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princessmisery666 · 1 year

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Flowers of Fate

Summary: Serendipity, luck, coincidence – call it what you will, but Bradley is sure his parents may have had a hand in his good fortune.

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: fluff, slight angst, meet-cute.

W/C: 2.5k

Characters: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw, OFC. Small Parts/Mentions: Carole & Nick Bradshaw (the OG relationship goals), Penny Benjamin, Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell, Dagger Squad.

Pairing: Rooster x OFC

A/N: Not sure where this one came from.

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch // @writercole

Graphics: made by me.

Master Lists: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw // All The Fandoms

The sunrise accompanied Bradley’s jog around the lake like it did most mornings. He loved to get up before the sun and go jogging, not running, jogging. If he ran, he couldn’t appreciate the sound of the early bird song or how the rising sun shimmered across the lake while he did laps around the well-trampled path.

He savored the quiet, never putting music on, enjoying the peace before his day of jet engines and Hangman’s ego truly started.

Bradley’s mom had shown him the lake years before. It was where she and Goose snuck off for time alone while Mav babysat a much younger Bradley. A large oak stood at the lake’s edge, and Nick, being the romantic he was, had carved their initials and the date into it - ‘To show our love will last an eternity, like this tree.’ Carole had told him that story so many times. And his dad had been right; their love was eternal and forever immortalized by that tree.

His parents were gone, and the tree had aged, but new life sprang up every year around its base, which always made Bradley smile. It was as if their love still lived, and they were letting him know they were watching over him. He felt close to them here and often imagined them smiling down on him.

Though it was his favorite place to jog, today, he had another reason to be there. It was the date that had been carved into the bark, and he had a bouquet of purple calla lilies, his mother’s favorite, that he planned to leave at its base.

With years of growth, large branches now shaded the path, creating dappled patterns on the packed dirt below. As Bradley rounded the curve, the sturdy trunk coming into view, he saw her. Leaning against the oak, her hand covering his parents’ initials for balance while stretching her legs out behind her. His feet stalled, rooting themselves in place as he watched her roll her shoulders and neck, limbering up. Eyes closed, she twisted, stretching her back, and he was stunned by her beauty—face free of makeup, full lips, curves and edges that begged to be squeezed and hair that looked velvety smooth with skin to match—a goddess in lycra and sneakers.

“Thank you,” he whispered up to the sky, believing it was a sign from his parents.

Eyelids fluttering open, she caught his gaze, giving him a smile that was prettier than the newly budding flowers around her feet. “Good morning,” she said.

“Hey,” he smiled.

She kept eye contact for a moment, then looked down at the flowers in his hand, and he realized he'd been gawking.

Way to be creepy, Bradshaw.

“Those are beautiful,” she said, “Calla lilies, right?”

“Um, yeah,” he said.

“Those are my favorite. How did you know?” She teased, smiling.

He chuckled, and a second before his brain told him to take a step closer and start a real conversation, someone jogged into his peripheral. A tall, light-haired man ran to her side and kissed her cheek.

“I’ve been waiting for almost half an hour,” she griped at the man, “you're lucky I love you!”

Bradley’s heart sank to his feet, and a weight of discontent settled on his shoulders. With a heavy sigh, he continued on his way. He’d set the flowers down on his next lap.

It wasn’t meant to be.

Since Maverick introduced the Dagger squad to Dogfight Football, they went down to the beach as often as possible to play a game and let off steam after a long day of training.

Jake threw a long ball, and Bradley jogged backward, watching it arch through the sky. The ball hit the sand, and he reached out to catch it on the bounce but missed, fingers skimming the side as the oval ball bounced out of reach.

“Here,” a familiar voice said, and he turned to see the woman from the lake holding the ball out to him.

“Uh, thanks,” Bradley muttered, taking the ball from her outstretched hand. He was thankful he was wearing sunglasses because his eyes roamed her body from head to toe. Her hair was down, sitting in thick waves over her left shoulder. She’d applied light makeup, a gray sweater, and jeans that accentuated the curves he’d admired earlier.

“Calla lily guy, right?” she asked, recognizing him too.

“Yeah,” he nodded and felt his cheeks heat up. He’d been staring again. He wiped his sweaty palm on his jeans and then offered it to her, “I’m -”

“Hen, come on! Penny’s got our drinks ready,” the light-haired man from earlier stood on the deck of the bar, waving her over.

Bradley stuttered. Her name was Hen. It had to be divine intervention. Had to be. Like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing, he tried to find air to form words.

Before he succeeded, Jake yelled, “Rise and shine, chicken boy. Get off the perch and back in the game!”

“Looks like we’re both wanted elsewhere,” she chuckled and shied from Bradley's gaze, tucking her hands into the back pocket of her jeans, “Good luck with the game.”

He watched her cross the beach, and she looked back over her shoulder at him once, smirking. He was gawking again, but he couldn’t look away. She sat on the bench opposite the man who had called her, and they spoke for a moment. She laughed, eyes creasing, shoulder shaking, and tipped her head back. It was as blinding as looking into the sun.

Until Hen had left, she’d had Bradley’s attention. Distracted by her lilting laughter, he kept glancing over, catching her eye while she chatted and joked with her friends. The lack of attention to the game subsequently meant a loss for his team.

Hangman would never let them live it down, and as Bradley was to blame, he’d promised that drinks were on him for the night. That was the only reason he’d gone to the Hard Deck, to pay off his debt.

He entered to rapturous cheers and orders of “Tequila and beers!”

So it was going to be one of those nights. Bad decisions that led to good stories to tell. As he made his way through the crowd to the bar, he made a mental note to give his keys to Bob.

“Hey, Mav,” Rooster said, clapping the man on the back as he reached the bar.

“Hi, kid,” Maverick smiled.

“Hey, Penny,” he greeted, “can I get six beers, six shots of tequila, and a soda, please?”

“Opening a tab?” Penny asked, lining up the glasses on the bar.

“Probably best.”

Pete leaned back to look at him, quickly deducing, “So you lost a bet, huh?”

“I did,” Rooster nodded, shaking his head, “let myself get distracted.”

“Come on,” Mav chided, “I taught you better than that.”

“She was a real pretty distraction,” Rooster defended, “and I don’t know, kinda felt like…” he cut himself off. It seemed ridiculous to be talking about fate and love at first sight. “It’s stupid. I barely spoke three words to her, but it all felt like a sign. She was at Mom and Dad’s tree, then she picked up Dad’s ball, and I just… I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”

“You sound like your dad talking about Carole,” Mav chuckled fondly, but quickly it shifted to a sad smile. His focus drifted to a spot beyond the room, losing himself in memories how he often did.

Bradley turned back to Penny. “Maybe you should pour an extra shot,” he sighed as he scrubbed his hand down his face.

“You got it,” Penny replied, tapping her knuckles on the counter as she turned to pull their favored brand of liquor. “Hey, Hen, grab six bottles of Budweiser’s.”

Bradley’s head snapped up as he heard her name, and his eyes landed on the brunette he’d seen twice - now three times - in the same day. She was focused on popping the caps off the bottles before gathering them up, and as soon as she lifted her head, her eyes landed on Bradley.

“Hey you,” she said as if they were old friends. “Three times in one day? Is this a coincidence, or are you stalking me?”

He stuttered, struggling to find a suitable reply that didn’t make him sound like a creep. Instead, for the third time, all he could do was gawk at her.

Hen laughed, placing the bottles on the bar in front of him beside the tequila shots. She winked, “I hope it’s the latter.”

Bradley’s brain continued to forget the concept of speech, his lips moved, but no words came out, and he couldn’t stop staring. Her eyes were soft and kind, the color of burnt caramel, and he was drowning in them.

Wait, she said something, right? He grabbed a glass and shot back the tequila with a wince, hoping the sour taste would kickstart his brain.

“Oh, this is going about as well as it did when your Dad met your Mom,” Maverick snickered under his breath.

“Henrietta, this is Bradley,” Penny offered, “Bradley, this is Henrietta.”

“Hen,” she said, “my grandma was Henrietta. I’m Hen.” She stretched her hand over the bar. “Nice to finally officially meet you.”

Hen. Her name is Hen?! Bradley stared at her hand, and it took Maverick literally kicking him to get his brain to catch up. He shot his hand out, knocking over a bottle, and she jumped back, a splash of beer splattering her sweater, before he could make the connection.

Mortified, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry.”

Penny set about cleaning up the spill and sent Hen out the back to attend to her shirt.

“I’m an idiot,” Rooster grumbled, watching her maneuver through the crowd to the back. He sighed, exhaling the embarrassment he felt. “I guess it doesn’t matter anyway. She has a boyfriend.” He shrugged, the image of the man crisp in his mind. “He’s as gorgeous as she is, probably a pediatrician or saves puppies or something, blonder than Hangman too, so I’m not even her type.”

A boisterous bark of laughter startled Bradley, and he turned toward the sound. Of course, it was the gorgeous boyfriend, and now that Bradley was closer, he saw he had amazing eyes too. Flecks of gold highlighted the green hues that couldn’t decide if they were hazel.

“You think I’m gorgeous?” He asked, smiling.

“Yes, and oh crap,” realization hit Bradley like a bat to the chest, and he was mortified all over again. “You’ve been there the entire time I’ve been swooning over your girlfriend.”

“And throwing drinks on her,” Gorgeous eyes laughed.

“I didn’t… it was an…”

The man’s laughter intensified, and he slapped a hand on Bradley’s shoulder, “I’m messing with you,” he interrupted. “I’m Derek, the gay brother,” he explained, laughter subdued to an amused chuckle, “And for the record, I do save puppies.”

“She’s single?”

“Very much so,” Derek said. “And she’s been swooning over you too. Seeing you, she thought it was a sign. She’d sworn off men - bad breakup a while ago. Decided to dip her toe back in the dating pool, but it’s been a bit disastrous. Seeing you today, with her favorite flowers, at her favorite place to jog, wearing a t-shirt of her favorite band, she thought the universe was trying to tell her something.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Bradley felt his heart skip a beat. It had been a sign for both of them. “Excuse me,” he said, already pushing through the queue at the bar.

He ignored the questions yelled at him by his friends. Their drinks could wait. He had something he needed to do.

Hen was at the sink, dabbing a damp cloth against the stain, when he barged through the door, but she looked up at him as the doors swung shut, blocking out the noisy bar.

He gawked again, tongue-tied, a million questions firing through his head, but he didn’t ask any of them. Her friendly smile began to fall, perhaps wondering if he was suffering from a mental breakdown.

“Your name is Hen,” he said. She nodded once. He walked closer while he rambled, “Your name is Hen, and I’m Rooster, and you like Calla Lilies and my mom and dad’s tree, and you have a gay brother, not a boyfriend. And your name is Hen. And now I’ve said that three times but that’s not what I wanted to say, but you're so beautiful I keep forgetting what words are, and then you smile at me, and I forget how to breathe, and I’m usually not this much of an idiot, but I think I might… ”

She stole his breath by placing her hands flat on his chest. “Take a breath.”

Oh yeah. Breathe between sentences. If he got out of this alive, he’d have a serious word with himself.

She waited for him to follow her suggestion before asking, “What did you want to say?”

‘Please have my babies’ seemed a little too forward, so he settled for, “Can I take you out for dinner tomorrow night?”

There was no hesitation or thought, only a playful, happy smile followed by a decisive and firm “yes.”

Bradley may have lost the football game, but Hen seemed to be a good luck charm, she’d said yes to a date, and now he just couldn’t lose. Darts, pool, cards he’d won every game, looking over at her every time he scored or won a hand, to find her looking back at him.

He’d decided against drinking. He didn’t need any more fuel to make a fool of himself, so he left his tab open for the rest of the Daggers and whistled a happy tune as he strolled to his Bronco.

“Hey, Rooster,” Hen called.

His heart sank as he spun to face her. She looked uneasy, and he knew she was going to tell him she’d changed her mind about the date. She stopped in front of him and smiled, but there was something in it he couldn’t quite put his finger on, nerves, remorse perhaps.

“I’ve been thinking about it all day, and if I don’t do it, I’ll be nervous for our date, and I don’t want to be nervous. Not scared, nervous, more excited, nervous. You know? I want to enjoy it so um… could you… I mean, can I… screw it.” She stepped into his space, swiftly cupped his cheeks, and rose to the tips of her toes while pulling him down to meet her lips.

He was shocked for maybe half a second before he leaned into her, wrapping his arms around her waist to tug her closer to him. She tasted like tequila. He imagined she’d done a shot for liquid courage before following him outside.

It may have lasted for a minute. It could have lasted for an hour. He didn’t know. He’d kissed a few women in his life, but nothing had ever felt like this, and he didn’t know it until her hand was wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling him in closer and deepening the kiss, but Bradley had been waiting for her.

Feedback in the form of a likes/comments/reblogs is like a forehead kiss and fuels the muses 💟

Master Lists: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw // All The Fandoms

Tag list info.

Take To The Skies: @alexxavicry / @b3autyfuldisast3r / @fandom-princess-forevermore / @imjess-themess / @justagirlinafandomworld / @leigh70 / @letsbys-library / @shanimallina87 / @wildbornsiren / @writercole / @xoxabs88xox / @atarmychick007 / @genius2050

#top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw #rooster #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x ofc #original female character #rooster x original female character #rooster fluff

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princessmisery666-library · 7 months

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Flowers Of Fate

Summary: Serendipity, luck, coincidence – call it what you will, but Bradley is sure his parents may have had a hand in his good fortune.

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: fluff, slight angst, meet-cute.

W/C: 2.5k

Pairing: Rooster x OFC

READ IT NOW: Tumblr // AO3

#top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw #rooster #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x ofc #original female character #rooster x original female character #rooster fluff #oc fic #tgm #tgm fanfiction #tgm fic #tgm oc #top gun fic

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baby-girl-e · 2 years

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Their Legacy

Characters - Iceman x Maverick, Original Female character x Phoenix, Rooster, Dagger squad, Original Male character

Summary - Elizabeth Kazansky-Mitchell is a great combination of her two fathers, if the Navy doesn’t see it that way well… that’s their problem.

Or Tom and Pete raise Tom’s niece and she turns out exactly as you’d expect a Kazansky to in such close proximity to Maverick and his adoptive son Bradley.

Word Count - 5k

Warnings - brief mention of a death resulting in an adoption

A/N - I really shouldn’t be starting another series right now given the two I’ve been neglecting, but I can’t help myself! I hope you like this one, and I would appreciate it if you’d let me know if you want a part two! (I’m planning one, I just want to see how this is received!) You can also listen to the Spotify playlist I made for Elizabeth here!

Listen. While legally Elizabeth's last name was Kazansky, there were some consequences of her being raised in such close proximity to Pete Mitchell. Okay, maybe ‘close proximity’ was underselling it. The better definition would be, he was her other father. Just not on paper until 2015. From an early age she was taught that she could call Tom ‘Dad’ in public but she had to refer to her Papa as ‘Uncle Pete’. Neither of them were her biological parents, but she was only an infant when her mother, Tom’s sister, died in a car accident. Her biological father was never known, not even to her biological mother. This could all sound like some massive tragedy, and it was to her Dad when he lost his sister, but to Elizabeth? She had nothing but an amazing childhood. Two whole dads that loved her and even an older brother until he left when she was only five. Bradley was a very touchy subject in the Kazansky-Mitchell household, her dad’s loved their son, but they ultimately had to respect his mother’s wishes to at least try and keep him out of the sky. Try being the key word. It became even more touchy when Liz expressed interest in flying to her dad’s. They were incredibly supportive of her career and even helped her with her application to Annapolis. One of the benefits of Liz only bearing her Dad’s last name was that she had no problem getting in. If she had started her career in the Navy with both dad’s last names like she wanted, she might’ve had a bit more trouble given her Papa’s reputation.

The minute she climbed into that cockpit for the first time was when the consequences of being raised by Maverick Mitchell really started to show. Sure she was a bit of a rebellious teenager, but ultimately her Kazansky blood got the best of her and forced her into rule following. But something about the sky threw away all of her Dad’s genetics and she was all Mitchell. To her credit she didn’t break a ton of rules, just a tower buzz here and there. Did she flirt heavily with the hard deck? Absolutely. When her dad got a call about her flying style from her TOP GUN instructor (not that she was in trouble, but the Instructor was one Captain Sam ‘Merlin’ Wells and he and her parents were still very close.) her dad knew he was in trouble. “Tom, it’s like there’s two of them. I’ve flown with Mav way too many times, that was all him up there.” Sitting outside of Uncle Merlin’s office she couldn’t hear her dad but she could bet that he was in his signature “are you fucking kidding me Mitchell” pose that consited of a sigh and fingers on his sinuses. Soon enough the conversation was over and she was called into his office. Now, once again, she wasn’t in trouble. She was the one who had asked to talk to her Uncle. “Lizzy. Great to see you!” During class and everywhere there were other Navy people she was always very professional with him and all of her numerous uncles, but in the privacy of his office she let herself have this one hug. “Thank you for seeing me, Uncle Merlin. I had something I wanted to discuss with you.” He smiled and went to sit behind his desk, sensing this was more business than personal. “Anything for my favorite niece. I was actually just on the phone with your dad, telling him all about your inherited ‘Mitchell Mayhem’.”

The term was coined mostly by him, Uncle Sli, and her dad, always sure to get an eye roll out of her Papa. “Actually sir, that's kinda what I came to talk to you about. As you know, my last name has legally been ‘Kazansky-Mitchell’ since 2015 when my dad’s got married and Paps legally adopted me. But I’ve kept my last name with the Navy just Kazansky for obvious reasons with getting into the academy.” Sam nods his head in understanding. It’s unfortunate, but who you know is a big deal in the Navy, and while her dad’s were out and proud by the time she joined, they didn’t need a formal reminder of her more rebellious father anytime she was transferred to another carrier or a new squadron. “Well I was thinking that since I’m at the height of my career here at TOP GUN, there’s really no point in hiding my real last name anymore. So…” She pulls out the papers she was clutching to like a lifeline and hands them to her Uncle. “I talked with Uncle Sli and he helped me get my name officially updated in the Navy records without my Dad’s knowing. I already have a new patch ready to go, I just need you to know so when I win the TOP GUN trophy it’ll have my real name on it.”

Sam’s eyes went from sentimental and heartwarming to being utterly appalled within seconds. “And what makes you think the trophy is yours little miss?” Another nickname coined by her uncles. “Well my callsign isn’t ‘Legacy’ for nothing sir. I was taught by the best, yourself included.” He just shakes his head and laughs softly. “Flattery will get you everywhere my dear. I will make sure that our records are accurate so that if you win the trophy, you’ll have your real name on it.” She smiles and moves to stand. “Thank you sir.” Sam walks her to the door but stops before they open it. “Any reason we’re keeping this from your dad’s?” That was a thing she was grateful for having all her uncles in the Navy, if she really wanted to, she could hide a choice few things from her dads. “I want it to be a surprise at graduation. Thought it was finally time for Paps name to be on that plaque.” Sams sentimental smile was back and he was giving her a heartwarming hug. “You’re a good kid, you know that? Even if you fly like a Mitchell.” She opens the door and just before she leaves she turns back to her uncle to say, “It’s because I am one sir.” And dammit if that didn’t make Merlin tear up just a little.

///

When she got back to her locker she decided that now that it was official it was okay to pull out the new patch Uncle Sli had made for her. She palmed the small rectangle and smiled. It was a small thing, literally, but it felt like she was truly being herself now. The only other person who she really talked about her family to was her RIO Jake ‘Thunder’ Thompson, and even he didn’t really bring them up a lot. She appreciated the effort, she was already under enough of a microscope from everyone else. She peels back the velcro on the nametag that was already on her flight suit and replaced it with the new one that read ‘ELIZABETH ‘LEGACY’ KAZANSKY-MITCHELL’. Okay that was a bit of a mouthful but she didn’t really care. “Woah, new threads there legacy?” She almost forgot she told jake to hang back and wait for her so they could go to the Hard Deck together. “Yeah, what do you think? Too much?” Jake throws his arm around her shoulder and picks up the flight suit that she had changed out of to inspect it. “No, I think it’s just right Lizzy. Maybe not enough last names what do you think?” She laughs and pushes him away. “You’re such a dick Jakey,” he makes a face at her nickname for him, “yeah it’s a mouthful, but maybe this will make me more intimidating. What do you think?” He shuts her locker for her and throws his arm back around her to steer her through the exit. “You mean more intimidating than your kickass flying and your dad being the COMPACFLT?” She rolls her eyes at him and throws her arm around him too. “Now Jakey, why don’t we go to the Hard Deck and stop talking about my family okay?” It was less than a week until graduation and they only had a few hops left before they knew who was going to take home the trophy. They were currently in the lead, but they knew if they got too cocky they could lose it all. They needed a wind down today especially since they had done hop 31, the same hop that had killed her Paps best friend and Bradley’s dad. She knew her dad’s had been worried about the day, especially Paps, so she shot them both a quick ‘I’m okay’ text the minute she was on solid ground. Still needing convincing, she talked to her Papa for nearly an hour before she went to go talk to Merlin.

Apparently the whole ‘let's go somewhere to not think about my family’ was just a pipe dream because the minute she and Jake walked in they saw her Paps sitting at the bar. Last she heard he was being reprimanded for crashing a multi million dollar jet somewhere in the middle of nowhere, giving both her and her dad a mini heart attack mind you, and she didn’t expect to see him again for a week at least. “Paps?” Her Papa turned around at his title and his face went from completely drained to instant sunshine at the sight of his daughter. “Fancy meeting you here baby ice.” He was out of his seat in an instant and hugging her tight. She was mad at him for almost getting himself killed and now for the outdated nickname. Bradley hated being called baby goose and she hated being called baby ice, it was a family tradition. But in spite of her mood she was relieved to have a hug from her dad. He turned to hug Jake as well, him becoming part of the family the minute they had become pilot and RIO. Even though there was no attraction whatsoever, they certainly treated Jake like he was their son-in-law. “Paps. What the hell happened out there? Dad said you crashed the ‘darkstar’? What were you thinking going Mach 10.3?” Pete rolls his eyes and sits back down at the bar waving at Penny for another beer. “You sound just like your dad.” That was definitely the quality she got from her dad, while she flew a lot like Maverick, she also inherited her dad's protectiveness over her Paps. “Yeah well he’s not here to chew you out so, I’m the next best thing.” He hugs her at that. “And while nobody appreciates that more than me, your dad actually is here. Came in early from Hawaii because of my little mishap, so you’re welcome.” Only Maverick Mitchell could turn one of his wrongdoings into a reason to thank him. “Yes, thanks for bringing back my favorite dad.” He fakes hurt and clutches his chest at that. “Ouch I’m hurt. After all of the late night ice cream runs without your dad knowing I thought I would get more respect.” Those were some of her favorite memories from her childhood.

They always did have to sneak in some sugar after hours, Ice wanting to keep them healthy. It was then that they heard a little commotion coming from the pool tables and saw the one and only Bradley Bradshaw approaching the other aviators paying no mind to his family at the bar. “Woah what’s Bradley doing here? Paps, did you know about this?” She turns to her dad and see’s that he’s already trying to hide himself from Bradley. “Yeah sweetheart that’s actually why I’m here. I’m teaching a special ops mission at Miramar and your brother is one of the pilots flying it.” She wasn’t sure how to process that information. On the one hand she was happy at a potential family reunion but on the other hand she knew that both of their personalities were the reason there had been a near 15 year rift between the two. “Does dad know?” Which in hindsight she knew he probably did, he was everyone’s boss. “He’s actually the one that assigned us to the same mission. Thought it would be good for the both of us for some reason.” That was her father indeed. He was always trying to do what he thought was best for his loved ones, that sometimes backfired, but his intentions were always pure. “Figures I guess. Well, I think I’m going to go talk to him. It’s been forever.” Pete looked a little uneasy at her words.

There was a rift between Bradley and the parents, yes, but after they had allowed her to go to Annapolis and flight school and not him, he had resented her as well. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Is he still mad at you?” Truth is, she wasn’t sure. The last time she had seen Bradley in the flesh was at her flight school graduation. She had invited him and not expected to see him given both her dad’s would be there, but against all odds he was there. He had successfully avoided the dad’s but still got in a good hug. He had told her then that he was wrong for taking out his anger on her. It wasn’t her fault that they pulled his papers and not hers. He was confused, yes, but not mad at her anymore. “No, we talked back when I graduated flight school, I think we’re cool. You, however, should probably get out of here.” He smiled and gave her a kiss on the cheek and patted Jake on the back. “Well, good luck. I’ll see you back at the house tonight? Please? Your dad is going to want to see you.” She smiles and nods at her Paps. “Yeah I’ll swing by. See you later, love you.” He winks and returns the sentiment before making his exit. “Wow that was… a lot of information. Even for your family.” She lets out a sigh, Jake was right. The Kazansky-Mitchell clan was alway dealing with some sort of drama, but this seemed to be the greatest hits. “Yeah, well that’s us. I’m going to see if Bradley still likes me, wish me luck?” He gives you a pat on the back. “Good luck, need me to come with you?” She shakes her head but gives her friend a grateful smile before heading over to see her brother. It’s at this point she’s glad that she’s wearing her civies, not really feeling in the mood to be proper in her uniform.

She wipes her hands on her sundress and approaches the group of aviators by the pool table. “Bradley?” The pilot in question turns at the sound of his name. Liz wasn’t entirely sure what she expected his reaction would be but him running to her, picking her up and spinning her around wasn’t one of them. She let out a surprised scream and demanded he let her down. “Lizzy! I didn’t expect to see you here! Are you even old enough to drink?” she rolls her eyes at her big brother, of course he still sees her as a little kid. “I’m 25 now, Bradley. I should be the one shocked that you’re here. I didn’t even know you were stateside.” A pretty brunette to his left chimes in then, “Yeah me too!” Bradley rolls his eyes at the two of them. “Well I’m sorry, next time I am on dry land I’ll send out a PSA. So, what are you doing out here? You're stationed at North Island?” She got slightly giddy at his innocence. She couldn’t wait to tell him that she made it to TOP GUN just like him, his three dads and her two. “I’m actually at TOP GUN, graduation is in a week.” His eyes went wide and he was hugging her again. She got the sense that these hugs were just as much for her as they were for him. “My baby sister at TOP GUN. who would’ve thought! Are you gonna take the trophy you think?” Her cocky pilot brain decided that it was going to answer for her. “Absolutely. That plaques gonna have Kazansky-Mitchell on it for sure!”

In all her excitement for reuniting with her brother she forgot to not mention Pete to him, even if it was just the name. “Oh, I didn’t know you were going by both at work.” He seemed a little sad, but was obviously putting on a face for his sister's sake. “I wasn’t, but I talked to Uncle Merlin today to have it changed, Sli helped me. I wanted my full name to be on the plaque.” He softened a little at the mention of their uncles. “Well at least you have the confidence part down.” She hears someone clear their throat and they both snap out of their little sibling bubble. “Hey Rooster are you gonna introduce us?” He looked a little embarrassed but recovered quickly. “Yeah sorry, um guys this is my little sister Liz. But some of you may know her as Legacy.” Recognition flashes across a few of their faces but mostly confusion. “Wait you’re Legacy? I’ve heard about you, you’re Kazansky’s kid!” She wasn’t shocked at his words, it was extremely common. “Yeah that’s me, and you are?” He leans in and holds out his hand to shake. “Hangman, at your service.” He was charming, Liz could give him credit for that. Cocky? Yes. But also charming. The pretty brunette from earlier comes into view and suddenly all thoughts of the charming cocky blonde man went right out the window. “I’m Phoenix by the way!” She holds out her hand and Liz shakes it, her hand shaking slightly. See this girl was exactly her type, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t incredibly attracted to her. “I’m Elizabeth, but you can call me Liz or Legacy even.” Now they were both blushing and still shaking hands. Bradley clears his throat and breaks both Liz and Phoenix out of their reverie. “It’s nice to meet you Liz, my name is Natasha. But you can call me Nat.” Liz smiles, already sensing a little trouble she’s probably going to have with that one. Tearing her eyes away from Nat she turns back to her brother. He introduces her to the rest of the aviators scattered about and she’s met some and heard of others. Bradley takes a second after the introductions are made to pull Liz away from the rest of the group.

Once the two siblings are reasonably alone Bradley brings up the elephant in the room. “Are your dads around then?” That hurt more than it should’ve, hearing her brother refer to their parents as her dads, and not his. “Yeah they still have the house in fightertown. Dad just got back from Hawaii and Paps is in some hot water as per usual so he’s back from Mojave. Almost died, which is why dad’s back too.” His eyes instinctively widened at hearing about Maverick almost dying. It wasn’t an uncommon experience, but a scary one still that he obviously still feared. Liz also left out the fact that Maverick was indeed back, and Bradley was about to see a whole lot of him very soon. She figured it wasn’t her news to tell. “Are you gonna try to convince me to talk to them?” She laughs, even her persuasiveness wasn’t that effective. “Maybe I would if I thought it would work, but no I won’t. I am headed over there after this if you want to come.” She knew, he knew, the entire Navy knew that he wouldn’t, but still. He breaks up the tension by laughing, “No baby Ice I think I’m good. You have fun though.” She rolls her eyes at the nickname again, two can play at that game. “Well, baby goose you’re missing out. I don’t know if you remember but dad stress bakes and because Paps almost died he’s sure to have made something good.” She wasn’t kidding, the only upside to her other dad almost dying or getting into trouble was there was always some sort of treat afterwards. Not that they were celebrating, it was just her dad's way of coping. It was sweet in a way, another piece of evidence that her parents were soulmates. “While that is tempting I think I’ll still pass. Now if only I had a sister that loved me enough to bring me some.” He fakes looking deep in thought and Legacy punches his arm. “Hey, we’re both at North Island right now, you totally could.” She rolls her eyes, this idiot. “Sure Brad, I’ll bring you some cookies,” he gets excited and goes to interrupt but she isn’t done. “On one condition.” he looks at her expectantly and she lets a smirk take hold of her face. “You give Phoenix my number?” His face falls. “Liz, she’s like my sister, that'd be so weird!” Liz isn’t having any of that and just pats his arm. “And I actually am your sister, look, it doesn’t take a genius to see that she’s hot, I’m hot, it’s a match made in heaven.”

Bradley lets out a very dramatic sigh that sounded a lot like a concession. “Fine, I’ll give her your number, but if I don’t get those cookies I’ll hunt you down.” Liz shakes her head. If she closed her eyes she could pretend like it was the good old times again. “If they even are cookies, Paps nearly exploded, you’re probably getting a three tiered cake.” He smiled and hugged his sister. It seemed even he wanted to pretend it was the past too. “Either way, I’m happy to see you. Have fun with your dads, I’ll tell Phoenix you said bye.” He pulls away and punctuates it with a wink before running back to his group. She briefly considers going to talk to phoenix more, but suddenly has the deep desire for a hug from her dad. It’s a weird sensation, but one not lost on someone who could lose her parents at any moment given the extremely dangerous nature of their jobs. Legacy says goodbye to Jake and tells him to be on his A game tomorrow, they have a trophy to win after all.

The walk up to the front door of her parents house feels shorter when she’s practically bounding up the steps. She’s unlocking the door in record time, eager to hug her dad. It had been almost a month since she saw him last, he had hand delivered the news to her that she was going to TOP GUN, much to the dismay of her CO, obviously not prepared enough for a visit from the COMPACFLT. “Dad? I’m home!” Home. Now that felt good to say again. There were a few lights on but that was the only piece of evidence that someone was home if it weren’t for the Kawasaki in the driveway and the rumbling of feet, running towards her? Should they really be running at their age? Who was she kidding, even God couldn’t keep Paps down and Dad? Well he had about 36 years experience in keeping up with his husband. “Lizzy? That you?” She heard his deep voice before she saw him, but when she did her heart warmed. He looked just as he did when she last saw him instead this time he was wearing a sweater instead of his stuffy uniform. She always hated hugging him when he wore that, his badge and wings poking her cheek. “Hey dad, good to see you.” And there was that hug. Soul crushing in the best way, hand on the back of her head like she suspected he’d been doing since she was born. He let out a content sigh, like he was just as relieved to be in this hug as she was. “Hey baby girl, good to see you too.” When they pulled away she could see her Paps waiting patiently for his turn. “Wow, I would’ve expected you to be in time out.” Pete gives out a very sarcastic laugh and embraces his daughter. “Your father decided he loved me too much to be too mean.” He winked at his husband and because she was attuned to her fathers antics she could see a small blush on her dads cheek. It was nice to see that after all this time they were still like teenagers in love. Tom gestures towards the kitchen, for his family to all to sit around the island while he served brownies. Figures.

