#this is more a test to see if i can tag it

[sincerelyneo]

life is a highway | n.jm

“i wanna ride it all night long”

💿now playing: life is a highway by rascal flatts

❯ summary: Being a nervous learner driver is hard enough, but throwing in your older brother’s hot, smug, patronising best friend to be your instructor? Yeah...definitely not making things easier.

❯ pairings: jaemin x fem!reader

❯ genre: enemies to...fuck buddies? smut

❯ words: 3.5k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, arguing, hate sex, public sex, car sex, swearing, heavy petting, fingering, unprotected sex (don't do this!), creampie, dirty talk, very tame degradation kink, literally them just arguing with each other for the entire 3k words.

an: this is very influenced by the british driving experience—hence the manual car propaganda.

Look, driving a manual is hard. There’s just too much stuff to remember all at once—gears, pedals, mirrors, observations. Honestly, you don’t understand why anyone who values their sanity would choose to drive a manual car. If it were up to you, you’d be driving around in an automatic. But it’s not up to you. Because your brother, Mark, is paying for your driving lessons.

And Mark, being the car-obsessed gearhead he is, insists that everyone should learn manual—“So you can drive any car, no limitations,” he preaches. Even when you dragged yourself through the front door on the Friday night of your third failed driving test, you thought maybe, just maybe, your stubborn older brother would show a little grace. Let you switch, take the easy route.

He didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

Instead, he did something worse.

He sent Jaemin.

Na Jaemin.

Mark’s old college roommate—who, according to your brother, is the best teacher in the world, a saint suited with endless patience and encouragement. But if those qualities exist, they’ve never made an appearance around you. Because, from the very first lesson (four torturous sessions ago), Jaemin’s been nothing but a snarky, patronising ass. 

You hate him. And he hates you—clearly.

Sure, you may have driven on the wrong side of the road once. And stalled on a hill. And very nearly veered the two of you into oncoming traffic. But those were all accidents—you’re a learner. It’s not your fault.

Honestly, it’s Mark’s fault. 

Because you’re already a nervous driver, and throwing in a hot, built guy who slouches into the passenger seat like he owns the car doesn’t exactly help. Not with his long legs spread wide, and that muscled arm draped casually along the window, long fingers tapping a lazy rhythm against the doorframe.

It’s a distraction. He’s a distraction. A hot, smirking, condescending distraction with perfect teeth and zero empathy.

“The light is on green,” Jaemin says flatly.

You blink. “W-what?”

He doesn't even turn to look at you. Just gestures lazily toward the windscreen. “If you stopped checking me out, you’d see the traffic light has changed. That means go.”

Your jaw drops, and you finally peel your eyes off him, squinting at the green hue now glaring in your face. “I know, asshole.”

“Then go.”

You want to scream, but you don't. Instead, you slam the clutch, jam the car into first gear with more force than necessary, and the car jerks forward. You thank God, because you just narrowly avoidied stalling again, but Jaemin is never grateful. 

“You’re snapping the clutch up too fast,” he comments. “You have to find the bite, then add gas. Keep revving the engine like that and you’re gonna wreck the clutch.”

“I was not revving the engine,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. But of course, that doesn’t stop him.

“You were. Because you’re scared of stalling. But if you actually planned ahead and stopped rushing—”

“I won’t stall, yeah, yeah, I know.” You cut him off, gripping the wheel tighter. 

“Then apply it.”

You’re about to lose it. You hate the way he talks to you like you’re ten years younger than him—like you’re some clueless kid. It makes you want to punch him in that smug mouth of his. But that’d only prove his point that you’re immature and feed his ego. 

So, you grit your teeth, suck in a breath, and try to ignore the way your heart’s thudding against your ribcage and your palms go slick on the wheel. You’re trying. God, you’re trying. But he makes it impossible to concentrate.

“You can’t drive around in first gear, this is a thirty zone.”

“I know—”

“No, you clearly don’t—fuck—pull the car over!”

His voice slices through the air and your stomach flips violently. You yank the wheel toward the kerb, the tires bouncing as the car lurches to a halt. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Jaemin’s lip twitch (about to make some smartass comment about you mounting the pavement) but the fury in your expression makes him think twice.

The second the engine cuts, you explode.

“What the hell is your problem?” you snap, unbuckling your seatbelt and twisting in your seat to face him. “If you hate this so much, then don’t show up! Mark’s not forcing you to sit in this car with me, Jaemin. I could find someone else to help me.”

“Oh, totally. I’d love to make room for driving instructor number eleven,” he bites.

"Then do it," you sneer, slumping back into the driver’s seat with a shrug, arms folded tight across your chest.

He drags a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. "Seriously, Y/N, I’m trying to help you," he says. "But you don’t listen. You never listen—"

“Oh, I’m sorry, I must’ve missed the part where you actually helped. All I’ve heard for the past four weeks is how shit I am at this.”

“Because you’re not even trying! You act like my help is beneath you. You refuse to take any criticism.”

“Beneath me?” You laugh, bitter and breathless. “I’ve failed my test three times, you absolute dick! I clearly am trying! I’m trying so fucking hard. And all you do is sit there and mock me, which just makes it worse.”

“You need tough love! This isn’t a joke—driving is serious. People's lives are on the line. Your life is on the line.”

That makes you swallow.

“If you’re talking about that time I almost hit that cyclist, that wasn’t my fault—he came out of nowhere!”

Jaemin scoffs, shakes his head and tongues the side of his cheek. “You know what your problem is?”

“Oh, please. Enlighten me.”

“You’re so terrified of failing again, so you never give yourself a real chance to get it right. You can’t let go of your pride, so every little mistake makes you panic, and you do something stupid. And then you blame everyone else for it.”

Your jaw drops. Then a furious exhale leaves your lungs. “You are—unbelievable. You’re such a—”

“You’re not listening to me,” Jaemin growls, cutting you off. “Again. You’re not listening.”

“I don’t care. Fuck you—”

But before you can finish the very creative insult forming in your throat, his hand shoots out—fisting the front of your hoodie, yanking you toward him. And then his mouth crashes into yours. Brutal and angry and heated.

You freeze. For one heartbeat. Then another.

Your whole body goes still—except your lips, which betray you, parting instinctively for him. You sink into it before you can think better of it, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket like it might steady the way your heart is rattling against your ribs. It doesn’t. 

Because he tastes like cinnamon and black coffee. So fucking predictable. So him. And, of course, unfairly good. Which just pisses you off more. He tastes good, and you like it. 

The kiss is harsh. Messy. Teeth knock, lips drag, because even now, the two of you are fighting for control. There’s no rhythm. No grace. Just lust and resentment colliding together in the ugliest way possible.

His hand grips your hoodie tighter, like he doesn’t trust you not to pull away. Honestly, he half expected you to slap him for kissing you. He didn’t expect you to gasp, to open your mouth and let him in. Let his tongue slide against yours, hot and wet and so damn hungry.

