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heehoonieluvs · 9 months

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Mornings with you

Parents Jay x reader

Fluff, smut

The way that the members are depicted in this story has nothing to do with how they really are or how I feel they are. It is all solely for the storyline so please bear that in mind 🫶

Summary: Mornings were absolutely perfect with your husband and your two baby boys but Jay has been waiting too long to have you to himself

Warnings: cursing, use of pet names, joking of an accident, irresponsible driving, car sex, oral (f & m receiving), unprotected sex (please lmk if I need yo add anymore 🤍)

Series masterlist

Masterlist

The sweet cry of your 5 month old baby woke you from your deep slumber. As you stretched your arm out, you noticed the absence of your husband but just assumed he was at the gym just like every day off for him. You dragged your feet over to the cot by your bed and was met with your little human with fat tears of hunger. He looked so adorable in his little swaddle and no matter how many times he woke you up with his crying, your heart still melted every time

“Good morning ducky! Don’t cry, mama’s here” you cooed at the little bundle

From the sound of your soothing voice, your baby instantly calmed down and hiccuped. His bright eyes stared up at you and he smiled so sweetly. As you undid his swaddle and lifted him out of his cot, his tiny legs scrunched up. He snuggled into your chest and let out tiny gargles when you cuddled him and you just wished that you could stay like this forever

You sang ‘Polaroid Love’ to him as you slightly bounce him and made your way out of yours and Jay’s bedroom. There was music playing from downstairs paired with the voices of your husband and toddler singing along. A smile was plastered on your as you made your way to the racket and the sight in front of you made your smile even wider

The two of them looked so cute with their pyjamas and fluffy bed hair bouncing as they danced to the song. Your 3 year old was a spitting image of his father and he barely carried any of your traits. You could tell that your youngest was going to be the same but you couldn’t complain since your husband is so cute.

The sound of your footsteps caused them to turn in your direction and quickly, your toddler pattered over to you

“Mummy! Daddy made ankcakes!” He jumped enthusiastically with both hands gripping onto his favourite breakfast

“Oo yummy! Can mummy have some pancakes as well?” You squatted down to his eye level

Being the sweetheart that he was, your son fed you a bit of the pancake in his hand and let out an excited squeal when you took a bite

“Thank you monkey” you pinched his chubby cheeks and stood up to face your gorgeous husband

The fond smile he had on his face was enough for you to fall for him all over again. It radiated so much warmth and love that it made you feel all mushy inside.

He came around the kitchen island with a fresh pile of fluffy pancakes in the shape of hearts to wrap his free arm around your waist. As he pulled you in, he pressed a kiss to your temple and another kiss on your baby’s forehead that was resting against your shoulder

“Good morning my princess. Did you get a good rest? I didn’t mean to wake you with the racket” he mumbled

“I did my love thank you. And you didn’t wake me don’t worry. It was this little munchkin calling for his breakfast” you smiled and bounced your baby slightly

If he could, Jay would’ve stood there just staring at you but his daydream was interrupted by your toddler asking daddy for uppies. He let out a laugh before picking up your son who then leaned to over to you to give you a slobbery kiss on the cheek.

As he looked back at his pancakes and then saw yours, he let out a tiny whine to his dad

“Daddyyy! Why did mummy get heart ancakes? What about baby?” He pouted and patted his chest to emphasise how he felt betrayed

Jay stroked his son’s head before explaining “You got Mickey Mouse pancakes remember buddy? Then you ate them all up like a big boy”

His eyes reflected so much adoration as he looked at his pouty son. Luckily, your toddler instantly had a massive grin as his father jogged his memory of the fun pancakes. With a giggle, your son climbed down from his dad’s embrace to eat the rest of his pancakes and ran off to the living room to watch his favourite cartoon

Jay dragged a seat out for you to sit down for breakfast before taking a seat next to you. Since your baby needed feeding, you started to breastfeed him whilst Jay fed you your pancakes like the gentleman he was.

“By the way, I let my mum know that I’ll drop the babies off around 2pm. Everything is packed so you don’t need to worry about anything” he carried on feeding you as he was talking

The two of you barely got to have some time alone so Jay took the time to organise his days off so that he could have you all to himself. Having the babies already took a lot of time but Jay’s hectic job was also a massive factor. But now that he was going to have a few days off, he was going to take advantage and get you all alone before spending the last few days off with you and your babies

Fortunately for the two of you, Jay’s parents lived very close and never passed on the opportunity to babysit their grandchildren. And because they had retired recently, it meant that they could help to look after the boys when you were too tired

Your baby unlatched from you so Jay took is as his cue to take him and start burping him whilst you fixed yourself and finished your breakfast. Once you washed your plate, you joined your boys in the living room to watch some cartoons. It was moments like this where you wanted time to stop and just capture everything around you

Your toddler was on his stomach, drawing in his colouring book but getting distracted by the TV every so often. And your husband was next to you with his head on your shoulder with your baby lying on his chest sucking on a pacifier. You all stayed like that for a bit till it was time for you to get your babies ready to go to their grandparents.

It seems like you were blessed with the most well-behaved kids ever as they didn’t make a fuss when you got them ready. Jay’s parents would always joke about how that was one aspect the babies were different from their father who in contrast, was a mischievous child who would run away.

In the car, Jay had put on the baby playlist for your toddler to sing along to whilst his baby brother stared at him with a smile. You looked at Jay to admire his perfect side profile as he concentrated on the road. It was like he felt your gaze on him as he turned to look at you with a smirk

“You’re staring beautiful” he mumbled whilst bringing your hand up and placing a kiss on you knuckles.

Your cheeks heated up and you turned away, pouting

“No I’m not”

He chuckled and ran his thumb over the back of your hand as they remained interlocked on your lap

To Jay, it felt like absolute torture not being able to touch you they way he wanted to ever since the babies were born. Even before you had your youngest, it took ages before he could get the time to make love to you. It didn’t help that your toddler was a mummy’s boy and would throw a fit whenever you were out of his sight for too long. Jay was glad that your babies got more used to staying with their grandparents so he could drop them off and devour you on every surface of your shared home

He gave into temptation and removed his hand from yours to grip your inner thigh. You turned to him in shock but all he did was squeeze your thigh whilst keeping his attention on the road. For the sake of your kids, you kept your composure and just let your husband carry on with his antics for the rest of the journey

After what felt like hours (it was 10 minutes), you finally made it to Jay’s childhood home where his parents were already stood at the door with bright smiles on their faces. When Jay parked up, you both got out to get your babies. Jay had your toddler and the bags while you had your baby. The four of you made your way to your in-laws and they greeted you all with open arms.

Your babies seemed absolutely fine with being dropped off, which you were so relieved by. Your mother in law offered you and Jay a drink but Jay quickly declined

“No it’s ok mum Y/N and I need to rush back now. Thank you for taking the babies”

He kissed your sons’ heads before dragging you back to the car with a cheeky grin, resembling a kid getting excited to play with their new toy. You and his parents laughed at his enthusiasm and you blew kisses to your babies. When you got in the car, they waved back (with the help of their grandparents) and it tugged at your heartstrings. Seeing them so far made you second guess whether you should just take them with you.

Jay could see your hesitation so he gave you a soft kiss on your cheek

“I know you already miss them baby but you’ll see them in two days. And they love being at their grandparents so you don’t need to worry your pretty head” he whispered sweetly and stroked your cheek

“And anyways, daddy is in need of mummy’s full attention”

The car journey was absolute torture for Jay as you were kissing and licking his neck whilst rubbing on his hard bulge. Seeing how much he was struggling made you giggle but you still wanted more. You unzipped his pants and slipped your hand inside to get his dick out. It looked so painfully hard and the precum leaking from the tip made your mouth water. As you pressed kisses to his jaw, you used your pointer finger to lightly run up and down his length and swirl is around his leaking tip.

“Oh fuck baby, please don’t tease me” he moaned and threw his head back. Luckily you guys had just pulled up to a red light so he rolled his eyes back and tried to catch his breath

“What do you want me to do then daddy?” You cooed and looked at his with bright, not so innocent eyes

“Suck daddy, princess. Suck me good and daddy promises he’ll make your legs shake when we get home” he stroked your head softly and slightly pulled you down towards his crotch

You felt that he had suffered enough so you instantly took his entire length into your mouth. He jolted from the sudden feeling and let out a moan that made you gush in your panties. He hips automatically thrusted into your wet mouth and you whimpered from he constant moaning. The vibrations of your satisfying whimpers added another level of pleasure for you husband that his slightly drifted on the road. From sudden shift, you took your mouth off him

“Love, if you’re not gonna concentrate on the road then I’m gonna stop” you warned

“No no no baby please carry on. I promise I’ll concentrate this time” he begged and grabbed your hands

“Hmm I don’t plan on you causing an accident so you’re gonna have to wait my love” you lightly tapped his cheek and gave him a peck before settling back into your seat

Jay zipped his head towards you in shock, thinking that you were only joking. But as he saw you clean yourself up, he let his frustrations bubble over. Without any warning, he forced his hand between your legs and rubbed at your covered heat harshly. The sudden stimulation caught you off guard and you threw your head back in pleasure

As he rubbed your clit over your lace thong, he growled out “You think you can tease me and just get away with it princess?”

His slender fingers moved the lace to the side before running down to your soaking entrance. Without needing to spit in his hand, he slipped his middle and ring finger inside, curling them to hit your g spot

At this point your were screaming as your head rolled to lean on the window. His fingers sped up and he used the palm of his hand to rub on your throbbing clit.

“Oh fuck I’m gonna cum daddy” you whimpered as tears started to fall from the overwhelming pleasure

At your warning, he retracted his soaking hand from your pussy, causing you to cry out

“That’s what you get for leaving me high and dry angel. It isn’t nice is it?” He teased whilst licking his fingers of your essence “You wanna make it up to me my pretty?”

You nodded without hesitation

“Then come suck daddy off again like a good girl”

And with that, you immediately crawled back over to his side and took his throbbing cock back into your mouth. He moaned out whilst grabbing your head to push you further down. As soon as you found your pace, he brought his hand to cup your ass before bringing his fingers back to your pussy. Your moans felt so good and they vibrated onto his dick. He was so turned on by you and couldn’t help but think about how lucky he was to have such a perfect, sexy wife who could do such nasty things to him. The squirting sounds coming from his fingers penetrating your soaking cunt made his eyebrows furrow. You were giving him such mind-blowing head that he felt like you deserved even more than him

As promised, he was driving steady on the road but he didn’t know how much longer he could wait. It would still be a few minutes till you got to the house but he needed to cum right now. So he turned a corner to a quite street and pulled up to the side

“Get up for me pretty girl. Make yourself comfortable so daddy can eat that wet pussy like you deserve”

You sat up with watery round eyes and Jay was convinced that he was going to ruin you in that exact moment. He pressed a button to make his seat recline all the way down so he was lying down. You tilted your head in confusion so he chuckled and squeezed your thigh

“Come up princess. Sit on daddy’s face like it’s your throne”

Even though you were shocked at his words, it didn’t stop you from scrambling up to crawl over his gorgeous face. He was quite literally drooling as your soaking centre hovered over him. If he had the strength to, he would’ve taken the time to admire your pussy as it clenched and dripped on top of him. But he was desperate and had forever to do that. So he grabbed your thighs and pulled you onto his waiting mouth. You tried to get up a bit so he could breathe easier but it seemed like he was against that idea. His hands forced you to rock your hips on his face so you couldn’t escape.

His perfect nose and tongue ran all over your sopping cunt and it looked like he was turning red from the lack of oxygen. Once again, you tried to get up, but he growled into your pussy, making you scream.

Finally, he moved his face away to catch his breath, but that didn’t last long as he instantly dove right back in. As you carried on grinding onto his face, you could feel a bit of movement as he brought his hand up to jerk himself off. The two of you were getting so high from the pleasure and you didn’t want it to end

One of your hands gripped onto the headrest of your seat whilst the other dragged down the fogged up window to steady yourself. The familiar sense of warmth started to build up in your stomach and your hips sped up. You grabbed onto the roots of his hair to press his face further into your pussy and that was exactly what he wanted. He moaned even louder into your cunt as you sped up and he jerking himself off faster

“Oh god I’m gonna fucking cum all over your face. Yes make me fucking cum daddy” you moaned

The two of you were moaning out and your movements were so fast as you approached your climax. Then the massive wave of pleasure washed over you as you came on his face. He carried on sucking your clit to milk it out as much as he could before he came in his hand

Jay grabbed your hips and pulled you down so he could give you some kisses to calm you down.

“That felt amazing pretty girl. So good for me” he said between pecks

You guys carried on making out with the music blaring from the radio. The kissing went on for a few minutes till you felt Jay bringing his dick to your entrance and running it up your slit. You let out a gasp as his slapped it on your sensitive clit and he laughed at your reaction

“Are you gonna let daddy fuck you princess? I know you have another in you. I’ve waited so long to fuck you like this again” he whispered into your mouth as he slowly lowered you onto his rock hard cock

He bounced you up and down, whilst thrusting up to meet your hips each time. The two of you held eye contact as your eyebrows scrunched and your mouths hung wide open, letting airy moans filter into each others mouths. His hands holding onto you were so gentle, as to not hurt you, but the movement of his hips were hard and fast, causing his balls to slap onto your ass

The hands holding onto you stroked up your back delicately before reaching your face to bring you into a sweet kiss. He stuck his tongue into your mouth to let you suck on it as you carried on riding him. The car was rocking with your movements and could definitely give away the nasty act you guys were doing

“Are you close baby? Are you gonna cum for me? Cum for daddy. That’s a good baby”

The volume of his moans increased with each thrust and you both came together. He pulled your entire weight down onto him and he wrapped his arms around you, wanting to feel every part of you consuming him. His body twitch from the intense orgasm as he remained with your body glued to his

You could tell that the pleasure was overwhelming for him as it had been a whilst since you two had been intimate. So as you tried to also catch your breath, you stroked his hair and pressed kisses to his sweaty temple. Neither of you wanted to moved so you layed on his seat, with him still buried inside of you, and listened to some music

As his breathing calmed down, Jay reached for another button to lift his seat back up. His other arm remained around your waist and his face nuzzled into your neck. Seeing his face rid of built up tension made him look so adorable that you could resist yourself from kissing him

He giggle from your cuteness as well as the tickling from your lips before moving his face to kiss you lips. His fingers danced gently on you back as he whispered

“Once I get you back home, you’re never leaving the bed. I promise you princess”

Author’s note: FINALLY!!! I’m so sorry this took so long but I hope this was worth the wait 😭 Thank you all so much for taking the time to read my works and I appreciate each and every one of you 🤍

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winwintea · 2 months

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dreamies as your disney world boyfriend

pairing ▸ boyfriend!dreamies x reader author's note ▸ i am working on the SERIES I PROMISE GUYS... it's just quite long... oops. i needed to channel my inner disney for inspiration for this sorry. the prompt seemed to make more sense in my head so i guess it's just, 'dreamies at disney' now lol. ALSO SOME DISNEY TERMINOLOGY in there i apologize. should make sense but if it's confusing ask me lmfaooo

mark lee

photographer boyfriend obviously

doesn’t even complain about how many photos you want to take

is actually dying inside but hides it away with dad jokes to cope with the pain

“it’s not even noon yet and dis-knees are killing me bro”

will only complain about the heat

“It’s like we’re on the surface on the sun dude… like satan’s armpit. that’s crazzzzyy.”

you couldn’t help but laugh

but then he just KEPT GOING

“it’s like we’re in the inside of a mouth… there are things sticking to things that-”

and you cut him off right there.

can’t help the fact that bro is a D1 yapper.

will not wear mickey ears though no matter how much you beg him to :(

favorite ride: slinky dog dash

least favorite ride: dumbo

huang renjun

the boyfriend that actually disney bounds with you

so y’all are disney bounding as nick wilde and judy hopps from zootopia (renjun’s idea)

chenle took him to shanghai disney once, so he’s a big fan of duffy and friends

oh how disappointed he was when he realized that the mascots don’t exist in WDW

“preferred parking? i would prefer parking to be free, thank you very much.”

mood is very sour upon entering

“i know you’re cold but i did tell you to bring a jacket.” rude.

however once you two start collecting your first character signature he’s locked in

somehow more excited to meet the characters than the kids are? (ur 24. reality check!)

he gets more into it as the day goes on

YOU BET HE’S WEARING THE MICKEY EARS.

although he already had fox ears on to begin with anyways

favorite ride: mickey & minnie’s runaway railway

least favorite ride: seven dwarfs mine train (it was too short)

lee jeno

foodie boyfriend

wants a turkey leg like really badly

“that guy has a turkey leg… sir- um sir- where did you get that turkey leg”

you have to bribe this man with food.

which honestly is okay by you because you just wanna take photos of the food.

"yknow with this ride being 50 years old, you'd think they could've made the boats a little bigger. have to man spread now"

whatever you’re thinking of, that’s literally not what he meant.

he’s an innocent lil guy. (seriously, it just came out wrong.)

holds ur hand on all rides.

let’s you grab onto his muscles arms while you are nervous on the thrill rides

no mickey ears though. (it’s the bow that always throws them off)

favorite ride: rise of the resistance

least favorite ride: teacups

lee haechan

out of pocket boyfriend who will not stfu

“bambi’s the only movie i really couldn’t watch… i could not be as strong as bambi”

after you give him the, “wtf” look he just continues. on.

“cause if my mom died well… there goes my friend group.”

will randomly start singing disney songs in the middle of waiting for a ride.

in those show/ride/attractions he’s the only one clapping and screaming.

especially true for the beauty and the beast sing-a-long attraction, cause yknow he’s gonna scream his lungs out.

yeah he’ll wear mickey ears, but you bought him a goofy hat instead. It was more fitting.

“can’t believe disney made a character after me… should i sue?”

also complains a lot. way too much.

“EPCOT? more like every person comes out tired.”

favorite ride: pirates of the caribbean (he kept making a booty joke over and over again)

least favorite ride: toy story midway mania (bc he lost)

na jaemin

hardcore boyfriend photographer (pt 2) + ‘mom’ boyfriend

man knows all your best angles and where to take photos

“picture, picture over here… yes yes right… in front of the castle angel. oh that’s so pretty… in… in… down… up… okay! smile!”

you two spend like half the day taking photos, jaemin needs to show off his gf ofc.

cares for you the whole entire day, makes sure you drink enough water

aggressively refills your waterbottles every second he gets.

“when it doubt, chug it out! (cue jaemin chugging his own bottle)

he unfortunately will not wear mickey ears. (jaemin i believed in you.)

he’s not the one being taken photos of, so no mickey ears for him.

“princess i don’t wanna hear it. the humidity is good for you. this is like nature’s pore declogging.”

favorite ride: frozen ever after

least favorite ride: none (bc he did everything with u <3)

zhong chenle

in between buying you everything and calling everything too expensive boyfriend

HOW THE FUCK DID HE GET A MEMBERSHIP WITH CLUB 33.

this man pulls you into that sus green building on main street, and your jaw drops.

club 33, is an exclusive, membership only restaurant at disney. it’s like an elite society filled with rich upper class, but at disney. (never been inside not sure how to describe it but oh boy is membership expensive.) the waitlist got so long in 2007, they closed it for 5 years. look it up on wikipedia disney lore goes hard

“i just asked a couple of friends, and they recommended me this place.” boy.

you’re panicking because you’re severely underdressed. (you’re in a jessie costume.)

he reassures you, since you’re at disney, and being dressed like this is normal.

once u have one of the most expensive meals of ur life, chenle drags u to every single thrill ride.

he also buys you a balloon and a bubble wand <3

but for some reason when you arrive at the gift shop he realizes he’s spent a lot.

