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ereardon · 1 month ago

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Before I Knew [Jake Seresin x Reader] Chapter Nineteen

A Jake Seresin unexpected pregnancy fic

Overview: On your first night after moving to San Diego to spend more time with your brother Bob, you unknowingly have a one night stand with his teammate Jake Seresin. For the first time in his whole life, Bob has a closely knit friend group and you’re desperate not to rock the boat. But an unexpected and unplanned pregnancy upends your world, forcing you and Jake closer together, against Bob’s wishes. What will happen when you find yourself actually falling for the father of your unborn child?

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader; Bob Floyd x Sister!Reader

Warnings: Pregnancy, cursing, eventual smut, angst

Chapter summary: Y/N waits at home for Jake; Y/N and Bob have a heart-to-heart

WC: 1.4K

Masterlist here; previous chapter here

“Jake!”

Your voice rang out in the apartment but you knew the second you walked through the door that it was empty.

“Ducky.” Bob stood in the doorway.

“Leave.” Your voice was harsh. “Now.”

“Y/N, I—”

“Just go.”

He opened his mouth to respond but thought better of it and turned slowly, pulling the door shut behind him.

You sat down on the couch, curled into a ball and waited. And waited. Until eventually, you fell asleep, only awaking hours later when the sun peered through the sheer curtains and you scrambled to your feet the best you could, pacing around the apartment, but Jake was nowhere to be found.

His cell phone went to voicemail, time and time again. Breakfast came and went, and then lunch. On Sundays, the two of you typically went out for lunch and then strolled leisurely through the nearby park before going to the grocery store. But Jake didn’t return for lunch or for your park date. Even dinner came and went, with no word from Jake.

Phoenix called around seven. “Have you seen him?”

“No.” You were pacing on the carpet. “I’m getting worried. It’s been almost a full day.”

“I’ll call Bradshaw,” she said. “See if he knows anything.”

“Let me know?”

“Of course.” She paused. Then, “He’ll show up.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

The carpet in the living room was practically worn down to the tread from your constant back and forth, an ache developing in your lower back but that didn’t stop you from sitting down and worrying.

When the door opened, you shot up in bed, the hem of Jake’s shirt riding up across your thighs where you had fallen asleep in his bed. Light spilled in from the hallway, illuminating Jake from behind. From just the curvature of his shoulders you knew.

“Jake,” you murmured, scooting up toward the pillows and headboard, “where the fuck were you? I was going crazy.”

“I couldn’t do it, Y/N,” he said, still standing in the doorframe.

“Are you drunk?”

“I don’t know. I was, I think. I am?”

“Come here.” You curled your feet under you and patted the bed. He hesitated. “Please,” you begged. Finally, Jake stepped into the room, standing at the edge of the bed. You reached out, holding his hands.

“It was my fault,” he whispered. There was pain laced in every letter. The way he wouldn’t look up at you.

“It wasn’t your fault. You did what you could. That’s all anyone could ask for.”

“I could have saved her,” he said, louder this time. “I should have.” There was a choke. Then, “Her son has no mother because of me.”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, Jake’s hands pulling back but instead you tugged them forward, placing them on your bump. He looked up, green eyes locked on yours, as you held his hands, tight, to your stomach. “You’re right here,” you said softly. “I’m right here. Everything else is in the past, alright? You can’t hate yourself forever for something you didn’t mean to do. You have to move on, let yourself live. Because this baby? She needs her daddy. And you can’t be there for her if your mind is always going to be stuck in the past.”

He shook his head, silent.

“Jake,” you whispered. “We need you.”

You stood up, wrapping your arms around Jake, feeling the ragged momentum of his breath, the way he gripped you so tight you felt like a balloon about to pop.

And in that moment, you hoped he realized how far he had come.

***

You ignored Bob’s calls for three days. Finally, he showed up to the library in his flight suit, hair sweaty and clinging to his temples. Two of the moms with their children in the kids playing corner gave him a not-too-subtle up and down glance.

“Ducky, can you talk?”

“Not right now,” you whispered, bending down and emerging at the desk a moment later with a stack of books. “I’m working.”

“Those are way too heavy for you,” he responded quietly, rounding the desk and grabbing them from your arms. “Why are you still lifting things? Someone else should be doing that.”

“It’s my job, Bobby,” you replied. “Besides, why do you care?”

He frowned. “You’re my sister. What kind of question is that?”

A kick rippled through your side and you leaned against the desk edge, taking a deep breath. Bob’s face creased in worry. He reached out but you held out a hand, stopping him. “Meet me outside in thirty,” you said softly. “That’s my lunch break.”

He nodded eagerly. “I’ll bring sandwiches.”

“Tuna, extra pickles.”

Forty minutes later, the two of you were sitting on a bench outside the library overlooking the ocean. Bob waited until you were halfway done with your sandwich before he spoke.

“I should have told you.”

“Yes, you should have,” you replied. “You also need to not hate him. It wasn’t his fault.”

“Except it was.”

You turned, eyes dark. “Are you telling me you’ve never made a mistake up there? You’ve never fucked up or waited a second too long or hesitated? Jake is human. He’s a real person, not a machine. You can’t expect perfection. People fuck up. Example A.” You waved your hand in his direction. “Right now you’re fucking up.”

“She was my partner, Y/N. She was my best friend. And I loved her. How am I supposed to just get over that?”

“You lose people, Bobby. Sometimes they’re like dad and they walk away. And sometimes they’re shot out of the sky. But in the end you’re always going to lose someone, it’s just a matter of time.” You shook your head. “Stop spending your life hating Jake and pushing people away when it’s just making sure that you’re going to lose them a hell of a lot sooner than you want to.”

“Are you saying that if it came down to it, you’d choose him over me?”

You frowned. “Why would it ever have to come down to that?”

“Do you love him?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think he loves you,” Bob said and your jaw dropped. His voice was raspy, like there were tears building in the back of his throat. “And there’s a part of me that knows he’s not a bad guy. There’s a part of me who knows he’s doing right by you and the baby. But I still can’t wrap my head around letting someone who hurt the person I cared for almost as much as you turn around and hurt you, the person I care about more than anything.”

“What makes you think he’s going to hurt me?” you asked.

“I don’t trust him.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course.”

You slipped your hand into his. “Then trust me when I say I can take care of myself. Whether or not Jake Seresin loves me will not change how I raise this baby. And it will not change the fact that you’re my brother and you’re a part of my life. Understood?”

His lip curled up on one side. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Now you have to do me a favor. Since you’re my big brother and you owe me one.”

“What is it?”

“Come to dinner tonight.”

“Done.”

“And apologize.”

“Ducky, I—”

“You apologize, Bobby, or else I’m telling everyone what you did on Space Mountain.”

His eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t.”

“I’m not a liar,” you replied. “I’m obligated to tell the truth.”

“You’re not under oath to spill my deepest, darkest secrets.”

“They are when it’s the fact that you shit your pants at age twenty.”

“Y/N!” he exclaimed, voice rising an octave. “OK, OK, I’ll apologize. Can we never speak of this again?”

“Deal.”

“And it was the fish tacos,” he muttered under his breath. “From the taco cart.”

“Yeah, sure it was.”

He groaned. “This is the last time I stick my neck out for you.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “Now we both know that’s a lie.”

Bob leaned over and kissed the top of your head. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Please follow my library page @ereardonlibrary as that will largely serve as my tag list. Anyone I previous promised to tag is here:

@blue-aconite @bobfloydsbabe @bobfloydssunnies @withahappyrefrain @djs8891 @clancycucumber230 @xomrsalliej4787xo @xomrsalliej4787xo @myfaveficrecs @spinning-away

@gigisimsonmars @shanimallina87 @mycobrakai1972 @sio-ina-bottle @joaquinwhorres @justanothermagicalsara @na-ta-sh-aa @rosiahills22 @sometimesanalice @seresinslady @seresinsweetie @seresinhangmanjake @mrsjobarnes @kmc1989 @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989 @palepeanutponyshoe

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percivaljacksons · 1 month ago

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hi ive decided to stop taking myself so seriously -- when i finish this it'll go on ao3 as a oneshot, but this is what ive got so far of angsty divers au (no it still does not have a title). rated somewhere between t and m. can i get a hell yeah in the chat? um have fun lol.

NYT: A lot of headlines have already declared this as the discovery of the century—one even as the discovery of the millenia. Did you envision such a momentous breakthrough in your career?

PJ: Uh, no. I didn’t think I was gonna graduate high school. You can laugh, dude, but I’m not joking. This has all been one crazy ride. My life changed forever the moment I met Annabeth Chase.

What Annabeth remembers, during the nights she tries not to:

The cold. The blackness so thick they might as well have been diving in ink. Percy’s mouthpiece, warm when he pressed it to her lips every twelve seconds. She’d breathe in, then tap his wrist twice, and it would disappear once more.

They’ve always been good at nonverbal communication. A twitch of an eyebrow here, a sideways glance there. She knows when he’s rolling his eyes without having to look. He always manages to pass her a tissue right before she sneezes.

Annabeth wonders if they’ll ever get out from beneath what they said to each other, down in the Pit, where neither of them could utter a single word.

The phone rings five times, tinny and faint in Annabeth’s ear as she waits. She’s breathing hard, her hair still dripping and her suit peeled down to her waist, a pair of sunglasses her only real protection against the late afternoon Mediterranean sun.

The ringing cuts off, and a groggy voice says, “yeah?”

Annabeth glances down at her watch. “Percy?” She asks.

There’s a beat. When the voice speaks again, it’s perfectly awake. “Annabeth?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I…I thought you’d be awake by now.”

“I’m in San Diego.”

“Oh.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m—I’m fine. Good, I’m good. Are you?”

“Yeah.” His voice is quiet, almost wistful. “Why the new phone number?”

“It’s temporary. I’m in Greece.” She listens to him breathe, feels her own heart settle.

“Greece,” he repeats.

Her thumb smooths over the shard of pottery in her hand. “Yeah. How soon can you get here?”

“To Greece? Shit, Annabeth, I don’t—”

“I found it,” she says. A glance over her shoulder tells her that her two grad students are laughing as they organize her gear and not paying attention to her at all, but she lowers her voice anyway. “I saw it, Percy. It’s real.” She breathes in, then out. The boat rocks under her. “I found it,” she repeats.

Static crackles in her ear. “I’ll be there in 24 hours,” Percy says.

They’d gone down together, which was stupid. So much of it was stupid with even a few hours of hindsight. No one coming down after them, thinking they knew the cave too well to get lost, believing that doing everything right meant that they were safe.

Stupid.

The light clipped onto her suit only illuminated about a twelve inches past her flippers. She could see the walls on either side, the familiar steadily making way for the unfamiliar as they descended to the section only Percy had explored.

Percy’s flipper tapped her head. He was reminding her to stop and equalize her ear pressure, so she did. He was more experienced diving in salt water. It saved her life, in the end—she had her nose pinched and her mouth firmly closed when she got slammed into the wall regulator yoke first.

The straps on her chest jerked from the release of pressure, but it was the feeling of the bubbles rapidly flowing up her that let her know she was really, truly fucked.

It’s been six months since the Pit, and three since they last saw each other in person. Annabeth thought he was in New York, Percy probably thought she was—well, Annabeth doesn’t actually know. Probably not where she’s been.

She’s been in Sicily and Ostia and around sixteen different Greek and Turkish islands. She hasn’t stayed in one place long enough for her mind to settle, has managed to outrun every shadow that clung to her pumping heels, only now her throat burns and her muscles ache and Percy meets her at the arrivals gate in Athens with a fresh tan and an unsure smile and Annabeth is all too aware that her months of avoidance have come to an end.

Percy comes to a stop a foot or so away from her, tantalizingly close. Within arm’s reach. “Hey,” he says.

His hair is long enough that he needs a band to keep his bangs out of his eyes. She recognizes it—it’s the same one she’d used to keep her own hair from falling in her face when it started to grow back after she’d chopped it five and a half months ago. The duffel bag thrown over his shoulder is also hers, and so is the necklace peeking out from beneath his collar.

Annabeth hugs him because she wants to kiss him. “Hi,” she responds.

The duffel bag hits the floor. His arms wrap around her, fierce and firm, and she buries her face in the warm skin of his neck. Stubble scratches against her cheek; Annabeth breathes easy for the first time in something like twelve weeks.

“I thought you might send one of your grad students,” he says. His arms stay locked around her.

“You got on the first flight you could,” Annabeth responds, her voice muffled. “Least I could do was meet you halfway.”

His fingertips press the tiniest bit harder into her spine. “Thanks,” he whispers into her hair.

Annabeth’s own necklace digs into her jaw. I’ve missed you, she says with the nudge of her nose against his pulse.

He rocks them back and forth, just barely. I’ve missed you, too, he responds with the graze of his palms over her back.

Annabeth takes a breath, takes in the unchanged feeling coursing through her blood, and finally manages to take a step back. “You ready?” She asks.

Percy’s smile is dazzling. “You bet your bippy I am.”

Annabeth leads him to her rental with loosely linked fingers, her steps so light she’s half convinced she could walk right over the Mediterranean itself.

