#{ Hypothetical Person what is with you and no men? }

[hellishjoel]

a tit-bit nippy

1.1k / pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

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word: marshmallow

warnings/information: fluff, winter games, cold temperatures, alcohol consumption, my more casual writing style

a/n: in honor of completing the winter section of the seasons of life challenge, I thought I'd have a little fun with my favorite Delta crew! my banners are by @saradika-graphics. shoutout to @berryispunk and @lady-bess for putting this together on @fanfictionoverload!

It’s a really stupid game, like really fucking stupid. What started as a drunken dare during a bitterly cold January training camp evolved into a full-blown tradition among Frankie and his Delta Force buddies. 

If you’ve ever seen New Girl, it has the same nonsensical, chaotic rules as True American. But the Delta Force crew call it “A Tit-Bit Nippy.”  It celebrates endurance, chaos, and sheer stupidity in the face of freezing temperatures. 

The game combines random challenges, a heavy dose of trash-talking, and a complete disregard for frostbite as the players compete to be the last one standing.

Don’t get lost in the hypotheticals or the parentheses; this is how the game works:

All players (You, Frankie, Benny, Will, Pope, and Pope’s girlfriend Samara) strip down to their underwear and boots. You form a circle around an unlit campfire (which will come into play later), and one player is chosen as the Snow Emperor, who starts the game. 

Each round, the Snow Emperor assigns a challenge, and failure to complete the challenge results in being exiled (sent back inside the snow cabin where you must wear a loser sash.

This game is not for the weak, and if there’s anything you love more, it’s making these macho military men shiver in their boots. 

After a frozen beer is used for spin the bottle, it lands on Frankie as the Snow Emperor. 

He’s quick to dash around the group as everyone groans and complains, as he was a ruthless Snow Emperor last year. But that was before you joined the group, and you’re ready to give your boyfriend the added challenge. 

“Snow Emperor 2025, bitches! Strip!” He belts, chugging the slushie beer as everyone grimaces for their torturous time ahead. 

“Why did we agree to this?” Samara asks in a whisper as she sheds her black winter coat, a shiver already traveling up her spine. “You and I could be in town shopping, drinking hot cocoa, melting away in a sauna. But instead, your merciless boyfriend is going to put us through the wringer. Frankie says he’s undefeated, but he refuses to talk about that one year Benny bested him by eating yellow snow.” 

You send her a sigh and a shrug, slowly pulling your top up and over your head, Frankie’s eyes noticeably lingering on your figure. “Because… I think I Catherine the Great his ass.” Both of you snicker before exiting the cabin, ready for the challenges ahead. 

“Hey,” Pope reprimands Benny, whose eyes are lost on Samara’s gorgeous body. “Focus on the game.” He backhands his friend’s balls, forcing a grunt up Benny’s throat as he clutches his frozen grapes in pain. 

The challenges and eliminations are as follows:

Frankie hosts a snow angel relay, and the first person to make a perfect snow angel without screaming wins. Will won, the infamous Ironhead making a tall and broad snow angel with a mute expression. His brother, Benny, wasn’t so lucky, screaming after a minute and shivering all the way back inside. 

Next, the Snow Emperor has his loyal subjects guess the temperature outside. The farthest guess loses and, therefore, has to belly-flop into a large snow pile. Samara, bless her heart, is from a warmer climate and guessed far too low. She was thus sent to her execution (snowflop). 

Frankie won his icicle duel against Pope, and you won yours against Will. 

To warm up, you both took a shot of god-awful vodka. If it were tequila, you would have been fine, but this tasted like nail polish remover and bleach. 

“Second place gets the sled of shame,” Frankie smirks as he stares across the unlit campfire at you, both pale, cold, and shivering with the freezing temperatures. 

Despite it all, you’re smiling because this is the most fun you’ve had in winter since you were a little kid. “What the fuck is the sled of shame?”

“Runner-up gets tied to a sled and dragged around the frozen lake by everyone else while we all scream shame!” He laughs maniacally, putting his hands together and blowing warm air against his palms. 

You eagerly smack his hands away and narrow your eyes on the tyrant. “Quit the chit-chat. How do we end this, Morales?” A puff of warm air leaves your mouth and moves like a ghost in the wind, everyone watching from the window of the snow cabin to see who will come out on top. 

Frankie wears a wicked smirk and reaches down for a handful of snow. “Snowball sniper. One round, end-all. No blocking with your hands. First one hit, loses.”

This would be a snow war to end all wars. He would not win. You swore to Samara you would try, and try you must. 

You find safety behind a stack of wooden logs, readying up some preparatory snowballs as Frankie aims for your head and misses. You throw one, two, three snowballs, but he’s more agile than he looks. He chases you around the cabin, both of you breathless and panting. His fail was slipping on some ice, groaning in pain as he lay helpless in a blanket of fresh snow. 

You slowly cross over to the fallen soldier, the snow crunching under your boots. He looks at you with soft eyes, the sun setting behind the clouds for good as he grimaces at the sight of a large snowball in your hand. “Just… get it over with.”

“Shame to see it end like this,” you mutter. With respect to the Emperor, you fall to your knees and kiss him, purely a distraction to give the final blow: a snowball to his hat-covered head. 

Cheers erupt from the warm cabin, everyone sprinting from the warmth and wrapping their arms around you and Frankie as the men rejoice in a rendition of “War is Over.” 

“All hail the Nippy Queen!” Frankie proclaims, lifting his beer in a triumphant toast. The rest of the group cheers, now bundled up and gathered around the roaring campfire, where marshmallows crackle and glow in the heat of victory.

He turns to you with a teasing grin, his dark eyes glinting in the firelight. “What is your first royal decree, my love?”

The others lean in expectantly, smirking and elbowing each other, waiting for your answer. You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all.

