#mentionned pete maverick mitchell

[redfurrycat]

🐺⚾Top Gun: Peacock 🤠+🐓= 🦚 – ft the Stilinski-Hale Pack [Part 6]⚾🐺

[part 1] - [part 2] - [part 3] - [part 4] - [part 5] - [part 6] - [part 7] - [part 8]



(More to read below the cut.)

(DO NOT REPOST ANY OF IT!❤️)

Within the MNSB au, there is the Stilinski-Hale Pack whose alpha is Derek Hale. He regained access to the alpha spark, and once again died, only to come back with his now younger older sister Laura.

The Fates had allowed him this one favour given his death by fire in front of his son was never meant to happen. (Maybe Stiles who works in the supernatural section of the FBI had something to do with it. He may or may not know people, and may or may not have threatened supernatural beings…)

The Stilinski-Hale Pack kidnapped the Sheriff – you may as well retire now, daddio! – picked up Cora, and forever left behind the town of Beacon Hills and settled a new home in San Diego.

Stiles Stilinski-Hale now works in the FBI supernatural division of San Diego and brings his dad and husband on cases when their expertise is needed (Peter Hale also likes to worm his way in).  After all, even though John Noah Stilinski enjoys the San Diego landscape and new fishing grounds, he still needs to be kept on his toes (babysitting Eli helps too).

Derek Stilinski-Hale opens another Hale’s Garage with Cora. He had to, because of what happened to Roscoe – his husband was pissed, and Derek was put in the doghouse for a while. He already has a regular set of customers, including a Bronco dude and a Kawazaky guy. Derek thinks he could be friends with the Kawazaky guy… He seems to have a perfect taste of vehicles.

Cora Hale works with his brother, but she’s also working in the San Diego zoo where she helps taking care of the wolves.

Meanwhile Laura Hale is slowly getting used to be alive again. She made peace with Uncle Peter, although no one knows what they did during the entire week they were gone to “settle things”. After helping a young girl when some people were bothering her, Laura is offered by the young girl's mom a job as a bartender and a bouncer – being a werewolf helps – at a bar called the Hard Deck.

Eli Stilinski-Hale is in a much better high-school, where he can play lacross more often. And Uncle Peter does what Uncle Peter does.

*

After an indefinite amount of time. One day.

One day a young man with jet-black hair and bushy eyebrows and a freaking moustache comes crashing the Stilinski-Hale Sunday barbecue. In full base-ball regalia. Everyone looks at him, shocked. They’re shocked because he looks like the carbon copy of Derek.

Stiles takes one look at him and says “Oh, another sourwolf! But grumpier than you because of the eyebrows and the moustache…So not a ‘sour’ wolf but a ‘bitter’ wolf!”.

“Nice one,” says Eli grinning and high fiving his pops.

With a sigh so eerily similar to a Derek-and-John-combining-their-sighing-because-Stiles-and-Eli-did-something-again one, the young man replies rather grumpily with a “still not funny, pops”.

“Pops?!”

“I thought you told me time travelling isn’t real, son?!” shouts out John.

“What’s your name, dude?” asks the supposedly pops to his supposedly son.

“My name is Finnegan Noah Stilinski-Hale.”

The lovely art comes from @patbbangg. The complete version can be found here. (You should check the artist's tumblr as well, 'cause lots of 'wow' art! ❤️)

[pollyna]

Mav doesn't like to talk too much about his private life, especially with people who he doesn't know very well, but even with people who he works with for a long time. But everybody knows he's married and he has a husband. Literally, every single person in the Navy knows he's married to some man because sometimes he says things like "it was a project my husband was-" and "my husband told me the same thing yesterday!"

What they don't know is exactly who he is married to, so when Ice gets around for a reason or another, everybody's jaws hit the ground because they heard so much about this man who really seemed the most normal man on earth and then it's fucking Admiral Thomas Iceman Kazansky.

(Who kisses Mav on the threshold before going away, just for the kick of hearing somebody letting something hit the ground.)

[outalongtheedges]

Ice: *staring at mav*

Slider: Ice, you put the Tom in tomfoolery

Slider: If you were lying down you’d be kicking your feet

Masterlist

[agreatandhonorablesoldier]

incorrect quotes 13/? Daggers edition

[the-ace-with-spades]

So, kinda Mav's POV of this silly Slimav fwb ficlet thingy?? who knows, maybe one day there will be Ice's part... (tw: non-descriptive/implied sex)

Things with Slider keep...happening? Mav isn't exactly sure this is the right word but they're certainly going well.

Contrary to popular belief, Mav isn't dumb. He knows what Slider is doing, he's just not sure it's actually working at all.

They keep on having sex, usually at Slider and Ice's house, usually at least twice a week and honestly, the arrangement is better than Mav suspected.

Slider is good in bed, he's Mav's type, at least physically — cocky, tall, blonde, smart-mouthed in all the meanings of the word, athletic, and willing to try to keep up with him — and he's by far the safest and the most convenient lay Mav could have with a guy. He knows he's clean thanks to military health regulations, he knows he's discreet, also thanks to military regulations, and he won't ever sell Mav out to his CO because he'd be selling himself out too. He's got a safe place no one is going to question them using — to the neighbors, they're just some bros from the Navy that probably get drunk together twice a week and that's why Mav is staying overnight — and their only witness is also gay and would be selling himself out if he said anything.

Now, Mav says he knows what Slider is doing because said only witness is literally an eyewitness of what they're doing and it can't be a fucking coincidence.

At first, it kinda seems to be a coincidence. Mav shows up for their scheduled sex night — what? it's not a date night, it's a sex night — and Slider doesn't wait until Mav is in his room before they start kissing and tries to pin him down to the front door. It's admirable, and so hot, that he tries, but Mav gets his arms around the back of his neck and steps in, leg wrapping around his hip a bit. Slider's hands go down, taking a resting spot on the curve Mav's ass as he leans down, kissing the corners of Mav's lips with fervor and then his arms go lower, pulling Mav's waist into an arch, and he—

He lifts Mav up by the thighs, fingers digging into his jeans, and his knees instinctively lock around his hips and Slider bounces him up in his grip like he weighs nothing. Just as he moves them away from the door, he stops the ever-going kiss and Mav leans away, enough to see behind his shoulder, and—

That's definitely Ice, standing in the living room door frame, book in hand, staring at them, frozen in a perfectly still position, but blinking rapidly, and that alone says a lot.

Mav snorts into Slider's shoulder and feels Slider's chest rumble underneath as he chuckles into his hair.

The world swirls, Slider turns around, hands suspiciously high under his butt, and takes a step and Mav is so focused on how fucking hot it is that he can carry him around like he weighs nothing that he almost misses the "Sorry, man, outta the way. Don't want to drop this idiot, won't get laid if he ends up in ER."

He bites down on his neck for the comment and Slider, like the sick bastard he is, moans a bit.

It keeps on happening, always 'on accident'. Slider tells Ice the wrong time of their meet-up so he's literally still on the couch Slider throws Mav onto first thing after he comes to their house, or he forgets to close to his bedroom and has hands down Mav's pants as Ice walks by to the bathroom at night, or Ice comes back from church and they're buck naked on the wobbly living room table, or in the morning, Slider and Mav go to take a shower, together, and once again the doors aren't closed so—

It has to be on purpose. Especially that on the one day Ice is actually out of the house the whole night — Mav has no idea where, but it's their third sex night that week so he probably is desperate enough to go to a hotel — Slider starts their second round in the morning, perfectly timed with Ice's return.

