#and ice again is like his name is pete?

[bode-leone]

jake gets bullied in school because his name is maverick and then gets to the navy and is like. boy i sure hope no one hates me for my name! and then gets bowled over by stories of maverick senior and he's like. what a cool dude im gonna be like him. the navy doesnt realise it organically created two mavericks. except one is worse than the other because maverick senior solved his daddy issues but maverick junior is like "fuck my dad! fuck my dad! he's an asshole!!!!!" and then mav senior reads the files on the pilots he has and is just ....oh shit! when he sees jake's file

[craziechwiv]

Jnpr Berries Small shorts.

Ruby: Hey Jaune, wanna have a movie night?

Jaune: Sorry Ruby, it's a very important night for my team. We can do movie night tomorrow though!

Ruby: Oh...okay. May I ask, what's so important about tonight though?

Jaune: Well, we sorta like to just be by ourselves.

Cut to tonight, with Jaune, Pyrrha, Nora, and Ren all cuddling up with each other on their couch, a giant blanket covering them all as they watched Pumpkin Pete cartoons.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Weiss: Pyrrha! I've been meaning to talk to you about something.

Pyrrha: Not her again...Uh, y-yes. Hello Weiss, what is it you need to discuss?

Weiss: You...you remembered my name?!

Pyrrha: We literally see each other every day...and you say your name so proudly...kind of hard not to. What did you need again?

Weiss: O-Oh right, I was wondering if you'd like to study with me?

Pyrrha: Oh, sorry Weiss. I gotta help Jaune and Nora study...their grades are just, the worst right now.

Weiss: Oh...I see. I'm sorry you have to deal with those two, but I understand. I can't expect nothing less of the champion herself helping out those in need!

Pyrrha: Yep...thank you!

Pyrrha begins to walk off and wave at Weiss before turning the corner and breathing heavily over the lie she told the Ice Queen. After which, she calls Ren.

Ren: Hello?

Pyrrha: Hey, sorry. I got held up, we still having our quadruple date?

Ren: Yeah, Nora and Jaune both are ordering though, so hurry up.

Pyrrha: I'll be there in a bit!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blake approaches Ren who was meditating on a slone mat in the gym.

Blake: Excuse me, Ren?

Ren: Hm?

Blake: Mind if I borrow your time for a second? I wanna try this yoga thing to try and ease my mind a bit.

Ren: Sorry, but I'm trying to think peaceful thoughts at the moment and need some alone time. If you want to try this out, do it by yourself. It works well like that.

Blake: Oh, okay. Thanks for the tip, sorry for interrupting you.

Ren: No worries, I'm just thinking of peaceful thoughts...

Ren breathed slowly as his mind was filled with thoughts of Jaune's exposed muscles, Nora's tightly packed thighs, and Pyrrha's sweaty abs.

Ren: Very, peaceful and enjoyable thoughts~...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yang: Hey hey, energizer! Mind if I spar with you real quick?

Nora: Wha- Right now?! Sorry Yang, but I really need to get somewhere, and I can't be held back!

As Nora began to make her way towards the entrance of the gym, Yang blocks her way as she held up her fists.

Yang: Uh, yeah no. At least try to get past me, then you can go~. So me what you got short-iEEEEEE?!

Nora picks up Yang and does a suplex on Yang, slamming her hard onto the ground as she began to run out the gym screaming.

Nora: I MUST BE THERE FOR ICE CREAM DAY! I CAN'T LET REN AND JAUNE SMEAR ICE CREAM PYRRHA'S ABS WITHOUT ME!

Yang: ...wha...what just happened?

[artssslut2]

Pregnant With Patrick’s Baby: Head-cons

Patrick does not get enough fluff

- You and Patrick were pretty young when you got pregnant

- You weren’t on birth control because you didn’t like how it made you feel, usually Patrick used a condom. But this time was different.

- “Let’s not use it.”

- “Pat cmon”

- “No I mean it, let’s just see what happens. I love you.”

- “We’re young Patrick” you reminded him

- “There aren’t any rules my love. I want a baby with you I’m serious.” He told you. You didn’t know what came over you but you agreed. And low and behold a few weeks later you found out that you were pregnant.

- Patrick was over the moon. He had never loved anyone like he loved you, and now you had created another person together. You were nervous but just as happy as he was.

- Patrick wasn’t naturally a very caring person. This all changed when he saw you go through morning sickness. He was there every morning with you through it all.

- Patrick told everyone right away. You had never seen him so happy. He would bring it up every chance he got, in interviews, with friends, on social media. He wanted everyone to know.

- You had never seen Patrick as emotion as he was the day he saw the ultrasound for the first time.

- “Jesus what are you doing to me.” He cried into your arms from peer joy.

- “I never knew you were such a softie” you teased

- Patrick was on a winning streak since you became pregnant. He wanted to make his little family proud.

- Patrick would drop anything and everything the second you needed something. Even if it was something stupid like ice cream.

- He couldn’t take his hands off of your bump. He loved feeling his baby kick and squirm around inside of you. He would talk to it all the time too.

- If you couldn’t sleep he would stay up too. He would bring you your favorite foods and talk to the baby to get it to calm down.

- You both decided to wait and be surprised with the gender of the baby. Although you were both 99% sure it was a boy. Patrick even referred to the baby as a him. You told him not to just in case but he was positive.

- Patrick picked out the name “Sam” after his favorite tennis player Pete Sampras. With the middle name Arthur after his best friend. You agreed because you just couldn’t say no to this man.

- Patrick got so many baby tennis things, like a mini Racket and net. Little tennis shoes and a sweatband, it was adorable.

- It seemed like your baby was kicking nonstop. Patrick would always say “he’s just practicing his footwork”

- When the day finally came and you went into labor he was ready. He had the bag in the car for weeks now. He wasn’t panicked at all like you thought he’d be. Then again he never panicked about anything.

- This man was by your side through it all. Got you ice chips, walked around with you, let you crush his hands. The doctors made you bounce on a yoga ball to move things along. You did not want to, you were tired and felt stupid. Patrick asked them to bring another one in and bounced with you the whole time.

- The labor had taken a very long time, you told Patrick to try and get some sleep. He refused, he was going to stay up with you for as long as it took.

- When the baby was born, to everyone’s surprise it was a little girl. A tiny little girl with Patrick’s big round ears that seemed bigger than her. It was adorable.

- Patrick was in shock. He had a daughter and not a son. You tried getting his attention but he seemed to be in a trance. You were worried he was upset that it wasn’t a boy.

- “Babe? Are you upset?” You asked with a crying baby on your chest,

- “What? How could I be upset? We have a little girl.” He said with a tear coming from his eye. You sighed with relief as Patrick wrapped his arms carefully around you.

- Patrick didn’t want to ever let go of his baby girl. The sight of him doing skin on skin with the newborn was precious.

- “We could still name her Sam you know.” You told him while sitting next to him on the hospital bed. He looked down at her in his arms.

- “No, she should have a different one that’s just for her.” He decided kissing her tiny head.

- He still wanted to name her after a tennis player. So he suggested “Billie” after Billie Jean King. The name fit right away. It felt right when you looked at her and said “Billie”. you were in love with your little family

- And patrick definitely nailed the hot dad walk out of the hospital.

[romcomxb]

What if Mav didn’t get custody of bradley?

Maybe Goose and Carole never got around to officially naming Pete as Bradley’s godfather. and by the time Carole knew she was dying, it was too late. Maybe her death was so sudden none of them had a second to think about it until she was already gone. Basically there was no legally binding documents saying that Mav was the next in line to be Bradley’s carer.

But when Carole did die, and Mav applied for adoption almost immediately, he was deemed as an unfit carer, on account of him moving for work all the time. And of course he couldn’t say that Ice would be there to look after him as well because of DADT.

So Bradley was fostered by another family, just until Mav was able to settle down and prove he was able to look after a kid. Or that’s what he thought.

For the first few months it was okay, Mav was allowed to visit Bradley whenever, and the new foster family were okay with that. Until one day, bradley mentioned his godfathers boyfriend (Ice), and the family freaked.

They told Mav he wasn’t allowed to come by anymore, or they’d get a restraining order on him, go the authorities or something like that. They also quickly began the official adoption process of Bradley. Telling themselves that ‘there was still time to “fix” the kid, make him unlearn the homosexual tendencies he must have picked up from Maverick and Ice.’

Mav was devestated, understandably, as he couldn’t even say goodbye to Bradley. The family told baby Rooster that Mav was glad to get rid of him. That he had told them that he never wanted to see Bradley again. This kinda fucked the kid up, doubling his already present trust issues. First his dad, then his mum, and then the man that he had begun to think of as his second dad.

As soon as the adoption reports went through, the family moved across the country, just to be safe, and Bradley grew up with them.

Over the years he ended up with a shit tonne of internalised homophobia, and transphobia if that’s how u head canon him.

Anyway, after a few years Bradley began to stop thinking about his ‘old’ family so much, and grew up with his ‘new’ one. Maybe they turned out to be kinda abusive, or toxic, or Bradley could just never really connect with them.

The one thing he could vividly remember was his dads love of planes (whether it was Goose that he was thinking of or Mav, it’s unsure, maybe a mix of both). How he would talk about flying with that twinkle of wonder in his eye. So Bradley became a navy pilot, following in the footsteps of his dads. He cut contact from his adoptive parents and progressed rapidly in the ranks.

Bradley got with Jake at one point, after doing A LOT of self discovery, but ultimately broke up with the texan, as a self defence mechanism he had put up after Mav ‘ditched’ him. Another part of the breakup was his still present internalised homophobia.

But basically, Bradley got into top gun and everything, and ended up at the events of TGM as usual. but imagine how much deeper the angst would be between him and Mav, and the misscomunication and oh so much toxic masculinity and them refusing to talk about their feelings.

uhm yeah hope you enjoyed yet another fic idea that i’ll never write :]

[mitchellpete]

Dating Maverick (Headcanons)

summary: What dating Mav is like. (In ‘86 and in TG:M)

pairing: pete “maverick” mitchell x gn!reader

genre: fluff, a bit of angst

word count: 1278

A/N: if anybody wants a drabble/one-shot or for me to expand on any one of these (or if you wanna just talk about or exchange hcs), drop me an inbox! 

-

1986 (and a few years after-ish)

Maverick is a very gentle lover. It didn’t seem so at first, with how cocky and flirty he might’ve been to catch your attention, but after the second date? So vulnerable and soft with you.

He can sing! Like actually super well. You noticed one day and now you ask him to sing when you can’t sleep. He was kind of self-conscious at first, used to singing with Goose in a playful, rowdy manner, as opposed to softly to you. He grew more comfortable as time passed, and now he likes to sing you his mother’s favorite songs.

But also gets incredibly obnoxious sometimes and will loudly impersonate Elvis while you’re trying to get something done.

Spontaneous road trips on his motorcycle (when he’s able). Dinner in Oceanside. Lunch in Palm Springs. A pick up in Vegas. A day in Phoenix. When? Now! Now?!

Knows the Southwest like the back of his hand, actually. It’s not as fun as flying, but driving through the wide, open stretch of desert with you clinging behind him is one of his absolute favorite pastimes.

Is from somewhere in the Southwest, therefore he absolutely hates the cold. Will have the heater on in the winter time and is not opposed to getting wrapped up in blankets by you. You tease him on how easily cold he gets, and he’ll playfully go “Whatever.”

You frequently find random candid photos of you. Taped to his wall, to his fridge, suddenly framed on his bedside table. He almost never mentions them until you laugh and point them out, to which he responds, “I thought you looked pretty there.” (With a shit-eating grin.)

Definitely has one in his F-14, by the way.

Is very stubborn about his attire. Very insistent on dressing like a cowboy at all times. You had to buy him his first pair of beach shorts.

Loves seeing you in his clothes; he’s crazy about it, actually.

Very cute lunch dates. He knows the best diners.

He likes taking you out for ice cream. Sometimes you share a cone and watch the sunset and the planes soaring through the sky. 

He’s the best kisser. He prefers soft, sensual kissing and it definitely has its effect on you.

He has a habit of leaving paper planes everywhere. Some with love notes in them, others with funny doodles. Sometimes it’s just both of your names written, a little heart in between. 

He rambles a lot. He’s very, very passionate about flying, and about his plane. Though you might not know what he’s talking about, nodding along with a simple smile and asking him a few questions makes him so happy. “Well, no, you see..” And then he goes on and on again. 