“My first decree,” you announce with mock authority, “is that next year, we celebrate New Year’s on a tropical island!”

The camp erupts into laughter, everyone already dreaming of sandy beaches and piña coladas—anything but another round of A Tit-Bit Nippy.

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[ricky-mortis]

Curtwen Week Day 6: Happy Ending

[sqtorux]

Oh my gad i saw the cheating rq and link and thought u actually went ahead and wrote that smau and felt so betrayed bc u said u wouldnt last time but alas it was just a link to the post from last time lmaooooo 😭 my heart dropped and i felt ILL. You are legally not allowed to write them cheating on us bc u write them so in character that its actually gonna hurt so bad like hsjajksk

if this isn't the highest compliment ever ajhdhxhd im flattered honoured and every synonym that's close to it.

i just can't imagine them cheating on us. well okay maybe i can BUT I DON'T WANT TO. they will not cheat end of discussion

[athenasdragon]

GOD I am not emotionally intelligent enough for the situation I currently find myself in

[bkgbkgbkg]

Reaching peak insanity rn bc

what would you ACTUALLY do if ur fav character just spawned in front of you??

No bc I’d immediately assume they’ll disappear soon aswell so assuming u have little time what ru doing??

As a joke i first thought I’d immediately try sleep with bakugo or eren BECAUSE WHEN ELSE WILL I BE ABLE TO? It just logically feels stupid not to bc hellooo??

But actually if the situation was real is it their anime characters or fanfiction characters (assuming they’re manifested from you and your perception of the character) bc if it were the actual bakugo/eren or smt from the mha/aot world they will not fuck me.. they’d need a debrief of the real world and they probably wouldnt believe me or like me at all anyway.

Ok so what if its fanfiction bakugo/eren and they’re compliant, hate me less as a stranger and can actually be romantic; assuming they still have human sense and emotions I STILL CANT FUCK THEM RIGHT AWAY,

guys what to do??????????

[voidsentprinces]

...what if I just made a poll called: Would you fuck this man? and its just a different fictional man each week?

[ranger-kellyn]

haha yeah i'm definitely still bi. absolutely. no doubt about it. :)

sure- i don't want to be with a man ever again until i've finally been with a woman in a real and meaningful way. and sure, the thought of never getting to fully be with a woman makes me want to curl into a ball on the floor and sob. when i fantasize about getting to wake up next to someone, i always want it to be next to a woman. and the thought of a man hitting on me just makes me want to rip my hair out because it's just not what i want--

but i'm definitely still bi :) i could absolutely still end up with a man :o)

[deepspaceclawstation]

Apparently I have watched The Birdcage, with my family no less! I'd seen it referred to here but never connected the dots that it was the same movie I'd watched many years ago on tv, probably when I was a teenager.

I don't remember my parents' reaction to it but since I'd seen some of it and no one changed the channel, they were at least engrossed enough to watch? They can be cool about stuff sometimes, they are just very unpredictable about it.

[aromantic-pantyanarchy]

It's me. I'm the cis, heterosexual, aromantic man. I will never marry, I will never be married, I will grow into middle age and elder age and I will die unmarried. I will be forced to support a household of myself on only my wages alone for the rest of my life. I will be asked about women and marriage and children by my family for the rest of my life (or men, the progressive ones might say). I may not ever come out to them. I feel like I burned my coming out on something stupid. I don't want to explain it. I don't want to run them through the definitions and intricacies. I don't want the acceptance without understanding, placating me with ceased questions and poor explanations to other, drunk adults.

I like my hair to be long, I spent a year with it dyed a golden blonde with dark roots because I like the trashy party girl aesthetic. I want to dye it again with pink tips. I like painting my nails, black and blue are my favorite colors. I like wearing chokers. I also like wearing baggy jeans and ratty hoodies. I like having stubble. I like having chest hair. I like having a square jaw and broad shoulders. I wish I had a flatter stomach and a thinner profile frame. I don't know what this makes me, perhaps this is something no more GNC than Machine Gun Kelly. I think about this a lot, how queer my appearance truly is. I should think about it less. I have thought long and hard about if I could be trans or if I could be non-binary or if I could be genderqueer and the conclusion I ultimately came to is that I most enjoy being a man open to whatever self-expression I want.

I don't date, but I've thought about it. I would like to meet people, and I would like to have sex with them. But I don't want to hurt them. I fear if I explain what I am beforehand it'll scare them away. I fear if I explain after they'll feel manipulated or abused. I don't know how many people in the dating scene want what I want. I fear my own lack of experience will make me a bad lay, an embarrassing story to tell to confidants in hindsight. I fear my own virginity, a boundary to those I wish to be like. All of these fears are baseless, as I've not been able to even begin a single relationship in my life. Despite this I still heavily identify with terms like "slut" and "manwhore" and "thot" because my interests lay so deeply within casual sex, sex without great intimacy or emotion. This may be some form of stolen valor. I hope the true sluts are not too mad at me.

I made this blog several years ago because a mutual of mine reblogged memes making fun of aro and ace people, making fun of the concept of aphobia, and in addition well known aphobes. I didn't feel comfortable talking about aro stuff on my main blog, for as little as I talk about it. Living through the ace discourse of the 2016 era has largely caused me to cringe in embarrassment any time I am forced to discuss my orientation with people who aren't aro or ace themselves. I no longer follow this person. I unfollowed many people I was mutuals with from that time, most of them because they posted too often about how much they hated men and I didn't want to see that, some because our interests simply drifted too far apart, only one for explicit aphobia reasons. (Also one because they became a "both sides are bad, any vote is wasted" libertarian, but that's unrelated.)

