#italian maverick

[streetsweepershenanigans]

For the fandom ask game:

5. Rare headcanon you love? 12. Favorite fanfiction trope? 18. Ideas for stories/aus that you have, that you might or might not end up creating?

Oooh these are fun! Thank you Anon!

Let's see, for number 5 ask about the rare headcanon that love; I would have to say I love Italian Mav. I've seen it in a couple of fics but it's not an uber popular headcanon, but I adore it nonetheless. Italian Mav's love language being food and making people eat. Also stressed out Mav just obliterating the kitchen making pastas and soups and deserts all from scratch when he's stressed. ☺️ I just love all the little things that go with it.

For number 12, my favorite fanfiction trope- I'm an absolute sucker for "and there was only one bed..." 🫢🫡 I just- I love it so much. Begrudgingly squeezing into the bed and declaring sides before threatening the other to dare and cross onto their side. And then the possibilities from there- a nightmare that wakes the other and the hurt/comfort that ensues- or maybe what follows is the most peaceful night of sleep they've ever had, and then waking up embarrassed in eachothers arms. Please, I just need more of these fics 😭

Number 18...let's see. I've got lots of ideas. I've had this multi chapter fic in progress since late November, it's an Icemav fic that's loosely inspired by dirty dancing that I'm hoping to release this summer for yall. I've also got some more angsty ideas in the works, lots of hurt/comfort based on the idea that having grown up in the foster system, Mav would cling to any sort of love/affection shown to him, and sometimes people take advantage of that, much to Mav's detriment. Like I said, hurt with a happy ending.

Anyhow, thank you so much once again for the distraction! I'll have to contend with the events of my day at sk e point, but this is so much more fun 😅

[the-ace-with-spades]

Goose and Carole were both Catholics - Goose, a good church boy from a small town in Tennessee, and Carole, a foster kid who spent half her foster years in nun-run group homes.

After Goose dies, Carole loses most of her faith. She no longer attends church every Sunday, no longer spends her Saturdays in the church committee with all the other ladies, no longer lets Bradley roam the church with all the other kids as said ladies attend rosary devotions in October, no longer prays to St. Joseph of Cupertino.

Goose's funeral ceremony is the last time she steps inside the church for years.

And then Mav starts dating Ice - or starts something with Ice, they never call it dating or being together or put a label on it, but Carole knows. Ice becomes a part of their life, too, going from absolutely shy around Bradley to bumping up to Bradley's favorite uncle (which Mav resents) and she can see Mav is happy, is trying to be happy again, and Ice is helping.

So, when one day she asks them to dinner on Sunday, and Mav arrives alone, she asks, "Where is your better half?"

Mav doesn't even deny the wording and just says, "In church, I think. He goes from time to time, he should be here before dinner."

When Ice does show up, she asks him about it when Mav is busy playing hide-and-seek with Bradley, and he tells her - he goes to a small Polish Catholic church from time to time, mostly because the mass there reminds him of the church his mama used to take him to and he can be anonymous enough there that he doesn't feel guilty for not being as religious as his childhood had been.

Carole asks him if she can go with him sometime.

So they start going together - the service is mostly in Polish and most of the people there talk in Polish so she's a bit clueless at the beginning but that makes it easier, makes the bitterness she feels about God easier, makes the anger simmer down. The people are friendly even though a lot of them can't speak English very well and Ice has to translate here or there.

The first time they take Bradley there, for rosary devotions for kids, he keeps on asking a million questions, mostly to Ice because he doesn't understand. In the end, Ice takes him on his lap and whispers explanations in his ears the whole time. The ladies that are sitting in the paw next to them keep smiling at them, not even minding the disturbance.

They stay behind after, mingling with everyone, and Bradley starts talking to a few kids despite the mix of Polish and English floating around - kids are like that, she supposes.

Ice talks to the priest, in Polish, and the priest calls him Tomek, as usual, but this time whatever they're talking about makes Ice's face bright red.

He comes back to her side and she grabs him by the elbow, holding his arm as they wait for Bradley to be finished coloring this week's rosary scene, and asks, "What was that about?"

Ice is avoiding meeting her eyes, focused on Bradley instead. "Everyone thinks you're my wife. Priest Rafal thinks it's admirable that my wife and--and son attend church with me despite the language barrier."

Carole blinks, taking in Ice's embarrassed face, and bumps her forehead on his shoulder, snorting into his arm. "Your wife is making us lemon chicken piccata as we speak."

Because every time Ice and Carole went to church, Mav would stay with Bradley and cook some absolutely delicious dinner for them to come back to. Today, it was Ice's favorite type of chicken piccata.

She feels Ice's arm shake under her hands as he chuckles. "True."

"I don't mind being your church wife, though," she tells him, pressing closer into his side, smiling.

[ebimdae22]

Top Gun Maverick characters as random photos in my camera role (again)

Rooster to Hangman

Phoenix

Slider

I know he’s not even in TGM but just give me this one

Omaha

Maverick

Cyclone about Mav

[moli88archive]

The aprilia boys at the Italian GP Pre-event

[crewcxbxnger]

[waru-chan8]

Did Maverick say that he lost 2Kg for Mugello? 2Kg in 3 weeks to be lighter and win around 2Km/H on the straight (Mack’s data not mine)? We definitely need to talk about the top speed and the minimum weight rider+bike

[blackcat2907]

A Lesson In Loyalty: a snippet from one of my WIPs

Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Jake Seresin was going to be the death of him. That boy was almost an exact copy of Maverick...maybe even worse. Sure, he liked the pilot. Jake was determined, hard-working, and an amazing pilot. However, his recklessness and arrogance was his downfall. Iceeman groaned as he got out of his plane. Jake had left his wingman hanging...again which resulted in both getting shot down during the hop.

