#electronics assignment help

[lunar-wandering]

i see the words "SMART Goals Learning Plan Assignment 1". my eyes glaze over as i try to conceive of a possible issue i could pretend i have so i don't gotta talk about the autistic issues i'm already handling and definitely do not want to tell my teacher about

[digitaldiseas3]

i love avoiding unnecessary responsibility at work. it’s second nature to me at this point. as soon as i sat down in the bathroom my manager tried asking me over the walkie talkie if i could go unlock something for a customer. i didn’t have to respond because i’m in the bathroom. i also wouldn’t have been able to help anyway bc i ignored her earlier when she told me to get keys 💀

[heartsriki]

FOR YOUR EYES ONLY ⌇편지

pairing ᝰ ni-ki x fem!reader — featuring.. jungwon | word count: 2200+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ highschool au!, fluff, misunderstandings, sunshine x grumpy.

synopsis — After seeing your tiny crush nishimura riki sneak something into the confession box you just had to investigate.

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊guys I swear ill make a non highschool au with riki soon... I couldn't help myself.. anyways its FEB!! can't wait to write valentines themed fics!

Finally.

It was your favorite month of the whole year.

You worked as a library assistant at your school—not because you particularly loved the job, but because it was better than joining a club.

Well… that’s what you told people.

In reality, you had a secret gig.

Tucked away in the most secluded part of the library was your confession box—a simple, unassuming container where students could slip in anonymous notes pouring out their feelings.

It started as something just for you. A place to vent when things got overwhelming. But then, he found out.

Jungwon.

You had no choice but to let him in on your little secret, and somehow, he became your best friend. Over time, word spread, and people started using the box themselves. What once held only your thoughts turned into a place where students whispered their love stories into folded pieces of paper.

Only Jungwon knew you were the one behind it.

And now, February had arrived—the holy grail of confessions. Sure, people submitted notes year-round, but around Valentine’s Day? The numbers spiked.

You weren’t going to lie. You loved it. Not just the thrill of reading them (and occasionally sharing the best ones with Jungwon, who never breathed a word), but the idea that you were helping people express what they were too afraid to say out loud.

So here you were, stationed at the front desk, pretending to browse book requests on the computer when a group of girls giggled their way to the back of the library.

Your eyes flickered toward them, amused. Definitely not because you were excited to read their confessions later. Nope. Definitely not.

Then, moments later—he walked in.

Riki.

The second you saw him, your instincts flared up. Suspicious.

Riki never stepped foot in the library. He barely did his assignments, let alone read for fun. So why was he here?

You watched, careful not to make it obvious. He glanced around, acting almost… nervous? And then, without a word, he disappeared into the back.

Seconds later, he reappeared from the other side—hands in his pockets, expression unreadable, walking out as if nothing had happened.

Your breath hitched.

No way.

Did Nishimura Riki just put a confession in your box?

Your hand scrambled for your phone. You had to tell someone.

You:

JUNGWONJUNGWONOMG

PLSPLSANSWERLOOKATURPHONE

Wonnie:

Ok what the hell

What is it?

You:

You are NEVER going to believe who just slid into the back of the library.

Wonnie:

Is it Jake again? Poor guy

Maybe Jay? Idk tell me

You:

Nishimura… Riki…

Wonnie:

… Fr?

Maybe he confessed to you?

You:

Right, totally.

Wonnie:

Think about it.

And you did think about it.

You and Riki had a… relationship. Not exactly a friendship, but not total strangers either.

You first met in detention.

It was your first time there, and you had no idea what you were supposed to do. So, naturally, you turned to the guy next to you—the one with his headphones on, slouched in his seat like he owned the place.

Curious, you tapped his shoulder.

He flinched, looking caught before turning to glare at you. “What?”

You blinked. “How did you sneak those in? Can I listen too?”

Before he could answer, you asked another question. “Wait, also—what are we supposed to do in here?”

His face twisted in disbelief. “What do we do in detention? You sit here. Now be quiet before—”

“Mr. Nishimura, sneaking electronics in again?” The teacher’s voice cut in, hand outstretched.

Riki groaned, slumping back in his seat before begrudgingly handing over his phone and headphones.

When the teacher walked away, he snapped his head back to you, eyes burning with betrayal.

You swore he glared at you for the rest of the day.

Ever since then, you tried to make it up to him—with snacks, lunch, even passing him worksheets to copy. Eventually, after weeks of bugging him, he forgave you.

Kind of.

Even now, he still acted so indifferent.

Whenever you waved at him in the hallway, he looked away. When you invited him to sit with you and your friends, he ignored you. Even when you walked beside him, talking about anything and everything—he barely responded.

At first, you assumed he was just bad with people. But then you saw him with his friends—laughing, joking, talking.

So why was he only like this with you?

Eventually, you gave up.

You distanced yourself, refusing to waste energy on someone who clearly wanted nothing to do with you.

But then, every now and then, you’d catch him staring—or see him approach you, only to hesitate and walk away.

It was confusing. Frustrating. You told yourself you didn’t care anymore.

Until the school trip.

It had been late at night when you were sent to fetch supplies from the shed—a small, isolated building at the edge of the woods.

You weren’t scared, but walking alone with only a flashlight wasn’t exactly comforting.

By the time you found everything, thunder rumbled outside. Moments later, the skies opened up.

Heavy rain. Lightning. The kind of downpour that turned dirt trails into slippery nightmares.

Running back wasn’t an option.

So, hugging your knees to your chest, you sat in the shed—silent, alone, trying not to cry.

Minutes passed. Then—

The door burst open.

You jumped, heart nearly stopping—until your eyes locked with his.

Riki.

He stood there, soaked from head to toe, breathless, his curls sticking to his forehead.

Did he… run here?

He didn’t speak. Just stared for a moment, like he was checking if you were okay, before stepping inside and sitting next to you.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “You’re helpless, you know that?”

You blinked, then let out a soft, teary laugh. He was trying to act tough. But he was clearly worried.

Neither of you spoke after that. You just sat there, listening to the storm. Well, you spoke—rambling like you used to, and for once, he didn’t seem to mind.

By the time the rain cleared, something between you had shifted.

And now, months later, here you were—staring at an empty confession box, knowing Riki put something inside, yet not finding his name anywhere.

Jungwon’s voice pulled you back.

“I knew I’d find you here.” He smirked. “Anything good?”

You forced a laugh, trying to mask your disappointment. “Yeah, some interesting ones. Oh—Minji completely dropped her last crush and moved on to a new one. Isn’t that crazy?”

Jungwon squinted at you. “You’re looking for Riki’s, aren’t you?”

You groaned, immediately dropping your head onto the table. “I’m pitiful. Don’t look at me.”

Jungwon laughed, dragging a chair out and sitting across from you. “You’re not pitiful. Just mildly down bad.”

You groaned, keeping your forehead against the table. “But I know he put something in there. I saw him! I was so ready to read it, but it’s like—poof!—nothing!”

Jungwon tapped his fingers on the table, thinking. “You sure he actually put something in the box?”

You lifted your head slightly. “Of course, I literally watched him sneak in.”

“Then…” Jungwon grinned knowingly. “What if he took something out?”

That made you pause. You sat up straight, eyes wide. “Wait… What?”

“Think about it,” Jungwon continued. “If he put in a confession and realized he wasn’t ready, maybe he took it back.”

Your mind raced. That… actually made sense. But why would Riki take it back? And more importantly—who was he confessing to?

The thought made your stomach twist, and you weren’t sure why.

Jungwon smirked, clearly enjoying the sight of you struggling. “You could just ask him, you know.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, right. ‘Hey, Riki! Weird question, but did you happen to steal a confession from my box?’”

“Why not?” Jungwon shrugged. “Or are you scared of the answer?”

You opened your mouth, ready to deny it, but the words never came. Were you scared? The idea of Riki confessing to someone else made your chest feel tight in a way you weren’t ready to unpack.

Before you could respond, the student council room door creaked open again.

And there he was.

Riki stood in the doorway, hands shoved into his pockets, his hair a little bit above his eyes which flickered between you and Jungwon before settling on you.

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you. “Welp. That’s my cue to leave.” He patted your shoulder before slipping past Riki, whispering a quick, “Good luck,” on his way out.

The door clicked shut. Silence.

You swallowed. “Um… Did you need a book or—”

“I didn’t take it back.”

Your breath hitched.

Riki sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “The letter. I didn’t take it back.”

Your heart was pounding now. You tried to keep your voice steady. “What do you mean?”

His gaze dropped to the floor. “I put it in there without a doubt, I think… someone else removed it. Maybe it was a sign not to confess to you.”

You.

Your throat went dry. “It was… for me?”

Riki let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Obviously.”

You blinked. “Obviously? What do you mean obviously? You ignore me ninety percent of the time!”

He huffed, looking almost embarrassed. “I don’t ignore you.”

“You literally pretend not to hear me half the time!”

“Because I don’t know what to say!” Riki finally looked at you, frustration and something else—something softer—lingering in his expression. “You drive me crazy, you know that? You talk too much, you’re way too nosy, and you never leave things alone. And somehow, I—” He stopped, exhaling sharply. “I like you, okay?”

Your brain short-circuited.

Riki rolled his eyes at your stunned silence. “This is embarrassing.”

You snapped out of your trance. “Wait, wait. Back up. You like me?”

He groaned, turning toward the door. “Forget I said anything—”

You grabbed his sleeve before he could leave.

He froze.

Slowly, you grinned. “You like me.”

Riki’s ears were turning red. “Shut up.”

You laughed, warmth bubbling in your chest. You never thought you’d get anywhere with him, and yet—here he was, out of breath looking at you so fondly, confessing in the most Riki-like way possible.

February was definitely your favorite month of them all.

BONUS 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The moment Riki stepped into the library, he knew he was making a mistake.

This wasn’t his scene. He didn’t do books, didn’t do anything that required more effort than necessary. But here he was, standing in the one place he actively avoided, shoving his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets as his eyes flickered toward the back.

He could feel your gaze on him.

You were always watching him.

Not in a weird way—more like you were constantly trying to figure him out. Always with that curious glint in your eyes, like he was a puzzle you were determined to solve.

He hated it.

No, that wasn’t true. He hated that he liked it.

And now, as he made his way toward the confession box—the stupidest thing he’d ever been a part of—he was hoping you weren’t paying too much attention.

With one last glance around, he slipped to the back, pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket, and dropped it inside.

Then, without missing a beat, he walked out through the other side, playing it cool.

It took everything in him not to look back.

He could already picture the way your brain was short-circuiting, the way you were probably grabbing your phone to text Jungwon. You always told him everything, after all.

Riki swore under his breath as he left the library.

He wasn’t even sure why he did it.

Well.

That was a lie.

He knew why.

It was because of you.

Because you confused the hell out of him.

You were supposed to be annoying—loud, persistent, way too nosy for your own good. You were supposed to be someone he could easily brush off, like he did with everyone else.

But you weren’t.

Because no matter how many times he ignored your waves in the hallway, you still smiled at him. No matter how often he shut you out, you never stopped trying.

And then you stopped.

You finally gave up on him.

And for some reason, that made his chest feel too tight.

Ever since that night on the school trip, when he found you curled up alone in the shed, it had been harder and harder to act like he didn’t care.

That night, when he heard you were missing—it was like he could imagine you with red eyes, shoulders shaking—he couldn’t stop himself.

Didn’t even think.

He just ran.

Ran straight into the storm, through the rain, barely able to see a damn thing—but knowing exactly where he was going.

When he finally got there, when he saw you small and fragile under the dim light, something in him cracked.

He never wanted to see you like that again.

But he didn’t know how to tell you that.

He wasn’t good with words. He wasn’t good with feelings.

So he wrote it down instead.

It wasn’t a confession, not in the way you expected.

But it was something.

Something for your eyes only.

Something he thought you would have found by now.

So when he walked passed the student council room later that evening, seeing you and Jungwon hunched over the pile of notes, he knew immediately.

You hadn’t seen it.

Because if you had, you wouldn’t be looking for his name like he overheard.

And now, as both your heads snapped toward him, your eyes wide and startled—

Riki sighed, stepping forward.

…You took it, didn’t you? He thought looking straight at Jungwon.

Because if you didn’t find his letter in the box…

Then someone must have.

What was Jungwon playing at?

What happens next? Click (optional)

[rioromanoffroses]

Ovulation

G!P Natasha Romanoff x Fem Reader

Warnings: 18+ content, masturbating, oral sex (R and Natasha receiving), finger sucking, dry humping, fingering, unprotected sex (P in V), overstimulation

Summary: You're ovulating while on a mission, causing you to be uncomfortably aroused. Luckily, the agent with you is more than eager to help you out...

WC: 4.1k

The motel was just like any other – grey, dusty and lit only by dim off-white. You would only be here for a night and when you pressed your hand against the cold metal of the radiator, you were glad. You debated whether or not you ask the receptionist about it but keeping your head low was key when travelling on an undercover mission. The more questions you asked and the more times your face was seen and captured by CCTV, the greater the risks. You decided against it.

You inspected the bedroom, following safety procedures which included searching for signs of any electronic devices but luckily, there were none. The bed was a small double with beige, striped sheets that were thinner than you would’ve liked. The back wall was taken up entirely by a sturdy, wooden cupboard that matched the tawny-brown, bedside tables covered in dust. You switched on the lamp and ran your hand over the mattress, noting that you would need to wear thick layers of clothing to bed. You assumed the other bedroom was the same but didn’t bother checking. The other agent could do that.

You sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing your forehead with the palm of your hand. One of the things you hated most about being a woman and a spy was the problems it caused when it conflicted with your cycle. Missions on your period were uncomfortable, draining and painful. Ovulation week was also a mess; you had no way of dealing with the surge of hormones it triggered while on a mission. You made a mental note to take a cold shower after the other agent arrived. 

You read over the intel for the upcoming mission while you waited for them, straining your ears for the door. It was a complicated mission; you had to infiltrate the base of a growing terrorist organisation and hack into their systems to gather as much information about them as you could. S.H.I.E.L.D. knew scarily little about the organisation so you were going in almost blind – anything could happen. 

The plan was for two agents, including you, to blend in as one of the terrorists to get into the base. You were unaware of the identity of the agent you were paired with. You were curious to know if they were someone you’d worked with before or a complete stranger. You assumed the latter – you were still young and hadn’t been assigned to many difficult missions yet. You tightened your arms around yourself, shivering as the light outside the window was sucked from the sky, the moon blocked out by an array of dark, restless clouds. 

“You look cold.” You jumped and leapt on your feet, spinning around to see a woman standing behind you. Her face was painted with a smirk and she looked at you with her hands on her hips, her jade eyes travelling up and down your body. You swallowed. How did you not hear her come in? S.H.I.E.L.D. weren’t exaggerating when they said she was the very best they had at espionage. You didn’t realise you were staring at her until she brought you out of your thoughts, “Cat got your tongue?”

“Uh, sorry,” you said, clearing your throat, “Yeah, I am. East Europe is always freezing at this time of year.” You could feel sweat trickling down your neck. Not only were you ovulating on a mission but you were stuck with an extremely attractive woman during it. You were so fucked. 

“Mm, it is,” she said, stepping towards you and offering out her hand. You noticed the electrified branches of azure and emerald running down her arms up to her fingers, pushing up against the skin, your heart thundering against your ribcage. You quickly pulled yourself out of your trance. You were a spy for goodness sake, not the nervous wreck or helpless whore your elevated levels of estrogen were making you feel like. You shook her hand.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said, “I’m Agent Y/l/n.” You pulled your hand away from hers before she could pick up on your clammy palms but unbeknownst to you, she’d already felt them. 

“I know,” she said, “I’m Agent Romanoff but to you, it’s Natasha.” You could feel your breath hitch in your throat. Natasha. You could already imagine how those three, pretty syllables would feel falling off your tongue. 

You dismissed your dirty thoughts immediately, feeling ashamed of yourself. She was a stranger and your teammate; you seriously needed to pull yourself together. She nodded to the file in your hand, “I see you’re already prepared for the mission.”

“I was just double-checking all the details,” you said. The tight, black shirt and jeans she was wearing hugged her in all the right places, her sculpted arms in full view to you. She must take her training seriously, you thought, I wonder how often she goes to the gym.

“Good,” she said, dropping her bag on the floor, “I already know I’ll enjoy working with you.” You placed your hands behind your back so she couldn’t see your fidgeting fingers. Your gaze fell onto the bag and you frowned.

“Oh, were you planning on sleeping in here?” You said, “I’ll move to the other room then.” She held her arm in front of you as you stepped towards the door. 

“There isn’t another room.” You felt your heart drop. You realised the other door must be to the bathroom. You couldn’t imagine how your situation could get any worse, “Are you unhappy with that arrangement?”