The last time they saw each other—the last time she saw him—it had been in the artificial brightness of their living room. Annabeth hadn’t slept in days, Percy hardly ever looked her in the eye, and neither of them could muster the strength to turn off even their tiniest, most ineffective lamp.

No matter how many times Annabeth took deep breaths, she was still gasping for air.

Percy would turn on the shower and stare at the water hitting the other side of the curtain, the bathroom door firmly shut, and then turn the faucet off again without ever stepping in.

They curled up together every night, their bedroom lit up like a department store, her fingertips leaving bruises in his hips and shoulders, and if they were lucky sometimes one of them could fall asleep.

Annabeth left New York. Percy didn’t follow her.

One of her grad students picks them up from the dock. They were the only passengers on the boat from the mainland, so she’s the only person waiting, leaning against a rusty pickup truck filled with scuba equipment. She’s also lazily smoking a cigarette, her bright blue hair lit up a striking cobalt by the sun.

She drops the cigarette and twists her foot over it the moment she sees them approach. “Doctor,” she greets with a grin that’s a little too innocent.

Annabeth glares at her. “Pick that up. We’re not here to litter.”

The grad student sticks a hand out to shake Percy’s. “Hey, I’m Lucy. You the pottery guy?”

“I leave for one day and your hair is blue,” Annabeth mutters, taking the duffel bag from Percy’s shoulder and tossing it into the back. “If you’ve been smoking in the truck…”

Lucy rolls her eyes. “No, Mom, I haven’t been smoking in the truck. My hair’s blue because Mitchell won our bet, don’t worry about it. I didn’t even stain the towels.”

“I like it,” Percy says.

“See?” Lucy says. She bends down and picks up her cigarette butt when Annabeth keeps glaring. “The pottery guy gets it.”

“Um—” Percy tries to say.

“This is Percy,” Annabeth explains. “He’s not a pottery guy.”

“When’s the pottery guy getting here, then?”

Annabeth goes around to the driver’s side and gets in the truck instead of answering. Lucy shrugs and moves the passenger seat up to slide into the rear bench, waving Percy away when he tries to get in. He sits in the front with a shrug once Lucy’s knees are out of the way, and the moment his seatbelt is buckled Annabeth tears out of the marina parking lot.

“So.” Lucy’s fingers tap along the backs of their chairs. “If you’re not a pottery guy, who are you? ‘Cuz Annabeth found a piece of pottery on her dive two days ago and took off outta here like Icarus on his way to freedom.”

It’s a weird simile, but Annabeth doesn’t respond. When Percy turns to look at her, her eyes don’t even stray from the road.

“You didn’t tell them?” He asks.

Annabeth grunts. Percy keeps staring at her, wondering which question he should answer, and eventually says to Lucy, “Annabeth and I…” He sighs. “Well, we go way back. How long have you been her student?”

“A few months,” Lucy says.

Percy smiles and turns to look out the window. They’re along the coast now, and the ocean is blue like a jolly rancher. “She doesn’t need a pottery guy,” he says.

Lucy raises her eyebrows. She looks at Percy, then at Annabeth, then back to Percy again. “Totally explains everything,�� she says, and the rest of the drive passes in silence.

For weeks after the Pit, Annabeth was on the edge of a panic attack whenever she couldn’t feel Percy beside her. She knew why, logically. The therapist explained it, and everyone was so goddamn understanding. Grover, and Sally, and Piper, and Nico, and Clarisse.

Even her mother, under the thick layer of I-told-you-so that she didn’t bother to try and hide.

What can you say, when your head finally has broken free of the water? When all light is blinding, when you can’t get rid of the taste of salt on your lips?

What can you say to the person who pulled you back to life, when you’re the only reason his soul grazed the razor edge of death in the first place?

“Why are the vibes, like, literally rancid?” Mitchell mutters, loading the extra gear his advisor always insists on bringing onto the boat.

“Girl, if I knew,” Lucy responds, shaking her head.

“You could help, you know.”

“I picked them up from the dock! No, don’t put the yoke by the O2—”

“You do it, then!”

“Fine.”

She joins him, loading in silence. After a minute:

“$5 they’ve boned.”

“You’re so on.”

They put their gear on together, her reaching out to zip him up without prompting and him holding her tank steady so she can slide her arms through the straps. They don’t have to look at each other to do it, so they don’t.

Annabeth only glances over once they’re finished. His eyes are hidden behind his diving mask, and Annabeth’s heart migrates to her throat.

The last time she’d seen him like that had been—

“Ready?” She asks.

Percy nods. She goes in first, and he follows.

He’s still following, even now. But that’s Percy.

From above the surface, it looks like a rock. A big rock, sure, but not dissimilar from the jutting stones that surround a lot of the Mediterranean, the jagged edges that contrast the white sand beaches. That’s been her main research tactic, recently—where do the tourists avoid? What stone has been left unturned, what looks so innocuous from above that no one would ever suspect it was an X, marking a very secret spot?

Under the surface, it’s a different story. Not an obvious story, but at this point Annabeth could navigate each curve and edge in her sleep. She does, on the nights she doesn’t dream of a blackness like tar.

It’s a bright enough day that sunlight streaks through the water a good twenty feet down, exposing the imposing face of stone. There isn’t an entrance, really, but there’s nooks and crannies and crevices, and Annabeth is the particular kind of crazy to have wiggled her way through every single one she could.

On instinct, she reaches down and clicks on one of her flashlights. With a confident flick of her feet, she propels herself towards the opening that started it all.

There are three flashlights clipped to the straps around her shoulders. When she had zipped up Percy’s suit, she had noticed the four he had clipped to his.

She finds the optical illusion, the uneven meeting that looks like a solid wall. If you stare at it long enough, the ripples of light coming through the water reveal it for what it is. She presses forward, and just like six months ago Percy goes where she leads.

From there, it’s memory. Through the cave system, careful and slow, even as her heart pounds. Under the archway, chipped away from the rock, a little too even to be natural. She pauses under it and taps it with one hand. Percy nods in response. He sees it. He knows.

After the archway, it’s left until the opening below, leading down to darker and colder waters. Annabeth checks her backup flashlights, braces herself, and heads down.

She doesn’t look to see if Percy follows. He either will or he won’t.

The space gets smaller, then larger, jagged edges of rock cutting into the path. This wasn’t an entrance, as far as Annabeth can tell, but it’s the only way in she’s found so far. Everything else has been long since blocked off by time. Earthquakes, rockslides, storms, erosion, all of the above. It’s proper cave diving because of it, something that Percy has infinitely more experience in.

She reaches the air pocket and pops her head out. She takes a breath of stale, cave air and waits. A faint light grows steadily brighter.

Percy’s head pops above the water. He lets his rebreather drop from his mouth.

“Holy shit,” he says. “Annabeth, this is—”

Annabeth reaches through the water and grabs onto his rebreather with her left hand. Her right hand is busy clutching her own. They’re both attached to their diving tanks, obviously, but…

His hand covers her own. “I’ve got it,” he says softly. “I’m sorry.”

Annabeth yanks her hand back. “Right,” she says. “Did you see the arch? I’m thinking 4,500, maybe earlier.”

Water drips from the low ceiling above them onto Percy’s diving mask. He doesn’t even blink.

“Plato said 9,600,” he teases.

“I know what Plato said.” Annabeth rolls her eyes. “What did he know?”

“4,000,” Percy says, shaking his head, “is neolithic settlers in Thera, precursors to the Minoans. Annabeth, that’s…that’s—”

“—the Older Peron,” she finishes. “The timing makes perfect sense, but I think there was something else. I mean, look at where we are. There were the rising sea levels during Holocene Epoch, sure, but—”

“—it was never at sea level,” Percy realizes. He gestures around them, splashing her with water. “It was already below sea level. Which is why—”

“—the rise was so devastating,” Annabeth continues, building on his enthusiasm. “They had fortifications of natural rock but—”

“—they were effectively trapped when the levels rose unexpectedly!” His voice echoes off the walls around them. “We’ve been going deeper and deeper this whole dive.”

“Probably a storm,” Annabeth says. “It was gradual, and then a big storm caught them off guard. They…they probably starved, if they didn’t drown. Those who didn’t made their way to Crete and kicked off the Bronze Age.”

The slow drip of water is the only sound between them for a long moment.

“Where’d you find the pottery?” Percy finally asks.

“Up ahead. Ten minutes, maybe.”

“Is it all submerged?”

“I don’t know,” Annabeth admits. “Maybe, maybe not. I called you as soon as I had anything concrete.”

He takes his mouthpiece out of the water and slots it between his lips. Annabeth does the same, then heads back under to show him the way. She’s so excited to show him that she can barely even feel how the water has gotten gradually colder during their dive. It had freaked her out, her first few times trying to navigate the crags of the cave.

Caves are always cold. It’s why they have wetsuits. Annabeth only wishes it wouldn’t take so goddamn long for her to warm up again once she was above the surface.

NYT: Your preliminary article talks a lot about the Holocene epoch. What does that have to you with your discovery?

PJ: Right, yeah, so that’s—we’re in that right now. That’s our current geological epoch. It’s an interglacial period equivalent to MIS 1, and started around 11,700 years ago. Basically, ‘Holocene’ is two Ancient Greek words smushed together meaning an ‘entirely new’ age. In terms of, like, humanity, it’s when all of our written history and technological revolutions have happened. It’s all happened since the last ice age ended those 12,000 years ago. In terms of my research—which is our research, really—it’s thinking about the impact of the vast warming of the planet after the last ice age and what that might be able to tell us about pre-Minoan civilizations in the Mediterranean.

NYT: Are you talking about global warming? I think of that being a lot more recent than 12,000 years ago.

PJ: Eh. It’s kinda relative. Pretty much anything is global warming after an ice age, you know? We do split the Holocene into three main eras of slight cooling and warming, but our sweet spot is around 7,500 years ago, when the Mediterranean especially was having to deal with rapid sea level rise and colder waters. Can I be honest with you, dude?

NYT: Of course.

PJ: Everyone thought we were f****** crazy.

Later, back on the boat, Mitchell throws together some PB&Js for them to devour. The two of them eat quickly, tired from the dive, and don’t speak. Mitchell always uses a little too much peanut butter, and it sticks to the roof of Annabeth’s mouth, but that isn’t why she stays quiet.

There’s a lot between them besides the silence.

“This is everything I’ve ever wanted,” she eventually says, staring at the unassuming point of rock above the water. Just a rock that was really the cave that held the answer she’d spent her life searching for. Will they call it Chase Cave? Probably not, at this point. She’s glad. Something about that smarts—her greatest achievement marked by her father’s name.

“Is it?” Percy asks. His hair is wet, mussed up from when he yanked off his hood. There’s still a faint red oval around his eyes and nose.

She turns to face him more fully. They’ve never worn jewelry when they went in the water, and earlier she’d caught the faint tan line around the fourth finger of his left hand. He still wears it, or wore it recently enough to still have its mark.

Annabeth looks back to the rock. It’s much easier to stare at. “Almost,” she says.

NYT: Where do you go from here? Back to Berkley? Columbia? Are you staying in Greece?

PJ: Honestly… [Laughs] anywhere that offers us a tenure track. We’re open to suggestions! Our RateMyProfessor scores are through the roof, man. At this point, I’d even say yes to NYU.

“Berkley’s funding you?” Percy asks.

Annabeth nods, swallowing the mouthful of wine she’d been letting sit in her mouth. It’s easy to get lost in it—early signs of the sunset, Percy backlit by it all, wearing a loose blue shirt with the collar open so she can see his collarbones, her necklace nestled right in the middle. Missing him has been as frequent as breathing. She doesn’t quite know how to handle having him right across the table from her.

“Damn.” His mouth twists in that charming, trying-not-to-smile way. “What a coup.”

Annabeth snorts. “Right? I don’t know that she’ll ever talk to me again.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Percy grabs an olive from their shared plate and pops it in his mouth. “She’s going to milk your relationship for every grant she applies for until the day she retires. Or dies.”

“Fuck.” Annabeth takes a larger sip of wine and closes her eyes. “You’re right. Goddamn it.”

“Hey, it’s been known to happen.” She opens her eyes again just in time to see the smile slip properly onto his face. “Good thing she made sure that you didn’t share any kind of name.”

Annabeth raises her wine. Percy grabs his water and follows suit, his tan-lined finger wrapping around the glass. “To Dr. Sofia Athena,” Annabeth says. “A name that has had no lasting impact on the study of archeology and the world’s shittiest mother.”

“Hear hear!”

They clink their glasses and drink.

The sun sinks below the ocean, pink orange red streaked across the sky, and below the table Percy rests the length of his leg against her own.

Percy kept waking up with bruises on his wrist, his forearm, along the edge of his ribs. She never remembered grabbing him that tightly, hadn’t roused from sleep for a moment, didn’t even know that she was capable of gripping him like that.

She kept thinking about his life before she came into it, kept thinking about his childhood and his aversion to alcohol, and kept spending her mornings throwing up bile.

He held her hair back. He kissed the space behind her ear. He took it all, right up until the day she left.

