Faking It | Part VIII
Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader
A/N: AHHH WE ARE AT THE GRAND FINALE!!! Y'all, I'm so sorry it took a galactic year but I hope you're still with me and that you enjoy this final episode of trope city. Thank you so much for all the support <3
Summary: Fake dating your friend, Bradley Bradshaw - what could possibly go wrong? Your sister is getting married and you need a date. You enlist Bradley's help and the rest is history.
CW: brief allusion to self-harm, swearing, making out, ANGST GALORE, fluff (not in any particular order)
Start from the beginning: Part I
Masterlist
“Are you cold?” Steven goes to take off his jacket.
“I’m fine,” you say impatiently. “Just get on with it, will you?”
Steven shrugs his jacket back on while you wrap your arms around yourself, holding in a shiver. The morning is much cooler than you expected it to be and there’s a white mist hanging over the surface of the placid water. Steven watches you pretend to be comfortable in your sundress under the moody skies. You’ve been pretending a lot lately.
“Today, Steven,” you say through gritted teeth because you’re clenching them to avoid them chattering.
He lets out a resolute sigh, looking down at the ground. He seems anxious. “Your boyfriend,” he says with a grimace, peering up at you briefly before reverting his gaze to the dock underfoot. “How well do you know him?”
You furrow your brows. “Excuse me?”
Steven purses his lips, kicking a stray pebble into the water. It makes a dull plopping sound before disappearing into the lake. “I suspected something was off the night of the bachelor party.”
“Not again.” You sigh irritably.
“He had very little to say about you,” he states. “Mostly just random trivia. Said you don’t like chocolate.”
You raise your eyebrows calmly without responding.
“When the guys asked how you got together, he clammed up. It was weird.”
You’re starting to regret your decision to talk to him. And you’re certainly no longer feeling sorry for him. “Do you have a point?”
Steven nods. “Then I went to see you. And you didn’t deny that this fling with your little aviator wasn’t all that serious.”
You find it ironic that Steven refers to Bradley as little considering Bradley is half a head taller than him, but you let it slide. “Your five minutes are almost up,” you respond coldly.
Steven watches you soberly, but something about the quirk of his eyebrow makes you think he might be enjoying himself. “He has a girlfriend,” he says.
You stare at him mutely, waiting for the air to return to your lungs. Slowly, everything inside of you begins to slide out of place, as if you’ve forgotten how to hold it all together. “What the fuck are you talking about?” you whisper. Meanwhile, every single moment you’ve ever experienced with Bradley Bradshaw filters through your mind as you desperately try to pick out the details that might have, in hindsight, served as clues. The hesitation to participate in your scheme; the reluctance to sleep in your bed; the aggravating lack of communication – isolated, these events might have been meaningless but, put together, they are questionable at the very least.
“Wasn’t difficult to figure out,” Steven continues, unaware that your brain is scrambling to put all the pieces together. “He’s all over her Instagram.”
“He doesn’t have an Instagram –”
“He’s not tagged, but it’s him alright. Some of your other pilot friends are also there, so…” Steven shrugs smugly, as if he’s performed a feat and is expecting commendation. When you don’t say anything, he decides to rub salt in the wound. “You know whose Instagram he’s not on?” he asks proudly. “Yours.”
You don’t bother looking up at him again. The bobbing dock starts to augment your vertigo and the gentle sway of your body in the breeze makes you feel strangely detached. You’re not thinking about Steven’s annoying tone, or his smug face, or even the gentle nudge he’s giving you to recapture your attention; you’re devising a plan of action for the next five hours, because that’s how long you will need to coexist with Bradley Bradshaw. After that, you will never have to deal with him again.
…
You make your way across the lawn unhurriedly, not keen on spending brunch pretending to still be enamored with your fake boyfriend. The escalating number of deceptions in what was originally a straightforward plot is making your head spin.
You see him leaning over the railing of the terrace, a beer in his hand. He’s staring out into the distance with a bit of a squint despite the dreary day. You hate how good he looks in his jeans and light, button-up shirt, the sleeves of which are rolled up to his elbows; you hate the languid movement of his arm as he takes a sip of his drink; the slow, graceful fashion with which he rests it back over the rail; the relaxed bend in his wrist. Everything about him suddenly seems despicable.
