#cyclone imagine
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You'd Be Surprised
For the super-late Winter Prompts (2023 Edition)! The master list can be found here!
This one was requested by the patient @justreblogginfics!
"From Sad Christmas prompts: #9 (being dumped before the holidays) with Beau "Cyclone" Simpson"
CW: Light angst (talk of infidelity).
Word Count: 1841
Vice Admiral Beau Simpson is deep in thought, lost in the pile of reports and memos on his desk when a soft knock at his door draws him out of his focus.
“Come in,” he calls out, and the door opens to admit you.
TOPGUN, Beau often says, runs on its support staff—many of them civilians, like you. Tech support, human resources, finance and accounting…it all keeps the machinery running smoothly so he and his pilots can focus on training, on missions, on testing new tech.
It’s always a balancing act, working with the civilian support corp. There’s a level of respect, of course, but he can’t quite ask his HR representative to drop and give him a hundred push-ups if his pension paperwork is wrong. Beau has to walk the fine line of being professional without being a drill sergeant, and sometimes he struggles.
He’s never struggled with you, though.
You’re pretty, but Beau is mostly immune to pretty women, since he’s always put his career above relationships and dating. You’re funny, but no one would ever accuse Beau of having much of a sense of humor.
No—with you, it was your competence that caught his eye first. You’re that rare blend of book-smart, experienced, and emotionally apt. You have an aura of wisdom, a whole cool-and-collected schtick that seems to act on those around you. You run your department as well as Beau runs TOPGUN, but you manage to inspire your team without the threat of calisthenics.
You’re the sharpest person Beau has ever met, and if he’s mostly immune to pretty women, he’s an absolute goner around smart ones. He’s been in love with you since the day he sat in one of your meetings and watched you corral a bunch of egomaniac, hot-headed career military men without breaking a sweat.
The only issue? You’re engaged.
You’ve been engaged for as long as Beau has known you. Engaged to a grunt in the Coast Guard, the mediocre sort of man that Beau has seen a thousand times in the military: enlisted because of some vague, Hollywood-fed misplaced notion of bad-assery, does the bare minimum, barely managed to rise to the rank of petty officer. For all your amazing traits, your relationship seems to be a blind spot to you, because no matter what angle Beau examines it from, he can’t for the life of him see why you bother.
He tried to draw you out, just the once. The two of you had been holding a working dinner in his office, and the conversation had drifted into the personal over dim sum. Beau had pointed his chopsticks in the direction of your left hand, made a mild joke about the Coast Guard not paying your fiance enough to afford a bigger diamond.
He felt like shit immediately afterwards, the way your face fell at the comment, the way you tucked your hand away on your lap and replied with something slightly defensive. But then you added, almost to yourself, that at least you’d gotten a ring, finally, so Beau guessed that there was an entire roiling ocean beneath your calm façade.
Still, he apologized that night, then again the next day, and then again at least three more times before you had smiled at him and told him not to worry about it.
The two of you have been on firm footing ever since, like Beau’s fumbling joke never happened—and he loves that about you too, how you move past things, how you don’t hold a grudge.
But now, as you enter his office, he can immediately tell that something is off. You look just the same, but that calming aura of yours feels off. It’s like big spiky thorns of some emotion (Anger? Frustration?) are threaded through, and it follows you like a storm cloud as you set a sheaf of paperwork in front of him.
Beau arches his eyebrows at you, but you miss the gesture. A beat later, he asks, “everything alright?”
“Fine, sir.” It comes out terse, bitten-off, like you’re clenching your jaw.
“You sure?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
Beau watches you for a beat longer, but you only stare back at him, impassive, so he turns to the paperwork. That’s when he notices it, and he’s not sure how he didn’t notice it immediately because it’s been the proverbial stone in his craw since he fell for you.
Your left ring finger is bare. The cheap-looking metal band, the paltry diamond—it’s missing. There’s nothing there but the faintest line, a stripe of skin slightly paler than your usual skin tone.
You notice when he notices. He glances up and meets your gaze, and it’s no longer impassive. There’s an entire novel written in your expression: pain and anger and sadness, and a hint of challenge to see how he might react or what he may say.
If you’re expecting him to make another joke in poor taste, he disappoints you. He gestures at the chair across from him and offers for you to sit, and then he asks again, far softer, “is everything alright?”
You sit down, but you don’t answer him other than offering a faint shake of your head.
“You want to talk about it?”
Another shake of the head. “No, sir, but thank you.”
“You sure?”
That makes you smile, even for a brief second. “I don’t think relationship woes fall under the purview of a vice admiral.”
Beau smiles back at you. “You’d be surprised.”
You shake your head again, but you lift your hands in a helpless gesture before they fall back into your lap. “Nothing much to say, really. He was cheating, and he had been for a long time. I have no idea how I never noticed it.”
If anyone would have ever questioned the selflessness of Beau’s love for you, this would prove it to them. At your news, he doesn’t feel relief for you to be single finally, and he doesn’t feel vindication that his bad impression of your fiancé was proven right. He only feels a low-burning fury at the man for hurting you. Beau, at his core, wants you to be happy…even if it isn’t with him.
But he’d love to be the one to make you happy, all the same.
“I’m sorry,” he tells you, earnest. “You didn’t deserve that.”
You shrug but don’t add more, and Beau can guess at part of your angst. The holidays are mere weeks away, and you are an unabashed Christmas-lover. You love nothing more than all the cliched stuff: baking and decorating and wearing ugly sweaters and drinking spiced wine while Bing Crosby croons in the background. It’s your time of the year, but now? Now you’re facing it single and devastated by being cheated on.
Beau hates to see you looking so sad now, so he adds, “want me to pull some strings and get him posted somewhere terrible?”
It does the trick: it makes you smile again. “He loves the ocean. Hence the Coast Guard. Nowhere is terrible for him.”
“Atlantic Area has Station Chicago. As far from an ocean as a guy can get in the States.”
Your smile widens. “He does hate the Midwest.”
“Say the word and I’ll make a call.”
“How fast can you get him there? I’d really love to see his Christmas fucked up, y’know? Since he fucked up mine.”
It startles a laugh out of Beau. He’s never heard you swear before, and he’s never heard you express any emotion even in the vicinity of vengeance. Despite the circumstances, he finds he likes it. There’s a bit of fire to you, and he never would have guessed at it before.
“Don’t let him fuck up your holiday season,” he says. “Not to sound like some best friend in a Hallmark movie, but he’s not worth it.”
That startles a laugh out of you. “And how do you know about the tropes of a Hallmark movie, exactly?”
“You’d be surprised.”
The smile on your face turns soft. “I suppose I can skip the dramatic post-breakup haircut and rally for the sake of Yuletide cheer.”
“That’s my girl,” he says, and the nickname slides out of his mouth so easily that he doesn’t even notice until the words hit you. He sees your eyes widen the barest fraction, your smile turning a fraction uncertain around the edges, but you don’t say anything so the moment passes and you turn to the business at hand.
You walk him through the preliminary budget reports you and your team pulled together. Beau makes up for the awkward moment by asking more questions than usual, asking about certain earmarks and program details. You answer each question with your usual cool competence, but when he chances a look at you, you have the same soft, slightly uncertain smile on your face.
You noted the nickname. Beau knows you won’t forget it anytime soon. A lesser man might despair at showing his cards right out of the gate, but Beau didn’t become a vice admiral by waffling about what he wants.
He wants you. He’s wanted you since he first started working with you. No sense in pretending otherwise. Coy games of cat-and-mouse are for Hallmark movies and children. He’s a grown man, and you’re a grown woman, and he will respect your need to recover from your disappointing engagement ending, but he won’t pretend that he isn’t interested, once you’re ready.
Once the reports are reviewed, signed, and rubber-stamped, he hands them back to you. You take them, stand up, and you start to turn towards the door, but he stops you by asking, “are you still planning on going to Warlock’s holiday party?”
That same soft smile with a hint of hesitation before you shrug, then nod.
“I thought I might skip it. Stay home with a tub of ice cream, you know? But maybe I’m rallying faster than I thought I would,” you tell him.
“I’m glad to hear it. I hope you can make it.”
Another nod and you turn to leave, but when you lay your hand on the doorknob, you pause and turn back to face him.
“Thank you, sir. I…appreciate it.”
