untitled-document-95

[untitled-document-95]

Just Kids (bradley bradshaw x reader)

Summary: Love can survive a lot of things, no matter how early it begins. Warnings: brief mention of suicide, Carole remarries Requested: No Word Count: ~8,400 A/N: If at times this feels off in some way, that may be because this is (up until "present day") based off of a real-life friendship of mine.

*gif is not mine*

__

I met the most important person in my life when I was just nine years old. Of course, I didn’t know it at the time. We never do, right? These monumental moments in time just happen like any other Tuesday, and we can’t comprehend the significance of them until much later.

I don’t remember my third grade teacher introducing him, but surely she would have. He was a new kid, mid-year. A nearly unheard of instance in our little suburb just outside the city.No, I don’t remember anything about his uneventful arrival into my life until the day he found me at recess and first spoke to me.

3rd Grade

I sat on the swings, toes barely grazing the mulch due to my short stature. I had friends - well, a friend, but she wasn’t there that day. So instead of running around, doing whatever she wanted to do, I’d brought out the instruction manual for my sister’s copy of The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. You know, the thick little booklet that used to come with games once upon a time? I hardly noticed him approaching.

“Is that from Zelda?” he asked. I looked at him cautiously. Nine is when you begin to realize that just because a question is asked innocently, it doesn’t mean teasing won’t follow your answer. “Yeah,” I replied. “You play video games?” He seemed incredulous. Not that he didn’t believe me, more like he couldn’t. “Yeah, lots of them. Why?” “Everyone else I’ve asked doesn’t even have a game system at all.” I feel his pain. “I know,” I reply sadly. “What do you have?”

I also don’t remember my mom and Bradley’s mom getting together to make play date arrangements, but it happened. One day that summer, his mom took us and Bradley’s baby sister, Genevieve, to the zoo. Bradley and I walked along the edge of the sidewalk on the way from the parking lot like gymnasts on a balance beam; just two kids who couldn’t be still, even when literally walking. Right inside the zoo was one of those wooden cutouts for pictures. This one made both people look like otters. Carole absolutely made us take a picture in it.

Later that same summer when my parents said I could choose a friend to take to the theme park with me, I chose Bradley. He’d never been to an amusement park like that before and he was in heaven. My mom and dad took turns riding the roller coasters with him. I was too scared. My mom still tells the story of how he was terrified, begging to get off before the first drop. Yet when the ride ended, he asked if they could go again.

My parents rented us a double innertube so we could stay together in the water park. Bradley’s hair had gotten really long that summer, and the lifeguard at one slide said, “Ready, ladies?”. Bradley indignantly shouted, “I’m a boy!”

“Sorry, I didn’t look down far enough!” the lifeguard shouted as he shoved our tube down the slide.

4th Grade

When school began in the fall, I was thrilled to discover Bradley was in Mrs. Wells’ class with me. For the first time since Kindergarten, I’d been separated from my best school friend, Riley. Riley didn’t live in our town. She actually lived just over the border in the neighboring state, but her mom was a teacher at our school, so she went there. We’d had multiple sleepovers at her house that summer. Always hers, rarely (if ever) mine. While my family lived in a modest ranch-style home in a typical subdivision, Riley lived in a five-bedroom, four-bathroom monster of a house in one of those subdivisions where the perfectly manicured lawns could have housed a horse farm. Her basement was finished and she had four times as many dolls as I did, even though I had two big sisters worth of hand-me-downs, while she was the oldest with just one little brother.

Riley’s parents and mine had met with the principal because of how much Riley and I had started fighting. We’d get together on a Friday evening for a weekend together, excited to see each other. By Sunday morning though, we were at each other’s throats. It only took a few hours apart before we were begging to plan the next weekend together.

In fourth grade, the kids from both classes were mixed up and then split into two teams: the cardinals and the blue jays. Each class had reading and science with our regular teachers. The cardinals had math with Mrs. Newsham while the blue jays had social studies with Mrs. Wells, then we switched. I was a cardinal, and so were Bradley and Riley. That was how mine and Riley’s parents wanted it. We still got to spend part of the day together, but not all of it.

That made reading and science easy classes, because it was just Bradley. If I needed a partner, I knew he would choose me and I would choose him. Math was easy too, because Bradley was so good at math and Riley and I weren’t as good. I didn’t like partnering with Bradley, because I slowed him down. He said he didn’t care, but he was just as happy to work with Ben.

Social studies was harder. When Mrs. Wells announced that we’d be designing board games about the Lewis and Clark Expedition, I immediately looked at Bradley. After all, games were our thing. We played video games together all the time, and a board game wasn’t that much different. But when Mrs. Wells said to choose a partner, Riley grabbed my arm immediately. Her grip was so tight, it hurt. I barely got to shoot a backwards glance at Bradley before she dragged me to a corner and got out her cool new markers. She wouldn’t let me use my markers because they didn’t color the same as hers, but I also wasn’t allowed to color with hers in case I ruined them, until Mrs. Wells came by and made her share.

We still had play dates, mostly at his house. We liked that he had more than one video game system in his room. At my house, I had to share. Even though we could walk to both of our houses from school, they were in opposite directions, and it was easier for my mom to come pick me up than it was for Carole to pick Bradley up, because of Genevieve.

“Bradley? Can you guys come down here for a minute?” Carole called up the stairs to Bradley’s room in the finished attic one day. We raced to the staircase and down into the kitchen. “Yeah, mom?” “Can you guys play with your sister for a bit? I need to put some laundry out on the line. Oh, and-“ She looked at me. “Your mom called and said no one can make it to pick you up until later. I’ll make you guys some grilled cheese for dinner when I come back in.”

In the living room, Genevieve was sitting up at the plastic bin of her toys. She gave us a gummy grin when we sat down to play with her. Digging through the bin, I came across a thick book with a brown cover and a gilded silver design around the border. “What’s this?” “It’s a photo album,” Bradley replied. “Why is it in here?” I asked, flipping through the pages. Newborn photos of Genevieve. The pictures of Bradley holding her for the first time. Pictures of aunts, uncles, cousins visiting baby Genevieve. The baby photos soon fade into newer photos. I am taken aback when I come to a page with two photos side by side. On the left, Bradley and I, teetering on the sidewalk outside the zoo. Arms out for balance, each leaning in the opposite direction. On the right, the photo of us in the otter cutout. “To teach her who people are. Like our family and stuff,” “You have to teach babies who people are?” I ask, still staring at the photos of myself. “Yeah. You didn’t know that?” I ignore the question and ask another one of my own. “But I’m in here?” I lean the album towards him so he can see. Bradley just shrugs. “Kids, I’m home!” Bradley’s dad shouts from the kitchen. “Hi, dad!” Bradley calls back. “I hear you’re staying for dinner?” he asks me. “Yes,” I nod politely. “Well, the chef better get to it then!” he jokes, reaching for a pan.

Over our dinner of grilled cheese sandwiches and chips, I look from Bradley to his dad. They look so alike: the same dark hair, dark eyes. The same chin, even. I’ve barely finished my sandwich when my mom knocks at the back door. Carole greets her and she apologizes for having me stay later than planned. I gather my backpack and make my way out to the car.

In the car, I try to make conversation with my mom. “Mom, who do you think I look more like - you, or dad?” “I don’t know. I think you’re a pretty good mix of us both, actually.” “Bradley and his dad look so much alike. It’s pretty crazy.” There’s a sudden change in the energy around us, like I’ve said something wrong. My mom’s face changes too. “Oh, sweetie…” she begins awkwardly. “What?” “Bradley’s dad…is actually his stepdad.” “Huh?” I ask, completely confused. No one has ever told me that, and they’re practically twins. “Yeah. Bradley’s real dad died when he was little. Carole met who you know as Bradley’s dad not long after.” There’s a moment of quiet as I process this information. “But he calls him dad?” I reply, still feeling as though this has to be one big joke…right? “What do you expect him to call him?” mom snickers. “I don’t know. Jocelyn and Courtney don’t call Uncle David ‘dad’?” I say, referring to my cousins who call their stepdad by his first name. Since he’s the only person I can remember my aunt being with, I call him uncle. “Yes, but your cousins were a lot older when your Aunt Chrissy married David. Bradley probably doesn’t have that many memories of his dad because he was so young.” My almost-ten year old mind tries to grasp this concept, losing a parent so young you don’t even remember them hardly. “How did he die?” “I don’t know, honey. Something that happened while he was in the Navy is all I know.” “That’s really sad,” I pause. “Why didn’t Bradley tell me?” I wonder aloud. “He probably doesn’t want you to feel sorry for him.”

That night after I’ve taken a shower, I sit at my mom’s vanity while I wait for her to come brush out my hair. Looking around, I see the picture frames on the walls. There are numerous years-old versions of my big sisters looking back at me. None of myself. I think again of the pictures of me in Genevieve’s album. I think about how Carole took the photos of us, had them developed, paid for them, and put them in that album. Those pictures had only been taken a few months ago, and she had a baby to take care of. There’s a feeling in my chest that I can’t name, and it somehow feels both happy and sad.

—

I am the only girl invited to Bradley’s 10th birthday party, and it’s both cool and weird. Cool because it makes me feel tough and special for being invited, even though I’m a girl. It’s also weird because most of the other boys in class were invited too. I’ve known them all - except Bradley - since kindergarten, but I don’t really know them at all. I haven’t been to anyone’s house or spent time with them outside of school since Harry invited the entire kindergarten to his Scooby-Doo sixth birthday in his backyard.

I arrive late and Carole has me color in a coloring sheet from the pizza place of what pizza I want before dashing upstairs to the video game tournament the boys have going. They’re all better than me, but it’s still fun just watching them. Bradley and I don’t usually play these kinds of games with fighting and shooting.

Once, when I was jealous that Bradley’s town on one of our games was so much better than mine, he explained how I could get mine that way. It sounded like a lot of work. “I can do it for you if you want,” he said. “How?” “Bring your memory card to school tomorrow. I’ll work on it and give it back when I’m done.” I do like he said, and Bradley gives it back in just two days, with everything unlocked and tons of money in my virtual account. I try to thank him endlessly, but he keeps brushing me off. He acts like he’s embarrassed, but there’s a hint of a smirk that tells me he likes it.

That was the year that Bradley and I both tried really hard at our science fair projects and it paid off. When our teachers released us into the gym filled with tables and tri-folds after the judges had been through, Bradley and I were both shocked to find blue ribbons attached to each of our projects. I had been worried that my hypothesis was too boring, and he had been worried that his board didn’t look nice enough. I guess we were both wrong. I looked over just in time to see Riley rip a purple participation ribbon off of her board.

That meant we had to take our projects up to the state park center for the regional competition, which was all fine and dandy…until our parents told us we’d have to go for a special “judging day”. We had to get dressed up in fancy clothes and stand in front of our projects while judges and donors and stuff walked around and asked us about our projects. We were both nervous as could be, but got a little less nervous when we saw that our projects were just a few boards down from each other.

I laughed and got a really dirty look from Bradley when his mom dropped him off at the park center that day wearing a collared dress shirt, a beige plaid tie, khaki pants, and clunky brown dress shoes. He looked ridiculous. Not because he looked bad or anything, but because he never dressed like that, ever. Not even for school concerts.

“What?” he snapped. I was too deep in laughter to respond immediately. “You…” I begin. I take a deep breath before continuing. “You look nice,” I say, still recording from laughter. He looks taken aback. I’m sure after all that laughter he wasn’t expecting that. His eyes trail up and down me in my black skirt, white fake-velvet shirt with the flowy sleeves, and the necklace my mom only lets me wear when I have to be fancy. My hair is pulled back on top and even curled a little on the ends. “You-you look nice too,” he replies awkwardly.

Well-dressed adults start wandering amongst the rows. They ask us questions like, “What inspired this project?” or “What was the biggest challenge in conducting this experiment?”. I try to think of good answers but feel like I’m failing. Everytime I look at Bradley though, he’s smiling and the adults seem very charmed by him. They smile back and even chuckle at whatever it is he says. We learn that it wasn’t required to come today (thanks, mom), and no other kids show up at the projects between Bradley and I. Whenever the aisle is clear of any grown ups, we scooch closer to talk. Once, he spots adults coming our way so we quickly scoot apart. As soon as I get in front of my project, a lady who looks like a really fancy grandma stops in front of me with a knowing glint in her eye.

“Is that your friend?” she asks, bent down so she’s closer to my level. “Um…yes,” I reply, surprised she isn’t asking about something science-related. “He’s very handsome,” she says, winking at me. I stammer, unsure of how to answer her. I’m a kid, for goodness’ sake. I’ve never once thought of Bradley as handsome or cute or anything like that, and I wasn’t about to start now. “Well, anyway,” the woman says, straightening up and finally asking me something science related.

Thankfully, neither of our projects win at the regional fair.

__

That summer between 4th and 5th grade was amazing, if only because I got to spend so much time with Bradley. We’d both been invited to an “enrichment camp” for students with exemplary grades. It was at a high school, and it made us feel grown up. On the first day, the bus had been later than my parents expected. Too late for my dad to wait around for me to get on before he had to be at work. Instead, he started dropping me off at Bradley’s house. He and I would walk down to his bus stop and go to camp from there. His mom stayed home, but both of my parents worked, so I spent afternoons there too.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” I asked him one day out of the blue. Bradley lay next to me on an old quilt. The sun shone and a light breeze blew through the honeysuckle by the garage and the white, sun-bleached linens on the line. “I don’t know,” Bradley says. There’s a sense of finality to his words, like he holds no anxiety about the pressure to figure out what he wants to do once he graduates from high school. “I think I want to be a teacher,” I say. We are both speaking to the sky, heads tilting towards one another occasionally. “Why?” He asks with a tone that conveys just how crazy he thinks I am. “Think about it - I would get to be with kids all day, so I don’t have to be a boring adult. I could buy school supplies every year. And I’d get to have summers still. I can’t imagine having to work all day, every single day except like, holidays and stuff.” “Yeah, I guess.” “So, what about you? There’s quiet for a minute while Bradley thinks. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll be a construction worker or something,” he says. “Really?” “Yeah,” he turns his head towards me. “Why?” “I guess I thought you’d want to be in the army or whatever like your dad,” I reply, thinking of the pictures I’ve seen of Bradley’s stepdad standing next to tanks in camouflage. He’s quiet for a minute. “No,” he says determinedly. I don’t say anything. “I know you know,” he practically whispers. “What?” I ask. “I know you know about my real dad.” The atmosphere feels charged, and I’m too nervous to say anything. “My real dad died because of the military. And my dad gets really sad when he talks about what it was like when he was deployed. People die in the military and I’m not gonna be one of them.”