When he sees you, he gives you a smirk – the kind that sets your insides ablaze despite your growing resentment – and pushes off the railing to start in your direction. You let out a wavering sigh, trying to extinguish whatever lingering feelings you may have. You’ve resolved to omit the true purpose of Steven’s visit; you can’t imagine a worse time and place to air your dirty laundry than at your sister’s wedding brunch with an audience of your closest family members. So, you smile back at him as he skips down the steps – you’ve become quite proficient at pretending; what’s another few hours of faking it?
Bradley’s pace quickens as he cuts across the yard until he’s nearly running and, when he arrives, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into an embrace. He leans down to kiss you, but you inadvertently turn away and he ends up pecking your cheek. Mistake number one.
You give him another tense smile, taking a step back because his hands are much too casually exploring your rigid body. Mistake number two.
“So,” you say, nearly taking a chunk out of the inside of your cheek as you bite into it forcefully. “Cheat on anybody lately?” you ask tersely. Mistake number –
“Excuse me?” he says, taken aback.
So much for pretending. You watch him coldly as his expression transforms but, as it turns out, you have nothing else to add.
“What did he say to you?” Bradley asks, eyes darkening under his converging eyebrows.
You let out a derisive laugh.
“What did he say?” he repeats.
You glare at him. “You know exactly what he said.”
Bradley bristles. “Are you fucking serious right now?”
You watch him impassively, as if his betrayal has had zero effect on you. “Are you fucking serious, Bradley?”
Bradley’s offended expression turns to hurt as his eyes sweep over your features. “You’re not even going to let me explain?” he asks in a grating whisper.
You scoff, his words confirming that there is, in fact, something to explain. “Does she know you’re here?”
Bradley shifts his jaw, his eyes narrowing. He studies you quietly for a few moments.
“What baffles me,” you say. “Is how easy it’s been for you to just lie about it.”
“Wasn’t that the whole point of this?” he asks coolly.
You chuckle although his words sting. “You’re right. This was all an act and I’m just the idiot who fell for it.”
Bradley eyes you contemptuously but says nothing.
“You almost slept with me,” you whisper, your lips trembling as you concentrate on keeping your voice steady. “Don’t tell me that that was your objective this whole time.”
Bradley’s eyebrows crease as he tries to follow your line of reasoning. “You think I agreed to this ridiculous stunt just so I could possibly have an opportunity to fuck you?” he hisses. “Why would anyone put that much effort into one – not even guaranteed – fuck?”
You watch him angrily although he does make a valid point. “Why are you here, then?” you ask, trying desperately to keep your volume down. “You have a girlfriend!”
“First of all,” Bradley says stonily. “Had.”
“When?”
He lets out a sigh.
You shake your head at him with a disdainful smile and raise your eyebrows expectantly. “Yesterday? Last week?”
“I broke up with her after you asked me to come here.”
“Why?” You shrug indifferently as though you really couldn’t care less.
“You begged me to come.”
“I didn’t know you were seeing someone!” you bite back.
Bradley lifts his eyes to nod politely at your grandparents as they pass the two of you toward the stairs leading up to the terrace. Then he hooks his arm through yours and starts dragging you away from the venue toward the docks by the lake. You struggle against his grip, but he doesn’t let go until you’re far enough away from the crowd to be out of earshot. “So what?” he rounds on you in a low voice.
You stare at him in disbelief. “You didn’t tell me.”
“It didn’t come up.”
You scoff incredulously.
“You didn’t tell me about Steven.”
“That’s not the same thing. Steven and I haven’t been together in months.”
“This wasn’t supposed to be anything, Y/N,” he says roughly. “It was all fake. Why would I even think to tell you about her?”
You look down at his brown dress shoes as they sink into the red clay of the bank, feeling the unmistakable pressure of tears as your eyes begin to well up. “It was all fake, wasn’t it?” you mutter.
“No, that’s not” – the brown dress shoes take a step forward – “you know that’s not what I meant.”
“How long have you been with her?” you ask, cutting him off.
“What does that matter?” he says wearily.
“It matters,” you respond.
Bradley sighs and looks out at the lake over your shoulder. “Six months.”
You close your eyes and take a breath. “That’s a long time.”
