#I’ve officially had my graduation recently

[lavenderr-starrs]

[thnksfrthmmrs]

[scoops-aboy86]

Secret Admirer

Steddie Week 2024, July 1: Mystery / secret relationship / One Night Alone by Vixen

wc: 2131 / rated: T / set between seasons 2 and 3 / also on ao3

cw: negative self talk (steve), allusions to unhealthy use of drugs and alcohol (eddie), and one horny paragraph

In the first few letters, Eddie had tried to disguise his handwriting. It occurred to him after a while, though, that there would be no reason for someone like Steve Harrington to recognize it, so he stopped. And he was right, nothing happened. 

Steve hasn’t figured out the secret admirer letters he kept answering were written by none other than the official Freak of Hawkins High. Hell, Steve hasn’t even worked out that he’s a he. Though a few vaguely worded sentences every now and then suggest that Steve might not be assuming she either, which is…interesting. Possibly nothing, but interesting all the same. And Eddie knows he’s probably just stringing himself along by doing this, but he’s about to repeat his senior year of high school for the third goddamn time and this is a better option than drinking or dipping into the harder stuff that Reefer Rick expects him to sell. Broken heart likely, but at least he doesn’t wake up with a headache or the shakes.

Now it’s well into summer, and the PO Box he’d had since he was sixteen (for Blueboys and other mags that would get him equally tarred and feathered if anyone finds out) gets mail every damn day.

Eddie looks down at the most recent letter, rereading it for the hundredth time with a joint in one hand, several empty beer cans littering the bedspread and floor of his room around him. 

Dear Secret Admirer, Hey, I’m sorry if I came on too strong in my last couple of letters. I get why you don’t want to tell me who you are. We probably went to high school together, right? You don’t write like a middle schooler and no one who graduates sticks around in this stupid town besides me. I guess that makes me stupid means you probably knew me when I was still a douchebag. Sorry about that. I hope I never said anything to you or let Tommy push you around. Except I don’t know why you would’ve started writing to me in the first place if I had? It’s not like I would’ve written back if I was still that popular guy who everyone talked to and thought was so cool. Yeah, I admit it, I thought I was hot shit back then too! But it turns out, they only give you the spotlight as long as you don’t put a toe out of line. Don’t point out when they’re being assholes. You wouldn’t believe the kind of shit some people will say when they think you already agree with them about everything.  Anyway, I’m trying to be better now. Genuinely, if I’m not, if I’ve been an asshole in these letters at all, please tell me. And it’s not like I’m tired of writing to you, I just. Wouldn’t getting to talk in person be even better? Or we don’t even have to talk, if you don’t want to, that’s okay! You can come by Scoops and tell me it’s you and I’ll give you a free ice cream cone or something, whatever you want. Because actions speak louder than words, right? You keep sending me all these nice letters, and I’m not the best with words so I want to give you something too. (I don’t mean that like That wasn’t a come-on, I swear. Shit, I should rewrite this again but this is already the fifth draft, it’s not getting any better than this. Sorry.) — Steve PS, I don’t know if you have been to Scoops already, but if you’ve seen my coworker’s whiteboard I swear I’m not interested just because I keep striking out. Turns out I don’t actually know how to talk to girls without being weird. It’s weird being done with high school and not have that stuff in common to talk about, and I used to be this cool guy that I’m really not anymore so I panic and all this bullshit (who am I kidding) bullshit comes out my mouth and it’s EMBARRASSING. Anyway. I really like your letters, it’s been great having someone to talk to even if it’s not really talking a face to face thing, and I’m not just saying that because I’m kind of a loser now. Anyway, have a nice day! Fuck, Robin is right, I SUCK

The first bullshit in the postscript is crossed out so hard there’s a tear in the paper. All the scribbled out bits are borderline illegible, like Steve really tried, but Eddie can still make out most of it and can guess the rest from context. The very last word, for example, is totally obscured, but he has seen the You Rule / You Suck board, so. Yeah.

It makes his heart ache, the way Steve talks about himself sometimes. The way his insecurities bleed through artlessly on the page like coffee stains. Eddie alternates between wanting to wrap him up in soft things to protect him from whatever sharpness left him so cut open, and wanting to smother him with kisses for the bravery in being so genuine with a nameless, faceless stranger. 

Except Steve isn’t his. Steve is straight, for all he’s apparently being kind enough not to make assumptions, and could never want Eddie in the same way. And it’s not fair, the hanging back that Eddie’s been doing, holding out now that Steve has come to look forward to his letters just because of a little (huge, massive, life-threatening) fear of rejection. 

He’s been dragging his heels so long that Steve is feeling rejected, and that just won’t do. 

Sighing, Eddie takes another long drag before stubbing the remaining nub of the joint out. Scrubs his hands across his face and considers getting another beer. Or maybe forgetting the corner he’s backed himself into, with Steve wanting to meet—not only to satisfy the curiosity of knowing who his secret admirer is, but because he actually seems to like the person writing to him. (Actually wrote that they didn’t have to talk if Eddie didn’t want to, Jesus H. Christ, why did he have to be such a fucking sweetheart about that?) 

It’s late, and he’s already stripped restlessly down to just his boxers for bed. He could push it all aside, push his hands down the front of his underwear and get lost in different thoughts about Steve for a while, for the trillionth time. God knows that always works to clear his head, sometimes twice if he’s ambitious about it, enough for sleep to take him. 

Instead, Eddie drops the letter on his bed and hunts around on his desk for a notebook he can stand to tear a few more pages out of. Once he has what he needs, he chews on the end of his pen for several minutes  before putting it to the paper.

Steve, my beloved, It has been some time since I’ve replied. My deepest apologies for that, as it seems like you’ve taken that to mean something I absolutely did not intend. I received all of your letters, and “too strong” is not how I would describe them. They were lovely, sweetheart. I have reread them many times, I have slept with them under my pillow, I have cried happy tears over them for the thought that you might actually share my affection enough to want so badly to know who I am.  Very quickly, to address some of your questions and concerns: One, we did share some years in high school, yes, and I’m pleased to read that you think my writing is at a level appropriate to someone approximately our age. (I wish more of my teachers shared that view, but alas, I’m pretty sure that most of them hate me. Except for the drama teacher, who would let me get away with murder as long as I didn’t stain or break any of his props with the act.) Two, Hagan was a dick, but more to my friends than me directly, and the worst you ever did was laugh when I dropped my books a few times, that sort of thing. Water under the bridge, fuck high school, etc. etc.. Three, you have not engaged in any assholery in your writing, or in any of your actions that I’ve seen in a long time.  And four… you should’ve left the double entendre (i.e. the “I want to give you something too”); I wouldn’t have minded.  Obviously I think of you as prime boyfriend material—thoughtful, good sense of humor and humility, and whenever those younger kids swing by to pester you at the mall you put up a good front of being exasperated and annoyed, but through all that I can tell you care about them. (They say never trust someone who would hurt an animal, it works for kids too.)  But you’re also a total smoke show, baby. The effortless way you moved around the basketball court, same as in the water when you were still on the swim team, and in those indecently tiny shorts. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about running my fingers up the inside of those thighs. Or my mouth. Whichever you think you’d like best, baby, I’m not picky. And while I do like ice cream, particularly strawberry with rainbow sprinkles in a cone, I can think of something else I’d love to wrap my hand around and run my tongue over before any drips can escape. You just think about that, hmm? Maybe share some of those thoughts in your reply, if I haven’t scared you off with this paragraph.  It was a relief to write that, to be honest. I am not without my fantasies, you see; in a lot of ways, they’re all I have. The real reason I’ve been hesitant to respond to all of your heartfelt entreaties to meet, sweetheart, is that I’m afraid. I’ve been head over heels for you for so long—for your looks before anything else, I’ll admit, but the douchebag boy from high school that you mentioned is long gone. A man stands in his place, and what a man you are. In writing to you, I wanted to make clear first and foremost how ardently I admire and love you, lest my feelings be mistaken for mere tawdry teen lust.  And hopefully I’ve succeeded. If so, can you see now how actions can be carved in with the words? It is the intent that shines through, and I can read in between the lines, Steve, that you are being genuinely honest with yours. All those disparaging remarks you made about yourself in your last letter, both crossed out and not, are probably you being too hard on yourself, but they speak to the fact that you both understand you’ve made mistakes in the past and are trying to pay penance for them. That, along with your fantastic hair and magnificent ass, are just a few of the reasons I remain, as always— Your Secret Admirer P.S. I don’t mind weird. Like it, even. Bring it on, big boy.  P.P.S.  If all I could ever have with you is one night alone, I’d take it and be grateful.

Eddie’s letter is almost twice as long as Steve’s, but whatever. That’s par for the course; he never expected Steve to be much of a wordsmith, even though the guy is clearly putting in a lot of effort. Writes drafts, apparently. Unlike Eddie, who bangs all that out in pretty much one go and merely skims it before sliding it in an envelope, sealing it in, slapping on a stamp and address, and throwing it off the bed. 

Then he falls into bed and strips his dick to the thought of Steve reading the letter and thinking about his mouth, half in a hot anonymous way and half in some imaginary reality where Steve knows it’s him and wants this just as badly. Of Steve groaning out how good it feels and maybe wanting to hold him after, fall asleep together, like they’re…

The next morning (or afternoon, whatever, it’s summer vacation), Eddie reviews his slightly fuzzy memory of the letter after stepping on the envelope and realizing, oh, right. Overly verbose and dramatic, the way he always is but even more so when tipsy. And… fuck it. One horny paragraph, he decides, won’t be the end of the world. Maybe it will scare Steve off; maybe he’ll enjoy it. Let fate decide, just like at the dnd table. 

Eddie shoves the envelope into the mail drop box just outside the trailer park gate on his way into town and sends a prayer out to no god in particular that he hasn’t just rolled a nat one.

~

Permanent tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve

Tagging some folks who expressed interest about this story in my Wiggly Wednesday post last week, let me know if you don't want to be tagged going forward: @steviewashere @cryingglightningg @theresebelivett @sleepy-steve

@rozzieroos @lunaraindrop @just-my-latest-hyperfixation

[todorokis-girl]

Later - Bakugou x f!reader

After years of distance and regrets, Bakugo and Y/N reunite in a private, bittersweet moment, finally confronting the feelings they’d left unspoken and finding their way back to each other.

The air buzzed with anticipation as the recent U.A. graduates gathered outside the hero certification facility, each ready to take the final step toward earning their official hero licenses. Y/N was pacing at the edge of the crowd, nervous energy radiating off her as she tried to steady her breathing.

“Oi.” A familiar, gruff voice cut through her thoughts, and she looked up to see Bakugo standing in front of her, arms crossed and his gaze just a little sharper than usual. “You’re not gonna screw this up, right?”

She gave a shaky laugh, more out of nerves than amusement. “I’ll do my best. Not sure it’ll be as easy as you make it look.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, right. ‘Best’ isn’t good enough here. You better pass.” He looked at her then, really looked at her, something unspoken flickering in his gaze before he forced it back. “Don’t make me have to drag you over the finish line.”

She managed a small smile, resisting the urge to say something deeper, something that might show him just how much she valued his support. “Good luck, Bakugo. I know you’ll crush it.”

For a second, he didn’t respond, as if weighing whether to say something more. But he just gave a stiff nod, his usual bravado muted. “Same to you, Y/N. Don’t hold back.”

They held each other’s gaze for a beat longer before turning away, each focused on the test ahead, yet carrying a weight neither dared to address.

The crowd was alive with celebration as new heroes gathered to share in their achievement. Y/N scanned the room, feeling the warmth of victory and relief. Her eyes fell on Bakugo, standing alone, his usual intensity softened in the glow of his accomplishment.

Before she knew it, her feet were carrying her toward him, and when he noticed her, something in his expression shifted—an unspoken acknowledgment of everything they’d been through to reach this point. Without hesitation, she threw her arms around him, pulling him into a hug, her gratitude and joy too much to hold back.

To her surprise, he returned the embrace, albeit stiffly, as if unsure how to handle it. “Don’t get all sappy on me now,” he muttered, his voice low. But he didn’t pull away, holding her just a moment longer than necessary.

“Can’t help it,” she teased, pulling back to look at him, her gaze softening. “We did it. I’m proud of us.”

His jaw tensed, and he looked away, as if trying to guard himself against the warmth in her words. “Yeah, well… took long enough.”

“Bakugo,” she said quietly, braving the words she’d been carrying for too long, “I… I’ve been meaning to talk to you. About us. I mean, I think there’s—”

But before she could finish, the group of friends and heroes-in-training around them surged, pulling them apart in the excitement of celebration. Bakugo’s eyes lingered on her as they were separated, and she thought she saw something unguarded there, just for a second, before he turned away, hands stuffed in his pockets, his shoulders tense.

“Yeah. Later,” he said, almost to himself, and the words were lost in the noise of the crowd.

Y/N’s fingers hovered over her phone, Bakugo’s name glowing on the screen. Her heart pounded as she considered calling him, thinking back to that hug and the words they’d left unsaid. She could practically hear his voice in her mind, the gruff, reassuring tone that had been her anchor through so many storms.

But before she could press the call button, her phone buzzed in her hand, startling her. It was an unknown number, and reluctantly, she answered. “Hello?”

“Y/N L/N?” a voice on the other end spoke, formal and clipped. “This is the Hero Commission. We’re assigning you to an urgent mission overseas, effective immediately. You’re needed for a high-stakes undercover operation, duration indefinite. Your agency will receive the full briefing, and a representative will meet you at the airport.”

Her heart sank, her mind whirling. The mission—she’d heard whispers of it but hadn’t expected to be pulled in so suddenly. She looked back down at her phone, Bakugo’s name still lighting up the screen, the call she’d been moments away from making now impossible.

“When do I leave?” she managed, her voice a strained whisper.

“You’re expected to report to the airport in three hours. We trust you’ll be there on time.”