I guess at this point I don't care deeply about what strangers on the internet think of me. If a trusted friend told me that they don't think I'm truly queer that may hurt. But I am going to continue to use the word for myself. I take up no resources. I go to events that are open to me. If an event was not open to me, I think I'd not want to go anyways. I am not a hypothetical, I am not a strawman, I am a person with lived experiences both within and exterior to the queer community. If you hate me, I will permit you to continue to do so. But ultimately, I am who I am, I cannot change these facts, and I would not choose to do so even if I could.

[prettykikimora]

Americans have a little adolf hitler living inside every single one of them, and it comes out when they're mildly inconvenienced by or convinced they're under threat by a minority. Most people with the money to order food service all the time are making decent living, without what other nonsense classifications of hypothetical people you want to use as a cudgel, terrified white women looking you dead in the eye and saying it's feminist and empowering women's safety to automatically assume all men of color are out to get you because they expected a woman delivering their sandwich, and man showed up instead. We live in a hysteria culture, a fascist fourth reich society. It tells you to be afraid of everyone.Don't look at the statistics that's say a majority of assaults are carried out by people who know each other, just distrust people of color, EASY! You will be bought and sold if it means someone can get their treats on time. " I am disabled. I don't have to think about the consequences of my actions. I will report my food service workers to show up as someone different then what was shown in their picture." As if anyone who isn't insane even looks at that anyways. It is vastly entitled and disgusting to eliminate effectively this underground economy of people who are for whatever reason, unable to find normal work, use their friends account for doordashing. This is a common and unspoken practice and i'm afraid now got the little nazis on the internet here are raising a nothing fuss about it that's soon, we're all going to need real ID's and scan our Fucking eyeballs with our phones just a log into a fucking food delivery app to deliver j. fogle's forty five dollar single item from across town, being your personal chauffeur for a cup of coffee. It's a lack of respect for workers. A lack of respect for poor people, a lack of respect for felons, migrant workers, trans people, people whose account is just fucked up, it's just next door type people fuckin locked away in their house or work. Brain's becoming more and more fascist by the day because they live in a suburb and are disconnected from the lives of the average working person and they lack the compassion. pretty soon we're not gonna be able to do anything dude. Don't tell these petty bourgeois little creeps about selling food stamps.

I say all that having a big, stupid argument with people because, of course, like a golden trumpet sounding, a chariot from the gods raining down on us, The one pure example for them to point to of the person I tried to defend specifically bringing up this point that just because someone has a criminal record, they're not a danger to you specifically, unbeknownst to me for whatever fucking reason is a guy who Lost his job for a doordash because he killed somebody in a hit and run. And then it becomes something totally different, it's not a leftist, defending compassion, people down on their luck, and the rights of the lumpen proletariat, It becomes me suddenly saying "nobody should ever get a background check, meryl thinks it's cool That guy killed a guy, and it's still driving for doordash because he uses his friend's account now."

Doesn't that just figure.

You don't just get sent to jail forever. Life continues when you get out and you gotta do what you gotta do. A felon working for the Western express trucking company just brought you your groceries, a felon put out the fire Engulfing your forest. A felon made the hubcaps for your car and like a million other things, because the American economy is predicated on slavery still play another name, which is why the state of California voted against ending slavery buy another name Because it would mean higher prices and less jobs like ancient Rome, California is a disgusting place that grew so large because of efficiency in subjugation.

[lulu2992]

I’ve never updated this but I feel like doing it because the team has slightly changed since I made the post :)

One of the DLCs asked me to hire a DJ, but because my team was already at maximum capacity, I had to part ways with one of my operatives. I chose Rimsky Watson because, since he’s a Royal Guard, I knew where to easily find him if I ever wanted to “visit” him again.

So my final team, minus Rimsky and with the bonus Prestige Operatives, also included these lovely people:

Becky Vanterpool - 24 - DJ

Aiden Pearce - 55 - Vigilante

Wrench - 41 - Your Future, Husband

Mina Sidhu - 19 - //PROPERTY OF OMNI//

Darcy Clarkson - 25 - Assassin

Helen Dashwood - 78 - Retiree

And as I expected, I saw our friend Rimsky in the wild, just doing his job:

THE FULL TEAM

In order of recruitment, from left to right and top to bottom:

Afficher davantage

[archangeldyke-all]

@sumilane made this gorgeous art and i wrote a little something for it! i posted it already last night as a reblog but i'm going to make it it's own post so gio can add more art to it!! eeek!!!

men and minors dni

sevika is feeling strangely vulnerable.

it could be the bottle of whiskey the two of you have been sharing this evening. it could be that silco, the one person she knew best in the world, is gone now. it could even be the brat he left behind for her to take care of who's been slowly worming her way into sevika's heart throughout the time spent fixing up her new arm and changing their looks together.

it could just be you, though. the sorta-sad, mostly resigned look in your eye as you lament your relationship woes to sevika.

"i dunno... every time i think i could have something with someone-- not even like, marriage, but y'know-- just someone to share some intimacy with-- something happens and it doesn't work. after a while i just start to think maybe it's not the circumstances that are fucked up 'n maybe it's just me."

"bullshit." sevika spits, shaking her head and quickly refilling her glass with more whiskey. she has to do something with her hands to keep from reaching across the table and shaking your shoulders as she speaks. "y-you're fine. perfect--" she cuts herself off, a furrow in her brow as she glares at her whiskey.

you snort. sevika's adorable when she's tipsy, stumbling over her words and staring into space. fuck. you need to stop rambling about your heartache to the woman you're hopelessly in love with. "i-i'm sorry for dumping this shit on you sev. 's boring and stupid and--"

"no, shut up, it's just--" sevika blinks up at you then curls in on herself in a manner that's almost... shy. she clears her throat and looks away for a moment, almost whispering. "i-i'd marry you."

you blink.

"what?"

