#did I make an oc for a series that’s pilot is not out?

[jeewrites]

Hold Fast | Ch. 5 - Five Courses

Series Master List

Rating: M, but this blog is 18+ MDNI

A/N: Frankie and Sweets finally go on their date! I do not recommend reading this when you are hungry. Ty to @bloviating-vy for beta-ing and providing all the emotional support one needs for writing fanfic lol.

Word Count: ~5.6K

Tags: no y/n, alcohol, gymbff!Benny, OC!Chloé, reader is a powerlifting girlie described as short and has hair long enough to put into a ponytail, reader's nickname is Sweets, Tom is alive unfortunately (we hate Tom), Tom owns a bar, Pope owns a gym, Frankie POV, kissing, making out, gratuitous descriptions of food, Sweets eats like a powerlifter, angst that resolves by the end of the chapter, discussion of previous relationships, implied past abusive relationship (not described), cliffhanger-ish?

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After you leave on Sunday, Frankie spends the rest of the weekend scouring the internet for the latest, fanciest restaurants in the greater metropolitan area. He's determined to make up for canceling on you at the last minute and go all out for you after everything you've done to care for Gabi and him. Tucking into another bowl of your magical chicken noodle soup, Frankie sighs at his laptop after clicking through tasting menu after 7 course menu after kaiseki menu after some weird pop-up dinner theater. Yeah, no. This isn't it.

And a small part, ok large part of him, wants to impress you, but he's at a loss as to how since he doesn't know you well enough. Surely as a doctor you are used to living the good life, dining at fancy places, right? What would not just be good enough for you, but impress you? His phone buzzes with a text from Benny in the group chat about a new PR lift and that's when an idea pops into Frankie's head. After a brief exchange with Benny he shuts his laptop and readies for bed. He has a plan.

Just as you are sitting down to scarf down your lunch later that week, your phone vibrates with a text from your favorite brown-eyed pilot.

[text conversation]

😻🐟: Hey, so what kind of food do you like? 🏋🏻‍♀️: Yes 😻🐟: ???

🏋🏻‍♀️: I have to eat so much to fuel for 🏋️‍♀️, so yeah, I like food. 🏋🏻‍♀️: 🍜🍳🥩🍔🌮🥟🍣🎂🍩🍪🍮🧁🥐🫔🍧 🏋🏻‍♀️: I don't do sandwiches though 😻🐟: Roger that 🫡

😻🐟: Be ready to eat okay? Might want to wear something stretchy. Prepare yourself. 😉 🏋🏻‍♀️: 🫡 say no more. I have the perfect outfit. 😈 😻🐟: Pick you up Saturday at 4:30? I know it's early, but trust me ok? 🏋🏻‍♀️: 💃🏻💃🏻

You spend the rest of your break smiling into your lunch wondering what Frankie has planned for Saturday. The weekend couldn't come soon enough.

On Saturday, at 4:25 PM you hear a soft knock at your front door. Swinging the door open you're greeted by an enormous arrangement of dahlias, a stunning ombre of purple, pink, and fuchsia hues, a grinning Frankie peeking from over the top.

"For you," he says with a winning smile as he hands you the arrangement.

You're speechless. You didn't think he'd remember you whispering to him, nearly three weeks ago, what your favorite flowers are. And how did he know these are your favorite colors? Chase never remembered your favorite flowers despite the years you were together. He probably gave you flowers less than five times in the entirety of your relationship.

"You remembered," you breathe, looking up at him. "Frankie, they're beautiful."

"I do my best to remember the important things," Frankie huffs, cheeks pinking at your compliment. You catch him flick his eyes over your form, biting his lower lip. "And you're prettier than the flowers. You look — wow."

It's your turn for your cheeks to heat before you invite him in for a moment while you find the best spot to place the arrangement (you decide on your dining table so you can look at it every morning while you drink your coffee). The dahlias are arranged like a piece of art, exploding with color against the drab colors of your apartment. You could look at them all day.

"Sooo, where are we going this early?" you venture, finally taking your eyes off of the flowers and running your eyes over Frankie, admiring the way the navy button down shirt stretches deliciously across his broad chest and the khakis he's wearing hugs his hips and thighs. Curls accentuated with product. And surprisingly no hat.

"I'll tell you when we get in the truck," Frankie grins at you.

"Okay, Mr. Mysterious," you huff with a small smile as you grab your bag.

When you get to his truck he insists on opening the door for you and offering a hand as you climb in. As he settles into the driver's seat and starts the truck, he hands you a beige piece of folded card stock, printed to look like a menu. The cover reads, "Frankie's Food Truck Tour" in elegant script across the front.

You gape at him, excitement bubbling up your entire body. "You're taking me on a food truck tour?!?"

"Yup," Frankie responds, popping the 'p.' "Someone might’ve mentioned you love food trucks and hole in the wall restaurants. So I'm taking you to all the best ones I know about."

You're practically vibrating with anticipation as you open the card and gasp at the listed courses on the food tour.

Frankie's Food Truck Tour

Menu

First Course - Taco de Carnitas 🌮 Heirloom blue corn tortilla from house made masa, slow braised pork shoulder, pickled shallots, chicharrons

Second Course - Empanada Colombiana Braised beef, potato in fried corn flour crust

Third Course - Sunday Sauce with Fresh Tagliatelle 12 hour simmered ragu with fresh made tagliatelle

Fourth Course - Soup Dumplings ground pork, blue crab

Fifth Course - Gua Bao braised pork belly, pickled mustard greens, toasted crushed peanuts in steamed bun

Dessert - Italian Water Ice

You are so very glad you wore your fancy stretchy clothes because this is a veritable feast of all of your favorite things. You weren't joking when you told Frankie you liked to eat. Plus today's SBD day was max effort sets, so you are ready to inhale some food. But you are also so moved by his thoughtfulness, planning such a creative first date. Who told him about your love of food trucks and hole in the wall spots?

As Frankie eases onto the main road, he swallows before asking, "Does it look okay?"

"Okay? This is amazing Frankie! It's so thoughtful." You look at him with watery eyes. "No one's done something like this for me in a long time." You might have let out a little sniffle because he's glancing at you with concern etched across his handsome face.

"Hey," he soothes, sliding a hand into yours. "It's my pleasure."

He presses a chaste kiss to the back of your hand. The gesture makes you melt inside at the sweetness. You intertwine your fingers in his, wanting to stay connected to him and you catch him smile when you do.

"Wait, so who told you I like food trucks?" you ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

"Oh uh, I — I asked Chloé," Frankie's ears reddened at his admission. "I checked with Benny to see when she usually works out at Pope's and, uh, talked to her earlier this week."

You hum in response, impressed that Frankie would voluntarily approach Chloé considering most regulars at Pope's Gym wouldn't dare. She intimidated everyone too much.

"It was weird though. Benny acted like he didn't want me to talk to her until I told him it was to plan my date with you." Frankie continues, tapping the steering wheel.

"Huh," you wonder, filing that bit of information away. "Wonder why."

Frankie shrugs as he pulls the truck into a gravel parking lot. A half circle of food trucks sit just in front of a copse of trees, surrounded by picnic tables. Several other cars pull up shortly after you arrive and a queue starts to form at one of the food trucks on the far end.

"Ready for the first course?" Frankie grins at you as he opens the passenger door.

"Born ready, Frankie," you grin at him with barely contained glee.

By the third course, you and Frankie are both completely relaxed and enjoying each other's company, allowing the conversation to ebb and flow between food truck courses.

The carnitas tacos whet your appetite, a perfect balance of succulent pork shoulder topped with crispy chicharrones. Pickled shallots cut the tender, savory bites with crisp acid that dance along your tongue. Charred tomatillo salsa rounds out the bite. All perfectly wrapped in a freshly griddled blue corn tortilla. You can't help but close your eyes and let out a small moan as you experience the first bite. A cacophony of well-balanced flavors and complementary textures. When you open them again you catch Frankie with a pleased look on his face as he takes a bite out of his own taco.

At the second stop, Frankie asks why you don't do sandwiches as you chomp into a piping hot empanada. The corn flour crust crunches with satisfaction giving way to the tender braised beef and fluffy potato filling. Steam curls from the opening of the empanada, a testament to how freshly made it is.

"I mean, why would I want something slapped between two slices of bread when I can have this?" you respond as you gesture to your half eaten empanada. "It's just as portable and tastes a billion times better."

You scoop some of the red salsa onto your empanada before continuing, "Besides, I had way more than my fair share of sandwiches and cold, sad meals during med school and residency. I want my meals to be hot as much as possible."

"But what about hot sandwiches?" Frankie presses, even though he nods in agreement.

"I'll make an exception for them if they are really tasty," you acquiesce. "And bánh mì, especially if the baguette is baked fresh in house."

"Duly noted," Frankie smiles, taking mental note of your preferences.

"Oh my god, you have to try this salsa," you moan after you finish your salsa covered bite of empanada. The acid from the tomato cuts through the richness of the filling, followed by sharp bites from the minced white onion, finished by a hint of sweetness — maybe from pineapple?

"Wait, don't tell me you're a fan of sandwiches."

Frankie looks slightly embarrassed when he admits he eats most of his meals standing over the kitchen sink, especially when he has Gabi, but the food is usually at least hot. "I do love cooking meals for Gabi and introducing her to all of our family's foods," he adds. "She's a really adventurous eater."

You perk up at his information. "Yeah? That's so awesome Frankie. Maybe I can make her some of my family's favorites sometime?"

He gives you the sweetest look of adoration and gratitude. "She'd love that. I — I would too."

You continue to chat with Frankie about how Gabi is doing since you last saw her as he tidies up the picnic table, and you both head to his truck for the next course.

When Frankie pulls up at the third food truck, you giggle and remark at the kitschy decor, multi-color string lights, barrels painted the colors of the Italian flag, red umbrellas shading long wooden picnic tables and smaller red metal patio tables for two. The food truck itself is a long white truck reminiscent of an old milk delivery truck. Short velvet red curtains frame the ordering window with a mismatched gallery wall of photos and paintings hanging along the side.

As you and Frankie sit at a cute red patio table sharing a sangria, waiting for the buzzer to go off to retrieve your food, you hear a woman's voice call out, "Morales?! That you?"

"Hey— " Frankie stands to greet the person behind the voice before a blur of brown hair wraps him in a tight bear hug he returns awkwardly with one arm.

"Finally made it out to check out this place huh??" the brunette says as she pulls back and releases Frankie.

"Yeah, uh, thanks for the rec. This is Sweets," Frankie gestures towards you as you stand to meet her. "This is Becs. She's one of the flight nurses I work with."

"Ooh, date night?" Becs winks at Frankie as she pumps your hand up and down one too many times. "Didn't realize you were seeing anyone Morales. Gonna break all those hearts at the hospital when people find out." You offer her a wan smile, a bit overwhelmed by her chaotic energy.

"Wait! I know you," Becs cocks her head as she assesses you intently. You stiffen even if you don't recognize her. Before you know it she's dropping the name of your former employer, adding, "Yeah, I used to work as an OR nurse there, but jumped at the chance to become a flight nurse. Less surgeon egos, more excitement, ya know?" She gesticulates with fervor as she speaks.

"Yeah, uh, I worked there," you admit, realizing you've been holding your breath. "Been over a year since I left though."

She looks you over once more. Just when you think you're in the clear she snaps her fingers and exclaims, "I do know you! You were engaged to that new trauma surgeon, what's his name!"

Your heart is in your throat and you can't move. Can't breathe. Is this really happening right now? What are the chances you'd run into someone who'd recognize you from your old job right the fuck now?

"I'll never forget how you made a surgeon get on his knees so fast," she smirks. "It's not every day you see someone throw a $50k diamond ring across the cafeteria."

Really, what are the chances you'd run into someone who witnessed the moment your engagement exploded spectacularly in front of what felt like everyone at work? Over a year ago? You can't look at Frankie. This isn't how you want him to find out. Not that you were exactly hiding it from him, but wasn't this like a third date kind of conversation? What did you know, you're so out of the loop on dating things these days. Because you're old. Broken? No one's going to want you, your mother's voice hisses up from the abyss of your mind.

"Well, it's not every day you catch your fiancé cheating on you, at work," you grit out as you find your spine.

"Yeah, bummer about that." Becs waves you off. "It was hilarious watching him crawl around on his knees trying to find that ring though."

She slaps Frankie on the shoulder and says something about seeing him at work before tossing you a nice to meet you and jets off as abruptly as she appeared.

You brave a glance at Frankie, but not really seeing him with the adrenaline flooding your system. "I —"

"Sweets —"

Of course the food buzzer decides this is the most opportune moment to go off, shocking you back into yourself as it dances erratically on the metal table top flashing red like a siren. Frankie slides a hand over the buzzer and picks it up as he walks around the table to stand in front of you. With his other hand he gently cups the side of your face.

"Sweets, you don't have to explain. It's ok. Breathe."

You swallow and let out a stuttery breath as you clasp a hand over his. His hand is warm and comforting against your skin, steady unlike your heart pounding through your chest. The buzzer continues to flash red and vibrate, muted now in his other hand. When you look up, his warm brown eyes only convey care and concern at your thinly veiled panic. Full blown panic, really. You're practically shaking.

"Hey," his voice is soft like when he speaks to Gabi. "It's okay. I'm going to go grab our food and when I get back you can tell me as much or as little as you want. Whenever you're ready. Or we can just go back to talking about how much we hate sandwiches, okay?"

"I— you— okay," is all you can manage, followed by a small nod, eyes still wide with panic, even with his attempt at humor. Coherent sentences are back to being a struggle apparently.

"We all have baggage, Sweets. I mean, I have a whole ex-wife and toddler, remember?" He gives you one more understanding smile before telling you not to go anywhere as he heads to the food truck to collect your food.

How are you supposed to eat anything right now? Your heart is in your throat and your stomach is in knots. You plop down in your chair as the adrenaline recedes, replaced by a wave of dread at what to possibly say to Frankie when he returns. At some point you did plan to tell him, but what happened spans several conversations, none appropriate for a first date. You try to ground yourself in what he said before he went to retrieve the food. It's okay. He has baggage too. He's okay with you telling him what you’re ready to tell him. What the fuck are you ready to tell him?

When Frankie arrives at Pope's Gym to catch Chloé and ask for her help in dinner ideas for his date with you, he isn't prepared for Benny acting so cagey and weird.

"Hey, Benny," Frankie greets Benny at the front desk with a familiar dap of the fist.

"Fish," a rare one word response from Benny, the more loquacious of the two Miller brothers.

"She here?"

"Sweets or Chloé?" Benny asks, feigning ignorance even though Frankie literally just texted him the day before asking when Chloé usually worked out at Pope's.

"For God's sake Ben, I'm looking for Chloé." Frankie glares at Benny before rolling his eyes. "To help me plan my date with Sweets. What's gotten into you?"

"Oh. Right, yeah she's here," Benny mumbles nodding in Chloé's general direction before sulking away.

As Frankie treks over, he notes the message on her cut off shirt declaring, "I'M A RAY OF FUCKING SUNSHINE." Chloé's covered in a sheen of sweat and breathing hard as she finishes a set of medicine ball slams.

"I'm pretending this is your head," she mutters at Frankie as he approaches. "For canceling on Sweets the day of without telling her why."

Frankie decides to stop a generous distance away from Chloé. He lifts his cap and runs his fingers through his curls, a nervous tic, before replacing the cap on his head. "Yeah, um, that really was my bad. Uh, that's — that's actually why I'm here."

He swears the glare Chloé gives him could kill.

"And why should I help you." It's not a question, but a challenge.

"I want to really impress her and go all out for her this Saturday to make-up for canceling," he continues before pausing. "Especially since she took such good care of my daughter and me when Gabi got sick last week. Which is — which is why I canceled at the last minute."

Chloé gives him a non-committal grunt, brows still furrowed, but her eyes motion for him to continue.

"I thought about taking her to some of those fancy tasting menu places, but I realize I don't know what she really likes… If she'd be into that."

"I mean, who doesn't like a fancy meal once in a while?" Chloé scoffs and shifts her weight from side to side, as if she's trying to decide whether to divulge more and help Frankie out. "But Sweets isn't into the fancy shit the way she is into food trucks and hole in the wall spots. The woman is always on the hunt for the best tacos or dumplings or whatever in the area."

Frankie nods along intently to what Chloé shares and takes detailed mental notes. You truly are a woman after his own heart.

"You should see her on vacation trying to suss out the best local eats. You always know you're going to eat well with her." Chloé glares back at Frankie before concluding with a threat for good measure. "You hurt her and I'll kill you. She's — she's been through enough. She doesn't need another guy wrecking her life."

Frankie appreciates a direct woman. And the tip about some guy wrecking your life. He stores that one away along with the threat.

"I just want to go all out for her. She deserves the best," he manages. "Gonna try my hardest not to fuck it up."

"Good," Chloé resumes picking up the medicine ball and raising it overhead before slamming it down on the ground. How does someone make everything sound like a threat?

"That still my head?" Frankie ventures looking at the medicine ball.

"Depends," Chloé huffs back at him, but he thinks he catches her smirking at him for a moment. "On how well you take care of my friend."

As Frankie thanks Chloé and turns to leave, he catches Benny hiding behind the cable tower machine watching the entire interaction, pretending to wipe down the gym equipment. Benny never cleans a goddamn thing unless it is a weapon.

"You're gonna take the paint off the metal," Frankie whispers to Benny as he walks by.

"Huh?"

Frankie shoves Benny out from behind the cable tower, "See you later, Benny boy. Good luck with that," as he motions with his eyes towards Chloé.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Benny calls back after catching himself from falling on his face in front of Chloé.

Frankie just shakes his head and beelines it to his truck. He has a food truck tour to plan.

When Frankie returns with a giant pile of fresh tagliatelle smothered in Sunday sauce, your stomach turns even if ragu is one of your favorite things. He sets everything down gently as if he is afraid to spook you with any sudden movements or sounds.

"I — I wasn't trying to hide my ex-fiancé from you," you blurt out without thinking. Smooth start there, tiger. Real smooth. You worry your hands in your lap to hold back the rising waves of anxiety. "I just thought failed engagements are more like a third date kinda conversation."

"Didn't think ya were," Frankie responds as he settles back into his chair. He slides a large hand across the table beckoning for you to place one of your hands in his. After a beat you slide a hand into his. It's warm and grounding. You find your shoulders relaxing away from your ears a smidge, and your stomach settles.

"I meant it when I said you don't have to tell me anymore than you're ready to," he reassures before something you said clicks, and he beams at you. "You'd go on a third date with me?"

You can't help but offer a small grin back, "I'd let you take me on as many dates as you want if they're anything like this, Frankie."

"Minus the co-worker with the big mouth." Frankie is full of jokes. "Too soon?"

You suppress a giggle bubbling up from your throat. "I guess that means you're not going to take me home after this?"

"Not unless you want me to, Sweets," Frankie squeezes your hand. "I'm having the best time."

Your stomach rumbles at this exact moment in response and Frankie laughs, tummy shaking laughter, wondering out loud how you are still hungry after tacos and empanadas.

"I told you I like to eat!" You cross your arms in mock indignation as Frankie wipes away tears of laughter and hands you a fork.

As you both dig into the pile of pasta, marveling at the depth of flavor a 12 hour simmer gives the ragu, you take the opportunity to ask Frankie about his work as an EMS pilot. His entire body is buoyant with excitement when he talks about flying, brown eyes bright with passion. You can tell the two loves of his life are Gabi and flying by the way he speaks about both.

"The hours aren't terrible, 12 hour shifts, 4 days on and 3 days off, with a lot of waiting around. But at least I'm not getting shot at now when I fly," Frankie shares, adding how his parents help watch Gabi when he has custody and has to work. Your breath hitches at the thought of anyone shooting at sweet Frankie.

"Next stop?" he tries to change the subject when he catches your worried expression.

You nod and attempt to help clear the table, but Frankie insists you don't lift a finger.

The next two stops fly by as Frankie tells you about the owners of the soup dumpling take-out window, former cooks at some Taiwanese chain making its way into the U.S.

"Ooo yes, DTF! I've been to one of their locations before!" you exclaim.

His eyebrows curve upward in confusion, "Wait, I thought DTF meant... something else??"

"Ohmygosh, DTF — Din Tai Fung!" you cackle. "Their soup dumplings are to die for."

Frankie admits he hasn't ever eaten a soup dumpling before as you lift the lid and a cloud of savory steam erupts from the bamboo steamer basket. You offer him two options that won't involve near boiling broth burning his mouth off. After all, you have... plans for that mouth.

"Next time we have to try the pork and shrimp ones too," Frankie tells you as he opens the passenger door for you. Seeing his eyes light up after the first bite and slurp of soup dumpling, you know he is a convert for life.

At the last stop he slides an arm around your shoulders as you sit side by side on a park bench splitting one extra-large gua bao, too full to each have your own. It’s the size of your face instead of the standard appetizer size. Frankie insists you take the first bite of the pillowy soft steamed bun, a vehicle for the unctuous braised pork belly, pickled mustard greens, and toasted crushed peanuts. The umami of spiced soy sauce carries forward balanced notes of anise and cinnamon with a not too sweet caramel finish of hoisin and brown sugar. A savory symphony of flavors in your mouth.

"That good huh," Frankie smiles as you let out a groan.

"Mmph," is all you can manage, eyes closed, savoring the bite with a happy food wiggle.

You offer the bao up to him, angled so he can get the perfect bite, the scruff on his chin tickling your fingers as he takes an exaggerated bite.

"Fuch, ish good," he mumbles, mouth full and sauce dripping out the corner of his mouth.

When you brush your thumb to wipe the sauce away, the pink triangle of his tongue peeks out to lick your finger clean. Your eyes flick up and catch a dark, mischievous look across Frankie's face that makes you want to combust on the fucking spot. You distract yourself by taking another bite of the bao before offering the last bite to him.

He sighs in contentment when the food is finished and pulls you closer to him, tucking you to his side. It's warm and safe here snuggled against him with his strong arm draped over your shoulder as you idly watch other diners nearby. Safe enough you weigh the risk of ruining the moment by sharing about your painful past.

"Can I tell you a little bit about... what happened a year ago?" you ask, voice quiet, looking up at him.

Frankie returns your gaze, "Of course."

"Ok," you drop your gaze to your hands and take a deep breath before continuing. "We, um, met in college. Both of us pre-med... and just dorks with the same goals you know?"

You tell Frankie about Chase, how he changed from a sweet college boy to someone you didn't recognize as you went through med school and residency. "I was so afraid of being alone, I ignored the red flags and how we were growing apart until he went out of state for his fellowship and I stayed here. That’s when I realized I was happier on my own than when he would visit."

You peek up at Frankie through your lashes and realize he's been looking at you and listening intently the entire time. "But it took catching him cheating for me to leave."

You shudder at the memory of the night you tried to leave and the weeks that passed before you finally could. That is a story for another day. Frankie tightens his grip around your shoulders as he releases a sharp exhale through his nose when you stop talking.

"I appreciate you sharin' all that with me, Sweets," he says, pausing as if he isn't sure what he wants to say next. His thumb on your shoulder tracing slow circles on your skin.

"I guess I spent the last year working on myself and figuring out what I want now in a relationship," you continue.

"And what's that?"

"Where I can be myself and not have to cut off pieces to fit someone else's idea of who I should be — accepted for being me," the last part you say wistfully.

"As you should be. You're amazing, you know that?"

"Depends who you ask," you respond, quirking a smile up at him. "But I like myself alright now."

Frankie shares a bit about where things went south with Vanessa, his struggles with learning how to single parent. They had been high school sweethearts and stayed together, though he admits he felt like they were growing apart even before he joined Delta Force. How they tried to stick it out when Vanessa got pregnant with Gabi, but eventually realizing it was better for everyone if they separated.

You pull his arm tighter around you when you feel him hesitate and start to pull back after sharing about his own relationship history.

"Thanks for telling me."

"Not too much?" Frankie asks, eyes etched with worry.

"You're never too much for me, Frankie."

He visibly relaxes before asking, "Would getting dessert be too much?"

"Never," you say as you stand and offer your hands to pull him up. "Don't you know I have a whole separate stomach for dessert?"

The dessert course is a small takeaway window for Italian water ice just off the broad walk along the beach. You weigh the flavor options, debating between mango and passion fruit, before finally deciding on mango. Frankie picks passion fruit without hesitation.

He gives you a knowing smile and wink when you raise an eyebrow to his choice, "Figure that way you'll get to try both flavors." Is it possible to simultaneously melt into a puddle and combust from his thoughtfulness?

The velvety smooth ice refreshes as the fruit flavor cleanses your palate from your decadent dinner. You both make your way down the broad walk at a leisurely pace, sharing bites of yours with Frankie as he feeds you bites of his.

“Not too sweet?” he asks with a grin, knowing your bar for the ideal dessert.

“Not too sweet,” you confirm with a pleased smile.

He offers you the last spoon of his dessert, which you accept without hesitation because your sweet tooth is the boss, before he takes both your empty cups and tosses them into the trash. You intertwine your fingers in his as you continue your stroll, turning down one of the piers and walking down part of the way.

“Think this might be the best first date I’ve ever been on,” you smile at him, eye to eye as you lean back and balance on the lowest rung of the railing. His strong arms cage you in on both sides, protective as if you might possibly fall into the water below.

“Yeah?” He breathes back, curls whipped wild by the ocean’s breeze, brown eyes anchored to yours. “What would make it definitely the best first date you’ve ever been on?”

“If you kissed me right now.” The tip of your tongue wets your lower lip as your gaze flicks to his plush lips curving into a small smile at your words.

Frankie smooths your hair back before cupping your cheek with one hand. “Think I can manage that.” He presses the line of his body against you as he slots his mouth against yours, gently at first, until you open for him to lick into your mouth. A soft moan escapes your throat. He kisses you harder, his other large hand snaking up the middle of you back to cup your neck, holding you in place. You reach your hands to run your fingers through his curls, such soft curls, tugging to keep him pressed against you. When he lets out a soft moan you realize he likes it when you do that.

Your foot slips when someone suddenly catcalls the two of you, followed by a "GET A ROOM!" But Frankie catches you with his quick reflexes, holding you tight against him. "I got you, baby," he reassures, voice breathy and soft. Baby. You practically melt at the endearment. And because he's now nuzzling the sensitive spot behind your ear with the delicious curve of his nose, peppering kisses down the column of your neck.

"Frankie," your voice comes out breathy like you've just sprinted down the broad walk. You repeat his name when he continues to pepper you with kisses.

"Hmm," he rumbles against your neck.

"We're in public." A giggle escapes your throat.

His eyes flick up to yours, black pupils edging out the brown you get lost in, expression intense. Hungry, but not for food. He wraps an arm around your waist and places you gently back on solid ground.

"I can fix that, baby," he murmurs. Pressing a kiss to your temple and tucking your hair behind your ear, he steers you by the small of your back and leads you back to his truck.

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Endnote: Sweet's relationship with her ex-fiance is partially inspired by this quote from Robin Williams: "I used to think that the worst thing in life was to end up alone. It's not. The worst thing in life is to end up with people who make you feel alone."

Hi hi, did ya miss me? I missed YOU. Been adjusting to a new job and the absolute fatigue from training has me beat (summer powerlifting competition wee!). But I’m so glad Frankie and Sweets finally went on their date and ate so well. It’s funny, but I’ve mostly written the last chapter and I just need to get them there. I’m learning that all the stuff between is uh, the hard part. Also, I still haven’t wrapped my head around writing smut, but we’ll see. At least they kinda made out? Lol. Thanks for reading if you’ve made it this far. It means the world to this newbie fanfic writer. Taglist is open! You know you wanna! xoxo, Jee

Taglist: @katareyoudrilling @christinamadsen @rebel-held @littlemisspascal

@burntheedges @darkheartgatita @enretrogue @titabel

@copperhalfcent @triplefrontier-anniversary

#hold fast a frankie x powerlifting!reader fanfic #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie catfish morales #pedro pascal characters #triple frontier #happy frankie friday #frankie friday

[brahmenbones]

There’s something devious about this fella

#eyestrian #my art #yeah #art #the amazing digital circus #did I make an oc for a series that’s pilot is not out? #yes #and it’s fun YAAYYY #I like to imagine this guys like those paper mache fortune tellers #but so very vague #“your guess is as good as mine buddy #HDHSHSHD

[averagewriter-inthedark]

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

Contains spoilers for Top Gun: Maverick

Series Masterlist

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

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

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

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

—————————————————————

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m where I belong, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, sir.”

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

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

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

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

Cyclone didn’t look impressed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How soon before the plant becomes operational?”

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

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

“I think you misunderstand, Captain.”

This has Mav confused, “Sir?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tragic what happened.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You were a Top Gun instructor before.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hangman,” he corrected.

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

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

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

“Cold War,” Coyote jumps in.

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

“Not this one,” says Lt. Garcia.

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

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

“Hey, Coyote,” Phoenix greets.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” she says, going up to him.

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

A patron Maverick had yet to reunite with.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Damn. How long were they together?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too much love. Drives a man insane.

You Broke my will. But what a thrill.

Goodness gracious! Great balls of fire!”

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

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

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

I changed my mind. This love is fine.

Goodness gracious! Great balls of fire!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The woman narrowed her eyes, but greeted the man nonetheless, “Seresin.” Turning her head to the left, she makes eye contact with Natasha, “Hey, Phee.”

Nat gives a small smile with a nod, “Hey, C.” Barb tilts her head to the man with glasses behind the woman, “Who’s your friend.”

“That’s Bob, WSO.” The man in question lightly lifts a hand in a small wave, offering a smile to Barb. She smiles back, throwing a wink which has him blushing. “Those two hunks are Payback and Fanboy—I don’t think you’ve met them yet.”

“I have not,” she looks past Hangman to see the two men. They both give a gesture in greeting. “Nice to meet ya, fellas.”

“Same to you,” Payback replies and Fanboy nods in agreement. Barbara pays no mind to the man seated on her right, instead going to the open chair in the front next to Hangman’s. She ignores the looks they give Rooster, throwing down her wallet and keys on the table and plopping down on the chair.

Hangman sits beside her, leaning close and aware of the daggers being sent to his back from Rooster. “So, Mitchell—gosh that’s gonna take some getting used to,” It took everything in Barb to stop herself from throwing a punch to his jaw. They were in uniform and on the job. Now was not the time to get a demerit. “This is probably not the time to ask—.”

“Then don’t ask, Seresin,” she hissed in warning, assuming the question involved Rooster. He raised his hands in defense as he chuckled, “Hey, hey, now I’m not trying to dig up an old can of worms, but I’m just curious you know.” He gestured to her patch, “Can’t you let a fella in on what the secret is behind your call sign? I’ve only ever known you as Mrs. Bradshaw—but that couldn’t have been it.” He leans back to wink at an infuriated Rooster.

Barbara tsks, staring ahead at the large American flag draped in front of her. “Nice to see you haven’t changed at being a pain in the ass. You’re lucky we’re in uniform, Hangman, otherwise I would wipe that damn smirk off your face. Didn’t your momma ever tell you to mind your business once in a while?” she said in a low tone, but the whole company heard. In the back Coyote let out a whistle while Fanboy, Phoenix and Bob held back laughter. Rooster even had to stop himself from smirking.

Before Hangman could respond, the whole hangar was brought to attention at the shout of, “Attention on deck!!” The Admirals march in, Warlock taking to the podium while Cyclone comes to a halt beside Hondo.

“Morning,” Warlock greets the officers. “Welcome to your special training detachment. Be seated.” Chairs squeak as the group falls back to a sitting position, posture straight and attention on the admiral. “I’m Admiral Bates, NAWDC commander. You’re all TOPGUN graduates. The elite. The best of the best,” many grin at his praises, but they soon frown when he then says, “That was yesterday. The enemy's new fifth-generation fighter has leveled the playing field. Details are few, but you can be sure we no longer possess the technological advantage. Success, now more than ever, comes down to the man or woman in the box.” Still grinning, Hangman bids a look to Legacy before doing the same to Phoenix.

“Half of you will make the cut. One of you will be named mission leader. The other half will remain in reserve. Your instructor is a TOPGUN graduate with real world experience in every mission aspect you will be expected to master,” Barbara tenses, clutching the pen in her hand when she hears the soft sound of footsteps approaching. Warlock continues, “His exploits are legendary. And he’s considered to be one of the finest pilots this program has ever produced.”

In the corner of her eye Barbara sees Hangman turn in his chair, at first excited to see the instructor. But then the second he realizes who the man walking up the aisle was, the blonde brings a hand to his face and turns away in embarrassment. Having witnessed him, Coyote, and Payback throw her father out of the bar the previous night, it took every inch of her soul to not react at their shame. They were about to find out who he was to her, and she knew it was going to have everyone looking at her differently.

“What he has to teach you may very well mean the difference between life and death. I give you Captain Pete Mitchell,” the second the last name leaves Warlock's mouth, Handman’s head is snapping towards her. He’s not the only one. Phoenix’s expression is one of shock, as is Fanboy’s. Payback whistles under his breath, and Bob just looks confused—not really putting two and two together just yet. But Barbara remains stoic, unreactive. “Call sign: ‘Maverick’.”

Maverick replaces Warlock at the podium, “Good morning,” he smiles at the group, particularly at the three who threw him out of the hard deck the night before. They all smile back, embarrassment and awkwardness in the gesture. Hangman gives another glance to Barbara when he catches Maverick nodding to her. Then the man looks at Rooster, who turns away from his gaze with an unreadable expression.

With a thick book in his hand, Maverick draws everyone's attention to it as he lifts it level with his head, “The F-18 NATOPS.” He pats the top before placing it onto the podium. “It contains everything they want you to know about your aircraft. I’m assuming you know the book inside and out.”