After the call ended, she sat there, staring at her phone, the weight of her decision crushing her. She could make the call, confess everything, ask him to wait. But she knew it wouldn’t be fair—not to him, not with how long and uncertain this mission would be.

With a shaky breath, she turned off her phone, placing it face-down on the table before grabbing her packed bag, leaving everything she’d been waiting to say behind.

Years Later

Y/N hadn’t expected to be back in Japan so soon. The mission overseas had taken everything she had, stretching over years with no breaks, no contact, no hope of return. She’d buried herself so deep in her role that the thought of home had felt almost… impossible. But now, with the mission over and her body heavy with exhaustion, she found herself alone in the quiet of an agency conference room, trying to adjust back to reality.

She hadn’t let herself think about him in so long. The regret had faded over time, dulled by distance, but now, standing here alone, it came rushing back with a vengeance. She didn’t know if he was even here anymore, or if he’d want anything to do with her.

Then the door creaked open, and there he was. Bakugo stood in the doorway, taller, broader, with an intensity in his gaze that hadn’t faded one bit. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, each just staring at the other, as if unable to believe they were real.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice rough, guarded. He didn’t step forward, staying rooted in place, his fists clenched at his sides. “Didn’t know you were back.”

She forced a smile, though it wavered. “Just got in. They… let me go early.”

Silence settled between them, thick and weighted with all the words they hadn’t said. She wanted to move closer, to say something, but the wall he’d built around himself was almost tangible, keeping her at a distance.

“I… thought about calling,” she murmured, voice barely audible. “But I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me after all this time.”

Bakugo’s jaw tightened, his gaze flickering to the floor. “Didn’t think you cared. You left without a word, and I—” His voice cracked, and he took a sharp breath, as if trying to steady himself. “Figured you’d moved on.”

“No,” she whispered, finally taking a hesitant step toward him. “I never moved on. I just… I thought you’d be better off without me.”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Better off? You have any idea how long I waited? How many times I thought about going after you?” His voice softened, and he looked up at her, the pain in his eyes raw, unguarded. “You think I didn’t care?”

She took another step forward, her hand reaching out, fingers brushing his. “I didn’t know… I was afraid if I asked you to wait, it wouldn’t be fair.”

He hesitated, looking down at her hand before finally meeting her gaze, his eyes full of the hurt and longing he’d carried all these years. “And now?”

Her hand trembled in his, but she held on, her heart pounding as she finally voiced the truth. “Now… I’m here. And I don’t want to run anymore.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, his expression a mixture of disbelief and anger, before he pulled her into his arms, his grip firm, as if afraid she’d disappear again. They stood there, locked in a silent embrace, years of longing and regret melting away as they clung to each other, each wordless promise hanging heavy between them.

Neither of them spoke, but in that moment, they knew there would be no more goodbyes.

Bakugo’s arms tightened around her as if he was afraid that if he loosened his hold, she’d disappear again. He pulled her close, his face buried against her shoulder, and she felt his heartbeat pounding in sync with her own. After all these years, neither of them moved to let go.

“Don’t—” His voice was rough, a low growl, muffled against her. “Don’t even think about pulling this crap again, you hear me?”

Her hand settled on his back, fingers clutching at the fabric of his jacket. “I’m not going anywhere, Bakugo,” she whispered. “Not anymore.”

For a long while, they stayed locked together in the silence of the empty conference room. She could feel the hesitation in his touch, the battle between anger and relief, and a small, sad smile formed on her lips. She knew that leaving had hurt him, that maybe it had hurt him more deeply than she’d allowed herself to imagine all these years. And that hurt had sat, festering, unaddressed.

He finally drew back, just enough to look at her, his eyes dark, guarded. His face was so close she could see every scar, every line—reminders of the battles he’d fought in her absence. His thumb brushed over her cheek, the touch light but lingering.

“You really think I’d just… forget about you?” His voice was a low rumble, but his gaze held a vulnerability she hadn’t seen before. “After all that?”

She swallowed, feeling the weight of his words settle around her heart. “I didn’t want to make you wait for something that… that might not have even happened. I didn’t know when I’d be able to come back, or if—”

“If you’d make it back at all,” he finished, his voice harsh, but there was a flicker of understanding there. He exhaled, frustration evident in his expression. “You didn’t give me a damn choice, Y/N. That’s what pissed me off the most. You took off without saying a word and left me with nothing but—” He cut himself off, clenching his jaw. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

“I know,” she said softly, looking away, guilt settling in her chest. “I thought it would be easier for you if… if you didn’t know. I thought that if I came back, maybe we could pick up where we left off, but…”

“But?” His hand was still on her cheek, his thumb grazing over her skin, almost absentmindedly.

“But I didn’t know if you’d still… if you’d even want to see me.” She forced herself to meet his gaze, her own eyes searching his for any hint of the feelings they’d once left unsaid. “If you’d moved on.”

A bitter laugh escaped him, and he shook his head, his fingers trailing down from her cheek to her jaw, his hand finally resting against her neck. “Stupid,” he muttered, but there was no real heat in his words. “How could I move on? I tried, okay? But every time, it was like… like I was just waiting for you to show up again.”

She felt the sting of tears but blinked them back, managing a shaky smile. “You always were stubborn, Bakugo.”

“And you’re impossible.” His voice softened, his thumb brushing against her skin with a gentleness that made her heart ache. “I’m mad at you, you know that?”

“I know.” She hesitated before adding, “And I’m sorry. I should’ve trusted you. I should’ve… I should’ve told you everything before I left.”

He seemed to consider that, his hand slipping from her neck to hold her face between his palms. “You’re right. You should have.”

She bit her lip, a rush of nerves washing over her as she forced herself to say the words that had stayed buried all this time. “Bakugo… I never stopped thinking about you. Even after all these years, you’re… you’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.”

His eyes softened, the anger finally giving way to something raw, something she recognized as the feelings they’d both carried since U.A., since their paths had diverged. He leaned in, his forehead pressing against hers as his hands remained on her face, grounding her.

“Y/N.” His voice was barely a whisper, but it was filled with more emotion than she’d ever heard from him. “I waited for you. Don’t ever make me wait again.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she let out a shaky laugh. “I won’t. I’m here now.”

And then, finally, he kissed her. It was slow, hesitant at first, as if testing the weight of years that had kept them apart. But as the kiss deepened, she felt the walls around her heart begin to crumble, the regrets and doubts melting away as he held her close, grounding her in the warmth of his touch.

When they finally broke apart, he pressed his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her skin. “I hate you for making me wait so damn long,” he whispered, but the softness in his tone told her that he didn’t mean it.

She chuckled, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him close again. “Guess I’ll have to make it up to you then.”

“Damn right, you will,” he murmured, his lips finding hers again, as if he was making up for every second he’d missed.

[lenafromthenordiccoven]

Yes, ma'am | Bob Floyd x f!pilot!reader

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x f!Pilot!reader

Requested? no (unless you count my own brain pestering me with this)

Rating: M – MDNI 18+

Word count: 4370

Warnings: Pilot!reader,  switch!Bob, switch!reader, light fingering, oral (f!receiving) unprotected PinV (be smart and wrap it, folks), breeding kink, Bob Floyd fucks, Navy and Air Force inaccuracies are probably gonna pop up here and there, super self-indulgent

Summary: After six years of training, you’re finally graduating from flight school as one of the first female Eurofighter Typhoon drivers in the Austrian Air Force. Your boyfriend of six and a half years, Bob, has supported you every step of the way. And now? Now it’s time to celebrate his newly graduated, freshly made Lieutenant, girlfriend.

Read on ao3

A/N: Listen, this is gonna be SUPER self-indulgent, ‘kay? Thanks to TGM, the Austrian airshow “Airpower” in 2022 and the internships I’ve done with the AAF, I’mma try to enter flight school for the Eurofighter Typhoons once I’m done with my MA. This translator wants to flyyy, baby! 😂 So, this is my brain keeping me motivated to train for the entry exam by giving me ideas of what it could be like to actually do it and graduate. Also, I’m a slut for Bob Floyd. What else is new? 😂 This is basically an extension of @attapullmans International Bob Floyd Fucks month. I wanted to have this up by the end of January but didn’t have time. (Song to listen to for this would be Tell Me The Truth by Two Feet.)

Six years. You’d been waiting for this moment for six years. Had worked hard for it. And now, as officers, family and other invitees were applauding and two of the Typhoons soared overhead, you were officially being dismissed as a Second Lieutenant for the first time. The first female Typhoon driver in the Austrian Air Force. And yet, it didn’t feel real. Not the way your classmates, other pilots with the rotary wing or other fixed-wing aircraft, clapped you on the back as they cheered. And certainly not the way your boyfriend of almost seven years, who’d been there for you every step of the way since you’d told him you wanted to try out for the Air Force when you’d first started dating, was grinning at you. No, he was positively beaming.

The fact that your parents hadn’t been able to make it to your graduation might’ve dampened your mood, if Bob wasn’t looking at you with so much love and pride, it made your own chest swell. You’d done it. Despite what everyone else and your own mind had told you from time to time, you’d made it. And, to be honest, you’d been terrified of Selection Day. Scared that even after already three years of consistently being top of the class and adamant about wanting to fly the Typhoon, your superior officers would tell you, they’d assign you to the helicopters or air transport.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, blood roaring in your ears as you pushed through the crowd and finally reached Bob. You were trembling by now, the adrenaline slowly wearing off, the world coming back into focus. And with it, the thought that you had to get Bob out of here as soon as possible. He’d chosen to wear his dress whites, while you were in your dress uniform with its grey jacket and grey pants (thank god, they’d actually let you choose whether you wanted to wear a skirt or pants and nobody had pitched a fit when you’d gone for the pants, explaining that you would “stick out like a sore thumb as is”, you didn’t want to add to that by being the only person wearing a skirt. The other female cadets in your class had all chosen the pants as well.) – and the new golden edelweiss on your collar. Fuck, if he didn’t look like he’d stepped off the pages of one of the romance novels you’d been devouring recently.

“Congratulations, darlin’. ‘m so damn proud of you,” he murmured before bending down to press his lips against yours in what had to be the most chaste kiss of the century. But you were still in sight of your superiors, so you couldn’t go too far. Especially since your relationship had already sparked enough gossip – and a three-hour briefing on what you could tell your boyfriend and what you couldn’t, not that you hadn’t figured out most of the things with you usually being on the receiving end of Bob’s professional silence. You didn’t feel like adding fuel to the fire, even though you positively ached to kiss Bob the way you really wanted to and to stick your hands in his hair and mess up that gelled back hairdo he was sporting.

You could feel your cheeks heat at the thought of how you didn’t even want him to take off his uniform. You just wanted to get him home and have him fuck you while he was still wearing his dress whites. “Thank you, baby,” you finally replied to Bob’s praise.

He raised an eyebrow and slightly cocked his head at your reaction, but you saw recognition bloom on his face when you lightly bit down on your bottom lip. He leaned in close to whisper in your ear. “Do we still have to go to any official dinners or parties, or do you think, we can jus’ sneak off?” His voice was rough, lower than it had been just a minute ago, and it sent a delicious shiver down your spine.

You briefly closed your eyes before you looked back up into those light blue eyes of his, trying to look as innocent as you could muster. “I’m afraid, there’s one more we have to go to. My new squad leader’s paying, and it would probably be good to get to know them a bit before next Monday. But I’m sure, they’ll understand if we don’t stay for too long.”

“Whatever you say, Lieutenant.” His lips stretched into a smirk, the kind of which you imagined only you saw on the regular, as another shiver raced down your spine and left goosebumps in its wake despite the June heat. Damn it. You knew, how much he liked it when you called him by his rank. But this? This was new. And you loved it. “You wanna take the lead when we get home?” He wrapped an arm around your waist and drew you in closer as you nodded.

“Hell yeah, I do.” You both chuckled at your response. Usually, you had no problem handing over control to Bob, especially in the bedroom. But sometimes, especially if things had been stressful and since you’d joined flight school, you liked to be the one to make him whimper and beg for a change. Tonight would not be any different. You grinned as your mind was already busy conjuring up ideas.

***

“Good god, I’m so sorry. I had no idea, he could talk that much,” you groaned when you finally entered your off-base apartment with Bob hot on your heels. Initially, you’d expected to only stay for maybe two hours with your new squad. But then time had stretched on and now it was almost ten pm. You were exhausted. But also restless. Besides, you actually had the weekend off, starting with Saturday tomorrow. And Bob would leave on Sunday evening, so who would fault you for not wanting to go to sleep yet?

You toed off your shoes as Bob closed and locked the door and then leaned his back against it. His eyes were closed, a sigh left his lips and for the first time since you’d picked him up from the airport, he looked tired. You inched closer to him, snuggling into his chest, despite his buttons and ribbons digging into your cheek. You could feel him relax against you, just as the tension finally left your own shoulders.

“You know,” you began to mumble into his jacket, “I’d get it if you wanted to go to sleep after today. We’ve still got tomorrow and Sunday after that.” You really would have understood if his response had been yes, wouldn’t have minded just curling into his embrace and against his warm body in bed as you both drifted off to sleep.

But to your surprise, he simply lightly pushed on your shoulders until he could get his fingers under your chin and tilt your head up to meet his gaze. “I might be tired, but that doesn’t matter. Haven’t seen you in months. Just wanna … feel you. Make you feel good.”

“You want to be a good boy for me?” you replied with your own question, your own fingers inching up his neck until you could caress his cheek. He leaned into your touch and then nodded.

“Yes, ma’am.” His eyes were glued to yours, pupils blown a little wider than they had been just minutes before. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards when he heard the sharp intake of your breath at his words.