Liz laughs as she’s handed a treat and gets a funny look from her parents. “Something funny sweetheart?” She shakes her head and sets down the brownie. “Nothing really, I just bet Bradley that you had baked, it’s what you do when you’re stressed. Especially about Paps.” In the midst of her victory she forgot to turn on her Bradley censor. It was something she had inadvertently developed throughout the years. When she was a kid she didn’t understand why her dad’s would get so sad when she asked for her brother, why they always seemed to cry a little when she said his name. When she did figure it out she stopped talking about him to them, she loved them too much and didn’t want to see them sad. Tom was the first to break the silence that had settled over the room. “Oh, you saw Bradley?” She looked to her Paps confused, “Paps didn’t tell you? He was at the bar and I went to go say hi.” The father in question looked sheepish as his husband gave him the look. “I was going to tell you but I didn’t want to ruin our reunion.” He said that last part with a sly look on his face that got the other man blushing again. “Oh ew you guys, your kid is sitting right here.” Liz feigned disgust and looked away as her Paps decided to make it worse by kissing her dad, just to annoy her, she was sure. “You should be grateful that your parents still love each other. Do you know how many straight couples get divorced every year? Now that’s disgusting.” Maverick was obviously trying to change the subject, but Liz was his daughter so she was nothing if not persistent. “Anyways, yes dad I talked to Bradley. He seemed to be doing great, healthy, and didn’t outright run away when I mentioned you two.”

Pete nodded along, trying not to get too excited at what could be nothing. “Progress is progress Pete, he’ll come around.” Pete rolled his eyes and set down his brownie. “It’s been almost two decades since he stopped talking to us, this isn’t progress.” Tom set his brownie down as well and replaced it with his husband's hand. “Baby, he’s talking to our daughter. He’s not losing his temper when he hears our names, we should take what we can get.” Pete sighs and nods solemnly, not really taking in his words. “If it helps when I invited him over he didn’t really say no as much as an ‘I’ll pass’. I mean he was the one that brought you up in the first place.” Pete perks up at her words. “Really? What did he say?” She has to take a second to remember what he had said, it was a long day and there was a pretty girl involved. “He just asked if you guys were around. I told him that you still had the house and that you were both in town, but I promise I didn’t tell him why just that Paps got himself hurt,” Pete started to interrupt, “You did. And that’s why both of you are back.” There was an uncomfortable silence that settled across the kitchen, an uncommon occurrence for this particular family. “And what did he say?”

Pete was cautious with his question as if he almost didn’t want to know the answer. “He didn’t say anything specific about you, but I could tell in his eyes that he was worried. Then he asked if I was going to try and get him to come over. I didn’t, but he was invited.” Tom put his arm around his daughter and leaned his head on hers. “Thank you for at least trying. I’m sorry about all of this, I know it’s affected you too.” That was something Liz was always so surprised by. Her parents always thought about her involvement in certain situations. Something her friends had told her was a rare occurance in a father child relationship. Even when she was just a kid and her Paps was still going on deployments her dad always made sure to keep her up to date on what was going on, to try and ease her anxieties. She always could tell when something bad had happened, her dad keeping his updates more vague, but he was there informing her nonetheless. “It’s okay dad. Bradley was mad at me for just a little bit, at least he’s talking to one of us.” The same sad smile was painted on both her parents' faces, something that they had developed after being the same kind of sad for so long.

“Okay that’s enough sad for tonight, we haven’t been all together for a long time what do you say we watch a movie and pass out on the couch?” It was her favorite thing they did. She would always suggest a movie and they would be all for it but fall asleep halfway through. Liz would just throw a blanket on them and put herself to bed. And so that’s how the small family ended their evening. The most powerful man in the Navy and the fastest man alive cuddled on the couch fast asleep while their daughter takes a photo and falls asleep too.

Tags: @callsign-hollywood

#icemav #iceman x maverick #Phoenix x Original character #top gun maverick #iceman kazansky #maverick #top gun #bradley bradshaw #rooster top gun #original male character #original female character

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crinkled-emotions · 1 year

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Heheheh we're back!! Dee heads to California for the callsign ceremony, then she and Bradley (sorry, Rooster) go to Chicago to meet her family.

Also, Dee lets a cat out of the bag.

(this was the chapter I stopped researching so if something is inaccurate... too bad)

#Top Gun: Maverick #Top Gun Maverick #Bradley Rooster Bradshaw #Bradley Bradshaw #Rooster #Bradley Bradshaw x Original Female Character #Rooster x Original Female Character #Bradley Bradshaw x OC #Rooster x OC

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sometimesanalice · 1 year

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Give Me Your Hand {Here Is My Heart}

Summary: You and Bradley have been dating for a couple months now. You want him and he wants you. And it’s getting harder and harder to keep your hands off of him. So what is holding you back?

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 9K

Warnings: Fluff, Pining, and Smuttt

(This will be a 2-Part series for characters in the “Like I Can” Universe. It can be read without reading the original series first.) PART 2

You’ve seen Bradley’s thick, wavy hair in various stages throughout your life. He has a little cowlick tuft in the back that would always pop up if it was cut too short. You’d seen it in high school when he used a little too much product like most boys did at that age. You’d seen it smashed and sweaty from being trapped under a baseball cap for too long.

However, for all the ways you’ve seen it over the years, his hair mussed by your own hands is easily one of your very favorite looks on him.

There is an open bottle of some random red blend you had picked up from the grocery store on the table, you had been more drawn to the label than what was inside of it. Your glasses were mostly untouched, the only clue about whose belonged to who was the imprint of your lower lip left behind on the rim from your lipstick that’s long worn off from your mouth.

And you are straddling Bradley’s denim clad lap enthusiastically making out on his probably-from-Ikea-but-still-very comfortable dark gray couch. The short skirt of your flirty little ruffled red dress sliding higher and higher up your thighs with every movement.

Your hands are undoing what minimal styling he had done to it before you had gotten to his place that evening, while his large ones are everywhere. Traveling the length of your back, squeezing your hips, running over the outsides of your calves.

It has been almost a couple of months since you had been set up by the Daggers on those truly terrible dates. At the time it seemed like a fun idea to go on all those blind dates, until it wasn’t.

That is, until Bradley. Being with him had made it all worthwhile.

There have been plenty of dates since then. Nights out. Nights in. Nights spent laughing at the Hard Deck with his friends. But they all end the same. With Bradley kissing you goodnight.

In the Bronco.

At your door.

At his.

You haven’t stayed the night, not once. Not even after the time where you both fell asleep tangled on his couch. You had woken up it find it was nearly 3 A.M, and even then you still made it a point not to cross the threshold into his bedroom. Even though you wanted to.

The way his mouth is moving against yours is nothing short of sinful. He is so good at making you breathless. So good at making you blush. Having him like this is more than you ever thought you’d get, its deliciously thrilling being the one to pull the low moans and satisfied sighs from him.

It is almost too easy with Bradley. You’d never let yourself think about forever at this point in a relationship with anyone else. He made it so difficult for you to keep your head on straight when he looked at you with such dizzying adoration.

It was getting harder and harder not let yourself think about Bradley being the one for all of your last-firsts. Even as you tried to take things with him day by day, moment by moment.

How that evening out on the outdoor terrace could have been your last-first date. That pretty green dress you’d worn, now tucked away in your closet protected in its garment bag, felt special in a way you weren’t sure you were ready to look at too closely.

How that kiss against his Bronco in the parking lot near the beach afterwards could have been your last-first kiss.

How whenever you mustered up the courage to finally give yourself to him entirely that it could be your last-first time.

But one of you had to be the practical one. One of you has to keep their feet on the ground because the other literally as his head in the clouds on a daily basis. You felt constantly at war with bullet pointed logic of your mind and the whatifwhatifwhatifs of your heart.

When Bradley dropped you off back at your car after your post-oceanside-dinner-milkshake-run, he asked you out again for the next weekend. Claimed he wanted you to have a second first date with him, even though you both already were planning on meeting your friends at the Hard Deck the very next night.

His smile had been so sweet and his eyes so sincere there was no way you were going to turn him down. Even if you didn’t think you needed a second first date with him when the first had been one for the books.

Bradley’s burning lips work their way down your neck. His hand at the base of your neck keeping you exactly where he wanted you. The delicious drag of his mustache along the sensitive skin of your throat makes your toes curl. His hot mouth sucking softly at your pulse point before laving it with his tongue. Can he feel how fast your heart is beating?

For your second-first date, the only feeling that had been coursing through you that day had been pure excitement knowing it would be Bradley knocking on your door.

And when he picked you up, he arrived with a bouquet of your favorite flowers in one hand and a bottle of your favorite champagne in the other.

There was an undeniable giddiness that evening, but also a tentative shyness between the two of you as you sat across from each other at one of the many seafood restaurants that dotted the boardwalk. The table had felt almost too big, since the two of you were both a little too in your heads.

“Why did it feel easier last time-”

“I feel like I’m on an interview-”

After a couple awkward stops and starts, you both just looked at each other and had to laugh about it. It was better when you moved your place settings and slid into the spot next to him. When his leg nervously bounced under the table, you were close enough to rest a hand on his thigh.

“Have I told you how pretty you look?”

“Only a few times now,” you replied as you nudged his foot with yours, “But I like hearing it.”

And then slowly but surely the nerves and awkwardness melted away as you two settled into the familiarity of each other. You did call him “Rooster” a couple times on accident, and he ended up almost telling you the same story twice before he realized it halfway through the second time. But it was a comfortable kind of bumbling as you explored the newness of this part of your relationship together.

Afterwards, he had suggested taking a walk along the beach, you’d readily agreed at the thought of the sand beneath your toes and your fingers tangled between Bradley’s.

You didn’t walk very far before a large canopy made entirely out of thousands of string lights caught your eye. The area was roped off on the beach halfway between the boardwalk and the ocean waves. People were already milling about, some brave souls already dancing away as the final rays from the sunset illuminated them in a golden red light.

“C’mon, kid,” he’d said already tugging you along with him by the hand, “Let’s check it out.”

“Bradley, I don’t know. This looks like some kind of private event.”

It didn’t click until he was pulling out his phone with the tickets already pulled up and ready to be scanned that he had planned it all along.

“I’ve always wanted to go to one of these,” you told him with a grin on your face as you waited in the line to exchange your shoes for a pair of light up headphones.

“Have you now?” He was looking very pleased with himself as he slid an arm around you, tucking his hand into the back pocket of your jeans.

“I thought you said you were done with surprises,” you asked teasingly, smoothing down the front of his Hawaiian shirt. Enjoying the way his stomach tensed beneath your hand.

“Now, where the fun in that? I think I like surprising you,” he murmured into your ear.

When you made your way to the front, he slipped the headphones over your ears before pulling you to the side, bending down to roll up your jeans a bit and then doing the same to his.

The sand was still warm for the sun under your feet, and the twinkle lights were picking up the golden strands in Bradley’s wavy hair. He was so handsome and he was all yours tonight.

The two of you had the best time as you bounced around between stations, the colors on your headphones changing from blue to red to green as you told the other one to change over whenever a familiar song came on as the inky night settled around you.

You had danced with Bradley plenty of times of the years, like at school dances and at your mom’s second wedding. However, it was always the goofy and fun kind of dancing between friends. Where he would spin you until you were doubled over in laughter or where you’d compete to see who could pull out the most ridiculous moves.

His fancy footwork and carefree exuberance still amused you to no end, but it was also the good kind of different the way he wrapped his arms around you from behind. You’d felt a good kind of free in the way you let your hips move against him without overthinking it. It was the good kind of exciting the way he feathered kisses down the side of your neck when the music playing through the headphones slowed down.

The two of you moving in sync and touching each other in ways you haven’t indulged in before, a little sweaty and out of breath. You had never felt so truly lighthearted and uninhibited as you did as you danced the night away with Bradley, as he shimmied with you, as he twirled you about, as he held you close.

By the end of the evening, your cheeks were hurting from the wide smile that hadn’t left your face once the whole night.

And there was no hesitation in the way you pulled his face to yours as people danced around lost in their own moments on the beach under the twinkle lights and moonlight that night. As you got lost in him.

The rough denim of his jeans between the soft skin of your thighs has you desperate to move against him for more. His fingers are playing with the frilly chiffon fabric of the red dress you bought forever ago and completely forgot about in your closet. You wanted to be as bold as the color you were wearing, to take the lead and slide his hands up your dress to where you both really wanted them to be. Instead you trail your lips long the strong line of his jaw, reveling in the way he sighs your name.

The next date you had planned.

And the only thing you had told him about it was what time he should expect to be picked up.

At the time he’d grumbled something about his mom raising him as a gentleman and that meant always picking the girl up. To which, you had retorted that Carole told you not to take nonsense from any man, and that included her son. Phoenix had clicked her glass with yours at that.

Bradley was notoriously bad a keeping a secret, excluding when he had planned that first date, but he was even worse when he was the one being kept in the dark. Needless, to say you thoroughly enjoyed teasing him that whole week before your next date.

And if he ran his hands more over your body as he tried to get you to give him even the smallest of hints, you couldn’t say you minded.

You’d stopped by his favorite deli on you way home from work and ordered a couple of those giant sandwiches that were piled high with all the cold cuts and too many toppings, along with a few containers of different sides to round out the meal. Your fridge had been stocked his favorite beer from your last grocery run, so you’d grabbed a few cans of those and some sparkling waters and put those in your cooler basket with the other sweet treats you had already bought before you’d quickly changed and left to go pick him up.

You’d barely had the car parked in his driveway of his condo before he was opening the door and throwing his large body in your car.

“It’s not too late to let me drive, kid,” he’d said in greeting, pressing a kiss to your cheek. You really liked this part, the casual physicality of his affection. You liked it a lot.

“Oh please, you just want me to tell you what we’re doing,” you countered, as you backed up and pulled on to the main road. “Plus, I don’t see what your problem is. I drive you around all the time when the Bronco is getting a tune up.”

“Yeah, but only when it’s in the shop. I am physically pained to be in a Honda Civic,” he complained, as he shifted from side to side and moved the seat back trying to get more comfortable. Ever the drama queen.

“Hey, it’s a hybrid! I’m saving the planet,” you lobbed back at him, “How much fuel does your F/A-18 go through?”

“It’s boring.” There was no missing the derision dripping from the word.

Such a little car snob.

“I think you mean it’s practical,” you replied primly. “I’m not going to apologize for having a car from this century, Bradley.”

“Is it even safe to be this close to the ground?” he groused as he looked at you from over the top of his sunglasses.

“Well, my lease on this is up soon and I have been thinking about getting an all-American whip,” you paused for a moment as he perked up at the idea of that, “Do you think I would look cute in a Jeep?”

The taunt landed just the way you hoped it would when he groaned and clutched his heart.

“My girl is not driving a Jeep. That’d be like sleeping with the enemy!” he dramatically bemoaned, “The Bronco would stall out of spite knowing you’re driving the competition.”

You hoped he didn’t catch the way you’d clamed up. How your hands had tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles standing out in contrast against the paper-thin skin there.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t slept with someone on the first date before. And while you knew it was a matter of when and not if, you were still having a hard time wrapping your brain around the fact that you would be having sex with Bradley Bradshaw.

But there was fucking and then there was whatever this was.

It already felt different with him than anyone else you’ve dated before. It felt like it would mean more with him and you couldn’t pretend you weren’t anxious about it.

This was Bradley.

Bradley.

Who had always made it to your tennis matches wearing the t-shirt he had made that boldly sported your last name across his chest after you had complained that the boys’ teams always better funding and therefore got better apparel. He was always the loudest person in the stands, except for your moms when they overdid it on the Sauvignon Blanc.

Bradley.

Who had always sent you your favorite kind of flowers to be delivered on your birthday and never failed to FaceTime with you regardless of where he was in the world or what time it was where he was stationed.

Bradley who was looking so handsome next to you in your practical Honda Civic wearing a snug light blue button up shirt and smelling really good. Woodsy with the tiniest hint of citrus.

With his tousled sun-lightened curls and warm brown eyes. His strong, sturdy nose. That mustache that had no right to look so perfect on his face. You’d liked every version of him you’d know throughout your life, but this one next to you? You lo--

“Light’s green, sweet girl.” He was wearing that little half smirk of his. The one that was entirely too knowing, and that looked entirely too good on him.

You had blinked at him a few times before you had realized you’d been completely caught checking him out. And it wasn’t until the car behind you honked that you were startled out of your Bradley filled mental wanderings.

Thankfully you were saved from further jokes at you or your car’s expense as you pulled into the parking lot of the library, happy for the distraction from your earlier thoughts.

“Do you have some books you need to return?” he asked a bit perplexed, his eyebrow knitting together.

“Nope,” you answered. Sending him a smug wink as you reached over to click the button to unbuckle his seatbelt.

He wasn’t the only one who could plan a surprise in this relationship.

And in the midst of your self-satisfied musings, you had somehow missed the way he had rounded the car until his big hands were on your waist. Then he was turning you around and crowding you against the side of your very practical car.

“This ok?” he rasped questioningly against your ear, stroking your side.

You nodded rapidly. All words had escaped you the second he had pressed his broad, hard body against yours.

It was a miracle you didn’t drop the basket in your hands when his mouth collided with yours, his lips leisurely gliding over yours. You were still getting use to the sensation of his rough mustache on your delicate skin, but you liked the feel of it.

You liked everything about him.

He pulled away after a few moments, nudging your cheek with his nose, “Hey, you good?”

There was a moment when you thought that maybe he had noticed the way you’d froze in the car when he had made that joke. He knew you so well, but even that felt like a stretch.

“Just peachy,” you replied, as you leaned in for another quick peck. But just as you tried to pull away, he tugged you back in.

“’m not done kissing you yet.”

“Bradley, come on,” you laugh breathlessly, the grin on your face derailing any further plans he had for your mouth.

“Or, hear me out,” he mused, as he trailed a finger down your arm, until he reached your hand to take the basket from you, “We can make out against your car. Seeing as we’re already very good at that.”

“Nuh-uh.” You shake your head at him. “There will be no more making out.”

“At all?” he coaxed. His thumb sneaking under your top, stroking the skin above your hip.

“For the next couple of hours,” you amended. “Are you going to be trouble?”

“Only the good kind, I promise.” He was wearing that cheeky smile that always left you feeling a little flustered. Threading your fingers together with his free hand, he gestured for you to lead the way.

You pulled him along with you as you followed the other groups of people who were making their way the same direction around to the back of the library where the large section of grassy lawn was located.

“Last chance, you sure you don’t want to go make out in the stacks?” he teased as you passed by the entrance, giving you a heated once over, “You always were such a good girl in school, Miss Valedictorian.”

It made your cheeks warm at both the idea of him pressing you against the shelves and from him calling you a good girl. And you were almost tempted to let him have his way. To let him pull you out of the line you were waiting in in favor of finding out what his mouth tasted like in some quiet, dusty corner of the library.

“Behave, this is an all ages event,” you reminded him, and yourself. He held up his three fingers in Scout’s promise. But you knew better, recognized what that smirk he was wearing meant, so you met him half way, “If you’re good, maybe we can do that for our third date.”

You had felt your pulse radiate through your whole body when he leaned in close and murmured, “I can be good for you.”

A pointed cough jolted you both out of the moment, you had been so wrapped up in him that you had completely missed that the line had moved. Muttering a sheepish Sorry, you tugged a shameless Bradley along with you to catch up with everyone else.

When you made it to the front of the line, he tried to fish out his wallet before you could reach yours to pay the suggested entry donation fee. The volunteer chuckled as you tossed the blanket you were carrying at your troublesome date’s broad chest. And then you handed over the cash you had withdrawn from the ATM earlier in the day, plus a little more.

You were a patron of the literary arts, after all. A humanitarian with a point to prove. This was your date you had planned for Bradley, you would be the one sweeping him off his feet tonight.

The big screen they had set up gave it away, but you refused to tell him what movie was playing that evening even as he made guess after guess as you wove your way around people to find an unoccupied spot in the grass.

You kept him busy by having him smooth out the blanket until there were absolutely no wrinkles, and then distracted him with all of his favorite goodies as you unpacked them out of your cooler bag. Thankfully, it wasn’t too much longer before the event’s coordinator was welcoming everyone since you had run out of PG-rated ways to keep Bradley diverted without spoiling the evening’s featured film.

When the opening credits had started rolling for Singin’ in the Rain Bradley had turned to you, his wide grin lighting up his whole face.

“I love this movie,” he said excitedly.

You smiled back at him indulgently, as if you didn’t already know that. However, you still had felt very pleased with yourself that he was so thrilled as you passed him one of the massive, overly filled sandwiches along with a beer.

You had forgotten to pack some extra plates to put the sides on, so you and Bradley passed the containers of creamy potato salad, tangy coleslaw, and cold tomato salad back and forth. Occasionally feeding the other bites in between watching Gene Kelly and Donald O’Connor’s antics on screen.

A little while later, the two of you had cozied up on the blanket, the leftover food pushed off to one side. Bradley had pulled you into the space between his legs, encouraging you to rest your back against his sturdy chest. You had never felt as perfectly content as you did sitting there wrapped up in his arms sharing a bag of gummy bears and the other boxes of movie candy you had packed as the warm California breeze washed over you.

You had been surrounded by families and other couples, but the way he rested his chin against your shoulder and hummed along with Gene Kelly singing “You Were Meant For Me” was for your ears only.

There isn’t anything in this world that feels as good as Bradley’s wet lips sliding over yours. Nothing as exciting as wondering where his hands will roam to next on your body. Nothing as devastating as when he teases down the strap of your dress off of your shoulder with his nose as his mouth purposefully works along your collarbone.

Ever the gentleman, he’s never pressured you, or even brought it up. You know he is waiting for you to make the move, to let you be the one who sets the pace. To let him know when you’re ready to take that next step with him.

And you want to. You really want to. Even now, you can feel how enticingly hard he is beneath you as you moan into his mouth.

You know that you’re the one holding you back.

The one holding the both of you back.

And you know exactly why.

The closest you two even got to toeing that line into something more was the night you got back home after spending a few days on the East Coast for a work trip.

Bradley had wanted to pick you up from the airport, but you were getting in late and didn’t want him to lose out on the sleep that he needed to stay safe doing his job. He only let it go once you had promised him you would text him when you landed and got home in one piece.

You had been getting ready for bed after showering off the plane from your body, slipping on an old shirt you had recently rediscovered buried in the back of your dresser when your phone had lit up. And you really shouldn’t have been surprised to see Bradley’s name on your screen well past 2 A.M, but your heart still fluttered seeing his name pop up.

“Yes, Bradley?” you answered with a playful lilt in your tone.

“Hi, kid,” you could hear the soft smile in his voice, “Did you make it home ok?”

“I did, but what are you still doing awake? You’ve got that new training program that starts tomorrow, and roosters aren’t known for being nocturnal creatures.”

“She’s got jokes, ladies and gentlemen,” he deadpanned flatly before tentatively continuing, “You said you were going to text me when you landed. But my phone has been suspiciously silent.”

You didn’t know if that swooping sensation in your stomach had been from feeling like you’d let him down or from the fact that he was calling you this late because he was worried about you. That he had stayed up wanting to hear from you because you mattered to him. You that you were in his 2 A.M thoughts.

“I figured you’d be asleep, and I didn’t want to bother you,” you admitted self-consciously as you puttered around you room, putting away a few of the things from your suitcase.

And it had been the truth. You had typed out a message when you were waiting in the ride share pick up area with your carry on, but ended up deleting it not wanting to bother him or disturb his sleep.

“Nah, you’d never bother me. I was waiting to hear from you. Wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyways, not with you being flown around by some random pseudo-captain airline pilot wearing a pair of wings with a brand logo on it.”

The men you had dated in the past had always said the same thing without really meaning it, sending halfhearted thumbs up when you’d let them known you got home after a date or landed safely after a work trip. But Bradley wasn’t like those men, he truly meant the things he said because he cared.

“Not the branded wings,” you teased, before softly saying, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all good, sweet girl. I’m just happy you’re home. You free dinner tomorrow? I want to hear all about your trip.”

“For you? Yeah, I think I can clear my schedule.”

“Good,” he said contentedly before pausing for a moment, and you heard rustling on the other end of the line, “So, what are you wearing?”

You burst out laughing, as you finally crawled into your soft bed, grinning wildly, “Bradley Bradshaw, you did not just ask me that!”

“What?” he asked innocently, his chuckle giving him away. “How about this, you tell me and I promise to never bring up the fact that you have contributed to any prematurely gray hairs that might have sprung up in the last few hours.”

“A silver fox Bradley Bradshaw?” Now that was something you were very much looking forward to seeing one day, “Be still my heart.”

“Chances are you won’t have to wait long,” he joked.

“Well, it’s funny you should ask,” you mused as you look down at the threadbare shirt you had on, “Because I am currently wearing a very old Cardinals Baseball shirt.”

He had given it to you after they had won the State Championships his junior year as a thank you for all the time you had spent helping him practice after school and on the weekends leading up to the playoff games.

“You’re messing with me.”

“I would never joke about Washington High school pride.” He laughed at that, because really, when were you not teasing him?

When you didn’t say anything more he’d pressed, “Wait, seriously?”

“Mm-hmm,” you purred smugly, playing with the frayed hem of the shirt.

“I want to see it.”

“Are you asking me to send a photo of myself in bed after 2 A.M?” you asked with faux shock, “Sir, I am a lady.”

That made him snort, “There wasn’t anything ladylike about the way you took down that burger the other week. But seriously. You’ve got sixty seconds, kid. Otherwise I’m coming over there to see it for myself.”

Your breath had caught in your throat. His demand made your heart beat faster in your chest, the two of you had never done anything like this before.

“Ok, ok. Give me a moment.”

Working quickly knowing Bradley wasn’t one for idle threats, you positioned yourself where his shirt is clearly visible, but also featured a glimpse of the top of your thighs and a hint of the smirk on your lips. Satisfied you sent it off to him and put the phone back up to your ear.

“Holy shit,” he breathes out incredulously. You didn’t know if he meant to say it out loud or not, but you’d felt the heat work its way in your cheeks all the same.

“Come on then, Bradshaw. You’re up. Tit for tat as it was.”

“I didn’t realize tits were on the table,” he rasped lowly.

You were thankful he hadn’t made this a FaceTime call, so that he didn’t see the way your jaw dropped.

There was a thrumming working its way through your body. There wasn’t anything explicitly dirty happening, but it felt deliciously thrilling all the same. It was exciting doing this with him.

“Nuh-uh, rules are rules. You’ve got sixty seconds,” you tell him, trying to sound more in control than you felt.

A few moments later you see the notification pop down, and you click into the text. The first thing your mind registered was his skin.

So much golden skin.

He was leaning against his head board, navy comforter bunched around low on his waist. His hair was a little mussed, and his mouth was pulled to one side in a half-smirk. He was just so handsome, you could even see the fine trail of hairs that led to his---

“Goddammit, Bradley!” you’d exclaimed putting him on speaker, so you could still hear him without putting your phone back up to your ears since you were too busy staring at the picture he had just sent. “Are you kidding me? This is some serious one-handed fodder!”

You could hear his booming laughter on the other side.

“Happy now?” You could hear how pleased he was with your reaction in his voice.

“Truly, the happiest. You have no idea,” you replied, albeit a distractedly, “But, full disclosure? I am going to be gazing at this so disrespectfully after we hang up.” You’ve never been so bold before, but everything about that moment had been electrifying with him. Because of him.

“Enjoy your one-handed fodder, kid. But full disclosure?” his voice was teasing as he used your own words against you, “You’d need to use both hands. I’m glad you’re home, I’ll see you tomorrow. Sweet dreams, sweet girl.”

He hung up on you without waiting for a response as you gaped into your home screen.

As images filled your head of what it would look like to have both of your hands wrapped the length of him, you let your fingers trail down your stomach and under the waistband of your underwear.

You had already lost a lot of sleep thinking about Bradley. Dreaming about how it would feel to be naked and pressed close along his body. He runs so warm normally, would he be even hotter to the touch as you both rocked against each other? You wanted to know the sounds he made when he came.

Too desperate to come to bother reaching for your vibrator, you had propped your phone against your spare pillow looking at that photo of him cozy and warm in his bed, and with your other hand you easily slid two fingers into yourself. Circling your clit with one hand as you worked yourself with the other.

You wanted his fingers. You wanted his mouth. You wanted his cock. You wanted all of him.

Closing your eyes, you let yourself think about Bradley. His molten brown eyes. His strong forearms. The tantalizing veins of his thick neck. The way his mustache feels against your mouth when you make out in his Bronco. The powerful grace in the way his body moved during a game of dogfight football.

You imagined him unreservedly and unabashedly.

Above you.

Below you.

Behind you.

You came like a flash. Back arching as you spasmed against your own fingers while thinking about his.

And a few minutes later, just as your heart rate had settled back down and you were about to turn your light off, you got a text from him.

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚗’𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚐𝚊𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝. 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍. 𝙸 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚘𝚗𝚎-𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚘, 𝚔𝚒𝚍.

Which promptly had you tossing your phone away from you as you squealed into your pillow.

It was so easy to lose yourself in his kiss, breathing in each other’s air. Your mouths are drawn together like magnets. His hands are high on your ribcage, his brave thumb caressing the underside of your breast. You are dizzy off of the feeling of his tongue stroking yours.

There is an earnest yearning in the way you both kiss each other. In the way you touch each other. It’s almost like you’re trying to make up for something.

“I can feel you thinking, sweet girl,” he says a little breathlessly as he pulls away from your mouth. His lips are swollen and his hair is a wavy, brown mess. “Am I not going a good enough job over here?”

You know he is teasing you, but you can tell that he is giving you the gentle opening to talk about what distracting thoughts are pulling you out of being in the moment with him.

“I was just thinking about when you picked me up in your old Montero for the first time. You were leaning against it like my very own Jake Ryan,” you tell him as you place kisses across his cheek.

Not exactly the truth, but you don’t want to ruin the mood by telling him what was really on your mind. Not when you wanted to make him feel just as good as he was making you feel.

“I loved that car,” he moans lightly as you kiss along his jaw, his hands sliding up your back.

“I know,” you hum against his ear, “You didn’t talk to me for like a week when I spilled my milkshake in it that one time.”

“I should have kept that car, she was a classic,” he sighs as he leans his head against the back of the couch to look up at you. His hands skimming up and down the sides of your waist, still hard beneath you.

“You know, my parents still think I was some kind of manual stick-shifting wunderkind,” you tell him grinning down at him. Your thumb tracing the long scar there under his Adam’s apple.

“Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have taught you how to how to drive when you were fourteen,” he says with fondness. The grin on his gorgeous face nothing short of sheepish, “Your mom can never know. I still want her to like me.”

You smile briefly thinking about him teaching you in the afternoons after school when neither of you had practices to attend in the abandoned parking lot across town.

How he had patiently taught you how to shift from neutral into first even after stalling out multiple times in a row. He had done his best to hid his wincing from you when you inevitably managed to grind the gears because he didn’t want you to feel bad about it. You can still remember how loudly he whooped for you when you managed to start it and get it moving in one go. Afterwards, he had taken you to the ice cream place to celebrate, that time with him in the driver’s seat.

When you had finally gotten your learner’s permit your parents had called you a natural. And you had immediately known that there was no way you were ever going to tell them you’d learned from Bradley. That was a secret just for the two of you.

“You know,” you muse toying with button on his shirt, “Sixteen-year-old me would probably be losing her mind knowing that I get to make out with you anytime I want.”