You feel the press of his thumb against your sternum, the subtle tremble in his wrist, and it hits you—weeks of tension finally snapping loose.

It’s not romantic. It’s not soft. It’s—what the hell are you thinking?

You pull away first, shaking his grip off your hoodie. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Jaemin blinks, looking just as stunned as you feel—pupils blown wide, chest heaving. He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up further. "I don’t know... you just—fuck, you drive me insane," he mutters. "I just wanted to shut you up."

“Oh, so your first thought was to kiss me?” you snap, swiping your sleeve across your mouth like you can erase the feel of him. A small part of you is glad it doesn’t. “That’s how you deal with people who annoy you? Because if so, you need a HR department!”

“No,” he grits out, jaw clenched. “You’re not just people. You’re—you’re impossible to be around.”

"Maybe you’re the one with the issue!” you hiss. “Plenty of people enjoy my company. You just don’t know how to be around me without being a smug, condescending prick!"

His expression twists "I’m trying to fucking help you," he says. "But, clearly, you don’t want help. You just want to fight, don’t you? You want to pick a fight because that’s all you know how to do."

“Because you infuriate me!” you shout. “You barge in here, all patronising and hot, acting like you know everything, acting like you’re better than everyone, like you’re better than me—”

You don’t get to finish.

He lunges across the console before either of you can think better of it, grabbing your face and kissing you hard. Again. 

His seatbelt strains as he twists toward you. You meet him with equal force, kissing him back like you can knock some sense into him with your mouth.

He groans into it, deep and guttural, and then he’s hauling you closer, shoving his seatbelt over his head and dragging you half onto his lap. The centre console digs into your hip, but you don’t care. Your knees press against the door, your hand grips the headrest behind him. Every inch of the car feels too small for the way he’s kissing you. Too hot.

His hands are everywhere. One tangled in your hair, the other pressing flat against the small of your back like he’s trying to fuse you to him.

You gasp when his mouth trails briefly to your jaw, your throat. “You’re such a jerk,” you whisper breathlessly.

“Shut up,” he mutters, before his lips crash into yours again.

And you do. You shut up (for once) letting him kiss you breathless while his fingers slip beneath the hem of your hoodie, calloused pads dragging over overheated skin. You shiver, nerves buzzing from the way your body is betraying you in all the worst ways. With the worst person,

“You're a nightmare,” he growls against your mouth. 

“So stop kissing me,” you bite back, fingers fisting his t-shirt.

He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t.

Your back hits the glovebox as he shifts, pulling you fully into his lap. Your knees knock against the dash, thighs bracketing his hips, breath catching as you straddle him in the cramped passenger seat. Your head tips back, knuckles going white where they clutch his shoulders. 

“This is so stupid,” you murmur.

“Yeah,” he says, lips brushing your throat. “Say that again when you’re not grinding on me.”

You shove at his chest—but not hard enough to hurt. “Fuck you.”

His hands slide lower. Gripping. Pressing. Desperate. “Oh you’re going to.”

He rolls your hips against him, firm and rough, and you feel him—all of him. Hardening beneath the thin fabric of his sweatpants. The pressure sends a jolt through you, because if you’re really ‘going to’ fuck him, the size of him already has you intimidated.

You whimper despite yourself. It’s pathetic. Weak. And it turns him on so damn much. 

His head falls back with a dull thud, eyes squeezing shut like he’s in pain. “Fuck—why can’t you make those sounds with me all the time,” he groans, voice hoarse, “instead of running that pretty little mouth?”

You don’t answer. Not with words. Just keep grinding down, breath catching with each pass over his straining cock. You’re soaked. Your jeans are too tight. Everything is too hot. Too much.

“Fuck,” you pant, “you.”

He huffs a laugh, then brushes your hair over one shoulder, exposing your neck. His lips find your ear. Teeth grazing. “We’ve already established you’re going to,” he smirks. “But first—”

His hand slides between your bodies. 

“—you’re going to get yourself off on my thigh like the filthy girl I know you are.”

You’re about to repeat those two words again, but he captures them with a kiss—swallowing them down with a simple swipe of his tongue before he looks down to where you’re rutting against him.

You’re not sure when your jeans became the enemy, but they are now—tight, rough, in the way. Every twist of your hips adds to the unbearable friction, your breath catching in your throat with every grind. You’re not supposed to be doing this. Not here. Not with him.

But Jaemin’s thigh is solid beneath you, and his hands—God, his hands—know exactly where to go, how to hold you steady and drive you crazy in the same breath.

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” he grits, fingers digging into your waist. “Can’t follow a single instruction when you’re behind the wheel, but now? Suddenly you’re fucking little miss obedient.”

You want to slap him. Or kiss him. Or both. Probably both.

“You think you’re funny?” you hiss, but your voice cracks as his thigh flexes, and your hips jolt in response. “You think you’re winning right now?”

He leans in, lips brushing your cheek—just shy of a kiss. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, condescension dripping from every syllable, “I know I am.”

“You’re soaking,” he adds, palm skating down your front before slipping inside your jeans, into your panties.

“You are the most arrogant, insufferable, smug bastard I’ve ever met,” you pant against his mouth. “And I hate you.”

“Good,” he breathes, before surging forward again.

His mouth trails downward—jaw, neck, collarbone. Tongue licking over one of the few marks he just made. Your hips jerk when he bites, just a little too hard—and he groans  like he felt it in his own skin.

“Can’t believe you’re this wet for me and still have the nerve to talk back.”

“I can multitask,” you gasp, grabbing his wrist as he reaches for your jeans. He pauses, looking up so his eyes meet yours—and for a moment, the lust between you stutters.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, low and serious.

You hate how long you hesitate. Hate how breathless you sound when you whisper, “No.”

He smirks. “Didn’t think so.”

Then your jeans are open, and his fingers slide into your underwear—hot, teasing, and maddeningly slow. You cry out, head dropping to his shoulder, clutching at the back of his neck as two of his fingers start to circle your clit. 

“God, you’re shaking,” he groans, lips brushing your ear. “You’re gonna cum like this? From barely anything? What happened to all that attitude?”

“Shut up,” you whimper, grinding shamelessly into his hand. “Just shut the hell up—”

“Not a chance.”

His fingers dip lower, circling the wet entrance of your pussy before he presses in deeper, and your whole body tenses, that coil in your belly winding tighter with every thrust.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he breathes. “Come on, sweetheart. Prove me right. I love it when you do.”

You hate him. You really do. But your body doesn’t care. It burns and trembles and demands more. Your nails dig into his shoulders as he curls his fingers just right—and then you’re falling apart, hips jerking, a strangled cry ripped from your throat before you can stop it.