He nods, sucking his cheeks in as his jaw shifts forward. He’s studying your face thoughtfully. “Your turn,” he says.
“What?”
He licks his lips. “How much of it was fake?”
You scoff again, shaking your head. “I’m not doing this.”
“So, it’s fine putting me on the spot, but you can’t answer a simple question?” he says irritably.
“I put you on the spot because you lied.”
Bradley watches you coldly. “When did it stop being fake, Y/N?”
“I don’t know!” you shout in frustration. “When did it stop being fake for you?”
Bradley stares at you blankly. He runs a hand over his face, looking down. He furrows his eyebrows before glancing back up at you with a bewildered expression, as though he can’t believe you’ve just posed exactly the same question he had asked you. “It was never fake for me,” he says hoarsely.
You stare at him as a flurry of emotions does a nauseating dance in the pit of your stomach. His answer has taken you by surprise and you can’t think of anything appropriate to say in return.
When you don’t respond, he adds, “You can’t possibly not already know that.”
You slowly shake your head, wanting more than anything to believe what he says. “How would I know?”
Bradley watches you in amazement, exhaling with a small laugh as he takes a couple steps toward you. He lifts his hand and places it tenderly on your cheek. “Two months ago,” he says. “I walk into the Hard Deck, just looking for a cold beer and a night off. And the first thing I see is you behind the bar.”
You feel yourself melting right into the palm of his hand, lulled by the smooth rasp of his voice.
“You’re new,” he says, and then chuckles. “You’re definitely new because you can’t tell an ale from a lager.”
You wrinkle your eyebrows. “A what from a what?”
Bradley grins briefly before continuing. “You’re fucking stunning,” he says in a throaty whisper. You feel his face drift closer to yours just as the wind picks up. He brings his other hand up to tuck your hair behind your ear. “And I come up to the bar and you haven’t even said a word to me yet, all you do is look up with these wild, frantic, most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen, as you’re desperately trying to figure out the exact ratio of gin to tonic in somebody else’s drink.” You bite your lip sheepishly, remembering your first night working the bar. Bradley smiles at the memory. “You’re meticulously measuring out the two ingredients – which tells me, right off the bat, that you’re an extremely conscientious person – and, after you’re done, you look me right in the eye and say, ‘You look thirsty.’”
You laugh through your tears. “I did not say that.”
Bradley chuckles. “You did. And I was,” he adds.
You snort at the insinuation but then Bradley’s hand begins to trail down your neck, disrupting your train of thought. His touch is disarming and you try your best not to sink into him despite every impulse to just give in. The truth is, there’s nothing he can say that will change the fact that he played both you and his ex. So, you bring your hand up and wrap it around his wrist, pulling it away from where his fingers are resting over your heart. “Doesn’t matter,” you say quietly. “None of it matters anymore.”
“How could you say that?” he asks, his breathing ragged.
You sigh mechanically, expertly keeping your emotions in check. “This changes everything,” you say. “I feel like I don’t know you, Bradley. I mean, I don’t know you.”
Bradley shakes his head. “That’s not true.”
You close your eyes as if not looking at him might make it easier. “You need to leave,” you whisper.
“Look at me,” he pleads.
You open your eyes and focus your gaze on the greenest grass you’ve ever seen. Only, today, it’s grey. Must be the weather.
“Y/N,” Bradley urges, his voice cracking in his desperation. “Look at me. Please.”
“No!” The force of your response surprises even you. “You have to go,” you say resolutely.
But as you start to walk away, you hear him calling out to you. “You owe me!”
You turn around in confusion. “What?” you say under your breath.
“You heard me,” he says, marching toward you with purpose. “You owe me. Anything I want, remember?”
You stare at him incredulously. “You can’t possibly –”
“I know what I want,” he says, taking several final strides toward you before clutching your hands and holding them in between his chest and yours. “I want you – I need you – to hear me out.”
You wince as his face nears yours. “That’s not fair,” you whisper.
“Please don’t do this,” he mutters. “Please don’t. I – I’m” – his face contorts uncomfortably as he searches for the right words – “I messed up,” he says. “I’m sorry. Please.” He rests his forehead on yours. “Please forgive me.”