They're eating the french toast and scrambled eggs Mav made, not really that chatty, they're barely friends after all, and Mav is wearing one of Slider's giant band t-shirts, this time with Bon Jovi on it — it's comfy and this way, he doesn't dirt up his clothes, sue him — and his own white briefs.

He can hear Ice's old man car on the driveway just as Slider pushes away their plates, grabs Mav by the hips, plops him on the kitchen island's countertop like a doll, pulls his pants off, and starts trying to maul his neck, nicely prepared for him by already sticking out of the huge collar of his huge t-shirt.

Ice walks into the kitchen to see Mav splayed like a starfish on the counter, his briefs stuck on his ankles, his dick covered only by the hem of that godawful Bon Jovi t-shirt and Slider's massive hand, and he just stands there for a minute as they all just stare at each other to finally hiss through clenched teeth, "We eat on that counter."

And like, Mav is not complaining, it's just, well, whatever plan Slider has, it has some holes in it.

He tries to put a little bit of a stop to it, alright, he really does, he's not about to torture himself by reading too much into Ice's expression whenever he walks on them, fool's hope, dream on and all that shit. It's just—hard. He hasn't had such regular, good sex in since before college, and never with a guy, and Slider is fucking hot, okay? It's literally his only good quality — hot and good in bed.

So when one day, during their lunch break, Ice, who is sitting pressed into Mav, thighs, arms, elbows, it all touching, says, "Can we just have one night without you two—as friends, just three guys who are friends and—" Mav agrees to just have a chill night at their place.

It's a nice evening, in general. Slider fucks off god knows where for most of the time, leaving just Mav and Ice in the kitchen — Slider can't cook, the bastard just sponges off whatever they cook. They put the radio on, do some silly dances — okay, Mav does, but it makes Ice chuckles so it's almost the same thing — and just talk and talk, preparing food close to each other enough that their elbows touch. And Ice looks at him, just looks at him, with so much fondness, with so much vulnerability in his wide-eyed expression, with that soft blush and downturned face and it is almost enough for him.

But then he leans closer and closer and Ice is no longer there, turning away from him as if burned and Mav—Mav is not dumb enough to torture himself with this forever, at least not on purpose.

So Slider comes back when dinner is ready and Mav sits next to him at the table, even though he usually would sit next to Ice, and lets Slider steal bacon from his plate as Ice stabs the food with a little too much force to be fully cool about the whole thing — Mav isn't reading into it though, he's tried and tried and tried, and he won't make a fool out of himself, Slider's plan be damned.

They move to the living room, some action movie selected, Ice already sitting at one end of the couch under a cozy blanket, book in hand, Slider on the other end.

It's the beginning of September only, but the whole day was unexpectedly cold, with a storm picking up at various hours, and now that Mav isn't moving around the kitchen or hovering close to the hot oven, he's feeling a bit chilly.

He makes a small detour to Slider's room, to snatch one of his sweatshirts, way too big on him, sleeves covering his fingers almost completely, the hem pulling under his hips.

They both turn to him and the ugly beige sweatshirt is more than plain noticeable but he just gives them an innocent smile. "What? I was cold, I know where all of Slider's shit is."

"We could've just shared the blanket," Ice says, sounding as if his mouth is drier than the Sahara.

Mav raises an eyebrow at him, pointedly, as if to say, Could we really?

Slider doesn't smirk, exactly, but it's clear on his face his shit-eating grin is held up by his will alone. He props one arm behind his head and pats the couch next to himself with the other.

Mav plops next to him and Slider's arm wraps around the small of his back. Mav grabs the remote and turns on the movie, aware that Ice's jaw is clenched as he stares down at his book.

Mav—Mav clings. Slider is warm, really warm, he's always like a space heater, and he might as well use it to his advantage.

Not even fifteen minutes into the movie, Mav feels Slider's hot hand slip underneath the sweater and his t-shirt, scorching fingers dipping into his sides and bringing Mav closer, close enough that the leg he had crossed over his knee slides down onto Slider's thigh. Mav doesn't stay passive, seeking out skin, too, reaching into Slider's collar, and next thing he knows Slider leans in and kisses him.

And then does it again, and again, and again, until Mav is fighting for small sips of air in between.

(There's a tearing sound somewhere, but Mav is pretty sure Ice the control freak would have enough control not to tear his book pages out just because Mav is getting frisky with his best friend in front of him.)

Then Slider grabs him under his thighs, lifting him up and standing up at the same time, Mav's legs wrapping around him on instinct.

"What the fuck—"

"Oh, shut up," Slider cuts off and then slaps his ass and okay, maybe he squeals a little, sue him. "I know you like it."

Like hell he's going to admit but, yeah, he kinda does. He's starting to think Slider likes carrying him around and throwing him on different surfaces just as much, he sure does it a lot.

Ice clears his throat and cooly, voice too still to not be suggest how he feels truly, says, "I asked for one night—"

Mav almost — almost — feels bad but then Slider says, "Sorry, man, he looks too fuckable in my sweatshirt." Then, cheekily, as they leave the living room, Mav now held up in just one of his arms — and isn't that fucking hot? — adds, "You wouldn't understand."

And this time, he can't just pretend he doesn't know what's happening here.

"I know what you're doing," he tells Slider, just as he's thrown on his bed and swarmed by his long limbs.

Right before he dives lower, Slider remarks, "Eh, do you really though?"

"It's not going to work," he protests, even as he lets Slider bite down his neck, his hand arching his head back for better access, strong hold keeping Mav still and making him hornier. "Even if he was getting jealous—"

"He is."

"—I think he'd be past the boiling point now," he finishes.

Slider tilts his head back, meeting his eyes. "You don't know how stubborn he can be."

"So what? You're just going to fuck the guy he supposedly wants until he breaks?"

"Yeah, basically," Slider says, fingers still gripping his hair. "Just enjoying your tight ass until my best friend decides to think with his dick and not his brain, for once."

"Nice," is all Mav adds before they go back to business.

He'd be lying to say he doesn't care. He wants Ice to do something. He wants him to admit he doesn't like whatever deal Slider and Mav have going on, that he doesn't like it specifically because he wants Mav to himself.

He wonders if he and Slider talk about Mav. If he asks Slider what is going on with them, if Slider gives him the dirty details, if he gets pissed off at Slider for continuing to hook up with him, again and again. If all those little expressions he sees on Ice's face whenever he walks in on them, if they're louder and more pronounced when he leaves the house and it's just Slider to take them on.

But fool's hope and all that — so Mav claws at Slider's sweater and pops it over his head.

As time goes on, it just feels more and more as if he's wrong about the whole, that he just imagined the way Ice looks at him.

"So, Maverick," Slider begins when Mav and Ice are chatting at their cubicles, sitting down on Mav's desk like he owns it. "You free this Saturday? Ice is stuck at work so the house will be empty."

Right behind himself, he hears a snap. When he turns around, Ice's broken his pencil in half.

Interesting.

"I'm actually going with Bradley to the beach, I'm going to teach him to swim," he says slowly. "Or at least try. The kid's been getting panicky any time we leave him without the floaties."

"Ooof, that's tough," Slider says and he actually seems sympathetic because Bradley is everyone's favorite and everyone's weak spot. "You want a second pair of hands? Might make him feel a bit more secure if he's surrounded from all sides."