They leave the restaurant as dusk slips into evening. Everything drips blue, and they could go back to the ramshackle house Annabeth’s been renting for three weeks and go to sleep. They should, really. Tomorrow all of the difficult stuff starts, the phone calls and the grant applications and fierce defense of their life’s work.

But Percy takes a deep, sucking breath in, and his hands in his pockets. He lets it out again, a satisfied sigh, and jerks his head towards the horizon invitingly, and Annabeth already knows she’s going to agree to whatever he’s going to ask.

“What?” She asks.

“Want to go for a walk?” He asks. “It’s a beautiful night.”

He’s right. She wants to. Still, she hesitates.

“On the beach?”

“Why not? There’s a sandy bit down there.”

Annabeth can think of at least seven reasons that they really should not. Up against Percy’s relaxed posture and open expression, none of them put up a fight.

“Alright,” she agrees.

He doesn’t offer his hand, so she doesn’t take it, but when they start to walk towards the shore, their elbows brush with every other step.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Annabeth.”

Annabeth’s head snaps back. “I’m not being ridiculous,” she says.

Her mother shoots her a look, her face half obscured by her office’s desktop monitor. “You’re turning one of Plato’s metaphors into a pipe dream of a discovery. It’s not like you.”

Annabeth takes a deep, controlled breath in. “I’m not basing the entirety of my research on Plato.”

“You’ve found another source that references Atlantis?”

“Not exactly,” Annabeth admits begrudgingly. “But—”

“Annabeth.”

“Just because they don’t call it the same thing that Plato did—”

“Lower your voice, please,” her mother says, turning her focus back to her computer. She starts to type, her face impassive.

Annabeth seethes. Quietly. “The study of Stone Age civilizations always requires careful historiographical reading into the Bronze and Iron ages. Their interpretation of history is a valid course of investigation for today’s scholarship.”

Her mother sighs and closes her eyes for a brief, devastating moment. “You’re a promising archeologist, Annabeth, but…”

Always a but.

“...these caves, and the diving, well…” Her mother finally gives her undivided attention. “It’s not difficult to see where you got the idea.”

Annabeth digs the fingernails of her left hand into her palm and tries her best to keep the tears at bay. “I’m not plagiarizing research ideas.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?”

“This research project just happened to pop up right as you started seeing a scuba diver? That’s a sheer coincidence?”

“He’s not a—”

“Oh, he wears an anklet.”

“He’s a marine archeologist! That’s literally part of your department.”

“They’ve tacked on an adjective before the word ‘archeologist.’ Is that supposed to—”

Annabeth slams her binder down on her mother’s desk, a savage satisfaction building in her chest at finally being the one who gets to interrupt. “I’m not debating this with you,” she says, her voice filled with finality. “My research has to do with Pre-Minoan Thera and early Bronze Age art and documentation. Read it or don’t. If you don’t fund me, someone else will.”

Her mother rises from her seat in one graceful movement, her eyes dark and swirling storm clouds. Annabeth realizes that they’re the same height; she’d never noticed that before.

“Who approached you?” Her mother asks. “USC? BU?”

Annabeth lets the smile that stretches across her face be as bitter as it wants to be. “I’m a Chase,” she says. She knows it’s a twist of the knife. “Who wouldn’t fund me?”

The sand is cold between her toes. The wind off the water is warm and makes Percy’s shirt flap around and hug the contours of his torso for brief, devastating moments. Annabeth focuses on putting one foot in front of the other and not on the way this whole night has felt like a date.

“I kind of want to get in,” Percy says.

“What?”

“The water,” he clarifies. “I want to get in. Don’t you?”

Annabeth gapes at him. It’s only been three months. He went in with her earlier, even followed her into a cave, but this is different. This is a walk along the beach with their shoes in their hands and stupid small talk that hasn’t been getting at any of the things they should probably be working through.

Percy drops his flip-flops. He only has to undo one more button to be able to pull his shirt off over his head. Annabeth keeps looking—obviously—as he shucks off his pants and adds them to the pile, too.

There are little slices of pizza decorating his boxers.

There’s a tiny, innocuous breath of hesitation. Is he thinking about stripping all the way down? Is he balking now that he’s facing the might of the ocean?

In the end, he goes towards the water confidently, his boxers still on, and calls back once his ankles are submerged. “You coming?”

Annabeth slips the straps of her dress over her shoulders and lets it fall to the sand, kicking it over to join Percy’s pile of clothes. After her own moment of hesitation, she slips the chain around her neck off and wraps it around her hand, clutching the bulk of it tight in her palm. She won’t leave it on the beach, but she won’t lose it to the ocean, either.

By the time she’s up to her calves, Percy’s already dunked himself under and come back up again, hair slicked back and water dripping down his chest. He’s got a slight t-shirt tan she hadn’t noticed before.

“How far do you want to go out?” She asks him.

“We’ll freeze if we stay like this,” he says, goosebumps all along his arms with his wet torso exposed to the breeze. A tiny wave crashes right behind him and sends him staggering a foot or so. “Past the break?”

The wave hits her next, soaking through her bra and splashing salt up onto her cheeks. “Sure.”

They wade out together and dive through the next wave in perfect unison. When she comes back up, brushing the water out of her eyes, all that’s left of it are bubbles bursting against her skin. The water settles around her shoulders; when she looks over, Percy’s eyes are lined up perfectly with hers. Bending his knees, probably. Staying under the water to stay warm, or stay on her level, or some mixture of the two.

“Warmer than I thought,” Annabeth admits.

Percy smiles. She wishes the moon would rise, so she could see the emerald cut of his eyes better. “That’s almost like saying I was right.”

“Almost,” she agrees, smiling right back.

“We probably could’ve stripped all the way down. When in Rome, and all that.”

“We’re not on Naxos.” She shudders. “Never again.”

That makes him laugh, finally. “Come on, it was a cultural exchange!”

“A-bah-bah,” Annabeth tuts, raising a finger. “It’s one of the sacred three.”

Percy rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Ice water, air conditioning, and we don’t have to look at wrinkly old dudes naked. U-S-A, U-S-A.”

“And don’t forget it.”

“How could I?” He replies softly.

Annabeth resists the urge to curse. There goes their lighthearted small talk.

She dreams of Naxos. Not of the famous nude beaches or Percy laughing at her horrified expressions, but of the crisp white sheets of their hotel room and the faint red imprints of her teeth against the perfect bronze of his tan. She dreams of the purest conversations they’ve ever had, the ones they had crammed together on their Juliet balcony and the ones that passed with skin pressed close and no words spoken at all.

The dreams are always exact mirrors of memory, flawless from start to finish, loving and being loved. She never wakes up before an orgasm or before the sun had finally risen that first morning and lit up the muscles of Percy’s back like a goddamn Yuriy Petrenko painting. It’s complete contentment, morning breath and a sort of pulled hamstring halfway through, no detail lost.

But she always wakes up, and Percy’s not there, and reality feels like a nightmare.

“You’re not wearing your ring,” Percy breathes out.

“Neither are you.”

“I took it off to dive.” His head tilts, just slightly, and Annabeth’s eyes slide down his neck to her necklace. She catches the smallest glint of metal through the water and clenches her fist around her own ring, so tightly that the chain digs into the meat of her hand.

“So did I,” she says.

His mouth quirks up. “Okay.”.

“San Diego,” she starts, weirdly confident from the wine or the quiet or Percy being right in front of her again. “Did you get an—”

“I’m still on sabbatical. Staying with Tyson.” A wave laps up and covers his chin for a second. “He says hi, by the way.”

“He’s good?”

“Mhm. Trying to teach me pottery.”

Annabeth grins. “Are you any good?”

“Obviously not. It’s better than, like, baby goat yoga with Grover.”

“So that’s why you’re not in Portland.”

“Uh, that and the human baby they’re very enthusiastically trying to create. Barf.”

She splashes him in the face. “Shut up. What? Since when?”

He spits the water that got into his mouth out in a beautiful arch. “I can’t believe he told me before you! Like, a few months now. I think they maybe kept it hush-hush because…”

The waves crash against the sand. Annabeth knows what he was going to say. She can hear it in the squint of his eyelids, the exact angle tilt of his eyebrows. It’s kind of comforting—she still knows how.

“That’s amazing,” she says, her voice quiet. “He’s going to be such a good dad.”

A swell of water builds towards them, and their toes leave the sand in the same moment, the tiniest push to keep their chins above the surface.

“He accidentally synced our Google calendars,” Percy admits after a second. There’s a dangerous kind of glint in his eye, the one that Annabeth has always been a little bit in love with. “They, like, scheduled it.”

Annabeth gasps. “No.”

He nods, dunking half of his face in the process. “I know so much about Juni’s ovulation cycle that I can’t unlearn—”

“Percy!” Annabeth objects, as though she’s not laughing through it. “That’s such a violation of their privacy—”

“It’s not like I wanted to know it!” He laughs right back. “Grover apologized, like, six times. Juni called to ask if we ever did any fertility rituals. I did not need that boundary broken.”

Annabeth covers her face with one hand and ducks herself under the water. The muted sounds, the sting of the salt, the knowledge that she could reach out and touch him—she breaks the surface again. “Why would we have done a fertility ritual? We don’t have kids!”

“I think maybe she thought we’d done one to prevent it. Anti-fa, right?”

“I know you know that’s not what that is.”

His straight face breaks. “You thought it was funny, though.”

“No comment.”

“Hey, don’t be mad. I told her our sexytime is exclusively based on passion. No scheduling involved.”

Annabeth wrinkles her nose. “A good excel spreadsheet is kind of hot, though.”

“Oh my god.”

“Like, a color-coded one.” She rolls back her eyes and moans. “With tabs.”

It’s so easy to tease him, so natural to fall back into their rhythm, to turn off the filter in her brain and let the conversation go wherever it’s going to. It’s so easy to forget why they were half a world away from each other.

He splashes her this time, only she’s already laughing, eyes closed and ready for it. She hears his laughter join hers before she sees it, low and infectious.

Annabeth could stay here forever, high on her life’s mission accomplished and Percy right in front of her, both of their heads above the water, both of them laughing. She would make this second of air stretch on forever, only then she wouldn’t get what comes next.

She opens her eyes against the sting of the salt and sees him, the jut of his collarbone above the foam, his hair curling a little bit around his ears where it’s beginning to dry. She could look at him forever, watch as the crinkles around his eyes go soft and fade, as his mouth settles from a grin into something smoother, more familiar.

“Wanna kiss you,” he mumbles. The waves push him closer, or he moves closer, or Annabeth does.

“I thought we based our sexytime exclusively on passion,” Annabeth responds.

The heat of Percy’s torso presses up against hers. “Don’t be a dick,” he whispers.

Percy’s mouth slides hot against hers, rough-soft in the very particular way he always is, and waves lap at their shoulders and Annabeth thinks something about baptism and then thinks about nothing at all for as long as she’s able.

“Sometimes I think we never got out,” she whispers to him one night.

They’re wrapped around each other in the blaring light from both of their nightstands. It’s some time past three in the morning.

“Like, this is all a dream?” He asks.

“No.” She presses her nose against his chest, breathes him in. “I just still feel it. I started down there and it never stopped.”

She feels the breath shudder out of him. “Yeah,” he agrees.

#this is so long! which is why im posting it haha #anyway i write silly little fanfictions i do not need to put this crazy pressure on myself #a part of it is done and i would like to share it! etc #angsty divers au #it will probably be different in a version i post on ao3 but thats ok #we vibe #percabeth #long post

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roosterforme · 1 year ago

Text

A Love You Don't Find Everyday Part 24 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: With just a few short days left in Hawaii, you and Bradley talk about a lot of important things and make some important plans. And when Bradley asks you what else you have in your special suitcase, you both end up getting more than you bargained for.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, and swearing

Length: 5000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check out my masterlist for more!

Bradley woke up with you straddling his face.

"Roo, please," you whined, pulling at his hair as your pussy skimmed along his rough chin. As soon as his lips parted and you felt the swipe of his tongue, you moaned in delight.

Without a word, Bradley wrapped his hands around your hips and stroked your tattoo while you rode his face. His dick got harder as he looked up at you, brow scrunched up in determination as you bumped against his nose. He alternated between sucking on your clit and letting you grind against him as you got nice and loud.

"Are you gonna fuck me, Roo?" you asked, and even if you didn't mean it to sound dirty, it did. It really did. Your grunts paired with that filthy sentence had him determined to get you off like this. So instead of answering you immediately, he made you cum, and you gently squeezed around his tongue as your fingers relaxed in his hair.

"Yeah," he growled. "I'm gonna fuck you." He rolled you onto your belly and watched as the early dawn sunlight illuminated the villa. With your ass in the air and your cheek pinned to the bedding with his hand around the back of your neck, he filled you up.

You collapsed into a boneless heap as if you were ready to go back to sleep. "No, Baby Girl. It's time to get dressed. We have our boat outing this morning."

You whined and complained and didn't move from the bed while Bradley got dressed. "I changed my mind about riding the boat. I just want to ride your cock."

Bradley snorted as he scooped you out of bed and helped you get cleaned up. "Well, I need a little break."

Your eyes went wide with mischief. "You're such an old man."

