#bradley simpson x you

[fandomgirlz01]

Fated Encounters

Bradley Simpson x Reader

Imagine on fandom instagram?: No

Prompt or Request or Requested Prompt?: No

Style of Writing: Fic  

Rating: G ~ For all the fluff and cuteness as well as safe for all. 

Edited: Yes

Word count: 4,416 

Post Date & Time: September 25th 2024 at 4:16 PM

Ko-fi

Masterlist

Warnings here

Listen to the story be read out loud here {coming soon}.

Summary: Based off of the The Vamps: Secret Busker - BBC Radio 1 video. When the Reader, her Mother and best friend are coming home from a vacation they happen across an unusual moment with the Buskers in Waterloo station. 

Reader’s Pov:

I feel a few good jabs to my arm, making me rapidly blink my eyes open and the light from the window of the train temporarily blinds me. I groan as I close them again for a moment before fully reopening them slowly, letting them adjust to the light. I stretch out in my seat while our train comes to a stop, letting out a yawn. 

“Knackered much?” A voice asks with humor laced through it. 

“Very. I’ll be glad to be home,” I reply as I look at my best friend Naomi, who laughs along with my mother. 

“A vacation is supposed to relax you, not make you more knackered,” my mother jokingly comments, making her and Naomi laugh harder. 

“I really had a good time, I swear, it’s just the journey there and home that makes me sleepy,” I argue before I let out a yawn while rubbing at my face and they both playfully hum at me. 

“Oh, don’t we know it. Every trip we take, you nap when we get there and you nap as soon as we get home,” Naomi jokingly taunts me and I roll my eyes. 

“Oh and don’t forget the sleeping on the transportation,” my mother jumps in and I groan as they laugh some more. 

“Ugh, whatever. Gang up on me, why don’t you,” I groan out with another roll of my eyes as I huff, crossing my arms as I sink back into my chair, annoyed with them. 

“We’re not ganging up on you, just giving ya grief is all,” Naomi jokingly empathizes with me and I groan. 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say,” I pungently agree to disagree and again they both laugh. 

The train then fully comes to the stop and we all stand. We each grab our carry-on bags before heading towards the door. The guy that stands at the door asks for names, then hands us our suitcases before helping us out. 

Once we each have our retrospective suitcase, we start to walk through Waterloo station. I sluggishly pull my suitcase behind me, my eyes heavy as we walk for a bit. Soon we come up to where the buskers tend to play and my mother comes to a stop. 

“You girls wait here, I’m just going to run to the restroom after that long train ride,” she informs us as Naomi and I watch a new band finish setting up. 

I nod at my mother, who smiles as she sets her bag down before walking over to the bathroom. I continue to watch for a few minutes as the Buskers finally start their set. 

“It’s a one, it’s a two, it's a one, two!” One of the guys shouts into his bandmate’s mic before he sits on the box drum as the others lead into the song. 

“Yeah!” The whole band shouts out and I cross my arms as I recognize the tune they seem to be covering. 

♪ I used to wanna be living like it’s only me ♪ the man that seems to be the front man starts to sing the familiar song and Naomi bumps me with her elbow, bouncing her eyebrows at me. 

“Isn’t that a Vamps song that you're always singing?” she asks and I nod as I watch on as the older man band continues to play.

“Yeah, it’s called Somebody to You. They sing it with Demi, remember?” I respond and she gives me a deadpan look before shaking her head, amused once more. 

“You know everything about that band,” she comments with a smirk and I shrug. 

“That wasn’t really much. Anyone who’s a starter fan knows they sing that one with Demi,” I tell her in a nonchalant tone and she giggles, shaking her head. 

“Whatever you say, y/n/n,” she agrees to disagree like I had earlier, but she keeps an amused look on her face to continue messing with me. 

A lot of people slowly stop and stand around us as they too start to become fascinated with the buskers. My mother finally comes out and picks up her bag that she’d left with us. 

“Well that’s very interesting, isn’t it?” she asks as the band continues to sing on. 

“Very. Seems they like the same band y/n does,” Naomi comments as she elbows me lightly again. 

“Oh. Look, that guy must like it. He’s putting money in their case,” my mother points out as an older gentleman in a red coat goes over and gives them some money. 

“We’re Route 66. We’re right here from Arkansas, a little town called Little Rock. We’re gonna play the show tonight. You’re the best crowd on the whole damn tour!” The guy with blue spikey hair shouts into his mic and my mother laughs. 

“Let me see those hands! Yeah!” The lead guy jumps in and they continue with the song. 

“What do you think of this version, y/n?” My mother asks with humor in her tone as she and Naomi snicker. 

“Definitely good, but not as good as when Brad sings. He’s just got—” I start my normal rant and Naomi playfully rolls her eyes. 

“Such a smooth and calming voice. Yeah, I know, you say it all the time,” she jokes with her arms crossed and I blush lightly. 

“Shut up, Omi, I do not…” I argue with a blush falling over my face and she laughs dramatically.

“Ha! Okay. I’ll believe that when you stop saying it,” she retorts with a snort and I shake my head. 

“That’ll be the end of the world, dear,” my mother adds in, making them both giggle some more when I give them an annoyed look. 

“Don’t forget it’s so calming you fall asleep to it every night!” Naomi continues as she jabs her elbow into my side again and I blush, rolling my eyes. 

“Do not…” I mutter out shyly and my mother laughs again. 

“I’m sorry to say, dear, but Omi is correct. You do listen to that same playlist a lot to help yourself sleep,” my mother adds on and I roll my eyes again. 

“I’m going to film this,” I inform them, ignoring as they continue to make fun of me, taking my phone out and they both shake their heads. 

Just as I pull my phone out, they finish the song off and the lead singer turns away from the crowd. He holds his arm out and bends over ever so slightly as one of the others count the next song in. 

♪ I’ve been up all night no sleep

Cause I feel like I’m always dreamin 

All night  No sleep ♪  They start the next song as the lead singer slowly starts to dance a little more and for some reason the dancing seems slightly familiar. 

“Naomi… does that dancing look familiar at all to you?” I ask her and she pauses to watch a little more intensely. 

“You know what, it does a bit…” she agrees as she watches the guy a little closer now and I shake my head. 

“I must be seeing things…” I comment, blinking my eyes for a moment and she giggles. 

“When are you not? You’re always daydreaming, dear,” my mother jokes and I roll my eyes as she laughs with Naomi. 

“Whatever,” I reply, waving my mother’s comment off before turning back to watch some more. 

“Any dancers in the audience?” The lead singer asks as he looks out over the crowd. 

“I’m looking at you,” he points to me and I pause. 

I point to myself as I raise an eyebrow before looking behind me, then back and he nods with an amused smile. I shake my head no and he gives me a dismissive wave. Another lady runs in and he dances with her for a moment before she runs off and another comes in. They dance side to side before he steps back and she too runs off. He sings a few more verses before pointing at me again and wiggles his finger for me to come closer. 

“Oh, come on now. The guy just wants a dance,” my mother comments with a snicker and I smirk at her. 

“Ya know what? I’m only gonna live once, right? If some old guy wants a dance and a flirt, what could it hurt,” I reply with a shrug before dropping my backpack. 

I smile as I dance over to him and he grins, coming closer. We meet in the middle and he holds a hand out for me. I grin as I take it and oddly his hand is a lot softer and less wrinkled then an old man’s hand would be. He spins me before pulling me into his side as we sway. He takes the mic away from his face for a moment and suddenly a voice that sounds very familiar is singing the song to me in my ear as the guy dances with me. 

It’s only a split second before he pulls the mic back to his face and continues to sing in the other (now that I realize who it is) horribly accented voice, but in that split second there was no doubt in my mind as I took a closer look at his face. The lead singer that I am currently dancing with is actually Bradley Willam Freaking Simpson himself. 

My heart beats faster as I come to the realization that he’s danced with me longer than anyone else he danced with. He smiles at me and winks, almost like he knows I’ve caught on and the shock continues to roll over me. He spins me one more time before seemingly reluctantly letting go. 

I walk backwards for a few minutes, keeping my eyes on his as he keeps eye contact with me. I then quickly turn around, walking back to Naomi and my mother with wide eyes as they give me a very amused look.

“What? Was dancing with the old guy that interesting?” Naomi jokingly asks as I gape, opening and closing my mouth, trying to explain for a moment. 

“Yeah, y/n. You’re blushing kinda hard,” my mother jumps in with a laugh as she pokes me in the side. 

“Did you fall absolutely madly in love with the older gentleman, y/n/n?” Naomi continues with a laugh and I just stare off at Brad, not really joking back. 

“No. You don’t get it…” I tell them, shaking my head admittedly as I finally look back at them again. 

“What don’t we get, sweetie?” My mum asks as she reaches over and starts to rub my back, now worried as they both frown at me.  

“That wasn’t just some old guy flirting with me…” I inform them and they look at each other before looking at me. 

“What do you mean, y/n/n?” Naomi asks skeptically and I shake my head again, still in a sort of daze. 

“That was Bradley Freaking Simpson. As in The Vamps lead singer. The one I’ve been absolutely crushing on since I was fourteen,” I hurriedly yet harshly whisper out with wide eyes and they both look at me like I’m strange. 

“I swear to you. It’s him. I knew his dancing looked oddly familiar, but then when we were dancing he sang away from the mic and to me directly. There’s no mistaking it, that’s his voice…” I quietly rant and rave to them in shock, making my mother shrug. 

“Sweetheart, sometimes voices can sound like someone and it may not be the person you think,” she informs me in a very skeptical tone and I shake my head. 

“No. I know it’s him,” I firmly inform her and she sighs. 

“Look, I’ll admit I wasn’t sure from the voice until he smiled up close at me. I got a good close look at that face with a smile. It’s definitely a hundred percent Brad,” I continue to try and convince them and Naomi seems to be staring intently at the guy now. 

Suddenly she’s letting out a light squeal before covering her mouth and apologizing to those around us who give her an annoyed look. She quickly hugs me before pulling back and giving me an excited look. 

“You're right, it is him and the rest of the boys. How did we not realize?” she whispers in shock and I grin in happiness that I’m not some crazed lunatic fan. 

“I really don’t know, but I danced with him…” I say in another daze as I look back over to watch some more and he sends me a smile along with another wink. 

“He just winked at you. Oh my goodness, he winked at you,” Naomi happily tells me as she shakes me and I just grin in my daze. 

“Naomi, dear, don’t play into her delusions. She believes it even harder,” my mother jokes and I roll my eyes. 

“Mum, I’m telling you it’s him,” I defend myself and she shakes her head in amusement. 

“I hear it in his voice now too. The accent he’s trying to put on is absolutely ridiculous and horrible,” Naomi comments with a giggle as she crosses her arms and I nod in agreement. 

“He’s trying to change the sound, but it still sounds like him,” I agree, making both me and Naomi laugh. 

“Wait a second,” my mother starts as she pauses to listen for a moment. 

“That does sound an awful lot like the voice that always comes from your phone,” my mother finally agrees, making Naomi and I smirk as she slowly seems to connect it all. 

“See… it is him…” I agree with a light smirk at my mother before I watch on in memorization once more. 

“Thank you very, very much. Peace and love,” Brad says as they finish off the slow version of All Night. 

“This is Teenage Kicks. Let’s have some fun. If you wanna put some money in our guitar case here, then be my guest,” Brad tells the crowd, leading to the next song as he points at the case below him. 

“We’re just trying to get home,” James adds on before Tristan starts to count in the next song. 

Brad starts to dance around again as the music starts and they go through the opening of the song. A couple people go and drop money into the case as they continue to sing. 

♪ I wanna wanna hold you tight

Get teenage kicks all through the night

Come on ♪ He sings as he dances around and I can’t help but grin as I watch on. 

♪ I’m gonna call her on the telephone 

Have her over 'cause I'm all alone

I need excitement oh I need it bad

And it's the best, I've ever had ♪ James takes over for the next verse as Brad just dances around. 

♪ I wanna wanna hold you tight

Get teenage kicks all through the night

Come on ♪ They all sing together now and Brad moves all over the place. 

“James, my mate! I mean Dusty!” Brad calls out and I giggle at his little mess up before looking at Naomi and my mother with a triumphant look. 

“Okay. That’s definitely them,” my mother finally fully agrees without a doubt, eyes wide and a shake of her head. 

“Oh my gosh. Y/n, you have to leave your number for him,” Naomi suddenly bursts out and I shake my head. 

“No. I couldn’t, he wouldn’t even call,” I deny and my mother scoffs. 

“Honey. He’s still watching you at this moment. Something tells me he definitely would take the opportunity,” my mother informs me with a knowing smirk. 

“I don’t know…” I reply shyly, shaking my head and Naomi groans. 

“You're unbelievable,” Naomi says in disbelief, shaking her head as she bends down. 

She unzips her backpack and pulls her notebook out. She quickly tears a piece of the paper from the inside out and uncaps her pen, handing it to me. 

“Here. Write him a cute message and leave it in the case for him,” Naomi demands, making me roll my eyes before starting to write on the paper. 

“Hey Mr. Busker, or should I say Mr. Simpson? You seem sweet and you dance very well. Maybe message me sometime (—-) —- —— ;)” I write out and when I’m done, I cap the pen before giving it back to Naomi. 

I fold the paper lightly then pull out a pound from my wallet before taking a deep breath and walking over. Brad again smiles at me and I smile back at him as I gently set the pound along with the note in the case before looking up again. Brad nods subtly at me, letting me know he knows I put something in and I nod back at him before standing up, smiling at him one last time.

I walk back over to my mum and best friend. They smile at me and I blush lightly as I pick up my bag. 

“One more time!” Brad shouts as he continues to dance around. 

♪ I wanna wanna hold you tight

Get teenage kicks all through the night

Come on ♪  They all sing as they rock their hearts out and as always, Brad is infectious with his crazy antics that make me grin. 

“Come on! Thank you so, so much!” Brad calls out as the boys play the music out. 

He runs forward and dances with four or five girls who came up and were dancing. As the music nears the end, he pushes back from them a bit and gives a few bows. 

“Thank you so much! We’re Route 66, we’ll see you soon,” Brad calls out before doing a mic drop and I can’t help but laugh. 

He spares me one last look with a wink before he along with the boys get led out by two men and disappear behind some door. With a sigh, I turn around and grab my stuff as my mother and Naomi do the same. We all start to walk back to where my mother had parked her car when I feel a nudge to my side. 

“Can’t wipe that smile off now, can we?” Naomi jokes and I shake my head. 

“I may still be smiling tomorrow. I can’t believe I just flirted with the boy I’ve been dreaming of since I was like-” I trail off as the shocked feeling falls over me again. 

“Since you were like fourteen. Umm, I can’t believe it either. Especially since he’s all you really ever talk about,” Naomi jokingly exaggerates and I blush again. 

“He’s not all I talk about,” I shyly mutter out, biting my lips as a blush covers my cheeks. 

“Pffft, says the girl who used Mrs. Simpson as her Instagram handle AND password for practically everything at the time when she was fourteen to the age of twenty,” Naomi jokingly scoffs out with a dramatic eye roll and I blush. 

“And she very well may be one day now!” My mum adds on and makes me blush harder. 

“I don’t use it now…” I mutter out the quick lie and my mother snorts. 

“Yeah, because that was so believable. Face it honey, you suck at lying,” she laughs as she pats me on my back and I huff, rolling my eyes once again. 

Years Later:

I yawn as I walk through the hall of my mum and dad’s house, looking for a particular person. I smile tiredly to myself as I hug the oversized sweater I wear to my body. I walk into the living room and as I get closer to the couch, the very boy I fell head over heels for in the middle of Waterloo station turns to me. He turns away from what he’s watching to smile up at me and I can’t help but smile sheepishly back even though I’m tired. 

“You look tired, love. Come here and get a cuddle,” Brad sweetly tells me as he holds his arms open for me, making grabby hands and I just smile more at him. 

“I am tired. I need my post travel nap,” I reply sleepily as I get on the couch and we both get situated. 

“Then take your nap, you jumper stealer,” he jokes with me and I grin up at him, my chin resting on his chest and pulling his attention away from whatever he’s watching on the tv. 

“What can I say, stussy is comfy,” I joke back with a very tired shrug and he chuckles. 

“I mean, I know. It is my jumper-” he starts, but I reach up and cover his mouth. 

“No. It’s our jumper now,” I whisper as I take my hand away and he shakes his head, smiling. 

“Whatever you say, sweetheart. You can keep it. It looks cute on you anyway,” he tells me and I smirk against his chest as he turns back to the tv. 

“You think anything I wear of yours is cute on me,” I comment and he shrugs. 

“Not my fault you're so adorable. Now go to sleep,” he demands softly as he leaves a kiss on my forehead before he starts to play with my hair while still watching the tv. 