“Beau.” He says it softly, like if he barks it out as an order, he might scare you away. It isn’t mandatory that you call him “sir” like you do—you’ve always just extended that level of respect—but the two of you have just shared a moment, and he’s loathed to let you feel like you’re on uneven footing.
When you’re ready, and when Beau makes his move, he wants to make sure you’re absolutely clear on this point: you’re equals, and he’s not a vice admiral but just a man, and you’re not a member of staff but just a woman.
“You can call me Beau,” he adds, and then you do—you nod, and you say his name, and it makes that soft smile on your face bloom into something brighter.
#beau simpson#beau simpson imagine#beau cyclone simpson#cyclone simpson#cyclone simpson imagine#cyclone imagine#top gun maverick#winter prompts 2023#tropes and tales
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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
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Under the Desk- B.Simpson
pairing: Beau 'Cyclone' Simpson x female!reader
warnings: SMUT! dom/sub dynamic, mention of age gap, blowjob, cock warming, public sex (kinda)
word count: 1.2k
A/N: this is my first Cyclone drabble so be nice. also thank you @wildbornsiren for awakening something within me that I didn't know needed to be awakened.
“Come in!” Cyclone called out as he heard a knock on his office door. His eyes were starting to strain from looking at black and white documents all morning. Maverick had yet another crazy training plan that he wanted to work on and Cyclone was waiting for the day he could ship Maverick off to another Naval Base.
“Hey,” You spoke softly, as you opened the door. Cyclone’s green eyes looked up from his computer and he smiled, leaning back in his desk chair.
“Hi sweetheart,” Beau said in relief, happy to see you. He was always happy to see you, you were the bright spot in his ever boring life. He didn’t think at 50, divorced and basically married to his job, he’d find someone who was willing to love him for him. He could be gruff, and mean, and cold, it came with the price of holding such an important title. But there was something about you that helped melt his icy exterior. Maybe it was your young age, maybe it was your innocence, maybe it was your knack for getting yourself into some trouble, but it kept Beau on his toes.
“You didn’t answer my call about meeting for lunch, so I thought I should stop by and see what you were doing,” You said, and walked over to his side of the desk, sitting down on his lap. He immediately circled an arm around your waist like it was second nature to him.
“Been busy dealing with this shit,” He grumbled, waving his free hand at the pile of papers on his desk, “Turned my phone off, I’m sorry, baby.”
“It’s okay, daddy.”
Beau’s beautiful eyes seemed to turn a shade darker as that word slipped past your lips. His hand found its place in between your thighs, gently resting on the skin. He could feel the heat radiating off of your cunt and you leaned down, pressing a kiss to that spot below his ear.
“You’re stressed,” You whispered in his ear, putting an arm around his shoulders, fingers gently playing with the small hairs at the base of his neck, “It’s not good for you.”
“Neither are you, but here we are,” Beau said, smirking up at you.
“You like having me around, I keep you young,” You smiled, and slid off his lap to stand up between his legs. His rough hands slowly trailed down the sides of your waist, and to your legs. The dress you wore stopped about mid thigh, giving Beau the perfect sight of your beautiful legs.
“That you do, sweetheart.”
“Let me take care of you, daddy,” You said, and leaned down to kiss him. Beau knew exactly what you were doing, so he pushed his chair back a bit, so you could angle your body to be hidden by his desk. You sunk down to your knees and could already see his cock straining against his khaki dress pants. You palmed him through his pants and he groaned.
“Don’t fucking tease me, girl,” He said, his voice dropping into a gravelly octave, one that sent shockwaves straight to your dripping core, “You’re here for one fucking purpose, and that’s to suck me off and go home. Got it?”
“Yes sir,” You said in response, your hands going to his belt. He lifted his hips enough that you could slide down his pants and black boxers, watching as his aching cock sprung free and slapped against his stomach. He groaned at the feeling of the cold air hitting the angry red tip that was already leaking pre-cum.
“I hardly did anything and look at you,” You spoke up in pure wonder at the man in front of you.
“Stop fucking talking,” Beau growled, and grabbed your hair, pushing you towards his cock.
You wasted no time, taking Beau’s hard cock into your mouth, licking the pre-cum off the top of it. You had been with him long enough to know how he liked his blowjobs, messy and sloppy. You pulled off him enough, and spit directly on his cock, using your hand to smear the mixture of your spit and pre-cum down his length.
Beau was enthralled by you, he pulled your hair out of your face, and watched as you took what you could of him into your mouth, gagging as he hit the back of your throat. He loved when you gagged on him, he loved hearing the sounds you would make when you sucked him off. It had taken you some time, but he had basically trained your throat to take him as deep as you possibly can.
“Such a good fucking girl,” Beau groaned out as you bobbed your head up and down. Beau kept his hand on your head, directing your movements, pushing you down a little farther each time.
He jumped slightly when there was a knock on his office door. He could see through the translucent glass that there was someone outside his door, and he rolled his eyes knowing it was Maverick from the short stature. He looked down at you, you looked up at him through your lashes, and pulled off of him.
“Get under the desk,” Beau directed, and you smirked, shuffling under the surprisingly roomy desk. His cock was still out and hard as he pushed his lower half under the desk, “Come on.”
“Sir,” Maverick said, walking in.
You drowned out the conversation between Maverick and your boyfriend, your eyes locked on the sight of his cock. You smirked to yourself, shuffling around a bit, and wrapping your hand around his cock. Beau jumped a bit and covered up his movement with a cough, which spurred you on even more. You weren’t sure what caused it, but you moved your head into his lap, and placed your mouth back on his cock. Beau felt the feeling of pleasure roll through his body as you started to move your head, but was quickly stopped by him putting a strong, firm hand on the back of your head.
You weren’t sure how long you were in that position, Beau’s hand on the back of your head, your mouth open and stuffed with his hard cock, drool falling from your mouth and pooling on his lap. Your jaw was starting to ache and so were your knees. But even besides that, it was the best feeling ever, being able to keep him warm as he yelled at Maverick for something stupid. You had to clench your thighs shut as you felt him twitch in your mouth. The second Maverick’s footsteps started fading and the door shut, Beau was pulling you off of him, and out from underneath the desk.
“Jesus he can sure-”
“Shut up,” Beau growled, turning you around and bending you over his desk. You gasped at his roughness as he grabbed the bottom of your dress, pulling it up enough to expose your naked backside, “Of course,” Beau mumbled, “Where are your panties?”
“Forgot them,” You said innocently.
“You’re telling me, you woke up, took a shower, did your hair and makeup, picked out this dress, put it on, and forgot to put underwear on?”
You looked over his shoulder and smiled, “I’m forgetful”
“Yeah well you’re gonna be a whole nother level of forgetful when I’m done with you.”
--- --- ---
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#top gun#top gun imagine#top gun fan fic#top gun fan fiction#top gun blurb#top gun maverick#top gun maverick imagine#top gun maverick fan fic#top gun maverick fan fiction#top gun maverick blurb#cyclone#cyclone imagine#cyclone fan fic#cyclone fan fiction#cyclone blurb#cyclone x reader#cyclone x you#beau Simpson#beau simpson imagine#beau simpson fan fic#beau simpson fan fiction#beau simpson blurb#beau simpson x reader#beau simpson x you
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Hours Later - Beau 'Cyclone' Simpson
Words: 510
Summary: Beau arrives home later than expected.
Get Added To My Taglist | Masterlist
Beau winces as he catches a glimpse of the time on the clock his wife had insisted on hanging up. He was home hours later than he said he would, but like always there was a plate covered in foil in the oven for him.
As quietly as he can, he grabs the plate and uncovers it before sitting down and starting to eat. Thankful that she also included a fork. He had been convinced when they first met that she was a goddess and everyday since had just seemed to prove that.
Eating his meal, the stress slowly leaves him until he’s relaxed and ready to sleep as he puts his dishes in the dishwasher.
The climb up the stairs are welcoming, keeping him a little more alert so he doesn’t just toss his clothes on the floor but actually puts them in the hamper where they belong. He even manages to push himself into the bathroom to brush his teeth before he returns to the dark bedroom.
It’s now as he begins to get into bed that he allows himself to look at his wife, to bask in the glow that emits from her.
She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, even with blankets twisted around her legs and the tiniest speck of drool beginning to gather at the corner of her mouth. As he joins her, he carefully wraps an arm around her middle. Before leaning to press a kiss to her near bare shoulder. “Love you, sweetheart.” His hand then caresses her ever growing stomach. “And I love you, baby bean.”
