#Beau Simpson imagine

[cinebration]

5 Times Cyclone (Barely) Kept His Cool (& 1 Time He Didn’t) (Cyclone x Reader) [One-shot]

Disclaimer: I know nothing about how the Navy and Air Force work.

I had originally planned an entirely different multipart fic, but my brain won't let me write.

Tagged: @crispysublimecupcake, @failure-of-a-student, @abaker74, @green-parx, @ahopelessromanticwritersworld, @deanscroissant, @b-bradshaw, @alldaysdreamer, @bat-luna-cat, @auntiegigi, @another-bookwyrm, @littlewhiterose, @lucy-sky

Warnings: none

Gif Source: garethamm

Beau “Cyclone” Simpson rarely frequented the bar, not merely because he didn’t much care for the atmosphere but because he felt it necessary to remain distant and aloof from his subordinates—even ones that were just names on paper to him.

After the success of Maverick and his team in destroying the unsanctioned uranium enrichment plant, however, Cyclone found himself alongside Warlock in the bar, watching the TOPGUN pilots toast their triumph. Music thumped a steady beat in the background as the chatter, laughter, and cheers swelled in rolling waves through the enclosed space. Sweat trickled down the back of Cyclone’s neck as the heat of the room pressed down on him.

He tried to let his professional façade relax a fraction. He was just as elated as the flyboys at the success of the mission—more so, considering he had known the full ramifications of the crisis should they have failed. His relief was as palpable as the strength of the relieved expression on Warlock’s face.

Sipping his beer, he scanned the room, lips bearing the faint ghost of a smile as he noted the euphoric faces of his subordinates. Beyond the core group clustered around the pool table, several pilots sat or stood in scattered groups, elbowing each other and laughing, beers in hand.

Beyond them, in the far corner beside one of the windows overlooking the beach, you sat at a table, a half-filled glass in front of you. One foot propped up on the chair across from you, aviators hanging from the collar of your blouse, dark jeans, and ankle boots the same color of brown as your faux leather jacket, you had the same easy confidence tinged with a hint of arrogance as Maverick, of all people.

Cyclone stared.

“Cyclone? Beau?”

Cyclone’s attention snapped to Warlock. “What?”

“Are you really so incapable of enjoying yourself?”

He frowned. “What?”

“You really weren’t listening.” Warlock shook his head. “We’re here to relax and enjoy the win.”

“There are too many other things to win,” Cyclone countered. “This is just one.”

He glanced at your table.

Your seat was empty.

Cyclone straightened in his seat, scanned the room. The flyboys blocked his view, flaring his irritation as he strained to see past them.

Nothing.

Cyclone ground his teeth in disappointment.

“What’s the matter?”

He shook his head, biting back the retort surging through him: You let her get away. Again.

“Nothing,” he muttered. He sucked on his beer, the taste of it flat on his tongue. “Nothing at all.”

~~

A week and a half later when Cyclone had finally succeeded in pushing away the frustration and disappointment, he sat in a war room across from his counterpart in the Air Force, a man he begrudgingly respected not so much for his track record as for his personality. The man had managed to rise with a stellar career through the Air Force without turning into a total asshole.

Seated at the head of the table, the Secretary of Defense, a retired general of significant pedigree, intoned in a deep, buttery voice, “The mission requires a joint operation between the Air Force and the Navy. The Commander-in-Chief is demanding that it be done quickly and with such precision that it would make a neurosurgeon eat his shirt.”

General Charles Mcloughlin chuffed a quiet laugh. “The neurosurgeons I know would never.”

Unamused, SECDEV continued, “This mission is top priority. I don’t need to remind you that we need top-level talent and genius thinking to get this done. So do it.”

With that, the man left the room, his aide scurrying after him like a remora trying to keep up with a shark. Cyclone turned to Mcloughlin, who returned his hard stare with a heavy calm, unaffected gaze.

“I take it you heard about this beforehand,” Cyclone noted, inclining his head at the folder in front of the other man. “You already have a plan?”

“A semblance of one,” Mcloughlin demurred. “I already have two pilots selected from our end, the real crème-de-la-crème of the entire Force.”

Cyclone sighed. “But?”

“We need to use F-22s.”

Raking a hand over his face, Cyclone leaned forward, forearms digging hard into the table. “F-22s can’t land on aircraft carriers.”

“No, but the carriers can launch support for one.”

“Why would an F-22 need support from anything? No other aircraft matches it.”

“Because we’re going to crash it.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

Mcloughlin shook his head. “They’re being phased out by the F-35s. This mission requires us to complete the objective and then make it look like our aircraft can’t handle it anymore.”

“And you want my men to, what? Take enemy fire to make your crash look good?”

“Something like that.”

This job is going to give me an ulcer. The muscle in his jaw jumping, Cyclone stretched out a hand. Mcloughlin placed the folder in his palm. Leaning back in his chair, Cyclone flipped it open.

Your eyes stared at him from the first page. The ghost of a smirk played on your lips, the lens flare in your eyes a mischievous glimmer.

Cyclone swallowed thickly, his heart flinging itself against his ribs. Carefully, he flipped past your dossier, spent as many seconds on the second one as he had on yours.

He snapped the folder shut.

“When do I meet them?”

~~

Cyclone’s general dislike for the Air Force stemmed from a well-hidden jealousy. He had always wanted to get his hands on an F-22 Raptor, but the Navy didn’t use it. Even in his flyboy days, he hadn’t even been able to share the same airspace as one. He had never seen one in person, grounded or airborne.

Standing in a hanger on the Pearl Harbor-Hickam base in Hawai’i, Cyclone could barely contain his excitement and awe as he took in the F-22 Raptor standing but a few yards away. It took all of his control to keep his expression an impassive, unimpressed mask, even with only the general and Warlock in the hanger with him.

“Couldn’t bother to do this back on our home turf,” Warlock muttered to him, shaking his head as he stared up at the fighter. “No, they want to rub it in our faces.”

Cyclone made a noncommittal noise in his throat, then added, “Our pilots could use the humbling.”

“Nevertheless.” Warlock shook his head again.

Mcloughlin stood behind a small podium they had set up off to the side, a number of seats arrayed before it. The TOPGUN pilots and the two Air Force ones were yet to arrive to fill them. With each passing minute, Cyclone felt his heartrate kick up another notch. He ascribed it to the proximity of the stealth aircraft he had once dreamed of being close enough to touch.

It wasn’t until the soft tread of several booted feet scuffed over the cement floor that the blood roared through his ears. Woodenly, he turned to face the assembled pilots taking their seats. Despite their newfound friendship, Rooster sat in the row behind Hangman with Phoenix and Bob, the latter two taking surreptitious glances at the two Air Force pilots. Fanboy and Payback were the least discrete, staring both at the F-22 and the Air Force pilots in turn.

You sat at the back, dressed in a flight suit not dissimilar to the ones the TOPGUN pilots used. The two bars signifying your rank as a captain gleamed sharply in the light streaming through the open hanger doors.

You met Cyclone’s stare. One eyebrow rose up your forehead.

Hands clasped behind his back, Cyclone fought to keep his eyes ahead as Mcloughlin outlined the mission to the pilots. Your stare was magnetic, the pull of it almost irresistible.

By the time he stepped up to the podium, his wrist ached from squeezing it so tightly.

“This mission is a joint Navy and Air Force mission,” he reiterated, his throat straining not to give his nerves away. “That means General Mcloughlin and I retain the same authority.”

Sweat collected beneath the collar of his uniform. He glanced at the Air Force pilot leading the F-22 mission, a Daniel Hummel.

Your stare burned fire through him from the back of the room.

“If you don’t play nice with my men, if you are insubordinate in any way, you are off the mission. The general won’t listen to any appeal.”

His gaze shifted to his own men and women, careful not to pass over you.

“The same holds true for you.” He made a point of looking at Hangman. “There is no inter-branch rivalry here. We’re all on the same mission, which means you have to trust each other. If you don’t play nice, if you are insubordinate in any way, you are off the mission.”

His hands gripped the edges of the podium hard enough for his knuckles to turn white.

“Is that understood??”

A chorus of “yessirs” filled the room.

“Dismissed.”

He risked a glance in your direction as you stood to file out with the others. The ache in his hands hardly matched the one in his chest when you didn’t look back.

~~

Rage burned in Cyclone’s veins. It would be one of his own men that instigated the fight during training for a mission crucial not only to the objective but to strengthening Navy-Air Force relations.

He could already hear the Air Force brass whispering up the ladder about the lack of discipline in the Naval Air Forces.

Nerves buzzing, he felt like pacing and screaming at the two troublemakers standing in his office. Instead, he sat rigidly behind his desk, a glower on his face as he stared at Hangman and Rooster. Both men barely met his eye, their postures just as rigid, hands clenched behind their backs.

“What were you thinking?” he asked, the steel in his voice dangerous.

“Nothing, sir,” Rooster answered.

“We were being challenged, sir,” Hangman answered.

Cyclone clenched his teeth. “Did I or did I not say to play nice?”

“Yessir,” the men agreed in unison.

“Then why is Captain Hummel in the hospital?”

“Airmen are made of weaker stuff,” Hangman quipped.

Cyclone’s jaw audibly popped. The faint smirk on Hangman’s face evaporated.

“Thanks to you, the primary on this mission can no longer serve on the mission. We don’t have the time to train another pilot to act as this mission’s secondary, so you both are relieved of duty. I can’t risk you injuring the other pilot. Dismissed.”

Both men shouted “sir, yessir” and filed out of the room so stiffly they threatened to snap their spines. Cyclone passed a hand over his face, releasing an explosive sigh when the door swung shut. His stomach spasmed as he thought of you taking Hummel’s place on the mission. The mission was dangerous as it already was, given the enemy aircraft that were likely to be encountered, but to deliberately trash a fighter in the middle of potential dogfighting another layer of suicidal to an already insane mission.

He hadn’t even spoken to you directly yet. The opportunity hadn’t yet arrived.

There’s no point, he thought to himself. You aren’t built for…anything but this job. It is your only mistress.

His nails dug into his palms.

Now he might never have the chance to find out otherwise.

~~

Chaos reigned on the aircraft carrier. The last of the F-18s had yet to land, instead doing circles above the aircraft. The enemy fighters had disengaged when the carrier had come into view, but not before launching a missile that hadn’t been intercepted.

It hit your win, as you rolled, sending you into an out-of-control spiral. Your engines clipped the edge of the aircraft carrier, a quarter-of-a-mile off your intended target.

The crash had been real, taking a section of the landing strip with it.

The urge to vomit overwhelmed Cyclone. Breathing shallowly through his nose, he waited. He waited an eternity for the final F-18 to touch down, Phoenix and Bob climbing out of the cockpit with unsteady legs. He waited an eternity for the rescue team to launch out after you, your parachute a clear beacon on the choppy water.

He waited an eternity for you to be brought onboard. Another eternity for the medics to flock to your side, surrounding you like vultures around carrion.

His stomach dropped when the chopper lifted off, carrying you to the nearest base for emergency medical assistance.

He slumped in the chair of his tiny office onboard the carrier. Numb, he reached for the phone already connected to General Mcloughlin’s line.

The general answered immediately.

“I heard,” he said.

The silence felt like a vacuum sucking out Cyclone’s breath.

“You ever bring a mission like this to my table again,” he hissed, “I will make you eat the proposal.”

He slammed the phone back in its cradle. Stared at it.

Picked it up again and slammed, slammed, slammed it against the desk until it shattered in his hands. A roar filled his skull.

Anything not bolted down smashed across the room, tore in his hands. The rage and despair gripped him in a dark whirlwind that violence didn’t satisfy.

He sunk back down into his chair, slid off it in a heap as its broken leg gave way.

Warlock found him sitting up against the wall, shirt unbuttoned, hair a mess.

“She’s back at Pearl Harbor,” he said simply.

“Get me there.”

When he arrived, you were out of surgery and recovering. Forced to wait half a day before he could see you, Cyclone diverted all his calls to Warlock and delegated everything else. He sat statuesque in the waiting room, consuming nothing but bitter, thick coffee that made his stomach burn.

You were awake when the nurses let him into the room. Bruises mottled your face, your broken arm in a cast.

He almost couldn’t bear to look at you.

You tilted your head to better see him. A faint smile split your cracked lips. “Did that catch your attention?”

He choked on his tongue. “What?”

“I’m glad to see I’m important.”

Cyclone gently grabbed your hand. “You were always important.”

You laughed brokenly. “Come back when I’m not hopped up on meds. We have a lot to talk about.”

He promised quietly to return the next day.

Only when you were out of eyesight did he lean against the nearest wall and thank God for your survival. He fought back tears of relief through the prayer.

[foreverrandomwritings]

Worth It In The End

Summary: Almost a year after an amicable divorce Beau finds himself still reluctant to participate in social gatherings. However he just can't seem to say no to the Bates family. He finds more than he bargained for when he attends their annual Halloween party.

Pairing: Beau "Cyclone" Simpson x Afab!Reader

Warnings: Divorce, children, marriage counseling, alcohol, fake blood and Beau being a bit of a dumbass.

Word count: 2387

Masterlist

Beau had been particularly annoyed at every social gathering he had attended this year. Everyone asked where his now ex wife was and then he had to awkwardly explain they had divorced. They had spent the better part of two years in couples therapy that ended up being an epic fail at the end. Frankly he wasn’t really sure why he had gone to his fellow admirals annual Halloween party. The plan had been to stay home and nurse a bottle of whiskey and watch old black and white films. 

But when his best friend all but pleaded that he be in attendance he relented and showed up. He had even adorned a costume, a cheap vampire costume from Spirit Halloween. Pale makeup had been caked on his face by Warlock's thirteen year old twin daughters. Black eye shadow around his eyes to give a hollowed out effect and fake blood dripped down his chin. They had even coerced him into adding fangs to his teeth. 

“Are you actually going to eat something or are you going to just stand here glaring a hole into all the food?” He had been standing by the snack table for what felt like hours trying to figure out what he could eat that wouldn't have his fangs coming out of his mouth, the glue holding them in place was very delicate he had been told. 

“Mallory and Stephanie talked me into putting fangs in then lectured me for a good thirty minutes about not eating anything that could pop them off my teeth. I am trying to figure out what would be soft enough to not heed the wrath of your daughters.” Beau gave Solomon a pointed glare, to which the man let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head in a disapproving manner. 

“How in the world did the Navy allow you to be an admiral when you get swindled into things by teenagers?” Solomon’s voice was teasing as he picked up a chocolate dipped pretzel rod and took a large bite of it. Beau cursed the teeth he had been swindled into as he glared at the pretzel rod. 

“Those girls are very persuasive Solomon and you know it.” Beau’s eyes narrowed at the man as he took another large bite of the pretzel. The white that was to look like a mummy was almost all consumed by the man. 

“I think you’re just a pushover Beau. Have been since the girls were born.” A smile graced both of the men's features at the memory of the mid winter day the girls were born. The same day that Solomon had asked him to be the twins' godfather. Which he had graciously accepted. The second they were placed in his arms he knew he wouldn’t be able to say no to them. 

“You don’t have much room to talk.” Beau looked down at the cowboy costume Solomon was wearing. Him and his wife were dressed as Barbie and Ken per the request of said daughters.

“Touche, Beau, Touche.” Solomon held his hands up in defense two more chocolate covered pretzels held in one hand. The black eyes of the mummy seemed to mock him. 

“Oh Beau there you are. I’ve been looking all over the place for you.” Solomon's wife popped up from behind him at the words. She came to stand next to her husband and gave them both a mischievous smile. His eyebrows both shot up at the look she was giving him. The girls had definitely gotten their power of persuasion from their mother. 

“I have someone I’d like you to meet.” he tried to hide the surprise from his face but guessed he had failed as his best friend gave him a cheeky knowing grin. He should’ve guessed there was an ulterior motive for Solomon being so persistent on his attendance tonight. 

“She is actually on her way over to us right now so please behave.” With those words you walked into sight. You had on an obnoxious Hawaiian shirt and a name tag that Beau couldn’t read due to the dimmed lights of the room. You stuck your hand out with a small smile on your face as she introduced the two of you. He couldn’t help but take in the absolute beauty you were. Hair tied in a half up bun, makeup done ever so slightly, eyes bright and smile wide. 

“Honey, I think we need to go and fill up the fog machines.” Solomon put a hand on the small of his wives back before leading her away from Beau and you. But not before the couple sent you both respective winks. To which you both rolled your eyes at. 

“I like the fake blood.” The words came tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop them. He struggled to not bring a hand up to his chin where the bright red liquid had surely stained his skin. He took in the rest of your outfit quickly, the sunglasses tucked into your hair even though it was night time, the sandals adorning your feet and the solid colored flowy pants that matched the leaves in the Hawaiian shirt you were wearing. 

“I have no idea how I’m gonna get this stuff off later.” The sentence was true, the girls hadn’t told him how to clean the makeup. The only thing they had told him was to not mess it up. Mallory had actually pointed a sharply pointed end of a makeup brush his way while Stephanie uttered the words to him, a threat more than a suggestion. 