"What the hell man!" Jake rolled his eyes as the other pilot call sign "Echo" dressed him down about leaving him out to dry. "We could have had him! But you and your holier than thou attitude made us lose!"

"Just save it." Jake huffed, pushing past Echo and heading toward the showers. He didn't want to talk about it. He knew he messed up, but he'd never admit that to Echo's face. Ice shook his head at the conversation. He'd have to talk with Jake later.

Jake wasn't a troubled kid. He was just angry. He knew what he was doing. It's not his fault everyone else wasn't good enough. He got to the locker room and began to get ready for a shower when... "F*CK!" He yelled as "Tipsy" Echo's RIO punched him in the face. "What the hell?" Jake growled, glaring daggers at Tipsy.

"You know what you did, Seresin. Don't act all innocent." Tipsy glared at Jake before storming off.

"B!tch," Jake huffed, skipping the shower and heading off. He didn't need them anyway. He was perfectly fine on his own. It wasn't his fault they weren't nearly as good as him.

"Just what exactly are you doing in MY repair shop?" Jake's head jerked up. He hadn't heard anyone come in. Then again, he wasn't paying attention. He gently took the ice pack away from his face, flipping it.

Standing before him was a petite girl with dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes. She was dressed in tan pants with black grease splatters, a black tank top, and a old, worn jacket. He could see a large patch on her upper right arm. She raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

Putting on an unimpressed look, Jake drawled, "Sunbathing. Why do you care?" He winced, pressing the ice pack back against his left eye. Who knew little Tipsy could punch so hard?

Mimi scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Sure," she sarcastically responded, shaking her head. She looked him up and down and whistled. "Nice shiner. What happened?"

Jake watched her pick up a wrench from the tool bench and begin fiddling with the car in the middle of the room. "I was dancing. What do you think?" he snapped, growing even more irritated. Who was she? And couldn't he just be left alone? "Who even are you? Last time I checked, they didn't allow children in the Navy," he sneered.

She laughed and wiped a fake tear from her eye. "God, you really are a d!ck. The names Maria, but everyone just calls me Mimi." She looked back at Jake, expecting him to tell her the story behind the black eye. "Come on! No judgment here. Tell me how you achieved that shiner!" Her blue eyes widened with curiosity.

"Tipsy punched me," Jake mumbled, not wanting to admit that smaller pilot had indeed punched him.

"The lanky guy with black hair?" Mimi raised an eyebrow, biting back a laugh. "Are you serious? He can barely hurt a fly. What did you do?" She bit the inside of her cheek and narrowed her eyes.

"Yeah. We were in the air and I left him to pull a maneuver and get Iceman," Jake explained, setting down the ice block on the crate he was sitting on. "It was a trap and we both were shot down."

"You left your wingman," Mimi realized, a small smile emerging. Growing up, the one lesson beat into her head was never leave your wingman. Too bad not everyone was raised like that. She fidgeted with a bolt, trying to get it off. "Damn thing won't budge."

Jake couldn't help but laugh at her struggles. He left the icepack and walked over to her. "So what if I left them. I trusted them to be better. It's not my fault they weren't. Nobody got hurt, and we got Jester at least. Here." He took the wrench and got the bolt off.

"Men and their strong muscles," Mimi teased, shaking her head. She took the bolt from Jake's hand and inspected in. Rusted. It would need to be replaced. "Thanks. Look, Blondie."

"Blondie?" Jake raised an eyebrow, offense clearly evident.

"I don't know your name!" Mimi shot back.

"Lieutenant Jake Seresin, Call sign Hangman." Jake introduced himself, wiping the grease on a rag hanging over the bench.

"Okay, Hangman. I've learned and was taught you never leave your wingman. I may not be a pilot, but that advice works in other areas of life. You always need that one person in life who has you back." Mimi stared into Jake's eyes, a serious expression on her face.

Jake was quiet for a long time. The only sounds in the room where metal clanking and Mimi cursing in Polish and Italian. Jake tensed as loud footsteps came closer and ducked behind the largest crate in the room.

"Maria," Ice sighed, his daughter covered in more grease. "Didn't you just clean those? Nevermind," he shook his head, "Have you seen a Lt Jake Hangman Seresin? Tall blond male with brown eyes?"

"Nope. Don't know who that is. Sorry, Pops." She smiled at Ice and went back to fixing the engine. "Can we have pierogies for dinner?" she gave him her famous puppy eyes.

Ice raised an eyebrow before sighing. "If he comes in here, tell hom I want to see him. We need to talk" He turned heel and started to walk out. "Only if you don't come home covered in grease." Footsteps echoed down the hall before fading to nothing.

"Why did you lie to him and POPS?" Jake asked, coming out from his hiding spot. Nobody had ever covered for him like that. Well, Javy did, but that's different. Javy was his best friend. Mimi was just an acquaintance.

Mimi smirked at him, wiping her brow. "You never leave your wingman." Jake was stunned, mouth gaping. "Now, either leave or close your mouth and help me."

Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed this. It was supposed to be a short drabble (a paragraph or two) but I may have gotten into it an decided to write more. Enjoy the extra food.

Tags:

@hiraganasakura @dxmerons @daughterofthereaper02

[apixsyndication]

Italian bombshell Giulia Lupetti caused a stir on Big Brother in her home country, studied acting in London and Los Angeles, and now features in the blockbuster sequel 🎥 Top Gun: Maverick with Tom Cruise and Miles Teller. Our stunning studio shoot by the amazing @la_missale is available for worldwide publication.

📸 © Alessia Laudoni

[streetsweepershenanigans]

✨️Icemav Imagine✨️

*Please feel free to write/draw something if you feel inspired by this. My Imagines are prompts that anyone can use, just tag me in the finished piece/work😊*

Italian Maverick quietly singing Bella Ciao under his breath to Ice as they lie in bed together the night before Maverick leaves for deployment.