“okay enough gift shop. look away from the gift shop. this vacation already has us in poverty.”

AND BRO ACTS LIKE THIS THE WHOLE TRIP IM NOT KIDDING.

he’ll buy you a nice meal at one of the restaurants and then…

“we’re not getting churros they’re 5 dollars.”

no mickey ears either why do you even ask

“next time i’ll take u to shanghai, it’s better okay?”

favorite ride: tower of terror

least favorite ride: it’s a small world after all

park jisung

anti-disney everything boyfriend

gets frustrated at everything. cannot read the map.

when he goes on small world…

he severely questions his mental sanity. like actually guys i think he needs help.

“this ride is for kids.”

the ride in question: the barnstormer! a 40 second kiddie roller coaster that has top speeds of up to 25mph!

literally jisung’s 13 reason.

he was screaming his little heart out poor baby.

“I’m not wearing those. Stop.” you do not stop. “Take these off of me right now.”

he wears the ears for half of the day though so a win is a win.

“we’re going to the other park? we’re not going home? there’s 3 more??????”

favorite ride: none

least favorite ride: all

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mothdruid · 9 months

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First Session

synopsis.

your first session at Gym Bloom has come. and the first trainer you get to meet? everyone's favorite and the beloved, Jake S.

pairing.

jake 'hangman' seresin x afab!reader

word count.

warnings.

this is an 18+ work, minors buzz off. smut, protected penetrative sex, vaginal fingering, a sex gym (so maybe paying for sex?), fucking your trainer

author's note.

it's here!! the first gym bloom one-shot! i hope you all love it!

“Wait, so your first session is today?” Steph sounded surprised.

“Yeah,” you pulled a purple sports bra from your dresser, “why?”

“Oh my god, who is your first trainer?”

You rolled your eyes at Steph's eagerness. Ever since getting you to join this gym she has been eager. She wanted to know everything, even though you barely knew yourself. All you knew was that they used sex to workout at this gym. Steph knew that too, she was to one who referred you. Which is how you knew it was safe, referral only. You could only sign up if you got a referral from someone you knew. And from your understanding, not everyone was actually allowed to refer people to sign up. So, you were counting yourself lucky to even be a part of this at all.

“I’m not sure, let me put my bra on and then I’ll look at the email.”

First you tapped your speaker phone on, then wrestled your sports bra on over your head. After checking to make sure that your sports bra and legging combo looked okay, you grabbed your phone. Steph was going on and on about a few different trainers. A Mickey, a Bob, a Nat, and others that you eventually tuned out for now. You went to your starred emails, clicking the one at the very top. You skimmed over the email, eventually finding the name.

“It’s Jake S,” eyeing the rest of the email, confirming the other general information of your session. You squinted as you noticed two lock codes.

“No way! How did you get so lucky?” Steph's tone had you pulling the phone back from you a little farther.

“Steph, calm down.”

“No, you don’t get it. That’s one of Blooms best trainers, a real treat if you ask me, or at least that’s what I’ve heard. I’ve actually never trained with him before.”

Oh?

“Never?” You questioned with a playful tone.

“Never.” Steph sing-songed back to you.

A smirk formed on your face.

“Well, I’ll make sure to update you about it,” you turned your speaker phone off, slipping the phone between your cheek and should as you head to the front door.

“Please do, I will have to know everything about it.”

“Oh, Steph, gross,” you slipped your tennis shoes on, not bothering to untie them first.

“What? I’m a woman, I have needs, and this need just happens to be knowing what Jake’s di-”

“Nope, Nope, I’m hanging up now!” You hung up quickly, not wanting to hear the rest of Steph's words.

After tracking down a baggy zip up hoodie, zipping it up only half way. You found your small side bag, checking to make sure your keys and wallet were in there. After you doubled checked, you grab your keys from your bag and slip your phone in your hoodie pocket. You locked your apartment door then headed down the stairs of your building. The place wasn’t fair from your apartment, maybe a fifteen minute walk on a bad day.

When you got to the building, you double checked the address after not seeing any obvious branding outside. After deciding it was indeed the correct building, you punched in the first code. A delightful chime played, signaling it was the correct code and unlocked. The hallway was short, but you noticed another keypad on the next door. You got another delightful chime after putting in the second code, finally letting you into the gym.

It was a very welcoming space. Bright colors complimented by neutrals to even it all out. There were ellipticals, treadmills, bikes, and many other machines neatly placed throughout the main open area. There were people using the machines, some others were chit chatting happily. There was a section of the gym that had a lot of doors, two closed and three open. You assumed those were the ‘training’ rooms.

“Hello!”

There was a gorgeous woman behind a short counter greeting you. Her skin was tan, dark brown hair pulled into a loose low ponytail. She had a matching pastel pink legging and sports bra set on. Your heart fluttered a little bit when she smiled at you. It was as if an angel was gracing you with their presence.

“Hi,” you awkwardly said.

“Do you have a session today?” She asked.

“Yeah, a two forty-five with Jake S.”

“You must be the new client,” she offered her hand out over the counter, “my name is Natasha. I’m one of the other trainers here.”

“Thank you, I’m glad to meet you,” you shook her hand, trying to match her smile and energy.

“So, I’ll check you in so Jake knows you’re here. For now you can go get a little bit of a warm up on a treadmill or elliptical, whatever you prefer. There are also locker rooms before the Bloom Rooms. Jake will come get you when he is ready.” Natasha smiled, marking something in the computer before looking back up at you.

“Okay, thank you,” you hated how awkward you were being.

“It’s my pleasure,” a sultry tone was laced into her words.

Heat flared in your cheeks. You nodded then turned, briskly walking towards the locker rooms. After entering the female locker room, you quickly placed your bag and hoodie into a locker. You kept your phone in the pocket of your leggings, not wanting to be completely bare without it. You found your way back to a treadmill, starting it up at a low pace. It was maybe five minutes before someone came up next to you, tapping your shoulder to grab your attention.

He looked like a living ken doll. Square jaw, blonde hair, green eyes, and fucking built. If this was the magical Jake S, you now understood what Steph was going on about. His biceps were hard to ignore, every minuscule movement noticeable. The black sleeveless shirt was hugging his torso and abdomen, not leaving anything to the imagination. You stopped your eyes from traveling lower, wanting to leave at least something to the imagination. At least for the time being.

“Nat says you’re my new client.”

A Texan drawl? Could he get anymore intoxicating?

“That’s me,” you hit the stop button, coming to a slow stop.

Jake came around the side to met you when you got off the treadmill. He offered you his hand for the small step down. It was surprising how soft his hand were despite the callous’.

“Let’s get headed to a room, I’ll explain more in there.” Jake said. His hand let go of yours, finding the small of your back as you headed to the room. He directed you into one of the ‘Bloom Rooms’.

The walls were covered in a soft pink color with forest green floral. One wall was an entire mirror, a rail for balance along the entire mirror. There were balance balls, cubes, wedges, a Bosu ball, and many other items along the wall. A nice dresser was along the same wall, a nice vase with flowers sat on top. You watched Jake close the door in the reflection of the mirror.

“So, how does this,” you motioned around the room, “work?”

“Well, I’ll direct you on what to do. Positions, reps, stretches, all the technical stuff.” Jake explained it so plainly, making you wonder if there was a catch.

“What do I do then? Besides listen and get fucked?”

“Oh no, sweetheart. I’m not goin’ to fuck you, you’re goin’ to fuck me.”

A smile was plastered on his face. Heat encapsulated your entire body, every nerve ending on fire from his words. No wonder he was a favorite, especially with this demeanor. You shifted your weight on your feet, crossing your arms before speaking.

“What’s the plan?”

“Well, today is going to be a leg day. You will be riding me in a squat-like position, working your glutes, quads, hamstrings, along with many other muscle groups. Since it’s your first workout here, I won’t make it too intense. But that’ll also depend on how much you can take.”

“How much I can take?” You asked in a surprised tone.

“Yes,” Jake brought a hand to the back of his neck, “everyone is different.” Jake stared at you for a moment, then clapped his hands together and took a few steps forward. “Let’s get started with some stretching.”

Jake strode over towards the wall with many items, retrieving some yoga mats, one for the both of you. You met in the middle of the room, taking the mat from him. You two laid your mats out, leaving a decent space in between them. You watched as Jake toed his shoes off, following suit before sitting on your mat.

“On your back, I’ll help you stretch.”

You nodded, laying on your back and watching Jake move towards you. His green eyes were raking over you, observing all of your movements. Jake had you prop your knees up. The soles of your feet were flat on the mat, Jake’s thumb hooked underneath your knees. His eyes were locked with yours, gaze not wavering.

“Let me know if anything is too much or not okay.”

You nodded.

Jake started to ease your knees towards your chest, folding you in half. You could feel the backs of your thighs and glutes being stretched. Jake’s body was impossibly close to yours already, his crotch was almost pressed to your ass. Heat was radiating from his body, covering yours entirely. Your knees were practically pressed into your chest, cheeks hot, his gaze making you burn.

“Is it okay if I open your legs up?” His grip on the back of your thighs was making it hard to focus.

“I- yeah, that’s okay.”

Jake nodded, hands adjusting to under your knees. His gently eased your legs out, keeping them bent at the knee. You brought a hand up to your mouth, pressing the back of it against your lips. It had become so sensual so quick. His crotch was now unbelievably close to your clothed cunt. All he would have to do is roll his hips and he would be pressing against you.

“I’m goin’ to move one leg up to stretch your calf,” he informed you.

You nodded, relaxing all the muscles in your legs. His right hand moved to the ankle of your left leg, extending it up inch by inch. You could feel all the muscles along the back of your leg stretch. He placed your ankle on his shoulder, keeping your leg propped up. The stretch felt euphoric along the back of your leg. An audible gasp escaped you, catching Jake’s attention.

“Feel good?” His voice had dropped a little this time.

“Yeah,” it almost came out as a whimper.

After a moment with one leg propped up, he switched to your other leg. A thin layer of sweat was already starting to form on you. It was hard to avoid with Jake being this close to you, practically folding you in half with his body. His firm muscles pressing onto your own, his weight barring down on you more and more. Not after long he released both legs, guiding them down on either side of him.

“Let’s get your back next,” he said while moving back to his own mat.

You sat up, following his movements. He got on his hands and knees, pushing his back out then letting it drop into an arch. You mimicked the movements, muscles in your back alternating between taut and loose.

“Nice, right?” Jake looked over at you, a smile on his lips.

“Yeah, never realized what all these motions stretched.” You added.

“Everything stretches something. You’d be surprised at what all sex stretches out,” his smile turned into a cheeky smirk.

“Well,” you hesitated for a moment, “I’m excited I get to find out.”

Jake showed you a few more stretches, legs primarily. Soon the two of you were sat across from each other. You were waiting patiently for what was next to come, a tinge of excitement running through you. Jake leaned back, palms flat on the floor keeping him up right. He had one leg casually stretched out, the other bent close to his body.

“We can start this two different ways. One, we start with a little bit of foreplay and massage work, or two, you take the lead and do whatever you want.”

“What do most people choose?”

Jake gave you this look, one that said ‘really?’. A shrug tugged on your shoulders, not sure why he gave you the look. He let out a noise that sounded like a chuckle mixed with a sigh.

“Are we really gonna play that game?” Jake’s look had a small amount of playful annoyance in his gaze.

“What?” Embarrassment started to creep into you, not sure about the next steps.

Jake’s words weren’t really comforting either. He was nice but there was this bite to him. A playful energy that was hard to read sometimes. You pulled both of your legs closer to you, soles of your feet planted on the floor. Again, you mimicked him.

As you were leaning back onto your palms, Jake was starting to move towards you. He got up on his knees, closing the small space between the two of your mats. It was like watching a cat play with its food. Inch by inch the gap between you closed. Your legs spread open, allowing room for him to move between them. He reached out to your jaw, cupping it while his thumb rubbed a part of your cheek. There was something playful in his green eyes. A smile covered his lips as he leaned in, lips next to your ear.

“This is about you, not anyone else,” the words were hot against your ear lobe.

Without a second thought you grabbed him, hand wrapping around the back of his neck, fingers threading up through his well trimmed hair. Soft lips melded with yours, dancing in synchronicity. A smile formed on his lips as he kissed you, slowly working you down onto your mat. Hands roamed up and down your sides, snaking down to cup your ass. His chest was pressed to yours as his hips started to slowly rock against yours.

“Does this count as a massage?” It was cheeky, but you couldn’t help yourself.

“Full body if you ask me,” Jake nipped at your neck, trailing kisses down your skin.

He pulled back for a moment, hand moving from your ass to your chest. Even though your sports bra was tight, your nipples were starting to become visible through the material. A whimper left you as he started kneading your breast, thumb occasionally coming up to run over your nipple. You arched your back and relaxed, pressing your breast tightly into his hand. You heard a snicker come from Jake.

“What?”

“Most clients aren’t this pliant when they come in.” Jake said, tilting his head as a gesture towards your body.

A moan left you as he rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. A smirk was plastered on his face now. You knew it wasn’t personal, but you took it personally. You hooked a leg around his waist, and put all your weight into it. A huff was all Jake let out as you flipped the two of you. You were straddling his hips now, ass pressing tightly to his crotch.

“That’s better,” Jake quipped, enjoying his view of you on top of him.

Slightly calloused hands traveled your sides, kneading your flesh every now and then. You kept rolling your hips down against his, sighing at the pressure. His dick had started to harden, becoming obvious as it pressed against your ass. As much as you wanted to just fuck, you had to remind yourself of the actual reason you were here.

“So, do I just ride you or..?” It was an honest question.

“Normally, we have a female client get off once prior to a penetrative workout. We like to make sure that they are ready to take whatever the trainer gives them.” Jake raised his eyebrows playfully at the last sentence.

Thumbs hooked into your leggings. You helped him take them off you, removing your underwear in the process too. Jake immediately noticed how wet you were, looking at the wet patch on your panties as he slipped them off you. Those calloused hands pulled you back into his lap, sitting up to meet you. Your hands gripped his shoulders, tugging at the fabric of his workout top. Fingers moved towards your cunt, finding your clit quickly.

It was obvious he did this regularly, knowing almost the exact motions to get you going. The sturdiness of his body kept you up right, his free arm wrapping around your back to keep you close. Wet kisses were littered all over your skin. The fabric of his shirt balled up in your fists. The hot breath on your skin was starting to be overstimulating. It was all so much at once. A hot trainer fingering your while leaving wet trails of saliva on your chest was not what you were completely expecting from today.

Jake changed the motion of his fingers in the slightest, making your body quiver into his. You weren’t sure exactly what he did different, but whatever it was made you feral. Your legs had started shaking, body slumping closer to his. You could feel the curve of his lips, that classic smirk appearing again. Within moments you were coming.

A whine was all you let out. You didn’t even pick up on Jake’s own heavy breathing. The arm around your back tightened, keeping you close to him. He bit back a groan as he felt you quiver against him, his fingers not stopping their motions on your clit. Your hands tugged at his shirt viciously, hips not being able to control themselves. Jake hadn’t expected you to have such an intoxicating effect on him. But he couldn’t get enough, deciding he was in fact going to fuck you himself.

“Jake!”

And with that his fingers were gone.

“Change of plans, I’m gonna fuck you.” Jake pressed a kiss to your cheek.

Jake laid your body down, sitting up for a moment to take his shirt off. You marveled at his body, reaching out to ghost your hand over his abs. He reached in his pocket and grabbed a condom. Your hand trailed down to the top of his shorts and boxers, helping him ease them down. He took them off, haphazardly tossing them somewhere off to the side.

Finally, all the puzzle pieces had snapped into place, showing you the complete picture of why he was one of the most sought after trainers. His cock was fucking gorgeous, just like the rest of him. His dick was already making your cunt yearn, wanting to feel the stretch it was going to give you. He tore the condom packet and rolled it down his length. Even though you knew it was what needed to be done, a part of you wished he could fuck you raw.

Jake’s hands grabbed your legs, placing your ankles on his shoulders, then slowly easing them out. His hands were lightly holding the outside of your thighs, holding them in a wide V shape. The head of his cock prodded your entrance, your cunt clenched with anticipation. A breathy moan left you when he pressed into you. The stretch was everything you were hoping it’d be, maybe even a little bit more.

“You feel better than I anticipated,” Jake’s words were breathy, chest rising and falling with each breath.

All you did was clench around him, watching as he closed his eyes tightly. You felt him pull out, only to push back in with a groan. A moan fell from you as he repeated the action. He found a decent rhythm, nailing into you while keeping your legs in the wide V. Your hands fumbled around your body, grabbing at your sports bra clad chest. The tight material bunched under your grasp. Your finger started to slip under the top of your sports bra, pulling it down to show your tits to Jake.

“Hold your legs still,” Jake commanded.

“Yes sir,” your words slurred with pleasure already.

Jake groaned at the name. His hands moved from your legs and up your body. Calloused hands removed yours then tugged on your sports bra. The material became tight against your skin, straps digging in until they started rolling off your shoulders. Your sports bra was holding your arms next to your body, leaving you restricted. Jake’s hands engulfed your tits as he fucked into you. You planted your hands next to your hips, pushing your tits out for Jake.

The backs and insides of your thighs were starting to burn. Jake’s thrusts were starting to make holding them up hard. Each thrust felt more powerful than the last. Once he found that sensitive spot inside of you, you whined. You tried to close your legs, both of them burning from the position you had held them in. Jake’s hands left your chest, grabbing your legs and forcing them back out into the wide V position.

“Legs out.” Jake commanded.

You hesitantly put your legs back out, holding them in place as they started to shake. With every thrust you felt a surge of pleasure. There was a burning that started to develop in your abdomen, a mixture of pleasure and tightness. You knew that a majority of the burning was because of the ‘workout’ aspect of this situation. Your legs were on fire, all while your nerves were starting to sear themselves with pleasure.

“That’s it, I know you can feel it,” Jake said, wide grin on his face.

One of his hands moved down between your legs, thumb circling your clit. Within the matter of seconds you were coming again, cunt clenched tightly around Jake. Your legs were starting to shake uncontrollably, your body becoming way too sensitive to the pleasure. Jake grabbed your legs quickly, wrapping them around his hips now as he fucked into you. He only lasted a few more thrusts before coming, filling the condom while inside of you.

Heavy breathing filled the room, both of you trying to catch your breath. Jake placed an forearm by your head, balancing himself as he looked at you. There was something soft in his eyes. He reached down and ran his thumb over your cheek. His thumb traveled further, down your neck and eventually his hand cascaded down your neck and chest. His hand stopped over your left tit. Your heart was hammering against your rib cage, Jake feeling it flutter in your chest.

Jake kissed your forehead as he pulled out. A moan leaving you at the sensation, now feeling empty inside. Your legs felt like jello, falling down from around his waist. Jake retracted from your body, stood up and moved towards the trash can in the room. You slowly and awkwardly pulled the straps of your bra up, adjusted them and sat up the best you could. Jake threw the condom away then headed back towards you.

