#Beau Cyclone Simpson fanfiction

[h-c-u]

Eye of the storm pt 3

Summary: You start to think about other things than your father's death, and Beau helps, without even realising how much. Oh, and there is a first kiss in this one :)

Pairing: Beau “Cyclone” Simpson x fem!reader (Iceman’s daughter)

W/C: 9.1k

Rating: PG, age gap, canon character’s death (Tom Kazansky)

TWs: Grief, unnamed ED, Panic attacks.

A/N: It took me a while, but it's here... I think 2, maybe 3 more parts and the story I wanted to tell will be done.

Part 1 | Part 2 Masterlist | List of tags | Eye of the storm playlist 

- Cyclone! You there? - the loud banging at the door instantly jolted both of you awake, and you looked at Beau, fear painted all over your face. He only clenched his jaw and went to open the door, ready to deal with all the possible consequences, but you were not... So instead of facing the reality just yet, you hid completely under the covers, making sure that every part of your body was completely hidden. Logically you knew that there were signs that he wasn't exactly alone in the room, but without your face, it would be pretty hard to connect them to you. You didn't know that, but before he opened the door, he took one last look at you and smiled only seeing bundled-up bedding.

- What? - he asked, his voice completely void of emotions.

- You're late. It's 8:20. The call. - a familiar voice said, but you couldn't fully place it.

- Shit. I overslept. I'll be there in 5. - he panicked a little but already had a plan forming in his head.

- Mark that day in a calendar, everyone! Vice-Admiral Beau Simpson overslept! - the faceless voice laughed, and you couldn't help but chuckle. Now that you thought about it, he was always first in the room whenever he had a meeting with your dad. And he was always prepared and ready to go.

- Yeah, yeah... Make all the jokes you want, Sol. But make them from somewhere where you won't see me change. - Sol... Solomon Bates. You were finally able to connect the voice to the name. You only knew him in passing, that's why you didn't recognize his voice at first.

You heard the door closing, and you felt safe enough to peek from under the covers. He was quickly preparing to leave, and you wanted to try something truly evil. When he was still in the bathroom, you took one of his tan uniforms from the wardrobe and passed the folded clothes through the open door. You watched him quickly change from shorts into pants, putting on a t-shirt, but when it came to the beige shirt, you stopped him from doing the buttons and did them yourself, while he diligently watched every move of your fingers. Even though he was already almost late, and he knew that he could do them quicker, he'd much rather have you take care of that. You also pinned his ribbons and wings, as you did so many times in the past for your dad, so you knew the exact placement.

After you finished, he tucked the shirt into his pants and moved past you to find and put on the shoes, while you stood next to the door, patiently waiting on your tippy toes for your chance to execute the evil plan.

He eventually was ready to head out, but before he had the chance to open the door, you took his right hand into yours stopping him for just a moment before he left, and snaked your other hand onto his neck, gently pulling him closer.

He didn't even register what was happening, because he got so used to your presence and your touch. Everything you did with him just felt... right. But then he was out the door and had already taken four steps into the long corridor when it hit him so hard that he instantly stopped. You kissed him... It was quick and soft, just a peck on the lips, but definitely planned and intentional, not driven by overwhelming emotions. And he kissed you back as if he did it million times before... The blood immediately rushed to his face, and he could feel the warmth spilling into his chest. Only when someone saluted him in passing, he realized that in two minutes he was supposed to be deciding the fates of possible new Top Gun recruits. He fought with himself for a good moment, because his whole body was screaming at him to back and kiss you properly, but instead, he clenched his jaw, took two deep breaths to calm himself, and quickly walked in a direction of conference room number one. And while the blush disappeared from his cheeks, the giant smile stayed there for the whole duration of the call, to the point that even Solomon found it a bit unnerving.

And while he started working, you were still standing with your back against the closed door, with your fingers touching the exact place where your lips met, the sensation of it now forever carved in your memory. You honestly thought that he would stop you, but when instead he put his hand on your hip and leaned down to kiss you, you forgot how to breathe for a moment, and that weird feeling in your stomach appeared... Not exactly butterflies, but the one when you're in a car riding quickly, and there was a small hill or a bump... And for a short perfect moment, you felt light as a feather, and you could fly away to reach the heights you never dreamt of. And that’s what it was... A perfect little moment, tucked into months voided of colors…

It took you good twenty minutes to finally peel yourself from the door, but instead of going back to bed, you actually made it. Not to the military standards, of that you were sure, but at least it looked presentable. You took the packet of almonds, and at first, your hand also reached for your dad's journal, but it stopped, only hovering over it... After a moment without movement, you instead reached for a sketchbook and pencils... If you were at your place, you would have reached for watercolors, because for the first time in months, you were more in a mood for something other than blacks or greys.

Well... Postmates existed... Question was, would they be able to enter the base, or would you have to meet them at the gate? You put down the sketchbook back on the desk, took your phone, unlocked it, and immediately got overwhelmed by the number of notifications that appeared on the screen. At first, you froze, but because of the subtle scent of spruce all over you, you were able to start chipping at this giant iceberg. Most of the notifications came from the apps, so they were easy to deal with. Next came text messages. Mostly from your mother, brother, and a few close friends, which were still updating you, even though you were not replying. The majority of other texts contained condolences, but since they were from people you barely knew, you just... Ignored them. It seemed much less weird than replying "Thank you" after over two months.

With a heavy sigh, you finally opened the messages from Nick and scrolled to the first unread one... Which was a meme with his cat containing four pictures of him with his head in the pack of chips, looking in different directions, evidently confused, because he couldn’t figure out how to take the bag off, with the caption "Father...? Father!? Why have you forsaken me...?". You couldn't help but chuckle a bit. After a week of nothing, there was a short video from a hike, showing the landscape from somewhere high up; you didn't recognize it though. Next, there was another video, this time of his cat again, who tried to throw a speaker from the desk, but instead of achieving that, he himself fell off the desk. And message after message, video after video, meme after meme you finally got through the whole conversation. The last one was from just a couple of hours ago when the sun was still hidden behind the horizon. There was a small bonfire with his voiceover. "Hey... I know it's been some time since we saw each other, but mum told me that we'll be clearing dad’s office together. And I just wanted to let you know that I'm here for you no matter what, and I miss you terribly... I hope to see you then, but if you're not ready..." his voice cracked a bit, and that hurt you more than you expected. "If you're not ready, then you're not ready. I just hope you're getting through it...". The video ended and you were left with an emptiness in your heart, because only now you realized that along with losing his dad, Nicky also lost his sister. You were so engulfed in your own sorrow, that you didn't even think about it, cutting everything and everyone off... You instantly pressed the icon starting the video call and straightened yourself in the armchair.

He answered almost immediately. The video was choppy at his end, but you were still able to see that he was somewhere in the forest.

- Siema siostra! - you rarely saw him so excited, and you just couldn't help but laugh a bit. – Finally, rose from the dead? Shit. Sorry. - he realized what he said as soon as the words left his mouth, and if you heard it just a week ago, you would have had a full-blown panic attack, but now, still feeling the gentle touch on your lips, you were... fine.

- Figure of speech, I get it. - you gave him a faint smile, and he finally stopped walking. - And I am slowly getting through it... - you circled back to the last video you received from him.

- That's good to hear, good to hear... - he looked at the camera and smiled. - Where are you by the way? Mum was going crazy yesterday... - you sighed quietly. There was no sense in lying to him because he knew you far too well to believe you when you were bullshitting.

- I'm on base, but I'm... well... in hiding. You know since I'm not exactly supposed to be here. I have help though! And I'm actually eating! - he knew that there were periods when you had real troubles with that because he was usually the first one to notice when you weren't... He was a great older brother, even though you basically hated each other's guts when you were growing up, and it took a lot of time for you to get to the place you were now.

- My sister, a secret agent man... - he genuinely laughed, but didn't dig any deeper, even though you knew he knew you weren't saying the whole trough. - Wha... tr... eve... pl...

- Nicky, you're cutting out... - you tried to refresh the feed, but it looked like he was too deep in the forest to have good reception.

- Recep... it... - and the call dropped. You instantly got a message from him. "The reception is shit, sorry. It was good to see you. I'll call tomorrow evening, pinky promise."

You smiled and replied that it was good to see him too...

And now that your messages were taken care of, you got to the final beast, which was your emails... Again, there were a lot of condolences, but along with them, there were also a lot from your agent, about every single sale, and you couldn't believe how many of them he sent you... Usually, you were able to sell 4, maybe 6 paintings per month, but considering their usual prices, you were actually more than financially comfortable, but you just didn't care about that. And here there were... 80 paintings sold, almost all you had listed. You honestly couldn't believe it... Over 5 years of work sold in just two months. And then you realized what probably happened. Your dad's death was on the news... Since "Kazansky" wasn't exactly a popular last name, more people were finding you because of his death...

And that was enough to make your heart sink deeper into your chest.

In the last email, your agent mentioned that a gallery wanted to contact you regarding a possible exhibit, which under any other circumstances would have been amazing, but now everything was tainted, and you weren't even sure if you wanted to sell anything anymore... So instead of ordering paints and a small canvas, you put your phone down and reached for a journal that you had already memorized and started re-reading it with your knees under your chin; the unopened pack of almonds already forgotten.

Beau came back around noon, and as soon as he saw the tears streaming down your cheeks, the ones you didn't even notice for the last hour, he kneeled in front of you and after putting the tray with food on the desk, took the journal out of your hands, and forced you to look him in the eyes... Which opened the dam, and you started sobbing, finally allowing yourself to break down. You leaned forward and desperately reached for him, and he pulled you closer, allowing your arms to find their way around his body, and your face to hide in his neck...

- Shhh... Shhhh... It's ok, you're ok... - he whispered, slid his strong arms under you, and turned both of you around in such a way, that you were currently sitting on him, while he was sitting on the floor. - Can you tell me what happened? - he asked, not letting you go even for a second, and trying to soothe you by gently rubbing your back and swaying front and back, but you weren't ready to say anything just yet... Seeing you in this state was breaking his heart, and his chest actually ached, because the helplessness was turning into physical pain. He wanted, needed, to help you, but he couldn't do anything except just being there for you.

It took some time, but you eventually calmed down, and he rubbed the tears from your cheeks for the millionth time, but it was the first time you actually were aware that he was doing it...

- Did you know that I paint...? - you asked, your voice still shaky and quiet. He nodded and allowed you to explain. - I even have an agent. And I finally got through the emails from him. Over 250 of them to be exact... 3 per painting... One with all the offers, one with the winning bid, and one with confirmation of payment... Over 80 paintings sold in two months, because people heard my dad's last name on the news... - you started crying again, even the thought of it too heavy to bear alone. And fortunately, you didn't have to say anything more, because Beau understood what you meant.

- Would he blame you for being happy, or would he be proud of your success? - he asked quietly. Logically you knew that your dad would never want to see you the way you were now... All broken, overwhelmed by guilt, and unable to function... Especially if he knew that he was the reason you were like that. He would be ready to do anything just so you could be better... Except not dying...

Did you actually blame him for dying and leaving you alone?

Even thinking that scared you, because that was the last thing you wanted to do... You knew how much he suffered, you were there to witness all the pain, the guilt, the helplessness. You knew it wasn't his fault... But... That accusatory feeling somehow snaked its way into your brain and coiled around your grief unnoticed until now.

Logically you knew that it wasn't his fault, that he didn't choose it. For fucks sake, he fought till there was no hope left... He went through all the treatments, all procedures, and searched for international trials; he didn't just... give up. And yet... you couldn't help what you felt and that made you cry even harder because now you were getting angry at yourself, for even thinking like that. It wasn't rational, you knew that, but those emotions didn't want to just disappear.

- I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm talking about... - Beau whispered and hugged you even harder, almost crushing you in his arms.

- It's... It's not you... It's my fucking stupid brain. - you said in between sobs. - You're amazing... I'm... I don't deserve... - you couldn't even finish that sentence, because another wave pulled you under the surface and you lost the ability to think about anything coherent. There were just negative emotions festering in your head and you couldn't even let them out... You didn't even know how...

- Scream... - his voice managed to get through all the walls you were building up in real-time, and the meaning of it confused you enough, that for just a moment you came back to reality. You wanted to ask something along "what...?" but the word didn't manage to get through the giant ball in your throat - Scream. Just scream. As loud and as you can. - you were still confused, and Beau seemed to read your mind because he added. - There is no one in this part of the base, everyone is either eating or in training. Scream. - and that was enough...

At first, you struggled to get any sound out. Then it was strained and quiet, but after you took a deep breath and opened your mouth again, a full-blown, primal scream left your lungs. It was filled with anger, shame, guilt, blame... All the things that were stewing in your brain packaged not so neatly in one action.

You didn't even realize when you got out of his embrace, but you found yourself kneeling on the floor, screaming at it, as if was all its fault. You stayed like that until there were no more tears left, and no more voices in your brain, not even your own... You simply collapsed and Beau scooped you up again. You wanted to thank him, say anything, but your voice was long gone, and it would be a moment till it comes back.

You were exhausted, so you were more than grateful when he put you under the covers and kneeled, so your faces were on the same level. He wiped the tears from your cheeks with his thumb, and you gently wrapped your fingers around his hand while it was still in contact with your skin, guided it to your lips and - without breaking eye contact - pressed a soft kiss to the back of it. You were ready to let go of him, but instead, he mirrored your actions by pulling both of your hands closer to him and pressing a soft kiss to your hand.

- I hate leaving you... - he whispered against your soft skin and closed his eyes, taking in both the sensation and your scent. - Go to sleep, babygirl... - there was that pet name again... In his mouth, it sounded so soft and full of something you weren't ready to name yet. You definitely didn't mind it, but you were never called that before, so getting used to it might take a moment.

He returned your hand close to your chest but didn't move until your breathing changed to a familiar pattern that showed up when you were asleep. He didn't want to leave when you were still conscious, because he was afraid you might start to spiral again... And considering how much energy the last hour took from you, he doubted you'll be awake when he'll finish working, which wasn't ideal because you haven't eaten today yet, but he knew forcing you to do so right now would not be good. But he still came back in around 10 minutes and brought a thermal mug full of tea with ginger and honey.

Beau was right because when he came back after a full day of working, you were still in the same position and nothing in the room changed. He took his thermal mug from where he left it, and gently cupped your face, trying to wake you up.

When you opened your eyes and he was the first thing you saw, you couldn't help but smile, for a short blissful moment forgetting about what happened earlier. He took your hand in his and placed it on a mug. You wanted to thank him, but your voice was lost, and the memory of what happened flooded back into your brain, and all the thoughts and emotions came back with it. You froze and he seemed to know exactly what was happening in your head.

He helped you sit up, unlocked the mug, gently guided it to your lips, and you took a first sip of a pleasantly hot tea. And then another one... The warmth of it mixed with honey soothed your throat, and you were finally able to say something.

- I'm sorry... - by his expression, you instantly realized that it was the wrong thing to say.

- You have nothing to apologize for. Everyone is grieving in different ways, and yours is not wrong. - he gave you the softest of smiles, and you leaned in a bit to press your foreheads together, a memory from today's morning slithering its way into your brain, but neither of you did anything more. That small gesture was more than enough, and it was comforting you in ways you couldn't even describe.

- I feel like I'm a burden... Like I only take and take from you... - you closed your eyes because it was the only way to break eye contact without putting space in between your foreheads.

- You could never be a burden to me, no matter what... - he whispered so quietly, that if you were just a bit further away, you wouldn't be able to hear it, but you did... And it sounded like something he was afraid to admit even in front of himself, not to mention you. You opened your eyes again, wanting to gaze into his, but they were closed. You wanted to ask why he said that, but you already knew the answer... And you definitely weren't ready to hear it from his mouth...

- It's Friday today, isn't it...? - you asked, and you felt him nodding. - And you're not working on weekends, correct?

- We can stay here, that won't be an issue. - he said, his voice more confident.

- That's not why I'm asking... Can... - you couldn't believe what you were about to say. - Can you take me to your place...? - his eyes shot open, and he leaned back in shock.

- God yes! - he answered with relief before you even finished asking the question. - Don't get me wrong, I enjoy having you here, but everything is... - before you realized what you were doing, you leaned in and kissed him, stopping his rant in its tracks.

Your hand instinctively found its way into his hair, while the other rested lightly on his shoulder. Suddenly you were aware of everything your body experienced... The rough material under your fingers, the smoothness of his hair, the warmth of his neck, the softness of his lips, so ready to invite you in… And you dove deep, without even thinking; chasing the sensation that was both new and familiar. Your heart was galloping faster and faster with every tender touch, the warmth in your chest turned into a roaring fire and your head was among the clouds because, with every breath you shared, you got higher and higher.

He was devouring you in ways you never thought possible, his hands pulling you closer by your hips. He was frantic and delicate at the same time as if he was restraining himself in fear of somehow hurting you, but you didn't want that... You wanted him to be real, to know who and what he was like under this hard shell he shared with the world, so you bit his lower lip and pulled on it gently, a soft smile blooming on your face. He responded with a low growl, followed your movements, and caught you in another kiss, this time more impatient, more hungry, more... messy... And you gave right in, allowing him to lead the dance your tongues shared until you were properly out of breath. But even after your lips parted, your skin was tingling all over, and there was that feeling in your stomach again, while so many colors flooded your brain.