"i'm saying you're fuckin' stupid if you think you don't have options." sevika mutters, hunching her shoulders so much she looks small.

you're heart's beating a mile a fucking minute, and you squeak when you bite your tongue to make sure you aren't dreaming. "you said you'd marry me?"

"fuckin'-- obviously only in some hypothetical world where you were into me." sevika shrugs. "but...yeah." she grunts, before reaching out and drowning the whiskey in her glass, muttering a "fuck." under her breath.

you blink a few times, tears spontaneously bubbling up in your vision and a lump forming in your throat. "i was under the impression that i didn't have a shot with you." you whisper.

sevika's eyes fly to yours, wide and shocked. "what the fuck would make you think that?!"

"j-just..." you trail off, gulping again. "you're the most interesting, attractive woman i've ever met, and i am one of about a thousand other fuckin' people in zaun who think so. a-and we've been friends for years and you never said anything..." you trail off as sevika stumbles out of her booth and over to yours, shoving in beside you and cornering you against the wall, clutching your jaw with both of her hands as she stares down at you-- bewildered.

"is this a dream?" she asks.

"i bit my tongue to check-- it's real."

"i-i was serious y'know. i'll take you down to the courthouse tomorrow morning." she says, her voice shaky and sincere.

suddenly, the full reality of the situation hits you, and you burst into laughter. "i-i've been in love with you for years." you admit through giggles. "years!"

sevika starts to giggle too. "m-me too."

"and your fucking haircut is so hot all i've wanted to do for the past two weeks is kiss yo--"

sevika cuts you off with her lips to yours, and you sigh, wrapping your arms around her shoulders.

it's a drunk, sloppy kiss-- years of tension and yearning finally bubbling to the surface as sevika attempts to pin you to the booth.

you have every intention of letting her do just that when she pulls away, grinning down at you.

"you really bit your tongue, didn't you? i can taste the blood in your mouth." she asks.

you nod, clawing at her desprately as you try to get her to kiss you again. sevika grins, swooping in to do just that-- but when she pulls away the second thime with her leps stained with your blood, you gasp. "oh, shit!"

"i tried to tell you." sevika giggles.

"do i need stitches? can you give stitches to a tongue?" you ask.

"this really puts a dent in all my plans." sevika cackles. you snort, and she passes you the bottle. "drink. it'll wash the blood away."

"w-what plans?" you ask as you take a swig.

"the plans i had for your tongue."

you choke, whiskey spraying everywhere as you cackle.

sevika--covered in your spit, blood, and whiskey-- smiles so wide you think her face might crack.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@lavandasz

[luveline]

I need more Hotch x teacher PLEASE, I’ll take anything 😭🙏🏻

Mr. Hotchner —call me Aaron, he always says, because he’s a bully— walks across the school grounds with his son stuck to him. 

According to your colleagues, Jack used to be more outgoing. Not extroverted, but friendly, with many friends and lots to say. But after the passing of his mother a few years ago he’s become a quieter child. It’s not uncommon to see him glued to his father or his Aunt Jess before school. 

You tuck your hands in your cardigan against the early summer morning chill. “Hello,” you greet as the Hotchners approach. “Good morning.” 

“Good morning,” Aaron says. His smile is a rare and lucrative sight; whenever he smiles at you like this, as though you’re some wonder he’s happened upon accidentally, it betters your whole day. 

“Good morning, Jack,” you say, a gentle prompt to see what mood he’s in. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi, buddy. You got your reading diary filled out?” you ask. 

“Yeah. Me and dad read Marlo again, I hope that’s okay.” 

You bend just a bit to be smaller, “You can read anything you want to.” 

“Dad says so too.” 

You and Aaron share a look. “Dad’s always right, huh?”

Jack nods emphatically. Aaron edges a half step closer to you, looking as though his hand is itching where he’s tucked it in his coat pocket. There’s something in it, you realise. He pulls it out and offers it to you covertly. 

“You left this behind,” he says. 

It’s one of your bracelets. You open your palm and let him tip the bracelet into your hand, curling your fingers closed, but not before the brush of his thumb has made you miss it against your cheek. 

“Oh, wow, I assumed I lost it.”

“No… it must have fallen down between my bed and the nightstand.”

You glance around, not as covert as you wish you were. It’s not that you and Aaron can’t date, but you perhaps shouldn’t, and besides that things are so new between you that it isn’t anyone else’s business either way. Plus, you have Jack to think about. He doesn’t know you’re seeing his father yet. 

You smile gratefully and tuck the bracelet into your pocket. “Thank you.” 

“Jack!” a blonde little girl called Sadie races up to you all and smiles wide. “Do you want to come and play with me? I want to try cartwheels before we go in.” 

Jack looks up at Aaron, who nods and leans down. He kisses his unwrinkled forehead. “I should be going soon. Be good today, okay?” 

Jack says his love yous as he jogs away with Sadie, his lunchbox forgotten in Aaron’s hands. “Want me to take it?” you ask. 

“Oh, yes. Please, honey, if you don’t mind.” 

Again, his hand brushes yours as he hands it over, his skin a reminder that he’s touched you now, and kindly, gentle fingertips trailing down your back as you dozed with your face against his chest. He’s so… perfect, in a way, such a caring person, you’ve never felt like this about someone. His proximity makes you wish you could go home with him now or follow him to work. It’s an achy feeling without being sore. 

“I never mind.” You watch him carefully as you talk, “It’s nice to get to see you every morning.” 

“It would be even nicer if we could’ve had the whole morning together,” he says agreeably, fondly. “Did you check your calendar for me? How are things looking next weekend?” 

“Very open for nice men who bring me jewellery.” 

“Don’t start,” he says quietly, his hand twitching toward yours, “or I’ll blow our cover.” 

“I wish you could.” 

