#dagger squad x platonic!reader

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Barbie Girl 💄 | Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin Imagine

Takes place before, during, and after the events of Top Gun Maverick

TGM Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Barbie!reader (romantic), dagger squad (platonic)

Content warnings: light profanity, fluff | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 4.3k

Requested 📨 yes/no (for @kayla-swiftly)

Premise: They say the sky is the limit and anything you set you’re mind to will be achieved as long as you’re dedicated to it. For most people that testimony is nothing but a mere fantasy. But for one woman, with too many dreams to count on her fingers, she took that statement to heart. Proving you can be anyone you want to be and maybe even a few others give or take 😉

Note: Anyone else obsessed with Barbie lately?? Omg y’all I saw the movie last week and absolutely fell in love and i had this request from around the time the final trailer dropped and knew it was the perfect time to write this. I know I know I haven’t been living up to my promise of being consistent but man they having me working my ass off at my job. Also I’ve been traveling and I saw Big Time Rush last night (i felt like a teenager again and it was amazing 😭) anyway I hope you enjoyed this and let me know what you think!

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“Hi, Barbie!” The familiar greeting fills Y/n’s ears as it does every morning she arrives at the hangar. With it comes an instant smile, hand raising to wave at the person responsible for it, “Hi, Phoenix!”

“Hey there, Barbie,” winks another friendly face.

“Hiiii, Hangman,” her tone is playful like his, turning energetic for Bob when he goes, “Hiya, Barbie!”

“Hi there, Bob!”

“Hey, Barbie.” “Good morning, Barbie.” “What’s up, Barbie Girl.”

“Hello, Rooster.” “Good morning to you too, Fanboy.” “Nothing much, Pay. And yourself?”

Unlike her fellow pilots, clad in their deep green flight suits, Y/n stood out in the crowd for hers was a little unorthodox when one thinks of a naval fighter pilot's uniform.

It was pink. Completely as in her combat boots were also the bright color and the patchers were white and pink tones rather than red, blues, black and any other color seen in the ones attached to her coworkers arms. ‘Barbie’ in pink cursive writing instead of traditional bold Times New Roman lettering.

And don’t forget the little flower dotting the ‘i’.

Growing up, Y/n took ‘you can be anyone and anything you want to be,’ quite literally. At no point was it a joke to her when she would tell her friends and family, “oh I’m gonna be a fashion designer and Olympic Gold medalist when I’m older,” “I wanna go to space, fly in planes, and see all the wonders of the world,” “I’ll be a doctor, a teacher, and movie star!” They’d smile and laugh, thinking it was adorable for a little girl to dream big. No way would it be possible to achieve all of those careers. Everyone only gets one life to live and time goes so fast one can only set their eyes on one path and hope for the best.

But Y/n was a dreamer. And if you’re going to dream, might as well dream big.

All through middle and high school people took Y/n’s intelligence for granted. Focusing more on her beauty rather than brains, it came as an under shock to everyone when Y/n had the credits to graduate at the ripe age of 15. Exceeding in her standardized test scores with a high school resume taking up three pages with extracurricular and academic achievements, she had colleges from all over the country begging for her to apply.

Stanford. Cornell. Pratt. Juilliard. NYU. John Hopkins. Harvard. UCLA. Duke. Top medical and law schools. Ivy League universities. Performing Arts schools calling for auditions after sending scouts to watch her perform in school plays and dance recitals. Coaches from high ranking NCAA gymnastics teams sending emails after emails.

So many to choose from….And so the story of Y/n L/n becoming a real life Barbie Doll begins.

Setting her eyes in New York, Y/n attended not one but two of the best schools in the country. While obtaining her bachelor’s in both astronautical and aeronautical engineering at NYU Y/n also completed a two year degree in Fashion Business Management at the Fashion Institute of Technology. During this time she continued training for the Olympics in hopes of making the 2008 Beijing team in gymnastics.

“How do you do it?” Her roommate at NYU constantly asked. “You go from here to FIT, working on two degrees that are completely on opposite sides of the spectrum and career paths,” she emphasized with hand expressions, “and still have enough to time to go to the gym to practice, eat three meals a day, have all your assignments done early, and sleep a reasonably about of hours each night.” Letting out an exhale, her roommate looks at Y/n as if she’s an alien from another world, “What’s your secret? Are you some kind of Barbie doll the government created as a test robot?”

Each time Y/n would pause, think for a moment before smiling, “I don’t know if I should find that as an insult or compliment, but I’m gonna chose it as a compliment and say it’s because I want to live a life where I can look back on and go, ‘I took a risk and tried something new even if it didn’t look possible but it was all worth it.’”

By the time Y/n turned 20 she had accumulated a vast list of credentials to her name. The list included getting her fashion business degree at 17, Bachelors in astronautical/aeronautical engineering at 19–receiving her Master’s for it at 20–An Olympic Gold and Silver medalist, dancing with the Radio City Rockettes, performing with the NYC Ballet Company in their rendition of Swan Lake, landing a role on Broadway, walking a runway at NY fashion week, and appearing on episodes of SVU, 30 Rock, All My Children, Sex and the City, and Ugly Betty.

So yeah, New York was a success in experiences for Y/n.

Following the high note, she packed her bags to leave the golden apple for the flashing lights of Hollywood, California. This time Y/n was working on her doctorates at USC, running her own business with her fashion degree called ‘Dream Closet’, and auditioning for film and tv shows.

Hollywood was a dream come true just like New York. Again she attended two different schools, this time flight school and USC. During the day she was occupied running from class to the hangar and then the observatory. Coaching dance and gymnastics on the side, designing clothes for her online shop which developed into a pop-up chain store in malls across America.

It wasn’t long until Y/n’s name grew into nationwide popularity. People started realizing the Y/n L/n who won the Gold and Silver medals in the 2008 Olympics was the same one responsible for the most recent fashion trends and guest starring on their favorite tv shows. What really set it in stone was when Y/n landed the role of an engineer officer in the 2009 reboot of Star Trek, going on to appear in both the 2013 and 2016 sequels.

Impressive was the only word her costars could use to describe her. What else was there?

Anytime there was a question involving, “who’s most likely to become president?” “Who’s most likely to try something new or create a new hobby?” “Who’s most likely to win a Nobel Prize?” Along those lines…the answer was obvious.

“Oh Y/n,” Zoe Saldana waves her hand, “Always.”

“Yeah,” Chris Pine agrees with a laugh, “That woman, I-I don’t know how one has the energy to do all that she does—a-and still want to do more.”

The Interviewer laughs with them, “didn’t she just race in the Daytona 500 last year?”

“Yes!! And she did a song with Lady Gaga when they were on American Horror Story,” Zoe’s tone is in absolute awe, “All while teaching at USC and creating new technology at NASA.” Chris lifts a finger.

“Don’t forget she had her own Mac Viva Glam line a couple years ago.” Zoe made a sound along the lines of ‘see what I mean,’.

“I’m telling you, she’s gonna be a name in the history books.”

What all has Y/n accomplished career wise? Let’s take a look.

Model, dancer, actor, singer, fashion designer, entrepreneur, athlete, engineer, race car driver, and professor.

And now she can add pilot to the list. Although she got her license to fly way back in 2009, Y/n didn’t put it to use full time until 2016, wanting to wait until after the release of Star Trek: Beyond to say goodbye to Hollywood for the time being and set forth on her next adventure.

Boy did it come as a surprise what she had planned.

The Manila folder containing her resume hit the desk of the Admiral, his eyes wide as saucers. “You wanna join the Navy?” Reading the front page for a fifth time, Cyclone glanced back at the woman in front of him. Doctor Y/n L/n. Or is it professor L/n? “And you wanna be one of my pilots?”

“Yes, Sir.”

”Ma’am, I apologize if this comes off as offending,” he really didn’t know any other way to put it. “But you are more qualified than any person on this base. Doctorates in aeronautical and astronautical engineering from the University of Southern California,” he counts off on his fingers, “you recently developed a groundbreaking advancement in space technology that’s going to help our astronauts—on the road to becoming a Nobel Prize nominee.” He raises his eyebrows, “And this is only what relates to this career field. I’m not even mentioning your acting, athletic, and fashion credentials. Why join the Navy?”

Y/n only offers a shrug, “I think the better question is, why not?” Cyclone lets out a sigh.

“What did you say your callsign was again?”

“Barbie.”

There was no stopping the small smile trying to break free, “I should’ve guessed.”

After completing OTS there was much debate on what Y/n’s rank would be coming into the Navy. Civilian lawyers and physicians often are Lieutenants (O-3) right away, but considering Y/n had two doctorate degrees and her pilot license they felt it was only fair for her to come in as Commander (O-5). From there Y/n was sent to North Island to attend Fighter Weapons School.

Better known to its flyers as Top Gun.

Y/n was used to the looks she received on a daily basis. From head to toe she was covered in variations of pink depending on what she was feeling. When teaching her briefcase and pantsuit were baby pink, in the labs her coat was hot pink, at auditions she wore pink leather jackets. Even her race car for the Daytona was pink.

Shoutout to Mac cosmetics for the sponsorship.

So it’s no surprise her flight suit would be the color she was known for—despite it being out of regulations.

Being more qualified than your superiors had its perks.

If she could have a pink F-18 she would but unfortunately that wasn’t possible. That was okay for Y/n. After all, she managed to get her own custom flight suit. One which had everyone having to do double takes whenever she walked into a room.

“Is she wearing…?”

“How the hell did they allow that?”

“Does that mean I can have mine in purple?”

Her first day at Top Gun Y/n met Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace. They were paired as roommates in the dorms and quickly became good friends. Phoenix was beyond amazed with Y/n’s accomplishments and experiences. Every conversation led to a new discovery. “Do you ever burn out?” Nat stag criss crossed on Y/n’s satin pink bed sheets, admiring her wall of photos from when she traveled to see all the wonders of both the ancient and modern world. “I feel I’d be a walking corpse from exhaustion. And you mentioned you’re still running and designing clothes for ‘Dream Closet’?”

Y/n removed her diamond studs, placing them on her desk she was using as a vanity. “I have a team dealing with the business side of things for the brand. I’m still CEO and creative director—usually I work on designs for a couple hours before bed to prepare for the next launch.”

Nat was in awe, “I have to ask….what’s been the best career you’ve done so far?” A common question Y/n heard, there was never a true answer. She loved every career. They all had their perks and their flaws, but at the end of the day it left her satisfied she achieved them.

“I don’t know yet,” she spoke truthfully, “I still have a few to check off on my list. When that happens I’ll let you know.”

Fast forwarding to 2019, Y/n answered the phone to Admiral Simpson’s voice with the news she needed to report back to North Island for a highly confidential mission. The details were unknown, but Y/n packed her bags, loaded her pink vintage corvette convertible and high tailed it to sunny San Diego.

The squeals initiated by Y/n and Nat the moment she stepped foot in the Hard Deck had heads whipping in their direction. “Hi, Barbie!” Nat’s arms opened for a hug.

“Hi, Phoenix!” Y/n accepted the embrace, still grinning ear to ear. The guys around them were looking at each other like, ‘what the…?’ Y/n wasn’t in her standard Khakis like they were—minus Rooster. She bore a pink denim number with matching boots with her hair curled and pink eyeliner surrounded by tiny rhinestones.

“You got selected too?” Nat complimented her outfit before cutting straight to the point.

“For the special detachment? Looks like it,” she winked.

“What happened to the Artemis program? Weren’t you up as a candidate?”

“Oh I still am,” Y/n affirmed proudly, “They’ll be announcing who’s to be selected in the coming months. So for now I’m still with the Bounty Hunters. Plus,” she leans in to whisper, “this will look good on my resume.” The two giggle before Y/n drifts her gaze to the boggling gazes in front of her. “Oh! I’m sorry for being so rude. I’m Y/n L/n,” extending her hand to the first person who’s name tag read Fitch, Y/n added, “But you can call me Barbie.”

“Barbie,” the blonde holding a pool cue repeated like a question, “like the toy Barbie?” Nat chuckled, throwing an arm around her friend after she was done shaking everyone’s hand as they introduced themselves.

“Fellas, if there is anyone who is a life sized version of Barbie, it’s this one right here.”

“Now, Phee…” Y/n’s tone was that of, ‘Don’t start.’

“It’s true,” the pilot defended. “Not only is she Commander Y/n ‘Barbie’ L/n,” jaws drop, “but she’s Professor and Doctor L/n.” The jaws hit the floor, “On top of founder, creative director and CEO of ‘Dream’s Closet,’” Javy makes a sound, familiar with the brand, “Emmy nominated actress,” Fanboy chokes on his water, “Olympic Gold Medalist and soon to be astronaut for the Artemis program.” By now all the guys are on the verge of losing their minds.

Bob rapidly blinks, “uh—.”

“Now I’m not an astronaut yet,” Y/n points out, “I’m a candidate for one.” Nat scoffs lightly.

“They’d be stupid not to pick you, Barb,” she then slaps her side, turning back to the guys, “Oh and how could I forget Broadway, Vogue, and the Daytona 500.”

“Daytona 500!?” Payback practically screeches.

“You were on Broadway?”

“—featured on Vogue—?!”

“Wait a minute I recognize you from Star Trek!”

“—How in the hell—.”

“Guys, guys!” Y/n laughs with her hands slightly raised, “Please, one at a time.” They were in for a long night of questions and story times. And just like Nat was years prior when she first roomed with Y/n at Top Gun, the officers were in complete amazement over the woman in front of them. Never had they met anyone like her.

“Wow,” Jake whistled once she finished bringing them up to date on her most recent careers. “You really are a real-life Barbie.”

“Shhhh,” a finger went to her lips, followed by a wink, “don’t tell Mattel.”

And thus the dagger squad was formed. Two and half weeks of hell bearing training preceding a face-with-death mission brings people closer. Every morning Y/n arrived at the hangar to a chorus of “Hi, Barbie.”

She waved at Reuben, “Hi Payback.”

“Hey there, Barbie Girl,” Javy threw her a peace sign.

“Hiya, Coyote!”

“Good morning, Barbie,” Rooster tipped his hat.

“Mornin’, Rooster.”

“Hi, Barbie!” “Hi, Barbie!” Her favorite duo harmonized.

“Hi, Bob! Hi, Phee!”

And for some closer than others….

“You know I was thinking,” Jake commented, taking Y/n’s hand before leading her to the pottery class he signed them up for. Every Friday night was reserved for date night. Dinner and a movie. Walk on the beach. Spending $20 worth of quarters at an arcade. Attending a comedy show. Paint and sip. Following the successful mission, Jake and Y/n hit it off and began seeing each other.

“Famous last words.”

“It’s not bad,” a chuckle left his lips, stopping at the door. “I just thought it was funny. You know how you’re basically Barbie?” His cheeky smile resulted in her mirroring it.

“Yessss.”

“This means I’m pretty much your Ken, right?” The question makes the woman visible ‘awe’. Jake ruffles a hand through his hair and gives his best blue steel, “we kinda look alike. Don’t you think?”

Laughing, Y/n kisses his cheek, “I mean…name a more iconic duo than Barbie and Ken.”

“Barbie and Hangman?”

“Exactly.” It was safe to assume what their Halloween costumes were going to be.

Time went on, missions were run. And after a year of anticipation—though it felt like forever, it was finally announced in 2020 Y/n would be one of the astronauts selected to be part of NASA’s Artemis program launching in 2024.

Making Y/n the first woman to go to the moon.

The call came in from a restricted number when they were in a meeting, and knowing she was to expect a call within the month everyone quickly shut up so the pilot could answer.

She excused herself to leave the room, staying in front of the window so the team could see her. Throughout the conversation Y/n’s expression remained neutral to the point none had a clue whether the news was good or bad. Only when she reentered the room did they get the answer.

“I’m going to the moon!!!”

“Ahhh!!!!” The team exploded in an array of cheers, Y/n jumping up and down, careful not to drop her phone that was in her hands when Jake lifted her in his arms.

“I’m so fucking proud of you!” Despite being unauthorized to show pda in uniform, Jake gave her a big kiss on the lips, not caring who saw. “You are the most exceptional human being on this planet.”

“Jake,” tears welled in her eyes, which he kissed away. Her heart filled with warmth and gratitude. Feeling on top of the world with her closest friends supporting her.

Once all calmed down and they finished the meeting, Mickey jumped from his seat, “Come on Barbie, let’s go party!” Everyone sped to the Hard Deck to celebrate the news. Mav bought the first round, followed by Payback.

“Guys you don’t have to do all that,” Y/n said once she realized they all agreed to buy her drinks for the night.

“We want to,” Nat tapped her beer with Y/n’s cocktail glass, the guys voicing agreements. “For years you’ve been dreaming about this and it’s finally happening. Your hard work is paying off and we want to celebrate—show you we love and appreciate you, Barbie.”

