your state: barely dressed; with only his shirt and, probably he thought, panties. His eyes traveled down your naked legs, stopping at the sight of your sockless feet changing weight, attempting not to freeze against the cold hardwood. "Come 'ere" he says as his arms raise, ready to welcome you in their embrace.

Pat-pat-pat is heard as your naked feet step on the floor, you quickly make your way to your husband's lap. You giggle at the action, the short sprint and jumping into Phillip's arms, his reclining chair rocking back and forth; and you're not sure if you kneed his thigh or if it was just the chair, but he didn't seem to care. He smiles and chuckles, the constant I love her thought never leaving his head.

You look at him as you settle on his lap, straddling his thighs– you secretly hope he doesn't notice the lack of underwear. His warm hands rest on your lower back.

"Wanna talk about it?" you ask, hoping the reason wasn't nightmares or worse, his own conscious mind.

He shakes his head, "No, not really". And you know he feels bad for denying you his worries, but there's things you simply should never know about, and you respect it.

"Hm" you hum, warm and sleepy but still aware. Your hands move along his arms and linger on his shoulders. Eyes locked on his, you lean and gently place a kiss on his forehead; sweet but not quite what Phillip wants.

One of his brows raise, questioning, you are barely able to notice it in the darkness of the room, TV lights covered by your form, but you pay it no mind. Your tongue swiftly swipes over your lip, a habit. Hands moving again, they creep over his neck until reaching his face, your thumbs caress his cheeks lovingly. You lean again, lips landing on the bridge of his nose.

"Hey..."

"... What?" You ask in a whisper, feigning ignorance. Your lips morph into a smile at his caution.

"Are you trying to seduce me?" He asks half jokingly, a smile of his own appearing on his face, enjoying thoroughly the gentle caress– the attention.

"Perhaps?" Caught in your intentions, you huff a tiny laugh but continue your ministrations, quickly leaning in and kissing the tip of his nose.

"Ah-" If you weren't as familiar as you are with how noisy your husband can be, you would've thought he sighed, almost frustrated; a protest. But you know better. A sweet, tiny moan, filled with expectation. It let's you know you're doing the right thing; arousing him, railing him up.

You watch his reaction carefully, noticing how his hips shift, how his breathing deepens, how his fingers dig a little deeper into your back. "You like that?" You ask breathy, teasingly, but he doesn't respond. The excitement palpable. Your gaze darts between his pretty eyes and his lips, but as tempted as you might be, you stick to your plan.

You swallow and lean in, lips dangerously close to his as you try to keep your cool. You get so close Phillip wonders if he's imagining the sensation of your lips in his, but he doesn't move, doesn't chase. Your mean lips land directly over his cupid's bow and you hear his breath hitches, hands desperately trying to pull you even closer.

If you were to be wearing panties, you are positively sure they'd be soaked.

You almost miss the breathless God that falls from Phillip's mouth, but the sound makes you so needy that you have to fight a protesting whimper against your own actions. Even if this was your idea, sometimes it surprises you just how strong your lust for your husband can be.

Bracing yourself, you strike again, kissing the corner of his mouth. You could feel the pace of his racing heart while your chests were flushed, he knew what you were doing and he was so turned on by it. He shifted on his seat again, this time with purpose– bucking his hips into yours to get any friction he could against your crotch. No panties he concludes, but the thought is quickly replaced by the angelic sound of a mewl; soft, needy, perfect.

You were so, so close.

"Please" he begs in a murmur, whining.

You close your eyes suddenly, his simple word like a thunder coursing through your body and lighting your cunt on fire. "Next one‐" you start between deep, heavy breaths, "This one's gonna be on the lips, hm?" You warn, expectation high.

He nods firmly as his eyes fight not to close. You move your hands to his neck, thumbs gently following the line of his jawbone while the rest of your fingers thread themselves with the hair of his nape, you were doing everything you could to put him more and more on edge. He groans at the feeling of your delicate fingers.

"Stay still for me, yes?" Your words no more than a whisper, reason no other than to drag this moment just a bit longer. But you knew it was a dumb request, in Phillip's mind there was nothing else than pure compliance– he was giving up control. It was far from a rare occurrence; Phillip leaving the situation in your hands to lead you both to play with pleasure in a slightly different way he would. So, he just waits and listens until you take what's rightfully yours.

The muscles on your thighs tense as you lift yourself off his lap, not much, but enough to look at your husband's face from above. You tilt his head upward and inhale deeply, cruelly taking your sweet time until you hear a, barely there, moan. You notice how his lips part in anticipation, his eyes unable to stay focused on one thing.

You dive in. Lips meeting his on a crashing kiss, wet and messy and so desperate. You moan into the kiss almost immediately, basking on the sensation and the taste of the lips you so much craved. Your arms hug around his neck as you sit directly over his growing, aching cock. You let your tongue venture into his mouth and you feel his heavy hands kneed the flesh of your ass, pushing your hips impossibly closer. You can feel how his chest rises and falls and you suddenly notice how you aren't even breathing, too engrossed to prioritize your own oxygen.

After a couple of seconds, you unwillingly start to pull away. Panting, you gently bite his lower lip and open your eyes to the fucked up expression of your husband– pupils blown, reddened lips. There's no words for a moment, no movement aside from the heavy breathing, the both of you silently processing what just happened. But you're not finished yet.

A sharp inhale breaks the trance, "What do you want, love?" You ask with urgency, "Hm?". You keep talking before he can even start to open his mouth "Want me to tire you out? To help you sleep?".

A long groan scapes Phillip's lips as he finds the strength to respond, a pathetic mumble of "I- I want" that you don't entertain. You cut him off, frowning while nodding in understanding; a condescending expression. But you are well aware of his needs– "Oh, I know baby" you reassure, "I'll take care of you, hm? That's what good wives do".

Your words make desire spark in Phillip's body, a proud smirk spread over his face at the mention of wife. Such an easy-to-please partner, the mere remembrance of your relationship status enough to put him in a good mood. You dive in again, peck after peck over his soft lips, working as a distraction while your hands travel down his toned torso, swiftly finding the strings of his sweatpants and untying it– fingers dive past his boxer's waistband freeing his pretty cock. An amused hum leaves your mouth at the sight, one you could never get tired of. Phillip's mouth falls open as you work languid strokes on him, still delivering sweet little kisses; peppering from his lips down to his jaw and neck, showing your reverence to every inch of skin available until you hear your husband moan, long and sweet. As much as you would love to make him cum here and now, you can't let him have fun alone– your hand stops abruptly and you nearly chuckle at the objecting groan that left Phillip's throat. "Sorry baby" you coo at him, but quickly explain your action by sitting back and hastily grabbing the hem of your – his – shirt, undressing and throwing it to the side.

His hands wander all over your body, marveling over the now naked skin; eyes shamelessly glued to your chest. He pulls you closer to him, his lips landing between your tits, aiming to start working your nipples with his experienced tongue, just how you like it. But you don't let him, not now. Your hands gently push him back against his chair and he looks at you like a kicked puppy– How dare you not let him suck your tits?

Your fingers wrap around the flesh of his wrist, ripping his hand off your hip and guiding it sensually up your torso. He looks mesmerized as you take two of his digits into your mouth, wetting them with saliva even though you're sure you don't need extra lubrication– your slick covered cunt more than ready to receive attention. You smirk mischievously as you take them out of your mouth with a lewd pop and he moans, breafly wishing it was his cock instead. His pretty blues follow every movement, every action; they watch how you take his hand down your body tentatively slow, making his fingers graze your skin and shivering at the sensation. They watch how your mouth falls open as his fingertips ghost over your navel, down over your clit. His pretty blues watch, through shuddering lids, how you rotate his hand and desperately push it upon your cunt, uncaring of the lack of technique applied, just craving his touch.

"Ah-" you moan as your clit feels the pressure of his palm's heel, brows furrowed while you squeeze his wrist, urging him to please you himself. Phillip catches on immediately, too used to your behavior. His hand separates mere centimeters from your heat to bend its wetted fingers and circle them around your needy hole before sinking, knuckle deep, into your cunt. Your head falls back, a satisfied hum sounding through your throat as you bite your lip.

"Don't even need prep, darlin'" he says with a chuckle, his fingers entering your heat with little resistance– still, he lingers a little longer to get you used to him. He takes his hand away, swiftly bringing his fingers to his mouth and licking them clean. God, he's hot.

You sigh at the new emptiness, dizzy with desire. Suddenly, a firm hand wraps around his length, drawing a surprised gasp out of Phillip. You rise to your knees again, cunt eagerly awaiting as you move his tip around your wetness, nudging your clit and making it circle your hole, just like he did with his fingers. His hands fall to your thighs, massaging the flesh as a last resort to keep sanity, your constant teasing driving him crazy by the second.

You sink, seatting yourself completely on his cock.

Phillip's nails dig into your thighs as a loud moan rips through his lips, finally able to feel what he knew he was getting the moment you started with your provoking kisses. His ears fill with your little moans, full of pleasure as his girthy cock nudges its way deep within your walls, deep enough to kiss your cervix. It's fast and impatient, the way your pussy swallows his length in one go– as if you lacked time, as if being rushed.

You sit still for a couple of seconds, tight pussy getting used to the fullness your husband's cock provides. There's no words, they're not needed. Both set of eyes lock onto each other, they take in the state you both are left in: fucked– you feel how Phillip's fingers dig even more into your thighs, how his needy dick twitches inside of you, you notice how his back is slightly arched off the backrest, how his chest heaves. On the other hand, Phillip feels your muscles tensing, your cunt clamping on him like a vice, he sees your puffy, bitten lips, moonlight coming through the window and illuminating you like the angel that you are; for him, at least. He watches as your face gets closer to his and your mouth takes his own, kiss lasting a mere second.

He tries to chase after your lips but you lean back, hands finding his knees, arms locking behind you and supporting your weight as you wickedly roll your hips into his.

"Hmm so good " you say honey thick, laced with lust.

His eyes snap shut at the feeling, all too good but you know it's not enough. Your hands squeeze as you start to lift yourself, brows furrowing in pleasure before you sink back, heavy– testing the waters. A shaky sigh it's all you get. Still not enough, huh? you think, but you take it as a challenge. In Phillip's mind, he couldn't stop cursing himself; too focused on not cumming early as his sweet wife was trying exactly the opposite. He was fucked, he knew, when he opened his eyes and saw that expression in your face, the one you wear when you're not satisfied with something, with an outcome. Maybe when he steeled himself to last longer, too into his head to express correctly the heavenly pleasure you bestowed upon him, you took his, rather tame, reaction as something else. But, well, not much he can do about it now.

Phillip swallows thickly, readying himself. His hands glide across your thighs up to your asscheeks, partly because he loves your ass, partly because he wants to have a good grip around your hips may things go too crazy. You smirk, devilish, before starting a relentless rhythm; your body bounces up and down on his cock, stoping abruptly and sitting yourself fully on him for a couple of seconds while grinding your hips, only for it to start again. Phillip isn't sure if he's in heaven or hell, but, knowing better, he moans and hums and groans unabashedly as you give your best to work him to completion.

"C'mon baby, c'mon baby, c'mon baby... Fuuck " your husband's plea bleeds into a lusty hum as he hugs your hips close to his when you take one of your little breaks, basking in the pleasure– he's completely sure your thighs are on fucking fire but you don't seem to mind. Such a good wife.

"Touch yourself baby," he commands, tone dominant "Show me"

In a show of amazingly fast shift in dynamics, you comply immediately. One of the hands that was on his knees is between your burning thighs and giving your husband what he asked for. He moves his hands slightly up, supporting your lower back and hips with his hands and forearms, providing extra help so you can keep the ruthless pace. He leans back as much as he can, just to watch you work yourself– your digits massage your clit in tight circles, trying as best as they can to time it with the bouncing. The sudden addition of stimulation drives you stupidly close to orgasm, and Phillip knows it.

