#admiral beau cyclone simpson

[kcsplace]

[nobody7102]

The 4th

Pairing: Beau "Cyclone" Simpson x Pregnant!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of PTSD, Fireworks, Loud sounds

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

Master-list

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

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

“Did the store have everything?”

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

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

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

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

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

__________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[chrrywvea]

✨cyclone babysits for the first time✨

iceman: alright, there we go... *sets maverick down next to him* i'll pick him back up at seven, *takes out his checklist and hands it over* make sure he gets food and water every other hour, keep the jets away unless i permitted it...

cyclone: but sir-

iceman: let me finish-... so keep the jets in the hangar and, hm, maybe lock it... he can do a hop or two unless you want him to get more cranky than usual, shove him into his office twice a day and he'll get the paperwork done... shut the door though, or he will escape

cyclone, under his breath: whAt

iceman, pecking mav on the lips and ruffling his hair: i gotta go honey, love you! *death glaring at cyclone* one scratch on him and you're done.

cyclone, sweating profusely and watching the admiral saunter out the door: y-yes sir?

meanwhile maverick has already disappeared to the hangar, 11 little duckling daggers right on his tail

[highwaytothedangerzone502]

Cain: It looks like Captain Mitchell is engaging the enemy.

Cyclone: That’s nothing out of the ordinary, especially since I gave him a direct order not to.

[missathlete31]

So lately I've been thinking about a TGM story where Admiral Simpson is actually Hangman's maternal Uncle. Beau has spent so many years trying to rescue his sister and his young nephew from John Seresin, but each time his plan backfires. When his sister passes and Beau tries once more to save Jake from the dangerous household he is trapped in, he is hit with a restraining order. Beau is forced to wait almost two decades until he can see Jake again, finding out the young man is a pilot now and making quite the name for himself. Simpson still keeps his distance though, afraid of his failures in the past and assuming Jake wouldn't want him in his life (although he does try to keep tabs on the man throughout his career).

Fast forward and Beau receives word that the best of the best of Naval Aviators are being called back to train at Top Gun for what will ultimately be a suicide mission. As he skims the list of pilots, his heart stops, because right there is the kid he has spent his life trying to protect: Jake Hangman Seresin.

So what do we think:

(Thank you to @seresimp for being so wonderful and letting me talk your ear off about this)

[wishfulwithwine]

Fathers

Beau Cyclone Simpson x Fem!WifeReader

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

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

photo from pinterest:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maverick is going to hate this” Warlock stated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?” You asked, annoyed.

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

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

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

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

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

“Holy shit” Bob said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[chicabae]

Top Gun AU Bingo Prompt 3

Kink Party AU! Admirals and their favorite Captain

Moodboard prompt fill 18+ MDNI

"Age brings wisdom and knowledge...as well as new cravings"

[pollyna]

Slightly nsfw:

The most embarrassing moment in Cyclone's carrier is from back then, when he was like 30 and working for the first time under Ice and developed the biggest fucking crush on him. A morning, after a heavy night of drinking, he answers yes, daddy instead that yes, sir and Ice tries to dissimulate with a I'm not your father kinda of joke but Slider tells it all to Mav and he gets kinda of jealous and vengeful and makes Cyclone pay catching them in the act, in one of the offices, while he calls Ice daddy. It's not really their thing but Mav can get what he wants when he really wants and Cyclone can't watch either of them in the eyes the following week.

[avi8tors]

Top Gun: Maverick (2022)

[callsign-magnolia]

For the 5 sentence NSFW ficlet:

Beau is so tender when making love with you.

Ooh, I've never written for Cyclone before! Let me see if I can do this!

Beau was always attentive in bed; he loved drawing all the little noises out of you; the moans, the whines, the gasps. You never knew what to expect with him though. Would he want you under him, knees pressed to your chest as he roughly thrust into you? Or would he rather pull you down onto his cock, legs shaking as you feel stuffed full of him? Either way, he always had the same thing to say, "My baby girl loves being full of my cock doesn't she?"

Well shit, I surprised myself with this one. 🥵

Send me a NSFW headcannon, and I'll write five sentences to go with it!