Y/n fought back tears, never afraid to show her emotions. Some may find it childish or thinned skin, but to Y/n that was what being human was all about. “I love you guys.”

“We love you!” The voices echoed together.

The night had been going well with the squad hanging out by the pool tables like they usually did when Y/n approached the bar to pick up the next round Mickey was paying for. Not paying attention to those beside her, she smiled at Penny and repeated the order before waiting patiently.

But what’s a night at a bar without someone who lacks boundaries.

“You must be the one they call Barbie,” a voice says, flirtation seeping through the words. Glancing to her right, Y/n recognizes a gentleman from the flight line whose name she could not recall. “You’re quite the talk around base. In fact, weren’t you in some Hollywood blockbuster?”

“Yes,” she politely responds, keeping the answer short. Though she was known to be a sweetheart and kindhearted to anyone she met, Y/n could tell where the interaction was heading toward and did not feel comfortable entertaining it any further. “A long time ago.”

“I’m Lieutenant Paul Billings,” he extended his hand, and she immediately clocked he was trying to show off his rank. ‘Boy he’s in for a treat.’

Not wanting to make a scene, she accepts the handshake. “Commander Y/n L/n,” there was emphasis on the Commander, displaying the woman was of higher rank and therefore a silent warning to Billings to not cross a line.

There was a flash of surprise on his face. Y/n held back an amused laugh, ‘guess you didn’t hear everything.’

“Something the matter, Lieutenant?”

“No,” he brushes it off, “Nothing. Say,” he nods to the bar, “can I buy you a drink.” Did he not just hear her order a round for the people she came with?

“That’s kind of you,” she starts just as Penny arrives with a try full of cold beers and her usual cocktail. “But I’m all set, thank you.” Hands moving to take the tray, she jumps slightly at the feeling of his own coming to her wrist.

“What about lunch this week?”

“I’m sorry but I am spoken for, Lieutenant,” removing his hold, Y/n takes a step away.

Now Paul had lost his reasonable composure. Scoffing, he says, “What? Am I not enough for you?” The question results in her raising a brow.

“I beg your pardon?”

He makes a face, “You think because you’ve done all these careers and occupations that you’re better than the average person? I’m not a pilot and an actor or researching the cure for cancer while creating a documentary series,” venom seeps through his tone, obviously depicting his jealousy, “Basic is not up to your standards, so you have to throw our failures in our face as if we don’t already know.”

By now a crowd has formed. Jake started moving the second he noticed Billings etching too close to his girl, followed by Nat and the others who were ready to back him up. Behind the bar, Penny was fixing to ring the bell until being stopped by Y/n’s wave of the hand.

“Are you done?”

Paul’s expression was that of, “what?” No audible response was voiced therefore Y/n continued.

“Okay, I’m gonna go ahead and say this, Paul,” Y/n drops her shoulder. The change in body language let Jake and her friends know she wasn’t taking anything that the man said personally. “I know I should be offended by your insults and insinuations, but the truth is I’m not.” A small smile forms on her lips, “I don’t view myself higher than anyone because of what I accomplished. The only person I do that to, is myself—because I don’t have to prove to no one but me that I am capable of achieving what I set my mind to. And yeah,” a light chuckle escapes, “I’ve set my mind to a lot of things—way more than the average person. But that doesn’t mean you or anyone else can’t do the same.”

Pausing Y/n takes a breath before exhaling, “You look at me, and hate the way it makes you view yourself. Makes you believe you’re a failure because you didn’t follow the path you hoped to make for yourself.” Paul’s expression shifts to one of solemnity, like he was thinking of his younger self who had dreams and aspirations. Mourning what could have been.

It made Y/n sad for him. Empathetic despite him attacking her. “One thing I’ve learned over the years…is time is what you make of it. Life is about taking risks. You can still set out to do whatever it is you wish, as long as you’re committing to taking the risk no matter how scary it is. Sure you’ll find obstacles and it’ll feel like the whole world is against you. But determination will guide you through the walls, and you will be successful so that you can look back and think, ‘it was worth it.’ As cliche as it sounds,” she couldn’t hold back a laugh, “Barbie isn’t a person or an object you can obtain. Barbie is a mindset. And you have to unlock it in your own way, Paul.”

It was so quiet in the building, a pin could drop and everyone would hear it. Their looks of awe, admiration, and even newfound motivation by Y/n’s speech. Impressed by how classy she handled what very well could have been a scream match between rival squadrons.

Behind Billings the Dagger squad stood with proud smirks at their friend. Especially Jake, who caught Y/n’s eyes and threw her a wink. Nat gave the woman a salute, a silent gesture to say, ‘you inspire me everyday.’

And Billings? Well he was at a loss for words.

Patting his shoulder, Y/n grabbed the tray of drinks, “I wish you luck, Paul.” Thanking Penny, who gave her a proud nod and replied, “this ones on the house,” Y/n returned to her friends where she was met with a sweet kiss from Jake, claps on the back and “You go girl!” “Tell them who’s boss.” “Damn, you made me wanna go out there and live life the way I should.”

“What’s stopping you, Javy?” she handed him a beer, “the world is your playground.”

A couple hours later it was time to call it a night. Hugs went around, promises to meet up the following night and tabs were closed.

On their way out, Jake dropped a kiss to Y/n forehead, pulling her close to him as he led her to the door of the parking lot, “So what’s next for you, doll? You’ve proved you can be anything and anyone you chose to be,” he grins at her, “What will you set your mind to now after space?”

“First, I want to write a book—I think that’s something a lot have been waiting for me to do. Afterwards, well, I’ll have to wait a couple more years, but,” The corner of Y/n’s lips lift up before flashing a dazzling smile, “I’m thinking….the Oval Office is in need of a makeover. Don’t you think?”

Then, before he could answer, Y/n turns her head in the opposite direction as if she’s trying to find a hidden camera. Makes eye contact with you, the reader, winking before turning back to Jake where she sets off on her next adventure.

…………….

TGM Tag List: @avaleineandafryingpan @caitsymichelle13 @poppyalice2001 @cutelittlepotatofry @luckyladycreator2 @americaarse @elenavampire21 @back-tooo-black @wildellaa @artemissunn @pinkpantheris

#Spotify #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin imagine #hangman imagine #hangman x reader #hangman fluff #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick #TGM imagine #TGM fluff #barbie imagine #babrie!au #jake seresin fluff #dagger squad imagine #dagger squad x platonic!reader

[auroracalisto]

more than blood

platonic!dagger squad x reader, hinted!bob x reader, 1.3k words tw: gn!reader, dad issues, kinda absent unnamed dad, so like a deadbeat dad, reader got anxiety for sure, no use of y/n, no actual romance but bob and reader definitely crushin' on each other a/n: reader's callsign: venus. also, i got really upset today over something my dad did. i wrote this in retaliation and while it's not sad at all, i cried multiple times. i hope everyone else had a better evening than i did.

It should have been easy. Go in, see your dad, and then leave. That's all you needed to do. It should have been so simple.

But standing there, the glowing sun high in the sky, preparing to set within the next couple of hours, you knew you couldn't do it. Not now. Not when you felt like your heart was about to burst out of your chest due to the anxiety you felt feasting upon everything you were—everything you had worked hard on.

What would he say? How would he act? Surely, just the same as the last time you had talked to him (and it had been months beforehand, over a simple text message, too; nothing crazy, and yet the entire time, you had felt as if you were walking on eggshells).

You took in a deep breath, your eyes falling shut. He always made you feel this way. It never failed, even if you were just thinking about the man you called your father.

He didn't even know you were outside, so it would be fine—it's not like he was expecting you. Penny wouldn't say anything if you decided not to go in (and you were grateful that she recognized the man and warned you far before you decided to leave the base and venture out for the evening).

Hell, you didn't even know why he was in California. Normally, he stayed far away from the place you made a home in. He didn't contact you. He only reached out every now and then to make it known that he loved you and that he wished he saw you more... and then continue to go on in life without doing as he said.

As you stood there, staring up at the Hard Deck, bottom lip stuck between your teeth, a strong hand placed itself on your shoulder.

Your eyes widened as you looked back, seeing Bob. Just behind him came the Dagger Squad, ready for a night of drinking and pool.

Bob tilted his head, frowning deeply.

He knew you better than you knew yourself, and at times, you wondered how he knew you so well.

"Are you okay?" he asked. His voice was low—keeping the others attention glued to whatever the conversation had been. He recalled something about Hangman and darts, but that's all he had gotten to hear before he zoned out, staring at you.

You forced a smile, placing a hand over his. You squeezed his hand, gently pushing it off your shoulder before shaking your head.

"No, uh, I think I'm gonna head back," you said.

"Ohh, Venus!" Phoenix rushed up, throwing an arm over your shoulders. "I didn't know you were meeting with us. Roo said you were busy, so I just assumed you weren't coming. I would have waited for you after training had I known."

"Uh," you hesitated. You averted your gaze, a frown forming quickly. "No, I wasn't planning on meeting with you guys. I was busy."

"Oh," Phoenix said, gently squeezing your shoulders. "What's up? You okay?"

She knew you well, too. Guess that's what happened when you spent almost every waking minute with them.

"Yeah. I need to go."

"Woah," Tasha gently grabbed ahold of your hand before you could walk away. "Hey, talk to me. What's wrong? Did someone try to pull some shit? Do I need to kick Bagman?"

"What did I do?" the man in question asked as he came up, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, worry momentarily flashing across his face at the sight of you. Had he known better, he would have thought you were about to cry. But he just chalked up your discomfort to the Californian heat. He said nothing about it, watching you curiously.

"I really don't want to talk about it," you said, looking back at your friend.

She blinked slowly, your name leaving her lips. She never called you by your real name, only your call sign (unless, of course, she was pissed—or drunk, which wasn't often). She searched your face, a faint smile forming on her lips.

"How about we go down to the beach? We could play volleyball or something. Get your mind off of whatever it is. I'm sure the water feels amazing this time of day."

You paused for a moment. A game really could get your mind off of things. And you could avoid your dad entirely—he'd leave at some point, and then you could go to the bar with your friends; something you hadn't planned on earlier, but you knew you could use it.

You began to smile. "You'd do that for me?"

Her smile only grew in response. "I could go for a couple rounds."

You glanced at Bob, the man who had fallen for over the past couple of weeks (not that he knew—of course, everyone in the Dagger Squad had already figured it out; they were just waiting for the two of you to realize you shared the same feelings).

"I'll come," Bob said, beginning to grin.

"What's going on?" Payback asked, voice loud, slinging an arm over Bob's shoulders as he grinned down at you and Phoenix.

"We're gonna hold off on the bar for a little bit, go down to the beach. How does volleyball sound?"

"Hell yeah!" Payback said, grinning. "Anyone got a ball?"

"Is the sky blue?" Hangman said, scoffing. His arms dramatically crossed over his chest. "Yeah, Penny has one inside. I'll go get it. Meet you guys down there?"

"Okay, asshole, so you don't have a ball," Payback said, rolling his eyes. "I'm gonna pretend I didn't just hear that."

Hangman scoffed, unable to hide his smile from forming.

As Payback went and told the rest the momentary change of plans, Phoenix tagged along with Hangman, leaving you and Bob alone.

He tilted his head as he watched you, concern written on his features.

The thought of your dad quickly diminished as Bob began to smile—damn him and his handsome face.

"Wanna be on the same team?" he asked.

"Thought you'd never ask," you said, grinning back.

These people—this mismatched group of pilots had become more of a family to you in such a short time than your dad had ever been. And for once, though you had imagined what it would be like for some time, the thought was welcomed. It filled that hole that had once been ripped out by the man sitting inside of the bar, unaware that his offspring stood just beyond those walls, avoiding him entirely.

Bob reached forward, taking ahold of your hand. Your eyes widened, but you didn't stop him, your smile only growing as he pulled you towards the sandy beach that awaited the soon-to-be disastrous game of volleyball.

You had often heard people (and television shows) say that family was more than your blood. It might have taken you quite some time to realize that, but you were glad that now, you understood exactly where they were coming from.

Family did not have to be your blood; it didn't have to end there, either.

Bob looked back at you as he slipped his shoes off, not wanting sand digging against his skin.

"You ready to show them who's the best?"

You grinned, nudging him with your elbow. "Who, you?"

His eyes widened a bit, a blush coating his cheeks. He'd just chalk it up to the heat, but he knew it was because of the way you were looking at him.

"Nah, darlin', I meant you," he said, smiling even more. "I bet you could beat all of them, all by yourself."

You rolled your eyes, laughing. "I guarantee you're wrong," you said, holding your shoes in one hand.

Phoenix came running up behind you, the ball in between her hands. She shouted at the two of you to hurry up.

Hangman came running after her, shouting: "Are you fucking serious?!"

You and Bob shared a haphazard glance, grins evident on both of your faces. He grabbed your hand once more, tugging you towards the volleyball court where your friends already stood, ready to play until the sun began to set, skin toasted and bellies ready for booze.

#bob x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #robert floyd x reader #gn!reader #platonic!top gun x reader #platonic!dagger squad #dagger squad #imagine #fanfic #dagger squad x reader #phoenix #top gun phoenix #top gun payback #top gun rooster #top gun hangman #top gun bob #top gun fanboy #top gun coyote #top gun maverick #tgm x reader #tgm #deadbeat dad #platonic!phoenix x reader #phoenix x reader #robert floyd #top gun fluff #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick x reader #top gun x reader #top gun movie

[ohthatstragic]

Heyyy!! I saw someone request this to another writer and it got shot down!! But this idea is too good not to be written, so I brought it here! It's a dagger squad x PLATONIC Roosters little sister? She’d be (14-18) and Rooster would keep her a secret until sometime after the mission (Dagger squad all stay together as a permanent team after the mission) when they find out rooster brings her to the hard deck and she meets everyone. Her callsign is “Robin” (cause the rooster didn't want her left out and it is bird/sidekick themed) her personality would be very extroverted, and outgoing (fits into any social group)!! Thank you ✨💕 if you're reading this btw!!

*gasp* HOW DARE THEY?

this is such an adorable ask, how could they do such a thing :( you can bet your ass that i will write this, i love rooster with my whole heart, his moustache is my life source icl.

a couple days, and you shall have this masterpiece on your dashboard B) thank you very kindly for this cute ass request, much love to you anon !! <3

i am not drunk or maybe i am rn you'll never know, or will you?

-mari <3

#top gun one shot #top gun maverick imagine #top gun imagine #top gun #top gun maverick #platonic!rooster x you #platonic!dagger squad x you #rooster x you #dagger squad #dagger squad x you #maverick x reader #weeeeeeeeeeeeee #i love u guys #hug #hugs

[mistydeyes]

141 members (price,gaz,soap and Simon ) reaction where reader and the group are in the common area together chilling And one of the members is teasing them and instead of entertaining him she scoffs rolling her eyes saying “bitch” while flashing her hand in a shoo motion and being sassy?

You don’t have to write this if you don’t want to ..I’m asking for a lot tbh 😭

thank you for requesting! i could 100% see gaz and soap being the absolute worst especially when you want to relax. they're like your annoying little brothers who just keep bothering you when you want to be left alone.

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summary: After a 36hr mission, you just wanted to enjoy some tea and scroll on social media. However, Gaz and Soap disrupt your evening and decide to pester you with their abundance of questions.

pairings: platonic!Taskforce 141 x fem!reader (codename: Sweetheart)

warnings: swearing, soap and gaz being ur annoying teammates

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After a much-needed shower, you made your way to the common room. You rolled your tense muscles as you filled the kettle with water and waited patiently. As you watched the water boil, Ghost joined and gave you a casual head nod. Part of you was glad he wasn't one for conversation, especially following the arduous mission you had just completed. You returned the gesture and back to your now boiling water. "There's enough for you, Lt," you commented before searching the drawers for your favorite tea. However, as you reached into the empty tin, you groaned. "Fuck," you mumbled before Ghost turned to you. You held up the tin disappointedly, "Someone finished the last bag." "Probably Soap," he responded and you threw it the tin in the recycling. You sighed before grabbing some decaf chamomile, a close second to your favorite lavender earl grey blend but far from the same.

As you sipped on the lackluster tea, you sat down on the worn couch. You hoisted your legs up, pulling out your phone to scroll through some mindless posts and videos. It was a necesssary reprieve and you were enjoying your enrichment time. However, it was interrupted by Gaz and Soap loudly entering the room. "Fuck me, mate," you could hear Gaz exclaim, "why'd you talk me into the gym and then a run." To your disgust, the room filled with the smell of sweat and musk, most likely from Soap. They continued to talk and you recognized the familiar sound of water bottles being filled before they made your way to you. "Evening Sweetheart," Soap commented and gently moved your legs off the couch to sit.

