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My Future in You | 2.7 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

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Synopsis: Bradley’s twenty-two years old and not where he’s supposed to be. Then, a hook up at a Halloween party changes his future even more than he could have imagined.

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, references to abortion in a few chapters, angst, fluff, vague mentions of a blowjob, enemies to lovers kinda thing, babies and fluff and more babies, domestic fluff, character sickness at the end, we: 3.8k

…

“Bradley, your son wants you.” You mumble into his bare chest, eyes practically glued shut, the steady chorus of his breathing already trying to lull you back to sleep mid-sentence.

If you had told him a year ago that he would be spending his prime-time Saturday 2am slot just barely awake, cradling a girl and getting ready to go and change a diaper — he would have turned and run for the hills. Now that he’s in it, it’s not so bad.

As he turns his face into the curve of your neck and inhales the familiar scent of you, the idea of getting out of bed, now that seems bad.

“He’s not even crying yet.” Bradley mumbles into your hair, his eyelids heavy, the mattress soft and pillowy under him, inviting him back to sleep. Your palm smacks into his stomach and he groans. “Fine, I’m up. I’m up.”

The baby is just starting to grumble really, kicking his feet and waving up at the mobile above his bassinet. He’s really starting to look at things now. The light fixture in the living room seems to fascinate the kid.

Bradley leans into you and he kisses your hair, before pushing the covers back and rolling out of bed with a groan. He pads around to the other side of the bed and squints tiredly at the bassinet. Thomas kicks his legs and flaps his hands, apparently excited to be awake at this time of night.

“Come here, little guy,” He whispers, his thumbs stretching far across the infant’s tiny chest, his fingers hooking under his back. He lifts him and sets him against his chest, rubbing his back softly. “I’ve got ya.”

He’s getting real wriggly now. He turns his face into Bradley’s bare chest and coos, arms and legs stretching out as Bradley holds him close.

You hum softly and roll onto your back, blinking through the darkness to look at the two of them. Thomas fits against his shoulder like a puzzle piece. Bradley’s hand still covers the entire length of his back. He always looks so doll-like in his dad’s arms.

“Go back to sleep, babe.” Bradley urges you, patting Thomas’ back and turning to head for the living room. He’s hungry. Bradley has learned that’s what this kind of grizzling sound means — he’s a lot louder when he needs a diaper change.

He almost has it down to a routine now. Could maybe do it with his eyes closed if he was trying. He blinks tiredly, swaying side to side as he lets a few droplets fall from the tip of the bottle onto the inside of his wrist.

“A little longer, little man.” Bradley whispers, setting the bottle down again, shifting Thomas in his arms. He’s getting bigger. A whole two and a half pounds in the last five weeks. Longer too. His feet now extend beyond the length of Bradley’s forearm and onto his palm.

His nose wrinkles in the air and his mitten covered hands rub haphazardly at his face. He takes short, warbling breaths. Bradley has learned by now that means a big cry is coming.

“Shh, shh, shh— I know, I know — Daddy should make it cool down faster, I’m working on it.” He whispers, rocking side to side and gently bouncing the infant against his arm.

You talk to him all the time and he seems to just quieten up and listen.

“Your mom’s got it all figured out, huh?” Bradley will never get over how soft Thomas’ cheeks are. Round and plush, so delicate. He trails his thumb in soft circles over the apples of his cheeks, watching the way his infant son matches him with a seemingly pleased wriggle.

“I’m getting there.” It’s like Bradley’s telling both of them, really. He nods his head and picks up the bottle again. That’ll do.

They settle onto the couch and Bradley nestles him into the crook of his elbow, holding the bottle up high so the air doesn’t get in, blinking tiredly at ESPN’s coverage of a baseball game from a week ago. Glancing down, he finds that Thomas’ eyes aren’t on the light fixture above them. It’s not switched on. He’s looking right, staring at the blue and white glow of the television.

The book on the coffee table says he can only see a couple of inches from his own face still, more than last week but not as much as he’ll be able to see next week. He just likes the lights, Bradley guesses.

Still, he kicks his feet up onto the table and smiles a bit.

“We’ll watch tonnes of these together,” Bradley tells him, over the sounds of Thomas gulping hungrily at the bottle. “I’m sorry that the first game you’re seeing is an Astros game. They suck. But, don’t tell your Uncle that I said that.”

He stares at the screen. “You don’t have to be into baseball. It’d be cool if you’d watch a game with me every now and again, but I won’t hold you to it. We could be into… swimming, or something — I don’t know, it’s 3am, I can’t think of other sports right now.”

When he looks down this time, Thomas is looking up at his face. His eyes are heavy and kind of crossed, apparently that’s normal when they’re drinking.

“Yeah,” Bradley whispers, stroking at the baby’s forearm with his thumb as his other hand holds the bottle steady. “Doesn’t matter. We’ll have something in common, right? — We’ll figure it out.”

His face softens, breathing out a soft and amused noise as Thomas’ eyes roll back and his hands stretch up towards his head.

“That’s good, huh?” He smiles.

He drinks about four ounces each time now. Then, Bradley sits him up — he has grown awfully familiar with the importance of a muslin during this step — and pats his back softly for a couple of minutes. This part is especially hard because Thomas almost always tries to fall asleep immediately after eating.

Not tonight.

Tonight, he’s wide awake and still kicking away on his play mat at 4:30am. Bradley’s sitting at his side, propped up against the couch and now somehow watching a documentary on the mesozoic era.

He yawns, combing a hair through his wild curls and stretching his legs out in front of him. As the narrator stops to take a breath, Bradley hears your bedroom door click open.

You pad along the hallway and round the corner into the living room. He looks barely awake, blinking at you.

“What are you doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” You answer him, crossing the living room and stepping over his legs. He loops his arms around your middle as you straddle his waist and rest your head against his shoulder. “The bed was cold. You didn’t come back.”

“Yeah, sorry, babe, we were just having too much fun out here without you.” Bradley mumbles into the crook of your neck, closing his eyes for a moment. His eyes sting behind his eyelids and your warmth against him is threatening to send him back to sleep.

You hum amusedly, kissing softly at his shoulder. You reach just past him and hold Thomas’ onesie covered foot, your mouth stretching upward into a grin. “Did Daddy get you too excited to go back to sleep, huh? — You two have no respect for bedtime, you know that?”

Bradley chuckles, pulling back and turning his head to watch the two of you.

“I have respect for bedtime, I was in bed on time. Our kid is a bad influence on me.”

“Yeah? Did daddy let you stay up and watch dinosaurs?” You grin, tickling your fingers lightly across the embroidered teddy bear that covers his stomach. Bradley turns his face into your neck, letting his eyes fall shut for just a moment. Quickly, they shoot back open as you let out a gasp.

“He’s smiling!” You push out of Bradley’s lap and kneel closer to the little activity mat. “Was that funny? Are you smiling at me?”

Bradley pushes up onto his knees and leans closer to get a look, and sure enough, his lips are twitched just a bit at the corners and as Bradley leans in, his mouth opens real wide. It looks like a real grin.

Not just the kind of smile he usually does before he pukes either. This one looks more real. Like he really did find you funny. Bradley’s lips twitch. He kisses your shoulder softly, his hand resting against your waist as you kiss Thomas’ cheek.

His cheeks dimple, his grin stretching as he makes a gargling coo sound, kicking his legs eagerly.

“That’s so a real smile! He’s happy!” You gasp, beaming as your head whips around to look at Bradley.

His thumb dips under your sleep shirt, stroking over the inch wide space above your shorts. He inhales deeply, then exhales, smiling back at you.

“Of course he’s happy.” Bradley says quietly. He watches you lean over and kiss Thomas’s stomach, then his face, then all over his mitten-covered hands. Then, you turn back and set yourself in Bradley’s lap again, your hands resting against his shoulders.

“We’re doing a good job, right?” You ask him.

“Feels like it.” He tells you quietly. You nod your head back at him. For a moment, the two of you just stare back at each other.

Just your eyes locked on his, the glow of the television behind you and the faint consistency of the dinosaur spiel and Thomas’ cooing. He’s really looking at you. His thumbs circle your hips and it feels like he’s just reading you like a book — like he has learned how to understand the position of your lips and the shape of your eyes and the depth of your breaths.

His big brown eyes, always looking at you with such a softness these days. Such a recognition.

It’s a really strange feeling, because when you look down at this little thing that you love so much — you see parts of him all over, and you know it’s the same for Bradley. To look back at him now and find those things, it’s like seeing them for the first time all over again.

You lean in close and kiss the bridge of his nose, then rest your forehead against his.

“You’re happy too?” Bradley asks, his thumbs stroking softly at your hips. You nod your head against his and hum a sound of agreement.

“Yeah. Are you?”

Bradley lifts his head a bit and lets his mouth cover yours. Warm and firm. An answer of sorts. Still, he nods anyway.

“Yeah.”

And then his mouth is on yours again, softer this time but faster. His kiss pushes a breath out of your nose, your hands linking behind his shoulders as you pull yourself closer.

Those dinosaurs and that droning voice fade into a blur and it’s just Bradley. He melts into you, groaning at the feeling of your fingers in his curls. Kissing, pulling, panting, lost in the sensation of your lips coming together. His hand comes up to cup the side of your jaw, guiding your mouth against his as his tongue caresses yours.

The hand that isn’t on your cheek skims briefly along your back, then grabs firmly at your hip. He drags you closer, the proximity making you shiver.

His eagerness thrums between you like energy, pulling you closer together, deepening your kisses until your head is spinning and you’re half sure that you’re soaking through the thin fabric of underwear that separates you.

For a second, you remember how you wound up here. Falling just as easily into Bradley Bradshaw’s bed, letting yourself get so captivated by his kisses. He feels you smile against his lips, and is the first to pull back.

His fingers dig softly into your hips.

“Are you thinking about the baseball?” He whispers, kissing you again. You grin against him, breaking into a soft giggle as you nod. The signed baseball bet, where you had offered to blow him. That thing is in a box now. He hums, “That was a really good blowjob.”

You frown and shove at his shoulders, “Don’t say that in front of—“

At once, you turn to check and find your son to be asleep on his back. All of that wriggling and kicking tired him out, one of his mitten covered hands resting against his cheek.

“Huh. He put himself to sleep.” Bradley comments, he looks back to you and finds your lips quirked. His brows start to knit together, wondering what you’re finding to smirk about at four-thirty in the morning.

Then, you lean in close and kiss his cheek softly, your lips grazing his ear. “Go put him in his bassinet.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Setting you on the ground beside him, he scoops up the baby and cradles him to his chest. You watch him kiss the top of Thomas’ head before they disappear down the hall together. He returns with a grin on his face.

”Yeah, yeah, take your pants off.” You tease him, pushing up onto your knees as he struts across the room with that cocky little smile on his face. He drops down onto the couch and sighs wistfully.

”Whoa — I’m not that kind of guy, you’ve gotta buy me dinner first.” He jokes back to you, leaning down and kissing your mouth softly. Your palm dips into the leg of his shorts, fingers wrapping loosely around his hardening cock. He chuckles breathily against your lips. “You’re right, I am that kind of guy.”

This makes you giggle, quietly of course, you’re mastering the art of not waking up Thomas by this point. Bradley sits back as your mouth presses softly to his chest. He watches silently as you kiss your way down his body, lifting his hips for you to tug his shorts down.

Then, finally, your lips are wrapped around him. His hand flinches, halfway between curling itself into your hair and staying put against the fabric of the couch. Your gaze flickers up to him, heavy with more than just the weight of the late night, your tongue flat against the underside of his cock.

You lace your fingers through his, squeeze his hand and guide it to the back of your own head. Bradley breathes out shakily. “Fuck, I love you.”

He does love you. He shows you every single day.

After sex, Bradley used to be the first to walk away. If he was in his own bed, he would be up at the crack of dawn to indicate that there was no intention of this being a long term thing. If he was in someone else’s he would be gone even sooner.

Tonight, when you’re grinning up at him as he tries to catch his breath, the first thing that crosses his mind is your bed. His and yours. Where he has held you every night for the past few months, where your son sleeps a few feet away.

Pulling his shorts up around his hips, Bradley leans forwards and pulls you to your feet, then hooks his hands under your thighs. You bury your gasp into the curve of his neck as he lifts you against him, guiding your legs around his waist.

”C’mon, let’s go to bed.”

He offered to reciprocate the favour. It’s getting difficult to say no, watching him stroll around the house in a pair of shorts, holding your baby in his arms. Even worse since he went back to work and the flight suit made its reappearance.

You’re only a week from getting the all-clear, and really, you’re half sure that six days wouldn’t make that much of a difference in your recovery journey. But that’s the old you thinking. Now that you’ve got a kid, you should be doing things more by the book.

So, six more days until you can let Maverick take the baby for a nice long walk, and have wild, protected sex, with Bradley. His arms wrap securely around your middle. He turns his face into the crook of your neck and kisses lazily at your skin, and promptly falls asleep.

It takes you a little longer, you weren’t up for as long as he was, but you know that you have to work fast while the two boys are asleep. Eyes closed, Bradley’s heartbeat is steady against your back and his snoring is muffled by your shoulder. If you listen out, you can hear Thomas’ deep little breaths from within his bassinet.

Slow, deep breaths in. Bradley’s weight pressing into your back. Long, calm breaths out. The dinosaurs on the television and the smile on Thomas’ face. The freckles on Bradley’s chest, the feeling of his arms wrapped around your middle.

You’re up before him the next morning. Tommy has little respect for the Saturday morning lazies, it would seem. You let Bradley sleep in for a bit, giving the baby his bottle and getting in a solid twenty minute tummy-time session before it dawns on you that the two of you had invited Maverick over.

“Come on in, Mav — Bradley’s sleeping.” You call to the door. Bradley still gets a little antsy when his uncle comes around, but he doesn’t mind so much as long as the conversation stays on Tommy.

Maverick has been over a couple of times since he was born and it’s like the two of them have some kind of unspoken connection. Pete’s old and childless, and kind of a bachelor, but something about him calms Tommy down every single time.

His spare key clicks in the lock and the door opens compliantly. After the last emergency, you figured it would be good for him to have one. At least for as long as he will be in Pensacola with you.

Dressed in his uniform of a white t-shirt and vintage jeans, Maverick walks towards you shaking his head. He isn’t fazed by the fact that you’re in your pyjamas. Carole stayed in hers until Bradley was almost eight months.

He exhales as he sits beside you. “I can’t believe how big he’s getting.”

“I know, right? — It’s going by so quickly.” You hum, grinning at the baby in an attempt to replicate last night’s moment of pure bliss. Maverick’s blue eyes flicker between the two of you, and he finds himself smiling too. “Here, make yourself useful, Gramps. I’ll get Bradley.”

He complies as easily as the door had, taking the baby as you pass him over, but his face falls. Gramps. That’s not his title, he hasn’t earned it. Looking down at the squirming little boy in his arms — god, he hopes he earns it.

You push up onto the edge of your bed, take two steps, and drop down on top of Bradley, waking him with a groan.

“Morning.” You grin at him as he frowns grumpily at you, blinking through the morning light. He reaches out blindly and cups the back of your neck, pulling you into him. You giggle as he kisses at your forehead, then puckers his lips expectantly for you to kiss his mouth.

You peck his lips softly.

He sighs softly. ”What time is it?”

You smooth your hands along his bare chest and tap at his navel. ”Eleven. Mav’s here, put some clothes on and entertain so that I can shower?”

“Uh-huh. Five more minutes.” He mumbles, turning his face into the pillow, almost knocking you off of him as he tries to roll onto his side. You shove at his shoulders and he groans again, more dramatically this time. “Fine, I’m up.”

You seem to have struck a decent balance. Maverick has stopped by every weekend since you got back from the hospital, more now that Bradley is back at work. He seems to have a little more freedom in the Navy than Bradley does, but Bradley says that’s not how it’s supposed to be.

Doesn’t matter to you either way, it gives you time on a Saturday morning to have a twenty minute shower, get dressed and still find time to put some makeup on afterwards. Even if Bradley does appear in the reflection behind you after exactly thirty-two minutes of independence.

“What’s that look on your face?” You wonder aloud, coating mascara through your lashes in the mirror. He presses his chest into you, snaking a hand around to your front and resting it against your stomach.

“Just… getting used to him not being in there anymore.”

“Tell me about it, I keep getting surprised when I see my toes.” You scoff in response, setting the applicator into the tube and twisting it shut, dropping it back into your makeup bag. Bradley leans forwards and kisses the side of your neck softly.

Then again. Then, he turns his head and looks at you through the mirror with a smile on his face.

“I can fix that, if it’s an issue for you.” You already know that he’s joking but the sentiment of being pregnant again so soon makes you screw your face up and push him off of you anyway.

“Five weeks postpartum and you’re already begging to knock me up again,” You hum, playing him right back at his own game as you pull a blush from the bag. “And to think, last time you just took it for granted.”

His palm smoothes over your stomach, using the leverage to drag you backwards into his chest. He turns his face and kisses your cheek tenderly.

“I’ll make it up to you next time.”

“Bradley, I love you,” You tell him carefully, squinting at him through the mirror, “but if you keep threatening to get me pregnant, I might have to take a vow of celibacy.”

He snorts. Threatening. His mouth stretches into a grin as his thumb trails across your navel, ending the conversation with a sweet shrug of his broad shoulders. Maybe there’s more to say on the topic, but you won’t know.

The sound of your phone ringing cuts between the two of you. Simultaneously, your eyes go wide. It’s going to make Thomas scream. That kid hates high-pitched noises, the two of you have been living with your phones on silent for weeks. You must have accidentally turned it off, either way, it’s loud and it’s shrill now — and Mav panics when Tommy starts screaming. Bradley leaves you with a quick squeeze of your hip, darting from the bathroom before you have even opened your mouth.

You hear him answer the phone with a quiet ‘hello?’ from the other room.

You slot the blush back into your makeup bag and dig around between plastic tubes and packages. Stupidly looking for whatever comes next in your routine, preparing yourself to do something minuscule like take a trip to the grocery store.

All too soon, Bradley appears in the mirror once again. He stands in the doorway of the bathroom, his face suddenly sullen, his eyes on you.

“Yeah. No, I get it. Call us back when you know.” He says quietly. The line clicks dead against his ear and he swallows thickly. Your smile falls as you turn to face him.

”What is it?”

Bradley lets his hand fall down to his side, pausing in thought for just a moment. He presses his lips together and gives a small, weak shake of his head.

”It’s your dad.”

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The Odyssey | 1.3 | Bradley Bradshaw x reader

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the pain of not knowing is weighing heavily on you as you arrive to your next destination. The people around you prove themselves.

warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), swearing, infidelity, the italics at the very beginning indicate a scene involving brief attempt at sexual assault. The chapter deals heavily with themes of SA, and its aftermath. Pls take your own triggers into account while reading and feel free to message me for further info 🫶

…

“C‘mon, man, not so much as a test drive?”

Malcolm’s not in his right mind. Finals week pushed him to the brink and beyond. He’s been killing himself proving to his father that he’s worth being taken on at the firm. College is coming to an end and it’s almost time to be a man — as it grows closer, there seem to be more and more voices in his ear telling him what that entails.

Sex. Money. Power. Everything in the world is about sex, but sex is about power. Or whatever Oscar Wilde had said — he had only enrolled in that class for the credits and the added study time with you.

“Don’t talk about her like that.” He brushes the comment off with a wrinkle of his nose, bringing the bottle of whiskey to his mouth, tipping his head and pouring it back.

You’re not a possession — he’s in good enough mind to know that much. His buddy’s test drive metaphor leaves more than a sour taste in his mouth. It also leaves a sickness in his stomach and a venom twisting through his nerves.

The mention of this is already grinding at him, his blood growing hot and his feet growing restless, tapping against the aged wood below them.

“Because she’s such an angel that she won’t even let you lay a finger on her? — Yeah, she sounds like a real prize, Ashworth.” Another guy snorts. Malcolm’s head whips around to face him, his eyes narrowed.

“Has she even let you get to second base or are her tits off limits too?”

“Damn shame that she’s got that pretty mouth and you don’t have a clue what to do with it.”

“She scared that it’s going to hurt or something? — You packing a big one, Mac?”

He pushes himself swiftly up from that stiff leather armchair despite its creaks of complaint. Damn thing is older than he is. The dark liquid swishes in the bottle as he staggers away from his so-called friends. He’s heard enough.

He knows where to find you, pushing through the sea of already drunk co-eds and wrapping an arm securely around your waist, slotting himself into your gossip session with a friend.

You’re so excited to see him, greeting him with a polite kiss to the cheek and leaning into his touch. You’re always so kind to him. He has to lean in close to whisper in your ear, his voice sullen and serious, “Could I talk to you for a minute? — In private.”

It isn’t until he closes the door to one of the guys’ rooms, that he notices exactly how drunk you are. You gasp and wobble and drop down onto the bed, bursting out laughing.

He doesn’t laugh with you. Instead, he brings the bottle of whiskey to his lips and takes a long drink. Lurking in the doorway, watching you.

As the bottle drops back to his side, Malcolm just remembers watching you. He doesn’t remember walking any closer until he’s sat beside you and holding your face in his hands.

“God, Mac — how much have,” You have to pause to hiccup, covering your mouth with your hand, unaware that you’re slurring your words too. “How much have you had to drink? — You reek!”

“Just a bit.” He mumbles, the bottle heavy in his hand as he leans forwards and kisses you. You comply happily at first. Well, you seem happy enough to him, even if he does smell kind of like a distillery.

Maybe the two of you talk more, maybe you don’t. The only thing Malcolm knows is that he has securely rounded the corner into second base before you start to fuss at him. You’ve let him get this far before, what’s the big deal now?

The dress you’re wearing is a flimsy blue satin thing, not particularly festive for the holiday party, patterned with expensive looking shimmering detailing. One of them has slipped off of your shoulder to make room for his hand to slip under the velvet fabric and cup at your breast.

“Stop it — what if someone comes in?” But you’re still kind of giggling with him, grabbing at his shoulders. If you wanted him off of you, you’d say so. You have before.

You’re not that kind of girl. Malcolm scoffs to himself at the idea. Your neck is soft against his lips and your perfume drives him crazy.

“It’s just sex, it’s not a big deal.” He mutters into the crook of your jaw, and the mood flips. He feels you pushing weakly at him, all it does is bunch his sport coat and make it fall back off of his shoulders.

“Sex? — Here?” You’re not making much sense, losing your composure and your ability to form a real sentence at once. Not so classy now.

As Malcolm sits back to shrug his jacket off and looks down at you, your chest halfway exposed and your eyes struggling to track him, he feels a pang of guilt strike him. Slowing himself, his heartbeat is in his ears as he fixes your dress to cover you once more and leans down to kiss at your lips.

“I’ll marry you,” He whispers against your mouth, pleading. “I have a ring. I was going to ask you anyway. Your father loves me, you know he does. You believe me, right, honey?”

You had said yes once before. You were going to let him. After prom night, your senior year; you were going to the same college and your families liked each other. He’d gotten too drunk and screwed it. Couldn’t even get it hard. It seemed to freak you out, after that you’ve barely let him close. Now, you’re seniors again. He just needs you to say yes once more.

“Not here.” Your face wrinkles and turns away from him, maybe it’s just the smell of whiskey but the rejection damn near makes him see white. He remembers how uncoordinated your efforts to shove at his hands were.

The next thing he remembers is Catherine stumbling in looking for you, and you trying to bolt. He had caught you the first time.

You were screaming at him, shoving him, calling him a pig. He was arguing right back at you. He’s always known exactly what to say to make your argument feel paper-thin.

The second time you had run, he had let you go, picking up his half-finished whiskey and pouring it into his mouth. He knew you wouldn’t say a word to your parents, you would be too ashamed.

The last thing that you remember from that night is being downstairs, laughing with your friends, with his arm around your waist.

The drive down to the farmhouse is a little over an hour from Florence, one of the shorter journeys of your trip. No need for stops or bathroom breaks. You had settled into your seat, covered your ears, and turned the volume on the Walkman as loud as it would go.

When you were packing tapes for the trip, you hadn’t once considered to bring Christmas music. Now, you’re wracking your brain trying to remember the song that had been playing. Remember any part of that night at all.

Once she had realized what she had said, Catherine had grown defensive and apologetic. She wouldn’t tell you much. Like she was covering something.

You’ve been staring unseeingly at the Tuscan countryside as it passes you by, Kate Bush as your soundtrack. I should be crying but I just can't let it show.

He wouldn’t hurt you. This is the same man who took you out to his mother’s rose garden and gave you the most stunning Tiffany necklace you’ve ever seen as a gift. The man who hugs you so close against him, and sits through your chick-flicks with you.

Your parents adore him, and it’s their job to protect you. Your father is a wonderful judge of character, and Malcolm won his seal of approval years ago.

All these miles of land whizzing by, outside of this ugly little minivan, are starting to make you sick. You close your eyes and listen to Kate.

Oh, darling, make it go

Make it go away

Your eyes burn under your eyelids, prickling with tears. Even worse, it makes your face burn with furious heat to think of any one of these people seeing you cry. Your stomach is trembling with unease, a static feeling in your fingers and toes is the only thing reminding you that you can feel them at all.

Breathing in shakily, you squeeze your eyes more tightly closed, gritting your teeth to will the tears away.

You just need to remember. You can’t go accusing him of something awful. He’s always been so good to you. He’s your future. You just need to get your bearings, and figure it out. Maybe you had led him on. Given him the wrong idea.

It’s such a short drive, and for once, there doesn’t seem to be any drama that requires his attention. Bradley has let himself get so behind on his work that he spends the duration of the drive with his papers sprawled out across the bench, making annotations and edits.

“Whoa, look at this place!” Zoe gasps, leaning over the seats to get a look at the sprawling driveway, lined with green trees and shrubs, marking the way toward the farmhouse. It’s an incredible building, sprawling and stone, dotted with climbing plants along the walls and planted flowers in the window boxes.

Bradley closes his notebook and looks up finally, then looks across at Pasquale with a small smile.

“Did I ever tell you guys that this is where Pasquale and I met?” Bradley announces to the group, turning around in his seat to face them.

“All the way out here?”

“Yeah. We worked here together one fall.”

Bradley had heard of Alessandro’s work early into his studies. It was Natasha who got him the job here. He arrived in September and left in December, this place gets cold as the months go on. Now, it’s warm and everything is in bloom. It smells sweet and citrusy. Sandro had always sworn that the apricots grown here were the best in the country.

“Then, when Mr. Bradshaw had been accepted for his summer work here with the university, I was the first person he called to be your tour guide.” Pasquale adds with a grin as he pulls up in front of the old house. Bradley hums. Pasquale has always been a good friend to him.

As soon as the engine stops, the heavy wooden front door is thrown open and a tall man with long, dark curls comes jogging out, grinning.

“Bradley Bradshaw!” His accent is thick, but mixed. Not entirely Italian. His cheeks dimple as his grin stretches across his olive toned skin, watching Bradley tear out of the minivan and head for him.

“Sandro,” Bradley grins, grabbing hold of the slightly shorter man by his shoulders and dragging him in for a hug before leaning in close and shaking the man a bit as he chuckles out something in Italian that makes them both laugh. You miss it, barely pulling your headphones off of your ears as you step out of the van.

“I don’t know what that means but I know it was a swear word.” Abigail announces, making Bradley laugh as he turns to her again. She’s not wrong, he had happily just called Alessandro something not too dissimilar to a son of a bitch. Endearingly.

He hooks an arm around Alessandro’s shoulders and turns him coolly towards the group. “Guys, this is Alessandro Gabris. Not quite the man of the house but a hell of a storyteller.”

Alessandro turns his head and whispers something back that can only be as filthy as whatever Bradley had said to him, because it makes them both double over laughing. Their inside joke makes Pasquale laugh along with them. That autumn had been such good fun, the three of them.

Alessandro glances behind him as an older man walks out of the building, wheeling an elderly woman in a wheelchair. He smiles as he gestures to her.

“And this is my mother, Teodora Gabris.”

“Oh, I remember,” Bradley’s lips stretch into a warm grin as he breaks the haphazard formation of the group, unwraps himself from Sandro and steps towards her, crouching in front of her wheelchair, slipping his sunglasses off. The woman’s face changes, brightening with recognition. “Don’t break my heart, Dorie, you remember me too, huh?”

The crinkles beside her eyes deepen as she lifts her hand and rests it against his cheek, tilting her head to examine his face.

“The artist.” She remembers, making Bradley laugh fondly. He’s familiar with her in a way that makes both of their grins broaden as he leans in. He’s far from an artist, and she knows it. But, he has a way with words and a way with women, and that had amused her all of those years ago.

In her youth, Teodora traveled from the Kefalonian countryside to the centre of Paris, where she had trained with oil paints. She’s the real artist.

“How have you been?” He asks.

She just looks around her, gesturing to her little slice of Tuscany, blooming into the July heat, and back to him finally. Bradley nods his head, unable to shake that smile from his face. She has her little slice of heaven already, how could she not be happy?

“You haven’t aged a day.” He tells her, his large hand resting softly against her now frail wrist.

You stare between the two of them. The affection they have for each other, and the joy on her face as she remembers the boy he was. His hand sitting so gently on her skin.

“You have.” She teases, pinching his sunwarmed red cheeks. He laughs, sharing her gaze for a beat before he stands upright once again.

Of the six places that you have visited so far on this trip, Bradley has been greeted warmly by someone who once knew him in every single one of them. Even Natasha, who hates him for his betrayal, finds it in herself to revel in the safety of still being near him.

You don’t remember your interaction with him that night either. He could have done anything. He could have left you there. You can only imagine the look your mother would have given him when he took you home. You weren’t ever even particularly nice to him, you’d talked through his class all through first semester. He took you home and made sure you were safe anyway.

“Hey, are you okay?” Suddenly there’s a hand on your wrist and it feels like scalding water. You pull swiftly away from it and whip your head around to find Abigail leaning towards you, her features creased with concern.

Your cheeks are hot, and wet. Fuck, they’re wet. Quickly, you bring both hands to your face and start wiping hurriedly at your tears. You can’t bring yourself to do anything but blink dumbly at her, your shoes dragging across the dirt below you as you stumble a step back.

As he hears the question, Bradley turns and shoots a glance over his shoulder. His face falls, turning completely to do a double take as he notices your teary face.

“Hey, hey — what’s the matter?” Bradley’s size thirteen converse tennis blancs trample across the dirt and stones, long strides and heavy footfalls. Your stomach churns at the thought of those heavy hands on your skin, of his frame up close and looming over you, of getting stuck between him and the minivan behind you.

He slows as your foot slips back and fumbles for purchase in the dirt, muddying your white sneakers.

Everyone behind him is looking at you now. You’re painfully aware of the twisted up look on your face but it’s the only thing keeping you from sobbing.

Humiliation stings. All of them looking at you like you’re ridiculous. Not being able to remember. Simultaneously wanting to throw yourself into Bradley’s chest and beg him not to touch you.

Bradley lowers his voice just slightly, also well-aware of all of the eyes on you suddenly. “Look at me. What’s the matter?”

Your lip trembles, trying not to look at anyone around you. Your eyes steady on his, your throat thick and your heartbeat thundering.

“Can I talk to you about something?” You croak out.

There’s a study downstairs, just off of the living room. Bradley clicks the door shut behind him, his brows drawing together as your pace away from him.

“Honey…” He says softly, like he’s trying to soothe a cornered animal. You round on him like one, eyes wide. He’s never seen you so spooked. “Talk to me. What happened? — I can’t fix it if—“

“You can’t fix it.” Your voice cracks and gravity grows stronger, forcing you to the ground. Crumpling like a piece of paper, you curl your knees up to your chest, a sob wracking your body.

“Okay, alright,” Bradley breathes out, clicking the lock on the door and following you to the ground. You flinch as his heavy hand comes to rest against the back of your neck, stroking softly over the top of your styled hair. “Let me hear it, it’s no good keeping it to yourself.”

“Please don’t touch me,” You whisper into your knees, squeezing your eyes tightly shut. Your skin crawls, trying to picture Malcolm on top of you, wondering how you couldn’t remember. “Could you… could you just please not.” You decide finally, wiping hurriedly at the damp spots under your eyes.

He doesn’t follow. It was just last night that you were so comfortable in his arms, staring up at him with that electric, trusting look on your face. But he gently takes his hand off of you anyway.

“Is this about that phone call?” Bradley asks gently, suddenly unsure of where to put his hands. His instinct is to hold you.

Light pours in from the tall, wide window to your side. It’s far too warm, and too sunny in here for you to be feeling this awful. It feels like the ground is going to swallow you whole, if the weight in your chest doesn’t take you out first.

“Talk to me, honey. Tell me what happened.” Bradley encourages, bracing his elbows on his knees and lowering his head to try to meet your gaze.

“I think Malcolm — that night that you found me in December, I think— I think that he—“

Bradley’s eyes go round, the concerned frown on his face falling all of a sudden. He stares at you as you sob into your hands. He remembers that night so clearly. From waking up face down in a textbook chapter about Pre-raphaelite attitudes towards monogamy, to squinting to figure out what that figure in the snow was. Seeing you there, barely conscious. Practically deadweight in his arms as he had lifted you.

A muscle in his jaw ticks.

You lift your head to look at him, the colour drained from your skin, eyes pleading.

“Did he tell you this?” Bradley asks you softly.

“No. Catherine said — she said something about finding— fuck, she said something about finding him… on top of me.” Your throat is hoarse and your words are barely coming out as you try to hold back floods of tears. If you let yourself keep crying, it feels like you might not ever stop.

Bradley lifts his hand and pinches at the bridge of his nose. He inhales for six, exhales for seven. Then, he reaches out slowly and rests the tips of his fingers against the outside of your ankle.

“I don’t remember.” You choke out. He looks across at you, thinking of how proudly you had been showing off your engagement ring. No clue what an animal your fiancé was. Your lip trembles. “I don’t remember it.”

His gaze flickers immediately to your hands covering your face as the midday sun catches the rock on your ring finger, glistening in the light. You never would have said yes if you had known.

“I’m sorry, honey, I’m so sorry,” He whispers, curling his fingers softly around your ankle. It takes everything not to wrap himself around you and shield you from everything outside of these four walls. This dusty old office, sunlight shining across ever single chip and dent in these old floor boards, just you and him.

“If I wasn’t such a mess, then—“

“Hey,” His fingers squeeze softly at your ankle, prompting you to look up at him, hot tears spilling down your cheeks. He gives a soft shake of your head. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

A few seconds pass between the two of you. His fingers don’t dare inch from the safety of your ankle, if that’s as much of you as he is allowed to touch, then that’s what he’ll take.

He can’t imagine the fear in not knowing.

You swallow softly and push onto your knees, crawling closer and pushing yourself into his chest. Bradley tucks one arm around your waist, doing his best not to cage you against him as you bury your face into his neck. You can feel him giving you room to retreat.

It’s such a strange thing, not wanting him to touch you but at the same time wanting to be held by him until the rest of the world stops. The thought of his hands on your skin makes you sick, but you want nothing more than to bury your face in the crook of his neck and pretend that none of this is happening. Like he’s not a separate man, not something to fear — just an extension of self, almost.

“It’s not your fault.” He tells you again, running his hand along your back, finally letting his eyes fall shut. Your breathing is jagged and gasping with the sobs, coming out quickly against the skin of his neck. “I’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay.”

“I should remember. I — I thought I’d know, or… feel… and I don’t remember any of it.”

His stomach knots, his palm resting between your shoulder blades as he cradles you against him.

It wasn’t that long ago that he couldn’t stand the thought of you. He had taken what he had seen of you in his classroom and come to the decision that you were selfish, and spoiled, lazy. He had no idea.

Since then, he has grown to know that you’re none of those things. You’re defensive, sure, he can be too. You’re a product of your upbringing, to an extent. But you’re witty, and smart, and you’re far from selfish. Bradley has seen your curiosity up close for weeks now. Your potential weighs on his mind, it keeps him up at night thinking of the future you’d have if you just had someone tell you that you could.

He hugs you against his chest and turns his face into the crook of your neck.

“You’re gonna be okay.” He promises. There’s no way around it, or over it. He couldn’t have stopped it from happening. This isn’t about him or the way that he feels for you. He holds you close, rubbing firm circles across the length of your back for as long as you’ll let him.

“I’m sorry.” You choke out, your face buried into the warmth and familiarity of his neck. “You — You should be out there with everyone. I just need a minute.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Bradley whispers.

And he doesn’t. He sits there and holds you until he feels your breathing start to get slower and longer against him. Then, he strokes a strand of hair gently off of your face. “You feeling tired?”

“Exhausted.” You whisper.

He nods softly and kisses the top of your head. If he could, he would happily have carried you upstairs and put you to bed himself. Instead, under the watchful eye of the rest of your class, he has to point your directions from the bottom of the stairs.

“I’ll be upstairs to check on you in a bit. Get some rest.”

And he does come up a bit later. You’re not sure exactly how much later, but it’s dark when the first knock wakes you up.

See, the first knock doesn’t warrant pulling yourself out of this unfamiliar bed. The pillowcase is damp but for now, you seem to have run out of tears. The second knock is more tempting, if only to make the sound stop.

Bradley doesn’t knock a third time. Instead, he takes a quick glance at the empty hall around him and leans in close, “It’s me. Can I come in?”

You already knew it was him, there’s no real need for him to announce himself. Still, you grace him with a tired sound of acknowledgment and force yourself out of the fetal position. The old doorknob creaks and clicks, then the door itself creaks as it opens. It would be pretty difficult to sneak around in a big old house like this one.

“Hey.” Bradley greets you softly, cautiously. You offer him a tight-lipped smile. He brings a hand from behind his back and shows you a plate with roasted potatoes and vegetables — something else that you can’t quite see, a starchy baked dish.

Through no fault of his own, he doesn’t get much of a reaction from you at all. You make no effort to reach for the plate. He crosses the room and sets it down on top of the dresser.

“Brought you some dinner, and uh…” Bradley hasn’t felt sheepish since his second day of basic training, and yet, his eyes are on the floor as he pulls his other hand from behind his back. “I brought you this.”

You watch as he sets the blue fabric in front of you, folded neatly.

“Your shirt?”

He scratches at the back of his neck, walking right on by you to sit against the window ledge. Cool air bristles his nape and makes him sit up a little straighter, letting you catch his eye.

“I don’t know, I thought…” He stares at the blue fabric in your hands and gives his head a soft shake. “I don’t know what I thought, but keep it for tonight.”

He knows what his thought process was, he just can’t bring himself to say it out loud. It sounds selfish now. I thought that since I can’t be with you, maybe a piece of me might help. How ridiculous of him to make himself so important in all of this.

“Here,” He remembers, pushing himself away from the window and taking the plate in his hand again, “Come on, you should eat something, while it’s still hot. It’s good.”

You pull your knees to your chest as he perches himself on the bed beside you, setting the plate down. You settle down, crossing your legs and lifting the plate into your lap, picking up the fork.

He watches, chewing at the inside of his lip as you push the vegetables around the plate.

“How’re you feeling now?”

“Stupid for bawling my eyes out like that.” You answer him meekly, spearing the fork through a grilled red pepper, pushing it through some of the juice from the baked dish.

His eyes search across your features.

Neither one of you says anything for a moment as you shake the pepper from your fork and stab it instead through a piece of eggplant.

“You’re not stupid.” He tells you, his brows drawing together as he watches you periodically wound the food on the plate.

“He was clearly unhappy, and I didn’t even notice. My own boyfriend and I didn’t have a clue,” You jam the fork into a particularly stubborn chunk of zucchini and letting the fork clatter to the plate. Bradley stares back at you. “If he was happy then—“

”Don’t defend him to me.” Bradley interrupts you, his voice calm but grave. In a roundabout way, he understands how your thought process has led you here, but he can’t listen.

”No, I’m — I’m not. But it’s my responsibility as his partner—“

”Stop it.” Bradley deadpans. He lowers his head and meets your gaze. His tone suggests that he is growing frustrated but his eyes are another story, soft and warm, honeyed as they search across your face. “You were blacked out drunk. Whatever you think you owe him, it wasn’t his in that moment. You get that, right?”

He’s trying to help. You know that he’s trying to make it better, but it isn’t. Your nape feels hot and your throat feels sore. If he’s right, if that’s really true — if it was never your fault — then where do you go from here?

Your wedding is eighteen days after you fly home. The dress, the centre-pieces, the bridesmaids and the venue — everything is already all set up.

You suck in a soft breath and bury your face in your hands. Bradley lifts his palm and smooths a hand softly over the nape of your neck.

“Look, I just—“

“Can you go?” You breathe out shakily, dropping your hands from your face and meeting his gaze. His mouth hangs open, and you just know that he’s going to keep on talking. “Just go. Please. I want to be alone.”

Finally, he closes his mouth and gives a solemn nod.

“Okay,” He gives your shoulder a soft squeeze before standing up from the bed. “I’ll come see you tomorrow morning.”

With him gone, the quiet is worse this time. Out here in the country, there’s nothing but you wracking your brain for answers that just won’t come. At some point, you make yourself eat some of the now cold food Bradley had brought you just to settle the rumbling in your stomach.

Then, you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. It’s a tall thing with a wooden frame, angled to face the bed. Your fingers reach down and curl into the hem of your nightgown, thinking of the blue Dior dress sitting in your closet at home now. It’s around this length, one of your shorter articles of clothing. You had been so excited to find that dress.

Standing in it that day in the floor, you had felt like Cinderella, right out of the pages of a storybook. Ridiculous.

Quickly, you grab at the hem and tear it off of your body. Almost naked, you examine yourself in the reflection. Something makes you walk forwards and your eyes squint, scrutinizing the flesh before you. Wondering how much of it Malcolm has seen, really.

You wonder which parts of it come to mind, when the two men who have seen your body think about it. The softness of your stomach? The way your breasts sit? — Something different entirely, maybe. Your self-examination is short-lived and exhausting all at once.

Turning back around, you spot Bradley’s shirt sitting on the edge of the bed. It’s a soft, heavy cotton, and it smells wholly of him. It slips easily over your shoulders, your fingers working nimbly to fasten the buttons.

You tilt your head, observing the way you look wrapped in his clothes. Then, you look around the room. Without Bradley to occupy your evening, the sudden lack of television or alternate entertainment strikes you.

Stuck with little other option, you grab your walkman from the dresser and head over to your suitcase. Armed with the cassette, wrapped in Bradley’s shirt, you cross the room and settle back into this unfamiliar bed, setting the headphones over your ears. You click open the cartridge and look down at the new tape in your hand.

Written across the front of the plastic in red marker, calligraphy: Our Wedding Tape 1986. It was a parting gift. Something from your future husband to lift your spirits when you were feeling low over here.

You lay back against the pillows, closing your eyes and hitting play. Slowly, the opening chords of The Commodores’ Three Times a Lady start to play in your ears. Your stomach flips, but you inhale, squeeze your eyes tighter and it’s almost better.

It’s soft, and slow — almost like a lullaby. But, your blood is coursing so hot and fast through your veins, it feels more like you’re running a marathon. Hot tears burn behind your eyes once again, reminding you that you haven’t actually run out of them. That they might never really stop.

To touch you, to hold you, to feel you, to need you.

There’s nothing to keep us apart.

You’re once, twice, three times a lady, and I love you. I love you.

As the lyrics pause and piano chords once again fill your ears, you realize that you’re gritting your teeth. You inhale sharply and snatch the headset off of your head, tossing it harshly onto the floor and causing the walkman to bust open. The cassette falls to the floor, but at least the music stops.

You’re breathing like you’re being chased. You wipe hurriedly, wanting the tears off of you, kicking back the covers, wanting everything off of you. As you wipe the salty tears from your jaw, you remember the metal on your finger.

As with the Walkman, you tear it off and throw it. It lands atop the dresser, the light catching the diamond, it sparkles back at you like a wink.

You had been so ridiculously happy on the day that Malcolm had proposed. Surrounded by your friends and family, wearing a beautiful dress, the centre of attention. Ridiculous.

You sink back down and turn onto your side, facing away from the dresser and the winking reminder that sits atop it. Sleep comes for you quickly, taking place of the crying-induced headache and drowning out the faint Commodores chorus lurking in your mind.

You’re awoken by a soft knock on the heavy wooden door. Sunlight is already pouring in through the curtains and something tells you that you missed breakfast. This will be Bradley. You let him knock again. Then, a third time. Eyes still closed, you groan softly and press your face into the pillow as a fourth and fifth knock ring out.

Stubborn asshole. You tear the covers the rest of the way back and push up from the bed, padding across the hardwood floor and pulling the door swiftly open.

Abigail and Zoe stand outside, dressed in tank tops and shorts with bathing suit strings peaking out. Your mouth falls slack as you try to close the door to cover yourself a bit.

“Oh—“ Your eyes widen, lips parting. It’s obvious to the both of them instantly that they aren’t who you were expecting to see. “Sorry, I thought you were Bradley.”

Zoe glances at Abigail, Abigail glances at Zoe, they both look down at the slightly wrinkled blue button up that falls down to your mid thighs. Bradley wore something really similar in Venice.

“We, uh — well, we’re just heading down to the lake. We were going to swim, and get some work done. Sandro gave us some snacks and some lemonade,” Zoe has a real talent for cramming as much information into as short a breath as she can, showing you the contents of the little cotton bag on her shoulder at the same time. She stops finally, allowing herself to smile in her pause. “If you… maybe wanted to come with us.”

You neither retreat or reply. For a second too long, you just look between the two of them, completely wordless.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Abigail answers quickly, she looks at Zoe and they both quickly offer you nods of agreement. “Don’t feel like you have to—“

“No— I-I— yeah. Thanks. That would be cool.” You shift your weight from foot to foot, balancing one one, toeing at the aged floorboards under you. It feels strange, wanting so badly to go with them.

Up until you reached this threshold, you were so certain that you didn’t give a damn about the way they felt about you. Maybe you don’t, really. You sure wouldn’t if you were back home. But here, the feeling of finally being invited is something weightless.

“Cool.” Zoe smiles awkwardly back at you. You wonder if your smile looks half as apologetic as hers does.

Abigail bristles to attention, shrugging her tote closer to her body and reaching down to take Zoe’s hand. “Well, we’ll wait for you downstairs? We can all head out there together.”

They’re wearing swimsuits. You should dig your swimsuit out of your case. Maybe they’ll be upset if you make them wait too long.

“Thanks, I’ll be quick.”

And then you’re walking around the left side of the house and heading across the fields, they’re explaining how wonderful Teodora is, how she told them about a wild swimming spot just over the hill.

They’re curious about you. You were so angry in the beginning, so restless and unhappy. That seems to have faded away now. They still don’t know a single thing about you really, not as much as they would like to.

“Are you feeling better? — Bradley said you weren’t feeling well.” Abigail is tall and dark-skinned, with round glasses and her curly hair usually in two French braids. Today, she’s wearing a Rolling Stones t-shirt that belonged to her father, and a pair of denim cut-offs.

“It’s not contagious, right?” Zoe adds as she trails alongside you. She’s shorter than Abigail, with dark hair and green eyes. She’s the only sophomore on the trip — you wonder what she had done to impress Bradley enough to let her come.

You shrug your shoulder bag closer to your body and make yourself smile. “Much better. I think I just didn’t drink enough water and I was tired. Just… out of sorts, I guess.”

“It’s good that Bradley was so kind to you about it,” Zoe hums absently, adjusting her thick-rimmed sunglasses. Red runner shorts and complimentary red and white striped adidas sneakers, and long tanned legs. She looks right out of a commercial — but one of the well done ones. Not cheesy or anything. “Called his office once to tell him that I couldn’t take an exam because I was super sick, that fucker didn’t believe me until I dragged myself in there and puked on those old Nikes he used to wear.”

You hum out an amused sound. That makes two of you who have puked on his shoes.

“He feels bad for me because my fiancé’s a jackass.” Maybe it’s a lie, maybe it’s the truth. You believe both sides of it, in part. Bradley does feel bad for you. But he would have held you in his arms yesterday even if he didn’t.

To them, it makes sense. There has been plenty of gossip about you over the last five weeks. Some of it, admittedly, they had engaged in. Everyone is pretty curious about why you’re getting married so young, and equally curious about all the time you’ve been spending with their cool, cocky professor.

Watching you stumble away from the group sobbing yesterday, there had been a few whispered rumours about the cause. Maybe Bradley dumped her because she wouldn’t put out. That one was especially cruel.

To Abigail, someone that heartbroken didn’t deserve to be made fun of. It had looked like your heart had been clean ripped out of your chest. She had whispered to Zoe about it last night in the darkness of their room, from the top bunk, and the two of them had decided to approach you today.

”How long have you two been together?” Abigail toes the line between prying and learning enough about you to potentially calling herself your friend. You probably should mind, but this is standard practice back home — girls who don’t care wanting information they don’t deserve. Something tells you she’s not like that.

”Since high school.” You tell her.

She slows slightly and turns her head to look back at you over her shoulder. You’re looking down at the dirt and grass and wildflowers, setting one white shoe in front of the other, denim shorts and a green blouse, that sad look on your face again. It’s different than the kind of sadness she saw in you yesterday — but it’s a look she has seen on you before.

A kind of acceptance to it, like you’re at peace with the sadness you’ve known.

”People grow a lot after high school.” It’s wonderful that you have managed to stay together. It’s probably time to call it quits. Her sentence seems unfinished and leaves you guessing, but it doesn’t condemn you to her own decision on the matter the way that Bradley’s black and white had.

You look up from the ground and meet her gaze. You smile and nod. People sure do.

Bradley gets caught up in the kitchen with Teodora as he is fixing you a plate of breakfast, guessing at your favourite morning foods. He only really dines with you in the evening.

“Is that for the girl?”

Bradley hums and nods, frowning at the cooked mushrooms. He can’t remember if you love them or hate them. After five dates, he should probably know that. He shouldn’t have been on any dates with you. They’re just mushrooms—

“She left already.” Dorie shrugs without looking up from the morning paper. Bradley’s fingers curl tighter around the plate. He turns slowly, to face her.

“She what?”

”Yes, the girl with the tattoo and the girl with the long legs,” Dorie tells him, glancing up and taking note of the panicked expression on his face. Abi and Zoe. He swallows a bit. They’ll be good to you. “They all went out by the lake to work. They’ll be back in the afternoon.”

The last time he had been here, Bradley had been hopelessly in love with another. He kept a picture of her in his wallet. Pretty little thing with her middle finger pointed right at the lense as she sunbathed topless on a beach in the south.

Teodora won’t pry, but she suspects there might be a new picture in Bradley’s wallet now.

“Oh. Right,” He sets the plate down and stares at it, unsure of what to do with the extra food now. “I… I guess I’ll get started with some work. I’ll be in the sitting room.”

She nods politely at him, he sets the plate in the fridge and leaves to gather his work things. God, he hopes they’ll be good to you. He had been so afraid that Dorie was going to tell him you had jumped on a flight back to the States. He has more time.

He was up practically all night, thinking of that loser’s hands on you. It makes him sick to remember how limp you had been in his arms when he had first picked you up from the snow.

The sitting room in the Gabris estate is sprawling — it’s a real space to entertain. There were a lot of parties here back in the day. Now, there’s a dust sheet over the piano and the nude portrait of Teodora’s lover is gone from above the mantle.

Bradley settles down into an armchair and pulls together his notes, sun pouring through the windows, a fog settling across his thoughts. 3pm. Three PM. That’s when he hears the eruption of laughter, bubbling up and spilling through the house. After that, comes the sound of wet shoes squeaking on the hardwood.

His chin propped against his fist, he cranes his neck as Zoe appears first in the hallway. She spots him and stops like a caught kid, her mouth falling open. Then, you. Then, Abi. All three of you are soaked head to toe, dripping water onto the floors.

You stare back at him dwarfing the patterned armchair, surrounded by papers, peering at you over the top of his reading glasses. He doesn’t say a thing, taking his time in looking the three of you over. Finally, his lips twitch.

”We went swimming.” Zoe breathes out, laughing.

Bradley hums against his hand, his eyes visibly flicker from your bare feet to the soaked clothes clinging to your body, and finally at your face. From behind his fist, a smirk toys at his lips.

He’s so grateful to see you look so mischievous. Anything but the way you were looking at him yesterday.

”I can see that,” He agrees, amusement dripping from his voice. Your smile turns sheepish as you cross your arms in front of your hips and shift your weight from left to right, and back again. “Did you get those pages that I asked you for all done.

”Most of ‘em.” Zoe nods. Eighty-percent still counts as most. Besides, you know that Bradley will listen if you plead your case. He hums again, a sound of understanding this time, and inches his knees further apart as he sits upright.

”Well, I take it that you’ll be a bit late to our study session.” He’s looking right at you with that devilishly handsome smile on his face, and a softness to his eyes that makes you want to pour yourself right into his lap.