Jaemin doesn’t stop until you’re trembling in his lap, wrecked and slick with sweat. When you finally lift your head to look up at him, he’s watching you intensely. Quiet for once. Hell, if you knew letting him finger you would shut him up, you’d have let him a long time ago.

Then, slowly, patronisingly slowly, he pulls his hand from your jeans, eyes locked on yours as he brings his fingers to his mouth.

You slap his shoulder. Hard. “You’re disgusting.”

He grins around his fingers. “You didn’t seem to mind a minute ago.”

“Whatever,” you mutter, still breathless. You glance down. His hands are still on your hips. “Let go of me.”

“Say please.”

“Fuck you.”

He leans in, lazily sucking another finger. “I already did.”

Your hand moves before you think—gripping his chin, nails digging into his jaw. Not a slap. Not a kiss. Just heat. Just challenge.

“You’re really starting to piss me off,” you whisper. “Keep pushing, and I might actually lose control and kill you!”

That look flashes in his eyes again—that dangerous glint that says he likes it when you fight. But instead of rising to the bait, he just smirks.

“I am pushing,” he says. “But you’re the one currently dripping down my thigh. So tell me, sweetheart…” His fingers slide into your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath catch. “Who’s really in control?”

You don’t answer. Just stare. Flushed. Still trembling, still aching. Then, leisurely, you lean in—close enough that his breath stalls.

“I am,” you bite, nipping his bottom lip as you yank his hoodie up over his shoulders. “And I’m going to prove it.”

He grins—wild and eager. “Then fucking show me.”

Your fingers tighten in his hoodie, dragging it off with enough force to make his smirk falter, only slightly. His eyes are black now—blown wide with want, with need—and for the second time ever in his life, Jaemin is silent.

He just watches.

And you take.

Your mouth slams into his, teeth biting at his lip before you drag your mouth down to his neck, sucking onto the skin to return your own mark. His hands fumble with your jeans again, this time yanking them down your thighs enough to slip your panties to the side. 

You help shove his sweatpants down past his ass—just far enough to free his cock. And then he’s wrapping a hand around himself, fisting his length with slow, deliberate strokes—taunting, as you watch with parted lips. 

He’s so big and thick and pretty, your brain starts pounding like it’s bitten off more than it can handle. You hesitate for a moment, but then you remember—this is about proving you still have control. You want this. You want to prove him wrong.

So, you slide back into his lap, straddling him fully, your bare skin meeting his with a gasp that rips through both of you. His hand slides between your thighs again, not to guide—just to tease. Just to feel how ready you are.

“Scared?” he mocks in a we whisper.

You glare, reaching down to line him up with your pussy. “Shut up.”

Then you sink down—slow, agonising—and you both break at the same time.

“Fuck—” he grits, head falling back, eyes rolling. “You feel—holy shit.”

You can barely breathe. He’s thick, hot, stretching you just past the edge of pain—grounding you in something that feels too good to be allowed. It’s not fair that a guy like him gets to be this good at fucking. But here he is. Fingers digging into your hips, guiding you into a rhythm that’s filthy, desperate, and anything but slow.

You ride him like it’s a fight. Like you want to ruin him. And he meets you stroke for stroke, jaw clenched, sweat collecting at his temple as your bodies slap together—fast, ruthless. No pretense. No sweetness.

Just want.

Just need.

Just hate.

“I hate how good you feel,” you choke out.

He bites down on your shoulder. “Say it again.”

You moan, louder this time, not caring about the volume or the fact that you’re fucking your instructor at the side of the road. Not caring that it’s Jaemin. 

“I hate you,” you breathe. “I hate you, I hate you so much—”

His hand snakes up to curl around your throat. It’s not tight but barely there. A light pressure, just enough, to make your head spin.

“Then cum on my cock,” he growls. “One more time. Hate me for it.”

And you do.

You shatter around him, body convulsing and twitching as your mouth falls open in a broken sob that catches against his lips. He follows a heartbeat later with a ruined, throaty moan, driving into you one last time as he spills inside you—deep, hot, messy.

And then it’s quiet.

You stay there, slumped against his chest  for a moment. His hand drifts up your spine, strangely gentle now, thumb brushing the back of your neck. But then, a moment later, it does hit you. 

You scramble off his lap, cheeks flushed, thighs sticky, panties already ruined as his cum starts to leak out of you. You refuse to meet his eyes.

“I still hate you,” you mutter.

“Sure,” he says, casual as ever, tugging up his sweatpants with a smirk. “I’m giving you another lesson tomorrow. Same time.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re insane if you think I’m getting in a car with you again.”

“You’ll show,” he says,” Because you want to pass your test, don’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“But nothing,” he chuckles, brushing a finger against your cheek. “Now that I know you can follow instructions, if you listen to me—I'll make you cum again. You seemed to really enjoy yourself.”

You hate him.

[bullet-prooflove]

Checkmate: Tim Gutterson x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @fallmoreinloveeveryday @elenavampire21 @floralfloyd @lamaudite

Companion piece to:

Lucky - Tim's assignment doesn't go to plan.

Stars - Tim's not like the other guys.

Out On That Ledge - Tim's there to pull you back when you are out on that ledge.

Chocolate - Tim saves the last bar for you while you're off base.

The Good Book - Tim makes you a promise you don't think he can keep.

Sharpnel - You make sure Tim has a piece of you when he's airlifted to Germany for surgery.

Germany - You and Tim spend some time together during a three hour lay over in Germany.

Getting Out - Your relationship with Tim is tested when he's forced to commit a heinous act for his country.

A month after Tim spends the night with Hina Faazi he discovers he’s contracted an STI.

The very first thing he’d did when he got back on base was request testing, everything from Syphilis all the way through to HIV. His samples had been rushed to the lab at the Major’s request and he’d popped positive for chlamydia.

The only reprieve is that he hasn’t let you near him since he fucked her for fear of this exact thing happening.

“Do you think I was intentional?” You ask him as the two of you digest the news over a couple of beers in your private spot overlooking the valley.

“She pulled the condom off halfway through.” He informs you as he takes a long pull from the bottle. “So I’m gonna assume she was trying to fuck us over one way or another.”

It’s the first time he’s talked about the nuts and bolts of what actually happened. Until now it’s been placed in a box at the back of his head with all the other bullshit that’s happened to him over the years. “I put a fresh one on as soon as I realised but apparently 30 seconds is all it takes to catch The Clap.”

You’re relieved he had the fortitude to focus on that because you can’t stand the idea of Hina turning up in nine months’ time to tell you there’s a baby Gutterson on the way. As irritating as taking a fuck load of antibiotics is to him, the long term effects of you contracting it could have been catastrophic to your future.

“It makes all those nights with blue balls worth it.” He tells you as he lies back on the blanket you’ve put down, staring up at the stars. “I can’t wait to be done with this shit and get back stateside.”

