#beau simpson x reader

[ateliersss]

TOP GUN

…is part of The Bookshelf.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin

This Isn’t What It Looks Like Summary: Hangman is totally, 100% over his ex… he just needs a fake girlfriend to prove it.

Baby, you down? Summary: 5 times Bradley was blissfully unaware of who you’re dating and the 1 time he wasn’t.

Saviour

Major Mistakes Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Clock Don't Stop Summary: After a big fight, you need some time away from Jake. A song that you are listening to reminds you of a very important lesson. Can you and Jake fix things?

Try Losing One Summary: After a big fight, Hangman takes a drive to clear his mind. A song that comes on the radio fits perfectly. 

Karma Summary: The fight that leads up to the events of "Try Losing One" and "Clock Don’t Stop".

It’s Not Me, It’s You Summary: Your ex is back in town and that might be the kick in the ass Hangman needs to change the parameters of your situationship.

Aw Honey Honey Summary: Jake isn't sharing his sugar.

Sleep Tight Summary: Jake Seresin knows he’s a good pilot. But what happens when skill and luck run out and you find your husband in the hospital for the first time?

You're Not My Type Summary: You only spent one evening with Jake, but it was enough to leave you wanting more and also have you hoping to never see him again.

Just Friends Summary: Everyone seems to think you’re Jake Seresin’s girl. It’s easier than explaining to them that you’re just friends with benefits. But that arrangement doesn’t seem to be working for either of you anymore.

Married? Summary: After Jake is called back to Top Gun for a mission, him and the Dagger Squad go out to the Hard Deck one night where Javy gets absolutely hammered and lets it slip that Jake has a wife.

I Just Want You To Like Me Summary: You’re a bartender at the Hard Deck while completing grad school, which is how you met Jake Seresin. You and Jake began a “friends with benefits” type deal, using Jake’s aviation obligations and your education as reasoning why things couldn’t get too serious. Over the months, you have started to harbor deeper feelings towards him, afraid to speak up about it and potentially ruin everything you have with him. But when Jake returns from a two-month mission, your feelings for him reach a turning point in a moment of self-consciousness.

The Beanery Summary: Jake goes from drinking the base’s stale coffee to bringing in cups from the cafe down the road from the hard deck, and the Dagger Squad is determined to find out why.

Opposites Attract Summary: How can Hangman, cocky, arrogant Hangman fall in love with a girl who is so different than him and raise a family completely opposite of him?

Rule Number One

Long Time Gone (Series) Summary: Penny Benjamin’s niece works at The Hard Deck, saving the money she earns to get out of the west coast and put herself through Graduate School. What happens when a pretty boy pilot ends up as her fake boyfriend?

Coffee For Mrs. Seresin?

Never Knew (That I Could Fall So Hard) Summary: You and Jake are friends. Just friends.

Ice Ice Baby Summary: He knows he annoys you. You know he annoys you. And he’s made it his mission to melt your cold, dead heart. 

Right Back To You

A Ghost Playing Hangman (Series) Summary: Ghost was one of the most recent graduates from Top Gun quickly making a name for herself. When she gets recalled with the best of the best, she realizes her work is cut out for her if she wants to make the team. And one of her biggest obstacles is a blonde hair pilot with the world’s most annoying smirk. Will she make the team? And if so, at what cost?

Touch and Go Summary: You and Jake had been sleeping together for months, and as sure as you were of your feelings for him, you were unsure of his for you. He, however, certainly knew how he felt about you, and after you decide to go on a long trip without telling him, he lets you know just exactly what’s on his mind.

Wants and Needs Summary: Jake "Hangman" Seresin sets his sights on you, Rooster's best friend, but it doesn't take long for you to understand what type of man the cocky, blond pilot is. Unfortunately for Hangman, you have no interest in a womanizer. 

Who Did This To You? Summary: In your most vulnerable hour, Jake "Hangman" Seresin is the one to find you, and the one to ask you the ultimate question: "Who did this to you?"

Until Him Summary: He's all bronzed confidence, a stupid fly boy you should hate. Yet, you can't help the little thoughts that plague your mind.

Hooked From Hour One Summary: He watched as Rooster took you around, introducing you to everyone and Jake's eye twitched. The two of you looked awfully comfortable around each other, with tons of physical contact. You and Jake hadn't been dating long, but he thought that you were on the same stage as him when it concerned your relationship. Were you cheating on Rooster with him? But you wouldn't do that, right?

Nightmares Summary: In which you were in an accident during a mission, and have a nightmare that night, but Hangman is there to help and finally confesses his feelings.

Split Summary: You break up with Jake because his actions make you question everything you've had between you, but he wants you to take him back.

You Left Me No Choice But To STay Here Forever (Right Were You Left Me) Summary: You and Jake have been best friends for years and eventually he becomes the love of your life - which makes it that much harder to cope when he starts pulling away with no explanation.

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

A Nice, Big Rooster Summary: Rooster is surprised to run into you on North Island. He's not, however, surprised to find that he still wants you as much as always.

It's Only My Heart (Save Yourself) Summary: Rooster's very bad, terrible day.

M.U.R.P.H. Summary: An undisclosed pregnancy that you and your husband try keeping a secret ends up being the reason you end up in hospital during a PTI session with the Dagger Squad.

Webb Of Unfortunate Events Summary: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw was and always would be the love of your life. When the pair of you are brought back to Top Gun, neither of you expected Pete Mitchell to be your instructor — a series of unfortunate events leads to your hospitalisation, with Rooster by your side.

The Ironies of Life Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 Summary: A few weeks after breaking up with her long-term boyfriend because he wouldn't commit to marriage and kids, Naomi finds out that she's pregnant with his baby.

I Would Never Hurt You Summary: Bradley saw the bruises and knew what was going on, but he also knew you didn't need him the way he needed you.

Red Flags, Green Flags Summary: Hangman complains about his date's red flags, but Bradley thinks this girl sounds amazing. 

I Still Want You Summary: Bradley had been an idiot when it came to you. He still wanted you, but did you still want him?

My Future In You (Masterlist) Summary: Bradley’s twenty-two years old and not where he’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to be out of the academy by now. Instead, he’s retaking his senior year of college and praying to god that he gets into flight school. Mav’s gone, his mom’s gone. He’s mad at the world. Then, a hook up at a Halloween party changes his future even more than he could have imagined.

You don’t want this, do you? Summary: Reader is pregnant, but it's not Bradley's baby.

Misinterpretation of the Heart Summary: With Rooster away on a mission, you're left feeling lonely and missing him. That's when a past love comes back into your life just as Rooster returns home. 

A Misinterpreted Loss Summary: Bradley finally asked you out, but what happens when he walks out with another girl? Running to your best friend seemed like the only logical answer.

This Is Me Trying Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 Summary: Bradley Bradshaw was the bane of your existence back at UVA. You practically burnt yourself out trying to outdo him. Now, you've quit your big shot engineering job in search of something more meaningful. The wind blows you across the country and into fightertown, where a familiar, sandy haired jackass is crooning away at the stupid piano in some naval bar. And you're not sure if you should wait for the next gust or plant your feet down.

Protective Summary: "He would've just kicked your ass... now he's gonna kill you."

What Have You Done? Summary: Pete's daughter is as wild as him, she's also as passionate as him. However, an incident during high school drove them apart until they were called back to Top Gun. The uranium mission too, took them from each other, leaving her helpless as she couldn't do anything to make the situation better and save the people she loves.

Beau "Cyclone" Simpson

Banished

Mav's Daughter Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Tom "Iceman" Kazansky

The Engineer Summary: You're just the engineer, a man like Tom Kazansky should have no reason to pay attention to you. Or at least that's what you thought.

Promise? Summary: You hear something that you’re not supposed to. Ice tries to explain himself. But is he too late?

She's His Girl Summary: Maverick has a talk with Iceman after the events in the locker room. Once you finally have a chance to explain yourself, Maverick realizes just how much you love each other.

Touch Summary: Ice notices that you have become more distant since you moved in together. When it’s been nearly weeks of you avoiding his touch, he confronts you about it.

Brothers Best Friend

Fatal Attraction Summary: Muchlike every other person that came across Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, you had developed quite the crush on him. What made you different, though, was that you were the niece of his direct superior. He knew it was wrong, and he knew he shouldn't entertain the idea in the slightest, but a little teasing never killed anyone, right?

Biggest Regret Summary: His biggest regret was that argument. It escalated beyond anything he wanted, but he gave you what you wanted. Would you still be waiting for him 6 months later?

Who Would've Thought Summary: When Iceman gets a pleasant surprise during the Top Gun training, it’s safe to say he isn’t the only one surprised.

Dash Summary: Being Slider's little sister is anything but easy, especially when you are placed among the best of the best.

Best Behavior Summary: Iceman has never been known as one to lose his temper. Secure in every single thing in his life, you, his girlfriend, happened to be no exception. During a night out at the bar, he witnesses a man with an ego almost as big as his try to flirt with you. Naturally, he contemplates murder.

Love of my Life Summary: Tom hadn't told his fellow pilots he's a married man. There's great satisfaction when he witnesses their reactions after you do it for him.

For What It's Worth Summary: Sometimes all it takes is a RIO who likes to gossip and some friendly competition to help you understand what you feel for Ice.

Wrong Answer, Sweetheart Summary: This man? Jealous? Possessive? Wherever did you get that idea?

Hurry Back to Me, Soldier

My Doll Summary: Who knew that Mister "Ice Cold, No Mistakes" could be with literal sunshine personified?

Nick "Goose" Bradshaw

A Little Gosling Part 1, Part 2 Summary: Some frantic goodbye sex with your secret boyfriend Goose yields a little surprise. Four months later, Goose comes back stateside to attend Top Gun. Now, all you need to worry about is telling him before your brother Maverick finds out.

You Know Why Summary: You're a sexy sweetheart with a past and a toxic boyfriend. Goose sees that and wants better for you. Why? You know why.

Family Is What You Make It Summary: When Goose and Carole decided for a mutual divorce after realizing that they worked better as friends and co-parents rather than as Mr. and Mrs. Bradshaw, they knew that along the line they would meet new people on their journeys — and now Nick wants Bradley and Carole to meet you, because he really likes you, and he wants them to like you too.

Gold Rush Summary: All the years of silent pining and anticipation between you and Goose are put to test when he realizes that if he doesn’t make his move, he's going to lose you — and maybe Maverick and Bradley help a little.

Robert "Bob" Floyd

King Of My Heart Summary: An accident during training and a little liquid courage has Bob finally making his move.

The Kind of Girl I Could Love Summary: Bob has a secret admirer, but he’s convinced it’s actually Jake and Nat messing with him.

Devil Doesn't Bargain Summary: Bob has spent months watching your boyfriend be someone completely different than you think he is. The WSO is there to hold you when your world stops. All because of a man that you thought you could change.

Enterprise Summary: Bob likes to keep his personal life and work life separate. But returning to San Diego has been difficult so what better time to introduce you to his new friends than Halloween. It is a night for surprises, after all.

Radar Summary: After Phoenix and Bob are forced to eject after a freak bird strike — the Top Gun class find out a little bit more about their quiet back seat weapons systems officer.

Mission Impossible Summary: After Bob is picked to fly the mission with the Dagger team, memories of moments you both have shared together come flooding back—leading to a shock discovery.

Another Statistic

Baby On Board Summary: Being placed on a top secret mission weeks before his wife's due date was not what Lt. Floyd had imagined married life would be like.

The Captain's Daughter Summary: An unlikely candidate has you breaking your dad (and brother’s) “no pilots” policy.

Candy Summary: Bob falls for a beautiful barista over the course of a few encounters.

Back to The Bookshelf

#top gun #top gun maverick #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #beau simpson x reader #cyclone x reader #bob floyd x reader #robert floyd x reader #nick bradshaw x reader #goose x reader #tom kazansky x reader #iceman x maverick

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

The Admirals Strike Back - Cyclone

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

Word Count: 2.1 k

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

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

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

Master List

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

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

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

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

“Hi, sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

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

“After you finish eating your vegetables, Mags.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maverick?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

“Who do you think she’s here for?”

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

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

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

“No, that’s Maverick’s daughter.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re back!”

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

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

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

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

“When?” Cyclone asked, instantly concerned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They get it from her.”

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

[ddejavvu]

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

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

sfw, but cut for length. enjoy!

Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell:

depends on what age you're thinking!

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

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

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

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

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

and it gets all misshapen and spiky

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nick 'Goose' Bradshaw:

he also likes to be face to face!

buuut not for the same sweet reason as mav

he just wants to itch you with his mustache

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

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

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

and god FORBID you try to get up to pee

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

Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ron 'Slider' Kerner:

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

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

he's probably more inclined to hold than be held

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leonard 'Wolfman' Wolfe:

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

almost as teasing as nick is but not quite

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rick 'Hollywood' Neven

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

they're BOTH teases!!!

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

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

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

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

Beau 'Cyclone' Simpson:

will not be held

sorry! not happening

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

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

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

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

actually in bed though, under the blankets at night?

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

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

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

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

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw:

lord he's a cuddler

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

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

so that means cuddling in public, too

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin:

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

that cocky demeanor does not last under the sheets

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Natasha 'Phoenix' Trace:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Robert 'Bob' Floyd:

cuddlebug <3

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

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

otherwise he's pretty chill in what positions he likes

you love it when he reads to you

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

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

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

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

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

Javy 'Coyote' Machado:

prefers holding to being held

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

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

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

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

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

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

loverboy!!

Mickey 'Fanboy' Garcia:

the most talkative in the whole wide world

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reuben 'Payback' Fitch:

out in two seconds

there is no conscious cuddling with him

why?

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

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

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

he's out.