“Shit,” You snap out of it, whipping your head around to look for a clock. Bradley glances down at his watch, already fully aware that you’re forty minutes late. He looks back to you, smiling. “I’ll get changed.”

”I’ll be here.” He tells you, looking back down to his work.

You glance down at the puddle you’re leaving on the floor, and then back up at the girls. They watch you blink like you’re remembering that they’re there.

“We’ll come up with you.” Abigail nods for you to go ahead and Zoe slips her palms into yours.

Bradley glances at the exchange over the top of his workbook, her hand in yours. The smile on your face as you peer back at them and head for the stairs. He bites the inside of his cheek and finally exhales.

His next breath in feels a little bit easier.

“So, how long do you usually have to spend with Bradley every afternoon?” Zoe asks, padding up the wooden stairs behind you. They creak with every step, but not enough for you to pretend not to have heard her question.

You shrug your shoulders, trying to at cool about it. Bradley would at cool about it. He doesn’t seem ashamed at all.

“It depends. He gives me different tasks to do. Sometimes we get through them quickly, other times he decides to be an ass about it.” That feels about right.

“Like class work?”

“Yeah,” You glance back over your shoulder as you reach the landing. “I’m not much use to him as a research assistant if I still don’t understand the class material. You know?”

“Right.” Abigail nods along with you.

“Well, I’d better go get dry…” You remember, gesturing to your door. They both nod along, but you don’t move. You hug your shoes and your bag to your chest and try to smile. “Thanks for inviting me today. I appreciate it.”

“Any time. You’re a good time.” Zoe grins, lifting her arm and draping it casually around Abigail’s shoulders.

Your goodbye is a brief nod and a pleased smile, before you turn and head back to your room. You strip out of your clothes and leave them to dry against the open window, then throw on something dry.

Bradley hears your shoes racing down the stairs and closes his book. You grab the archway and swing around the corner into the sitting room.

“Okay — ready.”

He braces his elbows against his knees and gives a small shake of his head, lips quirked. “Not here.”

The two of you walk along the dirt path in the opposite direction to the lake. Up ahead of you is a mile long stretch of trees, behind you is the Gabris’ courtyard. Bradley’s two paces in front with a cigarette dangling from his lips and his books tucked under his arm.

His shorts make his legs look even longer, up high on his thighs and stretched around the muscle. His sneakers still aren’t something a college professor would wear, but you’ve grown to like them. They’re very… him.

His oversized shirts and his white sneakers, and the gold pendant that sits between his collarbones are all parts of him that you have grown to adore. The curls at the nape of his neck and the way his broad shoulders slope down into his waist.

There are plenty of things that you could name.

The smell of tobacco that follows him isn’t one of those things.

“That’s a filthy habit.” You call ahead to him.

Bradley turns his head and looks at you over the top of his gold-rimmed sunglasses, grinning amusedly, “Yeah, I’ve got a couple of those. You might be familiar with a few.”

Your mouth twitches. You almost smile at him, briefly considering that downright awful habit he’s got of delving between your thighs. Then, your face twists into a strictly unamused scowl.

“Did you pick it up when you were in the Navy?” You ask, jogging to keep up with him.

“Kinda.” He answers you, looking down at you briefly before he checks ahead again. It’s not important to mention the cigarettes behind the science building in high school; that was more an act of defiance than an addiction.

“Have you ever tried to quit?”

“Is this you asking me to?” He replies, crossing over into the tree line, shade pouring over the two of you. You watch as he takes the cigarette between his fingers and flicks ash onto the floor, branches crunching under his feet.

You follow alongside him. “Would you, if I asked you to?”

“Would you put up with me being a lot grumpier?” He asks in return.

“Probably not.”

He huffs out a dry chuckle. Finally, he stubs the cigarette out. You follow him through the woods like his shadow until you reach a clearing. It’s a pleasant mix of sun and shade, a nice place to wait out the glaring afternoon heat. This is routine by now, you sit down beside each other and he tells you what you’re doing, then you each get to it.

He’s working on his book. His face gets real serious when he’s working on his book. Makes him look older, more mature. Almost makes you forget how deviously handsome he looks when he’s grinning at you, when he looks so handsome like this.

You’re translating prose. Poetry about lust and temptation. He would have switched out the curriculum but resources are limited out here, and you don’t say a word about disliking the work he has given you. He’s afraid to ask.

To burst this bubble of blissful ignorance you’ve got going, like yesterday never happened.

”So, Zoe and Abi — did you guys have fun today?” He asks without looking up from his work. That feels like a safe enough question. You’re laying on your stomach and don’t bother to stop working to look at him either.

”Mhm. Zoe’s clothes fell off the branch and got soaked, so we figured we’d all just jump in dressed. Cooled us off on the way home.”

He glances up, smiling softly. “Look at you — walking on the wild side.”

”I know, right?” You scoff.

He looks back down to his work, examining the artwork on the left page.

“So… how are you feeling today?” He asks cautiously. About Malcolm, of course. Bradley has noticed that you aren’t wearing your ring. You’d barely remembered taking it off. It doesn’t feel any different without it. It’s not exactly life-altering. It’s just jewellery.

”Mixed up,” You owe him honesty at least, considering your complicated relationship. You shrug your shoulders weakly and frown at the page. “Confused. Angry.”

He just nods.

She turns her head to look at him. Laying on his side, pretending to organise his notes, his sunglasses masking his expression.

”I don’t want it to change things.”

”How?” Bradley answers a little too quickly for a man pretending to be otherwise occupied. His brows draw together as he meets your gaze through those darkened lenses.

“Between us,” You tell him, resting your cheek against your hand and tilting your head just slightly. Laying in the grass, about a foot away from him. Close enough for him to reach out and trail his fingers from the centre of your back to the nape of your neck, and back again. You smile softly. “I like you, you know?”

…

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @cassiemitchele @himbos-on-ice @wkndwlff @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @cherrycola27@ahoyyharrington @kmc1989 @sugarcoated-lame

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The Odyssey | 1.2 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

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Bradley just can’t keep his hands, or his thoughts, to himself. People are starting to notice.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), swearing, infidelity, making out, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, handjobs, cum, bradley dislikes her fiancé, deception, also inaccuracies in the timeline of Pompeii and the telling of Greek mythology, 18+ minors dni, wc: 7.5k

…

“So there are rumours in the city that Psyche is the second coming of Venus, or the daughter of Venus — something like that. But, Venus — Aphrodite — sends her son Cupid — Eros — to shoot Psyche with an arrow to make her fall in love with something hideous.”

You’ve read stories like this before.

“He scratches himself with the arrow, and falls in love with Psyche the second that he sees her. But Psyche’s two sisters are married already, and no one seems to want to marry Psyche, so her dad starts to think they’ve incurred the wrath of the gods. He consults the oracle, and is told that Psyche is going to be married to this hideous, terrifying dragon-creature.”

“Ew.” You scoff.

He snorts. “This part of the story is where it gets kind of interesting. The oracle says that she is to be left on a cliff for her new husband, and they send her there in her funeral attire. Death and marriage become just the one central theme of being a total transition into the unknown.”

You’re quiet against him. He pauses. The ugly lampshade seems drawn to the rock on your finger, making it twinkle in the light.

“Anyway, Zephyrus — which is the god and personification of the Westerly wind, which is the most favourable of — I’ll explain it another time. Zephyrus gets Pysche ready to meet her fated match, and sets her in a meadow, where she falls asleep. She falls asleep in this perfect place, and wakes up transported to a kind of grove.”

You rise and fall with his chest as he sighs.

“Then, she finds this incredible house, with big golden columns, a carved ceiling and silver walls embossed with wild animals, and mosaic floors,” Bradley glances down at your fingers toying with the buttons on his shirt. He squeezes your waist. “And a voice comes out of nowhere telling herself to make herself at home, and she’s presented with a great feast.”

“The dragon doesn’t sound so bad.” You mumble into his chest, drawing a breathy chuckle from him.

“Well— she doesn’t trust him so easily. She’s impressed, but terrified. But, y’know, he’s her husband, and it’s technically their wedding night. So she lets herself be guided to her bedroom at night where she has sex in complete darkness, with something that she can’t see.”

“The dragon?”

“Well, he never lets her look at him. He always leaves before sunrise and doesn’t allow her to look at him. But she learns to like his visits, and becomes pregnant — in this version, anyway — but her family haven’t heard from her at all, so her husband allows Zephyrus to bring one of Psyche’s sisters to visit her.”

You’ve got plenty of opinions on what you have heard so far, but you keep them to yourself as Bradley continues with the tale.

“Her sister is jealous of how happy Psyche is, in this magical house, with her mysterious husband, you know? — So, she kind of reminds Psyche that he’s supposed to be this gross monster, who will kill the child when it’s born. She manipulates Psyche into wanting to know who her husband really is.”

“So, one night after her husband has fallen asleep, Psyche finds an oil lamp and a dagger — to find out if her husband is a monster, and to kill him if he is,” Bradley shifts his hips, stiffening as you sit forwards and press a soft kiss to the glimpse of his chest under his shirt. “And um… well, she sees him and he’s beautiful. Incredible. She’s so happy. But, she spills oil from the lamp on his skin, and he knows that she has betrayed him by looking, so he leaves her.”

“Why was he so against her seeing him if he was so beautiful?” You sit up and turn around, barely noticing as Bradley catches hold of your knee. He tugs it over his lap and pulls you across him, sitting you against his middle.

“Because he defied his mother by not making her fall for something disgusting. Aphrodite wouldn’t have allowed them to be together,”

“Oh, I understand.” You confirm, resting your hands against his stomach.

“So first, Psyche sees the god Pan. He recognises how in love she is, and she recognises his divinity. Then, she starts to walk the world looking for her love. She starts by going back to her sisters and telling them what happened, but they’re both pissed that her husband was Eros. So, both sisters try to offer themselves as a replacement to him by climbing the rock face and casting themselves to Zephyrus, but they both fall to their deaths.”

You frown, which seems to spark amusement in him. He gives you a calm shrug and tugs at your hips, making you flinch as the cold metal of his belt touches the warm skin of your inner thigh.

“So, Psyche keeps on wandering, looking for Eros. She comes across the temple of Ceres, and finds all of these offerings that are thrown everywhere and — it’s a mess. So she organizes it all, because offerings to the gods shouldn’t be neglected, and Ceres appears to her. Psyche begs her for help, and Ceres acknowledges that she needs it, but can’t offer any help because she can’t go against a fellow goddess.”

You shift uncomfortably, pushing away from his belt and settling against his thigh instead.

“Um… right, so after Ceres, the same thing happens at the Temple of Juno, and Psyche realizes that she has to pledge herself to Venus. This is what Venus wanted all along, right? — So, she turns Psyche over to her two Handmaids, Worry and Sadness, for her to be tortured. They ruin her clothes, and hurt her, and mock her for conceiving a child in a sham marriage.”

Your face creases, frowning back at him.

“Venus leaves her with this huge mass of different grains, and demands that they’re all sorted into different heaps by dawn. But a little ant takes pity of Psyche, and assembles a fleet to complete the task for her. We also find out around this point that Eros is in the same house, recovering from a wound, but he doesn’t know that Psyche is there.”

His hands bracket your thighs, and they have been since he sat you in his lap. Watching his Adam’s apple rise and fall with every word, your lips twitch at the corners as you think of the other day in the library. His lips on your neck.

“At dawn, Venus sets her a second task. She has to cross a river, and fetch golden wool from an untameable, aggressive sheep on the other side. Well, Psyche’s heartbroken and worn down by this point, so she plans to drown herself in the river, but she is saved by a reed and gathers the wool caught on the briars of it.

He can see it on your face that you’re up to something, but he pauses to let you kiss him anyway. Soft, and slow. His hands grabbing firm at your waist.

His lips graze yours, his nose brushing your cheek as he continues on with Pysche’s tale, fingers curling into the pale pink chiffon.

“For her third task, Venus gives her this little crystal vial and sends her to collect the black water from the river Styx. So, Psyche climbs the cliff face to get to it, and as she does,” Bradley is interrupted mid sentence as you press forwards and kiss his mouth once more, then the corner of his lips. He hums softly and tries to recapture his train of thought. “She’s attacked by the dragons that surround it — Jupiter himself takes pity on her and sends his eagle to protect her from the beasts and collect the water.”

Your nose brushes the curve of his jaw, soft lips parted just enough to tickle his skin with your cool breath right before you close them around his pulse point and suck.

He’s holding your hips, nice and steady — he could pull you back and stop you, but he doesn’t. His long fingers dig into the meat of your thighs.

“Keep going, what happens next?” You urge him, pushing lightly at his chest and pressing another longing kiss to the length of his throat. Your fingertips slip under the unbuttoned top of his shirt, skimming the flushed skin underneath.

He swallows, leaning his head back against the wooden headboard. You gasp softly as he squeezes firmly at your waist and lifts his hips from the bed.

“So, for the last trial, Venus sends her to the underworld to collect a dose of beauty from Proserpina, the queen of the underworld,” He’s painfully aware that his voice has grown thick and that he’s blushing like a kid, and suddenly the details of the story seem a little bit blurrier. Then, your tongue dips out from between your lips and wets the spot you had just kissed — exactly the way he does.

“Christ.” He chokes out, letting his head fall forwards to rest against your shoulder. “Do you get off on trying to make me cum in my pants or something?”

It’s at that point that he remembers exactly who he is speaking to, and how you’ve reacted to this kind of profanity before. Nose wrinkled, he’s wincing as he pulls back to look at you again.

You’re smiling. Well, biting at your cheeks in an effort not to, but smiling nonetheless. Your nose is wrinkled too, like you’re trying not to like the idea quite as much as you do.

“Oh, you do.” He scoffs.

“No, I just…” You huff and then shrug, glancing down at that loose button on his shirt. He watches your fingers toy with it absently, painfully aware of how his straining cock is wedged against his thigh. “Hadn’t really thought about myself being sexy before. I mean you’ve given plenty of people orgasms, right?”

He knows better than to answer that question, so he just stares back in response.

“I don’t think I’ve ever come close.” You tell him.

His hands feel electric as they skim under that pretty pink dress, a twinkle in his eyes and a slight quirk to the right corner of his mouth. “Now who’s thinking too much, huh?”

With that, he kisses you. The deep and dirty kind as he presses forwards and grabs hold of the back of your neck. Every time, the surprise gets you and makes you part your lips. His tongue dips into your mouth as he pushes his hips off of bed and into yours. Only, this time, whatever he does has you making the sweetest little sound.

Right against his mouth too, a pleased little mewl. He groans right back onto your lips, fingertips trailing over the fabric of your underwear all of a sudden. You had been too distracted to even notice them creeping their way up your thigh.

Heart racing, your fingers skim into the curls at the nape of his neck, eyes locked on him. Swallowing hard, you glance down towards his just parted lips and catch sight of your lipstick printed faintly on the side of his neck. A beat passes where he just watches you studying his lips, waiting for you to kiss him.

Finally, you lean forwards and your cushioned lips are on his once again. Pouted and oh, so gentle. His fingers curl at the back of your neck, his nose bumping yours as he takes lead and lets you sink into the feeling of him.

Even with the thin linen of his shirt, and the slight crack in the window to the left of the bed, Bradley hasn’t ever felt quite so hot.

“Can I feel you?” He asks against your mouth, trailing the pad of his thumb across your clit through the thin fabric of your underwear.

“If I can feel you.” It’s not an exactly well thought-through plan, you don’t have the logistics of it figured out, but he’s kissing feverishly across your face and, what with it pressing into your thigh, there’s only one thing on your mind.

“I can’t, baby—“

“It’s just touching.” The second that the words are out of your mouth, you’re struck with a strange kind of deja vu. Not here, not with him. An outer body kind of thing. Either way, you aren’t left with much time to think about it as Bradley dips forwards and captures your mouth once again.

You let yourself fall with him, even with little choice once he wraps you in his arms, and he turns the two of you until you’re on your back and he’s between your legs.

This is exactly what got you so worked up earlier, so afraid. It feels so right to be moving in sync with him like this, your hands, your mouths, your bodies. His weight pressing into your stomach and his thick arms bracketing your body, engulfing you in him.

As he nips and rocks and caresses, you’re happy. It couldn’t possibly be wrong if it just feels this easy. His blue jeans are tented, straining against the pink of your dress, his shirt untucked and messy.

It’s like the two of you think of his shirt at once, as he props himself up with one hand and tears open those already loosely attached buttons with the other. All the while, his mouth is hot on yours, deep, soft sounds spilling from his lips.

He pulls it swiftly off of his shoulders and drops it haphazardly onto the floor, then there’s a pause. He’s sitting back on his ankles, both of you struck with the same thought once again. His gaze falls down to your dress.

“Should… Do you want me to take it off?” You figure, bringing your hands up to cover your chest, still blinking at his freshly exposed skin. Wide, angled shoulders, sitting square and rising and falling heavily with each breath. His skin taut with muscles, but without the definition of a man who keeps them for an ego boost. Tanned skin, dusted with light brown hair.

“I want you to,” He gives a slow nod of his head. “But I can work around it.”

“No, okay… I can take it off,” You lift one hand to stop him and swiftly tear it back the second that it touches his bare stomach. “Just— give me a second— the zipper—“

Bradley hooks one arm under your hips, and the other under your back, hugging you swiftly to his body and covering you with his weight. You squeak quietly as his fingers curl around the zipper and his lips work feverishly across your jaw.

The zipper barely whines as he pulls it slowly along the length of your spine, feeling the material go loose between the two of you. His mouth follows the sound south, feverish at your neck and down to your clavicle.

Squeezing your eyes tight shut, you let you shoulders relax and the material fall slack, giving his hands the freedom to tear it off and discard it like he had his shirt. Even so, the second that his warm mouth touches the centre of your chest, you push back into the pillows, scorched by the feeling.

“You want me to zip it back up?” Bradley asks coolly, one of his hands squeezing softly at your balled up fist. You hadn’t even noticed you were grabbing at the bedsheets like that.

“No, I just — — don’t want to watch when you see me.”

And that just about breaks his heart. He thinks back to the phone call he had that night in December, when Malcolm had finally picked up. Bradley had been standing beside your bed with that stupid plastic phone in his hand, keeping you on your side so that you didn’t choke if you puked — and that little shithead had answered laughing.

At first, Bradley had regretted threatening the little weasel. It could have cost him his career, especially if you had decided to flip the narrative on what happened in his car — luckily you hadn’t remembered that part. But god, hearing the arrogance and thoughtlessness, Bradley doesn’t regret threatening to knock some sense into that kid one bit.

And now, seeing what eight years of supposedly loving that kid has brought you to, he doesn’t regret what he’s about to do either. In fact, what he’s about to do might be a little bit to do with the fact that he would purposely like to spite your fiancé.

“Why don’t you want to watch?”

“I don’t know. In case you don’t like me.”

“Oh, I like you,” You hear him breathe out a chuckle as his hand reaches across yours, peeling your fingers off of the bedsheets and stroking his thumb across your relaxed knuckles. “C’mere. Feel.”

As expected, it works like a charm. Your eyes spring open so wide they look for a moment like they’re going to pop right out of your head. Heat spreads like wildfire, starting in the tips of your ears — it engulfs your face and your chest, spreading down your arms with no sign of stopping.

Sitting back on his knees, his chest bare and his shoulders squared proudly, he’s looking you right in the eye as he squeezes his hand around yours. Under your palm, still within the confines of his jeans, you can feel all of him, straining against the denim.

“Okay, but men get erections over ridiculous things sometimes—“ You reason as you pull your hand away from him. He lets it go instantly, but follows your hand away, planting his free hand into the pillow beside you and forcing you to lean back as he comes in close.

You think first of all that you’re ready for what he’s going to say. Then, he leans in closer. All the way past your face until his lips are grazing your ear.

“You want to know why I’m hard?”

“Mm.” You croak out, fingers once again balled into the sheets.

“I’m hard because I can’t stop thinking about how wet you were that night in Venice, and how you kissed me the next morning. You know you talk in your sleep?” His voice against your earlobe makes you shiver and pull back, frowning disapprovingly.

“I do not.”

“You do, baby — do you know how hard it is for a man to get a good night’s sleep when you’re whispering his name?” He turns his head towards your face and kisses your jaw softly, reaching out and grabbing at your hips. He tugs you just a bit closer and the dress falls just slightly. You let it go.

And before you know it, your fingers are curled into his hair, your legs are wrapped around his waist and he’s unhooking that pretty pink dress from your left ankle. The second that it’s off completely, his hands go for his belt. The leather clangs against the metal buckle and against the button on his jeans loudly as he fumbles to work it open one handed. His other hand cups your jaw. His thumb sits on your left cheek, his four fingers sit on your right, he holds your head straight as he sucks at the supple skin of your bottom lip.

“Fuck me…” Bradley mutters, his forehead inches from yours. Looking down between your two bodies, both of his hands abandon their previous posts and go for your middle. Instinctively, you lift your knees, hunching forwards in an attempt to cover yourself. “Stop, honey, let me see.”

“You’ve seen plenty of women.” You remind him, crossing your arms over the unlined, unremarkable, comfortable bra covering your chest.

Bradley teeters on the edge of being amused or upset by your comment. You’re nervous. He’ll give you that one. He looks up at you as he crouches between your legs, “So, I know what I’m talking about, huh?”

With that, he leans down and presses his lips to your stomach, right below your belly button.

“I could look at you all day.” He tells your skin, without looking up from his onslaught of delicate kisses, his fingers walking along the curve of your waist and back down again to your hips. As his hands skim down to your thighs, he takes note of just how much you’re trembling. Finally, he lets his lip graze the waistband of your underwear.

If he was being really truthful, and if he wasn’t holding back, he would’ve popped open the clasp on that bra about a minute and a half ago. Bradley has seen just about every kind of underwear there is to see, and his favourite has always remained the same.

There’s quite simply no better alternative to naked. His mouth works along your navel, headed straight for the apex of your thighs, and he thinks to himself that he couldn’t care less about what kind of underwear you’re wearing, until he sees it.

He’s on his front, face to face with the pink underwear with an embroidered Wednesday across the front. It is, indeed, Wednesday.

“These,” He rubs softly at each of your hips, pressing a wet kiss to the embroidery. “Are very cute.”

“Oh my god, no—“

“But I want them off.”

That’s what that look in his eyes is. You get it now, as he curls his fingers into the sides of your underwear, and it makes your stomach erupt into butterflies. The last time he took your underwear off, he didn’t get that good of a look — this time, you’ll be naked. But, he still has you nodding dumbly at him.

“Wait — yours too.” You realize.

Bradley nods his head, gently guiding the pink underwear down your legs. He’s not looking at your face. He’s practically salivating. “I will. I just want a taste.”

He lifts your legs upwards, slipping the panties off of your ankles, dropping them to the bed and grabbing the backs of your thighs. Legs pressed together and pushed back toward your abdomen just slightly, you can’t quite see his face, but your skin is hot with the knowledge of exactly what he’s looking at.

There’s a moment before you feel anything at all, where you know that he is just staring. It takes everything in your power to make yourself keep still, not squirm away, to not say something stupid.

Then, you feel his fingers right there, trailing through your excitement, examining exactly how you’re feeling about him. You turn your face sharply to the left, aiming for the respite of hiding it in a pillow. But next, he sits forwards and grabs your hips, lifting them off of the bed and bringing you to his mouth.

Right as your heart feels like it’s about to burst out of your chest, you feel his lips on you, kissing softly, following mostly the same pattern his fingers had. The tip of his nose bumps your clit as he flattens his tongue and licks upwards until he’s at that sensitive bundle of nerves.

But he doesn’t stay there. With how you’re trembling against him, he knows better than to overstimulate you. The last thing he wants is to make you cry on your second time at this. His mouth turns towards your thighs, sucking and kissing at random.

Your soft skin, bristled by his rough jaw. He can tell you’re trying so hard to sit still for him. You’re so polite when you want to be.

Then, he’s right back where he wants to be, his mouth presses firmly to your soaked core and he does the exact same thing once again. Familiarity is the easiest path to comfort. His tongue follows that slow, familiar stripe up to your clit and flicks softly at it. Then, he presses impossibly closer and wraps his lips around the sensitive bud, sucking softly.

“Oh—“ You squirm, trying to reach for his shoulders, your thighs pushing back against him.

Finally, he relents. You want to touch him and that joke about ruining these jeans is about to become a reality if he doesn’t do something soon. Your head spins as he moves between your legs and kisses at your mouth, eyes open and blinking as you taste yourself on his lips.

The sound of a zipper breaks through the surprise, eyes widening further as you watch him shove his jeans down his legs.

“Still with me?” Bradley checks, kissing the corner of your lips as his jeans hit the floor. You swallow softly, glancing down at him kneeling between your legs. He’s wearing loose fitted blue boxers — well, you imagine they looked more loose before. All that’s separating him from you is that thin cotton material.

“Mhm.”

“Still want to touch me? — Tell the truth, honey. That’s all I want.” Your eyes are closed, head tipped back as he sucks his way along your jaw. You nod weakly at him, wondering if you look half as wild as you feel.

“Yeah.” You follow his mouth, chasing his lips until he kisses you hard.

You lean in once again to kiss him the second that he pulls back, and then, blinking slowly at him, a fluttering erupts in your chest. Pride surges through your ribs and into your stomach as you take note of the darkened hunger and arousal in his expression.

“But you can’t laugh at me.” You breathe out, willing that funny feeling in your stomach to just go away so that you can focus.

Every single word that spills out of your mouth, Bradley gets that little bit closer to knocking your fiancé on his ass the second that the two of you are back at home. He wonders what this asshole possibly said to you to make you so timid.

“‘M not laughing.” Bradley answers you, his voice calm as his hands skim over your naked hips. He swallows softly as he reaches for his own boxers, settling down at your side as he pushes them down his legs.

Suddenly, you’re far from laughing too. Your mouth is dry as he lays down and pumps his hand once around the length of his dick. It sits just below his belly button, standing to attention, swollen and red. Impressive. Big, like the rest of him.

He tucks an arm under your waist and pulls you across the bed, into him. Your stomach presses into his length while his fingers curl around the curve of your ass, teasing that line between your thigh and your pussy.

“Can I have a kiss?” Bradley whispers, nudging at the tip of nose with his to guide your head back. He knows that’s where your confidence lies. You’re smiling softly as you dip forwards to kiss him, well within your comfort zone. “Thanks, honey. Can I have your hand?”

As he asks, his hand inches forward until you can feel him once again brushing through your excitement. Another slow kiss, sucking softly at your top slip as he pulls back.

The tip of his index finger swipes through gently, his throat thickening his voice with desire. Your hips push back, and the tip of his finger slides in with no resistance.

You press your lips together, presenting your open palm for him to use. Bradley pulls back to look at your surprisingly steady hand. With the hand that isn’t toying between your legs, he takes hold of it and brings it to his dick.

He knows there has to be some natural curiosity buried under all of those nerves, and he’s not into the idea of using you like a doll. He takes your thumb between two of his fingers, swiping it through the pearl of precum on his tip, and down toward his shaft. Then, he lets your hand go.

With the hand that’s between your legs, his finger presses in again, further this time, and you squeeze around him in response. You trail three fingers from the top all the way down to the base of his pelvis. It’s smoother than you thought it would feel. Fuller. Just… not what you were expecting, maybe.

With one finger inside of you, his others explore between your legs, the long digits easily reaching across your lips and stretching towards your clit. You tuck your head between his shoulder and jaw, cuddling close to his chest as your fingers sprawl across the soft, ridged skinned of his length.

It’s not the most comfortable for him, stretching his arm around you like this, but he’s so entranced in watching you touch him that he forgets to mind.

You gasp sharply as his finger presses deeper than before, curling into a spongy part of your walls. Bradley kisses the sound away, his free hand coming up to cup the side of your throat.

“Does that feel good?” He whispers against your lips, kisses growing eager as he pushes his hips forwards, rocking himself against your bare stomach. You squeak back, nodding your head at him.

“Can you show me what to do?” You’re both being so quiet, sharing breaths and whispering even though you’re just about as close as two people could possibly be. Bradley takes your hand again, at once he pulls his finger out of you and dips yours between your own legs. Reeling, you just watch as he circles your clit with your fingers, soaking them before pulling back.

By the time he wraps your hand around his cock, eclipsing it with his own, it’s plenty slick. He lifts it slowly, and drags it back down, pumping it a few times on his length.

“Just like that, little firmer — yeah — yeah, that’s good,” He murmurs, now able to reach back between your legs more directly. He captures your mouth into one of his specialty dizzying, open-mouthed kisses as he presses his middle finger back into you. “Fuck, you’re so, so wet.”

It occurs to him briefly that maybe he’s in too deep — if this is how his first attempt at trying to convince you to further your studies has ended. It doesn’t stop him in the slightest.

He slows his motions next, rocking his hips into your hand as his ring finger hugs his middle and toys at your entrance before easing into you. You gasp, wincing slightly.

“Shh, shh… does that hurt?” Bradley whispers, searching your face for answers as your hand stills around him.

“A bit.” You croak out.

“Come here, honey, just give it one second. Tell me if it hurts any more.” Your head drops back down to his chest as the rough pad of his thumb circles at your clit. Trusting his expertise, you put your attention into touching him instead, guiding your hand up and down along his length. He pants softly, his heartbeat thudding against your cheek.

Slowly, he starts to work his fingers into you, moving them just barely to accommodate you to the feeling. A gentle curl of the two digits has you crying out softly into his bare skin. His cock twitches in your hand in response.

It’s been a long time since he has felt so out of his depth. He’s afraid of stepping a foot out of line. He wants you to trust him. It’s why he hasn’t yet snapped open the clasp on your bra — he doesn’t want to grope at you like some animal and scare you off. Getting to that point seems like a long stretch away.

But, the way you exhale softly and lift your head to kiss at his neck calms his nerves just a bit.

As his fingers push in further together, spurred on by the needy mewling noises you’re making, Bradley suddenly remembers the throbbing in his dick.

A pleased moan spills from your swollen lips as you drag them across his collarbones and along the protruding vein in the side of his neck, your hand still loosely working at a steady rhythm around him.

“Faster.” He hums into your mouth, rocking his hips eagerly into your hand as he curls his fingers into you. You keen helplessly into the feeling, squeezing your palm tighter and doing exactly what he had. A simple up and down tug.

“God, you’re the sweetest fuckin’ thing.” He doesn’t swear with you often, and really you’re not much of a fan of men with dirty mouths usually — but this, the gravel and desperation spilling from his voice has you throwing yourself at him, rocking yourself onto his fingers. “Taking it so well.”

Your mouth hangs open, legs spreading wider apart for him to angle himself closer. Bradley studies the look on your face, breathing heavy, knowing that if he does see you in his classroom in September, he’s in big trouble.

He’s not sure how he’ll ever look at you again and not think of this wide-eyed, trusting expression on your face.

His free hand comes up to brush your hair back off of your forehead, not quite noticing the lovestruck way you’re watching him as your stomach starts to tighten and tremble. His lips press softly to your forehead, just above your eyebrow, and then your cheek, just below your eye.

“You’re perfect.” He whispers, smiling at the way it makes your mouth hang open in a rounder shape. Then, he leans in and sucks softly at your bottom lip. “How’s it feeling?”

You swallow through the dryness in your mouth, suddenly remembering to close it, then you try to nod at him. “Good.”

“Real good, or just good?” He nudges at the tip of your nose with his, fucking his hips into your hand as his skilled fingers drive the thoughts out of your head. Another slow, dirty kiss and it feels like you might just melt into him and become one if he does it again.

“Real good.” You whimper.

You’re hugging his fingers so tight that you wouldn’t even have to be touching him for him to still be on the verge of cumming already. He gasps and covers your hand with his, slowing it around his cock as his fingers continue into you relentlessly.

“Was — Did I hurt you?”

“The opposite.” Bradley reassures you, breathing hard as he starts to slowly guide your hand along him again. “You almost made me cum.”

Your eyes hurry open, right as something Bradley does makes you squirm right into him and gasp out loud. He watches you watching him, trying to see what you’re doing, what it looks like.

“Oh — mm, don’t… you want to?” Your other hand comes up to grab firmly at his thick shoulder as your eyes squeeze shut again. You can barely feel your legs. Bradley grunts softly in your ear, his thumb working firm circles around your sensitive clit.

“Not ‘til you do.”

Luckily for him, he doesn’t have to wait long. Well, really there is nothing lucky about it. His moves are tried and tested. Before you know it, you’re coming all over his hand, babbling against the hot skin of his neck as you try to find the right word. Legs trembling, you cling onto his shoulder as he rocks your other hand around his length.

You can feel how close he is, how close he wants to be to you. He’s practically engulfing you, turning his face towards your neck and groaning enough to make you wish he hadn’t ever stopped touching you.

“I’m gonna cum.” Bradley seems to realize at once that you probably aren’t going to like what’s about to happen. He kisses you hard as he untangles your fingers from his and takes over, pressing his weight into you, chasing his own high.

Grabbing firmly at your waist, he pulls you against him and breathes hard into the crook of your neck, making it unmistakable as he groans your name. You watch, lips parted, as he coats his hand in his release, the fluid dripping onto his taut, shaking stomach.

“God, fuck—“ Bradley pants, swallowing hard and letting his head fall back against the pillow. So much for trying to keep his hands off of you.

You push yourself up so that you’re sitting, curling your knees up to your chest, taking a moment to observe him while his eyes are closed. All golden skin and soft lines, broad and strong. If he existed all those years ago, someone certainly would have wanted to carve him out of stone too.

“So, how does that myth end?”

He hums in amusement from beside you as his blurred thoughts start to come back to him. He’d almost forgotten what you had both even been talking about. He swallows thickly and glances down at the mess he has made on his hand.

“They survive it all, and get married,” He answers simply as he pushes himself up from the bed and searches for something to clean himself with.

Making a trip to the shared bathroom on this floor would probably be frowned upon in his current state.

“Their baby in the story goes on to be Voluptas — she’s known as the goddess of sensual pleasures.” He settles on a hand towel that seems untouched, and wiping off his hand and his stomach, then his dick. He turns around and finds you staring at him like he grew an extra head.

Quickly, you stand up and look towards the window like you hadn’t been staring.

“They went through all that just for it to be fine in the end.” You muse, shaking your head slightly as you grab your pyjama set and step into them, buttoning the shirt over your bare chest.

Now clothed in his boxers, Bradley presses his chest into your back and mouths softly at your neck.

“That’s how it always goes, more or less, right?” He decides, closing his eyes finally, turning his face towards your hair. You hum quietly. There’s a soft pause as his hand brushes over your bare stomach under your pajama shirt and then grabs firmly at your waist again. He sighs. “I should go.”

There’s no way he’ll be able to sneak out of here in the morning. You’ve all got an early checkout and with everyone being on the same floor, he’s just asking to get caught sneaking out of your room.

You whine quietly and turn towards him.

“Really?”

“Unless you want to explain to the class exactly what I was doing in your room all night, baby, yeah.” He murmurs, kissing the top of your head. Despite your tired protests, you do let him leave without either one of you speaking about the line you have once again crossed.

He lets himself into his room, shirt barely buttoned, belt barely fastened. Luke is sitting upright with his back against the headboard of his twin bed, eating a packet of miniature cookies and watching an Italian dub of The Golden Girls.

They meet eyes, silent as the door clicks shut behind Bradley. It’s 3:45am. Luke hasn’t seen Bradley since they parted ways after the class dinner at 10pm.

“Hey, buddy.” Bradley mumbles, kicking his shoes off and already starting to unbutton his shirt.

“Hey.” Luke mumbles back, eyeing Bradley curiously. They haven’t spent much time together recently. Luke has noticed that he basically has the room to himself.

He scoops up a handful of the cookies and fills his mouth as Bradley strips out of his jeans. His head is turned strictly towards the staticky television, but his eyes peek quickly across at the lipstick mark on Bradley’s neck.

Again, Bradley doesn’t want to talk about it. He makes the most of his couple of hours of sleep and drags himself out of bed once again all too soon, packing his belongings for another day of travel. They make small talk as the two of them head down to the lobby.

Luke walks right ahead, greeting Robin’s tonsils with his tongue before he greets her verbally. Bradley strolls behind, dropping his bags to the floor and stretching his neck from side to side.

“So, what’s in Monteriggioni anyway, Brad?” Zoe asked, draped across the couch with her arms folded over her chest. She’s wearing a little pink tank top, looking at him over the top of a book she’s reading for him. This is the least hungover he has seen her in weeks.

“It’s a walled town — but we’re staying around forty minutes away from there.” He explains, dropping his sunglasses down onto the bridge of his nose.

“Where?” Abigail pipes up, sipping on a bottle of water.

“It’s someone’s house. He takes study assistants through the summer. Worked with him a couple of times.”

“You know so many cool people.” Zoe hums, turning her head and grimacing as she comes eye to eye with Luke’s hand groping at Robin’s ass over her levi’s cut offs. Bradley makes a soft sound of acknowledgement as he turns his head to see you giggling with Pasquale on the way into the lobby.

With his tongue finally out of Robin’s mouth, Luke cranes his neck to get a look at what it is Bradley’s smiling at. You. He turns his head to look at Robin, giving her a knowing look as he gestures for her to look over too.

“Alright, gimme your keys, let’s get out of here.” Bradley calls out to the group, walking around and taking the key from each person in the class. You take a seat on the edge of the couch that Zoe is laying across without greeting him as he heads up to the front desk to check out.

“Where do you go every night after dinner? — You just sit in your room or something?” Robin asks, leaning around her boyfriend. You lift your head and turn to look at her, immediately bristled by the smug little look on her face.

“Sometimes, other times I walk around a little.” You don’t owe her an answer and really, Pasquale wishes that you wouldn’t engage.

She makes a face, almost smirking, “All by yourself?”

“Oh, we have a message for this room. A young lady from New York called three times yesterday afternoon, we were trying to reach the occupant.” The receptionist realizes as she holds up your key. Bradley glances at the number, then back at you over your shoulder. He has to remind himself to call you your name.

You whip your head around at the sound of his voice across the lobby. You turn quickly back to Robin and she quirks an eyebrow at you.

Bradley frowns slightly at the furious look on your face as you storm across the lobby towards him and stand firm, “What?”

“You have a message — someone called you a couple of times yesterday. Call ‘em back so we can hit the road, I’m going to take everyone else outside to load up the van.” Bradley explains, glancing down at your outfit for the day. He likes those shorts on you.

“Oh, right. Okay.”

“You alright?” Bradley lowers his head slightly, trying to get a better look at your face.

“Fine.” You answer him, turning away as the receptionist hands you the phone, “Hello?”

“Where the hell have you been?”

“… Catherine?” You frown, plugging one ear and holding the phone closer to you. Your maid of honour gasps on the other end of the line, appalled that you now have to second guess the sound of her voice.

“Everyone has been looking for you! We didn’t know which hotel you were at, Malcolm said you hadn’t called in days!”

You frown, wrinkling your face at her. “Daddy’s credit card paid for the hotel.”

“Well, Mac didn’t ask your dad. I’ve been so worried. How are you doing over there?”

Even more so, your frown deepens. Malcolm adores your father. They get along just fine. There’s no reason why he wouldn’t usually ask your father — usually, he wouldn’t need to. They talk every day.

“Yeah, good. Just busy and stuff, we’re traveling a lot. We have to get on the road in a second. I guess calling just slipped my mind.” You spent last night in another man’s arms and your fiancé was worried sick about you. You glance towards the door, watching Bradley laughing through conversation with Luke and Abigail outside. He doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest.

“I’m glad you’re doing okay over there. I miss you. So, you and Mac are good, then, right?”

“Miss you too, but yeah, of course.” You mumble, propping your hand against your chin.

“Good. He mentioned you kind of cornered him about that fight at my end of semester party. I’m really glad you two figured that out. I thought for a second you two were going to break up over it when I first saw him on top of you like that.”

Bradley turns around and bends his neck to look at you across the lobby, his smile fades, brows furrowing slightly as he watches you press your finger harder into your ear and turn quickly away.

“Wait… Cath, what?”

…

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @cassiemitchele @himbos-on-ice @wkndwlff @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @sugarcoated-lame @kmc1989 @cherrycola27 @ahoyyharrington

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Sneak Peek | Hangman x Reader

Summary: You spent so much time around the boys, they counted you as one of them. You were firmly stuck in the friend zone with Jake, so it was time to move on with a guy who could see past your flight suits. It's not immediately obvious to either of you that cranky Jake is actually jealous Jake.

Warnings: Fluff, language, mentioned smut, 18+

Length: 6000 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Happy birthday @beyondthesefourwalls!

Seriously, who let Jake on my masterlist!? Banner by @mak-32

"It's my turn to buy a round," you said, standing up from the table and grabbing the empty beer bottles before turning toward Jimmy and Penny at the bar.

"Thanks, Rodeo," Jake murmured, and you turned back briefly and smiled softly at him. His gaze slid down your body the same way it would with any other woman, the only difference was that he had started to notice just how many other guys were regularly checking you out, too. And he wasn't sure how he felt about that fact.

When you squeezed yourself between two stools at the bar to order four more beers, Bradley asked, "Who are you staring at, Hangman? Rodeo?"

Mickey laughed as Jake quickly shook his head and turned his attention back to his friends. "I just wanted to make sure she can manage carrying everything."

"I'm sure she's fine," Bradley replied with a laugh of his own. "I got a little nervous for a second there."

"Why?" Jake asked, his eyes slowly drifting back to you, watching as you slipped your credit card into the back pocket of your jeans. 

"Because first of all," Bradley said as he smashed open a peanut on the table, "Rodeo is practically one of the guys. And second," he added, popping the peanut into his mouth and chewing, "it would be weird if you start looking at her like you do all the other random pieces of ass you take home with you. Even though she is cute."

"She's cute, for sure," Mickey piped in. "But once you've seen a girl throw up in the parking lot after a drunken karaoke night, the appeal kind of wears off."

Jake smiled as you headed back toward the table, because the drunken karaoke night was when he got to drive you home and carry you to your bed while you repeatedly tried to tell him you could walk by yourself. 

"Oh, you know who else is cute?" Bradley asked just as you set four new beers on the table. "That redhead with the huge tits at the dartboard."

"Damn," Mickey groaned, and now you were looking in that direction, too. But Jake kept his eyes on you. 

"Do we have to talk about this in front of Rodeo?" he asked, sipping his fresh beer and starting to wish Bradley and Mickey would wander off. "In front of a lady?"

Bradley snorted so hard, Jake was surprised his beer didn't shoot out of his nose. "A lady?" he asked as he looked at you and cuffed you on the arm. "Nice try, Hangman, but Rodeo doesn't count."

"Well, you don't count either," you told him, and Bradley tapped the neck of his bottle to yours. "And neither do the two of you." Your gaze met Mickey's before settling on Jake. "You know I don't mind when you guys talk about girls. I get it. You're all hot."

But your knee was rubbing against Jake's thigh at the tiny table, and for a brief flash, he thought maybe he wanted to count in your mind as a guy you could be into.

--------------------------

It was a strange dynamic, working with mostly a bunch of men all the time. They saw you in a flight suit once, and they never looked at you like you were a female ever again. And that was fine. It made your job easier in a lot of ways. There were fewer distractions, and you knew for a fact that they liked you for your personality. They wouldn't invite you to hang out all the time if they didn't.

But on nights like this, it did sting a little bit to watch the three of them tripping over themselves to go talk to the redhead who was clearly eating up the attention. You were essentially wearing the same outfit she was: jeans and a black shirt. And you thought you looked cute. And what exactly was wrong with your boobs? You looked down at your body and kind of shrugged. You didn't get it. 

Natasha handed you a pool cue, and you sank a shot. You made up the excuse that you wanted to play so the guys wouldn't feel bad about abandoning you to go talk to girls, but Jake had been hesitant at first, so you shoved him along. That was a mistake, because you were reminded of how solid and muscular he was under his soft shirt. 

The first few times you glanced his way, he was already looking back at you. If he were any other guy, you would have just asked him out by now, but you were so firmly in the friend zone with all of them that it was embarrassing. The rejection would be laughable. 

So you put your head down and focused on the game and the chit chat around you. But after a while you got curious, and when you looked up again, Bradley and Mickey were walking back toward the table where your empty beer bottle sat. Jake had won. The redhead was running her fingernails through his hair. It was all over for the night. 

You weren't jealous. You weren't. You just didn't understand why it couldn't be you. As you sank the eight ball, you said, "I'm beat. I'm going to head home."

"Me too. Want a lift?" Mickey asked, and you nodded, not sparing a single glance back at Jake. 

Maybe you were the problem. Maybe you weren't sexy. You spent most of Sunday scrutinizing yourself in your bedroom mirror and going through all of your clothing. There really wasn't much of it since your closet was lined with uniforms and flight suits. And when you looked in the mirror, it wasn't like you could even tell what the problem was. You were just you, but it was starting to feel like you'd been playing around in this male-dominated world for so long, you were just blending in there. 

"Fuck it," you muttered reaching for your phone. There was a text from Bradley detailing the pricing for tickets to a Padres game, which you desperately wanted to go to. It sounded fun. Then you realized the beer drinking and peanut eating would simply be moved to a different venue in which the guys would be looking at all the other women around you. Suddenly it didn't sound so fun.

There were also a handful of texts from Jake. He must have kicked his guest out early if he was asking how you were doing this morning. You sent back a short message before finding the app on your screen that had been dormant since you got stationed in San Diego last summer. Tinder. It was right there. 

Nervously, you entered your login information, terrified that you'd just end up with a bunch of guys you saw on base as your best options. They would undoubtedly take one look at you and have the same reaction your male friends did. But you spent the rest of the day thinking about it. You looked, but you didn't sample. You found some guys who were surprisingly not in the Navy, but you didn't swipe. And maybe part of the reason you didn't was because Jake kept texting you all day long.

Monday was your tipping point. You were all ready to fly in your boots and flight suit when you ended up surrounded by the guys in the hangar. "We getting Padres tickets, Rodeo?" Bradley asked. "Day drinking at Petco Park?"

You nodded at him. "Sounds fun."

Then Mickey cut in as Jake walked over. "Hey, Hangman. How was our little redheaded friend?" he asked with a smirk, but Jake's expression stayed the same as his eyes met yours. 

"Wouldn't know."

"Oof," Bradley said with a goading laugh. "What, you kicked her out without even talking to her afterwards?"

You swallowed and looked down at your boots as you thought about the guys on the dating app. Maybe a little change of scenery wouldn't hurt anything after all.

-----------------------------

"Can you just knock it the fuck off?" Jake snapped. "I didn't even spend the night with her." He watched you put your helmet on as you walked toward your jet. "And I don't like talking about this shit around Rodeo anymore."

"Alright," Bradley replied with a tiny smirk. "No need to get mad about it."

When Jake took to the air, you were all business, as usual. You and he flew well together, like you always did. But back on the ground at lunchtime, you barely spared a glance in his direction in the cafeteria. Instead, you were completely absorbed in something on your phone as you picked at your food.

"What's wrong?" he eventually asked, and you looked up at him like you were surprised he was still there. 

"Nothing," you murmured, taking a drink before returning your attention to your phone. "Just working on something."

"On what?" he asked, voice almost as snippy as it had been earlier. He found he didn't like it when your attention wasn't focused on him, which was absolutely infuriating, because it's not like the two of you were anything. 

"My Tinder profile," you replied smoothly as you licked your lips, and Jake thought he must have misheard. Since when were you looking for a guy?

"Tinder?"

"Mmhmm," you hummed. "I'm just trying to sort out which photo to use, because I like this one where I'm in my flight suit, but guys don't really tend to go for that sort of thing."

You turned your phone to show him, and Jake swallowed hard. It was a photo he had taken a few months ago. He remembered that day. Your sunglasses were hooked on the top of your suit, and your helmet was tucked under your arm, and your smile was infectious. 

"I like that one," he told you softly. 

But you just rolled your eyes and groaned. "But you don't count, now do you?"

Jake shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Why are you on Tinder anyway?"

Now you laughed as you set your phone down. "Why do you think?"

He didn't want to think about it, even though he knew why. You were looking to hookup with someone. Or maybe it was even worse. Maybe you were looking for an actual boyfriend. Someone to spend all your time with. You'd be at the Hard Deck after work less frequently. You'd be going to the Padres game with some faceless idiot, and he'd be the one carrying you home after you overdid it at karaoke night. Worse yet, you could have your pick of any guy on that app who caught your eye, but Jake knew for a fact none of them were good enough for you. 

"Rodeo," he grunted, unsure how to voice his concerns. You just tapped your screen a few times and then smiled at him as his heart clenched a little bit.

"I went with the photo from Reuben's wedding instead."

Jake ran his fingers through his hair. He didn't even have to ask. He also knew that photo well too. His voice was soft as he said, "Blue dress. Holding a martini. Hand on your hip." He didn't like the idea of a bunch of guys he didn't even know looking at you wearing something so pretty.

"That's the one! And now my bio is live on the app," you said as you tapped your screen one last time. "Wish me luck."

You stood with your tray and Jake told himself he would do no such thing.

---------------------------

"That photo must have done the trick," you mumbled the following day in the rec room on base as Natasha helped you sort through your matches.

"I'm sure it did," she replied in awe. "You look hot in it."

You wanted to believe her, but it didn't even matter right now, because the two of you were staring at a photo of a hot guy who had sent you a message. You gasped. "Is this for real?"

"Looks like it," she replied. "If you don't fuck him, I will. Happily."

"What are the two of you over here whispering about?" You looked up into Jake's smiling eyes and gave him a grin of your own.

"Rodeo is getting all the Tinder hotties," Natasha replied, and suddenly Jake's smile vanished. "Let me know if he sends you a dick pic."

"He better fucking not!" Jake growled as he tried to reach for your phone. "Show me what this asshole looks like so I know who to pound to dust if he sends you one." You rolled your eyes and held up your phone so he could see. "His name is Tony? And he's a dentist?"

"What's wrong with that?" you asked quickly.

Jake crossed his arms over his chest. "If you have to ask, then you don't want to know."

You scoffed and opened your messages. "You're being dramatic. And I don't get on you about who you decide to hook up with."

"So you're just trying to hook up with this asshole?" he asked, his lips curling in disgust.

Honestly, you weren't really sure. But he sounded nice in the messages he sent. "Would it really be so bad if I was?"

Jake scrutinized your face like he was in pain, and you had the craziest thought flash through your mind that perhaps he was jealous. But then the pinched lines on his forehead vanished, and his voice was completely calm as he said, "You do what you want, Rodeo. But don't come crying to me about it later."

"Fine," you told him as he walked away. And that's what spurred you to reply to Tony's message with a more flirtatious one of your own. You were allowed to hook up with him. You were allowed to go out on a date. Maybe you'd even eventually request a dick pic. Jake wasn't in charge of your Tinder profile or dating agenda.

A few short exchanges back and forth was all it took, and suddenly you had plans for Saturday night that didn't involve hanging with the guys at the Hard Deck for once. Tony was going to take you out to dinner, and you were already excited.

----------------------

"Where the hell is Rodeo?" Bradley asked as he returned to the table with three bottles of beer instead of four. "She's usually here by seven."

Jake rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. "She's not coming. She's on a date with some smug looking asshole named Tony."

"Good for her," Mickey piped up, earning a glare from Jake. "I hope she gets laid. You wanna grab Javy and play pool?"

With a groan, Jake dragged himself out of his seat and forced his body through the motions. He hit the cue ball with perfect precision, but meanwhile, all he could think about was some other guy's hands all over your body while he shoved his tongue down your throat. "Fuck," he growled, trying to fight the urge to text you. If you wanted him, you knew how to reach him. 

Between shots, he glanced around the bar at all the other women, but he couldn't find a single one as pretty as you. He spent the rest of his night barely conversing with his friends while he hoped that your date was a complete flop. And when he left to head home alone, he caved and texted you to make sure you got back to your place safely. 

That was over twelve hours ago. Jake still hadn't heard back from you. It was damn near noon on Sunday, and he was left assuming that you spent the night with Tinder Tony. When you finally texted him back, the response made him toss his phone aside. 

Sorry, just seeing this now. Yes, I made it home safely. See you tomorrow.

Monday was worse. You were glued to your phone at every opportunity you got, and Jake could tell by the little smile on your face that you must be talking to that asshole. 

"Rodeo, how was your hot date?" Bradley asked, bumping your helmet with his while he winked at Jake. 

"Pretty good," you replied with a little laugh. 

"You get laid?" Mickey asked obnoxiously, and you rolled your eyes before glancing at Jake. He was dying to know the answer to the question, but also terrified to hear it. 

"Wouldn't you like to know," you replied, returning your attention to your phone. "Put it this way... I'm going out with him again for dinner on Wednesday."