"Listen," he growled as you got ready to go. "I can keep up just fine." But Bradley was honestly feeling all thirty six years old at the moment. You wanted him at least three times a day. He was currently living for those afternoon naps on the deck where you just wanted to snuggle up on his chest and relax.

"Okay, old man Roo," you whispered, taking his hand and leading him outside. "I'll spend the afternoon feeding you fruit next to our pool and giving you a back rub. How does that sound?"

He laughed and helped you into the golf cart. "Sounds ideal."

After the two hour long boat tour, during which you snuggled up on Bradley's lap and played with his hair, you picked a restaurant for a late breakfast. Bradley ate with his arm around your shoulders as you told him in great detail how much you loved Hawaii and thought they should move here.

"The beaches, Bradley. So much better than San Diego. We could get stationed in Pearl Harbor. We could move into the villa."

He kissed your cheek. "If you thought the villa was expensive for ten days, let's stick with our craftsman."

"You need to let me start helping you pay the mortgage and the rest of our bills," you said, and when he opened his mouth, you smashed your palm against it. "I don't even want to hear you argue with me about this."

"Fine," he murmured, kissing your palm when you removed it. He thought he could hear his credit cards sigh in relief.

"I have so much money saved since I stopped paying rent," you told him. "Definitely enough to redo one of the bedrooms into a nursery when the time comes."

He perked right up. "Airplane themed," he whispered, kissing your nose. "That's all I ask."

You laughed but agreed with him. "Airplane themed."

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

Bradley laid out the lounge chair cushions right on the deck and dozed off and on while you swam for the afternoon. Any time he woke up, you swam over to the edge of the pool and fed him a bite of food, just like you had promised you would. And then after he thanked you, he dozed off again.

After a few hours, you climbed out of the pool to join him, and he wordlessly welcomed you as you curled up all wet on his chest. This was perfect. Ten days of this was not going to be enough. You were surprised you weren't missing work. But with 24/7 access to your husband, everything else seemed to pale in comparison.

"Baby Girl?" Bradley asked after you heard his stomach growling. "What else is in that suitcase of yours?" he asked groggily.

"I thought you'd never ask!" you said, popping up from his chest and giving him a kiss. Then you proceeded to stand up and remove your bathing suit, draping both pieces over a chair so they could finish drying in the late afternoon sunlight. "Come look."

Bradley followed your every movement as you strolled completely nude into the villa, and then he was stripping out of his shorts and rushing inside after you. "Show me," he whispered, letting his hands settle on your hips as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

You turned to kiss his mustache as you procured a purple silicone toy from inside your lingerie filled suitcase and held it up. "Should I add this to my outfit when I get dressed for dinner?"

Bradley groaned and started kissing along your neck. "A vibrator? You're going to wear a vibrator to dinner?" His voice was laced with need and disbelief, and you giggled in response.

"Yes. And you can control it on your phone."

"Fuck," he grunted, and you could feel his hard cock at your lower back.

"Get your phone, so we can download the app."

Bradley had never released your body from his grasp so quickly before, nearly sprinting away to get it. Within minutes, he had set up the app and was testing out your toy in his hand. And with a look of delight as the "U" shaped vibrator danced in his hand, he mused out loud, "I wonder if I can control this thing from the wifi on an aircraft carrier."

Your jaw dropped as you looked at him. "I would be more than willing to help you find out," you told him. "But let's see how well it works with the resort wifi first."

Bradley groaned, and you ran your fingers along his hardening cock. When he reached for you again, you deftly slipped away from him and grabbed your clothes. "Come back, Baby Girl," he rasped.

"Save it for dinner," you replied, heading for the bathroom to shower and get dressed. Once you were all made up and ready to go, you collected Bradley from the deck. He must have used the shower outside, because his hair was still damp and he smelled like the delicious hibiscus soap.

He ran his fingers along the hem of your dress before he stood. "You look pretty," he whispered, letting his hand trail underneath your dress and up along your thigh as he pressed his body to yours. "How's that sweet pussy that I love so much? All dressed up for dinner as well?"

You hummed next to his ear as his fingers met the toy that was tucked inside you and touching your clit as well. "I'm ready to be teased."

"Well that's good, because my phone is at one hundred percent battery, and I love teasing you," he replied, leading you out to the golf cart with a noticeable erection in his white pants. You didn't even fucking care, and clearly neither did he.

The toy was actually providing you with pleasure as you walked. It seemed to be rubbing a sweet spot inside of you while simultaneously gliding across your clit as your hips moved. "Bradley?" Your voice was breathy and needy, and the look he gave you was sinful as he held your hand while you climbed into the cart.

"Yes, my love?"

You reached up and ran your fingers along his scars before you kissed him. "You're the best."

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

With a hard dick and a fully charged phone, Bradley walked with you positioned in front of him as you were led across the soft sand to a table on the beach for dinner. The table was small with a bench on one side, and Bradley slid in next to you. When the waiter handed you both menus and then turned away, you pressed your lips to Bradley's ears and whined. "It's not even on yet, and I'm already going to lose my mind."

Coming to dinner was probably a poor decision. Room service would have been the way to go. But the way you were rubbing yourself against Bradley was making him lose his mind a little bit too. And now he was opening the app and holding up his phone for you to see him select the lowest setting, tapping it one time with his thumb.

"Oh, fuck!" you said quickly, squirming around next to him while the waiter returned with a bottle of wine. Bradley listened to you order dinner, each syllable coming out in a shaky, needy voice while you uncrossed and recrossed your legs. The waiter eyed you a little cautiously when you bit down on the tip of your index finger, but he didn't say anything else.

"Make it two," Bradley said, unsure about what you had actually ordered, but happy to eat anything while you were softly moaning next to him with a look of aroused panic on your face.

"Roo," you gasped. "This feels so good."

He kissed you hard in the twilight darkness while soft music played nearby. You kept moaning the word good in between kisses, and Bradley wanted to take you back to the villa so badly. But he also wanted to edge the hell out of you until you were practically in tears for him.

As soon as he released your lips, he could feel your hand on his cock underneath the tablecloth. "What are you doing, Sweetheart?" he grunted as you unzipped his pants.

"Making you feel good, too."

Bradley glanced around and relaxed a little as the beach grew darker, and he let himself enjoy this completely depraved dinner. He buttered some bread and poured himself a little more wine while you stroked your hand languidly up and down his length. Then he hand fed you while you moaned, nibbling on the bread with wide eyes.

When you reached down to cup his balls and squeeze him gently, he kissed you. "I think you're ready for the moderate setting."

Bradley had to cut up your food and feed it to you while you rocked your hips slowly forward and backward. He was working hard to deny his own orgasm as you made soft, pornographic noises. You made it halfway through your dinner, still teasing his cock with your hand, when you whispered, "I'm going to cum."

"No," Bradley replied, shutting the vibrator off as you keened in displeasure. "Not yet."

"Roo!" you gasped, and he had to kiss you to keep you quiet as the waiter strolled back over.

"Behave," Bradley warned you. Luckily the handjob he was getting was hidden by the tablecloth, but his overstimulated wife was right out in the open, moaning about which dessert she wanted. Bradley grinned, because really, in the grand scheme of things, he was living a very charmed life when it came to you.

So he ordered his dessert as well as yours and asked the waiter to pack them to go. Then he turned to you, set the vibrator back to low, and said, "We can eat dessert back at the villa."

"Okay, Daddy!" you moaned so loudly, your hips rocking gently again as your nipples strained against your dress. And without any warning, you started jerking him off harder.

"Shit," he groaned, because now you had him too close. He had convinced himself he could hold off until returning to the villa. He had been wrong. As you whined his name, he knew it was over, so he pulled his pants up over himself the best he could.

And then Bradley was cumming in his pants like a teenager with his first girlfriend. And it felt so fucking good, too. Your hand was cum soaked and gliding over his skin while you started to grind on his thigh. He needed to get you out of here before you both got kicked out of the resort.

"Where are we going?" you asked, making it really difficult for him to zip his pants while you sat in his lap and licked cum off your hand.

"God damn it," he growled, shoving his tongue between your lips to taste himself there, and then he hoisted you up in his arms and carried you to the golf cart. "I'm taking you back to the villa. We can order dessert later. After I'm done with your pussy."

You were grinding against his abs, that vibrator still doing god's work, prepping you so well for him. Once he got you out on the secluded trail, Bradley pushed you up against a palm tree and sucked on your tits through your dress until you were really loud. Your sticky hand was wrapped around his neck, and he thought he was going to have to fuck you on the seat of the golf cart. Because by some miracle he was already hard again, and he fucking needed you.

"I need you to fuck me," you said abruptly.

"It's literally the only thing I can think about, let me assure you."

"God, Roo! This toy is evil!" you squealed as he got you situated in the golf cart, turned the headlights on and started to drive. Bradley watched you grip the dashboard with both hands as your head tipped back in pleasure.

"Do not cum yet!" he scolded as he drove a little faster.

You turned and glared at him in the dim light. "You're as evil as the toy!"

He laughed at you. He couldn't help it. "I'm about to treat you real sweet if you can just hold off a little longer, Baby Girl."

"Fine!" you shouted, pouting at him while he jerked the steering wheel around the last turn before the villa, lit up but lanterns on the porch, came into view. And then Bradley carried you inside, vibrating pussy and all.

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

You were lost somewhere close to euphoria as Bradley laid you gently on the bed and pushed your dress up to your waist. He spread your legs wide as you tried desperately to keep them together. You were ready to cum. This obscene little toy would be your undoing.

"It's so pretty," Bradley whispered, running his thumb along the vibrator as he held you open wide with his body between your legs. "What a gorgeous pussy, soaking wet and filled up."

You were about to beg him to remove the toy when he pulled his phone from his pocket and took some pictures of you. "Please?"

He smirked at you. "Only because you asked so nicely." And then he cranked the app up to the high setting, and your hips shot right off the bed. "Bradley! No!" It was too much. You had been on the edge for too long, receiving pleasure both inside and against your clit.

You wanted the familiar, loving feel of Bradley in and on you. He must have read it on your face or in your voice as he gently removed the vibrator and buried his face in your pussy. The feeling of relief was almost instantaneous. Stubble rubbed your sensitive parts as you wound your fingers in his hair. You felt your body going limp even before your orgasm fully hit. And somehow you just knew what was going to happen before it did.

You propped yourself up slightly, as well as you could, and you watched Bradley work his lips on your overstimulated pussy. And then when you came, you gushed all over his mustache and lips, a sound like a dying animal on your lips. Bradley went harder, lapping up every bit of the squirting mess you made.

Your eyes closed and opened a few times, feeling numb now as you drew your legs together. "I made a mess," you whispered, slurring your words a bit as Bradley eased his body fully on top of yours. He kissed and positively worshipped you with his lips and wet mustache. He smelled like you. The whole room did.

"You squirted, Baby Girl. Not a mess. Perfection. I love it," he whispered, stroking your neck with his thumb and pressing on your pulse point while your eyes closed again. You could feel how hard he was again.

"Bradley?" you whispered, turning your head to the side as he sucked hard on your neck. He was grinding against your body, but you couldn't figure out what to do for him. You just wanted to make him feel good.

"Please?" he rasped, his breath hot on your ear and your neck. "I wanna fuck you."

Silently you spread your legs open for him, and Bradley was thrusting his cock inside you with one hard snap after the next, fucking you into the bed. His lips were harsh on your nipples, and you could only manage to stroke your fingers through his hair softly.

"You feel so good, you feel so fucking good," he grunted, voice shaking as he somehow got you to squeeze gently around his cock while you moaned softly.

When he came, he filled you up, but you were almost asleep by the time he withdrew. "Sweetheart?" he asked, stroking your cheek and kissing your lips. "Are you okay?"

"I'm good," you promised, and he carefully scooped you up against his chest and cradled you in his arms. As you dozed against his chest, you could hear him pick up the phone and say, "Hi, this is the Bradshaws. We're going to need a piece of cheesecake and some clean bedding."

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

After Bradley drew a bath and got you situated in the tub with a bottle of water, he kissed you and pulled on some shorts. When the housekeeper arrived, he closed the bathroom door so you had some privacy. You'd never looked quite this spent before.

You weren't wrong. That toy needed to be handled with caution. You had instructed him to wash it, put it back in its case, and send it to the bottom of your sinful suitcase. And now Bradley wasn't sure how soon he would see it again.

Once the bedding was replaced and you were dried off, Bradley led you outside to the deck in your fluffy bathrobe. "Time for dessert," he whispered, and you sat on his thigh with your head on his shoulder. He fed you a bite of cheesecake every time you parted your lips, and when you were chewing, he took one for himself. "You did so good," he promised, kissing your hair and rubbing your thigh. "So so good. Squirted for me and let me cum in your pussy."

You parted your lips again, taking another bite of dessert from the fork as Bradley softly sang your praises with the sound of the waves breaking on the shore as a soundtrack.

When you fell asleep in bed, you were out cold until the morning.

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

You only had two days left in Hawaii with Bradley. Your husband. Everything had been perfect. You only wanted to be around him nonstop, have him touching you and talking to you. You didn't know how you were going to be able to fall back into your previous routine when you had to return to San Diego. Because when you had to return to work in a few days, you wouldn't get to have sex every eight hours, and have Bradley feed you dessert, and walk around naked.