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

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

so there's nothing to do but sleep yourself

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

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

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

and then you wake up freezing cold

when i said he snores i mean it he snores loud

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

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

#pete mitchell x reader #maverick x reader #nick bradshaw x reader #goose x reader #tom kazansky x reader #iceman x reader #ron kerner x reader #slider x reader #wolfman x reader #hollywood x reader #beau simpson x reader #cyclone x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster imagine #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #jake seresin imagine #hangman imagine #natasha trace x reader #phoenix x reader #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd imagine #javy machado x reader #coyote x reader #mickey garcia x reader #fanboy x reader #reuben fitch x reader #payback x reader

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Hungry For Heaven

Summary: Beau knows he shouldn’t have feelings for his young, pretty secretary. But he can’t help it. Pairing: Beau “Cyclone” Simpson/F!Reader (No Y/N) Word Count: 4.6k ABSOLUTELY NO MINORS ALLOWED A/N: This is my second entry for the 80’s Rocktober Challenge hosted by @roosterforme - I picked Dio’s song “Hungry For Heaven.” I hope you enjoy! Warnings: Naval inaccuracies, Cain is a creep for plot reasons, my gratuitous use of italics and song lyrics, a coyote ugly reference, female receiving oral sex, power imbalance

His girl. Cyclone’s girl. Simpson’s girl. The Admiral’s girl. That’s how most people referred to you when speaking with Beau. And he had never admitted how much he liked it, instead telling people to at least acknowledge your rank. But in the dark of his rooms, in the recesses of his mind, Beau liked it. He liked that you were his. 

Sort of.

Beau knew it was cliche. Falling for his young, pretty secretary was probably the most cliche thing that he could have ever done. But it hadn’t been a choice, really. You had appeared one day, three years ago, like a whirlwind and Beau had been left in your wake. You kept a tight ship, just as he did. You had been a perfect match for him, keeping him organized and on time for all his meetings and classes. You had made the mountains of paperwork he was always saddled with much easier to swallow and he had thought he was dreaming when you’d first handed over a thick stack of papers and told him he just needed to sign at the bottom of the last page. You’d basically done a week of reports for him and had left Beau with a pen in his hand and a tight stomach as you sauntered back out of his office. But that was what you did, he learned. You made his life easier. Gave him time to breathe. You were his girl. 

It was more than a little embarrassing to realize his…affection for you was noticed by anyone. Thankfully, the only person he knew for a fact suspected anything was Admiral Bates, who had quietly told him that it was about time he was happy. Embarrassing. It was a kindness, true, but Beau would have preferred if he hadn’t said anything at all. These feelings were inappropriate and completely against Naval regulation and protocol and he couldn’t stop.

“You’re not staying much later, are you?” 

Beau looked up from his computer, reading yet another request from Maverick about his insane dog fight simulations he wanted the newest Top Gun class to try, to see you in the doorway of his office. The usual, soft smile was on your face—the smile he liked to think you reserved just for him. His mouth curled up at the edges too; he couldn’t help it. “Just trying to rein in Maverick.” 

You scoffed and shook your head but your smile remained. “You’re going to be here all night, then. Again.” 

Beau had to hide his laugh behind his hand. You knew him too well. “I won’t.” 

You hummed, obviously not believing him. “I’ll order you dinner. Do you want Chinese or Italian? You had barbecue two nights ago.” 

His heart twisted, like it usually did whenever you so easily showed how well you knew him. “Italian, if you could, Lieutenant. With-”

“With extra breadsticks, I know. I’ll make sure they don’t forget again.” 

You were gone from the doorway before he could thank you but you returned not thirty minutes later with his promised dinner and another smile. A cursory glance let him know that the extra breadsticks were indeed included this time and you set a silverware roll from the mess hall beside the bag. 

“You’re too good to me, Lieutenant.” Beau winced as soon as the words left his mouth but you simply smiled. “And I thought you were on your way out for the weekend?” 

Your smile widened. “I am. But I wasn’t about to leave you hungry.” 

Beau’s entire chest ached and he tried to smile again but he was sure it looked more like a grimace. “Big plans?” 

“My friend’s bachelorette party. We are going bar hopping after getting pole dance lessons.” You paused before a grimace crumpled your features. “You didn’t need to know that. I apologize. That was unprofessional.” 

Beau felt his throat bob, mouth suddenly dry. Seeing you in your khakis or in any of the other Naval uniforms had been all Beau had been given, aside from when you needed to grab something from your office over the weekend a few months ago and he got to see you in a sinful pair of shorts and low cut top. But imagining you in one of those tight, tiny dresses he knew women your age wore and learning how to dance like that had his stomach in knots. 

He was being unprofessional. He was supposed to be the one who approved or rejected paperwork for relationships like this. He wasn’t supposed to be wanting one. And he wasn’t even sure if you saw him as anything other than the old man who needed help keeping his meetings and paperwork in a row. 

Sure, you joked with him, nursed a glass of expensive bourbon with him after the Uranium Mission, and Beau liked to think he caught you appreciating the view when he partook in the swim call during your last shared deployment and you handed him a towel to dry off…but that did not mean anything in the grand scheme of things. 

He knew that. 

But he couldn’t get you out of his head. 

“I hope you have a good time. You’ve certainly earned it. I know I run you ragged here.” 

The hard line of your shoulders lessened and your smile returned as you shook your head. Your hand settled over his and you gently squeezed his fingers, touch not retreating immediately and Beau tried not to revel in it too much. “I love working for you. You have to know that by now.” Beau watched your mouth open again before you bit your lip. 

Beau could imagine a million different things you could have said after that. But you didn’t say any of them. You didn’t say anything at all aside from a soft, “anyway, have a good night, Admiral. Please don’t stay too late.”

And then you were gone, leaving Beau alone with the scent of your floral perfume, the echo of your warm hand on his, and an ache in his chest. 

It was fine. 

This was fine. 

He ate his dinner as he tried to find the least insane simulation Maverick had requested and hoped that it would end well next week. Honestly, having the Captain as the permanent Top Gun instructor was bad for his heart.

“Are you coming?”

Beau looked up from his paperwork to see Admiral Cain in his doorway, arms crossed over his chest. Oh, that was right. Cain had been invited to see the current Top Gun class in action. The higher ups thought it would be a way to “soften” Cain’s animosity toward manned aircrafts. It was ridiculous because Beau outranked Cain and he still walked around like his shit didn’t stink.

Mostly what it did was raise Beau’s blood pressure and had you running circles around base trying to keep Cain out of Beau’s office. It was a valiant effort, Beau knew, but Cain hardly ever followed any recommendation from someone who he deemed ‘beneath him.’ 

He glanced down at the calendar on his desk and saw your neat handwriting over today’s date. Drinks with Cain? :( 

Dammit.

“Yeah, let me just clean up and-”

“I’ll give you fifteen minutes.” And then he was gone, too. 

Biting back every swear he’d ever learned, Beau stood and cleared his desk of his dinner’s trash and filed everything away to deal with on Monday. He pulled on a different shirt and slacks he kept in his office’s closet for times like this and tried not to seem too unenthusiastic when he met Cain out in the parking lot. The effort was completely negated when the other man started bragging about the bar he wanted to try, touting that it was apparently popular with younger women who preferred older men. 

And while Beau did think of you for a moment, his stomach still rolled with the thought that Cain was on the prowl for someone younger when Beau knew that he had a wife and kids waiting at home for him. But still, he went, knowing the higher ups would frown at him not wanting to “play nice.” 

(Beau pocketed the thought that he could have Cain dishonorably discharged if he actually did something.) 

The drive to the bar was thankfully short and Beau had repeatedly told himself that it would be fine to leave after one overpriced drink before parking. He could hear the classic rock pouring from the stout brick building and he could still hear the waves crashing against the shore as he stepped up toward the front door. The bouncer at the front waved him in and Beau saw Cain already striding up toward the bar, turning his head to watch as a woman, carrying a tray of shots to a different table, walked by. 

Cain settled at the bar and Beau begrudgingly stood near him and waited for one of the three bartenders to take their order. When they were noticed, Cain was more than a little shameless with staring down the bartender’s shirt when she came to their corner of the bar top so Beau made a mental note to give her an extra tip with his drink as a silent apology. 

“What can I get started for you?” She asked, turning to Beau with a roll of her eyes. She’d apparently already had a long night. 

“Cognac, please.” 

The bartender quirked an eyebrow but almost smiled. “You seem like a top shelf kind of guy. Am I right?” 

Beau nodded and watched her grab a bottle of cognac he also had in his personal bar back home (where he’d rather be, but that was beside the point) and poured a few fingers of it into a glass before setting it atop a monogrammed napkin and pushing it in front of him. He handed over his card without a fuss and she seemed grateful when he didn’t ask to open a tab. 

Beau vacated his spot at the bar after leaving his promised tip and it was quickly taken by a woman who had to be about your age with a sash across her chest that read “Made of DisHonor” in bold, pink lettering. It was funny—there must be a bachelorette party here somewhere. 

Again, he thought of you—you had said your friend’s bachelorette party was tonight. 

As Beau settled into an overstuffed booth near one of the stained glass windows, he saw Cain still at the bar, now turned around to lean against it as he sipped on his martini. His gaze was bouncing from one woman to the next while completely ignoring the other men who would have probably preferred his spot at the bar to order. But it hardly mattered, really. Beau would have been content with finishing his drink by himself and not interacting with Cain at all. But Cain did eventually did spot him and Beau raised his glass in half hearted welcome but hoped that it would not be taken. 

Cain didn’t pick up on the abject disinterest on Beau’s face and started to make his way over. Dammit. However, he made it only a half dozen steps before getting pulled to a stop by a woman in a tight dress and a bright smile. 

Damn. All right. Apparently the reputation this bar had was not completely unfounded. 

Beau was quick to drag his gaze away from the uncomfortable scene and spotted the girl with the sash walking away from the bar with a tray of what looked like Jell-O shots in her hands. Beau watched her go with a smile, remembering his days back in college when his tongue was blue from drinks like those. She quickly passed out the small plastic cups and the grip Beau had on his cognac nearly slipped when he recognized one of the women in her group. 

You. 

God. You had always been beautiful but right now you were truly something else. Sinful and ethereal all at once. Stunning. Short dress. High heels. Burgundy lips. You were dressed for the festivities. Your sash read “Miss Behaving.” 

Of course it did. 

The bride, a cute woman in a tiny white dress with a giant white bow on the back of her head, herded everyone a little bit out of the throughway so a small group of men could get to the bar without needing to walk around. And you ended up closer to him. He could hear your laugh over the music as your friend pushed one of the Jell-O shots into your hand. 

“I’m driving tonight! I can only have one drink.” 

The woman with the Made of Dishonor sash pouted but still made sure your fingers were curled around the tiny plastic cup. “You said that at the last two bars, too. That’s why I got you a non-alcoholic Jell-O shot. Congrats. That is pure sugar and water, babe.” 

You laughed and Beau found himself smiling at the sound of it; he liked hearing you be happy. And he should have known that you would be the designated driver for your friends—you were always taking care of someone. (Usually it was him.) 

He watched you and your friends take the caps off the shots and clink them together with a shout of cheers for the bride as he took another sip of his own drink. It nearly came right back out as he coughed, watching your tongue skirt around the plastic. 

“There we go!” The bride cheered before patting your cheek with uncoordinated fingers but you laughed anyway. “I want you to have fun. Have fun with me.” 

“I am having fun! I promise,” you said before catching her hand and kissing her fingers, earning a giggle of your own. “And tonight isn’t about me!”

“I picked this bar for you!” The maid of honor said with a laugh of her own. “I was hoping I would be able to get your mind off that man who shall not be named.” “No, you chose it because they let you dance on the bar.” “That’s besides the point,” she retorted, finger pointed in your direction. “Two birds, one stone or whatever.” 

“What?” The bride asked, dragging out the single syllable. 

The maid of honor shook her head. “Babe, it has been over a year and you’re still hung up on him. You either need to get under him or get over him.” 

You swirled your finger around the empty, plastic container, pretending to care about the remnants of your Jell-O shot. “I can’t help it.” 

“What’s so special about him?” Another woman asked, stealing a second shot. “A year’s a long time.” 

“Oh no,” one of your friends groaned. “Don’t get her started.”

The bride pouted again. “But I wanna hear it. I don’t hear anything anymore! I don’t even know who we’re talking about!” 

“I’ve told you about him twice but that just…doesn’t matter,” you said, probably noting how intoxicated she was at the moment. “You’re busy with wedding planning, sweetheart. We don’t want to bother you.” 

She waved it away, pout persisting. “Tell me. Tell me right now! I’m your best…” she hiccuped. “Best friend. Tell me.” 

You licked your lips before sighing. “He’s…my boss.” 

There was an answering squeal from the bride and a few others in your group before you waved it away with a halfhearted scowl, like you were trying to keep the smile from your face. 

The grip on his drink was near painful now. 

You were talking about him. You had been hung up on him for over a year. 

“He’s just handsome and kind and funny. He’s nice when he wants to be and he’s always nice to me.” 

“But not to everyone else, right?” The maid of honor said, sounding like she’d heard this before. 

Beau adjusted his posture to try to hear your group better over the blaring guitars and thumping drums. He wanted to know what you had been saying—apparently repeatedly. 

“Yeah. I mean, he runs a tight ship-”

“That is a terrible pun.” 

“-but he tries to keep everyone safe and he just expects everyone else to do the same. So-”

“You’re burying the lede here. He’s smoking hot. A complete silver fox who’s got a banging bod.” 

You gaped at the Maid of Honor’s outburst and Beau watched your mouth open and close a few more times without a single word coming out. Is that what you had told your friends?

“And he’s sweet to you?” The bride repeated, hazy eyes sparkling. “You hafta marry him.” 

“They’re a sight for sore eyes. Good choice.” 

Beau felt something in his neck pop when he quickly turned his head to see Cain settling opposite him in the booth. The other man’s eyes were dragging all over your group without a care in the world. Dragging all over you. “Did you strike out?” The words were out of his mouth before he could even begin to think of a different response. “I saw you talking to someone else.” It was a pitiful recovery but Beau hid his distaste for the entire situation behind another gulp of his liquor. 

Cain’s mouth curled into a scowl for a moment. “You’ve been sitting here alone all night. You’re not doing any better.” A familiar sneer pushed at his features before he once again looked at your group. “Are you one of those that just likes to look?” 