He wakes up hours later in the same position he fell asleep in. The sun just beginning to rise his alarm clock. He stays in bed, it was the weekend and while he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, he wasn’t ready to start his day. Not when he had his whole world in his arms at the moment.
Beau only knows that she’s awake because of the kick aimed at where his hand is before it’s followed by a quiet groan.
“She’s gotten strong.”
“He.” His wife corrects, voice a mumble.
He hums but doesn’t say anything else. “Any trouble?”
She slowly turns, his hand going from her belly to her back as she faces him. “My back, but that's normal.” She’s smiling, but it’s tired.
He frowns, moving his fingers in slow circular motions on her lower back where most of the pain is. “Have you tried a bath?”
She gives him a look. “And how exactly would I get in and out?”
Beau grimaces and he presses his lips to hers in a silent apology. “Would you like one?”
“Would you join me?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“It’s exactly what I want.”
“Alright.” He kisses her again before getting up. “I’ll start the bath.”
“And can you get me a mango?”
“We have mangoes?”
“Craving.”
A chuckle leaves him. “And I’ll grab you a mango.”
“Thank you, Beau.”
“Anything for you, sweetheart. Anything for you.”
#beau simpson imagine#beau simpson x reader#cyclone imagine#cyclone x reader#top gun maverick imagine#top gun maverick x reader#beau cyclone simpson x reader#beau cyclone simpson imagine#there's not enough fics or fluff for this man
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Shazam: so am I like part of your team now?
Cyclone: umm…
Y/N: you’ll be on our contacts list
Cyclone: (whispers) baby do we really need him on our team?
Y/N; I can do magic and Al already behaves like a child so no.
Shazam: so…am I in?
Cyclone: don’t call us we’ll call you
Shazam: awesome! Do you want my number?!
Y/N: uh…we got it already we’re good.
Cyclone and Y/N fly off…
Cyclone: delete his number
Y/N: already did
#dc comics incorrect quotes#dc comics imagine#dc comics#dceu#shazam fury of the gods#shazam#cyclone#cyclone maxine hunkel#maxine hunkel imagine#Maxine hunkel#maxine hunkel x reader#cyclone imagine#cyclone x reader#dc cyclone#zachary levi#quintessa swindell#justice society of america#Justice society
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Vice Admiral Beau "Cyclone" Simpson
Being a brat 🔞
Camera Roll-Cyclone
Daddy Kink 🔞
Hurricanes in New Orleans w/ Cyclone + Love in New Orleans 🔞
Misbehaving w/ Cyclone 🔞
Overstimulation w/ Beau 🔞
Sugar daddy Beau
Sugar daddy takes you shopping 🔞
Valentine's Day with Cyclone
One Night Stand in Fightertown-🔞 Beau Simpson x female reader
You've just arrived in Fightertown and meet a mysterious, older man who intrigues you. Drunk and horny, you agree to spend the night, but what happens in the morning?
#Top Gun Maverick fanfic#Top Gun Maverick imagine#Beau Simpson fanfic#Beau Simpson imagine#Beau Cyclone Simpson#Cyclone fanfic#Cyclone imagine
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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
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The Little things with Husband! Cyclone ♡
Husband! Cyclone who puts extra cash and and least one of his credit cards in your bag so you can treat yourself when he's not around
Husband! Cyclone who hates texting but sends you at least 10 "I love you"s a day
Husband! Cyclone who gets emotional every time he remembers that you chose him.
Husband! Cyclone who never forgets a date, anniversary, or social event.
Husband! Cyclone who keeps his work and his personal life completely separate, but has no less than 20 pictures of you scattered around his office.
Husband! Cyclone who keeps a note pinned in his phone of all of your restaurant orders (even though he already has them memorized).
Husband! Cyclone who absolutely hates being in photos but happily lets you take as many selfies together as you want and insists you send him every single one.
Husband! Cyclone who puts extra cologne on his pillow before he leaves because he overheard you mention that the smell is comforting
Husband! Cyclone who keeps a couple extra bottles of that same cologne around just in case they decide to discontinue the scent.
Husband! Cyclone who would lose his head if it wasn't attached, but has never once forgotten his wedding band
Husband! Cyclone who is anti-social media, but has a blank account for the sole purpose of liking and commenting on your posts.
Husband! Cyclone who runs hot but always wears a jacket when you go out together, purely because he knows you're too stubborn to take his advice and bring your own.
Husband! Cyclone who fell first and fell harder.
#top gun maverick#top gun#top gun x reader#topgun#top gun movie#top gun headcanons#top gun fanfic#top gun fanfiction#top gun fic#top gun maverick fanfiction#top gun maverick x reader#top gun maverick fic#top gun maverick imagine#beau cyclone simpson#cyclone#cyclone top gun#cyclone headcanons#cyclone simpson#beau simpson#beau cyclone simpson x reader#cyclone x reader
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THE HIGHWAYMAN
Cowboy!Jake (Hangman) Seresin x Reader
• Series •
Summary: Jake Seresin: Highwayman. Riding along coach roads with his gang of the fellow Dagger Squad. But when his companion is in immediate need of a horse, they stop in a town Jake had avoided for the past 5 years. The place he’d left his beloved as a threat from her father, Sheriff Beau Simpson. But when he returns for good, Simpson isn’t having some highwayman get his way with his daughter. Not if he had anything to do with it.
Connotations to smut marked with *
Prologue
Chapter 1 - The Return to Miramar
Chapter 2 - Damned if you do; Damned if you don’t
Chapter 3 - The Dead Man Walking
Chapter 4 - A glass of Bourbon from Denison
Chapter 5* - A night worth dying for*
Chapter 6 - A bargain with the executioner
Chapter 7 - Listen to her gut
Chapter 8 - Unfinished business with a pistol
Chapter 9 - Please, not another 5 years
Chapter 10 - Gifts from Sacramento
Chapter 11 - May God have Mercy
Chapter 12 - A hanging in the Spring of ‘63
Chapter 13 - The girl with no father
Chapter 14 - You’re needed East
Chapter 15 - An apology is a blessing
Chapter 16* - A final goodbye and a first hello*
Epilogue
Fin.
#masterlist#xreader#smut#fluff#warner sister#angst#requests#x you#imagine#top gun#top gun masterlist#top gun maverick x reader#top gun maverick#top gun 1986#rooster#hangman#maverick#iceman#cyclone#top gun x reader#hangman x reader#Jake#Seresin#Jake Seresin x reader#cowboy#cowboy jake seresin#cowboy jake#cowboy Seresin#cowboy hangman#Johnny cash
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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
--------
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
#top gun maverick#top gun#top gun imagine#top gun x reader#top gun maverick x reader#beau simpson#beau cyclone simpson#cyclone#cyclone simpson#jon hamm#beau cyclone simpson x reader#cyclone x reader#cyclone simpson x reader#jon hamm x reader#admiral beau cyclone simpson#admiral cyclone#admiral beau simpson#admiral cyclone simpson
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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.
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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
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Day 11: "911, what's your emergency?"
➣prompt: Self done first aid
➣character: Beau 'Cyclone' Simpson
➣warnings: injuries, mentions of domestic violence, blood, bruises, motorcycle crash, self inflicted injuries
➣word count: 1.6k
|| masterlist || whumptober || whumptober masterlist || library page ||
Beau Simpson was a man of many things; confidence, anger, jealousy. The biggest one had to be a man of pride. Beau was very prideful of himself and his accomplishments, which he had a right to be. It wasn’t everyday that the Department of Defense places trust in someone to run a whole training school for the best of the best. Most days he loved his job, it was less taxing than being a young airman and having to be ready to be deployed at the drop of a hat. He was able to finally settle down with the person he loved.
Beau had always thought he was going to marry his high school sweetheart and have a couple of kids. And he did get that. . . but it didn’t last long. He was heartbroken after the divorce. He had moved out of his wife’s house into a small three bed closer to base. And that’s when he met Y/N. The young nurse who lived next door to him. She was about 25, and had just gotten her first nursing job on base. Beau had met her when she was doing the yearly flu shot clinic. He had recognized her from the early morning runs that she went on. She would be just arriving home when he was heading out to work.