I think about the soldiers my Girl Scout troop and I are making care packages for, filled with cookies and little toothbrush things and other stuff to make them feel more at home. Against my will, I imagine Bradley in a camouflage outfit and boots, trying to sleep with a rock for a pillow. I prop myself up on my elbows. “Do you promise?” I whisper. Bradley props himself up too. “What do you mean?” he asks. “Do you promise you won’t change your mind? You’ll never, ever join the military at all? Not the Army or the Marines or anything?” “Why do you care?” “Because I don’t want you to die,” I whisper. We look at one another and an understanding passes between us. We don’t have to say anything for the realness of it to settle in. “Okay,” he finally says softly. “I promise.”

—-

A few weeks later, our music teacher, Mrs. Christensen, drops a bomb.

“Boys and girls, I have exciting plans for our class today. You all are headed to the state capital next month on your field trip, and while you are there, you’re going to dance to our state song in the rotunda of the state capital.” We look around at one another, confused. I think most of us picture dancing the way we do to a Britney Spears song, but in a fancy building instead of our bedrooms or basements. Mrs. Christensen fields a question about what a rotunda is and then explains that we’ll be doing a “waltz” that is very simple to learn…but we each need an opposite gender partner to dance with. Anxiously, I spin around to look at Bradley. Wide eyed, he nods. We both know there’s no one else we would ever partner with. Not in a yucky boyfriend-girlfriend way, but because we know we won’t make fun of each other.

We spend the class learning where to put our hands and how to do the steps. The boys snicker when Mrs. Christensen says they’re supposed to lead, but quickly shut up when we try the steps with music for the first time and they realize how hard it is.

When the day of the field trip arrives, my dad comes along as a chaperone; the first field trip one of my parents have ever been able to come along on. He brings his big camera and I beg him not to take pictures of Bradley and I dancing, but he doesn’t listen, as evidenced by the printed photos that appear on the fridge after the trip: Bradley’s hand on my side (I refuse to call it my “waist” because - ew) and mine on his shoulder, both of us holding the other hand up and out to the side. I felt like we spent the whole time looking at our feet so we wouldn’t trip, but my dad caught one picture where we were actually looking at each other instead.

I’m not even mad that he took it.

5th Grade

Fifth grade marked a major change for me. For the first time, Riley didn’t even go to our school anymore. Her parents switched her to a school closer to home so she could make friends before middle school. Bradley and I were in the same class. Also in our class was a new girl named Alyssa, and Bradley’s friends from before: Harry, Auggie, and Scott. Together, the six of us spent recess pretending to be characters from our favorite TV show. Bradley played the main hero: funny, brave, and super protective. I played the main girl character: a tough-as-nails, girl-power type. He didn’t even get mad when I teased him, because it was exactly what the character would do. When I fell on accident during a pretend battle, he’d leap in front of me to keep the fictional monster or enemies from “killing” me. Once, a boy named Jon joined our game as one of the bad guys and took it a little too far, actually pushing me to the ground and standing over me so that I couldn’t get up. Bradley ran over and shoved him off. I worried he’d done it too hard and was about to get in trouble with a recess monitor, but he didn’t. He reached down to help me up and asked if I was okay. I got the funny feeling he wasn’t playing the game anymore.

Fifth grade was also the beginning of actually having homework for Bradley and I - Mr. Mills didn’t even let us do our homework in class for a little bit like our other teachers had, which usually ended up being plenty of time to get it done for fast workers like Bradley and I. We had spelling homework due every single week, the same assignment but with different spelling words. It became a standing plan that on Tuesdays, Bradley and I would walk to his house, do our homework at his kitchen table and let Carole read over it, and then run upstairs to play. Except now we had a new rule, and I had an annoying thought that my mom was to blame. The new rule was that the door to Bradley’s room had to stay open. The rule was the same at my house, and it had started one day after Bradley had come over. I was showing him my new video game, a computer game where you get to be a virtual person and live your life. It reminded me of a dollhouse, but way more fun.

“So what, you just make a human and live their life?” Bradley asks. “Yeah, but you can make more than one. I like making families.” “What if you don’t make a family? Can they have one later, like get married and stuff?” “Yeah. Here, these are two people I made but they don’t have kids or anything.” I say, clicking on the save file. We play around with the two characters for a while, not talking much. “This is getting kinda boring,” Bradley says. “Wanna make a baby?” I ask. “Sure,” Bradley shrugs. My bedroom door, which was only open a crack, suddenly flies open. My mom is staring at us with a crazy look in her eyes. “What are you guys doing?” “Playing a game?” we both say, and I point to the game’s case on my computer desk. My mom lets out a breath and walks away, telling us to keep the door open.

5th grade was also a big year at our school because it was the year of D.A.R.E., which stands for “Drug Abuse Resistance Education”. It’s basically a dumb class we have to do instead of PE once a month where we learn not to do drugs. Duh.

But we also got to do these weird things with the 6th graders they called “D.A.R.E. Dances”. Our PE teacher said it was to “keep us busy so we don’t go buy drugs” or something. My mom and sisters said it’s a tradition leftover from the days when kids would literally be out roaming around town for so long that TV channels would air commercials asking parents if they knew where their children were. When mom wasn’t listening, my sisters made it clear that kids definitely still roamed around town getting into trouble, but only if they could drive themselves.

The dances were held at the Sav Center, a local banquet hall that my parents said hadn’t hosted anything remotely cool since the 1970’s. It certainly looked like it on the inside. The main room was like a gym and smelled like it too. Every other room smelled musty and old.

They kept the room dark, with boppy music and colorful lights dancing around the walls. Mostly, the boys and I (Alyssa hadn’t been able to get a ride) hung out in a corner, nursing cans of Sprite and talking. At the second dance we went to, a slow song came on. The kind of song couples dance to at a wedding. A few sixth grade couples make their way to the floor, arms wrapped around each others necks. The teachers chaperoning close in tighter on the dance floor.

Harry nods to Bradley and I. “You guys should go dance,” he says. Not teasingly, just matter-of-factly. Auggie takes a sip of Sprite before speaking. “He’s right.” “Why?” Bradley and I ask in unison. “It’s what guys and girls do I guess. Plus it’ll make us all look really cool, and you guys can do it without it being all gross and stuff,” Scott adds. Bradley and I look at one another before shrugging and going a little further away. Far enough so we could still hear if our friends started teasing us, but not so close that we aren’t even on the dance floor. We assume the dance position Mrs. Christensen taught us last year and sway to the beat of the music. We don’t make eye contact for most of the song, until the very end. Something familiar and comforting settles around us. As the song ends, our arms drop but Bradley’s hand lingers on mine for just a second. It feels like static electricity, but I couldn’t tell you why.

We walk back to our friends who nod curtly in approval. Scott gives a small smirk and looks at Bradley, who shoots him a dirty look back. The next song, a favorite of our grade, begins playing and we race each other to the dance floor so we can jump around and yell like idiots.

__

The rest of the school year probably would have passed in a blur of school, birthdays, and play dates - which we now called “hanging out”, or tried to anyway - had Timothy not strut onto the scene. Tim was a new kid and he seemed more like he was from a different planet instead of a different city.

If the rest of us were just kids, Tim was definitely a “pre-teen”. Tim cared about boyfriends and girlfriends and crushes and all kinds of stuff like that, but no one else in the 5th grade did. He was always trying to get people he thought liked each other to “pair up”. Bradley and I mostly laughed about it, right up until the day we became his targets.

It started after silent reading one day. Since Bradley and I both had good reading grades, we were part of band during silent reading. We were the last two to return to class that day, because it took us longer than anyone to take apart our instruments right: trumpet for him, flute for me. We were both renting our instruments from the school and were trying to be super careful with them. He wanted piano, but that wasn’t an option at our school. Tim whispered to me as I got to my seat to get ready for science. “Were you and Bradshaw making out or something?” “What?!” I exclaim, which garners a stern glance from Mr. Mills, who was writing on the board. “What are you talking about?” I whisper-yell at him across the aisle between the desks. “You two were the last ones back. What took so long?” He asks, and his tone irritates me. Like he’s trying to prove that we did something inappropriate, and it’s gross. I choose to ignore him, but I should have known that would be far from the last of it.

The next day at recess, Tim starts up again. Bradley and I had been on the swings, just talking. “Hey Bradshaw, when are you going to take your girl on a real date?” “Shut up, Tim,” Bradley replies. “Careful, Bradshaw, or a real man is going to take her away from you,” Tim answers back, looking at me in a way that makes my skin crawl. The look on my face springs Bradley into action. He leaps off the swing and gets dangerously close to Tim’s face. “I said knock it off. No one here is like that, just go back to whatever weird town you came from already!” he snaps before walking away. I hop off the swing and follow him up the play structure nearest us. It’s one central landing high in the air, with two slides from each side and another slide up a higher tower.

Unfortunately, Tim follows us too. Now he’s chanting an immature song involving Bradley and I kissing in a tree. Yuck. Bradley goes down the tallest slide to get away from him, and I try to evade him by going down the slide to the left. Tim chooses to follow me, his chanting getting louder and louder. I start running around the playground, up various structures and down slides, trying to make sharp turns and unexpected climbs to get away from him, but Tim is able to keep up, all while still chanting at me. After several rounds of the song, we’re all getting tired. Bradley has climbed back up the main structure again and is about to go down the tallest slide at the top of the tower. I have just reached the landing when something inside of me snaps and I round on Tim. “Fine!” I scream. “Fine! I like Bradley! Whatever! Just shut up about it already!” I shout, lying just to see if that will make him leave us the heck alone. There’s a sudden hush, and Tim gives me a triumphant smile before laughing and running away, shouting about me liking Bradley like he just won a sweepstakes.

I turn to face Bradley apologetically, but his face looks like a mixture of anger and disgust. “Bradley, wait!” I shout, but he’s turned and disappeared down the slide just as the whistles blow to tell everyone to line up. When I get to the line, Bradley is already in it, arms crossed. He’s like, 3rd in line, so I can’t talk to him without getting into trouble. I take the next available spot in line, feeling guilt, embarrassment, shame, and all kinds of unpleasant feelings wash over me.

That afternoon, the walk to Bradley’s house is excruciatingly awkward and mostly silent. I think Carole notices the awkwardness, but doesn’t say anything. Upstairs in Bradley’s room, he looks out to make sure his mom didn’t follow us before carefully pushing the door closed until it’s just barely open, to avoid getting in too much trouble. “Did you tell the truth today?” he asks. “No!” I say with force but quietly so Carole doesn’t realize we have the door sorta shut. “We’re just kids. I don’t like anyone like that, I just wanted Tim to shut up.” The look on Bradley’s face is hard to read. I can’t tell if he looks relieved, worried, confused, or what. I decide to go with relieved, because why would he feel any other way?

That night as I’m trying to fall asleep, I end up doing some “reflecting” as Mr. Mills would say, even though I don’t really want to. My brain just does it.

Do I like Bradley? I don’t think so, not the way my big sisters like their boyfriends or my mom likes my dad. I don’t want to kiss him - ew - or anything else like that. But I think about it - if Bradley and I are still friends when we’re all grown up, which I hope we are, would I marry him? Yeah, I think I would. I’d get to spend every single day with my best friend, and I know Bradley I would never fight over the things my mom and dad fight over.

Bradley does a lot for me that my family doesn’t. Bradley never teases me about things that actually hurt my feelings, like how greasy my hair gets if I don’t take a shower every single night, or how my glasses make me look or the gaps in my teeth. Bradley remembers my favorite things and things I don’t like. Bradley protects me and helps me instead of telling me I have to “learn not to be such a baby”. He doesn’t even get mad at me or act like my life must be perfect because I’m the youngest kid and he’s the oldest kid. Bradley is my best friend in a way none of my other friends are.

Realizing all of this is why I’m suddenly so angry and sad that we’re moving away.

6th Grade

I missed Bradley this summer, but I miss him even more now that school has started. My new school is full of kids like Tim - kids who think they’re older than they really are. While I’m grateful the boys don’t look at me in the creepy way Tim did, instead they look at me like I belong back in daycare in my glasses, khaki Bermuda shorts, and Gap t-shirt. I’m not really sure which one is worse.

We call each other a lot. He tells me how he and our old friends still play the same game at recess, but he doesn’t let anyone be my character, out of respect for me. I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry when he says that, because it sounds like I’m dead, not just over an hour away. My new school doesn’t have recess for 6th graders.

All summer, my parents worked with me to arrange sleepovers with my old friends from my neighborhood and Girl Scout troop. They never let Bradley and I hang out, though. They claimed it was “too far to drive for just a day trip” and having a sleepover “wouldn’t be appropriate”, even though our new house is bigger and has a guest room. I’d sleep in the backyard if it meant Bradley could come over.

Instead, we call to try and stay in touch. This goes on for a few months, but life gets busy for us both. I join a new soccer team and he gets involved in Boy Scouts. He calls me on my birthday and I call him on his, even though they’re only 32 days apart.

Beyond

One day, I call him and his dad answers the phone. “Hi, can Bradley come to the phone?” I ask. “This is Bradley,” the deep voice replies. “Ha ha, seriously!” I say, assuming this is a big joke. It’s not. Once Bradley convinces me it is him talking, it’s suddenly hard to picture who I’m talking to, because he sounds like an adult, and I still feel like a kid.

I call him from my cell phone after I get it so he has the number, but he doesn’t use it. The next time he calls me on my birthday, he calls my house like usual. I call him on his birthday and he gives me his new cell phone number. It feels grown up, both of us having phones all to ourselves. Not that it matters, because shortly after that is when we stop talking altogether.

--

It’s almost freshman year of high school, and I’m telling him about homecoming. He doesn’t want to go to his school’s dance, but I’m excited for mine. “Who are you going with?” he asks. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he sounds like he’s pretending to be casual, like he actually cares more than he wants to appear. “Just some friends,” I reply. “My boyfriend can’t go, his parents are like, the ultimate in strict.” “Your boyfriend?” He says, and his tone makes me freeze. “Uh, yeah.” I say, not wanting to elaborate. “Should…should you really be talking to me if you have a boyfriend?” “What?! Bradley, you’re my best friend.” The words feel hollow. How is it fair to call him my best friend when we haven’t laid eyes on one another in almost four years? “But I’m a guy,” he replies, like that should clear it all up for me. “I’m aware,” I say sarcastically. “Seriously, it’s fine. If he has a problem with it, then I don’t need to be with him anyway.” Bradley eventually concedes, but the game has officially changed.