It was decided that evening in the hotel that this would be your last tour. Your contract is up for renewal and you’d both made the decision to retire from the military. You’ll be going home for good in a months’ time and Tim will be staying on for another year until his own clock runs out.

Your main concern about leaving isn’t the distance between you, it’s about what happens in your absence. The new Intelligence Officer won’t have the same investment in Tim’s wellbeing, they won’t tell Hina to go fuck herself if she offers them intel in exchange for another night with him, which is what you believe she’ll do now that she knows there’s a personal connection. You fucked her and now she’s fucking him to fuck you.  

“I can see those wheels turning Lucky.” Tim says, tilting his head to study the profile of your face. “You’re thinking three steps ahead in a game you’re not a part of anymore.”

But Tim is, he’s the king to your queen and when you leave he’ll be in checkmate.

It’s a couple of weeks later that Tim raps his knuckles on the door of your quarters.  You’ve seen each other naked more times than you can count at this point but he still has a healthy dose of respect. It’s one of the thing you admire the most about him.

“You hear about Hina?” He asks as you fold another of your shirts, tucking it into your dufflebag. Your ride is coming  at  0600 tomorrow and you need to be ready to brief your successor on the assets you’ve cultivated in the region. “She was shot to death in her room above the speakeasy.”

You make a non-committal noise at the back of your throat as he steps inside and closes the door behind him.

“Lucky.” He says, folding his arms over his chest as he leans back against the wall. “Did you burn an entire intelligence network to stop her from getting to me?”

“No.” You tell him, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “What I did was facilitate a move up the ladder for a more amenable asset. Aisha Hassan is in the US’s debt which means the terms she sets regarding intelligence sharing will be more agreeable.”

“Uh huh.” Tim says, pushing off the wall as he steps towards you. His hands come to rest upon your hips, his thumbs lightly tracing over tiny sliver of skin between your combats and t-shirt. “I’m gonna choose to read between the lines and say thank you. You could have left me here to drown…”

“No Tim, no I couldn’t.” You say, your fingertips toying with the chain of the dogtags looped around his throat. “If you bleed, I bleed, it’s as simple as that.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[iinarizaki]

cold calls

stuck home with an injury, you're missing your boyfriend, pro hero Shoto Todoroki, and decide to make the most of your phone call to him. tags: 2.7k, nsf/w content, phone sex, jorkin it, kiss me thru the phoooone

You sigh, head tipping to the side as you lift up the remote again, flipping through the channels on the TV with about as little interest as possible.

With two whole weeks off, you honestly don’t know what to do with yourself. It was half a break for medical reasons - your ankle was pretty fucked up in that last fight with the nasty villain.

Turning fingernails into twenty pound rocks and shooting them… it was certainly a sight to see. And to feel too, fuck. Wincing, you roll your ankle a bit to test. Still sore, despite the healing.

At least you could walk around ok. Honestly, you probably could work too, but between your doctor and your boyfriend insisting you get some rest, you didn’t really have a leg to stand on. So to speak.

Turning your gaze towards the slowly changing sky, bathed in a pretty pink and orange hue as the sun sets, you wonder what your boyfriend was up to right now. 

Shoto was supposed to have the week off with you, but he’d been called out of the country for some emergency assistance recently. Something about extreme climate dangers and villains camped out in a freezing mountain side, or something. 

Learning too many details and not being able to accompany him would just stress you out more, so you tried to stick to the minimum. He’d left you with a kiss and a promise that he’d be back before your two weeks of bedrest was over.

Pulling your phone from your hoodie’s pouch, you check. A few notifications, some messages from your friends, but nothing from Shoto. 

Though… There is some activity in one of the group chats, and you catch his name in one of Denki’s texts. Chargebolt was one of the heroes sent out with him.

Forcing the tiny bit of worry out of your mind, you swipe to open the messages, breathing a sigh of relief when you read it.

Denki: {1 image attachment}

Denki: should i seel this pic of shoto on the job for a quick buck. I want 2 buy a snack

Mina: seel………… arf.

Denki: SELL.

Bakugo: yah might as well since pics of you dont sell for anything. ugly ass

Denki: bro

Sero: {1 image attachment}

Sero: dw guys i sent him 4 dollars for the pic. 

Deku: good job Todoroki! It looks like you guys are working hard out there!

Denki: how come im a pro 2 and im still out here charging phones tho tbh…

Bakugo: when the answer is obvious, it's obvious. no need to dig deeper here.

Mina: ^^^^^

Denki: bros.

Bakugo: btw shut up deku don’t you have a class to teach rn

Deku: you shut up first. Its like 6pm school is over today.

Bakugo: grade a paper then?? 

Ochako: boys pls take the flirting out of the gc we’re all tired this week.

Deku: ok, sorry sorry!

Bakugo: {1 image attachment}

Bakugo: middle finger for all of you.

Denki: ty i’ll sell this too

Mina: Seel**

You stop reading there, smiling slightly at the neverending antics. You scroll back up a bit, opening the picture of Shoto, zooming in to admire how handsome he is.

It’s not the best quality, but you can definitely see the muscle definition with ease, mind conjuring a very clear picture of what he looks like under the hero gear.

Leaning back into the plush couch a little more, you sigh. Stupid mission, he should be here with you right now, warm and cold hands roaming all over you, keeping you company.

The messages are from a decent while ago, maybe he’s already resting for the day? You could call him and… say hi.

Deciding there’s not much to lose, you tap his contact and put the phone up to your ear, listening to the rings. It nearly goes to voicemail, but you hear the ding of him picking up, sitting up a little straighter, unable to hold back the smile that flits across your face. 

He answers the phone, his familiar low, smooth tone sending a pang of longing through you, and you are of two minds now - a little lovesick, a little horny.

“Hi, is everything ok?” 

“Yeah, just miss you is all.” You reply easily, closing your eyes to focus on hearing him better.

He hums in reply, and you think you hear him sit down on a chair or a bed- something that makes a little creaking sound, “Well, that’s good, I was worried your ankle got worse.”

“The ankle is fine, honestly, I could’ve gone with you all. Mostly I’m just sitting here bored.”

“Good. Well. It's not good that you’re bored… Sorry I couldn’t be with you right now, we should be leaving in two days if all else goes well.”

“Everything is going ok then?” You prompt, listening to his reply as he affirms your question, explaining a bit of what had been going on, your attention on his words slowly slipping away as you focus more on the sound of his voice, shifting your position and letting your mind drift to the positions he could have you in if he was here right now.

He has a very nice voice.

“Sounds like you don’t even need me.” You tease once he’s done filling you in, pausing only to switch your phone to speaker so you can rest it on the pillow by your head.

He huffs softly, “I wouldn’t say that. I do need you. But we’re doing ok here for now.”

Your chest feels warm at the directness of his words, almost distracting from your goal.

“Sho, are you alone right now?”