After that day, they began talking to each other, nothing past the friendly “hi, how are you” whenever they saw each other outside. Beau wanted to ask her out, but there was something in his mind that stopped him. Maybe it was the fact that she was nearly twenty years younger than him. He could sometimes hear the small parties she would have with her friends in her backyard, or when she would come home drunk from the bars, or see some man doing the walk of shame out her front door in the morning. Beau wanted things that he thought she probably wasn’t ready for.
Beau sighed as he parked his car in the driveway, and cut the ignition. It was a long day of dealing with Pete Mitchell’s antics. He knew the reputation that came with the pilot, and he hated it. Beau wasn’t one for reckless behavior, he had no time for it. He glanced over at the drive next to his, and noticed Y/N’s car was sitting in the driveway. He furrowed his eyebrows, usually it was her motorcycle that was there. He hated that thing. It made his stomach drop every time he watched her pull out on it. She also refused to wear a helmet, telling him once that it takes away from the cool factor.
Getting out of his car, he grabbed his duffle bag and headed for his front door. Beau had barely had the key in the door when he heard a weak voice call out his name. He turned around and dropped the bag in his hands, and ran down the steps to the injured girl in front of him.
“What the hell happened?” He said, looking her over. She had cuts, scrapes, and bruises all along her body.
“I took a tumble on the bike,” She smiled. Even while injured she still looked amazing, “This uh. . . won’t stop bleeding.” She lifted up her shirt to expose the bandage that was on her side that was soaked in blood.
“Oh my god.”
“I don’t have much more than paper towels and kleenex. Kinda bad for a nurse, I know,” Y/N laughed.
“Come inside, I have a first aid kit,” Beau said, and Y/N nodded. She had a slight limp in her walk. Beau kept his hand behind her, following her gait up to the door. She winced as she walked up the steps, and Beau pushed the door open, “Here, come to the kitchen.”
“Nice house,” She breathed out as she moved to the kitchen.
“Can you get up on the counter?” Beau asked her, setting down his duffle bag.
“I. . . fuck, no,” Y/N sighed after trying to jump up. Beau wordlessly walked over to her, and lifted her on the counter. She groaned slightly, and Beau turned on the overhead lights. She looked even worse in the light. He could see the dirt that was on her face and in her cuts. She had a large scrape that seemed to go from her head all the way down her body.
“Did you fall or get run off?”
“Fucking grass clippings on the street,” She cursed, “It’s like walking on ice. Lost control and skidded across the road.”
“You work at a hospital?”
“And?”
“Why didn’t you go?” Beau called out as he walked down the hall towards the bathroom to get the first aid kit. He was suddenly thankful that his ex-wife had told him to buy one.
“Too much paperwork. Believe me, I know,” Y/N rolled her eyes as Beau came back down the hallway. He set the first aid kit down next to her, and gently touched her face looking over the injuries. She winced and he clenched his jaw, “Nothing needs stitches. I just need band aids. Tape and kleenex isn’t cutting it anymore.”
“Did you even clean these?”
“Soap and water, best method,” She smiled at him. Beau rolled his eyes, and took a step back from her. She watched as he undid his khaki dress shirt, taking it off and standing in front of her in his slacks and undershirt. He grabbed the bottle of peroxide and a cotton ball.
“This is gonna hurt,” He announced and Y/N nodded. She gritted her teeth as he placed the cotton ball on her face. As Beau kept cleaning her up, he could see more than just the new scrapes and blood on her face. She had bruises in various stages of healing on her body. Some were on the opposite side of the current injuries. When he got done cleaning her face and arms, it was time to address the large injury on her stomach.
“I need to look at the wound on your stomach,” Beau said softly, and Y/N nodded. The shirt she was wearing wasn’t the same one from the accident, so it hurt less to take it off. Y/N winced as she pulled the shirt over her head, and Beau winced at the sight in front of him. Her skin looked like it had been burned by the road, and he could see small pieces of gravel still stuck to it.
“And you thought you had it easy,” Y/N chuckled.
Beau was concerned about the scrape, but he was also concerned about the large purple bruise on the other side of her body, “You got this from the accident too?” His fingers gently ghosted over the bruise. Y/N sucked in a harsh breath.
“Yeah,” She said shortly, “Please just. . . clean this one.” Beau nodded, knowing not to push her.
Beau frowned looking at her, “I need you to lay down.” Y/N nodded and Beau helped her lay down flat on the counter. He grabbed his khaki dress shirt, and folded it, giving her something to place her head on. It wasn’t much, but she smiled at him. She clenched her fist as he began to clean the scrape. It hurt worse than it did earlier, but she was thankful that Beau was willing to clean it. He grimaced as pulled away some of the kleenex she had used to try and stop the bleeding.
“Why didn’t you ask your boyfriend to do this?” Beau asked.
“Tyler?” She scoffed, “Yeah, I would’ve actually bled out on the floor of my house.”
“He wouldn’t do this?” Beau asked again, this time looking up at her face. Her eyes were set at the ceiling and she clenched her jaw. Beau had only seen this ‘Tyler’ once or twice, and both times he hated the sight. The first time, Y/N was kicking him out of her house, throwing his clothes at him as he yelled back at her. Beau wanted to say something, but refrained. The second time, he had just seen Tyler, walking angrily to his car, slamming the door shut and taking off down the road. Beau had his kids over that time, and really couldn’t say anything. The next day he saw Y/N wincing as she walked to the mailbox.
“No,” She said shortly, again, “He wouldn’t do this. . . “ She looked down at Beau, and their eyes met. Her words had a deeper meaning and Beau looked back at the bruise on her rib cage. It was as if she could read Beau’s mind, she pushed herself up from lying down, and reached for her shirt, “He’s a good person.”
“If he’s hitting you, he’s not a good person,” Beau said, grabbing her wrist gently. He looked down at it, and could see the faint outline of bruising.
“He gets mad sometimes.”
“This wasn’t an accident was it?” Y/N looked away from Beau, trying to hide the tears running down her cheeks. Beau didn’t say anything but pulled her into his arms in a hug. She clung to him and cried, pressing her face into his shoulder. He rubbed her back as she cried, and shushed her.
“I’m sorry,” Y/N said, pulling away from him, “I got blood on your shirt.”
“You know how many of these things I have?” Beau said, and Y/N chuckled. He wiped a tear from her cheek, “Let me finish patching this up, okay?” Y/N nodded and Beau guided her back down on the counter. He worked in silence as he cleaned the wound on the stomach, then applied a bandage. He helped her sit back up on the counter, and slipped her shirt back on over her head, “Are you hungry?”
“Kinda,” She said softly.
“Perfect, how does chicken carbonara sound?”
“Amazing.”
#top gun#top gun fan fic#top gun fan fiction#top gun imagine#top gun maverick#top gun maverick fan fic#top gun maverick fan fiction#top gun maverick imagine#cyclone#cyclone fan fic#cyclone fan fiction#cyclone imagine#cyclone x reader#beau simpson#beau simpson x reader#beau simpson imagine#beau simpson fan fic#beau simpson fan fiction#beau cyclone simpson
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kind of a dumb idea but hear me out ... maybe just Maybe we should throw angst at constance more ... like , lots of it ... throw her down the stairs , idk ...
#ride the cyclone#rtc#not really bi shop#constance blackwood#i can count the amount of hurt/comfort fics where constance's at the receiving end in One hand#believe it or not when i entered the rtc community the First Thing i Searched Up is 'constance blackwood character essay/analysis'#so you can imagine my disappointment when i saw ... None#she's so underappreciated and underexplored dude like the amount of fun scenarios and dynamics you can make with her#*i grasp you by the shoulders* SHE'S THE SECRETIVE NATURE
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Cyclone: your fire powers are so cool!
Y/N: not as cool as yours!
Cyclone: I bet if you and I were to cross our power set, we’d create a fire-nado.
Y/N: this is that code for ‘wanna make out?’
Cyclone: I was hoping for more of a team up move. You know a special move that takes out all-
Y/N gives a smoldering eyebrow…
Cyclone: okay! You got me! Yes I wanna make out with you. Now!