"Who goes to dinner on a Wednesday?" Jake scoffed. "That's when we usually go to the bar! And what did you and Tinder Tommy even talk about the whole time? Dentures? Teeth?"

"No," you snapped at him. "He told me how pretty he thinks I am, and that he was nervous to meet me in person. And his name is Tony, not Tommy. So don't be rude when we stop by the bar after dinner on Wednesday."

"Can't wait to meet him," Jake grumbled, highly disappointed that your date had been even somewhat successful. And he still wasn't sure if you'd gone home with Tony. Or worse... if he'd gone home with you. 

Jake had crashed in your bed with you once a few months ago when you hosted game night. Mickey, Nat and Bradley all passed out in your living room, so you'd taken him by the hand to your bed. Every time he thought about it, he could practically feel the warmth of your body next to his and your foot hooked over his ankle. The idea of someone else there engaging in pillowtalk or fucking you just right was way too much for him to handle, because he was starting to feel like he wanted to be that person.

------------------------

Okay, so Tony was a little boring. A lot boring, actually. And on Wednesday night at dinner, he actually did mention dentures, and you could practically hear Jake scoffing from the Hard Deck. But Tony was hot and nice and he paid for dinner. Could you really hope for more than that?

"So, you mentioned stopping at a Navy bar?" he asked as you walked back to his car. "I keep forgetting you're even in the Navy. It just doesn't seem like you."

Maybe you should have used the other photo for your dating profile since you'd had to remind him twice already that there were a lot of women in the military now. "Yeah. It's called the Hard Deck. I usually hang out there on Wednesdays, and I thought maybe my friends could meet you?"

"Sure," he replied, and he even played boring music on the way there. But when he walked you inside, he kissed your cheek, and that felt kind of nice until Jake was looking. You felt embarrassed and a little guilty when he scowled at you from the pool table, so you eased yourself away from Tony and took him by the hand instead. 

"Hey, guys," you said cautiously as you approached the pool table. "This is Tony." 

Jake's jaw was clenched tight as he reached out to shake hands with your date in a death grip, and you cringed as he said, "Nice to meet you, Tommy." 

And it all went downhill from there. You had to correct him three times, even though you were sure he knew Tony's name. And even the other guys didn't really seem to mesh well with Tony. Bradley looked scandalized when he told them he didn't like beer or playing pool, and Mickey tried to make a dentist joke that just didn't land. 

You wanted to crawl into your bed and not come back out for a week. You also kind of wanted to ask Jake what his problem was. Tony was a nice guy. His hand on your back felt nice, and his goodnight kiss at your front door was nice. There was even some tongue, and you didn't stop his roaming fingers. Maybe another date or two and you'd ask him to come in.

"Would you like to get dinner on Saturday night?" he asked as his lips grazed your neck. "At the Boathouse?"

You closed your eyes and leaned back, and the image of Jake took over. His lips were on your earlobe, and he was whispering your name as you led him to your room. His hands were settling on your hips and squeezing gently as you melted into his touch.

"What do you think?" Tony asked, and you were jarred back to reality by his voice.

You swallowed hard and nodded as you opened your door. "Saturday night sounds good," you said as you ducked inside. "See you then."

You couldn't have Jake. You just needed to get it through your head that he didn't want you like that.

------------------------------

Jake knew he was behaving poorly even as he was doing it. Tony looked annoyed by him, and you looked embarrassed, but he just kept calling him the wrong name and standing off to the side like a dick. He was actually the asshole. Not Tony. And he needed to apologize to you at work the next day. 

He found you in the hangar, pacing back and forth as you played with the strap on your helmet. When you turned, he started to say, "Hey, Rodeo, I'm really-"

"I need your help," you blurted out when you saw him heading your way. "I need you to come shopping with me tomorrow after work, because I wore my only two dresses already, and everything else in my closet is ridiculous. And Tony is taking me to the Boathouse on Saturday, so I can't just throw something together and call it a day."

Jake ground his back teeth together. The Boathouse was nice. As in, he could think of at least three people he knew who got engaged there. How much money did dentists make anyway? He was full blown jealous now. He knew that. But you'd asked him for help, so of course he was going to do whatever you wanted. Your eager eyes were enough to make him agree on the spot.

"Where are we going shopping?" he asked softly. 

You looked so relieved as you said, "The mall. I don't think it will take too long, and I can treat you to dinner as a thank you."

"No," he replied. "You don't owe me anything, Rodeo."

"Thanks, Jake," you whispered as you threw one arm around his neck and pulled him in for a hug. "I know I can trust you to tell me what looks good. Because you're a guy, and you know what guys like. I've been in such a rut, and I don't even know what looks nice on me anymore. But I trust your opinion."

He wrapped his arm around your waist and held you a little closer. If you trusted him, he wouldn't let you down. He never wanted to let you down. He would take you to the mall and tell you which outfits looked nice on you, even though he knew it would be all of them, and he would be cool about you dating Tony. "Sure, Rodeo. Anything you want."

When the time came, he was miserable. You seemed excited, bouncing on your feet in your jeans and sneakers as you collected dresses and cute little outfits to try on, but he knew none of this was really for him. You'd just be giving him a little sneak peak of what Tony would have his hands all over. 

"How about this one?" you asked, holding up a red mini dress that made Jake's mouth dry up. Then you moved it in front of your body and looked down. "It's probably too much for me."

He wanted to tell you that you couldn't pull it off, but he knew the fucking thing was made for you. "Try it on and see," he said softly, so you added it to your pile. Then he followed you like a puppy dog to the fitting room, holding half of the dresses for you to try on. When you passed the lingerie section, Jake had to watch you grab a few lacy items. "Have you slept with Tinder Tommy yet?" he snapped when you picked up a black bra and added it to your arms. 

You looked up at him with a soft pout. "Well, no. That's why I'm trying to buy some sexy stuff, you know? Just in case I want to take it there."

Jake had seen you in your bathing suit many, many times. You didn't need to be wearing anything made out of lace and silk to look sexy, but the sight of you in half of this shit would probably give Tony a damn heart attack. Then he realized as you led him along that he himself might not make it out of the fitting room alive.

"Just stand out here, okay?" you said softly, guiding him against the wall. He grunted in response and watched you line up everything you wanted to try on inside the fitting room before closing yourself inside. You kicked your shoes off, and then he watched you push your jeans down to your feet through the gap between the bottom of the door and the floor. You stepped out of them, and his imagination started to supply the rest. 

You were completely naked now, he was sure of that fact, and you were only a few feet away from him, separated by a flimsy door. His head tipped back against the wall as his breathing grew a little deeper. Your toenails were painted bright green, and you were talking quietly to yourself as you stepped into a black dress and started to guide it up your legs. 

"This isn't too bad," you muttered, and a few seconds later you were unlatching the door and pulling it open with an apprehensive look on your face. Jake's jaw dropped open as you stepped right up to him and asked, "What do you think?"

"Rodeo," he grunted, fisting his hands at his sides to keep them from touching you as you spun slowly in front of him. "Looks good."

You frowned a little more. "I was hoping for better than good," you replied, twirling away from him and back into the fitting room.

Jake's body was thrumming with desire as he watched that black fabric pool at your feet under the door. "It was better than good, Rodeo," he said, nearly choking on the words as you stepped to the side and bent to pick it up. 

"I'll try the red one," you informed him, and he had to press his lips together, knowing what was coming next. This time it took you a little longer, and he watched your feet under the door as you turned in front of the mirror. "It's really short," you finally said as you opened the door again. 

"Jesus Christ," Jake moaned softly. The thing fit you like a damn glove. Every curve and soft dip of your body was right there, begging to be touched. His palms were sweaty as he wiped them on his jeans, and then you spun, ending up just inches away from him again. 

He couldn't speak, and maybe you took that as a bad sign. "It's too much," you said with a little laugh. "I know it's too much, but it was fun to try it on anyway. It made me feel sexy," you said with a little shrug, barely able to meet his eyes. "I think the black one might be better for dinner at the Boathouse? Or do you think this one?"

Jake snapped out of his daze and remembered why he was here, suddenly pissed that this little fashion show wasn't just for his own benefit. "Come on, Rodeo. Tinder Tommy? Really? You think he deserves this?" When you just kind of shrugged at him, he said, "Get the red one if you're just looking to get laid."

"Okay," you replied, your little pout back on your pretty lips. 

He pushed away from the wall until he was nearly touching you. Practically snarling, he said, "Are you just looking to get laid?"

"Maybe," you said softly, looking at his neck. "He's actually into me, so maybe. I don't know, Jake. It's been a long time since a guy chose me, you know?" He opened his mouth to tell you that any guy in the world would choose you when you said, "I have one more dress."

Then he had to stand there and watch the red fabric hit your feet before you guided the tiniest little green dress up your calves. He was jealous. He was so jealous. And the fact that he'd had a whole fucking year to ask you out instead of fucking wasting his time was crashing down on him right now. You were going to wear one of these dresses to the Boathouse tomorrow, and Tony was going to take it off you. He was going to fuck you, and then someday you'd probably get married. Jake would be at your wedding sitting between Mickey and Bradley and making himself sick over this whole thing. 

The door opened. You were stunning. You didn't even leave the fitting room doorway this time in that green dress that was hugging your tits and your waist and showing off so much leg that Jake thought he was going to black out. "I can tell by your face that it's not good," you said with a wince. "It's a little too low cut, so I couldn't imagine wearing it in front of Tony."

His voice came out low and rough as he said, "You're wearing it in front of me just fine."

"But I don't count, remember?" You closed and locked the door, and Jake was immediately leaning against it. Literally each dress was hotter than the one before it, and Jake didn't know how to articulate what he was feeling right now. How on earth did he end up so far in the friend zone that he couldn't claw his way out if he tried? What the fuck made Tinder Tony so special? Why were you looking around on the app anyway? He couldn't even pinpoint when it had happened, but you were never going to take him seriously, even if he knew he could be what you wanted.

The rustling of fabric and the sound of the zipper had him resting his forehead on the door. "Rodeo, Baby, you can't...buy one of these dresses. Not for Tony. Okay? Come on. He's not good enough for you."

"Oh." That was all you said. You just replied with one word, and Jake's blood was boiling. He wanted to dismantle the entire fitting room and take you back home and tell you that you could do a hell of a lot better than some lame ass dentist who didn't like beer or playing pool. But you'd just muttered one word, and he was dying to know if he could ever stand a chance at making you happy. 

"Rodeo?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. You unlocked the door and he stepped back a few inches so you could open it, expecting to see you in your jeans once again with the dress of your choosing in your hands. "Oh, fuck," he groaned, his heart hammering in his chest. "Absolutely not!"

Jake pushed you back further into the fitting room and managed to wrench his broad shoulders through the doorway before kicking the door closed. You were biting your lip, your eyes wide as his hands came to rest on your lace covered hips. 

"Jake," you whispered as he shook his head at the sight of you in a lacy black bra and tiny underwear. 

"What the hell are you thinking?" he groaned, fingers digging gently into your warm body as he listened to the little sound you made. "You're killing me here." Your hands came up to his wrists before you slid them up along his arms, and Jake took a step closer until his jeans were brushing against your bare belly. He would need to be removed from the mall in a body bag at this rate. 

Then you whispered, "I like you. And maybe there's a chance that you like me, too? And maybe that's part of the reason I asked you to come here with me."

Jake swallowed hard as he leaned in, dizzy from the way you smelled so sweet and felt so perfect in his hands. "Dump him. Dump Tony." You whimpered at his words as he slid one hand down further, teasing the lace covering your ass at the same time his other hand went up to tug at the side of the bra. "Because this? This should be for me."

"Jake." Your voice was a needy whine as you scraped your fingernails along his shoulders and chest, trying to pull him closer. But he shook his head as he pushed you back harder against the wall, lips hovering over yours as you whispered his name.

He knew what he wanted. He'd known for a while, really, but now he was ready to take it. "I want to kiss you. But if I do, I'm not going to be able to go back, okay?" he asked, his voice a deep rumble as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "I won't go back to being Rodeo and Hangman, just friends. I will not do that. Not with you. Not when you count more than anyone else."

Your lips crashed against his, and Jake sighed in relief as he held you in his arms the way he'd been dying to for so long. The lingerie and all the little dresses were only for him. Your kisses and your smile and your fingers in his hair were for him, not Tony. He ran his hands down to your ass as you giggled and nipped at his lips. 

"Pick a dress, Baby," he muttered between kisses. "And we'll get the lingerie, too."

"Okay," you replied with a smile before you took his bottom lip between yours, making him moan. 

"Tomorrow night, I will take you out, and you can show me this little getup again if you want to."

You looked up at him with the prettiest smile he'd ever seen. "I want to."

---------------------------

You nudged Bradley with your elbow. "Hey, she's cute," you said, nodding toward the brunette across the aisle. "You guys should go talk to her." He and Mickey both leaned forward to look without any subtlety whatsoever, and you laughed. 

"Maybe at the end of the inning," Bradley replied, manspreading so much in his seat at the Padres game that he kept bumping your leg and nudging your shoulder. But he was grinning, and you could already tell that he and Mickey were about to turn it into a competition to see who could get her phone number first. 

But there was one key player missing from their game now, and you smiled as you saw Jake apologetically climbing over everyone else in your row before plopping down into the seat next to you and kissing your cheek with a smile. "The line was long as hell for your favorite beer," he said as he handed it to you. "Did I miss anything?"

You shook your head as Bradley said, "You're just in time to watch the real show, Hangman. Rodeo, I want you to time how long it takes before I get her number." 

But you weren't really listening as Bradley and Mickey started to argue, and neither was Jake as he kissed your cheek again. You didn't feel like you were simply blending in, and you didn't feel like you were just one of the guys anymore. You were grinning and sipping your beer as Jake's lips met your ear and he asked, "Are you wearing that black set right now?"

"I'll let you find out later.

---------------------------

Happy birthday, Alli! I hope you enjoyed the blonde one! Big thanks to @mak-32 @thedroneranger and @sylviebell for all your help!

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The Odyssey | 1.1 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

One step forwards, two steps back. You’re just not on the same page.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), swearing, infidelity, making out, honey has a meltdown every time she thinks Bradley wants to have sex with her but very much wants him to want to have sex with her, bradley dislikes her fiancé, deception, also inaccuracies in the timeline of Pompeii and the telling of Greek mythology, 18+ minors dni, wc: 4.7k

…

It’s the last day of June. Under the table, his hand is on your knee and above it, you’ve started to memorize the delicate pattern his smile lines cast around his temples. A bottle of mostly empty Malbec sits between you, the centre of his lips is tinted a sweet red.

His fingers curl into your thigh, eyes widening in mock offense as he leans in close enough for you to inhale that honey, amber, cedar medley of his cologne. You’ve been meaning to ask him which fragrance he wears; it’s classic, it could be too strong but he seems to have hit the perfect balance when applying it. It makes you want to turn your face into the curve of his neck and fall asleep right there.

“Okay, now you’re just trying to upset me,” He taunts with a grin on his face, shaking his head in dramatized disbelief. His thumb has been trailing a complex pattern around the curve of your knee for the better part of ten minutes. “Come on — I taught you this two days ago.”

Something about the age of Cicero, the supposed master of Latin prose. You remember the lesson — well, you remember being present for it. He’s right, two days ago. Right after arriving in Florence.

That first afternoon, Bradley had seemed restless. Leaving Natasha behind, you had presumed. Being cooped up in a hotel room trying to study was the last thing he had needed, and you know that he likes showing you around. As soon as you had asked, he had once again found the perfect spot for your lesson.

The corner of your lips twitch as you think of being nestled away in that corner of the library with Bradley. On a beautiful day in late June, it was practically deserted beside the two of you.

He stares at you across the table, seeming to enjoy the show of you trying to think back to what exactly it was he had been talking about.

The smile tugging at his lips that afternoon in the library as he had kissed down the column of your neck, lips grazing the collar of your polo shirt, fingers bracing against your thighs politely. His voice deep, and low, respectful of the library’s standards, “His philosophical works were the basis of moral philosophy during the Middle Ages.”

You swallow softly, crossing one knee over the other.

Across from you, that brown hued gaze flickers briefly downwards. It’s hardly a scandalous dress. A soft pink colour, cowled in the middle, dipping just lower against the centre of your chest than you would normally allow. The summer heat, or this newfound feeling in your stomach — one of them has you practically glowing. From the second you stepped out this evening, Bradley has been admiring this dress.

Either way, when he looks back up, he knows that you think you just caught him staring at your chest. He might have taken a glance in that direction. Unashamed, he smiles again, more candidly this time.

“Is this why you were late back this afternoon?” His fingers stray from the safety of your knee until the chiffon material is curling between his fingertips.

Caught. The look spreads itself so quickly across your face that you couldn’t lie to him even if you wanted to. The class was given an hour to roam the city today after the morning lecture — you had been a short measure later than everyone else.

And here you sit, in your reason for being late, staring back at him like he just caught you with your hand in the cookie jar.

His gaze flickers down again, the conversation about your lack of attention and the dull topic of the golden age of Roman literature long forgotten, and brushes at the hem of your dress with his thumb.

“I like it,” Though the look on his face has already given that away, it makes your mouth tug at the corners anyway. “Should I have worn a tie?”

Malcolm would have worn a tie, and a jacket. You would have expected nothing less from him. Bradley is sitting opposite you in a faded yellow shirt made of something comfortable and not stiff — probably a linen blend. He has skipped the top three buttons and from your seat beside him, you’ve got a faint glimpse of the gold cross necklace he wears.

As well as the dip between the muscles on his chest, dusting of brown hair covering his golden skin and the constellation of sun-kissed freckles you’re growing ever-familiar with.

“No.” You answer him decidedly, tearing your eyes away from his tanned chest to look him in the eye. This time, he caught you right back. His lips tug at the corners, and he almost fights it, and then he lets his mouth stretch into a smile.

His lips are a set pink. You’ve never liked facial hair but him without the always neat dusting above his lip is unthinkable. Tonight, the two of you shared that bottle of Malbec. His mouth will taste of the notes of cherry and blackberry.

His fingers brush the underside of your knee, featherlight. “Let’s take a walk.”

It’s late already, now that the two of you have finished your dinner. Bradley’s already regretting making group dinners mandatory now that he finds himself having to wait until afterwards to take you out, but in this moment, he doesn’t mind. It just means that there is even less chance of running into someone that you know.

The city is quieter by the time he slips his palm into yours, an instinctual move that neither one of you will address. Your fingers squeeze against his. It’s not until afterwards, when he turns his head to look down at you quickly, that he remembers it shouldn’t all feel this normal.

He should be ashamed of himself; afraid of being caught with you. He’s far from it. He’s arrogant enough to know that his students will be getting drunk on cheap spirits in the taverna he left them at, and that he’s got you all to himself.

“What do you want to do?” He asks you. He’s got an idea in his head already, that he’s not so sure you’ll find as interesting as he will.

“You’re the expert.” You answer calmly.

He smiles like that was the answer he was hoping for, then pulls you closer and lets go of your hand to wrap his arm around your almost bare shoulders. His lips press softly to the top of your head.

“I walked by a place earlier that I thought maybe we could stop by,” He explains as he starts to walk, looking up at the waning crescent centring the stars over the city. He doesn’t mention to you that there’s a little more to it than that. You follow his lead, looking up at the stars above these ancient rooftops. “Counts as school work in my book.”

You make a sound of complaint beside him, leaning your head back against his bicep and exhaling with a dramatic sigh. Without having to look, you know he’s grinning beside you as he curls his arm tighter around your neck and drags you closer.

“Be nice, honey,” He whispers jokingly into your hair. “Just give it a chance.”

At that point, you should have guessed that he was up to something. Tucked under his arm, wondering exactly which undertone in his cologne makes it so entrancing, you’re hardly jumping for joy when he leads you up the steps and into an art gallery. It’s the kind of art gallery that you don’t need a suit or tie to get into — so can’t be that impressive.

Pompeii is one of the few words on the poster board that Bradley whisks you past that you understand.

“We’re going to Pompeii in a couple of weeks, isn’t this cheating?” You turn your head to look up at him and he just shrugs, taking you in his stride as he leads you right up to the first floor. Despite this being a temporary exhibition, he seems to know exactly where he’s going.

He rounds the corner and tightens his hold on your shoulder as you’re met with a canvas featuring a rather blurrily drawn woman bent over some kind of seat, and a man standing behind her.

To the right of that is a woman pictured straddling a man, his head thrown back against the sheets. Bradley lifts his hand from your shoulder and tucks it safely over your eyes.

“That’s not what we’re here for.” His tone is almost soothing, like he’s expecting you to turn and run for the door as he uncovers your eyes again. The opposite actually, you frown slightly and tip your head to understand the angle of the oil painting. He guides you swiftly onwards.

As you pass by, you can see that this room is filled with similar art. Some of it is weathered, not quite preserved, or outright broken. All of it is erotica.

All too quickly, he leads you into the next room in the gallery and swiftly off to the side. This room is already filled with people sitting in chairs, and at the front there’s an older lady with hair down to her waist and glasses that cover most of her face.

“She’s a classicist at Cambridge.” Suddenly his lips are brushing your earlobe and he’s nudging you back against the back wall of the room. “I think you might like her way of explaining things a little better than mine.”

He turns his head towards the front, you turn your head to look at him. His way of explaining things is just fine. Still, you turn your head back to watch the lecturer, and lean against Bradley’s side.

“As many of you know, during my team’s ongoing works in Pompeii, we are constantly able to determine more and more about the neighbouring cities of both Pompeii and Herculaneum. On a visit this past March, my team worked primarily in a building: the lupanar, or brothel.”

You shoot a look up at Bradley. He drops his hand down to your waist and pinches playfully at your skin, making you jolt into him.

“Pay attention.” Bradley whispers to you, smiling towards the front.

“Lupanar in Latin translates almost directly to ‘wolf's den,’ and lupa, she-wolf, was a common term for female prostitutes at this time.” The lecturer goes on.

She’s an interesting woman, maybe around your mother’s age, talking about sex and phalluses and erotica with a level of candor that you simply weren’t expecting. The people in this room are hanging on her every breath.

She goes on to explain more about what sets Pompeii and Herculaneum apart from other Augustan era Roman cities. As Bradley’s textbooks prove, Augustan Rome could be somewhat prudish in the major cities. Essentially, with their seaside location and their distance from the eyes of the emperor, modern theories tend to lean towards the abundance of erotica being simply a result of the Romans getting hot and heavy in their summer homes.

Bradley would scold you for phrasing it that way. You’re cutting corners and leaving things out, but that’s the gist of what she’s saying.

As much as you’re enjoying the fact that he wants you, specifically, to stand here and see this with him — you must admit that you’re waiting for the point to hit you a little bit.

Brothels quite clearly aren’t your kind of thing.

Then, she gets to the point. “So far in the study of Rome, we have tended to interpret erotic decorations in rooms to be signals of a brothel. The discoveries we are making now, tell us even more so, that there was a safe space for sex inside regular homes.”

Is that what he’s trying to tell you?

You turn your head and look up at him, watching the way he listens to the lecture. He hasn’t even noticed you staring just yet, he’s so interested.

Exhaling softly, you push closer to him. Heat courses through you, uncomfortable like an itch. If he wants you to feel safe having sex with him, if that’s why he brought you here — you’re not so sure that’s a good thing.

When you close your eyes and ignore the speech being given, and picture yourself in that library two days ago, with that dark look in his eyes and his lips sucking at your neck… it’s a nice feeling. It felt good. You would do it again in a heartbeat.

When you think further back, to the night he knelt beside your bed and buried his mouth between your legs, it makes you shiver, but not in a bad way. In a cold and hot all at once, conflicted kind of way. That felt good too.

He feels good. His arm on your shoulder, his weight in your bed, the way it feels when he grins at you. It all feels good.

Maybe that’s not such a good thing.

After all, he may only want one thing in return. With this ring on your finger, what he wants is no longer yours to give away — you’ve promised it to someone else.

You turn your head and rest it against his chest, your cheek hugging the soft linen of his shirt.

“By 79 C.E., by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, Christianity had begun to usurp the formerly polytheistic Roman Empire. With the rise of Christianity came a clear shift in the way sex was viewed culturally. With conceptions of red becoming more obscene into the 19th century—“

“Bradley, can we go?” You tug at his shirt and break him from his focused listening.

He unwraps his arm from your shoulder and gently touches your hair, cupping the back of your head. “Sure. You okay?”

“Mhm. It’s just getting late.”

He seems content enough with that answer, taking your hand once again and letting you lead him down the steps. Each step you take, you know that you’re just one step closer to inviting him into your hotel room.

“I know I kinda threw you in at the deep end just then,” Bradley starts to talk, seeming not to notice the way you’re panicking at his side. “I just wanted you to see how impressive she is.”

“Yeah. She was cool.”

“Cool? — She’s a legend,” Bradley cranes his neck to get a look at your face, frowning as he feels you speed up and tug at his hand to bring him with. “Her studies into Greece and Rome won her a Nobel prize, baby.”

“That’s… impressive.” You wobble over the words, trying to give him what he wants in an answer. Bradley stops abruptly and tugs hard at your arm to make sure you do the same. You’re spun towards him sharply, stunned as you blink up at him.

“I know I probably should have warned you about the paintings, but—“

“Do you want to have sex with me?” You ask him.

Bradley notices the elderly couple passing behind you turn their heads and curses them silently for being just about the only ones around that would have even understood the absurdity of that question, then looks back down to you.

He stares, focused and unwavering for a moment.

“Yes,” He answers you calmly, still holding your wrist in his hand. “But that’s not going to happen, honey. Now, what’s the matter?”

“It’s not?” He’s surprised by the surprise in your voice. You see it on his face. He’s practically tracing his steps in front of you, trying to figure out at which point the two of you stopped being on the same page.

“I… baby, Your first time shouldn’t be with me.”

“I was going to say the same thing.” You exhale quietly, without missing a beat, feeling the panic in your chest start to drain finally. A different feeling pinches at your nerves, tingling in your chest that makes you fidget. Bradley stares back at you.

“Good.” He answers curtly. Maybe a little too quickly. He’s still holding on tight to your wrists.

“Yeah, good.” You try back, heat creeping along your skin and making your ears burn. You push onto your tiptoes and back down again, glancing down at him still holding you captive in his big paws.

He seems to notice at the same time, and swiftly drops his hold on you to instead hook a finger under your chin. “Okay, so you’re alright now?”

“Yeah.”

He swallows, then nods. As he turns away, he sticks his hand out for you to grab once again. For him this doesn’t change things — he has wanted to sleep with you and known that he can’t since the day you kissed him back in Verona.

For you, this is the first time you’ve ever heard him admit that he wants you. You knew, of course, by the way he touched you last week in Venice.

You slip your hand into his. Across cobbles, under the stars and string lights, he leads the way the short walk back to your hotel somehow without the need for a map.

This hotel doesn’t have an elevator, you climb three flights of stairs beside him and start towards your door. Heels along aged, dark wood floors. This time, your sole occupancy room isn’t at the end of the hall or on a different floor — it’s right in the middle. Sandwiched between the common bathroom, and Robin’s room.

As you open up your bag and dig for your key, you wonder how he’s going to say goodnight. After the time you had, you don’t want the end on this tone.

“Can I come in?” He asks softly, fully prepared to hear you tell him no. His hand reaches once more for the pale chiffon of your dress, his thumb familiarly trailing the seam at the small of your back.

“Yes.” You turn your head and meet his gaze over your left shoulder. He’s relieved to see you smile. A smile spreads across his cheeks, warm and flushed as the old door clicks open with a pained but compliant creak.

It almost looks like room service came. If Bradley didn’t know any better, he would say they had. The bed is meticulously neat, and all of your belongings are packed neatly ready for your travel day tomorrow.

“I feel like I need to explain why I took you to that exhibition.” Bradley closes the door behind him and sticks to it as you cross the room and sit on the edge of the double bed.

“Okay.”

“It’s not because I’m trying to fuck you.” Bradley wracks his hands through his hair, his back pinned to the door, his eyes searching the floorboards like he’s looking for his point. “I’m a little bit offended that you think I can’t do better than Roman erotica if I was trying.”

Bradley hasn’t tried to make any of this happen. It’s not like he sought you out. And yet, it all keeps happening — like puzzle pieces falling into place.

Still, his joke is enough to earn him a smile and a soft giggle at the same time. You lean back on your palms as your smile fades into an apology of its own.

Bradley takes a step away from the door and crosses the room to sit beside you. He opens his palm.

“If we had stayed, the end part of that seminar is about Greek influence on Roman culture — specifically Pompeii,” He watches as you rest your hand in his, looping your fingers through his. “I thought maybe seeing her talk might convince you to stay in school… in my postgraduate program.”

His fingers close around yours, squeezing softly as he turns his head to gauge your reaction. His worst case scenario was that you freak out — and that doesn’t happen, so his pitch is a success in his eyes.

“I didn’t even know you ran a postgrad.”

“It’s a research programme. It’s relatively new — I ran it a year ago, we didn’t get enough people enrolled to run in this year. Next year I have forty places and a waitlist. Mythology and Art; Poetry in Greek Culture.” You still haven’t told him no, it feels like that’s building to a yes.

Instead, your brows knit together slightly.

“I don’t know anything about mythology.”

“Yes you do,” Bradley argues. It really bites at him when you pretend to know less than you do. “Look, it doesn’t have to be my class. I just wanted you to think about what comes after this.”

“My wedding.” You remind him quietly. Now you aren’t looking at him, staring at your hands in your lap. He’s kicking himself for ruining the night but god, everything you say makes him want to argue even more.

“And after that?” He skips over the idea of letting you go entirely. It’s easier that way, to pretend that he doesn’t care that you’re still planning to get married.

“After that I’ll support Malcolm and—“

“Christ, is that what you want? — You want to spend your life picking up his dry cleaning and cooking his dinner?” Bradley stands up from the bed and paces away from you. Instantly, you throw your face into your hands and growl in frustration.

The thought crosses your mind like a camera flash. The alternative; seminars and art galleries, nights like this with Bradley. He probably doesn’t even get his clothes dry cleaned, probably just drops them all in the washer.

Your brows draw together. Bradley hates how often he has seen that wounded look on your face.

“I don’t have to want the same things that you want.” You croak out.

“No, you don’t, you’re right,” He won’t come any closer, he’s just standing there and dwarfing the doorframe behind him with his broad shoulders and long legs. He runs a hand roughly across his mouth. “But you should want something for yourself. Something that’s just yours. Something you care about, you know?”

There’s a beat of silence between you. At first, he thinks he has really ignited the fuse and that there’s a big argument coming. Then, all of the anger fades from your face and you throw yourself back against the bed, facing the ceiling and letting out a deep sigh.

“You think too much.” You mutter grumpily, draping an arm over your eyes and finally taking away the ugly warmth of the yellow-orange mismatched lampshade above your head.

Bradley agrees, in principle. This doesn’t stop him, though. He thinks again as he’s watching you lay there in the middle of the bed, with your arm covering your face, about how different things could be.

Even with your eyes closed and your forearm acting as a makeshift blindfold, you expect that he’s still standing by that door and planning out your future for you. It’s tiring.

With all of the thinking he’s doing, you expect him to have plenty to say by the time he’s done. Another lecture.

The air is sucked out of you as he plants his knees on either side of your thighs, grabs your forearms and pins then above your head. Eyes blown wide, you must look crazy. He looks beautiful. Smiling softly, inches from your face, his cross necklace spilled forwards from his shirt and dangling above your lips.

“I’ll stop.” He swears, eyes pooled with sincerity as his head dips with a soft nod. Your heartbeat thurs between the two of you; his thumb strokes at your wrists. “I’ll stop, if you just make me one promise.”

The playing field isn’t exactly level, here. You could be convinced to promise him just about anything when trapped with him looking down at you like this. Your lips twitch, but you won’t smile at him. One of his hands leaves your wrists, coming down to trail an index finger along your cheek.

“You’ll think about it. While you’re here, you’ll think about what comes next for you.” He’s gentle with you, leaning in close and kissing your lips chastely.

It’s just too tempting to roll your eyes at him.

Bradley abandons his hold on your wrists all together and grabs at your waist instead, pinching playfully as he scowls down at you. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me.”

“Fine, fine — you win.” Your lips crack into a smile, taking advantage of the newfound freedom to drape your arms around his thick shoulders and guide him in closer. Compliantly, he kisses your mouth.

Your tongue pokes out from between your lips and wets the flesh of your bottom lip, coating it in saliva, capturing Bradley’s total and absolute attention.

He lets his thumb follow the same path your tongue had, your saliva coating the rough pad as he trails it downward and catches hold of your chin.

The doe-eyed look on your face, the silk of your skin and the soft sheen of saliva sitting on the pad of his thumb has his mind reeling with possibility. You’re studying him too, recognising that same dark look in his eyes, trying to place it.

“You’ve gotta stop looking at me like that.” He whispers finally, his chest inflating with a deep breath, his throat tight as he finally swallows. Heat prickles at the back of your neck. Your eyes dart downward from his face, at his knees bracketing your thighs, and back up swiftly.

That’s it.

“Will you teach me something Greek, then?”

Teaching is truthfully the furthest thing from Bradley’s mind. The thought of grading bad papers isn’t even enough to stem the sudden rush of blood flow headed to his dick. He exhales above you, practically itching with the need to touch you.

The thing about Bradley is that he isn’t a stranger to casual sex, but he doesn’t sleep around. When someone has captured his attention, they’ve got all of him. He can’t imagine going out and finding someone to hook up with, but at the same time — he can’t keep spending the morning work time thinking about you with your hand shoved into the front of his jeans.

“Sure, kid,” He leans forwards and kisses your forehead, then rolls off of you and settles against your pillows with an arm tucked behind his head. “What do you want to know?”

You push off of your back, wrinkling your nose at his choice of pet name as you turn and settle at his side, laying your head on his chest.

“I don’t know. A myth.” You close your eyes and turn your face towards his neck. After waiting all night to do so, the first inhale is exactly what you wanted. You hum and pull closer to him. His hand finds a spot safely, almost platonically at the small of your back.

“Okay, uh…” He takes a moment to think, trying to remember his study material instead of the way your bare leg is brushing against his thigh. “I’ve got one. It’s from the second century… by Apuleius, in…”

You let him figure out the publication details, absently toying with the loose button in the middle of his shirt. It would be a quick fix, beyond easy to sew back on. You could fix it for him.

“So the myth is right in the middle of his book, and it’s there as an example of mise en abyme—“

You turn your head quickly, frowning disapprovingly back up at him. “Bradley, I just asked for a story.”

“Right,” He hums, shifting slightly and closing his eyes as he scratches awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Fine. The context might have been helpful, but fine… The story starts with a king, and the king has three very beautiful daughters. The most beautiful of his daughters is called Psyche, and she’s beyond beautiful — rivaling Aphrodite kind of beautiful.”

Right before your head settles against his clavicle, fitting perfectly against the curve of his broad shoulder. Your fingers follow the wrinkles in the linen on his shirt. Your leg is hooked just slightly over his thigh. Glancing upwards, he’s already watching your fingers dance across his chest. His lips pink, his cheeks warm, his eyes flicker up to yours.

…

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @cassiemitchele @himbos-on-ice @wkndwlff @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @sugarcoated-lame @kmc1989 @cherrycola27 @ahoyyharrington

[asdfghytrewq1]

Are You With Me? - Ch. 5

previous part | masterlist | next part

synopsis: Jake and Y/N take their kids to say goodbye to a friend, but it goes as well as one can expect. The Seresins also learn what the next course of action is for Ella's treatment.

word count: 4.1k

warnings: medical inaccuracies, childhood cancer, death, funerals, cursing, traumatic events, fighting, slut shaming, mentions of cheating.

Jake could remember the first funeral he ever went to. He was six, not much older than Ella is now, and it was for his grandfather. His mother had dressed him up in a small black suit with a burnt orange tie, a nod towards his grandfather’s beloved Texas longhorns. His mother was dressed in a black dress and had a simple strand of pearls around her neck, the same as two of his sisters. His father was dressed similarly to Jake; black suit, orange tie. 

Jake could remember walking into the church, a place he had been to a thousand times over, but now it was covered in memorial flowers and people all dressed in black. Some of the ladies wore elegant hats with lace veils over their faces. The men all seemed to have cleaned their watches and dug out their alumni rings for the occasion. Jake’s father was stopped several times in the foyer by people giving him their condolences. Jake wasn’t sure why everyone was stopping in front of a long wooden box, the women walking away with tears in their eyes. 

“Come on,” Jolene said to her children, “Let’s go say goodbye to grandpa.” 

All Jake could do was nod as Jolene led them over to the wooden box at the front of the sanctuary. Jake froze about three feet from the box, his heart beating fast in his chest at the sight in front of him. He felt his hands grow clammy as Jolene turned around to look at her son, who looked like he had seen a ghost. 

“Jake?” Jolene asked, “What’s wrong?” 

“That’s not grandpa.” Jake shook his head, pointing towards the box, “That’s not him!” 

Jolene gave Jake a said smile, crouching down in front of him, “It is grandpa, Jake. It’s grandpa’s earth body. His spirit is up in heaven with Jesus.” 

“They messed him up,” Jake whispered, “That’s not him!” 

“How about we take a look?” Jolene pleaded with her son. Jake reluctantly nodded as Jolene stood to her full height and took his hand. Slowly they walked together to stand in front of the casket. 

Jake took one look in and turned his head. The body laying in the casket looked nothing like the man he remembered. His skin was pale, almost blue and waxy. His hair looked fake and as if they used way too much hairspray to get the combover to lay flat. It all just looked wrong to Jake. It was all just wrong. 

“That’s not him,” Jake shook his head as he sat down in the front row with his mother and waited for the service to begin. The whole time Jake kept repeating in his head that the man in the box was not his grandfather. 

Ever since that moment at six years old, Jake dreaded funerals. It was horrible, but Jake did all he could to avoid going to them. Y/N practically had to drag him to Tom Kazansky’s funeral, and even then, Jake took Alex to the nursery about half way through the service. It wasn’t that Jake was scared to bare his emotions and mourn the loss of a life. It was that he hated seeing the body lying all alone in the pinewood box. He hated knowing that their body was going to stay there for the rest of eternity until they rotted away into nothing. He hated knowing that the last glimpse of your loved one was going to be when the funeral director closed the lid. 

“Dad,” Alex’s soft voice filled the room. Jake was sitting on the bed, trying to come up with an excuse to not go to this funeral, “Can you help me with my tie?” 

“Sure,” Jake nodded, sliding off the bed and kneeling in front of Alex. Y/N had gotten them both matching forest green ties, “You look good.” 

“Thank you,” Alex nodded, scrunching his nose up to push his glasses up farther. Jake couldn’t help but smile at the small movement. No one was quite sure when Alex started doing that, but it was cute, “I asked Mommy to help me but Ella is sick.” 

Jake’s smile turned into a small frown, “I know. . . how are you feeling about this?” 

It wasn’t very often that Jake got to stop and have a conversation with Alex about everything that has gone on. Sure the boy was only seven, but he still had some idea of what was going on with his sister. Y/N and Jake’s worst fear was Alex and Eli feeling ignored during all of this. They made sure at least once a week they were taking the boys out to do something fun whether that was the arcade or the park. Eli was still too little to understand anything but Alex wasn’t. 

“I’m sad that Ella is sick,” Alex shrugged, “When will she be better?” 

“I don’t know, bud,” Jake sighed, “But what about not having mommy and daddy both here?” 

“Oh,” Alex looked down at the ground, “Well, I guess I’m kind of sad about it. I wish you could both be here, but someone has to stay with Ella.” 

Jake smiled at his son. He was as selfless as his mother, always thinking of others instead of himself, “You’re a good kid, you know that,” Alex nodded his head. Jake placed a kiss on his forehead, before standing to his full height. The two of them walked down the stairs together, finding Y/N and Ella waiting for them. They both wore black dresses and pearl necklaces, only Ella had a black hat on her head to keep her warm. 

“We gotta get going,” Y/N said, standing up from the couch. The two of them loaded the kids up in the car, but Jake hesitated once he shut the car door, “What is it?” 

“Do we both need to go?” Jake looked over at Y/N, “I can stay and watch-” 

“Eli is with Rooster, and yes,” Y/N nodded, “We both need to go. Miranda and Dominick became our friends and we need to support them. . . this could’ve been us.” 

Jake clenched his jaw and nodded. Y/N climbed into the truck without another word, and Jake followed. When they arrived at the church, Jake helped Y/N out of the truck, trying to put on a show of solidarity in front of the other couples from the hospital. Rumors had flown since their spat in the hallway, and most of the parents were ‘Team Y/N’. Y/N didn’t bother saying anything to Jake as she opened the door for the kids and took each of their hands in hers, forcing Jake to walk behind them. 

The vestibule of the church was exactly like Jake could remember the one his grandfather’s funeral was in. People dressed in black, flowers all over, pictures and videos of the deceased being played but no one paid any attention to. Y/N signed the guest book for all four of them, taking a bulletin before making her way into the sanctuary. 

“Remember what we talked about?” Y/N turned towards her kids, “We’re going to walk past Sammy’s body and-“ 

“No!” Ella cried, “I don’t wanna see him!” 

“Ella,” Y/N said quietly, “You don’t have to see Sammy, but we have to walk-” 

“No!” Ella shook her head, Jake placed a hand on her shoulder, hoping to soothe her, “I don’t wanna!” 

 Y/N could feel all eyes being turned towards them and it made her skin heat up, “Baby, we have to walk by-“ 

“No!” Ella’s lip quivered as tears began to spill down her cheeks. Sobs racked her body as she hid her face in her hands, “I don’t wanna see him!” 

Jake picked her up, setting her on his hip, “It’s okay. You don’t have to.” 

“That’s not him!” Ella turned and hid her face into her father’s neck. Y/N felt out of options as Jake gave her a pleading look. She glanced around, noticing the stares and the looks they were gaining. 

“Okay,” She sighed in defeat, “We’ll go.” Jake nodded his head, and turned on his heel, taking his sobbing child out of the church. Y/N looked over to where Miranda and Dominick stood, giving them an apologetic look before following her family. She sighed as she climbed into the truck, leaning back into her seat. She glanced at her children through the rearview mirror; Alex staring at the raindrops sliding down the window and Ella with tears running down her cheeks. 

— — — 

Six weeks. 

It had been six weeks to the day since Y/N made the dumb mistake of falling into bed with her ex-husband. She had never been the one for casual hookups. Jake was her first everything and the most she ever let Miles do to her was go down on her. She had promised herself that she wasn’t going to be a woman who hooks up with her ex-husband out of convenience, but here she was, hooking up with her ex-husband out of convenience and currently watching him as he blatantly flirted with Becky, one of the mom’s in the therapy group. 

The styrofoam cup in Y/N’s hand was hot as she stared daggers at the blonde man, who was turning on his charm as he talked to Becky. The smile. The chuckle. The head tilt. The gentle hand on her arm when he walked away. It all angered Y/N. 

Hell, what didn’t anger Y/N these days. 

“Hey,” Jake said as he sauntered up to you, grabbing one of the glazed donuts on the table. 

‘Fuck you for eating that donut’ Y/N thought. She had always been amazed at Jake’s body and how he was able to eat nearly anything and everything he wanted. But now, it annoyed her. The stress from taking care of her sick child, her poorly timed eating schedule and not being able to go to the gym had their effects on Y/N and she had gained some weight. She hated looking at herself in the mirror and hated even more when Jake would sit and make sure she ate something substantial. 

“Hello?” Jake swiped his hand in front of his wife, earning him a glare. 

“Don’t wave your hand in my face,” She snapped. 

“I’m sorry,” Jake apologized, “What’s going on? You seem out of it.” 

Y/N pursed her lips, debating on saying something or biting her tongue, “Becky got a boob job last summer with her divorce settlement.” Jake’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked at her, “You like natural so I thought I’d give you a heads up.” She simply shrugged and walked away to find a chair in the center circle. 

Another thing Y/N didn’t want to say out loud was how much therapy had actually been helping her. She hadn’t said anything more than the bare minimum; who she was, what her child was diagnosed with, what the prognosis is, and a weekly update on how her child is doing. It was nothing more and nothing less than that every meeting. But Y/N did enjoy the adult interaction for an hour twice a week. She didn’t realize how much she missed being around people her own age, even if she couldn’t remember half the names of the people in the group. Jake had attended every meeting with her, sitting next to her and silently supporting her when she gave her opening statement. 

Jake sat down in his usual chair, in the middle of Y/N and Marjorie, the elderly lady who ran the therapy group. She reminded him of his grandmother, permed gray hair, bright pink lipstick on her lips, and she smelled like cherries and vanilla. She also had the slightest southern twang which Jake appreciated from time to time. Marjorie always had a large, leatherbound journal with her at every meeting which confused Jake. He never saw her take any notes, never saw her turn any pages. But the book was in her lap, open to some page at every meeting. 

“Good morning my beautiful caretakers,” Marjorie said, gathering the attention of the group. Y/N fought hard to not roll her eyes at the usual greeting, “Let us start with our daily openings. Jacob, how about you start?” 

“Oh, I’d love to, Marjorie,” Jake smiled at her and Y/N did, in fact, roll her eyes this time. 

Therapy droned on for another hour, as Y/N pretty much blocked out everything that anyone was saying. It was all the same, week after week. But what wasn’t the same, was the two open chairs next to her. It pained her as she glanced over to where Miranda and Dominick had sat just a few weeks ago. No one knew that Sammy had gotten so sick and was circling the drain. Miranda had sat there and told the group that Sammy was still fighting hard, that he was still continuing his treatment with a smile on his face. No one knew that in a few short days, Sammy would pass away in front of his parents. 

Y/N picked up her head and looked at the group of parents and guardians in front of her. She wondered how many of them were saying that their children were still strong and fighting when in reality, the grim reaper was knocking on their door. A sick feeling rose in her belly. The same sick feeling she had been feeling for the past week. 

“I know he’s going to keep-“ 

Y/N stood up quickly, cutting off Becky, who glared at her, “I’m sorry.” She muttered, turning for the door of the meeting room. She tried her best not to break out into a run, but she moved as quick as she possibly could. 

Jake’s eyebrows furrowed as he watched her retreating form scamper out of the room like a fire was lit under her ass. He turned his head back towards Becky, watching as the crocodile tears streamed down her face. Sure, Jake felt bad her son had cancer, but he’s also been in remission for six weeks now and yet, Becky still comes in to hit on the dads. 

Yes, Jake is well aware that Becky flirts with him at any given chance. And yes, he knows that Y/N is jealous of that. Y/N has always been the type to wear her emotions on her face, and Jake can feel the daggers that she glares into his spine whenever he talks to Becky. He should tell her that there’s nothing to be jealous of, that she’s the only one he wants. But Jake is a guy. And sometimes those male like tendencies take over, especially when it comes to one Y/N Seresin. He never knew she could be so possessive and kinky until about six weeks ago. He swore that they’ve been having the best sex they’ve ever had. 

Y/N had returned by the time the meeting had concluded. Her eyes and nose were red, as if she had been crying. Jake’s green eyes tracked her as she moved around the room, going straight for the coffee pot. All the alarm bells were going off in his head, and his body moved without second thought. She had barely set the coffee pot down when Jake grabbed her elbow, dragging her away. 

“Hey! Let me go!” Y/N protested, pulling her arm free, “You heathen. I can walk on my own-“ 

“Are you pregnant?” 

It took Y/N a moment, as the words that left Jake’s mouth registered in her mind, “No. I’m not pregnant, you twat,” Jake felt the tension in his body relax for a moment, “I know I have gained weight, but I don’t need you pointing that out.” 

“Wait, no,” Jake shook his head, “I wasn’t pointing out that you gained weight, which, you look fantastic,” She scoffed, “It’s just that you’re drinking coffee and you never do unless you’re-” He gestured towards her stomach. 

“I’m not pregnant,” Y/N stated again, shoving the cup in his hand, “I’m going to check on Ella.” 

Y/N tried her best to keep her face neutral until she got into the elevator, her body nearly collapsing against the metal wall. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she reached into her pocket, pulling her phone out and looking at her calendar. The bright red circle around the date was almost mocking her as she breath caught in her throat. 

“No way,” She shook her head, “No fucking way.”

— — — 

“Take a deep breath. You’re okay,” The nurse spoke calmly as she ran her hand over Ella’s back, holding the oxygen mask to her face. It was the third time in the past week that Ella has had these attacks where she can’t breathe. 

“I can’t- I can’t,” Ella gasped, her big green eyes frantically looking around the room.

Y/N quickly moved towards her, sitting on the edge of the bed, “You can. Take a deep breath, Ella.” Ella sucked in as deep of a breath as her little lungs could, which resulted in her coughing. Y/N closed her eyes, trying to hold back tears as her daughter coughed and gasped for air. 

“Y/N,” the nurse said to her, “Why don’t you go get some air. I got this.” 

Every fiber of her being was telling her to stay by Ella’s side, but she couldn’t watch for any longer. Ella looked up at her mom, giving her hand a light squeeze as if to tell her it was alright. The familiar burn of tears clogged her throat as she stood up from the bed. 

“Thank you,” Her voice was barely a whisper as she quickly made her exit out of the room. 

Y/N let out a sigh as she walked down the hallway, clenching and unclenching her shaky fists. The familiar grip of anxiety held her heart as stopped at the nurses’ station, placing her elbows on the counter and running her hands through her hair. Y/N couldn’t decide what was worse, watching her child get so violently ill that the blood vessels in her face broke or watching her gasp for precious air. She determined that both of them sucked. 

“Y/N,” Miles' voice sounded out. She looked up at him, expecting to see that warm, comforting smile, but instead was met with a grim look, “Doctor Thomas and I need to talk to you. . . both of you.” 

Jake had started to hate this office. He hated the bright posters on the wall and the stuffed animals on the couch behind him. As much as this office was trying to be a bright, cheerful place, it brought nothing but heartache and pain. The tension was thick as the two of them were trying to wrap their heads around what Doctor Thomas had just said. Jake’s eyes flitted over to Y/N who was staring at something on the desk in front of her. He so badly wanted to reach out and grab her hand. 

“The transplant list?” Her voice sounded out, sounding weak and farther away than the seat next to him, “She. . . you’re putting her on the transplant list?” 

Miles licked his lips before answering, “We think it’s the best course of action.” 

“What about the lobectomy?”

“The cancer will just come back,” Doctor Thomas said, “The only guaranteed way that the cancer will go away and stay away is if we do this transplant.” 

Y/N shook her head, trying to grasp what was really going on. She had called Jake almost as soon as Miles said he needed to talk to them both. Jake had left base like a bat out of hell, getting to the hospital in an amount of time that could only be done by speeding. They knew that one of the treatment options would have to be removing a portion of Ella’s lung. Y/N hated the idea of her child going under the knife to remove a portion of herself. 

“How long?” Y/N looked up at Miles, “How long do you think she’ll have to wait?” 

Both Miles and Doctor Thomas shifted in their seats. 

“Pediatric lungs are hard to come by,” Doctor Thomas spoke softly, “Finding a match can be even harder. It could be six weeks, could be six months. We don’t-” 

“Oh god,” Y/N closed her eyes, a sick feeling sinking her stomach, “We have to wait for another child to-” 

“Donor,” Doctor Thomas said, “We have to wait for a donor.” 

“A child,” Y/N snapped her eyes open and glared at the blonde woman in front of her, “We have to wait for another child to die to save our child.” 

“Well, if you think about it that-” 

“There is no other way to think about it!” Y/N’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the arms of the chair, “The only way our child can live is if another child dies!” 

Doctor Thomas looked over towards Jake, “I think it’s best if we-” 

“Don’t look at him,” Y/N sneered, “You are talking to me. There has to be another way. There has to be. . . Miles,” Y/N gave him a pleading look. 

“I’m sorry,” Miles said sincerely, “We have discussed this at length, getting second opinions from our pulmonary specialists and transplant specialists, we think this is the best course of action.” 

The office was quiet, as the words seemed to settle over Jake and Y/N. His heart was still pounding in his ears and he wasn’t one hundred percent certain he understood what Miles and Doctor Thomas were saying. He got that Ella was sicker than they thought, and the original plan was no longer going to work. But still, Jake couldn’t really wrap his head around what was going on. 

“I know that this is hard to understand,” Doctor Thomas said, “And you’re having an emotional-” 

“Fuck you,” Y/N spat. Jake snapped his head towards his wife, “Fuck you,” She leaned forward, her eyes burning into Doctor Thomas, “You have no idea what kind of response I am having to hearing my child is dying and the only way to save her is to let another child die. You have no idea ‘cause you aren’t a mother. No,” She chuckled, “You’re just a slut who goes after married men.” 

“Y/N,” Jake finally spoke up. 