"Not in the mood, Soap," you mumbled as you adjusted yourself and he laughed. "141's sweetheart has an attitude," he chided and you rolled your eyes. "Why do they call you 'Sweetheart' anyways?" Gaz asked, joining on an adjacent chair. "Some fucking guys in my squad thought it was hilarious," you replied, with an emphasis on your last word. You hated the callsign, something that followed you throughout basic and into selection. Your all-male squad thought it was a great idea to call you the group's sweetheart and the name stuck. The misogynistic atmosphere was one of the downsides to the job but you tried to ignore it the best you could. "I bet they thought she was a barrack bunny," Soap joked and you put down your phone to shoot daggers at him. Gaz even hit his leg lightly but the petulant sergeant continued.

"So tell me, Bonnie," he asked in a sarcastic tone, "were ya one?" You scoffed at his question and you swore you could feel your eyes roll. You took a moment to internalize your anger before replying. "Don't have to be such a bitch about it, Mactavish," you replied coldly before gesturing your hand in a 'go away' motion. Before he could bite back at your response, Ghost interrupted. "Get a shower, Soap, you smell like shit," he responded and everyone realized he had taken a position at one of the tables in the room. "Steamin Jesus, Lt." Soap responded in shock, "you really are a ghost." "He's right, you smell like a sewer," you added with a smirk and you could tell he was feeling more self-conscious. "I swear I'll find out," Soap responded before quickly walking off to the showers.

You returned back to your scrolling as the room fell silent again. You could feel Gaz looking at you and you took a moment to put your phone back down. "What Gaz?" you interrogated as you met his gaze. "What's the real story behind your callsign?" he asked, almost nervously. You laughed a bit before you responded to his question. "Just some assholes from the Army," you said plainly, "at least they were more creative than you. What kind of a name is Gaz anyways?"

#task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #cod x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #modern warfare 2 #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #soap x reader #price x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john price x reader #Johnny mactavish x reader #mw2 imagine #madebyizzie #izzie is writing

[youngstarfishphilosopher]

PLATONIC! J-SQUAD X CHILD READER (HEADCANNONS)

Warnings ⚠️: IMPLIED CHILD ABUSE, METIONS OF MURDER, ACTUAL MURDER, HYPNOTISM, THREATS, KIDNAPPING, POSSESIVE BEHAVIOR, IMPLIED USE OF FEAR TOXIN

JEROME VALESKA:

Welp, good luck, my friend

- You would be one of his hostages who he was planning to kill. Patiently waiting your turn for your fun death. You had an abusive / less than kind family member with you at the time who had forced you to go there.

- When realizing that you two two were a little family unit, he decides to amuse himself a little.

- " Hey, hey you!" He would yell at one of his goons. " Tye them up to that uhhhh. . . That spinning wheel thing. And bring the kid over to me."

- Tying your family member up, Jerome places one of three throwing daggers in your hand( crowching down if you're small) while kind of just coaching you on how to throw them.

- What a surprise for him when not only do you do it without hesitation, but with a small smile on your face.

- That's when he goes, " Alright, change of plans, I like this kid." And immediately takes you under his wing

- There is never a dull moment with this man. There are plenty of bloody and horrific ones, sure. But never dull.

- Will make you kill the rest of your family members or do it himself if you can't. You're his now, and he doesn't need anyone trying to get in the way of that or distracting you.

- Sees himself as more of a mentor figure to you rather than an actual parent. But if you do end up calling him dad, he's not complaining.

- Takes you along with him for many of his usual, murderous antics. No matter how old you are, even if you are on the much younger side. "Best to teach them young," He would say.

- Praises you a lot whenever you decided to join in on the fun and always makes either his goons or his hostages cheer for you.

-If you're more on the socially anxious side, he'll try to put you in the spotlight less often and leave your killings as just some private family bonding time.

- This man CANNOT cook. He would burn whatever place he was staying out down to the ground if he tried.

- Gives you a lot of freedom to have fun and do whatever, but don't think that means you're allowed to leave or disobey him. You're still his protégé and need to listen to what he says.

- If you are on the younger side, that list of freedoms would be much shorter.

- He would want you around his vicinity or next to him and would make some of his goons keep an eye on you if he was busy with something.

- Lots of physical affection and inside jokes from this guy.

- All in all: Getting a child wasn't something Jerome had on his bucket list. But he's not really complaining.

JERVIS TETCH:

- To say this man is obsessive is the understatement of the century

- Spots you in the crowd at one of his performances and chooses you as his willing participant

- You might as well forget your parents now, because he'll have already hypnotized them to walk into traffic or jump off a building.

- Unlike the other two, Jervis will expect for you to see him as your dad.

- Will plan extravagant teaparties with all your favorite teas and sweets. And if you're not a sweets kind of person, then he'll put out more savory stuff like sandwiches as soupes.

- Hope you like fancy outfits, because you'll be wearing a lot of them. But don't worry, he'll try to find some that you're comfortable in.

- Doesn't give you a whole lot of freedom. Especially if you're on the much younger side.

- He'll also just randomly picks you up and carry you around with him if you're small enough for him to do so.

- Will not hesitate to hypnotize you and tie you up if he feels it is necessary. So you nest behave

- Usually reads bedtime stories to you, no matter how old you are.

- In conclusion, this man is obsessive and delusional. So just sit back, relax, and let your new papa take care of you.

JONATHAN CRANE:

-Well, this is rather unexpected. He never really saw himself taking care of a child

- He met you at Arkham: His cell next to yours. And you two would talk through the walls whenever a day was especially boring.

- After a while, he warmed up rather well to you. He starts to see you more as family in a way and immediately gets you out of your cell when a breakout in the asylum starts.

- Keeps you far away from your previous family members if you have any. He wouldn't kill them the first time per-say, just . . . Scare them away.

- The second time, he would be much less merciful. They had their chance and should have listened.

- He doesn't let you get too close to him when he's working on his projects in fear of you accidently getting hurt. But if you're an older teenager, he would ask if you would like to try and face your fears.

- He wouldn't force anything, though.

- You see him more as an older brother type figure rather than a parental one.

- Agian, if you are older, he doesn't really let you participate in his antics and usually lets you stay home if he trusts you. But will just bring you along to watch if you're much younger.

- A decent cook all things considered. Not the best by any means, but at least it's not a burt piece of charcoal.

- Will sit and talk with you whenever you need it. He's a pretty good listener.

- He can also get really protective a times, no matter what age you are, and will not hesitate to fear gas somebody.

- Not the best when it comes to physical affection. But will give you some if you want it.

- Although you entering his life was unexpected. Jonathan has found himself enjoying your company a lot more than he ever thought he would. It's probably the only thing good that ever came from being trapped in arkham.

#gotham jervis x reader #gotham jervis #dc villains x reader #gotham #gotham x reader #j squad #j squad x reader #platonic reader #platonic x reader #gotham scarecrow #jerome valeska x reader #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow x child reader #jerome valeska x child reader #jervis tetch x child reader #child reader #jervis tetch x reader

[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

[vampsquerade]

Hi

I was wondering if I could leave a request with you.

Could I please request a platonic Simon ghost Riley x male reader where reader joins the 141 for the very first time and ghost being ghost is very skeptical and I trust worthy of him. But over time during a duo mission they become the bestest friends possible like an inseparable duo.

Please and thank you

yes of course! thank you so much for the request and sorry if it’s a bit weird, it’s been a bit since i’ve written a platonic relationship for a character with a personality like ghost’s…but i hope you like it either way c: hope you’ve been well 💕

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Ghost x Male!Reader: The FNG’s Impression

Trigger Warnings: untrusting feelings, is mostly a normal fic

Being the FNG to a new task force was typically always seen as a bad thing. The decisions made on the first mission is the one that makes that lasting impression on the entirety of the squad, so it usually makes them nervous and less rational. But not you. You have always made it out to prove your worth that you’re able to contribute and follow orders as they’re given. You proved several times that you weren’t some rookie who didn’t know jackshit with each new squad you worked with as you moved up in your ranks. So once you were assigned to Task Force 141 after Captain Price decided after the Hassan situation and betrayal of the former General, Shepherd, that it was time to beef up the squad a bit more.

Upon arrival at their current location, you made a quick effort to greet everyone before the debriefing. “Fuckin’ hell…so this is the guy I’m supposed to be on a duo mission with?” Simon mutters to Kyle as he stares at you. “Easy now, I’m sure he’ll be a good addition to the team.” Kyle says, uncrossing his arms to wave at you as you walk into the tent with Captain Price and Farah. “He doesn't seem trustworthy, something feels off about him.” Simon says, walking towards the barracks. “You’re being too judgemental mate! I know when we were working with Graves that suspicion wasn’t really there because he was Shepherd’s recommendation, but that’s all over now.” Kyle says, following behind him.

“Doesn’t matter. Someone with an extensive file like his being that chipper ain’t exactly a good thing.” Simon says. “The two of you taking the piss outta the new guy or something?” Johnny asks, sitting up once Simon flicked the lights of the barracks on. “Simon’s just being an old man and complaining about how the new guy doesn’t seem trustworthy.” Kyle says, shaking his head. “Aye, you think so? I kinda had the same feeling.” Johnny says, scratching his chin. “Really? Surprising—considering that’s how you were when you joined the team.” Kyle says, causing Johnny to scowl at him. “Away ‘n bile yer heid.” he says curtly. “What?” Kyle asks. “He said ‘Go fuck yourself,’ Kyle.” Simon says, a soft scoff escaping his lips.

Knowing full well it was a laugh, Johnny just grinned at him. “Oh shove it up yours MacTavish. You two are being a little harsh to him and all he said to you was ‘Hello, I can’t wait to work with you guys. Let’s be sure to do our best.’ Don’t you think we should, oh I don’t know, not be suspicious?” Kyle says. As he finishes saying that, they all immediately turn and look at the door as it opens and reveals you standing there. “Oh! You guys were probably talking about something private, I’ll head out and let you guys keep talking.” you say, freezing up. “No, no, it’s fine. We had just finished talking. Y/N, right? Nice to finally meet you.” Kyle says.

He walks over to you, that same friendly smile from earlier on his face as his hand extends towards you. “Nice to meet you too, Kyle. Hope to do my absolute best on this mission with Simon here.” you say, giving Simon a smile as you shake Kyle’s hand. “Call me Lieutenant. You and I aren’t on a first name basis.” Simon says coldly, his eyes narrowed as he glared daggers into you. “Alright Lieutenant. So, uh, is it okay if I can go to sleep here?” you ask. “Of course you can, you don’t have to ask us to go to sleep. What time are you two being dropped off?” Kyle asks. “We’re being dropped at 0600 sharp so I’m gonna get some rest before 0500 to be ready by then.” you say.

“You’re a meticulous one, aren’t you?” Johnny asks, causing you to look at him. “Well yeah I mean…it kinda comes with the field doesn’t it? No room for error.” you say. “And that’s what got you to provide good overwatch as a sniper?” Johnny asks again. “Oh yeah. Hopefully I’ll be able to be as good as the Lieutenant here. I really can’t wait for these next few months working with you all.” you say excitedly. “Don’t get too excited. We aren’t exactly sure what the two of us are getting into. Can you keep yourself level headed?” Simon asks. “I have a pretty good record for a reason, Lieutenant—my head’s as level as it’s gonna be.” you say. “Alright, I think I’m starting to like the new guy now. Welcome to the 141, Y/N.” Johnny says.

Soon enough after a bit more banter, all of you find yourselves getting to bed. Obviously still uneasy, Simon finds himself staying awake just a bit longer to make sure you don’t try and do anything whilst the others sleep. Once he sees you’re not thinking of trying anything, he eventually lets himself drift off to sleep until it was time to get up and head out for the mission in the morning. You’re obviously the first one to get up and ready, so when Simon feels you gently shaking him awake, it causes him to open his eyes out of a slight panic and tightly grip your wrist. “H-Hey! Easy now Lieutenant, you’re gonna break the hand I need!” you whisper yell. Simon then scowls at you through the darkness, letting go of your wrist.

You rub at it to relieve some of the remaining pain and pressure, walking out to the weapons wall to get your assigned sniper rifle and pistol, both of which are already equipped with suppressors. Simon eventually joins you, grabbing a suppressed pistol and automatic rifle. “Let’s do some good work out there, Lieutenant.” you say, giving him a friendly bump on the shoulder before you walk towards the hangar. Simon just groans and follows after you begrudgingly. He was most certainly not looking forward to these next few months with you, especially not the first day of your mission. He felt like you were an annoyance by how friendly you were making yourself out to be and he honestly just wasn’t having it.

You didn’t talk to him the entire time you waited to be dropped off by Nikolai, wanting to keep yourself calm and collected. Once you were dropped off, Nikolai bid the both of you farewell and wished you luck. “Bravo 0-7 and 3-6 this is Watcher-1. How copy?” a woman’s voice, one of which you recognized as C.I.A agent Kate Laswell, asks through the comms. “This is Bravo 0-7. We’ve landed in the DZ and are ready for infil.” Simon says, making you excited and ramped up for this first mission. “On your TacMap are all six buildings you’ll need to infiltrate to find any and all information that’ll help us get our leads on Makarov. Luckily for you, there aren’t many guards patrolling the compound—make your way in and use what little darkness you have left to ensure your safety. If you’re compromised you’ll need to make your way to the EZ where Nikolai will come and get you.” Laswell says. “Understood.” Simon acknowledges.

You make your way to your designated slope that provides overwatch for a good 85% of the area, hunkering down and hoping your ghillie suit ensures you’re well camouflaged. “Alright, C/S. I don’t reckon you’ll make a good impression on Price and Laswell if you so let me get a scratch by not doing your job. On my signal, you’ll take out any and all guards that are surrounding me, got it?” Simon says into the comms. “Yes, Lieutenant Ghost. I won’t let a single one come near you—I’ll alert you if I see any you can’t and take them out before they get to you.” you reassure. “Take out the guards in the North and South outposts. Know how many notches that’ll be?” Simon asks, questioning your ability and knowledge. “Three and a half notches for both. I’m taking the shots now.” you say. Holding your breath to keep your aim steady, you first take your shot at the guard stationed south before taking out the one up north.

Mildly impressed by this, Simon takes note of your clear ability to follow orders and prove your intelligence. “I’m moving to building Alpha. Do you see any guards I should be aware of?” he asks. “Negative, you’re clear to move in.” you say. You keep your eye on Simon, watching him scale the building through the windows. “See anything in there Lieutenant?” you ask softly. “Negative. Is there anyone coming near Alpha, Sergeant?” Simon asks. “Not a thing, you’re clear to move out now.” you reassure. This then goes on for the rest of the morning, with you both having to take extra precautions now that the sun has come up.

At this point, Simon’s become impressed by you, but now he thinks you’re being a bit of a kiss-ass. “Is this really how you act all the time?” he asks rudely as you wait at the EZ for Nikolai to arrive. “It’s how I am with people I haven’t worked or met with yet—like you guys. Once I’m closer to people is when I start to kind of act like a dick.” you say. “That right?” Simon asks, shaking his head. “What, don’t believe me?” you ask, crossing your arms as you sling your sniper on your shoulder. “Not at all. I better see that exact behavior then the further along you and I keep going on these missions.” Simon says. You grin at him, crossing your arms against your chest. “I think you’re warming up to me, Lieutenant Ghost.” you say cheekily. “And I think I should kick you in the ass so hard you feel my boot in your throat.” Simon says just as cheekily through his normally gruff voice.

After this, the months would come to pass more and more as you got closer to getting a proper lead on Makarov. The both of you were forced to go radio silent together, as there was a risk that the whole operation would be compromised. This left you less monitored during subsequent missions and you’d come to prove that you were more than capable of saving Simon’s ass because that’s all you did. Sure, he’s saved yours a couple of times, however it was mostly you making sure he didn’t so much as get a single scratch on him. You’d also, in turn, begun to treat him like you said you would; a complete dick. Simon liked that, as he figured that it suited you a lot more than trying to be some kiss-ass.

“Ghost, C/S, good to see you lads again.” Price says as the two of you finally walk onto the base of operations they were using. “Good to see you too, Captain. We got a proper lead on Makarov now,” you say as you hand over a manila folder containing all the information regarding the information you and Simon spent months getting. “So, how was he?” Price asks, looking at Simon after scanning the contents of the folder for a bit. “I’d say he’s a right good fellow. Perfect fit for the 141.” Simon says, making you content. “And how was it with Simon?” Price asks you this time. “All I can say is that the old dog’s got some soft spots in him. Couple blind spots too, think he needs to get his eyes checked.” you joke, making Simon elbow you in the ribs. “Easy now, pup, I reckon I can still kick your ass.” he says.

