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tongue-like-a-razor · 2 years

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Faking It | Part VI

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

AHHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE LOVE YOU GUYS!! This chapter took a lot out of me for some reason, but I'm pretty content with where we're at. Hope you like it!

PS. You will like it.

PPS. I promise you, you will like it XD

Summary: Fake dating your friend, Bradley Bradshaw - what could possibly go wrong? Your sister is getting married and you need a date. You enlist Bradley's help and the rest is history.

CW: swearing, minor angst, FLUFFITY FLUFF

Start from the beginning: Part I

“Chicken is good,” Bradley says to his dinner plate.

Across the table, your aunt makes an enthusiastic sound in agreement and continues chewing.

“Delicious,” you respond curtly.

Bradley looks over at you, so you turn your head to meet his gaze. “Yours is better, darling,” he says, feigning a cordial tone, but you can see past the charade. He’s just as angry with you as you are with him.

“Her mushroom stuffed chicken is divine,” your mother chimes in.

“It’s her specialty,” Bradley says, quoting a line from the notes you’d given him to prepare for the weekend because, obviously, he’s never had your mushroom stuffed chicken. He presses his lips together although the smile he aims at you is acerbic.

You try your best not to roll your eyes at him.

“Does Bradley cook?” your aunt asks, watching the two of you with interest.

You glance at her in alarm, unsure how to respond since you don’t know the answer. You could make something up; nobody would know any better, but somehow that seems more dishonest than pretending he’s your boyfriend.

“I do, actually,” Bradley intervenes. You look at him gratefully and he returns your gaze with a slight nod. “Y/N is particularly fond of my shepherd’s pie.”

Your mother cringes at Bradley. “Y/N hates ground meat. She won’t even eat burgers.”

Bradley stares at your mother, speechless for a moment, while you try to keep your composure despite the rapidly encroaching panic.

“It’s uh… vegetarian,” he says quickly.

“Vegetarian shepherd’s pie?” your aunt asks. “Never heard of such a thing.”

“Mm-hm.” You start to nod vigorously. “It’s so good.”

“What do you make it with?” your mother asks and everybody at the table seems farcically fascinated with the concept of vegetarian shepherd’s pie.

You feel like the air is being sucked from your lungs as you watch Bradley purse his lips while he stalls. “Bradley, I totally forgot to bring my shawl from the chalet and I’m cold,” you say.

Bradley raises his eyebrows at you and you know exactly what he’s thinking: that it’s about a million degrees in this place. “Here.” He starts shrugging off his suit jacket and you nearly groan because he must know that you’re not actually cold.

You give him a pointed look as he starts to drape the jacket over your shoulders. “I’d really prefer my shawl,” you say, trying to keep the severity out of your tone.

“Oh, don’t make him go all the way back to the rooms, Y/N,” your aunt says sympathetically. Then, she adds, “He still has to tell us about this shepherd’s pie. I wouldn’t mind grabbing the recipe.” She beams at him.

“It’s uh,” Bradley says, “exactly like the one with meat. Except, you know, without it.” Bradley responds uneasily, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

“There’s got to be more to it.” Your mother narrows her eyes. “Is it a secret?”

“What? No, of course not!” Bradley chuckles. Then, he says, “Oh! I love this song!” He jumps up from his chair. “Come on, Y/N. Let’s dance!”

You stare at him in horror, trying to determine exactly what song is playing over the hum of dinner conversation. The dance floor is empty because everyone is still eating. “I’m actually not a huge fan of” –

But Bradley doesn’t let you finish the sentence because he grabs your hand and pulls you out of your seat so quickly that his jacket flies off your shoulders.

“Don’t you worry,” your grandmother says, leaning down to pick up the jacket and hanging it over the back of your chair. “Go have fun, you two.”

You let out a sigh as Bradley drags you out into the middle of the dance floor, already grooving to the music as he walks. Now that you’re closer to the speakers, you recognize the song that apparently Bradley loves.

He tugs on your hand, forcing you to turn toward him, and you catch his eyes sweeping over your face before meeting your gaze. He lifts your hand, drawing you closer while taking you by the waist. He’s shimmying his shoulders to the beat, his lips curling into a smirk when you start to move your hips reluctantly.

When the chorus kicks in, Bradley starts to sing along. “Ooh baby, I love your way.” His voice is a little raspy and a lot sexy. You feel the now familiar turbulence wreak havoc on your organs, but Bradley continues his serenade, completely unaware of just exactly what it’s doing to you.