- I need to ask you to do things for me more often... - you finally broke the silence, and he chuckled in response.

- Yeah, it was definitely worth the wait... - he was still kneeling on the floor in between your legs, and you didn't even realize when your ankles found their way around his thighs.

- How long have you been waiting for it... exactly...? - you asked in a joking matter, pressing your foreheads together again in search of the echo of that intimacy.

- I plead the 5th... - he laughed softly in response, but you knew one day he'll tell you everything, but now he was still afraid you would run away if you knew. - Fuck, I feel like a teenager again. - he moved one of his hands to your cheek and gently caressed your skin with his thumb, and you leaned into that touch.

- And I feel more like myself... - you put your hand over his, and moved it slowly, so you could press a soft kiss on his palm. - Can we go now...? - you asked, completely disregarding the fact that you were still wearing the clothes you’d slept in.

- We can. - he pressed a soft kiss to your lips; an echo of passion was still audible in his actions. It didn't take you long to get ready, because you didn't have a lot of things with you, and everything - including the things Beau got for you - fit into your bag. You had to change into your own pants, because you didn't want to walk outside in shorts, or much too big sweatpants, but you kept his gray t-shirt, throwing your dad's jacket over it. When you started searching for your shoes, Cyclone reached for them under the bed, where he left them that first night, he brought you here. But before you were able to put them on yourself, he gently pushed you to sit on the bed, put them on your feet, and laced them tightly for you. He also offered you his hand when he finished, to help you get up. Not that you needed help, but you enjoyed touching him in any way you could, and he seemed to feel the same way.

You wanted to hold his hand while you walked through the corridors, but you knew it would be seen as inappropriate, so you just put up the hood of the jacket and put on the aviators to make yourself less recognizable, although you seriously doubted that it would work if you encountered someone you knew. And fortunately, gods spared you that awkwardness because you hated lying.

You were a bit surprised when the car that reacted to his keys was Jeep Wrangler because you were expecting something more... classic. Not that you were complaining, it was just... unexpected, but considering how little you actually knew about him, you had a lot of catching up to do.

You wanted to curl up in the front seat, but you didn't want to put your shoes on the breathable material, so you sat there, feeling a little bit like a kid, but in a good way. You weren't exactly used to following rules, even the simplest ones, which was surprising to most people who knew your dad from the military.

As soon as you started voicing your opinions, you and Nicky were able to defend your point of view in front of your parents, and if your arguments were sound, you were able to proceed with whatever you had planned; they allowed you to make your own mistakes and learn from them just so you'd be prepared for the hardships of the real world. And even though they didn't always agree with your choices, they respected both of you enough not to force you onto a certain path they imagined for you.

And while your brother went into a more... conventional direction with software engineering and app development, you craved too much freedom for any typical career. And when you discovered painting... Well, everything else was history. You had to fight tooth and nail to be taken seriously at first, but after the 4th competition won, your father realized that it wasn't just a fluke, and there was a real possibility for you to achieve a lot, even though he didn’t completely understand it. In the end, he was the one who started doing research about fine art colleges, and internships before you were even done with high school. And when you had your first exhibit, he was the one who cheered you the loudest and invited all his friends from the navy, because he wanted to show off his little girl.

And then you realized something... You were able to think about your dad without going into a complete spiral for the first time in ages, and you couldn't help but smile. It was a small thing, but it meant that you were slowly getting back to normal, and that was something that gave you an unimaginable amount of peace.

- Do you want to swing by your house to get something? - Beau asked, and you had to think for a moment before replying.

- House no... - you finally said; you weren't ready to face whatever was waiting for you there. - But my studio... - you looked at him and he just nodded.

- What's the address? - you gave it to him, and he adjusted the route accordingly.

It didn't take you long to actually get there, but you were a little bit afraid to get out of the car and walk up three flights of stairs. And then you realized that you haven't even asked.

- Would it be ok if I painted at your house...? - your voice got almost completely drowned in traffic noises.

- You can do whatever you want in my house. - he replied with a soft smile, and he meant what he said. - Do you want me to come with you? - he wanted to help, but he didn't want to impose. You shook your head for no; you knew how your studio looked and you weren't ready to share that with him just yet, even though he already knew your life at the moment was messy. - If you'll change your mind, I'm here... - he hesitated for a short moment, but he eventually took your hand into his and brought it to his lips to place a small kiss on the back of it, and it gave you enough courage to face whatever was waiting for you upstairs.

You tried not to look around too much while grabbing your gym bag from the closet, because you were afraid that you might start to spiral again, but fortunately, you managed to avoid that. You packed a few more sets of underwear, a pair of shorts, and leggings. In a moment of boldness, you skipped shirts and t-shirts, because his gave you much more comfort than your own, and you were planning on continuing wearing them. You also packed your hair and face cosmetics, and that was it from necessities, but it wasn't everything you packed...

You also took a ceramic pot you used to brew your tea in, the tea itself, your favorite mug made by one of your friends, and a small cat figurine you didn't even plan on taking out of the bag when you were at his place because just the knowledge of having it with you was comforting.

Next, you took a big canvas bag and started throwing brushes, sponges, rollers, different types of paints and inks, primers, varnish, and all the other things you needed to paint and prepare a canvas. The last thing you took, were thin wooden slats you made frames out of, to stretch the canvas on, and the roll of the canvas itself; it was much easier to travel with it deconstructed, and you didn't know what size you'd need just yet. You quickly left your apartment without looking at everything too much, and you carefully walked down the stairs. When you opened the building doors, you saw Beau standing next to the car, ready to help, if you needed it. You didn't, but just looking at him made you smile.

He took your bags from you, put them in the back, and opened the door of the car for you, and before you knew it, you were crossing a border to the gated community he apparently lived in. All the houses here looked... new. And expensive. And not at all like something you were used to.

He eventually stopped in front of a big suburban house with a double garage door in front. It looked like it had at least four bedrooms, which was - again - surprising.

- Do you... live... alone? - you asked while the doors to the garage were opening, because you just assumed that he did, but you didn't know for sure.

- Yeah... - he sighed. - I know it's a giant house for one person, but I've bought it quite some time ago when I still hoped to start a family... Work kind of got in the way somewhere along the way. - he explained - I honestly admire your father for managing to... - he realized what he said, and his eyes instantly snapped to you in search of signs that something was wrong, but there were none.

- Honestly, it was rough... I remember I learn how to count by counting the nights he was away, and the highest I got was 303 when he was deployed. - you said quietly, a weak smile on your face. - When I was a kid, I always put him on a pedestal, but when I learned more about the world and wars... Well, let's just say that our relationship wasn't always perfect, and it took a lot of therapy to get us to... well... to get us where you saw us. - you explained quietly, leaving Beau a little bit speechless. Neither of you said anything when he was parking, but he helped you with your things.

It was weird, because on the one hand, you felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be, but on the other, you felt a bit like you were intruding, especially when he gave you a quick tour of his house. It was much more modern than you expected, and it lacked... him. As if someone else decorated the house to what they thought a bachelor would like. That was until you got to the main bedroom, and you instantly felt the warmth spilling in your chest.

The bed was massive with dark grey and navy sheets, but it wasn't the main feature of the room, because it was facing a wall filled with books from top to bottom, and the ceiling was high. You couldn't stop yourself from coming closer to check out the titles and run your fingers over the spines. You noticed that they were segregated by genre and in the genre - by the author's last name, which didn't surprise you. What surprised you was the fact that there were quite a few high fantasy books, which caught your attention, and when you turned around to ask, the words got stuck in your throat as soon as you laid your eyes on him.

Technically it wasn't anything special, because he looked exactly the same as he looked over the whole time you knew him, but something changed... He was still in his beige uniform, which shirt you buttoned up in the morning, and to which you attached his ribbons. He was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed on his chest, but his eyes and the way he looked at you... It almost made you blush because you never saw that expression on his face... The corners of his lips raised slightly in a gentle smile, cheeks just a bit higher, making those beautiful smile lines in the corners of his eyes, and the eyes... You instantly relaxed, and it was an involuntary reaction. Was it even possible to develop such strong feelings so quickly, or was it just a weird reaction to your grief? Will you ever be able to tell...?

- You can take anything you want... - he said, and something in his voice told you he didn't mean it just about books, but you left that as it was. Before you'd have that conversation, you will have to come to terms with whatever was happening in your own head. - I'm going to make dinner. - he said, but you stopped him with a gesture and walked closer to him.

You gently unpinned first the wings, then the ribbon rack, and he realized what you were doing; you were home... He wasn't supposed to be in uniform at home... Well, it wasn't forbidden, but he realized that you wanted him to leave the navy behind closed doors for the weekend, and somehow you managed you fit so many things into such a small gesture... That you wanted him to relax, that you wanted to know him better outside of work, that you were taking the exact amount of initiative you were ready for, that he wasn't forcing you into anything, that you were comfortable enough with him to know that even now, when you were slowly unbuttoning his shirt, he wouldn't assume anything. You were showing him that you trusted him without saying one word...

When you got to the lower buttons, you had to gently tug on the material to get it out from the inside of his trousers, and the movement caused his very subtle scent to surround you, which made you smile just a little.

Under the button-up, there was a white t-shirt. You very slowly slipped your hands under it, letting your fingers graze his skin and chest hair, while he was watching your every move with inhuman intensity. When the material rode up high enough, he helped you pull it over his head, but you were the one to take it off completely.

- How do you do this...? - you asked with your hands still on his chest. - How do you make me feel so safe and so calm...? - neither of you knew that, so the question hung unanswered and then he covered your hand with his.

- Does it matter...? - he eventually answered with another question, and after thinking for a moment you shook your head. - Then it doesn't matter, but I'm happy I can do that for you. - he moved your hand to his lips and place a soft kiss on it. - Would you mind if we ate in the garden today? I feel like grilling something... - it wasn't the warmest of days, but it was still the end of the summer, and there were always blankets. Plus - fresh air would do you good.

He went to the walk-in closet and quickly changed, while you were acutely studying everything that was in it. Which if you had to be honest - wasn't much and barely half of it was filled. But you still clocked one item that you instantly gravitated towards - an old gray hoodie with a washed-out naval academy logo. You run your fingers over the material and smiled. He said that you could take anything you wanted... So you did. You pulled it off the hanger and put it on. It was much softer on the inside than on the outside, the sleeves were too long, it reached halfway down your thighs and the hood covered your entire face... It was perfect.

Beau was the one who gently pulled the hood back, so you could see and for a brief moment, his hand rested on your cheek... He was so gentle with you, but you knew it wasn't because he was afraid that you would break; you were used to this type of behavior from different people, but he... He was just gentle. And soft. And warm... Without any specific reason.

You didn't even have to ask for a blanket, because he already had one prepared when you stepped onto the back porch. It wasn't anything special... Well, there was a currently covered pool, and a fire pit, but when it came to plants... there was almost nothing, and you felt a little bit disappointed, but that was your own fault because when he mentioned the garden, you were expecting at least a few trees and maybe a veggie patch... And some flowers... But that was your problem, not his. He was already kind enough to take you in.

Still wrapped in a thick blanket, you chose to sit on the swing with your knees curled up and a sketchbook in your hands, while he was preparing food a few meters away from you, and you honestly could get used to that... You were happy to just observe him, but after a few minutes a compulsion to draw won, so you cracked the spine of a brand-new sketchbook he bought for you and started sketching.

His face was already committed to your memory forever, so it wasn't hard for you to do a quick outline of the proportions, and after that you cleaned it a bit, looking at Beau from time to time, even though you didn't need to... But you wanted to... You slowly added more details, starting with hair, but they weren't neatly combed like they were now. You used the image from your head, from when he was in bed with you after taking a shower at night; they had much more volume and suited him more in your opinion. Next came the nose, which took you only a minute, but his lips... You spent so much time looking at them and thinking about them, that even the tiniest details were carved in your memory, and you took your time pouring them out on paper because you wanted to do them justice. And lastly - his eyes and everything around them... You had to close yours for a moment to recall and analyze the expression he looked at you with only half an hour ago...

Just as you were finishing, the smell of something cooking hit your nostrils, and you peeked at what he was doing. On a special plate on the grill, there were potatoes with some herbs, bell peppers, onions... And even though you couldn't see it, you could smell it, so you knew somewhere in there, there was also garlic and rosemary. As if he could feel your gaze on him, he turned around catching you in the act and looking at you with the exact same expression that was looking at you from your sketchbook.

You turned the page in his direction, but from his perspective, the light pencil was barely visible, so he came closer, and you passed the notebook to him, so he could take a closer look.

- That's not... - he started, but quickly stopped and thought about what he really meant. - I don't think I've ever seen myself looking like that... - it took him a moment to react.

- That's what I see when you look at me... - you simply shrugged and he shifted his gaze back to you, as if unsure what to say. There were a few minutes of silence before he spoke again, this time much quieter.

- Am I that obvious...? - his voice was almost a whisper as if he was afraid that anything louder would shatter the moment.

- It's... complicated. - you sighed. - And I promise we will talk about it, but I am not ready for that conversation yet, it's too soon. But I... - you hesitated. - I don't want to be anywhere but with you. For now, it will have to be enough, I'm sorry that I can't give you more... - the last part was barely audible.

- You have nothing to apologize for because you don't have to give me anything... - he passed the still-opened sketchbook back to you and you couldn't help but look at your drawing again. - And when you're ready - we will talk. - he didn't even have to say that he was more than ok with waiting, because you were definitely worth any wait. - But first - food. - you technically weren't even hungry, but you knew you should eat... And with Beau cooking, it would be extremely hard to say no without poking a hole in your bag of issues. Plus - logically you knew your body needed it, so you didn't protest when he brought you a dark blue plate with chicken and veggies cut to bite-size pieces even before cooking.

He sat on the swing next to you and very gently started moving it using just one of his legs.

- What's your favorite ice cream flavor? - you asked right after you swallowed the first piece of roasted potato and he looked at you with surprise, but as soon as he realized what you were doing, he shifted a bit, so now his body was facing you, and you did the same.

- Hazelnut... But it's followed closely by salted caramel. You? - he replied and now it was his turn to take a bite.

- Lemon sherbet with basil... - you usually had to make it on your own, because there weren't many companies that carried that specific flavor.

- That's a bit unusual... - he couldn't help but smile, but he wasn't even surprised, because nothing about you was usual. - What kind of music do you like? - this time he asked the question.

- Just... Music... It really depends on my mood. I have hundreds of playlists I've made over the years, so it would be hard for me to choose just one of them. - you took a small break to eat a few pieces of veggies. - Although I focus more on the song itself than on the creator. And sure, there are a few that I'd enjoy no matter what, like House of the Rising Sun or Work Song, but overall - my music taste is all over the place. - your throat still hurt a bit from the screaming earlier today, but not enough to stop you from talking.

- If you let me, I'd love to hear a few of your playlists. Do you have them on Apple Music? - he asked, and you chuckled.

- Spotify. We're an android house because of my lovely brother. - Beau was really easy to talk to and you found yourself wanting to do it more often, and since you were already in his house, it should be easy to do.

- Nicholas? - he made sure he remembered the name correctly, and you realized that you weren't even sure if the two of them ever met.

- Nick. Or Nicky... - you corrected, because your brother hated the full version of his name with a passion, and Beau only nodded once, acknowledging the change. - Do you have any siblings? - you couldn't help but ask and he sighed heavily.

- Yeaaahhhh... Four sisters. One older, and three younger. - you weren't sure what you were expecting, but it wasn't this, and you almost choked.

- That's... - you didn't even know what to say.

- A lot? - he offered, and you nodded. - My father wanted another son after me and well... It didn't go according to plan. - he chuckled.

- Would you mind telling me a bit more about your family? - and he did. He started with his older sister and their rocky relationship due to their parents giving him more attention, and then he moved down, telling you about how he always felt responsible for the younger ones, how he played with them and braided their hair, and how he felt guilty leaving them behind when he joined the navy.

And you listened to his stories from childhood until your plate was empty, and when it was, you put it on the floor next to the swing, brought your knees to your chest, and just... listened. It was your turn to get to know him, since he had a substantial head start in that department, and you were happy to learn every little detail he was willing to share.

The sun was already hidden behind the horizon, and you couldn't help but look around the... so-called garden, and he immediately saw that someone was bugging you.

- What's wrong? - he asked quietly, reaching to touch you, and as soon as his fingers were on your calf, you moved closer to him and awkwardly turned around, draping the blanket over both of you. He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you closer, happy to share some warmth with you.

- Nothing's wrong... - you said, and it wasn't a lie. - There are just a few things I miss, and when you said you had a garden... I just miss nature. - you didn't want to add why exactly you missed it, but to Beau - it was obvious. - It's so quiet here... We're outside, but there are no frogs, no bugs buzzing around, no crickets in the background, no nothing... Well, besides a few moths and mosquitos. - you could feel him chuckle behind you. - And please don't get it the wrong way, I'm extremely happy to be here with you, and it's just something I miss.