“Simon! Y/N! How the hell did you guys find where we were? The two of you went radio silent on us.” Kyle says, going and shaking your hand. “Ah, we just followed the North Star and managed to find you guys.” you say sarcastically. “Haha, very funny Y/N,” Kyle says, rolling his eyes as a smile crosses his face. “Has he taken a liking to you yet? It took him a bit to take a liking to Johnny and I.” he asks. “Oh yeah. Surely enough I’ll get him to be completely smitten.” you say, playfully nudging at Simon. “You’re not my type.” he says, crossing his arms. You could tell he’s smiling a little behind his balaclava, and it makes you glad to have gained his trust. “Well then, mI’ll be putting the two of you on more missions together.” Price says, nodding at you both before walking away.

Kyle follows after him, leaving you and Simon alone. “Honestly I can’t fathom the thought of you taking a liking to me. I’m pretty sure you don’t even have a heart.” you say, starting to walk away from Simon. “Oh I have a heart all right, I just keep it frozen and locked in a box.” Simon says as he follows after you. “Sounds like something out of those freak shows they show on tv.” you say, laughing a bit. “Careful, that might just be you someday.” Simon jokes. “What’s that supposed to mean, Lt.?” you ask, no longer walking. Simon simply goes quiet and keeps walking once you stop walking. “Hey! What the hell’s that supposed to mean?!” you exclaim.

#cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw22 #call of duty modern warfare 2022 #cod ghost #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost x male reader #normal fic #platonic #cod task force 141 #task force 141

[eternalsams]

Skinny Dip ⇴ Dagger Squad

pairing: dagger squad x fem!reader (all platonic)

content:/warning: fluff, angst, cancer, death, grief, swearing, innuendos, mention of porn, a bit of nudity, inaccuracies about military and cancer (please forgive me)

Prompt: "Last summer was one no one could ever forget. Now, a year later, character(s) still feel(s) the effects of that time." (by @tgm-all4one)

summary: Last year was quite traumatizing for the Daggers and they need something to remind them of the good old times.

word count: 3.4k

notes: English isn't my first language, please take that into consideration. Also, the moment I read about that challenge, I knew what I had to do, and I wanted to apologize for what you're about to read, I know some hearts might break and some mean words might be directed towards me, and I completely understand so don't hold back and throw me all your hate, I LOVE IT!!

FLASHBACKS IN ITALICS

masterlist

Bradley parks his Bronco just next to the Hard Deck before turning off the ignition. He sighs loudly and rests his head on the steering wheel. He closes his eyes and tries to clear his mind, reminding himself why he was here. He clears his throat and turns to his backseat to grab the beach bag he packed up before leaving. He gets out of the car and notices Jake's truck and Natasha's car in the parking lot. He walks up to the beach and can see the dark smoke of the bonfire. He puts a smile on his face and joins his friends. He hugs Natasha who's sadly smiling at him and she softly rubs his back before letting go. He quickly hugs Jake and asks him if he needs any help with the fire.

You try to carry the many logs in your arms, sticking your tongue out in concentration. "You know... You could just ask for help." Jake laughs as he carries his own logs. "I don't need you, Bagman. I've been camping since I was 3, I can carry logs without any help." Jake rolls his eyes and when the two of you reach the others, you can't stop but sigh when you drop the wood in the little pit Rooster dug into the sand. Jake drops his own logs into the pit and taps on your shoulder, laughing. "Just shut up..." You groan.

Bradley just stays sat next to the fire, watching the flames dancing as they wait for the others to arrive. He just listens to the cracklings and he can hear Jake and Natasha having small talks. The sound of loud music pulls him from his thoughts and he raises his head, watching Mickey and Bob chatting in the parking lot. Reuben and Javy join a couple of minutes after that and they all start chatting and drinking. Sometimes one of them sighs and a silence takes over the moment before someone tries to crack a joke. The sun disappears behind the ocean and they're joined by the billions of starts above them, the moon shining bright and reflecting into the calm water. Bradley stays silent a little moment, his gaze fixed on the sand between his toes, before he takes a gimp of his beer and stands up. "I'd like to say something." Everyone turns to him and stops talking, knowing perfectly what was about to be said. "A year ago, we... lived something I never thought living all over again, and the fact I already faced it doesn't help with the pain. I don't know how you're holding up but it's been a very long year for me..." He can feel the tremble in his voice and the tears threatening from spilling and running down his face. But he stays strong, for his friends. "I'm glad we're all here today, Y/N would have appreciated it." He then sits back down and it's all silent again, just the sound he makes drinking his beer being heard. "To Y/N..." Natasha raises her drink and waits for the others to join her. They all raise their drink in turn, all of their voices echoing in the quiet evening.

You pass the doors of the locker room, the head low and deep in your thoughts. You don't even notice Natasha changing into her flight suit. Your just reach for your locker and open it, your gaze still looking into the void. You come back to reality with a start when you feel Nat's hand on your shoulder. "Hey, you're okay?" She asks you with worry painted all over her face. It wasn't you to just walk in a room and say nothing. "Yeah... Why ya asking?" You just turn back to your locker and takes off your shirt, tossing it into the locker. "I've been calling you several times, you didn't react." She zips up her suit and grabs her helmet. "I'm tired, is all."You try to give her a warm smile but she can clearly see it doesn't reach your ears like it usually does when you're smiling. She doesn't want to push you so she simply nods and leaves the room, leaving you alone with your thousands of thoughts. The words of the doctor you saw this morning just repeating in your head. Brain tumor. Too late. Inoperable.

"You guys remember when Y/N got so drunk she asked us to go skinny dip with her?" Bob laughs, looking up at the stars above them. The memory raises laughter among the group and a soft smile appears on Jake's lips. "I actually went with her that night." The confession earns him a few disgusted noises and gags among some mindless insults. That made him laugh. "I didn't go into the water or even got naked. I just looked after her from the beach, watching her having so much fun in the ocean. She was laughing so hard, I thought she would wake up all Fighter Town." He laughs and the others stop insulting him, just listening to Jake's secret memory. He rubs his face and wipes the first tears forming under his eyes. "I actually skinny dipped with her once." Natasha confesses, and a wave a wolf whistles is heard. She almost regrets immediately telling the boys her little secret but she really wanted to share the memory and keep the mood light. "Please tell me you got home together and had a pillow fight in cute Pj's." Jake smirks at her and she throws a handful of sand in his face to make him shut up. The blond pilot grimaces and spits sand before rubbing his tongue and his eyes, groaning. "What kind of porn do you think you live in?" She laughs and she watches her friend trying to spit all the sand in his mouth and she lies down, her head resting on her crossed arms. "It was just before she told us. I guess she wanted to create some memories." The silence comes back as they all know what she means by 'she told us'. Probably one of the worst day of their entire life.

You were waiting for the others to join you at the Hard Deck. Hell, you even asked Maverick to come, he deserved to learn it from you too. You were looking at your feet as you were pacing, Penny glancing at you as she was cleaning some stuff. You hear the door open and Jake's voice shouting. "The Queen has required my presence so here I am!" You smile at his antics and go to hug him tight. He's quite surprised by your display of affection but hugs you back. When you pull away, he ruffles your hair and you grumble. "Hello, Sunshine... So, what's the object of our meeting?" He asks as he sits down on a stool. "Can we... just wait for the others to arrive? I want all of you to be here before I say anything." You look back at the doors, checking if anybody else arrived. "Is everything alright?" He asks, frowning and a bit worried. You don't want to lie to him but you're not ready to tell him yet so you don't say anything and fake a warm smile. "Don't try to get any hint, Bagman." You elbow him gently and his frown is replaced by a kind smirk. "Alright, alright..." He quickly rubs his face before standing up and walking to Penny, asking her for an old fashioned. Jake was always early to everything so it didn't surprise you that he arrived first and the others took their time to join you.

When you made sure everyone was here, the whole place is on edge. Everyone wants to know why you asked them to meet you in the middle of your day off. You're standing in front of them and refuse to look into their eyes. "Okay, hum... I guess this is the moment to tell you something quite important. Since we've been reunited last year for this suicide mission, you've all become the closest thing to what I call a family. And I'll never thank enough fate for putting us all together and for making me meet all of you." You're fidgeting with your bracelet as you keep your head low, shifting your weight from one foot to another. "But I guess every good thing has its end." You chuckle dryly and finally look up, crossing pairs of concerned gazes. "Few weeks ago, I had my medical exam to check if I would be clear to fly this year and they found something. In my brain." You gulp and slightly jump when you hear a glass knock against the wooden bar. You look at Bradley and see his jaw tightening, he already knows what that means, he's been there before. He's looking deeply into your eyes, waiting for the bomb to drop. You take a deep breath and maintain his eye contact. "It's untreatable..."

The silence comes back in the Hard Deck and Penny is the first one to react, walking around the counter and wrapping her arms around you. She's whispering apologies in your ear but your eyes are still on your friends, they're all shocked, they don't know what to say. You blink and Jake stands up, leaving the bar, slamming the door behind him. You can still see him through the windows and he sits down on the steps, burying his face into his hands and you can see his shoulders slightly shake with sobs. You don't blame him. He doesn't really like showing his vulnerability, but you're his weakness. Bob and Natasha wrap their arms around you in turn, promising you they'll be there for you if you need anything. Javy quickly hugs you and kiss your hair before going to check on his best friend outside. Mickey and Reuben hug you in turn and Maverick is the last one to face you. "Captain... It's been an honor..." You try to smile and joke but he simply takes you in his arms and you let yourself close your eyes and breathe deeply, feeling safe in his arms. When he pulls back, you're met with Bradley and he's opening his mouth, trying to find the right words, but he can't. "I'm sorry..." You whisper and he quickly looks away, chuckling dryly. "You shouldn't be apologizing." He takes your hands in his and just traces the lines of your palms with his thumbs. "I'm sorry you have to go through this all over again." You mutter and wrap your arms around his waist, resting your cheek on his chest and listening to his fast heartbeat. "It's not your fault, kiddo... It's not your fault..." He kisses the top of your head and rubs your back.

The seven friends can hear the crickets singing and the waves crashing on the rock a little further. The light mood from earlier disappeared when Natasha mentioned the sad day of your announcement. "Maybe we should skinny dip in her memory..." Mickey wonders with a kind smile, looking around at his friends. "I'm not getting naked with porn-guy over there." Natasha immediately refuses, pointing at Jake. "It was a joke, Phoe'. I wouldn't even want to see you naked..." He mutters the last part. "We don't need to get naked, just in our underwear would be enough to make her happy." Mickey smiles a bit more, already undoing his laces and taking off his shoes and socks. "Come on, guys..." He begs when he sees none of his friends follow him in his idea. "I do it if you do." Bradley looks over at Natasha with a smirk. "Don't get too excited, Bradshaw. We might think you wanna see me naked." She laughs and starts stripping. Mickey grins and sees Reuben, Bob and Javy starting undressing as well. He gives Jake a pointed look and the blonde sighs. "Alright... But don't jump on me as soon as I'm undressed." He unbuckles his belt and Javy whistles jokingly. "We wouldn't dream of it, Bagman." Natasha is quick to shut him up and he simply rolls his eyes with a soft smile. When they're all wearing nothing but their underwear, they stay around the fire, looking at each other with silly faces. "What now? I mean... We've all got killer bodies but I won't stay like that all night long, it's kinda cold." Bradley jokes and a few laughs erupt. "You're scared the cold air might affect your body, Bradshaw?" Jake laughs and is immediately stopped when Bradley growls and starts chasing him.

The two men run on the sand, sometimes almost falling face first and Jake ends up jumping into the cold water. Bradley stops in his track with a grin and watches his friend stands up in the water, a shocked expression painted all over his face. "The water is freezing!" He screams and hurries to get out of the water but Bradley runs to him and tackles him back into the water. The rest of the squad erupts in laughter and they start running to the water to join the two men bickering in the cold water. When the water reaches Natasha's feet, she lets out a scream but doesn't stop in her track and dives right into the ocean. She lets the cold water hug her and wash her of the day's sweat before joining the others at the surface. She rubs her face and brings back her hair, laughing. She notices Jake shivering and his lips starting to turn purple-ish. She chuckles and splashes him right in the face. The blond pilot groans and slashes her back but she uses Bradley as a human shield. Jake laughs loudly at his frenemy's face but his smile quickly falls down when the Bradshaw pushes on his head to push him underwater for a few seconds. Natasha turns to Bob who let his glasses on the beach and now has to squint to see correctly. She splashes him and he screams before splashing back, but he doesn't really see her and ends up splashing Javy. Reuben and Mickey quickly join the water fight and the laughter can be heard from the beach.

They end up staying in the ocean for what seems like an eternity and when they go back to their stuff on the beach, the sun is slowly rising. They're completely drenched to the bones but silly smiles are engraved on their faces as they sit down on the sand. Natasha rests her head on Bob's shoulder who puts back his glasses on his noses. Mickey is lying down on her lap and she mindlessly plays with the short curls starting to grow on his head. "She would have loved this improvised not-so-skinny dipping..." Jake eventually says, his voice raw from all the screaming and all the laughing. Nobody says anything else but everyone agrees with him. For once. Natasha closes her eyes and ends up falling asleep on her WSO's shoulder and Mickey falls himself asleep on her lap. Bradley and Jake fall asleep a bit later too, lying down on the sand, their faces covered by their own shirts. Javy and Reuben share the cover they used to keep them out of the sand as a blanket and fall asleep. Three hours later, when Maverick gets off his bike, he notices several figures on the sand. He frowns and when he steps closer, he recognizes his squad, asleep and half naked on the sand. Confusion is written all over his face until he checks the day and recognizes the date. Yesterday was marking one year after your passing.

You watch them play football on the beach with a big smile on your face. Since Maverick introduced you to the Dog Fight Football, your friends would only play that game when you would go to the beach. You laugh when Mickey is being tackled by Jake and the two men roll on the ground. You take a sip from your drink and readjust your hat on your head. The umbrella over you already providing you shade but your chemo-bald head wasn't something you wanted other people to see. So after a quick discussion with Mickey, he took you hat shopping and you had a lot of fun. He insisted on paying everything and you ended up with almost ten new hats you could match with multiple outfits. No need to specify that you couldn't fly anymore but with a little help from Maverick, you still could come to base and see your friends. Your family. You're brought back to reality when a sweaty, panting Jake drops next to you. You give him a cold beer and he takes a couple of gulps before turning to you. "Want some?" He asks and you give him a pointed look. "Right... You're no fun, I forgot." He turns back to watch the others play and you bite the inside of your cheek, stopping yourself from thanking him for joking about it. He was the one you felt the closest to. You didn't know why or how it happened but it happened. You loved all of them so much but Jake was different, sometimes you could almost feel like you were connected. Just like twins.

"Hey... You're getting red, you need more sunscreen?" He asks as he points to your reddening arms. You nod and he grabs the tube from the beach bag you got and walks around you to stand behind you. He starts rubbing your shoulders with the sunscreen, being careful not to knock your hat off inadvertently. "You know... I'm still up for giving you a last wish..." He says and you turn to look up at him with a smile. He wiggles his eyebrows and you slap his chest before turning back to watch your friends play. Jake leans over to your ear and you can practically hear his smirk. "The others won't know, I promise." He whispers before rubbing your right arm with sunscreen. "Oh my God, stop!" You laugh, making him smile widely. "I'd rather give my last wish to Rooster." You say jokingly just to mess with him. "You wouldn't!" He moves to your left arm and when it's all done, he sits down on his heels before you. "But seriously, if you want anything before you..." He starts saying and stops himself, not fully on term with what was to happen. "You just ask, and I'll do anything to make it happen. And I'm sure the others would do the same." He keeps your hand in his and you look down and your joined hands, containing the tears. You look back up at him and take a deep breath. "I don't want anything more, Jake... I already have all I need." You smile at him and then look over at the others cheering Bob for tackling Mickey. You chuckle and Jake smiles, his stare never leaving your joyful face. That's exactly how he wants to remember you, smiling and laughing.

He stands up and dramatically bows. "My Queen..." He smiles at you and runs back to the others, catching the football Natasha just threw and running away from Bradley who's already on his tail. You smile and grab your phone, taking a picture of them playing. You smile at your phone and go to your camera roll. You open the file you named 'memories' and quickly scroll through all the pictures you took of the squad. You used to take a lot of pictures even before you learned about the tumor but you started photographing and recording everything after the doctor told you your days were numbered. You scroll down until you reach the bottom of the file and click on the first picture. It's a photo Maverick took the day you told them the truth. You could see Jake's red eyes but he was smiling for the picture, for you. You were between him and Natasha and the others were aligned, smiling at the camera. You slide left and you smile even more. This one was taken just seconds after the first one, unless you weren't all aligned correctly and looking at the camera. You were wholeheartedly laughing, head thrown back as your friends all squished you in a group hug. You lock your phone and look up at the game in front of you. You wouldn't dream of anything better than this. You grab your drink and take a sip, never looking away from your friends.