Doctor Thomas stood up from her chair. If she was insulted by Y/N’s words, she did a great job at hiding them as she rolled her shoulders back, “I think that is all for today. Miles will keep you updated on Ella’s status on the transplant list. Jake, Y/N,” Doctor Thomas nodded to them both, before she left the room. 

“I’ll let you guys have the room,” Miles said, following after Doctor Thomas. 

Silence reigned over the two of them, as Jake shifted in his chair to face his wife, “I know you’re upset, but that was uncalled for. Calling her a slut?” 

“She is,” Y/N huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Jake groaned, running a hand down his face, “We were split up.” 

“We weren’t divorced yet,” She glared at him, “I atleast had the respect to wait until the ink had dried on the papers to go out and find someone. You. . . you were already chasing tail the moment I kicked you out. Hell, before I kicked you out.” 

“Okay,” Jake shook his head, “What is your fucking deal? Hm? This isn’t like you. I thought the group therapy was helping.” 

Y/N sighed, “It is.” And that was true. The group therapy was helping her mood for the most part. 

“Then what is going on?” Jake grabbed her hand, “I want to help you, but I can’t if you don’t tell me.” 

His eyes were full of sincerity and longing as he searched hers for a sign of what could be going on. Y/N used to be such an open book, but now it was getting harder and harder to read her, unless the emotion was anger. He missed the days where she would talk to him about anything and everything. It could be about something that pissed her off or something that made her smile.

Tears welled up in her eyes, as Y/N looked away from her ex. She felt stupid. She felt so incredibly stupid that this happened to her. Of all the times they had tried and tried and failed, this happened when they didn’t even want it to. 

Y/N sucked in a deep breath, “I’m late.” 

“Late?” Jake asked, confused. All she did was look at him and he realized what she was talking about, “You’re late.” He sat back in his chair, still holding her hand, “You’re late.”

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Are You With Me? | Chapter 4

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synopsis: Y/N wakes up from the same reoccurring nightmare since Ella had been diagnosed. Some parts of what Jake did during the divorce come to light. Jake and Y/N cross a line.

word count: 4.3k

warnings: medical inaccuracies, nightmares, traumatic events, vomiting, divorce, fighting, cursing, childhood cancer, child character death (not graphic), smut, unprotected sex, mentions of cheating

“She’s not breathing,” A constant beeping sound filled the air as doctors and nurses came running into the small hospital room. Y/N was pushed out of the room, left to look at the action from behind a plate glass window. However, the doctors and nurses didn’t spring into action like she had seen them do when rushing into other childrens’ rooms. They stood there, watching as the child struggled to breath. 

“Do something to help her!” Y/N yelled, pounding her fists against the glass, but it was as if it fell on deaf ears. Doctors and nurses crowded the hospital bed as the small girl lay there unmoving. Tubes and wires covered her body as the obnoxious long tone filled the air.

“Do something! She’s dying!” Y/N yelled again trying to move her spot to get to the little girl, her feet were stuck where they were, “Help her!”

“Time of death,”

“No! My baby! No!”

“Nine thirty six.”

“No! Ella!”

Her body nearly collapsed to the floor, but strong arms wrapped around her, holding her up. She fought against the hard body, wanting to get to her daughter and hold her. The doctor pulled the white sheet over Ella’s head as Y/N continued to thrash in the strangers arms.

“Let me go! Let me go!”

“Y/N, you’re alright.”

“No! Let. Me. Go.”

“Y/N! Wake up!”

With a jolt, she sat up in bed. The cold grip of fear still around her heart, making it beat erratically. A thin layer of sweat covered her body, as her hair stuck to the back of her neck. It took a moment for her to get her bearings, finding herself in the same room she had laid down in, and her ex-husband sitting next to her on the bed. Jake had turned the lamp on, coating them in a warm orange glow. 

“Are you alright?” Jake asked, taking in the sight of his bewildered wife. He wanted to reach out and pull her into his chest, but he had earned an elbow to the face trying to attempt it earlier. 

Y/N nodded her head, not trusting her voice at the moment. Her throat felt dry, presumably from screaming in her sleep. She sucked in a couple of breaths, feeling her heart beat slow to a steady rhythm. She was no stranger to nightmares, especially after Ella got sick. The haunting sound of asystole alarms and the cries of grief stricken parents kept her awake at night. 

“What time is it?” She asked, her voice hoarse.

“Two twenty.”

“And the kids?”

“Still asleep, but, Y/N…” Jake swallowed, “Have you thought about going to that support group Doctor Thomas suggested?”

Y/N scoffed, flinging back the covers and swinging her legs over the side of the bed, “No,” She stood up, walking towards the bathroom to get a drink of water, “Don’t need it.”

Jake stood up from the bed, walking over to the bathroom door, leaning against it. Y/N splashed some cool water on her face, before filling up the cup she kept by the sink. Jake couldn’t help but take in the sight of her pajamas; a white tank top and a pair of his old plaid boxer shorts. He could remember when she stole them from him when she was about seven months pregnant with Alex, “It might help you sleep better if you talk to someone.”

“Oh, like you did?” Y/N knew it was a low blow the moment the words left her mouth.

The divorce had been finalized for two years and Y/N always used Jake’s affair as a deflection tactic. When she didn’t want to talk about herself or anything that was bothering her, she always brought up the affair. Jake had learned to ignore it over the past couple of years.

“Look,” Jake ran a hand through his sleep tousled hair, “I know I messed up and didn’t do things right in the past, but I am now. The group is really helping me get through this.”

Y/N looked up at Jake in the bathroom mirror. It wasn’t the first time he has brought up therapy. Hell, even Miles had suggested it once before but it was quickly brought down. Y/N didn’t want to sit in a circle with other parents of sick kids and listen as they tried to one up each other with who’s kid is the sickest.

Y/N grabbed a quick drink of water, before turning to face Jake, “Thanks for the suggestion, but I got this.” She patted his chest before walking back into the bedroom.

Jake shook his head as she climbed back in, pulling the blankets up to her chin and turning the light off, engulfing him in darkness. 

“Whatever, Y/N,” Jake pushed off of the door jam, leaving the room without another word and going back to the guest room he had been inhabiting. 

— — — 

Sleep did not come easy to Y/N after the nightmare. Hell, sleep hadn’t been coming easy to her for about six weeks since Ella got sick. She had created a strict schedule of being at the hospital when first rounds started at six am. But between the early wake-ups, the late nights making dinner and getting the kids to bed, nightmares waking her up, and now Eli’s newly developed sleep regression, Y/N was a walking zombie. 

“I don’t wanna be sick,” Ella cried as Y/N held the pink basin in front of her. 

“I know, baby,” Y/N cooed, as tears ran down Ella’s cheeks. It was the same battle every day about an hour after Ella left the chemo room. The nausea slowly creeped up in her little body until she threw up. Y/N hated when Alex would have the occasional sick day, and it was killing her seeing Ella getting sick every day like clockwork. 

“Mommy,” Ella whined as she dry heaved over the basin. 

“Just let it out,” Y/N rubbed her back, “Let it out, baby. You’ll feel better.” She grimaced as the scent of vomit filled the air, Ella’s small body nearly convulsing as she puked, “It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay, baby.” Y/N kept repeating sweet nothings to Ella as she emptied the very limited things in her small stomach. Her weight loss has become more evident by her protruding collarbones and ribs. Jake was almost scared to pick her up these days, worried that he’d break her. 

A knock sounded at the door, “Knock, knock,” The person said, “Is now a good time?” 

Y/N rolled her eyes as she sat the basin down in between Ella’s legs. It was never a good time for Doctor Thomas to barge into the room, but it wasn’t like she cared. What do you even say to a doctor when they ask ‘is now a good time?’ “No, come back later when I’m dying”? 

“Yes,” Y/N answered, but Doctor Thomas was already halfway into the room. Y/N grabbed a cool rag, putting it on Ella’s forehead and removing the emesis bucket, “How can we help you, Doctor Thomas?” 

“Just checking in,” She smiled that perfect smile that all doctors seemed to have. Pearly white, perfectly straight teeth. Doctor Thomas pulled up a chair, sitting at Ella’s bedside, “How are you, Ella?” 

The little girl pouted, “I threw up.” 

“Aw, I’m sorry,” She rubbed the back of Ella’s hand, “Today wasn’t a good treatment day?” 

“They didn’t even have sugar cookies,” Ella muttered. Y/N shook her head with a light laugh. Of course Ella was upset about the cookies. 

“You’re letting her have sweets?” Doctor Thomas asked, looking up at Y/N. 

“We’re monitoring her diet, but yes, we allow her to have something sweet to eat every once in a while. Miles said-” 

“Miles isn’t an oncologist,” Doctor Thomas said, tilting her head slightly and plastering that smile on her face. 

Doctor Nicole Thomas, oncologist, top of her class at Northwestern, top resident at the Mayo Clinic, one of the best oncologists on this side of the Missouri river, and total bitch to parents. April, the mother of Sammy, the little boy next door to Ella, shared her dislike for Doctor Thomas. She was blonde, had legs for days and breasts that seemed to be the perfect size and perky. The wives had all noticed their husbands wandering eyes when Doctor Thomas walked by. And to make matters even worse, Doctor Thomas knew Jake. . . personally. 

“If you have an issue with my daughter’s diet, please, Doctor Thomas, enlighten me,” Y/N crossed her arms over her chest. 

Doctor Thomas’s smile didn’t falter, “Things like cookies and sugary treats aren’t good for children with compromised immune systems. Over processed pre-packaged snacks or snacks full of butter and frosting. . . you want your child eating heart healthy snacks. I think Jake would agree.” 

The slip of her husband’s name from Doctor Thomas’s lips had Y/N seeing red, her arms falling down to her sides, “I know what is best for my child. You are pumping her full of toxins that are making her throw up and lose weight. If she wants a sugar cookie, I’m going to let her have a sugar cookie. At least she’s eating something. . .” She rolled her shoulders back as she mumbled, “And keep my husband’s name out of your mouth.” 

“Noted,” Doctor Thomas said, standing up from the chair. She looked down at Ella, “I hope you feel better, Ella. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Bye Doctor Thomas,” Ella waved to the blonde woman. 

Before she left the room, Doctor Thomas turned around, the condescending smile still on her face, “Have you looked into that support group? I think it would really, really do you some good, Y/N.” 

Y/N scoffed, marching towards the door to rip into Doctor Thomas, but she was gone by the time Y/N stepped out into the hallway, her chest heaving. Her eyes narrowed as another familiar blonde made his way down the hall, smiling and waving to the kids and their parents as they passed. Fire burned in Y/N’s veins as she stalked down the hall, determination written on her face. 

“Hey!” She yelled as she set in on Jake, “Tell your little side piece to keep her nose out of the way I raise my child.” 

“Side piece?” Jake’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“Doctor Thomas,” Y/N sneered, “Trying to tell me what's right for my child.” 

“Our child,” Jake corrected her, “And she’s probably right. She is a doctor after all.” 

Y/N scoffed, “Of course you would side with her.” 

“Unbelievable,” Jake shook his head. He looked around, noticing the eyes of the nurses, doctors, parents and techs on them as they squabled in the hallway. He grabbed Y/N’s arm, pulling her into an alcove by the nurses’ station, “You need to get yourself together. You’re causing a scene.” 

“Me? Get myself together?” Y/N’s eyebrows rose in shock, “You’re the one screwing our child’s doctor!” 

“I didn’t screw her!” Jake snapped. 

“No,” Y/N chuckled, shaking her head, “You’re just spending late nights having secret conversations and confiding in her behind my back.” 

“Do you blame me? It’s like talking to a brick wall with you,” The hurt settled into Y/N’s chest. She wrapped her arms around her chest, as if she could protect herself against Jake’s words. He sighed, placing his hands on his hips, “Y/N. . . you need to talk to someone. You aren’t sleeping. You’re lashing out at people. Your mother called me in tears the other day because you yelled at her. This isn’t you.” 

“You don’t know what's me,” Y/N whispered, taking a step back from Ella, “I need to be with my daughter.” 

“Our daughter,” Jake corrected her again. Y/N just shook her head, walking out of the alcove and back to Ella’s room. 

— — — 

Three days had passed since Jake and Y/N’s fight in the hallway. They had been walking on eggshells around one another. Y/N had started keeping some clothes and showering in Ella’s hospital room to avoid going home when Jake was there. Jake started placing a plate of food in the microwave for when Y/N would come home from the hospital before he went to be with Ella for the night. It had all seemed to work just fine, until it came crashing down. 

Y/N was running late to switch Jake off from his night shift with Ella so he could get to work. Eli had pitched a fit about wanting to put pants on for daycare, and Alex was taking his time with packing his backpack for school. She had barely managed to get out the door on time to get the boys to school before zooming to the hospital to drop off Eli and relieve Jake. 

Jake was pacing the lobby, waiting for his ex-wife to show up. It wasn’t like her to be late without texting or calling first. The worst came to his mind as he tried to keep his heart from pounding in his chest. 

“Fuck it,” He cursed, pulling his phone out ready to call her, when the elevator dinged. 

“I’m sorry!” Y/N breathed out, “I’m so sorry. I should’ve called by Eli dumped his breakfast on his pants and Alex forget his glasses and we were running-” 

“It’s fine,” Jake huffed, “Mav has us doing classroom work. Nothing Dragon and Rooster can’t handle.” 

Y/N shook her head, “I’m just. . . I’m so sorry.” Jake’s eyebrows furrowed as he watched his normally strong partner crumble because she was fifteen minutes late. Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at Jake, “I promise next time I’ll-” 

“Code Blue Room 310. Code Blue.” 

The speaker above them sounded out interrupting them. 

“That’s the room next to Ella’s,” Jake said, his heart coming to a complete stop in his chest. 

“April,” Y/N breathed out. 

Both of them turned on their feet, rushing down the hall as a mass of doctors and nurses went rushing into the room next to Ella’s. Y/N could see through the large bay window into the room as Miles started doing compressions on the little boy's chest, his parents standing in the corner with tears streaming down their faces. 

It was like Y/N was stuck in that nightmare again. The images of her standing outside the hospital room, looking through the window while the doctors just stood around her child. Y/N turned her head as Sammy’s chest convulsed off the bed as they shocked his heart. Jake wrapped his arm around her, his hand cradling the back of her head as she held onto his flight suit. It was like a car crash on the side of the road, Jake couldn’t look away as they shocked Sammy’s heart again. The scene went on for only a few more minutes until the loud beep of asystole sounded out from the room, as the wails of parents filled the air.

“No! My Baby!” 

“Time of death. . . nine thirty six.” 

“Sammy! No! No!” 

A sob left Y/N’s mouth, and Jake held her tighter.. The door to the room opened up, Miles being the first one to walk out, a discouraged look on his face. Y/N lifted her head meeting his sad brown eyes. It was the same look that he had given Y/N many months ago. The look of heartbreak and sorrow. 

“I’m sorry,” Miles said, shaking his head and stalking off. 

Y/N looked over her shoulder, seeing Jake’s stoic and shocked face, “W-what do we do?”

Jake looked down at her, and then back towards the room where the two parents cried over their dead son, “I don’t know. But we need to tell Ella. . . they are-were friends.” Y/N nodded her head. 

Ella was wide awake in her bed when Y/N and Jake walked into the room. She smiled at them both, but it quickly faded seeing the frowns on her parents' faces. Y/N sat on the edge of Ella’s bed, and Jake stood behind her. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. They didn’t exactly cover the topic of telling your four year old child that they’re friend just died of the same cancer they have in the parenting books. Jake sensed Y/N’s turmoil, taking a step forward and grabbing her hand. He squeezed it twice, and Y/N looked up at him. She gave him a tight lipped smile before squeezing his hand back twice. 

“Ella,” Y/N started, “We need to tell you something. . .” 

— — — 

Y/N had never been so thankful to have her parents living in the same city. Clara and James were at the hospital within minutes of Y/N asking if they could stay with Ella. It had been a rough day with Ella, between trying to explain what happened to Sammy, to holding her while she threw up. It had been a day of tears and tantrums from the little girl, she didn’t want to be stuck with needles or be pumped full of medicine and neither one of her parents could blame her. Ella had fallen asleep on Jake’s chest before Clara and James arrived. 

Y/N and Jake had moved in near silence as they made dinner, bathed the boys, and put them both to bed. The mental and physical toll of the day was starting to hit them like trains. Jake was amazed by how strong Y/N had been, being able to keep a smile on her face and care for Ella. He just wanted to go home and drink the day away. 

“I’m gonna head to bed,” Jake said as they walked up the stairs. Y/N’s legs felt like bricks when she reached the top, “I called Mav and told him what happened. I got tomorrow off,” Y/N didn’t say anything as she stared at her bedroom door, “Goodnight, Y/N.” 

It was silent for a moment as Y/N listened to the creak of the floorboards as Jake walked to his room. 

“Jake,” Y/N called out, her voice barely above a whisper. He stopped in his tracks, not daring to look down the hall at her, “Stay with me,” She looked at him, “Please.” Unshed tears shone in her eyes. 

Jake swallowed thickly, “Y/N,” He scratched the back of his neck, “I don’t think that's a good-” 

Y/N shook her head, walking over to him, “Please,” She stood in front of him. She wanted to reach out and grab his hand, but refrained, “Please. . . stay with me. . . I don’t want to be alone after today.” 

Jake looked into her eyes, seeing the longing and the fear that hid behind unshed tears. Silently, Jake agreed, grabbing her hand and intertwining their fingers and lead her down the hall. He gently pushed open her bedroom door. It was just the same as it was two years ago. It was as if she was still living in a time capsule where Jake had never betrayed her. Where they were still married. Where they were still one. 

Jake walked Y/N over to her side of the bed, having her take a seat on the mattress. She watched as he moved around the room with muscle memory, opening drawers to her dresser, pulling out her normal pajamas; an oversized shirt and boxer shorts. He set them on the bed next to her, standing in front of her. 

“Can you-” 

“Help me?” They spoke at the same time. 

Every fiber in Jake’s being was telling him no. Every fiber was telling him to leave the room, to tell her that she would be fine on her own and he’d be right down the hall if she needed him. But his heart was telling him that he couldn’t leave her. Not like this. Not when she had witnessed every sick parents’ worst nightmare. Jake functioned wordlessly, as he reached for Y/N’s hands, standing her up. His hands went to the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head. He refrained from looking at her chest, which he felt like he deserved an award for. He folded the shirt nicely placing it on the bed behind her. 

“You should probably do the um. . . pants,” Jake gestured to her lower half. 

“Jake,” She chuckled, “We were married and had three kids. You can’t take my pants off?” 

“Yes I-. . . Well you know that I can but this is. . . This is different,” Jake said. 

“Why won’t you look at me?” 

“Y/N,” Jake challenged. 

“Jake,” Y/N shot back, “Look at me.” 

Jake huffed, turning his head to look at her. It was the first time in nearly three years that he had seen her like this. His body felt like it had been lit on fire. Three years, and Y/N hadn’t aged a day. Her body was still perfect; beautiful skin, perky breasts, curves that brought grown men to their knees. Jake’s hands itched to touch her, to remember the feel of her skin beneath his palms. He felt his groin tighten at the memories of her being under him. 

“Jake,” Y/N sighed, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. She could feel the warmth radiating off of him as she took a step closer.. 

“Y/N,” He warned. 

“Please,” She begged, her eyes wide with lust, “I need you.” 

“Y/N.” 

“One night,” Y/N begged, “One night to make me forget, please.” 

Jake groaned, grabbing her face and crashing his lips to hers. The familiar taste of her chapstick, something that hadn’t changed over the past three years. Her hands went to his hair, pulling on his blonde locks as his hands roamed her body, walking her backwards until they both landed on the bed. Y/N moaned as Jake’s lips landed on her neck, sucking and biting gently. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t dreamed of having his lips on her skin again. 

“Did he touch you?” Jake asked, his hot breath fanning her neck. 

Y/N shook her head. 

“I need to hear it, Y/N,” Jake said, looking at her, “Did he touch you?” 

“No,” Her answer was solid, “Not like this. Not ever, like this.” 

“Good,” Jake sat back on his haunches, grabbing the neck of his shirt and pulling it over his head, “Cause I don’t share.” 

Y/N’s eyes shamelessly ran down his naked torso. It was obvious that Jake took care of his body. She remembered all those mornings of waking up to him playing music in the garage turned home gym. But seeing his sculpted body up close again, sent her into a frenzy as she reached out for him, pulling him back down against her. The two of them kissed passionately, hands roaming each other’s bodies, trying to pull one another as physically close as possible. Clothes ended up scattered around the room until they were bare in front of one another. 

“Are you sure?” Jake asked, placing himself in between Y/N’s legs. His cock was hard and leaking, aching for some sort of relief. Y/N’s eyes wandered down his body, a shiver running through her body. 

“Please,” She reached down and grabbed his cock, guiding it in between her legs, “Please, fuck me, Jake.” 

Jake nodded his head, replacing Y/N’s hand with his own. He ran it over her folds, before gently pushing the head into her opening. A hiss left Y/N’s lips at the unfamiliar feeling of being stretched. Jake knelt down on his elbows, caging her head in between his arms. 

“Look at me,” Jake whispered. Y/N’s eyes fluttered up to his green ones, “Breathe, I got you. I won’t hurt you.” Y/N nodded her head as Jake grabbed her thigh, guiding it over his hip, pushing into her a bit more. They both let out a gasp as Jake bottomed out, his hips flush against hers. He waited a moment, letting them both get used to the feel of one another. 

“Jake,” Y/N placed both hands on his cheeks, “Move. Please.” 

Jake complied moving his hips back ever so slightly and then pushing back into her. The painful stretch of Jake’s cock in her pussy slowly faded away until pleasure filled her body. Jake’s grunts filled the air, as he sped his hips up, and hit all the right places. Y/N dug her nails into his back, surely leaving angry red marks down the skin. 

Neither one could remember the last time they had sex like this. Raw, emotional, full of passion. The two of them pawed and pulled each other as close as possible. Their lips swallow one another’s moans and cries of pleasure. Jake brought Y/N to the brink of orgasm twice, before cumming inside of her. He collapsed on her chest, their heartbeats erratic but still beating in time. 

The two of them had cleaned each other up in near silence, both scared of even talking about what had transpired between them. Y/N laid on her side of the bed, far away from the door, wrapped in Jake’s arms, her head on his chest. She gently traced over the tattoo on his pec, the gentle cursive of her name. She had noticed the other day that he still had her initials tattooed on his ring finger. 

“I’ll do it,” Y/N mumbled. 

Jake furrowed his eyebrows, looking down at his wife, “Do what?” 

Tears filled her eyes, as she looked at him, “I’ll go to the support group.” 

Jake gave her a sad smile as he bent his head down, placing a feather soft kiss on her lips, “Goodnight, Y/N.” 

“Goodnight, Jake.”

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The Parent Trap | 0.4 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

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♡ In which, after a couple of years of listening to Peyton and Parker Bradshaw complain about their parents’ custody agreement, Grandpa Mav’s meddling goes a little bit too far.

♡ warnings: mentions of divorce throughout the fic, flashbacks to arguments and unhappily married people. Idiots who still love each other and don’t know it, drinking / being drunk, flashbacks and references to sex, minors dni, wc: 4.8k

…

“I’m not being mean, I just think he smells weird,” Parker decides with a shrug, moving the little silver dog six spaces and narrowly missing her sister’s monopoly of hotels on the right side of the board. She lifts her gaze and looks at you, just daring you to challenge her logic. “It’s not mean if I’m just saying what I think.”

Peyton’s lips twitch as she shakes the dice in her hand, but she doesn’t add any commentary this time. You narrow your eyes across at your outspoken daughter, finding so much of your ex-husband in the amusedly defiant way she stares back at you.

“What does he smell like, then, Parks?” You challenge.

“Wood.” She answers with a shrug as her sister rolls a solid twelve and picks up the thimble to skip along the board in front of her. Peyton pokes her tongue out in concentration, like it’ll do anything to prevent her solid twelve from landing her right on the Go To Jail space. She growls in frustration and falls back dramatically onto the carpeted floor. She has spent most of this round in jail. You’re beginning to feel sorry for her, but it’s hard when she has some of the best properties and a business strategy that should probably concern you as a parent.

“Well, he is a carpenter.” You remind her, picking the dice up and shaking them in your hand. With that, the man in question rounds the corner with two glasses and two juice boxes balancing in his hands and a smile plastered across his face. This is now the fourth time that Chris has met your children, the first being a month ago.

He seems to be growing on them if Parker is actively trying not to be mean this time. You still haven’t gotten your girls to ‘fess up as to which one of them buried his phone in the backyard like a wild dog. Like you wouldn’t notice when your hydrangeas started ringing.

“Here we go, an apple, an orange, and two coffees.” Chris hands out the drinks and struggles bending his remarkably inflexible legs into a crisis-crossed shape. They made him be the phone piece — you’re certain that it’s to taunt him about the burying incident — but he’s being a champ about it.

Peyton looks down at her drink and hums, “I don’t want apple anymore. I’ll take an orange juice, big guy.”

In the years since you last hung out with Maverick, it’s so easy to miss the little Mitchell-isms working their way into your kids’ vocabulary. Your head whips around, far more concerned with what she said rather than where she got it from. Chris turns his head towards her, opens his mouth and quickly shuts it again, readying himself to get back up. Your eyes widen as you turn to find your eight year old smiling back at you.

“Then go and get an orange juice, P. Don’t be rude.” You correct her with a stern frown. Suddenly, the apple juice isn’t as much of an issue. She stabs the straw through the hole with her eyes narrowed in Chris’ direction, but this is still a big improvement from last time.

This was never going to be easy, but in the weeks since you introduced your girls to your boyfriend, you have to admit that you thought it would be easier than this. You’ve never heard either one of the girls talk about their dad as much as they do when Chris is in the room.

“Dad knows that she prefers orange.”

“Well, she asked Chris for an apple juice and that’s what she got.” It’s hard not to grow tired when you know it must be wearing him down too. You take the dice and drop them suddenly into Chris’ toughened palm. He softens in comparison, simply smiling back at you.

“So, did you guys get up to anything fun when you were at your dad’s last weekend?” He tries. If they want to talk about their dad, he doesn’t mind — he gets it. It makes you feel even worse.

“Yeah.” Payton deadpans, staring across at him like dirt on her shoe. “What did you two do while we were gone?”

Your head turns towards her again. Chris answers coolly.

“Your Mom sold that new dress she was working on. Cool, right? — We went out to dinner to celebrate that. Other than that, it’s pretty quiet around here without you guys.”

He’s looking at the board, busy moving his piece. He doesn’t know your children the way that you do. He misses entirely the split-second in which they glance across at each other. They find you narrowing your eyes at them.

At once, they’re saved by your ringtone. Another glance is shared between the two of them as you push up from the floor and head for the hallway to answer your call. In your absence, Chris’ piece lands on Peyton’s Park Row property, with the hotel sitting on top.

His brown eyes flicker up to find the eight-year old staring at him expectantly.

“You know the rules. Cough up.” She demands, in a tone she knows she isn’t allowed to be talking in. By the look on their little faces, Chris almost instinctively reaches for his real wallet rather than the colourful little notes sitting beside him.

When you walk back into the room, the first thing that you notice is the silence. Looking between the twins and your boyfriend, your frown deepens. “What’s going on?”

“Chris lost. He’s out of money.” Peyton explains calmly, flicking through her stack of ones like she’s Vito Corleone all of a sudden. Chris turns to look at you and simply wiggles his eyebrows, giving a shrug of defeat as he moves to stand.

As much as you find reflections of your ex-husband in them every day, it tugs at your heartstrings to see pieces of yourself in them too.

“You okay?” He asks, cupping the back of your neck, craning his neck to look at your face. Your palm catches his arm, sitting against his bicep as he pulls you closer.

Parker kicks her sister and they both turn their heads to watch.

You lower your voice to a whisper, fighting to keep the disappointment off of your face. “Yeah… The sitter just canceled.”

“Oh.” He sighs. You’ve been talking about this night for weeks, it’s not often that you get to go out with your friends now that you’ve all got grown-up commitments. “D’you think Bradley could watch them?”

“He’s out of town for a work thing.” You explain dejectedly, leaning in to Chris’ touch as he swipes your hair delicately back from your face.

Watching him hold you close, Parker starts to consider burying his phone once again. Or dropping it in the toilet. Or maybe pouring honey into his work boots that she saw by the front door.

Or maybe, if she was staying true to the source material, she could get him on a camping trip and push his mattress out into the middle of the lake. But he’s bigger than Meredith Blake was, and she’s smaller than Hallie Parker was.

The honey will do.

“I’ll watch ‘em.”

Bradley was out of town on a work thing. He was gone from Tuesday ‘til Friday, he told you that. He got in a little after nine and thought about having a beer, but didn’t. Instead, he just sat on his couch and tried to find a show that would keep him up long enough that he wouldn’t wake up at five in the morning.

He woke up at 1am, his neck stiff and the show two episodes ahead of where he thought it should be. Groaning, he had pushed himself off of the couch and decided to head to bed when he had gotten the text.

The conversation he had with Parker last weekend crossed his mind instantly. They had spent hours talking about fate; what is was, if they believed in it. If Bradley hadn’t startled himself awake by snoring, he would have missed the text completely.

He slipped his phone out of the pocket of his jeans with one hand, rubbing at his tired shoulder muscle with the other, squinting down at the bright screen.

Please pick me up from the Hard Deck when you see this.

He hasn’t ever made you ask twice.

Chris offering to watch the girls had come completely out of left field. It had almost caused a full-blown argument, but that man just seems impossible to get angry with. Stroking your hair and calming each one of your nerves step by step, he swore to you that he just wanted you to have a good time, that he could handle two little girls.

Bribing them was clearly the only way this was going to work, and it seemed like Chris had that in the bag. Emergency numbers set up and ready, allergy information written on the fridge and a borderline military debrief with your twins had left you practically trembling with anxiety, but had gotten you out of the house nonetheless.

You hadn’t planned on getting this drunk. The plan was to go, have a couple of drinks with your friends, and Uber home after a couple of hours. It never works out that way.

In fact, you can barely keep your head up straight when you hear one of your friends call out over the music. “Is that Rooster?”

Blinking doesn’t help you see straight. The loud music, and the bodies in the way, and the irregular lighting doesn’t help either. You squint and finally find him. Wearing jeans and a tight fitting black t-shirt, heading straight for you.

When you squint harder, you expect to realize that it’s not him.

“Rooster!” The second that he reaches you, your arms are around his neck and your chest is pressing into his. You haven’t hugged your ex-husband like this in a long time. “What are you doing here?”

He wrinkles his nose, untangling your arms from around him so that he can get a good look at your face. It’s been a long time since he saw you this dressed up. Hair, make-up, heels. The dress looks familiar but he can’t quite place it.

“You texted me.” He watches your eyelids falling shut, blinking heavily and irregularly as he explains to you. He steadies you by your arms. “You wanna go home?”

There’s a disgruntled groaning sound before you try to look around at your friends. At this point, Rooster makes an effort to be polite and greet them all. After all, they were his friends too, once. They’re all as shitfaced as you.

“Come on, mama. I’ll take you home,” He decides for you, hugging you against him like your own feet aren’t secure enough for his tastes anymore. You fall all too willingly against his chest, your cheek pressing into the fabric of his shirt while he tries to keep the attention of your friends. “Does anyone else need a ride?”

Maybe they do, maybe they don’t — maybe their own husbands will get up and come get them. Rooster won’t leave them without knowing they’ve got a way home, so you know that once you feel the outside chill on your skin he must have made arrangements for them.

He sighs quietly and jerks you as he tries to get a better grasp. Outside, you can finally hear him properly.

“Honey, you need to walk. Use your feet.” He tells you, despite all evidence pointing to the contrary. Your head is lulled against the swell of his shoulder, you haven’t moved your feet since he grabbed you, and yet you’re moving towards the car perfectly fine.

Everything is happening in chapters. You’re skipping ahead and losing parts, not paying attention to much. Things aren’t spinning yet, but they sure are blurry. You manage to talk back anyway.

“I don’t.” You answer, head turned towards the sky. It occurs to you, briefly, that you’re going to be horrifically embarrassed about this tomorrow. Your feet try, then trip, and his hold on you tightens.

“What did you drink? — You alright?” His arm around your waist pulls you closer, your head lulling off of his shoulder and awkwardly onto his moving chest. You hum contentedly.

“I had a good time.” You whisper.

He sighs something about you throwing up in his car and you’re faintly aware of the sound of a car door unlocking.

“C’mere, honey. Just sit right there. I’ve got some water. You wanna sit and get some fresh air with me?” Maybe there are pauses in between — maybe he says it all slower than that, but you can’t really focus. Or open your eyes.

You know that he has guided you to sit against the tailgate of the Bronco because of the way your feet dangle. As a mother, you hate this car. As a girl who fell in love with Bradley Bradshaw — fuck, you love this car.

“Wanna drink somethin’ for me?” Rooster offers the bottle to your mouth and winces as you draw your head sharply away from it. He grabs your shoulders and stops you from teetering over.

You’re not sure how, but you settle into his side and find that his arm remains there. Draped around your shoulders as you rest your head against him.

It takes a while, but Rooster gets you to drink. It’s anyone’s guess as to how long you sit on that tailgate sipping from that water bottle, but his arm around your shoulder feels nice anyway — even if he’s just rubbing your back because he thinks you’re going to puke.

When things start to come around a little more, you’re laying across the two backseats and hugging the water bottle like a teddy bear. Your head is spinning.

“You alright back there?” Rooster calls to you, making you frown slightly and lift your head. Passing by traffic lights and street signs, the world turned on its axis as you try to push yourself up and ultimately give in to staying laid down.

He’s really here. Some way or another, you really forced this man to carry you out of the bar and spend his Friday night babying you. You want to know if you called, or texted, or if he was just in the bar and saw you — you thought he was away for work — but that’s all too embarrassing still.

Your mind is too cloudy for that level of conversation, your words still don’t sound quite right.

“You even didn’t question it.” Your body sways as he pulls to a stop at a red light, your focal point on the soft top of the Bronco swaying with you and kickstarting that dizziness all over again. With a swallow, you close your eyes. The swaying continues like the leather seats below you are actually built into a speedboat as opposed to a seventies classic car.

“Did you put that seatbelt on yet?” His dad-voice comes from the front. Eyes still shut, this makes you smile. You don’t even remember him telling you to. He peers at you through the rear view mirror. “Question what?”

All you offer him is a small shrug, not interested in a seatbelt in the slightest in your current state. This next sentence requires a deep inhale first, but is interrupted by a hiccup. “I text you out of the blue and you just… show up. Didn’t even check to see if it was for you.”

Bradley bites at the inside of his cheek, brows drawing together as the light turns green and another check towards the mirror confirms that you still aren’t wearing a seatbelt. He huffs and the car pulls sharply to the side, making you groan in complaint.

The radio plays on as Bradley stops at the side of the road and unclips his own seatbelt, then gets out of the car. Your poor brain hasn’t even had time to catch up before he’s pulling the door open and half-climbing in. You blink as he appears over you.

With the door still open, he’s just illuminated by the street light. His eyes have always looked so soft in the dark. The slight pout of his lips, the sharpness of his jaw, the bump in his nose. He’d started out with the most innocent of intentions, but as he leans over you across the backseat, it becomes clear that you’re both struck by the same abrupt chord of familiarity.

This is far from the first time that the two of you have been in this position. In fact, this is exactly how things started out the first night you hooked up.

He swallows above you. There’s a wonderstruck look on your face that makes his ears burn red. Your eyes search over his face and with each inch they cover, he watches them flood with remembrance. Warm pink spreads across his cheek, extending down his chest. It makes your lips twitch to think you can still get him to blush.

“Come on, sit up.” Bradley whispers, gently taking each of your hands in his and pulling you upright. “Let’s put your seatbelt on.”

Silently, you don’t fight him on the matter and Bradley knows that’s a win in itself. It’s not the first time he’s had to wrangle you into this car after a few drinks either. Your eyes are just on him, and he swears that’s where the heat on his face is coming from. His fingers fumble to get the buckle into the clasp.

The second that he hears that click, he’s withdrawing from the backseat and climbing back into the driver’s side. You stare at the rear view mirror as he pulls away from the curb. In truth, you had forgotten how gentle he could be with you.

“Thank you.”

He glances up at the mirror, then back at the road.

“Thanks for picking me up. Sorry that I’m…” The pause facilitates a deep inhale that stops you from hiccuping mid-sentence. He watches you sheepishly ready yourself to continue. “Such a mess.”

This, makes him smile. It spreads across his face just as easily as the pink hue had, taking over his features.

“Honey, we both know I’ve seen worse.” Oh god, he remembers. He said it so casually too, like he’s reminiscing on a fond memory. The memory isn’t quite as fond for you, but then again, you don’t remember too much of it. He used to always tease you about it.

The night you met him was your twenty-first birthday, and you were flirting all night, but then you had gotten way too drunk and he had to carry you home — with you fighting him the whole way. He called you alley-cat for two months afterwards. Your feral behaviour had clearly caught his eye, though, because he started hanging around the Hard Deck a lot more afterwards.

Things hadn’t ever seemed that serious in the Hard Deck. Everything was easier back then. The career you have now is exactly what you wanted, but you can’t pretend that some days you wouldn’t rather have a handsome aviator leaning over a bar and telling you jokes to make your shift pass faster.

He takes one more look up at the mirror and smiles again, this time because he finds you already not trying to smile back at him.

“God, I had such a crush on you that summer.” The second that you’ve said it, you have to stop yourself from slapping a hand over your mouth. Closing your eyes will do. You can feel him staring either way.

It shouldn’t be weird to acknowledge. You were married for over five years. In love for a good while before that. Of course you had a crush on him originally. But it’s at the forefront of both of your minds that it still feels like yesterday that you were sprawled along this backseat, stomach bursting with butterflies as he unbuttoned your shorts for the first time.

The salt on his skin, the smell of his cologne mixed with sunscreen and sweat. The way his curls dry after he’s been in the ocean. The way the sunset hits the browns of his eyes. The freckles on his shoulders, dipping into the valleys between his muscles.

The brush of the same moustache you had been making fun of for months against the most sensitive parts of your skin and with it — the realisation that you actually loved that moustache.

Shivering through the late summer evening heat, whispering his name to the stars as his smart mouth worked between your legs. He drove around with the top down a lot back then.

He remembers everything about getting to know you. Getting taunted relentlessly by Hangman because of the way he blushed when you used to tell him his drink was on the house. Almost falling off of his stool craning his neck to get a better look at you behind the bar. Making sure you were invited to every beach outing. The first time he kissed you, and the way you were looking up at him before.

“Sorry, that was—“

“It’s alright.” He interrupts. When he closes his eyes at the next stop sign, all he can think of is the sight of your wet footsteps leading up the steps on his back porch. You had come from the beach. He had known he was going to find you in his shower inside. It was the first time he had ever come home to you. You were barely dating back then.

He looks at the mirror, wondering if you remember that time in the shower.

You’re not thinking about the shower. Fingers spread out, trailing the seams in the leather, you’re thinking about the last time you had sex in this car. So different from the first time. Bradley had known your body so much better, the two of you were so much more comfortable together.

The girls were with your parents for an entire weekend while the two of you were out of town for the wedding. Before the reception, Bradley had tugged you outside and bunched your pretty dress up around your middle. Closing your eyes and letting your fingers inch across the seats, you can still remember his breath fanning across his chest, the low grunts as he drove himself into you. His arms wrapped around your body, your forehead resting against his bicep and your legs around his waist.

“Rooster.” You rarely call him that anymore. It’s the first name you knew him by, since all of his work buddies called him that. Bradley was something that came letter, something that felt more for just the two of you. The last thing you would say most nights. Goodnight, Bradley. It’s been a long time since you said that, but you know it would feel just the same coming off of your tongue.

He hums from the front seat, but doesn’t look.

“Could I sit up front with you?”

“Yeah, sure— let me—“ Too late. He hears your seatbelt unbuckle and knows what’s coming next. Sure enough, as he’s going at a steady forty along Palm Avenue, you swing one foot unsteadily over the console and wobble in the direction of the passenger side. “Baby—“

It’s out of instinct, purely because you’re stressing him out. You plop down into the passenger seat and turn your head to look at him. Wordlessly, both of you decide to pretend you didn’t hear that.

For his peace of mind, you tug the seatbelt across your body and clip it in.

“We’re in so much trouble if the girls take after you.” He teases, the smile in his voice cutting through the tension. You giggle beside him.

“Me? — Do you not remember what happens when you get too familiar with a bottle of tequila?” You answer back, eyes closed and a silly smile on your face. You remember. You remember having to carry him, practically dead weight, into your bed from the living room and spend the night rubbing his back while he threw up the next morning.

“Yeah, we’re in big trouble.” Rooster scoffs, pushing his fingers through his hair. You stare across at the tattoo on the inside of his bicep as he rests his elbow against the door.

You’re still drunk enough to blame the alcohol when you reach across and take his free hand as he steadies the wheel with the other. His gaze flickers down as you loop your fingers through his. “We weren’t that bad.”

This time he laughs.

“We weren’t? — So you don’t remember—“ He’s still grinning when he stops himself, already turning into your street. You two don’t talk about that stuff anymore. You’ve moved on. Those funny little stories are private now, entirely his. Your boyfriend sure as hell wouldn’t want to hear them.

He looks over at you as he slows down to pull up to the curb.

You’re already looking across, staring at him with a look he hasn’t seen in a long time. The smile that you flash him makes him think of that first year. Then, you close your eyes and exhale, “I remember everything.”

Even with the radio playing, there’s a silence that sits between the two of you as the car pulls to a stop. It’s at that point that everything in your orbit starts to spin, forcing you forwards and making you whimper. Bradley’s already out of the car and jogging around to your side as you catch your head in your hands and try to breathe.

“C’mere, honey. I’ve got you.” He reaches around you to unbuckle you from the car, pulling you out by your underarms and holding you against him as he shuts the door. It’s still not the most graceful procedure, but he’s gotten better at it. You’re not exactly making it easy for him as you wobble back and hit your head on the window.

“Oh shit, are you okay?” He breathes out.

“I wanna go to bed.” You complain, wobbling forwards and this time crashing into his chest. He secures one hand on the back of your head to keep you there, pretending like he isn’t checking whether or not you have a bump. Even now, he can’t seem to turn the dad-reflexes off. You sigh into his shoulder. “Take me to bed.”

His free hand finds your waist and he glances down, finally clocking where he remembers this dress from. You wore it the second night of your honeymoon. He remembers this dress very well — he used to carry a picture of you wearing it in his wallet. He’s ninety-percent sure that the twins were conceived because of this dress.

“Yeah, you’re going to bed, baby. Nearly there.” In truth, by the time he has carried you to the door, Rooster has almost forgotten that you have a boyfriend. He’s expecting the same sweet old lady that you’ve been hiring for years to answer the door. That���s why he makes no effort to peel you off of him.

Rooster stares at Chris, while Chris looks between the two of you. You’re barely awake and clinging to your ex-husband’s shirt, he’s holding you at the waist, keeping you standing. Chris looks barely awake, still fully dressed. Clearly a man who has been waiting to hear from you for hours.

“Is she alright? — What happened?” His reaction is positive. Rooster appreciates that much about him. Still, he can’t stop thinking about what Maverick said. If Chris becomes permanent, Bradley’s entire family becomes his.

“She just had too much to drink, she called me for a ride home. I gave her some water and stuff, but—“ Rooster starts to explain, propping you up and holding you halfway. It’s unclear if he’s supposed to just pass you over. He doesn’t know if this guy even knows where you keep the products you remove your make-up with.

“She called you?” Chris challenges. There it is. There’s the anger that Rooster was waiting for.

“I wouldn’t take it personally. She’s shitfaced. She just needs to get some sleep and—“

“Yeah,” Chris steps one foot outside and reaches for your waist. You fall compliantly towards him, the toe of your shoe dragging along the ground as he tucks your arm over his shoulder and props you up. “I’ve got her. Get home safe.”

Rooster’s face doesn’t give away anything. He’s not immature anymore. He wants you to find someone who can give you, and by default his kids, everything that you could ever need. That’s why he keeps his mouth shut. He can think whatever he wants.

“Sure, yeah. Can I just ask… uh… where’s the sitter?” He was so close to walking away and just getting back in his car, but it’s after two now. If that old lady is still here, she would have made it known. As sweet as she was, she loves to complain.

“I watched the kids.”

Bradley raises his eyebrows at your stone-faced boyfriend. Once again, his face gives away nothing. “You did?”

…

Tags:

@khaylin27 @fudge13 @slutford @averyhotchner @hangmanscoming @diorrfairy @thedroneranger @phoenix1388 @perpetuelledaydreaming @princess76179 @cherrycola27 @wkndwlff @xoxabs88xox @galaxy-moon @sugarcoated-lame

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The Younger Kind Part 41 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When Bradley really does have to work late, you spend a fun evening with Noah, but Bradley starts to realize all the ways his life is holding yours back when you go out with friends. Then as soon as you let Bradley see you in your formal dress, he wants to take it off of you. In fact, it'll be a miracle if the two of you make it through the retirement party at all.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff, smut, spitting, butt plug, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4900 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

Your phone screen lit up with a call from Bradley just as you shoved the last bite of your sandwich into your mouth while you were typing up a patient's chart. "Hello?" you managed while you chewed.

"Baby, I'm going to be late today. For real," he said, sounding a bit cautious. "Here, talk to Nat. You're on speaker."

"Hi," came his best friend's voice as you finally swallowed. "He's stupid and annoying, but he's not lying. We're staying late with the new mechanical crew to learn about an update."

"I'm assuming you're calling to make sure I can pick Noah up?" you asked as you smiled. It almost made you feel good that Bradley was being so cautious this time around. 

"Yeah. Can you?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Okay, perfect. I know I've been asking a lot of you," he said, his voice soft and deep. "But I trust you with everything. And I'll make it up to you."

Now you were smirking as you looked around to be sure none of your coworkers were around. "Are you going to make it up to me in our bed or in the shower, Daddy?"

He made a strangled noise and you heard Nat shriek in the background. "Baby, I said you were on speaker," he whispered. "Well, now you're not."

You had to stifle your laughter as you said, "I need to go. I'll get Noah from daycare. And then I'll try my pretty dress on for you if you're good, Daddy."

"Fuck," he muttered. "Yeah, I'll be good. I'll be so good."

You had to squeeze your thighs together at the prospect of making him beg. The retirement party for Admiral Bates was just a few days away, but you hadn't let Bradley see you in the purple dress yet. For the past few days, ever since you told him what Casey said to you, Bradley had been letting you hold all the cards. When he came home from work that day and told you that Casey shouldn't be a problem for you anymore, you gasped. He told you what he'd said to her, and then you gave him a blowjob. 

"I'll see you at home later tonight," you told him softly. "In my pretty Princess dress."

"I can't wait."

"Oh, and don't forget I have happy hour with my work friends on Thursday."

"I'll make absolutely certain I leave work on time on Thursday," he promised.

When you made it to the preschool to pick Noah up, you smiled at Casey. "Oh, hi. I'm here for Noah," you told her, annunciating each word like she was very stupid. She rolled her eyes and handed you the clipboard as you asked, "No bakery box today?"

She didn't acknowledge you or say a single word as she walked to the classroom door and went inside. You filled out the sheet on the clipboard, smiling as you saw Bradley's signature from earlier this morning. Then Noah came streaking out toward you. "Can we take Skittles on a hike?" he asked as he ran into your arms. 

"Of course," you told him, kissing his soft curls as you practically threw the clipboard at Casey and led Noah outside. "Daddy will be home late, so we can do whatever we want."

His face lit up as you buckled him in his car seat. "Can we get ice cream?"

You pretended to consider your answer before saying, "Of course we can get ice cream!"

You drove home with the windows down and the kid friendly playlist on. When you stopped at a traffic light, you turned around to sing along with Noah. And when you parked your car in the driveway, you carried him inside while you sang the dinosaur song together. 

"I love you so much," you told him as he wrapped his arms around your neck. You unlocked the front door and went right to the crate in the kitchen. Skittles was looking up at the two of you with the biggest, sappiest brown eyes you'd ever seen. Well, other than the ones the Bradshaw boys frequently gave you. 

Noah squirmed out of your arms and went to open the crate door just the way you showed him how. He was so gentle with the little pup, and she whimpered and whined until she was able to lick Noah's hands and face. "Come on, Skittles," you called as you opened the back door. She limped her way across the kitchen floor, and you had to force yourself not to pick her up since she was supposed to be moving around on her own. It was bad enough that Bradley carried her around all the time. She looked at you, and you bent to ruffle her purple bow before she wandered outside to the grass. 

"Should we go get ice cream first and then eat dinner after that?" you asked Noah with a smile.

"Yeah! We can pretend it's opposite day!"

"Great idea."

----------------------------

When Bradley got home, he was irritated. The mechanics took forever to get everything in order so he could sign off and leave for the day. The downside of being responsible for his jet was that he was really responsible for every little detail. When he let himself inside, he could hear the bath water running and laughter coming from the bathroom. 

He poked his head inside to find you kneeling on the floor next to the tub while Noah played, and you were both giggling. Skittles perked up and ran for Bradley, and then Noah saw him too. "Daddy!"

You whipped your head around to face him with a bright smile on your gorgeous face. "Hi, Daddy. You'll never guess what today is."

"Tell me," he said as he walked in still wearing his flight suit and boots, scooping Skittles up in one hand. He knelt on the mat next to you with a soft groan and then buried his face against your neck with a little nip. "I'm dying to know," he whispered as he kissed your ear. Then he reached for Noah and kissed his wet cheek as you turned the water off. 

"It's opposite day!" Noah exclaimed. "The water is dry, and I don't like dinosaurs," he said before bursting into a fit of giggles. 

"Opposite day?" Bradley asked, pretending to need help with the concept while Skittles licked his face. "Can I have another example?"

"We had ice cream before dinner!"

"Noah," you scolded playfully. "You weren't supposed to tell him that!" You eyed Bradley sheepishly. "We did end up eating dinner... just after dessert."

He kissed your cheek. "You're the best Mommy ever. You make everything fun."

"Were you good today?" you asked softly while Noah claimed all of his rubber duckies were sinking when they were clearly floating. 

"So good," he promised. The way you bit your lip reminded Bradley that it had been a few days since you and he had sex. He thought maybe you were ovulating, but it didn't really matter. He needed to do a better job of keeping you full regardless. 

Things had just been a bit hectic, and the tiny dog in his hand was evidence of that. If you got pregnant, things would get even wilder around here, but he didn't mind it. He actually craved it at times. And when he reminded himself that he finally had a teammate in you, things always felt manageable. 

"I have an idea," he said as you washed Noah's hair. "After this, I'll get Noah in bed and let Skittles out one more time, and then you can take your time getting ready while I get a shower."

You nodded. "Did you hear that, Noah? It's time to wake up instead of go to bed."

He laughed again. "Will you read me a good morning story?" he asked Bradley.

"Absolutely, Bub," he replied. "I mean... no, I won't? Opposite day is confusing."

When he got Noah to change into pajamas under the guise that he was really getting dressed for daycare, Bradley heard you get into the shower. Once Noah was tucked in, he took Skittles outside. The bedroom door was closed, so you must be in there putting on your purple dress for the retirement party. He couldn't wait to see it.

Bradley got in the shower and took his time, but he was yawning almost nonstop. He needed to get it together so he could fuck you if that's what you wanted. He'd made a lot of promises about that kind of thing, and he didn't want his age to start catching up with him. "Shit," he mumbled as he toweled his hair off before wrapping it around his waist. 

But he shouldn't have worried. As soon as he walked into his bedroom, Bradley stopped short. You were bending and petting Skittles in her little dog bed, but you really did look like a princess. 

"You're wearing your crown," he rasped, and you stood to your full height and turned to look at him. "Jesus." The purple dress was indeed two pieces, and the top was beaded and very tastefully showcased your tits. Then the skirt was some sort of sheer flowy materials in a million layers, and Bradley wanted to run his hands all over it. But not as much as he wanted to run his fingers along the strip of your skin that showed just above your belly button. 

"You like it?" you asked, twirling for him as you brought one hand up to hold your paper crown on your head. "You paid for it," you said with a laugh. 

The fabric of the skirt swung around your body and moved with you. Bradley was entranced. "Yeah, I like it," he whispered. "Everyone else at the retirement party is going to like it too." Maybe a little too much, but there was nothing to be done about it now. And Nat was right when she'd said you would look incredible next to him in his dress white. "Fuck."

"Daddy," you gasped, looking up at him as his towel fell away from his waist. He was half erect, and he hadn't even touched you. All he had to do was look at you or smell you, and he was ready to go. 

You were standing very close, but you didn't let your hands meet his body, and you seemed too perfect right now for him to touch you without permission. Just like actual royalty. "Princess," he whispered as you licked your lips. "Will you let me pull that pretty skirt up and fuck you?"