Slowly I feel sleep take over and I don’t know how long I actually sleep for before I’m being awoken by voices. I keep my eyes closed as I listen into the conversation. 

“Some things just don’t change, do they?” I hear Naomi jokingly comment and I can only imagine her shaking her head as Brad lets out a chuckle too. 

“No. Some things don’t, I suppose,” my mother adds on and I can imagine her wearing a cheeky grin. 

“I mean I was hoping to see my best friend when I got in, but I guess it’ll have to wait,” Naomi playfully groans out and I can imagine her rolling her eyes super dramatically as Brad chuckles quietly. 

“You can say hi when she wakes up,” Brad counters and Naomi huffs a playful annoyed huff. 

“So she still takes naps after you guys travel then, does she?” Naomi asks and Brad hums softly, probably so he won’t wake me seeing as he doesn’t know I’m awake yet. 

“Every single time. I find it very cute,” Brad quietly tells them and Naomi lets out a little chuckle. 

“Of course you do. What don’t you find cute about her?” Naomi playfully jests with him and he shrugs lightly. 

“Nothing,” he replies so nonchalantly and I smile softly, making him alert before anyone else that I am awake. 

“Oh, will you two ever let up on making fun of my naps?” I groggily groan out as I cuddle farther into Brad’s side. 

“Well, good evening to you too, you little eavesdropper,” my mother jokes through a laugh and I groan again. 

“It’s not eavesdropping if you’re talking about me while I’m right here,” I mumble out, making them all laugh.

“I am so telling our kids about this one day,” Naomi playfully singsongs to me and I roll my eyes. 

“And she’ll have video proof too!” My mum adds in and Naomi gasps happily. 

“Oh my goodness, we should totally watch it again. Brad at the end stealing that note from Grimmy before he could read it was priceless to watch,” Naomi comments, laughing so hard where she stands in the foyer to the living room. 

“Don’t forget how he goes ‘I think that’s for me,’ as he plucked it out of his hand!” My mother adds on with her own laughs and Brad rolls his eyes playfully. 

“What? I wanted to get my girl. Is that so bad?” he asks to make both my mother and best friend sober up from laughing. 

“No. It’s actually rather cute. I’m just glad we have the video evidence, thanks to my husband,” Naomi comments with a grin as she mentions Connor. 

“What about me now?” Connor asks, raising an eyebrow as he walks in with two suitcases. 

“I was just saying that we wouldn’t have the video evidence of Brad stealing that note if it wasn’t for you showing us the end of that video,” Naomi informs him and he grins.

“Well, we’ll leave you to it then. Naomi, you know where your room is?” My mother asks as she moves to head back to the kitchen. 

“Yeah, I know mum. Don’t worry, I still remember,” Naomi playfully groans out as she hugs onto Connor. 

“Good, now don’t forget dinner is in an hour,” my mother reminds us all with a strict look, making Naomi and I nod before bursting out into laughter. 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you wouldn’t let us forget it, mum,” Naomi jokingly mocks your mother, who just shrugs. 

“Can’t say you aren’t right. I taught you well, young one. I am going to find Arden and make sure he will be in for dinner,” your mother jokes back, making you and Naomi burst out laughing before she disappears on the hunt for your father. 

“Well, we’re going to take our stuff up, see you guys in an hour I guess. Put the baby back to sleep so she’s not insufferable at dinner, would ya Brad?” Naomi jokingly asks and I moan out an annoyed sound. 

“Don’t worry. She’ll get plenty of sleep,” Brad jokingly promises and I snuggle closer to him as Naomi hums before she’s pulling Conor to her room that mom deemed hers years ago. 

“I always get plenty of sleep with you. Even before we were together, you could lull me to sleep,” I mutter into Brad’s neck, making him chuckle at the tickling sensation.

“Is that so? I guess that means we were meant to meet,” he softly whispers back before leaving another kiss to my forehead. 

“I’m so thankful I decided to dance with you,” I tell him and he smiles against my forehead. 

“I’m very glad you decided to dance with me too love,” Brad whispers into my ear and I snuggle closer to him, making him chuckle lightly. 

“I love you, B,” I tell him in a sleepy tone and he grins again before leaving a feather like kiss to my head. 

“I love you too, miss sleepyhead,” he responds as he starts to rub my head again and without hesitation my eyes slowly start to close once more, letting sleep take me over again. 

The End

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[bo0tleg]

Decided to make one of these for Top Gun: Maverick too, you know... to dispel the pain I caused with my last post...

(this is my whatsapp history, not direct quotes from the movie)

(in the first one, I'm aware it looks like There's a 30 min gab between both messages. There is not, my internet just decided that they were going to let me see the message 30 min later)

[missmarveledsblog]

Flumpy ( Jake seresin x Reader ) Part 12

summary : rough morning in work for our girl with an unlikely admiral coming to the rescue while the guys find a nickname for her , also starting her birthing classes in a nice of town leading her to not only see a familiar face but make a new friend and well have some fun with the other snobs of the class

warnings : none really, pregnancy and it hormones , ok well the grammatical errors and spelling mistake more of a filler part

previous part

“ you know when the words she got an animal came from your lips i didn’t think it would be followed by a pitbull named peanut , honestly I was thinking she finally stole one of those duck” rooster snorted . 

“ as much as i hate the way these words are coming from my lips right now but  i agree with bradshaw but also bob kinda told me last email he sent  little guy is only a pup and he was so skinny too “ nat  smirked only wishing she could of see jakes face when he spotted peanut first but knowing y/n she would definitely get to see it . 

“ yeah so we got a dog now and the hard decks new mascot oh  she and guys sent care packages mine will have more pictures well sonograms of the baby , she making everyone wait  til i’m home til we find out the gender , javy did say she was tired alot and sick a good bit which honestly makes me feel useless  wishing i could help and be there but he also said that everyone’s taking care of her even kyles been hanging out in the hanger any chance he gets to help out never thought i would say this considering i punched him and kicked his ass in the start but he’s a good man “ jake chuckled. 

“ yeah who would of though nat would be in love with the guy she also punched in the hard deck parking lot” rooster almost fell over laughing. 

“ yeah he was a dick at first but like all men it was a stupid front , look at us all now a year and half later , jakes engaged to y/n and she’s having his baby and they have a dog” she laughed. 

“Hey i live there too dogs mine too “ rooster said easily. 

“ he is cute he’s a little thin but she said he was worse then that” he said knowing he would of definitely would of done the same probably would of kicked the guys ass .   “ there’s still time for her to get that duck actually i better try get javy make sure we don’t come home to a zoo” jake eyes widening knowing it was now a possibility. 

 “ we both know she would just bat those pretty lashes and you would melt and be all like of course darling whatever you want baby” nat imitated his accent . 

“ she’s not wrong , my friend you are as whipped as they come” bradley chuckled . 

“ says the one what is doctor love” jake smirked as rooster fell . 

“ that was one time man i’m not getting to live that one down” he huffed as they headed off ready to get another day of training done with . 

One month and three weeks down she was getting into a small routine  , each morning she and peanut would have their breakfast ,  the two would head to doggy daycare and work  then she would do her normal routine only with the guys joining more ,  they  would cook , play games even work out a little , she still helped payback with cooking but now it was them all doing it to which she was shocked at who had skills and who didn’t by end of the first night fanboy and coyote were told they were on chopping duty while bob and payback where allowed near the stove and oven  and kyle well he was happy with being the  official taster .  then when it came to going to her appointments  her dad would collect peanut from doggy daycare to which she was suspecting the man was carrying extra treats around with him .  She was now nearly a month and half til jake got home Slightly Insecure as bump was growing more it was huge by any means But it was enough To alter her body  shape in away she wasn't used to or  Could of just been in her nead but the insecurities creeped In now she was sitting waiting before work Crying in her overalls because well they didn't fit . Just as she got herself off the ground an unlisted number rang sending her hurdling to the her phone she tied Herself as quick as she could hitting The answer. 

“ hey whats wrong” jakes brow furrowed taking in her tear filled eyes And little red nose . 

“ im fat i mean so fat i cant fit into my overalls” she cried standing up to show him turning The camera to the full length  mirror ,  only to hear him chuckle . 

“ baby you ain't fat Your beautiful  and carrying my baby those overall just make it look cuter “ he smiled. 

“ on Plus side my boobs did get a lot bigger the intern nearly fell over looking at them “ she smiled only took couple of sweet words from her man to make her feel a little better . 

“ yeah i notice that too Not Gonna lie saw It before i saw the teary … Wait what you mean men are tripping over Your or should i say my boobs” he arched His brow. 

“awh jake sweet jake they gonna be the babies boobs the Moment they're  born” she snorted just as peanut came zooming into the room . “ look who’s also getting fat “ she beamed turning The camera to show the now healthier Looking puppy at her feet tail Thudding Off the side of bed as she sat down talking away filling him in on the fun she been having with the guys but of course she was missing him more and more also made him promise to hug roo and nat for her .  getting to stage after he hung up as much as she love seeing his face it made her miss him , miss them all so much more as much as guys tried they were all starting to feel the absence and what made it worse was the stupid birth classes admiral simpson and his lovely wife have gifted her which  were starting  that afternoon .  least she wasn’t going to be alone her father was going with her ,  it was better then walking in and well looking like the loner who the teacher would have to partner up with and it wasn’t like she could be like oh can we trade partners . Her dad was so excited it was actually so cute how he wanted to help her out and how excited he was over fact he was going to be a grandfather something she would of never see coming but then again she never thought a year and a half  nearly two years after coming to san diego that she would be actually in this position. 

“ hey  bumpy “ javy called the moment she walked into the hanger. 

“ huh? Oh like flumpy but pregnant version … no “ she rolled her eyes. 

“ we’re still working on a nickname , we can’t call you pretty girl or hotstuff , phoenix and rooster already told us and well flumpy is you and jakes thing but we will get their maybe brainstorm it first” bob smiled softley . 

“ ugh your adorable “ she cooed heading over to see her intern already messing at the engine she was working on , making her almost jump out her skin to get him away .  

“ maybe we could call her grumpy “ fanboy snickered. 

“ maybe i’ll throw this wrench at your head” she called back . 

“ maybe we can brainstorm it a little longer” he winced . 

“ ugh stupid stupid … not you kid” she added starting to feel her eyes welling up. 

“ y/n are you crying?” payback called. 

“ no … my eyes are leaking” she sniffled wiping them quickly . 

“ mitchell is everything ok ?” admiral simpson asked  hearing as he passed by. 

“ i’m fat and this kid is well not the brightest blub , i miss everyone and i want a burrito “ she cried out making them all stand looking at her . “ no i look like a nutcase” she cried harder. 

“ come on mini mitchell” admiral simpson extended his arm out . “ someone get him out  away from the engine “ he whisper yelled following her out.  

She felt ridiculous  and well maybe she was losing it and didn’t help she felt both nauseous and hungry. 

“ without sound inappropriate you are not fat , you are great shape giving your condition “ beau simpson coughed out. 

“ thanks sir sorry this is totally unprofessional” she sniffled slightly waiting for him to tell her to not come back in probably send her home til she popped the kid out . 

“ burritos in the canteen if you want on i think i can persuade them to give you one earlier” he said nudging her shoulder was like a older uncle trying to be cool with the kids the way he was acting giving his usually stiff by the book approach . 

“ nah me and ed are tight he makes sure to put extra aside for me , plus  i probably wont keep it down” she sighed softly. 

“ deployment isn’t easy i can see giving the circumstance if you can get more call time “ he offered . 

“ sir think you called enough favors for me “ . 

“ well my wife is very fond of you and giving the difference with me and your dad well i still think of you as a niece of sorts “ he shrugged. 

“ nice to have some still alive” she began crying again only for her dad to walk out of his office confused. 

“ everything ok ?” he asked. 

“ my uncles keep dying” she cried out . 

“ she have a rough morning “ beau winced. 

“ i’ll take it from here .. thanks beau .. come on princess” Mav guided her back into the office. 

“ thanks admiral simpson don't die” she called out before the door closed. 

She went straight to the sofa the moment she stepped foot into the office as her dad sat on  really already done with the day that not even started fully. 

“ what’s wrong kiddo” he asked holding her to his side.

“ i miss jake , i feel fat i wanna eat but i’m gonna throw up , now i’m sad over dead people and well my overall don’t fit” she sniffled . “ probably gonna be fired for being a nut job and i called  the intern stupid and feel bad” she added. 

“  missing people deployed or well dead is normal , being pregnant and dealing with all this isn’t easy and well  i’ve seen the kid he didn’t know which wrench was which so it’s not totally uncalled for i’ll see if we can sort something out and  penny made me bring crackers to work in case your were sick so let try those bad boys first and we’ll try harder stuff later and for the overall  can be let out” he smiled rubbing her back as she settle down. 

“ penny is seriously perfect for you” she settled on sofa even more enjoying the relaxation of her father rubbing her back giving it was starting to hurt lately . 

“ speaking of penny is going to collect peanut from day care and we will get him after the classes  , last time i was at one was when you were in your moms belly and now i get to be there  for you” he smiled . 

“ stop being so cute i’ll start crying again and well my eyes hurt and i wanna nap” she sniffled. 

“ why don’t you look i got a meeting soon and it gonna be an hour rest your head and i’ll wake you we can try the day again when your awake” he said softly already seeing her eyes closing . 

“ for once i’m not going to fight against the special treatment hell call me the teachers pet “ she yawn laying down feeling something covering her not bothering to open her eyes to see the blanket . 

Pete mitchell never move So quietly Out His office ge was usually rushing to get into it only See beau simpson Standing there. 

“ she asleep?” He asked peering In. 

“ out like a light might help hormones at big high today” he grimace . 

“ honestly my wife was worse Apparently She almost traveled to the area we were stationed at , no i was gonna honestly let her use my office” he smiled . “ the dagger squad Was right she does have a way Of getting People on her side huh? “

“ she been like that since she was a kid , i mean charlies dad this guy a stone cold man who well wouldn't smile for god himself  then an afternoon with y/n mans still smiling to this day” he chuckled . 

“ she would of been a good admiral she got the head for it  and she can be a bossy as one and she’s a flare for dramatics ” beau nodded as two went down  to get  to their meeting. 

The nap done wonders  , she was a lot calmer and well more herself when she joined them for lunch even after she was more patient actually showing her intern luke how to fix the engine instead of causing more problems then she was standing in the parking lot out side some building one she know had community activity classes like yoga and stuff it was in nicer part of town too watching the women going in better dressed while she had her adam sandler fit  and sad fact most of clothes were jakes .  her dad the traitor even showed up nicely dressed making her glare at the man as he walked towards her. 

“ what i do?” 

“ i look homeless more homeless then i did when i arrived to san diego “ she huffed . 

“ hey your my kid you could were a black sack and it would look gorgeous come one i need to take notes” he said as they two entered the building the woman at the counter was more interested in her dad to even notice she was there and she could of sworn she heard someone call her a  sugarbaby passing by .  the moment she stood into the room all eyes where on her most almost sizing them up looking between her and her dad already drawing a conclusion  of the situation .  one woman had  warm smiles on  her face so she went their way  . 

“ hey first day ?” the woman asked. 

“ yeah hi i’m y/n and this is my dad  pete mitchell “ she smiled holding her hand out. 

“ lila and this is my brother in law luke”  the man turned as she was looking at the deer in the headlight reaction on her interns face. 

“ you got to be shitting me hey kiddo” she laughed . 

“  you both know him” lila asked confused. 

“ i’m interning under y/n  , so she like my temp boss, lila is married to my sister she’s currently deployed with  rest of your squad “ luke explained . 

“  well just cause were in the same group doesnt mean i’ll go easy “ y/n teased . 

“ you go easier on me being your interns been fun .. well sometimes” he chuckled . 

“Well park those butts and stick with us the other are….” lila stalled trying to be polite 

“ assholes , snobs  i mean i could go on “ luke finished .

“ ok everyone sit down and we can begin … oh two new faces hi “ the woman called walking in the door . 

“ another gold digger great” she heard one woman mumble. 

“ hi my name is y/n this is my pookie  guess you know why were here “ y/n put on fake smile and sweet voice. “I ask for prada and his ears must of been acting up giving his age ” she added as room went silent. 

“ ignore my daughter she thinks she is a comedian , i’m just standing in while her partner is deployed … oh i’m pete” he smiled awkward seeing some faces of relief , the teacher and their new friends suppressing their giggles. 

“  yeah he’s my dad not my sugar daddy that ones someone in a classified location” she sat giving luke a high five. 

“ well what an introduction , lets get ready for today’s lesson guys , my name is melanie and i’m looking forward to having you in my class” she smiled .  

“ i think you and i will get on just fine” lila whispered . 