“You good?” Jake asked.

“Yeah,” you grabbed your underwear and leggings.

The both of you got dressed before talking again.

“Sorry, about the change up for the session.” Jake slipped his shirt over his head.

“So, you’re telling me you don’t do that with all of your clients?” You joked, chuckling a little.

Jake smirked, shaking his head no.

“No, only the special clients get that treatment,” Jake held a hand out to you.

“Special? After our first session?” You accepted his hand, standing up with his assistance.

All Jake did was nod, not knowing exactly what to say. The two of you stared at each other for a moment. That soft look in his eyes had spread to the rest of his face. You gave him the same look, understanding that there was just now this unspoken thing between the two of you.

“There’s just something about you,” Jake finally said, “and I hope that the other trainers here get to experience it.”

A heat built up in you from the compliment. It was one of the most special compliments you had ever received.

“Until next time?” God, you were hoping there would be a next time.

Jake nodded with a smile.

“Until next time.”

#jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #hangman #jake seresin smut #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x f!reader #jake seresin x afab!reader #hangman x reader #gym bloom

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2knightt · 5 months

Text

「 you the cutest jailbird i ever did see!」

IN WHICH—you’re literally mickey milkovich!♡ ໋֢ 👒✧

🍵ヾFT. THE GREASERS࿐ྀུ ♡

⌗ 👒 notes !𖥔༌ ᰷ ﹅ this is platonic. and if you haven’t seen shameless just imagine a modern, stinky dallas. also MARRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS!!!

you met them while running from the cops. sure—it was completely your fault and you do deserve to be thrown into the cooler. but you just got out! can’t a person want just a few more minutes of peace?

as soon as you heard those sirens, you jumped off the guys you and your cousins were jumping and just started running. those two idiots already got caught, you just kept on running.

you heard that the curtis house doesn’t ever lock their door—stupid. you’d never do that, not when people like you run around this city!

the sirens got closer, and without thinking, you jumped their fence. as your feet touched the ground, you hoped to god that they weren’t home. or that dallas winston wasn’t there.

you rushed to the door, swinging in open before hiding beside their couch that sat in front of the window. peeking your head up, you watched as the cop car slowed down before speeding back off.

a grin grew on your face as you watched the cops go in the other direction.

“fuckin’ idiots.”

“wow, y/n getting chased by the cops. what is it, the 30th time this week?”

you’ve had unfortunate run-ins with dallas. but you thought his voice was more annoying now than when you and your cousins jumped him for trying to hit on your sister.

you’d recognize that disgusting new york accent from anywhere. you sighed, turning your head to face him as he stood above you, hands in his jean pockets.

dallas had a stupid grin on his face as who, you think is soda, comes rushing beside him. his eyes showed worry, but his grin made him look interested in you.

“shoot, what happened to you?”

“soda—this is y/n. what ain’t they done is a better question.”

you rolled your eyes, holding back from socking him in the jaw. you turned your head to face soda, standing up from your position. rubbing your neck, you hung your head low.

“tough shit, man. bunch of assholes—you know.”

suddenly, someone with cake smeared all over his fingers and who smelled like oil popped up out of nowhere. ‘steve’ was written on the chest of his ripped up work uniform.

“that can mean a lotta things. what kinda tough shit?”

‘jesus, the curtis group asks a lot of questions.’ you thought to yourself, a lip raised. dallas kicked the leg of the couch beside you, causing you to whip your head up after avoiding eye contact. sodapop smacked dallas’ shoulder, telling him off.

“answer ‘em, y/n.”

dallas demanded, saying your name is a singing tone.

“…me and my cousin’s has jumped a guy. it ain’t nothin’ bad like stabbing a kid with a blade.”

you mumbled, dusting yourself off, you heard snickers leave steve and soda’s throats. soda grinned, ear to ear as he ushered you to sit down at a table. as he did so—he kept on asking you a bunch of jumbled questions due to how fast he’s talking.

four boys sat there, staring at the situation that had just unfolded. they both looked younger than everyone else did, the two older ones standing out like sore thumbs. one was finishing his plate, the other one downing a bottle of beer.

soda sat you down, steve rushing behind the both of you. either of them sat beside you, smiles on their face.

“what’d the guy do?”

“did you beat ‘em black and blue?”

“what’d you use?”

with that, you found yourself hanging around the two of them more. sodapop and steve found your company fun. sure, you were like dallas, but different in so many ways.

you were so comforting to be around, yet you always had a scowl. they loved having you around, causing the gang to hang out with you too.

you honestly became a reoccurring person in the gang—to the point where people would ask where you were if you weren’t around them.

you’d just walk into the curtis house and make yourself comfortable. your house wasn’t exactly the definition of ‘ideal.’ the old man wasn’t the kindest to you, your sister—or anyone for that matter.

he’d frequently take his anger out on you and smack you ‘til you’re every colour under the sun after he heard you’d been foolin’ around with some chum around the block. it wasn’t even true—but your cries always fell to deaf ears when it came to that alcoholic.

it’s not like it was a secret either. every person on the east side could hear the arguing from your house—even the front door slam shut. that’s when the people would know you’d be huddled up on the curtis’ couch.

“y/n—breakfast.”

soda’d nudge you gently—talking in a hushed voice. the smell of bacon filled your nostrils, a sigh leaving your lips as it hit you that he was the one cooking. you aren’t exactly the biggest fan of his rather odd choices of how he makes his food.

but goddamnit you can fake it for him. if you can lie to the cops, you can lie to one of your greatest friends.

just like how you can lie to the investigators trying to find dallas winston.

“you know this kid?”

“never seen ‘em in my life. lay off now, assholes.”

you’d mumble, walking past them, making sure you hit their shoulders as hard as you could. you always got a kick out of hurting those pigs as you’d call ‘em.

which is what caused dallas winston goin’ MIA. you had seen dallas winston getting knocked down by the police after a long chase.

even though you can’t stand that new yorkian—you do love fighting. you tried to walk as quietly as you could up to them before making yourself known.

“hey, man!”

you shouted, causing their heads to turn. when they saw you—their eyes immediately flashed a look of hatred. they obviously knew who you were, and if they didn’t know, they’d know after you socked one in the jaw.

all attention on dallas turned to you—all of them going after you. until dallas also landed a clean hit on one. with the impact of the officer falling on the ground—your feet started moving on your own.

you cackled, hearing dallas laugh along with you, running beside you. the rush that washed over you two was indescribable—the adrenaline was great.

this isn’t the first time you’ve been on the run, and it’s not like you haven’t been caught. one time you got caught—your bail was low. but too high for you. you were offered one call and the first person that came to mind would surely rip off your head.

‘worth a shot,’ you thought to yourself, dialling the numbers with the phone to your ear, a cop hovering over you.

“hello?”

“darrel? it’s y/n.”

“goddammit, y/n. what the hell did you do this time?”

“nothin’! i-i just need you to come and bail me. it’s only 50 cents, darry.”

“you’re never gonna hear the end of it, you damned jail bird. i’ll be there soon.”

with that—you heard a click on the end of the line. you wanted to defend yourself, but hearing him call you a jail bird gave you more pride than you’ve felt in a long time.

of course, when he did bail you out, any feeling you had of pride evaporated. as soon as you entered the backseat, you could feel the rage from darry.

“what the hell did you do? it’s 11PM. ponyboy and soda’s in bed—and i was getting ready! 11PM, y/n!”

“holy fuck, darry! stop acting like i killed a guy! it was just a grab n’ run!”

“y/n—is it too hard to ask that you try to stay safe? just once, that’s all i ask!”

“oh my god, darry! you aren’t my fucking father!”

“guess what’s happening. you’re coming to my house and spending the nights there. the second i hear that you’re runnin’ from the cops i’m contesting against you in court!”

the rest of the ride was in silence, it being broken up by the occasional blinker. when he pulled onto the side of the road, parking his truck in front of the house, you sat there.

stubborn is what people thought of you—and you sure as hell were. darry got out, expecting you to follow. he stood in front of the gate, arms crossed as you stared off into space.

the door opened—darry quickly grabbing you. he carried you like a baby, against your very loud protests.

soda opened the door, snickering as he sees the situation you’re in. ponyboy was sitting on darrys chair, playing with the tab of a pepsi can. once he seen darry step in, you in arms, he shot up from where he sat.

“where were you? what happened?”

“yeah, jail bird. what happened?”

you heard the two younger brothers ask, one sounding more mocking than the other. darry placed you on the couch, swiftly throwing a blanket over you.

you’d been in this situation before, the memories flooding back to you as you felt yourself drift off into sleep.

expect you weren’t the one being carried. you had carried johnny from the lot, put him on your back. it was a few days after he’d been jumped real bad.

you were out of the loop when it came to who jumped who. you seen johnny asleep in the lot. dried blood on his jacket and face. bruises were everywhere on his body. you felt bad.

you always liked johnnycakes. he understood you in a way. as you carried him on your back—you could only thing of the similarities between you two.

you both had rough home lives, you both always found yourself trying to keep everything together. he used to be so tough but turned quiet—you had always been tough and never expected to change.

lost in your thoughts—you got to the curtis house faster than expected. you quietly walked up the stairs, opening the door, avoiding the creaky floorboards.

you placed johnny on the couch, taking a silent vow to beat whoever did this to him even worse.

and you always kept your word.

robert sheldon was the guy you and your cousins had tracked down, bats and other weapons in hand. if he can use those thick gold rings—you can use your bat. fair game, right?

you caught him, drunk on the streets, and stupidly alone. your cousins beat up ford slowed down beside him—making it a repeat of what he’d do to others.

he took notice—stumbling as he turned his head. your own small gang took notice to this, stopping the car before jumping out.

you guys had beaten him to the point where he looked just like johnny. you kept your word, and you wouldn’t let anyone ever touch johnny like that.

you always hated soc’s. you’d do anything to do annoy ‘em. even if it meant stealing their mustangs, you always liked them anyhow.

steve always talked about how he’d do anything to drive a tuff car like that. everytime he seen one, that’s all he talked about.

“imagine drivin’ a car like that. could you imagine how fast i could go?”

you’d learn how to hot wire at a young age, rarely ever did it though. but when you seen a wine coloured mustang left unattended—you knew you had an opportunity.

it wasn’t hard to get it going, and it wasn’t hard to drive it to the DX without getting caught. steve was working in the hood of an old car outside until he heard a honk.

a grin grew on his face as he seen you in the drivers sear of the car, a smug look on your face. steve practically skipped as he rushed towards the vehicle, tapping the hood as he took a closer look.

as he was nothing less than mesmerized—you hopped out of the car. steve looked up at you from his crouched position before you threw the keys at him, walking towards the passenger seat.

steve immediately put two and two together, jumping into the car without a second thought.

you swore you ain’t never seen steve so happy when he was speeding down the road in this mustang. he never asked where you got it—and you never told him.

you and ponyboy were alright. he didn’t like being around you for long periods of time. on the other hand—you absolutely loved it.

you could tease him until the sun went down for everything and anything.

“what the hell are you wearin’, pony?”

“a shirt?”

“sure as hell don’t look like one.”

you’d ruffle his greased up hair, going against his complains. you’d mock his books and movies, mimicking what they just said in a higher voice. ponyboy always disliked this. he didn’t hate it however. a small part of him knew that’s how you showed affection.

but he never knew you could be so gentle when you felt like it—that he really, really liked. one day, when school was out and everyone was doing their own thing, ponyboy sat at home.

he was reading a book with the tv as background noise. until you barged through the door, beelining for the fridge. you got a beer, closing the door. you took a sear in darry’s chair, watching TV.

ponyboy wondered if you noticed he was even home. when he seen you enter—he felt insecure. you were the definition of a greaser—he was…just some guy that so happened to have grease in his hair.

you realized he stopped reading, his eyes everywhere but his book. sighing, you got up and sat beside him on the couch. you took one more swig of the beer before you told him to read out loud.

“read to me.”

“wh-huh?”

“the TV’s borin’. read.”

with that, he did. the longer ponyboy read, the more relaxed he became. of course—you looked like you wanted to rip your own head off—but ponyboy did like the fact you immersed yourself into the story.

“she fucking what?”

“yeah! crazy, right?”

“crazy’s an understatement, man.”

‘crazy’ is what people would call you and two-bit. people would’ve never willingly put the two of you in a room, but you two got along swimmingly.

he was loud, sometimes clingy, and always joking around. you really needed someone like him in your life. a breath of fresh air—until the two of you would compete.

“let’s see who can steal the most stuff without gettin’ caught.”

was a sentence often said between the two of you. a little fun never hurt nobody, right? two-bit seemed like the expert at stealing, and you just liked to break the law.

the longest it went on was for a week. you tot caught first and you have yet to live it down.

“so god fuckin’ help me—i will gauge your eyeballs out with this fucking fork!”

“yeah but, i’ll die knowin’ that i was able to steal without gettin’ BANNED!”

two-bit later had a bruise on his ribs.

you’ve never been one to stay in a group of people. but staying with these people—it was different in so many ways.

you knew they wanted you here, they knew you loved them and that you knew that they loved you too. and unfamiliar feeling sure—but a welcomed feeling.

you argued, fought, and even fist fought each other. but goddamnit, you all moved past it. and that’s all you could ask for in this little life. even if your life is mostly you sitting in a prison.

#2knightt #the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #dallas winston x reader #johnny cade x reader #ponyboy x reader #ponyboy curtis x reader #sodapop x reader #sodapop curtis x reader #two-bit x reader #two bit mathews x reader #darry curtis x reader #milkovich!reader #WATCH SHAMELESS OR ELSE.

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femsolid · 2 years

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“I started to become interested in Britney Spears’ journey around four years ago, when I noticed that she always looked disconnected in social media videos and photographs. Her communication seemed odd. Her eye contact and body language weren’t right, and I had commented that she was extremely traumatised, but likely to be taking medication of some sort. I wondered whether she, like many of the women and girls I was working with, was being subjected to the same process of pathologisation and control.

In 2019, one of the attorneys in the conservatorship case claimed that Britney was so mentally ill that she was like ‘a comatose patient’ and that she couldn’t make any decisions or sign any statements because she was the equivalent of an unconscious person. I started to feel that my worries were being confirmed. How could she simultaneously be so lacking in capacity that she was the equivalent of a person in a coma, and also be performing at a residency in Las Vegas every single night? How could people around her be claiming that she was so mentally ill that she needed round-the-clock supervision and medication, but she was still well enough to perform for hours? Something wasn’t right.

The world has watched whilst Britney Spears rose to fame dressed in ‘sexy schoolgirl’ uniform dancing in a school gym, singing ‘hit me baby, one more time’. They watched as she became a global phenomenon and sex symbol. They laughed as she was chased endlessly by the press. As she struggled to cope. As she shaved her head. As she struggled to keep custody of her children. As she was sectioned and medicated. As she was forced to perform in Las Vegas whilst being regularly medicated to control and subdue her. As she was locked into a conservatorship for thirteen years by her abusive father.

Prior to her solo artist career, she had been a famous child star of Disney’s The Mickey Mouse Club along with Ryan Gosling, Justin Timberlake and Christina Aguilera. She regularly performed songs and dance routines and acted. At fifteen years old, she signed a record deal. I was eight years old when ‘Hit me baby, one more time’ came out. I watched it on the TV and didn’t know she was just a child until much later, when I was an adult working in child sexual exploitation services. I looked back on the video and wondered how old she was when they sexualised her and sold her to the world. I did a quick Google search. Sixteen. I thought about her song titles and music videos. ‘I’m a Slave 4 U’ was curiously released on the same album as ‘Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman’ when she was eighteen years old. Interestingly, both produced by Pharrell Williams, the producer of ‘Blurred Lines’ with Robin Thicke – widely considered to be a misogynistic, pro-rape song about objectifying women. In ‘I’m a Slave 4 U’ and ‘Boys’ (again on the same album), she is positioned as a sex-crazed woman who will do anything for men. Yet ‘Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman’ positions her as a child, coming of age, and being stuck in between childhood and adulthood.

Between 1998 and 2001, her management released an incredible number of songs and music videos that clearly portrayed her as sexy, sultry and out of reach. Sometimes, I wonder how much of that was deliberately paedophilic and illegal. The ‘jailbait’ trope. That men knew she was a child, but she was being positioned as a sexual adult. This included being interviewed several times about whether she was a virgin, when she lost her virginity, and whether she had a boyfriend yet.

My next strongest memory of Britney was in 2003, when she released ‘Everytime’. The video was harrowing. I was thirteen years old, and even I noticed that something was very wrong. She was singing about pain and trauma. The music video featured her dying of an overdose in the bath and drowning. I watched it with horror. She wanted to die. Her portrayal of suicide was calm, peaceful and final. She is shown as having an out-of-body experience in which she sees herself being pulled out of the bath by a man and rushed to hospital, whilst paparazzi scramble to take pictures of her body. This video still haunts me; in fact, it hurts more to watch now than it did then. Here was a very young woman, shot into global stardom, sexualised and sold as a teenage sex object, struggling to cope with the pressure, and now depicting her own death. In 2008, her mother Lynne told the press that her daughter had ‘lost her virginity’ to an eighteen-year-old man when she was just fourteen years old, and way below the age of consent. She had started drinking at thirteen years old whilst working on The Mickey Mouse Club, and had started taking drugs at fifteen years old. In her memoir, Lynne recalls finding cocaine and weed in her daughter’s bag as she was boarding a private jet around the time ‘Baby One More Time’ was released.

In 2007 Britney was filmed having a ‘public breakdown’ and shaving her hair off. A month later, after being hounded by tipped-off paparazzi, she hit a car with an umbrella. This led to global media outlets framing her as violent, psychotic, insane and a bad mother to her children. Despite everything she was going through, and previously being regarded as a national treasure, she was framed as dangerous and disordered. She was then reportedly in and out of ‘rehab’ for years, sectioned several times and placed on psychiatric medication. At the end of 2007, her father, Jamie, placed Britney under a ‘temporary conservatorship’ which lasted over thirteen years. During this time, concerns slowly mounted amongst her loyal fanbase, who believed for years that she was being exploited and controlled. They argued that she was in danger, and being treated like a prisoner. They pointed to evidence on her social media which suggested that she was trying to carefully get messages to her fanbase that she was in danger. In 2009, they created a FreeBritney website, and demanded that her conservatorship was ended. In November 2021, Britney filmed and posted a video to her fan base, and specifically thanked the FreeBritney movement for ‘saving her life’, and ‘noticing that something was wrong’.

As the years have passed, I’ve watched as rising child stars such as Miley Cyrus, Selena Gomez, Ariana Grande, Demi Lovato and Lindsay Lohan were taken down similar pathways of hypersexualisation and then pathologisation that were publicly discussed, but for some reason, not publicly scrutinised. Well, the girls were scrutinised, of course. Not so much scrutiny was afforded to the managers and corporations who had clearly developed a blueprint for transforming their cute child stars into pornified sex objects overnight. Sometimes it felt like they had deliberately removed their successful female child stars from the limelight for short periods of time and then relaunched them as sex siren pop stars – when they were barely seventeen years old.

