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mamsieur · 1 year ago

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Used to it | Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader

Summary : Being Pete Mitchell's daughter has never been easy. But maybe one mission could bring you back together ?

TW : angst and fluff, angst with a happy ending, mention of alcohol, panic attack, canonical character death, age gap (reader is 27 and Bradley is 35)

Length : 7156 words

AN : I'm sorry for making Pete seem like a bad father but that man is not stable enough to handle a child in my opinion.

posted on AO3 July 12, 2023

You were 7 when your mother left your father, Pete Mitchell.

You didn't have many early memories of him. There were only the arguments with your mother, his departures on missions that left you in tears, the missed birthdays and Christmases. It’s all you’ve ever known so you were used to it and being a child, you found it normal.

You were 7 when your mother decided to move out, leaving your whole life behind. You remember crying your eyes out in protest. As your mom tried desperately to get you out of the house, you clung with all your might to Bradley. Bradley Bradshaw was 15 and your regular babysitter, though your mother thought of him as a son, Carole and her were really close. They liked to remind you that when you were 4, you proudly announced that you were going to marry him. Bradley was almost always around, and Pete was his godfather, and they had a bond you envied. Despite the eight-year age difference, you remember being very close to your "Bradbrad" . He never pushed you away, was always ready to play Lego or other board games with you. He even took you to the park or with him when he went to the theater with his friends - when the movies were kids friendly -.

You were 7 , and your whole world shattered. No more Bradley, no more hanging to the naval base to have a glimpse of your dad and his incredible plane, no more aunty Carole and her sweet singing. You had hated your mom for years before understanding you left for the best. She was finally happy ; not completely, she missed her friends and sometimes your father, but you could feel that she was happier away from the hustle and bustle of the navy, of your dad. You were not used to the strange calmness of the city, but your grandparents made it easy to adapt. Soon enough, you got used to the loving cocoon your mother succeeded to create around you.

You were 16, at your mother's funeral, when you had to accept the fact that you had to go back to live with Pete. When the two of you finally found each other in the crowd, he didn't say much, just gave you a few brief updates. You asked him about Bradley, a bit sad to not have seen him here, and he didn't have much to say. Only that the two of them were no longer as close as they had been.

The silence between you was uncomfortable.

Of course, Pete had kept in touch over the years, calling on your birthdays, sending a little something. You spent some Christmas with him when he wasn't working and a few days during the summer break ; but Pete Mitchell loved his work too much to focus on you. As long as you lived with your mother, Pete's absence from your life wasn't something you suffered from, at least not really.

You were used to it. Used to the absence, used to the missed calls, used to the Christmases with the attention of other aviators and their families but the ignorance of your dad, used to the unanswered phone calls. Used to his silence.

But now your mum was dead... and you were dreading having to join your father in California.

You were 16 and you didn't want to live with him, you already knew what would happen ; he'd go flying, on a mission or for his own pleasure, leaving you alone at home - if you could call it home. The hangar where he lived now was something you'd always hated . It had no place for anything or anyone other than his passion for the sky, for planes and speed. You didn't want to leave your new life, even though you loved California. Your school, your friends, your family, your routine. But you didn't really have much of a choice. You were 16. He was now your legal guardian and you didn't want to drag your grandparents into a custody battle. Even though part of you told yourself that your dad would probably agree to let you stay with them, you didn't want to take that chance. And you hoped he'd be more present, that you'd finally have the father you'd dreamed of, that your other friends had. If other military parents could be there for their children, why couldn't Pete?

Perhaps because Pete loved flying more than anything else in the world. The sky was his one true love.

Even though you knew it, you held out the faintest hope that he would finally take his responsibilities as a father. Unfortunately, Pete was still Pete. He wasn't cut out to be a father. A fun uncle, maybe. A parent, no. The fact that Bradley no longer spoke to him proved that.

You were 18 when you packed your bags and headed off to the naval school in Maryland. You wanted to be a pilot too. And you wanted to get away from that bloody hangar, so empty, so alone.

Pete wasn't there when you left. Not even a message or a note. Nothing at all.

You weren't even surprised.

It was Tom Kazansky - Uncle Tom - who had taken you to the airport. He had been more present in your life than your own father, even though you rarely saw him. You knew your relationship with Pete was a sensitive subject, and you knew when Tom gave him a hard time. Pete was suddenly more present - too present . He'd pop into your life for a few days, trying to be the cool or bossy dad, but it always ended in a fight.

You hated it when he did that. You hated the way he would act like your friend, or like a strict parent, talking about curfew and how no boys were allowed in his 'home'. You hated the way he would try to be the father that he had never been in your whole life. You hated the way he tried to convince you that he was trying to change, that he'd be there for you.

But you couldn't blame Uncle Tom for trying to shake your father. He had children too, but despite his love of the air, he had been a present parent to them.

But some days were not as bad as others. Sometimes, when he was in a good mood, Pete would take you flying. And even though it was hard to admit, you were a bit of a flier yourself. The feeling of freedom, of being alone in a comforting way. It was mesmerizing.

So, without him knowing, you decided to join the navy after graduation. You took your mother's name, Evans , so that you would not attract attention. Only Tom knew, so your dad wouldn't and couldn't pull your papers like he did with Bradley.

You found out that he had done this when you saw Bradley one day in the summer before you made your choice. At first you did not recognize him. He was 26 now. He was taller, more muscular and had a 80s mustache that suited him well - puberty had treated him really good. He was the spitting image of his father, whom you'd only seen in photographs and heard about when Tom and Pete reminisced over drinks about the past.

But Bradley had the same look in his eyes as his mother, Carole.

As a child, you adored Carole. She was always there to comfort you when your parents were at odds, picking you up from kindergarten when your father was on a mission and your mother was at work… She was kind of a second mom. You went to her funeral with your mother eight years ago, you never cried so much.

The summer of your reunion with Bradley had been the summer of his return from the Naval Academy, which he had graduated from with honors. He was a very good pilot and would soon be going on a mission. The day before he left, you snuck out of the hangar to meet him at a nearby bar. He had celebrated his departure with you and a handful of friends, promising to keep in touch as often as possible. As he left, you realized how much you'd missed your Bradbrad.

You were 18, and you remembered how quiet the ride to the airport had been. Part of you wanted to stay. You loved California. It was close to the ocean, the people were friendly, and at the Navy base everyone knew you.

You'd even earned a nickname, the call sign you hoped to use soon : Tempest . It was a bittersweet memory of a stormy night when Pete "forgot" to pick you up from baseball practice. You had landed on the base, mad as hell, soaked to the bone. You'd yelled at your father as hard as the storm had raged. It had been a huge fight. And of course, everyone had heard. Surprisingly, many had defended you rather than your father. You were relieved then. And to cheer you up while your dad was embarrassed, Tom took you to your favorite fast food and laughed with you about the scene. "You walked in there like a damn storm, a tempest ! Heck, that should be your call sign when you join the ranks !" You smiled as you remembered his raspy laugh and all the stories he told you about his days at Topgun .

It was through those stories that you learned a little bit more about your father, The Maverick . His accomplishments, his reckless attitude in the air, his urge to always define what’s possible and pushing the limits. Your desire, your need , to join the Navy to become a pilot only grew, digging a hole of longing for the sky deep inside you. You wanted your father to see you, to acknowledge you. You wanted to be more like him.

You were 27 years old when you were called to the NAS North Island for a "top secret" mission that required "the best of the best". To your surprise, you were one of the youngest and one of the only women. But you'd missed California too much to worry about such details. Like many pilots, you had joined the Hard Deck for a drink the day before training began. You soon met Natasha "Phoenix" Trace and Jake "Hangman" Seresin. Two strong personalities. Then came Javy “Coyote” Machado and Robert "Bob" Floyd. He was discreet, a bit shy. And before you could introduce yourself to the others, someone entered the bar and caught Jake's eye.

"Bradshaw. As I live and breathe."

"Hangman. You look... good." His voice was behind you and you didn't dare turn around to see him.

"Well, I am good. I'm very good Rooster ."

You let the two men talk, then Bradley greeted Natasha and the others. At last, his gaze landed on you. You couldn't help but smile stupidly. He looked so surprised and happy. "Y/N Tempest Evans?!"

"Hey Bradbrad ..." you smiled and happily accepted his embrace. He squeezed you against him and asked you all about your journey, which you happily did, while in the distance the bell rang, indicating that a customer couldn't pay his bill and had to be kicked out. Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you recognized your father, but Jake and Javy had already grabbed him by the arms and dragged him outside. You didn’t have the time to really think about it, Bradley taking you by the hand to sing with him at the piano. You laughed and followed him with the others in his Great balls of fire ’s reprise. It had been a great night.

The next day, at the first meeting, you thought your heart stopped when you saw that your instructor was actually Pete... and from the look on his face, he wasn't happy to see you there. Before the meeting was over, you heard his voice call your name ; it had a barely disguised note of anger. "Lieutenant Evans. You’ll stay after training, we'll have a word."

Bradley looked at you, concerned. He knew that you had never told Pete about the Navy, but he didn't know that even after nine years, your father was still unaware of your career. The others were confused and you could feel questioning gazes on you. Great way to begin this thing , you thought.

You were 27 and a very good pilot. An excellent one. One of the best. That's why you were here after all, wasn’t it ? You walked in your father’s footsteps, perhaps as talented as him at that age. But you were also as reckless as him, living up to your callsign. A tempest was never soft or delicate, neither were you. You had risked your life so many times in your five years of service. Tom often told you that you were just like your father and that it scared him. You didn’t think, you just did , you wanted to go faster, higher and further. Acting like the storm that you were, leaving your enemies confused by what had just happened. The adrenaline, the speed, the immensity of the sky, the feeling of freedom... you finally understood why Pete loved being in his plane so much. You felt a little closer to him in those moments.

And yet, in nine years of absence, he had never once contacted you. You had disappeared one day and he hadn't even looked for you. Your uncle had promised not to say anything about your career, but Pete hadn't even been interested in why or where you were going.

Seeing him angry made you furious . How could he have the nerve to be mad at you?

After the training and the 200 pushups you had to do because - of course - you didn't beat your old man, you stayed on deck and waited for the others to leave. Bradley gave you a little squeeze on the shoulder, as if to give you strength, and reluctantly left. You heard Hondo telling Pete to calm himself before saying things he might regret out of anger.

Once again, the silence between you and your father was heavy.

You couldn't take your eyes off him, waiting for him to finally speak. You could see that he was trying to stay calm. But you already felt like exploding . You could feel the reproaches, the so-called concern. You could feel that he wanted to push you away .

"Y/N... how did you... you went to the Academy behind my back?!"

"Iceman," you replied simply, your eyes and voice cold. "And you never asked where I was either."

"You-?! I should have known, you lied to me."

“It’s not lying if you’re not asked.” you mutter, “You taught me that.”

“Now’s not the time to play that game Y/N,” he snapped, "you can't be here."

"With all due respect, Captain, that's not your call."

You really tried to remain calm, knowing that the others must have been listening nearby - especially Jake. You didn't want to draw any more attention, but you felt your blood boiling under your skin.

"I will talk to Vice Admiral Simpson about this. I don't suppose anyone's made the connection between us. But now there's clearly a conflict of interest-"

"You have no right to take this mission away from me. It's not fair," you gasped, eyes wide.

"I am your father ! I can and will do it."

"What ?! No ! No, you can't ! 9 years of nothing but silence and now you're acting like a worried father ?!" you snapped, moving towards him and pointing an accusing finger. A nervous laugh escaped you and you sighed, pursing your lips. "Why do you always have to act like this ? You've never acted like a father to me, except to get in my way !"

"Get in your way ? No ! I care about you-"

"Really ?!" you cut him off, raising your voice, "Then where have you been for 9 years ?! What did Tom have to say to you that you weren't even lookin' for me ? Where was all this care when I left and you were not here ? Where were you huh ?! Where was all that concern ?!"

Pete's eyes widened and he searched for words. He should have known that he could not argue with your point so he just huffed then scolded. "I'm your captain, Lieutenant Evans ! Keep your voice down !"

"Oh, now it's not my father talking ?!" you couldn't hold back a nervous, fake laugh. "You see how you are ?! Always twisting things your way ?! Why are you avoiding that conversation ? Why are you running away again ?!" you’re almost screaming, inches close to him, eyes locked in his.

"Lieutenant Evans !" he growled. You grumbled and let out a heavy sight, calming yourself. You stepped back and clenched your fists along your body.

"Will that be all, Captain Mitchell ?"

You clenched your fists even harder, your knuckles turning white. You wanted to physically shake him to finally have answers. But you couldn’t, at least not here, not now.

"Y/N..." he huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Will that be all, Captain ?" you repeated, your voice slightly trembling. Tears of rage threatened to fall. You held them back, too proud to cry in front of him. Pete looked at you and sighed quietly.

"You're dismissed Lieutenant Evans..."

You left the deck with a quick stride. Your heart was pounding in your chest, a mixture of anger, frustration and sadness. Of course, the rest of the squadron was there, already clean and changed. Seeing the anger in your eyes, no one said a word, not even Hangman. He just stared at you, confused, as you slammed the door of the changing room.

Later that evening, as the squadron relaxed at the bar, Jake couldn't help but bring up the earlier scene.

"So our dear Tempest's dad is the famous Maverick?"

" He's not my father ," you muttered, finishing another beer. "My genitor maybe. But he's not my father."

"Why Evans if Mitchell's your old man?" Jake insisted.

You could hear Bradley and Natasha telling him to drop it, but he kept coming back. You could feel your anger rising again. You downed another beer and slammed the empty bottle down on the table.

"Tell me, Bagman , weren’t you taught to keep your mouth shut about things that don't concern you? I'm sure your mama taught you some manners, didn't she? Now shut up before I put my fist through your face," you growled, half drunk, half angry. Jake scoffed and held his hands up in defense while Bob stopped you from approaching him. Seeing your father enter the bar only made you feel worse. And it took all your patience not to slit Jake's throat on the spot as he continued his overly curious and unpleasant comments with his snide attitude.

Bradley went with you to get some fresh air as he wasn't too keen on seeing Pete either. When you arrived at the beach, a wave of sadness washed over you. You knew that your father would do everything in his power to get you out of this mission, but what was worse was that he didn't even try to talk to you, to reconnect. Your shoulders shook and you couldn't hold back the tears any longer. Only a sobbing hiccup betrayed you and Bradley rushed to take you in his arms. You felt the strength leave your legs and the two of you ended up sitting in the sand, crying your eyes out and clinging to Bradley. "I've got you... Let it all out..." he murmured between two kisses on the top of your head. His big hands gently stroked your back, letting go of all your pain. "It's okay, baby girl... it's okay..."

Bradley and you practically lived together now. You’ve inherited your mom’s old house by the ocean and it’s confier than being on base. So those kinds of pet names were almost common now. But this time you didn’t blush at it, your emotions a mess.

You cried against him for a long time, as you hadn't done for many years. Rooster held you until you calmed down. "It's not fair..." you whispered, sniffling. "He's going to take me off the mission..."

"He won't be able to... Ice recommended you... there's nothing he can do about it..."

You shrugged, not really sure if Tom could help you. He was very ill and you didn't want to tire him out with your disagreements with your father.

“He’s just an old dickhead, don’t worry…” Bradley tried to cheer you up but you’re too distraught to play along. After a little less than an hour later, you find the force to get up and you head home with him. You fall asleep in the car and wake up the next morning in your bed.

There wasn't much time left before the mission. Training sessions were coming up and so were your fights with Pete. Cyclone hadn't pulled you out of the mission, but you weren't sure if it was to spite your father or because he felt you were capable of succeeding, just like your comrades.

Days passed at an alarming pace. The team slowly bonded through group exercises and moments of relaxation, especially with the game your father had invented: dogfight football.

You couldn't lie, it felt good to have such moments. But your father still didn't talk to you and you were still angry. You remained professional, but you couldn't stand his fatherly attitude towards you.

All your hopes of renewing real ties disappeared when you learned of Tom's death. You had seen him the day before and he had made you promise to try to take care of Pete. His funeral was one of the hardest moments of your life.

And because bad news never comes alone, the mission was moved up by a week. Pete was temporarily relieved of his duties, as Admiral Simpson still believed his plan of attack was doomed to failure. Of course, your father, in his legendary arrogance and cockiness, proved him wrong with an unauthorized flight. Hope rose in the team but it was still a very risky plan.

Cyclone decided to make Pete team leader, and not surprisingly, he didn't choose you as his wingman. Part of you was angry because you felt you could do it, and another part of you was mortified when he announced that his choice would be Bradley. This mission was suicide, and you couldn't afford to lose them both. You couldn't afford to lose anyone in the squadron, but these two, it was just too much.

You didn't catch up with Pete as much as you wanted to, there were still so many questions left unanswered, so much time to make up for… You hadn't been able to make things right with your dad, you hadn't been able to tell him that you had this passion for aviation because of him. You hadn't been able to tell him that you regretted not telling him about the academy, that you regretted the 9 years of distance between you...

And you didn't spend enough time with Bradley.

Sure, you were always glued to each other in your free time, taking walks on the beach, talking and singing together at the Hard Deck piano, having movie nights... but you didn't want it to stop. Not after you'd half confessed how you felt about him after a few too many drinks, telling him that your 4-year-old declaration still stood. He laughed and told you that he hadn't forgotten either.

On the day of the mission, you barely managed to find your way to your father. "Captain?" your voice was louder than you had expected.

"Lieutenant Evans?"

"I... Before you go, I'd like to talk-"

"We'll talk when I get back."

"... Promise me you'll come back."

For a moment, you were that five-year-old girl again, watching her father leave. Pete must have seen it in your eyes and climbed down from the cockpit to take you in his arms. "I promise I'll come back in one piece, kiddo..." You hugged him tightly and nodded in agreement. After a few seconds, you let go and let him settle down. You ran to Bradley and made him promise you the same. He smiled confidently, even though you knew he was stressed. "Don't worry, we've got a Star Wars marathon to watch," he smiled before gently and discreetly kissing your forehead. You blushed and nodded, a worried little smile on your face.

Reluctantly, you left the track and joined Jake. You were glued to your radios, following the progress of the mission. Everything was going well until two enemy fighters spotted them.

You stopped breathing.

First they had Bradley in sight and locked on.

The enemy fired.

But your father took the brunt of the missiles and saved Rooster.

Your brain didn't know how to process all this information and shut down when you heard Bradley's decision to go after Pete before getting shot down too.

You don't remember much else. All you knew is that Jake had to leave in a hurry to find and rescue them. When they landed with that really out beat up F-14, you rushed out on deck to greet them, swallowing all your worry and anger at their unconscious behavior for the moment.

Once ashore, the entire crew decided to celebrate their success at Penny's Bar, dragging Pete with them. You stayed close to Bradley, as if afraid that it was all a dream and that he wasn't really there. He wouldn't let go of you either, his arm tight around you. You felt like a schoolgirl, it was stupidly comfortable. You looked at Pete, who was happily chatting with Penny and other members of the team. You didn't want to spoil the evening with a discussion that was out of your control…

Around one o'clock you went out for some fresh air, leaving Bradley to play with those who hadn't returned home yet ; Reuben, Natasha, Mickey and Javy.

As a cold shiver ran through you, you felt a heavy jacket on your shoulders. You immediately recognized the peculiar smell ; old whiskey mixed with motor oil and a hint of cologne.

" Dad ? "

"I thought you wanted to talk ?" he asked quietly, moving toward the beach. You nodded and took his pinky with yours like a child, searching for your words.