You groaned, squeezed your eyes shut and then leaned your forehead against his chest. His words only worsened the throbbing in your core, while you fought the urge to squeeze your thighs together. “I never thought, I’d actually like it when people call me that. Makes me feel so old.” You swallowed thickly. Well, you weren’t entirely honest. You’d thought about what it would be like to hear Bob call you “Ma’am” or by your rank. The two of you had tried it out once, where he’d called you cadet and you’d immediately shut him down. It had made you feel too small, by no fault of his really. You just hadn’t liked it. But this? Hearing him call you Lieutenant? Especially in this tone of his he sometimes got when he was particularly needy and wanted you to ride him. It ignited a whole new wave of desire in your core that quickly spread throughout your whole body.

He chuckled. You felt his chest vibrate underneath your cheek. “Now you understand what you do to me when you call me by my rank?” His hand came up to cup the back of your neck. Your eyes almost fluttered closed again just feeling his fingers brush against your skin.

“You wanted me to call you Lieutenant and Sir,” you started to defend yourself. Bob’s grip around the back of your neck tightened. Only lightly, but enough to make you take a half step back, so you could look him in the eyes properly. The light blue of his eyes was almost completely swallowed by his blown-out pupils now. His other hand took your wrist and brushed your hand against the growing tent in his pants.

You could see his nostrils flare when you flexed your hand and grabbed his dick over his pants, rolling the heel of your palm against his tip. He jerked, his hips involuntarily bucking against your hand. He barely suppressed the moan bubbling out of his throat and you bit your lip to hide the grin threatening to break out on your face. “I know, you feel weird about people callin’ you ma’am at work. But when we’re off-duty and I call you that or by your rank, I don’t want you to ever think, it’s not a sign of my utmost devotion to you. I love you, Y/N. And I wanna make you feel good. Please. Lemme make you feel good. Show you how much I worship you, ma’am.”

He kept his eyes trained on yours as you leaned up on your tiptoes to brush your lips against his ever so lightly. He groaned and chased after your lips, but you took another step back, took your hand away from his crotch in the process. “Well, then you better show me you mean it, Lieutenant. Don’t you think?” You began to slowly walk backwards into your small apartment, undoing the buttons on your uniform jacket as you watched him stalk after you.

While discarding your uniform, you were careful not to wrinkle it. You’d have to probably go to the designated dry cleaner’s anyway, but just wanted to be safe. A thought that immediately left your head when you saw Bob reach up to undo his own buttons. You surged forward, put a hand on his and then said: “Did I say, you could undress, Lieutenant?”

Bob’s gaze flicked from your face to your hand on his. You were pretty sure, he’d also eyed the semi-lacy bra peeking through your open shirt, but you couldn’t fault him. While your current underwear couldn’t possibly be classed as lingerie, you were wearing a pretty, white set that came with lace trim around the hems, was super soft and comfortable to wear – but also had your now pebbled nipples poking through the cloth. “No, ma’am. Sorry.”

“It’s alright, Lieutenant. I’ll let it slide this time. But just so we’re both clear, the uniform stays on until I say otherwise, understood?”

Bob startled, blinked once, twice, before he stuttered: “S-say again?” In another instance you would have teased him for so easily falling back into the standard ICAO phraseology, but this time, you just smiled. You shrugged off your white shirt, relishing in the way his eyes tracked every little one of your movements. He licked his lips as you pressed your body against his, nudging his cock with your thigh. One of your hands travelled up his chest, over his ribbons. Your nails lightly scratched the skin of his neck until you could tangle your fingers into his hair. And you tugged. Not hard enough to actually hurt him, but enough to elicit a broken moan.

“I said, the uniform stays on until I say otherwise.” You tugged again. “Did you understand me, Lieutenant Floyd? Or do I have to spell it out for you?” He leaned down a bit, until your faces were only inches apart.

You could see the twinkle of mischief in his eyes. He would obey for now, play along with your little game, but you would definitely be having a conversation about your apparent uniform kink later. And you knew, he would use it against you when he could.

“Loud and clear, ma’am.” He wrapped an arm around your waist to pull you a little closer, and you guessed, to keep your body pressed against his, give you a harder time to escape his grasp again.

“Good.” You pressed a small kiss to his lips, ducking away before he could deepen it. You started to back up again, into your bedroom while you opened the button and fly of your pants, pushed them down over your thighs and let them pool down at your feet. You heard him groan and felt his fingers lightly brush over your ass when you turned around to walk over to your bed. You swatted his hand away, then bent over to push down your panties.

Bob swore under his breath, and you couldn’t help the grin that lit up your face at his reaction. You’d soaked through your panties by now, knew he could see it. Was probably itching to bury his fingers and face in your pussy. But when you caught his gaze, your breath hitched in your throat and your overly confident, dominant persona faltered for a split second. Fuck. He looked like he was going to devour you the second he got his hands on you. For a moment, you wondered if you’d gone too far in teasing him this much.

“What’s your color, baby?” you asked and slowly sank down on the edge of the bed.

“Green. Still, very much green. But, damn, Y/N…” His gaze briefly landed on your pussy and the wetness you knew he could see staining your inner thighs. You swallowed, before you leaned back a bit, steadying yourself on your hands.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Get over here and show me what other talents your mouth and those thick, nimble fingers of yours possess.” He didn’t even respond verbally this time, only made a sound that reminded you of a growl. He nodded, once, just a quick, curt movement of his chin. Then he closed the distance between the two of you in two long strides.

His hands were on you before you could even tell him to touch you. One of them cradled your head and pulled you closer, so he could crash his lips against yours in what you’d call a complete 180° turn from how you’d kissed on base earlier that day. You moaned into the kiss, tangled one of your hands into his hair and easily opened up for his tongue to slip into your mouth. His other hand wandered down, quickly squeezing your right breast before it dipped down between your legs.

“Bobby,” you gasped against his lips as he swiped his fingers through your folds and pressed his index finger lightly against your clit.

“What, no more orders for me, ma’am?” He smirked against your lips as you desperately shook your head. You’d thrown your persona out the window the minute he’d fully touched you. All that mattered was feeling his body against yours now. Nothing else.

“Fuck that. Need you to take over. Fuck me, Bob. Please.” You could barely suppress the moan ripping out of you as he quickly shoved two fingers inside of you.

He groaned into another kiss; you knew he could feel you clench around his fingers. How you grew even wetter. “Oh, sweetheart. I’ll do anything you want if you ask me this nicely.”

When you opened your mouth to tell him what exactly it was you wanted, he gently withdrew his fingers from your pussy and pushed them past your lips instead. You closed your mouth around his fingers, letting your tongue swirl over the tips and let out a low moan at the taste – and the fact that he had just figured out what you wanted without you having to ask.

He slowly sank down on his knees in front of you, grabbed your thighs and placed them on either side of his head. He looked up at you, making you wonder if it was even possible for his eyes to grow even darker? Much like you, he’d foregone his usual glasses for the day and opted for contacts, making you almost miss the feeling of the frame digging into your skin. Without his gaze ever leaving your face, he turned his head and pressed a gentle kiss to the skin of your inner thigh. “This what you were gonna ask me to do, sweetheart?”

You nodded eagerly, trying to push him closer to your core with your heel, but to no avail. “Yes.” Any other time you would have been fucking mortified at how needy and breathless you sounded, and he’d barely touched you. But you’d done the same to him, it was only natural, he’d turn the tables on you as soon as he got the chance. And you’d handed him the reins freely after all.

“Yes, what?” He’d practically growled the words, raised an eyebrow at you and slowly leaned closer to let his hot breath ghost over your now practically dripping pussy.

You swallowed again, scrambling to find your voice and command your tongue to move. “Yes, Sir.” You could barely hear his mumbled “Good girl” in response; your heartbeat was so loud in your ears, you wondered how he hadn’t heard it yet. And then he dove right in. Licking, sucking, groaning into you as he got a taste of you after you’d barely been able to even talk on the phone for months. You leaned back further, your mouth fell open and you let the moans and gasps flow freely. When you bucked your hips against his face, his left hand came up to grip your right hip; his right hand landed on one of your breasts, pulling down your bra, so he could grab at the flesh and roll your nipple between his fingers.

Your arms trembled underneath your weight as your hands dug into the duvet underneath you. You didn’t even hold back the praise, told him how good he made you feel. In return, he doubled down on his efforts of eating you out like he was a man starved. It didn’t take long for you to reach the edge, but Bob made no move to slow down. Instead, the hand that had been kneading your breast wandered down until he shifted his mouth to your clit and thrust three of his fingers back inside of you, curled them up to hit the spot that sent you careening over the edge with a litany of “Oh my God”s leaving your mouth.

Your arms had now fully collapsed under you as you slowly returned to your body and your chest heaved with every breath as you were gasping for air. Bob pulled off of you and crawled over you, light concern shone in his eyes as he asked if you were okay.

You nodded after a couple seconds of blinking and trying to regain your ability of speech. “That was …”

You’d trailed off and before you could pick up your train of thought, Bob interrupted you: “So, what else did you have in mind for tonight?” His left hand was drawing abstract shapes onto the skin of your right hip and stomach while he waited for your reply.

You groaned, closed your eyes and dragged a hand over your face. “I … hadn’t decided, actually. Either, I ride your cock or you bend me over and fuck me until I can’t walk.” You peered up at him through your lashes with a sheepish grin. You couldn’t place the origin of the flush creeping up your neck and spreading over your chest. It was either desire or embarrassment. Or, more likely, a mix of both.

He chuckled and let his head drop down for a quick peck against your lips, before he shook his head at you. “Jesus, Y/N.”

“Sor–” you’d almost said before a hand over your mouth silenced you.

“Don’t apologize for that. Besides, I did say, I’d do anything for you, didn’t I?” He smiled down at you as you nodded, still somewhat bashful at your suggestion. Without another word, Bob stood up and you whined at the loss of contact as his hands trailed off of you as well. “Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll be right back where you want me. Where’d you put the condoms?”

Oh, that’s where he was going? No, no, no. That didn’t work with the fantasy you’d sketched out in your mind all week as you’d touched yourself – at night, in the shower… You sat up and grabbed his wrist with a hand to pull him back towards you. “No condom tonight. I’m on birth control anyway for my cramps. And I …” You looked down, wanting to look at your knees, but your gaze got caught on his dick straining against his pants.

“What is it, Y/N?” He leaned back down, put a finger underneath your chin and tilted your head backwards, so you had to look at him. You bit down on your lip and closed your eyes for a second, praying that he’d understand what you were trying to say. “You want me to fill you up, sweetheart? Hm? Feel my cock inside of you, feel me come inside you?”

You nodded, breathed out another “Yes”.

Bob groaned in response. He squeezed his eyes shut, his lightly dominant persona leaving the room for a second as he looked at you again and quietly asked: “Is that why you want me to fuck you from behind?” Again, you could only nod and respond in a whisper.

He chuckled, gently cupping your cheek for a second and brought you in for a slow kiss. You practically melted into his touch and sighed against his lips when he pulled away again. “Well, lose the bra, turn around and get on your knees, sweetheart.” His voice was back to the low, darker and more dominant undertone. His gaze felt heavy on you as you scrambled to unhook the clasps of your bra behind your back and then threw the garment behind you. You’d pick it up later.

You scooted back onto the bed, before finally turning around and waiting for his next move on your hands and knees, completely bare before him now. Your heart fluttered in your chest when you heard him undo his belt and pull down the zipper of his pants. Goosebumps spread over your skin as his fingers traced your vertebrae and his lips pressed kisses against some of the healing bruises on your back. (Nobody had ever said, flying a fighter jet at hundreds of knots and with multiple Gs wouldn’t leave a mark on you.)

The buttons and ribbons on his jacket dug into your skin as he leaned over you, putting part of his body weight on you. He lightly nibbled on the junction of your neck and shoulder and you whined, pushing your ass back against his definitely rock-hard cock. He slipped into you easily, setting a pace that had you squeezing your eyes shut again as you let your head hang low and exposed your neck for his lips and tongue and teeth to mark you up as his, just as his cock marked your pussy.

He kept mumbling praises into your ear in-between groans and moans from both of you. But with how you’d worked each other up, it didn’t take long for either of you to get close to the edge again. “Fuck, darlin’. ‘m so close.”

“Please, Bobby. Come in me. Want to feel you.” You whined at a particularly rough thrust and your whole body shuddered when his fingers found their way down to your clit.

“Right there, Y/N. Just need you to come with me, ‘kay? Can you be a good girl and come with me?”

You weren’t sure if you’d replied to his words when your second orgasm of the night hit you like a freight train. The wave of pleasure pulled you under and you distantly felt Bob’s hips stutter, then still, as he reached his own climax and spilled into you with a low, guttural groan and a mumbled “Fucking hell”.

It took a while for the ringing in your ears to fade out, your breathing normalized as did Bob’s. Although he didn’t move from his spot behind you. Instead, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled your back against his chest as he tipped the both of you over onto your sides. He kissed your shoulder.

“That how you imagined it, sweetheart?”

If you’d had any strength left in your body, you would have rolled over in his arms to look him in the eyes. But as it was, you simply craned your neck a bit, humming at the kiss that landed on your cheek in response. “Better. So much better.”

“’M glad. Have to take care of my new Lieutenant, don’t I?” You heard the grin in his voice and weakly rolled your eyes at the teasing lilt.

“Of course, you do. You’re always a good boy for me and take such good care of me.”

He groaned lowly and sunk his teeth lightly into your shoulder again. “If you keep that up, you won’t have to wait long for round two.”

You chuckled, before fully relaxing in his arms with a sigh. “Good. I was planning on riding your cock while you were still in your dress whites, anyway.”

[keep-both-eyes-on-trump]

I grew up in a swing state, in a rural county, surrounded by white people and steeped in traditional Catholic values. I grew up staunchly conservative surrounded by similarly conservative people. My neighborhood was all white. My mom once told me a story about how a black family had been run out of our small town. My school class had almost one-hundred fifty students with one black girl who’d been adopted into a white family and one native american boy. In high school there was one out gay boy who wasn’t even in my grade and six teen pregnancies that were in my grade. 