[blazingstar29]

maverick vs cain

this has been in my head for a while and i need to get it out. okay idk if anyones got a gif of it or something but that scene with cain in TG:M in cain's office, the first shot is of that ring (annapolis naval academy ring?) but unless i'm mistake it is the same or very similar to the one iceman wears in tg 1986 and we saw a few close up's of that in his introductory scenes which makes me think that there is definitely stuff to be thought about when it comes to maverick's defiance against promotion. he wasn't allowed into the academy bc of his father (although in real life that wouldn't be the case?) anyway there's good premise for a fic about maverick resisting promotion not just because of his will to keep flying but because it feels like an old boys club he'll never be allowed into and will always be the butt of the joke. PLUS we saw from cyclone that there are still people around considering the hop 31 as Not An Accident and blame maverick so yeah in this essay i will

[folklore-barnes]

i bet you think about me and cowboy like me are admiral beau simpson's favorite songs by blondie. ik it because he told me

[alabasteralbatross]

I'm back!! And my wrist (mostly) feels better!!

Some more references! Almost done!

Cyclone is an African Lion, and Cain is a Black-chested Buzzard Eagle (that last one is a bit of a mouthful!) I really like how both profiles came out. Plus there is a preview of Warlock at the top.

[allbark-no-bite]

call it brotherhood (not love).

jake seresin x reader (wc: 6.2k)

summary: jake meets his match in a soldier rather than a sailor. you’re a bit more war torn than he expected, but it’s okay because maybe he is too

warnings: 18+ smut, * graphic descriptions of injuries and death ⚠️

* if you are uncomfortable with this, please don’t read

author’s note: spoiler alert, i know this isn’t the Jake fic that you’ve all been wanting but i swear that one is in the works. i’m about to go back to school and wanted to get this out there for y’all :) (ps i apologize for the lazy ending)

————————————————————————

"At ease, gentlemen —And woman," Admiral Simpson adds after a moment, shooting an uncharacteristically apprehensive look in Phoenix's direction. Payback snorts at his hasty correction, and Jake is surprised when the admiral doesn't fix him with a nasty look.

If the man's cursory show of inclusion perturbs the female pilot, she doesn't show it, and instead she takes a seat with all the rest of them. Jake turns back towards the front of the ready room, sinking down into his chair just a bit, toothpick clenched between his teeth as he waits for the admiral to address them.

However routine, this training meeting was a bit out of left field, especially for a Sunday afternoon. The Dagger squad typically had one weekly, but it was usually led by Maverick and much more informal. That wasn't to say that seeing Beau was surprising, but the man usually steered clear of the wayward captain and left him to his own devices when it came to training the Daggers.

Today the captain sits in the ready room beside the rest of the pilots. Jake watches as Bradley sends his godfather an inquisitive brow from across the room, to which the older man just shrugs. Interesting.

Cyclone clears his throat. "Good afternoon. I apologize for keeping you all, but I promise this will only take a minute of your time. As I'm sure you are all aware, the United States Department of Defense takes immense pride in maintaining one of the most well integrated military forces in the world. It's our job to work closely with other service members to ensure their safety and the safety of our nation." He pauses. "As experienced as you all are, your time here at Topgun has not reflected that."

Jake's brow furrows, his tongue worrying at the toothpick clenched between his teeth as he listens to the admiral go on. Javy shoots him a look but Jake stares ahead, waiting for Beau to continue.

"The permanent installment of your squad here at Miramar was to create a tightly knit group of elite fighter pilots who would be available at a moment's notice, and however successful that may have been, I cannot neglect the fact that comfort builds complacency. Later today, a squad of U.S. Army soldiers will be arriving to aide in your training for the next six weeks. The integration of mixed branch training units has been widely effective around the country, and it's about time we do the same here at Miramar."

With that, the screen positioned on the wall behind him lights up, displaying enlarged headshots of about eight soldiers. The first seven are males of varying ages, but none older than probably thirty. Jake quickly skims over their names and credentials, but when he gets to the last profile, his eyes stop.

The last solider is the only female projected on the screen, but even so she stands out as compared to all the other members of her squad. He can't quite put his finger on why though.

She's uncharacteristically pretty. And by that he means that to most, her appearance would be inherently off putting— even without the straight-mouthed scowl on her face. She's got a square, almost masculine like jawline that hardens her features considerably. Her hair is light, worn from spending too much time in the sun regardless of however dark it may have been naturally. The same goes for her skin, which is comparably bronze in contrast to the tan line on her forehead, he would assume from wearing a patrol cap out in the field.

