Summary: Three different uniforms on him. Three different rides for you. But there's just one man who can get you off with his words, his actions and a well placed thigh.
Warnings: Swears, fluff, smutty thigh riding, 18+
Length: 3200 words
Pairing: Beer Boy and Sugar! Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)
Happy birthday to @thedroneranger!
This is a one-shot to accompany my fics Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time but it can be read on its own! Banner by @mak-32 Check out my masterlist
Bradley bit his knuckle as he watched you come strolling down the vacant sidewalk toward him in the idling Bronco. He grunted softly as you adjusted your bag on your shoulder, never missing a step in your high heels and snug tweed skirt. You were illuminated by the orange glow of the streetlights, and even though it was Friday, your late night teaching advanced calculus, you looked as perfectly put together as you had this morning.
"Fuck," he moaned when you opened the door and climbed in next to him, your skirt sliding up your thigh as you started to lean closer to give him a kiss.
"What?" you asked, pausing to examine his expression before dropping your gaze down to the insignia pins on his khaki uniform shirt.
Bradley shook his head, voice raspy as he said, "Don't act like you don't know that you look fine as hell, Sugar. You feel like taking a walk to the library? Maybe check out one of the study rooms?"
He leaned in as your pouty lips formed a perfect smirk, but you just nipped at his mustache, pulling away and teasing him every time he tried to deepen the kiss. You laughed softly as he chased your lips when you asked, "What's wrong with right here?"
Bradley froze except for his big hand that he slowly wrapped around the back of your neck. "Here? Parked on campus?"
You just nodded in response as he subtly adjusted himself in his pants, his body responding favorably to his wife as usual. Then you finally kissed him with parted lips, letting him taste your tongue, and you whined when he reached for you, pulling you gently until you crawled across the seat.
"You look good in your khakis with all your pins, Beer Boy," you whispered as you eased yourself down to straddle his right thigh. The interior of the Bronco was mostly dark as you reached for his rough hands and set them softly on the hem of your tweed skirt.
"You're such a fucking tag chaser," he said, trying to hide his grin as you tipped your head back and laughed. You both knew that couldn't be further from the truth, he just loved to hear your laughter. But that melodic sound was replaced with a whine as he pushed your skirt up inch by inch, bunching the tweed fabric until his hands were on your bare skin.
As he drew little circles along your thighs, he let his hands drift back until he was cupping your ass. You were already grabbing at his shoulders as you rolled your hips forward, and Bradley had to run his index finger down nearly to your pussy to even confirm you were wearing one of your tiniest thongs.
"I guess I am," you whispered, rubbing yourself against his thigh. "It's making me hot that you're getting a new pin tomorrow, Lieutenant Commander."
"Fuck," he gasped as your knee nudged his hard cock. He glanced around a little frantically, trying to make sure nobody was walking down this quiet side street. "You know, one of your students or coworkers could see this."
"Mmm," you moaned, grinding yourself down on his thigh until you gasped. "See what? Nothing's going on in here."
Bradley palmed your ass before giving you a little smack and tucking his long index finger inside your thong. He guided you forward on his thigh, keeping a foot of space between your upper body and his.
"That's right, Sugar," he whispered as you rubbed your pussy up and down his khaki pants. "We're just talking here."
You nodded as you bit your lip. "Just talking." When your head tipped back again, showing off your beautiful neck and making your tits strain against your blouse, Bradley had to fight to keep his lips off you.
"You're putting on a show for me, Baby. Feel good?"
Your hips stuttered a bit as you rode his thigh, and he guided you along with his hands on your delicious hips. "Bradley," you whined. "I... oh... oh!"
"Full sentences. Tell me what you need," he said with a smirk as you tipped your head forward to look at him and scooted up in desperation until your pussy met his gold belt buckle.
"Need this... oh!"
Bradley thrust his hips to meet you as he growled, "You sound so fucking dumb right now. I thought you had your PhD."
"Fuck!" You reached for his biceps, holding on to him as your lips parted. You were panting as you shook, grinding against the metal buckle, making soft little gasping noises as your eyes drifted closed. Bradley squeezed your hips tight as you came on the front of his khakis, moaning his name as the roll of your hips started to slow.
He reached for your left hand, running his thumb along your diamond ring as he guided your fingers to his cock where it rested hard and huge against his thigh. "You feel what you do to me?" he grunted. "You feel how much I love you?"
You nodded your head, still coming down from your own orgasm as you squeezed him gently. "I do. I feel it."
Bradley thrust up into your hand as he swallowed hard. "Get buckled in, Sugar," he commanded, and you went scrambling back across the seat, treating him to the sight of your bare ass as you went. Even in the dim light, he could see the slick, wet marks you left all over his pants, and he groaned. "I'll take you home and let you feel it until you're screaming."
-------------------------
You'd never been to a promotion banquet before, but you were thoroughly enjoying every moment of this. Your husband was sitting with his arm around you in his dress whites with his new pin on his uniform while sipping a beer, and he looked gorgeous. He was all crooked grin, crooked white hat, and flushed, pink cheeks, and you knew he would give you anything you wanted tonight.
"I still can't believe you wore that," he muttered, pressing his lips and mustache to your ear. "You just tell me when you want to go home, and I'll take care of the rest."
You moaned softly at the banquet table, basking in his attention when his beer bottle met your tattoos. You were wearing the black dress from your college reunion, the one you had on last summer when the two of you had reunited after ten years, and there were cutouts on the sides. Bradley's hands had been all over you that night, and they were all over you again now.
"Beer Boy," you warned as condensation dripped down your skin, but he didn't care. His deep, rumbling laughter alerted you to that fact.
"You've been teasing me all night. You think I don't owe you a little something?"
"What did you have in mind, Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw?"
Bradley looked around the table, nodding to the other officers he knew as he set his beer down and squeezed your shoulder. He hooked his fingers under your chin and kissed you sweetly before saying, "Alright, tag chaser. Let's go for a walk."
Laughter bubbled out of you as Bradley helped you to your feet, lacing his fingers with yours and leading you unhurriedly out of the main ballroom and down a quiet hallway. "Where are we going?" you finally asked when he led you through a propped door next to the kitchens. There were some waiters and bartenders outside smoking, and Bradley pulled you right past them and around to the back of the building.
"Somewhere you can admire my new rank in private, Sugar."
"Oh," you gasped when he pushed you carefully up against the building, caging you in with his body. He took your left hand and kissed your palm and fingertips before pressing them to his new pin.
"And somewhere I can admire you," he added in the softest whisper. "I haven't seen you in this dress since our reunion. It's my favorite thing on you besides my Grateful Dead shirt."
His kisses were so soft, but you clenched around nothing as he spread your legs with his knee and pressed his thigh against you. "It's for special occasions," you whispered as your lips skimmed his. You could hear the conversation and smell the faint cigarette smoke, reminding you that you weren't alone. But that just made it even better when he started to hike up your dress, letting you feel the cool, night air on your bare skin.
"Oh god," you moaned into his mouth between sweet kisses when you felt the scratch of his white pants against your clit. "Beer Boy."
"Hmm," he hummed against your mouth as he gently palmed your bare butt with one big hand, planting his other hand next to your head on the building. He guided you up his thigh, and the pressure against your clit left you gasping. Your hands went to the back of his neck, and he held eye contact with you as you started to rock. "You're gorgeous."
"Bradley."
"And smart. Always so far out of my league," he added, and you clenched again as he kissed your cheek. He was so solid and warm, and your brain was in a fog as he said, "I want you to do it."
"Do what?" you whined, hips rocking against his thigh at the tempo he set with his big hand.
He squeezed you, digging his fingers into the round of your rear end as he told you, "I want you to mess up my pants, Sugar." He cupped your chin. "Mark me up. Get me all wet. Like you own me."
When your head tipped back, you gasped. You nudged his length as you rolled your hips, but Bradley just said, "Keep going. Keep going." You were practically dangling from his neck as you held onto him and wiggled against him, grinding and humping until you were almost there. "That's it," he encouraged, reading it on your face. "Good girl."
That's all it took as your walls fluttered. "Bradley!" you whined, and his lips found yours as you came, feeling yourself gush just like he wanted. "Oh my god." He kissed you harder before you could get too loud, and your pussy was soaking wet as he guided his knee away from your body as you chased him until your front was pressed completely to his.
Your dress fell back into place, and he wrapped his hands around your waist as his crooked grin returned. He was fully erect, hard in his white pants, and you were about to offer to take care of it for him when he said, "Let's get back inside and have dessert while I show off my pants, and then I'll take you home and let you suck my cock."
Still whimpering, he paraded you back inside with his pant leg wet at the exact same height as your pussy.
-------------------------------
Bradley slept like a log after you sucked him off so long and so well, he even dreamed about you showing off your pretty mouth full of his cum before you swallowed. You'd whispered, "I love you, Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw," to him so many times as he dozed off, of course he was startled when he woke up alone. He grunted your name, hand roaming around your side of the bed before he heard the shower running.
He reached down to stroke his cock with a smile, the thought of your body warm and wet with water cascading down back had him a little hard already. The sweet scent of your body wash filled the air, sending Bradley's legs swinging over the edge of the bed to get to you. But then he froze when he saw his white uniform pants on the floor from last night, and his mind drifted. Friday night, you had his khakis in the Bronco, and Saturday you had his dress whites while he got promoted. You deserved everything this weekend, so he turned toward the closet to dig out his third uniform for your grinding pleasure.
He was grinning as he buttoned up his jacket, affixing his new pin to the front before tossing his blue hat on his head as he heard you call out from the bathroom. "Oh, good, you're up. I had this fun thought that maybe you could-"
You froze in the doorway, completely naked with a pair of clean underwear in your hand, and you bit your lip as you took in his appearance. Bradley watched as you pressed your thighs together, but he knew you'd be spreading them for him soon.
"Maybe I could what?" he asked, voice deep and raspy as you took a few steps closer, closing the distance to him.
You looked up at him, tapping his new pin with your index finger as he stood tall for you. "You read my mind. I was going to say maybe you could change into your dress blues for me," you whispered. "Let me have all three this weekend."
Bradley groaned as you pushed him back toward the edge of the bed where he sat down hard. When you came to stand between his splayed legs, he reached out to wrap his hands around your thighs as you cupped his cheeks and kissed him. Your skin was warm, and when he slid his hands up, he traced your ass with his thumbs, loving how you'd filled out since college.
"It's all yours, Sugar," he said, kissing along your tits and tasting your skin before you turned your back to him. "Oh, hell," he moaned as you planted your palms on his thighs and bent a little bit before slowly wiggling your ass from side to side against the front of his pants. "What are you doing, Baby?" he rasped, heart thudding as he brought his hands up to your hips while you essentially gave him a lap dance. If you wanted to turn the bedroom into his own private champagne room, he was not about to complain.
"Warming up my seat," you whispered, bumping back on his cock. When you turned to look at him over your shoulder, Bradley leaned forward to kiss your shoulder, and you arched your back for him before you straddled his left thigh. "This okay?" you asked as your back rested against his chest. When you glanced at him again, your lips were so close, he had to kiss them.
"Baby, you do whatever you want to me," he crooned, letting his hands drift to the front of your body. He circled your clit with his middle finger and smiled as his mouth found your neck. Your pussy was nice and wet, just the way he wanted it on his pants, and your ass bumped his cock every time you moved.
Bradley took his time, moving his finger at the pace he knew you liked as he sucked gently on your neck and shoulder. "You smell good," he whispered before nipping you and licking you over and over again. With every roll of your hips, he thought about bending you over and fucking the absolute shit out of you, but he'd let you have your fun first.
"A little harder, Beer Boy," you whined, looking back at him as he pressed his finger into your clit until you gasped. Your eyes were half lidded as you planted both of your hands on his leg just above his left knee. "That's so good."
He had only ever been truly good for you. He only ever planned on being good and sweet and everything you needed. When your back arched in pleasure again, you started to rock and grind, treating him to the sight of your perfect ass rubbing his cock. His pants felt snug, and then he thought about how tight your pussy was and he yanked you back against him, making you squeal in delight as he nibbled your ear.
"You got me really wound up," he growled. Every movement had you rubbing up on him while he swiped his finger up and down your slick clit as you babbled. The faster he moved his finger, the closer you got. And the harder you rocked against his cock. "Jesus, Sugar."
"Can't help it," you gasped, reaching for his hand and pulling it from your clit up to your mouth. "I'm so close." And then you licked his fingers before taking them between your lips, rocking back as you humped his leg.
You were his wife, always treating him to the finest things in bed and out, but you were feral right now, whining and moaning his name. He explored the front of your body with his other hand, pinching your nipples and squeezing. You got louder, bumping his cock in a delicious rhythm as you sucked away on his fingers.
He wanted your pussy and your mouth and your tits, every part of your body wrapped around his cock. He wanted it sloppy, just how he knew you could get as your tongue swirled around his fingers. He wanted you every single fucking way.
"Baby," he groaned, your saliva running down to his palm as your back arched again. "Oh, shit."
His hand settled around the front of your neck as your voice rose, a pretty crescendo of a needy whine as you jerked your hips and came on him. "Bradley!" You were loud now, grabbing at both of his thighs to keep yourself seated as you rode out your orgasm, but it was too late for him as your right hand slid back to grab his cock.
Two loud grunts in your ear, and he came, too. Right in his dress blues.
He was still thrusting against your hand when you groaned, "I got your pants soaking wet," as your hips slowed down. When you looked back at him one more time, you whispered, "I love you. Tell me how you want me to get you off."
Bradley could feel the stinging heat rising in his cheeks as you gently nibbled his lips and then stood on shaky legs in front of him. You kissed him and knocked his hat off before you reached for the fly of his blue pants. He had to take your hands in his to still them. "You already got me off," he muttered.
You looked puzzled before you ran your hand lower to his softening cock, and then he saw the realization of what just happened dawning on your perfect face. Your lips parted on a moan that had him reaching to pull your body against him. "That's so hot," you whispered, your voice sounding desperate again. "That's so fucking hot, Beer Boy."
In one swift motion, you pushed him onto his back and straddled his waist, leaning down so your bare breasts rubbed his pins. "You're so fucking hot," he promised as you licked the side of his neck and whimpered, letting your pussy rest on his uniform jacket now.
"How fast can you get hard again?" you asked, taking his wrists in your hands and pinning them above his head before your lips returned to his neck.
Bradley grinned and closed his eyes, enjoying your little whimpers next to his ear. "With you on top of me, Sugar? I'd say pretty damn fast."
----------------------------
I love these two, and I think Sugar deserved a nice weekend. Congratulations to Beer Boy! And happy birthday, Jay! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls
Summary: Bradley just wants to make Christmas special for your daughter, and he's nervous he might have blown his cover as Santa. As Christmas Eve approaches, he pulls out all the stops for the two of you. But will you let him give Ellie everything from her wishlist?
Warnings: Fluff, language, single mom reader, mentions of loss of spouse
Length: 7000 words
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader
Pink Christmas masterlist. Check out my masterlist for more! Banner by @mak-32. Written for @bellaireland1981 Winter RomCom Challenge
Once you started kissing Bradley, everything came back to you. Fingers in his soft hair, your body pressed to his, and his tongue softly caressing yours. You knew just what to do, and you didn't want to stop. When his big hands came to rest on your back, you couldn't even remember why you'd been nervous in the first place.
Your thumb found the rough stubble and slightly raised scars on his cheek at the same time you heard your front door knob rattling. When you pulled away from Bradley's lips, you looked up at his handsome face and smiled, completely distracted as your daughter let herself inside. You pulled free from Bradley's warm embrace just as you heard Ellie ask him, "Who are you?"
Bradley licked his lips as he examined your face with his pretty brown eyes. Then he turned his full attention to your child. "Are you Ellie?" he asked, and when she nodded and set her backpack down, he reached out to shake her hand. "My name's Bradley. I'm a handyman from the North Pole."
"A handyman?" she asked, shaking his hand firmly. "What does that mean?"
"Means Santa sent me here to set up your pink tree, because he got a little busy this week," he replied so smoothly, you almost believed him yourself.
Ellie gasped and looked past him into the living room. "Santa got my tree!" she gushed. "Mommy!"
"Yeah," you replied with a laugh. "Santa really knows what he's doing."
Bradley looked at you with a little bit of a blush coloring his face, and you were shocked to find that you instinctively wanted to reach for his hand and kiss that pretty shade of pink on his cheeks. You barely managed to stop yourself as he took a step toward you.
"That was close," he muttered, watching Ellie run her hands along all of the ornaments that she could reach. But you were still busy looking at him, because his response to your daughter was what had you melting inside. He had a soft smile on his lips as he laughed. "I think she likes her tree."
You rubbed your fingers along the back of his hand, and his gaze met yours immediately before falling to your lips. "I think so, too."
He nodded toward the door. "I should go," he said slowly. You didn't know how to tell him that for some reason you knew your house would feel too empty if he left right now. When Ellie spoke up, you could have hugged her for her brilliant idea.
"Mommy, is Bradley allowed to stay for pizza?"
You let go of his hand as Ellie came back over with one of the pink heart ornaments. Then you and she both looked up at him as he asked, "Am I allowed to stay?" He looked a bit like a wayward puppy as he added, "I love pizza."
Your heart swelled at the idea of him in your house a little longer, maybe sharing a few more secret touches. "Of course you can stay."
Ellie reached out and took him by the hand, dragging him toward her playroom, and he went willingly as she asked, "Do they have pizza at the North Pole? Which one of Santa's elves is your favorite? I liked Phoenix the best, but I liked grumpy Hangman, too."
Her voice faded as she rambled on, and you could hear Bradley laughing. Then you were alone in the pink glow of the tree as it grew darker outside, and you took your phone out to order pizza just like you always did on Friday nights. But for the first time in a long time, you couldn't stop smiling.
---------------------------
"I've never played dolls before," Bradley said as Ellie picked one up to brush its hair.
"That's okay," she replied, handing him a different doll. "I'll show you how. It's not really that hard. Just brush her hair and make her look pretty for the party we're taking them to."
Bradley grunted and picked up one of the toy brushes. "I think I can handle that."
A few minutes later, he was very into coordinating which outfit his doll was going to wear to the birthday party they were going to be attending. "How does this look?" he asked her, and she handed him a pink ribbon.
"She needs a bow in her hair."
"Right," he muttered, and he tried a few times, but his fingers seemed to be too big to get it right.
As he was struggling with it, Ellie paused what she was doing and said, "You seem really familiar."
"Do I?" he asked cautiously, still fighting the bow and hoping she didn't immediately realize that he was in fact Santa Claus.
She was quiet for a beat before she said, "I think you remind me of my dad." Bradley's eyes met hers, but she didn't look sad or upset, just resigned. "He was good at dolls, too. But not tying the bows."
Then Bradley felt your hand on his shoulder as you said, "Do you need a hand?" He nodded and passed the doll to you, watching as you made it look so easy to tie the perfect bow. "Pizza will be here soon," you said softly, handing the doll back to him.
"Thanks," he whispered, still surprised by your daughter's words. Somehow it didn't make him feel nervous or weird to be compared to your late husband. But it did come with a sense of responsibility of sorts. He already ordered Ellie her pink art kit, but he found himself just wanting to spend time with the two of you. The kisses had been one thing, but playing dolls and eating pizza seemed natural as well.
When the food arrived, Bradley hopped up and tried to pay for it, but you'd already put it on your credit card. So he snatched your wallet out of your hand and pulled tip money out of his own for the delivery guy. And if he was able to get his arms around you in the process and press a soft kiss to your cheek, it was just a bonus for him. Then he watched you cut a slice of pizza in half for your daughter as you tried to hide your smile from him.
"Where did the flowers come from?" Ellie asked, pointing at the big bouquet and the smaller one.
"Santa sent them with me," he replied, picking up the small one so she could smell them. "He told me that you and your mom both like pink."
"Santa knows everything," she said as she nodded, and Bradley smiled down at her. "I want to eat by the tree," she insisted when you handed her a plate and a juice box.
"Yeah," Bradley agreed as he picked out some slices of pizza. "Me too." So you handed him a juice box as well, and he followed Ellie back to the living room with a smile. The three of you sat on the floor in a little circle next to the tree, and Bradley regaled the two of you with made up stories about the North Pole. Ellie was in stitches, and you bit your lip every time she laughed, your smile absolutely infectious.
Bradley ended up eating Ellie's pizza crust as you cleaned up the plates, and he knew it was time for him to leave. It was late. But he was nervous he wouldn't see you before Christmas Eve when he planned to come by as Santa.
"Mommy, can Bradley come back and look at Christmas lights with us?"
You paused as Bradley stood up next to the pink tree, and then you said, "Ellie, I'm not even sure where to go for that in San Diego."
"I could ask Santa," Bradley blurted out. "I'm sure he'd know the best spots in any city to see Christmas lights."
"Yeah!" Ellie agreed. "Santa would know!"
You only hesitated for a second before you said, "Only if it's not going to take up too much of your time."
Bradley patted Ellie on the head and said, "I can make time for that. Let me get back to the North Pole and ask Santa where the best lights are. Thanks for teaching me how to play dolls." Then he met your gaze and said, "And thanks for the pizza."
"It's our pleasure," you told him, echoing his own words from the other day.
He swallowed hard; the urge to lean in and kiss you was so strong. He fought it though, because he knew he had another excuse to see you both again soon. Then he forced himself toward the door. "I'll be in touch," he promised, and when he opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch, he noticed Ellie's gaze settle on his Bronco, a look of curiosity on her face.
---------------------------
You were a mess the rest of the weekend, texting Bradley late into the night on both Friday and Saturday after Ellie was in bed. You found yourself continually peeking at the selfie he sent you like a kid trying to find their Christmas presents early. He was just that damn good looking.
More importantly, he was sweet. He had invited you and your daughter to join him on a drive down to Imperial Beach to look at lights on Tuesday night, and of course you'd immediately agreed.
Ellie and I wouldn't miss it.
Bradley 'Santa' Bradshaw: I'll pick you up at six. I already have a little treat for the ride.
You giggled and flopped down on your bed, eyeing your wedding photo across the room. "I really like him," you said out loud with a grin. Then you texted Bradley back.
What kind of treat?
He must have been holding his phone, his response came that quickly.
Bradley 'Santa' Bradshaw: Something pretty and sweet, just like you. I absolutely can't get you off of my mind. Not that I'm trying very hard.
"Okay," you said out loud, finding it easier to give yourself a little pep talk when he got you flustered like this. "You can do this. Be cool."
I thought you looked cute in your Santa beard, but your real mustache is even better.
There. Flirtatious but not too much. A solid response. You gave yourself a little pat on the shoulder. But then he upped the ante just a tiny bit by sending a selfie of him blushing. You groaned, because his mustache was immaculate, and you wanted to get your lips all over his cheeks and see if you could make his blush deepen.
Bradley 'Santa' Bradshaw: I've been thinking about our first kiss on repeat. When Santa shows up on Christmas Eve, are you going to kiss him, too?
You laughed as you texted him back.
Yes. I think I have a crush on both of you.
Then you got yourself into bed, knowing it would feel like a very long wait for Tuesday night to arrive, but you fell asleep with a smile on your lips when he wrote back.
Bradley 'Santa' Bradshaw: Then I feel doubly lucky.
--------------------------
It was honestly a good thing you had so much to do for work, because it took your mind off of your nerves. But when Tuesday evening finally arrived, your hands were shaking as you tried to get ready in front of your bathroom mirror. You kept looking at the most recent text in your thread with Bradley, and it was bringing out your anxious energy. It was a simple message with a photo attached, but now you were second guessing everything.
Bradley 'Santa' Bradshaw: I hope I look good in pink.
He did. He looked fantastic in his pink and black floral print shirt. That wasn't the issue. It was your daughter's words echoing through your mind as she stood in the bathroom doorway that had you rattled.
"Hey, Mommy? Is Bradley going to be your boyfriend?"
You looked at her as you tried to put on some lip gloss. "Do you want him to be?"
"Maybe," she replied, eyes narrowing a bit. "I just need to do a little more research and make sure he's the one I asked for."
You almost laughed. You would have if you weren't so nervous. "What kind of research? And what do you mean the one you asked for?"
Ellie just shrugged in response. "I'll take care of it. You look pretty, Mommy."
Your throat felt tight as you swallowed against the thing that was really bothering you and whispered, "If Bradley ever does become my boyfriend, he's not going to replace the memory of your dad. Understand?"