Miley Cyrus became famous for her starring role in Hannah Montana, in which she played a young famous popstar who has to disguise herself to enable her to live a normal life. However, by the age of fifteen, she was relaunched from actor to solo artist. Her songs were carefully constructed to be sexy, but almost acceptable – a teenager singing about her relationships or her crushes. In 2010, at seventeen years old, her management released ‘Can’t Be Tamed’, a song which describes her as crazy, sexy, wild, damaged, jagged and uncontrollable. In the video, she is dressed as a wild, exotic, sexy animal in a large cage, that rich people have paid to see. She becomes uncontrollable and difficult to tame, the rich people become frightened of her, and so the video is designed to position her as sexy, but out of control. Her clothing is ripped and shredded. Her makeup is dark. Her hair is wild.

It is vital to remember that she is not only a child at this point, but is still starring in a Disney children’s programme with a viewership of millions of small children. It is therefore interesting that some critics have speculated that this could be a deliberate process that Disney use to move their young audience towards their pop stars as they age with them. This journey towards sexy, but ultimately, mentally ill, continues for years in her career. By 2013, her music videos regularly showed her almost naked, taking drugs, and being encouraged to be as sexualised as possible. Huge smash hits such as ‘We Can’t Stop’ and ‘Wrecking Ball’ deliberately portrayed her as sexy, but disordered. Naked, but crying into the camera. Beautiful, but aggressive. Laughing but angry. Intoxicated. Exhausted. Messy. Wild. Uncontrollable. Sexy. I also have to wonder what the significance is of Miley crying into the camera with a shaved head in ‘Wrecking Ball’. Why, and how, was she positioned as sexy but psycho? In 2019, tabloids reported that Miley’s family were considering having her sectioned, in order to save her marriage to Liam Hemsworth. A source told the NW that ‘it was clear she was back in a dark place, and her family are telling her to face up to her demons and seek psychiatric treatment before it’s too late. If it saves her marriage, it will be a small price to pay.’ This is particularly distressing to read, considering that around that time she had come out as bisexual, and less than a year later, she came out as lesbian, and was in a relationship with a woman.

Selena Gomez recently announced that she had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, anxiety and depression having been put through the same process of sexualisation and framing as sexy, but psycho. Again, after being sent to a psychiatric hospital, she was told she was mentally ill.

In 2011, after yet another career which took her from Disney child star to sex object popstar in a matter of months, an eighteen-year-old Demi Lovato was ‘sent to rehab’ and diagnosed with bipolar disorder. She quickly became the poster child for many mental health organisations looking to ‘raise awareness’ of bipolar disorder. In 2018, she took a near fatal overdose. However, she gave an interesting interview in 2020, in which she stated that she had been misdiagnosed with bipolar disorder, and that it seemed easier for doctors to slap a label on her anger and behaviour and tell her it was bipolar disorder. In her own words, ‘bipolar was used as a convenient excuse’ for what was really happening. Similarly to Miley Cyrus, Demi gave an interview in 2021 in which she said ‘I hooked up with a girl and was like, “I like this a lot more.” It felt right.’ She went on to say, ‘I know who I am and what I am, but I’m just waiting until a specific time to come out.’ Demi said that she would feel a ‘visceral reaction to being intimate with men’, and ‘blamed herself for ignoring red flags that she was not heterosexual’. This strikes me as important, that young girls and women who might not even be heterosexual were having their young female bodies exploited, sexualised and moulded for the male gaze by multimilliondollar corporations – causing serious psychological trauma that would later be diagnosed in terms of psychiatric disorders.

Ariana Grande was quickly sexualised as a young teenage girl, and then put through the exact same process as the others. She has spoken publicly about her depression and anxiety, and says that since the terrorist bombing of her Manchester concert in 2017, she hates performing. What is interesting about Ariana’s experiences is that rather than being labelled as bipolar or psychotic like the others, the public sympathised with her trauma from the terrorist attack, and see that as a real, tangible trauma. Instead, then, she was diagnosed with PTSD and her loyal fanbase promised to support her, even if she cancelled her tour dates.

Lindsay Lohan, on the other hand, was bullied for years for her public ‘breakdown’ and drug dependency, despite disclosing domestic abuse and other traumas related to child stardom, sexualisation and pathologisation. Lindsay was diagnosed with ADHD after ‘erratic behaviour’, which UCLA have argued is a misdiagnosis, leading her to be treated with Adderall. This drug is known to have similar effects to cocaine and amphetamines. However, she was also diagnosed with bipolar and alcohol dependency, which led to her living for several years on a cocktail of Dilaudid, Ambien, Adderall, Zoloft, Trazadone and Nexium. When she was twenty-four, doctors who felt she had been misdiagnosed helped to wean her off these drugs using careful tapering methods until she was completely medication-free. Her story – of yet more abuse, trauma and pathologisation – is a sobering read. A young child star who was struggling was diagnosed with several psychiatric disorders she never had, medicated for years and then publicly mocked and criticised as crazy and promiscuous: a hot mess.

Whilst I have focused on Disney stars here, it would be wholly inaccurate to state that this journey is limited to their franchise. All of them struggled with their traumas, stress, abuse or pressure of some kind. All of them were, at some point, positioned as wild, out of control, mentally ill, problematic or attention seeking. Instead of a humanistic response to what had been done to them, the public were encouraged to laugh along, gossip, harass them and speculate about their ‘breakdowns’.”

- Sexy but Psycho: How the Patriarchy Uses Women’s Trauma Against Them by Jessica Taylor

#quote #sexy but psycho #britney spears #demi levato #lindsay lohan #miley cyrus #psychiatry #media

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rustboxstarr · 1 year

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Modern Eddie Munson headcons pt2

Thank you to @strangerthings64 for the request for pt 2!

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, drugs (weed), porn. Inapropriate jokes/dirty jokes, allusions to men being disgusting (well they always are) on public transport

Masterlist

🚬 This bitch will go my precious in a Gollum voice while tapping his fingers when you take your top off.

🚬 will send you 10 minutes worth of snapchat videos and get cut off mid sentence then proceed to complain about it in the next.

🚬Eddie Munson HATES pop and hip hop, but once he starts dating you he’s conflicted because he hates the basicness of it and the people who listen to it, but watching you twirl around with Robin drunk and in your element on the dance floor looking so mother fucking sexy swerving your hips in circles to Hey Mickey! By Baby Tate he’s starting to wonder if he might appreciate live stream hip pop.

🚬 Will scroll through Instagram forgetting you’re on a call or on FaceTime with each other and suddenly starts singing incredibly off key to whatever playing on his Google nest.

🚬Facetimes you while he’s cooking and you have to endure watching him shriek and scurry away from the frying pan when hot oil hits his skin.

🚬 Refuses to show his Spotify stats when the group went through theirs because he discovered Woman by Doja Cat had earned the top 6th place.

🚬His whole tiktok is just a bunch of bullshit, like he will be sat next to u scrolling tiktok and suddenly start pissing himself with laughter and showing u this

🚬 FUCKING binges top gear, especially when high.

🚬When this mf gets drunk he’s handsy, ALL OVER HANDS, dudes hands are grabbing your ass, squeezing your titties, pulling your hair cuz he thinks it’s funny all while you’re tryna fight him off you.

🚬 Tried to pick you up once while hammered. He can’t pick you up for very long normally cuz u heavy and this bitch skinny and gangly as fuck but once he gets alcohol in his system. “Eddie you can’t carry me!” “Liquid strength” he motions to his drink “that’s now how it works!” Proceeded to wrap his hands around your thighs, he managed to carry you for a whole second where he was whooping and practically screaming I told you so before loosing his balance and toppling you both onto the floor. Stuck between the end of the couch and a lazy boy.

🚬 On public transport he will sit in the outer edge so you’re against the window and no one can accidentally braze past you. If the bus is full and you’re standing he’ll fucking corner you so no one can accidentally or purposely cop a feel.

🚬Sent a video once on Snapchat where he’s talking with a cigarette in his mouth, and the he dropped it and it burned a hole in the crotch of his jeans.

🚬 No doubt will buy dog leashes and cut the fabric off to use the chains as accessories (totally don’t do that myself…)

🚬 licks your face, need I say more?

🚬took a picture of you bent over tying your boots and drew in a stick figure behind you, he wrote tappin dat ass and posted it to his story

🚬Eddie Munson has instagram, but never posts, but when you finally wear him down he posts the UGLIEST photos of u, his profile picture is you covered in pimple patches with your hair in a fucking mess, two straws sticking out your nose

🚬Watched a porn video the night before you came over, then when you were set to leave in his van his phone automatically connected to Bluetooth while the FAKEST moans bellowed out of the tinny speakers.

#80s #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson has adhd #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson smut #Eddie Munson headcons #Eddie Munson plus size reader #Eddie Munson x plus size reader #Eddie Munson x reader #modern Eddie #modern Eddie Munson #modern Eddie Munson headcons #modern Eddie headcons #headcanon #headcon

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poitcast · 8 months

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Moments from "Once Upon a Studio" that I adored

Mickey kindly offered Oswald to take first place in the group photo, telling him "After you!". Oswald happily thanked him by tipping his head to him.

That entire ending was perfect. I love how the "When You Wish Upon a Star" number began with Alan-a-Dale strumming his lute on top of the building, and then Scat Cat, Mirabel, and Junior join in before the singing begins. The build-up to Jiminy Cricket was great.

Belle and Beast singing together! In the original film, they had separate verses in "Something There" so it was nice that they shared a small duet. Paige O'Hara and Robby Benson did a great job!

Quasimodo singing! I'm glad to hear Tom Hulce in the role of Quasi again. James Baxter did a terrific job animating him once again.

Scuttle interrupts Ariel's verse only for Baloo to shut him up and share a sweet bonding moment with Mowgli.

There's something incredibly poetic about Snow White holding hands with Mulan and Asha as they sing together. Disney Studios owes a lot of its success to its princess characters, and it was cool to see three generations of female protagonists (the original, the Renaissance era in the 1990s, and the most recent era).

Winnie the Pooh's presence in general. I love how Christopher Robin and the others have to help him out of the picture frame, recreating the rabbit hole scene. Also, Pooh singing "Fate steps in, and sees you through" at the end and Tigger pouncing on him really got to me.

Cinderella and Prince Charming going down the stairs and Charming loses his shoe. The role reversal was cute enough, but after snatches the shoe, they go into silly mode with Prince Charming shouting "Eric, get your dog!" and Cinderella enabling the situation by saying "Go, Max, go!" It's incredibly endearing to see Prince Charming have a sense of humor and Cinderella happily going along with the shenanigans.

Antonio with the other animal characters and telling Joanna not to eat Jacques and Gus. Pluto coming in to save the mice was nice too.

Incorporating the archival audio from Robin Williams's recording as Genie.

The fifteen puppies watching the "Night on Bald Mountain" segment from Fantasia and Chernabog pops out of the screen. I also noted the various "Art of" books of their feature films on the cabinet surrounding the television.

Hearing Nathan Lane as Timon again and calling Olaf "Frosty".

Robin Hood and Little John snatching Scrooge McDuck's money bags and reveling in their victory. Oo-de-lolly!

The Wreck-It Ralph cameos! Vanellope on her race car, Ralph calling Mickey "Garfield" and Fix-It Felix fixing Goofy's camera. All in character and perfect.

Mickey's gang having their time in the spotlight. Donald trying to go down a crowded elevator, Goofy working as the photographer (may or may not be a subtle nod to his occupation in A Goofy Movie), and even Clarabelle has a moment.

It was nice seeing some representation for their shorts (Ben and Me, Johnny Appleseed) and their overlooked films (The Black Cauldron, Home on the Range, Chicken Little, and Dinosaur). Even if they didn't have any dialogue, their presence alone certainly counts.

Highlighting the artists that contributed to the studio. Burny Mattinson's cameo at the beginning was nice, and though Walt Disney himself was very much a complicated person (staunchly anti-union being one of them), the moment of Mickey staring at his portrait was genuine enough (Mickey says a simple "thanks" before he joins the rest of the characters). The framed photographs of various artists throughout the halls was also nice (I'm sure the actual building has those framed pictures of their former employees). I would have been a lot more critical of the short if many of the presence of the other artists weren't felt in the studio.

Overall, it was a great short! It was a beautiful love letter to the animation studio and its characters. I'm glad that they didn't incorporate any Pixar stuff and even flaunt their acquired assets (Star Wars, Marvel, etc.). It was just about celebrating their original animated works and the large catalog of characters. The animation was also fantastic and it was cool seeing the 2-D characters interact with the CG characters in a way that felt natural. I greatly appreciate the effort and love that was put into the short.

#once upon a studio #disney #beauty and the beast #the huncback of notre dame #winnie the pooh #wreck-it ralph #mulan #robin hood #the jungle book #the little mermaid #cinderella #encanto #animation

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renthony · 2 years

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Mickey Mouse is Gay

I'm working on research notes for my Hays Code video essay, and I'm reading The Celluloid Closet by Vito Russo. While reading, I came across this image:

[Image description: A screenshot from the ebook of The Celluloid Closet. It shows an old poster of Mickey Mouse playing a harp, with text that reads "always gay!" in large capital letters. Smaller text at the bottom reads "(C) Walt Disney Enterprises." The image is captioned with, "When the word gay meant happy and nothing else." End description.]

There was no immediate information about when or in what context this poster was produced, but since I live in Florida, where Disney was involved in the recent "Don't Say Gay" chaos, I felt compelled to go dig up more info.

That digging led me to a copy of Tinker Belles and Evil Queens, by Sean Griffin, which opens chapter 2 ("Mickey Mouse--Always Gay!") with the following:

In the midst of The Celluloid Closet, Vito Russo’s groundbreaking work on representations of homosexuals in American film, there appears a poster advertising Mickey Mouse cartoons. As a joyous Mickey plucks out a tune on a harp, the poster proclaims, “Always Gay!” Underneath this picture, Russo writes the caption “When the word ‘gay’ meant happy and nothing else.” Although Russo separates Mickey’s personality from the modern connotations of the word “gay,” linking the word “gay” with “homosexual” had begun in various homosexual communities during the 1930s. The word “gay” was used in these circles as a method of code to let others know that someone was “a member of the community” without declaring it to those who would physically or legally threaten them. Furthermore, although Walt and most (if not all) of his employees probably would not have known this new meaning to the word when they created the aforementioned poster in the 1930s, it seems that certain audience members were watching and enjoying Mickey’s “gaiety” in all its connotations.

This dynamic becomes more apparent when certain historical evidence suggests that the phrase “Mickey Mouse” itself was bandied about by some homosexuals as a code phrase. Gay and lesbian historian Allan Berube found a photograph of a gay bar in Berlin during the 1930s called “Mickey Mouse.” A lesbian hobo of the 1930s who went by the name Box-Car Bertha related to Dr. Ben L. Reitman in 1937 that a group of wealthy Chicago lesbians threw soirees called “Mickey Mouse’s party.” Bertha maintained contact with these women in order to borrow money, introducing herself by saying “I met you at Mickey Mouse’s party.”

With this evidence of the use of “Mickey Mouse” as a code phrase for homosexuality, seemingly benign uses of the name by homosexual figure take on heightened meaning. When openly gay songwriter Cole Porter wrote the lyrics for “You’re the Top” in the early 1930s, he included the line “You’re Mickey Mouse.” In The Gay Divorcee (1934), Betty Grable approaches Edward Everett Horton, who made a career out of playing the bumbling sissy in Hollywood films during the ’30s, and sings to him “You make me feel so Mickey Mousey.” Although what Grable’s character means by this is left open to interpretation, in context she seems to mean that Horton stirs some emotion within her. Yet, “Mickey Mousey” might have had a sly double meaning—especially when a flustered Horton responds to Grable’s assertion, “Well, no wonder!”

I've said before that completely writing off Disney media is a bad take, because Disney media has been very important in queer history. The corporation is evil, but the art has the talent and soul of countless skilled artists, many of whom are/were queer. Painting Disney media as across-the-board soulless and terrible erases the contributions of countless artists who were themselves exploited by the company.

There is such a long tradition of queer people slipping queerness under Disney's radar and into their classic films. I typically use Howard Ashman's work on The Little Mermaid as my go-to example of this, because The Little Mermaid is a very queer movie based on a very queer story by a very queer author.

So it's pretty wild to learn Mickey Mouse himself has been used as queer flagging!

For more info about Disney Queerness, I recommend the video essay "What Makes Disney Villains So Gay?" by Matt Baume, as well as the YouTube channel Dreamsounds.

(Also, if you want to support the production of my video essay about the Hays Code, you can pledge to my Patreon. I still have some texts to track down for research and might have to shell out to buy them.)

#original post #disney #mickey mouse #queer history #queer media

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heartsofminds · 1 year

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and at every table, i’ll save you a seat - part i

“Well, apparently Baby Goose’s been losing his mind ‘round the base about how this really smart and sweet girl invited him to a wedding and won’t text him about it.” or you invite Bradley to a wedding but your big fat crush on him won’t let you actually. . .invite him.

“and at every table, i’ll save you a seat” - tunes of the gossipy Hard Deck patrons and liking someone so much you feel like you can’t breathe

A/N: hey guys!!! so in the midst of writing this, i realized how long it actually is and how many dividers i had on my google doc? anyway, i thought it would probably work out so much better if it was released in parts rather than just one, big, fat, HUGEEEE piece that would probs crash on mobile. listen along to the playlist (that will be updated with each writing update) and relish in overly flirtatious bradley with me! which btw, he’s the lover album personified with a dash of red and a hint of fearless!

“I’m not asking him.”

Phoenix rolls her eyes before she takes a sip from her Ultra. The thought of it tasting revolting because of its lukewarmness crosses her mind despite her head pounding unceremoniously. She almost speaks up to answer you, but closes her mouth.

She softly places the bottle back down on the counter instead.

She can’t quite tell if the pain in her temples is from the sound of excited chatter all around her, the sound of Mickey, Javy, and Bob shittily singing Go Your Own Way on the karaoke machine in the corner, or the sound of your blue glitter gel pen scratching away at the scrap paper you have by the register; frantically carrying decimals for tip calculation and pathetically adding and subtracting since Penny’s “older than dirt” cash register bit the dust an hour prior.

She almost concludes that the pounding ache working its way to the forefront of her brain is because of your absolute and utter refusal to do the simple and the obvious. But wait.

I haven’t eaten at all today. Yeah, that’s it.

A deep breath fills her lungs before she exhales. Her elbows find themselves on the lip of the bar top and her forearms come up to rest her head on her hands. She notices that the scribbling stops from what she assumes is you looking at her.

An uncomfortable beat passes which is unusual for you two. There’s always some sly remark made or interminable giggling filling the gaps of silence.

You pop your hip on the corner of the table. Your magenta tank top was far too bright of a pink to be welcome in the warm-hued bar. Your bracelet screams “graduation gift” and you can feel the oil on your face contorting your makeup as your time in the muggy air passes.

Out of place is always in your thoughts but doesn’t become an insecurity until you’re left alone with them. The absence of Phoenix’s voice makes this fact more obvious to you.

“You good? Not gonna hurl all over the place?” you cautiously ask, “Because it’s fine if you gotta puke, but I’ll murder you if you make me clean it up.”

Natasha lets out something short of a laugh but too informal to be considered a huff. “I’m fine,” she says, leaning her head into her hand and adjusting herself in her seat.

You nod, returning to your scribbling when the man sitting next to her hands his card to you. “You know, if you write any harder, you might permanently etch,” she pauses, leaning over to get a peek at what you had just written, “ten dollars and eighty-three cents into the counter.”