Her eyes are wild.

And that's when it hits him.

She'd been all over the news just a few months ago. Something about a patrol gone wrong out in the Middle East, which ultimately turned into a high stakes rescue mission to extract the surviving soldiers. They went in hoping to bring back nine men and came out with one. Apparently they didn't even get to recover the bodies.

Jake can't imagine what that'll do to a person.

Before he can stare at her profile any longer, Cyclone quickly clicks off the projection and the image disappears. This time he appears almost nervous as he stares back at them. "These soldiers are recently returning from a deployment in the Middle East, so I trust that you all will do your best to make them feel welcome. If none of you have any questions, that is all. You're dismissed."

---

The following morning, the Jake receives word from Maverick that the Admiral wants to see him in his office. It's not a strange request but certainly raises Jake's attention as to why specifically he was needed.

Upon entering the room, Jake finds not only the Admiral but Maverick and another female that he's yet to have seen before. All heads turn towards him when he enters, as if he were interrupting something. Immediately, Jake snaps to attention, his heels clicking together and his fingers brushing his brow with a sharpness that would make the academy proud.

Cyclone nods in his direction, acknowledging Jake's customary greeting and dismissing him with the notion. "Lt. Seresin," he begins, gesturing to the female standing across the room. "This is Lt. (L/n). She's uh—a member of the squad that I briefed you on yesterday."

He hadn't noticed that she was wearing Army OCPs but he connects the dots as soon as the admiral mentions her name. He remembers reading it on the projector during the meeting.

Rather than introducing herself, the soldier stands rigidly across from him, her arms folded in front of her chest with a look on her face that Jake can only describe as fucking pissed. Unsure of what to do but aware from personal experience with Phoenix that he shouldn't try to cross any unknown boundaries, Jake settles for offering her a respectful nod. She glares back at him.

"You're two of our only service members with active combat experience," Cyclone continues, obviously ignoring the girl's crossed disposition. "I'm hoping that you and Lt. (L/n) can find some common ground. Perhaps it would do you both some good to—"

"Respectfully, sir, if I wanted to vent to someone about my feelings, I'd go see a shrink," the woman growls. "I recommend you do the same, Lt. Seresin." Her tone makes Jake's brow raise slightly in surprise. No one talks to an admiral like that, not even Pete Mitchell.

"Lt. (L/n)," Cyclone snaps. "That's quite enough."

This time, she rolls her eyes with a scoff. "You can't just—"

"Get out."

She clamps her jaw shut but doesn't budge from where her feet are planted in the ground.

"I said, Get. Out," Cyclone reiterates.

The eyes that had caught Jake's attention in the first place fix the admiral with a chilling stare. To Jake, there's something familiar in those eyes. Some sort of unmistakably justifiable rage that runs deeper than just being dismissed from the conversation. Jake watches, his breath stalled as she sets her jaw, unwilling to move, when it hits him. Identical jawlines and untwitching scowls mirror each other.

The illegitimate child of Admiral Beau Simpson stands before him.

He doesn't know how he didn't see it before, granted they don't share a last name, but Jake was aware that the Admiral was divorced, had been for a while. Allegedly he wasn't the marrying type. Jake isn't surprised by the statement. Beau Simpson is a hard man to deal with.

Jake watches in silence as the girl ultimately releases an irritated huff and storms out of the office, slamming the door behind her. He can hear the loud, petulant stomp of her boots as she retreats down the hall. Evidently her looks weren't the only thing that she got from her dad. She had a temper that rivaled even Bradshaw's.

The clearing of the Admiral's throat removes Jake's eyes from the door. "I hope you can forgive my daughter's behavior. Her return to the states has been...difficult."

"I'm sure difficult is the way she would describe you too sir," Maverick jokes.

Cyclone fixes him with a perturbed glare but decidedly ignores his comment in favor of addressing Jake. "Lt. (L/n)'s squadron was ambushed six months ago. Just about everything that could have gone wrong went wrong and she was the only survivor. As her father, I wanted her to accept the Purple Heart and retire." He gestures flippantly towards the door. "Obviously that's not what she did."

Jake speaks for the first time since he entered the room. "Respectfully, sir, I don't blame her. I'm taking this career to the grave. I'm sure both your daughter and Captain Mitchell can agree," he adds glancing over at his instructor.