"'M close-" you blabber in a blissful daze, mind so focused on the pleasure that you feel your body move on autopilot, mind and body two separate entities, one made to receive and the other to give– your mind eager for pleasure and your body working overtime to give it to you.

In a moment of clarity, you remember your husband. Not that you could forget, bouncing up and down on his cock, but it is true that you promised to take care of him. Feeling slightly guilty about the sudden shift in focus, you open your beady eyes to watch him, to assess his state, hoping he's as close to coming as you are.

"Yeah?" He replies breathlessly to your warning, eyes never straying from your soaking cunt; her clit being played with while his big cock spears her open, such a champ.

"Mhm" you nod, your senses overwhelmed. A long groan from Phillip lets you know what you were so worried about, he's definitely close. You retreat your fingers from your clit, hand returning to his knee and keeping you steady, helping you completely focus on his impending orgasm. You can see how he's not please by your action, but you don't care; you can cum after him. His breathing starts to stutter, eyelids fluttering while his mouth falls open, letting loose shameless moans that he can't, and doesn't care to, control– you take the cue, tightening your walls around him in the rhythm of your bouncing.

He spills inside of you with a throaty groan, his hands and arms holding you tight as his whole body stiffens. His hips jerk up, chasing your own as you lower yourself on his cock. You feel the warm cum start to slide out of you, and you take the opportunity to, again, bring your fingers to your clit and finish the job. It doesn't take much, a couple of fast, tight circles over it have you whimpering as you come undone on his cock, the spasms of your walls making Phillip's eyes to snap shut. You can feel Phillip's breath hit against your chest as he pants, and soon after you fall completely limp over his chest.

"Careful" he says softly as he leans back on the chair, cradling you between his strong arms. He sighs, hands moving up and down your back in a soothing manner, letting the comforting silence engulf you both as you come down from your respective highs.

After some seconds, or minutes, you're not sure, and when both's racing pulses had calmed down, Phillip breaks the silence.

"Don't fall asleep on me now, sweetheart" you can hear the smug smirk in his tone, cocky bastard. You place a hand on his chest to help you push yourself out of his embrace, sitting straight– you feel how your thigh muscles twitch in pure exhaustion and a fleeting it's gonna hurt like a bitch later crosses your mind.

"Can we?" you ask softly. "Go to sleep, I mean"

"Hm" Phillip hums, resting his hands on your dying thighs "'Course"

You smile at his response and look him directly in the eyes, as if waiting for him to notice something. After a couple of seconds, he seems to get it "Should I carry you...?"

"Mhm" you reply plainly before chuckling. Your arms move to hug around his neck as he grabs under your thighs and gets up, heading to the bedroom.

Maybe you should worry about getting clean, or getting your husband's softening cock out of you, but you can't muster the energy to really care.

[scented-morker]

CHAPTER SEVEN. Cuteness Aggression

prev 💋masterlist 💋 next

written chapter with texts/twt at the end! 900 words then 3 panels.. they’re awkward and that’s ok 🫶

“Yn?” “Yn!”

You cringe as the photographers outside the JYP building start yelling your name, recognizing you through the hat and mask combo you’d donned.

You keep your head down as you practically race through the front doors. Your company would have a field day with those pictures, and you partially hope Jeongin was right about their strange desire for coverage of your relationship.

“Yn!”

A few staff members heads snap up at the shout of your name, but it doesn’t bother you once met with the familiar face of Yang Jeongin.

Familiar may be too strong of a word, considering you’d still never talked in person yet, but regardless his presence was a comfort in the new environment.

“Jeongin, hi!” You speak softly as he approaches you, taking your mask down to send him a smile.

He wraps an arm around yours to escort you towards the elevator.

“The big bosses are on lunch break, have you eaten yet? We’re about to eat and we ordered enough if you want some. But you totally don’t have to. Do you have any allergies? I should have asked.”

Your head was lagging, still focused on where his arm was touching yours and the various fake plants and masked figures you were passing.

“Uh. What?”

Jeongin is looking expectantly at you, but his face softens as he watches your eyes dart around nervously.

“Are you hungry? We got lunch.”

Deep dimples pop out as he gives you a gentle smile, and you unconsciously smile back.

Has he always had that cute of a smile?

“Yeah. Thank you.”

He nods right as the elevator door opens, and this time you follow behind him as he walks through the long hallway, giving hi’s and nods of acknowledgment as people greet him.

You’re practically hiding behind him, but a few people notice you and bow respectfully.

He stops at the last door in the hallway and turns to you with a sheepish look on his face.

“Some of the other guys are in here, and it can get kinda crazy when we’re all together. Let me know if it gets too much and we can sneak out.”

You find yourself fighting a blush at his sincerity, and nod quickly.

He opens the door, entering first and taking the brunt of the reaction.

“Oooooooo”

“Our first couple in the practice room!”

“What a gentleman we raised.”

Jeongin rolls his eyes at all of them, smacking Hyunjin over the head as he passes to take a seat on the couch.

You catch Chan whisper shouting to all of them as you take a seat next to jeongin, and the group is much calmer when you finally drag your eyes back to them.

“Hi, yn! We’re excited to meet you, even with the weird circumstances.”

“Oh thank you! I’m excited to meet you guys.” You give Chan a smile, “and thanks for everything you’ve done with the companies for us. I haven’t been told much so without you and jeongin I’d be lost.”

Jeongin feels the sudden urge to ransack the SM building and also squeeze your hand, but he takes a deep breath instead and bumps your knee with his own.

“We got you.”

Jisung and Chan exchange looks as you and Jeongin grin at each other, but you’re brought back to the rest of the room when Hyunjin hands you a plate with food on it.

“You should eat, the meetings will resume in twenty minutes.”

You accept the food while Jeongin pouts.

“You get her a plate but not me?”

“You smacked me like 5 minutes ago! And yn is a guest.”

Jeongin goes to smack him again, but he stops mid motion and all of his attention shoots over to you when you speak.

“We can share. I’m not gonna eat all of this anyway. And what kind of girlfriend would I be if I let you starve.”

Your last sentence is quieter than the rest, and Jeongin is the only one close enough to hear it clearly.

It’s one thing to joke about it over text, but you weren’t quite ready to call him your boyfriend out loud and in front of his members, even if it was a joke.

He’s smiling when he drops his hand to accept the spring roll you hand him, and you burst out in laughter when he eats the whole thing in one bite.

“Oh my gosh what was that?”

It’s the loudest you’ve been since walking in the building, and it fills Jeongin with pride.

You enjoy lunch with the boys until Chans phone buzzes and he gets up, you and Jeongin both standing with him.

You tell the the other boys goodbye, taking your place next to Jeongin while the three of you exit the room.

“I assume they’ve been notified that you’re here by the reporters outside, so they might ask you guys to come in. Would you be comfortable with that? If not I’ll tell them respectfully to shove off.”

You laugh, “I would actually love to. I’m tired of hearing second hand about my career.”

An approving look crosses Chan’s face.

“Why don’t you just come in now then? Put you in control of the situation instead of them asking you.”

You look between the two boys.

“Isn’t that disrespectful?”

“Disrespectful is putting you in this position in the first place and then not having the decency to involve you in it.”

Jeongin’s jaw ticks, and it’s the scariest you’ve ever seen him look.

“What he’s trying to say is that you have every right to be here.”

You nod, “okay then.”

You don’t miss the wide eyes when you enter the room sandwiched between Chan and Jeongin, but when you take a seat and feel Jeongin’s hand give your own a squeeze, you find you don’t really care.

Taglist. @wdwbts101 @chlodavids @astro-doll-the-star @andassortedkpop @anoca250318 @minhoie @heusalettle @jisungs-iced-americano @zenlackszen

[amirsnothere]

Falling Chairs Don't Scare Me

Bucky Barnes x Reader

(Found Home series (part 3))

Warnings: swearing, reader has trauma, heavily implied past abuse, throwing up

Summary: Bucky and his colleague offer you a place to stay for the night.

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N - I promise the story will be cute after time, but I got a story I wanna tell, so I'm gonna tell it! Any feedback is appreciated! Fanfic writers are usually living off scraps!

Previous part

The man laughed as he opened the door.

“You're lucky I was in town. By the way, it's nice of you to finally return my calls.”

“I didn't return your call, we just needed a place to stay for the night.”

Bucky gestured you into the hotel room, past the man now scowling at him. He clapped him firmly on the shoulder before brushing past him and following you in.

You're pretty sure you had seen this man in the news over the years as well, but you had to be honest, you didn’t recognize him too well. He certainly didn't get as much coverage as Captain America or Iron Man. 

You sat in the second flimsy chair at the miniature table near the hotel room TV, adjacent from Bucky. The man closed the door, resting his elbows on his knees as he sat down on the bed, facing the two of you. Try as you might, you can't remember his name.

That's okay, you hadn't known Bucky's name either, until he had introduced himself as James Barnes to you, and you turned to Google to fill in the blanks on where he looked familiar from. Come to think of it, he had never introduced himself as Bucky to you. Maybe you should just be calling him James…

“So, you gonna tell me what's going on? Your place compromised or something?”

“Sam, this is my neighbor -” He gestured gently to you, telling him your name. He gestured from you back to Sam. “This is my colleague, Sam.”

“Colleague? C'mon man, would it really kill you to call us friends?”

“Yes.”

Sam let out some sort of guffaw, and leaned forward, extending his hand to you.

“It's good to finally meet the cute neighbor. I'm Sam, Bucky's best friend, even when he doesn't return my calls.” A pointed look towards said best friend.

Your cheeks warmed and you chuckled as you shook his hand. Bucky nodded at you - Sam had called him Bucky, so at least now you felt more comforted that you could as well.

“He's not my best friend.”

“I'm his only friend, pretty sure that automatically makes me the best.” Sam winked.

Bucky rolled his shoulders as he crossed his arms across his chest.

“(Y/N)’s ex is moving out of their apartment tonight, and she needed a place to stay. My place isn't very comfortable and I couldn't think of any furniture stores open this late.”

“Well then, I'm glad you called. His apartment is pretty miserable, right?” You hid a soft laugh behind your hand. “I've been telling him he needed to get some decorations, maybe a couch, a TV! Sounds like it's still boring as hell though?”

“I did throw up on his floor.”

Sam's eyebrows rose as he gave an approving laugh. “Well there you go! That's something! I'm sure his apartment hasn't been so blessed since I gave him that dingy-ass birdhouse!”

You felt a little lighter since leaving Bucky's apartment. A little. The time had given you a little bit of a cushion to get a grasp of your feelings.  The little bit of food you had been able to get down with Sam's encouragement and Bucky's attentive watch had helped a ton as well. Now, as you sat on the floor of the cramper hotel shower, hot water cascading over you, you just felt exhausted.

A soft knock at the door and Bucky gently calling your name. 

“- you ok? You've been in there for an hour.” You could hear Sam's voice in this background, but you couldn't make out what he said. “Right! Not like there’s anything wrong with being in there for an hour! Take all the time you need! I just wanted to check in.”

You brushed the hair that had mopped in front of your eyes back over your forehead and chuckled lightly to yourself. “Yeah, I'm ok, I'll be out in a minute.” 

You shut off the hot water and reached for a clean towel, sighing gratefully at its softness.

Sam had even given you a clean set of clothes, a wife-beater tank and some loose sweat-shorts, the old Avengers logo printen on the left leg just above your knee.

You were used to wearing more modest clothing, but you were grateful for something clean to wear. And honestly, you were grateful for the newness as well, no memories attached at all to the outfit you were wearing or the room you'd be sleeping in. The sentiment made you feel even a little bit lighter.

