#top gun prompts weekend
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I know you wanted smutty but I’ve been feeling really blah lately so if you could hit me with some humor fluff maybe slight smut? With rbf reader who is blunt saying 10) “Look, I’m not into choking but I wouldn’t mind if you grabbed me by the neck every once in a while.” To hangman while playing pool just completely shocking him
Hope you’re also feeling better!🥺
I will try. Reader’s call sign is Possum
“So Possum, how the hell did you end up with someone like Hangman?”
You laughed at Phoenix’s question. You got your callsign for you ability to blend in with the background while Hangman was loud and obnoxious, soaking up all of the attention. “I don’t know, it just happened.”
“It just happened,” Halo asked, “I mean, Bagman is so annoying that I don’t even think he knows where to find the clit.”
The guys heard that comment and started laughing. Hangman took a shot, hitting the 4 and the 5 into pockets before saying, “Possum leaves my bed very satisfied.”
“True, Hangman is good, very good,” you drawled, the liquor making your Louisiana drawl thicker, “But at the same time, there are some things that could get improved.”
Hangman stood up, handing his pool stick to Coyote. Cheeks reddening a bit, he started, “Darlin, you’ve never had any complaints-“
Emboldened by the rum in your veins, you blurted out, “Look, I’m not into choking but I wouldn’t mind if you grabbed me by the neck every once in a while.”
Green eyes met yours and a strong hand shot out, grabbing your neck and pinning you to the wall. “Like that, sugar?”
Your cunt flooded your panties with wetness at the action and you licked you lips, “Just like that, daddy.”
#drabbles#implied smut#hangman x black! reader#hangman x black reader#hangman x plus sized reader#hangman x plus size y/n#hangman x reader#hangman x y/n#hangman x you#jake seresin x y/n#jake seresin x you#jake hangman seresin#jake seresin#jake seresin x reader#Jake seresin x plus size reader#Jake seresin x plus size y/n#top gun maverick blurbs#top gun smut#top gun prompts weekend#hangman top gun
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hi! I was wondering how the bats would be with a reader who is disabled or has prosthetics? they're all just very protective of people they care about since...everything, and how maybe that could start to feel sufacating at some point? Or something, idk dude
(also-the way you write is realy cute and sweet for all of them, makes them feel a lot less heavy when they have someone to hold them <33)
Masterlist
Batboys with a Disabled S/O
Dick Grayson [Fully Deaf]
A gentle touch on your shoulder prompts you to slowly turn around, a smile stretching across your face when you realise your boyfriend's back from work.
You pull him into your arms, threading your fingers through his hair. Pulling away reluctantly, you give him a kiss on the tip of his nose.
But he's not smiling; only a sad smile that makes you tilt your head in a silent question.
Don't worry about it, he signs. Have a good day?
You nod, though your frown remains when he moves to the kitchen, always adamant that he cooks whenever he's home. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, frowning at the caller ID and puts the phone on speaker as he begins cooking.
Dick gets more and more angry as the conversation goes on, his hands waving wildly around the small kitchen, only stopping to return to the cooking.
Finally, he hangs up. You tap him on the shoulder and he turns, watching as you sign;
Who was that?
Dick's shoulders raise and drop. A case I'm working on. I'll figure it out.
You nod slowly, satisfied with his response.
Jason Todd [Fully Blind]
Mornings with Jason always start like this. They always start with you gently running your fingers across his face, mapping it out and imagining it in your head. Over his nose, his lips, his stubble.
"Did you clean the apartment?" you ask, lying on top of him as your guide dog sits next to you on the mattress. "I almost knocked one of your guns off the counter yesterday."
"I did," he murmurs. You rest your fingers on his lips and feel that they're stretched into a smile. "I'm sorry for letting it get messy."
"That's okay," you reply quietly, "Ollie picked it up before it hit the floor."
Ollie, your guide dog, makes a huffing sound beside you, causing you both to chuckle.
"Good boy," Jason says proudly, feeling him shift underneath you, mostly likely to pat Ollie.
"You're both good. Too good, maybe."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Jason asks.
"Hmm."
Tim Drake [Classical Ehlers-Danlos syndrome]
"Love? Can we go for a camping trip on the weekend with my friends?"
Tim turns his head slowly as he sits in his study chair. He taps the pen he's holding against his lips. "What happens if you get exhausted?"
"We can go back to the tent and rest."
"You can get bruises. A lot of bruises," he frowns, gesturing for you to walk to him. You comply.
"That's fine, they're just bruises," you respond, sitting on his lap. He begins gently drawing shapes on the bare skin of your thighs.
"You could dislocate something," he says to you, quieter now.
"You know how to put it back. You do it for me all the time."
Tim's brow furrows at the reminder of having to put back in dislocated joints more often than he'd like. "Fine. But if you even start to get a little tired, you tell me. Okay?"
You rest your forehead against his and murmur, "Okay."
Damian Wayne [Prosthetic Arm]
"I'll take those—"
"Damian, I love you, but I can put shopping bags into the car just fine." This and many similar conversations have been going on practically since the start of your relationship. And while you do find it endearing that he cares, sometimes you just want him to treat you like you didn't lose your right arm in an accident.
The man scowls. "But—"
"I'm not going to hurt myself, really."
He watches you warily, weighing the outcomes of the situation. "Fine. Only the lighter ones."
You suppose it's better than not being able to do any of them. Still, he watches you like a hawk as you put the lighter ones in the back of the car he bought you (you protested but that man has the most selective hearing).
He closes the trunk/boot after the bags are inside.
"Can I drive?" you ask, hoping you'll get luck there too.
"No."
"I know how."
"No."
#batfamily x reader#damian wayne x reader#batfam#jason todd x reader#dick grayson x reader#tim drake x reader
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Aw Honey Honey (18+)
A Jake “Hangman” Seresin one-shot based on the above prompt + “Does he not know that we’re together?” This is unedited and a little corny, but I think it turned out cute! Smut and fluff ahead! 18+ only. If you enjoyed it, please don't keep it to yourself :)
Title: Aw Honey Honey
Jake Seresin isn’t sharing his Sugar.
WC: 3085
To some people you were the cute girl who worked in the corporate office of community engagement on base at Miramar. To others, you were Lieutenant Commander Jake Seresin’s very serious, long-term girlfriend.
While you weren’t enlisted, you felt spoiled that you had an office on base, but weren’t tethered to quite the same rules and restrictions that your boyfriend, or his group of friends were obligated to abide by. Sure, you didn’t have free reign, but you often used your office as a hideout for your friends and colleagues during the day when they needed a place to relax for a few minutes.
Of course, there was work to do as well. You were in the thick of scheduling sailors and aviators alike to visit classrooms at elementary schools next week for Read Across America Day. Everyone got a class to visit from kindergarten through fifth grade, would read a Dr. Seuss book out loud, and then left a copy for each child to take home. It was one of your favorite days of the year.
“Knock, knock,” looking up from your computer, you saw Dean ‘Hooper’ Lennox, one of the newest aviators to join the elite fighter weapons school – or Top Gun.
“Hi Dean,” you smiled warmly, gesturing to the open seat across from you desk. “How ya doin’?”
“I’m good, how are you?” He asked, forgoing the chair and leaning against your desk.
“Happy it’s Friday,” you replied, leaning back in your chair and crossing one leg over the other, missing the way he glanced at your bare legs.
“Big plans this weekend?” he asked, reaching over flicking this finger across the top of your pen cup.
“I think some friends and I will hit The Hard Deck tonight,” you replied, opening up a desk drawer to pull out a Milky Way, breaking it in half and handing the other over to him. He grinned as he dropped it into his mouth as you enjoyed your treat as well.
“I’m sure we’ll end up there, too,” he added, eyes zeroing in on a thread of caramel on the corner of your mouth. “Maybe I can buy you a drink,” he reached down, running his thumb over your soft skin. You blushed with embarrassment; you must have looked ridiculous with candy on your face.
“Never say no to a free drink,” you laughed.
“Hey there,” you looked around Dean’s body to see Natasha’s head in your doorway.
“Hi Phee,” you grinned, “we’re having a candy break,” you explained.
“Love some sugar, huh Hooper?” Phoenix asked, “I think Rooster’s looking for you,” she added.
“See ya tonight,” Dean smiled, giving you a wink before disappearing from your office. Phoenix dropped into the chair opposite your desk.
“Milky Way or 100 Grand?” You asked, opening up your drawer.
“You know I want the Milky Way,” Phoenix replied with a flat look, opening her hand palm-up. You tossed one her way and she easily caught it, tearing it open. “Hooper visit you often?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah once and a while,” you shrugged.
“He always get right in your space like that?” She followed up.
“I don’t know,” you shrugged.
“I miss candy hour?” Jake asked, standing in the open door way.
“Hi babe,” you greeted, “candy hour is just starting,” you insisted, opening your drawer once again and fishing out a Baby Ruth bar.
“Thanks Sugar,” Jake said, walking over and kissing your cheek gently as he took the treat from you.
“You just missed Hooper,” Phoenix announced, giving her teammate a pointed look.
“Big loss,” Jake commented, not having a particular taste for the newbie.
“Yeah, he was getting some sugar from your Sugar,” Natasha added. You rolled your eyes with a laugh. Jake whipped around to look back at you, taking a bite out of his candy bar.
“Does he not know that we’re together?” He asked, his green eyes looking rather focused.
“Well it’s not like I introduce myself as Jake Seresin’s girlfriend,” you laughed, flipping your laptop back open.
“Well you could,” Jake said as if it was the obvious thing in the world.
“Phee, back me up here,” you said, looking for some female solidarity. Phoenix shrugged, planting her feet back on the ground and standing up.
“I don’t know, I think he wants to fuck you,” Phoenix said, “but I’ve got reports to file, so that’s my cue – see you all tonight.”
“Bye Phee,” you sighed, looking back up at Jake whose gaze had really focused back on you.
“Why does Phoenix think Hooper wants to fuck you?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Baby, he came in here to get some candy and asked me if I had any weekend plans,” you said plainly, standing up from your desk, “Phoenix is being ridiculous – besides, what do I care what Dean thinks?” You wound your arms around his waist, resting your chin on his chest. “I’ve got you,” You smiled, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw.
Jake gave in, draping his arms down over your shoulders and hugging you against him.
“Is it the weekend yet?” He asked, lacing his hand up into your hair, giving it a gentle tug.
“Tonight will be fun,” you insisted. “But for now, back to work, Hangman,” you laughed, landing an open palm on his ass.
“I’m reporting you,” Jake frowned, leaning down to press a hot kiss to your mouth, “see you at home.” He gave your hair one more little tug before disappearing. Dropping back down to your desk, you glanced at the clock. The workday couldn’t end soon enough.
You beat Jake home that afternoon, immediately changing out of your work clothes and into a pair of Jake’s shorts and a tank top. You were throwing together a cheese quesadilla in the kitchen when you heard the front door open again.
“Sugar?” He called out, “where ya hidin’ baby?” he wandered into the kitchen, already unbuttoning his khaki shirt.
“Hi handsome,” you grinned, greeting him with a kiss. “Want a lil snack?” you asked, brandishing your spatula in the air.
“I got a lil snack right here,” he said, chasing your lips with a kiss.
“What time are we meeting everyone?” You asked, “do we have time for a quick shower?”
“Sugar, you know we always have time for a shower,” Jake grinned.
“Split this with me,” you commanded, transferring the quesadilla to a plate, the cheese gooey and hot. Carefully cutting it in half, Jake gladly let you feed him bite by bite.
“How about we go away next weekend?” Jake said, gladly chowing down on the snack you made.
“Where do you want to go, babe?” You reached up, swiping at the corner of Jake’s mouth with a napkin.
“Go up the coast, stay in Malibu for a couple days,” he said, “get a little tan.”
“I’m in,” you nodded. “Love seeing you in those little euro swim trunks,” you winked. Jake scoffed with a shake of his head, tossing his plate in the sink and taking your last bite.
“You have ten seconds to strip and get in the shower,” he pointed to the bathroom down the hall. When Jake meant business, he meant business, so you skedaddled through the house, losing your shorts and top along the way. He’d grab them anyway, Jake Seresin was an unbearable clean freak.
You’d just stepped into the stream of water when you felt Jake’s hands on your waist, shortly followed by his breath in our ear.
“Hi Sugar,” he whispered, holding back the shower curtain as he stepped in.
“Hi Jake,” you grinned, turning to face him, the hot water beating down on your back.
“You been a good girl today?” He asked, pushing your hair back from your face.
“Always are,” you insisted, giving him those big doe eyes he always loved.
“Don’t like you being sweet to Hooper,” He said, walking you back to press you against the shower wall. The tile was cold and he welcomed your arched gasp, pressing your body against his hips-first.
“Can’t help being nice, babe, it’s my nature,” you reminded, “seem to recall when you enjoyed me being so sweet to you.” You’d met Jake two years ago around this time, when he came barreling into your office about a community event, asking a favor for support, when he stuck around for some homemade caramels.
“Your sugar is just for me,” he said, fingers trailing down your stomach to your sex, swiping two fingers through your wet folds before bringing them up to his mouth. “My favorite,” he complimented. “Let’s see if you’re sweet everywhere.”
Your hands found purchase in his blonde hair as his lips traveled from your lips to your jaw to your neck. Sucking gently, you gasped as his teeth grazed your delicate skin.
It was all you could do to run your hands up and down his sculpted back, water cascascading across his muscles as he traveled around your neck and collarbone.
“Jake,” you whined gently, impatience thick in your throat.
“Come on, honey girl,” he hoisted you up, hands planted firmly on your ass as he forced your legs around his waist. When he slid his cock home, you sighed with relief. “There you are,” he huffed into your ear, “there’s my sweet girl,” he could feel his lungs expand in his chest.
“I gotta shampoo,” you reminded, eyes going cross for a moment as he stroked up into you.
“Are you seriously thinking about shampoo right now?” Jake asked.
“No, baby,” you giggled at his affronted tone, but gasped as he doubled his efforts, hitting just the right spot inside of you relentlessly. “Jake,” you moaned.
“That’s better,” he grit out, legs shaking beneath him. He liked to think he was in fairly good shape, but the way your sex clenched around him had Jake second-guessing himself. “God you feel incredible, Sugar,” his brows knit in concentration.
Acclimated to the temperature of the tile against your back, you returned your hands to his hair, soothing the lines of his forehead from pure concentration.
“Fucking me so good,” you encouraged, head tilting back against the wall. “Always fuck me so good,” your hand gripped the back of Jake’s neck, fingertips stroking the fine hair there.
“Come on baby, give me that sugar,” he grunted, fingers returning to your clit, making you jump. Jake knew your body better than you, and he could tell, as your right heel dug into his lower back, that you were close. He pressed his forehead into your neck as he came, hips stuttering erratically, mindful to fuck you through his orgasm. With shaking hands, he swirled around your clit just right, shouting as you came, squeezing him in a way that caused black spots in his vision.
Jake, on unsteady legs, gently set you down, the shower filled with billows of steam.
Lazily looping your arms around his neck, he kissed you slowly, savoring the taste of your mouth.
“Lemme shampoo you,” you whispered, making him honk out a loud laugh.
“I swear you love your shampoo more than me,” He said, pressing a firm kiss to your lips.
“Baby, not more than you,” you murmured, “just as much.” A loud squeal ripped from your mouth as he slapped your ass.
Twenty minutes later, you were throwing a summery strapless maxi dress on, tying your hair back into a low bun.
“Babe?” You called for Jake, who was grabbing fresh clothes from the laundry room. He dutifully stepped into the bedroom, taking your necklace and clasping it around your neck wordlessly – a habit he was all too accustomed to. Appearing in the bathroom mirror, you frowned as you saw how red and splotchy your skin was from Jake’s ministrations, but applied minimal makeup nonetheless.
“Your boobs look good,” he commented, stepping behind you, hands cupping your breasts over your dress.
“Jake,” you laughed, “get out of the way or I’m going to get perfume on you,” you warned. He gave your breasts a quick squeeze before heading down the hall.
You still had twenty minutes or so until you needed to leave, so you’d grabbed the mail and sorted through a few items before picking up the living room and packing your purse for the night.
Jake busied himself in the office before Coyote text him that they were leaving quarters to hit the bar.
“Sugar, time to leave,” he instructed, pulling you from your pile of newspaper coupons. He held your hand as you stepped into your shoes, bringing you a little closer to his height.
You rode alongside him in he car, leaning into his side with an arm over your shoulder. You were grateful for the weekend and the chance to unwind. Planning for the reading event had taken a lot out of you this week and you were ready for the chance to decompress.