#tgm all4one #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun fanfic #top gun imagine #top gun x reader #top gun x you #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick x reader #top gun maverick x you #top gun angst #top gun maverick angst #Hangman x reader #Hangman x you #rooster x reader #rooster x you #Phoenix x readee #Phoenix x you #Fanboy x reader #Fanboy x you #bob x reader #bob x you #Coyote x reader #Coyote x you #payback x reader #payback x you #maverick x reader #Maverick x you

[callsign-peach]

A Very Bradshaw Wedding

summary: it’s your and bradley’s big day, from sunrise to sunset

pairing: established rooster x fem!reader (obvi), platonic!dagger squad x reader

warnings: i’ve only ever been to church weddings so if you’re not a fan of church weddings, sorry. 

word count: 2,175

The opening tones to the Marimba ringtone pulled you from the slumber you were enjoying, and you blindly grasped for your phone. 

“Hello?” You groaned, your voice was still in the dream world.

“Good morning, Mrs. Bradshaw.”

“No, that’s not my last name yet!” You stretched, phone pressed to your ear. “I only signed the paperwork yesterday, the court definitely didn’t get them yet.”

“Well,” Bradley breathed, and you were sure he was still lounging in his bed, as well. “I considered you my wife as soon as we signed the marriage license last week.”

“All right, you got me there, B.” You chuckled, trying not to pick at your well-manicured nails. “What time are you supposed to head to the church?” 

You could hear Pete and Jake trying to get your fiancé to hang up, so you knew your sister would be knocking on your door soon. 

“‘Bout fifteen minutes, I think. Mav wants to get photos of the guys and I in our formal attire.” 

You snorted, picturing Bradley and his fellow aviators in their formal uniforms. When the topic of what the aviators were going to wear came up, you teased Bradley relentlessly. “Trying to steal my thunder, Bradshaw?” 

“Hey, the guys are about to pound the door down, I’ll see you at the end of the altar.” 

“See you in a few, I’ll be the one in white.” 

“Not the only one.” Bradley quipped, and you could hear the smile on his face. “I love you, Mrs. Bradshaw.”

You replied the same, not bothering to comment on your surname this time. 

As you hung up the phone, the door to the hotel opened, and your sister and Penny piled into the room, Amelia following.

“Good morning, it’s your wedding day!” Your sister was already weepy, plucking a Kleenex from the box on the bedside table. 

You thanked Penny for the coffee, the familiar green and brown cup helping wake you up. “What time do we need to be at the church?” 

“Hair stylist said to be there by 10, but we need to leave soon for breakfast!” Amelia was first to reply, the teen was only up before nine on a weekend if there was food on the horizon.

You nodded, slipping on a pair of leggings and the zip-up with bride embroidered across the back; a gift from your Aunt Jeanette after you posted your engagement photos on Facebook.

“Is Nat meeting us there?” You asked, grabbing your phone and purse, following Penny and the others out of the hotel room. 

“Nope, she’s probably waiting for the Lyft.” Amelia replied, and you smiled.

You weren’t one to have a ton of friends growing up, so the three women joining you for breakfast were your bridesmaids, with your sister as your Matron of Honor.

“Let’s go!” Amelia lead the way out to join Natasha at the waiting Lyft. --- “You ready to be the first married man out of us?” Rueben asked, tossing the football over to Bob.

Bradley looked up from where he was staring at the wedding itinerary, distracted. “Hm?”

“Not even a married man, already distracted by the missus.” 

“Fuck off, Bagman.” Bradley replied, no sour tone behind his words. He and the blond aviator had become close friends, with Bradley asking the Texan to be his Best Man a few months ago. 

Rueben repeated his question, and Bradley nodded, smile on his face. “Surprised it took this long, honestly. Knew it as soon as I first met her she was the one.”

The men of the dagger squad all teased the mustached man, yelling when Pete walked into the room and caught the football. --- “Oh! You look so good!” Your sister was near tears again, causing you to roll your eyes. 

“I’m not even dressed yet, sis.” You looked at your reflection, the makeup artist having finished a few moments prior. 

“Remember when Mom would let us try on her wedding dress when we were younger?” You asked. Bittersweet memories of your late mother had been popping up ever since your sister’s wedding four years ago. 

“Come on, time for dresses!” You were thankful for Penny’s distraction before you started to cry, not wanting to ruin the beautiful makeup. 

Rather than having each woman wear a specific dress, you asked them all to find dresses in matching colors, a light blue to complement the groomsmen’s formal blues. 

“You sure you’re okay not wearing your blues?” You asked Natasha, not wanting her to feel minimized by wearing the dress.

“Trust me, I never get to go out to formal events in anything other than my formal blues, I need this.” Natasha smiled, giddy to get dolled up for the day.

You squeezed her hand, letting her go change in the bathroom.

“Have you found your something new yet?” Penny asked, knowing smile on her face.

You were one for traditions, and you wanted to make sure you had all four “somethings” on your wedding day. 

You had your something blue; a patch one of Bradley’s old navy blues had been sewn into your dress. Your something old was the Bradshaw engagement ring, passed to Bradley from his mother, and his mother’s mother. 

Something borrowed was waiting to be adorned to your updo, your sister’s hairpiece from her wedding day. 

Shaking your head, you began to wonder what the older woman had planned. “No, but I’m using my wedding band for that.”

“Mav and I wanted to chip in, make sure you had all you needed before your trip down the aisle.” Penny pulled a long, Tiffany blue box out of her purse, a dainty gold chain with a simple diamond on the end. 

“Pen, I can’t! This is too much!” You had tears welling in your eyes, softly shaking your head. 

“Oh, hush. It’s the least I can do, getting Rooster to stop moping at the bar.” Penny latched the necklace as you held your hair up, her slender fingers patting your shoulder lightly. 

You smiled at her in the mirror, thankful for her maternal presence on such an important day. “Thank you, Pen.”  --- Bradley twisted his cuff links once more, nerves starting to get the best of him. “What’re you thinking, Rooster?”

The aviator looked behind him, smiling at his mentor and godfather. “Hi, Mav.” 

“You ready for this?” Pete asked. The ceremony was set to start in just over two hours, so all the men were prepared to get the wedding photos done. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Bradley nodded, but the older man could tell something was pulling his attention. “I just wish my parents were here.”

Pete sighed, knowing parents were a sore spot for both the groom and bride. “They’re here, Bradley. They’re here and they’re proud.” --- You stared at yourself in the mirror, now adorned in the white dress you had your eyes on ever since Bradley got down on one knee. 

Amelia, Natasha, and your sister were already getting their photos done with the groomsmen, leaving you alone with your thoughts. 

A knock on the door tore you from your reverie, and you looked in the mirror to see Pete pop his head in. “Wow.” 

“Hi, Mav.” You smiled, one hand going to your neck. “Thank you for the necklace. It means more than you’ll ever know.”

Pete smiled, softly closing the door behind him. “It’s the least we could do.” 

You closed the space between the two of you, wrapping your arms around Pete in a hug. “Thank you for being there, for both of us.”

Pete rubbed a hand over your laced-up back, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Come on, they’re ready for the first look.” 

You followed Pete down the steps, and out to the small garden behind the church, where you would get a first look at your soon-to-be husband.  --- Bradley was antsy, and he almost spun around when he heard the soft click of heels on the stone beneath him. “Hi.”

“Hi, B.” You whispered, tears springing to your eyes. “Ready to become my husband?” You whispered, afraid speaking at full volume would ruin this special moment.

“I’ve been ready ever since I laid eyes on you.” Bradley replied, squeezing your hand behind him. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah.” You mumbled, eyes watering. “Never thought I’d be okay with my groom wearing white, too.”

Bradley let out a watery laugh. “Everyday is full of surprises.”

“Okay, okay. Before I burst into tears and ruin my makeup, we need to get ready for the ceremony.” You squeezed Bradley’s hand once more, before he heard the sound of your heels retreating. --- The music slowed down considerably after your sister reached the end of the aisle, taking her spot next to Amelia. 

You took a deep breath, looking up at Pete as appeared next to your side. 

When you first asked Pete to walk you down the aisle, he was speechless. He wasn’t one to think of himself as a father figure, not after he pulled Bradley’s papers, but he was proven wrong when you stopped him after you met up with the aviators at The Hard Deck one night. 

“You promise you won’t let me trip?” You asked, wrapping your hand around Pete’s arm.

“So long as you promise you won’t trip me.” Pete replied, stepping up as the opening notes to Canon in D began. 

You started the procession down the aisle, smiling at your family, your friends, and Bradley’s family as you walked, but they all blurred as you made eye contact with Bradley. Your Bradley.

Before you knew it, you were across from him, navy whites making his tanned skin pop. 

“Hi.” You whispered, smile tugging at your lips. 

“Hi.” Bradley replied, smile already spread across his face.  --- You heard hollering and hooting from both the groomsmen and audience as you kissed your husband for the first time, his shiny new wedding band cold against your back.

“We’re married!” You mumbled along Bradley’s lips, kissing him once more.

Bradley laughed, pressing one last kiss to your lips before you two turned to walk down the aisle, Bradley raising his newly-adorned wedding band into the air.  --- “Now, I present to your for the first time,” you heard the emcee pause for dramatic effect, and you bounced on your heels next to your husband.

“You ready?” 

“Give it up for the Bradshaws!”

You and Bradley tossed open the doors to the reception hall, smiles bright as you took in everyone here to celebrate your big day. 

You never would have pictured yourself with a military man, surrounded by so many other uniforms and people who you considered a second family. The hollers, cheers, and applause caused tears to spring to your eyes once more, though you doubted it would be the last time. 

The music slowed as you two stopped on the dance floor, facing each other. 

“Remember, men lead with their left because ladies are always right.” You whispered, teasing Bradley with the line your dance instructor said while you two started taking lessons for this moment. 

As you two spun, you smiled at the faces you recognized and the ones you didn’t, rolling your eyes as Jake pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. --- Finally having a moment to yourself, you sipped the white wine in front of your now-finished dinner. The first dances had been a whirlwind of emotions, and the speeches were some of the best. 

“Hey,” Bradley stopped next to you, glass of whiskey in his hand. 

“Hey yourself, Mr. Bradshaw.” You wrapped your arm around his waist, reading over a few of the notes on the Polaroids that guests had taken.

“Finally escape from Emma and Louise?” Bradley asked, teasing you about your younger cousins being stuck to you like glue.

“They got distracted by Jake’s war stories.” You smiled, pointing at a Polaroid of Pete and Penny. “Their turn’s next.” 

Bradley laughed, nodding along with you. “Come on, it’s almost time to cut the cake.” --- You thanked some of the final guests as they departed from the reception hall, promising they’d text you when they made it safely to their hotel.

“Have fun on your honeymoon!” Your aunt Delores squeezed you tight, happy to see you with the man of your dreams.

“But not too much fun!” Delores’ girlfriend teased. 

“Oh, hush!” You felt your cheeks heat, ushering them out to their waiting taxi.

Bradley was finishing off his second slice of cake when you reappeared, grin taking over his face. “Come here.”

Curious, you met Bradley halfway, conveniently stopping on the previously heavily-occupied dance floor. “What’s up, B?”

“Can I have this dance, Mrs. Bradshaw?” 

Not caring to mention the lack of music, you wrapped your arms around your husband’s neck, soft smile on your face. “I love you, Bradley. Thank you. Thank you for making me the happiest woman on the world.”

Bradley smiled, pressing his lips to yours, humming softly as the two of you shared a last dance. --- a/n: send requests pls :( 

#top gun x reader #top gun maverick imagine #top gun imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x wife!reader #rooster imagine #rooster top gun #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley bradshaw imagine

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Before He Cheats | Dagger Squad Imagine

Takes place after the events of TGM

TGM Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: female pilot!reader x Dagger squad (platonic), reader x ex!oc (past romance)

Content Warnings: angst, cheating, profanity, ends with sweet revenge | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 3.8k

Requested 📨 yes/no (rules for requests)

Premise: One thing about cheaters, they’re always gonna get caught. Whether right when it happens or years down the road the truth always comes out. And one thing they should realize is revenge is a dish best served cold.

Note: I finally finished my first year of grad school!!! Fucking finally people. Now I can relax and get to the drawing board. I already have visions and outlines for all current requests in my inbox and be sure to check out my April/May upcoming works and my pinned works in progress for what’s coming and posted! Thank you for your patience and to the anon who requested this I hope you liked it!

Also y’all….is there like some freaky shit going on with the universe and my works 💀 cause three days after I posted Lover inspired by Taylor swift she and her man of 8 years broke up and now I’m posting a cheater imagine (this request is from end of February) when there’s stuff going about Glen 👀 this is just freaky now

—————

Friday night at the Hard Deck consisted of a full house ready to kick off the weekend with beer and music. For a few years now Y/n had been working at the bar serving drinks and singing from 8pm to 9 as a way to make extra cash while her college sweetheart Ryan, who was a Lieutenant Junior Grade, was stationed at Miramar. Having not been married despite being a couple for so long, Y/n lived off base with some roommates while her boyfriend stayed in the dorms, however, he’d come to her place after work and stayed on weekends.

It was rare to see a military couple not be the stereotypically, “we got married right after I commissioned so my partner can be my dependent and travel with me when I get orders.” No, that wasn’t Y/n and Ryan. After Ryan’s commission Y/n stayed to finish up her Master’s at the University of Miami where they met while he was sent to Japan for two years. Then he was stationed in Virginia, followed by Lemoore, and now he was at Miramar. The longest base he’d been at. Y/n had been with him in Virginia, but didn’t move to Lemoore as she had a three-year contract with her job at the University of Virginia.

Toward the end of his two years at Lemoore, Y/n called Y/n to inform her he was being stationed at North Island and the contract was to be at least five years. Wanting to be close to him after being apart for so long and filled with hope they’d finally settle after Ryan hits ten years in the Navy, Y/n transferred to the University of California San Diego as the history of music professor. She also took on a part-time job as a bartender Friday and Saturday since she was only teaching two sections that occurred on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Plus Penny allowed her to sing Friday nights as an added bonus knowing she loved music.

Y/n settled rather quickly in North Island. With her two jobs she developed a friendly social circle consisting of the UCSD staff on campus and regulars at the Hard Deck. Several of the aviators took a liking to her. They knew Ryan and would often meet up every Friday after work to catch up on the week and watch her sing. Y/n always had their rounds ready the moment they walked in, “got ya seven cold ones.”

“Already?”

“The newbie over there didn’t read the sign. Round’s on him.”

They’d cheer Y/n on when she sang, literally the loudest bunch in the whole bar. “Sing it girl!”

“Ariana ain’t got nothing on you!

Phoenix sometimes sat at the bar when she needed to get away from the guys. “Are you working tomorrow?”

“Penny gave me the night off since I got papers to grade…but If I get done early I’ll be free.”

“Please, I am in need of a girls night. Hell I’ll even come help you grade if you tell me what to do.”

“Damn, Nat, were the guys too much this week?” She placed another beer in front of the pilot, removing the empty one to discard. “This one’s on me. You look like you need it.”

“You have no idea, Y/n. All week we’ve been training for an upcoming mission and they’ve been driving me nuts.”

Ryan had his own group of friends from the base who’d come toward the later hours of the night. They’d usually take up the space at the bar, Ryan greeting Y/n with a kiss and telling her how the day was. He’d nurse a couple beers before he and Y/n would retreat to her apartment when the place closed at eleven.

They’d been together for several years, coming up on their eighth anniversary when Y/n discovered his infidelity.

And it wasn’t just a one-and-done “I was drunk and stupid, she doesn’t mean anything,” type of deal. No, this was a long going affair lasting almost a year.

What was the kicker? The other woman was a married coworker of his.

Now Y/n may have had the reputation of being the sweet, down to earth, understanding person who would never hurt a fly. But as soon as her eyes landed on Ryan, her partner of eight years, shoving his throat down another woman’s throat while grabbing her ass like it would vanish from thin air…..she saw red. Kill Bill sirens blasting in her mind. Y/n wanted to ruin both of them seeing she wasn’t the only person betrayed. The woman’s husband was also being deceived.

And what was punishment for adultery and extramarital sexual conduct? Well, according to the Uniform Code of Military Justice those in the military who are married or have affairs with married personnel are dishonorably discharged, forfeited of all pay and confined for one whole year.

Was it harsh? Maybe some would see it that way. But cheaters need to be taught a lesson.

And Y/n was gonna make sure they got it.

For a whole week Y/n put on a brave face. Accumulating photographs and screenshots of text messages, emails, and bank statements to show proof of the affair and how long it had been going on. She secretly got in touch with the husband of the Lieutenant Ryan was sleeping with, presenting him with everything. Heartbroken and angry, he agreed to remain quiet until the meeting Y/n had set up on that following Friday with their partner's supervisor.