“Maybe it’ll convince Penny that a new cash register is a need and not a luxury.”

Natasha scoffs. “Could say the same about your plus one, but hey, if you don’t want my advice, then certainly don’t take it.”

You hand the gentleman back his card with a smile and a small “thank you” before returning your attention back to Natasha. She digs her teeth subtly into the plush of her bottom lip.

“I already told you. I’m not asking him.”

She groans, pushing herself to stand up from her seat. Even dressed in civilian clothes, she looks like she belongs. Her aura demands respect; even in a lacy wine-colored top that Hangman had tried to tease her about earlier when the brood of rowdy pilots had first arrived.

“Well, you said no to Jake.”

“You say it like he would be willing to say yes.”

“You said no to Rueben.”

“He’s in a situationship with that girl from my spin class. Going with me to a wedding and her seeing the pics on Instagram would just make shit weird,” you start scrubbing at the permanent water stain near the beer taps anxiously, “Especially when I set them up.”

Natasha rolls her eyes again. She swears that by the end of the night, she’ll know exactly what the inside of her eyelids look like.

“Whatever,” she huffs, “You said no to Javy and Bob.”

“Javy would rub the fact that I asked in Jake’s face and they’ll start a pissing contest on how to woo me…and Bob,” you look around to make sure no one who knows you all is within earshot, “He’s sweet. Like, sooo sweet.”

Natasha tries not to crack a smile before you get your words out, but she certainly knows where the tail end of your sentence is going. “But it’s definitely not believable that we would be together and my aunt is one hell of an FBI agent and I’m sure he’d crack and rat us out and I’d have to sit there and eat my weight in tiramisu to drown my embarrassment.”

Business is painfully slow for a Thursday evening despite the upcoming weekend. Your eyes dart around the room to look for anyone to come and rescue you from this conversation (and even volunteer to be your date to your bitchy cousin’s wedding next weekend without you asking, but you know to only hope for one miracle at a time). And when your eyes turn up empty for an ample opportunity, your shoulders droop while Natasha snickers at you.

“Cut your losses and just ask him. I know he won’t say no,” she says, coy smirk at home on her face.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“What is so wrong with him that you don’t wanna do it? Huh?”

You ponder on her statement before shaking your head. You’d rather be shot in the foot with a nail gun eight times than expose your silly little schoolgirl crush in the middle of the Hard Deck in front of his best friend turned your best friend since moving to the area five months ago.

“Why not Neil or Brigham? Or hell, even Mickey? I know he’s like, engaged, but Mariella is so freakin’ sweet and I know she’d understand so like-”

“Mmm-mmm. No, no, and hell no.” Your frown plasters itself on your lips faster than you can comprehend at her words. “Rooster or bust.”

Your spine straightens as you begin to engage in protest before you’re cut off by the man himself.

“Rooster or bust, what?” he asks, lips coming out to lick the dryness of the San Diego sun away. Your knees start to buckle and you can hear Natasha stifle a laugh as you try to conceal your lack of balance.

He stands in front of you, hand on his hips and sunglasses tucked on the tight, white tank top underneath his button-down shirt. Today’s print was red with cream-colored hibiscus flowers and you wonder how he could pull them off so well. If it were anyone else, you would have had to try your hardest to keep it together with Natasha in front of you; the jokes about touristy dads and low-budget porn actors in the works.

You realize he’s waiting for an answer as you see Natasha getting called away to sing karaoke with Javy and the gang out of the corner of your eye.

Great. Just fucking great.

“Taking bets on who the best pilot is or?” Bradley speaks, trying to get to the bottom of the small fragment of the conversation he had walked into.

“I-,” you stammer.

Fuck. Can someone just come to the bar and order so I can avoid this?

“You?” he looks at you through his eyebrows comically. Everything he does makes you nervous.

“I-,” the lines in his forehead raise with the infliction of your voice, “I need a favor. Like a big one.”

“Okay,” he laughs, “How big are we talking?”

“Umm-”

“Like ‘giving you my other kidney’ big or letting you borrow my car big?” he interrupts.

“Well-”

“Or do you need me to house sit? Dogsit? Babysit?”

You inhale as you place your hands on the countertop. Your eyes find his honeyed-colored ones and you almost drown in them before your pride kicks in.

I cannot embarrass myself in front of him.

“I need you to come to a wedding,” you speak gently. You can see the wheels turning in his head without him having to say anything. Bradley’s face always gave his thoughts away.

“If you don’t have plans, of course.”

The realization of what you had just said starts to kick you upside the head the longer you look at him. He doesn’t say anything. His face doesn’t move at all. You’re pretty sure he hasn’t even blinked yet.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

“And if you’re comfortable! Obviously!” you start to ramble before you can convince yourself to shut the hell up, “It’s next Saturday in Long Beach near the seaside. You don’t have to say yes or anything but I just thought I’d ask because I had a plus one when I had a boyfriend eight months ago and now-”

“I’ll go.”

“-we’re not together anymore and my bitchy cousin is the one getting married who, by the way, makes everything a competition but that’s beside the point. But I know my mom is gonna be pissed if I don’t bring someone because my aunt is her sister and she’ll bitch about how they wasted money and how my mom is running out of time to become a grandma because I’m not married yet and that’s totally not true because I’m not even thirty so my biological clock hasn’t even started ticking yet but -”

“Hey!” he raises his voice slightly, amusement hidden in his tone, “I said I’d go with ya, kid.” He steps forward to put his hands on your bare shoulders. You try not to melt into his touch.

“S’all good. I love weddings and the beach. Promise it’s not a hassle.”

You’re dumbfounded by his response and how collected he is about your word vomit, not to mention being invited to a wedding where he’ll meet not only your parents, but your entire extended family in a little over a week. You know for certain you wouldn’t have handled the situation as calmly as he had.

“You - you’ll…go?” The sound of Britney Spears’s “Toxic” and Jake absolutely murdering the high notes in the back of the bar is the only thing keeping you from spiraling into another dimension.

“Well, I’m not a liar,” he sits down on the seat Phoenix was previously occupying, “I don’t just say things I don’t mean.”

Your head nods solemnly in silent understanding, your hands grabbing a glass to pour him a whiskey on the rocks. He raises his eyebrows in suspicion at you knowing what his usual drink is, but throws away the thought to comment on it before it can even develop all the way. The subtle pang in his chest of you taking that much notice of him makes itself known. He would be lying if he was to say he didn’t hold a brightly lit candle for you.

You’re a regular, Bradshaw. Get your head out of your ass.

“To be honest,” you start, placing the chilled glass in front of him, “that sounds a lot like something a liar would say.”

He gives you a soft smile as he reaches into his back pocket to grab his wallet. “Well good thing that I’m not one then, right?”

Your heart flutters in nervousness and with about as much grace as a stampede of elephants. You’re positive that Bradley can see the outline of it beating out of your chest.

“No, no, no. Your drink is on the house.”

He shakes his head, forcing the twenty dollar bill that lays in between his fingers next to the scrap paper you have laying near the register. “No, I insist.”

“No, I insist. It’s on me, Bradley.”

He cracks a soft smile as he forces the money into your hand. His fingers wrap yours around the beat-up bill that has definitely seen better days. “That just won’t do ma’am.”

“I”m awaiting Bar results, not living in a shoebox on I-405. I assure you that two dollars and sixty cents won’t break the bank.”

The loud scrapping of a bar stool against the hardwood floor (which will probably leave a noticeable scratch in the hardwood flooring that Penny will pretend not be upset about) interrupts the cocoon of the world that existed with just you and him. Just you and Bradley…and Jake Seresin’s loud ass mouth yelling, “Bradshaw! What the hell, man? Get your ass over here and sing some Journey with me!” across the bar.

He shakes his head in disbelief and if you didn’t know any better (didn’t feed into your delusions, is more like it) you would almost think that he was…disappointed? That he didn’t want to leave you and that he was almost as desperate as you to give each other attention; eyes fully and ears solely attuned to the other.

Hoots and hollers and the sound of his call sign being screamed from his rowdy group of friends make the delusion hard to manage, and the reality finally kicks in that he’s not here for you. He’s here for them.

You wish you weren’t so good at hurting your own feelings sometimes.

“Your spotlight awaits you,” you sigh, trying not to show how dejected you felt to him.

A beat of silence passes before he slides his palms on the front of his jeans.

“Here.” He snatches your blue glitter gel pen off the table, his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth as he begins to write. “Text me the details?”

He offers a slight smile that makes your words catch in your throat; the butterflies dinging around in your stomach begging you to reach out and touch him. To lean forward. To say something. To do something. Anything.

But before you can he’s zipped across the bar and the sound of Call Me by Blondie inflates the room. You look down at the cerulean ink with specks of shimmer in it.

xxx-xxx-xxxx Call me, kid! Bradley B

You’re definitely not gonna call him anytime soon…

“Sweetheart, I love you, but if you dry those glasses one more time I think I’ll have a brain aneurysm.”

Penny snatches the dish towel from your hands as your mouth gapes in silent protest. She throws it lazily on the countertop and snags the crate of beer glasses that you were going to town on away from you. The clinging sound of the dishes makes your head droop with disappointment.

“I wasn’t done yet! They still feel slippery! ”you complain and she just teasingly shakes her head.

“So?”

She winks at you and you have to find it in your heart not to be a little annoyed at her for cutting your task off mid-attempt.

Perfectionism fuels your life and she knows this. She knows that you’re using the glasses to stress clean. She knows that your cousin’s wedding weekend starts on Friday and you’re fighting the urge to tear your hair out. She also knows that you have Bradley’s phone number on a slip of paper that’s burning a hole through your nightstand because you still haven’t called him.

“So?” you ask, lightly mimicking Penny’s statement, “Someone’s gonna drop the glass because they’ve never learned how to hold it the right way and then there’s gonna be glass shards everywhere and they’ll get hurt and-”

“You are such a worry wart, my dear. Reeelaaax,” she interrupts, placing her warm, nimble fingers on your shoulders.

The subtle sunburn you had gotten this past weekend is slowly starting to calm down, but the initial sting still startles you. She can see the small happenings of a frown starting to form on your lips and she decides to frown along with you. She spins you to face her and holds your forearms in her hands, offering them a gentle squeeze of encouragement.

It’s not a secret that Penny Benjamin takes pride in knowing her staff well and loving them even better. In the five months she’s gotten to know you, she’s taken you in as one of her own without making her love for you about her. That was kind of her thing; knowing all without having to be told and giving so selflessly without having to ask if you were in need.

Penny just got it, and it’s hard to find people like that nowadays; people who love you genuinely and truly expecting nothing in return.

The thought of her warmness makes you sniffle, and you’re sure that if the jukebox wasn’t turned on and playing some Beach Boys tune, the tears would’ve made their way down your face at a speed that Formula One drivers would envy.

“I know what it feels like to have your every movement judged and not being able to say anything to defend yourself,” she starts, “But you’re smart. You’re kind. You’re so important. And you’re nothing less than amazing, so don’t let anyone treat you like you aren’t.”

You can’t muster up the words to keep the conversation alive. You’re sure that all that would come out of your mouth is a blubbering mess you don’t feel like trying to force out in between choked sobs. Besides, the car doors closing in the parking lot alert you both to the Wednesday night crowd making their way in.

You settle for a small “thank you” before she cracks another smile at you; lips quirked up in amusement. She saunters off to the back to grab the bucket of prepped lime wedges.

“You never have to thank me for the words you deserve, sweetheart. Those are on the house.”

You snort before wiping your nose with the back of your hand. Only she could manage to subdue the mini meltdown brewing in the depths of your chest. But Penny was just like that.

Always calm, cool, and collected.

The night moves slowly in a frame-by-frame manner (one that emulates the night you asked Bradley to be your date, but you shake the thought whenever it tries to enter your head because you think you may actually puke). It’s nothing too out of the ordinary for a Wednesday night.

Mickey and Mariella pop in for mango margaritas after their weekly date night. Mickey gives you a small “hello” before flashing you a knowing smirk. You try to ignore Mariella swatting at his chest, but the imagery eats you up inside. You know that he knows and that she knows, and not taking the steps to actually ask Bradley to a wedding you invited him to makes you feel guilty.

He picks up on your guilt when his eyes catch you twisting your ring around your pointer finger. His eyes soften and he almost considers apologizing to you before he thinks about it. Bringing more attention to it would embarrass you more, he figures. The apology sitting on his tongue is swallowed down with a sip of his drink and Mariella’s kick to his shin.

“Well, we’re about to head out. We’ll see you Friday?” Mickey declares as Mariella narrows her dark eyes at him.

Your heart stops and your fingers feel numb.

Fuck. He wants to bring up Bradley. What do I say? Fuck. Shit. Wait. How does he even know? Has Bradley brought me up? Fuck, wait. He wouldn’t do that. Why would he even be talking about me? He probably told them that I’m obsessed with him and he was cornered and couldn’t say no and-

“Uh? Are you good?” Mickey looks at you with soft eyes and waves his hand in front of your face.

Mariella slaps it down from in front of you. “Don’t do that. She’s not a fucking dog, Mick.”

He rolls his eyes playfully. “Duh. I know that. I just wanted to make sure she wasn’t having a seizure or anything like that.”

“A seizure?”

“They’re called absence seizures. Went down a whole YouTube rabbit hole about them a couple of nights ago.”

You chuckle at their antics and can’t wait for the day they finally have their wedding. At least when the time comes you know you won’t have to forge a story about having a boyfriend. And it’ll be a wedding filled with people you actually like; ones that don’t make you order water out of feeling insecure about how many calories you’re consuming or ones that gossip about the shade of blush you wore making you look too “flushed” behind your back.

“I go down rabbit holes all the time,” you chide, “I watched this documentary about the Pentagon Papers and the atomic bomb from World War II the other day, and now I’m confident I could get my Ph.D. in like, Historical American Screw-Ups.”

Mickey and Mariella let out chortles at your statement before starting to head toward the exit.

“Well, we’ll see you later then. Tell us about that wedding on Monday?”

Your mouth hangs open as they stride out the front doors of Hard Deck. The shock of what just happened makes your heart beat erratically.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! He told.

Mike Metcalf sits at the corner of the bar top on his regular stool with his sweating glass housing a whiskey neat. He sends you a teasing smirk as you move near him to wipe the countertop down.

“Still haven’t texted him?” he asks.

The shock continues to run through your body. You have to place your hands on the edge of the table to keep yourself from stumbling over.

Why does everyone in this bar know what’s going on?

Admiral Metcalf was friendly with you - one of those regulars who offer you engaging conversation, tidbits of grandfatherly affection, and generous tips.

You would tell him not to tip you so much for a single drink, but he would always insist; quoting something along the lines of you reminding him of his granddaughter and that you treated everyone with such kindness and respect that you deserved it back tenfold.

You take a deep breath, arms pushing you up slowly to stand upright. “I’m scared to ask how you know.”

He chuckles, a real belly laugh, and you struggle to find out why you can’t piece together a logical explanation for how he would know.

“Well, apparently Baby Goose’s been losing his mind ‘round the base about how this really smart and sweet girl invited him to a wedding and won’t text him about it.” He shrugs before taking a long drink from his glass. “Thought it sounded like you. I meant to ask about it the other night, but once you turn eighty you forget things at the drop of a hat.”

“Smart and sweet?” you want to ask, but you know that it would confirm rather than get you the answers that you want. You shake your head to dislodge the thought before furrowing your eyebrows.

“. . . Baby Goose?”

The older man plays with the paper coaster underneath his drink. A soft smile blooms on his lips. “We’re talking about Bradley Bradshaw. Correct?”

You start to drum your fingers against the lip of the bar top. The thought of lying briefly crosses your mind until the sound of James Brown’s shriek at the beginning of “I Got You (I Feel Good)” startles you.

“Uhh, hello? You still there, kiddo?”

I have got to get better at answering quicker.

You straighten your spine and pop your hand on your hip. “Wouldn’t the correct terminology be ‘gosling’?”

He raises his brows, “Rooster. Baby Goose. Bradshaw. Gosling,” he rattles off, counting the phrases on his fingers, “Does any of this ring a bell?”

You chew on your lip. The toe of your sneaker slides underneath the sole of your other one. The fidgeting tells Admiral Metcalf all he needs to know.

“Maybe,” you say under your breath.

“Maybe?” he questions. He leans forward to investigate your expression with his eyes.

Another sigh exits your lips. “Okay, well, maybe a little.”

You sound defeated, he thinks. He decides to investigate even though he can hear his wife’s voice in his head telling him not to. If he turns his head just a little bit to the right, his hearing aid catches the sound of the jukebox. He can’t focus on you talking and his wife’s voice if he also hears the jukebox.

Sorry, Carrie.

His chair swivels a little bit and he wipes his hands on his jeans. “It’s certainly more than a little, kiddo. Especially if you asked him to a wedding.”

You scoff, annoyance painting the inside of your brain. Nosiness is one thing you absolutely cannot stand, and it’s the reason why you insisted on not moving back in with your mom after law school. Working yourself to the bone to study for the Bar during the day while mixing drinks and popping caps off of beer bottles at night seemed worlds better than having your privacy invaded constantly. Tired or private. From where you stand currently, it’s safe to say you picked the latter.

Or so you thought.

“So is this just a thing?” You can feel your heart rate speed up as you start to become defensive. “Like, a trend where all you Hard Deck patrons like to gossip and spread rumors?”

“It’s not a rumor if it’s true.”

You almost roll your eyes but the politeness you were raised with paired with your people-pleasing won’t let you.

“Yeah, but it’s technically gossip if you didn’t hear it from me,” you state directly, “How do you even talk to all these people on the base? Aren’t you retired?”

Admiral Metcalf chuckles. “I may be in bed by 8 every night but it doesn’t mean I’m not social, my dear.”

“Okay, but why would your connections be talking to you about Gosling?” You lean on your forearms and glance at the cash register to make sure someone isn’t waiting to be served. Your eyes glance back to the older gentleman sat in front of you. “Aren’t you guys like. . .fifteen generations removed from each other?”

He gently pats your arm with his calloused palm. “You’re a funny girl.”

“You’re dodging my question,” you frown, sitting up straight and grabbing him his usual glass of water he drinks before he decides to go home.

He mouths a quick “thank you” before taking a sip. “Did it ever occur to you that I was a pilot?”

The wheels in your brain start turning to decipher why he would say that and how it would mean that he and Bradley know each other.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“And a Top Gun instructor.”

“Okay. . .?” You’re starting to get the hint now, but it still just seems like a lot of abstract events put together.

“I taught Maverick and Goose.”

Penny’s “boyfriend, not-boyfriend” who comes in to pick her up or hang out on days when the crowd is as dead as a cemetery. Maverick.

But who’s -

“Goose?” you ask, finishing your question out loud.

“Bradley’s father.”

And shit. Oh shit. Fucking shit!

“I- You- Wait-” you stammer. He simply sips on his water, amusement painted on his features at the signs of your internal panic.

“So that’s how I know. I keep in touch with Maverick and he just happened to mention the absolute mess Rooster’s been the past couple days about this wedding,” he declares, “Which, by the way, is kind of rude to invite someone and then not go into detail about it. Don’t you think?”