The irony of suffering through a real breakup with your fake boyfriend is not lost on you. It’s absurdly painful considering you’ve only realized you had feelings for this man mere days ago. But it’s not just Bradley’s towering build; not just his sculpted arms and chiselled chest that give you pause. It’s every little thing he’s ever said and done. It’s the pepper spray, the heels, the pillow wall; it’s the dancing, the kiss; it’s the way he looks at you. It’s Bradley.
You taste the salt of your own tears as they slip into your parted mouth. You want to kiss him so badly, just a little, just for a moment, just one last time. And as his lips hover hesitantly over yours you realize why. It’s simple, really. You’re in love with Bradley Bradshaw. How reckless of you. How wildly inconvenient.
…
You wipe at the spotless counter aggressively as your mind wanders once again to that fateful day three weeks ago when you did not, in fact, get to kiss Bradley Bradshaw just one last time. Not even for a moment, not even a little bit.
“It’s clean, I think,” you hear a voice at the other end of the bar. You glance up to see Jake Seresin slide out a barstool and take a seat at the counter.
“Didn’t hear you come in,” you respond, glancing at the clock. It’s barely eleven and the place is deserted. You walk toward him reluctantly, having encountered neither Bradley nor any of his friends since the day of the brunch. “Lost another bet, Seresin?” you ask, eyeing the wide brim of his tan cowboy hat.
He smirks, lifting the hat off his head and setting it down on the bar. “Funny.”
You toss your towel under the bar and place your hands on the counter. “What can I get you?”
“Oh, I’m not here to drink,” he says.
You sigh quietly, reaching for your towel again. The truth is, you haven’t gone a single day without thinking about what could have been if you hadn’t stopped the kiss. If you hadn’t pushed Bradley away. If Bradley hadn’t hurled Steven into the lake.
You glance up at Jake as he fiddles with something in his hands. He eyes you pointedly. “I think you know why I’m here,” he says.
…
“Why are you still here?”
The booming voice of your ex-boyfriend rouses you, effectively disrupting the moment you’re having with Bradley. You withdraw from the embrace, separating your hands from his as you step away.
Bradley is shaking his head. “Don’t listen to him,” he begs.
You blink up at him with a sniffle and wipe your eyes. “He’s not the problem,” you say.
Bradley juts out his jaw as Steven steps into his field of vision. “I asked you a question,” Steven says forcefully.
Bradley watches him coldly. “Don’t start with me, Steven,” he says quietly.
“You’re not welcome here anymore,” Steven continues, bringing his shoulders back as he tries to tower over Bradley.
“Steven, stop” – you try to intervene, but Bradley cuts you off.
“I said,” Bradley hisses as he straightens his back to reciprocate the gesture. “Don’t start with me.”
Steven chuckles. “What are you going to do? Hit me?”
Bradley turns away. “You’re not worth it.”
Just when you start to think that the matter will work itself out peacefully, however, Steven shoves Bradley in the back, sending him stumbling slightly downhill. Bradley regains his footing just as Steven comes after him and blocks his subsequent attack, pushing him away. “I’m not fighting you!” Bradley roars.
“Steven, stop it!” you shout, running after them as Steven continues trying to provoke Bradley.
“What’s the matter?” Steven asks nastily. “Did I blow your cover, hotshot?”
Bradley narrows his eyes and his hands curl instinctively into fists. He looks like he’s about to snap. “Bradley!” you scream.
…
“Bradley,” you say calmly, meeting Jake’s gaze.
Jake nods. “I’m going to have to be honest,” he says. “Living with him has become unbearable. And, well, we blame you.”
You roll your eyes. “That’s not my problem.” You drop the dishtowel onto the counter and start wiping anew.
Jake’s hand lands over the cloth and he yanks it out of your grasp. “Listen here,” he says. “I don’t know how he fucked this up because he won’t say a goddamn word about it. But you’re gonna tell me what happened because I’m tired of this mess y’all made.”
“I didn’t do anything,” you say.
“I highly doubt that,” Jake says with an insincere smile. “The guy’s fucking in love with you, there’s no way he left you of his own accord.”