That year, Bradley doesn���t call me on my birthday. The sting of it still hurts me enough that I don’t call Bradley on his birthday, either. By the next year, I guess we’re both so afraid of overcoming the hump of awkwardness that we don’t call again. I want to, since I don’t have a boyfriend anymore; a recent development that hurts.

Just the other day, one of my friends was trying to comfort me. She said, “Your first love always breaks your heart. It’s like the law of love.” But when she says “your first love”, I don’t think of my now-ex-boyfriend. I think of Bradley. We didn’t love each other in the romantic sense. Sometimes, I think our love for each other was on another plane. Maybe in another universe, he still loves me like that. Because I sure never stopped loving him. I don’t think I ever will.

—

I didn't think I would ever speak to Bradley again. I wasn’t sure how to overcome the awkwardness of how we’d left things. The way we truly left things before never speaking again was stranger than I could have ever imagined.

One steamy night the summer we were 17, I was sitting on my bed. The windows were open, but the night was still. I knew better than to close them and face my mother’s wrath. I was playing a video game; alone, as was the norm ever since I last spent time with Bradley. For once, I wasn’t even thinking of him when his name appeared on my phone screen.

Bradley Bradshaw: I love you.

My heart pounded in my chest and a chill froze my sweat. For some reason, my first thought was that he was going to kill himself. We’d learned in health class that sudden, out of the blue confessions of love could be a warning sign. I pulled up Bradley’s contact and tried to call him, but he sent me to voicemail, which only fueled my panic. I shot back a text before trying to call again.

Me: What? Are you okay? Me: Bradley. For real. Is everything okay? Me: Answer me. Bradley Bradshaw: M fine Me: What? Bradley Bradshaw: ok Me: Bradley. Wtf. Me: Bradley!

I stay up well past my usual “bedtime” awaiting some kind of response, but I don’t get one. The next morning, I check back in with him.

Me: So. What happened. Bradley Bradshaw: Shit. I’m so sorry.

You better be, I think.

Me: What happened? Were you drunk? Bradley Bradshaw: Drunk? No way.

I breathe a sigh of relief, though I’m still confused.

Bradley Bradshaw: High as shit? Yeah.

What? My mind swirls. Bradley…high? Like on drugs? Marijuana, I assume.

Me: Seriously? You do drugs now? Bradley Bradshaw: Yeah? Don’t you? Me: No. Definitely not. Bradley Bradshaw: Oh

I hesitate, thumbs poised over the touch screen before proceeding.

Me: Why did you say you love me?

There’s a several minute pause before Bradley replies.

Bradley Bradshaw: I gues Bradley Bradshaw: Shit Bradley Bradshaw: Idk. I was high.

It looks like he sent the first message before he meant to. I want to think of what he was trying to say, but I choose not to. It doesn’t seem like it can lead anywhere that won’t break my heart even further.

Present Day

My family made fun of me. They said it was stupid to travel all the way back to our hometown for The Last Dance At The Sav. The Sav, where we’d had our elementary school dances, had gone out of business years ago when the owner died with no one to leave it to. The city had decided to tear it down, but some historical preservation organization tried to save it. They were unsuccessful, but they were hosting one last dance there to raise money for other restoration and preservation efforts in the city.

I bought a ticket thinking it would be fun, sweet, nostalgic. Instead, it feels pathetic, a 30-something getting all dressed up just to go hang out with absolutely no one I know at a banquet hall I haven’t been to since I was 11. Maybe my family was right. Still, it was an expensive ticket. The donation has been made either way, so I might as well go enjoy the open bar.

Once there, I stand at the bar and hope for the best. Maybe an old teacher or friend will see me. It’s unlikely, even less likely that they’d recognize me all these years…decades later.

Out of the corner of my eye, someone approaches the bar. To avoid looking desperate, I keep looking like I’m very interested in my drink and the wall behind the bar. That is, until I hear someone say my name.

The voice is on my left, coming from the figure that approached earlier. My heart drops to my stomach when I realize I am looking into the face of a 30-something-years-old Bradley Bradshaw. His hair is short, neatly trimmed. He has a mustache, which I might’ve laughed at once upon a time but I can’t help but think makes him look daringly handsome. My heart descends further - out of my toes, really - when I realize he’s wearing Navy dress blues.

I choke down the sour, hot tears in my throat.

“Bradley?” He approaches slowly, like maybe he’s scared I’m not really there; like I’m a hologram or something.

“I-I can’t believe you’re here,” he stammers in awe. “Me either,” I breathe, my eyes taking in every inch of him, trying to reconcile this man in front of me with the kid I once knew.

“You-“ he begins before he seems to gasp for air for a second. “You look beautiful.” “You don’t look half bad yourself,” I lightly joke. He chuckles. “Although, you broke your promise,” I say mostly under my breath, staring at my shoes. “What’s that?” he asks gently, looking at me with concern. “You…you broke your promise,” I say, visibly cringing. I didn’t really expect him to keep a silly childhood promise, did I? He lets out a breathy, almost-humorless laugh. “I did, didn’t I?” he says, looking up from me and looking off into the distance with a look of melancholy. “What made you change your mind?” “My dad.” He looks into my eyes. “Your dad, as in-“ “My real dad. Nick.” I nod understandingly. “My mom used to always try and talk to me about him. But I was so…so angry that he’d left me even though he didn’t want to. It was an accident. I came across some of his things one day when I was cleaning out the rest of the attic and…I was at a place in my life where I felt like he was trying to tell me something, you know? I changed my plans and…here I am,” he says, gesturing to the insignia covering his chest. “Why are you here tonight?” “Seemed like a win-win. I’m home on leave, I needed something to do. My parents got tickets and can’t come anymore and…I guess I hoped I would run into a familiar face.” There’s a weight to his last sentence, a secret I don’t want to unwrap. It’s trouble, I can tell. He’s here on leave, and I’m also here far away from my own apartment and the life I lead right now. “Why are you here?” He asks in return. “Something like that.” I nod, pursing my lips and training my eyes downward again.

The opening notes of an Ed Sheeran song begin to each around the room. Bradley looks to the DJ table, then back at me. He reaches out a hand.

“Can I have this dance?” he asks. I look at him with tears and all the memories of what could have been floating in my eyes. It’s too late, the angel on one shoulder says to me. But what could it hurt? The devil says on the other. Sensing my hesitation, Bradley persists. “For old time’s sake?”

I take his hand and allow myself to be lead to the dance floor. We alter Mrs. Christensen’s positioning just a little. Bradley’s arm wraps around my upper back, holding me closely. My hand does not rest on his shoulder but instead wraps under his arm to his back as well. I can feel him absentmindedly rub his thumb back and forth on the bare skin between my shoulders.

‘Cause we were just kids when we fell in love Not knowing what it was I will not give you up this time

Bradley’s eyes grip me, like he’s trying to send the lyrics of the song right into my soul. Tears threaten to spill again. “What’s wrong?” he asks quietly. “I never thought we’d get this,” I reply. Bradley breathes in deep before speaking. “I never knew you wanted this,” he whispers. “I didn’t know I did either,” “I did.” His words cause me to take a sharp breath, now unsure if I can breathe at all. “After a while anyway. I just knew you were going to do great things, and I wasn’t going to do much of anything. I didn’t want to hold you back, even if we were just dumb kids.” I laugh through tears. “And then I joined the Navy and I still wanted to call but…I’ve seen what the other guys’ girlfriends and wives go through. I couldn’t do that to you.” He looks physically pained as he tells me this. “Bradley, I—I’ve missed you so much.” “I’ve missed you too.”

We dance with one another in a natural silence for a bit, allowing the music to flow around us and keep us in rhythm with one another. It settles in that we never stopped. Never stopped thinking about each other. Never stopped loving each other.

We are still kids but we’re so in love Fightin’ against all odds I know we’ll be alright this time Darling just hold my hand Be my girl I’ll be your man I see my future in your eyes

Bradley’s mouth leans in close to my ear. “I love you.” My eyes meet his. “Do you mean it this time?” “I meant it the first time. I think I’ve loved you longer than i could have ever expressed. I’m so sorry it took me this long to find you and say it.” My heart threatens to explode looking at him. It’s a fairytale ending that no video game could ever compare to. “I love you too.” He brings his face closer to mine and like a singer and an orchestra, our lips begin an aria we have never heard yet have known the words to all along. We kiss far longer than may be proper at this event but it’s okay because the world around us no longer matters.

I don’t know how this is going to work. I don’t know what the future holds for either of us, but I know one thing. I’ll do anything to never lose him again.

[untitled-document-95]

Happy Pride Month to these two and whatever the fuck they had going on in the 80s

And to their adopted son and his on/off boyfriend

[untitled-document-95]

A Bad Night (bob floyd x reader)

Summary: Reader's night with friends takes a turn Warnings: Bad friends Requested: No Word Count: 647 A/N: Just a little drabble and someone new! *gif is not mine*

It was a typical California summer night. The heat was still in the 80’s despite the fact that darkness had fallen hours prior. Bob was in bed, flipping through his movie and show options on the bedroom TV. He’d promised he wouldn’t wait up, but he will. He always does. He’d changed into his plaid pajama pants and white shirt an hour ago, ready to find something to occupy him until you came home. He didn’t admit it when you left, but he was worried about you. You’d been practically bouncing off the walls with excitement all week about the plans you’d made with friends. Yet tonight, you’d been more subdued before kissing him goodbye and walking out the door.

The slight slam of the back door startles Bob, but he already knows it’s your footsteps making their way towards the bedroom. Something’s off, though. He can tell. He hears you kick off your shoes, your silhouette barely visible with only the glow of the TV lighting up the room. Bob just observes as you strip off your nice clothes and change into your typical sleepwear.

“You okay?” he asks, but there’s no reply. You simply continue your tasks in silence, save for the movie playing in the background. Finally, you crawl into bed next to him, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his chest. Bob’s heart swells before dropping from a great height when you release a sob into him. He holds you there tightly.

After a minute or so, you pull away and tell him the whole story. How both of your friends had actually cancelled on you; Jessica earlier today and Alice just as you had gotten to the bar. You’d left the bar to go to Target and get a few things for Jessica’s daughter, who was sick. When you arrived at Jessica’s, you were surprised to find Alice’s car in the driveway too. Expecting Alice to also be there dropping off a quick care package of Pedialyte and popsicles, you were left speechless when you found both women sitting on the couch, nursing glasses of wine and giggling. They attempted to make excuses, but it was clear. They’d excluded you. Not that they’d both cancelled on you maliciously; but Alice had clearly decided to come over and neither had even thought to invite you. It stung.

“Babe, that’s awful,” Bob says.

“I just don’t get it,” you say, sniffling and wiping more tears. “What is wrong with me?” Bob’s level of concern jumps up by at least 50%.

“Sweetheart, look at me.” Your teary gaze meets his. “There is nothing wrong with you,” he says firmly.

“Then why does this always happen? It’s always the same. I make a friend and we’re so close for a while…then suddenly they’re always too busy, always cancelling plans until we haven’t seen each other or talked in months. And when I ask what I did, why they’re shutting me out, what I can do to be better, they always say nothing. So something must be wrong with me, but no one will tell me what it is.” Bob shakes his head.

“They weren’t real friends, babe. Real friends wouldn’t do that to you. A-and maybe that means the only real friend you have is me. And I know that isn’t ideal for you; I know you want girlfriends you can spend time with because it’s not the same as doing things with me, and that’s okay. But I know one thing for sure. Those girls didn’t see in you what I see, because if they did, they’d be smart enough to realize they just lost the best girl they could have ever known.” You stare at Bob for what feels like a long time before wrapping him up in a tight hug, holding on until you both drift off to sleep.

[untitled-document-95]

you could’ve dusted off the brick before you threw it at my face

‘why do you read “various x reader stories?”’

first, i’m a narcissist and will not read it if it’s not about me

second, I love the feeling of people liking me

third, I was ignored as a child

[untitled-document-95]

Fun fact about me: I started the show, then thought “hmm I should read the book first”.

I GASPED while my students were in the hall taking a bathroom break.

Who the FUCK let me watch Lessons in Chemistry??? WHO???

[untitled-document-95]

Hey! Have you checked out this one? I plan to keep adding ❤️

Infatuated (jake seresin x reader)

Summary: A chance meeting turns into an unforgettable first date

Warnings: Alcohol, minor language

Requested: by Anonymous

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Cowboy Jake has my heart, that is all

*gif is not mine*

Lieutenant Jake “Hangman” Seresin met the love of his life in the most unlikely place for someone like him. He’d grown up hearing that the library is where the magic happens, but he didn’t believe it until that day. 

His hometown’s new library was vastly different from the musty building of his youth. This place was all glass and metal and had so many rooms, the directory on the wall resembled that of a doctor’s office. He followed its directives to the second floor, to the office of whomever he needed to turn his passport paperwork into. From down the hall drifted the sounds of a piano. A sign pointing that direction read, “Music Practice Rooms”. Libraries really do have everything these days, Jake thought. 

The door to the passport office was ajar, the office behind it temporarily vacant. A sign taped to the door had the words “Be back in 5” scrawled across it. Needing to kill time, Jake wandered in the direction of the music, if you could call it that. What he heard wasn’t exactly a song, but rather an attempt at a song being plunked on the keys. At times it flowed nicely before abruptly ending after the playing of a wrong note. Other times notes were played slowly and deliberately as the musician in question built muscle memory. 

The door labeled “Music Practice Room 5” was cracked open, which is how the music was floating down the hall instead of being trapped within the soundproofed walls. Expecting to see a teenager or even a child, given the amateur nature of the music, Jake was pleasantly surprised when instead he laid eyes upon a woman appearing to be about his age. 

If you ask Jake now, he cannot tell you what it was about her that immediately enamored him. Before he’d even caught a glimpse of her face, he was intrigued. Unfortunately, there was no way in which getting her attention ended any way except badly. He’d be the creep watching a literal stranger play piano. They may have been in public, but they were set apart from the rest of the library enough that his sudden presence there would seem threatening. 