You took a stabilizing deep breath before you opened the bathroom door back into the main room. You didn't miss the way Sam's eyebrows lifted subtly, or Bucky's face hardened, as you stepped out of the bathroom, steam trailing after you, wisping at your ankles.

You kept your face still as you searched Bucky's eyes. As his eyes searched you. All of you. For the first time ever, you couldn't hide the bruises that littered your whole body - anywhere that your pants or a long sleeve shirt could cover.

“I'm going to kill him.” He growled quietly, but you still heard him.

“No you won't. I'm fine.”

“You sure don't look fine!” Bucky's jaw tightened as Sam spoke.

“I'm fine now. Thanks to you.”

Bucky stood abruptly, flimsy chair clattering to the ground. He stomped to the door, slamming it shut as he disappeared into the cool night.

You smiled wide now, showing off your teeth.

“I am doing so much better now, thanks to you guys! I appreciate it so much!”

You clenched your teeth tighter into your smile as you stepped to pick up the fallen chair.

“I'm sorry about the chair!” A breathy laugh, “Goodness, I should have-”

Sam rushed to you, crouching down and placing a gentle hand on yours. You flinched as he helped you pull the chair up.

“Sorry.” He pulled his hand away as he noticed your discomfort. He took a step back and looked at you earnestly.

“Hey, I know what you're doing, and you don't have to do it. Bucky isn't going to hurt anyone, he’s just a little upset. You're safe here I promise.”

You crossed your arms over your torso, tightening your smile to cover your teeth.

“Sam. I know that, thank you.”

He frowned at you, sighing gently.

“You are safe. I promise. You don't have to manage anyone's reactions anymore.”

Your lips faltered for a moment, but you quickly pulled them back into place. You couldn't, however, control the pricking burn that started to form in the back of your throat.

“Especially, now that Bucky knows what's going on. Your super soldier of a neighbor has a crazy sense of duty in him. He's not going to let anything happen to you.”

“I think I need to throw up -” 

At least your nausea was finally working on your side for this once. Not much came up as you leaned over the toilet, but it got you out of the room with Sam. He didn't come to get you, and you were able to hide in the bathroom for another hour, before you fell asleep, cheek pressed to the tub.

[baigepueckers]

Caitlin Clark X Reader

New Beginnings

The draft was over, and Caitlin Clark’s name had been announced as the number one pick for Indiana. The cheering from both of your friends and family still echoed in your mind, even though the party had ended hours ago. You both now sat in your shared apartment, where the only sound was the low hum of post draft coverage from the TV, replaying the highlights of what had just happened.

Caitlin sat on the far end of the couch, phone in hand, scrolling through the flood of congratulatory texts and social media posts. She looked radiant, her face still glowing with excitement. Yet, despite how proud you were of her, the creeping sensation of dread had been gnawing at you all evening.

This wasn’t how you imagined feeling. You were supposed to be celebrating, supposed to be thrilled for her, for both of you. But now, as the reality of her draft pick settled in, it felt like a fog had rolled over you dense, suffocating. She was leaving, and nothing would be the same.

The future you had both spoken about so many times, the nights you dreamed together about her career and all the milestones ahead was suddenly staring you in the face, and it looked different now. Indiana wasn’t a dream anymore. It was real. It was happening. And it wasn’t just her future that was changing it was yours, too.

You pulled your knees up to your chest on the couch, eyes fixed on the TV screen, though you weren’t really watching. Caitlin’s attention was still on her phone, fingers tapping out responses to messages that came in every few seconds. As much as you tried to be present, your thoughts spiraled. Caitlin was leaving to chase her dream, and you didn’t know what that meant for your relationship. What did it mean for you?

It wasn’t until Caitlin stopped texting and looked over at you, concern flickering in her eyes, that the silence broke.

“Y/N?” she said softly, her voice cutting through the haze of your thoughts. “You’ve been quiet since we got back… are you okay?”

You blinked, trying to pull yourself together, but your throat felt tight. You swallowed hard, forcing a smile that felt too fake even to you. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… a lot to take in, you know?”

Caitlin frowned, setting her phone aside and sliding closer to you. Her hand found yours, her fingers warm and familiar as they laced through yours. “You don’t have to pretend with me. What’s going on?”

You tried to find the words, but they felt stuck in your throat. How could you admit to her that, even in the middle of her greatest achievement, you were afraid? That her dream come true made you feel like the ground beneath your feet was crumbling?

“I don’t want to ruin this for you, Cait,” you murmured, your eyes cast down at your hands, feeling selfish. “This is your night. You should be happy.”

Her grip on your hand tightened slightly, and she leaned in closer. “Y/N, this is our night. You’ve been with me through all of this, so if something’s wrong, I need to know.”

You sighed, feeling the weight of her words press down on you. She was right, of course. You’d been with her through everything every game, every late night practice, every doubt and every achievement. You were her biggest supporter. But now, the fear was hard to ignore.

“I’m just…” You paused, struggling to keep your voice steady. “I’m scared, Cait. You’re going to Indiana. You’re starting this huge new chapter of your life, and I don’t know where that leaves us.”

Caitlin’s face softened, her concern deepening as she shifted closer, now sitting directly in front of you. “What do you mean? Nothing’s going to change between us.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, and you blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. “But it is, Cait. Everything is changing. You’re moving away. You’ll be busy with the team, with training, with all the new people you’re going to meet… You’ll have this whole new life, and I’m just… here.” Your voice trails off.

The vulnerability in your voice cracked something in Caitlin. She hadn’t realized how much this was weighing on you, how much you were quietly holding inside. “Y/N,” she said gently, her voice soft but firm, “you’re not ‘just here.’ You’ve been my everything. There’s no way I could’ve made it this far without you.”

“But I don’t know if I can just pick up my life and follow you,” you whispered, voice trembling now. “I love you, Cait, more than anything, but what if I’m not enough? What if I hold you back? You’ll be surrounded by people who understand your world in a way I don’t people who are part of it.”

Caitlin’s eyes glistened as she heard the depth of your fear. She had always known you were her anchor, her greatest source of strength, but she hadn’t realized how much you doubted your place in her future.

She moved closer, cupping your face gently in her hands, forcing you to look at her. “Listen to me”she said, her voice strong but filled with emotion. “You could never hold me back. You’ve been the one who’s pushed me forward, believed in me when I couldn’t even believe in myself. You’re the reason I’ve gotten this far, and I don’t want to do any of this without you.”

Your heart clenched, a tear slipping down your cheek. “But what if you get too busy? What if there’s no room for me in your new life?”

“There’s always going to be room for you,” Caitlin said, her thumb brushing away your tear. “You’re my home. No matter where I go or what I do, you’re the one thing I can’t lose.”

Her words cut through your doubt, but the uncertainty still gnawed at you. “But what about my life here? My job, my friends… everything I’ve built?”

Caitlin let out a small sigh, knowing this was the part she couldn’t make easy. “I know it’s a huge ask, and I won’t pretend it’s not. But I don’t want to start this chapter without you by my side. I’m asking you to come with me, Y/N. I need you with me.”

You stared at her, emotions swirling inside you. You’d known this was coming known that her success would mean leaving behind the comfort of your current life but hearing her ask you to follow her, to uproot everything for her, made the weight of it real.

“I don’t want to be selfish,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything.”

Caitlin shook her head firmly, pulling you even closer. “You’re not being selfish. You’ve sacrificed so much for me already, and I’m asking for more, but not because I owe you. I’m asking because I love you. And I need you.”

Your tears flowed freely now, the depth of your fears and love for her crashing over you. “I’m scared,” you admitted, voice shaking. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to do this.”

Caitlin wrapped her arms around you, holding you tightly as you cried into her shoulder. “You’re the strongest person I know,” she whispered. “we’ll figure it out together, I promise. Whatever it takes, we’ll make it work. I need you with me, Y/N. Not just for me, but for us.”

You clung to her, the warmth of her embrace a lifeline amidst the storm of your emotions. It was terrifying to think of leaving everything behind, of stepping into an unknown future with her. But as much as the fear gripped you, her love was steady unwavering.

After a long moment, you pulled back slightly, looking into her eyes. “You’re really sure about this? About me?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” Caitlin said, her voice filled with certainty. “You and me, Y/N. We’ve got this.”

You nodded slowly, the weight on your chest easing, though it wasn’t entirely gone. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice still shaky. “I’ll come with you.”

Caitlin’s breath hitched, her face breaking into a smile as she kissed you, slow and tender. When she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours, and you both sat there in the stillness of the moment, knowing that no matter how uncertain the future seemed, you would face it together.

“I love you,” she whispered against your lips.

“I love you too,” you replied, feeling the first real sense of peace you’d had all night.

In that moment, surrounded by the aftermath of her draft night, you knew that whatever came next you had Caitlin.

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Jim Hopper x reader • Hopper has been your dad’s best friend for years. He always thought you were a nice, if not slightly awkward, kid. But when you return home to Hawkins during a break from college, Hopper is immediately smitten with the young woman you’ve become. He indulges his infatuation with you in the only way he can. Hopper lets his mind run wild with a fantasy that’s become familiar to him, even though his feelings for you leave him racked with guilt. And maybe that’s where the story would end for Hopper, alone and burning up in a desire he would never be set free from… But when you came home to Hawkins, you brought with you a knowledge, a craft, that a practical man like Hopper would never give credence to, until it captures him wholly, body-mind-and spirit…

Quiet moments like this were the most difficult for Hopper. When he wasn’t physically kept busy with his job, he was mentally kept busy by his conscience. Guilt tended to creep up on him most acutely in the moments he should have been able to rest, especially the early hours of morning. While Hopper believed mornings should be spent with warm coffee and personal introspection, he found it impossible to practice what he preached.

In fact, Hopper’s hypocrisy extended to more than one area in his life. While the town of Hawkins assumed their Chief of Police was, for the most part, an upstanding and honorable man, he harbored an uncomfortable secret that burned in the back of his heart: Jim Hopper was in love with his best friend’s daughter…

If only you’d never come back to Hawkins, Hopper told himself, he wouldn’t be caught in this moral storm. If you’d stayed away at college, Hopper never would have given you a second thought, except for when your dad mentioned you. His only memory of you would have remained the one Hopper had always had, of you as a skinny, polite-but-awkward kid.

The current image of you in Hopper’s mind was vastly different. You were all grown up now, the clumsiness of your youth replaced with a woman’s elegance. A gentle, refined softness had replaced all your rough edges, the gangly limbs of your teen years now shaped into the graceful form of a young woman. A beautiful woman, Hopper realized, who had him completely wrapped around your finger…

The day began as a regular Monday morning for Hopper, complete with the weight of guilt on his conscience. He stared up at the ceiling from bed and had a cigarette, his free hand moving beneath the blanket covering him, lazily massaging his cock. Hopper had always taken care of his morning wood, usually as his first activity of every day. But what now darkened his behavior and made it feel wrong, was the fact that Hopper couldn’t touch himself without thinking of you…

He tried to imagine someone else…anyone else. Hopper’s usual mental reference for masturbation was Bo Derek, an actress he’d had a crush on for years. The recurring fantasy Hopper had entertained for so long now felt stale in comparison to his thoughts of you…You, with your pretty, bright eyes flashing wide up at Hopper, a blush blooming on your cheeks as you realize he’s standing in the doorway of your room…as you realize he’s been standing there, watching you undress, for minutes now. And you’re covering yourself with the first item of clothing you could grab, a thin t-shirt, clutching it over your breasts in an attempt to hide your nakedness...