- It's ok... I understand what you mean. - he placed a soft kiss on the top of your head. - It's... sterile, a blank canvas. - and that was exactly what you meant, so you couldn't help but look back at him. - I'm not spending much time here... Sure, it's my house, but it was decorated by someone else because I didn't have time to do it myself. I paid someone to design the backyard in such a way, that it wouldn't require much maintenance, because I knew I wouldn't have time to take care of it. I always imagined that one day it will change, but... - he didn't have to finish, because you knew what he was about to say... If not for your mother, your house would have white walls and barely any decorations.

- The bedroom... - you whispered, and it suddenly made sense. - You decorated it yourself, didn't you...? - you asked, but you already knew the answer even before he nodded. That’s why you felt so safe and comfortable there; the one room he actually took time to work on.

You yawned, the exhaustion from today finally catching up with you; you knew it would be a while before you'll be at full strength again, but you felt safe enough not to rush that process.

- Do you want to go to sleep...? - he asked quietly.

- Mhmmm... But shower first... - you mumbled in response, but you didn't move to get up just yet, which made him smile. He pressed his cheek against your head, a plan for tomorrow slowly taking shape in his head. It would take him a moment to prepare everything, but it will be worth it.

- Go then... I'll clean around here and join you when I'll finish. - and with a quiet groan you finally started moving. Still wrapped in the soft blanket that now smelled like smoke, you went upstairs to the bedroom, where all your things were.

His shower was abysmally giant, almost a completely separate room with a rain shower and a bench to sit on. He already prepared a set of soft, dark blue towels for you, which you put to good use. You also neatly placed your things on the side of the counter, so they would be within reach, but not in the way. Technically there were two sinks, one completely empty, but... it just didn't feel right.

You peeked out of the bathroom to see if he was already in the bedroom, but it was empty, so you felt more comfortable sneaking into his walk-in wardrobe in just a towel tightly wrapped around your body. You gravitated towards the back of the room, where the older, more worn things were, and you unceremoniously took a black t-shirt with the logo of a band you didn't recognize and put it on. It was so soft against your skin, that you closed your eyes, relishing that sensation.

Since he wasn't in the room just yet, you picked one of the titles from the high fantasy section and started reading it in bed, but the warmth from the shower, and the fact that everywhere you looked, you could feel him, made you doze off before you realized what was happening.

It took Beau over an hour to prepare everything for tomorrow; he even dug through the decoration boxes in the garage to find the fairy lights he usually used to decorate his nieces’ room whenever they visited. The food for tomorrow was already prepared in the fridge, and everything else he would need was already packed.

When he came into the bedroom, you were already asleep, curled around one of his books. He gently took it out of your hands, put it on the nightstand, and turned the lamp off, so the light wouldn't interfere with your sleep.

He took a very quick shower, taking notice of the small trail of things you left in the bathroom with a smile; you were in his house for just a few hours, and he already loved everything about it. It was like you were meant to be there like you fit perfectly into empty spaces in his life.

Curiosity won, and he couldn't help but smell and read the labels of the creams and other things you were using, so he'd be better prepared next time you needed anything like that.

When he finally lay in bed and turned the lights off, he couldn't help the quiet groan. It's not like the beds on base were unreasonably uncomfortable, but he missed his own, even if that meant you were a bit further away. He didn't want to wake you up or assume anything, but as soon as he let out that groan, you started to shift in your sleep. For a short moment, he was afraid he woke you up, but he didn't; you were still sound asleep. But that didn't stop you from shuffling under the giant duvet in search of something, and as soon as your hand blindly found his torso, you let out a deeper breath and pulled yourself even closer to his body, which resulted in a giant smile on his face... even subconsciously you wanted to be near him...

So, he wrapped his arms around you and finally closed his eyes. He wasn't ready to fall asleep just yet; it was too early for that for him, but he just wanted to enjoy that moment of vulnerability with you. 

A/N 2: Please don’t feel obligated/pressured to reblog, because I write mostly for myself. A comment would be appreciated though :) Love, G.

#my writing #TW: ED #TW: Panic Attack #TW: grieving #Top Gun Maverick fanfiction #beau simpson x reader #Cyclone x reader #Beau Simpson fanfiction #Beau Cyclone Simpson fanfiction #Beau Cyclone Simpson x reader #Cyclone fanfiction #🖤 #📏

[lieutenantfloyd]

I don't know if anyone else has posted this, but Lauren Polizzi (the art director for TGM) has a lovely online portfolio where she shares some of her creative thought processes and details from movies she has worked on. Including lots of details, fun facts, many photos of The Hard Deck, the ready room, the hangar, and a few other scenes!

Not only is it really interesting to see what went on behind the scenes, but the photos are also great references if you make any type of fanwork! Above are a few of the set photos she published and below is a link to the full post. I highly suggest checking it out!

#top gun maverick #top gun #top gun x reader #top gun maverick x reader #cyclone #beau cyclone simpson #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster #rooster top gun #rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick fanfiction #pete maverick mitchell #pete mitchell #natasha phoenix trace #phoenix top gun #phoenix x reader #phoenix #jake hangman seresin #hangman #hangman top gun #hangman x reader #bob floyd x reader #bob imagine #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob top gun #lewis pullman #glen powell #danny ramirez

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

The Admirals Strike Back - Cyclone

Pairing: Beau "Cyclone" Simpson / Wife!Reader (Mitchell!Reader)

Word Count: 2.1 k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only

Warnings: Consensual and Very Much Legal Age-Gap Relationship (About 15 years); Non-Traditional Father-Daughter Relationship (Between Maverick and Reader); Humor; Cyclone's a Grump; Maverick Becomes a Grump; Use of "You," No Y/N, No Physical Description; Named Simpson!OC Kids

Summary: Maverick knew that his somewhat estranged daughter was married. He just didn't know who she married.

Master List

There was one major rule in the Simpson household. Work ended at the door. The Navy was not allowed to step inside and into your relationship. If Beau needed to deal with the Navy on his personal time, he needed to go into his office.

But Beau was going to have to break that rule tonight.

Beau could hear the sounds of your daughters from down the hall as he walked into your house and felt some of the weight already melting off of his shoulders from his long day.

“Daddy!” Maggie, your eldest daughter, squealed, slipping down from her seat.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Beau bent down and scooped her up into his arms with a bright smile on his face. Setting her on his hip, Beau pressed a kiss to her cheek and fixed the bow in her hair.

“How was your day at school?” Beau asked, walking slowly into the kitchen.

“I got a sticker for being a good line leader!” Maggie announced, causing Beau to smile proudly at her.

“Very good, sweetie. We’re so proud of you.”

“Mommy said that I could have ice cream,” Maggie stated, causing you to turn around from the sink.

“After you finish eating your vegetables, Mags.”

“That sounds fair to me,” Beau replied, setting Maggie back down in her seat. “And I’ll throw in some sprinkles if you finish that broccoli.”

“Promise?” Maggie asked, holding up her pinky finger.

“Promise,” Beau agreed, wrapping his far larger pinky around her own.

Moving onto your younger daughter, Beau clucked his tongue with fake disapproval, causing Parker to grin and giggle up at her dad.

“Ms. Parker, you have far too much tomato sauce on your face,” Beau stated, reaching over to grab a paper towel. Gently holding your daughter’s chin, Beau wiped the sauce off of your daughter’s face before planting a kiss on her chubby cheek. “Were you a good girl for Mommy?”

“Yup!” Parker returned quickly, wearing a mischievous grin that Beau knew was going to give him heart attacks in the future.

“Mostly,” you teased your youngest as you finished up with the dishes.

“Sorry I’m late,” Beau apologized to you, walking over to give you a quick peck in greeting.

“Well, after last night, I assumed that something big was going on,” you assured your husband, setting a plate into the dishwasher.

Beau had gotten a call right around bedtime last night and he didn’t come to bed until the early morning. And you knew what that meant. Something big was going down. And as the Air Boss, your husband was going to be heavily involved. Beau glanced over at your daughters, who were still eating their dinner, before turning back to you.

“You want to break the rule, don’t you?” you guessed, turning to face your husband.

“Am I allowed to break the rule?” Beau asked, causing you to smirk a bit.

“Permission granted, Admiral. Proceed,” you replied, drying off your hands.

“Well, we needed to call in a specialist for this particular event,” Beau started off, folding his arms across his chest. “And we called in someone a little . . . familiar to you.”

You frowned for a bit, your eyes darting back and forth as you ran through the short list of Navy personnel that you were ‘familiar’ with when it suddenly clicked. Setting down the dish towel, you turned to your husband with an incredulous look.

“Maverick?”

“Yes,” Beau confirmed, causing you to raise an eyebrow.

“I thought that he was taken off active-duty years ago,” you replied, causing Beau to nod.

“He was, but Iceman disagreed, and called him in.”

“Oh,” you mumbled, glancing over at the girls.

And how did you know Pete “Maverick” Mitchell? Well, you had technically known him your entire life.

Your mother and Pete Mitchell had a brief tryst that resulted in your existence. But Maverick was never very much around in your life, though you only found out recently, due to your mother’s actions. But after she passed away, you started digging to find out more about your father and reached out to Maverick.

Your relationship with your dad was very slow going. He didn’t even know that you were married to Beau. He knew that you were married with two little girls, but he didn’t know the name of your husband. He never asked. And you didn’t tell him.

“Did you want your whiskey then?” you joked quietly, spinning your wedding band around your finger.

“Not tonight,” Beau replied, straightening up. “We have an early morning tomorrow.” He took a step forward and gently took your hand into his own, rubbing your skin with his thumb. “And you’re alright? With him being in town?”

“Of course, I’m fine with that,” you returned, squeezing your husband’s hand. “I was just surprised.” Reaching up to grab your husband’s shoulders, you massaged his tense muscles. “And between the two of us, I think that you’re the one who’s less alright with him being in town.”

“I just need him to follow my orders,” Beau sighed, shaking his head.

“Oh,” you cooed, cupping your husband’s cheeks with your hands, “you’re definitely going to need some more whiskey. I’ll pick up some more tomorrow for you.”

Pressing a teasing kiss to his lips, you giggled when he pulled you in for more. And you were happy to return it, up until your daughter started screaming bloody murder.

“EW! Daddy! You have to put a dollar in the kissing jar!” Maggie yelled, pointing at the jar in the corner of the kitchen.

Similar to a swear jar, the kissing jar in your household was for when your daughters, mostly Maggie, thought that you and Beau were getting just a little too lovey dovey in front of them. The kissing jar money mostly went to ice cream or other desserts that you bought the girls, which only motivated them to call you and Beau out on it more.

“I will,” Beau promised, smiling over at Maggie. “Right after I give Mommy one last kiss.”

