✧. ┊ rusty ryan
✧. ┊ cliff booth.
✧. ┊ david mills.
✧. ┊ sonny hayes.
✧. ┊ ladybug.
✧. ┊ louis de pointe du lac.
✧. ┊ achilles.
✧. ┊ dwight ingle.
✧. ┊ john smith.
✧. ┊ billy canton.
✧. ┊ jeffrey goines.
tom cruise characters
✧. ┊ pete 'maverick' mitchell.
introduction to the teacher's pet au - headcanons / suggestive + smut.
teacher's pet - teacher's pet! maverick x teacher! reader / suggestive.
eat first, coffee later - smut.
✧. ┊ lestat de lioncourt.
companion - fluff ( platonic! )
to find you here, so deep in the night - fluff + suggestive.
doll - fluff ( platonic! )
little mouse - fluff.
matt dillon characters
✧. ┊ rusty james.
✧. ┊ trip murphy.
not dumb, just dreamy - trip murphy x bimbo! secretary! reader / suggestive.
✧. ┊ john ryan.
✧. ┊ sam lombardo.
think i need someone older - neighbor!sam lombardo / smut.
how does he act when he's jealous? - blurb / 100 followers event.
✧. ┊ bob hughes.
✧. ┊ tex mccormick.
the outsiders (1983)
✧. ┊ the gang.
my headcanons for the gang! - mostly fluff /crack.
✧. ┊ dallas winston
✧. ┊ johnny cade.
✧. ┊ ponyboy curtis.
✧. ┊ darry curtis.
✧. ┊ sodapop curtis.
✧. ┊ steve randle.
✧. ┊ two-bit matthews.
✧. ┊ bob sheldon.
✧. ┊ buck merrill.
the outsiders ocs
✧. ┊ ricky mutt holloway.
✧. ┊ anthony butch butcher.
✧. ┊ jack woods.
✧. ┊ michael mccarthy.
rambo: first/second/third blood
✧. ┊ john rambo.
stranger things
✧. ┊ billy hargrove
✧. ┊ steve harrington
it 2017 / book
✧. ┊ steve 'moose' sandler. (info!)
young people fall in love with the wrong person sometimes - dating headcanons!
driving with my darling - moodboard !
✧. ┊ peter gordon.
✧. ┊ gard 'sissy' jagermeyer.
young people fall in love with the wrong person sometimes - dating headcanons!
✧. ┊ patrick hockstetter.
✧. ┊ henry bowers.
the breakfast club
✧. ┊ andrew clark.
✧. ┊ claire standish.
karate kid
✧. ┊ daniel larusso.
✧. ┊ johnny lawrence.
he loves my heart shaped sunglasses - fem!reader / beach day + fluff.
swimming pool parties - ex best friend!reader / friends to strangers to lovers ig?
class (1983)
✧. ┊ skip burroughs.
st. elmo's fire
✧. ┊ billy hicks.
saturday night fever
✧. ┊ tony manero.
grease
✧. ┊ the T-Birds.
✧. ┊ danny zuko.
✧. ┊ kenickie murdoch.
✧. ┊ doody.
✧. ┊ sonny.
✧. ┊ putzie.
✧. ┊ betty rizzo.
✧. ┊ sandy olsson.
black cadillac - dating sandy headcanons! / fluff.
✧. ┊ stu macher.
pet project - platonic! yandere billy & stu x tatum's! sister reader / angst + dark.
✧. ┊ billy loomis.
pet project - platonic! yandere billy & stu x tatum's! sister reader / angst + dark.
✧. ┊ randy meeks.
the lost boys
✧. ┊ dwayne.
✧. ┊ paul.
girl like me - dating paul as a baddass vampire headcanons! / fluff + suggestive.
✧. ┊ marko.
✧. ┊ david.
✧. ┊ star.
✧. ┊ michael emmerson.
✧. ┊ sam emmerson.
mr and mrs smith
✧. ┊ john smith.
bad boys and good girls - smut + pegging + sub john ( feat. jane smith )
✧. ┊ jane doe/smith.
bad boys and good girls - smut + pegging + sub john ( feat. jane smith )
I was wondering if u cud write a Maverick x pilot! reader ficcc.
The plot basically being like mav Goose and the reader r like best friends since flight school and then in Top Gun they (finally) get together and they're all lovey dovey and stuff.
N they're so filled with like a rush that they speed things up maybe get engaged but then Goose dies so then that kinda tears them apart somewhat.
And they js don't talk together after that until top gun maverick where they reunite yo teach the mission togethahhh (where the reader is like a higher ranking official maybe?) n like there's a creeping family dynamic between mav rooster n the reader. The reader is js like suuuppppeeerrr pissed with Mav at tht point so like they slowllyyyyy fall in love with eachother again??
It wud be a nice slowbrun (?) Kinda thing idk but like I wud LOVE it if u wrote thissss
Tysmmmmm <3
remind me (p.m)
Pairing: Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x Pilot!Reader
Word count: 8.4k
CW: Angst, few swears, allusions to smut, slow burn with a tooth-rottingly sweet ending
A/N: Thank you so much for requesting this! I've never written for Mav before, but this was so fun. I hope it's what you had in mind!
NOW
Your callsign is Wildcard.
And maybe it doesn’t make much sense anymore, because your Full Bird Captain status means you aren’t able to fly as much, and you certainly aren’t able to fly like your ass is on fire the way you used to in the good old days. But it still means something—to you, to the other pilots (younger and older) who’ve heard the stories about you, and to Maverick.
You can tell by the way he freezes for a heartbeat, the hard lump he swallows when you walk into the conference room.
‘I’m assuming I don’t need to introduce you to Captain Y/L/N,’ Cyclone drawls, gesturing vaguely at you. ‘She’ll be your mission oversight officer—what she says, goes. You report directly to her, and she reports directly to me.’
You adjust the cuffs of your flight suit, staring Maverick down. Because like hell are you going to be the one to look away first.
‘No,’ Maverick says, clearing his throat. ‘You don’t need to introduce us. We flew together years ago.’
Cyclone nods. ‘The last time you were at Top Gun,’ he recalls. ‘I’ve heard the stories, seen the photographs. Everyone in the Navy has.’
Warlock hums in agreement. ‘But the difference between the two of you is that Wildcard grew up. She learned from her mistakes and has been better off for it.’
You refrain from snorting. “Grew up,” he says, as if growing up means trading fire for caution. You know better that they live side by side within you.
Maverick, you hope, remembers the fire.
You want him to think of you as the carefree, courageous woman he fell in love with thirty-five years ago.
And you want him to feel sick to his stomach that he doesn’t get to call you his.
THEN
‘Come on, Mav!’ Goose exclaimed, shoving his best friend so hard he almost fell over. ‘She’s lost that lovin’ feeling!’
Maverick rolled his eyes, shoving Goose back twice as hard. ‘There’s no way she’s interested. Have you seen her?’
‘She flies like the plane is an extension of her body,’ Goose said, awestruck. ‘She flies like you.’
You barged through the middle of them, helmet swinging idly from your hand. ‘The two of you natter more than my grandma and her book club,’ you teased. ‘What are you talking about?’
Goose piped up. ‘Well, I was just saying that you’ve lost—’
Maverick practically jumped on his best friend, smacking a hand over his mouth. ‘—lost your focus a bit the last few days. That’s what we were saying. Everything okay, Wildcard?’
You raised a brow, tilting your helmet like a challenge. ‘My focus is on point, as usual, Maverick. Maybe it’s yours that’s slipping.’
You didn’t give him a chance to respond, just sauntered off towards your jet, as if the tarmac belonged to you.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Mav groaned. ‘She’s gonna be the death of me.’
NOW
After briefing the two of you on the mission and dropping the bomb that Bradley is flying, Cyclone and Warlock leave the two of you and an elephant in the form of your shared history to strategise.
It’s perhaps the most awkward situation Pete’s ever been in, and that’s saying something.
You flip open a manila file and begin rifling through papers that you’ve probably already read through three times. He knows you, knows you’re stalling to avoid looking at him.
But he’s looking at you.
He can’t stop.
Mostly, he’s looking at the four gold stripes on your sleeve that mean you outrank him. He’s not surprised in the slightest—you might have been a wildcard, but you knew when to rein it in. That duality was one of the things he loved most about you, and he’s not surprised to find that that love is still there.
He never really stopped loving you. Even after Goose’s death, when you grew apart, even when you blamed him for setting Bradley back, he never told you the real reason as to why he did that, for the same reason he didn’t tell Bradley. He would rather both of you hate him if it made it easier for you to go on, to grieve Nick and Carole and remember them in a good light.
‘Tomorrow, we’re briefing the pilots on the mission,’ you say, finally meeting his eye. ‘I want you to really think about what you’re going to say to them, because they’re going to be looking to you for guidance.’
He nods subtly, jaw tight, eyes softening for the briefest second. He knows exactly who you mean. Pete knows that you and Bradley stayed in touch, that you were the only one Bradley had left after he pulled his papers.
He’s glad, in a way, that the boy had you.
Even if it killed him every day to know that he couldn’t be a part of your lives anymore.
‘You don’t have to worry, Wildcard,’ he tells you honestly. ‘I’m not going to teach them my bad habits.’
You snort, the beginnings of a fond smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Lips he’s kissed so many times, he still remembers how it felt. ‘You say that now, but wait till you get going.’
Pete grins, and you avert your eyes, like if you look at him too long, this composure you’re pretending to have will crack. ‘I don’t like that look, Maverick.’ You warn.
He chuckles, a little awestruck—and a little guilty—at how effortlessly he slips back into the old rhythm. ‘It’s the only one I got.’
THEN
‘I don’t like that look, Maverick,’ you warned, wiping the visor of your helmet with your sleeve.
He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you to his side. ‘C’mon, baby, you know it’s the only one I got.’
You laughed, a sound like all his Christmases come at one. He never got tired of hearing that laugh. He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, then one to the side of your mouth. You caught him before he could pull away, kissing him like you weren’t on the tarmac surrounded by other pilots, like nothing mattered except the two of you. Goose was laughing somewhere, but it was background noise, nothing more.
Suddenly, Goose appeared on your other side, throwing his arm around your shoulder. ‘I feel like a third wheel now that you two are finally together,’ he whined. ‘Can’t you go back to pretending you hate each other?’
You and Maverick shared a knowing look—he loved having conversations with you without even needing to speak.
‘Now you know how I felt with you and Carole,’ Maverick replied easily.
You laughed again, and Maverick’s heart skipped a beat or two. He pushed Goose off you, ignoring his faux-angry pleas, before spinning you around and dipping you like you were dancing, kissing you passionately.
‘MAVERICK! WILDCARD! CUT THAT SHIT OUT RIGHT NOW!’ Your captain yelled.
Maverick righted you again, both of you grinning like fools. He was always pushing his luck, even then, and he stole one last kiss before putting his helmet on.
NOW
You’re nursing a whiskey on the rocks when you hear the tinkling of piano keys from inside The Hard Deck. You know Bradley arrived earlier in the day, but you haven’t had the chance to catch up with him yet.
You also know Maverick is at the bar, hence why you’re sitting outside trying to focus on the sunset like the love of your life isn’t twenty feet away.
You don’t need to wonder if hearing Bradley play the piano is a kick in the teeth for Maverick, because it is for you. You’d stayed close to baby Bradshaw—as you called him—and it was hard enough for you to listen to his nostalgic rendition of Great Balls of Fire. For Maverick, who was estranged from his godson, it must have been like swallowing rusty nails.
You close your eyes, letting the music whisk you away to simpler times—times before tragedy, before loss, when laughter came easy, and nothing hurt. Every note reminds you of Goose. Every chord reminds you of what’s missing.
Later, when the doors open and Maverick is chucked out by two young aviators, you’re close to tears, and you blink them away so he can’t see them.
He doesn’t deserve to see you vulnerable, not anymore.
He stands up slowly, brushing sand off his jeans, looking at you like he wants to say something. Your chest tightens. You know what he wants to say, and you can’t afford it. Not tonight. So before he can, you get up and take your drink inside, even though it’s suffocating and loud and a reminder of everything you’ve lost.
It takes a lot of effort, but you don’t look back.
Bradley has just finished his performance, and everyone is still clapping and cheering for him when he approaches you.
He envelops you in a big bear hug, kind of like the ones you used to get from Goose, and you swallow a lump the size of a golf ball.
‘Hey, Auntie Y/N,’ he says. ‘It’s good to see you.’
You smile, reaching up to ruffle his hair affectionately. ‘Baby Bradshaw,’ you say. ‘You okay?’
‘All good,’ he replies. ‘Curious about this mission, though. Everyone’s talking.’
You glance behind him at all the aviators currently staring at you with curious expressions. Some of them you recognise from your days instructing at Top Gun, but some are new to you.
‘I bet they are,’ you say. ‘You’ll find out more tomorrow morning. Don’t stay out too late.’
He laughs just like his dad, and it hits you right in the chest. ‘I won’t.’
THEN
‘There he is!’ You grinned, picking Bradley up and squeezing him affectionately. ‘My baby Bradshaw!’
You tickled his side, and he squealed with laughter, squirming to get out of your grip.
‘Uncle Mav!’ He yelled. ‘Save me!’
Nick and Carole watched on, enamoured by the sight of their two best friends loving their baby so much. Pete swept Bradley out of your arms and ran away, making pretend aeroplane noises.
‘Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw, top of his class at the academy and hero to the nation, narrowly misses a tickle attack from enemy aircraft!’
You started chasing them across the yard, Bradley squealing and hanging onto Maverick’s shirt. The sun was warm, laughter spilling over as if it could never end. Every second was a reminder that this chaos—this family—was yours.
‘He manages to block Wildcard’s missiles with an impressive manoeuvre that puts his old man to shame!’
‘Okay!’ Carole exclaimed, giggling. ‘That’s enough, Pete! He’s just had an ice cream, you’ll make him puke!’
Mav set him down, and you ruffled his blonde hair, pulling him in for a hug.
‘Love you, little bird.’ You said, face aching from how much you were smiling.
Bradley gazed up at you, wide-eyed with love and admiration. ‘Love you, Auntie Y/N.’
NOW
Pete can’t take it anymore.
He can’t take being so close to you and not talking to you, not at least trying.
After the mission brief, he follows you through the hangar and pulls you aside into a small alcove.
You make a startled noise and yank your arm away from him, like his touch burns. It knocks the wind from him. Because there was a time when touching you was second nature to him—a time when you were in his lap more than you were out of it.
‘Wildcard,’ he says, slightly desperately. ‘Please don’t—’
You suck in a ragged breath, and he knows that you’re on the verge of tears. ‘No!’ You snap. ‘You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to ask me for anything.’