“A wet washcloth should do the trick just fine. If not then a few makeup wipes should help.” You had cocked your head to the side as you assessed the cheap pale layer that had been smeared across his face. He racked a hand through his hair, working loose some of the hair gel that had been slathered on the dark locks. 

“Thank you for the tip. I’ll be sure to file that information down for later.” He gave you a thankful smile to which you waved your hand in a dismissive way, as if to say no problem. It was that moment he noticed just how much younger than him you seemed to be. A little bit of worry gnawed on his brain. 

“How do you know Gina and Solomon?” You picked up a glass of punch that had been pre-filled after eyeing the ingredients and scanned the table of snacks as you asked the question. He shifted from one foot to the other as he answered the often asked question. Relief flooding through him that you were a new person, meaning you weren’t going to ask about his ex wife.  

“I’ve known Solomon for years through work. How do you know the couple?” He took a sip of the Jack and Coke he had snagged from the kitchen earlier in the night as he once again eyed your outfit. This time he could read the word on your name tag which simply said City. 

“I actually ran into Gina a couple of months ago at the library. I was donating a few of my books. She happened to be doing volunteer work reading for the little ones. We struck up a conversation over my work. She then graciously invited me to her book club and we’ve been friends ever since.” Your eyes lit up as you finally found a suitable food grabbing a plate with a cheesy spider web design and adding a few fruits, vegetables, cookies and plain pretzels. 

“You said you were donating your books. Were they ones you’ve read enough to be satisfied to donate or ones you’ve had forever and never gotten around to reading?” You picked up a snap pea from your plate, peeling away the string and snapping off the ends. 

“I actually wrote a children's book. I was dropping off a few copies of it!” Beau let out a surprised hum at your response. Taking in the way your eyes got slightly wider on the topic of your work. You ate the snap pea quickly before working on the next one on your plate. 

“Have you written many books?” He decided he wanted to keep the light in your eyes so he would ask you as many questions as he could think of. Plus it got the topic off him, when people heard about his work they typically questioned him relentlessly about it. 

“This was the second book in the series. I am contracted for two more of this series before being able to move on.” you seemed to ponder what you said for a second before adding on. 

“Not that I want to move on from it. I have actually grown quite attached to the characters. I know my brother is just as reluctant to move on as I am.” you popped a strawberry into your mouth at the end of your sentence. 

“Is your brother a co-author?” He watched as you cleaned the corner of your mouth with your thumb before wiping the liquid on your napkin he hadn’t seen you pick up. He found himself already desperate to feel your lips against his own. But quickly shook his head to clear the thought away, focusing on your conversation once again. 

“He is actually an illustrator, thankfully. I was dreading having to find an artist when he stepped up.” a grin took over your features at the mention of your brother. Another topic seemingly important to you he decided, filing it away for later. 

“I’m assuming you work for the Navy?” he straightened his body a little bit, pride evident in the way he held himself. Even if he was reluctant to talk about his job he seemed to want to please you in any way he could. Plus he was very proud of the position he held. 

“I am Vice Admiral at the local base.” Even with the cheap costume on you could see the way he flexed his arms and chest as he spoke the words. Seemingly puffing himself up with authority. You weren’t complaining though, drinking in the way he simply existed in this moment. 

“Oh you’re Cyclone then!” The realization seemed to hit you in one foul swoop. From the look on his face you could tell he was confused. Your cheeks heated as he gave you a bit of a bewildered look. 

“Gina and the girls talk about you all the time. They all absolutely adore you. I can see why.” Beau preened under the praise. Something he didn’t even know he was capable of until you uttered those words. 

“Would you like to get dinner with me sometime?” It was his turn to blurt out words. He couldn’t help himself with the way your eyes scanned his form. Then he remembered just how ridiculous he looked and he felt his throat closing slightly. 

“I would actually love to have dinner with you. I’m free this Friday if that works for you?” Your eyes crinkled at the side from how wide you were smiling, teeth on full display, lip gloss shining slightly in the dim light from the pumpkin lights lining the top of the room. 

“Friday works great, do you have anywhere in mind?” He wasn’t really sure of any good restaurants around town. He hadn’t been out much since even before his amicable divorce. He preferred eating at home rather than going out. 

“We could make dinner together at my place. That way we can actually get to know each other without the awkwardness of being in public?” You were nervous as you asked the question, taking a large gulp of the untouched punch you had set down on the table beside you. The flimsy material of the cup with a matching spider web as the plate you had, left with an indent from your teeth as you chewed on it anxiously waiting for his response. 

“Dinner at your place sounds lovely. I can bring a bottle of wine if you’d like?” Your shoulders released some of the tension they held as he agreed to your proposition. You nodded in reply to the question, losing a breath as you did so. 

“I’ll give you my number and we can decide a time and what to have tomorrow.” You set the plate of mostly eaten food on the table. Then slipped your phone out of your back pocket, unlocking it and handing it to him. He typed in his number quickly before sending out a quick text to himself. He then slipped his phone from his own pocket, asked you how to spell your name and then added you to his contacts. 

“Can I ask you a question?” He seemed almost sheepish as he spoke, you simply gave him a reassuring nod telling him to go ahead. 

“What in the world are you dressed as?” you giggled at his words, your fingers playing with one of the buttons on your shirt. 

“I guess it isn’t as obvious as I hoped it would be. I’m dressed as Paradise City. The Guns N’ Roses song.” Recognition dawned on him as he took you in once more, the outfit fit for a beach and the City name tag did kind of give it away. 

“Guess I was too distracted by your beauty to figure it out.” He wasn’t sure where he got the confidence to say the words from but he was happy he did. The way your nose crinkled at the compliment and your feet shifted told him you seemed just as nervous as he did. Which gave him some relief. 

You guys ended up talking for the rest of the night, eventually moving away from the snack table to the porch outside, where he gave you his cape to fight off the slight chill of the October night. You promised to give it back to him when you saw him Friday as you climbed into your car and he waved you off telling you he wasn’t worried about you stealing it. Which you would laugh about years down the road as you had never given the cape back, it had ended up finding a home in your closet instead. He decided it was worth it in the end. 

A/N: This little piece was written for the Rocktober event @roosterforme is hosting! Thank you everyone for reading! As always likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

Tags(open): @wkndwlff @sylviebell @kmc1989

[honeysrecs]

That's it. That's the tweet. This was so hot

Sleep to Dream

Day 10:  Somnophilia (Beau "Cyclone" Simpson x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!) 

CW:  Somnophilia; dub-con (because of the somnophilia, but consent is discussed obliquely); smut (PiV, unprotected; possibly a hint of breeding kink?); 18+ only.

Word Count:  3145

AN:  This was requested by an anonymous person!

AN2: Barely edited and never beta-read. Live dangerously, friends.

Beau Simpson operates under extreme stress almost every waking minute of every day.  Career military is difficult enough, but commanding the elite fighter pilots that pass through TOPGUN is like playing the game on expert mode.  There’s so much protocol, so much paperwork.  There’s politicking up the chain of command, but most stressful of all:  there’s trying to balance the mission against the lives of the men and women under his command.

A weaker man would have broken years ago, but Vice Admiral Simpson can bear it.  His job has always been his life—he never married, never had kids, so his work filled up all the space in his life until there wasn’t room for anything else anyway.

Until now.  Until he met you, months and months ago, a date set up by mutual friends that he only agreed to because the question came during a low point of loneliness, right around his birthday when the weight of his solitary years seemed more than he could bear.

The date had been awkward, both of you stilted and out of practice with being sociable.  Beau had been fantasizing about going home, shedding his suit, and cracking open a bottle of scotch when you gave a light laugh and threw your hands up in surrender over the basket of bread sticks.

“Let’s just say this isn’t going anywhere after tonight,” you had said.  “So there’s no pressure to perform and we can just have a nice meal together, okay?”

Such a simple solution.  Beau had smiled at you—his first genuine smile all evening—and agreed.  Yes, this was going nowhere.  Let’s just eat our delicious food and relax.

Except once you both relaxed, no longer under your self-imposed pressure, the date evened out and found its rhythm.  Beau found himself unclenching.  He noticed how your shoulders dropped down from where they had been hoisted up by your ears.  You both relaxed, and by the time the check was being laid down on the table, Beau was enjoying himself.

An awkward first date led to a less awkward second date.  Months and months later, he’s here:  after a long, stressful day at work, he’s slipping the key you gave him into the door, easing himself into your small bungalow home, easing his shoes off and padding back to your bedroom—sometimes his bedroom too; he has a drawer in your dresser and space in your closet.  You’re fast asleep and he doesn’t want to wake you, so he undresses quietly, slips into the bathroom to brush his teeth, and then he slips into bed beside you.

You’re in one of his shirts, a ragged one from his academy days that is faded and stretched along the collar.  It’s long on you, but when Beau pulls back the covers, he can see where it’s rucked up, revealing a pair of white cotton panties that have no business making his mouth run dry, yet they do.

He usually just goes to sleep beside you.  He usually just wakes you enough to let you know he’s there, then holds you until you slip back to sleep.  He usually just buries his nose against your hair, against the back of your neck, takes in the familiar scent of you.  He usually just tugs your lax body to his.  Beau finds comfort in the simple fact of your body—solid, warm, breathing deep and even.  The little sighs you make as you settle against him. 

That’s what he usually does, but not always.  You’ve made certain parameters clear to him.  Certain…allowances.  Beau was uncomfortable with the thought of it at first, but then as he fell more and more in love with you, as he saw the trust you had for him and as his trust for you grew…

You can’t communicate it verbally if you’re asleep.  You communicate it in other ways.

If you’re not open to it any particular night, you wear black or colored panties to bed.  But white panties?  Those mean something else entirely.  That means you’re his completely, however he wants you.  He can wake you up…or he can let you sleep, but you’re his in every sense of the word.

You’re generally a pretty deep sleeper.  Beau has only done this a few times, and it’s the strangest kink he’s discovered yet.  There’s a sense of ownership, of having total control over your body while you sleep, but it all feeds into a deep intimacy, the purest form of trust he’s ever had in a relationship.  It’s purely erotic, entirely hot—he’s already hard, his cock straining against his boxers at just the sight of those white panties molded to the cleft between your legs—but it also makes his throat tight as he stares down at your peaceful, sleeping face. 

Beau kneels over you, and he peels the sheet the rest of the way off of you.  You shift a little at the loss of it, but it’s San Diego—the room is warm, and you switch the AC off at night.  He waits for you to settle again, then he reaches out and touches you.

Everything in Beau’s life is hard.  The politics of his job, the needless red tape, the life-and-death decisions.  Even his loneliness until now has been hard, a heavy thing to bear for so many years, but you—the sudden appearance of you all those months ago—you are soft.  You’re light and warm and kind, but above all, you are soft, and you are soft under his hands as he touches you.  He curls a hand into a loose fist, runs his knuckles over the smooth skin of your thighs, and when he reaches the rucked-up hem of his shirt, he slips his palm underneath.

The softness of your belly, the curve of your waist.  Up to the swell of your breasts, loose in the oversized t-shirt, and Beau cups you there, revels in how perfectly you fit in the palm of his hand.  He runs the pad of his thumb over your nipple, strokes you light as air until you start to pebble against him.  He pinches you lightly, barely any pressure at all, but it’s enough to draw a sigh from you—your lips part in sleep and you sigh, and there’s a hint of a moan behind it.

But you don’t wake.

He climbs off the bed long enough to shed his boxers, then he rejoins you.  He lies beside you, propped up on one arm, and he touches you with more intention with his free hand.  He reaches down and strokes your knees, the rounded tops of your thighs.  He slides his hand like a knife’s blade between your thighs, the softer skin there and far warmer, and then he grasps the curve and heft of your leg before he ghosts his forefinger along the white cotton of your panties.

Beau fixes his gaze on your face as he touches you.  He strokes you between your legs, over and over, feather-light but with enough pressure that he can feel you getting wet from his ministrations.  You don’t wake but your breathing picks up, and Beau can see your eyes moving behind your eyelids, and he thinks you must be dreaming.  He wonders if you’re dreaming of him.

Beau’s dreams before were always stress-dreams related to work:  dreams of being stuck in a runaway car, a runaway plane.  Dreams where his teeth fell out or where he was late for a final exam he never studied for.  He rarely had good dreams, and he almost never had erotic dreams.

After he met you, though?  It was like a switch was thrown in his brain, and now he dreams of little else.  Sometimes they aren’t necessarily sexy—he dreams of you sitting across from him in his office, or he dreams of you in his childhood home.  But they are often erotic dreams—even when he can’t remember the details, he wakes up hard and aching for you.  He wakes with a hunger so soul-deep that if you’re not beside him in that moment, if you’re not within arm’s reach, he feels panicky, like maybe he imagined you, like he dreamed you up, and he can’t quite calm until he hears your voice again or sees you or—best yet—can pull you into his arms.

What are you dreaming now?  How is your mind interpreting the way your body is responding to him?  You grow wet; the white cotton turns translucent as your arousal soaks through it, and Beau hooks a careful finger along the elastic edging and moves it aside.  He parts your folds, shifts his gaze from your face to between your legs.  In the scant bit of light, he can just make out your perfect pussy:  slick and glistening, the swollen bud of your clit. 

He can’t resist it; he leans down and presses a plush kiss to you there, open and searching, and when he laves his tongue along your seam, you breathe out a sleepy, quiet moan.  Beau freezes—he doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t move.  You don’t wake, though.  You only shift in your sleep, but you part your legs more, you squirm against the mattress before you settle again.

It becomes a game to him:  teasing you, seeing how far he can push the limits of engaging with your body without waking you.  He licks against you, flicks his tongue along your clit.  He pushes one finger, then a second into you, and it always surprises him at how good you feel—the tight confines of your body, snug and warm.  He fingers you so slowly, pushes in until his fingertips brush that spot inside you, pulls them out again.  When you shift or sigh or moan, he stills and waits for you to settle.

When you do, he continues.

It’s a game for him too.  It’s delayed gratification.  Beau is a master at denying himself; most of his life has been spartan, austere.  He’s foregone the usual comforts that most men in his position rely on—he’s never married, and he rarely dated much, but now that he has you, he luxuriates in these moments.  He stretches them out until he reaches the end of his patience.

It takes a while for him to reach his limit now.  He keeps thinking you’ll wake before he breaks, but you’re a deep sleeper and must have been especially tired tonight.  You shift and sigh and moan, but you don’t really start to wake until after Beau carefully climbs on top of you, after he reaches down to grasp his aching cock and line it up with your entrance.  After he starts to push into you, your pussy opening to him like a flower, and he gets halfway inside you before your eyes flutter open and you whimper out the sweetest, most drawn out, “oh.”

Beau never would have thought of this as a kink he’d enjoy, and it took him a while to get past his discomfort, but now?  Oh, he loves this part, you waking up as he enters you, that moment when your face is absolutely without artifice at the sensation of his cock splitting you open.  Your wide eyes gazing up at him without an ounce of fear, just pure love and trust, and tonight you reach up a clumsy hand and cup the side of his face as you breathe out his name.

Beau loves the sound of his name in your mouth.  To everyone else, he’s Vice Admiral or Sir or Cyclone, but to you?  He’s just Beau; he’s just a man without a chest full of medals, no commendations or accolades.  He’s just a man loving you, his woman, so when you draw him down for a kiss, he happily obliges you.

You must taste yourself on his lips and his tongue.  You give a sleepy groan, and then he feels the curve of your smile against his mouth before you whisper, “been having fun without me?”

Beau pushes the last fraction into you, feels the press of your hipbones against his, and when he pulses forward your eyes widen.  You whine at the sensation, and he feels how you clench down against him before you shift underneath him and wrap your legs around the backs of his thighs.

“You were here the whole time,” he whispers back.  He sucks a kiss against your pulse point, laves the mark with his tongue. 

You hum at that, lift your head enough to kiss his collarbone as he braces himself above you.  “Was dreaming about you,” you tell him.  You don’t whisper now, but your voice is husky with sleep. 

“Good dream?”

You nod, kiss him below his earlobe.  “Very good.”

“Remember anything about it?”

You laugh, a little breathless, and one of your hands reaches down to rest lightly on his ass.  “Kinda went like this.”

Beau plays dumb.  He likes to hear you say it; it’s another kink he’s uncovered, hearing dirty talk.  He wants to hear you say the words, the flip side of this game between you—the start where he teases you as you sleep, where he gets as much of his cock inside you before you wake.  Then the end where you use your words.

“Like what, sweetheart?” he asks.

“Like this,” you say, and he starts to move.  He pulls out, pushes back in, feels how your pussy grips him so well as he does.  “Like you…ah, Beau, fuck…like you were fucking me…”  You trail off, whine as his rhythm picks up, long and deep thrusts that make your eyes flutter each time he seats himself deep in your cunt.

“Use your words,” he orders.  “Describe it.”

“Beau…”

“Describe how I fuck you.”

“So good.”  That comes out quick, a babble, but you take a breath and focus.  Your eyes lose their fuck-drunk glaze and focus on him.  “You fuck me so well with your cock.”

“Yeah?”  He buries himself in you and pauses there, pushes his hips forward, pulses into you deeper.  He feels where the base of him grinds against your clit.  “Is that all?”