As I was approaching official adulthood, the ripe old age of eighteen, I was already drawing away from some of my family’s core values. I was no longer attending church on Sundays, to my father’s existential horror that he had failed to save my soul, having reached the conclusion that their teachings on the sins of queer people and the expected submissiveness of women were wildly off base. I was generally in favor of then President Obama’s policies despite my family’s overt assertions that he was one of the worst presidents in recent history. Though I had been a supporter of John McCain in 2008, unable to vote, by November 2012 I was in my first semester of college surrounded by more diversity than ever before and tentatively supportive of Barack Obama and even more tentatively hopeful he would win again. 

When asked, I told my parents truthfully that I hadn’t voted and received a lecture on my failure to uphold my civic duty. I did not mention that I was more than satisfied with the outcome of the election. 

Like many who attend higher education, especially those in my chosen field of social work, I became more and more democratic with my views during my three years spent completing my degree. By the time I moved to one of the largest cities in my state to complete my graduate degree, I was what Trump would refer to as “radically” and “dangerously” left and, as you know from my first post, voted for the first time for Hillary Clinton in 2016. 

This time, when asked if I voted, I lied. I also began to test the waters, bringing up topics to discuss that I had previously avoided only to discover that my family was as conservative through and through as I remembered and more than a few of them were openly dismayed at how college had “libralized” me even though I had admitted to nothing. 

Since then I’ve remained silent when politics are brought up, when racist or sexist comments are made, and when my cousin called her gay principle “disgusting” for having a family photo on his desk. I’ve said nothing when family called President Biden a failure or a “fucking idiot”, claimed that women shouldn’t be president, and believed Trump did the best he could with COVID-19 pandemic, if they even acknowledged it as a pandemic at all. 

I stayed silent out of fear. I was, am, afraid of their reactions, of what they would say to me and about me if I voiced just how divergent my opinions are from theirs. If I said outright, “I am Pro-Choice, I believe in supporting LGBTQ+ rights and protections and teaching comprehensive sex education to children, I agree with universal healthcare and free public post-secondary education and student loan forgiveness.” 

I’ve lied out of fear too. Lied about voting, lied about getting flu and COVID vaccines, lied about being queer. 

And now it’s time to stop. And this is the first step. Putting metaphorical pen to metaphorical paper, shouting out into the void and entrenching myself in what I used to ignore. It may take a moment before I challenge anyone in my life outright but that’s okay. It’s the steps forward that count, it’s holding on to what you believe and speaking out in whatever way is achievable for you. 

If you, like me, find yourself surrounded today by those who subscribe to far-right beliefs, remember: they may be louder, they may be meaner, but you are not alone. We are here with you. 

The Watcher

[xmalereader]

Simon Riley X Male Reader

-

|| Masterlist ||

-

Authors note: Guess who’s back?! I’ve been gone for a month and have come back with a lot of inspiration and new ideas! So, I’ll be starting off with another baker reader because so far this idea has become a very popular and favorite amongst a lot of readers!

Summary: Reader is a single father who owns a bakery with their son. Simon has recently gotten himself a job there after helping Alex in the past with opening, the relationship between them grows and a new discoveries are made.

Warnings: Fluff, baker reader, single father, OC Alex, Simon is a hunk, baking skills, mentions of past abuse, past memories, simons past life, mentions of work, reader is a good parent, dating.

Word count: 2.1K

—

—

Simon had made himself a new routine that involved the bakery. He’d grown used to waking up at such early hours that he decided to put them to a good use by using that extra time and arriving to the bakery where he would usually help Alex with opening and getting the ovens turns on and place cleaned up before they open. He’d told himself that he’d only help the small family for a few days after the delivery incident, but after that he continued to come to the point where Y/n officially hired him.

He didn’t need a job, the money he earned while working with the military was enough. But, he was given a chance to spend more time with both Alex and Y/n, accepting the position and only working for a few hours. Most days he’d stay around until closing and help the two with cleaning. Even though he wasn’t a great baker himself he still tried when it came towards baking small pastries or perhaps some simple cookies for customers to enjoy. Simons regular duty was to mainly clean the place up and remove the chairs from the tables, setting them out properly.

While Alex checked the back room and double checking that all ingredients are available and in good condition. The teen was only seventeen and yet, he acted responsible towards his fathers bakery, keeping it clean and stocked. Simon is always impressed by the kid, finding out that he plays the violin, works with his father, and has graduated early from school. He didn’t attend university since his future was to continue on with the family business and keep the bakery open and going. Simon knew very little about Alex’s past but knew what the kid had gone though.

Y/n had told him a thing or two about Alex’s real parents, causing his blood to boil at the thought of an innocent child being abused. It brought him terrible memories that not even he wishes to remember. So, Simon grew protective over the kid, keeping a close eye on him whenever he dealt with customers on his own. The kid had gone through a tough life but he knew how to take care of himself when it comes towards his family business.

The day had grown cloudy and cold, raining pouring down hard. Simon made it to the bakery on time but had gotten drenched with rain on his way over, covering the floors in water as he locks the door behind him.

“Rain got you, huh?”

Simon looks up to see Alex by the register, grinning mischievously at Simon. He hums to himself as he goes back to counting the money to place inside the register while Simon made his way around the counter. “It’s pouring hard.” He mumbled, removing the hood on his head, frowning when the wet cloth touched his skin.

“Dad said that it’s going to be raining this whole week and we usually get the most customers during this weather. They all come in to get a warm drink.” Alex closed the register and glanced over to Simon, taking notice of his wet clothes. “My dads upstairs getting ready. I can check if we have any dry clothes in your size?” He offers.

Simon shakes his head. “I’ve dealt with worse weather conditions.” He grunts, removing the hoodie and revealing a simple white shirt as he hangs the jacket. His balaclava all wet that he grows irritated and rips it off his head, revealing his face as the warmth hit his face.

“Well, if you need anything just let me—“ Alex had turned around with a towel in hand, freezing in place as his eyes widen. His silence gets Simons attention and looks down at the teen who continued to stare. It occurred to Simon that this was the first time that Alex was seeing his full face, actually seeing him inside of hiding behind a mask. He too freezes, not knowing how to react or what to say during this type of situation.

It wasn’t until Alex finally speaks up. “Your blonde?” He points out to Simon’s messy hair which was slight damp. “I know I’ve seen your eyes but they look even darker—like the ocean water when the sun first rises!” He exclaims with a soft smile on his face.

Alex’s sudden reaction is enough to give Simon some comfort. He’s used to hiding behind a mask that Alex’s statement is the first that he’s ever heard in a while. He lets a small laugh slip past his lips while Alex continued to examine his face. “You look like any normal guy, although…” he groans. “Yep, your definitely my dads type.” The teen rolls his eyes, already knowing how his father is going to react when he comes downstairs.

He throws the towel at Simons face before the sound of tapping shoes is heard. Y/n was dressed warm for the cold weather, stepping downstairs into the empty bakery as he first turns to Alex. “Are the ovens turned on yet?”

“Not yet, Simon just got here.” He points over to Simon who was drying his face.

When Y/n looks over his smile falls open, eyes wide as he stares at Simon. “W—what—“

He clears his throat. “What happened? Did the rain get you?” He questions, obviously. He was taking in simons looks, head tilting slightly as he takes in the slight stubble that he had showing along his jawline. His hair was damp and a dirty blonde which gets Y/n staring all mesmerized.

He doesn’t know how long he was staring until Alex claps his hands in front of his face, pulling him out of trance and getting startled. “Yes?” He mumbled out, turning to face Alex who frowned. “I get that he’s attractive but I need the stoves turned on.”

“What? Attractive, what are you talking about?” Y/n nervously chuckles, side stepping Alex as he goes around the counter, taking his apron as he continued to ramble. “I don’t know what your talking about, I’d rather turn on the stoves then look at—“ He turns to glance at Simon who was staring back at him with a small smile on his face, causing Y/n’s breath to hitch. “I—stoves!” He squeaks out, stumbling into the back room to get the stoves started while Simon chuckles.

He sets the towel aside and turns to Alex who grins. “See? Dad has a crush on you.” He tells him, focusing back on putting the clean cups away and setting a few out for quick drink orders. While Simon grabs his own apron to put on. He was having second thoughts on putting the balaclava back on but seeing Y/n’s reaction stopped him from doing so. Instead he gets to cleaning without his mask, focusing on his task as he draws the blinds and sets out the chairs.

—

Throughout the day, Simon is able to keep his face exposed for about two hours before he grew uncomfortable and anxious. His balaclava is still wet and hasn’t dried yet, Alex had taken notice of his discomfort and offered him a black face mask that is used whenever someone was baking and couldn’t deal with specific ingredients. Simon had accepted the fake mask, even though it didn’t cover his entire face his anxiety had gone away once he’s able to hide half of his face.

With the bakery now open and students pouring inside to avoid the horrible weather he’s able to step back into routine. “Behind!” The two hears Y/n call out as they moved forward, avoiding the hot tray of cookies that was placed in front of them. Y/n smiles widely.

“Oh! Mr. Y/n these smell amazing are they new?” One of the college students ask as they pay for their drink while Y/n nods. “Correct! I was working on these for a few days, trying to get the right taste and texture. Would you like you?” He offers.

The student nods their head. “How much will it cost?”

“On the house! I’ve only made a few so I can’t sell them yet but I’ll appreciate some honest feedback.” Y/n looks around for some napkins to hand the cookies out with but doesn’t find any until Simon holds out a small pile to him which he accepts with a small ‘thank you’ and began to hand the cookies out to the nearest students who asked for one. A few gave him honest criticism, letting him know what was missing and what he could possibly add. He takes in all the information with a smile on his face.

“Very well, I’ll be in the back working on this new recipe again.” Y/n sighs deeply, picking up the empty tray. “Don’t work yourself to hard.” Simon says. Y/n looks up to him and nodded. “I won’t, I just want to make sure that I get these right.” He’s determined to make the best cookies ever!

“You said you made a few, have anymore in the back?”

“Oh! I do, would you like to try one?”

Simon gives him a nod before he’s being guided to the back where Y/n had left a mess all over the baking table, flour and a mixture of other ingredients were all over the table. He hums happily to himself, ignoring the mess as he pulls out a tin can and pulling the lid open to reveal the same cookies he finished baking. “I kept a few in order to die some taste testing and to keep track of ingredients I added.” He offers one to Simon who takes it, giving it a hard stare and lowering his face mask to take a bite of the cookie.

Y/n watched him in silence, always getting caught off guard whenever he showed his face. He felt warm inside and his face always grew warm and avoids to stare at Simon longer, instead he focused on cleaning his mess and using a rag to throw the mess away. “So…did you like it?” He questions, glancing at Simon.

“I like everything you bake.”

Y/n blushed deeply, chuckling a little. “Don’t lie, there has to be something I bake that isn’t too your liking.”

“I would say the coffee but Alex is the one who makes it, not you.” Simon eats the last part of the cookie, smirking at him as he swallows.

“That doesn’t count, that’s Alex’s doing.” Y/n rolls his eyes.

“You’re right but, like I said. Your baking is good and I can’t find a single one to complain about.”

“There’s always something to ask about.” Y/n picks up some of the bowls he was using and walks over to the sink where he placed the bowls inside and turns on the water. Simon followed his every move, pulling the mask back up and suddenly asking.

“Alex says you have a crush on me.”

Y/n’s hands grow slippery as the dish slips from his hands, falling back into the sink and splashing water all over his apron. “What—?” He gasped out in shock and disbelief, taking one of the clean towels to dry himself with even though it wasn’t much help.

“I don’t—well, maybe, No! I don’t I—“ He groans in frustration as he tries to dry his clothes faster but nothing works. Simon steps forward, taking the towel from his hand and setting it aside. His hands sneak around Y/n’s waist and turns him around, his back facing him while Y/n gasped and grows stiff.

“You do or you don’t?” Simon asks again while he worked on the aprons knot and getting it untied. “I do…” Y/n responded back. “But, I understand if you don’t feel the same don’t force yourself to say anything.” He chuckles nervously. “It’s something small and I don’t usually get attracted to anyone.” He rambled on, Simon allowing it as he got the knot untied and gently removed the apron from around his neck.

Y/n turning back around without thinking as he continued. “—it’s not really a crush but an attraction? Or I think that is considered a crush?” He whines, throwing his head back in defeat. “I admit I’ve had a thing for you ever since you came in!” He confessed.

Simon silently watched, amused. He sets the wet apron aside and focused his attention back to Y/n. “Ever since I came in?”

Y/n nods, avoiding his stare.

“I thought I scared you.”

Y/n whipped his head up, almost giving himself whiplash. “Never! I knew that you were a softy after helping Alex.” He huffs out, finally looking into Simons eyes as he lets out a soft breath. The two staring in silence until Simon is the first the cut the tension between them. His voice is soft as he leans down to match Y/n’s height and asking.

“Go on a date with me.”

—

[ AN: Credit goes to all artists! ]

[giggly-squiggily]

(Headcanons to Dabbles: OFFICIALLY CLOSED)

Heyo! So given the grand total of headcanons this event was an odd number, I decided to throw in my own for an even 70! It was a hard choice, but given I'm rewatching it and also the recent amount of tickle content I've seen in the community lately- I bring you my first watched anime ever (technically that was Naruto but shhh): Death Note! :D (Lee!L to be exact- hehehe)

This takes place during the Yotusba arc, so spoilers ahead! (Also cause like- that's the only arc I could realistically make them have tickle fights in- if you know you know)

��Ryuzaki…” Light didn’t know where to even begin with his question. He knew the answer, but a part of him wanted to believe otherwise.

“Yes?” L turned that obsidian gaze at him, half of his face luminated by his computer screen. The sight would have been more intimidating had he not been fighting off a yawn. “What is it?”

“I..” Light shook his head, steeling his nerves. “Have you been drinking water? Like- at all? I swear since we’ve been cuffed together, I’ve never seen you consume anything beyond tea and coffee.” And sweets- but that would have sent them off a different tangent.