"I'm sorry..." you breathed, holding back your tears. "For going to the Academy behind your back and not telling you… not talking to you for almost ten years... I know that giving news is supposed to go both ways and all, but... but you weren't even there when I left... and I guess... I guess I resented you as much as I wanted you to be there, you know ?" you sniffed before continuing your monologue. "I just wanted you to see me . ‘Cause… it’s because of you I wanted to go down this road, you gave me this love for flight, for speed, for the sky. I... I just wanted you to be happy that we finally had something in common, but... but you had already pulled Bradley's papers, so I didn't think and I just did what seemed most logical and easiest. Take Mom's name, ask Ice not to tell you. I know it was stupid… but I also know it would have hurt too much if you had stopped me. And... And then no news for nine years... It hurt even more. The Academy and my first years of service weren't what I thought they would be... it was rough and sometimes I just… I just wanted to call you to come and pick me from there… but… but I wouldn't change that for the world. Because I’m still a Mitchell and Mitchells never quit right ?” You took a few seconds, your gaze meeting his, to see if he wanted to intervene but he didn’t. He just looked at you, taking all the information you gave him. You let out a shaky breath, playing with the sleeves of his jacket nervously. “And I know you must and may resent me for the rest of my life, but… but I just wanted you to be proud of me and... and for us to finally be a family." You bit your lip, trying to calm the flow of emotions that came through.

The sky began to rumble and your father remained silent after your speech. A few tears rolled down your cheeks as he couldn't find the words.

"Please, Dad, say something..." you sighed, your voice breaking.

The rain began to fall slowly and Pete's silence was too much for your heart to take. He couldn't even look at you anymore. You thought you could take it ; you were used to his silenced treatment, used to the fact that he couldn’t express his feelings. But right now, you needed him to speak, to ease your worries, to confront you.

"Dad... please... I'm begging you... talk to me…" you repeated desperately.

You broke down again and cried like a little girl in front of your mute father. You hated that he couldn't open up to you and you hated that he saw you so frail, so fragile. Your sobs mingled with the rain, which grew heavier, the wind and waves making the silence deafening. You bit your lip and wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, in vain.

"I know I'm not... I know you didn't plan… you didn’t want to have me with mom-"

"No, it's true... I never planned to be a father... The very idea of having children terrified me and still does," Pete interrupted you, "but... you're one of the most beautiful things, if not the most, that has ever happened to me. And I'm petrified of anything happening to you, I'm helpless on so many levels... and I... I didn't know how to be there when you needed me... I know I must have let you down a lot..." He sighed, catching his breath and holding back his own tears. "I thought... it would be best for both of us to let you have your freedom... but the weeks, months and years went by and I didn't have the guts to try to contact you. I was too ashamed... but Y/N, I never stopped loving you... you're my daughter... and even if you have my damn temper and your mom’s stubbornness," you couldn't hold back a little laugh and a slight smile despite your tears, which your father tenderly chased away with his thumb, "you'll always be my little girl, too eager to get on our little plane for a ride, passionate and fierce… I don’t resent you… I think I would have done it your way if my old man put me in this situation…" He allowed himself to cry as well as the two of you finally hugged each other, relieved of an enormous weight.

"I love you too, Dad... sorry for everything..." you mumbled against his shoulder.

"No, no… I’m sorry… It's my turn to apologize, sweetheart..."

The two of you lay embracing in the rain for a while, making up for years of distance in a few minutes. You were the first to let go. You once again took his hand like a child.

"We better get back before Hangman starts gossiping..."

"Or before Bradley starts worrying," Pete teased. You blushed and looked at him with wide eyes. "What? Like I haven't noticed the way you two look at each other. I'm not that blind kid!" He laughed “Ah… your mom and Carole would have been thrilled !”

You returned to the bar, soaking wet, chatting about anything and everything. Seeing you, Bradley's expression changed from worried to relieved, then back to worried as he noticed you were shivering a little from the cold. He politely left his conversation with Mickey to join you.

"Are you okay? Do you want to go home and change?"

"That would be a good idea..." you smiled at him. You had to admit you were exhausted from this rollercoaster of emotions. You said goodbye to the others from a distance, then to your father in a final hug, and followed Bradley back to his old blue Bronco. The two of you made your way to your small house.

Bradley was a good roommate. You each had your own room, but you often fell asleep together in front of the TV or on one of your beds after long late-night discussions. You liked the routine you created. And you hoped with all your might that nothing would change. But your feelings for him were becoming more and more obvious in your mind and heart. You wondered how much longer you could hide it.

Seeing you so silent, Bradley placed his hand on your thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Are you all right, lil’ Tempest?"

His eyes never left the road as his thumb traced small circles on your jeans. A shiver ran through your entire body and you wished this contact would never end.

"Everything's fine Roo... don't worry..."

"Okay..."

He squeezed your knee again and left his hand on your thigh. The warmth of his palm made you shiver and you placed your hand on top of his shyly. Once again, you felt like a teenager. It was stupid.

The ride home was rather quiet, in a comforting way, Bradley driving carefully in the pouring rain and humming the song that passed on the radio. When he parked, you stayed in the car for a moment. You sensed that he had something he wanted to say to you, and he sensed the same thing on your side. After a few minutes of silence and shy glances, he smiled at you, got out of the car, and you followed. He ran to unlock the door and waited for you under the porch.

You wanted to run as well, but your legs felt heavy. That's when your anxiety decided to take over. The stress and worry of the past few days were finally catching up to you. As you saw Bradley step out into the rain with a worried expression, the conversation on the radio played in your head. Your father's F-18 had exploded, and Bradley was on his way to pick him up. And now it was his turn to go down. A huge pressure on your chest stopped you from breathing and new tears rolled down your cheeks. You couldn't move, pinned to the pavement. Silent sobs shook you as your vision blurred. You couldn't see or hear Bradley any more. You felt so alone, so cold. Your panic attack froze you under the heavy rain and you couldn't get out of it. You couldn't hear anything except the intense ringing in your ear. You wanted to throw up. The world spun around you as your mind screamed what the communications officer had said earlier, "Maverick's down ! Rooster's down !"

They were dead.

For the long forty minutes or so that followed, they were dead . And you were stuck in that loop. One minute everything was fine, the mission was a complete success. The next, the last two most important people in your life were dead. The ground began to feel strangely unstable as you fought harder to breathe. Eventually your legs gave out and you felt yourself fall, but you didn't hit the ground. You felt two arms around you, holding you securely but not too tightly, then lifting you up as if you weighed nothing. The buzzing in your ears slowly faded away and you didn't feel the rain on your skin anymore. You gasped for air when you finally heard Breadley call your name, concern in his voice. As you raised your eyes to look at him, a sudden relief washed over you and you couldn't help but sob again.

He was home. You were home. With him.

"What's going on, Y/N? Hey... Breathe... breathe and talk to me..." he said quietly.

"I thought... I thought you and Dad... you... you were dead..." you managed to say between sobbing hiccups. You clung to his shirt, afraid he would fade away. He smiled a little and kissed the top of your head as he cupped your cheeks with his calloused hands. Then he took your hands and laid them flat on his heart. You could feel it beating at a regular pace.

"I'm here. I’m okay. You're okay. I'm very much alive, Mav is too, and you're stuck with me, with us, little Tempest..."

"Yeah ? Promise ?" you sniffed, your lower lip still trembling.

"Yeah... Promise." he smiled at you again then hugged you tightly.

He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, the bristles of his mustache tickling you a little. One of your hands reached up to his neck, your fingers brushing his little hair. The two of you stayed like that for a moment, absorbing each other's presence. You felt so relaxed in his arms, as if you belonged there. Your heart fluttered as you heard him hum one of your favorite songs and then felt him beginning to slow dance with you, taking you peacefully to the bathroom. You were too exhausted and shaken from your panic attack to even ask him what he was doing. You just obliged and listened to him, hypnotized. He declared that you needed a long relaxing bath and in the meantime he would order pizza. He helped you take off your shoes and socks, then your hoodie. He kissed your forehead and let you finish undressing, leaving the bathroom to give you some privacy.

You couldn’t stay too long in the bath, your mind being too loud. You knew you would break down again if you weren’t close to him . Bradley made you feel safe, secure, grounded. That was what you needed to relax. You were so used to being alone before, used to the silence, the empty rooms. But since he decided to kind of move in with you, you couldn’t bear the loneliness. The house was so warm now, so welcoming and comfy.

As you crossed his room after you’ve washed, you noticed that old hoodie you bought him one Christmas when you were in naval school. It’s a silly one, the hood designed to look like a rooster. An amused sigh escaped you and you took it to wear. It was still as soft and comfy as the day you bought it.

“Stealing my clothes I see ?” he chuckled when you joined him in the kitchen.

“Stealing my beers I see ?” you teased him back, pointing at the bottle in his hand, “I thought cranberry beers were for chicks ?”

“Mama Carole didn’t raise me to be picky” He scoffed in défense, with a smirk.

“Oh I know she didn’t. And my mama didn’t raise me to steal, I’m just borrowing that hoodie.” you smiled, putting the hood on. “Look, we’re twins now, Rooster !”

The both of you laughed at that stupid joke. He then smiled at you and put a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Feeling better sweets ?”

“Yeah… sorry about that I… I think these past days were a bit too much for my brain…”

“Don’t be sorry… it’s normal to break sometimes… everyone does.”

You hummed and nodded, but before you could talk, the doorbell rang. “Must be the pizzas ! Get yourself comfortable on the couch and choose a movie Y/N, I’ll be right back !” He kissed your cheek, close to your lips - too close - and ran to the door. You stood there for a moment, cheeks and heart warming up, before doing what he asked you. Once again, you felt like a schoolgirl at her first sleepover with her crush. You couldn’t help but feel butterflies fluttering in your stomach and your face turning a bit red.

You should tell him. But you risked losing that friendship you had. And at the same time, you wanted more than that. You wanted to feel his arms around you, his lips - oh those lips - on you, to wake up next to him each and every morning in your bed… You fantasized about a life with him for a minute, not noticing him getting back with the food. You jumped slightly when he waved his hand in front of your eyes to snap you out of your reverie. Your gaze locked with his as he asked if everything was all right.

"Yes, yes... I was just lost in thought..." you smiled shyly, your cheeks flushed, letting him settle in beside you. He took the plaid to cover both of you, then put his arm around your shoulders.

"And what were you thinking about? Or who?" He teased.

"About us, actually..."

"Us?" He said, a little surprised.

Your cheeks were crimson. You'd said too much already. You couldn't run anymore. You just nodded, not daring to meet his gaze. You felt him come closer and turn a little towards you after a few seconds of silence.

"Me too, I have to admit..."

"Really?" you almost whispered, looking up at him. He smiled and nodded.

"Yeah... to tell you the truth, I like it here, but... I don't want to be just another roommate anymore. We're pretty similar in a lot of things, Phoenix even says we look like an old married couple that's always jammed together." You chuckled a little but couldn't help but agree. Bradley smiled a little before continuing, a little nervously. "And... the crash, almost getting killed... It made me realize a lot of things... like the fact that I didn't want to lose you. And that... maybe... the fact that I felt so comfortable with you meant... meant more than friendship..."

Your heart raced in your chest. Was he going to confess what you were thinking? You bit the inside of your cheek to prove to yourself that you weren't dreaming, and before he could continue, you pulled him by his collar and crushed your lips against his. The kiss was desperate, as if you needed it to keep on living. Bradley didn't waste a second in responding, one of his hands sliding up your cheek and the other down your back to press you against him. You would have liked that moment to last forever, but the lack of air forced you to pull away a little. He pressed his forehead against yours and let out a small laugh. "I guess it's mutual, then?"

"You're a little genius aren’t you ?" You couldn't help but tease him before kissing him again.

You felt so good against him, kiss after kiss. You felt complete, soothed.

And you could easily get used to it .

#top gun maverick #top gun imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #dad pete mitchell #reader is pete daughter #jake seresin #bob floyd #penny benjamin #tom iceman kazansky #carole bradshaw #angst with a happy ending #pov second person

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crowdedimagines · 3 months ago

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Risk it All - Bradley Bradshaw

bradley bradshaw x reader 2.4k :)

“Each one of you is the best of the best. This is a very specific mission.” My dad’s voice loudly bellows through the hauntingly quiet room before announcing the foxtrot teams and his wingman.

“This seems like a conflict of interest or something.” Hangman mumbles loud enough for the group to hear. It’s just been announced who would be flying the mission that we’ve spent weeks training for. My father loudly announced that Fanboy and I would be flying with him and Rooster would be leading Phoenix and Bob. I don’t miss the connection he has to the selected team.

I shove off Jake’s shoulder before leaving the room to clear my head. This mission doesn’t have room for ego and that’s lost on him. I’ve flown lots of missions, that's why I was called back to Top Gun in the first place. But never have I flown one this dangerous with my father and boyfriend in the mix.

“You ok?” I turn to see which one was feeling brave enough to follow me out.

Rooster.

“I think so.” I answer honestly, I lean against his chest when he pulls me close against it. “I’m proud of us, but god do I wish we weren’t the ones taking this risk.”

“I know.” His hand runs reassuringly up and down my back.

“I think you should speak with Mav before we leave. Clear the air before we’re in the air.” Things between my dad and boyfriend have been strained in the years that followed Mav pulling Brad’s papers. He stiffens for a second in my arms, I look up with a grin so he knows he’s caught.

“Fine.” He presses a kiss down on the top of my head, we enjoy the peace of looking out at the water for a few minutes before we get called to the top of the carrier.

I look over my aircraft going over a checklist I’ve reviewed thousands of times before hundreds of missions, somehow it’s the first time the pen shakes in my hand. I catch Bradley walk up to my dad out of the corner of my eye. His eyes look pleading but the conversation is cut short with all the commotion going on to prepare.

They disband and Maverick turns in my direction before I climb up the ladder.

“You listen to me and stay with me, okay?” He pulls me in for a tight hug. He’s both my Captain and my dad up in the sky.

“You’re the boss up there.” I grin.

“Yeah, and you’re the boss just about everywhere else.” He teases pinching my side lightly before letting go.

I climb the ladder and Fanboy gives me a thumbs up that he’s good to go. I put my helmet on and blow a kiss to Bradley who is directly to my right. All daggers call off ready before getting the clearance to take off.

We eventually dip below radar levels and get into formation for the flight. My dad leads us as the Tomahawks fly overhead. Rooster falls in behind me, and Phoenix and Bob behind him.

“First SAM sight up ahead.” Maverick announces as we curve through another bend in the mountains.

“We’ve got two minutes to target.” Fanboy informs, keeping track of the time.

“We're a few seconds behind, Rooster.” Phoenix’s voice is confident, “We need to pick up speed.”

“We’ve got two long range bandits” Comanche advises.

“Fucking hell, where did they come from?” I mutter, they also inform us the tomahawks just made contact with the airstrip meaning they know we’re coming.

“We need to increase speed.” Mav decides.

I pick up speed to follow him closely but Rooster who was already falling behind in pace lets the gap widen.

“Daggers two and four are falling behind.” They announce over the radio.

“C’mon Rooster, we have bandits inbound now that we made contact.” Phoenix pleads.

“Roo!” I call out loudly on the comms getting an idea, “Keep me in sight baby, speed up and eyes on me.”

It clicked in his brain suddenly. His fear was holding him back from what he was the most afraid of. Losing her.

“Don’t think, just do.” The mantra is said by Mav, but Rooster swears he can hear his dad.

“I’m coming, baby” He calls, picking up his speed drastically re-engaging with the mission.

“Jesus, Rooster who knew you had it in you.” Phoenix teases and I crack my first smile since we left the carrier.

“I did.”

We manage to pop up over the mountain with success and get eyes on the target in time to drop the first set of bombs with a direct hit. The strongest pull of the Gs hit as we fight to climb back out of the mountain. My arms shake as I fight for control. I can hear that Rooster has to drop blind from wherever they are behind me but all I can focus on is staying steady enough to make it to coffin corner. That’s when all hell breaks loose.

“Smoke in the air!” “Dagger one defending.” “Rooster, status?” “Break right!” “Deploy countermeasures!” “Two more on your six.” “Dagger three defending.”

“Shit, I’m out of flares.” Rooster’s voice calls out of the chaos making my heart fall flat.

“What?” I cry.

“Rooster, evade! Evade!” Maverick yells.

“I can’t shake them!”

Before my eyes Mavericks pulls up over Brad’s jet using his flares to defend from the SAMS, getting shot down in the process of saving him. An explosion of smoke bursts and we’re soaring past it in an instant at our speed.

“Dagger one is hit, I repeat dagger one is hit!” Phoenix calls out for everyone standing by. I gasp as if I was the one taking the physical hit.

“Status? What’s everyone’s status?” Cyclone asks, demanding answers and information.

“Does anyone see him?” I question only to be met with silence, “Oh my god.”

I shudder and disregard the fact that everyone can hear me struggle to catch my breath.

“We have to circle back.” Rooster commands.

Comanche recommends they leave. There’s nothing they can do with bandits in the air. Cyclone agrees and commands us not to agree.

“He’s gone?”

I can’t even process what’s being said or asked as I think of what I just witnessed. “I can’t leave him.” Rooster cries and I turn to look at him flying to my left, “I love you, baby.”

Rooster veers off and down to the left where Maverick’s plane has gone down in smoke. The tears don’t stop streaming off my face as I process the fact that he’s going back for him, against orders.

It crushes me to hear them call out ‘dagger two is hit’ not long after he left my sight. Wordlessly Phoenix leads back towards the carrier as the second plane of ours goes down in smoke today.

“This can’t be happening.” I argue, “They need assistance! Send Hangman-”

“Y/callsign-” Cyclone cuts off. “We already have seen two planes fail and bandits are closing in. Return to the carrier immediately.”

“But sir-” My voice tight.

“That’s an order Mitchell, return to the carrier.” Cyclone commands.

My vision zones out on the back of Phoenix's jet heading in the direction of the carrier. Somewhere vaguely behind us are a pair of fifth generation fighter jets that pose little option for us. We’re back over water now, likely only a few miles from the carrier at this point. The shock takes over as autopilot carries us home.

“Rooster’s signal just came back on!” Bob announces and my heart skips a beat.

“What?” I smile.

“He’s airborne, in a F-14!” Fanboy comments further.

“F-14 has Mav written all over it!” I smile even wider, they’re still alive!

“They still have bandits on them.” Comanche notifies.

“I can go back!” I yell.

“Mitchell, you have already been ordered several times to return to the carrier, until confirmed this has changed nothing.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I argue.

“You’d be outnumbered anyway. You’re ordered to return.”

My hand drums on the control wheel while I debate in my head.

“Do it.” Fanboy says, answering my thoughts I didn’t even have to voice for him to understand. I need to go back for them. I can’t just leave them behind unsure.

“We don’t have clearance.” My voice hypnotic.

“That’s not gonna stop you. We both know that.” He reaches a comforting hand on my shoulder giving it a squeeze, “Plus you’re a Mitchell, they should know they can’t order you to do shit.”

I pull hard to turn around, suddenly blocking out the yelling in my ear and focusing on the blinking dot on my radar, clueing me in on their location. I lock in and take off getting low as they weave the terrain. Surprising the pilot from behind while he was closing in on Mav. My missile locks in and I take the shot watching it combust in front of me.

“Would you look at that!” I tease, our radio’s now connected to theirs.

“If it ain’t our angel from above.” Bradley grins looking at me in the back seat of the F-14.

“Truly, we were out of missiles and guns.” Maverick nods down at the plane they’re flying.

Their F-14 blares out a loud alarm signaling someone closing in on radar.

“Where are they?” I call out, looking for anything on the horizon while Fanboy looks behind us.

“He’s on our nose.”

Suddenly our aircraft signals warnings as well.