“That’s two dollars!” Maggie demanded as Beau pressed another kiss to your lips.

~~~~~

It was a few days after the mission and you waited with your two girls and the other families for the newly formed Dagger Squad to return to Miramar. Beau had called you yesterday from Hawaii, where the planes stopped to refuel and rest, before heading on to Miramar today. And right on time—which you expected nothing less from your husband—you spotted the planes in the distance.

Once they all landed and taxied off the runway and you were given the all clear from the grounds crew, you pointed your daughters in the direction of the plane that you knew Beau was on. Maggie took off running, already yelling for him, while Parker was happy to catch a ride from you.

“Come on, let’s go see Daddy,” you cooed to your youngest daughter before walking off.

“Who’s that woman?” Hangman wondered aloud, watching you walk across the tarmac.

“Out of your league,” Phoenix replied, not even having to glance up.

“Who do you think she’s here for?”

“Probably her spouse, judging by the toddler in her arms,” Bob added, sharing a look with his pilot.

“She’s probably . . .” Rooster trailed off, blinking with surprise at your appearance. Because you looked oddly familiar to the woman that Maverick showed him a picture of in the infirmary. Maverick mentioned that the woman was his daughter and that they were slowly reconnecting, but that they weren’t very close yet. “Holy shit. Who is she here for?”

“Did Hangman’s bullshit transfer that quickly to you? You were in his backseat for a couple of hours,” Phoenix scoffed, causing Rooster to shake his head.

“No, that’s Maverick’s daughter.”

“Maverick has a daughter?” Hangman asked, turning around.

“Yeah, one that he’s not really close with. So, who is she . . . you gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Maverick and Cyclone stepped off the plane side by side, chatting about what was to come in the next few days since Iceman’s replacement was not yet decided. But before Cyclone could get too wrapped up in the conversation, Warlock tapped Cyclone on the arm and gestured towards the hangar.

Cyclone turned and instantly smiled when he spotted Maggie running towards him, pumping her little arms to run as fast as she could. You trailed behind her with Parker on your hip, but you waved to him as soon as you locked eyes. Maverick followed Cyclone’s gaze, expecting the daughters that Cyclone mentioned very briefly in passing to be teenagers.

But when little six-year-old Maggie leapt into her dad’s waiting arms, Maverick was quietly surprised.

“You’re back!”

“I am back, yes,” Cyclone agreed, hugging his daughter to his chest. “Did you miss me?”

“Yeah, a lot! And Mommy was sad without you!”

“Well, she does like me just a little bit,” Cyclone joked, setting his daughter on his hip. “Were you a good girl for her?”

“Like I promised,” Maggie agreed, holding up her pinky finger. “Parker threw up though.”

“When?” Cyclone asked, instantly concerned.

“Mommy said that she ate too fast and then ran around too much,” Maggie replied, shrugging her shoulders. “It was a few days ago.”

“Daddy!” Parker yelled, causing Beau to look away from Maggie.

You set down a wiggling Parker onto the ground, letting her run the last of the way to her dad. And then you turned to face your own, who was staring at you in shock. You shot him a sheepish smile.

“Surprise,” you breathed out, waving to Maverick, who waved dumbly back.

Cyclone, meanwhile, picked up Parker and held both of his girls. Pressing a kiss to both of their cheeks, Cyclone walked over to you. Turning away from Maverick, you smiled up at your husband and gently cupped his cheeks to pull him in for a soft kiss.

“You’re finally home,” you sighed in relief, rubbing his cheeks with your thumb.

“We’re all home. In one piece,” Cyclone reported, causing you to let out a breath.

Pulling your husband in for another kiss, you wrapped your arms around your little family for a moment. In the background, Hondo slowly waved his hand in front of Maverick’s eyes, shocked himself at the turn of events, but far more amused than Maverick was about it. Pulling away from your husband, you turned to greet your dad.

“Hey, Mav,” you called softly, walking over to him. You gave him a quick hug and squeeze in greeting, all while waiting for his reaction to actually drop. “How are you?”

“Shocked,” Maverick replied, glancing between you and Cyclone. “You . . . he’s your husband?”

“For the past eight years,” Cyclone stated, adjusting his hold on your daughters.

“But . . .” Maverick blinked rapidly, turning back to you. “I mean, isn’t he a bit . . .”

“He is still your superior officer,” Cyclone reminded Maverick, causing you to shoot him the same look that you always did when he got a bit snappy during Navy social events.

“Yes, we’re aware that there’s an age gap between us,” you assured your dad, turning back to Maverick.

“How did the two you of you even meet?”

“Well, I had this ad up on a sugar baby website and—”

“—You know that I don’t like that joke,” Cyclone interjected, causing you to shoot him a playful smile while Maverick’s heart attack receded.

“We met at a wedding actually. Mutual friends. We sat next to each other at the same table and spent most of the night talking. I managed to convince him to dance and then we got together about two weeks after that.”

“Ten days,” Cyclone replied, pressing a kiss to Maggie’s head.

“And these are your daughters?” Maverick asked, looking over at your girls.

“Yes, this is Maggie. She’s six. And that’s Parker. She’s three,” you introduced, pointing out your daughters to Maverick.

“They’re beautiful,” Maverick commented, causing Cyclone to nod towards you.

“They get it from her.”

Maverick nodded in return and you and Cyclone excused yourselves, walking off to greet Warlock’s family. He blinked dumbly, still in disbelief that the fact that his daughter was married to someone like Cyclone of all people. Cyclone? Really? The man was an outstanding aviator, but he was probably at least fifteen years older than you and a stick in the mud.

Hondo’s barely contained laughter caused Maverick to turn towards the warrant officer.

“What?”

“Well, isn’t it ironic that for all the crap that they give you for running around with Penny, an admiral’s daughter, that your own daughter married an admiral? And Cyclone at that.”

“Shut up, Hondo,” Maverick sighed, causing Hondo to burst out laughing and nudge him in the arm.

#top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun: maverick #top gun #tgm #tgm fanfiction #pete mitchell #pete maverick mitchell #beau cyclone simpson #beau simpson #cyclone #beau cyclone simpson x reader #beau cyclone simpson x you #cyclone top gun #cyclone x reader #cyclone x you #beau simpson x reader #beau simpson x you

[enthyrea]

“Admiral Simpson!” Maverick calls, waving him over. “Thanks for coming.” He grins, leaning his elbows on the bar in an inviting stance. Cyclone can’t help but look him over, appreciating the way the jeans on Maverick fit him just so– No. Not doing that.  He appreciates Maverick’s outfit in a completely straight and normal way. Taking the spot next to the other man, he takes care to plant his feet in a completely natural and normal manner. “Maverick, thank you for extending the invite.” He says, like he rehearsed it fifteen times in the rearview mirror before leaving his car. “It’s good to see you.” 

i wrote another fic :} mavclone this time!

you can read it here! acquired taste by enthyrea

shoutout to @doodledraw and @green-socks for being lovely betas and cheerleaders <3

#its about 5k words of cyclone being down bad #AND grappling with his sexuality #and lots of metaphors about strawberries #enthyrea art #enthyrea fic #mavclone #cymav #beau cyclone simpson #top gun maverick #top gun #top gun fanart #pete maverick mitchell #maverick mitchell #cyclone simpson #top gun cyclone #top gun fic #top gun fanfiction #mavclone fic #maverick x cyclone #cyclone x maverick

[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," 

TAG LIST

@its-the-pilot

@t4medicroe

@inkandarsenic

#top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun fanfiction #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #hangman x reader #hangman x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #rooster x reader #rooster x you #michell reader #pete michell's daughter reader #pete maverick mitchell's daughter reader #maverick's daughter reader #beau cyclone simpson #beau cyclone simpson's daughter reader #cyclone's daughter reader #top gun maverick angst #rooster angst #hangman angst #maverick angst

[callsign-dexter]

Behind Closed Doors (18+)

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

Pairings: Bradley Bradshaw x Simpson!Reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, swearing

First Installment- Behind Closed Doors

Second Installment- Out in the Open

Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You: Absolutely. Tomorrow night?

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

You: I'm not picky but love Thai.

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

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

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

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hi, daddy." You said to him.

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

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

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

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

"Sweetheart-" He started but you stopped him.

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

"I understand." He said just as your food arrived. You all ate and talked and once you were done he paid and you both left. He walked you to your car and hugged you and kissed your head. "Drive safe sweetheart. I love you" You smiled and let go of him.

"Of course Dad. I love you too." You both got in your cars and took off. You ran a couple of errands and stopped by work to grab something and then went home. When you got there Natasha was up and sitting on the couch watching TV with popcorn.

"How was your lunch with your father?" She asked and you smiled while putting away your stuff and kicking off your shoes. You walked to her and joined her on the couch and she passed you the popcorn bowl.

"It was good. Told him I had a date. He didn't get much say in it." You said taking a handful of popcorn. She laughed you were probably the only person to make Cyclone go silent. He would do anything for you. The rest of the day and leading up to 7 PM you sat on the couch with Natasha watching movies and gossiping.

When it hit 5:50 PM you started to get ready for your date with Bradley. You walked to your closest and stood there looking at it then an outfit you absolutely adored made its appearance. You grabbed it and other things and headed to the bathroom conjoined to your room. You took a shower and then applied light makeup and put on the outfit. Your outfit was a pair of jeans with a cute flowing blue short-sleeve shirt. You looked at yourself in the mirror and smiled you were ready. Your hair was naturally wavy so you didn't have to do anything to it.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

7 PM came around and Natasha had other plans so it all worked out. Bradley came to the apartment door and knocked, you opened the door and he had flowers in his hands and that made you smiled.

"You're so beautiful." Bradley said and you blushed.

"Thank you." You replied.

"These are for you. I hope you like them." He said and gave you the flowers.

"They're beautiful. I love them. I'm just going to put them in a vase." You said and did just that and welcomed him in. You had your back to him when he started to speak.

"I found this awesome Thai place just right outside of the base. You're going to love it." He finished as you turned around and smiled.

"I've heard some good things about it. I've always wanted to go there but never have the time." You told him and he smiled.

"Well I'm glad I'm the first one that will be taking you." He said "You ready to go?" He asked and you nodded.

"Absolutely." You said and the both of you headed out the door and to his Bronco. You got there and he opened the door for you like a true gentleman. He shut the door and got into the driver's side and started it up and started to drive toward the restaurant.

You arrived at the restaurant and he killed the engine and got out and was at your door before you could get your hand on the handle. He held out his hand and you took it letting him guide you out and into the restaurant. You were taken back to your seats and sat down.

"So how do you know Natasha?" He asked you and you smiled.

"I met her when she first came to Top Gun. We hit it off pretty well. I was going to school and helping Penny out. She moved on but we stayed in contact." You said and never nodded. "I hope my dad isn't giving you any problems." You said to him as the waiter came over and took your drink orders.

"No, he's not." He laughed slightly. The waiter came back with your drinks and you were ready to order which you both did. "Does Nat know you're on a date with me?" He asked you and you shook your head.

"No, she does not but my dad does. Don't worry he's ok with it." You said when you saw his panicked face. "What do you say we keep this to ourselves and see how long it takes people to figure out?" You asked him with a mischievous glint in your eye.

"Let's do it. Nat is going to flip her lid." He said and your food arrived. You ate and talked making easy conversation.

The night ended too fast in your opinion because the next thing you knew you were back at your apartment. He gave you a goodnight kiss on the cheek and you both said that you would like to do it again.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

This is how it went on for 7 months but each time it got more intimate and staying over at his apartment started, you couldn't stay at your apartment because of Natasha. You both would be sneaking around behind Natasha's back but everyone else knew. Everyone else knew because they figured it out especially when you came to give your dad something during your lunch break and waved at Bradley, who smiled and waved back. Nobody else knew you were a Simpson either but they found out that day.

You had just walked into the building where your dad worked. You saw the group of pilots, besides Natasha. They saw you walk in and then Bradley locked eyes with you, you smiled and waved which he returned. You walked off towards the offices and everyone turned to Bradley.

"What was that?" Jake spoke up just as surprised as everyone else.

"You're going to have to be more specific Jake. She waved and I waved back." Bradley said while looking back down at the work that laid in front of him.

"Oh no. That wasn't just a wave to say that was a wave like you've been together and been sleeping around." Javy spoke up and Bradley stayed quiet not wanting to give anything away.

"Wait....... are you dating her?" Javy asked but Bradley stayed quiet.

"You are!" Jake practically screamed

"Keep your voice down." Bradley said finally looking over at the pilots. He didn't get to speak much more because Cyclone came walking in with his always neutral look and you on his left side. Everyone shoots up and at attention.

"At ease." He said and everyone relaxed and sat down. "This is my daughter, Y/N. I'm dropping her off here right now before she has to go back to work and because I need to get to a meeting. Be nice to her." He said and turned to you.

"If I don't see you again after I get out of this meeting, be safe driving back and I love you." He said and kissed you on the cheek everyone was surprised.

"I will. I love you too." You said as you pulled away from kissing his cheek. He turned and walked off. Everyone was looking at you. After making sure he was truly gone you tackled Bradley in a hug and kissed him hard. Everyone was shocked.

"Oh stop your staring. We're fine with it as along as Nat doesn't know. She'll flip her lid." You told them and they all nodded. You sat on Bradley's lap and you all talked about anything and everything until you looked down at your watch. "Oh shit! I got to go!" You said and scrambled off of Bradley "I'll text you." You told him and you were out the door. As you were hurrying Natasha popped up but you didn't have time to stop and chat. "Hey, Nat. Bye, Nat. I'm late." You said and she waved as you sped down the hallway. She just laughed.

Back in the room, everyone was shocked. Jake quickly got over it and a sly smirk came on his face. "You sly dog. You're fucking her aren't you?" He said and Bradley couldn't help but smile. "I can't believe you're hooking up with the Vice Admiral's daughter." He continued "Does he know?" He asked and Bradley nodded his head.

"She told him that we were going on a date. She said that he was good with it." Bradley said looking up at him just as soon as Natasha walked in having not heard any of the conversation and it was dropped but they gave Bradley a knowing look.

Every now and then Bradley would come up to meet you in your classroom just to see you or have lunch with you. On many occasions, he was still there when students started to roll in. Many of the female students stood there gawking at the handsome male aviator, who was either in his flight suit or khaki uniform.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

Natasha did find out a week after that. It had just become your and Bradley’s 8-month anniversary of dating. You had thought she was going to be gone for most of the morning staying at the base for something she had to do that night, even though it was a Saturday night and Sunday morning. You thought you were clear and you were for the night but not the morning when she came back earlier than what was planned.

You and Bradley had just come back from dinner and sat down on the couch and turned on a random movie. You both weren't paying attention to it too busy with each other. It started with you wanting to watch the movie but then Bradley started by kissing your neck and then he was slowly turning you so that you were facing him. The kissing was slow and passionate. You could feel his one hand that wasn't holding your neck start to creep up your thigh.

"Wait wait." You said and he pulled back with a confused look on his face.

"Is something wrong?" He asked sounding hurt.

"No nothing is wrong everything is perfect. But if we're going to have hot passionate sex I want it to be in the bedroom and not on the couch." You said and watched his face relax.

"You got it, darlin." He said while effortlessly picking you up which made you let out a squeal and clung to him. He started to kiss you again and you kissed back. You could feel how hard he was getting and it only turned you on more. He stumbled his way to your room all of a sudden you felt the mattress on your back and he climbed on top of you kissing you and touching you. It was all too much but it was perfect.

"You're perfect darling." He said as he slowly took your shirt off followed by your bra. He attached to your left nipple and started sucking and gently biting it, which had you moaning and grabbing his head. Your fingers raked his scalp. He moaned and that sent vibrations through your body. He pulled off your left nipple and gave the right one the same attention.

"Bradley." You moaned his name. You could feel him smirking he suddenly pulled off and kissed down your sternum to the start of your jeans and then he started to unbutton the buttons looking up at you.

"You're amazing. You deserve everything." He said while looking up at you as he took off your jeans and underwear and you lifted up helping him.

"You're amazing too. You should be shown appreciation too." You said starting to get up but he wouldn't let you. He quickly shed his clothing and climbed on top of you. He kissed you and you kissed back then he attacked your neck which had you a moaning mess. He quickly made his way down your sternum and to where you needed him the most.

"Later but now it's all about you." He said and you could feel his breath hit your vagina. He licked a broad stripe up and you let out a photographic moan and you felt him smirk. You were wet already but this just made you wetter. He kept going and then he was suckinf on your clit which had that familiar rubber band feeling coming to you. Occasionally he would tease your opening with your tongue. What made that rubber band snap was when he gently bit your clit and your vision turned white and stars could be seen.

After a few minutes, you came down from your high and he was crawling up and kissing you letting you taste yourself. You only broke apart when you needed air. "You're amazing." You told him and he smikred.

"You are too." He replied as he moved one hand down to his now leaking pre-cum cock giving it a pump and lining up with your entrance and pushing in. You threw your head back and your hands when to his back and raked your nails down his back leaving marks, he hissed out but in pleasure. "You're always so tight. It's like you were made for me." He said through the pleasurable pain.

"Oh fuck." You moaned out "More." You said almost demanding.

"Yes, ma'am." He said loving that you were making orders. He started to thrust into you and he hit you in all the right places. He brought one hand to catch both of your wrists in his large hands and brought them up above your head. He started to attack your neck with hot passionate kisses. He used his other hand to attack your sensitive clit which had you spreading your legs further. By doing that he started thrusting deeper and hit your g-spot. You were quickly coming to your second orgasm. "I'm close darling." He said and you knew it was true by his thrusts getting sloppily.

"Cum in me." You said and he nodded. He started to pick up his speed in thrusting and on your clit until you both hit your peak. His hips stilled as his cum painted your walls rope and rope and you came on his cock.

You both came down and he gently pulled out and laid next to you and you laid your head on his chest. The room smelt of sex and all that could be heard was both of you heavy breathing. "I'm so glad to be with you. I love you." You said and he dropped a kiss on your forehead.