“Huh, that so?” he smirks, a hand coming up to play with the ends of your hair, “Did you have a crush on me, kid?”

For the most part, before getting together you had been good about keeping your feelings for Bradley purely platonic. Except for a couple of slip ups here and there over the years, like that time at the Hard Deck after seeing the team play dogfight football for the first time. But that was another secret that you were never going to give up easily.

Your friendship with him had always meant more to you than anything else.

“Mm, I wouldn’t call it a crush. What I had was a lot of hormones, and it didn’t help that you were pretty.”

He had always been cute, even as a gangly teen whose arms and legs never seemed to be in sync, but the man looking up at you now was in a league of his own. His warm brown eyes were slightly hooded filled with mischief and something more.

“And now?” Bradley asks teasingly, his other smoothing up your back to press you closer. He leans forward to kiss the spot where your neck met your shoulder.

“Now?” you breathe out, as his mouth moves up along your neck, “Now I still have a lot of hormones, think you’re very handsome, and definitely have a crush on you.”

“Good,” he murmurs as his teeth graze your jaw.

“What about you?” you gasp, melting into him further. You want to keep him talking, so you don’t think about how you want his mouth on other places. He is so hard, so warm, and you want him so bad.

But for as much as you wanted to strip off your clothes and his to let him have his way with you, it was the last boundary between being just friends and this. It wasn’t something that could ever be undone. And you wanted it so bad, it scared you just how much you wanted that kind of permanence with him.

It’s been almost two months and you’ve had him for years, but you want him like this forever.

“Yeah, there’s been a few times when I’ve caught myself thinking about you in less than friendly ways. You’re gorgeous, and smart, and funny,” He squeezes your waist, before admitting, “Always felt guilty when it happened though.”

He had thought of you too.

Why did that make your chest hurt? Could you have been doing this for years?

“Tell me,” you quietly urge, running your fingers through his hair encouragingly, “I want to know.”

You were desperate to know.

“Do you remember that house party we went to that Spring Break you visited me during my senior year at UVA?” he asks, letting his hands lightly trail up and down the tops of your thighs.

You could have been doing this for years.

You didn’t trust your voice not to wobble and betray you, so you nodded your head instead.

“I had gone in to get us a couple more drinks, and when I came back out there were so many more people in the backyard than there were when I left. I mean, I was probably a little drunk, but it was packed,” he told you as his thumb rubbed small circles near your inner knee, “I remember looking for you when I got distracted by a great set of legs in pair of frayed denim shorts. And as I was working out how I was going to play it as I made my way over to her, she turned around.”

It wasn’t a secret where this was going. You knew what the ending would be before he even started telling you the story. Yet, you were still hanging on his every word with bated breath.

“You turned around. Couldn’t believe I didn’t recognize you in that moment. And the way you smiled at me,” he reaches up and cups your cheek, his thumb lightly tapping on the spot where your dimples lived, “God, I still remember, it hit me like a suckerpunch. Your hair looked so pretty under the string lights they had put up.”

“They were the shitty red and green Christmas kind,” you whisper.

You remembered that party, it was one of the last times you got to spend uninterrupted one-on-one time with him before he joined the Navy. Before your friendship turned into a long-distance game of catching up and phone tag.

“They were and probably a fire hazard too,” he confirms softly with a chuckle, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear as you gaze at each other. “I felt so bad afterwards that I had been checking you out. Like I was taking advantage of our friendship somehow.”

This was a new kind of openness between the two of you in this little moment of transparent honesty. A reminder for how well you know each other that there are still new things to learn.

“I remember when you picked me up from the airport, I think it was like the first time we’d seen each other in person in almost a year. And I had this moment when I saw you waiting for me that realized that the boy I had grown up with was very much a man,” you sit back a bit to better look at him, his cheeks were still flushed from earlier. “But god, Bradley, now? Now, you’re devastating.”

You wanted him to have these parts of you, to fill him in on the things he didn’t know, the things you kept close to your heart. It was your story, but it belonged to him too.

“C’mere,” he murmurs as he wraps his hand around the back of your neck pulling you back into him. Your mouths are a whisper away from each other as you share the same air, and he is looking at you with such open want, “I didn’t realize until recently how much time I spent trying not to think about you like that when you first moved here. And now that I can, you’re the only thing that’s been on my mind. You’re so fucking distracting, sweet girl.”

If you thought you were needy before, now you felt like you’re going to vibrate out of your skin if you didn’t get your mouth back on his right that very second.

He meets you half way for a desperate kiss. It’s hungry and open-mouthed. You come alive under his touch, his kiss energizes you in a way that no drug or stimulant ever could.

Your hasty, frantic hands landing everywhere. Never content to linger in one place for long. Not when you have so much of his body you are dying to map with your hands. With your mouth. You want to touch him everywhere. You want to taste him everywhere.

You nibble on the fullness of his lower lip, seeking entrance into his warm mouth. He opens for you without hesitation, his tongue ready and waiting to welcome yours. You can still taste the juicy, full-bodied red on him from that long-forgotten bottle of wine.

He says your name on shattered breath, pulling away only long enough to place wet, hot kisses down your neck, down your chest. Your hands are buried in his hair, clutching at his sunkissed waves.

“This damn bow,” he rasps as he roughly pulls at the little bow at the center of your flirty red dress as if it has personally offended him by its very existence. Once untied it reveals a bit more of the swell of your breasts to his eager eyes.

Your skin feels almost a size too small for your body, and your throat is tight with want. His kisses were like champagne going straight to your head. His hands are the only thing you want touching you.

You don’t mean to let your hips rock against the firm swell of him, but his resounding groan is quite possibly the hottest thing you’ve ever heard in your life. And you know in that moment you need to hear it again, and again. So you roll your hips once more, intentionally this time.

Bradley’s low moan of pleasure makes you feel heady and reckless. You lick a stripe along the underside of his jaw. His hands fly to your ass, sliding under that frilly dress, grasping you with greedy hands when you kiss a spot behind his ear. Even in your frenzied state you file away his response to that for later.

And then you are lost in the feel of his mouth. Of his hands on you. Of your hands on him. Of the taste of the skin of his neck. Of the feeling of the zipper on his tight jeans hitting your clit just right as you writhe on top of him.

It starts as a shiver that makes your whole body erupt in goosebumps as he encourages the rolling of your hips against him. You’ve never felt as cared for, as safe as you do in his arms.

The tingling sensation begins at the base of your neck and like a flicker start it shoots down, down the entire length of your spine setting off in your cunt in spectacular electric bursts.

You spasm deliciously and devastatingly against nothing with Bradley pressed thick and hard against the center of you. The shockwaves gripping your body as you’re left gasping and panting into the hollow of his throat.

“Did you just...?” he asks urgently. You can’t speak yet so you nod vigorously into his neck. “Fuck. That’s so hot.”

Pressing closer, you try to hide from the intensity you know you would find in his eyes. Burying your face further in his neck as you try to catch your breath. You breathe him in in hopes that his soothing cedar scent will help settle the rapid beating of your heart.

“Sweet girl, please. C’mon, I gotta see you,” he murmurs desperately. He pulls his head back a bit trying to create more room to get a look at you, attempting to coax you out by brushing your hair back, “I need to see it. Please. Let me see your face.”

You can feel how turned on he is, can hear it in his voice. And you’re feeling truly shy around Bradley for probably the first time in your life.

“I’ve been thinking about what you’d sound like for weeks,” he tells you with such soft sincerity.

“Bradley,” you whisper finally pulling away from the sanctuary that is the crook of his neck. His heated gaze roams your face, drinking you in. He brings a hand up to cradle your cheek, this thumb skimming your lower lip. There are a thousand different emotions coursing through you and you know he can read them all.

“God, you’re so beautiful. Talk to me, please,” he breathes, “What’s going through your mind? It’s just me.”

You have been so careful trying to skirt around this conversation. It has been the elephant in the room after every date, every heated make out session, every honeyed goodnight kiss.

And you want him too much to keep avoiding this, even though it scares you.

“That’s just it, Bradley, it’s you!”

“It’s me?” he asks confused.

“Yes! It’s you, it’s me, it’s us. It has never been like this with anyone else. I have never felt like this with anyone else. And the way you look at me sometimes, it’s overwhelming.” You were still feeling flustered from your surprise orgasm, and you know you aren’t expressing yourself clearly. But you feel so flayed open before him.

“Hey, hey,” he says soothingly, “If this is too much for you, we can slow it down. Or if you aren’t feeling it, we figure out how to be just friends again.” He can’t hide the wince on his face as he says it, but you know he honestly means it. “It might take me a couple of decades to forget the way you sounded just now, but we would figure it out together.”

“No, I don’t want that. Don’t you get it? I feel the complete opposite, and that’s the problem!”

“Ok, wait. You just came on my lap, sweet girl,” Bradley’s voice is unmistakably proud, even as he breathes out raggedly. “I’m trying to get my thoughts in order over here. Because that was the best thing I’ve ever heard and I’m having trouble getting my head on right to talk about this. So as much as I love having you on me, we have to readjust before we can continue.”

You make a noise of protest as maneuvers you both so that he is stretched out across the couch, while you’re nestled securely against the back of his couch and half draped over him.

“Let’s try this again,” he says rubbing small circles on your back, “I don’t want to mess this up by not knowing exactly where we stand with things, you are too important to me. Are you worried it’s going to be weird or that it’s not going to be good?”

“No.” That legitimately never even crossed your mind. But now a seed of doubt had been planted in your already anxious mind, “Are you?”

“Not even a little bit,” Bradley tells you with a shake of the head, “I know it’s going to be good.”

“That confident about your sexual prowess, huh?” It felt easier, safer to make a joke.

“Well, yeah. There’s that,” he hums with a half smirk, “But it’s you and me, kid. It’s gonna be good. How could it not be?”

There’s something about his steadfast sureness that warms your chest.

“Can I tell you what I’m worried about?” He waits for your nod of confirmation before continuing, “I’m worried about how I am supposed to function afterwards. How am I supposed to just get up and go to work in the morning after I’ve had you in my bed? Because once I get to have you like that, I’m never going to stop wanting more with you.”

And there’s the longing again, that pull in your stomach. You want him too, you want him too.

You are comforted knowing that he has things that have been on his mind too, that you’re not alone. Even if the two of you are concerned about two different things. And it was only right that you let him in, you could be unreservedly vulnerable for him.

“Bradley, it’s been so incredibly good with us. But I’m so afraid that once we take this step, that all I am going to be thinking about is that we could have been doing this for years. That we could have had each other like this for years.” Even the idea of it hurts your heart, at the glimmer of the possibility that you could have gotten to this point with him sooner. “And I don’t want to have any regrets about the way our story has gone up until this point. But I especially don’t want to have any regrets about missing out on time with you.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead in understanding.

“Let me ask you this then, would you trade any of it?” he asks as he slides a hand around your neck to tilt your head up to look at him, “Any of the adventures we had when we were younger? Or the weekend visits? Or any of the late-night milkshake runs for it?”

You knew the answer immediately, “No. No, I wouldn’t trade a thing.”

“Then we’re right on time,” he promises sincerely as he skims his thumb along the line of your jaw. “We’re right on time, sweet girl.”

It’s so perfectly Bradley, the way he knows exactly what your heart needed to hear.

And all the extra pressure you had been feeling releases from your body because it’s Bradley.

It’s just Bradley. It’s just you.

It’s just you and Bradley.

It’s been that way since you were kids.

You’ve had him as a friend. You still have him as a friend. But you also get to have more.

Of course, it’s going to be good.

Of course, it’s going to be right.

Of course, there were going to be what if’s. It was inevitable.

What you weren’t going to do is let yourself dwell on what-could-have-beens or regrets because you have him here and now. And that is more than enough.

It’s everything.

You untangle yourself from him to stand up as he watches you apprehensively. Waiting to see what your next move will be.

Standing in front of Bradley, you hold his gaze as you find the zipper on the side your little red dress. All concern leaves his face as you draw it down slowly before him. He doesn’t blink as you let the silky fabric skim down your body, puddling at your feet. And then he is looking at you with open awe and longing.

Stepping out of it lightly, you confidently make your way to the stairs towards his bedroom.

“Well, are you coming?”

PART 2

Not to worry, friends! There is more to come! After all, we have to find out what happens once she goes up those stairs!

To those who like to spice up their life a la the Spice Girls, I’ve got more headed your way (and by more, I mean smutttt)! I have a taglist, so let me know if you would like to be added!

I wrote this as a birthday fic for the one and only @gretagerwigsmuse! (Surprise! See I can be sneaky, even if you already knew about it, haha!) It may be a little late, but I hope it was worth the wait!

Mood board for Part 1

(This is written for part of my ‘Like I Can’ series. You don’t need to read it first, but you might want to. It’s pretty cute! You can check it out here!)

You can check out my other fics here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @itscheybaby @prettylittlelauraa @startrekfangirl2233 @marantha @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @itsizzythebell @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @boltgirl426 @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @torres-espana @uzumegui @dont-talk-me-down @fandomunite2107 @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pariahsparadise @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @nina-sj @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @misty-inferno @angellwingsss @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @mrsdaamneron @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @melllinaa @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @mandolin22 @imaginecrushes @soleilgrec @keyrani @chicomonks

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fic #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction #rooster x reader #rooster x you

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thegigilwriter · 5 months

Text

Masterlist: “Danger & Star, Rooster & Angel” — Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Female Mitchell OC

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

Keywords/Warnings: Romance, definitely NOT slow burn, both smut and implied smut (if you’re not 18, go away), Drama, descriptive writing (more show than tell), some religious themes but not dominating (OC is Catholic), mention of hospitalization, imminent death, and missing loved one, possible inaccuracies about deployments and marine biologists.

Chapter Index

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 9.5 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 …

Disclaimer: “Danger & Star, Rooster & Hope” is a work of fiction created by @thegigilwriter and is not endorsed by the original creators, producers, or any affiliated parties of TopGun and TopGun: Maverick. All characters, settings, and events portrayed in this fanfiction are purely fictional and do not reflect the views or intentions of the original creators. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, or actual events are purely coincidental. The author acknowledges the original creators' ownership of the intellectual property and intends no infringement upon their rights. This fanfiction is created for entertainment purposes only.

I DO NOT permit my work to be reposted or copied or referred to without proper citation on Tumblr or on any other platform. As a creator and writer, I believe in the integrity and respect of someone’s work and you should too. Remember, if you don’t like what you read then don’t read it. There is a difference between being critical and being disrespectful — I believe as human beings we can articulate our opinions in an appropriate manner. Thank you.

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floydsglasses · 7 months

Text

A Quiet Place- DAGGER EDITION

SUMMERY: If they hear you, they hunt you. The world we once knew full of sound is gone, and silence is the key to survival, if you wanna avoid mysterious creatures that hunt by sound. Knowing that even the slightest whisper or footstep can bring death.

Dagger Squad X Various Original Female Characters ( Basically each story involves one of the dagger's with an original character, each set in the world of A Quiet Place)

Contents Involve: Post Apocalyptic, Angst, Use of ASL, Fluff, Death/Mention of death, implied smut, pregnancie for one story, mention's child death, blood

MASTERLIST

ᴀ ᴡʜɪꜱᴘᴇʀ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ʏᴇʟʟ- Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

𝙑𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙂𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙚- Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Way Out There- Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia 𝙒𝙖𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙏𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝘿𝙖𝙬𝙣 - Robert "Bob" Floyd

MOODBOARDS

A Whisper Not A Yell - Moodboard

Vanishing Grace- Moodboard

Way Out There - Moodboard

Waiting till Dawn- Moodboard

#top gun maverick #top gun au #top gun fan fiction #top gun fanfic #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #natasha phoenix trace #robert bob floyd #mickey fanboy garcia #rueben payback fitch #javy coyote machado #top gun x reader #top gun x oc #top gun x you

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roosterbruiser · 2 years

Text

𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐞 ☾☽ 𝐂𝐡. 𝐈

☾☽ 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 "𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫" 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐱 𝐅𝐚𝐲𝐞 "𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫" 𝐋𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫

☾☽ 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: It’s been almost three years since the accident that took half of her, and Faye “Clover” Ledger seems fine, really. She loves her old house, she has a perpetually expanding vinyl collection, she’s got a job she likes on base, and she is only a short drive from the beach. She’s grounded--literally. Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw feels like he’s been homesick his entire life. He’s always on the move; jumping from one squadron to another, living one mission to the next. Somewhere in between losing both his parents and carving a successful career as a Naval aviator, he’s never found himself a home. When a call to serve on a high-priority mission with an elite squadron brings Rooster back to Miramar, he finds that home. Except it’s not a house that he finds--it’s the former backseater that observes and records the mission for the Official Navy Record.

☾☽ 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

☾☽ 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

☾☽ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝟏𝟐𝐭𝐡, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟗

Before I knock on the open office door, I look down at my skirt. It is what my mother would call a smart piece of clothing. An olive-colored linen, somewhere between midi and maxi, steamed early this morning when the morning light was still blue. I pick a piece of non-existent lint off the fabric, wasting time.

The door is solid and strong under my knuckles--the noise is a resounding one, not hollow like the door to my shared office. Everything in my office feels hollow, especially the flimsy desk they assigned to me.

“Come in,” he calls from inside.

My heels click the wood floors and even they don’t sound hollow. His office smells like leather and tobacco, like I’ve just walked into a cigar shop. It’s dark and its wood is heavy and polished, each piece of mature furniture carved meticulously. The windows, which face the tarmac, allow the late afternoon sunshine into the room. There is not a speck of dust on any of the wood.

I salute one time, straightening my back, keeping my place in the doorway.

“Admiral,” I say, short and bold--loud.

“At ease,” Admiral Simpson says softly.

The Admiral is standing with his hands fastened behind his back, his uniform crisp, his eyebrows and mouth flat on his face. He gestures to the leather chair, his blue eyes very serious, very calm. His age is stamped beside his eyes in creases.

“Please, take a seat.”

I cross his office silently and sit poised in the chair even though it sinks with my weight. I cross my legs at the ankle, hands folded in my lap.

“Lieutenant Ledger,” he greets, sinking back to his chair, his back impeccably stiff.

“Good afternoon, Admiral,” I smile.

“We’ve been over this,” he says, more casual than before, “Cyclone.”

I nod one time, never intending to call him by his call-sign.

The corner of his mouth raises, just a hint, and I know it is the most he’s smiled all day. He has a soft spot for me. I know this. He is the one that extended my bereavement leave--the one that offered me a position as a researcher. Admiral Simpson, through all his impeccable discipline and hard exterior, has done more for me the past few years.

He liked Maggie more than me, before she died. She challenged him, truly challenged him--we were always the last jet to be shot down during drills. One time, we had even gotten tone on him. It doesn’t matter now, though.

“Your research--has it been fruitful?”

I nod, clearing my throat. Admiral Simpson is briefed on my research weekly. It’s his conversational equivalent to me picking invisible lint off my skirt.

He narrows his eyes, just slightly. It makes me straighten my shoulders, which are already straight. My file is sitting on his desk, right beside a thick legal pad and a heavy-looking gold pen. It is open. I swallow hard.

“Yes,” I hum, dancing around addressing him, “yes, it has.”

He nods, just once, then sits back in his office chair. One of the windows is open and a hot gust of wind makes the blinds quiver. It touches the hair framing my face like it’s trying to get a good look at me.

“Let me be frank, Lieutenant,” he starts, “you are a gifted backseater. Navigating, weapon-system operations--it comes naturally to you. You are a gifted researcher, too. You’re precise…careful…obedient. You hold your own. You’re an excellent example of what the Navy wants--what it needs.”

My fingers curl, my blood running cold. Fuck.

“Thank you, sir.”

He pretends not to notice.

“There is an upcoming mission, one set to deploy in three weeks time. Training starts bright and early Monday morning,” he sighs, “and unfortunately, I have been backed into a corner. I have chosen Captain Pete Mitchell to lead the training for this mission.”

“Maverick?”

Maggie’s portrait hangs in Memorial Hall, where all the fallen aviators are memorialized. One day, very shortly after Maggie’s death, Maverick and I silently stood in Memorial Hall. He was on one end, studying the portrait of a Nicholas Bradshaw, call sign: Goose. I was on the other end, examining Maggie’s shit-eating grin in her fresh portrait. We said nothing to each other. We were both crying.

I wiped my wet face with an ineffective hand when Maverick started towards me. He simply clapped a hand over my shoulder, one time, very softly. Then he kept walking.

Admiral Simpson seems to stifle an eye-roll. He nods curtly.

“Maverick was not my first--or second--choice for this mission. He will be tasked with training an elite squadron--all Top Gun graduates, of course.”

He pauses, swallows, his eyes flickering to my file. My fingers are numb with cold now. Fuck.

“Si-Cyclone, if you are asking me to get back in the air, then I--” my breath catches in my throat, belly full of wool.

He holds a hand up, furrowing his brows and shaking his head.

“No, no. No one is asking you to get back up in the air. All I’m asking is that you observe and record for the Official Record,” after a beat, he adds, “and maybe keep an eye on Maverick.”

I deflate in the chair, blood starting to pool back in my fingers.

“I trust your judgment, Clover,” he remarks, “and if things were different, it is you I would want in the air.”

His eyes are soft under his furrowed brow as he searches my face. I nod a few times, eyes falling to my file then back up to his face. I smile very politely.

“You flatter me,” I say.

A bit of his seriousness fades. I think I even see his left shoulder drop a centimeter.

“Flattery is not in my nature,” he declares, leaning back into his chair, “I take it you accept your position in this mission?”

“Yes, sir.”

He nods to the door.

“Dismissed, Lieutenant Ledger,” he drones.

As I get out of the chair to walk out of his office, he pretends to write a note down on the legal pad. He does not raise his eyes to mine when he says, “And if you need anything, please do not hesitate.”

☾ ☽

The call comes as I’m walking into my house. Stevie is already sitting in the foyer, looking blankly at me with slanted eyes, her white tail wrapped gracefully around her paws. We stare at each other for a second, my leather bag slung over my shoulders and sweat dotting my hairline.

“I’ll feed you in a minute,” I whisper to her, “don’t look at me like that.”

She blinks at me, one time, very slowly. Unimpressed, as per usual.

My phone is singing in my purse--Elton John. Robert From Major Authors it reads, unchanged since my senior year of college.

Hold me closer, tiny danc--

“Hello?”

“Faye?” Bob says on the other line, his voice soft.

“Hey, Bob,” I greet, biting a smile back, “it’s good to hear from you! I really need to change your contact name.”

He laughs on the other end as I close the front door, turning the heavy lock. Stevie is as still as a statue, regarding me with an air of elitism. I set my purse beside her, fanning myself. It’s very hot in my house.

“I’m still Robert From Major Authors after everything we’ve been through? Is that all I am to you?”

I slip my loafers off, the tile in the entryway cool under my bare feet. It makes me shiver.

“Maybe it’s a subconscious thing,” I try, “what am I on your phone, then?”

I start up the stairs which open to the living room. The curtains are all drawn, shielding my precious furniture from the ruthless heat outside. It is dark in the living room with the shades drawn--I blindly reach for the wall, my eyes still adjusting from the July sun.

“The clover emoji, of course.”

I groan.

“So, I am an asshole.”

Bob laughs and it sounds very familiar, very warm. It makes the heat in my throat spread to my chest. A familiar voice is something I treasure--all the squadrons filing in and out of Miramar like it has revolving doors. No one seems to stick around for very long.

My fingers tingle as I feel my way to the kitchen door, which is one of the only rooms in the house with working air conditioning. The air fills me with an instant euphoric solace--I bite my lip to keep from moaning as the kitchen tile ices my feet.

On the notepad I hang on the fridge, I write air conditioner guy right beside dishwasher guy and lock guy.

“What are you doing right now?”

I survey my kitchen in the early evening light. It’s just past six and the sky is only just beginning to consider dimming. My kitchen is my most recent renovation and it still smells vaguely of wood shavings and metallic screws. My house is an antique one, but the previous owner’s did not regard it as an important piece of history, not like I do. When I bought the house, five years ago now, everything was painted beige and there was brown carpet covering almost all the original hardwood floors.

The house is getting better slowly, as I have time to restore. The kitchen looks more like mine now, more accurate to the decade the house was built. My copper pots and pans, which were my grandmother’s, hang above the gas stove which I opted for instead of the gaudy electric thing that used to be there. The avocado-green oven, which is original to the home, is freshly painted. The Smeg fridge, which gives me goosebumps when I remember the pricetag, is in its final resting place among the wooden cabinets. The countertops are copper, brand new, and it gleams beneath the low lighting.

I pull the fridge open, debating.

“Standing in my kitchen, basking in the window-unit air conditioning. Regretting how expensive this tiny fridge was. Thinking I’ll make curry for dinner. What about you, Bobby?”

He sighs on the other end of the line and I can practically see him sitting in a hangar somewhere, hunched over his desk, holding the phone to his ear and listening to me like it’s the only thing in the world he wants to do.

Bob is the kind of person who can only be described as good. He doesn’t interrupt, he doesn’t talk over, he looks in your eyes when you’re speaking to him. He was the only boy in our Major Authors class at Temple University. He was summoned almost two years ago.

“Well, I’m at the Hard Deck.”

I freeze.

“I’ve been called back to Top Gun.”

An elite squadron of Top Gun graduates.

I slam the fridge door shut, skittering across the kitchen to scoop a heaping mountain of cat food in Stevie’s plastic bowl. She is sitting before it now, like she knew I would succumb.

“Give me thirty minutes!”

☾ ☽

The Hard Deck looks the same as it did when Maggie used to drag me out here every chance she got. A building that oozes casual--brown wooden slatted siding, chipped white trim, palm trees sprouting in the patches of grass before it, a faded blue sign with blinking neon letters swirling the name of the bar.

There is a photograph of Maggie there, under the sign, when we were 24. The American flag is waving in the wind above her, a blur of red and white and blue, and she is mockingly saluting the camera, a pout on her lips.

The Polaroid lives there, in my wallet, in between my social security card and coffee shop gift cards. I rub the soft leather of my wallet, imagining that it’s the glossy front of the photograph.

The sun is beginning its descent, casting everything in a warm gold. The ocean glitters behind the bar, waves lazily rolling to shore and dousing the sand. Lilac clouds sporadically float across the sky, heading West with the sun.

Even from the outside, I know that the bar is crawling with Naval aviators. Not just because it always is, but because Sister Christian is pulsing--a favorite of the cocky pilots.

You're motoring / What's your price for flight? / In finding Mister Right / You'll be alright tonight

I know everyone will be talking over each other, yelling back and forth over a game of clattering pool. There will be peanut shells on the floor, empty bottles lining every flat surface.

If Maggie were here, she would be buying everyone drinks, slapping down her credit card and winking at Penny. Maggie used to corral everyone to the dance floor while I queued songs on the jukebox. People would really dance with us when we danced. Maggie was never embarrassed to dance and it made me not embarrassed to dance. I gained somewhat of a reputation as the Jukebox Queen--from the moment I walked into the bar until the moment I walked out, people would donate their quarters to me.

There is a fleeting pinch in my heart. The lump in my throat feels impossible to swallow. The warm wind blows through my hair again and I hold very still, letting it wash over me.

“It’s Friday,” I whisper to myself, “buck up.”

The rumble of an engine pulls my eyes away from the door.

A cyan colored Bronco screeches into the lot and swerves into a parking spot. The top is soft and the windows are all rolled down. The driver is blasting a song, tapping his steering wheel as he throws the car into park. It takes me a moment to place it--an Otis Redding song. Tramp. It stops very abruptly as the driver cuts the engine.

With all the swagger only a pilot could embody, the driver steps out. The first thing I see is the Hawaiian shirt. It’s somewhere between hideous and gorgeous. It is open, layered on top of a crisp tank top, a pair of dog tags between two massive pecs. Tanned skin shimmers with a sheen of sweat; probably because the jeans he’s wearing are of a good grade--thick denim. He’s smiling, pearlescent teeth glowing under a thick mustache. His hair is made up of a blonde that is as golden as the sunset. He’s wearing black aviator sunglasses.

He starts gliding towards the front door, but seems to stutter when he sees me standing near it, looking in his direction. He approaches me slower, glancing from me to the door a few times before smiling. He’s close enough so that when the wind blows, I can smell the cologne he wears. It’s peppery and deep.

“You going in?” He asks, quirking a brow.

He is still smiling, his nose thick and straight.

“Debating it,” I answer, toeing the sandy gravel.

He nods, squinting. If he was in a hurry before, he is not anymore. He puts his hands on his hips and turns towards the door so our arms are almost touching. He looks the bar up and down, studying it like I am.

“It’s been a while,” I tell him, swallowing.

“Yeah,” he sighs, “me too.”

A beat passes; somewhere in the distance, a seagull cries.

“What’s holding you back?”

What a question.

“Can’t decide if it’s intelligence,” I say, tilting my head, “or rationality.”

His laughter booms--loud enough for me to hear over the chatter inside the building. His arm brushes against mine when he laughs. His skin is warm.

“Maybe it’s a little bit of both,” he replies.

We both suck our teeth and shake our heads. The lump in my throat has dissipated without me even swallowing it. The sun kisses my lips, my chin.

“What’s holding you back?”

He sighs, shaking his head.

“A little lady who can’t make up her mind,” he says.

I scoff, shake my head. He’s watching my eyes, my face.

“People these days!”

His smile deepens. He nods to the door. He has seemingly made my mind up for me.

“Can I get that for you?”

I pretend to think about my answer--he’s looking at the side of my face, maybe at the white scar that traces the bottom of my jaw. I imagine it’s glowing under the sunset, not unlike the neon Hard Deck sign.

“Might as well,” I say, gesturing for him to walk ahead, “tramp.”

He is in front of me when I say it, but he stops again and bites a grin over his shoulder.

“What did you just call me?”

He is amused. His eyes seem very deep in his face behind his shades, framed with dark eyelashes that I can barely make out through the tint. They glimmer with enjoyment.

“Tramp,” I repeat, “Otis Redding. You were just listening to it, right?”

He nods, his face stuttering from a smile to an impressed frown back to a smile. There are scars along the left side of his face, a few crooked lines, and they glow under the sunset like I thought mine would--like neon.

“Thought my reputation preceded me,” he sighs.

In a few strides, we are at the door. He opens it wide and I step over the threshold with a careful foot.

The lump in my throat has returned as soon as I see the inside of the building. The wide-plank white pine floors are almost entirely covered with boots and heels and sneakers. What little pieces of it worm into my view are polished and dirty at the same time, like a used aluminum can. The brown rafters are entirely covered with hanging white mugs, the mugs Maneater and Jagger used to insist on drinking from every time we came to the bar. The old wooden bar, the velvet chairs, the jukebox in the corner--I absorb it all, feeling suddenly naked without Maggie holding my hand.

There is such a crowd that it overwhelms me just to think about discerning all their faces--everyone is an amalgamation of a singular face, blurring from one broad nose to another’s sculpted cheeks. And khaki--so much khaki.

Hawaiian Shirt taps my shoulder. I hope he doesn’t notice the tears clouding my vision as I turn to him. I plaster a toothy smile to my face.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?” I yell, “can’t hear you over the music!”

Sister Christian has finished and Let’s Dance has begun.

He’s looking down at me with a silly grin that makes me want to grin. He bends over so his lips are close to my ear.

“You here with anyone?” He asks.

I nod, searching the crowd.

“Meeting a friend,” I say, swallowing hard, “how about you, tramp?”

I can feel his lips bite into a smile.

“Nothing serious,” he says, “hey, I didn’t catch your name?”

I pull my eyebrows together, coming closer to his ear.

“I didn’t tell you my name,” I say.

Then I pat one of his pecs, meet his eyes again. His cheeks are dusted with pink. I salute him, then start for the bar. It smells like beer and my shoe sticks to some parts of the floor as I navigate through the sea of bodies.

Penny is behind the bar, her back facing me. She’s talking to someone with her arms crossed, a frosty mug of beer in her hands. I have to stand on my tip-toes and crane my neck to see the patron on the barstool she’s talking to. It’s Maverick--his black hair speckled with gray, the lines around his mouth pressed deep from the grin he’s sporting.