[the-ace-with-spades]

So as a Polish person, I both love and hate Polish! Ice as a headcanon, but my grandma is half-Italian and somehow this manifested into Italian! Mav so here we go (spoiler: there's a lot of food involved):

Mav's mom was first generation Italian born in NYC, lived in Staten Island until she married Mav's dad - her family was from Bologna

Mav, despite the hero worship he had for his dad, was mamma's boy

she could speak Italian well and did so around the house but never taught Mav, and what little Italian he could speak, he forgot once she died and he wasn't around the language

she, however, left him their family cookbook, entirely written in Italian, and so recipes are the only text he can understand without googling a lot

after he retires, he wants to take some Italian lessons with Ice

as mentioned in one of my post's tags, the few words he remembers and are still natural to him are pet names; he calls Ice caro (dear??) like his mom called his dad, mio angelo, tesoro (sweetheart/honey??) and when Bradley was small and he was tired, he'd call him bambino

He also uses sei un raggio di sole (you are a ray of sunshine) sarcastically when Ice is grumpy -- it's a phrase his mom used when he was grumpy as a kid

he couldn't say 'I love you' to Ice for some time so instead, he'd say ti voglio tanto bene and then eventually moved to ti amo and then to English

he actually really likes to cook, he just needs to cook for someone - he was taught that cooking is a sign of love so he likes to cook for their family, but not just for himself

Bradley couldn't eat nutella for years b/c Mav's homemade nocciolata was so much better. Ice could literally kill for his nocciolata-filled bomboloni and ricotta and strawberry jam crostata

Slider often 'visits' them to get their leftovers and had once asked Mav to make him aubergine parmigiana and shrimp risotto as a birthday present

Mav makes Ice tiramisu as a pick-me-up when he needs to leave for long

Mav loves wine but it must be complimentary with the meal

he makes his own pasta and if you're in the kitchen while he's making it, he's going to use you to roll or knead the dough for him

when Carole was getting sick but still staying at home, he'd make batches of ravioli, tortellini, tortelloni, mezzelune, cappelletti -- any stuffed pasta that could be frozen and then quickly boiled -- so Bradley would have dinner when Carole was having a bad day

he refuses to ever make fettuccine alfredo as a rule b/c it's boring and its american, and will never make meatballs to serve with spaghetti, but Ice broke him and he now finally can do the americanized marinara sauce

their house has plenty of jars -- homemade pesto (3-4 different kinds), a mayo-sized jar of oregano, thyme, rosemary, a jar with grana padano in the fridge and a whole shelf filled only with different kinds of oil, cooking wine and vinegar, and a little garden with fresh basil and, once they moved to San Diego, tomatoes. Ice has to remember to water it when Mav is away in the summer

he does the stereotypical arm waving and shoulder shrugging while talking but only when he is either worked up or tired

they also have that one special kind of plates, white with blue and yellow decor and sunflowers on the main dish plate

As a bonus, Polish Ice headcanons:

Ice's mom emigrated during WWII but his dad was second gen born in the US -- she was from Gdansk

he can cook pretty well, especially polish recipes, since he often helped her cook at home

he, however, hates cooking. But he will absolutely stress-make pierogi if he can, usually a huge batch of like 50 or something

he did hand over the polish recipes to Mav - the only thing is, Mav refuses to make bigos for him (b/c he'd need to make his own sauerkraut and it stinks)

he drinks his vodka neat, in a glass, not as shots, adds coke if he's going for a 'light-drinking night'

he occasionally goes to mass at a Polish church - he, usually, doesn't understand most of what's being said but his mom used to take him to one each Sunday and it's now a form of comfort

His favorite childhood meals were placki ziemniaczane (potato pancakes) with mushroom sauce and pyzy (type of dumplings) with plums, which Mav can now make in his sleep

he's never attempting to learn Polish

but he wants to visit Gdansk and the Polish seaside once every few years

[thebeautyonwheels]

Join us as we take an up-close look at the latest custom tweaks and performance upgrades that have transformed the Abarth 500 into a pocket-sized powerhouse. From engine mods to aesthetic enhancements, this year-end build update is sure to fuel your passion for Italian engineering! A true Motor Maverick.

[gurllsblog]

Help Gaza

Gaza under attack

[heavenlysphere]

I got a genned ditto. :) :,)

[intricatechaosofyou]

Blind Date Gone…Wrong?

Pairing: Bob Floyd x f!reader

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick

Summary: Maybe getting stood up isn’t the worst thing ever

Warnings: drinking, alcohol, language

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

You glanced down at your watch for the fifth time in the past ten minutes. It was 7:45, almost a full hour after you were supposed to meet your date. Convinced you needed a boyfriend, or at the very least a hookup, your best friend insisted on setting you up with one of her friends at the office. Having nothing better to do, you agreed.

Your blind date, Thomas, and you had talked, agreeing to meet up at an Italian restaurant on the beach. Putting on one of your favorite dresses that did wonders for your ass and donning a little extra makeup than usual, you had arrived at the restaurant five minutes past seven, fully expecting Thomas to be there. When you discovered he wasn’t, you shrugged it off and ordered yourself a drink while you waited.

You waited for ten minutes before texting him. You never got a response but you decided to wait a little bit longer.

Ten minutes turned into thirty.

And thirty minutes had turned into forty.

The waiter had been asking you if you were ready to order for the past twenty minutes, and yet you still insisted you needed more time, praying that Thomas would walk through the door.

You were starting to get blatant looks of pity from the patrons seated around you.

He wasn’t coming.