Your mouth opens and closes in shock, the magnitude of your recent revelation being endorsed by the silence coming from you.

Your brain can’t even begin to wrap around all the degrees of separation and acquaintances and friendships Bradley has from the bombshell of information that was just dropped on you. This place is just littered with people who probably knew him before he was Rooster; all puppy fat and awkward haircuts. You bet there’s probably a series of his prom and high school graduation photos that circulated from eye to eye.

But this also means that if you go through with it, that if you actually bring him with you to Long Beach this weekend, you’ll become part of that essence of knowing - everyone knowing what Bradley told them and your entire weekend spent with him being a topic of discussion.

You try to get over the dehumanizing feeling that will come with being called “Hard Deck Girl” after this weekend when he inevitably tells Maverick about his weekend who will then tell Iceman who will probably tell Admiral Metcalf. You can’t bear to think about all the snickers and teasing that will come from Bradley’s group of friends.

Hangman loves to tease you already. You don’t think you’ll survive more “pigtail pulling” if word gets out about Bradley having to hold your hand and awkwardly slow dance with you on Saturday.

Admiral Metcalf lets out an impressive-sounding whistle that catches your attention and brings you back to Earth.

“That’s one gorgeous Bronco,” he comments, head turned to look outside the windows of the bar. “Used to have one just like it years ago.”

Your eyes follow his gaze to see the cobalt blue vehicle parked in one of the empty spaces of the parking lot. The headlights fade as the owner steps out of the vehicle and -

Fuck!

He has a soft bounce in his strut. His Raybans are tucked into the collar of his white t-shirt. The light-wash denim of his jeans hugs his legs just the right way. His slightly rosy cheeks and tanned forearms bulging from his shirt make him unmistakable.

Bradley Bradshaw is about to walk into the bar. On a Wednesday night. While the crowd is drier than the Mojave.

And there’s nowhere for you to run.

He has a slightly faster pace set to his walk than he usually does. . . Not like you spend your time watching him walk (even though you do, and you’d rather roll over and die than admit that to anyone).

“Good luck getting him back on that perch,” Admiral Metcalf speaks up. He opens his worn leather wallet and fishes out a fifty-dollar bill. “He won’t fly back up there once he gets off.”

You follow him to the cash register to ring him up. The drawer is opened and the bills counted for his change before he stops you.

“Keep it. Part of your tip,” he says, “Least I can do for all the trouble I’ve caused you tonight.”

You begin to thank him before the saloon-style doors open and Bradley stands dead in the center, hands on his hips and eyes grazing the surroundings.

“Good luck, kiddo. I’m sure I’ll hear all about it,” Admiral Metcalf says before turning on his heel. He claps Bradley on the shoulder as a brief greeting and continues his stride outside to the parking lot.

Your heart starts beating in your chest erratically; a tell-tale sign of white hot panic that makes your knees buckle and heat grow on your scalp.

And you’re. . . starting to sweat?

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Bradley spots you while you stand paralyzed at the cash register. Your fingers are shaky and a lump in your throat starts to form. You feel like a deer in headlights when he begins to stalk forward to approach you.

“I’ve gotta bone to pick with you, missy,” his voice booms, his steps coming to a halt.

His hands spread and turn as he leans on the table; eyes locked on your face.

Your adrenaline kicks in and your feet start to move faster than your brain. A harsh swallow plagues your throat before you book it to the kitchen; french braid slinging heavy on your back and the bucket of lime wedges on your mind.

Bradley zips around the oval-shaped bar top and grabs your waist before you make it out of the opening. His hands squeeze your sides softly. If you were in your right frame of mind, your cheeks would have flushed.

“Uh-uh,” he says, whipping you around to face him. His grip falls to your forearms; holding you firmly but not enough to hurt. “What’s your deal, kid?”

His breaths are exasperated. When he left work today, he had no idea that he would be chasing you around the bar like a goddamn dog who had gotten off its leash. Despite being in good shape (which he takes pride in, given the number of shirtless runs he does in his neighborhood) he still finds himself a little winded.

Your eyes are almost bulging out of your head. His touch feels electric and you feign the ability to even think about opening your mouth to respond. Bradley Bradshaw is here, right in front of you, and almost holding you hostage.

Hostage is dramatic, you think. But so is chasing me.

“I-” you start. Another harsh swallow forces its way down your throat. At this point, you think that swallowing your spit is the only way you can remind your body to breathe.

Bradley’s eyes soften at your frazzled state. He takes his hands off of you and drops them back to his sides.

“I- I need to get the lime wedge bucket,” you rush out, the entire sentence sounding like one phrase.

“Let me come with you,” he says.

Your eyes widen in surprise. “You’re not allowed back there.”

“Yeah well, you’re not allowed to ghost me about a wedding you invited me to, but look where we are,” he counters back. His legs start toward the kitchen hidden behind gray steel doors near the back.

You stand frozen; trying to catch your breath and looking around to still see an empty bar with no signs of life.

“Are you coming or not?” he calls out, a smile on his face juxtaposed to the annoyed expression he wore a few minutes ago when he caught you.

And if it were anyone else, you would be utterly annoyed. You would refuse and start rattling off how it’s a health code violation for patrons to be in the back serving area or how it was inappropriate or how you didn’t want anyone to come in and clean out the Hard Deck while you were distracted.

But because it’s Bradley and because you have this stupid big fat school girl crush on him, you don’t say anything even though you so badly want to.

He’s already a little annoyed with me, you think. He doesn’t want to hear me ramble on top of that.

Your sneakered feet follow him into the terracotta quarry-tiled kitchen in the back. He moves to the side to allow you to step in front of him in pursuit of the infamous lime wedge bucket you had your heart set on.

The silence between the two of you is deafening, but you can’t even rub two of your brain cells together to form a coherent sentence that won’t leave you hunched over in embarrassment. Having a crush as an adult is downright embarrassing. But having a crush as an adult on an older, more refined adult is absolutely humiliating.

The industrial refrigerator stands sleek and tall. The door weighs as heavy as it looks and you damn near pull your shoulder out of socket every time you attempt to open it. More than often, Penny has to come save you and open it because you can never seem to get the resistance of the rubber door gasket to give way.

Thankfully, the door opens with a heavy tug and the bucket of limes was left on a shelf you could reach. You pop the fridge door closed with your hip before you start a fast-paced walk back to the bar; leaving Bradley behind to scramble up to you once again.

In hindsight, your body language and lack of talking makes you seem furious and annoyed. And maybe you are, but it’s mostly frustration and annoyance pointed at yourself because you can’t just be fucking normal.

No, because you have to be the odd one out of your family. You have to be the one cousin who got dumped by her “perfect” dentist boyfriend (who treated you terribly, but you never complained aloud to your family for your fear of being called ungrateful and unbecoming). You have to be awkward and sensitive and young with a silly-ass schoolgirl crush on a gorgeous man who David of Michelangelo envies.

The bucket of lime wedges is slammed on the counter before you realize what your hands are doing.

Bradley rounds in front of the cash register, a sheepish look on his face. “Hey, kid,” he whispers, “I’m sorry for barging in on you like that. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

A wave of guilt breaks the tide in your brain. He’s apologizing, and it’s sincere. It’s certainly not anything you’re used to. Usually, everything is your fault and you find yourself pushing your feelings aside to accept a half-assed apology.

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have invited you to something that’s such a big deal and then refused the details,” you say.

And you should stop there, you know, but you do that stupid thing you do about having to over-explain everything and keep going. Word vomit to the maximum.

“I mean, I think I kind of bombarded you about it? I know you said that you would go and that you didn’t mind, but it’s really a lot to ask of someone to come with you and fill in for your ex in front of your shitty family who has a cow because you didn’t get married right after undergrad.”

You rock back and forth on your heels and you pinch your fingers together to help soothe yourself. The anxiousness exuding off of you is obvious and Bradley can’t help but feel extremely guilty for making you feel horrible on top of what feelings you were already dealing with.

“You can really say no, Bradley. My feelings won’t be hurt if you do. Honest,” you whisper, finishing your statement.

Feeling small isn’t foreign to you in the slightest.

His eyes soften even more. He recognizes the doubt written all over you. He’s felt that way so many times before.

“I said what I meant, and I really wanna go to that wedding with you. Honest to God, I mean it,” he says, taking a seat on a stool nearby. “I just need to know what the plan is so I can pick you up and everything. Don’t want my suit to clash with your dress now, do we?”

A small giggle leaves your lips. “Alright, Casanova. You’ve convinced me.”

He extends his hand out to you. “Deal?” The large palm looks inviting, but you’re sure the adrenaline coursing through your veins has made your hands clammy.

Your brows knit together and your lips pull themselves into a straight line. “What the hell are you doing?” Suddenly, you’re self-conscious about the potential armpit stains that may have soaked your tank top.

Goddamn nerves.

He contorts his expression into one of faux offense. “Making you shake on it. What the fuck does it look like?”

You let out a breath through your nose. “I mean, exactly that, but don’t you think that’s too. . .”

“Sophisticated? Formal?” He grins as if he had just won the lottery.

“Little Rascals -esque.”

Bradley kisses his teeth before laughing. “You’re never too old to relish in the magic that’s The Little Rascals.”

“What happens if I don’t shake?” you question, fingers drawing circles on the surface near the cash register, “Will I be a target of the He-Man Woman Haters Club?”

“Unfortunately, I can’t confirm but I can deny only if you shake on it and promise me a dance.”

You shake your head before he finishes his sentence.

“I’m a terrible dancer.”

“Then I’ll make sure my dress shoes are steel-toe,” he reasons, shrugging his broad shoulders. His biceps subtly flex and you almost bite your lip but the fact that he’s so close and can see your expression makes you withhold.

“You really wanna go still?”

“How many times do I have to say yes, kid? I want to go with you and I promise you that we’ll have the best time ever. Is that clear enough?”

Penny waltzes back in before you can answer. Her eyes hold a mischievous glint as they look at the interaction going on between you and Bradley. She sends you a soft wink before she joins you behind the bar.

“Bradley!” she greets with a grin, coming to come rest next to you and in front of his seat.

“Hey, Pen. Mav taking you out on the bike today?”

She subtly bumps your hip with hers. She’s about to stir up some trouble.

“No, no,” she sighs, “I have to close up here tonight so we’re going this weekend.”

Bradley nods as you stand frozen next to her.

“Speaking of weekends,” she chirps, “What are your plans, Bradley?”

I love Penny. I love Penny. I love Penny. If I say it enough, I won’t wanna kill her.

“Oh, the kid and I were planning on going to her cousin’s wedding in Long Beach. We were actually just talking about it,” he answers as Penny lets out a dramatic sigh.

“Oh thank God. The suspense of if she was actually gonna talk to you about it was killing us.”

“Us?” you ask, voice filled with irritation and concern.

“Me, Pete, Tom, Mike,” Penny lists, “Jake and Rueben started a money pool. Guess Hangman’s a hundred and twenty dollars richer now.”

You groan and pinch your nose between your fingers as Penny takes your shoulders into her palms and rubs them. She picks up a crate of shot glasses before turning to leave.

“Bradley?” she calls, and his ears perk up.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Stay out of my kitchen,” her eyes narrow playfully, “That’s a health code violation.”

He holds his hands up with a grin. “You got it.”

“You kids have fun this weekend. Gonna have to take tons of pictures and show them to me!” she exclaims before disappearing behind the same steel doors Bradley had followed you into earlier.

A beat of silence passes; partly because you’re so stunned by what had just occurred.

“So,” he clears his throat, “Now that I know you’re old enough to have watched The Little Rascals, what’s the plan? Like is this an overnight thing or a reception thing or?”

You perk up at his question.

“Oh, umm.” You subconsciously pick at your cuticles before forcing yourself to stop. Your mom and aunt would be disappointed to see them ripped to shreds. “So I kinda - well, it’s an overnight thing but we definitely don’t have to stay overnight.”

He nods his head, ears intently listening to what you’re saying. You think he’s nodding his head to queue up a firm decline to your plans despite his insistence on going with you.

“I mean, you don’t have to! You can like, drive home and come back the next day? Or not go to the rehearsal dinner and just meet me at the wedding? I just know that sleeping in the same room is gonna be weird and I think my room reservation only has one bed because like I said, I had a boyfriend whenever they booked it and I never changed it after we broke up and-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he interrupts your word vomit, “Breathe, kid. Breathe.”

You take a deep inhale in and you want to kick yourself for doing it at his request.

Are you just gonna do whatever Bradley tells you to do, or do we actually have a fucking mind of our own?

“Why would I leave you hanging like that? Huh?” He licks his lips subtly and you have to keep from drooling. “You asked me to come with you and I’m gonna go the whole time and have a blast.”

You nod your head. Your thoughts and emotions have been bouncing off the wall in a vapid fashion from the two hours you’ve been clocked in.

“Okay,” you whisper shakily.

“Okay,” a laugh jumps from his throat and he leans in closer. “Can I get your number, at least? So I can call you instead and make it easier?”

You’re reaching beneath the bar and grabbing aimlessly at the mason jar full of random gel pens and a roll of open receipt paper that was too short to be put inside the machine but too long to be thrown away.

Lime green glitter ink spells out your phone number on the stark white paper before you wordlessly slide it over to rest near Bradley’s fingertips.

He sends you a smile before pulling out his phone and typing the number into the keypad. You have to look away because if you don’t, you’re sure you’ll start hyperventilating.

Your cell phone buzzes in your back pocket once, twice, thrice.

“Are you…calling me?” you ask, head tilting to the side to meet his mischievous glint.

“Context clues, kid. C’mon,” he replies. He holds his phone to his ear as he listens to the dial tone.

You stand in disbelief in front of him.

He shoos you with his hands. “Go on! Answer!” he urges.

You sigh and playfully roll your eyes before slinging your phone out of your back pocket. You click the green phone icon on your screen before bringing it to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Alright, missy. What’s the address I’m picking you up from Friday afternoon?”

Bradley Bradshaw may not be your boyfriend and probably will never be, but he sure knows how to play the part well enough to fool your family. He may even have you fooled too.

“Shit!” you yelp. Your upper body tenses up and you slam your curling iron on the countertop of your bathroom sink.

The strong vibrations of your phone ringing move your device closer to the edge. You scramble to pick it up and bring it to your ear. You didn’t bother looking at the caller ID before answering. Odds are, it’s either your mother or your only cousin that you can actually stand, Hallie.

“Fuck,” you whisper before clearing your throat, “Hello?”

You flash your neck in the mirror, fingers dancing around the irritated baby pink skin surrounding the already darkening magenta wound. The skin feels hot to the touch and you know that its placement makes it look more like a hickey than anything. Your mind starts to wonder if putting makeup on it would be a bad decision.

“Hey, kid.”

Fuck. Bradley. It’s Bradley. I forgot about Bradley!

“I’m outside.” You take a deep swallow that you pray he can’t hear over the phone. “You said the house with the purple hydrangeas near the front steps. Right?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Am I this fucking stupid that I can’t even think of another word to use right now?

The long pause doesn’t make Bradley hang up.

“Kid? You okay in there?” The sound of a car door slamming can be heard through the receiver. You listen to the Carlsons down the street mowing their lawn. A few dogs are barking and the sound of Bradley’s shoes hitting the pavement plays a symphony with the bliss of what is a Friday afternoon at 2 PM encapsulates.

His knuckles rap against your front door and you audibly gasp. Your finger hangs up the phone before sprinting to let him in. The flutters in your stomach make you feel like you might projectile vomit any second. No amount of pep talks you had given yourself in the past two days can prepare you for the events of this weekend; not to mention Bradley and your big fat crush on him being the cherry on top.

You swing the door open; a shocked Bradley staring at you and a frenzied heart damn near beating out of your chest.

“I’m not ready yet!” you exclaim, turning your back and rushing back into your bathroom. You move so swiftly that you don’t even notice the bouquet of flowers clutched in his right hand.

Fuck! The curling iron is still on.

Bradley lets out a laugh. “Well, hello to you too.”

You pick the iron back up and finish curling the piece of hair you had started on before being interrupted.

“Sorry!” you shout back, “Give me five and I’ll be ready to go.”

Bradley lets out a puff of air he didn’t know he had been holding in. If someone had asked him a month ago where he thought he would be spending a Friday afternoon in mid-March, he probably said he wouldn’t know for sure.

Which is true.

He’s worked out a schedule where he’s able to leave work by 11 AM on Fridays and what he does is often a wild card; his Fridays range anywhere from mundane errands to impromptu skydiving endeavors with Coyote and Phoenix. He might even go for a quick afternoon surf session if he feels up to it.

He’ll admit, sometimes he imagines spending his Friday afternoons with you. In one timeline, he convinces you to ride down the coast with him at sunset. Another has you laying on your stomach at the beach with your nose shoved in a book pretending not to be ogling him while he surfs.

Bradley even lets his mind wander to the possible tan lines on your hips and how he would graze his thumbs just beneath your bikini bottoms to feel the fullness of the skin there, but then he realizes how inappropriate that may be, and he lets the thought sit in the back of his brain unwatered and underdeveloped.

Besides, he was raised better than imagining women naked. . .Even though he thinks you’re absolutely stunning both clothed and naked. . .And would love the opportunity to see you na-

That’s beside the point. Get it together, man.

His eyes survey the surroundings of your living room. Throw pillows and blankets. Candles on the coffee table. Books everywhere. Open windows create sunspots on the carpet. A vintage record player on the shelf of your bookcase and your Tango in the Night vinyl playing softly.

He likes to think that in another life (he’s hopeful for this one, but he’s learned what having too much hope does to a person) your blue fuzzy blanket has a home on his cream-colored couch or that your Fleetwood Mac vinyl finds solace next to his Otis Redding and James Brown records.

Bradley takes a seat on your couch. The brown butcher paper holding together the peony floral arrangement he had picked up crunches in his hand. The other pats along to the soft rhythm arrangement in time with “Mystified.” He can smell the faint scent of your perfume and the sounds of life you make, the small gasps and soft humming and whispered curse words, fill him with endearment.

He’s so wrapped up in melting into your aura that he doesn’t even realize that you had left the bathroom until you stood dead in front of him; curled hair, makeup on, and an electric blue dress laying flawlessly on the silhouette of your body.

You make his mouth dry and any words that he wants to say disintegrate with how amazing he thinks you look. Him not saying anything makes you panic and you wonder if you forgot to blend the bronzer near your neck or if your blush was too pink or if there was a piece of hair you had forgotten or if the dress you had on actually made you look like a frumpy version of Aquamarine (a lot of or, or, ors).

Bradley, please say something.

He sits up straighter upon seeing you. The navy blue dress pants on his long legs bring out the green in his hazel eyes. Your heart feels warm at the thought of him matching you; especially after offhandedly mentioning that you were thinking of wearing a blue dress to the dinner rehearsal.

Your eyes glance to his non-dominate hand and spot the pink peonies wrapped in butcher paper. The simple notion of him getting you flowers makes your knees weak, and the fact that he didn’t get them from the grocery store - that it was an arrangement that he had gotten from a florist - makes you wish you were a better woman and weren’t thinking of dropping to your knees right there in front of him and thanking him with a blowj-

He doesn’t even think you look pretty enough to say something. Don’t get too ahead of yourself.

“Oh,” he wipes his empty hand on the fabric of his pants, “These are for you.” He pushes the bouquet forward for your observation.