You feel your scowl dissolve as Bradley tries to engage you in the dancing by moving your arms around. You start to laugh when he twists you this way and that as he sings at the top of his lungs. Before long, you forget exactly why you’ve been upset with him, and your irritation seems hardly relevant at all, especially considering the lengths to which he’s going in order to keep up appearances.

Bradley extends his arm out and spins you before bringing you flush against his body. Your hips align with his and the two of you sway together from side to side, his hand clutching yours to his chest as he sings, “I wanna tell you I love your way, everyday. I wanna be with you night and day.”

When the next song comes on, other guests begin to step out onto the dance floor. “Might be safer to just stay out here,” he says, shrugging.

You nod. “Chicken wasn’t very good anyway,” you say, thinking of your half-finished dinnerplate.

He laughs. “Here’s hoping the cake will be chocolate,” he says, already dancing to the next song.

You chuckle, starting to move more freely to the upbeat music.

Bradley smiles at you appreciatively, grabbing your hand to swing you to the side while you grin, admiring his dancing skills. The DJ is playing all the old classics and you are both thoroughly enjoying the familiar melodies.

Several songs in, when the two of you are moderately out of breath, you feel a hand on your shoulder. You turn to see your sister’s smiling face. She leans in to whisper in your ear, “You guys look super cute together!”

The words send a bittersweet ripple through you because, on the one hand, it means your ruse has been a success but, on the other, it’s all a farce. Your feelings toward Bradley might be genuine, but Bradley is here as your friend. And he’s faking the rest of it. Nevertheless, you shoot your sister a wide grin, grateful for her support.

A few minutes later, Aly shows up to claim her dance with Bradley. You step aside and watch on as Bradley takes the girl’s hands and starts twirling her around with a giant smile on his face. He seems pleased that she’s remembered to find him. You laugh when he picks her up and swings her, feet first, on either side of his body. Aly is giggling merrily and, as he sets her back down, Bradley glances up at you briefly, giving you a lopsided grin and a wink.

The night seems to fly by as you and Bradley spend the majority of it on the dance floor. When your sister goes to do the bouquet toss, your mother pushes you into the throng of single women gathering eagerly behind the bride. You eye your mother crossly but, when you catch the amused smirk on Bradley’s face, you suddenly want to catch the damn bouquet.

The battle for the flying flowers is unexpectedly aggressive. There is a lot more elbowing than you’d expect, as well as a fair amount of shoving, kicking, and toe stomping. But, for some reason, you are determined to win. You end up catching the bouquet despite the numerous hands obstructing your view, and you turn back to your table and do a little victory dance as you walk back toward Bradley. He laughs at you, shaking his head.

“You’re such a goof,” he mutters in a low voice as you approach him, but the expression he wears is something reminiscent of fondness.

You drop your eyes because his gaze makes you blush. “Your turn,” you say in a sing-song voice, and he passes a hand over your stomach as he proceeds to join the rest of the bachelors awaiting the toss of the garter.

Your aunt cozies up to you as you watch Bradley approach the group of men on the floor. “I like him,” she says.

You turn to her in surprise.

“Don’t look so shocked,” she says. “I think he’s perfect for you.”

“More perfect than Steven?” you ask pointedly.

“Eh,” your aunt shrugs. “I never cared for Steven.”

“But he’s a doctor!” you exclaim in mock outrage, trying to emulate your mother’s tone when she’d learned of your decision to break up.

Your aunt chuckles. “Steven is a pompous ass.”

“Can you tell my mother that?”

Your aunt turns to face you. “I’ve never seen you look at Steven the way you look at Bradley.”

You bite your lip, wondering if she might also have noticed the way Bradley looks at you when you aren’t paying attention. But you can’t ask her that, so you turn back to observe the garter toss in silence.

You see that Steven has stepped into the crowd where he and Bradley promptly exchange menacing glares with one another. Bradley then turns his head to glance back at you over his shoulder. You wave at him just as the groom throws the garter and, by the time Bradley looks back, Steven jumps up to grab it.

You hold your breath as Steven dangles the garter in front of Bradley’s face and, for a moment, Bradley looks like he might punch him for being an idiot. But then Bradley lets out a long breath and turns to walk back toward you with a scowl.

“What does it mean?” he asks as he approaches you.

“Well,” you say. “Obviously it means that Steven and I are meant to be and that we’ll be getting married and having a bunch of babies.”