"Me too darling. I love you too." He replied and both of you fell asleep.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

It was the next morning and neither of you had to work since it was a Sunday. So you decided to pay Bradley a favor and show him the attention he deserved. You woke up before him and slowly kept down until you were at his flaccid cock. You slowly wrapped your hand around him and started to pump him until he was semi-hard, he started to moan but he was sleeping still. He took him in your mouth and started bobbing up and down and dipping your tongue into his slit. He started to thrust into your mouth and you hallowed your cheeks to take him further. It was a good thing that your gag reflex was almost nonexistent.

Bradley slowly opened his eyes and looked down at you. You had your eyes closed but sensed he was watching you and opened them and looked at him through your lashes. He put one hand on your head but didn't press down. He was close. He was moaning and almost panting. "Yes, Darling. I'm close." He said After a few minutes, you came up for air, but immediately went back and swirled your tongue around his tip, and that is what sent him over the edge. He came into your mouth, and you could taste his salty cum and swallowed it all. You pulled off of him when he was down and wiped the excess into your mouth. "What was that for?" He asked you.

"Well, you took such good care of me last night that I decided to repay you the favor." You said and he pulled you up to him and kissed him. He could taste himself. You pulled away for air.

"Get dressed, I'll make breakfast." He said and helped you get up. You slipped on your underwear after you found it, and on his oversized shirt, you forfeited the bra. He got up and pulled on his boxers. As he followed you out into the hallway you stopped short, because right in front of you in the kitchen was none other than your roommate, Natasha Trace. You stood there like a deer caught in headlights.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

"Natasha. I thought you weren't supposed to be back until later this morning." You said and grabbed a pair of sweatpants that just so happened to be in the hamper. Bradley had gone back to the room and grabbed his pants. You were wearing his shirt so he forgot about it, it's not like she hasn't seen him thought a shirt.

"I got done early." She said slowly back "What is Bradley doing here? Why are you wearing his shirt?" She asked she had a feeling what the answer was going to be.

"I think you should sit down." Bradley said from behind you and you both walked into the kitchen and you both sat down on the barstool and she sat down at the table.

"Ok. I'm sitting." She said glaring at the two of you.

"I'm just gonna come out and say it." You said, "Bradley and I have been dating for 8 months." You finished and waited for her to blow up but she was just glaring at the two of you.

"Do the others know?" Natasha asked and you nodded.

"They found out last week when I went to drop something off to dad." You said.

"Why was I the last to know?" She asked still glaring.

"I know you wanted me to stay away from him but he's been so sweet to me. I know you were just trying to protect but Nat, I love him." You said she was still glaring but nodded and then turned her attention to Bradley.

"If you dare hurt her or break her heart. I'll be coming after you. I know where you sleep, and work, and you know how I am in the air. Not to mention I know her father." She said to him and he nodded.

"I'm not planning on doing any of those things. I love her too much." Bradley said looking at you dreamily and you looked back at him with the same look. Natasha saw this and finally stopped glaring.

"I am really happy for you guys. Still upset that I was the last to know, but that can be settled with you two buying me a drink at The Hard Deck." She said and you both looked at her and nodded.

"Deal." You and Bradley said at the same time.

"I'm gonna start making breakfast. Nat why don't you go and change?" Bradley said and she nodded and got up and headed off down the hallway. As she was walking she called over her shoulder.

"You better not have fucked anywhere in the kitchen or on the couch!"

You both laughed and shook your heads. You haven't yet but time will tell.

Tag list:

@kmc1989

@els-marvelvsp

@atarmychick007

@nyx2021

#bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #top gun fanfiction #top gun imagine #top gun x reader #top gun fandom #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick #top gun fan fiction #top gun fic #top gun fics #beau simpson x daughter!reader #cyclone x daughter!reader

[rose-pearls]

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

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

Top Gun Taglist: @bisexual-watermelons (open)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought you were bringing Bagman.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, what?!”

“You two are dating?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#top gun x reader #top gun imagine #top gun fanfiction #beau cyclone simpson #cyclone simpson #cyclone x reader #beau simpson #beau x reader

[ohtobeleah]

Yes, ‘Daddy’ // Beau Simpson

-> Headcanon Series Masterlist

Summary: After three divorces the last thing Beau Simpson is looking for is love. But love does t always come in cookie cutter forms. Sometimes it’s disguised in the form of at 25 year old college student who’s just looking so a quick way to make some easy money.

Warnings: Age Gap. (reader 25) sugar baby/sugar daddy relationship. Beau cyclone Simpson x F!reader.

-> OG Concept Train // The one where Cyclone Mets Baby. Cyclone Picks The Bathroom

-> Baby knows a Dagger // There’s a real possibility a Dagger is related to Baby.

-> Is Baby Jakes Ex? // Cyclone isn’t the first aviator Baby has dated.

-> The Situationship // Beau wasn’t looking for something serious, but you’re beginning to feel as serious as a heart attack

#yes daddy // beau simpson #leahs sunday sleepover #beau cyclone simpson #maverick top gun #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #daddy!cyclone

[whohasthecards]

Work and Distractions (Ch 2)

Ch1 (Diners and Late Nights)/Ch 2

“You called me in, Admiral?” Seresin said, standing at attention in front of his desk.

“At ease, Lieutenant, you’re not in trouble,” Cyclone said watching the kid, moving the papers he was looking at to the side.

“Didn’t think I was, sir,” Hangman drawled.

Cocky brat.

Despite that, the sharp line on his shoulders softened.

“Due to scheduling conflicts, the earliest we can deploy you is a month from now,” he said, watching the younger man who gave no indication whether or not he was disappointed. “However, your instructors say that you’re eager to work, much more so than whatever your paperwork implies. Additionally, it seems like you have aspirations to move up the ranks.”

“I like having something to do, sir, being higher in the ranks allows that and prohibits that at the same time,” Hangman said evenly. “I love flying, sir, but I understand that I can not do that all the time, might as well do something else between that.”

Smart kid.

“Well, Top Gun is empty right now. Only you remain in the barracks. Everyone else is preparing for the next batch of Top Gun graduates, maintenance, and catching up on administrative tasks. Might as well make yourself useful,” Cyclone said, handing Hangman a folder. “The mechanics are doing maintenance on the jets, you know your jet based on the manual, but you’ve never delved deep inside of it, have you?”

“Not more than what was required of me, sir, the Navy wanted the mechanics to focus on that,” Seresin replied, opening the folder with details on what he would be doing for the day.

“Well, back in my day, pilots and backseaters were more involved in hands-on, plane maintenance. Are you going to let us old timers be better than you at that?” Cyclone drawled out, staring at Hangman in the eye.

Seresin’s brow furrowed before he snapped the folder shut and straightened up, “Back in your day you were flying what would be now considered a fossil, sir,” Hangman said smirking. “I’ll go report to the hangar.”

“Good man,” Cyclone said, the corner of his lip twitching when he noticed Seresin leaving the room with a little more bounce on his step.

—

“How did he do? Any trouble?” Cyclone asked, approaching Warrant Officer Walker who was watching the mechanics and Seresin from afar who seemed to be delving in underneath the jet.

Walker snorted, giving a small smile as he rubbed his chin, “Eh, he’s just like the other kids in these parts.”

“Oh?”

“Young, confident, full of shit, but a good kid, this one works hard,” Walker said, smiling at Cyclone. “I heard this one was the last winner of Top Gun, I gotta say I was a bit worried. I know those kids talk a lot of shit, but damn, did I almost think you assigned him to me as punishment.”

“Not like you to judge a man before meeting him,” Cyclone said, crossing his arms, brows furrowed.

Walker shrugged, “The rumor mill is a bit more crazier these days, or that kid just special. Plus, heard some of the comments he said to his classmates, well, the kid has a mouth on ‘im.”

That’s saying something considering they were all in the military.

“He still got that mouth, but it ain’t anythin’ bad, just the usual young men talking shit and making fun with one another. Nothing close to what little I heard from ‘im before,” Walker said.

He mostly supervised the cohort from afar, and the few times he was directly involved, was a few minutes, with the men all in their best behavior. However, he did read the reports, but reports are for report keeping, not for a reflection of real life.

“I see,” Cyclone said, frowning and crossing his arms.

He watched as Seresin crawled out from under the jet, arms of his flight suit tied at the waist, and white shirt covered in grease. He stood up and looked like he was pouting when he looked down at his grease covered hands. Hangman finally noticed Cyclone when he looked up, grinning and giving the Admiral a two-fingered salute.

Cyclone felt Walker’s eyes in the side of his head as Cyclone nodded at the boy to go help out the other mechanics.

“You like the kid, don’t ya?” Walker mused, before Cyclone could reply the other man clapped a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it. “Bring ‘im around whenever, I’ll look after ‘im.”

Cyclone patted Walker’s shoulder in response.

—

“Is it true that you got engine oil dunked in your hair when you were an ensign?” Hangman blurted out.

Cyclone slowly raised his head from the paper Seresin gave him to look at Seresin with a raised brow. It was a week after Hangman started working with the mechanics, and if he wasn’t doing that, he was studying the documents used at Top Gun with him at the office. He was helping him sort through survey data, and the report Seresin produced was much more impressive than he expected.

Seresin simply stared back, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

“Where in the rumor mill did you find that?” Cyclone drawled.

“Warrant Officer Walker, Admiral,” Hangman said dutifully.

The vein in Cyclone’s forehead twitched, he should have figured that sooner.

Goddammit Lucas.

“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear, Lieutenant Seresin,” Cyclone said looking back down at the paper.

“That’s why I’m confirming the facts with you, sir,” Hangman said, lips pressed tightly together to prevent it from twitching upwards.

“I can neither confirm nor deny those allegations,” Cyclone said drily, flipping the paper to the next page.

However, he couldn’t help but smile when he heard the hold back a snort, grinning brightly at him.

—

“-- You should hear about the time Simpson here wrote 10 pages of bullshit tryin’ to justify flyin’ in shitty weather for ‘practice’--”

“It worked didn’t it?” Cyclone said glaring at Walker who simply smiled at him in response.

“You grouch at all of the young’ins bein’ little shits, but you weren’t much different weren’t ya, Admiral?”

“And you grouch at your mechanics being lazy, but at least they haven’t been caught sleeping on top of a jet–”

“Hey, it was durin’ my lunch break! You know, the time we suppos’ to be relaxin’ ‘stead of doing all that dumb paperwork!” Walker said lightly bumping Cyclone’s shoulder laughing.

Seresin looked past one of the turbines of the jet he was working on and leaned over to Ben, an aircraft mechanic around his age. “They always like this?”

Ben snorted as he pulled at one of the wires, “I’ve only been here a few months, but the others say they’ve been at it for years. They tight, man.”

“Huh,” Hangman said curiously as he watched an Admiral get his hands dirty helping Walker with something with the engine.

“Anyways, come bring that ratchet and bring your ass down here, I’m gonna show you something–”

—

“Come on boys and gal! Your favourite Air Boss ‘ere buyin’ a round o’ drinks. Even Almighty Admirals lose bets from time to time, yeah?” Walker said grinning as he hooked an arm around Cyclone’s shoulder as he was walking towards the mechanics still working on planes.

Hangman has never seen the Admiral look so dishevelled, with grease all over his clothes, and an annoyed scowl on his face. He looked at Ben who simply shrugged at him in response, also unsure about what was happening.

“I’m going to make you buy us all a round once we get there, Lucas,” Simpson hissed as he pushed the other man away as Walker simply laughed in response.

“Maybe you’ll be buyin’ ‘nother round once we get there,” Walker said grinning.

“If it’s pool, the Admiral got you beat 4 times out of 5, Chief,” One of the older mechanics chipped in.

“20 push ups for that, sergeant,” Walker said, wagging a finger at him.

—

“What. The. Fuck.” Hangman said jaw dropping as Cyclone ran the table clean in a few minutes. The last shot brought the last two balls in their pocket at the same time.

Cyclone smirked at Walker, “Next round on you. Unless, best of 3 to make you feel better?”

Walker rolled his eyes, “Nah, don’t wanna ruin the good mood, prick, okay boys! Next round on me!”

Ben nudged Hangman’s on the shoulder, “I’m gonna get a beer, want another one?”

Hangman shook his head, “Nah, it feels like a Sprite kind of night.”

Ben snorted, “You get free drinks and you’re ordering one of the cheapest drinks on the menu.”

Hangman flashed a charming smile, “I’m a charitable man.”

Ben rolled his eyes before heading towards the bar.

Hangman took a sip of the beer he had.

“Enjoying yourself, Seresin?” Cyclone said approaching him, still holding the cue stick.

“It was a great show, sir, very impressive,” Hangman said, tipping his drink at him.

Cyclone smiled, “You play pool?”

Hangman shook his head, “Not really, Jav- Lieutenant Machado started teachin’ me when we first got here, but I barely get a straight shot in.”

“Want to play a round? Teach you a couple of things?” Cyclone asked, tilting his head towards the table.

Seresin took another sip of his beer, his feet shuffling a bit. Eyes darting towards his other coworkers before looking at the pool table. The bar was pretty crowded–

“Maybe next time, sir,” Hangman said. “Give me some time to practice, so at least I gotta chance against ya,” Seresin continued, giving his signature smirk.

Cyclone’s eyes softened, “I’ll hold you to that, Lieutenant,” he said patting his shoulder. “Go have fun with people your age, shoo.”

Hangman rolled his eyes, “Aye, aye.”

—

Cyclone set a cup of coffee and a paper bag on Hangman’s desk, making the younger man look up from his computer to narrow his eyes at the Admiral.

“Coffee and an apple pastry I got from out of base,” Cyclone said nonchalantly.

Hangman scowled, “What data am I gonna analyze this time?”

Cyclone smirked, “You’ll like this one, it’s survey data among the perspectives of both active, reserved, and retired naval aviators.” He watched as Hangman’s eyes briefly lit up as he handed the packet to him.

“I mean, I suppose this may not be as interestin’ as Chief Walker’s activities,” Hangman drawled. “But I guess I’ll make some time for this.”

Cyclone snorted, reaching out and ruffling the boy’s hair as he headed out, “Make sure to eat before you start!” He called out, ignoring the boy’s squawk of protest.

—

“--It may be beneficial to conduct focus group discussions or 1-1 interviews to get a more in depth analysis of the survey data, Admiral,” Hangman reported, as Cyclone skimmed through the file he was just given.

“Excellent point Lieutenant, are you interested in participating in said interviews?” Cyclone asked.

“As an interviewee? Yes, as an interviewer? Nah, I prefer being in the air rather than stuck behind a desk, sir, reading the perspectives is interestin’, don’t get me wrong, but not my main thing,” Hangman said, shrugging before slumping down on the chair in front of Beau’s desk.

Cyclone smiled at him.

“Good work, Lieutenant, I’ll go through it all tomorrow, and send it out to other sections for analysis.”

“Of course, sir,” Hangman said, giving a small smile. “Just,” Hangman paused and bit his lip, “Maybe get a couple of others to proofread it just in case, yeah?”

Cyclone’s eyes softened, “Of course, kid, but I’m sure they won’t find much wrong with it.”

Hangman turned away, a light blush rising up his neck.

“Anyways, are you free tonight?” Cyclone asked.

Hangman looked at him curiously, “Yes-?”

“Want to play pool?” Cyclone asked, watching Hangman’s conflicted expression. “I know a pool hall nearby, it’s not as crowded as the Hard Deck. I told you I was going to teach you a few things,” Cyclone mused before stopping. “It’s not an order, Seresin, just an open offer,” Cyclone said.

“I-sure, where is it?” Seresin asked.

Cyclone smiled and gave him the address and time.

“Don’t wear your uniform.”

—

“Uhhh, so I don’t exactly know all the rules.”

“Well, there are the base rules, and then some house rules, which can make a game of 8-ball slightly different–”

“Sounds complicated.”

“You fly jets for a living, you’ll be fine, kid. As long as you can tell whether the ball is solid or stripes, you’ll be alright.”

—

“Keep your elbow steady, don’t move upwards, until after the whole shot is done,” Beau said coaching from the side, watching the blond stare at the cue ball in concentration.

Seresin slid the cue forward, the cue slipping sideways on the bridge hand, barely hitting the cue ball making it spin sadly to the side, 6 inches from where it started.

Seresin groaned as he straightened up and pouted. Beau took pity on him and took the cue ball, placing it where it was before.

“Come on, kid, you can do it, chalk the tip and try again,” Beau said, handing him the chalk.

Hangman took a deep breath and readied himself again. His form was still tense, trying to get used to his footing. He hit the cue ball straight into the solid ball, making the shot. Hangman straightened up and gave a cheer.

He looked so young.

“Good job,” Beau said, smiling. “Now what’s your next shot?”

#fanfic #top gun maverick #top gun #top gun fandom #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #dadclone #dadmiral #parental cyclone #beau cyclone simpson #top gun fanfiction

[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.

#claire’s fic recs #jake seresin x reader #bob floyd x reader #hangman x reader #top gun imagine #top gun fluff #top gun x reader #cyclone x you #beau simpson #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw fic #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster smut #rooster x wife!reader #rooster x you #rooster angst #hangman au #top gun headcanons #top gun fanfiction #coyote machado #javy machado imagine #javy machado fic

[h-c-u]

Eye of the storm pt 1

Summary: You can't cope with your grief and Beau is there for you.

Pairing: Beau "Cyclone" Simpson x fem!reader (Iceman's daughter)

W/C: 8k

Rating: PG, age gap, canon character's death (Tom Kazansky)

TWs: Grief, unnamed ED, Panic attacks.

A/N: It's going to be long and slow. And there is a lot of feelings. Is it healthy...? Wellll.... What in life truly is healthy...? Also - the next chapter is almost ready, and will be most likely posted on Sunday.

Part 2 | Part 3 Masterlist | List of tags | Eye of the storm playlist

Personal note: I am aware that grief is a very heavy topic for some people, and if you're not in the right mindset, please skip this story. A lot of what I described here is based on my personal experiences, so if you could, please don't comment on the amount of sleeping, crying and panic attacks. From the outside perspective, I know that there are a lot of them, and that it might even sound unrealistic for someone who was able to deal with loss in a more healthy way than I did. Everyone deals with it differently and I wish none of you, my dear readers, will experience what I did. Love,  G.

The last few weeks were rough for you... Mostly because you just couldn't process your dad's death properly, and you were having terrible nightmares every night and panic attacks when you were awake. And yet, you were afraid to go back to therapy; you just... weren't ready yet, because actually going there and talking about it somehow made it more... true. And because acknowledging that would break you even more. 

You couldn't spend more than a few minutes at home, because everywhere you looked you were expecting to see him, to hear him... Every time you looked at your phone you were expecting to see a text from him... Every time you looked at your driveway you expected to see him getting out of the car... But none of those things happened, and every time you realized that the won't happen ever again, it was crushing you over and over. 

You cling to his clothes, desperately seeking the remains of his scent... You re-read his journals every day, hoping that somehow the last unfinished sentence magically fills in with his neat handwriting the next time you get to that page... You were obsessively listening to the recording of My Funny Valentine he made for your mother a few years ago when he still had his voice... 

You knew that none of those things was healthy. And yet, you just couldn't let them go, making yourself re-live the pain of realizing that he's truly gone multiple times every day... 