In response, you brought your hands up to your hips and jutted your chin in the air. "That was very lewd, Daddy." He grunted as the fabric of your skirt brushed along the head of his cock. He could smell your body wash as you ran your hands up to your top and over your breasts. He could practically taste your pussy as his mouth watered. "You better start begging."

Your gaze followed him as he slowly dropped to his knees in front of you and buried his face in your skirt. He kissed the soft layers as he asked, "Please, Baby? I'll do anything you want. Just let me have your pussy. Please."

You brought your fingers up to stroke his cheek and run your thumb across his lips. "You can do better than that."

His cock was throbbing now. "Anything you want. I'll get you off just right. You know I will. I'll worship you." He kissed the soft skin just below your beaded top with the gentlest touch of his lips, and you moaned his name.

Bradley kissed and nuzzled his nose against you, whispering please over and over again before you finally said, "Stand up." He was on his feet immediately, cock at attention and cheeks warm. "Don't mess up my dress," you told him, running your fingertips along his abs as you walked over to the bed. You bent at the waist with your arms and cheek pressed to the soft bedding. You looked so innocent and perfect with your teeth digging into your glossy lip, but you sounded dirty as hell when you said, "Come fuck me, Daddy."

Bradley growled as he reached for your hips through all the layers of your pretty skirt. He forced himself to go slow, pushing the fabric up inch by inch and savoring the way it felt in his hands. Eventually your perfect thighs gave way to your wet pussy, but then Bradley's head tipped back as the most ridiculous noise escaped his lips. 

"Baby," he moaned, rubbing his cock all over your ass and through your wet warmth as you gasped and grabbed at the bedding. You were wearing your purple plug and puckering around it beautifully. So needy, the way you were grinding forward against the edge of the bed. "This is fucking gorgeous," he crooned, gently pushing on the base of the plug and giving you more pressure. 

You rolled your hips back against his hand and raised up on your tiptoes. He knew you wanted your pussy full as well as your ass, and he was going to give you his cock and his cum. Eventually. But first he knelt behind you as you whined, and he pinned your hips in place. "Bradley," you gasped, trying to fight the hold he had on you, but he wouldn't allow it. With your voluminous skirt pushed up to your waist, Bradley kissed you from behind and swiped his tongue through your wet folds. 

"Oh," you gasped loudly, trying to thrust back to meet him.

"Shh," he warned, pressing your plug with his nose. "I'll fuck you just right, but I want you to cum on my mustache first."

It took almost no time, not with how sensitive you were. He debated edging you until you squirted for him, but he figured it was better to ruin the dress after the retirement party. So Bradley ate your pussy like the meal it was until you were on the verge of tears. Every long stripe of his tongue had your legs shaking a little harder. He just wanted a little more before he let you come. So he licked up to your plug and spit, watching his saliva drip back down to your pussy as he finally let you have a little pressure on your clit with his middle finger. 

"Daddy!" you nearly screamed as he rubbed you with steady circles. Your hips jerked as you got his mustache even wetter, crying out against the bedding. But Bradley didn't stop the motion with his middle finger. He kept going as he stood and smiled at your face buried between your fisted hands. 

"That's a good girl. Keep nice and quiet." 

He fucked you, bending over your body and gently kissing your back as he rammed himself deep a few times. You felt somehow even fucking tighter when you were wearing the plug, and Bradley made sure he pressed it deeper as he railed you. 

When he kissed your shoulder, your pussy clenched around him. He wasn't even sure if you were still on your first orgasm or if you'd started to come again, but either way, he felt like your knight right now. When you turned your head to take a deep breath, your crown rolled off, and Bradley watched you look back at him as he fucked into you and bottomed out.

"Am I allowed to come, too?" he grunted, leaning in and licking at your glossy lips. 

"Yes," you whispered, kissing his tongue before he stood at his full height, grabbed you by your hips and thrusted and unloaded. 

Bradley ran one hand up along your beaded top, stroking your bare skin when he came across it. He listened as you hummed and laughed softly while he looked at your purple outfit, your purple plug, and your purple crown on the bed. He'd never had anything so bright in his life before you. 

"Don't mess up my dress," you reminded him, and Bradley just stood there with his cock still inside you and his hands full of fabric. 

"Well, what do you suggest I do back here, Princess?" he asked as you giggled and reached your hands back to hold some of the fabric. You bunched it up higher as you slowly stood, and then Bradley could feel the cool beads of your top against his abs and chest. 

"I think it's safe," you whispered. Bradley withdrew himself, and with a grin, he dropped to his knees behind you. He watched his cum drip down your inner thighs, and when you tried to press your legs together he told you no.

He shoved his hand between your thighs and whispered, "No, it's too pretty," as his semen dripped right from your pussy to his palm. "God, it's so fucking pretty." He kissed along the backs of your legs and the base of your plug, but he didn't move his hand until his palm was coated. 

When he stood again, he whispered, "I'll go get a wet washcloth so I can help you get undressed." But before he could leave the room, you met his eyes and raised his hand to your lips to kiss his cum covered palm and swiped your tongue through it. "Oh, shit," he groaned, watching as you cleaned him up. "How's that taste?"

"Mmm," you hummed, licking your lips. "Good. Like me and you."

His mouth was on yours immediately, needing to taste it for himself as he wrapped his still wet hand around the back of your neck. His tongue met yours, and he tasted himself there along with the sweetness of your pussy. "God damn, Baby. I hope I can keep up with you."

You nodded as he pressed some soft kisses to your lips. "You always do."

---------------------------

On Thursday, you were getting ready for happy hour with your coworkers when Bradley walked into the bedroom. "You look pretty," he said as you applied some of your lip gloss. You smiled at him in the mirror, and he walked a little closer. There was something about you this week that he couldn't quite put his finger on, but he had the urge to fuck you nearly nonstop. 

"Thanks, Daddy," you sang as he rubbed his hand along your lower back. 

"Hey," he whispered, letting his lips meet your ear. "You think we have time for a quickie?"

You knew. You must have known by the way you were smiling. He literally couldn't keep his hands off you. "You just like calling me your little cream donut," you replied, but you didn't say no. 

"I really do," he said, reaching for your jeans zipper, but you took his hand in yours and pulled it away. 

"We don't have time," you scolded, kissing his lips and lacing your fingers with his. "You need to get Noah in the car so you boys can drop me off."

"Who's driving you home again?" Bradley asked, needing to be sure you wouldn't get in the car with anyone who'd been drinking. 

"Sarah," you told him, cupping his cheek gently. "She's seven months pregnant. The hardest thing she'll be drinking is ginger ale."

"Alright," he agreed, letting you finish up as he put Noah in the Bronco. Then he drove you and dropped you off at a trendy looking bar in the Gaslamp Quarter which was filled with people your own age. 

"Looks like a bunch of hipsters," he mumbled as he parked in the loading zone at the curb. He could almost imagine Greyson and his idiot friends hanging out here, and he reached for your hand. 

You laughed as he kissed your fingers. "Everyone under thirty looks like a hipster to you. And I mean that with love."

"You don't look like a hipster," he said, brow furrowed as he looked at your hand and briefly wondered why he hadn't taken the time to buy you a ring yet. 

"I see them," you said, pointing out the window before you leaned in to peck his lips. "I'll let you know when I'm on my way home." Then you crawled halfway over the seat and kissed Noah who was already yawning. "Night, sweet Noah," you whispered before kissing Bradley one more time and hopping out. 

He watched you wave to the group of other nurses he'd met briefly. All of them were around your age, and sure enough he saw Sarah with her pregnant belly. He looked at your elegant body; you looked so damn young, but you seemed older than twenty four. And you'd look just right with a belly like that. Bradley groaned and put the Bronco in drive when he saw a group of guys walk toward you and your coworkers as you were about to head inside the bar. You ignored them in favor of waving to Bradley, and he did you the service of waving back before he started driving home. 

You trusted him, and he trusted you. That was all there was to it. He refused to let Casey try to upset you with her bullshit, and you wouldn't chat up random guys. 

"I miss Mommy," Noah said as he yawned again. 

It had literally been five minutes since you got out of the Bronco, but Bradley honestly said, "Me, too." 

And he felt like an idiot after he let Noah eat the ants on logs you left for them. It was nights like this when he started to feel like he was holding you back. He still had engagement rings open on his phone internet tabs, and he knew you'd say yes when he asked. You and he had talked about forever. But these nights out would become almost nonexistent if you got pregnant and there were two kids to look after. 

Noah whined for you at bedtime, and Bradley had to bribe him with extra books since he couldn't have another goodnight kiss from you. Luckily that kid was usually asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, but once he was out, Bradley was left alone with his thoughts. He tried to watch TV and even attempted a nap on the couch until you got home. He ended up drinking a beer and holding Skittles on his lap as she licked at the condensation on the bottle. 

"You are begrudgingly very fucking cute," he told the pup as she curled up on his thigh with her casted leg sticking out straight. He petted Skittles until she was sound asleep, her body rising and falling in a soothing rhythm. Bradley finished the beer as he tried not to think about you, which only made it worse. But he kept telling himself you wouldn't still be here right now if you didn't want to be. You'd stayed through Meredith and all of Bradley's bullshit, and you were still here now.

His phone vibrated with a text. My Princess: I'll be home soon!

Home. It was your home, too. You belonged here. So maybe he was supposed to miss you a little bit on nights like this. Perhaps it was normal to notice that your warmth was missing from the room. 

He closed his eyes, about to doze off, when twenty minutes later, you came bursting through the front door. Skittles carefully jumped off his lap and ran to see you as you pulled your shoes off. You looked a little exasperated as you bent to pet the dog before heading his way. 

"Did you have fun?" he asked, about to stand, but you headed right for his lap.

You groaned and settled in so you and he were chest to chest and you tangled your fingers up in his hair, your purple painted nails grazing his scalp. "Everyone my age is exhausting," you said before claiming his lips.

He rubbed his hands up your thighs and smiled against your lips as he asked, "You prefer the older crowd?"

You kissed the side of his neck and yawned before letting your cheek rest on his shoulder. "You know I do. I'm crazy about you and your checkbook and your inability to use a smartphone correctly."

"Well you came to the right place," he whispered. "I have all of the old man shit for you right here."

You giggled before kissing his neck again. "I love you."

Bradley wrapped his arms around you and held you close. This is where you belonged. "I love you, too. You want me to take you to bed?"

You yawned again and said, "I was thinking about you all night, you know? Dirty stuff."

"Dirty stuff?" he asked as you nodded. 

"Mmhmm. You wanna fuck a baby into me?" you asked as your fingers loosened in his hair and your hand came to rest on his chest. "We could do that," you murmured, your lips moving along his neck. "If you want."

Bradley chuckled and held you a little tighter. As much as he loved fucking you, he loved taking care of you even more. "Let's go snuggle, Princess." He scooped you up and carried you to bed where you immediately fell asleep in his arms.

--------------------------------

"This was not a good idea," Bradley murmured as he paced around his living room in his dress whites with his uniform hat in his hands. When he peeked out the front door, Amelia Benjamin was holding Skittles on a leash, and she and Noah were blowing bubbles. He checked the time and groaned. "Such a bad idea."

He could hear laughter coming from his bedroom, and he had to fight the urge to walk back down the hallway and knock on the door again. He knew what the response would be if he asked how much longer it was going to take before you and Nat were ready to go.

"You can't rush perfection," he mumbled to himself as he rolled his eyes and dropped back onto the couch. You already looked perfect all the time. And Nat always looked the same. So he didn't really get the point of the two of you spending the entirety of Saturday afternoon doing each other's hair and makeup just for Admiral Bates' retirement party. It was at the Botanic Garden; it would probably be so humid and crowded inside, everyone would look gross after an hour anyway. 

"Jesus," he grunted when he heard two female voices laughing about mascara. He stood and walked to the kitchen, considering making himself another cup of coffee to help him stay awake all night while he rubbed elbows with his superiors, but then your voice sounded louder. He returned to the living room and waited.

"I think your hair looks perfect," you said as Nat walked in wearing a pretty black dress that hugged her figure. Bradley could appreciate that she seemed to have more makeup on than normal, because her eyes looked bigger and more playful than usual. 

"You look nice," Bradley told her, but then his jaw dropped as you strolled in like you dressed up to impress every day. That purple dress. Fuck. He would always associate it with taking you from behind on the bed. But you looked incredible. "Holy shit, Baby."

"I know," you said with a grin as you spun into his arms. "Nat did my makeup." You kissed his lips, and Bradley didn't even care if that dark lipstick left a mark. Shit. He kind of wanted you to kiss him all over right now. 

"Beautiful," he whispered, cupping your cheek in his palm. You looked the same as you always did, really, with just a little something extra to drive him crazy tonight. 

"You look good, too," you said, running your fingers all over his service pins before taking his hat and plopping it down crooked on his head. He ran his hands down the back of your beaded top and pulled you snug against him. "We'll have a lot of fun with all of this later, Daddy."

Nat cleared her throat and clapped her hands. "Well, on that rather disturbing note, let's get going." 

Bradley looked you up and down one more time, kind of wishing you and he didn't have to go to the event at all. But Amelia was already here to watch Noah and Skittles, and if he didn't get you and Nat into the Bronco soon, you would all be late.

"After you," Bradley said as he opened the front door for Nat to talk outside. When you tried to follow, he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you close again as you laughed. "Not you," he whispered. "You're mine, Baby. I want you with me all night, okay? No wandering off. You know how those Navy guys can be."

"Oh, I know," you replied as he ran his hand along that little strip of skin that showed above your skirt. "They can be very handsy."

"Mmm," he hummed as he looked down into your eyes. "So you'll stay with me?"

"Yeah. I'll stay with you."

------------------------------

Princess is going to look so pretty at the Botanic Gardens. Wonder if she'll end up with that skirt pulled up around her waist again. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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The Odyssey | 1.0 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist | Character Moodboard

Bradley spends the night. Venice changes things.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), swearing, infidelity, explicit pictures, making out, arguing, deception, 18+ minors dni, wc: 5.2k

…

“Sure,” There’s this underlying feeling that he should feel more awkward about this than he does. If he thought too hard about it, he would certainly start to consider the more embarrassing side of the predicament he has found himself in. “If you want.”

When the main focus of his day, for the past four years, has been sex in its various forms, it comes to be such a natural topic, that sometimes Bradley forgets that it’s a taboo. Well, he had been able to forget, until he came across you.

He must be out of his mind. Something to do with the phase of the moon, or his sleeping patterns, or… just the way you’re fucking looking at him. Your skin flushed with heat. He can see you’re warm without touching. Those soft sounds you made for him are fresh in his mind.

You’re sitting on the bed in front of him, one knee crossed over the other in your sweet, patterned wrap dress, staring up at him with eyes teaming with curiosity, and shame. So much, all at once. He can see you, sitting there and making it so complicated, frightening yourself.

It’s all so simple, really. He just wants to make it simple for you.

He starts by clearing his throat and shooting a glance downward at his tented jeans. “You don’t have to touch—“

“I just want to see… one… up close.” You tell him, heat spreading across your cheeks as you lift your gaze to look him in the eye. The sound of your own desires out loud is something that makes you shudder. You pull back slightly, and shift against the bed.

Bradley’s eyes dart downward again, at the pried open zipper, torn loose belt, and the straining bulge in his jeans, then presses his lips together in a moment of silent consideration.

With you, he has never been so unsure of himself.

“How long have you been engaged for, again?” He asks you, bringing a hand up to scratch awkwardly at the back of his neck. Your eyes widen just slightly. Not because you’re a woman being reminded of her infidelity, something else entirely. Something about Malcolm, Bradley just knows it.

“Alright, alright,” Bradley sighs, considering briefly how a person should go about this. His art classes come to mind — he stood naked pretty freely then, this is no different to that. Except he wasn’t supposed to be hard in those classes. “Don’t feel like you have to do anything.”

You push yourself upright as he steps off of the bed and squares his shoulders slightly. Hands settled politely in your lap and your posture perfect, Bradley can’t pretend he isn’t a little bit thrown off. It doesn’t change anything.

Sex and curiosity are natural forces, and neither one are something to be ashamed of. He feels like he’s convincing himself of that more than anything.

Your attention is caught by the light from the lamp catching on the gold of his necklace as he stands up a little straighter, and then promptly torn away as he pushes his jeans and boxers down in one slow movement. And there it is. In your peripheral, you’re expressly aware that it’s there, in all of its aggressiveness. You fight not to just stare.

Following the line down his sternum and across the taut, tanned skin of his stomach, across plains of soft brown hair, your eyes grow wide once again. Then, you squint. He watches you fight to control your expression.

The question is written, quite clearly, all over Bradley’s face. He’s wondering how you have managed to be in a relationship for as long as you have, without seeing a penis in the flesh. But you have. You’re not that naive — and Malcolm isn’t that pliant.

You inhale slowly, staring at what is directly in front of you. Bradley’s body is unassuming under those ill-fitting clothes, but not once he’s out of them. Far from it, in fact. Another time, you might have spent more time looking at the big picture, exactly how Herculean Bradley’s body looks. For now, it’s hard to focus on anything but what’s between his legs.

Bradley hasn’t ever felt this fidgety with his clothes off before. Your gaze on him makes him nervous — and that’s weird — he can’t remember the last time a woman made him nervous. Actually, he can, but that was a long time ago.

Your eyes look dark in the dim illusion of the dust-brushed lamp, and the streetlights outside. A thatch of neatly-trimmed dark hair sits across his pelvis, following down from the line of his navel, sitting perfectly between the two deep V’s that trail from his hips.

There’s a moment before you remind yourself to feel some shame in the unabashed way you’re staring at him like some kind of drooling loon. Blinking, you lift your chin and look him in the eye, pressing your thighs together.

He isn’t looking at you like there’s something wrong with you. After observing the almost perverse way you were studying him, he’s watching you with nothing in his eyes but faint amusement.

You know instantly that he wouldn’t hold this against you. Anything you chose to do, or not to do, he wouldn’t feel any differently about you either way. You’re certain. That doesn’t change anything. You sigh and lean back on your palms.

“You’re circumsized.” You note.

His mouth twitches as he pulls his jeans back up to cover himself again. “It was all the rage in ‘53.”

Your brows scrunch together just slightly, watching him buckle his belt. “You’re older than Sports Illustrated, you know that?”

Bradley seems to think for a moment. He can’t pretend to have been familiar with Sports Illustrated in his childhood more than seeing it being read by fathers of friends that he had.

“How do you know when that was? — Didn’t peg you as a fan.” Bradley reaches around you for his shirt.

“I wrote a piece on it in my Freshman year. It was my first Ivy League perfect score.” You tell him, but when he turns, you aren’t smiling. His mouth pulls down at the corners as he sinks fo his knees in front of you, brushing his fingers softly over your cheek. “My father tore it to shreds. He was so angry about what I had written.”

Bradley sets his shirt on the ground and squeezes your knee softly. “What was it about?”

“Daddy has been an investor in the magazine since 1961,” You explain to him, your mouth finally twitching up into a small, less-than-amused smile. Bradley’s thumbs circle soft patterns along your thighs. “I wrote a case study into the swimsuit issue, and the argument that it presents women as a product for consumption. He was furious. I thought he was going to throw his dinner at me.”

Bradley’s face changes. He doesn’t like the way you’re telling him this with a smile on your face. But, he isn’t going to start an argument about your father tonight.

“Which side of the argument did your essay fall on?” He asks, lifting his chin to look at you. You smile at him, and shrug your shoulders.

“I thought it was a dirty magazine then, I think that it’s a dirty magazine now.”

Bradley huffs out a small sound of amusement and lets his head fall forwards to rest against your knee. “One of these days, I’m going to get a real answer out of you. You know that?”

He wants to know more, and the idea for once doesn’t terrify you. Your mouth tugs at a smile as he kisses your leg softly.

“Will you still stay tonight?” You ask him, lifting your chin to look up at his face. He makes a soft sound of consideration, then pulls a face. “Please?”

“Okay.”

It’s strange, and you know that Bradley would think so, that you have never shared a bed with a man overnight before. Back in Ithaca, you’ve got a spacious off-campus room in a three bedroom apartment that your father pays for and never visits. Malcolm could stay over ever night for all anyone else knows.

But, you have never invited him to.

It would be cruel to make Bradley sleep in his clothes, you know that too. So, when you come back from the bathroom with the taste of peppermint toothpaste on your tongue, and slip into bed beside him, you try to be prepared for it.

It’s not so bad. It’s a mild night, the window is cracked and there’s a chilled breeze passing through the room. Bradley’s bare arm is warm as yours grazes it. Reaching out blindly, you flick the bedside lamp off without opening your eyes.

Beside you, Bradley’s mouth pulls at the corners.

“Are you going to stay over there all night?” He asks into the dark. He hears you fidget, your skin brushing against the sheets.

“Yeah.”

He snorts a soft chuckle and turns onto his side, draping a heavy arm across your middle, curling his fingers around your hip. Your muscles spasm and your middle goes rigid as he drags you unceremoniously closer to him, leaving you with no choice but to consider how he feels without his clothes on.

Arms straight, practically statuesque, your attempts to remain still fail as the knuckle of your ring and little fingers graze the white cotton of his boxers.

His warm breath fans across your shoulder as he pulls you closer, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. “Relax, honey. It’s just me.”

His palm splays open across your front, his bare chest firm against your back. Calvin Klein white cotton boxers are loose, and breathable, and through the dark your mind instantly takes you back to what you saw earlier.

Wetting your lips with your tongue, you close your eyes and will yourself to settle. Behind you, Bradley doesn’t seem to be having the same struggle. You can hear his breathing growing deeper, his weight leaning into you just a little more.

The Polaroid picture. His thick thighs bracketing Natasha’s naked chest. Her lips parted into a perfect circle. You think of how he made you feel earlier, him grunting into your skin as his hand worked under the thick denim of his jeans.

“Why’s your heart beating like that?” Bradley mumbles into the curve of your neck, practically making you jolt out of your skin against him. “Hey, hey… are you alright?”

His hand strokes softly at your arm as he lifts his head and tries to lean forward to get a peek at your face.

“Mhm,” You squeak softly, closing your eyes and pressing back against him. “I’m fine. Goodnight.”

His lips quirk through the dark of the room as he hugs his arm tight around your middle, turning his face into your skin and kissing softly at your neck.

You don’t wake with the sunrise, or with the sound of an alarm. Instead, you wake with a tingling in your legs, and skin against your cheek. Your thigh is slotted between Bradley’s, he’s got one arm cradling you to him, and he’s snoring softly in your ear.

Even with a soft groan, and the attempt to stretch your arms, Bradley doesn’t budge. His warm chest rises and falls against your cheek, the smell of his skin drawing you in like a lullaby. Sleep threatens to come for you again, but you can hear birds chirping. It’s got to be time to get up soon.

He must be on the verge of consciousness himself, hugging you closer, turning his nose toward your hair, nuzzling into your skin.

“Bradley?” You hum. Nothing but birds chirping, breeze from the city outside. “Bradley?” As you nudge him, there’s nothing again.

Pushing against his chest, you wriggle free of his grasp and prop yourself on your palm. He blinks, face pulling into a frown as he lifts his head to look around him.

“What’s up? — What time is it?” He mutters, his voice deep with sleep as his brown eyes try to focus through the morning light. You don’t know, and you make no effort to check. Instead, you lean forwards and kiss his lips. One soft peck, your palm bracing against the hot muscle of his chest.

He hums out a pleased noise, following you onto your back and pressing his weight against you, challenging you with a deeper kiss. Bradley kisses you again, just as soft. Building into it with gradually modern generous pecks. His hands bunch at your nightgown, taking advantage of his new shorter length to shove it up around your waist without issue.

Suddenly, it doesn’t matter what time it is anymore. Or that he never rejoined the group last night. Nothing matters but the way his weight feels on top of you, his warmth grounding you into the mattress, his taut stomach pressing against your soft skin as he slots his thigh between yours.

There’s something familiar about it, creeping at you like a chill. His hands are strictly stuck to the safest parts of your body: your thighs, your waist, your face. He’s kissing you so passionately that you’re dizzy with the sense of him, and he’s so gentle with his hands — but there’s a discomfort itching at you that just won’t leave.

Then, the alarm clock on the bedside table rings out loud. He pulls back with a soft breath.

“I… I should go.” He realizes, trying not to commit too much attention to his half-hard cock pressing into your thigh. You swallow softly, trying to do exactly the same.

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you this afternoon.” He presses one more chaste kiss to your lips. As he busies himself with getting dressed, you’re certain that you should be overcome with shame of the things you’ve gotten up to so far. The feeling just doesn’t come. Some grand delay, or perhaps you’ve turned a page, but you can’t find it in you to mind either.

The itinerary for the day is changed by Natasha’s sudden appearance, just like everything else has been. With her and Doctor Mancini being in town, Bradley seemed to think that their insight would be useful for the group. As he walks into the lobby ten minutes later than he should be and spots her standing with her arms folded, looking at you like dirt on her shoe, he starts to think that he was wrong.

“Ah, here he is! — Good Morning, Bradley.” Pasquale greets with a grin, patting Bradley’s shoulder as the professor joins the group. “Well, we’ve already gone over the briefing and we’ve got a lot to see today. Let’s get going!”

Bradley agrees with a nod and gestures for the group to walk ahead of him. The sun is already high in the sky and warming the city, the breeze is slow today, barely there. It’ll be worse when they move further inland after this.

He pushes one hand into his pocket and sweeps his damp curls back with the other. Ray-Ban caravans and a t-shirt that would only fit right if he was a size bigger, sports socks peeking over the top of his eye tops. He dresses younger than thirty-three and he’s always been gorgeous.

Natasha walks by his side, staring at the back of your head with contempt. Cute outfit you’re wearing. She wonders if the man who put a ring on your finger would like it.

“So, did you take her virginity?” She asks coolly, meaning it with every ounce of venom with which she had spit it. She hadn’t really taken great comfort in hearing the way your peers had mocked you last night. Just because you apparently won’t put out for you fiancé, doesn’t mean you are immune to Bradley’s charms.

“No.” He answers, lengthening his stride. He doesn’t care to learn which one of them told her about you.

“This is a new low. I can’t believe you’re being this stupid.” She shakes her head, crossing her arms firmly over her chest as she walks.

All at once, Bradley stops walking and rounds on her. She wobbles, her expensive loafer dipping between the cobbled floor and making her wobble. “Me? — What the fuck were you trying to pull with those pictures?”

When he’s up close, standing under the summer sun and staring at her, it’s so easy to pretend. Looking into his eyes, he never hurt her. She never hurt him. She’s still his girl, they’re still planning to spend the afternoon laying in bed, reading.

It’s the only time that she doesn’t miss him.

“You know how this goes. Things in Como — we didn’t — I had more that I needed to say.” Bradley leaves every year hating himself for letting her get away, and it’s the only thing that brings her solace. She’s just supposed to watch him move on?

“That’s your problem, Nat, you don’t know how to talk to me until we’re naked. This isn’t healthy.” He bites back, unfazed as a crowd of Belgian tourists turn to stare wide eyed at the two of them.

“Don’t tell me what’s healthy, Bradley, you’re fucking one of your students!” She snaps, her voice practically a low snarl. Still, she has the decency to have lowered her voice. He forgets — she’s classy now.

“I’m not fucking her.” Bradley, truthfully, doesn’t have a leg to stand on. You tried to sleep with him and he told you no, but only because you weren’t ready. If you were, he can’t pretend that he wouldn’t have.

“Please. I saw the way you ran after her.”

“My sex life is none of your business. Does Luca know you’re here because I am? — Did he forgive you yet?” September through to May, Bradley thinks a lot about the time he spent loving Natasha. Guilt wracks his entire being. He finds himself furious for the time he cost her. And yet, standing in front of her, this conversation always winds up being the same.

Her eyes widen. He promised not to bring last summer up. Last august, when Bradley visited after his students went home, and Luca caught the two of them in bed together. He had almost left her.

“Does that poor little girl even kno—“

“Don’t call her that.” Bradley sighs, rolling his head back towards the old roofs and clear skies. The idea makes him so uncomfortable. It’s easy to forget, when he’s not looking at you in the backdrop of your college town, that you’re much younger.

“Does she know what a vindictive prick you can be, Bradley?”

Yes. She spent half of the trip so far arguing with me. Bradley doesn’t give her the real answer. He hasn’t in a long time. There’s a pause between the two of them. Venice doesn’t slow down for anyone. The city bustles around them while Bradley turns his gaze back down towards her.

“I’m sorry. You know that I’m sorry.” He says quietly. She stares at him. He can see it in her face that she’s fighting not to stand and scream. Instinct drives him forwards. It’s muscle memory as he reaches out and takes her face in his hands. “But we can’t keep doing this.”

Her jaw flexes against his palms, anger burning through her the way that smoke fills rooms. Effortless, all-encompassing. Hard to stop.

“You should tell her now,” Natasha practically spits the words towards him. She doesn’t pull away from his touch. She only ever has once. She, one day, will again. She’s sure of that much. “That it’s always on your fucking terms. Give her a chance to get out while she fucking can.”

With that, she pulls away from him and yet again, he watches her go.

Bradley keeps his distance. He watches Doctor Mancini, a man who knows exactly who Bradley is and somehow, loves him even after, teach the class all morning. He doesn’t dare look at you, in those short, rolled up blue Levi’s shorts. Not until that afternoon, once you’re tucked away into a quiet study room in the Marciana Library.

You sit opposite him with one knee bent and your foot resting on the edge of your own chair, watching him quizzically. “Are you going to be this quiet all afternoon?”

He shoots a look across at you, his chin resting on his palm. Then, he looks back down to his work silently.

“Fine, I guess I’ll fail.” You huff playfully, sitting back in your chest and crossing your arms over your chest. This time when he looks, his eyes flicker down to your chest in that cute green tank top. He knows you’re taunting him. “It’s a real shame… to have come this far, and to just be abandoned…”

“Cut it out.” Bradley scoffs, taking his glasses off and dropping them into the centre of his page. He turns in his seat and looks across at you, suddenly cold.

“Alright, say what you want to say. The anticipation is killing me.” Your mouth twitches into a grin as you sit upright in your seat, scooting it across the aged wood to grow closer. He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek, the sun shining through the light blue fabric of his linen shirt as he stretches his arms up and rubs harshly at his face.

“There’s something I need to tell you — something I did,” When he drops his arms down again, his eyes are focused on the chip in the years old floorboard, his fingers curling around your knee. You’ve never seen him this remorseful. “I want you to hear it from me.”

Blinking, you nod at him. You’ve never seen him look quite so scared.

“When we met, Natasha and I were both twenty-two. I was fresh out of the Navy, and Natasha was in her last year of university here,” He hasn’t ever been this fidgety before. He stares at the floor of the library, like his sole purpose is to count the grains in the wood. The sole of his sneaker taps out of rhythm.

Opposite him, you wonder exactly how his brain operates. There’s no need, really, for him to explain himself to you. Tomorrow, you’ll leave Venice and you will probably never see Natasha again. Yet, he seems to really want you to understand.

“She was one of the only people in town that spoke English, and she lived right downstairs. For the first two months, she just let me follow her around — I didn’t know what else to do,” There’s no way on Earth that Bradley can explain to you the way that he was feeling when he first got to Sorrento.

He was twenty-two, he had just left the Navy. His grandmother had died three weeks earlier. He was alone in the world, with no idea what to do with the rest of his life. He was angry that he had made it back from the war — furious that he had served for a further two years after that.

“She pulled some favours for me, I spent six months taking different classes around the country, trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. Came back, and decided that I wanted to do with mine, whatever she was doing with hers.” The more he tells you, the more you can feel his guilt dripping through his words and saturating the air.

The room goes thick with quiet as Bradley sweeps his curls back and tousels his fingers through them. His hands can’t seem to find peace, never stilling as he immediately sits back to dip a hand into his pocket and reach for his cigarettes.

This is the kind of situation that requires you to be quiet, you know that much. It’s not of conversation. He’s clumsy enough with his words, stumbling through them, losing his train of thought, that you don’t dare interrupt. You watch him pluck one from the pack and set the rolled stick between his lips.

Flicking open the top of his silver lighter, he ignites the end and inhales. Briefly, his eyes flicker up to yours. He hates talking about this.

“She wanted to be an archeologist. I was more into the literature side of things, but it worked. We connected. We moved in together three weeks after I got back.” He tells you. You give him a small nod. It ticks over into the afternoon, and behind you a church bell starts to ring loudly.

He clears his throat, “But her father was paying for all her studies, her rent — everything. On the condition that when she was done studying, she would come back home and she would marry whoever he told her to marry. So, then she started her masters, and she was going to get a PHD. It felt like that day wasn’t coming.”

Bradley spares you of the details. How much he loved her, loved their life together. The lemon tree in the courtyard behind their apartment, and the way the sun cast shadows across their bed in the early morning. The way Natasha would smile at him.

“Until she was about to finish her PHD, and her dad says he picked a guy, and a date, and a venue for the wedding. Only — I had proposed first. We were engaged, and… as far as I saw it, we were just waiting until she graduated to tell her father.”

He proposed to her. They were engaged. Somehow, you just can’t picture it. You can’t picture the cynical fate-denier in front of you getting down on one knee and asking the woman that he loved to spend the rest of her life with him. The revelation draws nothing but a deep breath from you.

That’s not how it went, anyway. He didn’t have an expensive diamond, he didn’t get down on one knee and propose in front of your entire family. The two of them didn’t celebrate with champagne in crystal glasses. The way Bradley proposed was nothing like the way Malcolm had.

No, Bradley had proposed without a ring, laying in the grass in the park near their home. She had been laying in his lap and reading to him. He thinks about that day often.

“She didn’t see it the same way?”

Bradley rubs a rough hand across his jaw and closes his eyes for a moment. Even now, with the power of hindsight on his side, he doesn’t understand why she couldn’t just see it the same way he did. He had done it all alone. She wasn’t even willing to try.

“It’s a hard field to break into, especially if you can’t support yourself. There isn’t always a lot of money in it. She made the decision without me, and I was angry. She was going to marry this stranger, live off of her father’s money for just a little longer… then, we could be together.” Bradley scoffs almost bitterly and pinches at the bridge of his nose, like it gives him a headache just to remember.

“So… what did you do?” Whatever it was, it can’t have been that bad. You’ve seen the way she looks at him. He lifts his chin, takes the cigarette from between his lips, and looks at you.

His shoulders are heavy, his lips downturned. He looks older when he’s serious like this, more mature. He inhales deeply, and follows it with a burdened exhale. Ash from his cigarette falls to the floor, settling in the space between his sneakers.

“She was at the beach one morning, and someone knocked at the door, so I answered it,” He answered wearing nothing but a pair of still wet shorts, dusted with sand and saturated with salt water from his swim, his towel draped over his shoulder. He had gotten home a few minutes before, he had a class to get to later. “It was her father, looking for her. He freaked out when he saw me, asking who I was. I told him.”

He sets the cigarette back between his lips and inhales deeply. Your nose wrinkles at the smell of smoke filling the room.

“…You told him what?”

“I told him everything,” Bradley’s voice is quiet now, so filled with shame that the weight is dragging his words down. “That we had been living together for four years by then, that she wasn’t ever planning on coming home. It wasn’t my place. I could have lied, but I didn’t want to.”

You close your eyes for a moment, and think of your father. Of what would happen if he ever found out that you let Bradley spend a night in your bed. Then, you swallow softly and bite at the inside of your cheek. “What did he do?”

Bradley swallows thickly. It feels so much worse to say it out loud. “He never spoke to her again.”

There’s no real answer to grace him with. For certain, you know that your father never would have spoken to you again. You know that he would cost you everything, just like he had her. He seems to think that you would like to know more — your silence makes him start to tap his foot again.

“She married the guy, she dropped out of school, she left me, but it was too late. Her father was just angry at us for lying to him. He… died last May.”

Pressing your lips together, you exhale through your nose and blink at him. “He didn’t speak to his own daughter for four years?”

“I cost her the rest of her time with her father, and the career she could have had — because she was going to leave me.” There it is; what he was so ashamed of. The admission of guilt. Purpose in what he had said to her father.

Still, there’s something that makes you scoot forwards, the wooden legs of the chair scraping across the floor as your hand reaches out and your fingers curl softly around his wrist, “You didn’t know that he would react that way.”

Bradley stubs the cigarette out on the back of the lighter and sets it down. He leans in close, his knee setting between yours, his eyes growing warmer as he leans in. “No, but I knew it would hurt her and I did it anyway.”

You let him stay just as close. The cigarette smell lingers between the two of you. The sunlight catches that diamond on your finger and his gaze flickers downwards briefly. When he looks back up, you’re as serious as he has seen you, with none of the anger that usually accompanies it.

“I understand.” Your nails are a pretty blush colour, perfectly polished. They look out of place tucked into his large palm, your thumb stroking across the back of his hand. His eyes search across your face, his brows drawing slightly together.

“Which part?”

“I understand why you wanted to hurt her. I get why she wants to hurt you,” You tell him, the smell of his cologne lingering between the two of you, willing you to ignore the smell of the burnt tobacco. You close his fingers around yours, holding his hand between both of yours. “We’ve all done things we aren’t proud of.”

It’s all true, every word of it. But it’s deceptive nonetheless. If Bradley had ever tried to ruin you the way he did to her, you’re certain you wouldn’t treat him with the same kind of kindness that Natasha does.

Bradley hums softly. The late June heat settles between the two of you, prickling at the back of your neck. Reaching down, his fingers curl around the leg of your chair, dragging it closer again. His knee sits between yours.

Your mouth twitches, hinting at a smile as he leans in close and swipes his thumb across the bone of your jaw.

“You feel like getting dinner with me tonight, honey?”

…

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @cassiemitchele @himbos-on-ice @wkndwlff @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @thecitysgraveyard @sugarcoated-lame @kmc1989 @cherrycola27

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Hey, Neighbour! | DBF!Jake Seresin x Reader (18+)

Synopsis: Jake’s been having a problem recently, and when the power goes out next door, everything quickly comes to a head.

Warnings: dad’s best friend trope. Age gap. Reader is in her mid-20s, Jake’s around 40. Obviously unbalanced power dynamic. No use of Y/N. Reader’s dad has a name. Mention of reader having a piercing. Smut. Pure filth and pining. Smut. Oral (f receiving). Unprotected pinv. Creampie. Jake has no respect for his best friend’s furniture. Choking briefly. Please comment / Reblog, it’s greatly appreciated. Wc: 8.5k. Minors dni, you will be blocked.

…

Jake clicks the television off and pushes himself up from the couch, joined by his shadow of a German shepherd called Ace. They walk together to the sound of the meek little knock at his front door, Jake’s gym socks padding along his dark wood floors along the way.

It’s late. Too late for whoever is at his front door to be bearing good news. He twists the door handle and pulls it open, rolling back his aching shoulders. This late at night, he has a good idea of who’s going to be standing on his porch.

As expected, standing there and shivering in your dad’s coat and a pair of slippers, is exactly the last person that Jake was hoping to see.

You see, Jake has had a bit of a problem since he moved in to this neighbourhood.

Quite a substantial one, in the grand scheme of things, and one that seems to just be getting worse by the minute.

Suburbia was meant to be Jake’s reprieve from his bachelor lifestyle. His escapades have been worrying his mother to death for going on two decades now, and it came time that even Jake agreed that it was time to wisen up about his love life. With all of the deployments, and all of the time away from home, it had been beyond easy to never fall into anything serious. By the time he was twenty-nine, Jake’s longest ever relationship was two and a half months, which was alarming given the number of women he had encountered by then.

Two things happened that sent Jake here, to this cute little cul-de-sac in suburban San Diego, one — Jake’s job became more secure, and guaranteed that he would spend at least ninety percent of his remaining career here on the west coast. Second, he proposed to a woman. A beautiful woman, that he was so sure he was going to spend the rest of his life with.

She liked his house, it looked like the one her parents had raised her in. So, he bought the house and he bought a dog, and swore that he was going to try to settle down. Six months later, it was just him and the dog. Payton apologised profusely, and she’d apologise even more if he ever ran into her again, he just wasn’t right for her.

Things weren’t so bad though. Jake and Ace liked the peace and quiet, and the guy next door was actually pretty cool. Jack, the airline pilot with a mean golf swing and a great nose for the best sports bars in town. He’s a little older than Jake, with a hell of a lot more to show for it, including three grown up kids.

It’s been a couple of years now, and Jake’s practically part of the family. He knows everything there is to know. He’s there on birthdays, holidays, emergencies — he loves this family. But he has a problem.

His problem was manageable at first. So, Jack’s youngest daughter might have caught Jake’s attention at first. You were visiting home from college and you had stepped out of the car in a tight little pair of shorts and a tank top, and Jake just happened to be standing in Jack’s garage, helping him with a little project, when he first saw you.

And you were funny. Right away cracking some joke about Jake’s less than adept approach to projects around the house. Jake had laughed out loud without even meaning to, and then you’d turned your head and hit him with that mega-watt smile. Bringing new meaning to the term beaming.

God, that pretty fucking smile.

Your humour dances lightly on the nerves of others, like Jake’s, but sweeter. You’re well behaved and back then you had had a dreamy boyfriend who was in pre-med. Perfect in every way.

Even more reason for Jake to keep his hands to himself.

You were Jack’s kid. Jake wouldn’t ever cross that line. It’s just that sometimes… he had to remind himself of this boundary.

He hadn’t ever been close friends with someone where that was even a concern, and truthfully, he had been unprepared for meeting you. In all of the stories Jack told him, you were this cute little kid. Standing before him, you didn’t quite match the image he had of you in his head. This was truly uncharted territory.

Truth be told, there were times when Jake wasn’t so sure you wanted him to hang back. Even when you were still bringing that boyfriend of yours around, Jake caught the way you looked at him.

The way you tug those glossed lips between your teeth and grin around the straw of your drink.

If he was a better friend, or a stronger man, he might have been able to nip his little problem in the bud right away. He had tried, and you were living away from home then, so it was easier. But last month, you had moved back in with your parents and Jake’s life has been nothing but stress ever since.

On occasion, Jake thinks of how he would have to plead his case if someone discovered how he felt. You just don’t know what it’s like when she’s looking at me, man. I swear, I tried to stay away from her, I did.

It’s not his fault that Jack asked him to watch you while your folks were away on that cruise.

Jake’s gaze finally flickers back up to your wounded, hurt baby bunny, expression.

“What’s the matter, cutie? — You alright?” He reaches for you with one hand, gently grabbing at the crook of your elbow and guiding you towards him. That sad little look on your face tugs at his heart strings every time.

“Yeah, I just — I plugged in my phone charger and all the lights went out. I think I tripped a fuse,” All exasperated and frustrated at once, you push your hair back off of your face and frown at him. “Could you come take a look at it for me?”

Jake’s throat grows thick. Under your dad’s heavy work coat, Jake can see the thin white tank top you’re wearing and the blue checkered, boxer style pyjama shorts. But Jack asked him to take care of you.

“Yeah. Of course I can,” Jake nods his head and reaches down to tug at Ace’s black woven collar. “Come in a sec. I just need some shoes.”

There haven’t been too many occasions where you have been inside Jake’s place. Your dad comes here a lot and you’ve been sent over to collect him before dinner on occasion, or to deliver Jake some leftovers.

It’s warm inside, and it smells like woodsmoke and leather. He’s been burning the candle that you got him for his last birthday. You inhale softly, shrugging the coat closer to your body.

In the times that you have been over here, you’re always surprised by how tidy he keeps the place. It’s not what you would have expected of a single guy living all alone.

Jake pulls some sneakers from a tidy shoe organizer disguised to look like an end table and crouches down to put them on his feet. Leaning over, something catches his eye between the heavy fleece of your dad’s unzipped work jacket.

“Did you get your bellybutton pierced?”

The question startles you, drawing attention to the fact that you had been craning your neck and trying to get a look into Jake’s living room. You turn your head, blinking as Jake straightens up and takes a step towards you.

He reaches out and before you know it, his warm fingers are stretching out across your chilled, just exposed navel. His thumb brushes over your soft skin, brows drawing together as he examines the dainty jewelry pushed through your skin.

Swiftly, you take a step back and his hand drops away from your body. “I’ve had it for years.”

There’s a silence between the two of you. Jake’s going to be kicking himself for that for weeks to come. He shouldn’t have reached out and touched you like that. He shouldn’t be commenting on things your father wouldn’t approve of. You’re too grown up for that.

“Huh,” He clicks his tongue, reaching just past your side to grab his house keys from the dish by the door. “C’mon, kid. Let’s go take a look at those lights.”

The shuffle of your slippers cuts through the awkward silence as you cross Jake’s front yard and into yours. It’s late November, and a cold night in particular too. Standing in just a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, the evening chill makes Jake’s arm hair stand on end. As you walk ahead, your back to him, Jake wonders if it has the same effect on you.

Thinking about his best friend’s daughter’s tits. He wishes the shame alone was enough to knock the thought out of his head. He wishes you hadn’t moved home. He wishes you weren’t leading him into your dark, empty house right now.

The entire house is pitch black, but Jake tests the hallway lightswitch in passing anyway. He notes the dubious look you shoot him back over your shoulder. Then, he passes by you as you stop to take off that big coat. It’s not something he wants to hang by and watch.

It’s cold as his shoulder brushes yours, and not just because it’s November. You swallow thickly, staring after him until he disappears into the dark. Your feelings towards Jake are complicated.

Well, they’re not. Your crush on him isn’t the innocent middle school crush that you used to have on an older figure, like a teacher. No, this is far from doodling his name in your journal. This man, and his thick, ridged abs and golden chest hair, is working his way into your dreams.

After the break-up, you had sworn off men for a while — and that was the right decision for you. But, it left certain parts of you yearning. And Jake’s right next door. From your bedroom window, you’ve got the perfect view into his backyard. The same backyard where he’ll work out in the blazing heat, sweat glistening along his tanned skin, along the ridges and valleys of his muscles.

No, this crush is far from innocent. It crossed the border into indecent weeks ago, the first time that you touched yourself thinking about him. It wasn’t your fault; he was tempting you.

You had returned home from work to find Jake hanging out in the living room with your father, not unusual, and you had joined the two of them. Your dad had started with a playful comment about Jake. Jake had returned the favour with a witty remark about your dad. You were just joining in on the fun, poking playfully at Jake’s age.

All too suddenly, he had turned sharply to you and pinched the soft skin between your ribs and hip, leaning dangerously close with a smirk on his face that made your head spin. In fact, you still remember the way your mouth had hung open as Jake had breathed out a chuckle and shot you that playfully warning look.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” He’d challenged, that eager look in those wild green eyes, his cheeks dimpling just slightly, fingers pressing into your side.

Since then, you can’t help but think of him closer, and closer.

“Jake, wait!” You call, dropping the coat onto a hook and kicking off your slippers, starting to rush after him. Jake cranes his neck to look back at you over his shoulder. “You should probably show me what you’re doing. Y’know, in case it happens again.”

“Sure. Come here,” Jake jerks his head for you to join him, extending his hand for you in the dark of the utility room. You swat around until your fingers graze his, falling silent at the brash way he grabs hold of your hand and drags you closer. Your ass briefly brushes his thigh as he guides you in front of him. Jake steps back, clearing his throat. The little red dot on the fuse box illuminates his fingertips as he reaches past you. “This is the switch you want, don’t mess with anything else or your dad’ll kill you.”

The corners of your lips twitch. There are plenty of things your dad would be furious with, if he knew you had done them.

Jake’s fingers curl around the switch. His cologne fills your nose. His massive bicep is inches from your cheek, and everything feels like electric as his other hand comes to rest on the bare space between your shirt and your shorts. You’re trapped between him and the wall in front. If you would push your hips back just an inch or two…

“So, you flip the switch off to reset it,” Jake’s voice is all gravel from yelling at the young pilots he instructs, and shouting over the top of loud music in bars. It drifts past your ears and makes you want to shiver as his fingers curl around the plush of your hip. “And then you flip it back on for the power.”

Suddenly, the lights come back on in the hall outside of the utility room. Jake’s got you cornered against the fuse box really, and with the washer and dryer to your side, the only escape would be to rush out into the hall. You’re not quite ready to make that move. You can hear the amusement in his voice. He can feel the way you’re burning with awkward embarrassment in front of him.

“Oh.” You say quietly. Jake chuckles from behind you, his hand trailing about an inch higher, taking some of the fabric from your tank top with it, pinching playfully at your newly exposed waist.

“Happy to help, kid.” He’s already drawing back, his hand pulling away from your electrified skin, the sound of his shoe hitting the floor and alerting you to the fact that he’ll be leaving before you even know it.

“Could I ask you for one more favour?” You turn to face him, biting sheepishly on your bottom lip.

“Sure. What is it?” He’d retile your entire bathroom for you if you asked him to. That’s what makes him wish he was a better friend.

There’s an art to the way you bat your lashes at him, knowing better than to get too close or put your hands on him. Just that deep, pleading look in your eyes is more than enough. “Will you finish watching my scary movie with me? — Kinda… freaked me out a little bit when the lights went out, is all.”

“… Yeah. Yeah, I guess I can hang out for a little.” You’re a good kid, and it’s just a movie. He can’t leave you over here all by yourself, scared out of your mind, now, can he?

Jake wonders if this is what your father had in mind when he had asked his most trusted friend to just be there for his daughter while they were away.

That same, trusted best friend, sitting on the couch with his chin propped up against his palm, and that daughter’s head resting against his shoulder. You could have sat over on the other end of the couch, or even in your dad’s armchair, but that defeats the purpose of asking Jake to stay.

“Fill me in. What am I missing here?” Jake asks, mostly to fill the silence. His arm stretches along the back of your couch, his knees parted obnoxiously and his neck awkwardly straight to minimise risk of him laying his head against yours.

Your hand comes to rest against his middle, eyes focused calmly on the screen. “So there are two timelines. The present, and flashbacks to like… maybe ten years ago. Ten years ago, the family bought this mirror, and…”

Jake’s fingers inch their way into your hair, trailing softly over your scalp. Your fingers brush over his middle as he massages your scalp. He listens to you explain the plot of the movie like he isn’t thinking about the way your nipples are pressing through the white fabric of your tank top.

“Freaky mirror…” Jake muses over the concept of the plot, squinting his eyes at the screen, his fingers slowing to a halt in your hair as he turns his head to look at you. “You gonna be able to sleep okay tonight if we watch this?”

You meet him back with a sheepish grin and an innocent shrug of your shoulders. “Well, I already started, so I need to see that it ends okay, or I’ll be freaked out.”

“Alright. Just making sure you’re not gonna try crawling into my bed tonight after you have a nightmare.” Jake teases, pushing his knees further apart and sinking down into the comfort of the grey fabric couch he helped the movers bring in here last August.

He didn’t push you away when you sat right next to him and curled against his side. He reached out himself and stroked his fingers along your stomach.

Confidence surges through you like a wave, swelling big enough for you to giggle and press closer to him. “Come on, would that be such a bad thing?”

“What did you say?”

The swell has passed and the wave crashes just like all the others do, breaking over an otherwise calm sea. You swallow softly, growing exceptionally still.

“I was just kidding—“

Jake’s fingers leave your hair and curl instead around the nape of your neck. He turns his head, attempting to get a look at your face. “No, no. Say it again. What did you say?”

You shake your head, pressing it closer against his toned stomach. “I was just joking. You wouldn’t mind it that much if I had a bad dream and had to come sleep in your bed.”

He’s quiet for a moment and the movie draws tense. The main character is creeping around in the dark, the music is building, and Jake’s far too quiet for your liking.

“Don’t joke about that.” Jake says quietly.

“Okay. I’m sorry.” You answer him, hugging your cheek into the dark fabric of his t-shirt. That way, there’s no chance of him seeing the shame on your face. Going after your dad’s best friend— you should be ashamed of yourself.

Jake rubs a palm over the stubble on his jaw, trying to focus on the screen in front of him. This movie can’t possibly take much longer.

He knows he has upset you. You’re uncharacteristically quiet, and he can feel you trying to sit still. He shifts his hips a little, reaching out and resting his palm against your waist.

Your brows draw together as the main character bites into the apple she was eating and glass shards drop to the floor in front of her. Jake feels your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. Sweat beads on the nape of his neck.

His thumb swipes back and forth over the inch of bare skin on your hip.

Jake glances down at you. Laying against his middle like this. It feels all too natural. He isn’t even paying attention to the movie. Truthfully, the only thing on Jake’s mind is how soft your skin feels against the pad of his thumb.

Imagining how soft your body would feel in his palms, every inch of your skin in his capable hands.

You gasp as the camera pans to the main character’s bleeding mouth, and the shattered lightbulb in your hands, twisting your head and burying your face in Jake’s shirt.