Penny turns suddenly, her face flushed, and sees me almost immediately. Her eyes widen and her grin spreads. She holds a finger up to Maverick and crosses the bar to stand before me.

“Do you know how happy I am to see your sorry face here?” She chuckles, her hands on her hips.

My cheeks redden.

“It’s been too long,” I say, “feels good to be back.”

I’m not really sure if it does feel good to be back, but I think I would say anything to make Penny smile. She used to cut Maggie’s free-drink charade at $200, handing the card back at the end of the night with a tight-lipped smile. Maggie was none-the-wiser.

“How’ve you been, kiddo? Staying alive?”

She asks this and then her shoulders slump, her hip un-cocks itself. Her smile is beginning to falter and the color drains from her cheeks. It’s what happens when people say something to me accidentally, something about death or sisters or plane crashes.

I grin, pretend like I don’t notice her sloping mouth.

“Alive and well-ish,” I say, “guess I couldn’t stay away.”

Penny recovers, smiling again. She leans her elbows on the bar and brings her face closer to mine so she doesn’t have to shout.

“I missed you, Clover. Don’t be a stranger,” she says this with all the affection of a mother, which makes a coil wrap tightly around my throat again, makes my fingers cold. Then she snaps back and tilts her head, a playful smile tugging on her lips. “Bloody Mary, right?”

I stiffen. Bloody Mary was what Maggie drank. I nod, though. Penny turns around at once and makes a very bloody Mary.

Maverick watches her from his spot, his eyes soft. When he catches my gaze, he smiles in a small way, nodding. I send him a half-hearted salute and it makes him chuckle.

“One bloody Mary,” Penny says. She nods towards the pool table. “Bob’s waiting for you. Keeps asking me to keep an eye on the door, as if I can even see it from here.”

I fight my way to the pool table, relying on muscle memory and my precision to keep my white shirt white. When I break through the crowd and see the pool table for the first time, it is a gaggle of khaki-clad aviators that greet me. I skim over their faces until I see him. Bob is lining a shot up in pool, his glasses perched on his nose, one eye winking in concentration.

I wait there for a moment, sipping my drink. Oh, God. How did Maggie drink this?

Bob makes his move--there is the clattering, not unlike the clattering of marbles colliding, and not one ball makes it into a pocket. The aviators around him are watching him with their arms crossed over their chests, all their hair combed and coiffed.

A tall blonde man claps him on the back, a hyena grin contorting his pretty face.

“Shoot,” Bob bites, blushing.

“Lieutenant Floyd,” I call over the music, leaning against the stack of chairs beside me, “you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

Bob’s head snaps to attention when he sees me standing in front of him with my putrid drink, smiling at him. His smile makes me ache. It suddenly feels like it’s been years since I’ve seen anyone familiar. I want to hug him, want to kiss him, want to take him home to my house and keep him there with me. It makes my throat tight.

Bob isn’t the only one looking at me--my declaration has captured my entire audience of aviators, who regard me with cocked eyebrows.

“No,” Bob laughs, “but I kiss your mother with this mouth.”

The blonde man’s smile is replaced with wide eyes and a lacked jaw. There’s a unanimous jolt among the aviators, each of them awe-struck and pleasantly surprised by Bob’s quip. I immediately understand that Bob hardly knows these people--that they are not really his friends like I am. They’ve never experienced his quick wit.

Bob and I are grinning at each other.

All the eyes on my face are making me hot. Perspiration is starting to gather in the pit of my arms, my legs.

Bob crosses the table quickly and wraps his arm around me. I have just enough time to jerk my drink away from us before I hug him back. He smells like a freshly-washed baby. My eyes fall shut for a fraction of a second and I rack my brain, trying to remember the last time I was hugged by a friend.

“It’s so good to see a familiar face,” I sigh, “missed you, Bobby.”

Bob releases me, holding my shoulders for a beat, searching my face for anything new. Still me, Bob! I want to say.

“I haven’t seen you since…” he trails off before shaking his head, “since too long ago, that’s when.”

“Bob, aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?” A voice pipes from behind him.

It’s the blonde haired man, the one that clapped Bob on the back while he bit back a cocky grin. He’s grinning at me now, eyes flickering to where Bob’s hands, which are still lingering on my shoulders.

“Right,” Bob says, releasing me so I can be beheld by the entire group, “allow me to introduce Lieutenant Faye Ledger, call-sign: Clover. We went through the academy together.”

I ease over the aviators crowding the pool table with friendly eyes. Only a few women, only one of them engaged in the conversation. Her hair is sleek and dark, her expression fierce but friendly. All the men drip with ego, with the angular cheeks and cut jaws to match.

Maggie would hate how the men outnumbered the women.

“Sausagefest,” I can practically hear her spitting.

“Clover of Crimson and Clover? Twin-aviator-extraordinaires?”

A man with black, curly hair chopped short says this, his lips parted

Bob’s smile weakens. I take a long, long drink of the bloody Mary. The acidic tomato juice burns my nostrils. I nod.

“In the flesh,” I say, “half, anyway.”

Bob sniffles a smile.

“That’s Hangman,” Bob introduces, pointing to the blonde man with his arms crossed, “and beside him we have Phoenix, Fanboy, Payback, Coyote, and Rooster.”

I follow his fingers, trying hard to nail the names to faces. When Bob’s finger lands on Rooster, I almost stumble in place. It’s Hawaiian Shirt. He’s beaming at me, a foggy beer bottle in his fist. His head is slightly tilted back--his Adam’s apple is pronounced and glistening with sweat.

“Lieutenant Ledger,” Rooster says, “didn’t take you for a pilot. You know, with the indecisiveness and all.”

I sigh, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, tilting my head.

“Sister was the stick jockey. I was just the backseater.”

“One of the best backseaters,” Hangman adds, “everyone’s heard the stories.”

Hangman has his arms crossed and he’s regarding me with his eyebrows knit, his mouth slightly ajar. Maybe he’s surprised that I’m not in uniform, or maybe he’s surprised that half of me is missing. I’m never sure how much anyone knows about Maggie.

I am flushed, but I’m not sure if it’s the sudden attention or if it’s the heat radiating off the sea of bodies all around us. Maybe it’s the vodka. Penny makes a strong drink.

“Impossible,” I say, “not when Bob’s still kicking it. Right, Bobby?”

Bob laughs and it makes me think of Maggie, the way she would make Bob clutch his belly when she did cartwheels all the way to the Uber after close. Or when she would do her Elvis impression, feet bare as she planted herself before him, heels long since forgotten as they were toted around by whatever uniform she was going home with.

I gulp the rest of my drink. My throat vibrates.

“What are you drinking?”

It’s Rooster that asks, striding towards me. I shrug, looking up at him. The sunset has given in to dusk and the warm bulbs above his head turn his hair a brighter blonde than I saw outside. Up close, his scars seem more pronounced, like unnatural wrinkles. He’s still wearing his sunglasses.

“Whatever Penny makes me,” I shrug.

He starts for the bar, but I suddenly tug on his Hawaiian shirt. He turns around, eyebrow quirked.

“Not another one of those,” I whisper, grimacing.

He nods, saluting with his free hand.

“Understood, ma’am.”

He disappears in the crowd.

I turn to Bob.

“What brings you back?”

Bob shrugs, biting his lip. His glasses are perched higher up now that he isn’t focusing on a pool ball.

“All of us were called back for the same assignment. Not sure what it is yet, but seems pretty serious. Everyone dressed in khaki here,” he points around the bar, “top of their class, or damn-near close. Best of the best here.”

I consider telling Bob what Admiral Simpson told me, but I keep my mouth closed, pulling my brows together.

“Must be pretty crucial.”

Bob nods, raising his eyebrows before taking a swig of his beer. He licks his pointed lips then shrugs.

“That’s what we’ve gathered--!”

“Clover,” Hangman interrupts, “you game?”

He points to the pool table. Hangman’s eyes are on mine and the intensity of his gaze feels like standing in front of a fireplace. Phoenix is looking at Bob with wide eyes, nodding for him to play covertly.

I shake my head.

“Not very good,” I call, “these hands aren’t what they used to be.”

“Can’t be any worse than Bob here,” he grins.

His jaw is so toned--it looks like he chews a pack of gum a day.

“Play nice,” Phoenix commands, “rack ‘em, Bagman.”

I nod to the pool table when Bob catches my eyes again. His cheeks are red.

“Give ‘em Hell,” I whisper.

Rooster returns as Bob re-engages with the group. He hands me a wet glass full of something purple and girly. I smile down at it. It’s a lavender limeade with tequila. Penny realized her mistake.

“Thanks,” I call, softly bumping him with my elbow.

Rooster stays put beside me, still smiling, a few drops of sweat racing down his neck and onto his collar. His elbow is touching my bicep.

“Didn’t know you were the Clover Ledger,” Rooster admits, “could’ve told me that before I called you a little lady.”

I suck in a breath through my teeth, taking a long sip from my drink. The tequila instantly warms my throat, loosens my limbs.

“Where’s the fun in that, lieutenant?”

He laughs.

After a beat, I add, “I knew you were a pilot the moment I saw you.”

Rooster looks down at me, searching my face with a bemused expression.

“Oh, yeah? How’s that?”

“The swagger gave it away,” I answer, “the Bronco, the sunglasses, the song, the shirt.”

Rooster holds his hand up in offense.

“What’s wrong with the shirt?”

I shake my head, innocently shrugging.

“No, no, I like it,” I declare, meeting his tinted eyes, “really brings out your eyes.”

Behind his sunglasses, his eyes glimmer. He likes to be teased.

I gulp the limeade. My toes start to feel fuzzy.

“You here for the mission?”

He rests part of his weight on my arm. The heaviness of his arm makes a certain warmth pool in the pit of my belly.

“My mission is to observe and record,” I say, straightening my shoulders and squaring my jaw to imitate Cyclone, “for the Official Navy Record.”

Rooster whistles, feigning impression.

“How can you live with the pressure of it all?”

I shrug, stirring my drink with my finger before sucking it clean. He’s watching me, a perpetual grin tickling his mouth.

“I’m an alcoholic,” I retort.

Rooster laughs loudly--the same laugh from outside. Phoenix and Bob glance up at us from the pool table, quiet smiles on their lips. Bob glances at Rooster, then flickers his gaze back to me, narrowing his eyes just slightly while nodding. He’s saying oh, yeah. He’s a good one. I’d almost forgotten about that secret language we share; the secret language of old friends.

“So…you’re sitting this one out because it’s below your paygrade, then?”

I blink up at him. He cocks his head.

“You’re the best of the best,” he remarks, “isn’t this mission for the best of the best?”

My belly turns sour. I finish my drink again, setting my glass on the stack of chairs. I wipe my damp palms on my dress, studying the floral print as I chew my bottom lip. I can feel my cheeks gathering redness, can feel the lump growing again. Rooster watches me think.

“Aren’t you a cocky creature,” I tease, “is that what all this Rooster business is about?”

Just as I return his gaze, just as I recognize how fuzzy and warm I feel, there’s a tap on my shoulder. Rooster and I turn at the same time.

It’s a man a few years older than me, dressed in a khaki uniform. He’s smiling like he knows me, and leaning closer to say something to me.

“You’re Clover, right? Not the other one?”

Not the other one. I nod.

“I think so,” I say, pretending like I can’t see Rooster beaming.

“This is for you,” he shouts, holding his closed fist in the air near my face.

I lay my hand flat in the air, palm-up. He drops three shiny quarters in it.

“Oh,” I say, feeling flustered, “oh no, that’s okay, you shouldn’t--!”

The man is already walking away, immersing himself in the crowd. I stare down at my open palm, the quarters ringing as I force them against each other.

“What was that about?” Rooster asks, gingerly picking a quarter up and studying it.

I close my fist and let it fall to my side.

It doesn’t seem possible without Maggie wrangling everyone in, doesn’t seem possible to pick the right songs and dance without being embarrassed.

“Secret’s out,” I sigh, “I’m also a hooker. A bad one.”

He bites a grin. I hold a finger up to him.

“I’ll be right back.”

I muscle through the crowd with my hand still closed around the quarters. As soon as I make it to the bar, Penny meets me, like she was waiting for me.

“In need of some serious liquid courage,” I tell her, “two shots of tequila?”

Penny nods, not asking any questions. After she pours the shots and hands me a lime, she glances over her shoulder at Maverick. He is on his phone and I almost warn him, but it’s too late--he sets it on the bar.

Penny rings the bell with a smirk. The bar erupts in cheers, a few men clapping Maverick’s shoulders. Penny points to the sign and before I can chicken out, I bottom out the first shot glass and suck the lime. Maverick sits at his seat with a look of disbelief, mouth slightly ajar.

“Did you know about this?” He yells to me.

I grin something fierce, hold my shot glass up to him.

“Cheers, captain!” I bottom the other shot, grimacing.

The sour lime cuts the tang of the tequila. My belly sloshes with liquid.

“Penny, my dear,” Hangman sings, “I’ll have four more on the old-timer.”

Hangman is standing behind me, his scent strong. He smells like the outdoors, if the outdoors was freshly polished and sanitized.

“Why do they call you Hangman?”

Hangman registers my presence and smiles down at me in the way men do when they see something they like. He leans against the bar, looking at me, my empty shot glasses.

“Long story. They call you Clover cause you’re lucky?”

Lucky. I almost laugh in his face. Blood rushes to my ears.

I’m too drunk to feel upset, to feel angry. My lips never lose their smile.

“You know, I actually read a Cornish legend about clover,” I say, leaning towards him, “a young maid put a fistful of clover on her head to alleviate the pain of carrying a heavy pail of milk and got instant relief. Not only that, but she could suddenly see dozens of fairies and elves all around her.”

Hangman considers my story, cheeks dimpled.

“So, if I put you on my head, I’ll be able to see fairies?”

I shrug, blushing.

“I guess we’ll never know.”

Penny hands the beer to Hangman and glances at me. I can hear my own heart hammering in my chest. Hangman turns around to rejoin the group, but first sends a wink my way.

“Maggie would have ate him alive,” I laugh.

Penny doesn’t laugh--just smiles sadly. The pit in my belly grows. She touches my hand softly, squeezing it. I wonder how much Penny knows. After Maggie, I came to The Hard Deck rarely--first opting for a harsher scene, then no scene at all. Maybe Penny still feels fresh about Maggie.

“I think I’m drunk,” I tell her, waving myself off, “I should close out my tab.”

“Rooster put your drinks on his,” she waggles her eyebrows.

Just as I muscle my way back to the group, Penny rings the bell. More cheers erupt from the crowd and Hangman and Payback trample to the bar with ornery grins splitting their faces.

Bob is still in the middle of a game of pool, chatting with Phoenix. Rooster has disappeared. I sink into the stack of chairs, not bothering to turn around and crane to see what’s happening over the bobbing heads of the bar-goers. Everyone is chanting the same thing and I strain to understand it.

Overboard! Overboard!

Suddenly, the jukebox blinks off. A chorus of groans echo. I drop the quarters into my dress pocket.

Somebody starts to play the piano--I’ve never seen anybody play the piano here. Phoenix grins across the room and I follow her eyes. Rooster is sitting on the piano bench, fingers working the keys effortlessly, beautifully.

“C’mon, guys,” she says, giddy.

Bob glances at me and I wave him off, giving him my best I’m totally okay smile. I am alone by the pool table. It still smells overwhelmingly like beer. My chest is growing warmer and heavier by the minute, my cheeks a deep read. Crimson.

“You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain,” Rooster croons.

His voice cuts through the bar like a pair of heavy scissors. The patrons are all starting to flock towards Rooster, who is basking in the attention, smirking.

“Too much love drives a man insane! You broke my will, but what a thrill!”

The pool table is abandoned. I think of all the times Maggie slinked around the table, putting on her best pout, waiting for someone to let her in the game. She would play the first round or so cluelessly, letting men put their arms around her to help her shoot. It wasn’t until there was money put down that she revealed her talent. Maggie was good at everything.

“Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!”

Other people are singing with Rooster now.

I make my great escape, stepping on cracked peanut shells and cocktail stirrers as I cross the bar. Not one person is watching me, not even Penny.

The night is warm outside. Without the competing conversations and booming jukebox, I can just barely hear the ocean. Salt prickles my tongue, the air holding me close.

I sit there, under a palm tree, looking up at the star-dotted sky. Something metal clatters beside me. It’s one of the quarters. It shimmers under the moon and I bring it close to my eyes, squinting to see the date.

1992.

I whimper softly, eyebrows pulled together. There is no evading the lump in my throat--no Rooster to dissipate it, no friendly face out here in the lot. My tears are hot on my cheeks as they race down my face.

With quivering lips, I bring the quarter to my mouth and press a kiss to it.

“Hi, Maggie,” I whisper.

☾☽ 𝐚/𝐧: like this if you cry every time

☾☽ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

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averagewriter-inthedark · 2 years

Text

Living Up To The Legacy ✈️ | Top Gun: Maverick P.1

Contains spoilers for Top Gun: Maverick

Series Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: LT. Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Lt. Barbara ‘Legacy’ Mitchell (past romance/eventual romance), Cpt. Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell (platonic), Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin (platonic), Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace (platonic), pretty much every other character is a platonic pairing

Content Warnings: light angst, profanity, slight age-gap (Rooster was born in 1984, Barbara in 1989), mentions of death, spoilers for TGM | Female OC (she/her) | Wc: 10k

Premise: Nearly grounded once and for all after disobeying orders, Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell is sent to North Island, California on a new assignment. The goal: teach a group of TOPGUN graduates how to work as a team and successfully destroy a uranium plant before it is fully operation. The problem, two of the candidates have a personal connection to Maverick and each other, but all are estranged. Maverick comes face to face with a new mission on his plate, one that looks nearly impossible compared to the difficult task he is to perform.

Note: So for this story, I looked it up and it says on the wiki that Rooster was born in 1984 and for this I’m making Barbara born in 1989 so they have roughly a five-ish year age-gap between them. Also considering this movie was supposed to be released in 2020, the plot I think take place in 2019 so that’s gonna be the year it is set in. Hope that makes sense and sorry for any confusion. If I made any inconsistencies, I’ll go back and fix them later on.

—————————————————————

“Maverick. Thirty plus years of service. Combat medals. Citations. Only man to shoot down three enemy plans in the last forty years. Distinguished. Distinguished. Distinguished,” Admiral Cain’s low voice reads off the paper. In front of him, Maverick stares ahead at attention. Once again the infamous naval pilot is faced with the consequences of his actions. This time it was going against orders to go through with testing the “Darkstar” scramjet at Mach 10.

An action which led to him pushing it, in Maverick fashion, and ultimately destroying it.

“Yet you can’t get a promotion. You won’t retire. And despite your best efforts you refuse to die. You should at least be a two star Admiral by now, if not a senator,” Cain points out. “Yet here you are. Captain. Why is that?”

There was no time to joke around, but Mav couldn’t help it. “It’s one of life’s mysteries, sir.”

“This isn’t a joke. I asked you a question,” Cain snaps with no humor in his tone.

“I’m where I belong, sir.”

“Well, the navy doesn’t see it that way,” Cain shakes his head. “Not anymore.” The sound of a jet passes by as Cain leans back in his chair. “These planes you’ve been testing, Captain, one day, sooner or later, they won’t need pilots at all. Pilots that need to sleep, eat, take a piss.” He looks back to Maverick, a slight glare in his expression. “Pilots that disobey orders. Which I hear has become a habit of yet another pilot who has taken it upon herself to live up to the Mitchell name.”

A silence passes as Maverick takes in his words. He doesn’t want to react at the mention of his daughter. The one he hadn’t seen in years. Part of him feels a sense of pride. That she is as rebellious as he was in his youth, pissing off superiors left and right. But on another note it worries him. The last thing he’d want for her is to lose her career over mistakes and disobeying.

Cain then points out the obvious, “All you did was buy some time for those men out there. The future is coming, and you’re not in it.” This has Mav looking away, not wanting to accept what the Admiral was telling him.

“Escort this man off the base,” Cain leans forward. “Take him to his quarters. Wait with him while he packs his gear. I want him on the road to North Island within the hour.”

“North Island, sir?” Mav asks with confusion. Of course he knew what lay in North Island. So why the hell was he going there?

“Call came in with impeccable timing—right as I was driving here to ground your ass once and for all,” the tone in Cain’s voice read that he was not at all happy to deliver the news—if it was up to him, Maverick would be out of the Navy for good. “It galls me to say it, but….for reasons known only to the Almighty and your guardian angel, you’ve been called back to TOPGUN.”

The look on Mavericks face was only that of shock—and probably fear. Back to Top Gun?? After thirty years?? It couldn’t be real. “Sir?”

Cain cuts him off, “You are dismissed, Captain.”

Picking his head up, blinking rapidly as he did, Maverick slowly turns on his heel. As he heads out, Cain calls to him one last time. “The end is inevitable, Maverick. Your kind is headed for extinction.”

Stopping shortly in front of the door, Mav glances to the floor before facing his now former superior. In his gaze is determination, as though it would not be the last Cain saw of him. “Maybe so sir. But not today.”

The ride to North Island was quick. Mostly because Mav was speeding if he was being honest. There was nothing like the sight of an F-18 taxiing down the runway before taking off into the horizon. It brought a smile to the pilots face, cruising down the road next to the airstrip and pumping the gas to try and beat the jet before it went airborne.

When he arrived at Fightertown located in San Diego, the first thing Maverick did was head to the building where he was to meet with his new superiors. Walking in, Mav’s eyes caught sight of a familiar picture hanging on the wall to his left. It was a black and white photograph of a young Maverick shaking hands with a man he once rivaled, after successfully shooting down enemy planes.

Where a forever friendship was formed. Where Maverick found his wingman.

Behind him, was another photo. This one showed the same man Maverick was shaking hands with, but much older with an array of ribbons signifying his accomplishments. Admiral Tom “Iceman” Kazansky, Commander of the U.S Pacific Fleet, Mav’s wingman and literal guardian angel for when he fucks up.

Smiling at the photo, Mav continues down the hallway to the meeting room he’s expected at.

“Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell. Your reputation precedes you,” were the words he was greeted with from the three-star admiral seated at the head of the table. Beside him was a two-star admiral.

“Thank you, sir.”

The admiral tilts his head, almost humored. “Wasn’t a compliment. I’m Admiral Beau Simpson. I’m the air boss. I believe you know Admiral Bates.”

Mav nods to the man in greeting, “Warlock, sir. Must admit, I wasn’t expecting an invitation back.”

“They’re called orders, Maverick,” Warlock corrects, albeit a small smirk on his lips. Mav sheepishly smiles, glancing to the ground. “You two have something in common,” Warlock gestures to the man beside him, “Cyclone here was first in his class back in ‘88.”

“Actually, sir, I finished second,” Mav points out. “Just want to manage expectations.” He ends with a full grin, as if he found the jab at himself funny.

Cyclone didn’t look impressed.

“The target….” Warlock leans in to redirect the subject before pressing something on the device in front of him. The screen behind Mav depicts blueprints, the Captain turning to see. “—is an unsanctioned uranium enrichment plant built in violation of a multilateral NATO treaty. The uranium produced there represents a direct threat to our allies in the region. The Pentagon has tasked us with assembling a strike team and taking it out before it becomes fully operational.”

The screen switches to a geographic model showcasing a mountain. “The plant sits in an underground bunker at the end of this valley. Said valley is GPS jammed and defended by an extensive surface-to-air missile array,” red dots light up around the mountain. They symbolize missiles protecting the bunker. “—serving a limited number of fifth generation fighters, which in turn are backed up by a plentiful reserve of surplus aircraft. Even a few old F-14s.”

“Seems like we’re not the only ones holding on to old relics,” Cyclone comments, noticing the look on Mav’s face at the sight of the old jets they used to fly back in the day.

“What’s your read, Captain?” Warlock asks, causing Mav to look intensely at the screen.

What he saw was something almost impossible. Looking at it from any angle indicated this to the esteemed pilot. It made Mav fear for the others who would be involved.

He cleared his throat before speaking. “Well, sir, normally this would be a cakewalk for the F-35’s stealth, but the GPS-jamming negates that. And a surface-to-air threat necessitates a low-level laser-guided strike tailor made for the F-18. I figure,” he pauses to think. “Two precision bombs, minimum. Makes it four aircraft flying in pairs.” Cyclone and Warlock share a look, while Mav points a finger at the mountain. “That is one hell of a steep climb out of there, exposing you to all the surface-to-air missiles. You survive that, it’s a dogfight all the way home.”

“All requirements for which you have real-world experience,” Warlock says, causing Mav to glance at him.

“Not the same mission, sir.” He turns back to the screen, deep in thought. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, the odds were not in their favor for this type of mission. “No, someone’s not coming back from this.”

“Can it be done or not?” Cyclone questions, wanting to hurry up and finish the meeting. Time was at the essence and they needed to get started.

“How soon before the plant becomes operational?”

“Three weeks,” Warlock answers. “Maybe less.”

Bidding one last look to the screen, Maverick turns to face the Admirals. Oblivious to what they really wanted him there for. In his mind, he was the man tasked with leading the mission. “Well, it’s been a while since I’ve flown an F-18, and…I’m not sure who I’d trust to fly the other three.” He continues talking, not noticing the look Cyclone gives Warlock which has the latter interrupting him. “But I'll find a way to make it work—.”

“I think you misunderstand, Captain.”

This has Mav confused, “Sir?”

“We don’t want you to fly it,” Cyclone tells him. “We want you to teach it.”

Now that was the last thing the man expected. “Teach, sir?” Teaching and Maverick were not something to be used in the same sentence. He learned that quickly in his two months as instructor….thirty years prior.

His superiors both give a sigh, before Cyclone switches the screen on the projector. “We’ve recalled twelve Top Gun graduates from their squadrons.” Two rows of photos appeared showing the selected graduates in their flight jumpsuits. Each had their name along with their call sign located at the bottom. “We want you to narrow that pool down to six.”

Maverick let his eyes scan the photos, reading over the names after getting a look at each face they belonged to. BOB, OMAHA, HALO, YALE, HARVARD, FANBOY, PAYBACK, COYOTE, HANGMAN, PHOENIX. And then his attention was brought to the last two on the far right, making his heart sink as he read ROOSTER and LEGACY.

It was like the universe was out to get him. Digging up bones that could never be buried no matter how much he tried to fix the past. The boy with the golden hair and mustache, making him look like a carbon copy of his dad, Goose. Mavericks lost wingman who he still blames himself for his death. And the girl he failed as a father, a spitting image of his own self with matching blue-green eyes and black hair.

He hadn’t seen either in years. And if what Ice told him was true about what happened to their relationship, then Mav was at a loss to even attempt to approach the subject with his daughter. She never called. Never sent a text. Or even an email. But Maverick couldn’t blame her.

“They’ll fly the mission.” Cyclone’s voice brought him out of his inner battle with his thoughts. The admiral notices the clench of his jaw, and distant look in his eye as he turns away from the screen. “Is there a problem, Captain?”

The condescending tone nearly had Maverick walking out of the room. “You know there is, sir.”

“Yeah,” he replies nonchalantly, tapping the tablet with his finger. The screen pulls up the image of Rooster and all his information. “Bradley Bradshaw, aka ‘Rooster.’ I understand you used to fly with his old man. What was his call sign?” Of course the admiral knew, but he wanted Maverick to tell him anyway.

The pain in the Captain's heart was clear as he said aloud, “‘Goose’, sir.”

“Tragic what happened.”

“Captain Mitchell was cleared of any wrongdoing,” Warlock interjects, feeling sympathy for the pilot. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose one’s wingman. “Goose’s death was an accident.”

“Is that how you see it, Captain,” Cyclone asks before gesturing to the screen. It was clear he was getting under Mavericks skin. And it was working. “Is that how Goose’s son sees it?” Before the pilot could answer, Cyclone changed the screen to the next image.

The woman staring back at them had dark black hair cut in a sleek bob that fell just above her chin. She had strong cheekbones and jawline, dark brows framing what Maverick knew were bright blue-green eyes—which were grey in contrast to the colorless photo—and plump lips like her mother. She wasn’t smiling in her photo. When thinking about it, Mav couldn’t remember the last time he saw his daughter smile.

Once again Cyclone’s voice caught his attention. “Lieutenant Barbara Mitchell. Better known as ‘Legacy,’ which is something she certainly lives up to. Your daughter's reputation nearly rivals that of your own, Captain.”

Mavericks lips curl up, “so I’ve heard.”

Cyclone grimaces while Warlock smirks. It was already a handful having one Mitchell at Top Gun. Add a second and there surely would be chaos of some sort. But, they were the best of the best. Literally. Barbara Mitchell lived up to the legacy of her family in every aspect there was.

There was also another subject to note in regards to the three—Maverick, Rooster, and Legacy—being called back to Top Gun. “It’s my understanding Rooster and Legacy are—I’m sorry, were spouses. Or has the divorce not been finalized?”

Maverick grimaced, glancing away with his jaw clenched. So what Ice told him was true. It pained the aviator to know the two didn’t last. It was never easy being a couple where both were in the military, let alone fighter pilots and on top of that Maverick felt an underlying reason for their relationship ended was in regards to him.

It had been nearly two years since Ice told him Barb had filed for separation. Knowing his daughter, Mav knew she’d want to cut the ribbon loose instead of drawing it out and going to court so he expected the divorce was quick. Cyclone was just trying to piss him off. Mav wouldn’t put it past him to know they were in fact divorced.

Instead of answering the Admiral, he changed the topic to a more important matter. “With all due respect, sir, I’m not a teacher.” It didn’t work the last time, he doubted it would again.

“You were a Top Gun instructor before.”

“That was almost thirty years ago. I lasted two months,” He replied, trying to show it was a bad idea to give him the job. “It’s not where I belong.”

“Then let me be perfectly blunt,” Cyclone started, not showing really any sympathy. “You were not my first choice. In fact, you weren’t even on the list. You are here at the request of Admiral Kazansky.” Ah, Ice saves the day once again. “Now, Iceman happens to be a man I deeply admire, and he seems to think that you have something left to offer the Navy,” he pauses to shake his head.

“What that is, I can’t imagine. You don’t have to take this job. But let me be clear: this will be your last post, Captain. You fly for Top Gun, or you don’t fly for the Navy ever again.”

And just like that, Maverick was back at Top Gun. Whether he liked it or not.

Later that night Maverick ended up sitting at the bar at the local tavern ‘The Hard Deck.’ Two Lieutenants he recognized as the recruits Hangman and Coyote were tossing darts. Mav watched them for a while until he passed a few texts between him and Ice. Then to his surprise, the lady behind the bar was none other than his former flame, Penny.

He thought the conversation was going well….until she rang the bell. “Disrespect a lady, the Navy, or put your cell phone on my bar,” Mav recited as he lifted his phone off the bar.

“And you buy a round,” Penny finished for him, a mischievous smile coating her lips.

With a hesitant look, Mav glanced around, “For everyone?” He questioned.

“I’m afraid rules are rules. You’re lucky it’s early.” Mav watched her walk away, smiling with a light blush to his cheeks. Every time he saw Penny, something in him stirred like he was a giddy teenager again.

“What do we have here?” The sound of Hangman’s voice called his attention. He followed the blonde’s gaze to a trio of officers entering the bar. A female lieutenant walked ahead of the two guys behind her. Mav recognized them as Phoenix, Fanboy, and Payback.

“If it ain’t Phoenix!” Hangman lifted the cue up and walked beside the table to greet them. “And here I thought we were special, Coyote. Turns out the invite went to anyone.”

Lt. Trace, aka Phoenix just smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. “Fellas, this here’s Bagman.”

“Hangman,” he corrected.

“Whatever,” her tone indicated she didn’t care. “You’re looking at the only naval aviator on active duty with a confirmed air-to-air kill.”

Hangman smiled, obviously feeling the inflation to his ego. “Stop.” He really didn’t want her to.

The tables then turned. “Mind you, the other guy was in a museum piece from the Korean War,” Phoenix points out, playing down on his accomplishment.