And why not? It's not like Ice has any more pencils to break.

It's a nice enough day, for one spent with Slider. Bradley can't swim by the end of it, but he can float in the water without screaming his lungs out, so Mav takes it as a win. Bradley giggles at their banter and finds their insults — dialed down, there's a kid with them after all — funny, and there's just something less irritating about Slider, like this, with Bradley as the buffer.

Mav drives them in Goose's old car to leave Bradley back with Carole, they chat for a bit, and then Mav takes his motorcycle and drives them to Ice and Slider's place. They're both in jeans and there's a lot of rubbing and some more-or-less intentional grinding, so by the time Mav parks on the driveway, they're both half hard and set on one goal. They pass Ice on the way to Slider's room, and maybe he's a bit red in the face and maybe Mav arches his hips with a bit of an exaggeration but well, he's having fun and it's not his problem Ice isn't part of it.

It happens again, mostly because Ice is fighting to get the upcoming promotion and often works on the weekends, Carole gives private lessons on Saturdays, and that just leaves Mav and Slider alone, usually with Bradley for most of the day and then alone and pent up in the evening.

Slider is good with Bradley, too. Baby Goose is a soft, sensitive boy, and many men would try to toughen him up, but Slider doesn't. No, Slider stops and holds him when he gets scared, carries him around when he gets tired or sleepy, can't resist the cow eyes almost as badly as Mav and buys Bradley anything he wants, and doesn't protest last all when Bradley asks if they can swing him around — just gives him his hand, waits for Mav to grab his other hand, and then just throws Bradley in the air as high as he can.

There start to be times when they don't even retreat back to Slider and Ice's place after, just say goodbye at the door to Mav and Carole's house — Bradley always insists Mav needs a hug goodbye too, Uncle Slider — and then Slider leaves without Mav.

"It kinda seems like you're dating him, Pete," Carole says one calm evening that Mav does not spend with Slider and Ice, after Slider took them back home in his embarrassing wagon BMW.

Bradley is already asleep and they're drinking wine (from normal glasses because they still haven't managed to buy the full dishware set).

Mav obviously finds it ridiculous. "You can't date someone you don't have feelings for."

Carole raises her eyebrow and takes a slurpy sip and yeah, fair enough, there's plenty of people who are married and hate each other, not to mention ones that are dating.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks. There's a difference between having sex and dating, even if there aren't any feelings in either.

Carole has some—thing, for Slider, he knows. It's been over four years since Goose and he knows they won't ever fully move on but they have to at least try. He'd never hold it against her if she fell in love with someone, it's just—it's Slider of all people.

"Nah, have some fun," Carole sighs. "It's not like he'll ever see me anyway."

Slider's been equally dumb about all of Carole's flirting attempts as Ice was about his, which was an achievement in itself because Mav wasn't the subtlest, but Carole wasn't subtle at all.

"What a mess," he says and then pours more wine into Carole's glass.

@woodsywarbler, hon, I think you wanted me to tag you here? idk this is a bit disappointing b/c tumblr ate the longer draft and i had no energy to write it out in detail but 🤷🏻‍♂️

[daggerspared]

jakes about an hour late to the latest iceman-maverick (icemav for short, as phoenix has coined) barbecue, so he’s just passing through the kitchen, not even thinking as he tosses out an easy “hey pops,” to the hosts on his way towards the doors to the backyard.

two voices call back in response. “hey kid.” “good to see you jake.”

he feels the pause. his hand hovers uncertainly over the door handle. slowly, he turns.

iceman and maverick, happily married couple, have suspended all kitchenly duties to glare at each other. “he was talking to me.”

“no, he was talking to me.”

“everyone calls me pops,” ice says, eyes narrowed. “bradley calls me pops. mickey calls me pops. even cyclone called me pops that one time that was embarrassing for all of us.”

maverick waves a hand at ice, the hand also wielding a knife he was using to chop watermelon. “yeah, but jake calls me pops. he called me pops before he knew you. that gives me pops rights.”

jakes debating just slipping out the door when they both turn towards him. in unison like good wingmen.

“jake, buddy, sport, slugger, who were you talking to?”

he offers a shrug. “uh, both of you, i guess.” it’s the truth, he wasn’t thinking too hard about it, his mind focused on getting to the backyard where he has it on good authority that his loving boyfriend is sweaty and shirtless and waiting for someone to share his lawn chair with.

ice purses his lips. “that won’t do.”

“we can’t both be pops,” maverick agrees. “that’s ridiculous.”

“right,” jake says, “that’s what’s ridiculous about this.”

“a challenge then,” ice forges on, ignoring him. “to determine who’s the better pops.”

solemn as their air boss, maverick sticks his hand out (sans knife) to shake on it. in some funhouse mirror reflection of that one photograph that seems to be everywhere, ice clasps his hand back.

and jake is somewhere between laughing, running, and bursting into tears. because no sane person has ever had this argument before and certainly not over him. nobody’s ever fought to be jake seresin’s pops before.

no one except these two ridiculous, crazy old men.

[pandora-box-of-mind]

How to hide your fellow cat

[eclairfair98]

Pensacola’s far more crowded than the little Pete’s seen of Lemoore. Definitely more crowded than his own hometown in Texas. And somehow, it feels like a real city, a blare of noise overwhelming him at every turn.

Even the streets seem different. Much wider than he’s used to. Smoothly paved, crisscrossing everywhere. Pete watches the cars bolting past: a Corvette Stingray, an Aston Martin Vantage, a Chevy Camaro. Their windows gleaming golden under the bright winter sun.

Buildings with glass windows reach towards the tall blue skies, laced only by a few wispy clouds hovering in the distance.

He doesn’t know where he’s going. There’s too many streets, too many cars, too many sounds: the music twisting out of radios, the voices talking intently at one another, all blurring together into one.

There’s too many people. Men in sharp suits carrying leather briefcases. Women wearing dark sunglasses and rustling skirts.

All important-looking people, who walk past him quickly. As if on urgent business.

And all of a sudden Pete finds himself wishing that he was wearing something better than the sweatshirt and trousers he’d taken to borrowing from Tom’s wardrobe, once his own clothes stopped fitting him. That he was a couple of inches taller. That he had shinier hair and prettier teeth.

He finds himself wishing that he didn’t feel like a stranger in his own body, most of the time.

“You don’t know, Pete,” his mother had once told him, turning her tired gaze to the window. Her small pale hand tapping the space above her heart. “What it feels like. In here. You just don’t know.”

At the time, he’d wished he could know. What it felt like. What was in her heart. Wished he could erase the sadness lining her delicate face. Bleeding into her pretty eyes.

But maybe, Pete’d been better off not knowing, after all.

He blinks up at the sky, at the blanket of blue tingeing his sight. Thinks about pretty things. About how they don’t last in this world.

A stray cat with big green eyes slinks by. Pauses. Looks up at Pete expectantly. He leans over the swell of his abdomen to pet the soft spot between her ears. Feels the smile tingling at the corner of his mouth when she runs her prickly tongue over his fingertips. Nuzzles her little pink nose into the curve of his palm.

“Hey… you hungry? Let’s see if we can find you some food.”

The feeling inside of him doesn’t linger.

It floats away. Becomes smaller and smaller and then disappears, as the syrupy-sweet warmth of the afternoon settles back into his limbs.