“The guy had a girlfriend of six months he didn’t think to tell me about,” you lash out at Jake, wiping the grin right off his face. “He’d been coming to the Hard Deck almost daily for two whole months without even mentioning her existence. And then he had the audacity to tell me he liked me from the moment we met? Either he was the shittiest boyfriend ever or he wasn’t as into me as he claims to have been. In any case, he’s a liar.”
…
“I didn’t lie about anything,” Bradley says steadily, watching Steven advance toward him once more. “There was no cover to blow.”
“Please!” Steven cackles. “The two of you fabricated an entire relationship!”
You close your eyes, much too tired to pretend any longer. If Steven is hellbent on divulging this particular secret, you aren’t going to be the one to stop him.
Bradley glares at Steven. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He turns to look at you somberly. “I love you! I have been in love with you since day one,” he says. “I don’t even remember what not loving you feels like.”
“But you had a girlfriend,” you say agonizingly.
He nods, his eyes filling with tears. “Yeah,” he admits. “I did.”
…
“He’s not a liar, he’s a victim of circumstance,” Jake reasons.
You blink at him skeptically. “Is the circumstance that he’s an asshole?”
Jake snorts. “Maybe I will have a drink,” he says, scrunching up his nose.
You sigh and reach for a tumbler. You set it down on the polished counter and, giving Jake a pointed look, reach to grab a second one. He chuckles as you pour the whiskey.
“Neat,” he comments. “Just the way I like it.”
You sigh and down the glass with a straight face. “Why didn’t he just end things with her sooner?”
Jake sets his drink down after taking a swig. He narrows his eyes. “Wait, he didn’t tell you?”
…
“Tell him, Y/N,” Steven says forcefully. “Tell him to get the fuck out of here before I beat the shit out of him.”
“Steven, stop it!” you cry. You turn to Bradley with a frown. “You should go,” you say quietly.
Bradley shakes his head. “I’m not leaving.”
“You heard her!” Steven yells, lunging forward to give Bradley yet another push.
But Bradley completely ignores the attack. He continues watching you miserably as though he hasn’t just been unceremoniously displaced by an angry meathead. “You don’t want me to go,” he pleads with you.
You drop your head, closing your eyes. “I do,” you lie.
“It doesn’t matter what she wants,” Steven steps in between the two of you obnoxiously.
“Steven, for fuck’s sake, just leave!” you scream.
Steven rounds on you aggressively. “I’m trying to help you, you ungrateful cunt!”
But before you can respond with a few choice words of your own, Steven is yanked from the spot and launched into the lake like a frisbee. You gasp as he hits the water while Bradley just folds his arms and watches the ripples, waiting to see if Steven can swim.
…
“He tried breaking up with her,” Jake says, watching you cautiously as though he’s unsure whether he should be sharing this information with you.
You furrow your eyebrows. “When?”
Jake sighs and adjusts his posture, getting more comfortable in his seat. “They were on the rocks way before you came into the picture,” Jake says. “He’d tried breaking up with her several times actually, including the night he met you.”
“What do you mean ‘tried’?”
Jake narrows his eyes. “Why didn’t he tell you this?”
“Tell me what?”
…
“Are you happy now?” you yell over the lapping of the water.
Bradley turns to look at you wearily. “Less annoyed,” he says stoically.
“Well, now that we’ve managed to completely ruin my sister’s brunch,” you say, glancing up at the crowd of spectators gathered on the edge of the patio, “you’re free to go.”
You hear some sputtering near the dock as Steven tries to drag himself out of the water. Bradley nods, sliding his hands into his pockets. “I would’ve told you about her,” he says. “I would’ve told you everything.”
…
“She wouldn’t let him break up with her,” Jake says, carefully studying your reaction.
“What do you mean ‘wouldn’t let him’?” you ask.
“Pour another round,” Jake says.
You sigh sharply. “Just spill it, Seresin,” you grumble impatiently, grabbing the bottle of whiskey.
“She threatened to hurt herself.”
You freeze mid-pour and look up at him in shock.
“That’s enough for me, thanks,” he says, reaching for the bottle still tipped in your hand.
“I’ll have it then,” you say, sliding the full glass of whiskey toward yourself. Silently, you lift it to your lips and take a giant gulp.
“Easy,” Jake says with a cringe, pulling the tumbler out of your hand.
“So,” you breathe, staring blankly at the bar. “He was stuck.”