“ hey dad look i made a new friend already” she giggled .

part 13

taglist : @harrysgothicbitch @djs8891 @darksparklesficrecs @emma8895eb @sarah-bear706318 @katiemcrae

[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

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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

[stcverogers]

TOP GUN FIC RECS 6!

top gun fics that i’ve been reading and obsessing with over recently

this is extremely important and i take this very seriously out of respect for the community. please do remember to read the rules for the respective blogs before interacting with or reading them.

F: fluff A: angst S: smut

𖥻 - series /multi part

masterlist

JAKE 'HANGMAN' SERESIN

F + A: jake seresin and the unfortunate hat situation by @sehnsuchts-trunken it's your first time in texas and you don't understand what the big fuss about hats is about.

F: never grow up by @andorskenobi you've fallen ill and the seresin boys play doctor.

F + A: signed away by @seresinhangmanjake at 19 years old, the last thing you want is to marry someone you don't love. however, a contract is a contract and you must see it through.

F: 7 years by @flaming-tgmcu jake's known you since he was 7 and he's loved you ever since.

F + S: birds away by @wombtotombx 𖥻 everyone who knew you and jake growing up were convinced that you'd end up together. you were perfect for one another. yet life and the navy had other plans.

F: tiktok troubles by @ultralightpoe jake misses date night and to get back at him, you pull tiktok pranks when he least suspects it.

F: sweet as candy by @halsteadsbradshaw with a callsign like haribo, it's no wonder you have a sweet tooth. jake knows this and this is the 4 times he brings you candy.

F + A: you again by @ereardon you're back in jake's life and he's determined not to let you go again.

F + A: bad habit by @seasonsbloom 𖥻 hangman was cocky. a complete asshole. you hated him, that was for sure.

F + A: glue song + part 2 + part 3 by @waklman the coffee you make isn't why jake is friends with you, though it is a good plus.

A: move on by @starlightstories jake left you hurt years ago and you've long moved on. it was time that he did too.

F + A: rule number one + rule number two by @ultralightpoe when you first met jake, he made the rule to not fall in love with him. you break it and he breaks you heart in the process.

F + A: nothing else matters by @sunnysidevans despite not being her biological father, jake had helped you raise evelyn ever since you found out you were pregnant with her.

F: dad jake blurb by @stargazing15

F + A: left at the alter by @tip-top-cloud-surfer 𖥻 you get left at the alter by your jerk of a fiance. luckily, jake is there for you, just like when you were younger.

F: the beanery by @callsign-peach when jake keeps coming into work with fancy thermos coffee every morning, his colleagues get jealous and want in on the nice roast too.

F + A: tell them by @sarahsmi13s 𖥻 jake's nearly loses his eldest son to a car accident and decides it is finally time to share his family with his work one.

F + A: i had to let go of you just to get a hold of myself by @gennyanydots 𖥻 jake thought that leaving everything behind would make it easier. instead he feels alone, his life consisting of nothing but his job that consumes him.

F: a little bit easier by @sunlitsunflowers jake is there to comfort you when you start to feel overwhelmed at the hard deck

F: marry that girl by @books-are-escapes jake always knew that you were the one he would marry and he finally made it happen

BRADLEY 'ROOSTER' BRADSHAW

F: baby, i'm yours by @almightyellie you're completely blind to bradley's very obious affections for you.

F: to the moon and back by @katsu28 a very special valentine's day for you and bradley

F + A: i will always love you by @amysteryspot with his parents gone and the closest thing he knew to love away, bradley wasn't expecting anyone to tap him out.

F + A: fawn by @sappy-seresin you've garnered rooster's interest working at the hard deck. your skittish behaviour leaves him worried and curious.

F: wedding day by @tip-top-cloud-surfer it's bradley's wedding day and he's brought to tears from seeing his bride

S: (christmas) baby please come home by @gretagerwigsmuse if bradley broke your agreement of only one gift each, surely he wouldn't mind if you broke it too.

F + S: the keeper + part 2 by @tulipsbymybed rooster is infatuated with the owner of the local bookshop.

F + A: homemade dynamite by @mothdruid you and rooster hadn't ended on good terms, now, you're both back at top gun.

F + A: endings and beginnings + part 2 by @tip-top-cloud-surfer rooster finally gets his chance at a family

F: just roommates by @risriswrites you and bradley were roommates, that's all.

F + A: terms of endearment by @ohtobeleah 𖥻 jake seresin was an instigator. as your brother-figure in life, he just wants you to be happy. this includes pushing you and rooster together.

F + A: something special by @helloheyhihowdyheya rooster cares for you more than he lets on, he just has a terrible way of showing it

F + A: what a look on you by @thewulf you secretly harbour feelings for bradley. when a friend from college comes visit and rooster seems far more enamored by her than you, you're hurt.

F: 5 times the Bronco was a third wheel by @thesewordsareallihavetogive there isn't many things bradley loves more than his bronco. you, maybe, but that's about it.

F + S: what's in a name? by @sometimesanalice bradley's favourite thing about you was the way you said his name

F + A: superstar + part 2 by @maggiedanikka bradley bradshaw was the poster boy for the americna navy. he was everything you weren't. why would he ever fall for the likes of someone like you?

F: daddy's little princess by @startrekfangirl2233-writes you come home to bradley playing dinosaurs and barbies with your two children

F: milk and toast and honey by @amysteryspot despite your bad experience with naval aviators, you have an affinity for one bradley bradshaw

F: romeo, romeo by @welcome-to-my-multiverse rooster is completely enamored by you and the dagger squad definitely shouldn't have left a drunk him alone with you.

ROBERT 'BOB' FLOYD

F: losing something and the other picks it up and calls after them by @callsignsaturn

F: afternoon bedrest by @jungle-angel bob returns home with an upset stomach. lucky for him, you're there to comfort him

F: he's all that by @withahappyrefrain bob's too nervous to approach the cute girl at the hard deck. his team mates decide that a makeover is just the confidence boost he needs

F: rodeo by @sarahsmi13s though you could perfectly hold your own, bob would always stand up for you.

F: surprise by @topgun-imagines bob proposed to his girl and no one the dagger squad had known

F: blind date gone...wrong? by @intricatechaosofyou you get stood up on a blind date. thankfully, bob is there to save you the embarrassment.

F: wanna buy you a drink by @anonymooseforever007 you surprise bob at the hard deck, but not without a little teasing first.

S: untouchable + part 2 by @idkwhylou as the only daughter of the captain, you were placed on a pedestal, deemed untouchable. bob was the only exception.

TOM 'ICEMAN' KAZANSKY

F: little reward by @dragon-kazansky to entice tom away from his computer, you promise him hugs and strawberries

BEAU 'CYCLONE' SIMPSON

F: super trouper + part 2 by @callsignmayhem you're sick and beau is ready to help you feel better, with the help of soup and mamma mia.

[fallingforel]

Hi!! I was wondering if you could do numbers 5, 23, 62, 63, and 69 from your prompt list with like the reader being part of one direction and Harry dating her, and she falls for brad from the vamps. Like could it be angst between Harry and the reader where they’re together but then he cheats on her with someone (idk any celebrity or something like he dated Taylor at one point I think) and she goes to Brad and they’re friends but he’s been in love with her since forever and he comforts her and they get together. Also just make Harry completely regret everything if you can (I live for the cheating with no second chance trope, it’s amazing ❤️) thank you so much!! Have a great day!

A/N hi my lovely here it is for you, hope you enjoy and I hope you like it. dont forget those that want to request one the prompt list is here

1,548 words

PROMPTS 5, 23, 62, 63 AND 69: "you made your choice" "they didn't deserve you" "you think that this is easy for me" "I hate seeing you like this" "I don't like you...I love you"

⋆｡°✩

It was a well known fact that I was the 6th member and only girl in one direction, I was also dating harry from my band, on the outside things looked squeaky clean and it looked like we had a perfect relationship but we didn't we fought all the time, Harry was always jealous because I was best mates with Brad from the vamps, Brad and I have been lifelong friends as we both resided from the same part of Birmingham and we also went to school together. It wasn't my fault that I've always gotten along better with boys than I have with girls they were just easier to talk to and the fact that they weren't snakes behind my back.

So you could imagine Harry's reaction when I told him brad was coming tonight, even if he tried to hide it in the best way possible. I still noticed. It was hard not to, however we hadn't had a fight in three weeks and I wasn't about to start one now, I had just finally hoped that we were in an all right place.

"Brads coming tonight. He's in town got a show tomorrow, thought he'd pop by then celebrate with us as the end of this leg is today, was thinking we could go to his show tomorrow"

"mmh, yeah, be nice I 'spose"

"Yeah it would, come on we've got to get ready, we've got a show to perform"

⋆｡°✩

And the show went spectacularly well, I was at my happiest when I was on the stage with my band, with my fans screaming my name it was the most supportive feeling in the world, and I loved every second of it.

Now we were back in our dressing rooms ready to go out, It wasn't often we went out while on tour we'd only ever do it for special things like birthdays, end of legs or if someone new joined our team halfway through. Tonight though, we were celebrating the end of the leg of the tour we were currently on, zayn left a couple of months ago. And with Harry and I on rocky ground we all secretly knew that the band was coming to an end, we were all scared to admit it though, too afraid to say it out loud because then it would all become real.

I'm broken out of my thoughts by a knock on the door, which makes me wipe away the tears I didn't even realise were there, before I'm saying "COME IN" and I'm met with Harry peeping round the door

"Hey, hey. why are you crying my love? What's the matter?" "The bands breaking up isn't it?" "no? what makes you think that sweetheart?" "I mean, with Zayn leaving, you and I on rocky terms, we're all not the same people we were 5 years ago Harry, the bands dynamic doesn't fit anymore"

"Yes okay, zayn may have left, You and I may be on bad terms some of the time and yes maybe we have all changed, but nobody stays the same, it's pretty hard to do that darling, otherwise you wouldn't grow up. The dynamic still works all the same though. So for now, dry your tears, get a fit dress on and lets take our minds off this band breaking up nonsense"

And I do as he tells me joining them shortly in the addison lee taking us into the main part of london, so we could go to a night club. I was sat inbetween Harry and Brad and could feel the tension rising, more so from Harry than brad, Harry was being weirdly possesive with me and it didnt feel in a good way, like it usually does.

Soon arriving at the nightclub we all head inside and Louis takes Harry to the bar to get some drinks for all of us, even he could sense the tension meaning it was bad.

⋆｡°✩

"you did great tonight, y/n/n. Smashed it, if only you could've heard the chanting for your name. It was unreal honestly." Brad says from beside me perking me out of my daydream of nothing in particular.

"awwh, Braddy. You're sweet you" I say placing a kiss on his cheek as a thank you. I've always called Brad, braddy ever since we were in nappies because I was never able to pronounce my L's I soon learned, the name stuck around though.

⋆｡°✩

Having not seen Harry since he went to the bar, and hasn't come back since, It's been well over half an hour now, so I was getting pretty worried. So I decided to ask around if anybody has seen him.

"LOU! You haven't seen Harry have you? Haven't seen him since we got here." "No I haven't. Last I saw him was at the bar, said he was going back to you, that was about fifteen minutes ago" "thanks lou."

⋆｡°✩

10 minutes later Niall comes up to me interuptting the conversation I was having with Brad I had given up trying to find him he clearly didn't want to be found, "I heard you were looking for Harry, I found him, but you're not going to like it" "what Niall, where is he" "mens bathroom, that way" he says turning to point me in the direction of where the mens bathroom is.

Walking into the mens bathroom, I found a sight I didn't want to see, Harry going down on a girl, the girl that wasn't me. "OH WOW!" I shout earning both his and the girls attention. "y/n/n, baby-" "don't you baby me Harry, it is so clear what you think about me." "who the fuck are you?" the girl quips back at me. "his girlfriend honey, actually no his ex-girlfriend. Keep him he's yours he was a slag anyway" "oh thats rich coming from you y/n, I saw you getting close with Brad, a little kiss on the cheek" "we've always been that way and you fucking know it" "oh but it's so easy for you breaking up with me though isn't it, now you can run away with the btec version of me cause it's clear you have a type don't you" "YOU THINK THAT THIS IS EASY FOR ME? YOU THINK THAT I WANT TO BREAK UP WITH YOU? WELL I DON'T HARRY OKAY?, BUT ITS CLEAR WHAT YOU'VE CHOSEN, goodbye Harry, I'll see you soon for the american leg." is the last thing I say before I walk out of the men's bathroom and back to where Brad was sat.

"Y/n? are you okay?" is all he says before I break down crying and he wraps an arm around me. And an executive decision is made between the two of us that he's going to take me back to his for the night.

⋆｡°✩

In the taxi on the way back, I'm still crying and he still has an arm around me. "

what even happened? why are you crying?"

"Harry cheated on me" is all I can muster out before I'm a blubbering mess again

"I hate seeing you like this Y/n all I know right now is that he didn't deserve you, he never has but I've always been supportive of your relationship always been the shoulder to cry on because I'm your best friend and always will be here, and you know that"

And soon enough I'm on Brads sofa, with Brad laying down giving me a hug.

"you want to say something dont you?" I speak up breaking the silence between me and him. "yeah I do, and I don't care if it's the incorrect time, or what but I have to say it now, otherwise I never will, I dont like you y/n I love you, and I have for the longest time, and if you need time to heal I'm okay with that I can wait a little while longer for you darling" he says shocking me to my core, I will admit I always loved Brad, and I don't think I ever stopped not liking him I just think Harry was a distraction while I was away from him.

"oh brad, I love you too" Is the last thing I say before I'm pulled into a kiss from him and we make our way upstairs to his bed where we both reside for the night wrapped up in eachother and if we were to get stuck into each other as well, then that's nobody's business but our own

⋆｡°✩

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

we're both awoken to a pounding on Brads door, so we both rush down and he answers it, revealing a disheveled Harry who looks like he hadn't slept. He tries to enter but brad pushes him back with the door "she doesn't want to speak to you Harry, You really fucked it this time" "please just hear me out y/n. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to cheat, I love you so so so so much"

"You made your choice Harry, please just go. I don't want you here, just please leave, be better on yourself" which I was met back with silence and then the turn of footsteps up brads gravel drive was all that could be heard.

⋆｡°✩

end.

[alltoomaples]

until i found you💌

back in the old times of love; drive-in movies, picnic brunch, slow dancing, handwritten letters, love songs, and the two of us <33

a/n: new theme! being single for a long time has made me confess my hopless romantic wants and wishes into these writings. soo hopefully y'all will enjoy reading these! At the moment, I will be writing for Bradley Simpson, Charles Leclerc and Lando Norris. In case i feel like writing for anyone else, will be updated here.

happy reading <33

love.jpg - LN

life in film - LN

you are in love - CL

--- MORE UPDATES COMING SOON ---

[redfurrycat]

🤠👶🏾🐓 Life as We Know It AU🤠👶🏾🐓

Jake Seresin is the owner of a small but successful bakery, and Bradley Bradshaw is a promising television technical sports director for the San Diego *whatever sports team*.

A few years ago, they were set up by their navy pilot best friends, Natasha Trace and Javy Machado, on a blind date that went so terribly wrong they vowed to hate the other forever and never see each other again.

Or not…because their best friends got married and had a beautiful baby boy, Bob (named after Nat’s WSO, of course). They also chose Bradley and Jake to be their son’s godparents.

Unfortunately, Bobby becomes an orphan at the tender age of one as his parents both die on a secret mission. While they grieve for their best friends, Jake and Bradley learn their friends named them Bob's joint guardians. After finding that none of Natasha and Javy’s relatives are fit to take care of their son, Jake and Bradley put their differences aside and move into their godson's family home.

It seems living together in their deceased friends’ home while raising their son and working full time is quite the challenge for Bradley and Jake. Especially when a Child Protective Services caseworker, Beau Simpson, is assigned to their case to see if they are fit to be Bob’s parents. To add a bit of drama, the two men start to mutually-idiotically pine for one another, and there is also a handsome doctor who is very eager to seduce Jake and happens to be Bob’s pediatrician too…

[bad268]

Pretend (Brad Simpson X Reader)

Fandom: RPF/Musicians

Requested: Day 29 of Writing Inktober prompts instead of drawing!

Warnings: Breakup/makeup, based on Just Pretend by Bad Omens

POV: Second Person (You/your)

W.C. 594

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

Writing Inktober 2024 Materlist

~~(^Pinterest)

“I can stay away if you want me to,” You tried to salvage your crumbling relationship as you frantically attempted to grasp the pieces. The pieces being Brad’s hands as he pulled away from you. “Please, I can’t lose you. I’ll wait for years if I have to. Heaven knows I ain't getting over you.”

“Please understand where I’m coming from here,” He sighed, tilting his head at you. He put up a strong front, but behind those walls, he was cracking. He hated causing you pain, especially when it was seemingly out of nowhere, but he knew this was needed for both of you. “We have been together since we were teenagers. We don’t know how to live without each other. We both need this.”