“I know this is a lot to ask,” she exhaled, tired from everything and having to act like she was fine. “But come Friday they’ll be faced with the consequences of their actions. I’m sorry you’re having to go through this as well.”

“It’s not your fault—you’re not the one who cheated on me. You’re the one who found out and had the decency to tell me. We both got screwed,” he rubbed his face with his hands, wedding ring flashing under the light. When it caught his eyes all he could do was glare at it. “The only thing making this somewhat bearable is the fact they’re gonna be hit with the ultimate blindside.”

Y/n nodded to his ring, “What are you gonna do?”

“I’m contacting a divorce lawyer once I leave here. Hopefully the papers will be drawn up quickly so I can bring them to the meeting. Make it a double whammy. You?”

Y/n threw back the rest of her gin & tonic, letting out another tired sign, “I booked a flight to Cabo. Spring break is next week so I’m gonna take a well needed week long vacation and then figure it out from there.” Sunny skies with margaritas and radio silence seemed to be the best therapy at the moment.

For the next three days Y/n maintained a strong façade. Whenever Ryan went to kiss her she’d kept it short or moved to where his lips hit her cheek. She continued to send screenshots to her phone and delete the conversations so he wouldn’t notice. When she surprised him at work for lunch the day before the meeting it really threw both the cheaters off.

“Y/n,” his eyes went wide, “what are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d surprise you for lunch,” she held up a bag of homemade stir fry, bidding a glance at the woman who also was white a sheet. “Hi, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Y/n.”

“Becca.”

“Becca,” she repeated, a smile tight on her lips. While doing so she gave an obvious glance to Becca’s ring finger, finding the diamond. “Beautiful ring you’ve got there. Are you engaged?” Becca became flustered, but kept calm.

“Married.”

“Ah, your husband has a great eye for jewelry. You’re so lucky.”

Ryan was quick to cut the conversation short after the mention of Becca’s husband. Visibly uncomfortable with how Y/n was throwing their aldurty in their face despite not knowing she was aware of it.

The next day Y/n marched into their superiors office, dressed like a corporate CEO ready to fire the entire team for an unforgivable mistake, with two boxes on each arm. One filled with all the evidence of Ryan and Becca’s affair, the other containing all of Ryan’s belongings he had at Y/n’s apartment. Becca’s husband, Tim arrived a minute later with a folder of divorce papers in his hands.

They met with the supervisor first. Y/n introduced who she was and who Tim was, presenting the box of evidence and explained while the Captain shuffled through the papers. Visibly disgusted, the Captain thanked Y/n for bringing it to his attention and promised the adults he would handle the rest.

“Are you calling them in right now?” She asked.

“I was planning to this afternoon, why?”

“I’d like to be present if you don’t mind,” a hand came up to the other box she had, “These are his things and frankly, I want to see the look on his face.”

“Me too,” Tim piped up and waved the folder in his hands. “These need to be served to Becca.”

The supervisor simply shrugged and said, “if that’s what you want, fine by me.” He hit a button on his phone, “Wilkins, please inform Lieutenants Stevens and Leeds they need to report to my office immediately.”

“Yes, sir.” Though her heart was racing, Y/n remained poised and took a seat against the wall of the room. Tim sat beside her, both setting their gaze on the door to await their soon to be exes.

Roughly ten minutes later, a knock on the door sounded and the Captain gruffly said, “enter.” The door opened to reveal Ryan, whose eyes went straight to his superior before scanning the room ultimately resulting in him to freeze where he stood. Turning white as a sheet, Y/n could only imagine what was running through her ex boyfriend’s mind. There was great satisfaction seeing his eyes flicker from her to Tim to the Captain.

“Have a seat, Lieutenant,” the older gentleman's finger pointed to the seat in front of his desk. It seemed to snap Ryan from his daydream, the man stumbling into the room and unable to form words.

When he sat the first thing he tried to say was her name to which the Captain voiced, “I didn’t say you could speak, Lieutenant. Keep quiet, we’re waiting on one more before we get started.”

Becca’s reaction was pretty much the same when she arrived two minutes later. “T-tim,” she stuttered, red as a tomato and fear etched on her face.

“Rebecca,” his tone was blank, matching his expression. Just the full name combined with the parties in the room indicated to Becca she was about to have the worst day of her life.

But hey, maybe she shouldn’t have cheated then.

And Ryan? Mans was shitting bricks where he sat. Couldn’t even bring himself to look at Becca when she sat in the chair beside him. He kept trying to plead to Y/n with his eyes but she wasn’t having it.

The Captain got right to it. He laid out all the evidence on the desk for the two to see, Becca immediately breaking into tears while Ryan tried to explain. What could he explain though? How could he defend a year long affair with a married coworker in front of her husband, longtime girlfriend and superior.

When it came time for the Captain to discuss where to go from there, Y/n excused herself by dropping the box of Ryan’s things into his lap, “Here’s all your shit,” it nearly spilled onto the floor when the action surprised him. “Don’t call, text, show up at my place or at the bar tonight otherwise I’ll call the cops. I’m done with you, Ryan. Thanks for wasting eight fucking years of my life.”

“Wait, Y/n, please—,” she cut him off when he went to stand.

“You’ve not been dismissed yet,” that got him to freeze, noticing the Captain smirking in the corner of her eye. She turned to Tim, “Thanks for your help. Good luck with everything and I hope it works in your favor.” Becca gasped, realizing what the folder in Tim’s hand represented. It spurred on another wave of tears.

“Thanks,” he gave a tired smile, “And good luck to you.” With that Y/n was out the door and Ryan was out of her life. First thing she did was go home, change, and drive to the Hard Deck. Penny immediately poured a glass for her, “long day?” Y/n accepted the beer with a nod.

“Glad it's almost over.”

“What happened?”

Y/n felt the tears welling in her eyes. The emotions she had been holding the past two weeks had finally broken free. Concern formed on Penny’s face. “Ryan was cheating on me for the past year.”

“No,” the woman gasped. Never had she thought Ryan, who always came to the bar to keep Y/n company and watch her sing and her partner of almost a decade would betray her like that. “Did you just find out today?”

“Last Monday. I went to bring him his dry cleaning he left at my place and found him making out with his married coworker.” Another gasp left Penny. “I’ve been playing actor the past two weeks to make him think everything was okay while I gathered proof. Told the woman’s husband a couple days ago and we both met with their superior today. Gave him his stuff while I was at it.”

“I’m so sorry honey,” Penny reached over to pat her hand, “he’s an asshole and you’re worth so much more than him.” Y/n softly smiled at that, mumbling a thanks. Penny served her another glass, “Take the night off okay, I can call Elise to take your shift.”

If Y/n was being honest the offer sounded like a dream. She wanted to go home and cry herself into a bucket of ice cream while watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine until she passed out. But part of her also wanted to sing her pent up feelings out. “Thanks, Penny. I’d still like to sing though if you don’t mind. I could use the release.”

“Of course,” Penny waved a hand, “Whenever you feel like it I’ll have Jose set up the mic. Your guitar’s in the back where I keep the stock.”

For the next couple hours Y/n caught up on grading some papers at a booth while she waited for 8 to roll around. By 6 most of their regulars from the base arrived, signaling the end of the work day. Nat was the first to spot Y/n, strolling over and immediately noticed by the professor's body language that something was off.

“What happened?” She sat across from her.

“What makes you think something happened?”

Nat gave a look, “first, you’re not working the bar.” Y/n shrugged, trying to be nonchalant.

“Penny gave me the night off. I’m still singing though so I thought I’d hang out for the time being—catch up grading before spring break next week.”

“The tone in your voice is off.”

Y/n scoffed even though the pilot was right, “It’s not off.”

“What’s not off?” Rooster comes up, pushing Nat aside so he could slide into the booth.

“Y/n’s acting off and won’t say why.”

“I’ve been grading papers for the last two hours,” Y/n rolled her eyes, “sixty to be exact and all are six pages each. If I sound off it’s probably because I’m tired.” Again, Nat doesn’t appear convinced.

“But you’re still gonna sing even though you probably would rather be home sleeping the day away?”

“Friday nights are what I look forward to during the week,” Y/n scribbled a grade at the top of the paper in front of her, placing it on the stack, “I get to see you guys and sing whatever I want. I wouldn’t miss this.”

“Is Ryan coming?” It was an innocent question and one to expect from her friends given they had no idea of the events that’d taken place. However it didn’t stop the sharp intake of breath Y/n did.

“No, he’s not,” she quickly added before they could ask why, “he got held up at work. His supervisor needed to discuss some things with him.”

“Uh oh,” Rooster made a face, unaware of the boiling anger surfacing in Y/n. “That can’t be good.”

“Yeah,” Y/n clicked her pen, finishing up the last paper. Nat decided not to press further on what was bothering her friend. If Y/n wanted to say then that was up to her.

So to brighten her mood Nat bought her a round and challenged Y/n to a game of pool. Y/n packed up her things, placed them behind the bar and then greeted the other daggers.

“There’s our favorite singer,” Jake announced with a smile. “We were wondering where you were.” Y/n took the cue Rooster handed her.

“Just trying to get through the semester, Hangman.”

The two women played best out of three with Y/n winning the first and final game. By the time they finished it was pushing 7:50 so Y/n informed Penny she was getting her guitar. Once retrieving the instrument she returned to the floor to see Jose had set up the mic and stool for her.

Grabbing a glass of water, Y/n took the stage and set the glass beside the stool before clearing her throat, “Hey everyone.” There were a few hoots and whistles from her friends and regulars at the bar. “How’s your night going? Good?” There were some ‘yeahs’ from the crowd, people moving to get drinks and settle close to the stage. “That’s great to hear. Just sit back, relax, and feel the music.”

Y/n played several songs, all acoustic, starting with Taylor Swift’s ‘Getaway Car’ followed by ‘Back to Black’ by Amy Winehouse. She changed the tune by playing Bill Withers ‘Ain’t No Sunshine,’ but changed ‘she’ to ‘he’ that not many caught. She played ‘Norman Fucking Rockwell,’ by Lana Del Rey and ‘Somebody That I Used To Know,’ from Gotye.

Coming up to the final five minutes of the hour, Y/n gulped the remaining bit of her water and put on a brave face. “This last song,” she paused to close her eyes, “fits the theme you’ve been hearing all night, but is a little more close to the heart. It’s dedicated to someone who’s not present in the crowd which really is a good thing because he knew what was best for him,” very quickly Y/n saw the confusion appear on her friends, some whispering to each other to ask if they knew what she was talking about. “If you can relate to this song because you’ve been on the receiving end of betrayal then my heart goes out to you for I feel your pain. If you can relate because you’ve been that one to betray someone, well, I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

Letting her fingers drum against the strings, the beginning chords of ‘Before He Cheats’ by Carrie Underwood echoed through the bar.

“Right now, he’s probably slow dancin’,” her voice carried into the mic, raw with emotion. “With a bleached-blond tramp and she’s probably gettin’ frisky. Right now, he’s probably buyin’ her some fruity little drink. ‘Cause she can’t shoot whisky.”

Out in the crowd Nat cursed under her breath, anger rising at the realization, “That sly bastard.”

“What?” Mickey whispered, the guys leaning in.

“Right now, he’s probably up behind her with a pool stick. Showin’ her how to shoot a como. And he doesn’t know….”

“Don’t you see?” She gestured with a hand to Y/n, “Ryan cheated on her! That’s why he’s not here. That’s why his supervisor needed to see him. It’s why she’s dedicated this song, a song about a cheater, to him!”

All the sirens ring in their heads as Y/n belts the chorus.

“I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped-up four-wheel drive. Carved my name into his leather seats. I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights, I slashed a hole in all four tires. Maybe next time he’ll think before he cheats.”

“Oh,” the word left Jake’s lips, fury in his green eyes. Y/n was his friend, and nobody hurts his friends. “Oh he’s gonna regret that.”

“You guys thinking what I’m thinking?” Rooster crossed his arms over his chest. All of them shared a look. Nat took one look at Y/n and saw how she was holding back tears.

Kill Bill sirens flooded her brain.

“Yeah, I think we are.”

Come Monday Ryan was emptying out his desk while he awaited his discharge hearing, dark circles under his eyes and in dire need of sleep. As he carried the box out to his car, it fell from his hands with horror coating his face.

Parked in the same spot his beloved red Mustang Charger was not the way he left it. The windows were shattered, tires slashed, the leather of his seats torn. His license plates were missing and the word cheater spray painted in white along the sides.

Hiding behind the building, the guys were biting back their laughter at his reaction. Bob holding the spray paint can, Mickey with the Louisville slugger and Bradley and Jake with pocket knives. Reuben had the plates behind his back and Javy kept checking the phone where he had hacked into the building's security cameras to make sure they were disconnected.

Right on time, Nat came running around the corner in her PT gear, slowing her run when she approached a visibly distraught and furious Ryan. Removing her headphones the pilot whistled, “Damn. That’s gonna be a field day to fix.”

Ryan snapped his head to her, “Do you know who did this?” His tone was accusatory and Nat couldn’t blame him. He knew she was friends with Y/n and frequented the bar every week. He wouldn’t put it past Nat being involved. “Was it you and her? Huh? Y/n had to get one last final laugh—as if she hasn’t done enough!” Nat only scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“I wouldn’t throw accusations so loosely, Ryan. I’ve had PT all morning and Y/n left for Cabo yesterday.” There was no lie in her statement. Y/n was currently sitting at the poolside of her resort with a margarita in her hand. She’d posted on her instagram stories and let Nat know when she landed. Plus the pilot did have PT and was finishing up her run before heading to the flight line.

But she was the mastermind while the boys did the dirty work.

The truth only angered Ryan more, his face turning even more red. “Then who did this?!”

“How should I know?” Nat smirked, putting her headphones in as she started to move past him. “But maybe next time you’ll think before you cheat.”

………..

TGM tag list: @avaleineandafryingpan @caitsymichelle13 @poppyalice2001 @cutelittlepotatofry @luckyladycreator2 @americaarse @elenavampire21 @back-tooo-black @wildellaa @artemissunn @pinkpantheris

#Spotify #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick angst #TGM imagine #tgm fanfiction #dagger squad imagine #dagger squad x reader #dagger squad x platonic!reader #TGM x reader #tgm txt #jake seresin x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #natasha trace x reader #mickey Garcia x reader #bob floyd x reader #javy machado x reader #reuben fitch x reader

[auroracalisto]

not your business

robert "bob" floyd x gn!reader, platonic!jake "hangman" seresin x reader, 1.4k words tw: alludes to a past abusive relationship, abusive ex showing up at work, brief fighting, cussing, gn!reader but doll and hon are both used once a/n: i liked the idea of bob comforting the reader while jake defends them. this was ultimately born. i'm also working on being more descriptive in my fics... i'm struggling y'all

"Stay away from me!"

You heard yourself shouting, but you didn't know if the words had actually left you or not. A lump formed in the back of your throat as you tried to keep yourself from crying.

Kellan stood across from you, face hard. You had evaded him for this long, and now that he had found you, you start yelling at him? He had half a mind to yell right back at you, but he knew it wouldn't work. He was better than that.

It had been nearly two years. Two years in sunny California, far away from the worries that once plagued your daily life. You had found a job at the Hard Deck, and day in and day out, you would have the time of your life knowing that you were safe with your friends. The sandy beaches and wide open skies became your favorite thing, especially when you were with him—your Bobby. You could only wish that that's where you were at this very moment, not standing here in the middle of the bar you worked at, the yellow glow of the lightning shining down on you as you were targeted.

The heat of the night burned your cheeks—or, maybe that was the fear you felt creeping up your spine, threatening everything you had found. It could all end, in a matter of minutes. With Kellan here, he could take you away.

You might not ever see Bob again. Tasha. Jake.

You couldn't let that happen. That couldn't happen.

Panic blossomed in your chest as you stared him down.

How did he even find you? You did your best to become a ghost of his past. You left in the middle of the night; no note, no text, no call. You blocked him on everything you could think of.

It obviously didn't work. Why didn't it work?

"Come on, Y/n, don't be like that," he said, raising his hands in mock defense. He took a step towards you and you immediately took a step back, unknowingly bumping into a table.

You quickly looked back, panic striking you where you stood. Thankfully, there was nothing on the table to knock over. But as you looked back, your eyes glanced over at the pool table the Dagger Squad surrounded. Bob had abandoned his drink on the edge of the table, taking a step closer to you. You quickly averted your eyes, not wanting him to see you so vulnerable.

They knew you were capable of defending yourself. Bob glanced back at his friends, a deep frown on his lips. This fucker was about to meet his end.

You had started out just a civilian living near the base, but you had grown quite close to each of the incredible pilots when they were in for training and missions. Of course, you had failed to mention your past—specifically Kellan. But it wasn't very hard to put two and two together.