“Me too, honey. I’m going to talk with Jack about it again this weekend.” He beams. “I wonder if he’ll change his tune this time.” 

When Aaron brought up the idea of you and him together to Jack, it had been as a simple hypothetical: How would you feel if me and Miss L/N wanted to be friends, Jack? 

He was ecstatic. Then we can see her all the time! he’d said. Aaron’s next port of call is to introduce the g-word. 

You and Aaron meet eyes, looking at one another, his hand creeping closer and closer to your side. He takes the end of your cardigan into his hand and feels it between his fingers, the slight touch, slightest movement of the fabric against your shoulder sending a shudder down your arms and chest. 

“Can I see you tonight?” he asks. 

“You aren’t busy?” you ask, surprised.

“Of course I am, I always am. But I think I have to see you.” 

Oh, you have to, you could tease. But you really need to see him too. “Just text me when you want me and I’ll be there,” you say, looking away from him toward the children and their racing. 

You’re glad you aren’t looking at him when he next speaks. “I always want you, but I have to go. Have a good day, honey, alright?”  

Jack’s lunchbox creaks in your hand. A funny soft kiss would be nice here, his smile pressed to yours. Maybe one day you’ll get one out in the open. “Thank you. Have a good day, too, Aaron,” you say, only looking up at him when you’re sure he’s crossed the school grounds to the parking lot. 

He looks back over his shoulder to you twice. 

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 5 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: With each email written and received, you and Bradley are both aching for more details. While he's thinking about plans for a first date, you get apprehensive, knowing you're going to be devastated when he returns to wherever he calls home after a few days of leave. If the two of you had an opportunity to speak more intimately, there's a chance the details could fall into place.

Warnings: Fluff, language, Bradley being hot

Length: 4200 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

After much consideration on the matter, you sat down at home that evening with your phone and started to type up a response to Bradley. He wanted to know in an overabundance of detail how you'd feel if he asked to cancel your dinner reservation and chill with takeout instead? You weren't quite sure what he was getting at, and it felt a little bit like he had given you another assignment to work on, but you were planning on being completely transparent with him. 

Once again, the ease with which you and he communicated, even through the written word alone, was something that made you a little dizzy. A little needy. Bradley had better communication skills and paid you more attention than half of the men you'd dated, and he wasn't even in the same time zone as you.

Bradley,

We got the package you sent. My kids went wild over their personalized notes, as per usual. You've reached full celebrity status in my classroom. We'll be working on sending some notes back to you in the next few days, so brace yourself.

Please remember that you asked me for an abundance of detail here... What would I do if you wanted to change plans? Wanted to spend a quiet evening hanging out at your place instead of going out? In an extreme effort to sound as cool as possible right now... just thinking about this is making me feel warm enough that I need to take a lap around my apartment. I guess first of all, I would tell you that as far as takeout is concerned, I love Thai food the most. I'm not very picky though, so even a generic pizza and some beer would more than suffice. 

If you said you were tired from work and still wanted to hang out, I wouldn't be too pressed about the details. I would be perhaps a little giddy that you missed me enough to want me around. I'd offer to pick up dinner on my way. I would let you choose the movie. I wouldn't even be upset if you fell asleep. In fact I'd probably just cover you with a blanket and let you doze. There is perhaps no worse feeling than forcing yourself to go out when you just really don't want to. And right now nothing sounds better to me than watching a movie with you on your couch. But I have to know... if you're 6'1", are you too tall to stretch out there comfortably? Where would I end up? Would we be touching? Please reply with an abundance of detail. 

I know this scenario is purely hypothetical, but it does sound pretty perfect. I'll be thinking about splitting some Thai curry with you on your couch for a long time. Maybe during those couple days of leave when you get back to San Diego, we could meet? I think I would like that, even if you just have one day before you have to get back to your regular routine. And now I need to take another lap around my apartment.

One last thing. The aviator who took my photo on the beach was a woman, but I appreciate your response. I can't guarantee I'll stay off the beach, but I can guarantee that I'll give a guy a chance. Also, what does a girl have to do around here to get a dreamy sunset photo of you? 

Once again, hitting send before I can change my mind.

You took another lap around your apartment, even going so far as to walk around the block before it got too dark outside. Thai food and Bradley Bradshaw and a movie on his couch. There was a loop playing in your mind where he leaned in and kissed you before calling you 'Gorgeous Girl' and reaching for your hand.

"Why are you torturing yourself like this?" you moaned out loud when you walked back inside all flushed with desire. You took a long bath. You made some sleepy time tea. You sat on your couch with your notebook and worked on lesson plans until it was pretty late, but you weren't tired at all.

Frustrated that you were letting this man take over so much of your brain, you went to your bedroom and plugged your phone in for the night. And that's when you heard the familiar ping, alerting you to the fact that you had a new email.

"No way," you gasped when you looked at the screen. You'd just send him a response two hours ago, and Bradley had already written back. You flopped down onto your bed, wrenching your phone back from the charger as you started to read.

Hey, Gorgeous,

Your answer was enlightening, thank you. Relieved to hear you wouldn't pout about missing the dinner reservation. I love Thai food, but I would absolutely insist on grabbing the takeout and having you pick the movie (nothing with scary spiders, please). 

I actually don't really fit on my couch too well at all. If I really stretch out, my feet dangle over the arm, and there wouldn't be much room left for you, too. Would we be touching? God, I hope so. Where would you end up? I'm blushing just thinking about the possibilities. 

You asked for details? Well, I'd ask for permission. If you gave me permission to touch you, we'd be holding hands. If you gave me permission for more than that, then you'd be covering both of us with a blanket, and I'd be holding you a lot closer. I don't think I should provide further details on that right now, actually. Gorgeous girl, you're messing with my head.