The cat slips away from under his heat-stained palms. Tail swishing in the air as she darts down the sidewalk.

And Pete finds himself stumbling after her, socked feet slipping on the smooth soles of his worn-down shoes.

Warmth tightens in his chest as he runs down the paved concrete. Heat clinging to the afternoon air like crystallized salt. Washing everything with it’s golden touch.

It’s easy like this. To imagine that if he lifted his legs just a little higher, his whole body would float amongst the clouds.

Pete passes a group of little girls skipping rope. An old man with a newspaper tucked under his arm, who smiles at him when he races past. A boy about his age with a pile of heavy books in his hands, probably on his way home from the library.

He sees streets lined with shops selling flowers and pastries and suits and toys. Smells salt and smoke and the bewildering scents of the dozens of people around him.

Sweet notes of someone’s joy mingling in with the sharp bursts of someone else’s nervousness. Excitement and anticipation and worry and relief, all overwhelming him, all at once.

He turns an abrupt corner, his ears buzzing, pulse fluttering in his mouth, eyes darting from one unfamiliar end of the block to the other, when he sees a little kid crouched down on the crosswalk.

It’s an empty road and the few pedestrians who are rushing by, either don’t notice or don’t care to see the boy.

“H-hey,” Pete calls out, voice hoarse, color high in his cheeks. Each breath coming in heavier than the last as he looks up at the crosswalk signal. Sees the neon green numbers blinking down at him. Indicating he has plenty of time to get to the child. To bring him back to the sidewalk. “Are you alright?”

His feet feel swollen inside his sneakers. Protesting every step he takes down the pristine white lines marking the hot concrete, like thick stripes of mint candy.

There’s a sharp stitch in his side from all the running he wasn’t supposed to do. His doctor’s disapproving face growing bigger and bigger in front of his eyes, as the thick humid air makes a wheezing sound at the back of his throat.

Pete presses a shaky palm to the curve of his belly. Feels a furtive kick against his heat-stained fingers, the smallest outline of a foot.

Remembers the softness melting in Tom’s steady blue gaze. The careful press of calloused fingers against the stretched pink of his skin. The barely-contained wonder. The tender press of a mouth against the ever-growing swell of his abdomen. Against the curve of his lips.

I love you.

The wind rises, blows the shorter uneven bits of his hair outta his blurry eyes.

There’s a voice in his head. A voice that sounds remarkably like Tom’s. Telling him to stop. To turn around. To call for help.

The whites in his vision dance in a frenzy.

But he’s almost there. The boy is right there. Pete’s tired but he can’t stop now.

Big brown eyes blink up at him slowly. He can’t be older than five, maybe six. Pete wonders where his parents are.

Are you all alone?

The child doesn’t respond. Pete touches his lips — closed — doesn’t know whether he’s spoken aloud.

He notices the thick glasses lying in a crunched heap on the ground. The dark red blood plastered on skinned knees.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Pete tries again, kneeling down as deftly as his body will allow, breathing around the heat crumbling his larynx. Like it’s coming apart and sticking together all at once. “Why don’t we get off this road? And then, you can take me to your parents.”

“I’m B-Bernie, and I w-want my dad.”

The boy is scared. It’s thick in his scent, in the quiver in his chin, in the wetness pooling in his eyes. And it’s an awful feeling. Seeing a child so little, so scared. But it distracts Pete from the heat, the unsteady beat of his heart, the prickly discomfort creeping up his arms and legs.

If he can focus on Bernie’s fear, maybe he can drown out his own.

“Hey Bernie, I’m Pete. And I also want to find your father. Why don’t we go look for him together, huh?”

Bernie sniffles as he holds out his arms. Presses closer, the tip of his damp nose tickling Pete’s ear as he hiccups, “You’re s-scared… I can smell it. Please don’t be scared. After we find my dad, he’ll help us find your dad too.”

A wet laugh punches its way out of his aching chest as he hoists the boy up on his hip. Gently wipes the trails of dust and tears off his round cheeks. “Sure, kid. We’ll do that. Now let’s get off this road, okay?”

Bernie tugs on the sleeves of his shirt, hands stronger than they look. Burrows his wet face into the curve of his neck. Whispers a quiet thank you.

The signal tells him he has another forty-five seconds to get off the crosswalk.

Deck the halls blares out from the open window of a toy store.

The baby inside of him kicks hard, sending little shocks of pain down his spine.

And in the end, it’s far too late by the time he sees the speeding car peeling down the street.

His voice is silent, nowhere in his throat as his whole body curls around the boy in his arms. Around the little life in his belly.

Heaven and earth tumble, he grasps for the wind, and the streets fall away.

And then, there’s the sky — the fluffy white clouds like rabbits dancing across its spotless blue expanse.

He imagines reaching for them, swirling them around a stick, catching sunlight in each pristine wisp. Making tiny little rainbows all of his own.

Pete raises his hand to reach for the light, it feels sticky and warm.

Deafening wails threaten to pierce his eardrums.

Bernie.

There’s a sharp blinding pain in his chest, as though there’s a knife scraping the inside of his esophagus with every wheeze of air struggling to make its way to his lungs, but he can’t focus on that right now because: Where is Bernie?

Distantly, Pete realizes that the screams are coming from above him. That there’s little hands pressed against his chest, a torso huddled against his belly. That the hot tears rolling down his cheeks aren’t his own.

Are you hurt? Please, don’t be hurt. Don’t cry. Please.

The world seems only half real through the inky blackness seeping into his vision. Like a reflection of a reflection. Like something out of a story told long ago. Nearly-forgotten. Moulded by time into something else entirely.

At a glance, Bernie looks mercifully unharmed: moving all of his limbs, his scent untainted by the bitter notes of pain.

Dirt smears his forehead in a wide arc. Pete reaches out a hand to wipe his face, belatedly sees the bright crimson smeared across his own palm.

It dawns on him ever so slowly. As though the whole world has frozen around him. As though time’s come to a complete standstill. Like one of those films on tape that you can pause with the press of your finger.

Bernie’s screaming at the sight of blood. Pete’s blood. That’s soaking right through his clothes. That’s pooling around him.

And all of a sudden, he feels cold. Very cold.

Panicked voices surround him. Suffocating in their proximity. Someone tries to lift Bernie off of him, but the boy refuses to let go, holding onto his neck with a strength that can only be fueled by adrenaline.

There’s a cacophony of sirens in the distance, but Pete can’t move, he can barely breathe.

It’s like being choked by a noose steadily tightening around his neck. He wants to comfort Bernie, to ask for help — Tom, he needs Tom — he can’t stay here — the baby —

He places a weak hand on the swell of his belly, hoping for a kick, a movement, a flutter, anything.

His baby is frighteningly still as the last vestiges of consciousness leave his body, and there’s nothing between the sky and the ground but endless black.

[orchidvk]

Just a little something I wrote when I got the inspiration to do that :)

I know it doesn't quite fit with the timeline but that wasn't what I was going for, I just wanted some angst and a little bit of comfort with IceMav.

I hope you like it anyway.

Warnings: swearing

"You know, B told me what he wanted to be when he got older."

Ice said and stirred the pasta, Mav looked up from the book he was mindlessly reading in.

"Yeah?"

"Yep. He said he wanted to become a pilot just like us. He even asked me if we could recommend him, he is adorable."

Mav didn't respond, he couldn't respond.