Upon arriving at The Hard Deck, Jake grasped your hand, leading you inside. It was already packed for the night, Fridays being the most popular time, and Jake spotted Coyote over near one end of the bar with Harvard and Fritz.
“Oh, there’s Tasha – I’ll meet you,” you assured, rocking up to your toes to peck Jake’s lips. “Buy me a beer?” You asked, already crossing the bar. Jake shook his head with a smile, knowing he’d get you anything you asked for.
“What the hell happened to you?” Natasha asked as a greeting. You looked back over you shoulder, wondering if she was talking to you.
“What?” You asked, brows furrowed, “me?”
“You look like you got fucking mauled,” she laughed sardonically, eyeing you up. Looking down, you could see the faintest yellow mark just below your collarbone. Grabbing Natasha’s phone, you flipped the camera to selfie-mode. Over the last half an hour, your red splotches had developed into yellow-green bruises all of your neck and collarbone. “What the fuck?” you laughed, rolling your eyes, “Jake.” You supplied as an answer. “It’s your fault actually,” you said pointedly, angling your body away from the bar.
“My fault?” Natasha asked, eyes wide.
“Yes! Jake got all in my business after you told him Hooper wants to fuck me,” you gave her a meaningful look.
“Well Hooper does want to fuck you,” she said plainly. “Here,” she grabbed her jean jacket off the high top next to her. “This will piss Jake off,” she grinned.
“I don’t really care what he thinks, I just look ridiculous,” you shrugged it on – letting it rest on your shoulders without looping your arms through the sleeves.
You and Natasha caught up for a bit longer, you leaning an elbow against the countertop.
After a good fifteen minutes, you noticed Hooper approaching from over Natasha’s shoulder, and you stood a little straighter.
“No drink in your hand?” He asked with a wide smile.
“Oh, her friend is getting her one,” Natasha smiled knowingly.
“Sure I can’t buy you one? I did offer,” he said, giving her a smile like butter wouldn’t melt. Maybe he was flirting with her after all.
“You’re sweet, but I’m all set,” you reassured.
“Can’t wait for the Read Across America event next week,” he said excitedly, a genuine smile reflecting in those blue eyes. You weren’t blind – Hooper was an attractive man - ocean eyes, fluffy dark brown hair and a chin cleft that harkened back to old Hollywood. He just wasn’t your Jake.
“Yeah, you been practicing your ABCs?” Natasha asked snarkily. You tossed her a look that screamed be nice!
“I’m glad! Not everyone jumps at the chance to entertain a class of 20 six-year olds,” you smiled.
“I’ve got a big family, lots of siblings – I also volunteer as Big Brother out of the San Diego chapter of Big Brothers Big Sisters,” he elaborated, watching the smile on your face grow.
“Yeah, you read to orphans, too?” Natasha asked, sipping her beer. You caught her eye, just to see her expression change and a feline grin take over her face.
“Hi there,” you could spot Jake’s voice anywhere. “Brought your favorite,” he said, setting a summer shandy down on the counter next to your elbow.
“Thanks Jake,” you smiled. “Dean was just telling us about how he volunteers at Big Brothers Big Sisters, isn’t that just the sweetest?” You asked, looking up and over your shoulder at him.
“The sweetest,” Jake grinned that cocky smirk that made you wonder what he was going to do next. “Sugar are you not sweatin’ in here with that jacket on?” He asked, gingerly taking the shoulder seams in his hands and dragging it off of your body, folding it in half and tossing it over the same chair it originally laid across.
There was no missing Hooper’s expression as he eyed up the gallery of color across your neck and décolletage.
“Yeah, I um –” He watched, clearing his throat as Jake snaked his arms around your waist from behind, dropping a kiss down on your bare shoulder. “Started back at my old chapter in Kansas City, but transferred here… when I moved.” He finished lamely.
“That’s so kind of you, I wish I could do more philanthropically, but I get to fill that cup through work, so it’s a big bonus,” you smiled, Jake’s body pressed so tightly up against your back, there wasn’t room for even a piece of paper to slip between you. Natasha’s grin was downright wicked from behind the rim of her glass, the glint in her eyes absolutely entertained.
“She’s a real sweet girl,” Jake commented. “Sugar sweet,” he finished, squeezing your waist in hand.
“I think Tanker and Mad Dog are starting up a game of pool,” he said, eyes darting all around – “I’ll see you guys later, have a great night.” He practically left a cloud of smoke in his wake.
“Jacob Seresin,” you scolded, turning in your boyfriend’s grip. Natasha burst into laughter.
“Yes?” He asked, tipping his chin up to look down at you, that same cocky smirk on his face.
“You’re unbelievable you know that?” You asked.
“Better believe it,” he grinned.
“And what is all this?” You gestured to your colorful skin.
“I think it turned out quite well, wouldn’t you agree, Phoenix?” He asked.
“You’re a real piece of work, Bagman,” she shook her head, but smiled nonetheless.
“What am I going to do with you, huh?” You asked, leaning forward.
“You can start by giving me some sugar.”
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed Aw Honey Honey, you might also like Mighty Fine!
#Jake Seresin imagine#jake x reader#jake seresin fic#jake is a simp#jake seresin#Jake hangman seresin#jake seresin x reader#jake seresin smut#jake hangman fic#jake hangman x you#hangman#hangman smut#hangman fic#hangman x reader#hangman fluff#top gun maverick#top gun#top gun fan fic#Top Gun fic
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Title: Not a Cyclone, But a Monsoon
Part 2 of 2 - Completed
Find Part 1 HERE, and my Master List HERE
A request based off of THIS prompt, from the lovely @inkandarsenic
Romantic Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Fem!Reader Past Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Fem!Reader
Platonic Pairing: Beau "Cyclone" Simpson x Fem!Reader
A few uses of Y/N
Word Count: This part: 14k+ Total Fic:20k+
Rating: R
Warnings: Talks of death, minor character deaths, labor, loss of a child in utero, abandonment, drinking, talks of God and destiny, swearing, general military talk and lingo, descriptions of food and eating, coughing fits, talks of violence, actual violence, blood, vomit and throwing up, mention of near death experiences. ANGST
---
I DO NOT CONSENT FOR MY WORK TO BE REPOSTED OR TRANSLATED
Miramar, California. TOP GUN. The weekend before the organization of the Dagger Squad.
A cellphone is tucked between Monsoon's cheek and shoulder, the line trilling. She carries her duffle bags and kit, feeling like a battering ram as she makes her way through the crowd of people. The airport is packed and she can feel just how humid it is form how sticky she feels.
The hallways of the airport wind as she follows the crowd out of the baggage claim. The people around her move just a bit too slowly as they wheel their bags behind them, just begging for someone to trip over them if they dare pass. If there is one thing Monsoon did not miss about being at Top Gun, it's the trip in.
Fuck flying coach.
Fuck PSC Season and all of the families taking all the seats on the military flights.
Fuck the crying lady sitting next to her, who wouldn't stop sobbing at the shitty romcom she was watching, and fuck when she decided to start it over, just to watch it all over again.
But the best thing about coming back has to be seeing her surrogate father, Beau Simpson. Their relationship has only grown stronger since that night at the bar. They have spent countless meals together, drinking at bars when they are in the same place and always sending 'check in' emails. Phone calls have always been a bit dodgy between time zones and deployments.
Neither one knew exactly what they were getting into when the bond between them grew, neither really sure exactly what a parent/child relationship looks like, especially when the child is really an unrelated adult. But as the days went on, and the email chain got longer and longer, things seemed to just make sense.
The pair talked about everything, from work to dating, friendships and recipes. Cyclone opened up about June and their baby, sharing his favorite stories of their marriage. From how they started dating, to the day that June passed, Monsoon heard it all.
Calla lilies were June's favorite, the only flowers that Beau believes should ever be given to a woman, and Monsoon smiles at the memory of her graduation from Top Gun, and the way Cyclone smiled at her with the bouquet of lilies in his lap.
When Monsoon found herself in Vermont she carved out time to visit June and Baby Boy Simpson at the cemetery. She showed up with two bouquets of calla lilies and a speech to give them. Monsoon cleaned their headstones and laid the flowers delicately across their plots, speaking to them the whole time about herself, and Cyclone, and the world they live in.
Cyclone's phone buzzed in his pocket while in a meeting. When he snuck a peak, he was met with a photo of Monsoon, a light smile adorning her face as she sits just in front of the burial plots. The message read "With Mama June and Bubba, thinking of you, Pops". Cyclone had to excuse himself from the table with tears in his eyes.
As the years went on, the surfaces in Cyclone's office slowly began to fill with more photos of the two of them. The collection of frames started out sophisticated, it really did, but as time went on, the frames became more eclectic, more fun.
It's juxtaposes the rest of Cyclones office in a way that is almost comical. As he is shouting at someone for their latest fuck up, there are shelves full of silly frames just a few feet away. Cyclone's favorite just so happens to read "Clown College Class President" while Monsoon's favorite is one of those irregular shaped ones, with an oval opening for the photograph.
There is a photo of the two of them tucked in the cockpit of Monsoon's jet. It catches the mechanics off guard every time, but no one dare says a word about it- mostly out of fear that word would get back to Admiral. The photo depicts the two of them at one of those giant truck stops, posing with the large dinosaur sitting out front. She is sat atop of it, like a cowboy, with Cyclone leaning up against it, his shoulder near her thigh. They both wear larger than life smiles as the sun beats down on them. It was a silly thing, really. Both stuck in at little forgotten Air Base in middle America for a flight test, but the pair managed to make the best of it, remembering to take photographs as they went.
There is a postcard folded up in Cyclone's wallet. Once upon a time, it read the catchy saying "Why Not Minot?" printed across the front of it, with a cute little photo of a town square, a little forgotten town in North Dakota. It's one of those bases that people dread being stationed at, that much has always been true, but the little photo on the front of the post card sold a different tale. It wasn't the cutesy saying or the photo that made him keep it, the edges now worn and fibrous. On the back, written in neat blue ink, underneath a little blurb about how there is absolutely nothing to do in North Dakota, the sentence "I love you, Pops" sits next to a scribbly little heart.
The staticky, tolling, phoneline picks up after a few rings as Monsoon pushes around a family with one too many screaming toddlers. They have on those little backpack leashes and Monsoon almost gets close lined as a little dark haired child bursts in front of her without warning. She dodged, but she catches one of those damn rolling bags with her toe. Monsoon barely notices the glare the lady sent her way, but the lack luster wrath of a stranger isn't going to stop her.
"Hey, Kid," Cyclone greets over the line, the smile on his face evident through the sound of his voice. There is no need for an official "hello" to begin the conversation, both knowing full well that Cyclone had been watching the flight itinerary like a hawk to make sure Monsoon wasn't going to be delayed. The call upon landing is just expected at this point, though neither of them have mastered the cool,casual, its good to see you.
"I just landed," A woman walks right into one of the duffle bags hanging off of Monsoon's shoulders, throwing her completely off balance. She hikes the bag higher up on her shoulder, trying to rebalance the hefty weight she is carrying. Monsoon sways like she is at sea, attempting to get her balance back. There is something so familiar about the way she sways a bit, just like the jet carriers do as the waves bash against the metal of the hull.
"Fuck" she curses under her breath, steadying herself once again. For a Seaman, one might think Monsoon would have better balance. Cyclone rolls his eyes on the other side of the phone. "I'll be over for dinner tonight, if that's still the plan,"
"Sure is, I'm making your favorite,"
"Steak and potatoes are your favorite," Monsoon corrects.
"You can correct me without the side of guilt, you know," Cyclone is chuckling through the phone, earning him a roll of the eyes.
"I only meant to tease," There is a nonchalance to her voice, though she is the furthest thing from cool. Cyclone isn't either. His kid is coming home and they get to sit down for a meal for the first time in months and he is beyond excited.
"I'm going to drop my stuff off at my rental, then I'll be headed your way, you better be ready for me to eat enough for a small village," Monsoon heads right for the exit, ready to look for a taxi. "And Pops, maybe think about adding a-" The word "vegetable" fails to make it's way out of her mouth as Monsoon looks up as the double doors in front of her slide open. Cyclone is standing on the other side, a large sign reading "WELCOME HOME KIDDO" sits loosely in his hand, the other holds his phone up to his ear.
It's like one of those cheesy scenes from a movie, both wearing matching grins and laughing. Cyclone knew the whole thing would be a surprise; he took a leave day to make sure he would bet there to pick her up.
"Pops!" The name still makes Cyclone's heart swell, even if he had been responding to that very name for the past few years. It's funny, really, how easy it was for the pair to adjust to the name, though Monsoon waited for him to acknowledge it first before she actually said it.
The acknowledgement came from a recorded phone message, shortly after her first move after her Top Gun Graduation. Cyclone got stuck in on the highway with a dead car and no cellphone. The call came in from a payphone, an unknown number. Cyclone left a message, "Hey, kid, it's Pops, my car died and I am stranded. I could use an assist. Do you know anyone in Missouri?". That message is still saved on Monsoon's phone to this day.
"Hey, Kiddo!" And then Monsoon is stumbling closer, her bags swinging her center of gravity all over the place. He reaches a hand out to take one, ready to throw it over his shoulder, but instead, each one hits the pavement with a hard thud. Monsoon is quickly wrapping her arms around his body, one over his shoulder, one under his arm, meeting around his back and squeezing him hard.
The hug is returned in kind, both damn near trying to squeeze each other to death. It's playful, as they share "good to see you's" and "I've missed you's" .
"I hope you don't mind, Kid, but I invited another one of the recruits to dinner tonight," He speaks the words into her hair. Monsoon pulls back to look up at her Pops with furrowed brows. She doesn't have to say a thing, he already knows exactly what is going through her mind.
"I know it's unorthodox, but, Kazansky said it might be a good idea, and when the good Admiral says something like that, you set another place at the table,"
"Yeah, unorthodox is definitely a word for it," Monsoon is pulling out of Cyclone's embrace, dipping to grab her discarded bags from the pavement. Cyclone grabs one before she can, which earns him a roll of her eyes.
"Be nice, would you?"
"To you or the mystery guest?" Her words are dripping with sarcasm.
"Preferably both," Cyclone chides, poking her in the side with the welcome home sign. She swats it away with a quick hand, both laughing.
"I'll see what I can do,"
---
The sun is setting over the horizon, painting the sky orange with wisps of pink the lower it sinks behind the curve of the Earth. Monsoon is spread out on one of the lawn chairs, relaxing, well, more like waiting out her Pops' little outburst. She had opened the grill to check on the steak, making sure the edges wouldn't be too crispy, and Cyclone all but snapped the lid shut in the middle of her investigation. He banished her to the other side of the patio to wait for the food to finish cooking. Then, and only then, would she be allowed to touch the grill again.
If there is one thing to be true, Cyclone has a method when it comes to grilling. Monsoon had it all explained to her the first time he grilled for the pair of them. He has it down to a science, all from the temperature and the kind of charcoal to use, to the length of marinating time and spices to make even the worst cut of meat from the Commissary the most perfect dinner.
And Monsoon couldn't exactly tell him he was wrong. After all, every single thing Beau had ever placed in front of her tasted delicious, delectable even. Not only that, but Monsoon really couldn't have done it better if she tried. Her Pops wouldn't let her try, either, but that is beside the point.
Soon, everything is pulled off the grill and the pair are inside, Monsoon tasked with setting the table. All of the windows are open, the evening breeze cooling the inside of the house. As she places another fork down, Monsoon takes in the way the breeze dances across her skin. Goosebumps threaten to crest over her exposed arms at the chill the air carries. In that moment, she is thankful for the California air, the smell of the freshly made sides sitting in the center of the table, and the fact that she is setting the table in her Pops' house.
It has been too long since the pair got to sit together and share a meal. Cups of coffee over video chat were no where near as nice and Monsoon couldn't lie, she missed Cyclone's cooking. As she sets down the last knife, Cyclone is bounding down the stairs. His causal jeans and t-shirt have been replaced by a nice pair of brown slacks and a cream polo shirt, tucked in with a belt. He's even sporting loafers.
"Hey Pops, there is something I want to talk to you about tonight," Monsoon shouts down the hall. She tries to shake the bit of nerves rumbling through her chest like a handful of loan bees.
"Okay, kiddo," Cyclone calls back as he is rounding the corner into the kitchen, "Is everything okay?"
"Everything's fine, promise,"
"Okay," It's a simple response as he walks further into the kitchen. He pats her on the shoulder as he passes, a loving gesture.
"Got a hot date?" Monsoon chides as she looks him up and down. She sets the bundle of flatware down on the table, crossing her arms over her chest.