If you're feeling generous enough to give me a chance, then I'm feeling generous enough to send you a sunset photo. But frankly a girl like you isn't going to have to do much at all to get whatever she wants. Next decent sunset around here is all for you.

Your Truly,

Bradley

Well, you may never sleep again. You read his email twice before pulling up the photo of him in front of his jet, and your mind started to wander as you looked at his face. No, you'd never sleep again.

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

Bradley felt pretty ridiculous. He'd never taken so many photos of himself before in his life. Snapping a few for your class while in his cockpit with all of his gear on was one thing, but trying to get a flattering one of his face with the sun setting in the middle of the ocean was something else entirely. He was alone in a deserted part of the deck, thankful nobody else could see him. 

"Maybe she won't notice if I'm not in it," he muttered as he snapped one of the setting sun. The sky was glowing a deep orange, and the clouds moving in made everything look even dreamier. He started thinking about you and the fact that you said you were going to give him a chance. The details weren't important. He'd work that part out. When he got back to San Diego, he was going to see if you and he were as compatible in person as you were right now. But the remainder of his deployment was the one thing that was preventing that from happening immediately, and you did ask him for a photo of himself. If you really wanted it, he'd make sure you had it.

He had never been so stressed out about his scars in his adult life before right now. The best photo he took of himself was one where they looked a little more prominent. He'd sleep on it tonight and consider if he wanted to send it or a different one. Usually he didn't care at all. He supposed that in person, women would either talk to him or not, depending upon if they were bothered by the way he looked or not. But you weren't with him in person, and the more detailed the photos were, the more likely you were to dwell on his face now. He really wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

After grabbing an inspired dinner alone in the mess hall, he thought about eating spicy Thai curry on his couch while you and he argued playfully about which movie to watch. Then he thought about you sitting on his lap and maybe even touching his scars which he hoped you wouldn't be bothered by. Then, as he changed to head to the gym, he imagined all the things he thought about but didn't tell you. Like pulling you onto his lap or stretching out on his couch with you lying mostly on top of him. His hand would find a nice resting spot on your back, or maybe even a little lower. His lips would eventually find yours, and the movie would become a distant memory in his mind.

"Shit." Now he was the one who needed to walk a lap before he could even go to the gym. He was already sweating by the time he got there, making it his continued mission to avoid the married woman while he listened to his playlist. He did a few extra reps, knowing you were on dry land in San Diego and wanting to make sure he looked as good as possible. Maybe he could make up for the close up photo of his face with his body.

Without sleeping on it, Bradley went back to the lounge and logged in. He sent you the best photo of the bunch along with two sentences.

Thinking of you, Gorgeous. Tell me about your week.

But he didn't hear back from you right away, and it wasn't for lack of checking his inbox. He hoped you and your students were working their way through the last batch of notes that he'd mailed. Or maybe you were busy and tired from taking them on a field trip. He was hoping there was a reason other than you not liking his bad selfie that meant he didn't get a response. 

Luckily he got busy over the weekend so he didn't have to think about it as much. Each time he climbed that ladder up to his cockpit and waited patiently for his jet to launch from the carrier deck, he took a few seconds to clear his mind and make sure he was focused on the right thing. He needed to survive this deployment so he could even potentially allow his thoughts to go further with you later.

When he made his way back to the lounge after dinner and a shower on Sunday night, he definitely got more in his inbox than he was hoping for. And not in a good way. There was a new message from you, but it was sitting right beneath a second, newer message. From Vanessa.

"What the fuck?" Bradley asked himself, loud enough that the guy next to him turned and glanced his way. It had been months since they'd spoken. Literally fucking months, and she was emailing him now? "No." Sudden panic started to boil to the surface as he quickly tried to click on it, now terrified about what she could be contacting him in regards to.

Hi,

I'm only writing to you because I have a bit of an issue that I need your help dealing with. I can't find my favorite water bottle anywhere. I think it's in your kitchen cabinet, and I just started at a new gym, so I really need it. Let me know how I can get into your house to retrieve it. And please don't take forever to respond to this like you usually do. Like I said, I really need it.

Vanessa

It was a joke. It must be. Bradley double checked the email address to make sure he wasn't being pranked by Nat or somebody else, but no, it was really from Vanessa. 

"A fucking water bottle?" he muttered. He couldn't even picture what she was talking about. Unless it was that ugly, oversized pink thing she used to carry around with her everywhere? The one with the big handle that he joked could double as a weapon? That thing?

What the fuck. He wrote back to her before he even bothered to open the email from you.

Vanessa, it's a water bottle. And it's already been months. Can't this wait until I'm home?

He hit send, rolled his shoulders and took a few deep breaths. He could archive her message so he didn't have to see it again, and he'd just deal with her bullshit later. He would read what you had to say instead, and hopefully it would cheer him up. But after he stood and stretched for a minute and sat back down, there was already a new response from Vanessa waiting for him.

"What the actual hell?" he grunted. He didn't even know what time it was at home, and he didn't take the few seconds to do the math as he started to read.

No, Bradley. I can't wait. It's a $65 sustainable, dual temperature, leak proof water bottle in a limited edition color. And I would like it back. I tried to find a replacement online, but I do not want a potentially used water bottle. Please advise.

He sat there with his fists clenched and his jaw set tight. He literally could not believe her. Anyone else would just use a different water bottle like a normal person, but he knew she'd be on his ass nonstop about this now. The fact that he was going to have to explain this situation to Nat and beg her to go over there with his spare key was almost laughable. He'd probably owe her two steak dinners if he asked her to deal with his ex girlfriend, because she never could stomach Vanessa. 

He sent Nat a quick email anyway with Vanessa's phone number which he had to look up in his phone, begging her to take care of this for him. It would be worth the price of two dinners at this point. Then he settled back in his seat and tapped on your beautiful name, letting the monitor fill up with your words. When he started reading, he forgot he was supposed to feel nervous at what you sent back in response to the close up selfie.