Cyclone tackles Y/N to their couch…
#maxine hunkel x reader#maxine#maxine hunkel#maxine hunkel imagine#quintessa swindell#cyclone#cyclone imagine#cyclone x reader#black adam#black adam imagine#black adam movie#justice society of america#Justice society#dceu#dceu imagine#dc comics imagine#dc comics incorrect quotes#dc comics fluff#dc comics
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Out in the Open
Request: Ohhhhh 'Behind closed doors' was so great !!! 😍😍😍
Can I dare to request a sequel to it ? Maybe where their love never dies down so they marry someday and Cyclone gives them a speech, as he also adores how lovely he treats his daughter? And idk what else you'd like to add but maybe this would be cute 🥺🥰
Pairings: Bradley Bradshaw x Simpson!Reader
Warnings: fluff, Cyclone being nice (yes this is a warning), implied smut, pregnancy, childbirth, swearing
First Installment- Behind Closed Doors
Second Installment- Out in the Open
Masterlist
Now that Natasha knew about your relationship with Bradley, he was over a lot more. Of course, you both kept it tamed down whenever it came to the bedroom when she was in the apartment. Surprisingly your father, Beau 'Cyclone' Simpson, was truly fine with it and he treated Bradley like any other pilot, that is after you threatened him.
You visited both of them at work way more often during your lunch break and Bradley came to your room as well. You both had been dating for 2 years now. Both of you are madly in love with the other. You've talked about marriage and kids and were definitely in favor of both. You both agreed to get a house before actually trying to start a family.
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One night you both sat down at his apartment and talked about eventually buying a house in more detail, what you didn't know was that he had the perfect one picked out and knew you would love it. The house wasn't too far away from the base, school, or your parents.
It was brought up while you were sitting on the couch watching some house-hunting show, for whatever reason there may be. Bradley had asked to use your laptop and so of course you let him. He wanted it to be a surprise and when he found one he knew it was the perfect one.
The house was beautiful, it was a fully brick house with a two-car garage, a little deck on the front porch, and a fairly huge back deck, the backyard was perfect for kids and maybe a dog and enough space for a swimming pool. It was a three-story house with a fully finished basement, including a bedroom, kitchen area, a bathroom, or it could be anything from an apartment to, a gaming area, or another guest room. 3 bedrooms, one being the master bedroom, were upstairs with bathrooms attached, and a guest bedroom downstairs with an attached bathroom. The kitchen was a dream, it had an island in the middle and the kitchen table off to the side and it had a dining room. The living room was spacious with a rock fireplace on the furthest wall when you walk in and a place to mount a TV. There was also an office downstairs as well.
He sent the link to himself and finished what he needed and the both of you started to get ready for bed. He was nonstop smiling and when you asked what he was smiling about he didn't say a word about the house. "You. I'm smiling at you, pretty girl." He said and kissed you. Oh how you couldn't wait to marry this man.
The next morning you both were getting ready for work. You had some time before either of you had to go in so you sat around in the kitchen talking. "What do you think about moving into together?" Bradley asked you randomly one morning and it caught you off guard. You looked up at him confused and then went back to making your lunches.
"In here? Bradley there is hardly room for you. My apartment can barley hold two people, three people would be too much. Not to mention Natasha probably appreciate our late night activities-" Bradley cut you off by putting the knife down and cupping your face and kissing you to shut you up.
"No, Darling. I'm talking about moving into a house together." He said with a chuckle and you blushed embarrassed and you looked down and then back to him.
"I'm mean of course I've thought about it. I've thought about a lot of things especially life with you." You told him with so much emotion in your voice. He smiled "Why do you ask?" You asked him and he shook his head while letting go and started fiddling around in the kitchen.
"No reason. I'm just trying to plan things out." He said which really confused you. You heard his keys rattle and came up to you and grabbed his lunch and he gave you another kiss. "I'll see you after work. I may be late." You stood there speechless and now wondering what he had planned.
"I love you too, babe." You said to him in a confused voice and heard him chuckle and walked out the door. You finished what you were doing and headed out the door yourself.
When Bradley got to the base he walked in and bypassed the others and headed to his future father-in-law's office. When he got there he knocked on the door and waited for Beau to allow him in.
"Come in." Beau said and Bradley opened the door to find him alone and walked in while shutting the door. "Bradley. What can u do for you?" He asked his future son-in-law.
"You know I love your daughter with my whole heart right?" Bradley asked while taking a seat in front of Beau.
"If you're here to tell me that you're breaking up with her then you might as well start packing. I'll have you shipped off so fast you wouldn't even be able to take a breath." Beau threatened him. Beau loved his daughter and would do anything for her.
"What? No, sir. Absolutely not. I love your daughter. I want to marry her and have kids with her someday. I want to move in with her. Which is why I'm here, sir." Bradley said starting to sweat he truly did love you with all of his heart and he wanted all of it with you. Beau gave him a nod to go ahead when he stopped talking. "I found this amazing house that she would absolutely love. I wanted you to look at it and wanted your approval on it. I have the link to the listing but I was hoping you would go see it with me in person." Bradley said still feeling nervous. Beau stopped to think and nodded.
"We can go on our lunch break." He told the now nervous man in front of him and Bradley nodded and started to get up.
"Thank you, sir. I hope you both really like it." He said and started to turn away and towards the door when Beau stopped him.
"And Bradley." Beau said and Bradley stopped turning to Jim.
"Sir?" Bradley asked looking at him.
"If you ever and I mean ever break her heart, I will give you the worst assignment and base there is. No one and I mean no one hurts my little girl. Understood?" Beau asked him.
"Understood, sir." Bradley said and nodded which made Beau nod as well.
"Good. You're dismissed." He said and Bradley walked out the door and let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, getting threatened by Vice Admiral Beau 'Cyclone' Simpson was worse than any mission he had been through. He couldn't wait to show him the house. He was going to ask him for your hand in marriage but he figured that would be saved for another day or when he showed him the house.
He went to the classroom to get ready for a brief that all instructors had to go through on the first day of bringing in new Top Gun students. The Daggers were already there sitting down when he joined them. They noticed he was late for once.
"You're late." Jake said first and smirked. "Get in trouble with Cyclone?" He asked making fun. Bradley rolled his eyes.
"No. I found this house that I wanted his approval on before taking Y/N to see it." Bradley told them.
"You're so whipped man." Jake said slapping him on the back and Bradley just shook his head.
"It's called being in love Hangman, something you wouldn't know about." Bradley shot back and that shut him up real fast.
"So let us see it." Natasha said breaking the tension and Bradley pulled out his phone and opened the link and handed it to her. Everyone crowded around her to look at it. "Oh wow it's gorgeous!" Natasha exclaimed "She's going to love it." She finished and everyone nodded in agreement and then Maverick, Beau, Warlock, and Hondo walked in and the breifing began.
When lunch came around, Bradley was nervous so nervous he thought if this was a mistake, but he loved you and wanted to be with you. Bradley had just finished doing flight post-check and was in the locker room already changed back into his khaki uniform. Beau met him in the locker room, this caused a lot of attention. "Are you ready to go?" He asked Bradley.
"Yes, sir." Bradley replied and Beau nodded.
"Good. We'll take my car." Beau said with no room for argument. Bradley didn't speak to any of his teammates just followed him out to his car. Bradley put the address in the GPS and on their way they went. Not much talking was done which was ok and not ok, it gave Bradley too much time to think. Before he knew it they were at the house parking in the driveway there was a car outside by the mailbox but it was just the realtor. It was much more beautiful in person.
Both men got out and walked to the front door. Bradley twisted the knob and it opened, and they walked in. The realtor, whose name was Stefanie, was in the kitchen and walked out to greet the two men. "Hello! I'm so glad you could make it!" She said in excitement and shook thei hands. She was clearly eyeing up the two men and who wouldn't? Two handsome men in Navy-issued khaki uniforms to look at a house.
"I'm glad we could make it too. Bradley, here," motioning to Bradley "is trying to find the perfect house for him and his girlfriend." Beau said and Bradley nodded. "Would you mind if we looked at it ourselves?" He asked and she nodded.
"Of course! I need to make a few phone calls so I'll be out in my car!" She said and they nodded and she left. Beau and Bradley started in the kitchen both running their hands over the black and white granite countertops. It looked like it had all new appliances, all electric. They continued throughout the house making here and there. The bedrooms were huge and all had walk-in closets. When they got to the basement Bradley stopped Beau.
"So what do you think?" He asked him and Beau nodded.
"It looks wonderful. Y/N is going to love it." Beau said looking around. "Are you going to make an offer on it?" He asked and Bradley was silent for a moment.