He pauses for a beat before answering, “Uh, yeah, I have my own room.”

“Ok, good, because I need you too, Shoto.”

Your flirtations are met with more silence, and you start to worry for a moment, wondering if you upset him, “Shoto?”

When he does respond, he sounds almost a tad nervous, rather uncharacteristic of him, “You need me now like… for sexual pleasure?”

“Uh, yeah, and I love you too but that was the implication right now…?”

“I can’t get home that quickly, though.”

“I was thinking we could try some phone sex?” When he doesn’t immediately respond, you offer an out, just in case, “Unless that’s not something you’re comfortable with, I just figured when in Rome, or, well, when one of us is in Rome.”

“I’m not in Rome, I’m in-”

You cut him off with a giggle, “I just meant that saying, Sho.” 

“Oh, right.”

Another long pause, and just when you’re opening your mouth to fill it, he speaks up again, that kind of cute almost-nervousness creeping back into his words, “I don’t know how to do phone sex. I don’t know what to say.”

Smiling, you let one of your hands wander down to the edge of your pants, nudging under the waistband to rub absently at the skin there, becoming a little more aware of just how sticky your underwear was getting.

“The same stuff you would say if you were here, and then maybe a little extra to help with the mood.”

“Hm, I see.” You can hear the gears turning in his head, “You’re very beautiful.”

You don’t bother to fight the smile in response to that, “You don’t even know what I look like.”

“You’re always beautiful.”

Laughing off the praise, you shake your head even though he can’t see you, “Ask me what I’m wearing, Sho.”

You can hear him breathe a little heavier at the way you let your tone dip into something huskier than usual, and beyond that you think you can hear the bed-or-chair creak when he shuffles around, “What are you wearing?”

Bringing a hand up to your chest, you let it run over the stitching on the front of your hoodie, brushing your nipples through the fabric, trying to mimic the careful way he always starts out when he’s touching you.

“A hoodie. Your merch.” It has his hero name- which, bless him, was just actually his name- embroidered on the front in the somewhat signature white and red colors to match his hair.

You hear a little noise of approval from the speaker before you continue, “What about you?”

Shoto frowns, glancing down at himself, his hero costume halfway through the process of being removed and looking a little worse for wear after working all day.

“Uh, just my costume. Some of it.” He says lamely, cringing a bit internally.

It’s not like he doesn’t want to do this with you, but the moment you suggested it his stomach dropped to his feet. He’s aware that he’s not… the best with words, and this seemed like a dialogue heavy activity.

God, he wishes he was just home with you instead, he could just throw your injured ankle on his shoulder and eat you out while he ices it. He groans quietly, closing his eyes as the little fantasy becomes clearer in his mind. You always taste so good, it was addicting. And so was wrapping his hands around your hips, something about the way you both slotted together so perfectly made him feel so good.

“Some of it?” Your voice ringing out from the phone draws him back to the moment, and the teasing lilt to your voice makes him palm himself over his pants again, already embarrassingly hard.

He exhales, the sound a little louder than he anticipated, “I was undressing before you called.”

You giggle, and he throbs in his hand, fingers moving to undo the familiar clicks of his belt, “Oh? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were expecting this call, Shoto.”

“You came onto me, if I’m recalling correctly.” He jokes back, trying to keep the bed from making too much noise as he settles back on it, pants pushed down to his thighs so he strokes his dick properly, other hand still holding the phone by his ear.

He can’t help the tiny sound that escapes him when he finally gets to wrap his hand around himself properly, doing a few gentle strokes and closing his eyes again, this time imagining you on the couch with nothing but that hoodie from his hero line you’d just bought on. It’s not something he really wants to admit, but something about seeing you walk around with his name branded across your chest turned you on more than he cares to say, a teeny tiny sprout of possessiveness blooming inside him.

His girl, you were his lover.

“Are you touching yourself, baby?” You croon, and he’s breathing a weak ‘yes’ in replay before he can stop to think, hand speeding up a bit as he flushes. 

“Sorry.” He murmurs, feeling bad that you’re doing all the work when you’re the one who called him, “I feel like I should say more. I’m not… sure what to say.”

He can hear your little amused huff in response, “You’re doing fine, Sho. You could read a recipe to me and I’d be able to get off, don’t worry.”

“I don’t know any sexy recipes.”

You laugh more clearly now, and he smiles up at the ceiling, “We’ll have to find one when you get home.” He can hear some shuffling and the clear sound of feet padding around the apartment, something like a door opening as you move around, “We can make a sexy meal.”

“Anything you want.” He replies earnestly, ears all but perking up when he hears a familiar buzzing sound, “Are you using your vibrator?”

“Oh, can you hear it that easily? Yeah, I need a little extra help, my fingers don’t get the job done quite like yours.”

He sucks in a sharp breath, “That’s a job they enjoy.”

“Good, because you’re so good at it, Sho, love how big your hands are, makes me come so easy.”

Swiping his thumb over the tip of his dick he moans softly again, stomach muscles tightening at your words. Fuck, he wants to be going home to you yesterday.

“Are you still wearing my hoodie?”

“That’s all I’m still wearing.” You reply, and he can hear the smile in your voice, even as it gets a little breathy as you get closer to coming.

“Fuck.” He groans, closing his eyes again as his hand speeds up, a familiar pressure building in his gut, “I wish I was there with you right now, I want to touch you.” He sighs your name when you moan at his words, “I want to be the one making you come.”

“Shit, Shoto, I-” You cut yourself off with another erotic moan that makes him lift his hips slightly off the bed, canting up to meet the motions of his hand, imaging how good it would feel to be buried inside of you right now, instead of alone in this hotel room fucking his own fist.

Moaning your name, he can feel his orgasm building up hastily, teetering closer to the edge than he’d expected, “Me too, fuck, I’m gonna to come.”

“For me Sho, come for me, please, wanna hear you.”

That’s the last push he needs, opening his mouth wider to pant and groan as he comes, warm ropes of cum spilling over his stomach and pooling on the dips in his muscles. He forces himself to focus through the haze of pleasure, dick twitching harder when he hears the familiar sounds of you coming as well, whimpers of his name etching their place in his mind for later.

You pant, coming down from your high, clicking the power button on the vibrator and dropping it on the sheets since you’ll have to change them anyways.

Laying there for a moment, you bask in the happy afterglow, listening to Shoto catch his breath too, picturing his little smile with ease. The thought of it fills your chest with a warm affection and a sad pang that he’s not here to cuddle up against in equal measure, but you try to quash the sadness down for now.

“Thank you for indulging me, Mister Pro.” You say, rolling on your side to look at the soft glow of the phone screen, the cute picture of the two of you that served as his contact photo lighting the area slightly.

“I love you.” He replies, earnest as always in a way that always has you melting, “I hope I did ok.”