“Damn right!” Payback shouts with pride. Others follow in suit with “Damn straight.” “You got it!”

Maverick nods, smiling before surprising them all—minus Barbara—by dropping the book into the trash can beside him. Barbara shakes her head, expecting it from her father. Cyclone and Warlock share a look. “So does your enemy.”

“And we’re off,” Hondo sighs from the side. Like the Captain’s daughter, Hondo had worked with Maverick long enough to know how he played.

“But what the enemy doesn’t know is your limits. I intend to find them, test them, push beyond.” Feeling the pressure rise, some candidates straighten their posture. Mav looks at each of them as he lists off the day's plans, but his eyes linger on both Rooster and Barbara, “Today we’ll start with what you only think you know. You show me what you’re made of.”

When they are dismissed and Mav takes the chance to leave the podium, the sound of Hangman’s light laughter captures everyone’s attention. “Something funny, Lieutenant?”

Still seated, Hangman licks his lip before saying, “Oh nothing, Captain Mitchell. I think I just got my answer to why our Legacy here,” he turns his head to Barbara, whose jaw was tight and looking anywhere but him. “Got her name in the first place.”

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #rooster x oc #rooster imagine #top gun maverick #top gun #top gun Maverick fanfiction #captain pete mitchell #maverick #maverick x oc #mitchell!reader #pilot!reader #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fanfiction #Bradley Bradshaw imagine #jake hangman seresin #natasha phoenix trace #robert bob floyd #rueben payback fitch #Spotify

[sofasoap]

Lastochka - Epilogue

Pairing : Nikolai x F!Reader ( OC/Mini MacTavish)

Summary: Family.

Part I , Part II, Interlude,Part III,Part IV,Part V

WARNING: Back to it's crack-ish fic route, with slight mention of PTSD, swearing, Mature theme.

I apologise if any depictions of symptons and military procedures might be incorrect.

Thanks to @homicidal-slvt for planting ideas into my brain. this whole series is all for you :)

My usual thanking @saltofmercury, mother of Mini, for lending me the character :) Please go and check out her fics!

“masterlist” for Mini MacTavish expanded verse.

“Papa, What’s that??”

“That is a C-27J Spartan.” “And and and that one??” 

“That my dear, is a Mi-24 Hind.”

“Papa knows how to fly all of these??” 

“Of course my принцесса. If it flies, Papa knows how to pilot them.”

Your daughter Anya, who is currently sitting on her father’s shoulder, looking down at him with her mouth wide open in awe. 

“If your papa knows how to keep your Ma and uncle Gaz inside the aircraft, that would be wonderful.” You mumbled as you came up beside your husband and daughter. “Oh my lastochka, you are still sour about it years later?”

“You nearly killed your wife that day.” you pouted, latching onto his arm. 

“I fell in love with my wife that day.” he looked down at you, winking as he pulled his aviators down. 

“Uncle uncle uncle poppaaaaaaa!!” Anya started wriggling around and waving as she spotted Ghost’s tall figure, followed by Gaz, Soap and Price. Lifting her off the shoulder with a bit of grunt, Nikolai sets Anya down. As soon as her little feet touched the ground, she ran straight to Ghost, latching onto his leg like a koala. 

“I win. Pay up.” Ghost smirks under his mask. He picks Anya up as she giggles away while he tosses her up high before catching her. 

Soap and Gaz grumbled as they fish out twenty pound notes each.

Gaz gave you a sheepish look, “ We were arguing who Anya’s favourite uncle is. So we thought this is the best way to settle.” You glared at the boys. “By betting money?” Gaz and Soap pointed at each other, ““His idea””.

You rolled your eyes. “Well, going by that, all three of you are losing. She’s going through the Poppa Price phase at the moment. She insists on taking her Poppa Price doll with her everywhere she goes.” pointing at the little backpack Anya has on, you can just see crochet doll Price’s head just peeking out from the opening of the bag. 

Gaz gifted you a whole set of dolls he crocheted when your daughter was born.

“.... Where did you get these made?” You gapped as you picked up the Soap doll, these are really well made, even down to the finest detail of the little scar on his chin. 

“ I made them.” Gaz smiled proudly as he took other dolls out of the bag. Ghost with his mask on and the forehead frown, Price with his signature boonie hat and little cigar in his mouth, Soap with his mohawk, Gaz with his Union Jack cap, Nikolai and his aviator and headset, and there is you too, in a little combat gear. “You need to give me photos of your parents, so I can make them too.” 

Who knows Gaz’s side hobby was knitting and crocheting? Now it make sense the scarf and jumper set he gifted you for your birthday years ago. 

“This is an odd place for a family outing.” Price commented as he came up and gave you a hug and kiss on the cheek, and turned to shake Nikolai’s hand. 

“What can I say, my daughter has inherited her father’s fondness for flying, she insisted us to bring her to the airshow when she saw it advertised on T.V.” you sighed as you looked at three boys playing with Anya. You were blessed to have your team family loving her as much as they have loved you. Few soldiers in their uniform walked past your group, gasping in awe. Taskforce one-four-one has a famous reputation and was well known amongst the military. You can just make out some of them mumblings,

“...isn’t that …Captain Price’s team….”

“Lady Fortuna??”

“... THE famous Lady Fortuna? The one that brought the Russian mafia to their knees?”

What? How did the rumour about your failed mission become a skewed legend? You shivered a bit, not a memory you wanted to recall. You clutch onto your husband’s arm. Sensing your distress, Nikolai pulls you in with his other arm, comforting you silently.

“... and she famously shut the Taskforce one-four-one men up over the chocolate biscuits.”

Oh heaven. The famous chocolate biscuit incident. You groaned as you can feel your husband’s body shaking with suppressed laughter, while Price facepalms, shaking his head. “I SPENT THREE DAYS BAKING THESE BISCUITS FOR THE WHOLE BARRACK, AND WHAT DID YOU BOYS DO??? ATE ALL OF IT?!!!!” 

Gaz and Soap sat on the mess hall dining bench, head bowing down, not daring to look you in the eyes. 

You finally came back to duty after over a year off to recover from your struggle with PTSD, and as appreciation and by popular demands by other soldiers, you baked a huge batch of your famous chocolate biscuit. 

And an hour later after leaving them on the kitchen bench, you discovered there were only a few crumbs and less than a handful left in the tupperware containers. 

You knew who the top two suspects were, and in no time you caught them in the other corner of the mess hall, eating away.

Ghost was watching the whole drama unfold, sipping on his tea. You turn and point your finger at him. “ YOU! I thought you would be the most sensible one, and don’t think you can get away with it! I can see the crumb on your lip!!” Simon quickly wiped his mouth and pulled down his mask, trying to deny any wrongdoing.You were in full lecture mode by the time Price swung by and looking for the biscuit, you dragged him by the shirt, not caring he is your superior, threw him onto the bench to sit with the other three men.

The four of them can see behind you as you yell at them without taking a breath, soldiers hearing there was biscuit but do a quick U-Turn when they see the hellfire that is on full flame.  You gained a second call sign after that, Lady of Hellfire.

“Ma!!!Papa!! Come come!! I wanna go see the planes!!” Anya’s tugging of your hand pulls you out from the memories of the past. Nikolai laughed as he picked his daughter up again and settled her into his arms.

“Alright! Now let’s go and look at that helicopter first… that’s the one Uncle Gaz and your Ma were rolling out from…and Oh that one over there.. That is a goodie too. I took your Ma on a date on that one…” You smiled as you looked at your teammate as they laughed at Nikolai’s conversation with our daughter.

Despite all the ups and downs. You were lucky to have Nikolai and your little Anya, and your brother and adoptive brother and uncle with you.

Makes all the challenges all worth it. 

принцесса= Princess Thank you to :

@homicidal-slvt,

@roosterr @preciouslittlecreature

@boughhs for sticking with me throughout the whole series. what started off as a joking idea for @homicidal-slvt, turned into a full fledge half crack half serious fic. It was a lot of fun writing it!! I might have two more drabbles for these two coming in next few days. If I can get my brains going :)

#cod nikolai #nikolai cod #nikolai cod x reader #nikolai cod x f!reader #taskforce 141 #nikolai reboot call of duty #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #john price #call of duty #nikolai cod x female reader

[selencgraphy]

Please Don't Leave Me Hanging

part two: spinning out, waiting for you (to pull me in)

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Female!OC (Jessie “Dice” Rosales)

Warnings: cursing, angst, overthinking, self deprecation, abandonment issues (this part is just hurt the entire time i'm sorry)

A/N: hehe heyyy... so it's been over a year since i revamped this series and over a year since i posted the first part. i wanna apologize for such a huge gap! i got so busy in the last year and i wanted to make sure that this series lived up to the expectations i held in my head when i decided to rewrite it. this part is mostly the aftermath of jake's outburst (jessie's reaction and where jake ended up when the night finished). pls bear with me as i can't guarantee when part three will make it to you :( i appreciate you all so so much! i hope you enjoy the read! &lt;3

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previous part // masterlist // next part

“I don’t get how you’ve been friends with him for so long. He’s a total dickbag,” Yale said, causing her to let out a breathy laugh. “Something funny, Dice?”

Jessie turned to fully face him, saying matter-of-factly, “Yeah. There is.” He scoffed in return, gaining everyone’s attention, including Rooster who was in the far corner cooling off from the exchange. “He treats everyone like shit, acting like he’s better than all of us. He’s not, and sooner or later he’s gonna get one of us killed.”

The pace of her heart began to quicken and her teeth clenched. “Do you guys even listen to the words that fly out of his mouth?” At this point, she turned to speak to everyone waiting for a response that didn’t come. The room was silent, eyes falling down to the floor or looking blankly at her.

“That’s what I thought,” she started. “I’ll admit what he did crossed the line. He does it often. But a lot of the time he points things out how they are, albeit rather rudely. And what do you all do? You tune him out. He ain’t an angel but would it kill ya to get your heads out of your asses? Maybe then y’all would finally grow up and see past a goddamn callsign.” Her feet carried her out of the room, frustrated at the blank expressions of her fellow pilots even after her spiel. She didn't have time to keep yelling at her peers. Jessie knew the outcome of these kinds of outbursts never ended well. She’d always been his shoulder to lean on after all. But for the first time since they met, he ran away from her. In less than ten minutes, she had already turned the place upside down, but he was nowhere to be found. Her phone was gripped tightly in her hand as she called his cell hoping to hear the sound of a casino jackpot. She thought it was stupid when she found out that it was the ringtone he had set for her. “So I know that it’s you callin’, Jess,” he said.

“His car’s gone,” a voice called from the end of the hall as she came out from the last bathroom she could think to check. She didn't have to look to know who it was, the rasp of his voice giving him away. Hanging her head, she took a seat against the closest wall, her eyes clenched as she let out a deep sigh and rubbed her face. Even as the rhythmic footsteps of boots grew louder and louder, she made no effort to acknowledge his presence. Not until he filled the floorspace next to her. “D’you know why he pushes your buttons every chance he gets?” 

Taking his silence as an answer she continued. “It may not look like it, but he admires the shit out of you. Trust me. I was you. Now look at me. And sure, we’ve known each other for a long time but…” She paused, gathering herself and letting her words sink in. 

“How long have you known him?” he asked quietly, his voice bordering between a whisper and his normal voice.

That made her chuckle. Raising her head, she leaned her chin atop her folded knees. “High school. I quite literally ran into him on my first day. Face first into his backpack. He helped me find my homeroom and then sat right behind me in sixth period. Then it turned out he lived right across the street from me. I tried to ignore him—God, did I try—but he somehow managed to weaseled his way into my life. Now I can’t even imagine living without him by my side.” He hummed at her answer. It was hard to imagine them as little teenagers. It was hard to imagine him as a little teenager. Rooster’s only ever known Jake Seresin as Hangman. His rival at Top Gun. An utter pain in his ass the second they met. The image of a younger version of the man he knew today that flashed in his head was bewildering. 

“All of his bullshit? Trust that it comes from a good place. It’s his way of pushing you to be better. Not that you aren't good at what you do already—you wouldn't be here if you weren't—but there’s always room to improve. He shouldn't have brought up your dad. But everything else? He’s brutal but that’s all tough love.  Because at the end of the day his words won't kill you. The mistakes you make up there do.”

She wiped the dust off of her pants as she stood up. “I know there’s a thousand different ways he can go about it but there’s also a shit load more at stake than being named team leader.”

Quick to leave him to think about what she had said, she beelined it to her car. Once the door shut beside her, she leaned her forehead against the wheel. Images of the day flashed in the darkness of her closed eyelids. The constant failures from each of them on the course. Jake’s instigating. Rooster’s outburst. Her intervention. It all happened so fast. 

As she stopped at the stoplight leaving base, her phone rang. Jessie was quick to grab her phone and flip it over to see the caller ID, her face falling at the name. Answering it, she placed it on speaker and set it down on the center console, her hand rejoining the other on the steering wheel. “Sir, I want to apologize for Lieutenant Seresin today. He was out of line and-”

He cut her off. “It’s alright, Rosales. Lieutenant Seresin’s actions aren't what I’m calling you for.”

Oh. “We’re gonna be holding training off-base tomorrow at the Hard Deck.”

“The Hard Deck, sir?”

“Yes, I need you there at 1100 but the rest of the team’s coming at 1200. No uniforms either, come in civvies. Something you can sweat in.”

“Does Admiral Simpson know about this?”

“No. I’ll fill you in when I see you tomorrow. Have a good night, Dice.”

“You too, sir. See you tomorrow.” At the monotonic beeps, she picked up her phone again in one hand, the other still on the wheel. Even if he hadn't been answering, she wasn’t going to stop trying. 

—

He wasn’t sure how long he was sitting there for. All he knew was that the sun was up when he got there and now it was gone, replaced by the white shine of the moon cast along the ocean. Like the setting of the sun, what he knew about his future morphed into a void of uncertainty. But it wasn’t a sudden change. He had felt it happening and chose to ignore it. 

In the twenty-something years he and Jessie have known each other, they've had countless fights and arguments. Not that it was a common occurrence, but they're inevitable even if they're over something so minuscule in hindsight. Today felt different. Maybe he had gone too far. Maybe she’s finally had enough of him. Who was he kidding? He knew this day would come eventually. 

His teammates probably would find it ironic. The famous Hangman being the one left hung out to dry, in his own tears at that. No one else but her knew the actual meaning behind his callsign. She was the one who gave it to him after all. “Don’t worry about them,” she used to say. “You and I know who you are.”

He couldn't get it out of his head. The sharpness of her glare as she stood opposite him. “Why did I do that?” he repeated countless times to himself. Maybe it was just because he could. Or maybe it was envy. His own voice echoed around his skull, overlapping itself and overtaking his senses. 

It’s all your fault.

She hates you now.

You deserve to be alone.

Not good enough.

Fuck-up.

Coward.

That’s what he was. A coward. Too scared to own up to his feelings. Too scared to own up to his actions. As Hangman he felt invincible. Everyone believed their own story, and he played along, hiding behind a reputation he wasn't even sure how he got. The only person to ever see past it was Jessie. In the milliseconds his walls came crumbling down in front of everyone, they caught a glimpse of who he really was. It was fight or flight and in the end, Jake Seresin always chooses flight. 

The sudden seagull squawks pulled him out of his head. The beach was empty now, the footsteps of other people long washed away by the waves that crashed ashore. He still had to go to work the next morning, and he had been out here long enough. Dusting all of the sand off of his clothes that he could, he took one last deep breath as he stared into the open ocean in front of him. Tomorrow’s a new day, Jake. 

Ever since he had taken Amelia home for Penny, he spent a lot of time around the Benjamins. Penny started letting him hang around the house to help her daughter with her homework. Sometimes she'd even invite him over for dinner. In less than a couple days of being back in San Diego, Jake had become an honorary member of the Benjamin family. Sure, he could just go to the Hard Deck to decompress but that was where everyone else went. He didn’t want to torture the squad more than he had to. To his surprise, Penny didn’t hesitate to give him a copy of her house key. Albeit, it was followed by a threat that went along the lines of You so much as break anything or do something stupid in my home or I swear to God. She already knew he wouldn’t do such a thing but it was just funny seeing his face get all white. So when he showed up at her front door that night, his eyes red and puffy, there was no hesitation to let him in. He lost count of how many times he had thanked her as she grabbed some extra linen and pillows and clothes to change into. He didn’t deserve her kindness.

He didn't remember plugging in his phone last night. He didn't even remember asking Penny for a charger to borrow. But there it was, plugged in on the side table of the living room. He only went to look at it to see what time it was but the sight of the dozens of missed calls and unanswered text messages stopped him in his tracks—all of them from Jessie. Text after text. Missed call after missed call. But there was only one voicemail. 

I know you’ve seen my texts and my calls and I know you're ignoring me. 

Despite her being merely a recording, they took a deep breath in unison. Jake’s hand roughly rubbed over his face as she continued to talk.

If you had answered any one of my calls earlier, I probably would have yelled at you. What you said was beyond fucked-up. You had no right to say any of that, Jake. But I know you. I know you need your space right now but don’t shut me out, alright?

Her voice was quiet now, as if she was trying hard for it not to falter. With his eyes shut, he could practically see her trying to maintain her composure. 

Anyways, Mav wants all of y’all at The Hard Deck at 1200 in civvies. Don't dress up though, we’re working out. I think—I don't know, that’s all he told me. Just in case you don't actually listen to this, I texted it to you too amongst the hundreds of the other texts I sent so you better show up. I love you, bub.

When the message ended, he looked at the time stamp. Midnight. Only five hours ago. Jake threw his phone aside and ran his hands over his face, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. It would’ve been fine if things went right back to normal. Well, not entirely fine, but he liked it when his day had structure. It made everything easier. What had happened yesterday and the apparent change in today’s training agenda just left more room for things to go wrong—for him to mess up again. Just the thought of facing everyone sent his mind into overdrive. 

He hadn’t realized how long he had sat in that same position for. The early morning quiet of the Benjamin house allowed him to get lost in his never ending thoughts. He was sure only a few minutes had passed but the sound of footsteps drew him out of his daze. It was then he realized he had been practically staring a hole into Penny’s carpet for the last two hours. 

“Morning, Jake,” Penny greeted, a hot cup of coffee in her hands. “Hope the couch wasn’t too bad.”

He accepted the cup and hummed as he took a sip. “It was fine, Pen.” He took a breath. “Thank you… for letting me crash here. M’sorry for showing up so late, but I didn’t-”

She took a seat next to him. “No need to apologize, sweetie. I understand.” Jake’s head hung as he stared at and fiddled with the cup in his hands. “D’you wanna talk about it?”

He hesitated. “You don’t have to if you don’t-”

“I brought up Goose,” he interrupted quickly. At his admission, Penny took a deep breath and sighed. Despite losing touch with Maverick for a while, she knew what had happened over thirty years ago. How it affected everyone. How it still affects everyone. “I don’t know why I did it. I know how fucked it is but I just- Fuck.”

“I’m guessing you haven’t apologized yet.”

“How could I? I threw his dad’s death in his face,” he shrugged, placing his coffee cup down before throwing his face in his hands. “He’s probably gonna sock me on the spot—not that I don’t deserve it.” Jake took a breath as he tried to compose himself as his eyes started to water.

“No one’s perfect, Jake. Not Maverick. Not Rooster. Not you. We all make mistakes. Some we regret, some we don’t. You obviously regret this one so make up for it. No more running.”

Before she could say any more, Amelia jogged into the living room. “Mom, what’s for- Oh, hey, Jake.”

“Hey, Ames,” he greeted with a small smile on his face as he wiped his eyes. “Didn’t make anything today, kiddo. Go pour yourself some cereal, okay?” The young girl lingered for a second as she looked at her mother and Jake before turning around and heading for the kitchen. No more running.

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the playlist // taglist: (restarting the taglist!)

#fic #top gun #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster #rooster bradshaw #miles teller #maverick #pete maverick mitchell #maverick mitchell #fluff #angst #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #hangman #glen powell #natasha phoenix trace #natasha trace #monica barbaro #phoenix trace #hangman seresin fluff #jake hangman seresin fluff #jake seresin fluff

[ohbother2]

Hi!!

I just wanna say first off that I completely get if you don't respond to this cos it's quite a random question and I hope you're doing well :)

but I wanted to ask! Do you have an oc for Hazbin Hotel?? I'd personally love to know what you're mind's come up with because you write all the characters with so much detail! Ik this I random but a lot of other big creators in the Hazbin Hotel fandom have pitched their own oc's and I was just wondering if you had the same!!

Would love it if you shared, but completely get if not :)) hope you're doing well, can't wait for the alastor fic!!! <3

Hi!!

Can't lie when I saw this ask in my inbox I was really surprised, I didn't think people really cared for oc's tbh

But yes I do! They don't have a name yet though but a very thorough backstory 😅

I guess I could give you some of the brief details? I don't want to swamp my followers with things they're not interested in, so if you guys want to hear any more just lmk :)

Details under the cut to make this easier to scroll past if you're not interested!

Disclaimer - I've had this oc since way back in 2019 when the pilot dropped so she has some similarities to other characters in the series that I wasn't aware of at the time. Also, dark themes ahead watch out.

So, my oc is a woman who died in 1948 at 24 years old.

I head canon that exterminators are a class of people who did 'sinful' deeds but for the right reasons - they go to Heaven but on the condition that they perform this one 'sinful' killing act once a year.

My oc had to kill her brother in self-defence after he suffered from PTSD after WW2 and mistook her as an 'enemy' during a particularly bad flashback. That was the only 'real' sin she committed, so when she went to heaven she was recruited as an exterminator.

She was murdered by her father (strangulation), who could not forgive her for killing her brother. Because of this, she has horrendous trust issues.

She's the oldest of three siblings: two brothers and a sister. Only her youngest brother outlived her.

In heaven, she never sought out her mother or sister, too scared to admit to them what she did, or what happened to their family.

She is technically a 'fallen' angel, but never had her wings removed. She fought with another exterminator over having to kill a child (embarrassingly close to Vaggie's origin story, I was unaware at the time, and may change this to be more original), managed to kill them, but was wounded and unable to make it back to the portal and was left stranded in Hell. She still retains some of her 'angelic' power and attributes because of this. After the portal closed, she was severed from Heaven and took on a 'demon' form. Her wings are tattoos along her back and arms, which can transform into wings if she wants - she rarely does.

She originally tried to persuade exterminators that she was one of them to go back. They just thought she was a sinner trying to lie to them. She's long since given up her hopes of returning to Heaven, and has slowly grown to hate Heaven and the exterminators over her many decades of seeing the effects of the exterminations in Hell.

As a final 'fuck you' to Heaven, she joined the Hazbin Hotel in hopes of screwing up Heaven's preconceptions. She may have the wrong motives, but she's trying her best.

Her love interest is Alastor, but they begin as enemies. It takes a long time for both of them to come around to one another. They bond over their similar time periods, and an odd relationship forms. She has an equally morbid sense of humour after growing up during a particularly bad part of history. Alastor is determined not to let some random sinner be his biggest weakness, she is appalled that such a heinous man could worm his way into her heart. A reluctant love story for both parties.

She's never sought out her father or oldest brother, who are in Hell. She doesn't know what she'd do if she found them - what do you say to the man you killed, and the man who killed you in revenge for that act? She won't admit it, but she's absolutely terrified they'll find her.

She has a lot of demons, and drinks heavily to distract herself from them. She was a 'good soul' on earth, and now that she has free rein she indulges herself as often as she can. She'll never get back to Heaven (she believes) so what does it matter? Men, booze, drugs, does what she wants with it all.

She has a good relationship with Angel Dust, Husk and Sir Pentious. She often hangs out at the bar with them. Despite him being 'The Bartender', even Husk doesn't know her full backstory or how she died, he does notice she hates being touched on the neck, and grows defensive when Alastor constantly pushes this boundary in the first months of knowing her.

She once punched Alastor square in the face in the middle of the hotel lobby for pushing this boundary on the anniversary of her death. He would've killed her on the spot if it weren't for Charlie running in between them. It's this moment that I head canon as the day Alastor realises he actually cares for her more than he thought - he is genuinely upset (and furious for other reasons) that she would push him away so forcefully. He can't allow that.

She gets along well with Niffty, but her childlike antics remind her too much of her younger siblings and she can struggle to be around her for too long. She tries to keep her distance, for her own peace of mind.

Charlie also reminds her of her younger sister, but in a far more 'manageable' way. She does her best to support her with her hopes with the hotel. Vaggie makes sure to keep Charlie 'away' from my oc, she doesn't trust her at all. Vaggie can sense something is off with the hotel's newest resident, but can't quite figure out what. Lucifer is the same.

#Hazbin Hotel oc #can't believe some of you guys are actually interested in this #I've contemplated writing an actual fanfic about this #but that would over the summer after the academic year has ended #hazbin hotel #Hazbin Hotel oc x alastor #alstor

[wild-karrde]

Part 2: The Pillar

Series Master List | Previous Part | Next Part

A/N: ALRIGHTY THEN. Did I intend to write a part 2 for this little ficlet from my 400 follower celebration? No. Did I do it anyway and use it as an excuse to introduce my OC Crater? Yes. Will there be a Part 3? Also yes. I REGRET NOTHING. The biggest of thank you's to @teletraan-meets-jarvis, @sleepingsun501, and @rexxdjarin for helping me make sure my boy gets the best intro and that all of the thoughts/thots about him in my head translated well onto paper! If you'd like a little more info about Crater, you can find his character sheet here.

Pairings: OC Crater x f!Reader, mentioned Gregor x f!Reader

Rating: E (18+ MINORS SKEEDADDLE)

Warnings: language, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, fingering, rough sex, anal play, oral sex, PiV sex, marking, anal sex, sex toy use, cum eating, mention of foursome

Word Count: 13.5k words (I'm sorry... it got away from me so fast)

“KARKING HELLS, CHUCK! Do you have mynock shit between your ears instead of brains?” 

You’re angry. Angrier than you’ve been in a while. And Chuckles isn’t backing down either. 

“I don’t know who the kriff you think you’re talking to, Bolts, but you’d better take a walk before we both say something we’ll regret,” he grits out, teeth clenched and a fire in his eyes. 

But you’re not about to be told what’s what. Not when he’s on your turf. 

“It’s my fucking garage. You don’t like what I’ve got to say? You take a walk.” You jab your finger into his plastoid chestplate threateningly. His nostrils flare as he glares at you, and you can see him teetering on the edge of control.

You’ve gathered a bit of an audience as you and the mohawked clone pilot go nose to nose, some of which are snickering and “ooooh”-ing. 

“Your garage?” Chuckles snarls.

“Yeah, in case you missed it, I run shit around here. And I’m telling you I can’t get your fucking fighter fixed until next week.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“You should have thought about that before smoking your stabilizers flying like a fucking hotshot.” 

“You sure you wanna tell me how to fly my ship, Bolts?” 

“Since you don’t seem to have an idea how to, sure.” 

The vein in his neck is bulging now, and the scar at the corner of his mouth is pulled tight. You’ve known Chuckles long enough to tell that you’ve pushed all the right buttons to get a rise out of him.

Good. Asshole. 

“I thought Gregor fucked the grump out of her,” Strike mutters from his seat on a crate, which garners more snickers. You whirl on him, brandishing a wrench and waving it menacingly at the pilot. 

“You want me to fix your face next, shithead? Got the only thing I need for that right here.”

Strike scowls, pushing himself to a standing position. “You’re out of line, Bolts.” 

“I’m out of line? Fuck you.”

“That’s enough.” 

The jeers and laughter grow silent and the crowd parts as the commanding officer of the 28th Combat Wing strides forward, carrying his helmet under one arm. Crater’s voice is gruff as he steps in between Chuckles and you, glancing back and forth between the two of you. 

“She’s right, and you know it Chuckles. You’ve been told before not to fly in that config. You know it burns out the stabs faster. Now, I’m sure you’ll get your fighter as quickly as Bolts can get to it. Isn’t that right, Bolts?” 

You glare at him, but his eyes demand a response. “When I get the parts.” 

Crater watches you for another moment before nodding. He seems to understand that’s as much of a concession as he’s going to get out of you right now.

And then he whirls on Strike. “And you will learn to hold your fucking tongue. We don’t do that shit here. You want to air other people’s business out in front of everyone? You go run for the fucking senate. Until then, you keep the scuttlebutt you hear to yourself.”

“Didn’t hear anything. Just not hard to put two and two together,” Strike mutters under his breath. 

Crater strides forward until he’s looming over Strike. They’re the same height, but somehow, the captain towers over the other pilot. His tone is low and dangerous, his voice dropping to a gravelly octave that makes you shiver. “I know you haven’t been off of Kamino long, but around here, you don’t speak to a commanding officer that way. Especially when you don’t have a single scratch on that shiny fucking armor.” 

Strike swallows slightly but says nothing else. 

Crater glares down at him for one more second, pinning him with his gaze before he turns and addresses the rest of the onlookers. “Now all of you get to the fucking barracks and get cleaned up. You stink to the seven hells.” 

The squad departs, some of them still shooting dirty looks over their shoulders at you, especially Chuckles.

He’ll get over it.

You turn on your heel, heading towards your private office in the corner of the garage. The door’s been off track for a while, so you slam it open unceremoniously and stride inside. Just as you go to slide it shut with a grunt, a gloved hand slips around the edge, keeping it open. You glance up and meet Crater’s eyes. 

“Can we talk?” 

You shrug, stepping away from the door and plopping down on the creaky chair by your desk. The joints protest as you lean back in it, threatening to finally give out and dump you on your ass. Crater shuts the door behind him before setting his helmet on your desk and leaning a shoulder against the wall, crossing his arms as he studies you. He looks tired, and you’re not sure if it’s the campaign he just got back from or his men or you. A small pang of guilt shoots through you as he meets your eyes, raising his scarred eyebrow at you.

“You wanna tell me what the hell that was all about?” 

You sniff, shrugging as you pick some lint off your jumpsuit. “Nothin’. Just a scuffle.”

“Seems like you’re getting into more and more of those.” 

You and Crater have always gotten along just fine, finding a mutual respect and trust almost immediately. He always seems to have everything figured out, and you’ve never seen him fly off the handle like some of his brothers. In fact, the incident in the garage just now is the most upset you’ve seen him, and even that was hardly more than a growl and a few threats. You admire his leadership. He always seems to find the right thing to say to each of the various personalities on his squad, but sometimes you dislike when he deploys the same understanding on you. It unnerves you to a degree. 

Now, you roll your eyes at his observation, astute as it is. “Your boys don’t listen, Crate. Neither do any of the other flyboys that come through here. Everyone’s shit is broken because they can’t be bothered to fly with an ounce of sensibility, and then they’re all pissed when it takes time to get repairs done.” You wave your hand at the stacks of datapads and flimsi that are stacked on your desk. “I’ve got backorders on backorders, out-of-date maintenance logs, you name it. But I’m one person. And there’s not exactly a line to come work down here.” 

“You’re stressed,” he notes. 

“No shit.” 

“Overwhelmed.” 

“Tired of giving orders and making requests that are ignored.” 

“Tired of being in charge?”

“Sometimes. Yeah,” you admit. “But someone has to be.”

He nods. “When’s Gregor planetside again?” 

You glare at him, but he gives you a knowing look. You sigh. “Who the kriff knows? That’s not a regular thing, by the way. Just a way to blow off steam. But it’s been months since I saw him last. Seems he’s being kept busy.” You worry about the commando sometimes, but you’re not about to admit it. Judging by the look Crater gives you, you don’t need to. 

“And you were more tolerable when it was happening,” he teases.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, I’m on my own in that department for the foreseeable future.” 

You don’t know why you feel comfortable talking with him about Gregor. Probably because it felt less like an accusation and more of just a concerned observation, not like he was looking to get more gossip at your expense. 

Because you trust him. Maybe too much.

Crater is quiet for a moment, watching you carefully, clearly weighing something. 

“What?”

He smirks. 

“Well, if you’d ever like to blow off some steam, let me know. But you can’t keep taking it out on my men.” 

You snort out a laugh. “Crate, I don’t think you can help with that.” 

“Oh, I think I could.” 

“How so?” Your curiosity is piqued, particularly with the way his grin is playful but his eyes have darkened considerably. You’re in denial internally about what he might be implying, but that only lasts for another second as Crater huffs a quiet laugh before closing the distance between you. He puts one gloved hand on your desk, leaning over you as his other hand comes to rest just above your shoulder, gripping the back of your chair. Your stomach flutters as he stares down at you, tilted back in your chair so far you feel as though you’d tip over if he let go. The chair creaks, but you hardly note it over the sound of blood rushing in your ears. You can feel his breath on your cheek and your cunt throbs at the realization he’s standing between your knees, your toes barely touching the floor with the way he has you tipped backward. You feel as though you can’t breathe. He’s studying you again, clearly making a final judgment call before he speaks. 

“I think you’d like someone else to take charge for once. So you can let go.” 

His voice is so low, it feels as though it rumbles every organ in you and sends shivers down your spine. He’s so close, you can smell him, see the tattoos on his neck that just barely poke out above the collar of his black undersuit, and the greys that are beginning to dot his dark chestnut beard and hair. You’ve always thought Crater was attractive. You’d have to be blind not to, but you’d never anticipated having him lean over you like this, so close that you can feel the heat radiating off of him while he suggests things like that. 

At least, you think that’s what he’s suggesting. 

You can’t help but tremble slightly at the thought as his eyes bore holes into yours. Your thighs clench together subconsciously, and his eyes dart downwards, watching you squirm. He laughs in a low rasp that promises trouble, straightening and picking his helmet up off the desk. You haven’t moved, but he’s already at your door, pushing it open again. 

“Remember what I said, Bolts. All of it.” 