“Cold War,” Coyote jumps in.

“Different wars, same century,” Lt. Fitch counters.

“Not this one,” says Lt. Garcia.

Coyote gestures to the two with a pool cue in his hand. “Who are your friends?”

“Payback,” Fitch tells him and Garcia follows with, “Fanboy.”

“Hey, Coyote,” Phoenix greets.

“Hey,” he replies with a smirk. The woman nudges her head to the right, “who’s he?”

“Who’s who?” All eyes draw to the Lieutenant brushing something off some peanut shells off his uniform seated by the pool table. When he notices them looking at him he freezes. Coyote is the first to speak, “When did you get in?”

The blonde man with glasses smiles sheepishly, “Oh, I've been here the whole time.” At no point did the group notice the man, who was munching on some peanuts and watching the interaction play out.

“The man’s a stealth pilot,” Hangman comments and Coyote agrees, “Literally.”

“Weapons systems officer, actually,” he politely corrects. It causes Hangman to nod his head, “With no sense of humor,” and hand off the pool cue to Phoenix.

“What do they call you,” She asks. There’s an immediate blush to his cheeks when he answers, “Bob.”

“No, your call sign,” Payback rephrases. Again, the blonde man appears embarrassed, “Uhh….Bob.”

The name rings a bell for the female aviator, “Bob Floyd. You’re my new backseater? From Lemoore.” Beside her, Fanboy was lightly laughing.

Bob smiles at her, “Looks like it. Yeah.” She looks him over, as if to read him and gives a nod before handing him the cue, “nine-ball, Bob. Rack ‘em.” He stared at the cue, not really expecting to be included in the game. “Okay,” he eventually says while getting up from the chair.

Over at the bar, Hangman goes to cash in on the round bought by Maverick. “Penny, my dear.”

“Yeah,” she says, going up to him.

“I’ll have four more on the old-timer,” his eyes meet Maverick as he orders. The older man shakes his head when Penny gives him a look while going to grab the beers. A few moments later his attention is again drawn to the entrance of the bar when Phoenix loudly calls out to a patron.

A patron Maverick had yet to reunite with.

“Bradshaw!” She yells, capturing the young Lieutenant’s eyes. “Is that you?” At the bar, Maverick turns his back away, preventing Rooster from seeing him when he walks to the group. The woman gives an offended look when he approaches, “This is how I find out you’re stateside?”

The aviator sunglasses are removed and tucked into his shirt. “Yeah, I just thought I’d surprise you.” He comes up behind Phoenix as she lines up the shot.

“Hmm.” Bending down, Phoenix draws the cue back and makes direct contact with Rooster’s gut. He grunts, the woman pushing the cue forward to hit the ball and letting it shoot across the table. Rooster bends, clutching his stomach with a pained expression. “I guess I surprised you back.”

Squinting, Rooster lifts his gaze to her and smiles as best as he can, “It’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you too,” she replies, her smile then falling. “Do you know if—.” The shake of his head cuts Phoenix off from finishing the sentence.

“We’ll find out sooner or later,” he stands straight, glancing at the other pilots around them. “I wouldn’t be surprised with this many of us called back, she would be too.”

Back at the bar, Penny handed Hangman four beers, courtesy of Mav’s round. “Here you go,” she says as he takes the bottles. The Lieutenant thanks her before turning to Mav to say, “Much appreciated, Pops.” He ends with a wink and turns back to return to the group.

Mav nods briefly, letting his gaze go past the blonde to focus on the man in the Hawaiian shirt behind him. Rooster’s back was to him, and wanting to get out of there before the young man noticed, Mav pulled out his card for Penny. “How about ringing me up before the evening rush?”

With a smirk, Penny goes to the register, leaving the pilot to himself once again. A few times he checks the entrance to see if Barbara had arrived. So far half of the recruits had shown up, Mav was prepared to get a glimpse of his daughter before heading out.

Changing the song on the jukebox and handing the beers over to Coyote, Hangman lands his sight on Rooster. “Bradshaw,” he draws out, snatching the cue from Bob before the Lieutenant could take the shot. “As I live and breathe.”

“Hangman,” Rooster returns, looking him over. “You look…good.” Nudging Bob aside, Hangman lines up his cue with the ball, “Well, I am good, Rooster.” The two connect eyes just as he draws the cue back and hits the ball, “I’m very good. In fact, I am too good to be true.”

The arrogance from the man has Phoenix and Payback shaking their heads, both turning to Rooster. “So,” Payback starts to say, “Anybody know what this special detachment is all about?”

“No, mission’s a mission,” Hangman replies, not taking his gaze off the pool table. “They don’t confront me. What I want to know: who’s gonna be team leader?” The balls clatter when he takes another shot after successfully pocketing the last ball. “And which one of y’all has what it takes to follow me?”

The look Rooster gives is one that reads, ‘you can’t be serious right now.’ “Hangman, the only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave.” Though the music is playing it feels like one could hear a pin drop.

“Whoo!” Fanboy whistles, not even trying to hide the giggles falling from his lips. Phoenix was clutching the pool cue, staring at Rooster as if she could not believe he really said that. If Hangman was bothered, the man was doing a good job of not showing it. He simply grinned, walking up to Rooster and stopping so close they were practically toe to toe with one another.

“Well, anyone who follows you is just gonna run out of fuel. But that’s just you, ain’t it, Rooster? You’re snug on that perch, waiting for just the right moment…” Hangman steps closer, putting the cue in between them before finishing, “That never comes.” The next words to come from his mouth were cold and calculated, but what was that to stop him. Jake looks down to see Rooster’s left hand, where it was now vacant of a gold ring. “It’s a shame about you and the Missus—or should I say, former missus.”

That same hand then clutched into a fist, but that’s all it did. Behind Jake, Phoenix was glaring daggers into his back, checking on Rooster for his reaction while the others looked confused. It took a moment to realize what the blonde was implying. Hangman ramped up the tension when he added, “Say, you know I always wondered why her call sign was ‘Legacy.’ Interesting name. She wouldn’t tell me but said it had to do with her maiden name,” Hangman bites his lip while grinning, “Now that she’s not lady Bradshaw anymore, I’m looking forward to finding out the reason.”

“Watch it, Seresin,” Phoenix warned, but he ignored her. Rooster was her friend, and so was Barbara despite knowing Rooster longer. She didn’t appreciate the man making snide comments about their failed relationship.

When it appeared Rooster was not going to say anything back, Hangman smirked in a slight victory. “I love this song.” ‘Slow ride. Take it easy.’ As he walked away, Phoenix approached Rooster, both of them watching him as he went.

“Well, he hasn’t changed,” she says with no surprise.

“Nope,” he agrees, jaw still clenched from the last jab Hangman threw at him. “Sure hasn’t.” Getting an idea, Rooster walks away, leaving Phoenix by the table. She wanted to ask if he was alright, but decided against it.

Fanboy comes up to her, confusion coating his expression. “What the hell was that all about?” He gestures to Rooster and Hangman. Fanboy didn’t know either of them, but his curiosity peaked at the mention of someone called ‘Legacy’. “Who’s Legacy?”

Phoenix let out a sigh, setting the pool cue aside. “Rooster’s ex-wife, Barbara. She’s a naval pilot too—graduated from Top Gun three years ago right after their divorce.” Fanboy whistled lowly, not expecting that information.

“Damn. How long were they together?”

“Over seven years—married for five. They tied the knot after her commission, Rooster was already done with flight school by then. I think they dated for about two years before he proposed. Not really sure on the exact dates.”

Fanboy frowns, “What happened?” Phoenix glances over to Rooster who was walking in the direction of the jukebox. She gives a shrug and says, “He won’t say. Doesn’t really like to talk about it.” Fanboy nods, feeling sympathy for his fellow aviator.

“Why ‘Legacy’? That’s an usual call sign.” When he thought of the word, what came to mind was sorority girls or frat brothers who had parents in Greek life.

“Something about her family,” Phoenix answers. So he was right, it did have to deal with a parent. “She never talked much about her parents, but she told me once her mother was a civilian contractor for Top Gun and her dad was a pilot. Also her grandpa served, as did her Godfather. I guess in flight school that information spread, someone called her legacy and it stuck.”

Fanboy took in the information. He could understand how something like that would bestow that kind of call sign. It honestly intrigued him. Before he could ask another question, something else caught his eye. Gesturing to the entrance he said, “Check it out. More patches.”

Payback stands from the chair, coming up behind the two to see some fellow aviators, “That’s Harvard, Yale, Omaha.”

“What the hell kind of mission is this?” Fanboy questions, curious to know what he got himself into when he agreed to come back to North Island. Never had there been so many Top Gun graduates called back. The mission had to be a serious one.

“That’s not the question we should be asking,” Phoenix says to her fellow pilot. “Everyone here is the best there is. Who the hell are they gonna get to teach us?”

The card slaps down in front of Maverick, “It’s been declined,” Penny tells him. He gives a look of bewilderment, “You’re kidding.” There was no way it was empty. Had he not transferred over funds? Or did his last paycheck not go through?

Groans sounded around when the music was abruptly cut off. The culprit, none other than Rooster himself. Sunglasses on, despite being indoors, the aviator takes a seat in front of the piano, fingers go over the keys to play a light jazz. Phoenix hears the tone, smiling lightly as she calls out, “hey, guys. Come on.” Together they join Rooster, tossing the cue onto the table causing Hangman to throw his hands out as if to say, ‘Really?’

Meanwhile at the bar, Maverick is in a pickle. Not only was his card declined, but he was short on cash. Fishing out some 1s, and 5s, Penny just shakes her head at him, handing over the bill, “That won’t cover it.”

Taking the bill, his eyes go wide at the number listed at the bottom. Even before the evening rush there was a good amount of people in attendance. All who ordered a round on his tab. Trying to coax his way to a deal, Mav gives Penny a puppy-like look, “Uh, I’ll come by tomorrow and bring you the cash.”

A finger lifts to him, the woman moving over to the bell, “I’m afraid rules are rules, Pete.” Before he can plead with her, Penny swings the rope and lets the bell ring, resulting in the entire bar erupting in cheers. They begin to chant ‘overboard’ as Maverick lets his head drop in defeat, although he’s smiling throughout the entire exchange. “Really?”

Hangman, Payback, and Coyote pull up behind him, all three waiting for Penny’s signal. With a simple nod to the entrance, Maverick is hauled up with Payback and Hangman on each arm while Coyote takes his legs. All around are cheers and claps, “Overboard! Overboard!”

“Great to see you, Pete!” Penny shouts, grinning from ear to ear as he disappears from her sights. His back meets the harsh sand, a grunt escaping him while everyone cheers. Hangman salutes him, unaware that in less than 24 hours the man he just threw out would be his superior. “Thanks for the beers! Come back anytime!” The door shuts behind them, muffling the cheers as they continue in the now crowded tavern. All Mav could do was chuckle, brushing the sand off him when he rises from the ground.

He starts walking in the direction of his bike, but comes to a sudden halt when a familiar song reaches his ears.

“You shake my nerves, and you rattle my brain.

Too much love. Drives a man insane.

You Broke my will. But what a thrill.

Goodness gracious! Great balls of fire!”

Mav walks up to the window, peeking in to find Rooster seated at the piano while his fellow recruits dance and belt along the lyrics beside him. Goose’s favorite song. The one they sang together at the bar the time Carole and Bradley visited during their programme.

“I laughed at love. ‘Cause I thought it was funny.

But you came along. And you moved me, honey.

I changed my mind. This love is fine.

Goodness gracious! Great balls of fire!”

For a moment, it was no longer 2019. It was 1986 and a two year old Bradley Bradshaw was seated on top of the piano with a cowboy hat perched on his tiny head while his father, Nick, played the instrument below. In Nick’s lap was his beloved wife and Bradley’s mother, Carole, and beside them belting along the lyrics of ‘Great Balls Of Fire,’ was Pete and Charlie.

A happy memory, plagued with the tragic moment that occurred days later. Goose and Mav ejecting from the jet, but the canopy failing to open properly causing Goose to smash his head against the glass. The impact alone was enough to kill him. The man laid in Maverick’s arms as they floated in the water waiting to be rescued. He knew Goose was gone.

“God, he loved flying with you, Maverick,” he could still hear Carole’s pained voice as he watched her son. The happiness radiating from him was a spitting image of his father. The pilot had to look away, for there were tears welting in his eyes. Unbeknownst to him, Penny saw him from inside the bar, her gaze flicking from Maverick to Goose, realizing who the young man was to the aviator.

Feeling his knees start to buckle, Maverick pushed away from the window, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. Reaching up, he wiped away any residue that leaked out before walking away. The sun was setting, casting a dark blue across the horizon as nightfall began to emerge. The Captain made his leave. As he approached the parking lot where his bike was, he stopped short when he noticed the bike parked next to him.

It was the Ducati he gifted Barbara when she got her motorcycle license at eighteen.

“I should’ve known it’d be you,” her voice came from the side, sending a wave of anxiety through Maverick as he stiffened. It had been so long since he heard it, and when he slowly turned to find her seated at the picnic table, Mav felt his shoulders drop.

Recently promoted Lieutenant Barbara ‘Legacy’ Mitchell stared back at him with an unreadable expression. A cigarette in hand and aviators perched on her head, the black haired beauty adorned a leather jacket similar to Mav’s with several patches lining its sides. A patch with her call sign was nested on her left breast reading, ‘Legacy’.

“Barb,” he whispered, watching her take a puff of the cigarette and holding her breath before slowly letting the smoke out. He hated the fact she smoked, and part of him believed she did it to spite him.

The woman didn’t greet her father. Instead she pointed her gaze at the beach in front of her, “When Ice told me I was being called back here, and what all to expect, I should’ve known he’d have you as the instructor. What I didn’t expect,” more smoke left her mouth, eyes going back to the man, ''was you to actually agree.”

Unsure of what to say, seeing it was going on four years since he’d seen his daughter, Mav cleared his throat, “Didn’t really have a choice in the matter.”

“Let me guess,” she raised her brow, but there was not a flicker of surprise as she added, “You went against orders, pissed off an Admiral, was probably gonna get sacked once and for all, and being here is what lets you stay in the air. Am I on the right track?”

Mav bit back a smirk. Barb knew him too well—well, at least knew his routine. Instead he gave a curt nod, glancing at the ocean briefly, “Can’t really say you’re not. You know me too well.”

“I don’t know you at all,” she snaps, causing the smile to drop from his face. Barb extinguishes the bud on the table and flicks it into the trash beside the table. “I know Captain Mitchell. The Navy’s infamous pilot with a record that’s distinguished despite his tendencies to act unorthodox. That’s all I’ve ever known from you.”

As much as he hated to admit it, it was the truth. The relationship between Charlie and Maverick fell through shortly after Barabara’s birth in 1989. Due to his status as a fighter pilot and rarely being stateside, Barbara was raised in D.C with her mother, Charlie. It was rare for Maverick to get time off and visit his daughter. Mostly in the summertime or around the holidays did he manage to get a few days of leave, but on average it was twice a year that Barabar spent time with her father. And when she did, all Mav did was take Barbara flying and teach her all there was about the Navy and their family.

It was how she fell in love with aviation. It made her feel a connection to her father, something she longed for as a child. Her mother taught her a lot about astrophysics and engineering, but Barbara loved to take to the skies. From a young age she knew she wanted to follow her father’s footsteps and continue his legacy. She thought it was what he wanted. Why he spent so much time teaching her the basics on how to fly and expressing his love for the Navy.

But that wasn’t the case. He didn’t want her flying. The same way he didn’t want Bradly flying either.

And that started the first wave of strain between father and daughter. The second wave came when Barb joined the Naval ROTC program at Vanderbilt university. Had she applied for the Naval Academy her father would’ve known. So, she applied to schools with NROTC and kept it from him until the letter came from Vanderbilt with a full ride to their program. Barbara would’ve kept her entire college career a secret, but her father managed to find out from her mother. That put a second dent in their relationship.

Shortly after Barbara reconnected with Bradley when the Naval Academy played Vanderbilt in football. It had been years since they saw each other, the last being around the time he had graduated high school and first applied to the Naval Academy. She never heard what had happened, so it surprised her to see him there as an undergraduate when she had expected him to already be a commissioned officer. He was a senior already in his mid twenties while Barb was a sophomore having just turned twenty.

Their reunion was anything but a happy one which had Barb confused. Bradley was displeased to see her and pretty much ignored her when she tried to talk to him. Eventually he got his head out of his ass when she went off on him by saying, “I don’t know what the fuck your problem is Bradshaw, but if has anything to do with my dad—which wouldn’t surprise me— then it’s unfair to treat me like this since I don’t know what the fuck he did to make you this angry.” Believing her words, Bradley invited her to lunch to explain what happened. It angered Barbara, for who was her father to have the right to do such a thing to Bradley.

Although they two didn’t see each other much after that weekend, the two kept in touch through email and phone calls. They would update each other on school and their programs, Bradley’s upcoming graduation, and their excitement to go to flight school and start their careers. Barbara wasn’t sure when her feelings for Bradley started. He was older, roughly by six or seven years and she only ever saw him once in a blue moon growing up whenever she’d fly to visit her dad when he’d try to spend time with both Bradley and her. As a young girl she found Bradley cute, but he of course paid no mind to her except when she’d join in on little adventures with him and Maverick. All she knew was she’d get butterflies in her stomach whenever he laughed at something she said or recounted a small detail she told him weeks prior. Then when he sent an invite to his graduation, Barbara swore her heart skipped a beat and she was doing the most in order to look her best the day of.

For Bradley, he realized his feelings for Barbara about eight months after their first meeting. He suddenly found himself looking forward to their phone calls, reading her emails, and felt a longing to see her again. It’s why he invited her to his graduation. And then again to his commissioning ceremony. Seeing her there, looking absolutely ethereal, sealed the deal for Bradley. At his commission he formally asked her out and thus started their relationship that lasted almost eight years.

Bradley went straight to flight school, and Barb followed two years later after her graduation and commissioned—which Bradley got time off to attend. At some point—probably when the two were drunk and in a festive mood, Bradley proposed. It was a spur of the moment decision, but he loved Barbara with his whole heart. And she loved him too. Once Barb said yes, the two went on a whim and drove up to the courthouse with Charlie and Natasha as their witnesses.

Maverick had no idea. It wasn’t until he popped in to visit Barbara out of the blue at her first duty station, hoping to make amends for the way he behaved four years earlier, and found Rooster there….and rings on their fingers. One photo of them at the courthouse combined with Barbara’s embarrassed expression was enough to put the pieces together. Rooster took it upon himself to leave saying he’d be back later that afternoon, but not before kissing her right there in front of Mav.

And so a third and permanent dent was put between the two. One that was not so easily forgiven. “Why the hell wouldn’t you tell me? Did you not want me there?” “It’s not like you would have come, Pete.” “You don’t know that!” “Fine, here’s the truth: Rooster didn’t want you there and honestly neither did I. We’re happy, and I don’t need your seal of approval on what I do. You were rarely there for me and when you were all it was ‘planes this, planes that’ and ‘Navy this, Navy that.’ You didn’t bother actually being a father, Pete.” Yeah, it was true when they said words hurt.

It only brought more strain. Soon it would impact her own relationship. Barbara completed flight school and unfortunately like most military marriages where both parties are active duty, the two were separated on different assignments. They made it work for the most part. Everyday they texted or emailed and when they got time to call or Skype they would. By that time Barbara had garnered her own reputation in the Navy, not just because of who her father was, but because she herself tended to act unorthodox. It was no wonder why her fellow aviators in flight school dubbed her ‘Legacy’. She didn’t know how they found out about her parentage, at the time she went by Barbara Bradshaw, but it didn’t matter. They’d find out sooner or later.

But the topic of Maverick would come up and each time it never ended well. Rooster still held resentment for him pulling his application. For Barbara, as much as she was angry at her father for various reasons, she still loved him. There was still a longing to have that father-daughter relationship she desired as a kid. When talking to her mother about it, Charlie offered the advice of, ‘It won’t be fixed if you do nothing about it. Talk to him, hear him out, and also take responsibility for your actions.” That night Barbara called Maverick, without telling her husband, and had a two hour conversation with her apologizing for not telling him about Rooster and Mav for his reaction to her career plans.

Barbara eventually told Rooster about her conversation with her father that weekend over Skype. She was hesitant, and judging by the look on his face when she told him she was correct to assume he would not be happy. All he said was, “You know how I feel about him. I’m not gonna stop you from talking to your dad, Barb, that’s on you. But I just ask that you don’t expect me to forgive him anytime soon.”

Years passed and things had slowly become complicated. Rooster went off to Top Gun, Barb was promoted to LTJG, and their jobs became more demanding. Although they finally got a duty station together, they hardly spent time together. At one point the topic of kids came up after a colleague had mentioned it at a dinner party. It resulted in it never being brought up again. If they wanted kids, well, one person would have to either leave the Navy or change their job because having both parents as fighter pilots while raising kids was impossible. And neither of them were ready to give that up just yet. In the last year of their marriage, they would go days without talking to each other, even if they were both home.

The year 2016 proved to be the one that would ultimately end the relationship once and for all. And it was because Barb had finally had enough with the deal between Maverick and Rooster and took it upon herself to confront her father. A decision she would regret.

“Tell me,” she demanded as they sat in a booth at a bar close to the base. Maverick had gotten leave and decided to drop by, so Barb used what little time she had as the opportunity to get the truth. “Tell me why you pulled his application, dad. Why would you stop him from flying when you knew that’s all he ever wanted to do?”

She watched him bring a hand up to rub his face. “You don’t want to know, Barb.” His words only angered her more, the woman scoffing as she narrowed her eyes.

“The hell I don’t! Bradley trusted you—he looked at you like a father, and you betrayed him like that?” She refused to accept that Maverick would hurt the man he saw as a son without good reason. If there was a good reason for it.

“He wasn’t ready,” Mav gave the excuse, though it had some truth to it.

“That wasn’t for you to decide,” she snapped, leaning forward against the table slightly. “And even if it was, that still isn’t a good excuse to pull his papers. You’re hiding something else.” Barb could see it in the way he kept turning from her, clenching his jaw, and attempting to change the subject. There was another reason behind why he did it.

“Look,” Mav sighed, giving his daughter a stern warning. “If you knew the real reason why I did what I did, you wouldn’t want him knowing either. So by telling you, you’re putting yourself in a position where you can either break his heart with the truth,” he paused, hating how there was now an ultimatum on the table. “Or, you spare him the pain by taking it to the grave.”

Barbara should have let it go after Mav dropped that on her. But, like the stubborn pilot, the young Mitchell was relentless and believed it was up to her then to decide for herself. Initially, she was going to tell Rooster the truth because she believed he deserved to know. But then the words came out, and Barb felt her heart and stomach sink as it went down the drain. There was no way she could tell Rooster now, and judging by Mavericks' expression the older man immediately regretted confessing. And she didn’t blame him because now she felt the burden of the secret.

For months Barbara kept it hidden. Rooster was overseas on an assignment and would not be back for some time. When they would call, Barb played it off like normal. Although they ended up doing voice calls rather than Skype, her excuse being the internet service was acting up. Barb felt it in herself that she’d break if she looked into those hazel eyes of his. She proved herself correct when he returned at the end of the summer and immediately Rooster could tell something was up. Her body language was off, the tone in her voice sounded unsure.

“What is it?” He asked a few days later, catching her off guard. In the five years they’d been married and almost seven as a couple, Bradley was pretty much a pro at picking up on signals from his wife. Barbara was stubborn and good at masking her emotions, but the man could see past it. “You’ve been acting weird since I got here.”

“It’s nothing, Bradley,” Barb assured, but her voice betrayed her. Quickly she gave the excuse, “I’ve had a long week. The test run I mentioned last week didn’t go as planned. That’s it.” She felt his eyes in the back of her head as she washed the dishes in the sink.

“Whenever something is bothering you and you don’t want to tell me, you always turn your back to me so I can’t see your face.” The patter of feet against the wooden floors indicated he was walking up to her. “You can’t fool me, Barbara.” What followed involved a screaming match, accusations, and finally, Bradley packing a bag before slamming the front door behind him.

There was no formal separation between the two. Hell it wasn’t even a verbal agreement of divorce. For weeks Bradley ignored her calls, her emails, he had his friends give excuses when Barb reached out to them to get him to talk to her. Then one day she decided to go to his work, fed up with him ignoring her and witnessed him getting a little close with a female colleague. All Barb could see was Bradley leaning against the wall while a pretty blonde stood next to him, laughing at something he said before lightly tapping him against the chest. The gesture looked anything but friendly. And judging by the smirk on her husband's face, he enjoyed it.

It sent daggers into Barbara’s heart, turning on her heel to escape before he saw her. She cried the entire drive home, but took a break to put on a serious face when she stopped at the legal office before making a call to her Godfather, Iceman. The next day, to Bradley’s surprise and the shock of his coworkers, he was served divorce papers. When he arrived at the house that afternoon to confront her, another shock came at the sight of boxes and suitcases where Barbara informed him she was being transferred to the Pacific Fleet.

That was the last night Barbara and Bradley saw each other. Harsh words were thrown at each other—the woman literally threw a water bottle at Rooster during the heat of the argument when he insulted her. He easily avoided it, but the act itself increased his anger. Once again Bradley was the first to leave, but not before he signed the papers and spat, “Have a nice life, Mitchell.”

Talk about adding salt to the wound. It didn’t help that Barbara hadn’t spoken to her father in months. Months that would soon turn to years.

Now here the two were. Finally face to face after so long with little to no explanation why Barbara suddenly stopped talking to Maverick after the day she squeezed the truth out of him. The music from inside continued. Even outside, Barbara could make out the voice of her ex-husband. He always stood out when he sang that song.

“Brings back memories, doesn’t it?” She says, reaching into her pocket to pull out another cigarette. Using her jacket to block out the wind, she ignites it before pocketing the lighter. “I saw you at the window.”

Mav felt a lump in his throat, looking down at his feet. Goose entered his mind and the wave of emotion hit him like a brick. He changed the subject, which probably was a bad idea but he had to take the chance while he had it. “What happened, Barbara?”

She doesn’t look at him when she answers, jaw tight and attention on the empty beer bottle in front of her. “Exactly what you said,” the chuckle she gave was anything but humorous. “I did it to myself. You were right—I should’ve never asked you why you did it.”

Maverick sighed, feeling his heart break at her confession. “I’m so sorry, honey. Does he—.”

“No,” she cut him off swiftly. “I couldn’t bring myself to tell him. That's why he walked out.” Biting her lip and looking away from her father, she adds, “And I let him. Because I knew deep down he would never forgive me—for not telling him after I went behind his back and confronted you. It brought on another dose of betrayal.” Barbara finishes her second cigarette with a long drag before extinguishing it.

“It wasn’t going to work anyway,” Barbara stands from the picnic table, moving to stand in front of Maverick. She was wearing heeled boots that made her taller than her natural five foot two and a half inch stature. She was small for the average pilot, but made the height requirements by half an inch. “You know how it is—husband and wife, both active duty in demanding fields with little to no time spent together. The topic of kids being a sore subject, plus a father-in-law that the husband can’t stand? I’m surprised we lasted as long as we did.”

“Don’t think of it like that, Barbara,” Maverick scolded, upset with her view of the marriage. Frowning, he stepped closer to the woman, but she shook her head.

“How else am I supposed to think of it?” She questioned rhetorically. “It didn’t work for you and mom, it wasn’t going to work for me and him.”

“What happened between your mom and I was complicated,” Mav told her. “We tried our best that year after you were born, and most of it was on me as you know.” He really did try. He loved and cared for Charlie, but marriage was not in the cards for Mav at the time. It was still young in his career and although the birth of Barbara was a surprise, he still was over the moon and tried to make the relationship work for the sake of their daughter. In the end, he and Charlie wanted different things and had to go their separate ways. “But I never stopped caring for Charlie—and I’ll always have a part of me that loves her. And just because it didn’t work out for us, doesn’t mean it will always be like that for you, Barbara.”

She was silent for a moment. Maverick stood still, unsure of what she was thinking. He wanted to hug her. It was tempting to just pull her into his arms and hold her like he did when she was a child. It had been so long since they did that he feared how she’d react. Pushing the thought away, Mav heard her exhale and say, “It doesn’t matter anymore. There’s other things to worry about than my tragic love life. I’ll see you tomorrow, Captain.”

It felt like a knife was thrown to his chest. It was always like that when Barbara referred to him as his rank or name instead of ‘dad’. It was like she no longer saw him as such. “Barbara!” He shouted as she mounted her bike and kicked the stand up. Glancing up to him, her face remained stoic. With a slight cough to clear his throat, Mav tried to smile but it didn’t work. Instead his face almost looked like he was pleading with her to not push him away again. “It’s good to see you.”

The light breeze swept through her hair, and Barbara gave a short nod. “It’s good to see you too.” The roar of the engine came to life and Mav watched her pull away from the lot before speeding down the road and disappearing around the corner. The sun had finally set, stars twinkling in the sky and the only light was from the moon shining down on the sea and the bar behind him.

With a heavy sigh, the pilot adjusted his jacket and mounted his own bike. He gave one last look to the bar before starting the engine and taking off on the same road Barbara had traveled.

What a day it had been for the veteran aviator. It started with him getting transfered, returning to Top Gun for the first time in 30 years, reuniting with his ex, and finally seeing Rooster and Barbara again. Now with one reunion down, he had one to go.

The next morning, Barbara Mitchell dressed in her flight suit to start her day by attending the first briefing and training. She didn’t know what to expect. After the previous night's conversation with her father and knowing he was to be the instructor for the next three weeks, Barbara realized she was going to have to push her limits like she’s never done before if she wanted to prove she was worthy of the mission.

Growing up, Maverick taught her the basics and how to perfect them so that by the time she went to flight school she was already more advanced than her classmates. The young Mitchell took it upon herself to learn aerial combat—when she was not supposed to—and managed to fly her way to the top of her class at Top Gun years later. With years of experience and having Iceman as her superior for the past few years, Barbara proved herself again and again to those who underestimated that she was the best there was.

It was Iceman who told her Rooster would be one of the candidates for the mission. He warned her the same time he informed that she was also selected. It sparked a sense of dread in the aviator. It was one thing to have to reunite with her ex-husband for the first time in three years, it was another to have to compete against him for a spot on the six-man team. With her father as the instructor, it was going to be an interesting three weeks.

Having opted out of going inside The Hard Deck last night, arriving at the hangar was the first time she became acquainted with her fellow candidates. “Well, well well,” Hangman’s voice was the first to reach her ears, “Just who I was hoping to see on this fine Wednesday morning.” While they waited for the instructors, the officers took seats at the tables provided in the middle of the hangar. Barbara was the last to arrive.

It brought a cheeky grin to Hangman’s face, giving a brief glance to Rooster, who had his head turned to the side. The lieutenant stood from his chair, meeting Barbara halfway up the aisle of tables. The first thing he did was look at her name patch, where the name ‘Mitchell’ was embroidered. Jake smirked, towering over the small brunette, “Lieutenant Barbara Mitchell.”

The woman narrowed her eyes, but greeted the man nonetheless, “Seresin.” Turning her head to the left, she makes eye contact with Natasha, “Hey, Phee.”

Nat gives a small smile with a nod, “Hey, C.” Barb tilts her head to the man with glasses behind the woman, “Who’s your friend.”

“That’s Bob, WSO.” The man in question lightly lifts a hand in a small wave, offering a smile to Barb. She smiles back, throwing a wink which has him blushing. “Those two hunks are Payback and Fanboy—I don’t think you’ve met them yet.”

“I have not,” she looks past Hangman to see the two men. They both give a gesture in greeting. “Nice to meet ya, fellas.”

“Same to you,” Payback replies and Fanboy nods in agreement. Barbara pays no mind to the man seated on her right, instead going to the open chair in the front next to Hangman’s. She ignores the looks they give Rooster, throwing down her wallet and keys on the table and plopping down on the chair.