"No," Cyclone is shaking his head, fighting the urge to roll his eyes at her words. "We are having company tonight, remember?"
"Oh, I remember, but I didn't think some random Lieutenant, that is only coming over because the good Admiral all but ordered him to, was someone worth dressing up for."
There is a shrug of her shoulders as her head sways down nonchalantly. Cyclone crosses his arms, mirroring his kid, with a stern look on his face. It's a look that Monsoon isn't used to seeing out of uniform. Maybe it should worry her, but the vein that would usually protrude from his forehead is nowhere to be seen.
"Remember, kid, you too are just 'some random Lieutenant'" Those words stir a bit of anger within Monsoon, but it dissipates as fast as it came.
"Well then, Admiral Simpson, sir," Monsoon stands up a bit straighter, dropping her hands to her sides, "Let me find something more presentable to wear for the strange man who's crashing out family dinner," She grimaces a bit, but they both laugh. Beau is just laughing, in that way that make's his whole body shake, his eyes scrunched closed while whole hearted giggles escape his lips.
"Go on, kid," He waves in the general direction of the hallway, towards the front of the house where she dropped her bags by the front door.
The zipper of her duffle bag slide open easily, the separation of the teeth vibrating her fingertips. Monsoon fishes out a sun dress and a cropped sweater, something to keep her warmer as the sun sets below the horizon. It's a nice enough combination, something that will surly look like she gives a fuck about her appearance without looking like she planned too much. Monsoon changes out of her sweat shorts and t-shirt in the half bath, emerging looking like a brand new woman, though the feeling of the plane still lingers on her skin.
Just as she is stuffing her travel clothing back into her bag, the doorbell sounds throughout the house, the bells tolling just a bit too loud.
"Jeez, Pops, could that doorbell be any louder?" Monsoon is yelling just as she reaches for the door. She pulls it open with a swift movement, a smile on her face. Then it falls as soon as she sees who is standing on the other side of the threshold.
Clad in a button down shirt, one with a pattern that would rival any rodeo clown, with one too many buttons undone stands Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw; a man she hasn't seen since a deployment five years ago, about six months after she graduated from Top Gun.
There is a gold chain hanging around his neck. It's just long enough to graze over the tops of his collar bones. His shirt is untucked, the bottom a bit wrinkly, like he has tucked and untucked it a couple of times trying to decide which looked better. He made the wrong choice, by Monsoon's calculation, the patterned shirt covering the top of his dark khakis. He looks a bit silly, really, from the chain down to his boat shoes. The thing that catches her the most off guard though, is the fucking mustache he has decorating, no, vandalizing his upper lip.
Her own mouth hangs open just a bit, her hand tightening it's grip on the door handle. Bradley shoots her that mega wat smile, that million dollar, dentist office poster smile- the one that made her swoon all those years ago. But now, now it makes her fucking angry. Or maybe it's resentment that she feels boiling up inside of her, steaming her insides with a sort of sick feeling that she hasn't felt in years.
The last time this strange, queasy feeling flowed through her she was wrapped up in the white sheets of her mattress on an aircraft carrier, somewhere out in the pacific. Her naked body feeding off of the warmth of spot that Rooster once occupied. When she awoke, there was a feeling of contentment that spread over her skin, until she reached over to find the spot next to her cold.
Their deployment relationship ended with a fucking post it note, "Duty Calls" is all it read, scribbled down in a mess of black ink, the pen itself skipping. Hell, the pen couldn't even bother to work long enough to get a complete message through- their relationship simmered down to nothing more than steamy nights together in a twin size bunk while the ocean waves rocked against the carrier.
The contentment drained from Monsoon faster than than the anger could take over, and for a moment there was nothingness in the spaces between her ribs.
And now, Bradley fucking Bradshaw is standing on her Pops' front porch, smiling at her like nothing has ever happened between them, holding a bottle of wine, and somehow she is just supposed to let him in!
"Hello," He scratches at the back of his neck, his brows pinched together just the slightest bit. "Is this Admiral Simpson's house?"
Words are caught in the back of Monsoon's throat, each individual letter sticking her in the esophagus. Monsoon stands there looking at Bradley, each growing a bit more uncomfortable as the seconds go by. But, she is on the inside of the doorjamb, she has the upper hand. Just as she goes to slam the door in his fucking ugly mustache, Cyclone catches the door.
"Mr. Bradshaw!" Beau booms, his tone friendly as he sends Monsoon a what the fuck look. She pinches the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, though it does nothing to relieve the rapidly growing headache that's taking over her skull.
"Come in, come in!" Cyclone practically ushers Bradley into the house. "This is my daughter, Y/N Mitchell, she is in the new Top Gun class as well!"
Beau is doing his best to defuse the tension in the room, between Monsoon's anger, and Bradley's overall discomfort from being in an Admiral's house, the vibes are askew. Bradley crinkles his brows at the information and Beau quickly jumps in with a chuckle, "No relation, but I claim her anyway. Introduce yourself, Son,"
"Brad-"
"We already know each other,"
The pair speak at the same time. Monsoon's tone is full of distain, like the words taste bitter and unforgiving on her tongue. She pushes past Bradley's outstretched hand and past Cyclone. Bradley can't help the fact that his face twists up in confusion as he wracks his brain trying to figure out where exactly he knew her.
The woman's definitely too upset to be a recent fling- hell, Bradley hasn't even managed to bring a girl back to his place in such a long time. Deployment really limited his prospects and she sure wasn't on the mission he just finished.
"Please, this way," Cyclone guides Bradley back to the kitchen, taking the bottle of wine from the younger man. They follow the path Monsoon took, down the hall and back to the large kitchen. She is standing at the sink, her hands braced on the counter top.
"Make yourself at home, Mr. Bradshaw. If you'll excuse me, I have to speak with my daughter for a second." Cyclone is moving before Bradley can acknowledge him. So, Bradley pretends to be very interested in the view just outside the kitchen window.
"What the hell, kid?" Cyclone carefully grabs Monsoon's elbow, leaning in just a little bit closer to fake some sort of privacy. He sets the bottle of wine on the counter. With all the tension blooming in the air around them, Cyclone decides alcohol is the last thing they need.
"It's complicated, Pops, just leave it be, okay?" Monsoon is running a hand through her hair, a shallow attempt to ground herself. "I can play nice for one dinner,"
"What the hell happened between you two? And it's not just one dinner, it's the next few weeks."
That fact is met with a grumble from Monsoon. It took her only a few seconds to convince herself that she would be able to make it though a dinner, but the idea of having to see Bradley fucking Bradshaw every day for the foreseeable future had a mixture of nausea and frustration swirling through her.
"Pops, trust me, this really isn't something you are going to want to hear about, nor do I feel like discussing it in your kitchen, at a whisper, while the man who doesn't even seem to fucking remember me is only a few feet away! No thank you," Monsoon pushes past Cyclone once more, picking up the bowl of salad from the kitchen island and bringing it over to the table. Cyclone is hot on her tail, speaking lowly after her.
"Y/N" That gets her to stop, Beau never uses her first name, "We are not finished discussing this,"
"After supper then," The words leave her tongue sharp, but they are met with a nod of approval. Then Cyclone is moving, ready for the night to move on as planned.
"Mr. Bradshaw!" Cyclone is turning his attention back to their guest, a makeshift smile plastered to his face, "Please, take a seat, I am just going to grab the food off the grill,"
And then Cyclone is disappearing out the back door, leaving Monsoon and Rooster alone, the room already threatening to burst from the rapidly accumulating tension. Monsoon chances a look at Bradley as she finished setting out the flatware that had been left abandoned earlier, suddenly a little bit glad that her Pops hinted at her to change clothes. She looks good, that much she knows, if only it mattered at this point.
Maybe, if it mattered, Bradley would look at her and realize just how much he walked out on. Maybe he would see the way Cyclone cares for her, and their little family that they've created and know that he threw away his chance to be apart of it. If only he could see just how happy she is now- yet he doesn't even fucking recognize her, and that makes her heart burn like cheap kerosene. It's like gulping down saltwater, the feeling of being forgotten, drowning right out in the open for everyone to see.
As Monsoon is drowning in thoughts of Bradley, he is just trying to remember her.
Bradley takes in the slope of her nose and the freckles that are smattered across her legs. His eyes wander over the frizzy bits of her hair, down the line of her shoulder and ending at the tips of her fingers. The way that she glances at him, her face still turned down as she adjusts the table settings, strikes him as familiar- but in a far off sense of the word. Familiar in the way his own face is reminiscent of his father's.
His father, Goose, and Maverick... Pete Mitchell... Mitchell!
"Mitchell?" Bradley breaks the silence, his gaze a bit wider, still locked on her downturned face. Monsoon's eyes shoot up at the name, locking with his dark brown eyes. They bore into her the same way they always had and a part of her aches.
"Are you-" The breath he sucks into his lungs burns a bit with hazy memory, "Are you Pete Michell's kid?"
An audible, pained groan leaves Monsoon's throat at the question.
"Not anymore," Are the only words she can manage, the flames of anger licking at her legs.
"But you were, once?" There is almost a ribbon of hope laces somewhere in his tone, but Monsoon pays it no mind. She walks away from the table, keeping her back to Bradley as she attempts to calm the heat of rage that's licking at her legs.
Why couldn't Bradley just ask her about normal things? Why aren't they talking about work, their partners, their friends. Hell, he could hit on her at this point and it would go over better.
If he wanted to talk about Maverick- Pete Michell, there were countless times when they were tangled up together in blankets, in the dark save for the crack of light breaking into the room from under the doorway.
He could have asked as they scurried up the stairs of the carrier, their gear smacking against their chests as they ran. Bradley could have asked then, as they bounded out into the early morning, salt soaked air.
Hell, Bradley could have asked over coms, high in the air as the wind whistled past their wings. They were just test flights after all, no enemy to contend with. He could have asked her then.
But he didn't.
"That was a very long time ago," She's turning to the fridge, pulling a pitcher of lemonade out. The sigh that leaves her lips is nothing but tension attempting to escape from the confines of her chest. It doesn't work, and Bradley doesn't catch the hint to just shut the fuck up and leave it be.
"We knew each other, right? When we were kids?" The question catches Monsoon off guard, almost as much as his initial presence did. She wants to laugh, really she does, at the ridiculousness of the situation.
He didn't remember that fact when they met on the carrier five years ago, and Monsoon tried not to let that bother her, especially when he was buried inside of her, moaning filthy things into her ear. But now? Now he remembers. But somewhere, the memory of their torrid love affair escapes the great mind of Bradley Bradshaw.
"Oh, for fucks sake,"
Though the whole thing is laughable; Bradley isn't laughing. He's holding his breath, too caught up in the scene in front of him, in the soreness of his chest and the way his heart thrums against the backside of his ribcage.
Fuck how his chest aches.
There is this part of his past, this piece that he once knew like the back of his hand, that's just in reach now- again, and Monsoon is laughing at him. The memory of her was erased with the sounding of artillery, the three volley's fired into the air. And now, he craves this memory like he craves the memory of his father, the pieces of his innocence having crumbling into his hands like ash.
It still stains his hands that sickly blackish gray, gritty against his skin, though he is the only one that can see it.
The sliding door opens once more and Cyclone is slipping though, holding a large platter of steak in his hand, the meat is grilled to perfection and he looks proud. Bradley looks at Monsoon with furrowed brows, questioning the words that she let slip past her lips. Cyclone steps between them, setting the plate of meat down on to the dinner table, more than enough food to go around.
"Please, Y/N, come and join us," Cyclone is pulling out a seat right next to Bradley, offering it to her. Reluctantly, she pads over, taking a seat next to Bradley who can't seem to take his eyes off of her face. He runs his hands up and down his pant legs, more out of anxiety than anything else. Cyclone takes a seat across from the pair, a tight smile on his face.
In any other world, it may look like a child introducing their significant other to their father, the way the tension hangs in the air between the trio. Cyclone awkwardly dishes himself servings of the food before passing it to Monsoon, who does the same before placing it down next to her, leaving Bradley to fend for himself. It's petty, that's true, but to Monsoon, it's a small act of defiance. A small fuck you for not remembering her, or the nights they spent together.
The Admiral knows something is going on right under his nose, just out of his understanding. He can see it in the way Monsoon shifts awkwardly in her seat while Bradley's gaze gets overly friendly with the plate in front of him. There's a question on the tip of his tongue, "kid, is Bradley your boyfriend?" but he knows better than to ask it. As he observes longer, he takes in the way his daughter tilts her shoulders just a little further away from Bradley, the arm closest to him resting elbow down on the table. The moment Cyclone notices the unpassed dishes sitting between the pair, he just knows.
"So," Cyclone clears his throat, "Are you two excited to be back at Top Gun?"
It's a reasonable question, very middle of the road. Monsoon opens her mouth to answer, but Bradley beats her to it.
"Yes, sir. It's good to be back stateside. Hell, it's good to be back on solid ground. I've been stuck on a carrier for the past nine months and I was beginning to lose my mind!" He's chuckling now, and Beau joins in right along side him, the deep chuckles of the men filling the air. "But you know how it can get on the carriers. It's hard to pass the time, no going to the bar with friends, no dating,"
Then, Monsoon's fork hits her plate with a metallic clank against the glass. No dating, yeah, right. Out of all of the things Monsoon pegged Bradley to be, a liar was not one of them, but then again not much could surprise her after the way he left.
"How about you, kid?"
"To be determined, Pops," The answer is genuine, spoken through grit teeth.
Maybe she shouldn't be so upset with Bradley's lack of remembrance for her. After all, it's not always the wrong time with the right person. Or the wrong place. Sometimes it's wrong, maybe he just didn't like her that much- more a deployment fling to get him through the lonely nights than a future.
"Well, I am excited you're back," Cyclone returns her direction, but Monsoon just shoves a fork full of salad into her mouth.
"Sir, can I ask what exactly they called us back for? And are there more of us?" Bradley asks between bites, his fork and knife busy against his plate.
"I am not obliged to share much, but I can tell you that fifteen of you have been called back, from varying Top Gun classes." The explanation leaves something to be desired, but both recruits are nodding on the other side of the table. Bradley eats another bite of steak, complimenting Cyclone on his grilling; Monsoon is just pushing the food around on her plate with the tines of her fork. It's easier than finding the appetite that was lost somewhere between the front door and the kitchen after Bradley's arrival.
"Are you teaching us this go around, Pops?" Monsoon's question is spoken quietly, in the middle of Bradley's sentence about his own grilling technique- there is no remorse for the interruption.
At her words, Cyclone visibly stiffens, his fork stilling on his plate. Then he's setting it down, eyes still locked with his plate. With a huff and a lick of his lips he looks across the table, met with two pairs of curious eyes. He knew this was going to be hard, but he didn't expect it to be quite like this.
"No, I'm not teaching," Cyclone takes another breathe, unsure who to make eye contact with, knowing the words he's about to say are not going to be received well, by either one of them. "We- Top Gun has decided to bring in-"
The doorbell is ringing loudly through the house, startling Cyclone in his seat. It breaks though the tension like a fucking bullet, the whole thing blasting apart on impact. The trio trade glances that last milliseconds, like someone just knows whos going to be standing on the other side of that door.
"I'll get it, Pops," Monsoon is already pushing out of her seat, placing her napkin next to her plate. She is a bit too eager to get away from the tension surrounding that table, not only from her question but from the way Bradley is basically staring out of the corner of his eye. Though she can't exactly see it happening, she can feel it- the way his eyes are boring into the side of her head, almost burning. She will take anyone being on the other side of that door if it means she doesn't have to sit in Bradley's swimming gaze any longer.
"No, you stay, I'll get it," Cyclone corrects, "You stay and chat,"
Then, Cyclone is pushing away from the table, heading right for the front door. He gives his daughter no time to protest. Cyclone leaves the slowly rebuilding tension behind him, and Monsoon is stuck having to sit back down, next to Bradley, left to simmer in it.
"We did know each other, right?" Bradley is quick to ask the moment Cyclone rounds the corner. It's a speed he's not used to- too used to sitting and waiting for the perfect timing that just doesn't come. But this isn't something he's willing to wait on, it's just something he has to know.
"Yes, Bradley, we knew each other. But that was a long time ago," Monsoon is shrugging, avoiding his eyes. The words should have hit him harder, from the way they all but flew from her lips, but the impact is almost gentle, like the comfort of them bore the brunt of it all.