…But the shirt’s fabric is too sheer to provide any true coverage, any real protection from Hopper’s penetrating, wolfish stare. He steps inside your room, closing the door behind him, and presses in the lock with his thumb…

In the privacy of his bed, Hopper’s hand moved with more direction beneath the sheet, his grip around his cock tensing. As usual, he’d give in to the temptation that plagued him daily: he was going to come to the fantasy of you.

In Hopper’s mind, there were no moral obstacles in his way, no societal expectations from anyone preventing him from having you. He could fuck your face, your tits, your cunt, your ass, and come anywhere on and in you that he pleased. No one was there to stop him in the safe enclosure of his fantasy. And Hopper allowed himself to indulge.

“…Chief?” your wide eyes darted over his face. “W-what are you doing here?”

Hopper’s hand left the doorknob, moving to his shirt collar. “I think you and I already know the answer to that question, (y/n),” he said, his voice low, husky. You took a step back as you watched Hopper loosen the first few buttons of his shirt, your grip on the fabric covering you faltering slightly.

“How long were you standing there?” you asked tentatively. “Watching me?”

Hopper smirked as he undid the last button on his shirt. “Long enough to know that everything I’ve imagined about your body is right,” he replied, moving closer. “You’re fucking beautiful, (y/n)…Has anyone ever told you that?”

Your eyes drifted over Hopper’s exposed chest and down his stomach, watching as he unbuckled his belt. You nodded confidently, feeling less embarrassed. “Plenty of guys have told me I’m beautiful,” you replied, your voice a little sharper than you intended. You allowed the t-shirt over your chest to slip a little further down, revealing your nipples. “I’m twenty-one years old, Chief Hopper. Of course I date.” You smirked back at him now. “Lots of guys have fucked me.”

“Mm-hmm,” Hopper chuckled to himself, pulling his belt from his jeans. “I’m sure they have. And all these guys-,” He emphasized the word. “-any of them actually make you come?”

Your cheeks heated again, going pink. “I…uh-,” you stammered, as Hopper tossed his belt to your bedroom floor. “Any of these boys...” His hand moved to his cock, palming the bulge tenting his jeans. “…Make you feel like a man could make you feel…?”

Your chest dipped, your breath quickening as Hopper closed the space between your bodies. “…Like I could make you feel?” he continued, his dark blue eyes probing yours. Hopper was standing right in front of you now, mere inches separating your bodies. His hands moved to cover yours, gently removing them (and the t-shirt) from your breasts.

Your lips parted in an expression of both surprise and desire. Hopper cupped your cheek warmly in his palm, gliding his fingertips lightly along your chin. Your eyes fell closed in blissful surrender as Hopper touched you, the last of your defenses evaporating…

Hopper groaned as he fisted his cock, the muscles in his stomach tense. He knew he needed to hurry his fantasy along, or risk arriving even later at the station than he usually did Monday mornings. Hopper had already overslept and still had to shower, shave, and grab something quick to eat before heading into the station. So in his mind, Hopper fast-forwarded a bit to the part of his fantasy he liked best…the part where you begged…

…Hopper’s cock punched deep, sloppy thrusts inside you, rocking your bed frame, knocking off several plushies as he split you in half. One of his hands was wrapped in your hair, pulling your head back, your lips parted in a moan of ecstasy as he fucked places inside you no other man had reached.

“Come on, honey,” Hopper murmured down at you, his voice thick with exertion. “Go ahead and let go; I’ve got you sweetheart, just let it go…”

You whimpered beneath him, bucking under the weight of Hopper’s body. “Chief-,” you started, but Hopper cut you off, his words punctuated by each thrust of his hips. “That’s not my name, honey,” he gently insisted. “Go on-say my name-I know you know it-.”

“-Jim,” you panted against his shoulder. “Jim please, please Jim, please come inside me-.”

Hopper’s cock twitched at your request, at hearing you whimper his name. His balls were tight, aching for relief. Hopper’s eyebrows met, his forehead creased as he strained to withhold his climax just a little longer…

“Say it again,” he growled beside your ear, but your reply was lost in a groan. “Hey!” Hopper said forcefully, taking hold of your chin and holding it firmly. Your lips parted, and he spat between them. “Say my name if you want my cum,” Hopper ordered. “Say-,” *thrust* “My-,” *thrust* “Name...”

You came undone beneath Hopper, his name spilling out from between your lips like a prayer as he spilled his release inside you…

Hopper’s cock pulsed in his fist, his stomach clenching as a thick, creamy load of cum gushed from his tip. He cursed as his semen made a mess all over the bed; Hopper would have to wash the sheets later, or else sleep in his own cum that night. He reached for a fresh cigarette and stared up at the ceiling while exhaling thin clouds of smoke in its direction.

Hopper wondered how much longer he could go on like this? His ability to resist fantasizing about you was virtually non existent. Eventually, he’d have to either figure out a way to let go of his lust for you, or tell you how he felt. And Hopper knew the second option really wasn’t an option at all. There’s no way in hell you’d actually be attracted to him, Hopper thought. He was the same age as your dad, and that alone had to be a major turn-off for you. The likelihood of you ever viewing him as anything besides a contemporary of your dad’s was slim to none. And the last thing Hopper wanted to be, for you, was a father figure…

He swung his legs over the bed, and forced himself to the shower. Hopper knew that revealing his sick secret would destroy his friendship with your dad. He didn’t want that. And maybe more than anything, Hopper didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. He chuckled darkly to himself as he stood in the shower, letting the water run over him. A sweet, pretty young woman like you would never guess she was the subject of a perverted cop’s fantasies. Not with all the men who probably pursued you at college, men twenty years younger than Hopper. At best, you likely viewed him as a nice older man, someone you could trust just like you could trust your dad.

Hopper shook his head, gazing down at the shower drain. How wrong you were, he thought to himself. Because there was nothing about Hopper that was trustworthy, when it came to his true feelings for you. He was a hypocrite, a liar, and a convincing one. For now, he would go on spending time with your dad, at your home, pretending like everything was okay. And one day, when you returned to college, maybe Hopper would be free of your spell…

✨ one week earlier ✨

It was a peaceful Monday morning for you. Home from college on Summer break, waking up in your childhood bedroom filled you with a rush of nostalgia you hadn’t experienced in a long time. Sunlight feathered through your curtains and across your bed. You stretched your legs and arms, and let your thoughts drift to the evening before.

Jim Hopper had stopped by to visit your dad last night and watch a football game together. You hadn’t seen Hopper in over two years. To be honest, you’d forgotten about your old crush on the town’s chief of police, letting it fade to the back of your mind as college life became your main focus. Traveling away from home to the big city of Indianapolis, Indiana, was a life-changing experience. You’d never been that far from Hawkins before, and while a few familiar faces from home were there as well, it still felt like the small town you loved was a whole world away.

Over time, you’d forgotten about Chief Hopper and the silly little crush you’d had on him when you were younger. But when he showed up at your house last night, your feelings for him were…brand new. Now, you were an adult, and nothing about your previous crush was present in the feelings you had watching your dad’s friend enter your home. Viewing Hopper through the eyes of a woman, your perception of him was completely different.

You’d been with a man before, a man your age. It had only happened once, and it was terrible. You regretted losing your virginity to someone who obviously had no idea what he was doing, let alone what he was supposed to be doing to you. Part of you wondered what a man like Jim Hopper, a man with decades of experience fucking women, could do to you? The Chief’s love life had always been a popular topic of gossip around town. Rumor had it that Hopper was quite promiscuous, and had developed a reputation as a womanizer in his younger days. A man like that, who you just so happened to be insanely attracted to, could probably show you what sex was supposed to be like. What a real, rough fuck was like, the kind of fucking you fantasized about, the kind of thoughts you touched yourself to…

You sifted through the pages of a well-worn notebook. In its contents were various notes on divination, the phases of the moon, a record and analysis of your dreams, the magickal correspondences of crystals, colors, and more. But by far, the most important content in your notebook were the spells you’d written. Some had worked, some had failed, and there were some you had written but not yet used. One of these un-cast spells was the love spell you’d written. Admittedly, it was less of a love spell and more of a lust spell, but…regardless, you hadn’t yet found the right person to use as inspiration when the spell was cast. You’d never desired anyone enough to make an attempt at bending the Universe’s will to influence your love life, but…seeing Jim Hopper again had stirred something powerful inside you.

Gathering your supplies, you prepared yourself mentally and physically to carry out the spell. You opened your bedroom window and let the sun sink its fingers beneath your skin, absorbing its masculine energy. Performing the spell by moonlight would have been useful in securing a lover whose energy was feminine. But the object of your desire was absolutely dripping with a masculinity so potent, you didn’t think you’d ever been near a man who exuded such powerful masculine energy.

After completing the spell, you trusted that the only thing left to do was wait. You climbed back into the familiar warmth of your bed, feeling a bit sleepy, but with a thrumming ache between your thighs that just couldn’t be ignored. Slipping a hand beneath your panties, you imagined it was Jim Hopper’s hand instead. Believing in your personal power, you trusted that the Universe was working with you. It may take a week, or ten days, or fourteen; but you would have Jim Hopper. If he didn’t want you already, he would, and badly. He would soon be craving you, not just desiring you, but burning alive inside with the need to possess you. Closing your eyes, you began to rub soft circles over your clit, building the pressure until it broke in waves, and Jim Hopper’s name was spilling from your lips in panted, grateful whispers… ✨

PART TWO

[penvisions]

return the favor {chapter 22}

Pairing: Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Smuggler! Reader || M! OC x Pre Boston QZ! Reader (flashback scenes)

Summary: Memories often spring up at the worst of times, but as you continue to travel alone there's not much else to occupy your mind.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: minor character death, m! oc death, canon typical violence, canon typical language, cursing, insult, sexual content, non con, allusions to non con sexual advances, allusions to p in v, unprotected p in v that results in pregnancy, kissing, pregnancy, symptoms of pregnancy, mentions of nausea but no vomiting, allusions to child loss, fighting, blood, reader gets injured, joel gets injured, guns, gun violence, self-depreciating internal monologue, if i left anything out pls lemme know!

A/N: trying something new with this chapter, i hope it reads well! thank you to everyone who participated in the poll for the next few chapters of this fic! this one is a little shorter, but the next one will be a doozy. my mind is a little overwhelmed with school and tutoring and four different WIPS

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

Joel was trying.

He was trying to tamp down the anxiety he knew would thrum in his veins the second the gates of Jackson closed behind him. Back out in the unknown and unpredictable landscape. Winter was granting him a passive day, no snow, no biting wind, cloud coverage clear for the sky to shine a light blue to crystal clear you would think it was a brisk summer day. But the pause in extreme weather aside from the near freezing temperature did nothing to quell the pulse beneath his skin.

He was alone, traveling with a teenager he had come to care about in a dangerous way.

The journey had been meant to be made with Tess, first. Strong-willed, no-nonsense saint of a woman for taking what he could offer her and not asking for anything in return. Just wanting to share space and renown within a controlled setting that allowed for them to execute their runs and make what passed for a decent living back in what was left of the quarantine zones. To share their bodies when human nature sparked connection in the oldest and most instinctual of ways. She had turned an eye to his abuse of the very same things they traded for food, for water, for supplies for their shabby apartment that had seen far better days before they stepped foot inside.

Then journey was then meant to be made with you. A surprise in the moments after her death. Skilled in many things and willing to help a man suddenly saddled with a teenager he had no clue how to interact with. But he had, once upon a time. The situation tasting of irony and self-destruction. Selfless to the point of disembarking on your own path in the wake of his own attempt at running when faced with something too real for the world. Maybe in the Before times, it would have worked out. Perhaps a meet cute as he delivered his brother to an urgent care for a drunken blunder, a work accident he himself fell victim to, or a begged visit for Sarah should she had fallen off her bike or taken a tumble in soccer practice. Maybe then it would have been given life, hopeful glances and lingering touches that would have turned into nervous dates. Nervous dates that would give way to regular familiarity and then heated nights beneath sheets of his bed.