Ellie nodded and sighed sadly. "I understand. But you said he's not coming back."
"He's not," you confirmed softly. The sharp, stabbing pangs of sadness had dulled a bit over time, however you still felt one now. But you'd also spend days doing some soul searching over the fact that you knew you were attracted to everything about Bradley. You didn't feel as hesitant around him as you thought you would after losing your husband. After more than a year alone with Ellie, you felt like this could be something.
Then your daughter helped you push your thoughts aside as she said, "Bradley was pretty good at playing dolls, and I could teach him how to be even better. And he looked like he was good at holding your hand."
"Oh," you gasped, setting your makeup aside. You didn't think she'd seen that, but she didn't seem upset in the least about it. "Yeah... he was good at it."
"Is it almost time to go look at lights?" she asked you just as your doorbell rang.
"Oh god," you groaned softly, butterflies and unidentified nerves erupting inside you. What if you did something stupid tonight? What if you didn't even know what to talk about?
"He's here!" Ellie called as she ran for the front door with you right behind her. And when she swung the door open wide, there he was in his pink shirt with a bright smile on his face and two, oversized pink candy canes in one hand.
"Hey, Ellie," he replied easily as she beamed up at him. Then he looked at you and his smile faltered a bit. He swallowed, and it took him a few seconds to greet you. When he did, it was just one raspy word. "Hi."
"Hi," you replied softly, and the butterflies were still going wild, but the nerves were replaced with longing. "Bradley."
Ellie was reaching for the candy canes, and he patted the top of her head, but he was still looking at you. "Hi," he repeated, and you couldn't help but laugh. "See, talking to you in person is way better than texting, even though you take all the thoughts out of my brain and all the words out of my mouth."
You ducked your head to the side and covered your embarrassingly large grin with your hands as Ellie asked, "Are these for my mom and me? Santa's usually the one who brings us pink treats."
"Oh," Bradley replied, "well, these ones are from me. I hope that's okay. I saw these fancy candy canes at the North Pole sweet shop and thought of the two of you."
Ellie was already unwrapping hers, and Bradley held the other one up right in front of his chest with a grin, coaxing you closer. "Thank you for the treats. And for taking us to look at lights," you said, letting your fingers meet his as you took your candy cane.
"It's my pleasure."
------------------------
Bradley didn't know really how booster seats worked, but you moved one from your car to his Bronco, and then Ellie climbed in.
"Are we ready to look at lights?" he asked as he started the engine.
"Yes!" she replied from the backseat. "Did Santa tell you the best place to go?"
"He absolutely did. And he remembered that you liked pink, so I'm thinking there might be a special surprise for you."
"Special surprise?" you asked from next to him in the front seat. It had been so long since he'd had even one passenger let alone two. When your fingers came creeping across the leather seat, he reached for your tentative hand and held it tight in his.
"It's a surprise for you, too," he promised, hoping you had no idea what the grand finale of the drive through light show was going to be.
You laced the fingers of your left hand with his right, and Bradley had to take a calming breath. He hadn't felt this strongly about someone in a long time, and he just met you. But his brain had already been filling in the blanks of how good it might feel to be around you the longer he got to know you, because the chemistry was definitely there.
He glanced at your profile at a red light and reached with his left hand to turn on the radio to the station that was playing Christmas music. Then he pulled your hand a little closer to him as the light turned green, and he could see you smiling out of the corner of his eye. "How's that candy cane?" he asked Ellie, glancing in the rearview mirror.
"Good! It tastes like cotton candy."
"Do you like cotton candy?" he asked, noting you were still holding your treat in your right hand.
"All kids like cotton candy!" Ellie squealed with a laugh.
"I like cotton candy. Does that make me a kid?" he asked her as he turned left toward the beach, the darkest streaks of pink and purple running along the horizon behind the setting sun.
She giggled in delight and so did you. "No, you're too big," Ellie told him. "Nice try."
"Harsh," Bradley muttered as he made another turn, and then the enormous light display along the beach came into view. "Okay, here we are." He turned your way as he pulled up to the kiosk to pay, saying, "I'm going to need my hand back."
You immediately pulled your hand away from him and hurriedly said, "No problem," as he reached for his wallet.
He chuckled and said, "It's coming right back to you once I pay, so don't get too comfy."
"Oh, I can pay!" you tried to insist as you scrambled for your bag on the floor by your feet, giving Bradley enough time to hand over some cash and pull through the gate toward the light displays.
"Absolutely not," he said as you gave up and tossed your bag back to the floor. "Now where did your hand go?"
You turned to look at him before glancing back at Ellie who was mesmerized by the lights all around the Bronco. "Right here." And then Bradley felt your hand slip into his grasp where it already felt like it belonged.
"That's better."
He barely took his foot off the brake pedal to keep coasting forward behind the car in front of him, and he hummed along to the music on the radio. Ellie's commentary from the backseat was pretty amusing with her occasional interjections of "Frosty!" and "Rudolph!"
The light display was massive, and there was a long line of cars in front of them, which was great. Bradley didn't want to rush taking the two of you back home again. Especially not when you leaned in a little closer to him and whispered, "Thanks for this. She's having a great time."
Bradley came to a stop in front of a lit up display of ice skating penguins and turned to face you. "So am I. Been having a pretty great time since I met the two of you."
You whimpered, and Bradley squeezed your hand a little tighter as he fought the desire to lean in closer and kiss you. Then you whispered his name, and he nearly lost the battle. "Bradley. Are you still going to want to see us after Christmas?"
When he opened his mouth to tell you he wanted to see you every day, Ellie gasped in the backseat. "It looks like Santa's sleigh!"
Bradley turned to face forward, and sure enough, Santa's sleigh was just ahead, and the other cars had started to move up as well. "Sure does," he replied to her as he coasted forward so she could see. Now you were looking at the lights as well, and Bradley watched all the colors dance across your face. When you tilted your head to look at him, he said, "I'm going to want to see you as much as you'll let me."
A soft smile curled along your lips as he kept moving the Bronco forward. You didn't respond, but your fingers laced with his again, and Bradley could feel your thumb stroking along his. He took that as a pretty good sign, and then you and Ellie both started to laugh at the same time.
"Hey," Bradley said when he saw them, too. "A bunch of pink flamingos for my two pink loving girls."
"I love them!" Ellie gushed, clapping her hands as Bradley pulled up between two light displays of hundreds of flamingos wearing Santa hats. "So much pink!"
Then your lips were on his cheek before brushing back toward his ear, and he had to stop the Bronco again as your hand grazed his knee. "This is the best," you laughed softly.
If you wanted to, he'd bring you both back tomorrow and the next night and the night after that. He wanted to watch your face illuminated by the pink lights as you bit your lip and smiled. He wanted to hear Ellie's laughter from the backseat while she sang Jingle Bells.
Bradley moved the Bronco as slowly as he could so you could enjoy the flamingos for as long as possible. Then he drove through fake snow being blasted at all of the cars which somehow made him feel like he was back in Virginia again.
"I do not miss the snow," you told him, cradling his hand like you did this all the time. He very carefully pulled back out onto the road using one hand, because the last thing he wanted was to let go of you.
"But Mommy, what if it's snowing at the North Pole?" Ellie asked. "How will we visit Bradley?"
Shit. He didn't know what to say, because he didn't want to confuse her or mess this up. "Maybe after the busy holiday, Santa will let me spend a little more time in San Diego so you don't have to brave the snow again."
Ellie hummed skeptically from the backseat as Bradley wound his way back through the neighborhoods on the outskirts of the city. "Yeah... that might work," she replied. "I'm going to have to stay up on Christmas Eve and have a conversation with Santa."
"I'll remind him to bring his A game," Bradley muttered. "Now let me drop the two of you off since you still have school tomorrow."
---------------------------
You watched Bradley lift Ellie out of his Bronco, and then he moved her booster seat back to your car for you. When he walked both of you up to the porch, he had his hand at the middle of your back, his fingers teasing at your waist in the cool, night air. When you approached the front door, however, he knelt down in front of Ellie and asked, "Did you have fun?"
"Yes!"
"Should I tell Santa that was a good light display?"
"Yes!"
"Did you like the flamingos?"
"So much!" Then she flung her arms around his neck and said, "Thank you." The fact that your daughter seemed perpetually happy around this man whether he was dressed as Santa or just being himself had you nervously wiping your palms along your jeans.
"You're welcome. I'll see you soon?" he asked, patting the top of her head as he stood, eyeing you as he asked the question.
"Yes," you answered quickly as you opened the front door. You paused once Ellie walked inside, and you turned toward her. "Start getting ready for bed. I'll be up in just a minute."
"Okay. Bye, Bradley."
"Bye, Ellie," he replied with a laugh, but you were already pulling the door closed, leaving you and him alone on the porch together.
"Hey, I had a great time-" he began, but you cut him off when you lunged for him. You couldn't help it. Bradley caught you in his big arms, and wrapped you up tight against him as he grinned. "-with you tonight."
Your fingers were tangled in his soft curls as your lips mashed against his, but even with you pressed right up to his body in desperation, he was a gentleman. His hands were splayed across your back, rubbing up and down, slowly bunching the fabric of your shirt.
"Me too," you promised between kisses, nodding slightly as you nibbled on his lip. He hummed softly as your hand drifted down to the back of his neck, and he deepened the kiss. His tongue tasted sweet, and you felt beautiful and desirable when you were with him.
But you broke the kiss and whispered, "I need to get Ellie in bed."
"Right. Right." He was still holding you close, still slowly rubbing your back with his hands. And then you kissed him one more time, because you needed to. It was soft and perfect just like Friday when you helped him decorate the tree. "I'll see you soon," he whispered as his nose grazed your cheek.
You felt your whole body tingle as he pressed one more slightly rougher kiss to your lips before turning back to his Bronco. You had to fight the urge to chase him down for more, waving like an idiot as he pulled away instead. There were just a few more days until Christmas, and you wondered if it would be too forward of you to tell him that he's the only thing you wanted for yourself this year.
---------------------------
Bradley took a deep breath as he pulled on his red flight suit and grabbed his matching hat and white beard. It was getting late for Ellie to still be awake, but you'd promised him it was okay to stop by around 9:30. He wasn't quite sure what to expect, but he hoped she was still excited to see Santa.
With Christmas music playing and wrapped gifts on the front seat, Bradley spent the drive over trying to decide how to explain to your daughter that he was the same person when he was dressed as Santa and when he was just himself. Just Bradley. And then he started to get antsy. Just Bradley. He didn't have much to offer to either of you. Just a guy who occasionally got deployed and suddenly liked the color pink.
When he parked in front of your place, he sat for a minute, afraid he was going to do or say the wrong thing. If Ellie still believed in the magic of Santa Claus, he didn't want to take that from her. He glanced toward your front window and saw movement. The two of you were dancing in front of the lit up pink tree, and a smile found its way to his face.
"Just be Santa," he said out loud, snatching up the presents and closing the door behind him.
With his beard and hat securely in place, he knocked and immediately heard Ellie squeal. "It's Santa! I just know it!"
And then she was there, swinging the door open so quickly, Bradley was surprised it stayed on the hinges. "Merry Christmas," he greeted, getting the wind knocked out of him by the five year old launching herself at him and by how cute both of you looked in your matching pink snowflake pajamas.
"Santa!" Ellie gushed, reaching for his hand to lead him inside. "We made you some heart shaped cookies with icing!"
"I love that," he replied, but his eyes were stuck on you. Bradley could just tell you'd welcome a kiss from him right now, and he wanted to give you one, but instead he followed you over to the tree.
"Cookies and some hot chocolate," you told him, picking up a plate of sweets and that same mug he drank from last week. "Just for you, Santa."
Bradley set down the presents, including the art kit filled with every shade of pink paint anyone could possibly want. That's when he noticed that instead of eating the pink candy cane he gave you on Tuesday night, you'd hung it on one of the tree branches. He was already smiling when he saw the little box with a gift tag next to his boot that said "TO: SANTA. FROM: ELLIE."
"This is for me?" he asked, bending to pick it up.
Ellie nodded, looking up at him hopefully. "I made you something."
"Well then I'm sure I'll love it," he replied.
He was just starting to unwrap his gift when Ellie turned toward you and asked, "Mommy, would it be okay if I talk to Santa alone for a minute?"
Bradley's fingers stilled as you nodded and softly said, "I'll just go sit on the steps." You bent to kiss the top of Ellie's head before smiling softly at Bradley, and then you were gone. And he was alone with a child who was eyeing him with such curiosity, it made his heart beat a little faster.
Ellie tugged on his hand until he was kneeling, and then she leaned in a little closer. Bradley felt like he was under a microscope as she examined him, but then she smiled.
"You were a very convincing fake Santa. But after you brought the tree over, I knew it was you right away, Bradley."
"You did?" he asked, heart plummeting as her words washed over him. If he just ruined Santa Claus for this adorable little girl, he didn't know what he'd do with himself.
"Yeah. I figured out that you were the same guy since both Santa and Bradley drive the same car and have the same voice."
Oh, shit. His eyes went wide as she pulled his beard down below his chin and smiled at him. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't actually intend to lie to you about being a North Pole handyman."
"I know," she said, taking his gift from his hand and opening it up for him. Inside the box were two Christmas ornaments. They were made out of construction paper with popsicle sticks glued to look like pictures in frames, and there were ribbons attached to the top so they could be hung.
"Ellie," he whispered, taking them both out of the box to inspect them more closely in the soft, pink light. She'd taken the time to draw pictures on both of them. The first one said ELLIE and had a well drawn F/A-18 and some elves along with a pink candy cane and three flamingos. The other ornament said SANTA and was complete with pink flowers, a pink tree and a picture of a man. "Is that supposed to be me?" he asked her softly.
"Yeah. But just you, Bradley. Not really Santa."
"Thanks," he muttered, not sure how to tell a five year old that this was perhaps the best gift he'd ever received in his adult life.
But now she was standing with her hands on her hips. "I need to know what happened when you went to talk to the real Santa after the air show. And don't lie to me this time."
"What do you mean?" he asked, heart beating faster again.
"Since you got permission to dress as a pretend Santa for kids like me at the air show, you get to sometimes talk to the real Santa Claus, right?"
Oh. Maybe he hadn't completely fucked this up after all. "Of course. That's how it works when you get chosen to be a Santa representative."
"Yeah," she said, nodding like a CEO closing a business deal. "That's what I thought."
"You're a very smart kid," he told her with a smile, but clearly she wasn't quite finished with him yet.
"So? What happened when you talked to him? Did Santa know you'd be perfect? Is that why you kept coming back to our house to see my mom?"
"Perfect?" he asked cautiously.
She grinned at him as she said, "Yeah. The perfect boyfriend for my mom. The one I asked for."
Bradley was speechless. That's what he wanted to be. Your boyfriend. Maybe more than that someday. His eyes roamed Ellie's face, so innocent in the way she still believed there was magic here. But maybe there actually was. "Yes. That's exactly what happened, Kiddo. I went to meet with Santa, and I told him what was on your wishlist. And I told him how important it was that you got everything you wanted since you're always on the nice list."
She clapped her hands and bobbed up and down. "And he knew you'd be the perfect boyfriend?"
"Yeah," Bradley said, throat tight with emotion. "He knew I'd fall for your mom and you and the color pink and just all of it."
She hugged him tight, and he scooped her up and hung both homemade ornaments on the pink tree. "Merry Christmas," she whispered.
"Merry Christmas," he replied. "Think it's okay if I talk to your mom now?"
She nodded, and he carried her to the stairs where you were sitting with your own mug of hot chocolate waiting for them. "You ready for bed, Ellie?" you asked, looking between your daughter and Bradley with his beard down below his chin with some concern.
Then Ellie kissed his cheek and said, "Goodnight, Bradley," as he set her down on the steps next to you.
"Night, Ellie," he replied, and he watched her kiss you too before climbing the stairs and going into a room that was lit by the soft glow of a nightlight. And then you and he were alone, and you were sliding over to make room on the step next to you.
Your hesitant smile made him a little lightheaded as you asked, "So she knows you're Santa from the air show?"
He chuckled softly. "Something like that. But don't worry, she still knows that the real Santa exists. She's got quite the imagination."
"Yeah, I don't think I'll ever have to worry about that," you replied, setting down your mug and reaching for his hand. It was the easy way you laced your fingers with his once again that spurred him on. You were grinning as he leaned in to kiss you, his white beard tickling your chin. "Hi, Santa," you whispered against his lips, and he just knew this was how it was supposed to be.
When he pulled away from you with a smile of his own, he said, "There's something I need to tell you. About the day we met."
Your brow creased in concern, and he leaned in to kiss you there as you asked, "What about the day we met?"
He wanted to be delicate with you and take his time. It's what you deserved. You and Ellie both. But he also wanted to once again make his feelings crystal clear for you. "That first day, at the air show... when I took Ellie up to sit in my jet, she asked for a pink tree and an art kit with pink paint." Bradley paused, stroking his rough fingers along your soft cheek before he added, "But she also asked Santa to bring a boyfriend for you."
You gasped. "She did? My five year old asked Santa to bring me a boyfriend?" You buried your face in your hands and groaned softly. "That's so embarrassing."
Bradley gently peeled your fingers away from your face as you grimaced at him, but he just laughed. "It's not embarrassing. It's sweet." He waited until you were looking at him again, even though you were nibbling on your lip a little anxiously. "And the thing is... somehow, I think it's supposed to be me."
When your lips parted on a soft sound, your face looked hopeful, and Bradley squeezed your hand as you barely whispered, "You?"
"Yeah. Me," he told you with a little laugh. "I'm nothing special, but I'm hoping you'll let me give Ellie everything she wants for Christmas?"
You slowly climbed onto his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck, your eyes bright and sincere. "You want to be my boyfriend?"
"Desperately," he promised. "And I'm not trying to replace Ellie's dad, and we can do this at whatever pace works for the two of you. But I think this was meant to be."
And then you were smiling against his lips and kissing him as he held you on the steps. You laughed as you pushed your fingers through his hair, sending his red hat down the stairs followed by his beard.
"Then I guess Ellie can have everything from her wish list."
------------------------
One year later....
"The tree looks beautiful," Ellie said, hanging up the two ornaments she made last year as you and Bradley each sipped mugs of hot chocolate. The pink Christmas tree stood tall and proud in the same spot it had occupied until February, when you finally convinced her it had to come down after Valentine's Day.
Bradley had gone overboard, perhaps even more so than last year, coming home from work a few hours ago on Christmas Eve with more pink ornaments for your daughter to add to her collection.
"You're spoiling us," you told your boyfriend, and you watched a grin bloom on his lips. But maybe you were spoiling him back just as much. This year, you and Ellie had on matching pink pajamas covered in gingerbread cookies, and Bradley had coordinating pants to wear with his white undershirt. It felt good to have him here, like he was always meant to step in when he did.
"I love spoiling you," he whispered, taking your empty mug and collecting you in his arms. "I love spoiling both my girls."
You and he took things slow at first. He spent the night with you last Christmas Eve, his limbs tangled up with yours in your bed. But your clothing had stayed on, and his lips never went further south than your neck. After that, you fumbled your way through a few dates with him; sometimes Ellie joined the two of you, and sometimes she stayed with Bradley's best friend and former elf, Natasha. But you quickly learned that you hadn't forgotten how to be with someone intimately. All you needed was the right someone who would let you realize that for yourself.
Bradley moved in with you a few months ago, and you hadn't looked back. He was becoming an expert at playing dolls with Ellie, and he made both of you so happy, sometimes your face hurt from smiling so much. He wasn't a replacement, and he wasn't an improvement, but he was something you knew you couldn't live without now.
"Hey, I almost forgot," he murmured. "I grabbed two more things on my way home today. I'll be right back."
When he left the living room, you walked over to Ellie and kissed the top of her head. "I'm really happy we got Bradley for Christmas last year," she said, making you laugh.
"Me too. It's a good thing you asked Santa to bring him for me."
She looked up at you with wide eyes and a little smirk. "Just wait until you find out what I asked for this year."
You looked down at her with an amused smile. "What did you ask for this year?"
But she was distracted now as Bradley came back in with a soft smile on his lips and two small pink boxes. He knelt down in front of Ellie and handed her the bigger one, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "Merry Christmas, Kiddo," he whispered.
"Merry Christmas," she told him, and when she opened the box, you gasped.
"Bradley."
He got your daughter a rose gold necklace with a pink diamond charm, and Ellie squealed in delight when she saw it. "It's so pretty!"
"Just like you," he said, taking it out of the box and clasping it around her neck. She wrapped one hand around the charm and smiled as Bradley turned to look up at you. "I got something for your mom, too."
At first, when he handed you the smaller box, you were convinced it was a necklace to match Ellie's. But then you met his eyes, and you knew it wasn't. Your heart was racing as you looked at him, fingers shaking with anticipation as he said, "I love you. So much. The last year with you has been magical, and I want to be here forever."
You glanced at Ellie, and she was all bright smiles as she bounced up and down as you opened the box. "Oh," you gasped, because it was the prettiest pink ring. And it did match her necklace.
When you looked up from the box and met his eyes, he asked you something that you already knew the answer to. "Will you marry me?"
"Yes!"
You held the box tight as he stood and spun you around the room in his arms, his soft laughter filling your heart as Ellie loudly cheered, "I asked Santa for a husband for my mom!"
You laughed as Bradley smothered your face in kisses, and then he pulled the ring free before tossing the box aside. As he slid the rose gold and pink diamond ring onto your finger, he grinned and said, "Santa never disappoints."
------------------------------
Happy holidays! I hope Santa Bradley brings you everything from your wishlist! Thanks @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls @thedroneranger @cherrycola27
Summary: Flying in the annual holiday air show dressed as Santa Claus was just something Bradley considered to be part of his job. But when he meets an inquisitive little girl and her beautiful mom, suddenly he wants to make all of their Christmas wishes come true. The only problem is, your daughter actually believes he's Santa, and he's not sure how he's going to keep up the charade when he wants to pursue you as just Bradley.
Warnings: Fluff, language, single mom reader, mentions of loss of spouse
Length: 8000 words
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader
Pink Christmas masterlist. Check out my masterlist for more! Banner by @mak-32. Written for @bellaireland1981 Winter RomCom Challenge
You sat on a beach towel in the grass with your face tilted up toward the warm sun and your five year old daughter on your lap. Never would you have imagined wearing short sleeves and enjoying this kind of warmth in December, but your life had turned unpredictable in the past twelve months. And that included leaving a city that was currently buried in snow for the perpetual summer of southern California.
"Mommy! Look!" your daughter shouted unnecessarily loudly, making you laugh. She turned around with wide eyes to make sure you were looking where she was pointing as she adjusted her pink noise canceling headphones. "It's Santa!"
You slid her headphones off since it wasn't loud at the moment, and you looked out across the runway at the Miramar Air Show to see a tall pilot dressed as Santa Claus walking toward his fighter jet with a group of other pilots dressed as elves right behind him. "I see him," you told her, kissing her cheek as she bounced with excitement. "It looks like he's going to fly one of the airplanes."
"Why does Santa have an airplane?" she asked. "And where are his reindeer? And why are the elves getting in airplanes, too?"
You were saved from having to answer her questions as the aircraft engines fired to life for the finale of the show, and you put her ear protection back in place before putting your own earplugs back in. Honestly, you didn't know how to explain to your child who still believed in the magic of Christmas why Santa was taking off in a jet that said ROOSTER on the side of it. Frankly there were a lot of things you didn't know how to explain to her.
She clapped her hands when the jets swooped overhead in an impossible looking formation before looping back around and doing it again. Your heart melted as you watched her wave to the lead jet and shout, "Hi, Santa!" The planes roared overhead and shot upwards before coming back one by one to the land on the runway with such incredible looking ease.
When she whipped her headphones off herself this time, your daughter jumped to her feet with a huge smile on her face. "Let's go talk to Santa," she said, reaching back for your hand.
But you already had your eyes glued on the pilot who quickly replaced his helmet with a white beard and Saint Nick hat. You couldn't help but watch him, enjoying that distant glimpse of him before he went into full Santa character again. He looked tall and strong as he climbed down the ladder in his bright red flight suit, and you had to look away as you felt the heat rise in your cheeks. He waved to everyone in the crowd, and it felt like he was waving right at the two of you.
"Mommy!"