You turn to walk away, and panic rises in his chest, reminding him of how it felt the day he lost everything. He’s relived that day over and over again since it happened, sometimes just to torture himself. But it’s different now that you’re actually here, standing in front of him, looking like a helpless animal caught in a trap.
No injury has ever hurt quite like seeing the woman he’s always loved looking at him like she’s afraid to be near him.
‘Please, Y/N. Just let me explain.’
Something flickers in your face then, like you’re actually starting to consider it. But it’s gone as quick as a flash.
Reluctantly, he lets you go.
He has to lean against the wall for support and take a few deep breaths before stepping back out into the hangar.
The first person he locks eyes with when he does is Bradley, who’s standing talking to Phoenix and Bob. The look his godson gives him is much worse than the one he got from you.
With you, he can see that it’s taking a great deal of effort to go on hating him, but with Bradley? The hard set of his jaw and the hate in his eyes make it easy to forget that there was ever any love between them.
It kind of makes Pete feel like he dreamed the happy days.
THEN
‘I need you to help me with something, Bradley,’ Pete said, crouching down to get on his godson’s eye level. ‘You up for it?’
Bradley pushed his sandy blonde hair out of his eyes and gazed up at Pete expectantly. ‘What is it?’
‘I’m gonna ask your Auntie Y/N to marry me,’ he said, pulling a black, velvet ring box from the inside pocket of his jacket.
Bradley clasped his little hands together. ‘Really?’
‘Yep,’ Pete smiled. ‘And we love you so much, I know it’ll be even more special if you help me.’
‘Tell me the plan, Uncle Mav.’ Bradley said, putting his most serious face on.
‘Well, I’m gonna take her out to her favourite restaurant, you know the one at the beach?’
Bradley nodded enthusiastically. ‘Uh-huh.’
‘You’re gonna be there the whole time with your mommy and daddy, but Y/N won’t know that. You’re gonna hide. Think you can do that?’
‘Yep. I can do that.’
‘Okay, good. When we’ve eaten, I’m gonna give you a super secret signal.’ Pete told him.
‘Like a whistle?’
Pete nodded. ‘Yeah, we can do a whistle.’
Bradley whistled out a tune. ‘Like that?’
Pete copied him, and Bradley’s face lit up. ‘Perfect,’ he praised. ‘Think you can remember it?’
‘I can remember it,’ Bradley promised. ‘I remember all my multiplication tables.’
‘I knew you were the right man for the job,’ Pete ruffled his hair. ‘So once you hear the signal, your dad is gonna get behind the piano and play our song. When he’s about halfway through, you’re gonna bring me this box with the ring inside,’ Pete put the box in Bradley’s hand and closed his fingers around it. ‘Think you can do that for me? And keep it safe till then?’
Bradley’s shoulders were set with the weight of the responsibility. For a second, Pete could see the proud, strong fighter pilot his godson was going to grow into. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent the tears that desperately wanted to fall.
‘I can do it,’ Bradley said resolutely. ‘I won’t mess it up.’
Pete pulled him in for a hug. ‘I know you won’t.’
NOW
Some things haven’t changed, at least.
Mav still flies by the seat of his pants, and he’s giving you a run for your money.
You’ve got Phoenix and Bob up in the air with you—they’re an impressive duo, and you hope Maverick is seriously considering picking them to fly the mission. Of course, if he doesn’t, you can always overrule his decision. It would definitely give you a kick, that’s for sure.
Hangman, on the other hand? He’s self-confident, and not in a good way. In a way that gets people killed in real-life situations.
It’s been years since you’ve flown with Maverick, but you’re still highly attuned to his thought processes; you know he’s thinking the same thing as you. In fact, you’re so confident that he’s on the same page as you that once he gets Phoenix and Bob out, the two of you don’t even have to coordinate your next move.
You bank hard to the left, pushing your jet just shy of its limits, trusting that Maverick is doing the exact opposite.
A beat.
Two.
And then…
‘There it is,’ Phoenix mutters over comms, awe creeping into her voice ‘They’re splitting him.’
Hangman doesn’t see it coming, because of course he doesn’t. He’s too focused on the kill, too focused on proving he can do this alone, and that’s exactly where he goes wrong. You’ve seen a lot of pilots fly like him, and it never ends well.
Maverick dives, fast and aggressive, dragging Hangman’s attention with him like bait on a hook.
Instead of following, you climb. Sharp. Clean. Controlled. Your jet cuts through the sky above them, disappearing from Hangman’s line of sight entirely.
‘Where’d she go?’ Bob asks.
‘Exactly where she needs to be,’ Maverick replies, voice steady—certain.
The sound of Pete so certain over the comms makes your stomach flip faster than any sudden dive in your jet.
Hangman commits because he’s got an ego the size of North Island, and for someone like him, there’s no other option. He chases Maverick, pushing harder, faster, trying to close the gap so he can win.
And that’s when you drop.
You come down out of the sun, fast and lethal, slotting in behind him like you’ve been there the whole time.
‘You’re dead, Hangman,’ you say calmly.
There’s a beat of silence over comms, then Hangman’s grating drawl: ‘You’ve gotta be kidding me.’
‘They didn’t even call that!’ Phoenix exclaims.
Pete chuckles, the sound going right through you. ‘Nice work, Wildcard.’
And oh, it comes so naturally to you. The splitting grin that makes your cheeks press against the inside of your helmet, the dizzy, elated feeling that’s better than any shot of hard liquor…
With every moment that passes, it’s becoming harder and harder to remember why you hate him so much.
THEN
You let Pete believe that you didn’t have a clue he was planning on proposing.
Really, he should’ve known by then that it was impossible to pull one over on a woman whose callsign was Wildcard—you’d basically written the playbook for surprise manoeuvres.
But you loved him, and you supposed just this once you could pretend.
The one part that you hadn’t been expecting was the Bradshaw family, which in reality should’ve been the one part that you’d seen coming. When Goose broke out into song—your's and Mav's song, your favourite—with Carole beside him on the piano bench, your heart had swelled three sizes in your chest.
And when Baby Bradshaw appeared dressed in a little Hawaiian shirt just like his dad with a cheeky grin on his face and a ring box in his chubby fist, you’d almost passed out from happiness. Until that moment, you hadn’t known it was possible to be so overcome with joy that you lost all control of your basic brain functions, but there you were: too stunned to even speak or wipe away the tears that were streaming down your face.
Bradley handed you the box, and you pressed a kiss to his forehead. Pete high-fived him before kneeling on the ground beside him, in front of you.
‘You did good, kid,’ he smiled.
‘Thanks,’ Bradley beamed. ‘Auntie Y/N, Uncle Mav has something he wants to ask you.’
You laughed disbelievingly. ‘He does?’
Bradley put his arms around your neck, pulling you down so he could whisper in your ear: ‘Will you marry him?’
You sniffled, pressing a kiss to Bradley’s cheek before kneeling in front of the love of your life. Pete’s eyes twinkled with a mix of tears, admiration, and a love so strong it was sometimes hard to acknowledge. The corner of his mouth tugged upward, like he was trying and failing to remain serious. You threw your arms around him, almost knocking him over with the force of your hug.
‘Yes,’ you exclaimed. ‘A thousand times over, yes!’
The entire restaurant had erupted into cheers, but Carole, Goose and Bradley were by far the loudest.
They always were.
You peppered kisses all over Pete’s face, until he put both hands on either side of your face and encaptured your lips in a much steadier, much more passionate kiss. The whole room melted away until it was just the two of you.
At least until Bradley made himself known.
‘Yuck!’ He shrieked, sending everyone into fits of giggles.
Carole and Goose appeared as you and Mav stood. They engulfed you in a big group hug, to which Bradley inserted himself by throwing his arms around your’s and Pete’s legs.
‘The ring!’ Carole shrieked. ‘You haven’t put the ring on her, Pete. For God’s sake—’
Bradley still had the box. Tentatively, he opened it and took out the glistening diamond engagement ring. Truthfully, it was the most beautiful piece of jewellery you’d ever seen in your life, and you couldn’t believe it was yours, that this was actually happening. Yes, you’d seen it coming, but nothing could’ve prepared you for how it was going to feel.
Bradley—who seemed to be taking his role in all this very seriously—handed the ring to Pete.
He flew multi-million dollar fighter jets for a living in a way that most other pilots wouldn’t even dare—all except for you. He’d seen real combat, been injured, lost people he cared about. Through it all, he’d been virtually unshakable.
But when he slipped that ring on your finger, his hands were trembling.
NOW
The Dagger Squad aren’t a team; that much is obvious.
Pete is used to admirals breathing down his neck about this kind of thing, but you?
He needs to do do something, and fast. Hence the impressively complicated game of dogfight football he’s organised for them all.
He’s staring at the sheen of sweat atop your sunkissed skin, glistening in the afternoon light. When you begin picking players for your team (he’s heading up one side, you the other) he can’t help but glance at the way your abs tense as you move, and the impressive length of the legs he loves so much. He remembers long nights with you wrapped around him as he—
‘Captain Mitchell!’ You bark, brows raised in a way that makes him think you know where his head was at. ‘You ready?’
Smiling sheepishly, Pete glances at who you’ve left him with: Halo, Omaha, Harvard, Yale, Fritz.
And Hangman.
Thanks to his shameless staring, he’s left with no time to strategise with his team before Hondo blows the whistle, signifying the start of the game.
The ball hits the sand, and all hell breaks loose. Immediately, it’s chaos.
Pete barely has time to register who’s on his team before Hangman snatches up the ball and starts running down the beach with it. There’s shouting, laughter, and sand flying everywhere.
And then there’s you.
You move like you used to fly, still fast and impossible to predict. It throws him off more than anything else, and for a second, he forgets this is a game.
He goes for a tackle and knows instantly that it’s the wrong angle and the wrong timing. Someone slams into him from the side, knocking him into the sand with so much force he’s honestly a little winded.
For a second, as he lies on his back, all he sees is sky, but then a shadow falls over him. Bradley is standing over him, hand outstretched.
‘You good?’ He asks, easy and casual, like there’s no history between them.
For a second, Pete hesitates, but then he takes Bradley’s hand, who hauls him up without a second thought. Before Pete can say thank you, Bradley’s already turning back towards the game like it’s nothing.
But it’s far from nothing.
It’s the first time in years his kid has reached for him, and it knocks all the wind from Pete as if he’s been knocked on his ass again.
By the time he looks up again, you’ve got the ball.
You dodge past one of the younger pilots, laughing as they miss you completely, and Pete feels something dangerous spark in his chest.
God, he remembers this. The chase. The thrill.
‘Not a chance, Wildcard!’ he calls, already moving.
You glance over your shoulder, grin sharp and familiar.
‘You’re getting slow in your old age, Maverick!’
That does it.
He knows he shouldn’t take the bait, not in front of all these people—not in front of Bradley. But Pete’s never been one for sticking to the rules, anyway. He pushes harder, closing the distance, sand kicking up behind him as he lunges, and instead of going for the ball, he goes for you.
He catches you around the waist, momentum carrying both of you forward towards the line where sand meets ocean. Before he can think better of it, he lifts you clean off your feet and dumps you straight into the water.
There’s a split second of silence before chaos ensues.
Laughter erupts up and down the beach, someone whoops, and Phoenix is yelling something about foul play.
But Pete doesn’t hear any of it, because you’re standing there dripping wet, staring at him, and for a second, you look exactly like you used to. Your eyes are bright, and there’s an air around you like you’re utterly untouchable. Too late, he realises that his hands are still at your waist. You glance down at where his skin is touching yours, and your breath catches.
The whole thing is entirely too familiar and easy.
The squad’s laughter fades into the background, and Pete realises just how fragile the moment really is. He shifts his hand to your back to help you stay upright, because your feet have started sinking into the soft sand. The sudden change seems to jolt you back into reality, and just like that, the moment’s gone.
THEN
It was one of those days that got away from you like a ball of yarn rolling across the floor.
A rare day off for you, Goose and Maverick, Carole had suggested taking Bradley to the beach for a picnic and a swim.
You’d spent the day in and out of the water, playing cricket and catch with Bradley, helping him build sandcastles and collecting different shells. After lunch, Carole and Goose had taken Bradley for a walk to get ice cream, leaving you and your fiancé to your own devices for a little while.
Pete led you down to the water, his hand wrapped protectively around your waist. He’d always been the same: if you were near, he wanted to be touching you in some way, especially if there were other guys around.
Just before you reached the water, Pete swept you off your feet without warning and threw you over his shoulder, his hand coming to rest at the swell of your ass.
‘PETE MITCHELL, PUT ME DOWN!’ You squealed.
But both of you knew that you didn’t really want him to put you down, and it was just for show. He waded out a little way before dumping you rather unceremoniously into the ocean, but not before you could hook your legs around his and drag him down with you. When you came up for air, the two of you were coughing and sputtering through your laughter.
He was so handsome, you still couldn’t believe that you were going to be marrying him in a few months. You looped your arms around his neck and wrapped your legs around his waist beneath the water, capturing his lips in a kiss. As the waves lapped gently around you, he slid his hands beneath your bikini, cupping and squeezing your ass in a way that made you almost feral.
‘Not here,’ you panted against his lips.
In response, he dragged your bottom lip through his teeth and plunged his tongue into your mouth. It was passionate and salty and entirely too much for the beach, but neither of you wanted to stop.
‘Come on, Wildcard,’ he mumbled, pressing open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck. ‘Remind me how you got that callsign.’
That daring tone was all the encouragement you needed to plunge your hand down the front of his swim shorts. He gasped against the sensitive skin of your neck, and you smirked, pleased to know that you could still surprise him.
‘HEY, LOVEBIRDS!’ Goose yelled from the shore. ‘GET YOUR HANDS OUT OF EACH OTHER’S PANTS AND COME AND GET YOUR ICE CREAM! THERE’S KIDS HERE, YOU KNOW?!’
NOW
You’re on edge from the day, unable to stop thinking about Phoenix and Bob laid up in the infirmary after having to eject. By now, you should know better than to get attached to people in the Navy, but it’s never been your strong suit. You’ve always seen pilots for what they are: people—people with families and friends and lives outside of the cockpit.
It means that days like this hit you harder than other captains, and it’s always been a great comfort to you that Pete is the same.
You shouldn’t be listening to his conversation with Bradley from outside the door, but how could you not?
‘Easy for you to say,’ Bradley spat. ‘No kids, no family. No one to mourn you when you burn in.’
You flinch. You’ve never heard Bradley speak to anyone that way before, not even in the thick of his grief with both of his parents. Your heart aches for Pete despite what he’s done, because Bradley’s right.
He doesn’t have any of those things anymore.
But you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t mourn him when he died. The thought of it had bile rising up in your throat.
‘Go home,’ Pete says quietly. ‘Get some sleep.’
You hear footsteps heading towards the door you’re currently hiding behind, and you suck in a sharp breath, expecting him to catch you eavesdropping.