Before Maverick can voice his agreement, the admiral cuts him off.

"As I'm sure Captain Mitchell can attest to, as her father, I'm just trying to look out for her."

With his preexisting connection to Rooster, the godson that he would risk his career to protect, Maverick has no room to disagree with the admiral. For once, the captain, who usually always has something to say, stands with his palms folded behind his back and keeps his mouth shut.

"As I was saying," Cyclone continues, taking a seat behind his desk and kicking back as if to signal that he's won the conversation. "It is my hope that given your own—" the admiral hesitates for just a moment too long for Jake's liking "—personal experience, you'll be able to get through to her."

Jake swallows and hopes that he doesn't look as uneasy as the insinuation makes him feel. He has to take a moment to reassure himself that the psych unit has repeatedly cleared him for duty and that no one's threatening to take his wings away.

The nights that he wakes up, drenched in sweat, with his fingers wrapped around imaginary joysticks hard enough to make his palms bleed are few and far in between these days. And even those he's gotten good enough at faking like they don't bother him because he hasn't failed a psych evaluation in months.

It doesn't mean he likes to talk about it or that he won't hear the fear in Rooster's voice if he does.

But he's more scared of not flying than anything, so all Jake does is nod and offer a dry, "I'll do my best, sir."

———

PTSD or modern day shell-shock is what they like to call it. You call it waiting on the other shoe to drop.

Because there is always another shoe.

The slam of a beer bottle down on the bar top lights your nerves up like nothing else. It sends your heart straight to your stomach and makes your palms sweat like when you miss a step on the stairs and for a split second, you think you're going to die. You never do of course, but your body is hard wired that way to keep you alive.

There's a flaw in your system that hasn't been right since the east.

You knew that a popular naval bar on a Friday night wasn't the best place for you these days but your nerves had been yearning for an ice cold beer and fuck all if you weren't going to get one. The alcohol would soothe your nerves anyhow.

But after thirty minutes of waiting on said beer, you were beginning to lose your patience. Normally you weren't bothered by that kind of thing. The place was obviously busy and the lone woman behind the bar was doing her best to satisfy the flock of servicemen that only seemed to accumulate with every beer that she handed out.

Just when you're about to give up and leave, a large hand covers your lower back, pressing you forwards through the crowd and toward the bar top.

"Two more on me, please, Penny."

The voice belongs to the tall man standing behind you. He's removed his firm, but respectfully placed palm from your back and is now leaning over you to accept the two dripping bottles of beer. It doesn't take you long to recognize the green of his eyes from a few days prior.

"My dad didn't put you up to this did he?" you ask, somewhat reluctantly taking the bottle that he offers you. It's finger numbing cold, just how you like it.

He kind of just slowly smiles and shakes his head.

Immediately you feel like a jerk. You sigh, dropping your shoulders and smile softly back. "Sorry. That was rude."

"No, ma'am, he didn't. Just had to find out if you smiled like that all the time."

The part of you that's a little bit of a bitch makes you clench your teeth together, tightening the smile that was once spread across your lips. "I'm not looking for that kind of thing right now," is all you say.

You want to tell him that you used to not be so mean.

At the realization that his words had the exact opposite effect of what he was going for, the guy graciously extends his hand. "Look I don't mean to bother you, I just wanted to say hi."

Despite not being keen on his advances, you aren't going to be rude so you accept his outstretched hand. You're surprised by his gentleness. It's not the rough, over-masculine shake you are expecting.

"Lieutenant (Y/n) (L/n)."

"I know your name," he admits with a light, almost embarrassed laugh. "I think everybody in here knows your name."

Your skin prickles. You stare at him stoney faced, bracing yourself for what's going to come out of his mouth. "Why's that?"

The guy—Lt. Seresin—you're remembering, shrugs. "I mean, you're quite the story back here in the states. A bit of a ghost story, I must say."

Ghost story is right. Because who survives that? How the fuck does a twenty-two year old girl survive an outnumbered ambush and not eight men with years of experience? Not someone who deserves to be called a hero, that's for sure.

You're trying your best to keep your cool with him. You know that you're in a public space and he's just being friendly. You used to be so good at this kind of thing, the flirting and small talk.