Thankfully or not, Cain didn’t wait for an answer and stood again, making his way over to your group. Just for a moment, Beau thought about just leaving. Just getting up and leaving and pretending this entire night never happened. 

“A-Admiral Cain.” 

Your voice cut through Beau’s thoughts with ease. 

“I…I didn’t expect to see you here.” 

Cain squinted at you, probably trying to place your face and Beau saw the exact moment Cain recognized you, a smirk pushing at his mouth. A few of your friends started whispering into each other’s ears, probably wondering if this was the Admiral you were hung up on. “Ah, Lieutenant, I should have known it was you.” 

“Oh?” 

Cain’s smirk grew. “Yes ma’am. I think I’d recognize that-”

Beau had heard quite enough and stood abruptly, cognac still in his hand. “I think we’ve had enough tonight, Admiral. Time to head out.” 

The shock on your face only grew more apparent as you looked at him. “Admiral Simpson. Um…h-hi.” 

“That’s him,” the maid of honor hissed into the bride’s ear. 

Cain’s eyes were hard as they bored into the side of Beau’s face. He could feel them. But he couldn’t take his eyes off you. You were even more beautiful up close. Dammit. Again.

“Why don’t we let the ladies decide if I’ve had enough?”

Your eyes went wide and you took a step in front of your friends, hands fanning out to keep them behind you. “I apologize, sir, but I don’t think that is entirely appropriate.” 

“It could be our little secret and shouldn’t I be the one who says whether or not something is inappropriate? I’m sure we can all keep a secret.” 

Something Beau had spent years trying to suppress started to bite at the back of his mind. Cold rage. He moved to step in front of Cain, blocking you from the other man’s gaze. “We’re done here, Cain.” 

The tense line of his shoulders relaxed when he felt your warm hand press against his back. A quiet thank you. And the simple touch had warmth bleeding over him. 

“We are just about to leave-”

“Bride and babes!” The bartender who had served Beau hollered. “You’re up!” 

The maid of honor let out a curse and muttered something about never planning anything ever again before pushing everyone toward the bar again. And then Cain was saying something, Beau could hear the rumble of his voice at the back of his mind like a buzzing fly, but Beau couldn’t take his eyes off you. 

You as you tugged down your skirt after it had ridden up when you climbed. 

You as you helped the bride step onto one of the barstools. 

You as you followed suit until you and the rest of your friends were lined up on the bar. 

“Ladies and gents,” the bartender’s voice cut through the din of the bar just before the last song ended. “We have a special group here tonight. And they want to put on a little show for you all.” 

The crowd gave a raucous cheer and then the opening chords of a song he knew well swelled over the bar’s speakers. And then you (and your friends) started to dance. It was filled with spins and giggles followed by twists and turns that had your legs nearly glowing in the low light of the bar as Dio continued to sing. 

You're in danger, the last of a line

But the vision lasts forever…

The watching crowd hollered when you and the maid of honor showed off the moves you must have learned at your pole dancing lessons on either side of the bride. Beau couldn’t take his eyes off you. Wouldn’t. 

“I see it now.” Cain’s voice pulled his attention for just a moment. “You want her all to yourself.” 

He didn’t deign it worthy of a response. And honestly, what could he say? Denying it would be fruitless and accepting it would be handing over power to Cain. So, Beau said nothing. 

The young just getting older

We are sunlight

We can sparkle and shine

And our dreams are what we're made of… He just watched you. 

He dragged his eyes up your form and saw you looking straight at him. 

Just hold on You can make it happen for you Reach for the stars and you will fly You're hungry for heaven Hungry for heaven Hungry for heaven But you need a little hell, oh, hungry…

And, just for a moment, Beau felt like you were doing this all for him. This entire show was for him. That little dress and the way you inched it up your thighs as you moved was for him. The burgundy-tinged smile was just for him. The way your half-lidded gaze never strayed far from him in the crowd was for him. And maybe it was. Maybe it was all for him because as soon as the song ended and you helped your giggling friends off the bar—taking extra care to help the bride down as she poked at the tip of your nose—you turned to him. While your friends were swarmed by other patrons of the bar who had appreciated the show, you only looked at him. And then you were moving, pushing your way through the accumulated crowd and toward him. You licked your lips just before you slowed to a stop in front of him and Beau tracked the movement with his heart hammering in his throat. “Did you enjoy the show?” And what was he supposed to say to that? He had the wherewithal to notice Cain had retreated to a darkened corner with another drink and a different woman, his attention completely diverted. Beau paused for a moment before nodding. What good would lying do now? Something had shifted, irreparably changed. For better or worse. 

He could smell your perfume again as you moved closer, closer, closer. God, you were beautiful. And a voice that sounded almost like himself was screaming at the back of his mind that this was wrong, this was against all sorts of Naval regulations, that this would only end poorly- But it quieted as soon as your fingers pressed against his chest. He could feel each of your breaths against his mouth. He could smell your floral perfume with each of his own inhales and wanted to bury his nose in it. In you. But what Beau happily noticed was the lack of alcohol that hit his nose. You were sober. 

He knew adrenaline could make people do things that were out of character. Plenty of pilots, himself included, had landed their jet and jumped out, heart hammering and nerves buzzing. Maybe it was that for you, high off the little performance. Confident enough to approach your direct superior in a crowd. You sought him out. There was a silent conversation between you; were you going to do this? Could either of you stop? And Beau surged forward with his inevitable answer, closing the gap.

You tasted like heaven. Sticky sweet with a bite of something else and your hand gently curled over his chest as you sighed against his mouth. Your fingers inched up to press at the side of his neck as he licked between your lips. 

Every sigh, every little noise, every brush of your mouth against his had his heart racing. This was what he needed, what every part of him had wanted since you had first spent the night at his side, helping him do monotonous paperwork. Just you, in his arms, and your taste on his tongue. 

He didn’t even recall pulling you toward the small hallway that led to the bathrooms but he felt your smile against his mouth when he backed you against the wall. Your next breath puffed against his wet lips and your eyes still sparkled in the hallway’s shitty light. “We might have fifteen minutes before someone comes looking.” “I can do a lot in fifteen minutes.” 

The bathroom door creaked when he pulled you through it and the lock gave an answering click when he engaged it. You were soft everywhere and Beau groaned against your mouth as his hands skirted up your thighs, dragging the minuscule skirt of your dress with it. And you were sweet everywhere, too, as he tugged the tiny scrap of lace between your thighs to the side and drank you down. Your hands curled into his hair as he pulled one of your legs up and over his shoulder. He kept you upright as each flick of his tongue had you shaking and whimpering and filling his mouth. 

He could do this forever, even if his knees ached and his trousers were unbearably tight. 

Just as you shook in his grip and he felt you sliding down his chin, there was a sharp knock at the door. 

“We’re leaving! I’m giving you exactly thirty seconds to meet us outside.” 

Beau recognized the maid of honor’s voice on the other side. It was quickly followed by a chorus of giggles. But he hardly heard any of it as you sighed and curled your hands beneath Beau’s chin and pulled him up with a gentle tug. You kissed him, undoubtedly tasting yourself on his tongue, as your thumb swept gentle circles against his cheek. 

Your eyes were hazy and half-lidded again and you stole another kiss against his mouth when he pulled your dress back down. 

“You can definitely do a lot in fifteen minutes, Admiral.” Your finger swept beneath his lip, gathering the evidence of your secret and you licked it away. “I’ll return the favor. I promise.” 

Before you slipped away from him again, Beau kissed you again. He couldn’t get enough of it, of you. Nor the soft laugh you let out as you whispered you’d see him on Monday. 

Monday was going to be interesting. He didn’t know what it would bring, how any of this would turn out, but he had hope. And he liked to think you did, too. 

Beau couldn’t wait. 

A/N: please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

#top gun rocktober #Beau Simpson x reader #beau cyclone Simpson x reader #cyclone x reader #tgm fic #tgm #female reader

[bullet-prooflove]

Rumours: Beau 'Cyclone' Simpson x Reader

Tagging: @chickensrule @iwannabeinthesequalmrghostface @justameresimp @lxaah11 @librarian1002 @proceduralpassion @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @oureternalbond 

You don’t know about the affair, not until Beau tells you.

Apparently, a couple of the graduates were off base one night and caught sight of their Vice Admiral in his civvies, leaving a restaurant with a woman in a little black dress. The heat in his gaze when he looked at her…

It’s clear they’re sleeping together.

There are other sightings. All of Beau with the same woman, all in compromising positions. Stolen kisses in doorways when it’s raining, his hand resting on her hip as he leads her from the theatre, whispering something salacious into her ear.

His poor wife, they say, sitting at home waiting for him while he’s out playing the field.

It’s at a retirement dinner for one of the Majors that the scuttlebutt reaches its peak. He’s seen leaving early with one of the JAG officers, a Lieutenant Commander, his hand on her lower back as he holds open the car door.

Beau doesn’t realise he’s a topic of conversation until Warlock approaches him. It’s becoming an issue, the other man tells him, you’re losing their respect.

Over what? he asks and then Warlock is forced to tell him.

He’s confused at first because not once in your entire relationship has ever he stepped out on you, the thought hasn’t even crossed his mind despite the deployments. He listens as Warlock recounts the events and he checks each one of them off in his head and he realises in every single occurrence the woman that he’s been seen with…

It's you.

It’s only when they bring Maverick in for a chat do they understand what’s happened.

There’s a lot of fresh faces on base and you’ve been deployed for over six months. They’ve all just assumed that his wife is the little lady that runs the house he lives in, like most of the other Vice Admiral’s wives. Never seen, never heard from. Just existing in the background.

It doesn’t help that you kept your maiden name when you married or the fact that Beau hates clutter, so he doesn’t keep so much as a picture on his desk. Why would he? He has them all on his phone.

You find the whole thing hilarious when he comes home and tells you that night. You’re sitting in front of the coffee table, your files spread out across it as you make notes in your legal pad, wearing  his old college t-shirt and a pair of paint splattered leggings.

The two of you have a perfectly good dining table in the kitchen, but you never use it. The living room is your space, the soft sound of Norah Jones playing in the background and the scent of wild sage and sea salt from the candle you have burning on the mantlepiece.

“It’s not funny.” He tells you as he sits down on the floor alongside of you, his elbows resting on his knees. “I don’t know what to do about it.”

“The woman you’re having an affair with is actually your wife.” You remind him, tapping your pen upon the legal pad. “It’s a little funny.”

“You know I’d never…” He trails off as his lips brush over the curve of your shoulder because the thought of it is so repugnant to him. He doesn’t want to think about another woman in your bed, trying to take your place.

“I know.” You tell him, inclining your head so that he can read the honesty in your expression. “I would never either.”

He’s never doubted you, not for a minute.

His thumb trails along your jaw, guiding your mouth to his and he kisses you with a tenderness he reserves for no one else. He loves these moments, the ones where it’s just the two of you, at home, simply being with one another.

“Show and tell.” You say softly as his hands begin to wander, his lips seeking out that delicious little spot just underneath the hinge of your jaw, the one that makes you say his name.

“Hm.” He mumbles distractedly as his fingertips delve under the hem of the t-shirt, skirting along the line of your bra.

“I mean it Beau.” You utter, your head tipping back as he guides the shirt up and over your body, before tossing it onto the couch.

“I’ll take it into consideration.” He whispers against your skin as his fingers tug at the waistband of your leggings. “Right now, I’ve got other things I want to focus on.”

***

Beau chooses to address the issue with the Top Gun graduates. They’re fierce, loyal and above all else, he knows that they’ll put a stop to those rumours that are circulating the base. He can’t have his subordinates doubting him, he needs them to trust him, in the field and off it. News of an affair erodes that, it makes him seem duplicitous, makes them question his motives and that leads to mistakes. People get hurt or worse killed. So, yea, now he’s taking your advice, he’s doing show and tell.

“Final order of business.” He says as he stands in front of them, hands clasped together. “I need to address the rumours regarding the affair I’m having with a JAG officer.”

He senses the mood shift, backs straighten, and all eyes are on him. He nods at Warlock, whose waiting at the side door before he opens it. There’s a low murmur when you step inside, a few elbow nudges because the source of the scuttlebutt has now entered the room and is now standing alongside their Rear Admirable clad in a navy-blue JAG uniform.

Briefly Beau wonders what they expect from this latest development.

Maybe the whole, we’re just colleagues’ speech.

“This is my wife.” He introduces you to the group. “She’s a Lieutenant Commander in JAG and recently returned from a six-month deployment overseas. If you need an attorney, she’s the best we’ve got.”

It’s true, you excel at your position, and he couldn’t be prouder of you. You’ve achieved so much throughout your career and one of the reasons he’s here today is because he hates the idea of your successes being diminished by gossip.

“You have two minutes for questions.” He tells the graduates before folding his arms over his chest.

Phoenix is the first one to speak up, she raises her hand and Beau inclines his head towards her.

“How long have you been married?” She asks, leaning forward on her desk.

“Seven…” You pause because the deployments make it harder to keep track, you’ve been away for some anniversaries and home for others. You look to Beau for clarification.

“Eight.” He says, the edges of his mouth tipping up into a small smile because he knows you can never remember the exact timings. The only reason he does is because he’s meticulous about putting information into his calendar.

“Eight years.” You correct yourself. “Together for three before that.”

Rooster is next up; his elbows are on his desk before he raises two fingers.

“How does it work with the deployments?”

“Patience.” Beau informs the Lieutenant, rubbing his palm across his jawline. “Open communication.”

You don’t know the graduates, this is the first time you’ve met them, but you think you can see something underneath Rooster’s demeanour.  There’s a reason he asked that question, so you elaborate.

“You have to be honest with each other, talk about your feelings, the good ones and the bad ones especially on the lead up to it.” You reiterate before gesturing between you and Beau. “We talk as often as we can, keep each other up to date with what’s going on in our lives, even if it’s just the day-to-day stuff. If one of us doesn’t get in contact for a few days, we try not to take it too personally. I know that life on the base can get hectic and he knows sometimes you can’t just get a signal in the middle of the Pacific.”