L stared at him, nearly motionless. His eyes widened a fraction, the only indication he was surprised. Light raised a brow at him, waiting.

A stare down. Finally…

“Coffee has water in it.” L offered, voice somewhat sheepish. Light nearly fell out of his chair with how hard he rolled his eyes.

“You’re getting water. Now.” He got up from his chair, making his way towards the office kitchen with little luck. “You’re probably so dehydrated, Kira could make you spontaneously combust!”

“Interesting theory. Is this your way of saying you’re Kira?”

“I’m not-” No. Don’t play into his game. “Water. Now.”

“I’m not thirsty, though.” L remained, an unshakable stone despite Light’s insistent pulling. “Besides, if I drink anything now, I’ll need to use the bathroom.”

“Good- it’ll give you a reason to stretch.” Frustrated, he walked over and grabbed the back of L’s chair, dragging it behind him on his way. “You should consider investing in a chair with better wheels.”

“Maybe I’ll get a chair with no wheels at all.” L- the little bastard- hung onto the desk like a stubborn child. Light felt his temper rise at how ridiculous it was. Wasn’t he older than him? Why did Light- a freshly graduated college student have more sense of self-preservation than this blockhead of a detective? “Really, you worry too much.”

“I’ll give you five seconds.” Light glared, hands on his hips.

“35 less than usual?”

Screw it. “Come here!” Light didn’t know why- maybe it was the hour, his frustration, or just because the other day he saw Watari do it and now he wanted to see it for himself, but he proceeded to grab L’s sides from behind, drilling into his ribs rapidly.

The reaction was surprising and instantaneous and utterly perfect.

“Gah! Aheahahhahahah! Dohohon’t, thihihihs is stuhuhuhupid! Gheahahahah, ghehehet oohohohff!” L cried, unlatching from the desk as he curled up in a ball in his chair. Somehow, the damn thing didn’t fall over- giving Light the chance he needed. Still tickling, he dragged him far enough from his computer until he could comfortably walk to the sink.

L gasped and groaned, hands on his sides and mind suddenly fuzzy with overstimulation. Residue giggles and laughs broke through his slow deep breaths, his eyes closed and his face pressed into his knees.

Something chilly pressed into his hand, making him look up. Light stood before him with a glass of ice water.

“Drink.” He ordered, even when L frowned. “Ryuzaki.”

“Fine, fine.” He took the cup, frowning the entire time he drank from it. Finishing it off, he showed it to the other boy with a pout- very much like a child made to eat his vegetables. “Happy?”

“Very much so.” Light refilled the cup before returning to the desks, forcing L to stand up and walk back. “And you even stretched. See? Was that so hard?”

L’s sharp jab to his ribs before sitting down was all the answer he got, sputtering water everywhere while the other man smiled.

Petty bastard.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Ben Appel

Published: Dec 26, 2023

In 2021, Harvard evolutionary biologist Carole Hooven stated on a television news program that there are “two sexes” and that “those sexes are designated by the kinds of gametes we produce.” She added that “understanding facts about biology doesn’t prevent us from treating people with respect” when it comes to “their gender identities and use [of] their preferred pronouns.” Afterward, a Harvard graduate student, in her official capacity as director of the Human Evolutionary Biology Department’s Diversity, Inclusion, and Belonging Task Force, tweeted that Hooven’s “dangerous” and “transphobic” remarks made the department unsafe for transgender people. The Graduate Student Union took out a petition against Hooven, and, since no one would agree to serve as her teaching assistant, she had to discontinue her popular lecture course. This past January, under duress, Hooven retired from her position at Harvard.

More recently, I heard Hooven speak at a conference in Denver. She talked about academic freedom and her dedication to creating a just society. She said something I believe: that the truth is the way toward true social justice, and that the truth is what ultimately alleviates human suffering. After Hooven left the stage, I tweeted my thoughts about what she said, concluding, “Yep, I’ll die on that hill.” A Twitter user, in a now-deleted series of replies, responded, “Wish you would then. And quickly.” Later, this person elaborated, “Cis white conservative gays can all d*e. Please do, no one likes you.”

This might be the first time I’ve been called “conservative” for voicing my support of the truth and social justice. Right-wing homophobia is nothing new, though the enmity for “cis white gays” like me from the other side of the aisle has sadly also become widespread online. Here’s a very small sampling:

“[C]is white gay men are the weakest links and idc who knows it.” — @ann_forcino.

“ur rave wasn't ‘100% queer joy’ it was a warehouse party full of white cis gay men who want to dance and fuck each other lmfao [...] “that's not queer joy, that's f^g joy.” — @Maxies_back

“Chelsea and Hells Kitchen, more so than other neighborhoods in New York, produce nothing better than prissy, entitled cis White Power pretentious gay men, who don't respect diversity, or the rule of law.” — “LGBT for Change”

“Maybe they were right all along and white cis gays really do go to hell.” — Jerry Falwell @obssdwmlp

“Behind every bad man there is an even worse cis gay white man.” — @ANIMETWTDNI

“We need to realize that gay cis white men are still cis white men.” — @pettypiedpipertake

“Maybe homophobia against cis white gay men is valid.” — @heartIwin

“Noah Schnapp is also evidence that gays will truly go to h£ll. especially a cis white upper class gay like i genuinely, genuinely mean that and i’m sorry if that comes off as problematic.” [Schnapp is a 19-year-old Jewish gay actor who has spoken out in support of Israel in the wake of the October 7 2023 terrorist attacks.] — @brat6z

 “I love it when white gays erase the trans and black side of this flag [...] You faggots deserve to get hatecrimed to death.” — @daredevilshill_

Writing for The Nation in 1994, the gay playwright Tony Kushner argued that homosexuality and socialism are intrinsically linked. Homosexuals, he wrote, “like most everyone else, are and will continue to be oppressed by the depredations of capital until some better way of living together can be arrived at.” Kushner lamented the growing number of gay activists, like Andrew Sullivan and Bruce Bawer, who advocated a more pragmatic approach to equal rights. The radical contingent of the LGBT community has long pejoratively described these types of gay and bi people — those who prioritize marriage equality, the right to serve openly in the military, and peaceful inclusion in Western society — as “assimilationist.” Real gay liberation, the radicals argue, will result from razing Western civilization and its capitalist, cisheteropatriarchal system and rebuilding it in their utopian vision. Like the gay journalist Donna Minkowitz once said to Charlie Rose, “We don’t want a place at the table — we want to turn the table over.”

The thing is, the pragmatic approach won. Today, gay, lesbian, and bi people get married, serve proudly, have jobs, own homes, and raise families. Like black civil rights leaders who preached nonviolent protest and a politics of respectability, discerning LGBT activists took the long view. We don’t want to exist on the margins of society, they insisted, we want to participate in it. LGBT people, just like black Americans, are a vital part of the fabric of this nation.

But the radicals haven’t taken this defeat lying down. After the 2015 Supreme Court decision in Obergefell v. Hodges, which made marriage equality the law of the land, the radicals pounced. “You got what you want,” they seemed to say. “Now it’s our turn.” LGBT rights organizations, either under the influence of impatient extremists or in an attempt to stay relevant (i.e., donor-worthy), refocused their missions to a form of revolutionary activism that purports to fight on behalf of trans people but in practice agitates for a revolt against Enlightenment ideals, liberalism, capitalism, and even basic biology.

Every LGBT organization seemingly became an extension of a university Gender Studies department, whose purpose was not to produce new knowledge but to interrogate — or, in their academic lingo, queer — existing knowledge which they spuriously associate with “whiteness”, colonialism, and Western patriarchy. Alongside this, a new social hierarchy of disadvantage was erected, where everyone was in competition to be the most “marginalized” — and therefore deserving of resources, a voice, and power in the revolutionaries’ value system. According to that value system, being gay or bi seemed to matter far less if one were also white, cis, and male, and therefore deemed to be in cahoots with the oppressors.

In 2017, while I was a student at Columbia University, I interned for GLAAD, one of the largest LGBT organizations in the US. Not only had their mission absorbed this new orthodoxy, it had filtered down to the interpersonal level. On campus and at GLAAD’s offices, I was regularly called “cis” in a kind of sneering, vitriolic tone that reminded me more than a little of the bullies who called me “fag” in middle school. The oddest thing was that much of the vitriol was coming from people who didn’t seem to be LGB, or even T, but who identified only as nonbinary or “queer.” Many of the people I encountered seemed to be profoundly homophobic. Any gay or bi man that didn’t at least adopt he/they pronouns, especially if they were white, was considered assimilationist, right-wing, traitorous upholders of the evil sex binary.

I never quite got used to being eyed with suspicion by other activists for my normative, gender-conforming appearance, or the constant bad-faith interpretations of anything I said. The only cis white gays spared this unfairly cold treatment were the ones who made a public show of being self-hating — the ones who renounced their “cis white gayness” and frequently apologized for their white privilege.

It was alarming to be on the receiving end of such vitriol simply for being myself — for not shaving one side of my head, painting my nails, piercing my septum, and adopting plural pronouns. It was alarming especially because so much of the hate I received when I was young came precisely because I was way too sex-nonconforming (in fact, in middle school, my classmates would often ask me if I was a boy or a girl). I wondered if my peers cared that I had been mercilessly bullied as a gay kid, or that I had worked on a trans rights anti-discrimination campaign when they were barely teenagers. I knew that my volunteering for marriage equality wouldn’t earn me any points, since marriage was to them an antiquated Western institution and part of an “assimilationist” agenda. This attitude has become so entrenched in LGBT activist spaces, I suspect it partially explains why support for same-sex marriage among Gen Z Americans has dropped from 80% in 2021 to only 69% in 2023.

Last year, I got a little more clarity about this issue when I came across an article, also written in 1994, by Stephen H. Miller. The publishing journal, Heterodoxy, titled it “Gay-Bashing by Homosexuals,” although Miller’s original title was “Gay White Males: PC’s Unseen Target.” In the late 1980s and early 90s, Miller chaired the media committee of GLAAD’s New York chapter. In fact, Miller came up with GLAAD’s mission statement, which was to “fight for fair, accurate and inclusive representations of gay and lesbian lives in the media and elsewhere.” In the article, Miller wrote that he was “purged” from GLAAD in 1992 because he objected to the rising political correctness and censoriousness in the gay, lesbian, and bisexual movement. Similar to the cultural shifts of the past decade, Miller recounts how activist organizations began prioritizing race and gender (and of course, the Correct political views) over individual merit. New staff members had to attend “endless sensitivity sessions” which “identified white men (whatever their sexual orientation) as the oppressor class.” Suddenly, it seemed like there was more antagonism towards the “white males” within the LGBT rights movement than without. Miller, who described himself as a “political moderate who believed in dialogue with the straight world and a good-faith search for common ground,” found himself “shunned.”

The race and gender quotas that LGBT rights organizations began adopting, Miller wrote, included weighted voting that favored women and people of color. For example, after regional delegations of organizers for the 1993 March on Washington for LGB rights failed to achieve their quotas, it was decided that women’s votes would count for three votes apiece and non-white votes would count for two votes apiece. That decision — and the many others that have since followed in LGBT activist spaces — calls to mind some dark and creepy moments from American history best learned from rather than imitated.

Of course, this also raises the question: Who decides who is a person of color and who is white, and how? Will they apply the one-drop rule, the early 20th-century legal principle that deemed any American with even one black ancestor (“one drop of black blood”) as black? I suppose that would be illegal since the Supreme Court outlawed the one-drop rule in its 1967 Loving v. Virginia decision. And yet, I’m not surprised by these backward tactics. It was Ibram X. Kendi who recently wrote, “The only remedy to past discrimination is present discrimination. The only remedy to present discrimination is future discrimination.” Around and around we go.

Then as now, as Miller wrote, anyone who challenged this illiberal orthodoxy was “deemed racist and sexist” and accused of harboring the belief that “white men are the main victims of discrimination.” Naturally, Miller notes, such accusations serve to discourage people who sense this hostility toward gay white men from voicing their dissent.

Then after AIDS decimated gay and bi male activist communities, lesbian radical feminists moved in, and a “critical attitude toward men, male sexuality, and ‘the patriarchy’” became the norm. “Male solidarity, once a hallmark of gay liberation, is now anathema.”

A direct line can be drawn from this upheaval in the early 1990s and the divisiveness in today’s LGBT activist spaces, where “cis gays” — and, in particular, “cis white gays” — are seen as upholders of villainous Western cisheteropatriarchy and its henchman capitalism. These modern activists are sure to include “white” not only out of an animus against white people, but because they assume that all people of color are helpless victims of Western capitalism who, because of their oppression, invariably hold the “correct” far-left politics. In his aforementioned article, Kushner invoked Oscar Wilde, quoting “A map of the world that does not include Utopia is not worth even glancing at.” He added that he is “always suspicious of the glacier-paced patience of the right.” Writing for The Advocate, the gay writer Bruce Bawer responded that he and so many others are “impatient with models of activism that involve playing at revolution instead of focusing on the serious work of reform.”

This anti-“cis white gay” attitude proliferates in LGBT media as well. “White Gay Men Are Hindering Our Progress as a Queer Community” was the title of an article published in the magazine Them. “You had your time — now, we have other things to fight for,” read the subhead. “Let's Talk About People That Aren't Young Cis White Gay Men,” a HuffPost article was titled.

I could go on and on.

A few years ago, I attended a conference for LGBT journalists. There, I met a young, white, gay writer who would go on to work for a progressive news outlet in New York. He said his upbringing in a Southern state had made him racist, but since then, he has “trained” himself to be attracted to black and brown people, and now black and brown people are the only types of people he wants to sleep with.