But then: ‘WHY DID YOU PULL MY PAPERS AT THE ACADEMY?’ Bradley shouts, making you jump. ‘WHY DID YOU STAND IN MY WAY?!’
This whole day is reminding your body of past traumas you’ve tried your hardest to forget. You begin to tremble with a mix of adrenaline, anger and the sudden urge to cry and scream.
‘You weren’t ready.’ Pete utters.
‘Ready for what? Ready to fly like you?’ Bradley demands.
‘Ready to forget the book!’ Pete snaps. Trust your instincts. Don’t think. Just do. You think up there, you’re dead. Believe me.’
Bradley’s next words hit you like a string of nasty suckerpunches.
‘My dad believed in you. I’m not gonna make the same mistake.’
Bradley storms out of the room, anger rolling off him in waves. He’s in such a hurry to get away from Pete that he doesn’t see you with your back pressed up against the wall. Before you can stop yourself, you’re walking into the room.
Pete’s head snaps up when he sees you enter, face grief-stricken.
‘Tell me the truth,’ you say, voice strangled. ‘Not the bullshit version.’
Pete’s shoulders sag. ‘I am telling the truth. He wasn’t ready.’
You shake your head. ‘I know you, Mav. I know you’re lying. Why did you really do it?’
He runs his hands through his dark hair, and you’re taken aback by how weary he seems, like he’s been carrying the weight of this for so long he doesn’t even know how to go about setting it down.
‘Carole didn’t want him to fly,’ Pete croaks. ‘She made me promise before she died that I wouldn’t let him.’
Your vision fades almost entirely to black, and you have to sit down on one of the benches so you don’t collapse.
‘What?’ You breathe.
‘After what happened to Goose, she didn’t want him to join the Navy, Y/N. I promised.’
‘Y-you have to tell Bradley,’ you stammer, head in your hands. ‘He has to know, Mav.’
Pete shakes his head, jaw set in a hard line. ‘He’ll always resent me for what I did. Why should he resent her, too?’
Your head is spinning with this new information. Why didn’t you guess that it was something like this? It's sickening, really, to know that all this time you’ve spent hating him has been for nothing. He didn’t betray Bradley or become someone you didn’t recognise. He’s been the man you loved all along—sacrificing himself and the love of his family to protect his godson and his memories of his mother.
The world seems slightly off-kilter now.
Pete crouches in front of you, and you manage to look into his eyes. You’re met with such anguish that you can’t help but reach out and put your hands on either side of his face.
‘He doesn’t need to hate you, Mav. If you tell him, he’ll—’
‘I was trying to be the father he lost,’ he says, resting his head on your hand. ‘I just wish I’d handled it better.’
‘It’s not too late,’ you whisper.
‘For Bradley and me,’ he says quietly. ‘Or for us?’
Before you can stammer out an answer, Pete’s phone starts ringing. He fumbles for it in his pocket, answering it just before it cuts off. Judging by the way his mouth falls open with pure shock and horror, it can’t be good.
‘What’s happened?’ You ask, dread filling your heart.
‘It’s Iceman,’ Pete gasps. ‘He’s gone.’
THEN
When Goose died, the world didn’t end all at once.
It unravelled bit by bit.
Carole stopped laughing. The house got quieter, like even the walls were holding their breath. Bradley kept asking when his dad was coming home, and no one ever had an answer that made sense.
Pete stayed anyway, even when staying felt harder than running away and never looking back.
He stayed through the silence, through the grief, through the way everything felt just slightly off.
Like the world had tilted and never quite righted itself again.
He thought you would too, but he was wrong.
‘I just can’t do this anymore,’ you said, voice breaking.
Pete went still. He tasted blood before he even realised he’d bitten the inside of his cheek. ‘Of course it’s not the same,’ he managed. ‘But calling off the wedding-’
‘I’m not just calling off the wedding,’ your breath stuttered, lips trembling. ‘I’m calling off us. The whole fucking thing, Mav. I can’t-’ You shook your head. ‘I can’t do it anymore.’
The words didn’t land all at once. They sank in slow, heavy.
‘Why?’ he asked, hating how small his voice sounded.
You looked at him like it was obvious. Like it was written all over him.
‘Because every time I look at you,’ you said, quieter now. ‘I see everything we lost.’
His stomach clenched painfully, like he’d been stabbed. He took a step forward, reaching for you on instinct, because that’s what he’d always done. After all, you’d always been there.
But you pulled back.
‘Where are you going?’ he asked, like there was still something he could fix.
‘Transfer’s already in,’ you muttered. ‘New squad. New base. Clean slate.’
Clean slate. Like he’s something that needs to be erased.
‘You can’t just leave.’
‘I can’t stay,’ you whispered.
NOW
The next forty-eight hours pass in a blur of tension, arguments, and impossible expectations.
Maverick flies the course despite being grounded.
And naturally, he proves them all wrong.
The mission gets moved up, and it feels almost like an insult to Iceman’s memory. As if the grieving process isn’t already hard enough.
One silver lining, you suppose, is that Pete’s now flying the mission. Cyclone has finally seen the fucking light after you spent hours convincing him that there’s only one way this mission can be flown and survived.
Any moment now, they’re going to make Pete choose the pilots who are going to be flying the mission with him. And maybe you’re pushing your luck, trying to talk to him before that in the middle of all the commotion, but you’ve always been good at that. Pushing your luck used to be what you were known for.
You find him at the back of the carrier and grab his hand before you can second-guess yourself, pulling him into a narrow supply closet.
‘What—’
‘Listen to me,’ you cut in, hands braced against his shoulders. ‘You need to choose Bradley.’
He stills.
‘You have to take your own advice for once,’ you press. ‘Don’t think. Just do.’
He lets out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh, but there’s no humour in it. ‘Wildcard—’
‘Not finished,’ you snap, and his mouth shuts.
‘If you want any chance of fixing this with him, you have to do this. It shows him you trust him. That you believe in him,’ your voice softens, just slightly. ‘That you were wrong. Without having to mention your promise to Carole.’
Pete studies you, something shifting behind his eyes as he pieces it together. You hold his gaze. ‘Just do it, Mav. Please.’
Eventually, he nods. ‘Okay.’
Relief hits you harder than you expect. ‘Okay.’
Just as you turn to leave, he grabs your wrist.
‘When I get back, we should talk. About us.’
You swallow, nerves creeping in before you can stop them.
The last few weeks have dragged up things you’d spent years trying to bury. What it felt like to walk away from Pete, even when you still loved him; The anger that came later, sharp and blinding, when you found out what he’d done to Bradley.
For a long time, the guilt had been the hardest part. Leaving him after Goose had felt like betraying him, even if you’d needed it just to survive.
But the anger? The anger had been easier. Easier to hold onto and to hide behind. Easier than admitting that none of your feelings had ever really gone away.
You meet his eye and nod. ‘Yeah. We can talk.’
Something settles over him, then. A grim determination to get back to you, just so you can have that conversation.
‘Good luck, Maverick,’ you tell him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. ‘Come home safe. And bring our baby bird back with you.’
The flight deck is too quiet.
You’ve been here before countless times, waiting, hoping and praying, only for things to fall apart anyway. It might be part of the job, but it doesn’t make it any easier.
Wringing your hands in front of you, you pace the flight deck, ignoring the other pilots' stares. You’re not supposed to show emotion like this. It’s highly unprofessional, and you know it’s revealing a little too much about your personal life, but you can’t help it. You’d have to be an emotionless robot to stand still right now.
You walked out of the comms room just as Hangman took off because you couldn’t take it anymore. Listening to a play-by-play of the most dangerous situation Pete and Bradley had ever been in was a bit too much for your already frayed nerves.
So you’re outside on the flight deck, waiting. Waiting to see that F/16 Tomcat soaring across the horizon like a cut scene from your heyday, except this time it’s Goose’s son in the backseat and not Goose himself.
Payback and Fanboy are the first to come back, then Phoenix and Bob. Everyone on the carrier surges forward to greet them with congratulatory cheers, but you can’t bring yourself to move from the position you’re in. You have the perfect view of the skies from here, and you’re scared that if you look away for even a second, you’ll miss them.
It’s an agonisingly long wait. You’re beginning to give up all hope when you hear the trundling of a broken engine approaching the packed carrier. Nobody is around to catch you when your knees buckle, and you fall to the ground, great sobs of relief wracking through your exhausted body. The ground crew throw out a net to catch them because they’ve lost a lot of their landing gear. You’re less surprised than you should be that they made it, because you’ve seen what Pete can do in the sky under pressure. Especially this time, since Bradley was involved. You can imagine that his fatherly instincts took hold and made him even more formidable than usual.
It takes a whole lot of effort to drag yourself to your feet, but when the cockpit lifts, and you see them start to climb out, you break into a run—from zero to a hundred in two seconds flat. You push through the crowd, heart in your throat, but there are too many people, too many bodies, too much noise. It feels like you’re drowning in it.
‘Move!’ Phoenix’s voice cuts through the chaos like a whip.
Hands grab at shoulders, shoving people aside, and then she’s there, fingers wrapping around yours, steady and sure as she pulls you forward.
You don’t miss the fire in her eyes. It mirrors your own. For a second, it almost feels like looking at a younger version of yourself.
She doesn’t let go until you’re at the centre, the aircraft looming just ahead.
‘Thank you, Phoenix,’ you breathe.
‘Anytime, Captain.’
You glance past her and catch sight of Pete and Bradley, something shifting between them that feels too fragile to interrupt.
You look back at her. ‘You flew well out there,’ you say, meaning it ‘Damn well. You’re an asset to the Navy.’
Phoenix straightens a little at that, pride flickering across her face.
‘That means a lot coming from you, ma’am.’
You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. ‘Don’t call me ma’am. Makes me feel ancient.’
She hesitates.
You tilt your head, something softer slipping through. ‘Call me Wildcard.’
That throws her. For a second, she just stares, like she’s been handed something she doesn’t quite know how to hold. Then she nods, a little awed.
‘Thank you… Wildcard.’
You shake her hand and duck past her to where Pete and Bradley are locked into an extremely tight embrace. It’s not something you ever expected to see again, and you choke up again at the sight.
Both of them turn to look at you. They’re covered in soot and sweat and blood, and even though you know they’ve just been through hell, they’re smiling like they’ve won the lottery.
You suppose that in the Navy, coming home to the people you care about is the closest you’ll ever get to that feeling.
Bradley launches at you first, sweeping you up into a big hug.
‘You did so well, I’m so proud,’ you tell him, tears sliding down your cheeks. ‘Your dad would be so proud of you too, baby Bradshaw.’
He chuckles, setting you back down on the tarmac. ‘Am I ever gonna lose that nickname?’
You glance at Pete, who somehow looks younger than he did before he left, like getting Bradley back has taken ten years off him. He smiles at you knowingly as you shake your head.
‘Not a chance.’
Bradley huffs a laugh and ruffles your hair, just like Goose used to. ‘I think you two have some things to talk about,’ he says.
‘Yeah,’ you agree, glancing at Mav bashfully. ‘I think we do.’
‘Catch up with you later?’ Bradley asks.
‘Yeah,’ you smile.
He’s pulled into a conversation with Hangman, who has definitely gone up in your estimations. His rivalry with Bradley reminds you of Mav and Iceman, and those familiar pangs of grief strike you yet again.
Pete starts to speak, but you cut him off with an apology.
‘I’m sorry for all of it,’ you say. ‘For leaving you when you needed me, for not trusting your instincts about Bradley. I should’ve known you wouldn’t hold him back for no reason. But I’ve been so lost in my grief for so many years, I didn’t realise there was another option. I didn’t know I could be happy with you and miss him at the same time.’
Pete quickly wipes away the tears that are spilling down his cheeks and puts his hand on the back of your head.
‘It’s okay, Y/N. You don’t need to apologise for doing what you needed to do to survive.’ He tells you sincerely.
‘But we’ve lost so much time, Pete. Years we could’ve spent together, we spent hating each other.’
‘I never hated you, Wildcard.’
This makes you feel even worse, and your face crumples with more tears.
‘Hey,’ Pete softens, wrapping you in his arms. ‘It’s okay. We’ve still got time, Y/N. All the time in the world.’
‘You’d really wanna try again?’ You ask hopefully. ‘After everything?’
He looks at you like you’re dense for not seeing it. ‘I love you. I never stopped, and I never will. I was just waiting for you to quit fooling around and pretending we’re not made for each other.’
You laugh. ‘Is that so?’ You ask, leaning in.
‘Yep,’ he murmurs against your lips.
You don’t care that there are hundreds of people watching. You let him kiss you like there’s nobody else around, the way you used to when you were young. It’s reckless and all-consuming. It’s everything it was back then and more, somehow even sweeter after years of quiet longing and missed chances. His arms snake around your waist as he lifts you clean off your feet, like he’s done a hundred times before, deepening the kiss until you forget where you are entirely. Your heart soars as everyone starts cheering again, the sound swelling around you, this time for you and Pete.
When he sets you back down, you pull away reluctantly, breathless, your hands lingering against his chest like you’re not quite ready to let go.
Bradley appears then, laughing as he throws his arms around both of you, nearly knocking you off balance.
‘Reminds me of when I was a kid,’ he says, a little softer now. ‘When you two were kissing all the time.’
You both laugh, the sound lighter than it’s been in years. ‘Can’t believe you remember,’ you mumble, glancing at him.
‘How could I forget?’
And that’s just it, really.
You’ve been family all along. Even when loss and heartbreak tore you apart and scattered you to opposite ends of the country, it never changed what was there underneath it all.
You just needed reminding.
THEN
‘If anything ever happens to me—’
‘Nick, shut up!’ Carole cried. ‘I hate when you talk like this.’
Goose took both of his wife’s hands and squeezed them reassuringly. ‘I know, baby, but just hear me out, okay?’
Reluctantly, Carole nodded, eyes wide with fear as if the hypothetical worst-case scenario was already happening.
‘If anything ever happens to either of us,’ Goose repeated. ‘Pete and Y/N would take care of Bradley. Don’t you think that makes us luckier than most?’
Though she didn’t like the thought, it was comforting to know that her baby would always be taken care of by people who loved him.
‘Bradley lucked out in the parent department,’ Carole agreed. ‘He’s got two sets.’
Goose smiled. ‘Exactly.’
Further down the beach, you and Pete were tossing a ball back and forth with Bradley, listening to him prattle on about an assembly he’d had earlier in the week where all the kids had to share what they wanted to be when they grew up.
‘And Colson wants to be a rockstar,’ Bradley said, turning his nose up like this was a particularly disgusting profession.
You and Pete shared a look. ‘And what did you say, Bradley?’
His back straightened, a look of pride on his face as he told you: ‘I said I want to be a fighter pilot, just like dad, Uncle Mav and Auntie Y/N.’