But it had never should’ve blossomed in the now, in the after. And yet, it had tried.

Ellie was mad. She wasn’t trying.

Not the first day at least.

Speaking when spoken to, ire and hurt flaring uncomfortably in moments he could sense weren’t aimed at him. At least not completely. Aimed at you, for going back on your word. Something you wouldn’t have had to do if he hadn’t screwed up so monumentally by falling for you. He had been wrong in his accusations, throwing the proposition you made to him all those days ago back in your face. Like you had forced yourself on him, forced him into thinking of you that way, of wanting you that way. But it had been him, his decision to take you up on it in his grief. Wanting to feel something other than the gaping hole that seemed to eat up more and more of him as the years went by.

But instead of just taking his body in the ways he allowed you to, you had also begun to heal that black hole he was made up of. Slowly and so minimally at a time that he hadn’t noticed until it was too late.

He stopped and made the time to teach her how to shoot the rifle, hoping it would help to bring her out of her shell. And it worked, he silently thanked the universe, it worked. She was cracking jokes and quipping like normal. Mirth lighting up her eyes and questions flowing from her. And he indulged them, as best he could. Telling her of how he supported himself before the world fell apart. About how he always dreamed of singing and making music.

But just as everything seemed to be on the mend, it was broken once again.

With the crack of a wooden bat.

“A-Angelo?” You voice was as shaky as your reaching hands, fingers brushing against the man’s face only a few steps away. He was older, that much was certain. Only a year apart back then, back when the world functioned in an entirely different way. Only a year apart, but two decades of time separating you now, turned into completely different people. A wave of emotions at finding your family by pure chance and circumstance in the wilds of a state you had never been to before while on your way to look for them hit hard. You both surged forward and embraced, the man’s arms coming around you and tightening.

“I thought it was you, the hair,” He choked out, deep voice cracking. He was so broad, tall frame looming over you, developed fully into a man who had survived the worst of nature and humanity. Just as you had grown into a woman who took nothing of ill nature aimed at you, taking the things that had happened to you and using it as a foundation to be stronger.

“It’s me, I’m okay.” You gripped his shoulders tight, pushing him back a little to look him over.

“No injuries, no bites, you’re okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’m okay….We both are.”

That’s when your mind decided to remind you of the other voice you heard, the feminine one.

A young girl, no more than her teens and far too skinny was half concealed behind a tree trunk a few yards away. Her eyes were brown, honey brown and beautiful and they reminded you of so many people lost to space and time. They shown just as Taylor’s had done, once upon a time. Like you had both talked of wishing to see on a bright new, chubby face…

“Oh.” The phantom jolt of a kick felt through the skin of your aunt’s stomach so many years ago sprung to life in the palm of your hand. “Oh, Angelo. I’m-I’m so sorry.”

He detached from you, taking a few steps toward the girl, now in between you both equally. He held out a hand to her, his gloves tattered and stitching frayed in certain places.

“It’s okay, she’s okay. She’s family.”

“You’re so beautiful,” You gently coached her out, hoping nice words would help her to feel safe. “I’ve never met you, but I’ve waited a very long time to. You- you can call me by my name or Bean, if you’d like?”

“This is our cousin, from mom’s side. Do you remember her saying that we needed to go East?”

A small nod, wide eyes taking in the situation.

“It was to find her. She’s good, smart, she can help keep us alive.”

“You’ve been doing good on your own.” She didn’t move, not taking a step to back away and put distance between you nor toward you in a hesitant greeting. Her wide brown eyes were alert, telling of the things she’d experienced and been witness to. Of how cautious she was in the face of new people, a good thing to be but completely unwarranted in this particular case.

“Yes, but…Adela, we…we need help. This season, it’s harsh and we don’t know this land as well.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I know we’re practically strangers but we are related. I know that doesn’t mean much these days to some people, but it means a great deal to me. I will do everything in my power to protect you, just like your brother.”

Hours later, after a shared meal and an introduction of your gifted appaloosa, camp was made and secured. Adela was fast asleep, one of the blankets you had tucked underneath the saddle wrapped around her small frame inside her sleeping bag. Light snoring sounding from the bundle she made against the horse.

“We’re the only ones that made it.” Angelo said before you could even figure out how to ask after everyone. Outbreak day a rather taboo subject amongst those that survived it. For Joel, at least, for you it was easier to divulge but still not a light subject to talk about. You had been willing with Ellie, with Maria.  The first to quell her curious questions, to allow her another perspective on the events before her time that shaped the world into the one that she knew. The second to appeal to her, to connect with someone who felt comfortable.

“We didn’t know anything was going on for a while, you know how it is working in a ware. house all day. But when I got home that evening, apparently grandma had passed during the morning. Scared the hell out of everyone when she came sprinting into the living room and lunged at dad.”

“I…I can’t imagine, I’m so sorry. I know I had a missed call from the house that day, but I had been running late. And then, you know….”

“It’s okay,” One of his gloved hands reached out, taking the closest one of yours and squeezing. “We both made it, Adela made it. I love our family and cared so much for everyone, but this world is too harsh for them. It was always going to be us and that’s the only comfort I have in what happened.”

Silently agreeing, you squeezed his hand back. He was right, your grandparents had softened in their age, his parents and your father caring for them together. Soft in their endearment too, not suited for a life of constant unrest, of constant fear and paranoia. Of scrounging for food and basic supplies, having to defend what was yours by any means necessary.  

“I was traveling with a man from Boston QZ and a girl, we were trying to find her family out this way. The last lead would’ve taken us to the University of Eastern Colorado.” You admitted over dinner the next day, having taught Adela the basics of how to properly interact with a horse, how to climb up in the saddle. While she was tall, she was skinny. Alarmingly so, but Angelo assured you that he always made sure she had enough to eat. He was willing to go without to provide for her, to ensure her still growing body had as much as it needed, or close to it at least.

“We were just there,” He took a breath, savoring the smell of the coffee that you had brewed for him as you all settled around the fire for the night. Scraps of foil that had contained easy, portioned meals to through on the fire that Maria had provided you with. “Well, around there. We came across a group of people settled into an old lodge town. Not to far from the city actually.”

Something about the man’s tone had you delaying your questions until Adela had laid down to rest for the night, tired from the day of interaction. But she was warming up to you, a familiar comfortability between you both as you talked to her about her mother. She admitted quietly that Angelo wasn’t willing to talk about their parents, people she had never had the chance to meet. The chaos of Outbreak day and those following it too much for him to talk about.

“We-uh, we left the group pretty quickly.” The man cleared his throat, turning around to ensure that his little sister was indeed asleep and not feigning it in order to eavesdrop. “The leader, god – what was his name? It doesn’t matter, he was so nice at first. Preaching about how people need to stick together, that his flock chose him to lead them and look after them.”

Your heart sank to your stomach, religious fanatics always putting you on edge. The way they manipulated the words of the bible in order to further their own agenda. And the way Angelo described him as initially nice and welcoming. A ploy, a trap laid out to ensnare people.

“But the first morning there, he came to visit us in the small set up they provided us with. Asked Adela to go out on a walk with him while I was still asleep. She hadn’t wanted to go, but felt obligated. Like he was just going to give her a tour or somethin’ and it was harmless, ya know?”

The rush of blood in your ears was loud, but you strained against it, needing to hear the words coming from the man beside you.

“He- that motherfucker, he exposed himself to her. Said that if she wanted to stay and use their resources that she needed to earn her keep. She begged me to leave right that second, to gather our stuff and make a run for it. But I don’t her we needed to act like nothing happened, to wait until nightfall and take what we could. So we did….but if you said you were traveling with a girl…brown hair, short, scar in her eyebrow?”

“Yes.” You breathed out, body thrumming with fear. No….no…there was no way Ellie could’ve been taken by the same men. She wouldn’t willingly go with anyone, had been hesitant to even let you or Joel out of her sight for too long….That meant…Joel had to have been injured in order for them to steal her away from him.

“She was unconscious, they were…they were carrying her into the settlement.”

Your head shot up, drink spilling over your hands cupped around the thermos.

“No.” You stood, hands steady despite the flood of emotions raging around in your mind. “No, no, no. I know those people, without them I wouldn’t have made it back out this way. We traveled from the other coast.”

It was late, but you didn’t care. You were gathering everything you needed, your pack and half of the food supply.

Adela roused at the noise, springing up and reaching for your hands.

“No, please, don’t leave us. We’ve lost too much already.” Tears were in her wide eyes, tugging at your heart in more ways than one. You crouched down in front of her, clasping your gloved hands around her own. Giving her your undivided attention.

“Honey, please, listen to me. I’m- I – I don’t want to leave you two, but I have to. Please understand. The girl that you saw, that was…she’s important to me. And she needs my help. I’ll see you again, I promise. I swear to you, Adela, I will see you again. Behind the walls of Jackson, we can…we can have a life there.”

Standing, you pulled her into a tight embrace.

“I’ll tell you embarrassing stories about your brother from when we were little.”

Pulling the map from your pocket, you circled the spot for Jackson with a marker.

“Here, this map will get you back to a settlement. Jackson. It’s large, has walls, it works. Ask for Maria or Tommy, tell them my name and that I sent you. Tell them you’re my family, you are. Take this,” You moved to wrap your old coat you had draped over your lap over the small frame of the girl and push the map that would lead them back to Jackson in the man’s hands.

The man surged up and gripped you tight in a bear hug, his body wrapped completely around you like he would do ever since he had begun to tower over you as children.

“Please, be safe!”

“Seek refuge in Jackson. I’ll return there, I promise.” You urged as you mounted the horse, reigns tight in your hands.

You clicked your tongue and tugged hard, urging the horse forward. The sound of hooves beating on the frozen ground was the only sound in the quiet, frozen night.

The remains of the a few bodies were scattered about the derelict campus that had been the destination sought out by them. Joel and Ellie. Those you were searching for nowhere to be seen, only hints of them in the bullet casings, the torn-up dirt, a bat broken in half- the jagged ends of one piece soaked in a deep red stain of blood. Joel’s, if your cousin’s words and your spiraling thoughts were correct.

Internally cursing at the man for pulling it out, for not waiting for a better moment, for not thinking in the haze his mind must’ve been.

Just as you began to trace the trail of rather fat droplets, you heard the crunch of someone stepping on fallen leaves behind you. Before you could even turn around completely to face them, someone was wrapping their arms around your neck, cutting off your air.

Your last thought was of Angelo and Adela. Of Joel and Ellie.

‘It was hot. Sweltering. And your dress was too tight over your swollen middle. It was a small bump, barely visible from the front, more so from the side. You had thought you indulged in too much food one evening after a deer had been caught but the teasing jab soon delved into something more serious. Especially when the swelling hadn’t gone down in the following days and nausea became a morning ritual.

You had been ecstatic, a first for you. And exciting thing you had always wanted. A faint thought you hadn’t entertained even in a working world, a notion you hadn’t thought possible at all with the demise of the world. When you had told him, Taylor had shared in your excitement, immediately beginning to hoard everything he could loot from the nearby state park. Gathering everything you could use, whether it was to repurpose it or store it for the future.

You had found a pocket of happiness and security in the rubble of the world, hidden deep in the forests of Tennessee in the form of a man who welcomed you into his space when all you had wanted to do was run. Finding yourself injured and needing aid, he had offered it to you.

What had begun as a small stay to ensure you would heal okay, that your stitches were secure and wouldn’t pull. But the conversations that flowed from one to another over those first few days tied you to each other. Braiding together your futures in such a wonderful way. There was no way to know how badly the universe would fray the untethered strings.