“Y/n, what do you have left?” My dad asks eye’s never straying from the approaching plane.

“One missile, no guns.” I clear my throat, “One round of flares.”

This doesn’t leave a lot of wiggle room for failure with this. I’m still only flying a F-18 which is lightyears behind anything fifth generation in the air. He cuts between the two of us, sending us apart.

“Y/cs, cobra! Make us an easy target!” Mav instructs and I know what he wants immediately. Nothing we’ve ever practiced of course, but a risky move he invented and I mastered.

We fall into formation, Mav flying behind me as a barrier while the enemy plane circles back. I watch and wait for him to lock in on them, closing in on his target before pulling up and back as hard as I can. It sent us propelling backward and behind the enemy plane giving me a brief window to get a lock on him.

The familiar chime rings out letting me know I’ve won. I fire and take down the threat to both of the men in my life. I cheer a sigh of relief pulling up next to them again as we continue towards the carrier. The flight tower cheers as we’ve all made it home.

“That’s my girl.” Both men say in unison. Mav turning around in his seat as best he could to glare at Bradley.

I roll my eyes and pull ahead so I can land first. They lost their landing gear at some point in their escape so they need a little assistance with their landing. I stand at the front of my plane while I wait for them to climb out. The cheers of the crew is deafening as they pull us in for hugs and handshakes. I weave my way through people as I make my way up to them.

“Man, what would you boys do without me?” I tease.

“We’d be somewhere in the Pacific right now.” Dad grins, pulling me in for a tight hug before Rooster can. Rooster just smiles looking at me over his shoulder.

“Thank you, baby.” Rooster cuts in for his own hug and kissing the top of my head. He squeezes me a little tighter before letting go.

“Yeah, you better thank me now. I’m a dead girl walking, but it was so worth it.”

Bradley pulls back a little so he can see my face and so I’ll clue him in on what I’m talking about.

“They didn’t give me clearance to turn back.” I admit, “I had to disobey orders in order to save you guys.”

“What?” Bradley asks shocked.

“So worth it!” I reach up so I can pull Bradley down for a real kiss.

“Lieutenant Mitchell.” Cyclone’s voice bellows. I quickly pull away and straighten my posture.

“Listen she-” my dad attempts to defend me but Cyclone holds up a hand to cut him off.

“What you did was disrespectful, disobedient, and unreliable. You put another pilot at risk by what you did. It was selfish to Fanboy to go back. With that said, I’m grateful your skill proved me wrong and brought these two men back home.”

I clear my throat to swallow, unable to find the words to respond. How should I take that? He reaches out a hand to shake mine and I meet it with a tight grip. He nods and walks off, the second he does the celebration begins again.

“Hey, I’ve been told worse!” Maverick teases, pulling me in for another hug.

“Yeah, like father like daughter apparently.” I laugh.

It takes a couple days for us to return to land, but it feels like a breeze now that we don’t have the mission hanging over our heads anymore. It’s also been amazing to brag to Hangman that I officially have more air combat kills than him.

“Whatever, you were a legacy anyway.” He rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, a legacy with double the air combat kills you have!” The competitive nature definitely runs in the family.

Rooster grins at his girl loving how she defends herself and how badass she is. She did save his life which is not lost on him.

“What’re you thinking about?” I ask, pulling Roo from whatever thoughts had him staring out on the horizon with such focus. I curl my hands through his hair and he closes his eyes in bliss for a few seconds before responding.

“How scary this week was. How grateful I am for you. You risked it all for me. And your dad. Even though you know both of us would’ve been crushed if anything had happened to you.”

“I know.” I press a kiss to his cheek, “I think you owe me a drink at the Hard Deck.”

He rolls his eyes, knowing he buys nearly all of them anyway.

“Yeah, I think I can manage that.”

“I like this!” I continue to tease, “How long can I hang this over your head?”

“Forever sounds alright to me”

y'all it's literally been so long so be forgiving lol i just needed to write something because i miss it dearly! love you guys

#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradsaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x you #top gun rooster #top gun imagine #top gun maverick #maverick daughter #rooster x reader #rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster bradshaw x reader

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saltsicklover · 1 year ago

Text

Title: Not a Cyclone, But a Monsoon

Part 1 of 2 - Completed

Find Part 2 HERE and my Master List HERE

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

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

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

A few uses of Y/N

Word Count: This part: 6k+ Total Fic:20k+

Rating: R

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

---

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

Miramar, California. TOP GUN. Six years before the organization of the Dagger Squad.

The Officers Club, better known as The Flight Line Bar sits on post in Miramar, frequented by the big brass and educators at Top Gun. The whole place glows with amber light from the buzzing light fixtures that hang from the rafters, dusty and hot to the touch. This half of base, on the far side of the air field has yet to be updated, evident by the chips in the glasses and the inconsistent flickering of the halogen bulbs. The wallpaper is peeling; discolored around the old neon signs that have slowly begun to fizzle out. If it were any brighter inside those four walls, one might be able to see the discoloration of well walked floors and one too many spilt beers.

Two loan pool tables sit in the center of the bar, their felt faded from use and tearing, flanked by a couple of dart boards, their cork crumbling from age. The patrons look about the same, old and wrinkled with age, lines worn into their faces that read closer to distinguished than wary. That's what the military does to a person, wears itself straight into the skin and makes a home there, the ghosts of lost wingman and battle buddies still looming in the whites of their eyes. Too many memories are stuck in the deep folds of their uniforms, worn in around the elbows and shoulders, the creases worn from friction- salute after salute.

It's really a hard to believe that people still frequent The Flight Line Bar. After all, there are so many better places for the students of Top Gun to meander into, just off post where they don't have to risk rubbing shoulders with their instructors- or heaven forbid, hit on their guest lecturers.

After all, It's all fun and games, flirty touches and smooth words until you're slapped with a SHARP report.

The students always figure out the good places to drink after class, shortly after their arrival after one too many moments spent inside the crumbling bar. The drinks are good in taste, better in price, but not worth it at the risk of saying just the wrong thing to just the wrong person.

The new recruits arrival happens like clockwork, and it's a ritual the newly minted Admiral Beau "Cyclone" Simpson loves to witness. He has been watching the little ordeal for the last four years, with each new Top Gun class, even choosing to mark the date on his calendar after having almost missed an incoming class last year.

The new Top Gun recruits wander into The Flight Line Bar in gaggles. Most still clad in their uniforms if they had been lucky enough to get issued a drinking order. The wide eyed aviators would file up to the bar, uneasy looks on their faces as they took in the ranks drinking around them. If the Flight Line Bar was a small pond, the Top Gun inductees are guppies surrounded by some very big fish. One year, a young aviator even tripped over the base commander's seat and was met with a glare that even Cyclone would have been nervous to stand on the receiving end of.

The recruits each drink a beer, the brave ones chancing a second, before they're heading for the door. Cyclone loves to see the discomfort that would roll off of them the moment they crossed the threshold back into the parking lot. Some would even shiver, which always seems to pull a hearty laugh out of the Admiral.

This year, however, Cyclone is met with a very different scene before him when he himself broke the threshold of the Flight Line Bar. Having been stuck in a meeting with Admiral Kazansky, Cyclone ends up arriving later than the usual crowd of recruits. So, when he finally wanders in, he is met with the fleeting glances of some top brass, but no new eyes. He can't fight the way he almost deflates; after the shit day he managed to barely claw his way through, the one thing he was looking forward to were the wide eyes of the newest, freshest meat that Top Gun managed to recruit.

As if today of all days wasn't hard enough to begin with.

Instead, it looks like a regular Friday night, which wouldn't do the leg work needed to actually flip his day around for the better. But he's already there, the drinks are cheap, and he really, really needs a drink. So, he orders with a silent wave of his hand, the borderline elderly man behind the bar meeting the wave with a nod of his head. Cyclone plops down unceremoniously onto one of the rickety barstools. It almost sways under his weight, however it does creak weakly as he settles. His temple meets his knuckles as he lets out a deep sigh as the beer being set down in front of him. Cyclone can only manage a nod to the bartender before lifting the glass to his lips.

The question of why he still drinks here, in this lousy bar, floats through his head for a moment, but he doesn't put fourth the energy to grant himself with an answer. Maybe it's the cheap beer and half price shots. Or, maybe the fact that he doesn't have to fight off the happy hour drinkers or the five o'clock somewhere partiers that seem to be carried in with the wind. Again, he doesn't entertain the question long enough to form an answer.

Cyclone doesn't even have to glance around the bar to know the crowd this Friday night hosts. Top brass, tired officers, and disgruntled wives, each drinking their own bad days away.

The glass feels about a hundred pounds and it meets the bar top with a loud thunk, the amber liquid sloshing around inside. A bit of foam sneaks over the rim, running down the crack in the glass. Cyclone scratches at it with this thumbnail, wondering how the hell the bar is still getting away with using nearly broken glassware. The thought doesn't last long, not many seem to this evening, and he is bringing the impossibly heavy glass back to his mouth for another sip.

As he tips it back a little further this time, the sulking woman a few seats down catches his attention. If this were a normal Friday night, Cyclone might make bets with himself on just why a woman might be crying, in this bar, all alone. He might puzzle that she is a soon to be ex-wife, her spouse making the choice to cheat on deployment. Maybe she is a daughter, or a sister, or a cousin, her base escort hiding in some other corner of the bar, or of the base. But tonight is not a normal Friday night, regardless of the absence of the new incoming class or not.

The Admiral can't help but watch her lazily out of the corner of his eye. She brings a shitty bar serviette up to wipe at her cheeks, sniffling as the paper touches her skin. Cyclone should feel guilty about how much the sight comforts him. At least, he thinks, someone else seems to be having just as bad of a day as he is.

Then, she catches him staring, his beer lost in the space between his lips and the counter. His fingers are sticky against the chilled glass as he holds it there, still watching her. Cyclone doesn't look away, no point in it now. Then, she breaks the disillusioned bubble forming between them with a sniffle and a hiccup.

It's not a pretty sound, but then again, the sight of the woman in front of him isn't exactly pretty either. After all, it's hard to be pretty when snot is rubbed up over the tip of her nose, catching the light as she sniffles again. Her hair is akin to a nest, like her fingers have been making their way through it over and over again until it is more mess than style.

"I'm sorry, Admiral, Sir," Her voice is straining from holding back tears. There is snot dripping from her nose again, and she wipes it with another flimsy napkin. A half effort is made to sweep back the hair in her face, her well kept fingernails catching in newly formed knots as she pushes it back. The woman doesn't break eye contact with him, even as the sight of him begins to swim through her newly forming tears.

"Hey, kid, it's okay, don't worry about it," His eyes meet the fluttering neon sign behind her, not wanting to lock eyes with her again. It lights her in a halo of sickly blue and Cyclone can see the fizziness of her hair in it's light- it's a half distraction from the way she is still looking at him with those tears in her eyes. He can't stand it when women cry, not after watching his wife, June, sob through her entire pregnancy. It's really the way their eyes glaze over- that helpless look where he can just tell they are fighting with everything they are worth, deep down knowing that it might not be enough. Though, it warms his chest a bit to call her "kid", like he has always been meant to use the term.

The Admiral's brown eyes go misty, locking onto the chipped portion of his glass as the memory of his wife, six months pregnant, stuck in a hospital bed as hot tears carved their way down her face invades Cyclone's memory like a plague. He will never forget the crimson staining her cheeks from the exertion as she fought. And fought. And fought. The way her skin was more chapped than smooth from the constant flow of tears- the way the light would catch the shininess of her skin from the petroleum jelly that he lovingly spread over her weeping skin.

She didn't make it home.

Neither did their baby boy.

And now, as this woman sits a couple stools down, crying in a way that's anything other than gentle, corralling her sobs into the fence of her chest; her face that same color he used to be so used to seeing, that same damn sheen to her skin and Beau feels sick. His eyes snap down to her hands and he watches as her fingers push through the soggy material of the napkin, a sight that makes him grimace a bit. Gross is not the word to use to describe a crying woman, that is fact he has to remind himself of, but the way her fingertips slipped right through that soggy excuse of a napkin is damn close. Cyclone schools his mouth into a tight line, knowing that anything he might say could make both of their day's spiral downwards even faster.

"Admiral," Cyclone wills himself to look her in the face, but his pupils dance around, not locking in on one spot too long. The frizz of her hair, then over the puffy skin under her eyes, then back up to the buzzing neon just over the top of her head. Anything to keep from looking into the woman's eyes. He manages a nod in her direction, rewarded with a hiccup from behind her glass.

A couple more used napkins are tossed up onto the bar, adding them to her steadily growing pile. Her beer is cold, and she can feel it travel all the way down, chilling her burning insides with each swallow. Cyclone takes a drink of his too, waiting for her to continue her thought. He closes his eyes as he tips back the glass, the image of the crying woman in front of him replaced with one of June, and he's not really sure which is worse.

Thunk goes the glass again.

"Can I ask a favor?" Her tone is so sweet, yet so, so sad. He thinks of June, then he nods, his body doing the motion for the sake of his heart, even though his brain is screaming at him. He was taught a long time ago that there are people who don't just ask for favors, specifically strange women in bars, new recruits, and the big brass. But, the woman looks about the age his son should have been now and his chest constricts with the realization that he could have been sitting here drinking with him if things had turned out different.

"How can I help you, kid?" The glass is hitting the bar top just a little bit too hard again, the splinter in the glass growing a millimeter. It's quickly covered by the large pad of Cyclone's thumb.

"I- well, I'm supposed to be here celebrating my Mother's leg-legacy," Another sob-full hiccup breaks up her sentence. Cyclone waits patiently for her to finish. She wipes at the tip of her nose with the back of her hand.

"And, she really liked to shoot whiskey," The explanation is coming out too wet and not at all concise, but Beau is nodding along anyway. The woman is rubbing at her eyes again, this time with her fingertips. She carefully runs her nail along the underside of her waterline, trying to catch the new tears before they streak down her cheeks with the rest of them. It doesn't really work, or even if it does, Cyclone can't tell. New tears fill up the spaces the freshly wiped away ones once occupied.

Despite the unclear delivery, Cyclone gets the message. Ordering two double shots of Tennessee whiskey, his wife's favorite, Cyclone offers his best sympathetic smile to his new drinking companion. Then, as the whiskey is being poured and he is shuffling over to the bar stool next to hers. That one creaks and sways too, but he tries not to pay it too much mind.

"What's your name, kid?" There's that warmth again, breaking through the tightening feeling in his chest.

"Lieutenant Y/N "Monsoon" Mitchell," Monsoon raises her shot glass to Cyclone, offering him a nod. It's such an informal introduction but both are thankful for the lack of salute, the lack of military theatrics, tradition, that they are usually stuck to upholding. After all, what is tradition except peer pressure ringing through from years past.

Cyclone knows her, well, her name, this recruit- on paper at least. Suddenly he feels a bit worse for feeling less alone when he spotted her crying.

"Beau "Cyclone" Simpson," He raises his own glass, moving to tap them together. It's a risky move with the state of the glasses, each sporting chips in their rims and hairline fractures down their side. They share sullen, makeshift smiles, neither putting any sort of heart behind the expression. It's a knowing sort of thing, the look they share, one that says I won't say anything if you won't.

"To my Mama, Lieutenant Maria Davis, the best damn medic the USS Vinson ever saw," Monsoon's toast is simple, but she means every single word. Beau's mouth turns up at the corners, nodding to her in acknowledgment of a good job.

"And too my wife, June, and our baby boy, god rest their souls."

The bottoms of the glasses hit the table before the rim makes contact with their lips. The alcohol goes down with a burn, but it's a welcomed sensation. Anything feels better than swallowing grief and there's too much in the air right now. Cyclone chases the shot with a gulp of his beer. Monsoon doesn't. She rests the cool glass against her warm cheek, squeezing her eyes shut. It's a refreshing feeling, almost like she is being rinsed from the inside out.

The alcohol settles deep within them. She is buzzing, he is a bit queasy. Neither need to say a thing about it. It kind of feels like church- like a well spoken sermon where one sits in the pew the furthest from the crowed, tucked away in the back, poking holes in each lesson the preacher delivers. After all, it's not really God's plan, is it? More dumb luck than divine circumstance. Yet, they are both still there, sitting on stool that could give out at any moment as the lights above them buzz and the world feels a little smaller.

"I was watching the class today. You're a damn good pilot, Monsoon," Beau speaks after a few beats of silence, not quite sure what to say. Go with the truth, right? It would be rude to move back to his original seat, especially after the woman next to him just got control of her tears, so small talk is the next best option. She cracks her eyes open, trying to read the expression that follows the compliment. It looks genuine, if not a little proud, so she nods.

And then the world is a bit smaller, still.

"Thank you, Admiral, sir," She sets the glass down, gentler than he has done the whole night, "That means a lot, coming from such a talented pilot as yourself, sir."

And then Cyclone is chuckling, his chest vibrating. That feeling being the closest thing to godly he has felt in a long time, but it's more Zeus, more Jupitar, than it could have ever been God. Monsoon's words are so genuine and it catches him off guard. Most people who say something like that are trying to kiss his ass so hard that there they all but wear marks on the backside of his trousers.

"Are you getting excited to graduate? The ceremony is next week, right?" He asks, bringing his eyes back to the neon behind her. The light above them flickers, neither one acknowledging it. There is a sort of kinship between the way their souls feel and the state of the bar, where living feels like the flickering of a light, tonight.

"Sir?" The question comes with a tilt of her head, her fingers wrapping loosely around her beer. He watches the condensation drip down the glass, the water disappearing behind her fingertips.

"To graduate," he explains like it's the clearest thing, "To finish Top Gun,"

"Oh!" Monsoon almost chuckles, but her soul is too heavy. She settles on a small smile, as kind as she can manage.

"I don't graduate for another six weeks. Today just wrapped my seventh week here, but halfway done does feel good," He can tell she is holding something back with the way her eyes are pinched at the corners, the smiles on her lips straining a bit under her words. Monsoon looks like she almost doesn't believe the words that are leaving her own mouth, but when Cyclone catches her eyes again he can see that look again, I won't say anything if you won't.

"Oh," Beau's hand comes up to scratch the back of his neck, all of a sudden feeling like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "In that case, you are one of the best pilots I've ever seen,"

The words fall from his tongue like they are the simplest thing in the world. His eyebrows are still raised as he downs the rest of his beer. He contemplates Monsoon's career in his head, attempting to think back to files he knows are sitting on his desk, but the alcohol swirls the statistics together in his brain.

"Thank you, sir,"

"Is your father planning on coming to your graduation?" The question is so simple, the next plausible question after toasting to her Mother's life. Monsoon bristles at the question, her expression becoming impossibly more tight, pinched.

"He's uhm," The foam in the bottom of Monsoon's glass is the most interesting thing in the room. Tears are flooding her eyes again, and she's turning back to the shitty bar napkins in the even shittier dispenser. Cyclone knows his question hit a nerve based on how she is frantically pulling napkin after napkin out of the dispenser; and the Admiral's guilt swims to the surface. He is sure that the horizon of it can be seen in his iris's, if Monsoon were to look past the evident sadness that has made a home there. He's pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket, blue in color and perfectly folded. He offers it to her and it's taken with a slightly shaky hand.

"M.I.A. or AWOL?" Cyclone asks. There's a bit of humor to his question that neither of them comment on.

"He went AWOL when I was seven," She doesn't take her eyes off the popping foam in the bottom of her glass, "Then I suppose he went M.I.A. three years later, when he stopped sending birthday cards,"

Cyclone hates the way her shrugs are all noncommittal and vaguely unbothered. He would have killed for a chance to raise his child, hell, he would move the Earth if that meant he even had a chance to do something. The fact that a man would walk out on his family, on his own child, it makes him sick. There is still something else Monsoon isn't saying; the way she chuckles is almost wax poetic with the way she rolls her eyes. Cyclone raises an eyebrow at her as he gestures to the bartended for two more on tap.