“Will you just wait me out, please,” You cried, looking at him through your tears, “Don’t drown me out, Brad. Please.”

“I have to let you go,” He whispered, squeezing your hands tightly. Those six words broke your heart beyond repair.

“We’ll try again when we’re not so different,” You offered with a watery smile as you briefly made eye contact with him. You squeezed his hands one last time before letting go, taking a step back and breathing in deeply. “We’ll make amends. Till then, I’ll just pretend.”

That was years ago. You went home and took Brad’s reason to heart. You reflected on it, and he was right. You didn’t know who you were without him. You had lost your personality, and you needed the time apart to find yourself again.

You dove back into your hobbies, and you focused on yourself, your career, and your interests. You got a promotion and a new car, and you traveled the world a fair bit. Brad, on the other hand, just went on tour. He poured himself into his work and didn’t let up until their break. You both had very different approaches to the separation, but you both came out stronger nonetheless.

You walked through the streets of London as you did on most of your days off, but this time, you did not expect to see Brad walking out of a music store.

“Brad, hey,” You shouted as you ran over to him. Immediately, he met you halfway and wrapped you up in an embrace. “Long time no see.”

“It has been a while,” He commented as he pulled back slightly, keeping you in his arms. “Four years, right?”

“Yeah,” You chuckled lightly, analyzing his face. He was in awe of you. You looked just like you did four years prior but also completely different. You thought the same of him as you briefly used your fingers to twirl one of his curls. “I see you still don’t know how to care for your curls. Some things never change, huh?”

“Come with me today?” He asked out of the blue. You felt his hands tighten around your arms. Not in a painful way, but more of a secure, ‘I need you’ kind of way. “Weigh down on me, stay til morning? Please. Would you say I’m worthy of your love now?”