Jake flinches, his attention drawn back to the screen as his fingers curl into your skin. His face twists in distaste, groaning at the gore on the screen.

“Shit, you weren’t kidding about this being freaky.” Jake mutters with a soft shake of his head, shifting uncomfortably as his fingers massage at the pillowy skin of your waist. He swallows thickly, eyes dropping down to the way you’re nestled just above his waistband. He tries a weak chuckle, mind racing for something to lighten the mood. “What am I meant to do if I’m up all night after this, huh?”

You laugh softly against his stomach, pressing closer to the warmth of his rigid torso. Jake stares at the screen as he feels your open palm brush over his abdomen, fingertips grazing the waistband of his sweats by mere millimeters. He strokes your skin, setting his knees further apart by an inch.

Even with the score of the movie in front of you, everything feels so quiet. Even with the floor lamp to your right and the table lamp to your left, it all feels so dark. It all feels so slow. Truthfully, you imagine this is as close as you’ll get to understanding what it feels like to tightrope across Niagara Falls.

One misstep, a strong gust, the loss of balance in any capacity and its all over. The best friendship that your father has ever had, thrown away because you made a pass at a man far too old for you to begin with.

Then, Jake’s fingers break their almost surgically precise pattern. The tips stretch just slightly under the fabric of your tank top, reaching for the silken skin of your stomach. It’s brief, before they retreat to the safety of circling the skin that you’ve chosen to expose. You drop your gaze, watching all five of his digits follow their intricate pattern, and stretch under the cotton white of your top once again.

Maybe Jake notices that you’re watching him, or maybe he finally notices it himself, but he stops all at once. Fingers pulling back to rest platonically against your hip, green eyes trained seriously on the television, his lips stretched into a flat line.

“It’s okay,” You whisper without turning your gaze away from the screen. Jake doesn’t look at you. He feels your fingers brush across the top of his, curling through the digits, linking them together. “It’s okay, Jake. You can. I won’t say anything.”

Your parents aren’t going to be home for another eleven days. What’s Jake supposed to do until then, ignore your existence? — Avoid you entirely?

He wants this, and you’re on to him, giving him permission.

“Honey,” It’s caught somewhere between a sigh and a groan, an exhale of restraint and desperation all at once. He wishes he could at least pretend he’s half interested in this movie. “Don’t talk like that.”

Your brows draw together, eyes going wide as a child in the movie creeps through the house, headed for the master bedroom. Bloody sheets on the bed. A smashed plate on the floor. Jake’s hand gripping your hip. The child inches forwards, the music swells, a chill rushes down your back. In frame, the little girl rounds the edge of the bed and someone leaps out, bloodied and frenzied. Jake hasn’t been paying enough attention to gather who.

Neither one of you will care in a few moments.

The surprise makes you jolt, leaping up from your spot against Jake’s stomach, sitting upright all of a sudden, grabbing onto his forearm for support.

“It’s alright, cutie,” Jake breathes out in soft amusement, rubbing a heavy circle on your back. That’s the first thing he called you. When he’d seen you struggling to lift the icebox in the garage. Let me get that for you, cutie. And now, he has the nerve to pretend like it’s just you that has led the two of you here. “Maybe we should turn it off now, huh?”

Your heartbeat is already thudding in your ears and there’s no way you’ll be able to sleep after any of this. Fuck it. You turn, brace your palm against his shoulder, and take the dive.

Jake has thought about what those pretty lips feel like. Every time they stretch upwards into those pretty smiles, each time you sink your teeth into the bottom one. He should be prepared, in theory. Is there any way to prepare for something like this?

“Sweetheart…” Jake mutters against your lips, eyes screwed shut, hands reaching out for your hips. Pained, he gives a slow shake of his head. “Come on, we can’t do this.”

“But do you want to?” Your lips graze his. He feels the way you arch your back, knocking your chest into his, angling yourself in a way that just begs him to grab hold of your waist and drag you into his lap. You close your mouth, pecking softly at his still lips once more. “If you didn’t know my dad… you would. Right?”

Yes. Of course he would. He would be insane not to. He’s driving himself insane trying not to.

“But I do, and… and he trusts me.” Jake turns his head just slightly, but his hands reach for you. His big hands find your hips and grab onto them tight, hard. He just holds you right there. There’s got to be some kind of way he can regain some of the power here.

“I trust you.” You tell him, kissing his jaw tentatively. Delicate fingertips skim along the throbbing vein on the left side of Jake’s throat, reaching for the nape of his neck. Soft, slow kisses lead a trail to his earlobe, passing plains of stubble and angled bone. “I know you won’t hurt me, and I know you want me. It’s okay, Jake, I want you too.

“Fuck.” Jake swears, dropping his head forwards to rest against the curve of your shoulder. His fingers dig into your hips harder and harder. By the time Jake drags you forwards, his grip is so tight that you would have no choice but to follow. You fall into his lap, lips parted and eyes wide as Jake’s deep pine coloured eyes study your face.

You wait for him to speak again, but he doesn’t. Not for a long time. His fingers stretch up from your hips, reaching under the fabric of your tank top, extending across your bare abdomen. He stretches the brushed cotton further, taking it up with a gentle touch.

“Your father would kill me.” Jake muses as his fingertips graze the underside of your breasts, his eyes solely on your face. You smile back at him, only partly because your father is an airline pilot who couldn’t bench half of what Jake does on a good day.

“I won’t tell him if you don’t.”

Jake grits his teeth. It has started to rain outside now. That storm that channel four had promised is starting to roll in. The movie will be over soon. The rain will be the only sound on this entire street. This house is completely empty, beside the two of you. He exhales through his nose and pushes his hips up. He’s half-hard under you, and giving you another disapproving shake of his head.

“Little fuckin’ minx…” Jake curses you, his words fanning out across the span of your exposed neck, hot and cold all at once. “You get off on teasing me like this, or something?”

A smile works its way across those pretty lips. Jake could see more of that smile than he sees sunsets and he would still be pretty damn content. Your nails rake softly through the almost buzzed fade at the back of his head as you give a shake of your head.

“Well, it’s not teasing if we take care of it,” Your shoulders rise and fall in a soft shrug as Jake’s fingers trail further upwards, taking your tank top with them and exposing your breasts to the cool autumn air. The rattle of the air conditioning unit that your dad tells you not to mess with reminds you of the real culprit as your nipples harden and perk with the exposure. You lean back, bracing each of your hands on Jake’s knees, arching your chest out, letting Jake see the newly exposed skin. “If you’ll let me.”

His eyes are pretty when he smiles. When he’s staring at your tits, they’re hooded and hungry, a shade of green that threatens to draw you in and hold you captive. What a happy captive you would be. His hands grab at both of them at once, squeezing roughly at the supple flesh.

All at once, his mouth is on yours too. He’s sucking at your bottom lip, growling into your mouth. He smells of smoked wood and he tastes of scotch. It paints half of a picture. A lonely man sitting in his home alone on a Saturday night, burning a candle given to him by a girl half his age and drinking liquor older than he is himself.

You’re straddling his hips now, your bare thighs squeezing into the fabric of his grey sweatpants, pulling yourself closer with each hungry kiss. Jake’s touch is experienced, expert; he pinches softly at your nipple, anticipates the way your mouth will draw open in a soft gasp, and licks into your mouth the second that it does. He sucks softly at the tip of your tongue, revelling in the feeling of your soft breasts in his hands.

“Arms up.”

You’re such a good girl. The way that you comply with a wordless grin and bite at your lip once the tank top hits the floor has Jake in even more trouble than he was before. He kisses softly at the space between your tits, pushing them together in his hands, opening his mouth and pressing his tongue into your skin.

Men like boobs. Big boobs, small boobs — your shared gossip sessions with friends in college always led to the same conclusion, men don’t care. They bite, suck, grab regardless of size. It shouldn’t be anything new. But then Jake reaches your left nipple. His right hand palms at the underside as his tongue swipes in a circular motion, just before his lips clasp around the sensitive bud.

You know he’s watching you through those esurient green eyes, but you find yourself playing right into his capable hands anyway. Any leverage you may have had in seeming like his charms don’t work on you are washed away with the dulcet tone of your first moan. It spills from your lips, your nails pressing into the nape of his neck as Jake sucks expertly at the sensitive skin.

He pulls away with another ravenous exhale, something between a sigh and a groan. His hands feel heavy on your body as they paw at your chest with a capability you’ve never encountered before. His cologne is expensive and mature, a smokey blend that has you intoxicated and enthralled. His mouth is wet and eager, but oh, so slow as it explores the areas of you he has dreamt about.

The rain outside is growing heavier, like it’s learning to mimic the deepness of each of your breaths. The movie must have finished by now. Neither one of you is going to check.

His stubble prickles, rough and masculine, abrasive compared to the adept caress of his tongue. His right hand grabs forcibly at the nape of your neck, drawing the sweetest little squeak from your already open lips. You knew he would be better than the guys you’ve been with before, but not like this. He hasn’t even touched you yet.

Jake’s lips seem to pinpoint each and every nerve ending in your chest, sucking and licking at your skin through feverish kisses. The tenderness seeping away each time a breathy moan falls from your mouth, fanning out against his clothed shoulder. He pulls away from the top of your breast with his teeth, already knowing, in his years of experience, that that’s going to bruise.

Jake lifts his head, letting his eyes drift shut as you lean forwards and press your mouth to his neck. He can feel your nerves in your trembling fingertips, in the way your chest shivers when it brushes his, in the way your lips suck at his pulse point. But you’re doing so well. Dragging your lips along the length of his neck, biting softly at the skin just above his collarbone, feeling him shiver at the sensation.

“Off.” You demand, grabbing at the bottom of his t-shirt, feeling him grin against your jaw. He complies wordlessly, grabbing at the back of his shirt and yanking it over his head.

You’ve seen Jake shirtless plenty of times, wandering around his property or opening the front door without shame. You’ve always wondered what those muscles, that dusting of golden chest hair, would feel like up close. Forgetting that you’re being watched, your hands explore his toned torso. The line down the middle of his stomach, the sharp divide of his collarbones, the swell of his pecs.

“What’re you thinking?” Jake asks, brushing your hair back from your face tenderly, concern coating his features.

A bashful smile spreads across your cheeks as you watch your fingers ghost along the thick muscle of his shoulder. “That you’re really hot.”

Jake breathes out a chuckle, reaching up and grabbing at the back of your neck to cradle you against him as he pushes up from the couch and turns quickly, planting you on your back and covering your body with his.

“That smile is gonna get me in big trouble, sweetheart,” Jake wastes no time in pressing his mouth to your stomach, holding you by your waist as he sucks filthy kisses into your skin to mark his path downward. “You know that?”

“I know.” You answer back, just to tease him this time. Jake stops at your waistband as you giggle, looking up at you through hooded eyes with a devilish grin on his face. He drags his teeth across your hip, hooking his fingers into the sides of your shorts and tugging them down your legs.

“God, honey, you weren’t wearing panties this entire time?” Jake exhales, eye-level with the most intimate part of you and completely unashamed. Your mind fumbles for an answer, lips getting into position to finally respond when he leans forwards and licks a stripe through your soaked core. Then, he moans. His hands grab fistfuls of your soft waist and he goes in again, lapping hungrily at your excitement, groaning against your sensitive skin.

“O-Oh… Jake.” Your voice trembles, knees trying to press shut around Jake’s broad shoulders. He grabs firmly at your thigh, closing his lips loosely around your clit, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud and making you jolt against him.

“Yeah, honey?”

“That feels really fucking good.” You tell him, closing your eyes finally.

“Attagirl. Just hold on, girlie, I’m gonna get you there.” He promises without once diverting from his apparent mission. If he’s as devoted to the Navy as he is to making you cum at this exact moment in time, the military is lucky to have him. You’re soaked, excitement pooling between your legs. Jake already knows he’s going to spend tomorrow cleaning this couch, and he wishes he cared enough to make better decisions.

“Look at this,” Jake breathes out as his gaze falls back down to rest between your legs. He couldn’t care less about the fucking couch. You swallow hard, practically aching for his touch. You’ve waited so long already. His index finger dips between your folds, his brows raise as he gathers your excitement on the tip of it. “Making such a fuckin’ mess for your old man’s best friend. Dirty fucking girl.”

He can’t see the way his words make you grin, but he can feel the way you reach for his hair and tug softly at those blonde roots, begging for more. He’s more than happy to give it to you. Jake groans against you, working his tongue in soft circles around the throbbing bundle of nerves. His eyes are still on you. Your eyes are closed — if you look him in the eyes then you’re going to get all embarrassed, and you’ll be damned before you let someone ruin how good this feels. Especially not yourself.

Jake’s hand trails up your naked torso, pawing at your rising and falling tits as you pant into the chilled air, sweat beading on your skin.

He’s gentle between your legs. More gentle than he could be. Pressing his stubbled mouth firmly against your core and working his tongue against you, each languid movement making you keen into him. The tip of his nose bumps your clit periodically. It feels like your head is spinning.

Dragging his mouth back up to your sensitive, throbbing clit, his free hand slides between your legs, he dips the tip of his index finger into you, then slides it in up to the knuckle and curls. Just testing the waters. It’s enough to earn him a moan, enough to have you grab a fistful of his short blonde hair, ensuring that he doesn’t get ahead of himself and lose pace with his mouth.

He slips his ring finger into you alongside his middle whilst his tongue works confidently along your core and back up to your clit. He lets go of your thigh and rests his forearm across your stomach, keeping you nice and still for him. Maybe he should feel ashamed of himself for how much he’s enjoying this.

All of those times he enjoyed the sound of your laugh, and sat with the afterthought of how much he’d enjoy the sound of your moans. It’s hard to be ashamed when it turns out he was right.

He scissors his fingers inside of you, making you gasp louder this time, pulling against him. You tug at his roots, he moans against your clit. You both shiver, and not because of that now thundering storm. Jake’s tongue flattens as he drags it along your core. He pulls his fingers from you and puts them immediately to work, taking over the pace on your clit, burying his face between your legs, curling his tongue into you.

Jake growls against you, his cock growing now uncomfortably hard in the confines of his sweats and his fingers and mouth switch places once again. After all the time he has waited, he doesn’t deny himself the pleasure of looking up at you, writhing at the feeling of him between your legs. All that does is make his sweats feel even tighter again. His fingers fuck into you mercilessly, curling and twisting, making you keen into his touch and arch your back and gasp all at once.

You cum with his name on your tongue and your fingers in his hair. The comedown feels like weightlessness. Jake doesn’t bother to ask if that’s the first time a man has made you feel like that, the adoration in your eyes as he comes in to kiss your mouth tells him everything he needs to know.

His mouth tastes like you, his chin is wet with your slick and his cock is straining against the grey cotton of his sweats, pressing in to your stomach. Jake’s fingers brush your hair back softly from your forehead, a sudden calmness in the green of his eyes as he studies the peaceful euphoric smile on your face.

“We don’t have to go any further—“

“Stop trying to be a gentleman.” You huff, lifting your head and kissing him hard, hooking your legs around his waist. Drawing him closer, you’re both painfully aware that the only thing stopping him from touching you is his sweats. “I want you.”

Jake pauses for a moment. Rain slams against the windows, and the television goes dark as it passes into standby mode. His hands squeeze softly at your waist, eyes darting downward at your naked body under his. He would be a damn idiot to say no to everything he has been fantasising about.

“You keep condoms here?” He breathes out.

Your eyes light up before him, gleaming with mischief. You give a confident nod of your head as a cunning little smirk spreads across your lips.

“There are some in my parents’ bathroom,” You can tell right away that he doesn’t like that idea, but that’s okay, option two was by far your favourite anyway. “Or, you could just cum in me. I won’t tell.”

“Jesus Christ.” Jake drops his head forwards to rest against your naked chest, panting out a dry laugh. His fingers bruise into your middle as he starts to consider the choices that have led him here. Once he feels composed enough to look you in the eye again, he lifts his head and squints seriously. “You did not just say that.”

“I want you to. I’m on birth control anyway.” Long gone is the nervous girl standing on his porch and asking him to fix her lights. There’s a devious, lustful look in your eye and Jake’s pretty damn sure there’s magic in that look. All he knows is that it could make him do just about anything you asked of him. “Please?”

Jake swipes his thumb along the curve of your jaw, studying the depths of your irises for just a moment. He leans forwards and kisses your bottom lip, sucking at the plush skin, pulling away with his teeth. You swallow as he sits back, pushes his sweats down his legs and frees his swollen cock. From under him, you’ve got the perfect view.

Every ridge and valley in those impossible abs, each follicle of hair that lines his tanned chest, trailing down below his navel and sitting neatly around his pubic bone, trimmed just as neatly as his navy-standard hair cut. His cock is a good size, considerable even when he’s got one of his large hands wrapped around its base. Wide too, throbbing red at the tip, bending just slightly to the left.

Just looking has your mouth running dry.

Fisting his cock, Jake sits back on his heels and lets his gaze fall down to your glistening core once again. He looks down at your pretty face, then lowers himself between your legs, pressing his chest into yours, kissing you dizzyingly hard.

“You want it?” Jake asks one last time.

“I want it.” You answer him, smiling softly back at him, squeezing your thighs around his hips.

You’re looking up at him with such trust in your eyes that Jake can barely stand it. His heart thuds in his chest as he guides the tip of his cock between your folds, hesitating just briefly. There’s already no coming back from this. There’s no way to make up for the things he has already done. You’re so special, and he wants this so bad.

Your mouth sucks softly at his throat, quiet, pleased sounds spilling from your lips as he grinds the tip of his cock against your sensitive clit. Jake kisses your shoulder softly, then lowers his head to rest there as he drags his cock down to your warm entrance. You gasp softly as he presses into you, pushing forwards until he’s buried and stretching you open completely.

“Oh,” You whimper against his earlobe, pressing your nails into the swell of his shoulder blade. “You feel really fucking big.”

“So fuckin tight.” Jake grunts, his throat thick with desire as he stills inside of you, thumbs bruising into your hips. “Sweet fucking girl. Feel like you’re made just for me.”

This makes you smile into the curve of his jaw, humming in soft agreement as he starts to slowly rock his hips. Lightning flashes outside of the window, and it doesn’t matter one bit. The rest of the world is a million miles away. In here, it’s just the two of you.

“Oh fuck,” Jake shivers, eclipsing your throat with his hand, pulling you in for a heavy kiss, licking into your mouth as he drags his hips back until it’s just the tip. You gasp sharply against him as he snaps his hips forwards until he’s buried into you completely once. “Fuck. You like that?”

“Yeah. I want it like that.” You whimper into his skin, hugging your legs tight around his hips. You moan eagerly against his lips, the sound catching in your throat as he squeezes at the sides of your neck and drives his hips forwards sharply, drawing an excited squeak from your parted lips.

Jake grunts, rocking himself into you hard and fast. He’s waited so long for this, and so have you. The way you’re clawing at his back makes him want to give it all to you. Leaving feverish kisses along your collarbones, he fills you over and over. You curl both legs tighter around his waist, leaning your head back as far as you can against the couch cushion to give his lips better access to your throat.

The living room is filled with the sounds of your sex. Your desperate moans, panting and hard. Jake’s pleasured grunts, muffled softly by the curve of your shoulder. His skin slapping yours. It smells like him, smoky and mature. Sweat beads along his back and his forehead as he keeps up that merciless pace, fucking you so hard that you couldn’t tell him your own name anymore.

Jake pulls back just enough to grab the backs of your thighs and pin them to your chest, hooking your knees over his shoulders, filling you even deeper than before, making you cry out.

“Jake!” You beg, babbling incoherently into the curve of his shoulder as he goes right back to the pace he set before. Fucking you hard and fast, scrambling your brain to the point that the only thing on your mind is the ravenous way he’s staring down at you.

Your walls are squeezing around him perfectly and the sounds you’re making are just driving him insane. It’s been a long time since Jake felt as crazy about someone as he feels about you. He pants into the crook of your neck as his fingers tug at your hair, making you moan out even louder.

“I’m gonna cum — fuck, honey,” Jake grunts out like he’s been punched, his eyes screwing shut as he reaches between your bodies and rubs uniformed circles around your clit. “Are you close? — Can you cum one more time for me?”

“Yeah,” You breathe out, already trembling as you squeeze your thighs tighter around him. “Just—“ You don’t have the words, so you just reach out and grab his hand. Jake swallows hard as you wrap his open hand around the column of your throat and look up at him with that big, trusting look in your eyes again.

He grits his teeth as he squeezes at the sides of your throat, watching your sweet face contort in pleasure. Your hand dips between your legs and replaces where Jake’s had been, rubbing feverish patterns on your clit. Your stomach tightens in knots, your breathing grows heavy and Jake’s cock drives into you at just about the perfect angle each time. You open his mouth to warn him, but it’s already too late. You couldn’t find the words if you tried.

All you can do is grab onto those thick shoulders and cry out his name against the salty skin of his neck. Jake slows just slightly, offering you some reprieve through your sensitivity. Trying to be a gentleman once again. The brain fog starts to clear, you lift your head and press your lips to your earlobe.

“Cum in me,” You pant out, grabbing his shoulder to steady yourself. Jake groans against your chest, nodding his head feverishly. “Just like that, Jake, please.”

He’s relentless, fucking your through the sensitivity of your post-orgasm haze hard enough that grabbing onto those broad shoulders is the only thing that keeps you down to earth with him. Jake groans desperately. He wraps an arm under your back and pulls you as tight against him as physics will allow. You gasp softly, taking your lip between your teeth as he fills you, his cock throbbing against your walls. He seeks out your lips and kisses you hard, somehow more desperate now.

“Fuck, honey…” Jake breathes out, pressing a lazy kiss to the curve of your jaw. He makes no effort to move at first. “You alright?”

“Better than alright.” You answer contentedly, a soft smile toying at your lips as lightning flashes outside once again. Jake chuckles tiredly, lifting his head and kissing your lips.

He sighs, moving slow as he slips out of you and looks down at his cum dripping from between your legs.

“Oh, shit!” You realize, sitting up quickly and trying to reach around Jake for something to clean it with. He hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you tight against him. Truthfully, from the moment that you had laid your head on Jake’s abs, you hadn’t thought once about the consequences of fucking him right here in this spot.

“Forget it, I’ll — I’ll fix this,” He tells you calmly, already regretting that he’s going to have to live with what he has done on this couch. “Come on, cutie. Let’s go take a shower.”

It’s clear that this is foreign territory for you. Not the sex, but what comes after. He didn’t get up and leave. He didn’t run away with regret for what he did. He ran soap across your body and found your pyjamas for you.

You swallow softly, walking to sit on the edge of your bed. Jake runs a hand along his stubbled jaw as he lingers in the doorway to you room. You can’t help but notice that he got dressed again. Including his shoes. He looks you over, sitting there in fresh pyjamas, staring at him with that worried little look on your face.

He hasn’t ever seen your room here. It’s probably the one room in the house he has never been in. He’s been wondering what it’s like.

But that isn’t why he’s standing there. He sighs softly and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I should go — I mean, Ace is over there by himself.” Jake says quietly. You nod at him. You should probably say something too, but truthfully, not all of your words seem to have come back into your mind yet. “Are you coming with me?”

“Huh?”

“Well, I don’t wanna leave you over here by yourself after that weird ass movie.” Jake answers you with a shrug of his shoulders. “I figured you could just spend the night. If you want.”

Your mouth twitches at the corners as you push yourself up from the edge of your bed, nodding eagerly at him. You’ve got eleven days until your parents get back in town, and Jake permitting, you’re planning on making the most of that.

…

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The Younger Kind Part 38 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You and Bradley spend some family time fishing on the boat, followed by some private time just for the two of you. But after a dreamy afternoon, you want to return to the lake house and see Noah before bedtime. Then you get distracted by what you see on Bradley's phone.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, smut, pregnancy talk, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4000 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

Bradley had never seen anyone get so happy about an earthworm before. Noah thought they were hilarious, and he made a mess on the floor of the boat, playing with them while everyone else was fishing. 

"Hey, Bub, can I have one of the worms to use as bait?" Bradley asked him when he checked his hook to see that it was empty. There were a few other boats out in the middle of Big Bear Lake, and it was just a beautiful day to spend with everyone. 

"Here," Noah picked one up and handed it to Bradley. "Feed the fish, Daddy."

"Thank you," he replied, bending to kiss his son on the head and accept the worm. 

"I need one, too," you said, holding out your hook for Bradley. You were not as delighted by the worms as Noah was. Bradley knew he'd be the one cleaning up the mess later, but it didn't matter. Amelia was sunbathing, Penny was reading, and Mav was the only one catching any fish. But everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Once Bradley got you set up with fresh bait, you stepped a little closer to him and whispered, "Thanks, Daddy." And it was like he was back in bed with you. The way he wanted to touch you right now as you ran your fingers along his thigh was indecent. You were wearing the tiniest dress he'd ever seen with your bathing suit on underneath it, and Bradley slid his sunglasses down to look at you. 

"I need you to behave," he replied softly enough that nobody else could hear him over the radio playing. "You'll get it later."

You whimpered softly. "That's your Daddy voice."

"Later," he told you firmly with a smirk. He knew what he was doing. Amelia, Maverick and Penny already offered to take Noah back for an afternoon nap so you and he could have the boat alone for a bit, and then he would do anything you wanted. The two of you could watch the sun set and drink some of the weird seltzers you packed. Bradley could hold you on his lap just the way he liked where you looked at him and talked to him like you'd never need anything else but him. 

Then he felt something tugging his line as he started reeling it in. "Noah! I got a fish! Come help me!" Noah scrambled over to where Bradley was sure he had hooked a fish, and he placed Noah's little hand beneath his own so he could help reel it in. 

"Did it eat the worm?" Noah asked, his little arm pumping as fast as it could with Bradley's. 

"Maybe," he replied as you knelt down next to them to cheer them on. Even Amelia came over to see how big it was as it came to the surface, wiggling around all over the place. 

"I don't know if it's a keeper," Maverick said as he reached for his measuring tape. 

Noah was cackling as the fish splashed water up on his face. "It ate the worm! It ate the worm!" 

"It's not big enough," Maverick confirmed, and Bradley handed you the rod so he could take the fish off and return it to the water. 

"We can't keep this one, Bub," Bradley told him as he untangled the hook. "Sorry." He dipped the fish back into the lake and then let it swim away.

Noah's eyes suddenly filled with tears. "We can't have a dog or a fish?"

Now you and Noah were both looking up at him with the saddest eyes he'd ever seen. "We just want a pet," you whispered, kissing Noah's chubby cheek.

"Good Lord," Bradley muttered, and you cracked a smile. "Noah, that's not even the kind of fish you can keep as a pet. It's too big to have at home. Pet fish are like little goldfish from the pet store."

"Maybe we can get him a beta fish for his room?" you asked as everyone else returned to their previous activities. 

"Maybe," Bradley grunted. "Jesus, I think I'd rather have a dog than have to keep flushing fish and trying to find identical looking ones to replace it with."

"Yay!" you chanted, picking Noah up and instantly making him smile. "I think it's working." Then you pulled the wet wipes out of your bag and cleaned him up before letting him sit up on the top part of the boat and eat his sandwich. Bradley made a mental note to look up which dog breeds didn't shed.

----------------------------

You sat on the plush bench and waved to everyone else while Bradley slowly pulled the boat away from the dock. Amelia and Penny were holding the empty cooler. Noah was perched up on Maverick's shoulders wearing his aviators and shouting, "Bye, Mommy! Bye, Daddy!" You blew him a kiss and watched them start walking back up to the house.

The afternoon sun was hot on your skin but the rush of air was keeping you cool as you leaned back and closed your eyes. You weren't going to be able to hide your desire for Bradley, your body was already thrumming with need. When you opened your eyes and pulled your legs up onto the bench so you could undo your sandals, your eyes caught on Bradley's broad back and shoulders. The wind was whipping through his hair as he stood in front of the captain's chair and steered the boat to a quieter, more secluded part of the lake. 

When he eased back on the throttle and the engine noise quieted a bit, you stood and wrapped your arm around his waist from behind. Bradley tucked you against his side with a smile before sliding you to stand right in front of him. "Why don't you steer for a while? I got some other things I want to do."

He guided one of your hands up to the wheel and placed your other hand on the throttle, and then his big hands found their way to your body. He swayed behind you to the motion of the boat as you steered along the shoreline on the far side of the lake where there were fewer houses. Bradley bunched the fabric of your dress up in both of his hands as he squeezed your waist through your dress. "I love you, Princess," he murmured against your neck and bare shoulder. 

You leaned back into his warmth and asked, "How do we stop the boat?"

Bradley covered your hand on the throttle with his and eased it all the way down until the engine died, his lips never leaving your skin. And now you felt warm everywhere as the sun beat down on your bodies and glittered off the water. The boat drifted gently along toward the middle of the lake as Bradley murmured, "I can't believe you have me considering getting a dog. What have you done to me?"

You spun in his arms and laughed. "That was all Noah."

"Nah, it was you, too. And you know it."

"You're just a big softie for us," you whispered as a bead of sweat trickled down your back at the same time you felt goosebumps on your legs. Bradley reached down for the hem of your sundress and started to guide the fabric up to your hips. 

"If we have a baby," he rasped, "it'll just get worse. I'll be outnumbered three to one."

"Four to one if there's a dog involved," you added, nodding helpfully. 

"Four to one?" He pulled your dress off, leaving you standing there in your purple bikini that didn't leave a whole lot to the imagination. "Can't I at least have the dog on my side?"

"You can try." You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him. "Good luck with that."

"Well shit," he grunted, pressing himself against your belly. He was already hard, but you were enjoying the way his fingers were trailing slowly down your back like he wasn't in a rush. "Looks like I'm just a big softie after all."

You nodded solemnly. "There's nothing that can be done for you, Daddy. But at least you're hard where it counts." He smirked when you squeezed him through his bathing suit. 

"That's just for you, too." You could feel him untying the knot in your bathing suit straps along the middle of your back before bringing his rough hands around to cup your bare breasts as the top hung off of your neck. "And these are mine."

"Yes, Daddy." You tried to return his kisses, but your head tipped back, and you moaned as he teased you. He stroked the undersides of your breasts so gently before bringing his thumbs up to pinch your nipples and then soothing them. "Oh god," you moaned as he pinched you again. 

You clenched hard around nothing as Bradley leaned down to run his nose and mustache along your jaw. "You're always so sensitive for me. You gonna make me beg for this right now?" 

"You don't have to beg," you moaned as his right hand came up to stroke your cheek before he untied your suit bottoms and let them fall to your feet. You could feel his fingers press against your clit before sliding down to your opening, and his lips met your ear. 

"You're such a good girl."

You could barely think when he talked to you like this and touched you just right. He'd spend all day working you up and getting you off if you told him you wanted him to. You knew he would. You knew he'd take care of you in every way. You knew he loved you. You'd never had anything even close to this, and now you'd never want anything else. 

On shaky legs, you managed to push him back onto the captain's chair and scramble up onto his lap. "Daddy," you panted softly before pressing your lips to his and rubbing your soaking wet pussy on his hard cock through his bathing suit. He'd reduced your vocabulary to just that one word. "Daddy."

Bradley seemed to understand that you needed him as he lifted his hips up and pulled his cock free, and you were sinking down around him before he was even seated again. "Oh, yeah," he groaned as he carefully untied the last knot at the back of your neck and let your bikini top join your bottoms. "Mine."

His hands on your hips only let you move at the slowest pace that left you a little dizzy as his mouth found your breasts. So you ran your hands up his strong arms to his shoulders and held on as he took everything nice and slow. You could barely focus on your surroundings long enough to determine if anyone was closeby to see the two of you fucking. 

"What if somebody....?"

He released your nipple with a pop and said, "They can't see us, Baby." Then he kissed his way up your chest to your neck, and he groaned as your pussy squeezed around him. "Fuck."

"Feels good," you whispered, still rocking at that deliciously slow tempo as he brought his lips up to meet yours. Playful kisses and nibbles led to the soft sweep of his tongue against yours as you played with his hair. Every few strokes of his cock left you fluttering around him. "Oh. Oh!" you gasped, a little surprised and bashful at how your orgasm was creeping up on you. And about how strong it was. 

Bradley broke the kiss so he could watch your face in awe as you suddenly keened loudly, rolling your hips. Rolling. Squeezing. He was hitting every sensitive spot inside you with his pretty cock, and your clit rubbed his coarse, trimmed hairs until you were shaking. Your toes curled. Your fingers shook as you tried to hold onto him. Your head lulled back as you came and came. 

And those big hands on your hips guided you through the whole thing.

"Princess," Bradley groaned, his eyes squeezing shut in pleasure as his forehead creased almost like he was in pain. "Oh, fuck. Baby!" He pushed himself deeper up into you as he filled you with cum, and you let your cheek rest on his warm shoulder, unable to hold yourself up any longer. 

He held you tight as he panted, stroking his fingers down your back and making you shiver. Your name was a whisper on his lips as he told you he loved you, and he kept himself buried inside you like he needed to feel close. No, you'd never want anything else. 

------------------------

You were a little sweaty and sticky from his cum dripping down your legs as Bradley helped you stand up. "I have an idea," he murmured, brushing his fingers along your shoulder and kissing your forehead softly. You looked like you were still in a daze as you glanced around in every direction to make sure there was still nobody else around. God, you looked like he'd just fucked you to within an inch of your life, when in reality he'd just led you through a slow-build orgasm that left you practically screaming for him. 

He kissed your cheek one more time before he stripped out of his swim trunks and climbed up onto the edge of the boat, jumping into the crystal clear lake. The water felt freezing on his overheated skin, and he laughed as you finally seemed to snap out of your daze.

"You coming in?" he asked as he pushed his hair away from his forehead and started to tread water. 

"Is it cold?"

He kind of shrugged and said, "Feels great. Would feel even better if you were in here with me."

Bradley watched you climb awkwardly up onto the edge and scream as you jumped in, your gorgeous body fully on display for him. He watched you go under and then come up sputtering. "It's freezing, you liar!"

He chuckled and swam over to you, and then he wrapped you in his arms and kissed your fingers and your purple painted nails. "We'll get out in a minute, and I'll wrap you up in a towel and snuggle with you on the bench."

"Yes," you agreed immediately. "I want that now."

Bradley let you swim back to the boat, and he helped you push yourself out of the water so you could wrap yourself in a towel. But he swam a few laps around the boat as he thought about your cum-filled pussy and what that might mean for him if he kept it up. It brought a smile to his face every time he thought about making the other bedroom into a nursery. You were teaching Noah how to read, and pretty soon he might be practicing reading to his baby sibling. Bradley loved the idea of all of it. Even the goddamn dog. 

When he pulled himself up into the boat, you reached out and handed him the other towel. "Thanks, Baby," he said, and you snuggled back sheepishly into your oversize towel on the bench. He walked to the cooler, dripping water along the way as he wrapped the towel around his waist. "What's wrong?" he asked, digging around for the snack he brought. 

"Nothing," you murmured as his hand closed around the bag. 

He plopped down on the bench with a foot of space between your bodies. "Sounds like something."

You bit your lip and said, "It's embarrassing."

"What is?" he asked, setting the bag down and focusing on you. "What could have embarrassed you?"

You rolled your eyes and looked up at the sky which was turning an array of colors as the sun approached the horizon. "My response to you. I know I don't have as much experience as you do, but you pretty much always manage to make me come... and you had me practically screaming just now. And we were barely moving."

"Hey," Bradley whispered. "That was the fucking hottest thing. Nothing to be embarrassed about." When you didn't respond, he said, "It's not just you. Yeah, you're sensitive for me, and I love using that to my advantage. But you make me wild like nobody else ever has."

"Really?" you asked, lowering the towel from your face a few inches. "I do?"

"Baby, you almost made me cum in my pants last week. And the first time you gave me head? I thought I was going to pass out or potentially die. That's how turned on I get."

"That's good," you said softly, grinning. "I like being on an even playing field with you."

Bradley reached for the bag of Skittles and said, "I have some more bait."

"You're going to try to catch more fish right now?" you asked, shifting on the bench. 

He shook his head. "I'm not here to catch a fish right now. I'm here to catch a Princess."

"You already caught one," you replied with a laugh.

Bradley held up the bag and shook it gently as a bright smile filled your features. "Just to be sure...."

"Yeah," you whispered as he tore the bag open, "that's the right kind of bait." You crawled across the bench and climbed onto his lap. He welcomed you there as you straddled his thigh and parted your lips. Bradley groaned as he shook a yellow Skittle out of the bag and ran it along your bottom lip before gently setting it on your tongue. You were young and beautiful which was exciting, but you were also smart and strong and loving. And Bradley wanted to take care of this connection with you so it would always be here. 

He kissed you as you slowly chewed your Skittle. "That's a good girl. Take the bait," he said with a laugh, repeating the process with a red one and a purple one. 

"And that's your Daddy voice again," you whispered as he fed you more candy.

"Just practicing for when I'm your Daddy and Noah's Daddy and another little one's Daddy."

You ran your nose along his as you smiled and whispered, "Don't forget about the dog."

The sun set with you wrapped in your towel on his lap and your head on his shoulder. You chewed up the last piece of candy just as Bradley whispered that it was getting dark and you needed to head back. He helped you slip your dress back on, and he steered the boat back to the dock with you nestled against his body. "I kind of want this forever," he murmured.

"Me too."

------------------------

You and Bradley finally made it back to the dock in the semidarkness. It took you a few times to tie everything down correctly as you laughed. You felt like you were on a bit of a sugar rush from the Skittles, and you giggled when Bradley said, "Holy shit. We almost forgot your bathing suit."

He jumped back onto the boat from the dock as you held up his phone flashlight so he could see. "It wouldn't have been the end of the world if we left it here."

"Yes, it would," he replied, bending down near the captain's chair to retrieve both pieces. "What would you spend all summer sunbathing in on our deck at home?"

"Nothing at all," you said, and he dropped your bikini top and had to pick it up again. 

"Shit," he grunted while you laughed, and your fingers slipped on his phone. You gasped and caught it in both hands, accidentally opening up his web browser which was filled with open tabs to diamond engagement rings. Your jaw dropped as you looked at rings more beautiful than anything you'd ever seen before. Bradley had apparently even taken a quiz titled Which engagement ring is perfect for my future wife?

Future wife. He'd talked about it before. Mentioned a ring and a future and security. You were in his will. He let Noah call you his mommy. He wanted to get married. But you almost dropped the phone again when you noticed a tab that said baby girl names.

"We almost forgot our trash, too," Bradley said as he climbed back onto the dock, holding up the Skittles wrapper along with your bathing suit. 

You were in a daze as you murmured, "Don't call Skittles wrappers trash. They serve a very important role by delivering delicious treats to princesses."

"Oh, you're right. I'm sorry," he said with a bit of an eye roll as he squatted down in front of you and helped you buckle your sandals for the walk back to the house. "It's not just common trash. It's a symbol of royalty."

"That's right," you whispered. You had his face partially illuminated by the flashlight as you scrolled through some of the baby names before closing out of the browser. He was taking all of this very seriously. You should have known he would; as soon as he'd deleted that dating app from his phone, he was all in. All yours.

You handed him back his phone when he stood, and you launched yourself into his arms. He kissed you and rubbed your back through your dress. You could hear his stomach growling which made you smile even more as you kissed your words against his lips. "I love you."

His response was a deep, soft rumble at the back of his throat. "I love you too, Princess."

"Let's go eat dinner and see Noah." He seemed to like your response, rewarding you with so many kisses on the short walk back to the house. But when you arrived, it was later than you anticipated. Maverick was asleep on the couch next to the Christmas tree, Amelia was eating Christmas cookies, and Penny was reading the end of her book. 

"Noah's already asleep," she whispered. "I gave him a bath, and then he was closing his eyes before his head hit the pillow. We grilled dinner. Grab some leftover burgers and hot dogs from the kitchen if you want," she added with a smirk.

At least she didn't comment on how messy Bradley's hair looked or the fact that he was carrying your bathing suit in his big hand when you used to be wearing it under your dress. "Sounds good," you whispered, and Bradley followed you into the kitchen. You watched him eat a handful of cookies while you heated up some of the leftovers from dinner. Then he inhaled two burgers and a hot dog while you ate one burger. 

"You were starving," you said with a laugh, noting that he looked very relaxed although tired. 

"I was," he groaned, eating another cookie. "Sun, sex and boating. Oh man. Wiped me right out."

"You're a simple man," you said, pushing him down the hallway toward your bedroom and the ensuite bathroom. "Let's take a shower."

You let Bradley wash your body with his big, soapy hands as he hummed his favorite song against your skin. Your belly was full and your senses were overwhelmed by his voice and the lemon scented soap and the steamy shower. You were yawning as he carried you to the bed, your skin still a little damp as you climbed naked under the covers with his body at your back. He was impossibly warm, fingers laced with yours, legs tangled together. 

"Love you," he murmured, kissing your shoulder. 

You thought about his phone as you brought your hand along with his to rest against your belly. "If we have a baby," you asked softly, "do you think you'd want a boy or a girl?"

"Mmm. Don't care," he replied right away, and he sounded like he was already starting to fall asleep. "But a girl would be nice."

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The way I want to live in this chapter. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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The Younger Kind Part 35 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: A new bed, a new toy, and another surprise for Bradley. He wanted to try everything with you, and you were keen to let him. And you were thankful he kept pushing things in a direction that you were becoming very comfortable with.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, smut, anal play, butt plug, pregnancy discussion, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4300 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

When Bradley woke up with a hangover on Sunday morning, that was his first indication that he'd overdone it at the Hard Deck. His second indication was the fact that it was eleven o'clock and he was just stirring. He would have never had a chance to enjoy a night out drinking like that if you weren't here with him to get up and take care of Noah. 

As he climbed out of bed, he groaned and headed right for the kitchen where he drank a full glass of water and turned the coffee maker on. There were dishes in the sink, but you and Noah were nowhere to be found. He poked his head out the back door and then looked out the front window before he saw you both.

You were crawling around on the driveway with Noah and a bucket of sidewalk chalk, and it made him so fucking happy. His kid looked delighted. Then he remembered asking you if he could fuck a baby into you last night. "Oh, god," he groaned, rubbing his eyes with his fingers until he saw stars. 

He stumbled back into the kitchen to retrieve his coffee mug and take a long sip. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable here. He didn't really care if you wanted to wait; you were so young, and you were just starting out in your nursing career. He could understand that. He just wanted to know what you were thinking. 

The coffee was scalding hot, but he downed it anyway before returning to the bedroom to pull on his gray sweatpants. Then he headed out to the driveway, barefoot and missing the two of you. 

"Morning," he greeted, his head still not feeling too great. And on top of that, he was afraid he'd be able to read your discomfort on your face after he told you he wanted an answer about a baby. But instead you jumped to your feet and closed the distance to him with a vibrant smile on your face.

"Hi, Daddy," you whispered, running your chalk covered hands up his chest and giving him the kind of kiss that was probably not appropriate for the driveway. But he didn't really care. You had his bottom lip between yours, and your fingers were tugging through his messy hair, and he'd have taken you right inside if it weren't for Noah asking him to draw a dinosaur. 

Should he bring up the baby discussion? Should he wait? You didn't seem to be expecting anything from him at the moment as you ran your lips along his neck when he accepted a piece of blue chalk from Noah. 

"A dinosaur?" he asked his son. "How big?"

"Huge!" Noah exclaimed, jumping into the air. "Mommy drew three little ones already," he said, pointing across the driveway. Bradley didn't think he'd ever get tired of listening to Noah call you that. So with a smile on his face, Bradley squatted down and started drawing a pretty sad looking creature with a lot of teeth.

"Are you sure that's a dinosaur?" you asked him as you drew a fourth smaller one that actually looked correct. "Noah, Daddy needs art lessons. And maybe some glasses, too."

Bradley tossed a piece of chalk playfully at you as Noah came over to see the ugly dinosaur he had drawn. "He does," his son agreed, picking up yellow chalk and trying to fix the dinosaur. 

It wasn't until much later that night that you were lounging on the couch with your head resting on Bradley's thigh and a bag of Skittles in your hand that he said anything about it. He stole a few pieces of candy and then ran his thumb along your flawless cheek. "Baby?" he asked, voice deep and raspy. You rolled onto your back so you were looking up at him, and Bradley watched your jaw work as you chewed.

"Hmm?" 

He wanted to make sure he got this right, because he didn't want you to worry about his response or your own thoughts on the matter. "How would you feel if you got pregnant?"

Your face stayed calm and serene, and a smile played at your lips. "I was just waiting for you to bring this up again." But he didn't respond, still unwilling to affect your opinion. "If I got pregnant right now? I'd be very, very nervous, Daddy. And also really excited."

His heart rate ramped up so quickly, he felt dizzy even though he was sitting down. "Excited? Yeah?"

"Very," you replied, popping a purple Skittle between your lips. "Noah would be an amazing big brother. And you're already an excellent dad who dotes on his child. I know that a baby would just send you over the moon."

Bradley hauled you squealing up onto his lap, sending Skittles flying across the carpet. "Hey! That was my snack!" you protested, but then he was kissing you and wrapping his arms around you.

As you straddled his legs, he ran his big hands up your back and said, "I'm not in a hurry, okay? I'm sorry if I made you feel like I was last night."

You kissed his nose and whispered, "You didn't."

"Regardless," he replied, "I'll let you bring it up again when you're ready."

You giggled. "You want me to tell you when I'm ready for you to fuck a baby into me?"

He groaned and tightened his grip on you. "Yes. And I want you to say it just like that, okay?"

You were laughing harder in his lap as he smiled and tried to kiss you.

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Later in the week, everyone was rushing through breakfast when Bradley asked, "Did you say anything to Dr. Kelly about taking a day or two off?"

You chewed up a piece of toast and said, "I'll ask her today, promise. It's just that I'm a little nervous to bring it up."

"Why?" he asked, handing Noah a fork for his eggs. "I thought you liked her."

"I do!" you replied a bit defensively. "She's great. But she also asked me after I cut my hand if there were any... issues going on at home."

Bradley's eyes went wide. "Oh."

"Yeah. I mean, I told her there were no issues at home and that you were deployed at the time anyway, but it was still a little awkward."

You watched his brown eyes as he slowly brought them to focus on your face. "I should stop by and pick you up one day. I haven't been there yet. They don't know me. Maybe that would help."

You laughed and wrapped your arms around his waist. "Sure. You can do that if you want. Gotta run so I can come home for lunch when the new bed gets dropped off!" You kissed him and then Noah and shouted that you loved them as you ran out the front door. 

You were way too excited about the new bed. And about the things you were going to do with Bradley in the new bed. And you were giggling as you thought about how he was going to react to some of your suggestions. He had been extra loving after you assured him you'd let him know when you wanted to try for a baby. The new bed was about to get a workout. But first things first.

The morning at work went by quickly, and then you were back at home where you had already removed all the bedding and Bradley had left the mattress propped up in the hallway. Then the doorbell rang with so much commotion, you just showed everyone where the old bed was and where you wanted the new bed. And then you stood in the kitchen doorway and ate a bowl of cereal and watched with a smile as the old bed was taken away. It was being donated to someone who wouldn't care that your boyfriend and his ex made a sex tape on it. Someone else could enjoy the bed since you were having a hard time with it.

"All finished," one of the men told you about thirty minutes later as they headed out. 

"Really?" You peeked into the bedroom and had to press your lips together so you didn't squeal. It was perfect. When you jumped onto the mattress and rolled all the way across it, you sighed at how comfortable it was. And you had to admit, it was nice using Bradley's credit card for this. 

You quickly made the bed with a set of clean sheets, and then you retrieved the things you'd ordered online out of your underwear drawer and tucked them under your pillow for later tonight.

Since you took a long lunch break at home, you had volunteered to stay at work a little late. Bradley was responsible for picking Noah up, and you were sure Casey was flirting with him probably right at this very moment. You rolled your eyes as you carefully disinfected the exam rooms and set everything up for the following day. Casey looked as desperate as Helen had. You weren't desperate. Your boys would be waiting for you when you got home.

At least that's what you thought. You could hear Dr. Kelly talking to someone in the hallway, and then you heard her laugh as she got closer to the room you were cleaning. "She's right in here."

Then Noah and Bradley were in the room, and you were trying to get your latex gloves off as quickly as possible so you could take Noah in your arms. "What are you doing here?" you asked Bradley as you held Noah tight. "I'm done in fifteen minutes."

Bradley leaned in and kissed you, and you realized just how good he looked in his khaki uniform. "Just wanted to surprise you. Noah kept asking what it looked like here."

You smiled at him, and then Bradley and Dr. Kelly returned to their previous conversation while you showed Noah the stethoscopes and the huge container of cotton balls. Then you set him on the table and pretended to examine him while he giggled. 

"Mommy, can I have a sticker?" he asked. "I got one last time I went to the doctor."

"You can have more than one," you replied, kissing the top of his head. 

When you left work with Noah in your arms, his shirt was covered in seven stickers, and he was all smiles. When you buckled him in the back of the Bronco and squeezed his hand, you turned and looked up at Bradley over your shoulder. "Will you drive my car home so I can drive with Noah?" you asked softly.

"Of course," he replied immediately, handing you the keys to the Bronco.

You dug around in your bag for your own keys, and when he took them, you said, "I love you so much."

Bradley smiled and kissed your cheek. "I love you, too. See you at home, Princess."

And then you got to turn on the playlist you made for Noah as you guided the Bronco along the busy streets with Bradley right behind you.

"Are you going to get married?" Noah asked, and when you looked at him in the rearview mirror, his face was calm as he looked out the window.

"Married?" you asked, unsure how to answer him.

"Are you and Daddy getting married? Everyone at school has people who are married," he said. "Mommys and Daddys and stuff."

Bradley mentioned putting a ring on your finger while the two of you were going at it. You weren't exactly sure how sincere he was about that. But it would be perfect. "Maybe someday, sweet Noah." 

"Okay," he replied before asking you what's for dinner. 

-------------------------

It was almost comical the way you wouldn't let Bradley in the bedroom to look at the new bed until after dinner. You got Noah situated with a cookie and an episode of Mickey Mouse, and then you wrapped your arm around Bradley's waist and asked, "Ready to see it?"

"Yes. I've been ready since I got home, but you wouldn't let me," he muttered as you moved to stand behind him and guided him down the hallway while you covered his eyes. "Is this really necessary?" he asked, laughing as he stumbled.

"Yes," you replied, getting him situated inside the bedroom before you lowered your hands. "What do you think?"

He looked at the bed and the bedding, and it was all very nice, but then he noticed what was missing. "Where's your crown?" he asked, looking back at you. "It belongs on that post on my side of the bed." He was gesturing to the completely empty bedpost, getting worried that it had been removed with the old bed.

You were looking up at him in awe. "I have it," you promised him, running your fingers through his hair. "You make me feel special."

"It's your princess crown," he replied. "It belongs on the bed. And you are special." Bradley watched you retrieve it from your dresser drawer, and when you handed it to him, he put it right where it belonged. "That's better."

But you were already climbing up onto the bed in your scrubs and crawling toward him. You looked a little nervous as you stopped on your knees in front of him. "I thought we could break the new bed in tonight after Noah goes to sleep?"

"Hell yes," he groaned, leaning in to kiss you. But you scooted away from him and wouldn't let him touch you at all. Then Bradley watched the little grin that broke out on your face as you reached under your pillow and pulled out some soft looking pink fabric. "What's that?" he croaked, his hand coming to rest on his hardening cock as you draped it over the front of your body.

"Just a cute nightie I found. Do you like it?" Your eyes were glittering with mischief, but Bradley could tell that you needed to hear how incredibly sexy he found you. 

The blush pink lace and silk were going to look amazing hugging your body. And what a way to break in the new bed. "I love it, Princess," he promised, gesturing to where his hand was resting. "Obviously I can't get enough of you."

You looked pleased with yourself as you crawled back across the bed, and Bradley groaned out loud as you kissed his cock through his khaki pants. Then you looked up at him and whispered, "I have some more surprises, too. I'm going to go take a shower first, Daddy. Will you get Noah ready for bed?"

Bradley nodded and melted into your touch as you eased your hands up his body before kissing him and scampering off to the bathroom. "Fuck, fuck," he grunted as he watched you go. Before he could get on with his night, he had to count to fifty to get himself under control. 

When he got to the living room, Noah was already yawning. "You almost ready for bed, Bub?" 

"I don't want to go to bed," he complained with another yawn. "I want to eat popcorn and play in the cushion fort with Mommy."

Bradley kissed him and turned off the TV before scooping him up. "It's getting a little late for a fort, okay? And besides, it's Daddy's turn to play with Mommy."

"What are you going to play with?" Noah asked as Bradley helped him change into pajamas. 