And with that, he’s gone. 

—

Weeks pass. Nothing gets better. If anything, things get worse. A major supply hyperspace lane gets shut down by Separatist forces, meaning parts are even harder to come by, causing even more delays. At least the clone pilots seem more understanding, the 28th Wing in particular. You aren’t sure if Crater privately met with his men, but they have been suddenly more lenient with you. The natborns, however, make up for it by being infinitely more terrible. 

“THIS IS COMPLETELY UNACCEPTABLE,” one particularly surly human admiral rants, spittle flying unchecked as you don’t even bother looking up from your datapad. “You are to have those fighters ready to go within a rotation. That is an order.” 

“Well, unfortunately for you, Admiral, I don’t take orders from the GAR,” you mutter. “And unless you’ve got a stash of converters, stabilizers, hyperdrive capacitors, and power couplings in your back pocket, no, your fighters will not be ready to go in a rotation.”

“I’ll have your job for this.” 

You’re exhausted, but can’t help but give him a smug smirk, nudging him even closer to an explosion. He’s easy prey in that respect, hardly sporting, but it’s been a miserable week, and you’re ready to have some fun. He’s not the first officer to try to intimidate you with unemployment, and you know he’s unlikely to be the last. But you also know it’s an empty threat. No one else could handle this work. If that person existed, the GAR would already have hired them since you’ve pissed off everyone else. 

“I have work to do, Admiral. So if you’re done bloviating, get out of my office and try to have a lovely evening.”

The man is practically purple with rage, veins bulging from his throat above his tight Republic collar. He clearly isn’t used to having people check him, and his response is even more telling. 

“I’d heard you were challenging, but really, you’re just a frigid little bitch.” 

That does it. 

You stand, kicking your seat away from you. It rolls into the back wall with a loud crash. “You wanna try that again, Admiral?” you ask, charging towards him with anger heating your cheeks. He’s taller than you, but that’s never stopped you, and you certainly aren’t going to let some washed-up asshole that reeks of stale caf and cheap cologne talk to you like that in your own office. His fists clench, and you almost hope he swings first so you have an excuse to pummel him right there. 

“Problem in here?” 

You both whirl to look at the doorway. There stands Crater, helmet on and cocked to the side as he studies the both of you. His posture is completely relaxed, as if he didn’t just walk in on the start of a physical altercation. 

It takes all of the wind out of your sails. 

The admiral turns and smirks down at you, clearly convinced he’s won by your reaction. “I was just leaving.” He pushes past Crater, exiting the office. Crater’s visor never leaves you, but you can’t look at him. 

You’re fuming. Angry that nothing’s going right. Angry that your garage can’t run efficiently and the reasons are completely out of your control. Angry that you didn’t sock that admiral in the jaw. Angry that he got the best of you and he knows it. 

Crater says your name, but you don’t look up, trying to slow your breathing. He sighs and turns to leave. 

You make a decision. 

“Captain.” 

He turns back. 

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips as you plunge into uncharted territory.

“I’ll take you up on that offer you made a few weeks back.” 

He doesn’t move for a moment before, clearly making sure you won’t change your mind. Some of your fire returns at his hesitation, and you jut your chin out defiantly. 

“Chickening out on me?” you challenge.

In an instant, he’s closed the distance between you and has backed you up against the wall. Your breath fogs his visor as he stares down at you, resting his hand against your throat. 

“You certain you want to be a brat right out of the gate?” 

You swallow hard, feeling the gloved palm of his hand press against your neck. 

“Might want to pace yourself. Otherwise you’ll be in for a long night,” he warns.

“What makes you think that isn’t what I was hoping for?”

He chuckles darkly, and the helmet’s modulator seems to make it even more intimidating. 

“What are your hard no’s?” 

“You’ll be hard-pressed to find them,” you reply. Your mouth is dry, but other places are already soaking. You’re almost glad he has you braced against the wall because your knees suddenly feel gelatinous beneath you. 

He tilts his head. “Think on it a bit more. Have an answer when I come back from my briefing. Then we’ll begin.” He releases your throat and steps back. “Be ready.” 

He once again leaves you alone in your office, shivering in his absence. 

How the fuck do I get ready for this?

You brush your hair out of your face, catching a glance at your reflection in the small mirror you have stuck to one wall. You’re covered in grease and sweat, and your hair is sticking out at odd angles. 

A shower then. 

You’re glad the day’s over as you slide your office door closed. It would be hard to concentrate on anything else right now. You push through the door that connects to the small apartment and refresher that have become your home away from home. It had been one of your few stipulations when you took the job, knowing you’d rarely make it back down to your lower-level Coruscant apartment. It had originally been a large storage closet, but with some work, you’d converted it into a decent-sized bedroom, stacking a few changes of clothes in an empty crate in one corner. The bed was at least comfortable, tucked up against one wall with a small bedside table next to it. You quickly shove the dirty clothes strewn on the floor in a corner before shucking off your jumpsuit and hurriedly showering. You don’t have any sort of lingerie or anything remotely alluring here, and you’re considering what to wear while wrapped in a towel when you hear a soft knock at your door. 

You turn and find Crater’s silhouette looming there, blocking out the dim light of your office. 

“That was a quick briefing.”

He shrugs as if he’s used to coming upon you in only a towel. 

“You shut the office door?” you ask.

“Yes. And you should really get that fixed.” His helmet is off, and his dark eyes are roving over you and your towel-covered body. 

“Add it to my list,” you mutter, trying to maintain some sort of confidence under his stare. “I’m sure that admiral will be so pleased to hear it takes priority over his fighters.” 

He snorts in amusement as he steps into the room, shutting the apartment door behind him. He sets the helmet on the ground before he starts peeling off the top half of his armor, one piece of plastoid at a time, and neatly stacking it in the corner. 

“Did you think more on what your hard no’s are?” he asks. 

You’d come up with a few and rattle them off. 

“Those are fairly extreme. Don’t think you’ll have to worry about that,” he rasps. The top half of his armor is completely off now, and he rolls up the sleeves of his black shirt as he approaches you, circling you slowly. “But I’m glad you put serious thought into it and came up with something.” 

“You got anything I need to avoid doing?” you ask, trying not to nervously rock on your heels. You’d rarely had issues with people seeing you naked, but for some reason, Crater’s gaze has you feeling timid, even with the towel still hiding your body.

“I don’t think you’ll get there, but I’ll let you know if you get close,” he replies as he comes to a stop in front of you. His sleeves are rolled all the way to his elbows, and you can see the tendrils of the other end of his tattoos poking out on his forearms. You’d never realized how far his tattoos stretched, only ever having seen the fine lines that poked out of the collar of his shirt. Now, you find you want to know how much of his skin is inked and how far the pattern stretches. 

“My eyes are up here, gorgeous.” 

You flush, but raise your eyes to meet his steady gaze. He’s watching you carefully and fuck, you want to squirm with him looking at you like that. 

“So you respond to praise then. You prefer that?”

You shrug. “Could go both ways.”

“Where would you like me to cum?”

You can’t help but smirk at that question, but his expression is stern. “Wherever you like,” you reply. “I’ve got an implant.”

He hums, gently brushing some of your damp hair out of your face, a tender gesture that contrasts sharply with his next question. “May I mark you?” 

“Nowhere the jumpsuit can’t cover.”

“How rough would you like me to be?” 

You think for a moment. “Breathplay is good. Impact too. Bruising is fine. Nothing that would draw blood.” 

He smirks. “Good girl.” 

Your thighs rub together, and he notices, huffing a quiet laugh. 

“Toys I can use?”

You point to the bedside table. “In that drawer.” 

“You know the color system?”

You nod.

“Give me your definitions.” 

“Green is good. Yellow is slow down. Red is stop.” 

“And if you can’t verbally communicate?”

“Three taps.” You reach out and demonstrate on his chest, letting your fingertips rest there.

He catches your hand. “I want to be very clear here. You are under no obligation to do anything with me. And if you say red, we stop. No debate, no questions. This is for your benefit, so I’ll push, but when I hit a limit, you have to let me know. Deal?”

You can’t help but smile there. “Deal.”

“Any other last requests?”

“Ruin me.” The words fall out of your mouth before you realize you’ve said them, but you don’t regret them. You need this, and he can see it. Crater’s eyes darken even more, and he grins wickedly as he pulls your wrist to his lips. You feel his beard scratch your skin, and you shiver at the thought of where else you may feel that sensation before the night is over. 

“With pleasure.” He cups your jaw, running a thumb over your lower lip. “You will refer to me as Captain or sir. Understood?”

A thrill shoots through you, and you push your luck, shrugging. “Sure.”

His nostrils flare and his grip on your jaw tightens. “You are such a fucking brat,” he whispers. “I'll fix that.” He grips the towel, giving it a firm yank and tossing it in the corner. He steps back and studies you. You shiver again, although you can’t be sure if it’s from the chill on your damp skin or his piercing gaze. He circles you again, inspecting every inch of your body. You feel yourself tremble slightly as he leans in, his breath hot against your ear. “On your knees.” 

You think about pushing him further, but decide against it, at least for the moment, slowly sinking to your knees and gazing up at him expectantly. 

“Open your mouth.” 

You narrow your eyes at him. He squats down in front of you, balancing on the balls of his feet, watching you. You start to giggle from nerves, but his hand rockets out, catching your jaw again and squeezing until your lips part from the pressure.

He slips the tip of his glove into your mouth. 

“Bite,” he grits out. 

He loosens his hold just enough for you to do as you’re told this time, gently taking the tip of the fabric between your teeth. His fingers slip out of the glove, and he takes it from you. He repeats the exercise with his other glove, tucking them both in his back pocket. Warm tan fingers press on your lower lip, and you open your mouth, allowing him in. Two fingers slide in, pressing on your tongue. Saliva pools in your mouth, but Crater keeps your jaw pried open until you feel some drool slide down your chin. 

“Messy girl,” he rasps. “Suck.” 

You close your lips around his fingers, sucking gently on the pads. You can taste his sweat, slightly salty against your tongue. 

“Oh, come on, gorgeous. With a mouth like that, I expected more. You’re going to have to do better than that if you want me to let you suck my cock later.” 

You feel your cunt throb and you inhale sharply as warmth floods between your legs. You’re certain you’re dripping onto the floor by now, and it’s only been a few minutes. 

“You like that thought, don’t you?” Crater asks, shoving his fingers into the back of your throat. You gag, and he starts to withdraw, but you catch his wrist, pressing his fingers deeper while you run your tongue over his knuckles. 

Crater’s brow furrows and his lips part slightly as he watches you gag again on his fingers, but you keep going, obediently sliding them in and out of your mouth. You hum around him, and you can see he’s fighting to maintain control. You grin. 

“Something to say, pretty girl?” he asks, shoving another finger into your mouth. “Go on.” 

“Having fun, Captain?” is what you try to ask, but it comes out garbled around his digits. 

“Try again, gorgeous. I can’t understand you.” 

You glare up at him and he smirks before withdrawing his fingers. 

“I was always told it’s rude to talk with my mouth full, sir,” you snark. 

“You’ve had no problem being rude up until this point,” he murmurs, letting his damp hand trail across your collarbone before grazing your breast. 

You clench around nothing. It's been months since anyone touched you. 

He notices your response, raising his eyebrow as he pinches one nipple between his fingers and tugs it gently. You whimper quietly. 

“Needy,” he observes. 

“Been a while.” He pinches your nipple harder. “Sir,” you gasp. 

“Hmm.” He releases you, pushing himself to a standing position. You shift, trying to gain some source of friction, but he slips a knuckle under your chin, tilting your head upwards. “None of that. You take what I give, and nothing more. Understood?” 

You bat your eyelashes at him. “Yes, sir.” 

Crater stares down at you with an unamused expression for another half a beat before releasing you. He crosses your room to your nightstand and pulls open the drawer, rummaging inside. You can see his eyes raking over the contents, carefully cataloging everything before he holds up your plug, glancing over at you. 

“You stretch yourself on this?” 

“Yes, sir,” you say quietly. 

“Anyone ever taken you there?”

“No.” It’s something you’ve always wanted to try, but you’ve never had a partner you felt bold enough to ask. And those that have asked have always seemed too eager. So you’ve resorted to toys, stuffing your ass full with the plug as you fucked your cunt with another toy. But no matter how many times you came, teeth clenched around the fabric of your pillowcase, your curiosity about the real thing still wasn’t sated. You always knew it would have to be with someone you trust completely, someone you know won’t push you or your boundaries just to lay claim to you. 

Someone like Crater. 

He stays silent, clearly expecting more from you. 

You try to stutter out a more thorough response. “B-but I like to feel full when I…”

“When you what, pretty girl?” 

“When I fuck myself.” 

The corner of his lip curls. “Filthier than I thought. Good.” He takes out a bottle of lube, your dildo with the remote, and the plug and sits on the bed with them next to him. He leans forward on his knees, crooking a finger towards you. 

“Come here, gorgeous.” 

You grin, falling forward on your hands and crawling towards him, allowing your ass to sway back and forth. His face remains neutral as you slide between his knees, running your hands over the plastoid that still covers his thighs. You’ve always been good at finding the right buttons to push with people, but Crater has largely remained a mystery to you in all the time that you’ve known him. Now, you watch carefully as you scrape your fingers closer to his inner thigh, watching for any telltale twitch. You want to see if you can make him crack. 

He’s immovable. 

“You seem to think this is some sort of competition,” he says quietly, as though he can read your thoughts. “You won’t break me, sweetheart.” 

You pout your lips. “You’re no fun.” 

He slips one hand into your hair and grips tightly, pulling your head back as he leans over you again. You can feel the roots of your hair tug sharply, and it sends another thrill through you. Crater leans forward to whisper directly into your ear. His beard scrapes your cheek, and his breath is hot against the shell of your ear. “You’re still being a brat.”

“I thought pilots enjoyed a challenge,” you manage to gasp. 

“I do.” He releases your hair, and you sit back. He shifts back on the bed and pats his knees. You start to straddle one, but he places a hand on your hip, stilling you. “No, love. Over them.” 

Your legs quiver at the realization of what he’s asking, and your mouth falls open slightly. 

“Tick-tock, pretty girl. The longer you stand there and waste my time, the longer this’ll be.” 

You drape yourself over his thighs slowly, shuddering at the chill of the plastoid and how the edges of it bite into your skin. You rest your elbows and knees on the mattress on either side of him, balancing as he pushes down on the small of your back to arch it to his liking. Your ass is in the air, and it feels so exposed. Crater rubs small circles in your spine before allowing his hand to drift downward, lightly passing over the curve of your ass. You feel your skin explode in an array of goosebumps as a jolt shoots through you. You unleash a shuddering breath. 

“You are needy. So eager to be touched,” he teases as he traces down the curve of your ass, curling his fingers on the inside of your thigh. He’s so close to where you want him, but he steers clear of your dripping cunt. For now. 

“I think fifteen is a good start considering how you’ve behaved the last few weeks,” he rasps. “And if you’re good, I’ll let you have my cock.”

“Fifteen, huh? Can you count that high, Captain?” you ask, earning yourself a sharp pinch to your nipple with his other hand. You inhale sharply, biting back a curse. 

“Twenty then. And you’ll be the one counting. I’m sure you can do that, can’t you, smart girl?” 

You open your mouth to retort, but the first smack lands hard, biting into the skin of your asscheek. Heat floods through you and your mouth falls open. 

You’re already craving another. 

“Count for me, or we start over.” 

“One,” you pant. 

He continues, landing some blows over the same area, and you can feel the heat and redness bloom there. Other times, he moves onto an untouched patch of skin, and the shock of sudden pain makes you squirm, desperate for some sort of friction against your neglected clit. It feels as though electricity is licking up your spine with every strike, the pain giving way to a euphoria you’ve never before experienced as his warm palm soothes your stinging skin in between each blow. 

But you keep count. 

“See, I knew you could be a good girl for me. You’re doing so well,” he whispers as he rubs the place you’re certain he just left a handprint. “Halfway there.” One hand curls around your thigh again, and you feel fingers finally brush against your folds, slipping along them with ease. “I see you’re enjoying yourself,” Crater observes. “You’re soaked.” He lifts his fingers to his lips, sucking your taste off of them before he lets his hand slip back between your legs, sinking two of his thick digits into you. You fist the blankets as the next blow lands at the same time Crater curls his fingers inside of you. 

“Ah fuck! Eleven!” 

Crater pulls out slightly out before pressing back into the knuckle, driving into you. He finds the spongy place inside of you and bears down on it as he spanks you again in the same place. Your eyes roll back into your head. 

“T-twelve.” 

“Good girl.”

SMACK.

“Thirteen,” you whine. The plastoid is so cold against your heated, sweaty skin as you writhe in his lap, trying to press back against his hand. He adds a third finger. 

“Who would have known all it took for you to be nicer was a few spanks and some fingers in your pussy?” Crater chuckles. “Such a desperate girl.” 

“Please,” you whisper. 

“Please what?” 

“More.” 

“So polite all of a sudden.” He presses against your asshole with his thumb, and you arch your back, pushing against him. “Oh, you want me to take you there, don’t you? Want me to claim your ass tonight?” 

You do. You want him to, and he knows it. You mouth a silent “yes” as you glance back at him, and his eyebrow raises at your muted admission.

Crater hums as he pushes harder against the tight ring of muscle and you gasp. Your knuckles are white with how hard you’re gripping the sheets. 

“Color?”

“Green. Fuck. Green.” 

SMACK.

“FOURTEEN.” 

Your breath is coming in short pants as he rubs at the raised, tender flesh of your ass. You hear the click of a cap, and suddenly his thumb is pressed back against your asshole again, slicker than before. He pushes forward, breaching the tight ring of muscle as he curls his fingers in your cunt again. 

“Oh, Maker, yes. Right there, Crate-”

SMACK.

“It’s Captain or sir,” he reminds you in that same gravelly tone he used on Strike, sending a shiver through you. “Now what do we say when someone gives you what you want?”

“Fifteen! Thank you, sir,” you gasp, tears starting to pool in the corners of your eyes.

“Good girl.” 

You clench around his fingers at the praise, and he huffs another laugh, pressing his thumb deeper into your ass. He lands the next few blows in rapid succession. 

SMACK.

“SIXTEEN. THANK YOU, CAPTAIN.”

SMACK.

“FUCK. SEVENTEEN. THANK YOU, SIR.” 

You can feel the coil tightening in your stomach as he lands two more, nearing the end. After nineteen, you’re babbling in his lap, desperately pressing back against his hand, trying to fuck yourself on his fingers. 

“You think you deserve to cum?” he asks.

“Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease,” you whimper. 

“Not yet, pretty girl.” 

SMACK.

“Twenty,” you sob. 

He removes his fingers from you, and you immediately feel painfully empty. His other palm rests on your back, rubbing soothing circles as you feel your pulse in your fluttering, empty cunt.

“You did so well,” he praises. You quiver under his touch. “Are you still green?”

“Still g-green,” you stutter. 

“Louder.”

“Green,” you declare more firmly.

“Good. Lie down.” 

He helps you stand on shaky legs, carefully moving you to lie on your back on the bed. You feel the softness of the blanket rub against the inflamed skin of your ass and thighs, and you shudder at the thought of the marks that’ll be there tomorrow, a reminder of your night with the captain. 

But he’s far from done with you. 

“Wait here,” he commands. “Don’t touch yourself.”

“Yes, sir,” you sigh with a hint of a whine. 

He retreats to the refresher, washing his hand before he comes back, his head tilted as he watches you, laid out for him on your bed. He quickly removes the rest of his armor and boots, grinning smugly as your eyes follow every new part of him that’s exposed to you. You want him, and he knows it. Reaching for his waist, he tugs his shirt up and over his head, tossing it next to his armor. 

He’s fucking stunning. You knew he would be, but somehow still weren’t prepared. The tattoos you’d seen evidence of curl from his elbows over his shoulders, weaving in geometric patterns across his collarbone and shoulder blades before reaching up his neck, where they end. Each line seems to flawlessly frame a muscle or tendon, perfectly accentuating it. His body is littered with small scars, with one larger one visible on his hip, dipping below the waistline of his pants. Without his codpiece, you can see the pronounced outline of his cock, straining against the black fabric. Your mouth waters, and you lick your lips, meeting his eyes. 

“Not yet,” he teases.

You’re huffy now, having recovered slightly from your denied orgasm, and he glowers at you as you pout. 

“Hands under the headboard,” he orders. You glare at him for another moment, and he raises his eyebrow again in warning. You concede, slipping your fingers under the wooden edge and gripping it tightly. “Good. Keep them there,” he orders as he slowly approaches the bed. “Or else I’ll get some binders.” 

“Probably the most use they’ll have gotten,” you snicker. 

“You really want to make this difficult?”

“Got a reputation to keep up.” 

He snorts before climbing onto the bed and straddling you, lowering his body onto yours slowly. You can feel the warmth of his chest against your skin, and your body is screaming at you to wrap your legs around him, but you really aren’t that interested in the binders that he threatened you with. 

You’re more interested in getting his cock inside of you as quickly as possible. 

Crater is infuriatingly patient and precise in his motions, but then again, you suppose that’s why he commands an entire combat wing. He slips his hand into your hair again, gripping but not pulling. He tilts your head slightly, exposing your neck to him. “If I remember correctly, your jumpsuit collar goes to about here,” he whispers, nosing at the perceived boundary on the skin of your throat. His beard is tickling you, and you’re shaking with anticipation. “That seem right to you?” 

“Yes, s-sir,” you stutter. 

“Already a mess and I’ve hardly started,” he rasps, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll have you begging soon enough.” He kisses your neck, and you let out a sharp exhale. You’ve tried to play it neutral, but somehow, he’s zoned in on the exact spot you like to be kissed, the spot that drives you wild. And he notices the way you respond, bearing down on it with his teeth and tongue. You start to grind against him, desperate for any sort of friction, desperate to feel his cock. You manage to catch the head of it on your clit through his pants, rubbing for a millisecond before his unoccupied hand locks firmly on your hip, holding you still. 

“You’ll take what I give, pretty girl,” he snarls in your ear. “And the longer you’re greedy, the longer you’ll wait to have me fill that pretty pussy.” 

You whine but relent, letting him resume his attack on your neck and collar bone. He works slowly and methodically, marking you as he works his way to your breasts, where he seemingly spends an eternity lavishing them with attention. He sucks bruises, he bites gently, and he takes your nipples in his mouth, paying special attention to what makes you writhe and gasp. 

And then he moves lower, slipping between your legs and kissing just below your navel as he spreads your legs wide with his hands on the back of your thighs. His breath is so warm against your dripping cunt, and you spasm in his grip as he blows on you purposefully. 

“Asshole,” you grumble. 

He bites the inside of your thigh hard, and you yelp. Looking down, you can already see the bruise blossoming where his teeth caught your skin. 

“Only nice girls get to cum. Now, remember, keep your hands where they are.” 

He nuzzles against the flesh of your unmarked thigh, placing warm kisses and gentle bites. His beard scrapes the tender skin just before his teeth graze you, threatening to mark you where only you’ll see. You close your eyes, tipping your head back as you try to fight the way your legs are trembling, but that earns you a sharp slap to the inside of your thigh. 

“Eyes on me, pretty girl.” 

You catch your lip between your teeth as you obey, your eyes finding his brown ones, which seem to be practically glowing. He keeps his gaze locked with yours as he nuzzles your clit, blowing on it gently. You whine, and your legs try to close, but he firmly holds them open. 

“I’m going to break you,” he whispers. “By the time I’m done, all you’ll know is my name and the word ‘please’.” 

You tremble again just as he dives in, driving his tongue and eating you ravenously as you gasp and thrash in his grasp. 

Crater is a master at pulling you apart slowly, and he takes his time, working you to the edge with his tongue and mouth and then chuckling as he pulls away, leaving you trembling and crying out in frustration. He’s a quick study and eventually adds his fingers, thrusting into your cunt as he suckles at your clit in the way that he now knows will have you clenching and gasping. The third time he deprives you, you unleash a frustrated growl, and he laughs quietly at your frustration. 

“Please, Captain,” you whine. “Please.” 

“Not yet.” 

He goes at you again, alternating with his tongue and his fingers, and it feels as though it only takes seconds for your body to begin to tighten, begging for the release that he’s robbed you of. 

“Knew you’d taste good,” he mumbles into your skin as he presses his fingers back inside of you. “So sweet and warm.” 

“P-p-please. Please.” 

He nips at your thigh and you cry out, tears leaping into your eyes as droplets of perspiration dot your forehead. Crater bears down on the spot inside of you, watching you as you babble. 

“Please, I'll do anything you want. Please, sir, please. I need it.”

“Tell me what you need, gorgeous.” 

“I need to cum. Please. Do anything you want to me. Please just let me cum. PLEASE!”

“Not yet.”

You sob. 

He keeps working you, disintegrating your resolve with every pass of his tongue and his fingers. The scratch of his beard is delicious, contrasting sharply with the warmth of his mouth and the soft press of his tongue against you as he laps at your heat.

“Captain, please. Gods above, I’ll let you have anything.” 

“Anything?”

“Yes. I’ll suck your cum out of your cock. You can have my ass. I’ll give you anything.”

He chuckles. “At the bargaining phase, are we?” 

The tears are streaming from your eyes, and you unleash a choked sob. 

“Ask me again.”

You’re gasping now, teetering on the edge. 

“Please, Captain. Please let me cum.”

“Good girl.” He kisses your clit, and you moan, your knuckles aching from how hard you’re holding the headboard. 

“Cum for me.” 

You do, screaming his name as your body spasms with wave after wave of your orgasm. He holds you in place, working you through it until your body finally sags into the bed, slick with sweat and wrung out. Your mind is hazy as you feel him crawl up next to you, pressing his fingers against your lips. You let your mouth fall open, welcoming them in as you clean your release from the pads of his fingers. When he’s satisfied, he leans over you and kisses you, and you can feel how wet his beard is from your release. He reaches up as he kisses you, pulling your hands from the headboard. You immediately bury them in his dark curls, running your fingers over the back of his head, relishing this new touch he’s permitted. 

The way Crater kisses you feels as though he’s stealing the air from your lungs. His tongue gently finds its way inside your mouth, running along your lower lip as his hands wander your body, gently rubbing and caressing. After what feels like an eternity and not long enough, he relents, resting his forehead against yours. 

“Are you ready to continue, my gorgeous girl?” 

“Yes, sir.” You’d been determined to make this harder for him, but he’s broken you, and you’re more than ready to bend to whatever his will may be. You trust him implicitly, just like you always have, but somehow, it feels deeper now. You know as rough as he may be with you here, he’ll never hurt you in a way you don’t ask for. His eyes are staring directly into yours as he strokes your cheek tenderly. 

“So good for me,” he whispers. He kisses your cheek, moving along your jaw until he reaches your ear. He gently takes your earlobe between his teeth as he grips your thigh, coaxing you to wrap your legs around him. You do it immediately, quivering again at the thought of finally being filled by his cock. 

Crater is kicking his pants off as he whispers into your ear. “Now that you’re being good, I’m going to fuck you until you’re boneless. You’re going to cum exactly as many times as I want you to, and no less. But you have to ask me first, and ask nicely. Do you understand?” 

You nod. 

“Use your words, love.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“Color?” 

You can feel the head of his cock resting against the puffy, soaked lips of your pussy. Crater is stroking himself against your slit, coating himself with your release. You look down and see he’s as big as Gregor, but with a little more girth, and Maker above you’ve never wanted anything more. 

“Green.” 

He grunts as he notches his head at your entrance. “Good girl.” 

Crater enters you slowly, watching your face as he breaches you. Your release makes it easier to take him, but not easy. You feel your walls stretch to accommodate him as he slowly thrusts shallowly into you, pressing a little deeper each time. Every time his head catches your entrance, you whimper, and he responds with a thrust. You can feel how tightly you’re stretched around him, every ridge apparent as he takes what you’re more than willing to surrender.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this,” he whispers. 

You reach up to touch his face, and he catches your hand, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist before he leans forward and captures your lips again. He groans into your mouth as he bottoms out, pressing his hips against yours, and the feeling of him inside of you is bliss you’ve never experienced. He stays still, but his entire body is tensed, a taut spring waiting to be unleashed. He strokes your cheek. 

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I won’t be gentle.” 

You raise your head, grazing his lips with yours. “I don’t want you to be.” 

He chuckles darkly. “Good.” 

His hips draw back before slamming against yours, and you see stars as the head of his cock finds the perfect place inside you. He starts off at a steady but hard pace, knocking the wind from you with every thrust of his hips. His hands wander your body, squeezing your breasts, playing with your clit, finding every place that makes you unfurl more underneath him. 

At one point, he sits up, placing his hands at the back of your knees and pushing them towards your chest. The angle of his next thrust has you screaming to religious entities you don’t even believe in as he reaches impossibly deeper inside of you. His thrusts are deliberate and perfectly timed, his fingers bruising, and it’s not long before you’re pleading with him again. 

“Maker, I’m gonna cum again. Please let me cum, Captain. Please.” 

“Yeah? Already? You’re not making this very difficult.” He sheathes himself to the hilt and holds there. It feels as though he’s rearranging your insides, and you’re shocked you can’t see an outline of his cock through your stomach. 

“Gods. Please, Crate. I’m so full.” Tears are leaking from the corners of your eyes as he drags himself out again, leaving just the head inside of you. His thumb presses against your clit with a feather-light touch, and you jolt at the contact, whining desperately. 

“Not yet, you’re not,” he rasps. You feel his fingers prod at your asshole, and you fist the sheets, arching your back as your mouth falls open. You hear the click of the lube bottle opening again. 

“Color?”

“G-green.” 

His cock slips from you, and you want to scream, but he holds your legs where they are, and you feel the blunt head of the plug nudge your other entrance. 

“Relax for me, pretty girl.” 

You do, inhaling and exhaling deeply as you quiver with anticipation. The plug slips inside you, and it’s bliss you’ve never experienced. Crater watches you for a moment before he slides his cock back inside of your pussy, folding you back in half again. 

You’ve never felt this full before, never this pleasured, and you’re not sure you’ll ever feel this way again. 

But you need it. 

“Fuck. Don’t stop.”

A hand settles on your throat, firmer than the last time he grasped you like that.

“Eyes open for me, love.”

You didn’t even realize you’d closed them, but your eyes flutter open and find Crater’s in the dim lighting. They’re piercing. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and his gaze follows it. 

“Do as you’re told, yeah?” he groans. 

“Yes, sir,” you gasp. 

The grip on your throat tightens slightly, pressing on the sides. “Squeeze for me.” 

You focus on contracting your muscles even though your mind feels like a blur. Crater grunts as your cunt tightens around him. “Good girl. Good fucking girl.” His cock slams into you, and you relax, letting him fill you. 

“Again.”

Crater releases your legs, fucking you with his hand around your neck. You’ve never tried spice, but you imagine this has to be what it’s like. You’re floating, you’re moaning, you’re sweating, all while wave after wave of pleasure washes over you, more intense with every thrust of Crater’s hips as the head of his cock continues to stroke that perfect place inside you. The grip on your throat tightens when he wants you to flex your muscles, and after a few cycles of it, you tighten around him without having to be asked. Crater’s fucking you in earnest now, the hand still around your throat, and your head is swimming. He releases you for a second, watching you. 

“Color?”

“Green,” you whisper. 

“Louder for me.” 

“Green,” you say more firmly. 

He’s still watching, and you see a flicker of something, concern maybe. 

“I said I’m green, Crater.” 

He takes your hand, placing it on his side. “Tap if you need.” 

“I will. Now please fuck me.” 

The grip tightens again, and you’re back to floating, and before you know it, you’re begging him again. 

“Cum on my cock, pretty girl.” 

You do. You cum hard, clawing at his back as he bites your shoulder. Your vision whites out as you writhe underneath him, clenching around his cock until the orgasm subsides, leaving you panting. 

“Good. That’s two.” 

“How many you shooting for?” you gasp. 

“As many as it takes. Now on your knees for me, love.” 

You roll over onto your knees, bracing yourself against your elbows. You feel exposed like this, back arched and presenting yourself to the captain. You feel him staring at your dripping heat, and you shiver under his gaze. His fingers trace along your lips as he positions himself behind you, nudging your knees apart as he presses his cock back into you. Your back arches almost by instinct, and he groans as he bottoms out, leaning over you. You feel his abdomen press against the plug in your ass, and you try to push backwards to drive it in deeper, but a sharp smack to your ass makes you freeze.

“What did I tell you about being greedy?” he rasps. “You take what I give you.” 

You squeeze around him in the only act of defiance you can muster, and he chuckles darkly before he leans forward, pinning your arms behind your back with one hand while fisting your hair with the other. The roots of your hair creak again under his grip, but the pain is beautiful as he slams into your cunt again with a wet slap that makes your face burn. 

“You talk a big game, but I know what you really crave,” he grunts as he fucks you. “You want to be told how filthy you are. You want to be used like this, to surrender to someone else. You want someone else to take charge. Your dripping little cunt tells me everything I need to know.” He’s got his weight tipped forward onto the small of your back, arching it even further as he snaps his hips into you again, accelerating the pace with each thrust until he’s pounding you into your mattress. Your head is pulled back and forth by the grip he has on your hair, and you allow yourself to go limp as Crater drives into you again and again. You’re more than happy to let him use you, especially as he strokes your insides deliciously, stretching you around his cock as your ass relaxes around the plug. It’s bliss. 

After a few minutes, he adjusts again, tipping further forward, and suddenly, he finds the deepest part of you again, and he knows it when you moan loudly under him. He slows, dragging himself out of you before thrusting roughly back in, and you try to bury your face in the sheets to hide the obscene whines that are falling from your lips. But a rough tug of your hair turns your face outward, and you gasp and moan, some of your saliva leaking onto the sheets as Crater fucks you. 