You knew she wasn't going to be deterred from this mission, so you got to your feet and let her tug you along as you tried to fold the towel one handed. "Sweetheart, Santa and his elves might be too busy to talk to us right now," you warned her as the group of six elves in bright green flight suits started fist bumping Santa Claus. And your steps faltered, because Santa somehow just got more attractive the closer you got.
------------------------
"Who let you be Santa anyway?" Jake asked, tugging on his red and green striped hat with enormous elf ears attached to the sides. "This elf bullshit is a damn disgrace."
"I volunteered to be Santa before the rest of you got a chance. Do I look like I'd make a good elf?" Bradley asked, and Jake rolled his eyes. "No. I do not." He was the tallest one in the group, and luckily he was able to sweet talk Maverick into letting him be the one to don the beard and the red flight suit for today's Miramar for the Holidays event they all volunteered to fly for.
"Maverick should have mixed things up and made me Santa," Nat said with her chin in the air.
"But you're the cutest little elf I've ever seen," Bradley told her, earning a smack on the back of his arm from her helmet. "Ow!"
"Wait, are we complaining?" Mickey asked. "I like being an elf. And apparently we get free food and hot cocoa in the volunteers tent."
"Oh, shit. Really?" Reuben asked, craning his neck to look toward the tent in question.
Bradley was about to remind everyone that they were obligated to pose for photos with kids when he heard a voice calling out, "Santa! Hey, Santa!" He turned toward the four foot tall chain link fence as an adorable little girl dragged a grown woman in his direction.
"Hey guys, we got company," he told the others as he adjusted his white beard and red hat. When he waved toward the child, she squealed in delight, and Bradley couldn't help but laugh. As she and the woman he assumed was her mom approached the fence, Bradley leaned on the top of it.
"Ho, Ho, Ho! What's your name, Kiddo?" he asked her with a bright smile. But his gaze inadvertently shifted to how gorgeous you looked as you held her hand, and he gave you a wink. He wouldn't mind learning your name, too.
But the little girl was eyeing him skeptically. "Shouldn't you already know my name? My mom said I'm on the nice list!" she exclaimed, gesturing up toward you.
Oh. Shit. "Uh, well, you see..."
Luckily you bailed him out with an apologetic look. "Ellie, don't be rude to Santa. He probably didn't update our names to our new address yet."
"Oh. Yeah," Bradley said, nodding in agreement and smiling. "Of course now I recognize you, Ellie. And your mom, too. Rest assured, you're both on the nice list."
But the girl wasn't convinced. "Why aren't you fatter?"
You brought your hand up to cover your face and groaned as Bradley laughed. "I needed to be able to fit in my jet."
"Why do you have a jet? Where's your sleigh?"
Bradley jerked his thumb toward the others milling around behind him. "My elves and I are trying out our jets this year. Something new."
"What about your reindeer?" she asked, undeterred. You were looking at Bradley and half smiling, half grimacing as you mouthed I'm sorry. But he didn't mind at all. Ellie was keeping him on his toes.
"Uh... they have the year off, per their union contracts. You certainly have a lot of questions, Ellie."
She nodded up at him with her hands on her hips. "I just want to make sure you're the real Santa. I've seen a lot of impostors at the mall."
Bradley had to stifle his laughter as you said, "I had no idea she was going to be like this. I'm so sorry, Santa."
"It's fine," he reassured you, noting that you weren't wearing any rings before he returned his attention to your daughter. "Okay, Ellie. What's it going to take for you to believe I'm really Santa?"
Her brow scrunched as she contemplated his question, and Bradley used the time to check you out. It was useless, he knew that, since he looked like an idiot in his fake beard at the moment. But damn, you were pretty. And your daughter was like a tiny, inquisitive version of you.
"Well," Ellie said with a little smirk, "you should know how old I am if you're the real Santa."
You quickly held your hand up over her head to help him out, and he counted your fingers. "Of course I know that you're five years old."
Ellie's eyes softened a bit as she said, "That's right! And what's my favorite color?"
This time you juggled the items you were holding and lifted up a set of noise canceling headphones. "That's easy," Bradley replied. "I know you love pink."
Now Ellie was smiling up at Bradley as she said, "And if you still need to update our new address, then you must know where we moved here from."
Bradley glanced up to see you pretending to shiver and rub your hands along your arms. "You moved here from somewhere cold."
"That's right!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands. "It's you! You're Santa!"
"It's really me," Bradley said, sending her a wink and nodding at you as you bit your lip and grinned. "And don't you worry, I'll have my elves take care of getting your new address straightened out. But first, I need you to prove that you're the real Ellie."
She nodded in excitement. "Ask me anything!"
"What grade are you in?"
"Kindergarten," she said, eyes filled with joy.
"Yep, that's right. Only the real Ellie would know that." You were laughing now, and Bradley loved the way it sounded. "And what's your favorite animal?"
"Pandas!"
"Mmhmm," he hummed, pretending he was impressed that she was passing this quiz with flying colors. "I'm almost convinced it's really you."
"Seriously," she told him. "Ask me anything, because I'm sure I'm not an impostor."
Bradley glanced up at you and smirked before leaning on the fence again, and then asked Ellie, "Tell me, Kiddo. What's your mom's name?"
She blurted it out immediately, and Bradley committed it to memory. When he looked up at you again, your gaze was focused on the ground, but you looked pleased if not a little sad. He wanted to know why.
"Would the two of you like to come in here and look at the North Pole jets?" he asked, and Ellie started bouncing up and down immediately.
"We don't want to waste any more of your time, Santa," you told him with an apologetic look.
"You wouldn't be," he promised, and when he said your name, you smiled and looked off to the side like you were embarrassed. "Come around the fence. You can meet my elves." He pointed to the gate a ways down where a security guard was standing. Bradley waved to him and gave him a thumbs up which the guard returned. "Santa gets special privileges."
"Fine," you said softly. "We'll just come around and meet you then?"
"Looking forward to it," he replied, and then Ellie was taking off for the fence opening with you right behind her. Bradley turned toward the others and clapped his hands. "Listen up. This little girl, Ellie, thinks I'm really Santa," he informed them. "And she thinks you're all my elves."
"Fuck," Jake groaned.
"I'm really hungry," Bob whispered.
"I refuse to be nice to you, even in front of a child," Nat said blandly.
"Whatever," Reuben and Javy said in unison.
"I'm so excited!" Mickey giggled, adjusting his elf ears.
"Just be nice, okay? Here she comes... with her mom," Bradley said, really enjoying the sight of you headed his way. He cleared his throat and knelt down as Ellie streaked toward him.
"Can I sit in one of the North Pole jets?" Ellie asked while you shook your head apologetically.
"Really, feel free to tell her no."
But Bradley just smiled and adjusted his white beard before he scooped the child up and stood. You looked up at him with a mixture of surprise and intrigue as he said, "Sure, Kiddo, if you think you can climb that ladder? It's really tall."
"Yeah, I can do it!" Ellie said, looking past him at his F/A-18 and clapping.
"Sound okay, Mom?" he asked you, and you bit your lip and smiled.
"Great. While Ellie and I are up there talking about what's on her Christmas list, why don't you give your information to my sweetest and most loyal elf, Phoenix."
Nat rolled her eyes at him so hard before she turned to you with a smile, and Bradley had to walk away before he started laughing too hard to stay in character.
"Your elf is named Phoenix?" Ellie asked as he carried her toward the ladder. "What are the other ones named?"
Bradley chuckled. "They're all pretty silly sounding," he said as he set her down a few rungs from the bottom. "The big one is Payback. The one who can't stop smiling is Fanboy. The one that's yawning is Coyote. Bob is the one with glasses. And the cranky one is Hangman."
"He looks like he could use a candy cane," she said as she started to climb.
"I think you're probably right. I should feed all of them more sweets."
Once they reached the top, he hoisted her over the edge and climbed onto the seat behind her. "Do you want to talk about what's on your Christmas list?"
"Yeah," she said with a sigh as she plopped down on his knee and looked at him with concern. "We didn't bring most of our decorations and stuff when we moved, because there were already too many boxes."
"Oh," Bradley grunted, patting her on the shoulder. Now he was even more curious than before about where the two of you had moved from and why as his gaze met yours where you stood below with Phoenix. "Well you'll need a Christmas tree for your presents to go under."
She nodded and finally smiled when Bradley looked at her again. "The only thing I really want is a pink one!"
He blinked at her a few times. "A pink tree?"
"Yeah! A pink Christmas tree! And an art set with pink paint."
Bradley nodded, figuring he could probably make that happen. "Sounds monochromatic but fun. Anything else?"
Ellie looked down at you and waved. Your brilliant smile for your daughter was so lovely, Bradley found himself waving too, which made you laugh. "Nothing else for me," Ellie whispered. "But something for my mom."
"Oh yeah?" he grunted when you blew a kiss up to them. Damn. He knew it was for your daughter, but he kind of wanted one of his own. "What do you think Santa should bring for your mom?"
"A boyfriend."
His gaze jerked back to Ellie's, but she looked completely serious. "You want me to get your mom a boyfriend?"
She nodded and said, "One that's tall and will play dolls with me sometimes and eat dinner at our new house. And he has to be really nice. Just like my dad was."
Bradley leaned in a little closer and wrapped his arm around her narrow shoulders. "What happened to your dad?"
"He died last year," she said matter-of-factly. "But I'm sure you knew him, because he was definitely on the nice list."s
------------------------------
You watched as your daughter gave the naval aviator she was convinced was Santa Claus a big hug. He actually looked a bit ridiculous in the bright red flight suit and hat with the white beard, but Ellie seemed to have bonded with him in some way. They were laughing together about something she whispered to him, and then he was patting her head.
"I'll see what I can do for you, okay Ellie?" he told her, and you wondered if his voice really was that deep all the time.
"Thanks, Santa!" She came trotting over to you and took you by the hand. "I'm ready to go home now," she told you with a smile as the 'elves' waved goodbye. A startled laugh escaped you, because the entire afternoon felt very surreal. You just gave your phone number and your new address to someone named Phoenix who was dressed as an elf even though she was definitely also a naval pilot. And now you were waving to Santa Claus who you were left to assume was named Bradley Bradshaw based on what was painted on the side of his jet.
"Did you have a fun time with Santa?" you asked as you walked back toward the opening in the gate, chuckling at your own words.
"Yeah. He's really nice. I could have probably stayed and talked to him all night," she replied, and when you turned back he was still looking at you. The casual wave of his hand made your heart skip a beat. You really wanted this again. That familiarity with another person. The ease. The perpetually happy child next to you.
"Yeah... he seems pretty great."
But you were really annoyed with yourself when you spent nearly a full hour after you got Ellie in bed imagining what his face might look like without the fake beard. It had barely been three months since you stopped wearing your wedding rings. It was just over a year ago that your husband died unexpectedly. You were decidedly not in the market for dating anyone while Ellie was this young, because she deserved all of your attention. So why were you thinking about this Bradley guy and how sweet he was with your daughter?
You collapsed onto your bed and grabbed your phone from the nightstand. You didn't do the wordle yet for today, and you still needed to check the weather for tomorrow. But you got distracted by a text from a number you didn't recognize.
Hey, it's Bradley Bradshaw. I mean Santa. I hope you don't mind me texting you.
You sat up in your bed so quickly. Your stomach lurched as butterflies took up residence, and your fingers quivered a little bit as you gripped your phone. What were you supposed to do? "Text him back," you muttered to yourself. "Get a grip."
You looked across the room at your wedding photo on your dresser. It had been in one of the few moving boxes you managed to unpack already, and it made you smile every time you looked at it. Right now was no exception; that was one of the best days of your life. But when you looked back down at your phone, you didn't feel a pang of sadness or regret. You felt intrigued. So you saved Bradley's number and then texted him back.
I don't mind one bit. I'm happy to have the chance to thank you again for earlier. You made Ellie's day! Mine, too!
And then you waited with your phone in your hand, half embarrassed and half excited by the idea of getting another text from him.
Bradley 'Santa' Bradshaw: Your daughter is a bit of a spitfire. I was very entertained by her. And there's no need to thank me. It was the highlight of my day.
Dealing with your sassy five year old was the highlight of his day? You squealed and had to set your phone down while you walked around your room for a few minutes. The highlight of his day? He was a fighter pilot! He flew a jet around at the air show!
"Oh god," you groaned, crawling back across your bed to your phone. You were already a lost cause. Over a man who had been dressed as Santa Claus? Ridiculous.
But now you were scrambling over what to type back to him. Send him a Santa emoji? No. You were flustered as you sent him the first random thing that came to your mind.
You make a great Santa. You know, in case you ever contemplate a career change.
You looked at the words on your phone screen and cringed. You glanced back at your wedding photo and sighed. If that was your best attempt at flirting, then it was amazing you'd ever been married at all. And this man you met today didn't even seem bothered that you had a kid. That was a miracle in itself. You got ready to toss your phone aside for the night when he sent back a smiling emoji and another text.
Bradley 'Santa' Bradshaw: I'll keep that in mind as a potential retirement gig.
You wanted to tell him he looked pretty good in a fake beard. You wanted to tell him you were curious what he looked like without it. You wanted to keep him talking a little bit longer, because you could feel the adrenaline fueled blood pumping through your body, and it felt exciting. But before you could even say anything else, Bradley had you burying your face in your pillow so you could scream without waking Ellie up.
Bradley 'Santa' Bradshaw: But here's the thing. I'm an absolute sucker for cute girls. When can I see the two of you again?
------------------------
Bradley had to wait a little bit for a response from you, and he was sweating. He didn't want to push too hard, especially after Ellie told him her dad died, but he was intrigued. Plus, he was already googling pink Christmas trees.
Ellie's Mom: Ellie and I are kind of suckers for sweet Santas. What did you have in mind?
He lounged back in his bed with a smile on his face. Was he about to drop five hundred bucks on an eight foot tall pink tree? Hell yes. Especially since you just called him sweet.
Ellie asked Santa for a pink Christmas tree. I want to order it tonight if you can confirm it will fit in your house. And then I'd love to come by and set it up one day.
You wrote back almost immediately after he sent the link to the tree.
Ellie's Mom: You don't have to buy that for her! It's so expensive! Honestly, you don't need to buy her anything!
Bradley sighed. The kid thought he was really Santa Claus, so there was no way she wasn't getting a pink tree and a pink art kit. It was the boyfriend request that made him chuckle, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't interested in the idea of seeing you again.
But I want to. Any chance you can measure the space for me?
He had to wait a little bit longer again for you to answer, but this time he was rewarded with photos that had him sitting up in bed and staring at his phone.
Ellie's Mom: I can't find a measuring tape in all these moving boxes, but here's the spot where a tree could go. And here I am for reference.
You were smiling in the selfies, looking a little shy but just as pretty as earlier today, and you had on a shirt that looked so soft, he wanted to touch it. "God damn it," he grunted, already tapping out a response.
I think Santa should stop by in person and check the measurements, just to be on the safe side. Also, you're gorgeous.
"Oh fuck," groaned after he hit send. He really didn't mean to come on so strong, especially since he just met you. He busied himself with ordering the pink tree that he was sure would fit in that spot along with some colorful ornaments and tried not to count the minutes until you wrote back.
Ellie's Mom: We'll be home on Monday evening. I'm sure Ellie would love another visit from Santa. And so would I.
Bradley wrote back letting you know roughly what time he could stop by, and then he started to formulate a plan.
On Monday, in the locker room after work, he changed out of his regular flight suit and showered before zipping himself into his bright red one. His measuring tape, beard and Santa hat were already waiting in the Bronco, and he swung by his favorite bakeshop on his way out of Coronado. The place was packed with customers placing orders for Christmas goodies, so he was happy he decided to call ahead. He grabbed the box he already paid for and got back on the road, following his GPS across the city to the outskirts of town.
Your place was a cute town home with a pink Christmas wreath on the door and the windows lit with a warm glow as the sun set. Bradley got his Santa beard and hat situated using his rearview mirror, and then he grabbed the box and the measuring tape and made his way up to the front porch. As soon as he knocked, his heart beat a little faster, and a few seconds later, you were opening the door for him with a smile.
"Hey, Santa," you said softly with a crooked little smile. Bradley took you in from head to toe, his eyes catching on your lips and your pink sweater as he heard Ellie come bounding down the stairs.
"Santa!"
He looked past you just in time to see your daughter come streaking toward him wearing a pink dress and launching herself into his arms. He bent and caught her a little awkwardly as he laughed. "What are you doing here?" she asked as she hugged him.
"Came to make sure you're still on the good list." Bradley grinned up at you where you stood biting your lip. "Well, Mom? Has she been listening and behaving?"
You nodded. "Yes, Santa. She's been very well behaved."
"Excellent," he replied, releasing Ellie and handing her the box which she opened right away.
She gasped and looked up at him. "Pink Christmas cookies?"
"Yeah, I just thought the two of you might like something sweet."
You were looking at him with softly parted lips, and then you said, "Aren't we supposed to be leaving cookies out for you later this month?"
"I wouldn't complain if you did," he replied as Ellie handed you a pink snowflake cookie. He watched you bite into it, and he realized he was staring.
"Want one?" Ellie asked, tugging on his hand.
"No, those are for the two of you, Kiddo. I'm really here to measure the room for your pink tree. I want to drop it off before Christmas so there's something for your presents to go under."
Ellie screeched and nearly dropped the cookies all over the floor as you took the box from her. She pulled Bradley into the living room and showed him where she wanted her tree to go, and then she helped him measure the space while she asked him what he wanted for Christmas.
"Does Mrs. Claus get you something every year?" she asked, eyes wide and focused on him.
He wasn't sure how to answer her as he knelt on the floor with the measuring tape in his hand. So he decided to just be honest. "I actually don't have a Mrs. Claus yet."
When Ellie's eyes drifted from him up to you where you stood a few feet away, Bradley couldn't help but follow suit. "Mommy," she whispered. "We need to get something for Santa."
"Okay," you whispered back, barely glancing at Bradley before looking back at your daughter. "We can do that."
Ellie turned back to him and asked, "If I leave a present under the tree on Christmas Eve, will you know it's for you when you get here?"
"Of course. Just write my name on it so I know it's mine." Then she kissed him on his cheek right above his white beard, and Bradley melted a little bit inside.
--------------------------
You and your daughter waved from your front door as Santa left with his tape measure and one of the pink cookies. Ellie insisted he take the one that was decorated like a reindeer with him, and you watched as he ate it while he started up his vintage blue Bronco. When he honked and waved goodbye, Ellie jumped up and down.
"Santa's bringing me a pink tree!" she gushed, and honestly, you were feeling a little silly over that man, too. Your skin tingled as you closed the door and looked at the rest of the cookies. You felt like he was spoiling the two of you even though you barely knew him.
"Let's go get ready for bed," you whispered, ushering her toward the stairs before you took the cookies to your kitchen to have a moment to yourself. Last Christmas had been a nightmare as it was just a few weeks after you lost your husband, and now you'd moved to San Diego to have a fresh start with a new job and a new school and a new city. You couldn't handle another holiday in the house that the three of you had shared.
California was warm and welcoming, but the last thing you had expected to find here right away was a man that made your heart skip a beat. You knew your husband wouldn't want you to give up the idea of dating someone else, but you'd convinced yourself that nobody would want the two of you even though Ellie was a sweet kid.
You set the pretty cookies down on the counter and sighed. Bradley didn't seem to mind that Ellie was around. If anything, he seemed to really like her. He was buying her a tree even though you told him he didn't have to do that. You were more than capable of getting one, but he wasn't going to be deterred.
And Ellie definitely liked him, helped in part by the fact that she seemed completely convinced he was actually Santa.
"You don't even really know what his face looks like," you groaned as you closed the box and headed upstairs. It didn't even matter though, because you could still tell he was handsome with the kind of brown eyes you just wanted to keep looking at. But how embarrassing were you? Crushing on him like this.
After you got Ellie in bed, you texted Bradley to say thank you, and he wrote back immediately.
Bradley 'Santa' Bradshaw: It was my pleasure.
You imagined him saying those words in his deep voice in person, and you were still thinking about him the next morning when you woke up. You picked up your framed wedding photo and sighed in exasperation. "He reminds me a bit of you, honestly," you told your deceased husband who smiled back from the frame. "He's funny and kind of sweet. Maybe I just miss you. I don't know."
But you found yourself unable to get much work done from your home office while Ellie was at school. You kept sneaking down to the kitchen to get pink cookies, and by late afternoon, you caved like a house of cards and texted Bradley.
I can't stop thinking about what you might look like without your Santa beard and hat.
You set your phone down on your desk and stared at it. What were you, fucking insane or something? You must be. After twenty minutes with no response, you grabbed a sweatshirt and went for a walk around the block without your phone. You had forgotten how to flirt. That had to be what was going on here. You no longer knew how to be normal or subtle in any way, because it had been so long since you needed to be. When you moved to San Diego to start over again, you must have forgotten to pack your ability to act chill in front of men you were attracted to.
You stood on your front porch and took a deep breath before heading back inside. You needed to stop this. After Bradley came back with the pink tree for Ellie, he wasn't going to want to keep hanging out anyway. It was better to just stop this thing in its tracks right now. You ran back upstairs to your desk and grabbed your phone. He probably hadn't responded yet, which was great, because you could text him again and tell him you were just joking.
"Haha," you muttered as you sat down. "Just kidding, Santa."
But he had already replied. Oh. And he sent a selfie. Oh my. "Oh my god." He was even hotter than you imagined. He had a mustache. A real one, not the white one. He wasn't wearing the red hat either, and as a result, you got to see how soft his light brown curls looked. And he was smiling, his lips and his eyes already familiar to you. Then you made a small, strangled sound as you read the accompanying text.
Bradley 'Santa' Bradshaw: Greetings from North Island... I mean, the North Pole. And by the way, I can't stop thinking about you either.
You literally melted out of your chair and onto the spare bedroom floor. You thought about reaching for your computer to put up your out of office message, but you couldn't stop looking at the photo long enough to focus on anything else. You were laying on your back looking at your phone, and you nearly dropped it on your face when he wrote back again.
Bradley 'Santa' Bradshaw: The tree should arrive on Thursday. I was thinking I could take a half day at work and come over to set it up on Friday afternoon while Ellie is at school? Then I could see you again, too...
You rolled onto your front and started typing. Of course you wanted him to come back on Friday. You hit send before you realized that you'd be here alone with him. You'd have no five year old to buffer yourself from almost certain embarrassment.
-------------------------
Everyone else was picking out poinsettias or red and green blooms, but when Bradley got to the florist, he asked for a big bouquet of pink flowers as well as a smaller one. Just pink flowers. Nothing else. He paid and left with both of them in one hand and ran back across the street to his Bronco.
He was running late. He told you he'd be there around one o'clock, but it was already half past. Of course he needed to shower before he left work at noon, since he smelled like jet fuel, and then he had to stop back at home and load the tree and everything else into the Bronco before he could head to your place.
The last thing he wanted was for you to think he didn't want to spend as much time with you and Ellie as possible right now. Frankly he was looking forward to spending a little time alone with you, even if it was just while he was putting the tree up. When he finally made it across town, he checked the time and winced before running up the sidewalk and knocking. And if he was already a little bit out of breath, it only got worse when you opened the door and smiled at him.
"Sorry I'm late," he said. "I realized on my way here that I must have been overzealous when I told you I would be here by one."
You grinned and shrugged. "It's okay. Come on in." You closed the door behind him and asked, "Are those for Ellie?" You were gesturing at the flowers he forgot he was holding.
"Oh," he said, pulling the bouquets apart. "One's for you." Your eyes went wide as he held the bigger bunch out, and your fingers brushed his when you took it. "The little one's for Ellie."
You were looking up at him in surprise and your voice was soft as you said, "Thank you."
"Yeah, well, I didn't know what your favorite color was, so I went all in on the pink."
You were grinning again as you buried your nose in one of the fuchsia colored roses. "It's pink. Good job, Santa."
Bradley laughed. "I should have known. The two of you have me seeing pink everywhere now."
"I'm not sorry about that," you said, reaching for the other bouquet. "I'll put these in the kitchen."
He handed it over and said, "And I'll bring the tree inside." He watched you turn away from him, and he kept his eyes on you until you were almost out of sight which resulted in you turning around and catching him staring. He didn't mind.