“N-no.”  You shake your head, refocus.  “God, Beau…you’re perfect.  You have the perfect cock.  So deep I can feel you for days afterwards.  No one has ever been so deep…love waking up to you fucking me.  Never wanna wake up any other way.”

Beau loves this too, the implication that he’s the best you’ve ever had.  He has the barest bit of insecurity here, has been alone for most of his life where you’ve dated other men, and in his idle moments, he wonders if he’s doing right by you.  You’ve assured him time and again that he is doing right by you—he’s wonderful, he’s the best—but he believes you the most here, when you’re half-asleep and pliant as he thrusts into you.

“Please,” you add, and you pull him back down for a kiss.  You mumble against him, “please, Beau.”

He knows what you’re asking for.  He reaches down and maneuvers you, hooks your legs high on his hips first, then slips his arms under them until your legs are on his shoulders.  He folds you damned near in half, and the change in angle affords him even more depth into your cunt, enough to feel the where the tip of him brushes against the mouth of your womb, but the sight is even better.  You folded underneath him in his own academy shirt, still in your white panties that are absolutely ruined by your combined arousal but framing where his thick cock splits you open over and over as he fucks you.  You’re entirely at his mercy—your feet nearly touch the headboard, and your hands grip his biceps, but you are also entirely undone, entirely wanton in the noises you make, the way you beg him to use you, to mark you, to ruin you so that no one else can even come close to how well he fucks you.

He can feel you getting close, can feel you clenching down on him with each punishing thrust.  He’s close too, the tight coil of tension in his gut, in his balls, at the base of his spine ratcheting each time he buries himself in you.  He’s covered in a sheen of sweat, his close-cropped hair is mussed, and he feels his orgasm thundering towards him.

He knows how to get you there a beat before him:  he ends each thrust by pressing against you, by pressing the sparse curls at the base of his cock against your clit and grinding there, and you spit out a “fuck, Beau, please” but you’re already there:  your contorted body trying to arch as the orgasm tears through you, your fingertips biting into his arms, and your lips parting as you wail out his name.

And then a beat later, his own orgasm crackling along his spine, and he pants out his usual question because he needs to hear you say it, so he asks, “where?” and you manage to whimper through your own orgasm as you tell him inside you, to come inside you, that you want to feel him coming inside you, and so he does—he thrusts as deeply as he can and then he stills.  He paints your cervix with his cum, and he feels how your pussy ripples along him to pull it deeper inside you still.

-----

It always takes long moments to extricate himself from you:  to lower your trembling legs from his shoulders, to slip out of you (and your groan of disappointment always makes his cock twitch).  You each clean up, but you leave your ruined panties on as you crawl back into bed, and the thought of his cum nestled inside you always makes Beau feel a pleased sense of possession, as if you’re marked as his.

He pulls you against him, spoons you as you settle into the bed.  “Were you really dreaming about me?” he whispers against the back of your neck, and you laugh lightly.

“Not at first,” you admit.  “I had this dream that I was on an indoor roller coaster.  At a mall, I think?  But then…then I dreamed of you.”

Here, Beau wishes he had a better sense of romance.  He wishes he could say sweet, poetical things without feeling like a fraud.  He’d say I dreamed of you too or something like that, but when he opens his mouth to say it, the words stick in his throat.

Instead, he sighs at his own cowardice—the brave Vice Admiral undone by mere words; he can’t even say the three words that stick in his throat too.  Instead, he sighs and kisses the back of your neck, right along the knob of your spine, and whispers, “sweet dreams, sweetheart.”

[lieutenantfloyd]

Top Gun: Maverick Fic Recs

Hey y'all! Here are 21 of my favorite TGM fanfics of all genres and ships, listed in no particular order.

Some of these fics are 18+ so read at your own risk. None of these works are mine and all credit goes to the amazing authors! <3

X READER

Safe Zone by @sunlightmurdock — (Series // Rooster and Hangman x reader)

A team of elite naval aviators holding down the fort at the North Island Air Base while they wait for reinforcements after a virus sweeps the continental U.S. - only, it’s been three months and no one has shown up.

Hold My Hand by @labyrinth-runner — (Series // Cyclone x Reader)

Jag! Reader is assigned to defend a pilot, finding the job to be more complicated than she thought.

Rooster’s Flight or a Manual for the Marooned by DontLetThemTakeYouAlive (Series // Rooster x Reader/OC)

"Rooster's Flight: A Manual for the Marooned" follows Madeline, a pastry chef escaping scandal in Amsterdam, and Bradley, a lost naval aviator stationed in Japan. Fate brings them to sunny San Diego, where their friendship blossoms amid career challenges and a clashing of characters. Madeline's culinary journey intertwines with Bradley's self-discovery, navigating love and loss.

Resilience, self-discovery, and the unpredictable paths of career and matters of the heart shape their narrative in this tale of second chances and unlikely connections.

Fine Piece by @dragon-kazansky (Series // Cyclone x Reader)

You have it bad for Vice Admiral Simpson. But to prove you’re fit for the job; you need to put that aside and focus on the flying.

Someone Special by @fanboygarcia (Oneshot // Cyclone x Reader)

What happens when the Dagger Squad catches on to the fact that known grump turned lovesick fool Admiral Simpson has someone special in his life?

Invisible String by @halfway-happyyy (Oneshot // Rooster x Reader)

the one where rooster’s about to leave on a mission he doesn’t know if he’ll be back from, and he wants you in every way imaginable. as always, soft feelings ensue! 

Do you wanna make somethin’ of it by @theharddeck (Oneshot // Rooster x Reader)

turns out, our favorite WSO has a side hustle, as quinn's favorite cowboy.

@bullet-prooflove's entire TGM masterlist

Everything she writes is outstanding, but the Beau x Ally fics (The First Time Series, The General Series, Deployment!Series, and Syria!Series) are something I think about literally everyday.

i don’t know, blame the air force? by @gretagerwigsmuse (Oneshot // Rooster x Reader)

in which lieutenant commander bradshaw feels his girlfriend’s wrath after she gets her year end bonus and uncle sam takes a pretty penny out of it

There Are Rules by @tongue-like-a-razor (Series // Maverick x Reader)

Your risky flying seriously pisses off your instructor at Top Gun and you're about to find out why.

Through the Hourglass by @bratshaws (Series // Rooster x OC)

Rooster x Plus Size OC!

Happy Birthday, Mr. President by @rhettabbotts (Oneshot // Bob x Reader)

after a hard week, the last thing bob wanted to do was attend his birthday party. so instead, he plays out one of his biggest fantasies with you.

Whoever's in Lemoore by @cherrycola27 (Oneshot // Bob x Reader)

A fic based on the Reba McEntire song "Whoever's in New England"

Angels Don't Always Have Wings by @bradshawssugarbaby (Series // Rooster x Reader)

a series of oneshots revolving around baseball player!Bradley Bradshaw x reader (nicknamed Angel)

Do I? by @bradshawssugarbaby (Oneshot // Cyclone x Reader)

Inspired by Do I? by Luke Bryan. (this fic was so good I had to go take a walk after reading it for the first time)

Road to Perdition by @sailor-aviator (Series // Hangman x Reader)

The Great Depression wasn't called a depression for nothing. Jobs were scarce, and the price of food and other necessities were rising higher and higher with each passing day. What little money you were able to make went straight to the bank and out of reach from your booze-swilling lech of a brother. It's on one such run that you come face to face with members of the infamous Dagger Gang; a group of, admittedly handsome, men who steal from the banks to hand it back out to the poor. You want nothing to do with them, but that blond-headed devil might just have something to say to the contrary. (1930s!Mobster!AU)

His Best Friend's Wedding by @ereardon (Series // Rooster x Reader)

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw has been your best friend for a decade. He’s also your fiancé’s best man. So when he shows up at your hotel room the night before your wedding, it’s just because he’s your friend, right? 

OTHER SHIPS

Mistaken Identity by @ladylanera — (TGM x Mission: Impossible crossover)

What should be a joyous homecoming quickly unravels after it's discovered a nefarious, unknown group has put a hit out on Captain Mitchell, mistaking the Navy captain for being a covert IMF operative by the name of Ethan Hunt who has an uncanny likeness to the captain for some reason. Enter a twisty web of lies that threaten the very existence of the family as we know it.

**Fic contains spoilers for Mission: Impossible Dead Reckoning Part One**

Flower Power by ReformedTsundere — (Icemav)

Flowers, Pete reminds himself, slamming the last of the books closed, are the worst.

New Chat Created: North Island Daggers by Comin2U — (gen fic)

Harvard: why Whatsapp and not just a basic text message? Hangman: because one of us has an android and ruins the ability to message with just internet. Coyote: Screw you too hangman. ________________________________ In which 12 daggers, the best of the best of naval aviators, are all a bunch of kids and thrown in a group chat.

come fly with me (let's fly, let's fly away) by GatheringBlue — (TGM x 9-1-1 Crossover)

It's a common misconception that Buck trained to be a Navy SEAL. For as long as he could remember, flying had been his dream. Most little kids wanted to be a firefighter or an astronaut, but Buck had always wanted to be a pilot. He wanted to fly far, far away from home, where his parents’ comments that might as well have been slaps for how badly they stung couldn’t get to him. Flying was his way out. His escape. If he was thousands of feet up in the sky, way up with the clouds, then his parents couldn’t touch him. No one could. When Buck got pulled from the reserves just after the lawsuit, it seemed like perfect timing. There was nothing left for him in LA. Not anymore. So, it looked like Buck was heading back to Top Gun.

[ddejavvu]

Touch starved pilots of your choice cuddling their s/o headcanons

characters written: pete 'maverick' mitchell, nick 'goose' bradshaw, tom 'iceman' kazansky, ron 'slider' kerner, leonard 'wolfman' wolfe, rick 'hollywood' neven, beau 'cyclone' simpson, bradley 'rooster' bradshaw, jake 'hangman' seresin, natasha 'phoenix' trace, robert 'bob' floyd, javy 'coyote' machado, mickey 'fanboy' garcia, reuben 'payback' fitch

sfw, but cut for length. enjoy!

Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell:

depends on what age you're thinking!

if it's young!mav, he's probably just a liiiitle reluctant to let himself relax sometimes

he's sort of got his tough guy persona, and he's not used to dropping it, so when you get him alone he tries messing around at first

whether that's a few too many kisses, or a pinch to your side, he guards himself a bit before letting himself go

but when he does, oh, he's like a little kitten !

he lets you run your hands through his gelled hair (gross)

and it gets all misshapen and spiky

he probably just melts when you pet his hair like that, and he'll be snoozing on your chest in no time

now older!mav is definitely less of a tough nut to crack

he probably initiates the cuddling in the first place, he nudges you over to the bed and lays himself on top of you to crush you

you can push at his chest and splutter all you want, but he's made his choice on where he's going to lay, and it's on you

he likes holding you, but he wants to be face-to-face, so you can brush noses and bump foreheads

he probably tries sooo hard to stay awake so that he can soak in the time you're spending together but peepaw definitely crashes like 10 minutes in

Nick 'Goose' Bradshaw:

he also likes to be face to face!

buuut not for the same sweet reason as mav

he just wants to itch you with his mustache

he likes nipping at you too, he bites your nose to make you laugh

you won't be getting any sleep when you cuddle with goose, he just wants to talk and laugh and hold you the entire time

it's not a period of time to wind down, it's a big laugh-fest

and god FORBID you try to get up to pee

“Nick, I have to go.” / “Sorry, honey. I can’t let go. I think my hand’s stuck.” / “NICK!!”

Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky

he’s another one who probably has just a bit of trouble letting his guard down

he’ll cuddle with you no doubt, but he’ll probably always keep you in his lap or have some sort of upper hand in the embrace

it takes a while before he’s ready to be held himself

when he does finally give in it's so soft and sweet :')

he's had a really hard day and he comes home with his eyes drooping

you've planned a movie night but he doesn't even look like he could sit through an episode of a tv show

so you lead him to bed instead, and tell him you're sleepy, cause he won't 'ruin' the night by admitting that he is

you ask to play with his hair and he lets you, but he's not sure why 'cause you just said you were tired??

you basically have to trick him into being held but once his head is on your chest and your hands are in his hair he's gone.

he ends up mumbling something all sleepy and groggy like 'mm, that's nice' and his eyes are half shut and he's so endearingly tired :')

he wants you to do it all the time now, I'd say it's about 50/50 whether you fall asleep holding him or he falls asleep holding you

Ron 'Slider' Kerner:

slider's a big boy!!!!!!!

he's big and tall and muscly, the perfect cuddle buddy

he's probably more inclined to hold than be held

but he likes it when you face him so you can wrap your arms around his back :')

he probably likes it when he's able to bury his face in your neck/shoulder/against the top of your head

like he always wants his face snuggled in somewhere warm and nice smelling

and it just so happens his chest is an excellent place to get lost yourself

so you most of the time just nuzzle right into each other and get to snoozin'

i think he'd talk real soft, too, he'd murmur against your ear while you're drifting off, probably boring you to sleep with technical details of his flights but just before you crash for the night he slips in a little 'i love you, honey' and <33333

Leonard 'Wolfman' Wolfe:

he's a loser for his partner it has to be said

almost as teasing as nick is but not quite

he'll let you fall asleep he just wants to talk to you AllTheTime because he LovesYouSoMuch

he's a chatterbox and you'll be lucky if you get to sleep at a decent hour

he really likes it when you lay your head on his chest

'cause he likes playing with your hair and your face :]

sometimes he'll just use you as a little stress toy and squeeze your cheeks and pinch your nose and poke at your forehead

always making silly little jokes and telling you all about his day

down to, like, every comment one of his friends made...

'and then slider said he was gonna kill him but hollywood ran, so then they were just chasing each other around and iceman said-' / 'babe.. can we sleep? please?' / 'oh! right, sorry baby.'

Rick 'Hollywood' Neven

listen there's a reason he and wolfman get along so well

they're BOTH teases!!!

cuddling with hollywood is not really relaxing, because he's always pinching your sides or putting his nasty cold feet all over you, or pretending to knock you out by fake-punching you a bunch

you're just laying there and he's 'punching' your stomach, making fake punch sounds with his mouth, and if you push him away he'll pretend you've absolutely knocked him out, tumbling down onto the mattress with this dramatic thump and closing his eyes and sticking his tongue out of his mouth like he's a dead cartoon character 😭

he's like a dog you have to get his energy out before trying to rest with him or he just Won't Rest

when you DO get him sleepy, though, he's kinda incoherent when he's tired, so you'll be cuddled up together, maybe you're scratching his back, maybe he's playing with your hair, and he's just sort of mumbling nonsense until he finally drifts off to sleep

Beau 'Cyclone' Simpson:

will not be held

sorry! not happening

he's just so big and beefy and authoritative that he doesn't much enjoy being coddled

he loves cuddling with you though, he gets very relaxed just laying with you

he's a casual toucher, i think, so you can rest your head on his shoulder at the airport, you can hold his hand at restaurants, whether that be over or under the table, he lets you hang all over him however you want

he's not super into in-your-face PDA, though, so you'll have to be polite and considerate about it

actually in bed though, under the blankets at night?

he's so much more cuddly than you'd expect

he wraps his big strong arms around you and tugs you close and lets you melt all over him <33

your favorite place to lay your head is probably his chest 'cause it's so broad and firm and nice <3

he's a good back rubber so cuddles are always soft and cozy and sleepy

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw:

lord he's a cuddler

he's just a touchy guy, because he's probably gone without it for a significant amount of time so now that he's got you he's gonna enjoy it

big big big on pda, doesn't really care who sees

so that means cuddling in public, too

perfectly content to sit by the beach with you in his lap all cuddled back into his chest he doesn't care if anyone teases him

but back in bed he's a sucker for head scratches

if you have long-ish nails, enough to scratch at his scalp, he'll literally melt over you like an ice cream cone

his limbs go all gooey and he flops his head down on your chest, groaning and grunting while you scratch through his hair

he really enjoys sleeping on top of you, whether that be fully chest-to-chest 'you're suffocating me' cuddling or just an arm thrown over your stomach while he lays on his own

he likes being held, too, but probably prefers to hold unless he's having a hard day

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin:

big boy!! surprisingly fond of being held for everything we know about him

that cocky demeanor does not last under the sheets

he adores holding you, of course, he'll wrap his big arms around you and cradle your head to his chest

he probably plays with your hair, looooves it when you tangle your legs up with his own

he prefers if you talk to him rather than him talk to you if you're cuddling

cause he likes the sound of your voice and he loves hearing about your day

he tries to listen so attentively to what you're saying, but if you're taking a little too long telling him about that batty old customer that had visited the shop you work at today, his eyes are going to slowly start to droop and he's gonna let out a big ol yawn that means it's time for him to close his eyes

you always cut yourself off like 'sorry, jake. g'head, go to sleep'

and he insists you continue like 'nooo darlin' i wanna hear! keep going :]' except within two minutes he's dozing against the pillow while you talk about the old lady again

he's a simple man just talk soft and slow to him while snuggled up in his arms and he's gonna sleep no matter what you're telling him

Natasha 'Phoenix' Trace:

she really likes laying face-to-face with you!!

she's a fan of spooning, of course, she likes either burying her face in your back or letting you snuggle into hers

but she loves the intimacy that comes from being pretty much nose-to-nose with you

the type to lay there and chat with you mere inches away so that you're leaning in to kiss her all giggly and bashful every four seconds

she uses your cuddle time to tell you all about her teammates, what stupid shit jake said today, how bob almost tripped down the stairs, that fanboy's got a new girlfriend who wants to meet you, etc etc etc

but that means when you see them next you know all of the hot gossip about everyone and you giggle every time jake says something dumb and he's like WHAT.. WHAT IS IT.. WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH ME.. and you give nat this little ;) 'cause you'll definitely be talking shit about him later

she does this thing where she cradles the back of your head in her hand if you're face to face and she throws her leg over your waist and it gives you such intense butterflies that you need to close your eyes sometimes <3333

Robert 'Bob' Floyd:

cuddlebug <3

he loooves cuddling but if you do it face-to-face he's gonna need to be super close to you because he can't see without his glasses 😭

i'm taking like nose-to-nose so close that you have to cross your eyes to see him

otherwise he's pretty chill in what positions he likes

you love it when he reads to you

i think he might not be the most confident reader out loud but he does it anyways 'cause it puts you to sleep

he gets really sleepy really easily so sometimes it's best to refrain from cuddling in public

like you're out on the beach by a firepit and you're all snuggled up together but oops he can't enjoy his smores because he's sleeping on your shoulder

he loves it when you lay your head on his shoulder sm :'))

he wraps his arm around you and tugs you closer <3

Javy 'Coyote' Machado:

prefers holding to being held

probably a little less talkative than the rest, but that doesn't mean you never chat

he just has this insane ability to fall asleep anywhere, i'm talking slumped against the bus window, leaning against the wall, sitting on the ground, piloting his aircraft sorry

he likes staring at you, though, while he falls asleep :')

if you're talking to him he'll listen and nod and hum along and agree when he should, he's a very good listener

but slowly he'll start to fade a bit, and he'll sling his hand over your waist, smush his face into the pillow, and keep listening for as long as he can

slooooowly you start getting less responses from him, he's not reacting as much, but his eyes are always locked onto your face and he's got this lazy little smile on his face while he drifts off to sleep 'cause he gets to look at you the whole time :')

loverboy!!