At the same time, Maverick can be difficult sometimes. Especially after Goose. Sometimes he feels he needs to be alone, but don’t take it personally. He appreciates your support, but he’s been conditioned to “suck it up and move on.” It weighs on him to have to try, so expect him to be a bit quieter at times, a bit slower. You can sit around with him as he sulks, your head on his shoulder to let him know you need him, and that he’s loved. That he doesn’t have to isolate.

You get to watch him visibly becoming Bradley’s father figure. 

“Hey, about tomorrow’s date. Can I bring the kid?” 

Melting when he’s got Bradley in his lap in front of you, making airplane noises with a french fry to watch Bradley giggle and clap. Your heart swells at how good he is with him.

“Pete.. You can’t take him to watch that movie; it’s not for kids.” His signature grin. “Carole won’t mind.”

-

TG:M

Still sings to you. Or, in general, really. He likes to hum while making you breakfast.

He writes all your dates on his calendar. 

He’s very playful with you. Likes making you double over in laughter because it usually results in you wrapping your arms around him and kissing him.

But he also enjoys when you tease him. Tell him there’s something he can’t do as well as he used to and boy, he will prove you wrong. He insists he’s getting better with age.

He’s still as flirty as ever. Except, you’re already dating, so he does it to watch how flustered you get. He loves making you blush.

He likes pet names. Sweetheart and honey are the ones he calls you the most.

He still does not like proper beach attire. Will roll up his jeans and call it a day.

He loves beach days with you, though. He likes laying back on the sand and watching you sunbathe, or play in the water.

You’re almost scared of phone calls now, with the way you’ve been called and informed of the accidents he’s been in while testing his planes. Though most are minor, you can’t help but worry that the next one might not be.

You’ve cried to him a couple times, making him promise he’ll be careful.

He’s a bigger cuddler at his older age, with the habit of pulling you from where you stand, from whatever you’re doing, and tugging you into bed with him.

He likes it when you play with his hair. It’ll lull him to sleep sometimes. Especially when you gently massage at his scalp, and bonus if you’re giving him kisses too. The fastest way to get him asleep, truly.

Alternatively, he also likes playing with yours. He’ll randomly twirl a strand when you’re in front of him, will tuck another behind your ear, will softly intertwine his fingers in it while you lay on him. 

When he’s able, sleeping in together. As often as he can. 

He notices you so well. If something is bothering you, he’ll make sure to find out what it is. He’s also a very good problem solver (duh, but with mundane things too). You feel like he deals with a lot, so you don’t always take every single one of your problems to him, but boy, when he figures out something is wrong? Expect him to walk you through the simplest of things if that’s what you need. He has an unbelievable amount of patience with you. And if it’s something he can’t help with, he’ll at least want to be there with you as you deal with it. He can be the best listener if you need him to be.

Is a lot more domestic and able to settle down. Likes the idea of having a “home” with you. (Not that he didn’t when he was younger, but he feels more grounded now. More grown up. Able to breathe a bit better.)

He makes your coffee just the way you like it. If he’s up before you, he always wakes you up with it, and a kiss on the forehead.

The days spent in his hangar. 

Sometimes, in the summer, a late night thunderstorm will pass through, and there’s nothing more thrilling than cuddling up to him in the trailer, the both of you giggling at the sound of the rain pattering and the loud cracks of thunder. 

But also the days! Though he’ll be occupied with something, you’re always a mere 10 feet away, reading or sketching or entertaining yourself in whatever way you can. Other times you just watch him work. Other times you ask him to tell you his infamous stories, or about his dad. He’ll have sort of a sad smile as he talks, but you know that he loves talking about the past. You make sure to always make room for it in the tranquility of the desert.

[warping-realities]

Commitment - Part I

"I thought you liked my body."

Peter said with a slightly hurt tone of voice into the phone as he looked at the video of the overly muscular man that took up most of the device screen advertising a personal training studio that had recently opened near his apartment.

"I like you, babe, but it's just that you spend so much time at work and... well... I'll be honest, I've always liked your thin appearance... but in the last few months you've been growing a belly. It's no big deal ...but you know how much dedication I put into my body, just for you. A little reciprocity would be nice. Do this for me baby, I've already scheduled an appointment for you.

" Concluded the voice on the phone, belonging to Julia, Peter's longtime girlfriend. The two met while still in college and he always wondered what a woman with a sculptural physique and a beauty worthy of the catwalks saw in him. Not that he wasn't attractive, with his elegant face and slim body, coupled with the air of class and sophistication that many rich people seem to carry with them without even realizing it. Still, the difference between the two in terms of attraction was huge. Which made many people whisper that she was nothing more than a gold digger. But Peter preferred to turn a deaf ear to those comments because he really loved Julia and wouldn't accept that kind of conversation. In fact, he loved her so much that even against his nature he found himself putting on gym clothes and going to the address indicated in the pamphlet.

Furthermore, Julia knew him very well and had pressed the right button to force him to do what she wanted, appealing to his commitment to their relationship.

Arriving at the indicated location, Peter realized that the studio was a small room with some equipment and thus understood that Julia was thinking about his inhibitions when choosing that place. Despite coming from an influential family and being forced to participate from an early age in the most different social events, he had a real horror of exposing himself.

Therefore, a small studio like that would be the place where he would feel at least a little more comfortable. But perhaps she had purposely ignored another of Peter's horrors: intimidating muscular men, which was precisely the case with the gigantic guy standing with his arms crossed in the center of the room wearing the same shirt and making a pose identical to the one in the ad Peter had seen earlier.

Peter justified to himself that this would be the standard expected of a personal trainer, but that didn't change the feeling of absolute fear that had overcome him the moment he laid eyes on that figure.

The monstrous guy opened a smile that exuded so much self-confidence that it was overflowing with arrogance.

"Hey man, I'm Dan, you must be Pete, right?" The instructor asked as if he were intimate with

Peter and making the mistake that was perhaps the only thing that gave him the courage to speak out, calling him by his diminutive.

"Peter. I'm Peter Wexhan and I like to be called by my name."

"Wow man, I'm sorry. It won't happen again. I just wanted to break the ice since we're going to spend some time together." Dan said without letting his smile falter.

"I-I don't know if we'll go... I just thought about taking a experimental class." Peter replied.

"Nah, you'll see, once the iron bug bites you there won't be any return. So, the girl who arranged the class for you mentioned that the goal is to lose some belly fat, is that it?"

"Julia, the girl's name is Julia. My girlfriend and that's what she would like..."

"But what about you, what would you like? You are my client!" The truth is, Peter would rather be home. But he didn't have the courage to say that for fear of the big man in front of him and of

disappointing his girlfriend.

"I...that's what I want."

"Dude, you need to learn to assert yourself, man. And you know a great way to assert yourself, grow up!" Dan said, flexing his powerful muscles pushing his shirt to the limit, stretching it so much that it became transparent, exposing the glory that was hidden by the thin layer of fabric.

"I... I.." Peter began, not knowing what to say as he looked at that pile of stacked muscles with wide eyes.

"I'm kidding Peter. Who am I to say what you should or shouldn't do? Although I think a real man needs to know how to impose himself, I also think he also needs to know how to please a woman."

Once again, not knowing what to say, Peter preferred to remain silent. Giving Dan space to ask the question he would know was coming.

"So, Peter Wexhan... any relation to Senator Frank Wexhan?"

"Yes, I am his son."

"Wow, one of my first clients will be someone important."

"My father is important, I'm just a regular guy." Peter replied, knowing that as much as he wanted it to be real, it didn't actually match reality. After all, besides his father being a senator, his family was extraordinarily rich and Dan certainly knew that. But demonstrating more professionalism than the interaction between the two up until that moment made it clear that it would be possible, the instructor did not comment anything about it, preferring to continue the class.

"Let me work with you for a while and you will be anything but regular. And the best time to start is now. He responded with a new smile before putting Peter to perform the greatest physical effort of his life up to that point.

While helping him, Dan tried to start a conversation with Peter. He talked about cars, football, parties, all subjects with which the other had no affinity whatsoever.

"What do you mean you don't have a football team? Not even the one from your college?”

"It was never something I was interested in, sorry."

"Stop apologizing for everything man, although really in this case you have to apologize. Just kidding!!! But weren't you at least going to see the cheerleaders?" Dan asked, delving into another delicate subject, women. Julia had been the only woman in Peter's life and he adored her. He saw no reason to look at or even think about other women. So deep was his commitment.

Upon hearing this, Dan just smiled again and corrected Peter's posture, resuming his focus on the exercises. Making the latter amazed at how good the other was at his job and how quickly this was showing. At the end of the session his arms, shoulders and legs are looking slightly bulkier and he can't help but give himself a self admiring look in the mirror at how good looking he was making his opinion of Dan improve a lot. Sure, he was the kind of guy that Peter preferred to stay away from all his life, but now he saw that he could be someone fun and with whom he could interact. So much so that he ended up scheduling a new session for the following day. Saying goodbye to the other man with a hand shake and going home with the impression that in the end all in all, that was a great decision.

Upon arriving at the simple but comfortable apartment he shared with Julia instead of his family's currently uninhabited mansion, he found himself invaded by a hunger he had never felt before. Looting everything he had in the fridge and cupboards, and without taking a shower, he lay in the couch devouring everything he had looted while flipping through one channel after another on the television until finally stopping at a game of university football for his college team, which he began to watch, while he absently massaged his sore muscles, with a feeling of pleasure bordering on sexual. And that's how Julia found him two hours later when she arrived home.

"Hey babe... what's that smell? What's going on?? Peter you stink!"

That was her comment when she saw her boyfriend lying on the sofa in the living room, which at that moment was infected by the pungent smell of masculinity.

"Sorry babe, I got home from the and lost track of time." Peter replied as he smelled his ownarmpits and made a face. "Eww, I really stink."

"Peter, I can't believe you sat all dirty on my couch!"

"My couch, the apartment is mine and I can lie on my sofa and watch football however I want!" He

responded aggressively, scaring his girlfriend and himself in the process."

"Sorry babe, I don't know what came over me, let me take a shower and make up for it. I'll cookyour favorite dish for you."

The rest of the night passed without any major incidents, with the two having dinner and making small talk and ending up in bed where he rewarded Julia with the best fucking she had had in a long time.

To be continued…

[the-froschamethyst4]

My Bike, My Ride

𖤐Pairing: Biker!Ghost x F!Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: smut, language, age gap, harassment, creepy men, drinking, slight unsafe driving, blindfold, kissing/making out, P in V, eating out, biting, pinching, more use of Simon instead of Ghost, aftercare,

𖤐Summary: Biker Ghost comes and saves the night, a creepy old guy hitting on Y/n the bartender all night and then Ghost puts a stop to this guys behavior quickly

————

————

It was close to nightfall, the bar was starting to get packed pretty quickly. The bar was sitting close to the waters edge, and was close to a few Military bases scattered around.

So, it was constantly packed with grown men, women, and some younger males and girls.

Y/n was one of the bartenders that likes working the long shifts, more money and keeps her busy. Y/n leaned on the counter taking an older gentleman's order.

He had asked for a whiskey sour and Y/n made it for him, before moving onto the next person, a young lady asking for a screwdriver. She always gives the customers smiles and she always made good tips.

"What can I get you?" She moved onto a older man, he was always in here.

"You know what I want, baby," he gives her an ugly crooked tooth smile, sending nasty shivers up Y/n's spine.

She knows about this guy, the bar's owner Cleo has warned the bartenders and servers about this man.

The bartenders and servers have a codename for him Pervy Pete, they don't his name, they don't wanna know his real name, so Pervy Pete it was.

"I don't believe I do. I see many faces, sir," Y/n lied, she knew this guy, he always ordered the same thing.

"Voodoo Ranger," he says, with a disgusting smirk.

"Coming right up," she says. Opening the mini fridge under the bar and popping the lid of the can and sliding it towards him.

Then moves onto a different customers.

Y/n was one of the young one of the bartenders still allowed to pass drinks and all, but she got hit on the most by men, but she'd call them out by asking 'how their wives were doing?' or asking 'how many kids do you have again?' making them shut up and all.

She now was cleaning some of the empty glasses and smiled when one of the Naval recruits starting talking about his adventure but was soon cut-off by an older gentleman saying 'that's not true' making half of the bar laugh at the new recruit.

DING

"Welcome in!" Cleo greeted a man walking into the bar, he was wearing a black mask with a skull, he finds an empty seat at the bar, in Y/n's section.

"I'll get with you in a minute, sir," she says, placing down a glass and giving him a menu, she was doing some refills on other patrons drinks.

"Ma'am," Pervy Pete calls, he raises his hand then his beer can, slamming his empty beer can on the bar counter, pushing it towards her very close to the edge, luckily Y/n stopped it before it fell off the bar.