That gets a little laugh and it’s good to see that there’s a little humour in them. You hate it when people take themselves too seriously.

“Care packages.” Beau supplements into the conversation.

“Oh, sometimes when I’m away he sends me things from home, and I send him stuff from my travels.” You tell the group, leaning back against the podium at the front of the room. “Just a little something to say we’re thinking of each other.”

You can see you’ve given Rooster some food for thought. You wonder what his circumstances are, if there’s a girl in the background, he’s thinking of getting serious about.

“Have you ever thought about giving it up?” Hangman asks, a cocktail stick dangling out of his mouth. “The job for the sake of the marriage?”

Another one with something on his mind, you think. Although you don’t spy a wedding ring on his finger, you suspect something that might be heading that way. You’re good at reading people, it comes in handy in the courtroom.

“Yea.” You answer honestly, with a small shrug of the shoulders. “We’ve talked about it a few times, but this is who I am, the same way it’s who he is. Neither of us will compromise on that, if it’s right you shouldn’t have to.”

Hangman nods knowingly before Beau interrupts.

“Alright, your two minutes is up.” His palm comes to rest upon your lower back, thumb skating over the vertebrae. “We have other places to be, so good luck with your training.”

It isn’t until you reach the corridor outside that he slows his step. The two of you find yourself alone for a minute, a rarity on such a busy military base. You lean against one wall, while he stands rigid in front of the other, both hands coming to rest on his hips.

“Those were some tough questions, right?” He asks you, his mouth setting into a grim line before he looks at you.

“That last one…” You shake your head. “The job for the sake of the marriage, that felt a little too close to home.”

Beau nods his agreement before his gaze meets yours.

“You know I’d never…”

“No, I know.” You assure him, pushing away from the wall and coming to stand before him. You reach for his collar straightening it just a little, despite the fact it didn’t require any intervention. “But it is getting harder to leave.”

Then don’t. He wants to say but instead he bites his tongue because he’s a good husband and it’s a lot more complicated than that. Your palms come to rest on his chest, he can tell you’re preoccupied with something. It’s in the way your brows crease just a little.

“What is it?” He asks you, studying your expression for clues.

You’re interrupted by the door opening as Warlock steps out into the corridor, the encrypted tablet clasped in his hands.

“We have a full schedule today...” He pauses, his finger lingering over the calendar as the two of you step apart. “I can give you a minute.”

“He’s all yours Solomon.” You say with a smile as you draw away from him.

He can already feel you slipping through his fingers, he isn’t sure what it is that gives him that sensation but it’s acute. There’s a trepidation in the pit of his stomach, something he only gets when it comes to your deployments but it’s far too soon for that. You’ve barely been home more than a couple of weeks.

“I’ll catch up with you later.” You promise before turning on your heel and striding down the corridor with purpose.

It reminds him for the moment of the first time he saw you, walking into the courtroom with your head held high, that black leather legal binder tucked under your arm. He’d been sitting in the gallery watching the trial of an Ensign accused of smuggling coke through produce in the kitchens. The idiot had been under his command at the time and elected for a court martial. You had eviscerated his case; it was both beautiful and painful to watch.

He spends the rest of the afternoon distracted, wishing the two of you had had a chance to finish that conversation.

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[agender-wolfie]

When you’re reading a fic that says it’s gender neutral but then “You wore a short skirt and tied up your hair”

#gender neutral x reader #do y’all not know what that means or? #the cishets are at it again #mike dodds x reader #sonny carisi x reader #joel miller x reader #jason van horn x reader #buddy x reader #beau simpson x reader #jack reacher x reader #ace x reader #crocodile x reader #smoker x reader #zoro x reader #mihawk x reader #simon riley x reader #benn beckman x reader #buggy x reader #ignis scientia x reader #prompto argentum x reader #gladiolus amicitia x reader #halsin x reader #astarion x reader #eustass kid x reader #law x reader #killer x reader #leon kennedy x reader #thomas hewitt x reader #albert wesker x reader #crosshair x reader

[tropes-and-tales]

Sleep to Dream

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

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

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

Word Count:  3145

AN:  This was requested by an anonymous person!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you don’t wake.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When you do, he continues.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good dream?”

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

“Remember anything about it?”

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

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

“Like what, sweetheart?” he asks.

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

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

“Beau…”

“Describe how I fuck you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

#cyclone #cyclone x reader #cyclone imagine #beau simpson #beau simpson x reader #beau simpson imagine #top gun maverick #kinktober 2023 #tropes and tales

[valmare]

Alrighty, I'm going there. For the previously discussed Cyclone thoughts ;).

If you'd like, could I please get Beau Simpson with "Get over here and let me touch you?"

Congrats on 100+ followers, love! You deserve it! :D

Stix, my love! Oh boy, this was a challenge! I wanted to do something a little diffierent with this prompt. It's a little fluffy, a little sexy, and something I think may be one of my favorite blurbs of this entire challenge. Enjoy, babe, and thanks for following!

Only the Pretty Ones

It’s a little after ten when the cold blast of the Hard Deck’s AC chases sticky humidity off your skin, and for a second all you can feel is relief as you step through the doors into the absolutely charged atmosphere of the Navy bar. 

Bodies are everywhere. Twisting in dances, tied up in one another, others standing around nursing drinks; more lingering at the bar, trying to catch glimpses of the pretty bartender that’s subbing for Penny Benjamin tonight. More move about the pool tables and dart boards, loud and welcoming, and your general consensus in the room is that not only does Penny run a tight ship, but everyone seems to generally be having a decent time. 

Low, glowing light in the place is a decision that’s common for bars like this, and whether or not it’s intended to hide sins really isn’t the concern as you step aside from the door, eyes scanning the pulse of the room as your heart picks up behind your ribs just a tick, matching the energy of the room. 

The back of your mouth needs a drink as your eyes track around the room. You bristle when the thick, rough hand finds the small of your back, which is exposed in the backless sundress you’ve been wearing all afternoon. Mostly from the sunburn that’s fevered your skin, but also because it’s sexy as sin. 

The Kinks kick on over the sound system at the exact moment he gently shuffles you away from the busyness of the bar’s door, hand still at the small of your back. His mouth brushes against the soft skin of your temple, raising goosebumps down your arms. Blinking, you gently let your head angle to the side as his hands find your hips, holding you gently in place. 

“Gin and tonic?” The seasoned gruff in his voice is sinful, your breath catching in the back of your throat. You can feel the smile spread across his mouth, which is still brushing your temple, and he inhales a full breath of the perfume you’re wearing. 

He thinks he knows you so well. He does, really, but you suppose that comes with a year of seeing each other. But, Beau Simpson is smug about these kinds of things, mostly because he’s a cocky son of a bitch that sits on a horse higher than any of the damn pilots he commands probably could ever fly. 

But it’s not really in a bad way—or at least, from what you’ve ever witnessed. Men under his command would swear he’s the antichrist, but all you’ve ever really witnessed from Cyclone is an insane amount of confidence, with a bit of selfishness peppered in here and there unless corrected. He’s not really the heartless cocksucker everyone makes him out to be—he’s rough around the edges, steadfast and calculating, but not mean spirited. He’s actually about the most understanding and upstanding man you’ve ever dated—something attributed to the fact that he’s nearly two decades older than you. 

On the whole he’s an entirely different man around you, and you’ve witnessed how he treats those under his rank. You don’t know much about the military, but you know about the nature of pilots and the firm hand they require— so you assume it’s a persona thing. 

“Cyclone” is someone he has to be, for the sake of his job—but Beau Simpson, when he walks through the door of his immaculate house in Mission Beach, is someone else entirely. 

At least, to you. 

You’d met him not long after his divorce, in the most cliche, Hollywood way possible—you’d blown a tire on the I-15, after a long three days traveling, and your spare was flat, probably just to spite you. As a capable young woman living independently in California, changing a tire was not the end of the world and was something you had managed to handle yourself before. 

Defeated at the flat, you’d resigned yourself to calling a tow truck and waiting out rush hour on the side of the freeway right when the biggest Ford F-250 you’d ever seen merged onto the shoulder, hazards flashing, and Beau Simpson had stepped out of the cab in all of his six foot glory. 

Broad shouldered, sunkissed, and sporting the classic aviators that seemed to be a staple personality to the pilots at Top Gun, he’d jogged over to you and asked if you needed any help. He couldn’t be any more military in his khakis, that hugged his perfect form just so, and you’d nearly stood there agog when he popped into a squat to check your rim, his ass perfectly filling the uniform pants in ways that the military should be ashamed of. 

Offering to give you a ride with a smile and a handshake, he slid the glasses up into his hair. Sunlight set off the fiercest green eyes you’d thought possible in a human being, and they had nearly sparkled with intelligence and his dry humor. Suddenly sweating, feeling every inch of the four hours of sleep you’d managed the night before and small, you’d accepted his offer of a ride on the pretense that he didn’t murder you with an ax and bury you at some military training facility. 

It was a flat joke, you realized, probably insulting and insanely stupid. You’d been kicking yourself in the ass as you ducked into the passenger side to grab your purse and the luggage you’d been lugging across the world, thinking that this was the most awful scenario to end the worst trip ever, but he’d started laughing and had been genuinely amused by the joke. 

Insisting he help you with your gear, he’d hiked the duffle bag onto his shoulder and winked, nodding to the F-250 with an amused smirk. “Would you like a background check?” Luggage still balanced on his shoulder, his arm moments from ripping out of his uniform sleeve, he’d popped the door on the truck, offered his hand, and helped you into his beast of a machine. 

You’d smiled, trying to fight the color on your face. “Make it a habit to pick up women on the I-15, do you,—” you’d glanced at the decorum on his breast, unable to make heads or tails of it, and he’d noticed.  “— oh, shoot—” you hadn’t realized any attempt at a comeback had unraveled, making you sound one hundred and fifteen percent ridiculous. 

He’d just laughed. “I’m a Vice Admiral, but you just call me Beau,” he’d adjusted the pack on his shoulder, but you doubted he felt any of the weight at all, “And I only stop for the pretty ones, honey.” His wink had started the long line of nails in your proverbial coffin, your gut freefalling into your knees. 

He’d tossed your stuff in the box like it didn’t weigh the 42 pounds the airport had charged you for. Batting the door closed with his gargantuan hand, he’d jogged around the front of the pickup and eased himself up into the cab like it was nothing. 

Leaving your car on the interstate as you drove away with a complete stranger, iPhone in hand the entire time, looking back, had been the biggest concern for your day. But, really, Beau had offered to tow your car home once he picked up some ropes, and from there the rest was history. 

You’d offered to pay him and he had strongly refused. Instead he’d asked for your number, in that masculine and old-fashioned way, if you were comfortable with it—that stupid little Camry that had broken down on the side of the road had been the beginning of the rest of your life. 

Like a true flirt, you’d plucked the pen from his breast pocket, and scrawled your name and number on the back of his hand as if this was 1986 and cell phones weren’t even a thing. Unable to remember the time you’d actually had to remember a phone number, it had come as naturally as breathing. It shouldn’t have, but it did. 

“Consider us even then, Admiral,” he’d stepped through the door, into your space, his six foot self towering you in the best way possible. Staring down into your face, mere inches from sharing air, he’d plucked the pen from between your fingers with a little smirk. “Thanks for all your help. I really appreciate it. Are you sure you won’t take any money?” 

He’d chuckled and it had punched you right in that sensitive little place that didn’t get nearly enough of the right attention. Lowering his hand between the two of you, he’d pointed a finger at the number you’d printed on the back of his hand, his smile slow and calculating as it split his lips. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am. This right here is the best payment a man could ask for.” Without anything more, he’d marched out of your doorway back to his pickup, leaving you and your clunky little Camry in his heady wake. 

More than promptly you’d taken a cold shower, unsure if you were thrilled or regretting giving him your number. 

It had taken him three days to text you back. Wondering if it had been on purpose you’d nearly pounced at the phone to respond back to his invitation to take you to dinner to a place not on the cheap—at all. It required heels and a dress, at the very least, and Beau was actually going to pick you up in that sexy ass pickup you hadn’t stopped dreaming about since it had merged onto the shoulder. 

Not really thinking twice, and really not caring if it was appropriate or not, you’d said yes—and he’d picked you up on a Friday and taken you to the grandest dinner ever. Everything about Beau Simpson was so very unlike any of the last dates you’d been on in the year before he’d entered your life, and that was probably because he was a man, not one of the drop-crotch pants wearing soft boy’s Tindr tried to hook you up with. 

His hands firming up around your waist send a bolt of pleasure down your spine. Brushing against his firm chest, you turn in his hands to kiss the corner of his mouth lightly, reaching on toes to whisper into his ear, “You find us a table with that intimidating death stare of yours, and I’ll grab the booze,” before slipping away to make for the bar. 

Laughing and shaking his head as you split up, you’re weedling your way up to the bar right at the moment the bartender turns to acknowledge you. She’s nobody you know, but she’s about your age, complete with blond hair pulled back into a braid and the wildest makeup you didn’t think existed off the red carpet. 

You ordered a Whiskey Sour with Woodford for Beau and your usual Gin and Tonic, resting your forearms on the bar’s surface as your foot lifted to the foot rail running the length of the walnut bar. Setting to work immediately on your drinks, it took less than a minute for a familiar face to recognize you, sliding into the spot at your right with a bright, goofy smile on his face. 

“Well look who it is,” his soft greeting welded your attention to him nearly immediately, and your face split into a wide grin as he leaned heavily on his arm. “Hello, ma’am.” 

Every one of the Top Gun aviators that pass in and out of Cyclone’s base had resorted to calling you “ma’am,” since that unfortunate mishap with Omaha last year. The poor soul had thought you were a pretty little thing sitting alone at this very bar, and had taken it upon himself to buy you a drink. Not knowing that Beau was meeting you here, he'd nearly died why Cyclone had chased him off with that sour expression of his.

“Bob Floyd,” you reached across to lightly punch his shoulder, “it’s good to see you! I heard you got papers to come back! When’d you get in?” He smiles at you in that sheepishly small way, a little flush rising to his cheeks when he realizes people have taken notice of your clear, loud voice drawing attention to him. 