“No, not at all,” you lied, “I just didn’t expect it, that’s all.” You swallowed, hard. You started moving towards the door, “I’m going to take a shower,” you mumbled, not waiting for her answer. You fumbled with the handle, cursing under your breath and slammed the door shut behind you. 

You didn’t waste any time taking off your clothes and turning on the shower, sighing as the cold droplets collided with your burning skin. The water only offered you a few moments of relief, however. The more you thought about the redhead and how close you’d be together that night, the more you fed the raging arousal between your legs. It became clear that there was only one way you were going to calm yourself down.

You covered your hand with your mouth as you touched yourself, your mind overwhelmed by images of Natasha. It didn’t take long for you to reach your climax and you were certain that the sound of the shower and your hand had muffled out all your moans. You cleaned yourself before stepping out, drying yourself with a towel and getting dressed, praying that your body would be satisfied for the night. When you returned to the bedroom, Natasha was on the bed facing you, resting a pillow on her lap.

“You’re even prettier in real life than you are in your pictures,” she said, the unexpected compliment drowning you in butterflies. You noticed that her cheeks were flushed a bright red and her breaths seemed more laboured than before. 

“Really?” you said in disbelief. You had never seen yourself as unattractive but you didn’t think you were anything special either. You were nothing compared to the Goddess in front of you, that was for sure. She chuckled.

“You’re a humble one,” she mused, “How cute.” You couldn’t quite believe her words. Natasha thought you, of all people, were humble? You searched the room, looking for any kind of escape from the conversation and spotted a clock hung above the bed.

“It’s getting late,” you said, trying to hide your stutter, “I’ll sleep on the floor.” You knew it would be uncomfortable but anything was better than being next to Natasha. You’d slept in awkward places before so you’d just have to deal with it.

“No you won’t,” she said, shuffling to the other side of the bed and lifting the sheets, “There’s room for both of us, see?” The amount of room wasn’t the problem – it was the proxemics between you and the internal chaos your body was experiencing. How were you supposed to explain that to Natasha though? You noticed the moment your eyes fell on her that her autonomy wasn’t the same as yours so she wouldn’t understand your dilemma.

“Uh, okay,” you said, knowing you had no choice. You never sounded nervous or vulnerable, not even with your close family and friends. If embarrassment was a type of poison, you’d have collapsed in agony by now. You climbed into bed beside Natasha, turning your back to her. You were reminded of how small the bed was when you shifted slightly and felt her hand brush against the small of your back. You took a deep breath. You were in for a long night. 

She switched off the bedside lamp and to your horror, you could hear her unbutton her jeans and discard them on the floor. It was almost as if she was doing it on purpose. You tensed your muscles, forcing yourself to stay as still as humanely possible so there was less chance of you accidentally making contact with each other again.

“That’s better,” she mumbled and you felt her leg against yours as she adjusted her position to make herself more comfortable. You didn’t know how long it took for you to fall asleep with her body so close to yours, her breath creating goosebumps along every part of your skin that it hit. Unfortunately, you found out the hard way that your head was the worst place to escape to you in your current state. 

You woke up, gasping and blinded by the darkness around you. You pushed yourself up, feeling the slick on your thighs from the filthy dream you had just experienced. Natasha’s head had been buried between your thighs and you had been an absolute mess beneath her. You could honestly die from humiliation – how could your mind conjure up something so vile while you were sleeping next to her? As you were about to move off the bed and sprint into the bathroom, a light was switched on and you felt a hand tighten around your wrist. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Natasha said, a dark rasp accompanying her words, “You are not going into the bathroom to fuck yourself again.” Your eyes widened and you felt a tide of heat rush to your cheeks. She’d heard you. 

“I’m so sorry,” you said, “I shouldn’t have, it was really inappropriate of me…” She silenced you by straddling your hips, trapping you beneath her on the bed. Before you could react, you were distracted by the feeling of something hard against your stomach. You looked down to see Natasha in only her boxers, the bulge pressing against your abdomen straining in its confines. Your jaw dropped. It had never even occurred to you that there was a chance she’d want you too.

“I was going to let you make the first move,” she said, “But you took too long.” From how the other agents described you, she had been so sure your boldness and confidence would’ve caused you to spring onto her immediately. She was annoyed that she’d had to listen to you pleasure yourself in the shower without her but at the same time, Natasha loved that her presence had changed your demeanour so much. 

You gulped and looked up into her eyes, seeing that her iris had shrunk into a thin line around her blown pupils. You drunk in the sight of her on top of you, placing your hands on top of her bare, supple thighs, her skin like velvet beneath you. 

“Fuck,” you breathed. She tilted up your chin, running her thumb over your bottom lip, wanting a better view of you.

“Tsk tsk. Such a dirty mouth.” You knew you shouldn’t be letting her walk all over you but you were enjoying it more than you wanted to admit. She lifted herself off your body so she could move her other hand to the waistband of your trousers. She hooked a finger underneath the material, “Can I?” You nodded and she dug her nails into your chin, “I want to hear you say it.” You weren’t used to this power dynamic – you were always the more dominant one. 

“Yes,” you said, “You can. Please.” She grinned at your obedience and slipped her hand into your pants, feeling you drip onto her fingertips. She groaned.

“Oh God, you’re so wet already,” she said, “I could stuff you with my cock right now if I wanted to.” She removed her hand from your underwear and brought it to your mouth, pushing her fingers past your lips. You sucked her digits hungrily, tasting yourself on your tongue. The sight only drove Natasha even crazier but she also felt a pang of envy, wishing it was her cock in your mouth instead. You felt so good around her fingers.

After pulling her digits out of your mouth, she lowered herself onto your body and she didn’t hesitate to connect her lips with yours, sending a jolt of electricity through your veins. Her lips moulded against yours perfectly and you moved in sync with her, your kisses becoming more and more desperate. She could taste your sweetness as she kissed you and she forced herself to forget about breathing, not wanting to pull away for even a second. Her hands cupped your face and you reached up to tangle yours in her hair, her lips staining yours with garnet lust. 

You pulled her even closer against your chest, your mind a buzz of her and her only. You let her tongue slide between your teeth when you felt it press against your bottom lip, making no effort to fight against it with your own. She swallowed your whines, her crotch grinding against your thigh. You had never hooked up with anyone before; you weren’t that kind of person. But you were willing to break all your rules for Natasha and give every part of you to her without hesitation. 

Her mouth moved to your jawline, littering your face with kisses, her hands trailing down your arms. You shivered under her feather-light touch, gasping as her teeth sunk into your neck, intending to leave a bruise that everyone else would see. She tugged at the hem of your shirt.

“Take it off,” she said. She leaned back to give you space to pull it over your head and unhook your bra before she pounced on you like an animal. She traced her fingers over your collarbones before venturing further down to your chest, her fingers circling your nipples. You arched into her touch as she caressed your breasts, her movements sending a spark straight to your core. You reached down to cup her bulge, noticing the wet patch on her boxers but she slapped your hand away, “No touching,” she snapped. 

“Please, Natasha,” you said, “I need you; it hurts.” She tutted.

“Patience,” she husked. She pulled away from you and started taking off her clothes, freeing her aching breasts before pushing down her boxers. Her erection sprang out from the material, the tip inflamed and ringed by an enraged red, pre-cum dribbling onto the sheets beneath her. 

She led back onto the pillow, giving you a full view of her body and you took a moment to admire her. Everything about her was a masterpiece – her facial features, her muscles, her curves. Her crimson hair was a mess around her shoulders and the front pieces had fallen forward, framing her face, “I want to fuck that pretty mouth of yours.” You shook your head.

“No, Natasha,” you pleaded, “It’ll feel so much better in my pussy, I promise…” You fell silent as her eyes burnt into you. You reluctantly crawled over to her on all fours, hesitating before wrapping your mouth around the tip. You tried to irk her, moving as slow as possible but she grabbed a hold of your head and started pushing you down on her cock. 

“Suck.” You gagged around her length as she started bucking her hips upwards so she was fucking your mouth but the sound only drove her more. It didn’t take long for you to start moving your head up and down her cock without any guidance, guttural moans escaping Natasha’s mouth from the warmth and skill of your tongue, “Fuck, that shut you up.”

Tears spilt down your cheeks as she hit the back of your throat over and over again, the vibrations of your whines sending even more waves of pleasure through her body. She lifted her legs onto your shoulders so you could grab onto her thighs, spurring you on even more, “I’m so close,” she breathed. Her thrusts were messy and out of rhythm by the time she came undone, spilling her cum into your mouth. You made sure to swallow it all. 

She pulled her cock out of your mouth, a mixture of cum and drool coating her length, some of it dribbling down your chin, “You did so well. Such a good slut for me.” She took a moment to catch her breath, watching with eagerness as you pulled down your trousers and your panties that were positively ruined, throwing them on the floor. There were tears of white running down your legs and your clit was visibly swollen. She smirked wickedly, “You want me that bad, huh?”

“Please, I’ve been a good girl,” you whined. You tried to reach for her again but she caught hold of your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. 

“Lie down.” You went to lay on your back but she grabbed your shoulders, her nails indenting crescent-moons into your skin before pushing you down onto your stomach. You gasped as her hand pressed against your cunt, her fingers running through your sensitive folds. Her movements were slow and deliberate, intending to increase your need but not give in to it.

“More,” you begged as her thumb massaged your clit. The smell of sex was heavy in the air and your senses were intoxicated by the vanilla and brown sugar fragrance of her perfume. She gave your clit a sharp pinch in response to your pleas, causing you to inhale a sharp intake of breath.

“You’re insatiable,” she said, “You’re begging to be fucked by a woman you just met. Like a whore.” You started rubbing your crotch against her hand, your motions erratic and frantic. 

“More, please,” you cried, your thoughts becoming incoherent as the need between your legs started to burn, “Please, Natasha.” She pushed two fingers inside of you, stretching out your entrance but making sure to avoid your g-spot. 

“Tell me what you want.” 

“I want you inside of me,” you groaned as she added a third digit to your cunt. Natasha started to play with her breasts using her free hand; she was burning for you just as badly as you were for and the sound of your begging only worsened her desire. It took all the strength in her body to hold herself back and not ruin you right there and then. She was so glad you couldn’t see her.

“I am inside of you.” You whined.

“I want your cock. I need it inside of me, please.” She grabbed hold of your hips, smirking. As much as she enjoyed seeing you so needy for her, her patience was wearing thin.

“Then you’ll take it all.” She suddenly rammed inside you without any warning, not being able to resist you for any longer and you cried out in shock. Your initial discomfort was drowned by explosive bliss as Natasha filled you to the brim, hitting places you didn’t even know existed. She was met with no resistance as she rutted into you despite her size which stretched you out deliciously. Your pussy was so much better than she could’ve ever imagined.

She flattened herself against your back, needing to feel more of you. She grunted against your ear as her hips slammed into your ass with each powerful stroke. You were dizzy with pleasure as her speed increased, your moans intensifying as she started to pound into your sweet spot. She was older and more experienced than anyone you had been with before which was evident in how she was making you feel. Your body was coursing with more pleasure than you thought was humanely possible. 

The knot in your stomach was tightening fast and the sounds of your wet cunt were echoing through the room, “Oh fuck, you’re so tight,” Natasha said, not caring about her dignity anymore, too lost in the sensation of your warmth clenching around her cock, “Tell me how you feel baby.” 

“I feel so, so good,” you said, “Please, don’t stop.” You looked back at her and she tilted her head so your lips could connect for a moment before her mouth moved to your shoulder. She sucked on the soft skin there, slowing down so she could sink deeper into your cunt. She could feel your legs trembling beneath her own as you pushed back in rhythm with each of her thrusts.

“How close are you?” Natasha didn’t want to admit it but she was already teetering on the edge, struggling to hold back from how well you were taking her. You could feel her movements become sloppy as more and more of your juices gushed from your entrance. 

“So close,” you said, your walls clenching even harder around her cock. It only took a few more thrusts before you could feel gasoline flood your bloodstream, ready to be set on fire, “Natasha, f-fuck…” You didn’t even have to say it.

“Let go for me,” she commanded. You let the knot in your stomach unravel, screaming her name as all the nerves in your body were electrified, sparks of searing light shooting across your vision. No drug could replicate the state of euphoria you were both lost in as your walls were drowned by white, your cunt milking her cock dry until there wasn’t a single drop left to give. You had never experienced an orgasm so strong, so prolonged, so incredible. You expected Natasha to stop after fucking you through your high but instead, she picked up her pace again. You whimpered.

“Natasha, that’s enough…” She pulled out of you and flipped you onto your back before slipping straight back inside of you. Your eyes widened. 

“What’s wrong?” she mocked, “You begged for my cock, slut. Isn’t this what you wanted?” She smirked when you didn’t give her an answer, already drowning in ecstasy again despite the building ache between your legs. You were losing your grip on reality as the new angle gave her access to more places inside of you and you knew it wouldn’t be long until you were overstimulated. 

She didn’t take her eyes off you, wanting to see your reaction to everything she gave you. You were growing more sensitive by the second and you could feel her cock throbbing against your walls each time you squeezed her, drops of perspiration gleaming on every inch of your skin. You reached up to cup Natasha’s breasts, the extra layer of stimulation pushing her towards yet another climax in record time. 

She started to rub your clit, hoping to speed up your release but it was becoming evident she’d have to release without you. You wrapped your legs around her waist, pulling her even closer and for a moment, she forgot your pleasure, getting too lost in her own. She tore her eyes away from you and threw her head back, panting like a dog. 

“Cum inside me,” you said and at the sound of your words, she didn’t hesitate, letting her orgasm crash into her body with full force. She moaned your name between gasps as she was hit by waves of bliss that slowly decreased in intensity as the milliseconds passed, pulsing through her entire body. She finally pulled out of you and collapsed on the bed. You both gasped for breath, your thighs and the sheets beneath you stained with lust. You were glad you hadn’t climaxed this time – you didn’t think you’d have survived it. 

“That was fucking incredible,” Natasha admitted, turning her head to face you. You nodded in agreement, too fucked out to form a sentence, your limbs still shaking from adrenaline.

That morning, Natasha woke you up with her cock between your legs, already hard and ready for another round. Her hands only left your body during the mission and three days later after its success, she didn’t hesitate to fuck you senseless until you passed out.

Part 2

[joaeriz]

8 LETTERS (Paige Bueckers x Fem!Reader)

📎 inspired by “8 Letters” by Why Don’t We 📖 fluff | slow burn | soft romance | college AU 💌 word count: ~2.8k

summary: When Y/N is assigned to write a feature on UConn’s star player Paige Bueckers, the last thing she expects is late-night FaceTimes, secret hangouts, and catching real feelings. As the line between friendship and something more starts to blur, both girls are left wondering if they’re brave enough to say the eight letters that could change everything.

authors note: (Okay, so before you jump in—I just wanna say I had so much fun writing this. It’s honestly a mix of two of my favorite things ever: Paige Bueckers (who I adore) and “8 Letters” by Why Don’t We (which lives rent-free in my head, always). The idea hit me out of nowhere—like, what if that kind of soft, slow, “I love you but I’m scared to say it” kind of story played out between Y/N and Paige? And it just spiraled from there in the best way. I got way too emotionally invested in these two (not sorry), and writing all the cute moments, the late-night FaceTimes, and the feelings they’re both too scared to admit? Ugh. I loved every second.So if you’re into a little angst, a lot of softness, and some seriously sweet vibes, I hope this gives you butterflies the way it gave me butterflies writing it. Thanks for reading—it means so much. — Jo)

P.s: this is my first fic i have posted on here!! Im not new at writing, but let me know if you guys want more :)

You weren’t supposed to fall in love with your story subject.

That was rule number one of journalism school. No dating your interviewees, no crushes on profile pieces, no getting involved. But rules felt irrelevant the first time Paige Bueckers smiled at you like you were more than another face with a notepad.

Your assignment was simple—write a semester-long feature on the UConn women’s basketball team for the student paper. Paige, naturally, was the center of the piece. A star on and off the court. Already a national name. Every sports journalist dreamed of covering her.

You were supposed to remain objective.

Instead, you were falling for her.

Hard.

—

It started with a dead recorder.

Your first real conversation wasn’t planned—unless you count fate as a planner. You’d been huddled near the sideline at practice, trying to record a quote from one of the assistant coaches when your recorder sputtered out and died mid-sentence. You swore under your breath and slapped it, like that ever helped.

Paige had been walking by, sipping on a water bottle, and stopped. “Need backup?”

You looked up, startled. “Only if you’ve got a time machine.”

She smiled. “Nope. But I’ve got the Voice Memos app.”

She handed over her phone like it was no big deal—like she hadn’t just offered you her lifeline. You blinked. “You trust a random reporter with your phone?”

“You don’t seem like the type to scroll through texts.” She leaned in with a smirk. “Besides, you’ve got an honest face. And a tragic relationship with electronics.”

You laughed, cheeks heating. She stayed next to you for a few minutes, watching as you wrapped up your interview with her phone in hand. When it was over, she texted you the audio file with the message:

“Try not to let your technology trauma ruin your career.”