‘If your mom lets you,’ Pete said, smiling knowingly.
‘I’ll have you guys protecting me,’ Bradley said matter-of-factly.
‘That’s right, buddy,’ you agreed, catching the ball as he threw it. ‘You’ll always have us. No matter what.’
NOW
Pete and Bradley watch from the patio of The Hard Deck as you and Phoenix toss a netball back and forth. Since The Daggers are now permanently stationed in Miramar, the two of you are trying to get a female team together to play with at the weekends. It takes Pete back to the old days, when you used to put him and Goose to shame.
‘Let me see it again,’ Bradley asks, setting his beer down on the table.
Pete rolls his eyes. ‘I just showed you.’
Bradley says nothing, just gestures impatiently. With a sigh (that his heart isn’t really in) Pete hands the ring box over.
‘It’s perfect,’ Bradley grins. ‘Better than the original.’
‘I was gonna ask—’
‘If I’ll help?’
‘Yeah, actually.’
‘Might be a bit weird if I bring the ring out this time,’ Bradley states, grinning lopsidedly. ‘Maybe I can play your guys’ favourite song, like my dad did all those years ago.’
Pete’s heart constricts, and he finds himself glancing at you again. He’s a lot less nervous about asking you to marry him this time around, but he’s determined to make it even more special than his first attempt.
‘Good idea,’ Pete muses. ‘You know it?’
‘Course,’ Bradley shrugs. ‘She used to make me play it for her all the time. It’s her favourite.’
Pete blinks. ‘Still? After all this time?’
Bradley threw a sidelong glance at him. ‘You’re an idiot, you know that?’
‘Why?’
‘She never stopped loving you. Even when she really wanted to, she couldn’t.’
Pete didn’t know how to hold this information. It seemed too fragile for his careless hands.
‘I never stopped loving her, either.’
Bradley huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. ‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘I know.’Out on the sand, you catch the ball mid-air and spin, laughing as Phoenix tries and fails to steal it from you. The sound carries on the breeze, easy and bright, and Pete feels something in his chest settle for the first time in a long time.
He closes the ring box carefully, like it’s something precious.
pairing: pete "maverick" mitchell x reader
word count: 4.5k
cw: jealousy, kissing, flirting, very mild injury, unsaid feelings, angst
summary: you're a naval doctor at top gun, and you can't get one of the lieutenants out of your mind.
masterlist
You didn’t mean to stare. Really, you didn’t.
But there he was—white sleeves rolled up, the bar light catching in his green eyes like some kind of cinematic joke, laughing at something with Goose that you were too far away to hear. Everything else blurred out. You couldn’t have looked away if you tried, and trust me, you did try.
His smile curled just a little on one side. Was that on purpose? Did he know?
God, you think you forgot to blink.
Then—jolt. Your shoulder was yanked sideways, and your name was being cursed out.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" You blink hard, like you've been underwater too long.
Your friend, Sarah, has her hand on your shoulder, her eyes practically breathing fire. "Seriously?" Her stare cuts straight through you. "Stop staring at him if you’re not going to go talk to him."
"I wasn’t—"
"You were. Open mouth and everything."
The heat crawls up your neck, scorching your ears. You take a sip of your drink, but the ice has melted, and it doesn’t hide your embarrassment at all.
Sarah rolls her eyes as she glances between you and Maverick. "Better be glad he didn’t look over. So, how many kids did you two have in your daydream?"
"I hate you."
She laughs into her drink, completely unbothered, while you watch the condensation slither down your glass like it might save you. Your face still feels hot, and the worst part is: she’s not wrong. You had been staring. Open-mouthed, apparently.
"Come on," she says, swirling her drink. "You’re not subtle. You never are around him."
You roll your eyes, taking another sip and wishing the drink didn’t taste like a puddle. "You’re imagining things."
But then, stupidly, you glance back over.
He’s not looking. Thank god.
Goose is telling some story with big gestures, and Maverick is half-listening, half-scanning the room like he's waiting for someone. His elbow’s on the table, a finger lazily circling the rim of his beer bottle. That damn smile is still sitting on his face like it belongs there.
"What would you even say if you talked to him?" Sarah asks suddenly.
Your head snaps back to her. "What?"
"I mean like actually talk. Not when he’s flirting with you in the medical room."
You look down into your drink. "I’d probably say something stupid. Like, 'Hey Mav, nice looking—'" You pause, "eyebrows?”
"You’re horrible. No wonder you’re still single."
You kick her under the table. "Fuck you. If you were in my situation, you’d be worse."
"I would never be in your situation because I’m not a pussy. Just go talk to him. It’s not a big deal."
"No," you say, trying to sound firm. "There’s no point. It’s just a thing."
“A thing,” she repeats, unimpressed.
"Yeah. A passing... thing."
Sarah’s eyes drift back toward him. "You sure about that?"
"I don't like him, Sarah. I just—"
"You just daydream about him, exactly."
You don’t answer.
For two solid minutes, you manage to keep your eyes away. But when you look back, Goose is gone.
In his place sits a blonde, her hair twisted around one finger, leaning in close like it’s something she’s rehearsed a hundred times. Maverick smiles at whatever she says—lazy, easy—and your stomach drops in that slow, humiliating way that catches you off guard.
You turn back to your drink, but you suddenly feel too sick to take a sip.
Sarah follows your gaze, then exhales sharply through her nose. "Of course."
You say nothing.
"Seriously?" she adds. "She’s not even subtle."
Still, you say nothing.
The blonde laughs—scrunching her nose like she’s seen it done in a rom-com—and you narrow your eyes in disgust.
Then you stand. Your chair scrapes against the floor loudly.
"Hey," Sarah snaps, eyes on you. "Where are you going?"
"I’m going home."
Her brow furrows. "Why? Because of her? Don’t do that."
"No, not because of her. I’m just tired." You lie.
Sarah doesn’t buy it. You wouldn’t either. "No, you’re spiraling."
"I’m leaving," you say, more firmly now. "Before I stare again, and he catches me, and I get fucking humiliated."
She frowns, her defiance softening.
"You don’t even know who she is," she says gently. "Could be nothing. Could be a sister."
You glare.
"Okay, fine, not a sister," she mutters. "But still. So what?"
"So, Sarah, I don’t want to see him look at her like that." You barely hear your own voice when you say it.
That’s it. That’s the truth. The ugly kind.
You don’t wait for her response. You just grab your jacket, fumble with the sleeves, and walk through the bar, bumping into people who are too happy, too in love, too much. Seeing happy couples and Maverick with some blonde bitch. More happy couples. More Maverick with some blonde bitch.
You try not to look back. God, you try.
But you do.
And there he is.
Maverick, turned slightly, head tilted like maybe—just maybe—he noticed you were gone.
Or maybe he’s just watching the door.
Either way, it doesn’t matter.
You push it open, step out into the salt-wet night, and let the door swing shut behind you.
Outside, the air is cooler. You take a breath like it might undo something.
It doesn’t.
────────── ✮ ──────────
The medical wing is too cold this morning. You wash your hands, wipe down the counters, and pretend it’s just another shift. Just another morning. No blonde, no bar, no sharp pit in your stomach.
You barely slept the night before. The sheets twisted around your legs sometime before 4 a.m., and the clock on your nightstand mocked you every time you checked it. By sunrise, you gave up pretending.
The fluorescent lights were too bright and certainly not helping your headache. Your uniform felt stiff, your mouth tasted like cheap coffee and regret, and your eyes felt dry, no matter how much you blinked to bring yourself any relief.
You tell yourself you’re fine.
Until he walks in.
He doesn’t knock. He never does. He just shows up like he belongs in your space. Like, he’s never been the reason you can’t breathe sometimes.
Maverick’s in a flight suit, the sleeve rolled up to reveal a bruised forearm and a scrape that probably stung when he showered. His expression is cocky. That wasn't unusual for Maverick, but today that sly grin felt different.
"Morning, doc," he spoke loudly, making sure that you could hear him from across the room as he stood at the entrance.
You don't look up right away. You’re measuring out antiseptic on a pad. Frankly, you didn't want to see him after last night.
"What did you do this time, Mav?" You said. The irritation was prevalent in your tone.
You heard the sound of footsteps nearing you, and that was your mental sign to turn around and face him. Maverick lifts the arm like it's no big deal. "Wingtip clipped the edge of the net. Didn’t eject. Just bounced."
"Of course you did," you muttered.
He sits on the exam table, the paper lining crinkling as he shifts. His legs swing lightly, banging the heels of his shoes slightly into the metal. You take a quick glance at the bruise, then at his face. Nice eyebrows. He was watching you closely, as if analyzing you.
"You should put some ice on that," you said, opening the freezer in the medical room and tossing him a small bag of ice.
He catches the bag like a sixth sense. "You left kinda fast last night," he says.
Your chest tightens. "I was just tired," you reached for the gauze. Your hands were steady, but your heart wasn't. It keeps thudding in this unsettling, miserable rhythm, like a warning.
Maverick adjusted his rolled-up sleeve, as it had shifted down a bit, so you could have easy access to it. You slowly press the cloth onto his skin, avoiding any and all eye contact with him.
He studies you for a second too long. "You didn't say goodbye."
"I didn't know you saw me."
He brushed a loose piece of hair behind your ear as it fell out of your ponytail. This wasn't unusual for him—the subtle touches and the small acts of affection—but today wasn't a day you could handle it.
He winces slightly when the alcohol hits the cut. You almost said sorry. You don’t. "Didn't seem like you were having a good time last night. Everything okay?"
You don’t answer.
Not out loud.
Because how do you say: I watched you smile at someone else like she was the purpose of your life, and it gutted me alive.
You rake your mind for answers, anything, just saying fucking anything. "It's just work stress. I'm just peachy." Work stress was one of the dumbest fucking answers you could've given him. You tend to the pilots in the Top Gun program; there isn't much stress with this job, except for this one pilot.
"She was just asking about the jukebox. It was malfunctioning or something," he said. Bold of him to assume you cared about that blonde bitch—you did—you didn't want him to know that. How does he know you saw them?
You look at him, finally — really look at him. His expression doesn’t match the cocky grin from a moment ago. There’s something softer under it now, like he’s waiting for you to say something important, even if you don’t know what it is yet.
You finish taping the gauze into place and step back, your hands itching for something else to do. Anything but stay here and admit you’d felt anything at all.
"You're all set, Pete. Don't come back in here today," you chuckled, trying to blend the awkwardness with humor. He had a reputation for his reckless behavior, which often resulted in a few minor injuries that you tended to. His prying eyes—those damn green eyes—bore into yours, trying to find what you truly felt.
"No promises, doc. Anything to see your face again."
He's just joking, that's just Maverick. You attempted to reason with yourself, grounding yourself from swooning over him.
Maverick hopped off the medical table, his shoes making a thud on the tile flooring. The tension between you two was unavoidable; it was obvious that you were uneasy, and Maverick took your silence as a confirmation.
"You're usually not this quiet. You're mad at me." He took a step closer to you, but you didn't dare look him in the eye.
"As I said, Lieutenant, I'm just tired."
Maverick doesn't buy it.
"Yeah?" he says softly, almost amused. "Tired of me?"
You finally meet his eyes, and it’s a mistake. There’s no teasing in his expression now—just something unspoken and dangerously close to tender. He steps closer, and closer.
You scoff, trying to brush it off. "You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Me losing sleep over you."
His lips twitch like he’s trying not to smile. "Are you?"
Yes.
"No." You look away, pretending to straighten the med kit. "I don’t have time for this."
"Listen, I care about you—"
"I don't understand what you want me to say, Maverick," you snapped at him, finally meeting his eye. Frustrated is what you came off as, but really, you were embarrassed.
He leans in, and you can feel his words as much as you hear them. "Maybe I want you to say whatever it is you’re too scared to admit."
You look at him, really look—his jaw tense, his eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them, like he’s holding his own breath, waiting on you.
And just when you think he might say something else—
"Hey—" It's Slider, pausing mid-step with a file in his hand, eyebrows raised like he just walked into something private. Which, to be fair, he did.
Your head shifted in his direction, taking a big step away from Maverick like it would erase anything Slider saw.
Slider blinks. "Uh... I can come back."
Maverick clears his throat, straightening. "No, you’re good."
You nod quickly, moving back behind your desk. "What do you need, Lieutenant Kerner?"
Slider gives you a curious glance but hands over the file without pressing. "Just physical results."
You flip it open, skimming, thankful for something to focus on that isn’t your own traitorous heartbeat.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see Maverick walking toward the door, pausing just before he leaves. He looks like he wants to say something, his mouth moving with no words leaving it. But he doesn't, he just looks at you and walks out.
You exhale a breath you didn't know you were holding, shutting the file and reaching your hand out to Slider.
"Whatever that was... keep it out of my sight, please," he said.
You glare at him. "Out."
He grabs the file out of your hands and backs out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
And the second the door clicks shut, you want to scream—but god, you couldn't let him get to you.
────────── ✮ ─────────
Impulsive decisions were something new to you—correction, impulsive decisions were something good for you.
A three-day break was the best you could manage—three days away from Maverick. You went back home to Oregon, expecting that distance would clear your mind. Lesson learned: expectations rarely match reality. Now, those three days were over, and tomorrow morning meant going back to work. But tonight, you were at the bar with Sarah.
The jukebox was playing something low and slow—Sinatra, maybe. The kind of song that made you feel things even if you didn't want to. Sarah was rambling about some cute guy at the pool table who kept staring at her.
Like him with her, you were staring at the wooden door, waiting for a certain pilot to walk through it.
"If you were going to hunt him down like this, you shouldn't have left for three days," Sarah said, sipping her drink without looking at you.
"You know, I really fucking hate it when you're right."
Sarah grins into her glass, "I'm surprised you're not used to it yet. It's a daily occurrence."
You roll your eyes and swirl the watered-down drink in front of you, the clink of ice a weak distraction from the pounding in your chest. You haven’t even seen him yet, and he’s already taking up every square inch of your brain.
"Besides," she adds, "why are you sitting here with me? You didn't come back here for me. You came back because you couldn't stop thinking about him."
"I came back because I'm stationed here in San Diego."
She lets the silence sit, soft and knowing, then finally shrugs. "Look, all I’m saying is, you can run off for three days, try to reset your nervous system, but if the second you’re back, you’re checking the door like he’s oxygen? You gotta deal with it."
You snort despite yourself and glance down at the table, fingers tightening around your glass. She’s not wrong. You did come back because of duty, yes—but also because you couldn’t stand another second in that too-quiet apartment, lying on your childhood bed like some ghost of who you used to be, thinking about him. About that stupid half-smile.
As if summoned by mention alone, the bar door creaks open.
You don't turn. You won't.
Sarah's eyebrows lift slightly. "Don't look," she warns under her breath, which is code for: look, there's Maverick!