The thought occurs to you that maybe this is what you need. Maybe this will make you feel normal again. You need to feel normal again.

Maybe that is why you let him lean in closer, buy you another drink when yours runs dry, and another one after that. Maybe that is why you make an effort to laugh when he does, and you close your eyes when he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

You let out the breath that's been tightening your ribcage and do your best to smile. "Thank you for the beer. You didn't have to do that." You hope the words sound as genuine as they're intended to.

He smiles back like he's supposed to, all polite and inherently forgiving of your original attitude. You catch onto the way it doesn't quite reach his eyes. You're not sure why but it makes you think maybe he's just a bit sad too.

Maybe that is why he lets you wordlessly take his hand and lead him to the back of the bar. Maybe that is why he lets you sink to your knees on the cold, sticky tiles of the men's bathroom floor, his hands already fumbling to unbuckle his belt.

It smells like beer and piss, and you don't even wait for him to get fully hard before you take him in your mouth, your nose buried into his pelvis, where it smells like sweat. It's all wrong and right at the same time, and he won't ask you to stop. He just curls his fingers into a fistful of your hair, pinpricks stinging at your scalp the same way tears sting at your eyes.

He—Jake—he'd told you a while ago, has a pretty cock. At least as pretty as cocks go. Pink and ruddy at the tip, where it mushroomed beautifully. Almost dauntingly long but not grossly so with a throbbing vein on the underside. You run your tongue along it and he muffles a whimper, his fingers wrapping harder around your hair in an effort not to buck up into your mouth. At least he's a gentleman about it.

He's heavy and twitching in your mouth. You feel heavy. He is standing above you, a harsh line of a man against the buzzing bathroom light. You remind yourself to breathe through your nose and he punches himself further, the head of his cock skimming the back of your throat.

You swallow around him, trying to hold together what little is left of your remaining sense of self. It's been a while since you've been so careless as to place yourself in someone else's hands, rolled over and showed your belly to someone who could easily take advantage of you.

Your jaw aches, uncomfortable and familiar, like something you don't want to remember. Tears well up behind your eyes, the threat of an unwanted but unknown feeling looming just out of reach. Jake's hand in your hair hold your head firmly against his pelvis, hips rocking up into your mouth. He sighs like he can finally breathe.

You can't breathe.

You try to and something rasps inside of you, choking. The feeling that had been looming threateningly sparkles through you. Panic.

You know that he tries to settle you, does his best to wipe the tears leaking from your eyes with his thumbs and murmurs softly to you. "Breathe. It's okay, breathe for me."

You can't. You can't breathe.

Your head is pounding and suddenly you aren't kneeling on the bathroom floor of the bar. You're on the ground, crying, screaming like a wounded animal and no one is coming to help. You can almost feel the dirt under your knees, taste the blood in your mouth.

"Y/N, you have to breathe."

Someone's grabbing you, hauling your useless feet across the floor. Your chest hurts like you've been punched with a bowling ball.

"C'mon, let's get some air."

How you end up outside the bathroom is beside you. All you know is one minute you're dying on your knees back in the desert and the next you're being sat down on the back steps of the bar. 

The cool air of the San Diego evening brings you back. That and the press of a cup of ice water to your lips, the condensation dripping from the glass and rolling down your throat. You swallow, letting the cool liquid soothe your burning throat.

You're aware of Jake sitting down beside you, close enough to touch if he wanted to but still keeping his distance. You can feel his eyes on you, watching carefully for a moment before he turns to stare out at the not so distance shoreline.

Your stomach feels odd, like you might be sick.

He probably thinks you're insane. You would think the same. But if he's dying to ask what the hell that was, he's doing a good job of hiding it.

How do you tell him that sometimes you think that you should have died, that sometimes the memories almost kill you?

"I hid."

He looks up from peeling off the label around the neck of his bottle. "What?"

You swallow, trying to collect yourself before your words fail you.

"I hid. A—After I was shot, I didn't get back up. I crawled under the humvee and... and I just laid there. I laid there and I closed my eyes and I prayed. I prayed that they wouldn't notice me lying under there or that they if they did, they would think I was already dead."

A mixture of sweat and dust burns your eyes. When you blink, you can feel the sandy grit trapped between them. You squeeze them shut while trying to swallow back the dryness of your throat in an attempt to alleviate the discomfort, but it doesn't do much. An unwarranted tear escapes and runs down the track of your nose.