"I want to but I want to talk it over with her." Bradley said and Beau nodded "There is another thing I wanted to ask you though." He continued and started to get nervous. Beau turned to him and gave him a go-ahead motion with his head. "I love your daughter very much, but you already knew that. I want to spend the rest of my life with her, grow old with her, have children with her, and live in this house with her. What I'm asking is your blessing to marry her." Bradley finally got out and it was silent. He thought he made the wrong choice and was about to tell him to forget about it Beau spoke up.
"I know you love my daughter and would do anything to protect her. I know that she would love this house which I why I want you to put an offer in before it slips out from under you. I give you my blessing to marry my daughter but remember the little conversations we had this morning." Beau said and Bradley sighed in relief. To both of their surprise, they hugged each other. They walked back upstairs and met the realtor the house was actually in Bradley and your price range, and he made an offer and signed some papers and everyone shook hands and went on their way. Now it was time for him to show you the house.
Bradley decided not to show you the house right away wanting to make sure everything was perfect. It was two days later that he got the most amazing phone call ever. It was while he was at work and had just gotten done with teaching.
"This is Lieutenant Commander Bradley Bradshaw." Bradley answered his phone without looking. Everyone got promoted to Lieutenant Commander after the mission was a success and the Dagger Squad became an official Squad.
"Good afternoon, Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw! I have some great news!" Stefanie said excitedly this got Bradley's heart racing. "You got the house." She said and it seemed like his heart stopped he actually got the house. "You can pick up the keys and you and your girlfriend can come by and sign more papers to make it official!" She finished.
"That's great! I'll see you this evening! I'll bring my girlfriend!" He said, "Thank you so much." They both bid each other goodbye and hung up the phone. He needed to tell Beau.
Bradley practically raced to the office and knocked and Beau called him in. Bradley immediately told him the good news and Beau actually graced him with a smile.
After work, Bradley made his way back to his apartment and when he got there your car was in the parking lot. He pulled the Bronco next to your car and killed the engine. He got out and walked in and was greeted with music playing and you in the kitchen you turned around and greeted him.
"Hey babe! I was just about to start dinner!" You said and he smiled.
"I was actually thinking we could go out." He said and that shocked you.
"Oh ok. Where are we going?" You asked.
"We'll decide on that when we get into the Bronco but first. We need to make a stop." He told you and you nodded. You grabbed your shoes and a hoodie, Bradley's hoodie, and followed him out the door. You got into the Bronco and headed that way. He drove to the address and when you got there your mouth dropped open.
"Bradley." You started but didn't know what to say. He didn't say anything as he pulled into the driveway and got out and helped you out. Stefanie was already there greeting you both.
"Hi! I'm Stefanie, you must be the girlfriend!" She said and you nodded and shook her hand that was outstretched.
"Yes. I'm Y/N. I'm confused." You said and she laughed.
"Your boyfriend and father came in two days ago and Bradley and he put in an offer and it was accepted." She said and you were shocked but happy, this was your dream home. "These are your keys." She said and handed the keys to you. Bradley was just there smiling. "Why don't you come in and sign some papers and the house is yours." She said and you nodded both of you following her. You did just that and she bid you both a goodnight and left. You couldn't believe this! Everything is perfect!
You had talked it over with Nat about moving into the house with Bradley and she was perfectly fine with it. You let her keep the apartment and she said that she would be taking over the bills and it wasn't that much of a rent she couldn't manage. You had let her keep the couch there was no reason for you to have two couches. She got to keep most of the appliances as well but you took your TV since she said that she had one in her room that she could bring out into the living room. Everyone helped with the moving-in process. After a weekend you both were moved in and began the unpacking process. A few weeks later you were all unpacked and ready to start your journey together.
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After Bradley asked for your hand in marriage, he started to look for a ring, and who better to help than none other than your best friend? Natasha was absolutely thrilled to be included. Bradley started to search for the perfect ring after Natasha got you to cough up what you would like. It was really a simple cut with four diamonds on each side of the diamond. They went through a lot of rings but when he found this one it was perfect and it screamed you. So he got it. It had been 2 months since you both moved into your new house. You both had decided to have a cook out and that is when Bradley decided to propose. Your parents had already seen the ring and approved of it right away. He also showed Maverick and to say he swelled with proudness was an understatement, he was happy for Bradley, he saw Goose and Carole in him and you.
It was a Saturday so everyone was able to come over. Around 5:30 PM you both started to prepare for your guests. "Do we have enough food?" You asked Bradley and he chuckled.
"Yes, Darling. We have plenty. Your father is bringing the drinks, adding to what we already have. I'm about to pack the coolers outside and start to get the grill ready. Relax we got this." He said coming up to you and kissing you. The doorbell rang causing you to pull away from him and go open it. It turned out to be you father and mother.
"Mom, Dad! Hi!" You said and hugged them both and allowed them to come in. "Dad, Bradley has the coolers ready to be packed outside." You told him and he nodded and headed that way you could hear them greet each other and watched them walk out into the backyard. Your mother and you began talking while walking into the kitchen.
"This is an absolutely beautiful place." She said and you smiled.
"Yea sorry it took forever for you to be able to see it. We just wanted to get settled in first." You said and she nodded.
"It's ok. I understand. So when are you going to give me grandchildren?" She asked and you rolled your eyes she started asking you this question when you first started to date Bradley.
"Mom. We aren't even engaged yet." You said and she just chuckled.
"It doesn't hurt to start trying. Who knows tonight might be the night." She said and shrugged her shoulders.
"Mom!" You yelled and your eyes widened with your mouth falling open. She laughed and started to put food together. After the shock wore off you began to get things ready for the night.
At 6 PM everyone started to show up, first it was Maverick and Penny, Natasha, Bob, Jake, Javy, Mickey, Warlock, Hondo, and a few other friends from work. You and Bradley greeted each and every one of them. The night was going great and smoothly you sensed Bradley was nervous but you couldn't figure out why and each time you went to talk to him you pulled away. Beau and Bradley manned the grill and once everyone was done eating and just chilling around. It was getting dark and everyone crowded around the bonfire that Bradley had going, he insisted on building one when you moved in and you agreed to have one since you love bonfires.
"Everyone I have an announcement and question for my beautiful girlfriend," Bradley announced and everyone looked at him as he got up and held his hand out to you which you gladly accepted, he pulled you up and passed the bonfire to the other side. "Y/N, Darling. When you were first introduced to me at The Hard Deck by Natasha I was memorized, I knew I wanted to start a life with you. Nothing and no one could've kept me away from you that night. You then agreed to go out on a date with me at the end of the night and it was the best night of my life," he said and you were standing there knowing what was coming next "We started to talk about moving in together and what house you would absolutely love and when I found it I went straight to your dad and we went to check it out. It was perfect. I asked him for his blessing to marry you right in the basement." He continued and pretty much everyone was crying especially the females, he got down on one knee "So, Y/N Simpson. Would you do me the honor of making me the happiest man and marry me?" He asked bringing out the ring. Your jaw dropped, you couldn't believe it this was something you dreamt of. Tears started to flow and you nodded your head.
"Yes, Bradley. I'll marry you." You answered him and a huge smile broke out on his face. He put the ring on your finger and got up from the ground and gently grabbed your face in both of his hands and kissed you hard, you brought your hands to his and kissed back. You broke apart when air was needed. Everyone congratulated you and everyone wanted to see the ring. Let's just say you and Bradley didn't get to spend much time together that night during the cookout but after everyone was gone, you both made up for lost time. Photos were captured to remember the night.
Now it was time to start planning a wedding.
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The wedding took 4 months to plan, most of the details already have been planned for your dream wedding. You wanted a beach wedding and Bradley agreed with you and that was doable considering you lived practically on the beach. You wanted long bridesmaids dresses and you wanted them to be sleeveless and a deep navy blue. Your wedding dress was your dream come true, it was a flowing dress and it fit you just right and had spaghetti straps. You had a veil that flowed behind you and your hair would be done up off of your neck and French braided on the side leading into a bun with some curls framing your face. The cake was three tiers and it was marbled with chocolate and vanilla with the hint of mint. The food was in a buffet kind of style and it was light food like sandwiches and finger foods but nothing to messy and some sides like potato salad and such. The drinks were self served and with an open bar.