"I was in Admiral Kazansky's office today," She chuckles again, eyes glassy and unfocused. Cyclone slides the new beer over to her. He brings his up to his lips as she breathes deeply, trying to order the words together in her head, words she can't believe she is about to say out loud.

"There's a fucking picture of my father on his desk," Then she is downing the beer in quick, deep gulps. It's half gone before she sets it back down. Cyclone's brain is working on overdrive, swerving the hazy clouds of intoxication, searching for the mental picture of the Admiral's desk. Monsoon is chuckling in quiet disbelief, picturing the damn photo on his desk, her father and the Admiral shaking hands during their time at Top Gun. It makes her sick, really, but she doesn't need to say it based on the way her face feels, all contorted and ugly.

"I didn't even want to be a fucking pilot," Cyclone doesn't know if she is speaking to him anymore, or if the words are meant for her half empty glass. Hell, the way she speaks them they could be meant for the universe, for Khaos, for the air itself. There's a chip on that glass too, in the smooth side if of it, where it tapers down. He watches as Monsoon rubs her fingertip over it again and again and again.

"What did you want to do?" The question is leaving Cyclone's lips before he can stop it, common sense kicking in too slow. He is kicking himself.

Then, her thumb is stopping.

"I wanted to be a RIO," The glass is lifted to her lips again, her eyes rolling at the mere thought, "I wanted to fly with my Dad,"

The laughter that leave Monsoon's lips is dry as autumn air. Her lips crack too, under the stretch of her half hearted smile- one that holds no joy, it's all lukewarm and apathetic. He watches the skin of her lips crack and separate- it looks painful, and Cyclone has to fight not to grimace at the sight. Blood slowly begins to leak through the new flesh wound, bright red as it crests over the fullness of her bottom lip. He remembers watching the same thing happen to Maverick in the back of a helicopter as the wind whipped around them. But then, Maverick wore a truly joyous smile, one that rounded out his cheeks with a rosy hue that went deeper than the wind burn.

Then it hits Cyclone like a ton of bricks- like pulling 6 G's in a fucking barrel roll. Mitchell. This girl in front of him, this broken, fatherless girl is Pete Michell's kid. As if Cyclone needed another reason to hate the reckless man.

Beau wants to punch Pete Michell so hard that the only thing the man can make out in his field of vision is stars. Either the ones in the sky as he is planted with his back in the dirt, or the ones that would no doubt sparkle behind his eyelids. He wants to watch as the other man bleeds from the nose, the lip, the inside of his mouth. Cyclone can almost see the way the blood would pool in the spaces between Maverick's too white teeth, turning them a sickly vermilion. He would take a little too much pride watching the blood drip out of the corner of Pete's mouth, or down the crest of his chin.

Hell, Pete Michell, bloody, is a justified sight in Cyclone's book.

But that wouldn't help her right now. So Cyclone takes a breath, calming the flames of anger, of Hades that often lick at his legs, at his hands, whenever he so much as thinks about Pete "Maverick" Mitchell.

He's a bastard, that much is for sure. And it doesn't seem that Monsoon needs reminding of that fact.

"Well, kid," Beau is hunting, hurting for the right words, "If it's not wrong of me to say- your talents would have been wasted as a fucking RIO, especially for that son of a bitch," That gets Monsoon chuckling. She wants to ask if her grandmother was really that bad, but she doesn't make the joke. Though the laugh sounds a bit strangled as it untangles from the dense pain in her chest, Cyclone is happy to hear it. Something small swells in his heart at the sound.

Somewhere, deep in the cavernous spaces of his soul, a broken part of him feels like a father for the first time in years, even if it isn't exactly proper and the woman in front of him isn't his kid. Cyclone feels like a father, not even in a pseudo sense of the word, but truly like a father, and the feeling warms him from the inside out. It overtakes his whole body, leaving him almost buzzing.

Now it's his turn to chuckle. It's sour with pain and longing, but it's still there. Like joy is trying to crawl it's way out, lukewarm and dripping wet.

"Well, Admiral, sir," Monsoon's voice is a little lighter now, sweeter maybe. Cyclone is watching as she's pulling her coat over her shoulders, "Thank you for the favor, and the drink,"

She's nodding her head in the direction of the half full glass still dripping with condensation.

"Thank you for remembering them with me, too," They share a knowing smile, it's a little broken but it is still warm. Again, it's one of those I won't say anything if you won't looks shared between the pair. They lock eyes one last time before Monsoon is turning on her heel, ready to head right out of the front door.

For just a second Cyclone wonders if Monsoon will shudder with relief in the same way the new Top Gun recruits usually do, or if something as simple as that will effect such a skilled pilot. He wonders if anyone will be there for her on graduation day, or if she will be stuck alone in the seas of families and friends- just like he was all those years ago.

I won't say anything if you won't. Yeah, that's not a chance he's willing to take.

"Wait," Cyclone calls after Monsoon, his voice a little too loud and not at all hesitant enough. Monsoon chances a look back, confusion written into the furrow of her brows. He becons he back with a wave of his hand. Cyclone pulls a business card from his front pocket. "I am going TDY, but I should be back for your graduation," The words don't make sense to Monsoon, and neither does the card that he's presenting her between his two fingers. She is cocking her head to the side again, eyebrows furrowed. Cyclone tries to not notice how much she looks like her father.

He notices anyway.

"Email me, remind me of the date, and I'll be there," He is presenting her the card again with a shake of his wrist. Then, she reaches out, grabbing it with nervous fingers.

"Oh, uh-" There are new tears forming in Monsoon's eyes at the words, the card now swimming in her vision. "Thank you, sir,"

"Oh, better yet," Cyclone plucks the card from her fingertips, a move that may have been considered crass but Monsoon can't help but find a little bit funny. Cyclone quickly scribbles down a phone number in messy loops of blue ink, the numbers taking up a little too much room on the back side of the card. Then, he blows on it carefully to make sure the ink won't smudge before handing the card back out to her in the same manner as before.

"Text me the reminder, so it doesn't get lost in my email," Cyclone's smile is so kind and there is a ribbon of hope, a glimmer, really, shinning through the lightest parts of his irises. Monsoon can barely hold back her tears at the sight, and so the card becomes the most interesting thing in the room, held between her shaking fingertips. "You deserve to have a parent there, kid,"

Those are the last words they share that night. They don't need to say anything else. After all, how do you explain the want to stand in as a lost family member? Beau would never admit just how much he's dying for a kid to support, to cheer on and celebrate. Monsoon knows the feeling too, the want to be a daughter who isn't seen as an inconvenience, a burden.

The next time they see each other, Cyclone is sitting in the front row at her Top Gun graduation, a small bouquet of calla lilies on his lap. There is a proud smile on his face and the moment Monsoon sees it there are tears in her eyes. She wonders if this is the feeling she had been missing out on, a father's pride, his love. She tries not to dwell on it, even as walks across that stage.

When the pair meet in the crowd, Cyclone doesn't hesitate to pull her into a hug, one that may not have been professional or regulated, but he feels a weight come off her shoulders the moment he pulls her in. He feels a little more whole too. The hug is short, quick, really, but there are tears in both of their eyes when they pull back.

Cyclone has so much pride for her, and God, Monsoon can feel it. From the way he beams at her to the way he shoves a camera into the hands of his battle buddy, tucking her under his arm. Both clad in dress uniform, posing for the camera as she holds the flowers against her chest to try and quell the beating of her heart. They both sport tears in their eyes, cheeks round and plump red as they smile too wide.

That photo makes onto his desk a week later, displayed in a beautiful mahogany frame.

USS Stennis. Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. Four Years before the organization of the Dagger Squad.

The first time Monsoon calls him Pops, it's an accident. She got shipped out to an aircraft carrier somewhere in the Pacific. The tour is lonely. She doesn't know the team, the group who have been stationed there for the last six months, and they weren't overly keen on the 'new girl'. Monsoon made it through three months before she started to feel like a part of the team. It's a conscious choice, really, to keep working at fitting in. But in the end that team, those people, they aren't her family and they aren't going to remember her after she ships back stateside.

Emails to and from Cyclone kept her going, as he reassured her that life on the carrier isn't easy on anyone. He urges her to try and make better friends with those who hold a more permanent position on the vessel, so she does her best to take the newbies under her wing. If she wasn't welcomed, that was out of her control, but she can sure as hell make sure that the newbies are.

The plan starts off a little rough, the new sailors unsure of the overly friendly Lieutenant amongst the standoffish seasoned crew of the vessel. But days turn to weeks, trust is earned and the long days and nights onboard get easier to swallow.

Then, Cyclone gets shipped out to the carrier for a briefing. He can't help the rumble of excitement that tracks through him. He might get to see Monsoon, his kid, and he's going to do everything in his power to track her down on board.

There is too much joy on his features as he touches down on the carrier. Too much joy for the briefing he is getting ushered into. It drags on longer than necessary as they hash and rehash out plans for missions. He knows he should care, he really does, but it's not like people's lives are on the line this mission. It's all practice runs and jet maintenance, and how could anyone expect him to focus when his kid is on the same vessel and he is just fucking sitting there. Cyclone barely sits still, knowing the clock is ticking down on his time aboard and if this meeting goes on any longer than planned he is going to miss his chance to see Monsoon.

Around suppertime, Monsoon is heading to the canteen, desperate for some sort of nourishment. It has been a long day, trial after trial, and thankfully for her, she's fairing better than some of her other wingmen. At least she hasn't puked over the side of the carrier since her first week aboard.

She guides one of the newer pilots, Story, down the stairs from the flight deck, her stomach rumbling as they go. The new Lieutenant on board hot on her heels as they make their way down the stairs.

"I know, Story, but you're going to get through this," Monsoon's voice is low as they wind their way through the tight hallways of the lower decks. "You're a good pilot, there is nothing you can't do. So what if you need a little more practice. That's why we're out here, right?"

The younger man hums in agreement, disappointment scribbled all over his face. They are both coated in sweat, Monsoon's hair sticking to her sweat soaked skin. She craves a shower almost as much as she craves food. Her body is weighed down with flight fatigue as she drags her feet.

The halls of the ship begin to smell more and more like hot biscuits and butter the closer they get to the mess hall. Their stomach's rumble in unison at the smell wafting down the hallway. Monsoon is rounding the corner with her front turned towards Story, not bothering a glance in the direction her feet are heading. A second later, her back meets a hard body, a grunt coming out of her mouth at the impact.

Story goes white at the sight of his new friend running straight into an Admiral. Monsoon doesn't like the look on his face, he looks like he's just seen a ghost, or maybe prophesied a murder. So she turns around slowly, so, so slowly. Her eyes are scrunched as she turns. There is already an apology on her lips as Monsoon peeks to see just exactly who she just ran into.

Eyes go wide, and smiles break out over their faces.

The need for food, a hot shower, and sleep dissipate from her body as she looks up at the man in front of her, joy overtaking.

"Pops!" The name comes out a little too quick, catching them both of guard. Monsoon's cheeks flush dark with embarrassment, realizing what she just said and who she just said it to. Without warning, Cyclone is pulling Monsoon into his chest, wrapping her into a warm, tight hug, just the kind of hug a Dad would give.

"Hey Kiddo,"

TAG LIST

@its-the-pilot

@t4medicroe

@inkandarsenic

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hangmansgbaby · 1 year ago

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Miss Americana And The Heartbreak Prince

Meredith ‘Meri’ Mitchell is America’s sweetheart with her dad, Pete Mitchell, as the current president of the United States. Meri is constantly sent around to the biggest parties, banquets, and gatherings that her father cannot attend but her least favorite of all, is anything that includes the prince of England. His Royal Highness, Prince Jake is next in line for the crown so he is always present at every major event. Jake thoroughly enjoys his engagements. Show up, snap a few pictures, have a good time, take a cute girl to a nearby hotel, leave before dawn, and repeat the cycle the next time. For the last three years, Meri and Jake have merely tolerated each other in passing but with her father’s reelection campaign and his impending coronation just a year away, Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince are about to spend a lot more time together, especially after they make a big scene at a royal wedding.

*my entire blog is 18+. Not just for smut but delicate topics. Read at your own will MINORS DO NOT INTERACT*

Playlist | Taglist

1 : It's a Cruel Summer

2 : You Need to Calm Down

3 : Tolerate It

4 : Enchanted to Meet You

5 : The Last Great American Dynasty

6 : You Belong With Me

7 : So It Goes…

8 : Are You Ready For It?

9 : I’d Marry You With Paper Rings

10 : I Feel Like My Castles Crumbling

11 : Miss Americana and The Heartbreak Prince

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jackiequick · 9 months ago

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I’m Already Gone | Top Gun Maverick Fanfic 📄

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw & Jennifer Mitchell

Summary: It happened in a blink, it happened in a flash, as that night ran cold and old as she had ever seen. What happened that night the papers were pulled? Heartbreak.

Timeline: Post Top Gun—Pre Top Gun Maverick

Characters mentioned: Pete Maverick Mitchell, Tom Kazansky, Carole Bradshaw, Dane Bradshaw, Austin Mitchell and etc

Song inspired fic: Already Gone by Sleeping At Last

——

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

In tears.

Sore throats from all the screaming and crying at 3 in the morning.

But it did.

Here’s what happened…

…it was a cold decision based night at The North Island. Pete was out pulling an all nighter, Austin was at Dane’s house doing god knows what and Jennifer was alone. At home, getting calls every few hours from her father to see how she was doing.

To be honest, she was doing fine. It was a rare occasion for the house to be quiet that late at night, usually there was some kind of noise being heard across the halls. Either from the boys or one of her friends.

But tonight, it was pure silence. You can hear the windows cracking from the drips of water outside, the sound of the wooden floor creek every once in a while, and the rumbling of car engines driving past the streets right outside her door. In the living room, she can hear it all too well.

It felt like a odd film she was placed in but she didn’t expect to be thrown in.

Her one thoughts were about Bradley. She knew he was sorta stressing the past few days about getting into the academy and proceeded in his dreams of becoming a pilot. She knew from stories that he always wanted to fly, just like his father Goose and unofficial uncle Maverick.

But Jennifer also knew the concept of events and consequences coming into that role. Deployment across the country, flying into dangerous territory, long distance trips from home and safe housing wasn’t always the best for pilots. Usually in secure parking areas but still.

A part of her wasn’t sure if she was ready to give that up yet, not having Bradley around everyday.

She didn’t know if she wanted that for herself either. She loved the idea of being in the air, cool tricks and taking a knowledgeable look at the world from the cockpit of your plane, it was a rush you can only imagine. But she loved being on the groundwork for things too, surrounded by family and friends. Teammates.

Jenny decided that whatever happens with that paperwork, she will be happy for him. It will hurt to see him leave her to go fly out into the world but she loves him either way…

Jennifer cleared her thoughts turning down the lights on the first floor and headed upstairs to her bedroom, free falling onto the mattress as she climbed underneath the covers, deciding to get some rest. It was late. Midnight. And she was still awake. So laying her eyelids shut for now, she curled up against the pillows and slowly nodded off.

~~~~

Remember all the things we wanted

Now all our memories, they're haunted

We were always meant to say goodbye

~~~~

The next moment happened in a flash, gently being awakened by the sound of footsteps on the first floor and small grunts. She couldn’t tell if that was her father’s footsteps or not, but just for precaution Jenny swiftly escaped the bed and grabbed the baseball bat from behind her door as she walked downstairs.

Even though she was groggy from sleep she held the baseball bat in her grip tightly, ready to swing at the figure she found in the kitchen sipping a glass of water. It confused her as she squeezed her eyes a couple of time, trying to wake herself up swinging a hit at the tall fellow who ducked.

It took Jenny a second to realize who it was, hearing a gulp a second later.

“Bradley?!” She asked, lowering her bat a bit.

“Yes? Who else do you think it is?” He exclaimed, sounding annoyed.

“S-sorry..w-what in heavens are you doing here it..it’s 2 in the morning.”

“Couldn’t sleep. Don’t worry I’ll be gone and out of your hair soon.”

“No? You came here for something..what was it?”

“I was looking for you and Maverick.”

“Why? What did i do?”

~~~~

Even with our fists held high

It never would have worked out right, yeah

We were never meant for do or die

~~~

Instead of saying a word, Bradley handed Jenny a slip of paper that seemed to be a bit wet and crumbled at the corners. It was at the same time, she noticed the look on his face. His hair was wetter than expected, patched of droplets over the shoulders of his shirt as his sweater lay on the chair next to the kitchen table and he was wearing sweatpants.

He had small bags under his eyes. His eyes were dropped onto her hands, as if he wanted to hold her.

To tell the truth, Bradley was craving from physical touch from her in the smallest way, shape or form. He has been a wreck all of a sudden after recycling that letter from the bin at home, that he grumped and threw away. He didn’t want to believe the words said on that paper, nor the fact that his suspicions were correct.

But a part of him told him they were.

He watched as Jenny read the letter, her expression changing every once in a millisecond from shock to sorrow all wrapped into one. He noticed her biting her bottom lip for a moment, as if she’s trying to take it all in with a scoff. A hint of a ever so tiny half smile was tugged at her lips, it was quickly changed but it was there.

He saw it.

Finally after a deep breath of silence waters, she looked up at him, her fingertips playing with the edges of the paper.

“I’m sorry Bradley..” She said in a soft whisper, as if she was gonna wake up a dog within the house, “..I know how much you wanted to fly..”

“I can’t do that now..” He replied with a soft haze voice, looking away for a second.

“You can always apply again, right? I mean, dad can pull a strings to have your application be seen early or maybe Ice do it?…”

“No. Don’t even mention Maverick.”

“Brad, honey, it’s not the end of the world. You will get other chances..i know you will.”

“Not with Maverick around.”

“W-what?”

~~~

I didn't want us to burn out

I didn't come here to hurt you now

I can't stop

~~~

He sighed and scoffed, “Jen, baby, don’t play dumb with me right now. You may be saying all of this but i don’t believe you. We both know how much you want me to stay here, we discuss it before!”

“That was a while ago! Yes it will take some time getting used to..b-but I wouldn’t stop you from flying!..wait you think i had something to do with this?” She asked, soften her gaze at the question.

“Did you? I mean it wouldn’t be the first time you pulled a stunt like that to protect me.”

“No. No, no, no! I-i would not do that. You can trust me on knowing that I wouldn’t go behind your back for that.”

“Jen..you are the closest person here to know if something that was up..d-did you have a feeling this would happen?”

“..I honestly don’t know. But you don’t get to come into my house in the middle of the night and accuse me for such a thing.”

“Did you know that Mav would do this?”

“I..no. H-he would’ve pulled my papers too..”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he does or, he already did it and you just don’t know it yet! Maverick Mitchell has always been shown to be my biggest supporter but all of a sudden he pulls something like this? And the fact that i don’t know if i should believe you right now is what ticks me off.”

“Bradley wait..”

“I..you didn’t think i saw that little smile as you read the paper? Huh?!”

~~~

I want you to know

That it doesn't matter

Where we take this road

Someone's gotta go

~~~

Jen wouldn’t admit it but she did smile reading the whole thing, she didn’t want him to leave just yet especially at this young of an age. Tears slowly being welcomed into the corner of her eyes came despite on request.

But she wanted him to fly, enjoy his life even if she left to pick up the pieces at home.

“Okay, maybe i did smile, huh? Cause i don’t want to see you go or worse, have you slip away from my fingers the second you get the green light to do so?!” She yelled, as her temper started to reach up her back.