You responded with a lame thank-you and a joke about threatening your recorder with a hammer. You didn’t expect her to reply.

But she did.

“Violence is rarely the answer, but I’ll allow it.”

From there, it snowballed. Texts turned into full-blown threads. Threads into daily check-ins. She started sending random memes between practices—some sports-related, some completely unhinged��and you’d match her energy with cursed TikToks and sarcastic commentary.

Then came the first FaceTime.

You were editing audio at 11:47 p.m. when her name lit up your screen. Paige Bueckers is FaceTiming you.

You stared at it for a second. Then answered.

She was wrapped in a hoodie with damp hair and tired eyes, lying in bed. “Hey,” she said softly. “Didn’t wanna be alone tonight.”

That first call lasted three hours.

You talked about everything: your major, her injuries, your complicated relationship with your hometown, her fear of letting people down. She confessed that sometimes, the pressure made her want to run away to a place where no one knew her name.

You said you understood.

After that, it became routine. Late-night FaceTimes. Morning Snapchats. Study breaks where she'd call and say, “Tell me something random,” and you’d ramble about your day while she half-listened, half-dozed.

—

The first time you hung out outside of school was under the guise of an interview follow-up.

She invited you to a local coffee shop—some cozy little place with plants in every window and tables just slightly too small. You showed up with your laptop and pages of notes. Paige showed up in a hoodie and beanie, no makeup, looking infuriatingly good.

You talked for two hours.

Only twenty minutes was about basketball.

She paid for your drink when you weren’t looking.

“I’ll Venmo you,” you said, pretending to dig for your phone.

She just shrugged. “Nah. Call it a reporter’s hazard fee.”

After that came more not-quite-dates. Study sessions in the campus library where she never actually studied. Walks through the trail behind the dorms where she'd kick pebbles and talk about life like it was something she hadn’t quite figured out yet.

One night, she invited you to “movie night” with the team.

You showed up with snacks and nerves, expecting a whole crowd.

But it was just her.

Two mugs of hot chocolate already on the table. A blanket tossed casually over the couch. She tried to play it off. “The others bailed,” she claimed with a sheepish shrug.

She was a terrible liar.

You stayed anyway.

She fell asleep halfway through the second movie with her head on your shoulder, and you didn’t dare move.

After that night, everything shifted.

—

There were moments. God, there were moments.

The way her hand would brush yours when she passed you something and linger—just a second too long. The way she’d light up when you walked into a room, like you were the only one she’d been waiting for. How she’d say things like:

“Sometimes I forget how to breathe around you.”

And then immediately pretend it was a joke.

You wanted to say it.

You almost did—on Valentine’s Day, when she left a note in your dorm mailbox with a chocolate bar and the words “you’re my favorite notification.”

But you chickened out.

Because if she didn’t feel the same way, you’d lose her. And that possibility was more terrifying than staying quiet.

But then came the silence.

She started pulling away. Fewer texts. Missed calls. Short replies like:

“Practice ran late.” “Sorry, just tired.” “Talk soon?”

And soon became never.

Until the day it broke.

—

It was cold. Rainy. The kind of day that made everything feel heavier. You were walking past the practice facility, hood up, heart aching, when you saw her.

Paige. Alone. Leaning against the wall like she was waiting for something—or someone.

You slowed. She looked up.

“I think we should stop,” she said.

Your stomach dropped. “Stop…?”

“This. Us. I don’t know what this is to you, and I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with not knowing.”

You blinked, throat closing.

“I’m not asking you to guess,” you managed to say.

“Well, then tell me,” she whispered. “Because I think about you all the time, and I don’t know how to make it stop. And it hurts, Y/N. It hurts not knowing if I’m just another story to you.”

And finally—finally—you said the words.

“You asked what love looks like to me.”

She held her breath.

“It looks like you. Like FaceTime calls at midnight and cold coffee on a Sunday morning. It’s how you fight through everything and still smile like you’re not carrying the weight of the world. I didn’t say it before because I was scared, but I’m more scared of losing you.”

Her eyes glossed. She stepped closer.

“You love me?” she asked, barely a whisper.

“I do.”

And when she kissed you, it was soft and shaky and real. Like exhaling after holding your breath for too long.

—

That night, your article sat unfinished.

She lay beside you on your tiny dorm bed, her hand brushing yours under the covers, the silence between you humming with peace.

“Say it again,” she murmured.

You smiled.

“I love you.”

Eight letters.

—

It had been twenty-six days since you told Paige you loved her.

Twenty-six days since she kissed you in the rain like her world had just started spinning again.

Twenty-six days since things finally became real.

And every single one of those days had felt like waking up in the softest dream.

Being with Paige wasn’t loud or flashy—not most of the time. It was slow mornings in bed, tangled limbs and quiet whispers. It was FaceTiming just to sit in silence while you both worked. It was warm hoodies borrowed without asking, and her stealing your socks because “they’re the soft ones.”

It was peace.

One Sunday morning, you found her asleep on your couch, wearing your crewneck and hugging your stuffed animal. She’d crashed the night before after watching movies in your room, the two of you curled together on your tiny dorm bed until she got too warm and rolled onto the floor, dramatically sighing, “This is why we need a queen-sized mattress and a lease.”

You’d laughed, thinking she was joking.

Then she blinked up at you and said, totally serious, “Like… a place. You and me. Off campus. Someday.”

Your heart soared, and you tucked the idea away like a wish on a star.

Later, she sleepily mumbled, “I want you in my mornings and my nights.”

And you knew she meant it.

—

Dating Paige came with little adventures.

Like the time she surprised you with a picnic—on a Tuesday.

You’d been having the worst week: deadlines, papers, zero sleep. Paige texted you in the middle of class: “Be ready at 6. Trust me.”

You met her behind the student union, expecting takeout and a movie.

Instead, she’d laid out a blanket under a canopy of fairy lights she somehow got from the volleyball team’s gear closet. There was music playing from a Bluetooth speaker, a thermos of your favorite hot cocoa, and a little box of cupcakes from the bakery you once mentioned you liked.

“I know you’re overwhelmed,” she said, pulling you into a hug. “So I’m forcing you to pause. Just for tonight.”

You nearly cried.

“I don’t deserve you,” you whispered.

She kissed your forehead and grinned. “Nah. We deserve each other.”

—

Her love came in a thousand small ways.

When your period hit hard, she showed up with snacks, heating pads, and the world’s ugliest cartoon pajamas she said were “scientifically proven to improve moods.” (They did.)

When she won a game, she didn’t go out with the team—she came to your place and danced with you barefoot in the kitchen to 2000s R&B.

When you got a bad grade on a paper and spiraled about being “not good enough,” she held your face in her hands and said, “You’re brilliant. One grade doesn’t get to rewrite the story.”

She never let you forget your worth—even when you did.

—

Your favorite tradition was Sunday mornings.

You’d wake up slow—her arm slung lazily around your waist, her cheek against your shoulder. She always looked soft in the mornings, voice scratchy, hair messy, face unfiltered.

“Don’t look at me,” she’d mumble, burying her face in the pillow.

You always did anyway.

You’d take turns making breakfast—read: burning toast and debating whether Pop-Tarts counted as a real meal. You’d play records on your vintage player, dance around the room in socks, kiss in the doorway like it was a scene from a movie.

She called you “home” once.

You didn’t say anything in return.

You just pulled her into your chest and held her tighter than words could manage.

—

There were no more secrets now.

People knew. Slowly, sure. But Paige had started holding your hand in public. At first on quieter streets, where no one looked. Then at campus parties. Then at a game.

After a home win, she ran over to the bleachers—where you were waiting—and kissed you in front of a thousand fans and a dozen cameras.

“I love you,” she said breathlessly. “Needed you to know before anything else.”

The video went viral. The team teased her endlessly.

She didn’t care.

Neither did you.

—

One night, lying in bed with your laptop open on your stomach and Paige half-asleep beside you, you said, “This is the happiest I’ve ever been.”

She looked up. “Because of me?”

You smiled. “Because of us.”

She kissed your shoulder and whispered, “Let’s stay like this forever.”

And maybe the future held more challenges—graduation, jobs, long-distance talks if things got complicated.

But for now, you had everything you needed.

Her heartbeat beside yours. Her laughter echoing in your chest. And the words you once feared to say now lived freely between you.

“I love you.” Eight letters. Forever on repeat.

[fourmoony]

𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬

remus lupin x f!reader

smut. p in v. creampie. unprotected sex. fingering. sex with a friend. language. 18+ content minors DNI.

3.2k - masterlist

summary - reader can't sleep. remus helps out. not with warm milk, though.

i'm supposed to be working on an assignment for college. but remus lupin is taking up space in my brain. so, enjoy :)

-

The air feels stuffy, too hot against your slick skin.

You blow a breath out in frustration, a piece of hair stuck to your forehead refusing to budge and you groan. The house is silent apart from the droning on of the electronic device between your legs that does little to abate the feeling clawing at your insides and it only makes you more frustrated. The lights in your bedroom are turned off, the world outside asleep. Everyone apart from you. You’ve spent two hours tossing and turning, and a further half hour trying to cure the ache between your legs.

It’s futile. You’ve tried everything. Every speed your overly expensive vibrator has to offer, every position, you even got out the glittery pink dildo Marlene got you for Secret Santa the previous year, leaving it out to the side after coming to the heart-breaking decision that it simply wasn’t big enough.

You feel like nothing will be big enough. Nothing feels right, nothing feels good enough, nothing is even close to tipping you over the edge. You shift, further to the left, and whine again, pressing the vibrator to a higher speed. It moves as you press the button, and the feeling of closeness is gone just like that. You growl, pushing the blankets off in a fit of rage and choose to stare at the ceiling in defeat. It’s not going to happen. You should just accept that. But you’re worked up, horny, and too fucking clammy.

The flat is quiet. Remus is asleep – the only reason you’re so nonchalant about the noise of your vibrator still buzzing against the mattress next to you, taunting you. You reach to turn it off, sitting up and putting your hair into a makeshift bun. You stare with narrowed eyes at the shadowed outline of the sparkly pink atrocity of a Secret Santa gift. It was given as a joke to make you blush. Your friends like to tease you for your innocence. It’s not something you ever would have bought for yourself. You’d blushed furiously and everyone laughed. It was addictive for the first few weeks, being able to explore your own pleasure. But now. Now, it doesn’t feel enough. Doesn’t feel as good. As big. As filling.

It’s a quick thought, a fleeting thought. A memory that makes your cheeks flush and your eyes close in embarrassment. Remus, fresh out of the shower, two seconds away from closing the towel around his waist. He hadn’t locked the door. It was an accident. You hadn’t meant to walk in on him. You’d been half asleep, bursting for a pee, and he hadn’t locked the door. Even worse, you hadn’t meant to look. But he was wide eyed and frozen, and your fight or flight had you trying to assess every part of the situation. And his nakedness was a large part of the situation.

You’re not proud of it. But you’d looked. And you liked what you saw.

And now.

Well, now, you can’t stop thinking about it. About Remus. Kind Remus who makes you tea on cold mornings, puts your pyjamas in the dryer for you when you get out of the shower, who cooks you dinner and leaves it in the oven when you work the late shift at the café down the road. He’s kind and attentive and always there to lend a helping hand. You feel silly as you clamber off your bed, knowing there’s a high likelihood that Remus will tell you you’ve taken his kindness to its boundaries.

Your feet pad quietly down the hallway of your shared flat. The under counter lights in the open plan kitchen at the end of the hall illuminate the space enough to see. Remus’ door is closed, but you twist the handle and push, wincing when it lets out an annoying squeal. Remus rouses at the sound, squinting sleepily at you as he turns. He lets out a breath, sits up on his elbow and pulls back his blanket to offer you the space beside him.

It’s not the first time you’ve climbed into bed with Remus, but you still shift nervously on your feet, biting at your lip.

“You okay, love?” Remus asks, voice deep and croaky.

It makes you flustered in your reply. Voice quiet, unsure, “Can’t sleep.”

Remus nods, reiterates pulling back the blanket to make room for you. You cross one leg over the other in front of you, fiddling with the metal daisy chain ring on your middle finger. Remus got you it when you got into university last year. It’s your favourite piece of jewellery you own, overpriced tennis bracelet from your overcompensating parents be damned. He catches your nervous tic and his eyes narrow, his head tilts, messy hair flopping sideways with the movement. There’s a slight stubble on his chin from running late this morning and skipping his daily shave and he’s sans pyjama top, having clearly also felt the heat.

He sits up fully and the blanket pools around his waist. His skin glows in the low light of the moon through the window beside his bed. He’s beautiful. This you’ve always known. Now, it’s tenfold because you’ve seen all of him. And all of him is what you want, in this moment. Your face is flames as you edge closer until you’re hovering beside his bed.

“Have you tried warm milk?” Remus asks, his voice almost teasing.

“Don’t want warm milk.” You pout.

There’s something about the way he’s looking at you, trying to sus you out. He knows. He must know something. You’re hardly being subtle. Remus’ lips twitch in a smile when you squeeze your legs together in front of you, again, lip between your teeth, eyes watery.

“What do you want?” He asks, voice breathy.

He wants you to say it. But you can’t. You won’t.

“Rem, please,” You whine, “I’ve tried everything.”

His hand reaches for yours, pulls you until you’re straddling him. His lips are a centimetre from yours, hot breath fanning out over your mouth. You press down hard against him, lips pouted. He doesn’t let up, just raises his eyebrows. A question. What have you tried?

“I couldn’t get the angle right with my vibrator,” You whisper, cheeks bright red and warm to the touch, where Remus’ thumb is gently rubbing back and forth, fingers cupping your wobbling jaw, “Then the thingy Marlene got me wasn’t-“ You huff.

Remus chuckles softly, endearingly.

“It wasn’t enough.”

Remus smiles, “You want my help?”

You nod eagerly, “Please, Rem.”

He’s on you in a second. Lips and tongue and teeth, so hot and heavy it knocks the breath from you. His hands fist the thin material of your shorts, at your waist and you bend into him, hands running up his sides, over his shoulders, into the hair at the nape of his neck. He’s hard beneath the flannel of his pyjama bottoms. You can feel it against the crease of your thigh. It makes you whine into his mouth, shifting until you’re perfectly aligned over him. His grip focusses on your arse cheeks when you grind down, a bruising grip that you relish in.

His hands push you forward, you pull yourself back. His lips leave yours, trailing along your jaw, down your neck. Your head tilts back, panting for breath, lost in the pleasure. Your stomach tightens the harder his grip gets, the harder you press down, the faster you move. You feel like a seedy teenager, dry humping yourself against him. Remus’ teeth nip at your collarbone, only to soothe over it with his tongue. You whine again, making your impatience known, but Remus doesn’t speed up.

He looks up, lips mouthing at the underside of your chin until you tilt your head back up to look at him. His pupils are blown, eyes hooded, lips curved into a sinful smirk.

“So needy.” He mumbles into your lips.

You push down harder in response. Remus grabs your hips, stills you. You pout, doe eyes watery. Remus tuts, shakes his head, “You want my help, we do it my way.”

He shifts until you’re lying beneath him, legs hiked up around his waist. He doesn’t waste time in stripping you. Your shirt, then your shorts, your panties following. He throws them across the room, and they fall into the shadows of his darkened room. You’re glad they’re gone. Your body feels like it’s burning up under his touch, featherlight as he traces the goosebumps across your skin. He presses kisses in the wake of his fingertips, to your collarbones, your chest, the tops of your breasts, your stomach, navel.

His lips are warm, wet, pressing kisses to the insides of your thighs. You’re high strung, keening, and needy. He comes back to face level, and you grumble, deep in your throat. So close. He was so close to where you need him. He’s smug. You’re about to protest when he slides a finger into you. Your mouth opens, head pushing back into the pillow. His fingers are long, but slender, and it’s not long before he adds another. Your back arches, eyes closing. The minute you close your eyes, Remus stops. You look up, furious, to find him smirking something evil down at you.

“Eyes on me, pretty girl.” He whispers, nose bumping yours.

You comply. Remus resumes, fingers pumping steadily in and out. When he’s knuckle deep, he curls them and your body jerks in response. It’s too much and not enough, a dizzying euphoria of Remus’ casual confidence and his skilful fingers. His thumb brushes your clit gently, the bundle of nerves swollen and begging for attention. You moan his name, thighs squeezing against his hips where they’re splayed open. It urges him on, he whispers quiet encouragements – good girl, that’s it sweetheart, you’re so wet for me – and you continue to writhe beneath him.

“Rem,” You gasp, hand encircling the wrist that’s pumping in and out of you, “Need you.”

“Soon,” He promises softly, lips pressing to the swell of your breast, teeth lightly nipping at the skin there, “Want you to come on my fingers first.”