Bradley snorted and said, "Hopefully everything." He kissed Noah and tucked him in, and by the time he got back to his own bedroom, you were wearing that pretty nightie, waiting for him on the bed. And the soft glow of the bedside lamp made you look like a dream.

"Daddy," you whispered, your eyes on him as he unbuttoned his uniform shirt and yanked it off. You were biting your lip as he tossed his undershirt aside, too. 

"You ready to break in this bed, Princess?" he asked softly as he crawled across the bed to get to you. The mattress seemed nice, and sleeping on it would probably be great, but he wanted to get his hands and lips on you first. "You look beautiful."

You giggled as he caged you in with his big body and kissed you. Your small hands were warm on his face and in his hair as you guided him down for more kisses. When he eased his hands up your thighs and around to your bare ass, you whispered, "I used your credit card to buy the nightie."

"Good girl. Did you earn another spanking?" 

He was kneading his hands into your butt and thighs as you said softly, "I actually bought some other things, too. Do you want to see them?"

Bradley looked up into your eyes which were filled with apprehension now, and his hands froze on your body. "Yeah, I wanna see them, but what's wrong?"

You reached your hands back under your pillow as you asked, "You know how you told me you never spanked anyone before?"

"Yeah," he grunted. Then Bradley's eyes went wide as you held three items out to him. 

"Have you ever had... anal sex before?" Your voice was so soft as you showed him a bottle of lube, a purple USB drive, and a purple silicone butt plug. You were nervously nibbling on your lip, awaiting an answer, but Bradley's brain couldn't seem to put one together fast enough. 

His hands were moving back to your ass seemingly of their own accord as he buried his kisses against your neck. "No," he told you, kissing along the top of your chest and back up to your lips. "Never."

You moaned softly and wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling his khaki covered erection closer to you. "Do you want to, Daddy?"

"Fuck, Baby," he whined, bringing his hands up to your face to cup your cheeks. "I told you already, you make me want to do everything with you."

When you whimpered, Bradley eased himself down your body, pushing the nightie up and kissing your pussy. He ran the tip of his nose through your wetness as you bucked against him, but he didn't stop there. He propped you up in the air with your legs spread wide, and he kissed your asshole. You even looked pretty here. Tight and perfect. 

"You've never had anyone fuck you here before?" he asked, eyes on yours as you propped yourself up on the pillows.

"No. Of course not. You were the first guy to ever go down on me! Remember?"

"I remember very fucking well. And I plan on being the last. The last to do anything." He kissed you there again as you whined his name.

"Bradley. Anal sex can be something else we do for the first time together."

He groaned and had to thrust himself against the new bed for some relief. "Baby, you're killing me," he said before kissing along your pussy and down, spreading your wetness everywhere. "You're a fucking dream."

"Daddy," you gasped as he wrapped his lips around your clit. "Daddy, we need to start with the plug tonight. Okay?"

"Mmhmm." He ran his thumb in a little circle around your asshole as he kissed your thigh. "You put that toy on your princess credit card?" 

"I did," you gasped as he teased you.

"Good girl." Then he was caging you in again and kissing your mouth, worshipping you. "So sweet. We'll go slow. I'll take care of you."

"I know you will, Daddy."

--------------------------

You would have felt a little bit ridiculous, but Bradley was so outlandishly turned on, it didn't matter if your movements felt clumsy. He was making sounds you'd never heard from him before, and his words next to your ear were so sweet. 

And you hadn't even told him what comes next yet.

After you managed to get him naked, you offered to go down on him. "You want me to take care of this first?" you asked, running your fingers along his erection. He was so hard, it looked painful. 

"No," he said, gently taking your hands in his. "I plan on fucking your pretty pussy once we get your ass full of the toy." He was smirking as he eased you onto your back and hiked your nightie up above your breasts. "Gorgeous."

You spread your legs wide for him and propped yourself up with a pillow under your lower back. "I'm ready," you whispered, running your fingers through his hair. Because this wasn't scary with him. A few seconds later, Bradley was working his lube covered fingers around your hole while he kissed your lips and your cheeks.

"Does that feel okay?" he asked. 

Your head was tipped back, and you were panting slightly as you said, "It feels good. Different. But good." Your voice sounded needy, and Bradley ate up your words with his lips as you moaned for him. He was going slowly, never pushing so that he hurt you. 

Once he had worked the tip of his middle finger inside you, both of you seemed surprised by how much you were enjoying yourself. You felt full in a new way, and your body was telling you to take more. Bradley held your gaze and whispered, "You look like you're really enjoying this, Baby."

"So do you."

He groaned softly, his cock resting against your thigh and leaking precum. "I love this. I love you." And with those words, he eased his finger a little further. And he went slow just like he promised he would when the time came for your plug.

"Use more lube?" you asked him softly. 

"Of course, Baby," he promised. And he applied just the right amount of pressure to the toy while he ran his other hand along your neck and kissed you so sweetly, pausing at every gasp and moan from you. "You're doing so well."

And suddenly you felt full and tight in all the right places, and you could tell by Bradley's reaction that you'd done everything right. He kissed you hard on the mouth, moaning your name. When you looked up at him, you whispered, "Let's make a video."

His cheeks were flushed pink and his brown eyes were wide in disbelief. "Are you serious, Princess?"

"Yes," you said, your voice just a needy little whine. "I got the purple USB drive for us. Now get your phone ready and fuck me, Daddy."

He scrambled off the bed to get his phone, simply asking, "Are you ready for me to start recording?"

"Yes," you gasped, running your hands along your breasts. You were so turned on, you were almost ready to beg him for relief.

But he held up his camera and climbed back in bed as he said, "There she is. There's my pretty Princess. And her new toy."

"Daddy, please," you managed as he propped his phone up on the nightstand, and then his lips were on yours again. And it felt like his hands were everywhere. 

"Oh, god damn," he growled, and you were still spread wide as he ran his angry, red cock along your pussy. When he hit your clit, you cried out, already about to come. "Oh, shit," he whined, pushing his cock inside you.

You were keening, and he was pressing his mouth to yours to keep you quiet until he bottomed out. You felt so full. So good. And then Bradley rocked those delicious hips against yours. "Oh my god!"

His flushed cheeks and handsome face were all you could see as he fucked you, keeping your legs spread wide. A few more strokes, and you were coming, clinging to him as you clenched hard. "Good girl," he coaxed. "You're just loving me and your plug at the same time, aren't you?"

"Yes!" you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he continued to fuck you. And then his words became unintelligible as you reached for his phone to capture a few more seconds of video as he came inside you with his hand on your breasts. 

When you managed to watch the playback of the video later, you would notice that Bradley took the phone from you to record the way his cum seeped out of your pussy and all over the base of your toy. But in the moment, all you knew was how fucking good you felt. How good you always felt with him. Because he told you a million times over that he loved you. That he'd protect you with his life just like he would Noah. And he let you have your new bed and your very own video, because he knew that's what you needed, too.

When Bradley curled up with his head on your chest, pressing soft kisses to your breasts, he whispered, "You're incredible. I love you. I love my family." His thumb and index finger were caressing your left ring finger, and you were thinking about throwing away your birth control.

"I'm going to use the credit card for a booster seat for Noah for my car," you whispered. You were trying not to get ahead of yourself, trying not to think about the fact that it would be a tight squeeze to get an infant car seat back there as well. But Bradley was the one who went ahead and made you feel a wave of excitement in your chest.

"Let's order it tonight. And maybe we'll need some more car seats someday."

---------------------------

Daddy and Princess will return with their toy. Noah will return with more angelic adorableness. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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The Odyssey | 0.9 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

You arrive in Venice, and reach a breaking point of sorts.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), swearing, infidelity, explicit pictures, smut f receiving, 18+ minors dni, wc: 6.8k

…

His lips are on your neck. Kissing you slowly, his mouth spreading like fever along your throat and down your chest. He’s between your legs. Your thighs bracket his hips, his hands are trailing along your bare legs.

Each time he sucks softly at your throat, you make the same delicious little sound. Barely audible. Just for him. The sweetest little whine, so eager for more. Sweat beads along the valley between your collarbones, chased by the hot muscle of his tongue. It’s not a summer kind of heat.

It’s crackling from the living room still and the smell of wood burning fills his fourth floor apartment. It smells like November.

His shirt and shoes are on the floor and yours is unbuttoned, hanging off your shoulders. His thumbs trail along the joint where your hips meet your legs, then squeeze, pulling you tighter against him.

Your hands trail over his shoulders, skin against skin as your skirt bunches pliantly around your hips. Along the nape of his neck, brushing softly against the trimmed hair at the back of his head. Soft breaths, fanning against his bare throat.

His mouth reaches the space between your breasts and you keen into the feeling, stretching into his touch. Salt on your skin, sweetness from your perfume, the warmth of your mouth. It all feels so real.

But he knows it isn’t. You have never been here, in his bed — back in his home outside of Ithaca. His mind conjured the image without prompt, this perfect scene of you nestled into his sheets, half-dressed like this.

His fingers curl into the sides of your cotton underwear, his mouth sucks softly at the flesh of your breast and your fingers freeze against his skin. Then, they pull back and shove at his shoulders. Panicked, pushing at him like a trapped animal.

“Don’t. Bradley, don’t. Please don’t.”

Bradley wakes up cold in a way that doesn’t reflect the temperature. He packs the room silently, dodging Luke’s morning small talk. He’s the last down to the lobby, the fog in his brain this morning feels like it’s weighing him down.

He collects the room keys and completes the paperwork, then follows his class out to the bus where Pasquale is already helping them load their luggage once again. It’s a beautiful day out. It takes him a second to spot you.

Leaning in through the side door of the bus and wedging a bag under your seat. You’re bent at the waist and wearing white tailored shorts that hug your waist. He almost shivers at the scene his mind had conjured up.

“You okay, Bradley?” Abigail asks, reaching out and resting her fingers against his elbow. “You look kinda lost.”

“I’m fine. Thanks. Everyone hurry up, let’s hit the road already.”

Without a word, he walks past you and enters the passenger side. After your argument last time, you presume that you’ll sit in the back with everyone else again, and he doesn’t stop you.

It’s not a long drive but it takes him twenty minutes to finally glance up at the rear view mirror. You’re sitting behind him, staring out of the window with your headphones on your ears, nodding your head to the beat.

He turns his attention back to the road quickly. Before you have a chance to notice him. He’s dreamt of women before. He’s had dreams that felt real before. He hasn’t ever been left feeling like this before.

Every sexual encounter that Bradley has ever had, the lines have been very clear. It has always been an enthusiastic yes. Even when he lost his virginity on his seventeenth birthday in the back of his mother’s station wagon and Naomi had been out after curfew — she might have been terrified of her father finding out where she was, but she was all over Bradley.

Taking the lead hadn’t ever been a problem, his actions had always been very well received. Bradley isn’t a creep. He respects women, he likes deep conversations, he knows how to handle his emotions most of the time and he’s good in bed.

The dream plagues his mind. Visions of that terrified look in your eye. The sound of your pleading. He’s not sure what his subconscious was trying to teach him. He analyzes it like literature.

You were there. That part makes sense. Especially after yesterday. You’ve been thinking about your feelings for him, it makes sense that his feelings for you would be on his mind.

But you weren’t here. You were in his bed, in New York. You’ve never been there before. He would never let a student come over to his place. But location is the least of his worries.

Your blouse was white. He has seen you in it before, he just can’t place from where. It was unbuttoned all the way. Open down the middle and dangling off of your shoulders. You weren’t wearing a bra. Because he saw you in that nightdress last night, he’s sure. Images of your nipples perked and hard are easy to conjure with how often he has thought of them in the last twenty-four hours.

He hasn’t ever seen you naked, but the image in his head seems right — it had seemed so real. Living, breathing flesh, right there in front of him.

Next comes him reaching under your skirt, curling his fingers around the sides of your underwear. The panic in your voice, the way your body had turned rigid. Like you had been afraid that he just wouldn’t listen when you asked him to stop.

It’s all in his head. He’s sitting here, sweating over a situation that hasn’t even happened, and he’s still stuck on the most important aspect. Why.

It’s not because Bradley is afraid that he wouldn’t stop. There’s no risk of that. He wouldn’t dream of it, the idea makes him sick. Which means that it’s you. Something in him has him scared to death of seeing this situation play out again, and him not waking up this time.

Sex hasn’t ever been a big deal to him. Whether it happened or it didn’t. Where, or when. It didn’t ever matter much. But to you, it clearly does.

Regret. Realization hits him at once. His gaze flickers up to the rear view mirror once more. After reading the letter yesterday. After the evening in your room.

Sex is where this is leading. Kissing. Hanging out in your room alone. It’s where this will lead eventually, and you’re going to wind up regretting it. That’s what he’s afraid of.

He exhales deeply and rests his chin against his palm, turning his face toward the window. It’s selfish to want more. That doesn’t stop him from shifting in his seat, letting his hand slide slowly around the back of his seat.

You flinch as his fingers brush your knee, broken from your daydream. Glancing down, you watch him squeeze the apex of your calf muscle softly, brushing his thumb over your skin once, twice and then withdrawing his hand.

Turning your head, you look to the rear view mirror and find him already watching you. Your lips twitch, almost pulling into a smile. He shoots you a quick wink. Then, you look back out of the window with warm cheeks and a little smirk on your lips.

Finally, Bradley looks back to the notes that he had compiled from Verona, sitting on his lap, and exhales. He can focus.

Venice really isn’t that far. Before he knows it, Pasquale is pulling into a parking space and the doors of the minibus are open. Settling his papers back into their folder, Bradley reaches for the door handle and stops.

In front of him is the woman he spent five years loving. She’s crossing the street with her arm looped through a much older man’s. It takes Bradley a second longer to recognise him.

Andrea Mancini. He was Bradley’s landlord in Sorrento. He’s also a professor of Classics, and a pioneer in his field. Suddenly Natasha being here makes a lot more sense — she’s with the man who introduced them. Andrea always liked her.

She doesn’t notice him, her head thrown back in laughter as the two of them continue across the road and into a cafe.

Three days in Venice. He wonders to himself if, between you and Natasha, he’ll make it that long.

Still, everyone already thinks that something is going on with him after he wandered out to the car like a zombie this morning, he needs to get his shit together. He steps out of the car onto the sidewalk, stretching his neck as he looks around.

His eyes land on you, facing away from him with your film camera plucked from your bag and aimed towards the street ahead. His brows knit together slightly as he watches Abigail approach you. She taps gently on your shoulder and your head whips around to look at her.

“Did you want me to take your picture?”

Tugging his bag from the storage up onto his shoulder, he just watches as your eyes widen in surprise. His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t let himself smile as you dumbly hand her the camera and take a few cautious steps back.

Over Abigail’s shoulder, you catch Bradley watching you and your cheeks burn. A smile tugs at his lips, nodding for you to go ahead. You swallow, tilting your head and smiling at the lens like he isn’t there. You’re so sheepish under his gaze. Finally, he grins across at you, pushing a hand into the front pocket of his blue jeans.

Once the keys are handed out, Bradley gives all of his students free reign of the city — the itinerary doesn’t kick in until tomorrow, they’re free to do as they wish until dinner at eight. Given that Bradley has work to catch up on, you’re left to your own devices too.

On this particular day, the tides are low and the city smells like the ocean. Salty, sure, but not humid and sticky like the family trips down to Charleston you had taken as a child. Narrow alleyways that are smaller than your own wingspan. Bridges upon bridges. Tall, practically ancient buildings with long, arched windows.

You spend your afternoon wandering between cafes and buildings, street markets and cathedrals. It’s a beautiful place and you can already picture how Malcolm will react to your pictures here. It’s late afternoon and you’re between streets when you stumble across a boutique that you hadn’t yet crossed. The only thing that catches your eye is a flash of sleek, dark hair.

Turning your head, you notice Natasha standing at the cash register. Poised, her head is held high and her shoulders squared. She has a polite smile on her face. It’s then that you notice where she is — where you are. Standing outside of a boutique that specializes in bespoke Italian lingerie.

Narrowing your eyes, you watch as the cashier hands her a cute little designer bag with a bow at the top. But, you don’t have time to stare. You walk ahead, directed back to the hotel to change before dinner. Bradley is the first one at the restaurant, with Pasquale sitting at his side.

“Ah! — Natasha!” Pasquale waves, straightening up in his seat with a grin on his face. Bradley damn near gives himself whiplash turning his head. “I ran into her earlier, I invited her to eat with us?”

“You did what?” Bradley gawks.

There she is, standing in a form-fitting red dress, strutting towards him in black heels. Behind her, Bradley spots you standing in the doorway in a cute white geometric wrap dress, your mouth hanging open. Fuck. This entire thing feels like a game of chess. You sit directly opposite him, and Natasha’s sitting directly at your side. Every single move feels dangerous.

“So, Natasha, how do you and Bradley know each other?” Robin asks.

Bradley watches you roll your eyes and knock back a sip of wine. He joins you in your sentiment as Natasha nudges her elbow against his. Natasha’s smile is so effortless, so beautiful.

“We studied together. I introduced Bradley to Classics when he got out of the Navy.” She explains calmly.

“Bradley was in the Navy?” Abigail gasps from the end of the table.

“Yes! Here,” Natasha turns and grabs her bag, pulling it into her lap and starting to dig through it. She still hasn’t said a single word to Bradley directly yet, but the eyes that she’s making across the table at him tell him everything about how she’s expecting this to go. Oddly, Bradley doesn’t feel quite as self-destructive as he normally does when she’s around. She plucks a small photo wallet from her bag and opens it up. “Look.”

There he is. Watching through the grainy photograph is a twenty-year old Bradley. He’s leaning back against a plane, with a cigarette dangling from his lips and a smirk on his face that makes you that little bit more into him. He’s head to toe in his uniform. Younger, sure, with tidier hair, but he looks very much the same. Moustache, muscles, mean look on his face.

Natasha flashes a few pictures from the album, but you’re paying more attention than most. Bradley engages to a polite level, discussing their various study trips with the group as Natasha displays pictures of them. You narrow your eyes, chin propped up on your fist.

She’s careful with her little album. She will happily display any of the pictures in the wallet, but her pinkie finger is tabbed against a page near the back, keeping it from popping open. Hiding something. Lingerie. Photos of him when he was young. Secret pictures.

You’ve had enough.

It’s after you’ve eaten that Natasha is called to the bar by an old friend. Apparently she has a lot of those. You’re left alone, her purse sitting on the seat beside you, wide open.

You swallow softly, glancing up to check that she’s still standing over by the bar, then back at the Polaroid album in her bag. She stopped three pictures early. You’re reaching out before you have the common sense to stop.

The black leather cover folds back far too compliantly and once again you’re met with that grainy picture of Bradley in all green, short sleeves rolled up around his biceps, smiling at the camera around a thin cigarette.

Another quick glance towards the bar, you confirm that Natasha’s still over there. But you fail to check on Bradley. He’s frowning across the table at you, wondering what you’re staring at.

You’re busily flipping through the album. You can’t help the curiosity. You’d seen the magnetism between them up close back in Como.

All of a sudden, your suspicions are confirmed. You’re not looking at photos of historical sites anymore. Tucked away at the back, is first a picture of Natasha laying on her back amidst unmade sheets and pillows. She’s grinning at the camera through her dark eyelashes, wearing nothing but a black silk bra topped with white lace. Bracketing her ribs, are a man’s knees. You know wordlessly that Bradley’s the one behind the camera. Those are his thighs.

Your mouth feels dry, but you turn the page anyway. Bradley watches your eyes widen across the table. You stare at the picture of Natasha’s naked chest. She’s pushed up on her palms this time and her smile is gone, she’s staring right at the camera lens with a dark, sultry gaze. Her breasts are full and round and there’s not a single tan line on them. She still sunbathes topless now.

Bradley leans one elbow on the table and looks around him before drawing just slightly closer to see what’s got your attention. His eyes blow wide open in immediate recognition.

He remembers that exact day, and that brown Polaroid camera. It was a week and a half before Natasha left him.

But it’s too late, you’re already turning to the last page, and Bradley knows exactly what is going to be in that photo slot. He shoots a look over to Natasha at the bar, then back at you. Pasquale’s sitting right next to you. Bradley swings his foot under the table and kicks it into your calf.

You gasp sharply, and not because he just swung his size thirteen Converse tennis bland into your leg. The kick, though, does make you jump enough to drop the small photo album.

Bradley’s chair scrapes across the floor loudly as he ducks down to retrieve it from under the table. You follow him down, it’s closer to you.

Finally, he meets your gaze, under the table cloth in this busy restaurant, his cheeks swelling to a deep blushed red. Adam's apple bobs in his throat. You stare across at him. Lips parted, just blinking. He curls his fingers around the photo album and snatches it from the ground, sitting back upright in his seat.

Numbly, you follow his lead and withdraw from under the table. Not only is everyone now staring directly at you, but Bradley’s staring at something behind you. You flinch, squeezing your eyes shut as Natasha moves her purse from her seat and sits down once again.

Bradley shoves the photo album into his pocket.

“You okay, Bradley?” Zoey frowns at his side, glancing between him and you.

“Yeah. Fine.” He answers, clearing his throat and reaching out for his wine glass. You’re barely breathing, watching him gulp back Pinot Grigio like it’s water. Zoey’s attention then turns to you. You just exhale and turn your chin towards the ceiling.

There’s no way that you can bear to look at either Natasha or Bradley now. Or maybe ever again.

Bradley feels the photo album practically burning a hole in his pocket. Natasha shouldn’t have brought these photos. Truthfully, Bradley didn’t even think she still had them. And, of all of the people at this table, you’re probably the last person he would have wanted to see them.

The third picture was of Natasha sitting up in their shared bed, wearing a pair of black silk underwear. Her eyes hooded lustfully, her red lips wrapped around the tip of Bradley’s dick.

Bradley hits the bottom of his wine glass and sets it down on the table, exhaling deeply. Through his burning embarrassment, he feels eyes on him. It’s either you or Natasha and he doesn’t want to look at either one of you just yet.

It feels like it all takes far too long. Everyone’s just having a great time, and Natasha’s got plenty of interesting stories. She was always charismatic.

Bradley’s just staring at the artwork behind your head and wondering if she kept their video tape too. He swallows dryly at the thought. Finally, the bill is settled and the party begins to file out of the restaurant and onto the cobbled street.

The first inhale of cool air is cut short as Bradley feels an arm loop through his. Natasha presses herself against his side and looks up at him, opening her mouth to speak. Bradley isn’t looking at her. He’s watching you watch her.

Swiftly, you press your lips together and turn on your heel to head back to the hotel.

“We should catch a show or something while we’re here.” Natasha says to the group. Bradley threads his arms out of her grasp as she’s met with a round of agreement from his student.

“Let me check that she gets home okay. I’ll meet you at the theatre.”

“We haven’t decided which show we’re seeing.”

“I’ll figure it out.” Bradley’s already waving her off and heading down the dark street after you. The sound of your heels on the cobble gives you away, he’s able to catch up to you quickly.

“Slow down, stop,” Bradley’s fingers curl around your shoulder gently, trying to guide you to a stop. You shrug out of his touch, eyes focused ahead, without faltering in your pace. “Honey — talk to me, look at me.”

Embarrassment surges through you. Thinking of Bradley tonight. Natasha, alone in her expensive penthouse suite. Natasha’s husband must not know why she’s here. She wouldn’t be staying in such luxury if he did. She wouldn’t be if he saw those pictures.

You can picture it now. Thick, heavy curtains and exceptionally soft, white sheets. Your mouth tugs into a small frown at the thought of the king-sized bed in that room.

Bradley’s following behind you still, trying to get your attention, tugging gently at your arm and begging you to stop and talk to him. You’re paying no attention. You just can’t stop thinking about the two of them together.

Bradley’s heavy hand gripping the headboard, his broad shoulders squared in front of it and Natasha under him. Wearing lingerie that her husband paid for, her hands in Bradley’s hair and her deep lipstick smeared on the thick column of his throat.

You’re being ridiculous. He wouldn’t have sex with her tonight. Not when… — fuck, that thought is even more ridiculous than the first. Of course he would. He has before, many times, and there’s no way you would be the one thing to stop him.

Unless. The thought strikes you like lightning, and it seems to be the lightning itself that makes you spring into action. You turn and catch the back of his neck, tugging him down into a stony kiss.

“Don’t sleep with her tonight.” You breathe against his mouth, pressing your chest into his, kissing him again. Bradley’s brows draw together as his hands find your waist. “I’ll do it. I’ll — I’ll let you have sex with me, just don’t go to her.”

“What?” Bradley gawks, his hands holding your hips tight as his eyes search over your face.

You chase his mouth, fingers trailing over the hair at the nape of his neck. “Please.”

He turns his head, feeling you kiss softly at his cheek in an attempt to gain his attention again. He sighs, dropping his hand from your waist and linking his fingers through yours. “Come with me.”

It’s a short walk, through dark streets. He would have never let you walk this distance by yourself. It’s not cold tonight. It’s warm enough outside that you wouldn’t need a jacket. And yet, Bradley can feel your hand trembling against his.

Swallowing dryly, your heartbeat is in your ears as Bradley leads you through the hotel lobby and silently into the elevator. He hits the third floor and it illuminates. You press your lips together, staring at the dark wood on the inside of the doors.

Neither one of you says a thing. You glance briefly down at the way his hand eclipses yours. The way he’s holding on to you. Your heartbeat rattles on, slow now but heavy. Just like your breathing.

The doors open with a ding and Bradley doesn’t hesitate in walking out, his grip on your hand taking you along with him. Trembling from head to toe, you follow him to your hotel room. He turns and stares at you expectantly outside of the door, dropping your hand.

You fumble around in your bag for the key and produce it, handing it silently over to him. Bradley presses it into the lock, twists and then pushes the door open.

“Go ahead.” He tells you.

You glance up at him, finding his face calm and collected. Pressing your teeth into the inside of your bottom lip you step around him and into the hotel room.

It’s cold, and empty. You had left the window open before you had left the room for dinner. Bradley closes the door behind you as you flick the lamp beside the bed on.

“So… how do you want—“

“Stop talking.” Bradley tells you, standing with his back pressed to the door. He inhales deeply and then exhales. Your eyes widen as he pushes away from it and starts towards you. He steps past and sits down on the edge of the bed. “Sit down, and listen to me.”

You stare at him. He shoots a look towards his parted thighs and then back at you, lifting his eyebrows expectantly. You drop your shoulder bag to the floor and let him guide you down against his thigh.

He lifts his hand and brushes your hair back off of your face, searching your features for some kind of clarity. He’s feeling out of sorts himself, after the polarity of his day. Waking up with you begging him not to, sitting now with you telling him that he can — but he knows you don’t mean it. You’re terrified that he won’t see right through you.

“I’m sorry that you saw those photos,” Bradley tells you calmly. He leans forwards and presses his lips to your cheek as his palms snake around your middle. He squeezes softly at your waist, resting his chin against your shoulder. “I didn’t know she still had them.”

“I don’t want to talk about Natasha.” You tell him, pulling back to look him in the eye. Your lip trembles as you trail your fingertips along his jaw.

“I told you to listen.” Bradley shakes his head. “I like you. You know that?”

“Stop.” You sigh, dropping your head in shame.

Bradley leans in close and kisses you softly, pulling back to rest his forehead against yours. “I like you. For a dozen reasons that have nothing to do with whether or not I want to sleep with you. Alright?”

“Bradley. I’m not a little kid, you don’t have to talk to me like I am.” You huff.

Illuminated solely by the soft warm light of the lamp, the irritation that flashes briefly across Bradley’s face is softer tonight than it is in direct sunlight. He opens his mouth like he’s going to argue with you and then closes it again to think on it more.

“I’m not going to fuck you because you’re freaking out over some pictures from like eight years ago. That’s not—“ You scrunch your nose at his choice of words. Bradley shakes his head at you. The second that he leaves this place, he’s Natasha’s.

“I want to.” You rush out, resting both hands against his shoulders.

His mouth twitches as he shakes his head again. When he closes his eyes, you’re back in his apartment in Ithaca. Begging him to stop. He pinches your hips gently. “Honey, no you don’t.”

Your face falls, embarrassment and anger swirling through you as Bradley holds you against him. “What does Natasha have that I don’t?”

“What?”

“That makes you want to have sex with her and not me.”

“Fuck me.” Bradley sighs, letting his head fall forwards to rest against your collarbone. He smiles against the skin of your throat. “That’s not — honey… come on. That’s not true.”

“This isn’t funny.” You remind him, scowling seriously.

“I want you.” He promises, nodding slowly. His palms flex around your soft middle once again, his eyes lowered to study the cute purple, white and yellow geometric wrap dress you’re wearing. “But sex is a big deal to you, and I’m just trying—“

“It’s not.” You tell him. “It’s fine.”

“Fine — can you stop?” Bradley sighs, lifting his head finally to frown at you. “Stop guessing at what I want. I’m not going to sleep with Natasha. I’ll stay here with you all night if that’s what you want.”

Silence falls between the two of you. All that rigidity in your trembling body seems to just melt away. Bradley closes his eyes as you lurch forwards and wrap your arms around his shoulders.

He rubs heavy circles along your back, turning his face into the crook of your neck.

“Sorry.” You mumble into the fabric of his shirt. Bradley huffs out a dry chuckle, shaking his head at you. You press your lips to his neck, kissing his pulse point as another, silent apology. Bradley’s hand trails up the length of your spine, into your hair. Another soft kiss, your mouth pressing softly to the warm skin of his neck.

The first two could have been passed off as innocent enough. It’s the third that isn’t. You cup the other side of his neck and press your chest into his, kissing him a third time. This time, you suck tenderly at his throat as you pull away.

Bradley trails his thumb along the nape of your neck, eyes closed as you press against him once again. This kiss is open-mouthed. Your tongue is warm, and wet against his neck, trailing the skin before your lips close around the spot.

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” He chuckles without opening his eyes, curling his fingers loosely into your hair. He feels your mouth twist into a sheepish smile against his collar. You kiss once more, nothing more than a gentle peck against his pulse point.

“Bradley…” Your palm spans across his chest, stretching up onto the broad plain of his shoulder.

“Hm?” He breathes.

“Can we… Can I… Could I touch you?”

His brows knit together. With you purring in his ear, kissing his neck, sitting there against his thigh, it’s all too tempting to just answer with the first thought that springs to his mind. He’s smarter than that.

“That’s not a good idea.” He decides with a soft shake of his head. You hum in quiet, dejected agreement. Bradley drops his hand to rest against your knee. He promised to stay in here with you all night, and he’s got no clue how he’s going to get through it without making this a thousand times more complicated.

He toys with the hem of your dress under his index and thumb. It’s cute, and summery. He imagines that girls your age probably find it pretty on trend. It’s modest enough, resting an inch or two above your knee.

Bradley looks up and finds you watching him. Studying his face with a pressed look on your face. Your eyes drop down to his hand toying with the hem of your dress, then back up to his face. He watches as you chew awkwardly at the skin of your lip. It’s on the tip of your tongue, you just don’t know how to say it. You’ve been taught that it’s not your turn.

His hand dips swiftly under the hem and curls around the meat of your thigh, just inches from the platonic safety of your knee.

“Are you wet thinking about all this, honey?” Bradley whispers. Your eyes widen slightly and you swear that he hears the thudding of your heart with the way he squeezes tighter at your thigh. Fuck, he shouldn’t have said that. The way your breathing quickens has his mouth going dry. “Can I feel?”

Blinking, it takes a second for your brain to catch up. You nod at him, shuffle your knees apart. Bradley’s slow, his eyes on yours as his fingers slide along the soft skin of your inner thigh. Inch by inch, his eyes steady on yours. The crook of his knuckle is the first thing that touches you, brushing gently against the cotton gusset of your underwear.

“You’re sure?” Bradley asks. Once again, you nod at him. He hooks a finger into the fabric and nudges it slowly to the side. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. His fingertip trails your labia first, then gently dips between your folds. His brows knit together. “Fuck...”

Your eyebrows raise, watching him silently.

Bradley should stop and retreat to the far side of the bed, but he doesn’t. This was already a step too far. Kissing you was a step too far. He doesn’t care.

His finger trails through your excitement cautiously, his eyes studied on the way you’re nipping at your bottom lip. The pad of his fingertip reaches the slight bump of your clitoris and your thighs press together around his hand.

“You want me to stop, baby?”

Suddenly, your mouth doesn’t feel dry at all anymore. Even with the window still wide open, the chill has dissipated around you. Now, it’s just hot. Hot on the nape of your neck and across your chest, and between your legs.

“I don’t know.”

“You just tell me if you do, alright?” Bradley tells you, stroking a hand over your hair, pressing a delicate kiss to your temple. You nod slowly, your lips parting as he presses the pad of his thumb over where his index finger had been just a second ago. His touch is featherlight as he swipes a slow circle around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

You’re suddenly very aware of how still you are. Maybe you should be touching him. Or kissing him. Or moving at all. Or just breathing. You inhale deeply beside him and your head rush starts to fade.

His free hand pulls at your waist, shifting the way you’re resting against his thigh as he rubs softly at your clit with the other.

“Oh.” You gasp through your teeth, squirming away from his touch, your growing excitement soaking his fingertips already. “That’s — is it meant to feel like that?”

“Like what?”

“That’s… a lot… is all.” You tell him sheepishly. Bradley nods his head along with you, withdrawing his hand from your underwear. “Wait, I didn’t mean to stop.”

His mouth twitches into a boyish grin as he grips your hips and turns, planting you on your ass on the bed. “I’m not stopping. Not ‘til you tell me to. Just close your eyes.”

You lean back on your palms and close your eyes, feeling him leave the bed. Bradley settles onto his knees, guiding your legs slowly apart. You feel him lift the hem of your dress and set it around your middle. His gaze settles on your plain white, cotton underwear briefly, before flickering back up to your face.

Just as quickly as they had closed, your eyes shoot wide open again and you sit bolt upright. Bradley’s mouth pulls off of your thigh and he smiles, already bracing for what’s coming.

“What are you doing?”

“Sit still,” He muses, kissing your skin softly once more. His mouth is practically watering as he curls his hands around your thighs and tugs you to the edge of the bed. “I just want to see something.”

He watches you frown uncertainly at him, gnawing at your lip so hard that it’ll be sore tomorrow. Bradley hasn’t been with a girl who was a virgin since he lost his own virginity. He swallows, reminding himself to be slow. Really, he wants to tear those cute cotton panties down your legs with his teeth.

Instead, he gently holds on to your ankle and kisses the inside of your knee. You watch him intently. Lips quirking, Bradley drags his lips from your knee to the apex of your thighs, kissing lazily at your warmed skin. The hairs above his lip tickle your thighs and make you fidget under him, hips stuttering into the air.

Both of his large paws come up to pin your hips into the mattress, drawing a shocked gasp from your mouth. His touch softens, loosening his grip slightly. You catch sight of the soft smirk on his lips as he glances up at you.

Helpless, you fist your hands into the bedsheets as he lays soft, tongue-fuelled kisses against your inner thighs. Once again, as the tip of his nose grinds into your clothed pussy, you gasp through your teeth again. He smiles against the fabric, pressing a soft kiss to your pubic bone over the cotton.

“How are you feeling, honey?” Bradley asks, stroking his thumbs in slow circles over your clothed hips.

“Um… okay. This is fine.” You tell the ceiling, uncurling your hands from the sheets in case he can see the way your knuckles were straining.

You want me to leave you underwear on or take it off?” Bradley asks, pressing another hungry kiss to the top of your clothed core. Your brows draw together slightly, frowning at the ceiling fan.

“Will it still work if you don’t?”

Work. He almost snorts at your choice of words, but now isn’t the time to be laughing at you. “Yeah.”

Proving it will probably work best. He leans forwards, his broad shoulders pushing your thighs further apart. Slowly, like he’s trying not to spook you, Bradley presses his mouth to your body, closes his lips together and sucks your clit through the fabric.

Helpless once again, your body betrays you by jolting against him, seeking something more than he’s giving you. Bradley smiles, flexing his hands around your hips.

There’s a brief moment of quiet. “You can take them off.”

He gives you a moment to decide if you’re certain. Slow, he flattens his tongue and licks a stripe down your clothed folds. Spit-soaked, your white panties stick to your glistening core.

“I want you to.”

Bradley’s meaty hands leave your hips for a moment, trusting you to behave for him. They slide up to the softness of your stomach, squeezing at your skin, tugging you closer against him. Like he just can’t have you any closer. Watching you through hooded eyes, Bradley presses an experimental kiss to your still clothed lips, his own eyes closing as the first taste of you permeates that soaked cotton and dances on his tongue.

“You tell me if you want me to stop. I’ll stop. Alright?” Bradley breathes out, lids heavy with lust as he curls his fingers into the sides of your underwear.

“Don’t. Don’t stop.” You rush out, a little bit too quickly. Bradley swallows as you lift your hips for him to undress you. Bradley rolls the cotton under his fingers, gliding the flimsy garnet down your legs. He’s practically salivating, reminding himself to be gentle.

He can be gentle — but he’s done waiting. Another seething gasp pulls through your teeth as Bradley dives forwards, pinning your hips, pressing his hips to your soaked pussy. He licks a slow stripe, purely for his own pleasure, groaning softly as your taste coats his tongue.

The wet muscle of his tongue swirls your entrance, teasing you by nudging the tip just a fraction into you. Heart thundering in your chest and through your ears like a train chugging along a track, steaming towards danger. Instinctively, your thighs aim for each other and clasp around his ears.

Bradley chuckles against you, grabbing at the backs of your thighs and pushing them back against your middle.

He groans, licking deeper. His dick is hard, pressing uncomfortably against his zipper to the point that it’s distracting. He fumbles with his buckle, one handed while his other hand presses your stomach down into the bed.

Even one handed, he has your eyes rolling back into your head and your body trembling with every languid stroke of his talented tongue.

His free hand dips into his jeans, boxers and wraps loosely around his cock. All the while, he’s sucking and kissing at the most sensitive parts of your body like it’s a personal hobby. His tongue trails in every which direction — there seems to be a pattern to it, but you can’t place it. Your head is spinning too fast for any of that.

He slows, groaning eagerly. You’re soaking his mouth, his mustache and his chin. You’re gripping the bedsheets like you’re about to rip a hole in them.

“Bradley, wait, wait wait!” You shriek. Withering under Bradley’s heavy hands, shaking and digging your heels into the mattress.

He relents and you almost curse at him for it. Bradley nips at your thigh, replacing his mouth with his thumb. “Do you actually want me to stop?”

“I don’t know.” You pant out, whimpering.

“Let me make you cum. Please.” Bradley’s breath fans out against your sensitive core and makes you jump.

“Yeah. Okay. Yeah. Yeah.” You babble, squeezing your eyes tightly shut, reaching instinctively for his hair. Bradley abandons his own need and grabs your hips with both hands, burying his face between your legs again.

His mouth works feverishly, tightening that coil in your stomach until you’re seeing stars behind your eyelids. Usually, Bradley likes to let his partners ride through their orgasm on his face. Today, he relents. You’ve been brave enough for one day.

“What the hell was that?” You pant out as Bradley kneels on the bed, moving your dress back down to cover you. Wiping off his jaw with his palm, Bradley leans forwards and kisses your forehead.

“That, honey, was your first orgasm.” He should feel so ashamed of himself for breaking his number one rule, making this mistake with a student. But, for you, he would do it a dozen times over.

Blinking, you look down between your body and his. His jeans are unbuckled, unzipped and the tent in his jeans is pressing against your belly button.

“Should I…?”

“No. No, it’ll go away.” Bradley tells you, pressing forwards and kissing your forehead once more. Your eyes flicker down once more.

“Could… could I see it?”

…

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @cassiemitchell @himbos-on-ice @wkndwlff @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @thecitysgraveyard @sugarcoated-lame @kmc1989 @cherrycola27

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Power and Control | Chapter One | Jake Seresin x Reader (18+)

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Jake’s back at home, but there’s still a decision to be made about his time in New York.

warnings: infidelity. age gap (20s/40s). sugar daddy relationship. scandal. one-sided pining. drama drama drama. This content is intended for those 18+ and over, minors dni, wc: 4.2k

…

“Daddy!”

Jake’s mouth twists upwards into a smile, literally only one foot over the threshold by the time that he’s spotted. He grins at the sight of his five year old. Messy, wearing a pair of shorts that he grew out of months ago but is attached to nonetheless, sprinting through the entryway.

He doesn’t have much time to react, but he does. This is something that his kids will remember when they’re grown. How Jake never once failed to catch them. He drops his bags and bends at the knees just in time to catch the five year old projectile.

Cade twists and wriggles, throwing his arms around his father’s neck while giggling excitedly.

“Hey, big guy.” Jake beams as he pats his son’s back, hugging him close and reveling in the smell of home. It just so happens that home sometimes also smells like peanut butter when the oldest is involved.

“Mommy fell in a puddle.” Cade’s first point of call is always relaying the highlights that Jake has missed while he was away. “And Ellie was up until the morning this morning.”

Jake nudges his bags inside with his foot, just far enough so that he can actually close the front door. “What a troublemaker. Did you help your mama while I was gone?”

The entryway isn’t show-home tidy. There are little shoes next to the shoe cabinet rather than inside. Cade’s book bag for school is by the door even though he doesn’t go back to school until Monday. The rug is about twenty-degrees from being straight, and Jake had just caught his oldest tearing down the stairs ready to make more mess.

It’s warm here, much warmer than New York had been. Jake shrugs his jacket off of his shoulders and tosses it onto the bannister at the bottom of the staircase.

They’ve been living in this home for just over three years. They had moved in when Nadine was in her second trimester with Adeline. It’s perfect. Built in the late fifties, it’s a rustic mid-century modern that has had countless renovations since then.

Now, Jake could afford something three times this size. His profit margins have skyrocketed since they bought this place. But it’s their home. Nestled just outside of Austin and on a considerable amount of land, this is where they want to raise their kids.

It’s what Jake had dreamed of for his family. Mess in the hall, light pouring through every window, tall ceilings and giggles coming from somewhere deeper inside.

“Uh-huh. I folded laundry.” Cade explains as Jake shifts him closer and smooths a hand over his blonde hair, starting through the hallway. Jake’s head whips around and he opens his mouth in exaggerated surprise.

“You did? — When did you get so grown up, huh?” Jake jokes, bouncing the child in his arms. He’s still adjusting to Cade not being a toddler anymore. He’s in school now and everything. Jake remembers holding him in the hospital like it was yesterday.

“I did grow! Mama said I need new shoes already.”

“Already?” Jake grabs his son’s ankle and inspects. This kid just went up a shoe size before Christmas. Still walking, Jake wanders through the house in the direction of plastic hitting plastic — that’s usually a sure fire way of finding his kids. “Where’s Addie and Mom?”

“With the baby.” Cade answers. He’s a little micro-manager, he’s got tabs on everyone in this house at all times. Jake has caught him more than once spying on him in his office. It’s natural childish curiosity, they’re sure.

Sure enough, Jake walks into the sun room at the back of the house and finds the rest of his family. Elliott is laying on a brightly coloured play mat, his dark hair fluffy and pointing in every direction. Adeline is by his side, shaking one of the rattle attachments to get his attention.

When Nadine got pregnant, they weren’t sure how Addie was going to take it. Cade was like a duck to water with being a big brother, but Addie has always struggled more with change — and she’s always been a whirlwind. She was just starting to walk when they found out and already trouble.

But, when Elliott came along and he looked just like the baby dolls that Addie loved — she decided that he was okay. She loves playing with her little brother, but the gentle concept is going to take some more teaching.

Nadine’s sitting on her knees by Elliott’s kicking feet, just supervising. Her hair is tied back into a low ponytail, she’s wearing matching sweats. She turns to Jake, noticing him for the first time, and smiles.

Instantly, Jake leans down to set his son on the floor as Nadine rises to her feet.

“You’re home, how was your flight?” She grins at him as he tucks an arm around her waist and pulls her in for a soft kiss.

“It was alright. How are things around here? — I heard you fell in a puddle.” Jake tells her with a grin. The same cocky look that made her fall for him to begin with. She shoots a look at their son, then laughs.

“Did he tell you that he and his sister were the masterminds behind that? — We were tossing the ball around and he said ‘go long, mama’ and she tripped me with the hose!” Nadine’s laughing as she tells him and Cade is cackling between them as he presses against Jake’s leg.

Adeline’s speech is okay for her age, but not as advanced as Cade’s had been. She’s still only three. She scowls as she turns her head and tells them, in fewer words, that she had been watering the flowers.

“Right, you were watering the flowers. You didn’t trip Mommy on purpose.” Nadine corrects, hiding her smile from her middle child. Jake’s eyes crease at the sides, his hands pinching playfully at her hips as he leans in and kisses her again.

Then, he turns his attention to their once again preoccupied two year old. “Addie-Bear, are you giving me the cold shoulder or something?”

Her scowl fades slowly and she pushes herself up from beside her brother. Jake grins as he pulls her into his arms and kisses her cheek, squeezing her close.

“I missed you guys.” Jake rests his chin against her shoulder and wraps his free arm around Nadine, pulling them both close, knowing that Cade will wedge himself into the hug somehow too. As expected, Cade presses his head into Nadine’s stomach and hugs their legs.

Twelve hours ago, Jake was sitting in his hotel room with another woman.

Laying against his bare stomach, your legs nestled between his and your chin resting atop your crossed hands, you studied his features. The city skyline is right behind his head, visible through those tall, spotless windows.

Jake lifts a strand of your hair and toys with it absently as you watch his face. The silent agreement lurks heavily over the both of you. In the morning, he’s going to leave.

You knew what you were getting into that first morning. You signed the non-disclosure agreement that his lawyer drafted willingly, promising to never contact a news source or his family regarding your involvement with him.

But you’ve had an incredible week. That first morning in the snow. You had walked him through Chelsea and the Lower East side, splitting a hot chocolate because Jake’s insistent that it’s too rich for him to enjoy one by himself. The two of you had cut through the park on the way back. Jake had balled up the snow in his hands, lined up and aimed as you had walked cluelessly up ahead. Bullseye, he had hit you square in the ass with the loosely packed snowball.

After, you had both undressed in the entryway of the room, stripping down completely bare to shake the snow from your clothes after the fight. You had warmed up together, under the sheets in that excessively big bed.

That night, he had taken you to dinner. Jake thinks ahead, and he always seems to have a plan. You learned that quickly. He had gifted you with a dress that suited his tastes and probably cost more than your rent. He hadn’t revealed that he was taking you to a two Michelin star restaurant until you had been standing outside the door.

He’s smart, and he’s witty. He likes your sense of humor. He asks you questions, and not to pry or to be polite, he’s engaged and interested in your answers. Jake likes you, and he doesn’t shy away from it.

The sex is incredible. For the first time in your life, you’re the one initiating it — and constantly. Jake’s busy, he’s in New York for work, and it’s a thrill to be the thing he’s looking forward to coming home to. Unbuckling his belt the second he’s through the door and blowing him was a highlight for the both of you.

His palm skims tenderly along the length of your bare spine as he leans down and kisses the top of your head. The snow has mostly melted and turned to ice outside. It’s raining now. His flight is in eight hours.

Half an hour ago, the two of you had had sex for the last time. Slow, and sweet against the couch. Pressing your cheek into the warm skin of his pectoral muscle, you exhale dejectedly.

“Are you sulking?” Jake teases, watching his fingers trail along the curve of your waist.

“No.”

“Are you going to miss me?” He prompts. You lift your chin to look at him, confused. Surely there’s no correct answer to that question. You have yet to give him the truth. Four days of living and sleeping together and you still weigh up the answers to every question he asks before you dare answer. “I’m gonna miss you. Going to miss that smile, and these lips. This ass.”

For the first time in a while, Jake watches you perk up. His hand squeezes at your ass. You smile softly.

“You know, I was thinking about the next time that I’m here,” Jake admits, turning his chin towards the ceiling. You push yourself up so that you’re sitting, shifting around so that you can bracket your knees around his hips. “I figured you’ll probably be working somewhere new by then.”

You don’t answer. He isn’t asking a question. Sometimes Jake’s got a long, roundabout way of asking for something and you’re eager to see where he’s going.

“And I was thinking about my work schedule. Trying to make it line up with yours. It’s going to be a pain in the ass.”

You watch him, calm, keeping the corners of your mouth from tugging into a frown. He’s going to tell you that this won’t work again, that he won’t be able to see you next time — you’re sure of it.

“So, there are two things we’re clear on, right?” His eyes flicker down and that dazzling green-eyed gaze is on you once again. He squeezes his hands around your hips. “You need a salary, and I need availability.”

Jake hums, closing his eyes as Nadine steps into the shower behind him. He isn’t surprised, he heard the bathroom door lock. She kisses her shoulder, her plush pink lips grazing the crook of his neck as he turns towards her.

“Where are the kids?”

“Asleep. In their own beds for now.” She tells him, taking her fingernails lightly along his toned chest. Jake looks down at her naked body in front of him, his fingers skimming along her middle and catching hold of her left hand. He lifts it and inspects the two rings on her finger.

“This isn’t the ring I got you.” He points out.

“Sure it is,” She replies with a soft smile. “It’s the first ring that you got me.”

She takes her hand back from him and inspects the small diamond on her engagement ring. She loves this ring. She loves that Jake gave it to her right there on the tarmac after getting back from deployment and she loves the size of the diamond.

“You like that one still, huh?” He asks, leaning forwards and pressing his mouth softly to her neck. She hums, leaning her head back.

As much as Jake likes the replacement engagement ring he got her this Christmas, with the big diamond he had promised her when he was much younger, it grounds him that she still loves the first one.

“I’m sorry that I was gone so long.” He mumbles into her skin, wrapping his arms around her middle. She drapes her arms around his broad shoulders and shrugs.

“We managed.” She tells him, kissing his temple. “You know what Cade said the other day?”

“What?” Jake’s lips press softly to her earlobe, his hands trailing up her back. She giggles against his shoulder.

“He wants to go and work with you, so he can help get all the work done so that you don’t have to be away so much.”

For the first time since he got home this morning, Jake feels guilty. It’s not the sex that he regrets. It’s not meeting you or getting to know you, inviting you to stay with him. He regrets that his kids are starting to get old enough to notice when he’s gone.

Silently, Jake turns his face towards his wife’s neck and just holds her there. She kisses his shoulder softly. Silence sits between them for a moment too long.

“It’s okay,” She soothes him, scratching her fingers through his hair like he likes, “They know why you have to go, and it makes them so excited when you’re home. I’m sorry, baby, I was just—“

“It’s alright.” Jake kisses her cheek, squeezing her hips and pressing her back into the stone wall behind her. It’s a feature thing. Gives the place a more rustic look. Nadine smiles at him, trailing her fingers along Jake’s stubbled jaw.

“You need to shave.” She reminds him playfully. Jake’s lips twist up into a soft smile.

“I do?” He teases, lifting one of her thighs around his waist as he sinks to his knees. She squeals as he nips at the inside of her thigh. “You don’t like it?”

Jake left you with quite the ultimatum. You remember it exactly. His thumb trailing, featherlight, along the column of your throat. The gravel in his voice. “The choice is all yours, honey.”

The four days you had spent with him were just a preview. Fancy dinners, and wine, and pretty dresses. He had arranged for a car to take you home and he had arranged separately for the things he had bought you to be taken to your place, so that you wouldn’t have the hassle of bringing everything in or the worry of letting the driver into your home to help carry it.

Now, you’re sitting on the floor of your room and staring at the gifts.

“So, what? — You’re an escort now?”

Turning your head, you study your roommate. She’s leaning against your doorframe, her short hair tousled and curled and her tattooed arms stretching out from under a fitted white t-shirt.

“Would I be an escort if it’s just for the one guy?” You ask, mulling over the idea as you trail your fingers over the intricate lace detailing on the dress you had worn to dinner. Zoe hums from the doorway, thinking about it for a second.

“Yeah. I think so.” She decides. You purse your lips and stand up, taking the dress with you and gently slipping it onto a hanger. Sure, it would probably make your father cry if he were to ever find out, but you’re not so sure that you have an issue with it.

“He’d be paying me to hang out when he’s here, that’s all.” You shrug, giving the stiff closet door a hard tug to get it open, setting the dress on the rail.

“Paying to fuck you.” Zoe answers.

Your lips quirk up into a soft smile and turn towards her, shrugging. “Well, I already happen to enjoy fucking him for free. What’s the harm if he wants to treat me a little?”

You had first met Zoe back in Pre-K. You had pulled her pigtails, she had pushed you off of the slide and you had broken your arm. A week later, she had shared her fruit snacks with you as a truce. You’ve been best friends ever since. When a room became available in the place she was renting, you had leapt at the opportunity to move in together.

Even the freezing cold single room that you occupy in this place is better than where you were before. You’re happy here. Even if you and Zoe bicker like sisters sometimes.

“You’re not actually considering this, are you?”