For that reason, Jake meandered back to the passport office to wait. It wasn’t long until the ivory keys fell silent and the girl, now weighed down by a backpack with books clutched in her arms, waltzed down the hall. Jake didn’t notice her until she had passed by him. He wanted to call out to her, to say something - anything - that would direct her attention at him for just a moment. Nothing came to mind, so he refrained; that is, until a paper fell from the books clutched in her arms, but she didn’t notice. 

“Ma’am?” he called. She turned, noticed the paper in his hand, and gave an exasperated look, seemingly directed at herself. 

“Oh, gosh, thank you so much!” Retrieving the paper, she gave Jake a sweet smile. He smiled and nodded at her in return, quickly racking his brain for something witty to say. Jake had never had this much trouble conjuring up something to say to a pretty girl. Something about this girl was different to him. 

“Can’t have ya losing the secret to life,” he quipped. She smirked and raised one eyebrow. 

“Well, I don’t know about that…” Jake held out a hand to her, introducing himself as just “Jake”. She shakes his hand, telling him her name as well. 

“Are you from here?” he asks. 

“Sort of. I lived here as a kid, but I just moved back. What about you?”

“Sort of,” he teases, copying the tone she’d used and slight head tilt she’d done, which made her giggle. “I grew up here but I’ve been away for a while.” 

“Are you glad to be back?” she asks. Jake thinks of how his new apartment feels so lonely compared to base housing, of how none of his friends from high school are still around, and of how superfluous his whole presence feels here. What’s the point of being here when there isn’t a plane to fly, a mission to prepare for, or training to complete? 

“In some ways,” he replies. Life back home isn’t all bad, but it isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, either.

“I get that,” she says. “I’m really not sure why I came back, I just…” she trails off, looking as though she knows how she wants to finish her sentence, but chooses not to. The moment is abruptly ended as a short, harried looking man hurries into the passport office. 

“I am so sorry, folks. There was a line down at the copier, and then it ran out of toner…” the man continues to prattle on about the trials and tribulations of his momentary venture from his office, but it’s clear that neither of the two just outside the door are paying him much attention. 

“You know, I’m not really sure why I’m back here either. Maybe we should grab a drink sometime and see if we can’t figure it out together,” Jake says as casually as possible. The girl’s cheeks flush with pleasure, 

“I’d like that,” she nods. 

__________________

“Damn it!” Jake shouts, smacking the steering wheel.

He’d screwed up. Extraordinarily. Monumentally. He’d made plans to meet up with the girl from the library at a local bar at 7 PM. What’s the saying? “We plan, God laughs?” Well God must be having a damn comedy special wherever He may be while He screws Jake over at every turn. 

As soon as he got back from the library, his mama called and asked him to haul some potting soil from her car to her garden, which turned into him spreading and tilling said soil as the afternoon sun bore down on the back of his neck. Finally, he got a chance to go home, shower, and change clothes. As he drove down his street, he saw a group of kids struggling to get their frisbee out of a tree. How can you not stop and help a group of kids who are actually outside playing instead of whatever it is kids do on screens these days? 

Then, it was the traffic. Traffic like this little Texas town had never seen, if you ask Jake. First, construction near his apartment complex. Then, a wreck on the state highway. Now? A damn cow in the road. Jake watches in annoyance as the farmer with the bastard bovine tries to persuade the animal to finish crossing the roadway. 

By the time the obstacle is cleared, Jake is over an hour late. She’s gonna be so pissed, he thinks. Who wouldn’t be?

Climbing out of his truck, Jake throws on his hand-me-down Stetson hat. When in Rome, and all that. When he finally pulls open the door to the bar, nothing could prepare him for what he saw next. 

He spotted her immediately. She’d traded her athleisure from the library for a sundress and cowboy boots. My, was she pretty, Jake thought. Instead of being seated at the bar, grudgingly wondering where the hell he is, she’s on the dance floor. She spins around and Jake watches in awe. She’s found some other girls to dance with, and they all laugh in a carefree way that brings a smile to Jake’s face. 

Arms swinging to the beat of the song, she spots him from across the room. When he expects her face to scowl, to unleash bitterness and resentment for his tardiness, it does the opposite. Her smile widens, her eyebrows raise, and she practically skips in his direction. When she gets close enough, she reaches up and grabs the hat from his head, depositing it on her own. 

“Excuse me, cowboy,” she says, wiggling a finger at him. “I got something to tell you.” Jake leans in and can smell the alcohol on her. Her happiness is certainly being influenced by someone with a “J” name - not Jake, but Jameson or Jack. 

“What would that be, darling?” he asks, soaking in her elation. She rises onto her toes, trying to whisper in his ear, but her intoxication prevents her from being too quiet.

“You look like you love me,” she drawls in an accent that hadn’t been present at the library. 

Jake blushes. The look she gives him says so much while remaining silent, for a moment anyway. 

“You’re late to the party. I’m already drunk and ready to go.” She continues to give him that look, telling him exactly where she wants him to take her. 

He knows he can’t take her home - not like this, not yet. Emboldened by her proclamation, Jake wraps his arms around her waist, keeping them a gentlemanly distance from anything improper. 

“Why don’t we take a walk outside, see if we can’t sober you up a bit and then see about getting out of here?”

“Whatever you say, cowboy.” 

[untitled-document-95]

Enamored (jake seresin x reader)

Summary: Following the events of Infatuated, Jake and reader take a walk.

Warnings: none

Requested: by the lovely readers of Infatuated. You all gave me such a confidence boost, thank you so much!

Word Count: 1k

A/N: A part 3 is in the plans! Please do not hesitate to drop ideas, inspo, and any wishes for part 3 in the comments.

*gif is not mine*

That night, Jake couldn’t help but think his tiny Texas hometown somehow knew how important the evening would be to him. Riding the high of seeing her so happy instead of angry at him for how late he’d been, he led her down the sidewalk downtown. There was a gentle breeze blowing down the street between the historic buildings. Streetlamps cast a warm glow in contrast to the bright light from the stars and full moon. Jake blamed the moon for the chaos that had led them to this moment, but thanked the stars for how it had turned out. 

Ever the gentleman, Jake kept her on the inside of the sidewalk, between himself and the dark buildings. They silently wandered up and down the lonely main street for half an hour, the night sounds of the little town as their soundtrack. Finally, Jake broke the calm. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Honestly?” she said, sounding much different than back at the bar. “Humiliated.” 

“I can’t imagine why,” Jake asks, smirking at her. 

“I…really don’t know what made me so bold back there.”

“What, or who? Jack, Jim, Don…” Jake rattles off alcohol with male names, making her giggle. That would be the first time he’d hear one of his favorite sounds.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” she laughs. 

“No, no, don’t get me wrong - I want to thank them,” Jake chuckles.

“Really?”

“I was expecting you to be pissed at me. I’m so sorry I was so late. I promise that’s not like me,” Jake says seriously. 

“Well, alcohol-induced audacity isn’t like me, either,” she replies, still feeling embarrassed. Jake’s eyes lift to look at the sky. 

“Guess it’s this full moon making us both act out of character.” Her eyes look up to the sky as well. 

“It’s so beautiful, isn’t it?” She rubs her arms, the breeze giving her a small chill. While her face remains upturned, Jake trains his eyes on her. 

“Second most beautiful thing I can see right now.” She blushes and looks at him bashfully, eyes darting between his face and the ground. 

The pair continue to walk. As they do, Jake lets his fingers lightly brush hers. She does the same, giving Jake the confidence to slowly envelop her hand in his, a motion that feels so new and exciting, yet warm and familiar at the same time. This time, she breaks the quiet. 

“Didn’t we say we were meeting here tonight to talk about why we came back here?” Jake’s mind flashes to the memories that led him home. Or rather, that forced him home. Without the noise and activity of the bar, Jake isn’t sure if he trusts himself to talk about it. 

“Did we?” he teases. “I can think of many more interesting things than that.” “Like what?”

“Like that amazing song I heard you playing this morning?” She scoffs at this, but it’s a playful scoff. 

“Amazing is a stretch,” she opines. 

“No, I’m serious,” he insists. “You may not be Mozart but that was a hell of a lot more than what most people can do.” 

“Well, thank you. I’ve been wanting to learn piano, so I’ve been trying to practice whenever I check out books.”

“You like to read?” She nods. 

“I love to read.”

“So how often would I find you at that library?” he asks. 

“Two, maybe three times a week?” Jake gives a low whistle.

“That’s a lot of books.” There’s that giggle of hers again. 

“I only check out one at a time so I have an excuse to run an errand every few days.”

“Still. That’s not a rate I could keep up with unless we’re talking Dr. Seuss books!” They both laugh at this, perhaps both picturing adult Jake cuddled up in bed with “Green Eggs & Ham” in hand. 

“I learned to read really young and it just became a habit, I guess,” she says.

“It’s impressive,” he replies. 

“I don’t know…if I could trade being a good reader for being good at piano or something like that, I would.” Her tone has darkened, grown in seriousness as though she has begun shrinking inside the shell she’d worn at the library. 

“Why’s that?”

“Well, to loosely quote one of my all-time favorite books: ‘Musical prodigies are always celebrated, early readers aren’t, because early readers are only good at something others will eventually be good at too; so being early isn’t special, it’s just annoying.'" Jake waits a pause to ensure she’s done before speaking. 

“I don’t think you’re annoying,” he says softly. 

“Not yet,” she mutters under her breath. Jake stops walking, but she doesn’t. He doesn’t let go of her hand, so she’s lightly pulled back. Her face is concerned, and so is Jake’s - but for very different reasons. 

“Take it back,” he says somewhat playfully. 

“Take what back?” Her question seems innocent. 

“I heard you,” Jake chuckles. “I heard you say ‘not yet’ when I said I don’t think you’re annoying.” Her face flushes with embarrassment. “Let’s make a bet,” he says, the cocky, smart ass pilot in him coming to the surface. 

“What kind of bet?”

“For however long this lasts, if I ever think you’re annoying, I swear I’ll tell you. But I bet that I never will.” Her face churns from confused, to doubt, to a silly smirk. 

“What’s at stake?” she asks teasingly. Jake thinks for a moment, smiling at the concrete beneath his feet.

“If I go a whole year without ever finding you annoying, I’ll get you a ring,” he says, her earlier boldness making way for the words he never thought he would have the guts to say…or someone worth saying it to. The twinkle in his eye tells her that yes, he does mean that kind of ring.  She giggles and her hand flies up to cover her mouth. She does a little dance in a circle, face towards the moon, as if to ensure that he doesn’t see her face while she has this little moment. She takes a loud, deep breath and spins around to face him seriously. 

“You’ve got a deal,” she says, and they resume their walk. 

Maybe other people would have been weirded out by this conversation. Maybe other people wouldn’t react the way either one of them had towards each other that night. But when a match is made in Heaven, there’s not a supernova in the galaxy that could ruin it. 

[untitled-document-95]

Infatuated (jake seresin x reader)

Summary: A chance meeting turns into an unforgettable first date

Warnings: Alcohol, minor language

Requested: by Anonymous

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Cowboy Jake has my heart, that is all

*gif is not mine*

Lieutenant Jake “Hangman” Seresin met the love of his life in the most unlikely place for someone like him. He’d grown up hearing that the library is where the magic happens, but he didn’t believe it until that day. 

His hometown’s new library was vastly different from the musty building of his youth. This place was all glass and metal and had so many rooms, the directory on the wall resembled that of a doctor’s office. He followed its directives to the second floor, to the office of whomever he needed to turn his passport paperwork into. From down the hall drifted the sounds of a piano. A sign pointing that direction read, “Music Practice Rooms”. Libraries really do have everything these days, Jake thought. 

The door to the passport office was ajar, the office behind it temporarily vacant. A sign taped to the door had the words “Be back in 5” scrawled across it. Needing to kill time, Jake wandered in the direction of the music, if you could call it that. What he heard wasn’t exactly a song, but rather an attempt at a song being plunked on the keys. At times it flowed nicely before abruptly ending after the playing of a wrong note. Other times notes were played slowly and deliberately as the musician in question built muscle memory. 

The door labeled “Music Practice Room 5” was cracked open, which is how the music was floating down the hall instead of being trapped within the soundproofed walls. Expecting to see a teenager or even a child, given the amateur nature of the music, Jake was pleasantly surprised when instead he laid eyes upon a woman appearing to be about his age. 

If you ask Jake now, he cannot tell you what it was about her that immediately enamored him. Before he’d even caught a glimpse of her face, he was intrigued. Unfortunately, there was no way in which getting her attention ended any way except badly. He’d be the creep watching a literal stranger play piano. They may have been in public, but they were set apart from the rest of the library enough that his sudden presence there would seem threatening. 

For that reason, Jake meandered back to the passport office to wait. It wasn’t long until the ivory keys fell silent and the girl, now weighed down by a backpack with books clutched in her arms, waltzed down the hall. Jake didn’t notice her until she had passed by him. He wanted to call out to her, to say something - anything - that would direct her attention at him for just a moment. Nothing came to mind, so he refrained; that is, until a paper fell from the books clutched in her arms, but she didn’t notice. 

“Ma’am?” he called. She turned, noticed the paper in his hand, and gave an exasperated look, seemingly directed at herself. 

“Oh, gosh, thank you so much!” Retrieving the paper, she gave Jake a sweet smile. He smiled and nodded at her in return, quickly racking his brain for something witty to say. Jake had never had this much trouble conjuring up something to say to a pretty girl. Something about this girl was different to him. 

“Can’t have ya losing the secret to life,” he quipped. She smirked and raised one eyebrow. 

“Well, I don’t know about that…” Jake held out a hand to her, introducing himself as just “Jake”. She shakes his hand, telling him her name as well. 

“Are you from here?” he asks. 

“Sort of. I lived here as a kid, but I just moved back. What about you?”

“Sort of,” he teases, copying the tone she’d used and slight head tilt she’d done, which made her giggle. “I grew up here but I’ve been away for a while.” 

“Are you glad to be back?” she asks. Jake thinks of how his new apartment feels so lonely compared to base housing, of how none of his friends from high school are still around, and of how superfluous his whole presence feels here. What’s the point of being here when there isn’t a plane to fly, a mission to prepare for, or training to complete? 

“In some ways,” he replies. Life back home isn’t all bad, but it isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, either.