A smile is center stage on your lips as you grab them from his grasp. “Thank you. This is really kind of you, Bradley.” You turn to head into your kitchen to grab a vase.

She didn’t say they were pretty. Does she even like peonies?

The silence surrounding you both is deafening. If you could ignore the slightly prickly feeling of heat eating away at the hairline on the back of your neck, you can almost forget that Bradley is even here.

But the thing is, Bradley is here. He’s here and so present and you’re gonna have to give your poor heart a break from beating so fast if you want to survive this weekend without having a stroke.

All the thought does is make you even more nervous (as if that’s even fucking possible at this point).

“Okay, kid. If we’re gonna be together all weekend, this,” he points his finger between you and him, “Ain’t fucking happening. We need to tallllkkkk.”

You swallow. “I -We are talking.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

“Okay,” you whisper sheepishly, your bare toe grinding into the carpet. The friction sends a wave of heat to your otherwise numb toes. It’s unconventional, but at least it’s helping you feel something other than anxiety.

He nods his head before standing up. His eyes glance at the gold watch on his left hand. “Well, it’s 2:30 and the rehearsal dinner is at 5. We need to get going if we wanna beat traffic.”

“Okay.”

He sighs, watched wrist coming down to lay his hand flat across his stomach. “Talking means more than just saying ‘okay.’ That’s not a conversation.”

You pause for a moment. The flowers he had brought still rest in between the crease of your inner elbow. More silence ensues. You just don’t know what to say.

He starts heading down your small hallway. The whiff of his cologne kickstarts your reaction.

“Hey!” you say, starting to stalk after him, “What the hell are you doing?”

He snickers. “Grabbing your bags? I was serious about getting a move on. Don’t want your folks to think your boyfriend is a slacker now, do ya?”

Bradley grabs the two bags you had struggled to set outside your bedroom door with ease. You never forget how strong he looks (oggling at a guy three days out of the six you work will do that to you) but you always seem to forget how strong he actually is.

You close your mouth before you begin to drool. Bradley will for sure be talking about this weekend with his friends and uncle. You don’t want to add any more embarrassing details to the story. Besides, your awkward preteen pictures from your mom’s Facebook hadn’t even been brought up yet. Some room needs to be saved for your utter humiliation.

Your feet slide into the pair of heels you had set aside before you scramble to grab your keys and purse. How Bradley can move so quickly is beyond your thinking capacity as you haphazardly take the needle off of your record. Your eyes do a quick sweep over your living room to make sure that everything is turned off so you won’t magically come home to a fire safety example at the conclusion of your weekend.

Now, if you can just make yourself stop feeling so jittery, you might be able to actually manage to fit your key into the lock of your front door.

After what feels like three years (and the embarrassment of knowing Bradley probably watched you struggle), the keys are stuffed back into your purse before you pause on your porch.

A black Ford F-150 sits curbside to your driveway. It doesn’t fit in with the SUVs and small sedans that make up the neighborhood you live in. You had never seen a car like this where you lived at all. Come to think of it, you had never seen this truck ever.

Doesn’t Bradley drive a Bronco?

Your eyebrows remain wrinkled with your puzzled expression as he rounds the back of the car; the resounding noise of the back door shutting makes his entrance known. He opens the passenger door for you and stands next to it.

He squints as he looks up at you. The sun is blazing and he forgot to grab his sunglasses from his side of the door.

“Cold feet?” he calls.

You start to head down the stairs and onto the pavement. “It’s seventy-six degrees. I think cold feet is kinda ill worded.”

“It’s a saying.”

The crossed arms over your chest signal your apprehension. Bradley stands before you, leaning against the truck and his arm slung on the top of the cab. He raises his brows at you and does a gentle motion of his head to the seat, inviting you to climb in. Even next to the large vehicle, he still looks. . .huge.

In a good way! In a good way. He’s actually really fit and I’m shaking inside and I’m sure I’m sweating and I have got to stop wearing light colors in front of him because he can probably see the sweat and - Oh God. Oh God, the seats are leather. What if I sweat all over them?

The lump in your throat is swallowed as you stand before him. “This isn’t your car,” you say lamely.

He scoffs. “Spying on me? Do you have my license plates memorized too?”

You know he’s teasing and that he doesn’t mean it literally, but you almost answer, “yes” because you do. Thankfully, you’re in the stage of your anxiousness where you clam up instead of puking your words out.

You cock your head to the side, eyes narrowed because of the bright sun.

“How do I know it’s not stolen? What if we get pulled over because it’s stolen?” you wonder, and then the word vomit picks up and - “ I can’t go to jail! I had nothing to do with it and the ABA is gonna pull my Bar application if we get arrested and I spent too much damn money and worked too damn hard to let an F-150 ruin it for-”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters into a small laugh, “I know you love the Bronco,” he gives you a teasing look, “But the Bronco has no air and I figured that since we’re driving two hours on the highway, you would appreciate not having to ride with the windows down the entire time.”

“You still haven’t confirmed that it’s your car.”

“You know, for someone so smart, you are extremely bad at picking up on obvious context clues. Why the hell would I steal a pickup truck and then drive you to a wedding in it?”

You scrounge your brain for a reply. “. . .For the plot?”

He whistles and crosses his arms over his chest, mimicking your current stance. “Wow. I have a comedian for a date.”

“I’m serious. It could be a possibility!”

“Well I don’t think “felon” looks good next to “painstakingly handsome,” so I’ll pass.”

You remain standing in front of him. Stubbornness was a quality that your mother both loved and loathed and you know it, but Bradley has yet to see this side of you yet. Your arms wrap around your torso tighter and your eyebrows are raised every so slightly.

Bradley knows what you’re doing. He used to do it to Maverick all the time when he was growing up. You’re digging your heels in.

“C’mon. Don’t start poutin’ on me before I even get to disappoint you with my dancing,” he quips. He brings his face closer to yours before flashing you a toothy smile.

You sigh dramatically before letting him help you into the seat. The gentle “Atta girl,” he gives you pinkens your cheeks. You pray he won’t notice your flushed face when he sits on the driver's side of the car. Every interaction you’ve had with him has kept you tossing and turning at night because of your nervousness.

So many things you wish you could take back and so many ways you wish you could act normal; a never-ending cycle of “could’ve, would’ve, should’ve,” and the thought leaves a small seed of sadness in your stomach.

698 notes · View notes

hotvintagepoll · 2 months

Text

Propaganda

Machiko Kyō (Rashomon, Floating Weeds, Older Brother Younger Sister)— Considered an early sex symbol in Japanese cinema. Also just an ethereal beauty who can also go feral/unhinged in a glorious way.

Judy Garland (Meet Me In St. Louis, A Star is Born, Summer Stock)— Judy is the GOAT when it comes to classic movie musicals. The voice of an angel who deserved so much better than she got. She can sing she can dance she can act she's a triple threat. Though she had a turbulent personal life (her treatment as a child star by the studio system makes me mad as hell like Louis b Mayer fight me ((she was made to believe that she was physically unattractive by the constant criticism of film executives who made her feel ugly and who manipulated her onscreen appearance by capping her teeth and using discs in her nose to change its shape and Mayer called her "my little hunchback" like imagine hearing that as a child and not having damage)) she always goddamn delivered on screen and in any performance she gave. She began in vaudeville performing with her sisters and was signed to MGM at 13. Starting out in supporting parts especially paired with mickey Rooney in a bunch of films (she's the best part tbh) she eventually transferred to the lead role. She is best known for her starring role in movie musicals like the iconic Wizard of Oz (somewhere over the rainbow still hits hard and is ranked the top film song of all time), meet me in St. Louis (Judy singing have your self a merry little Christmas brings tears to the eyes she is that powerful), the Harvey girls (she looks like a technicolor dream and sings a catchy af song about trains), Easter parade ( dancing and singing with Fred Astaire), for me and my gal, the pirate, and summer stock ( with pal Gene Kelly who she helped when he was starting out and he helped her when she was struggling). But she also does non- singing just as well like the clock ( her first movie where she sings no songs and is an underrated ww2 era romance), her Oscar nominated a star is born ( like the man that got away she put her whole soul in that and I have beef with the fact she lost to grace kelly ((whom I love but like still not even her best work)), and judgement at Nuremberg (a courtroom drama about the nazi war criminal trials). Outside of film she made concert appearances to record-breaking audiences, released 8 studio albums, and had her own Emmy-nominated tv series. She was the youngest (39) and first female recipient of the Cecil B DeMille award for lifetime achievement in the film industry. Girl was a lifelong democrat and was a financial and moral supporter of many causes including the civil rights movement (she was at the March on Washington and held a press conference to protest the 16th street Baptist church bombings). She was a friend of the Kennedy family and would call jfk weekly often ending the calls by singing the first few lines of somewhere over the rainbow (she thought of them as Gemini twins).She was a member of the committee for the first amendment which was formed in response to the HUAC investigations. Though she died far too young and tragically she remains an icon for her work and her life. As a girl who didn't feel like i was as pretty as everyone else I have always felt a connection to Judy and I just really love her.

This is round 3 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Machiko Kyō:

Judy:

Judy's voice alone qualifies her for at least top ten hottest HOT VINTAGE MOVIE WOMEN. She was a truly incredible swing singer, with a stunning voice on top of her technique. Her short dark hair looked incredible in just about any style. Have I mentioned her swagger? I can’t do it justice with words. She had swagger. She was funny as hell, and clever too. Incredibly charming and cool. I adore her.

Her eyes, her voice have bewitched me

I mean how can you beat the one and only Judy? She's beautiful, her smile is contagious, the way she sings with her whole body. You can't help but love her.

youtube

Beautiful woman, love her singing voice. And she can do everything between happy or silly and angry or heartbroken

#judy garland #machiko kyō #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 3

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moonlight-prose · 10 months

Note

❛ say you want me, and i’m yours. ❜ + ❛ i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know. ❜ w/ fanboy ? 🫣

FOOLS FOR FALLING IN LOVE

a/n: babes!! when i had started this, i had just recently rewatched top gun maverick which means the inspo for this man was through the roof. i kind of went overboard a bit and turned it into a long ass one shot. (even going so far as to giving it a moodboard). if it's alright with you i only used the first prompt due to someone requesting the second already. i swear this fic was meant to be short, but then again it's fanboy and i can never help myself. so enjoy this monster.

summary: pining after your best friend never ended well. however in the case of said best friend being mickey garcia, things turn out better than expected.

word count: 3.7k+

pairing: mickey "fanboy" garcia x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, flirting amongst friends, friends to lovers, pining, exhibitionism (seriously idk what happened), cumplay, cumeating, thigh riding, oblivious idiots falling madly in love.

It was just drinks they said. Just a group of people who were there to laugh, enjoy each other’s company, and eventually go home at some ungodly hour. That’s what you expected when you walked into the bar. Ready to nurse one beer, talk to Phoenix about your work issues, and go home.

Quick. Easy. Painless.

At least the hangover part the next day was.

What you didn’t expect was to find him sitting there, talking with Bob as if he didn’t have a single care in the world. You had half a mind to turn around and head back to your car—try this socializing bit on a different day. But Rooster’s arm was slinging around your shoulder, tugging you into a warm and rather hard body. You had to be careful not to trip over your sneaker as he dragged you with him. Never bothering to check if you were actually in step with him.

“Look who I found!” he shouted, his breath giving away the exact number of drinks he had.

“Rooster,” you hissed, trying to pull away before he made you sweat too.

“Leave her alone,” Phoenix chastised, finally yanking you free from his tight grasp. “You’re drunk off your ass Rooster. Sober up or you won’t be getting anywhere near the pilot’s seat tomorrow.”

You sighed in relief as she led you to the bar, signaling to Penny to put another beer on her tab for you. “He’s pretty touchy feely tonight.”

She laughed. “Yeah well he just got permission for a week off next month. I’m pretty sure he’s over the moon for a break.”

“Definitely sounds nice.”

It’s not that you didn’t want to make conversation with Phoenix. You looked forward to seeing her, hearing all the juicy details about what went on in the Top Gun halls. Hell you were even interested in what current feud Hangman and Rooster were stuck in this week. Tonight however, you were barely comprehending a single word she said. Your brain, lagging—unable to catch up fast enough.

You could see her hands moving animatedly as she spoke, lips moving fast, but the words went in one ear and out the other. Because he was sitting mere feet away, eyes fixed entirely on you. The burn from his stare singed through the thin dress you wore to combat the current heat wave outside. Even though you remained focused on Phoenix, you could tell he was in the exact same situation as you.

Transfixed by the utter longing that tore at your chests. Clawing for a way to get out.

“So that’s how I ended up fucking Hangman.”

You nearly choked on your spit. “What?”

“Ah there you are.” She grinned, taking a sip of her beer. “I’ve been talking for the past five minutes and you’ve been completely out of it.”

“Sorry.” You scraped your nail on the bottle’s label, attempting to refocus your attention on Phoenix, but it seemed to be too late. She had figured out where your mind had drifted off to.

“You know you can talk to him right?”

“What are you…”

“Fanboy.”

Was it that obvious that you were unable to even keep your composure in the same room as him? Your mouth opened and closed, words evading you as her lips pulled up into a shit eating grin. You could hear the words echo in your head: Got you. She knew you were close with Mickey. The two of you became fast friends a year ago, bonding over scifi shows and comic books.

But then he left. You understood he couldn’t be around for months at a time; his job came before everything and you accepted that. However, four months without his presence left you feeling empty in a way you couldn’t fully describe, even if you wanted to. He was the sunlight on your dark days. The warmth you clung to when life turned cold. And he was gone.

It didn’t take you long to realize how evident your feelings for him were. Which also meant…it took Phoenix less time.

You coughed, swallowing your beer to avoid giving her a response, but it was clear by the expression on her face that you weren’t getting off that easy. She sighed as if you were one of her irritable students who refused to see reason. When in fact, you were her oblivious friend who couldn’t see past your own fear to finally realize that Mickey was head over heels in love with you.

“Explains why he’s been sulking all day.”

That caught your attention. “What do you mean?”

“He’s been back in town for two days.” You nodded, remembering the text he sent you a week before with his flight details. “And have you spoken to him in person yet?”

She knew she caught you when you averted your gaze to the bartop. “I figured he was busy.”

“Bullshit.”

Your eyes snapped to her. “It’s not—”

“You just figured you could avoid him and hope your feelings disappeared.” Heat crept up your cheeks, but she wasn’t done with you. Far from it. “Meanwhile Fanboy’s been acting like a kicked puppy for two days and none of us could figure out why.”

“He hasn’t been—” Her glare cut you off, forcing your eyes to wander back to where he sat rather quietly.

Most nights he was one of the loudest people there. Laughing and spouting jokes funny enough to have you in stitches. Except for tonight. His eyes were cast anywhere but you, smile only showing when he forced it. But even then, it never quite reached his eyes. All in all, he looked exactly like Phoenix described him. A man who couldn’t figure out why one of his best friends was avoiding him like he was the plague.

You felt the heavy weight of guilt settle in the bottom of your stomach, turning the taste of your beer sour. He’d been gone long enough for you to miss him. But it never occurred to you how much he’d miss you.

Before you could wrangle the remaining courage in your body and get up from the stool, his eyes traveled back to yours. Meeting them for the first time that night. He sat up a bit straighter, the small grin you loved so much making a reappearance as he sent a small wave your way. A peace offering that would hopefully lead to more.

You found yourself unable to stop the smile that spread across your lips. The familiar lick of warmth, coursing through your body.

He was your best friend. The man you spoke to on the phone for hours at a time while he was away. You sent him letters, various comics, and care packages full of his favorite kind of cookies. Even going so far as to send him cheesy holiday cards full of Star Trek references that you knew would make him smile.

He was your best friend…and you were completely in love with him.

Phoenix nudged your knee with hers, jutting her head in his direction. Only you were too late on that front. Mickey was already getting up, excusing himself from the group’s conversation, and heading your way. The familiar standard issue khaki uniform he had to wear did nothing to hide the strong shoulders you knew lay beneath the fabric. Simply watching him maneuver his way through the overcrowded bar towards you, took your breath away.

“What do I say?” you said under your breath, leaning closer to Phoenix.

She shrugged, grabbing the full beer in front of her that she asked Penny for. “Tell him you want to get married.”

You spluttered, trying not to choke on your beer. “I can’t say that!”

“Can’t say what?”

The all too familiar deep vibrato of his voice caused your whole body to stiffen in your seat. Embarrassment washing over you at the realization that he had heard you. Phoenix however was more than happy to slide out of his way, pressing the cold beer into his hands, and muttering what you believed to be a quick: Don’t fuck this up.

You had half a mind to drag her back just to get some more context, but Mickey sitting down, his knees pressing on the outside of your thighs drew your attention to him. He smiled and took a sip of the beer. And you tried your best to ignore the searing heat that came with watching the way his throat moved as he swallowed.

The silence that grew between you the longer he sat there was deafening. So much so that you found yourself half tempted to drag him outside where nobody could see you. At least maybe you’d finally have a chance to get the truth out. Or if not the truth, then some form of words strung together to make a single sentence. That was a better option than sitting there staring at him like an idiot.

“Welcome back,” you blurted out, trying to calm the rapid beat of your heart.

He smiled and this time it reached his eyes. “Thanks.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything to you sooner. Works been keeping me busy and I—”

His hand on your knee caused the remainder of your rant to die in the back of your throat. “I figured you were occupied. So it’s alright.”

“It is?” you asked, your voice barely loud enough to hear over the raucous noise of the bar.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” He shrugged, his hand never moving higher and never pulling away. You swore your heart had stopped beating the second his warm palm touched your bare skin—your eyes dropping down quickly to see the veins that spread beneath the skin.

Shifting slightly, you tamped down the emotions that ran rampant in your mind. Whatever you were feeling—or dreaming about—wasn’t going to happen tonight. If you were being entirely honest with yourself, it didn’t seem like a possibility that would come to fruition at any time. Which meant you were stuck in this neverending pit of pining over your best friend. Part of you wished Mickey could read minds just so you wouldn’t have to say the words yourself.

“I wasn’t avoiding you.” The words came before you could stop them—fully revealing that you were in fact avoiding him. “I mean…I wasn’t…um…”

“Right,” he said, his hand pulling away and eyes shifting back to the bar.

You could physically see his walls begin to close up, the light that had reappeared in his eyes, now vanishing from sight. It wasn’t until then did you realize that saying the words wasn’t the hard part. No, in fact you found you could say them in an instant if you had to. The hard part was the possibility of losing him for good. The fear of him never reciprocating your feelings held you back—causing the chasm in your heart to grow every second.

“No, wait.” You grabbed onto his wrist lightly, catching sight of the disappointment in his eyes, and it broke your heart. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

You sighed. “Can we go outside? Away from all this noise?”

Mickey was standing up faster than you expected him too, digging out enough cash to toss on the bar for Penny before taking your hand in his. You didn’t fight the small grin that appeared on your lips this time. There was just something about him that pulled on the strings of happiness in your chest. That made you want to always see the good in the world—the good that you knew resided in him.

“Slow down,” you called, trying to keep up the pace as he practically sprinted towards the parking lot. You caught sight of his familiar dark blue car—having been in it more times than you could count.

“Sorry,” he replied, giving you a chance to catch your breath. “I figured you wanted out of there quickly.”