You sip your drink, hoping the burning sensation down your throat will help shift your focus. It doesn't. You stare down at your drink, rubbing your finger along the rim. "Please tell me he isn't looking."
"You're safe, for a bit at least."
You blink and glance up—just a flicker, a quick check. It was tough to admit it, but you were desperate to see him.
He’s at the bar. Leaning against it like he’s got nowhere to be and all night to be there. Same flight jacket. Same stupid aviators. He’s scanning the room slowly, like he’s not really looking for anyone—except you know better. His eyes catch on your table and then—
They stay.
Shit. Shit.
You look at Sarah immediately, pulse screaming. "Shit."
Sarah smiles. "Shit," she echoes. "You gonna talk to him?"
"Fuck no. I'm talking to you right now, I'm very occupied."
"Add a 'bull' in front of that shit, will you?" She grins.
But you don’t get five seconds of peace before Goose slides into the seat next to yours.
Goose calls out your name. "Haven’t seen you around. You disappear or something?" Did Maverick tell him to talk to you?
You give him a polite smile. "Just took a few days off. Nothing exciting."
"Must’ve been exciting enough to miss Mav pacing around like a golden retriever with separation anxiety." Goose leans an elbow on the table and tilts his head. "He’s been weird."
You raise a brow. "Weird how?"
"You know," he says casually. "Flying too cautiously. Staring at the med wing like it might cough up your silhouette. That kind of thing."
Sarah snorts beside you, and you shoot her a warning look.
"I’ll let you in on a little secret," Goose adds. "He was hoping you’d be here tonight."
You scoff lightly, more out of disbelief than anything else. "Yeah, right."
And then—like a horror movie beat you should’ve seen coming—the shadow falls across your table.
Maverick.
"Hey, doc. Where have you been?"
You freeze for a heartbeat, the air thick with the kind of tension that’s way too familiar and way too dangerous.
"Oregon," you tilted your head up, finally meeting his gaze. Those sparkling green eyes. "I took a long weekend."
A small grin was plastered on his lips, and without you realizing, your lips curved up into a smile.
Goose, sensing the shift in atmosphere, slides out of his seat. "I'm gonna check on the jukebox." He grabs his beer and claps a hand on Maverick's shoulder before he walks off in the opposite direction of the jukebox. At least attempt to keep up a lie.
Sarah mutters something about needing fresh air and follows Goose into the crowd, leaving you and Maverick alone at the table.
Traitor.
Maverick slides into the seat across from you, the one Sarah had previously occupied. For a moment, it's just the two of you—the clink of ice and the murmur of the bar's low buzz like background static.
"You look good."
"You always say that, Lieutenant Mitchell."
"And I haven't lied, doc."
You chuckle softly, the familiar warmth of his voice loosening the tight coil in your chest. It’s ridiculous, how just hearing him say something simple like that feels like a small victory. You glance around, half-expecting the whole bar to be watching, but no—just the usual low-lit haze and the scent of spilled beer and old wood.
"You ran off. Why is that?" He asked, taking a sip of his beer.
You raised an eyebrow, not expecting him to be so upfront. Then again, it was Maverick. "I didn't—"
"You did." Another stupid fucking smile. Cheeky.
You squint your eyes at him and laugh a little. "Goose said you were looking for me? Why is that?"
Maverick doesn’t answer right away.
Instead, he tilts his head slightly, gaze fixed on you like he's trying to memorize every flicker of your expression. The bar noise melts to a dull thrum again, your heartbeat louder than the jukebox.
He leans forward a little, both of his forearms now resting on the table. "I really didn't like the substitute doctor."
"How much trouble could you have gotten in? I was gone for three days."
"I missed you."
I missed you. What the fuck.
No smirk. No teasing. Just the truth.
Your stomach does something traitorous—somersaults, probably—and you blink at him like the words haven’t quite registered.
"You missed me?" It slips out before you can stop it.
Maverick nods once. "I missed you, doc. I missed getting hurt and seeing you every day in that bright ass medical room. I missed seeing you smile when I said something stupid. Three days and you got me running like a dog without a leash."
Your throat tightens. You don’t know what to say, which is terrifying, because you always know what to say. Sarcasm, deflection, some medical bullshit—there’s always something. But now?
Now you’re just... still.
"Wanna get out of here?" he asks, not suggestive—sincere.
You glance around—at the jukebox, the pool table, glancing between all of the naval aviators that circulated this bar on a near-daily basis.
"Yeah," you say, "let's go."
You both stand. It’s instinctive now, the way he waits for you to step ahead first, and you do, leading the way toward the exit. Your hand brushes against his when you push the door open, and for the briefest moment, his fingers curl around yours—not grabbing, not holding, just… touching.
Outside, the air is cooler than expected, a breeze coming off the water. The sun’s gone down completely now, the parking lot lit only by the bar sign and a few flickering street lamps.
He walks you over to his bike. "Promise me that you won't go at 150 miles per hour while I am on this bike," you say to him sternly.
Maverick grins, that daredevil gleam in his eye, like you just challenged him to go faster than 150.
"You're no fun," he says.
"I'm serious. I may be a doctor, but I can't operate on myself," you reply, giving him a look that could stop a grown man in his tracks—except Maverick was never great at stopping when he should.
"I'll keep it under 100," he offers, holding up three fingers in a Boy Scout salute.
"95."
"98."
"Deal."
He swings his leg over the bike, settling into the seat with infuriating ease, then looks back at you. "You getting on, or are you going to keep pretending you’re not dying to wrap your arms around me?"
You roll your eyes but slide in behind him, arms going around his torso, grudgingly. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Mav. This doesn't mean anything."
"Oh, I know," he says, starting the engine. "But it means you missed me."
You don't say anything. You don't have to. But a smile creeps up on your lips.
The bike roars to life beneath you, loud and alive between your legs, and Maverick doesn't floor it—he coaxes it forward with surprising gentleness, pulling out of the lot like he's got all the time in the world. Maybe he does. Maybe you both do.
The streetlights blur a little as the two of you weave through the San Diego streets, wind tearing at your jacket, the scent of sea salt and jet fuel lingering faintly in the breeze. You tighten your grip just a little, not because you’re afraid he’ll crash, but because some traitorous part of you doesn’t want to let go.
"See?" he says, grinning as he clutches the handle again. "I'm capable of restraint."
"Keep this up, Lieutenant."
When he finally turns off the main road, it’s onto a quiet bluff that overlooks the water. You recognize it—the same spot he sometimes goes after late-night flights, the one Goose swore was his favorite thinking place.
The bike slows, then stops.
You both sit there for a second, engines cooling, the world falling quiet except for the rhythmic shushing of waves below.
You climb off the bike slowly, tugging your jacket tighter. He follows, helmet in hand, leaning against the seat with an unreadable look.
"This where you take all the girls you emotionally damage?" you ask lightly, your voice low and teasing, trying to keep the moment from swallowing you whole.
He runs a hand through his messy hair. You stay standing, arms crossed now—not defensive, just trying to hold yourself together while he keeps all of his attention on you. "No. You’re the first one who calls me out on it and still gets on the bike."
You chuckle, and the smile lingers on your lips as you look out at the water, only illuminated by the pale moon. The ocean breeze runs through your hair during your moment of silence.
"Needless to say, I sorta missed you too," you say quietly, referencing his confession from earlier, looking down at your shoes before looking back at him.
"Why did you leave?"
That stopped you; you couldn't admit to his face that you were jealous of some random girl getting the attention you yearned for from him. You wanted him to smile at you like that—god, it felt corny—but it was true.
"I had things to do—"
"Cut the bullshit already." He's looking at you like he already knows. Like he wants you to say it.
"I saw you." It comes out low. Quiet. But it’s enough to make his brows pull together, faintly confused.
You swallow. "That night. At the bar. With that girl—blonde. The jukebox girl. You smiled at her like she was the best thing to happen to you that week. And for some stupid reason, that felt like a punch to the gut."
Maverick exhales slowly, his expression softening.
"It's so stupid, I'm sorry. This isn't important; it isn't relevant. You talk to girls, you flirt with girls. I'll get over this and I'll go back to being the woman who patches—"
But you don’t finish.
Because he's already there, surging forward with only the kind of confidence that Maverick could carry. One moment you're rambling like a nervous wreck, the next his mouth is crashing onto yours, cutting off the words like he couldn't stand your delusions.
It's everything he was holding back, and you stopped holding back as well. All the tension from missed glances, late-night memories, and flirty touches wrapped up in a kiss that steals the air from your lungs.
His hands are in your hair, at your waist — he doesn't know where to hold you first, so he touches everywhere, like he needs to remind himself you're real. That you’re here. That you came back.
You let out a sound—surprised, maybe a little furious at yourself for liking it this much—and your fingers grip the front of his flight jacket, grounding yourself as the kiss deepens.
When he finally pulls back, breathless, eyes still locked on yours like they’re magnetized, you blink in stunned silence.
"…Okay," you say, voice uneven. "That was… abrupt."
His lips are still close to yours, brushing up against them. You feel the vibration of the chuckle that escaped from his lips that were just on yours. "Yeah. Couldn't hear you be stupid for a second longer."
You shake your head, laughing breathlessly as you try to piece yourself back together. "That was very on-brand for you."
He grins—cocky, unrepentant. “I’m consistent.”
“Reckless,” you mutter.
“I warned you.”
You roll your eyes but don’t step away. Not even close.
Instead, you lean back in, like you both know this is only the beginning.
And for once, you get to be impulsive, too.
notes: is the top gun fandom on tumblr still alive... hi if they are. i hope you guys liked this, i don't think i've written something this long in such a long time. still a bit rusty on writing, but my recent obsession with mav will not let me go.
- c ౨ৎ
I’ve got an older Maverick request if you like it!
One of the boys from top gun is trying to flirt with the new younger bartender penny is training but they are no match for Maverick who’s polite, handsome, and his charm is effortless and mesmerizing to her
Quiet Gravity
pete “maverick” mitchell x reader
warnings: none really, maybe fluff?
wc: 846
a/n: slowly but surely working on requests I’m sorry to keep you all waiting for so long 🥲
The Hard Deck was already humming when Penny tossed you a bar towel and an encouraging grin.
“Busy night,” she said. “Perfect training conditions.”
You laughed, flipping the towel over your shoulder. “You mean chaos?”
“Same thing.” Penny winked. “Remember, smile, pour with confidence, and don’t let these pilots charm you into forgetting what you’re doing.”
You saluted her playfully, but before you could make another joke, someone slid onto the barstool in front of you with all the swagger of a man who practiced it in the mirror.
“Hey there,” he pauses to read your name tag, “y/n.”
“What can I get you?” you ask politely.
“No, no, what can I get you?”
“I don’t drink on the job.”
“Come on, just one drink,” the pilot begs you.
“Are you going to order something or not? I have a bar full of people to serve,” you say, slightly annoyed.
“Fiesty, aren’t we?”
Out of the corner of your eye, another man sits down at the bar.
“Just doing my job,” you say shortly.
“You’re no fun,” the pilot pouts.
You turn your attention to the man who sat down. It’s the one person Penny has repeatedly warned you about - Pete “Maverick” Mitchell.
“Is he bothering you?” Maverick asks, calm, cool, and collected.
You chuckle. “Nah, he’s just upset I haven’t taken a liking to him.”
“I’m right here!”
Maverick smirks. “Don’t worry about them.”
The pilot sighs and leaves, defeated.
“What would you like, Maverick?”
Maverick chuckles. “Penny told you about me.”
“Yes she did,” you smile. You pull a beer out and place the bottle in front of him.
He shakes his head. “I’m not trying to cause harm.”
“She told me you pour on the charm.”
“What else did she tell you?”
You laugh. “Enough.”
“Come on, you gotta tell me!”
You smile and walk away, helping the next guy at the bar.
Later that night, as you’re cleaning up, you feel a set of eyes on you, and you know it’s not Penny.
“What are you still doing here?” you ask him.
“It’s late. I don’t want you walking to your car alone,” Maverick states plainly.
“No other intentions?” you continue, turning around and tossing the rag on your shoulder. You lean against the bar and cross your arms.
“I can’t be a gentleman?”
“Not with your reputation,” you tease, moving to behind the bar.
“What did Penny say to you?” Maverick asks, half actually asking and half rhetorical.
You throw the rag into the dirty bin and grab your keys.
“Time to go,” you state plainly.
Maverick heads towards the door, with you behind. He opens the door for you, and waits there as you lock it.
“You did well tonight,” he says.
“Even with all those military guys flirting with me?”
“You handled them very well.”
“Yeah, well there’s one I’m not handling well.”
“Oh yeah?” A smile creeps across Maverick’s face.
“Yeah, and I don’t think Penny will be pleased,” you laugh slightly.
You reached your car without really noticing, the quiet tension stretching between you like a pulled thread.
Maverick stopped at your door, fingers brushing the handle before stepping aside to give you space. But he didn’t step far. His presence pressed into the air around you, thick and unmistakable.
He held your gaze. Too long. Just long enough that you felt something shift, like the moment before a plane breaks the sound barrier.
“Maverick,” you say, almost like a confession.
His eyes dropped. Briefly, achingly, to your lips.
Not a mistake. Not an accident.
“Maverick…” you repeated, softer, and the air snapped tighter.
He took half a step closer, close enough for your shoulders to almost touch, close enough that his breath warmed your cheek. His hand hovered like he wanted to touch you - your arm, your waist, your face, but he held still, held back.
“You should get home,” he murmured, though it sounded nothing like a dismissal.
“Should I?” you asked.
His laugh was exhaled more than spoken. “You’re making this hard.”
“Am I?”
He tilted his head, eyes closing for a moment as if steadying himself. When he opened them again, the look in them made your stomach dip hard.
“I’m trying to be a gentleman here,” he said quietly.
You chuckle. “I know,” you mumble, glancing away.
His hand finally touched you - just two fingers at your wrist, barely there, but the jolt of heat shot straight through you.
He leaned in, so close you could feel his breath on your face.
“Get home safe,” he whispered.
Reluctantly, painfully, he let your wrist go.
You slipped into your car, heart pounding, hands trembling on the wheel. Maverick stepped back, watching you with that same unreadable, molten look.
You started the engine.
But he didn’t turn away until you pulled out of the lot.
And even then, you felt his gaze on you long after the Hard Deck disappeared in your rearview mirror.
SUMMARY: bradley says you should communicate more with him, you tell him that he should be less protective of you. so your dad steps in helps you solve your problems.
WORD COUNT: 5051
GENRE: angst-ish, fluff at the end <3
CONTENT WARNING: english is NOT my first language
pacing in the small kitchen of your house, your arms were crossed over your chest as your mind was racing. the air was thick with unspoken words, and your heart pounded in your chest. across from you, stood bradley with his jaw clenched, his fists balling at his sides.