His thumb moves in tighter circles, his fingers curl deeper, move faster. He adds a third, the stretch burns but in the best way. Your jaw opens on its own accord, a string of moans emitting from your throat, and you arch into Remus. His eyes meet yours, blazing with lust.

“C’mon, baby,” He urges, voice sinfully deep, demanding. “Come for me.”

You clench around his fingers, and he groans as you gush around his hand, voice high pitched, your grip on his shoulders vice like. He’s surprised you don’t snap in two with how high your back arches. His fingers pump you through the rush in your veins, his quiet reassurances blacked out by the sound of blood rushing to your ears. Your head spins and you see white as the orgasm you’ve been chasing for what must be hours by now crashes over you. You babble nonsense, buck against Remus’ fingers, mouth open, eyes wide, back arched and head pushed violently into the pillow beneath you.

Remus hovers over you when your breathing evens, eye’s a little less clouded, and his usual concerned look on his face. You smile dopily up at him, eyes bright.

“Good?” He asks.

It��s a double ended question – you good? Was that good?

You nod.

“More.” You whine, attempting to pull him closer with your legs around his waist.

“You’re insatiable.” He laughs lightly, head bending down to peck your smiling lips gently.

You nod in agreement, head tilted as you look up at him, “I’m blaming you.”

“Of course.” Remus nods, placating you.

He shimmies his pyjamas off, kicks them off the end of the bed, and comes back to crowd your space, again. Hard, he’s much bigger than you saw from Shower-Gate. Your mouth waters as his hand wraps around his dick, pumping a few times before looking back to you. His face softens when he notices your lip trapped between your teeth.

“Baby?” He questions and you soften.

“That’s,” You sigh, embarrassed, “That’s not going to fit, Rem.”

Remus laughs, the apples of his cheeks rounding out, his teeth appearing from behind his lips. His head hangs over your shoulder and you hide in his hair, mortified. The hand that isn’t supporting his weight runs softly up and down your thigh. You groan to show your mortification, heels digging into Remus’ tail bone to try kill his laughter.

“Rem,” You protest, letting a chuckle of your own slip.

Remus looks up, eyes soft, lips pressed together to stop his laughter, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, pretty girl. I’m not laughing at you. No one’s ever said that before, you just caught me by surprise.”

You giggle, squeezing his waist with your thighs, “They’ve definitely thought it.”

Remus shakes his head, “We don’t have to.”

It’s your turn to shake your head, “I want to. I really want to.”

He smiles, leans in to kiss you. When he pulls away to pump himself again, you let out a low breath. He brushes the tip against your folds, wet and puffy, a couple times before he pushes in slowly. He groans, you moan. You’re tight, fitting around him like perfection. He goes slow until he’s buried to the hilt. You allow yourself to get used to the feeling, whimpering softly when his thumb comes to circle your clit again, working you up.

“That’s it, baby,” He speaks softly, so softly, and you moan.

He pulls back, pushes back in. Takes it slow. Allows you to adjust.

But it’s not enough. You need more. You need the raw pent-up aggression you’ve seen Remus show pervs at bars when they touch you inappropriately. You need angry Remus, who threw a book at the mantle place when your parents missed another birthday. You need the Remus who tries so hard to hide the aggressive side of him but can never fully rid himself of his primal urges, of that white hot fury and determination.

“More,” You breathe, “Faster. Harder. I need more, Rem. Please.”

You’re babbling, begging. But Remus complies. He snaps his hips forward and you all but scream. He groans, breath hot and heavy against your neck. He’s attentive, hips attacking your pelvis. His wooden headboard slams against the wall, your hand reaching up to hold on and stop you from sliding further up the bed. An arm wraps around your waist, pulling you up, closer to him. He feels deeper at the new angle, hips battering into yours. He’s relentless, hitting every spot you need.

You’re babbling nonsense, but so is Remus. Words of encouragement, words that tell you how good you’re taking all of him, how tight you are, how perfect you are. You’re meeting his every thrust, hips grinding against him, the stubble creating friction that tightens the coil in your stomach.

Remus attaches his lips to your shoulder, biting down as he pounds harder against you. You say his name like a mantra, unable to think of anything other than the feeling of him, all over, everywhere, filling, stretching, pounding.

“Rem,” You whine – so close. So, so close – “Come in me.”

Remus’ head snaps up, pupils blown, mouth hung open. He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t falter, “What?”

“Pill. Just,” You gasp when he hits that spot, “Come in me. Please. Wanna feel it.”

Remus moans. Dirty and deep. He fucking moans.

He’s relentless, sweat dripping from his forehead, he releases your waist, hikes your thigh up over his shoulder, you scream. He urges you, tells you sweet things, details how he’s going to fill you up, bites the skin of your calf. His other hand reaches down, draws tight circles that have you seeing stars. You scream his name, loud enough for the entire street to hear, using the leverage on his shoulder to lift your lower back off the bed.

The feeling is dizzying, all consuming. It’s feverish, frantic, a wild chase to the end.

You clench, he hits the right spot, the sting of his teeth on your calf emulates up your leg, the stomach muscles holding you up clench, and he calls you baby, all at the right time. You see white. It feels like your entire body explodes, lights on fire, crashes and burns. You convulse, twitching and screaming, broken words and moans of his names, clenched vice-like around him.

You’re begging. Begging him to follow, to finish in you, even in your pleasure.

You’re still floating, but coherent enough, when Remus grows sloppy, uncoordinated, drops your leg from his shoulder, falls forward, hands at your sides to hold himself up. He jerks, groans, his head falls into your shoulder, and you whine, happily, dopily, when you feel the white-hot spurts of his come against your walls.

He’s breathing heavily, both your bodies slicked with sweat. He drops his weight onto you, and you welcome him happily. Your legs wrap around his lower back, you both wince with the movement. You can feel the slickness between you both, the way he’s dripping out of you. But you’re comfortable, lips pressed to his damp hair. You trace shapes on his back until he comes to, pushing up to press his lips to yours.

The clock on his nightstand reads four in the morning.

He gets up to leave and you whine, “Don’t go.”

Remus chuckles, “Just going to get a warm cloth. Be back.”

You allow him that, grateful he had the idea. You hear him running the tap in the bathroom and he returns with a warm cloth. He’s gentle when he wipes you clear. You wince and flinch, blushing when Remus presses gentle kisses to your thighs as he works. He whispers softly between kisses how pretty you are, how well you did.

He discards the cloth in the wash basket by his door and returns to the bed.

He groans as he settles, holding his arm out for you to fall into him. You do so, swinging a leg over his thighs. It’s then that you realise you’re both still very naked, and your shyness returns. Remus traces shapes on your arm, tucking his head over yours, lips to the crown of your head.

“I can hear your cute little brain running laps, you know.” Remus teases.

You roll your eyes, push your face further into his neck.

“I just came to you in the middle of the night for sex,” the post coital dread sets in tenfold, despite feeling the most relaxed you’ve felt in weeks, “I’m so sorry, Remus.”

You feel Remus shrug, “Don’t fret, sweetheart. I was more than happy to oblige.”

“But-“

“Get some rest, honey. We can talk more tomorrow.” He assures you, pulling the blanket further up your naked bodies.

You concede, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw, the stubble tickling your lips, “Okay.”

He pulls you closer, settles in. You allow sleep to wash over you, let the relaxation in your bones pull you under. It’s a dreamless sleep, a comfortable sleep, wrapped in Remus’ arms.

[maplebellsmods]

Join a Country Club Mod

Hello! Unfortunately, Rock Ridge Country Club has closed down due to financial mismanagement and embezzlement. However, your sims now can join an even better club: Cedar Creek Country Club!

I’m excited to announce that I’ve completely reworked the Country Club mod from scratch. This mod holds a special place in my heart as it was the first one I ever made, and I’m thrilled to present it with improved quality and new features.

If you’ve used my previous Country Club mod, you’ll notice both differences and similarities. So, how does the new mod work? Your sim can apply to become a member of Cedar Creek Country Club. This time, the process is more challenging, with the possibility of rejection, requiring more effort both financially and mentally.

However, the application process is streamlined for a smoother experience. Steps to become a member:

Pay Application Fee: This is a 5000 simoleon nonrefundable fee.

Fill out Application Form

Schedule Interview: Choose between two time slots and attend within 24 hours.

Write Letter of Interest

Submit Reference Letters: Cedar Creek requires two reference letters from current members. Your sim can ask a member directly or post on the Cedar Creek community forums. If a member is interested, they may call and offer to write a reference letter. This method is more challenging.

Attend Information Session (Optional): If you have questions about the club or application process, attend an information session available on weekdays.

• Household Funds

• Fame Level

• Reputation

• Job Type and Level

• Charisma

• Interview Outcome

These elements can greatly increase your chances of getting accepted into the country club.​

Once they become a member and pay the $10,000 initiation fee, your entire household will also gain Cedar Creek membership.

As a Cedar Creek member, there are ongoing fees to pay. You can choose to pay annually (over four weeks) or quarterly (over one week). It’s important to stay on top of these payments to maintain your membership. There are many activities your sim can partake in with family and friends. You can find these options on the computer in the Country Club pie menu.​

Your sim can try to appeal to the country club if they have been rejected, kicked out, or blacklisted. The chances of getting another shot are very low, but high charisma can significantly help.

If they get lucky and are invited to meet with the admissions committee, they have a few hours to attend the meeting and must commit immediately. If they were previously kicked out, they will still need to pay the initiation fee again.

Lot Trait

I have also added a Country Club lot trait with the mod. So as a Cedar Creek member if you don't feel like going to rabbit hole activities you use the country club lot trait and use it on any lot.

I wanted the Country Club lot trait to be customizable, so random members won’t show up automatically; you need to assign members to make it exclusive.

You can assign members by left-shift clicking on the computer and finding the option under the country club pie menu. There are a few social interactions available for different sims at the country club, depending on their roles.

The lot trait is straightforward, but the key is to assign members. You can also remove members using the same method.

Does this mod require any DLC?

No, it does not.

What else do I need for the mod?

Lumpinou's Mood Pack Mod, so it is required for the mod to work properly.

You can get the mod here.

If you already have it great! But make sure it's up to date. Otherwise, it will break the UI

XML injector

I'm experiencing some weird bugs!

Let me know, please.

Report it here: Mod Bug Report

How to install the mod?

Electronic Arts/The Sims 4/Mods <--- Unzip the file and make sure it's placed in this path.

Public Jun 23

Download Here

[vampirecorleone]

"If you encounter any problems you cannot resolve yourselves, you will be assigned children, that usually helps." | "We dance alone. That's why we only play electronic music." The Lobster (2015) dir. Yorgos Lanthimos

[homiesexuallaj]

“Jackass.” “..Dumbass kid.”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Genre/Warnings: fluff, both live in the compound, enemies??/frienemies?? to lovers, name calling (nothing like hateful though), blood, wounds, stitches, thorns, food sharing, sick! reader, grumpy but caring! bucky, kinda proofread

Summary: You and Bucky hate each other's guts, or so you thought. Over the years of your rivalry/friendship, you two seem to soften up ever so slightly. And just in time for Valentine’s Day!

prompts:

one // two // three

———

Bucky Barnes. Local resident jackass.

You two had been at each other’s throats since you first ever met. Both of you were stubborn and had “my way or the highway” attitudes. It was horrible since you two lived in the compound with a few others, and even worse when you two had missions together.

Steve was always placing a large palm on Bucky’s shoulder. Sam always had a hand rubbing at the stress lines on his face as he begged you two to “take a break.” Natasha was always working to keep you two separate, dragging you away to the city, her apartment, or your room.

But living in the same place, in the same building. It was always like a ticking time bomb if you two spotted each other across the room. It was always a staring contest, checked shoulders, and snarky comments.

“You look like shit.” “What’d you do? Fall in the middle of a bull run?” “Oh god, you’re coming?” “Old man.” “Fucking kid.” “You’re a dumbass.” “Fuck off.” “Would you get?!” “Quit that!”

But there was an… oddness to your dynamic.

With watchful eyes when the other wasn’t paying attention. Or a freshly brewed pot of coffee in the middle of the night. An oddly placed book that was bound to catch attention. Held doors. And allowed first dibs on the bed of the assigned safe house. Or looming over your shoulder if some random guy tried to talk to you either out in public or on a mission.

Hell, you could barely talk to any guys at the bar before they were throwing fleeting glances over your shoulder before they scampered off. You turned around only to meet Bucky’s irritating blue gaze staring you down over the edge of his glass of whiskey. You’d always turn around, sit down at the bar, and order something stronger.

It’s even worse if you try to bring a guy home. It’s always, “Who's this?” “Where’d you met him?” “How long have you known him?” “One night!?” “..Well, where does he work?” “What kind of car does he drive?” “What’s the license plate number?” “What’s his mom’s maiden name?” “What high school did he go to?” “Where did he go to college?” “What bank does he bank with?” “You know his social security number?”

“Bucky-!”

“What?!” . . . “Get out.”

And off goes the guy.

“You’re a jackass.”

“I wouldn’t have to be if you stopped bringing weird guys home.”

And then you’re storming off to your room and slamming the door shut. You throw yourself down on your bed and make grumbly noises into your pillow as you rant to yourself. Then, you’re reaching into your nightstand drawer to fish out something that could help you with your personal problem that you were originally going to deal with- with another human person, not an electronic vibrator.

And good god. Don’t even get started on the fact that you can’t even get stood up on a date alone.

You had made a reservation for one of the nicer restaurants down in Brooklyn. You were supposed to meet a guy here you met online. But thirty minutes pass. And then an hour. The guy’s a no show.

So, there you are in a nice, crimson colored dress and all alone with a meal for one. You’re not even hungry anymore. Picking at your food as you sip at a bottle of beer you traded for a glass of champagne. When to your right, someone goes,

“Beer? Really?”

You look up.

There’s Bucky. He’s dressed in a white dress shirt and slacks, of course with his famous leather gloves. His hair is brushed back, but a singular strand falls over his forehead. If you two didn’t hate each other so much, you might even say he’s handsome. But he’s totally, definitely not handsome at all, nuh uh.

"You've been teasing me all this time about being single just for you to get stood up?" He says with a bemused expression. Clearly, Bucky is entertained by your suffering.

You don’t say anything. You send him a glare instead before you’re looking back down at your food, which is room temperature now. And then you’re jostled to the side as a bulky body shoves you down the booth.

"Move over,” Bucky demands, shoving his way into the booth to sit beside you. “You're lucky I'm hungry."

“There’s a whole other booth, Barnes,” You point to the empty booth.

“This one looks comfier,” Bucky shrugs, picking up your fork so he can start munching down on your pasta.

You roll your eyes, ignoring the way Bucky is practically pressed into you. Your thighs touch and your shoulders are pressed together. The fabric of his dress shirt is soft against your exposed arm. You ignore the way that neither of you two make a move to separate from each other or the way Bucky tosses an arm across the back of the booth while you wait to pay. Except, Bucky doesn’t give you a chance to pay. He slaps your hand away, throwing down his credit card that you weren’t even sure he understood how it worked.

He does understand how it works, he argues. You don’t believe him one bit.

“Thank you,” You say as Bucky and you walk out into the parking lot.

“Don’t mention it,” He replied with a hand on your lower back.

And you don’t. You never do. Even if it’s something you think about every night with your thoughts running wild and second guessing every emotion you have.

Though, you don’t even notice your dynamic changing bit by bit after that ruined date. You’re too busy having aggressive staring contests and spitting out snarky comments to notice a change.

You’re oblivious to the way Bucky’s eyes are a little softer when they look your way or how his shoulder always brushes against yours when he’s near you. Or that he starts joining team movie nights, replacing Sam’s spot beside you after the first night he joined because he didn’t like you and Sam all cuddled up on the couch. And he hated the way you two whispered and giggled with each other during the movie. Or how you two shared a blanket. Bucky hated it.

So, the next movie night when he stole Sam’s spot and Sam protested, Bucky only told him to “go find another spot” and that “it won’t kill you if you don’t sit besides her.”

So, Sam has to relent. And he prays to whatever god above that you two don’t bite each other’s heads off during the movie. And he’s presently surprised you two don’t.

You don’t notice either that Bucky always has a spare mug sat beside the coffee machine if you have another one of your restless nights. Or the way he starts reaching for your hand if you cross a street or if you have to temporary separate from a mission. Nor that Bucky seems to “absentmindedly” interlock your pinkies on the way back from a mission if you two sit beside each other. Cause you two are always sat beside each other now.

You don’t notice until Natasha is bringing it up.

“So when did you and Bucky get all buddy-buddy?” Natasha asked you over the music of the bar the team has congregated in for the night.

You cock and eyebrow her way, sipping on your season edition of Strawberry Blonde Shiner beer.

“What do you mean?” You ask, swallowing the cool liquid down.

“Well.. y’know..,” She trails off, swirling around her own beer.

“No,” You look at Natasha seriously. “I don’t know.”