The only consolation was that the nights were cooler, the evenings and mornings twinged with a chill that signaled the end of an unseasonable warm fall. But as time moved on, Taylor had pleaded with you to consider staying close to the cabin. You had agreed, the symptoms of your pregnancy making it hard to do much of anything for long. Hunting and patrolling far too much for you to handle at the moment.

You were tending to the horses when he appeared behind you, arms snaking around your shoulders. The tickling of his facial hair sprouting giggles from you. The horses snickered, sharing in your delight. After securing them back in the modest stable, large hands were wrapping around you and sweeping you off of your tired feet.

“C’mon, princessa, let’s go have a nap.”

“But I don’t wanna,” You whined, not wanting to waste the sunshine while it was still showing, winters notoriously gray and overcast in this part of the region. The looming mountains casting dark shadows over pockets of land. Thankfully the cabin wasn’t in one of those regions, hidden well by the tall trees and stained a dark green all along the roof to avoid searching eyes to those at a higher altitude.

“Who said we were gonna sleep, silly girl?” Taylor swooped down to kiss you fully on the lips. Stirring warmth in your core. With a deep laugh at the chasing of your lips after his, he carefully rushed up the stairs and through the front door. “I’m gonna devour you, you’re too good looking a snack to leave untouched.”

“Oh hush,” You curled your hands into the long hair he had tied into a bun at the back of his head. Taking the band from around it and causing the strands to cascade around his handsome face.

“Glowing and full of me, carrying our baby in your pretty little tummy. Good god, you’re constantly on my mind, princessa, you’re my entire world.”

“And you’re mine, mi amor.”

Bubbling giggles flowed through the cabin as he made his way up the stairs and through the small landing. Into the bedroom that you found happiness in the midst of the fallen world.’

previous chapter || next chapter

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics

taglist: @furiousmushroom@sawymredfox @ayamenimthiriel @bookloverkat @rosaaeles @narcissa-anastasia @littlemisspascal @oscarissac2099 @ghostwritesthings @76bookworm76 @elli3williams @sarap-77 @christinamadsen @vivian-pascal @dugiioh

[soscarlett1twas]

20% Convergence

↳ You and Elias watch the eclipse together ↳ 540 words / also available on ao3! ↳ A quick, unedited flash piece for the North American eclipse; hope y'all enjoy <3

Elias handed you a pair of glasses, shockingly flimsy for their protection. You opened the wings and pushed them back into your hair.

“How mad will your dad be about this?” It was a partial joke, though mostly not – you’d rather face a bullet than Warden’s wrath.

Elias laced his hands into yours. “Fuck that. Let him be pissed.” And he whisked you out the door, finally done punching in the keycode.

Outside was slightly dimmed, only noticeable through the knowledge that it was supposed to be. The sky was grayer; the shadows uneven and calm; a world seemingly stopped for the hiding sun.

You entertain the thought for a moment. How many were just like them, trailing the sky for a glimpse at the phenomena?

Rough hands glide the glasses down over your eyes and the world goes dark. You open your mouth in protest before they move your head upwards, and it comes into view.

The sun is ablaze, vivid with unpatternable fire, making a color so dark and vibrant it seemed otherworldly. And the moon was nothing, a cookie-cutter to the sun.

It was a reversal in every way: The sun, normally so bright that it defined the moon with its glow, became molded by the umbra.

But above all else, it was beautiful.

Minutes pass as you both bask in the rarity, Elias not letting a moment go without explaining a facet of it. Ultraviolet to orbits mesh in his voice. You barely understood a word, but the passion was familiar.

As the sun became more obscured, you felt a chill seep into the air: Something deeper than any breeze, cold in more than just the temperature. The sun, and thus its warmth, was being cut off.

You draw your hands around yourself, knitting a tight blanket of arms to combat the rising bumps on them. “Maybe we should grab a blanket…” you say, having waited for a moment he seemed to take a dip in his rants.

Elias glances at you before looking back to the sky. Continuing in his explanations, he slips his leather jacket off and places it around your shoulders.

His hands work down from the shoulders to your waist, wrapping them around it before propping his head right where his hands used to be. He constricts, and you’re pulled closer to him. With every breath is a fleeting patch of warmth. Smoke has never smelt so romantic.

You feel like the eclipse: So close, and yet so far. Selfishly, you wish to be closer to him, your lips on his, hands not blocked by the jacket. So you lean in, a kiss peppered to his cheek.

He smiles, pulling up his cheek into a crooked hook – and you look back to the sky.

You stay like that until the moon reaches its zenith, a measly twenty percent of coverage here in California, but alluring all the same.

For a moment, you tilt the glasses down to catch a glimpse of Elias. That ever-growing smile, waxing in rhythm with the eclipse, is all you needed. Even with shaded eyes his affections lay bare. You lean back into his shoulder and let yourself drift with the moon, which began its climb back down.

[kichous]

✧･ﾟ:*   to all the earthly remains

summary. in the settled dust, all that remains is the boy with the pink hair. series. history lesson. part one . part two . part three . part four . part five you’re here ! pairings. itadori yuji x reader. ryomen sukuna x reader. warnings. none.  word count. 1591.

You’ve been wandering the wreckage of Shibuya for days. It looks like the set of a post-apocalyptic movie, like you’ve stumbled onto the remake of War of the Worlds. But all of it’s real.

Even now, you’re still reeling at how quickly everything went south. Less than a week ago, your biggest concern was making sure you actually had coverage for your Halloween night shift. Begging and pleading with your manager hadn’t worked, as everyone else also wanted the night off to party. Your saving grace had been a recently dumped coworker, who was free and miserable enough to actually want to work. At the time, you’d felt guilty for taking advantage of her sadness. Now, a different guilt weighs upon you. She lived in Ikebukuro. If she hadn’t taken your shift, she wouldn’t have gotten caught—as did your other coworkers, your friends, and yourself—in Sukuna’s Malevolent Shrine.

As far as you can tell, you’re the only survivor. Whether that’s up to muscle memory, constantly cycling reverse cursed energy to heal yourself from the cuts and slices, or whether he deliberately chose not to hit you in that massive radius is anyone’s guess.

It would’ve been nice if one of your sorcerer friends had given you a heads up. Both Nobara and Fushiguro had your number. Yuji, of course, did as well. If even one of them had said, “Hey, something bad’s gonna happen in Shibuya on Halloween,” then you would’ve dragged your friends to Ginza or Roppongi with the excuse of watching the parade. Instead, the six of you stayed in the area, and now you’re the only one left. You watched them get diced into pieces.

But it’s hardly fair to blame sorcerers who, ultimately, were high schoolers just like you. Knowing what you did about jujutsu society, they were probably out there fighting and bleeding while you and your friends hid. That Inumaki boy you’d seen was another casualty, and he hadn’t been much older.

In truth, you have no idea where you’re going.

The last couple of days, you’d sort of been ambling around aimlessly. You scourged for food and replaced your shredded costume with something that could actually withstand the cold. But other than survival, you really hadn’t any future plans. You should go home. Make sure your family knows you’re okay. Make sure that they’re okay.

You come across the cursed spirit first.

He’d been squatting as he kept watch, shooting up at your approach into a ready stance. He claps his hands together, all ten fingers pointed at you. “Don’t come any closer!” he barks.

“I mean you no harm!” you call back after raising your hands in surrender. In this body, you have no innate technique, but you remember how to fight from your past lives. Once upon a time, you’d held the record for the most consecutive black flashes at three strikes. Someone’s probably beaten you by now, but a hit’s a hit. You pool cursed energy into your fists. “I’m just passing through.”

“Then you better keep moving,” the cursed spirit growls, the line drawn across the bridge of his nose distorted by the ferocity of his glare. “It’s not safe here.”

“Choso, what are you doing?”

A familiar head of pink hair steps into view, and you go weak in the knees. You whisper Yuji’s name, a sound so soft it’s carried off by the wind. Before you know it, you’re sprinting for him. The cursed spirit shouts in alarm, and you only just manage to bat away his attack before you launch yourself into Yuji’s arms.

He catches you, warm and solid. “No way…,” he mutters. His voice cracks when he says your name, and his eyes are disbelieving as he pulls back to get a good look at you. Yuji’s face falls, to your alarm, when he confirms it’s you, and his warm, comforting hands morph into claws around your biceps. “If she was here when Sukuna attacked, then she’s… whatever you are, you better not be—be wearing her skin or something like that. I’ll—”

“No one told you?” you blurt, shaking free of his aggressive grip. “Not Fushiguro-kun or Nobara?” At the mention of the latter’s name, Yuji flinches and your breath catches in your throat. Casualties. Right. “I’m—I’m a sorcerer too. Sort of.”

The word sounds wrong on this body’s tongue. You were a normal girl up until a few months ago, ignorant of the world of curses and jujutsu. If you had never crossed paths with Yuji, you would never have known. And it’s never really come up between you two. You just figured his friends would have informed him of something this major. But then again, maybe they had expected you to explain. You should have, but you’d only seen each other a couple of times since his apparent return from the dead. He hadn’t exactly told you about that, either, so you were even.

He believes you a little too easily. “‘Sort of’ doesn’t exactly inspire confidence,” Yuji hisses. “It’s dangerous here, especially around me. You’ve got to get somewhere safe.”

“No.” The word pushes past your lips without permission, but you don’t find yourself disagreeing with the sentiment. “Something… something drew me here. At first I thought I’d just picked a direction and started walking, but now I get it. There was a beacon calling out to me, and it led me to you. I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

You hadn’t been actively tracking his residuals, searching for Yuji (or his hitchhiker) in particular, but… well, in a world like this, is it so wrong to believe in something like fate? Of all the boys in the world, you’d found Ryomen Sukuna’s vessel. He even looked like Sukuna a little, back when he was Yuji’s age. Some things never change, it seems. Lady Otagi’s heart used to beat a little faster when she saw him, too.

And of course, in these times of forced, traumatic solitude, you thought of revenge. You’re a fifteen year-old, hardly the most mature person you know, and the face of the man who murdered your best friends and countless others was burned into your retinas. Except that wasn’t really true, was it? The image you conjured up was from the memory of a Heian noblewoman a thousand years ago. What Sukuna actually looks like today is Itadori Yuji. And with that alteration, vengeance dies in your throat, replaced by pity. You want to free Yuji about as much as you want to punch Sukuna in his stupid, handsome face.

Yuji, who is also quite handsome and equally stupid, takes a completely different meaning from your words. “People around me get hurt or drop dead,” he protests. “And, really, we barely know each other. We haven’t even been on a single date, besides that time I dragged you along to meet my friends and this girl I knew in junior high—”

“What,” interjects the cursed spirit Yuji called Choso.

Heat floods your cheeks as you lift a hand to stop him. “I like you a lot, Yuji, but God, I did not mean it that way.” This is mortifying. You can hardly look him in the eye. “One, I can take care of myself, so I won’t let you or anyone else hurt me. And two, before you give me this whole spiel about not being you that you’re afraid of, he won’t hurt me either. Or else he already would’ve, when I was smack dab in the middle of his Domain Expansion.”

Yuji’s chin drops to his sternum when you press your palm flat against the center of his chest. When he looks back up at you, there’s a deep, intense pain in his eyes. Nobody your age should ever have to bear it. He squeezes your fingers when you move your hand to weave through his. It almost hurts, but it’s the most human contact you’ve had in ages. You have a feeling it grounds him as much as it does you. “But…”

“Please. This is—it’s my fault too. Or the me from a thousand years ago, anyway.” Yuji makes a noise of puzzlement, and you stroke the back of his hand with your thumb. Chuckling sadly, you sigh. “It’s… kind of a long story. But I know Sukuna pretty well. I don’t think it would be too conceited of me to say I’m part of the reason he is the way he is. So it’s my fault. Give me—give me the chance to make this right.”

