Ok I sent you that jealousy ask with a horny intent…but what you delivered was honestly better (and still kind of made me horny). I love dad Bradley and coach Bradley so much. The fluff was sooo good.
….And it got me thinking about their son’s conception (Bradley definitely has a pregnancy/breeding kink)
Thanks for writing!! We don’t deserve you!!
ahhh coach bradshaw! loved writing them like this, especially since they don't quite lose their spark even as parents. i maintain the fact that they would be fucking terrifying on the pta
and i am good for nothing if not subverting expectations, so yes! let's delve into the bradley x smart aleck breeding kink dynamic and gilbert henry bradshaw y/l/n's entry into the world...with a twist
warning: breeding kink, smut, child birth?? language
"Oh my GODDDD," you shrieked.
Shrieked - there was no other way to describe it. Your voice positively echoed through the maternity ward, bouncing off the linoleum floor and scaring doctors, nurses, and future grandparents alike.
It was hour thirteen - no, fourteen? - of labor and Bradley felt like his hand was about to break from the vice grip you had it in at the moment. All things considered, though, it was probably the least he could do.
The ice chips hadn't helped. Ditto with the quick walks around the room and all the back and shoulder rubs. He even offered to rub your feet despite feet freaking him out. The only other thing he'd ever heard of helping labor was sex and that didn't seem like the best idea at the moment. So, nothing - nothing helped.
"I know I will love him when he's here and all that mushy maternal bullshit, but right now I just fucking want this kid OUT OF ME!"
Your dad and step-mom chose that moment to poke their heads into your private room. "How's it going, sweetie?"
"Do you hear a baby crying yet, dad?" you snapped.
He had the decency to look apologetic and Bradley shot him a quick smile. "Sorry, we just figured we'd drop by again. Guess we'll be in the lobby with Pete, let us know if you need anything."
"Okay..." you said, way less harshly. Your dad just waved you off. "And now my dad hates me!" you wailed.
Bradley gave you a quick kiss on the head. "He doesn't hate you, sweetheart. You're going through a lot at the moment, he's just worried."
You let out a deep breath, then sucked in another, working through your latest contraction. They were just about three minutes apart and you were dilated about seven centimeters last time the nurse checked.
"My back is killing me, bubs..."
"Oh, here." Bradley rubbed your back, wishing he could do more. "The nurse said it shouldn't be too long now, alright?"
This was the transition phase, or so the book had said. You cried out during a particularly difficult contraction and flopped back against the rumpled and sweaty pillows once it was over.
"We are never doing this again, so help me god, Bradley - this is all your fault!" you grumbled.
Even amidst the circumstances - read his son's imminent birth - Bradley couldn't help but scoff. "My fault?"
You nodded, a weary expression on your face as he handed you some water. "You're the one who's always desperate to cum inside me like some fucking fourteen year old in his dad's Playboy."
"Hold up, hold up. Nah, sweetheart - you're always the one saying fuck me, Bradley. Come inside me, Bradley. Put a baby in me, Bradley -"
"- I'm being facetious!!"
He sputtered, "Facetious, sure, sure - I wanna make you a daddy, Bradley? Ring any bells?" That one normally sent him over the edge. He was one hundred percent sure he could pin down Gil's conception to the third night of your wedding anniversary trip to the Maldives...
"...Please, Bradley," you moaned in his ear, "I wanna make you a daddy."
His fingers dug into your hips, barely giving your body a moment to settle on his cock before driving it back into you. You felt so glorious around him - so pretty, so wet, so fucking tight.
"Come on sweetheart, keep talking. Let everyone here know how much of a slut you are for daddy's cock."
You took a hand off his shoulder to play with your tits and arched your back. "Ohhhh god, don't you wanna see me get all big and full when I'm bouncing on your cock? Have everybody know you made me look like this? So fucking full of your cum?"
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. That did it. Bradley cried out your name and slammed his cock into you one final time, getting lost in the ecstasy of your cunt pulsing around him. He spilled into you, filling you to the brim.
"Thi - think that'll do it? Think that'll make me a daddy?"
You came with a cry at his words, no doubt waking up the Garcias in the villa next door. Bradley couldn't wait to see them at breakfast in the morning. 'Yeah my wife was the one keeping the resort up last night, asshole.'
Your body sagged against his and you pressed lazy kisses along his shoulder and neck. "Bra-Bradley, Bradley. Love you, Bradley, so much, bubs, so good..."
"Shhh, shhh, sweetheart. There's my good girl, took me so well. Just sit here for a bit, yeah? Don't wanna waste a drop of that cum you begged for so much. Gotta make sure everyone knows you're mine..."
...Current you shot him a look, trying to appear intimidating. But the hair plastered to your forehead with sweat and the partially unbuttoned johnny didn't really help your case. "I don't sound like that!"
"You do! And you say shit like that, too! But I love it, it's hot as fuck." This probably wasn't the place - or the time - to discuss both of your respective kinks, but that didn't stop either of you - until...
"Do not - oh, oh, shit..."
Bradley grabbed your hand. "What is it? This one feel different?" You nodded. "Let me call for the doctor, okay?"
He sat up to leave your bedside, but was stopped by your hand pulling at his pant leg. "Bra-Bradley?"
"Yeah?" He stopped.
"I love you," you said before letting out a deep breath.
He gave you a quick kiss on the forehead. "I love you, too, sweetheart. Now let me go get the doctor so we can have this kid, alright?"
Twenty minutes later, Gilbert Mitchell Bradshaw was born.
And despite your earlier protestations, Margaret Amelia Bradshaw was born six years later.
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