"Do you remember my father?" The question is so innocent that it almost hurts; and Monsoon knows just how much throbbing pain there is inside Bradley. After one drunken night while on the carrier, he poured his heart out about his father, about how much he missed him and how he wished- hoped that Goose would have been proud of him. Monsoon sat and listened the to the whole thing, through the tears and drunken hiccups, reassuring Bradley that Goose would be proud of him.
After all, she knewhim, even if that was a million years ago- even if Bradley didn't know it.
She knows he would have been, because Goose was a good man.
A trait that seemed to have skipped over Bradley.
Good men remember their lovers. They remember their old friends. They remember the people who showed up to their mother's funeral- and have the decency to show up to their friends' mother's funeral.
Good men don't leave women in the dead of night, a break up message scrawled on a sticky note. They don't leave their friends to grieve alone. They don't forget.
"Yes, I remember him," Monsoon chances a glance at Bradley, unintentionally meeting his eyes. God, he's looking at her like she holds the fucking secrets to the universe and all she can feel is a sort of twisted up sickness, like her sternum is bound together with poisoned ropes. Bradley can see the stars that cling to her fingertips, the secrets to the cosmos, but can't seem to find the words to beg for their translation.
Cyclone is walking back into the room a second later, accompanied by another set of footsteps. Neither Monsoon nor Bradley look up when they walk in, both too busy staring at each other. Bradley looks curious, Monsoon looks hurt.
She looks away first.
A tall blond walks in behind Cyclone, his gaze focused on a set of files in his hand. He's reading over the top file carefully, running his free hand through his cropped hair. There is a toothpick in his mouth, resting between his teeth. Dressed in his tan uniform, his biceps are straining against the cuffs.
He's a Stetson model type, clean cut and masculine. The line of his jaw accentuated by the clean lines of his uniform. His jaw ticks with frustration as his brows furrow at the paperwork. There appears to be a word on the tip of his tongue by the way the toothpick bobs between his plump lips.
"Hey, guys, sorry for that, this is-" Cyclone swings his hand, introduction interrupted by twin gasps.
"Jake?!"
"Hangman?"
Hangman isn't sure who to look at first, but his eyes meet Bradley's form first, his eyebrows knitting together at the familiar face before shooting to his hairline when his eyes land on Monsoon sitting next to Bradley.
"Y/N, Doll! What are you doing here?"
Cyclone is whipping his head around in the way he might flip a jet. And Monsoon is pushing out of her chair again, ready to round the table and throw herself into the arms of the strong, blond man who just walked in, but her eyes meet the bewildered look on Cyclone's face, causing her to halt her movements. Hangman sets the paperwork down on the kitchen island, his eyes still locked on Monsoon, that damn smirk of his playing on his lips. Monsoon can tell he is holding himself back, fully aware of exactly who's house he is standing in, and the relationship between Monsoon and the Admiral.
It's been months since they've seen each other. Their goodbyes were said on the front porch of his little rental outside of Lake Hurst. Neither of them relished being in New Jersey, but they had each other and that's all that had mattered. They fostered a brand new relationship over a year, neither of them brave enough to label the nights spent together in that house.
Then new orders came down the pipeline, on a TS Need-To-Know. The pair were being separated with the flick of a pen. So, they labelled their year long relationship through tears standing on his stoop, the night the orders came down the channel.
They packed Jake's small house, and Monsoon's apartment, neither one knowing just what was to come. In the name of a temporary duty station, they got storage units next to each other, the closest thing to living together they'd be able to swing.
That was six months ago.
Monsoon did a little time in Pensacola while Jake got sent to Oak Harbor. Thousands of miles apart, their dates turned from late night dinners to quick conversations over the phone just to hear the other's voice.
Neither of them expected their reunion to be here, in Admiral Simpson's kitchen, with Bradley Bradshaw and the Admiral watching the whole thing, confused expressions written into their features.
"I got recalled to Top Gun!" Monsoon giggles a bit, her gaze still trapped with Hangman's.
"Me too!" The words leave Jake's lips and the pair are smiling. It's taking everything for them to hold themselves back from embracing each other, after months apart. Then, Cyclone is clearing his throat.
"Pops," Monsoon begins, clasping her hands in front of her, "God, this is weird. Remember earlier this evening when I said I wanted to talk to you about something?"
She had fully been intending on telling her Cyclone about her relationship with Hangman, in fact, she had been working up the courage for the past few weeks. But, Jake comes with a record, a reputation, and a respect problem, things Monsoon knows her Pops won't approve of.
"What's going on? Is everything okay?" The words are leaving Cyclone's lips almost too quick, but Monsoon is quick to reassure him that it is.
"Well, this isn't exactly how I saw this going, but, Pops, I'd like you to meet my boyfriend, Jake Seresin," Monsoon is gesturing to Jake now, a worried smile on her face. The pair know each other, of course they do. They had met the first time Hangman went through Top Gun. Cyclone was on instructor duty and Hangman didn't take overly well to being instructed; though he did finish top of his class.
Monsoon bobs up and down on the balls of her feet, the nervous energy flowing through her body. If she could push all the energy out of her and into the floor she would. Her soles grounding the electric current flowing through her, unapologetic and lightning hot. Monsoon would stand there in front of the three men who have played such a large roll in her life, back straight and eyes forward like the Navy trained her to do, if only she could coral that fucking energy and send it straight through the floor.
Monsoon bounces instead.
If she had the time, she could have prevented the look that crosses Cyclone's face. That look of you're not good enough for my kid that is so evident on his features. She knows that Jake saw it, clear as day from the way he almost winces. Everyone in that room knows the reputation that Hangman wears like a neon sign. The "voted biggest player" social life with the stellar callsign, the pilot known for leaving his wingman hanging, acting alone- selfish.
So much for putting off telling Cyclone; so much for easing him into the news.
Bradley is watching the whole exchange from his seat with his eyebrows raised, like a fucking soap opera but the whole spectacle's happening in real time. He lets his eyes shift from person to person, taking it all in. Monsoon looks hopeful, though she is waiting with baited breath for her Pops to blow a fucking gasket. Jake, on the other hand, looks absolutely cool. Though he is the reason for the interruption, and for the impromptu introduction, he is impossibly collected. Then, Bradley's eyes shift to Cyclone, who has backed up a few steps. He keeps looking between Monsoon and Hangman, like he is playing some sort of invisible game of connect the dots.
Hangman and his fucking reputation are courting his daughter, and Cyclone really isn't thrilled about the news.
Though Bradley isn't exactly thrilled to see Hangman here either, he's taking the whole thing in stride, as opposed to Cyclone, but the younger man can't exactly blame him. If it were Bradley getting this major bomb dropped on him, he wouldn't be sitting pretty, either. Bradley is bringing his glass up to his lips, his eyes still flashing between the trio.
"Monsoon-" Cyclone starts, but the sound of coughing interrupts. Bradley is coughing, choking on his water. He attempts to wave a hand, letting everyone know he's okay, but in reality, he's far from it.
Monsoon. The woman he left asleep in her bunk five years ago stands next to him now, and not only that, they fucking grew up together, at least for a little while. And she remembers his Dad, and she's Maverick's kid. And fuck, she's dating Hangman!
Things are moving just a bit too fast, and Bradley can't quite catch his breath between coughing fits.
The glass is quickly set back onto the kitchen table, but is sent over the edge as Bradley reaches for a napkin. The glass falls in faux slow motion, the liquid flowing from the cup as it hits the hardwood, shattering like a pinprick galaxy upon the floor. Bradley, still coughing, searches the new formation of cosmos on the floor for the answer to all the mixed up bullshit he has found himself in.
"Rooster?" Monsoon pats him harshly on the back, right between his shoulder blades. Then, she is rubbing his back, her hand full of warmth through the thin fabric of his shirt. His skin burns under her touch as he struggles to return his breathing to normal. There's still a knot in the back of his throat made of unsaid words and new revelations that he can't seem to swallow down.
"Rooster, are you okay?"
Hangman and Cyclone are quick to circle around the table, Hangman taking a knee next to Monsoon, his hand quickly finding her lower back. Cyclone is on the other side of Bradley, the glass crunching under his expensive leather loafers. Bradley is red from all the coughing, but an embarrassed blush still floods his skin from all the attention.
"Mons?" The nickname comes out all scratchy as Rooster wipes a newly formed tears from his eyes. The concerned expression morphs to hold a bit of shock before settling on some sort of mix of frustration and downright sadness. Monsoon tries to school her expression but her eyes still swim with emotion as they are locked with Bradley's.
"Yeah, Roos," Monsoon shoots his nickname right back, a confirmation that all but shakes the world around Bradley. She brings a tender hand up to squeeze his shoulder before pulling back, subconsciously leaning closer to Hangman, into the warmth of his hand on her back. She finds safety in her boyfriend's touch, the warmth of his skin pooling against her through the fabric of her dress.
The lack of contact makes Rooster feel cold, but the feeling is short lived as Cyclone is grasping at his other shoulder. A swivel of his head and Bradley is met with the furrowed brows of the Admiral.
"Are you okay, Mr. Bradshaw?"
"Yes, sir," Bradley responds, adjusting the collar of his shirt. "I'm so sorry about the glass, please, let me clean it up,"
As Rooster stands, he is pushed back down gently by Cyclone, his hand still on the younger man's shoulder.
"Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it, please," And so Bradley is sitting again, in the center of the standing trio, feeling completely out of place. "As for the two of you, take a seat, we have some things to discuss,"
The sound of chairs being pulled out against the hard wood floor is accompanied by the intense ringing of the doorbell once again. The group look from person to person, once again looking for any clue as to who could be at the front door this time. Cyclone is padding over to the door, the crunching of glass less evident the further away her gets.
Bradley attempts to clear the lump in his throat, now without the luxury of his glass of water. Monsoon takes her untouched glass and slides it closer to Bradley, a barely there smile on her face. Her expression holds more sympathy than anything. Bradley takes the glass with both hands, a little too careful as he brings it up to his lips.
"Let me get you a plate, okay?" Monsoon speaks to Hangman, her smile clearly wider, brighter, more full of life when it's directed his way. "Pops will give me so much grief if he comes back and that spot isn't set,"
So, Monsoon excuses herself from the table, leaving the men sitting in apprehensive silence.
With a strong tug from Cyclone, door swings open and there is no time for a 'hello' as the man on the other side is pushing in, a wild look in his eye, a vein on his forehead bulging with frustration.
"We need to talk Simpson," The tone holds misplaced authority. Beau runs cold at the sight of Pete "Maverick" fucking Michell standing in his entryway, looking pissed off enough to catch a charge.
"That's Admiral Simpson to you Captain," Cyclone's teeth are grit so hard they might crack under the pressure of his jaw. "You cannot be here right now,"
The raised hand does nothing to stop Maverick from pushing further into the house. There's a folder in his hand, wrinkling under the closing of his fist. Sweat clings to the Admiral's brow, a vision of the crown of thorns, droplets running down the side of his face. It might as well have been blood from the way his stomach twists as Maverick steps closer to him, pushing the paperwork, right against the center of his chest.
"Do you know who got recruited for this mission, huh?" The words are dripping with venom, "Do you realize who you've chosen for this fucking death wish of a goddamn mission?"
Captain Michell's tone is all accusatory and full fury. He's pushing into Cyclone's chest harder, his knuckles white under the pressure. Cyclone grabs at the older man's wrist, his own knuckles paling as he squeezes.
"Captain, I will not repeat myself, you cannot be here,"
"Who is it, Pops?" Monsoon is calling from around the corner, her voice full of curiosity. Cyclone isn't a praying man, especially after what happened with June and their sweet baby boy, but now Cyclone is praying to every god, every deity that crosses his mind, even those who's names he cannot recall, that his daughter will not walk around the corner to see Pete Mitchell standing in his entry way.
"Nobody, kid, I'll be there in just a moment," He calls before turning his attention back to the man in front of him. He tightens his grip on Pete's wrist before he's wrenching it away from his chest. He pushes it back into Pete's own chest, leaning in close, "My daughter is not to see you here, leave. Now."
One might think Maverick would get the hint, since he pulls his hand from Cyclones grip. But then, Maverick is throwing open the file, pointing at the first page's photo. There is so much frustration in the action, it bounces between the two men like they're sounding boards, building and building.
"See this? Jake "Hangman" Seresin? You really want to send somebody in the sky who has a pension for leaving their wingman? You want to send someone into the air with a guy like him when the mission is already guaranteeing a loss of life?"
That catches the attention of the trio in the other room. All motion stills as they strain to hear more.
Wide mouthed, pointed tongue, Maverick is yelling without a care in the world. It doesn't matter who hears as long as Cyclone is hearing it too.
"And how about this," The paper tears as Maverick turns the page, "Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw. You know about his father. You damn well know about Goose and you want to send his son to an early grave too?"
Jaws tick, fists tighten. Cyclone breathes deeply, thinking- choosing his words carefully as the older man continues to scream. It's not beautiful or noble like books would describe. There is no gift from God, no blessing, no one anointed with the ability to see into the future, to see just how this is going to play out. Instead, it's just words exchanged between mortal men, both too damn stubborn to back down with knives to each other's throats.
"And check out these two," Maverick is laughing now, leaning in closer to Cyclone, his breathe reeking of whiskey. Cyclone can see the way Maverick's eyes are bloodshot and weepy as he pushes him back. Sweat coats his skin leaving him clammy to the touch.
"Natasha "Phoenix" Trace and Robert "Bob" Floyd," Another strangled laugh escapes Captain Mitchell, "You really think this scrawny kid and a woman are up to the task at hand? Really? I can think of at least five better pilots and Wizzos who are better qualified than these two. And look! She's the pilot! Hell, I don't even know how they made it through Top Gun the first time around! The fucking Navy is getting soft."
"It's time for you to go, Captain Mitchell. Sober up. We will discuss this on Monday," Cyclone puts a hand to the older man's shoulder, attempting to usher him out without too much force. Cyclone can't risk Maverick being in his house any longer. He has already been gone too long and his guests are likely getting curious. "Time to go, Pete,"
"But, Cyclone, you haven't even heard the best part," Maverick can barely get the words out through drunken laughter. He's turning the page with clumsy fingers, the paper tearing under his touch.
The trio, Rooster, Monsoon, and Hangman round the corner as Cyclone is attempting to usher Maverick out the front door. They watch as the Maverick stumbles out of Cyclone's grip and further into the house.
"Pops?" Monsoon speaks as the strange man hits the floor, laughing as he does. The file has fallen open, scattering pictures of the newest Top Gun brain child called The Dagger Squad. They sit scattered all over the entry way like freshly fallen snow. Her eyes go to the paper that falls near her feet.
"Well if it isn't the prodigal child," Maverick speaks, pushing himself further off the floor. "How many strings did you have to pull to get your own daughter onto the squad? Are you trying to send this kid to an early grave like the last one?"
The three Daggers stand speechless. Monsoon is quickly folded under Hangman's arm, her face pressed into his chest. Rooster stands just off to the side of them, his eyes flashing to Monsoon.
The arguing doesn't stop.
"Shut your mouth," Cyclone spits, "You don't know a goddamn thing,"
Maverick stumbles to his feet, standing up at straight as possible to get into Cyclone's face, just to taunt the younger man.
"See, Admiral, that's not true, now is it? You and I both know that she isn't actually yours and this would be an easy way to get rid of her, right? Send her back to-"
His words are met with a swift punch to the face, the cartilage of his nose crunching under Cyclone's knuckles. The punch feels good, like it had been coming for a long, long time. Like it had been building within Beau Simpson for years, every single time Maverick missed out on a celebration of the amazing life Monsoon is leading. For every birthday, every graduation, every reenlistment and promotion ceremony, Maverick missed it all, and the rage built inside Cyclone. Now, it finally came out, popped like a Champaign cork, blood instead of the fizzy alcohol dotting itself over Cyclone's entryway.
A warm hand slips into Monsoon's; Bradley stepped closer, clutching onto her. He recognized Pete Mitchell the moment he got a clear view, both his anger and anxiety flaring. Bradley squeezed her hand once, nice and strong, before dropping it once more, stepping in front of her and Hangman.
"Captain Mitchell," Bradley begins, his voice firm, full of hurt.
The words make Monsoon's head spin. She leans away from her boyfriend's chest to get a better look at the bloody faced man and it sends a chill down her spine. Her Dad who she hasn't seen in years is now standing in a room full of people who can't fucking stand his existence. It's a fucking miracle that all he has is a bloody nose.
"Bradley," Pete spits a little bit of blood as he speaks, looking up at the younger man. He reaches a hand out, but it's dodged. "It's good to see you, son,"
"I'm not your son. It's time for you to go," Bradley is ready to grab Pete Mitchell by the collar and haul him out of the house. He's ready to throw him onto the lawn and leave him there to spit blood and sober up enough until he can walk himself home. Bradley has his own selfish reasons, his own grudge against the Captain, and now would be as good a time as any to feed into that frustration that he's been stewing in for years.