To say that you were close with your dad would be a severe understatement. You told him everything, and he told you even more than he was sharing with your mother. You were almost inseparable, especially during the last couple of years. You learned sign language with him and you were with him in every unofficial meeting, translating, because it was much faster than writing on a computer. You were with him at every doctor’s appointment and every round of chemo, talked him through every panic attack and moment of self-doubt, when your mother just couldn't handle it anymore. 

And you missed him with every breath you took and with every heartbeat...

But ever since the funeral... you just couldn't handle it. And you had no one to help you, so you hid in the place where you could weirdly still feel his presence... 

You never got into military; you knew you weren't built for that life. You craved personal freedom too much and the strict routine would kill you. And yet you found yourself seeking the comfort of that, even if only by existing in the same space as it was happening. 

To be honest, you assumed that getting on base would be much harder, considering that you weren't even in the academy, but almost everyone you came in contact with got sudden amnesia and selective blindness when they saw you entering the base or walking the corridors... You usually just sat on the floor somewhere, tucked in the corner of the hangar, or in the furthest part of a cafeteria, being completely quiet and re-reading one of your dad's journals. It was the only place where you didn't feel like dying...

You were extremely careful not to accidentally stumble upon something you weren't supposed to see or hear, that's why it took you so long to get into your fathers office; because you assumed it was reassigned and you didn't want to be confronted by the new occupant... 

But you finally gathered the courage to open the familiar door and enter even more familiar room. You've spent a lot of hours here... Sure, all the personal belongings were packed and sent to your mother's house, but you could still see the marks he made there... 

The worn place on the edge of his desk, where he rubbed his thumb over and over, when someone was saying something extremely stupid during meetings. Blinds were still in the 2/3s of the window, just as he liked. The place in the carpet where he liked to keep his right foot perpendicularly to the floor, resting it on his toe was still visible. And many, many little things that gave unimaginable comfort when you saw them again. He was still here... Maybe not alive, but he was still here, and that took that heavy weight from your chest and shoulders, even if just for a moment. 

You couldn't force yourself to sit in his chair, it felt almost sacrilegious... Instead, you opted on curling up on the couch you helped choose, just for few minutes... To catch a breath from the constant grieving, even if for a moment... You didn't even notice when you fell asleep, and for the first time in weeks, there were no nightmares haunting your dreams... 

- Cyclone...? - he heard a familiar voice, and he instantly turned around. - Are you ok, buddy? - Warlock looked a little bit concerned but got curious when his friend put his finger on his lips, shushing him, and closing the door to his office a bit more. 

- I'm fine... - he lied smoothly, trying to position himself in front of his door in such a way, that his friend wouldn't see inside, but he failed. 

- What the...!? - to say that Solomon was surprised and confused would be an understatement, when he caught sight of the young women sleeping on the couch in his friend's office. 

- Shush. - Cyclone pulled his friend by the elbow further into the corridor, so their conversation wouldn't be so loud. 

- Why the hell she's in your office, and more importantly, why the hell were you watching her sleep? - Warlock crossed his arms on his chest evidently judging, and Beau's shoulders slumped as he looked at the floor. 

- Because she thinks this office is still unoccupied... And it's the only place where she doesn't have nightmares when she sleeps... - he bluntly avoided answering the second question, because if he did, he would actually have to admit few things out loud, and he definitely didn't want to do that in front of his friend. 

- And you know that because...? - Solomon dug deeper and Cyclone sighed heavily. 

- Because I overheard her conversation with her mother after I caught her for the first time...

- Jesus Christ, Beau...

- I know, believe me. - he was evidentially ashamed of what he did, and Sol didn't even know the half of it. 

- How often is she here? - Warlock sighed again and let his arms fall to his sides. 

- Every day... - even though Beau was much higher than his friend, right now he felt much, much shorter. 

- Every...!? Cyclone, what the actual fuck!? - vice-admiral wanted nothing more than for the ground beneath him to open and swallow him whole. - Wait... If she's in your office every day... Where have you been working from? - the judgement disappeared for a moment, replaced by curiosity. 

- From a conference room on the 3rd floor... - compared to the previous things, this one was easy to admit, and now Solomon just laughed quietly... 

- Shit, you're in deep, aren't you... Working from that shoebox just so she can catch some sleep... For how long exactly? - usually very sure in himself and confident Beau Simpson was currently folding onto himself in front of his best friend. 

- Almost two months... - he mumbled under his breath, readying for the next wave of laughter. 

- Have you even talked to her? - Cyclone didn't have to reply for Solomon to know the answer. - Why? 

- She's very obviously grieving. And she's Iceman's very young daughter and he would... - he couldn't even finish that sentence. 

- He would what... kill you? A bit late for that, isn't it...? - if looks could kill, Solomon would be dead then and there. - And I didn't mean it like that... Everyone treats her either as a ghost or like an egg which could break any second. Just treat her as a human being, not as a daughter of a dead father. Talk to her. And don't creepily watch her sleep ever again, because you won’t have to wait for Kazansky to kill you, I'll do it for him, I'm serious. - his expression told Beau that indeed, he wasn't joking. 

Cyclone sighed heavily and straightened himself, trying to put on his usual expression of confidence and nonchalance, which came surprisingly easy. 

- Could you...? - he asked before they went their separate ways. 

- Yeah, yeah... Your creepy little secret is safe with me... - he just shook his head when his friend's face showed nothing but relief for a short moment. - But seriously, she's a human being first, just remember that. - Cyclone only nodded, straightened himself and readjusted the flies and laptop he was holding in his hands. - Atta boy. - older man couldn't help but laugh and patted his friend on the shoulder. 

But when Beau was passing his door, he couldn't help but take one last look at the sleeping girl in his office... She looked so innocent and peaceful, curled up in a tiny ball on only one couch cushion, desperately trying to occupy as little space as possible. Her breathing was steady, and he could see her chest slowly raising and coming down, even from that far. He didn't have time to study the light freckles on her cheeks that were glistening like gold in the rays of morning sunshine. He took this sight one last time and gently closed the door, leaving her completely alone, which was much more true than he realized at the moment. 

Next time he saw you was on the balcony of the hangar. He was looking for a quiet space to eat, because he hated eating in the canteen with a passion. Someone was always either staring at him, or trying to talk to him, and he wasn't sure which was worse. He also didn't want to eat in his office, because he honestly thought, you were still there and he didn't want to disturb you. So, he was a bit surprised when he saw you in one of the biggest hangars, where the lights were off and the only sound that could be heard was planes landing and taking off on the tarmac. 

He didn't say anything, just sat about a meter away from you, took a smoothie from his lunch bag and placed it right next to you, wordlessly giving it to you, and started to eat his sandwich in silence. He didn't ask any questions, didn't make any remarks, just... kept you company, while you couldn't stop staring at the glass bottle, he presented you with. You eventually placed your dad's notebook on the ground and cautiously took the glass bottle into one hand. Even though the intention was obvious, you still weren't entirely sure if it wasn't happening in your imagination. 

- Peanuts...? - you asked quietly, without even looking at him. Your voice hoarse and rough from all the crying and screaming. You honestly weren't sure exactly when was the last time you spoke to anyone. Even your mother wasn't calling you that often, tired of your constant grief; you didn't blame her though. Cyclone only shook his head for no, which you caught with a corner of your eye. 

- Cashews, apples, kiwis, coconut milk and fresh, young nettle. - he said after he swallowed the bite of his sandwich. You still held the glass bottle as if it was about to explode any moment, but eventually you opened it and took a sniff before you put it to your lips and took a sip. It was... good. Tasty. 

- Thank you... - you whispered and started slowly sipping on the smoothie while he continued eating his breakfast. He only nodded once in response, letting you know that there’s nothing to thank for. 

You of course knew him... For the last couple of years, you were interpreting your dad's words in the meetings with him at least couple of times a week. You didn't know much about his personal life though. But right now, he was the right person in the right place, at the right time. His mere presence brought you weird comfort, taking you back to simpler times. 

He finished the meal first, but he didn't go, just reclined a bit, seeking support in the wall behind. He wasn't rushing you and didn't even give you impression that he was in a hurry, so you continue to take small sips of something that had actual sustenance, instead of tea or a single fruit that you could barely stomach. You knew you should be eating more, because you started to see bones through your skin that you weren't able to see before the funeral. The clothes were secondary, because you were mostly wearing your dad's old t-shirts and jackets, which were already much too big for you, but they brought you comfort, and you held to that small piece of support with all your might. but because of that, you haven't noticed how much weight you actually lost. 

So, you were extremely grateful for that smoothie, because you just didn't have the energy to even think about the food, you just didn't know how to show it or say it, so a simple "thank you" had to suffice, at least for now. 

You weren't sure how much time had passed until you finally finished the drink and closed the bottle, but it was at least half an hour, maybe even closer to an hour. You suspected that he had other things to do, yet he was sitting on the cold, metal floor of a balcony with you, as if you were kids who just met in the kindergarten. And if you had to be completely honest, you didn't mind that. Because he didn't do or say anything that was supposed to make you feel better. You were just two people. Eating breakfast. And for the first time in weeks, you smiled... 

He joined you later that day again; you were still sitting on the same balcony, so you weren't exactly hard to find. This time he brought you a wrap with smoked salmon, avocado, sunflower seeds and Philadelphia cheese. He had sushi... And you sat in complete silence again, not even one word between you this time, because even simple "thank you" seemed too heavy for you.

You didn't know why he was doing that, but deep inside, you were grateful. It was your second meal of the day since forever, and he stayed with you till you ate it whole, which took at least thirty minutes, because the bites you were taking were small and far apart. And yet he didn't say a word, didn't complain, didn't rush you... Just sat there and ate his sushi, and after he finished, he leaned again on the wall behind him. It wasn't easy for you to relax, but you at least didn't find his presence overbearing, which was progress. 

Small, yet somehow significant. But Rome wasn't built in a day.

After you finished eating, he took the wrapping from you to throw away and left you alone again, saying goodbye with a simple smile.

In the afternoon he brought you hot black tea, a caramel cookie and a blanket, which you let him drape over your body while you were holding thermal mug in your hands. He was really careful and made sure not to actually touch you, because in his mind it was a line, he wasn't ready to cross just yet. He again sat with you while you were slowly nibbling on the cookie and sipping tea. You suspected that the mug he brought the tea in was his personal one, because you seriously doubted that navy had yeti mugs just laying around, but you didn't say a word. Commenting on that would require much more energy than you had left in your batteries for today. Maybe tomorrow... 

This time he didn't bring anything for himself, so he was just sitting next to you with his eyes closed. He was breathing slow and steady, and that quiet, rhythmic sound somehow managed to ground you enough that you finally looked at him. The sun was slowly setting over the horizon and shined its rays on both of you... He looked... tired. But at the same time calm and content. You could tell that he wasn't in any hurry to get anywhere, and if he had any worries on his mind, there weren't reaching him this high up. You could see his chest slowly rising with every breath... Unknowingly, you focused on the same things he noticed about you, when he was looking at you sleeping. 

You eventually looked forward again and went back to slowly sipping from a giant mug of tea. You were surprised to learn that it was your favorite - earl grey with bluebottle flowers, with a little bit of honey. You doubted that it was an accident, but you honestly didn't care right now; it didn't matter.

Only after you finished your tea, you realized that he wasn't just sitting there... He fell asleep, and that made you smile for the second time today. You placed an empty mug on his left side, and moved a bit closer to him. The metal floor was getting colder this late in the day, and he was bound to get cold sooner rather than later, so you unfolded the blanket he draped over you, and put it around him as well. If he was tired enough to fall asleep here, he definitely deserved to get some rest. The blanket was big enough that it covered both of you, without forcing you to touch, so you could go back to re-reading your dad's journal in the last rays of sun for the day. 

At first you didn't notice his scent, because the detergent on the blanket was so strong, but it finally got to you, after few minutes of sitting in such close proximity. He smelled faintly of either pine or spruce, and a hint of very good quality soap. At first it distracted you, but it didn't take long for you to stop consciously noticing it. It still surrounded you though... 

You weren't sure what was the exact reason... If it was the heat radiating of the body next to you, his calm and steady breath, the fact that you actually ate today, or maybe the combination of all three, but you eventually joined him and fell asleep, sitting under one blanket with vice-admiral Beau Simpson. 

When he woke up, he didn't know where he was at first. His back and ass were cold, but the front of his body was pleasantly warm. It was dark all around him and he had trouble identifying anything. But finally his train of thoughts caught up with reality, and he realized what, or rather who, was responsible for the additional weight on his thighs. 

He gave his eyes few minutes to adjust to the darkness and he was finally able to see the familiar outline of your head, which made him smile. He still couldn't say what exactly possessed you to lay on him and, but the realization finally got to him, based on the blanket placement. You must have fell in your sleep, without even realizing it, and it made him chuckle a little. He couldn't help but move your hair from your forehead and you took a deeper breath when he did that. He didn't want to wake you up, but at the same time, he knew that it wasn't the best place for you to sleep, mostly because of the temperature, and he didn't want you to get sick. 

But he selfishly didn't move for few more minutes, just taking in your presence. He was watching you from afar for so long, that actually being so close to you seemed... surreal, almost like a dream. Especially in the moonlight that was coming through the giant windows above you. In his eyes, you looked as if you stepped straight out of a fairy-tale to bless him with your company. 

You looked so peaceful and he hated that he had to disturb that, but to his surprise, when he touched your arm and gently shook it, you didn't wake up... You didn't even react in the slightest. 

At first, he wanted to try to call your name, to shake you a bit stronger, but another, admittingly more creepy plan won in his head. 

Very gently he hooked your arm on his neck, turned towards you, and grabbed you under your knees and your back. You weighed almost nothing in his arms, and he could feel your shoulder blades even through the jacket you were wearing. Your head moved forward and rested on his chest, instead of lulling back, following the gravity. He left his mug on the balcony, making a mental note to come back for it later, when you'll be out of his arms. 

He walked slowly and carefully, trying his best not to wake you up. There wasn't a lot of people in the corridors this late, and those who were, suddenly went quiet and found something else to look at. At first, he wanted to get you to his office, but he selfishly didn't want to leave you there alone, and sleeping on the rough carpet didn't sound that appealing... Instead, he took you to the quarters that were assigned to him. It was a small room, with almost no decoration. There was a bunk bed built into the wall, even though he was the only one assigned to this room, a small desk, a wardrobe, armchair in the corner. 

He didn't spend a lot of time here, preferring his house off the base, but this room was still available to him if needed. And today definitely qualified under "if needed". He didn't even turn the lights on because he knew how harsh they were, and he was afraid that you would wake up. 

He gently placed you on the lower bed.

He was torn about what to do next, but he eventually unlaced your shoes, took them off, and placed them under the bed. Not creepy at all. At last, he slowly moved the duvet from under you and covered you with it, even though you were still wrapped in a blanket. But when he was covering your shoulders, you desperately grabbed his wrist in your sleep and pulled it closer to your chest. He tried to gently pry your fingers away, so he could climb into the top bed and fall asleep, but you didn't want to let go.

He honestly considered climbing in the bed with you for a moment, but Solomon's voice slapped him over the head and instead he sighed heavily. Without moving too much, he grabbed a cushion from the armchair and placed it on the floor next to the bed. he also grabbed a pillow from the top bunk and did his best to find the most comfortable position while sitting on the floor. He eventually unbuttoned and loosened his collar. In the ideal world, he would be able to take his shirt of completely without waking you up, leaving only his t-shirt... That was a lie... In the ideal world, he wouldn't have to worry so much about you because you wouldn't be grieving... He also took his shoes off and put a pillow on the shoulder that you were currently trying to pull closer, and rested his head on it, trying to find the best angle, so the edge of the bed wouldn't be stabbing his ribs.

He looked at you one last time before closing his eyes and focused on your breathing for a moment.

It was calm and steady, which told him that even though you were clutching his arms like a lifebuoy, you didn't have a nightmare; at least that's what he was hoping for...

You woke up in an unfamiliar place, yet somehow you felt calmer than you felt in weeks. At first you didn't even want to open your eyes, in fear that if you did, that bubble of serenity would disappear in a blink of an eye. So, you laid there without even moving a finger, allowing yourself absorb every second of that bliss. 

Only after good five minutes you realized that you were holding someone's hand and your eyes shot open in a slight panic, which only grew when you realized your current position. 

Vice-admiral Beau Simpson was sitting on the floor, draped over the edge of the bed in which you were currently laying. Your heartrate immediately jumped, and your brain slowly started to fill in the blanks with the most rational possibility. You fell asleep. He took you to this room so you could sleep in the bed. But you didn't let him go... 

So, he slept next to you. On the floor. In a very uncomfortable position. 

It must have been very early, because the sun wasn't fully over the horizon yet, painting the sky with a muted orange color, that filled the room almost completely. 

You took a closer look at his sleeping face for the second time during last twenty-four hours; the calmness of if somehow rubbed off on you, and you weren't panicking anymore... You couldn't place exactly why you were reacting that way to his presence, but you did... And now it was your turn to do something creepy and stupid... 

Without letting him go, you gently cupped his cheek with your free hand and his eyes immediately shot open, but he calmed down when he saw you. You didn't say anything... Instead, you pulled him towards you, and moved closer to the wall, making space for him under heavy duvet in the very narrow bed, and he followed... Like a puppy on a leash... He climbed into bed with you, ignoring all the sirens in his head.

You let go of his hand and he pulled the covers over both of you, and just as he was beginning to feel unsure about what to do with his limbs, you took his arm again and guided it around your body, letting it rest on the top part of your stomach, and covered it with your own. After that his other hand easily found a place under your pillow and his left ankle rested on top of your right. 