"Yes, what can I get you?" She sounded annoyed.

"Another one," he demands. Y/n rolls her eyes tossing the empty beer can in the trashcan and opening a new one for him. "What time do you get off?" He asks her.

"I'm not allowed to share times with anyone," she says, before walking away.

"Now, what can I get you sir?" She gives the man in a skull mask a soft smile.

"Bourbon on the rocks," he tells her. His voice was dark, and his deep British accent had sent chills up her spine.

"Coming up," she grabs an empty glass filling it with ice and pouring a small amount of bourbon in the glass, pushing it towards him. "There you go," she gives him another soft smile.

He pulls out his wallet and pulls out a 20 stuffing it into the tip jar meant for Y/n.

"Thank you, sir," she tells him.

"Anytime," he tells her taking the glass and sipping from it.

"Would you like to start a tap?"

"Yeah...why not?" He pushed his card towards her.

"MA'AM!" Pervy Pete yells for Y/n's attention. Y/n looks over her shoulder and the man she was talking to looked past her. He was shaking his empty beer can at her.

"He comes here often I guess?" He asked her.

"Almost every night...I'm already tired of him," Y/n looks around for Cleo, she sees her within the crowd of people. "CLEO!" Y/n yells for her attention.

"What's up?"

"Can you help Pervy Pete, I can't do my section of the bar if he's calling for me, every fucking second," she says.

"I'm on it," Cleo says, coming behind the bar.

Y/n did her job and Pervy Pete was being a fucking nuisance, being loud and ignoring Cleo half of the time, he only wanted Y/n's attention.

Y/n went back to the man in the skull mask. She grabs a rag and starts cleaning around him.

"Looks like he wants your attention."

"He can piss off...I don't have time for him," she says.

"Ma'am!" Pervy Pete was now next to the man in the skull mask and leaning over the counter towards Y/n.

"Sir, please, I have a whole bar full of people, I can't be focused on you, I'm trying to clean up after everyone as well-"

"I need another fucking beer," he cusses at Y/n.

"Sir, you have been cut-off," she takes the empty beer can from him, Pervy Pete quickly grabs her wrist.

The man in the skull mask quickly stood up grabbing the man's collar making him release Y/n's wrist. Y/n looked towards Cleo for help, but Cleo wants a bar fight...don't know why?

"Don't fucking touch her, she says you are cut off, and you are just being a fucking man-child," he starts walking the man out of the bar. "And piss off," he shuts the door.

He walks back to his spot at the bar.

"Next drink you have is on the house," Cleo says, standing next to Y/n.

"Thanks," he says, taking his glass and swirling the drink around.

"Would you like anything to eat?" Y/n asked him.

He smirks under his mask and pulls the bottom up taking a sip from his glass, and pulling it back down. "I mean...when do you get off?" He asks.

"Oh...I'm not allowed-"

"She gets off at 10."

"Cleo!?"

"What?" She walks away.

"Yeah...I get off at 10..."

"Cool...I'll wait for you," he says. Giving her a wink.

-----------

Y/n continue her work, helping patrons, helping the man in the mask, and cleaning around the bar.

Then suddenly a glass breaks, the new girl Tara was a shaking mess, she has been trained but she's never experienced a bar rush before.

"Tara, you good?" Y/n asked her, she grabs a rag placing it over her hand and picking up the glass pieces.

"Oh, Y/n don't I'll get it," Tara says.

Cleo came rushing with a broom and dust pan, sweeping up the rest of the glass as Y/n tossed the bits she hard in the trash and placing the rag in the laundry.

"Y/n, your hand," Tara says. Y/n looks at her hand seeing some cuts.

"Oh, I'm fine," she goes to the bathroom washing her bloody hand wrapping it up.

"That seems like a nasty cut," she hears the deep voice.

"Oh sir, you can't be back here-"

"It's fine, Cleo says, I could, I wanted to know if your hand was okay."

"Yeah, I'm okay," she smiles at him. Showing him her hand seeing it was fine and nicely wrapped up.

"Hey, Y/n, why don't you go home early?" Cleo says, walking in the back.

"What? I'm okay, I can still pour drinks." She says.

"I know, but for safety reason please."

"Yes, ma'am."

----------

Y/n had walked from the back her jacket on and she looked around for the man. She steps outside and sees him leaning on a black bike. He had a cigarette between his lips, he sees Y/n putting his cigarette out and pulling his mask down.

"Like a ride?"

"I've never rode on a bike before," she says.

"It's easy, come here," he takes his helmet putting it on her head. "It's a bit big..." he pulls the little strap to tighten the helmet a bit.

He then starts the bike, she jumps a bit. He makes sure the kickstand is up and places his hand out, Y/n takes it. Her hand was so small compared to his.

She swinging her leg over the seat. He places her arms around his waist.

"Hold tight," he tells her.

-------

Once on the rode and the man told her that when he turns, she needs to lean with the turns, not to far to where they could fall, just a slight lean.

He stops at a red light, sitting up and placing his hands on her knees, it was like a reflex to do that, to make sure she was okay.

He put his head back, his beautiful eyes looking at her.

"You okay?" He asks.

"Yes...still nervous..." she tells him.

"You wanna go fast, to pass though nerves?" He asks her.

"Huh? N-No, I think t-that'll make me even more nervous."

"Come on, you'll like it," he teases.

Once the light turns green, he leans forward moving his foot up and going faster than the cars, she squeezes him a bit tighter, her head between his shoulder blades, and her eyes were squeezed shut.

"Come on, open your eyes," he says, he just knows they're shut.

"N-No," she says, he could hear her voice, sounding like it was breaking like she was on the verge of crying.

He then slows down and sees his apartment complex up ahead. He pulls into the parking garage finding an empty spot.

He gets off first and turns to her, unbuckling the clip under her chin and helping her take the helmet off. Her eyes were red like she was done crying.

"Hey, I was kidding."

"I'm fine," she says, getting off the bike. He feels bad now, he didn't want her to be upset, he wanted a bit of fun.

--------

"I don't want this to be awkward between us," he tells her. "Simon...my friends call me Ghost." He tells her, putting his hand out.

"It's a late for introductions."

"It's never too late," he says.

"Can I ask what the mask is for? You didn't take it off once at the bar, and you only moved the bottom half to drink."

"Not sure..."

"You don't know why you wear it?"

"No one needs to know my identity," he says, sitting on his couch.

"Can't I see?" She asked, taking her jacket and shoes off.

She sits next to him.

"Definitely not," he smirks.

"Why not?" She says, putting her hand on his stomach.

Simon smirks and gets up, leaving her on the couch, he comes back with a silk blindfold.

"You trust me?" He asks.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Yeah, either I put this on you...or the mask stays on."

"I trust you," she turns around and brings it over her eyes he ties it, she turns back around black was the only thing she could see.

Simon takes off his mask, he gently takes her hands, placing them on his face. She could feels scars on his temple, nose, both corners of his lips and one of his jaw line, she could feel like prickle on her fingers, he must have shaven his beard of something.

She doesn't feel any other sort of facial hair like a mustache or a bushy beard or anything. His sharp jaw line, he must workout a lot. His neck felt buff as well.

He opens his mouth her fingers accidently going into his mouth. His teeth felt perfectly straight, one of his canines felt chipped but the other was sharp.

He leans forward and his lips touched her jaw. Her breath hitched but she kept letting his kiss her.

Her fingers then went to his hair, his hair felt short a bit buzzed in the back but it was slightly fluffy on top. He kissed her cheek and then her lips.

She kisses him back, her hand moving down his face, her back hits the couch cushion behind her. His hands went up her shirt and then pulling it off her body, kissing between her breasts, then under her bra.

His hand hooked around her back and unhooking her bra and pulling it off her body. He kisses her big breasts, pinching her nipples and earning a soft moan.

Her fingers went back to his hair, she slightly pulled at his hair, earning a low gruff groan from his lips.

He then pulls her jeans off and pulled down her panties as well. She was completely bare underneath him. He smirks at what he was looking at.

A naked young lady, blindfolded underneath of him. He gets up and starts unbuckling his jeans and pulling off his shirt, being naked with her.

"S-Simon," she moans.

He kissed her stomach down to her inner thigh, kissing them, biting them, and pinching them, all just to hear her moan, her fingers went to his hair giving him a small tug on his hair.

"You think you can take me?" He taps his tips against her bud, she moans and she could feel his girth.

"I-I-I," she stutters.

"Words, my love," he says, leaning down to her ear.

"I...I don't know..." she moans. Simon leans down kissing her lips, distracting her from pushing himself inside of her. "O-Oh my god," she says tossing her head back.

He starts out slow, he looks down and sees his tip just hitting her stomach wall, he pressed his hand down on her stomach earning a soft moan from her.

He then picks up the pace just a little bit, his left hand held her side and the other just above her head trying to keep himself up. Her legs rested on his as he starts picking up the pace some more.

Y/n then touched his hard chest, feeling a few more scars on his chest, she could feel the blindfold start falling down, she didn't say anything, but Simon sees it falling down, his bring the blindfold back over her eyes.

"No peaking, love," he says, kissing her neck.

Her wince when feeling his tip hit against her g-spot. Her hands went back to his neck, her legs wrapped around his waist.

Simon smirks and kissed her neck again, then her shoulder and then back between her breasts. He kissed her breasts and sucking on the side of her breasts.

"P-Please let me s-see your face," she begs.

"Never," he growls in her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

"Please," she begs again, his lips attached to her lips again. Y/n felt herself close to coming.

"Come," he demands. She puts her head back and he notices what she was doing. She was trying to remove her blindfold by moving her head back and forth trying to pull if off her eyes.

He grabs her jaw making her stop.

"You are so fucking desperate, it's pathetic." He says.

"Please...if...if you want me to...c-come...then I want to see t-the...the man...that is making...m-me...come..." she says in between catching her breaths.

"Desperate...little girl," he teases her.

He starts going faster, Y/n's head was hitting against the couch's armrest, she whines. Simon sees this and pulls her up on his lap. Making her bounce up on his dick.

He earns a soft moan and then he looks down seeing come leak from her lower half. He smirks and picks her back up taking her to his bedroom. Once Y/n was on the bed, she notices the change.

"W-Where are we?" She asked.

"My room," he pulls out of her. He starts moving down licking under her thigh and then licking between her very wet folds. Licking up her come, he still hasn't come yet, but he feels like he doesn't need to.

"S-Simon."

"What?" He asks with a mouth full of come.

"Did you?"

"No..."

"Would you like to?" She asks.

"Don't worry about me, love...tonight was for you..." he says, kissing her inner thighs. Before giving her a light smack on her thighs, he leaves her on the bed and she hears water running.

"Simon?" Then she was picked up without warning and placed her in the hot bathtub. The blindfold was off her eyes, she was getting use to the lights, she looks up seeing Simon put his mask back on.

--------

Y/n was walking out of the bathtub, she had a towel wrapped around her waist and her hair dripping.

"Simon...could I have some clothes?"

"Yeah," he gets up giving her a shirt and some clean boxers.

She looks cute in his clothes. She gets on the bed and sits next to him, she looks at his tattoos on his left arm.

"Where you in the military?"

"Yep...I was on a Task Force and I loved it," he says.

Y/n smiles at him, his hands went to her waist and pulled her close to his side.

"Get some sleep, love," he says.

"Will you sleep with me?"

"Yes," he says, with a smirk on his face running his fingers through her hair.

Later on, Y/n lays on her side, hugging Simon's waist, he pulls off his mask and pulls Y/n closer to him. Her eyes flutter open and she finally sees his face, cupping his face and kissing his lips.

[tgmsunmontue]

Season to Taste - 10/? WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another. Heading into this little world.

PROLOGUE/ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE

CHAPTER TEN – AN INTERLUDE

                Pete freezes, recognizing the voice even after all these years.

                No.

                It can’t be.

                It’s coming from inside the house.

                He follows the sound into the living room, finds Ice has left the TV on, one of those cooking shows he insists on watching these days. He’s always inviting Pete to join him, but he can’t stand reality TV except… As he watches, Bradley appears and he’s in chef whites, face grim, eyes flashing in annoyance and boy is Pete familiar with that look. An angry and in charge Bradley, but this time he’s barking out orders and other people in chef whites are jumping to follow his direction, snapping out sharp 'yes chef's and then Bradley’s stepping up to his own workspace, hands and knife moving so rapidly it’s a blur.