“I get that,” she says. “I’m really not sure why I came back, I just…” she trails off, looking as though she knows how she wants to finish her sentence, but chooses not to. The moment is abruptly ended as a short, harried looking man hurries into the passport office. 

“I am so sorry, folks. There was a line down at the copier, and then it ran out of toner…” the man continues to prattle on about the trials and tribulations of his momentary venture from his office, but it’s clear that neither of the two just outside the door are paying him much attention. 

“You know, I’m not really sure why I’m back here either. Maybe we should grab a drink sometime and see if we can’t figure it out together,” Jake says as casually as possible. The girl’s cheeks flush with pleasure, 

“I’d like that,” she nods. 

__________________

“Damn it!” Jake shouts, smacking the steering wheel.

He’d screwed up. Extraordinarily. Monumentally. He’d made plans to meet up with the girl from the library at a local bar at 7 PM. What’s the saying? “We plan, God laughs?” Well God must be having a damn comedy special wherever He may be while He screws Jake over at every turn. 

As soon as he got back from the library, his mama called and asked him to haul some potting soil from her car to her garden, which turned into him spreading and tilling said soil as the afternoon sun bore down on the back of his neck. Finally, he got a chance to go home, shower, and change clothes. As he drove down his street, he saw a group of kids struggling to get their frisbee out of a tree. How can you not stop and help a group of kids who are actually outside playing instead of whatever it is kids do on screens these days? 

Then, it was the traffic. Traffic like this little Texas town had never seen, if you ask Jake. First, construction near his apartment complex. Then, a wreck on the state highway. Now? A damn cow in the road. Jake watches in annoyance as the farmer with the bastard bovine tries to persuade the animal to finish crossing the roadway. 

By the time the obstacle is cleared, Jake is over an hour late. She’s gonna be so pissed, he thinks. Who wouldn’t be?

Climbing out of his truck, Jake throws on his hand-me-down Stetson hat. When in Rome, and all that. When he finally pulls open the door to the bar, nothing could prepare him for what he saw next. 

He spotted her immediately. She’d traded her athleisure from the library for a sundress and cowboy boots. My, was she pretty, Jake thought. Instead of being seated at the bar, grudgingly wondering where the hell he is, she’s on the dance floor. She spins around and Jake watches in awe. She’s found some other girls to dance with, and they all laugh in a carefree way that brings a smile to Jake’s face. 

Arms swinging to the beat of the song, she spots him from across the room. When he expects her face to scowl, to unleash bitterness and resentment for his tardiness, it does the opposite. Her smile widens, her eyebrows raise, and she practically skips in his direction. When she gets close enough, she reaches up and grabs the hat from his head, depositing it on her own. 

“Excuse me, cowboy,” she says, wiggling a finger at him. “I got something to tell you.” Jake leans in and can smell the alcohol on her. Her happiness is certainly being influenced by someone with a “J” name - not Jake, but Jameson or Jack. 

“What would that be, darling?” he asks, soaking in her elation. She rises onto her toes, trying to whisper in his ear, but her intoxication prevents her from being too quiet.

“You look like you love me,” she drawls in an accent that hadn’t been present at the library. 

Jake blushes. The look she gives him says so much while remaining silent, for a moment anyway. 

“You’re late to the party. I’m already drunk and ready to go.” She continues to give him that look, telling him exactly where she wants him to take her. 

He knows he can’t take her home - not like this, not yet. Emboldened by her proclamation, Jake wraps his arms around her waist, keeping them a gentlemanly distance from anything improper. 

“Why don’t we take a walk outside, see if we can’t sober you up a bit and then see about getting out of here?”

“Whatever you say, cowboy.” 

[untitled-document-95]

Back and Forth (jake "hangman" seresin x reader)

Summary: Jake doesn't know why you're playing hard to get. Only you know that you're not playing at all.

Warnings: Language, the state of missouri

Requested: by @x3zerochanx3 see full ask here

Word Count: 4.7k

A/N: I typically try to keep the "reader" character as nondescript as possible, but I had to give a lil background for this one

*gif is not mine*

_________________

“Jake?”

That single word caused Lieutenant Jake “Hangman” Seresin to flush with warmth and relief. 

“Hi, momma. How was your flight?” 

“Oh, you know how public transportation is these days! Not a bit of southern hospitality in sight. Guess that’s why it’s called southern hospitality!” Mama Seresin ranted into the phone, causing Jake to chuckle. 

“We’re getting our luggage now, sweetie. Are you still meeting us at the hotel for dinner when you get done for the day?” 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Jake replied. 

“Wonderful. I can’t wait to see you, honey.”

The mother and son exchange “I love you”’s and goodbyes and hang up the call, dragging Hangman unwillingly back to the cold locker room. He finishes changing into his flight suit for that afternoon’s training exercises. Just a few more hours and he’d get to see his parents for the first time in too many months. He’d requested a few days off, and his parents taking the time and energy to travel to him meant he got to make the most of those days. He couldn’t wait.

Finally, Jake was driving through the sweltering San Diego streets towards the address his mom had texted him. She’d said their hotel was new, so "it had better be good". He was pleasantly surprised to see the hotel was a mere two blocks from The Hard Deck. It was new, the exterior a sun bleached white stucco with black accents. 

A blast of air conditioning greeted Jake as he entered, but it was nothing compared to the hug his mother pulled him into just seconds later. 

“Jake!” she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of excitement and relief. Jake responded only by holding her more tightly and humming into her hair. Her scent was familiar and comforting, nearly bringing tears to his eyes. Pulling away, Jake reached out to hug his father as well. What a lucky guy I am, Jake thought.

“Now, where are you taking your parents to eat?” Mama Seresin asked. Jake laughed. 

“Well, what sounds good? I’ll be honest, I haven’t been around town much.” 

“Let’s ask the front desk,” mama says, making towards the sleek marble counter. A tight-laced looking guy stands there; the kind Jake would have called a string bean if he weren’t trying to mind his manners in front of mama. 

“Excuse me, sir, could you give us some recommendations for somewhere to have dinner?” she asks sweetly. 

“There’s some brochures in the breakfast room,” he says curtly, immediately bringing a frown to Mrs. Seresin’s face. Jake opens his mouth to tell him where he can shove his brochures when a woman Jake hadn’t noticed in the shadows behind him makes herself known. 

“Allow me,” she says, practically hip-checking the other employee out of the way. “Are we wanting to try some of the local flavor?” 

I sure do, Jake thinks. The girl is pretty. Not in the typical San Diego girl way. She’s sun kissed but not overly tan, she’s got muscle and a body, not the skeletal figure of too many of the local girls who frequent The Hard Deck, trying to pick up a pilot. She must live here, or she wouldn’t work here, but Jake somehow doubts that she’s from here. There’s a twinge of an accent in her voice. 

“I think that sounds lovely, dear. Where do you recommend?” 

“There’s a cantina just down the road that serves the best tamales. There’s usually no wait and they don’t take reservations, otherwise I’d call ahead for you.” 

“Well, if there isn’t a little southern hospitality left outside of Texas. You have been most helpful, dear. What’s your name?” The woman sticks out a hand, gives her name, and introduces herself as the hotel manager. 

“You must be from a southern state,” Mama Seresin assumes. 

“Sort of, ma’am,” the woman replies awkwardly. “I’m from Missouri.” 

Mama Seresin’s smile shows a flash of confusion for a moment before perkily replying, “Well, close enough! Thank you so much, dear. Come on, gentlemen!” As the family retreats, it doesn’t escape the hotel manager’s notice the way Jake’s eyes stay on her as he walks away, giving a quick wink just before stepping through the front doors. 

____________

Jake’s time with his family flies by, and he doesn’t see the cute hotel manager again. Saying goodbye before they leave for their late evening flight is more painful than he would ever say aloud. 

He knows he probably shouldn’t, but he heads to The Hard Deck after dropping them at the airport for a beer or two. Finding an empty stool at the bar, he begins to nurse his pint, not feeling up to pool or darts or any of his usual exploits. None of his pilot buddies are there yet anyway, it’s too early for them. He may try to duck out before any of them arrive in order to have some more alone time before having to face everyone at training again tomorrow. 

A boisterous laugh echoes across the room, and Jake looks towards the sound reflexively. It’s her - the hotel manager. She’s no longer dressed in her professional blazer, but a casual tank top. Something Penny and/or some old regular just said must’ve made her laugh. There’s a cocktail glass in her hand, but no friends in sight. 

Better yet, no boyfriend Jake thinks, climbing off of the stool to approach her. 

“Hey, Missouri,” he says as he draws closer, leaning against the bar near her. 

“Hello!” she replies cheerfully as though she’s still at work. “How did my dinner recommendation turn out?” 

“Delicious, thank you. The tamales were quite good.”

“Well, good! Can’t wait to go try them myself,” she says, taking a sip of her drink. 

“Wait…” Jake starts. “You haven’t eaten there yet? Then how’d you recommend it?” 

“I have spent an ungodly amount of time scouring reviews of everywhere within a 10 mile radius. That place had some of the best, and everyone mentioned the tamales.”

“Are you saying…you lied to my mother?” Jake says, both shocked and amazed. The woman laughs into her drink and her cheeks flush pink, making Jake wonder how many drinks she’s had. 

“Well, I can’t try everywhere at once. I’m working through it, though. That’s why I’m here tonight. A bar within walking distance of the hotel? I’ll recommend it all day and night if it’s good, which…” she looks into her glass and then back at Jake. “It is.” 

“Is that part of a hotel manager’s job?” he asks. 

“It is if you want to be a good one,” she answers, eyebrows hiking up. 

“And are you? A good one?”

“I’d like to think so, or I at least want to be. This is my first time,” she admits. 

“As a hotel manager?” 

“During the day, anyway. I’ve been a night auditor in a few different places.”

“And how did a girl from Missouri end up all the way here in San Diego? That’s a long way from home,” Jake smirks and sips his beer. She smirks back to let him know that she’s onto his little game. 

“I have family here. You’re not from here either I’m guessing, given that your parents stayed in my hotel to see you. Where are you from, Captain Obvious?” 

“It’s Lieutenant.” 

This response causes her to nearly choke to death on the drink she was taking a sip of. Penny looks over to see what the fuss is. 

“He has that effect on people, sweetie!” Penny hollers. 

When she has stopped coughing and taken another sip to clear her throat, she speaks again. 

“Was that to be funny, or…?” 

“No, I’m really a Lieutenant, from Texas but stationed here at the moment. Lieutenant Jake Seresin, nice to meet you…again,” he says, offering her a hand. She shakes politely but doesn’t reintroduce herself. 

“Nice to meet you,” she says. 

Just then, a group of fellow pilots enters the crowded bar. Spotting Jake, one comes over and claps a hand enthusiastically to his shoulder. 

“Hangman! Come on, man, rack ‘em up with me!” the guy shouts. 

“Hangman?” she asks. 

“Call sign. Old Navy tradition,” he says to her. “I’m a little busy at the moment, guys,” he replies to his friends.

“It’s okay,” she says, climbing down from her stool and getting out a card to close her tab with Penny. “I should get going anyway, I have a ton of paperwork to get done.” 

Reluctantly, Jake pulls away from the bar. 

“I guess I’ll see you around, Missouri,” he calls to her. 

“Not a chance, Tex,” she replies, smiling and turning away.

—-

The next day, Jake is perusing cottage cheese options at the grocery store when someone bumps into him. Literally - her body collides with his, no doubt from lack of attention. The woman stands and immediately begins apologizing, but stops dead in her tracks when her eyes lock with his. 

“I am so sorry, I was not looking where I-“

“Hey, Missouri,” Jake says flirtatiously. She attempts to speak, but each word she starts gets lost somewhere between her brain and her mouth, so Jake fills in the blanks for her. “Funny running into you here.” His tone drips with arrogance, like he knows just how much his sudden reappearance has thrown her and he wants to revel in it. 

“Are you stalking me?” she asks, but there’s a lightheartedness to her tone.

“I could say the same for you,” he retorts. 

“Fair enough. I’m sorry for running into you, I guess I got carried away looking for yogurt.” 

"I'll chalk that up as the weirdest excuse someone has given for trying to get my attention," Jake says smoothly. 

"Ah-" she starts, clearly outraged but with a smile on her face. "I was not!" she finally says. 

"No, it's okay!" he says. "I'm irresistible, I know."

"Whatever makes you feel better," she quips back. 

"What would make me feel better is if you'd just, you know, give it up and let me take you out properly." 

A surprised smile stretches across her face as she crosses her arms. 

"Is that what you think I've been trying to do?" Her tone is still casual, playful. Jake simply maintains eye contact, even giving her that signature wrinkle of his nose to really drive home the point: he doesn't need to say anything more, because they both know the mutual desire is there.

"Ohhh..kay, I'm gonna get my yogurt now." Jake smiles and rolls his eyes as she does just that. When was she going to give up the "hard to get" act? Jake reaches back as well, selecting a container of cottage cheese. 

"Come on, sweetheart. Let me show you how we do it here in Fightertown, USA."

"Oh, now you've ticked me off in more ways than one," she says, tossing her selected yogurt into her cart and pulling it around to face the direction she intends on moving, but a laugh threatens to bubble out of her. 

"How so?" Jake asks, his brow knitted in confusion. 

"You called me 'sweetheart' and you eat cottage cheese." She begins pushing her cart away from the dairy section. Jake remains, dumbfounded. 

"What's wrong with cottage cheese?" he calls to her retreating figure. 

"It's disgusting!" 

_________________

That night, Jake lay on the couch and did something he had never really done before - he searched for her on Facebook. He knew her name, her home state, and her current city and occupation, but it still took a while to find her. The posts on her profile were frustratingly private, but it did answer the most basic questions he had about this mysterious girl. Was she in a relationship? Was that why she was always rejecting his advances? No, her profile said "Single". Was she gay? Also no, a deep dive of her "About Me" said she was interested in men. He figured she would have said something a lot sooner if either of those things had been true, but you never knew. 

Jake couldn't decide if this whole experience was new because women didn't generally reject him or because he didn't generally chase a woman this way. In fairness, she'd never technically said "no", she just deflected. Frustrated and confused, Jake ran both hands through his hair before turning on a show to calm his mixed-up feelings.

_________________

"I don't know mom, she just...isn't biting on anything," Jake tells his mom through FaceTime a few days later. Some people may assume the ever-confident, always-"on" Jake Seresin wouldn't discuss the minor details of his love life with his mother, but they'd be wrong. He always leaves out the more colorful details, of course. 