Glancing back up at Kellan, you swallowed thickly.

The silence in the Hard Deck was unbecoming—deafening, even. But that's not to say it wasn't packed. In fact, people littered the floor, drinking to their heart's content and mingling with their friends, and now, they were pulled into whatever was going on now.

"You're coming back with me," he said. "I can't believe you just left me like that. I come home one night, and everything you own is just... gone. You up and left me." He reached forward, tightly grabbing onto your wrist.

"That's it," Hangman's voice boomed across the room, fighting back his urge to shout obscenities. With heavy footsteps, he came across the two of you. "Let them go."

Bob was not far behind.

Kellan scoffed, rolling his eyes. "And what are you gonna do, fly boy? Rough me up a little bit? They're mine. Unless," Kellan turned his gaze to you, a wicked smile growing on his face. "Did you leave me for this fucker? You are such a whore."

In an instant, Hangman had drawn back his fist. Only seconds remained before his fist collided with the man's jaw, knocking him to the hardwood floor.

Bob had come up beside of you, wrapping a hand around your arm. You looked up at him with wide eyes, immediately clinging on to the man. He pulled you into his arms, keeping you from the brunt of Hangman's warranted anger. You immediately clung to him, but your eyes remained glued to Kellan. Your head rested on his chest as you took a deep, shaky breath.

He scrambled to his feet, spitting blood at Hangman's shoes.

"You bitch," he seethed. "Fucking the whole squad, are you?"

You could feel Bob tense under you. He went to pull away, fingers itching to show the man a piece of his mind, but you quickly stopped him as you grabbed onto his shirt.

"Please," you said, voice barely above a whisper.

He looked down at you, eyebrows furrowed. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, but stayed with you. Hangman would do enough damage on his own.

"No," Hangman scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched the man. "They're just fucking one of us, but I don't really see how that's any of your business, asshole."

"It's my business because they're my bitch," he said, voice laced with what he believed was a threatening growl.

Hangman couldn't help but laugh. This dude was crazy. He couldn't believe they were even having this conversation.

"Are you sure about that?" he asked, grinning widely at the man.

Kellan's eyes narrowed, and he found himself lunging at him. But Kellan had never been very graceful. Hangman stepped to the side, watching as Kellan sputtered to a stop. He pulled his fist back again, prepared to hit him when he heard your voice.

"Hangman, it's not worth it," you quickly said.

Hangman glanced at you, eyes softening. You were a dear friend of his, and even though he wished to beat this douche to a pulp, he'd respect your wishes (but that doesn't mean anyone else would). He looked back at Rooster, and a silent agreement was made. Rooster would take care of it.

Hangman's blood boiled in the confines of his veins. With one glance, he grabbed Kellan by the collar of his shirt and pulled him to the exit.

"If I ever see you around here again, I swear to god I'll kill you," he said, shoving him out the door. Kellan lost his balance, falling down the stairs. The satisfaction was worth it even if Hangman hadn't actually hit him again.

The man straightened out his uniform once more, glancing back at where you stood. Tears streaked your cheeks and your arm was red from where he had grabbed you. With just a few strides, he was by your side.

"You okay, Y/n?"

You gave a small nod, still clinging to Bob.

"Thank you," you said.

Hangman faintly smiled. "I should have stepped in sooner. I couldn't tell what was happenin'," he said. "Why don't... why don't you two head home? You look pretty shaken up, doll."

You frowned deeply, looking up at Bob who seemed to agree.

"I'll drive," Bob said, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

"I'm... I'm fine. But I think I should tell you what that was about," you said.

"You don't have to," he immediately said. "If that's something you wanna keep to yourself—"

You faintly smiled. "You deserve to know," you said. "You all do. It's... it's time I stop running from my past. Have a fresh start, with all of you."

Bob began to smile, taking ahold of your hand. Hangman went to grab a couple more drinks as Bob pulled you over to the Dagger Squad. Rooster and Coyote were nowhere to be found—Phoenix knew exactly where they had gone, but she said nothing as she pulled you into a tight hug.

"Come on, hon," she said, smiling. "You doin' okay?"

"I'm fine," you said. "Really. I don't know if I've ever been better."

Bob placed a hand on the small of your back. You glanced back at him, unable to keep yourself from smiling.

Just moments before, you wondered if the world you had built up would come crashing down. But you no longer worried about something like that—it was obvious that you had the best people to be around; there was no way your world would crash unless you let it, yourself.

#top gun #top gun maverick #top gun fluff #top gun fanfiction #top gun bob #top gun bob x reader #bob x reader #robert floyd x reader #top gun hangman #tgm #tgm x reader #fanfiction #gender neutral reader #rooster #phoenix #dagger squad #dagger squad x reader #robert bob floyd #robert bob floyd x reader #top gun x reader #top gun hangman x reader #platonic!hangman x reader #jake seresin #platonic!jake seresin x reader

[honkytonk-hangman]

Top Gun: Maverick Masterlist

Teacher's Pet [Hangman x Reader] Summary: You need to come up with a lesson plan to teach your eighth graders about aerodynamics, only, you barely understand a word of it yourself. Luckily for you, your boyfriend has a pretty decent knowledge of the subject.

Afterburn [Hangman x Reader] Summary: It had been clear from the moment you got inside a cockpit that you were going to be something special. You certainly weren’t the youngest Naval Aviator to be invited to TOPGUN, but you had been the youngest to graduate at number one in more than thirty years. Which is all the more reason why it was so tragic that you would never, ever, be able to fly again.

Meet You All The Way [Rooster x OC/Reader] Summary: Now that they had reconciled, Rooster is struggling to figure out the right way to tell Maverick that he had a family all of his own now.

Hold The Line [Platonic Hangman x OC/Reader] Summary: Jake presses his lips together as he lets out a sigh. He leans forward on the railing again, eyes once more following the little boy who was quite happily playing by himself in the sand. “I just thought that Baby Goose deserved to grow up knowing his dad.”

Line of Sight [Hangman x Reader] COMPLETE Summary: You’re almost certain that Jake Seresin could care less about you, that is, until you’re in a tight spot and the one guy you assume will hang you out to dry, instead comes to your rescue.

Cont. ↓

How it's Done [Hangman x Aviator!Reader] Summary: “Like me? I didn’t even think you wanted me as a squadmate, let alone–” you stop speaking, but only because Hangman cuts his eyes sharply away from you to glare out at the ocean. “Well, I do.” He says kind of indignantly, all things considered, and eyes you almost sourly. “You can just say no if you don’t–” “–No, I do!” you quickly cut him off, because at the end of it all, you’re a little too much of a hopeless romantic to let this moment pass you by.

What You Want [Rooster x Reader] Summary: Rooster is aware that despite working together for a little over six months now, he doesn’t really know you all that well. One late night walk to your car later, Rooster realises he’d like that to change.

Goodness! Gracious! [Rooster x Reader] Summary: You wouldn’t say you were trying to give your 'Uncle’ Mav a taste of his own medicine, after all, it was him who introduced you to Rooster in the first place, but you weren’t exactly trying to spare the man, either.

Good In Bed [Hangman x Reader] Summary: Jake has made it crystal clear to you that you’re only friends with benefits, so why did he go and delete your dating apps?

Checkmate [Hangman x Reader] Summary: You’ve been transferred to Dagger Squad, which is both good and bad. Good, because it meant the brass felt you belonged with the best. Bad, because the best already had a tight friendship group, and you were not yet apart of that. And you may never be, if you keep making fun of a certain someone’s callsign.

In Sickness... [Hangman x Reader] Summary: Jake feels his pulse jump and his stomach fly when he talks to or about you. Obviously, this must mean he’s gravely ill.

...And In Health [Hangman x Reader] Summary: A year after Jake has come to terms with his sickness, he might just have the opportunity to find the cure.

Devil In Disguise [Hangman x Reader] Summary: in which Jake finds out the female officer he’s been eye fucking for half an hour is actually JAG.

Big Girl [Hangman x Reader] Summary: Jake Seresin doesn’t believe you should hide your light under a bushel, no.

SunKissing [Hangman x Reader] Summary: Eight and a half months Dagger had been at sea, which is honestly one of the shorter deployments Jake had been on, certainly not one he’d have usually complained about, except that this time, for the first time, Jake had somewhere else he wanted to be aside from in his jet.

Flight Risk [Hangman x Reader] Summary: The sky beyond the baking tarmac is cloudless, and washed with deep reds and oranges, the way it always is by the time Jake lands when the monthly inter-squad training simulation has drawn to a close. Almost always. Today, the sky had been a bright Carolina blue.

Today, Hangman had been shot down.

Take Care Of Business [40s AU Hangman x Reader] The last time you met Lieutenant Jake Seresin, the war was still ongoing and you’d been in a floundering engagement. Back then you’d seen the possibility for more in his eyes, and now? Well, now you could explore it.

All This Love [Hangman x Reader] “Congratulations?” Rooster half-praises, half-questions, side-eying Jake, who stiffens just slightly, but finds himself relaxing when he looks back up at the grainy ultrasound. “Thanks,” he says, feeling his stomach flutter at the memory of the first time he saw it.

When Jake Met Polly [Hangman x Reader] Jake likes to flirt with his Air Traffic Controller or Jake Seresin has never seen When Harry Met Sally.

#top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #masterlist

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Top Gun: Maverick Masterlist

Top Gun Gang

The Bet (Dagger Squad x reader)

Ice Cold (Kazansky!reader)

Treading Water (Toddler!Rooster & Maverick)

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas (Rooster & Maverick as Family)

Maybe (Hondo & Maverick as close friends)

Another Year, Another Chance (Rooster x Hangman)

Look Down, They Know You're Lying (Part One) (Rooster x Hangman)

Drabbles:

Aftermath (Dagger Squad x Reader)

Juice (Hangman x Bob)

Last Days (Maverick x Iceman)

Meeting the Master (Rooster x Hangman)

Sweet Sunsets (Vampire!Coyote x Reader)

HCs:

Dagger Squad Ugly Christmas Sweaters HC

Phoenix & Rooster HC

Random Detail HC for Each Dagger

Fics:

Old Friends

Poor Timing

Ready When You Are

Fight Through the Pain (Part 1, Part 2)

I'll Come Back

Livewire (Part 1)

Hold My Hand

Time (Part 1)

Come Home (Part 1)

Happy Birthday, Rooster!

A Ghost From the Past (Part One) (Rooster x Reader)

A Ghost From the Past (Part Two) (Rooster x Reader)

Mayday, Mayday (Rooster x Reader)

My Fault (Rooster x Reader)

Secret Santa (Rooster x Reader)

Drabbles:

A Very Dangerous Game

One Last Time Around

..... More Coming Soon!

HC:

Rooster x sick!reader HC

Fics:

At Long Last

Worth the Wait (Part 1)

Adrenaline

Too Much

Zipper (Part One) (Hangman x Reader)

Zipper (Part Two) (Hangman x Reader)

No Words (Extended Edition) (Hangman x Reader Soulmate AU)

Make Me Forget (Hangman x Reader)

I'll Be Home for Christmas (Hangman x Reader)

In Your Time of Need (Hangman x Reader)

No One Deserves This (Hangman x Reader)

Last Kiss (Hangman x Reader)

Somewhere Out There Is Somebody (Hangman x Reader Soulmate AU)

Jake's Destiny (Hangman x Stripper!Reader series)

Drabbles:

I Won't Say I'm in Love

Never Lost

HCs:

Hangman x Platonic!reader Headcanons

..... More Coming Soon!

Fics:

Waiting for Someone

A Mistake

I Thought I Lost You

The Accident (Part One) (Bob x Reader)

The Accident (Part Two) (Bob x Reader)

From the One Who Loves You (Bob x Reader)

No Laughing Matter (Bob x Reader)

In Another Life (Miles Miller x Reader; Bob x Reader - soulmate AU where Miles and Bob are the same soul)

Drabbles:

Perfect

Forgotten

Brighter than the Sun (former Hangman x Reader; current Bob x Reader)

She's Imperfect But She Tries

..... More Coming Soon!

Fics:

Out of the Closet

Drabbles:

Beach Waves and Babes

..... More Coming Soon!

Fics:

Bravery

..... More Coming Soon!

GIFs:

Great Balls of Fire (Rooster Dancing) Great Balls of Fire (Bob)

Bob Doesn't Drink

#sfw repost #masterlist #top gun #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #jake hangman seresin #hangman seresin #jake seresin #hangman #hangman x reader x rooster #bob #bob floyd #robert bob floyd #bob x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #phoenix #natasha phoenix trace #phoenix trace #natasha trace #phoenix x reader #natasha phoenix trace x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman x reader #mickey fanboy garcia

[fandomxpreferences]

Surprise?

Pairing: Hangman x female!reader, platonic!daggersquad x female!reader

TW:pregnancy, swearing, drunk shenanigans

Summary:You and Jake suggest a group vacation so that you can finally share your big secret with the group.

Word Count:2.2k

A/N: I ended up keeping this separate from the More Hearts universe because I feel like it should all happen in its own time and its too soon for something like this. Anyway, enjoy because this is SO CUTE also was totally thinking of this tiktok the whole time

"I promise we can go do something tomorrow, Nat." You laugh while trying to pry the woman's hands off of you. The entire dagger squad is in New York together, at the request of you and Jake. Right now, you're all at a nightclub and as much fun as it's been, it's almost midnight and you're exhausted.

All you want to do is go back to the hotel and cuddle up with your husband under the plush comforter. Unfortunately for you, you've always been the life of the party and so your early departure is causing protest from the entire group. Rooster throws his arm over your shoulder and leans his weight on you while pouting. 

"Please, Y/N? When have you ever been the first one to succumb to the night?" He whines and you shake your head while making eye contact with Jake. You gently shrug his arm off and guide him back to his seat. "There's a first time for everything. Have fun and tell me all about it in the morning over hangover food. We can go do something tomorrow and you'll all have me for the whole day, okay?" 

You don't give them the opportunity to start begging again as you and Jake all but run out of the noisy building. Once you're on the street, you turn to Jake and give him a tired smile. He takes your hand and you start walking towards the subway. "Do you think they noticed I wasn't drinking?" You ask and Jake shakes his head with a laugh. 

"They wouldn't have noticed if the building was on fire. I think we're fine." He reasons and you nod your head in agreement. The whole reason for this trip is to tell the squad that you're pregnant and it had been quite a challenge trying to avoid alcohol for the entire evening. 

Every time they ordered shots you would pretend to throw it back before handing it off to poor Jake, who then took it for you. Considering it's a group of hotshot pilots that are on vacation for the first time in who knows how long, the drinks just kept coming. 

Fortunately, once your friends were all drunk enough, the two of you could get away with just handing your shots off to one of them and they were none the wiser.

You finally make it back to your suite and get changed before climbing into bed. The daggers decided it would be best to just rent a giant penthouse that could fit everyone and split the cost, meaning you're bunked with Rooster. 

You must have been out cold because you don't hear the noise of everyone making their way in through the night. It's not until the next morning when you make your way to the kitchen and trip over a figure on the ground that you even realize they made it back. 

You hear a loud groan and look down to see Coyote sprawled on the ground shirtless. Your eyebrow quirks at the sight and you slowly look around the large open space to find that everyone seemed to have just dropped wherever they were at. 

Rooster is laying on his back in the middle of the coffee table with drool down his face, Phoenix is underneath said table, Bob is half in half out of the hall bathroom and Maverick is hanging upside down off the couch. 

You continue to survey the scene and notice a broken lamp and a few empty vodka bottles along with crushed cans of red bull. It would seem the party continued when they got back. It looks like a scene out of The Hangover and you laugh to yourself. 

You're pulled out of your thoughts when you feel Jake wrap his arms around your waist and rest his hands on your growing belly. You're only 16 weeks, so it's still easy to hide. However, both of you know that you're not going to be able to keep up the ruse much longer and now that you're well into the safe zone, you're ready to share the news. 

Jake rests his head on top of yours and you feel his chest rumble with a laugh. "Looks like they had fun." He quips and you hum quietly. "It's only the second day here and it's already near impossible to keep the secret. We have five days left and this is what most of them are probably going to look like. We have to tell them." You say before turning around in your husband's arms. 

He looks down at you lovingly and brushes your hair back off your face. "Just say the word, mama. I'm ready whenever you are." He whispers before bending down to kiss your temple. Your affection is cut short when you hear a loud thud. 

You stay in Jake's arms but look over to where the noise came from and see Bradley is now laying on the ground. You cover your mouth to hide your laugh and the curly-haired man peeks an eye open. He gives you a half-smirk before waving lazily and taking a deep breath. 

You and Jake go back to your room to shower and get ready for the day, making sure to take your time. When you finally make your way back into the shared space, everyone is up and sitting on the couches. 