At this moment in time, this was the only thing you needed from life... 

You didn't even realize how quickly your breaths synchronized, lulling both of you back to sleep. 

When you woke up for the second time, the sun was high up, and he was gone... You couldn't help feeling a bit sad. You knew that he had to work, and there were total of... 12 words exchanged between you two. But to your surprise, that sadness had a different taste than the one you felt constantly for the last two months... But you knew that if you started analyzing and dissecting it, you would spiral again. 

When you turned around and looked around the room, you noticed your bag resting on the floor next to the desk, your dad's journal on the desk, and a another glass bottle with a short "no peanuts" scribbled on a post-it note stuck to the side of it. But... you didn't want to get out of bed just yet. Your rational brain was screaming at you that you definitely should, because you were already abusing vice-admiral's hospitality. Not to mention that you used his body... Well, not in the most obvious way, but still... On the other hand, he wasn't exactly yelling at you and protesting. 

So, staying in bed it was... 

But first you took your jacket off and hung it over the ladders edge. You also took of your jeans and socks because it was extremely warm under the duvet. It definitely wasn't navy issued and even only in your underwear and your dad's much too big for you t-shirt, you were hot. But it was pleasant, because for the longest time you were always cold... It was partially to the fact that you weren’t eating enough, and partially because you were... well... depressed. So, you welcomed that warmness with your whole heart, covering even your head, leaving only a small gap for the oxygen to come in. 

It wasn't long before you fell asleep again, surrounded by a very subtle pine or spruce smell. 

Next time you didn't wake up on your own... Vice-Admiral Simpson was kneeling next to the bed and gently moving your hair from your forehead. 

- You need to eat something... - he whispered quietly. He didn't want to wake you up, but when he came back with lunch and saw that you didn't even touch your breakfast, he got a little bit worried. You wanted to shake your head for no, because you already ate so much yesterday, and you were still full from that... Sleep sounded much better than eating. But instead of refusing you ended up following his nods. - Just a quick small meal, and you can go back to sleep, ok...? - he asked, but it wasn't a request. You propped yourself on the wall behind you and took a glass bottle you saw earlier from his hands. 

It took you a good minute to hype yourself up to actually take a sip, but when you saw relief on his face... Well... It helped with every sip that followed the first one. 

He stayed with you until you finished the whole smoothie and gave you a gentle smile when he took the empty bottle from your hands. You moved your pinky just by few millimeters, so you could touch his hand. You weren't entirely sure if you did that consciously or subconsciously, but he didn't pull away for few more seconds, allowing the touch to linger. 

He wanted nothing more than to climb to bed with you again and protect you from both the outside world and what was happening in your mind, and you were so naively allowing him to do so... He couldn't help but feel like he was taking advantage of you, but you were a fully grown woman... Much, much younger than him, but still.

He wanted to tell you how much of a good girl you were for drinking the whole smoothie, and how proud and happy he was that you were finally getting enough sleep, but that would cross so many lines, that he wasn't even sure if he could count that high. 

You were so obviously depressed and grieving, that even an idiot would have noticed, and instead of getting you professional help, he was selfishly keeping you in his room, feeding you food he prepared and occasionally climbing in the bed with you... 

He clenched his jaw and finally pulled away, breaking this small point of contact between your bodies. And everything would have been fine, if you didn't follow his movements, and kneeled on his bed, and cupped his face with your right hand, forcing him to look you in the eyes. He almost immediately looked away, afraid of what you could possible find there, but you followed his gaze and intercepted it again. 

- Thank you... - your voice barely a whisper, because you couldn’t make it any stronger... Not yet... He only nodded in response and moved away from your hand by finally standing up.

- I will leave the lunch on the desk... It's a crab sushi roll, please try to eat it when you'll wake up next time, ok...? - he pleaded and you simply couldn't say no to that, so you nodded - Also, there is grape juice... - "your favorite..." he wanted to add, but he didn't want to explain exactly how he knew that. But your soft smile told him everything he needed to know. - Do you... want a book? - he asked with one hand on the door handle, and you considered your response for a moment, but eventually shook your head for no. You didn't think you had enough in you to process anything new. He gave you one last, soft smile and you were alone again. 

Usually, it would the prime time for a panic attack, but you stayed calm, grounded by the subtle scent vice-admiral left behind. 

You laid back in bed, and closed your eyes, even though it was the middle of the day, and harsh rays of sunshine would make it extremely hard for a regular person to fall asleep. But you had 2 months of catching up to do. And you were going to squeeze everything you possible could from that bubble of calmness, because you honestly didn't know how long it would last.

Next time you woke up, it was still bright outside, and nothing in the room changed, so you assumed that no one visited you while you slept. At first you wanted to go back to sleep immediately, but you remembered that you promised Beau that you would at least try to eat... With a heavy sigh, you got out of bed; but before you got to the food, you opened a window, to let some fresh air in. What you didn't predict was, that the fresh air was cold. So, you took your lunch and grape juice, sat in the armchair, curled your legs under you and pulled a t-shirt over them. 

It took you good five minutes before you actually took a first bite, and even longer to take the second one... But you kept at it, slowly but surely eating the lunch that Beau prepared for you. And you were sure that he made it because you knew canteen menu well enough to know that they didn't have sushi. If you weren't so cut from reality, you would be wondering what all that meant, but at this specific moment you could find the energy only for slowly eating. And with every bite it was easier to take and swallow the next one. It wasn't a big portion, and yet you still weren't able to eat more than half. 

And this time you didn't go straight back to sleep after eating... Instead, you grabbed the journal and continued reading where you left off yesterday. 

That's how vice-admiral Simpson found you... Curled up in his chair, completely hidden in a tent made from your dad's t-shirt, so even your toes weren't visible, with a very old journal in your hands. One look at the desk told him that you did your best to follow his request, and then was that feeling again... The one that demanded that he tell you how proud and happy he was, but he squashed it before it grew any bigger. 

- I brought you some towels, a toothbrush and a change of clothes. You don't have to do anything, they will just be here, in case you'd want them... - he placed the small bundle on the edge of the desk. He also brought with him a thermal mug full of tea. "I'm sorry I can't stay..." he wanted to apologize while holding you closely in his arms and showering you with gentle kisses all over your neck and chest. Instead, he just put a yeti mug on the desk close to you, and was gone before you even managed to thank him. 

For a few more minutes you tried to focus on your father's handwriting, but your eyes kept wondering to the bundle he left for you. You didn't have to, he said it himself... But you were curious enough to stand up from the armchair and take a closer look. Towel was nothing special... Well, at the first glance. Another thing that might have looked like it was military issued but wasn't. The one you were currently holding in your hands was much, much bigger, and softer than the ones issued in the common area. Inside the towel there was a plain white t-shirt, soft grey shorts, plain black underwear and... fluffy dark-green socks. To say that you were surprised would be an understatement. Not only underwear was in your size, but you couldn't help but wonder where he got the socks from. You gently run your fingers through the soft material, and you couldn't help but smile. 

Now you definitely had to take that shower. 

You correctly assumed that the second door indeed led to a very tiny bathroom. You took your clothes off, folded them neatly and stepped into the shower. Both the water pressure and the temperature were perfect, and you spent much more time in the bathroom than you initially planned. It was spruce, not pine... you realized when you saw the shampoo on the small shelf. He was using a natural, spruce scented shampoo... And now you will smell like him... 

You dried yourself with a towel and put on the clothes he gave you. Both shorts and t-shirt were too big for you, but you honestly didn't mind. You did your best to dry your hair, but they were still very damp when you left the bathroom. You hang the towel on the radiator, so it would dry faster, and finally put on the fluffy socks. It was such a small thing, and yet it brought you so much joy. Not only they were extremely soft, but they were also in your favorite color. You settled back in the armchair and looked first at the journal and then at the unfinished roll... You sighed heavily and reached for the latter. 

It took you more time than taking a shower to finish your lunch, but you finally did, after which you got up again to wash your teeth. You noticed that he gave you the same toothbrush as the one that was in the cup on the sink, and since you didn't want them to mix up, you just placed yours on shelf next to the mirror, which you avoided more than a plague. 

All that food and hot temperature started to knock you out and you climbed back to bed, hid under the covers and almost immediately dozed off. 

When Cyclone came back to his temporary quarters, he felt that nagging feeling again... You not only ate everything he left for you, but also found enough energy to take a shower, which he knew must have been huge, ever since you stopped running on that harmful autopilot and had to actually think about what you were doing. He took one look at you and the warmth spilled inside his chest... You were laying in his bed, wearing his clothes, smelling like him... He couldn't help that feeling of possessiveness that crept in and demanded that he marks you in so many more ways, but he squashed it again. Now was not the time... And he was better than his basic instincts. 

So instead, he went to the bathroom and took a quick cold shower. He noticed with a soft smile that you kept your toothbrush separated from his; he should have thought about it earlier and bring you one that didn't look like his, but still... A very small thing, yet it left a mark that you were there. 

You didn't wake up to the quiet hum of the water, or when he took a fresh set of clothes from the wardrobe to wear to bed. And before he climbed up to the top bunk, he took one look at you, only now noticing that you were shivering. He quickly closed the window and put the duvet over you. He wanted to kiss your forehead so badly... but he didn't, settling on tucking your hair behind your ear, so he could see your face better. You looked... a bit more like you today, than you did yesterday. 

He sighed softly and finally climbed in the top bed. 

You knew that something was wrong before you even woke up. Your heart was pounding, your hands and legs were shaking, your cheeks were completely soaked with silent tears, and when you finally woke up, you couldn't catch your breath. You tried to stay as quiet as you could, while attempting to take gasp after gasp of air, but your lungs just weren't cooperating. You knew what it was, you knew how to deal with it in theory. Yet when it came to actually calming down... You were desperate... 

You got out of your bed and as gently as you could, put your cold fingers on Beau's shoulder, which jolted him awake. And when he saw in what state you were in, you didn't even register how he got down; you just felt his arms pulling you to his chest and surrounding you from every angle. His embrace was strong enough to ground you in reality, and his scent only amplified that. You were openly sobbing into his shirt, not really caring about the potential consequences. You didn't register when exactly he sat on the lover bunk, and pulled you with him, letting you curl up in his lap, with his arms still tightly wrapped around you. He pressed his cheek you your forehead and was whispering something you didn't understand in your current state, but his voice alone was enough to pulled you out of that spiral and try to match his breathing, even if that hurt your lungs in the short term. You knew from experience that it was the best option to pull you out of that self-loathing spiral. He realized what you were trying to do and started breathing a bit quicker so it would be easier for you to match that tempo, and only after you did that, he slowed down again... 

Only now you started to process what he was saying to you... How well you were doing, what a good girl you were, how brave you were, how he was proud that you started to calm down... You weren't even sure if he realized what he was saying, because as soon as you went stiff in his arms, he immediately stopped, as if it hit him too. 

The rational part of your brain was screaming at you that it wasn't normal and that you should get out, but everything else was telling you to stay near him at all costs. You weren't sure if you were getting addicted to him or what any of it meant... You just knew you felt safe, and for now... That was more than you could have said about your own home. At this specific moment, you didn't give a shit if he was using you, or if you were using him, because it just felt so good... not to feel numb.

- I'm sorry... - you mumbled against his skin, still clinging to his shirt with one hand, as if you were afraid that if you let go, all of this would disappear, and you would be alone again. 

- Shhhhh... It's ok, it's ok... - he started to gently rub your back and pulled you even closer, which you thought was impossible... - What do you need, babygirl…? - a pet name left his mouth before he even realized that it started forming on his tongue, and when it reached your ears, it was already too late. For both of you... 

- Just... Don't leave... Please... - you finally whispered, and he could swear you would be able to hear his heart break for you... You needed so much more than he felt he was able to give you and it broke him, but heavens and hells be damned, if he didn't at least try. 

- I'm here, I'm not going anywhere... - he whispered against the top of your head. - Just let it all go, I'm here to catch you... - he said and that was enough for you to start sobbing again, but this time not because of the panic attack... 

After two months of suppressing everything you possibly could, you finally felt safe enough to actually let some of those things go. It was stupid and small, but you were slowly accepting one small thing after another... You will never get a message from your dad wishing you a good day. You will never wave him goodbye from your childhood bedroom when he'd be leaving to DC or somewhere else... You will never clean up after his botched breakfast... You will never sneak into his workshop to scare him. Never fight with him about your non-existing parking skills. Never watch him start a fire in the fireplace. Never get a handwritten letter from him on your birthday. Never bicker with him about the correct way to store chopped wood. Never sing another Christmas song with him...

So many small things that clumped together into one giant monstrosity that consumed every aspect of your life, and letting it go in one move was simply impossible. So, you slowly chipped away one thing after another, spent a short moment holding it close to your heart for the last time and finally let it go...

You couldn't stop crying, but a moment came when you run out of tears, so you ended up quietly sobbing into Beau's shirt, clinging to him, as if he was the last thing on Earth.

And he didn't lie... He was there to catch you when you were falling. Every time you started sobbing harder, he gently soothed your back, started whispering sweet nothings straight into your ear, and what was most important, he didn't let you go, not even for a second. 

Both of you were lost in time, holding each other to give and receive comfort you both so desperately needed, just for entirely different reasons. 

It took him a moment to realize that you passed out from exhaustion, because after a while, you started to sob without making any sounds, only shaking against him from time to time... He dried your wet cheeks with his thumb and just looked at you for a long moment. The sun was getting ready to raise up again and started creeping into the room but wasn't reaching the bed just yet. He no longer gave a fuck about what was proper and what was not... Not when you broke in his arms, and he couldn't do anything more than just not let you go... He laid you down and he couldn't believe how peaceful you looked after what just happened. 

Before he joined you, he lowered the blinds and shot a quick message to Solomon, so he'd be able to keep his promise to you. It was dangerously easy for him to slip into bed next to you and find the perfect position to wrap you in his arms and pull you as close to him as humanly possible. In your sleep you grabbed the front of his shirt and tightened your fingers around it, and he didn't mind that in the slightest. He rested his face in your hair and was content with just being surrounded with your scent, which was dangerously close to his own now. He placed a soft kiss on the top of your head and felt your fingers relaxing a bit, but he didn't do that again, afraid of what he could do if he'd start moving that line further and further away. 

He wasn't able to fall asleep for the longest time, because he was afraid that you might wake up in the middle of another breakdown, so he just laid there with his eyes closed, listening to your breathing mixed with familiar sounds of a military base waking up... Somehow this tiny room became its own microcosm in the last 24 hours, and it felt like it was disconnected from anything else, despite being so close to, well... everything. He could hear the laughter of young pilots, running water somewhere far away, people complaining about the breakfast. And yet, all of that felt at least few universes away, when you were in his arms. But finally, this part of the base became quiet with everyone getting to their duties, and only now he was able to doze off... 

Part 2

A/N 2: Please don't feel obligated/pressured to reblog, because I write mostly for myself. But I would really appreciated if you commented :) Love, G.

A/N 2: Please don’t feel obligated/pressured to reblog, because I write mostly for myself. A comment would be appreciated though :) Love, G.

#my writing #TW: ED #TW: Panic Attack #TW: grieving #Top Gun Maverick fanfiction #beau simpson x reader #Cyclone x reader #Beau Simpson fanfiction #Beau Cyclone Simpson fanfiction #Beau Cyclone Simpson x reader #Cyclone fanfiction #🖤 #📏

[deanscroissant]

Something Gained Series

Beau Simpson thought he would never fall in love again until a nurse crossed his path. He wants to take interest in her, but there’s one problem:

He’s married.

Warnings: Infidelity (DON’T DO IT), Sexual Content, 18+ (MINORS DNI), Violence, Angst, AFAB reader in mind, Age Gap (Cyclone is 50, reader is 30), Mentions of Miscarriage.

Parings/Characters: Beau “Cyclone” Simpson x reader, Beau “Cyclone” Simpson x OC! Rose Simpson, Dagger Squad

A/n: Hey hey! I finally did it. I’m starting my first cyclone series! Once I get a schedule going, I’ll definitely be posting the first chapter. If you like to be tagged, please let me know. 💜

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

#top gun #top gun fanfiction #dagger squad #beau cyclone simpson #beau simpson #cyclone x reader #Beau cyclone Simpson x reader #beau simpson x reader #tgm #tgm fanfiction #tgm au #cyclone smut #tmg cyclone

[lieutenantfloyd]

The Little things with Husband! Cyclone ♡

Husband! Cyclone who puts extra cash and and least one of his credit cards in your bag so you can treat yourself when he's not around

Husband! Cyclone who hates texting but sends you at least 10 "I love you"s a day

Husband! Cyclone who gets emotional every time he remembers that you chose him.

Husband! Cyclone who never forgets a date, anniversary, or social event.

Husband! Cyclone who keeps his work and his personal life completely separate, but has no less than 20 pictures of you scattered around his office.

Husband! Cyclone who keeps a note pinned in his phone of all of your restaurant orders (even though he already has them memorized).

Husband! Cyclone who absolutely hates being in photos but happily lets you take as many selfies together as you want and insists you send him every single one.

Husband! Cyclone who puts extra cologne on his pillow before he leaves because he overheard you mention that the smell is comforting

Husband! Cyclone who keeps a couple extra bottles of that same cologne around just in case they decide to discontinue the scent.

Husband! Cyclone who would lose his head if it wasn't attached, but has never once forgotten his wedding band

Husband! Cyclone who is anti-social media, but has a blank account for the sole purpose of liking and commenting on your posts.