You sighed against his cheek. He was sound asleep on the lounge chair, and you carefully extracted your body from his, nearly falling into the pool in the process. With a grin on your face, you tied up your red bikini bottoms and adjusted your top.

The other day, you had slept for twelve hours after Bradley had overstimulated you during dinner. Now it was his turn. He earned this nap. You'd kept him hard for an hour before finally letting him cum inside you. He was almost entirely unwilling to cum anywhere else at the moment, even when you mentioned your face as an example of a lovely place to do that.

You bent and kissed his cheek, and then you slid the deck partition open and took off toward the water. You walked up and down the long stretch of sand, occasionally stopping to wade in the ocean up to your knees.

The north end of the resort where your villa was located was much quieter. You only ran into a handful of people as you searched for shells, which was fine with you. Somehow you hadn't thought to feel self conscious around Bradley during your honeymoon. You'd been strutting around naked or barely clothed and letting him touch you everywhere all the time. But truthfully, you had never really felt shy about your looks around him at all. He was always so excited to tell you what he thought about you physically, and it had always been very flattering.

But now that you were out on the beach instead of just the private patio in your tiny red bathing suit, you were wishing you'd grabbed his floral print shirt from the deck chair.

You washed off the collection of colorful shells you found in the calm, pristine water, and then turned back toward the villa.

"You dropped this one."

You turned back toward the water and saw a guy holding out one of the larger shells you had found. "Thanks," you told him, holding out your hand for it. But with a grin on his face, he shook your hand instead.

"I'm Aaron," he told you, holding your hand expectantly.

You laughed and told him your first name. "I was actually reaching out for the shell."

"I know," he told you with a nod and a laugh. "But the opportunity was too good to pass up."

Now you were holding out a grabby hand which made him laugh more, but he handed you the shell. "I like your tattoo. It's unique," he told you, his eyes dipping down your body. You froze immediately. This was the first time you could recall anyone other than Bradley or your friend Caleb laying eyes on your dainty rooster.

"Thanks," you said, and the word sounded long and drawn out even to your own ears. "It's kind of new," you told him, still in a bit of a daze.

"It's some sort of bird?" he asked, grinning and taking a small step closer. "Are you a bird enthusiast?"

You almost snorted. "Well, I like roosters."

He was rambling on about birds now as his eyes were glued to your tattoo, and you were trying to find a good break in what he was saying to let him know you had to get back to your husband. And that's when you heard Bradley's voice.

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

Bradley mumbled your name as he woke up, but when he moved his left arm, you weren't there. The sun was warm on his skin now, and he felt like he had slept for days. You were a handful. You'd spent the last week continuously luring him to bed with you. Not that it was a difficult sell for him at all. He just really needed that nap.

He could hear the music still playing through his phone as he stretched and stood with a groan. It had to be close to dinnertime, and he was starving. But after calling your name and glancing around the villa, he decided to go in search of you before making any decisions about what to eat.

He knelt next to the pool and splashed a little water on his face and ran his fingers through his hair. He really needed to shave, but you kept telling him you were enjoying the rough feel of his facial hair. Maybe he wouldn't shave for the few days both of you had off over the upcoming holidays. Maybe he could even stretch it to your birthday.

How on Earth did he feel so needy for you at the moment? Probably because he'd been with you nonstop for days and days, and he was so used to the feeling of contentment that came when you were close by. He wanted you, so he set off to find you.

Slipping through the open partition, Bradley started to stroll between palm trees and flowering plants and made his way toward the water. And when he glanced to his left, he spotted you right away. It would be impossible to miss you in that sinful little bikini. You told him you bought it in red because it's his favorite color, and that made him feel so smug.

But now some other random asshole was looking at you. In your red bikini. The one you bought to show off how good you looked and make Bradley hard. What the fuck?

Bradley started heading toward you. Now this guy was touching you, and now Bradley was getting pissed. He squinted to get a better look as he got closer, but he could tell his guy was eyeing you up.

"Jesus Christ," Bradley muttered, walking a little faster. He was pointing at your pussy, and Bradley saw him mouth the word 'tattoo' while he did so.

That was for Bradley to look at. Only Bradley. Your husband.

"Oh no you don't," Bradley announced as he strolled up behind you. "This one is mine."

You spun to face him with a bright smile. "You're awake!"

But now this guy was looking at your ass as you wrapped your arms around Bradley's waist.

"Hey," Bradley barked, and the other man's eyes snapped up to meet his. "Give it a rest, man. She's got my rings on her finger, my tattoo by her pussy, and she's still full of my cum from earlier."

"Bradley!" you said with a startled laugh, looking up at him with a thoroughly shocked expression. "Did you wake up on the wrong side of the lounge chair?"

"I did. The side where my wife wasn't there. Let's go."

You muttered an apology to that asshole, saying, "Sorry, he gets a little cranky. He probably needs to be fed."

"Wrong, Baby Girl," he growled, palming your ass and tossing you over his shoulder while you laughed and screeched. "I need to be fucked by my wife."

"Okay, Daddy," you muttered as he carried you back to the villa, stroking his fingers along your thighs. "I can take care of that for you."

Three minutes later, Bradley was splayed back on the lounge chair naked, and you were untying your bikini bottoms again. His hard cock jumped against his abs as the red fabric fell to the deck at your feet.

"Come here," he demanded softly, and you straddled his thighs so he could feel your wet pussy on his balls. "This is mine," he whispered, skimming his fingers along your tattoo as you nodded hungrily at him. "And this is mine." He ran his fingers through your pussy as you cried out in need. "And this is mine, too." He stroked your cheek with his wet fingers and then let you lick yourself from his hand.

You were grinding against his cock, and he couldn't get himself inside you fast enough. "Roo!" you sang so prettily as you rode him. He gripped your hips, guiding you exactly where he wanted you as he covered your tattoo in your own wetness.

"I love you so much," he promised, sliding your bathing suit top to expose both of your tits. He stroked your nipples softly as you bounced on him, then he pulled you closer to get his mouth on you.

He sucked on your tits hard enough to leave bruises that you would feel the next day. And when you came on his cock, whining Daddy loud enough for anyone on the beach to hear, Bradley couldn't stop himself. With your nipple in his mouth, he bucked up into you until he filled you with even more of his cum.

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

When you finally caught your breath, you were draped across Bradley with his dick still inside you and your lips on his neck. "Were you a little jealous of that guy on the beach, Roo?" you asked softly.

He gently stroked his hand along your arm until he reached your hand. "He was looking at your tattoo. I was feeling a little territorial."

You laughed, your sticky body rubbing his. "I was feeling a little self conscious. I don't think this bathing suit was made for public consumption."

Bradley kissed your fingers. "It's definitely made for private consumption, Sweetheart. But you look so fucking hot in this tiny scrap of fabric, I can't even be mad that someone else was looking at you."

"You always make me feel good about myself," you whispered, and Bradley wrapped his arms around you.

"Will you wear this in my next calendar?" he asked, and you started laughing again.

"What makes you think you're getting another calendar?"

"I thought I was getting one every year for my birthday!" He'd been thinking about you in another set of calendar photos with a pregnant belly. It was almost too much. Then he'd have two versions of you to jerk off to.

"Mmm," you hummed. "If that's what you really want, I'll see what I can do. Come shower with me."

Bradley carefully washed your body, letting his hands enjoy the feel of all of your curves while you washed his hair. He was nearly panting with his eyes closed as your fingers worked into his scalp. It was just like the first night he ever spent with you. Bradley had known even then that he wanted to end up here with you today.

"I love you, Baby Girl. More than anything."

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

Thanks so much for reading! The next chapter will be the end of this series as they return to San Diego. I have loved every minute it this adventure, and I hope you'll keep reading along with Roo and Baby Girl on their next adventure! Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 25

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thegigilwriter · 6 months ago

Text

01 | “Danger & Star, Rooster & Angel” — Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Female Mitchell OC

Summary: 26-year-old Lucy Asa Mitchell did not know what was in store for her when she first bumped into Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw. After an instant mutual connection followed by a sweet whirlwind romance that swept both their feet, Lucy found herself being immersed deeper into Bradley’s world of the Navy, F-14s, and deployments. What she didn’t expect was finding was the answer to an elusive part of her past — the identity of her long-lost father.

Masterlist

Keywords/Warnings: Romance, Inaccuracies of the Navy and Marine Biology

01 | Koi No Yokan 🎐

1 year after Top Gun: Maverick

Sunday May 28, 2023

Bradley

It was a sunny mid-morning in San Diego, and Bradley Bradshaw and Natasha Trace were taking the Bronco for a drive down a palm-adorned boulevard.

“Thanks again Rooster,ˮ Nat grinned as she basked in the daylight of the open air. “SʼAlways nice takinʼ a ride in the olʼ girl.ˮ

“Quiet now,ˮ Bradley replied, mocking hurt. “Sheʼll hear you, you know?ˮ

Nat rolled her eyes playfully, untucking her shades from the hem of her tank top and covering her eyes. Seagulls flew overhead, the taste of salt was in the atmosphere, and a lovely shade of blue began to appear on their horizon. Bradley licked his lips and stepped on the accelerator. He reminisced to himself about the beaches in Okinawa from his previous deployment. Sure, they were great but there is something about the California coastline you canʼt just feel the same way about anywhere else.

“You arrived at your destination,ˮ Google announced. “The Umi Research Center. ˮ A crystal dome came into view and steadily emerged as this enormous limestone edifice that was akin to the Parthenon.

Bradley pulled up by the docks and Nat jumped out as soon as the Bronco was in park.

“Wanna come with?ˮ She asked him.

“Iʼll stay put,ˮ Bradley reclined his seat. “Unless this Sam guy, needs to be forcibly removed from the premises?ˮ

“Well in that case, I can handle it myself, canʼt I?ˮ

Bradley turned on the radio and tugged at his Hawaiin-print shirt to fan himself. He watched as Natʼs figure disappeared into the entrance of the building. His attention was then directed towards the sea and the pristine boats that thudded against the docks. Natʼs own sedan was in the shop, so she called in a favor from Bradley to borrow his Bronco. Since there was no way her wheel was to be steered by any other set of hands other than his, Bradley opted to be a personal chauffeur to Nat and her first cousin, Sam, for the day.

The heat of the sun was beginning to wear down Bradley, so he took his keys from the ignition and hopped out for a quick walk on the dock. The cool sea breeze helped soothe the sunʼs scalding presence. It was on days like this when his parents used to take him to the beach as a little boy. But thatʼs all what those moments are now—memories. He stopped to stare at the water. A lot of people like to say he looked a lot like his father, and he agrees. But on some days, it feels like the man staring right back at him was a stranger.

Thud.

Bradley felt something collide against his back, and heard a clatter of things falling against the wooden walkway and a small gasp. He quickly turned around and beheld two boxes filled with audio tapes and folders tipped on their sides, and beside them, a young woman rose to her feet.

“I apologize,ˮ she breathed out as her frame got on her knees and began to return the contents to her boxes. “Iʼm afraid I wasnʼt watching where I was going...ˮ

She was wearing a navy-colored bathing suit underneath a white, fitted, cropped tee-shirt, and a sheer floral shawl tied around her waist. Her feet were clad in copper-colored slippers, her wrists were adorned with braided bracelets, her right ankle with a dainty metal chain, and her neck with a cross underneath a string of little, iridescent pearls. Bradley did not even realize he was on his knees with a tape in his hand, for his eyes simply could not part from her face. Mahogany waves framed her lovely visage and her dark-caramel eyes were cast to the floor beneath them.

“Um... do you mind?ˮ She smiled kindly at him.

“Huh?ˮ

“The tape — in your hand,ˮ she pointed.

“Oh — uh... Sorry,ˮ Bradley scratched the nape of his neck as he reached the tape over to her. Their fingers met and so did their gazes. Bradley chuckled and she shyly looked away.

“Again,ˮ she spoke, as she put one box on top of the other. “I apologize.ˮ

“None needed,ˮ Bradley finally collected himself. “Those look quite heavy, need a hand?ˮ

“If you donʼt mind, please.ˮ She sighed. Bradley eagerly lifted the boxes in his arms.

“Lead the way,ˮ he grinned.

“Thank you,ˮ she replied as they proceeded to cross the dock towards the research center.

“I donʼt recall seeing you around here,ˮ the woman stranger spoke. “Are you new?ˮ

“Nah, Iʼm here with a friend whoʼs picking up a cousin who works here. Apparently, he just came from Antartica.ˮ

“How intersting,ˮ she mused. “I was just stationed there.ˮ

“Youʼre a researcher?ˮ Bradley raised a brow.

“You seem amused.ˮ

“I didnʼt mean to—“ Bradley blushed.

Her laugh resonated, it was as clear as a spring and as sweet as her eyes. It was the kind of sound you wanted to play on repeat.

“I was simply kidding. I know fairly well the distresses of a woman in a man's world... I just choose to make the most fun I can out of it.ˮ

Bradley chuckled.

“You make ‘em underestimate you, then you pull the ground from under their feet like a riptide.ˮ

She looked at him with great consideration.