Hangman sits beside her, leaning close and aware of the daggers being sent to his back from Rooster. “So, Mitchell—gosh that’s gonna take some getting used to,” It took everything in Barb to stop herself from throwing a punch to his jaw. They were in uniform and on the job. Now was not the time to get a demerit. “This is probably not the time to ask—.”

“Then don’t ask, Seresin,” she hissed in warning, assuming the question involved Rooster. He raised his hands in defense as he chuckled, “Hey, hey, now I’m not trying to dig up an old can of worms, but I’m just curious you know.” He gestured to her patch, “Can’t you let a fella in on what the secret is behind your call sign? I’ve only ever known you as Mrs. Bradshaw—but that couldn’t have been it.” He leans back to wink at an infuriated Rooster.

Barbara tsks, staring ahead at the large American flag draped in front of her. “Nice to see you haven’t changed at being a pain in the ass. You’re lucky we’re in uniform, Hangman, otherwise I would wipe that damn smirk off your face. Didn’t your momma ever tell you to mind your business once in a while?” she said in a low tone, but the whole company heard. In the back Coyote let out a whistle while Fanboy, Phoenix and Bob held back laughter. Rooster even had to stop himself from smirking.

Before Hangman could respond, the whole hangar was brought to attention at the shout of, “Attention on deck!!” The Admirals march in, Warlock taking to the podium while Cyclone comes to a halt beside Hondo.

“Morning,” Warlock greets the officers. “Welcome to your special training detachment. Be seated.” Chairs squeak as the group falls back to a sitting position, posture straight and attention on the admiral. “I’m Admiral Bates, NAWDC commander. You’re all TOPGUN graduates. The elite. The best of the best,” many grin at his praises, but they soon frown when he then says, “That was yesterday. The enemy's new fifth-generation fighter has leveled the playing field. Details are few, but you can be sure we no longer possess the technological advantage. Success, now more than ever, comes down to the man or woman in the box.” Still grinning, Hangman bids a look to Legacy before doing the same to Phoenix.

“Half of you will make the cut. One of you will be named mission leader. The other half will remain in reserve. Your instructor is a TOPGUN graduate with real world experience in every mission aspect you will be expected to master,” Barbara tenses, clutching the pen in her hand when she hears the soft sound of footsteps approaching. Warlock continues, “His exploits are legendary. And he’s considered to be one of the finest pilots this program has ever produced.”

In the corner of her eye Barbara sees Hangman turn in his chair, at first excited to see the instructor. But then the second he realizes who the man walking up the aisle was, the blonde brings a hand to his face and turns away in embarrassment. Having witnessed him, Coyote, and Payback throw her father out of the bar the previous night, it took every inch of her soul to not react at their shame. They were about to find out who he was to her, and she knew it was going to have everyone looking at her differently.

“What he has to teach you may very well mean the difference between life and death. I give you Captain Pete Mitchell,” the second the last name leaves Warlock's mouth, Handman’s head is snapping towards her. He’s not the only one. Phoenix’s expression is one of shock, as is Fanboy’s. Payback whistles under his breath, and Bob just looks confused—not really putting two and two together just yet. But Barbara remains stoic, unreactive. “Call sign: ‘Maverick’.”

Maverick replaces Warlock at the podium, “Good morning,” he smiles at the group, particularly at the three who threw him out of the hard deck the night before. They all smile back, embarrassment and awkwardness in the gesture. Hangman gives another glance to Barbara when he catches Maverick nodding to her. Then the man looks at Rooster, who turns away from his gaze with an unreadable expression.

With a thick book in his hand, Maverick draws everyone's attention to it as he lifts it level with his head, “The F-18 NATOPS.” He pats the top before placing it onto the podium. “It contains everything they want you to know about your aircraft. I’m assuming you know the book inside and out.”

“Damn right!” Payback shouts with pride. Others follow in suit with “Damn straight.” “You got it!”

Maverick nods, smiling before surprising them all—minus Barbara—by dropping the book into the trash can beside him. Barbara shakes her head, expecting it from her father. Cyclone and Warlock share a look. “So does your enemy.”

“And we’re off,” Hondo sighs from the side. Like the Captain’s daughter, Hondo had worked with Maverick long enough to know how he played.

“But what the enemy doesn’t know is your limits. I intend to find them, test them, push beyond.” Feeling the pressure rise, some candidates straighten their posture. Mav looks at each of them as he lists off the day's plans, but his eyes linger on both Rooster and Barbara, “Today we’ll start with what you only think you know. You show me what you’re made of.”

When they are dismissed and Mav takes the chance to leave the podium, the sound of Hangman’s light laughter captures everyone’s attention. “Something funny, Lieutenant?”

Still seated, Hangman licks his lip before saying, “Oh nothing, Captain Mitchell. I think I just got my answer to why our Legacy here,” he turns his head to Barbara, whose jaw was tight and looking anywhere but him. “Got her name in the first place.”

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fangirlvibez · 1 year

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The Festival of Hearts (a royal AU) - Introduction

Characters: King!Jake “hangman” Seresin x Queen!female!reader, Royal Huntsman!Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw, Master of Arms!Pete “Maverick” Mitchell, lady-in-waiting!Natasha “Phoenix” Trace, Royal Advisor!Robert “Bob” Floyd, King Champion!Javy “Coyote” Machado, Queen Champion!Reuben “Payback” Fitch and Queen Champion!Mickey “Fanboy” Garcia

Warnings: mention of arrange marriage, mention of dead parents and passing away during childbirth, mention of hanging, mention of killing, mention of illness, mention of attacking a person, inaccuracies in terms of the Middle Ages (Let me know if I forgot a warning)

Summary of the story: princess, now Queen Y/N (Y/M/N) Y/L/N was forced into marrying King Jake “Hangman” Seresin. Leaving her own kingdom, Eldoria, behind she left to live and rule Jakes kingdom, Misthaven. The time for an age-old tradition in Y/N kingdom came. Miraculously the Queen convinces Jake to invite her old village to come celebrate the tradition with them. This is the story on how the ruthless King learns how to love his Queen.

A/N: English is not my first language, so if there is any spelling or grammar errors: please let me know

Next part - masterlist

Queen Y/n (y/m/n) l/n used to be Princess of Eldoria. She was sighed away after the king, her father, passed away of an unknown illness. The Queen, her mother, passed away during her birth. Y/n was only 19 when she had to look after her small kingdom.

When other kingdoms heard she became queen, they target Eldoria. Y/n’s kingdom didn’t have a big army and was easily over powered by others. Her father knew she would be targeted the moment other kingdoms found out he passed away. Eldoria was the smallest kingdom of them all, only having a small village of a little over one hundred villagers. Her father made an agreement with the kingdom Misthaven, agreeing on giving his daughter away to King Jake Seresin, to assure she would be saved from a violent attack from enemy kingdoms. Why her father chose the most ruthless young king to marry her, she would never understand.

King Jake “Hangman” Seresin is the king of Misthaven. Becoming king at the ripe age of 17 after his dad passed away in an attack between Misthaven and an enemy kingdom. Now at age 21 he is know to be the most ruthless king to ever exist. Villagers and enemy kingdoms started calling him Hangman after an ambushed village was found where their whole army was hanged. It was later revealed the army of Misthaven ambushed the village, leaded by Jake Seresin.

When the King of Eldoria proposed a marriage between him and his daughter, he originally refused. Only agreeing when his Royal Advisor told him it would help his imagine in his own kingdom and their villagers.

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw is the Royal Huntsman of Misthaven. A Royal Huntsman is an expert tracker and skilled hunter who accompanies the king on hunting expeditions, ensuring their safety and providing sustenance. When the king wouldn’t be available for a battle, he, together with Pete “Maverick” Mitchell, will lead the army in the battle. He got his nickname “Rooster” from the other knights because he was always waking up the earliest to check the castle for any dangers. He isn’t afraid to kill when needed.

Pete “Maverick” Mitchell is the Master of Arms in the kingdom Misthaven. A Master of Arms is a military commander who oversees the kingdom's armed forces and advises the king on matters of defense and security. He makes the attack plans of the kingdom and is the first one that will protect his kingdom.

Natasha “Phoenix” Trace is the lady-in-waiting of the Eldoria Kingdom. A lady-in-waiting is a trusted female attendant who serves the queen closely, providing companionship, assisting with personal needs, and attending to her daily routines. Y/n and Natasha have been friends since Y/n was a young princess. Natasha isn’t afraid in standing up against knights. If woman could become knights, she would be the first one to volunteer. Being Y/n’s lady-in-waiting, she followed her to Misthaven.

Robert “Bob” Floyd is the Royal Advisor from Misthaven. A Royal Advisor is a wise and trusted counselor who offers guidance and expertise in matters of governance, diplomacy, and strategy. They provide insight to the king and help shape their decisions. Bob convinced Jake into marrying Queen y/n after he heard the dark rumors the villagers spread about their King. Bob is convinced the marriage will help Jake into becoming the loving king he needs to be.

Javy “Coyote” Machado is the Kings Champion of Misthaven. A King Champion is the personal knight of a king. This title signifies that the knight is specifically chosen and sworn to defend and protect the king at all costs. Javy and Jake have been best friends since they were little. So it wasn’t a surprise when Jake choose Javy as his champion. Javy would do anything to protect the king, even if it costs his life.

Mickey “Fanboy” García is the Queens Champion of Eldoria. Similar to the King's Champion, the Queen's Champion is selected to be the queen's dedicated defender and protector. They are responsible for ensuring the queen's safety and representing her in tournaments, ceremonies, and other royal events. Mickey became the queens champion at age 14 when the 11 year princess was almost attacked by a dangerous villager. Together with Ruben “Payback” Fitch, he will protect the Queen with his life. Like Natasha, Mickey followed the queen to Misthaven.

Reuben “Payback” Fitch is the second Queens Champion. He was given the role at age 16 when the king started to become ill. The King was scared that more dangerous villagers would attack his daughter now that he couldn’t look after his daughter like he used to do. Luckily the villagers loved the princess and the King didn’t have to worry about his worrying thoughts. Rueben went with the Queen to Misthaven but occasionally would go back to Eldoria to look after the villagers there.

Taglist: @mirrorball-6 @corriegrace06 (let me know if you want to be tagged)

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baby-girl-e · 2 years

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Their Legacy part 2

Characters - Iceman x Maverick, Original Female character x Phoenix, Rooster, Dagger squad, Original Male character

Summary - Legacy wins Top Gun and gets to tell her extremely proud family and flirt with a pretty girl

Word Count - 3.5k

Warnings - None :)

A/N - It’s me hi, I’m the problem it’s me! I know it’s been ages since I posted the first part of this fic and I have no other excuse but that I more than likely have something wrong with my brain that prevents me from sticking to something for long! (my poor therapist and publishing agent) And that I am working on my debut book so this kinda took a back seat! BUT! I am back with a chapter I hope you like (:

The last week before graduation flew by almost as fast as the F-18’s they were using, and before she knew it, Legacy was prepping for the graduation ceremony the next day. Her and Thunder had stayed in their front lining spot and were winning the trophy at the ceremony. She still hadn’t told her dad’s which she knew was cruel but hey, she wanted to surprise them. Now she knew she couldn’t keep something like that hidden from her Admiral father because he knew and saw all, so she decided to tell him herself after she heard the news, practically begging Merlin to keep quiet until she could tell him.

Which brought her where she was now, nervously standing outside of an office she knew well. She wasn’t nervous he wouldn’t be proud of her, that much was obvious, she was just anxious because this was so big. Nepotism ran rampant in the Navy, it’s all about who you know and what they can do for you, but her father actively fought against it. Not once did her dad ever make a call on her behalf (something she held over her other dad’s head) or put in a good word. Sure she was asked constantly if her last name ‘Kazansky’ was because of the Kazansky, and she never lied, but she never brought it up herself. A simple “yes” was enough and she moved on. She got to the TOP GUN trophy on her own and damn it if she’s not proud of herself.

After a moment to take a breath she knocked on the door and heard her father say to come in. It’s now or never.

“Hey dad.” She stepped in and could see him hunched over some paperwork, glasses perched on his nose.

“‘Hey sweetheart! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Sitting down across from him she fiddled with her fingers, a nervous habit.

“Well, I have some good news and I wanted to tell you in person.”

He lit up at her words and gestured for her to continue.

“I, uh, won the trophy. I’m Top Gun.”

There were tears in his eyes. Scratch that, the COMPACFLT was actively crying.

“Oh honey.” And with that he was out of his chair embracing her. Clutching her tight and swaying slightly.

“Are you proud dad?”

“Proud? oh I’m a step above proud. I’m in awe. I knew you could do it.”

Legacy smiled and held onto her dad, just happy to be here. But she knew there was something else missing. Or more accurately someone.

“Let’s call your father in shall we? He’s out here somewhere. I really ought to put a tracker on him.”

It’s like he read her mind.There was a rumor that went around that he could do that, she believed it on occasion.

He made a turn for his phone and clicked on the contact labeled ‘Husband’. She remembers the argument that the word ‘husband’ wasn’t cutesy enough for Mav and to settle it her father had added a red heart. “Look there’s a heart, happy?” Paps had just smiled cheekily and admired his husband's contact labeled ‘Baby’ with about every color heart there was.

“Hey babe, where are you right now?”

She was only hearing half of the conversation, but she could see her dad pretty much shaking with excitement.

“Well tell Admiral Simpson that you’re wanted by the COMPACFLT.”

…

“Mav can’t you take this seriously? Please tell him but without the innuendo?”

…

“Oh my god you twelve year old boy, our daughter is sitting in my office right now. That light a fire under your ass?”

…

“There you go, I’ll see you in ten.”

He put his phone down and told Elizabeth that Pete would join them in about ten minutes.

“You know he’s gonna think something bad happened right?”

“Yes, that’s what I’m hoping for. Your dad is kinda dense and needs some encouragement sometimes.”

“Why is he my dad when he’s being dumb, but he’s your husband when he’s being sweet?”

Tom just smiles at his daughter and puts his hand on her shoulder.

“Because when he’s being dumb I can’t think about what it must say about me that I married him.”

Ten minutes later they hear a rumbling of feet and the door swinging open to find a very frazzled Pete Mitchell.

“What is it? Are you okay?”

He was breathing deep, and for most men his age that wasn’t a good thing, but her dad was made out of metal so… he was fine.

“Relax Paps, it's good news.”

He lights up a bit and leans onto the arm of his husband's chair.

“Oh, well, great!” He turns to his husband, “You could’ve said that before I ran like a madman over here!”

“What’s the fun in that?” Tom said rather cheekily.

“Guys! Good news here? Remember?”

Tom turned to his husband and nudged him a little.

“Listen, it’s pretty good.”

“You know already? You son of a bit-“

“PAPS!”

He quickly shut his mouth and nodded at her to continue.

“What I’ve been trying to say is, I won Top Gun. I’m taking home the trophy!”

Pete jumps up from his perch and picks up his daughter. She’s about an inch taller than him but he never cared. She was his baby.

“Are you kidding me? Oh my god little princess I’m so proud!!”

Being called a little princess after sharing the news that she just won a trophy for being one of the best pilots in the entire navy wasn’t exactly what she expected, but hey, it’s her paps.

“Indeed. That’s three people in this family with the trophy, sorry Pete.”

“Hey I would've won that and you know it.”

Note the skating over the ‘why’ he didn’t win. That was rarely, if ever, brought up.

“Say whatever you want Pete, doesn’t make it true.”

Good god did these two ever stop bickering? She knew the answer to that all too well. It was never. She didn’t miss however the fact that he had said three people had won the trophy in the family. He was obviously referencing Bradley. No matter how long it had been since he’d left home and basically took himself out of the equation, they’d always consider him family.

“Well, as much fun as it is listening to you guys bicker, I really should be going. I’ve got a big day ahead of me.”

That seems to kick her parents into high gear. Tom is immediately turning from his husband to his daughter.

“Yes you do indeed. I’ll talk to Merlin and see if I can be the one to present you with the award.”

“That’d be great. But maybe let him announce it? Let you soak in the moment, yeah?”

“You want me to give you the award but you want Sam to do the talking?”

She nods affirmatively at her father and he gives his husband a look.

“Cryptic, you’re more and more like your Paps everyday.”

“That’s a compliment, little miss. Take it as one.” Pete wasn’t about to be slandered in front of his daughter.

The truth was, she still wanted to keep the whole “I changed my last name and I’m proud of it” thing a secret, wanting to make tomorrow even more special.

With a kiss to each of her fathers’ cheeks she headed out to celebrate with Jake. This was just as much of a celebration for him as it was for her. She had told him to meet her at the Hard Deck and lost track of time so she had to go in uniform. Grand.

“There she is, the woman of the hour!”

Jake shouted to her as though he had started to celebrate already. Smelling his breath it seemed highly likely.

“Oh please, I’d be nowhere without you Jake.”

“I know, I was just giving you the opportunity to brag for once, good to know it didn’t last.”

He was right, she rarely bragged. It was all due to the fact that if she did brag it would sound more like bragging on the Kazansky name which she was taught never to do. Maybe she could brag on the Mitchell name, but probably not in the Navy.

Looking over at the bar she spots Phoenix standing with what she assumed was her WSO. It wasn’t a secret that there weren’t many female aviators, so the ones there were teamed up. It sounded cliche, but the reality of the situation was, women had to stick together. In Legacy’s case, she tried to make friends with as many people as possible, and did her best to look out extra for the women she was around. Even with the Kazansky name, she still had a moment or two where she was looked over or harassed for her gender. That came to a screeching halt when the second person harassing her got a shiny dishonorable discharge from the COMPACFLT himself. After that it was quiet, and she knew her privilege so she tried to get as many people under her umbrella of protection as she could. Was it sad that you had to know people to be protected from harassment? Yes. But was that just the way things were? Unfortunately.

She decided to approach Phoenix, if she was being honest she was a little shy, an unusual emotion for Legacy. She was usually very confident, a trait all aviators inherited, but when it came to beautiful women she looked up to as a role model? That goes out the window. If she was being completely honest, she was crushing hard on her.

“Hey, it’s Natasha right?” She decided to go simple, hoping for the best.

“Yeah, you’re Elizabeth right?”

“Yeah that’s me. My dad is training you guys for your mission.”

Phoenix smiles and turns more towards her. Now they’re an arms length away and Legacy has to remember how to breathe.

“Captain Mitchell is your dad? I’ve been meaning to ask you how you’re Bradshaw’s sister.”

Legacy liked her already. Her family’s story was one that was told over and over again in the Navy. She never really got to introduce herself to anyone since everyone already ‘knew’ her. Whether Phoenix really didn’t know her story or she was just being nice and letting her tell it, she appreciated it either way.

“Well it’s a long story but, Mav adopted Bradley when his mom died. And my mom died when I was a baby and her brother, Admiral Kazansky, adopted me since nobody knew who my biological father was. So as far as I’m concerned Admiral Kazansky is my dad. Mav and my dad have been together since 1986, and raised Bradley and I together so I always considered Mav to be my other dad and Bradley to be my brother, and then they made it legal when they got married in 2015 and Mav adopted me.”

Phoenix looks like she comprehended that enough, even if it was a lot of information.

“Wow, that's complicated. That would explain the last name Kazansky then.” She pointed to her shiny name badge.

“Oh yeah, my legal given last name is actually Kazansky-Mitchell, but because of all of the military’s homophobic shit I had to pretend Mav wasn’t my Paps.”

“That’s rough. Was it hard keeping that secret for so long?”

Oh boy was it. You try telling a kid that they can’t call their dad, “Dad” in public. She had even resorted to not calling him by name in public, feeling weird about calling her dad “uncle”.

“I had a lot of practice, but every time I had to refer to Paps as ‘Uncle’ it physically hurt me. Him too I’m sure. Did he really not tell you guys this stuff?”

Legacy loved her Paps, but the man had a big mouth. It’s a wonder that he never outed himself.

“He mentioned that he had a daughter at TOP GUN here and there, but nothing specific. Hey, isn’t graduation tomorrow?”

“Indeed it is.”

“Well, who took the trophy??” She leaned in close, all excited.

“You’re looking at her.”

Her jaw dropped and swung Liz into a big hug. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying every millisecond of being pressed up against her.

“No way! Congratulations!”

She pulled back slightly but didn’t really seem to want to let Liz go. Not that she was complaining, not even a little bit.

“Thanks Nat, it was rough but I did it!”

“Wow, you must be so excited. Guess we’ll get Mav in a good mood tomorrow then?”

“Well you’ve been seeing him in his good mood so far, it doesn’t get any better than when his husband is in town.”

Nat remembers that she’s still holding Legacy by her arms and releases her. Much to Legacy’s disappointment.

“Then this plus his husband in town might be a sight to see huh?”

“If you’re not tied up during graduation, you could come see for yourself if you want?”

This was Legacy’s shameless way of trying to invite her to the graduation. Hopefully it didn’t come off as desperate as it sounded in her head.

“I would love to, I’ll tag along with Bradshaw. Hopefully he won’t mind, I’m powerless to resist an invite from a pretty girl.”

Liz was in such shock from her words that she nearly forgot that she had yet to tell Bradley she won TOP GUN. Did Phoenix really just call her pretty?

“Well I’m powerless to resist inviting a pretty girl to come to my graduation.” Her aviator confidence just now coming in. Better late than never.

“So it seems we’ve established we both think the other is pretty. What do you want to do with that information?” Nat takes a step closer, impossibly closer. Her hand comes down on Legacy’s that’s resting on the bar.

“Hmm, we could take a walk on the beach? Somewhere more private? Talk about it some more?”

“Lead the way Legacy.” Phoenix gestures towards the doors that lead to the beach. It was quiet in the bar already, even quieter out there.

Once they made their way outside legacy decided that she’d make the next move and grabbed her hand. It felt right, like that’s where her hand ought to be.

“So... you think I’m pretty?” Phoenix was known for her confidence, this sudden questioning was... abnormal.

“Well yeah, have you ever looked in a mirror?” They were walking hand in hand down the beach, seemingly both nervous. They have one of the most dangerous jobs in the world and do it without a second thought, but flirting? Forget it.

“Look Nat, I like you. Like a lot. But I don’t know if this is such a good Idea right now. With Bradley and your mission…” Natasha nodded along like she understood, but stopped walking.

“I know your brother, he’s going to be impossible, but he will want you to be happy.” She knew she was right, obviously, but she still had her reservations.

“I don’t know what you’re going up against out there but I do know that you can’t afford to be distracted.”

Natasha considered this, obviously rolling it around in her head. “Okay, but I expect a kiss when this is all over.”

Legacy smiled and nodded. “You’ll get one I promise. I’ve got to go tell Brad that I won, but I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course. See you tomorrow.” She winked at Legacy before taking her leave.

Legacy had to giggle to herself for a moment to shake off the flirtatious energy before she went back inside to tell Jake she was leaving. He groaned at her early departure (again) but relented.

////

Telling Bradley went about the same as it did for everyone else. He was ecstatic for her and gave her a hug not unlike the one her Paps gave her.

“Liz, I’ll be there I promise.”

“Even though both our parents will be there?” She made sure to call them our parents.

“Of course. My love for you goes beyond my distaste for them.” She sighed. That was probably as good as it was going to get. But maybe she really was like her paps because she couldn’t help a little push.

“Are you ever going to forgive them? Come home?” Bradley stepped back and rolled his eyes.

“Come on Liz. I thought you understood why I can’t.” She put her hand back on his shoulder and made her way into his space again.

“I do Brad. You know I do. What Paps did was shitty okay? But what you don’t see is their regret. Dad especially. They had me for more of my life, but you were their first kid. Neither of them ever thought they’d be parents, let alone together, but there you were. They love you so much it hurts them, I know it. Just…” She wasn’t sure what to say next. “Just think about it okay? Maybe just talk to Dad if that’s easier.”

“Lizzy, Iceman is just as at fault in this as Maverick. You know he’s an accomplice.” The callsigns coming from him were weird. At least he wasn’t calling them Captain or Admiral.

“They’re married Roo. Of course they’re going to be together on things. But you know Dad was more reluctant to pull your papers.” He had said so many times, when he didn’t think she was listening.

He just lowered his head and sighed. “I know. I know. Just… I haven’t ever been able to figure out my mind about this. I know it’s confusing but I just can’t do it yet.”

She sympathized with him, she really did. Did he have years and years to figure this out? Yes. But was that ever enough time? Nobody really knew. Things tend to happen when they happen regardless of what your timeline is like.

“It’s okay brad. I just want you to know that they’re ready when you are. And I selfishly want my family back together.” She gave him a hug and took her leave, she didn’t really know what else to say.

/////

Her Top Gun graduation was exactly what she imagined it would be. She should know she’s been to a few. It was hot and sunny and she was in heaven. She sat in the front row next to her best friend and had a straight shot of her dads on stage smiling just as widely as her.

“I know you’re all anxious to be done with this and celebrating with your families, but we have one last thing to do and dare I say it’s the most important part of this ceremony.” Merlin had a look in his eye that Legacy knew all too well, and winked at her knowingly.

“I’d like to ask Admiral Kazansky and Captain Mitchell to please join me if you would,” They got up quickly and joined their friend at the podium. “This is a special ceremony for both me and these men beside me, and those rowdy old flyboys out in the audience.”

Slider, Wolfman, Hollywood, Chipper, and Sundown had all made their way to the ceremony the minute they heard the news. They had apparently all received calls from both of her parents the minute she had left her dad’s office. The group cheered at Merlin's words.

“We are all so excited to present this award for ‘Top Gun’ to Elizabeth “Legacy” Kazansky-Mitchell and her RIO Jake “Thunder” Thompson. Come on up here kids.” He then handed her dad the plaque and he looked like he barely realized what had just happened. Paps looked like he couldn’t believe his eyes as they tracked down to the name on the plaque.

Liz and Jake shook the hands of the airboss and other brass that had joined them and then she was hugged swiftly by her uncle merlin. She stood before the COMPACFLT/ her father and jokingly held out her hand to shake. He had tears in his eyes as he handed her the plaque and hugged her tightly.

“Oh I’m so proud of you sweetie. So proud.” He whispered only to her.

As he let go she was brought into another hug by her Paps almost immediately.

“You know you didn’t need to change your name right?” His voice was shaky and uncertain. Unusual for the great Maverick.

“I know, but I wanted to. It’s high time your name is on that plaque. You’ve certainly earned it.” She pulled away to see his tears too and couldn’t help but smile wider. Her Paps had been through so much, he deserved this.

She turned to the audience and sure enough there sat both Phoenix and Bradley, clapping wildly and smiling at her. She didn’t know what she did to get so lucky, but damn was she grateful.

#icemav #original female character #Legacy Kazansky-Mitchell #top gun maverick #iceman x maverick #maverick #top gun #iceman kazansky #bradley bradshaw #top gun 1986 #maverick x iceman #rooster top gun #Phoenix #natasha phoenix trace #Phoenix x Original female Character #wlw #sapphic #lgbtq characters

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sweetwhispersofchaos · 1 month

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Eject Chapter 1

Story Summary: Ejecting from your plane in the face of danger? Expected. Forbidden love amongst pilots? Not so much. Will they bond or will this break them for good? Chapter Summary: Post bird strike. Rooster has a lot on his mind. Especially about a certain female pilot.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Natasha "Phoenix" Trace All the Daggers, Mav x Penny, Amelia, OC's

Warnings: Language. Assault (not by a major character). Injury. Eventual smut. Alcohol consumption. Smoking. Discussions of mental health. (It's a rollercoaster. You've been warned!) Chapter Word Count: 5299

Eject Masterlist I do not own anything except the original characters.

The dark room seemed suffocating. The longer he sat there, the heavier his chest felt and the harder it became to make his lungs inflate at a necessary rate. He continued to stare at the comms radio, long after the crash. Long after all the other pilots had left the room. They tried to get him to leave as well, but he was stuck.

Frozen.

Waiting for some sort of news. He knew the radio had gone black for a reason, but every fiber of his being was holding out for some sort of crackle. Static. Anything to let him know she was ok. He kept replaying the last few seconds of transmission over and over in his mind. Bob yelling about fire. Phoenix fighting her plane, trying to extinguish the fire and control it. Maverick yelling “eject”. This noise continued to ring into the dark. It was like a horrible case of Déjà vu.

Rooster met Phoenix in flight school. She was an academy graduate, just like most of the others. Less than a week into school and she had proven herself calm, rational, smart, and above all, razor sharp. She had a smirk that could stop traffic, an understated sense of humor you never saw coming, and instincts that made most of her male counterparts jealous. But not Rooster. He wasn’t jealous. He was impressed. He had never met a woman so in tune with herself, so self-assured. Phoenix was the whole package and then some. He spent the entirety of their time in school and training afterwards in complete awe of her, both as a person and as a pilot. She was firm but friendly, kind but just, and she could hang with the guys without anything being awkward. He would never forget their first day of flight training after the six weeks of classroom work had finished. Phoenix rounded the corner into the hangar in her flight suit and gear and he fell. Rooster was a lost cause for her. But there’s that unwritten, unspoken rule. Pilots don’t date. They don’t become a thing. It’s hard to stare death in the face, day after day, with the person you sleep with every night flying the 32,000-pound death trap next to you.

After two years of training, they were stationed together for a while. Then they attended Top Gun at the same time. He couldn’t get enough of her. They became good friends. Close, but not too close. He liked what they had. It was quiet but confident. He would feel from afar but never cross that line. Then, he was PCS’d. The Navy moved him to Japan and he had to leave her. Their last night before he left, they sat in silence on the deck of her apartment in China Lake, drinking beers and not saying much. He wanted to hold her, tell her what he felt. But, just like his inability to commit behind the stick of his plane, he found himself saying goodbye without telling her anything other than “I’ll be seeing ya”.

This lack of commitment was hanging heavy over his brow when the door opened, and a figure walked in. It certainly wasn’t the person he wanted to see, but if Maverick had news, he’d listen. Begrudgingly. “They’ll keep Phoenix and Bob overnight for observation. They’re gonna be okay.” Maverick says gently. Rooster wanted to jump from his perch on the arm of the couch and shout his praises to the heavens. He wanted to laugh, cry, or hit something. Someone. That was tempting at the moment with Maverick standing so close. But he just hung his head with a sigh of relief and then responded, “That’s good.” He contemplated his next words briefly, knowing it could lead the conversation somewhere he really didn’t want to go. He and Mav shared a history that was painful when it came to this particular subject. “I’ve never lost a wingman before.”

Mav replied immediately. “You’re lucky. Fly long enough, it’ll happen. There will be others.”

There it was. The thing Mav could say to set him off. This wasn’t about Phoenix and Bob now. This was about his Dad. He knew better than to start down this path, and yet he let himself slip and Mav just waltzed right into it without hesitation. “Easy for you to say. No wife. No kids. Nobody to mourn you when you burn in.” He glanced over at the aging pilot as he spoke and he froze in his tracks. Good old man. Let that sink in. You don’t get to feel flippant about the things you’ve done to me.

“Go home. Just get some sleep.” Maverick started for the door but there was no way in hell Rooster was going to let it go now. No turning back. “Why’d you pull my papers at the Academy? Why did you STAND in my way?” He shouted, too loud, at Mavericks back. Superior officer be damned. He deserved a real answer.

“You weren’t ready.”

“Ready for what? Huh? Ready to fly like you?” He advanced on Maverick in the dark. “No. Ready to forget the book. Trust your instincts. Don’t think, just do. You think up there, you’re dead Believe me.” Maverick spit as he turned to face the seething young man in the dark. His mind raced, and the words fell out of his mouth so coolly “My dad believed in you.” He could tell he hit Maverick where it hurt. “I’m not going to make the same mistake.” They stood, staring at each other. Roosters anger boiling quietly through his eyes to a dismayed Maverick. He hurt his father figure where it counted. And at that moment, he wasn’t the least bit sorry.

Before Maverick could respond, Warlock opened the door and called him away. Rooster was left standing in the dark, the heat of his anger radiating off his body. He turned to look at the lights of the tarmac outside, the lights of home. Those lights always meant he was where he felt the most at home. The closest to the dad he barely remembered. They always comforted him even on his hardest days.