You were flagging down the waiter, ready to pay so you could escape the restaurant with some of your pride still intact when a man slid into the seat across from you.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, Darlin’. Maverick kept me late and then traffic was just awful,” he announced loudly before leaning across the table and planting a kiss on your cheek. His voice dropped in volume so only you could hear him when he whispered, “I’m Bob. Just go with it.”

You nodded slightly and tried your best to smile at the man, Bob apparently, once he pulled away from you. “Don’t worry about it, honey. I was more worried than anything.”

The waiter smiled at the two of you. Whether he was glad your date had finally showed up or glad you were finally going to order, you couldn’t tell.

Once the two of you ordered and the waiter was out of earshot, you turned back to the man seated across from you. “Thank you so much.”

He blushed and nervously rubbed the nape of his neck. “It’s no problem, really.”

“I appreciate it though,” you admitted. “Got stood up and I was getting all those looks of pity.”

“Well, I’m glad I could help.”

You smiled. “So, your name’s Bob?”

He nodded. “Lt. Robert Floyd, but everyone calls me Bob.”

“Lt. Robert Floyd?” You repeated. “You Navy?”

“Yes, ma’am. How’d you know?”

“We are in Fightertown, USA,” you mused with a grin.

“I guess you’re right,” Bob chuckled.

“I’m (y/n) (l/n),” you introduced yourself, sticking your hand out for him to shake.

Bob smiled and grabbed your hand, bringing it up to his lips to leave a kiss on the back of it. “Nice to meet you, (y/n).”

“Nice to meet you, too,” you replied, blush creeping up your face at his actions. “So is this your typical Friday night? Going around saving girls who got stood up?”

“N- no, this is the first time I’ve done this. And whoever stood you up is an idiot,” Bob replied.

You smiled at the man, head tilting slightly. The way he had said it was so genuine, you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell at the comment.

“Thanks, Bob.”

“Anytime, Darlin’.”

———————

“No way!” You giggled. “I don’t believe it!

Bob shrugged, bashful smile on his face. “Yup. Punched him right in the face.”

“What happened after that?” You questioned, trying to contain your laughter so you could hear more of the story.

“Suspended for two weeks.”

“And the other kid?”

“Nothing.”

You gasped, utterly appalled. “But he was the one being a bully! You were just standing up for your friend!”

“School didn’t see it that way.”

“Well, I do. Looks like you’ve always been a hero, Bob.”

A blush spread across his cheeks. “Anyone would have done it.”

“I don’t think so. You don’t give yourself enough credit, honey.”

The blush on his cheeks deepened as the pet name rolled off your tongue. “It really wasn’t a big deal.”

“If you say so,” you said with a laugh, resting your head on your hand as you gazed at the man.

The two of you had been talking for hours, meals long gone and a crème brûlée now being shared between the two of you. The conversation flowed naturally despite never having met before. You had talked about almost everything, from why you were in Miramar, childhood memories, to your favorite ice cream flavors.

“So, what’s it like being in the Navy?” You asked, pointing your spoon at him.

“It’s fun. I’m a Weapons System Officer which means I’m in charge of all the weapons in the back of the plane. Phoenix is my pilot.”

“Phoenix?” You question, tilting your head.

“That’s her call sign. Everyone has one,” Bob explained. “There’s Phoenix, Rooster, Hangman, Payback.”

“So what’s yours?”

“Uhh…Bob,” he admitted bashfully, eyes not meeting yours.

You grinned and let out a small giggle. “I like it. I think it suits you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, short and sweet.”

“Calling me short, Darlin’?” Bob joked.

“Definitely,” you replied with a wink.

———————

When the cheque came, Bob swiped it up before you could even touch it.

“To repay you for letting me crash your date,” he explained.

“‘Crash my date?’” You repeated. “Bob, you saved it.”

“Then to repay you for your company.”

You pouted and leaned back in your chair. “Fine. But you let me pay next time.”

“‘Next time?’”

Your cheeks heated up as you realized your mistake. “Not that there has to be a next time. I just had a lot of fun and thought maybe we could do this again. But that was a very bold assumption,” you rambled.

“Actually, I was gonna ask if I could see you again?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I had a really good time tonight,” Bob admitted, awkwardly shoving his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

Smiling, you reached across the table to grab his hand. “I’d like that.”

“Next Friday?” Bob suggested.

“It’s a date.”

———————

The two of you walked outside the restaurant hand in hand, giggling like a couple of high schoolers.

“Well, my car’s this way,” you mumbled, pointing behind you.

“Mine’s the other way,” Bob replied, frown making its way onto his face.

“Then I guess this is where we part,” you sighed dramatically. “But I’ll see you next Friday?”

Bob nodded. “Six o’clock.”

You smiled. “Goodnight, Bob.”

“Goodnight, (y/n).”

With a sudden burst of confidence you grabbed his collar and pressed your lips to his, relishing in the small gasp that left him. His hands came to rest on your hips as your mouths slotted together almost perfectly.

It wasn’t a long kiss, but it was long enough to leave Bob a mess when you pulled back. His glasses were knocked askew on the bridge of his nose, his cheeks were flushed, and a bit of your lipstick was now staining the side of his mouth.

You giggled at his appearance and patted his bicep. “You good there, Robby?”

“Better than that,” he whispered.

“I should get going.”

He nodded and pecked your lips once more before letting you go.

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but spare one more glance at the man. He was walking in the opposite direction, fist pumping as he went.

You smiled to yourself. Maybe this blind date wasn’t a total disaster after all.

