#bradley headstone

[mxcottonsocks]

Mortimer Lightwood: What are your intentions, Eugene?

Eugene Wrayburn: Oh, I don't know ¯⁠\⁠_(⁠ツ)_⁠/⁠¯ fuck around and find out?

Bradley Headstone: You'll find out, alright...

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

asking brother if we can watch the last episode of our mutual friend tonight if possible simply because i know the schoolteacher kills himself in that episode and i don't want that hanging over me all this time (he is going away for a week)

[roosterforme]

Always Ever Only You Part 33 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Getting through your second presentation feels like a battle of wits against your own body. Then after weeks of barely being able to stomach anything, you are presented with the most enticing dinner. But it's the food that's alluring, not your dinner mate, and Bradley has a few things to say about the mess you get yourself caught up in.

Warnings: Swearing, adult language, pregnancy topics, angst, fluff, phone sex, masturbation

Length: 5800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

You slept like a lovesick log after your long drive back to the hotel from the cemetery. Exhausted from throwing up in the shrubs, you curled up in bed and watched the video you took for your son or daughter. You had recorded yourself reading both headstones and having a little conversation with your in-laws about the baby. It was just meant to be something you and Bradley could watch one day with the nugget, but it brought a smile to your face. 

You were decidedly no longer smiling when you woke up on Wednesday and had to race to the toilet. "Why is this happening again?" you asked the bath mat as you curled up in a ball. You had another, longer presentation to give. You had admirals to chat with. You had a whole lot to get done today. You didn't have time for this right now.

Even brushing your teeth was a chore. Changing into your uniform was an issue. At least your pants felt a little looser today. You honestly could not keep up with the way your body was bloated half the time and normal the rest of the time. 

You realized your makeup was pretty much the only thing holding your life together at the moment as you swiped on some mascara. Then there was a knock at your door, and it felt like you were doing the same thing all over again today, because essentially you were. You and Cat had to struggle with the bin of equipment. You had to fight to stay awake in the rental car. The nausea was turning  your life into a game of sheer determination to keep the bagel that you ate from coming back up. 

"Are you okay?" Cat asked you a few minutes before the presentation was about to start. 

"Of course," you told her in what you hoped was a reassuring tone. "Why wouldn't I be?" You shrugged and smiled serenely at her. 

"Because you're sweating bullets. And you've been pacing around the hallway."

You cleared your throat and insisted, "It's just really hot in here."

"It's not," she replied. "Please. I'm begging you. Just keep it together for another ninety minutes, okay? After that, you can do anything you want. Hell, I'll do anything you want me to do. But we need to get through this presentation." 

Her voice sounded panicked, and now you were looking around the hallway for a garbage can. But it was too late. The two of you were being called into the presentation room. Commander Patterson and Admiral Klein were sitting in the front row smiling at you. Shit, more admirals were here today. Oh fuck, all of these people wanted to hear your extended presentaion. A bead of sweat rolled down the back of your neck, past your shoulder blades and along your spine. You wanted Bradley. You wanted Bradley to hold you and let you throw up everywhere and tell you that you were still pretty and that he loved you even if you cried on the toilet and ate crackers while you lay on the floor. 

Tears burned your eyes, and Cat looked like she was going to scream. Pull it together. Ignore the sensation. Clip the microphone onto your shirt. Start talking. 

"Good afternoon. Lieutenant Coleman and I are back to expound upon our research presentation from Monday which covered communications engineering at Top Gun. You can find a copy of our slides in the information packet in front of you. Please hold your questions until we pause for a break. Let's get started."

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

Bradley really wasn't doing well without you at home. He was barely eating anything besides cereal and sandwiches, and he was going to bed hungry at night. The only fun he'd been having was slowly filling up that pink and blue notebook with his musings for the little nugget.

He was having a hard time sleeping, and he didn't like how quiet the house was. Even Tramp kept looking for you, occasionally running to the front door and whimpering. "We'll see her on Friday," he told the dog as he had potato chips and coffee for breakfast on Wednesday morning. "Two more days of this bullshit." 

When he got home from work on Tuesday, he broke down in tears as he looked at the photos you sent him from the cemetery. You even took a video where you were talking to him and the nugget and his parents. He still couldn't believe you took the time to drive there and make it so special for him. After he finished crying, he made his way back up to the attic where he took the half wall down to the studs. Then he realized that he really needed to call some contractors before you came home and saw the mess he made. 

While he drove to work in the red Bronco, he left messages, hoping to get some estimates in the next week or so. One thing that he'd been slowly coming to terms with was the fact that you didn't need him to take care of you by paying for everything. Both of your incomes were going toward the mortgage payments and all the necessities. You'd both been saving money for the future, and he figured the future had arrived since there was a baby on the way. 

When he parked in the garage on base, he noticed he had some new texts from you.

Baby Girl Bradshaw: I miss you. I'm struggling today. I think the nugget hates me. I'll call you later after my presentation and all of this other shit is over. 

He wanted to text you back, but he didn't want to be a distraction, so he tucked his phone into his pocket and ran his fingers through his hair. He had been reading every pregnancy article online that he could find, but none of the tricks he saw were helping you with the nausea. You were probably just going to have to wait it out. He would be ready to rub your shoulders and put a cool washcloth on the back of your neck when you got home.

Bradley walked the long way around to the classrooms since he was early and didn't need to stop in the locker room to change. When he passed the stairwell that would have taken him up to your office and the engineering labs, he swore he heard Bob's voice. He paused, and he definitely heard Bob's laugh. When the door to the stairs opened, he heard Bob say, "We can always find out later tonight if you want to invite me to your room again." And then there was a very familiar, feminine laugh before Bob appeared ten feet ahead of him.

He stared at Bob, and Bob stared back as the door closed, leaving the two of them alone. Bradley thought back to the way Bob and Maria were looking a little cozy at brunch last Sunday. This was interesting.

"Hey, Bob," Bradley said with a grin. "How are you enjoying your new apartment with Maria?"

His cheeks immediately flushed pink, and Bradley bit his lip to keep quiet as Bob started stuttering. Frankly, he was proud of his friend for sounding so much more self assured a few seconds ago when he was tucked inside the stairwell with Maria. "I-I d-don't know... are y-you... I d-din't think that..."

Bradley let him flounder through a few more partial sentences before he said, "If you're hooking up with Maria Wilson, then good for you, man. Well done."

Bob cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses and ran his hand along the back of his neck. "Thanks," he muttered as he stared at the floor. 

"You want me to keep this information to myself?"

Bob's blue eyes went wide as they met Bradley's. "Please." He swallowed hard. "I don't think she wants anyone else to know." His voice was just a whisper as he said, "I'm sure she'd be embarrassed if people found out."

Then he turned and left Bradley standing there alone. He'd been in that position before with you. Before you made things official. And he had been miserable. "Poor Bob," he muttered as he followed him at a distance. The best case scenario would be if Maria confided in you when you got back from Annapolis. Bradley would have to be cool about you going to brunch on Sunday even though he already wanted you and the baby all to himself again all weekend.

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

You made it. Somehow you got through the full hour and a half. You nailed your parts, and so did Cat. You and she answered questions for at least an additional thirty minutes, and now she was packing up the equipment while you sent a quick text to Bickel. 

"Your research is very compelling, Lieutenant Commander."

You looked up into the eyes of Commander Patterson, and he smiled warmly at you. Unfortunately, the only thing you could really think about was the way you'd been picturing Bradley's cock the last time you talked to him. At the moment, you were so fucking horny, you felt like rubbing yourself against the wall and crying until you got some relief.

"Thank you, sir," you managed to say while you tried to focus on his face and his words. "It has really become a passion project, trying to keep actual aviators in the air versus the drone agenda. Real people making real decisions based on their surroundings and the immediate threats they are facing will always win out against a laboratory manufactured software protocol."

"I couldn't agree more." He took a step closer and said, "And the way you presented your findings made it so clear that you're eager for others to understand how important that is as well."

"Absolutely," you told him with a smile of your own. "And the funding for communications research is so important." 

You were probably going to have to go to the cocktail hour tonight just to get your face out there since you skipped the previous one to drive to Virginia. But you were almost instantly saved from having to do that as Commander Patterson said, "I'm planning on having dinner this evening with a few of the admirals if you'd like to join us. Cocktail attire. Overpriced steaks. You know, the usual." 

His slight eye roll had you laughing and agreeing immediately. That sounded a lot better than trying to ditch champagne flutes all night. You'd still be able to chat with some superiors, and right now, you were actually hungry. "That sounds great. I'll see if Lieutenant Coleman can join as well."

With that, his smile wavered a bit, but he told you the name of the restaurant, and you promised to be there at seven o'clock. Cat had all the equipment packed up, and she was ready for you to help her carry the bin. "Hey, you want to come eat an overpriced steak later? With Commander Patterson and some others?" you asked as you tried your best to lift with your legs.

"Why didn't you tell me before? I already agreed to some stupid happy hour with a handful of admirals, but I love overpriced food when you don't have to pay for it."

You laughed and said, "That's probably better. We can divide and conquer this way. Bickel will like that."

As the two of you hoisted the bin into the rental car, Cat smiled and said, "You know what else he'll like? The fact that we nailed the presentation again today. I'm sorry I doubted you."

"Don't do it again," you told her with a smirk. Of course then you promptly started falling asleep while she drove back to the hotel, and when you got to your room, you passed out in bed until it was time to get ready for dinner. 

It was only three o'clock for Bradley, and even though you wanted to call him, you decided to wait a little longer. You inhaled a pack of peanut butter crackers while your stomach growled loudly. "What is with you today?" you asked the baby. "You're finally hungry? Or are you going to make me barf again?" You got a loud rumble in response. "I know you like Daddy better, and we'll be home in two days. Relax."

As you redid your makeup, you started thinking about Bradley. And then you thought about how delicious he smelled right after he finished a workout. And then you thought about how nice and big his cock is. And then you thought about all the sounds he makes and the way me moans your name when his cock is inside you.

"Oh hell," you whined, pressing your thighs together. You needed to get some relief with your toys until you could get back home, but you didn't have time for that right now. The combination of being so hungry and so horny was almost too much to handle, and you ended up calling Bradley on the short drive to the restaurant. It was barely four there, so you were surprised when he answered. 

"Hey, Sweetheart."

Two words. He said two fucking words, and you were moaning and having a hard time focusing to drive. "Roo. Oh my god."

"What's wrong?" he snapped immediately. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," you gasped, parking the car and squeezing the steering wheel. "I'm just so horny. And Commander Patterson asked me out to dinner, and I seriously need to get fucked, Bradley. Like you have no idea how bad it is right now."

You could hear him mutter something, and then you thought you heard Jake's voice before Bradley quietly said, "Baby Girl, I'll fuck the absolute shit out of you all weekend. In fact, I can't wait to do that. I'll take care of everything you need."

"Daddy," you moaned, realizing you should have masturbated instead of taking that nap.

"But please tell me who the fuck Commander Patterson is. All I know is that you said he's that guy who asked if Top Gun aviation is the right fit for you?" Another moan escaped your lips as you thought about being a tight fit for your husband. "Yeah, you sound wrecked, Sweetheart," he crooned in that raspy voice. "I don't think you should go to dinner with some guy I don't know. I don't care what his rank is.

You sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It's not just with him. Some admirals are coming too. I need to meet the admirals, Bradley. And I'm already at the restaurant." When you looked further up the block, you saw Patterson heading inside.

Bradley made a frustrated sound. "Text me when you can? And call me when you're leaving later?"

"I will," you promised as your stomach growled. You were so excited that the nugget seemed to want to eat this steak, you almost hung up before you said, "I love you."

You straightened out your black cocktail dress as you practically ran down the sidewalk in your high heels which you rarely ever wore except in your bedroom with your husband. The delicious smells from the restaurant were wafting out onto the sidewalk, and you were going to cry if there wasn't some bread or something already waiting on the table. 

"There you are, Lieutenant Commander." 

Patterson was waiting inside the entryway where at least the sound of the air conditioner blasting and the conversation around you was blocking out your growling stomach. He was smiling as his hand found the small of your back. "Our table is ready. We can go right there." 

When he applied some pressure with his hand, you lurched forward. Perhaps he was just trying to help you navigate through the crowd, but he could keep his hands to himself. He must have known you were married. You decided to make a show of pointing out some hideous artwork with your left hand, practically shoving your rings in his face. "That's a lovely painting, Commander," you told him, but he just smiled and nodded at you before pulling out a chair at a table set for four.

"Please, call me Derek," he told you as he sank down into the seat across from you, and then he started using your first name without permission. The one blessing was the fact that there was an enormous basket of bread sitting right in the middle of the table along with a variety of spreads and dips. 

You moaned softly and had to bite your lip as you reached for a soft looking roll and the chive butter. Derek was staring at you with parted lips and wide pupils. Had he never seen a woman eat before? Had you ever been this hungry before? You licked your lips as you spread some of the butter onto the roll, and then you took a bite and moaned again. 

Holy. Fucking. Shit. 

After weeks of feeling miserable, you finally knew you could stomach this meal right now. You were still so turned on, and yet your exhaustion was bone deep at this point, but the bread was like a lifeline to normalcy, and you were grabbing onto it. 

Derek cleared his throat as he watched you take those first few sumptuous bites. "I've got to know," he said smoothly, "exactly what would lure you back to Annapolis for good?"

You popped the rest of the roll between your lips and chewed it up before you said, "Nothing."

"There would have to be something. Better research facilities? Your own lab? Both of your degrees and your work are so impressive, you must know there would be endless possibilities for you here."

You were shocked. Running your own lab was your dream. The idea of being in charge of a research team made your skin prickle with desire. You hoped that could be a possibility someday, but you weren't even thirty-five yet. You figured maybe ten years from now when Bickel was getting ready to retire, you'd be able to take his place. 

"My own lab?"

Derek smiled, all white teeth and handsome expression, and then the waitress arrived. You wanted to jump out of your seat and hug her when she asked if you'd like to order any appetizers.

"Do you know when the others will be here?" you asked Derek. "Should we wait to order?"

He shook his head vaguely. "They'll be late. We can order. Get whatever you want."

You almost laughed giddily as you ordered three appetizers and then a steak dinner complete with garlic mashed potatoes and two vegetables. "We can share the appetizers," you said when he looked at you in surprise, even though you didn't want to. You placed your hand on your belly, trying to subtly thank the baby for cooperating right now. 

When the waitress finished taking his order and then departed, you asked, "Which admirals are joining us?"

"Hmm? Oh... uh, Rivera and Silverman."

You were not familiar with either of them which made you panic slightly. You should have done more research on who was attending each of the lectures. Why hadn't you done that? Oh, right... because you were too busy throwing up. The bread basket called to you, and before you knew it, you'd eaten more than half while Derek droned on about how amazing you'd be running your own lab. He didn't even know you, which made this more annoying than anything else, but your stomach was holding up spectacularly, so you could overlook it. You could have kissed the waitress when she came back with the appetizers.

"So, do you live alone?" he asked as you dipped two mozzarella sticks into some marinara sauce. You paused before shoving them into your mouth so you could chuckle. 

"No. I live with my husband and our dog." Then the fried cheese hit your tongue, and it was like you were living in a world of color after weeks in black and white. Your stomach gurgled pleasantly, finally accepting food once again. Tears of joy stung at your eyes as you took a forkful of crispy brussels sprouts and a potato skin.

Derek laughed and asked how old you were, but your mouth was full, so he said, "Let's just say, my career in Annapolis outlived my bad marriage. And that's been the case for many, many officers."

You swallowed the potato like it was a lead weight. That had definitely been the case for Cat, unfortunately. And you'd heard a lot of stories, sure, especially when you were at the Naval Academy. And perhaps that was part of the reason you fought against the mere idea of being with Bradley at first. One officer in a relationship with a civilian was bad enough, but two officers trying to make it happen together usually spelled disaster.

But you felt stronger with Bradley. The two of you worked hard to get through your struggles and end up in a better place. You and he were going to be parents, for fuck's sake. 

"Just sharing my two cents with you," Derek added, still smiling. "You're young, and you haven't lived it yet, but I can tell you that you'll go farther here than in San Diego. Especially if you're already open to the idea of having more."

You wanted to check the time on your phone; you must have been sitting here for over half an hour by now. The other two chairs were still empty. Derek was starting to get under your skin. 

"I'm open to the idea of pursuing my career at Top Gun along with my husband."

"He's an officer as well?" Derek asked with a laugh. "I'm sure he's having a great week back in San Diego without you."

You felt heat flame up your neck and into your cheeks as your steak dinners arrived. "Yes, he's an officer. He's a Top Gun aviator."

"He deploys?" Derek asked in disbelief before laughing harder. "You should make the move back to the east coast now, before he ruins your life. If he hasn't already."

He had gone from complimenting you to trying to humiliate you in a matter of minutes. You'd been blinded by the glorious meal, but the truth hit you square in the chest. As he picked up his fork and steak knife, you asked, "Why did you lie to me about two admirals coming? Do Rivera and Silverman even exist?"

Somehow his smile was still persistent as he said, "Sure, they exist. They went to the cocktail reception on base." You watched the knife sink into his steak as he added, "You're gorgeous. I wanted to get you alone. Let you know how much better things could be. Offer to set you up for a one-on-one meeting with Admiral Jennings tomorrow if you come home with me tonight. It's on the table if you want it."

In one quick movement, you snatched his plate away from him with the fork still stuck in the steak. "Okay, well fuck you, Derek," you snarled, standing up and waving for the waitress. "You're disgusting and delusional if you thought I would even consider going home with you."

"Can I get you anything?" the waitress asked cautiously, and you realized you were causing a bit of a scene now in the crowded restaurant. 

"Yes. I need boxes. Like a whole bunch of takeout boxes," you told her. "I'm taking all of this food with me."

"Right," the waitress replied, her gaze drifting to Derek who looked very unamused. 

"I'm taking his meal, too," you snapped. "Hurry up with the boxes."

She scurried away as you piled all of the food onto one plate and said, "You're so fucking stupid, Derek. I already have Admiral Jennings' phone number. I met her last year. I told her to her face that I'm staying in San Diego."

"Well then you're making a bad choice," he told you.

Then the waitress set down some takeout containers while you practically tossed the empty plate back at Derek. You scraped as much of the food into the first box as would fit before moving to the second one. "He's paying for dinner," you told the waitress. "And I'm taking one fork and one steak knife with me. He'll pay for those as well." You shoved the rest of the bread into the last box and then stacked them all up before meeting Derek's eyes. "You just ruined the first meal I've been able to stomach in weeks, asshole. And my husband is a nice man. Very sweet. Treats people with respect. But if he were here right now, you'd have a bloody face and some broken ribs." 

You picked up the boxes, grabbed the utensils, and made your way toward the exit. You went straight for your rental car and climbed inside before cranking the engine. Then you took a massive bite of garlic mashed potatoes before cutting off a piece of Derek's steak while you called your husband. 

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

Bradley was working out in the garage when your ringtone cut across the playlist you made for him. He practically dropped his barbell to the cement floor to get his phone from where it was sitting on the tool chest. "Sweetheart. I wasn't expecting to hear from you quite yet. Didn't we just get off the phone?" he asked with a smile as he ran his forearm along his sweaty face. "Not that I mind one bit." He was about to ask if you were done with dinner, but then he realized that you were crying. The sweat on his skin turned ice cold as he quickly asked, "What's wrong?"

"Roo," you wailed, and he started looking around the garage as if there was something out here that would help both of you calm down. "He ruined my fucking dinner!" you sobbed.

"What are you talking about?" he asked as he paced the length of the garage, running his fingers through his damp hair. "Who ruined it?"

"Commander Patterson."

Bradley honestly could not fathom how that guy had ruined your dinner. All he knew was that you told him you were horny as hell when you got to the restaurant, and that he didn't trust guys he didn't know around you. Most men were disgusting, and you were lovely and also pregnant with his child.

"Can you explain what happened so I can understand?" he asked as calmly as he could.

"Yeah," you sniffed, and he heard a car engine start up in the background. "The nugget and I were both really enjoying the food. Like really enjoying it, Bradley. You know how I've been, and this was delectable and exactly what we both wanted. Like it was so good, if you'd been there with me looking super sexy, I would have probably had an orgasm in the middle of the damn restaurant."

Bradley swallowed hard as he stood in the garage, wondering where the hell this was going. "I understand. You haven't been able to eat much, so that must have felt amazing. Now can you tell me what's wrong?"

"He ruined it!" you replied loudly. "He lied to me! There were no admirals planning on joining us. He tricked me into meeting him there, and then he gave me fake compliments and accolades about my work. He told me that I could get ahead with a career in Annapolis if I slept with him, all because he wanted to fuck me!"

Bradley almost dropped his phone. "Did he touch you?" he growled, switching to speaker phone as he rushed through the backyard toward the house and looked for flights to Maryland at the same time. "Did he fucking touch you?!"

"No!" you practically shrieked. "No, he didn't touch me! You think I'd let him get anywhere near me after he ruined my dinner?"

"Where are you now?" he demanded. "And what's this Commander fucking Patterson's first name?" 

Bradley was seeing red as he walked inside and slammed the sliding glass door behind him, and Tramp ran whimpering into the spare room. The earliest he could get out of San Diego on an eastbound flight was a red eye that left at 9:30, and that was nearly four hours from now.

"I'm not telling you his name," you said softly with a little sniff at the end. "I'm afraid you'll strangle him."

Frankly, if Bradley got his hands on the asshole, he'd probably wish all he got was strangled to death. "Where are you now?" he asked again, trying to keep his voice calmer.

"In my rental car."

"Alone?

"Yes!"

"Good," he replied as he clenched and unclenched his fist and headed for the shower. "Go back to your hotel room, and text me the address. I'll stay on the phone with you until you get there, and then I'll be out on a red eye that lands in Annapolis at 5:55 tomorrow morning local time. And then you'll tell me his first name, and I'll beat the shit out of him for ruining your dinner and acting like my wife is his for the taking."

"Bradley," you said firmly. "I do not need you to come out here. I already feel better now that I told you about it."

"Well, I sure as fucking hell don't," he grunted, peeling off his sweaty clothes in the bathroom. "Does he know which hotel you're staying at? And where the hell is Cat?"

You groaned and said, "No, he doesn't know. And Cat went to the actual cocktail reception with the actual admirals. I seriously hate Commander Patterson. But I did steal his dinner, so that's making me feel a little bit better."