“Well, how you two are around each other all the time now,” Natasha tries, giving you an expectant look. When you’re still looking confused, she continues. “Like during movie nights, he took Sam’s spot. Or how he never shoulder checks you anymore and his smartass comments your way have lessened. Even his tone has less bite to it than it used to. Or how he’s always gotta be touching you now, like a hand on your back or a pinkie interlocked with yours.”

The red-head lists off example after example. Though, she gives up when you don’t seem to come to an enlightenment or when you don’t agree that maybe Bucky is softer with you now. That he’s been getting softer since your ruined date, or even since before then. You don’t know. You don’t know cause you don’t notice. Just like you don't notice the watchful blue eyes from across the bar.

Though, a little light shines through the crack of your mental walls in the dim kitchen of a safe house off in Germany.

There’s blood in the sink, smeared across your shoulder and hands, splattered across your face, and dripping down your side.

You did your best to clean up, but the tear in your side limited your movements. And with too much of shaky hands, you had to let someone else stitch you up. That someone else was Bucky, who’d knelt down at your side before you could even say “no.”

You breathed in through your nose and out through your mouth as you suffered through the pain of being stitched up without any painkillers expect the decent bottle of vodka. Your fingers twitched with every stab of the needle and your lip curled into a grimace as you felt the thread being pulled through your skin. You had the fight back the queasiness that you weren’t sure if it was from the pain or the blood loss.

Bucky knelt beside you on the linoleum floor of the kitchen. He was face to face with your side as he wove the needle and thread in and out of your torn skin. His eyebrows were scrunched and his eyes concentrated. And he was silent for once. No smartass comments or words of encouragement, not that you would expect any from him. Bucky’s hands were deft and rough. The callouses felt like sandpaper against the sensitive skin of your ribcage.

Soon enough, Bucky was done. He stood up, threw out trash and cleaned up his bloody hands. He scrubbed all the way up to his elbows, getting rid of any blood and grime that may have lingered still. He hadn’t even tossed your slightly undressed form a glance over as he wrapped up your abdomen with gauze.

“Lost a lot of blood,” Bucky commented.

He’d brought a cold, wet washcloth up to your face as he began to wipe away at the blood there. The man still had that stupid concentrated look in his eyes.

“No shit,” You say with a tone that’s a little harsher than intended. Blame it on the pain and the lightheadedness you feel.

You watched as Bucky wiped your face off, wiped down your right shoulder and bicep, and wiped the exposed skin of your torso. You looked Bucky over, taking note of his own wounds and scrapes that he had yet to tend to.

Once done, Bucky looked back up at your face and stared. Just stared right into your eyes. He wasn’t looking around and he didn’t seem to be searching for anything. He was silent.

You ignored the way your heart seemed to pick up in your chest. You couldn’t tell if it was from nervousness or another emotion. Your brain was too foggy with pain still to decipher your feelings.

“What?” You asked with a normal volume of voice, not bothering to keep your voice down. Hopefully it would scare Bucky out of this weird, up close staring contest.

“Go get something sweet to eat. Keeps your blood sugar up,” Is all Bucky says as he breaks away and mills about, wiping down any affected area in the kitchen from the impromptu stitching.

You don’t protest or even argue. You go over to dig in your jacket and fish out a couple heart shaped suckers you snagged from in town.

It was February. Why not indulge a little in the heart-shaped candy that lined the shelves of almost any store around this time of year?

You gotten through about two and a half suckers before you began to doze off on the couch. The stick of the third sucker still hung from your mouth, still with your lack of movement. You’d didn’t have time to protest or process when the candy was yanked from between your teeth, pulling you from your dozing state.

“Hey!” You sat up straight but instantly regretted it with the painful pull in your side. “I was eating that!!”

“I’m not stitching you up just to have you choke and die on some stupid ass sucker,” Bucky pointed at you with the sucker, looking down at you with a harsh glare.

“I was not going to choke and die,” You protest, settling back down into the couch.

“Uh huh,” Bucky muttered as he made his way around the couch to sit down beside you. “And my first name isn’t James.”

Bucky popped the sucker into his mouth, taking no regard for that fact that it was just in yours. He was completely unbothered by the fact, toeing off his boots before propping his feet up on the wooden coffee table.

You grumbled, sinking back into the couch and pulling your own feet up to yourself. It took you a minute, but eventually you dozed right off again. Your brain was exhausted and your body was doing its job on tiring you out so you could get some well-needed rest.

Never mind that when Sam and Natasha came in from outside, Bucky still had the heart-shaped sucker in his mouth and your legs across his lap. The tv was off, holding the room in an almost comfortable silence. Or, it was silent to Sam and Natasha.

You start to come to terms with the fact that Bucky seems to care for you, for some odd reason, when you get sick. Not just sniffly, sneezing, stay in your pajamas all day sick. More of sweaty, feverish, sleep all day, barely eat or drink anything kind of sick. For three days, no less.

Your fever was so high, you could barely keep a shirt on. But you did as Natasha kept coming in to check on you and keep you stocked up on gatorade and pedialyte. You were between kicking your blankets off or snuggling up under at least five. You switched between laying on your side, huddled under your blankets, on your stomach with arms around your pillow, or on your back with your t-shirt pulled up to expose your stomach in order to try and keep cool.

You currently laid in the latter position, on your back with an arm tossed over your eyes to shield the light shining in through your cracked bedroom door. You could hear the muffled voices of two people bickering from somewhere out in the common area of the living floor. But they were too quiet and you were too exhausted to try and listen in.

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky and Natasha were arguing which food to try and feed you for dinner. You haven’t eaten for three days now and your fever, while dwindling, was ever persistent.

“She needs to eat something spicy! Something to sweat out the fever and clear her sinuses!” Natasha protested, holding a packet of spicy ramen.

“No, she needs something that she’ll actually eat and that’ll keep her hydrated,” Bucky countered, already holding two cans of chicken noodle soup in his hands.

“And how do you know what she likes?” Natasha asked, holding an accusatory tone. “You hated her guts only just a year ago!”

“I didn’t hate her guts!” Bucky defended himself. “She hated mine! And she’s so fucking stubborn, and she never listens to me!” He then gives a little shake to one of the cans. “Plus, I pay attention to what she likes.”

Natasha sputters for a moment, “I know what she likes! She’s my best friend!”

“Obviously not, since you’re trying to feed her something spicy while she’s in there sick and practically withering away,” Bucky protested.

You didn’t even hear the continued argument, or when it finally dwindled away to silence. When you heard your bedroom door squeak open, you sighed.

“ ‘Tasha, I’m not hungry-” You lifted your arm to who you thought was Natasha trying to feed you again. “Oh-.” It was Bucky.

Bucky held two mug-soup bowls in his hands as he made his way into your room. He sat the bowls on your nightstand table. As well as a washcloth you hadn’t notice he was holding at first.

“Aren’t you cold?” He asked, pulling your t-shirt down to cover your stomach back up.

“Getting there,” You mumbled, laying your arm back over your eyes.

“You need to eat-” Bucky started as he sat on the edge of your bed.

“Not hungry,” You mumbled.

“I don’t care,” Bucky grumbled, picking up one of the bowls. It made a clinking sound as the spoon moved around. “Now sit up.”

You gave a groan as a sort of weak protest, but you sat up anyway. You moved yourself up with shaky arms and sat back against the headboard of your bed. You took the mug-bowl from his hands, only Bucky didn’t let go until you had a solid grip on the slightly heavy eat-ware. Then, he picked up his own bowl when you picked your spoon up.

“Chicken noodle,” You commented, taking a sip.

“You should be lucky I’m feeding you,” Bucky took a spoonful of his own chicken middle soup. “Natasha wanted to feed you spicy ramen.”

You give a weak chuckle, which forms into a few even weaker coughs, “Sounds like her.”

“Yeah,” Bucky scoffed, still bewildered that Natasha wanted to feed you something spicy at one of your weakest moments.

You two ate the soup in silence. The only sound between you two was the clinking of spoons against the ceramic soup-mugs. And ever so slowly, you finished your soup. You set the mug to the side before laying back down on your bed.

“Thank you,” You said with a low, quiet voice.

“It’s no problem,” Bucky had finished his own soup a few minutes before you and his own mug was sat beside yours now. “I’ll make you more if you want.”

“Not now,” You shook your head. “Maybe later.”

You noticed that, now that you two were done eating, Bucky made no move to get up or leave your room. He only stared down at you from his seated position, and even went as far to brush a few strands of hair away from your sticky forehead. But he also stopped to press the back of his hand against your forehead, feeling for your fever.

“Your fever should go down now that you’ve eaten,” Bucky noted, then brought the folded washcloth to your forehead. The fabric was damp and cold against your skin. “This should help keep you cool.”

“Wow, Buck, keep treating me like this and I might think you like me,” You joked, a little smile on your face.

“Whatever,” He mumbled, though he kept a hand pressed against the washcloth on your forehead.

Bucky never left you as you laid there on your back, relishing in the cold of the washcloth against your heated skin. He even got comfy in the spot beside you, laying his legs up on your bed and sitting back against your headboard. And when Natasha came in to check on you, and to see where Bucky disappeared to, he didn’t even blink an eye when Natasha saw how you two were positioned.

You moved to lay back on your stomach, hugging your pillow with the damp wash cloth over your eyes to try and keep cool. And Bucky still sat up beside you, with a hand rubbing at your back.

“You’re a simp,” Natasha whispered, leaning against the doorway to your room.

“I don’t even know what that means,” Bucky whispered back.

“Then Urban-Dictionary it,” Natasha shot back.

“That’s not a real dictionary,” Bucky cocked an eyebrow her way.

“Online, old man,” Natasha muttered, pulling your door closed until it was just a crack open before she left.

And he did “Urban-Dictionary it” later than night. Bucky only rolled his eyes at the definition. This wasn’t a real dictionary anyway, so “simp” wasn’t even a real word in Bucky’s mind.

Nevertheless, over the next few days, you got better. Better enough to feed and shower yourself. Better enough to wander down to the gym to work on building your muscle and endurance back up.

Better enough just in time for Valentine’s Day. A year now since Bucky stitched your side up in Germany.

But, at the moment you were second guessing if you were really better or not. Or if you were in a sickness-induced comma or you were having some sort of twisted fever dream. Because you were sure this wouldn’t have happened in a million years, no matter what.

Bucky stood in front of you, looming over your form as he shoved a bouquet of very nice roses in your face. Literally. The petals literally slapped you in the face when you turned the corner.

“What the hell?!” You sputtered, backing away from the face-full of roses you just got. “What are these for?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Bucky answered flatly, jerking the roses in your direction.

“And?” You asked, gaze flickering between Bucky’s and the flowers.

“And these are for you,” Bucky replied, still holding out the roses. When you didn’t take them right away Bucky got sassy, “Just take them! My arm’s getting tired.”

You finally did take them. You were almost about to tease Bucky about him being a sap and being romantic, until you felt a sting of pain take over the tip of your pointer finger. You jumped and pulled back, almost dropping the flowers. You looked down at your affected finger to find blood already seeping from the pinprick on the pad of your pointer finger.

“What the hell, man?!” You asked, more offended than previously.

"I thought bringing you roses would be romantic! You know!?" Bucky matched your tone, offended by your reaction. “Since it’s Valentine’s Day?!”

"Not when they still have the thorns on them, dumbass!" You countered, taking your bleeding finger into your mouth to soothe the pain. “And since when do you give a damn about being romantic?”

“Since I saw this on sale,” Bucky pulled a heart-shaped box of chocolates under his arm and handed them your way.

You glared down at the box suspiciously, still soothing your finger. You glanced up at Bucky before finally taking the box. You looked it over, seeing if it had been opened or tampered with at all. Then you remembered,

“Chocolates go on sale tomorrow, old man,” You point out, still glaring at Bucky suspiciously.

“Well- I- uh,” He was caught, almost backed into a corner. “I got these on the bottom shelf then.”

You cocked an eyebrow his way, not fully convinced. You still twisted and turned the box, not letting your guard down just yet.

“They’re not poisoned,” Bucky said, crossing his arms over his chest.

You fought off the urge to look down at the way his chest puffed up underneath the t-shirt he wore, or the way his biceps flexed as they were squished against his abdomen. Damn him and that stupid ass compression shirt he wore.

“Really?” You turned your gaze from the box to Bucky once again. “Then share them with me.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and grumbled out a “fine” before following you to the living room.

You set the thorny roses down on the coffee table before you sat down. You opened the box in your lap, setting the lid and the paper covering aside to get a good look at the chocolates.

As soon as you had the lid off, Bucky picked out one of the assorted chocolates and popped it in his mouth. He looked at you expectedly as he settled into the cushions beside you, setting an ankle across the top of his knee in a masculine way of crossing his legs.

You scoffed, picking up the chocolate of your choice.

“To definitely not poisoned chocolate,” You toasted, holding up the little square.

“To regular, run of the mill, chocolates,” Bucky responded, picking up another chocolate and tapping it against yours.

You two make your way through the box, commenting on the flavors and ones you liked or dislikes. It was a rather civil interaction, with a few snarky comments here and there, of course.

It was when you bit into one of the more gooey, liquidy chocolates and a little bit of the fluid filling slipped past the corner of your lip did Bucky do another thing that had you second guessing your conscienceness again.

Bucky, with the gentlest hand he’s ever touched you with in all your years of knowing him, cradled your jaw and swiped his thumb at the corner of your mouth. His stormy blue eyes watched the motion, making sure to wipe up the mess and not looking at your lips at all.

“Always so messy,” Bucky commented, amusement shining in his eyes. “Dumbass kid.”

You stared up at Bucky, cheeks coloring with heat and heart pounding behind your ribcage so hard you were afraid your sternum might break. You could feel your hands grow clammy and your mouth go dry, maybe you were gaping like a fish. You weren’t sure. You didn’t get a chance to respond when the voice of Steve interrupted you two from the doorway.

Due to the positioning of the couch in the living room, he had a full few of your current position.

“Oh good, you finally picked out a box,” Steve sighed, practically calling Bucky out on his bullshit. “He spent like forever in the candy isle trying to remembered what you liked.”

“Steve-!” Bucky protested, voice raising a few octaves. His own cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

“Right! Right! Sorry!” And with that, Steve disappeared into the kitchen.

After a few moments of silence, you spoke up, “Bottom shelf chocolates, yeah?” You were teasing, cocking an eyebrow Bucky’s way.

Bucky met your eyes quickly, “Shut up.”

Amusement danced in your eyes.

Bucky finally pulled his hand away from your face, swiping his thumb at the corner of your lips once more to clear away the light pink sticky filling of your previously chosen chocolate. He turned away from you, back resting against the cushions of the couch. Throwing an arm over the back, he sucked on the pad of his thumb to clear the liquid. Never mind that it came from you, pretty much.

You turned away too, chocolates still in your lap. You tossed your feet up on the coffee table, crossing your legs at the ankles. You stared ahead, chewing on your little treat.

“You’re a jackass,” Is all you said.

“Dumbass kid,” Is all Bucky muttered back.

Never mind the way both of yours and Bucky’s thighs pressed together as you sat on the couch, or that he practically crowded into your space for the rest of your sharing the totally normal box of chocolates between friends.

Cause that’s what you two were, right? Friends?

[indianabonez]

accommodations i’ve had approved as an autistic college student

helloooo today i finally had a meeting with the disability office and have accommodations after 2 years of being in college without them. im autistic and have cptsd/dissociative issues and had a hard time finding what was even available to me to request for accommodations so i wanted to make a list to help anyone else who might be having trouble.

• Priority registration

i get to register for classes earlier each term to make sure i can create schedules that’ll work for my routine

• Extended time on assignments

self explanatory i think? was also offered extended time on tests or a separate room to take them but testing isnt where i struggle

• Flexible attendance

as long as i email beforehand i dont have to stick as strictly to professors attendance policies

• Alternative formats

if i buy a physical textbook i can request the ebook/pdf/audiobook for free to have multiple methods of studying depending on what works for me on a given day

• Note taking

allowed to audio record class and send to a service called messenger pigeon who will give me a transcript of the class and professional notes based on it

• Access to lecture notes

able to access professors lecture notes prior to class/instruction

• Devices

allowed to have phone/ipad/laptop for social buffering and notes in classes that may have policies against electronics

• Flexible participation

no cold calling, option to work alone for group projects/assignments, not required to present in front of class

if anyone has any questions lmk these are just what i have been able to get at my school so far! hope it helps

edit: this is blowing up so fellow autistics, students, language nerds, etc pls be my mutual i want friends lol my dms are also open any time !!

[hesperisms]

hello! can i request zayne with reader who shows up at his doorstep really badly injured and just passes out against him when he opens the door?

i really love how you write zayne in your fics and i've been thinking about this idea for awhile..

// Safe Haven

"You're not fighting alone this time..."

// summary: your assignment was taking a turn for the worse and out of desperation and panic, you turned to the one person you know will always be there for you...