Bradley watches you impassively. “You’re funny,” he says. You smile at him mildly and he steps closer, wrapping his arm around you. “He’ll have to get past me first,” he mutters, and his words inspire yet another flutter in your gut that leaves you feeling buzzed.

But the sensation is interrupted by Steven’s arrogant drawl. “Shall we?” he says, and you turn to see him standing right behind you. “They’re waiting for us.”

You narrow your eyes at him as Bradley’s grip tightens on your hip. “Who’s waiting for us?”

“It’s customary for the woman who catches the bouquet and the man who catches the garter to dance,” your aunt says with a grimace.

You blink at her defeatedly and then glance up worriedly at Bradley. He lifts an eyebrow and squints his eyes, his hold loosening around your waist. “It’s just a dance,” he says, seeing the discomfort on your face. “Don’t let him get to you.”

You nod, releasing a wavering sigh, and turn toward Steven. “Let’s get this over with,” you say.

Steven grins at you. “That’s the spirit,” he says, taking your hand to lead you out onto the now empty dance floor. He glances over his shoulder as the two of you make your way to the center, a faint smirk materializing on his face when his eyes lock on Bradley.

Steven places his hand on your side and pulls you closer when the song starts. As the two of you slowly rotate, you can see Bradley watching you from the sidelines, a hard expression coloring his features.

Steven brings you into an embrace. “Feels like old times,” he says.

“Not really,” you respond coldly, trying to regain some space between your bodies.

“Don’t tell me you’re serious about this aviator,” he says.

You glance up at him indignantly. “Of course, I’m serious about him. I wouldn’t have brought him to my sister’s wedding if I weren’t.”

He chuckles. “You forget that I know you very well,” he says.

You swallow, wondering what he’s getting at.

Steven eyes you with a devious smirk. “He’s not your boyfriend,” he says.

“Excuse me?” you say, offended and anxious in equal measure.

He chuckles. “Sure, maybe he’s a friend,” he says, shrugging. “But that dude is not dating you.”

“What are you talking about?” You want to ask how he could tell, but you don’t want to give anything away.

“The closest you have gotten to each other is a quick hug here and there. You look like you’re afraid to touch him,” he says. “So, the question is, why did you feel the need to bring him? You didn’t know I’d be here, so it wasn’t to make me jealous.”

“You’ve got it wrong,” you scoff.

He raises his eyebrows. “It’s your mom, isn’t it? She’s pushing you to start dating again. She’s always been a big fan of mine.”

You roll your eyes. “Stop talking, Steven.”

Steven brings his face closer to yours. “Making me jealous is just an added benefit, isn’t it? Well, I’m here to tell you that it worked. Even if you aren’t actually dating the guy.”

“I couldn’t care less how you feel about my relationship,” you respond, gritting your teeth.

Steven chuckles. “‘Relationship’,” he repeats, using his right hand to make air quotes.

You’re seething so much that your head starts to hurt and, just as you’re about to walk away from him, you feel a soft touch along your shoulder blade. Bradley steps around you, giving Steven an icy look. “I can take over from here, Steven,” he says casually, as if interrupting a traditional slow dance in front of an audience is regularly scheduled programming.

Steven stares at him in astonishment, completely lost for words. Bradley doesn’t wait for him to respond; he takes your hand out of Steven’s and leads you away.

You raise your eyebrows as Steven stands alone in the middle of the floor, looking around awkwardly. Meanwhile, you feel Bradley’s hand slide up your waist and pull you in, swaying you gently to the music. You gulp as Steven glares at you before turning on his heel and making his way toward your table, where your aunt and mother are standing and watching the action unfold.

“Bradley,” you say quietly.

“Hm?”

You glance up at him anxiously. “He knows,” you say. “Steven knows.”

“Knows what?” he asks.

You bite your lip. “That you’re not really my boyfriend. That all of this is fake.”

Bradley makes a skeptical face. “Did you tell him?”

“Of course not! He guessed.”

Bradley chuckles. “How?”

You shrug. “Apparently, we’re not affectionate enough.”

Bradley narrows his eyes, one corner of his mouth curling upward slightly. “What are you proposing?”

“I’m not proposing anything! I’m saying, the jig is up and we’re fucked,” you whisper feverishly. “Oh god, he’s talking to my mother. He’s going to tell her!”

Bradley lets out a slow sigh and pulls you a tad closer. “Hey,” he says. “There’s nothing to tell. Remember what I said? Don’t let him get to you.”