                Then the scene changes to someone else, and he doesn’t care about them. Wants to see Bradley again. Needs to find the remote control so he can find the name of the show. Wait. Google. If Bradley is on TV then there will be information about him there as well and he can find out all the information. While he knows Ice is in touch with Bradley he also knows that Bradley has asked for him not to pass things on to Pete. He remembers begging, asking for just the confirmation that Bradley was okay. That had made Ice give in, confirm that he had found him and he was safe and well and that there were people willing to look out for him.

                It’s a subject they don’t touch. A subject they disagree on, Pete holding his word to Carole, and to Goose over everything and he remembers Ice snapping Carole is dead Mav, Bradley is alive and you’ve just broken your relationship with him. Part of him knows Ice is right, but also he can’t undo his actions, and he would rather Bradley hate him than the memory of his mother. He knows that Bradley sends Ice an email every couple of weeks, sometimes the occasional phone call, that they have a relationship of some sort, even if it isn’t a close one. He doesn’t know if Bradley ever asks about him, and he’s not about to ask Ice.

                Okay.

                Google it is.

                It’s a wealth of information. Bradley has his own restaurant in New York. Tartaruga Blu. It has a Michelin star and is likely going to get another. He’s done four different TV shows, guest starred on countless other and has just finished filming a fifth. Pete guesses he’s going to watch reality TV now, wants to start with the oldest and maybe catch up on what he’s missed of Bradley’s life. The hurt isn’t sharp, but it is a deep ache inside him, and he also knows the blame is solely on his shoulders.

…            …            …

                He’s been dwelling on it, processing and all the while binge watching reality TV featuring his godson. He fast-forwards the bits with contestants, does more googling to find out which episodes Bradley is the guest judge for other shows. Learns there’s a corner of the internet that have pages of photos because apparently Bradley is hot. At least he now knows what parts of the internet to avoid. He’s settling down to dinner, and he looks at the poached fish and vegetables with a more critical eye. Realizes Ice’s cooking is suddenly another way he’s trying to keep Bradley close to him and the pain in his chest twists a little deeper. A little harder.

                “Ice… those cooking shows you watch.”

                “Mmm.”

                “You watch them because of Bradley…”

                Ice’s head snaps up and his lips are tight, eyes cautious, then he simply nods, once.

                “He asked me not to tell you, but I said I couldn’t control what you watched on TV… but you’ve really held out on watching any type of reality TV.”

                “You could have dropped a hint!”

                “The fact that it was me watching wasn’t enough of a hint?”

                “Huh. Okay. Yeah, you have a good point. Wait. Shit. So he’s… famous I guess?”

                “Yeah. I guess he is. He borrowed against the house. Got a couple of investors. He’s got a good team of people working with him.”

                “Baby Goose all grown up…”

                “Hmm. You think about telling him why?” Ice asks, and he doesn’t need to ask what he means. This is the point of contention they always circle back to in their arguments.

                “Do you think he’d listen to me?”

                “I… I think that maybe he would now. He’s made himself his own path.”

                “I’ll think about it.”

[notroosterbradshaw]

Girl Under You [g.u.y]

Rooster being ridiculously hot/complicated. fwb. the usual warnings, friends - smut, angst, fluff, angst, smut, angst, language. 18+. 7.2k words.

“i just want it to be hot, because i’m best when i’m in love and i’m in love with you”.

But you’re not in love with him. It’s just the things he can do to your body, and the way he talks, or how he flits in and out of your life with no chance of any kind of commitment --

Vice Admiral Simpson stood before you, the usual lack of humour gracing his handsome features as he waited for your attention.

“Sir,” you acknowledged, looking up from his calendar on the screen before you, a surprising marking of private meetings popping up from the office of Rear Admiral Bates.

“The boarding list for the detachment that arrives tonight,” he dropped a file on your desk.

“Absolutely, sir. Your calendar has filled up quickly this afternoon,” you noted, casting an eye over the names.

He nodded solemnly. “I’m expecting Captain Pete Mitchell imminently. Please send him in when he arrives. Time is short, it’s imperative he’s up to scratch with this mission at the earliest.”

“Yes, sir. I received an email from Commander Kazansky suggesting the same thing…” You raised an eyebrow as he sighed.

“Thank you.” He stalked his way to his office, closing the door quietly.

The list. Some you knew, some you didn’t. One that haunted your days and nights.

Lt. Bradley Bradshaw.

To you, he was perfect. Wavy, dirty blonde dark hair, a smattering of freckles across his strong nose, and deep hazel eyes, that if the sun hit them just right, glittered like honey. Body by the Gods. Hell, when he smirked, even the moustache was tolerable. You weren't sure if it were a burden or a curse that he had been recalled back to North Island.

It had always been pretty casual between you. He’d been back and forth over the years, and you fell into an easy maybe-friends-with-benefits-type-relationship that would most likely get you, or both of you, fired if anyone found out. But that’s what made it so good – that it was only you and him and whatever the mess was –

“Simpson, huh? How’d you get so lucky?” the captain before you said in a quiet tease, snapping you back to reality from your daydream.

“Well, with Commander Kazansky retiring…” You motioned Maverick to shush, hoping not to rouse the admirals on the other side of the door as he nodded solemnly. “Have you heard from him? Is it back again?” You’d reached your own conclusions about your former boss’ cancer diagnosis returning a while back, but never dared ask and blinked back the tears that threatened to fall.

Mav shrugged gently. “You know better than me, kid.”

“How are you, Mav?” you asked informally… just how Maverick preferred it.

He smiled. “Not bad for an old guy.”

You bit back a grin, the moment passing, recalling the urgency on the other side of the door. “Just a hint, Captain Mitchell? Vice Admiral Simpson prefers you earlier.” You winked, getting up from your desk and knocking on the door of his office.

“I’m right on time,” he defended himself.

“Yes, you are certainly late, sir,” you reiterated, hoping he’d catch your drift.

“Send him in,” Simpson’s voice muttered behind the door.

“Send him in,” you said to Maverick, opening the door and stepping aside. “Warlock is already in there,” you told him knowingly as Maverick gave a slight nod and you closed the door after him.

His reputation may have preceded him, but his attitude and appearance did not alarm you. You’d heard Simpson storm about Maverick returning to Top Gun over the last 24 hours and was silenced when Ice had emailed in no uncertain terms: enough.

Maverick was back to instruct the return of the best of the best. Some you knew (Bradshaw, Seresin, Trace) and a few others whose names you’d heard in passing, maybe you’d met them while they had trained there in the past.

They were all the same. Mostly harmless, but egos were all completely out of check. No modesty for any of them - they knew they were good. And if you were really lucky, your phone would be ringing about 11pm tonight from the best. You rubbed your thighs together in eager anticipation.

While you expected your phone to ring, Rooster Bradshaw turned out to be anything but predictable. Knowing he was back, you’d avoided The Hard Deck that night for good reason. He’d roll in, God of sexual desire, Son of Aphrodite, with his familiar wet smirk, stupid fucking aviators and his body even more impressive than before. A trail of women would instantly take note that he’d arrived - and as far as they were concerned - fair game. That was probably where he was, balls deep in some easy lay.

You were supposed to be the easy lay though, you thought petulantly, kicking your feet. That was the deal. You don’t hear from him when he’s away, he wasn’t stationed locally, and he owed you absolutely nothing. But those nights you shared a bed? He found ways to make you feel so fucking good.

You knew you weren’t the only one that he probably made feel this way, but Rooster Bradshaw had a wonderful knack for making you believe that in the moments you shared, it was only you.

Like you could love him - and he could love you back.

You hated that you often found yourself lost fantasising about him and wondered if he did the same of you. Recalling those moments when he’d make you cum so hard that your eyes rolled back in your head and your name was often forgotten. It was exactly how he liked it. He’d kiss you and give an ETA on how long he was sticking around and how long that would include turning your world upside down as it should be right now.

But you already knew the training scheduled for the next three weeks before deployment was brutal, one of the most tightly orchestrated detachments you’d seen pass through in a long time, which also meant there was potential for an awful lot of his body and finding new and exciting ways to cover hickeys, bruises and swollen lips.

“So, where the fuck are you, Bradshaw?” you muttered, tossing and turning insolently in your bed, only making the sticky room hotter. You finally turned your phone on silent and forced yourself into a restless sleep in the hope that tomorrow was a better day and Rooster came to his goddamn senses.

You felt his presence before you saw him. At 6’1” and a mountain of muscle in your peripheral, his flight suit wrapped around his waist, the light stale stench of sweat invading your nostrils, Rooster’s large palms rested on your desk as he leaned over, inspecting you.

“I imagine you’re next to get chewed out,” you said barely above a whisper, rejecting - no, positively refusing to look at him, instead focusing on the screen before you.

“By you or…” He had the audacity to tease.

“Breaking the hard deck, insubordination,” you raffled off. “All class. Seems you’ve had quite the first day in the air, Lieutenant,” you sneered at his title, and he licked his lips, wholly amused by the power struggle in the small office.

“News travels fast.”

“These walls are paper thin,” you muttered, forcing yourself to type something, anything, to look busier than you let on. Tapping the keys, a jumble of letters bobbled in front of you. Utter nonsense. “Take a seat. Vice Admiral Simpson will be with you when he’s ready.”

“Maverick still in there?”

“No.”

“Didn’t see you at Penny’s last night. Thought you’d be there,” his voice dropped.

“Sorry to inform you, but I don’t fraternise,” you replied, tone bored. He saw right through it.

“With whom?” You could hear the humour laced in his rasp, and you could throttle him. He dared you to respond.

Looking at him pointedly, and for the first time since he’d crashed back into your life, you replied, “Naval aviators.” He was bulkier than you remembered, curly tendrils drenched, droplets of sweat dripping from his Adam’s Apple to the collar of his black undershirt that could barely contain his rippling chest and biceps.

Blinking slowly, he hummed. “Okay...”

Simpson’s door opened, and Rooster shot to his feet. “Get in here, Lieutenant. You’d better have a very good explanation for your determination to get yourself kicked out on day one.”

“Yessir,” he replied. It felt nice to watch Rooster brought down to earth so quickly. Simpson gave you a small frown and asked why you were still there but you had no excuses. You knew once Maverick was summoned, Rooster likely would be too and your suspicions proved correct.

It was a lie to say you weren’t desperate to see Rooster. See if he’d changed, see if he still wore that same cologne. If his voice was still as gravelly. Sadly, he was still perfectly the same with the addition of stronger muscles - and more arrogance.

“Leaving shortly, sir.”

“I should expect so. Enjoy your night,” he said, quietly going back into this office and closing the door after him and you gasped because you felt as if you hadn’t taken a breath since Rooster had walked in and your chest ached for it.

“This is Bob and Coyote,” Phoenix introduced you to her detachment team, including a shy blonde in BCG’s and as well as Coyote, if his leering grin was anything to go by. Well, they certainly weren’t an unattractive group, you noted. You gave a polite wave in greeting as Phoenix explained who you were. “And you probably know Bagman.”

You sadly remembered Bagm- Jake Seresin. He was in the same graduating class as Rooster all those years ago.

“Hangman,” he corrected Phoenix without so much as a blink, he was used to her torture. A bit of a masochist, you imagined he enjoyed her getting riled up because of him. “You used to be Iceman’s assistant,” Hangman filled in the gaps.

“Used to be.” You nodded and sipped your beer.

“How you findin’ Cyclone?”

“By name and nature,” you admitted. “Direct, but not a bad guy.”

“Have you always been based out here?” Coyote asked, offering his palm. “Because honestly? I’d remember you,” he dared try as you laughed quietly, shaking his hand. They were all the same and it wasn’t offensive because you knew as well as they did that it would go no further than a cheeky flirt…in most instances.

“Actually, Coyote…” Hangman spoke up. “If I recall… didn’t you used to fuck around with Rooster back in the day?” he asked, pointing his bottle towards you, his green eyes dancing with mirth. He knew exactly who you were. Warning bells screamed in your ears as you tried to remain steady. “I can swear I remember you two toying around when we were here last,” he paused for dramatic effect. “Top Gun’s worst kept secret, we called you.”

Coyote looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I think you’re mistaken,” you muttered in warning as Hangman grinned and you regretted biting back instantly. You could swear you just gave him enough ammo to get through the next few weeks of training to make Rooster’s life miserable.

“Knock it off,” Phoenix warned as he and Coyote wandered away, sharing a quiet joke together.

“Whatcha think I just cost Rooster?” you asked Phoenix quietly. She sighed and shrugged.

“They’re already at each other’s throats and it’s only day one.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” you sipped your beer and turned your head to Bob. He looked up, a small look of surprise gracing his fair features at your sudden attention. “Robert Floyd, how are you enjoying flying with the beautiful Phoenix here?”