“Yesterday morning,” he nods and lifts a shoulder, “it’s good to be back. Texas is great, but it’s nice seeing friends again. How’re you?” Bob Floyd is probably the sweetest human being that’s ever come through Top Gun, something that even Beau has confirmed—it’s no surprise he’s one of the best back seaters out there. 

“And Nat? Is she here?” 

He nods across the bar, to the pool tables–your gaze follows to find the pretty brunette laughing it up with some unfamiliar faces you don’t recognize, but know are one of Beau’s classes at the base. She’s beautiful, hasn’t changed a bit despite the fact she’d married last spring. You and Beau had flown to Miami for the wedding, a gorgeous affair that was small and close-knit. 

“Can I get you something to drink?” Bob asks, gesturing to you with a hand. It isn’t presumptuous and he isn’t niggling his way into good graces—Bob is just a gentleman. He’s more of a little brother than anything, you couldn’t imagine anything more serious with Floyd, and you shake your head no after scrunching up your nose a little. 

“Nah, you save your money for a pretty girl—I’ve got all the money I need, somewhere around here.” you pat his hand on the bar good naturedly as the bartender nudges the two drinks to you with her knuckles, you registering them with a nod and asking to put them, and whatever Bob will order, on a tab, “I should go find Cyclone, but it was great seeing you back in Cali, Floyd. Happy Friday!” You raise the drinks, stepping back from the bar. 

“Good seeing you too,” he pushes off the bar as the bartender slides him a bottle of Grain Belt, and salutes lightly off his brow with a nod, “Say hi to the Admiral for me,” he calls forward, and you beam a bright smile to him before winking and turning on the heel of your wedge. 

Sliding between bodies moving to and fro about the floor, you find Beau has secured a booth in the back, near the TouchTunes machine. Lord he cuts a fine figure, even if he’s starting to gray a little at the temples. For a man his age, for a man in general, you’re usually always a breath from salivating at his feet when he even dares to speak to you. That much hasn’t changed in a year. 

His arm is draped back against the booth as he watches people, sunglasses and his well set aside on the surface of the table. Fingers drumming, he catches you in the crowd, the corner his mouth ticking up as he doesn’t even try to hide the once-over he takes of your body. Smirking at him as you approach, he shifts a little in the booth as you plunk the drink in front of him. 

“Woodford, the way you like it,” you chime, and he thanks you with a low and raspy “baby,” tacked on at the end that makes your gut flop. Taking a slow sip of the Gin and Tonic that’s sweating between your fingers, you angle your head towards the bar. 

“You’ll never guess who I saw at the bar, who I am only a little pissed you didn’t tell me was in town,” you whine teasingly, about to sit across from him. He shakes his head, sits up in the booth, and gestures for you to slide in next to him. 

“Get over here and let me touch you,” he orders teasingly, crooking his finger for you to come. You set the drink on the table and he moves it beside his own before asking, brow lifted in interest, “Now who was at the bar?” 

“Bob Floyd,” you slide into the booth, your side brushing up against his as you scooch under his arm, “I wish you would’ve told me they were coming, Beau. I’d have switched dinner with Warlock and his wife to have them over. I want to hear all about Nat’s time in D.C.” 

“Sorry, baby,” he presses a kiss on top of your head, “I’ll remember next time.” 

“The hell you will,” you try to sound serious, but his snort only makes you giggle. 

You heave a deep sigh, thankful the week is over and that you can indulge in the throbbing headache of this place, your favorite place in Miramar to spend Friday night when the pilots are young, clumsy, and drunk. Watching them is a passtime, like dinner and a show, and oftentimes you and Beau commentate on the scenes you witness—thankful it isn’t you, trying to swim in a sea of crotch-twitching blowhards that don’t know the first thing about what a girl like yourself is looking for. 

The two of you come here a lot, it holds great memories—this was the joint where Beau had first kissed you. Your third date, you’d been dancing and had absolutely killed him in pool in front of Warlock and the rest of the brass. Face flushed with one too many screwdrivers and your fill of greasy appetizers, you’d stumbled outside for fresh air, ready to call an Uber to take you home. 

Then you’d been stupid, not realizing that Beau Simpson would be escorting you home every single night you ventured out with him. He’d followed you outside, asked you what was up, and had plucked your phone from your hand right as you’d opened the app to snag a ride. Not drunk or over the limit by any means, you were just a lightweight, and hated driving past midnight—and it was 2AM, close to last call. 

Standing so close to you, smelling like cologne and whiskey and ocean, he’d slipped his fingers through your hair and told you he’d never let you go home with some stupid yahoo Uber driver who drove too fast and ogled too much. 

Snorting out a laugh, you’d tried to shove him back playfully, but his hand had somehow perfectly fallen along your cheek, his fingers soft despite the fact he had a true man’s hands—his thumb had brushed the seam of your lips. 

And even to this day, your heart had never thrummed harder in your chest as it had when you realized he’d wanted to kiss you. Eyes tracking your mouth, he’d hesitated only a moment, his chest brushing yours in a way that set off a nuclear bomb in your gut. Electricity had jumped up your arm, and you’d bit the bottom of your lip nervously, before leaning the rest of the way in and standing on your toes to brush your mouth against his. 

He’d kissed you, like all the books and movies and songs talked about—slow, deeply, it had started off soft and tentative, like he wanted to make sure it was right, and that he was reading you properly. It didn’t take long for you to sigh into his mouth and reassure him that yes, he was divine and yes, this is what you wanted. At lightspeed, he’d deepened the kiss, his arms wrapped so thick around your middle that you could’ve sworn he would snap you in two. 

You’d liked to say it was the best kiss you’d ever shared with someone, but somehow, Cyclone seemed to leave you breathless each and every time you dared to kiss him. That night was the first of many make out sessions that had left you reeling and heady—where Beau Simpson had learned how to kiss you didn’t know, but your ovaries were immensely grateful for it, even if they were on fire each and every time he simply looked at you. 

Beau’s thumb slowly slides up and down your bicep in that lazy, pleasurable way he knows you love. Finger spinning along the rim of your glass, you watch the ice float in your cocktail, counting the beats of his heart as the silence grows between the two of you. It’s comfortable, just sitting like this, and you rest your other hand on his thigh, tracing his muscle through the denim of his jeans. 

Lifting your hand off his thigh, he interlaces his fingers with yours, bringing them to his lips for a kiss. Your head leans back against his shoulder and you watch him brush his mouth along your knuckles, the stubble of his five o’clock shadow delightful against your fingers. 

Figuring you could say the rest of your life like this, drinking on a beach, pressed up against him so perfectly, you don’t expect his heavy eyes to land on yours so quickly, looking so deep and rich as he tracks the features of your face. 

“I want to talk to you about something,” he says smoothly, his voice low, whether from the whiskey or the look he’s giving you you aren’t sure, “but I’m not quiet sure what you’re going to think about what I have to say.” Oh, boy—the mind games. 

One of the things you loved and hated about Cyclone was the way he set you up for a conversation. He had an intelligence that you’d never really quite figured out, which was probably why he was a phenomenal Vice Admiral and in charge of important people. Beau saw through situations, and people, like they were invisible, and he always had the right thing to say—even if it wasn’t always the textbook “right” answer. 

Very often he played this game, forcing you to think a few steps ahead of him, which was hard. 

“There you go assuming you think you know what I’m going to say before I say it,” you shoot back at him, your tone lifting a little to take some of the weight out the statement, “You should really stop doing that, Cy. It makes you look like an ass.” 

He shrugged a shoulder, his smile slow and deliberate. “I’m man enough to admit I’m an ass, when the situation calls for it,” he reaches for his short glass, knocks back a rough drink, and scooches it aside. “But I’m pretty sure my reservations are valid—you could go either hot or cold on this one, sweetheart.”

“Maybe you should stop making assumptions and just tell me what’s on your damn mind, Simpson.” Mildly irritated he’s taken this this far, you gently shove off his chest to sit up against the booth, angling to face him with an elbow resting against the back of the booth. 

Head plunking in your hand, you watch him smiling crookedly at the hang of your dress in this position, before snapping your fingers between the two of you. “Well, spill your guts, Admiral. I’m listening.” Your fingers drop from the cocktail glass to drum on the surface of the table, brow popped curiously. 

His eyes skip over you and you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows a breath, before his thick hand scrubs down the length of his face. His cheeks pop as he puffs out a heavy breath, sitting forward just a little at the table. Elbows propped on the surface, he rubs around his mouth before looking sidelong over at you, eyes dragging for a beat to the cleavage showboating over the top of your dress—it was intentional, this was a new bra, and you’d absolutely almost died at how perfect it had made your tits look at the boutique. 

Your gaze pulls his back up. Nothing but heartbeats and moving air is between you, and the blaring music of what sounds like Elvis in coming from the speakers, but it’s almost wholly inaudible as you take a sharp pull of the Gin and Tonic. Unable to miss the heat rising on Beau’s face, your gut takes a nosedive into your knees—something was wrong. Simpson was never this reserved, this nervous, in the year you’ve been dating. 

A man like him has little to worry about—his career is locked in, he’s gorgeous and financially stable, no kids to worry about at home. He’s got a rock steady relationship with a woman who adores him and would throw herself in front of a bus for him. The perfect truck, a phenomenal house that’s almost paid for, men and women who respect him in the Navy— it’s nothing but blue skies for Beau Simpson, or so it seems. 

“Beau,” you challenge, your brow dropping seriously, “what’s up with you? Is something wrong?” 

The smile splitting his lips is instant, and he chortles, shaking his head a little. “No, nothing is wrong,” he sits back sharply, lifting his hips off the booth for a second before his hand dives into the pocket of his jeans. “I guess that really just depends on you, honey.” 

You barely notice him drop something to the table, his half-lidded look at you entirely too hot for this early in the evening. He sits forward, gaze dropping to track whatever’s in his hands. Blowing out another huge, steadying breath, he opens his palms and plunks a little blue box, wrapped in that iconic white bow, on the table. He’s staring at it like it’s likely to overrun him. 

Your heart is in your throat before it drops to your knees, spinning in ways that has thrown the room simultaneously into a kaleidoscope of colors, and a slow motion picture show. Suddenly there’s just you and Beau Simpson in empty space, the Hard Deck and its crowds and blaring music forgotten, and all you can feel is the rattle of blood between your ears, the racehorse of a heart galloping behind your ribs. 

Your eyes are cemented on that box and that box alone, and you realize you aren’t breathing when you release a squeak of a breath for air. Barely able to remember your own name in the presence of such a small object, you don’t even feel Cyclone reaching for your arm to gently slide you across the seat, back beneath his arm. 

He’s wrapped you in a hug against his chest, both of you just staring at the blue box. Dumbfounded, your lips part and close like a fish out of water, and you swear to God that Beau can either feel your heart throbbing out of your body, or is ready to catch it when it leaps out of your chest. Fairly certain that your heartbeat could power a small city with how hard it’s beating, you swallow a thick, painful breath of air that’s trapped at the back of your throat. 

“See, baby, I never really thought I’d ever be doing this again,” his hand moves to lightly play with the ruffle at the top of your chest, dangerously close to touching the swell of your cleavage that he now has perfect view of, “but I figured since I found the perfect girl, I’d better at least try to get her to marry me before I’m officially old.”

You angle away from his chest to stare into his face, fascinated that this is even a statement that Beau Simpson has wasted breath on. Biting at the corner of your lower lip, the corner of his mouth ticks up into a pleased smile as color fans over your face. He’s chuckling when he touches his forehead to yours, his nose brushing against the tip of yours so perfectly. 

 You manage to squeak, “Beau,” before your eyes track back to the little box. He’s already reaching for it, popping it open with a hand while his other is lifting your left one to the table. A little gasp sneaks out of your throat as your other hand comes to cover your mouth, hoping it’ll help you breathe. 

He doesn’t seem to register that you’re shaking, and even if he does, he says nothing. His lips across across your cheek as he presses a soft kiss to your temple again, easing out a slow, “I’m asking you to marry me, pretty,” you can taste the Woodford on his breath as his arm pulls you a little closer against his chest, “It’s usually customary that you actually say something.”

With that, he rests his chin on the top of your head as he plucks the ring from the little box, guiding it onto your left finger easily, like he’s spent a lifetime doing it. It’s an emerald-cut, haloed in diamonds on what you think is a platinum band, and even the shitty lighting of Penny’s bar makes the thing radiate like the sun. 

It’s perfect on your finger, everything you’d ever imagined an engagement ring to look like. Fisting your hand a little to test its fit, it couldn’t be any more secure on your finger. Somehow it looks like it belongs there, like it’s been there forever—like it was made, exactly, for you. 

Your mind is flopping trying to imagine how much a diamond of this size actually costs before you remember that Simpson is right—that you’re supposed to say something, and actually answer his question. 

But really he should know he doesn’t even have to ask, because your “Yes, yes, of course!” is enunciated what little effort you're exuding to control your sobs. You can’t imagine your makeup is going to withstand a marriage proposal, and you reach for a sharp drink of the Gin and Tonic. 

Beau is laughing as you take the shot of liquid courage, and he pulls the ring to his lips to press a kiss into it, as if it’ll seal the entire deal. Downing the rest of the cocktail, the glass topples over as you practically hurl it back to the tabletop, moving in to press a full, hasty kiss to his mouth. 

Enunciating what feels like a thousand “Yes’” between every breath, he guides you to straddle his massive thigh as you stare down into his face, searching his eyes. You can feel his heart against your breasts, abs that shouldn’t be nearly as hard on a man his age rock solid beneath your hand as your knuckles brush beneath his naval, tantalizingly. 

“I can’t think of anything better than being the Mrs. Cyclone,” your forehead touches his, sweetly, and you kiss the tip of his nose lightly. “Your ex wife is gonna flip out.” 

“I was hoping you’d agree,” he groans a little when you clench against his thigh, the jeans absolutely perfect against the heat of your core. “And we won’t tell Celeste just yet, hm?” 