"I'm calling Admiral Kazansky," Cyclone declares to the room, then he's spinning on his heel the moment Bradley takes a step closer, clearly putting himself between Maverick and Monsoon.
The Admiral is ordering Hangman to move, to take his daughter anywhere else so that she doesn't have to see any more of the disaster that the night has turned out to be. He doesn't want her to see him throw Maverick out- hell, he didn't want her to see him punch the older man, but there's no going back in time.
As much as Cyclone wishes he could have protected her from this, he couldn't. One can't stop a speeding bullet, as they say, and the shot had already been fired the moment he pulled open the front door. And as much as he doesn't want to, Cyclone has to trust Hangman with his daughter, he just has to, now.
So, Hangman is all but carrying Monsoon away as she fights to stay put. She misses the order from her Pops, her blood thrumming too loudly through her ears. Hangman takes her through the house, dodging the pile of glass still glittering on the hardwood in the kitchen, hauling her out the backdoor and right to his truck. Monsoon flights the whole time, though it's unclear as to her reason to want to say behind.
The pair are pulling away from the house as Bradley and Beau are hauling Maverick out to the front lawn, his nose still pouring blood.
Jake drives in the direction of his apartment, holding onto her hand the whole time. He squeezes it reassuringly though there isn't much he can assure her of at the moment. Neither of them know what's going to come of Maverick, or of Cyclone's heated action against him. They don't know if Bradley is going to get caught in the crossfire, or if they are going to get called into the MP's office sometime in the middle of the night.
There is no clear answer, so, Hangman squeezes her hand and drives.
And drives.
And drives.
As far away as he can get from that house, that situation, the feeling in his chest spurred on by the broken look in Monsoon's eyes.
He drives until the sun crests over the horizon. Pulling off onto the side of the highway, Hangman kills the headlights, the world around them just beginning to come to life. That's when the tears come, falling fast and hard from the pools of Monsoon's eyes. Hangman just holds her there, inside of the truck.
The world around them awakens as Monsoon's falls apart, crumbling like unquenched Earth between her fingers. Maybe that's what the whole situation is, after all, how many times have the great authors related relationships to gardens, to plants, to life. Without nurture, without care and tending, the soil dries out, the plants die. The whole garden becoming a wasteland for the decaying plant matter; the soil turning to clay as the days roll on.
But isn't decay an unescapable fact of life?
Miramar, California. TOP GUN. Two weeks after the organization of the Dagger Squad.
Hangman had completely expected to pretend like the whole fight at the Admiral's house didn't happen when he met up with the other recruits at the bar, save for Monsoon. He took a little too much joy ordering drinks for the team on Maverick's tab- the older man not seeming to remember him from the incident, even after Hangman sent him a wink and a "thanks, Pops,".
When Bradley strutted in like the world was full of golden promise, Hangman took it upon himself to act like it was the first time they had seen each other in years. Bradshaw was quick to get the memo: last week didn't happen.
There's no surprise that Maverick got thrown out of the Hard Deck that night, either. Hangman sure as hell wasn't expecting to be the one to throw Maverick out of the bar, but that part gave him a sense of pride that he can't quite put words to.
The feeling bloomed in his chest as he watched Maverick hit the sand. A wide smile spread across his face as he yelled for him to "come back anytime," if that meant getting more free alcohol and the chance to throw him out again. Then, as Hangman closed the doors behind him while Rooster began one hell of a rendition of "Great Balls of Fire", everything felt like it was going to be okay.
Oh boy, how wrong he was.
Tensions are high now, Hangman and Rooster's rivalry is back and stronger than ever. They have been at each other's throats since that night at the Hard Deck, though the reason wasn't the mission or the usual dick measuring contest, even if the other recruits would say that it is.
They have been battling it out over a woman. Monsoon, specifically. The team doesn't know about her involvement with Hangman, and the pair try and keep it that way. So, she sits in the back of the classroom, right behind Yale and does her best to pay attention. The mission seems more impossible by the minute, the deadline has been moved up, and nobody has been successful.
Rooster and Maverick argue about the plane vs the pilot and how he had been the only one to make it to the target, though it was a minute late.
Then, Hangman opens his fucking mouth, living up to that reputation of his. "It's no time to be thinking about the past,"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Rooster's expression is unreadable, though his brows twitch.
"I can't be the only one that knows Maverick flew with his old man!" Hangman continues through Maverick's pleas, "Or that he was the one flying when-"
Rooster is out of his seat in a matter of seconds, launching himself at his fellow Lieutenant. Hangman took it too far this time. Rooster gets one good push in before the rest of the squad are separating the two hot headed men from each other, everyone yelling for the fighting to stop.
Everyone but Monsoon, who sits in the back staring at the fight in front of her and can't seem to make herself move.
"You son of a bitch!"
"Hey, hey, I'm cool, I'm cool," Hangman reassures, pulling out of the arms of his teammates.
"He's not cut out for this mission, you know it... You know I'm right." He gets up into Bradley's face, a fucking smirk on his lips. The others are still holding Bradley back as he calms down, but it's that fucking smirk that spurs him on.
Bob's hands slip from Rooster's shoulders as he gets into Hangman's face. "You think you can talk shit about my family when it's your girl that's got the most fucked up situation of all," Bradley keeps his eyes trained on Hangman, but the blonde's eyes tick to the side, in the direction of Monsoon, who is still in her seat. It's Bob who notices the way Hangman's eyes shift, and he's the first person to look in Monsoon's direction. Then, Bob's nudging Phoenix.
They watch as Monsoon tenses in her seat, her jaw ticking. Her hands grip the arms of her chair, knuckles white. Then, Bob and Phoenix turn their attention back to the men as the screaming match continues.
"I'm not the one who broke up with her on a goddamn post-it note, Rooster," Hangman points out with a raise of his brows, that stupid little smirk still evident on his lips. Rooster is bringing his hands up to his temples, his expression scrunched.
"You son of a bitch," Rooster is cursing at him through grit teeth, his voice low.
The crowd of Aviators are still gathered around the two men watching them fight, Maverick's eyes flicking between them as words are exchanged. His mind flashes back to two weeks ago, when he broke down the Admiral's door and saw them standing there with Cyclone. He suddenly flashes his eyes back to Monsoon, only to be met with her piercing glare.
"What? Was taking her father for yourself not good enough for you? Did you have to break her heart too?" Hangman questions, watching as Bradley's face contorts, "You're just pissed because not only could you not keep your shit Rio of a father around, you couldn't keep the girl, either,"
"That's enough!" Monsoon shouts, her eyes finally leaving Maverick. The Daggers' eyes are locked on Monsoon at the back of the makeshift classroom, anger evident on her features. Then, with her hands firmly planted on the table in front of her, she is pushing up from her seat.
"Seresin," Monsoon begins, turning her eyes to him, "First, you will not speak about my uncle that way. Goose was a good man and a damn good Rio. Uncle Nicky would have moved the fucking Earth for Bradley, or for Maverick, or for me and my Mama, don't you dare think anything different."
Monsoon is moving closer to the group now, taking each step slowly, methodical as her words. There is a large, yellow envelope tucked under her arm as she approaches. She had been sitting with that envelope since their first class, no one having even the slightest idea what's tucked inside.
"Secondly, Rooster, my relationship with Jake is not your business, not now, not ever. What we had was over the moment you wrote that post-it and walked out the door. You didn't even remember the fact that we grew up together, for fucks sake. I get it, I was your little deployment fling, and that's all. Now, you get to live with the fact that's all I'll ever be. Hangman put you in your place, now say in it."
The crowd is too stunned to speak, but there is a rumble of laughter that escapes Maverick. He doesn't even try to hide it, thinking the tension in the air would be enough to cover it. But then, Monsoon is turning her pointed gaze to him.
"Finally, Captain Mitchell," There is a sick little smirk on her lips as she says his name, "I wouldn't be laughing if I were you. After all, Bradley had to get his pension for forgetting women from somebody."
Monsoon is standing toe to toe with Maverick now, eyes locked in on his, "After all, I've been in this class for what, two weeks, and I know you have had the roster for longer than that, considering that little stunt you pulled at my Pop's house. You think it's funny to forget someone when your own flesh and blood is standing right in front of you?"
Maverick furrows his brow, head cocking to the side. Monsoon can practically see the gears turning in his head with the way his eyes move across her features. She breathes deeply a couple of times, letting his mind piece the puzzle together.
"I asked you a question, but go ahead, take your time," Monsoon leans in just a fraction further, "After all, I'm told I look more like my mother, anyway," Wide eyes from the man in front of her stir out a strangled giggle from her chest.
"Wha- bu-" Maverick flounders, his mouth opening and closing, no words forming on his lips.
"Hi, Dad," The name is said with so much venom as she pushes the envelope against his chest with enough force to make him stumble. Monsoon doesn't wait for him to recover before she is turning to walk down the aisle of the makeshift classroom, paying no attention to the stares, the eyes burning holes into the back of her head. Instead she focuses on the momentary feeling of lightness that washes over her as she leaves the hanger.
It isn't until Monsoon rounds the corner that the tears begin pricking at her eyes. She takes off running as soon as the first one hits her cheek, the only thing she can hear over the rushing of blood in her ears is the thunking of her heavy boots on the pavement.
The Daggers stand looking at Maverick. He's holding the envelope to his chest, unsure of the emotions wracking though his body. Then, with a quick hand, he's crudely tearing at the envelope. The contents pour out over the floor of the hanger, looking just like that night at Admiral Simpson's house. Maverick tries to push that thought from his mind as his eyes focus in on the papers covering the floor.
Birthday Cards. Children's birthday cards.
The same ones he wrote to her for her first ten birthdays. He can't even get himself to bend down to pick one up, his neck aching from the way he stares down at them. He notices the little circles of wrinkled paper from long dried tears and his heart fucking breaks.
The image of Monsoon at four, at seven, that he can see clearly in his mind, but there's a gap missing. Still, Maverick imagines her sitting and rereading the cards at seventeen, at twenty-two, crying over them and the father she could barely remember. Tears prick at Mavericks eyes and he lets them, making no attempt to wipe them away.
It doesn't take long for the Daggers to figure out that the pile of cards is noticeably small, no more than nine or ten cards on the ground, though no one is near brave enough to say anything.
Moments like this remind Maverick he's still just a mere man. No matter how many records he breaks, aircrafts he tests, or brushes with death he encounters, Maverick is nothing more than a man with a skill set. He has flaws. He makes mistakes.
That fact is almost too much for him to take.
The memory of Goose flashes through his mind, the moments leading up to the failed ejection birth the feeling of ocean water weighing down his flight suit, soaking into the padding of his helmet as the water washes over them. So much blood where there should be none. And then Maverick is thinking about cleaning the scraped knees of his daughter, the blood bubbling up through the road rash. The tears, then, were hers as she begged, "Daddy, not the ouch-y cleaner, I don't like it,". But Maverick cleaned her wounds with the alcohol anyway, only to end up holding her against his chest in the same way he would hold Goose in less than a year.
Maverick's mind is a patchwork quilt of shit memories; stuck reliving them all, fragment by fragment.
"Class dismissed," Maverick manages, his eyes still glued to the floor. The sounds of fourteen pairs of boots, first loud then quieter as they go, leave the hanger, leaving him standing there, looking at the past he threw away illustrated simply in faded and forgotten birthday cards.
The hands of the clock circle once before Maverick moves. He walks right over the pile, his boots leaving angry, dark tread marks across the colorful paper. He doesn't look back once, not at the pile of cards, not at the hanger, not at the base.
He drives straight for the Hard Deck. It's the only thing he can think to do, and after all, maybe Penny has some sort of advice. She's the only person he actually knows with a kid- a daughter.
Maverick only makes it half way before he has to pull over. Quickly, he throws himself off his bike, his knees hitting the dirt as he empties the contents of his stomach. As a pilot, he should have a stronger stomach than this, but a choice he made almost eighteen years ago is coming back to haunt him.
He can still see Monsoon's eyes in the forefront of his mind. They haven't changed a bit from when she was a kid, Maverick realizes, as he's sat back on his haunches trying not to puke again. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, grimacing at the feeling of his swirling stomach.
Maybe he should have stuck around, or at least circled back when he wasn't on deployment. After all, Maria left messages on his machine for almost two years after he up and left. It started with her begging to call which slowly turned into begging him to at least send a fucking birthday card. So he did.
Then, she stopped calling, and he stopped writing. Monsoon grew up.
It would be so easy to blame Maria. When she stopped calling, he stopped remembering. Between deployments and missions, flight tests and ceremonies, Maverick could pretend that it all got lost in the shuffle. But then, he remembers Maria and the way she always seemed to flawlessly manage her Naval carrier with raising their daughter, how she could juggle it all without his help when he was deployed and it was all okay. At least that's what he told himself.
So, he thought if she could do it alone already, no harm could come from putting in for extra duty. That turned into extra deployments, more time away from home. He knew it was all a lie, but he had to tell himself something to justify it.
It did get easier after a while, as his daughter slowly slipped to the back of his mind. It wasn't until one day, six years after he left that the realization hit him. Maverick hadn't thought of his daughter in months. He should have felt more guilty; he drank himself sick at the thought.
Two years later Maverick didn't even realize he missed her eighteenth birthday.
Or her twenty-first.
Over the years he convinced himself he did the right thing. That part of his past became a distant memory that he told himself he didn't miss. Maverick would be lying to himself if he still believed that to be true in this moment, sat on the side of the road after having been faced with the consequences of his long forgotten actions.
Maverick kept one constant reminder playing on repeat in his mind all those years, You can't be a bad father if you aren't there to be one at all.
And for the first time since he walked out, Maverick thinks he may have been wrong.
He sits on the side of the road until the sun sets, stewing in his misery. When he manages to pull himself back up onto his bike, he heads for home, knowing that if Penny knew the whole story he would be on the outs with her, too. And so, he drives slowly, back to an empty house, wishing for the first time in years that it wouldn't be empty when he got there.
---
When Monsoon finally reached Cyclone's office, eight blocks from the hanger, she almost collapsed in the entryway of the building. But, she pushed through the crowd, ignoring the calls of his assistant who insisted that Cyclone could not be interrupted while he was in a meeting. Monsoon couldn't find it in herself to care.
When she pushes the door to his office open, she is met with three pairs of eyes. Iceman, Warlock, and Cyclone's eyes meet her frame. She is breathing heavy from the mix of running and sobbing, though it's unclear as to which is causing the redness in her cheeks.
"Excuse me, recruit, but you can't-" Warlock starts, closing the file sitting in his lap. There is an edge to his tone, not taking too kindly to being interrupted.
"Hey, kid, what's wrong?" Cyclone is cutting off Warlock without a second thought. The moment he moves out from behind his desk, Monsoon is throwing herself into his arms, her barely contained tears now overflowing. Without a second thought, Cyclone is folding her into his arms, doing his best to hold her shaking form.
"I'm sorry, sir, I tried to stop her," Cyclone's assistant huffs, running a hand through his hair. Cyclone waves the younger man off, the door closing behind him with a click. Then, Cyclone is wrapping his daughter tighter in his arms, one hand coming up to rub between her shoulders while the other is wrapped securely around her waist.
"I'm sorry, gentleman, but the meeting will have to be continued another time," Cyclone speaks, his tone clear, unwavering. Warlock shakes his head but gets up to leave anyway. Iceman follows after him, nodding a sort of good luck to his fellow Admiral before closing the door behind him.
"Tell me what's wrong, kid," Cyclone is pulling back, his hands squeezing at her shoulders. Monsoon is rubbing at her cheeks, smearing her tears over the expanse of her face. It's the same ugly cry she had when they first met, and the connection make's Cyclone's heart twist.
"I-" She starts, sentence interrupted by a hiccupping gasp, "Everything is falling apart,"
Monsoon tries to wipe at her face again with her hands, but Cyclone plunges a hand into his pocket only to offer her a green pocket hanky a second later. She takes it with unsteady fingers, her heart still thrumming a mile a minute.
"Hangman and Rooster got in a fight in class. Jake said a shitty thing about my uncle Nicky, Goose, you know?"
"Bradley shoved Jake, which isn't exactly a surprise, but then he told everyone that my family situation is all kinds of fucked up, which it is, but it's nobody else's business. God, Pops, I know now that I made a mistake when I started seeing Rooster while we were on deployment together, but God, that was five years ago! It's in the past!"