Husband! Cyclone who runs hot but always wears a jacket when you go out together, purely because he knows you're too stubborn to take his advice and bring your own.

Husband! Cyclone who fell first and fell harder.

#top gun maverick #top gun #top gun x reader #topgun #top gun movie #top gun headcanons #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun fic #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick x reader #top gun maverick fic #top gun maverick imagine #beau cyclone simpson #cyclone #cyclone top gun #cyclone headcanons #cyclone simpson #beau simpson #beau cyclone simpson x reader #cyclone x reader

[inkandarsenic]

Mav’s Daughter fic idea that I’ve been bullet pointing out in my notes app:

- 28 year old Naval Aviator Lieutenant Anna “Impulse” Mitchell is the product of a brief summer fling Mav had between deployments

- Her mom and Mav broke up when Mav deployed again, and her mom found out she was pregnant not long after.

- Mav did know about Anna and tried to be in her life for the first few years, but ultimately ended up putting all of his focus on Bradley and the Navy, and by the time she’s five, Anna just sort falls to the wayside. Mav sends Christmas and birthday cards for a few years after that but by the time she’s ten those stop too

- Anna’s mother moves them to Hawaii when Anna is seven because she gets a job at the Pearl Harbor base. Anna grows up surfing and sailing and learning to pilot, her first real job is at a helicopter tour company.

- After college, Anna follows her dad’s footsteps into the Navy’s aviation program, against her mother’s wishes.

- Her mom thinks Anna is chasing after the love and attention of a father who cares more for his job and another kid, and she thinks Anna is just going to get hurt

- Anna definitely takes after Mav in that she is a natural in the sky. She is referred to Top Gun by Cyclone, who was one of her instructors in the academy and sort of took on a fatherly role in her life. He knows she’s Mav’s kid and makes sure to let her know that Mav is teaching at Top Gun.

- Actually met Cyclone when she was 14 and her mom finally let her start learning to fly. Cyclone was stationed in Pearl Harbor and was kind of sweet on her mom so he offered to teach Anna how to pilot

- It irritates Mav to no end that someone else taught his kid how to fly and that Anna credits Cyclone for her ability to fly. He has no one to blame but himself.

- Maverick is not aware that his daughter is even in the navy, let alone top gun.

- He finds out when he and the Daggers are given the line up for the new top gun class.

- Rooster never met Anna and only knew that her mother had moved them to Hawaii and Mav didn’t get to see her very much

- Mav tries to talk to her about their relationship after classes one day, but it’s been 18 years since Anna’s even heard from him, so she shuts that shit down by only calling him captain Mitchell and telling him that she has no interest in anything but a professional work relationship

- She also doesn’t like Bradley much. She knows it’s not his fault but she feels like it’s unfair that he got Mav all to himself and feels however irrationally that he took her dad from her

- She gets along great with Phoenix and Bob and she and Payback bond over being from Hawaii.

- Her phones lockscreen is a picture of her, her mother, and cyclone at her college graduation. Mav sees it once and doesn’t know how to feel about it. (Or maybe it’s a picture she has in her jet? I don’t know for certain if that’s a thing)

- At the annual Navy gala, Cyclone asks Jake to accompany Anna, because her asshole ex-fiancée is going to be there and Cyclone doesn’t want her to be there alone

That’s kinda as far as I’ve gotten, but the Navy gala is like the beginning of Jake and Anna getting closer and eventually getting together.

#top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick #pete maverick mitchell #bradley rooster bradshaw #beau cyclone simpson #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x oc #fic outline #bullet point fic

[wishfulwithwine]

Fathers

Beau Cyclone Simpson x Fem!WifeReader

Warnings: pregnancy, terrible fathers, cursing, alcohol, abandonment, navy, death

Author - couldn’t get this concept out of my head! not edited, just needed to write it all out, so i apologize if it’s terrible.

photo from pinterest:

For how stern Beau ‘Cyclone’ Simpson was, his wife was the epitome of sunshine. If Y/N Simpson worked in the Navy, Warlock joked your callsign was ‘Sunshine’. You added the softness to the relationship in public, however you would say that your husband was a romantic. You viewed him as the love of your life, your protector, and the only person either of you loved more than each other would be your newborn son.

Beau planned all your dates, would always randomly bring you flowers, and made sure every day you knew you were the most beautiful woman in his eyes. 

You were Beau’s heart, and although some of the Navy guys teased he didn’t actually have one, no one could deny the personality change that seemed to happen when you were around. You were the light of his life, and your newborn son was another beacon that made Beau’s heart brighter. 

“Baby, do you want me to hold him?” Beau asked, concerned as he watched you walking up the with your Tommy in your arms. You didn’t look like you were in pain, but since delivering less than two weeks ago, he was still nervous.

“Sweetheart, I love you, but I’m good. He’s good right now” You said, with a soft smile, before looking down at your son who was awake but just sucking on his pacifier for now. Smiling, Beau kept walking besides you, as he rolled the stroller with plenty of “in case” bags. 

As first time newborn parents, you didn’t know what was going to happen with leaving your house for more than a few minutes. As a Navy Admiral, Beau usually planned for everything - so he packed multiple bags for multiple scenarios - crying, sleeping, eating, etc. Another reason you two got along so well was because you both were very “type A”. 

Today was Admiral Kazansky’s funeral however, and although you had not brought Tommy to the actual funeral, Sarah Kazansky had requested that he appeared at his namesake’s house afterwards. 

Tommy - Thomas Jeremy Simpson - was named after Admiral Tom “Iceman” Kazansky, the man who was basically a father to Y/N after her own father had ignored her. In all sense of the word parents, that was Admiral and Mrs. Kazansky to Y/N. They had been the ones at her high school graduation, college graduation, wedding, and this past week, birth of her son. 

Only a few people had been at the hospital the day Tommy was born - Sarah and Tom Kazansky, Warlock, and Y/N’s best friend. Ice was incredibly honored to have been his ‘grandson’s’ namesake, tears streamed down his face when Beau had broken the news.

Her actual father…well he cared more about the son of his best friend to ever pay attention to his own. Most people didn’t even know he had a daughter. 

You met Beau after a dinner party at Kazansky’s. He’ll never forget when he saw you in that dress, how you radiated beauty with your kind smile. Despite his reputation, he couldn’t help but stare at you, as you talked with many others before making your way over to his group. 

“Y/N darling, this is Vice Admiral Beau ‘Cyclone’ Simpson” Ice introduced, and he watched as you smiled warmly at him, before looking at Ice, a smirk appearing on your lips.

“This is the infamous Cyclone? He doesn’t look so bad” You replied, your hand reaching out to shake his. Surprising the group, he took your hand and pressed a kiss to the back of your palm, keeping his eyes locked onto yours. The Kazansky’s looked to each other with confusion on their faces.

“What have you heard about me?” He replied, a raised eyebrow but playfulness in his eyes. You smiled widely, and Ice couldn’t help but feel a smile creep on his face. 

“Ice thinks you’re too much of a rule follower” You replied, as Ice sighed, rolling his eyes at your comment.

“Well someone has to be. Can’t keep letting Maverick off the hook every time he pisses off an admiral” Beau says, slight annoyance in his tone about Maverick, but as he watched Tom and Sarah’s head turn swiftly to you, gauging your reaction, he could see he said something wrong.  

“I’m going to get some more to drink. Would anyone like more?” You said, a forced smile on your lips. He nodded caught your gaze, following you over to the bar. He could feel Tom’s staring on his back, which he shook off as he looked at you. 

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Do you know Maverick?” Beau asked, curiosity over taking him. You looked back at him, nodding before pouring some more wine in your glass. He poured some more whiskey in his glass.

“I’m assuming you don’t like him very much?” You replied, deciding to not give much away about how you know Maverick. He shrugged, when you met his gaze again. Your expression wasn’t alluding to a positive nor a negative relationship. Did you date him? 

“There’s a reason he hasn’t had a promotion more than Captain. He might be friend’s with Ice, but…” Beau said, trailing off on how best to describe him.

“He doesn’t care about rules. Very his way or the highway” You replied, rolling your eyes as you took a big sip of your wine. Beau looked at you curiously, and when you looked back at him you sighed. “Trust me, I’m with you on it. He’s my father, but we haven’t spoken in about ten years” You said, and Beau froze.

“I’m so sorry” He said, but you smiled warmly at him, reaching out your hand to place on his shoulder.

“Please, don’t worry about it. Ice is more of my father than he is. Now, should I call you Beau or Cyclone? Which would you prefer?” You asked, switching topics easily. He smiled, putting his hand over yours.

“You can call me Beau. What do you do for work?” He asked, as he saw you smiled wider.

The whole night the pair of you stayed by each other’s side, causing Sarah to rearrange some of the dinner place cards so you two could sit together. The Kazansky’s, as well as the rest of the guests at the dinner party,  watched as you laughed and flirted with the Vice Admiral, and Cyclone smiled for almost the whole night, a rare sight for those involved with the Navy. The other officials were in shock. 

“Did you give him drugs?” Warlock asked Ice, as they both stared at Cyclone and you, laughing together. 

“No… Sarah?” Ice asked, looking to his wife, as she glanced over to the couple.

“I think he likes her” Sarah said, smiling, as she watched you blush over something Beau said. They watched as he grinned wider, a twinkle in both of their eyes.

“Maverick is going to hate this” Warlock stated.

“Maverick hasn’t spoken to his daughter in 10 years. I don’t think he has any room to comment” Sarah stated conclusively, looking to Ice with a knowing glance. He nodded, looking at you.

“She deserves happiness” Ice said, and everyone nodded in agreement.

“Y/N, Cyclone, it’s so good to see you. Tommy! Oh he’s so adorable” Sarah Kazansky - Y/N’s “mother" said, looking at the couple and child. Y/N smiled softly, not a bright smile considering the circumstances, but Sarah looked genuinely happy to see the child.

“Do you want to hold him, grandma?” You asked, causing the woman to smile wider. 

“Oh I would love too” Sarah said, picking up Tommy from your arms and cradling him. Tommy looked up at her with wide eyes, and Sarah looked back at the couple who also seemed enamored with their newborn. 

“Where should I put Y/N’s pie?” Beau asked, as he put aside the bags and stroller in the hall closet.

“I made some other meals so you won’t have to cook as well” Y/N said.

“Oh just in the kitchen. Thank you both” Sarah said, warmly, before looking back down at her ‘grandchild’. Beau gave Y/N a forehead kiss, before heading to put the food in the kitchen fridge.

“Y/N! And little Tommy!” Warlock said, bringing you into a hug before turning his attention to Tommy in Sarah’s arms. He was getting a bit fidgety so you held out your arms to take him back, and Sarah passed him into yours. 

“I can’t believe you just gave birth. You look beautiful” Sarah said, and you smiled.

“I can’t believe Cyclone let you two out of the house. I was certain he’d make you keep recovering” Warlock teased as you chuckled, rocking Tommy back and forth which seemed to calm him.

“Well it’s a celebration for his namesake after all” You smiled sadly, as you watched Warlock reach out to Tommy, who held onto his hand.

“He’s got a strong grip. If he didn’t have your eyes, I would say he was a mini Cyclone” Warlock said, as everyone chuckled.

“Sarah, my condolences” Pete Mitchell said, walking over to the woman and giving her a hug. 

Warlock and you shared a glance, as you tensed. You diverted your gaze down to Tommy. 

“Let’s go find your father” You whispered, and Warlock nodded, patting your arm before you left to find Beau. He was talking to two men, who looked a bit younger than yourself, in their naval uniforms.

As you walked over, the blonde caught your eye and smiled at you, before Beau saw the lieutenant’s attention was somewhere else, and followed his gaze. He smiled, which seemed to surprise the men, before reaching his arm out to put around your waist and lead you into his side.

“Hey sweetheart, I was just about to come back to you. This is Lieutenants Jake Seresin and Javy Machado. Lieutenants, this is my wife Y/N and our son Tommy” Beaut introduced, as the men smiled and nodded.

“I’d shake your hand but this boy has my hands full. It’s nice to put faces with names, Hangman and Coyote, right?” You said, and they all chuckled.

“Congratulations! How old is he?” Coyote asked.

“Not even two weeks” You said with a smile.

“Are you in the Navy too?” Jake asked, before another woman and two other lieutenants came to join the group.

“No, but most of my kindergarten students have naval officers for parents because the school is so close, so I like to say I’m ‘Naval affiliated’” You said, and the group chuckled.

“You’re also an admiral’s wife, remember?” Beau teased, and you laughed, as the group chuckled, although it seemed slightly awkward, in surprise that your husband was capable of teasing. You were used to it at this point.

“Lieutenants, this is my wife Y/N and son Tommy. Y/N, this is Lieutenants Natasha Trace, Robert Floyd and Bradley Bradshaw” He said, giving you a look as you tensed, looking at Bradley.

“He’s talked about this group all week, so let me guess - Phoenix, Bob and Rooster. It’s a pleasure to meet you all” You said, your smile a bit more forced than usual as you felt the stare of Bradley on you, although you couldn’t meet his eyes.

“He’s so cute! How old is he?” Natasha asked, cooing over Tommy. You focused on Tommy and Natasha.

“Two weeks” Beau said, with a smile, gazing lovingly to his wife. 

“Wow, I can’t believe you’re here. Was it easy?” Natasha asked.

“Stubborn boy gave me twenty two hours of labor” You said.

“If it was up to me, you’d be resting at home” Cyclone said, rubbing your shoulder.

“Yea, well I think I have some veto power since I delivered him, and Tommy was named after Ice” You said, as Beau rolled his eyes but with a smile on his face. 

The lieutenants watched both of you interact with curiosity. Cyclone was acting so strangely compared to normal, but seeing the two of you together, it made sense.

“There they are, Warlock, with Cyclone. Is that a smile I see on his face?” Maverick said, and you tensed. The smiles instantly dropping from both of your faces, you looked to Beau. You hadn’t actually looked at him yet, and now that he was so close, you didn’t know how to escape. 

“Maverick” Cyclone acknowledged, and the lieutenants were almost confused as to why the energy changed so drastically. You looked up and coincidentally made eye contact with Bradley, who seemed to put the pieces together, before you looked down at Tommy, rocking him to calm your own nerves. You looked at Warlock who looked guilty. 

“Cyclone, was that a smile I saw before? I didn’t know you could do that. Is this your wife? I didn’t even know you got married, let alone had a kid. How old is he?” Maverick said, leaning closer, before you stepped away, looking straight at him. Your father.

As soon as you two locked eyes, Maverick’s eyes widened. 

“Yes, this is my wife Y/N, and our son Tommy, named after Ice. He’s two weeks old” Beau said, holding onto you. You broke your eye contact with Maverick, looking back at Beau and Tommy. 

“Y/N?” Maverick asked, and you sighed.

“Yes?” You asked, annoyed.

“Could we speak, outside?” He said, and looked back up at him. His face was tense, his eyes blazing with hurt and anger. You looked to Beau, and he nodded.

“It was nice to meet you all. We’ll be right back” You said, smiling at the lieutenants, before leading Maverick and Cyclone outside.

Inside, the dagger squad watched as Cyclone, Maverick and you all walked away from the house to have your discussion.

“So, ex-lover? Maverick seems to get around” Hangman said, theorizing with a smirk on his face.

“No, no. That’s Maverick’s daughter” Rooster explained, as the group looked to him and then the group in shock.

“Holy shit” Bob said.

“That doesn’t look like a happy reunion” Phoenix stated.

“That’s because it isn’t” Warlock stated ominously, as they all watched, eager for gossip. 

“You got married and didn’t even invite your father?” Maverick yelled as softly as he could, once you three were far enough away from the house outside, his face red with annoyance. You sighed, rocking Tommy in your arms, kissing his face to keep him from crying. 

You could only roll your eyes, but saw Beau’s jaw clench, ready to defend you with harsh words. The veins in his neck were throbbing, and you could see this ending badly. 

“No, Beau. I got this” You said, in a soft tone, placing a hand on Beau’s chest, staring up at your husband with a smile, watching him look down at you before kissing your forehead. 

You stared at him for a moment longer before removing your hand, looking over to Maverick, your gaze shifting from warm to a frosty chill. It felt like the space around you could be an icebox.

“Do you even know what I do for a living?” You asked, your face becoming cold as you watched the emotions all over Maverick’s face. 

Everyone watched how calm you were, and shivered at the iciness in the air. If it was a cartoon, Maverick would be having smoke come out of his ears. Warlock had gotten the attention of Sarah, but held her back from going over to you. 

“Do you know where I went to college? Do you know where I lived before here?” You asked, raising an eyebrow, at his lack of answers. You could see the flashes of regret in his eyes, as his anger became one of remorse. 

“You know, everyone thinks you’re so admirable - keeping track of your best friend’s kid, making sure you’re there for him - at least in the background because Bradley doesn’t speak to you, right? Does he know you keep only his picture in your wallet? Go to his parent’s grave at least three times a year - one for the anniversary of Goose’s death, Goose’s birthday, and Bradley’s birthday, right? Now, can you tell me when my - your daughter’s, your actual child’s - is?” You asked, and you watched Maverick’s Adam’s Apple move, swallowing hard. 

The other lieutenants looked at Bradley, who just stared at you, eyes filled with sympathy. 

There was a long pause, and everyone was shifting eyes back and forth between you, Maverick and Rooster.

You rolled your eyes, already knowing the answer to your questions before you even began your reply. 

“I didn’t think so. You know, I didn’t purposefully keep you away. I told Ice that if you ever asked about me, he could tell you. But only if you asked him” You said, your bite on your words getting harsher, feeling the rise of emotions in you. Biting the inside of your cheek, you looked up to Beau, his eyes raging with anger.

“So to answer your question, there was always a wedding invite for you. Always. It’s in Ice’s desk. If you ever asked him or Sarah about me, he would have given it to you” You said, before turning away, feeling Beau’s hand on your back, and leaving. 

“Y/N! I’m your father. You can’t walk away from me!” Maverick shouted, causing you to stop and take a deep breath, before turning around.

“That didn’t stop you from turning your back on me. You aren’t my father, Ice is.” You said, feeling Beau’s arm tighten on you, before walking away with him.

“I love you” Beau stated, stopping the two of you when you finally got far enough away from the crowd of people. 

“I love you too” You replied, gazing up at him as he put his hand on your cheek, bringing his lips to yours.

#top gun #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #maverick #pete mitchell #beau cyclone simpson #cyclone #iceman #tom iceman kazansky #iceman top gun #beau simpson #admiral cyclone

[saltsicklover]

Title: Not a Cyclone, But a Monsoon

Part 1 of 2 - Completed

Find Part 2 HERE and my Master List HERE

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

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

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

A few uses of Y/N

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

Rating: R

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She didn't make it home.

Neither did their baby boy.

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

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

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

Thunk goes the glass again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then the world is a bit smaller, still.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you, sir,"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, her thumb is stopping.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He notices anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey Kiddo,"

TAG LIST

@its-the-pilot

@t4medicroe

@inkandarsenic

#top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun fanfiction #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #hangman x reader #hangman x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #rooster x reader #rooster x you #michell reader #pete michell's daughter reader #pete maverick mitchell's daughter reader #maverick's daughter reader #beau cyclone simpson #beau cyclone simpson's daughter reader #cyclone's daughter reader #top gun maverick angst #rooster angst #hangman angst #maverick angst