“i can’t believe you went behind my back like that, bradley,” you scoff, not holding back the hurt in your voice.
he ran a hand through his short hair, “i didn’t go behind your back. i was trying to help! your dad agreed with me—“
“of course! of course, he agreed with you. like he always does! but that is not the point,” you cut him off. “this isn’t about him, it’s about us. you made a decision to get me off the mission without even talking to me!”
"you've got to be kidding me," bradley's voice was low and angry. "you didn't even tell me you were-
"i didn't need to tell you, bradley. i'm a pilot, just like you, it was classified!" you interrupted, voice rising. “i’ve been around fighter jets my entire life life. i know the risks better than anyone. and it is not your decision to make!”
he scoffed, shaking his head, "classified? you could've said something. a heads-up, at least. i had to hear it from hangman, of all people, God knows how he even got that information. do you know how that feels?"
"i don't owe you a whole play-by-play of every mission i'll be going on. you know that is not how it works!" your voice getting an octave higher as frustration started rising in you. "we're doing the same job, bradley. i'm not going to run to you for permission every time i'm assigned something dangerous."
rooster shook his head, "that is not what this is about, and you know it!" bradley's voice cracked as he pointed his finger at you, accusingly. "you've been reckless, and it's not just this mission. you've been pushing your luck lately, takin' unnecessary risks that-"
"taking risks that what?" you cut him off, taking a step forward. "that you think you wouldn't take when you'll get the opportunity? don't act like you're the only one who's capable of making tough calls up there."
bradley ran a hand through his hair, "it's not the same. you've been flying like you've got something to prove, like you're invincible. i've seen it, multiple times!'
"maybe i do have something to prove!" you shouted. "do you know what it's like being maverick's daughter? everyone assumes i'm only here because of him. that i'm not good enough if he wasn't here!"
"i never said that," bradley yelled back. "i know how good you are, but that doesn't mean you can just ignore the consequences. this ain't a game, y/n! one wrong move and-"
"and what? i could die?" you finished for him, your voice hard. "yeah, bradley, i know."
his eyes hardened for a second. “i am just trying to protect you! you don’t need to be involved in such things, you know how dangerous things are-“
you felt your blood boil, "you do not get to control when and if i fly! i made a call, and it worked. i got them out of a situation that they couldn't get out of alone," you took a breath. "don't act like you're the only one who's scared of the consequences. but i'm not going to let fear control how i fly, or how i choose to live my life."
"yeah, this time," bradley snapped. "but one day it ain't gonna work, and i'm gonna have to watch you get hurt, or worse-" he stopped himself.
his face was twisted with frustration, "this is not just about fear. it's about trust - trusting the people around you." bradley shook his head, “i lost my dad to this job, remember? i can’t lose you too, you’re asking me to sit back and watch while you put yourself in danger.”
you ran a hand through your hair. “i’m not asking you to watch from the sidelines, bradley. i’m asking you to trust me, to treat me like an equal, not someone you have to shield all the time.”
bradley sighed, "i thought we were in this together, but lately, it feels like you're flying solo. you should've told me about the mission, and you should've thought twice before pulling that stunt in the air today."
"you can't protect me from everything, bradley," you said, your voice quieter now. "we are in this together, but that means you have to trust me to do my job. i'm not reckless, i'm doing what i've been trained to do."
bradley let out a frustrated breath, "i do trust you, but you have to meet me halfway. you shook your head, "we are a team, bradley. but you have to stop treating me like i'm going to break every time things get tough."
he looked at you, the only thing between you two was a heavy silence, before you walked outside towards your dads house.
a week had passed since the fight, and you had ignored bradley every single day. you hadn’t spoken to him since that night in your house. every time he tried to approach you, you either turned away or conveniently found yourself busy with something - anything else.
you knew your friends noticed the change, but neither of them said anything. they respected your silence, even if someone gave you the occasional concerned look.
the hangar buzzed with energy as the team prepped for the next mission briefing, but your eyes were completely focused on the clipboard in front of you, pretending to read the details. you could feel bradley’s eyes on you angrily cross the room, but you refused to acknowledge him.
“you okay?” phoenix asked softly, disrupting your train of thought.
you forced a tight smile. “yeah, i’m fine. just.. reading.” phoenix raised an eyebrow but didn’t keep asking questions. she had known you long enough to understand that when you didn’t want to talk, it was best to let you be. nat glanced over at bradley, who was standing near the planes, staring at you like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how to approach you.
bob, ever the quiet observer, gave you a look. “if you ever need anything, just let us know.”
you appreciated bob. he had a thing of being there for people without pushing. which made the weight on your shoulders feel a little lighter.
at the mission briefing, you found your spot next to phoenix, grateful for the buffer she provided between you and bradley. you sensed him sitting just a few seats away, and it took every ounce of willpower not to glance in his direction. so, you kept your eyes on your father, who was explaining the mission.
"phoenix, bob, you'll be running a close-formation drill. i want you tight and focused," maverick said, his voice commanding as always.
"y/n, you'll assist in the observation and debrief."
you nodded, keeping your face neutral, it wasn't anything usual you did things alone, usually working with bradley. observation duty meant you didn't get the chance to fly, and it gave you the perfect chance to stay away from bradley. the last thing you wanted was to be stuck in a jet with him.
"bradshaw," maverick called out, pulling your attention (unwillingly) to him, "you're up on solo drills today. i want you working on precision landing. that means, stay sharp."
bradley nodded, though his gaze flickered towards you for the briefest second. you kept your expression to the front, refusing to give him any acknowledgment.
once the briefing wrapped up, everyone began to filter out to the tarmac. you stuck close to your friends, walking with them as they headed to their aircraft. bradley trailed behind, clearly wanting to catch up with you, but hesitated as he watched you being in a conversation with nat about fuel calculations - anything to keep your mind occupied.
"you sure you're good?" phoenix asked you as you reached the jets. "you've been off all day."
you took a breath, "it's just.. bradley. we had a fight, and i don't wanna talk to him yet." phoenix frowned, glancing over her shoulder at where bradley stood a few feet away, looking frustrated and lost. "you can't avoid him forever, you know."
you nodded, and bob gave a sympathetic nod, adjusting his glasses. you appreciated their concern. as phoenix and bob climbed into their F-18, you took a step back to give them room to prep for takeoff. you took your clipboard and started ticking off boxes for the check up.
the sun was starting to set, casting shadows over the hangar. you were leaning against one of the vacant jets, deep in thought as you watched the fading light reflect off the metal wings. it had been a long day - avoiding him.
you sighed and pushed yourself off the F-18, wiping the sweat from your forehead. you needed a break, or at the least a moment to breathe. before you could turn to head inside, footsteps approached from behind, but they weren't the ones you'd been bracing yourself for, for the entire day.
"evening, y/n," the person turned out to be jake. you redirected your vision from the wing to your clipboard. "hangman," you nodded. "what brings you here?"
he strolled up beside you, hands tucked into the pockets of his flight suit, wearing that trademark smirk of his. "saw you out here all alone, figured you could use some company?”
you rolled your eyes, but there was no intent behind it. “i can take care of myself, thanks”
“never said you couldn’t,” jake said with a smirk, leaning against the F-18. his casual stance did little to hide the intensity in his gaze as he looked at you.
"i'm fine, jake," you said, trying to keep the conversation light. "just doing my task."
he cocked his head to the side, clearly not buying it. "uh-uh, sure doesn't look like it. you've been quieter than usual, which, for you, is saying something," jake took a few steps back, blocking the sun off that was lower now. "anything to do with a certain aviator with a mustache, or... am i reading this wrong?"
you shot hangman a look, but he didn't stop smiling. "you know, for someone who's so smart, you're real bad at hiding what's going on in that pretty little head of yours," jake's smirk only widened.
you gave a big sigh, knowing it was pointless to dodge him. he wasn't the type to let things go easily, especially when there was a chance to get on someone's nerves. "what makes you think this has anything to do with bradley?"
hangman gave you a look, "i'm not blind, y/n. everyone's noticed the way you two have been acting lately. hell, even bob asked if something was up, and that guy avoids drama like the plague."
you huffed a laugh at that. bob was definitely not one to get involved in anyone's personal life, which only meant your fight with bradley had become more obvious than you thought.
"it's... complicated," you shrugged. you didn't want to elaborate, you didn't really think you had a good reason to be mad at bradley.
jake just nodded, surprisingly not pushing for more details. "well, complicated's a word i know all too well. but whatever it is, you can't keep ignoring him, ya know."
you rolled your eyes, "you sound exactly like phoenix."
"smart woman, phoenix," jake shot back at you with a grin. "you should listen to her."
you didn't respond immediately, the silence between you settling into something a bit more comfortable. the truth was, you didn't know how to face bradley yet. it was easier to ignore the whole situation - easier to ignore him.
after a few moments, jake glanced at you, his voice a bit more serious. "look, i'm not here to stir the pot - at least, not too much. but if you ever need to talk... i'm around. no judgement."
his offer caught you off guard. jake wasn't exactly known for being the most emotionally available person, but there was something in his tone that told you he meant it. maybe beneath the cocky exterior, there was more to him than he let on.
"thanks," you nodded, offering a small smile. "i'll keep that in mind."
jake gave a nod in return, "anytime, darlin'."
he turned around to leave after giving your shoulder a slight squeeze. you watched him walk towards the tarmac, where his F-18 was.
just as jake waltzed towards his F-18, he spotted bradley making his way across the hangar, bradley's expression was quite unreadable, his eyes locked on the same spot where you and jake had just been talking.
"well, look who it is," jake said, his tone deceptively light. "bradshaw, got a minute?" jake called out, casually strolling over to intercept him.
bradley stopped in his tracks, his brow furrowed slightly, but he nodded. "yeah, what's up, hangman?"
jake's grin widened as he tilted his head toward you. "just thought you might want to know - y/n's been keepin' busy. got a lot on her plate, but she's holdin' her own. probably needs a little more time to figure things out, though," jake winked at bradley and put his hand on his shoulder.
bradley's expression hardened, and slapped jake's hand off his shoulder. "and what the hell's that supposed to mean?"
"relax," jake said, his tone light. "i'm just sayin'. give her some space."
bradley's jaw tightened, "i don't need a lesson on how to handle my own problems, jake."
hangman raised an eyebrow, "didn't mean it like that, man. just offering a little insight from someone who's seen it all before."
bradley shrugged and looked away from jake, "mind your own business, seresin."
you were sat at the kitchen table, a mug of hot chocolate cooling in front of you. It was too late to drink a good mug of coffee. the evening was quiet, your dad was lounging across from you, a plate of leftovers in from of him. he was in one of his storytelling moods, something you'd started appreciated over the years. even if you'd heard some of the stories more times than you could count.
"right? so, there i was," maverick began, his eyes lighting up with a spark, "flying an F-18 during a mission over the persian gulf. everything was going smoothly until we got, like, a distress call about an aircraft in trouble."
you nodded absently, staring into your cocoa, your mind miles away, tangled up in the mess with bradley. you had been staying in mav's spare room for the past two days, needing a break from your own space. your father's voice was a comforting background noise.
"and then, just as we're closing in on the aircraft, we started having issues with our own plane," maverick laughed as his hands animated and described the scene. "the gauges were going haywire, and the engine started sputtering. and, i knew! we had to act fast."
he paused, noticing you weren't engaged in his story as usual. his gaze softened. "y/n? you okay, kiddo? you seem like you're a million miles away."
you blinked, pulling yourself out of your thoughts. "sorry, dad. just... thinking.
your dad's expression grew more concerned. "wanna talk about it? i'm here to listen."
you took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the past week press heavily "it's just... bradley and i had a fight. i've been avoiding him." you shrugged, "he's been trying to reach out, but i'm not sure how to fix this."
your dad's eyes softened, he always was a good listener. "i see, and it that why you've been staying here for the past couple of days?"
you nodded, "yeah, sorry. i just needed some space. i wasn't sure how to handle everything, and it felt easier to just be here."
mav laned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. "well, you know, i'm glad you're here, even if it's under tough circumstances. sometimes, a change of... scenery can give you some clarity. but avoiding problems doesn't solve them."
you looked at him, "yeah."
mav's gaze was steady, full of the wisdom that only years of experience could bring. "life's a lot like a flying jet. you've got to keep your eyes on the instruments, stay focused on your course. but, also be ready to adjust when things don't go as planned. sometimes you hit turbulence, and somethings you've got to do some emergency maneuvers. but no matter what, you cannot let the storm cloud your vision."
you nodded slowly, feeling a bit of tension in your chest ease. "that.. kinda makes sense? i'm not sure."
"and as for bradley," maverick continued, his voice gentle but firm, "communication is key. if you're struggling with something, talking it out can make a big difference. don't let fear of pride keep you from making things right."
you nodded, letting the advice your dad gave you sink in.
mav's expression softened, "it's natural to need time, and it's okay to take a step back. but running away won't make it disappear. sometimes, you've got to face it."
you nodded, feeling mixture of relief and determination. "thanks, dad."
he gave you a reassuring smile, then reached across the table to give your hand a gentle squeeze. "you're stronger than you know, kid. i'm here for you, no matter what happens. and when you're ready to talk to him, make sure you're doing it for the right reasons."
you managed to give hima smile, feeling like you were 10 years old again and he was giving you advice, "thanks dad.
his eyes twinkled with pride, happy that his rambling made somewhat a bit of sense to you, "anytime, kiddo. now, let me finish that story about the F-14 before you fall asleep on me."
you laughed at your dad's comment, feeling more grounded. as mav resumed his story, you let yourself be carried away by the familiar rhythm of his voice.
rooster walked down the hallway toward the locker room, his shoes echoing against the hard floor. the low hum of the hangar was the only sound he could hear, he was way too early, but he didn't care. he could only focus on the tight knot in his chest. he hadn't spoken to you in days, and the last time he tried, jake had been there, again, standing in the way - both figuratively and literally. that only added hurt and anger to the fire that was burning inside him.
he sighed, and ran a hand through his messy hair. it had been a week since you two fought, and he couldn't shake the guilt or frustration. every attempt to have a talk with you seemingly failed, and now, the distance between you two felt bigger than ever.
as he approached his locker, still deep in thought, a voice called out to him.
"rooster."
he stopped in his tracks to see maverick approaching him, hands in his flight suit pockets, that familiar look of concern in his eyes.
"hey, mav," bradley said, forcing a smile. "what's up?"
mav stepped closer to him, "i've been meaning to catch up with you. figured now was as good a time as any."
rooster nodded slowly, this wasn't casual small talk - bradley figured. he leaned against his locker, crossing his arms as he waited for maverick to continue.
mav studied bradley for a second, his gaze thoughtful, "something's been weighing on you."
bradley sighed, letting out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "yeah. it's.. y/n," he looked away, almost embarrassed to admit to aloud to her dad. "we had a fight, and things haven't been the same ever since. and, lile, i've been tryin' to fix it, but she's been avoiding me. i don't know what to do."
mav's eyes softened with understanding. he had known brad for years, practically raised him from afar after his father's death. maverick had and will always see bradley as family, and seeing him in this state tugged at his heart.