“You just see right through me, donʼt you?ˮ she teased.

“I think you did, otherwise we wouldnʼt be talking right now. Which would be unfortunate, of course.ˮ

She laughed once more, and Bradley smiled as they stepped into the marble-floored foyer after a swipe of her card at the door. For a research center, this was far grander than Bradley had imagined from the outside looking in. Tall, corinthian, columns lined the limestone walls on either side. In every space, oil paintings of founders with solemn and peaceful expressions resided there. The glass dome above filtered the sun rays into iridescent shards of light that danced on the cylindrical and tremendous aquarium in the center of the room. It housed vibrant schools of reef fish and brilliant coral, all so dramatically composed to evoke in every beholder pure awe. Bradley whistled, head tilted skywards with a gaping mouth.

“Glorious, isnʼt it?ˮ She chuckled at his expression. “Wait ‘til we really get inside.ˮ

Bradley trailed behind her as they crossed the foyer and climbed up the steps just a little bit past the elevators. The space alone was fit to be a ballroom for a grand royal celebration. Shelves and shelves of books lined the limestone curved against concave walls except in the very middle where a tall, rectangular window allowed a picturesque view of the ocean. In the center of the circular facility, a behemoth, holographic globe floated above a ring of conjoined computers. The remaining space was lined with bench tables and plush chairs.

“Welcome to Umi,ˮ The woman stranger smiled.

“The lights on the globe,ˮ Bradley asked her. “Are those your other branches?ˮ

“Every light represents a team of researchers from all divisions, all around the world.“

“Impressive,ˮ Bradley nodded.

“Umi is that and everything else,ˮ She sighed, as she turned towards the elevators.

“You must love working here with that shine of yours and all,ˮ He mused as they waited for a lift up.

“I do,ˮ she replied passionately. “The sea is my first love.ˮ The elevator doors parted open and Bradley followed her in.

“Do you have anything youʼre passionate about, Mr.—?ˮ She spoke to him. “Iʼm sorry I should have asked for your name—“

“Itʼs Bradley, Bradley Bradshaw. And if I may know yours?”

“Lucy,ˮ the woman smiled at him. “Lucy Mitchell.ˮ

“Lucy,ˮ Bradley repeated. “Like light.ˮ

“What?ˮ

“Thatʼs what your name means,ˮ he told her. “Explains the shine.ˮ

“Do you know the meaning of the names of every woman you meet, Mr. Bradshaw?ˮ Lucy raised a brow playfully. “I hate to admit how clever that is of a way to disarm any of us women.ˮ

“Oh yeah,ˮ Bradley played along. “I read about one name every day from my dictionary, yours just happened to pop up recently.ˮ

“Is that so?ˮ She chuckled. “Then I should warn the others, ‘There is a serial flatterer on the loose with an intent to charm!ʼ“

Bradley laughed.

“Iʼm surprised Iʼve kept up a conversation with you this long at all, to be honest.ˮ

“Now what makes you say that?ˮ Lucy cocked her head to the side.

Bradley wanted to say it was because Lucy Mitchell was beautiful and smart and young and hilarious and sophisticated despite the casual comfort her disposition exuded. That Bradley was old and truly awkward when it came to the really pretty girls that make him laugh. How he desired to so effortlessly make her know that she had a slot in his schedule for a dinner with him. Yes she was a stranger, but this entire interaction surely trumped any small talk he had over the previous online dates he set up and the lonesome evenings at the bar bench when women sauntered over to him to have a little fun for the night

Get off your perch and take the fucking shot, Rooster! He could hear Jake Seresin ringing in his ears.

“Lucy—“

“Lucy!ˮ

The elevator doors parted ajar once more, and in front of them, Nat and her cousin Sam were.

“What are you still doing here?ˮ Sam asked her as they stepped off the lift.

“I just remembered that we left some material on deck,ˮ Lucy replied as she gestured towards Bradley. “And this gentleman is helping me get them to my office.ˮ

“Gentleman, huh?ˮ Nat smirked as she leaned her elbow against Samʼs shoulder. She reached out her hand to Lucy.

“Nice to meet ya, the nameʼs Natasha Trace, but itʼs Nat for everybody.ˮ Lucy shook her hand.

“Likewise. Iʼm Lucy, Lucy Mitchell.ˮ

“I see youʼve already met my friend, Lieutenant Bradley,ˮ Nat had a Cheshire grin stretching across her face. Beyond Lucyʼs periphery, Bradley directed Nat a stern look. Nat quickly cocked her head towards Lucy.

“Sheʼs cute,ˮ she mouthed at him. Bradley raised his eyebrows in agreement.

“You must be Samʼs cousin,ˮ Lucy smiled at her. “He talks a lot about you.ˮ

“Aw, Sam!ˮ Nat cooed as she tucked her cousin under her arm and affectionally rubbed his hair. “My little cousin misses me that much?ˮ

“Only how annoying you are!ˮ Sam groaned. He was a young-looking fellow despite his age, a 23-year-old new grad looking like he just celebrated his 16th birthday. He was tall, lanky, and freckled. His dark and bold features are similar to Natʼs, but Sam’s looked a little softer around the edges, like a muted color compared to Natʼs natural exuberance.

“You—ugh.ˮ Sam struggled against Nat. “Must be Bradley, right?ˮ

“Nice to meet ya,ˮ Bradley confirmed.

“Donʼt let Lucy take those to her office,ˮ Sam finally escaped from Natʼs grasp. “Sheʼs been working non-stop in the expedition and I've been given strict orders that she shouldnʼt be here until next week.ˮ

“Oh come on, Sam!ˮ Lucy whined. “These are the mourning recordings! Weʼve never seen them sing like this! If Foster asks, just say I wasnʼt here!ˮ

“Sheʼll have my ass, that woman!ˮ Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Lucy, go home. Compression Sickness is no light matter. Youʼre still recoveri—! You literally just went for a dive, did you?ˮ

“Perhaps,ˮ She replied nonchalantly. Sam groaned.

“Workaholic, huh?ˮ Nat remarked. “Listen, why donʼt you come out with us? Weʼre hitting the Pier today and catching a movie later. That way, Samʼs ass isnʼt grounded and I get a new girlfriend. Iʼm sure Rooster wonʼt mind, do you Rooster?ˮ

Natasha grinned at him smugly, as Lucy chuckled. They were both resigned to Natʼs insistence.

“Of course not,ˮ Bradley replied.

“That settles it,ˮ Nat smiled. “Meet us in the foyer.ˮ

They exchanged places, Nat and Sam towards the lifts and Bradley and Lucy towards the offices. As the doors closed, Natasha sneaked a quick wink in Bradleyʼs direction. In addition to that, her signature, ‘donʼt screw it upʼ look.

“I'm sorry about her,ˮ Bradley spoke as they walked the sun-lit hallways together towards her office. “She doesnʼt get to meet a lot of women in our line of work, and when she does theyʼre often not nice.ˮ

“I think your girlfriendʼs sweet,ˮ Lucy replied. “Sam thinks really highly of—“

“Sheʼs not my girlfriend,ˮ Bradley interjected.

“Oh,ˮ she closed her eyes briefly and shaking her head. “Iʼm sorry, I shouldnʼt have assumed. The both of you just seemed really comfortable with each other.ˮ

“Yeah we get that a lot,ˮ Bradley sighed, a wave of embarrassment washing over him at his premature response. “Sheʼs one of my best friends, thatʼs all. Weʼve known each other for over 15 years.ˮ

“Are you a naval aviator, yourself?ˮ

Lucy noted the swell in his chest and the small proud smirk that settled on his lips. “That I am.ˮ

They finally arrived at the office and Lucy promptly turned her key in the lock. The translucent door swung open and she quickly gestured towards the side of her desk where Bradley deposited the boxes.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.ˮ Lucy smiled.

“At your service,ˮ Bradley replied. As he bent down, she noticed a small, transverse cut in the inside of his left bicep. He was carrying them for much longer than she had anticipated and the upper corner of the top box must have done it. She opened the top cabinet on her table and retrieved a small metal box with a biscuit label.

“Those look good,ˮ Bradley remarked.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Lieutenant,ˮ Lucy laughed. “Iʼve already ate them all. You cut your arm, by the way.ˮ

“Oh would you look at that,ˮ he mused at the prickle of blood that began to emit. “The horror.ˮ

Lucy laughed again.

“Now, now,ˮ she played along as she ripped an antiseptic wipe open from its paper container. “This will all be over soon.ˮ

She pressed the wipe into his bicep. Her hands were dainty and soft and cool against his skin. He watched her eyebrows furrow just a little as she encountered a little resistance from placing a bandaid decorated with small, little fish— and regarded the way her tongue would poke from her lips. Bradley felt a searing heat in his chest and her touch had become so much more apparent to his senses.

“There we go,ˮ Lucy chuckled. “Crisis averted.ˮ Not quite, Bradley thought. Not quite.

A silence fell between them from the moment they left Lucyʼs office; to the moment Natasha elbowed Sam into the back seat with her (even though Sam wanted to call shotgun, but was then dismissed as Nat was playing wingman); to the moment they placed their orders at a nearby Shake Shack; to the moment they sat side by side through two movies at the theatre; and until now as they watched Sam and Nat board the Devilʼs Drop at Ruby Pier. It wasnʼt the awkward, painful kind of silence that say two middle school sweethearts would experience at a secret, last-minute first date as one or other try to make the first move. It was peculiar kind that was quite comforting.

Lucy tugged Bradleyʼs sleeve. He turned to her, very much endeared by this gesture.

“Wanna take a walk?ˮ She suggested.

“Might as well,ˮ he agreed. “Phoenix is an adrenaline junkie, sheʼs gonna try a couple of those kind of rides before sheʼs done.ˮ

“I feel bad leaving Sam,ˮ she frowned. “Heʼs terrified of dives, let alone those rides.ˮ

“I donʼt,ˮ Bradley kidded. “I get you all to myself.ˮ Lucy chuckled.

“Iʼm afraid I donʼt have a lot to offer with my companionship, Lieutenant, but I think those girls do.ˮ She cocked her head towards a herd of girls giggling in Bradleyʼs direction as they stared at him with glinting eyes.

“I gotta say,ˮ Bradley drawled. “Iʼm a bit offended that you think of me that way.ˮ

“How so?ˮ Lucy challenged with a smile.

“I think I can tell for myself the sort of woman I find interesting, little lady.ˮ

“And you happen to find me interesting?ˮ Lucy laughed.

“Very much so.ˮ

They stopped at a saltwater taffy stall as they began to cross the boardwalk. It was by far the grandest saltwater taffy stall on the Pier, decorated with exuberant colors and classy old-time fonts. The vendor was a short, Asian man in what appears to be his 50s, with smile lines and youthful eyes. His skin was the color of chocolate milk and his eyes were piercingly gray.

“Hello Manong,ˮ Lucy grinned at him.

The old manʼs eyes did not shift, but his lips broke into a great smile.

“Lucy!ˮ He exclaimed in a coarse voice. “How are you? Where have you been, silly girl?ˮ His English was perfectly American, but it did betray some intonations of his own mother tongue. Bradley watched as Lucy reached out her palm to his and pressed his knuckle against her forehead.

“Iʼve been well,ˮ she smiled. “I just arrived home today. Where is Victor? Have you been here all day?ˮ

“Now donʼt you worry sweet girl, I just came here for a short shift. Victor is at the hospital with Sherry. I think theyʼre going to have their third kid. His sisterʼs gonna pick me up in an hour.ˮ

“Itʼs the third one already?ˮ

“I know, Iʼm getting old!ˮ He raised his hands laughing as he proceeded to pack a bag for Lucy, working skillful behind the counter. “Youʼll have the usual one, yes? Now whatʼll your friend be having?ˮ

Bradley without having uttered a single word yet, stared at him. “Well, young man?ˮ

“Iʼll have the caramel swirls with raspberries please,ˮ Bradley replied. The old man chuckled as he got to work.

“This your girl?ˮ

“Manong!ˮ Lucy scolded, a blush quickly staining her cheeks.

“I tell you now that sheʼs a keeper!ˮ He laughed as he handed them their taffy. Bradley was ready to swipe his card, when the old man shook his head.

“On the house for sweet Lucy and her new friend!ˮ He said cheerily.

“Thank you Manong,ˮ Lucy smiled. “Youʼre a gem!ˮ

The old man waved at them as they walked farther down the boardwalk. Lucy gently opened her taffy, inhaling its delicious strawberry and vanilla fragrance before enjoying a pair of them. Bradley followed suit.

“That man was blind, wasnʼt he?ˮ Bradley asked her. Lucy nodded.

“Itʼs not just because of his age. His eyesight just suddenly began deteriorating,ˮ she explained. “His family is one of the oldest saltwater taffy makers in California. Victor is his eldest, and took over when his vision got worse.ˮ

“Iʼd say that heʼs one of the most clear-sighted people I ever met,ˮ Bradley said.

“I agree,ˮ she chewed on a vanilla taffy and covered her mouth as she spoke. “I didnʼt think he could tell that you were even there, much less a man. But he probably should never drive a plane, donʼt you think?ˮ

“Absolutely not,ˮ Bradley laughed. “But he did prove you wrong.ˮ Lucy gazed at him.