“He was stuck,” Jake confirms.
…
“I’m stuck!” Steven calls from the end of the dock.
You huff in frustration and give Bradley one last menacing look. “Just go already, will you?” you say tiredly, heading out onto the dock to help Steven out of the water. By the time Steven is on land and you turn around, Bradley is gone.
You glance over at the terrace where the crowd has started to disperse while Steven wrings out his clothes. You consider for a moment running after Bradley; catching him before he packs to leave. But then you feel Steven’s cold hands snaking around your midriff and you squirm.
“What are you doing?” you yelp, jerking away.
“Baby, just admit that you want me back,” he says lazily. “I just saved you from that asswipe. Don’t be a bitch now.”
You turn around in outrage and, just as Steven flashes his phoney grin, you push him back into the lake.
…
“So, how was he finally able to do it?” you ask, plopping a couple of ice cubes into your drink.
“He got lucky,” Jake replies. “He caught her cheating.”
You scoff. “Lucky.”
Jake shrugs. “Well, under the circumstances. He just wanted out.”
You stare at the ice melting in your whiskey. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell me.”
“Did you give him a chance?” Jake asks, gulping down the rest of his drink and rising from his seat.
You look up at him guiltily.
Jake clears his throat and places several bills on the bar. He taps on the counter a couple of times with his palm and then says, “He’s distracted in the air, Y/N. I’m worried about him.”
It makes you sick to think of Bradley unfocused in the cockpit, and you’re repulsed that it’s never occurred to you before, considering how often you daydream about the events of that unfortunate weekend. Of course, he’s been thinking about it. Of course, it’s been distracting him. You close your eyes and lower your head.
“Just talk to him, will ya?” Jake says.
You swallow uneasily, wondering what the fuck you could possibly say to Bradley after having completely blown him off, but you nod anyway. The least you could do is apologize.
After Jake leaves, you notice a folded piece of paper together with the bills he’s left behind. You pick it up to examine it. It’s your list – the one you’d given Bradley so that he could learn to be a more convincing fake boyfriend. You unfold it to find that he’s added his own notes to accompany yours. Things like, ‘this is absurd and you know it’ in response to ‘I don’t like chocolates but I love chocolate cake’ and ‘sounds like somebody else I know’ in response to ‘steer clear of Aunt Barb – she’s very pushy’.
You smile grimly, realizing how badly you’ve fucked up.
…
The next morning, you get permission from Penny’s boyfriend, Maverick, to visit the hangar while the squad trains. You’re sitting at one of the desks, listening to the boom of military aircraft as you nervously twiddle your thumbs in your lap. When you hear the unmistakable yelps of excited pilots just outside the hangar, you let out an anxious sigh and stand up.
As you’re rising from your seat, you see Bradley amidst the group of cheerful aviators, smiling and nodding as one of them claps him on the back. When he notices you, however, his smile falters and he slows to a halt, staring at you in disbelief. He’s got his helmet tucked under his arm and a chute bag slung over his shoulder and you realize that you’ve never seen him in his flight suit and that perhaps, if you had, you’d have fallen for him much sooner.
The other aviators look on as he starts removing his gear while walking toward you. The expression on his face is so intense that your already galloping heart feels like it might spring right out of your body. He sets his helmet down on a desk and approaches you slowly, his dark eyes searching yours carefully.
You gulp uneasily when he nears; the relief of having him stand right before you is something you hadn’t expected. Even given the currently ambiguous status of your relationship, being close to him feels right.
“Uh,” you utter. Good strong start. You close your eyes and try again. “Umm.” You shake your head and blink up at him.
Bradley lifts his eyebrows sympathetically but doesn’t say anything.
“Can I talk to you?” you blurt out breathlessly.
Bradley drops his gaze and your heart sinks. He hates you, obviously, and you’re an idiot for coming. But a moment later, he looks up from under his winkled brows and nods.
He places a couple of fingers on your arm and, as you try to suppress a shudder at the subtle contact, he nudges you softly, leading you toward the back of the hangar where you could have a private conversation behind a couple of parked jets undergoing maintenance.
Once you’re alone, you find it hard to look him in the eye. Bradley’s hand drops away from where he’s holding your elbow, but his fingertips trail down your arm and catch briefly on your fingers before he lets go.