His thumb was hovering over his phone screen, ready to purchase a seat on this flight. "Wait, you stole his dinner?"

"Yes. I took it. When I tell you the food was that good, Bradley, I am not joking. I housed most of the appetizers and the bread basket, and then I took his plate before he even got a bite of his porterhouse. I dumped all of the food into takeout boxes, took some silverware, told the waitress he'd pay for everything, and then I left."

Bradley burst into laughter in spite of himself. He could actually picture it so clearly. The haughty expression on your face. Your biting wit once you figured out what was going on. The way you must have looked dumping the steaks into the containers. "You're a damn force to be reckoned with, Baby Girl. Are you driving back to the hotel with all the food?"

"Yeah. I mean I did eat a few bites when I first got back in the car, because the baby was demanding it, but I'm absolutely going to eat the rest in my room. Fuck that guy. He doesn't even deserve his overpriced steak. It's mine now."

Bradley cradled his forehead in his hand and laughed. "Do you really not need me to come out there?"

He heard you take a deep breath before you said, "I miss you a lot, but I really do not need you to come out, okay? The nugget and I are fine now, ruined dinner aside."

"Alright," he murmured. "If you change your mind, you have two hours to let me know, and I'll be knocking on your door by 7 in the morning."

You moaned and whispered, "God, that does sound good. I'm back at the hotel. Heading up to my room now. Any chance you feel like having phone sex before I eat my two steaks and roughly four pounds of potatoes?"

"Fuck," he grunted, his cock already getting hard as he looked down at himself. "Yeah. A hundred percent. Let me just get in the shower here."

"Okay, Daddy," you muttered, and Bradley was practically tripping over himself as he started up the spray of water. Once you were safely inside your room, you told him, "I'm ready when you are."

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

You got off twice to your vibrator and your husband's sexy voice. It was so easy to imagine him in the shower with the sound of the water in the background. You could picture the steam snaking around his body while he held his thick cock in his hand. You could practically taste his skin and smell the body wash he was definitely using as lube. 

"That's my sweet girl," he crooned as you started to peak for the second time. "When I get you home on Friday, my mouth is going to be all over that pussy. I miss you so much. I want my wife and my baby with me."

"Bradley," you whined, legs bent and shaking as you got closer. "I need you to fuck me. I'm so goddamn horny for you!"

He grunted right into the phone and said, "Keep it up, and I'll break your new car at the airport, too."

And then you came. Hard. Your chest was sweaty. Your back was arching off the bed. The vibrator rolled out of your grasp, and you stroked yourself with your fingers and whispered his name over and over. 

"I'm about to come," Bradley moaned. And you could hear the exact second he was probably making a white mess all over the tile wall. You imagined it on your belly instead. 

You just wanted to go home, and when your back finally settled against the bedding you said, "I need you to promise to fuck me at least twenty times between Friday night and Monday morning."

"Make it thirty, Sweetheart," he crooned as he panted. "At least. I fucking need it, too."

You turned your head to the side where a photo of him was still pulled up on your phone. "Sounds perfect. Don't forget, I'm having dinner with my mom and dad tomorrow, so please FaceTime when you're walking out of work if you can."

"For the love of all things holy, please don't talk about your parents when I'm still holding my cock."

You giggled, and then he laughed. "I won't do it again," you promised as you sat up in bed, eyeing the takeout containers on the desk. "I love you, Roo. I'm going to eat Derek Patteron's steak, take a shower, and then pass out."

"I love you too, Baby Girl. Can you put your phone down by your belly?"

"Mmhmm," you hummed, pressing your lips together to keep from squealing at how sweet this man was.

"And I love you, too, my little nugget. Be nice to Mommy."

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

BG is all over the place... Roo probably has whiplash. Derek should be punished for ruining that meal for her and the baby. Just a few chapters left, and we'll have another series for them in the books! Thanks for reading! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 34

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[cherrycola27]

Till Death?

Summary: You and Rooster promised to love each other until death do you part. You just didn't think it would come so soon.

Next Part

Pairing: Rooster x Reader, Hangman x Reader

Warnings: Major Character Death, language, loss of a spouse, PTSD, light smut. 18+ Minors DNI

"It wasn't supposed to go like this," you thought as you watched them lower the casket into the ground.

Almost everyone around you was crying, but you weren't. You knew that the casket was just symbolic. It was an empty wooden box being buried in the earth because they'd never found your husband's body, even after almost two months of searching.

You weren't crying because you knew he wasn't dead. That's what you kept telling yourself. It was the last hope you had, and you needed to cling onto it, if not for yourself, for your unborn child.

You were pulled from your thoughts as Jake presented you with the flag from his casket. You tried to put in a brave face as Maverick held onto you. You and everyone around you were hurting.

You didn't miss the flash of guilt in Jake's eyes. He felt the most responsible for this.

Six weeks ago, the Dagger Squad decided to rent a both for the 4th of July. Jake, being the only member of the crew with a boating license, was driving when the storm came out of nowhere.

He tried his best to save it, but the ship wrecked in the rough waters. The last thing you remember is your husband putting a life vest on you before everything went black.

When you came to the hospital four days later, Maverick and Jake were there. The first thing you asked was if your baby was okay. The second was about your husband.

Neither of the men will forget just how heartbreaking it was hearing you wail his name when they told you he was missing.

They were both there the day the police showed up at your door step a month later telling you he had been declared legally deceased.

You wanted to argue with them, to scream, to cry, to be angry. But, you had to keep it together, the child you were carrying, your son need you.

So here you were, standing and staring at the headstone. You let a few tears slip as you traced the inscription:

Bradley Nicholas Bradshaw

1984- 2020

Loving Son, Husband, Father, and Friend

You had made sure that "Father" had been included because even though Rooster might not ever meet his son in this lifetime, in the four months of your pregnancy that he was there for, he made sure that your son knew he was loved.

In the weeks that followed, your parents would drive the forty-five minutes to check up on you almost every day. If they weren't there, one of Rooster's teammates was. All of them decided to make sure you and Baby Bradshaw were taken care of.

Most of the time, it was Jake or Maverick and Penny checking in on you. Maverick was the closest thing Rooster had to family left, and Jake felt like he owed you. He felt like he was the reason you were barely thirty-one years old and already a widow, a pregnant widow at that.

As time went on, the visits from your parents and even Maverick seemed to be less frequent. Once a week, maybe, but not Jake, he was there at least three times a week.

You tried to tell him it wasn't his fault, but you knew you'd never be able to convince him other wise.

Then, the day you were dreading came, the birth of your son should have been a joyous one, your family was there, your parents holding your hands through it all.

When the nurse laid Bradley Nicholas Bradshaw Jr. on your chest for the first time, you sobbed, a mix of happy and sad tears. You thanked God for your son but cursed him for taking your husband.

You decided to call him Nick. Maybe one day you could call him Bradley, but not right now. After his birth, you asked Jake to be his godfather. You told him that you and Rooster had talked about it when you first found out that you were expecting. Jake cried like a baby when you asked him, but happily accepted.

Three weeks later, Jake found a house for sale a block away from you and bought it. He claimed it was because he had been looking for his own place for a while, but you knew it was because he wanted to keep an eye on you.

Everyone helped you with Baby Nick. They took turns babysitting him if you needed a break. They also made sure you didn't show any signs of postpartum depression, especially after everything you had been through.

You fell in a routine after Nick's birth. Everyone supported you, but Jake seemed to be the most present. The two of you frequently ate dinner together, and there had been several times he'd fallen asleep on your couch instead of making the short walk back to his home.

Everything was going well until Nick was about six months old. You knew waking up today was going to be hard. Today was the one year anniversary of Rooster's "death," and when you rose this morning, it crossed your mind. For the first time, you cared to admit, you accepted that he was gone.

You quickly got yourself and Nick ready to head to the cemetery. You texted the squad to let them know what you were doing and to tell them you wanted to go alone. You knew all of them took the day off today, just in case.

You and Nick spent hours at Bradley's grave talking to him and visiting with him. You laughed and cried as you filled him in on everything he'd missed. Towards the end of your visit, you pulled up one of the stories Rooster had recorded on your iPad when he found out you were pregnant. He filmed them just in case he was deployed during the first year of Nick's life.

You thought he was ridiculous for doing so, but now you were grateful for them. You were thankful Nick would have them to know his father's voice and laugh.

The two of you sat in the grass listening to Rooster read a book about planes when he said it: "DaDa"

Your head snapped down at your son. You thought you were hearing things. But as if on cue, Nick reached out one of his chubby baby hands towards the screen and said it again while looking at Rooster. "DaDa," he cooed.

Your chest felt tight. Sobs threatened to bubble up out of you. You quickly scooped up Nick and your things and bolted to your car. Before driving home, you sent a text to Jake asking him to meet you at your house in fifteen.

Jake met you in your driveway. The second your car was in park, the tears came pouring out. He quickly grabbed Nick out of his car seat and helped you inside. He left you in the living room as he put Nick down for a nap in the nursery.

When he came back out to check on you, you were a whimpering mess.

He pulled you close to him, rocking you and whispering soothing words. "What happened, honey?" He asked you.

"Nick said his first word today. We were there in the cemetery, watching a video that Rooster had recorded, and Nick grabbed the screen and said,'DaDa'. He knew who he was." You sobbed out.

Jake wasn't sure what to say. He just held you until you stopped crying.

That evening, he ordered takeout for the two of you and made sure Nick was fed and changed and ready for bed. Once he put him down, you knew he'd be out for the rest of the night. Nick was a great sleeper.

When he came back into the living room, Jake noticed you had showered and changed onto some sleep clothes.

"Do you want to me leave?" He asked hesitantly.

"Can you stay, maybe just a little while longer?" You asked him.

"Of course." He said, coming to sit by you on the couch. You leaned against him as he slipped his arm around you.

"I'm sorry." You told him. "Sorry for what?" He asked you. "I'm sorry that I lost it today. I'm sure you had better thing to do than take care of me." You tell him.

"Honey, I took the day off just on case you and Nick needed me. You have nothing to be sorry for." Jake assured you.

"Some days are better than others, you know?" You say to him. He nods his head in agreement.

"Like some days, I swear I see him in the grocery store, or I smell his aftershave, or I hear him at the Hard Deck." You explain, sitting up to face Jake.

"And then some days, I lay down at night and realize I haven't thought about him all day. Some days, I think that I'm ready to move on and put myself back out there. I know I wouldn't be doing anything wrong if I did go on a date. I mean, I promised Rooster till death, I just never expected it to be so soon. And on days like that, I feel—I feel guilty. Like I've betrayed him." You finish telling him.

"You can't do that. You can't beat yourself up. Rooster wouldn't want you to wither away in this house. He'd want you to be happy." Jake says, taking your hands in his.

You don't know why, but your heart quickens in your chest.

"I know he would want me to be happy, but what if I can't love anyone again? What if no one ever loves me again? I mean, I'm a thirty-two year old widow with a baby. Who's going to want that?" You tell him.

"Sweetheart, don't be so hard on yourself." Jake says, cupping your face and wiping away a stray tear.

"Any guy would be lucky to date you. You're smart, hard working, beautiful, an amazing mother, and one of the strongest people I know." He tells you earnestly.

You meet his eyes and feel the emerald orbs looking deep into your soul. You can tell he is being truthful, his words sparking joy in your heart, but there's something else there, just behind his smile.

You aren't sure what possessed you to do it, but before either of you can process it, you're in Jake's lap, connecting your lips with his.

His arms wrap around you, one hand splayed across your lower back, the other griping at the base of your neck as you kiss him with fervor.

It's a hot, passionate mix of teeth and tongue.

You can feel him growing harder through the fabric of your sleep shorts and his pants as you grind down on him.

You reach for the hem of his shirt, and that's when his brain finally catches up with him and he pulls away.

"Honey—Honey stop." Jake says pushing you back slightly.

"What's wrong? You ask him, slightly out of breath.

"Honey, I don't want to take advantage of you while you're like this." He tells you, tucking a stray piece of hair being your ear.

"You aren't taking advantage of me." You tell him.

"Jake, please, I want this. I need you." You breathe out.

Before he can think about it too long, Jake's lips are back on yours, and he is picking you up to carry you to your bedroom.

You gasp as he lifts you, giving him a chance to slot his tongue in your mouth.

You're both nearly naked by the time you lays you on your bed. He takes his time with you. Bring you over the edge twice with his mouth and fingers before he even thinks about entering you.

"Honey, I don't have any protection." He says when you try to pull him on top of you.

"I'm on birth control. I have been since Nick was born." You tell him.

He looks back at you, laying on the bed, hair fanned out, body flush. You looked amazing.

Jake's mind was racing. Was he really about to sleep with his dead best friend's wife in the bed Rooster once slept in?

In the back of his mind, the angel on his shoulder told him it was wrong, but the sounds you made when he kissed you and touched you made it feel so right.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Jake slid into you slowly. He cared for you as he passionately made love to you.

He knew that tomorrow you would come to your senses and this would never happen again, so tonight he planned to enjoy every moment of it.

You came with a breathy gasp of his name, something he's sure would haunt his deepest fantasies for years to come.

After he helped clean the two of you up and began to gather his clothes. But you stopped him. "Stay." You muttered, and how could he not.

The next morning, he woke up in a panic, but you soothed him, stating that you didn't regret anything and he didn't either.

He searched your eyes for any indication that you didn't want this, didn't want him.

If he had any sense, he would have run out of there. But the way you were looking at him, he couldn't deny his attraction to you. If he had been stronger, he would have said how wrong this was, but Jake Seresin was a weak man.

He couldn't believe that he was considered dating his wingman's widow. He shouldn't have given in. Temptation always had consequences, but if it meant he could be with you, he was prepared for them, whatever they may be.

Then came the talks of where to go from here. You agreed that whatever you were should say between the two of you for now.

But after two months of being together, you finally told everyone. They were instantly supportive of your blossoming relationship, claiming Rooster would want you to be happy.

Things seemed to finally be looking up for you after so much darkness.

Soon, it was Nick's first birthday. Everyone was there to celebrate him, the house decked out in "TOP ONE" decorations.

You brought the airplane cake you had specially made out for him. Lighting the candle, everyone began to sing before you helped little Nick blow it out and make a wish.

Penny was taking pictures, and you were too distracted to notice that Jake had gotten down on one knee until he tapped your back.

Everyone gasped and smiled, waiting for your answer, but before you could say anything, you were interrupted by the voice of a ghost.

"Hangman, what the fuck is going on here?"

Tag List: @dreamingathighaltitude @shanimallina87 @luckyladycreator2 @mak-32 @katieshook02 @samhapner6 @rosiahills22 @thedroneranger @roosterforme @youlightmeupfinn @withahappyrefrain @arson-tm @sebsxphia @potato-girl99981

Sorry for the trauma, babes! If you want to be added to the tag list, let me know. Also, likes are great, but reblogs and comments are golden!

[saltsicklover]

Title: Not a Cyclone, But a Monsoon

Part 2 of 2 - Completed

Find Part 1 HERE, and my Master List HERE

A request based off of THIS prompt, from the lovely @inkandarsenic

Romantic Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Fem!Reader Past Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Fem!Reader

Platonic Pairing: Beau "Cyclone" Simpson x Fem!Reader

A few uses of Y/N

Word Count: This part: 14k+ Total Fic:20k+

Rating: R

Warnings: Talks of death, minor character deaths, labor, loss of a child in utero, abandonment, drinking, talks of God and destiny, swearing, general military talk and lingo, descriptions of food and eating, coughing fits, talks of violence, actual violence, blood, vomit and throwing up, mention of near death experiences. ANGST

---

I DO NOT CONSENT FOR MY WORK TO BE REPOSTED OR TRANSLATED

Miramar, California. TOP GUN. The weekend before the organization of the Dagger Squad.

A cellphone is tucked between Monsoon's cheek and shoulder, the line trilling. She carries her duffle bags and kit, feeling like a battering ram as she makes her way through the crowd of people. The airport is packed and she can feel just how humid it is form how sticky she feels.

The hallways of the airport wind as she follows the crowd out of the baggage claim. The people around her move just a bit too slowly as they wheel their bags behind them, just begging for someone to trip over them if they dare pass. If there is one thing Monsoon did not miss about being at Top Gun, it's the trip in.

Fuck flying coach.

Fuck PSC Season and all of the families taking all the seats on the military flights.

Fuck the crying lady sitting next to her, who wouldn't stop sobbing at the shitty romcom she was watching, and fuck when she decided to start it over, just to watch it all over again.

But the best thing about coming back has to be seeing her surrogate father, Beau Simpson. Their relationship has only grown stronger since that night at the bar. They have spent countless meals together, drinking at bars when they are in the same place and always sending 'check in' emails. Phone calls have always been a bit dodgy between time zones and deployments.

Neither one knew exactly what they were getting into when the bond between them grew, neither really sure exactly what a parent/child relationship looks like, especially when the child is really an unrelated adult. But as the days went on, and the email chain got longer and longer, things seemed to just make sense.

The pair talked about everything, from work to dating, friendships and recipes. Cyclone opened up about June and their baby, sharing his favorite stories of their marriage. From how they started dating, to the day that June passed, Monsoon heard it all. 

Calla lilies were June's favorite, the only flowers that Beau believes should ever be given to a woman, and Monsoon smiles at the memory of her graduation from Top Gun, and the way Cyclone smiled at her with the bouquet of lilies in his lap.

When Monsoon found herself in Vermont she carved out time to visit June and Baby Boy Simpson at the cemetery. She showed up with two bouquets of calla lilies and a speech to give them. Monsoon cleaned their headstones and laid the flowers delicately across their plots, speaking to them the whole time about herself, and Cyclone, and the world they live in.

Cyclone's phone buzzed in his pocket while in a meeting. When he snuck a peak, he was met with a photo of Monsoon, a light smile adorning her face as she sits just in front of the burial plots. The message read "With Mama June and Bubba, thinking of you, Pops". Cyclone had to excuse himself from the table with tears in his eyes.

As the years went on, the surfaces in Cyclone's office slowly began to fill with more photos of the two of them. The collection of frames started out sophisticated, it really did, but as time went on, the frames became more eclectic, more fun. 

It's juxtaposes the rest of Cyclones office in a way that is almost comical. As he is shouting at someone for their latest fuck up, there are shelves full of silly frames just a few feet away. Cyclone's favorite just so happens to read "Clown College Class President" while Monsoon's favorite is one of those irregular shaped ones, with an oval opening for the photograph.

There is a photo of the two of them tucked in the cockpit of Monsoon's jet. It catches the mechanics off guard every time, but no one dare says a word about it- mostly out of fear that word would get back to Admiral. The photo depicts the two of them at one of those giant truck stops, posing with the large dinosaur sitting out front. She is sat atop of it, like a cowboy, with Cyclone leaning up against it, his shoulder near her thigh. They both wear larger than life smiles as the sun beats down on them. It was a silly thing, really. Both stuck in at little forgotten Air Base in middle America for a flight test, but the pair managed to make the best of it, remembering to take photographs as they went.

There is a postcard folded up in Cyclone's wallet. Once upon a time, it read the catchy saying "Why Not Minot?" printed across the front of it, with a cute little photo of a town square, a little forgotten town in North Dakota. It's one of those bases that people dread being stationed at, that much has always been true, but the little photo on the front of the post card sold a different tale. It wasn't the cutesy saying or the photo that made him keep it, the edges now worn and fibrous. On the back, written in neat blue ink, underneath a little blurb about how there is absolutely nothing to do in North Dakota, the sentence "I love you, Pops" sits next to a scribbly little heart.

The staticky, tolling, phoneline picks up after a few rings as Monsoon pushes around a family with one too many screaming toddlers. They have on those little backpack leashes and Monsoon almost gets close lined as a little dark haired child bursts in front of her without warning. She dodged, but she catches one of those damn rolling bags with her toe. Monsoon barely notices the glare the lady sent her way, but the lack luster wrath of a stranger isn't going to stop her.

"Hey, Kid," Cyclone greets over the line, the smile on his face evident through the sound of his voice. There is no need for an official "hello" to begin the conversation, both knowing full well that Cyclone had been watching the flight itinerary like a hawk to make sure Monsoon wasn't going to be delayed. The call upon landing is just expected at this point, though neither of them have mastered the cool,casual, its good to see you.

"I just landed," A woman walks right into one of the duffle bags hanging off of Monsoon's shoulders, throwing her completely off balance. She hikes the bag higher up on her shoulder, trying to rebalance the hefty weight she is carrying. Monsoon sways like she is at sea, attempting to get her balance back. There is something so familiar about the way she sways a bit, just like the jet carriers do as the waves bash against the metal of the hull.

"Fuck" she curses under her breath, steadying herself once again. For a Seaman, one might think Monsoon would have better balance. Cyclone rolls his eyes on the other side of the phone. "I'll be over for dinner tonight, if that's still the plan,"

"Sure is, I'm making your favorite,"

"Steak and potatoes are your favorite," Monsoon corrects.

"You can correct me without the side of guilt, you know," Cyclone is chuckling through the phone, earning him a roll of the eyes.

"I only meant to tease," There is a nonchalance to her voice, though she is the furthest thing from cool. Cyclone isn't either. His kid is coming home and they get to sit down for a meal for the first time in months and he is beyond excited.

"I'm going to drop my stuff off at my rental, then I'll be headed your way, you better be ready for me to eat enough for a small village," Monsoon heads right for the exit, ready to look for a taxi. "And Pops, maybe think about adding a-" The word "vegetable" fails to make it's way out of her mouth as Monsoon looks up as the double doors in front of her slide open. Cyclone is standing on the other side, a large sign reading "WELCOME HOME KIDDO" sits loosely in his hand, the other holds his phone up to his ear.

It's like one of those cheesy scenes from a movie, both wearing matching grins and laughing. Cyclone knew the whole thing would be a surprise; he took a leave day to make sure he would bet there to pick her up.

"Pops!" The name still makes Cyclone's heart swell, even if he had been responding to that very name for the past few years. It's funny, really, how easy it was for the pair to adjust to the name, though Monsoon waited for him to acknowledge it first before she actually said it.

The acknowledgement came from a recorded phone message, shortly after her first move after her Top Gun Graduation. Cyclone got stuck in on the highway with a dead car and no cellphone. The call came in from a payphone, an unknown number. Cyclone left a message, "Hey, kid, it's Pops, my car died and I am stranded. I could use an assist. Do you know anyone in Missouri?". That message is still saved on Monsoon's phone to this day.