“None of that, love. I want to hear every noise you make.” 

He pulls you apart, piece by piece, yanking another orgasm from you in a matter of minutes before he flips you back onto your back, pulling your ankles up to rest on his shoulders and gripping your hips as he pistons into you roughly. You lose track of how many times you’ve orgasmed, and each time, Crater only allows you a moment to catch your breath before he’s moving you again, gripping your body roughly and taking what he wants from you. You’re boneless and malleable, and he’s seemingly insatiable. 

He’s fucking you on your back again, with one leg extended between his with the other on his shoulder as he drives into your soaked cunt. Sweat is trickling down his neck, trailing along the lines of his tattoos. His dark curls are glistening with moisture, and one drop falls from his nose, landing on your abdomen as he snaps his hips into you relentlessly. 

“I’m almost there, love,” he gasps. “Gonna fill this pretty pussy up.” 

You’re panting with exertion, trying to hold your orgasm at bay as he grips your hip, driving himself into you impossibly deeper. You worry that his orgasm will mean the end of this night, and he seems to notice your concern.

“Ask for what you want, pretty girl.”

You’re suddenly shy, even with his cock buried inside you, even wearing the marks of his teeth and his hands on your flesh. 

He slows, whispering your name. “Tell me what you want.”

“I… I want you to fuck my ass. I want you to have me there, Crater.” 

His eyes search yours for a second before he resumes his relentless pace. “I’m going to cum in this pussy. Then you’re going to clean my cock off with that smart mouth of yours. And once I’m nice and hard again, I’ll claim you there. That what you want?”

Heat rises in your cheeks. “Y-yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir. Please sir.”

“Good girl.”

He leans forward, adjusting to the angle that he knows will rip another orgasm from you, and sure enough, you’re pleading with him again in a matter of seconds. This time, he’s merciful. 

“Cum with me. Right now. Do it.”

You’ve never been so responsive to a lover, never felt as though your body was perfectly calibrated to follow their commands, but Crater’s words send you hurtling over the edge, and you feel him twitch as he empties himself inside of you. It takes several thrusts, and you’re certain you’re full of his cum, dripping with it. 

His final thrusts make obscene sounds, and you feel the warm stickiness dribble out of you. Crater pushes himself up on his hands and knees, reaching for the dildo and gently nestling it inside of you, replacing his cock. It’s cold and not enough compared to him, but your disappointment only lasts a moment as he crawls to the head of your bed, sitting against your headboard with his legs spread. He reaches for the remote on your nightstand and beckons you forward. 

“Come clean me off, love. Get me ready to take you again.” 

You feel as though you’re drunk as you roll yourself onto your hands and knees, clumsily crawling towards him on wobbly limbs. He watches you with a slight smirk as you drop to your elbows between his knees, nuzzling at his abdomen and kissing the scar on his hip. He gently brushes your hair out of your face, gathering it in one hand. 

“You want this, love?”

“So much,” you whisper. 

His cock is still half-hard, glistening with your combined releases, and you gently wrap your lips around the head, swirling your tongue around the tip. The taste is salty and tangy and warm, and you can’t believe how quickly you crave it, slipping him further into your mouth. He grunts in surprise as you suddenly feel a second wind overtake you, making you eager to run your tongue along every inch of him. You clean him until your saliva replaces the slick cum on his shaft, tracing veins and flicking the head of his cock with your tongue. You hear a dull thunk as his head falls back against your headboard, and he gathers your hair in one hand, applying pressure to the back of your head. 

You want him to use you. You want him to bruise the back of your throat. You want him to make your voice rasp in the morning as a reminder of this night. 

His cock hits the back of your throat, but you hold yourself there, fighting your gag reflex and the tears that are blurring your vision. You can see his abdomen heaving as he experimentally thrusts into your mouth, testing your limits. You swallow around him. 

Crater moans. 

“Good fucking girl. Maker, I knew that mouth would be incredible. Gonna have to be careful or else I’ll cum down your throat, love.”

You hum and the grip on your hair tightens as you feel his cock swell and pulse against your tongue. 

“Oh, you want that do you? You want me to fuck your mouth?”

The sounds as your saliva squelches around him are obscene, but he begins pistoning up into your mouth, moving your head to meet his thrusts. You rest one hand on his thigh in case you need it, and you feel his muscles tense with every snap of his hips. 

“So fucking good. I should come by more often just to do this. Shut your office door and fuck your throat when you get mouthy with me. You love this, don’t you? Love being put in your place. Love being used to slick my cock, you sloppy little thing. Relax your throat for me. Oh, fuck, yes. Just like that.” 

You’ve never heard him this vocal, and as you manage to glance up, you see how his lips are slightly parted. His brows are furrowed, and you can tell you might finally have him knocked slightly off balance. A new wave of arousal shoots through you at the thought of making Crater crumble. With renewed fervor, you bury your nose in the curls at the base of his cock, inhaling his scent just before your airway is cut off, and you gag. But you hold yourself there, and his hand rests heavily on the back of your head. 

Suddenly, you groan as he clicks the remote for the dildo in your cunt. It vibrates to life, pressing against your stretched walls, making your legs quiver.

“Good girls get rewarded,” he rasps.

You become ravenous, eager to taste his cum, desperate to have this man fill your throat. You want nothing more than to pleasure him, to submit to him, and you let him take what he wants from you. Crater drops the remote, burying both hands in your hair as he lazily thrusts in and out of your mouth, giving you instructions occasionally, which you follow without question. The dull buzz between your legs combined with the pressure in your ass and the throb of Crater’s cock on your tongue brings you to the edge again, but this time, you can’t beg with your mouth full. 

He notices. 

“Do it. Cum for me. You’ve been so good.”

He clicks the remote again, and you scream around his cock. He presses your head all the way down, groaning as your shrieks vibrate around him. Just as you’re spent, he pulls you off of him, turning the vibration off. He’s almost painfully hard, you can see that. His cock is fully erect and twitching, glistening with your saliva in the dull lighting of the room. You rest your cheek on his thigh, and he strokes your hair. 

“Tell me what you want, pretty girl.”

“Wanted… wanted to taste… you,” you pant.

He strokes your hair. “Another time. I promise.” 

You whine. “Please fuck me.”

That was apparently the answer he was hoping for, not wanting to expend himself too early if that’s what you really wanted. He’s read you again, but you can’t be bothered by it as he asks you “Where?”

You know he’s making sure this is what you want, so you meet his eyes with as firm a gaze as you can muster. “Please fuck my ass, sir. I need it.”

“How could I refuse such a polite request?” 

Crater eases out from underneath you, crawling around behind you and guiding you onto your stomach. He folds a pillow in half and helps you raise your hips to stuff it under them, raising them to his liking before he straddles you, enclosing your legs with his. He pushes the vibrator in your cunt a little deeper, you having squeezed it out slightly during your last orgasm, and then he clicks the low vibration back on. Your muscles tighten around it, and you grip the sheets, arching your back and moaning as he presses it further in and clicks the button again. The vibrations ramp up, and you writhe beneath him. He taps the end of the plug in your ass, and you turn to look over your shoulder at him. 

“You gonna let me have your ass, sweetheart?”

It’s one last check. And you’re so grateful for it. But you’re also so impatient. 

“Yes. Please fuck my ass, Captain.” 

His eyes leave yours to watch as he plays with the plug a little, tapping and moving it in and out of you before he removes it completely. You feel achingly empty and wiggle your ass, hoping it will entice him to fill you faster. You’ve never been taken there before, but right now, you want nothing more. 

“I’m going to go slow. Use your colors.”

“Please, Crater.” 

The lube bottle clicks open, and a few seconds later you hear the sound of him slicking his cock. Coolness hits your asshole, and you gasp as fingers slip inside of you, working you even more open. 

And then you feel it. 

Crater uses one hand to spread your asscheeks as he notches the head of his cock at your entrance and slowly begins to ease in. So slowly. Tears leap into your eyes as your muscles stretch to accommodate him. It’s slightly painful, but the pleasure outweighs it as he gently thrusts just the head in and out of you. It feels as though your cunt is stretching too, and the vibrations inside of you suddenly become more intense. 

You need him deeper.

“More,” you plead. 

Crater sinks a little further into you, moving his hand to the small of your back instead to brace himself. And that’s when it hits you: he’s inside of you completely, not having to hold himself there, in a place no one else has ever been. 

The realization drives you wild. 

And then he taps the vibrator again. You gasp loudly, fisting the sheets. 

“More. Please!” 

He sinks deeper, but it’s too much too fast this time. You gasp out a color.

“YELLOW.” 

He backs off quickly, but your hand rockets around to keep him inside you. 

“Just a little slower. I’m sorry. I thought I was ready,” you choke out.

“Don’t be sorry. Not at all. I’m glad you told me.” His voice is tight. You know he’s holding back. And that’s why you want to keep going. Because you trust him like you’ve trusted no one else. 

“Don’t stop. Just go slower. But please don’t stop.”

“You’re sure?” he asks again.

“Yes. Please. I’m green.” You thrust back slightly, just to your breaking point, and he takes your lead. You feel your body relax around him, and this time, you’re positive when you ask him for more. He’s slow and patient, working his way inside you. The stretch is delicious, and Maker, you’ve never been this full. Nothing you do with your fingers or toys after this will be enough. Not with the way his hand is rubbing comforting circles in the small of your back as he destroys you one centimeter at a time. 

“More.” 

He sinks deeper, and now you’re babbling as he slowly drags himself back out of you before sinking back in. You reach between your legs to press the vibrator against your clit. 

“Fuck, Crate. You’re so big. It’s so big and perfect. Fuck. I fucking love the way you feel in my ass.” 

“You gonna let me cum in this tight ass, pretty girl?” he grits out. He doesn’t correct you on his title, but you’re pretty sure he’s almost as far gone as you are.

“Gods, yes. I want you to claim me there. Paint my walls where no one else has. I want to feel you leak back out of me.”

His hands grip your hips so hard you’re certain there’ll be a perfect set of fingerprints there. He’s doing everything in his power to go slow, and you can’t wait to turn him loose. 

“More, Crate.” 

You feel his hips come to rest against your ass as he bottoms out. He’s panting against your shoulder blades, attempting to keep his composure. The realization of how deep he is inside of you has your cunt fluttering around the vibrator, and you almost orgasm from the thought alone. He stretches his legs out, lowering his weight on top of you. One set of his fingers interlaces with yours, and the other hand comes around to cup your throat. He doesn’t squeeze this time, just cradles your jaw, holding your head up as he nuzzles against you. 

“You’re so good for me,” he whispers against your skin. “So fucking good.”

You look over your shoulder at him as much as you can, watching a line of sweat trickle down his temple. 

“Fuck me, Captain.” 

He does. He’s slow at first, but the drag of his cock all the way back out and all the way back into your ass makes you mewl, and before long, you’re pressing back into him. He ramps the vibrator up to its highest setting, and your eyes roll back into your head. 

“Harder. Please.” 

He obliges, snapping his hips deeper and putting more of his weight into each thrust. Your toes dig into the sheets as your whole body begins to tighten. 

“I’m so full. It’s so good. So good. Fuck.” You can’t stop babbling as he pounds into you.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he gasps. “You take my cock so fucking well. Like you were made for it.” He groans loudly as he bottoms out again. “You love this, don’t you? Being stuffed in both holes?”

“Yes,” you sob. “It’s so good.”

“I bet you’d love to have Gregor’s cock in here too. Maybe he takes your sweet little cunt while I pound your ass.” You moan, clenching at the thought. Crater doesn’t stop. “But that still leaves your mouth. Maybe I get Chuckles in here to fuck that smart little mouth while Gregor and I take you. Would you like that, pretty girl? To be ruined by three men at once?” 

You whine and spasm around him, and he feels it. “Fuck, you’re such a dirty girl. Who would have known the smart-mouthed mechanic would let me do this to her? Let me ruin her in the backroom of her office. I want you to always remember this when you’re out in that office working. How I took you back here and made you scream my name. How you begged for my cock. Maybe I’ll take you over that desk before I go in the morning so you think about that for the rest of the day while my spend leaks out of you.” 

“Crater, I’m gonna cum.”

“Not until I say you are,” he grits out. “Not until I’m ready to.” 

You inhale sharply, trying to keep your body from toppling over the edge. 

“Don’t you cum yet,” he snarls. 

“I’m trying,” you whine. “But I’m so close, Captain. So close.” 

“Keep talking.” 

Your mouth runs on autopilot, desperate to find the words that will yank him to the edge alongside you so that you can both tumble off together. 

“Your cock is so fucking good, Crater. Gods, nothing will ever be enough after this. You fill me up so perfectly. I need it, Crate. I need to feel your hot cum in my ass. I want to feel it leak out of me. Fuck. Please give it to me, Crater. Please cum in my ass.” 

His thrusts grow more erratic, and you know you’re about to get what you want. 

“G-gonna fill you up,” he growls. “Gonna be the first to claim you here.”

“My ass is yours, Crater.” 

“Yeah it fucking is.” The grip on your throat tightens, pulling your head back again, and that last little pinprick of pain has you teetering on the brink. It’s like the first day when he had you tipped in the chair of your office, your toes barely touching the floor. All it will take is the slightest push to send you toppling over the edge.

Just a little further. So close.

“Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease,” you sob. 

“You’re so cute when you beg,” he rasps directly into your ear. And with a loud groan, his hips stutter as he cums in your ass, gasping. 

“Now,” he moans.

And your orgasm rips through you. He drops your head, and you scream into the sheets as wave after wave washes over you in the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. Tears stream from your eyes and your body spasms again and again. You feel like you’re floating somewhere between consciousness and some other plane of existence as you come out of it, barely aware of what day it is or what your name even is anymore. 

When the waves of your orgasm finally stop battering your wrung-out body, you collapse limply against the sheets of your bed. They stick to you, but it feels as if you’ve sunk halfway through the mattress somehow. Your mouth feels dry from screaming. Your tongue darts out to moisten your lips, and you’re aware Crater is laying on top of you, panting against your neck, but trying to hold the majority of his weight off of you.

“Get it out,” you mumble. 

He’s already slipped from your ass, but he quickly turns off the vibrator and eases it out of your cunt. You feel yourself start to shake uncontrollably. You’re not sure if it’s due to the orgasm, the sudden chill on your sweat-soaked body, or something else. Regardless, Crater lies next to you and pulls you close to him, being careful to keep his sullied hand clear of you. His nose grazes yours as he gently cradles your head. 

“Breathe with me, Bolts.”

You do, and the shivering begins to subside after a few cycles. You finally open your eyes and find Crater’s steady gaze watching you, a comfort as always. 

“I’m going to go get something to clean you off with. I’m going to be right back. Alright?” You nod, your mind still hazy, and he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead before moving off towards your ‘fresher. The sink hisses softly, and a moment later, you feel your legs gently being parted and a warm, damp cloth moving over your body, thighs, and between your legs as Crater carefully cleans you. Once he’s done, a dry towel runs over the same areas, soft and gentle, before he rolls you onto your back, removing the pillow from beneath your hips. You hear the mini-fridge in your outer office open and close, and a straw is placed at your lips. You drink greedily as he strokes your hair, draining the water packet in a few seconds. 

“Good girl.” The words are softer now, carrying no heat. “Do you need more?” 

You shake your head and open your eyes just in time to see him toss the spent water packet into the rubbish bin. He slides into the bed next to you, pulling the blanket over the two of you before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. You snuggle into the crook of his shoulder in a daze, inhaling his smell and draping one of your legs over his thigh. His fingers stroke your cheek, and he presses gentle kisses to your forehead and cheeks. Strong, gentle hands trail over your skin, caressing tenderly in a way that so sharply contrasts with how he touched you just moments before. He searches for sore muscles or tension left untouched but finds none; you’re completely relaxed in his grasp. His fingers graze over the bruises and bite marks he left, pressing gently and watching for your reaction, ensuring you’re not in too much pain. It’s sweet, but not something you’re used to. You know this hardly counts as being pampered by most people’s standards, but you’re not used to the doting tenderness. Even if you do find yourself melting into him more with every passing second, allowing your eyes to drift shut again as you release a satisfied sigh.

“I’m alright, Crate,” you mumble after a few moments, growing shy under his attention. 

“I need to be sure,” he says quietly. “That was intense for you.” 

You smile. “It was, but it was so good.” Your eyes flutter open, and your heart melts at the way he’s looking down at you. You were worried about how this moment might go, concerned about how your friendship might shift after allowing this to happen. 

But you should have known better. Crater is a pillar but also a soft place to land, someone you’d confide in without hesitation. His men fall in line because he’s someone to fly into battle with, someone you know will keep you safe. He’s proud but humble. You know he won’t tell a soul about this night. He doesn’t need to. He knows what he did for you, how you begged for him, and that’s enough. And if you’re honest, you think he got as much out of it as you did, enjoying watching your walls come down and you relaxing with him, enjoying the process of helping you. 

“Just didn’t realize this was an all-inclusive sort of encounter,” you joke. “You’re starting to make me feel like royalty with all the attention.”

His expression grows serious as he looks down at you, pushing some of your hair out of your face. “You shouldn’t be accepting any other kind of encounters, Bolts. Do I need to chat with Gregor when he gets back?”

“Nah. He’s fine for what he is. And he does take care of me. It’s just… different.” 

He grunts noncommittally, pulling you closer. You feel his thumb graze your spine. 

“You jealous?” you ask, tongue poking out between your teeth teasingly.

“Not at all. We’re different people giving you different things.”

“That makes it sound like you don’t intend for this to be a one-time thing, Crate.”

“That is entirely up to you.” His thumb caresses your lower lip, and you kiss it. 

You pretend to consider it for a moment, as if this night won’t have you craving his touch seconds after he’s gone. “Well, I can’t be getting cranky with your men again, now can I?” you murmur, snuggling deeper into the crook of his shoulder.

The corner of his mouth twitches into a smirk. “Definitely can’t have that. And I’m more than happy to do my part.” 

“More than happy?”

“Yeah, Bolts. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t think I’d enjoy myself too.” 

“You do this with a lot of people?”

“Nope. Only ones I trust. And that trust me.” 

You twist one end of your hair nervously, the mention of trust bringing a question charging to the forefront of your mind. He can tell, taking your fingers and carefully intertwining them in his own. 

“What is it? You having second thoughts?”

“No, not at all. This was great. It’s just… have you heard if Gregor’s talking about him and I? I didn’t think he would, but what Strike said a few weeks back stuck with me. I don’t want to be the Battalion Babe of the week.” 

He nods, pulling your knuckles to his lips. “I can assure you that I haven’t heard anything and I don’t think Gregor’s like that. I think Strike was angry and lashing out. I know several of the men did see you leave 79s with Gregor, so the conclusion wasn’t too far-fetched. But Gregor’s not feeding the rumor mill.” 

You sigh. “Dammit.”

“For what it’s worth, you haven’t been a topic of conversation within my earshot. I had a chat with Chuckles too and asked him to make sure it wasn’t happening when I’m not around. He said he would, and I trust him. As much of a pain as he is at times, he’s a good man. I trust him.” 

You nod appreciatively, melting slightly at the thought of Chuckles doing that for you, but the mention of the mohawked pilot brings another question to the front of your mind. “Were you serious about you and Gregor and Chuckles?”

He shrugs. “It was something I said in the moment, but not a thing I’d approach them about without your express consent. No one needs to know about this if you don’t want them to. And I would only bring in people you and I trust explicitly. Gregor and Chuckles are two of those people. But again, it was said in the moment and doesn’t have to be a serious thing ever.” 

Your mind is whirling at the thought of having three of them at once. You can’t lie, it does pique your interest. You smirk up at him. “I’ll let you know.”

He huffs a laugh. His eyes are gentle as he leans down, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Thank you for trusting me to do all that for you.” 

You snuggle further into him, absently tracing his tattoos with your fingertips. “Thank you for doing it for me in the first place. I’d have never asked.”

A quiet laugh rumbles through his chest. “I know. You’re too stubborn. That’s why I offered.”

“Glad you did.”

“Me too.”

His steady heartbeat lulls you to sleep only a few minutes later. 

—

When you wake in the morning, Crater’s still there, but he’s in the process of getting dressed. He’s snapping his vambraces in place as you stir, sitting up and stretching. You ache deliciously in all of the right places, but seeing him standing there reawakens your hunger. He smiles at you as you sit up in bed. 

“Morning. Figured I should get out of here before the droids start powering on. They’re not known for gossip, but better safe than sorry.” 

“I suppose you’re right.” You can’t keep the disappointment out of your voice, and even if you had, you’re confident he still would have picked up on your cues. He pauses. 

“What’s wrong?”

You wonder if you’re overstepping, but after the night you just had, you figure it doesn’t hurt to ask. You get out of your bed, opening the door to your office. Despite you being completely naked, covered in his marks, Crater’s eyes are firmly locked on yours. You lean against the doorframe, glancing over at your desk. 

“You mentioned a parting gift last night that involved my desk. That offer still on the table?” 

He huffs a laugh, his hands falling to your waist and gently guiding you out into the office. The cool edge of the desk presses against the front of your thighs as he leans down to speak directly into your ear. 

“Elbows on the desk for me, pretty girl. And try to be a little quieter this time.” 

You shudder as he nudges your feet apart, placing his codpiece on the desk next to you. 

“Yes sir.” 

Tag List: @seriowan @partoftheeternalsoul @misogirl828 @ellichonkasaurusrex @zoeykallus @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @staycalmandhugaclone @redheadgirl @fordo-kixed-rex @wizardofrozz @ariadnes-red-thread @extrahotpixels @justanothersadperson93 @leftealeaf @dnxgma @meekaielmyerhs99 @kaminocasey @echos-girlfriend @lucyysthings @obihiddlenox @merkitty49 @littlemissmanga @clonecyaree @baba-fett @rain-on-kamino @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall @samspenandsword

#karrde writes #OC Crater #clone oc #clone pilot oc #Captain Crater #nsft #lemon #lemony lemon #clone OC x reader #clone OC x you #Crater x Reader #Crater x You #captain crater #OC Chuckles #captain gregor #star wars #the clone wars #tcw #28th combat wing

[hangmansgbaby]

Always Darling | 3 | J.Seresin

B E F O R E T H E S T O R M

Summary: Training for the Uranium Mission begins and while they try their hardest to keep everything under wraps. Not all secrets are meant to be kept.

Pairings: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x OC!Willow "Vixen" Seresin, brief mentions of Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x OC Daughter!Willow "Vixen" Seresin and Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x OC God Sister!Willow "Vixen" Seresin

Warnings: none? Cute Seresin family moments, Ellorie being the best kid every, funeral

Note: you all are the absolute best! 😍😍 ENJOY!

Apr 2024 note: I did end up updating this into an OC as I dont write my series as a reader insert anymore.

Word count: 8.8k words (I'M SORRY! MY BRAIN WOULDN'T STOP!)

Masterlist | Always Darling Masterlist

“So where is my goddaughter?” Phoenix questions as Willow and her sit down in the hanger.

“She’s with her grandparents.” Willow answers, standing next to the table by Phoenix.

“Which ones?! I miss the little nugget!” Phoenix practically whines.

“Well that little nugget is now 7 and a pain in our ass.” Jake groans, plopping down at the table diagonally from Phoenix.

“She is not! She’s just upset that all of her classmates get to see both of their parents everyday. Some days it's one, others it's grandma putting her to bed.” Willow slaps his shoulder, sitting in the seat beside him. “She’s with Sarah and Ice.”

“Life of a double pilot child. Must suck ass.” One after another, the other pilots and WSOs file into the Hanger, taking their seats throughout the room. Rooster is one of the last to enter with Fanboy and Payback. Willow glares at him as he sits behind her and Jake, Bradley returns to glare as Jake turns Willow’s chair to face forward.

“Attention on deck!”

All of the pilots rise, standing at attention. Admiral Bates stops at the front of the room. "Good morning. Welcome to your special training detachment. Be seated. I'm Admiral Bates, NAWDC commander. You're all Top Gun graduates. The elite. The best of the best." Everyone looks around at each other, all noting Hangman's smug look. "That was yesterday. The enemy's new fifth generation fighter has leveled the playing field. Details are few, but you can be sure we no longer possess the technological advantage. Success, now more than ever, comes down to the man or woman in the box."

Hangman looks at Willow and Phoenix, winking at them. Both girls scoff and role their eyes. Phoenix uses her middle finger to rub her temple, effectively flipping off Jake without drawing attention to herself.

"Half of you will make the cut. One of you will be named mission leader." Warlock says. "The other half will remain in reserve." Bates explains. "Your instructor is a Top Gun graduate with real-world experience in every mission aspect you will be expected to master. His exploits are legendary. And he's considered to be one of the finest pilots this program has ever produced. What he will teach you may very well mean the difference between life and death."

Everyone glances behind them and Willow immediately sinks into her seat. “Fuck.” She mutters under her breath. Jake reaches over to rest a hand on her thigh, providing all the comfort she needed from him. 

"I give you Captain Pete Mitchell. Callsign, Maverick."

Pete nods to Admiral Bates before turning to the pilots. "Good morning." Everyone gives him a tight lipped smile, mostly Jake and Phoenix. Willow holds nothing but resentment in her glare and unbeknownst to her, so does Bradley. Pete holds up the F-18 flight book. "The F-18 NATOPS. It contains everything they want you to know about your aircraft. I'm assuming you know the book inside and out."

"Damn straight." Hangman shouts, a couple other pilots agreeing.

"Damn right."

"You got it." 

“Obviously,” Willow mumbles, as Pete drops the booklet into the garbage can at his feet. He immediately catches the attention of everyone in the room who didn’t know of him. Willow and Bradley scoff almost simultaneously at the action.

"So does your enemy. But what the enemy doesn't know is your limits. I intend to find them, test them, push beyond. Today we'll start with what you only think you know. You show me what you're made of." Maverick dismisses the pilot to get into their flight suits.

As they all walk onto the tarmac, Pete calls out to Bradley. "Rooster." Bradley doesn't turn around. "Bradley." Still nothing. "Lieutenant Bradshaw." Bradley turns around and Willow glances over from her jet, rolling her eyes at their interaction. 

“Typical.” She scoffs, finishing her final round of preflight checks. It wasn’t long before she could hear her name being called.

“Lieutenant Commander Mitchell.” She turns, glaring at him. “Look, I just wanted to say that I think we should put everything behind us. For the sake of this mission.”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Willow scoffs, turning away from him.

“Look Willow, I know what I did was messed up, but if you just–”

“What? Give you a chance to explain? I did. Every single time I called you over a school break, or when I had something important to me come up. You were never there. That’s all the explanation I need.” She seeths. “Am I dismissed, Captain?”

“Yea.” Pete sighs, making his way to his own jet. 

Fanboy, Payback, and Rooster are the first in the air. In the lounge, Jake and Willow sit together on one couch with Phoenix and Coyote across from them. The other aviators fill the room, either by the radio, which Bob currently occupies, or messing with the foosball table.

"Good morning aviators. This is your captain speaking." Maverick calls out over comms. "Welcome to basic fighting maneuvers. As briefed, today's exercise is dogfighting. Guns only, no missiles. We do not go below the hard deck of 5,000 feet. Working as a team, you shoot me down, or else."

"Or else what, sir?" Payback questions.

"Or else I shoot back. If I shoot either one of you down, you both lose." 

“This guy needs an ego check.” Hangman mutters.

“Oh we can do that.” Willow leans forward high fiving Phoenix.

"What say we put some skin in the game?" Payback suggests.

"What do you have in mind?" Maverick asks.

"Whoever gets shot first does 200 pushups?"

“Guys.” Rooster’s voice comes through the speaker.

"That's a lot of push ups." 

"They don't call it exercise for nothing, sir." Fanboy calls.

"You got yourself a deal, gentlemen. Let's turn and burn."

“So, any new pictures of my favorite niece?” Coyote asks, leaning forward a bit.

“There’s always new pictures.” Willow laughs, pulling her phone out. “Sarah sent me these this morning.” She passes it over and both Coyote and Phoenix look. “First day of school pics. Not like we don’t have a million.”

“Also, we don’t mention her, at all.” Jake whispers to their friends.

“They still don’t know?!” Phoenix whisper-shouts.

“Still don’t talk to them.” Willow answers.

“Vixen. Phoenix, Bob. You’re up next.” Hondo shouts into the room.

“Go get ‘em darlin!” Willow turns and blows a kiss at Jake who catches it.

“I can’t believe you two have been together for 15 years now.” Coyote sighs, moving to sit next to Jake. “Still not ready for a wedding?”

“Okay, Javy. I’m telling you this because you are my best friend but you can’t tell anyone.”

“Scouts honor.” Jake pulls his dog tags out from his flight suit to reveal the wedding band sitting between his dog tags. “Holy shit dude! When did this happen?”

“A year after Elle was born. It's all official with the Navy, but as far as anyone is concerned, we're still dating. Except for those who have to know.”

"See him anywhere?" Willow calls out after 5 minutes of being in the air.

“Nothing on the radar.” Bob calls out.

“You think it's gonna work?” Phoenix questions.

“He’s too cocky for it to not work.” Willow answers. They turn slightly to the right and Willow looks up just in time to see another jet heading their way. “3 o'clock, we got incoming.” Willow calls out.

“Breaking left.” Phoenix calls, turning to break off from Willow.

“Come and get me, old man.” Willow shouts, taking off to distract him. With every twist turn and loop, she narrowly avoids Maverick’s lock.

“You’re good, Vixen. I’ll give you that. But you made one mistake.” Maverick calls.

“And what was that?” Willow smirks. She already knows what he’s about to say.

“You lost your wingman.” Suddenly the lock tone rings through Maverick’s cockpit. 

“What was that again?” Phoenix asks, right behind Mav with a lock on him. 

“I think that’s a kill, sir.” Bob speaks up.

“Nice try, old man.” Willow and Phoenix return to the ground with Maverick not far behind. Once on the ground, Pete goes to do his push-ups while Willow, Phoenix, and Bob make their way to the lounge.

“That’s my girl!” Jake shouts, immediately lifting Willow as she walks inside.

“Okay okay, Jake put me down.” She laughs as he immediately does so.

“You, darlin, are one hell of a badass.” Jake smirks, kissing her.

“Keep it in your pants, Lieutenant Seresin.” Willow giggles as he moves to her neck.

“I’d rather be in yours, Lieutenant Commander Seresin.” He whispers in her ear.

“Hangman, Phoenix, Bob. You’re after Harvard, Yale, and Fritz.”

Jake groans as he pulls from Willow. “I can’t wait to get you home.”

“Too bad, hotshot. We have dinner at the Kazansky’s tonight so we can pick up Elle.” Willow pushes Jake back and walks away.

“Damn tease.” Jake mutters, smirking as he watches her walk away. Willow intentionally swinging her hips more than normal. “Shit.”

Willow sat listening to their flight, sighing as her husband’s cockiness showed through. She knew Phoenix would have a few choice words about him when they landed. And sure enough, she was right.

“I don't understand how you like that man.” Phoenix groans walking into the locker room, Willow not far behind.

“He’s quite charming.” Willow laughs.

“It’s Hangman, Vix!”

“It’s the father of my child, Phoenix! And my husband.” Willow says softly.

“NO!” Willow shows Phoenix her rings, hanging from her dog tags. “When?!”

“Year after Elle was born. We got tired of waiting but always decided to keep it under wraps.”

“I understand why you deal with him now.” Willow laughs at her best friend. “I’m still pissed at him.”

“I expect nothing less.”

“Hey, what the hell is up with Maverick and Rooster?” Hangman questions, running into Willow on his way in from his flight with Rooster.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, they both almost took a nosedive into a mountain because there is something going on between them.” Hangman tells her, Phoenix runs towards the tarmac.

“I’ll see you outside. Shower.” She kisses Jake before following Phoenix.

"Breaking the hard deck, insubordination. Are you trying to get kicked out?" She hears Phoenix's question, walking up behind her.

"Don't worry about it." Bradley mutters.  

"Look, I'm going on this mission. But if you get kicked, you leave us flying with Hangman. Talk to me. What the hell was that?" Phoenix asks, squatting down next to him. 

"He pulled my papers."

"What? Who?" 

"Maverick. He pulled my application to the Naval Academy. Set me back four years." Bradley answers.

“Glad you finally got some tough love.” Willow scoffs.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bradley retorts, turning to see Willow behind him.

“My whole life! Bradley this, Bradley that. At least you got some tough shit from him too.”

“I think I had enough tough shit from your father with how my dad died.”

“Bullshit, you don’t blame him for that. You were always the favorite because of that.” Willow groans. “Always playing the orphan card, even before Aunt Carole died.”

“You’re one to talk. At least you still had someone. You just chose not to reach out for years.”

“Cause he chose you, and sent me away because I was upset! He will always choose you.” Willow sighs. “It's just how he is with you.” Willow sighs, walking past them to the parking lot.

“Hey! How was it today?” Sarah asks, opening the door for Jake and Willow.

“Where’s dad?” Willow questions and Sarah can read the frustration on her face.

“He’s in his office.”

“Mama! Daddy!”

“Hi baby girl.” Every ill feeling on Willow’s mind immediately disappeared at the sight of her daughter running towards her. “Did you have fun with Grandma and Papa today?” Willow asks, kneeling to catch her.

“Yea! We went to the park and then I got a new toy and then Papa got us ice cream!” Elle rambles on about her day as Jake kneels down next to them.

“Did he now? What if Daddy wanted to take you to ice cream after dinner?”

“It's okay Daddy! We can always go again.” Elle smiles, moving into her father’s arms as he lifts her up.

“I don’t know. Two ice cream trips in one day? That's a lot.”