“I’m not going to leave you!” He replies back, with furrow eyebrows.

“You don’t know that! Austin’s planning on flying like dad, Dane wants to go into engineering planes and high tech jets! You’ve been ready to fly past the 7 seas since you were 8…i just thought maybe..maybe this was a sign that we will be alright..that i don’t have to say goodbye, yet..so yeah, blame me. Go ahead!”

“..blame you?”

“Mhm. Blame me..since you need someone to yell at..”

“Jen..i don’t..I don’t know what to think, okay? B-but I’m..The Navy is my dream, i always wanted to fly..but I can’t wrap my head around not knowing if I actually really got a chance to be there..and i want you there..with me.”

“Then why have you been so busy and in a hurry to get out?..but..not once have you mentioned about it was gonna be us there..just you. You alone, Brad.”

“It always occurred to me that you would be there..”

“It occurred to you that i would just be there with you?! W-what I didn’t want to?..i love you, Bradley, i do and I understand why you feel this way about everything but..there has to be something else right? Why are you in a hurry to get out?”

~~~

And I want you to know

You couldn't have loved me better

But I want you to move on

So I'm already gone

~~~

Bradley was silent at the question being repeated. He looked down, as his eyes finally watered. The sound of his sniffles could be heard as clear as day.

She can only guess the reason.

It’s been a less than a hectic year since his mother died. Carole Bradshaw death recked everyone. Leaving a painful scar in the family’s overall built, where it still felt a fresh opened wound.

She was like a mother to Jenny. Treating her with as much love, care and compassion than anyone can ever imagine. Hugs and kisses among all of the kids as her smile can light up the whole night sky.

And her laughter bringing souls together in a lifespan, just wanting to dance around the room. From her sass, to her wit and gossipy cheer.

“..my parents.” Bradley simply said, almost choking on the words.

“..Goose and Carole..that’s why you fight to hurry and fly..to chance that wish to be there..in the there with them.” She answered, looking away.

“Is it bad..? Is it so bad i want to touch the clouds like my dad did and come home to your waiting arms?”

“No..it’s not. It’s a dream but..I don’t know how long i can take waiting for you to come home..w-what if you don’t come home? A-a-an-and i get a knock on the door from a solider with—”

“Don’t. Don’t finish that sentence, Jennifer. It’s not gonna happen! I will come home, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to take the risk to see the world and be a pilot. You know that right?”

She walked away from the kitchen and into the living room as she sighed, “Here we go again..”

“What?” He asked, followed behind her.

“Again with the whole pilot talk! I get that, you want to be like your father but there is more to life than just flying Bradley!”

~~~

Looking at you makes it harder

But I know that you'll find another

That doesn't always make you wanna cry

Started with a perfect kiss

Then we could feel the poison set in

Perfect couldn't keep this love alive

~~~

You know that I love you so

I love you enough to let you go

~~~

He raised an eyebrow and scoffed loudly, “You’re serious? If it was anyone else, i would say you’re possibly right but you’re father is Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell. If anything you know better than anyone how important that is!”

“And what if it isn’t?!” She spin around and yelled back, with a glare having enough.

“You’re hilarious.”

“I’m being serious!”

“You don’t get it, do you?”

“No, you don’t get it. I understand you very well and i love you for everything you stand for..but what if it’s short lived? I can’t watch you die, Bradley..I understand you’re mad at my father, you’re more than hurt and you might not trust what I’m saying right now but a part of me knows I’m sure..”

“..w-what are you saying? That your right here and I’m wrong? Cause i do get it! And I’m more than mad right now, I’m furious but whatever happens next..that’s my decision to make, Jen. I need you to know that.”

“..okay. I’m just trying to protect you Bradley but I won’t be there when you yell in my dad’s face tomorrow for pulling your papers..i want you to be okay.”

~~~

I want you to know

That it doesn't matter

Where we take this road

Someone's gotta go

~~~

At this point, her eyes were patchy with tears and her nose was reddish as she watched his face changed.

They were both on two different ends of the slightly aggressive disagreement. The two each had their reasons and doesn’t matter how many times they had to repeat them, until they got a point.

It was late.

They have been screaming and yelling at one another.

Their eyes were puffy and throats were dry, sore even.

Yes, they both wanted to touch the sky from the seat of their cockpits but they their reason weather or not to do so. Of course Jennifer wanted to fly just as bad as he did. But her fears and experiences from the family held her back.

The long distance trips, deployment, people she cared about dying young and old, and the navy not always living up to their truth.

She looked down at her necklace Bradley gave her months back on Valentine’s Day as a present, taking a deep breath removing it from her grasp and watching his face as she did.

Bradley’s eye furrowed in fear, annoyance and grief. His eyes flickered between every single way but meeting her gaze. He gulped, as the finger he used to point at her dropped and hesitated to raise again.

He shook his head, blinking twice walking forward in strives as his face said it all. He reminded himself at that moment how much love and respect he had for her, realizing how he basically bashed her more than once.

He didn’t mean to be this way. But watching her remove that single piece of jewelry he gave her the year before his mother died, the one was supposed to be used as a promise to her.

Well, it hurt.

~~~

And I want you to know

You couldn't have loved me better

But I want you to move on

So I'm already gone

I'm already gone

Already gone

You can't make it feel right

When you know that it's wrong

~~~

“W-what are you doing? J-Jen don’t. Please, don’t.” He said, standing in front of her glancing at the clock, “..i love you. Don’t do this.”

She sucked in a breath and held out the necklace, “I know you do. But I can’t hold you back. As much as we love one another, and will always be in each other’s lives..right now, we can’t.”

“I want you!”

“You want to fly.”

“I want both!”

“You want to have it all but it can’t happen right now. I can’t be the one holding you back..”

“Jen please..I’m begging you. I’m sorry, we can work it out!”

“Not with your anger and pride taking over..”

“T-think about this! You’re making a mistake here, Jen. I can’t let you be gone.”

“I’m already gone.”

“You’ll regret this!”

“And so will you.”

~~~

I'm already gone

Already gone

There's no moving on

So I'm already gone

Already gone

Ooh, oh

Already gone

Already gone, yeah

~~~

Bradley didn’t say another word, closing the gap between them as he looped a finger underneath her chin and pressed a kiss onto her cheek.

He felt a salty tear run down her cheek and reach his fingertips wiping the other way. The other hand took the necklace from grasping palm, fumbling with the chain for a moment.

Jennifer wrapped her around his middle and pressed her face against his neck huffing, holding back a sob as she ran her fingers across his golden brown curls.

She kissed his cheek and then forehead gazing softly into his eyes. He half smiled, leaning into her touch and hummed.

She didn’t want to say goodbye either, but she could bare to witness this any further than what thoughts appeared in her heard. The hint of his cologne entered her nose as she sighed deeply.

Both didn’t want to pull away from another’s light grip.

~~~~

Remember all the things we wanted

Now all our memories, they're haunted

We were always meant to say goodbye

I want you to know

That it doesn't matter

Where we take this road

Someone's gotta go

~~~~

Bradley was the first to pull away noticing the white letters on the coffee table, one being addressed to her as he picked it up.

He signaled for her to open it. He knew she didn’t like to open mail late at night but he couldn’t leave without knowing she got in or not.

Either way, he will comfort her.

She hesitated for a moment, shaking her head but her actions speaker louder than words as she ripped opened the letter to expect something different yet familiar.

Her eyes ran across the page, handing it to Bradley as she gasped, hovering a hand over mouth. He read it quickly, eyesore scanning the sheet of paper to only sigh.

Same as him. She didn’t exactly get in.

The only thing he did was held Jenny in his arms, rubbing her shoulder as she let out a sob she was holding back. Tears rolled down his own face, baring his face into her hair mumbling a few things as they both sucked onto the couch.

No words were said, just soften noises escaped their lips. Resting her head against his chest, as he hummed staring at the wall.

Once again, their throats were sorely lacking as their faces remained dried up with fallen tear stains.

3 am.

They have been doing this for an entire hour.

Closed to almost 3:29am when Bradley stood up from the couch, resting a blanket across Jenny’s body.

Her eyes were nodding off as she whispered a soft, “..i love you..”

“I love you too..” He replied pressing a kiss to her forehead, “..get some rest.”

“You too..please?”

“I will..”

Without a second later, he walked out of the house with a small sigh and looked up at the sky that shined only a few stairs.

She reached over to the small lamp turning it off as her eyelids finally dropped, nuzzling against the throw pillow with a slight sigh.