“Best partner a guy could ask for,” he said sweetly. You grinned with Phoenix; you reckoned you liked Bob Floyd and his BCGs.

Body aching in all the right places, your fingertips danced through the peaks and ridges of Rooster’s chest later that evening because, at 11:30 pm, he retained his expectedness and could be found knocking at your front door, all big puppy dog eyes and a barely-there smile.

“You lost?” you asked, sarcasm evident in your voice as you glanced at your watch, ignoring the rising pulse rate on its face. Piece of shit. He shook his head.

“No,” his lip quirked at your attitude. “Right on time actually.”

“If you say so.”

“I’m nothing, if not prompt.”

You rolled your eyes. He looked divine. Smelled divine. Sounded like church bells. Fuck him, he was a professional at wrecking your senses.

“I expected to see you last night,” he continued, not daring to step over the threshold without your permission.

“You saw me at work.”

“At the bar,” he corrected himself.

“I told you, I don’t fraternise, Rooster,” you reiterated evenly.

“You were there tonight, Phoenix told me,” he hummed in disapproval. “No. You avoided me,” he decided, crossing his arms over his strong chest. He lived to fucking tease you although there was no malice behind his tone. “You expected me to make the move.”

“I have the accommodation off base, you dork,” you reminded him somewhat affectionately, clutching his bicep and dragging him by surprise to you, slamming the door after him.

“Resistance is high with you, huh? Fucking futile,” he rolled his eyes, playfully and you swore at that moment, you hated him. He huffed a laugh. “Miss me?” he dared ask, hustling into your space.

“Stop running your mouth and take off your pants,” you insisted, slipping your night tee over your head eagerly.

“Not wasting any time, I see?” he noted the urgency in your movements, his eyes roaming over your body, antsy at how delicious it looked, as he kicked off his boots and unbuckled his jeans. His calloused hands roughly caught you by the jaw and pulled your lips to his, a kiss that was months in the making. You missed the taste of his tongue, tonight laced with the trace of whiskey. “You didn’t wait for me to leave Cyclone’s office,” he accused as he watched you forcefully push down the waist of his jeans. He was hard, so hard, you were hot and bothered, so it would be quick and decisively obscene.

“Did you want a fucking welcome wagon?” you asked, voice dripping with childish sarcasm.

“You and that slick mouth,” he muttered, and he kissed you to shut you up.

You pulled away quick enough to whip the snug cotton tee over his head and drag your nails down his abs, the scratches on his torso likely to cause a ruckus in the locker room tomorrow. He stood before you in his boxer briefs, you in your bra and undies and goodness knows that didn’t suit either of you.

“What kind of bra is this?” he frowned as you slipped the crop off for him and tossed it away. “Oh,” he breathed and licked his lower lip. “Thank you,” he took the new skin he’d missed and kissed you again, his hands roaming freely. You’d barely made it a few feet from the front door, and he’d pushed you onto the nearest surface (entryway table), rolling his hips into yours needing the friction for relief. “Baby, you look good,” he murmured, his lips peppering kisses across your décolletage and sending a frenzy of goose pimples across your skin, grinding into you as you lost your fingers with the short wisps of freshly cropped hair at the nape of his thick neck. “So fucking good.”

By now, you’d be begging to go down on him, taste him, and he’d wrap his arms behind his head, pleased as punch, ready and willing, but right now, all you could recall was how good he felt inside you and how immediate that needed to be.

Your feet not touching the ground, he secured you against him with his strong legs planted firmly. He kissed you as he swept your undies to the side. His long fingers skimmed between your slick folds, and he exhaled.

“Touch me, don’t be sweet,” you begged, frantic to feel friction, eager for him to fill you. You didn’t tend to sleep around. And without Rooster away, you just didn’t find anyone that could command your presence as he could. His body, intelligence (and at times, his absolute lack of it), ego, his perpetual broken heart and baggage… his humour, creativity, beauty and unexpected sensitivity. You supposed on several occasions you were in love with him, he had a knack for bringing you the pleasure that made your serotonin rocket to levels no one else could emulate. And in those moments, after you’d both come and giggled in the revelry of the afterglow, he’d take your hand in his, kiss your forehead, tell you everything you’d missed and expected the same stories to be shared in return as you’d trace the constellations of freckles on his cheeks and rest your head against his wildly beating heart.

He slipped his long fingers under the seams of your underwear and watched you as he discarded them before pausing to remove his boxers, making sure you were watching his every movement. And dear God, how you were. 

Adjusting himself at your entrance, neither of you was in the mood to talk about what you’d been up to lately. “Fuck me, for Christ’s sake, Rooster,” you urged him, unkinder than intended as he fisted himself in his palm and slowly pushed into you, bottoming out and he breathed, resting his forehead in your hair.

“Fuck,” he breathed, stilling perfectly. “You feel un-fuckin’-believable. You’re so wet. Christ.”

Forcing your face to him, he kissed you wildly as he began a ruthless assault on your senses, thrusting his cock deep inside as you ran your fingers through his mass of unruly curls, giving them a light tug in encouragement. “I’ve been waiting for you. I thought you’d forgotten about me,” you confided in a whisper.

Groaning as he thrust in, long and slow. “How could I forget this? Your body was made for me. No one else makes me feel this good,” he muttered, and it felt like you couldn’t believe your ears.

You chewed your lip to mute the sounds you couldn’t control as he stared into your eyes, one deep drag after another. Distracting yourself from his gaze, you sucked into his jaw, nuzzling his pulse and he quivered, his head lolling to enjoy it, hips slowing almost to a stop. “You feel so good,” you told him. He loved any kind of encouragement and he kissed you quickly. 

“I missed you,” he mumbled, almost drunk and you’d only just started.

The headiness wasn’t new, but it was more dizzying than usual. You’d craved him so much – not just like this, but the way he held you, teased you, knew where to touch and taunt you, and kissed you but you knew, this just wasn’t what friends did.

Over the years, you’d grown to know each other so intimately. You knew he loved having his hair pulled and his pulse kissed, you knew his birthday and knew his sweet tooth was out of this world. He knew that if he pressed into your belly just hard enough, you’d cum for days, the kinds of jokes so dirty that would make you laugh so hard. He knew about your family and how much he’d like them if they’d ever met.

His hips slamming brought you back to him as he gripped your jaw and commanded you to look at him sternly, the muscles of his abs rippling in the movement of his waist.

His body was born from the gods and he was made to be a lover… certainly not a fighter.

He was crumbling before you and reminded you how well he knew you when you said you were close. “I need to feel it,” he begged, stepping closer to kiss you, his hips rolling into yours and the sounds between your bodies indecent. “Lemme kiss you,” he said sweetly, a finger tracing between your ribs, around your belly button and opening you to him. He prodded at your pained clit, forgotten in all the madness, and desperate for attention. A little friction was all it took while he kissed your cries away, muffled against his mouth and he almost gave out, the pull of your orgasm ripping his from him as he fucked you hard and fast, gasping as you pulsated around him, and he grunted low as he came, hard and hot inside you.

“Oh, my God,” you panted against his mouth as he kissed you, frenzied. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, sweetheart. Fuck, I missed you.”

“No one makes me feel like this,” you said as he stared into your eyes, still deep inside you, the proof of your lovemaking seeping from you both. Sweat, tears, cum. He kissed your cheekbones, your eyelids, nose and lips again, hand delicately catching your neck.

“No one,” he agreed, his thumbs drying the tears on your cheeks you didn’t even know you’d been weeping. “You okay?” he asked with a soft grin. “Was that what you needed?”

Giggling gently, you held his wrists. “I didn’t know I was so desperate.”

“Can I tell you something?” he asked quietly, reaching for his boxers just within his reach and placing them between you to catch the slick that threatened to spill, tidying you before himself.

“A true gentleman,” you playfully rolled your eyes, knowing the table was going to need a thorough sanitisation. “Tell me what?”

“That was exactly what I needed too,” he admitted, pulling you to him and you rested your forehead on his clavicle. He stroked your back and kissed your hair.

“Can you stay?” you hoped it didn’t sound as pleading as it felt.

“All night,” he vowed.

“Hangman made a comment last night at the bar,” you told Rooster, warm against him, your fingers drifting against the soft skin of his ribs. You’d found your way to the bedroom and fucked desperately a few more times. You didn’t know how long “all night” was equated to before he had to leave, and you weren’t looking forward to a cold bed again.

“The fuck he say to you?” Rooster asked harsher than you expected. You could feel him resist under you, his body taut and strong, the hand caressing your shoulder blades now balled into a fist, tensing and flexing in agitation.

“Just a comment about you and me the last time you were both here.”

“Continue.”

“About how we used to fuck around.”

He scoffed. “Jokes on him; we’ve been fucking around for years.”

So fucking tragic, you thought. “He doesn’t need to know that though.”

“No one does,” you traced the ridges of his abs, his belly button, happy trail. “What if…”

“What if what?” his tone slightly clipped and unfamiliar.

“If it gets out, I’ll be sent home regardless,” you told him, and he remained silent. “But I know you love what you do. You can’t afford to lose it,” you looked up at him. “Is that why – ”

“- Why I never gave in and made this real?” he interjected.

“Yes,” you rolled over and moved to sit on his tummy, naked and very exposed as he licked his lips, his calloused palms drifting up your sides and gripping your ribs, thumbs dragging against the soft skin of your breast. He watched you, breathing deeply to compose himself. You were strong and bold above him and made him kind of wild. He reached up to bring a strained nipple to his mouth, keeping his eyes on you as the goose pimples exploded across your body and you shuddered. He smiled and eased back, proud of his work.

“Beautiful.”

You pressed your palms into his chest, his heart beating in your touch, pining him back down. “Rooster, this is just a job. I can get one anywhere. You can’t exactly fall into another job after flying planes for the rest of your life,” you frowned as he gave you a small smile. Well, yes, he could. But it would be better if he didn’t do it with a dishonourable discharge. “With the Navy,” you clarified as he laughed quietly and nodded in understanding.

He brushed your hair back, his large palms sliding down your shoulder, your arm and he took your hand. Kissing your knuckles, he stares intently at you. “I would never ask you to do that for me.”

“And what if that is what I wanted?”

Frowning, he sighed, quiet for a while but you weren’t going anywhere. “Baby… I gotta go. Early start,” he gently pushed you off him and started to get up, as you fell onto the pillows, pulling the sheets up, so humiliated as he started to collect his gear and dress again. You had so many things to say but had lost the ability to speak.

So, this is all it is? I say I’ll give up everything and you reject me, you realised. It felt absolutely brutal.

“I need you to understand,” Rooster said, back in his jeans and turning to face you and keeping his wide berth. “I feel it too, I just…” he sighed, brushing a hand through his wild curls, the words failing him. “If you leave your job and everything here to be with me, I will still keep leaving you,” he said softly.

“I’m not the one that seeks you out, Bradley,” you reminded him, gently. “Tell me this is just sex, and I’ll believe you and get over it. But you need to convince yourself that’s all it is too. We aren’t supposed to do this. You know you’re a bit of a stickler for the rules, so after all these years, you’re still turning up at the time I expect you to. And I know this can’t possibly be all me feeling this is more than it is. But if it is… maybe this has to stop, because it kind of hurts each time you leave.”

He stayed silent, knowing he had to choose his words carefully but you really weren’t sure how else he could try and make you feel better. Neither was he. “I…” he shut his mouth again, tracing his lips with his wet tongue. “I don’t want you to pin all your hopes and dreams on me and I might not come home,” he said quietly. “Trust me when I say this, and please don’t be hurt. I don’t see anyone else, baby…” he admitted, rubbing the taut traps, stressed and tight. “You know I fuck around, but I keep my relationships straightforward.”

“Then why does it feel like the lines are completely blurred for us?”

He didn’t have an answer, because he knew you were right.

Rolling away from him, you replied, “Well, I guess that’s that, Rooster.”

He didn’t respond for a long time. The air in the humid room was stifling. “Please don’t leave it like this,” he said finally.

“I can’t take back what I said,” you quietly reminded him, the tears threatening to spill. You were trying so hard not to fall apart while still in his company. “And neither can you.”

He rubbed his tired face, memorising the curve from your shoulder to your hips and left, not much else left to say as your tears spilled freely with the sound of the front door closing.

Ice: Tell him. Tell him before it’s too late.

You did tell him. You did tell Rooster, you wanted to scream. But Ice was wrong.

You’d read the text countless times in the last week. Ice had gotten quite good at texting the last few years, for reasons some found comical, for some (like you) who knew the truth, it was the way he could communicate without too much discomfort.