Mickey 'Fanboy' Garcia:

the most talkative in the whole wide world

cuddling with him is barely even cuddling, it's watching him act out his entire day

'and then payback went like this and- BAM! shot it down.'

and he's up on his knees in the middle of the bed with his arms out demonstrating exactly how they'd worked through their training exercises that day

and he is loud and energetic and you're half-asleep like 'that sounds awesome, babe.'

he isn't one to stay in one place really, he likes tossing and turning a bit before he falls asleep which means that you are also going to be tossed and turned

he's a really shifty sleeper too so you'll wake up with your face in his armpit

if you're really sleepy though, he'll settle down, he'll pull you into his chest and let you fall asleep there

but he'll probably be on his phone for a bit, he strikes me as a crazy night owl

Reuben 'Payback' Fitch:

out in two seconds

there is no conscious cuddling with him

why?

because the second his head hits the pillow he's snoring

you can cuddle up to him but if he's cuddling up to you he's doing it in his sleep

you're actually so jealous of him bc you lay down for the night and he tucks his chin over your head or he snuggles his face into your neck and that's it.

he's out.

he's a clingy sleeper, though, so if you wanna read for a bit or use your phone it might be kind of hard

honestly it really helps your sleep schedule to sleep with him 'cause sometimes he's entirely wrapped around you and you can't move

so there's nothing to do but sleep yourself

he's like a living furnace i KNOW that man runs hot

you probably wake up sweating a bunch if you're all snuggly with him

blanket stealer. he somehow manages to tear them off of the end of the bed where they're tucked in and cocoon himself

and then you wake up freezing cold

when i said he snores i mean it he snores loud

it's sort of comforting eventually? like at first it drives u insane

but over time you come to rely on it as white noise and you can't sleep unless he's all over you snoring right in your ear and drooling on your shoulder

[mamsieur]

Don't mess with the Storm | Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Summary : Sometimes, Cyclone could live up to his call sign. Especially when it concerned you, his youngest daughter, his little Storm.

TW : slight violence, mention of alcohol, family/domestic fluff

Length : 6753 words

AN : You can't make me believe that Beau Simpson isn't a family man with lots of kids. That's what he radiates.

posted on AO3 August 21, 2023

Your mom always said you took after your dad, but if he was a Cyclone, you were a Storm ; smaller and less destructive. Storm has always been your nickname. 

It described you quite well as much in your way of doing things than in your personality. You were passionate about everything you did and you often left a mess after you.

Being a Vice Admiral, Beau managed to control himself for his work but when it came to you and your well being, he could literally destroy everything on his way. Not that your father was in any way abusive or violent, but he sometimes could over react.

You were your parents’ precious little baby.

You were the youngest of four children; you had three older brothers, all in the military. Two of them, Nathan and Jamie, were naval aviators, like your father, and one, Aaron, was a Marine Officer. 

Needless to say, you were well taken care of ; you liked to think that you had a small ‘army’ for yourself.

But as much as they thought of you as their little princess, they never treated you like one, and you never wanted to be. You were tough and very capable of defending yourself. Your father always encouraged you in whatever you wanted to do. 

You wanted to join the soccer team? Let's go. Switch to boxing lessons? Done. A new passion for karting? He had your back. An interest in mechanics ? He bought you your first tool box.

As long as you put your heart and soul into whatever you did, your family would support you.

So when you told them you wanted to work for the Navy after your engineering degree, they were as supportive as they could be.

You were a genius engineer - your mom’s word, not yours - and you loved working on jets, inspecting them, gathering as much data as possible to make them as efficient as they can be. Working at Top Gun was heaven. Since the pilots were supposed to be the best, you loved pushing them and their machines to be better and better.

Of course, the fact that you were working on the same base as your father had raised some eyebrows. But neither of you cared, and he got you no special treatment.

After the uranium mission, you were assigned to check the status of the Dagger Squad's F-18s. Everything seemed to be in good shape, and while your computer analyzed the flight data, you inspected the engines. You liked to work alone when you could, it helped you stay in your bubble of concentration.

The sun was slowly setting as you finished diagnosing the last jet. Being alone in the hangar, you took the opportunity to put on some music. You hummed and swayed a little while you waited for the analysis to finish on your screen and inspected the engine.

Your head was - quite literally - in it when you heard footsteps behind you. They stopped a few feet away from you to let you finish what you were doing.

"I'll just be two minutes," you muttered and then shrugged, getting no response. You finished inspecting the seemingly defective part and stood up. Your face was covered in dust and motor oil, and your hair was starting to fall out of your ponytail.

You sighed and turned to your mysterious guest.

"Oh! Good evening Lieutenant Bradshaw. May I help you?" you smiled a little and wiped your forehead with the back of your hand.

"Good evening Second Lieutenant Simpson, to tell you the truth, yes, you may..." he grinned charmingly, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the plane, "I was wondering if you'd forgotten our date? It's 7:20, and we agreed to meet at 6:30 ?” 

You stopped smiling and looked at the clock. Crap! You hadn't seen the time.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry! I was servicing the jets and didn't realize what time it was! I should have set an alarm, I'm sorry. Jesus, how could I be so stupid?"

You were starting to mumble excuses as you gathered your things when you felt his hand on your wrist.

"It's okay, I know how you get when you're focused on something. We’ll find another day for that. I'll wait for you at the bar, okay?" he reassured you with a grin.

"Uh yeah, yeah okay! I'll be quick!" you nodded and smiled back at him. He tucked a strand of your wild hair behind your ear, a few inches from you, making you blush slightly. His thumb stroked your cheek. He had that cheeky smile he always had when something was on his mind. He took your hand and kissed your knuckles, his beautiful brown eyes never leaving yours.

" Or , I can also wait for you in the changing-"

" Lieutenant Bradshaw, Second Lieutenant Simpson, what are you two still doing here? "

Your father's stern voice echoed through the hangar, taking you by surprise. Bradley took a quick step back and straightened his posture to greet him.

"I, uh-"

"Lieutenant Bradshaw forgot his keys, sir, he was out. I got carried away with the diagnostics, I'm almost finished here," you replied quickly as Cyclone’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Bradley then at you.

"Hm. You better hurry then, Second Lieutenant, overtime is not allowed. You're free to go Lieutenant Bradshaw."

"Yes sir!" you said in unison and Bradley left as quickly as he could, flashing one last smile in your direction before disappearing down the corridors.

As you started to clean up the mess you'd made, you heard an amused sigh.

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing. You're still living up to your nickname."

"Ha ha, very funny Dad," you rolled your eyes and closed your toolbox, "Don't wait for me, I'm going out tonight."

"Mmh. Is Bradshaw involved?" he asked as he helped you carry your stuff to the storage room.

"Yes? I mean the whole Dagger team is, I need to get to know them to understand how they work."

That was only half a lie. You knew they most likely were all at the Hard Deck, you'd met them there a few times. You got along well with them, especially Natasha, Bob and Mickey. And of course, Bradley... But it was different with him.

You'd known him for years and your very first assignment had been with him. Your friendship had evolved over the years into a kind of friends-with-benefits/fuck-buddies relationship until a few weeks ago. Since the uranium mission, he wanted more than that, and so did you. You two tried to keep your relationship secret because you suspected it could jeopardize either of your careers, and mostly because you knew your father would not approve.

He always thought the guys you dated were not good enough for you. And as annoying as it was, he was always right. He scared away some of them and when you thought back about it, it's a good thing he did.

Truth be told, you have been in love with Bradley for so long that sometimes it hurted. 

You had tried to tell him so many times in the past, but you were afraid of losing what little intimacy you had with him. So when he asked you out, first thing after the uranium mission, it felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. The hope that your feelings would be reciprocated had invaded your heart and mind, and you felt like it was the first time you were in love. It wasn’t of course, but you were all giddy about it.

You didn’t like to lie to your dad, he knew you too much to know everything in just one look. 

But it was worth it, wasn’t it ?

You hoped it was.

After a well-deserved shower, you changed into clean, comfortable clothes that actually suited you. You put on your helmet and rode to the bar with your motorbike. Your mother hated when you used that ‘death machine’ and your father wasn't really fond of it either. It reminded him of Maverick. He wasn’t fond of Maverick. It always made you laugh watching your dad trying to remain calm in front of the Captain. You’ve never seen a man getting on his nerves that much.

The Hard Deck was already busy when you parked ; a totally normal Friday night , you thought. Looking around, you spotted Natasha’s, Javy’s and Bradley’s cars.

Penny nodded at you with a smile as you entered. The Daggers were in their usual places and Bradley seemed to be winning the pool game against Jake. In a desperate attempt to break his concentration, Jake chuckled, "Your girlfriend's here, Bradshaw”.

The whole team had discovered your relationship, of course, but swore to keep it a secret. You were grateful to them, but Jake being himself, he couldn't resist taking a dig at you. 

You rolled your eyes and took a seat next to Bob, watching the two eternal rivals finish their game. You caught up with Mickey and theorized with him on the last episodes of Kenobi then made your way towards Penny at the bar to buy your round of beers. As you waited for your drinks at the counter, you felt two hands around your waist.

"You're late, Second Lieutenant ."

"Had to fix your teammates’ jets, Lieutenant , tell them to be more careful," you grinned, leaning your back against your boyfriend's torso. You heard him chuckle softly as he whispered that you were an ‘idiot' and kissed the top of your head.

"Sorry about our date, I'll make it up to you."

"You bet your sweet ass you will," Bradley snickered at the squeal you let out as he spanked you a little, “But right now, you owe me a dance to celebrate my victory against Hangman.”

He took your hand as you rolled your eyes but followed him. Your whole body pressed against his, arms around his neck, the room faded away. All you could feel and see was him; one of his hands on the small of your back, the other on your hip, guiding you. The warmth of his body was like a spell that kept you close, not wanting to let go.His hands roamed down your back making you shiver. It felt like you belonged there.

You couldn’t let go of his eyes, hypnotized. He had such beautiful eyes ; those hazel brown orbs were magnetic, so infuriatingly charming. 

One of your hands gently stroked his scarred cheek and he leaned into your touch, smiling like an idiot and humming the song you were slow dancing to. His smile always sent butterflies to your stomach and heat to your cheeks. It was almost annoying how easily you fell for his charms.

The two of you danced until the song ended and you pulled him by the collar to kiss him. You felt his hands slip into the back pockets of your jeans, shamelessly squeezing your ass, and his proud grin against your lips. You bit his as you pulled away from the kiss.

"Okay, lovebirds , get a room," Jake complained and you flipped him off, still in Bradley's arms.

"Don't be jealous Jakey, your time will come," you teased, making your partner chuckle.

"She's right Seresin, just wait till you're a big boy."

The evening continued quietly, with one beer after another, a few games of darts and pool, and a few songs on the piano for Bradley. 

You watched him from the bar, mesmerized, an affectionate smile on your face. You still wondered how you'd managed to get his attention; this man could have anyone he wanted with his smile combined with a little song, the sweetness with which he spoke, his sarcasms, his eyes so soft and intense at the same time, his stupid, stupid, cocky grin... God, you were definitely and undoubtedly under his spell, mind and heart.

Your eyes never left his form for more than five seconds. You looked at him as if you wanted to learn every aspect of his physique; but to be honest, you already knew him by heart. 

You could locate every beauty mark, every scar - and tell its story - and where his birthmark was. You could describe every shade of brown in his eyes, depending on the light or his emotions. You knew every expression on his face; when he was angry, frustrated, sad, or playful. You knew exactly where and how to touch him to make him putty in your hands, every positively sensitive area and those to avoid.

And yet, every time you looked at him, behind the piano, laughing with his friends, you discovered a new detail that made you love him even more.

The way he cared for all of them - even Jake, his "archenemy" - and knew just what to do to make them feel better and laugh. How he always listened to what they had to share, good or bad, and offered to help. How he'd always protect them as if they were his siblings, his rather hazardous family.

Speaking of hazardous family, it always made you laugh how Bradley could be so like Pete and like your dad. It was sometimes a mixture of arrogance and calm, defiance and seriousness. Part of you was sure that if they tried, your dad and Bradley would get along. But were they willing to ?

As you were lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice a man, a little younger than you, sitting next to your stool. He started talking, trying to flirt, but you didn’t really pay attention, still absorbed by your boyfriend’s silliness, until he clicked his fingers in front of your face.

“Hey, ‘m talking to you doll. You should really pay attention when someone is talking to you, got it ?”

You sipped your beer and looked at him out of the corner of your eye. He continued his flirtatious attempts, bragging that he was one of the best in his class at Top Gun. He kept trying to get your attention by snapping his fingers or grabbing your arm. His breath was clearly too close to your face and stinked a mixture of beer and chips. 

It really started to annoy you, so it was your turn to snap your fingers in his face.

"I'm not interested,” you snapped your fingers again, “If a girl ignores you, it's because she doesn't want to talk to you, got it ?"

You got off your stool, ready to join the Daggers by the piano. But a hand gripped your wrist and the man pulled you close to him. You could see a hint of anger and annoyance in his eyes, but it didn’t scare you. You were used to guys like him, thinking they own every woman they see. 

“Listen doll, I was nice until now. Give me your number and I’ll forgive you,” he grinned, his buddies sneering behind him, as if they were proud of him. You couldn’t help but giggle at the scene. What kind of bad joke was that ?

In one swift motion, you released your wrist and pinned his arm behind his back. You bent him violently over the bar and locked him in that position, pressing down just enough to hurt and immobilize him. 

"One false move and I will dislocate your arm," you threatened in his ear as a few glances turned in your direction. "Now listen to me carefully. This is the last time you'll talk to me or any woman like that. Understood?"

He grunted and struggled a little. You pressed harder and repeated, "Understood?"

"Okay! Okay, I understand! Get off me!"

The man growled again and you finally let go. Penny gave you a look that you understood as a warning and you smiled innocently to her. The man and his group walked away with a grunt, giving you one last murderous look. You smiled broadly and made a mocking curtsy. 

Bradley raised an eyebrow as they passed him, muttering that you were a "crazy bitch". You joined him with two beers, one for him and one for you.

"What happened?"

"Nothing to worry about, just some big macho guy. He didn't like that I wasn't paying attention to him. I just put him in his place."

You shrugged with a smile and Bradley shook his head, laughing a little, knowing exactly what you meant. He put his arm around your waist and kissed your temple. 

"I know you can defend yourself, but don't get yourself in trouble, Stormy."

"Don't worry, if I get in trouble, my knight in shining armor will come and rescue me, won't he?" you teased. He chuckled but nodded before taking you on his lap at the piano. He started a new song that had the remaining customers singing and dancing.

***

The end of the evening was a bit hazy.

You'd had too much to drink to get back on your bike, so it was Bradley who drove you home. You pulled your boyfriend into your small house - he offered no resistance - and kissed him as if your life depended on it, as if that simple contact made your heart beat. His hands roamed your body with hunger, and yours tore his Hawaiian shirt from his back. You thought of nothing but Bradley, his soft lips devouring your jaw and neck, leaving a few marks where he passed, his hands so warm on your skin, his breath making you shiver. 