~~~

And I want you to know

You couldn't have loved me better

But I want you to move on

So I'm already gone

~~~

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its-a-ittle-bit-cold · 1 year ago

Text

I traveled fifteen hundred miles to meet you

Maverick x daughter!reader

series masterlist

my masterlist

summary: you begin training and quickly make a name for yourself

a/n: soooo I decided to get rid of the hangman romance that I was gonna put in, and kind of wrote over the scenes as hangman x phoenix (sorry) I didn’t wanna get rid of a whole section ..

ps : sorry for the wait :’( i’ve been swamped with life stuff

warnings: PTSD, child abuse (mother- daughter), feeling unwanted, violence ? canon typical mostly, death, loss of a loved friend

The drill is simple in theory.

Shoot down Maverick, you win.

But, like your unfortunate lack of skill playing eight ball, the execution is getting there. The first team to go in is too cocky.

He gets them, easy.

Hangman and Phoenix give him a run for his money, but not by much. You’re up next, with Hangman as your wing man.

Strapping into your jet feels almost surreal. It’s an awesome feeling to be back.

It’s not until you’re in the air that the flashbacks start.

You and Hangman take off, having decided pre-exercise that you were going to try to divide and conquer: one of you as bait, the other lying in wait for Maverick to take it. You, as the pilot with the best evasive skills and maneuvers, drew the short stick as the bait in the experiment.

you know that Hangman is notorious for leaving his wingmen behind, so you’re going to be looking for chances to give him a little of his own medicine.

“Ready, team?”

You’ve become more comfortable with the notion that Maverick is your dad.

It hit you, while you were lying awake last night, that maybe you should be mad that he left. Your mom always had been angry at him, but could you really blame him for leaving the crazy woman who gave birth to you?

the answer is no, because you did the same.

“Ready when you are cap’n.” You flick on the proper controls and Hangman gives you a Shaka sign, signaling his okay.

And then you’re off.

The rush is exhilarating. It’s not until you can hear Maverick behind you and Hangman warning you that he’s on your tail and you need to shake him that the flashbacks start.

You grunt, forcing your jet up and over in a backwards barrel roll to escape Maverick’s targeting system. You begin a classic evasive maneuver, the realize he’s not even on your tail anymore.

“Majesty! he’s on me!”

“Shake him, then!”

But you follow your radar to where Hangman’s getting chased in a high speed game of tag, and readying your targeting system.

“Majesty, where are you?” Hangman shouts into the comm. You hear the familiar beeping.

He’s done.

You’re on your own.

Majesty! Keep moving! there’s still a mission to complete!

the rough voice of your former commander rings in your ears as you pull up in a steep climb, about to try a new maneuver.

(Y/n). I’m sorry. Duchess’s vitals aren’t looking good.

You metaphorically slam the breaks in your plane (which you can’t do because there are none) and let yourself free fall. It’s a special trick that you and Tae always practiced.

“What the fuck kind of maneuver was that?”

Maverick’s rough voice breaks the comms. You click your targeting system on and hit him. The beep over the comm would be music in your ears if you weren’t stuck in the past.

“Wake up! Y/n, we need to go fly before training starts!” Tae, your best friend and wingman (wingwoman?) has always been an early morning productivity person. You always joke about her absolute inability to sleep in, even when you’ve stayed up till three the night before engineering new tricks and stunts to try the next morning. “I have an idea!”

“Uh oh,” you say through a yawn, already tossing on your uniform and tying your hair back. Tae rolls her eyes, then practically sprints out of your dorm room, you got on her heels.

she collected me, up off the ground where you abandoned things

“That was some damn good flying out there,” Hangman tells you. He’s bought you your first mocktail of the night - a fancy-looking ombré concoction that Penny’s cooked up for you. “If only I’d been alive to see it.”

“Don’t you worry,” Phoenix butts in. “We all saw it, and we also all saw her hang you out to dry!” her tone is just a little too gleeful. “Now that’s something to toast to!”

“You wound me, Trace.”

You toast with Phoenix, then excuse yourself from the pilot’s table, seeking some fresh air. You’d snapped out of your flashback, but Tae’s laugh still rings in your ears. You make your way out to the deck and lean on the railing overlooking the beach and the ocean.

“You’re one helluva pilot.”

You rub your nose with your forearm.

“That’s what I keep hearing.” You close your eyes, wondering if you should confide in him or not. Probably not. He’s your instructor, not your dad.

I mean, he’s also your dad.

“whatcha drinking?” You steal a glance at your drink, which has faded to a dull pinkish orange. Maverick’s holding a bottle.

“Some kind of mocktail Penny came up with.” you take a sip of it. “I don’t drink,” you add after a moment.

“Well, you’re better than all of us, then.”

You grin and shake your head. Looking out over the water, it’s easy to forget why you’re here and be transported back to the past.

“Now that,” Tae begins, setting down her gin and tonic on the table and admiring the multicolored mocktail Penny concocted. “That is what I call a mocktail.”

You take a swig.

“See, Duchess, Apollo was wrong. Mocktails can be fun!”

“I never said they weren’t!”

This is the last night you have at top gun, and, appropriately, you’re a spending it at the Hard Deck, which is a newer bar that just opened. You’ve made fast friends with the owner and her daughter - Amelia.

You glance outside and gasp, standing up.

“Come on! look at the sunset!”

You rush out to the front deck, wide eyed and giddy at the pure beauty of the sunset. Tae trails behind, watching you watch the colors paint the evening sky.

“Can you believe it’s over?” You ask her. “No more coming to the Hard Deck, no more Apollo or Clipper, and pretty soon we’ll be deployed on the other side of the world.”

Tae sighs.

“You know what I think? I think this experience will stay with us forever. I’ll always remember the pranks we pulled on the guys and the late night beach walks. It’s like graduating high school. or the academy. This chapter of life is over, and we need to move on.”

You give her a wry smile.

“You know, you may be a dumbass ninety five percent of the time, but you do give some damn good advice.”

“Want another?”

you nod.

“You’re a damn good pilot. You’re top of the class for a reason. Don’t you ever forget that.”

you meet her eyes.

“Duchess-“

“Hey. You with me?”

Maverick snaps his fingers in your face, trying to snap you out of your daze. you shake out your neck.

“Yeah. Sorry. What were you saying?”

“I was telling you I’ve never seen a plunge like that executed correctly, and then you zoned out on me.”

You focus your gaze on a spot on the horizon.

“Yeah, uh, I was just remembering.. something.”

He looks at you, doing a once-over, face skeptical. He almost looks.. concerned? Again, you wonder, if you were in another life, would he be worried for you, his daughter, instead of you, his pilot.

“Anything you wanna talk about?”

Yes. You’ll understand. You’re probably the only one here who would.

You smile sadly.

“Goodnight, Captain.”

he filled the holes that you burned in me at six years old

The next morning, Maverick sends you all an email to wear “beach clothes you can run around in”, so you, Phoenix and Halo all put on your shorts and sports bras, and Halo puts on a t-shirt. The email also ordered you to meet in front of the Hard Deck, so that’s what you do.

You leave significantly earlier than the rest of the group specifically to see Amelia, who you still haven’t seen since coming back to the base. You tap your knuckles on the doorframe, drawing her attention. She looks at you, looks again, gasps and sprints towards you in some kind of flying tackle- hug.

“Hey!” You exclaim, squeezing her tight and spinning her around in a circle. “You got big!”

Amelia giggles into you.

“Mom told me you were back. I almost didn’t believe her.”

“Well, I couldn’t just never see my favorite tea party partner again, now could I?”

Amelia pulls away, observing you. Her eyes brighten as she remembers your tea parties from when you were in Top Gun.

“I’d forgotten about those! And Tae would bring those little cucumber sandwiches!”

Her face falls in a frown.

It’s like a sneak attack, having someone mention her in passing. You’d been up almost the whole night before trying to calm the memories that have been resurfacing since your return to Miramar.

“I miss her.”

Sometimes you forget that Tae was almost as close to Penny and Amelia as you were. She would always come with you to watch Amelia and hang with Amelia and Penny on the slow nights.

“Me, too.”

“Well, look who the cat dragged in.” Penny comes over to you from the storeroom and hugs you. She then holds you at arms’ length and looks you up and down. “Now, I know you’re busy, but tomorrow isSaturday, and I’d love for you to come for dinner like we used to.”

The unspoken with Tae beats down on you. You glance out of the window to see the rest of the squad gathered there in varying forms of swimwear. Most of the guys are wearing obnoxiously printed swim shorts, obviously wearing no shirts.

“That sounds… great. I’ll be by. Text me, okay? I have to go.” You give Amelia another squeeze and beeline out of the bar, joining the group of your fellow pilots.

Maverick’s the last to get here, wearing a white shirt and a pair of jeans, holding two footballs.

He introduces the game: dogfight football, offense and defense at the same time. It doesn’t really sound like there are very many rules in the game, only that you get touchdowns occasionally.

He also divides the teams. You and Phoenix are together, Bradley too.

And then you’re starting and you have actually no idea what you’re supposed to be doing; you never were adept at playing football.

You’ve been paired up with Hangman, who must be going easy on you, because you get past him every time, even scoring a touchdown once. About half and hour in, he strikes a deal with Phoenix.

“Okay, Trace. Here’s the deal,” he says between plays. “The next touchdown, if it’s your team, I’ll buy a round for everyone the next time we all go out.”

“okay,” Phoenix glance at your team. You’re all looking pretty skeptical, as you should. “What’s the catch?”

“I my team gets the next touchdown…” he drags out. He leans in and whispers in her ear. Her face breaks into a cautious smile.

“Deal, Bagman, but I’m just warning you, that’s an awful deal on your part.”

He shrugs, flashing you a perfect smile.

The next touchdown goes to Halo, who’s on Hangman’s team, and everyone turns expectantly to him, wondering what the bet was. He walks up to Phoenix, dips her and presses his lips to hers.

You let out a wolf whistle. She breaks the kiss and flips you off before pulling Hangman in for another one.

Coyote’s making a point of covering Bob’s eyes. Rooster has a hand over his mouth, pretending to retch and you jog over to him, patting him on the back, face splitting in a smile.

Penny shares a look with Maverick as they watch the two young people kiss. She’s smiling, and that makes him smile.

“What do you think of her, now that you’ve flown with her?”

She nods at the pilot in question.

There’s so much he can say about her: smart, confident, thoughtful. Reckless and sassy and a little bit too stubborn. She’s talented, anyone can see that, maybe even the best on the squad, but she’s holding back.

She’s hesitant to fly with anyone but herself, even leaving her comrades out in the open in favor of shooting down the enemy, which is surprising, considering her most recent deployment.

Her deployment. He finally got around to looking into that, the incident that sent her into leave for more than half of the last year.

The report had been brief: routine patrol, they had gone to investigate a distress signal, not enough ammo or fuel. Someone detonated a missile too close. Duchess went down. Majesty took down three bandits in the span of five minutes before her aircraft was too damaged to continue flying.

There had been no saving duchess. she was waterlogged and impaled with a scrap of metal before Majesty was even there to save her.

Very, very traumatic.

It reminds him of Goose.

he’s surprised she’s even willing to fly at all after that.

“In all seriousness?” Maverick looks out over the game. She’s awful at football. Can’t throw a spiral. “She’s a good kid. Even better pilot. She’s been the closest to finishing the course out of all of them.”

She glances over at the two of them, waving to penny before jumping for the ball.

“She reminds me of you,” Penny tells him. “You’re more similar than either of you know.”

Admiral Kazansky, AKA Iceman has been a mentor to you since the beginning. He’d taken a liking to you and your reckless flying when you’d first joined the Naval academy. Said you reminded him of a friend of his. You’d always thought he meant his wingman, and he had, but more recently, you’d realized that his wingman was the one and only Maverick, AKA Pete Mitchell, AKA your dad.

You knock on the door and his wife lets you in. Her eyes are red and puffy.

“Sarah…” you say, hugging her. “It’s back?”

she shakes her head.

“we don’t know. he can’t even talk without the pain coming back.”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Maybe I shouldn’t-“

“He’s in his office,” she tells you gently. “You know he always wants to see you.”

You purse your lips, smiling tightly.

“Thanks, Sarah.”

You ease the door to Ice’s office open, He turns to face you. He’s paler, gaunter, and wearing an overcoat and a scarf. you know enough to know he’s not doing well.

“Hey, Ice.”

He points at the seat across from him.

Right. He can’t talk.

“I had to see you.” You sit down and reach into your purse. “Kevin sent me this.”

You pull out the wrinkled, folded photograph and hold it out to him. His shaky hands pull it taut as he squints at it. You hold your breath, waiting for some kind of surprise to show on his face. Something, anything.

“Did you know? Is that why you kept me around?”

Your voice shakes uncontrollably. Like most things recently, you want to be angry, but you just don’t have the strength or conviction anymore. You just want to know.

Ice hands you the photo back and types on the computer.

Yes.

No.

your breath catches.

“How long?”

Since we met.

You sigh shakily.

“Why? why didn’t you tell me?”

Ice stares at you.

You stare back.

“How long did the doctor say you have?”

Weeks.

You gnaw at your lip.

“I don’t want to lose you, too.”

You’re not going to.

You shake your head, wiping under your eyes, trying to stop the tears from falling.

Losing Ice hurts. He’d always been there for you when you needed to talk. Even now, when he can’t use his voice.

He clears his throat.

“Tell… him.” His voice is raspy and wet. It grates on your ears like it must on his throat.

you nod vigorously.

“I will. I just… I want him to like me, you know? before he feels obligated to, I mean.” you stare at the picture of the two of them on Ice’s desk. “I don’t even know if he’d be happy to know.”

He will.

there’s a soft knock on the doorframe. It’s Maverick. Of course it is.

You grip Ice’s hand.

“Looks like your next appointment is here.” Your laugh is wet. “Bye, Ice.”

You nod to your father as you leave. his brow is furrowed in confusion, but he nods back.

Penny and Amelia’s house is one thing in North Island that’s always stayed the same. the smell of candles burning constantly, amelia’s artwork hanging on the walls, (which, admittedly, has gotten a lot better over the last few years) and the little bits of clutter scattered around the house.

You’ve dressed up a bit, put on some makeup and washed all the gel out of your hair for the occasion. when you get there, Amelia drags you to her room almost before you can say hello to penny.

“Okay. Where’s the fire?” You tease, once the door is shut and you’re sitting on Amelia’s bed. She’s giddy in anticipation to tell you her news.

“I have tea,” she whispers conspiratorially. You lean in.

“Lay it all out for me.”

“Mom had Mav over last night.” her tone is smug. She’s obviously very happy to be able to tell you this news. “He tried to sneak out but I caught him. And,” she looks around and lovers her voice even more. “He’s coming over for dinner tonight!”

“No!”

“yes!”

“That’s crazy.”

It’s crazy that you literally keep running into him. It’s not like you’re avoiding Maverick, per se, but you still don’t know how to break the news to him.

Hey man, great lesson today. Oh, by the way, I’m the daughter you didn’t even know you had because my mom ran away when she found out she was pregnant. Yeah, I know it’s fucked up. If I was on good terms with her I would ask why, but she only calls me when she’s drunk.

That’d go over well.

Amelia crosses her arms.

“That’s my tea. Now, tell me yours. Tell me about Top Gun.”

You look around her room. She repainted the walls a shade of yellow that you love. There are pictures hanging on the walls. One, a big one over her desk, is your favorite picture: a selfie you took of you, Amelia and Tae when you took her to Malibu to learn to surf.

“I love that picture,” you admit. Amelia nods, getting up to remove it from the wall. “Top Gun’s… not the same without her. Nothing is.”

Amelia’s always been wise for her age.

“I see her everywhere. I mean, I know I don’t, but I do.”

You smile tightly.

Grief sure is strange. Even Amelia feels the loss of Tae heavily.

There’s a soft knock on the door.

“Girls! dinner!”

“What were you two talking about in there that was so important I couldn’t be part of the conversation?” Penny asks over the steak she’s prepared.

“Oh… nothing…” you take a sip of water.

“Just how Y/n’s in looooooooove,” Amelia singsongs.

You shoot Amelia a dirty look.

“We were actually talking about how the two of you have been canoodling.”

Maverick stops, his fork hanging in midair. Penny’s expression is priceless.

“Yeah, I mean why else would Mav be invited to Saturday dinner?” Amelia asks. You nod along with her sagely.

“This used to be a girls night,” you explain to him. “When Duchess and I were in Top Gun.”

“ah,” is all he says.

You pat your pocket, remembering the gift you had brought for Amelia and Penny.

“Actually, we were just talking about how Tae and I would take Amelia out on the weekends,” you tell Penny. “And I just remembered I brought this for you guys.”

You take the strip of photos from your pocket. It’s a photo booth strip from a long weekend taken to Disney. All four of you are smushed into the booth, wearing matching Minnie ears, leaning into each other and grinning.

“I have a copy, so you keep that.”

Penny admires it, sad smile forming on her lips. Amelia peeks over her shoulder, grinning. You avoid Tae’s eyes. They used to pierce you. The still do.

“I’d like to toast.” Penny raises her glass, setting the strip down. “To new beginnings.”

“to new beginnings,” you agree.

You don’t get very far into dinner before your phone rings. You decline the call. five seconds later, it’s ringing again.

Decline.

“Do you need to take that?” Mav asks (he’s gotten you to stop calling him sir, finally.) and you shake your head.

“It’s my mom. Hang on.”

Penny and you share a look. She raises an eyebrow. you shake your head.

Nothing to worry about.

You’re suddenly very hot as you excuse yourself from the table. you’re not quite out of the kitchen when you pick it up.

“Mom?”

“Y/n? Is this my disappointment of a daughter?”

you sigh into the phone, staying silent. Her jab sends tears welling up in your throat. Spending time with Amelia and Penny has always reminded you of the mother you could’ve had.

“Where’s your deposit? Where’s the money you owe me for giving you life and a roof over your head?”

You hurry to ease the door shut. The deposit. Goddamn. She’s sober enough to remember it. Ever since you moved out, you’ve been wiring her deposits every month to make sure she keeps living. You’d hoped it was enough to send her to rehab, but she refused to go.

“The deposit?” you say faintly, heart dropping.

Her voice gets thin and screechy over the line. You can’t bring yourself to pull the phone away from your ear as she spits barbs at you. You cover your mouth to muffle the wet sobs escaping your throat.

“You never wanted what’s best for your family! You left me for the Navy. You’ve never done anything right and that girl - Tae - died because of it.”

She’s never gone there before.

And you’ve never had anyone lay it out for you.

“Mom. mom. mom, stop!” You gasp out. “Everything I’ve done if for you! The money, the house, I stayed. For you!”

You don’t hear the porch door swing open.

“I didn’t owe you anything! I never did! I didn’t ask for you to have me!”

Your mother begins to argue with that, that you forced her to have you. You cut her off with a gut wrenching cry.

“I JUST WANTED YOU TO LOVE ME!”

You tear the phone from your ear and slam your thumb on the red button.

“Y/n.”

Penny.

You drop your phone, defeated. Penny reaches out hesitantly and uses her fingers to wipe your cheeks.

She’s hugging you and you’re crying before you can even know what’s happening.

To new beginnings.

begged you to want me, but you didn’t want to.

“Rooster.”

he’s pissed, drinking his second bottle.

“Rooster.”

You sit down next to him.

“What do you want?” he snarls. You gingerly put your hand on his shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

He leans into your hand. You sigh.

“Phoenix and Bob are gonna be okay. I went to see them before I came here. They’re not injured. Just shaken up.”

He slams his bottle on the table. You finch away.

“Did Maverick send you?”

“what? No.”

Surprisingly, it had been Hangman who told you that Rooster was sulking in the Hard Deck. He’d seemed worried about him, so you went to check up on him.

“He likes you, you know. Thinks you’re a good pilot.”

“I am a good pilot.” You nudge his shoulder. “But so are you. So are Phoenix and Payback and Coyote.”

“He pulled my papers, you know. So he must not think I’m that good.”

You hesitate. this has always been a sore subject for Rooster. Saying the wrong thing could result in making it worse- not better.

“He flew with your dad, right?”

Rooster rubs his face and takes another swig from his bottle.

“Yeah. But I’m not my dad. He thought I’d-“

“Maybe he was just scared, you know? Maybe he cared so much for you that he didn’t want to lose you.”

If he had known that you were his daughter, would he have pulled your papers, too? Or would he have wanted you to be like him, be a pilot in the Navy?

“whose side are you on?” Rooster snaps. “You’re saying the same things I’ve heard my whole career. No one thinks the great Maverick could make a mistake, I guess.”

“that’s not what i’m saying, Bradley!” you take a deep breath. “Like it or not, he cares about you. You’re the closest thing to a -“

You cut yourself off, because, strictly, Rooster isn’t the closest thing he has to a child that he has. You gulp back the words.

“Y/n? Are you okay?”

“Can I… tell you something? But you have to swear not to tell anyone else.”

“I won’t,” Rooster promises. You hold out your pinky, and he stares at it. You raise your eyebrows at him. he looks around, no doubt making sure there’s no one who would make fun of him for pinky swearing, and interlocks his pinky with yours.

You reach into your pocket, retrieving the wrinkled, folded picture and hand it to him.

“That’s my mom,” you say, pointing to the woman. “and that…”

“That’s Maverick!” Rooster looks triumphant in his revelation. “So, what, Mav dated your mom?”

“No! Well, yeah, but that’s not what i was trying to tell you. Look at the date on the picture.”

Rooster squints and brings the paper closer to his eye.

“Wait. That’s..”

“twenty six years ago, and ten months after that was taken, I was born.”

Rooster drops the picture, mouth falling open. He’s staring at your face, no doubt picking out features reminiscent of Mav’s. You shift uncomfortably.

“What. The. Fuck.”

“I know!”

“Does he know?”

You hesitate. He might. There’s been a lot on his plate, though, and your last name could be forgettable if they only dated a couple of months twenty some years ago.

“No. I don’t think so.”

Roosters eyes widen.

“Wait so I can’t tell anyone?”

he groans when you nod.

“Y/nnnn you can’t just dump this on me and tell me I can’t tell anyone! That’s too much pressure!”

You snap your fingers in his punting face.

“You listen to me, Bradley Bradshaw. If you tell a single person I will hunt you down and slice you into tiny pieces and then cook you and let Hangman feed you to his horses.”

You cackle at the pure, unadulterated fear in his eyes. “That’s right. I remembered your deathly fear of horses, bitch!”

He’s pale, but his face breaks into a smile.

“I’m glad you’re back to normal, Majesty. You had me scared there for a second.”

You know what he means. Since Tae died, for a while, you had no will to do anything or see anyone- in other words, you were super duper depressed. Lately, you’ve felt lighter, like you can laugh and smile again without feeling guilty.

Here’s to new beginnings.

disclaimer: I know absolutely nothing about how planes work or flying or anything like that

#top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick #top gun #top gun maverick hangman #maverick x reader #maverick x daughter!reader #tw: death #tw: abuse

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kinzis-writing · 1 year ago

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Only Exception | Robert Floyd Masterlist

Summary: Y/N Mitchell swore to herself that she would never allow herself to date or get involved with anyone from any branch of the military. After worrying about her father, the past few years, she knew that she never wanted to experience her worry for a significant other. After her father gets ordered back to California, she may just meet the one that ruins all of her plans.

Warning(s): swearing, slight angst, mentions of sexual material, top gun related themes, Top Gun: Maverick spoilers, timelines won’t add up for story purposes, Female reader.

Part One:

Y/N Mitchell gets reacquainted with an old friend, as well as getting to see her father again after a few months. Knowing that her father is training the best of the best for a mission, means that she’ll end up meeting new people. Thanks to her best friend being in town, she gets to meet her father’s class, including the quiet and shy wso.

Part Two:

Y/N and Bob are growing closer every day, after inviting him to dinner confessions are made and dates are planned. One thing Y/N does not know is that there is a secret Bob is keeping from her. One day, when she’s with her father doing a team exercise, Maverick may just let Bob’s secret slip. Y/N then starts having doubts and fears that no one can control but herself. The new information may also make her debate some of her job choices.

Part Three:

It’s finally time for the dreaded suicide mission, after heartbreaking goodbyes and hopeful hearts, Y/N gets told some interesting news. The news that she knows is not true. While her family members and boyfriend are away, she’s keeping herself busy with her new job. Until she gets some awakening news from the admiral.

Part Four:

Two years after the suicide mission, Bob and Y/n are still going strong. It’s Christmas Time and this Christmas they are going to visit Bob’s family. This finally is filled with much love, surprises, and happy endings!

#robert floyd #robert bob floyd imagine #robert bob floyd x reader #Top Gun Robert Bob Floyd #Robert Bob Floyd oneshot #bob floyd x reader #Bob Floyd oneshot #bob floyd imagine #top gun maverick #top gun imagines #top gun oneshot #top gun x reader #top gun #pete mitchell x daughter reader #pete mitchell #mitchell!reader #only exception bob floyd series #only exception series

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topgun-imagines · 2 years ago

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For My Daughter Masterlist

Spin off series

Summary: In the middle of Bradley’s career, he winds up facing something he never would have seen coming. It turns out that Bradley Bradshaw is a father to a little baby girl.

What will happen when he has to raise his baby girl all by himself? Will everything change when the Dagger Squad becomes a crucial part of his life?

Note: Based off of the song ‘For My Daughter’ by Kane Brown. Not a reader insert.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death, mentions of abandonment by a parent.

Requests for this spin-off series are open. If you would like to be tagged in any works within this series, please fill out this form.

Current Works

For My Daughter

When Bradley rushes home from training, Maverick follows him and discovers something he never would have guessed. Bradley has a daughter.