“Please Daddy.” The puppy dog eyes. Jake was always a sucker to the puppy dog eyes, especially to his daughter. His nieces, Maddy and Grace, had taught Elle how to do it and Jake was a goner when his 11 year old nieces and 3 year old daughter brought them out on Christmas eve in 2016, all three getting early christmas presents which Nancy and Willow were not happy about. 

“Oh all right.” Jake sighs before tickling Elle.

“No! Daddy put me down!” She slides from Jake's grip and runs back outside. Willow laughs as Jake follows her.

“He’s so good with her.” Sarah smiles.

“He’s an amazing father.” Willow smiles softly, “How’d she do at school today?”

“You know how first day jitters go. But she was brave and had a fun day. Her teacher said she was very helpful, and talkative.”

“She is her father’s daughter.” Willow smiles, seeing Jake catch Elle who immediately sticks her arms out like wings on a plane and Jake flys her around the backyard. “I’m gonna go have a chat with dad.” Willow smiles softly.

“Don’t be long, dinner will be ready in a few.”

Willow nods, walking towards the hallway leading to Tom Kazansky’s office. Knocking, she slowly enters and calls out. “Hey old man.” Tom turns around, smiling, waving her inside. “How are you feeling?”

You know exactly how I’m feeling.

He wasn’t wrong. She was one of the first people Sarah and Ice had called when they found out his cancer had come back. She herself had cried for hours after the call. “I know but I’m still asking.”

I’m fine. Ice begrudgingly writes.

“Did you know?” Willow questions. “About Maverick and Rooster being here?” Ice nods. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Would you have shown up if you had known?

“Obviously not. You know how they are.”

That’s why I didn’t say anything.

“Dad–”

“Do it for me.”

Willow sighs. “You’re not supposed to be talking.” Willow retorts

“I don’t have long.” Ice struggles to say.

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true, little bird. You need this. They need you.”

“He’s not going to pick me, he’s going to choose Bradley like he always does.” Willow sighs.

Ice reaches up to cup Willow’s face, keeping her gaze on him. 

“Prove him wrong.”

“How do you always have a response?”

“Old age.” Ice chuckles. “Willow, I have always seen you like a daughter.”

“No, we're not talking like you’re dying.”

“Willow–”

“No. I can’t do that.”

“Remember when you first called me dad?”

“Yea, It was when I told you I was pregnant.” Willow chuckles.

“No, it was when you were begging for me to find Jake.”

“Right. Still that same day.” Willow chuckles softly.

“I have never been happier than the day my children were born. But the day you called me dad? It topped every moment in my life.” Ice smiled softly. “You are an amazing pilot and an even better daughter. I’m so happy to have been a part of your life and I am so proud of you.”

“No. Dad… you’re going to be okay. Please don’t leave me. I still need you.” Willow cries, falling into Ice’s hold. He says nothing but holds her close, stroking her hair as she cries. “I love you, dad.”

“I love you too.”

“Alright pumpkin, time for bed.” Jake carried Elle through the apartment to the small room setup for her.

“Where’s Mama?”

“Mama isn’t feeling well so it's just daddy for bedtime. Is that okay?” Jake sets the little girl down on her bed.

“Can you read me a story?”

“What’ll it be tonight? Cinderella? Rapunzel?” Jake asks, moving over to the stack of books on top of the dresser.

“Can you tell me about when you and Mama met?”

Jake chuckles. “You know I ruined Mama’s favorite hoodie? Ran right into her and my drink exploded onto her and that stain never came out.”

“Did you apologize?” Elle questions.

“About a million times. Your Mama is so beautiful that the minute I saw her I knew I wanted to marry her. But I was so nervous that she’d never talk to me again.” Jake sits on the edge of her bed. 

“But Mama loves you.” Elle says, climbing into Jake’s lap. 

“Not as much as she loves you. Mama is the most loving and caring person I ever met. And I will spend every day earning that love.”

“I love you Daddy.”

“I love you too, pumpkin.” Jake kisses her head, laying her back onto the bed. “Sleep tight, you have school tomorrow.”

“Good night.”

Tucking her in, Jake shuts the lights out and closes her bedroom door. “Little miss is asleep, we officially have a later start time. I think it's time for a little us time.” Jake says, walking over to the bed only to find Willow fast asleep, the streaks from her tears freshly dried on her cheeks. Jake smiles softly, pressing a kiss to her temple before crawling into bed beside her. Willow shifts as Jake pulls her back into his chest, his arm wrapped around her torso. “Good night darlin.”

“Time is your greatest enemy.” Maverick says from his position at the front of the room. "Phase one of the mission will be a low level attack with two teams." The aviator’s eyes follow the pattern on the screen, watching the swerving flight pattern. "You'll fly along this narrow canyon to your target. Radar guided surface to air missiles defend the sky area. These SAMs are lethal, but they were designed to protect the skies above, not the canyon below."

“That's because the enemy knows no one is insane enough to attempt to fly through it.” Rooster replies. He knows better. He knows there are at least 2 people in the room that are that insane and they’re related.

"That's exactly what I'm going to train you to do.”

Willow’s eyes widened, looking over to Jake. They knew the dangers of their job and they signed up anyway. Jake looked at her and knew exactly what was going through her mind. 

"Today, your altitude will be 100 feet, maximum. If you exceed this altitude, radar will spot you and you're dead. Your air speed will be 660 knots, minimum. Time to target is two and a half minutes." Willow and Phoenix lock eyes. "The time is two and half minutes because fifth generation fighters wait at an enemy air base nearby. In a head to head with these planes in your F-18s, you're dead. That's why you need to get in, hit your target, and be gone before these planes have a chance of catching you. This makes time your greatest enemy." The pilots are silent, the mission being completely different than they thought. "Today, we'll go easy on you. Max ceiling will be 300 feet, time to target will be three minutes. Suit up."

“Hey Phoenix!” Willow calls, running onto the Tarmac.

“What's up Vix?”

“Would you be able to pick Elle up from school during our lunch? She’s out at noon and Ice has another treatment today.”

“Absolutely! Am I bringing her on base or…?”

“Yea. Jake and I have a meeting with Cyclone to set up daycare for her so we’ll meet you in the parking lot when it's set up.”

“Gotcha. Yea it's not a problem. But I’m gonna spoil the shit outta her.” Phoenix laughs, leading Willow out to the jets. 

Willow is first in the air with Fanboy and Payback. 

“One minute and 30 seconds to target, we’re 10 seconds behind Vixen.” Fanboy calls out. 

“Alright, increasing speed to 490 knots.” Willow calls, increasing her speed. “Come on, come on.” Willow follows the curves almost perfectly.

“30 seconds to target, 2 seconds behind.” 

“Increasing to 500 knots.” As her speed increases she miscalculates a turn and suddenly flies off course and above their max altitude. She punches the side of her canopy. “Fuck.” She failed.

“Why did you fail?” Pete asks when they return to the classroom.

“I miss calculated a turn after increasing my speed because we were behind.” Willow answers.

“No, why is she dead?” Pete asks, looking at Fanboy and Payback. 

“We didn’t warn her about the sharp turns ahead when requesting an increase of speed.” Fanboy answers.

“What excuse do you think her family will take at the funeral?” Pete asks. “What are you gonna say when you have to look me dead in the face and tell me my daughter is dead?”

Fanboy and Payback’s eyes drop, mutters are heard about Willow being Pete’s daughter. Choosing to ignore them, she stops Pete.

“Maverick.” Willow calls out but Pete’s glare remains firm. “Captain Mitchell!” Pete looks at her. “That's enough.” She says. Pete finally moves on to Rooster’s group.

“Rooster, why are you dead?" He asks but Rooster doesn’t look up from the table. 

"Sir with all due respect, he was the only one to make it to the target." Phoenix jumps in, defending Rooster.

"A minute late. He gave the enemy aircraft time to shoot him down. He is dead." Maverick starts but Rooster speaks up.

“You don’t know that.” Rooster retorts

“You’re not flying fast enough. You don't have a second to waste.” Hangman groans.

“We made it to the target.” Rooster stands firm.

“And superior enemy aircraft intercepted you on your way out.”

"Then it's a dog fight," He says.

"Against 5th generation fighters?" Maverick questions, heating up.

“We still have a chance.”

“In an F-18?”

"It's not the plane, sir, it's the pilot." Rooster defends.

"Exactly!" Maverick shouts. Willow has to withhold her laughter. She had never heard Pete raise his voice to Bradley so she was thoroughly enjoying this. 

"There is more than one way to fly this mission." Rooster retorts.

"You really don't get it," Hangman says. "On this mission, a man flies like Maverick here or a man doesn't come back. No offense intended.” Hangman says to Phoenix. Willow elbows his side and Phoenix goes to say something but Bob pipes up.

“And yet somehow you always manage.”

“Look, I don’t mean to criticize. You’re conservative, that's all.”

“Lieutenant.” Pete tries to interrupt but Jake continues 

“We’re going into combat, son, on a level no living pilot’s ever seen. Not even him.” Hangman directs to Maverick at the last sentence before turning back to Rooster. “That’s no time to be thinking about the past.” Hangman smirks, looking over at Rooster.

"What's that support to mean?" Rooster asks, tearing his glare away from Maverick. 

“Rooster.” Pete warns.

“Jake.” Willow warns her husband.

"I can't be the only one that knew Maverick flew with his old man.” Hangman answers. 

“That's enough.” Pete interrupts but Jake continues.

“Or that Maverick was flying when his old man—” 

“Lieutenant, that's enough.”

“Jake, quit it.”

Hangman doesn’t finish the sentence before Rooster is shoving him out of his chair.

"You son of a bitch." Rooster growls. Everyone jumps up to stop them from attacking each other. Willow is standing beside Jake, a tight grip on his arm. 

“Hey, I’m cool. I’m cool.” Jake shakes off the other aviators but Willow’s grip stays firm.

Rooster tries to jump at him again but Bob, Phoenix, and Pete hold a tight grip on him. “That’s enough.” Pete repeats.

“He’s not cut out for this mission. You know it.” Hangman grins as Willow drags him out of the room. “You know I’m right.”

“You’re all dismissed,” is the last thing the couple hears before they are away from everyone.

“What the fuck was that?” Willow sneers.

“What?”

“Why the hell are you airing out dirty laundry? Let alone at work?” Willow questions

“You know I’m right, Willow. He’s not ready. He holds too many grudges.”

“So then I’m not ready either, right? I hold so many grudges against them both. Am I not ready for this mission too?”

“Willow. There's a difference between you and Rooster. You don't let your grudges affect your flying.” Jake says softly. “You are always my top choice for any mission.”

“You’re an ass, Jake Seresin.” Willow chuckles.

“You love me Willow Seresin.” Willow smiles, pulling Jake into a hug. 

“I absolutely do. I’m still mad at you.”

“Mama! Look what Auntie Nat got me!” Elle comes running from Phoenix’s car when she sees her mom.

“Look at that. Is that an F-18?” Willow questions, admiring the joy in her daughter’s eyes. 

“Just like what you and Daddy and Auntie Nat and Uncle Yote fly!” Phoenix laughs walking up to meet them

“That's right, baby girl.”

“I wanna fly like you! I wanna be cool like you and Daddy.” 

“I hope you always think you’re dad and I are cool.” Willow hugs her daughter before grabbing her hand. “Do you wanna see an actual F-18?” Elle nods quickly, jumping up and down as Willow leads the way.

“Are you sure that's a good idea? What if Mav or Rooster are around?”

“It's been 2 hours since we were dismissed, I doubt it.”

“Let's go Mama!” Elle starts pulling on Willow, her giggles echoing through the hallways.

“Ellorie! Stay with us please!” Willow shouts as the little girl takes off running.

“Oh, hey there little one.” Willow catches a glimpse of who Elle had just bumped into and groans. 

“Fantastic.” She mumbles under her breath. “Ellorie! I told you not to run off like that.”

“Sorry Mav. She’s a little ball of energy today.” Phoenix says.

“Let's go, Daddy’s waiting for us.” Willow leads Elle around Mav and out the door. “Look over there.” Willow points and Elle gets excited. 

“Daddy!”

“Hey, pumpkin! How was school?” Jake asks, lifting her up.

“Fun! We got to draw pictures of our family today!” 

“That's so fun! Did you have fun with Auntie Nat?” Jake questions walking towards the jets with Nat. Willow stays behind because she cant feel Mav behind her.

“You have a daughter?”

“Yea. You would know if you didn’t abandon me.” Willow scoffs.

“Willow please. You’re really gonna keep that little girl away from her grandfather?”

“She has grandfathers, Mav. And fortunately for her, neither of them would ever dream of abandoning her the way you did me.” Willow retorts.

“I’m sorry Willow. I don’t know what else you want me to say.” Pete apologizes.

“I want you to stay away from me and my family. I think you’ve done enough damage.” Willow says before walking away, interacting with her daughter who asks a million questions about the jets.

“Ellie bellie!”

“Uncle Yote!” 

Maverick watches how Jake and Willow interact, especially with each other and their daughter. As much as he thinks they are exactly what's needed for the mission, he can’t orphan his granddaughter. Or send his daughter to her possible death. If he sends both of them, it’ll be another generation resenting him. If he sends Jake, Willow will never forgive him if he doesn’t come back. And if he send Willow, well, he’s pretty sure Jake will murder him for sending the mother of his child to her death. But he still doesn’t think Rooster is ready. He’s at an impasse and doesn’t know what to do.

“School called. Campus is shut down due to a power outage.” Jake says, walking into the kitchen early Monday morning.

“Dammit. Mav is having us meet at the beach and there’s no one to watch Elle. Daycare is shut down for the week because all the workers caught the flu and Ice has appointments all day.”

“What about Penny?”

“She’s got the bar to run.”

“Hard Deck doesn’t open until 5, I’m gonna call Penny.”

Willow sighs. Working full time and having a 7 year old was not an easy feat. She knew that all too well now but balancing this life and keeping it away from her work life is becoming more difficult day by day.

“Penny said she’d be happy to watch her.”

“You okay Mama?” Elle asks, mouth full of her breakfast.

“I’m okay. Just a little stressed out.” Willow ruffles Elle’s hair as she walks by. “Finish eating.”

“Dress comfy! No uniforms!” Jake shouts, cleaning up the kitchen before he takes Elle to get ready. It's not long before they’re loaded up in Jake’s truck. 

“Alright, Elle. You need to behave for Ms Penny, okay?”

“You’re not gonna play with me?” Elle pouts and Jake quickly drops to her level.

“Mama and Daddy have some work stuff we gotta do first but we promise, as soon as we're done, it's gonna be a Seresin family beach day okay?” 

“Okay Daddy.” Jake and Willow packed up everything and got Ellorie into the car before heading straight to the Hard Deck.

“Hey! Why’s Elle here?” Phoenix questions, seeing the trio walk up.

“School canceled, daycare closed, and Ice and Sarah are busy. Penny said she’ll watch her while we do whatever and then we promise her a beach day after.” Willow explains.

“Auntie Nat! Are you gonna hang out at the beach with us?”

“Oh course I am! I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

“Oh my gosh! Ellorie! You’ve gotten so big!” Penny squeals walking over to the group.

“Hi Ms. Penny.” Elle smiles shyly. 

“Go on pumpkin. We’ll be back in a bit.” Elle waves to her parents as they walk towards the rest of the group.

Dogfight football was complicated to say the least even halfway through the game Willow did not understand a single rule about the game but everyone was having fun, cheering, getting along. Even her and Rooster had yet to butt heads all day. But Willow’s favorite part was her shirtless husband running forward to make a touchdown. Occasionally Willow and Jake would catch glimpses of Elle who would be cheering from the deck next to Penny. Everytime Jake or Willow scored a touchdown, Elle’s little cheers could be heard. 

When Penny had heard Mav dismiss everyone she sent Elle running across the beach.

“Mama! Daddy! Beach time?” Elle questions, running into Jake’s arms.

“Absolutely. In fact...” Jake trails off before taking off running towards the water, Elle screaming in his arms. Willow, Nat, and Coyote laugh as Jake plays with his daughter. Willow runs over and as soon as Elle is out of Jake’s arms Willow pushes him into the water. “Oh! I see how it is!” Jake grabs Willow’s ankle and trips her, catching her as she lands in the water with him. All three of them laugh as they play in the water.

“Did that kid call Hangman daddy?”

“Is that even Hangman?”

“He’s so relaxed.”

“Hangman and Vixen are a cute couple though.” Omaha says.

Halo gasps. “Do you think that's their kid?”

“Holy shit I totally see it.” Yale says to his friends. “Look at her. Spitting image of Hangman with Vixen’s nose. That's definitely a Vixman love child.”

“Vixman?” Phoenix asks, walking over to them. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Hangman and Vixen’s love child.”

“Hey Willow!” Phoenix calls and Willow comes walking up, Jake and Elle behind her.

“What's up?” Phoenix gestures to every who stares in awe of Elle.

“Okay.” Willow clears her throat. “Everyone, this is Jake’s and I’s daughter Ellorie. Elle, these are Mama and Daddy’s friends.” Elle waves softly, holding tight to her father.

“Holy shit dude! She’s like 10!”

“7 and watch your language.”

“Who knew Jake Hangman Seresin would settle down.”

“Oh and we got married 6 years ago.” Jake says. Immediately everyone is asking questions. Willow pulls Elle from the sand into her arms.

“So..” Bradley says, loitering around Willow.

“So…?” Willow replies, waiting for Bradley to continue. 

“You were pregnant through all that? When Hangman was MIA?”

“Yea.”

“And you two got married?”

“A year after she was born.” Willow says.

“Just didn’t want to tell anyone? I know your dad wasn’t there.”

“Papa was there.” Elle chimes in.

“Papa?” Rooster questions.

“Ice.” Bradley nods. 

“Look–”

“We don’t have to do this, Bradley.” 

“Do what?”

“Play catch up. You are still part of the reason my childhood was hell and I don't talk to Mav anymore. We can be civil when it comes to the mission but outside of that? Don’t bother.”  Willow walks away from him with Elle still in her arms. “Hey Jake. I’m gonna take Elle to the parlor down the beach.”

“Alright darlin, I’ll meet you down there okay?” Willow nods. “I’ll see you in a bit, pumpkin.”

“Bye Daddy.”

“Nat, tagging along?”

“I’m coming!”

"Good morning. The uranium enrichment plant that is your target will be operational earlier than expected. Raw uranium will be delivered to the plant in ten days time. As a result, your mission has been moved up one week in order to avoid contaminating the target valley with radiation." Willow's eyes widened, her lrft hand tightened its grip on her flight suit, knuckles turning white.

"Sir, no one here has successfully flown a low level course," Coyote is the first to speak up.

"Nevertheless, you've been ordered to move on." Admiral Bates steps aside to allow Maverick to go over the mission parameters.

Willow taps profusely on the desk before her. To anyone it would just look as if she was thinking but Jake knew better. It was an anxious tick he had noticed during flight school that seemed to pop up everywhere they went. Jake rests a hand on hers, attempting to settle her nerves.

"We have one week left to focus on phase two. It's the most difficult stage of the mission. It's a pop up strike with a steep dive, requiring nothing less than two consecutive miracles." He turned to the board behind him, the screen showing what their planes would do as he spoke. "Two pairs of  F-18s will fly in a welded wing formation. Teamwork. Precise coordination of these aircraft is essential to both the mission's success and your survival," Maverick says. "As you know, the plant rests between two mountains. On final approach you'll invert directly into a steep dive. This allows you to maintain the lowest possible altitude at the only possible attack angle. Your target is an impact point less than three meters wide. The two seated aircraft will paint the target with a laser bullseye. The first pair will breach the reactor by dropping a laser-guided bomb on an exposed ventilation hatch. This will create an opening for the second pair. That's miracle number one."

Willow's breathing halts at the thought, everything that could go wrong running through her mind. But most is the possible orphaning of her daughter.

"The second team will deliver the kill shot and destroy the target. That's miracle number two," Maverick continued. "If either team misses the target, the mission is a failure. Egress is a steep, high G climb out to avoid hitting this mountain."

"A steep climb at this speed, you're pulling at least eight G's," Jake thinks aloud.

"Nine, minimum," Maverick corrected.

"The stress limit of the F-18's airframe is seven point five," Rooster tells them.

"That's the accepted limit. To survive this mission, you'll pull beyond that. Even if it means bending your airframe. You'll be pulling so hard you'll weigh close to 2000 pounds. Your skull crushing your spine, your lungs imploding like an elephant sitting on your chest," Maverick described. "Fighting with everything you have just to keep from blacking out. This is where you'll be at your most vulnerable. This is coffin corner. Assuming you avoid crashing into this mountain, you'll climb straight up into the enemy radar, while losing your air speed. Within seconds you'll be fired upon by enemy SAMs. You've all faced sustained G's before, but this is going to take you and your aircraft to the breaking point."

"Sir, is this even achievable?" Phoenix asks.

"The answer to the question will come down to the pilot in the box."

Willow exits the room. She can feel the shudders from her heavy breathing as she exits the room.

“Willow.” She keeps walking, trying to find an empty room before she breaks down. “Darlin please, slow down.”

She opens the door to an empty classroom and leans against the closest desk.

“Darlin?” Jake questions, entering mere seconds after her. “Darlin, you gotta breathe.” Slowly Willow’s breathing calms, the tears subside and sits in the closest chair, no longer trusting her legs to keep her up. “What's wrong?”

“I don't think I can do this mission.” Willow sighs.

“Are you kidding? Willow you are the best pilot in that room. If anyone can do it, it's you.”

“I’m sure Jake but,” Willow sighs. “I can’t go on this mission and risk Elle growing up without her mother. Or both of us going on this mission and her becoming an orphan. I can’t do that Jake. I can’t subject her to what I had.”

“No one would ever let that happen. I can promise you that.” Jake comforts. “When we go on this mission, because I know we will, we are both coming home to our little girl. I would never dare let anything happen to her.”

“That's a miss. Bring it back in, Vixen.”

“Dammit.”

“Hey don’t sweat it, Vix. We’ll get it.” Fanboy tries to encourage.

Willow sighs, heading back to base. She lays on the couch in the middle of the lounge, her head resting on Jake’s thigh. Jake runs his fingers through her hair, pulling the Navy regulated bun out so he can ease the tension he knows she has in her head. They listen in on Phoenix, Bob, and Coyote’s trial. Willow lays on her side facing the radio they had moved to the coffee table. Jaka softly massages her scalp when they suddenly hear Mav calling for Coyote but no response.

“Holy shit.” Willow sits up quickly, her gaze burning into the radio.

“Come on Coyote.” Jake mutters leaning forward. Everyone holds their breath as they wait for the sign that Coyote was okay. Once they get the all clear they settle down, thankful that what they thought was the worst was over. That was until the bird strike and then they heard Phoenix and Bob eject.

Willow refused to move from the couch. They had been dismissed over an hour ago but Willow refused to leave until she got an update on her best friend and WSO.

“I’m gonna go pick up Elle, darlin. I’ll be back, alright?” Willow nods, fiddling with the zipper of her flight suit that is now tied around her waist, flight gear abandoned on the floor.

It wasn’t even 30 minutes later that Mav had walked in, giving the update to her before leaving the room. With the knowledge that both Phoenix and Bob were okay, she gathered her gear and began the walk to the locker room. She deposits everything into her locker, changing into her civilian clothes and exits the locker room, heading for the parking lot to meet Jake and Elle. She is almost there when she hears Warlock call for her.

“Lieutenant Commander Seresin!’ Willow turns at the call, face dropping when she sees the sorrowful look on Admiral Bates’s face.

“What happened?” She questions.

“It's Admiral Kazansky. He’s passed. I’m sorry for your loss.” Willow froze in the statement. She tries to process the information but all she manages to do is drop to her knees and cry. Jake comes running through the door with Elle in his arms.

“Hey darlin, it's okay. I’m here.” Jake kneels next to his wife, both him and Elle wrapping Willow a group hug.

“It’s okay, Mama.” Elle whispers. “Papa isn’t hurting anymore.”

Willow pulls back and places a hand on Elle’s cheek. “When did my little girl get so smart?” Elle giggles at the act, wrapping her arms around Willow’s neck and holding her mom close. Willow cried softly as she held her daughter, Jake still knelt beside them, holding both close.

Despite how upset Willow was, she couldn’t deny that the service was perfect. Willow, Jake, and Elle had been asked to stand with Sarah and her and Ice’s 2 children, Jackson and Elizabeth. And despite her protests, that's exactly where Willow found herself.

Jake and Willow were in their service dress blues. Ellorie stood between them in a simple black dress, clutched tightly to her father’s leg.

Cyclone walked up to Sarah with the folded flag and attempted to hand it to her. It shocked Willow when she refused and directed him down the line. 

Jack and Lizzie who had been the best aunt and uncle to Ellorie had gone to their mother the day before suggesting that they don’t receive the flag. They both knew that their father loved them unconditionally but he always held a soft spot for his honorary first granddaughter. 

Everyone who previously knew about Ellorie and heard story after story from Ice over the years. So when Sarah gave Cyclone a look. He knew exactly where the flag was going. Jack and Lizzie smile through their tears as the admiral walks past them, knowing their father was smiling down on them.

Cyclone kneels before Ellorie, who was still wrapped around Jake’s leg, and holds the flag out to the little girl. Willow tries to fight back her sobs at the action. Elle gently takes the flag from him as he speaks.

“On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Navy and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one’s honorable and faithful service.” Cyclone stands and salutes the flag before returning to his post. 

Willow watches as Maverick punches Iceman’s wings into the casket. As they set up for the 21 gun salute, Willow reaches down to pick up Elle. Jake takes the flag from his daughter so Willow could hold her, muffling the shots fired.

Before long the service was over and everyone started heading back to their cars. As Sarah goes to leave, Willow catches her.

“We can’t take this, Sarah. It goes to the family.”

“You are family, sweetheart. He would’ve wanted you to have it.” Sarah smiles. Elle reaches out to her grandma, Sarah pulls her over and hugs her, kissing her head before setting her down. “Besides, the kids wanted Elle to have it. They got a lifetime of love from him, they figured Elle deserved a piece of her papa as much as they do.”

Tears well in her eyes at the information before being pulled into a hug. “I love you, Sarah.”

“I love you too sweetheart.” 

Sarah walks towards the car where Jack and Lizzie already wait.

Jake leads his family to the car, Willow stumbles still lost in her emotions and Elle rests her head on her father’s shoulder as he carries her, already fast asleep.

“Let's get you both home.” Jake smiles softly after everyone is buckled into the car. He rubs small circles into Willow’s hand for the entirety of the drive. 

This past week was taking its toll of Willow. Between the mission and losing the man she saw as a father, Jake knew she wasn’t okay. But Willow still played it off. When they got home, Jake carried Elle to her bedroom while Willow sat on the couch, pulling out every copy she had of the flight plans and mission details she had, burying herself into the mission.

Jake did their nightly cleaning and made sure everything was locked up and away before he spoke.

“Darlin, let's go to bed.” He says softly, wrapping his arms around her shoulders over the back of the couch.

“Just a few more minutes.”

“You’ve been staring at these papers for over an hour.” Jake sighs, massaging her shoulders to make her see she needs to rest. “We have an early morning.”

“I’ll be up in a bit Jake. You go on ahead.” Reluctantly, Jake made his way to their bedroom. He tried to stay up until she came in but he fell asleep waiting. And when he woke the next morning to Willow’s side of the bed was still neatly made, he knew she never came in. Walking out, he finds Willow asleep on the couch, papers strewn left and right.

He drapes the throw blanket from the back of the couch over her before heading to wake up Elle and get her ready for the day. They didn’t have to be at work until 9 so Jake lets her sleep. Once Elle was ready he took her out for a Daddy daughter breakfast.

“Is Mama okay?” Elle questions.

“She’ll be okay, pumpkin. She just misses Papa a lot.” Jake answers the little girl. Elle had become more observant the older she got. 

“I miss him too.” Elle says softly, picking up a piece of fruit from her plate.

“Me too. Finish your breakfast. We're gonna be late for school.”

When Jake arrived back home to pick up Willow, she was barreling through the house trying to get ready.

“Where were you?” Willow asks, buttoning her khaki shirt.

“Took Elle to breakfast before school. Are you ready?”

“Yea, lemme grab my phone.” 

“Vixen! A word.” Willow turns to see Maverick walking up to her. Jake goes to stand in front of her but she stops him.

“It's fine, I’ll see you in there.” Jake nods walking inside.

“I need a favor.”

“Mav—“

“I need you to run the course by yourself.”

“I haven’t even completed it as a team. What makes you think I wanna run it by myself?” Willow questions.

“They canned me Willow. You are the only person in there that I know can do this mission and should lead it.”

“I can’t—“

“Please, Willow.” She looks through the windows of the doors leading into the classroom just as Admiral Simpson begins speaking.

"Captain Mitchell is no longer your instructor. As of today there are new mission parameters," Admiral Simpson tells everyone as they lean forward paying more attention. Phoenix leans over to Jake.

“Where’s Willow?”

“Maverick pulled her outside.”

"Time to target is now four minutes." Everyone looks around to each other, shocked. There was no way anyone was coming back alive if the time to target was four minutes, and they all knew it. "You'll be entering the valley level at reduced speed, not to exceed 420 knots."

"Sir, won't we be giving enemy aircraft a chance to catch up to us?" Phoenix questioned.

"You have a better fighting chance against enemy aircraft than you do surviving a head-on collision with a mountain," the admiral answered. "You will be attacking the target from a higher altitude, level with the north wall." Just as Admiral Bates continued, everyone’s eyes were drawn to the screen, a beeping came through as two single F-18s fly towards the course.

"Vixen to range control, entering point alpha, confirm green range.”

“Oh fuck.” Bradley mutters leaning forward.

"Range control to Vixen. Uhh, green range is confirmed, but I don't see an event scheduled for you.”

"I’m still going.” Willow calls out.

"Nice," Phoenix mumbled.

"Setting time to target to two minutes and fifteen seconds," Willow said. The previously set time changed and everyone grew more anxious.

"That's impossible," Fanboy calls out just loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Vixen is inbound," she says, crossing the starting point.

The time starts and everyone watches on the edge of their seats as the Willow swerved through the course, on her own. “One minute and 35 seconds, coming up on pop up.” Willow calls out.

She immediately began the incline before performing the inverted dive. 

"Bombs away," Willow says, begining her climb out. “Bullseye!” She cheers as she sees impact. Inside the hanger everyone is cheering

By the time she reached the top she was already pulling 9.5 Gs and slowly leveling out, pulling Willow back in as she was close to G-lock. Once she was level the timer stopped. 16 seconds left on the clock. 

“That's my girl.” Jake smiles at the screens that document everything about the trial.

Dressed in their whites, Jake and Willow walk into the Hard Deck with Elle beside them. Normally they would never bring her into a bar but with Penny taking Elle during the mission and this being the last night with their friends beforehand.

“Hey there's my favorite niece!” Coyote meets them at the door, lifting Elle from the ground and walking her towards the pool tables.

“I’m going to get some beers.” Willow tells Jake before walking to where the team was. She had been reprimanded for her stunt that previous day but Cyclone saw exactly what Maverick wanted him to see. Willow was the right choice to lead this mission and actually agreed.

“Hey, 2 beers?” Penny asks as Willow walks up to the bar.

“Yes.” Penny reaches down to grab Willow’s and Jake’s regular, opening them up. “Hey, thanks for watching Elle for us. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“It takes a village to raise a child in the military. Fortunately for you, you have a whole armada.” Penny points to the group and Willow looks over to see Coyote helping Elle play pool against Jake, everyone cheering when she sinks the 8-ball. Willow smiles watching how excited Elle is as Jake throws her into the air, catching her, celebrating her win.

“Yea. Listen, if tomorrow doesn’t go as planned–”

“You can’t talk like that Willow.”

“If it happens, make sure she goes to Jake’s family. I don’t need Mav doing to her what he did to me.” Willow finishes.

“Your father has grown a great deal since 1997.” Penny informs.

“My father has not proven that to me. I trust you with my life Pen, but I can’t trust him.”

“I understand. But I will be seeing you tomorrow after this mission.”

“Thanks Pen.” Willow carries the beers over, passing one to her husband.

“Hey darlin, Elle just beat at her first game of pool.” Jake tells her.

“Of course she did. Just like her mama. She will never lose to daddy.” She says to Elle, winking at Jake before walking over to where Phoenix and Bob sat.

“So team leader, you got an idea of who your team is?” Phoenix asks.

“If I did I couldn’t tell you. But I wouldn’t go anywhere without my wingman.” Willow smiles at her best friend.

“So who’s gonna be your second?” Jake asks, Elle now playing pool with Coyote.

“Jake–”

“I get it, someone’s gotta come home to Elle.” Jake replies. “I’d do the same thing in your position.”

“If we didn’t have her, I would choose you in a heartbeat. I trust no one more. You are back up though”

“I’ll take it.” Jake smiles.

“Hangman being okay as back up? Never thought I’d live to see the day.” Phoenix laughs.

“Hey, you already know I would do anything for my girls.” Jake kisses Willow’s temple before walking over to play darts.

“Any idea who your second is?” Bob asks.

“No. I think I’m going to decide on the boat tomorrow.”

“Think hard, Vixen. Lives are on the line.”

The Dagger squad stayed until the late hours of the night. Elle had fallen asleep hours ago and slept peacefully in a booth Penny had set up as a bed. Around 1 am, Penny had closed all tabs and cleaned up before meeting Willow and Jake at her car. They had already gotten Elle buckled in and back to sleep after saying their goodbyes to the sleepy girl.

“We can’t ever thank you enough Penny.”

“You guys coming home safely will be thank you enough. Good luck.”

“Thanks Pen.” The couple retreats to their own vehicle, climbing in and heading home.