You glance up into Bradley’s eyes and, for a single moment, the background fades into nonexistence and your troubles with Steven seem a million miles away. But then, you shift back to reality, suddenly aware of the entire room watching you dance with your supposed boyfriend whom you can’t even kiss him.

As if on cue, Bradley says in a low voice, “You know, there is a way we can be more convincing as a couple.”

You stare at him for a moment while he watches you carefully, probably analyzing your reaction. His gaze drops down to your lips and you instinctively crane your neck before you can stop yourself. Bradley’s eyebrows twitch as a mystified expression passes fleetingly over his features. You note the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows uneasily; the rapid rise and fall of his chest as his face nears yours.

“What do you think?” he mutters, so close now that the tip of his nose brushes against the tip of yours.

There’s so much commotion in your chest, you feel like your ribs might rupture trying to keep it contained. “Uh,” you breathe, not confident you can articulate a more complex sound. You hope that his question is rhetorical in nature and that he’s not actually expecting a response.

Bradley steps about a millimeter closer, the hand he kept on your hip now sliding slowly up your side. You can feel his fingers clasp around your bent elbow, lingering there for a moment before trailing up your arm, its trace along your bare skin electric.

You let your lips part when you feel the heat of his breath as it mixes with yours, your slow dance coming to a near standstill as the two of you waver in uncertainty. You know that kissing Bradley Bradshaw will be the ultimate annihilation of whatever chance you might have had at restoring a platonic friendship with him once the weekend is over. Perhaps not for Bradley, but certainly for you. You also know that kissing Bradley Bradshaw is the best method of proving the authenticity of your relationship to your mother and Steven.

But before you can continue to contemplate the risk-reward ratio of kissing him, you feel Bradley’s bottom lip skim over your top one, and you could swear that your body might shatter upon impact. If Bradley, by some chance, determines to kiss you kiss you, you might not survive it. But despite the ever-present possibility that you may die if you were to actually lock lips with Bradley Bradshaw, you are now convinced, without a shadow of a doubt, that you are willing – nay, aching – to hazard it.

And just as you begin to wonder whether Bradley is on the same page, his mouth closes around yours. For a moment, neither of you breathes, giving you ample opportunity to acknowledge the fact that you aren’t dead but, on the contrary, extremely alive. You are submerged in sensation, baffled by how many things in your body can feel.

And then Bradley breathes out forcefully, taking a step into you, his arm curving around your back to keep you steady as he presses his body against yours. His lips begin to move, inviting yours into a desperate, delirious dance.

You let your hand travel up his chest and behind his neck, your fingers grazing his skin as he leans closer. Meanwhile, his hand is suddenly in your hair, contending with the mass of bobby pins as he attempts to rake his fingers right through. Instead, he resolves to grip a chunk of it by your ear, interrupting the kiss for a moment to let out a low chuckle against your mouth. At that, you slide your hand to the back of his head, pushing him toward you again.

Bradley resumes kissing you eagerly, both his hands now arriving on either side of your face, his thumbs brushing tenderly over your cheeks.

Somewhere beyond, one song ends and another begins. There is movement on the outside, some shuffling, and you finally open your eyes just as your glorious kiss comes to a conclusion.

Bradley rests his forehead on yours, breathing heavily into the small space between your faces while neither of you dare to say a word.

There are others on the dance floor now. Dancing, laughing, not paying the two of you the slightest bit of attention. And why would they? You’ve just done what any normal couple would do. Nobody knows how the moment transported you, how it has altered you.

Then, Bradley speaks. “Do you think they’ll miss us?”

“What?” you breathe, your foreheads still together as you watch his mouth move.

He bites into his lip. “If we leave now,” he says. “Will they notice we’re gone?”

Your heart starts to hammer once again. “What about the cake?” you ask.

“The cake?” he says, and you feel the skin of his forehead wrinkle as he furrows his brows.

“What if it’s chocolate?” you ask.

Bradley’s mouth curls into an amused smile. “Could be diamond for all I care.”

“That would be tough on the teeth.” You make a grimace to lighten the mood but, on the inside, you’re crumbling. Bradley wants to leave. He wants to leave so he isn’t forced to kiss you again.

Bradley lets out a steady sigh and takes a step toward you, the movement bringing your bodies together. You close your eyes because you’re far too close to see anything meaningful anymore anyway. “I could give a fuck about the cake, Y/N,” he says hoarsely.

Read Part VII

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I will try my best to tag the rest of this list in the comments! Might take a while bc I can only tag 5 at a time, so I might finish tagging in the morning. If I don't get to you, I'm sorry!

XOXO

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