"Well, just go talk to her! You know where she works," Mama Seresin replies. 

"Mom. It's not 1958, I'll look like a stalker if I do that," he says.

"Whatever you say, dear. Oh! Did I tell you about..." Jake's mind swirls more as his mother updates him on more gossip and neighborhood news from home. Maybe it's time to move on, give up on this girl. She clearly doesn't want to be courted, so why waste the mental energy? But a part of him nags that she's worth whatever it takes to break down the walls she's put up between them. 

"Jake? Jacob Michael, are you listening to me?" Mama snaps. Ah, shit. Middle name.

"I'm sorry mom, I got distracted," he admits. 

"Well, if you're gonna be distracted, might as well be useful. I need you to run by that hotel your father and I stayed at." Jake's heart pounds. Where she works? Why?

"What for?"

"Your daddy thinks he left his glasses in the desk drawer. You know how he is with those damn things. Insurance won't cover a new pair for 6 months and with his lenses alone we're looking at over a hundred dollars, not to mention whatever the hell frames he wants, and-"

"I got it, mama. I'll run by there this afternoon."

_________________

Why the hell am I nervous? Jake wonders as he approaches the front desk of the hotel. So far, it didn't even look like she was there. If she was, she at least wasn't the one working the desk. He couldn't decide if he would be relieved or disappointed if he made it out of here without seeing her and getting another shot at convincing her. 

Just as it was his turn in line, the phone at the desk rang. The gentleman working the desk called her name, the one that occupied so much of his brain at the moment. The man answered the phone, turning his attention away from the line in front of him. Presumably from the back office, she appears and looks astonished to see him standing there. 

"Good afternoon, Lieutenant. What can I do for you?" she says, remaining professional but with a new look of intrigue on her face. Too late, Jake realizes this is the first time she's seen him in any kind of uniform, still in his service khakis from work that day. 

"Afternoon, ma'am," he says, tipping his head in her direction cordially. "My mother and father stayed here last week, in room 510, and they fear they may have left a pair of eyeglasses behind in the desk drawer."

"Let me go check the lost and found, I'll be right back," she answers, dazzling him with that smile of hers. She returns shortly, no glasses in hand. 

"I didn't find them, but there's no one in that room right now and no one has stayed there since your parents checked out. If you'd like, we can run up there and take a look?" she offers. 

"That would be great, thank you." 

"Want me to take him?" the front desk guy says, now finished with the phone call. Not taking her eyes off of Jake, she answers him. 

"No, I've got it. You finish helping the rest of these lovely people out."

The elevator ride to the room is quiet but not awkward. Jake can almost sense every modicum of professionalism in her body working to keep something inside, to hold her back in some way. Inside, they scour every drawer and cabinet and look under the beds for the missing glasses, to no avail. 

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant Seresin, doesn't look like they're here," she says regretfully. 

“That’s alright, Missouri. They’re probably in my dad’s pocket but at least now I can say I looked.”

“True,” she chuckles. 

“You know, I usually take a girl out for dinner before bringing her to the bedroom,” he teases. She scoffs. 

“Oh, my God. I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” 

“Literally,” Jake smirks. “Maybe we can rewind and do it right this time.” Jake steps closer to her, causing her breath to catch in her chest. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re very persistent?” 

“Not since last week,” he says, getting a chuckle out of both of them. 

“Lieutenant S-“

“Call me Jake,” he interrupts. 

“Jake,” she says slowly. “I’m sorry, I just-“ her eyes dart to her feet and she bites her lower lip before looking up at him. She squints up like he’s as bright as the sun. “I just moved here. I don’t do one night stands. I don’t have the capacity for a relationship right now.” She says each sentence like they're bullet points; a rehearsed rejection.

Jake swears he feels part of him begin to bruise, and not his ego this time. 

“I understand,” he says, still gazing at her…lovingly? He winks. “Let me know when you’ve got room for me, huh?” 

Looking all too much like a starry-eyed school girl, she replies, “I will.”

Back in the car, Jake tries to shake off his disappointment by calling his mom to update her on the glasses situation.  

“Jakey?” she answers. 

“Hey, mama. I just went by the hotel, they didn’t have dad’s glasses.” 

“What glasses? Your dad’s glasses are on his face?”

“You asked me to-“ Jake stops mid sentence as the realization dawns on him. 

“Mom!” he exclaims, hearing his mom’s raucous laughter in the background. 

_________________

The next night, Jake’s friends drag him to The Hard Deck to try and cheer him up from whatever it is that’s bothering him, since he doesn’t seem keen on sharing with them. They encourage him to put his moves on some new lady. Despite his reservations, he figures it can’t hurt. He’s surprised by his own behavior when he scans the bar, not only looking for a potential lady but looking for her. If she’s here, he won’t be able to bring himself to talk to anyone else. She’s magnetic, that one. 

He doesn’t spot her, but does spot a nice looking gal hanging a little too close to the dart board to just be a fan of darts. Approaching her and putting on the charm is like muscle memory, but there’s a soreness in the muscle. He can feel how much he wishes he was putting all this charisma down for her, not the woman in front of him, pretty and nice as she may be. 

An hour and a few drinks later, Jake has Allie, as she introduced herself, on the dance floor. Spinning around, Jake wonders if it’s too early to try and get her out of here. Moreso, he isn’t sure he even wants to. The distraction has been nice, but bringing her back to his place doesn’t have the same impact it would have before meeting a certain hotel manager. 

On one of many spins, Jake loses all sense of balance. Not physically, but emotionally. All because he spots her across the bar, standing at a high top table and having a conversation with another guy. What the hell is she doing? What happened to “not having the capacity to date right now”? 

Jake is this close to marching up to her to ask her just that when Allie drags him to the bar for another drink. His eyes dart over to her every few seconds. At first, her interactions with the guy seem casual. Jake can tell from the way the guy shifts his body and looks between her eyes and her lips more frequently that he wants the conversation to be less casual. There’s no way she’ll reciprocate…right?  

_________________

She hadn’t noticed Jake and his date on the other side of the bar. She'd remained steadily focused on her job for the evening - entertaining her boss's son, who'd unexpectedly rolled into town that day. She, like Jake had, scoured the landscape of the bar upon her arrival, but didn’t manage to lay eyes on the aviator who seemed hell bent on flying around her mind all day and night. That is, until she hears his voice boom over the din of the room. Looking over, she watches as a girl drags him to the dance floor. Wait - had he or had he not just insinuated that when she was ready to date, he’d be there? She thought that meant he’d be waiting for her…this sure didn’t look like waiting. But...who was she kidding? A guy like him and a girl like her? She was lucky he’d even been so persistent. If she’d wanted him, she should have let him in when he tried the first several times. 

But oh, did she want him. So, so badly. She couldn’t admit that the fear of her previous relationship’s failure - the one that had sent her on this journey to get a job as far away from home as possible - was what was keeping her from entering into a relationship so soon. Ruminating on her regret stoked a fire in her chest - if he could move on so quickly, why couldn’t she? 

In a snap decision, she purposefully leaned closer and “turned it on” as her friends always told her to do: allowing her eyes to drift to parts of Liam other than his eyes, sipping her drink a little more sensually, but still holding back just a bit so she could defend herself if she were accused of being unprofessional. She couldn’t help but feel that Liam wasn’t exactly interested in remaining strictly professional. 

_________________

Across the bar, Jake was nearly turning red with frustration. Splitting his attention between Allie and the date over at the high top table, he couldn’t help but notice the changes in her body language. The way she leaned in, the way she damn near batted her eyelashes at this guy. What did he have that Jake didn’t? Jake resented the seed of self-doubt she’d planted in his chest. 

He continued to watch as she actually brushed her hand down his arm. 

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Jake mutters under his breath.

“What’s that?” Allie asked. 

“Nothing, darling. Not a damn thing,” he replied, gritting his teeth a little as he looked back over at them. He began formulating a plan for intercepting their little tête-à-tête somehow when, lo and behold, someone unplugged the jukebox, sending a round of groans throughout the room. Jake had been around long enough to realize what was happening. Sure enough, moments later, someone started up a song on the piano. Looking up and over the crowd, Jake spotted - who else? - Bradley at the keys. Normally, Bradley’s piano peacocking would annoy him, but tonight, it was his chance. 

“Let’s get closer!” Allie begs, grabbing around Jake’s bicep.

“You go on, I gotta do something real fast,” he shouts in order to be heard over the cheers and initial notes of Rooster’s song. Allie smiles and rushes off to get closer to the piano.

Before his targets can do the same, Jake hustles to the opposite side of the bar. Unsure if it's the beer in his system or something else making him so bold, Jake walks right up behind her and touches a gentle hand to her elbow as he says her name. 

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Her forehead knits and unknits just as quickly before she turns to her date, excusing herself. Jake carefully guides her out to the deck, closing the door behind them to muffle the sounds of the music inside. It’s much calmer on the deck, the sun just about to set on the horizon. The sound of the ocean waves and the faint smell of salt soothes Jake's nerves just a bit. 

“What the hell is going on in there?” Jake asks, as calmly as possible despite his un-holy language. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says modestly, crossing her arms and leaning against the railing, back to the sea.   

“Don’t give me that, Missouri. What happened to being too busy to date?”

“I’m not on a date, Jake. I’m entertaining a VIP guest of the hotel, and yes, that’s part of my job too.”

“Yeah, that looked a lot like a business meeting.” His tone is heavy with sarcasm. 

“Well, it’s not like you did much waiting around, either!” she retorts. Jake snickers, but has no response. If only she knew how truly remarkable it is to render him speechless. 

“What is this, Jake?” she asks. “Why do you care so much, anyway?” Something in her voice seems wounded, like someone who has been hurt before and fully expects to be hurt again. That phrase in and of itself digs into Jake sharply, like a knife. 

Jake's hands find his hips and he looks to the sky, practically begging God to send him the words he needs to convince her to give him a chance. There’s a figurative whisper in his ear - his mom’s voice, reminding him to be himself. But who is he, really? He didn’t want her the way he wanted the girls he usually found at The Hard Deck - in the bedroom sense only. He wanted her for so much more than that. With a heavy sigh, he looks at her once again. 

“I don’t want to pressure you into anything you don’t want. But I want…us. I think that we could be something amazing, and I don’t know if I can go my whole life without finding out if I’m right or not.” His voice cracks on the last sentence, a fact that makes her look stricken, as though she takes accountability for his sudden show of emotion.

Her cheeks are a violent shade of red. Exhaling, she allows her arms to uncross, palms moving to rest on her lower back. She, too, looks to the sky. For her, though, it’s not because she has no words - it’s because she has too many. She fears drowning him with her words, unsure if that would be preferable to the drought she’s already left him in. 

Jake slowly draws closer to her, but remains just barely within arm’s reach. He reaches out a hand to tuck a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. 

“What’s wrong?” he whispers. She lets out a shuddery breath.

“I’m scared,” she admits. 

“Of what?” She sniffles and drops her eyes to her feet. 

“That another person will be so cruel as to pretend to care about me more than they really do.” 

For a minute, the only sounds are the muffled music and cheers from the bar goers inside, the crashing of the waves, the calls of the seagulls swooping down for one last snack.

Jake looks into her face more intently than anyone ever has. He notices that her eyes are no longer on him, but beyond him, through the large windows of the bar. Turning to follow her gaze, he sees exactly what she does - the guy she'd been with inside and Allie, wrapped up in one another like they hadn't both been there with other people less than 5 minutes ago. Jake turns back around.

“I would say it’s their loss, but it’s not.” A look of befuddlement takes over her face, until Jake clarifies. “It’s not their loss because anyone who has done that to you is clearly too stupid to realize what they lost when they walked away from you. You’re too smart, too powerful, too beautiful for them to realize what they’re missing out on. I’m not going to make the same mistake…if you’ll let me prove it.” With each sentence, Jake has inched closer. Their faces are so close they’d be cross eyed if they were trying to make eye contact. That’s probably why, when they both look up, their lips brush one another. With a level of synchronization that can’t be taught, they both reach for the other, pulling each other close. Their lips crash together quietly but inside, there’s an explosion. All the tension and build up to this moment melts into the kiss, like two lovers reunited after years apart instead of practical strangers who met less than two weeks ago. 

The tension ebbs as they pull apart and lock eyes. Tentative smiles sneak into view, perhaps both a bit embarrassed, but neither regretful. Not one bit. 

[untitled-document-95]

a fic for Hangman based on the song you look like you love me by ella langley. partly inspired by Musix to my ears 😍

Ahhh y’all are making me so happy! Coming right up!

[untitled-document-95]

Hey. I have an Top Gun idea for you. Jake and Reader keep bumping into each other and flirting like crazy. He then tries to persuade her to go on a date and she says no. He then gets so frustrated that he goes on a date with a lady in the hard deck, which of course Reader sees and she gets mad at him. Maybe she does the same and looks for another guy, which leads to both of them having an extreme fight :D

HAHAHA oh the way this just played out in my head!! On its way, pal!

[untitled-document-95]

Music to My Ears (jake seresin x reader)

Summary: Jake accidentally lingers at The Hard Deck, finally seeing a side of you no one knows about.

Warnings: memories of shitty boyfriends ig?

Requested: Nope

A/N: Based on the song "If You Have To" by Ella Langley

*gif is not mine*

On the night that changed everything, things started out as normal as could be. The Hard Deck filled with Top Gun students and graduates and even a few instructors, the crowd peaking around 9 PM before slowly fading out the closer it drew to midnight. Last call came, a few more drinks were poured. Penny wiped down the bar while her junior bartender cleaned tables and stacked stools. Only a few stragglers had yet to drag their happy asses out of the bar and back to base. Unsurprisingly, one was Lieutenant Jake Seresin, who’d gotten himself engrossed in a billiards battle with a few other pilots. 

Finally, the game ended. Penny bid the boys goodnight before calling to her helper. 

“Hey, you still want to lock up on your own tonight?”

“Yeah, I got it handled. Have a good night, Penny.” She smiles sweetly and nods at her boss, hoping she doesn’t see that there’s an ulterior motive for wanting to lock up on her own. Penny waves and heads out the door.