You wandered back to your room, kicking off your shoes, and your clothes ended up in a pile at the end of your bed. 

You loved doing it with Bradley. He gave you everything you wanted and so much more. You'd never been as fulfilled as you were with him. It was as if he knew everything about how your body worked, that it held no secrets for him. 

Your nightly activities have drained you both of what little energy you had left, and you fell asleep hugging each other, as if afraid the other will evaporate.

The next morning, it was not your massive headache that woke you, but the sound of several cars and children laughing outside your house. What day was it? Was it Saturday? It was Saturday!

You jumped to your feet as Bradley mumbled something unintelligible.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!" You shook your boyfriend and wrapped yourself in a blanket as you heard the sound of a key turning in the front door lock.

"Bradley, get up!"

"Mmh, five minutes..." he mumbled, burying his face in the pillow. You heard the door open and small footsteps running toward your room. You panicked and shook him harder.

"We don't have five minutes! Get your ass up!" 

You grabbed the first thing you could get your hands on: panties and Bradley's tank top. You stumbled to your bedroom door to get out before one of your nephews’ innocent eyes discovered their aunt and a man they didn't know naked as worms in her bed. You tried to look as natural as possible as you quickly closed the door behind you. Standing in front of you was Jack, your three-year-old nephew. He was Nathan’s, your oldest brother, son. He laughed as he threw himself on your legs to give you a hug.

"Oh my God, hi sweetie! You're early!"

"Dada said we'd surprise you, Auntie! And Pop-Pop is here too!" the little boy laughed.

"What a nice thought!" you tried not to sound too ironic as you picked him up to give him a kiss and rearrange his wild blond hair. "Auntie needs to get dressed, okay? Go wait with your dad in the living room!"

You gave him one last kiss and made sure he ran to the living room before storming back to your bedroom. How could you forget that your brothers were visiting today? You were so screwed! A million thoughts went through your head and one thing made you snap out of it; Bradley yawning and taking his sweet time getting up. You grumbled and attacked him with a pillow.

"Hey! What was that for?"

"We're in deep shit Bradley! My whole family is here! They weren't supposed to be up this early!"

"What?" he blinked and narrowed his eyes, trying to process what you'd just told him. You started to rattle on about how your brothers got their permission for your mom's birthday, but your brothers were here super early with their wifes, their kids, and your mom and dad. Bradley had trouble following what you were saying because you were talking really fast. 

“Babe,” he tried to interrupt you, but you kept mumbling and pacing next to the bed, “Y/N, baby, calm down!” 

He grabbed your wrist, pulling you to sit in front of him. His free hand cupped your cheek tenderly as he guided you into breathing to calm yourself down.

“Okay… mind explaining slower what is happening here ?”

You sighed and nodded before re-explaining the whole situation to him. “But they weren’t supposed to come here this early ! The surprise lunch for my mom was supposed to be at home, not in my flat ! And my dad is here. My dad ! What are we going to say ?”

You cursed again, rubbing your temples. Bradley took your hands in his to make you look at him and stole a kiss from you. You sighed against his lips, your tension going away slightly. He then pressed his forehead to yours, stroking your cheeks to soothe you.

“How about we get dressed and just… join them in the living room ?”

“You really want to face my dad ?” you raised one eyebrow, surprised but really relieved that he didn’t propose to just sneak out.

“Yeah ? I mean, the man already has doubts, you’ve said it yourself… and it’s your mother’s birthday, your whole army of men won’t be able to kill me. Not today at least.”

You chuckled at his joking tone and at the silly smile he has on his face. You pecked his lips with a grin. “Okay then Lieutenant , let’s get dressed.”

“Yes ma’am!” 

He gave you one last tender kiss, and when the two of you went to get up, a little giggle made you both freeze.

“Auntie who that ? And why he nakey ?”

Your nephew’s voice asked. He was standing by the door, a playful smile on his chubby face, and his little finger pointing at your embarrassed boyfriend. Bradley quickly covered himself more, lifting the sheet at his chin, and you ran to get little Jack in your arms.

“How did he get here ??” Bradley scream-whispered at you, hiding himself while trying to get dressed.

“I don’t know !” you scream-whispered back before turning your attention back to the toddler who was babbling in your arms, “Jack, honey, why aren’t you with your dad and pop-pop ?”

Before he could answer, your sister in law was by your bedroom, apologizing. She didn’t notice Bradley right away, but when she did, a small cheeky smile curled on her lip.

“Hi there, sorry to have him interrupted you two.”

“Annie, it’s not what it looks like-” you blushed when you understood what she implied but Bradley interrupted you by presenting himself and shaking her hand with a wide smile. They chat while you put on a pair of jeans, keeping on Bradley’s tank top. Never in your life had you been this embarrassed.

Little Jack looked at your boyfriend with wide-eyed wonder. He loved meeting new people, and Bradley seemed fascinating to his young eyes. It was no wonder when every time Annie spoke to you, Bradley would make faces at the little boy and make him giggle. 

Bradley already had him in his pocket, so that was a good thing. Annie seemed to like him too, at least you thought so from the mischievous looks she gave you. 

As you crossed the hallway to join the rest of your family, a wave of nervousness ran through you. You grabbed Bradley by the sleeve of his Hawaiian shirt and turned him toward you. You pulled him into a hug to relax and to give yourself courage.

"Promise you won't hate me?"

"Why would I hate you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"They'll probably try to impress you, my brothers I mean... and my dad... you know how he can be..."

"Oh honey... It takes more than that to scare me. I'll be fine."

He kissed your forehead and you walked into the living room.

You greeted everyone, your father not immediately aware of Bradley's presence. You introduced him to your brothers first, Nathan, Aaron and Jamie, and they didn't do anything strange at first; they were probably waiting for you to introduce him to your father to see what sauce to cook him in.

Beau and Vivian, your mother, were too busy admiring your niece, five-month-old Juliet, to notice Bradley's presence. She was fast asleep in the arms of Jamie's fiancée, Alice. She greeted you with a smile when you waved.

"Awake at last, Stormy?" your father asked before freezing and losing his smile at the sight of your boyfriend, " Lieutenant Bradshaw. ".

His cold, hard tone made you sigh a little as the two men shook hands in greeting. 

“Good morning Vice Admiral Simpson.” 

They were way too formal, it was ridiculous. Your mother had the same reaction as you and introduced herself to Bradley with a warm smile and a hug.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Simpson."

"Oh, please, just call me Viv!" she laughed a little, waving her hand. Then she turned to you, discreetly gave you both thumbs up and winked at you. 

Good. Bradley seemed to have charmed your mother with just a smile.

Still, you could feel your father tense up behind you as Bradley got to know everyone. He remained very polite and smiled, even letting Jack, Oliver and Tommy - Aaron's twin sons - pull him out to play in the little garden. Your father grabbed your arm. "Kitchen. Now. We need to talk." He seemed a little upset, and you could understand; you'd lied to him.

"Care to explain yourself?" He crossed his arms on his chest, a stern look on his face. 

You didn't like that look. He used to have it when he scolded you when you were a teenager, when you would sneak out of the house to go to a party or to meet up with your then-boyfriend. For a moment, you were 16 again, caught in the act.

You sighed at his insistent and questioning look.

"I uh... He’s... we’re... we've been seeing each other for… a few weeks..."

"A few weeks? So you've been lying to me for weeks?"

"I haven't lied! At least not completely..." you mumbled, biting your fingernail.

"Y/N. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Seriously Dad? You've made it pretty clear that you don't really like him, I mean outside of work."

"I never said that."

You widened your eyes, shocked at his bad faith. 

"Are you kidding me? You've made it clear that you don't want me around him because he's too much like Maverick! Every time I mentioned him, you made your… disapproving face. The same one you made every time I mentioned my old boyfriends, or when I wanted to get a motorcycle, or when the boys tried to bleach their hair in high school !"

"I don't have a disapproving face," he grumbled, "and it's not because he’s like Maverick that I don't want you around him, it's because he can be called back on a mission at any time. I don't want that to break your heart."

"Oh ! But it's okay for Nathan, Aaron, and Jamie to break the hearts of their partners? Of their children? It was okay for you to risk breaking Mom's heart and ours? What kind of cardboard argument is that, Dad?" You raised your arms in disbelief as you started to walk out of the kitchen, but you stopped and turned back to face him. "I know you want to protect me, but... you can't do that about things like that. I know you know better than anyone the risks of this job, the sacrifices it requires. But Bradley knows them as well, if not better, than you do. And as much as it scares me, as much as it scares us... we want to try… And even if you don't like it, we'll give it a try. Because I almost lost him once without really being able to be with him..."

Your father sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. From the kitchen window you could see Bradley playing with your nephews, under your mother's and in laws’ amused and tender eyes. A small smile crept across your lips as the little ones called you over to help hold Bradley down. You hurried to join them, and your mother joined your father.

"Our boys and the little ones seem to like this Lieutenant…”

“Seems like it…”  

“He reminds me a little of you when we first met..." Vivian chuckled to Beau as she hugged him. 

"Really?" the man wondered, "and how?"

"Well, he has that same sparkle in his eyes... the one that calls for adventure, that gentle and loving look when his eyes land on our Storm... and he's also very good with children," she laughed at his slightly embarrassed expression, "You should give him a chance... our princess looks so relaxed with him... look at her… look at her smile…"

He lifted his head and watched the two of you having fun with the three little boys and sighed. His wife was right. You looked so happy in Bradley's arms, waltzing and laughing with the kids. He'd never seen you look so radiant, as cliché as it sounded. Your brothers also seemed to have accepted the newcomer without too much fuss. So Beau seemed to be the only one who was uncomfortable with the whole situation.

He nodded and kissed his wife on the forehead. "Okay, I'll try... but I'm not promising anything."

Vivian rolled her eyes with a smile on her face. She knew for a fact that your father would quickly accept Bradley as well.

Lunch went off without a hitch, Beau swallowing his pride not to be as awkward with Bradley as possible, although he did draw a few murderous looks from your father when he put his hand a little too high on your thigh or lower back. After dessert, he helped your brothers put the kids down for a nap and let them share the convertible bed in your little study. Your sisters-in-law and your brother-in-law, Evan - Aaron's husband - helped you with the dishes. They gently teased you that Bradley was a very handsome young man and that you had chosen well. 

"I know I did. Look at you all, we Simpsons always have good taste," you sniped back with a wink and a teasing smile, making them laugh.

"Wait, wait, wait... So he was your regular booty call after your first assignment?" Evan seemed to realize. You shushed him and made sure that your parents didn't hear him say that. Annie laughed a little and grabbed your shoulder, making you look into her eyes. 

"I can see why you qualified him as the best sex of your life after the upper body I saw this morning," she teased you again, making your face completely flush. You practically begged her to stop talking about your sex life, very embarrassed. But the three of them could be little bullies and they loved to tease you sometimes.

"Guys, please stop. If my father hears you-"

"Hear what, Stormy?"

You turned and paled a little under your father's cold gaze and tight smile. Your sister-in-law and brother-in-law took the opportunity to run off like teenagers, and of course Bradley arrived just then, smiling carelessly. 

"The three cataclysms are finally asleep. Is everything okay in here?" he asked as he joined you in front of your father. He immediately wiped the smile off his face when he saw the look on Beau's face.

"You're lucky it's my wife's birthday, Bradshaw," he growled, his eyes staring straight into your souls, "but if I hear one more detail about your... nocturnal activities, I'm going to make sure that the two of you are as far away from each other as possible, even if it means sending one of you to Japan or Korea. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir," Bradley replied promptly, "Clear as day.”

"For God's sake, Dad, aren't you being a little extreme? I'm a responsible adult-"

"I'm warning you, I don't want another grandchild too soon. Keep it in your pants."

"Dad!!"

Just when you thought you couldn't get any more embarrassed, your dad had the right words. He left the two of you in the kitchen, muttering that he was getting too old for this. 

"Oh my God..." You cursed as you hid your face in your hands and turned towards the sink. Of all the weird things that could happen, you'd really hoped no one would mention your sex life. You felt a little angry, but more than that, you were extremely embarrassed. You let out a shaky breath, your hands gripping the counter as you lowered your head. You felt the warmth of Bradley's body enveloping you as he wrapped his arms around your waist, his front against your back and his chin resting on your shoulder.

"I'm so sorry..."

"Why are you apologizing, babe? I told you it would take more than that to scare me off... Maybe your dad hasn't fallen for the Bradshaw charm yet, but I'm working on it..." he tried to cheer you up, "And now I have an army of kids who love me, I can order them to defend me."

You smiled, amused at his silliness. "You're really good with kids, but I think it's them who will command you..."

"Maybe you're right," he laughed a little and kissed the hollow of your neck, his mustache tickling you, "but your mother has already adopted me. I'm protected."

You laughed with him, your embarrassment and anger disappearing. You leaned against him, enjoying the hug he offered you. These simple gestures were so comforting that it was almost frightening how quickly he could soothe you. You closed your eyes as he hummed and softly danced with you in the kitchen. It was so cliché, right out of a rom-com, but you couldn’t care less.

After a few minutes, you regained enough courage to join the rest of your family in the living room. Your in-laws gave you apologetic looks, and your brothers were a little lost, but didn't dare ask. 

For the rest of the afternoon, Bradley learned every little anecdote your mother had to share; whether it was about your brothers, you, or even your father, she was more than happy to share with him. Jamie and Alice had fallen asleep in the garden, making your mother smile in awe. Nathan laughed a little with Aaron. "We warned them that a newborn was exhausting, but they insisted on coming here their own way...". 

You laughed a little too, it was true they looked exhausted. But little Juliet was so cute that they forgot how tired they were. 

Speaking of her, the baby phone warned everyone that she was waking up. You volunteered to warm her bottle and Bradley went to get her. Alice had put the travel crib in your room so the other three children would not be disturbed if Juliet woke up. 

When the milk was at the right temperature, you joined Bradley in your room. Your cheeks flushed and you felt butterflies in your stomach when you saw him holding the little one. He rocked her gently, stroking her cheek with his index finger. He seemed so natural that it made you fall even more in love with him. 

You shook your head, your father's voice echoing in your head: "No more grandchildren for now.”

You joined him and let him gently place the baby in your arms. You smiled and fed the hungry five-month-old in your arms. Bradley leaned against the doorframe and watched you with a soft smile. You, too, were a natural with children. Juliet seemed so comfortable in your arms and you seemed so relaxed. He found himself daydreaming about the two of you having children together. He blushed as he imagined you pregnant with his baby... and Nathan giggled behind him. "Calm your horses Bradshaw, you're not putting a baby in my sister anytime soon."

Bradley's face turned as bright red as yours. "Nathan, shut up!" you yelled-whispered at him, careful not to disturb the eating baby in your arms.

“What? You heard our old man, "No more grandchildren for now!”” Nathan grinned and put his arm around Bradley's shoulders.

"I can't promise that..." Bradley mumbled softly, mesmerized by the sight of you holding Juliet against you as you burped her after she had finished her bottle. Nathan's eyes widened and he tried his best not to burst out laughing. "What did you say, Brad’ ? I think I misheard you?"

You blushed as you realized what your boyfriend had just said.

"I... Nothing!" Bradley defended himself weakly, very embarrassed. Nathan teased him until your mother told him to stop, threatening him with no cake after dinner. He immediately stopped and went to get his son after whispering to Bradley that he wouldn't forget what he had just said. You decided not to talk about it, feeling a little embarrassed as well.

It wasn't long before dinnertime arrived, and your father was relaxed and talking with Bradley. You even caught them laughing together. This interaction was reassuring for the rest of the evening.

As usual, your mother had cooked for a regiment, and your refrigerator was full of leftovers. She made Bradley promise to stop by the family home and look at the family albums and your childhood bedroom. He laughed a little but agreed. 

You walked everyone back to their cars, helped them with the kids' stuff, and your dad gave you one last hug and said good night. He said goodbye to Bradley with a slight smile and a quick hug. 

When everyone was gone, you collapsed on your sofa, drained of all energy. Bradley joined you with a smile and pulled you right into his arms.

"That didn't go so badly after all..."

You nodded, yawned and put your arms around him. You thought back to the day that had just passed, to that roller coaster of emotions, and laughed a little.

"So... eager to put a baby inside me Lieutenant?"

"Oh my God Y/N!!" Bradley blushed, hiding his face behind his fists in total embarrassment. You laughed and teased him about it. You preferred to take it as a joke because neither of you were anywhere near ready to have children of your own, you both agreed on that. Or did you?

He turned to you, a serious expression on his face.

"And what if I am? Would you... would you be on board to have kids with me? Not right now, of course, but... I... I can't imagine a future without you in it, and I'd like to have kids with you. I know we haven't really been together that long, but we've known each other for a long time... and oh my God, I'm rumbling," he groaned, rubbing his face before looking back at you. "What I mean is that I love you and I don't want to live without you. Maybe it's rushed, maybe you-"

You interrupted him, pulled him by the collar and kissed him. You didn’t know what came over you; maybe it was the fact that he had just admitted his feelings, or the fact that he was already planning a life with you. Maybe both. Certainly both.

"I love you too," you whispered between two kisses, "and I don't want to be without you either... and I would love to start a family with you someday, Lieutenant Bradshaw..."