"Promise me....not to let him fly, Pete. Please...I don't want him to end up like Nick.

Promise me, please."

"I promise..."

Ice turned away from the stove and looked at his wingman.

"Mav? What's wrong? Isn't that sweet?"

The smaller man stood up and looked at Tom, his hands shaking.

"I...We can't let that happen, Ice. I promised Carole not to let him fly."

"You...? You did what?"

The blond asked and felt stunned, anger bubbling inside of him but also a bit of pain, especially for Bradley.

"She asked me to not let him fly...She didn't want him to end up like Nick.

Please, you have to understand, Tom."

Tom shook his head in return, the dinner cooking behind him already forgotten.

"How can you just decide that for him? Do you know what you would do to him? Do you realize how much you would hurt him?"

"Thomas...I promised her...."

"But she isn't here!" Tom started to yell, tears shining in his eyes. "Carole is not here and neither is Goose! For fuck's sake! You are barely here! It is him and me...

I have to switch between father, mother, housewife, and rear admiral just because YOU CAN'T FUCKING BEHAVE!"

Ice didn't mean to yell but he couldn't keep his emotions inside any longer. All the things he has been keeping inside bursting out.

The tears are falling freely now.

"I don't want ghosts to decide what is good for my kid! I don't want ghosts to decide what he should do and what not! We are responsible...Both of us and we both decide what is good for him and he decides what is good for him!"

The brown-haired man stared at Ice with an expression full of hurt, tears are also falling down his cheeks.

"I never forced you to stay, Ice.

I never forced you to stay and take care of a child that isn't even yours."

That was a low blow that hit Iceman hard.

"Yes, you are right. I never had any obligation.

But I stayed and I still stay because I love you and I love him and if you think you can win this argument by saying I never had to stay in the first place then you are not only wrong but also an asshole."

Ice put the pasta in some colorful containers he got from his sister-in-law Becky and put them carefully into the fridge, he figured both of them wouldn't be eating anything tonight.

"I'm not going to discuss this with you any further. Take the bed, Mav.

I need to...I need to clean the kitchen."

That was an obvious lie, Mav couldn't see one single stain. The only thing Ice could clean was the pot where the pasta had cooked a couple of minutes ago.

But Mav also knew that Ice needed something to do and that if he wasn't stress-baking he needed to stress-clean.

So he started to make his way upstairs in silence but before he could reach the first step, Bradley came through the front door, eyes red and blood dripping from his elbow.

"Pa! Can you help me clean that up?" The kid's shorts were full of grass stains, Ice probably already got a heart attack from that sight, his shirt was full of already dried mud and his knees suffered also a bit but didn't bleed.

"Of course, Baby Goose. What happened?"

"We played and I stumbled and I hit the concrete instead of the grass."

Even though Bradley Bradshaw has reached the age of 8 years, Iceman's inner mother hen came out and he picked the boy up to drag him into the bathroom.

"I can do that, Ice," Pete said quietly, the blond man stayed still for a moment before shaking his head.

"No need. I'll do it, just go to bed."

And he was gone.

Maverick made his way upstairs and into their master bathroom, where he got ready for bed.

He knew he wouldn't catch one bit of sleep but the thought counts.

The pilot can hear his boys in the bathroom, talking and water running.

Mav can imagine exactly what Ice did, his lover was always gentle and caring.

He probably got rid of the blood, put a bandage around their kid's elbow, and brushed his teeth with him together.

Maverick remembers it like it was yesterday.

Bradley was still small back then, smaller than now and the three of them used to brush their teeth together every evening.

After taking care of Bradley, Ice send the boy to bed with a kiss on the forehead and went down into the kitchen.

He finally broke down there, weeping and sobbing. Today was just too much to handle.

He tried to be as quiet as possible because he knew that Bradley wasn't asleep yet but played on his Gameboy and he didn't want the kid to see him like this.

Ice's hands gripped the sponge tight while he scrubbed at the stain on the floor.

It doesn't come off.

For god's sake, why doesn't it come off?

It was driving the blond pilot insane, tears mix with the water from the sponge, and Ice scrubs so hard that he thinks the stain might come off with the wood.

He didn't stop, didn't let the soft material in his hand go until another hand grabbed his.

"Hey....love. We talked about this didn't we?"

Pete was kneeling in front of him, keeping his hands from moving.

"This is a wine stain we can't get rid of." The man finished his sentence and took the sponge.

"But it bothers me..." Tom whispers, voice full of sorrow and defeat.

"I know it does...."

The two men were sitting on the floor, leaning against the kitchen counter in silence.

"I'm sorry...You are right...." Mav says after some time and Tom freezes.

"No...I know how seriously you take promises, I should've talked differently with you about this.

I shouldn't have said those things to you."

Maverick intertwined their hands.

"Maybe but I also shouldn't have said certain things to you and I should be here with you and him.

I'm just sorry that you had to tell me how you felt in such a way. I made you yell instead of talk it out."

[carousel-crows]

icemav and sharing the bed for your prompt ask? < 3

Yeah, of course!

Prompt: One Bed

⚠️ tw: panic attacks, implied sex⚠️

———

“What do you mean we only have two rooms?” Ice tried to be polite, but was quickly losing patience.

The receptionist smiled fakely. “I'm sorry, sir. It's just that. There are only two rooms available at this time.”

Ice, Maverick, Slider, and Goose had been sent to a conference by Jester and Viper. They were told there would be rooms available for each of them. Apparently not. Mav and Goose hadn't shown up yet.

“It's alright, ma’am. It isn't your fault.” Slider butts in graciously.

Her smile seemed more genuine now. “Here are your keys. Enjoy your stay.” 

“Thank you.”

The two walk towards the elevator. Ice hands Slider the other key. Just as the elevator doors open, Mav and Goose come barreling into the hotel. Nick tosses his bag to Mav, who catches it and rushes to the elevator. Goose grins at them and goes to sign in. The doors close. They stand there silently. It's awkward, but none of them make any effort to converse.

The elevator finally hit their floor with a gratifying ding. The two rooms were only a couple doors apart. Mav went towards one, Slider and himself towards the other. Ice unlocked the door with a sigh before freezing in the doorway.

There's only one bed.

“Are you fucking serious, man? Only one?”

“It's fine. It's only two nights.”

“You better not wake me up at the asscrack of dawn.”

“No promises.”

———

The boys had gone out for a drink. 

Things had gotten….. 

……out of hand.

Slider and Goose had gotten more than a little drunk. They were also very bad at hiding their horniness for each other. Without Carole to calm them down, they were insatiable. They didn't usually room together for that reason, but it seemed that tonight was an exception. Mav and Ice had to physically separate the two in the hotel lobby.

Ice unlocked his door and slapped the key onto the nearest table. He grabbed his bag and all but ran out of the room. He had no intention of getting in Nick and Ron’s way. Mav watched from outside the door, barely holding in laughter. 

“By god, those two are like rabbits without Carole.”

Maverick barks a laugh. “Oh man, you don't want to know. Sometimes I have to watch Bradley overnight when they get home. It's awful.”

“The amount of times I've had to lecture him about making out in the locker room is ridiculous.”

Mav opened the door and shucked off his bomber jacket. Ice set his bag down near the wall and took out his toothbrush and some sweats. He swiftly headed for the bathroom. 

As he was preparing for bed, he heard Mav clear his throat from the main room. “I can take the floor. You're an old man and need the bed more.”