Unbeknownst to the young lady, she is still not alone. Neither she nor Penny saw Lieutenant Seresin head into the bathroom instead of heading out the door with his buddies. Her closing duties complete aside from turning off lights and locking the doors, she sits down at the piano. Warming up a bit, she doesn’t hear the lieutenant exit the bathroom and stop in his tracks when he hears the piano and finds her sitting there, no audience in sight. 

Finally, her fingers begin to dance across the keys and play a song. She plays the same melody on repeat for a bit. Jake wonders if he should do something - sneak out, clear this throat, do something to get her attention? He worries that any of the above will startle her. It’s been over a year and Jake has never once told her anything close to the truth about how he feels about her. He loves the way she interacts with customers, friendly and kind to those who are nice to her but can absolutely destroy a rude customer with her words. He noticed how she was scared to ring the bell at first, but now will walk in that direction until she gets an apology from whoever thought they could mess with her. So unbelievably smart for someone so beautiful, though Jake knows to say that out loud would make him sound like an asshole. 

It’s not as though Jake hasn’t tried to talk to her, though. Problem was, when he tried that very first time he ever saw her tending bar, she mentioned a boyfriend. Jake had even seen him once or twice, picking her up or just hanging out at the bar to talk to her. Wrapping an arm around her waist, dipping her into a deep kiss. In his presence, her face lit up with joy. It was clear to any outsider that she loved him, and they were best friends. So Jake kept his distance, but he always wondered if that guy truly reciprocated her feelings. His face never seemed as bright, never as deeply consumed during their interactions the way she was.

Jake is enamored with her playing, and it only gets better when she begins to sing. 

You know I never lied

Went home with someone else 

So why you acting like I put you through some kind of hell?

The first verse pulls Jake under, as though he begins drowning in the same sea of emotion. Was this about that guy? The one Jake had always seen before? Come to think of it, there’d been several nights Jake had come to the bar to find her absent. Ever since, Jake couldn’t recall another night with that guy at the bar or there waiting for her at the end of the night. 

Hate me if you have to

If it helps you sleep at night

Paint me in whatever light

Baby that you want to

Finally, the song fades to an end and the last chords ring out across the empty room. It becomes painfully obvious that Jake must now make his presence known in some way that makes it evident he wasn’t trying to hide from her on purpose. Turning around to find him standing there silently would give stalker vibes. 

“Wow,” is all Jake can muster. She whirls around on the piano bench to lock eyes with the green-eyed pilot, chest heaving with the efforts of the song and now adrenaline coursing through her. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” she accuses. 

“I…I’m sorry,” Jake says, holding up both hands in surrender. “I was in the bathroom and when I came out…well, it’s rude to interrupt a performance.” He’s fairly certain he hears her mutter an expletive under her breath as her hands find her head, rubbing her temples and seemingly trying to wipe humiliation from her features. 

“You heard all of that, huh?” she asks. Jake approaches, hands in pockets, nodding. From the piano bench, she looks up at him, lips pursed. 

“That was…some song,” Jake says, his tone laced with all the things he wants her to know but can’t say. That he understands the meaning of the lyrics, that he’s sorry anyone would ever do anything to make her feel that way. “That why you wanted to lock up alone?” 

“It’s the only time I can ever have a piano to myself.” She seems both sad and frustrated by this.

“You are incredibly talented.”

“Thanks.” She speaks quietly and slowly, as though she’s embarrassed of her own skills. “I’ve been working on that for months. That was probably the best I’ve ever done.”

The pair are silent for a few moments, unsure of where to go from here. Finally, Jake remembers his manners. He sticks out a hand to formally introduce himself, and she returns the gesture, also giving her name. The pair stare at one another for several moments, neither one wanting to break the anticipatory silence. 

“Why are you staring at me?” she finally asks. 

“I’m wishing,” Jake whispers, serious as can be.

“For what?” 

“That I knew what to say or do right now to make sure you don’t ever feel that way again.” There’s no arrogance or inflated sense of self behind his words. They are not empty, a mere catalyst for getting her home. They are real and raw and it surprises even Jake that he let them slip. She raises an eyebrow, looks to her lap, then lets out a quiet, joyless chuckle. 

“Well when you figure it out, let me know, will you?” she says, sounding defeated like she knows he never will because she doesn’t know the answer herself. She closes the lid to the piano, standing and sliding the bench in. She crosses to the bar, double-checking her last minute tasks and grabbing her car keys, all the while leaving Jake to the left of the piano, dumbstruck or perhaps awestruck but most certainly struck with her. When she reaches the door, she gives him a look as if to say, “I can’t leave until you do, so get a move on.” Jake slowly approaches, mind still spinning.

“Would you be open to getting coffee with me in the morning?” he asks cautiously.

“Define ‘morning’” she asks, which throws Jake for a loop, leaving him unable to answer her simple yet mind-boggling question. She locks the door behind them, and they meander to their respective vehicles. 

“Um,” he begins. Her mouth forms a smirk. If he didn’t know any better, Jake would say she was enjoying the amount of control she obviously held here. 

“There’s a reason I work in a bar, Lieutenant. You won’t find me outside of my bed before 9 AM if I have any say in the matter.” 

“9:30 AM it is,” he retorts. She smiles.

“See you then. Goodnight, Jake,” she says.

“Goodnight.” 

[untitled-document-95]

✨my masterlist✨

🩵 Support my work 🩵

🎭 Broadway

Finding a Family (platonic!newsies x reader)

🧑‍🤝‍🧑 People

More Than Just a Job (mike faist x reader)

Surprise, Surprise (mike faist x reader)

Don't Tell Me What To Do (tom holland x reader)

📚 Books, Movies, & Television

Panic (Amazon Prime)

cowboy, baby (dodge mason x reader)

Defending Jacob (Apple TV+)

In The Stars (andy barber x daughter!reader)

A Challenge For Us All (andy barber/barberfam x daughter!reader)

Marvel

When Worlds Collide (peter parker x reader)

Top Gun: Maverick

Music to My Ears (jake seresin x reader)

Back and Forth (jake seresin x reader)

Infatuated (jake seresin x reader)

Enamored (jake seresin x reader)

A Bad Night (bob floyd x reader)

Just Kids (bradley bradshaw x reader)

Please Send Requests For: - Top Gun: Maverick characters/actors - Other characters/people featured alongside or associated with the above subjects - Almost anything, really!

[untitled-document-95]

People on other sites can keep their millions of likes, I’m to 1,000 - almost all on works of writing I’ve done. And for that, I’m extremely proud!!

[untitled-document-95]

cowboy, baby (dodge mason x reader)

Summary: Dodge has a record-setting night at the rodeo; he has no idea you're about to make it even better

Warnings: alcohol | pregnancy

Requested: only by my own brain

A/N: ok I guess I'm actually on a Mike Faist kick...also prepare for ALL the rodeo themed fics in August when my local rodeo happens 🤠

*gif is not mine*

______________________________________________________________

Tonight was a big night. The sun was beginning to dip low on the horizon, casting out an array of colors. Not that every rodeo wasn’t important to Dodge and by extension, you. Tonight was an even bigger one than normal, with competitors from across the state that Dodge was determined to prove himself against. His event wouldn’t be for another hour, so he was waiting nervously on the ground, trying to lend a helping hand wherever he could.

Dodge looked up and saw you leaning against the railing in the VIP section above the chutes. The various hues of the sky gave the illusion of you being the subject of a watercolor painting. Your white shirt had a blue floral design, and he couldn’t help but admire the way your white shorts clung to your curves. You finally looked over and caught his eye, giving him a shy, sweet wave. He noticed you’d been more subdued the past few days, but he knew he had been too, just nervous and excited about tonight’s rodeo. 

You blew him a kiss as one of the girls nearby signaled to you, extending an invitation to walk to the bar with them. Tromping through the gravel, the other wives and girlfriends of the rodeo contestants for the evening joked and teased one another playfully. You walked off to the side of the group, a social position you were all too familiar with. You were there, sure, but ten years from now when the stories of these nights are repeated and reminisced on, it’s unlikely anyone will remember your presence. 

Your brain was too full to join in on the conversation at the moment anyway. Anxiously, you twisted your ring. You’d never been one for jewelry, but when the most handsome cowboy in the world presents you with a gold band adorned with a small but brilliant diamond in the center, what more is there to say? As of right now, there were no plans. No white dress in the closet, no church booked, no cakes tasted. Just a simple request: that you love him forever. You didn’t need a ring or anything else in order to do that. You’d known you were going to do that anyway from the very start.  

At the beer stand, one of the more boisterous girls calls out to each person to ask for their preference. When she reaches you, you hold up your bottle of water and smile as a way of saying, “Thanks, but I’m good.” Not that you didn’t want a beer. Boy, did you. Anything to calm your nerves. The neon green wristband you wore was verification to any of the stand workers that you’d been verified as being of legal drinking age, so that wasn’t an issue. You were the only one in the world who was privy to the knowledge that was sitting so heavily on your mind and heart.

You were pregnant. 

---

One Week Prior

You’d never been…regular, you know? “Nothing to worry about,” you’d always been told. “Might have a little trouble conceiving someday, but we’ll cross that bridge when you’re ready,” your doctor had said. Dodge knew this, which was why neither of you’d had a problem forgoing protection now and again. 

It also wasn’t uncommon for you to be nauseous. Hot girls have tummy issues, right? That’s why you didn’t think anything of it when you’d spent two days in a row with barely an appetite, feeling off. Until you’d been at work a few days ago and swore you could smell the fish a co-worker was reheating in the break room from a mile away.

“Oh, I remember when I was pregnant with my youngest, I could smell every little thing for a couple months. Made life miserable!” a different co-worker laughed. An innocent joke, but it got you thinking. That afternoon, you stopped by the drug store on your way home. Desperate, you tore the box open as soon as you got home. To your dismay, the directions specifically stated that test results would be most accurate if taken first thing in the morning. You buried the box in your bag, away from Dodge’s eyes. That night, thoughts raced through your mind at a pace that made it impossible to do or think about much else. 

What should have been the easiest thing was by far the most difficult emotion to decipher. If the test came back positive, would you be happy? Would Dodge? And if it came back negative, would you be sad? Was it possible for both mindsets to coexist? 

Though it caused you great discomfort, you skipped your morning bathroom visit and held it until you arrived at work. Locked safely away from the world, you followed the test directions, setting a timer for the requisite three-minute waiting period. Face buried in your hands, heart pounding, you wait. 

Your phone begins vibrating in your lap. You lift your head to read your results. After a moment of contemplation, you carefully place the test back in its wrapper, then back inside its box. Tucking it in your bag once more, you exit the bathroom. Such a simple act, yet it felt too much like leaving behind one life and entering a whole new one. 

One thing that had been certain, even before you’d taken the test, was that you couldn’t tell Dodge yet. He had been so nervous and worked so hard for this particular rodeo. You’d never forgive yourself if you distracted him with such life-altering news. This decision was affirmed when Dodge met his goal and then some under the starry Texas sky. It may not be the life of most people’s dreams: dirt and sweat, animal odor faintly in the air. Some people only have to hear the word “rodeo” and wrinkle their noses. But to you, there was nowhere else in the world you’d rather be. 

After the night’s events were over and his tasks complete, Dodge found you just behind the bleachers. You extended your arms, thrilled about his victory. His huge grin lit up his face, a far cry from his usual half-smirk. He wrapped his arms around your waist, spinning you around with so much joy. As soon as he’d set your feet safely on the ground, he kissed you. This, too, was something else you’d never trade for all the mansions and luxuries in the world. 

“C’mon, angel. Let’s go celebrate,” he rasped in your ear. 

—

The name of the game became attempted casualness. You listened as he recapped the night from his point of view the entire time you had your late dinner, and even the whole ride home. Now that you were past the only restriction you’d given yourself, it was clear the logical next step was to tell him. But how? You hadn’t thought that far ahead. At home, he’d pecked your cheek and headed off to take a shower. You changed clothes and laid down, exhausted just from the mental load of the past 6 hours. Twenty minutes later, Dodge climbed into bed next to you with damp hair and red skin from the hot water. He wrapped his arms around you from behind, burying his face in your neck.

“Mm. Thank you for being there tonight. Makes me a lot braver when I see your beautiful face in the stands,” he mumbles into you. You turn to face him, placing a hand on his cheek.

“I’ll always be there for you, Andrew Mason.” Your use of his legal name makes him blush and release a sigh of contentment.

“I cannot wait to marry you,” he says. Your heart leaps. 

“You know…” you begin. “We haven’t talked much about…the other stuff that comes with marriage.” He continues smiling, but gives you a puzzled look. 

“Other stuff?” he asks.

“You know, kids, pets, stuff like that,” you respond. 

“Ah, kids!” He says in a spirited tone. Oh, this lovely, funny side of Dodge that only you are ever given the privilege of seeing. “What are you thinking? Just a basketball team’s worth or go all the way for a baseball team?” You laugh in spite of yourself. 

“Seriously!? We are not having 5 kids, much less 9!” you shriek. 

“What?” Dodge says with false incredulity. “Says who?” he jokes. 

“Says the person whose body has to carry and birth these children!”

“To which I again say, says who? We could always adopt a few!” You both chuckle at his lame and unintended rhyme. You both laugh for a moment more, but you allow the laughter to die down into calmer breathing before speaking again. 

“I mean,” you broach carefully. “I’d like to have at least one of our own. A little…you and me all wrapped into one.” The whispered words almost choke you up, only because you are too aware of how close of a reality it is. Dodge looks at you lovingly. 

“I can’t wait, angel.” 

Despite every part of your brain screaming at you, you find the words you need to say. 

“What if you didn’t have to?” you whisper. Dodge’s face slowly changes from lovestruck idiot to dumbfounded.

“What do you mean?” he asks carefully. You stare. He says your name in a scared, questioning tone. 

“I’m pregnant,” you say, voice barely audible. You give him a small smile, despite the fear of his reaction. Dodge sits up, gently pulling his arms away, but never taking his eyes off of you. 

“Are you serious?” he asks. Propping yourself up on one elbow, you assure him that yes, you are pregnant. He continues to stare. You’re beginning to feel shame, fear, and other awful feelings until finally, his lips crash into yours once more. When he pulls away, one hand cups your cheek, thumb rubbing back and forth mindlessly. His face remains close to yours, tears threatening to spill from his eyes, which causes you to tear up as well.

“You’re not mad?” you ask. 

“Mad? I have never been happier in my entire life,” he gushes. “I didn’t think tonight could get any better. But…” he trails off so he can lean back a little and find your lower abdomen with his hand. Rubbing it gently and affectionately, he continues. “We’re having a baby, angel.”