Bradley made two trips inside with the tree and all of the lights and ornaments, but you must have still been in the kitchen. Or maybe you went upstairs or something. He'd been hoping you wanted to hang out a little bit and chat, but he already had the enormous tree box open with pink branches spilling out of it when you returned with two mugs.
"I made you some hot chocolate."
Nobody had made him a mug of hot chocolate since he was a kid himself. "You did?"
"Yeah. But if you don't want it, that's fine." You looked a little shy now, so he stood and reached for the pink mug you were offering to him.
"I love hot chocolate. I just don't drink it much now that I live where it's usually warm."
"Where are you from?" you asked before you pursed your pretty lips and blew on your drink.
Bradley smirked. "Would I be remiss if I told you I'm actually from Virginia and not the North Pole?"
Your bright laughter had him taking a step closer to you. "Not at all. Just don't tell Ellie that. She's already working on a Christmas present for you. I mean for Santa."
"Is she really?" he asked, suddenly unable to stop smiling. When you nodded, he asked, "What is it?
"I can't tell you! That would ruin the surprise."
"Yeah... don't tell me. I wouldn't want to disappoint her." Bradley took a sip before setting his mug down on a coaster and kneeling in front of the tree box.
You cleared your throat as he started pulling branches out. "How long have you been living in San Diego?"
"About six years. I finally got a permanent station at North Island after moving around. A lot." He lined all of the pieces up on the floor as you took a few steps closer.
"How old are you?" you asked him. When he glanced up, you added, "If you don't mind me asking."
He smiled. "I don't mind you asking me anything you want to ask me. I'm thirty seven."
"How are you possibly single?" you blurted out before hiding your mug in front of your mouth. "I'm sorry." You paced back and forth across the living room a few times as you said, "I'm so bad at this. Like epically bad at it. Because I haven't had to do it in so long."
"Do what?" he asked, trying not to laugh as you came to a stop right in front of him.
You made a cute little sound before you whispered, "I have forgotten how to even attempt to flirt with a man."
He had to press his lips together to hold his laughter in. You were actually serious right now. "I thought you were doing alright."
"You did?" you asked, gaping up at him.
"Yeah. I mean, you sent me those cute selfies when you didn't have a measuring tape."
You licked your lips and took a step away from him. "No one has called me cute since my husband died."
Bradley could feel his lungs deflating. He hated that you had to live through that. He was also selfishly a little afraid you were going to tell him you weren't looking to date again. This was really the only reason he hadn't asked you out already. Well, that and the fact that your daughter was currently convinced he was Santa Claus.
But he thought he should try his luck. "Someone should be calling you cute every day. You and Ellie both. Like I said, I'm a complete sucker for cute girls."
You looked a little flustered now as you sipped your hot chocolate, so Bradley returned to his mission of putting the massive tree together in the corner of your living room. When he paused to drink from his own mug, you came over to help him. Wordlessly, the two of you assembled it until it was too tall for you to reach.
When you handed the top part of the tree to him, he whispered, "Thanks." Your hand seemed to linger on his. Or maybe he imagined it.
"It's nice having someone so tall around," you said. "You must have no problems putting your own tree up."
"Nah," he said, sliding the last piece into place. "I don't even put one up at home. Seems like a waste when it's just for me."
"You don't have a tree?" you asked, and your hand came to rest on his forearm. Bradley's eyes snapped to yours as you said, "If you can continue to handle all the pink... maybe you'd want to come back over and enjoy this one with us?"
"As Santa?" he asked. "I really got myself into a mess with Ellie, didn't I?"
You bit your lip as you looked up at him. "Yeah... she's kind of attached to Santa now."
Bradley was fighting the urge to just kiss you, because you were right there. And you probably tasted like hot chocolate. And the closer you got, the prettier you looked.
"Should we add the lights?" you asked softly, your hand still on his left arm. "Before Ellie gets home?"
Very slowly, he raised his right hand so there would be no doubt in your mind what was coming. He traced your cheek with his fingertips as your eyes fluttered closed. "Yeah. Let's do the lights and the decorations before she gets back. I didn't bring my beard and my hat today."
"Okay," you breathed, leaning into his touch for a beat before you released his arm and pulled away. "I'll... get the lights ready." You turned and started to open some of the boxes of white twinkle lights while Bradley got the ornaments opened up.
He took out the pink and silver star, and when he reached up toward the top branches, you wrapped the lights around him and the tree at the same time. "If you want to keep me here with you, just say so. You don't need to tie me up."
You laughed. "I couldn't keep you even if I wanted to. You're Santa Claus, remember? You have a million toys to deliver next week."
Bradley caught you gently by the arm as you looped the lights around his back again. "To be crystal clear, I'm only doing this for you and Ellie. Nobody else."
You wrapped the lights a little tighter and said, "To be crystal clear, I like the way that sounds."
Bradley smirked as you finally loosened the strand and freed him. "Listen," he said as he followed you slowly around the tree as you put the lights on correctly this time. "Santa doesn't have time to play games before Christmas. He's very busy."
"Really?" you asked, looking back at him as you strung the lights higher and higher on the pink tree. "This kind of feels like a game to me, Santa."
He took over with the strand once it got too high for you to reach, and when he was done, he watched you pick up one of the boxes of ornaments. There were a bunch of pink and blue hearts and stars, and you smiled up at him. So he decided to go for it. Because he knew this was a rare opportunity he'd been given. "Santa is actually pretty serious right now. About you."
When you immediately returned your gaze to the box in your hands, Bradley ran his hands through his hair. You looked a little flustered again, just like you had when you claimed you forgot how to flirt. Whatever you were doing to him, he liked it. He liked how it felt to be around you and Ellie, too. He ducked behind the tree to plug the lights in, illuminating everything in a soft, pink glow, and then he tried to find the energy to help you finish the tree without pushing this any further.
"Hey, Santa?"
"Yeah?" he replied, his voice barely above a whisper as he reached for an ornament from the box you were holding.
You seemed to weigh your words before you said them which had Bradley's heart beating a little faster before you even spoke. "I wasn't planning on anything serious. Not really ever again."
"Oh." Serious was the kind of thing he was looking for now. Serious was actually what he wanted. He hung the pretty blue heart shaped ornament and then let his hand fall to his side. His heart felt heavy like a stone sinking to the bottom of a lake as you reached up in front of his face to hang a pink and white heart next to his blue one.
"At least that's what I thought before we moved here," you added.
He looked at you with one raised eyebrow. "Something changed your mind?"
"More like someone," you whispered, handing him another pink heart ornament which he carefully hung just above the other two. He wanted to know for sure if he was the one that changed your mind, but you pulled your phone out of your pocket and gasped.
"Ellie's bus should be here in a couple minutes."
"Right," he said softly. You and he finished decorating the tree, not so subtly stealing glances at each other the whole time. If there was even a chance with you, he wanted to take it, but he didn't want to press any harder today.
When he reached for his empty mug, you shook your head and said, "You can leave it. I'll clean up later."
"Okay." With nothing else keeping him at your house he started to head for the front door, but you caught his hand in yours.
"Wait." Your eyes were wide and a little hesitant, but when you tugged gently, he went willingly, slowly closing the distance between you body and his. "Thank you. For the tree and the ornaments. And the cookies. And the flowers."
He shook his head. "It's my pleasure. You don't have to thank me again."
"But I want to," you whispered, running your thumb along the back of his hand. "I want to do a lot of things. But they feel a little scary." When you paused, he didn't rush you. Your eyes were taking in every detail of his face, and you were smiling softly. "Things I haven't done in a long time. Things I never anticipated I'd be doing again. At least not while Ellie is so young."
Bradley opened his mouth, intending to tell you he could wait a few weeks or months to ask you out if that would make things easier for you, but you tugged gently on his hand again, rendering him silent. When your other hand came to rest on his chest, he held his breath. Your gaze stayed locked on your hand as you slowly guided it up along his shoulder and collarbone until it came to rest gently on the scars on the side of his neck.
The soft stroke of your thumb and even the gentle flex of your fingers could have brought him to his knees. And then you finally met his eyes. "I really want to," you murmured as you stood on tiptoes, your chest brushing his. Bradley's brain took a beat longer to respond than his heart did, but when you tilted your face up to his and let your eyes flutter shut, he closed the distance to your lips with his.
And it was perfect. The softest kiss of his life, but he could feel his entire body responding to you. With a soft gasp, you released his lips, but you didn't go far. When you met his eyes, you must have liked what you saw there, because you kissed him again. And again. And when Bradley guided your other hand around his neck, you kissed him a little deeper.
"Oh," you gasped, running your nose along his cheek as your fingers teased the back of his neck. When your lips met his again, he held you close with his hands on your lower back, and Bradley decided he could do this forever. All of it. The pink flowers and decorating the tree and the perfect kisses.
Then the front door knob rattled, and you broke away from his lips. Your eyes looked hazy at first, and you had the prettiest smile on your face before you pulled yourself out of his grasp as Ellie came inside. Your daughter looked back and forth between the two of you as you pressed your fingertips to your lips, and Bradley winced as Ellie asked him, "Who are you?"
-----------------------------
Bradley! I mean, Santa! Where is your beard?! I hope you loved part one! Part two is coming soon. This one took a village so thank you to @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls @thedroneranger and @cherrycola27
Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x OFC/Reader (no use of y/n)
Sends your mind spinning
(previous chapter here, next chapter here)
Warnings: dom!bradley, spanking, oral (f receiving) humiliation, sir kink, ruined orgasm, orgasm delay/denial, probably more.
“Hard way it is,” Bradley says as you fly up the stairs. Padding as quietly as you can when you reach the top, deciding to hide behind his bedroom door.
Your heart is beating out of your chest as you hear him slowly climb the steps. “If you come out now, I promise it won’t be so bad,” he lies.
You flinch (and clench) as you hear him slapping the brush against his palm again. You rub your thighs together; both dreading and craving when he’ll smack it against your skin like that.
He walks into the bedroom and as he opens his closet door, you take your chance. You almost make it, but the floor creaks. You freeze and grin when his eyes meet yours.
You take off down the stairs, your sock-clad feet slowing you down. You hesitate before taking a left at the bottom, sliding around the table as he enters the dining room.
You realize you’re cornered but aren’t ready to give up without a fight. You wait for him to get close and run for it, but your socks on the wood floor are your downfall and you slip. You catch yourself but that split second is all it takes for him to catch you.
He grabs hold of your wrist. “Nonononono,” you say; struggling against his grip as he tugs you toward the living room. He tosses the hairbrush on the couch to use both hands to pull you.
Bradley sits and drags you across his lap, angling you so your top half is resting on the couch. He jerks your pants and undies down to your ankles as you squirm, trying to get away but he’s bigger and stronger.
He gives you several harsh swats with his hand in rapid succession until you settle. You were spanked as a kid just a handful of times but you don’t remember it hurting this much.
You’re both breathing hard when he pauses. “You done squirming yet or do you need more?”
Both sets of your cheeks are burning; you feel exposed with your ass exposed and the position over his knee is humiliating as it is arousing.
You look over your shoulder. “Over your knee? Seriously? I’m not a child-“ you start but Bradley cuts you off with another round of stinging blows to your ass.
“You’re about to find out how serious I am, Rowan,” he says as he rubs his hand over your warmed skin, goosebumps rising at his touch. “If you’re gonna act like a little fucking brat and run from me, I’ll treat you like one.” A flurry of slaps rain down again. You bite your lip to stay silent. It hurts, and he hasn’t even picked up the brush. Yet, your arousal covers your upper thighs. “If you had just taken your punishment like a good girl, it would have been over already and I’d be fucking you right now. But no, you had to be difficult. So now you’re gonna remember this every time I let you take control.”
You start to laugh but it’s cut off by another 2 slaps. You gasp before clearing your throat. “Let me take control? Like you have a choice.” You taunt.
He chuckles darkly. “Says the naughty girl I bent over my knee.”
You shiver and can’t hold back your moan as his fingers dip between your legs, swiping the wetness up to circle your clit.
You hold your breath, not making a sound as your orgasm approaches, but it doesn’t matter. Bradley knows your tells. He stops and lightly slaps your pussy, drawing a startled gasp from your lips.
“For someone who fought me so hard, you sure seem to be enjoying it.” He says lowly.
You shake your head and he gently slaps your clit.
“Use your words, Rowan, and don’t you dare lie to me,” he says, the smile evident in his voice as he uses your previous words against you. Asshole.
“No, I’m not enjoying it. All I can think about is how I’m going to get you back for this,” you lie, tensing as you await more spanks.
He surprises you though, and just trails his fingertips over your skin again and again until you relax, and that’s when he strikes, literally. Spanking you over and over with his hand until you can’t bite your tongue any longer.
“Okay! Okayokayokay,” you pant, “I give. I like it when you spank me…sir.” You add for good measure.
He sucks in a breath and his erection under you twitches. Oh, he likes that.
“Yeah, that’s my girl. Had enough yet?” He murmurs, soothing his hand over your bottom.
“Yes sir,” you say, rising from your forearms.
“Too bad, ‘cause I’m just getting started,” he replies, pushing you back down, “let’s say 10 more and then I’ll start with the hairbrush, yeah?”
You whimper and shake your head, reaching your hand back to try and cover yourself, Bradley just sighs, taking both of your wrists in his left hand, forcing you onto your chest. “Alright, fine. 8 more with my hand,” you sigh in relief, “and I’ll add 2 more with the brush.”
You whine but decide not to press your luck. “Yes sir,” you reply reluctantly.
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
“and…8,” he says, delivering the final blow with his hand. You flinch slightly exhaling the breath you were holding. Your arousal is now soaking Bradley’s pant leg.
“Color,” he asks as he picks up the brush, stroking the cool wood on your fiery skin. Oh God.
“Green.”
“Good. Yellow to slow down and red to stop, okay?” He slaps the brush on your left cheek before you can answer.
FUCK, that’s way worse than his hand. “Yes sir.”
“That’s one. 11 to go”.
“Yes sir” you mutter.
Bradley groans and his cock surges under your stomach after the fourth. “Fuck Row, that sound.” You won’t admit it to him, but you love the sound each stroke of the wood against your skin makes too.
He delivers 5 and 6th quickly. Tears start to leak from your eyes and you plead. “Please sir, Bradley, baby...it hurts. That’s enough, okay? I don’t want anymore.”
“Did you stop when I asked you to? Did you try and make me cum in front of the squad?” He asks, hitting 7 and 8 on the crease where your thighs meet your ass. You let out a pained yelp.
“I’m sorry, it…it was—I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. Please no more?” You whimper. Even though Bradley still has a hold on your wrists behind your back, you find a way to squirm.
He laughs, “You didn’t mean to turn the cock ring on high? You’re lucky I’m feeling generous. Next time lying will get you double.”
The burning heat from your ass has your pussy throbbing as he gives you numbers 9 and 10 on your sit spots.
He runs the cool wood over your skin again as he taunts you, prolonging the final 2 spanks to torture you further. “What should I do next? Should I make you stand in the corner like the naughty girl you are, so I can jerk off and cum all over your pretty red cheeks? Or how about no pants for the rest of the day, and every time I see the redness starting to fade I could warm ya back up? Would you like that?”
You whimper at his words and shake your head. So humiliating and arousing at the same time.
His fingers dip between your legs; your back arches as you keen. He works you over and you’re so fucking close before he pulls them away again. “Liars don’t get to cum. Alright, last 2. Count ‘em.”
He raises his hand and cracks against the center of the left cheek, the hardest one yet. You hiss, “Eleven sir”.
The final one is to the center of the right, and equally as harsh. “12 sir,” you sob.
Bradley sets down the brush and releases your hands before he lifts you to a standing position, guiding you to step out of your pants and underwear that were still bunched around your ankles. You don’t resist the urge to rub your burning flesh.
He grabs your hand with his left and delivers a stinging slap with his right. You yelp and look back at him with a displeased expression, not expecting that as you thought your punishment was over.
“Did I say you could?” He asks, eyes flicking to your ass and back up to yours with a quirked brow.
“No sir,” you reply, blushing.
“That’s right. I’m not done with you yet. Now go upstairs and bend over the bed while you wait for me. Your pretty red cheeks are the first thing I want to see when I walk in.” He says in a tone that leaves no room for compromise.
He stands and looms over you. “I’ll be up when I decide you’ve had enough time to think about what you’ve done.”
“Yes sir,” you nod before climbing the stairs.
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
As soon as you’re out of sight, Bradley reaches down to grip himself.
Holy fuck that was hot. He’d spanked girls during sex before and overpowered them a little, but nothing like that.
The way you fought him, squirmed, and tried to act like you weren’t affected drove him crazy in the best way, and he almost came in his pants when you called him ‘sir’.
He takes a deep breath and releases the hold he has on his cock, already too close. He decides to make you wait a little longer as he collects the Amazon packages on the porch.
He’d ordered a few things after you used the hairbrush on him with the thoughts of turning the tables on you in mind, not realizing he would need them so soon. Thank God for 2-day shipping.
He washes and dries the items, placing them in his pockets, and whistles as he heads up the stairs.
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
You take a shaky breath as you bend over his bed, resting your head on your folded arms.
You’ve never been this turned on; the chase, the way he easily overpowered you, the lack of mercy and response to your pleading, the intense pleasurepain from the spanking and now this…waiting for him so vulnerable and exposed. You rub your thighs together trying to get some sort of friction as you don’t dare to reach down and touch yourself.
You can hear him moving around downstairs, opening and closing the door, and running the water…is he seriously doing dishes right now?
After what seems to be an eternity, he’s climbing the stairs, whistling like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
You’re too embarrassed to look at him, so you keep your head down. He groans as he walks through the door, freezing as sees you bent over, like he asked. You hear him fumbling around in his pockets before you hear the camera shutter on his phone. “Spank-bank material for the next deployment” he murmurs.
A fresh wave of arousal courses through you as he takes a few steps closer to snap another picture.
He sets his phone next to you on the bed and goes to his closet, returning a moment later and sliding something silky over your eyes. “One of my ties, since I don’t have a fancy mask like you.”
You hide your smile in your arms until he pulls them behind you again, using another one to tie them together. “Please baby, I wanna touch you” you whine.
“Should’ve thought of that before you ran earlier Row,” he chastises and a frustrated groan leaves you. He moves behind you; the material of his sweatpants brushing over the reddened skin of your ass as he starts to kiss a trail down your back, placing one to each palm and then kneeling.
You suck in a breath as he presses his lips tenderly to each cheek before ducking his head and licking into your pussy with no warning. “Finally…” you sigh.
You wiggle your hips, trying to get him where you want but a hand comes up to slap your cheek and grip it tight in warning.
He continues the sweet torture for several minutes, teasing you now and then with a quick flick of his tongue over your clit. You’re close.
His hand fumbles with something in his pocket before touching it to your clit. An animalistic sound is ripped from your throat and you jolt as he turns it on. A vibrator.
Your legs shake as you reach your orgasm, but it’s ripped away just as you tip over the edge when Bradley turns it off and his mouth leaves you, ruining it.
Hot tears of frustration fill your eyes as you shake your head. “No more, Bradley. Please.”
He finally decides you’ve had enough. He rises to his feet and helps you to lay on your stomach, pushing a pillow under your hips so your ass is propped up.
He strips and climbs on the bed over you, pushing into you with ease. You groan in unison.
He fucks you at a punishing pace, his hips slapping the abused flesh of your ass with each thrust. You whimper, it hurts sofuckinggood.
He picks up the vibrator and slips his hand between your hips and the pillow and turns it on, pushing you over the edge you didn’t even know you were on.
You think you scream his name, but you’re not sure as your vision goes white. Your pussy clenches like a vice and there’s a wet gush between your legs, coating Bradley and the pillow underneath you.
“Oh…oh my God. Fuckkkkk,” Bradley pants and grits his teeth, forcing himself to not cum inside you, wanting to mark your reddened skin.
He takes his hand and the vibe out from under you and pulls out to finish on your ass. You whimper as stripes of his cum coat you.
You hear the shutter of his phone again and smile. So dirty.
He climbs off the bed, running water for a bath, and comes back a minute later, taking the tie from your eyes and unwrapping your hands.
He’s murmuring sweet praises to you as he gently wipes his spend from you with a cool washcloth before turning and lifting you to the bathroom, setting you down to check the bath temperature. He gets in and offers his hand and you settle between his legs, hissing as the hot water touches your butt.
“I’m sorry,” he says smugly.
“No, you’re not.” You reply, smiling as you rest your head against his chest.
He laughs. “You’re right, I’m not, seeing as I was just on the receiving end of that brush.”
You close your eyes and hum in agreement.
“I’ll delete those pictures, I only took them because I could tell you were getting off on it.” He says as he trails his fingers over your lower stomach.
“Why? Didn’t you like them?” You ask.
“I did, they were sexy as hell. But we didn’t talk about it first.” He replies, fingers dipping lower.
“Keep them. It’s so hot knowing you’ll be jerking off to them when you’re gone. You can take more too, as long as I get to take some of you. Oh, maybe videos too?”
“Yeah, ‘course” he murmurs in your ear, fingertips ghosting circles over your bundle of nerves.
“You don’t have to…,” you sigh as he circles faster.
“I know, I want to. I wanted to get you off at least 2 more times before I came, but I couldn’t hold it off after you squirted.”
“I—“ you gasp as his other hand finds your breast, “I’ve never done that before. Tonight was the first time.”
A pleased hum leaves his chest. “It won’t be the last.”
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
A/N: BRB, need to go find my husband to rearrange my guts for me 🥴 seriously though. This is a dirty one. I have nothing to say.
The Adventures of Dr. Tits | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader
Summary: Jake gives you the world's most obnoxious nickname. Bradley has an identity crisis. And you're the one making sure everybody gets home safely on New Year's Eve.
Pairing: Beer Boy and Sugar! Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)
This is a one-shot to accompany my fics Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time! Banner by @mak-32 Check out my masterlist for the reading order
Bradley walked into the bedroom and froze as you were putting on your favorite pair of earrings. "What's wrong?" you asked, shaking your head at him. "Why are you staring at me like that?"
"You look fucking hot."
"Oh," you said with a smirk.
"This is a new dress," he rasped, running his fingers along the black fabric at your shoulder. "I really like it."
You kissed his cheek and whispered. "I knew you would, Beer Boy. It has a very low neckline."
He scoffed, "That's not the only reason I like it." But his eyes hadn't strayed from your chest for nearly thirty seconds. When his gaze finally met yours, he added, "My wife looks beautiful in everything."
"We're not married yet," you reminded him as his hand skimmed down your arm to your left hand and your engagement ring.
"Only because you didn't want to get married the day after I proposed."
"We were standing in a Denny's parking lot!"
He just shrugged and laced his fingers with yours. "Sounds perfect to me. As long as it's us."
"A Denny's parking lot," you emphasized, and you could tell he was trying not to smile at your look of indignation.
"Nothing's too good for my girl," he replied, barely concealing his laughter.
"Incredible," you muttered as you tugged him closer for another kiss. "You can take the Beer Boy out of the fraternity..."
He followed along, fingers linked with yours, as you led him into the dining room so you could finish setting up. "Wait, wait, it's like mistletoe. We have to kiss when we stand here," he said, leaning down to kiss you hard and proper in front of the doors that said SUGAR WILL YOU MARRY ME?
"Like mistletoe? I can't believe how sweet you are," you whispered as his lips trailed down to your neck.
"Let's call everyone and cancel." His tone was coaxing and his lips felt amazing.
"No," you moaned softly. "It's your Top Gun holiday party. And it's New Year's Eve."
When his mustache grazed the top of your chest as he said, "I'd rather tell everyone else to beat it so I can fuck my fiancée," you almost caved. But you promised everyone months ago, when you first moved to San Diego, that you and Bradley would host the annual party. There was a running joke that they got so wild one year, they almost got kicked out of a restaurant. But there was no way that was true.
"We have to host. I promised."
"This better be low key. Seriously, I just want a nice, quiet night in," he grumbled.
You laughed while he acted like he was being tortured as he helped you carry the pretty punch bowl and crystal glasses you found at a thrift store into the dining room. "Everyone will be gone right after the stroke of midnight," you promised him. "And I thought you liked your coworkers?"
He grunted and shrugged. "No, I like Nat. Bob's okay. Jake's annoying. The rest of the guys are fine."
"Oh my god," you whispered in awe, wrapping him up in a hug. "You love me the most, and I'm the only person you're not cranky for, Beer Boy."
He chuckled and pressed his lips to your temple. "You're just catching onto this now? Ten years away from you has made it so that I want to be with you all the time."