TAGLIST

@pono-pura-vida

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Hungry For Heaven

Summary: Beau knows he shouldn’t have feelings for his young, pretty secretary. But he can’t help it. Pairing: Beau “Cyclone” Simpson/F!Reader (No Y/N) Word Count: 4.6k ABSOLUTELY NO MINORS ALLOWED A/N: This is my second entry for the 80’s Rocktober Challenge hosted by @roosterforme - I picked Dio’s song “Hungry For Heaven.” I hope you enjoy! Warnings: Naval inaccuracies, Cain is a creep for plot reasons, my gratuitous use of italics and song lyrics, a coyote ugly reference, female receiving oral sex, power imbalance

His girl. Cyclone’s girl. Simpson’s girl. The Admiral’s girl. That’s how most people referred to you when speaking with Beau. And he had never admitted how much he liked it, instead telling people to at least acknowledge your rank. But in the dark of his rooms, in the recesses of his mind, Beau liked it. He liked that you were his. 

Sort of.

Beau knew it was cliche. Falling for his young, pretty secretary was probably the most cliche thing that he could have ever done. But it hadn’t been a choice, really. You had appeared one day, three years ago, like a whirlwind and Beau had been left in your wake. You kept a tight ship, just as he did. You had been a perfect match for him, keeping him organized and on time for all his meetings and classes. You had made the mountains of paperwork he was always saddled with much easier to swallow and he had thought he was dreaming when you’d first handed over a thick stack of papers and told him he just needed to sign at the bottom of the last page. You’d basically done a week of reports for him and had left Beau with a pen in his hand and a tight stomach as you sauntered back out of his office. But that was what you did, he learned. You made his life easier. Gave him time to breathe. You were his girl. 

It was more than a little embarrassing to realize his…affection for you was noticed by anyone. Thankfully, the only person he knew for a fact suspected anything was Admiral Bates, who had quietly told him that it was about time he was happy. Embarrassing. It was a kindness, true, but Beau would have preferred if he hadn’t said anything at all. These feelings were inappropriate and completely against Naval regulation and protocol and he couldn’t stop.

“You’re not staying much later, are you?” 

Beau looked up from his computer, reading yet another request from Maverick about his insane dog fight simulations he wanted the newest Top Gun class to try, to see you in the doorway of his office. The usual, soft smile was on your face—the smile he liked to think you reserved just for him. His mouth curled up at the edges too; he couldn’t help it. “Just trying to rein in Maverick.” 

You scoffed and shook your head but your smile remained. “You’re going to be here all night, then. Again.” 

Beau had to hide his laugh behind his hand. You knew him too well. “I won’t.” 

You hummed, obviously not believing him. “I’ll order you dinner. Do you want Chinese or Italian? You had barbecue two nights ago.” 

His heart twisted, like it usually did whenever you so easily showed how well you knew him. “Italian, if you could, Lieutenant. With-”

“With extra breadsticks, I know. I’ll make sure they don’t forget again.” 

You were gone from the doorway before he could thank you but you returned not thirty minutes later with his promised dinner and another smile. A cursory glance let him know that the extra breadsticks were indeed included this time and you set a silverware roll from the mess hall beside the bag. 

“You’re too good to me, Lieutenant.” Beau winced as soon as the words left his mouth but you simply smiled. “And I thought you were on your way out for the weekend?” 

Your smile widened. “I am. But I wasn’t about to leave you hungry.” 

Beau’s entire chest ached and he tried to smile again but he was sure it looked more like a grimace. “Big plans?” 

“My friend���s bachelorette party. We are going bar hopping after getting pole dance lessons.” You paused before a grimace crumpled your features. “You didn’t need to know that. I apologize. That was unprofessional.” 

Beau felt his throat bob, mouth suddenly dry. Seeing you in your khakis or in any of the other Naval uniforms had been all Beau had been given, aside from when you needed to grab something from your office over the weekend a few months ago and he got to see you in a sinful pair of shorts and low cut top. But imagining you in one of those tight, tiny dresses he knew women your age wore and learning how to dance like that had his stomach in knots. 

He was being unprofessional. He was supposed to be the one who approved or rejected paperwork for relationships like this. He wasn’t supposed to be wanting one. And he wasn’t even sure if you saw him as anything other than the old man who needed help keeping his meetings and paperwork in a row. 

Sure, you joked with him, nursed a glass of expensive bourbon with him after the Uranium Mission, and Beau liked to think he caught you appreciating the view when he partook in the swim call during your last shared deployment and you handed him a towel to dry off…but that did not mean anything in the grand scheme of things. 

He knew that. 

But he couldn’t get you out of his head. 

“I hope you have a good time. You’ve certainly earned it. I know I run you ragged here.” 

The hard line of your shoulders lessened and your smile returned as you shook your head. Your hand settled over his and you gently squeezed his fingers, touch not retreating immediately and Beau tried not to revel in it too much. “I love working for you. You have to know that by now.” Beau watched your mouth open again before you bit your lip. 

Beau could imagine a million different things you could have said after that. But you didn’t say any of them. You didn’t say anything at all aside from a soft, “anyway, have a good night, Admiral. Please don’t stay too late.”

And then you were gone, leaving Beau alone with the scent of your floral perfume, the echo of your warm hand on his, and an ache in his chest. 

It was fine. 

This was fine. 

He ate his dinner as he tried to find the least insane simulation Maverick had requested and hoped that it would end well next week. Honestly, having the Captain as the permanent Top Gun instructor was bad for his heart.

“Are you coming?”

Beau looked up from his paperwork to see Admiral Cain in his doorway, arms crossed over his chest. Oh, that was right. Cain had been invited to see the current Top Gun class in action. The higher ups thought it would be a way to “soften” Cain’s animosity toward manned aircrafts. It was ridiculous because Beau outranked Cain and he still walked around like his shit didn’t stink.