“I love you too.” You reach out and tap the phone so you can see the picture more clearly, the screen brightening at your touch, “And you did a good job, we should do this more often when you leave me.”

“I’d rather leave you less but… I won’t say no to that, anyway.”

You chuckle, “No, I imagine you wouldn’t.” You pause, suddenly feeling rather tired, but you don’t want to sleep on the sheets when they’re still sticky like this, “Alright, I need to clean up before I pass out. Stay safe, call me in the morning?”

“Ok, I will. I’ll see you soon.”

You exchange another round of ‘goodbyes’ and hang up, laying there a moment longer, eyes almost drifting shut.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, you have to shower anyways…

You phone buzzes a few times, so you pick it up curiously, eyes widening as you see a picture from Shoto - it’s a nice picture of him, abs and chest on display, cum pooled there. 

Damn.

You save it with a grin, the odd urge to kick your feet rising out of nowhere, but you’re a grown adult so you fight it back.

Shoto: {1 image attachment}

Shoto: is this good?

[You]: FUUUUCKKKK SHOTO….. Someone get me a straw.

Shoto: You can be strange. But I love you.

[You]: love you toooooo

Shoto: I will be home soon. I will bring a straw…

You laugh, about to drop the phone but then a venmo request pops up on your screen, and you frown as you click it, curious what it was for, wondering for a brief moment if Shoto just paid you for sex…Bakugo K. has requested money from you - Note attached: suit rent is due. pony up or i beat it out of you as usual. ┌∩┐(◣_◢)┌∩┐

[mamiobesssionfics]

The Velvet Tap

Rhea Ripley x Reader

Summary: You were at the wrong place at the right time.

The bar was dimly lit, crowded but not loud, and the glow of red neon made the edges of everything look warmer than it should have. 

You double-checked the name over the door, frowning slightly as you stepped in. “The Velvet Tap.” Right name. 

But no sign of your coworkers.

You scanned the room, phone in hand, waiting for a text and waiting for someone familiar to wave you over.

Instead, a woman caught your eye.

She leaned on the far end of the bar, dressed in black from jacket to boots, a single silver chain hanging at her throat. 

Her dark hair slicked back, arms folded, eyes sharp and unreadable, but when she noticed you looking, she smiled. It was the kind of smile that made your stomach flip.

She looked like trouble.

You looked away.

But when you moved toward the bar to get a drink and stall for time, she was there beside you.

“First time here?” she asked, voice low and teasing.

You blinked, startled. “Uh. Yeah. I think I’m actually in the wrong place. I’m supposed to be at a bar called The Velvet Tap for some team-building thing.”

Her smile widened, just a little.

“There’s another one,” she said, sipping her drink. “Same name. It’s a few blocks east. More bright lights, less mood lighting.”

You glanced around again, cheeks warming.

“Well, that explains why I didn’t see name tags and awkward mingling.”

“You want directions?” she asked.

You paused. 

Your phone buzzed with a coworker asking if you were still coming. You stared at the screen.

Then looked back at her.

She was watching you with quiet interest, her gaze steady but not unkind.

“No,” you said. “I think I’ll stay.”

Her brow arched. “Yeah?”

“I like the lighting here better,” you said, a little shy, but not backing down.

She let out a low laugh, warm, surprised, and waved over the bartender. “Two drinks, on me.”

“Thanks,” you said, glancing up at her. “You always charm lost strangers?”

“Only the pretty ones.”

Your pulse skipped.

The drinks came, and the two of you talked. 

It was easy. Too easy. You learned her name was Rhea, and that was enough to break the last of the awkwardness. 

She was surprisingly funny. Sharp but gentle when she teased. And when she listened, she gave you her full attention, like nothing else in the world mattered.

You didn’t remember laughing this much in weeks.

You didn’t remember being looked at like that… maybe ever.

By the second drink, your knees brushed.

By the third, she was touching your wrist when she leaned in close to say something.

And when she stood, she looked down at you and said, “Wanna get out of here?”

You nodded.

The ride to her place passed in a blur of streetlights and fast heartbeats.

Her apartment was dark and sleek, with black walls, leather furniture, and hints of deep red. 

She let you in gently, closing the door behind you with a soft click.

You turned to face her, suddenly unsure. She stepped closer, slow and deliberate.

“You can tell me no,” she said softly, hand brushing your jaw. “If you don’t want this.”

You looked up at her, feeling the tension stretch between you like silk.

“I want this,” you said, voice quiet but sure.

Her lips met yours without hesitation.

The kiss was slow at first, testing, like she wanted to memorise you one touch at a time. 

Her hands found your waist, your back, sliding beneath your shirt to warm skin. You gasped into her mouth as she deepened the kiss, her tongue stroking yours, possessive and sweet all at once.

She lifted you, like it was nothing, and carried you to the bedroom.

Clothes were stripped away between kisses and whispers — your dress sliding off your shoulders, her shirt pulled up over her head. You touched her like she was made of fire. She touched you like you were made of glass.

“Beautiful,” she murmured, her voice rough with want. “You’re so beautiful.”

She took her time, slow fingers, soft mouth, kisses pressed to every inch of your skin. When she finally sank into you, it wasn’t just about lust. It felt like she was trying to show you something she didn’t know how to say.

You wrapped your arms around her. Let her move against you. Matched her rhythm and whispered her name into her neck as your body arched and burned.

After, she held you. Her skin is warm. Her breath is slowing.

You lay tangled in her sheets, cherry perfume clinging to your pulse points, her arm resting heavy and sure around your waist.

“Still glad you took the wrong turn?” she murmured into your hair.

You smiled.

“Best wrong turn I’ve ever made.”

[privatebullshit]

with faith undaunted [part 02.]

— ♡

part 02. blossoming [2.2k+ words]

summary: y/n y/l/n is a nurse-in-training when she meets joseph j. toye in 1942, shortly after the attack on pearl harbor, at camp toccoa. she's the americana dream, he's a reckless private. what happens when their fates cross paths?

♡ follow along on their journey of love, loss, and hardship as the story progresses in events taking place before, during, and after the war. ♡

warnings: language, time period sexism

song rec: every girl gets her wish - saint avangeline

wfu taglist: @luvrottt @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @fromjupitertocentauri @annasansh @bluecanvasshoe @catbusloki

previous parts: 00. promo 01. remembrance

wfu masterlist bofb masterlist

— ♡

As they watched the cab shrink into the horizon in the distance, the small cloud of dust from his departure still lingering in the air, Joe tilted his head downward to look at the girl beside him. He cleared his throat slightly, trying to gain her attention for a minute or two.

Her eyelashes flutter just a bit as her gaze shifts upward to meet his, Joe's heart panging with an unfamiliar feeling of warmth. She looked at him curiously, the intense stare making Joe want to look elsewhere— the ground, the sky, anywhere but her damn pretty face.