He doesn’t fully get it, but he doesn’t stay hung up on the confusion. Making it right is something he wants for himself, too, it seems. He was always so bright and sunny, yet now his shoulders slump with the weight of the world. Sukuna did this to him. The monster wouldn’t stop ruining everything he touched until he was gone. You know what you have to do.

It wasn’t by chance that Lady Otagi’s soul dwelled on this earth for a millennium. She had been waiting for something. Waiting for you, and waiting for him, to end this once and for all.

You take Yuji into your arms, squeezing him tight against you. You feel his nose press into your crown, and you shut your eyes, inhaling his scent. It’s hardly pleasant, ash and rubble and sweat, but you feel safe nevertheless.

“Yuji?” asks Choso uncertainly. “Little brother?”

Yuji lifts his head from yours, not breaking his hold on you. “She’s coming with us.”

And that’s that.

[spentgladiator]

I don't know how many of you have had the privilege of having to shop for a used car in the last four years or so but let me tell you if you haven't yet, do everything you can to avoid it. What was once an exciting adventure has turned into the most nightmarish process I have ever undergone and I've had multiple colonoscopies, an abortion with complications, and dated an abusive, cringeworthy manchild for entirely too long.

This is worse.

Our particular constraints are this: nothing more than we can afford to buy outright. This is because you save a ton on insurance when you buy outright because they only have to insure the value of the vehicle, not the loan on the vehicle. These savings add up over the time you own the vehicle. Being in southern Ontario, our rates are some of the highest in Canada. By a wide margin. It's also because we are very, VERY debt-averse, which more people could stand to be imo.

This puts us square in the 2009-2015 range of used cars. Technically we could buy older but. We live in the Rust belt.

To circumvent this rust belting, our first instinct was to exploit a loophole in Alberta's insurance which is that a vehicle is technically considered road-worthy if insurance coverage has not been broken up to the point of sale, and purchase at an auction there and take our chances.

Three rounds of auctions later and we were outbid every time. There's only so much you should be willing to put up cash wise sight unseen and auction beaters used to be a very valid means of procurement. No longer it would appear. This was two weeks or so of looking.

So we switched out to local listings. Local auctions are mostly dealer-only so that way has been closed off to us, but honestly with how expensive auction beaters are now we're better off buying off a lot with a safety cert.

Cue three days of searching. Multiple bookmarked listings. And days of me scouring every single thread learning every single piece of info about the used car market out there.

Here is the process. You cannot skip any steps in this process under any circumstances. Never EVER skip one of these steps. Buying a used car is a huge headache and involves some SERIOUS legwork but that legwork will save you thousands of dollars in the long run and you will thank yourself.

So. Step one is to cold-call a lot. Don't book appointments to test drive, it prevents shady dealerships from clearing codes on cars before you arrive, making last minute changes, prettying them up etc.

Just show up, and start asking to look around.

This is Ontario specific but you're looking for CPO or at the very least safetied with some kind of warranty.

So the steps are.

Step 0. Find a car you like the dealership will sell CPO or safetied. Never EVER buy a car as-is. The difference in price between certified and as-is is in the THOUSANDS which means the dealership is willing to lose thousands by not having it safetied meaning it will cost AT LEAST THAT MUCH to pass inspection!!! Run don't walk away!!! You're gonna get screwed!!

1. This is the where the "fun" begins. This is your due diligence so you don't get ripped off or stuck with a money pit. Google "car make/model/year/Reddit" read at least 3 threads to completion. They will tell you common problems, pitfalls, mileages when it usually gives out, etc. decide if it's worth it. This is how I stopped us from getting stuck in an otherwise beautiful car that has class-action-lawsuit bad issues. Car Reddit is your new best friend.

Step 2. Get on your belly and look under the car. We live in the rust belt. Familiarize yourself with what rust looks like at different stages and what leaks look like. Also familiarize yourself with what oil spray OVER rust looks like. I saved us from a big mistake with that one. We live in the rust belt. Shady sellers will oil coat their rust buckets and say they were sprayed every year and that's a huge lie. Don't fall for it.

Step 3. Only get to this step if step 1 & 2 satisfy you. Start the car. Pop the hood, listen for anything that sounds out of time, it should be a consistent rhythm, no squeaking or inconsistent pops or shudders. It should start easily and smoothly. Sniff around for really notable exhaust fumes, smoking or burning.

Step 4. The actual test drive. This is very important, run the car with the window down, listen for any noise from the wheel wells (it helps if you have someone else with you to listen from the passenger side) make sure all your windows work, radio, AC, heat, watch the temperature gauge, feel how it shifts if it's an automatic, should not shudder between gears (when you speed up and slow down should go smoothly). Find a way to get it up to highway speed. Ideally not ON a highway, but get it up to 90-100km/hr. This will tell you what the engine really sounds like and if it's throwing a code (that's car talk for the onboard computer senses an error or problem) will probably make it show up even if the dealer already cleared it. That will tell you if the dealer is hiding issues. Out of the vehicles we have looked at, we are at something like 10:1 for vehicles looked at to test driven. We live in the rust belt.

IF FOR SOME REASON YOUR DEALER WONT LET YOU TEST DRIVE IT RUN DONT WALK AWAY. THATS 🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩 LIKE THATS LESS OF A RED FLAG AND MORE OF A RED BILLBOARD.

Most will never get to the test drive phase.

If the test drive goes well, step 5 is "show me the Carfax!" Seriously. Read it front to back. The dealer SHOULD provide it, if they're not willing, you CAN check it yourself but that tells me they're hiding something in the history. Never ever buy anything with a rebuilt or salvage title. In ON a clean title is something that has a "None" branding by the MTO. Carfax clean, or relatively so (accidents will look very big and expensive on the Carfax but might have only been cosmetic damage, insurance rates for accident repair are astronomical and not reflective any and "real" value or cost, don't be too put off by it but ask about the details)

Step 6 is 3rd party inspection- find a mechanic you trust or at least one with majority positive google reviews and ask to book a pre purchase inspection. This will run you $50-$100 but could potentially save you thousands. This is to spot issues you didn't catch on your initial looking over. The reason you put so much legwork into looking over the car first is to save money by only bringing cars with relatively high likelihood of being a good purchase to your mechanic. You're trying to eliminate every possible defect or fault yourself for free before you pay to have it looked at.

IF YOUR DEALER WONT LET YOU HAVE IT LOOKED AT BY A 3RD PARTY (and no, don't fall for "you're welcome to bring him here to look" that's shady AF cuz it means dealer knows if your guy gets it up on the lift he'll see smth) RUN DONT WALK AWAY.

If, and only if your mechanic says he doesn't see any issues, it should run well for the foreseeable future. Then.

Run a quote through your insurance. And then run a quote through a couple different providers and make sure you can afford it!!! I know so many people who got fucked buying a car they loved only to find out the insurance is ASTRONOMICAL or worse, will only cover liability and nothing else (looking @ you, Kia soul owners) or they have to pay insane rates because of whatever.

Then and ONLY THEN do you start signing paperwork.

If you somehow managed to make it through this process unscathed then you must have a lot more money than me LOL

I'm so tired.

[lastimeexteriors-nebraska]

How Can I Tell If My Asphalt Roof Has Hail Damage?

As a homeowner, keeping your roof in good shape is essential to protecting your home and investment. Hail damage can significantly affect your asphalt roof, but many homeowners are unsure how to identify it. If you've experienced a hail storm, you might wonder if your roof has been impacted. You're not alone! In this article, I’ll guide you through the key signs of hail damage and what steps you can take next.

Understanding Hail Damage to Asphalt Roofing

Hail can be deceptively damaging, especially to asphalt shingles. Unlike larger debris or heavy rain, hailstones can cause specific types of damage that may not be immediately visible. Identifying these issues can save you time and money in repairs.

Common Signs of Hail Damage

Dents and Dings

If you notice small indentations on your shingles or gutters, that's often a telltale sign of hail damage. These dents can sometimes be hard to spot unless you look closely for them. Use binoculars or a camera with a zoom feature to inspect your roof from a safe distance.

Granule Loss

Look for granules in your gutters or around your home. Asphalt shingles have a protective layer of granules that can be dislodged during a hail storm. If you see excessive granules, it may indicate that the shingles are compromised.

Cracks and Splits

Inspect your shingles for cracks or splits. Hail can create fractures in the shingles that may not be readily visible from the ground. Closer inspection may be necessary, so consider using a pitch hopper to elevate yourself for a better view safely.

Bald Spots

Over time, hail damage can lead to bald shingle areas where the granules have completely worn away. These spots expose the underlying material, making your roof more vulnerable to further damage.

Using an Asphalt Roofing Contractor

If you've noticed any of the above signs, it’s wise to consult an asphalt roofing contractor. They have the experience necessary to conduct a detailed inspection and determine the extent of the damage. Here are some benefits of working with a professional:

Thorough Assessment: Contractors can spot issues the average homeowner might overlook, ensuring no damage goes unaddressed.

Expert Repairs: If damage is found, a professional can recommend the best course of action, whether simple repairs or a complete roof replacement.

Insurance Guidance: Many contractors are familiar with insurance claims and can assist you in navigating this process, ensuring you get the coverage you deserve.

Safety First: Inspecting Your Roof

While checking for hail damage is important, your safety should always come first. If you're uncomfortable climbing onto your roof, it’s best to leave inspections to professionals. For those who do choose to inspect their roofs, here are some safety precautions:

Use a Pitch Hopper: A pitch hopper can provide a stable surface to stand on while inspecting your roof. Its anti-slip features help to keep you secure while you work.

Wear Appropriate Gear: Ensure you wear a harness and safety gear, particularly on a steep roof. Keeping your weight centered is key to maintaining stability.

Be Aware of Your Surroundings: Always be cautious of potential hazards, such as power lines or unstable areas on the roof.

What to Do If Hail Damage Is Found

If your inspection reveals damage, it’s essential to act promptly. Here are the steps you should take:

Document the Damage: Take plenty of photos of the affected areas. This documentation can be useful for your insurance claim and roofing contractor.

Contact Your Insurance Company: Reach out to your homeowner's insurance to report the damage. They may require specific details and photos to process your claim.

Schedule a Professional Inspection: Whether or not you find visible damage, having a professional roofing contractor examine your roof for hidden issues is a good idea.

Plan for Repairs: Work with your contractor to determine the best repair or replacement options based on the condition of your roof.

Maintaining Your Asphalt Roof Post-Hail Storm

After addressing any hail damage, it’s essential to maintain your asphalt roof to prolong its lifespan. Here are some tips:

Regular Inspections: Schedule routine inspections at least once a year and after severe weather events. This can help catch any issues before they turn into significant problems.

Keep Gutters Clear: Regularly clean your gutters of debris to ensure proper drainage, which helps prevent water damage.

Trim Overhanging Branches: Keep branches trimmed away from your roof to prevent them from causing damage during storms.

Protect Your Home from Hail Damage

Hail damage can be a nightmare for homeowners, but understanding how to identify it can make a significant difference. If you suspect your asphalt roof has endured hail damage, don’t hesitate to contact an asphalt roofing contractor for a professional assessment. Remember, your roof is your home’s first defense against the elements, and keeping it in good condition is essential.

Ready to explore energy-efficient roofing solutions and expert services? Visit Lastime Exteriors today to learn how we can help keep your roof in shape. Following these guidelines and working with professionals, you can ensure that your roof remains a protective barrier for your home. Don’t wait for small issues to escalate into major repairs—stay proactive!