Natasha took you and your 3 other bridesmaids out for a bachelorette party, while Jake and the others took Bradley and his groomsmen out. You all had fun and got a little tipsy. In 3 days you were getting married to the love of your life. You had rented a beach house to fit your guests and it was a place for you to get ready. There was also a reception hall which was done up the moment you got there and that is where the wedding reception would be held.
A rehearsal dinner and rehearsal took place the next day and everything was perfect. Again happy tears were shed. You couldn't wait to marry this man. Everyone mingled well and got along. Friends and family were invited to the wedding you both wanted to keep the numbers down.
3 days later you got ready and were getting ready to do the first look. You were all dressed and had your makeup and hair done when your mother called your father into the room. Beau 'Cyclone' Simpson about cried, correction he did cry. "Oh Sweetheart. You look so beautiful." He said in a breathy voice and you broke out in a smile and tears started to stream down.
"Oh, Daddy." You said and walked over to him hugging him you pulled away and smoothed your hands down his coat "You look so handsome." You replied in return. It was silent until Natasha walked in and said that Bradley was ready. You nodded and she opened the door to the room. You walked out with the help of your dad and out into the house and down the stairs. You got outside and saw Bradley standing at the entrance of the walkway heading to the beach. Beau walked you down to him and let you go, you tapped Bradley on the shoulder and he turned around and he'll admit he cried both of you were smiling while Amelia Benjamin took your pictures, she was the designated professional photographer for your wedding she also did your engagement photos.
After several thousand pictures the ceremony was ready to start. You could see everyone sitting down and Bradley and his groomsmen, Maverick, Jake, Javy, and Mickey up at the altar. Turns out Bob was ordained and was officiating the wedding. The music started to play for your bridesmaids to walk down the aisle, Natasha, Stella, Kennedy, and Amanda. The last three were your friends from work and you had gone to school with them and became really close with them. The music changed again and that was your cue for your father and you to start walking down the aisle. The breeze on the beach was perfect and it was not a very hot day, considering it was August. You and Beau got to Bradley "Who gives this woman away?" Bob asked.
"Her mother and I." Beau said while trying not to get chocked up Bob nodded his head and Bradley took your hand and helped you stand in front of him, you passed your bouquet to Natasha. Your dad went and sat down next to your mother, Amelia was taking pictures throughout the ceremony. Bob was speaking but all you could think about was how perfect Bradley looked in his dress whites. You and him had agreed on his dress whites because you thought her looked perfect in them and you hardily seen him in them. The groomsmen and Bob had the option to wear them if they wanted to but decided against it. You only came to when Bob spoke about reading vows.
"Both the groom and the bride have decided to exchange vows to show their love for one another. Bradley you may begin." Bob said nodding his head to him and he turned to grab the ring from Maverick and turned back to you.
"Y/N from the moment I met you, I knew you were the one. You have made my life more exciting and light filled. Everyday that I get to spend with you is the best day of my life, it only gets better with you everyday. I want to start a family with you and grow old with you. We already bought our dream house. I promise to hold you and take care of you when you're sick. I promise to love you everyday. For richer or poorer. I'll be by your side and if I break that promise your dad will have me shipped off and baby I don't want that." Everyone laughed at the part, you looked over at your father with a playful glare and he hung his head and blushed. You turned back to Bradley "I'll be by your side until death do us part." He finished.
"Bradley do you take this beautiful woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?" Bob asked and Bradley nodded.
"I do." He said and placed the ring where your engagement ring once set.
"Y/N you may now say your vows." Bob said turning to you. You cleared your throat and took a moment as Natasha gave you the ring.
"Bradley. When I first met you at The Hard Deck I thought you were going to be like any other cocky aviator but you proved me wrong, and I'm thankful for that. You didn't freak out when I told you who my father was and boy was I grateful for that. No body and I mean no body has moved me like you did that night. Everyday when I look at you, I'm home. You're amazing in a lot of ways but I know you're going to be an amazing husband and father one day. I want to go grow old with you and raise our children together. I also promise to love you everyday. I promise to be there when you're down. I'll be with you for richer or poorer. I promise to be with you until death do us part." You said and smiled at him.
"Y/N do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?" Bob asked you and you nodded.
"I do." You said and placed the ring on his finger and held both of this hands.
"By the power vested in me and the state of California. I know pronounce you husband and wife. Bradley you may now kiss your bride." Bob said and Bradley did just that and you gladly kissed him back, you only pulled away when air was needed. You turned to the crowd while Natasha gave you your bouquet back. You and your now husband walked down the aisle. Pictures were taken of everyone and then you, Bradley, the groomsmen and the bridesmaids went to the beach house while everyone went up to the reception hall.
When you arrived the party was just starting. No body ate until you both were announced and you were allowed to get food and settled. As everyone was getting done with eating it was time to cut the cake. You both cut it together and fed it to each other. Bradley wouldn't dare shove it in your face, he was afraid of your dad and upsetting you. Everyone cheered and then speeches started. Everyone that wanted to make speeches did. Beau wanted to make one which didn't surprise many people.
"I want to say that you two make a great team. I'm so glad I'm gaining a son-in-law that truly loves my daughter and it is plain to see that she loves you back. I knew Bradley was the one for her when she threatened me at Saturday breakfast telling me not to give him a hard time at work. When he asked my permission to marry her I knew my answer was yes right away. He is a great aviator and will be a great husband and father to my grandkids. So, here is to the happy couple. I love you both." Beau finished and you were crying everyone took a drink as a toast. He handed the microphone over to you for you both to make announcements.
"We just wanted to say thank you for coming. It means so much to both of us. We are so glad we our friends and family could come and celebrate this amazing day with us. We want to thank Bob for officiating us and marrying us. We also want to thank everyone that helped with setting this up and hanging decorations and making it perfect for us." Bradley said while he held the microphone and you.
The DJ came over and the sound system and said it was time for the father daughter dance. It was emotional for both and you and Beau, he said sweet nothings to you and made you laugh and he smiled, which was a rare occurrence. It was time for the mother son dance but since Bradley's mother wasn't there your mother danced with him, she talked to him throughout it and honestly it was perfect. All the important dances were done and now the floor was opened up to everyone. The reception went well into the night and everyone had their fair amount of drinks.
It was around 1 in the morning when you and Bradley made it to the small cottage that was also rented out for just the two of you. Neither of you got much sleep instead it was filled with slow passionate love making as a married couple. You finally had the man of your dreams.
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You were sent to your honeymoon right after you both got married, you both had enough time saved up for vacation. Your honeymoon was set in Venice, Italy. It was spent sightseeing and just spending time together. The weather was perfect and so was your husband. The honeymoon was 3 weeks long.
3 weeks means a lot of spending inanimate time together. In fact there wasn’t a time where you weren’t trying to make a family. You both wanted kids dearly and you started early. One night while you were eating dinner on the balcony looking over the city with sunsetting you brought it up. “Have you ever thought about kids?” you asked before taking a sip of your wine. Bradley nodded.
“I have especially with you.” He said
“Do you want a boy or a girl?” he asked and you thought for a moment.
“I really want both but I would be happy with either one. I would be extremely happy with twins.” You said looking into the eyes of your husband “You?” You asked.
“This is going to sound crazy but I’m the exact same way. Have you thought about names?” He asked you and you nodded.
“I have.” You replied.
“Oh yea? What would they be?” He asked
“Well I thought about this long and hard. If it was a boy it would be Nicholas Beau Bradshaw, Nick for short” You said and he was silent, you were afraid he hated it. “I’m sorry we can pick a different name. I just thought since you talked so highly of your father I wanted our son to be like him. I also wanted him to have dad’s name as a middle name to honor him.” You told your head going down to look at your food that you were pushing around.
“I love it, Darling. How come I didn’t know about it?” He asked and you looked up.
“I wanted it to be a surprise.” You said quietly
“What would you name the girl?” He asked you. You smiled.
“Caroline Petra Bradshaw, Carole for short.” You said and studied his face and his eyes were shining with tears. “Your mother should be honored for raising such a handsome, caring, and strong man that is now my husband. Maverick should be in there as well since he’s like a father to you.” You finished Bradley didn’t say a word instead he got up and went straight to you and picked you up and carried you to bed. That night he showed you the gratitude for you choosing those names and keeping his family alive in your family.
3 weeks went by fast and before you knew it you were back at home and each of you going back to work, as much as you didn’t want to go. You changed your name on everything important.