Bradley,

Wow. I didn't think things could improve after the photo of you with your jet and the video where you're speaking. But I was wrong. So wrong. And I'm not upset about it. You're very handsome. The sunset looks okay, too. Now you're the one messing with my head.

I'm sorry I didn't write back immediately, but you should know that your hot photo has taken up residence in my mind. My week involved three of my students getting sick with the flu as well as a bunch of parent/teacher conferences, and tonight I'm really tired. The idea of snuggling, or more, with you on your couch has been playing on loop. I'm giving you permission to hold my hand if we ever meet in person. You have very nice looking hands. You have a very nice looking everything. Would you mind me asking how old you are?

Right, well, we mailed another box back to you on Friday afternoon. My kids asked me to project a photo of a Super Hornet onto the wall so they could have a drawing contest. I finally caved and let them, and they want you to be the judge. And once again, you'll have eighteen individual letters to read. Nineteen if you include the one I put in the box.

On that note, I'm going to take a bath and snuggle up in bed. And you can't blame a girl for looking at that photo again.

Yours Truly,

Your favorite pen pal 

Now this was the kind of thing he wanted in his inbox, not questions about missing water bottles. Bradley hit reply immediately, happy that you hadn't even mentioned his scars. You thought he was handsome in the close up picture? He always figured he was okay enough looking that his height and build made women say he was attractive. But you actually called him handsome. He started typing back to you, already feeling so much better.

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

After resting all weekend, you were definitely feeling better. You loved your students, but sometimes dealing with their parents was more than you bargained for. Adults were often worse than kids when it came to complaining and exercising patience. All of the conferences from last week were a thing of the past now, but you still felt a little bad for taking so long to write back to Bradley. Especially after he sent you that photo.

Maybe you felt like you had to reel it in a little bit. What was the most that was going to happen? He'd agree to meet you during his short leave in San Diego? Maybe you'd go out on a date? It would probably be the best date of your life. It might even turn out to be the best night of your life. And then he'd leave for another station with the Navy, or maybe he'd return back home, leaving you feeling even lonelier than you did before you inadvertently mailed him that first box.

It was a good thing you had your students to take your mind off things on Monday morning. 

"Are we going to talk about aviation now or after lunch?" Violet asked as she unpacked her pencil box.

You took a deep breath and said, "We're actually going to start a unit on Natural History today." Eighteen pairs of eyes stared at you like you'd completely lost your mind. "It'll be great!"

Oliver's hand rocketed into the air. "Does Lieutenant Bradley also know stuff about Natural History? Is that what we're going to write to him about now?"

Great. Your students were just as attached as you were. "Well since our aviation unit is going to be tapering off, we probably won't need to be writing to him as much now."

"What?" gasped Jayden. 

"No way," complained Nia. 

After that, you tried to move along with your lesson plans, but the entire class just sat there quietly, barely engaged with what you were saying. And perhaps part of it was your fault, because you didn't really feel like teaching this after all. By the time lunch and recess arrived, you felt defeated. You sat quietly at your desk in your empty classroom while your kids played outside, and you ate your lunch while you checked your phone. Bradley had written back an hour ago. Even if you wanted to wait until later to read it, you wouldn't have been able to.

Hey, Gorgeous,

That note from you made my day. I can't wait for the new letters from the kids to arrive so I can spend my evenings writing back instead of absolutely living in the gym right now. You want me to judge a drawing contest? Bring it on. I'm so ready.

I'll tell you how old I am. I wasn't expecting to be so nervous about it, though. I'm thirty-six. You definitely look younger than that. I know it's never appropriate to ask a woman how old she is, so maybe you'll offer that number up without me asking? And maybe you'll tell me that I'm still within the age range of men you let email you regularly? Please?

Not gonna lie, taking a hot bath sounds amazing right now. And snuggling up in something bigger than an extra long twin bed would be heavenly. And thinking about you doing either of those things is enough to get me through the week with a smile on my face. Maybe even through the rest of the month. Maybe even to the point where I'm in San Diego. You'd look adorable snuggled up in your bed. But then again, when aren't you completely Gorgeous?

I'll be waiting for more air mail and another email.

Yours Truly,

Bradley Bradshaw

"Damn it," you groaned, melting back into your desk chair and shoving a cracker into your mouth. Even if meeting him was going to be a one-off, you still wanted to do this. You still wanted to write back to him and flirt and listen to his voice in the video he sent for your class with Marty the mechanic. You wanted to think about him working out on the aircraft carrier. You still wanted him to call you Gorgeous. You'd write back tonight.

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

Bradley was taking another video and some more photos in the shop with Marty for your class when one of the admirals stopped by. He jumped to attention and addressed him. "Sir, what can I do for you?"

"Lieutenant Bradshaw, you haven't put in for a phone call. Would you like to?"

Bradley just blinked at him for a few seconds. "I don't really have anyone to call, Sir." But that wasn't completely true. He'd never actually asked you about it, but he wouldn't mind calling your number. Which he didn't even have.

The admiral nodded and said, "Just giving first dibs to my high rankers who haven't made a call home yet. Otherwise you're dismissed, Lieutenant."

As soon as he started to walk away, Bradley found himself following along. "Actually, Sir, I may have changed my mind."

If he was already thinking about Thai food and a picnic on the beach for a first date, he might as well just ask you for your number now. As long as you didn't tell him his age was an issue. As long as you seemed keen on the idea of him calling. So he put his name down on the list, and then he started to sweat. He finished up with Marty, and he headed for the lounge.

When he logged in, he braced himself for another note from Vanessa like he always did now, but the only new item he saw was from you. He decided right then that if the vibes still felt right, he'd ask for permission to call you. And yeah, the vibes were feeling pretty fucking good. 