Okay, well now you were thinking about canceling after all. If he was going to be extra sweet like this, you wanted him all to yourself as well. But then you heard someone knocking on the front door. Before you let Bradley go, you said, "If you're well behaved tonight, we can talk about wedding plans tomorrow."
He perked right up. "I'll be so good."
"But it's still a firm no to the Denny's parking lot."
When you let Nat inside, she gave you a hug and said, "Hey, nice tits," before carrying a bottle of champagne to Bradley. At least now he had his friend to talk to. And you really didn't think your dress was that low cut...
After another knock, you let Bob in, and as soon as he looked at you, he was blushing profusely and stuttering. "Welcome, Bob," you said, really starting to regret wearing this dress in front of anyone except Bradley. When you leaned out onto the porth, the neighborhood was all lit up with twinkle lights. This was your first December outside of Virginia or Chicago, and it was still fairly warm outside. As you propped the door open for the others, you didn't think you'd ever get used to this kind of luxury. You had warm weather and the love of your life.
Soon Javy, Mickey and Reuben arrived with three identical smiles as they looked at you and gave you lingering hugs. "Okay, yep, that's enough," you said as Mickey squeezed you extra tight.
"Hey, Baby! Sugar!" Bradley was calling from the kitchen as you followed the guys in. "Oh, there you are. Do we have any solo cups and ping pong balls? And didn't I buy a case of PBR?"
You just looked at him like he'd lost it. It was New Year's Eve, and you were in your new dress. You even made sure he actually looked nice tonight instead of wearing one of his ratty old tee shirts. You had champagne, and he made crab dip and mini quiches to serve everyone.
"Maybe in the hall closet? And I'm pretty sure I talked you out of the case of Pabst Blue Ribbon," you said with a frown. "That's cheap fraternity beer, Bradley. We have actual incomes now. Only good beers all the time."
"That's okay," he told you with a quick kiss as he headed for the hall closet. "We can just play with the champagne!"
"What?" you asked, ready to follow him, but the guys had turned up the music. When you looked in the dining room Nat was moving your punch bowl to the floor in the corner, and Reuben was carrying four glasses precariously stacked up in each hand. "What's going on?"
"Rooster said he's a beer pong master," Javy said, before shoving three mini quiches into his mouth at one time.
Reuben was laughing. "He said he used to party at his fraternity house, but we don't believe him. Not Rooster."
"No," Mickey added. "Rooster always follows the rules. Never breaks them. And he never gets drunk."
"We're playing fucking pong," Bradley said when he returned wearing a backwards cap and holding red solo cups and a pack of ping pong balls. Everyone cheered. "They don't believe I'm a ringer, Sugar," he whispered just to you. "I'm about to fucking smoke their asses."
"Don't get too drunk," you said as Nat took the solo cups and squatted down to fill them using the punch you made with extremely expensive champagne. "Oh god."
"Happy New Year," drawled a voice behind you, and you spun to see Jake holding two more bottles of champagne. His gaze dipped quickly down to your cleavage before returning innocently to your face. He shook his head and said, "You know, sometimes I think Bradshaw might be onto something here."
"I'm never wearing this dress again," you muttered as he handed you both bottles with a huge grin on his face.
"Now where's everyone else?"
Just then, loud cheering erupted from the dining room, and you walked through the doorway to find Bradley and Javy playing against Bob and Mickey. Nat changed your playlist to one that sounded like it belonged at an actual frat party, and Reuben was scooping one of your crystal glasses into the crab dip and eating it with a spoon.
"What the fuck?" you gasped. It was like you were back at the Beta Gamma house ten years ago as Bradley took his nice shirt off and tossed it onto the doorknob of the door that said MARRY.
"I'm about to kick your ass, and the dining room table isn't even regulation size," Bradley told Mickey as the WSO missed a shot. "Sugar, we need to look for a table that's regulation dimensions, okay Baby?" he shouted over P.I.M.P. by 50 Cent. He just kept sinking shot after shot into the cups, and Bob was already looking drunk.
So maybe they all really did almost get kicked out of that restaurant before?
Jake was unbuttoning his shirt as well now as he said, "I have next game. There's no way Bradshaw can get this lucky all night long."
Bradley smirked and laughed as he looked at you. "I can, and I do, Hangman. Don't act like you haven't seen Sugar before."
Jake laughed, and the other guys cheered. You cradled your forehead in your hands as Bradley wolf whistled at you. "Jesus," you muttered, trying to decide if it was a good idea for you to get drunk yourself or if you needed to babysit the whole group.
"Why isn't your wife playing with you?" Nat shouted, and you contemplated closing the front door before your neighbors complained about the noise.
"We're not married yet!" you replied, but Bradley had his arms wrapped around you immediately.
"Sorry, Baby. I got excited and just grabbed Javy. You know what they say about old habits, and I haven't played beer bong in years. You're my partner next, okay? Your boobs will help distract the opponents."
You gave in and started laughing, because this whole thing was ridiculous. You let Reuben serve you some crab dip in a crystal glass, and you ate it while everyone around you got progressively drunker on your champagne punch.
Once Bradley and Javy handily won the matchup, he kicked Javy to the other side of the table to team up with Jake who was now completely shirtless. "You're up, Baby," Bradley said, reaching for you with so much excitement. "We're going to kick ass like we used to." His lips tasted faintly of champagne when he kissed you, and you were surprised. He was so good at this game, he rarely had to drink anything.
"Winning team goes first," Jake said, rolling the balls across the table to you as Nat set freshly filled cups in front of you. Bradley arranged the cups perfectly like this was actually his profession instead of aviation. And you just stood there and laughed as he stepped behind you and helped you square your hips.
"Okay, now, you need to be awesome, Sugar. Just like college. Because I've got like street cred on the line here."
"I got you, Beer Boy," you promised him and he moaned softly in your ear.
"Remember, it's all just a math problem, and you're so fucking good at math." He released you with a little pat on your butt, and then he was peeling his sweaty undershirt off and tossing it aside before fixing his hat. As soon as you were able to stop laughing, you tossed the first ball with a perfect arc, and everyone in the room watched it splash into the solo cup right in front of Jake while Bradley whooped.
"What did they teach you people in Virginia?" Jake asked, looking at you like he was thoroughly impressed. And then you watched Bradley toss his ball into one of the cups, and Javy groaned as he and Jake picked up their cups and drank.
"Roll those balls back over here, boys. We made both of our shots, so we go again," Bradley said before he kissed you hard in front of his friends. "Do you have any idea how badly I want to marry you in that Denny's parking lot tomorrow?"
You were laughing as Nat, Reuben, Mickey and Bob all lined up on your side of the table to cheer you on with the crab dip. "Kick their asses! Jake and Javy are good at everything!" Nat shouted over Big Pimpin' by JAY-Z. You did a little dance and then tossed your ball directly into another cup.
"It's just math!" you said with a smile.
"It's math!" Bradley reiterated to Javy and Jake. "And I feel bad for the two of you, because she's a mathematician." Then he made his second toss, too. "And I lived in a fraternity house for three years."
Jake and Javy looked miserable as you chanted, "Chug, chug, chug!" until they emptied their cups. Then you made another absolutely beautiful throw, and Bradley didn't let you down. In fact, the two of you made every single cup, and Javy and Jake didn't even get a chance to throw a single ball.
"House rules! You drink our cups, too!" Bradley informed them, gesturing to the untouched solo cups lined up at your end of the table.
"Get to it boys," you said as the others cheered.
Bradley was all over you again as Javy coughed and sputtered as he tried to chug champagne. "I swear to god, Sugar, if we weren't already engaged, I'd propose right now," Bradley told you as you adjusted the cap on his head and ran your fingers through his curls that stuck out from beneath it.
"I'd say yes again," you whispered just for him. "Who's ready to get their asses kicked next?" you asked everyone.
You and Bradley cleaned up so handily, the two of you were barely buzzed, but everyone else was hammered by midnight. The front door was still wide open, and the TV was on as you waited for the countdown to the new year. Bradley popped a bottle of champagne just for you and he to sip as Nat sat on the floor right in front of the TV with the punch bowl on her lap. Most of the guys were lined up on the couches, but Jake came right over to you when he stumbled out of the bathroom.
"I need to know how you did it," he slurred to Bradley as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pointed at your chest. "How did you manage to get Dr. Tits here? She's exquisite."
You sputtered as you laughed. "Did you just call me Dr. Tits?"
Jake leaned in close to your ear and laughed. "I'm sorry, but I can't even remember my own name right now, darlin'."
"Okay, Hangman," Bradley said as he handed you the bottle of champagne and pulled Jake off of you. "Clearly she has a thing for fuckboys. You can look, because she's smoking hot and it would be impossible not to, but you don't get to touch."
Well, you couldn't deny that. Jake winked at you as he sat down next to Nat before laying on the floor. Bob had the hiccups, Javy was asleep, Reuben was still eating the crab dip, and Mickey was running to the bathroom to throw up as the clock struck midnight. "I love you," Bradley promised before he kissed you sweetly. "And I think we should spend the day tomorrow laying on the couch and talking about getting married. What do you say, Dr. Tits?"
You pressed your lips together and then said, "Only Jake is allowed to call me that," as you erupted into laughter at the scandalized look on Bradley's face.
You kissed his cheek as he said, "I swear, just for that, it's Denny's or nothing, Sugar."
"We'll talk about it tomorrow," you replied laughing as you looked at the sloppy mess of Bradley's coworkers on all of your living room surfaces. "Now help me get all of them in Ubers so you can help me out of my dress."
"Oh, hell yes," he replied as he started clapping loudly. "Wake up guys. Rides are coming. Time for you to go so I can get lucky."
The two of you herded everyone outside and into the two cars when they showed up. "Night, Dr. Tits," Jake announced loudly to your entire quiet street as he kissed your cheek before Bradley shoved him into the waiting SUV.
"Dr. Tits..." Reuben said with a laugh. "Sounds like a superhero who is very good at beer pong."
"She is a superhero. She puts up with Rooster's shit," Nat said as she climbed in behind Jake.
"I think my sister went to Comic Con as Dr. Tits one year," Mickey said deliriously as Bradley helped him with his seatbelt. "The many adventures of Dr. Tits. She's my favorite Avenger."
Javy was already asleep on Bob as the cars pulled away, and Bradley scooped you up on the driveway and carried you back toward the porch. "You wanna go on an adventure with me, Sugar?"
You took his hat off and put it on your own head. "Are you talking about undressing me or marrying me right now?"
"Both," he replied easily as he kicked the front door closed behind you.
"Then yes."
---------------------------
Beer Boy and Sugar warm my cold, dead heart. Fuckboy Jake, drunk on champagne, also warms my heart. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls
Once a fuckboy, always a fuckboy. We love fuckboys. We love Beer Boy, we love Dr Tits and her amazing tits and drunk Jake for bestowing this wonderful moniker on her
Summary: Bradley was planning on a quiet night at home with a beer and a basketball game on TV. When he receives a text from a wrong number, he's left looking at a beautiful photo of you. Now he just needs to persuade you to ditch the guy you meant to text and focus on him instead.
Warnings: Fluff, swearing, slight dirty talk, Bradley touching himself
Length: 4700 words
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader
This was written for Rocktober. Check out my masterlist for more. Banner made by @thedroneranger
Bradley had endured such a long week at work, all he wanted to do was change out of his uniform, grab a beer from his fridge and lounge around on the couch in his underwear without a responsibility in sight. Nobody should have to work until ten on a Friday night, but it had taken him that long to sort through the massive stack of paperwork from Admiral Simpson. At least now he had nothing planned for the rest of his evening.
His apartment was too hot, and the cold bottle of beer pressed to his bare thigh as he reached for the TV remote left some droplets of condensation. It felt good. He took another sip as his phone vibrated next to him. With a soft grunt, he abandoned the remote in favor of the phone and unlocked it with his pass code.
There was a new text from an unknown number. And there was a photo attached. He grimaced, afraid of what he was going to find if he tapped on it. He read the phone number twice, but it didn't sound familiar beyond the San Diego area code. He let his head tip back as he recalled the time he pissed Nat off and she gave his phone number to a random sailor in retaliation. Bradley really hoped he wasn't going to have to kindly ask someone to stop sending him dick pics like last time.
Before he lost the nerve, he tapped on the message, and his screen was suddenly filled with a photo of a woman who looked just a few years younger than him. And she was hot. He paused with his beer bottle halfway to his lips before letting it settle back down to his thigh.
Hey, Alan. It's me. So now you have my phone number, too.
Bradley didn't know who the hell Alan was, but he wasn't mad about the mix-up. This photo was something else. It almost looked like it was taken in the bathroom at the Hard Deck. The lighting was bad, and there was a paper towel dispenser in the background, but whoever you were.... damn, you were stunning. All pretty features and smiling like you had a secret.
It took him a moment to stop staring at the photo and return to the previous screen and your message. He was going to have to tell you that he wasn't Alan and that you had the wrong number, but he just sat there and tapped his phone case instead. He didn't even like the name Alan, but damn if he didn't want to be Alan right now. That lucky bastard had you interested in him.
Bradley was wondering how the mix-up happened in the first place as he drafted up a text to you. Only some sort of fucking idiot wouldn't check and double check that he gave you the right number. "Amateurs," he mumbled as he typed with a little smirk on his face.
Hey, sorry to inform you, but this actually isn't Alan. However, I wouldn't mind one bit if you kept sending me the photos that are meant for him.
He hit send and tossed his phone aside, assuming you'd just block him and move on with your night. He brought his beer bottle back to his lips and enjoyed the way the drink helped cool him down while he contemplated taking a shower, but when he reached for the remote again, his phone vibrated.
There was another message from the same number. Intrigued, Bradley unlocked his phone again, and he was pleased to see another text and another photo.
Hi, Not-Alan. Sorry about that! I hope you have a great night.
This photo was similar to the first one, except that you were flipping him the peace sign and winking which made Bradley laugh. You seemed fun, even through this limited interaction. And he was sure that was the ladies' bathroom at the Hard Deck, which pissed him off, because he got out of work so late he didn't feel like going out tonight. Maybe if he had been there, you wouldn't have been talking to Alan in the first place.
"Damn it." He was intrigued. He wanted to know more about this.
My night is substantially better now that I have two photos of you. So where did Alan get off to anyway? And why is he trying to steal my phone number?
This time Bradley was dying for another response. But it didn't come. He stared at his phone for a solid minute before returning to his beer and downing the rest of the bottle. Still nothing. He stood and made his way into the kitchen, tossing his empty into the recycling bin before getting another one from the fridge and eyeing up the food situation. He should probably eat something, but he swore he heard his phone vibrating. When he looked over to the couch, the screen was lit up.
He slammed the fridge door and opened the new bottle before heading back to his phone. There was no photo this time, but there was a new message.
I actually lost Alan in the crowd, so really, the man could be just about anywhere. And I don't think he was trying to steal your number at all, Not-Alan. He wrote it on my palm, and it smeared before I could add it to my phone.
"Okay," Bradley said out loud. "Now we're getting somewhere." He sat down on the couch with his beer on the coffee table and started a new message.
Alan should learn how to write neater in the future, because he's missing out here. You have to double check that someone who looks like you got the number right. Everyone knows that.
Bradley decided that he was going to have no shame for the night. Not as long as you kept writing back to him. He was contemplating how to save your number in his phone when another selfie with a message came through. You were out by the bar at the Hard Deck with a smile on your face, and you were holding up your palm complete with Bradley's smeared phone number.
Does this number look familiar, Not-Alan? Still no actual Alan in sight, by the way.
Bradley supposed that the 7 could have been mistaken for a 1. Or maybe Alan's phone number had a 5 that got smeared into a 6. It didn't really matter. Bradley was going to shoot his shot and hope Alan didn't resurface.
Good, Alan can just stay lost. What's your name, pretty girl?
Then he saved your number as Pretty Girl, and this time he did manage to turn the TV on while he waited with his phone in his hand. He muted the Clippers game and picked up his beer before promptly setting it back down again.
Pretty Girl: Not so fast, Not-Alan. You tell me your name first. And how old you are. And your blood type and the last four of your social security number.
Bradley laughed and started typing. He realized he hadn't stopped smiling for the last twenty minutes as he hit send.
I'm Bradley. I'm 34. O positive. 2305.
On a regular night, the basketball game would have held his attention, but tonight he couldn't stop looking at his phone. "Come on, Pretty Girl," he muttered, running his beer bottle along his thigh before taking a sip.
Pretty Girl: Okay, Bradley. You have my attention. Send me a selfie exactly where you are, and I'll think about telling you my name. No changing into something nicer. No fixing your hair. Just a selfie. Right now.
Bradley looked down at himself in just his black boxer briefs and mumbled, "If you say so." When he set his phone camera to selfie mode, he looked at the screen and realized his hair still looked pretty decent from work. So he went ahead and took a picture where he was wearing a bit of a skeptical smirk, and he sent it before he could think twice.
And now his heart was beating a little faster. This was probably where you'd stop responding. Oh hell, at least he went for it, but a few minutes later, you still hadn't sent anything back to him. Maybe he could have tried to hide the scars on his neck and cheek, but what was the point? Clearly you were sending him actual selfies you'd taken tonight, and he did exactly what you'd told him to. Then his phone vibrated.
Pretty Girl: Do you really expect me to believe that you're not just googling "hot shirtless guy with a mustache", downloading a photo, and trying to pass it off as yourself?
He tipped his head back and laughed. There was just something about you. He didn't even know your name or what your voice sounded like, but he could already tell he was going to like both of those things. If you ever told him or let him hear you.
That's really me. Promise. Will you tell me your name now? Or do I have to keep calling you Pretty Girl?
He was wondering if you were still at the bar, surrounded by guys like Alan who would love to take you home while you were chatting with him. And he hoped the next text would contain your name. But you just ignored him when you wrote back a few minutes later.
Pretty Girl: Prove you're not just sending some photos of a random hot dude. Go stand by your open refrigerator and take a selfie. Then take another one with your toothbrush.
"She's a handful," Bradley murmured as he stood with a smile. He carried his beer into the kitchen, opened his refrigerator and snapped a selfie where the fridge light somehow accentuated his features nicely. Then he left his beer on the counter while he went into his bathroom. He was actively trying not to smile for this one where he had his red toothbrush hanging out of the side of his mouth, but he was on the verge of laughing at how ridiculous his night turned out to be.
He typed up a message and attached both photos and then sent them off while he finished his beer at the kitchen counter, Clippers game forgotten.
What is this, Pretty Girl? A hostage negotiation? I already told you, that's really me.
It didn't take too long for you to respond this time, and Bradley wasn't even letting his screen dim long enough to need to unlock it now.
Pretty Girl: Are you naked in these photos?
"Jesus," he muttered. Of course he wasn't. Did you want him to be? Shit, he needed to stop thinking about that.
No! I'm wearing underwear. You told me not to get changed or anything.
He felt flushed and too warm as he set his phone down on the counter and went to open some windows. Then he walked a few laps around his apartment in an effort to chill the fuck out. He wasn't even with you, and you were under his skin.
When he returned to his phone, there was a selfie and a message waiting for him. In the photo, you were sipping a drink, and the way the straw pressed to your perfect lips had him practically moaning.
Pretty Girl: My friend thinks there's something wrong with me. I'm at a Navy bar in San Diego at the moment. There are hot guys galore, and yet I'm glued to my phone.
"Shit, shit, shit." Bradley thought about getting dressed and heading out to the bar himself. Then maybe he could hear you tell him your name in person right before he pulled the straw away from your mouth and kissed you.
How much longer are you going to be at the Hard Deck, Pretty Girl?
Bradley started heading for his bedroom closet when his phone vibrated in his hand.
Pretty Girl: How do you know I'm at the Hard Deck? Do I need to smash my phone to bits and go into hiding?
"Fuck," he grunted, typing so quickly he had to go back and fix several spelling errors before he could send it. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable, so he paused before getting any clothing out of his closet.
Because I'm in the Navy, and I live in San Diego. And I recognized the inside of the bathroom from the first photo you sent me. I swear I'm not creepy. You can ask Penny, the bartender and owner of that fine establishment. I spend enough time there. Show her my photo.
Bradley collapsed onto his bed with his forearm over his eyes and his phone clutched to his chest. He didn't have to check the time to know it had been a while since he texted you. He also didn't have to look at his phone to know it was after midnight now and that you and he had been chatting for almost two hours. Bradley jolted when the phone vibrated against his chest.
Pretty Girl: Okay. Alright. Penny is a sweetheart, and your story checks out. Also, she told me your call sign and then told me to have you verify what it is for my own peace of mind. So what is it, Bradley? And how do you know what the ladies' restroom here looks like?
Oh, he was going to owe Penny big time. He typed away as he lay sprawled out on his bed.
My call sign is Rooster. And as for your bathroom question.... are you really going to make me answer that?
Bradley closed his eyes and thought about the girl who had taken him into the bathroom with her last year. He was pretty sure she had brown hair, but other than that, he couldn't really recall. But he did remember looking at that paper towel holder on the wall and the framed photo of an F/A-14 that was hanging over it while he was in there with her.
He wouldn't mind taking a trip there with you, that was for sure. Or maybe you and he could skip the scandalous bar hookup and just go right to dinner or a movie. For some reason, he thought he might actually prefer that.
Pretty Girl: Be back soon. I'm getting a ride home.
Bradley mused out loud, "It better not be from Alan." Shit, he could have offered to go pick you up and make sure you got home safely. He'd only had those two beers all night, and now he was picturing some faceless guy named Alan driving you home and pawing at you.
He texted you back.
Let me know when you get home, okay? And you can always just call me.
With a sigh, he got out of bed and plugged his phone in, not sure what to expect at this point. He went back into the bathroom and used his red toothbrush. And then he went back to the living room and closed all the windows. When he was in his room again, he had no new notifications as he climbed in bed. He was about to text you again and check in when his phone rang.
CALL FROM Pretty Girl
Bradley was smiling as he answered. "Hey, Pretty Girl."
A soft laugh preceded your voice, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek as you said, "Hi, Bradley with the O positive blood. Are you trying to tell me that you were in that bar bathroom with a girl?"
He found himself laughing. "Can I plead the fifth?"
When you moaned softly, he dropped his phone onto the pillow and had to scramble to get it. "Oh, my god. Even your voice is sexy."
Okay. He should not be on the verge of touching himself after you spoke three whole sentences to him. "You make it home safely?" he asked, trying to play it cool as he thought about those photos you sent him.
"Mmhmm. A very nice man named Alan drove me home. He's right here next to me as I get changed for bed."
Bradley thought for a beat that he had met his match in you. "You better be lying. You know what, put Alan on the phone."
Your laughter filled him up as you said, "He's not really here. I had to ditch him, because he doesn't even have a mustache. Apparently that's a deal breaker for me now?"
Holy shit. Bradley was in trouble. He was getting turned on, and you weren't even really saying anything dirty. "You're killing me. You gonna tell me your name, Pretty Girl?"
"No. I think I'm going to hold onto it a little longer."
"Fine. But please explain to me how I've never seen you at the Hard Deck before. I'm certain I would remember your face."
Your voice sounded a little softer now as you said, "I just moved to Coronado. It was my first time at the bar."
If he hadn't worked so late today, Bradley would have probably been there tonight as well. "You had fun? You think you'll go back again?"
"Probably," you replied casually. "When do you think you'll be there?"
Bradley was so warm he was starting to sweat. "Pretty Girl, you just say the word, and I'll clear my whole damn calendar."
Your little sighs and soft giggles were going to be the death of him. "You know, I still have Alan's, or rather your phone number on my hand."
He imagined himself kissing your palm and rewriting his phone number. "Should be in my handwriting. I'll make sure I always bring a pen with me to the bar."
You cleared your throat softly, and Bradley imagined you climbing into bed. "Penny told me to watch out for some of the other guys. But she said you're okay."
"Just okay?"
"Actually, she called you a big, brown eyed puppy dog."
Bradley laughed. "I've been called worse."
"I'm sure you have," you replied quickly. "You deserve some sort of punishment for daring to look good with a mustache."
"It's a blessing and a curse. Now, are you going to send me another photo? Or are you going to just agree to meet me tomorrow night?"
He heard a rustling noise and then you softly said, "Alan is not going to like this one bit." And then another photo arrived, and this one had Bradley's mouth hanging open.