Cyclone nods at her, listening intently while trying to keep calm. So much new information is being thrown at him with each sentence that leaves her lips and it makes him angry.
"Worst of all, though," Monsoon wipes at her nose with the hanky, "Maverick knows,"
"He knows?"
"I told him," She confirms with a whimper and a nod, not daring to meet Cyclone's eyes. If she managed to meet them, she would have been met with nothing but rage boiling behind his irises, red hot flames behind the dark brown of his eyes.
"I had to, everything was already coming out anyway," She laments.
"What did he have to say for himself?" The question is asked through grit teeth as he pulls her body tighter against his, a move meant to feel protective but does nothing to quell the flames burning Cyclone from the inside out. All Monsoon can do is shake her head "no" as she sobs against the denseness of his chest.
"I'm gonna kill him" is all Cyclone can think as he rests his chin against her hair. His jaw ticks as the flaming feeling overtakes his body. If he could, he would strip Maverick of every single one of his achievements, his medals, his rank. He would cut the older man down so far that he was nothing more than a civilian with a dishonorable discharge.
But he can't.
So instead, he holds his daughter as she cries. He lets her tears soak the tan fabric of his uniform top, the buttons scraping against her skin. He rubs her back and whispers into her hair, promises that everything will be okay.
---
Somewhere in the Pacific. The Uranium Mission. Three weeks after the organization of the Dagger Squad.
Moments after the Uranium mission is completed, the team piled on the aircraft carrier, all grateful to be alive. Monsoon and Hangman got sent up to shoot down the enemy aircraft, saving Maverick and Rooster. The whole thing left nothing but swirls of confusion and gratitude in Monsoon's heart.
On one hand, she is so thankful that everyone made it back home. There will be no funerals, no folded flags and no Taps to be played. Instead there will be celebrations, beer and cheering and one too many speeches for a job well done. The whole thing should be liberating as their impending doom has been starved off for the time being, however there is still a feeling of anxiety sitting heaving in her chest.
Now, Monsoon is stuck watching the pair climb out of the museum piece that they managed to land on the carrier. The wind is whipping past them as she watches the team embrace the two men. Her strangled feelings clog her chest as she makes her way into the fray, first approaching Bradley.
"Glad to have you back on the ground," Monsoon shouts over the crowd.
"It's good to be back, even if it's not quite the ground," Bradley attempts to joke, "But seriously, we owe everything to you and Hangman,"
"Nobody left behind," Monsoon holds her hand out to Bradley, a gesture of good will.
"Nobody left behind," Rooster echoes, taking her hand in his own.
As they shake hands, a sort of understanding forms between them. They share a look, one that reads no hard feelings and Bradley almost tears up. Then, they are pulling back from each other, sharing one last smile.
Monsoon watches Bradley disappear into the crowd, his tall frame quickly swallowed up by the sea of uniforms. She catches him shake hands with Hangman a moment later, the scene bringing a small smile to her lips.
Then, Maverick catches her eye, standing a few yards away. There are tears shining in his eyes, but he makes no effort to move forward. They share eye contact for a moment as people move between them. Monsoon offers him a half smile, her brows lifted just slightly. Before Maverick can return it, she nods at him. He nods back, then it's his turn to watch her disappear into the crowd.
It's not quite an understanding, but maybe it's a truce.
At the risk of breaking her own heart, Monsoon chances a look over her shoulder. She watches as Maverick pulls Bradley into a hug, or maybe it's the other way around, it's hard to tell with the swarming of bodies. Either way, the pair wear bright smiles as they embrace and Monsoon doesn't even try to fight off the tears that make their way to her eyes. They aren't tears of anger, no, they are tears of gratitude. Grateful that they all get to live another day, grateful that Maverick and Bradley are giving each other a second chance, and grateful that there isn't a looming cloud hanging over her head anymore.
She no longer has to wonder about her father, because now she knows he's exactly where he is supposed to be, and both of their lives are better for it. Instead, she has Cyclone, the best father she could have ever asked for, and that is more than enough.
Cyclone breaks through the crowd, pulling his daughter into his arms, more than thankful for her safe return. He shouts at her, over the crowd, about how well she did and how happy he is that she made it back. The pair hold each other tight for another few moments, neither ready to let go.
Maverick takes one more look at Monsoon, who's now folded into Cyclone's arms. It's an unfamiliar sight but not an unwelcomed one, for Maverick. One thing's for sure, she is exactly like her Pops- disciplined and talented in the cockpit of a jet. Even more, though, beyond being a good aviator, she is a good person and that's something that Maverick can't regret.
---
Miramar, California. TOP GUN. One year after the completion of the Uranium Mission and the organization of the Dagger Squad.
A year later, Cyclone and Monsoon find themselves sitting in The Flight Line Bar, her hand thrust out in front of her, ring glittering under the amber lights.
"You're going to give me away at my wedding, right?" There is a sort of apprehension to her voice as she sips on her beer.
"It would be my honor, kid," Cyclone slings an arm around her shoulders, pulling her sideways into him. He holds her there for a second before letting her sit back upright, a large smile on her lips.
"Y/N Seresin has a good ring to it," Cyclone adds, bringing his beer up to his lips.
"About that," Monsoon starts, causing the Admiral to set his beer down, "Jake and I had a conversation, and we thought that having two Aviators in the same squad with the same last name would get confusing, so it's going to be Y/N Simpson, if that's okay with you,"
The Admiral's eyes flood with tears before he can say a single word. They quickly spill down his cheeks and all he can do is look at his daughter, tears of her own overtaking her eyes.
"I take that as a "yes"?" Monsoon chuckles, wiping her eyes with a shitty bar napkin.
"Of course it's a yes, kid," Cyclone grabs her hand, holding it on top of the bar.
The pair sit, hand in hand , tears still wet on their faces and all Cyclone can think about is how fucking lucky he got, how blessed his life is. He finally has a daughter who is happy and in love, a daughter that he will get to walk down the aisle on the most important day of her life.
When he chances a glance over to her, Cyclone can see the frizz of her hair highlighted by the neon sign buzzing behind her, her cheeks bright red. For a moment, he can see June in the roundness of her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes. Cyclone thinks back to all those years ago, when he and Monsoon first met sitting in this same bar, but he doesn't entertain the memory very long, after all, he has so much to look forward to. So instead, he squeezed her hand.
"I love you, kid," Beau tells her earnestly, smiling though a few stray tears.
"I love you too, Pops," Monsoon returns, leaning her head on his shoulder, "Now and always,"
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Top Gun Threesomeissance 2023
My deepest apologies to @sushiwriterhere for how late this is, but it's done and posted and I thank you for inspiring me to stretch my writing skills and creative process with this one. I tried to take an unconventional direction with your prompt so I hope it's not too left field for folks. I had fun either way ;)
I literally wrote this, read through it once, and posted it. So be gentle.
Summary: Bob hasn't been intimate in a very long time and now that someone has caught his eye, hes panicking. He needs an education and Phoenix and her girlfriend are all too happy to oblige.
Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female Reader x Natasha "Phoenix" Trace
Length: 6K
Warnings: Smut. So. Much. Smut. Bob Fucks. Phoenix Fucks. (MINORS DNI)
After the uranium mission, Bob and Phoenix returned to their original units at Lemoore. This time, though, as friends rather than strangers. They ate lunch together often, went out with friends on the weekends, and had a standing date to watch movies and eat junk food at Phoenix’s apartment every Wednesday night. Often you would join your girlfriend and her new BFF for Wednesday night movie night when you didn’t have to work. Bob made for a great third wheel to your dynamic duo and you both loved having him around.
One Wednesday though, Bob showed up for movie night, soaked from the rain with his own dark clouds shading his normally happy, shining eyes. Something was obviously bothering him as he stumbled into the foyer, fumbling with a grocery bag while trying to kick off his squishy tennis shoes.
“What happened to you?” Phoenix asked as she came in from the kitchen to take the bag while you returned with a towel.
“I’m just havin’ a day is all. Sorry for the mess.” He took the towel from you with a sullen expression of gratitude and moved further into the apartment.
Luckily, he was over so often that he had some spare clothing and comfort items in the guest room. Bob went to change while you and Phoenix prepped the living room with chip bags, beers, and a soda for Bob. You were just pulling up Netflix when he returned, looking almost worse than he did at the door. He walked over to the couch and flopped down next to Phoenix. Her dark eyes met yours where you stood in the middle of the living room with the TV controller. You both shared similar looks of concern and the movie was suddenly forgotten.
Phoenix spoke up as you turned and sat on the floor in front of where she and Bob were on the couch.
“Ok buddy, somethings obviously up. You were fine when we left the hangar earlier. What gives?”
Bob let out a sigh and rotated his head until his neck cracked. There was a war happening inside his head and you could tell he wasn’t sure whether to unleash it or not. You reached your hand out and rested it on his knee, trying to reassure him.
“Whatever it is, we’re here for you. It can’t be that bad.” You said gently.
Bob huffed a sarcastic laugh and reached up to rub his face vigorously with both hands under his glasses. He then growled and threw his hands up in the air in defeat.
“Fine. I’ll tell yall. But you gotta promise not to make fun of me.”
You shared another questioning look with Phoenix then she put her arm around his shoulders. “Bob, we would never make fun of you.”
“That’s absolutely not true. You both picked on me for two weeks over the vomit incident at Six Flags.” He accused.
“That was different, and you know it, Floyd. This seems serious, so spill it.” Phoenix said with a squeeze to his shoulders.
“Yall remember Rebecca? The gorgeous red head we met last month at the farmer’s market?”
You and Phoenix both nodded wordlessly while staring at him intently to continue.
“We’ve been on a couple of dates now and I really like her. I mean, really like her.” He said emphatically.
When neither of you spoke up, he huffed again and continued. Beads of sweat were starting to pearl on his forehead as he became more and more visibly nervous.
“Uh, well. I invited her over to my place for dinner this weekend.”
“What!? Bob! That’s awesome!” Phoenix shouted as she practically leapt off the couch. She smiled brilliantly at him, and you smiled at her enthusiasm for her friend.
“No. You don’t understand. She’s coming to my apartment. Alone. At nighttime.”
Phoenix smiled even bigger. “Bob, I’m pretty sure we understand the intentions of this mission.”
He looked up at her with disdain and you realized something about this so called mission was really troubling him, so you spoke up. “Babe. Calm down.” You said with a small laugh at the sour expression Nat gave you.
“Phoenix. Look. I’m not a virgin, but, uh,” he hesitated “it was my high school girlfriend. We were together for 3 years. We did it. Then she broke up with me when I left for college.” He looked between you both with a wounded puppy expression as he sank further into the couch.
“Robert James Floyd. Are you telling me you haven’t had sex in a decade?” Phoenix asked as she placed her hands on her hips. Most likely she didn’t mean for it to sound as accusatory as it did, but you intervened quickly, nonetheless.
“Bob” you started with as gentle a tone as you could muster “have you had any physical encounters with a woman since your high school girlfriend?”
His face began to flush bright red, and you watched Phoenix's dark eyes go wide with shock. She regained her seat next to him on the couch and grabbed one of his large hands in both of her much smaller ones. You were thankful that she calmed down before he ran screaming into the torrential downpour outside.
He cleared his throat “I’ve had a few make out sessions but nothing concrete. I was so focused on school and then training that the opportunity never presented itself. Who wants the geeky guy, right? Next thing I knew a decade had passed and here I am, thirty years old with the chance for intimacy right in front of me and I’m freaking out. I don’t know what to do. I’m not sure where to put my hands or mouth or anything. How do I know she’s enjoying it? What do I do if she isn’t? She’s so perfect and I want things to be perfect for her and I just know I’ll mess this up. Arggghhh” he grunted as he stood, pulling his hands through his hair. He started pacing around the room, almost making you dizzy from your seat on the floor. This was a truly conflicted man and you felt so bad for him. He obviously cared about this woman and his want to be good for her was endearing.
While he walked around the room continuing to rant about his lack of carnal knowledge of the female species, your eyes once again connected with Nat’s, and you could see her gears were turning. Nothing good ever came from the plotting expression she was now wearing while deep in thought. Nat slid onto the floor and came to a stop on all fours next to you. She raised her hand to whisper an idea into your ear and you whipped around to look at her with surprise. Her eyes implored you and she shook her ass in the air, enticing you. You considered her proposition for a moment more before whispering to her “Doesn’t hurt to offer I suppose.”
Phoenix smiled then sat back on her heels before rising. She held out her hands to you and pulled you up, her arms wrapping around your waist once on your feet. She placed a chaste kiss to your cheek then released you, entirely too much excitement gleaming in her eyes. Just as Bob turned to pace back Phoenix stepped up, blocking his path and bringing him to a halt. You were always amused by their comical height difference. Bob’s frantic eyes looked down into the smirking face of Phoenix as she placed both hands on his chest.
“Bob. We have a plan. So, take a breath.” He stared at her, then looked over at you, then back to Phoenix, looking more perplexed than ever.
“A plan?”
“Yup. No movie tonight. Instead, we’re going to teach you.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped, brought up short as he began to realize what she meant by her statement. Phoenix slid her hands across his chest, down his long arms, and intertwined her fingers into his with a reassuring expression.
Bob stammered “But, uh, Phee” he choked on a chuckle “I. Teach me?” he finally asked. You closed the gap between you and your girlfriend, placing your body flush to her back and reaching around to wrap your hands around their connected ones. You smiled at Bob as his eyes met yours. “Let us help you, Bob.” You implored gently “Nat’s bi, I’m gay. I can guide you while she handles the physical aspects. We wouldn’t be doing anything we weren’t comfortable with. But we won’t do this if you aren’t comfortable.”
“Yeah, and just consider it a maneuvers exercise like work.” Phoenix interjected. “Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to make me cum. But this time the enemy is a friendly and we’re going to walk you through it step by step. End of the night you’ve gained experience, we’ve all had a fun night we can laugh about another decade from now, and you pounce Rebecca this weekend knowing exactly what you need to do!”
You just knew Bob was going to pass out. He was sweating profusely now, his eyes darting between yours and Nat’s as you both squeezed his hands firmly. In the silence something seemed to come to him suddenly. His eyes focused again, and his lips closed into a thin line.
“Wouldn’t this be like cheating on Rebecca?”
He had a point, you thought, but Phoenix jumped in always ready with an answer.
“Have you and Rebecca discussed exclusivity yet?” She asked.
“Well, no, we haven’t. We’ve been on exactly two dates, and I know she’s seen someone else during that time. So, I guess, the answer would be, no? But I'm hoping to impress her this weekend so we can discuss being exclusive, and I feel like this is my one shot to do it.”
You felt a little relief with his answer. You wouldn’t want anything to ruin the friendship your girlfriend had developed with Bob.
“Sounds good to me. Besides. We do this as an educational exercise, blame the alcohol that we haven’t actually consumed, and tell no one. But only if you’re comfortable and trust us. We can always bust out some anatomy charts and porn if you’d prefer?” You rolled your eyes at your girlfriends’ suggestion although you knew she was serious. When it came to facing a difficult task, she was nothing if not methodical with her plan of attack.
“Bob. The most important part of this is that you are relaxed and willing. If at any time you aren’t, we can stop.” You added for reassurance as you slid your hands up Natashas’ arms then rested them gently on her shoulders.
Bob started to speak then stopped. His eye lids slammed shut and he took a deep breath, obviously working through the tennis match in his head. Then, something seemed to click for Bob. All the lines on his face relaxed and as he opened his baby blues, the clouds seemed to roll out. He stood up a little taller, his hands still intertwined with Nat’s, and he nodded once.
“Ok yeah. Let’s do it.”
You smiled at him as Nat reached up and gave him a gentle peck on the cheek.
“Let’s do it indeed.” She mused then flashed you a sassy smile as she led Bob down the hall by one hand to her room. You just shook your head with a grin and followed them. Your girlfriend had an insatiable appetite for physical touch, and you weren’t the least bit surprised she was willing to be the sacrificial lamb for Bobs sexual awakening. You just hoped she would be gentle with him. At least a little, anyways.
Phoenix dropped Bobs hand once everyone was in the room and moved over to a Bluetooth speaker on her dresser. She flipped it on, and soft music began to quietly fill the room as she placed her phone on the stand next to it. Bob stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, just watching Nat as she swept around the room lighting a few candles and drawing the curtains. She spoke as she flitted around. "First lesson Bob. Set the mood."
You closed the bedroom door behind you and looked up at the imploring blue eyes that were staring at you.
“Are you sure you don’t mind me, uh, you know. Doing, you know, this, with your girl?” he whispered to you.