// content warnings: injuries, blood, angst, fluff. IT'S SOFT BOI HOURS, OKAY?

// a/n: hope I did your idea justice anon! something about the idea of seeing Zayne's all possessive and protective makes my chest ache!

likes, reblogs, comments are always appreciated!

Zayne couldn't place his finger on the feeling, but something had him full of restless energy despite the late hour. He'd decided the only course of action was to burn it off, so he put on his sweats and headed out into his quiet leafy suburb for a late night jog. He used it as an opportunity to clear his thoughts and mentally debrief himself about the surgery he had completed earlier, about his to-do lists and then his thoughts drifted as they always do, to you.

He hadn't heard from you for a few hours, which wasn't unusual for you two, but he couldn't help but feel a pang of longing that he hadn't seen a goodnight text or voice note from you, hoping that it meant maybe you had conked out on the couch and were getting some rest. As he walked the last block back towards his house, relaxing on his cooldown he takes a photo of the full moon in the sky and sends it over to you along with a "the moon looks beautiful tonight" note.

DING.

Zayne approaches his driveway and your notification sound rings out, echoing in the silent night. He shakes his head, a smile touching the corner of his lips as he realizes you're nearby but his brow knits in confusion when he doesn't see your ride parked nearby. She probably got dropped off by Tara or that partner Xavier, he thinks to himself with a shrug. The cool night air was trapping the sweat in against his compression shirt, making him shiver as he walked up the steps to his front door. Something was off, he realized suddenly; one of his ambient security lights that normally cast a soft glow up his front steps was dimmed and bent at an odd angle, like something had fallen on it.

He leans over, attempting to make out in the dark what landed on top of it to break it when he hears it again and sees the flash.

DING.

Blood turns to ice in his veins as your notification tone sounds from beside the broken garden lighting, the flash of your phone camera strobing in the darkness for a split second in tandem with the sound. Delicately picking up your phone in his left hand, his heart catches in his chest as he sees bloody fingerprints on the screen. Zayne's mind surges with all sorts of worst-case fears as his eyes desperately scan the yard for any sign of you, but you're nowhere to be found.

Wary now and knowing you're hurt, he carefully calls forth shards of ice to his fingertips of his right hand, holding them tensely, ready to jump to action if he needs to defend himself too. Punching in the code for his electronic front door lock, he lets the door swing open as he steps inside cautiously, but nothing seems to be out of the ordinary inside. Zayne moves room to room silently looking for anything out of place, any sign of you, without success.

He's just about to shut the front door and start making calls to your boss Jenna and emergency services when your hand slams against the closing door, jolting him as he stares at you. "Zayne..." you squeak out, using all your strength to prop yourself up on his doorframe.

"I'm so gla-" you don't even get a chance to finish before your body is in freefall towards him and his eyes widen in panic, the phone and the ice shards both clattering loudly on the entryway tiles as he scrambles to catch you before you hit the floor. "My hero..." you joke weakly, face pallid as you slip out of consciousness in his arms.

Cradling you gently, kneeling on the cold tiles beside you his combat medic instinct overtakes his fears and he begins to perform some cursory checks, noting how pale your lips are, how shallow your breathing is, and that's when he sees it; your right arm is dangling limply, seemingly dislocated from the socket and the sleeve has been ripped to shreds, your bicep showing a deep, angry wound. You've lost a lot of blood and you're in shock, so Zayne knows he needs to act swiftly.

"I'm so sorry, this is not going to be enjoyable for either of us." he murmurs to your unconscious body gently as he takes hold of your dislocated shoulder, feeling for the socket before firmly and skillfully setting it back into place. You cry out a whimper of pain as it temporarily wakes you and he brushes your hair away from your forehead with a bloody hand, stroking the backs of his fingers tenderly across your brow with a trembling touch. "Shhhh my love, I'm sorry, I know it hurt but I had no choice, it couldn't stay that way, you're okay, I've got you. You're okay."

Your eyes are glassy and unfocused, but you look up at him like he's an angel, the ceiling down light cascading around his dark hair above you like a halo; that handsome face stroking your brow lovingly with gentle sweeps, trying so hard to hide from you how scared he is as he smiles down at you trying to reassure you both with his soft whispers. As your eyes begin to flutter shut again and unconsciousness swallows you, you see him pulling his compression shirt off up over his head, his bare chest sucking in deep shuddering breaths that betray his smile and measured tone.

Zayne ties a sleeve of the compression shirt around your bicep wound like a tourniquet and loops the other sleeve around your neck, creating a very crude home made sling for your badly damaged arm. If he thought he had more time, he'd run to the bathroom for medical supplies but you were too pale and he was terrified to let you out of his sight so he made do as best he could. Swallowing down all sorts of insidious memories and fears from his time on the front lines, he works to stabilize you so that you'll be safe to move.

Grabbing the throw blanket off the couch and draping it over you, he scoops you up into his arms, pressing you tightly into his body as he carries you to his car, delicately lowering you into the passenger side and locking the seatbelt over you. You flit in and out of consciousness under the bright streetlights as he drives you to Akso Hospital, the steady weight of his large hand cradled behind your head, pressing and stroking tenderly on the nape of your neck the only constant feeling other than pain.

"Dr. Zayne, didn't you finish a couple of hours ago? Did you forget something in your office?" The tired but friendly voice of Dr. Greyson rings out over the car's Bluetooth speakers as Zayne's call to the nurses station connects. "Go cuddle with your Lady paperwork can wait!" Yvonne laughs in the background and Zayne realizes he's on speakerphone.

"I'm just about to hit the exit ramp. I'm 2 minutes away, prep a bay in Emergency Greyson...it's y/n." Zayne says with a harsher, colder tone than he intended, fear for your wellbeing getting the better of him.

Silence hangs on the line for a moment before someone sniffs awkwardly and a cacophony of chairs scraping and shuffling flares to life as the nurses scramble.

"How bad?" Comes the soft reply and Zayne can hear the concern in his colleague and friend's tone.

Zayne squeezes the nape of your neck reassuringly, but whether it's to reassure you or himself, he can't tell; "she's lost a lot of blood, it's hard to say. I have her stable but we don't have much time," he responds, his voice breaking slightly.

"We'll be waiting for you at the front doors." Greyson says confidently as he disconnects the call. Zayne's golden-green gaze flits across to your lips, checking on your shallow breathing as he pulls his car into the ambulance bay. Just as promised, Greyson, Yvonne and the other nurses pull up a stretcher to the passenger side of the car and open the door, looking across from you to Zayne and giving him a solemn nod.

Zayne gives your neck one last squeeze and lets them take you from the car, watching critically as they lift you gently onto the stretcher and rush you into the waiting Emergency bay. He shivers as the shock starts to wear off and the cold silence of the middle of the night settles in. Looking down at himself, realizing that he's half-naked and covered in smears of your blood, he grabs his coat out of the back of his car and jogs in after them.

He's about to follow them into the Emergency bay when Greyson puts a firm hand on his shoulder and shakes his head. "Are you trying to come in as her Doctor, because you don't trust us to work on her, or her lover because you need to know she's okay?" He asks pointedly.

Zayne snarls out a frustrated sigh, but Greyson continues.

"The code of conduct is there for her interests as the patient, you know that. I'll call you in as soon as we're done. You look like hell, go clean yourself up."

Zayne nods his resignation with a scowl, knowing Greyson was right. He wasn't happy to be called out on it, but Zayne couldn't maintain his objectiveness and professionalism, not when you were involved. The Akso Hospital board might turn a blind eye to him being your General Practitioner while dating you, but they would not stand for him being part of a surgical team.

He showered in the Doctor's suites and grabbed a spare shirt from his office before settling into the visitor's seating in the hallway outside Emergency. Zayne was lying back in the armchair, his head tilted back as he rubbed slow circles on his temples when Greyson finally come out to get him a couple of hours later.

"She's got a fractured humerus and she needed almost a litre of blood, but she's out of the woods now. Pulse is strong again, color has returned and we've stitched up the wound in her bicep. She's asking for you." Greyson said with a smile, giving Zayne a pat on the shoulder as he walked off towards the Doctor's suites.

"She's awake?"

He calls back over his shoulder with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Go to your woman, Zayne!"

Zayne slips in through the door to see the nurses packing up the crash cart and various other Emergency supplies and they give him a knowing smile as they make way for him. Yvonne hands him the pillow she was about to put behind your head and says with a smile "we should leave you two lovebirds alone, you've been through a lot tonight."

"You look..." Zayne begins, pushing the pillow in behind your head.

"Terrible?"

"A sight for sore eyes. For a minute there I was scared I was going to lose you."

You chuckled weakly, color rising in your cheeks. "You aren't getting rid of me that easily, Handsome." You reached for his hand, wincing as your stitches pulled and Zayne slipped his hand over yours, gently snuggling himself onto the bed beside you. "I don't know what would've happened if you weren't there..." you began, emotions spilling over and you choke back a sob. He presses you into his chest, hushing you and peppering kisses into your hair.

"Don't think about it Darling, don't upset yourself with what ifs and scenarios." He murmured. "I was there, you're safe now. I've got you and that's all that matters."

As he let you cry softly against his warm chest, he rubbed slow circles on your back, squeezing you tightly, pecking little soothing kisses onto your head. Zayne gently brushed your tears from your cheeks, gazing down at you lovingly, the pad of his thumb feeling so comforting as you stared up at him.

Zayne released you and reached over to read your chart, his brows knitting and his eyes narrowing as he scans through your status and treatment observations. Giving you a gentle peck on the cheek, he tells you he'll be right back and slips from the room.

He's gone for a few minutes and when the door to your room opens, he's carrying the powder blue baby blanket you bought him when he was struggling with nightmares and sitting on top of the bundle were a couple of his always on hand mint candies. Climbing back onto the bed beside you, pulling you onto his chest so he can support your wounded arm he spreads the blanket out over the two of you.

Zayne unwraps a mint candy and holds it out for you.

"Open." He commands gently and you part your lips to let him pop it into your mouth, before he takes the other one himself, tossing the wrappers into the little trashcan beside your bed. "They're keeping you in for observation overnight, so lets do our best to get a good night of sleep, my love." Zayne explains to you in a soft, whispered tone, pulling your head down to rest underneath his chin. As you both chew your candies and cuddle into each other's warmth, he strokes your hair until after a few minutes he feels your breathing settle and you relax, falling asleep against him.

The door opens with a soft click, Greyson poking his head in silently to check on you before he ends his shift, changed out of his scrubs and now in his casual wear. He gives Zayne a small nod and Zayne nods back at him solemnly in thanks, the two men exchanging a whole conversation unspoken in their gestures. The whole time Zayne is squeezing his arm tightly around you, cradling you to his chest as you sleep, his heartbeat lulling you into gentle dreams.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Day 20: written but never sent

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

Reblog if you liked it!

Spencer greatly enjoyed handwriting. Electronic devices irritated him to no end, as he felt that typing on them was so impersonal and trivial. Handwriting required careful thought, reflecting desires and passions in the shape of the letters, and capturing feelings in the prose... everything written by hand represented something intimate, at least to him.

That’s why, when he got a pen pal, it was inevitable that he would start developing feelings. He had contacted you as part of a school assignment, as both of you were studying the same Ph.D. in linguistics, and one of the tasks was to analyze how different people express themselves in writing.

All he had was your name and address, the strictly necessary information to send a letter. He was the first to send one, sharing some details about himself, why he was pursuing the degree, the work he did, and how he would apply the knowledge he was acquiring.

He patiently waited for your response, which arrived a week later in a small brown paper envelope with a maroon stamp. Your letter didn’t seem like just a required response to fulfill the assignment. You sounded genuinely interested in what he had shared, and you addressed every point he had mentioned.

What surprised him the most was that at the end, you talked about books he had mentioned and ended with a question:

Have you read The Resilience of Language? It's a great book that could help you a lot. I highly recommend it! Best regards, nice to meet you.

There was a question at the end. The answer was no, Spencer hadn’t read that book. He could have simply stopped there, taking your recommendation and using your letter to complete his assignment. But something inside him wasn’t content to just end the communication there; he thought it would be rude not to offer a reply. So, as soon as he received your letter, he took one of his notebooks to write back.

Spencer used one of his gel pens with a fine tip and deep pigmentation. If someone were observing him, they could say that all these actions reflected a sense of importance: selecting the paper, his best pen, carefully crafting his handwriting—all of this added weight to the act.

He sent the letter, still unsure, but hopeful nonetheless. He was amazed when he arrived at the building and found another letter in his mailbox, with the same characteristics as the previous week.

A year had passed since then.

Every week, without fail, you exchanged letters. By now, he knew you better than he had ever known anyone, as the semi-anonymity provided an extra layer of trust for sharing everything that had happened during your week. You started by exchanging generalities, talking about books, and discussing the Ph.D. classes. Slowly, you began to share less trivial things: how the place where you lived was, your job, elements of your identity.

In recent months, you were writing to each other as if you were close friends.

My migraines have improved, in case you’re wondering, and this week at work has been less demanding than usual. We only handled a fairly light case (if you can even call it that in my line of work), and I had time to analyze some of the works you recommended. How’s everything going with that guy at work?

When Spencer finished, he hesitated about how to sign the letter. At first, he would send you his regards, write some polite expression, or simply wish you a good day. But now, he felt the need to sign off differently.

Affectionately, Spencer.

He didn’t think you would notice, just a gesture of the growing trust between you. He patiently waited for the postman to deliver your reply, and after several days, he eagerly read your words on the paper.

I’m disappointed about the guy. Turns out he’s a jerk, you know? Sometimes I wish I could meet someone who can genuinely love me, without focusing solely on the physical. Maybe it’s bold of me to say that, but I think you understand. I want a connection that comes from appreciating who I am, with someone who shares my interests, someone respectful, intelligent... but I won’t bore you with my romantic nonsense. The point is, I’m not dating anyone at the moment. I’m focusing on our Ph.D., haha. I hope you’re doing well, and I look forward to your reply!

However, he was quite surprised when he read the signature that followed your name.

Yours sincerely…

Had you signed that way in response to the dedication in his letter? Something felt strange within him, and his chest warmed with an unfamiliar feeling.

For a moment, he wondered if there was any possibility that he could meet the expectations of the special person you described, and when he realized he was imagining himself with you in that kind of scenario, he felt embarrassed.

It was ridiculous to think about. You didn’t even know each other, and you lived miles away, you were just friends who had taken a school assignment too far.

Time passed, and the signatures grew more affectionate, more personal… just like the content of the letters. It got to the point where he couldn’t deny it anymore: he was in love.

Though after realizing it, he spent a long time wondering what he should do with that feeling. Weeks passed before he came to a decision.

Spencer was returning from Maine when he decided to finally write to you. He was sitting on the plane, with his notebook in front of him, and his mind as blank as the page.

“What are you struggling to write, Reid?” Emily asked, sitting beside him “You’ve been staring at that notebook for ten minutes without the pen touching the paper.”

“It’s nothing,” he murmured, trying to downplay it. He didn’t want to talk about it, not with Emily, not with anyone.

A couple of hours later, with a pile of crumpled-up drafts beside him, he finally managed to write something:

I can’t start this letter without first telling you how much I’ve come to value our correspondence. For over a year, our written conversations have become one of the most important constants in my life. Each week, I eagerly await your letters, and every one of them brings me a pause in the middle of my routine: a space of calm where our words connect in ways I never imagined possible. I’ve read and reread your letters so many times that, sometimes, I feel like I know them by heart. Even so, I always discover something new in your words: an idea that eluded me before, an emotion that makes more sense over time, or a reflection that sheds new light on my own experience. Although we’ve never met in person, I feel like I know you better than many people I speak to face-to-face. Is that strange? Maybe it is, but the truth is that there’s something about the depth of our conversations that transcends physical distance. All this time, I’ve tried to rationalize what you mean to me, but there are things that can’t be measured or analyzed logically, no matter how hard I try. What I want to tell you —and what has taken me so long to write—is that I’ve fallen in love with you. At first, I wasn’t sure what this feeling was. I thought it was just admiration or gratitude for the friendship we’ve cultivated, but with each letter, with each shared thought, I realized it was something deeper. I love you, not just for what you share with me, but for who you are. For the way you see the world, with such clarity and empathy. For your insatiable curiosity, for your unique way of finding beauty in the smallest details. I don’t want this confession to make you uncomfortable or push you away. I’ll understand if you don’t feel the same, and I’ll consider myself lucky just to have known you in this way. But I couldn’t go on without being honest with you. I hope that, whatever your response may be, we can remain the same two friends who have shared so much through these pages. With all my love, and praying to be able to be yours, Spencer.

He kept the written words as if they were a treasure, feeling his heart race every time he thought about that secret tucked away in an envelope on his desk. Unfortunately, that letter never saw the light of day, all because of his fear of losing who might have been the best friend he had ever had in his life.