“I waited for you for years because I had to,” You replied after you saw the tears collecting in his eyes, and right there, you knew he felt the same after all this time. You moved a hand to the side of his face and wiped the fallen tears, smiling as you said, “Heaven knew I wasn’t getting over you. We can try again now that we’re not so different. I’m tired of just pretending.”

~~~~~

© BAD268 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[lieutenantfloyd]

An update !

So, I took a bit of a hiatus from writing for Top Gun, but I’m so happy to say I’m back at it!

Right now I have two Cyclone x reader headcanons I’ll be posting very soon. In the meantime I’ll be working on finishing a few of my drafts for the Dagger Squad (and Cyclone, of course). I will also hopefully be working through my backlog of requests alongside some new ideas.

To summarize: new Top Gun content is coming.

Please stay tuned!

[missmarveledsblog]

FLUMPY part 11 ( jake seresin x reader)

summary : with roo , nat and jake gone the remainder of the dagger squad take it as their mission to make sure that the pregnant girlfriend and their friend is taken care of while she is racing to tell her dad before someone else is going to let it slip , dealing with life without jake being by her side isn't as fun and she is counting down the days til he and her favorite people return .

warning: other than my spelling and grammatical error this is a mostly fluffy goofy chapter with the mentions of pregnancy and all the good stuff that comes with it . the men of the dagger squad being big brother goals ,some mentions of an encounter with a shitty human who tries to hurt a dog.

(previous part)

She sat sitting in the car not actually knowing what it was that had her crying . was it the hormones , the fact jake was gone for three months or fact he didn’t dump her there and then . she didn’t know how long it was she was there but the crowds were long gone some even stopped to see was she ok that was til she heard a tapping on her window only to see bob standing there holding container in one hand and smile on his face . 

“ hey what you doing here” she sniffled trying not to look like an absolute mess .

“ nat sent me told me you needed this and probably a hug” he stood shyly only for her to start crying even more. “ shit you want me to bring you good duck park rooster and hangman said that cheers you up” he offered quickly only for her to cry harder. 

“ they know me to well” she sobbed as he pulled her into a hug  knowing or thinking he knew why she was crying . 

“ we can just go home or hard deck i’ll even do a shot with you” he smiled. 

“ i’ll go the hard deck but i can’t drink “ she winced.  “ kinda erm pregnant which with how loud jake yelled it  well i need to see my dad quickly “ knowing some of the men where actually worse with the how lose their lips could be . sure national  and classified secret hold til the grave but moment it came to things of normal like well they turned into a sewing circle. 

“ congratulations really” he smiled widely . 

“ ugh your so cute” she sniffled wiping her nose .  

“ come on leave you care we can come back for it later or i’ll leave mine either way your in no shape to drive”  bob help her out of the car she instantly notice how his touch got softer almost like any pressure would break her making her roll her eyes but hug the WSO  hard . 

The moment she walked into the hard deck all eyes were on her , giving bob a nod she headed over to her dad who sat talking away to penny til his eyes landed on her . 

“ well didn’t think i would see you in this place for nine months” he crossed his arms . 

“ worse then high schoolers” she turned to the officers standing around promptly turning their attention to anything else under her heated gaze .  “ i was going to tell you properly but jake well yelled so loud honestly  surprise you didn’t hear him from your place” she joked smiling awkwardly. 

“ pay up “ penny smirked. 

“ can you two stop betting on my life please it’s a bit odd but also go penny” she rolled her eyes hugging her dad. 

“  i would of rather heard it from you but the free drinks helped “ he chuckled. 

“ hey i want free stuff not alcohol if wanna be generous nacho’s would be awesome” she yelled out . 

“ so i guess jake happy” penny laughed hugging her. 

“ yeah i was so nervous then the whole dock found out got lots of hugs from strangers” she nodded . 

“ well heres a free cola on me  and looks like the guys are waiting for you” penny smiled nodding her head over to the little small group of the dagger squad. 

“ we come over tomorrow anyways go kiddo enjoy” pete kissed her head. 

“ yeah coyote looks more lost without jake than i do “ she teased making  her way through the crowd nodding at the congratulation til she got to the usual spot only for javy to lift her off the ground with a hug  almost spilling her drink but like a knight in shining armour bob took it from her hand put on table . 

“ our baby is having a baby “ he cheered . 

“ excuse me “ she laughed , 

“Oh we decided a while back you were our little sister so not up to you “ fanboy shrugged. 

“ i’ve no say in this?” she asked . 

“ nah .. plus one of us already called mav dad before” payback snickered. 

“ that was once and it was slip of the tongue” bob grumbled. 

“ we even cleared it with rooster” coyote winked  as she hugged the others . 

“ well i’m glad you got his approval “ she rolled her eyes taking her seat. 

“ so as your new found big brothers and future uncle to the baby seresin / mitchell that is growing inside of that tummy of your we are here at your beck and call so even if heartburn or some shit  in the middle of night you gotta call us “ payback informed her honestly it felt like she was being scolded like a naughty child. 

“ even if it’s for ice cream” fanboy added only for penny to bring over a container filled with nacho in front of her. 

“ courtesy of yale” she snorted. 

“Hey thank yale” she yelled mouth watering at the food before her only for more food items to be brought throughout her time in the hard deck that night some by the people that got them or to the point penny sent the delivery man or woman directly to y/n . each time she yell out the thanks to the name on the receipt . 

By the time she and bob got his car and she head home she’d enough  containers to feed  her for the week or least first couple of days .

Jake honestly was  up and down from one moments of being happy then being scared shitless within the space of few hours he was going through a series of emotions.  It  honestly  gave nat and bradley whiplash trying to keep up with him .  one hand he was so excited for  the chapter of his life , he was older almost into his forties so the fact he was going to start a family well it was everything . then it was fact he was actually going to be a father what if he was shit at it or his kid resented him for being in the navy or  what if something left him inured or worse kill in action . then he was afraid of not being there for his girl the fact she was going through three months alone without  him  being at her side. What if something happened and he couldn’t be there for her . now he was sat with phoenix and rooster since honestly the two need to get him to chill out or else get him sedated . 

“She not going to be alone the guys will be there and her dad” nat said softer than the usual tone she would take with hangman of all people. “ plus you and bradshaws got like weird spidey sense sort of thing with her so if you even for a second felt something was off you would … we all would honestly swim back to san diego” .  

“ she is right we knew she was off after that sea food platter and when she gets her period which now isn’t a problem because she can’t have either of those while pregnant” rooster smirked .  

“ he’s got a point” nat laughed, 

“ i’m going to miss three month of her pregnancy of my first child “ he finally said  looking down to his hands . 

“ barely anything happens in first three months” nat tried to play it off. 

“ scan says she 10 weeks so she be what six months when i get back”  he scoffed . 

“ well once your there for the birth meeting your first child , thats the main show my friend plus way you two go at it you’’ll get to experience it again” roo wince considering he caught them in considerably a few compromising times . 

“ honestly i’m surprised she wasn’t pregnant sooner” nat nodded along . 

“ yeah not helping , i just wished it was different i mean what if something was to happen to me “ he asked the two . 

“ i think coyote called dibs on y/ns” rooster said easily. 

“ so did bob” nat nodded along .

“ again not helping” he deadpanned. “ i don’t want my kid to grow up or my girl to be heartbroken trying to explaining   why daddy ain’t around i mean it hard thing to go through” . 

“ here as the only orphan of the group yes it hard  but i turned out fine my mom made life the best even if she was dealing with a broken heart , plus trauma make you funnier why you think me and pretty girl are so hilarious “ bradley winked. 

“ she does say she half way to being batman only Mav in her way” nat chuckled. 

“ look bagman sadly your a good guy and well we do unpredictable shit but your are going to be one of those fuckers that dies like ripe old age shitting in his diaper” bradley patted his back . 

“ i say this with love but don’t comfort people outside of our group but also thanks it weirdly helped “ jake said slightly surprise how it help just now he was counting down the moment he would get to see her . 

Waking up to a half empty bed was something she was never going to get over it . it had  been two weeks since they were gone and still felt like it was going to be forever before they got home . like it was perfect time every symptom decided to come at once leaving her napping during her lunch break or her head in the toilet . since word spread quickly of her pregnancy everyone was almost babying her making her want to honest bite them or something . admiral simpson also got a recruit one who was studying engineering to “Intern for her” which was his way making sure she wasn’t doing anything too strenuous but did mean she had to guide the dude through literally everything.  Luke wasn’t a bad kid and well poor fucker got confused more times then he should of plus calling him kid was a bit much given he was only a couple years closer . she notice kyle and coyote instantly being there too if she so much as looked at something they deemed too heavy. But true to their words one night she rang them crying because well she felt lonely and they all came and watched movie even camped out in the living room like it was a sleep over . whenever she mention of craving something well they would come back later with said thing .  bob even  got her new overalls when the little bump that started to protrude  out took her til she went home to realise what he done  , it wasn’t big by any means but still clothes where starting to get a bit tight . even mama seresin and jakes sisters sent some maternity clothes  down for her to wear and she had to give it to them they found cool stuff . she never wore the pj’s though because at night she would take one of jakes T-shirts wear them to bed was closest thing to having him there .  even during the week the guys including the newbie kyle brought her to the good duck part even making friends with the senior citizens that were there .  she was never so lucky in life as she was now to have the friends she did   when it came down to it moving to san diego and starting fresh was the best thing she ever done. 

Walking with the guys , shopping for stuff to send the guys that weren’t there care package she needed to rest when they spot some sport store honestly she zoned out half way telling them she wanted to rest on bed to knock themselves out . 

“ stupid mutt” was all she heard pulling her attention to a man yelling down at a terrified dog .  instantly she was protective mode hauling her ass off the bench no longer tired .  “ waste of money stupid thing” he spat going to kick the already shivering and cowering dog. 

“ hey asshole” she snapped pushing him away . 

“ mind your business lady nothing to do with you” he growled. 

“ i’m making it my business what fuck is wrong with you kicking a defenseless dog” she spat not noticing that fanboy was already rounding them up the moment he spot her walking off from the bench. 

“ again none of your fucking business chubs now fuck off what i do with my dog is my business”. 

“ and i told you dickless .. can i call you that because you’d have to be a dickless asshole to hurt an animal what pisses me off is if this little guy defended himself he would be branded a monster ,  don’t mind the dickless man you poor little baby “ she cooed down at the dog instantly cowering behind her. “ what if i hit you huh cut you down to size and chubs really dude you look more pregnant that i do “ she scoffed. 

“ listen lady keep you mouth shut or i’ll… “  he started. 

“ or you what , i hope you aint talking to our sister like that pal” coyote stood making himself bigger as the rest followed. 

“ because she can’t hit you in her condition “ fanboy added. 

“ but we can” bob spoke completely different honestly she was a little impressed . 

“ what like i’m afraid of you” the man said yet his face gave it away instantly. 

“ you should be “ payback stood in front of her. 

“ you know what you care so much about the bag of flea take it ain’t worth it” the man rushed off as they walked him til he drove off only to hear her giggling and laughing . 

“ he likes me” she beamed up at them . 

“ please let us be there when you tell jake” fanboy snorted.

“ he’ll get over it , day got better free dog and awesome cool bodyguards … sorry brothers now lets go get this little peanut some new things “ she smiled happily. 

 “ she’s gonna be the death of us “ kyle sighed and they all agreed. 

“ it doesn’t actually have flea’s right we took my car here” bob gulped.

Lucky for bob peanut did not in fact have  fleas but he was skin and bone . peanut was only seven months old pitbull and nothing to him  , she brought him everywhere even to the hard deck letting sit with her and the guys although he was nervous at first when it got busy but soon got use to it even  only place she couldn’t bring him was work and  so she brought him to a doggy day care one of the officers recommended one night at hard deck . two weeks was all it took for the pooch to get use to the new dynamic given it was probably the most attention he’s gotten in his life . now she was sitting on her sofa patiently ( for her ) for jake to call he let her know he had a slot for facetime coming up and she was looking forward to it  almost counting the seconds til she could  finally see him . 

“ now we gotta do this smart ok” she said to the dog currently sitting at her feet only for the phone to ring out and her to rush at it almost dropping it  as she hit the answer button . 

“ hey baby” god even his voice made her insides melt. 

“ jake i missed you so much “ she almost cried she was so happy to finally see and hear him . 

“ i missed you too hows baby” he asked nervously. 

“Growing and currently kicking my ass i mean of course they would given they’re half you , look ” she giggled holding the sonograms up . “ i sent some in care package so you’ll get to see it for yourself  i asked them kept gender surprise til your home so we will get to see it together “ she cooed. 

“ darling …. Tell me something and tell me truth” he asked his eyes coming closer. 

“ anything ask away “ she smiled sweetly. 

“ why is there a dog sitting beside you “ he asked wondering if weeks at sea was making him see things only for her to see peanut was in fact sitting beside her . 

“ well long story short , we were shopping for the care packages and well the guys went to soon store while i wanted to chill out on bench this douche was kicking him and then he called me chubby like dude looked like he was carrying quads anyways after fat shaming and threats boom free dog isn’t he a cutie” she cooed. 

“ darling don’t those eat babies” he whispered . 

“ oh my god your like the shelters … jake seresin are you dog racist” she gasped .

“ dog racist?”. 

“ these dogs are sweethearts it media and dumb ass idiots that make them like monster but peanut is a sweetheart better then the chihuahua in his daycare i think that dog hates me” she winced.

“ dog daycare darling how long is he there?” he chuckled.

“ oh like two weeks , we watch golden girls with miss wilson too  she knitted him a  little cardigan he’s still skinny as hell but he’s coming along greatly” she smiled softly kissing the dogs head. 

“Well i guess i can’t wait to meet him and tell rooster we have a dog now,” he chuckled 

The two chatted trying to fit in everything in the limited amount of time before he had to say goodbye only now peanut was added in to which confused the hell why the phone was talking to him but still wagged his little tail . when the call did end he got up in her lap and licked away the tears that fell down her cheek. 

“thank fuck you're here” she smiled sadly hugging him closely to her.  Only two more months to go before jake was home . 

part 12

taglist : @harrysgothicbitch @djs8891 @darksparklesficrecs @emma8895eb5eb @sarah-bear706318

[saltsicklover]

Title: Not a Cyclone, But a Monsoon

Part 2 of 2 - Completed

Find Part 1 HERE, and my Master List HERE

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

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

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

A few uses of Y/N

Word Count: This part: 14k+ Total Fic:20k+

Rating: R

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. The weekend before the organization of the Dagger Squad.

A cellphone is tucked between Monsoon's cheek and shoulder, the line trilling. She carries her duffle bags and kit, feeling like a battering ram as she makes her way through the crowd of people. The airport is packed and she can feel just how humid it is form how sticky she feels.

The hallways of the airport wind as she follows the crowd out of the baggage claim. The people around her move just a bit too slowly as they wheel their bags behind them, just begging for someone to trip over them if they dare pass. If there is one thing Monsoon did not miss about being at Top Gun, it's the trip in.

Fuck flying coach.

Fuck PSC Season and all of the families taking all the seats on the military flights.

Fuck the crying lady sitting next to her, who wouldn't stop sobbing at the shitty romcom she was watching, and fuck when she decided to start it over, just to watch it all over again.

But the best thing about coming back has to be seeing her surrogate father, Beau Simpson. Their relationship has only grown stronger since that night at the bar. They have spent countless meals together, drinking at bars when they are in the same place and always sending 'check in' emails. Phone calls have always been a bit dodgy between time zones and deployments.

Neither one knew exactly what they were getting into when the bond between them grew, neither really sure exactly what a parent/child relationship looks like, especially when the child is really an unrelated adult. But as the days went on, and the email chain got longer and longer, things seemed to just make sense.

The pair talked about everything, from work to dating, friendships and recipes. Cyclone opened up about June and their baby, sharing his favorite stories of their marriage. From how they started dating, to the day that June passed, Monsoon heard it all. 

Calla lilies were June's favorite, the only flowers that Beau believes should ever be given to a woman, and Monsoon smiles at the memory of her graduation from Top Gun, and the way Cyclone smiled at her with the bouquet of lilies in his lap.

When Monsoon found herself in Vermont she carved out time to visit June and Baby Boy Simpson at the cemetery. She showed up with two bouquets of calla lilies and a speech to give them. Monsoon cleaned their headstones and laid the flowers delicately across their plots, speaking to them the whole time about herself, and Cyclone, and the world they live in.

Cyclone's phone buzzed in his pocket while in a meeting. When he snuck a peak, he was met with a photo of Monsoon, a light smile adorning her face as she sits just in front of the burial plots. The message read "With Mama June and Bubba, thinking of you, Pops". Cyclone had to excuse himself from the table with tears in his eyes.

As the years went on, the surfaces in Cyclone's office slowly began to fill with more photos of the two of them. The collection of frames started out sophisticated, it really did, but as time went on, the frames became more eclectic, more fun. 

It's juxtaposes the rest of Cyclones office in a way that is almost comical. As he is shouting at someone for their latest fuck up, there are shelves full of silly frames just a few feet away. Cyclone's favorite just so happens to read "Clown College Class President" while Monsoon's favorite is one of those irregular shaped ones, with an oval opening for the photograph.

There is a photo of the two of them tucked in the cockpit of Monsoon's jet. It catches the mechanics off guard every time, but no one dare says a word about it- mostly out of fear that word would get back to Admiral. The photo depicts the two of them at one of those giant truck stops, posing with the large dinosaur sitting out front. She is sat atop of it, like a cowboy, with Cyclone leaning up against it, his shoulder near her thigh. They both wear larger than life smiles as the sun beats down on them. It was a silly thing, really. Both stuck in at little forgotten Air Base in middle America for a flight test, but the pair managed to make the best of it, remembering to take photographs as they went.

There is a postcard folded up in Cyclone's wallet. Once upon a time, it read the catchy saying "Why Not Minot?" printed across the front of it, with a cute little photo of a town square, a little forgotten town in North Dakota. It's one of those bases that people dread being stationed at, that much has always been true, but the little photo on the front of the post card sold a different tale. It wasn't the cutesy saying or the photo that made him keep it, the edges now worn and fibrous. On the back, written in neat blue ink, underneath a little blurb about how there is absolutely nothing to do in North Dakota, the sentence "I love you, Pops" sits next to a scribbly little heart.

The staticky, tolling, phoneline picks up after a few rings as Monsoon pushes around a family with one too many screaming toddlers. They have on those little backpack leashes and Monsoon almost gets close lined as a little dark haired child bursts in front of her without warning. She dodged, but she catches one of those damn rolling bags with her toe. Monsoon barely notices the glare the lady sent her way, but the lack luster wrath of a stranger isn't going to stop her.

"Hey, Kid," Cyclone greets over the line, the smile on his face evident through the sound of his voice. There is no need for an official "hello" to begin the conversation, both knowing full well that Cyclone had been watching the flight itinerary like a hawk to make sure Monsoon wasn't going to be delayed. The call upon landing is just expected at this point, though neither of them have mastered the cool,casual, its good to see you.

"I just landed," A woman walks right into one of the duffle bags hanging off of Monsoon's shoulders, throwing her completely off balance. She hikes the bag higher up on her shoulder, trying to rebalance the hefty weight she is carrying. Monsoon sways like she is at sea, attempting to get her balance back. There is something so familiar about the way she sways a bit, just like the jet carriers do as the waves bash against the metal of the hull.

"Fuck" she curses under her breath, steadying herself once again. For a Seaman, one might think Monsoon would have better balance. Cyclone rolls his eyes on the other side of the phone. "I'll be over for dinner tonight, if that's still the plan,"

"Sure is, I'm making your favorite,"

"Steak and potatoes are your favorite," Monsoon corrects.

"You can correct me without the side of guilt, you know," Cyclone is chuckling through the phone, earning him a roll of the eyes.

"I only meant to tease," There is a nonchalance to her voice, though she is the furthest thing from cool. Cyclone isn't either. His kid is coming home and they get to sit down for a meal for the first time in months and he is beyond excited.