Ice scoffed as he tied the drawstring to his pants. “First of all, I am not that much older than you. More importantly, there's enough space on that bed for the both of us.”

“I don't want to make you uncomfortable.”

He flicked off the bathroom light and pulled off his tee, leaving him in only his tank top. “You won't. It's only for a couple nights.”

Maverick sighed but didn't argue further. He trotted into the bathroom to change. Ice pretended not to see a pink flush on Mav’s cheeks. Just drunk.

He sat on one side of the bed, hoping he wouldn't have to deal with anything….. awkward in the morning.

———

Ice had dozed off pretty quickly. He slept peacefully. And he was so beautiful.

Maverick wasn't as lucky. 

Hop 31. Flying into a jetwash. Going into a flatspin and losing control of the plane. Ejecting. 

Nick was lucky to be alive, and more so to still be flying. He'd been in a coma for almost two months. 

His fault. He almost cost his best friend his life. He would've left Carole a widow, left Bradley fatherless.

Pete woke up in a cold sweat, tears streaming down his face. He sat up, trying to breathe. Ice stirred, and he cursed himself for not being quieter.

“Mav?” Ice asked blearily, “Are you okay?”

“I'm Fine.” He failed to hide the distress in his voice. 

Tom sat up, brows furrowed. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

“It —” Mav sighed. “It was just a nightmare. I'm fine.”

Ice was silent for a moment. 

“Was it Hop 31?”

Damn it. “Yes.”

Ice wrapped him in a tight hug. Mav froze, but it was only for a second. He buried his head into Ice’s chest, trying to stop crying. Ice slowly laid them back down, not breaking the hug. They laid like that for a while, silent and calming.

“Pete? You know it wasn't your fault, right?”

“I was the one steering the plane. I'm responsible for my RIO.”

“But it wasn't your fault. It was my jetwash. And it was an accident.”

“It's still my responsibility.”

“People care about you, Pete. We want you to be happy. No one blames you.”

‘We?’

“You care about me?”

Tom readjusted to look Pete in the eyes. “You have no idea.”

“Then give me an idea.”

Tom hesitated. “I don't know if you'll take this the wrong way, but I really care about you. I love you so much. I want you to be happy.”

Pete froze.

“You love me?”

“I do.”

“I think I love you too.”

Ice stares at him, searching. Then he leans forward and presses his lips to Pete's. He responds instantly, reaching up to rake hands through Tom’s hair. They kiss the way they fly. Ebbing and flowing, giving and taking. 

And god, it's perfect. 

They break apart, Pete smiling as bright as the sun. Ice watches him lovingly. He pecks s kiss to Mav's hair before resting his chin on it. Mav nestles deeper into the hug, attaching himself to Tom like a koala. Tom couldn't bring himself to care. He waited and listened as Pete's breathing evened out. I love you, Pete Mitchell. I love you I love you I love you.

———

They were woken up by banging on their door. Ice didn't want to move. 

“Go away, we're sleeping.”

“Get up, freaks! Stop banging your boytoy and come on!” Slider yelled from outside.

Pete stirred and Ice wanted to burn a hole in the door. “What's going on?” He was so cute when he was sleepy.

“Slider's about to get castrated.”

“Oh. Loser.” He buried his head deeper into Tom’s chest.

He could hear Goose’s laughter from outside. He sighed and kissed Pete's hair. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“We have to get up.”

“Don't wanna.”

“I know, but Slider is gonna break down the door if we don't, and I don't want to pay that fee.”

Pete sighed and unhooked himself from Tom. He pressed a kiss to his cheek before sliding off the bed to go open the door.

Tom stared as Pete sauntered to the door, unashamed. He was gonna kill Slider for ruining his morning, but maybe he'd thank him for being the reason it happened in the first place. 

Nah, he'd just kick his ass.

[pollyna]

Teenage Bradley angst-ing because he wants to ask Ice to adopt him too vs adult Bradley running for the hills because the first thing he has to do when he's back from the mission is getting the certificate he printed in 2011 and run to their home to ask Ice to be legally his dad too.

[outalongtheedges]

Grey hair? Yeah it’s hot!

Don’t think about Mav with grey hair and also don’t think about Ice going absolutely feral over it, cause even though he’s grey himself, seeing Mav finally embracing his age is absolutely something else.