They held each other a little closer that night as they slept, mentally preparing themselves for the next day.

#top gun #top gun maverick #top gun x oc #jake seresin x oc #jake hangman seresin x oc #jake hangman x oc #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #glen powell #hangman #rooster #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw #tom cruise #pete mitchell #pete maverick mitchell #maverick #always darling js #gbaby always darling #hangmansgbaby #OC!Willow “Vixen” Seresin

[perfectprettypisces]

The Princess and The Pilot • J.H.S • Prologue: Meet The Family

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Admiral’sDaughter!OC

Synopsis: To be fair, Jake didn’t know Maya was the daughter of an admiral when they started dating. Or that her father was none other than Wilson “Hitchcock” Hayes, the legendary pilot famous for having a chip on his shoulder larger than the state of Texas and four sons who all graduated from the TOPGUN program. With her entire family set to come down to San Diego for her graduation, Jake enlists the help of his friends to woo his girlfriend’s family.

Warnings: swearing, angst(?), shit ton of dialogue lol

a/n: oh my goodness, i was not expecting that much good feedback on the sneak peek for this new series but i’m glad y’all liked it :) like i said before i don’t like using Y/N, so i will be using a name, but i will attempt to keep it as non-descriptive as possible in order for you to imagine whoever you like as the face claim. also, idk how consistent i’m going to be with updating, but i’ll try my best :)

Series Masterlist • Top Gun Masterlist

Next Part

“I have to tell you something.”

Hangman’s halfway out the front door when Maya makes her sudden declaration. He was supposed to meet the rest of his squadron at The Hard Deck twenty minutes ago and he’s already running behind, but her words make him halt in place. It was essentially a cousin of “we need to talk” and nothing good ever came from those conversations in his experience. And judging from the way his girlfriend was twiddling her thumbs nervously, this was no exception.

“Is this a good something or a bad something?” he asks, coming over to stand in front of her. He places his hands on her hips and squeezes. He can feel the uneasiness radiating off her and while it does nothing to stop his mind from racing, he keeps his expression neutral.

“Depends on how you take it,” she says with a nervous chuckle, rubbing her hands up and down his arms. “I just wanted to tell you that my family is flying in next week for my graduation and I want you to meet them.”

That’s… not as bad as he was expecting.

“Okay?” he drawls with a confused smile. “Why do you seem so worried? I would love to meet your family, babe.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about.” Oh, if only he knew, she thinks. “They’re just… a lot sometimes and I don’t want you to get scared off or something.”

“Baby, nothing could scare me away from you,” he says, leaning down to place a kiss on her lips. “And trust me, by the time your graduation comes, you’re gonna see that you had nothing to worry about.”

Hangman was a charmer by nature. His military confidence in combination with his southern hospitality made him every parent’s dream. And being an older brother to three sisters himself, he knew exactly the type of guy he would want his sisters to bring home. He was sure he could get her father and brothers to love him in no time.

“Is there anything I should know before they come?” he asks, dipping his head down to place kisses along the column of her neck.

“Well…” If this were any other situation, his kisses may have distracted her from the situation at hand, but not this time. Here goes nothing, she thinks. “I told you that my dad was a pilot for the Navy.”

Hangman hums in agreement, continuing his line of kisses to her jawline. “You did.”

“My brother’s in the Navy, too.”

“Oh?” He was mentally taking notes on potential things that could earn him brownie points. Finding a common ground would be easier than he thought. “What does he do?”

“He’s a pilot.”

Hangman stiffens. He lifts his head to see her biting her lip nervously. “A pilot? Like your dad?”

“Mhm,” she nods, refusing to meet his eye.

Now, that piqued his interest. He lifts an eyebrow skeptically. “Which brother is this?”

“All of them.”

“All of them?” he repeats in disbelief. “They’re all in the Navy or they’re all pilots?”

“Both.”

“Both?” he parrots, his voice significantly higher than before. He feels the self-assured mask he’d put on slip off a little more with each detail he learned.

“Wait, you said your dad was a pilot for the Navy? What does he do now?”

Please don’t say it, he begs internally.

“He’s an admiral.”

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

“You just left?”

Hangman thinks for a moment. “Yeah.”

In hindsight it wasn’t his best move, but his brain felt like it was on overdrive. He didn’t know if he was running on adrenaline or fear.

Hangman, the fearless fighter pilot, had run away with his tail between his legs.

His friends were left bewildered when Hangman had shown up over a half an hour late looking like he’d seen a ghost and started word vomiting all the new information he’d learned about his girlfriend’s family. All the way up to the point where he’d left her standing alone in the kitchen of her apartment.

Again, not his best move.

“So, you really had no idea?”

“No.”

“And you just found out today?” 

“Yes.”

“You had to have known–”

“For the last time, Phoenix; no, I didn’t know and no offense, but this is really not helping my case here,” Hangman groans. He straightens his posture from where he was bent over the pool table and runs a stressed hand over his face. “I mean, what the hell am I supposed to do?”

The group of pilots share a look before collectively turning their gazes to Bob, who’d been distracted by the cup of peanuts in his hand. He looks up to find them all staring at him expectantly, hoping he could provide a voice of reason. 

“Don’t look at me, I’m not the one dating the admiral’s daughter.”

Hangman’s shoulders visibly deflate as he sets aside his pool cue. He sits on the bar stool across from Coyote, downing his drink in one go in an attempt to ground himself. 

“I just don’t get it,” Phoenix says. “You knew her last name, she told you her dad was in the Navy, and yet you never made the connection?”

In hindsight, there were so many clues that could’ve told Hangman that her dad was not just an admiral, but the admiral. She’d briefly mentioned him being a Naval aviator when they’d first met, but the weight of his accomplishments didn’t strike her as something to mention off-hand. She rarely talked about him after that first time and Hangman never wanted to push, assuming that they probably didn’t have the best relationship.

Oh, how wrong he was.

“In my defense, it’s a common last name,” Hangman counters weakly.

“In the entire country? Maybe,” Rooster says, grabbing the abandoned pool cue and lining up his own shot. “In the Navy? You should’ve known, dude.”

“Thanks,” Hangman states flatly as he glares at his friend. He fiddles with the glass in his hands, wishing that if he stared at it long enough it would magically refill itself. He definitely needed another drink.

Payback, ever the mediator, chooses this moment to step in. “Look, man, I don’t know what you want us to tell you. If this were any other admiral, I wouldn’t see a problem, but this is Hitchcock. We’ve all heard the stories, his daughter’s like his pride and joy.”

Hangman knew his friend was right. Admiral Wilson “Hitchcock” Hayes was, in layman’s terms, a hardass. He notoriously ruled with an iron fist and anyone that stepped out of line under his watchful eye would have hell to pay. His ever-present scowl and booming voice were enough to make a grown man cry, as evident to the poor lieutenant who had gotten in his way on a particularly bad day. The one exception to his icy exterior was his one and only daughter, affectionately referred to as Princess by her father’s colleagues.

Princess, who also happened to be Hangman’s girlfriend of nine months. Go figure.

“Isn’t he stationed in Virginia? The hell is he coming to San Diego for?” Fanboy asks.

“Her graduation,” Hangman explains, but even the slight twinge of pride he got from the thought of his girlfriend completing medical school wasn’t enough to dull his anxiousness. “And it’s not just him, her entire family is going to be here.”

“You mean–”

“Yup.”

Payback holds out his full beer bottle towards Hangman. “I think you might need this more than I do.”

He mumbles out a thanks and takes a swig.

“If I were you, I’d worry about her brothers first,” Rooster says. “Because right now, you’re severely outnumbered.”

Admiral Hayes was well-known in his own right, but the fact that all four of his sons were amongst the top 1% of aviators practically immortalized him in the eyes of the Navy. And while each Hayes’ brother was wildly different from the next, wanting to follow in their father’s footsteps was their unwavering common ground. This included a fierce and shared protectiveness over the youngest member of their family.

It was common sense to anyone stationed with a Hayes to never mention Princess in the presence of her brothers, let alone her father. Dating her was unquestionably off the table. Another young officer had learned that the hard way after attempting to flirt with her in front of her oldest brother, Wes, when she had come up to Virginia to visit. It was no surprise when that same lieutenant had shown up to base the next day with a black eye.

And Wes was known as the level-headed one.

Fanboy lets out a low whistle. “Dude, you’re fucked.”

Hangman nods gratefully at Phoenix as she drives her elbow into Fanboy’s ribcage.

“I can’t speak for the others, but Pops isn’t a bad guy,” Payback says, referring to Admiral Hayes’ oldest son. “We were in the same TOPGUN class. He’s a hell of a pilot.”

“Same goes for Junior,” Coyote pipes from his seat, talking the second oldest. “I was stationed with him before I came here.”

Phoenix turns to Bob and points. “Bob, weren’t you stationed with one of the Hayes’ in Lemoore? What was his callsign?”

“Oh, Mouse?” Bob says. “Yeah, he’s the youngest, I think. He’s fine. He’s just… quiet, I guess.”

“Well, that’s three out of four,” Fanboy counts, looking between everyone else. “Who’s the fourth?”

Hangman’s head snaps up and his eyes meet Rooster and Phoenix’s concerned gazes from across the pool table. He groans in realization, pressing a hand to his forehead to ease the tension that had built up. “Sparky.”

“Sparky?” Payback echoes.

“Griffin Hayes,” Phoenix explains. “He and Hangman had it out for each other in the Academy.”

“C’mon, it’s been years,” Rooster says, painfully optimistic. “Do you really think he’s still holding a grudge against him?”

Hangman stares at him blankly. “Did you?”

Rooster’s silence was all the confirmation he needed.

“Well, you and Rooster are on good terms now,” Bob says, ignoring their indifferent expressions. Good terms, but not great, one might say. “Who says you can’t do the same with this Sparky guy?”

Rooster and Phoenix share a look while Hangman sighs. “It’s not that easy.”

“Had it out for each other” was a gross understatement as to what their relationship actually was. Griffin “Sparky” Hayes was the thorn in Hangman’s side throughout his years at the Academy all the way to his stint at TOPGUN, making whatever petty beef he had with Rooster seem like child’s play in comparison. While Hangman and Rooster’s rivalry remained strictly professional, the riff between Hangman and Sparky bled into aspects of their everyday life. From the type of car they drove all the way to the girls they dated.

Hangman swore he never wanted to see the son of a bitch again after he’d successfully beaten Sparky out for the number one spot in their TOPGUN class. The feeling, as expected, was mutual.

Now, he needed to play nice or he could kiss his sweet girlfriend goodbye.

“Jake?”

Hangman perks up at the sound of Maya’s voice. She’s wearing the same apprehensive expression she had on when he’d first left her apartment as she shrunk under the gazes of the six other pilots with him.

In the nine months they’d been dating, Maya had only spent time with his squadron on a handful of occasions. Between her rounds at the hospital and finishing medical school, it was rare for her to have a weekend off. But when she did, she gladly accompanied Hangman to The Hard Deck. While the conversations never went deeper than surface level, they all got along well.

So, it was slightly awkward to have them all stare at her like she’d just entered riding on a unicorn.

“Hey guys,” she waves shyly. They return her gesture timidly, like they were afraid Hitchcock was going to pop up out of nowhere and berate them for not greeting his daughter properly.

Hangman removes himself from his bar stool and goes to stand in front of her, blocking them from her view. “Babe, what’re you doing here?”

“Can we talk?” she asks, sparing a glance at his friends. “Privately?”

A sick sense of déjà vu washes over him, instantly flashing back to when she’d said a variation of those words not even an hour ago and how that conversation had ended. It doesn’t stop him from placing a hand on the small of her back and leading her away from the multiple pairs of prying eyes. He walks them out to the back patio of The Hard Deck, embracing the slight chill of the early evening. When he notices her slight shiver, he silently curses himself for not having a jacket to give her.

Boyfriend of the year award, he thinks. 0 for 2, Bagman.

“I am so sorry for walking out earlier, I don’t know what I was thinking,” he starts off, grabbing her hands in his larger ones to warm them up. 

“I don’t blame you, to be honest,” she says. “I did kind of drop a bomb on you.”

A massive, extremely explosive atomic bomb. But a bomb, nonetheless.

“It was just… unexpected, I guess,” he says. Understatement of the century. “I also wish I’d known a little sooner.”

“I know,” she groans, retracting her hands from his and burying her face in them. “I just didn’t want things to change between us.”

He pries her hands away from her face so he could look her in the eye. “You really think I would treat you any differently?”

“Aren’t you already? I mean, you saw how your friends looked at me in there like I was some mythical creature,” she says, gesturing towards the window. 

Hangman spares a glance back to the group of pilots, who’d conveniently made their way over to the piano sometime in the past five minutes. They were not at all subtle in the way they were trying to eavesdrop on their conversation. He catches Rooster’s eye, who turns away immediately as he scratches the back of his neck. The rest follow suit as they feign different levels of nonchalance. 

“Hell, you walked out right after I told you,” she points out.

Hangman grimaces. She got him there. “Again, not my best move.”

“Look, I love my dad and my brothers, but I also love you,” she says, laying an affectionate hand on his cheek. “And I know I’ve put you in an impossible position. It’s not what you signed up for.”

Maya, usually the epitome of confidence, had never looked smaller as she delivered her words so mechanically. Almost like she was repeating them from memory, like someone had said them to her before. Hangman’s heart breaks at the idea of his girlfriend being told those words as someone decided that she wasn’t worth the risk.

“What are you saying?” Hangman asks, almost certain he knew where the conversation was going.

“I’m offering you an out,” Maya sighs. “You don’t have to do this.”

In any other scenario, he would’ve viewed her proposition as a cop-out. He would’ve been upset that she was giving up before letting him have a chance to prove himself. He would’ve been upset that she was running away from him. But he could see the vulnerability hiding beneath the surface. She was offering him the out because that’s the way everyone else had taken.

Hangman’s decision is a no brainer. He wanted to show her that she was worth fighting for. 

“I love you and I made you a promise, didn’t I?” he says, bringing his hands up to cradle her face. “Like I said, there is absolutely nothing that can scare me away from you.”

Hopefully, those wouldn’t be his famous last words.

But he knows he made the right decision when her face lights up with a mixture of happiness and relief. She leans up and kisses him, wrapping her arms around his waist. His arms move around her shoulders when she pulls away, placing a firm kiss on her forehead.

“I love you.” Hangman repeats as he places another kiss on her head. “And I can’t wait to meet ‘em.”

“I love you, too,” she says, beaming at him. “They’re going to love you in no time.”

If only things were that easy.

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[atinylittlepain]

Part Two

climbing expeditionist!steve harrington x f!oc

series masterlist

Past, present, and future dance and daunt in the shadows of Mount Everest. He just wants to get home. She just wants him home.

chapter warnings | 18+ angst, pregnancy, commentary on eco-tourism, steve is a little depresso at 17,000 feet, non-invasive descriptions of altitude sickness and the injection of medicine to treat it, tispy steve is a menace and requires a warning

word count | 3.8K

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

April, 1996 - Boulder, Colorado

Time starts to warp and reel in on itself, she finds. Somehow, it’s already been a month since he left. And even though the days seem to stretch and thin, interminable, the nights too, she can’t fully account for the last four weeks. 

Somehow, April, the middle of it. Somehow, spring, the snow starting to melt, flowers pushing up from dark, damp earth, life bursting and buoying forth in Colorado. She takes her students outside for class as much as she can, they go for walks around the school while asking and answering questions about book reports and vocab quizzes. They’re reading The Little Prince as a class, she asks them what they think about the fox and the pilot while they meander in the cool air. The other teachers say that it’s a brilliant idea, but she knows that she needs that time uncloistered just as much as the students do. And because it makes her the cool teacher, of course the kids know what she does, what Steve does, and is doing. Mrs. Harrington climbs mountains and her husband is on top of the world. 

Teaching had seemed like the most efficient job to accommodate what she loves, weekends and summers off, and a handy deal worked out with the principal to take off at the end of March, what she had done for the past two years years. Not needed this year though. Instead, the kids ask her where her husband is, when he’s coming home. It had nearly knocked the wind out of her when one of them, a boy in all his young earnestness, had asked her can he breathe up there? 

At the very least, work eats up the weekdays, grading tests and lesson plans and rushed lunch hours in her classroom. Phone calls come fewer and farther in between, and she knows that they have to because he’s getting ready for the push off from base. And then, well, there won’t be any phone calls for at least three weeks, just updates from Robin still at base, a roundabout game of radio relay. So for now, she’s grateful for the lost sleep, for the phone ringing in the middle of the night, him telling her about the shifting Icefall, the strange new crush of crowds around the ladders over the crevasses. She asks if Eddie’s using oxygen this year and he tells her he is. Getting older, he says, getting smarter, she replies. 

Steve has been keeping meticulous track of the weeks, and she knows him, knows that when he asks after how she’s feeling, what she did that week, that he’s writing it down somewhere, a habit of his she learned early on. Not wanting to miss anything, trying to pin down time with pen and paper. Before she can even tell him that her 24-week scan is on Thursday, he’s already asking after it, my Friday, right?

“Yeah, in the morning, I’ll fax the scans over soon as I get home.”

“I know we’re not supposed to, but I’ve been keeping the ones you sent in my jacket pocket when we’re climbing. Been showing them to anyone who will give me the chance to whip them out. They’re perfect, honey.” And then almost as an afterthought, he breathes out thank you. When she asks him what for he laughs, just once, just thank you, that’s all. 

“Are you pushing off soon?”

“It’s looking like this Saturday is gonna be it.” Quick catch, quick drop of her heart into her stomach before it slings taut and tight up into her throat. She swallows hard before she responds.

“Oh, that’s early isn’t it?”

“We’re trying to get a jump on the crowd here. It’s gonna be a jam if we don’t, Josie, a total mess.” She doesn’t like it, not at all. Mid-May, there’s a reason everyone aims for mid-May, and even the difference of a handful of days can spell a quick-weaving fabric of disaster, of weather that would make even the best of them turn around, or die trying to persist. But she knows she can’t say that to him, knows that he needs her confidence right now. So she says okay twice, okay, okay, takes a deep breath before saying any more so that her voice is steady when she speaks again. 

“Well, it sounds like early is best then. Just a few days shouldn’t snarl anything too bad, right?”

“That’s the hope, a nice clean send to finish things off here.” He sighs, he’s tired, she knows, she can hear it. The push before the push, packing out oxygen tanks and checking ladders and ropes, and making sure the clients are keeping their own packing light and aren’t getting sick, coordinating with the other guides. Of course he’s tired, starting to wear thin around the edges, so she makes her voice light as air alright, baby, better let you go, and yes, send the scans over and yes, love you, love you so much, call before Saturday, before you leave. The phone clicks and she’s suspended into silence again, the darkness of her bedroom. Hand on her stomach, little life answers with a kick.

“That was your dad on the phone.”

…

May, 1990 - Camp Four

At first it was pain, and getting used to it. Weak and wan, cold all the time, a rattling cough that seems to get worse the further up they trek. Food became tedious somewhere along the way, trying to keep down instant noodles and peanut m and ms, about all he can stomach, and the errant thought that it’s because his body is quite literally shutting down the higher they climb. The nights are sleepless, wind whipping at the sides of their tents, fabric walls closing in around them, the only sound rising above the howls being the cacophony of hacking lungs in the night, deep pauses whenever someone takes a pull of oxygen from their mask. 

It’s no longer pain, it’s something past pain. It’s sheer endurance at this point, a numb sort of will to continue, to see this through. He didn’t think he had romantic notions about this climb, did plenty of reading about what happens to the body after reaching a certain altitude, reading about the bodies left behind, frozen into the face of the mountain, about ice blindness and hallucinations, vomiting blood and swelling brains, gone mad in the cold and the wind. But still, but still, there are some things not even the imagination can reach. 

If there is a perfect distillation of agony, he thinks it would be this, curled up in a tent, willing sleep while he coughs so hard he thinks he might start to puke, and knowing that the next morning, he will push himself even further, even higher. They all will.

There’s a shout of his name, and he’s nearly certain his mind is crafting it out of thin air, but then the flap of his tent is coming unzipped and it’s her, it’s her, ducking her head in and holding out a first aid kit. Past the point of pretenses, of any sort of peacocking, he simply shrugs over to the side of his tent to make room for her to crawl inside, breathing hard, ice in her eyelashes and around the neck of her jacket. 

“Do you want pills or a shot?”

“What?” She doesn’t look at him, just keeps rummaging through her kit, pulling out a box of pills and a syringe with shaking hands, her head lamp laying between them, casting strange shadows over her face, the walls of the tent.

“You sound awful, Steve.”

“We all sound awful.”

“Yeah, but your tent is next to mine and I can’t fucking sleep with you hacking up a lung. So, shot or pills?” He knows what it is, though he hasn’t had to take any yet. Dexamethasone, acetazolamide, nifedipine, take your pick, some kind of anti-inflammatory, considered cheating by some (Eddie) and a necessary evil by others. 

“The shot works faster, doesn’t it?” She nods, smiles just a little, one that doesn’t quite meet her eyes, too tired, too cold, too bloodshot, and he’s certain he looks the same. 

“Gonna have to pull your pants down for me, I need a thigh.” He doesn’t think twice about it, not with the near promise of even a little relief, fumbling to unzip his sleeping bag, tugging down one leg of his pants, enough that his ass is out and his thigh is too. And Jo works with a studied precision, uncapping the needle and leaning over him, her hand on his hip and okay, okay, he can’t hear it over the wind but he can see her mouth move around the words, quick pinch that he barely notices, taking simple pleasure in the brief closeness of her warmth, there and gone as she leans back to re-cap the needle. 

“That should kick in pretty fast.” Quick to tug and zip everything back up if for no other reason than the cold, what clarity is left in his mind kicks up with a halfway giddy thought of how close she is, shoulders hunched and sitting on her knees. He offers her his oxygen mask for a breath that she happily takes, leaning in again, so close he can see that freckle beneath her eye before she pulls away.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m dying. Par for the course, right?” He can’t argue with that, shrugging a little and trying for a smile that he’s pretty sure looks more like a grimace. 

“You take anything?”

“Two pills, dying less. You ready for tomorrow?” Tomorrow, right. The final ascent, the top of the world, the thing, the final thing that they have all been in this death march toward. 

“I don’t know, I hope so. Are you?” 

“Mmm, to be seen, I guess. I, uh, I like being near you when we’re moving though, it helps.”

“Helps?”

“You move very steady, very sure. I figure as long as you’re confident in where you’re stepping, I can keep my ass in gear.” She leans in for another breath, a murmured I owe you some inhales tomorrow that he shakes his head at. 

“I’ve been thinking the same thing about you, for the record. You’re impressive.” She shrugs, pauses for a cough that shakes her whole body, eyes scrunched closed, enough to make him wince and offer her his mask again. She shakes her head, wave of her hand, and he watches the rise and fall of her shoulders as she works another breath into her lungs. 

“Just trying to keep up with the mountain. Are you feeling a little better now?” He is, he tells her, cough simmering into something more manageable, the pain dulling into something more like a second heartbeat. 

There’s a beat, a breath, within which both of them stare at each other in the shared absurdity of where they are and what they are doing. He knows she needs to get back to her tent, back to her own oxygen tank, and he knows that he’s being selfish by asking her another question to keep her here for an answer longer. That trite question that essentially amounts to why are you here? Why did you decide to be here? Why, here? And she smiles, big and everything, really, tilts her head and doesn’t answer him, but asks him the same thing. And he says that thing, that thing that any self-respecting climber knows because it’s in the blood of their history, Patagonia t-shirts and North Face ad deals slinging it around like a mantra, like a prayer, like a war cry. The thing that George Mallory said, 1923, before he would try for Everest for the third time, and die doing it. Why, why, why? Because it is there. 

She grins even brighter, repeats it back to him with her hand held out, and he takes it for a moment.

“I’ll see you bright and early, Steve, get some sleep.”

…

April, 1996 - Base Camp

“At dawn tomorrow morning, you are going to begin your ascent toward the summit. We have this meeting the night before to make sure that everyone understands what is coming over the next two weeks.” Take no shit, no prisoners either, Nancy has always had a talent for this talk, he thinks, holding both the crew and the clients in rapt attention as she runs through her lecture with the efficiency and steel of a military commander, pacing at the front of their main tent with a map of the mountain behind her. She had gotten to base a week after them, Eddie wrapping her up in his arms, a smacking kiss to her cheek, her mouth, and doctor wife, so good to see you. Steve still has a hard time summing that equation up, but somehow they make it work. 

“You’ll begin your climb through the Khumbu Icefall, which I understand Ryan has been taking you through over the last two weeks. From there, you’ll set camp at about 19,500 feet, you’ll spend a lot of time at this camp, making acclimitzation trips further up the mountain and coming back down in between, before passing up through the western cwm to get to camp two at 21,350 feet. It is imperative as you continue to climb that you pay attention to how you’re feeling. Nausea and fatigue are expected to a certain degree, but if you’re feeling dizzy, or lethargic, you need to let one of the guides know as the risk for cerebral pulmonary edema increases with each altitude jump.”

“You’ll move over the Lhotse Face to get to camp three at 23,500 feet. You’re not going to want to eat or drink at this point, but it is imperative you continue to do so. Stick to simple carbs and small sips of water, as the digestive tract will begin to slow down with the rest of the body at this altitude.” Her rundown fades in and out of his focus, eyes glancing up from his journal every now and again to make sure the clients are listening. He’s heard this many times before, after all, knows it by heart.

“After you leave camp three, you will be in what is known as the death zone. Your bodies will begin to rapidly decline at this point. Everyone is going to need supplemental oxygen at this altitude–”

“I heard Munson did it without, twice!” One of the clients, American, trying to earn a few cheap laughs. Eddie looks sheepish across from Steve, and Nancy doesn’t smile. 

“Well, he does now if he wants to stay married. Everyone will be using supplemental oxygen and guides will have first aid kits if medication is needed. The push after camp three will be quick. A brief stop around the south col to camp, and then the summit. You’ve probably all heard this, but it bears repeating, the tricky part won’t be getting you up there, it’s coming back down that’s going to be difficult.” He’s heard this too, lived this too. By the time you get to the summit, you’re usually half-blind, half-suffocating, and half-human from the adrenaline coursing through your body. You’ve touched the top of the world and you’re nearly certain you’re going to die and also live forever because of it. You’re not thinking about the next step, the next rope you need to clip onto, the next hold of your ice ax, as you make your way down. You’re thinking about going home, about a warm bed, a warm meal, about never doing that again. That’s when mistakes happen, he knows. 

“We say all this not to scare you, but to make sure you know what you’re about to face. It’s our goal to make this experience as safe for you as possible. Steve and Eddie will be your lead guides with Ryan assisting. Robin and I will be here at base, coordinating and watching the weather.” There’s a glance, always a glance exchanged between him and Nancy and Robin and Eddie, and Ryan too this year. The new hire, and he likes him well enough. Young guy, capable, Robin says he looks a little like Matthew McConaghy. All Steve knows is he’s good at his job and friendly enough to want to suffer with. And so the team is set, eight clients and three guides, and one local sherpa that they work with every year, reliable. 

They dismiss the clients early, advising them to get as much sleep as they can, and when the last stragglers are out of the tent, Eddie drums his hands on the folding table, grinning wide. 

“Well, birdy bird told me you got a very important fax today, so let’s see the little dude.” They all circle around him, Nancy and Robin, Ryan too, who Steve learned has two little girls back at home. And it feels good to take the folded piece of paper out of the breast pocket of his fleece, good to spread it out on the table and have everyone fawn over what amounts to black and white smudges, something prideful feathering and fanning up in his chest because that’s their kid, that’s their kid. 

“Oh they’re perfect, Steve, look at that. How is Jo? Did you talk to her today?” Yes, he tells Nancy, on the phone that morning, told him to wish them all luck for the next morning. Eddie whistles a low sound, shaking his head. 

“Phew, have a feeling we’re gonna need it without her. Ryan, if you think Steve’s the boss, you should’ve seen those two working together. A thing of beauty, I tell you, and probably the reason we’re one of the only outfits that hasn’t lost a client.” That spurs a groan out of Robin, don’t even say that, Ed, don’t even like, put that into the air right now, seriously. Always the superstitious one, he already knows she’ll be wearing a particular pair of socks tomorrow to send them off. 

“I bet you’re ready to get home, Steve.” It’s quiet, Ryan says it with a smile that tilts into something sad, tired eyes that pull at the corners, a knowing. He nods, shares the same smile with him, he knows he feels it too. 

…

May 1990 - Base Camp

“What’re you doing out here? Party’s in there.”

“I can see you’ve been celebrating. How much have you had to drink?” He laughs a little, stumbles over his feet as he comes to sit down next to her camp chair, his legs sprawled out in front of him and his head lolling to the side, and that’s enough of an answer for her. Meanwhile, the sound of music filters out from the main tent, all the other climbers and crew inside, yawping and whooping in their merriment. They made it up, and mercy, they made it back down to base. Everyone all in one piece, and she knows that’s something of a miracle. 

“Just a little, warming myself up.”

“Uh-huh, right.” He grins, face cast in shadows from the camp lanterns, his eyes crinkled, shamelessly staring at her as he lets out a contented-sounding sigh. She isn’t sure what to make of him, him, with his long hair, and his silver hoop earring, and his bright blue Patagonia pull-over, and his pretty little smile that she admittedly thought about for large portions of their ascent. Pretty boy, wild boy, beautiful boy that she probably won’t ever see again.

“Is Jo short for something?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Steve is short for Steven.” His words are a little slurred, a little buoyant laugh on the end, giddy with lingering adrenaline and booze no doubt. Awful, she finds it endearing.

“You don’t say.”

“Jody? Joanne? Joanna? Jo–”

“It’s short for Josephine, if you’d really like to know.” He says it once, slow around a smile, leaning in toward her with his arms hooked over his knees, and she finds herself leaning closer too.

“Does anyone call you Josie?”

“Oh my god, no, my sister did when we were little, but not any more.” Too late, Steve is already humming a tune before warbling into a slurred rendition of the lyrics, Josie and the pussycats, long tails and ears for hats. She would like to hate him for it, him and his smug grin beneath his dark beard, him and the little laugh he lets out at the scrunch of her nose, him, singing that stupid song at 17,000 feet, tapping out the beat of it on her knee with his wind-bitten fingers, and making her laugh with it. 

“Can I call you Josie?”

“Hmm, maybe, but only sometimes.” She says it like they’ll see each other again after all this, after parting ways in Kathmandu, her going back to Colorado, and him returning to wherever he’s from. It’s easy to grant promises when you’ve just touched the top of the world. 

“Josie, how are you feeling after checking that one off your list?”

“I think I feel a lot of things. Mostly calm, grateful for JIF peanut butter, I feel tired, but in a good way. What about you, Steven, how are you feeling?”

“Lucky that I’m here with you.” And he says it so bluntly, so plainly, without hesitation, that it shocks a laugh out of her. But he just keeps looking at her, his smile slanting, and she knows he’s being earnest, honest, tongue loosened by whatever dark liquor Art packed out.

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Like what?”

“Stuff you’re going to regret saying when you’re not so drunk.”

“I’m not gonna regret it. I meant it.” He’s hooked his finger around one of hers, a simple sweet thing that she shouldn’t let him do. But she does, but it feels nice.

“What am I gonna do with you?”

“Keep me.” His eyes glittering and smile veritably impish, she scoffs at him, wow, as he shrugs, unabashed and unashamed. Meant it, meant it, meant it. She needs to change the subject before she does something stupid.

“When are you gonna shave this off?” A little dare and daunt, she tugs at his beard, his brows raising, she’s surprised him, and she likes it. 

“I don’t know, probably when we get back to Kathmandu, gonna be there for a few days before I fly out.” 

“I’m sticking around for a few days too.” His eyes light up at that, oh yeah? She nods, something bright unfurling in her chest.

“Maybe you and I can, you know, Kathman-do.” Waggle of his eyebrows, she has to laugh.

“I think you need to go to sleep.” Never admitting this, but she finds herself a little disappointed when he sighs and nods, unfolding himself and standing up with a groan, though he smiles at her again before shuffling off toward his tent.

“That wasn’t a no.”

“Goodnight, Steve.” He tips two fingers at his temple toward her, walking backwards with impressively minimal stumbling. And she knows that she likes him in a way that could be a problem. Awful, she really would like to keep him. 

“Goodnight, Josie.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington series #steve harrington au

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Altitude - Chapter 3

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!OC

Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x F!OC

Summary: Sydney is not a pilot. But she knows all their tricks. That's why, when she meets the smooth-talking Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, she's not falling for any of them. She's not falling for him, either.

CW: Love triangle, angst, marital conflict, SLOW BURN

Start from the beginning: Part I

Sydney waits for her father in the hangar, her eyes languidly following his Super Hornet as it takes a dive before pulling a sharp climb to surprise two unsuspecting jets. She purses her lips and smiles slightly as the other two F/A-18s turn to head back to base, presumably after being hit.

Sydney has witnessed enough of her father’s flying to know which plane is his when he’s in the cockpit. She rolls her eyes with a sigh watching him do a series of rolls over the dark blue waters of the Pacific Ocean. She hasn’t seen her father in two years. And yet, not much has changed.

“Oh,” she hears a voice from behind. “It’s you.”

Sydney turns her head and, upon seeing Rooster, she lets out a chuckle. “So, you’re a pilot,” she says, sounding almost disappointed.

He stops walking a few feet away from her, looking out at the field with his arms crossed. “Did you think Rooster was my given name?”

She shrugs. “A girl could dream.”

Rooster raises his eyebrows and smirks at her. “Are you dreaming about me already?”

She laughs. “Yes but, in my dreams, we’re nowhere near North Island and you bear no resemblance to my father.” She eyes his green flight suit with a slight grimace.