"I'm going to drop my stuff off at my rental, then I'll be headed your way, you better be ready for me to eat enough for a small village," Monsoon heads right for the exit, ready to look for a taxi. "And Pops, maybe think about adding a-" The word "vegetable" fails to make it's way out of her mouth as Monsoon looks up as the double doors in front of her slide open. Cyclone is standing on the other side, a large sign reading "WELCOME HOME KIDDO" sits loosely in his hand, the other holds his phone up to his ear.

It's like one of those cheesy scenes from a movie, both wearing matching grins and laughing. Cyclone knew the whole thing would be a surprise; he took a leave day to make sure he would bet there to pick her up.

"Pops!" The name still makes Cyclone's heart swell, even if he had been responding to that very name for the past few years. It's funny, really, how easy it was for the pair to adjust to the name, though Monsoon waited for him to acknowledge it first before she actually said it.

The acknowledgement came from a recorded phone message, shortly after her first move after her Top Gun Graduation. Cyclone got stuck in on the highway with a dead car and no cellphone. The call came in from a payphone, an unknown number. Cyclone left a message, "Hey, kid, it's Pops, my car died and I am stranded. I could use an assist. Do you know anyone in Missouri?". That message is still saved on Monsoon's phone to this day.

"Hey, Kiddo!" And then Monsoon is stumbling closer, her bags swinging her center of gravity all over the place. He reaches a hand out to take one, ready to throw it over his shoulder, but instead, each one hits the pavement with a hard thud. Monsoon is quickly wrapping her arms around his body, one over his shoulder, one under his arm, meeting around his back and squeezing him hard.

The hug is returned in kind, both damn near trying to squeeze each other to death. It's playful, as they share "good to see you's" and "I've missed you's" .

"I hope you don't mind, Kid, but I invited another one of the recruits to dinner tonight," He speaks the words into her hair. Monsoon pulls back to look up at her Pops with furrowed brows. She doesn't have to say a thing, he already knows exactly what is going through her mind.

"I know it's unorthodox, but, Kazansky said it might be a good idea, and when the good Admiral says something like that, you set another place at the table,"

"Yeah, unorthodox is definitely a word for it," Monsoon is pulling out of Cyclone's embrace, dipping to grab her discarded bags from the pavement. Cyclone grabs one before she can, which earns him a roll of her eyes.

"Be nice, would you?"

"To you or the mystery guest?" Her words are dripping with sarcasm.

"Preferably both," Cyclone chides, poking her in the side with the welcome home sign. She swats it away with a quick hand, both laughing.

"I'll see what I can do,"

---

The sun is setting over the horizon, painting the sky orange with wisps of pink the lower it sinks behind the curve of the Earth. Monsoon is spread out on one of the lawn chairs, relaxing, well, more like waiting out her Pops' little outburst. She had opened the grill to check on the steak, making sure the edges wouldn't be too crispy, and Cyclone all but snapped the lid shut in the middle of her investigation. He banished her to the other side of the patio to wait for the food to finish cooking. Then, and only then, would she be allowed to touch the grill again.

If there is one thing to be true, Cyclone has a method when it comes to grilling. Monsoon had it all explained to her the first time he grilled for the pair of them. He has it down to a science, all from the temperature and the kind of charcoal to use, to the length of marinating time and spices to make even the worst cut of meat from the Commissary the most perfect dinner.

And Monsoon couldn't exactly tell him he was wrong. After all, every single thing Beau had ever placed in front of her tasted delicious, delectable even. Not only that, but Monsoon really couldn't have done it better if she tried. Her Pops wouldn't let her try, either, but that is beside the point.

Soon, everything is pulled off the grill and the pair are inside, Monsoon tasked with setting the table. All of the windows are open, the evening breeze cooling the inside of the house. As she places another fork down, Monsoon takes in the way the breeze dances across her skin. Goosebumps threaten to crest over her exposed arms at the chill the air carries. In that moment, she is thankful for the California air, the smell of the freshly made sides sitting in the center of the table, and the fact that she is setting the table in her Pops' house.

It has been too long since the pair got to sit together and share a meal. Cups of coffee over video chat were no where near as nice and Monsoon couldn't lie, she missed Cyclone's cooking. As she sets down the last knife, Cyclone is bounding down the stairs. His causal jeans and t-shirt have been replaced by a nice pair of brown slacks and a cream polo shirt, tucked in with a belt. He's even sporting loafers.

"Hey Pops, there is something I want to talk to you about tonight," Monsoon shouts down the hall. She tries to shake the bit of nerves rumbling through her chest like a handful of loan bees.

"Okay, kiddo," Cyclone calls back as he is rounding the corner into the kitchen, "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine, promise,"

"Okay," It's a simple response as he walks further into the kitchen. He pats her on the shoulder as he passes, a loving gesture.

"Got a hot date?" Monsoon chides as she looks him up and down. She sets the bundle of flatware down on the table, crossing her arms over her chest.

"No," Cyclone is shaking his head, fighting the urge to roll his eyes at her words. "We are having company tonight, remember?"

"Oh, I remember, but I didn't think some random Lieutenant, that is only coming over because the good Admiral all but ordered him to, was someone worth dressing up for."

There is a shrug of her shoulders as her head sways down nonchalantly. Cyclone crosses his arms, mirroring his kid, with a stern look on his face. It's a look that Monsoon isn't used to seeing out of uniform. Maybe it should worry her, but the vein that would usually protrude from his forehead is nowhere to be seen.

"Remember, kid, you too are just 'some random Lieutenant'" Those words stir a bit of anger within Monsoon, but it dissipates as fast as it came.

"Well then, Admiral Simpson, sir," Monsoon stands up a bit straighter, dropping her hands to her sides, "Let me find something more presentable to wear for the strange man who's crashing out family dinner," She grimaces a bit, but they both laugh. Beau is just laughing, in that way that make's his whole body shake, his eyes scrunched closed while whole hearted giggles escape his lips.

"Go on, kid," He waves in the general direction of the hallway, towards the front of the house where she dropped her bags by the front door.

The zipper of her duffle bag slide open easily, the separation of the teeth vibrating her fingertips. Monsoon fishes out a sun dress and a cropped sweater, something to keep her warmer as the sun sets below the horizon. It's a nice enough combination, something that will surly look like she gives a fuck about her appearance without looking like she planned too much. Monsoon changes out of her sweat shorts and t-shirt in the half bath, emerging looking like a brand new woman, though the feeling  of the plane still lingers on her skin.

Just as she is stuffing her travel clothing back into her bag, the doorbell sounds throughout the house, the bells tolling just a bit too loud.

"Jeez, Pops, could that doorbell be any louder?" Monsoon is yelling just as she reaches for the door. She pulls it open with a swift movement, a smile on her face. Then it falls as soon as she sees who is standing on the other side of the threshold.

Clad in a button down shirt, one with a pattern that would rival any rodeo clown, with one too many buttons undone stands Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw; a man she hasn't seen since a deployment five years ago, about six months after she graduated from Top Gun.

There is a gold chain hanging around his neck. It's just long enough to graze over the tops of his collar bones. His shirt is untucked, the bottom a bit wrinkly, like he has tucked and untucked it a couple of times trying to decide which looked better. He made the wrong choice, by Monsoon's calculation, the patterned shirt covering the top of his dark khakis. He looks a bit silly, really, from the chain down to his boat shoes. The thing that catches her the most off guard though, is the fucking mustache he has decorating, no, vandalizing his upper lip.

Her own mouth hangs open just a bit, her hand tightening it's grip on the door handle. Bradley shoots her that mega wat smile, that million dollar, dentist office poster smile- the one that made her swoon all those years ago. But now, now it makes her fucking angry. Or maybe it's resentment that she feels boiling up inside of her, steaming her insides with a sort of sick feeling that she hasn't felt in years.

The last time this strange, queasy feeling flowed through her she was wrapped up in the white sheets of her mattress on an aircraft carrier, somewhere out in the pacific. Her naked body feeding off of the warmth of spot that Rooster once occupied. When she awoke, there was a feeling of contentment that spread over her skin, until she reached over to find the spot next to her cold.

Their deployment relationship ended with a fucking post it note, "Duty Calls" is all it read, scribbled down in a mess of black ink, the pen itself skipping. Hell, the pen couldn't even bother to work long enough to get a complete message through- their relationship simmered down to nothing more than steamy nights together in a twin size bunk while the ocean waves rocked against the carrier.

The contentment drained from Monsoon faster than than the anger could take over, and for a moment there was nothingness in the spaces between her ribs.

And now, Bradley fucking Bradshaw is standing on her Pops' front porch, smiling at her like nothing has ever happened between them, holding a bottle of wine, and somehow she is just supposed to let him in!

"Hello," He scratches at the back of his neck, his brows pinched together just the slightest bit. "Is this Admiral Simpson's house?"

Words are caught in the back of Monsoon's throat, each individual letter sticking her in the esophagus. Monsoon stands there looking at Bradley, each growing a bit more uncomfortable as the seconds go by. But, she is on the inside of the doorjamb, she has the upper hand. Just as she goes to slam the door in his fucking ugly mustache, Cyclone catches the door.

"Mr. Bradshaw!" Beau booms, his tone friendly as he sends Monsoon a what the fuck look. She pinches the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, though it does nothing to relieve the rapidly growing headache that's taking over her skull.

"Come in, come in!" Cyclone practically ushers Bradley into the house. "This is my daughter, Y/N Mitchell, she is in the new Top Gun class as well!"

Beau is doing his best to defuse the tension in the room, between Monsoon's anger, and Bradley's overall discomfort from being in an Admiral's house, the vibes are askew. Bradley crinkles his brows at the information and Beau quickly jumps in with a chuckle, "No relation, but I claim her anyway. Introduce yourself, Son,"

"Brad-"

"We already know each other,"

The pair speak at the same time. Monsoon's tone is full of distain, like the words taste bitter and unforgiving on her tongue. She pushes past Bradley's outstretched hand and past Cyclone. Bradley can't help the fact that his face twists up in confusion as he wracks his brain trying to figure out where exactly he knew her. 

The woman's definitely too upset to be a recent fling- hell, Bradley hasn't even managed to bring a girl back to his place in such a long time. Deployment really limited his prospects and she sure wasn't on the mission he just finished. 

"Please, this way," Cyclone guides Bradley back to the kitchen, taking the bottle of wine from the younger man. They follow the path Monsoon took, down the hall and back to the large kitchen. She is standing at the sink, her hands braced on the counter top.

"Make yourself at home, Mr. Bradshaw. If you'll excuse me, I have to speak with my daughter for a second." Cyclone is moving before Bradley can acknowledge him. So, Bradley pretends to be very interested in the view just outside the kitchen window.

"What the hell, kid?" Cyclone carefully grabs Monsoon's elbow, leaning in just a little bit closer to fake some sort of privacy. He sets the bottle of wine on the counter. With all the tension blooming in the air around them, Cyclone decides alcohol is the last thing they need. 

"It's complicated, Pops, just leave it be, okay?" Monsoon is running a hand through her hair, a shallow attempt to ground herself. "I can play nice for one dinner,"

"What the hell happened between you two? And it's not just one dinner, it's the next few weeks."

That fact is met with a grumble from Monsoon. It took her only a few seconds to convince herself that she would be able to make it though a dinner, but the idea of having to see Bradley fucking Bradshaw every day for the foreseeable future had a mixture of nausea and frustration swirling through her. 

"Pops, trust me, this really isn't something you are going to want to hear about, nor do I feel like discussing it in your kitchen, at a whisper, while the man who doesn't even seem to fucking remember me is only a few feet away! No thank you," Monsoon pushes past Cyclone once more, picking up the bowl of salad from the kitchen island and bringing it over to the table. Cyclone is hot on her tail, speaking lowly after her.

"Y/N" That gets her to stop, Beau never uses her first name, "We are not finished discussing this,"

"After supper then," The words leave her tongue sharp, but they are met with a nod of approval. Then Cyclone is moving, ready for the night to move on as planned. 

"Mr. Bradshaw!" Cyclone is turning his attention back to their guest, a makeshift smile plastered to his face, "Please, take a seat, I am just going to grab the food off the grill,"

And then Cyclone is disappearing out the back door, leaving Monsoon and Rooster alone, the room already threatening to burst from the rapidly accumulating tension. Monsoon chances a look at Bradley as she finished setting out the flatware that had been left abandoned earlier, suddenly a little bit glad that her Pops hinted at her to change clothes. She looks good, that much she knows, if only it mattered at this point.

Maybe, if it mattered, Bradley would look at her and realize just how much he walked out on. Maybe he would see the way Cyclone cares for her, and their little family that they've created and know that he threw away his chance to be apart of it. If only he could see just how happy she is now- yet he doesn't even fucking recognize her, and that makes her heart burn like cheap kerosene. It's like gulping down saltwater, the feeling of being forgotten, drowning right out in the open for everyone to see.

As Monsoon is drowning in thoughts of Bradley, he is just trying to remember her.

Bradley takes in the slope of her nose and the freckles that are smattered across her legs. His eyes wander over the frizzy bits of her hair, down the line of her shoulder and ending at the tips of her fingers. The way that she glances at him, her face still turned down as she adjusts the table settings, strikes him as familiar- but in a far off sense of the word. Familiar in the way his own face is reminiscent of his father's. 

His father, Goose, and Maverick... Pete Mitchell... Mitchell!

"Mitchell?" Bradley breaks the silence, his gaze  a bit wider, still locked on her downturned face. Monsoon's eyes shoot up at the name, locking with his dark brown eyes. They bore into her the same way they always had and a part of her aches. 

"Are you-" The breath he sucks into his lungs burns a bit with hazy memory, "Are you Pete Michell's kid?"

An audible, pained groan leaves Monsoon's throat at the question. 

"Not anymore," Are the only words she can manage, the flames of anger licking at her legs.

"But you were, once?" There is almost a ribbon of hope laces somewhere in his tone, but Monsoon pays it no mind. She walks away from the table, keeping her back to Bradley as she attempts to calm the heat of rage that's licking at her legs. 

Why couldn't Bradley just ask her about normal things? Why aren't they talking about work, their partners, their friends. Hell, he could hit on her at this point and it would go over better. 

If he wanted to talk about Maverick- Pete Michell, there were countless times when they were tangled up together in blankets, in the dark save for the crack of light breaking into the room from under the doorway.

He could have asked as they scurried up the stairs of the carrier, their gear smacking against their chests as they ran. Bradley could have asked then, as they bounded out into the early morning, salt soaked air.

Hell, Bradley could have asked over coms, high in the air as the wind whistled past their wings. They were just test flights after all, no enemy to contend with. He could have asked her then.

But he didn't.

"That was a very long time ago," She's turning to the fridge, pulling a pitcher of lemonade out. The sigh that leaves her lips is nothing but tension attempting to escape from the confines of her chest. It doesn't work, and Bradley doesn't catch the hint to just shut the fuck up and leave it be.

"We knew each other, right? When we were kids?" The question catches Monsoon off guard, almost as much as his initial presence did. She wants to laugh, really she does, at the ridiculousness of the situation. 

He didn't remember that fact when they met on the carrier five years ago, and Monsoon tried not to let that bother her, especially when he was buried inside of her, moaning filthy things into her ear. But now? Now he remembers. But somewhere, the memory of their torrid love affair escapes the great mind of Bradley Bradshaw.

"Oh, for fucks sake,"

Though the whole thing is laughable; Bradley isn't laughing. He's holding his breath, too caught up in the scene in front of him, in the soreness of his chest and the way his heart thrums against the backside of his ribcage. 

Fuck how his chest aches. 

There is this part of his past, this piece that he once knew like the back of his hand, that's just in reach now- again, and Monsoon is laughing at him. The memory of her was erased with the sounding of artillery, the three volley's fired into the air. And now, he craves this memory like he craves the memory of his father, the pieces of his innocence having crumbling into his hands like ash.

It still stains his hands that sickly blackish gray, gritty against his skin, though he is the only one that can see it.

The sliding door opens once more and Cyclone is slipping though, holding a large platter of steak in his hand, the meat is grilled to perfection and he looks proud. Bradley looks at Monsoon with furrowed brows, questioning the words that she let slip past her lips. Cyclone steps between them, setting the plate of meat down on to the dinner table, more than enough food to go around.

"Please, Y/N, come and join us," Cyclone is pulling out a seat right next to Bradley, offering it to her. Reluctantly, she pads over, taking a seat next to Bradley who can't seem to take his eyes off of her face. He runs his hands up and down his pant legs, more out of anxiety than anything else. Cyclone takes a seat across from the pair, a tight smile on his face. 

In any other world, it may look like a child introducing their significant other to their father, the way the tension hangs in the air between the trio. Cyclone awkwardly dishes himself servings of the food before passing it to Monsoon, who does the same before placing it down next to her, leaving Bradley to fend for himself. It's petty, that's true, but to Monsoon, it's a small act of defiance. A small fuck you for not remembering her, or the nights they spent together.

The Admiral knows something is going on right under his nose, just out of his understanding. He can see it in the way Monsoon shifts awkwardly in her seat while Bradley's gaze gets overly friendly with the plate in front of him. There's a question on the tip of his tongue, "kid, is Bradley your boyfriend?" but he knows better than to ask it. As he observes longer, he takes in the way his daughter tilts her shoulders just a little further away from Bradley, the arm closest to him resting elbow down on the table. The moment Cyclone notices the unpassed dishes sitting between the pair, he just knows. 

"So," Cyclone clears his throat, "Are you two excited to be back at Top Gun?"

It's a reasonable question, very middle of the road. Monsoon opens her mouth to answer, but Bradley beats her to it.

"Yes, sir. It's good to be back stateside. Hell, it's good to be back on solid ground. I've been stuck on a carrier for the past nine months and I was beginning to lose my mind!" He's chuckling now, and Beau joins in right along side him, the deep chuckles of the men filling the air. "But you know how it can get on the carriers. It's hard to pass the time, no going to the bar with friends, no dating,"

Then, Monsoon's fork hits her plate with a metallic clank against the glass. No dating, yeah, right. Out of all of the things Monsoon pegged Bradley to be, a liar was not one of them, but then again not much could surprise her after the way he left. 

"How about you, kid?"

"To be determined, Pops," The answer is genuine, spoken through grit teeth. 

Maybe she shouldn't be so upset with Bradley's lack of remembrance for her. After all, it's not always the wrong time with the right person. Or the wrong place. Sometimes it's wrong, maybe he just didn't like her that much- more a deployment fling to get him through the lonely nights than a future. 

"Well, I am excited you're back," Cyclone returns her direction, but Monsoon just shoves a fork full of salad into her mouth.

"Sir, can I ask what exactly they called us back for? And are there more of us?" Bradley asks between bites, his fork and knife busy against his plate.

"I am not obliged to share much, but I can tell you that fifteen of you have been called back, from varying Top Gun classes." The explanation leaves something to be desired, but both recruits are nodding on the other side of the table. Bradley eats another bite of steak, complimenting Cyclone on his grilling; Monsoon is just pushing the food around on her plate with the tines of her fork. It's easier than finding the appetite that was lost somewhere between the front door and the kitchen after Bradley's arrival.

"Are you teaching us this go around, Pops?" Monsoon's question is spoken quietly, in the middle of Bradley's sentence about his own grilling technique- there is no remorse for the interruption.

At her words, Cyclone visibly stiffens, his fork stilling on his plate. Then he's setting it down, eyes still locked with his plate. With a huff and a lick of his lips he looks across the table, met with two pairs of curious eyes. He knew this was going to be hard, but he didn't expect it to be quite like this. 

"No, I'm not teaching," Cyclone takes another breathe, unsure who to make eye contact with, knowing the words he's about to say are not going to be received well, by either one of them. "We- Top Gun has decided to bring in-"

The doorbell is ringing loudly through the house, startling Cyclone in his seat. It breaks though the tension like a fucking bullet, the whole thing blasting apart on impact. The trio trade glances that last milliseconds, like someone just knows whos going to be standing on the other side of that door.

"I'll get it, Pops," Monsoon is already pushing out of her seat, placing her napkin next to her plate. She is a bit too eager to get away from the tension surrounding that table, not only from her question but from the way Bradley is basically staring out of the corner of his eye. Though she can't exactly see it happening, she can feel it- the way his eyes are boring into the side of her head, almost burning. She will take anyone being on the other side of that door if it means she doesn't have to sit in Bradley's swimming gaze any longer. 

"No, you stay, I'll get it," Cyclone corrects, "You stay and chat,"

Then, Cyclone is pushing away from the table, heading right for the front door. He gives his daughter no time to protest. Cyclone leaves the slowly rebuilding tension behind him, and Monsoon is stuck having to sit back down, next to Bradley, left to simmer in it.