"Hey, Kiddo!" And then Monsoon is stumbling closer, her bags swinging her center of gravity all over the place. He reaches a hand out to take one, ready to throw it over his shoulder, but instead, each one hits the pavement with a hard thud. Monsoon is quickly wrapping her arms around his body, one over his shoulder, one under his arm, meeting around his back and squeezing him hard.

The hug is returned in kind, both damn near trying to squeeze each other to death. It's playful, as they share "good to see you's" and "I've missed you's" .

"I hope you don't mind, Kid, but I invited another one of the recruits to dinner tonight," He speaks the words into her hair. Monsoon pulls back to look up at her Pops with furrowed brows. She doesn't have to say a thing, he already knows exactly what is going through her mind.

"I know it's unorthodox, but, Kazansky said it might be a good idea, and when the good Admiral says something like that, you set another place at the table,"

"Yeah, unorthodox is definitely a word for it," Monsoon is pulling out of Cyclone's embrace, dipping to grab her discarded bags from the pavement. Cyclone grabs one before she can, which earns him a roll of her eyes.

"Be nice, would you?"

"To you or the mystery guest?" Her words are dripping with sarcasm.

"Preferably both," Cyclone chides, poking her in the side with the welcome home sign. She swats it away with a quick hand, both laughing.

"I'll see what I can do,"

---

The sun is setting over the horizon, painting the sky orange with wisps of pink the lower it sinks behind the curve of the Earth. Monsoon is spread out on one of the lawn chairs, relaxing, well, more like waiting out her Pops' little outburst. She had opened the grill to check on the steak, making sure the edges wouldn't be too crispy, and Cyclone all but snapped the lid shut in the middle of her investigation. He banished her to the other side of the patio to wait for the food to finish cooking. Then, and only then, would she be allowed to touch the grill again.

If there is one thing to be true, Cyclone has a method when it comes to grilling. Monsoon had it all explained to her the first time he grilled for the pair of them. He has it down to a science, all from the temperature and the kind of charcoal to use, to the length of marinating time and spices to make even the worst cut of meat from the Commissary the most perfect dinner.

And Monsoon couldn't exactly tell him he was wrong. After all, every single thing Beau had ever placed in front of her tasted delicious, delectable even. Not only that, but Monsoon really couldn't have done it better if she tried. Her Pops wouldn't let her try, either, but that is beside the point.

Soon, everything is pulled off the grill and the pair are inside, Monsoon tasked with setting the table. All of the windows are open, the evening breeze cooling the inside of the house. As she places another fork down, Monsoon takes in the way the breeze dances across her skin. Goosebumps threaten to crest over her exposed arms at the chill the air carries. In that moment, she is thankful for the California air, the smell of the freshly made sides sitting in the center of the table, and the fact that she is setting the table in her Pops' house.

It has been too long since the pair got to sit together and share a meal. Cups of coffee over video chat were no where near as nice and Monsoon couldn't lie, she missed Cyclone's cooking. As she sets down the last knife, Cyclone is bounding down the stairs. His causal jeans and t-shirt have been replaced by a nice pair of brown slacks and a cream polo shirt, tucked in with a belt. He's even sporting loafers.

"Hey Pops, there is something I want to talk to you about tonight," Monsoon shouts down the hall. She tries to shake the bit of nerves rumbling through her chest like a handful of loan bees.

"Okay, kiddo," Cyclone calls back as he is rounding the corner into the kitchen, "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine, promise,"

"Okay," It's a simple response as he walks further into the kitchen. He pats her on the shoulder as he passes, a loving gesture.

"Got a hot date?" Monsoon chides as she looks him up and down. She sets the bundle of flatware down on the table, crossing her arms over her chest.

"No," Cyclone is shaking his head, fighting the urge to roll his eyes at her words. "We are having company tonight, remember?"

"Oh, I remember, but I didn't think some random Lieutenant, that is only coming over because the good Admiral all but ordered him to, was someone worth dressing up for."

There is a shrug of her shoulders as her head sways down nonchalantly. Cyclone crosses his arms, mirroring his kid, with a stern look on his face. It's a look that Monsoon isn't used to seeing out of uniform. Maybe it should worry her, but the vein that would usually protrude from his forehead is nowhere to be seen.

"Remember, kid, you too are just 'some random Lieutenant'" Those words stir a bit of anger within Monsoon, but it dissipates as fast as it came.

"Well then, Admiral Simpson, sir," Monsoon stands up a bit straighter, dropping her hands to her sides, "Let me find something more presentable to wear for the strange man who's crashing out family dinner," She grimaces a bit, but they both laugh. Beau is just laughing, in that way that make's his whole body shake, his eyes scrunched closed while whole hearted giggles escape his lips.

"Go on, kid," He waves in the general direction of the hallway, towards the front of the house where she dropped her bags by the front door.

The zipper of her duffle bag slide open easily, the separation of the teeth vibrating her fingertips. Monsoon fishes out a sun dress and a cropped sweater, something to keep her warmer as the sun sets below the horizon. It's a nice enough combination, something that will surly look like she gives a fuck about her appearance without looking like she planned too much. Monsoon changes out of her sweat shorts and t-shirt in the half bath, emerging looking like a brand new woman, though the feeling  of the plane still lingers on her skin.

Just as she is stuffing her travel clothing back into her bag, the doorbell sounds throughout the house, the bells tolling just a bit too loud.

"Jeez, Pops, could that doorbell be any louder?" Monsoon is yelling just as she reaches for the door. She pulls it open with a swift movement, a smile on her face. Then it falls as soon as she sees who is standing on the other side of the threshold.

Clad in a button down shirt, one with a pattern that would rival any rodeo clown, with one too many buttons undone stands Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw; a man she hasn't seen since a deployment five years ago, about six months after she graduated from Top Gun.

There is a gold chain hanging around his neck. It's just long enough to graze over the tops of his collar bones. His shirt is untucked, the bottom a bit wrinkly, like he has tucked and untucked it a couple of times trying to decide which looked better. He made the wrong choice, by Monsoon's calculation, the patterned shirt covering the top of his dark khakis. He looks a bit silly, really, from the chain down to his boat shoes. The thing that catches her the most off guard though, is the fucking mustache he has decorating, no, vandalizing his upper lip.

Her own mouth hangs open just a bit, her hand tightening it's grip on the door handle. Bradley shoots her that mega wat smile, that million dollar, dentist office poster smile- the one that made her swoon all those years ago. But now, now it makes her fucking angry. Or maybe it's resentment that she feels boiling up inside of her, steaming her insides with a sort of sick feeling that she hasn't felt in years.

The last time this strange, queasy feeling flowed through her she was wrapped up in the white sheets of her mattress on an aircraft carrier, somewhere out in the pacific. Her naked body feeding off of the warmth of spot that Rooster once occupied. When she awoke, there was a feeling of contentment that spread over her skin, until she reached over to find the spot next to her cold.

Their deployment relationship ended with a fucking post it note, "Duty Calls" is all it read, scribbled down in a mess of black ink, the pen itself skipping. Hell, the pen couldn't even bother to work long enough to get a complete message through- their relationship simmered down to nothing more than steamy nights together in a twin size bunk while the ocean waves rocked against the carrier.

The contentment drained from Monsoon faster than than the anger could take over, and for a moment there was nothingness in the spaces between her ribs.

And now, Bradley fucking Bradshaw is standing on her Pops' front porch, smiling at her like nothing has ever happened between them, holding a bottle of wine, and somehow she is just supposed to let him in!

"Hello," He scratches at the back of his neck, his brows pinched together just the slightest bit. "Is this Admiral Simpson's house?"

Words are caught in the back of Monsoon's throat, each individual letter sticking her in the esophagus. Monsoon stands there looking at Bradley, each growing a bit more uncomfortable as the seconds go by. But, she is on the inside of the doorjamb, she has the upper hand. Just as she goes to slam the door in his fucking ugly mustache, Cyclone catches the door.

"Mr. Bradshaw!" Beau booms, his tone friendly as he sends Monsoon a what the fuck look. She pinches the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, though it does nothing to relieve the rapidly growing headache that's taking over her skull.

"Come in, come in!" Cyclone practically ushers Bradley into the house. "This is my daughter, Y/N Mitchell, she is in the new Top Gun class as well!"

Beau is doing his best to defuse the tension in the room, between Monsoon's anger, and Bradley's overall discomfort from being in an Admiral's house, the vibes are askew. Bradley crinkles his brows at the information and Beau quickly jumps in with a chuckle, "No relation, but I claim her anyway. Introduce yourself, Son,"

"Brad-"

"We already know each other,"

The pair speak at the same time. Monsoon's tone is full of distain, like the words taste bitter and unforgiving on her tongue. She pushes past Bradley's outstretched hand and past Cyclone. Bradley can't help the fact that his face twists up in confusion as he wracks his brain trying to figure out where exactly he knew her. 

The woman's definitely too upset to be a recent fling- hell, Bradley hasn't even managed to bring a girl back to his place in such a long time. Deployment really limited his prospects and she sure wasn't on the mission he just finished. 

"Please, this way," Cyclone guides Bradley back to the kitchen, taking the bottle of wine from the younger man. They follow the path Monsoon took, down the hall and back to the large kitchen. She is standing at the sink, her hands braced on the counter top.

"Make yourself at home, Mr. Bradshaw. If you'll excuse me, I have to speak with my daughter for a second." Cyclone is moving before Bradley can acknowledge him. So, Bradley pretends to be very interested in the view just outside the kitchen window.

"What the hell, kid?" Cyclone carefully grabs Monsoon's elbow, leaning in just a little bit closer to fake some sort of privacy. He sets the bottle of wine on the counter. With all the tension blooming in the air around them, Cyclone decides alcohol is the last thing they need. 

"It's complicated, Pops, just leave it be, okay?" Monsoon is running a hand through her hair, a shallow attempt to ground herself. "I can play nice for one dinner,"

"What the hell happened between you two? And it's not just one dinner, it's the next few weeks."

That fact is met with a grumble from Monsoon. It took her only a few seconds to convince herself that she would be able to make it though a dinner, but the idea of having to see Bradley fucking Bradshaw every day for the foreseeable future had a mixture of nausea and frustration swirling through her. 

"Pops, trust me, this really isn't something you are going to want to hear about, nor do I feel like discussing it in your kitchen, at a whisper, while the man who doesn't even seem to fucking remember me is only a few feet away! No thank you," Monsoon pushes past Cyclone once more, picking up the bowl of salad from the kitchen island and bringing it over to the table. Cyclone is hot on her tail, speaking lowly after her.

"Y/N" That gets her to stop, Beau never uses her first name, "We are not finished discussing this,"

"After supper then," The words leave her tongue sharp, but they are met with a nod of approval. Then Cyclone is moving, ready for the night to move on as planned. 

"Mr. Bradshaw!" Cyclone is turning his attention back to their guest, a makeshift smile plastered to his face, "Please, take a seat, I am just going to grab the food off the grill,"

And then Cyclone is disappearing out the back door, leaving Monsoon and Rooster alone, the room already threatening to burst from the rapidly accumulating tension. Monsoon chances a look at Bradley as she finished setting out the flatware that had been left abandoned earlier, suddenly a little bit glad that her Pops hinted at her to change clothes. She looks good, that much she knows, if only it mattered at this point.

Maybe, if it mattered, Bradley would look at her and realize just how much he walked out on. Maybe he would see the way Cyclone cares for her, and their little family that they've created and know that he threw away his chance to be apart of it. If only he could see just how happy she is now- yet he doesn't even fucking recognize her, and that makes her heart burn like cheap kerosene. It's like gulping down saltwater, the feeling of being forgotten, drowning right out in the open for everyone to see.

As Monsoon is drowning in thoughts of Bradley, he is just trying to remember her.

Bradley takes in the slope of her nose and the freckles that are smattered across her legs. His eyes wander over the frizzy bits of her hair, down the line of her shoulder and ending at the tips of her fingers. The way that she glances at him, her face still turned down as she adjusts the table settings, strikes him as familiar- but in a far off sense of the word. Familiar in the way his own face is reminiscent of his father's. 

His father, Goose, and Maverick... Pete Mitchell... Mitchell!

"Mitchell?" Bradley breaks the silence, his gaze  a bit wider, still locked on her downturned face. Monsoon's eyes shoot up at the name, locking with his dark brown eyes. They bore into her the same way they always had and a part of her aches. 

"Are you-" The breath he sucks into his lungs burns a bit with hazy memory, "Are you Pete Michell's kid?"

An audible, pained groan leaves Monsoon's throat at the question. 

"Not anymore," Are the only words she can manage, the flames of anger licking at her legs.

"But you were, once?" There is almost a ribbon of hope laces somewhere in his tone, but Monsoon pays it no mind. She walks away from the table, keeping her back to Bradley as she attempts to calm the heat of rage that's licking at her legs. 

Why couldn't Bradley just ask her about normal things? Why aren't they talking about work, their partners, their friends. Hell, he could hit on her at this point and it would go over better. 

If he wanted to talk about Maverick- Pete Michell, there were countless times when they were tangled up together in blankets, in the dark save for the crack of light breaking into the room from under the doorway.

He could have asked as they scurried up the stairs of the carrier, their gear smacking against their chests as they ran. Bradley could have asked then, as they bounded out into the early morning, salt soaked air.

Hell, Bradley could have asked over coms, high in the air as the wind whistled past their wings. They were just test flights after all, no enemy to contend with. He could have asked her then.

But he didn't.

"That was a very long time ago," She's turning to the fridge, pulling a pitcher of lemonade out. The sigh that leaves her lips is nothing but tension attempting to escape from the confines of her chest. It doesn't work, and Bradley doesn't catch the hint to just shut the fuck up and leave it be.

"We knew each other, right? When we were kids?" The question catches Monsoon off guard, almost as much as his initial presence did. She wants to laugh, really she does, at the ridiculousness of the situation. 

He didn't remember that fact when they met on the carrier five years ago, and Monsoon tried not to let that bother her, especially when he was buried inside of her, moaning filthy things into her ear. But now? Now he remembers. But somewhere, the memory of their torrid love affair escapes the great mind of Bradley Bradshaw.

"Oh, for fucks sake,"

Though the whole thing is laughable; Bradley isn't laughing. He's holding his breath, too caught up in the scene in front of him, in the soreness of his chest and the way his heart thrums against the backside of his ribcage. 

Fuck how his chest aches. 

There is this part of his past, this piece that he once knew like the back of his hand, that's just in reach now- again, and Monsoon is laughing at him. The memory of her was erased with the sounding of artillery, the three volley's fired into the air. And now, he craves this memory like he craves the memory of his father, the pieces of his innocence having crumbling into his hands like ash.

It still stains his hands that sickly blackish gray, gritty against his skin, though he is the only one that can see it.

The sliding door opens once more and Cyclone is slipping though, holding a large platter of steak in his hand, the meat is grilled to perfection and he looks proud. Bradley looks at Monsoon with furrowed brows, questioning the words that she let slip past her lips. Cyclone steps between them, setting the plate of meat down on to the dinner table, more than enough food to go around.

"Please, Y/N, come and join us," Cyclone is pulling out a seat right next to Bradley, offering it to her. Reluctantly, she pads over, taking a seat next to Bradley who can't seem to take his eyes off of her face. He runs his hands up and down his pant legs, more out of anxiety than anything else. Cyclone takes a seat across from the pair, a tight smile on his face. 

In any other world, it may look like a child introducing their significant other to their father, the way the tension hangs in the air between the trio. Cyclone awkwardly dishes himself servings of the food before passing it to Monsoon, who does the same before placing it down next to her, leaving Bradley to fend for himself. It's petty, that's true, but to Monsoon, it's a small act of defiance. A small fuck you for not remembering her, or the nights they spent together.

The Admiral knows something is going on right under his nose, just out of his understanding. He can see it in the way Monsoon shifts awkwardly in her seat while Bradley's gaze gets overly friendly with the plate in front of him. There's a question on the tip of his tongue, "kid, is Bradley your boyfriend?" but he knows better than to ask it. As he observes longer, he takes in the way his daughter tilts her shoulders just a little further away from Bradley, the arm closest to him resting elbow down on the table. The moment Cyclone notices the unpassed dishes sitting between the pair, he just knows. 

"So," Cyclone clears his throat, "Are you two excited to be back at Top Gun?"

It's a reasonable question, very middle of the road. Monsoon opens her mouth to answer, but Bradley beats her to it.

"Yes, sir. It's good to be back stateside. Hell, it's good to be back on solid ground. I've been stuck on a carrier for the past nine months and I was beginning to lose my mind!" He's chuckling now, and Beau joins in right along side him, the deep chuckles of the men filling the air. "But you know how it can get on the carriers. It's hard to pass the time, no going to the bar with friends, no dating,"

Then, Monsoon's fork hits her plate with a metallic clank against the glass. No dating, yeah, right. Out of all of the things Monsoon pegged Bradley to be, a liar was not one of them, but then again not much could surprise her after the way he left. 

"How about you, kid?"

"To be determined, Pops," The answer is genuine, spoken through grit teeth. 

Maybe she shouldn't be so upset with Bradley's lack of remembrance for her. After all, it's not always the wrong time with the right person. Or the wrong place. Sometimes it's wrong, maybe he just didn't like her that much- more a deployment fling to get him through the lonely nights than a future. 

"Well, I am excited you're back," Cyclone returns her direction, but Monsoon just shoves a fork full of salad into her mouth.

"Sir, can I ask what exactly they called us back for? And are there more of us?" Bradley asks between bites, his fork and knife busy against his plate.

"I am not obliged to share much, but I can tell you that fifteen of you have been called back, from varying Top Gun classes." The explanation leaves something to be desired, but both recruits are nodding on the other side of the table. Bradley eats another bite of steak, complimenting Cyclone on his grilling; Monsoon is just pushing the food around on her plate with the tines of her fork. It's easier than finding the appetite that was lost somewhere between the front door and the kitchen after Bradley's arrival.

"Are you teaching us this go around, Pops?" Monsoon's question is spoken quietly, in the middle of Bradley's sentence about his own grilling technique- there is no remorse for the interruption.

At her words, Cyclone visibly stiffens, his fork stilling on his plate. Then he's setting it down, eyes still locked with his plate. With a huff and a lick of his lips he looks across the table, met with two pairs of curious eyes. He knew this was going to be hard, but he didn't expect it to be quite like this. 

"No, I'm not teaching," Cyclone takes another breathe, unsure who to make eye contact with, knowing the words he's about to say are not going to be received well, by either one of them. "We- Top Gun has decided to bring in-"

The doorbell is ringing loudly through the house, startling Cyclone in his seat. It breaks though the tension like a fucking bullet, the whole thing blasting apart on impact. The trio trade glances that last milliseconds, like someone just knows whos going to be standing on the other side of that door.

"I'll get it, Pops," Monsoon is already pushing out of her seat, placing her napkin next to her plate. She is a bit too eager to get away from the tension surrounding that table, not only from her question but from the way Bradley is basically staring out of the corner of his eye. Though she can't exactly see it happening, she can feel it- the way his eyes are boring into the side of her head, almost burning. She will take anyone being on the other side of that door if it means she doesn't have to sit in Bradley's swimming gaze any longer. 

"No, you stay, I'll get it," Cyclone corrects, "You stay and chat,"

Then, Cyclone is pushing away from the table, heading right for the front door. He gives his daughter no time to protest. Cyclone leaves the slowly rebuilding tension behind him, and Monsoon is stuck having to sit back down, next to Bradley, left to simmer in it.

"We did know each other, right?" Bradley is quick to ask the moment Cyclone rounds the corner. It's a speed he's not used to- too used to sitting and waiting for the perfect timing that just doesn't come. But this isn't something he's willing to wait on, it's just something he has to know.

"Yes, Bradley, we knew each other. But that was a long time ago," Monsoon is shrugging, avoiding his eyes. The words should have hit him harder, from the way they all but flew from her lips, but the impact is almost gentle, like the comfort of them bore the brunt of it all.

"Do you remember my father?" The question is so innocent that it almost hurts; and Monsoon knows just how much throbbing pain there is inside Bradley. After one drunken night while on the carrier, he poured his heart out about his father, about how much he missed him and how he wished- hoped that Goose would have been proud of him. Monsoon sat and listened the to the whole thing, through the tears and drunken hiccups, reassuring Bradley that Goose would be proud of him.

After all, she knewhim, even if that was a million years ago- even if Bradley didn't know it.

She knows he would have been, because Goose was a good man.

A trait that seemed to have skipped over Bradley.

Good men remember their lovers. They remember their old friends. They remember the people who showed up to their mother's funeral- and have the decency to show up to their friends' mother's funeral.  

Good men don't leave women in the dead of night, a break up message scrawled on a sticky note. They don't leave their friends to grieve alone. They don't forget. 

"Yes, I remember him," Monsoon chances a glance at Bradley, unintentionally meeting his eyes. God, he's looking at her like she holds the fucking secrets to the universe and all she can feel is a sort of twisted up sickness, like her sternum is bound together with poisoned ropes. Bradley can see the stars that cling to her fingertips, the secrets to the cosmos, but can't seem to find the words to beg for their translation.

Cyclone is walking back into the room a second later, accompanied by another set of footsteps. Neither Monsoon nor Bradley look up when they walk in, both too busy staring at each other. Bradley looks curious, Monsoon looks hurt. 

She looks away first. 

A tall blond walks in behind Cyclone, his gaze focused on a set of files in his hand. He's reading over the top file carefully, running his free hand through his cropped hair. There is a toothpick in his mouth, resting between his teeth. Dressed in his tan uniform, his biceps are straining against the cuffs.

He's a Stetson model type, clean cut and masculine. The line of his jaw accentuated by the clean lines of his uniform. His jaw ticks with frustration as his brows furrow at the paperwork. There appears to be a word on the tip of his tongue by the way the toothpick bobs between his plump lips.

"Hey, guys, sorry for that, this is-" Cyclone swings his hand, introduction interrupted by twin gasps.

"Jake?!"

"Hangman?"

Hangman isn't sure who to look at first, but his eyes meet Bradley's form first, his eyebrows knitting together at the familiar face before shooting to his hairline when his eyes land on Monsoon sitting next to Bradley.

"Y/N, Doll! What are you doing here?"