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2 weeks after being back at home you started to get sick, you had some suspicions so you bought some pregnancy tests. Bradley had walked in one evening to you throwing up and he was worried. He rushed to you and held your hair back “Darling, are you ok?” He asked and all he got in reply was you gagging and throwing up in the toilet. “Oh, Darling. It’s ok.” He said and rubbed your back. After a few minutes you leaned back and flushed the toilet.
“I think I might be pregnant.” You told him.
“Why do you think that?” He asked curiously.
“I started getting sick and smells were getting to me and I have been craving dill pickle chips and pickles with flaming hot Cheetos. I didn’t think it was anything at first until I started to crave those things.” You said and Bradley made a disgusted face to those combinations of food. “I bought a couple of pregnancy tests but didn’t want to take them in case I’m not pregnant and this is just me being weird.” You finished.
“Oh, Darling. How about you take them now? I’ll be here with you.” He suggested and you nodded and did just that. You made him go out of the bathroom while you did them and sat them on the sink and put a timer on and allowed him. You both sat against the tub in your bathroom. The timer went off and you got up and brought them over to him so that you could see them together. You both smiled when two lines appeared on both of the tests.
You were pregnant.
You got set up with an appointment right away with a doctor appointment where they did an ultrasound and got the surprise of your lifetime. You were having twins. Dreams really do come true. Now it was time to tell your family and friends. You wanted to tell your father, mother, and Maverick first so you called them over. It was a Friday night when they came over, you all had dinner and when dessert came around you decided to tell them. “We have some news for you all.” You started and looked at Bradley and he nodded to go ahead “We are pregnant with twins.” You said and everyone broke out in smiles and Beau actually smiled.
“It’s about time you gave me grandchildren.” Your mother said and everyone laughed “We’re really happy for you Sweetheart.” Everyone went around giving congratulations to you and Bradley. You all moved to the living room and finished out your night there and then they went home. Each giving you and Bradley a hug.
Your 18 week appointment came around and this was when you would be finding out the sex of your children.
You and Bradley talked about if you wanted to keep it a secret but decided against it. You already have names picked out. “Would you like to find out the sex of your babies?” Dr. Avery asked and you both nodded eagerly. She moved the wand around and pointed to each of them “This one is a girl and a little bit shy and this little confident one is a boy. He looks like he is shielding his sister. He’s going to be a protector for sure.” She said you and Bradley, who was standing behind you holding your hand, smiled and nodded.
“Just like his daddy.” You said and everyone chuckled
“Would you like a picture?” Dr. Avery asked and you both nodded. She took it and printed it out and then gave you it and gave you a paper towel to wipe off the gel which you gladly accepted. You couldn’t wait to share the news. Everyone took the news well and were so excited for you both and couldn’t wait for them to get here so they could spoil them. Each month your stomach swelled and Bradley couldn’t help but rub his hands over it. He and you talked to them every night and each time they responded with a kick.
9 months was approaching quickly, you wanted to work up until you couldn’t anymore and that came about when you were 8 months along. All of your female students were asking questions and were jealous especially when your husband came by when he and you were on lunch break. You were close to your due date and each of you had go bags in both of your vehicles. One day during lunch you were visiting your husband and father, when your water decided to break and it was game on. Everyone was cool, calm, and collected then again they were used to high pressure situations. “You’re doing great, Darling.” Bradley said while he drove your car claiming he didn’t want fluid all over his precious Bronco and you just rolled your eyes.
You arrived at the hospital in record time and they took you to the labor and delivery floor. Your father stayed out in the waiting room and called everyone, they were there in record time. “Any word on the mother and babies?” Your mother asked your father and he shook his head.
“They only let Bradley go back there since he’s the father.” Beau said and she nodded her head in understanding.
“Have they picked out names?” Maverick asked
“They have but they haven’t told us.” Your mother said.
Each time they came to check on you, you were only so many cm dilated. This was your 8th hour being in labor and the contractions were painful. “Hello Mrs. Bradshaw! I’m just going to check and see how far along you are.” a nurse said and you nodded “It looks like your 10 cm dilated. I’ll page Dr. Avery and we’ll be on our way!” She said cheerily.
“It’s about damn time.” You said as another contraction ripped through you and you practically growled. You turned to Bradley “I fucking hate you.” You told him and he knew you didn’t mean it. Dr. Avery came in with two nurses and they helped you get into position. You were a sweating mess and in so much pain but didn’t want an epidural which Bradley thought you were crazy for.
“The next contraction, I want you to push momma.” Dr. Avery said and you nodded. The next contraction hit and you pushed “Ok and stop. You’re doing well momma.” She said and this went on for a few minutes “Ok. I see the head of the first baby. I want you to push with all of your might on the next contraction.” She said and you nodded when it hit you pushed hard “I see the head.” She said and you were getting tired but wanted this and then finally the baby came out “Good job momma! You have a little boy!” She said “Dad you want to cut the cord?” She asked Bradley and he nodded. He cut exactly where he was told and then another contraction hit and he was taken away to be cleaned up. “Ok, Mrs. Bradshaw ready to push? You know the drill.” She asked and you nodded and got ready to push again. The contraction hit and you pushed.
“Bradley, you are never touching me again.” You said while pushing. Everyone just chuckled knowing you didn’t mean it.
“Ok momma, take a break.” Dr. Avery said and you slumped back on the chair the next contraction hit and you started to push as directed “Ok, I see the head!” She exclaimed and you kept pushing with all your might. After 3 minutes your second baby was out and letting everyone know of her arrival “Congratulations you have a healthy little girl!” She said and instructed Bradley to cut the cord again. She was taken away and cleaned up and then both of them were placed on your chest, you were crying and sweating and Bradley was crying. Dr, Avery cleaned up and walked out of the room.
“Hello babies. I’m your mom and that hunk of a crying man beside me is your dad.” You all chuckled.
“Do you have names?” The nurse asked and you nodded your head and told them.
===============================
“What is taking them so long?” Jake asked impatiently and Natasha hit him in the back of the head “Ow. What was that for?” He asked.
“Be patient.” Natasha said just about the time Bradley walked out into the waiting room everyone looked at him and saw the tear tracks but he was smiling.
“So?” Jake asked and got another hit from Javy this time.
“We have a healthy baby boy and baby girl.” He said Jake, Natasha, Mickey, Javy, and Bob jumped up and hugged him and they broke apart. Beau and Maverick shook his hand and hugged him while your mother bear hugged him “Cyclone, Bailey, and Maverick. Would you like to meet them first?” He asked them since they were the parents of you and Maverick the pseudo father to him, they nodded and followed him back. They walked into the room quietly.
“Hey guys.” You said quietly holding the two babies. Bradley came over to you and took your little girl.
“I want you to meet Caroline Petra Bradshaw.” Bradley said and Maverick had tears streaming down his face.
“Guys.” He started “I don’t know what to say.” He said and you both shook your head.
“You don’t need to say anything. You acted like my father even though you pulled my papers and we went through a rough patch but you made me a better pilot. We wanted Caroline to have your name.” He said and he teared up.
“And this is Nicholas Beau Bradshaw.” You said nodding to the little boy “He was born 3 minutes before Caroline.” You finished your dad broke out in tears “Oh, Dad. It’s ok.” You said as he wiped his tears.
"Your parents would be so proud of you Bradley. I bet they're up there right now smiling." Maverick said, which made Bradley tear up, walk over to him and side-hug him.
"Thank you." Bradley whispered to him and let him go and wiped a tear and walked back to your side.
Both babies were sleeping soundly. They were passed around to each of the other three members in the room. Bradley went and got the others once he got the all-clear from you and they were introduced to the newest members of the Dagger Squad. The twins were passed around but then you started to yawn and that is when everyone bid their goodbyes and congratulations and to everyone’s surprise Jake brought the most gifts.
Once everyone left your father, mother, and husband were left in the room. You could barely keep your eyes open and your dad noticed this “Get some sleep, Sweetheart. We got it handled from here.” He said and you nodded. Bradley came over and kissed your forehead as your eyes slipped closed and you fell into a peaceful sleep.
You were able to sleep peacefully knowing that Nick and Caroline were in good hands with her father, grandfather, and grandmother. You couldn’t wait to get them home and begin your journey with them but for now you would be getting a much deserved rest.
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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.”
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