He grins. “Damn, that last part was supposed to be my line.”

Sydney struggles to suppress her smile. “Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m nothing like him.”

Rooster nods. “In that case,” he says, “I won’t hold the fact that you’re related to him against you.”

She lets out a bitter chuckle. “I don’t know,” she muses. “I’d run for the hills, if I were you.”

Rooster looks over at her and his grin widens. “I don’t run,” he says, walking out backwards onto the tarmac, still facing her. “I fly.”

Sydney laughs, shaking her head, as he slides his Ray-Bans over his eyes and heads for the string of fighter jets parked along the flight line.

…

“How’s your mother?” Maverick asks, nodding at the server who’s just brought two menus to the table.

Sydney glances at him stoically. “Can we not do this, please?” she says.

“Do what? I’m not doing anything,” Maverick replies.

“You want to know how she’s doing? Call her and ask.”

Maverick sighs. “So,” he says. “You’re angry.”

Sydney scoffs. “Anger would imply that I care.”

Maverick leans his head onto his fist, eyeing her skeptically. “What do you want me to say, Syd?”

“Do you have to say anything?” she asks, taking a sip of water. “Look, I just need a place to crash for the next few weeks.”

“You can stay as long as you want – you know that,” he says.

Sydney rolls her eyes. “Right, assuming you’re not going anywhere.”

Maverick presses his lips together. “Even if I go somewhere, you can stay,” he says.

Before Sydney could determine whether or not to thank him, a party of officers enters the bar and, upon seeing Maverick, the throng heads right in the direction of their table.

“Captain!” a man hollers at the top of his lungs as he approaches Maverick. His eyes slide to look at Sydney and he raises his eyebrows at her. “Captain’s… really good-looking dinner date.” The man pulls up a chair, grinning at Sydney.

Behind him, Sydney could see Rooster’s expression sour at the man’s behavior.

“I’m Jake,” he says with a wide, charismatic grin, and holds out his hand to her.

“Seresin, not now,” Maverick warns.

“But you can call me Hangman,” he continues, winking at Sydney.

“Why would I call you Hangman?” Sydney says, making a face.

Rooster gives her an amused look before lowering himself into another chair, taken from an adjacent table.

“Because it’s my callsign, pretty lady.” Hangman smirks.

“Seresin,” Maverick says loudly, and all the officers now at the table – except for Rooster, who is still watching Sydney – turn to look at him. “Meet my daughter, Sydney.”

“Shit,” Hangman mutters, rubbing his chin.

Sydney gives Hangman a tight smile and turns to look at Rooster. “How was your hop?” she asks.

Rooster cringes and Hangman laughs. “Let’s just say, he got a good workout,” Hangman says.

“They all did,” Maverick comments and Rooster’s jaw visibly tightens.

Sydney raises her eyebrows as Hangman starts flexing his biceps. The woman standing behind him rolls her eyes and takes a seat at their now extremely crowded table.

“Wait,” Hangman says. “How do you know Rooster?” he asks.

Sydney glances at Rooster with a mischievous grin. “Oh, Rooster and I go way back,” she says.

Rooster smiles slightly. “That’s actually not false,” he says, his gaze shifting to Maverick.

“Hi.” The woman to Hangman’s left reaches across the table to offer her hand. “I’m Natasha. You can call me Phoenix.”

Sydney smiles at Natasha and shakes her hand. “Callsign?” Sydney asks resignedly.

“Stage name,” Hangman responds, winking at Natasha with a smirk.

Natasha scoffs at him. “This is Bob,” she continues, pointing to the only man in their group who is still standing – the rest have all shamelessly usurped chairs from surrounding tables and squeezed in to join Sydney and Maverick at theirs.

Bob holds out his hand. “You can call me Bob,” he says.

Sydney pulls in her lips to keep from laughing. “You are a breath of fresh air, Bob.”

Bob returns her grin sheepishly.

Maverick leans back in his seat with a sigh, signaling the server. “I think we’re going to need more menus,” he says.

…

After dinner, Maverick rises from his seat. He pulls a key from his keyring and hands it to Sydney. “See you later,” he says, his eyes lingering first on Hangman and then on Rooster. “Behave, boys,” he cautions.

“We’ll get her home, don’t worry, Captain,” Hangman says, dropping his arm over Sydney’s shoulders.

Sydney shrugs his arm off, saying, “I’ll get myself home.”

Rooster pulls his lips into a tight grin, glancing at Sydney fondly.

Maverick smirks, shaking his head. “Man, this brings back memories,” he says with amusement.

Sydney cocks an eyebrow at him.

After Maverick leaves, Hangman hops up and strides over to the jukebox.

“Here we go,” Natasha says wryly. “Watch out for this guy,” she says to Sydney.

Sydney purses her lips. “I watch out for everybody.” Her gaze slips to catch Rooster observing her carefully. He looks away the moment their eyes meet.

When the music starts, Hangman returns and offers Sydney his hand. “Do you dance?” he asks, smiling.

Sydney bites down on her bottom lip, her eyes searching for Rooster’s face in the background, but he’s not looking at her anymore. She lets out a reluctant sigh and places her hand in Hangman’s.

His grin widens and he pulls her out of her seat effortlessly, putting his other hand on her waist and bringing her closer as they move away from the table.

Dancing with Hangman is nothing like dancing with Rooster. Jake clutches Sydney’s hips with both hands, the pressure of his fingers consistent with the hungry look in his eye. He brings his face closer to hers and holds her body against his, his enticing smirk hovering over her lips tantalizingly.

Sydney brings her hands behind his neck, her nails gently grazing his skin. He chuckles, lowering his face so that his nose brushes over her cheek, and says, “We should get out of here.”

Sydney laughs quietly. “You’re the one who asked me to dance. We can’t leave until the song is over.”

“That’s a dumb rule,” Jake replies, his tongue skimming the tip of her ear.

All of the sudden, the song cuts out and Sydney looks up, pulling herself out of his grasp. Jake groans. “Bradshaw, I’m going to kill you,” he growls.

Sydney looks at Hangman sharply. “Did you say Bradshaw?”

Hangman narrows his eyes. “Yeah, why?”

And then she hears the piano.

Read Chapter 4

Tag List (Please Read):

Hey guys! Since this will be a longer fic and most of you are being tagged in it simply because you're on my general Rooster list, I'll stop tagging you after this chapter. I don't want to be spamming you now that you know this story exists. If you'd like to be tagged for the rest of it, just let me know and I'll put you back on the list. You can comment or message me, whichever you prefer! This story will probably have 20+ chapters and it seems silly to be tagging all of you for all 20+ if you haven't requested it specifically. I don't want to get annoying haha I'll continue to tag you in the rest of my new Rooster stories!

If you're already signed up for the Altitude list specifically, I'll keep tagging you! But you can always let me know if you want out XD

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#bradley bradshaw #rooster #top gun #miles teller #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster fanfic #rooster top gun #rooster fic #rooster x oc #rooster bradshaw #rooster x y/n #top gun maverick #top gun imagine #bradley bradshaw fic #miles teller fic #bradley bradshaw angst #bradley bradshaw fluff #rooster imagine

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Living Up To The Legacy ✈️ | Top Gun: Maverick Series P.2

Contains major spoilers for TGM

Read P.1 here -> Series Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Lt. Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Barbara ‘Legacy’ Mitchell (past romance/eventual romance), Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell x daughter!OC (platonic), Lt. Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin (platonic), Lt. Robert ‘Bob’ Floy (platonic), Lt. Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace (platonic), pretty much the rest of the characters are platonic.

Content Warnings: profanity, light angst, banter. Miscommunication troupe. Friends-to-lovers-to-strangers-to-lovers again (I know it’s a mouthful). Mentions of death and violence. Slight implication of sexual themes but nothing explicit | Female OC (she/her) | Wc: 10.2k

Premise: It’s day one of training for the special detachment mission, and Maverick is not coming to play. For his daughter and student, Barbara, she’s gonna have to push herself to the ultimate test if she wants to make it onto the team. Tensions are high between not only father & daughter, but also with Barbara’s ex-husband and son of Mav’s late best friend, Rooster. The team soon learns quickly that Maverick is not like any instructor they’d ever had…..and that his daughter lives up to his legacy.

Note: these parts are LONG just to warn you cause I’m doing close to 20 minutes worth of scenes on top of the fact of adding my own to correlate with the story. Enjoy.

——————————————————

After getting dismissed to begin their dogfight training, the men and women head to the separate locker rooms to get dressed in their gear. Having been unable to place her belongings when she first arrived, Barbara chucks her phone, wallet, and keys into the locker labeled, ‘Legacy’. The vintage tin keeping her cigarettes and matches stayed out, knowing she’d be needing them with the day ahead of her. She could feel the eyes of the two other women behind her, but kept her attention focused on buckling in her gear. Until Natasha decides to break the forming awkward silence.

“So are we just going to ignore the elephant in the room?” Phoenix casually asks, eyes on Barbara when she closes her locker. With an internal groan, the young Mitchell turns to face her.

“Which one?” She tilts her head, as though she wondered what the aviator was referring to. But then again, she really had no clue. “There are two I can think of, Phee. Why don’t you pick one to start—or surprise me with something entirely from what I’m thinking.”

Phoenix rolls her eyes, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “How about starting with the fact Maverick is your father. And don’t—,” she points a finger when she sees the look of protest on Barb's face, “try to say some ‘there are plenty of officers with the name Mitchell,’ bullshit. I saw your reaction. And although you never talked about your dad, you did say he was a pilot.”

“There wasn’t anything to talk about,” the locker slammed as she closed it, “Our relationship has been complicated since I was born. You guys would’ve found out sooner or later.” Phoenix’s frown softens, feeling sympathy for her fellow aviator. Barb shakes her head with a sad chuckle and adds, “The cat’s out of the bag now.”

Phoenix glances to the ground, before bringing her eyes back up to Legacy and asks, “Did you know he’d be the instructor?” There was a hint of suspicion in the question. Of course she would be, the others probably too. The Navy’s legendary pilot as their instructor that will choose the six-man team happens to be one of the candidates' fathers. And not to mention he’s also the ex-father-in-law of another.

Surely there would be a conflict of interest.

Barbara lets out a huff, clipping in the last restraint on her gear. “Seeing him at the bar last night was the first time I’d spoken to him in over three years.” And Phoenix was well aware of what took place during that time. It sent another frown to her face, looking away to not meet Barbara’s eye. It was unsure to the pilot if Natasha had knowledge of what really happened between her and Rooster. The two were good friends so she wouldn’t put it past Rooster to tell her.

With a sigh, Barbara leans her back against the lockers. “Look, Phee, imma let you know now you don’t have to worry about him going easy on me or thinking I’ll have a one way ticket on this mission. If there’s anyone whose limit he’s going to push the most, it’s going to be me.” Picking up the tin, Barb pockets it in the side of her flight suit. “Right now you have a better chance of making it on the mission than me. All because you don’t share his blood.”

She grabs her helmet, Phoenix doing the same. They’re about to head out of the locker room when the latter stops them, one more question burning in her mind. “I have one more thing to ask. I know we haven’t talked in awhile so you don’t have to give me the details in full….but I care about you and I care about Rooster. What happened?”

That answered Barbara’s earlier question to herself. Tightening her jaw, the brunette silently wished she could light a cigarette right there. Conversations like the ones her and Phoenix were having stressed her out. It was like Hangman had said, it opened a new can of worms.

“What all did he tell you?” She asked, wanting to know if there was any information Bradley had relayed to Nat. There was no way she was going to spill anything that didn’t need to be said or clarified.

Phoenix thought back to the conversation from years prior. She had just returned from a mission and met up with some friends at the bar where she found Rooster nursing a glass of whiskey on his own. After seeing the look of anger and despair on his face, she walked up to him to ask what was wrong. Never did she expect the words, ‘Barb and I are done,’ to come out of his mouth.

“What the hell are you talking about?” The question flew out of her, shock ridden all over her face. He still had his ring on, it shined under the light of the bar, but soon he pulled it off to examine it. “Bradshaw,” she nudges him when he doesn’t answer.

“I left the house almost a month ago—been staying with Fritz. She served me with papers today.” The pilot couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She gives a light scoff. If there was anything she knew about Lt. Bradley Bradshaw, it was he adored his wife. From the moment she met him at Top Gun, Phoenix would hear of Barbara Bradshaw and her accomplishments because Rooster would not shut up about her. Then the two finally met and she could see why. Him and Barbara were perfect for each other. Every time the group got together Phoenix could see the love radiated off of them for one another.

Now she was hearing they were getting divorced? There was no way.

When she asked him to tell her what had happened, Rooster was reluctant. All he said was, “We had a fight. A bad one, Nat. She refused to tell me something I had the right to know so I left. Then today I got the papers, and when I confronted her at the house I found out she got new orders.” He tossed back the remaining contents of his drink before adding, “it was over after that.”

It dawned on Phoenix then that Rooster would not tell her everything that was said between him and his now ex-wife. She didn’t blame him, he had the right to keep to himself if she pleased. What hurt her was Barb hadn’t reached out to her. The two were friends. If she had then Phoenix would’ve got on a plane back home to get Rooster’s head out of his ass for walking out, and finding out what the fuck Barb was keeping from him. It pained her to see her two friends go through something like that.

“He wouldn’t say anything else,” Phoenix tells Barbara with an unreadable expression. “He refused to speak of it further and left shortly after.” She steps toward her friend, pleading with her when she says, “What the hell, C? Why would you file and just leave like that—without any explanation? And what were you keeping from him—please,” her tone takes a harsher edge, “please don’t tell me you were cheating.”

The accusation has Barbara scoffing, pushing off the lockers causing Phoenix to almost have to step back at the look of anger the pilot was displaying. “If anyone should be asked about their faithfulness in our marriage, It’s Rooster.” At the look of plain shock on Phoenix’s face, Barbara sniffs, trying to contain her emotion. “I love—loved that man with every inch of my soul. I can’t tell you what it is I kept from him because It’ll put you in the same position I was—and let me tell you, you do not want to be in it.” God how she wished she could turn back time and stop herself from having that conversation with her father.

Barb licks her lip, laughing to ignore the heat boiling inside her. “I didn’t stop Rooster from leaving because I knew he needed time. I had hoped we could work it out, Phee, I really did. But then days of silence turned into weeks and finally I had enough.” The image of Rooster leaning with the pretty blonde officer tapping his chest in a flirtatious manner with Rooster smirking plastered in her mind. It brought a wave of sadness and anger to the pilot.

“And filing for divorce right then and there was the best option?” Phoenix throws her arms out, helmet in hand. “And pack it up and leave without even trying to talk things out.”

Barbara squeezed her eyes shut, keeping her cool. She didn’t want to snap at Phoenix. It wasn’t her fault, she was in the dark about her friends suddenly breaking up when she thought they were the strongest couple they were. It wasn’t easy being in a relationship with both parties in active service.

“He seemed to have already found my replacement, so I did us both a favor,” Barbara’s words sent both Phoenix and Halo—who was watching the entire thing unfold from the side—jaw’s dropping. She takes a sharp inhale, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose. “I tried to get a hold of him, he gave me nothing. So I went to his work and found cozying up with another woman.”

Phoenix shook her head, wanting to deny it. No way could she see Rooster cheating on Barbara. If she saw him with another woman it had to have been something else than what she was implying. “No—R-Rooster wouldn’t dare—.”

“I saw his face, Natasha,” Barbara cuts her off with a hiss, sending Phoenix into silence. “I know that look, because it was what he always gave to me when I teased him. It was different when you or anyone else would.” Barb feels herself blinking, tears threatening to spill but she holds them back. “You just know it’s over when they look at someone else the way they would you.”

“Barb…” Phoenix starts but falls flat, unable to form the words. Sadness for the woman in front of her consumed the aviator. Though she was upset Barbara kept something obviously important from Rooster from him, it didn’t mean she deserved to be cheated on. It still was a hard concept to grasp. Deep down, Phoenix felt something was off.

“We’re going to be late,” Barb announces, shaking her head and making a movement to stretch her shoulders. “Let’s not keep them waiting. Captain Mitchell won’t go easy on us so let’s not give him a reason to make it more difficult.” She didn’t wait for Phoenix to follow, taking her chance to leave by hurrying out of the locker room and in the direction of the lounge. The pilots would be taking turns going up in the air therefore the remaining would wait on standby.

Phoenix and Halo shared a look, frowning as they watched the young Mitchell go. It was a tough situation for their aviator. One they couldn’t imagine being in the shoes of. Ex-husband and estranged father? It walk like the universe was out to get her.

With a heavy sigh, Phoenix starts walking with Halo behind her. It was going to be one hell of a day.

Barabara took pleasure in the small moment of peace she had while outside. It was a beautiful day, perfect for flying, and Barbara was itching to get up in the air. The sound of jets gearing up was like music to her ears.

Until it was ruined by the sound of, “Did you know he was coming?” The tone in his voice was harsh and Barbara had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Turning to face Rooster, she narrowed his eyes up at his scowling face.

“Bradshaw,” she greeted with sarcasm, waiting for him to come to a halt in front of her. He towered over her frame, helmet in hand. It was bound for them to face one another. As much as they both wanted to draw out the inevitable, fate had other plans. “Sorry I didn’t hear what you said. Could you repeat that?” She damn well heard him and he knew it. It only made him glare at her more.

“Did you know?” He repeated with a low voice. The answer he got was a scoff followed by, “No.” He found it hard to believe. Rooster was well aware Iceman was her superior and Godfather and had likely told her in advance about the detachment. He wouldn’t have put it past Ice to warn her about her father. And at the briefing that morning Rooster noticed Barb was the only one who did not turn around when Maverick had walked up the aisle.

When she goes to turn around and leave, he cuts her off. “Don’t lie to me, Barbara.” At her offended expression he leans down to her level, “You were the only one who didn’t react to him this morning.”

“What, were you watching me?” she calls him out, tilting her head. The light blush on his cheeks had her smirking. She got him there. Then she goes back to glaring, “I’m not fucking lying, Bradshaw. Ice only told me about you being a candidate. Okay? I only put two and two together when I saw him at the bar last night.”

Rooster huffed, “I find that hard to believe.” He regretted saying the words the moment he left them. By that point it was just his anger from the past speaking. He could tell when Barbara was lying to him and right now she wasn’t.

But it was too late to take it back because the laugh she let out sent a sting to his heart. She tilted her head up, stepping closer so they were barely an inch apart. It was comical because of the height difference, and if the moment hadn’t been so heated Rooster would’ve probably laughed.

“Well I frankly don’t give a fuck what you believe, Bradshaw,” she hissed, blue-green eyes practically glowing from the way the sun was hitting them. It was a beautiful contrast to her jet black hair. Rooster felt another jab to his heart when she added, “I don’t have to prove anything to you anymore.”

Rooster was about to bite back when Payback called out to him, “Ayo, Rooster! Let’s go—we’re up!” Fanboy was beside him, watching the two with a curious expression. By the time he turned back to Barbara, she was already gone, having brushed past him when he was distracted by Payback. Spinning on his heel he caught her as she swung open the door into the lounge. Cursing under his breath, Rooster shook it off before heading to his plane.

In the lounge, Barbara found the rest of the aviators scattered. Yale and Harvard were at the football table, Hangman was sitting on one of the couches and Bob was attempting to get the radio up. Phoenix was beside him, so Barbara made her way around the mini bar to get a bottle of water.

“Good morning, aviators,” Maverick’s voice rang out, Bob making a fist of victory gesture. “This is your captain speaking. Welcome to basic fighter maneuvers.” Up in the air, Rooster, Fanboy and Payback were listening intently to the pilot. On the ground, Barbara leaned against the table to hear everything unfold. “As briefed, today’s exercise is dogfighting. Guns only, no missiles. We do not go below the hard deck of five thousand feet. Working as a team, you have to shoot me down…or else.”

“Or else what, sir?” Payback questions.

“Or else I shoot back.” Barbra smirked, locking eyes with Phoenix and Bob. “If I shoot either one of you down, you lose.”

“This guy needs an ego check,” Hangman comments, eyes on a mini jet in his hands. Barbara scoffs, face forming a look that reads, ‘are you serious?’ Harvard and Yale clap hands going, “we’ll see to that.” Now that had her rolling her eyes. Their confidence humored the young Mitchell.

“What say we put some skin in the game?” Payback challenges the pilot, who then asks, “What do you have in mind.”

“Whoever gets shot down first has to do two-hundred push-ups.” Oh no.

“Guys,” Rooster warns at the same time Barbara mutters, ‘Bad Idea,’ under her breath. Mav gives a chuckle, “that’s a lot of push-ups.”

Fanboy laughs, “Well, they don’t call it an exercise for nothing, sir.” Barbara shakes her head with a tsk, moving so her back is leaned against the counter and the radio is behind her. Both Bob and Phoenix give her a look to which she says, “they have no idea what they just got themselves into.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal, gentlemen. Fight’s on. Let’s turn and burn.” Maverick, who had been flying level close to the ground below the pilots, cranks the jet up. He soars up in their direction, none of them noticing he’s on their tail.

“Fanboy, you see him?” Rooster asks, glancing from left to right in the windshield.

“Nothing on radar up ahead. He must be somewhere behind us.”

“He’s under you, boys,” Barbara says to herself, drawing confused looks from Bob and Phoenix. Then comes the explained shouts from the radio as Maverick tilts his plane to squeeze in the space between them. “Damn it!” “What the hell?!” “Shit!”

Barbara unwrapped a dum-dum lollipop, popping in her smirk ridden mouth as the others expressions turned to one of surprise and fear. “Easy, Maverick. Let’s try not to get fired on the first day.” Yeah accomplishing that goal would be a miracle.

“Tally, tally, tally!! Mavericks coming in! Break left!”

“Breaking left!”

“Payback, where’s your wingman?”

“Rooster, where are you!”

“I got your back. I’m coming. Hang in there. Hang in there.”

“Hurry up, man! Hurry up!” Barbara could mentally picture Rooster cutting in between Mav and Payback, causing Mav to go after him instead. And by what comes in on the radio, the aviator was right. “Payback, break right.”

“Breaking right!”

“Rooster just saved your life, fellas. But it’s gonna cost him.” ‘Typical,’ Barb thought to herself at the cockiness of her fathers tone. “Not this time, old man.”

“Don’t let him get to you, Maverick,” Barb could tell that comment was more toward himself.

“Rooster, you’re too low! Pull up! You’re hitting the hard deck.”

“Oh shit,” comes Rooster's panicked tone, forgetting about altitude. Barbara shakes her head, knowing he’d have to pull up and Maverick was going to be right behind him.

“Tsk tsk tsk,” she finishes the candy and keeps the stick in her mouth to chew. A habit she had developed being indoors since she couldn’t smoke. “It’s over for him.”

“How do you know,” Bob asks, just in time as Maverick says, “That’s a kill.” The blonde’s eyes widened in shock, making her chuckle. Rooster’s frustration could be heard and it was ridden on his face when completing his pushups. From the lounge they could hear Hondo call out, “Down! one-oh-nine! Down! One-ten!”

Phoenix was watching from the window, Barbara took a seat on one of the high chairs but still in view of the tarmac. Fanboy and Payback came up behind Phoenix, “That should be us down there.” “Down! One-eleven!”

“But it’s not,” Phoenix said in time with Hondo yelling one-twelve. “And now you know a little something about Rooster.” She walked away, leaving the two men and sitting beside Barb.

Squinting her eyes, the brunette could see Harvard, Yale, and Coyote heckling Rooster. When Harvard took out his phone so the three could take a selfie with Rooster in the background, Barbara shook her head and silently hoped Mav would whoop their ass in the air. “They’re gonna regret that.”

“Is he always like that?” Phoenix asked, referring to Maverick and the intense dogfight they had just overheard. The raised brow and look of, ‘you really want me to answer that’ was enough for Phoenix to slump in her chair. Nerves had started to fill her that she couldn’t even laugh at the expression Bob was giving. He looked like he was about to shit his pants right there.

For the duration of Harvard, Yale, and Coyote’s training, Barbara barely paid attention until she heard, “That’s a kill.” “Damn!” Followed by, “Smoked. “Damn it.” When the trio arrived at the tarmac, shoulders slumped and defeated, Barbara muttered, “Karma.”

Rooster had made it to the lounge at that time, red faced and completely spent. Two hundred push ups later the man looked like his arms were about ready to fall off. Barbara had to look away and keep her back towards him, for it brought back a familiar feeling seeing him sweaty and heaving for air.

Phoenix, Bob, and Hangman were up, so Barbara stayed close to the radio to listen in. “Say Phoenix,” Hangman’s voice echoed in the room. “How‘s about we tell everybody ‘BOB’ stands for something.” Already Barbara had enough of listening to him, taking another lollipop from the tin. “Other than Robert, I mean.”

“Don’t take the bait, Bob,” Phoenix stops him from speaking. “Want to know why we call him Hangman?”

“You tell him, Phee,” Barb nods her head, hyping the woman up despite her not being there.

“Oh, I got it. ‘Baby On Board’.” The sound of Hangman’s laughter rings out, but cuts abruptly at what Barbara assumed was Maverick speeding past him. “Shit!”

“Greetings, aviators. Fight’s on.”

“This should be good,” Barbara chuckles, leaning her arm on the counter. She had been waiting pretty much all day for Maverick to put Hangman in his place. There was no doubt the blonde was good, even Barbara would admit to that. But his ego could use a reality check—and what better way than to go up against one of the greatest pilots the Navy has ever produced.

“All right, Phoenix, let’s take this guy out!”

“Watch your back, Phoenix,” Barbara jumps slightly at the sound of Rooster coming up from behind her to stand on the other side of the radio. The two make eye contact, but the woman is quick to look away, jaw tightening as she does.

“Break right!” Hangman orders, but Barb felt it was too good to be true.

“Breaking right.” Phoenix calls out and seconds later Bob says, “Where’s he going?” The hand that was keeping Barb’s head propped fell when she let out a exaggerated sigh, “Fucking typical, Seresin.”

Phoenix matched her frustration, “That’s why we call him Hangman. He’ll always hang you out to dry.”

“Leaving your wingman. There’s a strategy I haven’t seen in a while.” In Barbara’s head she goes, ‘yeah, you would know that.’

“He called you a man, Phoenix. You gonna take that?”

“So long as he doesn’t call you a man.” Barbara smirks at Phoenix’s clap back, muttering “atta girl.” In the corner of her eyes she could see Rooster smiling too. “Talk to me, Bob. Where’s Maverick?”

“Jesus, his nose is already coming around.”

“Get off me, Hangman!”

“For all you folks at home, this is how you bury a fossil.”

“All right, Hangman. Time to teach you a lesson,” Barbara’s ears perk, adjusting her position so she was directly facing the radio. She completely disregarded the look Rooster gave her, keeping her gaze focused on the speaker. “You’re out, Phoenix.”

“Son of a bitch!”

The fight was on now with Mav vs. Hangman. Everyone in the room had stopped what they were doing and huddled around the counter. It pushed Rooster closer to Barb, the man standing beside her as she sat on the high chair. Both appeared to look stiff at the close proximity, but were two drawn to the dogfight to move away. “Let’s go, Mav. Let’s see what you got.”

“Come get me,” the veteran pilot chastises, practically excited by the challenge.

“Evil be gone. Hangman’s coming.”

“Yeah, you’re good. I’ll give you that.” That nearly had everyone on edge. Was Maverick gonna go down? By Hangman of all people? Barbara was sure her father had some trick up his sleeve.

“Shit,” Hangman muttered, and Barb bit her lip to stop from laughing. There it was. “Phoenix, I can’t see him. How close am I? Phoenix?”

“I’m dead, dickhead.”

“See you in the afterlife, Bagman.”

“The old sun trick,” Barbara said under her breath, but by the reaction from Rooster beside her, she figured he heard her. “Classic.”

“Where is he? Where is he?” Hangman sputtered out, but his alert sounded indicated Maverick locked on him.

“That’s a kill.”

It was a pleasant sight to Barbara when she took her smoke break before heading out to find Hangman on the tarmac. Halo and Omaha were her wingmen for the exercise and had to use the restroom so Barb waited outside in the meantime. And boy was she glad she did. With her aviators on to block the sun, Barbara locked eyes with the blonde as she brought the match to her lips to light the tobacco. His pissed off look at her smug expression had her smirking, blowing the smoke out from her first puff leaning against the wall of the hangar.

She felt bad for Phoenix and Bob, who were sweating buckets as they approached their eightieth push-up. But it was amusing to see Phoenix looking at Hangman like she was about to jump over Bob to kick his ass.

“I thought you quit,” Rooster’s voice pulled her from her thoughts, surprising her once again. She wasn’t expecting him out there since he was done in the skies for the day. His eyes were narrowed at the cigarette in her hand.

She brought it to her lips, locking their eyes as she took a long drag. “More like a tolerance break,” her sarcasm did not impress him, the man now glaring at her. It made her scoff, “What does it turn you off?” Like Mav, Rooster did not like the fact Barbara smoked. It was something she picked up in college that got progressively worse in flight school and becoming active duty. She always made sure to do it away from him, but of course the smell lingered no matter how much perfume she sprayed on. In the later years of their marriage Barbara had stopped after promising Rooster she would quit.

But then 2016 happened with shit hitting the fan, and Barbara picked the bad habit up again the night Rooster left the second time.

“Actually, yes. It does.” Barbara makes a face at his reply, purposely taking another drag and holding it for a second before exhaling. It was amusing to her to get under his skin, although she had to stop herself from thinking about all those nights where her bratty attitude got her into trouble. Good trouble that was.

“Well good thing I don’t care for your opinion, Bradley,” she takes the last drawl and flicks the bud to the ground to step on it. “Now if you’ll excuse me—.”

“Is this how it’s going to be then?” He cuts her off, stepping closer. She crossed her arms, waiting for him to elaborate. Throwing his arms out he huffed, “just going to avoid each other like the damn plague.”

The assumption has her looking him up and down, “From the looks of it that’s what you wanted. I’m just doing us both a favor.”

“And what would that be, Barbara?”

She throws an arm out to emphasize her point, “This!” She then gestures a finger between the two, “In the two times we have spoken today alone has ended arguments. We obviously can’t stand each other, Bradley—why try to be civil?”

“Because this mission isn’t just about us, Barbara,” his voice goes low as he steps closer, nostrils flared. “We’re not just putting our lives on the line here, it’s there’s too so if we can’t chalk it up and act like a team then someone’s gonna get killed. And I will not have that on my conscience.”

She falls silent, biting her tongue in the process. As much as she wanted to say something sarcastic, the man had a point. They had to work together for the sake of the team and completing the mission. Otherwise they’d live a life filled with regret by letting the past control their emotions. Barbara had come close to losing her wingman on her last assignment, and the close call was enough to shake the aviator.

“Fine,” she agrees after a moment, “We put the past behind us for the time being.” Rooster nods, slightly relieved despite having to come to terms with his own idea. Their attention flashes to the side of the tarmac when they hear Omaha yell, “Yo, C! We’re up, let’s go!” Halo was walking ahead, throwing a head gesture in the direction of the planes to Barbara.

“That’s my cue,” she sighs to Rooster, feeling a slight wave of nerves swirl. It had been a long time since she'd gone up against Maverick, each time it ended with disappointment. This time Barb hoped it’d be different.

Turning back to the man in front of her, Barbara gave a pointed look, “Maybe you should call a truce with the one other person in this boat who has you lose focus in the air.” She was turning on her heel before he could answer, well aware he’d protest in a heartbeat. Peace between Maverick and Rooster was like trying to find the holy grail.

But if he wanted to survive then he better get to digging.

“Any last minute advice you could offer, C, before we get the ball rolling?” Omaha asked through the coms as they flew steady. Barbara was in front by a tad, but remained level with her wingman.

“Trust your instinct. Don’t think, just do,” she tells him, checking her surroundings. Maverick was sneaky so she didn’t put it past him to come zooming at any second. She listened closely for Halo to relay radar info, but knowing her father he’d stay below to catch them off guard. “Act quick and don’t underestimate. Remember that and maybe you’ll come close to getting him.”

“I appreciate the faith you have in me, C,” he laughed, causing her to smirk.

“You asked for advice, Omaha, honesty comes with it.” Another few seconds pass without any word from Halo. The pump of her heart started to race, her intuition clouding her mind. “Break right, Omaha.”

“W-what?” He stutters confused, “C there’s nothing on radar.”

“He’s under us! Just trust me, break right!” Without thinking Barbara breaks left, Omaha failing to react in time just as Mav pulls up from beneath resulting in his jet to shake from the impact.

“Jesus Christ!”

“I told you,” she groans, amping her speed to pull around when Maverick says, “Fight’s on, aviators.” Unbeknownst to the pilot, Maverick was nodding his head with a smile beneath his mask. It filled him with pride that his daughter was able to anticipate his moves.

“Talk to me, Halo, where is he?” Barbara calls out, glancing left to right to see if he was on her tail.

“Shit, I can’t see him!” She calls back, making Barbara curse in her head. He had to have been close. She leaned forward, squinting against the sun and saw movement. Halo must’ve seen it too because seconds later she’s shouting to Omaha, “Tally, tally, tally, he’s coming down—break left!”

“Breaking left,” he follows the order. Barbara catches sight of them and speeds in their direction. Mav cuts behind causing her to shout, “He’s on your six, Omaha—evade, evade! I’m right behind you.” Omaha does his best to lose Maverick, but comes up short when Maverick locks on him.

“I got you, Omaha.”

“Damn it,” Barb could hear the disappointment in his voice. Damn that was quick. Now it was just the two Mitchells. The fight was definitely on now.

And on the ground, everyone had huddled around the radio to hear the action.