Cyclone is whipping his head around in the way he might flip a jet. And Monsoon is pushing out of her chair again, ready to round the table and throw herself into the arms of the strong, blond man who just walked in, but her eyes meet the bewildered look on Cyclone's face, causing her to halt her movements. Hangman sets the paperwork down on the kitchen island, his eyes still locked on Monsoon, that damn smirk of his playing on his lips. Monsoon can tell he is holding himself back, fully aware of exactly who's house he is standing in, and the relationship between Monsoon and the Admiral.

It's been months since they've seen each other. Their goodbyes were said on the front porch of his little rental outside of Lake Hurst. Neither of them relished being in New Jersey, but they had each other and that's all that had mattered. They fostered a brand new relationship over a year, neither of them brave enough to label the nights spent together in that house. 

Then new orders came down the pipeline, on a TS Need-To-Know. The pair were being separated with the flick of a pen. So, they labelled their year long relationship through tears standing on his stoop, the night the orders came down the channel. 

They packed Jake's small house, and Monsoon's apartment, neither one knowing just what was to come. In the name of a temporary duty station, they got storage units next to each other, the closest thing to living together they'd be able to swing. 

That was six months ago. 

Monsoon did a little time in Pensacola while Jake got sent to Oak Harbor. Thousands of miles apart, their dates turned from late night dinners to quick conversations over the phone just to hear the other's voice. 

Neither of them expected their reunion to be here, in Admiral Simpson's kitchen, with Bradley Bradshaw and the Admiral watching the whole thing, confused expressions written into their features. 

"I got recalled to Top Gun!" Monsoon giggles a bit, her gaze still trapped with Hangman's.

"Me too!" The words leave Jake's lips and the pair are smiling. It's taking everything for them to hold themselves back from embracing each other, after months apart. Then, Cyclone is clearing his throat.

"Pops," Monsoon begins, clasping her hands in front of her, "God, this is weird. Remember earlier this evening when I said I wanted to talk to you about something?"

She had fully been intending on telling her Cyclone about her relationship with Hangman, in fact, she had been working up the courage for the past few weeks. But, Jake comes with a record, a reputation, and a respect problem, things Monsoon knows her Pops won't approve of. 

"What's going on? Is everything okay?" The words are leaving Cyclone's lips almost too quick, but Monsoon is quick to reassure him that it is.

"Well, this isn't exactly how I saw this going, but, Pops, I'd like you to meet my boyfriend, Jake Seresin," Monsoon is gesturing to Jake now, a worried smile on her face. The pair know each other, of course they do. They had met the first time Hangman went through Top Gun. Cyclone was on instructor duty and Hangman didn't take overly well to being instructed; though he did finish top of his class. 

Monsoon bobs up and down on the balls of her feet, the nervous energy flowing through her body. If she could push all the energy out of her and into the floor she would. Her soles grounding the electric current flowing through her, unapologetic and lightning hot. Monsoon would stand there in front of the three men who have played such a large roll in her life, back straight and eyes forward like the Navy trained her to do, if only she could coral that fucking energy and send it straight through the floor.

Monsoon bounces instead.

If she had the time, she could have prevented the look that crosses Cyclone's face. That look of you're not good enough for my kid that is so evident on his features. She knows that Jake saw it, clear as day from the way he almost winces. Everyone in that room knows the reputation that Hangman wears like a neon sign. The "voted biggest player" social life with the stellar callsign, the pilot known for leaving his wingman hanging, acting alone- selfish.

So much for putting off telling Cyclone; so much for easing him into the news. 

Bradley is watching the whole exchange from his seat with his eyebrows raised, like a fucking soap opera but the whole spectacle's happening in real time. He lets his eyes shift from person to person, taking it all in. Monsoon looks hopeful, though she is waiting with baited breath for her Pops to blow a fucking gasket. Jake, on the other hand, looks absolutely cool. Though he is the reason for the interruption, and for the impromptu introduction, he is impossibly collected. Then, Bradley's eyes shift to Cyclone, who has backed up a few steps. He keeps looking between Monsoon and Hangman, like he is playing some sort of invisible game of connect the dots.

Hangman and his fucking reputation are courting his daughter, and Cyclone really isn't thrilled about the news. 

Though Bradley isn't exactly thrilled to see Hangman here either, he's taking the whole thing in stride, as opposed to Cyclone, but the younger man can't exactly blame him. If it were Bradley getting this major bomb dropped on him, he wouldn't be sitting pretty, either. Bradley is bringing his glass up to his lips, his eyes still flashing between the trio.

"Monsoon-" Cyclone starts, but the sound of coughing interrupts. Bradley is coughing, choking on his water. He attempts to wave a hand, letting everyone know he's okay, but in reality, he's far from it.

Monsoon. The woman he left asleep in her bunk five years ago stands next to him now, and not only that, they fucking grew up together, at least for a little while. And she remembers his Dad, and she's Maverick's kid. And fuck, she's dating Hangman!

Things are moving just a bit too fast, and Bradley can't quite catch his breath between coughing fits. 

The glass is quickly set back onto the kitchen table, but is sent over the edge as Bradley reaches for a napkin. The glass falls in faux slow motion, the liquid flowing from the cup as it hits the hardwood, shattering like a pinprick galaxy upon the floor. Bradley, still coughing, searches the new formation of cosmos on the floor for the answer to all the mixed up bullshit he has found himself in.

"Rooster?" Monsoon pats him harshly on the back, right between his shoulder blades. Then, she is rubbing his back, her hand full of warmth through the thin fabric of his shirt. His skin burns under her touch as he struggles to return his breathing to normal. There's still a knot in the back of his throat made of unsaid words and new revelations that he can't seem to swallow down. 

"Rooster, are you okay?"

Hangman and Cyclone are quick to circle around the table, Hangman taking a knee next to Monsoon, his hand quickly finding her lower back. Cyclone is on the other side of Bradley, the glass crunching under his expensive leather loafers. Bradley is red from all the coughing, but an embarrassed blush still floods his skin from all the attention.

"Mons?" The nickname comes out all scratchy as Rooster wipes a newly formed tears from his eyes. The concerned expression morphs to hold a bit of shock before settling on some sort of mix of frustration and downright sadness. Monsoon tries to school her expression but her eyes still swim with emotion as they are locked with Bradley's.

"Yeah, Roos," Monsoon shoots his nickname right back, a confirmation that all but shakes the world around Bradley. She brings a tender hand up to squeeze his shoulder before pulling back, subconsciously leaning closer to Hangman, into the warmth of his hand on her back. She finds safety in her boyfriend's touch, the warmth of his skin pooling against her through the fabric of her dress. 

The lack of contact makes Rooster feel cold, but the feeling is short lived as Cyclone is grasping at his other shoulder. A swivel of his head and Bradley is met with the furrowed brows of the Admiral.

"Are you okay, Mr. Bradshaw?"

"Yes, sir," Bradley responds, adjusting the collar of his shirt. "I'm so sorry about the glass, please, let me clean it up,"

As Rooster stands, he is pushed back down gently by Cyclone, his hand still on the younger man's shoulder.

"Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it, please," And so Bradley is sitting again, in the center of the standing trio, feeling completely out of place. "As for the two of you, take a seat, we have some things to discuss,"

The sound of chairs being pulled out against the hard wood floor is accompanied by the intense ringing of the doorbell once again. The group look from person to person, once again looking for any clue as to who could be at the front door this time. Cyclone is padding over to the door, the crunching of glass less evident the further away her gets.

Bradley attempts to clear the lump in his throat, now without the luxury of his glass of water. Monsoon takes her untouched glass and slides it closer to Bradley, a barely there smile on her face. Her expression holds more sympathy than anything. Bradley takes the glass with both hands, a little too careful as he brings it up to his lips. 

"Let me get you a plate, okay?" Monsoon speaks to Hangman, her smile clearly wider, brighter, more full of life when it's directed his way. "Pops will give me so much grief if he comes back and that spot isn't set,"

So, Monsoon excuses herself from the table, leaving the men sitting in apprehensive silence. 

With a strong tug from Cyclone, door swings open and there is no time for a 'hello' as the man on the other side is pushing in, a wild look in his eye, a vein on his forehead bulging with frustration.

"We need to talk Simpson," The tone holds misplaced authority. Beau runs cold at the sight of Pete "Maverick" fucking Michell standing in his entryway, looking pissed off enough to catch a charge.

"That's Admiral Simpson to you Captain," Cyclone's teeth are grit so hard they might crack under the pressure of his jaw. "You cannot be here right now,"

The raised hand does nothing to stop Maverick from pushing further into the house. There's a folder in his hand, wrinkling under the closing of his fist. Sweat clings to the Admiral's brow, a vision of the crown of thorns, droplets running down the side of his face. It might as well have been blood from the way his stomach twists as Maverick steps closer to him, pushing the paperwork, right against the center of his chest.

"Do you know who got recruited for this mission, huh?" The words are dripping with venom, "Do you realize who you've chosen for this fucking death wish of a goddamn mission?"

Captain Michell's tone is all accusatory and full fury. He's pushing into Cyclone's chest harder, his knuckles white under the pressure. Cyclone grabs at the older man's wrist, his own knuckles paling as he squeezes.

"Captain, I will not repeat myself, you cannot be here,"

"Who is it, Pops?" Monsoon is calling from around the corner, her voice full of curiosity. Cyclone isn't a praying man, especially after what happened with June and their sweet baby boy, but now Cyclone is praying to every god, every deity that crosses his mind, even those who's names he cannot recall, that his daughter will not walk around the corner to see Pete Mitchell standing in his entry way.

"Nobody, kid, I'll be there in just a moment," He calls before turning his attention back to the man in front of him. He tightens his grip on Pete's wrist before he's wrenching it away from his chest. He pushes it back into Pete's own chest, leaning in close, "My daughter is not to see you here, leave. Now."

One might think Maverick would get the hint, since he pulls his hand from Cyclones grip. But then, Maverick is throwing open the file, pointing at the first page's photo. There is so much frustration in the action, it bounces between the two men like they're sounding boards, building and building.

"See this? Jake "Hangman" Seresin? You really want to send somebody in the sky who has a pension for leaving their wingman? You want to send someone into the air with a guy like him when the mission is already guaranteeing a loss of life?" 

That catches the attention of the trio in the other room. All motion stills as they strain to hear more. 

Wide mouthed, pointed tongue, Maverick is yelling without a care in the world. It doesn't matter who hears as long as Cyclone is hearing it too.

"And how about this," The paper tears as Maverick turns the page, "Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw. You know about his father. You damn well know about Goose and you want to send his son to an early grave too?"

Jaws tick, fists tighten. Cyclone breathes deeply, thinking- choosing his words carefully as the older man continues to scream. It's not beautiful or noble like books would describe. There is no gift from God, no blessing, no one anointed with the ability to see into the future, to see just how this is going to play out. Instead, it's just words exchanged between mortal men, both too damn stubborn to back down with knives to each other's throats.

"And check out these two," Maverick is laughing now, leaning in closer to Cyclone, his breathe reeking of whiskey. Cyclone can see the way Maverick's eyes are bloodshot and weepy as he pushes him back. Sweat coats his skin leaving him clammy to the touch. 

"Natasha "Phoenix" Trace and Robert "Bob" Floyd," Another strangled laugh escapes Captain Mitchell, "You really think this scrawny kid and a woman are up to the task at hand? Really? I can think of at least five better pilots and Wizzos who are better qualified than these two. And look! She's the pilot! Hell, I don't even know how they made it through Top Gun the first time around! The fucking Navy is getting soft."

"It's time for you to go, Captain Mitchell. Sober up. We will discuss this on Monday," Cyclone puts a hand to the older man's shoulder, attempting to usher him out without too much force. Cyclone can't risk Maverick being in his house any longer. He has already been gone too long and his guests are likely getting curious. "Time to go, Pete,"

"But, Cyclone, you haven't even heard the best part," Maverick can barely get the words out through drunken laughter. He's turning the page with clumsy fingers, the paper tearing under his touch.

The trio, Rooster, Monsoon, and Hangman round the corner as Cyclone is attempting to usher Maverick out the front door. They watch as the Maverick stumbles out of Cyclone's grip and further into the house.

"Pops?" Monsoon speaks as the strange man hits the floor, laughing as he does. The file has fallen open, scattering pictures of the newest Top Gun brain child called The Dagger Squad. They sit scattered all over the entry way like freshly fallen snow. Her eyes go to the paper that falls near her feet. 

"Well if it isn't the prodigal child," Maverick speaks, pushing himself further off the floor. "How many strings did you have to pull to get your own daughter onto the squad? Are you trying to send this kid to an early grave like the last one?"

The three Daggers stand speechless. Monsoon is quickly folded under Hangman's arm, her face pressed into his chest. Rooster stands just off to the side of them, his eyes flashing to Monsoon. 

The arguing doesn't stop.

"Shut your mouth," Cyclone spits, "You don't know a goddamn thing,"

Maverick stumbles to his feet, standing up at straight as possible to get into Cyclone's face, just to taunt the younger man.

"See, Admiral, that's not true, now is it? You and I both know that she isn't actually yours and this would be an easy way to get rid of her, right? Send her back to-"

His words are met with a swift punch to the face, the cartilage of his nose crunching under Cyclone's knuckles. The punch feels good, like it had been coming for a long, long time. Like it had been building within Beau Simpson for years, every single time Maverick missed out on a celebration of the amazing life Monsoon is leading. For every birthday, every graduation, every reenlistment and promotion ceremony, Maverick missed it all, and the rage built inside Cyclone. Now, it finally came out, popped like a Champaign cork, blood instead of the fizzy alcohol dotting itself over Cyclone's entryway.

A warm hand slips into Monsoon's; Bradley stepped closer, clutching onto her. He recognized Pete Mitchell the moment he got a clear view, both his anger and anxiety flaring. Bradley squeezed her hand once, nice and strong, before dropping it once more, stepping in front of her and Hangman.

"Captain Mitchell," Bradley begins, his voice firm, full of hurt.

The words make Monsoon's head spin. She leans away from her boyfriend's chest to get a better look at the bloody faced man and it sends a chill down her spine. Her Dad who she hasn't seen in years is now standing in a room full of people who can't fucking stand his existence. It's a fucking miracle that all he has is a bloody nose.

"Bradley," Pete spits a little bit of blood as he speaks, looking up at the younger man. He reaches a hand out, but it's dodged. "It's good to see you, son,"

"I'm not your son. It's time for you to go," Bradley is ready to grab Pete Mitchell by the collar and haul him out of the house. He's ready to throw him onto the lawn and leave him there to spit blood and sober up enough until he can walk himself home. Bradley has his own selfish reasons, his own grudge against the Captain, and now would be as good a time as any to feed into that frustration that he's been stewing in for years.

"I'm calling Admiral Kazansky," Cyclone declares to the room, then he's spinning on his heel the moment Bradley takes a step closer, clearly putting himself between Maverick and Monsoon.

The Admiral is ordering Hangman to move, to take his daughter anywhere else so that she doesn't have to see any more of the disaster that the night has turned out to be. He doesn't want her to see him throw Maverick out- hell, he didn't want her to see him punch the older man, but there's no going back in time. 

As much as Cyclone wishes he could have protected her from this, he couldn't. One can't stop a speeding bullet, as they say, and the shot had already been fired the moment he pulled open the front door. And as much as he doesn't want to, Cyclone has to trust Hangman with his daughter, he just has to, now. 

So, Hangman is all but carrying Monsoon away as she fights to stay put. She misses the order from her Pops, her blood thrumming too loudly through her ears. Hangman takes her through the house, dodging the pile of glass still glittering on the hardwood in the kitchen, hauling her out the backdoor and right to his truck. Monsoon flights the whole time, though it's unclear as to her reason to want to say behind.

The pair are pulling away from the house as Bradley and Beau are hauling Maverick out to the front lawn, his nose still pouring blood.

Jake drives in the direction of his apartment, holding onto her hand the whole time. He squeezes it reassuringly though there isn't much he can assure her of at the moment. Neither of them know what's going to come of Maverick, or of Cyclone's heated action against him. They don't know if Bradley is going to get caught in the crossfire, or if they are going to get called into the MP's office sometime in the middle of the night.

There is no clear answer, so, Hangman squeezes her hand and drives.

And drives.

And drives.

As far away as he can get from that house, that situation, the feeling in his chest spurred on by the broken look in Monsoon's eyes.

He drives until the sun crests over the horizon. Pulling off onto the side of the highway, Hangman kills the headlights, the world around them just beginning to come to life. That's when the tears come, falling fast and hard from the pools of Monsoon's eyes. Hangman just holds her there, inside of the truck.

The world around them awakens as Monsoon's falls apart, crumbling like unquenched Earth between her fingers. Maybe that's what the whole situation is, after all, how many times have the great authors related relationships to gardens, to plants, to life. Without nurture, without care and tending, the soil dries out, the plants die. The whole garden becoming a wasteland for the decaying plant matter; the soil turning to clay as the days roll on.

But isn't decay an unescapable fact of life?

Miramar, California. TOP GUN. Two weeks after the organization of the Dagger Squad.

Hangman had completely expected to pretend like the whole fight at the Admiral's house didn't happen when he met up with the other recruits at the bar, save for Monsoon. He took a little too much joy ordering drinks for the team on Maverick's tab- the older man not seeming to remember him from the incident, even after Hangman sent him a wink and a "thanks, Pops,".

When Bradley strutted in like the world was full of golden promise, Hangman took it upon himself to act like it was the first time they had seen each other in years. Bradshaw was quick to get the memo: last week didn't happen.

There's no surprise that Maverick got thrown out of the Hard Deck that night, either. Hangman sure as hell wasn't expecting to be the one to throw Maverick out of the bar, but that part gave him a sense of pride that he can't quite put words to.

The feeling bloomed in his chest as he watched Maverick hit the sand. A wide smile spread across his face as he yelled for him to "come back anytime," if that meant getting more free alcohol and the chance to throw him out again. Then, as Hangman closed the doors behind him while Rooster began one hell of a rendition of "Great Balls of Fire", everything felt like it was going to be okay.

Oh boy, how wrong he was.

Tensions are high now, Hangman and Rooster's rivalry is back and stronger than ever. They have been at each other's throats since that night at the Hard Deck, though the reason wasn't the mission or the usual dick measuring contest, even if the other recruits would say that it is.

They have been battling it out over a woman. Monsoon, specifically. The team doesn't know about her involvement with Hangman, and the pair try and keep it that way. So, she sits in the back of the classroom, right behind Yale and does her best to pay attention. The mission seems more impossible by the minute, the deadline has been moved up, and nobody has been successful.

Rooster and Maverick argue about the plane vs the pilot and how he had been the only one to make it to the target, though it was a minute late.

Then, Hangman opens his fucking mouth, living up to that reputation of his. "It's no time to be thinking about the past,"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rooster's expression is unreadable, though his brows twitch.

"I can't be the only one that knows Maverick flew with his old man!" Hangman continues through Maverick's pleas, "Or that he was the one flying when-"

Rooster is out of his seat in a matter of seconds, launching himself at his fellow Lieutenant. Hangman took it too far this time. Rooster gets one good push in before the rest of the squad are separating the two hot headed men from each other, everyone yelling for the fighting to stop.

Everyone but Monsoon, who sits in the back staring at the fight in front of her and can't seem to make herself move.

"You son of a bitch!"

"Hey, hey, I'm cool, I'm cool," Hangman reassures, pulling out of the arms of his teammates.

"He's not cut out for this mission, you know it... You know I'm right." He gets up into Bradley's face, a fucking smirk on his lips. The others are still holding Bradley back as he calms down, but it's that fucking smirk that spurs him on.

Bob's hands slip from Rooster's shoulders as he gets into Hangman's face. "You think you can talk shit about my family when it's your girl that's got the most fucked up situation of all," Bradley keeps his eyes trained on Hangman, but the blonde's eyes tick to the side, in the direction of Monsoon, who is still in her seat. It's Bob who notices the way Hangman's eyes shift, and he's the first person to look in Monsoon's direction. Then, Bob's nudging Phoenix. 

They watch as Monsoon tenses in her seat, her jaw ticking. Her hands grip the arms of her chair, knuckles white. Then, Bob and Phoenix turn their attention back to the men as the screaming match continues. 

"I'm not the one who broke up with her on a goddamn post-it note, Rooster," Hangman points out with a raise of his brows, that stupid little smirk still evident on his lips. Rooster is bringing his hands up to his temples, his expression scrunched.

"You son of a bitch," Rooster is cursing at him through grit teeth, his voice low.

The crowd of Aviators are still gathered around the two men watching them fight, Maverick's eyes flicking between them as words are exchanged. His mind flashes back to two weeks ago, when he broke down the Admiral's door and saw them standing there with Cyclone. He suddenly flashes his eyes back to Monsoon, only to be met with her piercing glare.

"What? Was taking her father for yourself not good enough for you? Did you have to break her heart too?" Hangman questions, watching as Bradley's face contorts, "You're just pissed because not only could you not keep your shit Rio of a father around, you couldn't keep the girl, either,"

"That's enough!" Monsoon shouts, her eyes finally leaving Maverick. The Daggers' eyes are locked on Monsoon at the back of the makeshift classroom, anger evident on her features. Then, with her hands firmly planted on the table in front of her, she is pushing up from her seat.

"Seresin," Monsoon begins, turning her eyes to him, "First, you will not speak about my uncle that way. Goose was a good man and a damn good Rio. Uncle Nicky would have moved the fucking Earth for Bradley, or for Maverick, or for me and my Mama, don't you dare think anything different."

Monsoon is moving closer to the group now, taking each step slowly, methodical as her words. There is a large, yellow envelope tucked under her arm as she approaches. She had been sitting with that envelope since their first class, no one having even the slightest idea what's tucked inside.

"Secondly, Rooster, my relationship with Jake is not your business, not now, not ever. What we had was over the moment you wrote that post-it and walked out the door. You didn't even remember the fact that we grew up together, for fucks sake. I get it, I was your little deployment fling, and that's all. Now, you get to live with the fact that's all I'll ever be. Hangman put you in your place, now say in it."

The crowd is too stunned to speak, but there is a rumble of laughter that escapes Maverick. He doesn't even try to hide it, thinking the tension in the air would be enough to cover it. But then, Monsoon is turning her pointed gaze to him.

"Finally, Captain Mitchell," There is a sick little smirk on her lips as she says his name, "I wouldn't be laughing if I were you. After all, Bradley had to get his pension for forgetting women from somebody."