With your rifle held closely to your chest, you let it slide down and collect on the bow of your lip. It joins the puddle of sweat that has already accumulated there. Out here, the sun cooks you alive. You swear it's a constant one thousand degrees. The twenty pounds of kevlar doesn't help.

Dirt kicks up beside you and gravel showers your helmet as a round of bullets buries themselves into the ground a mere six inches from your face. You hardly flinch.

Somebody is screaming. The sound of machine gun fire is ringing in your ears. Somebody is screaming.

"(L/N), C'MON. LET'S MOVE."

It's Cain. He's grabbing the strap of your kevlar vest and yanking you to your feet. You scramble after him, desperate not to be left behind. Bullets explode at your feet the moment the two of you emerge from the concealment of the dirt mound. Fear makes you run faster.

You spot Manny crouched behind the tire of the SUV to your right. He's firing rounds into the brush. You can tell that he's bleeding from a wound to his arm and you're about to veer off to help him when his head jerks backwards, the scattered remains of his brain plastered onto the white side of the truck.

You stop running, the words caught in your throat.

"RUN," Cain screams. He'd backtracked a few paces and grabs hold of your vest once again to drag you behind a second SUV. You stumble over him, falling haphazardly onto your rear once he lets go of you. He immediately turns to fire over the hood of the truck, and the bullets hitting the truck stop momentarily.

Clawing at the gravel on the ground, you hurry to scramble to your feet. Your head is pounding, your mouth dry and gritty. Huffing, you glance between Cain, who is fumbling to reload his magazine, and the crumpled figure of Manny a few yards away. You can only hope Ronny is still out there somewhere.

Before you can even try to locate him or any other members of the squad, movement to your left springs your muscles into action. You slam your back into the side door of the SUV just as a round of bullets pelt the spot where you were standing just moments before. Automatically, you raise your gun, returning the fire. There are a few more shots fired in retaliation, but they stop a second later.

Once you're sure they're subdued, you lower your gun, breathing hard. There's so much smoke and debris in the air that you can hardly even see Cain ten feet away. He's shuffling towards you in a low crouch.

"Let's move, (L/n). They know where we are. We've got to find different cover."

You nod, your finger still pressed tightly to the trigger of your weapon. You drop into a crouch and follow behind him as he creeps towards the back of the truck. He pauses a moment, scanning the landscape before looking back at you. His blue eyes are a startling contrast to the dirt and sweat covering his tanned face. He lifts his gun in the direction of a flipped humvee about fifty yards away. His mouth moves in a silent command.

One.

Two.

Three.

The gunfire starts up as soon as the two of you spring from behind the vehicle. You can hear the whizzing of bullets as they just barely miss your head. All you can do is pray you don't trip as you struggle to keep up with Cain. Your lungs burn and your boots feel impossibly heavy.

The terrain is barren but the ground loose, and rocks threaten to upend your footing, slipping out from beneath your feet as the two of you flee towards the vehicle.

30 yards from the humvee, Cain tumbles to the ground with a broken cry. The bullet catches him in the thigh, stopping him mid stride. He hits the ground hard.

Without even thinking, you skid to a stop. Bullets spray the ground around you. Somehow you're more afraid of leaving him than being shot.

"Go!" he yells at you, already trying to shove you away. "Go, I'm coming!"

Already, there's a lake of blood beneath him. You step in it and the ground squelches under your boot. Crimson gushes from his left thigh, effectively saturating the fabric of his pants. His face is terrifyingly pale. The bullet must have hit his femoral artery.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Like hell," you snap at him, your pervious fear suddenly boiling into the purest form of anger you've ever felt. Angry for being in this situation in the first place. Angry that of all people, Cain is going to die.

It's terrifying how quickly the realization comes to you, how easily you accept it as the truth. There's already too much blood. Without a tourniquet, he'll bleed out in minutes and there's not quite time for that.

"Leaving him behind wasn't an option. It never even occurred to me that it was," you confess, as if saying it aloud will somehow explain away this title of heroism that everyone wants to pin on you. "Dead or alive, he was coming with me."

You shoulder your rifle and use both hands to grab onto the straps of his vest, hefting him backwards towards the truck.