Mostly what it did was raise Beau’s blood pressure and had you running circles around base trying to keep Cain out of Beau’s office. It was a valiant effort, Beau knew, but Cain hardly ever followed any recommendation from someone who he deemed ‘beneath him.’ 

He glanced down at the calendar on his desk and saw your neat handwriting over today’s date. Drinks with Cain? :( 

Dammit.

“Yeah, let me just clean up and-”

“I’ll give you fifteen minutes.” And then he was gone, too. 

Biting back every swear he’d ever learned, Beau stood and cleared his desk of his dinner’s trash and filed everything away to deal with on Monday. He pulled on a different shirt and slacks he kept in his office’s closet for times like this and tried not to seem too unenthusiastic when he met Cain out in the parking lot. The effort was completely negated when the other man started bragging about the bar he wanted to try, touting that it was apparently popular with younger women who preferred older men. 

And while Beau did think of you for a moment, his stomach still rolled with the thought that Cain was on the prowl for someone younger when Beau knew that he had a wife and kids waiting at home for him. But still, he went, knowing the higher ups would frown at him not wanting to “play nice.” 

(Beau pocketed the thought that he could have Cain dishonorably discharged if he actually did something.) 

The drive to the bar was thankfully short and Beau had repeatedly told himself that it would be fine to leave after one overpriced drink before parking. He could hear the classic rock pouring from the stout brick building and he could still hear the waves crashing against the shore as he stepped up toward the front door. The bouncer at the front waved him in and Beau saw Cain already striding up toward the bar, turning his head to watch as a woman, carrying a tray of shots to a different table, walked by. 

Cain settled at the bar and Beau begrudgingly stood near him and waited for one of the three bartenders to take their order. When they were noticed, Cain was more than a little shameless with staring down the bartender’s shirt when she came to their corner of the bar top so Beau made a mental note to give her an extra tip with his drink as a silent apology. 

“What can I get started for you?” She asked, turning to Beau with a roll of her eyes. She’d apparently already had a long night. 

“Cognac, please.” 

The bartender quirked an eyebrow but almost smiled. “You seem like a top shelf kind of guy. Am I right?” 

Beau nodded and watched her grab a bottle of cognac he also had in his personal bar back home (where he’d rather be, but that was beside the point) and poured a few fingers of it into a glass before setting it atop a monogrammed napkin and pushing it in front of him. He handed over his card without a fuss and she seemed grateful when he didn’t ask to open a tab. 

Beau vacated his spot at the bar after leaving his promised tip and it was quickly taken by a woman who had to be about your age with a sash across her chest that read “Made of DisHonor” in bold, pink lettering. It was funny—there must be a bachelorette party here somewhere. 

Again, he thought of you—you had said your friend’s bachelorette party was tonight. 

As Beau settled into an overstuffed booth near one of the stained glass windows, he saw Cain still at the bar, now turned around to lean against it as he sipped on his martini. His gaze was bouncing from one woman to the next while completely ignoring the other men who would have probably preferred his spot at the bar to order. But it hardly mattered, really. Beau would have been content with finishing his drink by himself and not interacting with Cain at all. But Cain did eventually did spot him and Beau raised his glass in half hearted welcome but hoped that it would not be taken. 

Cain didn’t pick up on the abject disinterest on Beau’s face and started to make his way over. Dammit. However, he made it only a half dozen steps before getting pulled to a stop by a woman in a tight dress and a bright smile. 

Damn. All right. Apparently the reputation this bar had was not completely unfounded. 

Beau was quick to drag his gaze away from the uncomfortable scene and spotted the girl with the sash walking away from the bar with a tray of what looked like Jell-O shots in her hands. Beau watched her go with a smile, remembering his days back in college when his tongue was blue from drinks like those. She quickly passed out the small plastic cups and the grip Beau had on his cognac nearly slipped when he recognized one of the women in her group. 

You. 

God. You had always been beautiful but right now you were truly something else. Sinful and ethereal all at once. Stunning. Short dress. High heels. Burgundy lips. You were dressed for the festivities. Your sash read “Miss Behaving.” 

Of course it did. 

The bride, a cute woman in a tiny white dress with a giant white bow on the back of her head, herded everyone a little bit out of the throughway so a small group of men could get to the bar without needing to walk around. And you ended up closer to him. He could hear your laugh over the music as your friend pushed one of the Jell-O shots into your hand. 

“I’m driving tonight! I can only have one drink.” 

The woman with the Made of Dishonor sash pouted but still made sure your fingers were curled around the tiny plastic cup. “You said that at the last two bars, too. That’s why I got you a non-alcoholic Jell-O shot. Congrats. That is pure sugar and water, babe.” 

You laughed and Beau found himself smiling at the sound of it; he liked hearing you be happy. And he should have known that you would be the designated driver for your friends—you were always taking care of someone. (Usually it was him.) 

He watched you and your friends take the caps off the shots and clink them together with a shout of cheers for the bride as he took another sip of his own drink. It nearly came right back out as he coughed, watching your tongue skirt around the plastic. 

“There we go!” The bride cheered before patting your cheek with uncoordinated fingers but you laughed anyway. “I want you to have fun. Have fun with me.” 

“I am having fun! I promise,” you said before catching her hand and kissing her fingers, earning a giggle of your own. “And tonight isn’t about me!”

“I picked this bar for you!” The maid of honor said with a laugh of her own. “I was hoping I would be able to get your mind off that man who shall not be named.” “No, you chose it because they let you dance on the bar.” “That’s besides the point,” she retorted, finger pointed in your direction. “Two birds, one stone or whatever.” 

“What?” The bride asked, dragging out the single syllable. 

The maid of honor shook her head. “Babe, it has been over a year and you’re still hung up on him. You either need to get under him or get over him.” 

You swirled your finger around the empty, plastic container, pretending to care about the remnants of your Jell-O shot. “I can’t help it.” 