Monsoon is standing toe to toe with Maverick now, eyes locked in on his, "After all, I've been in this class for what, two weeks, and I know you have had the roster for longer than that, considering that little stunt you pulled at my Pop's house. You think it's funny to forget someone when your own flesh and blood is standing right in front of you?"

Maverick furrows his brow, head cocking to the side. Monsoon can practically see the gears turning in his head with the way his eyes move across her features. She breathes deeply a couple of times, letting his mind piece the puzzle together.

"I asked you a question, but go ahead, take your time," Monsoon leans in just a fraction further, "After all, I'm told I look more like my mother, anyway," Wide eyes from the man in front of her stir out a strangled giggle from her chest.

"Wha- bu-" Maverick flounders, his mouth opening and closing, no words forming on his lips.

"Hi, Dad," The name is said with so much venom as she pushes the envelope against his chest with enough force to make him stumble. Monsoon doesn't wait for him to recover before she is turning to walk down the aisle of the makeshift classroom, paying no attention to the stares, the eyes burning holes into the back of her head. Instead she focuses on the momentary feeling of lightness that washes over her as she leaves the hanger.

It isn't until Monsoon rounds the corner that the tears begin pricking at her eyes. She takes off running as soon as the first one hits her cheek, the only thing she can hear over the rushing of blood in her ears is the thunking of her heavy boots on the pavement.

The Daggers stand looking at Maverick. He's holding the envelope to his chest, unsure of the emotions wracking though his body. Then, with a quick hand, he's crudely tearing at the envelope. The contents pour out over the floor of the hanger, looking just like that night at Admiral Simpson's house. Maverick tries to push that thought from his mind as his eyes focus in on the papers covering the floor.

Birthday Cards. Children's birthday cards.

The same ones he wrote to her for her first ten birthdays. He can't even get himself to bend down to pick one up, his neck aching from the way he stares down at them. He notices the little circles of wrinkled paper from long dried tears and his heart fucking breaks. 

The image of Monsoon at four, at seven, that he can see clearly in his mind, but there's a gap missing. Still, Maverick imagines her sitting and rereading the cards at seventeen, at twenty-two, crying over them and the father she could barely remember. Tears prick at Mavericks eyes and he lets them, making no attempt to wipe them away. 

It doesn't take long for the Daggers to figure out that the pile of cards is noticeably small, no more than nine or ten cards on the ground, though no one is near brave enough to say anything.

Moments like this remind Maverick he's still just a mere man. No matter how many records he breaks, aircrafts he tests, or brushes with death he encounters, Maverick is nothing more than a man with a skill set. He has flaws. He makes mistakes. 

That fact is almost too much for him to take. 

The memory of Goose flashes through his mind, the moments leading up to the failed ejection birth the feeling of ocean water weighing down his flight suit, soaking into the padding of his helmet as the water washes over them. So much blood where there should be none. And then Maverick is thinking about cleaning the scraped knees of his daughter, the blood bubbling up through the road rash. The tears, then, were hers as she begged, "Daddy, not the ouch-y cleaner, I don't like it,". But Maverick cleaned her wounds with the alcohol anyway, only to end up holding her against his chest in the same way he would hold Goose in less than a year. 

Maverick's mind is a patchwork quilt of shit memories; stuck reliving them all, fragment by fragment. 

"Class dismissed," Maverick manages, his eyes still glued to the floor. The sounds of fourteen pairs of boots, first loud then quieter as they go, leave the hanger, leaving him standing there, looking at the past he threw away illustrated simply in faded and forgotten birthday cards.

The hands of the clock circle once before Maverick moves. He walks right over the pile, his boots leaving angry, dark tread marks across the colorful paper. He doesn't look back once, not at the pile of cards, not at the hanger, not at the base. 

He drives straight for the Hard Deck. It's the only thing he can think to do, and after all, maybe Penny has some sort of advice. She's the only person he actually knows with a kid- a daughter.

Maverick only makes it half way before he has to pull over. Quickly, he throws himself off his bike, his knees hitting the dirt as he empties the contents of his stomach. As a pilot, he should have a stronger stomach than this, but a choice he made almost eighteen years ago is coming back to haunt him. 

He can still see Monsoon's eyes in the forefront of his mind. They haven't changed a bit from when she was a kid, Maverick realizes, as he's sat back on his haunches trying not to puke again. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, grimacing at the feeling of his swirling stomach. 

Maybe he should have stuck around, or at least circled back when he wasn't on deployment. After all, Maria left messages on his machine for almost two years after he up and left. It started with her begging to call which slowly turned into begging him to at least send a fucking birthday card. So he did. 

Then, she stopped calling, and he stopped writing. Monsoon grew up. 

It would be so easy to blame Maria. When she stopped calling, he stopped remembering. Between deployments and missions, flight tests and ceremonies, Maverick could pretend that it all got lost in the shuffle. But then, he remembers Maria and the way she always seemed to flawlessly manage her Naval carrier with raising their daughter, how she could juggle it all without his help when he was deployed and it was all okay. At least that's what he told himself. 

So, he thought if she could do it alone already, no harm could come from putting in for extra duty. That turned into extra deployments, more time away from home. He knew it was all a lie, but he had to tell himself something to justify it. 

It did get easier after a while, as his daughter slowly slipped to the back of his mind. It wasn't until one day, six years after he left that the realization hit him. Maverick hadn't thought of his daughter in months. He should have felt more guilty; he drank himself sick at the thought.

Two years later Maverick didn't even realize he missed her eighteenth birthday. 

Or her twenty-first. 

Over the years he convinced himself he did the right thing. That part of his past became a distant memory that he told himself he didn't miss. Maverick would be lying to himself if he still believed that to be true in this moment, sat on the side of the road after having been faced with the consequences of his long forgotten actions. 

Maverick kept one constant reminder playing on repeat in his mind all those years, You can't be a bad father if you aren't there to be one at all. 

And for the first time since he walked out, Maverick thinks he may have been wrong. 

He sits on the side of the road until the sun sets, stewing in his misery. When he manages to pull himself back up onto his bike, he heads for home, knowing that if Penny knew the whole story he would be on the outs with her, too. And so, he drives slowly, back to an empty house, wishing for the first time in years that it wouldn't be empty when he got there. 

---

When Monsoon finally reached Cyclone's office, eight blocks from the hanger, she almost collapsed in the entryway of the building. But, she pushed through the crowd, ignoring the calls of his assistant who insisted that Cyclone could not be interrupted while he was in a meeting. Monsoon couldn't find it in herself to care. 

When she pushes the door to his office open, she is met with three pairs of eyes. Iceman, Warlock, and Cyclone's eyes meet her frame. She is breathing heavy from the mix of running and sobbing, though it's unclear as to which is causing the redness in her cheeks. 

"Excuse me, recruit, but you can't-" Warlock starts, closing the file sitting in his lap. There is an edge to his tone, not taking too kindly to being interrupted. 

"Hey, kid, what's wrong?" Cyclone is cutting off Warlock without a second thought. The moment he moves out from behind his desk, Monsoon is throwing herself into his arms, her barely contained tears now overflowing. Without a second thought, Cyclone is folding her into his arms, doing his best to hold her shaking form. 

"I'm sorry, sir, I tried to stop her," Cyclone's assistant huffs, running a hand through his hair. Cyclone waves the younger man off, the door closing behind him with a click. Then, Cyclone is wrapping his daughter tighter in his arms, one hand coming up to rub between her shoulders while the other is wrapped securely around her waist. 

"I'm sorry, gentleman, but the meeting will have to be continued another time," Cyclone speaks, his tone clear, unwavering. Warlock shakes his head but gets up to leave anyway. Iceman follows after him, nodding a sort of good luck to his fellow Admiral before closing the door behind him. 

"Tell me what's wrong, kid," Cyclone is pulling back, his hands squeezing at her shoulders. Monsoon is rubbing at her cheeks, smearing her tears over the expanse of her face. It's the same ugly cry she had when they first met, and the connection make's Cyclone's heart twist. 

"I-" She starts, sentence interrupted by a hiccupping gasp, "Everything is falling apart," 

Monsoon tries to wipe at her face again with her hands, but Cyclone plunges a hand into his pocket only to offer her a green pocket hanky a second later. She takes it with unsteady fingers, her heart still thrumming a mile a minute. 

"Hangman and Rooster got in a fight in class. Jake said a shitty thing about my uncle Nicky, Goose, you know?" 

"Bradley shoved Jake, which isn't exactly a surprise, but then he told everyone that my family situation is all kinds of fucked up, which it is, but it's nobody else's business. God, Pops, I know now that I made a mistake when I started seeing Rooster while we were on deployment together, but God, that was five years ago! It's in the past!"

Cyclone nods at her, listening intently while trying to keep calm. So much new information is being thrown at him with each sentence that leaves her lips and it makes him angry. 

"Worst of all, though," Monsoon wipes at her nose with the hanky, "Maverick knows,"

"He knows?" 

"I told him," She confirms with a whimper and a nod, not daring to meet Cyclone's eyes. If she managed to meet them, she would have been met with nothing but rage boiling behind his irises, red hot flames behind the dark brown of his eyes. 

"I had to, everything was already coming out anyway," She laments. 

"What did he have to say for himself?" The question is asked through grit teeth as he pulls her body tighter against his, a move meant to feel protective but does nothing to quell the flames burning Cyclone from the inside out. All Monsoon can do is shake her head "no" as she sobs against the denseness of his chest. 

"I'm gonna kill him" is all Cyclone can think as he rests his chin against her hair. His jaw ticks as the flaming feeling overtakes his body. If he could, he would strip Maverick of every single one of his achievements, his medals, his rank. He would cut the older man down so far that he was nothing more than a civilian with a dishonorable discharge. 

But he can't.

So instead, he holds his daughter as she cries. He lets her tears soak the tan fabric of his uniform top, the buttons scraping against her skin. He rubs her back and whispers into her hair, promises that everything will be okay. 

---

Somewhere in the Pacific. The Uranium Mission. Three weeks after the organization of the Dagger Squad. 

Moments after the Uranium mission is completed, the team piled on the aircraft carrier, all grateful to be alive. Monsoon and Hangman got sent up to shoot down the enemy aircraft, saving Maverick and Rooster. The whole thing left nothing but swirls of confusion and gratitude in Monsoon's heart. 

On one hand, she is so thankful that everyone made it back home. There will be no funerals, no folded flags and no Taps to be played. Instead there will be celebrations, beer and cheering and one too many speeches for a job well done. The whole thing should be liberating as their impending doom has been starved off for the time being, however there is still a feeling of anxiety sitting heaving in her chest.  

Now, Monsoon is stuck watching the pair climb out of the museum piece that they managed to land on the carrier. The wind is whipping past them as she watches the team embrace the two men. Her strangled feelings clog her chest as she makes her way into the fray, first approaching Bradley. 

"Glad to have you back on the ground," Monsoon shouts over the crowd.

"It's good to be back, even if it's not quite the ground," Bradley attempts to joke, "But seriously, we owe everything to you and Hangman," 

"Nobody left behind," Monsoon holds her hand out to Bradley, a gesture of good will. 

"Nobody left behind," Rooster echoes, taking her hand in his own. 

As they shake hands, a sort of understanding forms between them. They share a look, one that reads no hard feelings and Bradley almost tears up. Then, they are pulling back from each other, sharing one last smile. 

Monsoon watches Bradley disappear into the crowd, his tall frame quickly swallowed up by the sea of uniforms. She catches him shake hands with Hangman a moment later, the scene bringing a small smile to her lips. 

Then, Maverick catches her eye, standing a few yards away. There are tears shining in his eyes, but he makes no effort to move forward. They share eye contact for a moment as people move between them. Monsoon offers him a half smile, her brows lifted just slightly. Before Maverick can return it, she nods at him. He nods back, then it's his turn to watch her disappear into the crowd.

It's not quite an understanding, but maybe it's a truce.

At the risk of breaking her own heart, Monsoon chances a look over her shoulder. She watches as Maverick pulls Bradley into a hug, or maybe it's the other way around, it's hard to tell with the swarming of bodies. Either way, the pair wear bright smiles as they embrace and Monsoon doesn't even try to fight off the tears that make their way to her eyes. They aren't tears of anger, no, they are tears of gratitude. Grateful that they all get to live another day, grateful that Maverick and Bradley are giving each other a second chance, and grateful that there isn't a looming cloud hanging over her head anymore. 

She no longer has to wonder about her father, because now she knows he's exactly where he is supposed to be, and both of their lives are better for it. Instead, she has Cyclone, the best father she could have ever asked for, and that is more than enough. 

Cyclone breaks through the crowd, pulling his daughter into his arms, more than thankful for her safe return. He shouts at her, over the crowd, about how well she did and how happy he is that she made it back. The pair hold each other tight for another few moments, neither ready to let go. 

Maverick takes one more look at Monsoon, who's now folded into Cyclone's arms. It's an unfamiliar sight but not an unwelcomed one, for Maverick. One thing's for sure, she is exactly like her Pops- disciplined and talented in the cockpit of a jet. Even more, though, beyond being a good aviator, she is a good person and that's something that Maverick can't regret. 

---

Miramar, California. TOP GUN. One year after the completion of the Uranium Mission and the organization of the Dagger Squad.

A year later, Cyclone and Monsoon find themselves sitting in The Flight Line Bar, her hand thrust out in front of her, ring glittering under the amber lights. 

"You're going to give me away at my wedding, right?" There is a sort of apprehension to her voice as she sips on her beer. 

"It would be my honor, kid," Cyclone slings an arm around her shoulders, pulling her sideways into him. He holds her there for a second before letting her sit back upright, a large smile on her lips. 

"Y/N Seresin has a good ring to it," Cyclone adds, bringing his beer up to his lips. 

"About that," Monsoon starts, causing the Admiral to set his beer down, "Jake and I had a conversation, and we thought that having two Aviators in the same squad with the same last name would get confusing, so it's going to be Y/N Simpson, if that's okay with you,"

The Admiral's eyes flood with tears before he can say a single word. They quickly spill down his cheeks and all he can do is look at his daughter, tears of her own overtaking her eyes. 

"I take that as a "yes"?" Monsoon chuckles, wiping her eyes with a shitty bar napkin. 

"Of course it's a yes, kid," Cyclone grabs her hand, holding it on top of the bar. 

The pair sit, hand in hand , tears still wet on their faces and all Cyclone can think about is how fucking lucky he got, how blessed his life is. He finally has a daughter who is happy and in love, a daughter that he will get to walk down the aisle on the most important day of her life. 

When he chances a glance over to her, Cyclone can see the frizz of her hair highlighted by the neon sign buzzing behind her, her cheeks bright red. For a moment, he can see June in the roundness of her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes. Cyclone thinks back to all those years ago, when he and Monsoon first met sitting in this same bar, but he doesn't entertain the memory very long, after all, he has so much to look forward to. So instead, he squeezed her hand. 

"I love you, kid," Beau tells her earnestly, smiling though a few stray tears. 

"I love you too, Pops," Monsoon returns, leaning her head on his shoulder, "Now and always," 

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Birthday Wish

summary: bradley realizes you’re his source of comfort or bradley celebrates his first birthday with you.

warnings: angst, mentions of death/trauma from childhood. 18+ blog in general.

word count: 1.2k

a/n: wrote this in the spur of the moment because of this song. raahhh

something ‘bout you masterlist.

When Bradley was a little boy, he didn’t have a special blanky to hang onto, not like the other kids in his daycare did. 

All he had was a miniature toy plane. It was flimsy–something that would probably snap right in half, if he squeezed his tiny hand around it too hard. 

But, that cheap piece of plastic offered little Bradley everything he needed—everything a blanket couldn’t ever give him.

So four year old Bradley loved it with all his heart—well, he loved it with his limited knowledge of the concept. There wasn’t a moment where he didn’t cling onto it, bringing it everywhere his growing feet took him. He even slept with it, ignoring the dulling pain caused by it’s blunt edges—stabbing right into his ribs as he hugged it for solace. 

Anyone could imagine the heartbreak he felt the day it broke. 

Bradley threw a fit that very day, not wanting to blow out his birthday candles—not wanting to celebrate his birthday without his Goosey. Bradley wasn’t sure himself, why it made him so angry–why he felt so wrong in his own skin when the homemade cake was placed in front of him, with a celebratory song accompanying it. 

All little Bradley knew in that confusing stir of emotions—was that he wanted to toss that cheaply made toy in his hands. So he did—he slammed it to the ground with all his strength–all the strength he’s accumulated in five years of life went into tossing the thing.

And it completely came undone onto the kitchen tile in front of him, sending shockwaves of guilt into the air. 

Finally registering what came of his outburst—Bradley cried harder in discernment—his screams came out with great force, as his mother scrambled for the toy with shaky hands. 

All Bradley knew at that moment was that he just wanted his toy plane back. 

Though he couldn’t clearly recall the day of his father’s funeral, Bradley remembered his mother’s quite well. 

He sat at the grave for hours—letting the rain wash over him, letting it soak through his rented suit. 

After the sun had finally set into the horizon, the soggy fabric clung onto Bradley’s skin coldly—almost as a punishment. There was no longer any sunshine to soothe the goosebumps scattered down his arms.

It didn’t bother him at the time, the way his button up uncomfortably glued itself to his back, the way his shoulder pads sat thickly on his shoulders, gaining weight from the water it absorbed—because Bradley had already decided that nothing could possibly outweigh the numbing pain in his chest. 

Where was that toy plane when he needed it? Bradley laughed bitterly to himself at the question.

Whoosh.

The familiar sound of an aircraft could be heard above the graveyard, pulling Bradley’s tired eyes away from the weather-beaten headstone. 

His lids stretched at the sight, burning the surface of his eyeballs—now exposed to the saltiness of the air around him. 

Bradley couldn’t believe his eyes, because there was his plane.

It was white with a streak of cobalt blue stretched over its wing, just how he remembered it.

But as quickly as Bradley caught sight of it, it was gone again—sweeping through the sky with a new destination in mind. 

It was like greeting a long lost friend. The exchange was bittersweet—because you both had the knowledge that you’ll part ways soon, after finally seeing eachother again. 

Bradley spent the next few hours staring at the vast amount of stars in the sky, watching them twinkle amongst each other.

But there was one specific star that caught his attention that night. It was the biggest mass there, and the brightest one too—completely contrasting against the black veil of darkness behind it. 

Falling into a deep trance, Bradley eventually decided that the star reminded him of Carole Bradshaw. Maybe it was the grief speaking or maybe it was truly her. Its luminosity almost perfectly resembled the ring of bright highlights crowning her head—there was no mistake in that likeness—Bradley knew that for sure. 

And for as long as he could, Bradley didn’t tear his eyes off that glow in the sky, not wanting to lose it amongst the other shimmers of light surrounding it, trying to weakly outshine it. He didn’t even blink, worried it would disappear if he did. 

He knew he would eventually lose it, he couldn’t stay at his mother’s grave forever, the night security guard would find him and ask him to leave soon enough. But for now, Bradley sat motionless, staring up at his mother who shined back down on him.  

He wishes he could stay here with her forever.

Bradley found himself here many times before. Laying in the darkness, only to punishingly stare at the daunting clock hung above his bedroom door frame—reminding him how early he’s woken up again. 

But this time, you’re here with him—sleeping over for the first time. Bradley turns his head, pooling his attention onto you. Your cheek is pressed against the mattress under you, exhausted from the long day spent with him, and your arm is thrown over his waist like a weighted pillow. 

Gently, Bradley reaches out a hand over to your face, brushing back the hairs that block your passageway of air, moving the drool coated globs of hair that shields your parted lips. He smiles to himself, humming at the way you sweetly press your cheek against his palm, mistaking him for the mattress. 

And though the room is pitch black, with the darkness completely wrapping itself around your figure—Bradley swears he sees you glow. It’s brief, it always is. 

He catches small glimpses of it here and there—where your skin radiates against his.

It was there when he first spotted you in that parking lot, it was there when your shared pet goldfish died, and it was there when he anxiously couldn’t pick which birthday cake he wanted from the day before. 

You glowed like a star, making everything surrounding you into the night sky. Bradley’s heart swells at the conclusion. 

It’s only you two in the kitchen. You woke up around five am, two hours after Bradley had stirred awake—pressing his birthday boy kisses all over the expanse of his face as he shyly smiled under you, caught off guard by your burst of energy. 

Too excited to go back to sleep, you pulled him out of bed with a grin, and a desire to eat chocolate cake. 

Now, Bradley sits with a cake in front of him again, and you in his lap. 

“..happy birthday to you!” You sing excitedly, pressing a kiss to his cheek, waiting for him to blow out the candle with an encouraging smile. “Whenever you’re ready, honey,” you whisper the assurance, resting your head onto his shoulder. 

Bradley squeezes his arms tighter around your waist, and you glow again—he sees it from the corner of his eye. It’s all Bradley needs to blow out the already melting candles. 

“What’d you wish for big guy?” You ask, pulling him into a bruising hug. 

Bradley softly smiles. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you, babybear or else it won’t come true,” he mumbles against your neck. 

You laugh, shaking him back in fourth in the hug, almost knocking you both out of the chair. “Nooo! You’re right birthday boy—aren’t I silly?”

“Just a little,” he answers, lightly laughing at you.

Bradley couldn’t tell you what he wished for. Not because he was afraid it wouldn’t come true—he didn’t believe in that crap.

It was because he didn’t wish for anything at all. Right as his eyes shut to blow out the wax symbolizing his growth, he couldn’t think of anything he wanted.

Because truly—there was nothing to wish for, not this birthday.

Bradley doesn’t need that toy plane nor did he need to see that resilient star that glowed against his skin that one night, not when he has them both here in his arms.

They’ve just took a new shape.

thank you for reading, and as always-reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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tags: @wkndwlff @sammyrenae68 @f1-and-shiz @stark3ys @roosterbruiser

[edelfan]

Maverick pushed his aviators up on his nose. The sun was reflecting on the Pacific ocean and the slight breeze made the summer day more bearable.

"Sorry I'm late, darling. Had to drop off Bradley, he's still waiting on those new parts for the Bronco."

Mav sighed as he sat down next to Ice. He held a single red rose in his hand, twirling it between his fingers.

"Happy anniversary, Tom. See, I didn't forget it this time. Keeping my promise..."

He kissed the velvety petals of the rose before laying it down next to him in the green grass, right at the edge of the white stone. A lone tear was running down his face and he made no movement to wipe it away.