You giggle, drawing your left hand between the two of you, eyes casting down to the Tiffany ring he’s placed on your finger. “And let me just say, Vice Admiral Simpson—you have one helluva taste in jewelry.” He dares to question if you like it, and you give a firm nod, “Of course I love it,” you draw back enough to wrinkle your nose disgustingly, as if this is even a question, “I’d love it if it was a ring from a quarter gumball machine. Duh.” 

He laughs, head kicking back against the booth to stare down at you lowering to lay against his chest. His hand moves to skip a lazy finger down the length of your spine, gentle enough to mind the sunburn that’s still flaming on your skin. 

“I didn’t think I could love you any more than I do, Cyclone,” you press a kiss to either of his pecks, which are pronounced in the far too tight t-shirt he’s wearing, “but this is a whole new level, baby.” 

“Glad to hear it, honey. That makes me a happy man.” 

#100 followers celebration #100 followers #blurb requests #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun fanfiction #controlled chaos squad #call sign meerkat #answered asks #i love chickens #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #beau cyclone simpson #beau simpson x reader #cyclone x reader #beau cyclone simpson x reader #beau simpson imagine #beau simpson imagines #top gun imagines #top gun maverick imagines

[foreverrandomwritings]

Worth It In The End

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

Pairing: Beau "Cyclone" Simpson x Afab!Reader

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

Word count: 2387

Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tags(open): @wkndwlff @sylviebell @kmc1989

#top gun rocktober #beau simpson #beau cyclone simpson #Beau Simpson x reader #Beau Simpson imagine #Beau Simpson oneshot #Beau Simpson top gun maverick #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick oneshot #top gun maverick #Beau Cyclone Simpson x reader #Beau Cyclone Simpson imagine #Beau Cyclone Simpson oneshot

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Do I? - Beau Simpson x Reader

a/n: I've been wanting to write for Beau for a while (I love Jon Hamm and this is a hill I am willing to die on), so here's my first one for him. Inspired loosely by Do I? by Luke Bryan.

pairing: Beau Simpson x reader

warnings/content: angst to fluff, mentions of divorce if you squint, Beau being kinda soft, allusions to smut, allusions to child ab*se, Beau doesn't always know how to show his emotions but damn it he tries his best.

word count: 1.9k

taglist: @nouis-bum, @jessicab1991, @b-bradshaw, @ahopelessromanticwritersworld

Do I turn you on at all when I kiss you, baby? Does the sight of me wanting you drive you crazy? Do I have your love? Am I still enough? Tell me don't I? Or tell me, do I, baby Give you everything that you ever wanted? Would you rather just turn away and leave me lonely? Do I just need to give up and get on with my life? Tell me, baby do I get one more try?

Beau grumbled as he walked through the door, his keys dropping into the catch-all dish on the table with a clatter. His brows knit together as he looked around the room, searching for any sign of you being home. His tired blue-green eyes blinked as he raked a hand over his face, trying to wake himself up as he searched the house for you. Calling your name to no response, he furrowed his brow as he pulled his phone from his pocket. He frowned as he saw there were zero missed calls and zero missed messages from you, a sign that you were truly mad at him this time. 

He let out an exhausted sigh as he slumped into the armchair in the living room, picking up a discarded baseball your son had forgotten to put away and rolling it in his hands, over his fingers and back as his mind ran over the events that unfolded that morning.

He hadn’t meant to be cold towards you or Dylan. He’d been stressed and overworked, struggling with an upcoming mission that he had to plan out, trying to ensure the right team was put together for the job. Combing through dozens of personnel files until his eyes were sore, staying up all hours of the night trying to create an action plan, briefing notes - he rarely left base anymore. He knew you’d felt neglected, and God, he hated making you feel that way. He hated that you felt unwanted, unloved, and yet, you did everything you could to still make life easier for him. He knew he didn’t deserve that. In fact, he knew he didn’t deserve you–your patience, your understanding, your love and affection. He didn’t deserve to be Dylan’s father either, not that he’d been a particularly good one anyway. 

Dylan had a baseball tournament coming up, and you’d asked Beau if he’d be able to make it. Dylan’s team had never been invited to play before, but they’d managed to make it to a statewide tournament, teams from all over California would be there with their children, ages 8-10. The Coronado Crowns were having a record season, and Dylan had begun to emerge as their star pitcher. When you’d asked him about it, he’d had a dozen other things on his mind - he couldn’t even remember you mentioning it in the first place, if he was honest. He figured he’d hummed along in response, not hearing what you’d said, but not wanting to give off the impression he wasn’t listening. 

Unaware of what he’d agreed to, Beau bounded down the stairs this morning, his footsteps heavy as he headed to the kitchen. He was running late, and barely had time to have coffee with you, but he was determined to at least kiss you good morning before heading out the door. You’d frowned at him when you saw him in uniform, and immediately, his mind began to race, running through a list of scenarios that could have upset you. He wasn’t the most romantic husband - he knew that, but he was sure he’d never forgotten an anniversary or a birthday. It wasn’t until Dylan came down in his baseball uniform, his duffel bag packed for the four-day tournament slung over his shoulder. His face fell as he looked at Beau, an instant wave of guilt washing over Beau’s face.

“I’m sorry, I forgot, buddy, listen, I really have to get this done at work, I have a briefing scheduled for today, I can’t miss it,” Beau had explained, trying to reason with his 9 year old son. 

“I get it, Dad, it’s ok,” Dylan shrugged before sitting down at the breakfast nook for some scrambled eggs. 

“We’re leaving at 10, get to Oakland for about 8 tonight,” you explained, nodding your head as you forced a smile in Dylan’s direction.

Beau let out a frustrated sigh, of course you weren’t home now - you left four hours ago. You were halfway to Oakland by this point. He leaned his head back against the chair, shutting his eyes for a moment as he dragged his hand over his face once more. He knew he’d fucked up. He knew he’d let you both down. He checked his phone again. If he left now, he could probably make it to you and Dylan by 11 if he made minimal stops on his way. He could make this right, he could show up tonight, surprise you - surprise Dylan in the morning when he woke up, spend the weekend being the father and husband he’d failed to be for the last month or so. 

Beau bolted up the stairs, quickly changing out of his uniform and into more relaxed, civilian clothes. He grabbed a bag from the closet and began to shove some clean clothes inside, showing little care about keeping them neat or organized. He headed to the bathroom, grabbing his toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant and his razor, tossing them all into the bag in a hurry. Bounding back down the staircase, he stepped into his running shoes and flew out the door with his keys and bag in hand. A well-loved baseball cap from his college days sat in the front seat - a relic he’d meant to bestow to Dylan but forgotten about. He placed the cap on his head, sporting it backwards, just as he would have done 30+ years ago when he got it. 

As he drove down the interstate, he thought about the ways he could apologize to you. His mind ran through all the things you liked, the romantic gestures he’d heard you mention, the different romcom tropes you loved - anything he could think of that could make up for what he’d lacked in as a husband. When he stopped for dinner, pulling into a fast-food restaurant just off the highway, he contemplated what he’d say when you asked him if he was insane, knowing that was exactly how you’d respond to hearing that he drove down after all, determined not to miss a minute of Dylan’s tournament. He thought about how he’d pull you in close, giving you an emblazoned, passionate kiss as he held you in his arms, giving a rare, dramatic, public display of affection. He yawned as he pulled into the parking lot of the hotel you were staying at with Dylan, finding an open spot next to your car. He got out, smiling fondly as he spotted the bedazzled steering wheel cover that he always teased you about - the one he’d begrudgingly bought for your birthday when you’d asked for it, pretending to find it ridiculous when really, he was admiring you for it, for being so unashamedly yourself. It was a quality he was jealous of in you - he’d been brought up in an old-school military family, taught to be seen and not heard, to blend in with everyone else and to remain reserved the majority of the time. He rarely cracked a smile outside of the house, and really, even wearing a baseball cap outside of a Padres game was unlike him. 

He approached the front desk with a look of pure determination on his face, his bag clutched in his hand. Once he made it to your room, he rapped on the door with a gentle knock, trying not to make too much noise in the hopes he didn’t wake Dylan. You opened the door, looking ready to chew out whoever it was knocking for waking you, but your look of anger quickly dissipated as you wrapped your arms around Beau tightly. 

“You flew down here?!” You whispered excitedly, arms draped around his neck.

“No, flights were booked,” Beau shook his head with a chuckle, a soft smile forming on his lips, “I drove.”

“You…you drove?”

“Mhmm, all nine hours. I’m surprised I made it before midnight, I finished my briefing early, managed to get the plans set for the mission, and then got home and realized I had time to fix things with you and Dylan.”

“He’ll be so excited. He was devastated at the thought of you not making it to see him play.”

“Look, I have to talk to you, ok?” He began, shaking his head as he let out an awkward chuckle, frowning as he tried to collect his thoughts.

“I’ve been the worst husband to you. I know I have. I know I’ve made you feel unloved, and unwanted, and unimportant, and I’m sorry. I never wanted to make you feel that way. I’ve never wanted our marriage to be strained over my work, and I know my job is demanding and it’s difficult some days for me to put you and Dylan first - but believe me, I love you two more than anything. You know that, right? And, I know you probably aren’t happy with me - I don’t blame you. I know you probably wanted to divorce me ten minutes ago, and you’re complete right in thinking that - I would have deserved it.”

You pressed your lips to his gently, interrupting his rambling with a soft, tender kiss. He pulled away gently, reaching up to take the baseball cap off of his head before ducking down to kiss you again. He pulled away after a moment, breathless and blissful as he gazed at you.

“So, am I still enough for you? Do you want me to leave or do I get another chance?”

“You’ve always been enough, Beau,” you shook your head, beaming up at him, “Even when you forget commitments and you get caught up with work, or when you don’t always say the right thing, you always make up for it and try to fix things, and that’s one of the things I love about you. You drove nine hours when you realized you couldn’t catch a flight down here because you realized how much it meant to Dylan and I for you to be here. I don’t know many other men who’d drop everything on a dime to do that.”

“I guess that’s true,” he nodded, shaking his head in disbelief before leaning in to kiss your cheek. “I mean it though, I really think you could have done better than a middle-aged Admiral who can’t show his emotions very well and doesn’t know how to prioritze anything correctly.”

“You’re right, I could have, but where’s the fun in that?” You teased, taking the baseball cap from his hand and placing it back on his head, backwards.

“By the way, Beau, you should wear a hat like this more often.” 

“Yeah? You think so?”

You bit your lip seductively, holding back a wicked grin as you looked up at him, nodding your head, “Kinda makes me wanna show you just how much I love you.”

“Dylan’s asleep in here,” he laughed, shaking his head as his cheeks flushed.

“Dylan is sleeping in Ryder’s room, three doors away, actually.”

Beau’s eyes widened slightly, his hands drifting down to your hips. He raised an eyebrow as he looked at you, turning his head to the side to scan the room, seeing that, you were in fact, alone. When he turned, you caught a glimpse of the salt and pepper streaks that ran through his hair on the side of his head, the sight alone almost enough to make you melt. 

“Well, in that case, let me show you just how sorry I am.” 

#beau cyclone simpson #beau cyclone simpson x reader #beau cyclone simpson x you #beau simpson #beau simpson x reader #beau simpson x you #beau simpson fic #beau cyclone simpson fic #top gun: maverick #top gun: maverick fic

[sushiwriterhere]

top gun threesomeissance 2023 masterlist

wow y'all!!! i'm so sorry for how late this is but you guys blew me away with each of these pieces. thank you to everyone who wrote, read, reblogged, liked, commented, and just in general encouraged their friends to write. so much love, and i hope everyone enjoyed!! now, in no particular order...... the masterlist:

bradley, jake, x f!reader

Up the Ante - @sometimesanalice Rooster had heard the whispers. He knew what the stories were about- the ones that had followed him and Hangman around for years. You, however, are more than happy to find out for yourself if all the rumors were true.

jake, f!reader, x f!reader's friend

You and Me and She Makes Three - @roosterforme Jake had feelings for you. And that was a problem, because he didn't do relationships. He was going to have to choose his independence over being with you. At least that's what he thought until he was presented with the opportunity to enjoy you and his freedom at the same time. 

bob, jake, x reader

three tender lovers - @sebsxphia bob proposes a solution to jake’s remarks to the marks on bob’s back. all three of you find resolution and something else. love.

(im)Patiently Waiting - @callsign-cacti You and Bob have been dancing around one another for years. Now, with Jake and Bob eyeing each other, you have a plan. Hopefully, it ends with both of them in your bed... or any bed.

mickey, bob, x f!reader

Two Turns Into Three - @foreverrandomwritings You and your boyfriend Fanboy propostion your close friend Bob with a threesome request.

javy, bradley, x f!reader

Merrier the More - @sylviebell Jake strikes out at the bar, but you hit a couple of home runs

javy, natasha, x reader

The Last Unicorn - @thedroneranger Getting caught between Natasha and Javy leads to a unique experience.

javy, mickey, x f!plus size!reader

"It was always gonna end this way" - @briseisgone [no author written summary but!] smut, polyamory, boys being bisexual boys, and a whole lotta fun

beau, jake, x f!reader

The Magic Number - @wkndwlff Beau and his fiancé discover the magic of threes.

#top gun threesomeissance 2023 #top gun: maverick fic recs #top gun: maverick fanfic #top gun: maverick fic #top gun maverick #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw #jake 'hangman' seresin #robert 'bob' floyd #mickey 'fanboy' garcia #beau simpson #javy 'coyote' machado #natasha 'phoenix' trace #jake seresin x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bob floyd x reader #javy machado x reader #natasha trace x reader #mickey garcia x reader #beau simpson x reader #sushi speaks #fic recs

[lieutenantfloyd]

i LOVE the iceman dating headcannons - can we have cyclone dating headcannons pls 🙏🙏🙏 i am in such a cyclone mood atm it’s unbelievable

Dating headcanons — Beau "Cyclone" Simpson

Pairing: Beau "Cyclone" Simpson x reader

Warnings: Slight mentions of insecurities and trauma.

a/n: Hello and thank you! I really enjoyed writing this!