Ice has been trying for years to not pay for the boxes of hair dye Mav always put in the shopping cart every month (it might’ve been subject to some arguments).

~~~

So I decided to give Tom Cruise (slightly) grey hair cause I thought he’d look absolutely scrumptious with it

And you know what? I was correct 😌

He might not dye it irl (my only reference is my grandma who’s about 10 years older than him and has maybe five strands of grey hair), but I call bullshit.

Masterlist

[rinnlkea]

Original Top Gun spoiler: I love how Goose and Mav went to O’Club and Goose literally said “the bet is $20. You have the carnal knowledge—of a LADY this time.”

Like if he flirted with guys in bars before.

Our boi Mav is so bi lol

[the-ace-with-spades]

A tiny little scene from way further in my trans! Bradley fic - chapter 14/15 o (sometimes I feel) like a monkey pilot, we're currently on chapter 5 - featuring Uncle Slider

For context, Bradley came out after a mental breakdown and reunited with Mav and Ice less than two months before this scene. tw: slight misgendering (one slip-up)

*

March 2013

It was a big day — Bradley had been asked by Maria to meet someone else from the family as his therapy homework and Uncle Slider was selected as the one to fulfill that assignment. Out of the whole family, it was just him and aunt Sarah that lived in San Diego, and only the two of them knew that, well, that Bradley wanted to be called Bradley now and that he’d come out in the worst circumstances possible.

At least Ice said he did know — he was the one to tell Slider when Bradley moved in with them and he hadn’t said more than he was a little confused but he’s okay when Bradley asked how it went. He still didn’t know if Ice didn’t tell him more because he wanted to protect him or if it was truly all the reaction he had from Slider. He hadn't talked to many people since he came out and even the people he did talk to were strangers who Bradley would usually either never see again or could avoid seeing again. Family seemed like an entirely different category, one that made him freeze and tense with dread.

Hopefully, by the end of the day, he’d still be Bradley’s uncle.

He and Mav had just finished kneading the dough for the ravioli they were making when the front door bell rang. Ice, who was just watching them from the other side of the kitchen island, let his book fall down next to the fruit bowl and walked to the foyer.

Ice and Slider talked in the foyer for a minute, tones too quiet to hear the words, before Bradley heard their footsteps and Slider's voice broke through the door to the corridor, “So, where’s the wayward son?”

Ice sounded a bit exasperated when he replied but Bradley could still hear lightness to his tone as he said, “In the kitchen with Mav."

He tried not to worry. Tried to take it as a good sign and not to have the worst case scenarios flash before his eyes.

He turned away, back to the kitchen island and the entrance, looking at his hands, still covered flour from the dough. He saw Mav's concerned gaze in the corner of his eye, but he only shrugged, trying not to worry him.

It all should be fine. Even if Slider didn't react well to actually seeing Bradley as Bradley, it wasn't going to be the end of the world.

Mav pinched the bridge of his nose, a sigh that could be only directed at Uncle Slider leaving his mouth. Bradley turned around.

First thing that caught his eye was a giant baby blue balloon, floating around Slider's head, the It’s A Boy! text in a darker shade of blue in semi-cursive.

Slider himself didn't look much different than the last time Bradley saw him in 2006, right before he retired from the Navy. He already had grating hair back then, now they were almost completely gray, there were a few more wrinkles around his eyes and he seemed to have lost some muscle from around his shoulders but he still mostly just looked like Bradley's Uncle Slider.

“Hey, kid,” he said, like he had always been. “I didn’t want to come empty handed but Shay is at a conference in LA and she’s the one who chooses gifts usually so… There was a shop next to the girls' school and I thought it would be, you know, fitting.”

Bradley hadn't been in contact with them when Slider and Sarah's second daughter was born — he had only heard about her from Ice, a couple of weeks ago when they tried to catch up on all the family matters he had missed in the years he was away.

“The youngest is six now, isn’t she? Sof, right?”

“Almost seven,” Slider replied, sounding quite proud. “Tells us to call her Sofia now, because she is too big for Sof. Well, unless you’re her Uncle Mav, then you can still call her Sof.”

“What can I say? Kids love me,” Mav quipped, right from behind Bradley.

“That’s because you’re a big kid yourself,” Ice supplied, rolling his eyes.

Now that he wasn't standing right behind Slider, watching him for any wrong moves or words toward Bradley, he had moved back towards the high chair on the other side of the kitchen island.

“He’s as big as a kid you mean,” Slider said, one hand making a little measurement gesture, cutting the air right below his shoulder, where the top of Mav's head would reach.

Bradley couldn't help it — he snorted.

Slider used the moment to step closer, pulling on the balloon's string, and handing it off to Bradley.

“Thanks,” he said. When Slider opened his arms, the same way he used to do whenever he wanted a hug from Bradley, his voice cracked as he added, “I’m covered in flour.”

“Come here anyway,” he told him and Bradley did, stepping into his arms. It had been a while but it also didn't feel any different — Slider was still the only person from their nearby family who was taller than Bradley, still would just wrap his long arms around his back and bring him close enough that he'd be sinking into his chest, put Bradley's face in the crook of his neck and say into the curls behind his ear, “You gave your folks quite a scare.”

“I know,” he whispered into Slider's shoulder.

“Good to have you here with us, buddy, really good,” he said and Bradley tried to soak in the moment, but at the same time not to put his dirty hands on Slider's nice black polo.

“Now, is any of you going to roll the dough for me or are you just going to stand there?”

Bradley let go of Slider, still not completely sure this day wouldn't become a disaster, but a bit more relaxed.

“I thought you finally bought him that pasta machine,” Slider said, mainly toward Ice as he took a step back toward the kitchen island.

“Oh, I did,” Ice said, with an accusatory tone to his voice. “Put it in the back of the cupboard right away and never used it.”

“My mamma didn’t need a fancy pasta cutter, I don’t need it either,” Mav said and it sounded like they'd had that discussion at least a couple of times. “Baby, can you roll the stuffing for me?”

“Yeah, just let me wash my hands again,” he replied, giving Slider one last glance over his shoulder as he moved to the sink.

Mav, satisfied now that Bradley was within his reach, turned to Slider with a glare. “What? If you’re not going to be useful, get out of my kitchen.”

Slider raised his arms and backed out, sitting down next to Ice at the other side of the island. Bradley could feel his eyes on him, following him all the way inside the kitchen but not adding anything.

Mav stepped next to him, bumping their shoulders — or his shoulder and Bradley's elbow, really — and asked close to his face, “You doing okay, baby?”

He turned on the tap, trying to gather his thoughts. “Yeah, I just—”

“I can still kick him out if you want,” Mav offered, way too eager. “In fact, I’ll take great joy in kicking him out.”

“You invited him,” he reminded.

“No, we invited him,” Mav corrected. “If it’s too soon—”

“I can’t live behind closed door forever, as much as I want to,” he noted because that was the truth. The past almost two months now, Bradley'd been seeing his parents and the healthcare professionals that were taking care of him and then almost no one else. At some point, he had to start living again, even if it was scary, being in the world and out and not in the safety of his parents house. Most of the time, he still felt a bit like a fraud, calling himself Bradley, telling people to use he and him when talking about, that he was guy — almost like he didn't deserve it until he looked the way people expected him to look.

“I know,” Mav said and he didn't seem any happier about it than Bradley, his eyebrows creasing as his hand reached to caress Bradley's cheek gently — he had flour on his hands, too. “I wish I could make the world a better place for you.”

“Thank you, Dad.”

“Promise I’ll kick him out if he says anything,” Mav added, giving his cheekbone a last swap with his thumb and then putting his hands under the running tap.

“I’m pretty sure that if he does, Pops is going to be the one who’d kick him out,” he noted.

They were both standing around, watching their interactions like guard dogs, ready to bite at any slide of hand, and Bradley felt almost okay with it.

Bradley washed his hands and dried it off on the nearby towel. Mav sent him a wink before stepping away, bending down to find the rolling pin somewhere in the mess of their corner cabinet.

Slider called out, louder than he'd been talking to Ice. “Hey, is there a chance you made enough that I won’t have to think what to make for dinner for the kids?”

Ice sounded exasperated again, shaking his head at him and Bradley smiled as he said, “You just came here to steal our food again, didn’t you?”

“Told you a hundred times, brother, cooking well is his only good quality, I might as well milk it.”

Bradley shook his head at the familiarity of the whole moment and said, “You’re in luck this time — we’ve already frozen the first batch.”

“Don’t let him win, buddy,” Ice quipped.