Hearing a knock a few hours later, you really didn’t want to see anyone. Simpson had suggested you could leave early and you took the opportunity, knowing Rooster was on base and avoiding him would be easier if you simply weren’t there, only for him to text later about an incident involving Bob and Phoenix that he “thought you should know about”. You hadn’t replied. What good would it have done anyway? They were okay, but probably terribly shaken up. You’d have known by now if they had…

But your poor heart had taken enough of a beating the last few weeks, you were at wit’s end and the cavalcade of bullshit that swamped you was just too much. This was peak misery and you had no idea what to do with yourself because of it. The red wine in your palm was doing very little to numb it.

…Ice succumbed to his illness today.

Your friend, Phoenix, had beat death with Bob…

And you were without Rooster. Probably the only person in the world that would understand any of it.

Wandering to the door in your tights and oversized Navy tee, you were and weren’t surprised to see him standing before you. He stepped in to hold you without question and every tear that you'd bitten back to that moment just erupted. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn't speak, and all Rooster could do was hold you, restrain you, protect you.

“It’s okay, I got you,” he whispered sweet nothings in your ear, rubbing circles on your back. “I’m here.”

He’d never seen you like this. Never known you to grieve; it broke his heart that you were going through this. You’d worked closely with Ice for many years, and he’d known him since he was a babe in arms. Ice had been there for him all his life.

“Are Nat and Bob okay?” you demanded, barely able to get the words out through sobs.

“They’re okay,” he said. “They will stay in hospital tonight, but they will be fine,” he tried to reassure you. “They wanted to know that you were okay, you know… because of Ice.”

“I just can’t believe he’s gone.”

“I know, sweetheart. I know it hurts,” he said into your hair. It felt so good to be in his arms, all things considered. “It’s okay,” he said softly.

Laughing in spite of yourself, you replied, “No, nothing is okay, Bradley.”

He sighed and didn’t answer, he just held you tighter.

“You have to go,” you told him gently, but didn’t pull away.

“Please don’t make me – ” he protested.

“Please,” you cut in quietly.

“I don’t want you to be alone,” he tried.

“I need to be. For me,” you told him, pushing him back to arm’s length. “I’m sorry, Rooster,” you took a step back as he reached for you again. You held your hands up, telling him not to try and touch you again. “Please, you’ve got other things to focus on right now,” you quietly reminded him. He needed to see reason too.

He pursed his lips together. “Everything else can wait.”

“I’m not an idiot. I know you’re here for a reason, Rooster. The whole team is. It’s bigger than all of you and I can’t distract you from it.”

While he knew you were told only what you needed to hear, you would have no idea that he was probably on a one-way ticket to his grave, this mission, unlike anything he’d ever prepared for before. He didn’t need to burden you with that; he felt lucky he didn’t have to burden anyone with that. He sighed. “You’re right. I need my focus,” he swallowed, but thankfully remained silent. Something was on his mind, but he remained quiet, gave a gentle wave and left you again.

Rubbing your face and looking at the wine bottle, it only seemed fair to drown your sorrows. It wouldn’t hurt to not hurt for a night.

Standing respectfully with your work associates a few days later, you said your final goodbyes to Ice and as he watched you from across the field, you said your goodbyes to Rooster too. He looked so empty, staring back at you in his dress blues. He didn’t keep his eyes from you and behind your sunglasses, it would be a lie to say you couldn’t keep your eyes off him either. It made everything just that little bit more devastating.

You didn’t talk after the procession. The squad was due back on base and you had taken the rest of the day to go to attend the wake and pass along your condolences to Ice’s dear wife, Sarah, and their family, in person.

Natasha gave you a simple wave as she followed them out solemnly. You waved back and that was that.

“I wasn’t going to come, but it all happened so much faster than we expected. We ship out before sunrise. The mission parameters have changed and brought forward a week,” Rooster spat out quietly at your doorstep in his dress whites, this new information unbeknownst to you. He held his cover under his arm. You didn't know what had changed from the time you left work to now for such a drastic escalation, but you didn’t know much about this mission aside from small bits and bobs of its urgency.

You sighed and reached for him, and he collapsed into your arms. For all the posturing and ego, Rooster was simply Bradley Bradshaw. And sometimes he got scared too. Just like you were for him. He let you hold him, cradling his face as you kissed his hair. “Come inside,” you reached for his palm and led him into the apartment. You knew he had no one else and if just for those few moments, you know you were strong enough to try and give him any kind of hope he needed and deserved.

It starts innocently enough as you reach to kiss him. Rooster was understandably confused; he didn’t think you wanted this anymore after he’d hurt you so badly. He doesn’t kiss you back immediately, his eyes wide but it doesn’t take him long to meld his lips with yours and you know he’s more than a willing participant as he sinks frenziedly into the kiss. You start on the buttons of his jacket and slip it off his shoulders, knowing it couldn’t be treated with the same disrespect your clothes usually were in these circumstances, so you fold it gently over your arm and start on his shirt.

It was the only thing that felt right.

“You said you couldn’t do this anymore,” he muttered, bewildered.

Holding his face, you told him, “Bradley… I’m always going to want this.”

“I know I hurt you,” his eyes soft, his voice softer. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

Dragging your fingers down his chest, you lead him by the mouth to your bedroom and he made a sound in his throat that you’re not sure if it’s a moan of pleasure or pain, but you refused to break it as you move your hands for his belt buckle and ease down the zip. He was hard in your soft touch.

“And I forgive you. This isn’t about that, Rooster,” you pushed the waist of his slacks to his knees as he kicked away his boots, your arms filled with his whites. He watched you place his uniform delicate with care on the chair near your window and come back to him as your fingers slid into his waves, mussing them. “Let me take care of you. Show you that you have something good to come home to.”

He nodded and breathed a simple yes, frantic for you.

“This is not just about you, it never was,” you told him, easing him back on the soft mattress and he crashed back willingly. “I love you, you don’t have to say it back, Bradley. But I love you and that’s all I can say.”

Smiling faintly, you tried to ignore the tears in his eyes and wondered how long it’s been since someone has said that to him. He overwhelmed you as he wrapped every fibre of his being around you and you held him tighter.

“I love you,” you whispered and you begged him to believe it as he kissed you, pouring all the emotion he felt into it.

“God, I fucking love you,” he finally confided out loud for the first time. “I’m sorry I’ve never shown it the way you deserved. You’re the best person I know,” he pressed wild kisses into your skin. “No more games.”

“No more games,” you promised. “So, you have to come home to show me.”

He nodded. “I’ll show you every day. Somehow.” He swallowed as you kissed him, the most beautiful smile he’d seen in his life gracing your features as his sorrow faded. “Please let me show you how I feel,” he begged, and you nodded as he hitched you into his arms. “Touch me, don’t be shy,” he demanded. “Tell me you need me,” his messy lips said, sweeping kisses across your face as he sat on the bed, falling back with you sitting on his waist, and pulling the old tee over your head so he could really see you. “I’ve missed this, I’ve missed you,” he admitted. Hard and wanting, he reached for your sides and brought him to you.

“How long do I have you?” you asked, dreading his answer.

“Not long,” he acknowledged. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I should have come sooner, but I had to get everything in order,” he explained softly.

You rested your body on his and kissed him deeply. “Well, let’s make it worth it because God knows when the next time will be.”

Slow, tender, passionate. Sure, you’d fucked this way before, but this time, it was so much bigger than the both of you. He told you he loved you and wished he had told you sooner because you’d never made each other feel like this before.

His arms were like a constrictor around you as you lay quietly together a while later.

“Are you on the squad?”

“Dunno. Mav will probably not pick me out of spite,” he murmured, a hint of disdain in his voice. “It’s a strong team though.”

“It’s perfectly fine with me if he doesn’t pick you,” you told him, kissing his rib. Rooster hummed in reply, it was neither positive nor negative. He was surely rattled, something about this truly scared him.

“I’ve done so many dangerous runs before,” he said finally. “But nothing has prepared me for this.”

“Rooster, are they expecting you to not come home?” you looked up at him as he gave you the slightest shrug.

“None of us, even Mav, has flown a mission like this,” he sat up and guided you to sit before him. “I’m terrified I’m losing everything before I even step out this door,” he held your face in his palms.

“Mav will do everything in his power to keep you all safe. You especially.”

Rooster scoffed, a small smile creeping to his lips. “The damage was done years ago, baby.”

“Maybe you must be the bigger person and swallow your pride. He’s the closest thing you have to a family. You need Mav. Mav needs you.”

He looked at his watch and his face changed again. “I have to go.”

“Okay,” you said, moving aside for him to get out of bed. You watched him collect his gear and put it into some semblance of order. Boxer briefs, socks, slacks, shirt… he turned to face you as his long fingers nimbly did the buttons. He tucked himself in neatly and slid his jacket over his shoulders, fastening it. It was sweet to watch his precision and pride as he presented himself.

“Very handsome,” you gave a weak grin. What an understatement. He was unreal, just like a movie star. He rolled his eyes. “Your hair is a bit wild, but I’ll claim that if anyone asks,” you winked as he chuckled quietly.

“I love you,” he told you, collecting his boots. “Wait for me?” He sat beside you to pull them on and caressed your face. You gave him a dreamy smile that brought a tender smile to his face in return, he traced your lips with his thumb. “Beautiful.” 

“Hurry back to me,” you pleaded as he kissed your forehead, keeping his lips on your skin. “You’d better go.”

He nodded. “Just one more minute,” he breathed, lowering his body to yours and kissing you deeply. “I just have to remember everything about this moment,” his honey eyes searching yours. “I don’t know when I’ll be back,” he confided.

“I’ll know. But I’ll be here waiting,,” you told him. He hummed and kissed you again, his forehead resting against yours. “Just be safe.”

“Always.”

You’d received word the detachment team would be returning to North Island later that week for a high-level mission debrief, to collect their belongings and return to their homes, a break earned after success. For the first time, it felt like the stars had aligned for you.

If there was ever a sign it was time to move on, it was right now. Finding the email to Simpson you’d written the day Ice formally retired, you finally added a date and hit send.

Dropping his duffle bag at his feet, Rooster put his hands on his hips. “You lost, sweet thing?”

Adjusting your shades, you shrugged as casually as you could, your heart restless as he was finally home with you again as you rested back on the hood of his beloved Bronco. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he stifled a quiet giggle, rubbing his neck nervously. “Is it true?”

“That I’m regrettably unemployed?” you tested, and he looked so fucking handsome as his toes tapped nervously, waiting impatiently. It was a crime to be so irrationally handsome, you thought. Maybe it was the ocean air, maybe it was the khaki… maybe it was just him.

Your Bradley Bradshaw.

“Everyone’s gonna know.,” he took a step closer to you, cautiously looking over his shoulder. He wasn’t entirely surprised to see his teammates watching on keenly.

“I disclosed everything when I left. They know.”

He took another step and sat his hands on your hips, gripping tightly in his anxiousness, so desperate to kiss you. The audience around you was growing fast, the show for free of what everyone knew but never disclosed… Top Gun’s worst kept secret. “How’d Cyclone take it?”

“Well… he knew too,” you said simply.

“What?” Rooster chuckled in disbelief. “How?”

You pointed up to the clouds, the sun setting behind them at Golden Hour.

“Goddamn it, Ice.” Rooster pulled his sunglasses from his eyes, and you mimicked him, smiling widely.

You traced the scrape on his cheek. “Please don’t tell me.”

“Well, I have to now,” he said sweetly. “You can’t go looking through my confidential and redacted files anymore.”

“You think I had that clearance? Oh, you sweet manchild,” you laughed loudly. “You’re right. You poor bastard. You’re going to have to, fuck... Communicate.”

“Shut your mouth and kiss me,” he smiled, leaning down to kiss you.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you said pensively before his lips touched yours.

“I’ll tell you everything I can,” he promised as Maverick patted Rooster’s shoulder and smiled fondly at you.

“And that?”

“That’s…” Rooster began, exhaling. “Work in progress. It’ll take some time, but it’s better. Now kiss me like no one is watching,” he demanded, lifting you to sit on the hood like it was nothing and stepping between your spread legs, the tease of his words causing a bubble of humour to catch you. “Or kiss me like everyone is.” His mouth softly touched yours, the hair on his lip tickling you and you’d missed it desperately. A distinctive whoop from Phoenix could be heard. His kiss, his body, his possession. “You didn’t have to quit, you know?” he said softly.

“It was time,” you told him, resting your palms on his strong chest. “The Navy needs you. I can do what I do anywhere. Cali…”

“Virginia,” he corrected.

“California,” you corrected in a whisper. “The transfer came through. That was what sealed my resignation. Looks like you’re going to be sticking around,” you goaded him as he laughed against your lips, pulling you flush against him and kissing you deeply.