If you haven't already, please check out the general Cyclone headcanons I posted a while back, as there are more than a few references to them in this post!

The first several months of your relationship will be the toughest.

He's terribly guarded and has all but forgotten how to let anyone in.

You'll honestly just have to wait him out. Meeting him where he is and proving to him that you're in it for the long haul.

When he finally starts to let you in is when your relationship gets very serious.

He's quite traditional in how he views his (and only his!) role in a relationship.

On the flip side, he expects next to nothing from you and is wholly grateful for you even just being with him.

I headcanon that he's had to look after himself since a pretty early age, and is used to just kind of... getting by?

Like he's extremely put together on a professional front, but on a personal one, he's an "eating a shitty frozen microwave meal in front of the TV on a Friday night" kinda man.

Not that he couldn't take better care of himself, he just found putting all that effort in for one person a bit depressing.

Now given the opportunity, he's an absolute dream to date

He's paying all the bills, doing the home repairs/improvements, taking your car to the shop, etc.

If you protest this, he will sit you down and quite literally tell you that "your money is your money, and my money is also your money."

And like I said, he expects nothing in return.

However, if you do want to do something to make his life easier, like pack his lunch or iron his uniform, he'd be a goner.

It's also in these small gestures that he best shows his love.

Doing the tasks you dislike, knowing your preferences, anticipating the things you'll need to complete, and making your life just a bit easier is where he shines.

At each restaurant and cafe you go to he has your order memorized.

He is the best cook and will cook for you whenever he has time

He's totally the breakfast-in-bed type too!

Will probably have stayed up late the night before to bake a loaf of brioche for french toast, and will serve it to you on a fancy wooden breakfast tray (that he handmade) with a fresh flower from the garden because that's just the kind of man he is.

If you offer him any he'll refuse, instead preferring to have you fuss over him and his habit of having nothing but a single cup of black coffee for breakfast.

He will, however, accept bacon. Thick cut, cherry smoked.

His desk both on base and at home is covered in pictures of you.

Like Iceman, he isn't jealous, but very protective.

This is also the only point of contention in your relationship.

He has some insecurities and would be absolutely devastated If you were to vie for others' attention or flirt back with them.

Ironically, he absolutely loves to show you off; and will use any such occasion to spoil you.

Will tell you stories from his various deployments.

And cherishes the way you squeeze his hand when the tougher memories come back.

Very nearly worked himself into a worry the first time you were going to stay at his place.

Now he struggles to sleep without you beside him.

Loves nothing more than to cuddle up with you in bed or on the couch.

More often than not, you'll end your day just like that.

With the added bonus of him reading whatever book he's been reading aloud to you.

Will 100% take you on bookstore dates!

He'll order himself a coffee in the cafe before happily setting you free with his wallet.

Will happily carry and/or guard the stacks of books you pick out.

If you happen to pick out a book or two for him, he'll get almost bashful??

Knowing you not only cared enough but paid enough attention to his interests to know just what he'd like hits him directly in his soft spot.

Each year he takes you back home to Alaska.

It's one of the few times you get to see his personality shine in private and in public.

The trips are only a few weeks long at the most.

Although as the days pass, you both secretly hope to get snowed in for the whole winter.

These trips have spawned not only some of your favorite memories as a couple, but moving back there with you in tow has become his retirement plan.

! taglist !

@marchingicenotes7, @bayisdying, @princessofglitterland, @bella-law, @austin-butlers-gf, @callsignaries, @katesmadness, @dannyramirezwife, @oliviah-25, @luckyladycreator2, @shakira-sasha, @xoxabs88xox, @Criminalmindsandmarvel, @fanboyluvr, @alexxavicry, @madamemelancholysstuff, @paola-carter, @barbiewritesstuff, @dozcan123, @withakindheartx, @nyx2021, @teti-menchon0604

#b.simpson #beau cyclone simpson #top gun maverick #top gun #top gun x reader #cyclone #beau cyclone simpson x reader #beau simpson #beau simpson x reader #cyclone top gun #cyclone simpson #cyclone x reader #topgun #top gun fanfic #top gun x y/n #top gun x you #top gun maverick x reader #top gun maverick fanfiction #tgm headcanon #tgm x reader #tgm fic #tgm fanfiction #top gun headcanons #top gun fanfiction #top gun fandom #top gun fic

[cinebration]

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

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

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

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

Warnings: none

Gif Source: garethamm

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

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

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

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

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

Cyclone stared.

“Cyclone? Beau?”

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

“Are you really so incapable of enjoying yourself?”

He frowned. “What?”

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

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

He glanced at your table.

Your seat was empty.

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

Nothing.

Cyclone ground his teeth in disappointment.

“What’s the matter?”

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

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

~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cyclone sighed. “But?”

“We need to use F-22s.”

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

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

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

“Because we’re going to crash it.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

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

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

“Something like that.”

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

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

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

He snapped the folder shut.

“When do I meet them?”

~~

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

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

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

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

“Nevertheless.” Warlock shook his head again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that understood??”

A chorus of “yessirs” filled the room.

“Dismissed.”

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

~~

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

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

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

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

“Nothing, sir,” Rooster answered.

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

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

“Yessir,” the men agreed in unison.

“Then why is Captain Hummel in the hospital?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

His nails dug into his palms.

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

~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The general answered immediately.

“I heard,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get me there.”

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

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

He almost couldn’t bear to look at you.

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

He choked on his tongue. “What?”

“I’m glad to see I’m important.”

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

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

He promised quietly to return the next day.

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

#Cyclone #Cyclone x Reader #Cyclone imagine #Beau Simpson #Beau Simpson x Reader #Beau Simpson imagine #Beau “Cyclone” Simpson x Reader #Beau “Cyclone” Simpson #Beau “Cyclone” Simpson imagine #Jon Hamm x Reader #Jon Hamm #Jon Hamm imagine #Top Gun: Maverick #Top Gun Maverick #TGM

[multifan2022]

Cyclone x Mavsdaughter 4

Masterpage

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Your head snapped to the side as you heard your daughter's voice. You watched as Penny called for her to stay on the deck. But Emery was a daddy's girl at heart, and no one ever could stop her from getting to Beau. Your body tensed as Beau crouched down to scoop her into his arms. You could feel the shock in the group around you. Could hear the whispers of “Daddy?” And “What the fuck”. That last one came from Rooster you knew. Emerys voice cut threw the panic though “Mommy! Look Daddys here!” 

Beau looked at you and even with his sunglasses on you knew he was looking at you with sympathy. He knew this isn't how you wanted anything to come out, but life was pretty cruel. “The better question is why you're here little lady.. Why aren't you at school?” Beau asked as you got closer to him, having broken away from the group. You answered and told him it was canceled, trying to ignore the glare Maverick was giving you as you stepped next to your little family. 

Beau leaned down and kissed your forehead, resting his free hand on your hip as he looked at the group of aviators over your head. Javy and Jake looked unsurprised, because Jake already knew, and what Jake knew Javy knew. Nat, Hondo, Bob, Payback and Fanboy all looked confused. The others had run off to play on their own, not being part of the group in the same way. But when his eyes landed on Rooster, he could see the pure anger rolling off the man. One that he desperately wanted to shield you from, but didnt know how to.

When he pulled back, he could see tears in your eyes. At this moment you weren't Captain Simpson, his strong beautiful wife. You were the girl he watched stand at your tap out ceremony alone. The one who cried when a random woman came and tapped her out. The girl who refused to believe for the longest time that he was even remotely interested in her. The one he didnt see again until you entered Top Gun. The one who had to rebuild herself with the help of himself after being left by not only her father, but her best friend and first love. He wasn't happy to see the sadness and vulnerability in your eyes. 

“If you want.. You can invite them over, I'll call Solomon, I'm sure they will watch Em for the night so we can all talk..” Beau said, moving his hand from your hip to wipe the tears from your cheeks. You nodded but didn't make a move to do anything, so he sighed and kissed your forehead again. “Go home, I'll meet you there.” You didn't look back as you kissed Emerys cheek and told her to be good for her uncle. Practically running to your jeep before speeding out of the parking lot. 

Beau sighed again, setting Em down “Baby go get your stuff from Penny and say thank you. You're gonna go stay with Uncle Solo for a while ok?” The little girl nodded and talked animatedly about her uncle's dogs for a moment before running to get her stuff. Cyclone turned and let himself fall back into work mode in a nanosecond as he looked down at Maverick. The shorter man was glaring at him in a way that he assumed was supposed to be intimidating, but he was nowhere near scared.. Like at all. 