"Now it's my turn to ask if you're naked in this picture." He was taking in every inch of your exposed skin and your bedding tucked up to your collar bones. You took your makeup off for bed, and you looked cozy and intimate. And you were talking to him. You were letting him see this. Bradley had to actively think about not touching himself.
"Totally naked."
"Fuck."
"Send me another one?"
"Yeah," he grunted, swallowing hard as he tried to pose for another selfie just how he was, sprawled out on his pillow with his left arm bent and tucked back behind his head. But his cheeks looked flushed, and his eyes looked darker than usual. He was turned on.
Fuck it. He snapped the photo and sent it. And about ten seconds later, he was greeted with the strangled sound you made.
"It should be illegal for someone with that mustache to look so good. It's rude, honestly. Bradley, you're kind of rude, because now I want to know...."
He was hanging on your every word. "Know what, Pretty Girl?"
The call went completely silent before you said softly and sweetly, "What your mustache feels like...everywhere."
A soft, startled laugh escaped his lips. You were on the verge of some dirty talk now, he could just tell. And his cock was hard as he replied with, "I'd love to let you find out. But before you respond, I need to know how much you've had to drink tonight. I don't want to take advantage of anything here."
You whimpered on the other end of the call. "A mustache, brown eyes, and a gentleman? All Alan did for me was buy me those two Long Island iced teas."
Bradley grunted and said, "That's enough about Alan. Why don't you go ahead and tell me where you'd like to feel my mustache first, Pretty Girl."
You squeaked and said, "I want to feel it rough along my skin right below my ear while you whisper to me. Oh my god, I can't believe I said that out loud. I should just go to bed."
"Don't hang up," Bradley said, panting with need now. "Tell me more."
"Okay," you sighed with another little squeak. "I want to feel it on my lips. While I'm sitting in your lap, licking the taste of that beer you drank from your mouth."
"Holy shit," he groaned, palming himself through his boxer briefs.
"I know," you whined with need. "And I want to feel it on the back of my neck while you do filthy things to me. And I don't even know you!"
"You will," he guaranteed. "Please, tell me what time I can meet you tomorrow."
Bradley listened to the rustle of your sheets as he waited. Then you finally said, "Seven o'clock? At the Hard Deck?"
"I'll be there, Pretty Girl. I can't wait to see you."
--------------------------
It was barely even 6:30, but you were already at the bar all made up and wearing a cute dress. Penny recognized you right away, which was kind of nice and kind of embarrassing. When she asked if you wanted another Long Island, you waved her off and said, "Nothing yet. I'm meeting someone."
Her eyes lit up as she asked, "Is it Rooster?"
You'd barely slept all night, preferring to look at the four selfies he'd sent you after you ended the call around two. There was a little more dirty talk, sure, but you and he also learned a bit more about each other. And now you were going to meet this naval aviator who was originally from Virginia but loved the Los Angeles Clippers face to face.
"Yeah. It's Rooster."
Penny looked truly delighted. "You have nothing to worry about. He's very sweet."
"Tell that to the butterflies," you muttered as you placed one hand on your stomach for a beat, willing the nerves to dissipate as you walked away. You'd told Bradley you wanted his mustache on your body. In several places. And then he told you he thought you were so pretty and fun that he wanted to kiss you everywhere. And right now you were just mystified as to how this could have possibly happened only a week after you moved to this neighborhood. And you still didn't know what happened to Alan after you went to the ladies' bathroom and saved the wrong number in your phone.
You laughed when you thought about it, and then you ran your hands along the fabric of your dress. You were so antsy, your palms were sweaty. You looked down at yourself and just got more nervous. Bradley hadn't seen much of your body in the photos you'd sent to him. You'd seen plenty of his though, and he looked tall and muscular even next to his damn refrigerator. And his face was gorgeous, right down to that sinful looking mustache.
And you were just... you. Alan was really more your speed with his nerdy glasses and messy hairstyle and his lack of ability to even grow any sort of facial hair at all. You just hoped that Bradley wouldn't take one look at you in person and walk right back out of the bar.
You were about to tell Penny that you thought you needed a drink after all when the door caught your eye, and Bradley strolled into the bar like he owned the place. "Oh...fuck," you whispered, gaping at him as he ran his fingers through his hair. The photos hadn't even done him justice. He had to be over six feet tall, and he was so broad and muscular, he looked like he could pick you up and toss you around a little bit. "Shit." He was wearing some snug fitting jeans and a tropical print shirt like he just knew he could pull off the most ridiculous look. "Damn." He was glancing around, trying to find you while you started scouring the room unsuccessfully for another exit.
You were trapped in here, and he was walking further into the bar now. And you didn't think you could hide halfway behind this couple who was making out for very much longer.
As Bradley's eyes scanned the crowd again, he looked a little apprehensive. His brow was scrunched, and he checked the time on his watch. You knew it was almost seven. So you took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and then you scooted one step to your left. When his gaze came your way again, his eyes landed on you. And then his face softened. The apprehension melted away, and he smiled a cute and somehow sexy little grin that made you whimper.
Now he was heading your way, his gait sure and steady. And then he was just a few feet away and you could see the scars on his face that you'd studied all night in the photos. And you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes that somehow the selfies didn't capture. And then he was talking, and his voice was even better in person.
"Pretty Girl."
Okay, so he'd seen you up close, and he wasn't running away. That had to be a good sign, right? You managed to say just one slightly breathless word. "Hi." And then his smile grew, and he was closing the space between your body and his. He was reaching for your face and running one rough thumb along your cheek. And then he kissed you.
And the soft scrape of his mustache was even better than all of the ways you'd spent your night imagining it might feel. You couldn't help but return his kiss, and somehow your hands ended up pressed to the front of him, sliding up to his chest.
When he broke the kiss, he stayed close, his lips not far from your face. He covered your hands with his, keeping them on his body. And then he leaned close to your ear, his mustache scraping along your soft skin there as he whispered, "Tell me your name, Pretty Girl. I'm dying here."
Soft laughter bubbled out of you as he pulled away from you a bit, and those butterflies were going wild. His eyes were fixed on your face, begging for an answer this time as he stroked your hands with his thumbs. And then you told him, and he tried your name out on his tongue a few times with that grin that you liked so much. He kept saying it softly until you kissed him this time, and then he guided your arms around his neck.
"Listen," he said in that raspy voice that you'd love to focus on all night. "I have no problem staying here for a while if you want to. I bet you could even persuade me to join you in the ladies' room."
"Sounds tempting," you told him with a smirk.
"It really does. But we could also just ditch the bar and grab dinner instead? Maybe watch the Clippers game and have a drink at my place? I'm a little worried Alan might show up here and try to lure you away, if I'm being honest."
You practically snorted with laughter. "I can't even really remember what Alan looks like. He was totally gone from my mind after the first selfie you sent me. Let's get out of here."
He took you by the hand. "Anything you want, Pretty Girl."
-------------------------
I love dreamy loverboy Bradley, and I love Pretty Girl too. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls
Summary: After two days apart, the continuous phone calls and texts have Bradley running up to meet you near Los Angeles for game three. He likes all of it, every minute with you. And then you tell him that his favorite part is your favorite part, too.
Warnings: Swearing, fluff, angst, masturbation, oral, and smut (18+)
Length: 7100 words
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader
Check out my masterlist for more! How You Play the Game masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger
You woke up with Bradley's big arm wrapped around you. His alarm was going off, but he was still asleep. You rolled over so you were facing him, but he just pulled you closer.
"Where you goin'?" he mumbled, eyes still closed. "Stay here, Ace."
Your smile was enormous as you bit your lip. "Bradley," you whispered, kissing his nose. "You have to go to work."
"No." He pulled you impossibly closer as you laughed.
"Your alarm is going off." He muffled your words with his lips on yours, and he rolled you onto your back as he kissed you.
"Don't care," he murmured, pressing kiss after glorious kiss to your lips. But then you laughed, and so did he, because his alarm kept getting louder and louder. "Do not move an inch," he whispered, pinning your hands above your head on the pillow and easing himself away from you. "I'm serious, Ace. I want to pick up right where I'm leaving off."
You giggled as you watched him climb out of bed and walk naked across your hotel room. The early morning light filtering in through the curtains lit up his tan skin. He was beautiful. His skin still looked summer sunkissed, and you tracked him with your eyes as he located his phone on the floor.
"I told you not to move," he growled, climbing back into bed and crawling toward you, his big hands immediately holding both of yours.
"I didn't," you whispered with a smile, turning your head to the side as his mustache brushed your ear. Then he eased his body back where it belonged, right on top of yours. What a thought. He was already familiar. You shouldn't feel this comfortable with someone you literally just met. You shouldn't be thinking about the next time you were going to see him.
"Now where was I?" he muttered, frowning at you like he couldn't remember. "I think I was right about here." His kisses were probably the only thing you needed right now. Each one was more exciting than the last, and you wound your fingers in his pretty hair. He was hard against your thigh now, never shy about his reaction to you.
You wanted him. There were eighteen condoms left to use. But when he broke the kiss and ran his thumb along your bottom lip, you pouted a little bit. "You need to leave."
He shook his head just slightly. "I need to stay."
"No, no, no, Bradley. You told me to tell you that you had to go to work today. You told me last night to tell you that the planes won't fly themselves, and that you aren't allowed to spend the day with me."
"Never said that," he whispered, and your eyes fluttered closed as his thumb grazed your cheek softly. "I'd never tell someone as pretty as you that I wasn't going to spend the whole day with them."
"Bradley," you whimpered, and he sighed.
Then he buried his face against your shoulder and kissed you there. "It's just that I want to spend as much time with you as I can. While I can."
He said he would get a ticket to game three just to see you. Just to be with you up near Los Angeles. Your voice was soft as you asked, "You'll really come to game three tomorrow night?" You felt vulnerable. You never felt this way. You had to have the biggest bark and the biggest bite in your line of work, and you were always ready to be on offense or defense. But you didn't feel like you had to try so hard with him. You felt like you could breathe and enjoy yourself.
Bradley's lips were on yours again, and then he said, "I'll buy a ticket on my lunch break today. And when I text you, are you going to respond?"
"Yes," you whispered with a grin. "As long as you go to work like you're supposed to."
"Yes, ma'am," he rasped. "I can't wait to see you tomorrow night. And I can't wait to read your article later today."
You were basking in the warmth of his words, but when his lips started a trail down your chest, you knew you needed to be the responsible one here. "Go. To. Work."
He groaned as he rolled off of you again and stood with his hands on his hips. You propped yourself up and looked up at him as he gestured toward the floor. "Eighteen more condoms. Am I taking them for safe keeping, or should I leave them with you?"
You tapped your lips with your index finger and asked, "Are you going to need them between now and the next time I see you?"
Bradley scoffed and said, "I already told you, Baby, I like you the best. I was only joking about the blue feathers. I'm absolutely not going to try to hook up with the other Ace."
"Go to work!" you said, howling with laughter as you launched the pillows at him one at a time as he tried to get dressed.
Then he had a big smile on his face as he picked up his Padres jersey and leaned down to give you one more kiss. "Keep this until I see you again. You looked so cute in it, thought you might want to wear it around."
You took it in one hand and wrapped the other around his neck to pull him close. Just one last kiss to hold you until tomorrow night. "Bye, Bradley."
"See ya, Ace."
He left in his jeans and undershirt, closing the door softly behind him. And then you were alone with his jersey, eighteen condoms, and the aching need to see him again. So you pushed your apprehension aside and decided to keep fooling yourself into thinking this was all a good decision.
-------------------------------
"You are distracted," Nat said as Bradley slid into the seat next to hers at lunchtime, his phone in his hand. You'd sent him a photo of you sitting at the desk in your hotel room wearing his jersey.
"Am I?" he asked, examining every inch of the photo before he started typing a response.
Nat gasped, and he looked up at her. "It's the sports writer! You went to the game!"
"I did," he said slowly, still typing a message. "And I'm planning on going to game three in Anaheim tomorrow night if I can find a ticket. And I'll probably go to each game after that too, because this is the kind of girl I've been dreaming of my entire life. She's cute, funny, smart, loves sports, and she's great in bed. And I just want to spend my whole day with her." He looked up and smirked.
"Doesn't she live in New York?" Nat asked, and Bradley could already feel his face falling.
"Yeah," he grunted, hitting send on the text message that said, "Let me take you home where you can wear all my clothes, and then I can take them all off of you."
"Be careful," Nat warned before biting into her sandwich.
"Weren't you the one who told me you could see me with six kids? Like a soccer player and a ballerina?"
Bradley hated the pitiful look she gave him. "I don't want you to get hurt."
That was the whole fucking thing. Bradley knew you could hurt him. It hurt the night after game one when he went home alone and then didn't hear from you in spite of the fact that he had given you his phone number. And it hurt him to think about you in New York where you lived, or in some other random city covering a sporting event. Because his home was in San Diego. And it would be next spring at the earliest before you'd be back to cover more baseball here.
"I'm not gonna get hurt, Nat. It's just a fling." As soon as he said the words out loud, he wanted to take them back. They were all wrong, and they made him feel dirty. He'd had flings before, and they didn't feel anything like this. He'd been having occasional casual sex with Shannon for probably a year, and she never lingered in his mind after he threw away the condom and watched her leave.
"Okay, well maybe you should reconsider going up to Anaheim tomorrow night?" Nat pressed. "I know I encouraged you to see her again, but maybe that's actually not the best idea."
"Nat, I know what I'm-" Bradley looked at his phone as another photo came through. In this one, you were lounging on the hotel bed where he'd spent the night with you wrapped up in his arms, still wearing his jersey. But it was open in the front, and your left hand was on your right breast.
Ace: I kind of miss you. I keep putting off leaving for my exclusive interview with the Angels' bullpen, because my hotel room smells like you.
"Fuck me," Bradley muttered, rubbing his free hand along his face.
Nat snatched his phone, and he let her have it. "Wow. Wow. Bradley."
"I know," he groaned.
"She's hot. And that message is beyond flirtatious."
"Yeah," he said, his voice precariously close to a whine. "Nat, I like her. I like how she writes her articles, and how I know her favorite team now. I liked how she felt in my arms all night."
"You slept over?!"
Bradley didn't reply. He just took his phone back and saved the photos. Then he sent you another text.
I'd rather you do an exclusive interview with me instead. I think you'd really appreciate what I have to say.
Ace: By all means, tell me what you would say if I interviewed you, Bradley.
I would say you look sexy as fuck in my jersey right now. And that thing never had it so good.
Ace: You're right. An exclusive with you would be much better.
"Now you're just ignoring me," Nat said as she wiped her mouth with a napkin. "I'm going to sit with Bob."
Truly, Bradley hadn't heard a word she said. He also hadn't eaten any of his lunch. He had to inhale his sandwich while he walked back to the classroom for the afternoon, because yes, he was distracted.
-------------------------------
Your boss was really riding you today. Apparently your submissions at 11:58pm after the first two games really had Greg Pfeffer rattled, because that was the first thing he said when you talked to him. The second thing he said was that he needed you in Boston as soon as you wrapped up in California. Apparently there was nobody else on staff he trusted to handle the Bruins head coach as well as you could.
You knew what your strengths were. You were smart, crafty and organized. But you were also a woman. And sometimes the men you interviewed responded to you differently than they would another man. In a good way. You always seemed to be able to get more information out of players or coaches than anyone else. Just yesterday afternoon you managed to get two of the relief pitchers from the Angels' bullpen to admit they weren't quite sure how to throw to the Padres shortstop.
And then one of them asked you out to dinner.
Never in a million years would you agree to that. You loved your job too much. And that was immediate grounds for getting fired right there. Honestly, there was no way he really thought you'd agree, right? Also, there was the fact that you'd decided it was better to eat some mediocre takeout back in your hotel room while you texted Bradley.
But now it was Tuesday morning. Game three was happening tonight. And those texts while you ate dinner had turned into a phone call with Bradley. The two of you ended up talking for two hours before you could hear him trying not to yawn. He had been so sweet, you had to threaten to hang up on him.
But you could still hear the last thing he said to you. "I should have driven up to see you tonight after work. Even just for an hour. Can't wait for tomorrow, Ace."
And what were you supposed to do now? You had hours to kill before you had to be at Angels Stadium. You were still wearing nothing but Bradley's jersey while you laid in your bed in the hotel across the street from the stadium just outside Los Angeles. You buried your nose in the fabric; it still smelled like him. He smelled so good. There was no way you could wait a few hours for him when just the feel of his Padres jersey brushing your nipples was making you squirm with need.
You let one hand slide down the curve of your belly, and when you closed your eyes, it was easy to pretend like he was the one touching you. Because his body had been as sure as your own, like he already knew what to do with you. Inch by inch, your fingers moved closer to their goal, and when you started rubbing your clit in slow circles, you thought about Bradley's voice. About the deep, raspy register and the way he called you Ace.
When you touched your breasts with your other hand, you realized your hips were already up off the bed, thrusting slowly as your fingers worked your clit. Images of Bradley's handsome face and flushed cheeks flashed through your mind. The eager look in his eyes when he touched you. The feel of his arms wrapped around you while he slept. The way his breath felt on your neck all night long. The morning rasp of his voice as he seemed to instinctively know he was with you in the still dark hotel room before he had opened his eyes.
"Oh, god!" you whined as you ran your nose along the collar of his jersey, inhaling his scent in short gasps as you clenched, imagining his heavy cock inside you. The swirl of your fingers became erratic as your hips thrust two more times, and you were coming hard for Bradley.
When your body collapsed back onto the bed, you were almost startled to open your eyes and realize you were alone. Your loud breathing and soft whimpers were filling the room, but you were too deliciously sated to feel embarrassed about what you'd done. You should probably be getting a shower so you had time to pre-write some of your article about game three. You had emails from Greg about your successful interview article with the Angels' bullpen to respond to. But instead you reached for your phone and texted Bradley.
---------------------------
Ace: How early can you get up here today?
It sounded to Bradley like you still missed him even though he hadn't seen you since very early yesterday morning. He read your exclusive interview five times today already, and he was wondering if you'd indulge him and read parts of it out loud later tonight. And then he groaned as he turned on a shower in the locker room. He'd probably barely make it to the game for the seven o'clock start time, and tomorrow was a work day.
Tomorrow was also game four. Bradley was the world's worst Padres fan at the moment, praying that the Angels would tie up the series and take this whole thing to seven games. Because he didn't even want to think about what his life was going to look like when the World Series was over and he was no longer running himself between two cities to see you.
He made the shower a short one, dressing in some snug jeans and a clean Padres shirt before running out to his Bronco.
I'm leaving work now, Baby. See you at the stadium?
You'd given him the address of the hotel you always stayed at along with your room number just in case he finished work early. You had also managed to procure a ticket in the nosebleeds for him to get inside the ballpark; he just had to give his name at Gate E. But he was going to have to turn around and drive the nearly two hours back to San Diego either late tonight or well before dawn tomorrow. He just hoped you'd want to see him again tomorrow night, because he would do it all again.
There was traffic. "Fuck," he groaned, actually pulling up onto a curb to go around someone. He ended up fighting through gridlock the whole way up Angels Stadium, cutting back and forth between the highway and backroads. He paid forty dollars to park in the preferred lot next to Gate E, and then he sprinted up to the entrance along with other fans who were hoping to make it to their seats before the first pitch.
Bradley gave your name and then his own at the window, and he was immediately admitted inside. "Can you tell me where the entrance to the press box is located?" he asked. The security guard gave him a long stare.
"Do you have credentials?"
"Nevermind," Bradley muttered, taking the ticket that was being handed to him and pulling out his phone. His heart was pounding as he listened to someone singing the national anthem while he fumbled trying to make a call. He placed his right hand over his heart, not wanting to be a complete prick as he picked a direction to rush off in as he called your phone.
"Hi," you said very softly when you answered. He loved your voice. Memories of the late night phone call filled with your soft giggles washed over him.
"Baby, how do I get to the press box?"
"Unmarked green door near section 133. I'll meet you there."
Bradley hung up and ran around the first base side of the concourse, narrowly dodging some teenage girls and a beer vendor as the singer wrapped up their rendition of the song. And then he saw the green door as it opened, and your eyes met his.
"Shit," he gasped, feeling his feet slow before speeding up again. You looked perfect, and your beautiful smile was just for him as you let the door close behind you and came running.
And then you were in his arms with your hands at the back of his neck and your lips pressed to his ear. "Hi," you whispered as you kissed along the side of his face just as the fireworks signalling the start of the game were launched, and the entire stadium was cheering.
Bradley carried you to the door as you laughed softly. "I liked your exclusive article," he told you. "Read it five times today." That earned him a kiss on the lips, and then he watched you pull your lanyard out of your back pocket to unlock the green door.
"I think you're my biggest fan," you replied as he carried you inside and set you down.
"I absolutely am, Ace." Then you were pushing his back against the wall, your lips ghosting over his in the relative private of the vestibule that opened up into the press area buzzing with people.
"I need you to be very well behaved tonight," you scolded with a little grin that made Bradley lean down and kiss you hard.
"I will," he promised, loving the needy little sound you made.
You ran your fingers along his neck as you said, "I have an assigned seat in here. And my boss has been on my ass all day. No spilling any beers on me, I don't care how badly you want to lick it off later."
"One time and I have a reputation..."
You bit your lip and looked up at him over your shoulder as you turned toward the other reporters. The game was about to begin as you pointed to some folding chairs, and he grabbed one on his way past. Then he wedged it in front of the countertop where your computer was sitting, between your chair and the wall. He sat down and then you settled in next to him, right there in his personal space.
Bradley was smiling at you, and you were smiling right back. "Stop distracting me," you told him, barely turning in time to watch the Angels' pitcher throw the first strike of the game. "You're very distracting."
He draped his arm around your back as you started filling out the pitches on your stat sheet and typing away at the same time. "Thanks for securing that ticket for me. Wouldn't want to miss the chance to see you."
"It was god awful expensive. Even for the worst section in the stadium," you replied without looking at him.
Bradley's jaw dropped. "You paid for it? I thought maybe you got it comped or something. I could have found one online myself."
You just shrugged as the Angels left the field only to be replaced by the Padres for the bottom of the inning. "I got it for half the price you would have been able to."
Bradley knew that was still at least five hundred dollars. "I'll pay you back."
"No," you said softly as you looked down at your keyboard almost like you were embarrassed. Then you shrugged again, a little more aggressively this time. "It's okay."
But Bradley cupped your chin and gently guided your face so you were looking at him, your eyes unsure and hesitant. "I'd have had no problem paying full price. I just wanted to see you."
He ran his thumb along your bottom lip as you asked, "Is that really why you're here though?"
Bradley's brow scrunched in confusion as he examined your face. He knew the game was going on, but you weren't fighting him about missing a pitch or two. "Why else would I battle through traffic for two hours?"
You swallowed hard and whispered, "Because you wanted to fuck me again."
Bradley's stomach dropped. That was so far from the truth. "No, Ace. I wanted to spend a little time with you." You were silent now, but you weren't looking away as he added, "Sleeping with you is incredible, sure. But that's not why I'm here. I don't have to drive four hours round trip to get laid. I have six pack abs. But in order to see you tonight, it required driving up from San Diego. And when I tell you that I don't care if you invite me back to your hotel room tonight or not, I mean it."
Then you were kissing him and tugging him closer to you by the front of his shirt. And the Angels must have scored, because the rest of the stadium erupted in near deafening cheers. But you still didn't care to look away and find out exactly what was going on. You just kept kissing him, and your hand skimmed up his thigh, and Bradley had to pull away.
"Ace, if you keep doing that, you'll make me look like a liar," he gasped as the cheering finally started to lessen.
You chased his lips with yours and asked, "What do you mean?"
Bradley kissed you one more time and then leaned back in his seat, glancing down at the fly of his jeans where he was plainly a little hard for you. His voice was a little tight as he adjusted himself. "Truly, sleeping with you is not my priority tonight, but you turn me on."
Your hand was still resting on his thigh as you turned toward your computer and typed one handed. "How embarrassing... logging in to SportsCenter to watch a replay while I'm sitting right here in Anaheim." But you were smiling, and Bradley let his hand come to rest on top of yours while he caught his breath. It took you a minute to get your score sheet updated correctly, and then you were focusing on the players once more. But your hand still brushed his leg, and your fingers occasionally laced with his as you watched the game.