“I did.” How the fuck were you supposed to go about things now? When it was just the two of you standing there, his back pressed to the passenger door of his car.

You tried to ignore the way he looked—how the soft lights from the bar played across his face. Turning him into an almost ethereal painting you were visiting in a museum. It took your breath away and for a moment you remained silent. Watching as his eyes took in your features, his chest rising and falling with each breath. There wasn’t a better moment to kiss him than right now. Except your doubts began to rear their ugly head again.

A bitter heat crept up the back of your neck as you turned your attention to the rest of the parking lot. Trying—and failing—to come up with something to say. You just never expected Mickey to beat you to the punch.

“Don’t do that,” he said. Your eyes snapped back to him, catching the glimmer of dejection in his eyes.

“Do what?” You knew exactly what he was talking about and playing it coy wouldn’t stop him from pressing even further. It was a quality about him you both loved and hated. He would never stop until you told him the truth.

“Don’t hide from me.” His hand still held onto yours, thumb pressing gently along your knuckles. “What’s going on with you huh? What aren’t you telling me?”

You let out a breath, attempting to get a hold of the nerves that seemed intent on keeping you quiet. “I like you.”

He paused, eyes taking in the panicked expression on your face. You half expected him to say something in return—anything to appease whatever it was you were dealing with. But he didn’t. Instead he watched, his mouth opening and closing every few seconds as if trying to soak in the full extent of your words. I like you wasn’t much to go on, you’d give him that.

So you continued. “I’ve liked you for a while—although like is probably not the right word to describe how I feel about you. And I understand if you just want to remain friends. If it’s…easier that way. Or even if this is the end—”

He yanked you forward, his hand cupping your cheek to turn your face towards his. Lips capturing yours in a kiss that left you sinking into his chest, a soft moan emitting from your mouth as your eyes fluttered closed. Mickey kissed you like it had been the only thing on his mind since you first met. He licked into your mouth, dragging out sounds you didn’t know you could make—his hand wrapping tightly around your waist to keep you pressed close.

He kissed you as if he would never get the chance to again.

“Mickey,” you sighed, his lips sliding along your jaw, other hand pressing tightly to your waist to press your hips against his.

“I love you,” he murmured, bunching up the back of your dress as heat quickly filled your senses.

“You…” Tilting your head back, you tried to gain some sense of control over your thoughts. He however seemed adamant on keeping you right where you were. That is…until his words finally registered. “You love me?” you exclaimed, pulling away—much to his disappointment.

His smile was sheepish, red staining his cheeks and the very tips of his ears. “Have for a while now mi vida.”

Heat burned beneath your cheeks at the small nickname—the words burrowing deep in your heart. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He had you there.

Smiling, you wrapped your arms around his neck, dragging his lips back to yours. “I love you mi amor. More than you know.”

A sound pulled from his throat—high and wanting. It was pressed into your mouth, his hands grasping parts of you that he had only dreamed of touching. Scrunching up the side of your dress, his hand slid up your thigh, digging into the plush skin as you moaned against him. You were right outside of the bar where anyone could walk out and see you. Yet neither of you cared.

Licking into his mouth, you dug your hands into his newly grown out short curls—your nails scraping against his scalp. He shivered, pulling you even closer and slotting his thigh between your legs. Giving you something to press down on.

That alone stirred something in the base of your stomach. A molten heat sliding through your veins until you were putty in his hands. Mickey seemed to sense the shift—your needy whine a slight beg for more—and began to guide your hips along his leg. The wet patch you knew was on your panties, now seeping into the light color of his khakis.

“Fuck,” you gasped, head falling back and hands grasping onto the front of his shirt. “M-Mickey.”

“Mhm?” he hummed against your throat, teeth digging in until it sparked pain through you.

“I need—ah—” His grip on your hip grew tighter, thigh bumping up and pressing against your clit perfectly. “I need more.”

He shuddered, his lips colliding against yours in a heady kiss. This one was different. You could taste the desperation on his tongue as he took you apart with his mouth. He wanted to leave you breathless. To see you writhe because of him and have you begging for more. And you’d give into him without question. You’d give him whatever he desired, because he’d do the same for you in a heartbeat.

“Say you want me, and I’m yours,” he breathed, pulling you along his thigh harder.

Your knee pressed against him, grinding against him with each movement and you visibly watched him chase his high. He bucked his hips, desperate for the minimal amount of friction. A moan tore from his throat, his lips sliding along your jaw, hand shifting to grip your ass tightly. You wanted to give him that high. To watch him combust as you did. But you were lost to the sensations sparking through your body.

Something built in your stomach, pulling impossibly tight. You felt it grow—driving you so high that you were certain you’d go mad if you didn’t have it in your grasp. He pushed and pulled your body until you were a whimpering mess against him. His name was a reverent prayer you pressed into his mouth in the hopes he’d answer your greatest wish. To feel his love pour into you—captivate you so entirely you’d never be rid of it.

“I-I want you,” you stammered, your eyes hazy with lust.

“C’mon then.” He slid his hand down the front of your body, fingers dipping into the sopping mess that was your panties and finding your clit with ease. “Think you can cum like this mi vida?”

You nodded frantically, moving your hips to catch the friction of his fingers. Your heart nearly beat out of your chest when he began to whisper praise against your skin. Kissing down your chest until he reached the top of your dress. Something in your brain begged him to pull it down. To keep going. But you understood the risk with being outside still. Neither of you wanted to get caught; the both of you would never live it down.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed, his fingers pressing down harder—face lighting up at the sight of your eyes rolling back.

He yanked you back to him, lips sliding against your own as you shattered in his arms. It burned through you, causing your whole body to shake and your breath to catch in your lungs. Rather than pull away entirely, he kept going. Prolonging the pleasure until there wasn’t anything you could do. A muffled cry echoed around the parking lot and it took you a moment to realize that you were the one who made the sound.

Mickey gasped, his hips canting up against you in search of that same feeling. So you pulled on his curls, dragging his lips back to yours as his fingers still pressed firm circles around your clit.

“I love you Mickey.” You pressed the words against his jaw, watching as his eyes fluttered shut, his brows pulling tight. He managed to quickly muffle his moan against your neck, his whole body shuddering in your grasp and a soft whine of your name echoing in your ears.

Yet he never stopped his fingers from moving. Two of them gathering your cum that steadily leaked out and sliding them up to your clit. Sending another soft wave of pleasure through your body. You wanted to remain there. Forever stuck in this moment with him. But you knew the faster you managed to get home, the better the odds were for the both of you.

“I can’t,” you gasped, grasping onto this wrist to stop him from shifting the overstimulation into an uncomfortable pain.

Before you could ask him to take you home, he was rendering you speechless—slipping his shiny coated fingers into his mouth and groaning at the taste. Your clit throbbed and for a moment you felt dizzy. Even as he held you upright. You watched his tongue peek out, wondering how it might feel against you. And once more the heat began to build again, causing your imagination to spin out of control.

“Mi vida?” he asked, pulling from your haze. His small smile let you know he had figured out what you were thinking—already halfway to teasing the answer out of you.

“Take me home Mickey,” you croaked, unable to wait any longer. “I want you.”

His eyes softened, fingers gently pinching your chin as he pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. Pouring all the emotion he ever said aloud into you. This was it. The moment that would replay in your head for the rest of your life. Mickey Garcia smiling sweetly, his hands caressing your hips to soothe the ache of his tight hold—love shining in his eyes. You felt your heart leap in your chest, breath once more getting stolen just by his mere proximity.

“I’m yours.”

#mickey garcia x f!reader #mickey garcia x you #mickey garcia x reader #mickey garcia x y/n #mickey 'fanboy' garcia #fanboy x f!reader #fanboy x you #fanboy x reader #top gun: maverick #mickey garcia smut #my writing #sinful soiree🥀

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sailor-aviator · 8 months

Text

Singing in the Sanctuary: Chapter Three

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw is a simple man. Well, as simple as one can be while living a life of crime. The notorious outlaw of the western territories has never been interested in settling down and having a family, but will that all change when he meets a shy, new teacher who just moved into town?

Warnings: Mentions of dead parents, Bradley Bradshaw. Think that's it?

Word Count: 2.37k

A/N: Here's Chapter Three at long last! I know this one is a little shorter than what we're used to, but I don't want force the narrative, and this seemed like a good place to stop. We should see longer chapters on this one soon! As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated! 18+ ONLY!! You can find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator where I will be posting these fics as well.

Series Masterlist || DGU Masterlist || Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw Tag List

“You know, I had the strangest conversation with Bradley yesterday afternoon,” Maverick said, stabbing at his eggs. Penny lifted an eyebrow at him in intrigue.

“Do tell.”

“He came by askin’ me about what my plans were for a schoolhouse. Can you believe that? Since when does he care about the education of the kids?”

Penny hummed, glancing at you slyly from the corner of her eye before taking a bit of her toast. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, and I told him that we were looking more into it now that we have Birdie here to teach’em, but he was pretty insistent that I make it a priority.”

“You don’t say?” Penny smiled, snorting a laugh that she quickly tried to pass off as a cough. Maverick looked at her with concern.

“You feelin’ okay, sweetheart?”

Penny waved him off, finishing her mouthful of eggs. “I’m just fine, honey. Tell me more about what Bradley said.”

“Well, it’s just like I said,” he continued. “I know he and the other boys help people out around town, but to volunteer the other boys the way he did? That’s unusual for him.”

“He volunteered the other Daggers?” you chirped, surprise clear on your face as you looked up at him. He nodded, laughing with a shake of his head.

“I know, I could hardly believe it myself!”

Penny shot you a coy smile. “I wonder what could have caused him to go and do something like that.”

You flushed at her words, ducking your head down to stare at your plate. Maverick let out another chuckle.

“I don’t know, Penny, but you should have heard Mickey hollerin’ up and down Main Street at him. Wouldn’t be surprised if you could’ve heard him all the way in Independence! with how loud he was yellin'.”

You and Penny laughed at that, and Maverick’s grin turned into a warm smile.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him, but I hope it sticks. I can’t tell you the last time I saw that boy so determined to work on a good cause.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Penny hummed, casting you another conspiratorial glance. “I think whatever it is that’s lit a fire under his butt is gonna be good for him. Might even stick around for a while.”

“From your mouth to the good Lord’s ears, darlin’,” Maverick chuckled, placing his napkin on his place as he stood. “It’s good to see him so passionate about something again. Haven’t seen him like this since before…”

He trailed off, and Penny leaned over to lay a sympathetic hand over his. “I know, sweetheart. You don’t need to say it.”

Maverick sniffed, running a finger under his eye before straightening. “Anyway, the only problem we have now is comin’ up with the money for supplies.”

“How do you mean?” you asked him, a furrow in your brow.

Maverick grimaced. “Town is runnin’ low on building materials. We’ve got enough to start the foundation for the schoolhouse, but we’ll have to scrounge up some money for everything else.”

“I see,” you frowned. Maverick gave you a reassuring look.

“It’ll be alright, Birdie. We’ll figure something out. We always do.”

You nodded, and with one last smile to his wife, Maverick was out the door. You helped Penny clear the table. The older woman began to wash the dishes as you took them from her to dry.

“So,” she drawled, looking over at you with a smile. “That was real nice of Bradley to volunteer to help out with the schoolhouse.”

“Wasn’t it just?” you gushed, a smile breaking out over your face. “I’m not surprised, though. The children seem to love him, and it looked like he felt the same way.”

“You still mad at him?” she asked you. You hummed before giving her a shrug.

“I wasn’t really mad at him to begin with, Penny,” you sighed, placing a plate in the cupboard. “I don’t know him well enough to be mad at him for his past. It’s not like he owes me an explanation or anything.”

“No,” Penny said carefully, “but despite his past as a philanderer, he’s a good man at heart, Birdie. He was a wild, young thing back in the day, but he’s older now.”

“Besides,” she smirked, looking directly at you now, “Doesn’t take a genius to see the way he looks at you.”

You flushed at her words. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Sure you don’t,” she chuckled, drying her hands on a dish towel. “Just like you don’t know why he would volunteer him and his friends to build the schoolhouse.”

You stayed quiet for a moment.

“I want to thank him in some way,” you murmured, not meeting her gaze.

“I’m sure you’ll think of somethin’,” she mused. “Now, come on. Don’t want you to be late for class.”

A couple of hours later, you were perched on the steps of the altar, looking around at your class.

“What about a baseball game?” Ricky grinned. Lottie wrinkled her nose at him.

“No way!” she cried. “It needs to be something we can all do!”

“What about a bake sale?”

You had told the children the good news about finding volunteers to build the schoolhouse, and the sanctuary had exploded in a chorus of excitement.

“Hold on, hold on,” you had smiled, trying to calm the children down. “There’s just one more thing we have to figure out.”

“What’s that, miss?” Michael called out from his spot in the third row. You sighed with a slight frown.

“After talking with Mr. Maverick today, I’ve found out that we unfortunately don’t have all the funds we need to build it,” you said. The children exclaimed in disappointment, but little Billy looked at you with big, green eyes.

“Maybe we can help, teacher!” he grinned.

You smiled back at him as the other children voiced their support for the little boy.

“That’s a fine idea, Billy,” you said. “And it sounds like all of you agree.”

“We do!” smiled Michael.

“But how can we even help?” frowned Lydia, a plucky red-head from the second row. “What could we possibly do?”

Samantha raised her hand. “We could hold a fundraiser?”

The children murmured in agreement, and you nodded your head slowly.

“That could work,” you hummed. “What is it you all would like to do?”

Now you sat there as the children volleyed ideas back and forth at each other. None of them had been bad ideas, but it was hard for a group of thirty children to come to an agreement on what to do. You worried that they would grow too frustrated to settle on an idea, and then you would have to pick. You wanted the children to enjoy their time helping with preparations, so you knew that it would have to be their decision on what to do.

“My mother and father went and saw a play when they were visiting my grandmother in Kansas City,” Theresa said thoughtfully. “We could do that?”

The room was left in a hushed silence as the children mulled over her words.

“I like it,” Samantha nodded, and the other children were quick to agree.

“We should do Snow White!”

“No, Cinderella!”

“I wanna do Sleeping Beauty!”

You chuckled at their enthusiasm, moving to stand.

“Alright, class,” you smiled warmly, “we’ll have plenty of time to decide what our play is going to be. Now, let’s get back to your math lesson.”

You dismissed your class not too long after that, and now you were walking idly down the main street of Maverick. People greeted you as you past, and you returned the gestures. Your thoughts kept turning back to the play, however. It had been a miracle that they agreed on doing a play in the first place. Maybe you could convince the townsfolk to buy multiple tickets for different plays?

You stopped walking, sighing as you stared up at the sky. A chill was starting to stir in the air as Autumn began fast approaching. You wondered how your parents were faring back home in Missouri. Your eyebrows furrowed as you heard the quiet melody of a piano drift through the street. You realized it was coming from the saloon, and you moved quickly until you were standing in the entryway.

The sun was hanging low in the sky, casting a golden hue across the rooms as the sunbeams stretched across the wooden floors. The gentle lilt of the keys danced in your ears. You didn’t recognize the song, but you watched as the familiar brunette strummed his fingers along the ivory.

Bradley hadn’t seen you walk in, to lost in the way the music washed over him. You thought he looked sad as he played, which was strange because you were certain the song was supposed to sound happy even though he was playing slowly. You didn’t realize you were moving until you sat down gingerly next to him. He jumped, fingers flying off the keys as he turned to look at you. The two of you stared at each other.

“Please, don’t stop,” you whispered, pleading for him to continue. Bradley swallowed before turning back to the piano. His fingers pressed down lightly on the keys as he began to play the same tune as before.

“You’re very good,” you smiled as he continued to play. He huffed out a light laugh as he looked at you from the corner of his eyes, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Don’t sound so surprised, Birdie,” he joked, causing your face to flush.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you rushed out, but he shook his head.

“I’m only teasin’ you, little bird. I know I don’t look like the type that knows how to play.”

“Well, I am a little shocked,” you admitted. He gave you a playful glare, and you giggled up at him.

You shifted closer to him on the bench. “How did you learn to play?”

“My dad taught me,” he hummed sadly.

You watched him for another minute before asking quietly, “did something happen?”

His fingers stilled over the keys for half a second before continuing. “He and my mom died when I was eight. It was scarlet fever, made its way through town pretty quick. Took Hangman’s folks too and Bob’s daddy.”

“Oh, Bradley,” you began, but he cut you off with a stern look.

“Don’t,” he snapped, fingers banging on the keys with a crash. His eyes softened when he saw your confused look. “Please, don’t. I get enough pity from the folks here in town. I don’t think I could handle it if you looked at me like that too.”

“Okay,” you said softly, nodding in understanding. Bradley let out a shaky breath, refusing to meet your gaze for a moment.

“My dad and Mav were best friends,” he said finally. You remained quiet, letting him speak at his own pace. He continued. “They did almost everything together. They drank, they sang, they even broke the law together.”

He looked at you then, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “He always told me that my mama was the reason he gave up his wild life. Said he couldn’t bare the thought of her cryin’ if he never came home.”

You reached up to cup his cheek in your hand, and he immediately turned his face into your palm, nuzzling it.

��He sounds like he was a good man,” you offered, giving him a gentle smile. Bradley frowned at your words.

“No,” he said. “He was the best.”

The two of you didn’t say anything for a moment, just staring at each other. Finally, Bradley pulled away from you with a sniff before turning back to the piano. He began to play a different melody now, something quicker and more upbeat.

“So,” he chirped, offering you a bright smile, “what brings you into the saloon today?”

“Oh, I was actually looking for Penny,” you told him, glancing around the room but not seeing the older brunette.

“Think she’s still showin’ the new girl around,” Bradley muttered, earning a look from you.

“New girl?” you asked.

He hummed with a nod.

“Came rollin’ in with Joel yesterday mornin’. Walked right up to the bar and asked Penny for a job. She must have liked the look of her, ‘cause Penny accepted right then and there.”

“How interesting,” you trailed off. Bradley glanced at you before moving to stand. He held his hand out for you, and you took it, letting him pull you to your feet.

“C’mon,” he smirked, pulling you towards the doors, “I’ll walk you home.”

The two of you walked in a comfortable silence down the street. Bradley’s hand rested gently on your lower back, and you felt giddy at the contact. You thought back on what Ricky and Michael had said to Bradley in the churchyard the other day, but then you thought about Penny’s words from that morning. The two of you stopped in front of the door to the house.

“Bradley,” you said, earning a hum from him. “Are you seeing any other girls?”

He stopped, turning to face you with a look of bewilderment. “What?”

“Are you seeing any other girls?” you repeated.

He stared at you. “Why are you asking me that?”

“I was just thinking about what the boys and Penny said,” you shrugged.

“I see,” he said slowly, studying you. “No, Birdie. Haven’t seen anyone since I laid eyes on you singin’ all sweet in that church.”

You blushed at his words, biting at your bottom lip to suppress the smile that threatened to make a home on your face. A grin broke out onto his face at the sight of your bashfulness, and he leaned against the door to look down at you, hovering over your space. The two of you looked at each other for a moment before Bradley’s smirk dropped, replaced with a look of confusion.

“Wait, what did Penny say?”

You giggled up at him before turning the knob on the door and pushing it open. You slipped inside before moving to close it behind you with one last giggle.

“Goodnight, Bradley.”

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