He must clamp onto his bottom lip to stop the scream that threatens to escape because the noise that comes from his mouth is garbled.

You drag Cain about ten feet before you realize how just heavy he is. There's sweat leaking into your eyes and all you can see is the bloody lake that's left behind as you drag him through the dust. Cain's gone quiet, his head lulled to the side, eyes almost shut.

"C'mon, Cain. We're almost there."

His boot snags on a rock, and when you tug him free, he doesn't utter a word.

Something inside of you knows he's gone, was gone long before you started dragging him. You're still ten yards from the SUV.

POP. POP. POP.

You pause, your eyes fixed ahead of you. "Have you ever been shot before?"

Beside you, Jake shakes his head.

"It feels like someone has shot a bowling ball into your chest. Knocks the breath right out of you."

Pain explodes straight through your ribcage. Your vision clouds and you're vaguely aware of your knees buckling beneath you.

When you come to, all of the wind has been knocked out of you from hitting the ground so hard and your immediate reflex is to suck in a reviving breath. Instead all that comes out is a gurgle, the tell tale sign that your chest cavity is filling with blood.

You swallow, looking off at the dark shoreline of the beach, watching as the waves crash against the sand. "I knew that I wasn't dead yet—I did— I just—" Your throat constricts and when you speak again your voice is quieter. "He was already gone so maybe a part of me had already gone with him."

Jake nods slowly, as if putting together the pieces that you're laying down bit by bit. Somehow his green eyes have remained soft this entire time and maybe that's where you find the courage to continue.

Lifting your head, you crane your neck to see the damage, but the thick layer of kevlar strapped to your chest obstructs your view of the lower half of your body. Grunting in frustration, you reach blindly in the direction that the pain is radiating from. Numbly, your fingers find the gushing hole in your side. The bullet had buried itself in the exposed inch of your stomach between your belt and your vest.

There mustn't be an exit wound because there isn't a ton of blood surrounding you. If the wet cough you emit is anything to go by, it's probably pooling in your abdominal cavity instead.

You're going to die.

"I don't know how long I laid there," you admit. "I knew that the clock was ticking, had been since the moment I hit the ground. It was only a matter of time before I blacked out or bled out... I guess I was just waiting to see which one came first."

The scattered rounds hitting the ground around you become muffled background noise as the lull of unconsciousness begins to sweep over you, dulling the world as you know it. Through the haze of your fading senses, your eyes fall on Cain's motionless figure a few feet beside you.

He's lying face up, his desert tan uniform seeped a muddy crimson. You'd known he was dead a while ago. Still, you carried him. He'd have done the same for you. He was your brother, dead or alive.

Blood bubbles from your nose as you struggle to keep yourself breathing. The fact that you have to remind yourself to do that isn't a promising sign. Your body is shutting down, doing anything it can to keep your heart pumping, even if it means shutting down everything else.

Somewhere through the dullness, you hear Cain's voice. MOVE, (L/N).

You close your eyes, trying to picture his face from what had been just a few minutes ago. You remember the urgency in his blue eyes, the intensity of his fear overridden by adrenaline. How had that been only moments ago?

MOVE, (L/N).

"I—I heard his voice," you state, your tone not open for discussion. "Not the gun fire, not God, not anyone else's. I heard his voice."

So many people had tried to convince you otherwise, tried to tell you that it was because of the shock and your brain was shutting down, that you were hearing things. But you know what you heard.

"He saved my life, Jake."

You can see the gears turning in his head, the question carefully forming on his lips. "Were you two— I mean was he—"

It's the first time you have to suck back tears, your chest rattling with a longing emptiness as you fight the urge to cry. Memories of his wild blue eyes and wide smile that could only ever mean he was misbehaving flash through your mind.

You met Sergeant Anthony Cain not long after you commissioned as a Lieutenant. You were still a green officer when you were charged with your first platoon and given orders to deploy out East. You were scared as hell and Cain was your saving grace. He came in as if he'd always known you needed him and the rest was history.

There was never any question about intentions or commitment to each other. Cain was as honest as they came and you left it at that. You never imagined that's where your story would begin and end.

"I don't know, Jake. We didn't get that far."

Forcing your eyes open, you access the area around you. The sound of enemy fire has slowed but that doesn't mean movement won't trigger a return of bullets your way. Still, you know they'll be looking for survivors once the dust settles, and you don't want to be around when they do.