“That you, Lucy Mitchell, are indeed interesting.ˮ

They arrived at the near end of the boardwalk in silence. Lucy leaned against the railing, staring out into the ocean. The shards of rich light from the opalescent sky above glimmered all around them, and Bradley saw them dance in the irises of her eyes. Her tongue poked out from her smooth lips just as he had seen this morning. Her hair, like the sea before them, trembled at the wind. Then her gaze finally met his.

“I would say the same Lieutenant,ˮ she said to him. “If you spoke truthfully.ˮ

Bradley did not speak. There was a seriousness in the way she looked at him. He would wait for his turn.

“I am not a fickle woman or one who is easily flattered,ˮ she whispered. “But your words today meant greatly to me, and I canʼt help but think of your intentions. You say that Iʼm a riptide. That my passion shines through. Then you say that I am unexpectedly easy to talk to, and now you say that Iʼm interesting. But you’ve only just met me…”

“I donʼt want to you to misconstrue my intentions or yours, Lieutenant,ˮ she spoke bravely. “And I donʼt want to get my hopes up. But aside from all the things youʼve learned about me today, there is something else you should now... “

“Iʼm not one for casual relations. If someone must have me, then he must earn me first.ˮ

Lucy had fired the first shot.

At Natʼs insistence, she persuaded Lucy to let Bradley take her home instead of the taffy-manʼs daughter. To be fair, it was not too far from her apartment and the fact that Bradley got seven more minutes with Lucy was a bonus on account of Natʼs wingman game. She gave a thumbs up to Bradley before assisting a nauseated Sam from the backseat of the Bronco. Lucy and Bradley were once more enveloped in silence, but it was not as comfortable as it had been during their day out together.

“Hereʼs me,ˮ Lucy told him, hopping out of the Bronco.

Bradley turned the ignition off and walked her to the gate of her quaint, little apartment complex. Three rusty-colored brick buildings surrounded a small courtyard with flower gardens and a concrete fountain with small koi.

“I guess this is it,ˮ Lucy smiled. “It was nice meeting you, Lieutenant. Thank you for the ride home.ˮ

As she turned towards the gate to unlock it, all Bradley could think about was the shots he was too reluctant to take — both in the air and his life. So in that moment, in the crimson light of dusk, his fingers instinctively bound themselves around her wrist. She looked at him in surprise, her sweet, caramel eyes glowing in the sunset.

“This morning you asked me what I was passionate about,ˮ he told her. “Even if I did have the time to answer, I wouldnʼt have known what to say to you because as much as I love to fly and...play music—I donʼt— I donʼt think thereʼs anything I love like how you love the sea. I havenʼt found it yet. A-Anyways, Iʼm probably talking stupid right now, but all Iʼm trying to say is... do you want to help me find out?ˮ

“What?ˮ Lucy uttered in a small voice, stunned.

Bradley tried breathing, but suddenly found it very hard to with the thunderous beating in his chest.

“Will you, Lucy Mitchell, go on an official date with me?ˮ

Her silence made him quiver. Despite how clear her gaze was, there was no telling of the tumultuous thoughts that ran behind it.

“Is it because you felt bad for me? For what I said at the Pier?ˮ Lucy asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Not at all,ˮ Bradley insisted. “If anything, it just made my intentions for you clearer.ˮ

“I date to marry Lieutenant and I donʼt settle for less,ˮ she told him firmly.

“Is that supposed to scare me?ˮ

Lucy gazed at him considerably before speaking.

“Is this Saturday okay for you?ˮ

“You can have me by tomorrow,ˮ Bradley grinned.

“Wow Lieutenant,ˮ she chuckled. “Donʼt you think this is going a little too fast?ˮ

“Iʼm a pilot,ˮ he smirked. “Iʼm basically supersonic.ˮ

God, he loved the way she hid her giggles behind her dainty fingers.

“Alright then,ˮ Lucy spoke. “Tomorrow at 1400, come pick me up. Weʼll go to Sitaʼs on Newport Avenue at Ocean Beach and go from there.ˮ

“Itʼs a date,ˮ Bradley smiled.

“Goodnight, Lieutenant.ˮ

“Itʼs Bradley, for you.ˮ

“Goodnight, Rooster.ˮ

Bradley laughed again.

“Goodnight, Angel.ˮ

Fun Fact! “Koi no Yokan” is a Japanese saying, which means love at second sight. It is described as a feeling of inevitably falling for someone. Jump to their first date at 02 | Halo-Halos by Beach! DM to be tagged!

#rooster fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster top gun #bradley bradshaw #top gun 1986 #top gun maverick #top gun #top gun fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #top gun maverick fanfiction

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steam-powered-blinders · 4 months ago

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Steam Powered Blinders

Letters to San-Diego

Cw: Angst, accidental misgendering, talk of abandonment.

No one minded them sleeping on the couch in Small Heath, so since a place to live was sorted out, they focussed on trying to get news to the Walters of their whereabouts.

Rabbit, Jon and Spine all wrote letters of their own, sealed and stamped and sent them to America with the address, hoping to reach Pappy or one of his sons by the same name. When two months passed and no answers or return letters appeared, they sent more.

They sent letters by dove, by eagle, more through the mail and even tried to call the Manor, despite not being entirely sure that the number and address Tommy found was correct or not. The Jon even tried to send a message by bottle but they never got any answers. No return letters or calls coming in for them.

Spine gave up after the first six months passed. He didn't think they would get anything back nor that they would get back to America anytime soon. He thought it a waste of paper and time and instead tried to think of anything else he could do instead. He wouldn't stop Jon and Rabbit from sending the letters, but he just didn't have the emotional will to continue on that fruitless endeavour himself.

The Jon sent letters every week, having Polly or Tommy spellcheck them beforehand, even though they both admitted to not having finished school. It was fine, he didn't mind. They were willing to check and help him when h struggled with a word and the Spine wasn't around to help.

Since the letters weren't coming back and the birds returned without letters attached to them, it was safe to assume that the letters did in fact get delivered but then why weren't they getting replies or even just something to tell them they'd be going home and it would be sorted?

The Jon went as far as sending a couple letters through the river lines or riding with the boats along the rivers until they reached the sea and then throwing the bottles with letters as far into the waves as he could. The men driving the boats would give him a sympathetic look but they never stopped him or said anything against it. They seemed to enjoy his company though, so he was at least happy to be able to make them happy.

After the first year and a half, Jon had a thorough breakdown in Tommy's room one night and hadn't sent a letter since. He felt abandoned and used and sick to his nonexistent stomach that they would just be thrown away like this. Instead, he did as the Spine did and tried to find a job or something to keep himself busy, just to take his mind off it. Soon enough, he forgot he ever tried to write letters home, acclimating and enjoying life in Birmingham.

Rabbit held on the longest. She wrote for three years, every week, and sent the letters through every means possible to her. It broke her heart when Spine gave up, claimed he was just a downer and a dummins and gave up too easily. She kept writing and always added something in her letters back home about how the Spine was doing since he wasn't sending letters anymore.

Then the Jon gave up on sending letters and the breakdown before his decision had shaken the whole house in Small Heath. Several of the humans and both she and Spine came to see what was the matter. The Shelby family at least had enough sympathy to help them console the Jon into the early morning hours until he involuntarily went into a fitful stasis. The Spine had easily moved him to the couch and helped out extra the next day to make up for it.

She had to keep writing, now including a couple sentences about how the Jon was faring and how many friends he continues to make day in and day out. Sometimes she let's Polly or the Spine spellcheck her, but Polly gives her this dreadful face, full of pity, every time she writes, so she stops asking. She's gotten into many arguments with the Spine over the letters, until she eventually doesn't let him read them anymore either.

They were both dummins for giving up. So what if it's taking Pappy a bit of time to reply to them? He's just making a plan to make sure they get back safely. Yeah! That was it! Maybe he's so busy with his plan that he forgets to write them back and Miss Tonia, Ma, couldn't get him to sit still long enough to write back.

So she keeps writing and writing and writing, until she's repeating things in her letters and she's spending almost as much money on paper and ink as the betting shop is, but she can't stop because if she stops she'll have to admit some heavy things to herself that she can't even bare to think of for a split second, let alone accept.

It all comes to a head one day, three years, seven weeks and three days, into writing the letters to San-Diego. She's writing to Pappy about how she's worried about the Spine because he's getting very close with the Shelby clan and their dealings. He's even gone as far as trading his usual hat for a peaked cap that Tommy gave him, razorblade sewn into the seam and everything.

The Spine walked into the living room and sat down heavily on the old couch. She can tell he'd made a trip to one of the car factories because he brings the smell of oil and welding with him. He lets out a heavy sigh of steam and won't look anywhere other than the hearth, ablaze and warm in the bleak midwinter. No one else is home.

"Rabbit," The Spine's voice is tired, exasperated in a way she's only heard him address the soldiers before. "When are you going to stop with the letters?" He has to ask, because of course he does.

"I won't stop until Pappy comes and gets us and we're back home," She says, determined, brows furrowed as she tries to figure out how to spell a particularly difficult word. There's a shift behind her, Spine getting up from the couch. He walks over to her, reads the letter over her shoulder.

There's a gentle hand placed on top of her own copper hand, Spine's silver design contrasting her own in the way it always did, a small attempt at comfort for the words she knows he's about to say. "Rabbit, I think it's time you stopped the letters and face the facts," his voice is gentle, but it riles something up in her core, something angry and in pain.

She gets to her feet, fast and more coordinated than usual. The pen and letter thrown to the side on the coffee table. "Yeah! Give up like YOU and Jon did! Pappy is coming for us! He'd never abandon us in an unknown place with unknown people!" She's outright screaming now, so much so that she doesn't hear the door to the betting shop opening up. Spine heard it though.

"He already abandoned us! Three years ago! Face it, Rabbit, Pappy isn't coming! HE DOESN'T WANT US BACK!" Spine realises a moment later what he's just uttered into the world. It's so quiet you could hear a pin drop from a mile away. Rabbit is shaking, rattling her mechanical bones. His words just broke her heart, and the last of her resolve with it.

An oily tear drops deafeningly loud onto the carpet and he's about to go over and hug her, apologise and try to undo the damage he'd just caused. He gets a step from his position before Tommy, Arthur, John and Jeremiah run past the door, slamming the front door open. Arthur throws a passing, "Finn's in danger!" And that's all it takes for the Spine to be right on their heels and out the door, leaving his sister to wallow in her broken heart.

Polly had watched the three automatons closely from the start, heart aching when she realised just how childlike they act sometimes and just how much hope they still had in the world and humanity.

She'd seen Spine's realism crack into his resolve and stop him from having the hope his siblings still held. She'd seen Jon cracking and then imploding when his youthful resolve finally cracked and he accepted the situation. She hadn't thought she'd see Rabbit give up.

But she was the first one to return to the house once she knew Finn was safe, only to see Rabbit standing by the fire, burning his latest letter with oily tears dripping down his face and staining his clothes and the carpet by his feet, the occasional drop splashing into the hearth and making it flare.

She'd pulled Rabbit against her, ignoring that he was taller than her and that he'd get oil on her clothes, and Rabbit had come willingly, holding onto Polly tightly as he sobbed like a child that had seen death for the first time. Rabbit's knees had buckled at some point and ended up kneeling on the floor, holding onto Polly's skirts and weeping like a broken record until stasis forcefully took him under.

Polly doesn't know what happened to make Rabbit break, but she did know that Rabbit and Spine didn't talk to each other for two months after that despite being almost attached at the hip beforehand. She hopes for them to make up with each other soon because it was starting to strain Jon.