You smiled, your forehead pressed against his, and he chuckled in relief.

"Today was really like you... a storm..." he sighed, smiling and stroking your cheeks.

"I know... are you sure you can keep up with my family?" you teased, "Now that you've messed with the storm, the cyclone will never be far away."

"Wouldn't have it any other way, Stormy."

[topgunruinedme]

Maverick: it was a calculated risk!!

Cyclone, who's frankly on his fifth heart attack of the day: it was a cross-your-fingers- and-hope-for-the-best risk. believe me, i know the difference.

original reference

[nobody7102]

The 4th

Pairing: Beau "Cyclone" Simpson x Pregnant!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of PTSD, Fireworks, Loud sounds

A/N: I told you I was running off of a big bong hit and lavender ices coffee, lol

Master-list

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As Beau stands in the kitchen, his hands hard at work covering ribs in marinade and dry rub for later on in the day, Y/N opens the front door, waddling her way into the kitchen with grocery backs and a package. 

Looking over his shoulder Beau smiles as Y/N enter’s the kitchen with her left arm carrying the package and her right holding the groceries. Hoisting the package and groceries onto the counter Beau starts to clean off his hands.

“Did the store have everything?”

Y/N nods and her hands move to start to take the groceries out of the bags. “We should have decided to have a baby sooner” she jokes “When I walked in, as soon as anyone saw the bump they let me grab whatever I needed” as soon as everything’s unpacking she turns to Beau placing a hand over her bump. “They had everything for the potatoes and the steaks”

“Well thank you for going all the way to the store for me Baby… you really didn’t have to” Walking over to Y/N he leans down and places a kiss upon her lips as his hands rest over her bump as well. “I after I get the ribs on the grill I should be able to get started on the steaks”

Y/N smiles as Beau runs his hands along her bump “Then I’ll probably do the potatoes when you start on the steaks” her hands rise up to push some of Beau’s hair out of his face “Ohh… by the way…” the corner of her mouth turns upward into a slight smirk “I got you a present… but you have to open it later” 

Beau raises his brow with a slightly surprised smirk upon his face “A present?... Baby you know you always scare me a little bit when you say that right?” He jokes.

Shaking her head, Y/N chuckles “No no no, I promise… its not a bad present like the paint color for the nursery” Her smile grows wider as she remember’s Beau’s surprise to see they were painting the nursery a sage green color. But to be fair Beau said that she could do whatever she wanted with it and he would be there to help.

__________________________

As the morning passes into the afternoon, Beau stands at the grill. Cooking away as Y/N relaxes in a chair on the patio watching Beau grill, every once and a while getting up to check on the potatoes as they cook inside the kitchen. 

As Y/N watches Beau, she can’t help but frown a bit at every firework people in their neighborhood decide to set off early, hating how Beau subtly jumps and gets startled every time a firework goes off. Acting as if it doesn't bother him in the slightest, but Y/N sees how he goes far off for a few seconds every time. 

Not long after the food is done and Beau and Y/N set the patio table for themselves, laying out paper plates and the food. Ribs, steaks, mashed potatoes, grilled veggies and garlic bread (as per Baby Simpsons request). 

They take their time as they eat, enjoying the weather, the food, and each other’s company and after a while Y/N notices how the sun starts to set and gets up.

Taking her and Beau’s plates as she stands. Beau starts to get up to help her, Y/N raises her finger. “Tsk Tsk Tsk, sit down” she hums and points to his chair.

Letting out a chuckle, Beau listens’ knowing better than to argue. 

Waddling her way back into the house, Y/N disposes of the paper plates and puts their utensils in the sink before grabbing a pair of scissors and the package from earlier and bringing them back outside with her.

She sets the box and scissors down in front of Beau before taking a seat back in her chair. “Tada!” she hums.

Beau raises his brow at the box before taking the scissors and opening it. Taking out the packaging on the inside, his brow furrows in slight confusion as he pulls out a box for wireless headphones. “Baby… what is this?” Letting out a sigh, Y/N’s eye’s soften as she gazes at Beau. “Do you remember how we were talking last year… about how you wanna watch the fireworks but you know you shouldn’t” she reaches her hands out and pushes back some of Beau’s hair.

“When you were talking earlier this month about how you can’t wait for Peanut to be here and how you think Peanut would love to watch the fireworks… it got me thinking about how you said you used to love watching fireworks before you enlisted… and so I went online… and I got you some soundproof wireless headphones” she gives a soft smile “You can download this app that pairs with the headphones and you can control how noise canceling they are… and since they’re wireless you could play music if you wanted to or watch something…. But i figured… now you could just watch the fireworks again and now worry”

As Y/N explains how the headphones work and why she got them, tears start to form in Beau’s eyes at how Y/N thought about him

“And if they don’t work then that’s totally fine but I figured you could try it out and if it works then great and if no-” Before Y/N has the chance to finish her sentence Beau gets up from his chair and leans down to Y/N as she sits and presses a kiss to her hips before pulling her into a hug, burying his face into her neck.

“Thank you baby…. Thank you so much..” he mumbles against her skin.

_____________

As the sun finally sets. Y/N and Beau sit in their driveway, looking out on the water. 

When they were looking at houses, the real estate agent talked about how you could see the city beach fireworks perfectly from the house and they were right. Every year they could watch the city fireworks from their living room window as Beau and Y/N snuggled on the couch with the music cranked loud enough to drown out the echoing booms from outside.

Holding Beau’s phone in her hand, Y/N connects the headphones and adjusts the soundproof to fully drown out any noise. Looking at the time Y/N looks over to Beau as he holds the headphones. “Two minutes till they start… Do you wanna put them on now?”

Beau nods and places the headphones on, before reaching out and taking Y/N’s hand in his, looking out at the water in the area where the fireworks will be. As they wait for the fireworks to start, Beau squeezes Y/N’s hand every few seconds. Anxious to see if the headphones will actually work.

And after a minute, Beau squeezes Y/N’s hand tightly as the first firework of the night goes up into the air, and Y/N’s attention focuses on Beau’s face. Ready to take him into the house and resume their usual Fourth of July night activities if her plan fails.

And just like that the loud BOOM of the fireworks goes off and Beau watches in awe as the green and blue fills the sky before he turns to Y/N with the most giddy smile on his face ever as it dawns on him that he can’t hear a thing.

Y/N smile grows as she leans over to Beau and plants a kiss on his cheek before both of them turn their attention back to the fireworks.

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Tagging: @sebsxphia @rhettabbotts @bobfloyds @auroralightsthesky @fanboygarcia @beachbabey @sarahsmi13s @writercole @topguncortez @topgun-imagines @lewmagoo @sailorscuttle @shawnsthighs @ohtobeleah @sweetlittlegingy @t-nd-rfoot @mothdruid

[saltsicklover]

Title: Not a Cyclone, But a Monsoon

Part 1 of 2 - Completed

Find Part 2 HERE and my Master List HERE

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

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

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

A few uses of Y/N

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

Rating: R

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She didn't make it home.

Neither did their baby boy.

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

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

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

Thunk goes the glass again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then the world is a bit smaller, still.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you, sir,"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, her thumb is stopping.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He notices anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey Kiddo,"

TAG LIST

@its-the-pilot

@t4medicroe

@inkandarsenic

[rose-pearls]

I think cyclone could use some attention, how about an one shot where Beau is set up on a blind date, who ends up being a pilot under his command in dagger squad. Cyclone and the reader are shocked to see each, and they decide to make most of the night (despite VERY uncomfortable beginning). They end up at together. But have to keep it on the download since the reader is a Lieutenant, and he is a vice admiral. They end up having to explain it to the rest of dagger squad.

Hi!! I loved your request and I hope you like it!! So sorry it took so long but midterms have been kicking my ass lately.

Top Gun Taglist: @bisexual-watermelons (open)

Main Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187, @nyx2021, @thestarspangledcaptain, @kmc1989 (open for every fandom)

He doesn’t know what he is doing here, god knows he should’ve known better then to let Warlock put him up on a date. 

He wasn’t lonely, not as much as his friend thought. But as much as he tries to convince himself of that every day, he would be lying to himself. He did miss having a person that knew him inside and out and who would be there at home when he came back from work. He even misses the intimacy, not necessarily the sex, but just the cuddles and the soft touches when passing each other.

But he hated this part, not knowing who you are going to meet and feeling utterly scared at what was about to happen. An old lady had been looking at him curiously ever since he had arrived and he tried not to think of it, focusing on trying not to sweat through his shirt, he was a vice-admiral for god sake. 

“Vice-Admiral Simpsons?”, the words are filled with surprise and as he looks up, he nearly faints at the sight of the woman in front of him.

“Lieutenant Floyd?”, the girl is looking at his with equally wide eyes and he tries to keep his breathing under control.

“What are you doing here?”, he asks after a moment, clearing his throat hoping that it would somehow get it to work properly.

“Admiral Bates told me to come here and meet my, uhm, my-”, the girl seems a bit uncomfortable to say the word to him, but Beau just nods his head slowly, mentally thinking of every way he could kill Warlock for this. 

“For a blind date?”, she nods shily at his words before sitting down on the chair in front of him.

He can’t help but look at her, she is a beautiful woman, he had known that since he had seen her sitting in front of him when she had just started her training. She was also incredibly smart, which seemed to be running in the family as her brother was the best WSO in the business. Warlock knew what he was doing, Beau had always had some sort of attraction towards her, unable not to pay attention to her when she was in the room.

He hears her clear her throat and he can’t help the blush that creeps on his cheeks as he realizes that he had been looking at her for a moment now.

“Sorry, Lieut-”, he doesn’t finish the sentence as he realizes that they aren’t on base and that he doesn’t need to call her that. 

He looks up as he hears her laugh softly before she whispers her name, a sweet smile on her lips that makes his heart race like when he was a teenager.

“Right, well call me Beau.”, he tells her, and she looks slightly nervous as she fidgets with the menu card.

“Not your usual setting either?”, she looks up at the question and he wants to kick himself, mentally telling himself that he should think before speaking but she somehow manages to make him lose all control.

“Not really, I’m busier with the Navy then with my dating life to be honest. Which is kind of sad when I say it out loud.”, she says with a shy smile and Beau can’t help but smile at the sight of it.

“Well seems like we already have one thing in common.”, she looks up at his words, surprise etched over her eyes as she looks at him.

“Really?”, it seems like she doesn’t believe him and Beau smiles at her bashful expression after the word.

“Well, the Navy is quite busy, especially these last few years.”, he tells her, feeling tired at the simple thought of everything he had to do the past years.

“Maverick keeping you busy?”, he hears the teasing tone in her voice but still he rolls his eyes at the question making her laugh.

“That man is taking more years of my life away every day.”, the laughter that follows makes him smile even wider, unable to hide it.

“He is quite the troublemaker.”, she says and Beau nods in agreement.

“That is an understatement.”, he doesn’t have time to ask her anything else before someone comes up to pick up their order and they find themselves scrambling to get the menu card and quickly look at it. He had been too busy paying attention to her that he hadn’t even thought about what he was going to eat.

“So, tell me about your day.”, she says, as if was as simple as that and after a moment of looking at her slightly dumbfound he starts to talk.

He doesn’t know how long they talk, probably far too long but he enjoys every second of it. Her laughter when he tells her the stories of when he was at the academy and her wide eyes with interest when he is telling her the most boring things. He can’t stop listening to her, watching her talk as she tells stories of her and Bob as children. 

“I’m sorry to disturb you but we are going to be closing soon.”, the waitress looks a bit nervous as she stands there, and he looks at his watch to see that it is already nearing midnight.

“Of course! So sorry.”, she quickly says, and the waitress looks relieved as they start packing their stuff.

“Here is your bill.”, she says, and Beau gets ready to pay for the bill before he sees her getting her own wallet.

“I’ll pay for it.”, he says simply, and she looks at him with a slight frown.

“You don’t have to do that, we can split the bill.”, she says quickly, her head held high, and Beau can’t help but smile at the sight of her.

“I’m sure we can but I want to pay for it.”, he says, and she looks at him, slightly doubtful before letting out a quiet sigh.

“Fine but I’m paying next time.”, the words make butterflies erupt in his stomach, realizing that she does want to see him again. A red blush appears on her cheeks as she realizes what she just said before she stutters over her words.

“I- I mean if you want to of course.”, he doesn’t even hesitate a second at her words.

“Of course, I would, I mean I don’t even want to say goodnight to you right now.”, he realizes the way the words could be understood as and he feels his cheeks burn with a blush.

“You know some people would take that as an invitation Vice-Admiral Simpson.”, there is a coy grin on her lips and he feels the urge to kiss that smile away and make her say his title again, the way it rolls of her tongue so easily makes him crave her in a way he hasn’t felt before.

“Would you want it to be Lieutenant?”, he knows that they shouldn’t, this is just their first date but god he doesn’t know how he will be able to let her go at the end of the night. The thought of being able to kiss her skin and feel her skin against his makes his blood rush south.

“I could be convinced.”, there is that teasing smile that doesn’t seem to leave her lips and a moment later he finally gets to kiss them, feel the softness of them against the cold wind on his skin. 

There is that smile that doesn’t seem to leave her lips and his, but he never wants to not see her smile.

“As much as it is tempting to take you home and trust me it is. How about we go on another date first?”, he asks her softly, looking at her sparkling eyes in the moonlight.

“Sounds like a perfect plan. Text me or call me, quickly.”, she seals the last word with a kiss before leaving him there, slightly dazed. She looks back a few times before she has to turn the corner and Beau wishes that she didn’t have to leave that soon.

--

He ignores Warlock’s knowing gaze when he comes into work the next morning and particularly the day after their second date, still feeling high on the adrenaline of the night before and that morning. 

“It seems like everything is going well.”, Warlock says, with his most innocent gaze, which doesn’t work, and Beau tries to ignore him.

“Not a word.”, he decides to say, trying to keep on a straight face but ultimately failing as a smile appears at the thought of her. 

He sees her during the day, it’s a blessing and a curse at the same time to have her this close to him but not being able to say anything. 

They had agreed to keep it under wrap as he was still her superior and she was also part of the Dagger Squad with her brother on it. 

“You know, Bob is wondering where I am spending all of my time lately.”, she whispers one night, her fingers tracing lazy patterns along his skin.

“What did you tell him?”, he asks, wondering what excuse she could’ve found to explain her absence. 

“Just that I was busy, but I don’t think he will be leaving me alone about it.”, she tells him, and he knows what she is trying to say.

“Do you think it’s a good idea to tell him?”, he asks her softly, wondering how the quiet WSO would react at the news of his older sister dating him.

“I think so, he told me that he admires you and he has no issues with me dating someone.”, she tells him, and Beau can’t help but feel prideful at the thought of the WSO admiring him.

“Alright, might as well do it now. But only him.”, he can’t help but laugh at the squeal she lets out before being smothered with kisses.

“Thank you! You will love Bob!”, she tells him as if he doesn’t know him, but he lets her talk about everything that they could do together.

“I’ll call him.”, she tells him a little bit later, he can hear the sleepiness in her voice and after a moment he hears her soft snores filling up the room.

--

“Now, Bobby, I want you to approach this with an open mind.”, you tell your brother, trying to calm down your nerves as he looks at you with raised eyebrows.

“I’m starting to get really scared.”, he says, and you try to shake your head, taking his hand and squeezing it in reassurance.

“Don’t you worry, you will like him.”, you simply say, looking across the Hard Deck towards the door and a moment later Beau arrives making you so excited that you accidently squeeze Bob’s hand to strongly.

“Aw! How strong are you?”, he says as he rubs his hand and you look at him with apologetic eyes, knowing that he isn’t mad.

“Alright Bobby, this is my boyfriend.”, you declare, and Bob turns around to find Beau in front of him. You don’t know what you were expecting but not your brother getting up and salute Beau.

“Sir.”, your boyfriend seems to find it funny as he tells him that it isn’t necessary and sitting down next to you. Bob scrambles back on his chair, looking between the two of you for a few minutes, you can feel Beau’s uneasiness at the staring.

“Thank god.”, Bob sighs and he seems to deflate, making you look at him with wide eyes.

“What do you mean ‘thank god’?”, you ask him, wondering who your little brother could have possibly thought you would’ve brought.

“I thought you were bringing Bagman.”

“Ieuw! Bob!”, you screech and your brother snorts at your reaction while Beau seems disgusted at the words.

“I’m sorry but you were being so secretive I thought of the worst-case scenario.”, Bob tells you, shrugging his shoulders and you can’t help but shake your head.

“So, I suppose that I’m not the worst-case scenario?”, your boyfriend asks and Bob smiles sheepishly.

“I think that you are a good man, as long as you treat her well there is no problem. But hurt her and I’ll make sure no one can find your body.”, Bob threatens, and you smile at the protectiveness of your little brother, Beau immediately agrees and before you know it the three of you are talking.

“What do we have here?”, you suddenly hear behind you and the three of you turn around to find the entire Dagger Squad looking at you with wide eyes.

“What do you want Hangman?”, you hear Bob say and the blond aviator smirks in response.

“Just wondering what the three of you are doing here on such a fine evening, without us.”, there is a pout on his lips that is as fake as the plants in the Hard Deck.