#bradley bradshaw x female reader #top gun #top gun fanfiction #top gun x female reader #top gun x reader #top gun fluff #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw #rooster fanfic #bradley rooster bradshaw fic #bradley rooster x reader #rooster x you #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #for my daughter

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nykie-love-anime · 1 year ago

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Day 23 ~ Flowers

On the day of Pete and Penny’s wedding you wanted your hair braided with flowers in it. (Reader = 16)

“Come on dad we are going too late to your own wedding. Move it.” You giggled as he quickly walks towards the church doors. “Okay little missy, whose fault will that be huh?” he sassed back as he stopped before the church and you just smiled at him and shrug your shoulders. “Not mine I was done hours ago.” He said again with a teasing smile. “Someone had a problem with everything that they did with your hair.”

“Okay first of all you were done half an hour ago. Second of all I wanted a specific look for my hair okay.” You sassed with a grin. “Thirdly if they listened to me the first time they wouldn’t have to change my hair the whole time. Fourthly I can be a bit mean so that is why I apologised the whole time I was sitting in that chair.” You grinned up at your father.

“No that is not what I wanted. Please fix it.” You said at the stylist with a sigh lifting your shoulders to work out the kinks. “I want it moved up please and the flowers must be like the image I showed you.” You pleaded and the stylist just nodded. “Sorry for being so demanding but I have wanted my hair like this more a while and I want it perfect.” You said with a guilty look on your face. “It’s really no problem miss Mitchell. You are one of the calmer client’s hair I have done.” She teased and you just giggled.

“Okay thanks.” You said and she started back on your hair. A while later your dad walked into the room with a grin on his face. “Are you still busy? I could use some help.” He asked holding up a tie. “Give us like 10 minutes mister Mitchell then she is all yours.” With that your dad nodded and you looked at him in the mirror. “Why don’t you ask one of the guys to help you dad.” You question with a confused look on your face.

“Oh yeah I forgot about those guys.” He said rubbing his hand over his face. “Was this just a scheme to see how far I am or if I am being a bit of a control freak.” You asked with an eyebrow raised and he just laughed. “You caught me. Just wanted to see if she hasn’t pulled out your hair for being such a bossy teen.” He chuckled and the stylist just giggled. “Hey!” you exclaimed with a finger pointing at Pete. “I will have you know…” you started but cut yourself off when you had nothing to say. “Yeah that is what I thought.” Maverick said and the hair stylist just giggled along with you.

“Okay get back to your boys I will be done in a while then I will come and find you.” You said pointing at the closed door. He nodded and off he went. “Dads.” You sighed with a small smile and Amy just nodded. “Yes that is exactly what I wanted.” You said looking in the mirror. “Thank you so much Amy. I love it. Again I am so sorry for being so demanding.” You said hugging your arms to your chest looking at yourself. “No problem Y/N. I am glad you like it like this.” She smiled at you.

“Okay dad let’s get you married.” You said as Amelia joined you at the door. “Mom is almost here so you can go in so long Pete. And you my future sister look super beautiful.” Amelia gushed looking at you. “And you my future little sister look absolutely stunning.” You giggled gushing about her beautiful baby blue dress. “Okay ladies let get this show on the road.” Pete said looking at his watch seeing that it is almost three o’ clock. “Good luck dad. I will see you inside.” You said hugging the man and pushing him towards the doors. “Okay behave you two.” He wiggled his finger and you and Amelia just laugh at his antics. “Get inside old man.” “Hey!” he yelled. This caused you and Amelia to burst out laughing as Pete walked away shaking his head muttering about teens and giving him grey hair.

Day 22 | Masterlist | Day 24

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callsign-dexter · 1 year ago

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Maverick's Little Co-Pilot

Request: hi

I was wondering if you could write a mav x daughter where he took her to work with him (maybe the second movie but it is up to you) and she falls asleep in the control tower and bradley finds her and brings her to mav. maybe she didn't sleep that good the night before so mav doesn't want to wake her up so he just holds her and carrys on with his day but with a sleeping child. everyone on base thinks it is hilarious so no one takes him seriously lol. also maybe she wakes up at one point but he is able to help her back to sleep very quickly and the admirals think that it is funny how such a reckless pilot can be such a good dad.

100% your choice thank you for your time

Pairings: Maverick x Daughter!Reader

First Installment: Maverick's Little Co-Pilot

Second Installment: A Father's Fury

Warnings: Fluff

Masterlist

Maverick loved his little spitfire of a daughter. His little girl was the spitting image of him right down to her attitude. Once she set her mind to something forget about trying to change her mind. Her eyes were the same color as his, whatever color they may be.

In all honesty, if it were up to Maverick he would bring his little girl to work with him every day. Everyone loved his 3-year-old little girl. She was in preschool, the one on base, and it only went half a day so she was preoccupied during the morning and she usually went to Penny and Amelia during the afternoon. But the preschool called early Friday morning saying that they were closed due to a bug going around the school. It was too late for him to try and get a babysitter and Penny was gone with Amelia on a sailing trip. So when he got ready to go to work he got her ready to go with him but it was nowhere a peaceful night for either of them.

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It was a Thursday and Maverick had just picked his daughter up for school. As he went in to get her, her teacher stopped him. "Good afternoon, Mr. Mitchell. I wanted to raise some concerns with you about your daughter." Ms. Lake said to him and that surprised him, she had never given him any problem before.

"Oh?" Maverick questioned.

"She has been very irritable and had been refusing to do anything we asked. Is there anything that could cause her to be like this?" Mrs. Lake asked and Maverick stood there to think.

"None that I know of. She was fine when I got her ready and dropped her off this morning." Maverick told the teacher and the teacher nodded.

"If there is anything that I can do, please don't hesitate to call." She said and Maverick nodded. She left him to go and greet some other parents, Maverick stood there watching his daughter and after a few minutes walked over to her. He bent down to her level.

"Hey, Sweetheart." He said to her and she instantly perked up.

"Daddy!" She practically yelled out to him and launched herself into his arms and thanks to his quick reflexes caught her. "Miss you." She said and Maverick smiled but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He needed to get to the bottom of her attitude.

"You ready to go?" He asked her and she nodded frantically. As they were walking Mrs. Lake looked at them and shrugged her shoulders and Maverick did the same back to her, this was a complete 180 from the girl just a few hours ago. He felt her nod her head and buried her face into his neck. He grabbed her backpack off of the hook and slung it over the shoulder that she wasn't occupying.

Maverick walked out of the building and to his blacked-out Chevrolet Silverado. He unlocked it and opened the back door to where her car seat sat. He still had his motorcycle but now that he had her it got used less and less. He still had his hanger but also had an actual house close to the base. When she came into his life his living situation and car situation changed... dramatically. He buckled her into the car seat and put her backpack beside her and got into the driverside, he buckled in and started the engine, and started his 40-minute drive home, more if there is traffic. "How was your day, Sweetheart?" Maverick asked her and she was quiet for a minute and he looked in the review mirror.

"It ok." She said in a quiet voice not looking at him and fidgeting with some of her hair. This worried her father. She was never like this. She was normally outgoing and for her to shut down and lash out was not right.

"Is there something you want to tell me?" He asked her. He was stopped at a stoplight so he could look at her longer and she shook her.

"No, Daddy." She said after a minute she added "Nothing wrong." She said and finally looked up at him. He nodded and then the light turned green and he paid attention to the road, something he started doing since he was driving with precious cargo.

Finally, they arrived home. Normally he would take her to Penny and go back to work but since it was actually raining for once in California they grounded all jets until the storm let up. He pulled into the driveway opened the garage and pulled in and killed the engine. He shut the garage as he was getting out and shut his door and then opened the driverside back door and unbuckled his daughter and they carried on into the house and grabbed her backpack. "Ok, Sweetheart. What do you want to eat?" He asked her as he put her down on the ground along with her backpack and toed off his shoes and helped her take hers off.

"Mac n' cheese." She said in a quiet voice this was not his energetic little girl he dropped off this morning.

"Ok. Do you want to help me make it?" He asked her and she shrugged her shoulders. "Do you want to go and watch some cartoons while it's being made?" He asked her and she nodded her head. "Ok, Sweetheart go ahead and sit on the couch I'll bring it to you when it's done." He said and she nodded and hurried off to the living room. She was fine leaving him since she knew he was just a short amount of feet away.

Once the food was done, he grabbed two bowls and filled them, and brought them to the living room. Y/N was lying down when she heard her dad come into the living room she sat up and he handed her a bowl, and sat down next to her. They were silent as they ate while watching reruns of Tom and Jerry. He needed to get to the bottom of this. "Sweetheart, your teacher said you were acting out. Why is that?" He asked her, noticing she was done eating, and so was he. He took the bowls and sat them on the coffee table.

"You in accident. You leave me." She said and the realization hit him hard.

"Sweetheart, where did you hear that?" Maverick asked her.

"Roo and Jakey." She said not looking at him with tears in her eyes. His heart melted. He was also going to have a talking to those two men.

"It's ok. I'm not going anywhere." He said and opened his arms and she crawled into them and snuggled into him. But he knew she wasn't listening and it was going to be a long night.

Throughout the rest of the day, they hung together and did some inside activities due to the rain. Each time he left the room she would panic and call out for Maverick. It was supper time and they were having her favorite, chicken strips and fries.

They had sat down at the dinner table and she was quiet. This really wasn't like his energetic 3-year-old. "Sweetheart you hungry?" He asked her and she shook her head no. "Can you at least eat something?" He asked almost pleading. She nodded and slowly ate her dinner once she had her fill she pushed her plate away. Maverick had long finished eating. "You done?" He asked her and she nodded her head. "Ok. Ready for a bath and bed?" He asked her she stayed quiet.

"No bath." She said and shook her head as Maverick got her from her seat and headed towards the bathroom. She started to squirm. "No bath, Daddy." She said and Maverick sighed.

"Please for me." He said and she looked into his eyes.

"Otay." She said with an eye roll. He reached the bathroom and sat her down while kneeling in front of her. He started to run the bath and found the right temperature and plugged the tub. Maverick watched it fill up while undressing her with little help from her. Once it was the right amount he stopped the water and sat her down in the tub. She didn't play much which made it easy for Maverick but also worried him. He washed her hair and gently cleaned her.

"Ok. Bedtime." He said and started to get her towel he unplugged the tub and let the water drain "Stand up." He said gently and she did. He stood up and wrapped the towel around her he dried her off some and picked her up and attacked her neck with kisses and she giggled. Once she was somewhat dry he carried her to her room and started to get her dressed. He sat on the bed and had her stand while he brushed out her hair.

Maverick got off the bed and pulled the covers back and picked up his daughter. He laid her in her bed and tucked her I'm. He grabbed a book and sat down leaning against the headboard and started to read to her until he was finished. He started to leave "Ok, Sweetheart. Have a goodnight and sweet dreams." He said and kissed her forehead but her brow furrowed.

"Daddy no leave." She said and started to cry. He stopped in his tracks.

"Sweetheart, you have to go to sleep." He said and she shook her head.

"No." She said and be sighed.

"I'll stay just until you fall asleep." True to his word he did just that. He got into the same position as he did when he read her a bedtime story. She snuggled into him and 20 minutes later she was out like a light... for now.

Once her breathing evened out he carefully got up. He quietly crept to the door and opened it, walked out, and cracked it. It was only 9:20 PM so he decided to do something work around the house until 10 PM.

9:30 PM rolled around and he heard little patters of feet coming out of his daughter's room. Maverick sighed. Y/N appeared in the living room where he was folding clothes. "Sweetheart. What are you doing up?" He asked and she looked at him and rubbed her eyes.

"Me no sleep without you." She said and he walked over to her and picked her up.

"At least try for me." Maverick asked and she shook her head.

"No." She said and pouted.

"Please?" He asked her.

"Na-uh." She said. He was getting frustrated but took some breaths and calmed down.

"You're going back to bed." He said sternly and walked to her bedroom with her in his arms. When he got there he gently laid her down and tucked her in, again, and walked out of the room. She stayed there for 10 minutes just enough time for him to put away some clothing of his. Then he heard little patters of feet, again. He turned to find her at the entrance of his bedroom. "Y/N." He warned and she gave him a look like 'What are you gonna do about it?' He picked her up and walked to her bedroom again and laid her down and wordlessly walked out of her room.

Maverick went back to his room to finish up and when 9:50 PM rolled around here came his daughter. He turned to greet her "Y/N Carole Mitchell. Bed now." He said sternly not raising his voice and picked her up and walked her back to her room once again.

10 PM rolled around he didn't hear anything so he got ready for bed and laid down. He was just about to go to sleep when he heard his name being called in almost a panic.

"DADDY!" Y/N yelled out and that had him shooting out of his bed and into her room. He flipped on the light and saw his daughter with tear tracks down her cheeks.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" He asked.

"You gone." She said and Maverick sighed.

"Oh, Sweetheart." He said and walked over to her and hugged her. "Do you want to go sleep in Daddy’s bed?" He asked and she nodded. He picked her up and walked to his room. When he got there he tucked her in and cuddled her. He fell asleep when he felt her breath even out.

They might've slept for an hour before she was tossing and turning and calling out to Maverick. He would wake up startled and then wake her up.

This kept happening each hour on the dot. Let's just say neither of them got any sleep. 7:30 AM rolled but both of them were already awake. They were in the kitchen, Maverick was nursing a coffee leaning back on the counter watching his daughter eat breakfast. They both had a tired look on their face and bags under their eyes.

Maverick zoned out and when his phone rang it started him. He picked it up and before he could say hello the automated voice of his daughter’s preschool came through. "This is Miramar Navy Preschool. Due to the flu going around the school will be closed for the day. We'll let you know when classes resume. Thank you and have a good day." Well, it looks like Y/N would be coming to work with him. "Sweetheart, it looks like you're coming to work with me today." Maverick said and she looked at him and smiled. He grabbed her backpack and started filling it with things he needed.

"Me like going to work with you." She said and that caused him to smile. After he had his coffee and she had her breakfast. Maverick got them both ready to go to work and headed that way.

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When he got to work he pulled into his parking spot labeled Captain Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell, parked, killed the engine, and got out. He then got Y/N out and carried her along with her backpack filled with food, books, and toys to work with him. He walked into the building and into his office and closed the door. "Ok," he said and got down on her level after setting her down "If you can't be with me then you go to Rooster or Hondo. Understand?" He asked her and she nodded her head.

"Yes, Daddy." She replied as she looked into his same-colored eyes. He nodded and started to set her up next to him. He sat her on the chair and he got to work. The door was shut so anyone that needed to come had to knock. There wasn't much going on that morning until he needed to be up in his jet at noon.

Noon rolled around quicker than anticipated. He called Hondo in and a few minutes later he was strolling in. "What can I do for you Mav?" He asked then he saw Y/N.

"I was wondering if you could take her while I'm up in the air. Rooster is going to be up there with me along with most of Daggers. Also, new students are coming in." Maverick said while being preoccupied but aware of the conversation. He looked up when he was done talking.

"Of course Mav. Anywhere you want me to take her?" He asked and Maverick shook his head.

"Just keep her entertained." Mav said.

"What about the control tower?" Hondo asked Maverick.

"That's fine." He said and then turned to his daughter, who in turn looked at her father. "You stay with Hondo and if he leaves you in the control tower you stay there. Understood?" He asked her and she nodded her head.

"Yes, Daddy." She said and Maverick nodded and then stood up and picked her up. He brought her over to Hondo and handed her off. Once he started to leave she started throwing a fit and Maverick stopped.

"Sweetheart, I'll be back in a little bit. You'll get to see me up in the air in the control tower. I promise." Maverick said and she seemed to think it over and then rubbed her eyes, a sign of her being tired, she nodded her head. They went off their separate ways.

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As Hondo was walking he got stares but nobody asked. Once he arrived at the control tower he walked inside and sat her down. "Remember what your dad said right?" He asked her when he bent down to her height and she nodded her head.

"Uh-huh." She said and he nodded.

"Good. Do you want to go and sit up front?" He asked and she nodded enthusiastically and he smiled so was so a Mini Maverick. He took her up there and sat her down next to the person in control and boy did she ask a lot of questions.

She got really excited when the jets began taking off, of course in Maverick fashion he buzzed the tower and she squealed excitedly. "Daddy!" She yelled out and looked out into the air with big round doe eyes.

After a few more rounds of questions, and the person in control answered patiently, the lack of sleep was getting to her. In no less than 20 minutes she was out like a light snoring softly.

Hondo walked up to them and saw her asleep. He didn't want to wake her so he quietly told the person next to her that he got called away and that she needed to stay here. Really what happened was that the young hotshot students made a bet just like the Daggers did and now had to do 200 pushups.

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After everyone landed Maverick and the others did a post-flight check. Maverick walked to Hondo. "Where's Y/N?" He asked him.

"She fell asleep in the control tower." He said

"She should be good up there while I go and lecture these students. But I don't want her to overstay her welcome." He said sounding conflicted then Bradley walked over having heard the conversation.

"It's alright Mav. I'll go and get her. I'm done with everything. " He told him and he nodded.

"Jut don't wake her up. She didn't have a very good night last night." Maverick said and Bradley nodded.

"You got it Mav." Bradley said and headed towards the control tower. Once he got there he took the stairs two at a time. He opened the door and stood there for a minute and spotted her. He walked over to her and she was sound asleep.

"She wasn't too much trouble was she?" He asked the person in charge and they shook their head.

"Not at all." They said and Bradley smiled and nodded. He carefully picked her up without waking her and got her situated. She wiggled a little bit but stayed asleep snuggling into Bradley's neck. He began to move and tightened his hold as he began to descend the steps when he took the first step she woke up for just a moment.

"Roo?" She asked as she sleepily looked up at him.

"Yes, MJ?" He asked, he was the first to give her the nickname Maverick Jr. which than got shortened to MJ.

"Where we go?" She asked already leaning her head back onto her shoulders and wrapping her arms around his neck.

"We're going to your dad." He said and she hmmed and went back to sleep. He chuckled and started to descend the stairs once again. Bradley was the older brother she always wanted. He walked to Maverick's office but he wasn't there. Bradley continued to walk around the building with a sleeping 3-year-old until he found him in a classroom having just finished teaching. He walked in and Maverick lit up with a smile.

"Did she wake up?" He asked Bradley.

"Once but went right back to sleep afterwards." He told him and Maverick nodded. Maverick carefully unwrapped her arms from Bradley's neck and then transitioned her over to him and she clung to him like a koala. They both started to walk out of the room to Maverick's office when they got stopped by Cyclone, Warlock, and another visting Admiral.

"Captain Mitchell and Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw." Admiral West started "Maverick I must say it's interesting to see such a reckless pilot being a dad." He said in a teasing manner but they didn't take it like that. When the Daggers had successfully completed the mission they were prompted.

"As reckless as Maverick is in the skies. He's an even better dad. He's taken care of Y/N ever since she was a newborn." Warlock said taking up for Maverick. Admiral West scoffed.

"It is very true that he is a very good father. I respect him for that. I know it's not easy to balance a 3-year-old and a demanding job." Cyclone said as if Maverick and Bradley weren't there. Warlock turned to Maverick.

"How was training?" He asked him.

"It was good. If you want we can go to the conference room and discuss the training." Maverick suggested and they did just that. Bradley offered to take Y/N but Maverick didn't want to move her again since she was sleeping, and sleeping well.

The debriefing on the class and training was going well but Maverick and Bradley could tell that Admiral West was not taking him seriously. "Sorry to interrupt but is something wrong?" Maverick asked directing his attention to the visiting Admiral.

"How can I take you seriously with a child in your arms?" Admiral West asked and Bradley just about had enough and he didn't care if he got in trouble.

"You should take him seriously anytime no matter if he has his daughter in his arms or not. He's a great pilot and a great father." Bradley said and the Admiral looked at him with a shocked expression on his face.

"Excuse me Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw that is no way to treat your higher up." Admiral West said and before he could anybody else speak.

"I think it's time for you to leave, Admiral West. If you're not going to respect a Captain who successfully returned all aviators and WSOs home, then you need leave. Now." Cyclone said, and Admiral West scoffed and got up and left the room. Maverick was shocked that Cyclone would stand up for him.

Cyclone turned to Maverick and nodded. "You are dismissed. You can go back to your office and let that little girl sleep. We'll let you know when you're needed." Cyclone said.

"What about the other classes?" Maverick asked still shocked.

"Rooster will be taking care of those along with the other Daggers." Warlock said and Maverick nodded and both Cyclone and Warlock got up and left. Maverick looked at Bradley.

"That was brave of you." Maverick said

"Well, he had no right to speak about you like that." Bradley said.

"Thank you." He told Bradley

"Anytime, Mav." Bradley said to him. They got up and started in their own direction. Maverick arrived at his office where he sat down with his little girl in his arms, who hadn't moved even with all the talking.

Every now and then she would move in her sleep but wouldn't wake up. She would just snuggle into him deeper and that brought a smile onto his face. Maverick was just glad to have her in his life. Nothing could take her away from him, not now and not ever, she is his everything. Y/N was his mini co-pilot. He started on his plans for his next class that was going to be taught by Bradley and the others. It was just him holding his little girl in silence with the sounds of the occasional jet flying by. That was his paradise.

Tag list:

@kmc1989

@els-marvelvsp

@atarmychick007

@nyx2021

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way-too-addicted-to-fandoms · 2 years ago

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Bobby, sweetheart, love, just put the blueberries in the pancakes. Saves so much time and effort. Or put whipped cream on the first so the blueberries have something to stick to. Work smarter not harder😂

In all seriousness this is adorable and I love it so much.

Still didn't answer my question as to whether or not she's Cap's daughter but I guess that'll just be left up to imagination

Make It Proper

part one | part two

robert "bob" floyd x fem!reader

"I was raised to love, you know? Not just love— but to love well. And my ma always told me that I should make a lover feel special, treat her even better if she treats me right." One of your hands went up then, to cup his face as an offering of solace. "I don't know if I succeeded in makin' you feel that way yet, but you're special to me. And I intend to respect you as such."

[4.8k] | fluff fluff fluff, lovesick bob :(, dude's so in love it's insane, anyway unprotected sex lol, cunningulus, fingering, and more of bob being absolutely adorable he's literally the sun itself. dedicated to @hangmanapologist because robyn you need to marry me

reblog and/or like for a kiss, feedback much appreciated! not proofread. also @alinasmcu i hope you like it loml

Robert showed his true nature in subtle ways.

With the way his hands laced with yours as he held them both against the gear shift while he drove, with the excuse of "warming them up" as if the weather could get any warmer. Like when a quiet 'aww' escaped his lips upon the sight of a squirrel by the trees on your way to the restaurant he told you all about, despite trying so hard to appear a bit more serious, at least. Or like all those times that you caught him stealing a glance and then smiling to himself, acting as if his attention was on the menu he held instead. He ended up exchanging fun facts about the squirrels with you however, and the genuine smile on your lips worked as a clear indicator— he didn't have to act as if he's someone else with you.

Needless to say, the date was wonderful. An absolutely delicious bottle of Rosé in your glasses, stories exchanged for hours and cheeks hurting from smiling a bit too much. It was perfect, he was perfect— a true gentleman by all means, with the way he never made you question his respect towards you, and listened so attentively that you found yourself skipping over your words whenever you saw that beautiful smile reach his eyes.