"I fucking miss you so much, Ice. You know it's not fair... even you kept telling me that I would probably go before you..."

Lying down on the soft ground, the shadow of the headstone shielded Mav from the sun as he reached out, his fingers softly touching the carved in letters and numbers.

Thomas "Iceman" Kazansky

★★★★

ADM COMPACFLT

DEC 31 1959

NOV 3 2019

In Loving Memory

"I love you, my dear."

[topguncortez]

Congrats on 3k!!

Can I get ❛ it was a nightmare, that’s all. ❜ with Rooster pls & ty!

pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw & Alex Seresin note: takes place during the time that Bradley had to babysit while Jake and Y/N have Ella warnings: nightmare, TopGun themes, cannon character death, birth Rooster Masterlist | Opposites Attract Masterlist Main Masterlist 3 fucking K celebration

Rooster had been taking care of Alex for a little over a day now. According to Jake, Y/N's labor was progressing slower than they thought. They both expected to be in and out of the hospital within hours, but Babygirl Seresin was proving that she was going to be quite the diva by taking her time.

Bradley didn't mind having Alex in his care, he actually liked having someone around. The house got lonely when it was just him by himself. Jake and Bradley had actually gotten pretty close post-Uranium Mission, and he had spent a couple weeks with the Seresins before they had to go back to Lemoore. Bradley was beyond happy when the Dagger Squad got permanently stationed in San Diego, and they moved back.

Currently, Alex was sleeping in Bradley's bed since he didn't have a guest room setup. Rooster guessed that if he was going to be the baby sitter for the Seresins, he should probably make his guest room into an actual bedroom and not just a large closet. Bradley was watching the football game silently on TV, his ears trained in case he heard the three year old get up.

A small whimper left Alex's lips as he tossed and turned about in the large bed. The blankets felt tight around his small body. The loud groans he had heard from his mother were replaying in his mind as he tried to shake them out. Images of Uncle Ice's funeral, the loud jets roaring over head and the tears of his aunt and uncles faces. The way his dad held him close to his chest. The grey color of headstones showed up in his vision. The dream was terrifying as Alex was screaming out for his parents, but they were taken farther and farther away from him. Tears were streaming down his cheeks as he sat up in bed and screamed for Rooster.

Bradley had been half asleep when he heard the loud cry. He sprang up from the couch and went sprinting down the hall. His heart broke at the sight of the little boy with tears streaming down his cheeks, and sobbing.

"Alex," Bradley said, and walked over to the bed. He grabbed the little boy in his arms and held him close to his chest. He remembered what his mother once did when he had nightmares, and swayed him gently, while rubbing his back.

"Rooster," Alex sobbed out and Bradley shushed the little boy.

"It's okay, buddy. It's all okay. It was a nightmare, that’s all. Nothing is gonna hurt you," Bradley said. He could feel Alex's heart pounding in his chest. He was shaking as if he were soaking wet.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Bradley asked him.

"M-my mommy and daddy were hurt," Alex sniffled, "I couldn't get to them. They left me behind. My daddy's head was bleeding."

Rooster closed his eyes. He could remember the nightmares he had after his father's death. He was the same as age as Alex when the accident had happened. Carole hadn't told him a whole lot of what happened, just that Goose tried to eject but hit his head really hard. That small amount of detail was enough for three year old Bradley's mind to go rampant. For almost a straight month, Bradley woke up screaming, seeing the image of his father's bloodied face behind his eyes.

"You know that's not real," Bradley said, "Your mommy and daddy are okay. Your daddy is alright. He is with your mommy having Ella."

"Do you miss your daddy, Uncle Rooster?" His voice was so small as he asked and Bradley felt his own throat start to close up.

"Of course I do," Bradley answered, truthfully. What he really wanted to say was 'every damn day' but he couldn't curse in front of a three year old. The ghost of Carole Bradshaw would come smack him upside the head.

"Do you think he misses you?"

"Yes I do," Bradley did wonder at one time in his life if Goose missed him. If Goose were to come back alive somehow, would he come and find Bradley. Would he hug him like he used to and kiss his cheek? Would he call him his 'little buddy' and take him out for ice cream? Would he even recognize his own son?

"Do you think he'd like me? Cause I think I'd like him."

Bradley smiled, "Of course he would. Everyone loves you," He tickled the boy, his giggles filling the room, "My dad would've made you laugh so hard your tummy hurt, and then take you out to get ice cream. My mom would tell him to not let us have ice cream for dinner, but we'd still do it anyway. He'd show you all you need to know about radios, and radars, and how to help Mav stay out of trouble. He'd teach you how to throw the perfect curve ball, he's a four time state Baseball champion. He said he would've played in college if he didn't fall so in love with my mom. He'd also teach you how to Hotwire a car at a really young age, which isn't something you need to know."

Bradley didn't realize while he was talking that Alex had slowly started to doze back to sleep, until he heard soft snores coming from the little boy's mouth. Bradley chuckled softly at the little boy, and then very carefully maneuvered him so he was sleeping back on the pillow. He tucked Alex into bed, and placed the teddy bear back under his arm. Bradley kissed the little boy's forehead and whispered a goodnight, before going back to the couch.

Bradley laid on the couch for a moment, staring up at the ceiling fan and thought about his parents. He wondered if they were watching him, and knew that he had patched things up with Maverick. He wondered if he knew that he had found a family to love and be a part of it.

That night, for the first time in a long time, Bradley Bradshaw had a good dream about his parents. He fell asleep with a smile on his face.

[sarahsmi13s]

Duckie

Chapter 1

pairing: bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw x twin sister!reader; kendall adams (oc) x bradshaw!reader; (eventual) jake ‘hangman’ seresin x bradshaw!reader

characters: bradley bradshaw, y/n bradshaw, tom ‘iceman’ kazansky, sarah kazansky, kendall adams, pete ‘maverick’ mitchell (mentioned), goose and carole bradshaw (mentioned)

word count: ~3.2k 

warnings: angsty bradshaws, mentions of cannon character deaths, sibling separation, drinking, LOTS OF TIME JUMPS, please let me know if i missed any

a/n: just a general note!! from what I’ve seen rooster's birthday is around June, he also just seems like a summer baby. So y’all’s birthday is 19/06/1987

series summary: daughter of goose and carole and twin sister to bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw, y/n bradshaw also got her papers pulled when she tried to enlist in the Navy. which turned out to not be as bad as she thought.

chapter summary: mav has pulled the twins papers. bradley is set out to prove something, while y/n takes it as an opportunity to do a reality check and see what other options she has

ch 2  ch 3  ch 4  ch 5

************ *You and Bradley are 17* (just graduated HS)

Bradley burst through the door of your shared home, being only the two of you since your mom passed in the middle of your senior year.

“Woah, Bradley, what’s wrong?” You looked up from your book. “Maverick, that’s what’s wrong!” He ran a hand through his curls, angrily placing it on his hip afterward. 

You marked your page and stood, “What did he do, Brad?” He paced, running his hand over his mouth and jaw.

“Brad, what did Mav-” “He pulled our applications!” You jumped back a little and Bradley watched tears line your lid.

“Maverick pulled our papers…” You were in shock honestly. He nodded even though it wasn’t a question. You scoffed past your tears and let your hands drop, “Why would he do that? He knows how much we want to be like-” The name got stuck in your throat. You shook your head, running a hand through your hair, “Why would he do that Brad?” Your twin shrugged, “He thinks we aren’t ready? I don’t know, Duckie.”

You sighed and wiped your eyes. “Well, I guess we need to look at colleges.” You crossed your arms and rubbed your bicep with your hand, trying to self-comfort.

Bradley noticed the immediate change in your behavior. “Y/N, it’s okay to be upset about this. You have every right to be mad! Hell, I’m fucking pissed off! When was the last time you’ve seen me this angry?” 

“Oh, I’m upset Bradley. Fuck, I want to march right down there get in Mav’s face and demand an answer. But what good is it gonna do, huh? I don’t have time for fighting.” You turned around and went to leave for your room.

“So, that’s it? You’re just gonna give up?” 

His voice stopped you in your tracks and you just knew he had his hands on his hips; looking just like Carole. “You think Mom would just let us walk away like that? She has always supported us!” You didn’t face him but looked up at the ceiling, hopefully squeezing your eyes shut to keep the tears away, “Don’t Brad-” “You know, if Dad-”

You never whipped around so fast in your life. “DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE!” You marched up to him and poked his chest, hard, “Don’t you fucking say it.” He realized he crossed the line when you didn’t even look up at him. 

“Duckie-” You shook your head, “No, don’t Bradley.” You shoved past him and went to the door and grabbed your motorcycle keys.

“Wait where are you going?” You didn’t even look back as you slammed the door. He sighed, “Shit.”

*********

You drove for a long time, not really sure where you were headed. But you ended up at the cemetery that held both of your parents. 

Of course this is where you would go.

You took your helmet off, and walked through the cemetery, muscle memory taking you right to your parents headstone.

Sighing sadly you sat down, “Hey Mom, Hey Dad.” You bit your lip, “God this doesn’t get any easier…” 

You proceed to tell them both about your week; ranging from how work was, what you watched on TV, everything up to the moment your brother nearly broke down the door..

“Dad, Maverick pulled Brad and I’s papers…” You drew in a shaky breath, “We just want to be like you. We looked up to you… still do and Mav, God Maverick, he never let us forget about you. Mom didn’t either. Bradley actually learned piano, can you believe it? Hell, I bet you guide his fingers every time like when we were kids.” You dryly chuckled, wiping the tear with your thumb.

“Thought I’d find you here.” You turned and looked up, seeing the other pilot that took up a fatherly/uncle role in your life. Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky.

“I’m that predictable, huh Ice?” The older man laughed, “Just a little. May I sit?” You nodded, resting your chin on your knee. “So, did Bradley call you?” 

The older man nodded, “Yeah, said you’d got in a fight and you’d been gone for hours.” “Hours? I have-” You looked at your watch, “Damn, I’ve been gone for hours.”

It was quiet for a moment, you leaning on Ice’s shoulder.

“Did he tell you what Mav’ did?” You felt him nod. “Could you have stopped him?” “Me? Stop Maverick? You’re asking for a miracle there Y/N.” You couldn’t help but chuckle, but cut it off with a sigh, “I’m so angry at him, Ice. I just want to scream and cry, make him feel bad for it.” 

He nudged your head with his shoulder to get you to look at him, “You know, you could always wait a few months and find another way in.”

You sighed, “I appreciate that, I really do. But who’s to say he won’t do it again. Maybe-” You picked at your nails, glancing at the headstone with your father’s name engraved and painted black on the white marble.

“Maybe it’s a sign,” you chanced a look into Ice’s eyes. They held nothing but curiosity at what you meant. “Maybe I’m meant to help the world in a different way. Or maybe I’m not ready and I need a little bit to figure myself out before I jump in the backseat of a plane.” “Backseat? Figured you’d want to frontseat.” You shrugged, “Dad was a RIO, so I figured I could do that since Bradley wants to be a pilot. Our plan was to fly together; him as the pilot and me having his back, just like we’ve always been.”

Tom gave you a small smile before giving you a side hug, “Well, whatever you choose, I’ll be your wingman. And I think as long as your heart’s truly in it, your father would be proud of you.” You hugged him, “Thanks Ice.”

********* (18)

“I still can’t believe you chose Arkansas for college. You’re smart enough to go to MIT. You got accepted into MIT! And you chose Arkansas?” 

You scoffed, smirking at your brother as he helped you move in, “Hey, don’t diss the Natural State, Brad. It’s beautiful here and you can’t deny that. Plus, it’d be such a weather change. I mean, freezing winters, no thanks. AND I got a scholarship to play softball.” 

Bradley sighed, sitting a box on your bed, “I know, I’m just gonna miss you.” You nodded, “I know, I’m gonna miss you too. This will be the first time we’re apart, but we have phones and I bet Ice will pay for your flight here.”

He just nodded, looking around, “Was that the last box?” You looked around also, “Yeah, I think so. Wanna go eat?” He smirked, “You read my mind.” You smiled, clapping your hands, “Let’s go!”

************* (Now 20)

You brought in a deep breath, rolling your neck, “Talk to me, Dad.” You eyed your catcher, seeing the signal she gave you. Breathing in through your nose, you wind up your pitch.

It flew right over the plate, right down the middle. Strike 3. Batter out. Ball game. Your team won.  

Your team rushed the mound lifting you into the air. “Bradshaw! Bradshaw! Bradshaw!” You laughed and pumped a fist in the air. You kissed two fingers and pressed them to the sky, something your mother had started doing at your games in honor of your father.

Your team put you on the ground and you went to the dugout going from there to talk over the game and develop a plan for tomorrow. (a/n: college games are played in series; Friday, Saturday, Sunday - best 2/3)

You left your team and went to your car. 

“Y/N!” 

You jumped, looking around frantically before finding a familiar face. 

“Bradley!” 

You sprinted across the parking lot jumping into your brother's arms. “I can’t believe you came!” “Of course I came! I wouldn’t miss my baby sister punching her ticket into the SEC Tournament.” 

He put you down and you looked at his face, seeing something that wasn’t there when you saw him at Christmas. “First, your only older than me by 12 minutes and second-”

You gestured to your upper lip, “That’s new.” He rubbed the back of his neck, “Uh, yeah. I just thought-” “You look like him. You look a lot like him.” Bradley gave you a smile, hugging you one more time. 

“I mean, it could be fuller…” “Shut up,” he chuckled, gently shoving you away. You laughed.

You brushed some hair out of your face, “Oh, and about the SEC Tournament. We won't punch our ticket until tomorrow.” “Sorry I couldn’t be here yesterday,” he said, walking you back to your car. You shook your head, “It’s okay, Brad. I batted like shit yesterday anyway.” He laughed, “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad, Y/N.” “Oh no, it was pretty bad,” you snorted.

You got to your car and you picked up your bag that you had dropped. “Oh, by the way, Ice is here too but he left foooor uh…” Bradley racked his brain for the town name, it was right there.

You noticed his finger pointing in the direction of a town just North from where you were. You smiled, “Rogers?” 

He clapped his hands together, “Yes! Rogers! He said to call Sarah when we left and we’d find a place to eat at. They’re grabbing a room for the night. You know I probably need a room too.”

You scoffed, “Bradley Bradshaw, you are not staying in some over-priced hotel. Just come stay with me, I have an extra room.” “You sure? I don’t want Jason-” “Oh we broke up. He was an asshole. Plus he wouldn’t get a say anyway, not his place.” 

“Yeah, I didn’t really like him anyway. Would have messed up the Bradshaw genes.” You rolled your eyes, “Oh my gosh, shut up.” You shoved his shoulder, getting into your car, “Follow me and we can stop by my place then go to Rogers. I know you hate driving in cities.” He nodded, “Lead the way.”

*********

You pulled up to your place and parked, getting out real quick to clean the trash out of the floor. 

“Still using the floorboard as a trashcan, I see,” Bradley teased behind you before moving to help. 

Without missing a beat or looking up you retorted, “Still driving that museum piece, I see.” 

“Hey, she runs just fine, she ain’t that old.” You laughed, dusting your hands off before running a hand on the fading paint, “She needs a paint job.”

Bradley just shrugged before getting into the passenger seat, “I kinda like the faded look, gives it character.” “What, like the ceiling liner coming off? Does that give it character?” You questioned as you slid into the driver's seat. 

“It’s called a headliner and yeah I need to get that fixed. But can we go? I’m starving.” You laughed and threw the car in reverse, “Call Sarah and pick a place.” “Geez you sound like Mom.” You smiled, glancing both ways before turning onto the highway, “Thank you.”

*********** (21)

It was finally yours and Bradley’s 21 birthday, which meant you were at a bar having drinks.

“I didn’t know Arkansans had this much fun!” Bradley said with a laugh before tossing back a shot.

Bradley decided to spend the summer in Arkansas rather than have you come up to Virginia where he was going to school at UVA.

“Well, now you know!” Kendall, your current boyfriend, said raising his glass (of water) in a toast. 

You smiled, glad that Bradley liked Kendall when they met the same night he came to watch your game in April, back when Kendall had just been a friend. 

“So, why don’t we go back to the house? I’m kinda hating this bar right now,” you said. 

The bar had started to feel stuffy, and despite both of your parents being outgoing and ‘party people’, you and Bradley both had your moments where crowds became too much. But sometimes you and Bradley weren’t in sync.

“If that’s okay with Brad?” You turned to him, it was his birthday too and you wanted to make sure your brother had a good time. “Will there be drinks at the house?” You laughed, “Just barely 21 and you already love alcohol. But yeah, Kendall went and bought some this morning.” Bradley patted the bar, “Yeah, let’s go.” Kendall kissed your temple, “Thank goodness. I was getting so tired of water.”

In your tipsy state that made you laugh really hard, like full on ‘Goose’ laugh.

“You kill me. You really kill me!” You wrapped an arm around his neck and kissed him before pulling away and mumbling on his lips, “Thank you for being the DD, Ken.” He pecked your nose, “Of course, Baby. Anything for you.”

“Hey if you two are done sucking face, can we go?” 

You laughed and flipped Bradley off before pulling your boyfriend in for another kiss. “Come on, he’s getting antsy. He might play the piano.. Again.” Kendall paid the tab and kept his arm around you the whole way out.

You got back to the house and all three of you had a few drinks.

Bradley had started to drink water, per the request of Kendall. 

“Hey, I know you’re having fun Bradley, but for your first time drinking maybe we should take it easy the rest of the night? Hangovers suck major ass the first time.” Bradley agreed and now he watched you, still drunk despite having your last drink about 2 hours ago when he also had his last..

“Kendall, take me to bed or lose me forever.” You had yourself sat on top of the counter, arms extended toward your boyfriend. Bradley chuckled, shaking his head but tensed slightly hoping that the one boyfriend he approved of wouldn’t take advantage of you like this.

“Sweet girl, you’re drunk. I’ll take you to bed, but you’re gonna go to sleep. Plus, you have training tomorrow. Your coach would kill me if I kept you up all night. Come on.” 

And with that, all the tension rolled off Bradley as Kendall carried you bridal style to your bedroom down the hall.

Kendall came back, chuckling lightly as he filled a glass with ice and water. He stood across the bar from Bradley. 

“You know, our parents would have liked you,” Bradley spoke up. 

Kendall gave a small smile, “You think so?” “Oh yeah. I’m sure of it. You make her happy, that’s all they could ask for in someone. You’re a good guy, Kendall. Dad definitely would have given you a hard time, but that just means he likes you. Mom, she definitely would be embarrassing Y/N,” Bradley gave a quiet chuckle and sipped his water. Kendall nodded, “It’s hard to imagine Y/N getting embarrassed.” “She got that from our dad. He definitely had zero shame.”

“She talks about them a lot. How carefree your parents seemed to be when they were together, even though she doesn’t remember much of it. She said she’s always wanted a relationship like that, and I want to give her that.” “I’ll hold you to that.”

********* (21)

You walked out of the arena a huge smile on your face, you just graduated.

“Hey Baby!” You looked up and saw Kendall, arms open ready for your embrace. “Kendall!” You ran and jumped in his arms. “I’m so proud of you baby.” You lifted your head, looking down at him, “And I’m proud of you.” You giggled and kissed him.

“Now that’s one for the photo album.” 

You pulled away, gasping at the voice. Kendall chuckled and put you down. “Bradley!” You ran once again and jumped into your brother's arms, legs wrapping around his waist. “Y/N!” He laughed as he caught his balance before wrapping you in a big hug.

“I’m so glad you could make it!” He put you down, “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He pecked the top of your head, well the top of your cap. “Why don’t we head out of here? Ice and Sarah are in the parking lot.” You nodded, “Let me get a couple pictures and then we can go.” You passed him your camera you had.

He held his hand up. “No need.” 

At the tilt of your head, he held up a camera of his own. A polaroid, your Dad’s polaroid. “Wait, is that…” He nodded, “Sure is. And I already got a photo with it.” He held out the photo and you took it.

It was you and Kendall, just a few moments ago looking down at each other. A beautiful sunset was your backdrop and you know who painted it.

“It’s beautiful, Brad. Thank you.” Kendall’s arm found its way around your waist, “Look at us, Baby. College graduates.” You nodded, still looking down at the photo. “I wish they were here…” Tears had gathered in your eyes as you looked at Kendall then to Bradley.

“Come here, Duckie,” Bradley opened his arms to you and you immediately fell into them. 

“They’re here. They’re always here. And they are so damn proud of you.” You nodded, sniffling a little, “Thanks Bradley.” 

“Plus, look at this photo,” he grabbed your wrist and held your hand up. “You know damn well Momma painted that just for you.” You giggled, tears still falling out of your eyes. “She loved sunsets.” “And she loved us. She would be over the moon right now to see you standing here. Dad would probably be openly sobbing that his baby girl is no longer a baby. Mav-” Bradley cut himself off, clearing his throat. 

You just nodded, because you both knew that if Mav hadn’t pulled your papers, you wouldn’t be here.

“I guess I should thank him. Cause had he not been a total asshat, I wouldn’t have been here.” Your brother pressed his lips into a thin line, “He doesn’t deserve it. Let him wallow in the fact you’re succeeding. Cause I certainly will.” He ended with a smirk prompting you to step back in shock, “Wait, did you get into flight school?” 

He nodded, fully smiling now. “Brad! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” You squealed, feigning offense. “I wanted to surprise you!” “Well consider me surprised. I’m so happy for you! I’m proud of you, Bradley.” 

Tears brimmed his eyes, your approval and praise was all he needed to know he had someone that thought he could do it. Someone that would support him. 

He pulled you into another hug, “Thank you, Duckie.”

When you pulled away, Kendall clapped Bradley on the shoulder, “Congrats man.” He patted his hand before holding up the camera, “Now, I believe we need to get some photos. And we better hurry, Ice really wants to go back to that Mexican place.” You all laughed and moved to find your friends and teammates to take pictures; both on the polaroid and digital camera.

Now, once the photos were developed, you made a copy of three photos. One of you, one of you and Kendall, and one of you and Bradley. Then you would slide those photos into an envelope and send them to Ice, a long with a special note.