The humvee is only a little over ten yards away. You might would say it was crawling distance if it weren't for the fact that you were actively bleeding out. Even so, you don't really have any other option.

You take as deep of a breath as you can, your chest rasping as you do so, before lifting your right leg and using the weight of it to swing yourself over onto your stomach. Immediately, searing hot pain radiates through your chest and legs. You cry out, curling in on yourself, writhing on the ground like a wounded animal.

Sputtering, trying to breathe through the pain long enough so that you can move, you feel hot tears track down your face. They're tears of insurmountable pain and hopeless desperation.

"All I kept thinking was 'how does anyone survive this?' It was unimaginable, the pain. Looking back now, I don't know how I did it. I don't think I could do it again if I had to," you admit.

Softly, as not to scare you, you feel the gentle weight of Jake's palm on your knee. "You won't have to," he promises. "But you did it. You survived."

You stare down at his hand on your knee.

With a trembling, blood stained hand, you reach out in front of you and dig your fingers into the ground. Heaving, you draw yourself forward, your legs dragging limply through the dust. It takes an unimaginable amount of strength to pull yourself even six inches.

Sniffling back tears and out of breath, you curl your fingers into the ground and drag yourself forward again. This time, you probably only move half as far. You have to fight the urge to just lay your cheek against the ground and cry.

You do this again and again, keeping one hand pressed into the gushing wound at your side while the other drags you forward. Your lower half has become increasingly heavier with each passing minute, your legs nothing but dead weight to pull along. You don't think you could move them if you tried.

It takes you forty minutes to drag yourself to the humvee. By the time you get yourself fully under the abandoned vehicle, your fingers are torn and bleeding, the tips ripped open and embedded with bits of gravel.

Your muscles collapse the very second you give them the chance. Your forehead drops down to rest against the ground, and you finally have a moment to shudder out a sob. Your throat is dry and cracked, and dust coats the inside of your mouth. You're dimly aware that your breaths are dangerously shallow. You just know that you're miserably nauseous and each passing moment is more unbearable than the next.

You turn your own palm over, staring at the scars of your ruined finger tips, scars that tell a story of how you survived. They're ugly, and you wish you didn't have to look at the all of the time. At least your torso is mostly hidden. You've moved to a beach town and will never be able to put on a swimsuit.

Jake’s eyes follow yours and after a moment he flips his palm over, his fingers spread and inviting. His hands are large and calloused from years of flying. There are fingernail divots in his palm.

Almost shyly, his green eyes meet yours. You see a bit of that sadness you saw earlier. “I know it’s not my job to be your shrink or whatever,” he adds with a laugh and you can’t help but laugh with him. “But you’re not alone. We’re all a bit fucked up if you haven’t noticed.” He shrugs. “It comes with the job.”

You can’t help yourself. You trace a finger over the scarred palm of his hand. “My dad would disagree.”

Jake is fighting the urge to close his palm around yours, not wanting to overstep, and so he’s pleased when you intertwine your fingers with his.

“Family dinner must be interesting.”

Jake came from a military family himself and so he knows how deep the ties run. His old man was a sailor and so he knew better than to come home sporting anything other than his dress whites.

You laugh out loud because he’s not wrong at all. Jake squeezes your fingers in response. His hand feels good in yours. Safe and heavy in the way a padlock feels. Like he’s not going anywhere.

“It’s not all ‘Go Army, Beat Navy’ believe it or not. Don’t get me wrong, I was raised a Navy brat and I have a hell of a lot of respect for my old man, but at the end of the day, I had to choose myself. I couldn’t do that with him watching over my shoulder. The Army’s been both the greatest and the worst thing that could have happened to me,” you confess.

Jake hums, dare you say almost disbelievingly.

“What?”

“A few weeks here and you’ll change your mind. No one does it like the Navy does.”

It’s your turn to make a noise of disbelief.

“I guess you’ll just have to impress me, Flyboy.”

Jake squeezes your hand again. “Oh I plan to.”

[lieutenantfloyd]

Top Gun: Maverick Fic Recs

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

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

X READER

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@bullet-prooflove's entire TGM masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rooster x Plus Size OC!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OTHER SHIPS

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

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

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

Flower Power by ReformedTsundere — (Icemav)

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

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

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

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

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

[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.