“Maybe I just couch surf until you get sick of me?”

“I could never get sick of you,” you swore against his lips as he beamed and kissed you again. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Show me the way home, honey…”

masterlist.

A/N: the tag list no longer exists. To keep up to date, give @notroosterbradshaw-library a follow x

[dumbpilots]

lift me up (but don't get stuck!) a03

It's Valentine's Day and Bradley's in a rush. It's a shame he gets trapped in the elevator with the building’s newest (and hottest) tenant.

“Oh, hold it please!” He almost sticks his free hand through the closing doors before he thinks better of it. He’s not in a rush, but if he’s going to pull this off before Ice gets home, he doesn’t have a minute to spare. He can’t believe he forgot the spare key. Luck must be on his side today because a moment later the elevator doors slide back open. 

“Thanks, man.” He releases a heavy breath and shoots a relieved smile at the other lone occupant and– oh. It’s the ken doll. Bradley saw him for the first time a couple days ago walking out of the building. His first and only thought when he saw him was gorgeous. Bradley can totally be normal for a minute in his presence. Calm, even. He’s been around beautiful, tanned to perfection, built-like-marble men before. He’s fine. 

He hits 14 and takes two steps back to put some space between them and leans against the back railing. The elevator starts up.

“Runnin’ late for a date?” He says. And oh god. His voice drips like honey, slow and smooth. Ken doll’s eyebrows quirk up at him. His eyes are made of sea glass. Ding.

His brain short circuits. “Sorry–?” Ken doll narrows his gaze to the bouquet of roses tucked into Bradley’s left arm. Ding. “Oh! Hah, something like that.” 

Ken doll nods his head. “Yeah, didn’t realize how slow this thing can be sometimes.” Ding. 

“You just moved in, right?” He blurts without thought. “Not that I–, I mean–, kind of hard not to notice yo– a new face! In the building.” Bradley wonders if he can fall through the floor so hell can swallow him whole. Ding. He feels heat start to creep up his neck.

And then ken doll snorts at him. It shouldn’t be that attractive. But his eyes scrunch up and Bradley can’t stop looking at his dimples. “Yeah, I moved in three days ago. I–” He’s cut off by a horrific jolt. Bradley has to brace himself on the hand railing. The elevator halts completely. Oh shiiiiiit.

“Any chance this happens often and it’s a non-issue?”

“I… normally take the stairs.” Bradley is starting to regret his thoughts concerning luck.

“To the 14th floor? Okay, we’re circling back to that. But first,” Ken doll hits the emergency call button and it rings out. And rings. And rings. 

“No signal on my phone either, shit.” Bradley pockets it.

“Well. I gotta feelin’ we should get comfortable, neighbor.” He sends Bradley a wink and sits down on the floor. “I’m Jake, by the way.” Jake. He commits it to memory. 

“Bradley.” He slides down into a cross-legged position, carefully maneuvering himself so that their knees are not brushed up against one another. He tosses the flowers to the corner. Won’t be needing those. Sorry Mav. “It’s good cardio.” 

“Sorry?” Confused is a good look on Jake.

“Taking the stairs up. It’s good cardio. I only take the elevator when I’m in a rush. And no, the irony isn’t lost on me.” He rests his head against the wall and stares up.

“Sorry about your date, by the way.” Jake looks ruefully at the bouquet. “Hope your girl won’t be too upset with you.”

"Oh– no. They’re for my godfather.” Bradley scratches at his nape. “Well, technically, they’re for his husband. He tends to forget anniversaries and Valentine’s. I’m in charge of keeping the peace. Or rather, making sure my godfather gets to keep his head attached to the rest of his body.” He smiles fondly. 

“Worried now that you’ll get demoted?”

“Only if Pete survives the night.” Bradley smiles wistfully . “And no girl, by the way. Or guy.” 

“Subtle.” Jake grins at him. Bradley wants the image seared into his corneas. 

Jake fiddles with the emergency phone a second time, again with no answer. 

“So, Jake.” Bradley could get used to the sound of his name on his tongue. “What brings you to San Diego? Assuming you just moved here?”

“Work. Naval aviator.” Huh.

“So– question. How can you tell if someone is a pilot?” 

“Um.. Not sure?”

“They’ll tell you they’re a pilot.” Bradley looks down to try and hide his smile.

“Hilarious.” Jake looks like he thinks the exact opposite. “So what do you do then, Bradley?”

“Naval aviator.” He deadpans.

Jake laughs, bright and unguarded. “You’re shittin’ me.” 

“Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw, at your service.” He mocks a salute. 

Jake looks like he’s searching for something. “Rooster… right?” He catches Bradley by surprise. “I’ve heard of you. Won Top Gun a couple years before me. You know Trace?”

“Yeah, we did a sea tour together a couple years ago.” 

“If I were a lesser comedian like yourself I’d make a joke about birds of a feather….” 

Bradley rolls his eyes, but still catches himself smiling. He shifts up on his knees and presses the emergency call button again. “Third time’s a charm?” 

And it rings. And rings. And— “Yes?” 

“Hey! Um, we’re stuck in the elevator? Can someone let us out? I think we’re around the fifth floor.” 

“One hour.” The line goes dead. 

“Well they clearly love their job. I think I’ll have t’ start taking the stairs too, if only to avoid havin’ to talk to that bundle of joy.” Jake shakes his head. 

“Now you’re getting it.” He sighs.

“So– no on-base housing for you?” 

“I could ask you the same question.” Bradley lobs back. 

“Prefer not to, given the choice. Enjoy the city more this way.” He shrugs his shoulders. 

“Yeah.. I get that.” Bradley lets the silence hang for a moment more. “So, did you have any interrupted Valentine’s Day plans?” 

“I’ve been here three days. My plans tonight were assembling a bookshelf and organizing some cabinets. No girl... Or guy.” He smirks at Bradley. 

“Subtle.” Bradley grins back. 

It feels like only mere minutes have passed when Bradley starts to hear signs of life on the other side of the doors, their conversation flowing so naturally. 

As soon as they’ve made their escape, Jake motions for Bradley to head to the stairs. Five flights and some heavier breathing later, Jake turns to him.

“Well this is me. But I’m sure I’ll see you around?” His eyes are twinkling. “I guess that applies to both the building and North Island.” He pushes the hallway door open.

“Yeah, you too. Wait–” Bradley doesn’t allow himself to think. “If you’d like some company, I’m decidedly average at assembling IKEA furniture?” 

Jake beams at him and props the door open wide. “Let’s go cowboy.” 

—

Hours later, Bradley checks his phone.

6 missed calls from Pete

2 new voicemails from Pete

7 new messages from Pete

Jesus. He opens the messages first.

Bradley?? Why aren’t you answering

Where are you? 

You were supposed to be here half an hour ago.

Bradley? Are you alive? Did Ice find out?

Not probable. He’d only have me killed.

Call me, kid. 

Crisis averted. You’re not off the hook, for the record.

sorry, got stuck in my building’s elevator for a couple hours.

you’d be proud of me tho

started taking ur advice

Say more. Now.

don’t think, just do.

ur flowers found a new home. sorry?

*attached photo of red roses in a vase*

Whose apartment is that?

[whohasthecards]

part 1/add on

What if, Hangman is Mav's biological son that Mav never knew about, so Hangman grew up in foster care and the only thing he knows about his biological father was that he was/is in the Navy and his name.

He finds out who his father is when he goes to Top Gun the first time.

He also finds out he's married.

At that point, Hangman was old enough to fend for himself, he didn't need or want a dad (right?).

Plus, why would his father want him when he isn't even half as good as he is?

(Hangman trying to prove himself again and again, so that he would have a reason for Maverick to look at him. To be closer to his father in the only way he knew how.)

He was chosen as a candidate for the mission.

Met his father for the first time.

He didn't get chosen, he was spare.

His father was dead.

Dead.

Dead.

Dead.

He launches against orders.

They were alive.

Mav, his da-- his friend or mentor, gave him a hug.

Afterwards, Mav gets closer to the dagger squad and Jake sees how he gets closer to all the daggers, but not to him. Mav is emotionally constipated and doesn't really know how to interact with someone who was exactly just like him, and even acts a bit weird around him. He decides to treat Jake as a friend/buddy for now.

One day Jake sees Ice, Mav, and Rooster out for dinner at a restaurant he's been meaning to go to for a while now. He left before they saw him.

He felt his throat clench as irritation bubbled up his throat.

Rooster got the friends, the skills, the respect, the parents.

Why did Rooster get everything he ever wanted? Did I not try hard enough?

The jealousy simmered and he kept it under wraps by withdrawing from the Dagger squad, surprisingly, Ice notices first how Jake seems to be avoiding the squad and approached him one night with a beer with the intention of being acquaintances at leadt. They eventually start talking about everything and nothing and hanging out.

Ice was amused how much the young man acted like a combo or him and Mav.

Ice noticed how Jake never accepted any dinner invitation in his and Mav's house.

One day, Jake was critically injured, and they needed blood. Ice, Mav, and the rest of the dagger squad got tested.

Mav's blood was used.

Later on when they asked for Lieutenant Seresin's status, a nurse was skimming quickly through the file, not seeing the note that said, 'discuss with patient and potential biological father candidate later on.'

She looked at Captain Pete "Maverick" Mitchell and said, "Your son will be okay, sir, however we need you and his mother's medical history, his file seems lacking."

[wade-winston-wilson]

Here's a little Icemav Thing from an RP I had a while back: His stomach devours itself on the way to the Bradshaws’ door. Mav knocks, and each time, it's like a bell toll, rattling Ice to the bone. On the fourth knock, the door flies open, revealing a disheveled Carole: tracks of tears line her red, puffy cheeks; she's only wearing a nightgown and a bonnet on her head, seemingly all out of sorts. Her face crumbles when she notices the state of Maverick, all the confirmation she needs for something she's already been told. She yanks Maverick into a hug and holds on for dear life, sobbing violently into the clothes that aren't his.

Quietly, Ice follows them inside. He closes the door and latches the lock, eyes glued to the tacky blue it's been painted. Fleetingly, he thinks he should go. It's just a gut reaction–pathetic for a man of the Navy, his father would say–but obviously that's not going to happen; because Maverick needs him, and Ice is in love with him–and Goose is dead.

It's the sound of rustling sheets that snaps Iceman out of it altogether. He turns, takes in the room: small, with double queen-sized beds shoved together in the middle. On the one furthest from the door, Bradley Bradshaw stirs awake, tiny fists digging into his eyes. Ice sits with him through his mother's agony, hating himself with every hitch of breath she can't seem to catch.

“I'm so sorry, Baby Goose,” he pleads softly into Bradley's hair, just as his little lip starts to tremble. He makes a promise to Goose right then and there, praying he'll hear it.

They stay like that for hours: with Mav holding Carole, and Ice cradling Bradley to his chest, until eventually, all the crying comes to a gradual stop. By oh-two-hundred, Bradley is fast asleep. Carole had tucked herself into a recliner about half an hour ago, a blanket strewn across her legs as she gazes blankly at a spot on the floor. Ice stands and places Bradley in her arms, then squats beside her chair. She looks at him then, utterly exhausted. Somehow, she still manages a tired smile.

Ice believes every word Goose has ever said about her.

“Thank you,” she rasps out, low in the room, but loud and ringing in Ice's head. Don't, he doesn't say, watches instead as she tilts her head at Bradley–then at Mav through the window, who at some point had moved outside. “For takin’ care of the boys.”

Ice stares at Maverick's silhouette for a long time before turning back to Carole. “You know how he got the name Goose?”

Her eyes shine with tears, but she's smiling again, shaking her head. With a cotton-thick mouth, Ice tells her.

“Every time he opened his mouth, he'd always find a way to mention how incredible his wife is, or how smart of a son he has. Like a Mother Goose.”

Carole laughs and cries, burying her face against her shoulder, and reaching out for Ice. Ice takes her hand.

“You meant the world to him. All three of you,” he adds, glancing at the window again. Carole squeezes his hand; and as he gets to his feet, he squeezes back. “Don’t hesitate to reach out for anything. That goes for the rest of the squad, too. Whatever you need.”

“Thank you, Tom,” she sniffles, wiping roughly at her eyes. She sighs at the window along with him. “Now get on out of here an’ get Pete to bed. Before he passes out and hits the concrete, okay? Me an’ Bradley, we'll… well, we'll get through it tonight.”