************

CHAPTER ONE IS HERE

let me know what you guys think and i may post the next part tomorrow when i get home from class

but i’ve been sitting on this series since like August so i’m very excited to put this out there

top gun tags <33 (i will put these in the comments as well): @milesdickpic​ @luckyladycreator2​ @hotch-meeeeeuppppp​

lmk if you want to be tagged :D

[roosterscockpit]

His Little Girl | Bradley Bradshaw x reader P. 34

click here to see the master list

I guess tonight is a double post night 😂 Sorry for earlier, friends! 🫣

Hi, babies! I really hope you all like this next part! I’ll leave it short so you can get right into it! ❤️ I love you all so much! 💕 Happy reading and enjoy! 😘

A/n: You’re finally home from your long treacherous work convention 🫶🏼

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: cursing, mentions killing, but LOVE THAT WILL PROBABLY KILL YOU 😫😍

Please don't take my work, I will find you. 

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The long and busy week was finally over. You were finally on your way home from Florida. You were so excited to go home and be surrounded by family and friends again. Work was emotionally, physically, and mentally draining. The good thing was you had the next 4 days off. You could use the next 96 hours to make up all the time you spent away from them. The first thing you wanted to do was tackle Leia and kiss her over and over again. You missed your little girl, then after you were done with her you would do the same to Bradley. You missed his warm embrace, his mustache tickling you as he gave you kisses, the feel of his callused hands rubbing against your cheeks when he cupped your face, the way you could feel his heartbeat when he held you close, the way he smelt, and the sound of his voice. You ached for him to be with you, you missed him so much. 

Before you made your way to the airport, you stopped by the cemetery to visit your mom and dad. You brought them some flowers and their favorite drinks. You brought your dad a root beer and your mom a ginger ale. You cleaned up their graveside and sat with them. 

You rubbed your hand over the headstone. “I miss you guys so much. A lot has changed. Last time I came to see you guys was before Leia.” You half chuckled, “Oh by the way I have a daughter now. She is 6. You guys would have loved her so much. She is a lot like me, a handful. But, she is also a spitting image of her dad.” 

You sighed, “Oh by the way again, her dad is the young man I brought here with me when I came and saw you guys before we moved to San Diego. He loves her so much.” 

You started to tear up, “I wish you guys were still here. I needed you so much. Life has been so challenging, but you guys raised me to prepare for the hardships. Bri has been there for me still. I know you would always tell me to keep her close when we were kids.” You laid down on the grass, “I know you both know everything I’m telling you. I know you’re always with me. I’m just sorry it's taken this long for me to finally see you. But you guys were always the ones to understand. I love you guys so much. Until we meet again mom and dad.” You got up and placed a kiss on their headstone. You had tears rolling down your face as you went back to your rental. 

You got to the airport and boarded your plane. You texted Bradley to let him know you were on your way back.

Y: Hi handsome, I just boarded my plane! I’ll see you in 5 hours, I love you! <3

You sent it and turned your phone off. You slept like a baby until you felt the plane jolt. You opened your eyes and you were landing in LA. You exited the plane and went to the baggage claim. While you waited for your bag you turned your phone back on. A text popped up on your phone from Bradley.

B: Hey beautiful! I can’t wait to see you. I’ve missed you so much! Leia and I are going to head over to Mav’s for a late lunch if you want to meet us here. We plan on hanging out with him for a bit. I love you, sweetheart.  

You texted him back. 

Y: I just landed. I am waiting for my bag at baggage claim. That sounds great! If you are still there, I will meet you there! I’m excited to see all of you. I missed everyone so much! :(

B: We are still here, babe! I can’t wait to see you. I miss you and your hugs :( Drive safely, and park outside the hangar when you get here! I love youuuu :*

You put your phone away and grabbed your bag as it came around. You walked quickly to the parking lot where you left your jeep. You opened the trunk and threw your bag in. You jogged over to the driver’s side and jumped in your car. You were so excited to see everyone. You drove cautiously but quickly back to San Diego.

You drove up to Mav’s hangar and saw Bradley’s car, Mav’s motorcycle, and others cars parked out in front. You parked next to a white Camaro, the license plate read, “$$$back4.” You laughed, “Payback is here too? So, they all must be here.” You got even more excited. You took your phone out and texted Bradley. 

Y: Hey! I’m here. The doors are closed though…” 

You stood there looking around for a bit. You looked at your phone every so often. Then you heard the mechanisms turning for the door to open. It was super dark inside the hangar when the doors opened. But from that darkness, Bradley emerged. Your eyes lit up and your heart leaped out of your chest. 

He was walking towards you smiling and his arms wide open. You ran to him and jumped into his arms. He buried his face into the crook of your neck and inhaled. He held onto you so tight, you could barely breathe.

“God, I missed you so much, baby girl.” He murmured into your neck. He gave you a light kiss. And pulled back to look at you but you held on to him tighter and took in his embrace. You didn’t want to let go.

He put his hands to your face and pulled back to kiss you. He kissed you slowly and gently. His mustache tickling your face. You giggled, “Oh I missed that. I missed it so much.” You teared up at the sight of him. He was wearing a black quarter button-up shirt that was tight on his chest and biceps, some dark blue jeans that hugged him nicely, they weren’t too tight nor too loose, his mustache trimmed perfectly, face clean shaven, hair messy but still well kept, and his brown boots. He looked so damn good, you kind of wished you both hadn’t been at Mav’s hangar because you wanted to tear him apart right there. You stepped back and just admired him.

“Who is this? No Hawaiian shirt? Who are you and what have you done with my Bradley?” You narrowed your eyes at him. 

He laughed and came over to grab your hand, “I wanted to look irresistible for my girl.” He leaned down and kissed your forehead. “So… how did I do? Did I take your breath away, sweetheart?” He interlocked his fingers with yours and brought your hand to his shoulder as the other one grabbed onto your waist and pulled you closer. 

You placed both arms around his neck and licked your lips with your mouth slightly parted, “You definitely did a good job, Bradley. I’m also ready for you to take other things from me.” You raised your eyebrows. 

“Oh is that right, baby?” He ducked his head down and kissed you. “We will have to wait for that later. Come in.” He nudged his head to the slightly open doors. 

He threw his arm around your shoulders and started to walk towards the dark hangar. “So is everyone here? Why’s it so dark?” 

“Oh, they stepped out real quick. They’ll all be back soon. You got here before they could get back, sweetheart. Way to ruin the surprise.”He laughed. You both were surrounded by darkness and the doors started to close behind you two.

“Bradley, if you’re going to kill me…I don’t think doing it on the military property is smart…” 

He covered your eyes and walked you forward. He leaned down and put his lips to your ear, “Keep your eyes closed, sweetheart.” 

He removed his hands and you kept your eyes shut. You heard shuffling around you. “Oh my gosh, Bradley.”

“Open your eyes, beautiful.” You opened your eyes and it was still dark. 

“What exactly am I supposed to be looking at?” You looked around the pitch dark hangar. 

You heard a snap of some fingers and the hangar lit up with outside fairy lights. The lights were streamed zig-zagged across the hangar. Some were attached to Mav’s mustang. It illuminated the whole ground floor. You were in awe as you looked around. It was beautiful. Your favorite flower, the forget-me-not, was all around the hangar. Some were in bouquets with other flowers and some were scattered on the floor. Your heart skipped a beat, it was so beautiful. There were white and baby blue balloons woven to create an arch by some tables that had candles on them. You looked at Bradley as he looked up at the fairy lights. He was smiling and then he looked at you. 

He walked over to you and placed his hand on your cheek, “Welcome home, baby.” He kissed your lips and looked deeply into your eyes. “I made your favorite chocolate fudge brownies.” He kissed you again. 

“Those were my lines, Bradley. I was supposed to do that.” You smiled, “This is so beautiful. Thank you. You didn't have to do this.” 

He shoo-shed you, “I most definitely did. You deserve to be celebrated every day, sweetheart.” 

He held your hand and walked you over to a bouquet. He picked it up and gave it to you, “These are for you. Leia and I picked them. We went all around town pulling flowers from different places. We even got harassed by an old woman for taking some of her flowers from her bush.” He laughed. 

“You took our little girl on her first heist? Oh, man…..” You smiled and kissed his cheek. “I love them, Bradley.” You held eye contact with him. You got lost in his eyes and you didn’t care. You loved him so much. You could stay like this forever. 

He reached for your free hand, “Can I have this dance, beautiful?” He smirked and had those damn puppy dog eyes on full display.

You nodded, “In silence?” 

He shook his head, “No, I’m sure something will play.” He bit his cheek.

As if there were magic, a record lightly scratched and the song, Can’t Help Falling In Love by Elvis Presley, played slowly in an echo throughout the hangar. 

“You and your slowed versions, Bradshaw.” He took your bouquet and placed it on a table.

“Just means we can dance longer, sweetheart.” He led you to the middle of the hangar near Mav’s mustang. 

He pulled you in slowly and held your hand to his chest. Your other one is on his shoulder and his other is on your lower back. He looked down at you with so much love in his eyes. You both just took in each other’s presence. He leaned his forehead against yours and you both closed your eyes….

“But I can't help falling in love with you.”

You opened your eyes and so did he. He kissed your forehead, “Darling, so it goes, some things are meant to be.” He sang to you in a hushed tone. Shivers ran down your spine. You felt like the luckiest girl in the world. You felt so loved. You were so in love with him. 

He brought your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles. You both continued to slow dance, “I missed you so much, y/n.”

“I missed you too, Bradley.”

His eyes were twinkling from the lights around the both of you. He rubbed his hand on your lower back up and down. “I never want to be away from you again, y/n. I mean it. You’re the love of my life and I’ve been so stupid to not see what was in front of me.”

You took a deep breath and caressed his cheek. He rested his forehead on yours again, “I’m never going to make that mistake again. For as long as I live, I want to be with you and only you. I don’t need anything in this world as long as I have you and Leia.” He started to caress your hand that rested on his chest. You could feel his heart pound harder and harder. “I love you, y/f/n y/l/n.” You smiled and started to tear up. He wiped the tears from your eyes and kissed you. But this wasn’t like any other kiss. It was filled with so much emotion and love. He kissed you slowly and held you close. He wanted you as close as physically possible. You felt his hand leave yours on his chest. 

He pulled back and reached into his pocket. Your heart started to pound. You looked at him with wide eyes as his hand fidgeted in his pocket. He pulled his hand from his pocket and he held a small black velvet box. You gasped and started to cry. He looked at the box and then at you. He started to tear up as he wiped the tears from your cheeks. He held your hand and got on his knee. He adjusted himself so his back was straight. He rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand. He looked up at you and gulped. He was smiling so big. You were sobbing and wiping the tears that were flooding your eyes. 

“From the moment I saw you frantically flipping through your engineering book at university and how you so nicely shared your earbud with me, I knew you were something special, y/n. From the day we met, I could never live a day without you. You felt like home to me. You were the first one to learn everything about me and accept me for who I was. You supported me in everything I wanted to do. You understood me more than anyone in my life. I know I messed up, but there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t think about you. My heart beats for you and only you. There is no one in this world that can make me feel the way you make me feel. I never want to lose you and I’ll do everything and anything for you. I want to be your best friend, boyfriend, love, and husband.”

He kissed your hand. He brought the little box up to his chin and flicked it open by pushing his chin to it. He readjusted it in his hand and held it up to you. A little light was shining on the ring. It was so beautiful, it sparkled so brightly, and it was simple. You knew that ring so well. You knew it was his mom’s. You cried even harder. You started to shake. 

He took a shaky deep breath and looked at you. “Will you marry me, please sweetheart?” 

You stood there crying trying to catch your breath. You were finally able to mutter softly, “Yes, Bradley.” 

He jumped up and hugged you. He placed kisses all over your face. You started to hear cheering and then you both were being showered in flower petals. Everything was in slow motion.

You had your arms wrapped around Bradley’s neck. He looked around smiling. You looked up at him confused. He looked at you and started laughing. He looked up to the second-floor ledge where you two once stood to watch Leia and Mav with his plane. Everyone was up there waving to you. You squinted your eyes to try and see past the fairy lights. You saw Austin holding Leia as they waved down to you. Your heart lit up. 

You gasped, “LEIA!” 

Austin put her down and she ran down the stairs to you. You knelt down and she ran to you. She slammed into you knocking you down. She laid on top of you hugging and kissing you. Bradley knelt down beside the both of you laughing. He helped you two up. 

“YOU SAID YESS MOMMY!” She was jumping with joy. “Daddy owes me a puppy!” She started to dance. 

You looked at Bradley confused, “We made a bet and I said you would have said no.” He leaned to your ear, “I only bet that so I had an excuse to get her a dog.” He kissed your cheek.

Everyone started to make their way down to you and Bradley. Everyone gave you hugs and kisses as they congratulated you along with welcoming you home. 

Bradley introduced you to more of his aviator friends, Harvard, Yale, Fritz, Omaha, and Halo. 

Omaha introduced you to his girlfriend, “Hi , y/n. I would like you to meet my girlfriend Danielle ( @the-navistar-carol​ 😘). We’ve been dying to finally meet you. Bradley has told us so much about you since we’ve known him.”

Danielle gave you a big hug, “Congratulations on your engagement! It’s so good to finally meet you!”

You hugged her back , “It’s so lovely to meet you both! Thank you so much for finding time to come!” 

Phoenix ran to you and slammed into your arms. You nearly fell onto the floor. “Yes! Finally!”

You hugged her back and laughed, “Did you know about this?” Your eyes were wide.

Bri came up and hugged you tight. They both stood there and shook their heads. Phoenix chuckled, “I had no fucking clue. I don’t think any of us did.” She looked around at everyone and they all shook their heads and were shrugging.

Hangman threw his arms up, “I was standing up there waiting for Rooster’s signal to throw these flowers down and it never came. I was like ‘what the hell man, come on!’” He took a deep breath and smiled at you, “But then this happened and I had to hold back everything in me to stop me from gasping and crying.” He chuckled. 

Everyone stood around you and Bradley. 

Payback threw his hands up, “Well, Rooster? Put a ring on that girl!” Everyone started to clap and holler.

He helped you stand up and he pulled the ring from the box. He closed the box and handed it to Mav. He turned back to you smiling. 

“Okay, which hand is your left?” He laughed loudly. 

You stuck your left hand out and he grabbed it. He kissed your ring finger and slid the ring onto it. “Perfect, just like you, y/n.” He took you in his arms and leaned you back. Arching you slightly back. He held one hand on your hip and the other arm wrapped around your shoulders to support your weight. He leaned you further back and smiled. “Like a famous sailor once did, so should I.” He kissed your lips hard but softly at the same time. Everyone cheered for both of you. 

He stood you up and kissed you one more time, “Now let’s celebrate! My baby is home!” He picked you up and spun you around. 

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I HAVE NO WORDS 😭 Did you see this coming because no one else did 😭 We are officially engaged to Bradley 😍 I’ll see you in the next part, babes! 🫶🏼

My beautiful tags are in the comments! 😘

[ljones41]

"OUR MUTUAL FRIEND" (1998) - Second Review

"OUR MUTUAL FRIEND" (1998) Second Review

Several years ago, I had written a review of "OUR MUTUAL FRIEND", the BBC's 1998 adaptation of Charles Dickens' 1865 novel. Needless to say, my opinion of it proved to be mixed. But after numerous re-watches of the four-part miniseries, I came to the conclusion that my views had undergone a tremendous change . . . as the following new review will convey.

During my recent re-watch of "OUR MUTUAL FRIEND", I continued to find it a complicated tale. It featured at least four subplots (and not three, as I had originally assumed). And they all stemmed from the alleged death of John Harmon, the estranged heir to a fortune created by his father, a former collector from London's rubbish. "OUR MUTUAL FRIEND" began with a solicitor named Mortimer Lightwood informing the circumstances on the death of his late client and the details of Mr. Harmon Sr.'s will to his aunt and a group of listeners at a London society party. According to Lightwood, Mr. Harmon made his fortune from London's rubbish. The terms of his will stipulated that his fortune should go to John, returning to Britain after years spent abroad. The will allowed John to inherit his father's money on the condition that he marry a woman he has never met, Miss Bella Wilfer. However, Lightwood received news that John Harmon's body had been found in the Thames River. He and his close friend, Eugene Wrayburn, head toward the river to identify the body. And it was this sequence that led to the following subplots:

*Mr. Harmon's employees, Nicodemus and Henrietta Boffin inherit the Harmon fortune and take Bella Wilfer on as a ward/companion to compensate for her loss, following John Harmon's "death".

*John Harmon fakes his death and assumes the identity of John Rokesmith, the Boffins' social secretary, in order to ascertain Bella Wilfer's character.

*Gaffer Hexam, the waterman and scavenger who found Harmon's "body", ends being accused of murdering "Harmon" by Hexam's duplicitous former partner, Roger "Rogue" Riderhood.

*While accompanying his friend, Mortimer Lightwood, to identify Harmon's body, Eugene Wrayburn meets and falls in love with Hexam's daughter, Lizzie.

*Bradley Headstone, the schoolmaster of Charley Hexam, Lizzie's younger brother, develops a romantic, yet violent obsession with Lizzie and a deep hatred of Eugene.

*Mr. Boffin hires a ballad-seller with a wooden leg named Silas Wegg to read for him. When he finds Harmon's will in one of the Harmon dust piles, Wegg schemes with a taxidermist named Mr. Venus to blackmail the newly rich dustman.

*Mr. and Mrs. Lammle, a society couple who had married each other for money and discovered that neither had any, plot to swindle Mr. Boffin of his money.

I have experienced a handful of movies, novels and television shows in which disparate subplots eventually form into one main narrative. A major example of this was the 2002 novel and its 2008 movie adaptation, "MIRACLE AT ST. ANNA". But I cannot recall any form of fiction in which a particular narrative divides into a series of subplots from one main action or character. When I first saw "OUR MUTUAL FRIEND", I found this narrative device not only original, but rather disconcerting.

The problem I initially had with "OUR MUTUAL FRIEND" was that I only enjoyed only one major subplot - the bizarre "love triangle" between Eugene Wrayburn, Lizzie Hexam and Bradley Headstone. I cannot deny that I found it very interesting and very tense. Yet another re-watch of the miniseries made me aware of the mistakes I had made in judgment. One, my views of the miniseries' other subplots turned out to be more interesting than I had initially assumed. It finally occurred to me how wealth, greed and/or class played major roles in Dickens' story. The Harmon fortune had attracted greedy types like Silas Wegg and the Lammles. Even Bella Wilfer was willing to use the Boffins to find a wealthy husband within London's high society. Gaffar Hexam's discovery of the fake John Harmon's body and the reward he had received led his greedy and jealous former partner to accuse him of murder.

John's deception also exposed a good deal of class bigotry in this tale. Upper-class types like Lady Tippins seemed appalled at the idea of lower-class citizens like the Boffins inheriting a large fortune. She seemed to harbor this attitude that attorney Mortimer Lightwood should automatically take control of the Harmon fortune. As the Boffins' protégé, Bella initially regarded John as beneath her, due to his position as the Boffins' social secretary, John Rokesmith. Class bigotry practically reeked throughout the love triangle between Lizzie, Eugene and Bradley. Despite being in love with Lizzie, the upper-class Eugene seemed more wiling to view her as a potential mistress, instead of a wife. Bradley Headstone, who came from the same class as Lizzie, seemed more than willing to marry her. Yet, he also regarded her as being socially beneath him, due to her lack of education. He seemed to believe Lizzie should be grateful to marry him and reacted with surprise when she rejected his offer. And Eugene not only regarded Bradley as a romantic rival, but also as a man who was socially beneath him. The miniseries ended with Mortimer Lightwood attending a society party aboard a River Thames steamer. He and a shy man named Mr. Tremlow defended a particular marriage that crossed class lines, despite the other partygoers' disapproval and contempt. This ending is one of the main reasons I truly enjoy this adaptation of Dickens' novel. I found it emotionally satisfying, yet very poignant.

Sandy Welch made some changes in Dickens' narrative. Instead of pursuing heiress Georgiana Podsnap and attempting to trap her into marriage with fortune hunter Fascinating Fledgby, Alfred and Sophia Lammles set their sights on the Boffins' money. Welch's screenplay had excluded Fledgby altogether, along with his moneylending business. These changes made sense to me, considering the Lammles' arc with Fledgby and Miss Podsnap had nothing to do with John Harmon or his fortune. The Lammles met a nameless heiress (a stand-in for Georgiana Podsnap?) at a rail station near the end, as they boarded a train for Dover and the English Channel. Due to Welch's erasure of the Fledgby character, she reduced Mr. Riah's character as a close friend of both Lizzie and her friend, dollmaker Jenny Wren. Mr. Riah only played a role by helping Lizzie find a job outside of London.

It seemed a pity that Welch had eliminated the Fledgby character and his arc with Mr. Riah. It would have given the miniseries a peek into Victorian anti-Semitism, something the novel managed to achieve on a small scale. But as I had pointed out - Fledgby and Mr. Riah's arc had no connection to John Harmon, his fortune and his deception. To understand what I am trying to say, let me clarify. All of the other arcs in "OUR MUTUAL FRIEND" either began with Mr. Harmon Sr.'s will or with John Harmon's actions following his arrival in London. The former's will led John to create and participate in his deception in order to judge Bella. If Mr. Harmon had not made that condition for John to marry Bella in order to inherit his fortune, chances are John would have never conceived his deception. He would have never been attacked by the man he had recruited to impersonate him. Hexam would have never found the impersonator's body and found himself falsely accused of murder by his former partner.

Even if Mr. Harmon's will had not changed, John could have simply adhered to and inherit his father's fortune, leading to a possible loveless marriage to Bella. With no body to find, Mortimer and especially Eugene would have never met Lizzie. As Charly Hexam's tutor, Bradley Headstone probably would have met Lizzie and fallen in love with her anyway. But I believe she still would have rejected him. It is possible the Lammles would have focused their attention on John. But I suspect they would have very little success in befriending him. If John had immediately inherited his father's fortune, the Boffins would have inherited one of the Harmons' dust piles. Does this mean Mr. Boffin would have hired Wegg as his reader anyway? I wonder.

I cannot deny that "OUR MUTUAL FRIEND" did such an excellent job in exploring the effects of wealth, greed and class in Victorian London. All or most of the subplots seemed to flow from John Harmon and his decision to fake his death. Like the River Thames that flows through southern England and London. Is it any wonder that Dickens had decided to set his novel along the river - even outside of London? The story began with Lizzie and and her father scavenging along the Thames and ended on that lovely moment when both Mortimer and a shy man named Mr. Tremlow defended a recent marriage that crossed class lines at a society party aboard a steamer on the river.