If this is the “progressive” strategy for combating racism, I want no part of it. And any liberal cis white gay person who opposes racism won’t either. This is racism, operating under the guise of “anti-racism”, plain and simple. It attempts to end inequality by inverting it and, in the process, is attacking the foundations of the principles that have enabled the remarkable progress our society has made in transcending bigotry and prejudice. I only wish more people who saw this dogma for what it is were unafraid to voice the truth about it.

==

Homophobia and anti-gay hate are alive and well as progressive virtues.

[swan-of-sunrise]

The Halcyon Hypothesis

Summary: A chance meeting on the New York subway between a stressed-out graduate student and a brilliant but dorky scientist takes a surprising turn in both of their lives.

Pairing: Bruce Banner X Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: Here’s another little one-shot I found hiding on an old flash drive! It’s officially dedicated to all you guys who’ve been struggling with finals and to all the other Bruce Banner fans out there lol thank you for reading, I hope you all enjoy!  

The Halcyon Hypothesis (Fanfiction Masterlist)

“Dammit!” (Y/N) swore under her breath as she edged her way into the extremely cramped train and tried not to lose grip on the large stack of notes in her arms. People funneled into the train behind her and in no time, she was crammed tightly into the train as the doors closed; if Professor Taylors hadn’t kept us after class, I’d be on an almost-deserted train right now with my own personal space, she thought with annoyance as the train began to move, but at least I can still cram a little studying in.

She planted her feet so the motions of the train wouldn’t cause her to lose balance and opened her notebook to her most recent notes. Sweat-covered passengers shifted around her as more and more people boarded at the next several stops, but she did her best to ignore them as she struggled to understand everything she’d hastily jotted down earlier. Burnout was hitting her hard as the fall semester drew to a close and her roommates were in the midst of a fight of epic proportions, so the only think keeping her going was the six cups of coffee she’d already had and the promise of another when she arrived back home. All of a sudden, the train slammed on its brakes harder than usual; most of the other passengers were holding onto hand straps but since (Y/N) wasn’t, the train’s jarring movement sent her stumbling into the man standing next to her. “Shit, sorry about that.”

“That’s okay. There’s an extra hand strap over here if you wanna use it.”

(Y/N) glanced up from her notes and momentarily forgot to speak when she caught sight of the man’s kindly smile and strangely-captivating eyes. “I’m fine, I’ve gotta hold my notes.”

The man nodded in understanding and she returned her focus to the scribbles on her page of notes. A few moments later, though, the man spoke again. “You mixed up a couple of your definitions.”

“Excuse me?”

He looked a little startled by her annoyed reply, but nevertheless he continued. “The, um, the definitions for adenosine triphosphate and adenylate cyclase at the top of your page should be swapped.”

Still slightly irritated that her studying was interrupted again, (Y/N) looked at the definitions he spoke of and to her surprise, the man was correct. “Well, I’ll be damned. Are you a biology expert or something?”

“You could say that. I, ah, actually have one of my PhD’s in it,” The man replied. Instead of acting smug about his apparent multiple doctorates, he seemed a little embarrassed to have mentioned them at all; he rubbed his neck awkwardly with his free hand and looked at everything in the train car but her as his ears flushed a vivid shade of pink.

His shyness is kinda cute, (Y/N) thought with a growing smile, her earlier annoyance long-gone. “That’s cool! I’m working on my master’s in biology right now and I can’t even imagine working on a doctorate; I’ve never been more stressed in my life. So stressed, apparently, that I can’t tell the difference between a nucleotide and an enzyme! It’s just that my professors won’t ease up on the workload and things are a little tense with my roommates so I don’t get much studying in at home, and-” She stopped her rambling and cringed internally; why the hell was she unloading all this onto a stranger on a train? “Sorry, I didn’t mean to go on a rant there. Stress, you know…”

“That’s okay, stress can make people do a lot of weird things.” The man’s eyes were unfocused, as if he was thinking about something else, but the strange look disappeared after a moment and was replaced with a bashful grin. “…If you want, I could look over your notes to make sure everything’s correct? Not that it’s not correct, of course! I’m sure it’s great, but, you know, just to be on the safe side…?”

“Um…sure, I guess. Thanks!” (Y/N) handed him her notebook and pencil and watched as he began flipping through the pages, scanning the information and used the pencil to make corrections when necessary. The train clinked and clanked along as he remained concentrated on his work, and (Y/N) took the opportunity to examine him a little. His dark curly hair was streaked with a few strands of grey, even though he appeared to be on the younger side. I’d probably have grey hair too if I had more than one doctorate, she thought with an inward chuckle before resuming her observations. He wore wire-framed glasses that had a tendency to slide down his nose, and she could clearly see the smile lines that surrounded his vivid green eyes. Just as she was debating whether or not she should try to give him her number or just simply ask for the handsome stranger’s name, he closed her notebook and looked up at her.

“Well, there were a couple of mistakes with some formulas but other than that, everything looks great! Not bad for a person who says they don’t know the difference between a nucleotide and an enzyme.” His teasing words and flirtatious smile caused her stomach to flutter.

“Thank you,” She took her notebook back and clutched it to her chest. “Now I’ve just gotta study all this and try to pass my final on Friday.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine; your notes are very thorough and well-written, so you shouldn’t have any problem.”

“Easy for you to say, dude, you’ve probably got half-a-dozen PhD’s under your belt.” Her eyebrows rose when he gave her a sheepish look. “You’ve got more than that?”

The man shrugged as he shuffled his feet in embarrassment. “I’m not really the type to brag.” A silence fell over them for several moments until he spoke up again, his timid green eyes fixated on hers. “I, um, I just wanted to say that I think it’s wonderful you’re involved in the sciences…as a woman, I mean, because women haven’t always been encouraged into pursuing STEM careers but times are finally changing and I…well, I-I think it’s admirable.” He rubbed his neck awkwardly and he gave her a half smile that made her heart skip a beat. “You know, it’s like what Nichelle Nichols used to say: ‘Science is not a boy’s game, it’s not a girl’s game. It’s everyone’s game. It’s about where we are…’”

“‘…and where we’re going.’” (Y/N) smiled bashfully at the impressed look he was giving her and fiddled with the metal spiral holding her notebook together. “Lieutenant Uhura was my favorite Star Trek character when I was a kid. That’s sweet of you to say, Doctor…?”

“Bruce. My name’s Bruce.”

She shook his outstretched hand. “(Y/N).” Their eyes met and her breath hitched as she took in the intensity of his gaze, barely aware that their hands were still touching and that she could smell his intoxicating cedar cologne. The intensity of her courses that semester meant that she hadn’t had much time for romance but judging by the way she felt herself react to Bruce in the brief amount of time she’d known him, she could easily imagine herself charging headfirst back into the world of dating alongside the handsome scientist standing so close to her.

“Now approaching Grand Central Station!”

“This is me,” Bruce looked almost disappointed at the announcement but then his green eyes suddenly lit up; he scrambled to pull his wallet out and finally pulled out a business card as the train stopped and the doors opened. “Here’s my number, let me know how your test goes! It was really nice talking to you, (Y/N)!” With a small wave, he pushed through the packed train and out of sight.

“Bye Bruce,” (Y/N) mumbled dejectedly; she’d finally met a nice guy but he was gone as quickly as he came. But at least I have his number, she thought with a growing grin, her heart feeling lighter than it had in a long while. She looked down at the business card in her hand and nearly dropped it in surprise, for printed neatly on the card was the name Dr. Bruce Banner. “Holy shit! I had an Avenger look over my biology notes?!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, let me get this straight: you met a beautiful woman on the subway the other day, bonded over your shared nerdy love of science and Star Trek, and even stared into each other’s eyes for a little bit like they do in those cheesy Hallmark Christmas movies…yet you didn’t bother to try and get her number? Geez, you’re rustier at all this than Capsicle!”

Pulling away from his microscope, Bruce took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I already told you, Tony, I gave her my business card before I got off the train. If she wants to contact me, then she will and we can see where we go from there.”

Tony rolled his eyes and sighed as he spun his desk chair around in a circle. “Yeah, that’s just the way every woman dreams of being wooed. Ever hear of romance, Brucie?”

“Did you seriously just call me-?”

“If you knew her last name and where she went to school, then we could have J.A.R.V.I.S. track her down and then you could go down there and surprise her…” The billionaire’s face illuminated with a bright smile. “I’m talking flowers, chocolates, expensive dinner reservations, front-row tickets to Hamilton, the whole shebang. You could easily sweep this chick off her exhausted and stressed-out feet, dude, if only you’d just bothered to take a page out of your BFF’s book.”

Bruce snorted. “And conversely, have you ever heard of stalking in the fourth degree? Those tricks might work with Pepper but you’re you and I’m me, Tony, and I’m definitely not the kind of guy that women would want to be swept off their feet by. I can’t even remember when I last went on a date, it’s been so long-”

The muffled chiming of Bruce’s cellphone echoed throughout the laboratory and interrupted his protests; he unearthed the phone from beneath a pile of loose papers and frowned when he noticed a new text message from an unknown number, but his confusion quickly shifted to elation once he read the text.

Unknown: Hi Bruce, this is (Y/N) from the train. You’ll be pleased to know that I got an A on my final!

The gif of a cutely-animated Spock dancing around in circles on the bridge of the U.S.S. Enterprise made Bruce snort in amusement, and it was soon followed up by a second text.

Unknown: Would it be too forward to ask if I can buy you a coffee, to thank you again for double-checking my notes and brightening my day?

“It seems that I might’ve misjudged your mystery lady…” Tony admitted as he peered over Bruce’s shoulder at the cell phone in his hand, a small but genuine smile on his bearded face. “You know what the word ‘halcyon’ means? It indicates a period of time in the past that was idyllically happy and peaceful, but a funny thing about that word is that can also describe happiness in the general sense.” Bruce arched a brow and the billionaire shrugged. “Pepper’s got me listening to some philosophy podcasts, they’re weird but pretty good. My point is that your chance for halcyon isn’t gone, my Jolly Green friend; it’s quite literally in the palm of your hand, but you’ve gotta be the one to hold on tight to it.”

The billionaire clapped Bruce on the shoulder and whistled a show-tune as he left him alone in the laboratory. The scientist reveled in the lighthearted feeling that threatened to consume him, unable to recall the last instance he’d felt so pleased to receive a simple text; (Y/N) knew about the Other Guy and the life Bruce led as an Avenger, and yet she still reached out on her own volition and even invited him out for coffee. It was presumptive to assume she felt the same way about him, but he’d be naïve not to acknowledge the intensity that had been evident in her (Y/E/C) eyes when they shook hands on the train.

“It’s just a cup of coffee,” Bruce muttered to himself, nervously biting his lip as he stared down at his phone, his thumbs hovering over the keyboard in hesitation. “Not necessarily my halcyon…”

The scientist typed out his enthusiastic reply and he couldn’t help but smile again, his heart hammering away in his chest as he thought about all the data he’d need to collect to prove his halcyon hypothesis correct and how nice it would be to have a scientist as lovely as (Y/N) to conduct some experiments alongside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Aww, I love a happy ending! Bonus points to anyone who can guess which show-tune Tony was humming (Hint: It’s from an old film musical that people consider to be a Christmas movie lol). Thank you all so much for reading and commenting, and I hope that you have a wonderful holiday season!

Fanfiction Masterlist

Marvel Taglist: @brooke0297

All Works: @crowleysqueenofhell @momc95 @groovy-lady​

[sednonamoris]

okay since i’ve just been saying things lately let’s keep these good vibes going and talk ghost story modern au 👻

in my head this whole situation is wildly different bc. well that’s the point of a modern au

john is a troubled criminal. he and abigail accidentally had jack quite young and john has been in and out of prison in the meantime for robberies and gang involvement etc. he’s a bit of a deadbeat. she keeps pushing for child support and he keeps insisting he’s not the father and it’s messy and they have definitely hit one another in more than one court room and subsequently been excused

the van der linde gang went down recently after micah got in bed w the law, working out a deal where he and dutch went free but everyone who didn’t get out soon enough took the fall. arthur was killed in the takedown. john, after watching his brother die and having been left for dead himself, has not only a chip on his shoulder but some decent time to do. towards the end of his sentence he participates in a criminal reformation program involving equine therapy

ghost is actually not a criminal in this one, and their family is still alive; they help run their family’s big ranching operation which just so happens to do outreach programs w the nearby prison. this is how they meet john

it’s john’s first time really handling a horse, and as ghost shows everyone how to muck stalls and mend fences and other basic horse/farm care, john finds that his determination to hate the whole program fades away. he’s mesmerized by ghost’s easy competency, and is now determined to match that skill. he starts asking questions and trying to pick up extra chores on every visit

when it comes time to assign the mustangs that each prisoner will work with and gentle, he’s easily the best in the group. john chooses a proud, crest-necked flaxen liver chestnut horse he calls old boy. at the program’s graduation, when the horses are publicly auctioned, ghost wins the bid for old boy. john is sad to leave him but thrilled he ended up w ghost, and ghost tell him that when he gets out he should stop by to visit

as soon as his sentence is up he does, and ghost’s father promptly offers him a job. he’s still a novice in all things ranching, but he’s loyal and he works hard and when they have problems with predators on the property line he’s the first to grab a rifle and volunteer to run them off. he and ghost forge a close, pining friendship, and after his first year there they officially gift him old boy back. he cries

it’s a whole new take on redemption for john. as he leans into his new responsibilities he starts to realize he can’t abandon his old ones and begins paying child support and visiting the son he’s barely fathered and the single mother he left to do it all. ghost’s dad is really proud of him, and so is ghost. when jack comes by the ranch ghost gives him his first riding lesson. they offer to teach abigail too, but she insists she likes her feet on solid ground. while ghost and jack are busy abigail advises john to act on his budding feelings for ghost, and not to mess things up this time

ghost loves dancing, so john mans up and asks them if they’d like to go out on the town with him. they grab some drinks at the local dive-bar and then ghost lights up once the line dancing starts. john has two left feet but he joins in beside them and they dance the night away, eventually confessing their feelings. they definitely fuck in the truck before heading back to the ranch (whore behavior)

then the paths diverge. either this is the redemption john didn’t realize he needed that he keeps earning every day and it’s happily ever after, or he learns about micah from sadie and they track him down and kill him. then things would spiral into a modern rehash of rdr1 where he’s eventually forced to track down his old gang members for arrest and instead of his promised immunity they lock john up again/stage an ‘accident’ :)

this is sort of the bare-bones Vision but i do daydream abt it often…. ❤️‍🔥

[josjournal]

New New Jobs (Full Moon Ficlet #519 - New)

Written for @fullmoonficlet

Stepping off the train, Derek took a deep breath. The crowds poured around him while he attempted to get his bearings. A sign over a doorway showed the street Derek needed. He forced his feet to move, heading out of the darkness and into the bright sunlight of his new life. 