“Cry me a river Bagman.”, Bob says, and you can’t help but laugh softly at your brother’s annoyance. Hangman had been trying to annoy him since the start and recently Bob had been going against him making the blond aviator even more interested in him. Your little brother seemed obvious to it, but the cocky pilot had been trying to get in his pants since the start.

“Bagman is right for once, I’m also kind of curious.”, Phoenix says while ignoring Hangman’s winning smile and sitting next to Bob, making Hangman pout.

“Well, it’s a bit of a secret.”, you try to say and immediately the whole Dagger Squad sits down, eyes wide open like you were about to tell them all about a new plane.

“We are dating.”, you simply state as Beau puts his arm around your shoulders. There is a moment of silence before the whole group erupts in chatter except for Bob.

“Wait, what?!”

“You two are dating?”

“You didn’t tell me Bobby?”, you hear Hangman screech, and you can’t help but laugh at your brother rolling his eyes.

“Stop being dramatic, she just told me five minutes ago.”, Bob tells him, and the rest of the Dagger Squad turns to look at you.

“This has to stay under wrap, at least until you are all not under my command anymore. Is that clear?”, Beau asks and the whole squad agrees, looking at you with excited smiles.

“Scouts honor.”, Hangman says and the whole squad snorts at his words.

“Now tell us how it all started.”, Phoenix says, looking excited at the prospect of hearing how it all happened.

“And give us the juicy details.”, Halo says with a smirk before Bob clears his throat.

“Please don’t.”, he says and before you can answer Hangman puts his hand on Bob’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry Bobby I’ll be there to support you.”, this makes everyone laugh and as Bob rolls his eyes in answer.

“So, it all started with Warlock.”, you start, with Beau helping you fill in the blanks.

You couldn’t have imagined how that first date was going to be like, but you hadn’t expected anything like this to happen. And now surrounded by all of these people that you liked you can’t help but think that this was what life was supposed to be like.

[cinebration]

I see a few unfamiliar names in the comments. For those new to my blog, I suggest you read my Captain Syverson fic (aka a military fic) to get an understanding of how and what I write.

The sheer number of you begging for Cyclone heartens me because I, too, am feral over him.

Finally watched Top Gun: Maverick. Is anyone interested in Cyclone x reader and/or Hangman x reader fics?

[coffeecollective]

Dagger squad flight school HC

They all loved to place these ridiculous ass bets (as they do because it’s THEM), they would bet on who would get with who or who was currently with who

It included both students AND instructors

Of course, phoenix, the queen of gossip, tea, and drama, won almost all of these betting pools

It was to the point that the others almost banned her from joining bets for this reason

[callsign-dexter]

Behind Closed Doors 18+

Request: Hey sweetie 🥰 would you do an imagine for me where you're Phoenix's best friend and share an apartment with her (you're not a pilot) but have a secret relationship with Bradley which she doesn't know. One time you think you're alone at home when he is over so you have some fun, but when you both leave your room nearly naked you find her sitting there. You try to explain but she just glares at you both, but after a while she gives in and explains how happy she is for you?

Pairings: Bradley Bradshaw x Simpson!Reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, swearing

First Installment- Behind Closed Doors

Second Installment- Out in the Open

Masterlist

You are a high school teacher at Miramar High School on base. You had already lived in California for some years now and were loving it but you needed a roommate, rent on a teacher's salary was hard. You debated on whether or not to get a roommate but didn't want to end up with someone strange or serial killer. You had almost given up when Natasha came to Top Gun looking for a place to stay she called you up, and you immediately said yes.

Natasha took you to the hard deck when you finally had the night off from grading papers and essays, that's when you met the handsome stranger with a mustache and a Hawaiian shirt. She said that she wanted you to meet her friends and fellow coworkers and you were all for it. You both walked into The Hard Deck on a Friday night and the first thing you see where a sea of khaki uniforms, flight suits, and civilian clothing. You weren't a stranger to The Hard Deck, not in the least bit, you had come here a lot with other teachers and friends. You were no stranger to the Navy, not the least bit either, your father being none other than Vice Admiral Beau 'Cyclone' Simpson. You had really thought about going into the Navy but decided against it since the love of teaching and helping kids won over. She dragged you over to her group of friends to say hello. They introduced themselves and you did to them but your gaze lingered on Bradley Bradshaw.

"Hey guys! This is my friend and roommate Y/N!" Natasha said over the loudness of the music and you gave them a wave.

"Hi, I'm Bob. Natasha has told us a lot about you." Bob spoke up first and you turned to look at her.

"All good things I hope." You answered but looked at her and you both smiled and she turned her head.

"Very good things. I'm Bradley." Bradley spoke up and you turned your head to meet his gaze and you could've sworn you fell in love right then and there. You both locked eyes and the rest was history. Your attention was torn away from him when another voice came through.

"I'm Jake. You can call me anytime. You’ll be remembering it when I have you screaming it later tonight. " Jake said with a smirk and you just rolled your eyes.

"I won't be calling you at all or screaming your name because I don't do cocky aviators. Just be glad Penny didn’t hear that." You told him and everyone's jaw dropped there weren't very many people that could take Jake down a peg but they found one person. Jake was silent but still had that stupid smirk on his face.

"Oh, I like her." Jake said then another voice came through.

"I like you. You got Jake to shut up for once. I'm Javy." Javy said and you smiled and said hi back. Finally the last one spoke up.

"My name is Mickey. Sorry for Jake's behavior now and in advance." Mickey said and you laughed.

"No worries. I know how to deal with over confident cocky jocks." You said and Bradley spoke up.

"Oh? What do you do?" He asked curiously and you smiled at him.

"I'm a high school teacher on base. I deal with a lot of teenage testosterone every day." You told him and somehow moved closer to him Natasha saw this and shook her head and moved to stand between you and him.

"I don't think so. You're not taking my best friend." She said and grabbed your arm dragging you away from him "You don't have a drink. We need to get you a drink." She said and dragged you to the bar. Penny came over and met you. You told her your order and Natasha ordered hers and everyone else's. While you wanted you and Bradley stole glances at each other. That's how it went on for the rest of the night. Natasha tried to keep you away from Bradley but every now and then you would make your way over to him and both of you would flirt. It was funny when Natasha noticed you weren't there and would find you and grab you and drag you away, you would smile at Bradley and wave.

By the time everyone was ready to go come most of everyone was drunk. Except you, Bob, and Bradley. Bob assured you that he would get everyone else home safely and you nodded and you told him you would take care of Natasha. Bob started to round up everyone else while you rounded up Natasha that's when Bradley came up to you.

"You need any help?" He asked you and you shook your head but spoke up before he could say anything.

"You can walk us to the car though." You said and he smiled. You would come back later and close out your tab. True to your word he walked you to your car while you put Natasha in the passenger side. She was mumbling incoherent words but you just shook your head and shut the door after making sure she was buckled in and went to the driver's side where Bradley stood. You leaned up against the door and he took your hands and held them.

"So is there a chance I'm going to see you again?" He asked you and you nodded.

"There is a very good chance." You smiled "Give me your phone." You said and he dropped your hands while he dug his phone out and you did the same you both exchanged phones and put your numbers in. He saw your lock screen and wall paper.

"Wait.... that's Cyclone on there. Why would he be on there?" He asked curiously but not mad. It was true your dad was on there it was taken when you had graduated college.

"Because he would be my dad." You said in a matter-in-fact tone. "Don't tell the others. Only you and Natasha know." You said.

"Your secret is safe with me." He said and handed your locked phone back to you and you did the same. You smiled and he opened the door to your Jeep Wrangler. You got in and rolled down the window once you turned the key.

"Have a nice night Bradley." You said with a soft smile and he smiled back.

"You too, Y/N Simpson." He said and you laughed softly and backed and headed back to the apartment. Natasha was knocked out.

You arrived back and woke her up and helped her inside. You made sure the window was closed and the car locked. You helped her to her bedroom where she fell on the bed and went to sleep, you just shook your head and removed her shoes and socks. As you were getting ready for bed your phone buzzed with a notification.

Bradley Bradshaw: I'm really glad to have met you tonight. Any chance I can take you on a proper date?

You: Absolutely. Tomorrow night?

Bradley Bradshaw: Really? Tomorrow night is perfect. Favorite choice of food?

You: I'm not picky but love Thai.

Bradley Bradshaw: It's a date. I'll pick you at 7. I'm looking forward to it. Have a good night.

You: Sounds perfect. I'm looking forward to it too. You have a goodnight too.

You smiled and plugged your phone in and laid down. Looking forward to tomorrow night.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

Saturday morning rolled around and you were the first one up. You started making coffee and breakfast when Natasha rolled into the kitchen looking hung over.

"Good morning sunshine." You said in a normal voice but she winced and you chuckled and smirked.

"Oh my gosh. I shouldn't have let Mickey talk me into tequila shots." She said and sat down at the counter and put her head down. You felt bad for you really did.

"Yea I noticed." She looked up when something warm hit her hand.

"Thank you so much." She said and took sip and practically moaned.

"Hey listen. I have a date tonight at 7 tonight. I won't be home until late." You said and that perked her up.

"Oh? With who?" She asked and you smirked.

"Someone I met at the bar last night. We really hit off." You said and she started to try and guess who it was but you denied her each time. She dropped it when you placed pancakes, eggs, and bacon in front of her. "Eat up. It'll help with your hangover." You said and started to clean up.

Once you cleaned up you walked past her and pushed her a little bit and got ready for the day. You got dressed and started cleaning the house. Natasha was currently in her room curing a hangover which you didn't mind honestly. You told her that you were meeting your dad for lunch and she gave a thumbs up and you laughed and headed out to meet him.

You met him at a little cafe. It was a tradition you had every Saturday afternoon. You walked in and he got up and hugged you when you met him.

"Hi, daddy." You said to him.

"Hey, sweetheart." He replied and let you go as you both sat down. It was silent for a moment. The waiter came and took your order and they left. Then came back with your drinks.

"I have a date tonight." You told him and he looked at you from putting sugar in his coffee and you did the same.

"With who?" He asked taking a sip, you were hesitant but loved your dad.

"You know him. He's an aviator. Bradley Bradshaw." You said and he stopped drinking.

"Sweetheart-" He started but you stopped him.

"No Dad. I really like him and we're going on a date tonight. You will also not give him a hard time at work understand?" You said making it clear. Right now you sounded just like your father and he was proud of that, then again you dealt with testosterone filled teenage boys.

"I understand." He said just as your food arrived. You all ate and talked and once you were done he paid and you both left. He walked you to your car and hugged you and kissed your head. "Drive safe sweetheart. I love you" You smiled and let go of him.

"Of course Dad. I love you too." You both got in your cars and took off. You ran a couple of errands and stopped by work to grab something and then went home. When you got there Natasha was up and sitting on the couch watching TV with popcorn.

"How was your lunch with your father?" She asked and you smiled while putting away your stuff and kicking off your shoes. You walked to her and joined her on the couch and she passed you the popcorn bowl.

"It was good. Told him I had a date. He didn't get much say in it." You said taking a handful of popcorn. She laughed you were probably the only person to make Cyclone go silent. He would do anything for you. The rest of the day and leading up to 7 PM you sat on the couch with Natasha watching movies and gossiping.

When it hit 5:50 PM you started to get ready for your date with Bradley. You walked to your closest and stood there looking at it then an outfit you absolutely adored made its appearance. You grabbed it and other things and headed to the bathroom conjoined to your room. You took a shower and then applied light makeup and put on the outfit. Your outfit was a pair of jeans with a cute flowing blue short-sleeve shirt. You looked at yourself in the mirror and smiled you were ready. Your hair was naturally wavy so you didn't have to do anything to it.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

7 PM came around and Natasha had other plans so it all worked out. Bradley came to the apartment door and knocked, you opened the door and he had flowers in his hands and that made you smiled.

"You're so beautiful." Bradley said and you blushed.

"Thank you." You replied.

"These are for you. I hope you like them." He said and gave you the flowers.

"They're beautiful. I love them. I'm just going to put them in a vase." You said and did just that and welcomed him in. You had your back to him when he started to speak.

"I found this awesome Thai place just right outside of the base. You're going to love it." He finished as you turned around and smiled.

"I've heard some good things about it. I've always wanted to go there but never have the time." You told him and he smiled.

"Well I'm glad I'm the first one that will be taking you." He said "You ready to go?" He asked and you nodded.

"Absolutely." You said and the both of you headed out the door and to his Bronco. You got there and he opened the door for you like a true gentleman. He shut the door and got into the driver's side and started it up and started to drive toward the restaurant.

You arrived at the restaurant and he killed the engine and got out and was at your door before you could get your hand on the handle. He held out his hand and you took it letting him guide you out and into the restaurant. You were taken back to your seats and sat down.

"So how do you know Natasha?" He asked you and you smiled.

"I met her when she first came to Top Gun. We hit it off pretty well. I was going to school and helping Penny out. She moved on but we stayed in contact." You said and never nodded. "I hope my dad isn't giving you any problems." You said to him as the waiter came over and took your drink orders.

"No, he's not." He laughed slightly. The waiter came back with your drinks and you were ready to order which you both did. "Does Nat know you're on a date with me?" He asked you and you shook your head.

"No, she does not but my dad does. Don't worry he's ok with it." You said when you saw his panicked face. "What do you say we keep this to ourselves and see how long it takes people to figure out?" You asked him with a mischievous glint in your eye.

"Let's do it. Nat is going to flip her lid." He said and your food arrived. You ate and talked making easy conversation.

The night ended too fast in your opinion because the next thing you knew you were back at your apartment. He gave you a goodnight kiss on the cheek and you both said that you would like to do it again.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

This is how it went on for 7 months but each time it got more intimate and staying over at his apartment started, you couldn't stay at your apartment because of Natasha. You both would be sneaking around behind Natasha's back but everyone else knew. Everyone else knew because they figured it out especially when you came to give your dad something during your lunch break and waved at Bradley, who smiled and waved back. Nobody else knew you were a Simpson either but they found out that day.

You had just walked into the building where your dad worked. You saw the group of pilots, besides Natasha. They saw you walk in and then Bradley locked eyes with you, you smiled and waved which he returned. You walked off towards the offices and everyone turned to Bradley.

"What was that?" Jake spoke up just as surprised as everyone else.

"You're going to have to be more specific Jake. She waved and I waved back." Bradley said while looking back down at the work that laid in front of him.

"Oh no. That wasn't just a wave to say that was a wave like you've been together and been sleeping around." Javy spoke up and Bradley stayed quiet not wanting to give anything away.

"Wait....... are you dating her?" Javy asked but Bradley stayed quiet.

"You are!" Jake practically screamed

"Keep your voice down." Bradley said finally looking over at the pilots. He didn't get to speak much more because Cyclone came walking in with his always neutral look and you on his left side. Everyone shoots up and at attention.

"At ease." He said and everyone relaxed and sat down. "This is my daughter, Y/N. I'm dropping her off here right now before she has to go back to work and because I need to get to a meeting. Be nice to her." He said and turned to you.

"If I don't see you again after I get out of this meeting, be safe driving back and I love you." He said and kissed you on the cheek everyone was surprised.

"I will. I love you too." You said as you pulled away from kissing his cheek. He turned and walked off. Everyone was looking at you. After making sure he was truly gone you tackled Bradley in a hug and kissed him hard. Everyone was shocked.

"Oh stop your staring. We're fine with it as along as Nat doesn't know. She'll flip her lid." You told them and they all nodded. You sat on Bradley's lap and you all talked about anything and everything until you looked down at your watch. "Oh shit! I got to go!" You said and scrambled off of Bradley "I'll text you." You told him and you were out the door. As you were hurrying Natasha popped up but you didn't have time to stop and chat. "Hey, Nat. Bye, Nat. I'm late." You said and she waved as you sped down the hallway. She just laughed.

Back in the room, everyone was shocked. Jake quickly got over it and a sly smirk came on his face. "You sly dog. You're fucking her aren't you?" He said and Bradley couldn't help but smile. "I can't believe you're hooking up with the Vice Admiral's daughter." He continued "Does he know?" He asked and Bradley nodded his head.

"She told him that we were going on a date. She said that he was good with it." Bradley said looking up at him just as soon as Natasha walked in having not heard any of the conversation and it was dropped but they gave Bradley a knowing look.

Every now and then Bradley would come up to meet you in your classroom just to see you or have lunch with you. On many occasions, he was still there when students started to roll in. Many of the female students stood there gawking at the handsome male aviator, who was either in his flight suit or khaki uniform.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

Natasha did find out a week after that. It had just become your and Bradley’s 8-month anniversary of dating. You had thought she was going to be gone for most of the morning staying at the base for something she had to do that night, even though it was a Saturday night and Sunday morning. You thought you were clear and you were for the night but not the morning when she came back earlier than what was planned.

You and Bradley had just come back from dinner and sat down on the couch and turned on a random movie. You both weren't paying attention to it too busy with each other. It started with you wanting to watch the movie but then Bradley started by kissing your neck and then he was slowly turning you so that you were facing him. The kissing was slow and passionate. You could feel his one hand that wasn't holding your neck start to creep up your thigh.