"We did know each other, right?" Bradley is quick to ask the moment Cyclone rounds the corner. It's a speed he's not used to- too used to sitting and waiting for the perfect timing that just doesn't come. But this isn't something he's willing to wait on, it's just something he has to know.

"Yes, Bradley, we knew each other. But that was a long time ago," Monsoon is shrugging, avoiding his eyes. The words should have hit him harder, from the way they all but flew from her lips, but the impact is almost gentle, like the comfort of them bore the brunt of it all.

"Do you remember my father?" The question is so innocent that it almost hurts; and Monsoon knows just how much throbbing pain there is inside Bradley. After one drunken night while on the carrier, he poured his heart out about his father, about how much he missed him and how he wished- hoped that Goose would have been proud of him. Monsoon sat and listened the to the whole thing, through the tears and drunken hiccups, reassuring Bradley that Goose would be proud of him.

After all, she knewhim, even if that was a million years ago- even if Bradley didn't know it.

She knows he would have been, because Goose was a good man.

A trait that seemed to have skipped over Bradley.

Good men remember their lovers. They remember their old friends. They remember the people who showed up to their mother's funeral- and have the decency to show up to their friends' mother's funeral.  

Good men don't leave women in the dead of night, a break up message scrawled on a sticky note. They don't leave their friends to grieve alone. They don't forget. 

"Yes, I remember him," Monsoon chances a glance at Bradley, unintentionally meeting his eyes. God, he's looking at her like she holds the fucking secrets to the universe and all she can feel is a sort of twisted up sickness, like her sternum is bound together with poisoned ropes. Bradley can see the stars that cling to her fingertips, the secrets to the cosmos, but can't seem to find the words to beg for their translation.

Cyclone is walking back into the room a second later, accompanied by another set of footsteps. Neither Monsoon nor Bradley look up when they walk in, both too busy staring at each other. Bradley looks curious, Monsoon looks hurt. 

She looks away first. 

A tall blond walks in behind Cyclone, his gaze focused on a set of files in his hand. He's reading over the top file carefully, running his free hand through his cropped hair. There is a toothpick in his mouth, resting between his teeth. Dressed in his tan uniform, his biceps are straining against the cuffs.

He's a Stetson model type, clean cut and masculine. The line of his jaw accentuated by the clean lines of his uniform. His jaw ticks with frustration as his brows furrow at the paperwork. There appears to be a word on the tip of his tongue by the way the toothpick bobs between his plump lips.

"Hey, guys, sorry for that, this is-" Cyclone swings his hand, introduction interrupted by twin gasps.

"Jake?!"

"Hangman?"

Hangman isn't sure who to look at first, but his eyes meet Bradley's form first, his eyebrows knitting together at the familiar face before shooting to his hairline when his eyes land on Monsoon sitting next to Bradley.

"Y/N, Doll! What are you doing here?"

Cyclone is whipping his head around in the way he might flip a jet. And Monsoon is pushing out of her chair again, ready to round the table and throw herself into the arms of the strong, blond man who just walked in, but her eyes meet the bewildered look on Cyclone's face, causing her to halt her movements. Hangman sets the paperwork down on the kitchen island, his eyes still locked on Monsoon, that damn smirk of his playing on his lips. Monsoon can tell he is holding himself back, fully aware of exactly who's house he is standing in, and the relationship between Monsoon and the Admiral.

It's been months since they've seen each other. Their goodbyes were said on the front porch of his little rental outside of Lake Hurst. Neither of them relished being in New Jersey, but they had each other and that's all that had mattered. They fostered a brand new relationship over a year, neither of them brave enough to label the nights spent together in that house. 

Then new orders came down the pipeline, on a TS Need-To-Know. The pair were being separated with the flick of a pen. So, they labelled their year long relationship through tears standing on his stoop, the night the orders came down the channel. 

They packed Jake's small house, and Monsoon's apartment, neither one knowing just what was to come. In the name of a temporary duty station, they got storage units next to each other, the closest thing to living together they'd be able to swing. 

That was six months ago. 

Monsoon did a little time in Pensacola while Jake got sent to Oak Harbor. Thousands of miles apart, their dates turned from late night dinners to quick conversations over the phone just to hear the other's voice. 

Neither of them expected their reunion to be here, in Admiral Simpson's kitchen, with Bradley Bradshaw and the Admiral watching the whole thing, confused expressions written into their features. 

"I got recalled to Top Gun!" Monsoon giggles a bit, her gaze still trapped with Hangman's.

"Me too!" The words leave Jake's lips and the pair are smiling. It's taking everything for them to hold themselves back from embracing each other, after months apart. Then, Cyclone is clearing his throat.

"Pops," Monsoon begins, clasping her hands in front of her, "God, this is weird. Remember earlier this evening when I said I wanted to talk to you about something?"

She had fully been intending on telling her Cyclone about her relationship with Hangman, in fact, she had been working up the courage for the past few weeks. But, Jake comes with a record, a reputation, and a respect problem, things Monsoon knows her Pops won't approve of. 

"What's going on? Is everything okay?" The words are leaving Cyclone's lips almost too quick, but Monsoon is quick to reassure him that it is.

"Well, this isn't exactly how I saw this going, but, Pops, I'd like you to meet my boyfriend, Jake Seresin," Monsoon is gesturing to Jake now, a worried smile on her face. The pair know each other, of course they do. They had met the first time Hangman went through Top Gun. Cyclone was on instructor duty and Hangman didn't take overly well to being instructed; though he did finish top of his class. 

Monsoon bobs up and down on the balls of her feet, the nervous energy flowing through her body. If she could push all the energy out of her and into the floor she would. Her soles grounding the electric current flowing through her, unapologetic and lightning hot. Monsoon would stand there in front of the three men who have played such a large roll in her life, back straight and eyes forward like the Navy trained her to do, if only she could coral that fucking energy and send it straight through the floor.

Monsoon bounces instead.

If she had the time, she could have prevented the look that crosses Cyclone's face. That look of you're not good enough for my kid that is so evident on his features. She knows that Jake saw it, clear as day from the way he almost winces. Everyone in that room knows the reputation that Hangman wears like a neon sign. The "voted biggest player" social life with the stellar callsign, the pilot known for leaving his wingman hanging, acting alone- selfish.

So much for putting off telling Cyclone; so much for easing him into the news. 

Bradley is watching the whole exchange from his seat with his eyebrows raised, like a fucking soap opera but the whole spectacle's happening in real time. He lets his eyes shift from person to person, taking it all in. Monsoon looks hopeful, though she is waiting with baited breath for her Pops to blow a fucking gasket. Jake, on the other hand, looks absolutely cool. Though he is the reason for the interruption, and for the impromptu introduction, he is impossibly collected. Then, Bradley's eyes shift to Cyclone, who has backed up a few steps. He keeps looking between Monsoon and Hangman, like he is playing some sort of invisible game of connect the dots.

Hangman and his fucking reputation are courting his daughter, and Cyclone really isn't thrilled about the news. 

Though Bradley isn't exactly thrilled to see Hangman here either, he's taking the whole thing in stride, as opposed to Cyclone, but the younger man can't exactly blame him. If it were Bradley getting this major bomb dropped on him, he wouldn't be sitting pretty, either. Bradley is bringing his glass up to his lips, his eyes still flashing between the trio.

"Monsoon-" Cyclone starts, but the sound of coughing interrupts. Bradley is coughing, choking on his water. He attempts to wave a hand, letting everyone know he's okay, but in reality, he's far from it.

Monsoon. The woman he left asleep in her bunk five years ago stands next to him now, and not only that, they fucking grew up together, at least for a little while. And she remembers his Dad, and she's Maverick's kid. And fuck, she's dating Hangman!

Things are moving just a bit too fast, and Bradley can't quite catch his breath between coughing fits. 

The glass is quickly set back onto the kitchen table, but is sent over the edge as Bradley reaches for a napkin. The glass falls in faux slow motion, the liquid flowing from the cup as it hits the hardwood, shattering like a pinprick galaxy upon the floor. Bradley, still coughing, searches the new formation of cosmos on the floor for the answer to all the mixed up bullshit he has found himself in.

"Rooster?" Monsoon pats him harshly on the back, right between his shoulder blades. Then, she is rubbing his back, her hand full of warmth through the thin fabric of his shirt. His skin burns under her touch as he struggles to return his breathing to normal. There's still a knot in the back of his throat made of unsaid words and new revelations that he can't seem to swallow down. 

"Rooster, are you okay?"

Hangman and Cyclone are quick to circle around the table, Hangman taking a knee next to Monsoon, his hand quickly finding her lower back. Cyclone is on the other side of Bradley, the glass crunching under his expensive leather loafers. Bradley is red from all the coughing, but an embarrassed blush still floods his skin from all the attention.

"Mons?" The nickname comes out all scratchy as Rooster wipes a newly formed tears from his eyes. The concerned expression morphs to hold a bit of shock before settling on some sort of mix of frustration and downright sadness. Monsoon tries to school her expression but her eyes still swim with emotion as they are locked with Bradley's.

"Yeah, Roos," Monsoon shoots his nickname right back, a confirmation that all but shakes the world around Bradley. She brings a tender hand up to squeeze his shoulder before pulling back, subconsciously leaning closer to Hangman, into the warmth of his hand on her back. She finds safety in her boyfriend's touch, the warmth of his skin pooling against her through the fabric of her dress. 

The lack of contact makes Rooster feel cold, but the feeling is short lived as Cyclone is grasping at his other shoulder. A swivel of his head and Bradley is met with the furrowed brows of the Admiral.

"Are you okay, Mr. Bradshaw?"

"Yes, sir," Bradley responds, adjusting the collar of his shirt. "I'm so sorry about the glass, please, let me clean it up,"

As Rooster stands, he is pushed back down gently by Cyclone, his hand still on the younger man's shoulder.

"Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it, please," And so Bradley is sitting again, in the center of the standing trio, feeling completely out of place. "As for the two of you, take a seat, we have some things to discuss,"

The sound of chairs being pulled out against the hard wood floor is accompanied by the intense ringing of the doorbell once again. The group look from person to person, once again looking for any clue as to who could be at the front door this time. Cyclone is padding over to the door, the crunching of glass less evident the further away her gets.

Bradley attempts to clear the lump in his throat, now without the luxury of his glass of water. Monsoon takes her untouched glass and slides it closer to Bradley, a barely there smile on her face. Her expression holds more sympathy than anything. Bradley takes the glass with both hands, a little too careful as he brings it up to his lips. 

"Let me get you a plate, okay?" Monsoon speaks to Hangman, her smile clearly wider, brighter, more full of life when it's directed his way. "Pops will give me so much grief if he comes back and that spot isn't set,"

So, Monsoon excuses herself from the table, leaving the men sitting in apprehensive silence. 

With a strong tug from Cyclone, door swings open and there is no time for a 'hello' as the man on the other side is pushing in, a wild look in his eye, a vein on his forehead bulging with frustration.

"We need to talk Simpson," The tone holds misplaced authority. Beau runs cold at the sight of Pete "Maverick" fucking Michell standing in his entryway, looking pissed off enough to catch a charge.

"That's Admiral Simpson to you Captain," Cyclone's teeth are grit so hard they might crack under the pressure of his jaw. "You cannot be here right now,"

The raised hand does nothing to stop Maverick from pushing further into the house. There's a folder in his hand, wrinkling under the closing of his fist. Sweat clings to the Admiral's brow, a vision of the crown of thorns, droplets running down the side of his face. It might as well have been blood from the way his stomach twists as Maverick steps closer to him, pushing the paperwork, right against the center of his chest.

"Do you know who got recruited for this mission, huh?" The words are dripping with venom, "Do you realize who you've chosen for this fucking death wish of a goddamn mission?"

Captain Michell's tone is all accusatory and full fury. He's pushing into Cyclone's chest harder, his knuckles white under the pressure. Cyclone grabs at the older man's wrist, his own knuckles paling as he squeezes.

"Captain, I will not repeat myself, you cannot be here,"

"Who is it, Pops?" Monsoon is calling from around the corner, her voice full of curiosity. Cyclone isn't a praying man, especially after what happened with June and their sweet baby boy, but now Cyclone is praying to every god, every deity that crosses his mind, even those who's names he cannot recall, that his daughter will not walk around the corner to see Pete Mitchell standing in his entry way.

"Nobody, kid, I'll be there in just a moment," He calls before turning his attention back to the man in front of him. He tightens his grip on Pete's wrist before he's wrenching it away from his chest. He pushes it back into Pete's own chest, leaning in close, "My daughter is not to see you here, leave. Now."

One might think Maverick would get the hint, since he pulls his hand from Cyclones grip. But then, Maverick is throwing open the file, pointing at the first page's photo. There is so much frustration in the action, it bounces between the two men like they're sounding boards, building and building.

"See this? Jake "Hangman" Seresin? You really want to send somebody in the sky who has a pension for leaving their wingman? You want to send someone into the air with a guy like him when the mission is already guaranteeing a loss of life?" 

That catches the attention of the trio in the other room. All motion stills as they strain to hear more. 

Wide mouthed, pointed tongue, Maverick is yelling without a care in the world. It doesn't matter who hears as long as Cyclone is hearing it too.

"And how about this," The paper tears as Maverick turns the page, "Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw. You know about his father. You damn well know about Goose and you want to send his son to an early grave too?"

Jaws tick, fists tighten. Cyclone breathes deeply, thinking- choosing his words carefully as the older man continues to scream. It's not beautiful or noble like books would describe. There is no gift from God, no blessing, no one anointed with the ability to see into the future, to see just how this is going to play out. Instead, it's just words exchanged between mortal men, both too damn stubborn to back down with knives to each other's throats.

"And check out these two," Maverick is laughing now, leaning in closer to Cyclone, his breathe reeking of whiskey. Cyclone can see the way Maverick's eyes are bloodshot and weepy as he pushes him back. Sweat coats his skin leaving him clammy to the touch. 

"Natasha "Phoenix" Trace and Robert "Bob" Floyd," Another strangled laugh escapes Captain Mitchell, "You really think this scrawny kid and a woman are up to the task at hand? Really? I can think of at least five better pilots and Wizzos who are better qualified than these two. And look! She's the pilot! Hell, I don't even know how they made it through Top Gun the first time around! The fucking Navy is getting soft."

"It's time for you to go, Captain Mitchell. Sober up. We will discuss this on Monday," Cyclone puts a hand to the older man's shoulder, attempting to usher him out without too much force. Cyclone can't risk Maverick being in his house any longer. He has already been gone too long and his guests are likely getting curious. "Time to go, Pete,"

"But, Cyclone, you haven't even heard the best part," Maverick can barely get the words out through drunken laughter. He's turning the page with clumsy fingers, the paper tearing under his touch.

The trio, Rooster, Monsoon, and Hangman round the corner as Cyclone is attempting to usher Maverick out the front door. They watch as the Maverick stumbles out of Cyclone's grip and further into the house.

"Pops?" Monsoon speaks as the strange man hits the floor, laughing as he does. The file has fallen open, scattering pictures of the newest Top Gun brain child called The Dagger Squad. They sit scattered all over the entry way like freshly fallen snow. Her eyes go to the paper that falls near her feet. 

"Well if it isn't the prodigal child," Maverick speaks, pushing himself further off the floor. "How many strings did you have to pull to get your own daughter onto the squad? Are you trying to send this kid to an early grave like the last one?"

The three Daggers stand speechless. Monsoon is quickly folded under Hangman's arm, her face pressed into his chest. Rooster stands just off to the side of them, his eyes flashing to Monsoon. 

The arguing doesn't stop.

"Shut your mouth," Cyclone spits, "You don't know a goddamn thing,"

Maverick stumbles to his feet, standing up at straight as possible to get into Cyclone's face, just to taunt the younger man.

"See, Admiral, that's not true, now is it? You and I both know that she isn't actually yours and this would be an easy way to get rid of her, right? Send her back to-"

His words are met with a swift punch to the face, the cartilage of his nose crunching under Cyclone's knuckles. The punch feels good, like it had been coming for a long, long time. Like it had been building within Beau Simpson for years, every single time Maverick missed out on a celebration of the amazing life Monsoon is leading. For every birthday, every graduation, every reenlistment and promotion ceremony, Maverick missed it all, and the rage built inside Cyclone. Now, it finally came out, popped like a Champaign cork, blood instead of the fizzy alcohol dotting itself over Cyclone's entryway.

A warm hand slips into Monsoon's; Bradley stepped closer, clutching onto her. He recognized Pete Mitchell the moment he got a clear view, both his anger and anxiety flaring. Bradley squeezed her hand once, nice and strong, before dropping it once more, stepping in front of her and Hangman.

"Captain Mitchell," Bradley begins, his voice firm, full of hurt.

The words make Monsoon's head spin. She leans away from her boyfriend's chest to get a better look at the bloody faced man and it sends a chill down her spine. Her Dad who she hasn't seen in years is now standing in a room full of people who can't fucking stand his existence. It's a fucking miracle that all he has is a bloody nose.

"Bradley," Pete spits a little bit of blood as he speaks, looking up at the younger man. He reaches a hand out, but it's dodged. "It's good to see you, son,"

"I'm not your son. It's time for you to go," Bradley is ready to grab Pete Mitchell by the collar and haul him out of the house. He's ready to throw him onto the lawn and leave him there to spit blood and sober up enough until he can walk himself home. Bradley has his own selfish reasons, his own grudge against the Captain, and now would be as good a time as any to feed into that frustration that he's been stewing in for years.

"I'm calling Admiral Kazansky," Cyclone declares to the room, then he's spinning on his heel the moment Bradley takes a step closer, clearly putting himself between Maverick and Monsoon.

The Admiral is ordering Hangman to move, to take his daughter anywhere else so that she doesn't have to see any more of the disaster that the night has turned out to be. He doesn't want her to see him throw Maverick out- hell, he didn't want her to see him punch the older man, but there's no going back in time. 

As much as Cyclone wishes he could have protected her from this, he couldn't. One can't stop a speeding bullet, as they say, and the shot had already been fired the moment he pulled open the front door. And as much as he doesn't want to, Cyclone has to trust Hangman with his daughter, he just has to, now. 

So, Hangman is all but carrying Monsoon away as she fights to stay put. She misses the order from her Pops, her blood thrumming too loudly through her ears. Hangman takes her through the house, dodging the pile of glass still glittering on the hardwood in the kitchen, hauling her out the backdoor and right to his truck. Monsoon flights the whole time, though it's unclear as to her reason to want to say behind.

The pair are pulling away from the house as Bradley and Beau are hauling Maverick out to the front lawn, his nose still pouring blood.

Jake drives in the direction of his apartment, holding onto her hand the whole time. He squeezes it reassuringly though there isn't much he can assure her of at the moment. Neither of them know what's going to come of Maverick, or of Cyclone's heated action against him. They don't know if Bradley is going to get caught in the crossfire, or if they are going to get called into the MP's office sometime in the middle of the night.

There is no clear answer, so, Hangman squeezes her hand and drives.

And drives.

And drives.

As far away as he can get from that house, that situation, the feeling in his chest spurred on by the broken look in Monsoon's eyes.

He drives until the sun crests over the horizon. Pulling off onto the side of the highway, Hangman kills the headlights, the world around them just beginning to come to life. That's when the tears come, falling fast and hard from the pools of Monsoon's eyes. Hangman just holds her there, inside of the truck.

The world around them awakens as Monsoon's falls apart, crumbling like unquenched Earth between her fingers. Maybe that's what the whole situation is, after all, how many times have the great authors related relationships to gardens, to plants, to life. Without nurture, without care and tending, the soil dries out, the plants die. The whole garden becoming a wasteland for the decaying plant matter; the soil turning to clay as the days roll on.

But isn't decay an unescapable fact of life?

Miramar, California. TOP GUN. Two weeks after the organization of the Dagger Squad.

Hangman had completely expected to pretend like the whole fight at the Admiral's house didn't happen when he met up with the other recruits at the bar, save for Monsoon. He took a little too much joy ordering drinks for the team on Maverick's tab- the older man not seeming to remember him from the incident, even after Hangman sent him a wink and a "thanks, Pops,".

When Bradley strutted in like the world was full of golden promise, Hangman took it upon himself to act like it was the first time they had seen each other in years. Bradshaw was quick to get the memo: last week didn't happen.

There's no surprise that Maverick got thrown out of the Hard Deck that night, either. Hangman sure as hell wasn't expecting to be the one to throw Maverick out of the bar, but that part gave him a sense of pride that he can't quite put words to.