Stiles hurried down the street. He couldn’t believe he’d overslept. His anxiety over his new job had kept him up too late, and he’d forgotten to charge his phone. Thankfully, his next-door neighbor had a loud-as-hell alarm that sent Stiles off his bed daily. He had ten minutes to get to his new job three blocks away before he was officially late.

“Sorry. Excuse me. Pardon me,” he shouted as he pushed through the crowds pouring out of the train station. He sometimes missed the slower pace of Beacon Hills, but moving to New York for college had been the right choice. He needed to put as much space between himself and the horrors of his high school years.

Now he’d moved to the city and had a job with a private sector cyber security company. He couldn’t wait to get started, but he needed to avoid getting fired before that could happen. He glanced at his new watch, a college graduation gift from his father, and ran smack into something solid and fell backward, landing on his ass.

“Shit,” a voice said before someone grabbed him by the arms and yanked him to his feet. “Are you alright?”

Stiles shook his head and then nodded before looking up and freezing. “Derek?”

Derek’s eyes widened. “Stiles? What are you doing in New York?”

Stiles ran a hand over his face, catching sight of his watch. “Risking getting fired before I even get started,” he shouted. “I’ve gotta run.”

“Stiles!” Derek called after him, a part of him not wanting to let go of this small part of his past, even if he was starting over.

“What?” Stiles called, not looking behind him. Derek wondered where he was headed.

“My number hasn’t changed!” he shouted, smirking when Stiles stumbled before writing himself and waving a hand over his head. Derek doubted Stiles would call, but at least now he knew someone might. His phone had been silent in the years since he’d left Beacon Hills behind after the fire that had killed his family.

He’d spent a few years in the middle of nowhere in Colorado before continuing East. Only recently did he know he needed to find something to do with his days, or the madness that had begun setting in would take complete control. He’d spent months searching for a job that wouldn’t drive him completely crazy and found one in New York.

Now, he stood in the middle of the sidewalk staring at the space Stiles had occupied only moments earlier and wondered if fate had somehow led him there. Shaking his head, he checked the GPS on his phone and started heading toward his new job.

Stiles stood in the elevator, bouncing on his toes. He should’ve taken the stairs, but he’d been winded from the shock of seeing Derek and his race to work. The doors slid open to reveal Trend Point’s home offices. A young woman with red hair stood at the front desk with a welcoming smile. She reminded Stiles of Lydia, his high school crush that a wild animal had killed, and he felt a twinge in his chest.

“You must be Stiles,” she said, holding out a hand for Stiles to shake. “We have one more new employee starting today, so if you’ll have a seat until he gets here.”

Stiles nodded and moved to sit on the seat closest to the desk. He pulled his phone out and stared down at it. Derek had said he hadn’t changed his number, but Stiles wondered if he’d meant it. It had been many years since Derek had left Beacon Hills, and no one had heard from him since. He should’ve listened to his father and called Derek when Scott had died on the lacrosse field, an asthma attack taking him out before the paramedics could get there.

Stiles shook his head, blinking back tears. He’d lost so many people growing up. His mom. The Hales. Derek. Scott. Lydia. He’d nearly lost his dad, but thankfully Melissa, Scott’s mom, had stepped in to pull him back from the edge. Hell, the woman pulled Stiles off a literal ledge at one point. She’d been the one who’d encouraged him to leave Beacon Hills, and he’d only done it knowing his father would be in good hands.

Now Derek was in New York. His memories went over the years, and Derek and his family played in so many of them that he felt tears spring to his eyes. He rubbed at them and hoped that the receptionist didn’t notice. Great first impression, crying in the lobby. He pulled up Derek’s contact info, thumb wavering over the screen. He took a deep breath. Just because he was starting a new life didn’t mean he needed to discard everything from the old one.

“Mine didn’t change either,” he typed. He pushed send just as the elevator doors opened.

Two things happened at once. A phone went off, and the receptionist called out. “Derek? Excellent. Now that you’re here, we can start this orientation.”

Stiles looked up, mouth hanging open as he studied Derek, who looked as stunned as he did. A smile spread across Derek’s face, and Stiles couldn’t miss the dampness in his eyes. “Hey, Stiles,” he said.

Stiles stood up and moved to stand next to him. “Derek.”

“You two know each other? Excellent! My name is Lisa Idaho, and I’m the front office coordinator,” she said. “Now, let's get moving.” 

She moved down the hallway, and Stiles started after her, stopping when Derek touched his arm. “You okay?” Stiles asked.

“Just making sure you’re really here,” he said. He would never tell Stiles that he’d imagined his childhood best friend and first crush too many times over the years.

“Dude, I’m here. You’re here. I think New York is going to be the new life I needed,” he said.

“New life for us both,” Derek said. They looked up when Lisa called their names, smiling fondly and shaking her head. “We should go before we both have to get new new jobs,” Stiles teased, grabbing Derek’s sleeve and pulling him along. Derek knew if they weren’t at work, he’d be taking his hand, and he hoped Stiles would want to get dinner that night.

Cross-posted to AO3

[aeoki]

Seven Bridges - Love and Peace?: Chapter 13

Location: Yumenosaki Soundproof Lesson Room Characters: Tsukasa, Ritsu, Arashi & Hitsugi

Tsukasa: My upperclassmen, it’s time to stop the chit-chat and start the Lesson.

Must I remind you by saying that you shouldn’t be hearing that from someone younger than you?

Ritsu: Oh, Suu-chan and… Anzu?

Hitsugi: Anzu-senpai!

Arashi: Hmm? Oh, you’re not the “producer” assigned to us this time, Hitsugi-chan? Why is  Anzu-chan here?

Ritsu: I welcome Anzu with my arms wide open though ♪

Tsukasa: I also don’t know the details but I found Onee-sa– I mean, I found the “Producer” wandering around the soundproof lesson room.

I beg your pardon? There’s an official “Producer course” and a lot of “Producers” now, so you want me to call you by name?

Then, I shall settle for Anzu Onee-sama. Hehe ♪

Ritsu: I noticed this some time ago but you’re not her little brother, Suu-chan.

Tsukasa: That doesn’t matter – Onee-sama is still my dear older sister ♪

Arashi: Hmm… Hitsugi-chan was chosen to be our producer, but you came to take a look because you were worried?

Are we not trustworthy? I guess we can be somewhat cold to outsiders but we wouldn’t bully Hitsugi-chan or do anything of that sort.

Ritsu: And Secchan graduated already.

Arashi: That’s right. “Knights” has gotten pretty mild now that Izumi-chan’s gone along with his hobby of picking on his juniors.

Tsukasa: Hm. You say there’s that but you were more worried about whether or not Hitsugi-san… can do his “Producer” work properly?

Oho, I see Hitsugi-san is well-known in the “Producer course” for being the number one failure there. His grades for the class quizzes are also quite low and…

He is a poor student for having failed the projects he’s been assigned to as a “Producer” multiple times.

Hitsugi: Ehe.

Ritsu: Why are you proud of that?

Arashi: I see. Hitsugi-chan doesn’t really know what to do and isn’t good at it, so it reminds you of when you first transferred to the school…?

You couldn’t leave him alone because he was someone you kinda knew, so you’ve been looking out for him a lot recently, huh.

Ritsu: So Anzu’s guardian switch got turned on, huh. She can be kinda motherly sometimes.

Looks like she’s the same as Maa-kun – Both of them can’t leave someone hopeless alone. Anzu’s had too much influence from “Trickstar”, for better or worse.

Arashi: Ehehe. I think Anzu-chan has always been kind, though.

Tsukasa: Hmm? What do you mean when you say he’s someone you know? Don’t tell me he’s your actual younger brother…!?

Hitsugi: Huh? What? My big sister isn’t Anzu-senpai.

Arashi: Don’t say something that’ll complicate things further. We sort of got to know each other a while back…

Hitsugi: Yes. They saved me because I was buried in the ground, so I’ve been sticking with Anzu-senpai a lot ever since.

We take the same classes in the “producer course”, after all.

Like me, Anzu-senpai also tends to be ostracised so we often pair up when we have to do pair work. We even eat lunch together.

Arashi: Now you two just sound like a pair of good friends.

Hitsugi: I’m honoured! Anzu-senpai’s a legendary upperclassman while I’m the most incompetent person in the “producer course”!

Ritsu: Anzu was pretty incompetent in the beginning too ♪

Tsukasa: Hehe. So that’s why Onee-sama empathises and looks out for him.

I’m envious if I’m honest. Hitsugi-san, was it? You’re aware you’re most inferior to everyone else and are positioned at the very bottom…

But when someone cares for you, they can feel like a guardian angel. They support you and help prevent you from feeling discouraged.

Please cherish that person.

Hitsugi: Okay! I’ll cherish the fate that brought us together! I’ll get Anzu-senpai to spoil me lots!

Ritsu: Ahaha. Anzu’s got a “come at me, I’m ready” kind of expression on her face.

Hitsugi: Anzu-senpai, you’ve probably got nothing else to do at school, right? The “Peace Party” has hogged all the work.

Anzu-senpai is basically deprived of any work as a “producer” at school.

Tsukasa: I see. Why is that? I don’t think there are any other outstanding “Producers” like her.

Ritsu: That’s not particularly true, but it looks like things are pretty chaotic in the “producer course" because they’re all squabbling over power and stuff.

Tsukasa: Is that so…? It’s rather peaceful in the “Idol course” – Almost as if last year’s fuss never happened.

Ritsu: The centre of the power struggle moved to ES along with Ecchan and the other alumni, after all.

You’d think that’s the reason why the school’s at peace now but the flame has yet to be extinguished.

Tsukasa: Hmm… I pray the flames won’t spread to the “Idol course”.

Idols and “Producers” are an inseparable relationship – I’m sure we cannot treat it as someone else’s problem.

Putting that aside, I went all the way to ES to fetch us new work, so I’d like to hold a Meeting with everyone.

Ritsu: Why ES? So that’s why I thought I haven’t been seeing you around lately…

Arashi: Tsukasa-chan, if you’re going to go off somewhere, be sure to let us know, okay? You had us worried.

Tsukasa: Oh, my apologies. It appears I have yet to rid myself of my bad habits from last year.

Arashi: Everyone basically did their own thing last year… huh.

Tsukasa: Yes. But that’s not enough as an excuse. I am now the leader of “Knights” so I must always be aware of what’s happening around me.

I do not wish to be a tyrant who does whatever he likes, you see.

Arashi: …Don’t brood over everything on your own, okay?

Ritsu: Yeah. We’re here too so you can rely on us.

Tsukasa: Right. I intend on getting the most out of my excellent upperclassmen ♪

Now, let’s move on to talking about work.

Since the “new members” tend to be ignored when it comes to work within the school, I went out of my way to visit ES to find work that all of us are able to do…

Arashi: That was probably unnecessary. Most people see “Knights” as us three since we’re the popular members, but I guess that can’t be helped.

Tsukasa: Yes. They’re even trying to call Sena-senpai who has graduated and is currently overseas.

It’s all ridiculous work that ignores the “new members” who are here in the country.

I don’t think anyone else other than us truly understands what “Knights’” current situation is like.

Putting my complaints aside, the work this time is related to Tanabata that’s coming next, next month.

Ritsu: Tanabata? Does that mean we’re doing “Tanabata Fest” this year too?

Arashi: It was sooo much fun last year wearing that lovely Orihime-sama outfit ♪

Tsukasa: No, this is something separate. It’s a Tanabata project that’s centred around ES…

Hitsugi: Whaa~ Sounds like something complicated.

Huh? I should listen properly? Because I’m a “producer”? Yeah, I know, Anzu-senpai.

It’s just that I still don’t understand what it means to be a “producer”.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ← Previous Chapter ᠂ ⚘ ˚⊹˚ ⚘ ᠂  Next Chapter →

[doesntseeyourbeauty]

personal post about my ex so if you’re triggered by toxic relationships/emotional abuse/physical abuse/suicide, please don’t feel like you have to read anything below

I’m so just fucking fed up with him and this whole situation. Long story short, we moved in together in 2020 and he was just rude and disrespectful to my family and friends and isolated me from them to control me and keep me from running away (I was heavily abused as a child and tend to stay in bad situations because I’m terrified to leave) along with refusing to work and help me make my bills. I had to work full time in retail while doing my masters to make ends meet on top of relying on government assistance. Last year after my masters graduation, I found out that he had been cheating on me with someone that he met online and I ended our engagement, but allowed him to stay in the apartment because I felt guilty kicking him out and was suicidal at the time so I didn’t trust myself to be alone.

Well in the year that proceeded, he refused to get a job and all of the bills fell into my lap and became my responsibility on top of working full time at a job that refused to provide benefits (including sick time - if I got sick I had to take the day off with no pay) and payed well below the average for those in the field and with my educational background.

we were on the verge of being evicted because I wasn’t able to pay rent, buy groceries, or even feed my pets on top of him “needing” weed and his nicotine to function properly. Without them, he was incredibly abusive and would guilt me into buying them when we had nothing. I took out loans to make ends meet and it still wasn’t enough.