"Yes?" she finally asked, a hint of a laugh ghosting over her lips.

Joe snapped out of his daze for the second time of the day, lips threatening to curl into a half smile at the sound of her voice.

"Thanks for lettin' me tag along," he said, pausing when he saw her nod enthusiastically. He continued, his voice less gruff and more reserved, "Name's Joseph. Joseph Toye."

"Joseph. . ." she repeated, testing out the sound of his name on her tongue, and he adored it. She gave him a warm look before extending her hand to him, "I'm y/n. y/n y/l/n!"

Joe felt his usual cold demeanor melt away to a helpless puddle beneath his feet, his hand grasping hers gently. She shook his hand excitedly, but firmly, earning a soft chuckle from the man.

"It's nice to meet ya, y/n," Joe said, reluctantly retracting his hand, the calloused pads of his fingers brushing against her liquid smooth palm.

She didn't notice the lingering touch, or she chose not to, but if Joe had been paying close attention, he would've seen the sunlight illuminating the faint blush on her cheeks— which could've been easily mistaken as getting overheated from being outside.

But alas, Joe's brain was everywhere and nowhere at once, one hand shoved into his pocket, the other clutching the strap of his duffle bag.

"I guess this is 'goodbye,' huh?" He studied y/n's face for a second, admiring her features as if he was going to be quizzed on every single one. He managed to stop his eyes from drifting to her lips as she started to respond.

"'Goodbye' seems like forever, I'll see you later, Joseph," she smiled, collecting her bags from off the ground as she gave him once last glance. She started to walk away to the open gate of Camp Toccoa, and Joe was standing there like fool that got shot by Cupid's arrow.

Y/n turned her head to look over her shoulder, letting out a stifled giggle and waving to the ever frozen Joe one more time.

Joe lifted a hand back in acknowledgement, shaking it side to side a bit before letting it drop, "Yeah, see ya later, Y/n."

— ♡

About a month later

Joining the Paratroopers required a lot more effort than Joe initially thought, merely volunteering for the extra cash at first. He was quickly assigned to Easy Company and he met some of his closest friends there. The PT was hell on Earth and so was running Currahee. First Lieutenant Sobel barked at the men of Easy Company to train harder, faster, and longer, every damn day.

"Jesus, is he gonna make us run this bullshit mountain again?" Joe huffed, addressing one of the other men named Bill Guarnere.

Guarnere laughed heartily, "Hah, yous will get used to it. All us boys have ran up and down the mountain more times than we can remember."

Joe nodded gravely, taking a deep inhale as Sobel started to shout.

"You people are at the position of attention!"

Joe quickly clicked his heels together, standing tall and stone faced. Sobel went around and started to reprimand some of the men for minor infractions. Perconte got blasted for blousing his pants over his boots, Luz had dirt in his rifle's rear sight aperture, a thread on Lipton's chevrons were too long, there was rust on Malarkey's rifle, and Liebgott had a rusty bayonet.

Joe's eyes followed as Sobel tossed the bayonet into the soft ground, but he heard a slight giggle in the distance, causing him to turn his head in the direction it came from. He was sure it was y/n's laugh, his stomach doing flips as he looked for her. And there she was.

It had been a few weeks, maybe even a month, since they last saw each other. And now, she stood far away with the other nurses-in-training in her uniform that adorned her quite nicely. She looked like a proper nurse already and poor Joe was distracted. So distracted that he didn't even see his commanding officer standing in front of him.

"Private! Are you even listening to me?" Sobel shouted, hitting the top of Joe's helmet with his knuckles.

"Yes, sir!" Joe responded, snapping his eyes away from where y/n was.

Sobel's eyes narrowed as he circled Joe, "Then what did I just say, private?"

Joe couldn't come up with a good enough excuse in time, not that Sobel would take any excuse at all.

"Name?" Sobel asked bitterly, standing before Joe once more.

"Toye, Joseph J., sir."

"Toye," Sobel muttered. "And what had you so distracted that you stopped listening to your commanding officer?"

"Nothin', sir. . . er- no excuse, sir," Joe responded, unsure of himself as he felt the eyes of the rest of the company on him.

Sobel's gaze drifted over to the medical tent where y/n still stood, now organizing a bin of bandages and medicines. He let out a low, amused hum, looking back at Joe.

"So, a broad, hm?"

Joe knew better than to talk back or defend her against Sobel's word, so he muttered a simple, "Yes, sir."

"You better get your priorities straight, Toye. I don't need your lack of attention infiltrating my company. Fix it, or get out," Sobel sneered.

"Yes, sir," Joe repeated.

Sobel moves to stand in front of the company, "Now, thanks to these men and their infractions, every man in the company who had a weekend pass... has lost it. Change into your PT gear, we're running Currahee."

Lieutenant Winters ordered everyone to get to the barracks and change within two minutes maximum, Toye's steps dragging in embarrassment. He couldn't believe how badly he got reprimanded.

Toye changed into his PT gear quickly, avoiding the eyes of the other men. One of them finally breaks the silence, George Luz, who also got told off by Sobel earlier, "Hey, man, don't worry about it too much."

Joe clicked his tongue and shook his head, "Yeah, but my starin' must've been too fuckin' obvious, huh?"

Luz grinned and shrugged, "Listen, we've all been through it. Ya ain't the only man in Easy with eyes, ya know?"

Joe gave George a puzzled look, silently asking what he meant by that as they exited their barracks.

"Y/n's a real sweet lookin' girl," George laughed, nudging Joe's side, earning a low growl from the latter.

"So, you know her?" Joe scoffed.

"Everyone knows y/n, Joe. We go to her or one of the other nurses-in-training when we're not feelin' our best," George responds, noting the jealous expression on Joe's face. "But she's definitely our favorite."

Joe shoots him a quick glare before meeting up with the other Easy men outside, "Yeah, whatever."

He should've known that he wasn't exactly special. Of course the other guys would know her and get to ogle at her in that damn uniform. It just made his chest pang a little too much, a sting that wouldn't go away no matter how much he willed it too.

All he could do was run alongside his buddies up Currahee mountain, listening to Sobel scream, "HI-HO SILVER!"

— ♡

Two months later

Now, Joe finds himself at the aid station's tent flap, shifting his weight from side to side. He had gotten into a bit of a disagreement with one of the men from Dog Company, earning a set of bruised knuckles and a bloody nose that he attempted to clean up.

He shouldn't be like this, nervous with a racing heart, but the thought of seeing y/n again to be treated made him all dizzy. He extended a hand to the zipper of the tent, opening it half way.

"Excuse me?" Joe called out, looking around for anyone that might be there.

One of the more seasoned nurses stepped into view to greet him, her neat eyebrows raised in a skeptical manner upon seeing his state.

"May I help you?" she asked, knowing the obvious answer was "yes," but she figured that he was looking for someone else.