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addictedtostorytelling · 9 months ago

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Hi aj! Ive been rewatching gsr moments from csi Vegas and it just got me thinking about grissom and sara’s current relationships with the old members of the team. Brass is obviously there (love sara basically scolding him for not telling them about his condition in the beginning of the season) and they mention catherine often enough. There’s the fact that grissom and sara apparently are in california most of the time now, so it makes me wonder if they see nick now and then. And then there’s greg who I’ve always thought of as sara’s closest friend besides grissom. What do you think of their status now given that the show hasn’t really given us much?

hi, anon!

since the show doesn't really give us much information to go on besides the few implications that you mention, this issue is a matter of headcanon.

and i'll be honest with you: i don't really have a headcanon on this one.

the main reason why i don't is because the whole "grissom and sara ride off on a boat" ending is one that only comes about as a result the s13 divorce storyline, and the s13 divorce storyline is one i completely ignore in my own imaginings of the show, so i just haven't spent a lot of time thinking about the everyday ins-and-outs of the nautical lifestyle for grissom and sara.

i prefer to devote my brainpower to thinking up an au where the divorce never happened.

however, the other reason why i don't have a headcanon on this issue is because i don't really think the scenario lends itself to a happy outcome where "continued team contact" is concerned.

the reboot didn't actually specify that grissom and sara spend a lot of time in california—that's just where they happened to be at the time when they got called in on the hodges case.

while they may occasionally dock there, the impression i got was that they more often tend to move around, following the animals they're researching (like the jellyfish sara sends grissom to collect off the coast of panama in csi: vegas episode 01x01 "legacy").

and if it is the case that grissom and sara are truly "science nomads of the sea," then chances are they don't actually have a ton of contact with their friends.

the maximum distance for ship-to-shore calls is about 15-25 miles from shore, and cell service and wifi out at sea is often of poor quality/unreliable/prohibitively expensive, which means that unless they are close to the coast and/or in port, grissom and sara's options for making contact with their friends/family are likely fairly limited.

then, even when they are close to the coast and/or in port, logistics such as time zone differences, roaming charges, and the unpredictability of their travel schedule could further interfere with their communication with their old teammates.

it might be difficult for them to fit in more than a few facetime calls a year or an email or two every few months.

while nick lives in a coastal city (san diego) and might therefore be able to more easily meet up with grissom and sara when they sail his way, brass and presumably catherine are landlocked while living in vegas, as is greg living in chicago, so they might only very rarely get to catch up with grissom and sara in person.

personally, i don't much like the idea that the found family the team built during their 9+ years of working together completely dissolves once they all no longer are employed at the lab; however, any scenario where grissom and sara spend the majority of their time living on the open ocean seems to point toward that outcome.

hence, i just don't spend much time thinking in that direction.

i stay in my little au world, where team graveyard stays close for life, even after they start to move in different professional directions.

so.

all of the above said, if i have to bend my brain around the scenario canon presents us with, then i'm going to be stubborn about it.

and unrealistic.

i think sara—who already lost her bio family and isn't about to lose her found one, too—absolutely refuses to fall out of contact with catherine, nick, greg, and brass, seagoing lifestyle be damned.

she puts in the work and makes sure grissom does, too.

every time she and grissom dock somewhere, she's sending postcards and letters from both her and grissom by snail mail, firing off emails, making arrangements for phone calls—which she will stay up until ungodly hours to facilitate (depending on time zones).

she also arranges things so that she and grissom are in san diego no fewer than four times a year to see nick, and if she ever gets word that catherine or greg is attending a conference anywhere within 100 miles of a coastline, then she makes that place the ishmael's next port of call.

at least once a year—usually while the boat is being maintenanced—she and grissom make a trek inland. go on a "grand tour" for a couple of weeks at a time, visiting brass and catherine in vegas and greg in chicago, putting in quality "family time" while also running their "land errands" (like getting their driver's licenses and passports renewed, having their annual physicals and dental appointments, in her case completing continuing csi education certification courses, etc.).

she also will go out of her way to attend big events in her friends' lives—like when nick wins some big award from the city of san diego, she and grissom are there, front row, at the ceremony, cheering him on; and when greg graduates from his phd program, they show up to see him walk.

while grissom would perhaps be more naturally inclined to just let socialization fall by the wayside, she encourages him to make time to zoom with catherine and even—if you can believe it—keep up his correspondence with heather, and he (ultimately) is grateful that she does, because even though he tends toward reclusiveness, he does still love his people and realizes that staying in contact with them makes his life richer.

anyway.

it's not very realistic, given the actual logistics of their life, and neither is it very well thought-out, as, like i said, i don't spend a lot of time mentally inhabiting the post-s8 canon story world, but that's what i've got.

thanks for the question! please feel welcome to send another any time.

#answered #anon #asks: csi #**#my meta #meta: csi #my headcanons #let's talk shop #csiverse

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cruisepartyinsandiego · 1 year ago

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#boat rides in san diego

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sdwhalewatch-blog · 1 year ago

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For those seeking a more exclusive and personalized experience, boat rides in san diego are a true indulgence. Imagine embarking on a luxurious vessel with a small group of friends or family, accompanied by expert naturalists dedicated to providing a tailored adventure.

#boat rides in san diego

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ereardon · 2 months ago

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Before I Knew [Jake Seresin x Reader] Chapter Eighteen

A Jake Seresin unexpected pregnancy fic

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader; Bob Floyd x Sister!Reader

Warnings: Pregnancy, cursing, eventual smut, angst

Chapter summary: The truth about Jake and Bob's feud comes to light

WC: 1.6K

Masterlist here; previous chapter here

The day it happened, the sky was blue. Not light or foggy blue, the kind that bleeds into white. Not dark blue like midnights, or a storm on the horizon.

It was crisp, perfect blue. The kind your memory associates with summer beach trips and perfect picnic days and the way the sky felt the day school let out at the end of the year and the kids rushed outside in a flurry of old papers and discarded textbooks. The kind of blue that felt like freedom.

It was blue that day. Bob felt it in his bones. Jake did, too. There was something almost calming about how blue it was. How accessible.

And then the call came in.

The sound of the jets was loud. The wind as it whipped on their faces as they sprinted across the deck of the carrier was harsh and hot. Suddenly, the blue sky felt like an omen.

Jake hopped into the single seat of his jet, checking the sensors, nodding at the attendant who wheeled away the ladder.

Bob climbed into the seat behind Dakota. The two of them had been partners for years. He was the godfather to her son, Blake. They had been friends in flight school, neighbors for a while at Lemoore. He taught Blake how to ride a bike.

They strapped in. The air buzzed around them. Bob found himself holding his breath as they climbed into the sky. Into the blue. That’s the funny thing about the sky. Once you’re up there, it’s transparent. You find yourself always reaching for something just out of your grip.

The fight was hard, but fast. Guns blazing, enough loops that Bob felt his stomach lurch into his throat more than once. But then the smoke cleared and the radios were silent.

They were safe.

Dakota looked around one more time in the open air. There was something practically fizzing on her tongue, she couldn’t put her finger on it, but it was there. A feeling. A trepidation.

And then Jake’s voice, haggard over the radio. “Dakota, five o’clock!”

She whipped the jet just in time to dodge a bullet that pinged off the wing, leaving a burn across the metal. Bob felt his heart start to race. Suddenly, there was a firestorm of bullets. But everyone had already descended, back to the carrier. It was only Bob and Dakota’s plane, and Jake’s, left. The two of them fought off the best they could. And then the gun clip went dry.

“Jake, we need fire,” Dakota cried, looking over her shoulder. “They’re coming!”

“I–, I–,” Jake stuttered over the comms.

“Hangman!” Dakota’s voice was sharp. “Hangman, where the fuck are you? We need cover!”

There was a moment of dead silence in the air. Just Bob and Dakota waiting for a response, watching the streams of light from bullets pierce the air around them.

“Eject, eject!” Jake’s voice was frantic. “Eject!”

Dakota grabbed the handle beneath her seat. “You heard him, Bob. Eject!”

Bob grabbed his lever, tugging it hard, feeling his seat throttle into the air. His eyes were squeezed shut. As he came to, he was floating, parachute gliding him down toward the water.

And as he swam, ditching the parachute, paddling for his life, he watched as another body floated down, twenty yards away. He paddled, fast, but he already knew. He could see it in the way she fell.

He was too late. He had been too late the moment he pressed eject. Her head was bloody from the impact, her blue eyes closed tightly, mouth slightly ajar. Bob held her in his arms, even as they fished the two of them out of the water. He tugged, hard, on her limbs as they pried her body away.

Jake stood on the outer ring that had formed around them, sweat dripping down his face. Bob sat with his head in his hands for a moment, before looking up and making eye contact with Jake.

Despite Bob’s smaller stature, he grabbed Jake’s collar as Bradley dove for the two of them, but Natasha stopped him. “You fucking coward,” Bob seethed. “You could have covered us, but you wanted to escape unharmed. She’s dead because of you. Her son has no mother because of you.”

“Floyd, I–”

“You killed her,” Bob repeated, loudly for all to hear. Jake’s face went white. “You fucking killed her.”

***

You stood with your hands on your hips, squinting. “I think it’s crooked.”

Jake groaned from where he sat on the floor, dutifully building the dresser that would house the baby’s changing table. “Honey, trust me when I say it’s not.”

“Our daughter is going to roll off that shit like Humpty Dumpty.”

“Let’s hope she doesn’t have a huge head.”

“Your head is enormous.”

“Hey!”

“Am I interrupting?” Bradley poked his head in the room.

“Yes, you are,” Jake replied, “and good timing. Y/N was just reaming me out about my big head.”

“I mean, it’s huge,” Natasha said, striding in with a basket of baby clothes in her arms along with a bag of tiny hangers.

“I’m sorry, does everyone think this?”

The three of you nodded in unison and Jake rolled his eyes. “Where’s Bobby?” you asked.

Bradley frowned. “He’s, um, busy.”

“Busy?” You grabbed your phone out of your pocket. “Excuse me.”

You brushed past the others, dialing Bob’s number as you entered the living room.

“Ducky?”

“Where are you?” you asked. “We all agreed to setting up the nursery and then Jake and I wanted to take you guys out for dinner.”

“I, um, sorry I forgot.”

“Well come over now,” you replied.

“Y/N, I just don’t feel like seeing Jake tonight, OK?”

“No, not OK,” you said, placing one hand on your enormous stomach. “I’m having this baby in less than two months, Bobby. And I refuse to bring her into a world where her uncle and her dad hate each other. So get your ass over here before I scream.”

He paused. You tapped your foot impatiently. Then, “I’ll meet you at the restaurant.”

“Fine,” you said through gritted teeth, hitting the phone’s red button and forcing it back into your pocket. Back in the nursery, Jake looked up, his face scanning yours quickly.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing.” You shook your head. “Let’s go to dinner? Bobby is meeting us there.”

A shadow passed across Jake’s face. Or was it nausea? You couldn’t tell, because it was gone in an instant.

At the restaurant, Jake held your hand beneath the table, his thumb stroking the soft part of your palm as you twirled a bite of pasta around your fork. All the while, your gaze fell on Bob, who had his eyes trained on his plate. When he did look up, there was a sadness, an ache, in his features. You couldn’t place it.

When he left for the bathroom, you excused yourself, waiting outside in the narrow hallway until he crossed through the door and almost slammed into your stomach. Immediately, his hands shot out, guarding you. “Ducky! Jesus, what are you doing lurking in the dark?”

“What’s wrong?” you demanded.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t give me that,” you said sharply. “I know you and I know something is wrong. What is it?”

“It’s nothing,” he said. “Let it go.”

“Did Sena dump you?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“Y/N.” His blue eyes flared. “Don’t test me. Not today.”

“Why? What’s today?”

“What’s going on?” Jake stood with his arms crossed over his chest. “Y/N? Are you OK?”

“She’s fine,” Bob bit back.

“Bobby,” you warned. “Stop.”

“You want to know why today?” he asked. You nodded. He tilted his head toward Jake. “Ask him.”

Your gaze went to Jake, who turned pale.

“Floyd, maybe we should do this somewhere else.”

“I think it’s time she heard,” Bob said. “Tell her, Seresin.”

You frowned. “Jake?”

“Three years ago,” Jake said quietly, “there was an accident.”

“It wasn’t an accident,” Bob spat. “You froze. You chose yourself over us.”

“I chose YOU” Jake bellowed and you stepped back, alarmed. His green eyes, normally so calm, flamed wide. “I fucking sacrificed myself for you, Floyd. You and Dakota. And what did I get? You hating me for the rest of my life. I couldn’t save her, Bob. Neither of us could. She hit her head on the way down. It wasn’t my fault and it wasn’t yours. So can you stop blaming me for making her eject? It was protocol. It was what we were supposed to do.” His breath was getting ragged. You reached out for his arm but he yanked it away, practically buzzing with anger. “I took it. All of your anger. All of the hate. All of the pain. I took it because I was her wingman and I let her down. I couldn’t protect her up there. But I never fucking forgot about it. Not a single day goes by when I don’t regret that I froze up there.”

Tears tingled in the corner of your eyes. Bob’s mouth was wide, but no sound came out. Jake’s face was red, stretched in angry tears. You wanted to reach out for him, but it was clear: he didn’t want you.

“You hate me for what happened,” Jake whispered. “And I know you hate that I’m the one your sister is having a baby with. But you know what, Bob? Sometimes I hate myself too.”

Then he turned on his heel and strode away.

Please follow my library page @ereardonlibrary as that will largely serve as my tag list. Anyone I previous promised to tag is here:

@blue-aconite @bobfloydsbabe @bobfloydssunnies @withahappyrefrain @djs8891 @clancycucumber230 @xomrsalliej4787xo @xoxabs88xox @myfaveficrecs @spinning-away

@gigisimsonmars @shanimallina87 @mycobrakai1972 @sio-ina-bottle @joaquinwhorres @justanothermagicalsara @je-suis-prest-rachel

@rosiahills22 @buckysteveloki-me @kmc1989 @eloquentdreamer @mjisbby @seresinslady @seresinhangmanjake @blackwidownat2814 @bbyvanessaa @mrsjobarnes @midnightmagpiemama @ingoaliesitrust @rockbottomphilosophies-blog @iangiemae @boiolay @sometimesanalice @na-ta-sh-aa @bobfloydsbabe @kmc1989 @rosiahills22 @palepeanutponyshoe @onceupona-happilyeverafter-love @mel119g @daggerspare-standingby @grxcisxhy-wp @mrsjobarnes @csmt-m @rockbottompunk-blog @joaquinwhorres

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