[drabblesandimagines]

Elevation

Leon Kennedy x female reader More of my fluffy nonsense

Hunnigan slams the phone down into the cradle at the end of her call and if you hadn’t already been casting auspicious glances up at the scene before you, her actions would’ve made you jump.

“What is it, Leon?” Hunnigan’s tone is blunt.

It would be so easy to look up at the handsome DSO agent then. You’d be perfectly within your right to look up too, your desk opposite sat directly opposite Hunnigan’s so you had ring-side side seats to the commotion. It wouldn’t look odd - he’d be in your eyeline, after all - but you fight the temptation, keeping your eyes fixed on the paper in front of you, fingers tapping idly away over the keyboard as you transpose to the screen.

Exactly what you’ve been doing the past ten minutes that Leon Kennedy has been wandering around the office, dressed in a pair of form-fitting jeans today, his gun holster peeking out from underneath a beloved leather jacket, directing all attention to a certain pair of assets.

Not that you were keeping track of how long he’d been there, of course, you had work to do.

“Huh?” For someone who had apparently been waiting on her call finishing, Leon’s thoughts seems elsewhere.

“I said,” Hunnigan adjusts her tone, “can I help you with something?”

“Does there have to be something? Surely a guy can just come visit his favourite FOS agent.”

“But you haven’t come to visit, you’ve come to loiter.” Hunnigan retorts. “I told you already, if I have anything for you, I will be in contact. Go home.”

There’s an incredulous scoff as he tries to think of a reason to stay, but it quickly transforms into a sigh as he admits defeat. “Fine.”

He begins his retreat towards the exit and you hear the tell-tale beep of his pass against by the door panel, the electronic lock then clunking in release.

“Have a good afternoon, ladies.”

You look up then – and only then - to find him looking directly at you. You give him a polite smile in return. “You too.”

He grins in return, a proper one that makes his eyes crease, before giving you a nod and a wave as he through the door. The smile stays on your lips as you reach for your mug of coffee – now ice cold - and take a sip.

“I think he likes you, you know?” Hunnigan states in her oh-so-nonchalantly way, making you choke on the gulp you’d just taken.

“What? No…! I mean, who?” Your voice is tight in response from having swallowed the liquid the wrong way, internally cursing. Smooth, real smooth.

“Leon.” The agent continues hammering away at her keyboard, kindly ignoring your attempts at being subtle.

“I don’t know where you’ve drawn that conclusion from.” You don’t – you really don’t. You could probably count the amount of conversations the two of you have had with all of your fingers, all just pleasantries.

“I’ve worked with him for years now and he’s never been here as much since your transfer started.”

“Coincidence, I’m sure. He just seems eager for work.”

Hunnigan goes to open her mouth in response when, thankfully, the phone on her desk rings. Saved by the bell.

--

Being afraid of elevators had never really been an issue until you had taken this assignment, being sent to work on the 12th floor. At the very least it’s proving to be a good workout the number of times a day you now trudge up and down the stairwell from your desk to the archives below. The DSO holds a surprising amount of paper copies of intel in the basement – both handwritten and old typewriter documents - secured behind a vault door, rumours of the place being rigged to ignite in flames if an intruder is detected to prevent it all from falling into the wrong hands.

The DSO board had decided that intel should now be stored in the government-secured cloud and on paper and you’d been brought in as an archivist/analyst hybrid, on loan from the CIA. The project you’d been tasked with, single-handedly, was transferring intel that was currently only held in those paper copies to the online system. There was technology that could do but it wasn’t perfect – scrawled handwriting would often prove indecipherable by most machines or it misread words, so everything would need quality checked. It was agreed a human touch was best and your name had come up after the CIA had undertaken a similar audit of their files a few years ago to excellent results. Once everything had been digitized, it had become easier to quickly identify any links between incidents past and present – using surnames, terms, intel – and even stopped a handful of potential ones, so the DSO had been keen to put the practice in place.

It did mean, however, that every day you’d go down to the vault, select a box of paperwork – either the one you’ve got partway through or a whole new one - trudge back up the many flights of stairs, and then start typing from page to screen to produce a digitized document. It was imperative that no-one else see the documents, so they’d set you up in Hunnigan’s office as one of their most trusted agents.

Wanting to look professional whilst in the office but not break your neck on the stairs, you kept a selection of heels in your locker to swap out of for your reliable sneakers. Hunnigan was still working away when you packed up around 7pm, kicking off your heels to switch out, and had been in a lengthy, hushed tone call for the past hour. You nodded your head as you heaved the box of documents up in your arms, and she waved back in acknowledgement.

Beeping your ID card at the door, the lock buzzed and the door opened automatically – a godsend as the box you had today was particularly heavy – everything within held in those awful arch-lever folders.

As you emerged, you heard the puff of the elevator doors beginning to slide shut, not even giving it a moment of thought. You turned to the left to head down the stairs as usual, when a gloved hand slammed between the elevator doors, preventing them from closing with a thud and giving you a start, turning to see a face.

The face of Leon S Kennedy catches you entirely by surprise. He hadn’t even been by the office today to bother Hunnigan, though you know he does have his own desk somewhere in the building, maybe even his own office. He smiles at the sight of you, beckoning you over.

“Hey. Hop on in - I’m going down.”

You hesitate at the invitation. You haven’t been in an elevator for years and he’s just stood there, waiting, holding the door open. You have to say or do something. “You okay?”

Next thing you know, as if you’d been hypnotized, you were walking towards the elevator, then stepping over the threshold into a place you swore you never would enter again.

“Basement?” Leon fingers hover over the button panel in anticipation.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

He presses the buttons for ground and basement simultaneously with two fingers, and the door slides shut with another puff of air.

The elevator and your stomach begin to descend in unison.

This is fine.

“Looks heavy. Can I…?” He gestures to the box, offering to take it.

“Oh, thanks, but it’s okay.” You bump the box up with your knee, trying to strengthen your grip on it. Your palms are sweaty, but you’re not sure if the cause is the elevator or the handsome man besides you.

Leon crosses his arms, leans back against the wall. “They still not given you a lackey to do all the grunt work? I thought that’s what they took on interns for these days.”

“It’s difficult when no-one else is meant to handle it, let alone see it but me.” Leon gives you a quizzical look at that. “It’s protocol, narrows down the potential for leaks. If anything gets out, it’s on my head, so…”

“What about when you take breaks? You don’t…”

You nod, shifting the box in your arms again. Why do they feel like jelly? “Gotta lug it back downstairs to be locked back in the vault.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Mm-mm. It’s fine – good exercise for me, I guess, between sitting at the desk all day, so…”

“Surely they could at least give you a desk closer to the grou-“

The elevator’s smooth descent is transformed into a shudder, followed by a loud metallic screech and a sharp jerk that makes your stomach truly drop before all motion halts. No, no, no, no.

“Huh.” Leon muses, calm as anything. He immediately presses the emergency call button, illuminated in red, but the only sound that emits out of the speakers is static. He presses it again to the same result, and then in rapid succession, as if that’ll coerce it into working.

You tighten your grip on the box, wanting to tell him to stop but, thankfully, he gives up before you can have the strength to find your voice and pulls his cell out from his pocket.

“Damn, no reception.” He looks back over to you then with a sympathetic smile. “Well, this is one way to get overtime outta us, hey?”

There’s no chance to reply before the elevator plunges into darkness and you drop the box immediately, thankfully away from your feet. It can only be a few seconds at the most but it feels like an eternity before the emergency lighting comes on, casting the small metal prison in a pale yellow hue.

Leon’s staring at you, looking concerned. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah.” You reply, not at all convincingly. You bend down to pick up the box to escape that blue-eyed gaze for a moment, heaving it back up in your arms. “Is this… normal for this office?” You hope he can’t hear how tight your voice is.

“Power must be down, seems like the back-up generator kicked in.” The agent shrugs, looking around the elevator as if something of use might be around. “It’ll prioritize the critical systems – so I’d guess lights, vending machines and elevators are not gonna be particularly high up on that list.”

“Wonderful.” You reply, breathily. It’s warm. Should it be warm? “Here, let me just…” Leon reaches over and gently tugs the box from your weak grip, no sign of surprise at the weight of it as he takes it. “We don’t know how long we’ll be in here, so let’s put this down.”

“No, I shou-“

“I promise I’m not going to try and read any of it.”

You watch him as he places it down, he’s sure to bend with his knees rather than his back, and tucks it into the corner under the button panel, out of the way. He stands back up to his full height, looking at you for a response, but all you manage is a shaky nod.

“Are you feeling okay?” “Y-yeah. Fine.” “Mm. Not a great liar.” He tilts his head, scanning you with his eyes once more. “What’s the matter?”   “I…” Another swallow in the hopes of your mouth not feeling so dry. “I don’t like elevators. Always take the stairs.” “Oh.” Not the answer he was expecting it seems. “Wait, why’d you get in, then?” “Well, er…” You hesitate again, how do you answer that? “You… You told me to.”

He can’t help the goofy smile that crosses his face. “Huh, that’s all it takes? Interesting. I’ll have to remember that.”

You’re about to ask him what that’s supposed to mean, the words just on the tip of your tongue when the elevator jerks and they turn into a shriek. It’s over before it even begins, really, but Leon’s reflexes now have you pressed up against the wall, his arms braced above your head to protect it from any sort of impact.

“It’s all right,” he says, softly. “I’m here, I’ve got you.”

Your heart is beating too fast, tears burn at your eyes at the fright. He’s so close, you can smell his cologne – musky, hints of vanilla – but this isn’t where you want to be having this moment.

“How about we sit down, huh?”

“I’m okay.” Your answer is breathy again, your chest feeling tight. Panting like you’d finished climbing up 12 flights of stairs.

“It’ll be more comfortable.”

“Don’t wanna…” You try and take a deep inhale, but it doesn’t seem to reach the bottom of your lungs. “Don’t wanna s-shake it.”

“You won’t.” He drops his arms from against the wall and instead grabs your hand, squeezes it in an attempt to ground you. “Trust me.”

You want to trust him, but the panic is too strong. This was such a bad idea, why did you do this?

“I…”

“We’ll do it together, okay?” He somehow coaxes you to shuffle forward and then slips in behind you, taking hold of your other hand. “Just lean against me and we’ll ease on down.”

Leon presses his chest firmly up against your back and you wonder if he can feel how hard your heart is beating. He wraps his arms around your waist next, meaning you’re hugging yourself in a way before he slides down against the elevator wall, bringing you down with him, onto the carpeted elevator floor. He thought it was a seamless maneuverer, but the way he’d felt your nails dig into his leather gloves from how tight your grip was, he knew you weren’t of the same opinion.

“There we go.” His thighs are spread either side of yours, now that you’re nestled inbetween his legs. “Worried you were gonna pass out – you’d gone really pale. Just sit here and concentrate on your breathing a minute, okay? Feel how I’m doing it.”

You close your eyes and try to concentrate on how he’s breathing, feeling his chest expand as he inhales, loudly and deliberately through his nose, holds the breath, then exhales heavily through his mouth, tickling the back of your neck.

You try and mimic him, get your inhales and exhales in sync and, slowly, the pressure begins to ease in your chest as you feel your breaths get deeper and deeper.

"Feeling a little better?”

His voice reverberates from his chest being pressed up against your back, feels comforting. “Yeah. Thank you.”

“Hey, don’t mention it. My fault you’re in here, after all.” He replies, gently. “I’m gonna move now, okay? Wanna check you’ve got the colour back in your cheeks.”

You nod, and he somehow manages to shuffle back and to the front of you with overly cautious movements – definitely for your benefit, ever the gentleman - withdrawing his legs into a crossed position and giving you a smile as he takes in your appearance. Being so fixed in his gaze makes your cheeks prickle with heat – maybe not the colour he’d hoped to be checking.

“Yeah, you’re looking better. Good.” He nods in affirmation, more to himself than you. “That noise – I think someone was trying to get the power back on, sounds like it only worked for a second before it could get going. The elevator’s not gonna fall.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve had to disable some of them before – for work, I mean. They’re all equipped with multiple failsafe systems to prevent that exact scenario.”

“Disable them?”

“Just so they stop…” He gestures in a circle as he tries to find the words, “elevating, I guess, so I’m not pursued. Make ‘em take the stairs.”

“Ah, right.” You nod. “Wind them a bit.”

“Exactly. If you don’t mind me asking, you always been afraid of them?”

“No. Got stuck in one in an old apartment block years ago – it didn’t feel particularly modern. There were three of us – me and two drunk guys who kept jumping up and down, convinced that would make it move. The fire department got us out after two hours cos I had one of those… episodes. Haven’t been in one since.”

“Idiots.”

“They just kept laughing the more panicked I got. I felt so stupid.”

“Panic attacks are no joke. That box breathing always helps me if I feel on edge, though.”

“Yeah, that was really good.” You feel a shy smile creep over your face. “If I had to get suck in an elevator with anyone, I’m glad it was you.”

He practically beams. “Now I don’t feel quite so bad. I’ve gotta ask again though, you really got in here just because I said to?” He’s already seen you a panicking mess, so why not just be honest? “Your smile helped too.” “Well, consider me flattered.”

“It’s a nice smile…” You swallow, a little cautious of the next word. “Enticing.”

You swear you see a smidge of colour flush Leon’s cheeks then, but it must be a trick of the artificial lights. “Well, since we’re confessing – yours is too. That’s the real reason I was bothering Hunnigan. Wanted to see if I could win another.”

“You came to see me smile?” You’re definitely blushing now – cheeks prickling with the heat.

“Guilty. I don’t think you’d remember, but a week or so back I was having a real shitty day. Went to go debrief with Hunnigan and she wasn’t there, but you were. When I stormed in, you just gave me the best and most genuine smile I’d seen in days. Meant a lot.” He rubs the back of his neck, sheepishly.

You smile again, can’t help it, and he groans, jokingly. “Ugh, see? Not again – I don’t think my heart can take how sweet it is.”

You don’t know what to say to that but you’re excused when, suddenly, the lights transition overhead with a flicker from the emergency dulled tones to the standard, harsh fluorescent light and the elevator begins its smooth descent once more.

“Finally, huh?” Leon gets up easily to his feet and then offers you a hand.

“Yeah.” You accept it without hesitation, goosebumps prickling up your arm as he wraps his fingers around your hand and he pulls you up with ease. Slyly, his other hand now rests on the small of your back, drawing you in close…

The elevator dings, announcing its arrival on the ground floor and the doors slide open to reveal a maintenance worker, clad in blue overalls, waiting in the lobby. Leon draws back then, but still keeps his hand steady on your back.

“You two all right? Power-cut had rotten timing, I was gonna repair that emergency speaker tonight when most of the office was cleared out.”

“All good, thanks.” Leon bends down, picks up the box again without question and you follow him out of the elevator in pursuit, only to hear a cell begin to ring from his pocket. He balances the box with one arm – you’ve no idea how – and pulls out the device, frowning at the name on screen.

“Sorry, I’ve really gotta take this.” His brows furrow in annoyance. “You be okay with taking that downstairs?”

“Yeah, of course. I really should take it back now anyway, you know, just in case…” You trail off as he eases the box over to you, making sure you’ve got it properly before he lets go. “Thanks… for everything.”

“Pleasure was all mine.” He replies, sincerely, before reluctantly lifting the cell up to his ear.

“Kennedy.”

You leave him to his phone-call and head down the stairs for a thankfully unremarkable trip down to the vaults to replace the box back in its rightful place. It’d be a lie to say when you climbed back up to the lobby that you weren’t disappointed when there’s no trace of him to be found.

--

The next morning, after passing through the security check, you make your way down to the archive vault as usual, pressing your hand against the door panel to gain access. Sadly, you’ve still got a lot of work to do in the box you’d been working on yesterday, so you dutifully log its withdrawal in the computer system, and heave it up once more in your arms before heading out.

You only make it up one flight of stairs when you see him, leaned up against the stairway wall, one arm held against his chest whilst his other hand is holding his cell, squinting at some text. He looks up as you scuff your trainer on one of the steps and he smiles as you reach him, tucking his cell back away.

“Good morning.”

“Morning. What brings you here?” You curse inwardly. “I mean, not that it’s not a pleasant surprise, just…”

He waves it off. “I getcha. Well, I have some pretty good sway here, you know, so I’ve volunteered.”

“Volunteered for what?”

“Volunteered…” He steps forward and wraps his arms around the box, “..to be your stairs lackey.”

“Oh, no – it’s fine, honestly.” You feel flustered at the very idea. Leon’s one of the top, if not the top agent of the DSO. He can’t be doing manual labour for you, he shouldn’t. “You have so many better things to be doing. I can mana…”

“Please?” He tilts his head, gives you that enticing smile again. “I mean, I could just tell you,” – he teases – “but I thought I’d ask this time, so you’re sure.”