As for the production values for "OUR MUTUAL FRIEND", I still remain impressed as ever. David Odd's cinematography still strikes me as colorful and epic. I am not surprised that he had received a BAFTA Award nomination for his work. Malcolm Thornton won a BAFTA Award for the miniseries' excellent production designs. His recreation of mid-19th century London and the River Thames struck me as colorful, well-detailed and just outstanding. Mike O'Neil had earned a BAFTA nomination for his costume designs. A part of me wish he had won. I still find them beautiful and a near reflection of Britain in the 1860s, as shown in the images below:

My opinion of "OUR MUTUAL FRIEND" may have improved over the years, but I still have a few issues with it. One of those issues remained John Harmon's deception regarding his identity - namely how it affected Bella Wilfer. I still find it problematic that John did not reveal his true identity to her, until a few months after their wedding. And I found Bella's lack of hostility toward his revelation implausible. Although I found Silas Wegg's attempt to blackmail Mr. Boffin interesting, I found his constant complaints about his target and plotting with Mr. Venus rather irritating after two episodes or so.

The performances featured in the 1998 miniseries more than satisfied me. I found Harmon's gradual love for Bella very interesting to watch, thanks to Steven Mackintosh's subtle performance. And Anna Friel did a great job in developing Bella Wilfur from a materialistic and ambitious young woman, to one for whom love and morality meant more to her than material wealth. "OUR MUTUAL FRIEND" also featured excellent performances from Peter Vaughn and Pam Ferris as the Boffins, Kenneth Cranham as Silas Wegg, Margaret Tyzack as the imperious Tippins, and Dominic Mafham as Mortimer Lightwood. The miniseries also featured first-rate supporting performances from the likes of David Schofield as the no-nonsense Gaffer Hexam, Anthony Calf and Doon Mackichan as the Lammles, Paul Bailey as Charley Hexam, Peter Wight as Mr. Wilfer, Cyril Sharps as the kindly Mr. Riah, Linda Bassett as pub owner Abby Potterson, Edna Doré as the kindly, yet proud Betty Higden; and Robert Lang as the reserved and shy Mr. Tremlow, whom I believe provided one of the best moments in the series.

But there seemed to be performances that I believe stood above the others. Timothy Spall gave one of his more subtle performances as the enigmatic taxidermist Mr. Venus, who found himself drawn reluctantly in Wegg's scheming. Some have complained that Katy Murphy had been too old, as a thirty-something actress, to portray dollmaker Jenny Wren, a character in her late teen or early 20s. But the other two actresses I have seen portray Jenny were either 30 or older, so I do not understand the complaint. And Murphy did such an excellent job in conveying Jenny's emotional, yet blunt personality. I thought David Bradley did a superb job in his portrayal of the sly, yet malevolent waterman, Rogue Riderhood. Unlike other actors in the role, he did not succumb to occasional histrionics.

In my previous review of "OUR MUTUAL FRIEND", I had accused David Morrissey of engaging in histrionics in his portrayal of the violently jealous headmaster, Bradley Headstone. I had been wrong. Morrissey only did it once in a scene that featured Lizzie Hexam's rejection of his marriage proposal. Otherwise, I thought the actor gave a brilliant performance. One would think portraying the reserved Lizzie Hexam would be a walk in the park for any actress. Yet, I believe Keeley Hawes took the portrayal to another level by not only conveying Lizzie's dislike of Headstone, and her wariness toward Eugene Wrayburn's feelings for her; but also her streak of insecurity that led her to doubt her worthiness for someone like Eugene. I had earlier accuse the actress of being unable of to express Lizzie's true feelings for Eugene until the last episode. But I forgot that Hawes did convey moments of attraction toward Eugene. And in portraying a reserved character like Lizzie, she did an effective job of conveying the character's penchant for keeping such feelings closely to her chest. I have said this before and I will say it again - I believe Paul McGann gave the best performance in "OUR MUTUAL FRIEND", for his portrayal of the ambiguous Eugene Wrayburn. If one closely observe the character, he is not exactly a nice man. At least most of the time. McGann did a beautiful job in his portrayal of the indolent, yet patronizing attorney; conveying both the negative and surprisingly, the character's positive traits. And thanks to McGann's performance, one could see Eugene's struggle between his love for Lizzie and his wariness over her class.

Do I still believe "OUR MUTUAL FRIEND" was flawed? Well . . . I point out a few. As I had stated in my previous review, the 1864-65 novel is not considered among Charles Dickens' best works. But my opinion of the 1998 adaptation certainly has improved a great deal over the years. Screenwriter Sandy Welch and director Julian Farino did excellent jobs in translating Dickens' tale to the television screen. And the production not only featured first-rate work from the crew, but also superb performances from an excellent cast led by Steven Mackintosh. If I must be honest, not only has my opinion of "OUR MUTUAL FRIEND" improved over the years, I now consider it one of the best adaptations of any of Dickens' works.

[jo-harrington]

Me seeing AASB Hymns of Heaven requests open back up:

It would be great to see either the Thunderbird or Great Horned Serpent for some indigenous representation!

xoxo 💜 Cee

Cee, light of my life, bestie. Thank you for requesting this, trusting me with it, and thank you for chatting with me and answering my questions to do this blurb and these creatures justice. Just like we discussed, there’s so many interpretations of these creatures and the meanings vary so much. Faith is an incredibly personal thing so thank you for sharing these stories, your beliefs, and your studies with me.

This blurb is in collaboration with @whatis-much (writing account @rosewaterandivy) and you can find her amazing collection of writing here.

In addition to my monthly food bank donation I have also made a donation to the Association on American Indian Affairs.

Warnings and Themes: Death, Grief, Mourning, Discussion of the Afterlife, Discussion of Religion

Find other Hymns of Heaven here.

September 1984

It never got easier.

It would never get easier.

Eddie spent the past 8 years without his mother, and he would spend the rest of his life without her too. Every day the memories got hazier and hazier, but never any less cherished.

He couldn’t remember what she wore when she dropped him off at school the morning before the accident, but he could remember her smile when she kissed his forehead and waved goodbye to him.

Couldn’t remember her favorite flavor of ice cream but could remember the way her eyes crinkled and the face she made when she got that first bite. Especially that first time Rick took them both out for a special “family date.”

Couldn’t remember the things his father said to her in hatred and anger, but could remember the tears of relief and the tightness of her arms around him the day his father got sent away for good.

And they were all things he wished he had now as he sat beside her grave and traced the letters carved into her headstone with reverent fingers and tear-filled eyes.

The dry grass crunched behind Eddie and he sniffed and rubbed at his eyes really quick before he turned to find you. You and the gentleness in your gaze, a bouquet of flowers—carnations, his mom’s favorite; how had you known—from Bradley’s in hand, and a small knapsack that he was sure was filled with lunch and snacks slung over your shoulder.

Leave it to you to remember to keep him full on a day he felt so…hollow.

He had been hesitant to share this with you.

In those early years, Wayne and Rick would plan something special with him so he wouldn’t be alone. So they wouldn't be alone either. But lately he had preferred the day to just be him and his mom.

When he invited you to join him, you insisted that you didn't need to. Could sense the conflict in him. You told him that you could meet his mom when he was ready to share her, if he was ever ready. Despite his nerves though, something inside of him compelled him to tell you, to share this with you.

Even if it was just once.

You sat down next to him and said hello to his mom in a soft and caring voice; you told her how nice it was to meet her, and how much her son meant to you.

You set the bouquet along the top of the headstone and dug through your bag for something. You handed him a wrapped sandwich from the deli, one for yourself, and then one for his mom, which you put on a plate on the ground in front of you. Then you pulled out a few candles in tall glass containers and a few that were smaller and shorter made of colored wax.

"She liked being fussed over," he laughed as you arranged them and questioned whether or not you could light them. "Don't know if she liked candles or not. This is probably nicer than anything we'd ever done for her on her birthdays when I was growing up."

"I just don't wanna be disrespectful," you explained. "Prayer candles like this...they're a very catholic thing."

"No, I'm sure she'd appreciate it. Appreciate getting to learn something about you too."

You nodded and began to light them one by one. You hesitated at the candle that featured an angel blowing into a trumpet, but lit it nonetheless.

"You know," Eddie began, his stomach turning slightly, but he still powered through. "I don't really...I don't really know what she believed in. She never prayed. Didn't really have time for it...for church or anything. She worked every single Sunday at Benny's and then she'd grumble that if people were really devout that they'd be nicer or leave better tips. Sometimes she would say 'please God' if her car didn't start on really cold days in the winter.

"I don't remember her funeral either...but I don't think Pastor Charles was there. Rick asked me if there was anything special for her and I just asked...if we could have ambrosia with lunch. Because she always made it on special occasions. God, I was such an idiot kid."

He put his face in his hands for a minute as his eyes burned with tears again.

He didn't remember the color of the casket or the flowers, didn't remember what it was she wore.

"You weren't an idiot kid." You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Just a kid who lost his mom. It's ok if you don't remember. It's traumatic."

"My whole life's traumatic," he let out a watery laugh. "I should remember this. Should remember her. All I know is how...good she was. She was just so good. A good mom, a good neighbor. She deserves to be...I don't know...deserves to be someplace nice. She deserves some...heaven, some paradise...

"This asshole kid at school...Brady...he used to bully me, and after she died. Wayne made me get these buzz cuts, it was just easier. Mom always cut my hair herself before...anyway, you could see my ears, right? This kid Brady kept saying they were a little pointy and that must mean I was...some demon spawn. My dad was in prison, maybe he was the devil, and my mom and I were like...Rosemary's baby.

"That's why I started...reading about demons and stuff, because he said it was good that she was dead; she was in hell where she belonged. I always liked the fantasy books in the library but...the really hardcore stuff...that came later..."

"Mom always used to say...fear stems from ignorance," Eddie muttered with finality, tears fully streaming down his cheeks now as his body shook. "So I needed to know everything I could about hell and about demons...so I wouldn't be...be afraid that she might be there."

You muttered his name softly and rubbed his back as he took the time he needed to cry.

There was a breeze. The leaves of nearby trees rustled, the grass. The flames of the candles shook but never went out. Birds chirped and cicadas buzzed in the distance.

You took a breath.

"You know you said to me a while back...something about religion being organized...and I told you everyone can pick their own beliefs..."

You hummed contemplatively for a minute before continuing.

"Do you know...before people believed was a Hell there was just an afterlife. An underworld. Just a place for dead people to go. No punishment, no fire. Death itself the punishment, and then your soul lived on.

"And then you have...different indigenous beliefs about life and Death. The Algonquin people believed in an Underworld and an Overworld and creatures that guarded them. A Thunderbird and a Horned Serpent. Heralds...Stewards of the living and the dead respectively.

"And in Navajo culture, the Underworld isn't even where the dead go. It's where people came from...before they came to be...a dark and primordial place...and the Horned Serpent guided them to the Earth. To life.

"When their time on earth was done," you concluded reverently. "Their spirits would live on forever."

You pushed Eddie's hands away from his eyes and softly caressed his face, made him look at you. You doted on him and he felt all the love and care you put into every touch.

Over his cheeks, his eyebrows, through his bangs so straighten what he messed up. You kissed the tip of his nose and then over each of his eyes, and the ache he felt behind them began to dissipate.

You poured hope and courage and peace into him, and he received it all with an open heart.

"So where is she then?" Eddie whispered.

"Heaven...Hell...Gods...devils...it's all relative...all personal," you answered. "There's no one answer. If your mom believed that God was only there to help start her car on a cold day, then that's what God is. And if she believed that He was only there to give people who wanted absolution for some sins only to be disgusting people anyway, then that's what He is.

"Maybe you don't know what she really believed, but Eddie...what you believe is at play here too." You smiled and your eyes darted between his. "If you want to believe her soul is out there...living forever, then she is. If you want to believe she's in the Undying Lands, then she is. And if you think she was good...then she's worthy of being in Heaven."

Eddie took a moment and closed his eyes. And he imagined his mom again. Her smile and her laugh and her love. He imagined a place that was perfect for her, with music and ice cream and ambrosia and all the comforts that she never got the opportunity to have when she was alive. He imagined that she felt all of the love the world had to give, all the love he had for her.

There was no real name for it.

But that was exactly where she was.

[bayisdying]

Imagine being Slider's daughter (and Rooster's forgotten best friend)

TW: This imagine does mention Goose's death, cemeteries, headstones, funerals, etc.

Ron Kerner is a tough guy, okay? Slider doesn't cry. Not even a sniffle when his little girl is placed in his hands for the first time.

He misses alot of your milestones (first steps, etc) but your mom does a good job capturing the moments and putting them in your baby book for him to go through later.

He did however hear your first word, him and Ice were getting off the plane when he heard a sqeaul and a little voice calling out for "Dada"

No Ice he did not cry, he teared up, there's a difference.

When he gets into Top Gun, he is so happy but he knows it means leaving you behind again. You're only 4, but you've already been without him longer than most kids should ever be.

So when they let families come to visit? He flies you and your momma out to see him.

He literally is so happy to have his girls back with him. Again Ice, he's not crying. Slider doesn't cry. Shut up its allergies.

You love your Uncle Ice, and he loves you right back Little One.

Your Dad introduces you to a man named Goose, and you love him instantly. With his funny mustache,loud laugh, and piano skills.

Goose has a son who is only a few months older than you are and you two become attached at the hip.

Your best friend that summer is that sandy haired boy named Bradley Bradshaw. But you called him BradBrad and he was your everything that summer before your lives changed.

So many days in the sunshine, building sandcastles, wading into the vast ocean, and eating popsicles by the dozen together.

Literally went everywhere together. You hung out with your Dad's and the other pilots. You stick by Uncle Ice but you also like the guy they say is named Maverick.

The two of you are so cute, all the pilots love you two so much.

You remember July 29th 1986 for the rest of your life because of how broken you father becomes after Goose's death

You go to the funeral and hold your BradBrad's hand throughout the service.

Then you both leave the place where everything happened and don't see each other again until 5 years later.

Your Dad, Uncle Ice, and you go to Goose's grave every year. You try to get there early so your trio is gone before the real family shows up to mourn the man named Goose.

But on the 5 year anniversary you are met with the sweet woman Carole, and her son. Who is now taller than you, his hair a little darker, but the same kind eyes you saw in your dreams.

It was your BradBrad.

Carole comments how much you've grown since that summer, and reminds Bradley who you are.

You all go to a diner near the cemetery and catch up on the last 5 years. You decide that BradBrad is still the coolest person you know. He wants to be a pilot like his dad, and you happily agree with that plan.

Your Dad and Carole immediately shoot down that conversation.

It will be another 8 years and another funeral before you see him again. His mother's funeral.

You're both 17 now, right on the cusp between childhood and adulthood.

He's definitely taller now, his hair getting darker but still showing signs of the sandy hair he had when he was 4 years old, but those brown eyes were still the same.

You two make eye contact, but no words are said. You'd lost your own Momma a few years before, and still had no idea what to say to the broken boy standing there thanking guests for coming.

You didn't think you'd ever see the boy from your childhood ever again after that. Your last ties from that summer are pretty much gone.

You give your Dad a heart attack when you follow in his very large footsteps and join the Navy.

He is proud, don't get him wrong, but he wanted you to be literally anything else.

And once again, Ron Kerner did not cry. That wouldn't be very strong arms, great abs, himbo of him.

Your callsign is "Strike" because you're as fast as a lightning strike. You love that it's so similar to your Dad's.

When they call back the best of the best? Damn right you're one of them.

You make your way back to the place where it all happened all those years ago.

Walking into the Hard Deck you make a perch at the bar scoping out who else would be called back.

You see Hangman and Coyote playing darts in the back and have to smile because of course Coyote hasn't learned not to challenge him.

You watch as Phoenix walk in with two men who you don't recognize.

What you don't realize? A man in a leather jacket stealing looks at you, remembering you as the kid that he's watched grow up in the pictures in Ice's office.

Then the air completely changes when a man walks in with aviators on and a Hawaiian shirt on.

Your heart stops because for a second you are four years old again, and your Dad is introducing you to Goose.

You collect your thoughts and join the group.

"Well well Strike is here."

"In the flesh Bagman."

"I don't think we've met before, I'm Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw."

God if that didn't hurt you a little.

"Rooster this is Y/N "Strike" Kerner." Phoenix speaks for you. Hugging you close. You love the girl like a sister.

You don't see the look on his face, like he is trying to rack his brain.

You are a little shocked the next day when Maverick is announced as your teacher.

You hadn't seen the man in years but you knew your Uncle Ice still trusted him. So you trusted him

Until he started his bullshit and now you're wondering if Uncle Ice is getting senile in his old age. (And you may or many not text Aunt Sarah to make sure he's okay)

You put up a good showing but get shot down when you go up for the first time with Payback and Fanboy, who you've never worked with before but enjoyed.

You even help Hondo count their push-ups, because you're the one who warned them not to make a bet like that with Maverick.

"Lt. Kerner?"

"Yes Maverick?"

"You probably don't remember me much but.."

"I remember you Mav."

The older man looks stunned, but he wishes you luck on your next run.

You almost complete the course until Phoenix and Bob hit a curve too sharp and "crash" into the side of a mountain.

You're about to return to base when the bird strike happens. You watch they as spiral towards earth and eject when nothing else works.

You rush to the medical bay and breathe a sigh of relief when they are fine.

Meanwhile...

Maverick and Bradley are having their little fight and Maverick brings you up.

"What does Strike have to do with this?"

"Haven't you realized who she is?"

*cue confused Bradley*

Maverick pulls a picture out of his flight suit pocket. It's worn and torn. But there's a little Bradley on his dad's shoulder and a little girl on another man's shoulders. A little girl who looks strikingly like you (haha great pun Bay, you're welcome)

"Strike was the girl?"

"The girl who stuck by you that whole summer. Yeah that's her."

*cue confused Bradley again*

Bradley confronts you, and you two have a heart to heart.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to bring up bad memories."

"They weren't all bad that summer. You were there."

You accidentally call him BradBrad, and he laughs so hard.

"I'd forgotten about that!"

You're the only one allowed to call him that, Hangman tries once. ONCE.

So many hours just catching up and falling easily back into the friendship from many, many summers ago.

You find yourself slowly falling for him, but you're just happy to have him back in your life so you push away those feelings.

(Uncle Ice lives in this imagine because writing his funeral again is gonna wreck me soooo)

You're a Dagger Spare with Hangman. Just chilling on the tarmac hoping you don't have to go save any of your team.

Then Maverick goes down and you have to stop the scream that sits in your lungs. Uncle Ice will be devastated.

Then Bradley goes after him?

You let that scream out. You just got your best friend back you couldn't lose the boy with sandy hair and those eyes you had known and loved since you were 4 years old.

You and Hangman go save them in their bag of ass plane (thanks BradBrad)

When you land?

You forget where you are and pull Rooster in for a kiss many years in the making.

Maverick then shows you two a picture from 1986, you're kissing little Bradley's cheek. You both laugh at the little image

"I think we were meant to be Strike."

"I sure hope so BradBrad."

And no Ron Kerner does not cry when he walks you down the aisle to the man who looks so much like Goose it hurts

Ron Kerner may not have cried but he prayed that Goose and Carole were somewhere watching.

And also wondered if Goose found it as hilarious as he did that those two little kids in 1986 are now two grown up naval aviators in love.

God I love Slider so much, writing this was so fun.

Tagging the forevers: @kloofspeaks @notyoursbutlewis @roosterscockpit @callsign-milano @callsignthirsty

[sebsxphia]

*sigh* so I’m having angsty thoughts and obviously the first person I think of for Angsty blurbs is you so I just had to tell you.

Don’t think of Bradley and his wifey going to Goose and Carole’s grave(they share a headstone bc they do, no one can change my mind) and telling them that they’re gonna be grandparents, and Him and Wifey make it a point to visit at the very least once a month to give Goose and Carole updates about their grand baby(Wifey definitely goes without Bradley tho so she can decompress sometimes)

And when the baby’s born Bradley all smiled and he’s sitting next to the headstone holding the baby saying him and Wifey are sorry for missing the last two weeks but they figured it’d be okay since they finally had their grand baby earth-side

oh you know you can always share your angsty thoughts with me 🥺🥺🥺 and this is ooooooooooof. it hits so hard for me because my partner lost his dad and we go to his grave side all the time to talk about life updates 🥺🥺🥺

bradley wants to stay as connected as possible and of course you want to as well. you see how comforted bradley is by it and you’ll be there by his side telling goose and carole about their marriage, baby, grandkids someday, everything.

thank you so much for this my love!! 🥺💌

[footprintsinthesxnd]

For the title ask game: "Pride Comes Before the Fall"

@a-reader-and-a-writer Vee prepare your heart now. I’m sorry 😭

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

Jake Seresin had always been full of himself, he knew where he stood in the world, he played his part and he knew he was good at it. But standing looking out across the white gravestones Jake knew he’d messed up. He’d let his arrogance get the better of him and he’d lost him. The headstones lay in neatly planting rows, running parallel and monumental and completely the wrong companions for him. Jake walked slowly each step weighing him down. He knew that depression had a floor, a rock bottom and he knew once he was there it would be a blessing, then he could rebuild.

The sun was shining brightly, causing Jake to squint at the bright white headstones, reading each name carefully to find the one. The row was coming to an end and Jake began to doubt that he’d ever find it until he saw him, crouched down beside one of the headstones, his head in his hands and his shoulder shaking violently. Jake’s pace quickened until he was behind him, “Bradley?” He spoke softly, placing a hand on the other man’s shoulder. Bradley didn’t even flinch. “Bradley!” He shook his shoulders again, more urgently. Bradley did move, didn’t acknowledge him and continued to cry. Jake sighed, lifting his head slightly to look at the grave stone and froze.

In memory of

Jake Seresin

Lieutenant

US Navy

June 15th 1991

January 7th 2023

No no no. This isn't right. It couldn’t be. No he’s lost his wingman, he’d lost Bradley not the other way around. Jake stumbled back a little, watching Bradley’s movements as he wiped his arm in his sleeve and spoke. “I’m so sorry Jake, for everything.”

[valos-venus-doom]

The chapel this graveyard is beside is slowly getting new headstones for all the 150+ year old graves. I never got to read this one before today. 😕 Mabelle & John Bradley Dill were just wee babes.

(and no, they won't let me have the old ones, because yes, I asked)