"Wait wait." You said and he pulled back with a confused look on his face.

"Is something wrong?" He asked sounding hurt.

"No nothing is wrong everything is perfect. But if we're going to have hot passionate sex I want it to be in the bedroom and not on the couch." You said and watched his face relax.

"You got it, darlin." He said while effortlessly picking you up which made you let out a squeal and clung to him. He started to kiss you again and you kissed back. You could feel how hard he was getting and it only turned you on more. He stumbled his way to your room all of a sudden you felt the mattress on your back and he climbed on top of you kissing you and touching you. It was all too much but it was perfect.

"You're perfect darling." He said as he slowly took your shirt off followed by your bra. He attached to your left nipple and started sucking and gently biting it, which had you moaning and grabbing his head. Your fingers raked his scalp. He moaned and that sent vibrations through your body. He pulled off your left nipple and gave the right one the same attention.

"Bradley." You moaned his name. You could feel him smirking he suddenly pulled off and kissed down your sternum to the start of your jeans and then he started to unbutton the buttons looking up at you.

"You're amazing. You deserve everything." He said while looking up at you as he took off your jeans and underwear and you lifted up helping him.

"You're amazing too. You should be shown appreciation too." You said starting to get up but he wouldn't let you. He quickly shed his clothing and climbed on top of you. He kissed you and you kissed back then he attacked your neck which had you a moaning mess. He quickly made his way down your sternum and to where you needed him the most.

"Later but now it's all about you." He said and you could feel his breath hit your vagina. He licked a broad stripe up and you let out a photographic moan and you felt him smirk. You were wet already but this just made you wetter. He kept going and then he was suckinf on your clit which had that familiar rubber band feeling coming to you. Occasionally he would tease your opening with your tongue. What made that rubber band snap was when he gently bit your clit and your vision turned white and stars could be seen.

After a few minutes, you came down from your high and he was crawling up and kissing you letting you taste yourself. You only broke apart when you needed air. "You're amazing." You told him and he smikred.

"You are too." He replied as he moved one hand down to his now leaking pre-cum cock giving it a pump and lining up with your entrance and pushing in. You threw your head back and your hands when to his back and raked your nails down his back leaving marks, he hissed out but in pleasure. "You're always so tight. It's like you were made for me." He said through the pleasurable pain.

"Oh fuck." You moaned out "More." You said almost demanding.

"Yes, ma'am." He said loving that you were making orders. He started to thrust into you and he hit you in all the right places. He brought one hand to catch both of your wrists in his large hands and brought them up above your head. He started to attack your neck with hot passionate kisses. He used his other hand to attack your sensitive clit which had you spreading your legs further. By doing that he started thrusting deeper and hit your g-spot. You were quickly coming to your second orgasm. "I'm close darling." He said and you knew it was true by his thrusts getting sloppily.

"Cum in me." You said and he nodded. He started to pick up his speed in thrusting and on your clit until you both hit your peak. His hips stilled as his cum painted your walls rope and rope and you came on his cock.

You both came down and he gently pulled out and laid next to you and you laid your head on his chest. The room smelt of sex and all that could be heard was both of you heavy breathing. "I'm so glad to be with you. I love you." You said and he dropped a kiss on your forehead.

"Me too darling. I love you too." He replied and both of you fell asleep.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

It was the next morning and neither of you had to work since it was a Sunday. So you decided to pay Bradley a favor and show him the attention he deserved. You woke up before him and slowly kept down until you were at his flaccid cock. You slowly wrapped your hand around him and started to pump him until he was semi-hard, he started to moan but he was sleeping still. He took him in your mouth and started bobbing up and down and dipping your tongue into his slit. He started to thrust into your mouth and you hallowed your cheeks to take him further. It was a good thing that your gag reflex was almost nonexistent.

Bradley slowly opened his eyes and looked down at you. You had your eyes closed but sensed he was watching you and opened them and looked at him through your lashes. He put one hand on your head but didn't press down. He was close. He was moaning and almost panting. "Yes, Darling. I'm close." He said After a few minutes, you came up for air, but immediately went back and swirled your tongue around his tip, and that is what sent him over the edge. He came into your mouth, and you could taste his salty cum and swallowed it all. You pulled off of him when he was down and wiped the excess into your mouth. "What was that for?" He asked you.

"Well, you took such good care of me last night that I decided to repay you the favor." You said and he pulled you up to him and kissed him. He could taste himself. You pulled away for air.

"Get dressed, I'll make breakfast." He said and helped you get up. You slipped on your underwear after you found it, and on his oversized shirt, you forfeited the bra. He got up and pulled on his boxers. As he followed you out into the hallway you stopped short, because right in front of you in the kitchen was none other than your roommate, Natasha Trace. You stood there like a deer caught in headlights.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

"Natasha. I thought you weren't supposed to be back until later this morning." You said and grabbed a pair of sweatpants that just so happened to be in the hamper. Bradley had gone back to the room and grabbed his pants. You were wearing his shirt so he forgot about it, it's not like she hasn't seen him thought a shirt.

"I got done early." She said slowly back "What is Bradley doing here? Why are you wearing his shirt?" She asked she had a feeling what the answer was going to be.

"I think you should sit down." Bradley said from behind you and you both walked into the kitchen and you both sat down on the barstool and she sat down at the table.

"Ok. I'm sitting." She said glaring at the two of you.

"I'm just gonna come out and say it." You said, "Bradley and I have been dating for 8 months." You finished and waited for her to blow up but she was just glaring at the two of you.

"Do the others know?" Natasha asked and you nodded.

"They found out last week when I went to drop something off to dad." You said.

"Why was I the last to know?" She asked still glaring.

"I know you wanted me to stay away from him but he's been so sweet to me. I know you were just trying to protect but Nat, I love him." You said she was still glaring but nodded and then turned her attention to Bradley.

"If you dare hurt her or break her heart. I'll be coming after you. I know where you sleep, and work, and you know how I am in the air. Not to mention I know her father." She said to him and he nodded.

"I'm not planning on doing any of those things. I love her too much." Bradley said looking at you dreamily and you looked back at him with the same look. Natasha saw this and finally stopped glaring.

"I am really happy for you guys. Still upset that I was the last to know, but that can be settled with you two buying me a drink at The Hard Deck." She said and you both looked at her and nodded.

"Deal." You and Bradley said at the same time.

"I'm gonna start making breakfast. Nat why don't you go and change?" Bradley said and she nodded and got up and headed off down the hallway. As she was walking she called over her shoulder.

"You better not have fucked anywhere in the kitchen or on the couch!"

You both laughed and shook your heads. You haven't yet but time will tell.

Tag list:

@kmc1989

@els-marvelvsp

@atarmychick007

@nyx2021

[lieutenantfloyd]

The Little things with Husband! Cyclone ♡

Husband! Cyclone who puts extra cash and and least one of his credit cards in your bag so you can treat yourself when he's not around

Husband! Cyclone who hates texting but sends you at least 10 "I love you"s a day

Husband! Cyclone who gets emotional every time he remembers that you chose him.

Husband! Cyclone who never forgets a date, anniversary, or social event.

Husband! Cyclone who keeps his work and his personal life completely separate, but has no less than 20 pictures of you scattered around his office.

Husband! Cyclone who keeps a note pinned in his phone of all of your restaurant orders (even though he already has them memorized).

Husband! Cyclone who absolutely hates being in photos but happily lets you take as many selfies together as you want and insists you send him every single one.

Husband! Cyclone who puts extra cologne on his pillow before he leaves because he overheard you mention that the smell is comforting

Husband! Cyclone who keeps a couple extra bottles of that same cologne around just in case they decide to discontinue the scent.

Husband! Cyclone who would lose his head if it wasn't attached, but has never once forgotten his wedding band

Husband! Cyclone who is anti-social media, but has a blank account for the sole purpose of liking and commenting on your posts.

Husband! Cyclone who runs hot but always wears a jacket when you go out together, purely because he knows you're too stubborn to take his advice and bring your own.

Husband! Cyclone who fell first and fell harder.

[caffeinatedwoman]

Its a good day when we have some good Cyclone FF ❤️❤️

You'd Be Surprised

For the super-late Winter Prompts (2023 Edition)! The master list can be found here!

This one was requested by the patient @justreblogginfics!

"From Sad Christmas prompts: #9 (being dumped before the holidays) with Beau "Cyclone" Simpson"

CW:  Light angst (talk of infidelity).

Word Count:  1841

Vice Admiral Beau Simpson is deep in thought, lost in the pile of reports and memos on his desk when a soft knock at his door draws him out of his focus.

“Come in,” he calls out, and the door opens to admit you.

TOPGUN, Beau often says, runs on its support staff—many of them civilians, like you.  Tech support, human resources, finance and accounting…it all keeps the machinery running smoothly so he and his pilots can focus on training, on missions, on testing new tech.

It’s always a balancing act, working with the civilian support corp.  There’s a level of respect, of course, but he can’t quite ask his HR representative to drop and give him a hundred push-ups if his pension paperwork is wrong.  Beau has to walk the fine line of being professional without being a drill sergeant, and sometimes he struggles.

He’s never struggled with you, though.

You’re pretty, but Beau is mostly immune to pretty women, since he’s always put his career above relationships and dating.  You’re funny, but no one would ever accuse Beau of having much of a sense of humor.

No—with you, it was your competence that caught his eye first.  You’re that rare blend of book-smart, experienced, and emotionally apt.  You have an aura of wisdom, a whole cool-and-collected schtick that seems to act on those around you.  You run your department as well as Beau runs TOPGUN, but you manage to inspire your team without the threat of calisthenics. 

You’re the sharpest person Beau has ever met, and if he’s mostly immune to pretty women, he’s an absolute goner around smart ones.  He’s been in love with you since the day he sat in one of your meetings and watched you corral a bunch of egomaniac, hot-headed career military men without breaking a sweat.

The only issue?  You’re engaged.

You’ve been engaged for as long as Beau has known you.  Engaged to a grunt in the Coast Guard, the mediocre sort of man that Beau has seen a thousand times in the military:  enlisted because of some vague, Hollywood-fed misplaced notion of bad-assery, does the bare minimum, barely managed to rise to the rank of petty officer.  For all your amazing traits, your relationship seems to be a blind spot to you, because no matter what angle Beau examines it from, he can’t for the life of him see why you bother.

He tried to draw you out, just the once.  The two of you had been holding a working dinner in his office, and the conversation had drifted into the personal over dim sum.  Beau had pointed his chopsticks in the direction of your left hand, made a mild joke about the Coast Guard not paying your fiance enough to afford a bigger diamond.

He felt like shit immediately afterwards, the way your face fell at the comment, the way you tucked your hand away on your lap and replied with something slightly defensive.  But then you added, almost to yourself, that at least you’d gotten a ring, finally, so Beau guessed that there was an entire roiling ocean beneath your calm façade.

Still, he apologized that night, then again the next day, and then again at least three more times before you had smiled at him and told him not to worry about it.

The two of you have been on firm footing ever since, like Beau’s fumbling joke never happened—and he loves that about you too, how you move past things, how you don’t hold a grudge.

But now, as you enter his office, he can immediately tell that something is off.  You look just the same, but that calming aura of yours feels off.  It’s like big spiky thorns of some emotion (Anger? Frustration?) are threaded through, and it follows you like a storm cloud as you set a sheaf of paperwork in front of him.

Beau arches his eyebrows at you, but you miss the gesture.  A beat later, he asks, “everything alright?”

“Fine, sir.”  It comes out terse, bitten-off, like you’re clenching your jaw.

“You sure?”

“Mmm-hmm.” 

Beau watches you for a beat longer, but you only stare back at him, impassive, so he turns to the paperwork.  That’s when he notices it, and he’s not sure how he didn’t notice it immediately because it’s been the proverbial stone in his craw since he fell for you.

Your left ring finger is bare.  The cheap-looking metal band, the paltry diamond—it’s missing.  There’s nothing there but the faintest line, a stripe of skin slightly paler than your usual skin tone.

You notice when he notices.  He glances up and meets your gaze, and it’s no longer impassive.  There’s an entire novel written in your expression:  pain and anger and sadness, and a hint of challenge to see how he might react or what he may say.

If you’re expecting him to make another joke in poor taste, he disappoints you.  He gestures at the chair across from him and offers for you to sit, and then he asks again, far softer, “is everything alright?”

You sit down, but you don’t answer him other than offering a faint shake of your head.

“You want to talk about it?”

Another shake of the head.  “No, sir, but thank you.”

“You sure?”

That makes you smile, even for a brief second.  “I don’t think relationship woes fall under the purview of a vice admiral.”

Beau smiles back at you.  “You’d be surprised.”

You shake your head again, but you lift your hands in a helpless gesture before they fall back into your lap.  “Nothing much to say, really.  He was cheating, and he had been for a long time.  I have no idea how I never noticed it.”

If anyone would have ever questioned the selflessness of Beau’s love for you, this would prove it to them.  At your news, he doesn’t feel relief for you to be single finally, and he doesn’t feel vindication that his bad impression of your fiancé was proven right.  He only feels a low-burning fury at the man for hurting you.  Beau, at his core, wants you to be happy…even if it isn’t with him.

But he’d love to be the one to make you happy, all the same.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you, earnest.  “You didn’t deserve that.”

You shrug but don’t add more, and Beau can guess at part of your angst.  The holidays are mere weeks away, and you are an unabashed Christmas-lover.  You love nothing more than all the cliched stuff:  baking and decorating and wearing ugly sweaters and drinking spiced wine while Bing Crosby croons in the background.  It’s your time of the year, but now?  Now you’re facing it single and devastated by being cheated on.

Beau hates to see you looking so sad now, so he adds, “want me to pull some strings and get him posted somewhere terrible?”

It does the trick:  it makes you smile again.  “He loves the ocean.  Hence the Coast Guard.  Nowhere is terrible for him.”

“Atlantic Area has Station Chicago.  As far from an ocean as a guy can get in the States.”

Your smile widens.  “He does hate the Midwest.”

“Say the word and I’ll make a call.”

“How fast can you get him there?  I’d really love to see his Christmas fucked up, y’know?  Since he fucked up mine.”

It startles a laugh out of Beau.  He’s never heard you swear before, and he’s never heard you express any emotion even in the vicinity of vengeance.  Despite the circumstances, he finds he likes it.  There’s a bit of fire to you, and he never would have guessed at it before.

“Don’t let him fuck up your holiday season,” he says.  “Not to sound like some best friend in a Hallmark movie, but he’s not worth it.”

That startles a laugh out of you.  “And how do you know about the tropes of a Hallmark movie, exactly?”

“You’d be surprised.”

The smile on your face turns soft.  “I suppose I can skip the dramatic post-breakup haircut and rally for the sake of Yuletide cheer.”

“That’s my girl,” he says, and the nickname slides out of his mouth so easily that he doesn’t even notice until the words hit you.  He sees your eyes widen the barest fraction, your smile turning a fraction uncertain around the edges, but you don’t say anything so the moment passes and you turn to the business at hand.

You walk him through the preliminary budget reports you and your team pulled together.  Beau makes up for the awkward moment by asking more questions than usual, asking about certain earmarks and program details.  You answer each question with your usual cool competence, but when he chances a look at you, you have the same soft, slightly uncertain smile on your face.

You noted the nickname.  Beau knows you won’t forget it anytime soon.  A lesser man might despair at showing his cards right out of the gate, but Beau didn’t become a vice admiral by waffling about what he wants. 

He wants you.  He’s wanted you since he first started working with you.  No sense in pretending otherwise.  Coy games of cat-and-mouse are for Hallmark movies and children.  He’s a grown man, and you’re a grown woman, and he will respect your need to recover from your disappointing engagement ending, but he won’t pretend that he isn’t interested, once you’re ready.

Once the reports are reviewed, signed, and rubber-stamped, he hands them back to you.  You take them, stand up, and you start to turn towards the door, but he stops you by asking, “are you still planning on going to Warlock’s holiday party?”

That same soft smile with a hint of hesitation before you shrug, then nod.

“I thought I might skip it.  Stay home with a tub of ice cream, you know?  But maybe I’m rallying faster than I thought I would,” you tell him.

“I’m glad to hear it.  I hope you can make it.”

Another nod and you turn to leave, but when you lay your hand on the doorknob, you pause and turn back to face him.

“Thank you, sir.  I…appreciate it.”

“Beau.”  He says it softly, like if he barks it out as an order, he might scare you away.  It isn’t mandatory that you call him “sir” like you do—you’ve always just extended that level of respect—but the two of you have just shared a moment, and he’s loathed to let you feel like you’re on uneven footing.

When you’re ready, and when Beau makes his move, he wants to make sure you’re absolutely clear on this point:  you’re equals, and he’s not a vice admiral but just a man, and you’re not a member of staff but just a woman.

“You can call me Beau,” he adds, and then you do—you nod, and you say his name, and it makes that soft smile on your face bloom into something brighter.

[nykie-love-anime]

Put Your Hand Down

Y/N: Come on Mav, nobody believes that Beau is in love with me Pete: - to the squad - Pete: Raise your hand if you think that Mr Beau Cyclone Simpson here is helplessly in love with Y/N The Squad: - everyone raises their hand - Y/N: Beau, put your hand down

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