You haven't seen them look this dead since the morning after the celebrated success of the Uranium mission. Granted, you and Jake had been just as out of sorts as the rest of them. 

"You all look a hot ass mess." You tease and you're met with a chorus of groans and a couple of middle fingers. You laugh at the response and plop down next to Rooster. "Well good morning to you too."

The next hour is spent forcing everybody to shower and get ready while you and Jake clean up the mess. Once everyone is ready, you google the nearest place to get greasy comfort food and start in the direction that the GPS tells you. Luckily it's only a couple blocks away and before you know it, everyone is sat at a large table chowing down on every breakfast food imaginable. 

You listen as everyone takes turns filling you in on their crazy night after you and Jake left. "So anyway," Rooster mumbles with food in his mouth "I got to pet a police horse. Then Mav here." He points at the unassuming man with his fork and a piece of pancake goes flying across the table. You laugh when it bounces off Bob's glasses and Rooster continues. "Mooned the officer and took off."

He's laughing at the memory now and almost chokes before taking a sip of his orange juice. Your eyes widen and you lean forward with your mouth agape. "What did you do?" You ask and Phoenix answers while Rooster tries to catch his breath. 

"We fucking ran after him!" She howls and the rest of the group bursts into laughter with her. "Never ran so fast in my life. I was sure we were going to jail but after a few blocks, we realized they weren't chasing us. Coyote had to stop to throw up and we decided to continue the fun back at the penthouse." She shrugs and you shake your head at their antics. 

"Well," You say while swallowing a bite of hashbrown. "Looks like we missed out on a fun night." The rest of the group nods and you feel Jake squeeze your thigh. It's silent for a few minutes before Coyote speaks up. 

"Why aren't you guys sick? You had a shit ton to drink too." He frowns and you feel your stomach twist. You look at Jake briefly before turning back to the man. "Uh," you hesitate. "Guess we just don't have a hangover this time." You shrug and Phoenix narrows her eyes. 

"You're always the one puking and looking like a zombie for half a day. I've seen you look way worse for way less." She pushes and you feel your heartbeat speed up. You want to tell them but it's nerve-racking. You know they'll be excited but you just can't bring yourself to say the words.

Now Rooster joins in. "Yea, now that I think about it you guys seemed pretty sober when you left. What, were you pretending to drink or something?" He laughs and you shift in your seat. The movement is subtle, but it doesn't go unnoticed. His eyebrows furrow and he sets his fork down while staring at you. 

"Wait, were you?" He asks and your silence answers his question. He shoots a look at the rest of the group and they all look equally confused. "Why? What are you pregnant or something?" He jokes trying to lighten the mood but you don't laugh. You watch as realization dawns on him and the rest of the group looks to Jake for an explanation, still completely lost. 

You see Jake trying to avoid their gazes in your peripheral and take a deep breath. Fuck it. Nows as good a time as any. "Surprise?" You say with jazz hands and you really think Rooster is going to stop breathing. Everyone's brains are lagging due to their hangovers and you hear a fork clink as Maverick realizes what you just said.

"Wait, are you serious?" He questions with clear disbelief and you nod. He stands up abruptly and almost knocks his chair over trying to rush over to you and Jake. You stand up quickly and are engulfed in a tight hug when you hear Phoenix talking to your husband. 

"Hold on, am I still drunk or did she just say she's pregnant?" She asks and Jake laughs. "She's pregnant." He confirms and you hear the woman's chair scrape as she stands up. "If you're fucking with me Bagman I will end you right here." She threatens but you can hear the wobble in her voice. 

By now, Maverick has released you and Rooster is lifting you up off the ground to spin you around. The other two men are fully caught up and they're staring at you in disbelief. Jake shakes his head and pulls up a video of your last ultrasound to show Phoenix. "We're not fucking with you, Nat. She's 16 weeks." 

Rooster sets you down and you observe your best friend snatch the phone from your husband before throwing her hand over her mouth. She rewatches the short video at least twice before her shock wears off and she all but leaps across the table to get to you. 

She throws her arms around your neck and buries her head into your shoulder while rocking you side to side. You stay like this for a few minutes while Jake shows the video to the rest of the group and gives everyone hugs. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" She sniffles while pulling back to look at you. You both have tears running down your face now and you try to wipe your eyes to no avail. 

"I wanted to so bad. You have no idea how hard it was to keep it from you, but we needed to process it in our own time and make sure that everything was okay before we shared our joy. We just wanted them to ourselves for a while." You explain and she nods her head. 

She wipes her face and shakes her head to try and stop the tears before resting her hands on your barely protruding stomach. She sniffles when she feels the slight bump and bends down to talk. 

"Hey there, little one. I'm your Aunt Nat and we're gonna be best friends." She laughs and you lock eyes with Jake as a fresh round of tears falls. He smiles at the sight and feels his heart swell.

His eyes sting and he feels a lump form in his throat at the realization that now all of the people closest to him in this world get to be an active part of your pregnancy and his child's life. Phoenix stands back up and finally makes her way over to Jake. She pulls him into a hug and shakes her head. 

"I know I give you a hard time and I told you to stay away from Y/N in the beginning," she stops to shake her head. "I can't believe I'm saying this." She sighs before continuing. "But I'm glad you didn't listen. You've made her so happy and much to everyone's surprise, you're a phenomenal husband."

Jake squeezes a little tighter and she continues. "You're going to be an amazing father and there's no one I'd rather her do this with. Congratulations, Jake." She pulls away and the two of them share a smile before she shakes her head. "I can't believe there's going to be another Seresin." She quips and the entire group laughs.

The rest of breakfast is filled with questions about when you'll know the gender, what names you're thinking about (Rooster thinks Bradley If its a boy), when you'll have a baby shower and what the theme should be, and jokes that whether its a boy or a girl they'll definitely be a pilot. 

Your heart feels so full it could burst as you watch so many people you love chat about your soon-to-be newest addition. This baby is already so loved and you laugh along as Maverick starts brainstorming what to get them for their first birthday. 

By the end of the trip, you have so many New York onesies and baby souvenirs that you have to buy an extra bag to check. You've got everything you could ever want and you're so thankful for your little family.

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#Jake seresin #Jake seresin imagine #jake seresin top gun #Jake seresin x reader #Jake seresin fluff #Jake seresin pregnancy #hangman #hangman imagine #hangman top gun #hangman x reader #hangman fluff #hangman pregnancy #top gun #top gun imagine #top gun maverick #top gun fluff

[gennyanydots]

Strong people aren’t born they’re built

Platonic Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x ‘spitfire’ f!reader

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x ‘spitfire’ wife reader

Part of the ‘Spitfire Universe’

Not necessary to read Spitfire but helpful

Warning: Major angst. Slight violence (punching). Threatened violence. Verbal/Emotional child abuse mentioned. Verbal/emotional relationship abuse (not by main characters).

If anyone treats you the way this OC treats reader please, please talk to someone.

Help can be found here: www.thehotline.org

“Strong women aren’t simply born. They are made by the storms they walk through.”

It was a quiet afternoon at the Hard Deck. Now that you knew the Dagger squad was staying at Miramar you had settled in more. Your temp job had ended and sitting around all day waiting for your husband ,Jake, to get home was getting boring. Penny mentioned needing some extra help in the afternoons and evenings and you needed something to do so it seemed like a perfect fit.

A couple regulars had been in this afternoon but for the most part it was pretty empty, not that you were complaining. You’d happily spend a quiet afternoon here watching the waves outside. It was peaceful.

The work day was starting to come to a close for most people so you knew it would pick up soon. You expected to see your husband and his friends sooner rather than later.

A half an hour went by and a few more people had come in. Mostly people from out of town that stumbled upon the bar from the beach.

You heard the door open and looked up with a slight smile on your face, “Welcome to the Hard Deck!”

As soon as you laid your eyes on the person who had just walked in your smile dropped. “Tony,” you whisper to yourself.

No. He can’t be here. Your heart starts to beat faster and your breath quickens. You have to keep your head on straight or you’re going to have a panic attack. You try and breathe slower. In for four. Hold. Out for four. Hold.

The man grins and walks up to the bar, “Hello babe. Been a long time.”

You grimace, “What are you doing here?”

“I was meeting with a buddy of mine out here. It’s a nice coincidence that I ran into you.”

Your eyes quickly scan over the other patrons of the bar. Nobody you really knew. Penny wouldn’t be in for another half an hour at least.

“Nice coincidence,” you mutter.

“How’s about you get me a beer to start?Then we can talk some,” Tony says pointing at one on tap.

You nod and get it focusing only on the glass and the beer. If you don’t look at him then maybe he’s just another customer. You place it on the bar and quickly start moving down the bar.

“No sweetheart why don’t you come back here. We have so much to talk about,” he says to you.

“I….I have to check on the other customers,” you say quietly.

“They look perfectly fine and we both know I wasn’t asking,” he says with a slight growl to his voice.

You take a deep breath and shuffle back over still looking down.

“Now ,babe, can you explain to me where you’ve been? I’ve been looking for you for ages,” Tony says.

You shook your head while staring at the floor.

You were a different person before you met Jake. You hadn’t always been so assertive. You were a quiet child growing up. Loud children got into trouble. Loud children were yelled at in your house. You did everything you could to stay quiet. Meek. Just followed along with everyone else. Didn’t want to make a fuss.

Even as a teenager you still followed along with everyone else. You were more social and had started to come out of your shell but not completely yet. As high school went on, you were more and more outgoing. Outgoing meant not being at home.

You jumped at the opportunity to go to school out of state. Getting as far away as possible. You thrived in a new environment. Everything was new and exciting.

You met a boy. Tony. You fell for him. Fast. It was also new and exciting. Until it wasn’t. It started to feel a lot like what you left behind at home. You were once again walking on egg shells. You stopped smiling as much. You looked down. He controlled every aspect of your life. He told you how your friends didn’t want to spend time with you. His friends didn’t either. You embarrassed him. Whenever you would start to pull away from him, the relationship would be great again. He would treat you so nicely. You would stay. Things would go back. He would tell you your opinions were stupid. Your ideas were stupid. You were stupid. He would tell you that you needed him. You couldn’t live without him. He called you names. Belittled you. The angrier he was the meaner he would get. You knew this wasn’t okay. But he loved you. He said so. Plus he’d never hit you. You were just going through a rough patch.

You hadn’t thought of it like that. You knew she was right. If you two got married you would end up leaving him eventually. Sooner rather than later you hoped. You were already scared of him. You had to get out. Now.

So you did. You left him. You switched schools and moved. He was livid. He called you continually. You blocked his number. You blocked him on every social media you had. You blocked his friends and family members. You even went as far as blocking mutual friends who you knew still liked him enough to tell him where you moved to. You didn’t want him finding you. You knew you upset him.

Leaving gave you the strength to move on. Moving gave you the opportunity to change into who you wanted to be. Strong. Confident. You knew what you didn’t want so now you’d be able to go after what you did want. You wouldn’t let someone treat you like that. Again. You and your mother went through it at home and then you went through it again. Now it’s done. It won’t happen again.

You dated a bit and then met your sweet mama’s boy, Jake. He made you feel loved. He made you feel safe. You knew his mother would beat his ass if he even thought about treating you negatively. She told him so. She loved you like her own daughter. You told her about your childhood and your previous relationship. You had also told Jake. Not to be left out you did tell his father too. All three had decided that you were their family now. Eventually you were “officially” a part of the family but you knew even if the relationship hadn’t of lasted that his parents still have thought of you as their’s. Mr. and Mrs. Seresin were proud to call you their daughter.

Now you feel all your progress slipping away. You’re transported back into being your 21 year old self. Scared to step out of line. Scared to talk back.

“It’s cute you think you have a say,” Tony says with a smirk. “Now where have you been? You know I’ve been looking for you. I’m real upset with you.”

You nod still not looking up from the floor.

You hear the door to the Hard Deck open but you don’t look up to see who it is. You’re still trying not to panic.

“Hey Y/N,” you hear as someone approaches the bar. Bob. Bob’s here. Your shoulders sag a little in relief. You glance up at him.

“Excuse me we’re having a conversation,” Tony says angrily towards Bob.

Bob ignores him and moves down further away and calls to you, “Y/N can I get a beer?”

You nod and quickly get it for him moving farther from Tony to take it to Bob.

“Are you okay?” Bob whispers so only you can hear him. You quickly look up and back at Tony and shake your head once.

Bob nods and whispers, “Do you need him gone?”

You nod once.

“Are you safe?”

You shake your head.

“Got it,” Bob whispers and downs his beer and slides over his card to give you something to do.

You quickly go to ring him out.

“Y/N get over here!” Tony yells at you.

“Buddy I don’t know who you are but we don’t talk to people like that around here,” Bob says as he walks towards Tony.

“You’re not a part of this. I’m not your buddy. I’ll talk to her however I want,” Tony says irritation in his tone as he watches Bob come to stand next to him. Tony turns towards him.

“I was hoping you’d say something like that,” Bob says with a grin as he punches Tony then grabs him by the shirt and yanking him off his bar stool. Tony scrambles to get out of Bob’s grip but Bob has too good of a hold on him as he drags him out of the bar.

You wait as you hear yelling outside. Bob comes back inside a few minutes later with the knuckles on both of his hands busted open. You come around the bar and throw yourself in Bob’s arms with tears streaming down your face.

Bob’s arms tighten around you, “You’re safe. He’s never coming back. I promise you.” He softly pats your hair as he waits for you to calm down.

The doors open and you freeze in Bob’s arms then start pulling yourself tighter against him.

“You stealing my wife, Floyd?” You hear Jake call. You immediately look up and run to Jake throwing yourself into his arms.

Jake immediately wraps his arms around you and gives Bob a funny look. “Shh baby. I got you.”

“I gotta… I gotta get Bob some ice,” you say pulling back slightly wiping your tears away with your hands.

“I think Bob’s okay for right now, darlin’. Can you tell me what’s got you so upset?” Jake asks quietly and wipes your tears.

Jake watches as Rooster slides himself behind the bar to take over for you. Rooster’s sure to give Bob a rag filled with ice before checking on the other customers.

“He was….. he was here. And he said he was looking for me. And he was mad, Jake,” you say with your voice barely above a whisper and your eyes frantically looking around.

“And then what happened?” Jake asks you quietly. “Is he still here?”

“No. Bob took him outside. I don’t know what happened,” you said pointing to Bob.

Jake’s eyes shift to Bob and hears him say, “I handled it. He will not be coming back.”

Jake nods once and pulls you tighter against him, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here, baby, but I’m glad Bob took care of you.”

“Always ready to for one of our own,” Bob says. “Plus you already took care of my girl. I gotta return the favor.”

“We’re all always ready but she wasn’t your girl then,” Jake says.

“Doesn’t make me any less grateful,” Bob says with a shrug.

Penny comes out from the back ,clearly coming in from the back entrance, and looks over at her bartender in Jake’s arms. Rooster quickly leans down and whispers in her ear and she nods waving at Jake to go.

He nods back, “How bout I take you home, darlin’?”

“But my shift,” you say looking back towards the bar.

“I got it, Y/N. You let Jake take care of you and the baby,” Penny says. “Plus Rooster said he’s filling in for you.”

“I did?” Rooster asks and Penny elbows him. “I did. I got it. You go home. Stress isn’t good for the baby.”

“Thanks, Penny. Thank you, Rooster,” you say with a slight smile. You pull back from Jake’s arms and walk over to Bob and hug him again. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done without you.” You lean up and kiss his cheek and walk back over to Jake.

“Thankfully you’ll never have to,” Bob says with a smile.

Jake leads you outside to his truck and helps you in.

“I’m buying you whatever you want for dinner,” he says to you.

“Even Texas Roadhouse and then Applebees for dessert?!” You ask excitedly.

Jake grimaces, “I don’t know how the great state of Texas lets that restaurant get away with using it’s name but to make you smile I’ll take you anywhere.”

You smile and lean over and kiss Jake, “You’re the best.”

Jake chuckles, “I know.”

——————

Back at the Hard Deck Rooster hands Bob a beer, “So what happened?”

“I don’t know who he was but he made her uncomfortable and made her feel unsafe. So I punched him and dragged him outside. Then I made sure he felt unsafe. Told him he would continue to be unsafe if he was ever in the same state as her ever again. He high tailed it out of here,” Bob explained with a chuckle.

“How unsafe we talking?” Rooster asks.

“Umm well I threatened his ability to father children,” Bob says with a small chuckle. “His eyes got real big and he was scared.”

Rooster high fives him, “You’re not paying for drinks tonight. Penny said you’re a hero.”

Bob shrugs, “Not a hero but I’ll take the free drinks. I was just taking out the trash.”

#jake hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #spitfire universe #Jake hangman Seresin x reader #hangman x female!reader

[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,"

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