Occasionally you murmured something about a stolen base or an earned run average, but Bradley was barely watching anything except you. All he knew was he hoped the Angels won. All he wanted was to stay with you as long as possible.
When you kissed him sweetly during the seventh inning stretch, one of the other writers turned and said, "You brought your boyfriend again, New York?"
"No, Jack. He's actually my intern," you replied smoothly. The older man just looked between you and Bradley and then turned around.
"Intern?" Bradley mumbled. "Damn. I got demoted. Someone called me your boyfriend the other night." You started laughing as Bradley said, "What's next? Your dog walker?"
"I don't have a dog," you told him, smiling at him brightly and squeezing his thigh.
He laughed, too. "You want me to be your personal food fetcher?"
"Now that is something I could actually use."
Bradley was on his feet immediately, filling a plate from the catering stations and grabbing a bottle of water.
-----------------------------
Nothing felt as rushed tonight. Sure, you kept pulling Bradley in for kisses in the parking lot on the way to his retro Ford Bronco, but you didn't feel the need to immediately drag him back to your room. Not when he looked so gorgeous in the moonlight. Not when you felt golden inside since the Angels had managed to pull out a win. There would be at least five games. You were hoping you had at least two more chances to see him.
You shivered as he opened the door for you. "Bradley," you said with a laugh. "I told you my hotel is just on the other side of the parking lot. It's the hotel I always stay in."
"I'll drive you over," he whispered, kissing your cheek as he helped you in. Then you gave him an appraising look as he closed the door and jogged around to the other side. Was he really not planning on joining you in your room? The idea sent a jolt of sadness through you. But tomorrow was Wednesday, a work day for him.
"Bradley?" you asked softly as he pulled out of the spot. You could already see your hotel from the end of the aisle, and he turned to smile at you.
"Yeah, Baby?"
You closed your eyes and whispered, "Do you have to leave right away? I want you to come up."
He didn't answer immediately. He pulled up to the entrance and put the Bronco in park and ran his fingers through his hair. "I wish I could say no to you. Just to prove my point."
When you leaned across the console and said, "I don't want you to say no to me right now," he shifted back into drive. You giggled as he pulled forward a little quickly and whipped into an empty parking space.
And then you were walking backwards through the lobby, coaxing Bradley along as he said, "I shouldn't be coming up with you. I have work in the morning. And I told you I'm just here for your company." But he was smiling, and he was the one to push the button to call the elevator.
Then it arrived, and the two of you were the only ones inside when the door closed. You tucked yourself against his chest when he opened his arms to you. "Just come up for a little bit?"
"A little bit," he confirmed, kissing the top of your head. "While you write your piece?"
"Mmhmm," you hummed, kissing his neck. "Or you could stay for a while."
His arms were warm and so solid around you, and you heard him murmur, "I could stay for a while."
You pulled him down the hallway, laughing at the dopey grin on his face. "You could stay longer. We're only going to get a handful of these nights together. And I like it when my hotel room smells like you the next day."
He snatched the key card from your hand and unlocked the door, ushering you inside with his lips on yours. He tossed the key somewhere on the floor as the door closed behind him, and you dropped your computer bag with a soft thud.
"This is a nice room," he whispered against your lips as he untucked your blouse and got one big hand on your lower back.
"You didn't even see it yet," you gasped as he started sucking on your neck.
"I'll look at it later."
And then you were under him on your bed, both of you fully clothed except for your shoes. Bradley was running his lips and his mustache along your neck at such a leisurely pace, you were afraid you might actually melt.
"Is that my jersey?" he asked, his gaze moving to the pillow next to your head.
"Yeah," you whined as his tongue met the sensitive spot behind your ear. "I wore it last night and this morning."
Bradley groaned, and then you felt his hands at your waist and your hips. "I'm a weak man. A very weak man when it comes to you, Ace." And then his groan just got louder as you reached down for his hands and guided them slowly to the button of your jeans. He made quick work of it and the zipper, easing his fingers inside the waistband of your underwear. "Baby, you have an article to finish."
He kissed along below your belly button, and you whimpered as you said, "I'll finish it in time. I promise." And then he was yanking your pants down and pressing his lips to your bare thighs as he worked your jeans and underwear all the way down your legs and off. He settled in with his face buried in your pussy, just like last time. Just like the first time. You'd never been with a man so willing and eager to do this.
"You're fucking soaked," he moaned, lapping up along your slit before separating you with his nose and kissing around your opening.
"Bradley!" you whined, because he was already so invested. So you let him go for a few minutes, and it felt good. So good, you were almost convinced he could get you off this way if he took enough time to do it. But after a few more minutes, you tugged gently on his hair. When he met your eyes with his lips on your clit, he looked annoyed.
He released you, much to your immediate displeasure, and asked, "Why won't you let me get you off like this? You stopped me the other night, too."
You pressed your lips together and looked at the ceiling before you answered. "It'll take forever."
Bradley sighed, and a second later, a jolt of pleasure rushed through you. When you looked down your body at him, he was swirling one long finger around your clit. "I'm in no rush. Other than you needing to submit your article in an hour and a half, we've got time."
"You must like a challenge."
Bradley raised one eyebrow at you, but his finger never stopped that slow, delicious swirl that had you bending one leg and running your foot along his side. He kissed the inside of your knee before he looked at you and said, "This is not a challenge. This is a privilege, Baby. You just tell me what feels good, and I'll get you there."
You couldn't be sure if it was his words or the way he was touching you, but when your pussy clenched gently around nothing, you were whimpering his name and agreeing. And then his mouth was trailing the softest kisses along your folds. You could tell you were dripping wet by the way his tongue glided so smoothly along. And then Bradley reached around your hips and tilted your body up at a slightly different angle that had his nose bumping your clit while he ate you.
He kept changing things up. A soft roll of his tongue would turn into a nibble. And then the nibbles would turn into suction with just the most beautiful amount of pressure. But his mustache was just fucking special, the way it felt rough and yet so fucking necessary.
"Fuck," you whined softly. He was so good. But you'd felt this slow build before, and inevitably your partners ended up getting tired or annoyed by how long it took you. Bradley's movements were sure and steady, however. And now he was plucking at your clit with his lips, and your thighs tightened around his head.
"Good?" he asked, breathing a little heavy.
"Yes! Don't stop!" you praised, your hips rocking with each little grab and release of his lips. He squeezed your hips as if he was letting you know he would get you off like he promised, and then he swirled his tongue slowly around your clit before licking a long stripe down with the tip of his tongue.
"Do that again," you demanded, your voice barely a gasp. And once again he treated you to that swirl of his tongue. "Fuck." And the long stripe downward. "Oh."
"Again?" he asked, his voice raspy and amused.
You tangled your fingers in his hair and tugged as you said, "Don't you dare stop, Bradley." But he was already back at it with that perfect tempo and his prickly mustache. This time, when he licked down, he kissed his way back up, and you made the most desperate sound. "Again."
"I got you, Ace."
His tongue. His voice. His hands. His hair. His ridiculous nickname for you. "Oh god damn!" you whined, your voice breaking as you keened. The words and sounds were burning at the back of your throat before they could be released in a way that made any sense at all. And you rolled your hips slowly against his mouth as he cupped your body. You were close. So close. So-
"Yes!" you nearly screamed as tears stung at your eyes. Bradley grunted as you pulled his hair but he didn't stop. You were practically riding his face with one leg thrown over his shoulder when you felt yourself gush. His face was still buried in your pussy, but when he finally looked up at you, he was panting.
"Ace," he groaned, his face all wet from you. He was licking his lips like you were the most incredible thing he'd ever tasted in his life, and even though you were still enjoying some little aftershocks, you needed more.
"I want you to fuck me," you said softly, and then his wet lips and chin were on yours. And you did taste pretty incredible as he bucked his fully clothed body against your core.
"I won't last," he grunted. "Not after that. God, you're perfect."
Your body felt flushed all over from his compliment. "I don't care. I just want to feel you."
"You need to finish your article," he said, but he was already sitting back on his knees between your legs and unzipping his pants. He winced as he pulled himself free, his tip an angry, swollen red.
"Oh," you gasped, already clenching again at the sight of him. You scampered out of bed and nearly tripped on your way to your suitcase. "Eighteen condoms," you muttered, digging around until you found one of the double packs.
A few seconds later, you were rolling one of them down his length. He'd barely gotten his pants pulled down to his thighs by the time you were bending over the bed for him. And then he was filling you up, and his arms kind of caged you in. And his mustache was rubbing your neck. And your actual first name was on his lips. And you were thinking about things you knew you shouldn't. You were thinking about how much it was going to hurt when you left for the east coast.
------------------------------
Bradley would have been embarrassed that he only lasted two minutes, but you didn't seem to mind. "I'll be better for round two. You just really wound me up."
You bit your lip and smiled at him as he removed the condom. "Going down on me made you hot?"
He looked up at you like you had two heads. "Yeah. Hell yeah. I'd spend the whole night doing that if you'd let me."
You looked ridiculously pleased with yourself as you grabbed his Padres jersey off the bed and slipped it on. "Maybe tomorrow night," you said playfully as you walked toward the desk and grabbed your bag on the way. "You coming?"
Once again, Bradley had you perched on his lap while you finished your article. You were cutting it very close tonight, and he was helping you proofread as you wrote. "You misspelled umpire," he whispered, pointing to your computer screen.
"Thanks," you replied softly, correcting your error.
He didn't want to distract you at all, but he wasn't sure how long you wanted him to stay. It was three minutes until midnight. He was at least an hour and a half away from home. He needed to be at work in eight hours. But the way you were acting like he belonged with you was keeping his mouth shut.
You submitted your article at exactly midnight and then you turned to face him. "Are you ready for round two?" you whispered, grinning. "Round one with you was already way better than when I got off earlier today."
Bradley froze with you in his arms. "What the hell happened earlier today?" he asked, hating that he immediately felt a little jealous.
But you leaned in and kissed him softly, your lips brushing his as you said, "I thought about you while I got myself off."
"Fuuuck," he groaned, wrapping you tighter in his arms. "That's hot, Ace."
Bradley was still hanging out of his jeans, and his cock was rubbing your thigh as he got hard for you. You were running your fingers through his hair as you rubbed your pussy along his length. Then you reached behind you on the counter and held up another condom, and when Bradley nodded, you opened it. And then he was inside you again.
You went slow, with breathless fluttering kisses along his face. He tucked his hands inside the jersey, wanting to feel as much of your smooth skin as he could. "At least two more games," you whispered. "I have the Angels to thank for winning tonight."
Bradley laughed softly, bringing his hands up to your breasts but keeping his eyes on yours. "Let's keep this thing going."
"Mmhmm," you moaned. And then you kissed him like you and he had been doing this for years already. As if you knew what he needed. And maybe you did, because he was starting to think he needed you.
"Ace, Baby." You were coming for him, absolutely coming undone in his arms as you moved your body. He wanted to tell you to make it last all night, but it was too good. And he was right there, too.
As you pushed his hair back from his forehead and let your cheek find his shoulder, your phone rang. Bradley jumped a bit, but you didn't seem concerned.
"It's probably just Greg. My boss," you said with a kiss to his cheek.
"Okay," Bradley grunted as you stood and left him to dispose of the condom.
"Greg," you said calmly when you answered the phone. And then Bradley heard someone yelling at you. He was on his feet, brow scrunched in concern. This guy was loud, and you didn't even have him on speaker phone. And he wasn't letting you get a word in. You just hummed in agreement as you paced around the room, but when Bradley caught your eye, you headed back over.
"It's okay," you told him with your hand over the speaker of your phone. "He doesn't like my nearly late submissions," you said with an eye roll and then a smile. Then you gently pushed Bradley down into the chair again before pacing away. And he was suddenly inadvertently privy to your email inbox.
At the top was your article submission receipt which you were currently telling your boss was time stamped for midnight, and that you didn't actually need him to call you from home in New York where it was three in the morning. Then Bradley's eyes fell to no fewer than six emails that had all been sent from different media outlets this evening.
[email protected] Join the Sports Team With Highest Salaried Positions
"Damn, Ace," Bradley muttered, eyes scanning everything he could see without scrolling down further. But something told him there would be more of the same if he did. Everyone wanted you.
"Sorry," you muttered, having ended your call without Bradley even noticing. And now you looked a little apprehensive.
"Your boss was yelling at you," he remarked as he stood.
"Oh," you said with a little shrug. "He's always like that. Ranting and raving is how he operates."
Bradley glanced back at your computer screen briefly. "Well I wish he wasn't shouting at you. Your articles are always the best."
You clearly wanted to say something, but you planted your hands on your hips and tapped your foot on the floor. "Bradley... I know it's late, and you have to get back home for work and everything... Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?"
He didn't have to think about it. "Yes."
And then your expression melted into a smile as you climbed into bed, still wearing his jersey. Bradley watched you pat the spot next to you, and he zipped up his jeans and climbed in as well.
As you yanked the covers up over both of you, Bradley pulled you close so your back was pressed to his front. "Will you come back tomorrow night? If I can get you a ticket?" you asked him so softly, he held his breath to make sure that was all you had to say.
As long as you were in southern California, he would come to you. "I'll be back up no matter what, Ace." And after you kissed his hands and laced your fingers with his, he added, "I can't believe you thought this right here wasn't my favorite part about being with you."
Your breathing was evening out, and Bradley thought perhaps you were already asleep. But then you said, "This is my favorite part, too."
-------------------------
She asked him to stay until she fell asleep. Oh, Ace. He's a mess already. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls
Summary: Bradley is the first one to admit that he always has been and always will be a sucker for how smart you are. There's something so hot about you in teacher mode, and he loves it when you take charge. But he's in for a surprise when you dole out a new kind of punishment for turning in sloppy work that leaves him fully at your mercy.
Pairing: Beer Boy and Sugar! Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)
This is a one-shot to accompany my fics Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time! Banner by @mak-32 Check out my masterlist
Bradley's heart was pounding when he walked through the front door to find you still dressed in your work clothes even though you got home around lunchtime on Fridays. He had been prepared to start cooking dinner, but the sight of you in your loafers and snug tweed skirt was enough to make his cock twitch.
"Are you ready for class, Mr. Bradshaw?" you asked, hands on your hips and one eyebrow raised.
He took a deep breath and nodded slowly before he said, "I am so ready for calculus class, Dr. Sugar." Your smirk had his brain working overtime, wondering what exactly you had in mind for him. A blowjob if he aced his exam? Sex on your desk if he could solve the equation tattooed at the top of your ribcage? A handjob that lasted as long as he could accurately recite the decimals in pi?
It didn't matter what it was, he wanted it. He was aching for it. Bradley was a mess for his wife. And when you shook your pretty head at him standing there in his uniform and said, "You're not dressed for class," he could feel his cock pressing the inside of his zipper through his underwear.
He glanced down at his khaki shirt and pants. "What should I be wearing, Professor?" he asked in a low, deep voice that had you getting a little flustered. He could tell. He knew all of your cues, and right now you were squeezing your thighs together.
You cocked your head slightly to the side and eyed him up and down. "I just don't think that's what a college student would be wearing to his weekly math lecture, Beer Boy."
Ah, okay. So you wanted college Beer Boy right now. Bradley could absolutely deliver on that for you. "Sorry, Professor," he mumbled, looking at the floor and his boots. "You're right. I'm not dressed appropriately for your class."
You nodded and said, "Meet me in my office when you're ready to learn something new." And with that, you spun and disappeared down the hallway leaving Bradley to watch the sway of your ass in all that tight tweed fabric.
You were sexy academia personified for him, and he loved it so much when you wanted to be in charge. But truly, Bradley felt a little bad for the twenty something year old guys who had to sit through your classes. You just looked that good. You looked good when you were at The University of Virginia as a math major, and somehow you looked even hotter now as a math professor.
He smirked. He'd enjoyed your body at both of those points in time. And he was the only one who knew exactly where and how much you'd filled out from your twenties to your thirties. "Shit," he grunted, realizing he was wasting time thinking about your tits when he could probably be looking at them.
Bradley tore into the bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. He was already hard enough that it was challenging to get his uniform pants off, but he managed to leave a pile of khaki clothing on the floor as he rummaged around for his favorite Grateful Dead shirt. It was neatly folded in the dresser with your clothing since you wore it way more frequently than he did. But he pulled it on and found the University of Chicago hat you'd given him and tossed it on backwards. You always liked to run your fingers through his curls that stuck out from beneath his hats, and Bradley was practically panting just thinking about it.
He palmed himself through his boxer shorts as he pushed your office door open a little wider, grinning where you'd written SUGAR LOVES BEER BOY across it. And then he spotted you, sitting on the edge of the desk with your legs crossed. A few more of the buttons on your blouse were open now, and you were gesturing to your desk chair.
"Have a seat, Mr. Bradshaw." Your voice was soft and sultry, nothing like the tone you used when you gave a lecture to your students. How did he get this fucking lucky?
"Yes, Dr. Sugar," he replied, and you smirked. He stepped closer to the soft glow coming from his navy desk lamp which lived in this room, and he slipped down into your chair. Bradley desperately wanted to run his hands up your legs and tuck them inside your skirt, but he knew he wouldn't be allowed. So instead, he took the pencil and calculator you handed to him and looked up at your pretty face.
"I want you to work on your math homework sheet," you whispered, flipping over the single sheet of paper in front of him on the desk. Then you leaned down and kissed his temple, brushing your lips along the hair sticking out from under his cap. "Get started."
Bradley groaned softly, unsure how exactly he was going to be able to do this when his cock was aching so much. Plus, you were making no secret of the fact that you were looking at his tented boxers like you wanted to climb in his lap.
"You're really proud of yourself, aren't you?" he asked, punching some numbers into the calculator to try to solve the first problem. "You got me so hard, I can barely concentrate, and all you did was talk to me and kiss my fucking hair."
You stroked your fingers along the strands of his hair you had kissed and said, "No cursing in my classroom. And no talking at all while you're working."
Bradley grunted as he scribbled down an answer for the first problem that he was actually pretty sure was correct. Visiting your evening lectures had really started to pay off. He'd always been pretty good at math, but now he was proficient in calculus and linear algebra. The only problem was, when most people thought about school, it turned them off. But simply looking at math problems made him harder. There was probably something wrong with him.
You hummed as he answered the second equation, but when he looked up at your face, you said, "Eyes on your paper, Mr. Bradshaw."
"Yes, Professor," he whispered, and he was rewarded with the sight of you licking your lips. He was aching for a blowjob right now. He might get one if all of his answers were correct. So as quickly as he could, Bradley finished the remaining questions and slid the paper closer to you. "How did I do?"
You sank your teeth into your lip as you looked at him. Then you took the paper in your hands and murmured, "Let's see..."
Every little twitch of your brow and the way your eyes narrowed after a moment were telling enough, but when you met his gaze over the paper, he knew he had missed one.
"If you just give me another minute, Dr. Sugar-"
"I gave you plenty of time already, Mr. Bradshaw," you said, stroking along his scarred cheek with your nails as you set the paper aside. You wrapped your fingers down along his chin and tipped his face up to meet yours. When you leaned in and kissed his lips sweetly, he was immediately reaching for your body. But then you jerked his chin up another inch and said, "But you missed number five, and I don't accept sloppy math homework."
Bradley groaned as your nails raked down his neck, because this was doing nothing to alleviate his erection. And now he was a little nervous about that problem he missed. "Does this mean you're going to make me take care of this myself?" he whispered, gesturing to his tented boxer shorts.
The devilish smirk on your face actually thrilled him as you said, "Not exactly." Then you stood and took both of his hands gently in yours and pulled him to his feet. Bradley groaned as his erection trailed up your body until his length was resting against your belly. You pressed one more kiss to his lips and adjusted his backward cap as he throbbed against you. Then you stepped to the side and guided him to place both of his palms on your desk.
Bradley looked at you and asked, "What's happening here?" Then you walked behind him and pushed the chair toward the center of the room, and Bradley felt your hands reach inside the elastic of his boxer shorts and start to guide them down until they dropped down to his feet.
"What's happening is your punishment for your sloppy homework. Keep your palms on the desk, Mr. Bradshaw." You ran your hands softly along Bradley's ass, and he didn't move an inch. His cock was painfully hard now and leaping in the air, begging to be touched.
He turned to his left where you were kissing along his neck now as you squeezed his ass. He moaned, "Baby, I might cum. I'm not even kidding."
You gasped and slapped his ass, and Bradley's jaw dropped open. "Baby? I'm your teacher! Show me some respect."
"P-Professor Sugar," he managed as his skin stung where you hit him. Then to Bradley's surprise, you opened the top drawer of your desk, and sitting right next to your post it notes was his Beta Gamma fraternity paddle. It was made of solid oak and painted in a psychedelic tie dye pattern that he always thought looked really cool. But the last time he saw the thing, it was on top of the bedroom closet. And as you wrapped your fingers around the handle, it dawned on Bradley why it was here and why he was standing like this.
His eyes snapped up to meet yours, and the look of mischief was gone as you squeezed his bicep and kissed the edge of his mustache. "I thought it might be fun to spank you, Beer Boy. But if you say no, then I'll put it away, and we can find something else fun to do."
Bradley eyed the paddle, and his mind was flooded with memories of his fraternity days. Not all of them were good, but he'd met you at his frat house. And you were the best thing in his life. And for some reason, the idea of that tie dye paddle hitting his bare skin was actually appealing to him. This was not something he had ever thought about before, but in the hands of his wife, he wanted it.
"Yes," he replied, kissing your lips as you started to smile. "I want you to, Professor Sugar."
You nodded and whispered, "If you don't like it, just tell me." Then you squared your shoulders and said in a louder voice, "I can't go easy on you, because you'll keep pulling this stunt over and over with me."
"I understand," he replied, letting you bend him a little more at the waist as you strolled around to stand behind him. And then he yelped as the paddle made solid contact with his right ass cheek. "Oh, fuck." But no sooner had he muttered those words than the paddle hit him in the same spot again. The stinging was intense as you apparently wound up to send the paddle to the same place a third time. "Baby," he whined, because if anything, he was more turned on than before.
Your only response was to switch to his other side and bring the paddle to an untouched patch of skin. Over and over until it was burning so much that Bradley was recoiling from the sound and feel of it. But his hips were thrusting forward now, and he was practically begging for relief from your mouth or your pussy. But he kept his palms planted on the top of the desk. And the pleasure and stinging pain mingled in his mind so much that he found himself whining your name.
A moment later, you set the paddle on the desk next to his left hand, and Bradley looked up into your lust filled eyes. "Sugar?" he gasped, and you were prying his hands from the desk and pulling him close. Your lips came crashing into his as you grabbed at his shirt. He was rutting into you now, afraid he'd cum on your tweed but unwilling to try to hold himself back.
"Bradley, that was so fucking hot," you moaned, turning him around and pushing him down to sit on the desk. It felt delightfully cold on his raw skin, but he winced at the same time. It was almost too much to handle. But then you were yanking your skirt up to reveal you were bare underneath, and you scrambled up onto his lap.
"Easy," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. But then your perfectly tight warmth came sinking down around his cock, and he knew he was going to last about ten seconds in this state. He shook his head and whispered, "I'm gonna cum."
You held his face gently in both hands and kissed his forehead as you told him, "You earned it." And all the while you bounced up and down on him, bottoming out and whining softly.
So Bradley took your perfect ass in both of his palms and guided you just how he wanted you, and then he filled you up with his cum. You were peppering his cheeks with kisses as he sat there with his lips parted, trying to catch his breath.
"You just spanked me with my Beta Gamma paddle. For my sloppy math homework," he marveled out loud, still nestled inside you. "When I'm not even your student."
You let your cheek come to rest on his shoulder and said, "You're my best student." Then your fingers were teasing at his curls sticking out from under his hat. "And if you enjoyed it, we can do it again."
Bradley groaned and said, "My ass needs a couple days off after that." Then he smirked as he reached for the paddle and rubbed it gently across your bare bottom. Your eyes went wide as your head came off his shoulder. "Yours on the other hand..."
--------------------------
Oh look, a new kink unlocked for Beer Boy and Sugar. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls
Thank you Em may we have another?? #beerboy and sugar #we love fuckboys #we love spanking fuckboys #all his math is going to be sloppy from now on #my favorite
about: with Bradley, you're easy... just like Sunday morning. Or those early stages of new relationships.
word count: 5.4k
warnings: nsfw 18+, language, pure fluff, smut.