"Uh, yes ma'am, is- is y/n here?" Joe was thankful for the darkness above, shadows casted over the apparent redness on his cheeks.

The nurse chuckles through her nose, shaking her head in amusement, "She's just around the corner. I'll go get her for you."

Joe thanked the nurse profusely, still awkwardly wiping away at the blood leaking from his nose. After a few minutes of waiting, y/n silently approached Joe. She was told that "some soldier desperately need to see her." She didn't expect to see him tonight, or at all, for that matter. When they parted ways at the gate upon first arriving here, she was sure that was it. But here he was, a couple months later.

"Joseph?"

Joe's eyes widened and softened simultaneously, drinking in the fact that y/n was standing in front of him now. He'd never get tired of seeing her, each time making the warmth in his chest spread more and more.

"Y/n. . ." Joe whispered, a soft grin appearing on his face.

"It's quite late, isn't it?" Y/n said, glancing at him before noticing his bleeding nose. "Never mind that, let's get you cleaned up."

Joe's heart nearly burst as she grabbed his hand to lead him into the tent, setting him down on some crates while she flitted to and fro, grabbing supplies.

"Well, ya should've seen the other guy," Joe said lowly, eyes darting as he followed her movements. He heard her scoff and mutter something about him being "reckless." Y/n came back over and leaned down a little, examining his bloody nose with tender care. Joe started to feel a bit warm now at the proximity, but nothing could've prepared him for what she was about to do next.

She held his face in her hands, cleaning his nose gently with a warm cloth, "You really ought to be more careful, you can't go around fighting whoever." His fingers ached to cover hers, to lace their digits together against his cheek.

Joe resisted the temptation to lean into her palm, lips parted slightly as he gazed up at her. She had this cute furrow in her brow as she worked and scolded him, though he was barely listening. He must've had a goofy grin on his face because she stopped what she was doing to look at him.

"What's that expression for?" she asked, grabbing an ointment for cuts.

Joe shrugged, "You're cute when you're focused."

Y/n chucked a roll of bandages at him, scoffing, "Am not." She took Joe's hands in hers, applying ointment to his bruised knuckles. He hissed at the slight sting, lip between his teeth.

"I know, I know," she murmured, blowing cold air on them gently before wrapping his hands with a thin layer of bandages.

"All done," she said, taking a step back. She couldn't deny that Joe was quite handsome, his dark features on his tan skin creating a portrait fit for a museum.

"Thanks, but ya forgot one thing," Joe said cheekily, giving her a half-grin.

"Which is?" Y/n looked at him with confusion, crossing her arms.

"Ya need to kiss it better, or else it won't heal," Joe chuckled at her reaction, the flush on her cheeks growing bright with embarrassment. "I'm kiddin', I'm kiddin'!" he protested as she shooed him out of the tent.

"Just go back to your quarters, Joseph!"

Joe turned before exiting fully, raising a hand to move some hair out of her eyes, "Alright, alright. Goodnight, y/n."

His fingers lingered for a second before he stuffed his hands into his pockets. She opened her mouth and closed it, unable to find the right words to say. She finally spoke softly, a glimmer in her eyes that Joe couldn't quite place, "Goodnight, Joseph."

Joe wanted to say more, to do more than just brush her hair out of the way, but he couldn't. He didn't want to risk his chances of becoming a Paratrooper, and he certainly wasn't going to get y/n in trouble either. The repercussions on her were bound to be worse.

He simply nodded, turning again to walk back to his quarters. Y/n hesitated for a moment, chewing the inside of her cheek in thought.

"Joseph!" she called out, causing him to turn immediately. She couldn't hear it, but his heart was thumping against his chest wildly, as if he just ran Currahee all over again.

"Yeah?" he responded, his eyes meeting hers.

"Try not to get into another fight, okay? I can't always waste bandages on you." Y/n's words caused Joe to grin again, laughing breathlessly as he shrugged.

"No promises, sweetheart."

And with that, he bid her another goodnight, both of them just as flustered as the other.

[cetoddle-archive]

still on the fence about remaking but i did set up a new blog all ready to go @cetoddle-backup

[salamispots]

speedrunning a bday gift for bb nephew hjdfgjh

[clarissasbakery]

save me nerd/jock friendship…..

[collophora]

Happy may the fourth have a 4 minutes animatic about Crosshair and Omega bounding over sniping stuff.

[mblue-art]

once again i was fueled with coffee (did not sleep the whole night) but this time i doodled college au to cope bc ofc i did (also did not feel like sleeping wooo)

[mazken]

brush test slash rendering practice with ayem

[wreckedhoney]

MASSIVE SPOILER for one of the endings.

it's been a while since i tried looking, but i did hear that something like this happens last year and over time started to think, "was it a fluke?" bc no one posted footage or caps of it then, and i aimed for a completionist run in my first playthrough. turns out it's real! and definitely shines a new light on a character that, for most other types of playthroughs, will not give this much emotion! EDIT: transcript now included, and some stillshots under the cut

[0:28] Marie: Henry, this is the man who kept you from doing the right thing tonight. Kill him. [0:15] Forrest: Henry, you don’t have to do this. If you’ve not killed anyone yet, there’s still time to make the right decision. [0:05] Out of shot: (Gunshots) Henderson Police! Freeze! Marie: No! Henry, get out of there!

[lokh]

remembering very abruptly that i desperately need to work on lowering my cholesterol levels. anyone got any advice

[qaanngi]

Medibang Pro on ipad, brush, and colouring style experiment with my beautiful goblin daughter.

[necrotic-nephilim]

in lieu of having posted any writing/headcanons/asks in the past few days because i have been *so* busy and unable to do anything fandom-related which is terrible and evil, i have a poll out of morbid curiosity and self-indulgence. i've been meaning to ramble here about how i feel about DC's lack fo Deaf representation and which Batfam members i would personally make Deaf, but i am mildly curious about the larger opinion and now i will subject you all to the question, i would love to hear thoughts/opinions/headcanons on any specific choices. (would love d/Deaf/HoH opinions esp but i'm mostly expecting this to reach the hearing crowd, so opinions from hearing ppl are ones i'm very curious about. if you've never given it thought before you are going to now or else /lh)

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

wanna ask how you feel about the eridan bpd headcanon/theory(?? not sure what to call it!) you're so good at your character analysis and i'd love to see your outlook on it

Since I don't have a degree or any formal training in psychology, I feel deeply uncomfortable diagnosing characters. I've made an autism joke before but only because I'm on the spectrum. He's definitely traumatized and anxious, but I mean those as descriptors of his behavior rather than capital-D Diagnoses. I try to focus on those when I can - the cause and effect of cognition, self-image, and behavior - and those factors may very well match up with DSM criteria, but I try not to touch an actual diagnosis with a ten foot pole unless the author has explicitly stated that X character has Y condition.