You gave him a gentle smile. “Bob, that woman right there lives for physical touch. She will have her way with you and then have her way with me because she’ll be so revved up, so I’ll win in the end as well. Trust me, I’m totally ok with this.” And you winked as you brushed past him.
Phoenix turned from the curtains just as you moved into her space and wrapped your arms around her waist, pulling her close. She giggled slightly before your lips were gently massaging hers in a deep kiss. You pulled back and looked into her chocolate eyes. “Nat, go easy on him. Try not to scare the poor boy.” You whispered quietly into her lips. She only giggled again then shimmied out of your embrace and slinked to the middle of the room where Bob was still standing hunched like a cornered mouse.
Phoenix ran her hand across Bobs lower back as she moved around his side to face him, grinning like a cat toying with her prey the whole time. You quietly moved to the other side of the king size bed, stripped down to your basic black bra and panties, and sat up against the wrought iron headboard.
Phoenix looked past Bob and scoffed. “Oh, not fair! You’re distracting me already!” she pouted. Bob looked over at you, flushed red, then averted his eyes again. You just shook your head with a small laugh. “Phee, concentrate. You’ll get your turn with me later.” Her smile grew wider before she turned her focus back to Bob.
“Ok Bob let’s talk making the first moves. Think of this like our pre-flight check list. You’re in the cockpit and it's time to warm up the engines and prep for go. You’re going to take charge of the situation just like you do when we’re getting ready to fly. So, what would be on your checklist to get things started in a sexual situation?”
You stifled a snort behind your hand as you watched Bob turn bright crimson, and begin to stammer with wide eyes. Phoenix looked at you quizzically. “What? I thought I’d put this in terms he would understand.” She said defensively.
“Natasha. He’s not working on an airplane. Do you want him to treat you like one? Rebecca? Maybe soften your tactic just a little babe?” you implored through a weary grin.
Phoenix huffed then blew a loose strand out of her face. “Fine.” She said bluntly before looking up at Bob. “Sorry.”
“S’ok Phee.” He croaked.
“Bob, you still ok?” you asked, wanting to protect him every step of the way.
“Yeah, I’m good.” he said as he hesitantly slid his hands around Nat’s shoulders then down her back, enveloping her in his broad wingspan. Her face registered disbelief at his sudden boldness, then her arms wrapped around his waist, and she smiled up at him. You grinned too. “Good boy.” Nat cooed and bob let out a nervous chuckle. “Now what do you want to do to me?” she asked.
He took in a breath then answered on the exhale. “I’d like to kiss you.”
“That sounds like a great first step Bob. Go ahead and kiss her.” You encouraged gently.
Bob leaned down and connected his lips to Natashas. It was extremely hesitant at first but then Phoenix leaned in reassuringly and he began to deepen the kiss. You watched as their tongues started to dance. “Nat how does that kiss feel?” you asked.
Never breaking apart, Natasha moaned into Bobs mouth, and you watched with pride as Bob slid his hands down her sides, letting them come to rest on her ass. Another moan escaped from Phoenix, and you praised Bob. “Very good Bob. Did you hear her moan? That’s a good sign. Keep going.”
Bob broke their kiss and released Phoenix, a whimper falling from her mouth. Before she could protest though, Bob removed his glasses, tossing them to the side. He reached behind his head with one hand and pulled his shirt off in one swift move. He may not have been your cup of tea but even you were impressed with the agility of the shirt removal and the taught abs he kept hidden away. “That was hot Bob. Right Nat? Wasn’t that hot?”
Natasha said nothing though, only smirked wickedly. She drank in the sight of Bob in nothing but his jeans as she ran her fingers over his stomach, tracing the lines of his muscles. “Oh, that was very hot.” She oozed and licked her lips. Bob seemed spurred on by her reaction, pulling her back in for another long and sloppy kiss. Maybe a little too sloppy. “Bobby, try to keep the kisses softer, less moisture.” You watched as he swallowed and backed his tongue off a little, choosing to nip gently at her bottom lip before dipping his tongue into her mouth slowly. Natasha moaned again and something in your own abdomen jumped. God damn your girlfriend made the most beautiful noises when she was enjoying herself.
“You have her attention, Bob. Take advantage of that.”
He broke the kiss again, staring into Phees eyes as his hands gently grabbed the hem of the black oversized t-shirt she was wearing. As he began to lift it, you decided this was a great teaching moment.
“Bob, hang on.” You instructed calmly and he did, looking up at you anxiously. You continued. “This is a perfect chance to build some anticipation. Before you rip her shirt off, skim your hands along her skin as you raise it. Let your hands wander and build some electricity. Appreciate her body and she’ll appreciate you.” He nodded once then began kissing Nat again as his hands slid under the hem and across her smooth stomach. You watched intently as his large hands glided down her sides and her hips then slid around to her bare ass. He gave her cheeks a gentle squeeze and both he and Nat let out almost matching whimpers. You smirked, pleased to have a student who learned quickly.
“She has a great ass, huh Bob?” you asked, and he nodded into their kiss. “Tell her. Complement her.”
Bob let his kisses wander up from her mouth, across her cheek, to her ear lobe then he whispered into Nat’s ear “God I love your ass.” And he squeezed it again. Natasha let her head roll back with a moan and you realized you were starting to feel a little warm. You loved her ass too.
With her neck exposed, Bob trailed kisses down from her ear all the way to the sensitive spot where her neck met her collar bone. You decided Bob didn’t give himself enough credit, he was doing a good job relaxing and following instinct. You knew Natasha wasn’t faking with her little kitten purrs as he worked the spot with quick licks and nibbles. It was becoming harder for you to remain an impartial instructor in this activity, you couldn��t help it, Natashas pleasure gave you pleasure, no matter how she was getting it.
His hands moved from her ass and began to lift the shirt, unhurriedly. Bob skimmed his fingers along the soft skin of Natashas hips and sides, stopping the assault on her neck to remove the black fabric completely. She stood there in a purple thong and bra you were sure made Bob’s heart skip a few beats at the same time yours did.
“Phoenix” he whispered adoringly. “You’re incredible. I just want to. I want to…” he trailed off while holding her hands and looking up and down her body in appreciation.
“She is so gorgeous, isn’t she Bob?” you asked huskily. “What is it you want to do? Don’t tell me, show us.”
He didn’t have to be told twice. Bob let go of Nat’s hands and cupped her breasts over her bra. He leaned down and placed a languid kiss on the top of one and then the other. Nat ran her hands through his hair and sighed. “Yes Bob, you’re doing so good baby boy. You’re making her feel so good.” You hummed.
“Bobby, take the bra off. I want more.” She begged and you watched as he turned her around quickly, pulling her into his body, eager to please. Bob bent down to suck on the sensitive spot in the crook of her neck while his hands slid her straps down her arms. He then stood and worked the clasps of the bra until they sprang apart, and the bra dropped down her arms and landed on the floor.
“Baby you have beautiful breasts. Bob, how would you show her you like them?” He looked up from behind her, his eyes dark with lust, and gave you a smirk, before his large hands wrapped around and cupped both of Natashas breasts firmly. Nat gasped as he began to knead her breasts, letting her head rest against his chest.
You were starting to feel moisture between your legs. Watching Bob work Natashas breasts, pinching her nipples and tugging on them was making you delightfully jealous but you tried to remain focused on his education.
Natasha was rubbing up against Bob as he worked her chest, moaning and running her hands along the outside of his thighs. You were starting to salivate at the sight of her squirming. Then Bob shocked both of you. He removed a hand from one of Nats breasts, put his two middle fingers in her mouth and she began to suck on them. A rush of heat ran up your spine.
“Very nice Bob, so hot. Now what are you going to do with those soaked fingers?”
Bobs eyes met yours as he removed his damp fingers from Natashas slutty mouth and quickly slid them into the top of her panties. Before either of you knew what was happening, he had run his slick fingers along her folds, causing Natasha to buck against him and release a loud pant. You squeezed your legs together, trying to calm the burning sensation rising between your own legs. You watched as his large arm snaked around her torso, holding her in place while his other worked her slit. You could see the wet spot growing in her thong and it was almost more than you could handle. You had to shake your head to remain focused on the job.
Natasha let out several moans then panted “Bob, God, oh Bobby. I want more.”
You smirked. She was so frantic, and you loved it. “She wants more Bobby, what are you going to give her? Get on your knees and slowly pull her panties down. Torture her.”
He did as he was told, dropping to his knees. He cupped her ass and lathered one of her ass cheeks with a wet kiss that made her moan with a grin. God that ass did things to you and your vision was starting to blur. Bobs fingertips dragged deliberately up the outside of her legs, ankle to waist, then even more slowly pulled her thong down to the floor. You were salivating at the sight of your beautiful girl standing bare and writhing in front of you.
“Bob, you’re doing so good. Can you hear all the small pants and moans she’s making?” He nodded his head as he stood, his hands roaming all over Natashas soft skin. “That’s how you know you’re doing a good job. She’s warmed up and ready for you, time to take things to the next step.”
Natasha swung around and made quick work of his zipper, being careful not to catch his very large erection. She pulled down his jeans and briefs in one quick movement, releasing his large cock into the cool air with a gasp. You could see her eyes glistening with enjoyment. Your baby girl loved cock and you knew poor Bob was in a little bit of trouble. Nat got on her knees and began to suck him, hard, cupping his balls with one hand while the other braced on his thigh. Bobs hands instinctively grabbed on to Nats hair as his breaths became loud and ragged. He let out a loud “Oh shit” and looked at you shocked as Nat took him all the way in.
You smirked at him. “Bob, are you enjoying her mouth? If so, tell her. Complement her good work.”
He was now thrusting into Phoenix’s mouth while tugging on her hair, his mouth agape as he struggled for breath. His eyes drifted from yours down to hers and between pants he did just as he was instructed.
“Nat that feels amazing. Suck me, just like that.” And then his head lolled back as Natasha worked her magic.
“Bob, do you want to cum in her mouth? Or somewhere else? You asked and he growled as his head flopped forward to look at Nat again while she worked.
“I want to cum in her gorgeous pussy.” He let out through his forced breathing.
He was getting the hang of this. You knew how much fun Nat had working a cock with her mouth and that if you didn’t stop her now this would all end too quickly. “Natasha honey” you said and she slowed her ministrations before releasing Bobs cock with a loud pop.
She looked over her shoulder at you sheepishly. “Sorry babe, I got carried away.”
“Bob, help her up. Take charge. You know what you want next, make it happen.”
He bent down slightly and grabbed Nat’s wrists before yanking her up to him. Her body crashed into his and he began kissing her again. His arms snaked around her body and pulled her in even closer. The sweet sounds coming from her mouth had you squirming. You wanted to kiss that mouth so bad right now. Squeezing your thighs together wasn’t helping anymore, so you slid your hands into your underwear and began rubbing your mound to find some friction. You sighed and Bobs eyes opened. He took in the sight of you working your bud and his eyes widened while he still kissed Phoenix.
“Don’t worry about me Bobby, focus on her. You’re doing great.”
What happened next happened so fast you almost missed it. Bobs hands reached under Nat’s ass and lifted her off the ground. Two steps and he had her flung onto the bed on her back. Before either of you could say anything, Bob laid on his stomach and began kissing the inside of Natashas thighs, first one and then the other. Her head was now lying next to you on the mattress, and she smiled at you with so much heat in her brown orbs.
“Baby, I think he’s a fast learner.” She hissed as his mouth began to lap at the outside of her smooth slit.
“I think you’re right sweet girl.” You said with a smile before reaching over to gently remove some hair from Natashas forehead. You continued to rub yourself, enjoying every saccharine sound falling from your girlfriend’s mouth.
“God I want this pussy so bad. Tell me Natasha. Tell me I can eat your pussy?” Bob practically growled from between her tanned legs. Nat bucked her hips as she grabbed his hair and pulled him all the way in, his tongue beginning an all-out assault of her clit. Her back arched and you couldn’t help yourself. Your free hand grabbed a handful of Natashas right breast and began to knead it. She was making a range of feral noises now that had you pick up the pace in your own underwear.
“Bob, Bob, yes Bob. Right there, that’s perfect. Suck my clit, oh oh yes like that. Ughh” her back was arching now and you knew she was getting close. Natasha loved nothing more than having her pussy eaten. It was your favorite thing to do to her and you had to focus on something else to keep from joining Bob on the action.
“Shes getting close Bob. Fuck her. Let her cum on your cock.” You instructed as you removed your hand from Natashas breast. He lapped a few more times at her opening before sliding up her body and layering her breasts with kisses and nips of his teeth. Natashas hands were everywhere, his hair, scratching his shoulders and biceps. Natasha was a babbling mess of want and need.
“Robert Floyd if you don’t fuck me now I’ll, I’ll” Nat trailed off as he moved the head of his cock to her maidenhead. Bob’s face hovered over Nats briefly before he looked up at you, his face searching for permission.
“Make her feel good Bob.” You nudged and that was all the encouragement he needed. Bob slid his cock into Natasha and she let out a loud moan that sent your head spiraling. You needed more relief than this, you were so wet. As Bob began moving in and out of Natasha you reached over to the bedside table and pulled out your tiny bullet, pressing the button and practically shoving it down your panties. The buzzing went unnoticed as Bob and Nat continued to fuck on the bed next to you.
“Don’t let things get stale Bob, move her legs, let her feel you at different angles.” Bob growled into the crook of Natashas neck before he pushed back onto his knees. He threw Natashas legs onto his shoulders and grabbed her hips, lifting her up as he started to pick up the pace, bumping into her pussy with more pressure. She was becoming a loud, vulgar mess, practically screaming obscenities as her hands grabbed ahold of the bars above her head. The mess in your own panties grew with every shout Nat released into the thick air as you moved the bullet back and forth over your sensitive nub.
“Phoenix, cum baby. Cum on my cock.” Bob bellowed. He released her hips and grabbed each of her ankles. He spread her legs wide and really leaned into the fucking. Natasha just gasped repeatedly, no longer forming any words. You knew she was close when she became incoherent like this.
“That’s it Bobby, let her have it. She’s ready. Make her cum.”
Bob released one of Natashas legs and put his fingers in her mouth to lick before moving them to her clit and rubbing fast and furiously on it while fucking her hard. A few moments later and Natasha was grabbing at anything and everything as she hollered out her orgasm. “I’m gonna cum. Oh yes Bob fuck I’m coming.” She let out the deepest, most feral screech as Bob fucked her through it. You were close to your own release and could practically see stars now. You realized Bob was looking at you while he continued to move in and out of Nat, slowing his pace. “She’s such a good girl. You’re so lucky.” He huffed and you looked down into her ravaged eyes as you quietly came, creaming all over your bullet. You leaned in to kiss her smoothly before looking back up at Bob.
“Don’t forget to take care of yourself Bob. You did so good getting Natasha there. Now move her how you want her so you can cum.” Natasha whimpered while Bob looked briefly contemplative. Then he removed his cock and hooked his finger in the air, beckoning Natasha to rise to him. Slowly and with wet matted hair, she did as she was told. With both on their knees he kissed her lightly, cupping her face, before he used his hands to work her around and onto all fours, her perfect ass up in the air. Natasha was practically face to face with you now and grinning through a haze.
As Bob slid into her pussy, Natasha whispered up at you “This was a great idea.” Then Bob grabbed her hair in one hand and her hip in the other and began pounding into her. You watched Nats face melt into anguished pleasure as Bob began to rumble into the void. With her eyes firmly locked on yours Bob shouted “Fuck yeah” as he came hard into your girlfriend’s pussy. His body continued to push back and forth with his release. As he slowed his pace, he freed Natasha's’ hair, and you moved in to give her a gentle kiss. Bob leaned down, still attached to Phoenix, and peppered her shoulder blades and upper back with light kisses. Bob whispered into Natashas back “Thank you.” Then he slid out of her and sat back so that she could collapse onto the pillows next to you.
Natasha giggled, rolling over onto her side. “Come here, handsome.” And she motioned for him to lay down behind her. Bob did as he was told, molding his front to her back and wrapping his arm around her stomach as his head hit the pillow behind hers. You chuckled at the sight. Your girl was quite proud of herself, and you knew that once Bob left you would get to have your way with her as well. It was going to be a long night for your needy girl.
“Bobby, I think you’re ready to take Rebecca for a ride. How do you feel?” you asked. He had his face buried in Natashas hair at the base of her neck and he rolled back just enough to look at you. A goofy grin met his lips. “I can’t fucking wait.” And all three of you laughed.
“She won’t know what hit her.” Natasha added as she wriggled back into him further. “Also, this is the best part. The snuggles and praise after its over.”