As soon as he opened the email, the attached photo at the bottom pulled his gaze in like a beacon. You were in bed, mostly under the covers, and the thin straps of some sort of tank top were the only thing preventing him from having a completely unobstructed view of both of your shoulders. Your skin looked impossibly soft, too perfect for him to touch with his rough hands, and your expression was playful and maybe a little nervous. He could see the soft swell of your breasts before the blankets enveloped your body in the most comfortable looking cocoon. He wanted to join you there in the worst way, and keep you warm enough that you wouldn't even need that blanket.

His heart was pounding as he started to read your note.

Bradley,

You know, it's funny you should mention that, because my currently inactive dating app profile says I'm interested in men who are between 30 and 40 years old. So you sound kind of perfect to me. And not that you asked or anything, but I turned 30 earlier this year. I hope that's within the age range of women that you let email you regularly.

I'm writing this from my bed. I have attached a photo. I'm not wearing any makeup, and I'm all snuggled in for the night, and of course I'm thinking about you. Whether it's a good idea or not, I find myself frequently thinking about you.

Your favorite pen pal

He scrolled back to the photo and sighed. Oh, he knew it was a good idea. Maybe you just needed a little bit more convincing, but it was definitely a great idea. That first date was looking better and better in his mind. He wished he could give you an estimate on when he'd be home so the two of you could start planning it. Bradley's stomach was growling for dinner as he pried his eyes away from your photo long enough to type out a message.

Hey, Gorgeous,

You're the only woman I'm going to let email me regularly. And I was right. You do look adorable snuggled up in your bed. That photo is going to keep me up at night wondering how cute you'd look in mine...

It looks like I'll have the opportunity to make a phone call soon, and I'd love to hear your voice. If you want to talk. I can't guarantee I won't sound like an idiot, tripping over my words the whole time, but hey, a guy can dream. Will you let me have your phone number?

Yours Truly,

Bradley

And now, once again, he would wait for you to respond, hoping his luck wasn't about to run out.

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

A phone call! She him your number immediately, Gorgeous! There are some things you need to hear him say in that raspy, sexy voice! Thank you @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 6

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[hatshepsut9]

Man: won’t be able to smell your campsite, but might have a gun

Bear: can be kept away by shouting “hey bear”, definitely does not have a gun

Both: you can pepper spray them if they’re trying to kill you

The question to women that’s gone viral:

Would you rather be in the woods alone w a man or a bear?

Majority of women said bear.

Why? Because even if it did maul us, the following would happen-

1. We wouldn’t be blamed for the attack

2. We would be believed

3. People would hunt down that bear without giving it a second thought

[jellyfemmedyke]

sorry to ramble in your inbox but its kinda fucking me up how "trans man with a cishet boyfriend who misgenders him behind his back" is like seen to be a person to make fun of in the general queer tumblr space instead of a person who is in a vulnerable situation. i know that there is trans men who are also women and there are trans men who are genuinely okay with dating a cis man who considers himself straight but people talking about these hypothetical couples arent talking about these situations but rather about "haha stupid trans man doesnt realize hes dating a bigot"

theres this attitude that the hypothetical cishet boyfriend is actually a conservative so it should be obvious to trans man that he doesnt respect his identity but i feel like its less "oh its obvious that this specific man is a bigot" and more "obviously cishet white men are bigots" and its weird how people laugh at this person instead of acknowledging that even if you are dating a bigot its usually not a big win for you personally. like the bigot cishet boyfriend isnt going to be okay with his trans man boyfriend starting testosterone. like we can sympathize with emotional abuse happening towards other groups but when its gay and mspec trans men its like "oh he should have known that would happen" or "its his fault for dating a bigot"?

of course people have the same making fun of the victim narrative with afab nonbinary people who date cishet men who misgender them [and im sure this bleeds over to affecting all nonbinary people if people arbitrarily decide theyre afab if the nonbinary person refuses to tell them personal information about themselves but the larger narrative always specifies that this is an afab person] and its almost like a "this is what you get for being attracted to men" sort of thing.

and also i theres something to be said about warning people for signs their partner or potential partner doesnt respect their identity but considering i imagine its a common anxiety among trans and nonbinary people who are into that sorta thing to wonder "am i ever going to find someone who loves me and is also accepting of me for being [insert gender here]?" its sort of fucked up for it to be common to basically claim "yea if youre dating a cis man who said he was straight before he started dating you but says he respects your identity hes probably just straight up lying to your face" and then laugh at the person getting misgendered for not knowing they were being misgendered.

anyway sorry for this big ramble i cant even remember specific instances of this to reference so i might seem like im making up a guy to be mad at but i swear this is like a general attitude and almost running joke i see around. anyway. have a good day.

I absolutely see that too, and I think it's a mixture of straight up victim blaming, because oh noo how dare you WANT to date *gasp* cis men

but it come with an intense transandrophobia and exorsexism because there's a lot more sympathy when it comes to cis women dating cishet men "poor things uwu" but when it's trans men or in this case non binary people assumed to be women, it's always "see I told you so" smug superiority. (cis women get this too, because of misogyny obviously, but it's different and worse for trans men) People are just waiting for a chance to be misogynistic and trans men are an acceptable target. This is honestly extra fucked up when we remember that trans men experience some of the highest rates of domestic violence and rape in the community though.

being trans is such a vulnerable place to be in, and a lot of people, trans or not are insecure or just want to be loved, that's normal. A lot of people are willing to accept certain behaviors from their partners that are bad, because of those reasons as well, victim blaming, and ESPECIALLy telling trans men to toughen up or "what did you expect" is apart of the toxic expectations that get placed of trans men as well. I could honestly go on for hours about this. good ask,anon