“I'll text you our address.. You can show up in an hour and we can all talk like adults. Or not, it doesn't really matter to me. But this is probably your last chance to have a shot at being in your daughter or granddaughter's life.. So choose carefully Maverick.” 

~~~

Thirty minutes later the squad was following Mavericks bike as they passed through a clearly gated community. The security guard waved them on, having already received a call from Beau and watched sadly as you pulled through crying. You were both highly respected members of the community and he hated seeing you upset. The gps led him into the driveway of a gorgeous 2 story Crosby style home. Phoenix gasped as she and Bob got out of her car and commented about how it looked custom. Even from the outside it was clear the home was both lived in and taken care of. Your jeep was parked in the open 4 car garage, waiting for Beaus truck. Three bikes, one that was clearly for Emery, a pogo stick, skateboard, roller blades and a handful of other toys were leaned against the far wall. 

Rooster didn't know how to feel about any of this. He couldn't see past his anger. Anger that you had moved on and he hadn't. That some rather large part of him always thought you would just be waiting on him. He was mad that Emery had dark hair, but it didn't have the golden brown color his did, it had the deep chocolate brown that Beaus did. That her eyes were green instead of brown. That her last name as well as yours were Simpson instead of Bradshaw. 

Deep deep down he knew he had nobody to blame but himself, and maybe a lack of therapy but mostly himself. But he couldn't stop looking at this huge house and comparing it to the bungalow his parents had left him. His was a nice home, but this was immaculate in comparison and it only made his anger hotter. When they stepped inside he took in the huge wood doors and the stone floors clicked against everyone's steps. While everyone besides Maverick ooh and ahhed over how absolutely breathtaking the home was, he just watched you. 

They all followed you down the hall, looking into a huge living room with a 70 in TV and a large wrap around couch. Then an equally as beautiful kitchen and dining room, before they entered a billiards room. All the guys making comments about wanting to play as they stepped back outside and fell silent again. You had led them to the private deck out back. It has multiple seats and tables scattered around it. But it was clear you wanted them to sit at the long one with 10 or so seats. Phoenix and Hondo were busy gushing over the bird of paradise everywhere, while Javy was talking about the pool with a little waterfall and hot tub. 

They didn't notice when you crossed the deck and stepped into sliding glass doors and dropped thick curtains, but Mav and Rooster did. When you walked back towards them you nervously looked back over your shoulder, hoping to see your husband but he clearly isn't back yet. You didn't know but Solomon had met Beau at the car to take Emery. He was now speeding across the neighborhood to get back to you. He didn't want to leave you alone as much as you didnt want to be alone. You stepped back to the table and sighed, “I ah.. I ordered pizzas.. There's a fridge right here by the grill.. Its got beer and water if anyone wants some..” 

You tried to swallow past the thickness in your throat as a few of them got up and helped themselves. Jake almost felt bad when he noticed how nervous you were, and by the end of the night the guilt of wanting this to happen would be eating him alive. As he looked around his eyes watching the beautiful dark skinned man grab two beers, he wondered how he would feel if someone found out about him and Javy and outed them before they were ready. He thought about pulling you aside and apologizing but knew that would just make things worse. When everyone resettled you anxiously tapped your fingers until Hondo sat his hand on top of yours and squeezed. 

“I feel like a dummy.. I've known you were married for years and never thought to ask. It's shocking to me that it's Admiral Simpson of course.. But now that I think back I can see it.. He looks at you differently. Softer look, softer tone, I can't believe I never second guessed it.” He squeezed your hand again before pulling back, and him speaking seemed to be what everyone needed to start talking. 

Phoenix was next, “Yeah I obviously don't know you well but it is crazy to think of Cyclone as a husband.. Even more as a dad. He's just so stoic and domineering, I dont think Ive ever really pictured him having a life outside of work.” She pauses clearly contemplating something before speaking softer “Which now that I think about it is kinda shitty..” She had seen the way he held you, kissed your head and taken on a burden you clearly couldn't. The soft way he looked at both you and your child on the beach. How he smiled down at Emery as she ran to him. It was clear that there was a side to Cyclone they were not privy to. 

The others nodded in agreement as you smiled shyly. “Beau is.. Complicated I guess you could say. He very much has a work life and a home life and beyond me he likes to keep them separate. We try to not interact much at work, so that people aren't saying things..” You look at Hangman out of the corner of your eye and see him cringe a little. “It's also not widely known, clearly, that we are married. People see Beau as someone who's married to his job. Noone thinks of people like him as people who do things like go to their daughters soccer games and such. Between that and me not changing my name it's really only known in the higher ups. And since I don't get moved around a lot thankfully, it's not gossiped about.” Sighing you look down at the table and start picking at a spot before speaking quieter “It's mostly just talk about how people didn't realize Maverick had a daughter.. So that kept the spotlight off my marriage.” 

The group was silent again as they all turned to Mav who had an unreadable expression on his face. Rooster scoffed, not even trying to hide it behind a swig of beer as he looked at you. You just stared back at him, daring him to say what you knew he wanted to say. It only took a moment or two before he broke “So how long after you left did you wait before jumping into bed with a commanding officer? That's how you got out of Mav pulling your papers too huh.” Even though you were all outside, and the air was cooling off thanks to the setting sun and the fans on the overhang, it felt like it all had been sucked out. Nobody dared to move, or even blink as the two of you watched each other. 

“You left me Bradley.. You left then Maverick left. And not that it's anyone's business but I didn't not jump into bed with Beau-” Mavericks voice cut you off as he sighed and wiped a hand down his face “God it's weird to hear you call him that..” Anger was starting to roll under your skin as you looked at the two men who had clearly built an unspoken alliance to try and make you feel bad. The shitty thing was, it was working. These two men had broken you into tiny pieces when they left. Made you feel small, and unworthy as the dust settled. So no matter how angry you felt right now, pieces of that broken girl were starting to shine threw. 

“I call him by his name outside of work, because we are married.. And no.. Maverick didn't pull my papers because until the start of this mission he didn't even know I was in the Navy.. Ice knew, but I've always been second to you Bradshaw.. They weren't worried about me anymore because I suddenly had no attachments to you.” Bradley scoffed again, not believing at all that Mav didn't know. Maverick was offended and spoke again. “You're telling me Ice knew? Do you really think I wouldn't have been there for you had I known?” 

It was your turn to scoff, even if there were tears streaming down your face. “Ice knew I was an aviator, Slider was one of my Top Gun teachers the first time I was here. And yeah Maverick.. As a matter of fact, I know you wouldn't be there. Ice said you never once asked him to look for me after you guys up and left. So you don't know that I stood at my tap out ceremony and cried when one of my classmates' moms tapped me out. You don't know that I pushed BEAU away for almost a year because I thought I was unlovable because my dad left me. Who wants a girl who isnt even loved by her father?!” 

You were full on crying by this point, Hondo had leaned forward again and grabbed one of your hands. He had always had mad respect for your dad, but at this moment he was so angry at him. “I had to walk myself down the aisle. I've had to explain time and time again that ‘yes i'm the daughter of Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell. No we are not the same. And No I can't tell him you said hi.. He hasn't spoken to me in almost 20 years.’ I got myself into flight school. For your information, Bradley, I didn't meet Beau officially until I was 26, YOU left ME when I was 17. So I waited almost ten years, sorry that wasn't good enough for you but what did you expect? Did you think that I would just be sitting around waiting to see if one day you would want me again?” 

Bradley was getting angry again, his mouth was saying things before his brain was even processing them. “Well I sure as hell didn't think I'd come back to find you married with kids.. I can't believe you sold yourself out to someone like him. Was it really the daddy issues like Hangman said? Pathetic.” The last word was whispered but everyone heard it. Phoenix aimed a kick at Bradleys knee that had him grunting in pain but not backing down. “What happened to ‘Forever and Always’, I know its from that stupid show you loved growing up but I thought we were end game. But no, you're just like your dad, lying to me and leaving.” Over Bradleys angry voice, nobody heard the front door shut, or the clicking of Beaus' shoes as he carried pizzas towards the deck.

You were so blown away by everything he said that you couldn't even respond, unfortunately that gave Maverick time to speak. “Past everything Bradley said, I can't believe you never reached out to me. You clearly had contact with Tom, you never asked him to ask me to call.. Never thought ‘maybe my dad will want to know I'm marrying someone who hates him?’ Never wondered if I would want to walk you down the aisle? Jesus.. You kept my granddaughter away from me!” 

You jumped slightly when he slammed his beer bottle down on the table. The rest of the group was glaring at the two men as tears continued to stream down your cheeks. You didn't know what to say, your dad was angry with you and you couldn't find the part of you who didn't care. The part that spent years telling yourself that you deserved to be happy. To move on from waiting for them to come back, that if they don't care neither do you. Just as you opened your mouth to apologize, boxes of pizza were unceremoniously dropped onto the table startling everyone again. 

No one around the table had heard Beau come in, but they could tell by the look on his face as he watched Maverick that he had heard everything. He turned and held his hand out to you, watching as you silently got up and grabbed it. Following him into the billiards room before he pulled the door shut behind him. Hondo rounded on Maverick as the rest watched Beau speak to you through the glass door. “Pete, I have always stood behind you but you are being an ass. This is 100% your fault. I didn't even know you had a kid before I met her! And I've known you her whole life! Get it together before I lose all respect for you!” 

 Hondos' rant was cut off by the door opening and closing again. Every single one of them swore they could feel a shift in the air, like all the air around them was suddenly circling. Cyclone was giving off the energy that earned him his name, but he promised himself he would try to contain the storm. Minimize the destruction, for his wife if nothing else. He wanted to see you happy again, like you were on the beach earlier. He knew how hard it was for you to hold back from those your own age. He also knew you did it as a way to protect yourself and your marriage. 

If no one got close to you, they couldn't use your husband's position against you. They couldn't use it for their own advancement, they couldn't hold it over your head or push for you to talk to him. You had made comments about how you also didn't want any young officers to find any reason to try and flirt with you. You didn't want to give off the wrong impression and hurt Beau, knowing that he was always worried about the age difference. It never occurred to you that your husband was more than confident in your marriage. Never once in the years since you had Emery had he ever worried about you leaving. 

Beau ‘Cyclone’ Simpson was a very confident man, not in the way Jake is, but in his own way. He's the type of man to buy you flowers because he saw them on his way home and thought they were pretty. He planned not only date nights with you, but daddy daughter dates because he always wanted Em to know how she should be treated. Cyclone is a firm believer in his children learning from the best, and when it came to being a man, and being a husband he was the best. Emery would never get a better mother or woman to learn from than you, and he strived every day to be your equal. Even if he would never believe that he was. 

“I sent Y/n to grab some towels and a case of extra swimsuits, I'm sure there's something that would fit you all.. After you eat your welcome to the pool or hot tub if you would like to stay.” Beau tapped his fingers on the table as he stood, looking around at the men and women at his table. His voice was hard as steel and cold as he spoke again, “But let me make this abundantly clear. This is MY home, mine and MY wifes. We have owned this home since before it was built, we brought our daughter home from the hospital to here.. And I will not in anyways tolerate you or anyone disrespecting her, not anywhere but especially not here. This place is meant to be her safe haven and I will throw you out on your ass before I let you even chip away at any of that safety.” 

Jake and Phoenix swore the hairs on their arms rose as he spoke. When he was done everyone but Bradley and Maverick nodded. “The two of you have done nothing but disrespect my wife time and time again. From before I even knew her, now unfortunately I can't go back and fix that, but I can't stop it from happening anymore. SO let's settle a few things, First and foremost” Beau held up one finger, resisting the urge to shove it into Rooster's eye as he spoke. “You, Lieutenant Bradshaw will talk to and treat my wife like she is one of your commanding officers, because she is. No amount of personal knowledge of someone, or time frame of friendship overrides that in the Navy. And son.. If you keep acting like you being her first love means you have some type of claim or hold over her, I will have you packing your bags and flying for American Airlines so fast it will make your head spin.” 

Everyone's eyes widened, this was an even newer side to Beau, one that he had never really needed to show. Phoenix, Hondo, and Javy were impressed. Jake and Bob were about to piss their pants. “You may have been her first love, Son.. But I intend to be her last.. And yes that's from said stupid TV show you were talking about earlier. It's called ‘The Vampire Diaries’ and ‘The Originals’. You may hold all her firsts, but I hold her bests, and her lasts, so I suggest you get over it quickly because I AM her FIRST and ONLY husband. The FIRST and ONLY father of her children, so it would be in your best interest to wrap that thick skull around that knowledge.” Bradley stared down at the table, his anger was still present but he could feel himself cooling off.. He just wanted to leave, try to sort all this out in his head before he talked to you again. 

Beau could see the gears turning in Bradleys head and decided he had given him enough. Now he turned to the only man he could truly say he hated. “You Maverick. Have been dangerous and irresponsible from the day you joined the Navy. Not only in how you fly but in the lifestyle you live. I can completely understand going out of your way to help raise your passed wingman's son. It was commendable that you tried to help him, even if you failed. However it is not commendable that you left your own child behind, what would the Bradshaws say if they knew that you haven't spoken to your daughter in 20 years? That you didn't know she was someone's wife? Someone's mother?”

Maverick didn't want to think about that, he tried not to as he kept listening. “You left and shattered a 17 year old girl, left her to fend for herself. To grow up herself. You didn't even know she joined the Navy but you knew Bradley did. You didn't even know where she was living.. IF she was living. You are the worst kind of parent and every single day Y/n proves that she is better than you in EVERY single way. From how she teaches at Top Gun, to how she raises our daughter. You can not like me all you want but you will respect my wife, your daughter or I will have you dishonorably discharged faster than your boyfriend can read. It will be done and signed before Iceman even has a chance to protest, do not play with me.” 

The two of them stare each other down, it was clear that Cyclone was not going to back down. “You can either grow up.. And try to be in your granddaughter's life or you can leave now. But if you leave right now the door will not open again.. With that being said, you are all welcome to stay or leave. At the moment I don't really care, I'm going to check on my wife and when I get back those who want to leave should probably be gone.”

~

~

Who do think will stay and who will go?

~

What do you want to happen next?

~

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[bullet-prooflove]

Disengage: Beau 'Cyclone' Simpson x Reader

Tagging: @proceduralpassion @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @oureternalbond  @chickensrule @iwannabeinthesequalmrghostface @justameresimp @lxaah11 @librarian1002 @littlebadariell @imaginecrushes @luckyladycreator2 @emersxn99  @flrboyd @nani-kenobi @areamir @@b-bradshaw @adaydreamaway08

Companion piece to Rumours

Beau is angry, no he is fucking livid. He can feel that rage pulse through his veins as he stalks into the bedroom and tears off the tie of his dress uniform and hurls it onto the bed. His jacket follows next, he strips it from his shoulders before tossing it onto the sheets. He doesn’t know where the fuck his hat is, he thinks he might have thrown it onto the kitchen table, but he has no memory of it because right now all he can focus on is the agony in his chest.

Christ, it feels like you’ve ripped his heart right out of his fucking rib cage.

You say nothing as you enter the room. You’re still clad in your JAG uniform, only you’ve kicked off your shoes, leaving them alongside the front door he suspects, the blazer probably on the back of one of the dining chairs. You stand in front of the mirror, removing the pins from your hair, each one clattering into the small dish as your hair falls loose around your shoulders.

“Why…” he chokes out the word as he looks at your reflection in the mirror. You look back at him and he knows that you’ve completely shut down. It’s an ode to your father. When a man shows his temper you disengage. The lesson was beaten into you from an early age. “Why did I have to find out from another officer that you're deploying next month?”

“I tried to tell you.” You say calmly as you pick up a cleansing pad and begin to remove your makeup. “But we’ve barely been in the same room over the last couple of days.”

Fuck, he’s forgot how cold you can be when you get like this, how concise, how rational. It makes him want to scream, to shout, to shake you but he doesn’t do any of that because even at his worst he would never lay hands on you.

“For something like this, we make the time.” He snaps before shaking his head because he knows he isn’t getting through to you. “I don’t understand, you’ve barely been back a few weeks and…”

He trails off because you’re not looking at him anymore, your gaze has dropped to bottle of toner at your dressing table, your fingers toying with the label. You’re completely out of reach to him and he can’t…

He just can’t…

“I’ll take the guest room tonight.” He says, his tone softening.

You don’t say a word as he closes the bedroom door behind him and honestly, he doesn’t expect you to.

***

It’s hours later that Beau hears the door to the guest bedroom click open. He can’t sleep, he just keeps reliving the moment that Vice Admiral Henderson tells him that you’re leaving as he shakes his hand and thanks him for his sacrifice.

He says nothing as you take up residence alongside of him, the mattress shifting to accommodate your weight. He keeps his back to you, his arms crossed over his chest as he stares at the closed ensuite door, hoping that you’re about to tell him that Henderson’s made a mistake. He can’t express how badly he wishes for that, how in those moments of silence he prays to a God he doesn’t believe in because right now he would do anything to strip away the anguish he feels.

“If I do this deployment.” You say into the darkness. “Henderson gives me the position in the Victim’s Legal Council when Phillips retires in six months.”

He knows what that means, you’ll be stationed here on base for at least two years. He closes his eyes because he understands what you’re doing, you’re creating a future for the two of you, one where you can exist in the same space.

Six months for two years, maybe longer…

It tastes so fucking bitter on his tongue because he’s only just got you back and now, you’re leaving all over again. He turns to face you, and you lay down beside him, your fingertips tracing over the curve of his cheek as he meets your gaze.

“I don’t want you to go.” He tells you.

“I know.” You whisper sadly, your lips brushing over his. “But I have to.”

He fucks you that night, in the guest bedroom. It’s raw and intense. There’s a wildness in him that won’t be sated as he tries to claw back some semblance of control. He’s reckless and passionate, keeping you pinned underneath him as he makes you come with his mouth, his fingers, his cock. It still isn’t enough because he’s chasing the intimacy of those six months, the moments he’s going to lose with you.

He leaves you ruined amongst the sheets, an apricot flush across your features before he gets up and heads to the en suite, locking the door behind him before turning on the shower.

This is the part he hates the most.

The disconnection.

Already he can feel himself withdrawing from you, from the marriage.

It happens every time that you’re deployed.

It’s normal the handbook tells him, a way of protecting yourself, a way of coping. He still can’t believe there’s a fucking manual for this.

He stays under the scalding hot stream for as long as he can, his palms coming to rest on the tile, his head hanging low as the water pounds onto his skull, drowning out his thoughts, his feelings and all of the other emotional shit because what he needs right now is that numbness.

It’s the only way he’s going to survive.

When he leaves the en-suite you aren’t in the bed. He doesn’t expect you to be.

You know as well as he does that right now, it’s easier to be apart than it is to be together.

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When you get into a fandom but 99% of the fics are fem and are unlabeled or untagged

#I’m lookin at y’all #gender neutral x reader #they them problems #mike dodds x reader #jet black x reader #daryl dixon x reader #sonny carisi x reader #nick amaro x reader #Will Trent x reader #buddy x reader #jason van horn x reader #beau simpson x reader #joel miller x reader #smoker x reader #benn beckman x reader #crocodile x reader #buggy x reader #zoro x reader #mihawk x reader #ignis scientia x reader #prompto argentum x reader #Gladiolus Amicitia x reader #ace x reader #simon riley x reader #halsin x reader #astarion x reader #eustass kid x reader #law x reader #killer x reader #sandor clegane x reader