[jennyboom21]

Over the next two days, we’ll be getting into all that and more with hours of presentations and deep-dive analyses. This is set to be a smallish, grassroots-y gathering—only 25 in-person campers are enrolled plus a dozen or so volunteers running the show. Meanwhile, about 300 remote Gaylors have signed up for streaming access to the learning sessions, building on the success of a virtual Gaylor summit that happened last year.

As a Gaylor myself, I’d be here even if Cosmo hadn’t sent me. I introduce myself to campers as we craft cute name tags for ourselves in the lobby of the Craigville Retreat Center. I meet Morgan, 30, who came here from conservative small-town Wisconsin, where she’s been living with her parents due to some unspecified tumult in her life. “I am desperate to be around gay people,” she tells me. When she heard about Camp Gaylore, “I jumped at the opportunity to come here and feel a sense of community.”

Paris, 25, a Boston-based attendee who grew up in Arizona, agrees. “With everything that’s happening legislatively right now, it’s really important to be able to find spaces where you’re able to be with like-minded individuals and feel safe and comfortable expressing yourself.”

Nevada, 25, a newcomer to the Gaylor realm, tells me they were able to attend only thanks to a scholarship the camp offered to defray the $350 tuition cost. “I really thought this was a dreamland that was completely out of reach for me,” they say. Just being here, in congress with others, feels like some kind of miracle.

So maybe I should revise: This weekend is about decoding Taylor Swift songs...but only sort of.

I didn’t travel far to get here, but I’ve come a long way. Four summers ago, I left my marriage to a straight man, right around the time Taylor released Lover. I had a passing familiarity with her oeuvre but didn’t consider myself much of a fan. I was crashing with friends—a lesbian couple—while searching for a new home and striving to create a more openly queer life for myself. With its pastel cover and pro-LGBTQ+ anthem “You Need to Calm Down,” Lover got a ton of airplay in that two-bedroom apartment. And the breakup songs—“Death by a Thousand Cuts,” “I Forgot That You Existed”—certainly spoke to me. But given everything I was going through, Taylor’s music felt like little more than a fluffy distraction.

Jump cut to the following July, when Taylor surprise-released folklore. Every lesbian I knew seemed weirdly excited for this album. With my divorce freshly finalized, I now had the bandwidth to dig in. I discovered Gaylor theories on TikTok and plunged into Taylor’s discography with an eye toward gay themes. For the first time, I listened—really listened—to 2017’s Reputation, an album marketed as Taylor not caring about her press coverage but could just as easily be about a secret queer romance powerful enough to blow up her life. This notion, of hiding in plain sight while inhabiting a straight-presenting persona, resonates deeply for me in queer readings of Taylor’s work.

Here at Camp Gaylore (alternately known as GayloreFest), the analysis is served up with mock-academic gravitas. “We all love to cosplay that we’re professors in this field of Gaylor education,” explains Madyson, 23, a camp co-organizer who hails from New York. To wit, the workshop lineup includes sessions like: “Darling, Everything’s on Fire”: An Exploration of The Hunger Games Through Taylor Swift’s Discography; Unpacking Parasocial Relationships: A Conversation in Favor of Imagination & Community; Friends of Fletcher: Themes in the Music and Visuals of Sapphic Singers & Songwriters; and “Now I’m Your Daisy”: Reimagining The Great Gatsby as Gilded Sapphic Fantasy.

What’s happening here is really nothing new—Gaylors are performing the kind of close reading that happens in pretty much every English lit seminar. For campers like Amanda, 30, a longtime Swiftie who discovered Gaylor theories during the pandemic while awakening to her own queerness, this interpretative exercise is more meaningful than the objective facts of Taylor’s sexuality. “I’m not over here trying to convert people like, ‘Hey, Taylor is gay, and it’s really important to me that you believe that,’” Amanda says. “It’s more about Taylor being this incredible writer who intertwines all these incredible things into her lyrics.”

“We are not the first gaggle of gays to go book a conference center and hang out with each other for a weekend just to talk and gab,” Madyson says. “It just so happens that we all met because Taylor Swift put out some bangin’-ass albums.”

“I don’t even care if she comes out,” Madyson adds. “I actually would prefer she didn’t because I think it’s more fun this way.”

After I check into my single room—a rustic BYO-bed-sheets situation—I return to the common area and settle in for the afternoon’s presentations. Remote presenters will be streaming from all over. A few campers here will be presenting too—streaming from a dedicated quiet room elsewhere on the property. In the common space, all sessions will be projected onto a wall.

And here I have to admit that I end up…not paying much attention to the material. In the best possible way, neither do many of the other campers. I watch as they focus on making friendship bracelets, add artistic flourishes to Gaylor-themed coloring pages, and paint each other’s nails. Chatty groups check in on solo folks: “Are you good by yourself? Would you like to come over here with us?” Sometimes a comfy silence envelops the room. A few campers even nap on couches, the presentation audio forming a sort of pleasant background drone.

This dynamic is striking in its chillness—different from most camps and retreats, where schedules are packed with structured group activities. Kae, a 26-year-old from Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, much prefers the format here. Although Gaylor TikTok was helpful in “expediting” her awareness of her own bisexuality, she finds the noise of social media kind of bad for her mental health. Camp Gaylore feels like the 3D version of a friendly Gaylor group chat she joined on WhatsApp a few months ago, she says. “It’s nice, having a much smaller source of information and also a place where you can just be yourself and be accepted.”

Presentation topics aside, Taylor’s aura at camp is surprisingly scarce. The aesthetic is one of nostalgic/analog summer whimsy. Think: String lights and wildflowers. Salt air and disco balls. Strawberries and rainbow balloons. An activity table set up by camp staffers includes a deck of botanical oracle cards, the social-bonding game We’re Not Really Strangers, and a handful of book selections ranging from Emily Dickinson poems to contemporary works by queer authors like adrienne maree brown.

It’s almost as though the organizers plucked a handful of nice humans off the internet and closed tab on literally everything else, a welcome break. Gaylorism in general is Very Online—born on Tumblr, increasingly huge on TikTok. Along with Madyson, camp co-organizer Katie, 30, recently wrapped a popular Gaylor podcast called The Archers, the duo’s contribution to a booming cottage industry of queer-minded Swiftie content. (Madyson has already launched another pod.) Tess, 30, a London-based camp co-organizer, is a prolific Gaylor creator too. This camp is the group’s way of passing the mic to others to invite their perspectives, to “recognize the brilliance and beauty of our community,” as Tess puts it. There’s even been talk of starting a literary-style magazine that goes beyond Taylor and into the open waters of, well, gay lore. That’s why the camp name has an “e” at the end—an indicator of deeper possibilities.

Gaylor subculture has now gotten big enough to attract coverage from major media outlets, some of it less than favorable—a Salon article last fall compared Gaylors to QAnon. Many face harassment from a hostile cohort of Swifties known as Hetlors, notorious for a queerphobic insistence that Taylor is straight. Bullying from Hetlors has driven some Gaylors to go dark and wipe their social accounts, which explains why most here at Camp Gaylore have asked that Cosmo publish their first names only.

Taylor herself is outspoken in her LGBTQ+ advocacy—granted, as more of an ally. “I didn’t realize until recently that I could advocate for a community that I’m not a part of,” she told Vogue in 2019. But as many Gaylors like to point out, that’s not quite the same as Taylor declaring she’s 100 percent straight and cisgender either. For now, the details of her identity remain anyone’s guess.

“In a cisheteronormative world, we are more likely to assume people to be cis and straight until told otherwise than to assume they’re trans or queer,” says Melissa A. Fabello, PhD, a sex and relationships educator. Her group coaching session this weekend, titled “The Bisexuality Crisis,” will address this very subject.

Camp Gaylore’s idyllic seaside haven is blessedly Hetlor-free. Madyson, who sometimes struggles to socialize in groups, tells me they feel “soothed” mingling on our private stretch of beach. This weekend has always been more about reinforcing the Gaylorverse than dissecting Taylor’s suspected queerness. “It is very much for people to meet and see each other physically and be like, This community is just as real offline as it is online,” Madyson says. In the sand, they spell out GAYLORE in dozens of tiny seashells.

We head to dinner in the large dining hall for a taco buffet—a communal setup that amuses Nevada. “This is so sweet, like the positive parts of going inpatient at the psych ward,” they joke. Then an earnest elaboration: “It’s just nice that other people understand what I’m thinking. I don’t have to explain a million things. I don’t have to be like, Okay, I guess I’ll let you ignore my pronouns. It’s a very good space.”

Afterward, we gather around an outdoor firepit for s’mores and impromptu performances. One camper breaks out an acoustic guitar and shares songs she wrote during a period of homelessness. Her voice is husky and powerful—a howl of survival. A few campers pass around a bong. Inside jokes are hatched. “As cliché as it sounds, I do feel like I’ve known these people forever,” says Lee, 33, a camper from California who credits Gaylor theories with fueling her lesbian awakening seven years ago. For her, this night is “cathartic.”

In the 10 o’clock hour, everyone heads back inside to watch the livestream of the Eras Tour. This has been a ritual for many of us since Taylor hit the road in March. Lots of campers have been tracking the surprise acoustic songs she performs each night—one or two per show, with no repeats from the pre-Midnights archive unless she messes up.

Tonight, Taylor is in Pittsburgh. One member of the Gaylor community—not at camp with us but someone who’s friends with a few campers—has been publicly campaigning for Taylor to play “ME!” at this stop, a track many Gaylors love (see: the big gay energy of its music video). Taylor playing “ME!” would be everything, a definitive acknowledgement of us.

As the livestream plays, campers string together bead bracelets with Gaylor references—the letters “SITBTTEBM” (“She is the best thing that’s ever been mine”), the phrase “WIDE EYED GAYS” (an intentional misspelling of the “All Too Well” lyric). Then the first surprise song begins: It’s “Mr. Perfectly Fine,” off Fearless. Everyone groans. The second song is a miss too: “The Last Time,” from Red. So much for “ME!”

Everyone is super bummed. A few campers even cry a little bit. But there’s beauty in the heartbreak too—something profound and unifying in our shared disappointment. “Even if Taylor were to go away and never do another thing, I feel like we still have this,” Amanda tells me later. “And that’s really cool.”

The big social event of the weekend, on the second and final night, is prom. Given that it’s being held in the retreat’s tabernacle building, camp staffers have printed out a color picture of Jesus, along with big letters that spell out “LYRICS TOO?”—a cheeky nod to the fact that we’re in a house of worship but mostly a deep-cut Gaylor reference (to something once uttered by Taylor’s pal and collaborator Jack Antonoff). A tattooed camp staffer DJs from a heavily stickered laptop, next to a whirling party light that scatters rainbow beams throughout the space.

Many of our prom looks are encoded with Taylor allusions. One camper wears a tiered, ruffled frock in pastel hues, à la Taylor’s Lover era. Another, channeling the Reputation album art, dons a matching corset and skirt in newsprint-pattern fabric. Still another is turned out in the crochet crop tank Taylor wore while promoting Midnights, its colors a near-perfect match for the lesbian pride flag tacked to one wall.

“Cruel Summer”—a Gaylor fave, theoretically chronicling Taylor’s rumored relationship with supermodel Karlie Kloss—blasts from the speakers. The dance floor fills up. We scream-sing the lines about sneaking in through the garden gate, about the shape of a lover’s body being new. As the song reaches its bridge, our collective joy turns incandescent.

“It felt like 70,000 of us in the room,” Lee marvels the next day as campers pack up to leave. “This was the most magical weekend of my summer—and I’ve been to the Eras Tour twice.”

Frankie de la Cretaz is the co-author of Hail Mary: The Rise and Fall of The National Women's Football League. Their work has been featured in The New York Times, The Atlantic, Rolling Stone, and more.