“What’s so special about him?” Another woman asked, stealing a second shot. “A year’s a long time.” 

“Oh no,” one of your friends groaned. “Don’t get her started.”

The bride pouted again. “But I wanna hear it. I don’t hear anything anymore! I don’t even know who we’re talking about!” 

“I’ve told you about him twice but that just…doesn’t matter,” you said, probably noting how intoxicated she was at the moment. “You’re busy with wedding planning, sweetheart. We don’t want to bother you.” 

She waved it away, pout persisting. “Tell me. Tell me right now! I’m your best…” she hiccuped. “Best friend. Tell me.” 

You licked your lips before sighing. “He’s…my boss.” 

There was an answering squeal from the bride and a few others in your group before you waved it away with a halfhearted scowl, like you were trying to keep the smile from your face. 

The grip on his drink was near painful now. 

You were talking about him. You had been hung up on him for over a year. 

“He’s just handsome and kind and funny. He’s nice when he wants to be and he’s always nice to me.” 

“But not to everyone else, right?” The maid of honor said, sounding like she’d heard this before. 

Beau adjusted his posture to try to hear your group better over the blaring guitars and thumping drums. He wanted to know what you had been saying—apparently repeatedly. 

“Yeah. I mean, he runs a tight ship-”

“That is a terrible pun.” 

“-but he tries to keep everyone safe and he just expects everyone else to do the same. So-”

“You’re burying the lede here. He’s smoking hot. A complete silver fox who’s got a banging bod.” 

You gaped at the Maid of Honor’s outburst and Beau watched your mouth open and close a few more times without a single word coming out. Is that what you had told your friends?

“And he’s sweet to you?” The bride repeated, hazy eyes sparkling. “You hafta marry him.” 

“They’re a sight for sore eyes. Good choice.” 

Beau felt something in his neck pop when he quickly turned his head to see Cain settling opposite him in the booth. The other man’s eyes were dragging all over your group without a care in the world. Dragging all over you. “Did you strike out?” The words were out of his mouth before he could even begin to think of a different response. “I saw you talking to someone else.” It was a pitiful recovery but Beau hid his distaste for the entire situation behind another gulp of his liquor. 

Cain’s mouth curled into a scowl for a moment. “You’ve been sitting here alone all night. You’re not doing any better.” A familiar sneer pushed at his features before he once again looked at your group. “Are you one of those that just likes to look?” 

Thankfully or not, Cain didn’t wait for an answer and stood again, making his way over to your group. Just for a moment, Beau thought about just leaving. Just getting up and leaving and pretending this entire night never happened. 

“A-Admiral Cain.” 

Your voice cut through Beau’s thoughts with ease. 

“I…I didn’t expect to see you here.” 

Cain squinted at you, probably trying to place your face and Beau saw the exact moment Cain recognized you, a smirk pushing at his mouth. A few of your friends started whispering into each other’s ears, probably wondering if this was the Admiral you were hung up on. “Ah, Lieutenant, I should have known it was you.” 

“Oh?” 

Cain’s smirk grew. “Yes ma’am. I think I’d recognize that-”

Beau had heard quite enough and stood abruptly, cognac still in his hand. “I think we’ve had enough tonight, Admiral. Time to head out.” 

The shock on your face only grew more apparent as you looked at him. “Admiral Simpson. Um…h-hi.” 

“That’s him,” the maid of honor hissed into the bride’s ear. 

Cain’s eyes were hard as they bored into the side of Beau’s face. He could feel them. But he couldn’t take his eyes off you. You were even more beautiful up close. Dammit. Again.

“Why don’t we let the ladies decide if I’ve had enough?”

Your eyes went wide and you took a step in front of your friends, hands fanning out to keep them behind you. “I apologize, sir, but I don’t think that is entirely appropriate.” 

“It could be our little secret and shouldn’t I be the one who says whether or not something is inappropriate? I’m sure we can all keep a secret.” 

Something Beau had spent years trying to suppress started to bite at the back of his mind. Cold rage. He moved to step in front of Cain, blocking you from the other man’s gaze. “We’re done here, Cain.” 

The tense line of his shoulders relaxed when he felt your warm hand press against his back. A quiet thank you. And the simple touch had warmth bleeding over him. 

“We are just about to leave-”

“Bride and babes!” The bartender who had served Beau hollered. “You’re up!” 

The maid of honor let out a curse and muttered something about never planning anything ever again before pushing everyone toward the bar again. And then Cain was saying something, Beau could hear the rumble of his voice at the back of his mind like a buzzing fly, but Beau couldn’t take his eyes off you. 

You as you tugged down your skirt after it had ridden up when you climbed. 

You as you helped the bride step onto one of the barstools. 

You as you followed suit until you and the rest of your friends were lined up on the bar. 

“Ladies and gents,” the bartender’s voice cut through the din of the bar just before the last song ended. “We have a special group here tonight. And they want to put on a little show for you all.” 

The crowd gave a raucous cheer and then the opening chords of a song he knew well swelled over the bar’s speakers. And then you (and your friends) started to dance. It was filled with spins and giggles followed by twists and turns that had your legs nearly glowing in the low light of the bar as Dio continued to sing. 

You're in danger, the last of a line

But the vision lasts forever…

The watching crowd hollered when you and the maid of honor showed off the moves you must have learned at your pole dancing lessons on either side of the bride. Beau couldn’t take his eyes off you. Wouldn’t. 

“I see it now.” Cain’s voice pulled his attention for just a moment. “You want her all to yourself.” 

He didn’t deign it worthy of a response. And honestly, what could he say? Denying it would be fruitless and accepting it would be handing over power to Cain. So, Beau said nothing. 