"yeah, figured as much," maverick replied gently, leaning against the lockers beside him. "she's been staying at my place for the past couple of days. it's clear to say that whatever happened between you two is affecting her just as much."
his face fell, guilt swirling in his chest. "i didn't know she was staying with you." maverick gave him a nod, "she needed some space, to think and stuff. but, trust me, from what i've seen, this isn't just about space. it's about communication."
brad shook his head, frustrated. "i've been trying to talk to her, mav. but, every time i try, she just pushes me away. shuts me out."
"it's not about fixing it right away. you've got to give her and yourself room to feel what you're feeling. but that doesn't mean you should stop trying. she cares about you, like you care about her."
brad looked down at the locker floor, his fists clenching at his sides. "i don't know if she still does. after everything i did - said, maybe she's better off without me."
your dad frowned, shaking his head. "no, don't do that. don't start doubting yourself because of one rough patch. relationships - especially the kind that matter - they're never easy. you're gonna hit turbulence. what really matters is how you handle it."
rooster swallowed hard, the knot in his chest easing slightly. "it feels like no matter what i do, it's never enough. and i know, i messed up, and now i don't know how to make it right."
"look, kid, i know what it's like to carry the weight of your mistakes. god knows i've made my share of them. but the key is learning from them. you and y/n have something real, something worth fighting for. but you cannot expect it to be fixed overnight."
bradley met maverick's eyes. "so what do i do? just wait?"
he shook his head, "no. you don't just wait. you just be patient, but also let her know that you're still there, still fighting for her. she needs to see that you're willing to put in the work."
brad ran a hand over his face, his shoulders sagging with the weight of it all. "i don't know how to get through to her."
"you love her, right?"
bradley didn't hesitate. "yeah. i do."
"then show her that," mav replied simply. "not with words, but with actions. be there for her, even when she's pulling away from you. let her know that you will be her person, even when things are going to be hard."
bradley nodded, his throat feeling pretty tight with emotion. he'd heard maverick's advice before, in different times. but it hit harder than before.
mav put a hand on roster's shoulder, a reassuring gesture. "she's my daughter, bradley, and you're like a son to me. i know both of you well enough to see that this relationship is something worth fighting for. don't give up on her, or yourself."
"thanks, mav," bradley blinked. he gave bradley a small smile in reply.
"anytime, kid. you've got a good heart, don't let the fear of losing her stop you from showing her how much you care."
bradley nodded and watched maverick walk away, the weight on his chest lifting a bit. he turned his head when he heard a locker close.
"wow, i think i just cried," hangman clasped his hands together, as he stepped in bradley's view. "you heard all of that?" bradley's mouth hung open.
"i think you've just ruined a nice moment," another voice cut in. bradley moved towards the sound. "bob? are you kidding me?" rooster scoffed.
"i have an idea, you could show up with flowers," bob suggested. "and her favorite snacks and movies," hangman cut in. bob and bradley gave him a weird look. "what? i have my fair share with the ladies," jake winked.
that afternoon, rooster found himself in a small flower shop, sighing. he didn't know what he was supposed to give her, he knew her favorite flower was a hibiscus syriacus, but he wasn't sure if he saw them lying anywhere.
luckily for him, the cashier decided to be nice enough and help him make a bouquet full of pink, purple and red flowers. it almost costed him fifty dollars, but he didn't care - for his girl he'd give everything he'd had, if it meant to get her back.
the knock on your door was soft almost thoughtful. it was the first night you'd slept at your own place and you hadn’t been expecting anyone, least of all this late in the evening. wrapped in a blanket, you hesitated for a moment before dragging yourself off the couch, still feeling the weight of the past few days pressing down on you.
as you opened the door, you froze.
there, standing in the dim glow of the porch light, was bradley. he looked nervous, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he held out a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a dvd case in the other.
you blinked, not sure what to say. the bouquet was stunning—pink, purple, and red flowers carefully arranged, each petal as vibrant and fresh as it could be. you knew immediately that bradley had gone out of his way to pick these specifically, knowing exactly which colors you loved most. you blushed a bit.
"hey," he said softly. "can i come in?"
you swallowed, still processing the sight of him standing there, looking more vulnerable than you’d ever seen him. slowly, you nodded and stepped aside, letting him into the cosy beach house.
bradley walked in slowly, like he was afraid to disrupt the fragile peace of the moment. he placed the flowers gently on your kitchen counter, glancing back at you with an uncertain smile.
"i, uh…" he started, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "i wasn’t sure how to fix things between us, but i thought i’d try starting with these."
your eyes flicked between him and the flowers, the tension you’d been holding onto for days softening ever so slightly. "they’re beautiful," you said quietly, your voice betraying how much the gesture meant to you, even if you weren’t ready to fully admit it.
bradley let out a small breath of relief. "i hoped you’d like them."
you shifted your gaze to the dvd still clutched in his hand. "and what’s that?"
his face broke into a sheepish grin as he held up the case. "your favorite movie. i figured… well, maybe we could watch it together. i thought it might be a way to… i don’t know, make things feel a little more normal. or at least give us a chance to talk."
you glanced at the title—the notebook, your all-time favorite. it was the movie you turned to whenever you needed comfort or an escape from reality, and bradley knew it. the fact that he had brought it with him, even with all the awkwardness hanging between you, showed just how much he had been thinking about you.
your heart softened a little more, but you couldn’t help the guarded feeling that still lingered. "bradley, you didn’t have to do all this. i’ve been avoiding you for a reason."
"i know," he said, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "i get that. and i’m sorry for everything that’s happened. but i didn’t want to keep pushing you to talk before you were ready. i just… i wanted to show you that i’m still here. that i’m not going anywhere, no matter how hard things get."
you looked away, unsure of what to say. the past week had been a whirlwind of emotions, and the fight you had with bradley still hung heavy in your mind. but here he was, standing in front of you, making an effort not just to apologize but to be there for you, in the way you needed most.
"i’ve been thinking about what went wrong between us," bradley continued, stepping a little closer, though still giving you space. "i messed up. i didn’t listen to you the way i should have, and i know that. i just… i want to make it right. i don’t expect everything to go back to normal overnight, but i want you to know i’m willing to put in the work. for us."
you felt the lump in your throat grow as his words washed over you. it wasn’t just the flowers or the movie—it was the way bradley was looking at you, so full of hope and sincerity, like he would do anything to fix what had been broken between you.
for a long moment, the two of you stood there in silence, the weight of the past week hanging between you. but then, something shifted. the warmth of the flowers, the comfort of the movie, and the vulnerability in bradley’s eyes—it all made you realize that maybe, just maybe, you were ready to take that first step forward.
"bradley," you said softly, your voice catching slightly, "i’m still hurt. i need time. but… i don’t want to keep avoiding you. i don’t want us to be like this."
he nodded, relief evident in his expression. "i understand. i’ll give you all the time you need. i’m not going anywhere."
you took a deep breath, then nodded toward the living room. "you can stay. we can watch the movie. maybe it’ll help."
bradley smiled, that familiar, gentle smile that had always made you feel safe. "i’d like that."
the two of you moved to the couch, settling in with the blanket spread across both your laps. as the princess bride began to play, bradley didn’t try to force a conversation. instead, he just sat beside you, his presence steady and comforting, offering you exactly what you needed in that moment—no pressure, no expectations. just him, showing up for you.
and as the movie rolled on, you found yourself relaxing more and more, leaning into his arms.
Top Gun: Maverick short story. Older!Maverick x Female!Civillain!Reader
Warnings: Insecure!Reader, age gap, nothing else really
Gif not mine (obviously)
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You pulled into the parking lot of the Hard Deck, feeling exhausted and sore, but also accomplished. You’d helped the local police department with a large animal seizure for the last 3 days and you were covered in bruises, cuts, lots of dirt and sweat, but you’d helped. You had been needed and you had helped. It felt good.
But you were thankful it was done – working 16+ hour days and fighting various forms of wildlife -some illegal to own privately in this country- made you grateful that you only did this occasionally as a volunteer. You wouldn’t last doing this every day long term.
Today had been the last day and while you were absolutely trashed, you were also too mentally wired to go home to your empty house and sit around. A Friday night at the Hard Deck with your favorite team of Top Gun pilots sounded like a good way to ring in the weekend and ring out the last few days. You didn’t even go home and change, instead heading straight from the police department to the bar in your tactical pants and work boots.
Walking -or slightly limping- through the doors, you felt the last of the adrenaline leave your system and your shoulders slumped a bit. You used to be anxious about being out among a lot of strangers, but since becoming friendly with the vast majority of the regular pilots and navy personnel in this particular bar, it had begun to feel like a second home.
Making your way up to the bar, you didn’t even have to look to know that the Top Gun best of the best were at the pool tables – you could hear their trash talking from the door.
And while you had no qualms about making yourself comfortable in their space and sending one of the guys for your usual drink, sitting at the bar and catching up with the calmer, steady Penny in between her serving patrons, sounded more appealing at the moment. You’d catch up with the pilots after you sat for minute.
The fact that Captain Pete “Maverick” Mitchell was also sitting at the bar had nothing to do with your decision. Nothing at all. (But was it terrible to be so attracted to a man that much older than you? Probably. And nothing would ever come of it you were sure, but a girl could dream, right? And after the last few days, your tired mind just wanted to dream.)
“Hey, Penn,” you greeted a bit tiredly, though with a wide grin as you sat down a few stools away from the navy pilot. “Mav. How’s the night so far?”
Both Pete and Penny turned to look at you and both of their eyes widened, jaws falling open a bit. You snorted a laugh at the matching looks. Even though Pete and Penny had broken things off -while still remaining friendly- apparently they’d been dating long enough to start looking alike.
“…what’s a girl got to do to get a drink around here?” you finally quipped after a few moments when neither of them made a move to say anything, just kept looking you up and down.
That seemed to snap them both out of it, Penny automatically moving to get your favorite while Pete blurted out, “I thought you had an office job?”
You rose a brow, being purposefully obtuse (it gave you a small thrill that he remembered even that much of your life). “I do, Mav.”
You threw Penny a grin as she slid you your drink and you slid her your card. Her eyes were worried, but there was the slightest smirk on her face that showed you she knew what you were doing. And the fact that you were here at her bar and being a little schmuck eased a bit of her worries about the state you were in.
“Then what the hell happened to you?” Pete asked, moving from his stool to the one directly next to you. He didn’t seem to find the same consolation as Penny did in your flippancy, instead taking in every inch of you, eyes darkening even further. “Who did this?”
You gave a fond smile, reaching out and patting his hand, all while desperately trying to ignore the swarm of butterflies in your stomach. He was like this with everyone, you had to remind yourself. He’d practically adopted the grown pilots from his crew and was caring and protective of all of them as well. You were no different in his eyes. Though he was far from a father figure to you.
“No one did this to me, Mav. I took the last few days off and was helping the local PD with a large-scale animal seizure. They needed the extra hands and since I used to work Animal Control back home, well… it worked out.”
To your surprise, and by the soft sound from the woman behind the bar, to Penny’s utter amusement, Pete lifted a hand and gently grasped your chin, turning your head slightly to inspect the bruise on your cheek. You felt the blood rush to your head and tried valiantly not to gasp or worse, lean into his touch. You didn’t need that kind of mortification tonight.
“You get checked out?” the brunette asked quietly and you couldn’t help the snort that escaped you.
“Really, Mav? Of all people to ask that –”
The pilot gave a soft huff of laughter. “Fair point. But I’d still like an answer.” His hand gently fell away but not before giving what felt like a soft caress to your jaw. You couldn’t help the gulp but tried very hard to wipe any incriminating expression off your face before you turned back to him.
“Scout’s honor. I got checked out by the EMTs that are always around the police station. Nothing but a few cuts and bruises. I’ll live.”
Pete hummed lowly, looking you over once more head to toe before turning back to Penny behind the bar. He reached over for his beer, still staying in the stool right next to you and you gave -what you hoped- was a subtle deep breath to center yourself before also turning back to the bar and your drink.
There. That wasn’t so bad. Minus the fact that you still had dozens of butterflies swarming your stomach from the unexpected care and touching. But it was over now. You passed. No declarations of love or leaning into him like some love-struck teenager.
Perfect. Now if you could get your skin back to usual temperature and finish your drink like a normal, not thirsting after the man next to you, person.
Judging by the smirks Penny kept shooting your way, you weren’t quite there yet.
You gave a low groan, rubbing a hand over your face. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea you’d ever had. Next time, it was straight to the group of cocky pilots you felt nothing but brotherly and sisterly love for and they could approach the bar and get your drink for you.
A warm, calloused hand was on your forearm suddenly, another hand gently pulling your hand down from your face. “Alright, Y/N?” Pete asked quietly and you just blinked at him for a moment.
Seriously, how freakin’ unfair was his stupid gorgeous face and his stupid caring and his stupid niceness when he didn’t see you as anything different than his one of his “kids”? Assuming you even rated that high.
That was it – you needed to leave. At least his presence if nothing else. It wasn’t fair of you to put all this on him when it wasn’t his fault you’d developed such a massive crush on the man.
“Y/N?” he asked again, a little more urgent. You blinked at him again before shaking your head slightly. Yeah, not his fault, but not doing your sanity any favors either.
“I’m fine, Mav,” you finally answered, trying for a reassuring smile. “Just tired. But still too wired to go back to an empty place. I think I’ll go see the gang for a bit before heading home. But thanks.”
You gave him another smile as his hands fell back to his own side and you stood, grabbing your drink.
“Thanks, Penn,” you smiled at her, lifting your drink in salute before giving Pete one last small smile (no use in him thinking you were mad at him or something) and then turning to the pool tables.
You felt yourself give a relieved sigh as you neared the loud group. Good. Some normal chaos without the touchy-feely-can’t-admit-how-you-feel mess at the bar.
Ugh, you were so screwed. And your overthinking brain was desperately hoping you didn’t somehow push Pete away even further than he already was.
But thankfully the loud chatter of the squad around you had always been good at drowning out your inner panic, probably one of the reasons you got so close so fast with the group.
Your musings were cut short as Hangman spotted you first, yelling out, “Y/N?! What the hell happened to you?”
On cue, all eyes of the squadron turned to you and it was just through sheer familiarity with the group that kept you from tensing and shrinking under the attention.
Instead, you were able to give a fond smile as you sunk into the space Nat and Bob had made between them and answered back, “Helped the PD with some animal seizures. I’m fine, just cuts and bruises, nothing serious.”