“Okay, Legacy,” Maverick says, pulling around with fast turns knowing she was chasing him. “Let’s see what you can do.”

She narrowed her eyes at the challenge, “Lucky for you I feel the need for speed.” She could’ve sworn she heard him chuckle and had to hold back a reaction. It was no time to get distracted.

The two begin a cat & mouse chase that lasts for miles. Both the aviators come close to locking on each other but fall short which has even the veteran pilot thinking he may come out the loser.

After about twenty minutes of this—which had every person in the lounge on the edge of their seat—Maverick takes the advantage when he manages to get behind Barbara.

“Goddammit,” she hisses, but manages to break left in time and quickly swing down so she drops altitude. Mav follows her, but she catches him off guard by quickly pulling up and spinning so his laser is unable to lock.

“Playing dirty, Legacy? I see how it is.”

“Yeah, well I’m starting to get a little pissed off, sir,” she quips back, noticing the sun was starting to set. It was nearing the end of the day—her, Halo, and Omaha being the last group—so there was a reddish-orange glow to the darkening sky. It gave her an idea.

Breaking right, Barbara headed east where the sky was darker than in the west. Knowing Mav was going to follow, she amps her speed and goes high all while making tight turns.

When darkness overpowers the little light from the setting sun in the horizon, Barbara makes her move. It would be harder for him to see so she used it to her advantage. She goes high, pulling Gs before spitting the throttles and inverting.

“What the….” She hears Mav go, causing her to smirk.

“You’re not the only one with moves up your sleeve, sir.” It sends her back, Maverick zooming right past her so close it throws him off, resulting in him lining directly in her sight. Not wasting a second, Barb edges the plane level behind Mavick and locks her target.

“That’s a kill,” her voice comes over the radio sending a wave of reactions amongst the crowd. Jaws are dropped, some gasp, Hangman goes ‘Ain’t no fucking way,’ meanwhile Rooster fights the urge to smile. If they didn’t know before they definitely knew now,

Never underestimate the woman who lives up to the legacy.

And when they departed after the team landed to finally end the long day, they still couldn’t believe it wasn’t Barbara joining Omaha and Halo for 200 pushups.

It was Maverick instead.

“Barbara! Barb—wait up!” The sound of Mavericks' voice had the young woman stop her walking and turn around. She had just left the locker room after a much needed shower and was heading to her bike when her father called out to her. Everyone else had already left, leaving Barbara as the last one since she decided to extend her shower to nearly an hour. It was worth it though after the day she had.

“Hey,” Mav caught up to her, panting slightly since he had been running. They were both in their civilian clothes, practically matching with their bomber jackets and jeans. The only difference was Barb had a cigarette hanging from her mouth, rolling her eyes when Mav made a face when he noticed it.

“Yes, Captain?” That had him frowning more—hating she addressed him by his rank again. He expected it when they were in uniform, but as they were off the clock he hoped she’d let up.

“Can we talk? Please?” He pleaded with her. The man had been waiting to pull her aside all day. There were a lot of questions on his mind and answers he needed to know, but felt like their first meeting the previous night was not the time or place. And not knowing where Barb was living since she already was stationed at North Island, Maverick had to ask regardless at some point.

“Right here?” Her voice was muffled from the object in her mouth. With a raised brow, she gestures to the parking lot. “Right now?”

He gave a shrug, not really minding if it was their only option. “If that’s okay with you.” The words make her sigh causing Mav’s heart to sink a bit. But to his surprise, she nods to their bikes and says, “Meet me at the Hard Deck.”

When they get to the bar, the two find a booth in the corner away from the other patrons. As usual service members are in attendance taking claim to the darts and pool table. None of the aviators are there which gives relief to both the Mitchells. They must’ve checked out for the night after getting their pride knocked down.

“You did great out there today,” Maverick says with a small smile, noticing how a light blush forms on her cheeks. It made his throat tighten a bit when he realized he rarely ever praised Barbara when she was growing up. He hardly asked about school, the sports she did, or clubs she was in. It filled him with regret.

“I try my best,” she tightened her lips, fidgeting with the glass of whiskey in front of her.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” Though she wasn’t looking at him, eyes on the glass instead, Maverick could see a flicker of amusement when her lips curled up.

“Ice.” Mav smirked at the answer. He should’ve known. After a moment she looks at him with a shake of the head, “What do you want to talk about, Pete?” Again, another jab to his heart at the use of his first name.

Clearing his throat to ignore the emotion coursing through him, Maverick clasped his hands on the table, “I just—I want to know why, Barbara.” He lifts his gaze from the table to connect their eyes. It was like he was looking into his own. “I-I thought things were finally going good between us three years ago. And then you left me with silence again. Why?”

From her reaction it was obvious Barbara was expecting the question. Her jaw tightens, tongue flicking out to lick her lip as she glances away briefly. “At first it started out with me needing time to think,” she spoke with honesty, reconnecting their eyes. “But then everything happened so fast. And, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel resentment for you. More than what I felt when I was in college. ” Well that sure was a nail to the coffin for Maverick. He tried not to react but failed miserably.

“I understand,” his voice is low, unable to look at her.

“Look you were right, okay?” She leans back against the booth. “You warned me about knowing the truth and I should’ve listened. Maybe then I’d still be married—anyways besides the point, I know it was my fault when I put myself in that position.” She leans back forward, pressing her elbows into the table with a firm gaze, “but when I thought of you, all it did was reopen the wound. It would just bring everything back in a constant cycle. And then I would think of the ‘what if’s’. That maybe if you hadn’t pulled his papers, none of it would have happened.”

Barbara has to pause after running out of breath, taking a swig of her drink. Placing the glass down, she sighs, “I couldn’t bring myself to reach out to you. And by the time I finally felt like I could, it had already been two years and you had stopped trying to call.”

The tone in her voice broke Mav’s heart. He hated the position he put her in when he told her—blaming himself for what happened to her and Rooster. Without thinking he reaches a hand across the table to lay it on top of hers. The act surprised her, but she remained emotionless. “I would have dropped everything, to be there for you, Barbara.” It was true. Even if he was flying some mission he would have turned the plane around in an instant. “It’s not your fault, okay. I get why you couldn’t talk to me. It hurts a bit, but I get it. And I-I stopped calling…because I felt you needed space. That you’d reach out when you were ready.”

“I know,” she whispered, glancing at their joined hands. “And I know you kept tabs on me from Ice.” His lips quirk up, not denying since it was true. It pained him all those months of silence from his daughter, but he didn’t want to make it worse by showing up out of the blue. Ice would tell him how she was doing in her squadron and was the one to inform him about the divorce—which he still didn’t know the full story on.

“What all did he tell you about Rooster and I?” She asked, slowly removing her hand from under his. He tried not to frown and replied, “said you two had separated and you called him for a transfer.” Barbara finishes the contents of her glass, pushing it to the edge of the table for someone to pick up.

“We were never officially separated,” Maverick straightens, giving her his full attention. There was a part of him that felt happy she was opening up to him despite the subject being sore. “He came home from a deployment and, with my failed attempt of acting like everything was okay, got me to admit I had confronted you. He demanded to know, as I had expected, but like you warned me I couldn’t bear the thought of telling him,” she bits her lip briefly. “We fought and he walked out. And like I told you last night, I let him—I didn’t think it would be the end of us honestly. I was naive really and thought he needed time and then we could talk it out so I could get him to understand it was better for him to not know for the sake of his heart. But….” She trails off, unconsciously letting her right index finger caress the spot on her left hand where her ring once laid. Maverick saw it and felt his face fall.

“For nearly a month we didn’t speak. None of his friends would tell me where he was at first, but one of them saw how worried I was and said he was staying with Fritz. Then,” she pauses again, not wanting to get into detail about finding Rooster with another woman. She didn’t want Maverick to look at him differently despite her anger at the betrayal. The man still looked at Rooster like a son.

“Basically after a month I knew there was nothing that could be fixed.” Maverick looked like he wanted to question her change of tone, but decided against it. “I filed and called Ice the same day, who was able to pull some strings and have me here though he’s got me working for the Tomcatters when they need back up on missions.” So that explained the tomcat patch addition to her flight suit. “It was done after that. Bradley came back to the house the next day—papers in his hand—and all hell broke loose. Pretty much whatever small part of the string attached to us was severed.” Barbara purposely left out the details of the argument and the fact she threw a bottle at Bradley.

“I’m sorry,” Maverick said after a moment of silence to let everything process. There were a lot of mixed emotions for the aviators. Sadness, anger, sympathy. Anger was mostly for how things played out. And while he loved Rooster, Barbara was his daughter and would feel anger at any man who hurt her. Of course she held responsibility for the events, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t biased. “I’m sorry it ended like that between you two.”

“Like I said, it wasn’t going to work between us,” she said sadly, ignoring the look of protest from her father. “Things were rocky that last year. It only sped up the inevitable.” Mav didn’t even try to fight Barbara on her words. It would only end badly and so far they were having a good heart to heart.

“Have you and Rooster got to talking?” He had noticed in the morning after briefing they were quick to get past each other without a word. It made him wonder if they had finally spoken at some point in the day.

“Yeah, twice we did,” she told him, making him nod, slightly relieved but still worried by the expression on her face. “First time it was to accuse me if I knew you were gonna be the instructor. Didn’t end well,” she grimaced, causing him to do the same. “Then he caught me before we did our run. To call a….somewhat civil truce is what you can say.”

This made the pilot raise his brow, “a truce?”

“For the sake of the team and the mission,” Barb began to explain, licking her lip in the process. “We’re gonna do our best to work together and act like adults who can get the job done. We both know it wouldn’t do anyone any good if we were always butting heads. It would cost someone their life. Let me be clear, I'm not confident it will work, but it’s for the team.”

Maverick wholeheartedly agreed with Barbara. It’s mostly why he had wanted to talk to her. He too, wanted to settle differences—even if it were a short time—to make sure they could work together. “That’s good. That’s really good to hear,” he gave a small smile. “I’m happy for you two—to-to come to an understanding. It will do good for the team and hopefully make things easier these next few weeks.”

Barbara all but gave a look that read, ‘your optimism humors me.’ She reached over to grab her ice water that was on the other end of the table, lightly laughing as she said, “yeah, we’ll see about that. I told him he should take his own advice. But knowing his stubborn ass I doubt it.” He knew she was referring to him by the look on her face when she glanced at him. Maverick felt his smile fall back into a frown.

“Can I ask you something?” she suddenly asked, making him straighten up. “And can you promise to tell me the truth?”

“Anything,” he said without hesitation.

She contemplated for a moment before finally saying, “There’s a reason you’re having us master dogfighting as a team before telling us the details of this mission. Why is that?”

Mav’s blood runs cold. Fuck he should’ve known she’d see through him. It’s not common for squadrons to go back to the basics before knowing the extent of the task at hand. It always amazed Maverick how well Barbara could read into things..but at this moment he sorta despised it.

“It’s good practice” He offers, trying to make a joke but it comes out more of a question. Barb’s head drops a bit as if to say, ‘you think I was born yesterday?’ He looks away, knowing he shouldn’t be telling her anything. “This—this isn’t like what you’ve faced before, Barbara. None of you have pulled off something to the level they are asking of. I can’t tell you the details just yet—I-I—.”

“It’s a suicide mission, is what you’re trying to say,” she cuts him off abruptly, the words he was about to say dissapearing. “You know, deep down, that someone won’t come home from this.” His silence is enough of an answer. She feels the air catch in her throat, coming to terms with the realization. “Well that sure turns the tables.”

At her expression Maverick is quick to assure her that he’s going to do everything in his power to make sure the team is ready. But it’s not the over looming thought of death that has Barbara worrying her. It’s the thought it could be the very reason Maverick won’t choose her for the team—even if she is the best option. That has fear, worry, and slight anger pooling in the woman’s veins.

“Don’t wash me out,” she tells him, determination in her gaze that’s so powerful it gives him chills. “Don’t wash me out, Pete. Or I swear to God I’ll never forgive you.”

Understanding what she was implying, the same way Rooster had when they spoke that morning, Pete nods and repeats the same words he did from earlier in the day, “That’ll be up to you, Barbara. Not me. I promise you.”

The next morning was the same drill, but the teams from the day before were switched. Barbara was paired with Phoenix and Bob this time around and although they ended up losing to Maverick—making the score now 1-1 for father and daughter—it still was a long dogfight. They worked great as a team, as Maverick had complimented them after successfully locking on Barbara. She couldn’t even be mad by that point because she knew they had tired the man out. That in itself was an accomplishment.

“We make a good team, us three,” she heaves to catch her breath once Hondo calls out their 200th push up. Sweat was cascading down her face and neck, making her black undershirt damp.

Phoenix and Bob—who were also panting and red faced—nodded in agreement. “Damn that was intense,” Phoenix said, “but at least we lasted longer than yesterday.” The two high five, making Barbara laugh.

“What exactly did you do up there?” Bob asks as they head towards the locker rooms to wash the sweat and muck off them. They had stopped in the lounge to get bottles of water first and downed them in a heartbeat. Finishing the last drop, Barbara wipes her chin with a smirk.

“Oh just something an old friend taught me once.” By friend she ment Iceman. “I’ll show you up there next time—it’s a little hard to explain.”

“Fair enough,” he smiled. The three parted ways with Bob entering the male locker room while Phoenix and Leacy went to the female one. When they all finished they got dressed in their flight suits and met up in the lounge. At first sight Barbara noticed Hangman and Rooster were the only two missing.

As she took a seat on one of the couches, Hangman’s voice came through the speaker, “So, Rooster, mind if I ask you a personal question?”

‘Oh here we go,’ she thought to herself, adjusting herself on the couch so her body was turned to face the radio and pulled her legs onto the cushions. “Would it matter if I did?” Rooster replied with annoyance.

Hangman wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity, “So what’s the story with you and Maverick—-I mean other than the fact he was your father-in-law at one point,” Barbara felt her fist tighten, aware of the looks some of the aviators were giving her. “It seems like he’s got you rattled.”

“It’s none of your business,” he tells him sternly, and Barbara becoming relieved he wasn’t going to say anything. The last thing Rooster needed was Jake having something else to use against him. “Now where the hell is he?”

“Been here the whole time,” Maverick’s voice rings out, full of smugness. It was followed by Hangman going, “Hooooly shit,” indicating Maverick pulled some kind of trick.

“You see me now? Come on, let’s get it over with.” Ears perking up, Barbara raises from the couch to get closer. There was something about her fathers tone that sent anxiety through her.

“Fight’s on!” Rooster shouted, making the first move of their dogfight. She could only imagine the look on Hangman’s face at whatever the hell they were doing when he said, “What is with these two?”

A few seconds go by before Mav is saying, “All right, you put us here. How you gonna get yourself out?”

“You can bail out anytime.” Rooster clips back, refusing to relent.

“How low you want to go, Rooster?”

“I can go as low as you, sir! And that’s saying something.” Barbara’s heart picks up in pace, Phoenix turning to her with a worried look. None of them could see what was going on. From the sound of it, Mav and Rooster were in some kind of contest.

“What’s past is past,” Maverick tells him sternly, trying to get through to the pilot. “For all of us.” Barbara tensed, feeling it was not just Rooster and his problems he was referring to.

“You’d like to believe that, wouldn’t you,” Rooster’s reply had Barbara cursing under her breath. She was right to believe he wouldn’t let up on his resentment.

“Hard deck is five-thousand-feet, fellas. You are running out of room,” Even Hangman sounded worried which brought on another rush of anxiety in the woman. The others tensed up around her when Maverick said, “Your strategy is about to run us into the ground. What’s your move?”

“These fucking idiots are going to get themselves killed,” Barbara slapped her hand on the table, startling the other pilots. They knew better than to question the woman, aware she had an inkling on what was going on in the air. After all, it was her father and ex-husband.

They must’ve got their head out of their ass because Mav was encouraging Rooster seconds later, “Alright you got it. Don’t think, just do.” It wasn’t rocket science to assume Rooster got behind Mav and was tailing him.

Everyone was on the edge of their seats when Hangman shouted, “Come on, Rooster, you got him! Drop down and take the shot!” It was something to hear the egotistical pilot who always wanted to be the star tell Rooster to take his chance.

“Come on, Bradley,” Barbara muttered, ignoring how Phoenix and Bob both snuck a glance at her. Though she was beyond furious at the two for putting their lives on the line in a damn training exercise, the aviator couldn’t help but slightly cheer Rooster on.

“It’s too low,” he said, causing her head to drop between her shoulders as the disappointment rose. He lost his chance. She was already pushing off the chair and walking out the door, making everyone turn in confusion before they heard Maverick say, “Too late, you had your chance.” Five seconds later came his voice again, “That’s a kill. Knock it off.”

“Damn it,” Rooster cursed while Hangman sighed, “Same old Rooster.”

When the end of the day approached and Rooster was doing his pushups, despite Hondo saying it was okay to stop, Phoenix confronted him. Barbara was nowhere to be found, having left earlier without a word.

“I’m going on this mission,” she spoke with determination, crouching beside him. “But if you get kicked out, you leave us flying with Hangman.” It was no question she’d rather fly with Barbara than Hangman. Phoenix was only telling Rooster to emphasize her point and get it through his head he was acting irrational.

“He pulled my papers,” Rooster tells her, coming to a sitting position on the tarmac. Her expression turned to one of surprise as, “What? Who?”

“Maverick,” his jaw tightens, looking at the ground before lifting his head. “He pulled my application to the Naval Academy. Set me back four years.”

The female aviator couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Is this what Barbara had kept from him? If it was, she could understand his anger for she herself would feel betrayed. Even if it was her father. “Why would he do that?” When he said he didn’t know, Natasha bit her lip before asking, “Did Barbara know?”

“Not in the beginning,” she felt shoulders drop in relief. But the question still remained. What would Barbara not tell him? Rooster then started to explain, “she didn’t know what he did when we reconnected. They were estranged at that time and I believed her. But then when I was deployed three years ago she got him to tell her why,” Rooster makes a face, feeling the familiar emotions within him rise. “Wouldn’t tell me when I confronted her.”

Phoenix processed the information, thinking back to the conversation she and Barbara had the previous morning. There had to be something missing—something important for Barbara to keep information as big as that from Rooster. “That’s why you left,” she says softly, watching him take a sharp breath.

“She left too, Nat” he points out, venom in his tone. “She filed for divorce, called her Godfather—which by the way happens to be Iceman,” the look on her face would’ve made him laugh, but Rooster was too heated at that moment. “And left.”

“Well you didn’t help by ignoring her for a whole month,” she glares, watching the shame and regret taking over his expression. Phoenix looks away briefly, debating on whether or not to make it known the reason why Barb filed so quickly. And although she was upset with both of them with their actions, the aviator felt there was a piece of it not adding up. “She thinks you cheated, Rooster.”

Immediately his head snapped to her in shock, making it clear to Phoenix he didn’t know what she was talking about. He confirmed it when he said, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Barbara went to your work the day before you were served,” she began, drawing confusion from Rooster. “She saw what she believed was you about to shack up with another girl—if you hadn’t already. Said you looked pretty happy with the attention you were getting.” The memory must’ve dawned on him because Rooster’s shoulders dropped, shame once again filling him. Phoenix raised a brow, harshness in her tone when she accused, “Did you fucking cheat, Bradshaw.”

“No!” His reaction was instant, clearly offended by the assumption. “I never cheated, Phoenix!”

“Then what the fuck were you doing?!”

He brought a hand to his forehead, letting it fall to his chin as he shook his head. “I wasn’t in the right headspace—I’ll admit that. And I was angry with her for not telling me, I felt betrayed.” He thought back to the day before the papers came. Rooster knew exactly who Barbara must’ve seen. It was one of the female officers who worked in the tower who often tried to flirt with Rooster but he never entertained. That day he didn’t know what came over him, but he ended up talking to her. It shamed him that he allowed himself to even think of possibly getting involved with someone else while married. Rooster never followed through of course, and realized his mistake when the woman tried to kiss him.

“We flirted. That was it,” he told Phoenix, pleading with her to see the truth in his eyes. “Nothing happened and I rejected her when she tried to make a move. I mean it, Nat.” At first she was silent, making him feel unease that she didn’t believe him. When she nods he sighs in relief.

“Look I believe you,” Phoenix replies, stretching up to stand. “But It’s not me you need to tell that too.” When she goes to leave, Rooster stays still, not needing to ask who she was referring to. The sun had started to set, the others were taking their leave, and Maverick had been called to Cyclone’s office the second they landed. Surely in for a chewing after the days antics.

After a few moments to himself to watch the sunset, Rooster finally gets up to retire his stuff in the locker room. He didn’t bother showering, saving it for when he got back to the dorm he was temporarily staying in. All he wanted to do though was get in bed and sleep himself away.

“What the fuck was that today, Bradshaw!?” Barbara’s enraged shouted across the parking lot. He had just thrown his back in the bed of his Bronco when he caught sight of her hightailing in his direction. There was pure fury in her eyes, enought to make him freeze in his tracks. “You think this is some kind of game? You two could’ve gotten yourselves killed up there!”

Instead of answering her question, Rooster had another thing on his mind. “Why didn’t you tell me,” he put his hands on his hips when she marched up to him.

She scoffed in response, “God, not this again.” Anger rose, but Rooster pushed it away and said, “I’m not talking about that, Barbara. I’m talking about you thinking I cheated.”

“I-what?” She spits out with wide eyes, realization dawning on her. It made her curse, “Did Natasha tell you?” It was a rhetoric question, Phoenix was the only one besides Ice who knew—and Rooster never talked to him—so it had to have been her.

Rooster makes a sound, emotion getting to him. “That’s not important. What’s important is you jumped to conclusions instead of talking to me and look what happened.” He drops his arms to his sides, narrowing his eyes. “You just went off on an assumption instead of letting me explain!”

That was rash coming from considering he didn’t let Barbara explain why she kept the truth from him. It was like the pot calling the kettle black. “What are you saying,” she steps back, as if she it was hard to believe what he was implying. She knew what she saw that day—It was her husband enjoying the attention, maybe even giving it as well, to another woman other than her.

“That I didn’t fucking cheat on you!” He exclaims with his arms out. She doesn’t flinch when he yells, instead she steps closer—pressing her chest to his stomach. The action suprises him, body tensing at the contact. Rooster had to fight against the memories it was bringing up.

“But you thought about it, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question. More like a fact. And it had his blood run cold. Like Rooster, Barbara could read through him when he was hiding something. This was just another example. And he couldn’t escape from it even if he tried.

When he doesn’t answer, she chuckles, the sound thick with sarcasm. Barbara even brings her finger up to tap his chest, the same way that woman did the day she ended their marriage. “Funny how even after all these years, you can’t fool me, Bradshaw.” The smirk on her face drops to a scowl, “Just like I can’t fool you.” With one last tap to his chest, Barbara pulls away and mounts her bike which just so happened to be parked next to the Bronco. The engine sparks to life before she’s kicking the stand up and leaving him in the dark.

Rooster is left on his own, the man’s face nearly red with anger and regret as he watches his ex-wife haul ass toward the base gate. All he could do was shake his head, slamming the car door of the Bronco when he gets in and slapping the steering wheel in frustration.

How the fuck were they gonna be civil for the next 20 days?

……………………………

Tag list: @multiple-fandoms-girl, @maverick-wingman, @sgt-huntersupremacy, @the-winter-marvel33, @justanothermagicalsara, @calicokel

#Spotify #top gun maverick imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x oc #rooster imagine #Bradley Bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #maverick x oc #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #captain pete mitchell #captain pete maverick mitchell #rooster x reader #natasha phoenix trace #robert bob floyd #rueben payback fitch #jake hangman seresin #mickey fanboy garcia

[riallasheng]

Small fun art thing

When characters have uniforms for a series, I often make just one or two ‘base’ image files of an average body type in the uniform, then change the faces / hands to show a large number of characters.

In these examples...  I’ve made:

Spectrum Captain Uniforms (male and female), which combines the elements I like the best from the OG and nCS.  I also include an earpiece that is attached to the helmet to replace the audio coming from the shoulder pieces (which I always disliked, as it meant people around the person could listen in on BOTH sides of the conversation.

Spectrum Non-Captain Color Officer Uniforms (male and female), as I wanted a distinct difference between the Captains and Non-Captains.  

Angel Uniforms (female, male almost complete).  Changed to be closer to a real flight suit, although they’ve got boots from the original series, and a firearm as almost all the Angels do double duty as spies so I wanted them armed.  It can’t be seen in the images, but the Angels have a low-viscosity liquid G-suit (as those are superior in every way to airpressure Gsuits)

Medical Spectrum Uniforms are currently in the works.  Probably gonna pull on Doctor Gold for the most part

WASP Officer Uniforms (male and female), which are VERY different from the canon uniforms (actually are basically the Power Rangers SPD uniforms as I really loved those, AND it has a lot of the elments of Naval uniforms, the slight bellbottom of the pants, the uniforms allow a good range of flexability and action (as the actors needed to ‘fight’ and run and jump about in the SPD show)

WASP Enlisted Uniforms (male and female).  Basically just color variation of the Officer Uniforms.  You need to be able to tell at a glance if someone is an Officer or Enlisted, but the cut of the uniform works for both, thus it’s just palette swapped and has a different hat

Pics below the cut!

COLOR CAPTAINS

Colonel White (commander of Spectrum, so while he wears the ‘Captain’ Uniform, his belt is white, and the metal on his uniform is gold instead of silver)

Captain Black (who is SiC / XO of Spectrum, so like Col White he has a white belt and the metal on his uniform is gold instead of silver

Captain Scarlet (perfect example of a male Color Captain uniform.  Belt is black, and the metal on his uniform is silver)

Captain Turquoise, a VERY old OC made by myself and one of my best friends, Mbali, used her to show the female Color Captain uniform.  Like with the male Captains, the belt is black and the metal is silver.

==============================

NON-CAPTAIN COLOR OFFICER SPECTRUM UNIFORM

Lieutenant Green (the center section of the chest-armor is darker like the side sections, the belt is gray, the metal of the uniform is silver, there is no side-arm or cap as part of the uniform, the earpiece has a small mic boom as part of it, and he’s wearing the OG series boots instead of the armored boots worn by the Captains

Lieutenant Sage who is the nCS Lt Green (I basically have nCS as the ‘later seasons’ of the OG series...look, I made it work, check out my Captain Scarlet timelines XD ) ...  The reason she looks totally different is that the VA of nGreen sounds IDENTICAL to Mbali, who is a HUGE CS fan (og and new) an Mbali has vitiligo so over the years while she and I were writing fics about CS, we had it where nGreen had vitiligo like Mbali did.  I couldn’t get it to work right on the canon nGreen, so I found a RL woman with vitiligo who’s facial structure was fairly similar to nGreen ^^;;  btw, Sage is Green’s younger sister, and second eldest of the Griffiths kids.

======================================

ANGELS

Destiny Angel used as the example of the Angels here.  The Angel uniform was changed to a flight suit, keeping the white with gold, black, and red ‘highlights’, and the boots of the OG series, and using the honestly REALLY awesome helmets of nCS.  Gloves are worn as pilots often wear gloves to protect their hands from temprature changes, improve grip, etc.  Can’t be seen here, but the g-suit worn under the flightsuit looks very simular to the nCS gSuits, as - far as I can tell - those are liquid pressure gSuits ALREADY

Still working on the male Angels uniforms (there aren’t gonna be MANY of them, but I figured if there can be female Captains and other Color Oficers, then there could be male Angels. ^^

==================================

WASP Officers

I also changed the WASP Badge as I was never really happy with the wasp image, and I didn’t like the colors being Stingray’s colors rather than the colors that are usually associated with WASP (silver and scarlet, with gold highlights and some blue and black)

Atlanta Shore showcasing the female Officer Uniform (who I bumped up in rank to Captain (of-5) as she pretty CONSISTENTLY treated as the XO/SiC by the show, and referred to as the XO in one of the novels if I recall correctly… much higher than the of-2 of a navy Lieutenant would give. Plus, she’s been seen giving Troy - a captain himself - orders in the show (and comic & novels), and even if we went with the incorrect army rankings, an army Lewy (of-1) is still lower than an army Captain (of-2).

The puppet head just did NOT look right on a normal human body, so I hunted around until I found an actor who had the same facial structure as Atlanta, then gave Atlanta her auburn bob, skin color, eye color, etc

Seymour Griffiths (aka Lt Green) showcasing the male Officer Uniform.  We’re never told Green’s rank when he was in WASP, so I decided to make him a Lieutenant Commander (OF-4)

WASP ENLISTED

Iain Holden (nGrey is SO similar to ogGrey than when I merged nCS and ogCS, Grey was one of the characters that, like Scarlet and White, were merged instead of being a new character)  Holden is a Master Chief for a few reasons.   SOME of his bios referred to him as an enlisted man rather than an officer, my Dad was a Master Chief, "Officers run the Chiefs, but the Chiefs run the Navy", and I’m a huge Halo fan and Master Chief is a badass stoic like Holden so it seemed fitting  XD

and quick image of Holden as Captain Grey (yes, I adore the idea that Holden now outranks Griffiths XD )

#Anderverse #Gerry Anderson #Captain Scarlet #Stingray #Fanart #Uniforms #Spectrum #WASP

[amusingmusie]

Hello Musie! I hope you are doing well on this out of touch Thursday. Would you be comfortable with sharing what inspired you to begin writing? Do you have a muse of your own that inspires the way you build dynamics between your characters? I was curious if you had anything that you had outside of source material (ie Hazbin) that helped motivate you?

I've always loved to write, but always burned myself out before the ideas manifested into something more substantial than daydreams. You have inspired me to at least focus that energy into comments and questions! I just wanted to say that you have a fresh approach to building meaningful conflict between characters and developing background YT. You've got me researching New Orleans history so I can further the immersion as I read! I still cannot get over how fleshed out Nel is. I can absolutely go on, but yeah!

Thanks a million :)

Hello! Sorry I answered this so late (it's Monday for me whoops!). I can't lie, I got really excited to answer this so I can nerd the hell out and YAP PROFUSELY.

What inspired me to write- With every single piece of media consume, I immediately (and I mean immediately) begin to construct some kind of OC to throw into that universe, and Nel was no exception! I got very attached to human Alastor since one of my favorite things about Hazbin is the tradegy of the human lives the characters lived, and Alastor's death in particular seemed incredibly tragic (but deserved) that I ended up fixating on it. I think something I asked myself was "Goddamn, I wonder how people who knew him reacted to his end?". That, combined with how much I loved Al's dynamic with Husk/Vaggie (the sterner characters) birthed Nel pretty quickly after I watched the pilot.

I NEVER thought I'd post a fic. Like ever. I did not think I could do it. I've been writing for myself for years and I would write on the job (I was doing secretary work at the time), so this story slowly started building and building until I had the whole thing drafted. It wasn't going to be posted until I started casually going through the Al/reader tag and saw that there was BARELY any human Alastor. And I sorta thought weeeellll I guess I gotta be the change I wish to see, I've got the whole thing drafted, why not? I'll see how long I stick with it. The fandom was super dead at the time, so I figured my fic wouldn't be exposed to a lot of people anyway, so why not?

Then you insane (/pos) people got invested in my silly shit and I am still in fucking awe that everyone is so supportive!

As for other muses (heehee) that give me inspiration- READ DEAD REDEMPTION 2. I love the RDR series, I am obsessed with it, and I think the storytelling is so beautiful. The setting gave me a small amount of inspiration (the wilderness and the country, rugged characters) but mostly the impact of the story and writing has had a lot of influence on my creativity if that makes sense? The dialogue feels insanely natural, they use old-timey slang without it dominating the conversations, and the story flows deliciously. Like, the game has had a huge impact on my life and I think if I had half the effect on you guys with my fic as that had on me, I could die somewhat happily.

And finally, I'm glad my work has a bit of a motivator for you! I'm not the best at giving advice to get motivated to start writing (I live in hyperfixation hell), but what I can say is that when something sticks, nurture it :) Try writing for yourself and see what feels right first. You never know what it can turn into!

#my asks #musie musings #I LOVE TO YAP!!!! #this question was so fun to answer thank you

[slushiecookie]

TW: HEAVY GORE!!

Ok I've gotta start posting here more lol

This is promo art for my future series: PILOT!

It's about my pillow OC: Pilot, who has a curse which revives him everytime he dies, getting murdered in gruesome ways while he naively drags his innocent roommate, Chewy, into dangerous situations ^^'

Ok so I began the sketch in March and then kinda...gave up lol, and honestly, I'm a bit glad I did because Pilot looked SUPER weird back then ^^'

I finally picked it up again a couple weeks ago and wow, yeah it took a bit to finish lol (it took nearly an entire day, 22:18 by ibspaint, it just took me a while to post it here)

I had to edit the sketch slightly because Pilot was longer, his corners were smaller, and my style changed as well :'> And then I had to...well...figure out how to draw many different dead Pilots (the character dw 💀)

When I started the sketch, I wanted to choose unique but brutal deaths so that they would all stand out from each other, and I also wanted to fill the space around Pilot with his bodies, but due to the deaths possibly getting repetitive (electrocution still looks like burning, mauling is very similar to stabbing, etc.) I couldn't add many :')

I also had to label the line thicknesses to make sure I was using thinner lines towards the back and thicker ones towards the front, I'm trying to learn perspective ^^'

Oh, and I did want to add suffocation, but I did NOT want to draw a bag so...yeah here's a noose lol (Pilot's curse also literally prevents him from getting depressed or going insane so it was someone else's doing)

#artists on tumblr #object oc #object show community #object show oc #object shows #bfdi #osc #bfb #gore artist #cw: gore #i use instagram so i dont know how tags work please help me i cannot find anything else relating to my post #oc art #artwork #my art #my ocs #ocs #digital artist #oc artist