The young just getting older

We are sunlight

We can sparkle and shine

And our dreams are what we're made of… He just watched you. 

He dragged his eyes up your form and saw you looking straight at him. 

Just hold on You can make it happen for you Reach for the stars and you will fly You're hungry for heaven Hungry for heaven Hungry for heaven But you need a little hell, oh, hungry…

And, just for a moment, Beau felt like you were doing this all for him. This entire show was for him. That little dress and the way you inched it up your thighs as you moved was for him. The burgundy-tinged smile was just for him. The way your half-lidded gaze never strayed far from him in the crowd was for him. And maybe it was. Maybe it was all for him because as soon as the song ended and you helped your giggling friends off the bar—taking extra care to help the bride down as she poked at the tip of your nose—you turned to him. While your friends were swarmed by other patrons of the bar who had appreciated the show, you only looked at him. And then you were moving, pushing your way through the accumulated crowd and toward him. You licked your lips just before you slowed to a stop in front of him and Beau tracked the movement with his heart hammering in his throat. “Did you enjoy the show?” And what was he supposed to say to that? He had the wherewithal to notice Cain had retreated to a darkened corner with another drink and a different woman, his attention completely diverted. Beau paused for a moment before nodding. What good would lying do now? Something had shifted, irreparably changed. For better or worse. 

He could smell your perfume again as you moved closer, closer, closer. God, you were beautiful. And a voice that sounded almost like himself was screaming at the back of his mind that this was wrong, this was against all sorts of Naval regulations, that this would only end poorly- But it quieted as soon as your fingers pressed against his chest. He could feel each of your breaths against his mouth. He could smell your floral perfume with each of his own inhales and wanted to bury his nose in it. In you. But what Beau happily noticed was the lack of alcohol that hit his nose. You were sober. 

He knew adrenaline could make people do things that were out of character. Plenty of pilots, himself included, had landed their jet and jumped out, heart hammering and nerves buzzing. Maybe it was that for you, high off the little performance. Confident enough to approach your direct superior in a crowd. You sought him out. There was a silent conversation between you; were you going to do this? Could either of you stop? And Beau surged forward with his inevitable answer, closing the gap.

You tasted like heaven. Sticky sweet with a bite of something else and your hand gently curled over his chest as you sighed against his mouth. Your fingers inched up to press at the side of his neck as he licked between your lips. 

Every sigh, every little noise, every brush of your mouth against his had his heart racing. This was what he needed, what every part of him had wanted since you had first spent the night at his side, helping him do monotonous paperwork. Just you, in his arms, and your taste on his tongue. 

He didn’t even recall pulling you toward the small hallway that led to the bathrooms but he felt your smile against his mouth when he backed you against the wall. Your next breath puffed against his wet lips and your eyes still sparkled in the hallway’s shitty light. “We might have fifteen minutes before someone comes looking.” “I can do a lot in fifteen minutes.” 

The bathroom door creaked when he pulled you through it and the lock gave an answering click when he engaged it. You were soft everywhere and Beau groaned against your mouth as his hands skirted up your thighs, dragging the minuscule skirt of your dress with it. And you were sweet everywhere, too, as he tugged the tiny scrap of lace between your thighs to the side and drank you down. Your hands curled into his hair as he pulled one of your legs up and over his shoulder. He kept you upright as each flick of his tongue had you shaking and whimpering and filling his mouth. 

He could do this forever, even if his knees ached and his trousers were unbearably tight. 

Just as you shook in his grip and he felt you sliding down his chin, there was a sharp knock at the door. 

“We’re leaving! I’m giving you exactly thirty seconds to meet us outside.” 

Beau recognized the maid of honor’s voice on the other side. It was quickly followed by a chorus of giggles. But he hardly heard any of it as you sighed and curled your hands beneath Beau’s chin and pulled him up with a gentle tug. You kissed him, undoubtedly tasting yourself on his tongue, as your thumb swept gentle circles against his cheek. 

Your eyes were hazy and half-lidded again and you stole another kiss against his mouth when he pulled your dress back down. 

“You can definitely do a lot in fifteen minutes, Admiral.” Your finger swept beneath his lip, gathering the evidence of your secret and you licked it away. “I’ll return the favor. I promise.” 

Before you slipped away from him again, Beau kissed you again. He couldn’t get enough of it, of you. Nor the soft laugh you let out as you whispered you’d see him on Monday. 

Monday was going to be interesting. He didn’t know what it would bring, how any of this would turn out, but he had hope. And he liked to think you did, too. 

Beau couldn’t wait. 

A/N: please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

[waru-chan8]

Which Spanish tracks do the Spanish riders consider their home GP?

Hey anon, thanks for the question.

This actually an interesting subject. So their home GP is the closest or the one in their same region as they were born/live or have close relationship. Some riders will wear special helmets for the occasion, such as Marc (Fermín have a special on because tomorrow's is the Mother's Day in Spain. He also had several helmet designs last year). Some riders do have more attachment and ties with the circuits than others.

Anyway, it's not as important as it may seem. Spanish media call all 4 GPs as their home GP, and some riders have attached to more than one circuit. Marc and Álex live close to MotorLand and Álex has expressed his liking and 'feeling at home' in the circuit.

Catalan GP: Joan Mir, Maverick Viñales, Pol Espargaró, Aleix Espargaró, Marc Márquez and Álex Márquez.

Spanish GP: Raúl Fernández and Jorge Martín.

Álex Rins is a study case. He was born in Barcelona (city) and his home circuit is Montmeló. At the same time, his whole family is from Aragón (I think they live close to the track), so he considered both GPs the GPs of home.

Martín has been spotted wearing a 'new' helmet design for the Aragón GP, and some people call Valencia the home GP for Raúl.

I hope this helps