The feeling bloomed in his chest as he watched Maverick hit the sand. A wide smile spread across his face as he yelled for him to "come back anytime," if that meant getting more free alcohol and the chance to throw him out again. Then, as Hangman closed the doors behind him while Rooster began one hell of a rendition of "Great Balls of Fire", everything felt like it was going to be okay.

Oh boy, how wrong he was.

Tensions are high now, Hangman and Rooster's rivalry is back and stronger than ever. They have been at each other's throats since that night at the Hard Deck, though the reason wasn't the mission or the usual dick measuring contest, even if the other recruits would say that it is.

They have been battling it out over a woman. Monsoon, specifically. The team doesn't know about her involvement with Hangman, and the pair try and keep it that way. So, she sits in the back of the classroom, right behind Yale and does her best to pay attention. The mission seems more impossible by the minute, the deadline has been moved up, and nobody has been successful.

Rooster and Maverick argue about the plane vs the pilot and how he had been the only one to make it to the target, though it was a minute late.

Then, Hangman opens his fucking mouth, living up to that reputation of his. "It's no time to be thinking about the past,"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rooster's expression is unreadable, though his brows twitch.

"I can't be the only one that knows Maverick flew with his old man!" Hangman continues through Maverick's pleas, "Or that he was the one flying when-"

Rooster is out of his seat in a matter of seconds, launching himself at his fellow Lieutenant. Hangman took it too far this time. Rooster gets one good push in before the rest of the squad are separating the two hot headed men from each other, everyone yelling for the fighting to stop.

Everyone but Monsoon, who sits in the back staring at the fight in front of her and can't seem to make herself move.

"You son of a bitch!"

"Hey, hey, I'm cool, I'm cool," Hangman reassures, pulling out of the arms of his teammates.

"He's not cut out for this mission, you know it... You know I'm right." He gets up into Bradley's face, a fucking smirk on his lips. The others are still holding Bradley back as he calms down, but it's that fucking smirk that spurs him on.

Bob's hands slip from Rooster's shoulders as he gets into Hangman's face. "You think you can talk shit about my family when it's your girl that's got the most fucked up situation of all," Bradley keeps his eyes trained on Hangman, but the blonde's eyes tick to the side, in the direction of Monsoon, who is still in her seat. It's Bob who notices the way Hangman's eyes shift, and he's the first person to look in Monsoon's direction. Then, Bob's nudging Phoenix. 

They watch as Monsoon tenses in her seat, her jaw ticking. Her hands grip the arms of her chair, knuckles white. Then, Bob and Phoenix turn their attention back to the men as the screaming match continues. 

"I'm not the one who broke up with her on a goddamn post-it note, Rooster," Hangman points out with a raise of his brows, that stupid little smirk still evident on his lips. Rooster is bringing his hands up to his temples, his expression scrunched.

"You son of a bitch," Rooster is cursing at him through grit teeth, his voice low.

The crowd of Aviators are still gathered around the two men watching them fight, Maverick's eyes flicking between them as words are exchanged. His mind flashes back to two weeks ago, when he broke down the Admiral's door and saw them standing there with Cyclone. He suddenly flashes his eyes back to Monsoon, only to be met with her piercing glare.

"What? Was taking her father for yourself not good enough for you? Did you have to break her heart too?" Hangman questions, watching as Bradley's face contorts, "You're just pissed because not only could you not keep your shit Rio of a father around, you couldn't keep the girl, either,"

"That's enough!" Monsoon shouts, her eyes finally leaving Maverick. The Daggers' eyes are locked on Monsoon at the back of the makeshift classroom, anger evident on her features. Then, with her hands firmly planted on the table in front of her, she is pushing up from her seat.

"Seresin," Monsoon begins, turning her eyes to him, "First, you will not speak about my uncle that way. Goose was a good man and a damn good Rio. Uncle Nicky would have moved the fucking Earth for Bradley, or for Maverick, or for me and my Mama, don't you dare think anything different."

Monsoon is moving closer to the group now, taking each step slowly, methodical as her words. There is a large, yellow envelope tucked under her arm as she approaches. She had been sitting with that envelope since their first class, no one having even the slightest idea what's tucked inside.

"Secondly, Rooster, my relationship with Jake is not your business, not now, not ever. What we had was over the moment you wrote that post-it and walked out the door. You didn't even remember the fact that we grew up together, for fucks sake. I get it, I was your little deployment fling, and that's all. Now, you get to live with the fact that's all I'll ever be. Hangman put you in your place, now say in it."

The crowd is too stunned to speak, but there is a rumble of laughter that escapes Maverick. He doesn't even try to hide it, thinking the tension in the air would be enough to cover it. But then, Monsoon is turning her pointed gaze to him.

"Finally, Captain Mitchell," There is a sick little smirk on her lips as she says his name, "I wouldn't be laughing if I were you. After all, Bradley had to get his pension for forgetting women from somebody."

Monsoon is standing toe to toe with Maverick now, eyes locked in on his, "After all, I've been in this class for what, two weeks, and I know you have had the roster for longer than that, considering that little stunt you pulled at my Pop's house. You think it's funny to forget someone when your own flesh and blood is standing right in front of you?"

Maverick furrows his brow, head cocking to the side. Monsoon can practically see the gears turning in his head with the way his eyes move across her features. She breathes deeply a couple of times, letting his mind piece the puzzle together.

"I asked you a question, but go ahead, take your time," Monsoon leans in just a fraction further, "After all, I'm told I look more like my mother, anyway," Wide eyes from the man in front of her stir out a strangled giggle from her chest.

"Wha- bu-" Maverick flounders, his mouth opening and closing, no words forming on his lips.

"Hi, Dad," The name is said with so much venom as she pushes the envelope against his chest with enough force to make him stumble. Monsoon doesn't wait for him to recover before she is turning to walk down the aisle of the makeshift classroom, paying no attention to the stares, the eyes burning holes into the back of her head. Instead she focuses on the momentary feeling of lightness that washes over her as she leaves the hanger.

It isn't until Monsoon rounds the corner that the tears begin pricking at her eyes. She takes off running as soon as the first one hits her cheek, the only thing she can hear over the rushing of blood in her ears is the thunking of her heavy boots on the pavement.

The Daggers stand looking at Maverick. He's holding the envelope to his chest, unsure of the emotions wracking though his body. Then, with a quick hand, he's crudely tearing at the envelope. The contents pour out over the floor of the hanger, looking just like that night at Admiral Simpson's house. Maverick tries to push that thought from his mind as his eyes focus in on the papers covering the floor.

Birthday Cards. Children's birthday cards.

The same ones he wrote to her for her first ten birthdays. He can't even get himself to bend down to pick one up, his neck aching from the way he stares down at them. He notices the little circles of wrinkled paper from long dried tears and his heart fucking breaks. 

The image of Monsoon at four, at seven, that he can see clearly in his mind, but there's a gap missing. Still, Maverick imagines her sitting and rereading the cards at seventeen, at twenty-two, crying over them and the father she could barely remember. Tears prick at Mavericks eyes and he lets them, making no attempt to wipe them away. 

It doesn't take long for the Daggers to figure out that the pile of cards is noticeably small, no more than nine or ten cards on the ground, though no one is near brave enough to say anything.

Moments like this remind Maverick he's still just a mere man. No matter how many records he breaks, aircrafts he tests, or brushes with death he encounters, Maverick is nothing more than a man with a skill set. He has flaws. He makes mistakes. 

That fact is almost too much for him to take. 

The memory of Goose flashes through his mind, the moments leading up to the failed ejection birth the feeling of ocean water weighing down his flight suit, soaking into the padding of his helmet as the water washes over them. So much blood where there should be none. And then Maverick is thinking about cleaning the scraped knees of his daughter, the blood bubbling up through the road rash. The tears, then, were hers as she begged, "Daddy, not the ouch-y cleaner, I don't like it,". But Maverick cleaned her wounds with the alcohol anyway, only to end up holding her against his chest in the same way he would hold Goose in less than a year. 

Maverick's mind is a patchwork quilt of shit memories; stuck reliving them all, fragment by fragment. 

"Class dismissed," Maverick manages, his eyes still glued to the floor. The sounds of fourteen pairs of boots, first loud then quieter as they go, leave the hanger, leaving him standing there, looking at the past he threw away illustrated simply in faded and forgotten birthday cards.

The hands of the clock circle once before Maverick moves. He walks right over the pile, his boots leaving angry, dark tread marks across the colorful paper. He doesn't look back once, not at the pile of cards, not at the hanger, not at the base. 

He drives straight for the Hard Deck. It's the only thing he can think to do, and after all, maybe Penny has some sort of advice. She's the only person he actually knows with a kid- a daughter.

Maverick only makes it half way before he has to pull over. Quickly, he throws himself off his bike, his knees hitting the dirt as he empties the contents of his stomach. As a pilot, he should have a stronger stomach than this, but a choice he made almost eighteen years ago is coming back to haunt him. 

He can still see Monsoon's eyes in the forefront of his mind. They haven't changed a bit from when she was a kid, Maverick realizes, as he's sat back on his haunches trying not to puke again. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, grimacing at the feeling of his swirling stomach. 

Maybe he should have stuck around, or at least circled back when he wasn't on deployment. After all, Maria left messages on his machine for almost two years after he up and left. It started with her begging to call which slowly turned into begging him to at least send a fucking birthday card. So he did. 

Then, she stopped calling, and he stopped writing. Monsoon grew up. 

It would be so easy to blame Maria. When she stopped calling, he stopped remembering. Between deployments and missions, flight tests and ceremonies, Maverick could pretend that it all got lost in the shuffle. But then, he remembers Maria and the way she always seemed to flawlessly manage her Naval carrier with raising their daughter, how she could juggle it all without his help when he was deployed and it was all okay. At least that's what he told himself. 

So, he thought if she could do it alone already, no harm could come from putting in for extra duty. That turned into extra deployments, more time away from home. He knew it was all a lie, but he had to tell himself something to justify it. 

It did get easier after a while, as his daughter slowly slipped to the back of his mind. It wasn't until one day, six years after he left that the realization hit him. Maverick hadn't thought of his daughter in months. He should have felt more guilty; he drank himself sick at the thought.

Two years later Maverick didn't even realize he missed her eighteenth birthday. 

Or her twenty-first. 

Over the years he convinced himself he did the right thing. That part of his past became a distant memory that he told himself he didn't miss. Maverick would be lying to himself if he still believed that to be true in this moment, sat on the side of the road after having been faced with the consequences of his long forgotten actions. 

Maverick kept one constant reminder playing on repeat in his mind all those years, You can't be a bad father if you aren't there to be one at all. 

And for the first time since he walked out, Maverick thinks he may have been wrong. 

He sits on the side of the road until the sun sets, stewing in his misery. When he manages to pull himself back up onto his bike, he heads for home, knowing that if Penny knew the whole story he would be on the outs with her, too. And so, he drives slowly, back to an empty house, wishing for the first time in years that it wouldn't be empty when he got there. 

---

When Monsoon finally reached Cyclone's office, eight blocks from the hanger, she almost collapsed in the entryway of the building. But, she pushed through the crowd, ignoring the calls of his assistant who insisted that Cyclone could not be interrupted while he was in a meeting. Monsoon couldn't find it in herself to care. 

When she pushes the door to his office open, she is met with three pairs of eyes. Iceman, Warlock, and Cyclone's eyes meet her frame. She is breathing heavy from the mix of running and sobbing, though it's unclear as to which is causing the redness in her cheeks. 

"Excuse me, recruit, but you can't-" Warlock starts, closing the file sitting in his lap. There is an edge to his tone, not taking too kindly to being interrupted. 

"Hey, kid, what's wrong?" Cyclone is cutting off Warlock without a second thought. The moment he moves out from behind his desk, Monsoon is throwing herself into his arms, her barely contained tears now overflowing. Without a second thought, Cyclone is folding her into his arms, doing his best to hold her shaking form. 

"I'm sorry, sir, I tried to stop her," Cyclone's assistant huffs, running a hand through his hair. Cyclone waves the younger man off, the door closing behind him with a click. Then, Cyclone is wrapping his daughter tighter in his arms, one hand coming up to rub between her shoulders while the other is wrapped securely around her waist. 

"I'm sorry, gentleman, but the meeting will have to be continued another time," Cyclone speaks, his tone clear, unwavering. Warlock shakes his head but gets up to leave anyway. Iceman follows after him, nodding a sort of good luck to his fellow Admiral before closing the door behind him. 

"Tell me what's wrong, kid," Cyclone is pulling back, his hands squeezing at her shoulders. Monsoon is rubbing at her cheeks, smearing her tears over the expanse of her face. It's the same ugly cry she had when they first met, and the connection make's Cyclone's heart twist. 

"I-" She starts, sentence interrupted by a hiccupping gasp, "Everything is falling apart," 

Monsoon tries to wipe at her face again with her hands, but Cyclone plunges a hand into his pocket only to offer her a green pocket hanky a second later. She takes it with unsteady fingers, her heart still thrumming a mile a minute. 

"Hangman and Rooster got in a fight in class. Jake said a shitty thing about my uncle Nicky, Goose, you know?" 

"Bradley shoved Jake, which isn't exactly a surprise, but then he told everyone that my family situation is all kinds of fucked up, which it is, but it's nobody else's business. God, Pops, I know now that I made a mistake when I started seeing Rooster while we were on deployment together, but God, that was five years ago! It's in the past!"

Cyclone nods at her, listening intently while trying to keep calm. So much new information is being thrown at him with each sentence that leaves her lips and it makes him angry. 

"Worst of all, though," Monsoon wipes at her nose with the hanky, "Maverick knows,"

"He knows?" 

"I told him," She confirms with a whimper and a nod, not daring to meet Cyclone's eyes. If she managed to meet them, she would have been met with nothing but rage boiling behind his irises, red hot flames behind the dark brown of his eyes. 

"I had to, everything was already coming out anyway," She laments. 

"What did he have to say for himself?" The question is asked through grit teeth as he pulls her body tighter against his, a move meant to feel protective but does nothing to quell the flames burning Cyclone from the inside out. All Monsoon can do is shake her head "no" as she sobs against the denseness of his chest. 

"I'm gonna kill him" is all Cyclone can think as he rests his chin against her hair. His jaw ticks as the flaming feeling overtakes his body. If he could, he would strip Maverick of every single one of his achievements, his medals, his rank. He would cut the older man down so far that he was nothing more than a civilian with a dishonorable discharge. 

But he can't.

So instead, he holds his daughter as she cries. He lets her tears soak the tan fabric of his uniform top, the buttons scraping against her skin. He rubs her back and whispers into her hair, promises that everything will be okay. 

---

Somewhere in the Pacific. The Uranium Mission. Three weeks after the organization of the Dagger Squad. 

Moments after the Uranium mission is completed, the team piled on the aircraft carrier, all grateful to be alive. Monsoon and Hangman got sent up to shoot down the enemy aircraft, saving Maverick and Rooster. The whole thing left nothing but swirls of confusion and gratitude in Monsoon's heart. 

On one hand, she is so thankful that everyone made it back home. There will be no funerals, no folded flags and no Taps to be played. Instead there will be celebrations, beer and cheering and one too many speeches for a job well done. The whole thing should be liberating as their impending doom has been starved off for the time being, however there is still a feeling of anxiety sitting heaving in her chest.  

Now, Monsoon is stuck watching the pair climb out of the museum piece that they managed to land on the carrier. The wind is whipping past them as she watches the team embrace the two men. Her strangled feelings clog her chest as she makes her way into the fray, first approaching Bradley. 

"Glad to have you back on the ground," Monsoon shouts over the crowd.

"It's good to be back, even if it's not quite the ground," Bradley attempts to joke, "But seriously, we owe everything to you and Hangman," 

"Nobody left behind," Monsoon holds her hand out to Bradley, a gesture of good will. 

"Nobody left behind," Rooster echoes, taking her hand in his own. 

As they shake hands, a sort of understanding forms between them. They share a look, one that reads no hard feelings and Bradley almost tears up. Then, they are pulling back from each other, sharing one last smile. 

Monsoon watches Bradley disappear into the crowd, his tall frame quickly swallowed up by the sea of uniforms. She catches him shake hands with Hangman a moment later, the scene bringing a small smile to her lips. 

Then, Maverick catches her eye, standing a few yards away. There are tears shining in his eyes, but he makes no effort to move forward. They share eye contact for a moment as people move between them. Monsoon offers him a half smile, her brows lifted just slightly. Before Maverick can return it, she nods at him. He nods back, then it's his turn to watch her disappear into the crowd.

It's not quite an understanding, but maybe it's a truce.

At the risk of breaking her own heart, Monsoon chances a look over her shoulder. She watches as Maverick pulls Bradley into a hug, or maybe it's the other way around, it's hard to tell with the swarming of bodies. Either way, the pair wear bright smiles as they embrace and Monsoon doesn't even try to fight off the tears that make their way to her eyes. They aren't tears of anger, no, they are tears of gratitude. Grateful that they all get to live another day, grateful that Maverick and Bradley are giving each other a second chance, and grateful that there isn't a looming cloud hanging over her head anymore. 

She no longer has to wonder about her father, because now she knows he's exactly where he is supposed to be, and both of their lives are better for it. Instead, she has Cyclone, the best father she could have ever asked for, and that is more than enough. 

Cyclone breaks through the crowd, pulling his daughter into his arms, more than thankful for her safe return. He shouts at her, over the crowd, about how well she did and how happy he is that she made it back. The pair hold each other tight for another few moments, neither ready to let go. 

Maverick takes one more look at Monsoon, who's now folded into Cyclone's arms. It's an unfamiliar sight but not an unwelcomed one, for Maverick. One thing's for sure, she is exactly like her Pops- disciplined and talented in the cockpit of a jet. Even more, though, beyond being a good aviator, she is a good person and that's something that Maverick can't regret. 

---

Miramar, California. TOP GUN. One year after the completion of the Uranium Mission and the organization of the Dagger Squad.

A year later, Cyclone and Monsoon find themselves sitting in The Flight Line Bar, her hand thrust out in front of her, ring glittering under the amber lights. 

"You're going to give me away at my wedding, right?" There is a sort of apprehension to her voice as she sips on her beer. 

"It would be my honor, kid," Cyclone slings an arm around her shoulders, pulling her sideways into him. He holds her there for a second before letting her sit back upright, a large smile on her lips. 

"Y/N Seresin has a good ring to it," Cyclone adds, bringing his beer up to his lips. 

"About that," Monsoon starts, causing the Admiral to set his beer down, "Jake and I had a conversation, and we thought that having two Aviators in the same squad with the same last name would get confusing, so it's going to be Y/N Simpson, if that's okay with you,"

The Admiral's eyes flood with tears before he can say a single word. They quickly spill down his cheeks and all he can do is look at his daughter, tears of her own overtaking her eyes. 

"I take that as a "yes"?" Monsoon chuckles, wiping her eyes with a shitty bar napkin. 

"Of course it's a yes, kid," Cyclone grabs her hand, holding it on top of the bar. 

The pair sit, hand in hand , tears still wet on their faces and all Cyclone can think about is how fucking lucky he got, how blessed his life is. He finally has a daughter who is happy and in love, a daughter that he will get to walk down the aisle on the most important day of her life. 

When he chances a glance over to her, Cyclone can see the frizz of her hair highlighted by the neon sign buzzing behind her, her cheeks bright red. For a moment, he can see June in the roundness of her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes. Cyclone thinks back to all those years ago, when he and Monsoon first met sitting in this same bar, but he doesn't entertain the memory very long, after all, he has so much to look forward to. So instead, he squeezed her hand. 

"I love you, kid," Beau tells her earnestly, smiling though a few stray tears. 

"I love you too, Pops," Monsoon returns, leaning her head on his shoulder, "Now and always," 

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@its-the-pilot

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[faithiegirl01]

Guys guys guys!! I have so many new fics that I’m so ready to post, but I was wondering if any of you have any questions about any of the upcoming ones?

Like:

Anesthesia Brain Fog

You Matter Most Pt. 1

MTV Yearbook Challenge Pt. 1

After All This Time

The Jacket

Or any others of mine

All of those and their summary’s are up on my other page. You can find them here. Go ask us questions!! We want to tell you guys all about past works or even upcoming works. I will be posting a sneak peek to You Matter Most and MTV Yearbook Challenge hopefully later today on my other page, but guys go ask us questions, we’re so so excited for what coming this year!!

[alltoomaples]

the poll results had first one for pt2 for love.jpg. and i've been editing and finishing up pt2 (though i will do all four as asked in the poll the previous week). soooooo

y'all ready for this??

[fallingforel]

i promise i’m not ignoring requests just taking a quick break hunnys as i have writers block