After a few long, calming breaths he snapped out of his angered trance, grabbed his Bronco keys, and almost sprinted for the door. He had to get to the hospital. He had to see her.

******** The drive across base to the small hospital was quiet and he was ushered to her room after a brief wait in the lobby. It was late so not much activity in the hallways and the cracked door to her room let out no light. Shit. He didn’t want to disturb her. But the huge tugging sensation behind his navel was so strong. He needed to see her. Just to make sure she was, in fact, ok. Not just physically. He needed to know that her solid resolve was still intact. Because unbeknownst to her, he relied on her steadiness to keep his own level head. After a few moments of staring at her door, he decided a peek wouldn’t hurt. He placed his hand on the door and gently pushed, peeking his eyes around the door frame. In the dark there was a faint light from the bed. Phoenix looked up over her phone in the dark and smirked that smirk that melted him the first time he saw it. “Hey” came a raspy, struggling voice. “Hey yourself” he said, continuing to stand in the doorway. “Are you just going to stand there holding the door up or come in and talk to me?” she said, coughing and wincing as she sat up more in the bed. He pushed the door open enough to slip in and walked to a chair on the opposite side of her bed, taking a seat as she placed her phone on the little table beside her. “I guess my call sign gained all new meaning today, huh?” she smiled at him. He realized up to that point that all he had been doing was staring at her. Rooster cleared his throat, chuckled, and spoke barely above a whisper “How are you?” She quirked an eyebrow “Well I’ve had better days but I can mark slamming my plane into the side of a mountain off my bucket list.” He felt sick and did not reciprocate her humor. She must have sensed his uneasiness because her eyebrow lowered and he realized from his lower peripheral that her hand had reached out from the bed, beckoning his. Rooster looked down, staring at her hand, and eventually decided this was ok. He reached up his hands and took hers in both of his. She was clammy and his hands felt so warm on hers. She looked down at their hands then up to his face. When their eyes met, she spoke again. “I’m fine. Really.” He lowered his eyes again, watching his thumb trace lines across the back of her hand. He didn’t even register he was doing this for a very long time as they sat in companionable silence. Suddenly the panic set in. Alarms like the dash of his plane began to ring out through his mind. This isn’t ok. He shouldn’t be this close, this intimate, with her. He decided that was enough. Rooster slowly slipped his hands off of hers and stood. Just for a moment he thought her face showed disappointment as she stared at her hand, looking empty without his large warm hands on hers. “Maybe I should be going. Let you rest.” She opened her mouth to say something but stopped. Choosing a single nod of her head in agreement instead. His hands slipped into his jean pockets as he whispered, “Gimme a call if you need anything. You get out tomorrow, right?” Her blank face met his and she nodded again. “Ok well, maybe I’ll stop by your quarters tomorrow, check in on ya?” Her lips curved into a sad sort of smile. “Ok” As he walked across the room her quiet voice rang out “You bring the beer. I’ll bring the cue stick.” He smiled as he remembered the sucker punch he took to the gut at the back end of her pool stick when he first arrived in town for this mission. She didn’t know he was coming and was probably a little irritated he hadn’t called, he reckoned. He looked slightly over his shoulder and whispered back “Deal” then ghosted out of the room. ********

“Ice is dead?” Rooster couldn’t believe the words as they fell in disbelief from his mouth. He had no sooner walked through the main door of the pilot quarters on base when a distraught looking Payback met him in the hallway. He could see most of the pilots and WSO’s for their special mission were sitting around in the common room at the end of the hall, some crying, some staring at the wall in silence. That’s when the fellow pilot dropped this bomb on him. He knew the Admiral had been sick before, but had no idea something like this was coming. His mind wandered to Warlock interrupting his rift with Maverick earlier and now knew why. He almost felt bad about their forceful run in. Almost.

Rooster walked past Payback and instead of joining his cohorts in the common area at the end of the hall he turned to his right and headed up the stairs to his room. As soon as he was through the threshold of his quarters, he slammed the door shut. His back came to rest on the door and then he slid down until he was sitting on the floor, his elbows on his knees, hands running through his hair. The tears came barreling from their ducts like a missile from his jet and there was fuck all he could do to stop it. Today was a bad day. The pressure of the mission. The near loss of not only Bob but the woman he wanted to be so close to yet couldn’t. His blow up with Maverick. Then the loss of someone he had looked up to since he was young.

Iceman wasn’t particularly close to Bradley. Not like Maverick had been. But he sent birthday gifts and checked in on him with his own wife and kids occasionally. His mom even made a road trip with Bradley when he was in junior high to spend a weekend at the Kazansky home. He remembered this trip fondly because he received his first kiss from the Admirals slightly older daughter.

Iceman called to congratulate him when he commissioned and when he completed flight school. Ice told him many stories of his dad over the years and he would forever be grateful for those stories. Rooster hadn’t spoken to him in a very long time, and now he never could again. His heart felt like it was ripping from his chest. As his sobs subsided he realized that Phoenix probably didn’t know this development. He glanced over at his bedside clock. 10:35PM. Maybe she would still be awake? Rooster picked his phone up from the floor where it landed as he slid down the door and decided to text her. Hey. You awake? He stared at the illuminated screen as the three little dots appeared at the bottom. Well, I am now dickhead.

He choked on his chuckle and contemplated his next message. Have you heard? The dots appeared again quickly followed by one word: Yes. He sighed and raised his head to look at the ceiling, watching the fan make slow circles. What he wouldn’t give to be drawing those slow circles on her hand again right about now. His phone buzzed again, and he looked down to see another message from Phoenix. I’m sorry. I know he was important to you. Yes. Yes, he was. And so was Maverick. And so was his dad. And so was she.

And yet it was all so fucked up. He wanted to say something but decided he couldn’t trust himself in this moment. He kicked his shoes off, pulled his shirt over his head, crawled across the floor to his bed, and his eyes slammed shut as soon as his head hit the pillow. He needed the world to shut up for a little while. And it did.

The next morning came way too soon. A knock at Roosters door jolted him from his deep, dark slumber. He rolled over in his bed and practically fell out, shielding his eyes from the sunlight beaming through his blinds. He felt hungover. No. He felt downright drunk. Grief does strange things to the human body, even worse sometimes than the G’s he pulled in his plane.

There was another knock at the door and he checked the clock on the bedside table. 7:15AM

His flight wasn’t supposed to be until later so who the hell was waking him this fucking early?

When another, more insistent knock came, he hollered “Just a damn minute” and headed to the door, still in nothing but his jeans from the night before. As he swung the door open and let out an exasperated huff, the smirk on the other side of the door brought him up short and sobered him up quick. Through his fog he saw her standing there in her PT shorts and a Naval academy t-shirt, hair pulled back in a loose, low ponytail, and flip flops on her feet. In the daylight he could see a few bruises on her face, neck, and legs and a tiny cut above her left eyebrow. He must have been staring for too long because her eyebrow quired and the smirk turned to a small smile.

“Morning sunshine. You should try answering your phone.” She sauntered past him into the room and stopped to look around. At that moment he wondered what sort of dirty laundry he had lying about but chose to ignore the embarrassing thought.

As he shut the door and turned to face her, he said lazily “Sure, come on in. You DO know what time it is, right?” Then he walked over to where his phone lay on his bed and glanced at the three missed calls from Phoenix and one from Payback.

“It’s 7:15 in the morning, you’re already out?” he asked, not looking up from his bed.

He felt her eyes on him but chose to continue looking absently at his phone. He had suddenly realized there was a tingle between his legs and the familiar waning of a morning woody. He needed to concentrate on anything but her eyes on his shirtless body at that very moment. She replied, still smirking. “Good behavior. So, how are you? I’m sorry about Admiral Kazansky.” He looked up at her with a sorrowful look and muttered “Thanks.” Before looking at the window across from him.

Phoenix moved, rather slowly and with effort, to sit in a small arm chair on the wall opposite Roosters bed. Realization that she must be very sore reached his core and he took two steps across his room to help her. Placing his right arm around her shoulders he reached his left hand across and placed it on her waist to steady her. She stopped and swayed and his grip at her waist tightened. She glanced down at his hand then up at his chocolate eyes.

Rooster was lost momentarily in her face, drowning in her beautiful eyes, and that sinful smirk. Then he realized this was the closest they had ever been physically and he became flustered.

“Uh, sorry. You seemed a little unsteady.”

“Being fired out of your plane and the massive jolt of the harness digging into your body as your chute explodes open then landing on the side of a mountain will do that to you.” She smiled a half hearted smile and began to walk. He held her all the way to the chair and she sat unceremoniously with a little bit of a grunt.

“Sounds like fun.”

“I don’t recommend it.”

Her eyes were on him again. He turned and walked to the small en suite bathroom, realizing his breath must reek. He prepped the toothbrush and placed it in his mouth then walked back to the door way of the bathroom. She had her head resting against the back of the chair, her eyes closed, her breathing slightly labored. She seemed so peaceful. That fiery woman kept at bay by the pain, and most likely pain meds. She must have sensed him watching her, because one eye slowly opened to look back at him.

“Funeral is tomorrow. 3PM at Miramar National. We have to be in blues downstairs at 1:30 to catch a van to the cemetery.” She opened both eyes now and watched him carefully.

Rooster continued to brush his teeth while leaning on the bathroom door frame. He merely nodded his head in recognition then returned to the sink to rinse and spit. Suddenly a thought crossed his mind and he returned to the door. “It’s early morning, you just got out of the hospital, how do you know all of this!?”

She chuckled lightly and gave him a smug look “You never downloaded the Group Me app did you?”

Confusion crossing his face, he picked up his phone off the bed again, unlocked it, and opened the Group Me app. There it was, a notice from Cyclone almost word for word of what Phoenix had just said. He crossed to her perch, turned the phone to face her, and made a smug face at her.

“I’m so proud of you.”

“Yeah, I’m proud of me too”. He returned the phone to the bed, turned to face her and asked “So, why are you here? Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“I’m hiding. I didn’t want everyone knocking on my door and bothering me today. I’m off flight status until after the funeral tomorrow evening. Taking first hop out next morning. Figured this would be the right place to hide.” She smiled an almost wicked smile and his heart faltered.

He thought over her words for a moment then offered up his bed so she could lie down instead. She agreed and he stood to help her again.

“I can walk the 4 feet to your bed ya know?”

He put his hands up in feigned defense and chortled “Pardon me ma’m”. She shot him a dirty look as she carefully lowered herself onto his bed, bringing her head to rest on his pillow. There it was again, His heart faltered.

Before his mind could get too carried away he turned to the small set of drawers behind him next to the chair and pulled out a dark navy blue tshirt. Once over his head and resting snuggly on his body he moved to the side of the bed and knelt in front of her where she lay on her side.

“You hungry?”

“I could eat. I could use some coffee too.”

“I supposed I could handle that. Eggs, bacon, and some fruit? Coffee black?”

She smiled up at him. This time the smile was less a smirk and seemed more, sweet.

“Look at you being all chivalrous.” She brought her hand up to brush some of his hair off of his forehead. “Yes, that sounds perfect. Thank you.”

He wasn’t sure what came over him, but he reached up meeting his hand to hears, pulled it in, and kissed the back of her hand very lightly. His mustache tickled the back of her hand, and her eyes met him, wide. All of a sudden, he felt like a fish in a very small bowl. Why did he do that? Was she ok with it? It felt right but he didn’t know if it was a kosher thing to do. His heart was pounding, and she was just staring at him. He dropped her hand, stumbled to his feet, and mumbled as him slid his tennis shoes on “I’ll be back, get some rest.” And then he was gone, without looking back to see the warmed expression on Phoenix blushing face.

*******

Rooster was gone way longer than he intended to be. After making the quick jog across the street to their designated dining facility he ran into half the squadron. All of them wanted to stop and offer condolences. He made for the start of the line, grabbing a to-go container, but Payback, Fanboy, and Coyote followed him. They were asking if he had seen Phoenix and Bob yet? Did he see the funeral information? Why was he taking his food to go?

He tried to be as vague, and as quick as possible. The conversation lasted at least 10 minutes, maybe more. Finally, Hangman walked in and Rooster was NOT in the mood for his shit this morning. When Hangman called out to Coyote as he sat at the table with the others, Rooster saw his out. He turned quickly and moved down the line to where hot food waited. He loaded the container with enough food for both Phoenix and him then moved to the coffee stand on the opposite side of the food line. He filled two large cups with coffee then, placing them on top of the to-go box, turned and bid them farewell. He practically sprinted out the door, leaving the rest of the pilots and WSO’s looking after him with confusion and some concern.

When Rooster reached the landing at the top of the dwelling stairs, he realized his hands were full and he couldn’t reach his keys in his back pocket. Then he realized he was being watched. From across the hall Bob had appeared out of his room and was walking towards the pilot.

“Need some help?”

Rooster hesitated. “Ahhh yeah. Do you mind holding this so I can get my keys.”

Bob slowly reached out and took the coffees from the top of the box. Rooster was trying to stay cool, hoping Bob wouldn’t ask why he had two coffee cups. He reached into his pocket with his right hand while his left still held the box of hot food. Then he unlocked the door, opened it with the same hand, and attempted to slip inside without opening the door too wide. He didn’t need her WSO seeing this. What would he think? Would he tell?

Rooster sat the box of food down on a small table he kept his keys on next to his door then reached very carefully with one arm through the barely opened door to get first one cup, then the other, from Bob.

He hadn’t noticed the grin on Bob’s face through all of this hurried interaction. When the last cup was handed off, he looked up to say thanks but Bob beat him to the punch.

“I know she’s in there.”

Rooster was brought up short. He flashed his eyes to the sleeping figure in his bed then back to Bob, stunned but unsure what to say.

“We talk. It’s cool. I’m glad she’s getting some rest.” Then he turned to head back across the hall his room, moving gingerly much like Phoenix had moved earlier in his room.

“Hey man. I’m glad you’re ok. Thanks for the help.”

Bob didn’t turn but merely held a hand up in response before disappearing into his room and closing the door.

FUCK.

Bob has never seemed like the gossiping type but this scared the shit out of Rooster. He was already on edge just by having her here. Now the man across the hall, her back seater, also knew. Did anyone else know? Maybe someone saw her come in this morning? Did she tell anyone else?

The most important question suddenly flashing through his head like a bright set of headlights coming straight for him: Does she care that anyone else knows shes in here?

Realizing he still had a cup of coffee in his hand and the door ajar, he nudged it close with his elbow and turned to place the coffee on a TV tray next to the chair Phoenix had occupied earlier. He moved next to the bed to check on her. She was breathing deeply and steadily. Good. She didn’t hear the interaction at the door. He turned to grab the food box and sit. The next half hour he mindlessly chewed on food and drank his coffee while watching her sleep peacefully. This was nice, he thought.

*******

Rooster was reading over one of the mission handouts he had tossed next to the chair when he heard a rustle from his bed. She had been asleep for just shy of two hours. He glanced up without moving and his eyes were met with her groggy gaze.

“Where’s my food?” She asked through a haze.

“Right here” he said as he nodded his head to the side towards the box on the TV tray, never taking his eyes off of her. “But it might be a little cold now.”

“How long have I been out?” She started to push herself up to a sitting position on the bed, but visibly winced with pain while doing so.

Rooster rose and grabbed the plate of food “Couple of hours. I got your coffee too. But, its probably cold too.”

“I don’t care. I just need sustenance. Gotta have something with my meds. Hey, can you grab them. There’s a little bottle in my duffle.”

She had dropped a small bag on the floor when she first entered his room. He hadn’t thought much about it and now it seemed like he was going to be trespassing into forbidden territory. He moved to the end of the bed where the bag was and bent down to unzip it. Her rolled up flight uniform was crammed in there and on top of it was a small medication bottle. He pulled it out, walked back to the side of the bed and handed it to her.

“Need some water?”

“Sure.” She said as she dug into her eggs and bacon.

He grabbed a bottle of water from a package under the bed and handed it to her. Then he sat back on the floor next to the bed and watched her eat. She finally broke the silence after a few bites of food, swigs of coffee, and tossing back her tiny white pill.

“It’s going to suck tomorrow. I can’t take any more pain meds after today so I can be flight ready. Funeral. Pain. Fun.”

He nodded his head but didn’t say anything. He was too mesmerized by the way she bit tenderly into the side of the plum he had brought her. His mind began to wander, wising his mouth was on the other end of that tender bite. He watched her mouth chew slowly before swallowing, in turn causing him to swallow the lump that had grown in his throat. Who knew a piece of fruit could be so enticing?

She ate her fill then closed the box, taking another swig of her coffee then setting both on the bedside table. She stretched her arms carefully, first to the side, then over her head. She winced when her arms reached their highest level and he sat up to one knee quicky, asking “You ok?”

Arms still over head she turned her head slightly and cocked her eyebrow “Nothing that’ll last long. But thanks for asking.” Then she brought both arms down, her right coming to rest in her lap, the left brushing lightly across his check and coming to rest on his jaw. The tension between them seemed to send electric currants through every fiber of his body, from the spot where her hand rest to the tip of his toes. They sat in this position for what seemed like an eternity, just staring at each other. Her face went from sweet to sad in an instant.

Then her hand was gone.

She was moving to stand on the other side of the bed. He stood too but didn’t move. Just watched her. She walked to the end of the bed and started to bend down to get her bag. About halfway into said squat though, she started to lose her balance. As she her wobbling became more intense, she reached a hand out to the end of the bed to steady herself. Instead, a large, strong hand grabbed hers while another muscular arm reached under her other arm and came to rest around her waist, lifting her back up.

Suddenly they were face to face. Mere inches apart, his arm pulling her close to him. Time simply stopped. Their eyes searched the others and his arm tightened around her waist. They just stood there, holding on and watching the other for a reaction. His mind was screaming at him to stop, this wasn’t right. He may have wanted her bad but there was no way it could work and this wasn’t ok. This was going too far. Before he could find any words to say, her lips came to rest on his cheek, then pulled away. “Thank you, for taking good care of me.”

Rooster said nothing. His mind was too busy gasping for air. He just knew she could hear his heart pounding out of his chest. While still holding his other hand, she stepped back to free herself from the arm around her waist, bent over to get her bag, then stood to face him again. She squeezed his hand, turned around, and slowly exited without a look back or another word.

He just stood there, mouth slack, completely shocked at the morning he just had. He needed to go back to bed. Or take a cold shower. Or both.

Chapter Two ->

#top gun maverick #natasha phoenix trace #bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun #top gun fanfiction #natasha trace #bradley bradshaw #roonix #phoenix x rooster #rooster x phoenix #top gun fan fic #top gun fan fiction #top gun fanfic #top gun fandom #complicated love story #eject #sweetwhispersofchaos

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roostersmustache · 9 months

Text

Songs of Silence, One

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Author's Note: Hello guys! This is totally different, as most of you are used to my Rooster fics! But, I've gotta be honest. I've been a Loki fan far longer than I've been a Bradley Bradshaw fan, and with season two of Loki out and about (I've watched it three times), I'm hyper fixating on the God of Mischief right now! So, I hope you guys enjoy, and I hope I can reach some more Loki fans out there!

Synopsis: Ingrid was born the goddess of song. Her voice was unmatched in talent. When using her voice one evening, her voice suddenly leaves her, leaving her completely mute. Seeking out help in finding her voice, she's led to a fortune teller, who offers her more than she initially bargained for.

Warnings: None of this is accurate, Swearing, adult themes, angst, possible MCU spoilers, possible Loki spoilers.

Word Count: 5.4k

Masterlist

Being born a goddess in Asgard came with lots of fabulous parties, countless gowns and jewels, and lots of mingling with the other Gods and Goddesses Asgard housed. Ingrid had been born the goddess of song, her musicality bringing peace and prosperity to Asgardians. She could heal broken hearts with her songs, put one to sleep with her songs, and compel those to her will with her songs.

She was a kind and beautiful goddess, her name even meaning "beautiful woman." Because of her kindness, she never used her compelling voice to lure those to their deaths, or have them do as she pleased. She only used her voice for good, and it brought so much harmony to Asgard.

Her talent was unmatched on every level, and Asgardians were willing to pay her thousands to teach their offspring even a sliver of what it meant to sing like her.

But she never shared the secrets of her voice.

There weren't any secrets to be shared. She was born with her gift, and never had to work to make it better. It was the epitome of a perfect voice.

So perfect that many wanted it for themselves.

Ingrid had to be cautious of who she trusted enough to get close to her. The wrong person with the right spell could take her voice from her. While no such spell was easy, magic was a well practiced craft in Asgard, and someone highly skilled in magic could, with the right research, take her voice from her.

Her talent was mystical, and she most often used it for healing purposes. For example, when a family member passed away, people would come to her and ask for a song to ease their pain. She had a way of letting the spirits sing through her, and her songs were able to make grief easier.

Ingrid was the youngest of the Gods. She was only nineteen in Midgardian years, the sons of Odin beating her by a miniscule two years.

Ingrid lived in the castle, and she saw the royals as her second family. When she was a young girl, her parents, also Gods, were killed by the Dark Elves, so she was left orphaned. Odin and Frigga took her in, and she grew up alongside Thor and Loki.

She grew up knowing her and Thor were to be married once she reached the age of twenty. Her and Thor had grew up close, but she knew, deep down, she'd never be able to love him like she was supposed to. They say everyone has their person, and she knew Thor wasn't hers. She did love him, just in a friendly way. But she knew she'd have to bear his children, so she tried to be attracted to him, but it never worked the way it was supposed to.

"You look beautiful today, my darling," Thor said as Ingrid grabbed his arm.

They were headed to a feast to celebrate their marriage, as the wedding was set to be a month away.

"Thank you, Thor," she replied, smiling at him.

When the couple entered the grand dining room, they were greeted by cheers from all the Asgardian people in attendance. Ingrid smiled, waving at her friends, and following Thor before the two took a seat at the head of the table.

"Thank you, to all my lovely people," Thor boomed, the room going quiet. "And thank you," he started, gazing over to his fiance. "To my beautiful bride-to-be for everything. I'm the luckiest man in the nine realms to get to marry you."

Everyone at the table swooned, Ingrid looking over and giving Thor a smile. He raised his glass and everyone followed suit, a toast in order.

"To love!" Thor cheered.

"To love!" Everyone else cheered.

Ingrid just raised her glass, she didn't say anything else. A part of her mourned the fact that she'd never be able to find her true love. She only hoped that one day her heart would come to love Thor the way that a lover should.

She took leisurely sips of her wine, laughing at someones joke every once and awhile. She loved the people of Asgard, and she knew it was the highest honor to become their queen, but her heart longed to love. It longed to be loved by an all consuming love, one that challenged her and thrilled her, excited her in ways she never even knew possible.

But she'd never get the chance to find it.

"What about a song from the lady?" A man said, standing up and motioning his glass towards Ingrid.

"Oh," she stuttered, caught off guard by the request.

"Yes," another man piped up. "A song from the goddess to bless her marriage!"

"I mean," she blushed. "I don't have anything prepared."

"What could the goddess of song not have prepared? Sing us something!" Another man boomed.

"I don't know, I mean, I don't really think I have it in me to sing right now," she sheepishly replied.

"Oh come on, darling," Thor smiled. "Sing us something."

"I don't really want to," she said to Thor, giving him a tight smile.

Ingrid never liked to be put on the spot, and Thor knew that. But she also couldn't deal with disappointing people, so saying no wasn't something she was good at. Thor also knew this.

"Aw how come?" Thor boomed, obviously a bit drunk, as he smiled down at her. "Bless us and our marriage with a song!"

"I don't- Thor, I didn't prepare to sing anything," she said, silently pleading with him to let it go.

"You're the goddess of song," he emphasized. "You don't need to prepare anything," he smiled.

Ingrid often had anxiety around being put on the spot, as she liked to have a sort of mental preparation. Ingrid suffered from a severe case of PTSD, which contributed to her severe anxiety.

When she lost her parents, she was ten years old. She watched as the dark elves stormed into her home and brutally murdered both of her parents in front of her. They only missed her because she hid in her parents closet.

The images of her parents being killed stayed with her, haunting her.

It's safe to say her anxiety was prominent in her life.

"Thor," she started whispering. "Everyone is looking at me, I don't think I should sing right now."

"C'mon darling, everyone loves your voice! I mean look at them," Thor said, gesturing to the group of people in the dining room, looking excitedly at their goddess of song.

"I don't want to," she said.

"Ingrid, you're the goddess of song, I don't understand-"

"The lady said she didn't want to sing, therefore she won't," a voice said from the back of the dining hall.

The voice in question came from none other than Thor's brother, Loki. Ingrid and Loki had always gotten along. He understood her traumas, since he had found out he was adopted a couple years back.

Her and Loki had grown up never too close, but never distant either. They would often just sit with each other and read in the library. He always kept to himself, but he always tried to be out of his brothers shadow as well. Ingrid had always found Loki fascinating, his magic so strong yet himself so quiet. But when he did have something to say, it was always well worded and intelligent.

When Loki spoke up, the entire dining hall went silent, and all eyes gazed to him. He was dressed in his more casual Asgardian leather, yet nevertheless eye catching. His hair was slicked back as it always was, his black curls resting on his shoulders.

"Ah, brother!" Thor announced. "How wonderful of you to join us!"

"How could I ever miss such an occasion?" He sarcastically remarked, his hand landing over his heart.

As he walked to the table to take a seat, he made eye contact with Ingrid, who mouthed a 'thank you' to him. He just nodded and smiled back at her.

The rest of the party went on as they all do; they ate, Thor and his friends had too many beers to count, and the others mingled together. Ingrid felt overwhelmed by the noise and commotion in the room, so she wandered out to the garden. The gardens were her favorite place in the castle, the flowers and plants always having a way of soothing her. Freyr always did wonders for the gardens.

Her favorite was the Dreamshade plant, an Asgard specialty. It was beautiful when it bloomed. Next to the Dreamshade plot of the garden was a beautiful wooden, white swing next to it, hung by a tree. Ingrid would often find herself out there reading.

She sat down on the swing and started to rock back and forth. She sipped on the wine she had carried with her, the liquid making her warm with each sip she took. The breeze encapsulated her, sending a chill down her spine.

She heard the boom of Thor's laughter from inside and took another swig of her wine. She was supposed to be Asgard's blushing bride, they're grateful queen to be. But instead, she's sitting in the garden, away from her own party for her own marriage, fighting back tears. She was orphaned at ten, and months after she had been taken in by the king and queen, she was betrothed to Thor. Her future had been written for her before she was old enough to fully harness the concept of true love and marriage.

And she did, she did love Thor. They had grown up together. Just as she loved Loki. But Thor never made her feel the way her friends' partners made them feel. They'd all talk about butterflies, feeling giddy. All she felt was a longing for something she didn't have.

She wished her voice could cure her own sadness.

"Ingrid?" Came the voice of Loki. He had found his way out to her at the gardens, slowly walking up to her as to not wake her.

"Loki," she gasped, breaking out of her trance. She then noticed the tears that had fallen down her face, quickly wiping them away.

"Why are you crying?" He asked, coming to sit next to her.

"I don't know," she said. "I didn't even realize I was."

"Is everything alright?"

"Nothings alright," she whispered. "I just, I feel hopeless and, I don't know. I'm sorry, I've had too much wine," she hiccuped.

"It's okay, we've all had too much wine," he grinned.

"It's good wine."

"It is indeed."

Her and Loki sat in silence. They let the breeze wash over them, and they let the smell of the flowers consume them. Ingrid was drunk, and she knew this because she felt like she could go up to Thor and tell him she didn't want to get married to him. At the end of the day, she'd never do such a thing, but the fact that it was even a thought she had confirmed the wine had done it's job.

The wine was also making her think things she shouldn't be thinking at all.

Looking over to Loki, she let her eyes wander over his smooth features, and the sharp curve of his jaw. He was sculpted perfectly, and on Midgard, they liked to say handsome men looked like "Greek Gods." Loki wasn't a Greek God, but he was a God.

Ingrid had always had a crush on Loki. He was charismatic yet smart. Funny yet serious, and mischievous at the same time. He always excited her, made her stomach knot when he teased her. He made a blush arise to her cheeks that never appeared for anyone else.

But she never let this crush get the best of her or distract her from what she was supposed to be focused on.

The wine allowed these thoughts to push through, though.

"I don't think," she started. "I don't think I wish to marry Thor."

"What?" Loki asked, his head snapping to her.

"I don't love him like that."

"I don't understand," Loki said, his brow furrowing. "You two have always been in love."

"It's been fake," she said, taking another gulp of her wine. "For me, at least."

"Ingrid-"

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be telling you all of this. I should," she hiccups. "I should get to bed."

As she tries to stand, Ingrid's wine glass falls out of her hands, smashing on the ground. Her legs start to wobble, and before she knows it, she too is falling to the ground. Loki is at her side in an instant, catching her before her head hits the grass.

"Ingrid, darling," he gasped at her. "You've got to be more careful."

"I'm sleepy," is all that she mumbles, her eyes rolling shut.

"Okay," Loki says, hoisting her into his arms. "Lets get you to bed then."

Loki proceeded to carry her out of the garden and around the side of the castle to a side entrance, wanting to keep people from seeing them in this state together to prevent gossip. Through the corridors and up the stairs leading to her room, Ingrid was giggling at random things that she saw.

Once Loki got upstairs to her room, he carried her inside and gently placed her on the bed. She sighed contentedly when she felt her plush covers beneath her, melting into her mattress. She slowly blinked her eyes open, grinning when she noticed Loki looking down at her.

"Comfortable?" He asked.

"Yes," she sighed. "Thank you for bringing me up here."

"Of course."

"Loki?" She piped up, sitting up on her elbows. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," he replied, taking a seat on her bed.

"Will everyone despise me if I don't say yes to Thor at the altar?"

She watched as Loki's expression softened, his head tilting to the side. She didn't want to cause a fuss, but she couldn't see herself living a long and prosperous life with Thor.

"Ingrid," he started. "Where is this coming from? Everyone thinks the two of you are in love."

"I've never gotten to explore any romantic interests of any kind because i've always been promised to him. But I don't love him like that. I've tried, Loki. He's not the one for me."

"I don't know if you have much of a choice, darling," Loki says, his lips flattening into a disappointed straight line. "What Odin wants, Odin gets."

"He's not the one that I want," she whispered, staring at Loki intently.

His brows furrowed and then relaxed again. Ingrid knew that her remark was suggestive, and would definitely be something she regretted saying the following afternoon. But as per the wine, it felt very appropriate to say.

"I suppose if your suitor of choice is as high of rank as a God to be king, Odin might not have as many complaints."

"He's something like that," she sighed.

Loki began to respond to her, but he was stopped by two sharp knocks on her door. She gave Loki a puzzled look, and he gave her a puzzled look back, neither one of them knowing who could be at the door.

Loki stood and went to the door to open it, and when he did, it was revealed to be Thor on the other side. Loki moved aside to let his brother in, and Thor's eyes immediately went to Ingrid.

"There you are, darling. Are you alright?"

"Yes, just sleepy," she replied, her eyes blinking slowly.

"Why did you escort my lady to her bed chambers without letting me know?" Thor asked, turning to his brother who stood silently in the corner.

"Because she was passing out in the gardens and I didn't want anyone seeing her in such a vulnerable state," Loki replied.

"Passing out in the gardens?" Thor said, whipping around to look at his bride lying on the bed, still in her evening gown.

"I've had a bit too much wine," she said, pinching her fingers in the air as an example of how much wine she's had.

"Why did you even leave to the gardens in the first place?" Thor asks.

"It was loud," she sighs.

"I'm sorry, darling. I know me and my friends can be loud at times."

"Very loud," she annunciated.

Ingrid pushed herself up off of her bed and stumbled into her closet and grabbed one of her silk nightgowns, walking back out and throwing it down on her bed. She started undoing the pins in her hair, feeling immediate relief at the release of tension in her head. The two brothers stood there watching her, and she stopped her motions to give them both a quizzical look.

"What?" She asked. "Have neither of you seen a lady get ready for bed?"