The smile makes you feel weak at the knees and you’d already proven yesterday you couldn’t resist its magic. “Okay. But you should definitely take the elevator then.”

“Uh-uh.” He shakes his head, taking the box into his arms. “It’s good cardio, got my weight-resistance. You’re practically doing me a favour by taking the stairs.”

“Is that so?”

“Mm-hm. Though,” he bites his lip in a pause, “I may have ulterior motives.”

“Right, and what would those be?”

“If I were to, say, visit the office around six tonight and carry this thing back down to the vault, maybe you’d go to dinner with me?”

God, you feel absolutely giddy - there’s no way you can hold back your smile. “I think that’s… acceptable.”

“Then we have a deal. Ladies first,” he nods with his head to up the stairwell.

“No, I… I think you should go first. Just so I can keep an eye on you on the way up. I’ve got to make sure you’re not sneaking a peek at the assets, you know?”

He quirks an eyebrow, you know he’s wondering what you’re thinking, but he shrugs it off all the same. “As you wish.”

And as you follow him up 12 flights of stairs, you slightly breathless and him seemingly fine, you can’t help but sneak a look at a different pair of assets before you.

---

Comments, likes and reblogs make my whole day x

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[binsito]

camp counselors.

pairing: fem!seungmin x fem reader

genre: lesbianism what can i say

word count: 1.4k

rating: mature, includes: LESBIANS. lesbian sex, oral, masturbation, slight voyeurism if you squint (although it's funny bc they can't really see each other but watevs.) probably some cussing bc it's me, dirty language and yep teehee LESBIANS!

it wasn’t unlike seungmin to sign up for volunteering events, however this one was slightly different.

she had previously signed up for food drives and non-profit organizations but this time around she had decided to sign up to be a camp counselor for a week.

a week couldn’t be so bad?

besides, she was majoring in early care and education so any experience with children would be beneficial. they were a group of twelve year olds, which in her opinion would be a lot easier to handle than a bunch of preschoolers, so in theory this should be a piece of cake.

just a week.

however what she didn’t expect was them to be so strict on the “no electronics” rule.

she understood she had to lead by example so she had no choice but to give up her phone. yes, she could’ve smuggled it back later but seungmin was too honest and responsible to even dare do something of the sorts. 

seven days.. but if you really thought about it, it was more like five since the arrival and departure didn’t exactly count as a full day. she could do this! she could pull through!

seungmin was so optimistic, she knew this would only help her in her career and give her more insight on how to properly care for and educate kids. she knew the first day would definitely be the hardest, trying to get acquainted to a new place with new faces. she just hoped the people she would be working alongside were just as hardworking and passionate as she was.

--

she made it into her cabin and began to unpack, it was a pretty small space but it was nice that the counselors got their own bathroom. she knew she would hate if she had to wait in a line to take a piss in the morning or to brush her teeth.

she heard the door open as she was putting away her clothes, turning around to see who had walked in.

"oh hello.. are you the other camp counselor?" seungmin smiled as she greeted you.

you waved and walked towards the small bed that was unoccupied, setting your things down and falling into the mattress.

"i'm seungmin, by the way.." she smiled sweetly

you took out your earbud and looked over "oh, seungmin.. nice to meet you." you spoke as you also introduced yourself to her.

she was cute: round glasses that almost looked comically big on her face, light brown, bluntly cut hair that sat just barely above her shoulders, braces? yeah those were definitely braces when she talked.

you were glad you were rooming with someone that seemed close to your age and not some strict older lady with snoring problems.

well that was until you realized seungmin did follow rules, mentioning that you had to turn in your phone during recreational hours of the day and bed time. bummer, you couldn't live without listening to music.. how were you supposed to vent to your groupchat about this camp experience?

you were obviously not as enthusiastic as seungmin was for this whole camp counselor thing. you were actually in dire need of service hours and this was the quickest thing you could do to get a bunch in. this is what you got for putting them off for so long..

and seungmin quickly took note that you didn't particularly want to be here, that having to be in charge of kids was not your forte at all.

she could tell when you were assigned a group and you let her do all the talking, her taking control and leading them through a walking trail. you walked behind the group while she talked with the kids and taught them how to be environmentally aware while camping, telling them it's bad to liter and that they shouldn't bother the animals.

you couldn't help but smile to yourself, she was definitely charming and the kids seemed to love her already.

--

during lunch, she spotted you sitting along so she made her way over. you looked up when you heard someone setting their tray down besides you.

"i was gonna ask if this seat was taken but that would've been kind of a silly question right?" she teased as she took a sip of her water.

"you're good with kids huh? that's neat.."

"mm.. i'm majoring in early care and education. i wanna be an elementary school teacher so i figured this could be great for my resumé once i graduate."

well that made a lot of sense.

not everyone was good with kids but seungmin seemed to have it in her. she pushed up her glasses as she chewed a piece of her sandwich, glancing over at you and becoming flustered when she realized you were staring.

"sorry.. i didn't mean to stare.." you chuckled as you looked down at your food and poked at it, surprisingly the food being served was actually quite good.

after lunch, the kids did some crafts and then were allowed to play around with bouncy balls. you didn't really want to participate but seungmin had tugged you along into a game of silent speed ball. it was a lot more fun than you had expected, especially once you let go of your initial apprehension - you didn't trust twelve year olds with their aim.

but the hardest part was definitely when it was time to go to bed, you couldn't sleep and you kept tossing. you weren't in the comfort of your own room or bed and if you had your phone you could probably watch something until your eyes became too heavy.

unfortunately for you, they were locked up for the night.

phone jail, as seungmin kept telling the kids which made them giggle.

was seungmin asleep? god, you couldn't even tell.. the room was swallowed by thick darkness, you couldn't even see your hands in front of you even if you tried.

you sighed out and stared up at the ceiling but it looked like a black void more than anything else. crickets were chirping outside and you could hear owls in the trees, it sounded peaceful but you were still wide awake.

you could hear slight shuffling from the other bed, you just assumed seungmin was getting cozy but a very faint whimper fell from her lips.

it didn't sound like she was scared of something or having a bad dream at all..

another one left her lips very faintly, as if she were trying to be quiet. you didn't want to startle her but you were also intrigued and wanted to hear more of her.

she was touching herself, no doubt about it, you were quick to put the pieces together. seemed you weren't the only one having a hard time sleeping.

if you called out to her, she would probably stop.

she would probably play it off or lie and say it was a nightmare. or would she ignore you? pretend like she didn't hear you asking her what she was doing..

but since you kept your lips shut, she kept going.

you could hear how slick her pussy was, the sweet squelching sound of it.

god, you wondered what it would be like to have a lick.

you didn't want to interrupt her, instead you started to play with your pussy as well, listening to her quiet moans very carefully.

and you didn't mean to - couldn't help it when a moan left your lips which made her stop momentarily.

she called out your name nervously and you stayed quiet for a moment before you opened your mouth to speak

"come here.. let me help you out.. wanna eat your pussy.." you shakily spoke, words breathy and laced with desire.

you were scared you ruined everything but then you heard her careful foot steps approaching your bed.

you helped pulled her up, she didn't even bother to put her shorts or panties back on - bare cunt just for you.

you tugged her towards your face, squeezing her ass as she hovered over your mouth, pussy a mere few inches away from your tongue.

you poked the tip out and circled her hole - that was enough to make her shake.

you pushed her down further, wanting to drown in her sticky cunt, sucking at her clit harshly as she bit her hand to keep quiet.

if every night ended like this - maybe being a camp counselor without a phone for a week wouldn't be so bad.

it would be just you, seungmin and her sweet cunt nestled away in your little cabin.

please refrain from reposting, modifying, translating, copying or stealing my work. - © binsito

[thestarryeyedadmirer]

In my head, these four are brothers. Allow me to explain…

Tom:

Tom is the oldest of the bunch—the responsible one. An honest, well-mannered fellow, he’s spent his whole life having to look out for others, so he’s gotten pretty used to being the guy who speaks up and calls the shots. It doesn’t matter where he is, or who he’s with, he moves through life with a presentational sense of confidence and behaves as though he’s the top dog—in charge of everyone—which is something that stems from some deep-seeded childhood trauma. As far back as he can remember, he’s been second in command to his parents’ authority… the one that would handle his brothers’ petty disputes and emotional outbursts when his parents weren’t in the immediate vicinity. If something went wrong, he had to handle it… and when he couldn’t get things in order, he was the one who took the fall. Everything was his fault… and everything was his problem to fix. Each of his brothers’ actions were considered his actions, and every single one of his actions were seen an example… a precedent for his younger siblings. Somehow, the shame and paranoia that used to haunt him transformed into an unhealthy form of pride. These days, that natural tendency to overpower every other voice in a room tends to bite him in the butt… but it’s not totally a bad thing. With endless experience in being a mediator, Tom has grown to be an incredible problem solver and people-person, who values rationality and above all else, and possesses exceptional emotional intelligence. What’s right is right, and what’s wrong is wrong. There is no gray area or leeway… only reasonable explanations, that sway toward either side. These days, he’s still parenting his brothers in many ways—keeping them from making bad decisions, lending them money whenever they need it, and breaking up their petty fights. That’ll never change. He’s a successful author—who’s written several bestselling motivational, business, and self-help books in his career—the co-owner of a small chain of coffee shops on the west coast, and he’s invested in several local businesses all over the state. Even though that may sound like a lot… and it is… Tom isn’t exactly rolling around in millions—just one or two. Living by himself, in a big house by the beach, just a few hours away from his childhood home and immediate family, he’s pretty comfortable. He’s got no spouse to compromise with, no children to chastise, and nobody around to put any kind of pressure on him, and him feel like he’s doing something wrong. It’s just perfect.

Jordan:

Jordan is the second oldest—the bad boy. Growing up with Tom as his big brother, micromanaging his every move, and constantly filling his head with arbitrary concepts of right and wrong, Jordan has always enjoyed the thrill of breaking rules. Even as an adult, he hates having to answer to anyone, and will go out of his way to defy the wishes of any authority figures that he encounters. He’s not dangerous, by any means, but more of a petty pest—the kind of guy who pokes the bear for fun, until it mauls him to death. He doesn’t go overboard with the things that he does to spite people, or purposefully put anyone in danger… but he’s still an asshole. An asshole who, deep down, has a good heart… though he tries his best not to show it. Jordan flunked out of college because he stopped going to class, after spending an entire semester causing disruptions in lecture halls and cheating on assignments. He got kicked out of his parents’ house because he kept rigging all of the electronic appliances to shock whoever used them. He’s even been to jail a few times, for a handful of stupid non-violent crimes that he committed in his early twenties. Nothing serious. Jordan is such a dick, he can’t keep a job, or a partner, or even a roof over his head. He lives fast, breezes through his life like a speeding train—one thing after another, after another—and now he’s so far down the wrong path, he’s hit a dead end. In his late twenties, he wants nothing more than to get his life on track, and find some sense of stability… but old habits die hard, and abrasive personalities don’t change overnight. Having not spoken to his family for years, he’s recently reconnected with his brothers, CJ and Stephen, and is trying to make up for the lost time. As far as reconciling with Tom and their parents goes, it’s still a work in progress. Tom sends him money every now and then, and checks in on him from time to time, but they haven’t really spoken in ages. Aside from his brothers, Jordan has no other family to rely on—no serious partners, or any kids… that he knows of—so it’s important to him that he un-burns those bridges as soon as he can. These days, Jordan is either living out of his car or crashing at CJ’s apartment. He makes his money via Onlyfans, Fansly, and a wide selection of cam sites, just so he can get by. Seeing the wonders that it’s done for others—like CJ—and feeling as though he has no other legal options, he’s only testing the waters of the porn world while he waits for something better to come along, but the money is looking good, and the job prospects are thin. Maybe he’ll ride the wave a bit longer.

CJ:

Cj is the second youngest—the sexy himbo. He’s gone his whole life skating by on his looks alone, and he doesn’t plan on stopping anytime soon. He first knew he was handsome when he was a little boy… when women at the grocery store would stop him and his mother in the aisles and gush over how cute they thought he was. They’d pinch his cheeks, ruffle his hair, and go on and on about how he was going to be a heartbreaker when he grew up. Little did they know that they were creating a little monster. When he got to elementary school, and started to interact with other kids more frequently, he quickly noticed how all of the little girls in his class would fawn over him. They’d bat their little eyelashes and giggle like mice whenever he spoke… and, at first, it made him a bit uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to that kind of attention from kids his age. Most, if not all of his typical admirers were grown women, just being sweet… but, as the years went on, and the girls got more bold, he began to learn how to use his looks to his advantage, and get the better of his peers. CJ wasn’t good at long division in third grade, so he’d always ask the smart girls to do his math homework for him—bribe them with quick kisses, or by inviting them to play with him at recess, and use them like his own personal minions. They were so easy to trick. Middle school was just the same. He got taller, his voice dropped, his teenage features started to take shape, and his lean physique became more muscular… and from the time he entered the sixth grade, all the way up through the end of his eighth grade year, he hardly ever had to try academically. That’s how easy life was for him, up until he graduated high school. Instead of doing things himself, he’d just pass the buck to someone else and take the credit for what they did—whether it was a beautiful, naive girl, or his own brothers—and, by the time he was a legal adult, he had nothing to show for himself. He couldn’t do simple math, or read any books that didn’t have interesting pictures on them. He couldn’t cook for himself, do his own laundry, or drive a car. He could hardly even hold a conversation. Tom tried to help him learn, teaching him how to care for himself—past maintaining his appearance—but he quickly gave up the effort when his career started to take off. Left to his own devices, as an extremely late bloomer, CJ didn’t have any of the skills that it took to make it as an adult… but he did have his amazing body. Using what he had in order to get what he wanted, CJ dove headfirst into the porn industry, taking any job that came his way, and stacking up the money. He did both amateur and professional work—hardcore stuff, fetish stuff, taboo stuff, and vanilla. He slept with guys, girls, and everyone in between, all in an effort to make enough cash to move out of his parents’ house and live on his own… and it didn’t take long before he had the keys to his very own apartment. Now, he’s living by himself, pumping out NSFW content like a peon factory, making thousands of dollars a week, and showing Jordan how he can do the same. Having been in the business for a few years, CJ is a very successful entertainer… and, after years of being a lackluster student, he’s finally discovering the joys of teaching and mentoring someone else, for a change.

Stephen:

Stephen is the youngest—the kind-hearted, awkward geek, who’s just trying to start what will be the rest of his life on the right track. Having idolized his eldest brother, Tom, for pretty much all of his life, Stephen knows that it takes hard work, intelligence, and integrity to be successful in this world, and he wants to build a great foundation for the rest of his life to thrive on. He sees the things that his other brothers are doing, and he doesn’t judge them for it, or see them as any lesser, but he knows that he wants more for himself than what they have. He wants to be like Tom. His only problem is that he’s in his first semester of college, and he still doesn’t know what he wants to do with his life yet. There are so many possibilities, and so many paths that he could follow. He could be a doctor, or an engineer, or a writer. He always did have an interest in biology and anatomy, and he’s got his academic transcripts are outstanding. He could be an architect, or go into the business world. The choices are endless! Just barely nineteen, living under his parents’ roof, he’s a blank canvas with the world at his feet… and he has no idea what he wants to do with it yet.

Maybe I’ll end up writing some story with these characters soon… explore them some more.

[midnitetech]

Holistic Health Consultant Career (Semi-Active)

Hey everyone! I (finally) have a brand new career for you to play with! This has definitely given me a few headaches fixing annoyances and making it just how I envisioned, but I'm very happy with the result- I really hope you like it!

It's a full-time, semi-active career, with 10 levels, countless assignments/tasks etc. There's a different Daily Task for every single level, and I've created Chance Cards, Adventure Moments, plenty of buffs and new, immersive interactions.

For those of you (like me) who don’t fancy trekking to Granite Falls every time you need ingredients, I’ve added a custom rabbithole shop: The Green Apothecary! It stocks all the essentials for leveling up your Herbalism Skill and crafting remedies, making things much more convenient. 🌿

If you have Discover University and a Biology degree, you’ll jumpstart your career at Level 4! I’ve set this up as a start level modifier to avoid conflicts with other creators’ career tuning files, but if you prefer the standard approach, let me know.

I can’t wait to hear what you think—happy Simming! 😊

⚠️REQUIRED⚠️

🌐Lot 51's Core Library 📁midnitetech_modlibrary 🎮Required DLC: 🪷Spa Day 🏕️Outdoor Retreat

ℹ️ Note: To prevent potential game-breaking updates in the future, I've removed all override tuning files. Now, you can publish your Wellness Books through Simazon, or the new custom mailbox options using my Write Books Overhaul mod!

Get help, reach out, or explore more of my creations—all in one place!

Download to C:\Users\....\Documents\Electronic Arts\The Sims 4\Mods Don't forget Lot 51's Core Library and 📁midnitetech_modlibrary—script files must be no more than 1 folder deep.

PATREON (free)