Everyone seemed to look you over for another minute before Hangman broke the silence with a crass, “I always knew you’d look good in Tacticals.” And that was that. The group started their conversations again, though not without flipping Hangman some crap, or in a few cases, agreeing with him and you just shook your head with a grin and took another sip of your drink.
They were idiots, but they were your idiots.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” Nat asked from your side, and you gave her a grin.
“Scout’s honor, mom,” you teased. She gave you a smirk, eyes dancing in mischief.
“If anyone here is ‘mom’, it’s you Y/N. Not only do Rooster and Bagman actually listen to you, but since Maverick is like our dad and you and he are…you know, you’re more ‘mom’ than I am.”
You choked on the drink you’d been in the process of swallowing, leaning forward to cough while Bob patted your back, though whether it was to help you breathe or in sympathy, you couldn’t tell.
“What?” you rasped when you’d gotten most of your breath back and your drink out of your lungs. “Me and Mav are….what?!”
The fact that maybe your feelings were obvious was absolutely mortifying and you really wanted to just sink into the floor. If the Daggers were able to see it, then could Pete?! The thought of him knowing you were attracted to him – and much more than just superficially (yes, the man was good looking, you had eyes, but he was also thoughtful and caring and sweet and generous) – and him humoring you and being kind even when he didn’t feel the same way, was enough to make you want to just…leave. Move to Brazil or maybe France. Somewhere far away.
“Come on, mother dearest,” Hangman spoke up from where he was leaning over the pool table to line up a shot, “it’s obvious you and Pops are head over heels with each other. Which does wonders for us kids. It’s good to see mom and dad getting along. True love and all that.”
The cocky SOB sent you a wink over his shoulder as he nailed his pool shot, sauntering around to the other side of the table to take another.
Had this been a conversation about literally anything else, you would have given him crap right back but this topic was so…mortifying, it wasn’t even funny. First of all, them being able to tell you were “head over heels” for Pete was something worthy of an early grave and second, to even tease that he felt the same way…
For a moment you felt your eyes sting, a combination of the topic of conversation and the long last few days. Your skin wasn’t as tough as usual when you were tired. Or insecure. And tonight, you were both.
Okay, so this was the second bad idea of the night. Next time, after pulling long, grueling hours doing crazy animal related manual labor, you would go straight home. No socializing and no feelings involved.
You tossed back the rest of your drink, mentally despairing the fact that you usually had at least two and so Penny still had your card at the bar. Dangit. Oh well. A quick close out and you could be on your way home in 2 minutes.
“Well,” you said as you stood, voice as solid as you could manage with your brain and heart going a million miles an hour, “I’d better be off. Been a long few days. See you guys around.”
You were careful not to make prolonged eye contact with any of them, but shot the group as a whole what you hoped was a normal, friendly smile and headed to the bar. You didn’t give yourself any room to relax; you’d need an even better game face for Penny and…Pete.
Fantastic.
Seriously, the next time you felt too wired to go home, you were just going to go for a drive. Never again going to a bar when you were tired and emotionally compromised.
“Hey, Penn,” you greeted, much more exhausted than your initial greeting a half hour ago. “Can you close me out?”
Penny jerked her head around to look at you from where she had just placed another beer in front of Pete – Maverick.
Maybe you should start mentally calling him ‘Maverick’ from now on. Distance yourself a bit.
“Close you out? Are you feeling okay? You usually have at least two,” Penny asked, her voice a bit worried, even as she grabbed your card and started the close out process.
You could feel Maverick’s eyes boring into the side of your head, but you kept your voice as neutral as you could, “Yup, just fine. Days are catching up with me – headed home to bed.”
There. Enough detail to hopefully derail any additional questions. Penny -and Maverick for that matter- were far too perceptive for your good.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” Maverick asked, unknowingly mirroring Nat’s question from a few minutes ago. You felt yourself involuntarily tense.
You grabbed your card from Penny and gave Maverick a quick smile, though you could feel it was nowhere near as loose and friendly as normal.
“Positive, Mav. Just tired. I’ll see you all around.”
Without waiting for a response, you headed to the door, being careful to not run like you wanted to. Ridiculous. See, this was why you were usually a lone wolf. Feelings were dumb and complicated and sucked rocks. Stupid. This was stupid.
You remembered to throw a quick wave to the gang right before you exited the doors and you tried really hard to pretend you didn’t notice how instead of only one or two of them watching -really they all acted like personal bodyguards around anyone they liked outside of their own squadron- all of them had their eyes trained on you and there were no smiles or joking faces anywhere to be found among them.
Fabulous. Hopefully by the next time you saw them all, you were sufficiently recovered from this bout of stupidity and would be able to fend off the questions you could practically see them coming up with. Running away – because yes, that’s what you were doing – after them teasing you about Pete…Maverick was going to come back and bite you. And soon.
Hopefully you’d be able to play it off when it happened.
But for now, you were going to go home and go to sleep. Maybe you’d wake up and this would have all been a bad dream.
You could only hope.
///////\\\\\\\
You woke up the next morning realizing two things. One: it hadn’t been a bad dream and two: you were absolutely screwed.
And the reason you knew those two things? Natasha.
You had multiple texts from her when your eyes were open enough to check your phone: a few from the night before and one from that morning, first asking if you were okay, then apologizing for Hangman’s lack of tact (you weren’t aware he’d ever had any to begin with) and then finally, a text telling you in no uncertain terms that you wouldn’t be able to just hide from this and that she was coming over that day and you were going to talk.
Seriously – next time you were too wired and not tired? No bar.
With a groan, you sent off a text telling her that it wasn’t necessary, you had just been tired and were totally fine, but also that you knew her well enough to know you’d see her soon.
You didn’t even wait for a reply – jumping into the shower and making yourself look presentable. The better put together you felt, the better you’d be able to handle the conversation you were sure was going to take place.
Honestly. You weren’t sure what would be best at this point; deny, deny, deny or admit you were attracted to Maverick, pretend you agreed that he liked you back and then just…never do anything with that information. They both had the opportunity to blow up in your face.
If you denied it, she’d push you to admit it. If you admitted it, she’d push you to confess it.
HA! No. There was absolutely no way you’d be confessing anything to Pe—Maverick. That way lay heartbreak and even more mortification, if that was possible.
As you climbed out of the shower and finished getting ready, you perversely started a tentative plan to move away. Worst case scenario, it wouldn’t be hard to pick up and move. You never had really found a place you felt like you belonged to begin with (though this place and it’s fighter pilots was becoming more like home every day), and so you were always keeping one eye open for a new opportunity. You were renting the house you were in anyway – it was a month to month lease (perks of living close to a Naval base) and it wasn’t like you had too much to move… It was a half baked idea, but it gave you a twisted sense of comfort that no matter how this ended up, you had an out. A cowardly out, but an out nonetheless.
You were just putting the finishing touches on lunch (you were not doing this hungry) when there was a knock at your door. You gave a sigh, though a small smile touched your lips unbidden. As much as you were dreading this conversation, you did love the Daggers and Nat and you had formed a very close sisterly bond.
The knock sounded again and you yelled out, “Just a sec!” Wiping your hands on a paper towel, you headed to the door and flung it open, greeting already in the air.
“I don’t know why this can’t wait—” you cut yourself short as you realized it wasn’t Natasha “Pheonix” Trace on your porch but Pete “Maverick” Mitchell.
You gaped at him for a moment, not even remotely prepared to see him. You had hardly been prepared to see Natasha!
“Uh, Mav,” you managed to squeak out, before clearing your throat with a wince. Wow. This was going so well.
“Y/N,” came the soft, amused response of the gorgeous man in front of you. How any person could make simple jeans and a white shirt look so good was absolutely beyond you. The jacket hanging loosely from one hand and the motorcycle behind him parked in the street – boy if you weren’t already hooked, this would have done it for you.
And of course he had to show up the morning after Hangman planted the seed of Maverick liking you back.
What an absolute mess.
With a start, you realized you were staring – as if this could get any more embarrassing – so with a flustered hand wave, you ushered the Captain into your space.
And promptly tried not to freak out. Natasha had been the only one who had ever been in your space before and now Maverick, Pete, was here. In your home.
Boy, were you grateful you’d put on your ‘armor’ of a bra and dressy clothes. Thankfully you hadn’t been waiting for Natasha in your comfy clothes (no bra and your ratty sweatpants and t-shirt) like you normally did for your semi-regular movie nights. Small mercies.
“Uh, do you want anything to drink or eat? I just made lunch,” you offered, trying valiantly to act normal. Psh, like that was possible.
Maverick glanced at the food you had on the kitchen island and then looked back at you with a raised brow and a soft smile.
“Sure there’s enough for two?” he asked teasingly, and you felt yourself falling back into the easy banter you shared with all the Dagger Squad.
“I’ll try not to take that personally,” you smirked as you headed to the large amount of food on the island. At Maverick’s answering laugh, you added, “I figured Nat would appreciate a few different choices when she gets here and I’m hungry enough to sample all of it.”
The tilt of Maverick’s head made the light, familiar feeling that came with bantering pause and his furrowed brow made that feeling completely disappear.
“Nat?” he questioned, now leaning against the other side of the island. “She actually is why I’m here. She said that she spoke to you and you had something you wanted to talk to me about?”
You felt the blood drain from your face and felt your stomach plummet to your feet. She…she wouldn’t have. There was no way she would betray you like that. Surely?
“Y/N?” came Maverick’s soft voice and your eyes darted up to his unbidden. The panic that had been slowly rising in your gut now hit record levels at his intense stare. You couldn’t do this. You wouldn’t do this. Time to deflect. You dropped your eyes – a sure sign whatever you were about to say wasn’t the whole truth – but you didn’t care. You couldn’t say anything with his eyes boring into you li. ke that.
“Not sure what she was talking about,” you said as airily as you could, though you were well aware it sounded high pitched and fake. “Unless it was about last night.” Lies were more believable when mixed with partial truths. “I was out of sorts, but just tired. It’s all good – but I’m sorry if I came across rude or abrupt. Been a long few days. But I did appreciate your concern. So…thank you.”
There. Not even remotely believable, even to you, but maybe, just maybe Maverick would be a gentleman and take your lies at face value.
“Y/N,” Maverick started and to your horror, you felt tears sting your eyes; déjà vu from last night.
This. This was why you hated catching feelings. They made you dumb.
“Maverick,” you sighed, closing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose, “I’m not sure what Nat told you, but I don’t have anything to talk about. Maybe you misunderstood her or maybe she misunderstood me,” right. Like you said anything remotely resembling you wanting to talk to Maverick, “but I am sorry you wasted the trip. I’ll make sure to never speak to her again in retaliation.” And because she was a dirty, rotten person for doing this to you. You were seriously reconsidering your camaraderie with the Dagger Squad. Between her and Hangman…Brazil or France was looking better by the minute.
There was a heavy pause in the room before Maverick’s voice softly said, “You always call me ‘Mav’.”
Your head shot up in confusion at the random turn in conversation and you just blinked at him.
“…what?” you asked after a moment, a bit thrown by his statement.
“Mav,” he repeated slowly, eyes taking in every nuance of your expression like he was trying to figure out how to navigate this conversation. More power to him. “You always call me ‘Mav’. Never ‘Maverick’. Until just now.”
You just stared at him, not sure what to say. It had honestly just slipped out – perhaps your subconscious trying to distance yourself from the man in front of you by saying his full moniker. But there was no way you were going to bring up that possibility, so you just stared at him, not really sure what to say.
Slowly, like he was approaching a startled deer, Maverick stepped around the island, moving slowly but purposefully until he was standing directly in front of you. If you wanted, you could reach out a hand and touch him. And you wanted. So, you firmly clasped your hands in front of you.
“Y/N,” Maverick said quietly, calloused hand raising to your face in a mirror of last night, but this time, his palm gently cupped your unbruised cheek, his thumb gently running over the apple of your cheek.
You were frozen, eyes wide. What…?
“Hopefully Penny wasn’t wrong,” the man in front of you breathed and before you could ask what on earth Penny had to do with anything, warm, dry lips were pressed softly to your own.
Your eyes fluttered shut of their own accord, even as your brain misfired and drew a complete blank. Maverick, the Maverick, PETE was kissing you.
Your brain finally caught up enough to that fact, and the fact that with your unresponsiveness, Pete was slowly drawing away and so with a small sound, you desperately grabbed the front of that stupidly good looking white shirt and pulled him closer, kissing him back. It was chaste, but wrought with emotion and you felt your eyes burn again, but this time with relief.
Maybe Hangman and Nat were right.
Maverick, Pete, slowly pulled away again, though he kept one hand on your cheek and the other around your waist, though you couldn’t say for certain when that had happened.
“Y/N,” he breathed quietly, leaning his forward against yours.
You gave a soft sigh, murmuring, “Pete,” and giggled when he gave a quiet moan, leaning in for another chaste kiss.
“I should never have doubted Penny,” he murmured and you pulled back just enough to be able to look him in the eyes without your own crossing.
“Penny?” you asked, curious as to that conversation.
Pete’s thumb began stroking your cheek again as he gave a sheepish smile. “Penny may have been telling me for quite some time to “man up” and “make a move”. That you were interested and wouldn’t turn me down if I asked you on a date.”
You couldn’t help the blood rushing to your face- apparently you had been that obvious- but you didn’t deny it either.
She wasn’t wrong.
“Why didn’t you?” you asked quietly. “Ask me out, I mean.”
Pete pulled back a little farther, eyes searching your own.
“I didn’t think she was right,” he said after a moment of silence. “After all, what could you possibly see in me? A washed up has-been, old enough to be your father at least, who has been a Captain longer than anyone else in the Navy? A man who has run from every commitment he could over the years? Whose only real worth is what he can give to the Navy?”
“Who is caring and protective and scary level genius,” you interrupted hotly. “Who has taken a group of cocky, hot headed misfits and turned them into an amazing, loving team, a man who had adopted said team as his own kids and protects them as such. The best fighter pilot the Navy has ever known- a man who has defied death on multiple occasions just to make sure he makes it back to a pseudo son who didn’t want anything to do with him at the time. One of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen with a heart of gold and a million dollar smile, who is always the first to jump in and help and always the last to leave- what on earth would I not see in you?”
In retrospect, you should have seen the earth-shattering kiss coming. Definitely no longer chaste, but still with just as much emotion and desperation.
Yes, he really should have listened to Penny a long time ago.
And you should have listened to Nat.
Later that night, after you and Pete had kissed and talked and kissed some more, you’d find your phone and see Nat’s response to the text you’d sent her that morning. The text you’d missed as you’d gotten ready and made lunch. The text that read:
I decided I won’t be by to talk to you this morning. But Maverick will.
We’re all tired of you two martyrs pining. Just listen to what he has to say. I think you’ll be surprised.