Bradley pulled up the sleeves of his hoodie, taking out the bowl with the spinach and ricotta filling out of the fridge. As he carried it to the counter, the free space on the shelf below the kitchen island, right next to the ravioli dough, he felt watched again. He tried not to pay attention to it, but Slider was suspiciously silent, eyes scrolling over Bradley's mostly flat chest, clad in a binder invisible under his hoodie, and going up to Bradley's military-regulation short hair. He'd been looking like that the past few weeks every day but suddenly, it felt inadequate.

“Since when do you like Dallas Cowboys, kid?”

Bradley didn't have to look down to remember what he was wearing — the blue Dallas Cowboys hoodie he stole from Jake when he left Lemoore. Bradley didn't know shit about football but he used to go to NFL games with Jake whenever Dallas Cowboys were playing and they were in the area, it was Jake's team and Bradley would always wear one of his t-shirt or sweatshirts to blend in with the crowd and, well, because Jake liked when Bradley wore his clothes and Bradley like to wear his clothes. The past four months, the hoodie had been a source of comfort in the situations that made him nervous, used almost as often as the blanket hoodie Mav bought him in high school.

He wasn't about to tell them he missed Jake or who Jake was or anything else. "Can't I just like football?"

“I thought you were a basketball kinda girl—boy—guy—Shit.” It was clumsy but Bradley would give him points for trying. When Ice elbowed Slider into his side, he added sheepishly, “Sorry, Brad.”

“Please don’t call me Brad.”

“Sorry,” Slider repeated, scratching the back of his neck. “I thought it was Bradley now.”

“It is,” he said. “I’m just trying to avoid all the Brad Brad jokes that will come with it.”

“Yeah, you did make your life harder with that name change,” he said and just as he finished the sentence Mav and Ice turned toward him again, glaring. “I meant—”

“I know what you meant, relax,” Bradley told him, somehow feeling the tension oozing out of him now that the first slip had been made. “Mav said my parents had it chosen for a boy, so…”

“That does sound like something Goose would choose,” Slider said, slowly, and Bradley almost laughed at how hard he was trying to avoid his usual speak-before-think mode. “You can always go by your second name. Plenty of people do.”

Yeah, that was not happening. “I think I will just stick with Bradley.”

“By the way, Ron would make a great middle name,” he added. Ice elbowed him again but he didn't seem to mind too much and honestly, Bradley didn't mind the turn conversation had taken — it was all good-natured and so casual that it had almost calmed down most of his nerves. "Simple, traditional, can't be confused with a female name, what's not to like?"

Mav huffed. “Kerner, don’t even try—”

“What? He had a second name before,” Slider cut in.

“The paperwork is done already, anyway, so you’re a bit late,” Ice pointed out.

Mac turned to him this time, frowning. “It is?”

“Ice took me to the courthouse this week, after—after the session,” he admitted. Ice went with him inside and did most of the talking with the court clerk when Bradley couldn't reply to the simple what is the petition you need for question without spilling his whole life history. “I filed the petition.”

“I don’t think we chose a middle name, did we? Did you put one down?”

“I did,” he admitted, not elaborating and hoping they would leave it at that.

He concentrated on taking out the ravioli filling and scooping it into balls

“What is then?”

He only glanced at Ice shortly but that was enough for them to realize.

“Oh,” Uncle Slider only said before his typical shit-eating grin made its place on his face.

Mav didn’t say anything but he stepped closer toward Bradley, his close presence more than words.

Ice didn’t move even a millimeter. He bit down on lip, blinking the wetness out of his eyes and asked quietly, “You went with—with Tom?”

“Thomas,” he corrected, just barely hearable. "It's Bradley Thomas Bradshaw now. Or will, when the petition goes through."

"It's a good one, baby," Mav said, giving his shoulder an approving rub, eyes a bit watery. 

“Not as good of a choice as Ron, but I supposed you can live with it,” Slider said and just like that, Mav turned to him and tried to hit him with the rag he was holding — he dodged last minute and Mav tried to hit him again, basically crawling over the kitchen island, until Bradley started laughing at them.

Ice was still looking at him, though, still speechless but with the corners of his lips quivering now.

[oh-surprise-its-me]

I’m absolutely living for bitey ice and Jake just inheriting different traits from his dad. This has me thinking about what would’ve happened if during the classroom confrontation in TGM if Jake had snapped his teeth at Bradley (idk why he would, haven’t gotten that far) and Mav saw it instantly reminding him of a different arrogant Blonde pilot he flew with many years ago. That Vietnam flashbacks meme but it’s TGM Mav flashing back to the locker room teeth snapping incident of ‘86.

Then later Jake fidgeting with the same plane Ron fidgeted with in that scene and Mav walking by seeing him doing that and wondering why that is so familiar to him

Jake taking a comb out one day and preening his hair in the mirror muttering to himself that he needs to look perfect cause it has to be absolutely perfect in case some chicken might happen to walk by and Mav just thinking “wow that man is vain, sorta like how Hollywood used to be”

Jake showing up to Dagger functions with his cowboy hat on, southern twang flirting hard with rooster and Mav just wonders where that boy got his fashion sense from

And then finally hearing the famous “I’m too good to be true” line and Mav is just absolutely bothered cause he can’t seem to remember where he knows that from (viper from that one ask thing you wrote)

Then the one day that the daggers and the class of ‘86 have that bbq at Ice’s house after the mission and Mav just realizes why Hangman is the way he is. It’s because he’s basically a perfect cocktail in a blonde aviators body of the different traits of the people he knows.

I might just absolutely live for Mav meeting jakes parents (and uncles and grandpa) again after all the years post mission. And the dawning horror of who made Jake in to the way he is

I am such a sucker for this Chris Seresin x Ron x Tom AU with adult Jake

I’m so glad you love them oh my god. I literally can’t stop talking about them.

-

Jake is such a combo of the men he grew up around and that never ends. He has Chris’s tendency of stealing clothing. Doesn’t matter who. He’s taking it.

When Mav saw him in a 86 sweatshirt he froze for a second and then shook his head. Just a coincidence. Damn if Jake doesn’t look like Ice.

-

Mav walks into Tom’s backyard only to see Hangman and a few of the 86 crew already there. “Wolf?! Holly?” He’s caught in a hug and then set back on the ground. A voice piped up from behind the two. “Hey old man.”

He sighs. “Seresin. Being good?”

Jake snaps his gum and grins. “Never around these guys.” Wolf tosses an arm around Jake’s shoulders and steers him to the grill where Mav swears Slider is standing. Tom comes up to Mav and gives him a hug. It’s been so long since they’ve seen each other in a non professional setting.

“Hey Mav. I’d like you to meet my husbands.”

Mav blinks. Okay look. He always knew Ice wasn’t straight. No man with that hair was. No man that looked at Slider like that was. But husband is a bit of a surprise. Certainly no open invites. “Hey Chris come here a second?”

A blond man pops his head up from here he was sitting on the ground with a dog. He was fixing what looks to be a doggy sized wheelchair. Cute.

“Yeah Baby?”

Mav blinks again. Does Jake have a much older brother??

Holy shit. “Holy shit. He’s your kid??” Tom and the man he is assuming Chris smile at him. “Sure is! Ron’s too!”

Mav stares at them. Jake passes by with a beer and hands it to Mav, “drink old man. You’ll need this today.” Ron slips away from the grill and comes up next to the three of them. “Mav! Holy shit you’ve been killing it with the assignments over the years.”

Jake is a clone of the three of them. Oh lord. No wonder he’s evil sometimes. “This is your fault. He’s like this because of you oh n o.” Wolf spins Holly around in the background, “oh he’s all of you. Oh no I thought Bradley was bad.”

A voice comes from behind him. “What Maverick? Gonna leave me out of that count?” Mav can only slowly turn when he hears that voice. “Oh fuck me. You too??”

Viper grins at him from where he’s standing while hugging Jake. “Sure thing Pete. This is my grand baby right here.”

Mav thinks maybe he should’ve dragged Goose along with him early. He can’t handle all of this information. It makes too much sense.

“Surprised old man?” Mav looks at Jake who looks slightly nervous for the first time. “Surprised but not disappointed. Nice one Jake. How’d you hide it.”

Jake shrugs. “DADT made taking Dad’s last name the smart choice. Never changed it even when they all got married. Or whatever other hippy shit that counted as.”

Chris grabs Jake and pulls him in between the three of them. Viper comes to stand next to Mav. “I’ll show you some baby photos later. It’ll make more sense.”

Mav nods. Holly is wearing Wolf’s cowboy hat. He swears that’s Jake’s exact hat.

He’s got a lot of questions but knows he’ll get a hell of an answer for them all.

[another-tblr-fangirl]

Goose : Fuck the rules !

Mav : Yeah ! Fuck the rules !

————— Later that week ——————

Mav : So…. Guess with who I hooked up with last night!

Goose : Who ?

Mav : The Iceman *wink*

Goose : What ?! Why ?!

Mav : You said “Fuck the rules!”

Goose : Mav…

Mav : Oh 😦 you didn’t mean fuck the rules like that …

Goose : Of course I didn’t mean like that!

Mav : Well, next time just say so !

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Goose : What do you mean “next time”? Mav !

* Mav running as fast as possible from Goose while Iceman and Slider are too shocked to do anything after witnessing the last exchange *