He was in the middle of a story about Phoenix not-so-accidentally kicking Hangman on the balls when you suddenly reached for his hand over the table, curling yours over his with a smile so beautiful that for a moment he forgot where he was, unsuccessfully trying to hold back a smile from breaking out. He reached in a bit closer to the table then, lifting your hand to press his lips against the pulse point on your wrist, eyes on yours all the way through. "Where was I?"

"Hangman trying to play it cool," you replied straight away, caressing his hand so delicately that he could feel his heart beating against his ribs forcefully. "God, I wish you had a video of that."

"Me too, but he's oddly against videos like that," he chuckled. "Something about 'em being forever, I don't know. I don't really listen when he talks."

A soft giggle left you. "Good for you, it's not often that he says anything useful outside of missions anyway." you sighed, free hand going forward to join the other. "I have a lot of Jake-induced traumas, unfortunately."

He didn't reply to that, but instead, lifted both of your hands this time, nuzzling his face against them with a tender smile on his lips, eyes closed momentarily. "I missed your touch," he sighed out. "I hope that's not weird."

"It's barely been a week, Floyd, keep it in your pants." you chuckled, brushing your fingers against his skin, watching the comfort in his expression carefully. Your fingertips slid over his lips, witnessing them part upon your gentle touch, and it took all sorts of self-constraint on your end to not just push a little further and feel his tongue against them. Almost as if he could hear your thoughts, he hung his head a little; and you could feel the curl of his lips against your palm when he smiled right against your skin. "What's on your mind?"

"I'm just— surprised, I think."

"Why's that?"

"When we all first got together, I didn't think I could be friends with you." he spoke with his voice barely above a sigh, and you probably would've had problems hearing him if you could focus on anything else around you, other than him. But all of your senses were directed straight at Bob, as his gentle eyes trailed over the streaks of the oak table. "You're so— you're like, beaming. Whenever I look at you. I try to find you in the room and you're over there, laughing and having fun and you just look like… the beauty that you have inside and out, it makes you look like you could make a grown man cry."

His eyes met yours then, a questioning gaze directed at you as if he was waiting for your confirmation on whether that made sense or not. You bit back a smile, watching as Bob brought your hands back down to the table, covering them with both his palms. "Is that a bad thing?" you asked, smile giving away the lighthearted nature of your question.

"No! No." a chuckle left him. "Just kinda felt like you wouldn't be interested in me while— you know, you could hang out with someone else."

It squeezed at your heart how precious he was; with his carefully picked out words and eyes unafraid of being vulnerable; it was clear that he felt comfortable enough to not restrain anything about himself around you.

You promised yourself that you would never break his heart, right then and there. Unbeknownst to you, he was doing the same when you met his eyes, his shoulders light with the amenity your company brought.

Even after all those hours spent on that same table, Robert wasn't ready to let go. The date was amazing, probably the best he's ever been to— and just the thought of calling a halt made him uneasy. He wanted to hear more of your stories, anyway!

But the genuine happiness in your face whenever your eyes met told him that there'd be plenty of time to tell all the stories possible, to know one another in a level in which nobody else does, to carry that trust with your entire soul. He felt at ease, knowing that your attention belonged to him, and his to you.

Which is why he didn't regret anything when he pulled up by your door, engine of the car still rumbling through and a street light illuminating just enough of your smile. "Guess that's it, huh?"

The sweet sound of your laugh tugged at his lips to widen his grin. "Hey! That sounds like you're leaving forever."

"Nope, don't you worry about that. I'm not leavin' ya anytime soon." he spoke, hand reaching out to caress your cheek with the back of his fingers, so gentle as if you'd break apart easily. "I had the most wonderful time. Thank you."

"I should be thanking you, Floyd." you shook your head, giggling to yourself before taking his hand in yours, pressing your lips right against his palm with a fond sigh leaving your lungs. "And perhaps I should thank you upstairs with some coffee?"

The embarrassment was evident in the way his cheeks flushed immediately, as he chuckled a bit to himself. "You were the one who told me to keep it in my pants."

"Pervert," you laughed, shaking your head to both sides before reaching in to press your lips right against the tip of his nose, pulling away with a grin. "Coffee and conversation. We don't have to do anything else, you're free to set the pace. Whatever makes you comfortable, Lieutenant."

A soft exhale burned through his lungs, pure appreciation in his eyes as he stared at you. In a way, be felt cared for— with how you let him know that you respected his boundaries and such, and God, he wanted to slap himself for being a coward and not talking to you anytime sooner. It had barely started, whatever it was between you two— and he already regretted not just jumping on you and bombarding you with love from the first moment he laid eyes on you, at the beach right by Hard Deck.

His entire body was still hot with the earlier flush when you led him through your living room and even told him which couch was the most comfortable —you even cared for his butt, he thought—, and he watched you beeline to the kitchen in order to prepare some coffee for the both of you.

Bob didn't sit down straight away, instead choosing to walk around the living room a bit— the whole area felt personal, with the photos on the walls and plants well-cared for. There was a photo of you— no, the child you right in front of a Fokker Dreidecker fighter aircraft with your arms crossed across your chest and a bright smile on your lips, another one with you and a bunch of other aviators, with your helmet snug between your arm and waist. And a lot more with what he supposed, family and friends.

He wondered if he'd ever get to have a photo of you and himself around here somewhere. Maybe taken during a trip to the Mediterranean coast, maybe with his arms around you, maybe with him in a suit reserved for the most important day in a person's life—

"Your coffee is ready, my lord!" you exclaimed happily, ignoring the fact that he visibly flinched when you suddenly appeared by him —or probably that grin on your lips was the indicator of a sinister plan, did you mean to scare him?— and he took one of the mugs from you with gratitude. "I see you've found my shrine."

"Is that you?" he asked, pointing to that picture of you in front of the old aircraft. A chuckle left you at that and you nodded, earning a soft laugh from him. "A Dreidecker? Somebody knew what they were doing before joining the academy."

"Every child has a fascination with something." you spoke, getting a hold of his free hand to lead him towards the couch, a content smile on your lips. "I just acted on it, I think. I was devastated to find out that they don't use those planes anymore, though."

He laughed and laughed, eventually laughed a bit more as hours passed through the both of you in a blur. He spoke to you about his childhood, that tiny park on the way back home from school in which he used up all of his daily allowance buying girls taffy apples, his neighbor's scary German Shepherd whom he eventually became best friends with, those specific cookies that his mama used to make once a year which he couldn't ever get the recipe for, his first kiss, first fight, first pet and eventually, although not exactly the topic, the first time he saw you. And how you managed to ignite a fire within his soul that he didn't think was possible.

Your mugs were long-empty, the beige foam of the coffee left behind to dry by the peak of the porcelain; but the conversation was far too enticing to break apart for a refill. You were close enough to see the tiny, rare freckles on top of the rosy glint he carried on, the pads of his eyeglass sitting snug on both sides of his upper nose, the oceans and seas and a thousand lakes he kept in his eyes, and the kindest smile anyone has ever offered your way.

Robert was beautiful. Beautiful in the way he put his feelings out to words, beautiful in the way his hand found yours on top of the couch, beautiful in the way he leaned in to press his lips against yours mid-story just because he thought the sight was too pretty to hold back from. You smiled up at him then, a bit awestruck, before your arms eventually found their way around his neck just so you could lay your head on his chest.

He still felt like his heart would burst whenever you moved so close.

"D'you wanna stay the night, Robby?" you asked, voice a bit muffled by the shirt he wore. He was taken aback for a split second before you decided to continue. "You could hug me all night."

"Ah, God— you have no idea how happy that would make me, sweetheart." he chuckled a bit to himself, thankful for the position of your head because he could feel his cheeks and neck burning up. "If, well… if you're okay with that, I don't see why not."

"Yeah," you sighed, peaceful. "I'm more than okay with that."

Bob genuinely didn't know what to do with himself when he opened his eyes in the morning, only to find himself buried against your skin and the soft, sleepy exhales you let out surrounding his entire being. With all your limbs tangled together, it was hard to pull the blanket up to cover your shoulders but he managed to do it, before pushing himself up on the bed a little to lean against the frame. He could see you better in this position.

But his innocent little plans of watching you sleep and going crazy all by himself were cut off short with the little yawn you let out; he noticed how your arms tried to tug him back on top of you, yet he persisted. He had a clear view of you being absolutely adorable and in your most vulnerable state —and you trusted him with it, the thought got him all fuzzy inside—, he wasn't going to give up the chance to engrave it into his mind.

You let out an incoherent mumble, causing his smile to get wider as he hummed back, hand gently reaching your face to push away the strands of hair on the way. "Gonna wake up?" he hummed, now opting to caress your cheek with the backs of his fingers. "C'mon, I missed you. Get up."

"You missed me?" you yawned again, sleep still evident in your voice and you hadn't even opened your eyes— yet a smile found itself home on your lips anyway. "We've been sleeping."

"Yeah, and I missed you in my sleep." matter of factly, he declared. "In fact, I might drop dead right here if you don't kiss me in the next ten seconds."

Your sleepy giggles mixed up with his, as you rubbed your eyes a bit before slowly pushing yourself up for your lips to meet his cheek. A dramatic exhale left him after that, as if his life truly depended on that kiss alone, and he finally gave in to your constant tugs. Now with your arms around him and with his face buried on your neck, the two of you could relax again.

"Thank you for lettin' me stay." he mumbled against your warm skin after a while of serenity, and your first response was carding your fingers through his hair to massage the nape of his neck.

"I was the one who offered you to stay."

"I'm blessed." he chuckled, before raising his head a little to plant kisses across your chin. "Truly blessed with you."

"Getting all sappy after a night together?" your teasing tone had him hiding his face on your neck again, and the gesture was so heartwarming that you had to bite back a wide smile from breaking out. "Wonder how you're gonna get after a different kind of night together. Although, you did say it's not proper, didn't you?"

"I said it wasn't proper in the car!" lifting himself up on his arms above you, he pouted down at you. "Without even taking you out on a date. I'm not raised that way."

"Care to elaborate on how you were raised?"

The momentary scrunch of his nose as he looked away to think was sacramental to you, to say the least, and when he looked at you again with that familiar shy smile, you knew that he was going to blurt out the sweetest words the humankind has ever heard.

"I was raised to love, you know?" he was down on his elbows now, too close, but not nearly close enough for you. "Not just love— but to love well. And my ma always told me that I should make a lover feel special, treat her even better if she treats me right."

One of your hands went up then, to cup his face as an offering of solace.

"I don't know if I succeeded in makin' you feel that way yet, but you're special to me. And I intend to respect you as such." the way he got a bit quieter towards the end in embarrassment was so endearing that you chuckled to yourself, fingers brushing against the flush on his cheeks as he not-so-snugly followed your touch.

Robert was so perfect to you. With his hopes, fears and everything that he believed in; he was so pristine. And now with his cerulean orbs staring right back at yours with a boyish expectancy and thrill, elbows holding his weight up just so he wouldn't make you uncomfortable with the pressure— you couldn't think of anything else but kissing him.

And that's what you did— a harsh tug to the back of his neck just so his lips could meet yours, feeling one of his arms snaking around your figure to hold you so delicately as if you'd break apart. Perhaps that was one of your favorite traits of his, the care— how he's so gentle, so careful with the way he picked out his words and held you, touched you. He never failed to make you feel like the only person in the whole wide world, like nothing else but you could ever matter to him.

The way he kissed you back was tentative, as if he wasn't sure where exactly that kiss would lead. But you couldn't help a quiet whimper leaving your lips when he experimentally grazed your lower lip with his teeth, the sound giving him enough courage to nibble on the soft flesh before finally letting a bit of his weight rest on yours, all close and warm. The arm which he was still using to keep himself up moved downwards with that, feeling your body through the thin layer of clothing that covered it and gently leading your thighs around his lower waist.

It made him feel like your bodies were made for one another. How electrifying, he thought.

Neither of you were in a rush, it seemed, when he pulled away with a radiant grin only to tug your t-shirt upwards. You moved in sync with him to get rid of the article of clothing, your upper body completely bare before his very eyes— but not even for a moment did you think of hiding yourself from his curious gaze. Bob's hand found yours, lacing your fingers together before he let his lips latch onto the skin of your neck, leaving short little pecks all the way to the valley of your breasts. A soft sigh left you, stomach churning with anticipation and the type of flutter that you missed so much.

"You'd tell me if you wanted me to stop, yeah?" his eyes were so bright when he looked at you again, chin millimeters away from your stomach and you nodded, giggling a little. "Good, that's good. 'Cause, um— you're so pretty and I jus' wanna kiss you all over, to be honest."

"My heart's gonna burst if you don't keep going, Floyd." you whispered back, earning a lovesick glare from him before he bit down on your skin, right by the side of your waist— pulling yet another giggle out of you before he could get rid of the rest of your clothes.

He made a quick work of it, letting your underwear fall to the ground with his hoodie —yours, actually, you never thought that your oversized comfy hoodies would come in handy like this— following suit. You traced the outline of his pecs with your fingertips, and the way he sucked in a deep breath only egged you on to continue.

You followed along the barely visible happy trail, hooking a finger on the waistband of the boxers he wore to sleep, teasingly pulling on it a bit before letting it snap back into place. "This won't be fair if you have a mind to play with me, sweets." he spoke, trying to sound all intimidating— yet he sounded like he was barely keeping it together, a smile tugging on his lips as he stared down at you. You smiled back at him, head tilting innocently.

"It's really not fair at all that you're still not touching me where I need it," you mumbled, the sweetest of all pouts on your lips which he desperately wanted to kiss away— but instead, he returned to his former position, face hovering over your hip bones only to plant kisses on the twin peaks. "Rob, please."

"Patience," he hummed, his lips now on your upper thighs, carefully letting one rest on his shoulder as if he was testing how it'd feel wrapped around him. He seemed to like the idea though, since before you knew it, a playful glint was evident in his eyes while he stared at you and softly blew on your bare core, taking mental notes on your reaction to the sudden cold. "You need my touch here, is that it?" you nodded rapidly.

"S'okay sweetheart," the way his breath hit against your core with each of the words he let out was about to drive you absolutely insane. "Gonna take care of you, don't worry."

And Bob was a man of his word.

Because the second his lips met your clit, he was grunting and panting against you and God, you wondered if he knew just how much he affected you. With soft whines leaving your lips, you tried to buck your hips up a bit to meet him a bit more forcefully, but he already had two arms wrapped around your upper thighs— he easily pinned you down again, only to let his tongue run through your folds with a drawn out hum. The taste of you taking over his senses drove him to the point of insanity.

"Fuck, Robby, keep going— please keep going." you whined out, continuous sounds leaving you at that point— and Robert absolutely basked in them, the pride of knowing just how good he was making you feel making all the blood rush to his cock, painfully hard against the mattress— just like that evening in the car with you on his lap, lips all swollen from the harsh nature of the kisses you two shared. "Why the fuck are you so good at this—"

His method of shutting you up was a bold flick of his tongue against your clit while he let go of one of your legs, only to push your folds apart with his fingers and spread your essence with his middle finger. It slipped in rather easily, allowing him to push in a second one— and you were really thankful at that moment that you never noticed just how big his fingers were, otherwise the thought would've made you a lunatic.

His fingers got caught on a slow yet steady pace, and he took your slightly distraught state as an opportunity to push his body up and to plant his lips against yours. His fingers did wonders inside of you, but magically, his lips felt even better— the amount of emotion he poured out into the gesture had your senses flooding with nothing but adoration towards him. Swallowing your moans and whimpers, he curled and uncurled his fingers, exploring you until hitting a spot that felt just right, and the way you shook against his hold left a grin on his lips, into the kiss.

You were surprised by how unphased he was, completely focused on his task of bringing you pleasure while he could very well get it all over with and call it a day— he didn't budge even when you clawed on his back, wrapped your arms around his shoulders just to pull him impossibly close. He didn't budge when you broke the kiss away just to tell him —in explicit detail— what you wanted him to do to you, and how much he was affecting you.

If only you could hear his internal screams, though.

His lips were by your neck by the time the constant twitching of your legs and the warmth taking over inch by inch started becoming the indicator of an upcoming orgasm, and he could feel it from the way your walls clenched around his digits so hard— the thought of you clamping down on his cock like that pulled a soft sigh out of his lips, drowned out by your constant drawled out moans. "Shh, that's it," he whispered, lips right below your ear now. "Gonna come on my fingers, yeah? That's a good girl, so loud and pretty for me."

And if the abuse of your sweet spot wasn't effective, his words definitely did it— lighting up the sparkler waiting to erupt, making an overwhelming mix of clarity and fogginess take over your entire mind for the minutes to come. He helped you ride it down as gently as he could, still whispering sweet nothings to your ear before pulling his fingers out. And to your absolute surprise, he pushed himself up a bit, putting on a show of how he licked his fingers clean— with eye contact all through.

Bob was going to be the death of you.

So you only gave yourself a minute or two to catch your breath before pushing him down on the bed, wet core sitting snugly right on top of his clothed length when you straddled him. He stared up at you, expression a bit surprised, maybe even starstruck with how a smile won over so quickly. "I was getting to it, you really lack patience—"

"Rob, sweetheart, you take too long," you huffed out, earning a chuckle from the other as he grabbed your thighs, squeezing the flesh under his palms. "Did you want my heart to burst or something?"

"A taste of your own medicine."

"Oh, shut up. Not funny." you spoke, still laughing a bit nonetheless. Getting up on your knees to pull his underwear down just enough to pull his length out, you gave him a couple of jerks, palm tight against his flushed pink tip moist with precum. "You have no idea how much I've been wanting this."

"Is that why you asked me to stay the night? How scandalous—"

"Robby!"

"Alright, alright," a breathless chuckle left him, eyes trained on the grip of your fingers around his length and the way you lined him up with your entrance. His eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head when he first felt your warm core on his most sensitive spot, the glide through your folds and the shaky breath you left out. He wasn't in a much better situation himself, afraid of letting go of the breath he held just in case his lungs would give out— but he decided to speak up again nonetheless, still a lot of things to say but never enough time. "For the record, me too. I thought about this a lot."

"Did you, now?" your voice was nearly shaking when you started sinking down on him, a slight hiss leaving your lips. "What'd you think about?"

"Thought of you exactly like this. On top of me, starin' at me like that— drove me crazy."

"Just the thought drove you crazy?"

"Yeah, you do that to me, baby."

"Aha! Oop— here we go. God damn it—" the sight of Robert, all soft with his hair all over the place and a spatula in his hand was incredibly endearing, but watching him try to balance blueberries on top of the stack of pancakes for five minutes now wasn't exactly your desired breakfast activity. You were drained and starving— the blueberries could fuck themselves.

"Bob, we're gonna eat 'em anyway," you whined, elbows against the kitchen table when he turned around to flash you a smile which quietly told you not to worry about it. You were too hungry to not worry about it. "I'm gonna die. Feed me or I'm calling the cops."

Taking your words for granted, he turned around again, this time with the plate which he worked so hard for —and you appreciated it! Just wanted to appreciate it faster, is all—, watching another blueberry roll down to the plate with a sigh before setting the plate down on top of the table. "I swear I'm better at this."

"Balancing blueberries is a shit skill, I wouldn't be disappointed if you weren't."

"Hey! Stop disrespecting my skills!" with a dramatic sigh and a roll of his eyes, he pushed his glasses up a bit on his nose, sitting down on a chair right next to yours as a soft grunt left him. You giggled, letting your head find its spot on his shoulder and feeling an arm wrapping around you securely— and a kiss to your hair, of course. "I'd walk through fire for you and you're out here judging me for trying to make the perfect breakfast."

"Any breakfast would be perfect with you!"

#bob x cap's daughter is one of my fav tropes so #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x y/n #bob floyd x you #bob top gun #top gun bob #robert floyd x reader #robert bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd smut #top gun maverick #x reader

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saltsicklover · 1 year ago

Text

Title: Not a Cyclone, But a Monsoon

Part 2 of 2 - Completed

Find Part 1 HERE, and my Master List HERE

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

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

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

A few uses of Y/N

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

Rating: R

---

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

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

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

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

Fuck flying coach.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Be nice, would you?"

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

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

"I'll see what I can do,"

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Everything's fine, promise,"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Brad-"

"We already know each other,"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn't.

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

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

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

"Oh, for fucks sake,"

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

Fuck how his chest aches.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How about you, kid?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A trait that seemed to have skipped over Bradley.

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

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

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

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

She looks away first.

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

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

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

"Jake?!"

"Hangman?"

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

"Y/N, Doll! What are you doing here?"

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

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

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

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

That was six months ago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monsoon bounces instead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Rooster, are you okay?"

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

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

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

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

"Are you okay, Mr. Bradshaw?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The arguing doesn't stop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And drives.

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

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

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

But isn't decay an unescapable fact of life?

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

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

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

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

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

Oh boy, how wrong he was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You son of a bitch!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Birthday Cards. Children's birthday cards.

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

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

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

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

That fact is almost too much for him to take.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or her twenty-first.

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He knows?"

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

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

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

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

But he can't.

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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