“Yeah,” you nod, tears spilling down your smiling cheeks. “Yeah, we are."

[untitled-document-95]

More Than Just a Job (mike faist x reader)

Summary: Mike's sudden desire to leave Newsies concerns you, but in the end, you learn the true meaning of a happy ending.

Warnings: None, despite the slight innuendo in the summary

Requested: No

A/N: My Newsies hyperfixation is back, you're welcome. Forgive any inaccuracies in how Broadway shows work, it was the best I could do between Google, Reddit, and my limited experiences with high school theater. I also challenged myself to not use "y/n", let me know if you like!

*gif is not mine, found here on tumblr from @this-is-all*

Tap practice wasn’t the same without Mike. If he were here right now, he’d be doing whatever it took to keep a smile on your face through the exhaustion of re-blocking and rehearsing the King of New York number over and over. Luckily for him, he was called up to fill in as Jack tonight…hence why you were having to re-block and rehearse this number, since he wouldn’t be able to be part of it tonight and neither would any swing who knew the track.

Still, you knew how lucky you were to have met and bonded with him. As understudies, him for Jack and you for Katherine, you’d had lots of rehearsal time together. That hardly included rehearsals for things like King of New York, when Mike shed his typical role of Morris Delancey to dance as a run-of-the-mill newsboy like you. He’d been one of the only guys who’d been nice to you when you were cast, even though having a girl as a newsboy was actually historically accurate.

While others teased you, Mike stood up for you. It was clear from the first day you met him that he didn’t tolerate hate or disrespect towards anyone, no matter their gender, color, sexuality, or anything else. You admired him for that, because he didn’t just disagree with it, he put a stop to it every chance he got.

Where Mike was someone who’d moved to NYC at 17 to follow his dreams knowing his family back home would always be there for him, you’d moved here to escape what you’d left behind. Ironic, given Miss Medda’s speech to Jack in this very musical about running away. You were eternally grateful to Mike for being the person you needed when you had no one else.

“Alright, folks. That’s enough for today. Be here at your call time and break a leg tonight!” called the choreographer. “Oh, and don’t let these formations and counts fly out of your brain tonight, we might need them in the future!”

“Yeah, did you hear? Mike auditioned for a new role,” you hear murmured by a nearby castmate.

“Really? Did he get it?” replies another.

“Don’t know, but kinda sounds like it.”

Your cheeks burn. Mike might be leaving the show? It was only a few months into the show’s run. Presumably, you guys had at least another year before the show ended, maybe longer. You needed to know if it was true as soon as possible.

Across the building, down the stairs, and up the hall you hurry to find his dressing room. It’s still a couple of hours until his call time, but he also had rehearsals this morning and might be stopping by there or hanging out there for a bit.

The emptiness in your stomach upon seeing the empty dressing room is quickly brushed away when you hear that familiar voice call your name. Turning to face him, you waste no time.

“Did you audition for a different show?” His face is an unreadable mix of surprise and other, unrecognizable emotions. The hesitation before his answer makes for a tense, awkward silence.

“Why does it…matter?” he asks cautiously.

“It matters to me,” you say.

“Why? Why would you care?” his tone now has an edge, a sharpness you haven’t heard before.

“I care because we’re friends. If you’re leaving the show…why didn’t you just tell me?”

“It’s not personal. This is just…just a job,” Mike practically spits, like the words are bitter as they leave his mouth. Your face twists in confusion. This feels like a fantasy, the Mike in front of you unlike any version of him you’ve ever met. He shoulders past you into the dressing room, tossing down a pair of shoes he’d been carrying.

“So that’s it? You’re leaving your first Broadway show for…what?”

“I never said I was leaving,” he sighs. “I didn’t get the part.” Your indignation deflates just a little.

“I’m sorry, Mike. But I won’t pretend to be too sad about it. I don’t want you to leave.”

“It’s just a job. People come and go all the time.”

With that final phrase, Mike once again sidles past you and stalks out the door, down the hall, and seemingly out of your life.

—

Your afternoon is spent ruminating on the conversation. Why would Mike say something like that? He never had before. You’d had late night discussions about the exact opposite, about how being part of a cast like this was like being part of a family. So many of you had so much in common: living in New York and pursuing your dreams while most others your age were in college. With no family nearby, you’d found new homes in each other. Memories of stupid dances you and Mike had made up while bored between rehearsals are interrupted by a knock at the dressing room door. The stage manager enters.

“Hey, I’m really sorry it’s short notice, but I need you go to go on for Katherine tonight. Kara just called and said she’s throwing up. So start getting ready now so you have time to go over your marks and such beforehand.”

The stage manager closes the door. Your heart is pounding. You’ve only ever gone on as Katherine one other time, weeks and weeks ago. You review her lines and songs at least twice a week, and you got to do her part of King of New York a couple of times today while some swings stepped in to learn your dance parts. But you hadn’t run through anything with Jeremy recently, not-

Wait. Jeremy wouldn’t be there tonight either. Mike was going on as Jack. This morning, the thought of actually performing as Jack and Katherine on stage together would have thrilled you. Now, it filled you with anxiety. How were you ever going to give a good performance with Mike after that…fight, disagreement, whatever you wanna call it?

It’s just a job, he had said. That’s right, you remind yourself. You have a job to do, and you’re going to do a damn good job at it.

—

After a blurry late afternoon so busy your head felt like it was spinning, you were waiting in the wings as Mike started the show off with Andrew doing the prologue of Santa Fe, followed by Carrying the Banner, one of your favorite numbers to perform. You were too nervous to feel sad watching the rest of the newsies dance and sing without you.

It wasn’t hard to show disdain towards Mike during Carrying the Banner, nor during I Never Planned on You. Until the last moment, that is. When Jack is “sketching” the photo of Katherine, it’s of course faked. There’s nothing really even on the paper that Jack hands Katherine, since the audience wouldn’t be able to see it anyway. The audience knows what’s happening because of the screen on the stage.

The song ends and you pick up the paper to look at it like you’re supposed to and find “I’m sorry” actually scrawled in graphite near the bottom of the page. Looking up, “Jack” has already disappeared down the steps, right on cue. Your blush and look of embarrassment, on the other hand, is anything but acting. Climbing down yourself and rushing into the wings for the next scene, a stage hand flashes you a thumbs up and compliments your performance so far.

You don’t go on again until scene 6, after the intense performance of The World Will Know. Entering on your line, “Why’s everyone so scared of Brooklyn?”, you and Mike begin your back and forth for the majority of the scene. Though you force your mind to stay on the stage, in the present, you can’t help but remember how silly you and Mike had felt rehearsing this very scene, with him having to shamelessly flirt with you.

Scene 7 nearly makes your lunch come back up, being on that stage all alone. Not being a monologue nor having anyone else in the scene with you makes it so much more difficult to remember your lines. Thankfully the paper you’re “typing” on in the scene acts as a little bit of a cheat sheet, and you make it through without incident.

As much as you want to watch scenes 8 and 9, you know you need to go change up your costume, put on your tap shoes, and touch up hair and makeup before you have to go on for Act 2.

Leaving the bathroom during intermission, you run right into Mike, who’s already done his bruise makeup. You say one another’s names simultaneously, leading to nervous chuckles from both of you. You purse your lips and nod to tell him to go first. He nervously breathes in, then out, smiling anxiously. His words spill out uncontrollably and his face is alive with expression.

“Look, I’m really sorry for earlier. All I have been thinking about is how I am such a piece of crap for saying those things to you. I let some of the older guys get in my head. They kept telling me not to get attached to you because someday this show is gonna end and we don’t know where we’re gonna end up and…I was trying to get out of the show because I…like you. I like you, and…” he seems lost for what to say next. “I…I was gonna get a role in a new show and then ask you out because I didn’t want to be unprofessional, or whatever and now I’m really, really hoping that you like me too because otherwise this is gonna be super awkward.”

You grab Mike by the arm and drag him behind the nearest door standing ajar, which ends up being a storage closet.

“Mike, I…I don’t know what to say. I like you too. I got so upset when I heard you might not be part of the show anymore because I’ve imagined us seeing this whole thing through, you know? I don’t know how I’d get through a show night without you, or rehearsals, or anything, because I love being with you, I love hanging out and dancing and watching stupid movies and I love…” you trail off and lock eyes with him.

“…Do you…love..me?” his voice is barely a whisper. All you can do at first is move your head, nodding. Then, you muster the words.

“I love you,” you respond softly. “I love you, too,” he says, one hand gently cupping your face, thumb absentmindedly stroking your cheek. Leaning in, his scent is intoxicating, a mixture of-

“5 minutes to curtain, 5 minutes,” the intercom blares, startling both of you. You leap apart and look at one another with fear before stifling laughter.

“Go, go!” You say, swatting his arm playfully to send him out of the closet and to his place for Act 2. A moment later, you exit as well and dart off to get ready for King of New York.

—

Act 2 begins and plays out beautifully. During the rooftop scene, you do the stage kiss just how you were taught: when you go to grab Mike’s face, you slide your thumb in front of his lips, so you end up kissing your own finger. You continue the scene, which leads into Something to Believe In.

You’re not sure when, but at some point during the first verse, you realize you’re singing the words not as Katherine to Jack, but as yourself to Mike. You notice a similar shift in Mike, somewhere around the words “An angel come to save me.”

The music swells again as you sing in unison.

Do you know what I believe in?

Look into my eyes and see...

This time, however, Mike’s lips, warm and soft, find their way to yours for real. It’s probably the cardinal sin of stage actors, to truly kiss on stage instead of using a theater trick to fake it. Of course, it isn’t usually this mutual. You feel yourself practically melt into the kiss, not wanting it to end, but it has to. Mike has to pull away and say his line, followed by yours. You have to finish the song, which you do, probably with more passion and strength than ever before.

All too soon, the final scene is unfolding, and the look on Mike’s face is one of pure love. It feels like he is personally serenading you, not performing on a stage in front of hundreds of people.

Don’t take much to be a dreamer All you do is close your eyes But some made up world is all you’ll ever see

Now my eyes is finally open And my dreams they’s average size But they don’t much matter if you ain’t with me

You and Mike embrace once again, kissing one another. The audience may not notice the difference, but some of your castmates do. You can tell that their yells of joy and surprise are beyond acting.

Happiness and joy pours out of you during the finale, and then the bows. They say in show biz there’s no such thing as a perfect show, but this one had to have been pretty darn close.

[untitled-document-95]

In The Stars (andy barber x daughter!reader)

Summary: Andy picks up his daughter from dance and enjoys a blissfully ordinary evening

Warnings: None

Requested: by @youmakemefeelbetter

A/N: This is the part where I apologize for a) writing this request and never posting it, b) losing the original fic I wrote, and c) just now posting it...almost two years later 🙃

The song I picture her dancing to is "In The Stars" by Benson Boone, hence the title...but it's up to your imagination as well :)

*gif is not mine*

“Beautiful! Step, step, bend deeply, and-“

The words of her dance coach were drowned out. The music was loud around her, the melody within her. Her concentration only peaked as the music crescendoed to its intense end before slowly fading out. The song ended, leaving her sweaty, breathless, and lightheaded from the high of it all.

“Great job, Ms. Barber. Time’s up, so I’ll see you next week.”

She nods at her coach before retreating to the corner of the studio to change out of her shoes, throw a pair of sweatpants on over her leotard and tights, and slip on the shoes she’d worn into the studio that day.

Outside on the sidewalk, she slipped her team hoodie on as the wind chilled her more than expected. Spring may be here, but winter still hadn’t fully left, either.

Andy Barber’s dark Audi pulled in front of the dance studio to pick up one of the last dancers left that evening. Not just any dancer, but his favorite one: his daughter.

“Need a ride?” he asks, rolling down his window. What a dad joke. His daughter playfully rolls her eyes at him as she pulls the passenger door open.

“Hey, sweetheart, how was practice?”

“It was good. I think I’m as ready as I’ll ever be to do this solo at Nationals.”

“That’s great, honey. You know I’m proud of you no matter what!” Andy looks at his daughter expectantly, but she gives him that “You’re so corny, dad,” look before looking back down at her phone.

“How about dinner? Your mom went to Toby’s and your brother went to a friend’s house, so it’s just you and me.”

“Sure. Can we just grab pizza?”

“I don’t see why not,” Andy replies. The drive to their favorite pizza place is silent, save for the white noise of the drive and the radio softly playing a station neither of them were paying attention to.

At the counter, Andy orders while his daughter scrolls on her phone at a nearby bench. He pays before joining her on the bench.

After a few moments, Andy speaks.

“Hey, can we,” he tries to cool his tone and not sound like a nagging father. “Can we have an actual social interaction not blocked by a cellular device for a second?” She obliges without even an eye roll, surprising Andy.

“Sure, dad. What do you want to talk about?”

“How’s school going?”

“Wow, the most cliché parent question ever,” she teases. “Um, it’s okay, I guess. I got an A on my last science quiz.”

“You did not get your scientific side from me,” he chuckles. “Remember your third grade science fair project? Your mom had to help you with everything, I just got to glue paper to the display board.”

You laugh too. “Yeah, I remember that. Still got a blue ribbon, though.”

“You know, I don’t know if your mom and I really give you enough credit for how awesome you are.”

“Daad…” the teenager begins, but Andy cuts her off.

“No, seriously. We’re really proud of you, kid.” She just gives him a lopsided smile, trying so desperately to hide the wave of emotion his words had washed over her. She didn’t realize how much she needed to hear the words until he said them.

“Order for Barber!” a teenage boy at the counter calls. Andy goes to stand, but his daughter stops him.

“I got it, dad!” she says. Andy wants to believe his daughter offered to go grab their pizzas as an act of kindness, but her rushed tone and frantic body language tell him there was a completely other motive for her actions. Sure enough, when she approaches the counter, Andy watches her begin a mildly flirtatious banter with the boy who’d called their order out. With one eyebrow raised, Andy slowly stalks up behind his not-so-little girl. He claps a gentle hand onto her shoulder and interrupts the conversation.

“Ready to go, sweetie?” he says. There’s an edge to his words that says “There is only one right answer to that question.”

“I’ll see you at school,” she calls to the boy. He returns the farewell and the two Barbers head back out to the car.

“Who was that?” Andy asks, flashing her a mischievous grin.

“Daaad…”