So I moved out of the apartment, payed off the rent I owed, and officially ended everything because I was tired of the abuse and feeling like I was worth nothing (mind you this happened the week of my eras tour show so I was exhausted and drained from that on top of all of that) to move in with my older brother who has let me live with him since so I can get back on my feet.

Thankfully I’ve repayed all of the loans I took out thanks to my new job which pays well and has benefits, and because I don’t have to spend at least $150 a week on his weed and nicotine (it used to be alcohol but I made him stop). It’s been five months since this all happened and he’s still bothering me to this day, to the point I’m debating changing my phone number so he and his family leave me alone.

I went to a few concerts recently and his aunt told him I was “cheating” on him - even though I ended things in July and was under the impression that he was moving on with his life - and he has been non stop messaging me since.

He even messaged me on discord on Christmas threatening to kill himself because I was “toying with him” and “leading him on”. I ignored his texts and went on and didn’t even check discord until today (the conversation was muted) because I flew to DC yesterday to visit my best friend for the first time in a year. I woke up to text coco and he had sent me over 100 messages calling me a whore, a liar, and then was telling me how much he loves me, how I’m “his ideal girl”, and that he wasn’t useless, amongst other things.

I know I can just block him, but it’s always been difficult for me to do something like that as I was taught by my grandmother and mom to love my abusers and to forgive them for what they’ve done - but my mom was also heavily abused by my dad and her family so it’s unintentional. I’m just so frustrated about the whole situation and I just want him to leave me alone but he just won’t.

My family and friends have been so incredibly supportive of me and doing everything in their power to keep me safe from him and I’m so grateful. I’m also so glad I’m in DC with my best friend because I feel safer than I have in quite a while (he knows where my family lives but doesn’t know where I live exactly). I haven’t felt this scared since I was stalked in college by someone who refused to take no as an answer and I got a restraining order and still felt unsafe.

I’m just lost and feeling like I can’t escape the guilt that I’m feeling, because I know that if he does commit suicide, his family will blame me for it. He’s always been this way and I just can’t do it anymore. I just want him to leave me alone.

I’m really sorry for the long rant and for talking about such sensitive topics, but I really needed to get it off my chest. It’s been lingering in my mind for so long and has been weighing heavily on me. He made me cry on Christmas and has made me feel like this is all my fault even though he put us both in the situation we were in.

If you read this, I’m doing okay physically and mentally and I’m in a safe place. I just needed to vent and get this off my chest, it’s been so hard for me to try and move past it….

[dstrong-18]

Levi Ackerman x Taller!Reader (year 845)

CHAPTER ONE

You never really stood out in your graduating class, the 99th Training Corps, landing yourself in 25th place. Not that any better was expected, your clumsiness made your hand-to-hand combat unrefined and therefore flawed. As well as your stamina being shit, even with all this training. The only reason you even kept up in drills was because of your longer legs; they didn’t need much energy to pace yourself well. There was also the fact you waited until you were 22 years old to start training, making the younger trainees comparatively more energetic than you.

Recently stepping down as the Commander of Survey Corps, Commander Shadis of the Training Corps would comment that you had “good potential”, but not to expect much physicality. Your intellect was above average, but not enough to earn you a place in the research section with Section Commander Hange Zoë. There just wasn’t anything necessarily appealing about you as a soldier, unless you count hobbies rendered useless in this titan war. You quickly accepted the fact that either way, you’re just another warm body.

You kept this in mind as you stood before the platform where they officially declared your class graduated. Garrison was the safest bet, and you would be lying if you weren’t tempted to retreat there. However, you had a taste for adventure and discovering new things, and you wouldn’t get that being stuck on Paradis’ walls. So you stood there with the other few people that had a death wish. Everyone else had already chosen either the MPs or the Garrison, which left only the Survey Corps to you.

Commander Erwin makes some brief statements, congratulating us for our bravery despite naturally fearing death. As usual, you zone out and shuffle your feet, anticipation making you restless.

Another thing that intrigued you about this suicide squad was all the gossip involved. There was talk of a man Commander Erwin procured from the Underground around a year or so ago. This new member was promoted quickly due to his natural skill with strategies and ODM gear, with him recently being assigned captain of the Special Operations Squad. Not to mention his infamous reputation for being an ass. So there was a part of you which wanted to see what all the hype was about.

Once the basic introductions were out of the way, a male who was obviously a superior led you to the barracks, separated by gender. He informed us that our training will start the next morning and to get rest, then left.

You were one of two women that had joined. The other being a short and petite girl with strawberry blonde hair. Despite her youthful features, she looked older than the freshly 15/16 year-old trainees. You might even say you two were similar ages.

You start settling in, which didn’t take long due to lack of possessions. You see your only other roommate glancing at you from the bunk bed across from yours.

Eventually, she greets you. “Hi, my name is Petra,” she says with a soft smile. You give her a polite nod. “My name is (Y/N),” You pause briefly, then decide to continue the conversation. “What made you choose the Survey Corps?”

She ponders it for a minute. “I always knew I was joining the Scouts. There are many reasons, but…I want to help others and discover how to defeat the titans. Yeah, those are my main reasons.”

“I would say those apply to me, too,” you reply. “Have you heard of a Captain Levi?” At least, you think that is his name from comments the other soldiers made. She lights up. “Of course! He is considered Humanity’s Strongest Soldier, recently surpassing Section Commander Miche. The things he has accomplished are impressive,” then she pauses, scrunching her eyebrows together. “Although I’ve heard he has a tendency to be rude and straightforward, sometimes too much.”

Not much new information, you knew he was talented. “You sound like you admire him,” you observe, letting her continue. She nods, “Yes, I aim to be on his handpicked Special Ops squad. I did my best in training to become an asset; I am in the top 5 of our training group.”

Oh, that’s new. He handpicks his squad? In retrospect, that makes sense; but that would mean he would need to select members soon as he is a newly appointed captain. “Well, in that case, you’re sure to be on the list of considerations, if not a top candidate,” you reassure her, noticing the faint worry on her brow.

After exchanging more small talk, you both go to sleep. A wise decision as the training starts early.

Over the course of the past week or so, most of your training was academic. You studied Commander Erwin’s expedition formations and strategies, as well as rules and guidelines the Corps have to follow in order to continue receiving royal funding.

It was two weeks into this routine when they started putting in time for physical training. That’s when we met our squad leaders and section commanders.

There were others, but the more notable ones were Commander Erwin Smith of the Survey Corps, Section Commander Hange and Miche, and Squad Leader Nanaba, who I already knew of.

Same with Captain Levi. Not much to note besides being the shortest superior and having a stoic demeanor, which is obviously not too friendly.

Commander Erwin informed the soldiers that they would immediately be placed into a specific squad based on their file and strengths. Apparently the scouts’ numbers have depleted, resulting in 53 members in total that weren’t superiors. He mentioned this could take up to a week, but it is likely to go faster than that.

And it was, as it was only a day later that you were called into Commander Erwin’s office.

What was supposed to be a brief 20 minute meeting, quickly turned into a bad experience, with little information gained on your end.

You walk into Erwin’s office after a polite knock and close the door, saluting him with a fist over your heart. “You called for me, Commander?”

“Yes, I have. Please, take a seat,” the commander says, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.

You notice two other people sitting on the sofa that was against the wall. Section Commander Hange and Captain Levi.

Hange grins at you and you give an awkward smile in return as you take a seat. Commander Erwin clears his throat.

“Is (Y/N) (L/N) your name or alias?”

You nod in agreement. “Yes, sir.” After confirming more basic information, the commander reaches for what you assume is your file.

He scans over it, then looks up at you, blue eyes meeting (E/C) ones. “I see you were ranked 25th out of your trainees. Do you think this is an accurate assessment?”

‘Is he seeing if I’m egoistic? Or the opposite?’ You ask yourself.

“Roughly, if not an approximate ranking. I’m average as far as physical strengths go. I see myself as smart but not enough to really stand out. I am satisfied with my ranking as I don’t expect a higher one.” You shrug.

Erwin smiles at you, and you realize he was an attractive man, with high cheekbones and intense eyebrows. “You are aware of your capabilities and that is admirable. As Keith Shadis put in your file, “(Y/N) would have ranked higher if she wasn’t one of the last people to return from our daily mile run”, I take it your stamina isn’t the best?”

Chuckling, you clarify, “It is possible for me to push through with proper motivation or if it’s inevitable, but there is a reason I act right with authority figures: to avoid laps.”

Levi speaks up. “Every cadet tries to avoid laps, you aren’t different.” You frown, your sanguine mood instantly gone. His voice is sharp and quick, almost like he was waiting for something to critique.

You turned towards him in your chair. “I’m well aware of that. What I mean is, I don’t handle pain well when I know it could be prevented. Such as listening to my superiors so there are minimum laps ran, therefore reducing the amount of the pain that tired calves and aching lungs create.”

“Once again, not different.”

You narrow your eyes. Before you could say anything, Hange punches Levi’s shoulder half-heartedly. “Shut it, shortcake, you get the idea. She has a particular habit of avoiding punishments, so she’s saying she won’t be much trouble.” Levi just glares at her for a second, the returns to his usual unfazed expression. Captain Levi sure lives up to his reputation, and it isn’t as interesting as it sounded.

You take a deep breath and focus back on Erwin. “What she said,” you say, waiting for further questions from him. Erwin smiles again, wider this time. His teeth were straight and almost white, which looked nice with his lightly tanned skin.

Erwin chuckles. “You get fired up easy. Get used to it, this is typical Levi stuff. And it’s not like he can be replaced.”

So not only is he rude as fuck, they let it slide because he is indispensable.

It was obvious you were displeased by that information, but you held your tongue. Until Erwin informed you that Captain Levi picked you for his squad.

It was difficult to hide your annoyance. “Sir, with all due respect-“

“Do you have a habit of back-talking or otherwise disrespecting authority?” Erwin interrupts, smirking.

You sigh. This man is pretty for a reason, you think to yourself. “If I do not agree with them or they say something rude first. I do not tolerate meaningless insults from anyone, no matter rank or age.” You cut your eyes towards Levi as you say this, making sure he got the memo. “Most likely the only thing you will hear complaints about,” you add.

Levi scoffs and turns his gaze towards the window.

Your irritation was evident in your tone. Once again, you turn towards the unimpressed man. “Y’know, if you have a problem, say something. Being passive isn’t what a good captain does when something needs addressed.”

His eyes snap back, the steel gray irises burning holes into you. “Excuse me?” he asks, like he didn’t believe you spoke that bluntly.

“I am implying you’re a poor excuse of an authority figure if you are bitchy towards soldiers you don’t know, especially unprovoked.” You say, lifting your chin slightly, not wavering. The tension in the air grew thicker by the second.

Erwin and Hange watch this unfold, neither trying to stop the escalating situation. In fact, they were enjoying it; both of them were trying to hide their snickers. It was rare anyone was brave enough to back talk Levi.

“Watch your mouth, soldier.”

“Make me.”

Levi rolls his eyes and sighs. “You aren’t even wort-“

He was interrupted by the loud scrape of a chair, caused by your sudden stance. “No, sir, you don’t understand.” You step closer as you speak, “I haven’t been in here more than ten minutes and half of it was you insulting or otherwise implying your displeasure of my company. I don’t know what stick is up your ass but you need to shit it out. I’ll be damned if I put up with this on the regular.”

You were now only a few feet away from him and huffed as you finished talking. Hange stares at you with wide eyes. Glaring down at him, you dare Levi to say one more thing with your eyes.

He looks up at you, face neutral. It was a few seconds before you detected the slightest hint of a smirk on his face.

“Fifty laps.”

[secretlywritingstories]

My horse just turned 20 years old. I’ve had her for nearly 16 years now. She is now officially in the “old” category, and it is a very bizarre thing because things don’t really feel all that different.

She’s still the same horse. Maybe she’s calmed down a little but she still jumps on occasion. She loves a good gallop with me standing in the stirrups. She loves to laze around and eat. She still does love to work underneath me when we occasionally do dressage sessions.

But it takes a little longer to warm up. I don’t ride her as often. We train more from the ground than I ever did when we were both younger and competing. Because that’s the thing too. I was young as well. She was a baby, just a year under saddle, and I had not yet turned 13 years old. We were young, inexperienced and trying to figure it all out.

And we did. We trained and got good together. Competed on a decent level. I got too old for the youth classes and riding ponies, which she was classified as at the time. It was fine. I had started high school and my time was getting more limited, so we just rode horse classes here and there for fun.

And then came university and it was just training to be good for ourselves rather than to compete or show it to anyone. It was about synergy and being happy and still filling our days with forest rides and ground work and days off.

When I finished university and ran into a long stint of unemployment and the world went into a global pandemic, visiting the stables to see her was a safe haven. We stopped getting weekly training sessions, I started riding almost exclusively bareback, and I just enjoyed spending time with her in whatever way I could.

I got my first adult job post graduation and it was a lot to get used to. Ten months later, I changed jobs within my organisation and went full time in more hectic but more exciting department. The days off for my horse have increased, but she’s happy walking around her field and getting her meals. And the days I come into the stable, I make count.

We grew up together without me even fully comprehending it. She’s been by my side in so many big defining life phases of my youth. I still feel young. I am still young. But... she isn’t. She’s in good health, and she lives a good life, so hopefully we’ve still got several good years ahead of us.

Still, it’s strange to think that she won’t be here forever. I scarcely remember my life without her. She’s been a constant fixture. A wonderful companion through so much. I love her. Deeply and in a way I’m not sure I could ever really love another horse. I recently learned of the term heart horse, and I don’t think there’s any doubt she is mine. I can say that confidently even though I’ve never had another.

All of the countless hours and all of the happy (and also the tough) times we’ve spent together. She’s been there through it all and she cannot comprehend how much she’s brightened my life, but I know. I’ll always know. Each whinny welcome when she hears my footsteps fills my heart in a special way just reserved for her. I hope that I may continue to hear it for years to come.