“Bradley,” you say quietly. “I don’t even know where to start,” you admit.
Bradley moves closer, his head so low that you can feel his breath on your cheek. The torment of being this close and not touching him is probably exactly what you deserve, so you decide to suffer through it in silence. Until, that is, he brings a hand up, lifting your chin with a couple of fingers. His eyes glance over your face before meeting your gaze. “Let’s just start over,” he says.
You look at him in wonder as his hand glides up your arm. “How?” you whisper. “I’m already in love with you.”
For a moment, Bradley is completely still, watching you intently. The look of sheer want on his face absolutely paralyzes you because the concept of mutual desire where Bradley is concerned is something you’re still struggling to accept. You blink at him mutely, forgetting altogether that you came here to apologize, not ogle him in his flight suit and mentally undress him without a moment’s respite.
Bradley lowers his face, furrowing his eyebrows as he glances down at your lips. You notice the tightening grip on your arm as his breathing grows heavy; the slight incline of his head as his other hand drifts weightlessly up the back of your neck.
He makes you weak and he muddles your thoughts and how could you possibly be expected to remember something as superfluous as an apology when his eyes are begging you to just kiss him already? You let out a breathy whine, twisting your hands into the material of his flight suit and pulling yourself into him until your lips meet his.
Bradley exhales sharply, bringing his hands up to your face as he steps forward. You let him steer you into the wall in behind, clinging onto his wrists as he cups your cheeks. His tongue pushes into your mouth as his hands drop down to your waist and slip underneath your tank top, squeezing your flesh.
You melt into his touch; you want his hands all over you, clutching you, catching you, holding you. A soft moan travels from your mouth into his as his fingers dig into your body, and he presses you into the wall with a shaky sigh.
“Bradley,” you murmur as he grasps your ribcage.
“Baby,” he breathes, his thumbs gently stroking the band of your bra. His ‘baby’ is so soft, so different than Steven’s, it’s like an entirely new word. And you don’t want anybody other than Bradley to ever call you ‘baby’ again.
“Bradley, I’m so sorry,” you whisper. “I’m sorry that I wouldn’t listen to your side of the story.”
“Baby,” he mutters again. He lifts his eyes to look at you achingly. “I’m so fucking in love with you.” He takes your hands and brings them to his lips, holding them against his mouth. “I don’t care about anything else.”
You smile at him, grateful that he isn’t holding a grudge. “Kiss me again,” you say, pulling on the collar of his flight suit.
Bradley grins, towering over you as he brings his arms above your head and around your back. He kisses you gently this time, like he’s finally confident that you won’t vanish the moment he lets go. It’s warm and sensuous and lingering, it’s his lips pausing to appreciate every taste and every breath and every texture. It’s the rhythm of his tongue, excruciatingly slow, searching for ways to make you moan.
He pulls you closer, tighter; holds you firmer. You sigh into his mouth, you whine for more, you claw into the fabric of his suit. He reciprocates your urgency, driving you back into the wall with force and pressing his mouth hungrily to yours. You gasp, throwing your head back as his messy kisses trail down your neck, as his hands grope every part of you with fervor until you’re almost too weak to stand.
“Y/N,” he pants into your neck. “If we don’t relocate in the next few minutes, I’m going to end up being dishonorably discharged for indecent exposure.”
You giggle as he kisses you repeatedly along your collarbone. You would like nothing more than to relocate so that the two of you can be indecent together. “It’ll have to wait,” you say, stroking his hair as he growls in response.
“I’m not waiting any longer,” he mutters into your neck.
You laugh and shake you head.
“Come home with me. I just need a minute to grab my things.” He pulls insistently on your waist.
“I’ve got work,” you say mournfully. “My shift starts in half an hour.”
Bradley looks at you in alarm, as though the prospect of spending the next several hours apart is unacceptable. “Take the day off.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Sure, you can. Tell Penny you’re feeling sick.”
“I’m not feeling sick,” you respond disapprovingly.
He squints his eyes at you with a mischievous smirk. “Fake it.”
Tag List:
The rest of the tag list is in the comments! Might take me a little while to tag everyone and, if I miss you, I'm sorry!
Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the ride!
Muah!
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