Months, literal figurative months since he’d left. You’d only been dating a few weeks, certainly nothing committal, before his lengthy deployment. It was drinks, some casual dates, some really, really great sex. You thought he’d probably forget about you, in all honesty. so when he ended up texting he wasn't far from land and hoping to get a drink somewhere with you that night, you didn't want to appear too eager. Yet here you were -
“Good morning,” he whispered lazily in your ear the next morning, the heat of the sun outside already heating up your bedroom, the sliver of gold peaking around the ridges of the willowy drapes. His body warm and hard against yours as he wrapped his long, muscular arms around you, large palms wrapping around your ribs, cheekily keeping their slight distance from the curve of your breasts. Not that you’d mind some morning delight in any stretch. Bradley’s body made you in-fucking-satiable. You’d never slept with anyone like him. His ability to give you exactly what you need every time… soft, sweet, rough, and the confidence to show yourself off a little. Please him as much as he would effortlessly please you.
He nuzzled just behind your ear, the light scratch of his moustache tickling the sensitive skin and you couldn’t resist your burgeoning grin as you snuggled in closer to him, and laced a hand back to scratch his scalp through the messy, next-day curls. “How’d you sleep?” his morning rasp was a thing of utter beauty.
You had one of the hottest men you’d ever met wrapped around your body… how did he think you slept? “I slept well,” you confirmed softly. He kept you tucked tight against him, his body coiled around you the whole night. You were never much of a snuggler before but with Bradley? Well, exceptions would be made because… look at him.
“I didn’t snore?” he asked, a little concerned as you laughed quietly.
“The teeniest, tiniest bit,” you indicated the smallest amount on your fingers, but in no way it was a dealbreaker.
He groaned. “Shit. I’m sorry, I’m so exhausted,” he confided. “And I only snore when I’m super tired. Just wake me up, and I’ll roll over,” he instructed for next time.
“How can you be sure that's true?” you teased.
He scoffed behind you. “I’ve been told," his voice dripping in humour.
The thing was, last night you were sprawled out over his chest while you felt his heartbeat and traced the ridges and ropes of the thick muscle and while he was so content, you would certainly not be waking the beast as much as you wanted to unleash it. He needed to catch up on all the sleep he could, even if he admitted he was a terrible sleeper. He was so used to the cramped conditions of his bunk, that even when in his own bed, he tended to stick close to the edge, smothered in his single pillow and stay to his regimented alarms.
But last night didn’t reflect that and you hoped he was finding ease in your bed… in more than ways than one.
“It’s okay,” you reassured him but you panicked. “I... didn’t snore?”
He shook his head. “If you did, I didn’t hear it, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart. God, you would never get sick of hearing him call you that. The way the endearment rolled off his tongue could set you alight. “Thank goodness,” you muttered to yourself as he chuckled lightly. “Can I make you some coffee?”
He hummed. “Real coffee, not some shitty black tar?” he reasoned with himself teasingly, kissing the nape of your neck and you shuddered. He couldn’t resist that devilish, dark chuckle that came with it. “Coffee sounds amazing. But don’t you move,” he said, barely shuffling. “I’ll go figure it out,” he loosened his grip on you and while you wanted to protest, you’d been awake a little while and your wicked caffeine dependency had kicked right in.
Rolling to your back, you pulled the single white linen sheet up for some modesty and snuggled into the pillow that smelled like his cologne. You watched as he slid out of the bed and by god, his body… you knew you were staring. How were you to help it, the thick, well-worked golden muscle strewn across his long limbs and torso. He was an Adonis, you decided as you watched him reach for his boxer briefs discarded the night before. He was so hard, he made no secret about it as he boldly grinned down at you and bent over to cage your face between his large hands that grasped your pillow.
“Something catchin’ your eye?”
“Everything,” you admitted as his face hovered over yours, sinfully amused. He delicately licked your top lip and reactionary, your thighs rubbed together in glee. “Maybe the coffee can wait…” you told him as he gave a simple nod, lip quirking into a sweet pout.
“Yeah, the coffee can probably wait,” he agreed, tossing his underwear away and slipping back on the bed, gently pulling back the sheet you’d just dragged back up and resting his bulk on yours, boldly nudging your legs with his powerful thighs and giving a playful roll of his slender hips. You wrapped your calves around his hamstrings, bodies close again. His strong hands crept up your body, pinning your wrists in his calloused palm, keeping his grip tight above your head.
You liked that move. A lot. A lot a lot a lot -
You loved the strength of his body, he worked so hard on it to be able to put it through the rigours of his job daily and showed it off with pride. But what impressed you most was how his mind worked, you knew almost instantly he was a thinker and in those first few dates, casual and a little more intimate, he was always so much more interested in your life than indulging in his own. He said repeatedly that he didn’t want to bore you with what he did and did everything in his power to learn all about you. You’d never met a guy so keen to just listen.
Although it didn’t stop your mind from thinking about his life, his favourite food, what his favourite TV show was (but you were gathering from his penchant for sports, it was SportsCenter. Also not a dealbreaker, although he was a Lakers fan… and you were not), what made him tick… what turned him on -
His sweet lips kissed the corner of your mouth, ducking lower to your throat as your head instinctively rolled away, opening your pulse to him as he chuckled quietly, his gleaming teeth tenderly gnawing at the soft flesh and he could feel your pulse race under his touch.
“You’re not sore from last night?” he asked cautiously as the flashes of position after position of the night flashed in your brain. All delicious and your body, you’d admit, was a little on the sensitive side but you were not complaining. He’d given you everything, soft, sweet, rough. And something you didn’t know you’d been craving… he gave you control and watching him fall apart underneath you was a thing of beauty as you rode him. Face, cock, he was in the front-row dedicated sonnets to you.
“I am a bit…” you told him, a little bashful. But what a sweet sting.
“Where? Tell me, use your words…” he said, his breath hot against your nipple as he kissed with hot, slippery open mouth kisses, eyes big as he studied you. “Here?”
Not one single per cent irritated. You giggled in response. Giggled. What the fuck was he dragging out of you?
“How ‘bout here?” his tongue trailed between your ribs and his dark eyes stared back up at you.
“Oh, my God,” you couldn’t find the words and you moaned beneath him, almost struggling to get out of his stronghold to at least hold him back.
“Take that as a no…” he teasingly muttered to himself, his teeth leaving a gentle mark on your hip. “Here?”
“No,” you swallowed, as his strong nose traced to your belly button and he gazed up, his flushed face covered in sin, and his tongue dipped into your belly button. “I want you, Bradley…” you finally found the courage to say. You were the first to admit, you could be a bit bashful in a situation like this and unfortunately, Bradley was otherworldly hot and it was hard to get the words out. “Bradley, Bradley…”
“I know, sweetheart,” he said, releasing your wrists as wriggled your wrists and tangled your fingers in his messy curls. “I need breakfast,” he said, moving to his tummy flat on the bed and his calloused palms sliding under your thighs, resting them over his brawny, golden shoulders. You were completely at his whim as his long finger ran through your juices. He hummed satisfied and his silky tongue lapped at your cunt, and he was just so keen to please, encouraged by your waves of pleasure as he rutted his hips deep into the mattress, needing respite himself.
“Wanna make it a really good mornin’?” he asked the most obvious question in the history of the universe.
“Yes, God yes,” you said almost too eagerly, and you knew you should have been ashamed, but how could you when he showered you in attention and affection like he did? He chuckled into your skin, his tongue and lips indulging your skin in goose pimples, climbing up your body again to kiss you, tasting yourself on him as his hips slowly rolled into yours and he used his free hand to delicately place the head of head cock at your weeping core.
“That was emphatic, sweetheart,” he teased, pouring wet kisses across your breasts, his slick tongue circling your begging nipple as you writhed beneath him, demanding a little more friction. “Okay, okay, you are just gagging for cock, aren’t you?”
And yes, you were. Long, proud and girthy, Bradley Bradshaw had not a single thing to be concerned about. The jokes of his callsign ringing in your ears, the size of his cock, his penchant for early mornings (he in fact hated early mornings, he just liked to get to the gym early and prep his body for the day, which you found perfectly reasonable) and the many connotations of it, but the joke was on everyone else who didn’t get to feel this fucking good.
The way his hips rolled into you was bliss. He kissed you deeply as he fucked into you, your body trapped under his begging for release. His hips so fluid and smooth in their movement, you usually needed a little manual stimulation to get to orgasm but not with Bradley as you muttered in his ear that you were close and you guided his big hands into your tits, begging you don’t forget about them and he seemed to call up to the challenge, changing his position slightly to get that little bit deeper within you, because… of course, he could find your g-spot like it wasn’t even a challenge to him.
Was there nothing he couldn’t do?
He moved his kiss to your nipple, lapping and sucking like a madman. “You’re so tight and wet, sweetheart. Lemme hear you, huh?” He encouraged you, grinding deeply within you and the feral growl from him as you milked him, pussy throbbing around him as you pulled him closer to you, not wanting him to miss out on a drop of the divinity he was giving you, you loved coming on his perfect cock, just bliss as he groaned, trying to take every ounce from you. “Good girl... 'm comin',” he murmured against your mouth, his hips faulting as they sped up, unable to hold on as he came wildly. He gave his last few thrusts before collapsing above you and you wrapped your legs around him, not letting him go anywhere. He laughed quietly. “Got me in a tangle here.”
“Got anywhere to be?” you hissed back in a tease.
He gave you a thoughtful glance. “No, actually. Got nowhere else to be…” he pecked your lips, his moustache tickling. “Now how you feelin’?”
“Pretty fucked,” you admitted as he grinned wide, nudging your nose with his and he gently rolled you both to your sides and face each other. He refused to pull out and you knew you had a mess on your hands soon.
“Is that a good thing?”
“A very, very good thing,” you confirmed and if the stars shone out of your eyes, who were you to argue as you both snuggled together, neither willing to move just yet. And that suited you just fine. He made you feel warm, protected and as he kissed your forehead… a little like you were in love - -
A while later, showered and presentable although you still felt like your whole outlook screamed sensationally fucked all night and morning, Bradley admitted he needed food and could be a bit of a grouch if he got too hungry when you both finally rolled out of bed for separate showers. “I don’t know what time it is. I can’t find my fuckin’ watch,” he called from the bedroom. "Or my damn phone, though I think that's dead..."
“Under the bedside table?” you asked him.
“Ah. Found 'em,” he replied, a little relieved. “I feel we’ve lost most of the morning. Brunch or early lunch?” he asked, approaching you from the bedroom after his shower in the same clothes he arrived in yesterday, smelling a little like your sweet antiperspirant. His strong hands grasped at your hips as you bent over the dishwasher, putting last night’s dirty dishes that were all but forgotten to the wild make-out session while you attempted a movie after dinner. A farcical ruse if you’d ever heard one, but hey, it was worth your tender upper lip and the extra care you’d devoted to this morning and light concealer couldn’t fix the light irritation his moustache could cause. Frankly, he was such a good kisser… just thinking about his lips on yours made your head swim again and probably always would.
It felt like you were falling in love, you reasoned with yourself, and you probably were. But with what Bradley did, you were keeping a gentle, considerate barrier up. Mostly to save yourself if he wasn’t as into you as you were him… or that nagging feeling you couldn’t drop the whole time he was away, that he may not come back. Bradley was the total package, sweet, sexy, smart… sexy, funny. Sexy. He managed to tick all the boxes and in the short time you knew him, you were certainly falling head over heels.
You weren’t really clear how he was feeling but he was texting you as soon as his boat was coming into reception and asked if he could see you the night he was home so you begged that meant something. It was three months of not hearing from him, and he told you it would be difficult but he’d try. You Facetimed once, but it was innocuous. There was nothing committal, more his exercises and manoeuvres, life at sea, his jet and how he was excited to get home when it happened.
“Brunch sounds good,” you said, straightening and he pulled your back to his chest, his strong palms drifting up and down your sides pressing into the soft flesh. “Do you have a place in mind?”
“I dunno,” he admitted. “I’ll let you guide me.”
You had the perfect place. “There’s a cafe around the corner that has the best chilli eggs scramble,” your tummy grumbled eagerly.
“Fuel,” he teased, his teeth chewing on your earlobe as your knees started to wobble and Bradley brought you back against his chest, his hands deliberately turning you at the waist and his frame trapping you against the sink.
“Fuel?” you played dumb.
His lip quirked into a smirk and if you didn’t see the devil twinkle in his honey-coloured eyes… “You know what I like most about you?” he asked, barely breathing above a whisper.
“What?” you asked, your heart racing as his face hovered closer over yours.
“That you can see right through me and you think I don’t know.”
You bit back a grin of your own. “Well, I have to keep some secrets, don’t I?”
He hummed. “I bet,” and he kissed you again because if there was anything you were sure of, it was that no, you weren’t falling in love with Bradley Bradshaw. No.
You were in love with Bradley Bradshaw.
After breakfast, your lazy Sunday continued with a stroll through the local farmer’s market. You followed Bradley from stall to stall, admitting he’d never actually been to one but all the food trucks were awesome (he didn’t get much time to explore the phenom in his line of work and lack of real downtime. You had gotten the notion he willingly threw himself into his work but hadn’t verbalised it to him yet), and as someone who professed he enjoyed cooking, he was so excited by some of the produce, he couldn’t wait. He probably tried everything the vendors made available to taste test and the way his eyes rolled back into his head as he devoured probably more fresh blueberries than he should have was honestly? Adorable.
“Wait here,” he said, handing you a punnet of strawberries he was munching on. “Be right back,” he trotted away and you lost him momentarily in the throng of people. Not too concerned, you busied yourself petting a few dogs you’d gotten tangled in leads of, but you couldn’t contain the grin on your face when he reappeared a few moments later, a bouquet of colourful bulbs in his hand, offered to you.
You liked farmer’s market Bradley.
“You’re the sweetest,” you said, extremely touched and accepting the flowers. They were gorgeous, but this wasn’t a few stems, this was enough for vases spread around the entire house. You touched his chest and clasped his white v-neck tee, bringing his face down to yours and kissing him just that little hungrier than you’d been kissing earlier.
He giggled against your lips, his rough hands pressing into your ribs, massaging with his thumbs. “I’ll get you flowers every day if the response is this visceral.”
God, you wanted him. You wanted him everywhere.
Forehead to forehead, you momentarily lost the outside world and all you could see was him.
“I’ll have to make you blueberry pancakes next time to thank you…” you told him as he nodded, lips pursed and trying not to get too excited.
“Is this where I tell you I was a runner up in a state pancake eating challenge when I was 19?” he asked, giving you a cute side eye, acutely aware he was indulging something that was deeply personal from his past. He’d admitted he was always a bit uncomfortable talking about his childhood and teen years, with his family trauma and all.
“Runner up?” you asked, somewhat impressed.
“Yup,” he eased a little, his large, warm hand sliding his fingers between yours, his thumb delicately rubbing against your wrist. “You’d think it would put me off pancakes, but nope,” he popped the P, giggling quietly.
“And you weren’t sick?”
“Well, yeah. I’d just eaten my body weight in pancakes,” he explained. “I thought it was invincible then,” he said. “As I get older, I realise how untrue that is,” he said, leading you tenderly again.
“Do you get scared doing what you do?” you asked a little suddenly. Because even though you’d known him a short time, you’d realised what he did simply terrified you. It all seemed so second nature, but he’d flown into war zones, carried weapons that were made for the ultimate destruction and spent so much time away, that you suddenly felt very silly about it all.
“I do sometimes,” he admitted. “I’ve flown in some missions that I was sure I wasn’t going to come home from,” he gripped your hand that little bit tighter as he went over to a butcher. “Steak?” he asked, turning his gaze to the small selection in front of you.
“Sure,” you said, a little rattled still at his last statements about him thinking about not coming home to you - well, home. It was presumptuous to think… well, you. You watched as he bandied with the vendor, chuckling at the choice and cuts of meat before you and while you were stuck in your head, he was suddenly before you again, a gentle smile upon his handsome features.
“Earth to my sweetheart…” he sang quietly and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, dragging you in for a lovely cuddle. He kissed your hair, but you didn’t know how he let the sweet waft of your shampoo overwhelm his senses. “Sweetheart,” he sang. “Are you here on earth with me?”
And you wanted to say no, you wanted to tell him this all felt like such a good goddamn dream, you hoped you’d never wake up. “I’m with you,” you felt yourself saying as you wrapped your arms around him, slipping around his slender waist, your fingers daintily dipping under his casual white tee, drifting against the soft skin of his lower back, and you could feel him shudder under your touch.
“I like that,” he murmured to you and only you, his hand tenderly grasping your jaw and kissing you. Kissing you thoroughly, like you weren’t in a local park, surrounded by all types as you got lost in each other. A kiss so simply sweet that your heart raced. “I don’t know what you’re doing, sweetheart, but you’re winning me over like no one ever before.”
Blinking out of the kiss in the late morning sun, you watched as he licked his lips, peering down at you like he didn’t believe it was real.
“Bradley, this feels like a dream,” you admitted shyly. And although he didn’t answer, the way his lips danced into a small grin told you that it may not have been just you that felt like this. “You’re a dream.”
He shook his head slowly and every movement he made was like slow motion as he left his hands run down your body, a hand drifting down your arms to hold your hand again. Your hand fit perfectly in his, guiding you towards your car in the car park. And you followed because your thought process, all ability to think on your own, faded slowly, the more you spent time with him.
As you met him at the car, he placed you under his body and the driver’s side door, secure and unable to escape as he pulled his aviators from his eyes and he lifted your sunnies too. “You’re perfect; I need you to know that I really am having fun and enjoy spending time with you.”
You pressed your hands into his chest, firm and sturdy, and all you could see was him. “I really like you, Bradley.”
“I really like you too,” he laughed to himself. “Maybe even like like.”
It all felt so elementary, but even if you were in love, and with each passing minute you realised you were in fact, in love with Bradley Bradshaw. But saying those words before him? Never. You’d live with like like for now.
“Take me on an adventure,” he said, clicking the car remote key in your hand and you slipped into the driver’s side, and he raced to the passenger side. Take him on an adventure… he lived a wild life. How could you impress him? It was nearly midday… and by your calculations, you needed 90 minutes to get to the Happiest Place on Earth (with a detour to drop your market items in the fridge at home). You grinned at him as he looked back at you with a keen interest. He could see your mind work and he chuckled quietly.
“Okay.”
“You don’t like adrenaline rides?” you asked incredulously. “You fly billion-dollar fighter jets for a living for extended periods of your day and this scares you?” you could feel amused laughter bubbling under the surface as you covered your mouth with your hands. And he looked so ridiculous with his Mickey ears you purchased for him on the way in and wide eyes.
“Well, I am in complete control of that jet,” he reminded you sternly, posture tight and standing to his full height. He was so, so tall and so handsome, even with the ridiculous ears you’d christened him with as soon as you entered the park.
“This is, like, 60 seconds. 90 seconds max.”
“Nothing good comes in that amount of time,” and you could feel the smarminess in his tone as you cackled, dumping the ice cream in your hand in the passing bin and you dragged him into the ride line. You probably had 10-15 minutes to wait if you were lucky but you didn’t have the time to waste, you needed to get Bradley on as many rides as possible and you were a bit of a thrill seeker yourself. Guardians of the Galaxy awaited.
“How about I just take you up in my plane?” he offered as he watched you, giddy, on your toes. You laughed and told him a simple “no, thanks”. “I’m sure I could get some kind of clearance,” he rested his hands on your hips as he waited patiently behind you.
“I’m about 99% sure that, no, in no world, you could ever get clearance for me to go up in your jet,” you let that laughter spill as he rested his lips on your clavicle and the huff of heat from his breath against your neck told you that you were probably right. “Where would I even sit?” You humoured him.
“On my lap,” he said. “Keeping me nice an’ cozy.”
Ridiculous. “And how would you see around me if I’m keeping your lap nice and cozy?”
“I’d make do. Always do.”
“Use the gear stick?”
He laughed at your loose interpretation of his jet’s controls you used but replied anyway, “Pretty sure I could just work through it,” from behind you he closed the distance from his belly to your back, easing you against him. “Pretty good with most things between my legs.”
You eased back and giggled gently. “There are families here…” you hinted.
“Don’t care,” you could feel his grin against your skin as his hands firmed around your waist, dragging you flush against his chest and like a constrictor, wrapping his muscular arms around your torso. “Just keeping you safe in the line for the ride,” the tip of his nose drifted to the shell of your ear and you melted against him. “You just never know what’s lurking around the corner these days…”
“You’re trouble, Bradley Bradshaw.”
Home hours later, the sun had set by the time you’d arrived back at your villa, dark as you entered the house. Bradley crowded you as you unlocked the door and he stumbled in behind you, a mess of limbs and tongues as he thanked you for the unplanned afternoon. You clutched the ridiculous photo from the ride that proved Bradley didn’t enjoy cheap thrill rides in the slightest. Your hand thrust up in the air giving a peace sign, awaiting the flash and sheer terror rang in his eyes, anticipating the next drop. It was hilarious and it was going straight up on the fridge as a reminder of your wildly fun, completely unplanned day.
You had grown so close so quickly and yes, today proved you were ruthlessly in love with Bradley. And as he kissed you, holding your body so close like you were one person, you weren’t sure how you could go back to the person you were before you met him.
He’d empirically changed your DNA, the beat of your heart and the permanency of the smile on your face.
“Come on,” he pulled back a little. “Let me make you dinner. You must be starved.”
“Dinner?” all the air in your head was dizzying and you didn’t even think about eating even if you muttered the whole trip home how hungry you were.
“You know those steaks I got today? The veggies?” he teased.
“You’re gonna cook for me?” you were a little touched, stumbling behind him as he led you to the kitchen, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips as you watched the rippling curve of his shoulders and traps. How were you ever going to get over him, you thought sadly.
“Of course,” he said, hitching you into the corner of the bench, pushing between your thighs and smiling, a gentle sigh escaping your lips. “Workin’ on the romance up in here,” he teased, touching your lower lip with his thumb. “I really had a great day today,” he confided, low.
“Me too,” you admitted, watching his lips keenly.
“I’m gonna have to head back to the old man’s tonight…” he said softly. He was staying in town with his dad (of sorts), who you’d come to learn to be Mav. You didn’t know too much about him, or Bradley’s family aside from when he confided he was an orphan just before he turned 18 . You figured it was probably the main reason why you knew very little about him. “My clothes and stuff are there.”
“You coming back?” you asked gently, not wanting to assume anything.
“I don’t want to impose…” he said. “I know you have work tomorrow morning.”
“You can completely impose,” you reassure him as his face broke into a shy smile, a little bit of relief washing over him, cutting the tension of the close proximity. “Look… I know this is new and fast, even though it feels so slow with me being away. I really like like spending time with you.”
“Like like…” you sighed quietly, ducking your eyes and while you teasingly mocked him, you prayed he may graduate to love and not leave you out on the ledge exposed and alone, believing it was only you feeling like this. No one liked feeling vulnerable in new relationships, but you needed to get a gauge on where he was. If he was swept up like you were. There was a nagging feeling in the back of your mind that it was too fast, that you’d fallen too quick and for a man who demanded speed… he didn’t feel the same. You’d be okay with that, but you’d have to pull the breaks too.
“Do I need to say the words?” his voice so low, his usual air of confidence gone and pretences dropped. He seemed so soft, and willing as he tenderly kissed you, his fingers lacing into your hair, a tender tug as you gasped against his lips. “I think I’m in love with you. And I know it’s so fuckin’ quick, but it doesn’t change that I want you. That I need you…” he said so quietly you almost couldn’t hear him.
And the words got caught in your throat as his honey-coloured eyes searched yours, desperate for your reply.
“But if you’re not ready to say it back, that’s o - - ”
“I love you too, Bradley,” you told him as the flush in his cheeks deepened as he rested his forehead against yours.
“Yeah?”
“I do,” you nodded, softly as he cupped your chin and grinned. He may have been holding his breath as the huff of laughter fanned against your face and he kissed you.
“I don’t know how this has happened, I wasn’t expecting this when we met,” he whispered, tilting his forehead to rest against yours. "Be mine?"
“I'm yours,” and now that you’d found him, you weren’t letting him go.
masterlist.
A/N: the tag list no longer exists. To keep up to date, give @notroosterbradshaw-library a follow x
2087
dededos
dailybridgerton
janainaart
kaledo-art
snowghoul
kianamaiart
vaporwave