Ice lets her go with a soft goodbye and a promise to get Maverick to sleep, fitting the lock in place before shutting the door. The air is warm against his skin as he steps out, soothing the ache in his throat–brought on from the tears he’d managed to swallow down. Maverick's back is to him, slim shoulders tense. Ice runs a hand over his mouth to keep from touching him.

“I'm sorry you didn't get to tell her first,” he says into the hush of the night, coming to stand beside Maverick–leaving space between them. “I know you wanted her to hear it from you.”

This is the longest they've gone without some kind of physicality between them: a back rub, someone's ruffled hair, even a hand hold. Ice doesn't know how Maverick likes to be touched when he's grieving. Doesn't know how to hug him without Carole's sobs harmonizing with Goose's screams. All he can do right now is make good on his promises to all four of the Bradshaws.

Ice looks down at Mav, eyes trained on the curve of his nose. “Come on.”

[eternalsams]

Headcanons I just came up with

Bradley can cook like a damn boss

Jake has two really bad vices. He has the occasional cigarette and a decent amount of good top shelf whiskey

Bob plays Scrabble

Mickey is a dancer (bro shakes ass)

Natasha is from a military family

Javy's favorite loony toon character was Wil. E. Coyote hence his call sign

Reuben really likes sandwiches (yes because he has the same name as a sandwich)

Pete wakes up and says "God has let me live another day again and I'm about to make it everyone's problem"

Penny at one point has ginger hair

Iceman hated the '86 Flyboys because they always would play Ice Ice Baby when it came out

Amelia is a band kid and I will die on this hill

Hondo has GREAT music taste

Cyclone has a sparsely furnished place

Warlock played D&D at some point in his life

imma add some more if you don't mind

Jake has a big fat crush on Michelle Pfeiffer

Mickey loves watching Bluey

Bob has the neatest handwriting (including Natasha)

I don't agree with your Coyote origin story for his callsign he got his callsign because he ate raw meat once when he drank too much

Jake is dyslexic. period. he's always been a math kid

Bradley loves learning new languages but he's terrible at remembering

Jake comes from a loving country family that owns a ranch. he then knows how to ride a horse but never told the rest of the daggers. he misses riding when he's in California

Mickey is a great cook, he learned everything from his dad

Coyote is an orphan, so when he met Jake at the Top Gun program (he's younger than Jake) he felt like he found the brother he never had

I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

[nfr-girly]

Little Hope - Bradley Bradshaw x reader (Part 3)

a/n: this one’s a little longer, not sure wether to make part 4 the last part or part 5, but hope you like it! x

part 1 part 2

Hope had settled in nicely to pre-school. She had made a good amount of friends and Bradley’s nerves were completely gone upon seeing how happy she was.

Every now and then Bradley and Y/N would talk, usually either about Hope, or the Navy. Bradley cherished the few minutes they spent talking, as he knew he would never be able to go any further with them.

Y/N knew it was unprofessional to have a crush on a parent, she had tried to get over her little crush on him, but every time he walked in she could feel herself fall even more.

Your POV

As im sorting out my classroom, a few of my students, including Hope, colour as they wait for their parents. Today Hopes uncle, technically family friend, is picking her up today. So I didn’t glam up as much as I usually did..

“Mavvy!! Hope runs up to the man, who I assume is Maverick, and hugs him.

“Hey kiddo!! Listen you and me have got a fun day planned, me and Penny are gonna get you some ice cream, then we’ll take you to the beach. That sound good?”

“uhuh” she nodded

I walk over to maverick and shake his hand

“Hi I’m Hopes teacher, you must be Maverick?”

“Yeah well my real names Pete but thats my call sign, everyone calls me it. Nice to meet you” he says shaking my hand back.

“I’ll just go grab Hopes things for you!” I walk over to Hopes peg, before I hear some whispering

“Hey kid, is she the one your dad’s always talking about?”

I pause in my steps. The one your dads always talking about? He wasn’t talking about me? Right?

“Yep, daddy was right Miss L/N is very pretty. I think he has a crush on her.” Hope whispers that last part a lot quieter, but I still hear it.

“Well I think you need to start playing Cupid”

Hope gasps in excitement. Redness fills my cheeks as I try to comprehend the conversation I unintentionally eavesdropped in.

I realise I’ve been stood at the peg for way too long, and quickly grab her things and walk over.

“Here’s hopes things, are you doing anything nice this weekend?” I bend down to hopes height so she doesn’t have to look up.

“Yep, my dad and uncle mavvy are taking me to the beach, they’re going to play football.”

“Well that sounds like a lot of fun!”

“You know Y/N if you’d like you can come to watch! It’s mostly boys but there is a woman named natasha. I’m sure you guys would get along.”

“Yes please miss L/N please come!!” Hope jumps up and down in excitement

I pick myself back up and think. Would it be weird to go? I am Hopes teacher after all. But I suppose I couldn’t miss out on such a generous invitation.

“Okay sure! Which area of the beach is it? I’ll get an uber there” I ask

“Oh no we can pick you up. What’s your address?”

I gave him my address and we specified I meet them outside my apartment at 9.

“Thanks so much again for the invitation. I’ll see you then. Bye hope!” I wave at them as they walk towards their car. Did I make a mistake? Probably. Did I care? No.

The next day: Saturday

I’m deciding what to wear to the beach. I can’t put on much revealing. Hopes gonna be there, so will Bradley. I decide to go with shorts, and a short sleeve top.

I get a text from maverick that they’re outside. I can only assume Bradley’s there in the car with them. God what is he doesn’t know I’m coming? He’ll be so weirded out by me. What am I doing??

Bradley’s POV

Maverick comes to a stop next to an apartment building, I furrow my eyebrows in confusion.

“Hey why are we stopping?”

“To pick up miss L/N” Hope yells out before Pete can get a word in. But my heart stops.

What did she mean we’re here to pick up Y/N?

“Wait what? Pete what’s she talking about?” I started to get annoyed, but also worried. Pete knew about my stupid crush on Y/N. I didn’t think he’d do something about it though.

“Listen, you and me both know you aren’t gonna do shit about your feelings for that girl. So me and Hope decided to invite her to the game. She’s only watching and on the plus side she could watch Hope.”

“What and you didn’t even ask me first?” I ask, starting to get frustrated

“You can act mad, but are you gonna pretend that you aren’t thrilled about actually being able to talk to her for more than 5 seconds?”

Despite my frustration. That shut me up quick.

“She’s here!!” I hear Hope squeal out. I turn my head to the right and see her. Oh my god..

“I’ll go help her with her bags” Pete says before getting out.

I would protest to do it myself, but I’m caught in a trance and I can’t get out. Was it possible for any woman to be that beautiful?

She had decided to wear shorts with a top. Did she know how cute she looked? I snap out of my trance when I realise she has just gotten into the car.

I turn my head to look at her and she looked at me. No words were spoke yet we said so much. She smiled at me before smiling at hope

“Hello Hope how are you doing?” She asked

“I’m okay, you look really pretty miss L/N”

“Aw thank you very much, you look pretty too, I love your bow”

Hope giggled and y/n smiled and then turned to me

“Hey Bradley, how are you?” She asked

I take a moment to conjure up my thoughts, not processing what she had just asked me, being too fixated on her

“Oh uh- yeah sorry I’m great thanks, y-you look great by the way” I immediately regret asking that and internally slapped myself

Her cheeks go red for a moment before responding

“Oh- thank you um, you don’t look too bad yourself” she smiles, suddenly becoming shy

“Okay we ready to hit the road?” Pete asks putting his seatbelt on

We all nod and he starts driving. God. What am I going to do?

————————————————————————

taglist 👇

@leahnicole1219

@itsdesiree86

[1001aus]

@wearerandomlyyours IceMav time travel au has lived in my mind for a while now. Also I have Chronic Worldbuilding Syndrome and started having thoughts about Ice and Mav telling the brass that they met at Top Gun leading to the eventual creation of the program and policies put into place that will ensure it's the same as they described (i.e. teaching positions reserved for trophy winners, being located at Miramar).

Anyway.

I Wrote A Thing.

(Disclaimer: as this au does not belong to me, I make no promises that this will be compliant with anything that may get written by randomlyyours (that is their name on ao3. go check them out) in the future. I cannot promise that this is an au they are working on at all.)

---------‐

Mike has a suspicion about Duke's kid before he ever earns his callsign.

It starts as a funny thought: wouldn't it be a laugh if Duke was named after his own son. Duke being named after his son's cover identity which was probably named after him—Mike doesn't have the clearance to know more than what he needs to so he can identify Blizzard and Wild Thing when they come to Top Gun, not even what year to expect them although he's sure it's in the files somewhere—the exact order of events makes for a chicken-or-the-egg question for when he has nothing better to do than navel gazing.

Then he hears that Pete Mitchell is rejected from the academy because of who his father was. That burns him as much for the possibility he hadn't realized he felt so strongly about as much as it does because he knows the things people say about his wingman are lies.

For a while he assumes he was wrong; that's the end of it and doesn't think about that stray idea again.

Their first class roster for the class of '86 seems to confirm that. Mike wouldn't be cleared to know about Blizzard and Wild Thing if someone high up didn't expect him to be teaching them and Iceman looks like a perfect candidate. Blizzard and Wild Thing meet for the first time at Top Gun, that's why he's read in. Hell, it's why the program exists in the first place.

None of the other pilots have callsigns that line up, but it could be Cougar if he squints. Then Cougar turns in his wings less than a week before they start and Stinger sends the only other pilot on the Enterprise worth sending.

Pete Mitchell. Maverick.

That funny thought is worth something after all.

"Well, I'll be damned."

"Mike?"

He pulls the files out of the stack and offers them to Rick. It doesn't take more than a minute for Rick to understand what he's looking at.

"So it's finally happening, huh? They look just like the pictures."

"Explains why Wild Thing flew like he had a chip on his shoulder."

"That it does." Rick snorts out a laugh. "Either the pair of them will be our best students or our worst."

Yeah, Mike's already dreading that. He still isn't sure if he should tell the kid Duke flew on his wing or if that would just make more problems. Gonna have to play that one by ear.

Mitchell's got a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas and Kazansky's shooting for stars. They're the only real competition the two of them have got in this class and they're sharp enough to know it. There isn't much information available on Blizzard and Wild Thing before their grand entrance to the war, but Mike's willing to bet the first impressions don't go smoothly.

"The worst. Ten bucks says."

"Pretty confident there. Sure, I'll take that bet."

(Rick gives him his winnings at the end of the first day.)

[edelfan]

Pete fought to keep his eyes open, but the heavy drowsiness of his body tried to pull him under once again.

Lying on the dirty rag, which did nothing against the coldness of the concrete floor, he kept his face turned towards the door and the slim shimmer of artificial light shining through the crack underneath it. Other than that, his cell was covered in complete darkness.

There wasn't even a window, no sun to help him differentiate between day and night. In the weeks since their capture, Pete had lost all sense of time. There wasn't even a pattern to whenever he was given some of the stale bread or watery soup; and he had no way to calculate when they would return for the beatings and torture.

Somewhere in this old bunker they were keeping Bradley as well. However, Pete hadn't laid eyes on the man he considered his son since the day they had been brought here. From time to time he could hear Bradley's screams and cries though and he could only hope that he fared slightly better than Maverick himself.

Maverick didn't dare to think much about his own injuries. He knew that he had several broken bones and that the many hits against his head hadn't been without consequences. The fever didn't let him forget about the infected wound on his thigh. However, it had been the blood he kept throwing up for two days that made it hit home that he was running out of time.

There was no more fight left in him. Nobody would come for them and they were destined to die in this dark and dirty hole. Like many times before, Maverick was thinking about Ice - about his lover and husband that he would eventually leave behind. If he could just take him into his arms one last time… kiss him one last time…

~*~

"Pete! Hey, come on, wake up…"

Slowly Mav's eyes opened, taking a long time to focus on the face before him. But it couldn't be true, he must have been hallucinating.

"Ethan?"

"Yeah, it's me, baby brother."

"Three… by three minutes…"

Ethan's laughter felt like sunshine on his face.

"More than enough. We're here to take you home."

Looking past his older brother, who was carefully holding him in his arms, Maverick saw another man. His fuzzy mind didn't let him recall his name, but somehow he remembered how Ethan had introduced him as his boyfriend one day. However, Pete couldn't help but shy away when the man pulled out a syringe with a clear liquid in it.

"Hey, it's okay. Benji is just giving you something for the pain and to relax a bit. The ride out of here won't be easy after all."

Sighing, Pete buried his face in Ethan's jacket, the smell immediately reminding him of home while he felt the strange sensation of medicine running through his system.

"Bradley?"

"The rest of my team is with him. Don't worry, I promised Ice to bring back his whole family."