They both stuttered out sorries as they started to exit the room. Thor crossed over to Ingrid and kissed her cheek, whispering a goodnight to her. She caught Loki's eye by her door, and she gave him a small smile. He nodded back to her. The two brothers exited her room, and once she heard the door click she brushed her dress off of her shoulders.

Once she was ready, Ingrid slipped under her covers. She could still feel the alcohol coursing through her veins.

Before her parents passed away, her mother would sing her a song before bed every night. It stuck with her, and sometimes the goddess would sing it to herself before bed, just to imagine her mother there with her. Tonight was one of those nights.

Ingrid felt helpless, her marriage to Thor was rapidly approaching, and there was nothing she could do about it.

She needed her mothers advice more than anything. So Ingrid sang her song.

Nuku, nuku nurmilintu, Väsy, väsy, västäräkki Nuku nurmelle hyvälle Vaivu maalle valkialle. Lintu tuopi liinahapaijan Haapana hyvän hamehen Kaskeloinen korvatyynyn Pääskynen peäalusen Nuku, nuku nurmilintu Väsy, väsy, västäräkki Nuku nurmelle hyvälle Vaivu maalle valkialle.

Ingrid sang her song louder than she's ever sang it before. Usually she would sing it as a whisper, only to keep for herself. But she felt (probably because of the wine) that everyone needed to hear it. And everyone did hear it. Everyone in Asgard heard their goddesses song, and they heard the pain and longing in her voice as she sang. It was vulnerable, and it was beautiful.

And it lulled her and the entire kingdom to sleep.

Ingrid woke the next morning to being shook by her shoulders.

As she opened her eyes, she saw Thor, Frigga, Loki, and a few castle healers surrounding her on her bed. Thor was shaking her awake, concern written all over his face. Everyone looked worried, and Ingrid looked quizzically back at them.

"What?" She asked, worried as to why everyone was so concerned about her.

"Ingrid," Thor said. "Ingrid, are you alright? We've been trying to wake you for an hour. It's one in the afternoon."

Ingrid shot up at that, looking to her clock to confirm the time. She had never slept that long. Wine wouldn't do that to her either, as she's had her fair share of drunken nights far worse than the one she had last night.

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure why I did that," she said, but the people surrounding her just looked more confused.

"Ingrid, darling, what are you saying?" Frigga asked, taking a step closer to her."

"I'm asking-," She started, but she realized that not a single sound was coming out. "Can you not hear me?"

"Darling, we can't hear you," Thor said. "You're just moving your mouth."

All of the blood drained from Ingrid's face as it hit her all at once.

Her song.

She sang her lullaby last night in a very drunk and vulnerable state, making her an easy target. And she was loud. Everyone in the kingdom heard her sing. And someone had done the one thing she had feared.

They had taken her voice.

As soon as it clicked in her mind, her eyes locked to Loki's, and she could tell that he had made the same observation.

"Someone took her voice," he stated, his eyes never leaving hers.

"That's impossible," Thor said, standing up.

"Oh no, it's quite possible, brother," Loki stated, his hands clasped behind his back. "A strong sorcerer heard her song last night, and the vulnerability behind it, and used the right spell. Her voice is gone."

"That cannot be!" Thor boomed, pacing around the room. "Who dare strip my bride of her Godly power?"

"Thor," Frigga said, walking over and comforting her son. "Whoever did this to dear Ingrid will be punished. We will find them."

"What are we supposed to do, mother? She's a goddess, and she's lost her ability. People need her," Thor said.

"She is more than just her gift, my son. She will help her people in incredible ways without her voice."

"Mother, she is the goddess of song. Not the goddess of kindness. She is not a goddess without her voice," Thor stated, blankly.

To hear Thor say this about her, in her bedroom, made her mouth run dry. It was as if she wasn't in the room to him. It was hurtful, and she had never heard Thor speak of her in this way.

"Thor," Frigga scolded. "You know better than that."

"She is not worthy of Asgard's throne if she cannot serve her people like she so promised!" He yelled.

The room fell silent, and Ingrid drew her knees up to her chest to hug them, tears freely falling from her eyes. The only thing that could be heard throughout the room were Ingrid's quiet sniffles, and everyones eyes turned to her when they started.

Thor's eyes immediately softened when he met her teary ones, guilt racing across his face.

"Ingrid, my darling," he started, walking up to her. "I didn't mean it, I'm so sorry-"

But he was cut off by Ingrid's hand shooting up to stop him. He bounced back, hurt flashing across his eyes.

"Ingrid," he pleaded.

She shook her head in response, as no sound would leave her vocals.

"You should go," Frigga said.

"Mother," he said, looking over to Frigga.

"No, Thor. You've done enough damage, it's best for you to go."

With a sigh, and one last regretful look at Ingrid, Thor walked out of her room. Once he left, Ingrid's shoulders started to heave, sobs wracking through her body. She had just woken up, and it was so much to process. She hadn't even gotten the chance to full realize her voice had been stolen from her before the man she considered one of her best friends and was supposed to marry started hurling insults about her in her own bedroom.

Frigga sat down on her bed and pulled her into her. She combed through her hair and whispered sweet words to her to calm her down. Frigga was the closest thing Ingrid had to a mother, and she made her feel better when she needed a mom.

"We will overcome this, my darling," Frigga said. "We'll find whoever took your voice from you. You are no less of a goddess this morning than you were last night. I'm truly sorry for my sons words."

"It's okay," Ingrid said, or tried to say. She felt a blush rise to her cheeks, and just nodded back at Frigga instead.

"Loki," Frigga said, motioning for her other son. "Why don't you entertain our girl with some of your magic? Or perhaps a card game? You two used to love to play together."

Loki gave his mother a small smile and nodded his head at her.

"Of course, mother," he replied.

"Thank you, my boy. She is in need of a friend."

Frigga exited the room, along with the healers, leaving Ingrid alone with Loki. She sighed before looking at him, his eyes swiftly meeting hers. The silence was uncomfortable. There were so many things she wanted to say to him. She wanted to apologize for her actions and words last night, she wanted to confide in him about her tumultuous love life, and she wanted to tell him he was the one that she wanted. But everything would have to be left unsaid.

When they were children, Loki would often put on 'magic shows' for Ingrid. Once, Odin asked for one, and Loki told his father that they were 'only for Ingrid.' His magic entertained her, and he knew this, so each time he'd put on a show for her, he made sure he was showing his favorite tricks.

"So," Loki started, carefully taking a seat next to her on the bed. "I've been working on a new trick."

Ingrid sat up a bit at that, her interest showing. Loki took this as her go ahead.

He raised his hand in the air, palm face up, and mini fireworks started coming out of thin air in the palm of his hand. Ingrid let a smile grace her features, a laugh wanting to escape her so badly.

"It's nothing huge," the God said. "But it's pretty."

Ingrid nodded her head at him, her smile widening. He let out an airy laugh, smiling back at her. He closed his hand, making the fireworks disappear. Ingrid let her smile settle, and his did too. She felt his hand creep to hers, grabbing it in his large hand and giving it a squeeze. Loki's hands were soft. Silky smooth. Just like his voice. Ingrid looked down at their hands, and then looked back to him, her gaze questioning.

"I'm sorry for what my brother said," he started, his gaze soft upon her. "And I'm sorry for the predicament you're in."

Her gaze hardened, a blush forming on her cheeks. She had hoped she had dreamt about telling Loki about her true desires regarding her marriage, but it was evident she had confided in him.

"I've not forgotten our little talk last night," he confirmed, making the girl look away from him. "And I want to help you. I know how it feels to be burdened with something you don't want."

"How can you help?" Ingrid so badly wanted to ask. She wasn't used to not having her voice, and she didn't like it.

"And I'm sorry that you lost your voice," he continued. "You're still a goddess, Ingrid. You always will be. No one can strip you of that."

She gave him a faint smile in return, squeezing his hand back. His hands were ice cold, yet she didn't shiver away from his touch. In fact, she wanted more of his touch. Loki had always brought her comfort, but her hand in his gave her a sense of being grounded no touch had ever given her before.

Everyone knew Loki and Ingrid had a connection deeper than they understood. Loki had never been one to open up, but he had always told Ingrid everything. She too, told him her deepest secrets. They had both seen each other in their most vulnerable states, therefore creating a bond no one could understand.

She had always had feelings for the prince, but she felt naughty when she thought of acting on them. After all, she was engaged to his brother, the future king. She should be fawning over Thor, the future king of Asgard. But instead, Ingrid often found herself lusting over Loki in the shadows.

"Ingrid," Loki's voice said, but this time in her head, his silky voice sending chills down her spine. She gave him a startled look, his telepathic abilities something she wasn't used to. "You can speak back," he continued.

"This is oddly frightening," she said back, not really sure if he could hear her say that or not.

"But now you have someone to speak to," Loki's voice said, confirming he had heard her.

"I can't believe that worked," she said, looking at him wide eyed. They had never communicated telepathically to one another. She knew that he could, but she couldn't. He had obviously made it to where she could communicate back with him. She hoped he couldn't read her mind.

"I can," he said. When she looked at him, mortified, he had a small smirk playing on his lips. "I can hear everything you're thinking."

"Loki stop," she threatened. "I'm more than happy to speak with you because I need it, but I can't have you reading my mind."

"Why? Something naughty you don't want me to know?" He smirked.

Her face heated up, and at the mention of naughty thoughts, images of Loki popped into her head. She quickly willed those thoughts away, her face turning bright red out of fear he saw her thoughts of him.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said, grinning at her.

"Loki, get out of my head," she warned.

"But I'm curious as to why you think of me so much," he replied.

If her face wasn't red before, it was cherry red now. She looked at him mortified, and put her head in her hands, shaking it. She was hoping that her actions were enough to get the God out of her head. His laughter rumbled throughout the room as he watched the girl in front of him, clearly in distress.

He moved to sit closer to her on the bed, and her breath hitched. She peeked an eye at him, and she saw him smirking down at her. She was feeling hot, her hands clammy and her forehead sweaty. Loki being this close to her in this state was making her feel fuzzy, and she couldn't tell if she wanted away from him or if she wanted closer to him.

"Who do you desire, my dear?" His voice still in her head, making goosebumps break out all over her body. "Who were you speaking of last night when you said you wanted someone other than Thor?"

"Loki," she said sternly, a warning. If he kept on, she didn't know how long she'd be able to hold her resolve.

"Tell me," he growled, his hand finding purchase on her thigh.

She lightly jumped at the contact, her mouth parting, the air leaving her lungs. She didn't think he felt the same about her, and the realization that he did was both thrilling and terrifying. It excited her because she had always had feelings for him, and it terrified her because of Thor.

"Of course I feel the same, Ingrid," he said, and she took in a sharp breath of air. "How could I not?"

"Because I'm marrying Thor," she said.

"I don't care. You clearly don't want to marry him."

She was at a loss for words, literally and figuratively. Loki was her greatest friend, and she worried what this would do to their relationship. She didn't know how they would go forward. She was to be married in a month and that terrified her.

"This is not how I expected my day to go," she said to him.

"Mine either," Loki chuckled, this time out loud. "I should let you rest, dear. I'm going to assist Odin in finding who stole your voice."

She just nodded at him as he stood up off the bed. She bent back down, however, caging Ingrid in between his arms, causing her to lean back onto her elbows. Her heart was thumping in her chest, and he smirked back at her. One of his hands came up and settled under her jaw, cupping her cheek. She instinctively leaned into his touch, her cheeks bright red again. He leaned forward and took his thumb across her lips, huffing out a laugh as her lips parted.

"Don't think I'll forget this talk," he drawled, his voice deep and smooth like chocolate.

She nodded back at him, swallowing the lump in her throat. He pulled her forward by the neck, and she stopped breathing as she expected his lips upon hers, her eyes fluttering shut. But instead of his lips finding hers, she felt them firmly press on her forehead.

"See you later, darling," he smirked, pulling away from her and laughing as she sat on the bed dazed and wide eyed.

She watched as he sauntered out of her room, and she let out the breath she had been holding. Her hand found her chest, and she placed it there as she slowed her rapid heartbeat. She flopped back on her bed, a small smile forming on her lips.

Maybe this month wouldn't be so bad after all.

A/N: Yaaas! It's done! Lemme know what you think! Definitely more parts to come! As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated! Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series!

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sometimes-i-write-good · 2 years

Text

5 + 1

Top Gun: Maverick - Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x f!pilot reader (callsign: Fallbeil)

4.4k || 5 times Bob remembers your little quirks and habits, and 1 time you remember his.

===

Genre: Fluff, crushing, love confessions

CW: mentions of drinking, swearing

Author’s Note: Bob is such an acts of service kind of person - I can feel it deep in my soul. Also, I thought the idea of him ending up with someone who has a scary ass callsign like Guillotine (which is Fallbeil in German) despite him being a cinnamon roll would be the funniest thing in the world. || cross-posted on ao3

===

The first time you noticed something was because Hangman had that stupid ass look on his face again. That same one he always had, the only one he had in all honesty. The one that, recently, only ever seemed to be directed at you and that pissed you off most of all.

“What?” He asked, but the smirk pulling his lips back into the stupid, smug fucking smile told you clearly: he knew exactly what.

“Leave her alone, Bagman. I’m not in the mood today,” Rooster said, and you could tell he meant it. HIs voice sounded surprisingly tired considering mornings were his prime time of existence. Maverick insisted on calling these meetings earlier and earlier, chinking away at everyone's stability, and it was proving to be too much for even the earliest of risers.

Hangman scoffed, pressing his hand to his chest, and feigning offense. “Why am I always the bad guy? What if today was the day Fallbeil finally snapped and did something to me instead?”

You rolled your eyes. “If I snapped, you wouldn’t be holding a conversation with me. Your head wouldn’t even be attached to your body.”

“Living up to your name as always, doll.”

Rooster slid into one of the empty chairs at the conference table, slapping down a notebook, and turned to look at you. “I’ll punch him if you want.”

“I’m perfectly capable of throwing my own punches, thank you.” The look on Rooster’s face said he didn’t trust you not to take it too far.

“And coffee mugs.” Hangman glanced over his shoulder; eyes trained on the spot where a cracked, open travel cup lay open. Opened and spilled, everywhere. “Which I managed to dodge.”

“Try to dodge my-” but your insult was cut short by Rooster saying, “Coffee? You hate coffee.”

You set your lips in a thin, embarrassed line. “He told me that it was tea.”

“And you believed him?” Rooster snorted.

You slunk back into your chair, crossing your arms with a pout. “It’s early! I’m basically the walking dead right now, birdbrain.”

As with every mission of this sheer level of importance, your anxiety had been too great to let you sleep. Usually Bob or Phoenix or Rooster, the early risers of the group, would be up to go for a job or hit the gym with you. You were up well before all of them today and had taken it upon yourself to go for a run, shower, and be painfully early to this briefing. You had hoped Bob would be the first one there, he typically was, but the universe was out to get you because instead of those sweet, doe eyes behind some thick-lensed glasses all you got was a stupid pair of lips messing with a toothpick.

“Don’t be too hard on, Rooster.” Phoenix called out, walking into the hangar with Fanboy, Payback, and Coyote in tow. “I already smoked him during our run this morning. He’s fragile.”

Before Rooster could get all up in arms or Hangman could jump on a moment of vulnerability, Maverick walked in. He had his way to the head of the table while everyone else found their seats. “Good morning, everyone.” Tired, disjointed voices repeated the sentiment, pulling a smile onto Mav’s face. “I see we’re all ready for a busy day. What do you say we get started?”

“Sorry, I’m late, sir!” Bob’s voice comes from behind you. “I couldn’t find the kettle.”

Kettle, you thought to yourself, but Maverick just waved for him to sit down and continued talking. Before Bob headed over to the only open seat, by Hangman of all people, he placed a small cup of tea in front of you without a word. In your favorite mug, too. You brought it up to your lips to taste it… and it was perfect. Exactly the way you liked it.

‘Thank you,’ you mouthed at him after he sat down. Bob just nodded and focused his attention on Maverick. You did the same, not even registering that he didn’t have a cup of anything for himself.

–

The second time you noticed something nice Bob did for you was during poker night. Fanboy and Payback had decided tempting fate and coming out the other side had bonded you all for life. A point any of you could hardly disagree with. That mission was not something any of you were supposed to come back from. So, the idea of a movie night had been tossed around, but Payback always tried to guess the endings and Hangman tried to outdo the one-liners and Rooster just had to know if he knew that actor from another movie - needless to say, movie nights were shelved very fast.

Then the idea of bar hopping came about, followed by karaoke night, followed by trivia night. Each of which ended up in all of you spending too much money on booze and drunkenly embarrassing yourselves with horrible vocals or blatantly wrong answers to obscure history questions. You all settled on the idea of a game night. It seemed to work well enough. A ‘family’ dinner followed by a board game. Except for the fact that Payback instead of placing bets no matter if it was CandyLand or Monopoly, which Coyote would double, and Hangman would triple. Leaving you all spending just as much money as you had at the bar.

It was Bob who brought up the idea of having poker nights. Something with betting already designed into it so that none of you had to worry about emptying your bank accounts at the end of the night. That was the problem with setting elite competitors against one another, they never knew when to quit.

You’d all been kept relatively close to TOPGUN, usually stationed a few hours away max. Months where distance wasn’t a problem, you all tried to meet once a week. If one of you weren’t stateside, then once a month worked just fine. Six months into poker nights so far and you’d been able to have at least one every month. Every time the list of things to bring shifted down a person, so that each time a new person would be in charge of chips or appetizers or the main entree, etc. It was a system that worked with military precision.

Until the one time it didn’t.

Bob was the last through the door of Payback’s small apartment. At least, it looked small with so many people crammed in there. “Here, I got special plates this time.” He raised them high above his head like a prize. Large, sturdy, and compartmentalized. Like the trays you’d get in the mess hall or for a school lunch.

The statement caused immediate uproar.

“I was on plates and napkins!” Coyote said around a mouthful of sour cream and onion chips, brought by yours truly. And Hangman started making comments about how if no one was going to follow the list, then he wasn’t going to either.

“You weren’t in charge of plates, Bob!” Fanboy tried his best not to get too worked up over it. He had created a spreadsheet of everyone’s responsibilities. Verifying everyone knew their roles was his main role in making sure this whole operation ran smoothly. “Please tell me you still brought dessert.”

“I’ve got dessert. My grandma came out this weekend and made a peach cobbler.”

The mention of his grandma’s baking ensured the pitchforks and torches were put away, for now. That woman had godly skills in the kitchen. You would gladly sit down and eat an entire cobbler of hers by yourself in one sitting.

Coyote, still hurt by his duty being impeded on, asked, “So then what are the plates for?”

“Fallbeil doesn’t like when her food touches,” Bob said as though it were the most common knowledge in the world. “You guys always insist on getting plates that are way too small.”

He set down the plates on the counter, followed by the pie, and went to take off his shoes and didn’t bring anything like that up again for the rest of the night.

–

The third time you noticed something nice that Bob did for you was a day he had to leave early. A helicopter was coming to pick him and Phoenix up to take them overseas. Just for a few days, or so said those in charge, and you knew how easily a few days could change to a few weeks to a few months.

The thought of possibly not seeing them for a while aggravated you. It meant being stuck on a ship hundreds of miles from the nearest shore without your two best friends. You’d known what you were signing up for when you first started. The military liked to keep their secrets. At any moment you could be swept away for a mission, but it still felt unfair when you woke up only to realize that your wingwoman and her WSO are replaced by strangers.

Back soon, take care.

Not signed but the handwriting was so obviously Bob. Cursive with careful, purposeful loops. Hangman tried to tear him apart for taking so much care in his notes during the pre-briefs before the uranium mission. The insults died out fast once everyone realized he had chicken scratch for handwriting. Funny how spreading a rumor Hangman deserved the callsign Rooster over Bradley could put him in his place so quickly.

Back soon, take care.

You stared at the sticky note, so carefully pressed against the outside of your locker. It was easy to imagine the conversation among him and Phoenix.

“I’m leaving her a note.”

“She’ll be fine, Bob. We’ve got to go.”

“Four words.”

He’d gotten into the habit of leaving sticky note updates in between lengthy letters. They held more emotion than an email or text, and you found that you liked it more than digital words on a screen. You could trace your fingers over each letter. Pretend as though he were pressed up in the seat next to you like when you’d go to the Hard Deck on a busy night and everyone would shove together in a few booths. A closeness you’d found yourself longing for in all moments spent together despite there being no reason for the two of you to share an armchair in the common room.

You had crushes before. A few relationships littered your history of schooling, but you, like many others who had graduated from TOPGUN, assumed the sky was to be your first and only love. And then Bob showed up with his quiet, gentle ways and your heart would soar every time he walked into a room. There were days you went without talking, but you could count on some kind of a note to be waiting for you on your door or waiting for you on the control of your jet.

Reminders that he was thinking of you. The way a best friend would. Surely. That’s all it had to be. No sense in constructing something out of nothing. Something that could wreck this perfect routine the two of you had created in one another’s lives.

You peeled the sticky note off the front of your locker to place inside, out of harm's way. Your finger traced each letter. It was likely he and Phoenix were off somewhere with Coyote or Rooster or Hangman doing something far more dangerous than the intelligence patrol you’d been assigned to. As you swung open your locker, you wished you’d had enough sense to write him a letter before he’d left. Something reminding him and Phoenix to be safe, but you hadn’t known he was leaving. You hadn’t even let the thought cross your mind.

“Oh, Bob,” you sighed.

A smile tugs its way onto your face. He’d left a mug in your locker. Not filled with tea this time, but with pens and highlighters and all your favorite stationary to use on your paperwork. You usually had a pencil case with you filled with pens that flowed smoothly and didn’t smudge or highlighters that didn’t bleed through the page.

He must have packed extra in his bag in case you’d forgotten that pencil case, which you had. But that wasn’t the best part. Somehow he’d managed to keep a rose alive and blooming to stick amongst the stationary. For, what it seemed to you, the sole purpose of making you smile.

–

The fourth time you noticed something nice that Bob did for you was at Coyote’s birthday cookout. You were running late. Very late. More late than you’d ever been in your whole life to a point that you would have turned around if you could have, but you had been stuck on a highway without an exit for miles on end. The need to pee had never been stronger.

Stuck in the literal sense. Construction fed into traffic fed into cars stopping for no reason at all fed into fender benders fed into your frustration. “Please just move!” You shouted at the trail of brake lights in front of you. All you had to do was make it to the next exit two miles away.

But no one met your frustrated request. Instead, the standstill continued. You were destined to never arrive at this party. It had been weeks since you’d seen everyone together in one spot. Poker night had been postponed to tomorrow. Bound to be a dismal affair of hangovers and stale chips left out in bowls overnight. A slice of heaven on earth. Though, you would say that for just about anything if it meant being released from a fucking prison of a car.

Your phone went off. The distinct sound of big band music filling your car. Bob’s ringtone.

“Where are you?” His voice came through the other line at the same moment you shouted, “I want to rip my head off!”

An amused chuckle filled your car which only caused you to fume further. “I’m serious, Robert. This two-hour drive has become four- maybe five. I lost count when I had to come to a full and complete stop for the three millionth time today. It would be so much easier if Coyote had a runway in his backyard. Then I could just fly there-”

“Fallbeil,” Bob cut in, “are you almost here?”

“I’m a mile from my exit. I should be there in twenty. If I’m allowed to take my foot off the brake for more than a few seconds.” You let out a loud groan. “I’m going to stop at a gas station because I think my bladder might explode. So expect me in thirty actually-”

Bob laughed and spoke once more, saving you from yet another breathless tangent. “I’m excited to see you.”

You smiled to yourself. Grinning at the stopped cars in front of you like an idiot. “Yeah?”

“Have I ever not been?”

“I’m excited to see you too.” You could envision Bob’s own shy grin. No, you couldn’t hear the sounds of the party going on around him. He had closed himself off alone in a room to talk to you, which would mean the smile would be big and beaming. “Coyote enjoying himself?”

“I think he might have cried when Natasha put on the birthday playlist she made for him.”

“She’s good at that.”

“Good?” Bob laughed. “She’s elite at it.” Then, after a moment of comfortable silence fell over the two of you he said, “Want me to stay on the phone until you show up?”

If it were a normal poker night, you would have jumped on the offer. Phone calls with Bob had become a staple in that routine in one another’s lives. Letters and notes were not nearly enough to tide the two of you over. But today was a special occasion.

“No,” you told him. “I’ll be there soon.” He deserved to go enjoy the party. Not be tied up in a phone call where you were bound to blow your lid if the car in front of you did not speed up.

“Be careful. Drive safe.” The line clicked.

Be careful, you turned the words over in your head wondering what they would sound like punctuated with a kiss every morning when you headed out the door.

You turned down Coyote’s street, knowing exactly what you’d find. Cars taking every spot. Coyote was the most popular out of the crew. Charming personality, willingness to help everyone so much as passing by, and good looks. The combination needed for a party of the century.

And the shouts of excitement that flowed from his backyard told you just that was happening. Without you, and it would continue to go on without you if you couldn’t find an open spot to park. Bob waited at the end of Coyote’s packed driveway, hands stuffed into his jeans. A surprising amount of muscle strained beneath the button up shirt he wore to every part. More cars shoved onto the asphalt and spilled over onto the lawn.

Bob waved, waited patiently for you to park the car in the middle of the street, and then came around to the driver's side of the car. “Hey,” he said as he popped open your door. “How was the drive?”

You shot him a look. One that immediately set that bright, beautiful smile on his face. “Funny.”

“Here, get out.”

“What?”

“Get out. Go inside and say hi.” He leaned over to unbuckle you and the scent of his cologne tickled your nose. “I have a plate of food for you in the oven, on low so it stays warm. There’s one in the fridge too with the cold stuff.”

“Bob-”

“They’re all separated.” He waved you out of the car, grabbing your hand to help, and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “I’m glad you’re here, Fallbeil.”

You saw him again ten minutes later because he had to park two blocks away and walk back.

–

The fifth time you really noticed Bob going out of his way for you was a few months into the two of you moving in together. Solely as roommates, two best friends making the most of a perfect situation. Rent was going up, you had an extra room, and Bob had just gotten hired as an instructor at TOPGUN. The timing couldn’t have been better.

In truth, nothing could be better. The two of you fit perfectly into each other’s lives. Bob with his early habits. Having tea on the table for you alongside the crossword section of the newspaper he insisted on reading every morning. The hardest word always filled in as a starting point. He’d saved you the frustration of straining your mind over a word you couldn’t have dreamed up in the wildest corners of your imagination.

The preference over sticky notes as communication over texts still remained the same. Left on the mirror in your shared bathroom always signed with “be careful” or “take care.” Sometimes there is nothing of importance to say, but Bob would write those two words anyway as a reminder.

You’d leave voicemails if it was something that needed your immediate attention - talking on the phone to Bob became a bright spot in your week. You tried your hardest to leave them only for emergencies but hearing his voice every day had spoiled you. Sometimes your mind would lock on something you would absolutely have to tell him. Then you would find yourself pulling out your phone, typing in his number, and putting it away with a great sigh. You had planes to fly, he had students to teach, and the torture of being apart for a few hours each day made returning home to him all the sweeter. Returning home to movie nights or long walks on the beach or stories of students who remind Bob of each member of the Dagger Crew.

Phoenix would crash often when she got called back to TOPGUN, and Bradley hung around often enough seeing that Mav and Penny had made their lives here. Everyone cycled through at some point. Even Hangman had a welcome place on your couch if he ever needed it.

There was one night Jake had spent the night. Out of the blue and completely inconvenient as was the case with Hangman, but he offered to cook dinner while the two of you were at work and you came home to a good meal and surprisingly good company. What a sight to see the three of you laughing at a small table.

You hadn’t minded Hangman staying over. Though he did scare the shit out of you when he knocked on your door and let himself into your room to talk. “You know he likes you,” he had said, perched on the corner of your bed with that same stupid ass look on his face that meant trouble. “I think he might even be in love with you.”

“Bagman-”

“Hey, I come in here to tell you some life-altering news and you start with insulting me.” Hangman had let out a low whistle. “Think about it, Fallbeil.”

“What if it ruins everything? We’re doing so well.”

“What if it changes everything for the better?”

You hadn’t expected those words to play in your head as often as they did when Hangman finally left. It had been weeks since you’d last seen him. Poker night was tonight. He was hosting, and you had a feeling he was going to corner you with all sorts of questions as to if you’d made a move on Bob yet. A foolish notion. Bob might not be a skittish dog, but making a move on him still might cause spontaneous combustion. You were just trying to figure out which one of you it would be.

What could be the right time to tell your best friend and roommate that you loved him? That you have always wanted to be more?

You thought it over as you wiped sleep from your eyes and made your way into the bathroom. Bob had left earlier than usual this morning. It was a test day for the students and he was nothing if not prepared. Likely that kind, painfully chirpy teacher in the early hours of the day.

There was a sticky note on the mirror. As expected. Longer than usual. Unexpected.

Took your car this morning. Saw you needed an oil change. Be home late, then he can head to Bagman’s. Hope that’s okay. My keys are on the counter. Be safe. Love you.

You traced those last two words with the tip of your finger. It was the first time he’d added those two words.

And they fit so naturally on the note. Like they always belonged there.

–

The one time (the first time) you realized you were going out of your way to do things because you loved Robert Floyd when you went into the mall with a head full of ideas to get for Rooster’s birthday and came out twenty minutes later with one thing. One thing not for Rooster.

A model plane for Bob. Before he’d gotten so overwhelmed with his responsibilities at TOPGUN to cease having many hobbies, he’d built model planes. It’s what had gotten him into a love of planes. At least, that’s what he had told you one night at the Hard Deck, when the two of you were shoved up against one another.

Growing up in a small midwestern farm town didn’t give him many chances growing up to be around planes, but he’d watch the ones that flew over crops with rapt interest. He memorized flight patterns, sat alongside fields, and watched them every chance he got. Then, in the late nights where he only had his imagination to keep him company, Bob built model planes and memorized their histories.

“I’ve always wanted to be around planes.” He had slurred the words a bit back then. One too many sips of beer between handfuls of peanuts. “I kept them around me as much as I could.”

You hadn’t been able to figure out how crop planes became fighter jets in his history, but more stories came out as the two of you moved in together. Dismissive comments about school bullies. Talks about how he knew he wasn’t the strongest, but had always felt the need to prove himself. It seemed to fit into this idea people created of him - always a bit behind the rest. You respected him for sticking to what people told him he couldn’t do and making a name for himself in spite of it all.

And you loved that he trusted you enough to bring you in on those hobbies of his. Building fighter jets in the low light of desk lamps and night lights. Reminding you of the purpose of each piece. Telling the history of each plane. But your favorite part of all was when the two of you would build a jet you were flying and he would include all your statistics, everything you’ve accomplished, and, when you caught him in rare form, things Bob imagined you would do that would etch your name into the very fabric of history.

“Did you get a present for Bradley?” He asked, hearing the click of the door behind you. There was a rag thrown over his shoulder. Bob turned to face you with a smile. In the midst of cooking, glasses slightly fogged from whatever it was he was cooking, and your heart couldn’t take it.

“N-no,” you said, tripping up on your words. “I, um, I forgot.”

“But on the phone you said you couldn’t wait to show me what you got?” He tilted his head, watching as you kicked off your shoes, and placed your shopping bag on the table. “I hope you’re not trying to sign your name onto my gift, Fallbeil. I spent three months finding a vintage record of ‘Great Balls of Fire’ for him.”

You smiled at his thoughtfulness. “No, Robert, I will not steal credit for your gift. He’ll know it’s from you anyway.” You took a deep, shaky breath. “I got something for you instead.”

Bob’s brows scrunched in confusion. “Me, but it’s Bradley’s birthday?”

You pulled the model F-18 from the bag and held it out towards him. Your hands shook slightly. Silly considering the two of you were always going out of your way to do things for each other. Plates and oil changes and parking cars. Small things. Nothing as momentous as a declaration of pure understanding of one another.

He said your name with a softness you’d never heard before. As though he were praying.

“I love you.” You said it at the same time as him. And the words fell so naturally from both your lips. Like they always belonged there.

===

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