The worst part is that Zoe doesn’t even know what you’re really getting yourself into. She doesn’t know his name. She’s got no idea about his wife and kids. All she knows is that you spent four days fucking some businessman in the city, and that he made you an offer before he left.

Before, you had spent every day commuting to an office you hated to work for a man who hated you and wanted to fuck you at the same time. Now that you have blown that opportunity, your next role isn’t guaranteed to be any better.

Jake will only be in town a few times a month, maybe less. You would have time to dedicate to your degree, a chance of actually finishing it this year. Twenty-five days off a month, maybe five days total spent ‘working’. If play fighting amongst Egyptian cotton with a man like Jake counts as working.

His first night back at home goes exactly how he was expecting it to go. He wakes up to the sound of his bedroom door creaking open, light from the hall flooding the room. Blinking a few times, the red numbers on his alarm clock confirm the utterly unsociable hour that his daughter has decided to wake him. Jake stretches as he listens to the sound of little feet padding across the wooden floor.

There’s a soft grunt and Jake feels a tug at the comforter. He cranes his neck, watching as Adeline swings her leg and tries to pull herself into their bed. Checking across, Nadine’s sleeping soundly still. Elliott is breathing heavily in the bassinet beside her.

“Daddy, help.” Adeline huffs, struggling to pull her weight up. Jake chuckles breathily as he sits up and grabs her under her arms, pulling her up into their bed. Her rabbit tucked under her arm, she wriggles under their covers comfortably and makes herself comfortable against Jake’s side.

“What happened to sleeping in your bed, big girl?” Jake asks, carding his fingers over her tousled bed head. She presses her face into his arm and hugs her rabbit tighter, offering him nothing but a cheeky smile. “You like it better in here?”

She nods against him. He makes a soft sound of amusement, letting his heavy eyelids fall closed for a moment. Unconsciously, Nadine shifts closer, Jake rolls onto his side and their daughter wriggles around in search of comfort. Adeline smiles behind closed eyes as she snuggles comfortably between her parents, hugging her rabbit against her face. Sleep comes for him again quickly, Jake can feel himself drifting off.

“Night, Daddy.”

“Night, Addie.” Jake mumbles tiredly, too used to this to flinch when her cold, little foot presses uncomfortably into his back. He wakes up even more uncomfortable, with her rabbit on his forehead and her laying sideways between him and his wife, Elliott screaming from his bassinet.

Nadine groans softly as she moves to sit up. Jake reaches across and pats her bicep softly.

“I’ve got him, honey. Go back to sleep.”

The floor is cold against his bare feet, the rug a welcome respite even though Jake had declared it ugly when he first saw it. He shushes softly, cradling the baby’s head as he lifts him from the bassinet and cradles him delicately against his bare chest.

From her side of the bed, Nadine’s eyelids are heavy as she watches Jake with their son. She reaches out and loops her hand around two of his fingers. He watches as she brings his hand closer and kisses his knuckles softly. Shooting her a quick wink, Jake strokes a hand over her hair.

Elliott’s demanding breakfast, and it sounds urgent, so Jake turns and carries him away. Bouncing him softly in his arms, Jake talks softly as the two of them head downstairs.

“It’s alright, kid, breakfast’s comin’, I promise.”

By the third baby, Jake has this down to a science. The formula, the sterilizing bottles and pacifiers, the diapers. It’s not as daunting as it used to be. Elliott quietens down as he takes the bottle into his mouth. Jake watches silently. Button nose, sleepy blue eyes, pink, round cheeks. The soft sounds of his eager gulps and heavy breaths.

They haven’t spent too much time together yet. Now that he’s here, Jake’s growing used to the idea of being a father of three. He hadn’t been too excited about the thought initially. He regrets that argument now. Regret is a funny thing. In theory, Jake should be riddled with it.

His attention turns back towards his most recent business trip as he stares out of the window over the backyard. Treehouse, plenty of grass, barbecue and sun loungers. There’s a pool to the right of the house, but that’s fenced off and the cover’ll be on it now. Beyond that, Jake can see fields for miles. It’s quiet out here. A good spot to raise a family.

New York’s different. Jake wouldn’t want to raise his kids there. He can’t imagine his family being there. Imagining himself there with you again is much easier. Those legs, and your soft skin, inhaling your smell when you’re riding him.

“Morning!”

Jake jumps, turning quickly as Cade marches into the kitchen in his spaceship covered pyjamas. He smiles softly. “Morning, buddy. You want some breakfast?”

“Can I make it?” Cade quips. Jake purses his lips for a second, then gives a small shrug. He balances the bottle with his chin, cradling the baby in one arm as he sets the cereal box and the milk on the counter with his free hand.

One eye on Jake, Cade pours the cereal into the plastic bowl first. He puffs his chest out, squaring his shoulders. He’s been eating the lion’s share of his vegetables recently, and is growing certain that one day he’ll be as strong as his dad.

Sandy blonde hair falling into his eyes, Cade presses his lips together in strict concentration as he lines up the milk, pouring it carefully into the bowl over the cocoa puffs.

Setting the mostly empty bottle onto the counter, Jake carefully shifts the infant upright and pats softly at his back, supervising his older son. Cade stops just short of overfilling the bowl, dangerous territory, but without spilling a drop. He sets the milk back down and beams.

“Good job, you want me to carry it to the table for you?” Jake asks, ruffling a hand through his son’s hair. After a quick nod of confirmation, he picks up the bowl and carries it carefully, barely getting by without spilling it before setting it down on the breakfast table.

The second that Jake’s hand leaves the plastic, his phone starts to buzz in the pocket of his pajama pants. He soothes Elliott and leaves Cade alone, carrying the infant into his office to answer the call.

“Hello?”

“Jake. Hi.”

His lips quirk up into a soft smile as he settles down into the armchair opposite his desk, setting the infant along his knees and cradling his head, balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear.

“Hi. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you, I can’t lie.” He admits, smiling softly as Elliott kicks his feet inside of his footie pyjamas.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” Your voice comes through clearly, Jake can hear how nervous you sound. It’s cute. You’re nervous now that he’s gone. “I… I want to see you again when you’re back.”

Jake glances back towards his office door. He wets his lip with his tongue, shifting in the seat. “Did you think about what I said?”

You shoot a look towards Zoe as she scowls at you from the couch. One big deep breath and your decision is made, officially. You’ve said it outloud now. It’s hard to come back from. “I’d be willing to try it out. We could talk, you know, discuss how it’s going to work. When you’re here next.

“I would want to draw up a contract.” Jake explains calmly. He rocks the baby softly. “I’ll be back on the twenty-fifth. You’ll meet me then, we’ll figure something out?”

“Yes.”

…

Tags: @alanadetigy @thedroneranger @momc95 @basicchelsea @perpetuelledaydreaming @cherrycola27 @eviesaurusrex @xoxabs88xox @desert-fern @fuckyeahhangman @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @khaylin27 @cowboybarbie @someinsanefangirl @marchingicenotes7 @marantha @lgg5989 @herladyshipxx @chaoticweirdogeek @mak-32 @obiwankenobis-lap @diamond-3 @wolvesofthewinter @shawnsblue @itsmytimetoodream @sanfransolomitatm @sugarcoated-lame

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The Odyssey | 0.8 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

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Synopsis: Bradley keeps a close eye on the other students, nightly dinners become a regular occurrence. Malcolm feels further away than ever. A phone call in the middle of the night causes a swift change in plans.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), will be smut, virgin reader, swearing, infidelity. 18+ minors dni

…

Bradley wakes up with the sun. All of those West Coast mornings and thin, green floral curtains in his grandmother’s house. The sun spilling through them and alerting him to the Chordettes playing downstairs on grainy vinyl. That meant his mother was cleaning. Lemon-scented disinfectant, her sitting on her knees polishing the hardwood with a rag. The effortless warmth of her voice drifting through the walls.

He exhales. Sunlight seeps through his eyelids but there’s no Chordettes album today. No lemon scent. Just a dusty room and one of his students sleeping six feet away. His eyelids flutter, blinking through the early morning light. A slow turn of his neck allows him to check the clock on the nightstand and doesn’t affront the stiffness that these cheap mattresses give him either.

It’s early. About four hours before Luke would naturally rise, anyway. Bradley hits the alarm and pushes himself upright with a soft sigh. He doesn’t have to be quiet when he’s getting out of bed, that kid could sleep through a hurricane.

They have a lot in common. Lots of similarities in the way they were raised. Bradley likes him beyond just being his professor. In different circumstances, they would be friends. But, Bradley has always kept that line in the sand clear. Until now. Until you had kissed him.

Showered and dressed, Bradley’s up before most of Verona. The soles of his shoes are quiet against the cobble. Italian leather from almost a decade ago. A gift from an old friend that have held up well. The only dress shoes he’s got.

It’s bright out. Bright enough that Bradley’s squinting through his Ray-Ban caravans already, but it’s not too hot just yet. There’s a wind that makes the loose white of his button-up billow against his tanned skin, fighting to work free from being neatly tucked into his belt.

Enzo’s out on the steps by the time Bradley gets there, which means he is late. Teaching hasn’t ever been Bradley’s passion, but it makes way for him to study and — in theory — he gets his summers off. It allows him to write.

“Good morning.” Enzo greets him with a smile. Bradley’s not much for the business side of things — he would have better luck at counting the shades of blue in the sky than he would at figuring out schmoozing. Enzo knows this, and Bradley knows that he knows this. “How’s the book coming?”

“I’m not sure,” Bradley answers with a broad shrug. He tucks the gold frames of his sunglasses into the part of his shirt. “I’m not sure I’ll have it finished by the end of summer.”

Olive-skinned and about fifteen years Bradley’s senior, Enzo looks the part of a sleazy salesman even if he’s just a curator when his lips twist up into a smile. “Something’s got you a little distracted, hm?”

The straight ahead stare, the deep, slow breaths and the unwavering tight line that his lips are pressed into; Bradley’s reaction is easily readable — and Enzo’s close enough to get hit if he keeps it up. He knows that. Towing the line is his specialty.

“Just joking. Here, let’s go in.”

Three soft-sounding steps inside and Bradley’s back where he was this morning. Ten years old and laying on his back in the twin bed in the bedroom at the front of his grandmother’s house, smelling artificial lemon.

He turns his head just a little, his eyes lingering on the mop being pushed around the tile floor, as Enzo leads him further inside.

Being published is what professors dream of. Having someone decide that their little ramblings are interesting enough to publish. Bradley’s study focuses on two things that are inherently interesting to begin with — sex, and power.

His research may be tedious every now and again but the content is always rich. His morning spins by and before he knows it, it’s time to meet you again. You’re ready for him when he gets there, tugging open the door before he has knocked.

But, you don’t look excited to see him.

Cheeks flushed, your body language suggests to him that you would have a decent future as an offensive lineman. His gaze flickers up, over your head and into your seemingly innocent hotel room. Powerless as he scans the room, you just hope he can’t figure out what it is that has you so rattled.

You had aimed to finish before he had arrived but time had gotten away from you.

“So what are we doing today?” You try.

“What are you writing?” His eyes are already on it. The open stack of lined papers, torn out of the notebook already, sitting on the vanity by the wall. Your perfume is next to it and you’ve got the stationary set that your mother got you laid out neatly next to it.

“Nothing.”

He looks down. First, at your face. Wide eyes and baited breath. Then, at your hands suddenly resting against his chest like they’ll hold him in place. His lips twitch.

“Nothing?” He repeats to you. Enjoyment seeps through his words, amusement tugs at his lips and he lifts his right foot to take one step forwards. “Mind if I take a look?”

Instantly, your fingers are curling into his shirt and you’re throwing your weight at him to keep him where he is. Bradley huffs out a sound of amusement, passing you in one swift stride as you claw at his button up to slow him down.

“Don’t, Bradley, it’s stupid — I was just messing around. I don’t want you to read it.”

His fingers brush the top page as you plead with him, tugging at his sleeve, trying to change his mind. He lifts it nonetheless and shoots you a grin, making a show of clearing his throat.

“Dear Juliet,” He pronounces, turning his attention back to the page from you.

“Bradley, please don’t.” It’s not fun anymore. You’re quiet and resigned to him doing whatever he pleases. Embarrassment teems through you.

It’s a familiar kind of crushing feeling. It’s never just feeling small, it’s never that simple. It’s being made small. Every inch that you shrink, you’re squished down further until you’re nothing.

You can see it in his face, the exact moment that he reads his initials on the paper. It had seemed too personal to use his name. Back when this had seemed like a good idea at all.

He doesn’t read on. The paper sits still in his hand as he turns his head towards you. You stare back at him, preparing yourself. Tongue poised, ready to spit whatever venom he deserves after what he says next. Eyes wide, and sad.

“I’m sorry.”

He sets the paper back down as he had found it. It’s not his to discard, it wasn’t his to read. Bradley steps forwards and wraps his hands gently around both of your biceps.

“That wasn’t cool,” He tells you quietly. Bradley knows a couple of different languages, and he’s confident that he’s speaking English now, even if you’re staring at him like he isn’t. “I didn’t realize what it was. I was just trying to mess with you. I barely read any of it.”

Silent, you blink a few times. He’s still there with his big, heavy hands anchoring around your biceps. He’s waiting for you to say something back.

Slowly, your brows draw together. Your eyes flicker over every inch of his face, looking for some fault that will give up this little act.

Suddenly, your mind is made up. This is an act. He’s not sorry, men rarely are. You straighten your back and lift your chin, if you were a cat your claws would be out and ready. “You’re such an asshole.”

The clock beside your bed, the hands don’t move, and yet it feels like you can hear something ticking. Maybe your heartbeat. He’s staring back at you, not moving, but he’s going to have to soon — it’s his turn.

“I know, honey,” Bradley’s hands open and he releases your arms, only to open his and wrap you in them. Your face presses into his chest as he rubs a hand along the small of your back. “I didn’t mean to.”

You’ve received plenty of life lessons on what it means to be a woman. Your grandmother, your mother, your aunts and cousins, teachers and friends. Not one of them prepared you for this. In your scope, apologies come in the form of jewelry or luxury vacations.

No one had ever prepared you for a man to look into your eyes and tell you that he is truly sorry.

“I just wanted to put it on paper, get it out of my head,” You mumble into his shirt, inhaling the notes of wood and warm spice in his cologne. Your hand rests against his stomach now, unclenched. Your body is soft against his. You relax out of all of that tension and let him hold you. “Make some sense of it.”

His palm hugs the base of your skull, cradling you against his shoulder. His cheek rests against the top of your head. He gives you a slow nod.

“You should finish it.” Bradley tells you.

“Yeah. Maybe later.” You hum. It’s nice, to be held by him. He strokes a hand softly over your hair.

Within this city, within the walls of the first space that you have had to yourself in three weeks, in this brown hotel room — you have let yourself be his.

Tomorrow, you’ll move on to Venice. The decision is yours, to leave him and all of this insanity right here — forever between these four walls — or to let go.

Bradley’s thumb trails the nape of your neck. He can feel you deep in thought. Just once, he would like to know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours. “Could be our activity for today. Write it in Latin, think of it as a translation activity. I won’t check it.”

Lifting your head, you stare up at him, lips pursed in distaste. “If you don’t check it then what’s the point?”

“Confidence.” Bradley tells you. You feel his open palms trail your back until they hit your belt. Then, they skim around to rest safely on your waist. “The more you practice—“

“Yeah, yeah…” Both hands push against his chest as you wriggle out of his arms and turn. “Okay, I’m in.”

“Let’s sit outside. It’s a nice day.”

The eighth of June. The day you sat in a public garden opposite a fountain, laying on your front in the grass while Bradley sat in front of you, propped up against a tree. It turns out that when Bradley says he knows a place, it’s usually worth listening.

“What’s this place called?”

“Giusti Garden.” He tells you, working on something of his own in his lap.

“And what is it?” You ask him, trailing the end of your pencil through the dictionary. He looks up at you, his own pencil stilling for a second.

“A palace, originally.” Blinking through the lenses of his sunglasses, Bradley glances down at the page in front of him and back to your lips, pursed in concentration. “Pretty popular. Mozart, Gorthe, Ruskin— they’ve all visited this place.”

“Huh.” You hum.

This time when his gaze flickers up, you have moved. Your lips are parted, you tap the rubber at the end of your pencil against your bottom lip.

Mid-sentence and stuck, you turn your head towards him and he’s already looking at you. He read what was on that paper the first time. He reads hundreds of essays a year, he has mastered the art of clearing a page quickly.

Admittedly, he hadn’t gotten through the whole page, but he’d noticed that you had stopped halfway through a word at the bottom.

He read all about it. How confused you are. The new feelings and the difficult thoughts. Malcolm and how much he loves you. How guilty you are. How furious with yourself you are.

Selfishly, Bradley wonders if you’re writing the same thing now. All of those biting looks and harsh words — Bradley feels like he’s just starting to understand, and he likes the person behind it all.

He’s grown up enough to know that you’ve got enough people messing with your head back home. Whatever that letter helps you realize, Bradley has already decided that he isn’t going to say a word about it.

It’s still bright out by the time that your letter is signed and sealed, tucked into your bag. You straighten up, brushing off your front as Bradley collects his things behind you.

“Here.”

Lifting your head, you almost miss it. He watches your eyes land on the folded piece of paper extended towards you. Your lips quirk softly as you reach out and take it from him.

Breeze catches your hair, you comb it off of your forehead with one hand as you open up the paper with the other. Three different pencil sketches sit on the paper.

The largest is in the centre. It’s of your face and your shoulders, elbows propped up against the grass and your lips pouted slightly as you study the book before you. The lashes, the slight misshape of your polo collar, the tip of your nose. He’s got it down to a science.

The other two are just sketches. One of your face, turned to the side like it is in the drawing of you laying down. The last is of you looking at him, smiling. You don’t even remember what he had said. Neither does he. But he remembers that look.

“What’s this?”

Bradley just slips the pencil into the pocket of his jeans and starts walking, nudging his elbow into yours as he passes by. “You asked me to draw you, didn’t you?”

In truth, he assumes that it’s going to be a parting gift. Call him sentimental, but Bradley always leaves something to remember him by.

When he closes his eyes, he doesn’t remember his father’s face. He has seen it in pictures before, but never in memories. No, he remembers hugging his father’s legs, and sitting on his knee. He remembers the smell of tobacco.

The replacement dog tags. The gold chain. The shoes in the box in his mother’s wardrobe. The suit that Bradley never grew into — one day it was too big and the very next, he had already outgrown it. Those are what he has to piece together parts of his father.

When you’re old and married, maybe you’ll find the drawing and piece together the parts of Bradley that made you smile like that.

You trail behind him, white tennis shoes in the trimmed green grass. A white polo shirt tucked into lemon yellow shorts, your sunglasses sweeping your hair back off of your forehead.

In another life, he’d reach back and you would wrap your palm around his index finger. He would smile at you and you would be all kinds of giddy about this date.

But this isn’t that — it doesn’t work like that this time around. Someone could see you. Bradley knows now how you’re feeling. He knows that your fiancé is on your mind. He chose once, took Natasha’s choice in her own future from her. He won’t do the same to you.

“The dinner thing,” You call out from behind him, watching your shoes travel from grass to stone pavers as you pass by an intricately carved fountain. He turns his head and peers at you over the top of his sunglasses, looking over his shoulder. “Is that really every night?”

Before you’re even done with your question Bradley’s looking ahead once again, and you’re left looking at the plain white of his cotton tee stretched pliantly over the swell of his shoulders. “Until you all start treating each other with a little respect, I guess so.”

“All of us? — Come on, Bradley, don’t act like you don’t know who the problem is.” An incredulous scoff, barely paying attention to your own words as your eyes wander around the flowered garden. “She’s just a slut, and—“

He stops and turns. Your gaze snaps from double early tulips and their puffed yellow petals to Bradley standing before you — the look in his eyes is scolding before his mouth has even moved.

“Do you listen to a single thing that I say? — Seriously?” He asks you, brows drawn together and his lips pressed into a frown. You simply blink at him.

“What?”

“She’s a slut because she has sex with her boyfriend?” He challenges you, shaking his head. The past week, Bradley has been spoon-feeding you content about the sexual culture through the history of Rome. You nod like you understand and yet, you come out with bullshit like that.

He’s the one who challenged you. You simply answer back.

“She’s a slut because he’s not her boyfriend. They’ll both tell you that.” You tell him, defiance coursing through your veins in lieu of anything that might have helped you make a stronger argument.

“What does that make me? — You listen to my stories with a smile on your face. It’s not dirty until it’s someone you don’t like, huh?” Bradley asks. He’s right, you know that much. Bradley has indubitably slept with far more people than Robin possibly could have.

Still, maybe it’s his tone that makes you need to bite back so quickly. Hands on your hips and a scowl on your face, you stand off against him before the fountain. “What does it matter to you if I think she’s a slut?”

“It matters —“ Bradley stops and takes a deep breath. He leans in by three inches and you’re met with that familiar woody smell that just makes you want him even closer. “Use your brain. Whatever your mommy and daddy taught you back home is bullshit — you’re the odd one out.”

With that, he turns and starts away from you. He won’t leave you to walk home alone, but he will walk six paces ahead so that you’re clear with the fact that you have once again stepped on his nerves.

“I’m the odd one out for respecting my body?” You call out to him.

“Respecting it, ignoring it… same difference, right? — It’s your call, honey,” Bradley walks slowly closer until the toe of his sneaker brushes yours. He lowers his voice, calm. “But choosing not to have sex doesn’t make you better than Robin.”

“I’m not your honey.” You bite back.

“Right,” Bradley nods at you. He lifts his arms and drops them back against his sides incredulously. “But here we are.”

It’s an eleven minute walk back to the hotel. You stroll behind him, sullen like a scolded child. The letter feels heavy in your bag. He might not have called you a slut, but you’ve been put in your place nonetheless. The words would never pass your lips — but he’s right. The comparison’s right there in front of you, all around you. You’re living it.

She can’t be a slut for sleeping with one boy if you’re not for whatever you’ve got going on with Bradley.

You would hold it against her, crushing like a weight, if she told your story back to you. If she was the one with a fiancé at home and a professor who spent afternoons in her hotel room.

Still, your face is hot and you’re not ready to speak to him. Halfway across the herati patterned rug that covers most of the reception area, Bradley turns and looks at you as he tucks the arm of his sunglasses into the collar of his t-shirt.

Chin high and shoulders squared, your clear path is to walk right by him. Just as you always have when a man in your life has embarrassed you.

One step ahead, Bradley catches your wrist loosely, stopping you mid-stride. “Dinner’s in five. Remember?”

“I’m not going to dinner with you.” Your answer is simple and biting. Childish. He wouldn’t be surprised if you crossed your arms and stomped your foot.

“It’s not up for discussion. Everyone’s going.” Bradley explains. Right on time, he lifts his gaze and spots Pasquale headed towards the two of you from across the lobby. It’s not like he won’t have seen the two of you argue before.

He reaches you with a smile and stands at Bradley’s side. His bald head has caught the sun, reddened slightly with head. The smile lines beside his eyes always crease when he beams at Bradley. He stands almost an entire foot shorter. Looking up at him and grinning like a kid, even though he’s older than Bradley.

“Hi, guys!” He pats Bradley’s arm jovially and turns that wide, cheesy grin to you. “How is the revision going?”

Your eyes land on the professor and suddenly there’s something dark about them that has simply nothing to do with eye colour, and everything to do with the mood he put you in.

Pasquale lives in ignorant bliss for the two seconds that it takes you to settle your hands into the shallow pockets of your lemon shorts and narrow your eyes at the professor. “Bradley’s a self-righteous asshole.”

“But what else is new!” Pasquale tries. The laugh is forced out of him and nerves shake through it. He shoots Bradley an apologetic look. Bradley’s looking at you anyway.

“She got a C minus yesterday. Still trying to figure out if it was a fluke.” Bradley bites. Your eyes widen.

Sitting on his lap, wrapped in his arms as he told you how hard you had worked — how proud he was. His hand trailing your spine. His mouth soft against yours. Butterflies tearing through your stomach.

“I think I got too much sun today. I’m going to lie down. Enjoy dinner.” Fuck mandatory. Fuck every single student on this trip. Fuck this class, and fuck him in particular. Pasquale swallows softly as you turn on your heel and head for the stairs.

Bradley turns his chin towards the ceiling. He wants to like you, he wants you to like him. In the moments that you do, everything feels so easy. Like the breeze in early June. But when you’re hell bent on arguing with him — those are like those scorching hot summers back in California. Surrounding and heavy. Pressing in on him until he bites.

“A C… that’s not so bad. Right?” Pasquale asks quietly. Bradley turns his head and looks at him, there isn’t really an answer to give. A B is the average in his class, so no — a C really isn’t bad.

The thing about old Italian hotels is that they tend to be marketed towards guests looking to lead quiet lives — romantic getaways and such. Not young women fuelled by anger. The door slams and teaches you a quick lesson in cause and effect. The painting hung on the wall to the right of the bed wobbles in complaint, then bumps to the floor. The glass frame promptly shatters across the floor.

There’s an almost calm silence that follows. A few slow blinks, and the glass is still there. The frame is still shattered. There are pieces all across the floor. Bradley still said what he said.

The soles of your tennis shoes are thin and pliant, excellent for movement but not designed to fend off glass shards. Crossing the floor at that exact moment seems like far too much of a challenge. So, you press your back to the door and slide down it. Cupping your hands tight over your mouth, you clamp your eyes tightly shut and let it go.

The scream is muffled by your palms, but probably still enough to alarm other guests.

Your bag clatters haphazardly to the floor and you lift your face from your hands just long enough to examine the mess once again. Huffing out a sadder sound than you had intended, you push weakly to your feet once again.

Until today, Verona had been your favourite stop so far. Even with that spoiled, at least you have an en-suite here. You’re more careful with that door. You tug it closed and lock it behind you, toeing off each of your shoes as you go.

These old hotels have old water heaters too. You lean across to turn the shower on first and wriggle out of your shorts, dropping your polo onto the ground with them. Facing straight ahead, you stare into the little round mirror above the sink. It’s got molding all around it that was supposed to look gold once, but the peeling paint reveals brass underneath.

Your reflection stares back at you, sullen. It’s a portrait, just your head, shoulders and chest. Swallowing doesn’t make the thickness in your throat fade. You just blink at your reflection in the mirror. The cotton t-shirt bra hugged to your chest is modest and does it’s job — nothing more.

You’ve seen lingerie — you own lingerie. You have a white teddy with matching panties reserved especially for your wedding night. Bradley has most definitely seen lingerie.

A swift inhale is followed by a baited exhale.

The memory is so distinct, standing in a mall with your mother at the ripe age of twelve, watching her soured expression as she searched through the rack.

“Lace, lace, lace.” She had tutted. Back then, you had been more concerned about someone you knew seeing you here, shopping for your first bra. You hadn’t understood.

“Mom, just grab one. I want to go home. I don’t care what I wear.” You had whined, fidgeting on your feet and brushing awkwardly at the pleats of your dress. You’ll always remember the way that she had rounded on you, eyes wide like you had asked her to buy you a thong.

“Well you should, young lady!” Her voice always sounded scarier when you were younger, even though it had always been hushed and poised.

You have been a grown up for a while now. Lived outside of her home. Had your own bank account, car, clothes — and that voice still circles in your head.

The nightdress she had gotten you last Christmas is hanging on the back of the door. Malcolm hates it. He says it reminds him of his grandmother.

You look down at the thread scissors from your sewing kit resting on the shelf beside the sink. Anger has often led you to some of your best DIYs.

“So, we all have to be here… except not actually all of us.” Robin points out, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms over her striped t-shirt. Elbow resting on the table, Bradley turns his head to look at her.

“She’s sick, Robin, leave her alone.” Abigail mutters from beside her, pushing her fork around the plate of roasted vegetables.

“No, but I heard Bradley say mandatory. So, mandatory for everyone except—“

“Robin.” Bradley sighs, sitting back in his seat and frowning at her. The restaurant is dimly lit, almost ten of them are cramped around a table in the corner, and after your argument today, Bradley just doesn’t want to hear it. “I don’t want to hear another damn word.”

This is what Bradley hates most about education. Half of the time a punishment for his students is more of a punishment for himself, which this dinner just so happens to be. He wants them to like you. He doesn’t want to hear the bitter comments and the arguing.

Everyone’s eager to get it wrapped up and over with. It’s still early by the time that he heads back to the hotel — everyone else decides to go out for drinks again, without you. Making the entire thing pointless.

The knock at your door startles you. You wince as the pin slips into the tip of your finger, inhaling sharply. Abandoning the project on the bed, you push yourself to your feet and walk over to the door. You already know who it is.

Bradley’s gaze flickers down at the sweat shorts and T-shirt you’re wearing first, then back up to your face.

“How was dinner?” You’re already turning away from him again, stepping onto the bed and tiptoeing back across the sheets. Bradley glances behind him, then steps inside and closes the door.

“Are you done sulking?” He rests his hands on the leather belt wrapped around his hips. Sewing needle in hand, you lift your head and stare, silent. “I’m allowed to disagree—“

“Fuck you,” This time, you don’t give him a chance to finish. You turn your head and continue to thread the new hem. “What you said was cruel and you know it, this isn’t about a disagreement.”

His gaze turns towards the ceiling, hands still sitting atop his belt.

“It was. I’m sorry.” He mutters with an exhale and a shake of his head. Bradley looks back at you finally. His brows draw together and he takes a step into the room. “What are you doing?”

“Hemming.” Your answer is short.

Briefly, Bradley presses his tongue into his cheek and considers just saying goodnight. Then, he notices exactly what it is that you’re working on.

“Did you cut that in half?” He’s already crossing the room and craning his neck to get a better look. Unluckily for him, you’re finished. He watches you look up at him through your lashes and lift the nightdress, then stand up from the bed. “Oh, you’re ignoring me now?”

The door to the bathroom swings shut behind you, the thin wood does nothing to muffle your voice. “I’m not ignoring you.”

Bradley’s attention has already waned. He’s looking at the paper on your nightstand. His drawing from earlier is uncurled and illuminated in the light of the lamp, below that is your address book — opened to a page with Malcolm’s name. Dotted around are little pink hearts, his number neatly written along the line.

“Are you snooping?”

Bradley flinches, turning back towards you with a swift inhale. He remains silent, lips parted as you march from the bathroom to the wood-framed mirror about three feet from where he’s standing.

Aware of his eyes on you, you study the new garment. It sits a few inches above your knee, just above mid-thigh. The sweetheart neckline keeps it sweet. Bradley’s eyes flicker briefly downwards in the reflection. With the window open, he can’t help but notice your nipples peaked against the light cotton blend.

“What’s this?” He asks quietly.

“I wanted a change.” You answer him.

He lifts his gaze to your face, just in time for you to turn and face him. Half an hour ago, you were talking to your fiancé — and yet, you’ve got no shame in searching for Bradley’s approval like this. Maybe you aren’t as pure as you had once thought, or as your mother would like you to be. But for now, standing in front of him, you aren’t ashamed.

Malcolm had called you today from his office. He was eating a sub that one of the interns had grabbed from him and he was telling you about his week. Numbers and figures.

You had thought of everything you could tell him. Juliet and the views of the city, sitting under the tree in that garden this afternoon. Bradley.

“I’m sorry that I said what I said.” Bradley tells you. Maybe it’s just because he’s desperate to get the conversation off of the light fabric you’re wearing, but something tells you that he means it. “It was childish, and you’re right, I was being cruel.

Barefoot, you take four short steps forwards until you’re standing right in front of him.

“I’m not saying you’re right — but I shouldn’t have called Robin a slut.” The admission comes with a small, lip-twitching smile. Bradley’s hands reach forwards and curl around your hips.

“She is annoying. I’ll give you that much.” Bradley concedes. Your mouth twists into an eager grin as you press closer and shift up onto your tiptoes. Bradley steadies your hips and follows you in until your mouth is on his. Slowly, sweetly. His hands skim along the yellow fabric experimentally. He hums as he pulls away from you. “So, what’s with this?”

“You’re right. I was ignoring my body — I like the way I look in this. I like my shape. I can still respect myself without covering up so much. Right?”

Fuck. Bradley stares at you for just a split-second too long. He wrestles with the realisation of what he has just done to himself. Sure, you listened to him for once and it was a decent lesson to learn — but his summer just got considerably harder.

“Do you like it?”

He trails his fingers lightly along the fabric, careful not to touch too hard and press it against your skin. Quietly, he hums. “Sure. It’s cute.”

Bradley’s mind is swimming as he is walking back to his room. Fine, he resolved the issue that he went up there to resolve. Now, he has presented himself with a much bigger one.

His hands press into the pockets of his jeans as he starts to contextualize how deep he actually is into this mess. He hasn’t ever thought about fucking a student before — not once. He detests the men he knows that fantasize of it. And yet, here he is, picturing his fingers bunching up that stupid nightdress.

“Hey, Bradley.” Luke grins, sprawled out across his bed in the dark, reading a magazine with a flashlight. Bradley flinches. The door shuts behind him and they’re in there together. “Natasha called from Turin! She told you that she’s going to be in Venice this weekend too, she asked you to call her back.”

…

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @cassiemitchell @himbos-on-ice @wkndwlff @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @thecitysgraveyard @sugarcoated-lame @kmc1989 @cherrycola27

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Power and Control | Chapter One | Jake Seresin x Reader (18+)

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Jake’s back at home, but there’s still a decision to be made about his time in New York.

warnings: infidelity. age gap (20s/40s). sugar daddy relationship. scandal. one-sided pining. drama drama drama. This content is intended for those 18+ and over, minors dni, wc: 4.2k

…

“Daddy!”

Jake’s mouth twists upwards into a smile, literally only one foot over the threshold by the time that he’s spotted. He grins at the sight of his five year old. Messy, wearing a pair of shorts that he grew out of months ago but is attached to nonetheless, sprinting through the entryway.

He doesn’t have much time to react, but he does. This is something that his kids will remember when they’re grown. How Jake never once failed to catch them. He drops his bags and bends at the knees just in time to catch the five year old projectile.

Cade twists and wriggles, throwing his arms around his father’s neck while giggling excitedly.

“Hey, big guy.” Jake beams as he pats his son’s back, hugging him close and reveling in the smell of home. It just so happens that home sometimes also smells like peanut butter when the oldest is involved.

“Mommy fell in a puddle.” Cade’s first point of call is always relaying the highlights that Jake has missed while he was away. “And Ellie was up until the morning this morning.”

Jake nudges his bags inside with his foot, just far enough so that he can actually close the front door. “What a troublemaker. Did you help your mama while I was gone?”

The entryway isn’t show-home tidy. There are little shoes next to the shoe cabinet rather than inside. Cade’s book bag for school is by the door even though he doesn’t go back to school until Monday. The rug is about twenty-degrees from being straight, and Jake had just caught his oldest tearing down the stairs ready to make more mess.

It’s warm here, much warmer than New York had been. Jake shrugs his jacket off of his shoulders and tosses it onto the bannister at the bottom of the staircase.

They’ve been living in this home for just over three years. They had moved in when Nadine was in her second trimester with Adeline. It’s perfect. Built in the late fifties, it’s a rustic mid-century modern that has had countless renovations since then.

Now, Jake could afford something three times this size. His profit margins have skyrocketed since they bought this place. But it’s their home. Nestled just outside of Austin and on a considerable amount of land, this is where they want to raise their kids.

It’s what Jake had dreamed of for his family. Mess in the hall, light pouring through every window, tall ceilings and giggles coming from somewhere deeper inside.

“Uh-huh. I folded laundry.” Cade explains as Jake shifts him closer and smooths a hand over his blonde hair, starting through the hallway. Jake’s head whips around and he opens his mouth in exaggerated surprise.

“You did? — When did you get so grown up, huh?” Jake jokes, bouncing the child in his arms. He’s still adjusting to Cade not being a toddler anymore. He’s in school now and everything. Jake remembers holding him in the hospital like it was yesterday.

“I did grow! Mama said I need new shoes already.”

“Already?” Jake grabs his son’s ankle and inspects. This kid just went up a shoe size before Christmas. Still walking, Jake wanders through the house in the direction of plastic hitting plastic — that’s usually a sure fire way of finding his kids. “Where’s Addie and Mom?”

“With the baby.” Cade answers. He’s a little micro-manager, he’s got tabs on everyone in this house at all times. Jake has caught him more than once spying on him in his office. It’s natural childish curiosity, they’re sure.

Sure enough, Jake walks into the sun room at the back of the house and finds the rest of his family. Elliott is laying on a brightly coloured play mat, his dark hair fluffy and pointing in every direction. Adeline is by his side, shaking one of the rattle attachments to get his attention.

When Nadine got pregnant, they weren’t sure how Addie was going to take it. Cade was like a duck to water with being a big brother, but Addie has always struggled more with change — and she’s always been a whirlwind. She was just starting to walk when they found out and already trouble.

But, when Elliott came along and he looked just like the baby dolls that Addie loved — she decided that he was okay. She loves playing with her little brother, but the gentle concept is going to take some more teaching.

Nadine’s sitting on her knees by Elliott’s kicking feet, just supervising. Her hair is tied back into a low ponytail, she’s wearing matching sweats. She turns to Jake, noticing him for the first time, and smiles.

Instantly, Jake leans down to set his son on the floor as Nadine rises to her feet.

“You’re home, how was your flight?” She grins at him as he tucks an arm around her waist and pulls her in for a soft kiss.

“It was alright. How are things around here? — I heard you fell in a puddle.” Jake tells her with a grin. The same cocky look that made her fall for him to begin with. She shoots a look at their son, then laughs.

“Did he tell you that he and his sister were the masterminds behind that? — We were tossing the ball around and he said ‘go long, mama’ and she tripped me with the hose!” Nadine’s laughing as she tells him and Cade is cackling between them as he presses against Jake’s leg.

Adeline’s speech is okay for her age, but not as advanced as Cade’s had been. She’s still only three. She scowls as she turns her head and tells them, in fewer words, that she had been watering the flowers.

“Right, you were watering the flowers. You didn’t trip Mommy on purpose.” Nadine corrects, hiding her smile from her middle child. Jake’s eyes crease at the sides, his hands pinching playfully at her hips as he leans in and kisses her again.

Then, he turns his attention to their once again preoccupied two year old. “Addie-Bear, are you giving me the cold shoulder or something?”

Her scowl fades slowly and she pushes herself up from beside her brother. Jake grins as he pulls her into his arms and kisses her cheek, squeezing her close.

“I missed you guys.” Jake rests his chin against her shoulder and wraps his free arm around Nadine, pulling them both close, knowing that Cade will wedge himself into the hug somehow too. As expected, Cade presses his head into Nadine’s stomach and hugs their legs.

Twelve hours ago, Jake was sitting in his hotel room with another woman.

Laying against his bare stomach, your legs nestled between his and your chin resting atop your crossed hands, you studied his features. The city skyline is right behind his head, visible through those tall, spotless windows.

Jake lifts a strand of your hair and toys with it absently as you watch his face. The silent agreement lurks heavily over the both of you. In the morning, he’s going to leave.

You knew what you were getting into that first morning. You signed the non-disclosure agreement that his lawyer drafted willingly, promising to never contact a news source or his family regarding your involvement with him.

But you’ve had an incredible week. That first morning in the snow. You had walked him through Chelsea and the Lower East side, splitting a hot chocolate because Jake’s insistent that it’s too rich for him to enjoy one by himself. The two of you had cut through the park on the way back. Jake had balled up the snow in his hands, lined up and aimed as you had walked cluelessly up ahead. Bullseye, he had hit you square in the ass with the loosely packed snowball.

After, you had both undressed in the entryway of the room, stripping down completely bare to shake the snow from your clothes after the fight. You had warmed up together, under the sheets in that excessively big bed.

That night, he had taken you to dinner. Jake thinks ahead, and he always seems to have a plan. You learned that quickly. He had gifted you with a dress that suited his tastes and probably cost more than your rent. He hadn’t revealed that he was taking you to a two Michelin star restaurant until you had been standing outside the door.

He’s smart, and he’s witty. He likes your sense of humor. He asks you questions, and not to pry or to be polite, he’s engaged and interested in your answers. Jake likes you, and he doesn’t shy away from it.

The sex is incredible. For the first time in your life, you’re the one initiating it — and constantly. Jake’s busy, he’s in New York for work, and it’s a thrill to be the thing he’s looking forward to coming home to. Unbuckling his belt the second he’s through the door and blowing him was a highlight for the both of you.

His palm skims tenderly along the length of your bare spine as he leans down and kisses the top of your head. The snow has mostly melted and turned to ice outside. It’s raining now. His flight is in eight hours.

Half an hour ago, the two of you had had sex for the last time. Slow, and sweet against the couch. Pressing your cheek into the warm skin of his pectoral muscle, you exhale dejectedly.

“Are you sulking?” Jake teases, watching his fingers trail along the curve of your waist.

“No.”

“Are you going to miss me?” He prompts. You lift your chin to look at him, confused. Surely there’s no correct answer to that question. You have yet to give him the truth. Four days of living and sleeping together and you still weigh up the answers to every question he asks before you dare answer. “I’m gonna miss you. Going to miss that smile, and these lips. This ass.”

For the first time in a while, Jake watches you perk up. His hand squeezes at your ass. You smile softly.

“You know, I was thinking about the next time that I’m here,” Jake admits, turning his chin towards the ceiling. You push yourself up so that you’re sitting, shifting around so that you can bracket your knees around his hips. “I figured you’ll probably be working somewhere new by then.”

You don’t answer. He isn’t asking a question. Sometimes Jake’s got a long, roundabout way of asking for something and you’re eager to see where he’s going.

“And I was thinking about my work schedule. Trying to make it line up with yours. It’s going to be a pain in the ass.”

You watch him, calm, keeping the corners of your mouth from tugging into a frown. He’s going to tell you that this won’t work again, that he won’t be able to see you next time — you’re sure of it.

“So, there are two things we’re clear on, right?” His eyes flicker down and that dazzling green-eyed gaze is on you once again. He squeezes his hands around your hips. “You need a salary, and I need availability.”

Jake hums, closing his eyes as Nadine steps into the shower behind him. He isn’t surprised, he heard the bathroom door lock. She kisses her shoulder, her plush pink lips grazing the crook of his neck as he turns towards her.

“Where are the kids?”

“Asleep. In their own beds for now.” She tells him, taking her fingernails lightly along his toned chest. Jake looks down at her naked body in front of him, his fingers skimming along her middle and catching hold of her left hand. He lifts it and inspects the two rings on her finger.

“This isn’t the ring I got you.” He points out.

“Sure it is,” She replies with a soft smile. “It’s the first ring that you got me.”

She takes her hand back from him and inspects the small diamond on her engagement ring. She loves this ring. She loves that Jake gave it to her right there on the tarmac after getting back from deployment and she loves the size of the diamond.

“You like that one still, huh?” He asks, leaning forwards and pressing his mouth softly to her neck. She hums, leaning her head back.

As much as Jake likes the replacement engagement ring he got her this Christmas, with the big diamond he had promised her when he was much younger, it grounds him that she still loves the first one.

“I’m sorry that I was gone so long.” He mumbles into her skin, wrapping his arms around her middle. She drapes her arms around his broad shoulders and shrugs.

“We managed.” She tells him, kissing his temple. “You know what Cade said the other day?”

“What?” Jake’s lips press softly to her earlobe, his hands trailing up her back. She giggles against his shoulder.

“He wants to go and work with you, so he can help get all the work done so that you don’t have to be away so much.”

For the first time since he got home this morning, Jake feels guilty. It’s not the sex that he regrets. It’s not meeting you or getting to know you, inviting you to stay with him. He regrets that his kids are starting to get old enough to notice when he’s gone.

Silently, Jake turns his face towards his wife’s neck and just holds her there. She kisses his shoulder softly. Silence sits between them for a moment too long.

“It’s okay,” She soothes him, scratching her fingers through his hair like he likes, “They know why you have to go, and it makes them so excited when you’re home. I’m sorry, baby, I was just—“

“It’s alright.” Jake kisses her cheek, squeezing her hips and pressing her back into the stone wall behind her. It’s a feature thing. Gives the place a more rustic look. Nadine smiles at him, trailing her fingers along Jake’s stubbled jaw.

“You need to shave.” She reminds him playfully. Jake’s lips twist up into a soft smile.

“I do?” He teases, lifting one of her thighs around his waist as he sinks to his knees. She squeals as he nips at the inside of her thigh. “You don’t like it?”

Jake left you with quite the ultimatum. You remember it exactly. His thumb trailing, featherlight, along the column of your throat. The gravel in his voice. “The choice is all yours, honey.”

The four days you had spent with him were just a preview. Fancy dinners, and wine, and pretty dresses. He had arranged for a car to take you home and he had arranged separately for the things he had bought you to be taken to your place, so that you wouldn’t have the hassle of bringing everything in or the worry of letting the driver into your home to help carry it.

Now, you’re sitting on the floor of your room and staring at the gifts.

“So, what? — You’re an escort now?”

Turning your head, you study your roommate. She’s leaning against your doorframe, her short hair tousled and curled and her tattooed arms stretching out from under a fitted white t-shirt.

“Would I be an escort if it’s just for the one guy?” You ask, mulling over the idea as you trail your fingers over the intricate lace detailing on the dress you had worn to dinner. Zoe hums from the doorway, thinking about it for a second.

“Yeah. I think so.” She decides. You purse your lips and stand up, taking the dress with you and gently slipping it onto a hanger. Sure, it would probably make your father cry if he were to ever find out, but you’re not so sure that you have an issue with it.

“He’d be paying me to hang out when he’s here, that’s all.” You shrug, giving the stiff closet door a hard tug to get it open, setting the dress on the rail.

“Paying to fuck you.” Zoe answers.

Your lips quirk up into a soft smile and turn towards her, shrugging. “Well, I already happen to enjoy fucking him for free. What’s the harm if he wants to treat me a little?”

You had first met Zoe back in Pre-K. You had pulled her pigtails, she had pushed you off of the slide and you had broken your arm. A week later, she had shared her fruit snacks with you as a truce. You’ve been best friends ever since. When a room became available in the place she was renting, you had leapt at the opportunity to move in together.

Even the freezing cold single room that you occupy in this place is better than where you were before. You’re happy here. Even if you and Zoe bicker like sisters sometimes.

“You’re not actually considering this, are you?”

The worst part is that Zoe doesn’t even know what you’re really getting yourself into. She doesn’t know his name. She’s got no idea about his wife and kids. All she knows is that you spent four days fucking some businessman in the city, and that he made you an offer before he left.

Before, you had spent every day commuting to an office you hated to work for a man who hated you and wanted to fuck you at the same time. Now that you have blown that opportunity, your next role isn’t guaranteed to be any better.

Jake will only be in town a few times a month, maybe less. You would have time to dedicate to your degree, a chance of actually finishing it this year. Twenty-five days off a month, maybe five days total spent ‘working’. If play fighting amongst Egyptian cotton with a man like Jake counts as working.

His first night back at home goes exactly how he was expecting it to go. He wakes up to the sound of his bedroom door creaking open, light from the hall flooding the room. Blinking a few times, the red numbers on his alarm clock confirm the utterly unsociable hour that his daughter has decided to wake him. Jake stretches as he listens to the sound of little feet padding across the wooden floor.

There’s a soft grunt and Jake feels a tug at the comforter. He cranes his neck, watching as Adeline swings her leg and tries to pull herself into their bed. Checking across, Nadine’s sleeping soundly still. Elliott is breathing heavily in the bassinet beside her.

“Daddy, help.” Adeline huffs, struggling to pull her weight up. Jake chuckles breathily as he sits up and grabs her under her arms, pulling her up into their bed. Her rabbit tucked under her arm, she wriggles under their covers comfortably and makes herself comfortable against Jake’s side.

“What happened to sleeping in your bed, big girl?” Jake asks, carding his fingers over her tousled bed head. She presses her face into his arm and hugs her rabbit tighter, offering him nothing but a cheeky smile. “You like it better in here?”

She nods against him. He makes a soft sound of amusement, letting his heavy eyelids fall closed for a moment. Unconsciously, Nadine shifts closer, Jake rolls onto his side and their daughter wriggles around in search of comfort. Adeline smiles behind closed eyes as she snuggles comfortably between her parents, hugging her rabbit against her face. Sleep comes for him again quickly, Jake can feel himself drifting off.

“Night, Daddy.”

“Night, Addie.” Jake mumbles tiredly, too used to this to flinch when her cold, little foot presses uncomfortably into his back. He wakes up even more uncomfortable, with her rabbit on his forehead and her laying sideways between him and his wife, Elliott screaming from his bassinet.

Nadine groans softly as she moves to sit up. Jake reaches across and pats her bicep softly.

“I’ve got him, honey. Go back to sleep.”

The floor is cold against his bare feet, the rug a welcome respite even though Jake had declared it ugly when he first saw it. He shushes softly, cradling the baby’s head as he lifts him from the bassinet and cradles him delicately against his bare chest.

From her side of the bed, Nadine’s eyelids are heavy as she watches Jake with their son. She reaches out and loops her hand around two of his fingers. He watches as she brings his hand closer and kisses his knuckles softly. Shooting her a quick wink, Jake strokes a hand over her hair.

Elliott’s demanding breakfast, and it sounds urgent, so Jake turns and carries him away. Bouncing him softly in his arms, Jake talks softly as the two of them head downstairs.

“It’s alright, kid, breakfast’s comin’, I promise.”

By the third baby, Jake has this down to a science. The formula, the sterilizing bottles and pacifiers, the diapers. It’s not as daunting as it used to be. Elliott quietens down as he takes the bottle into his mouth. Jake watches silently. Button nose, sleepy blue eyes, pink, round cheeks. The soft sounds of his eager gulps and heavy breaths.

They haven’t spent too much time together yet. Now that he’s here, Jake’s growing used to the idea of being a father of three. He hadn’t been too excited about the thought initially. He regrets that argument now. Regret is a funny thing. In theory, Jake should be riddled with it.

His attention turns back towards his most recent business trip as he stares out of the window over the backyard. Treehouse, plenty of grass, barbecue and sun loungers. There’s a pool to the right of the house, but that’s fenced off and the cover’ll be on it now. Beyond that, Jake can see fields for miles. It’s quiet out here. A good spot to raise a family.

New York’s different. Jake wouldn’t want to raise his kids there. He can’t imagine his family being there. Imagining himself there with you again is much easier. Those legs, and your soft skin, inhaling your smell when you’re riding him.

“Morning!”

Jake jumps, turning quickly as Cade marches into the kitchen in his spaceship covered pyjamas. He smiles softly. “Morning, buddy. You want some breakfast?”

“Can I make it?” Cade quips. Jake purses his lips for a second, then gives a small shrug. He balances the bottle with his chin, cradling the baby in one arm as he sets the cereal box and the milk on the counter with his free hand.

One eye on Jake, Cade pours the cereal into the plastic bowl first. He puffs his chest out, squaring his shoulders. He’s been eating the lion’s share of his vegetables recently, and is growing certain that one day he’ll be as strong as his dad.

Sandy blonde hair falling into his eyes, Cade presses his lips together in strict concentration as he lines up the milk, pouring it carefully into the bowl over the cocoa puffs.

Setting the mostly empty bottle onto the counter, Jake carefully shifts the infant upright and pats softly at his back, supervising his older son. Cade stops just short of overfilling the bowl, dangerous territory, but without spilling a drop. He sets the milk back down and beams.

“Good job, you want me to carry it to the table for you?” Jake asks, ruffling a hand through his son’s hair. After a quick nod of confirmation, he picks up the bowl and carries it carefully, barely getting by without spilling it before setting it down on the breakfast table.

The second that Jake’s hand leaves the plastic, his phone starts to buzz in the pocket of his pajama pants. He soothes Elliott and leaves Cade alone, carrying the infant into his office to answer the call.

“Hello?”

“Jake. Hi.”

His lips quirk up into a soft smile as he settles down into the armchair opposite his desk, setting the infant along his knees and cradling his head, balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear.

“Hi. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you, I can’t lie.” He admits, smiling softly as Elliott kicks his feet inside of his footie pyjamas.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” Your voice comes through clearly, Jake can hear how nervous you sound. It’s cute. You’re nervous now that he’s gone. “I… I want to see you again when you’re back.”

Jake glances back towards his office door. He wets his lip with his tongue, shifting in the seat. “Did you think about what I said?”

You shoot a look towards Zoe as she scowls at you from the couch. One big deep breath and your decision is made, officially. You’ve said it outloud now. It’s hard to come back from. “I’d be willing to try it out. We could talk, you know, discuss how it’s going to work. When you’re here next.

“I would want to draw up a contract.” Jake explains calmly. He rocks the baby softly. “I’ll be back on the twenty-fifth. You’ll meet me then, we’ll figure something out?”

“Yes.”

…

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