He raised his head to prop it up in his hand and with a peck on her cheek he said “Thank you for sharing yourself with me. I feel much better about this now, and you were so perfect. You’re both excellent teachers. I can’t believe I’ve gone so long without this. What was I thinking?” Natashas grin grew even bigger.
“Don’t sell yourself short anymore Bob. Just like in the air, you’re a 10 in the sack. Gave all new meaning to don't think, just do." He shared a look with you and you both shook your heads with a laugh. He kissed her shoulder again, then got up and dressed, placing his glasses on his face last. In the dim light he came around the bed and kissed the top of your head, thanking you once again for your help. As he made his way back around the bed to head for the door, Natasha sat up and grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks.
“Bob” she said coyly with a sinful expression, “If things don’t work out with Rebecca, I don’t mind doing this again. If you ever need or want extra practice.” He just shook his head and smirked. You shared a look with him that communicated the same thing: This woman was wonderful and also going to be the death of you both. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it gently.
“Remember, this didn’t happen. See you tomorrow, Nat.” And with a wink he left the two of you alone in the room.
“Natasha Trace, you are so bad.” You said with a playful pinch to her side. She rolled over laughing and grabbed you until you were anchored on top of her.
“I know. And you love me for it. Now get over here and show much how much you love me for it.” And you did. All night long.
#top gun threesomeissance 2023#top gun maverick#robert bob floyd#natasha phoenix trace#bob floyd#top gun fanfiction#top gun#natasha trace#top gun phoenix#top gun bob#bob floyd x reader#natasha trace x reader
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Eerie Dating other Eris-Sonas :3
Okay so after the first round of dating, I think it's time we get some sonas who get a glimpse of a submissive-like Eerie (for varying reasons) Also, there isn't much art here; I did plan to draw them with Eerie, but I lost energy from so much Eerie lol
With the intro over, let the Eris games... begin!
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First is Lee by @0x0y0z0
Instead of highschool, Eerie meets Lee at the start of college
I imagine that instead of Eerie approaching first, it would be Lee
Lee is either extremely forward or always beating around the bush because of his excessive awkwardness
Now, the reason Lee would confess to Eerie could be for differing reasons
One could be that Lee wanted to enjoy a more extroverted-life and get over his extreme awkwardness
Another could be that Lee is interested in Eerie's... eerie behavior. Eerie is always walking around college with a thick backpack and a constant aroma of gunpowder from him. For those reasons, Lee concluded that Eerie was secretly carrying guns around school
Either way, Eerie would welcome Lee with open arms and a cheery :3 smile
To Eerie, Lee was a loner with a dark aesthetic. And if you know anything about Eerie, you'd know he loves that dark theme
Eerie would talk to Lee about joining his friend group after they talk a bit more, probably in passing through classes
When Lee reluctantly agrees, Eerie excitedly bring him to meet Villa, Desmond, and Seph
Judging from everyone's attitude, everyone would accept Lee into the friend group
Villa and Desmond will have their suspicions
Eerie has brought certain... people to school. And they'd all leave with that familiar toxic, smoke-like scent Eerie carried.
After hanging out more; weekdays, weekends, and pretty much any free hour, Eerie would buddy up with Lee
Eerie loved hanging out with such a quiet loner. In comparison to Milo (who isn't in this story) Milo is also a loser like Lee in terms of awkwardness, but what Lee has over Milo is style
It's one of the only reasons Eerie keeps Lee around
Eerie enjoys touching and messing with Lee's hair and clothes. Pocketing buttons and photos taken to laugh at later with his other 'friends'
When Eerie got too close and intimate with Lee, Lee would shoot him a deathly gaze and force Eerie off
The sudden change would excite Eerie, prompting him to hit and whisper in Lee's ear
Similar to other sonas, Eerie wanted to incite something in Lee so he'd do something drastic and eye-catching
After probing and picking at Lee's skin for a whole year, he'd crack and finally pin Eerie down.
Eerie gulps, feeling his heart race at the shorter boy on top of him
The cold tiles beneath his back didn't ease his heart, and oh god, he loved it
He loved every second of having that excitement when Lee finally cracked and bared his teeth
This is how their relationship goes. Eerie would constantly step on Lee's coattails to get him to dominate Eerie again-- get his heart pumping more and more
Once Lee gets used to the typical tricks and plays, Eerie steps up his teasing to abusive levels
Their toxic relationship probably 'ends' with Lee dramatically hurting Eerie so the tall man would be sent to the hospital
But even then, Eerie would only run back again only this time with actual guns and a hot fighting spirit to go again. Eerie wants to prolong that adrenaline rush as long as possible.
Eerie sees Lee as a game to give him more excitement, similar to those life-or-death horror movies where the stakes are high.
He won't be letting Lee go anytime soon, as much as he punches or hurts Eerie back
Next is Portia by @emipotato :3
Similar to Eerie, Portia would be holed up inside her house all day and night.
Eerie found that interesting: so other parents rob kids of their childhood, huh?
He'd feel a small level of connection with Portia, but he'd never outwardly approach her because she wasn't interesting *enough*
It was in middle school that Eerie caught Portia stalking him; he felt grossed out but mildly intrigued. What made her do such a thing?
That was all he felt in middle school; he never let Portia know he was keeping tabs on her
In High school is when Eerie finally let himself be free. He'd bring guns to school and vibrate with excitement every time people curiously stepped closer to his bag.
Nobody knew he had such things inside his bag; his mom and dad didn't know either, even though they were the ones who bought the equipment
On an especially cold day, Eerie left his p.e clothes in his bookbag and opted to stay in his regular outfit
When the period finally ended, he returned to his bag and found the entire thing a mess. The magazine which was already full of bullets was missing one. He knew; he counted each of them every night with joy
His clothes were messed with aswell; there were muddy marks and ruffles in his original perfectly folded unfirom.
He eyed the students around; who could've touched it? Various kids played on the field and got themselves dirty from the mud
After all, it had rained yesterday
He scowled and furiously demanded the person who did it to stand up; he didn't talk about his gun, but people were still firghtened
He noted how nobody stand up
The following night, he made sure every student was innocent by telling his 'friends' to keep a watchful eye on them. If they complied properly, he'd let them shoot a few shots at his shooting range at his house
And complied they did; he got reports from each guy telling him how their target's bags were empty of the bullet. None of them had dirty hands either.
He was even more infuriated - so much that he was tempted to shoot one of his friends right then and there- but he held back and gave them his catty smile.
"I want you to fucking think; use that dumbass brain of yours for once and understand what I'm saying. Find the stupid asshole who stole my bullet and bring them to me or else I'll have your head on the news tomorrow."
His friends nodded weakly, going their separate ways. Originally, they planned to coordinate a random student to put the blame on; that was until a mysterious girl stepped up from the shadows
She confessed: "I did it"
They looked dumbfounded. It was really that easy?
They looked at her skeptically. One of the boys recognized her as that sickly kid who always arrived late from school with a dcotor's note. Not to mention the terrible earthy smell coming from her.
Nevertheless, they brought her back to Eerie.
Eerie raised a brow, interested in why an ugly girl like her would do such a thing.
However, it was when it clicked; the earthy smell coming from her came from the rain that came down yesterday. That meant she was outside; for what reason? Only Eerie could answer
Outside his window the previous night, he saw her standing in the rain outside his window.
He couldn't deny that her desperation was amusing. Not exciting, but amusing. Like a joke you'd have when you're breaking up the silence
Eerie decided that he'd let her hang around. Their relationship would be very ambiguous, since Eerie never told anyone about them officially dating. In fact, you could say it was a one-sided relationship
Eerie didn't bother texting Portia back; he didn't gift her anything nor did he comfort her when she got sick from waiting in the rain weather
Eerie made her wait; waiting and waiting until college when he finally told her to fuck off.
Eerie thought she was amusing, but now she was just a clown wearing a tatterd old uniform. The joke wasn't funny anymore and Eerie was finally letting his emotions out.
His memory is very blurry after that.
Eerie couldn't recall much other than Portia saying how he needed to get his mind straight
After that, Eerie found himself being isolated in a basement (Typical Yandere behavior perhaps?)
Eerie would remain in that basement for a year, being restless and whining about 'entertainment' and how 'disgusting and boring' everything was.
Portia would have him inside her basement for however long she wanted; the darkness would corrode at Eerie's will at some point, hopefully
Over that timespan, Portia would dote on Eerie and give him love and affection so she'd be seen as more of a romantic partner for him rather than a clown
This may be ooc for Portia, but for her this was her breaking point. She'd been ignored for so long, and after getting a small glimpse of a romantic life with Eerie, she couldn't let go of it
That's where their relationship ends or rather begins, in Portia's eyes
Eerie is locked up and bound inside her basement, surrendered to her continuous methods of swaying him
It's unknown if he actually ever submits, but he's very close to. The unbearing loneliness makes him crave something, anything exciting
Portia was his only entertainment in that isolation
In the end, Eerie forever sees Portia as entertainment or some gag to laugh at. I doubt Portia will ever pursue a real relationship with Eerie.
This marks the end of Eerie dating pt2!
Hopefully I can get through some more Eris-sonas, but who knows *shrug*
:3
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billy blurb mystery box (2)
fem reader x billy the kid
prompts from @panickingstudent2
giving billy a shave:
He'd been stressed lately. You knew it, he knew it. Even though he was still kind, still caring, it soured the mood in the house. Billy was coming home late every night, collapsing into bed next to you without even taking off his work clothes.
You'd do your best to help him relax, smoothing your hands over his chest and giving him gentle kisses, but it was no use. He'd merely give you a loving motion on your back and close his eyes, the tension in his body palpable.
One weekend, you looked up from where you were reading at the kitchen table as he came in, smiling brightly. "Billy-oh-!"
He'd collapsed to his knees next to you, burying his face in your stomach and wrapping his arms around your middle. His hat was knocked off his head behind him, and he didn't bother to pick it up.
"Billy?" you smiled, your fingers lightly roving over his curls. "Everything okay?"
"Mhm," he said into your tummy. Billy nosed against it, and you thought you felt him press a kiss there. "'S jus' safe here."
"Oh, love," you cooed, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Just relax. It's okay."
Billy lowered his head to lie in your lap, his arms still around you. You felt him slump, as if he'd been holding himself up for a while.
"You've been working so hard lately," you muttered, fingers still trailing through your hair. "So stressed."
He nodded, then looked up at you. The look in his eyes was tired. You ran your hand over his face, feeling the prickly stubble on his cheeks. It was rougher than usual.
Humming quietly, you asked, "How long has it been since you shaved?"
Billy chuckled lightly, taking your hand on his face in his, kissing it lightly. "Been awhile I reckon. Haven't had the time."
You nodded, your other hand coming to the side of his face as you considered. "Would you let me? Bet it'll make you feel better, being a little cleaned up."
He smiled tiredly, taking your hands and pressing a kiss to them, looking at you adoringly. "Sure, sweetheart."
You smiled excitedly, standing and switching him places, sitting him down on your chair and skipping off to get his razor.
When you returned, he was perked up a bit, sitting back with his legs spread lazily. You lathered the soap onto the little cloth you'd brought in, and then sat on his lap, your legs on either side of his. Since there were no arms on the chair, Billy held your legs so they wouldn't slip off.
You carefully patted his face concentratedly, then picked up the blade, shifting on his lap so you had a better vantage point. Smiling softly, you tilted his head so you could start, moving the blade with the grain.
"Leave a little bit, yeah?" he requested, squeezing your legs. "Need to stay a lil' rugged."
Laughing lightly, you moved his head slightly to the side to get another section. "Of course," you smiled, catching his eye briefly. "But just so you know, I think you're handsome in any state."
"Thanks darlin'," he grinned, waiting to kiss you until you put the blade down.
Your hands moved to his newly smoothed cheeks, and you leaned in to kiss him again, softly. "Feel better?" you mumbled against his lips.
"Better," he confirmed, one hand moving to your waist.
He forgot he had been holding you up, and one of your legs slipped to the floor, surprising you and breaking your kiss off with a "Mmph!"
"Oops, sorry baby," he chuckled, looking down at your leg. "Here-" Billy stood up, helping you do the same. Then, he lifted you up by your thighs, wrapping your legs around his midsection.
You nestled comfortably against him, the edge of his gun belt pressing up into your bottom. Billy had one arm under you, supporting you there, and the other around your waist. "There you are. Now..." he leaned forward, capturing your lips in a hungrier kiss this time, the little stubble he had left rubbing against your skin.
billy helps you get dressed:
You tugged the corset up, positioning it against your chest so it was level. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you frowned, trying to figure out the logistics of tying it while still keeping it where it needed to be. Every morning you did this, and yet it was the same amount of difficulty every time.
Billy wandered in, leaning against the doorway and grinning. "Now how're you gonna manage that one, sweet?"
You threw him a helpless look. "Good question."
"Let me help ya," he smiled, sauntering over and picking up the laces. "Ready?"
Nodding, you held up the front of the corset with both hands. He gently pulled and tightened it. You could see him biting his lip in concentration through the mirror, the brim of his hat shading his eyes as he looked down at what he was doing. You almost liked the feeling of him helping you put clothes on more than him tearing them off. Almost.
He tied the knot easily, setting his big hands on the curve of your waist afterward. "Better?"
"Much better, thank you," you smiled, leaning back into him. You nodded at your dress that was draped over the chair by the mirror. "Now I have to put that on."
"Mm, have to?" Billy muttered; his arms fully twined around your waist now, cheek pressed against yours as he looked at you in the mirror. "I dunno...think ya look pretty just like this..."
"Billy," you smiled, leaning in his arms and reaching for your dress. He dutifully helped you slide it over your head, fastening the little buttons in the back for you. Billy kissed the back of your shoulder when he was done, spinning you around to look at him.
"Pretty...m' pretty girl," he said, wrapping his arms around your waist again, lifting you off your feet just a bit to kiss you lightly. "Can't wait for ya to be just as pretty wearin' nothin' at all later tonight..."
You squealed in delight, kissing him with your arms around his neck in a way that practically, as he would claim later, forced him not to let you leave the bedroom for another hour.
billy loves your new dress:
Formal events weren't something Billy necessarily loved to attend, but sometimes it couldn't be helped, so he'd put on a smile and his nicest shirt and bear it. Of course, the happy addition of you in his life helped matters greatly, as you were very involved in what passed for a social season here in town.
Your family was wealthy, and you'd been raised to attend things like this, parties where manners triumphed truth. In fact, he'd met you at one of these events, captivated by your charm and sweet manner just like everyone else.
Even though you'd been together for months, this would be the first one he'd attend with you on his arm, and he was a bit nervous about it, about you being seen like this with him. The outlaw and the sweetest girl in town.
Billy waited anxiously on the porch, pacing slightly. He saw you as soon as you turned the corner, and his face split into a grin, instantly feeling giddy.
You were as pretty as he'd ever seen you, in a stunning pale blue dress he'd never seen before. It accentuated your waist, and was cut low in the neck, so he could faintly see the tops of your breasts. But what really got him was the necklace you were wearing- a simple chain with a silver heart. It was the one he had gotten you. The one he'd felt so bad about it being simple, but you'd thrown your arms around him as if he'd given you jewels.
His smile didn't leave his face as you ran up to him, jumping right into his open arms. "Billy!"
"Hey beautiful," he greeted, catching his darling in his arms and hugging you tightly. You squealed as he spun you around once before setting you back on your feet.
"I missed you today," you said, your arms still around his middle as you looked up at him, chin on his chest.
"Missed ya too, darlin'," he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Then he pulled back a bit to look over you. "This a new dress?"
You nodded, bouncing a little on your heels. "Brand new. Like what they're wearing in New York."
"Well, I don't know anything 'bout that, but you look pretty as a peach sweetheart," he smiled, holding your hands out so he could look fully at you. "Goddamn. My girl's a knockout."
That made you smile wider, and you leaned up for a kiss. Billy obliged happily, pulling back slightly after a moment. "Don't suppose we can skip this 'n just keep kissin' out here?"
You laughed, taking his hand and pulling him up the porch steps. "Come on, handsome. You didn't get all cleaned up for nothing."
"I got all cleaned up to see my girl," he emphasized, catching you in another brief kiss outside the door.
Putting one hand on the door handle, you gave him a look. "We don't have to be in for too long, I promise."
"Yeah?" he muttered in a mischievous way, pulling at your hand so you were leaning back against his chest. "How long we talkin'?"
"Not long," you promised, leaning up to kiss his cheek and then opening the door, dragging him inside.
He'd been worried about how the two of you would look together, but it was for nothing. Nobody batted an eye at the two of you, and he was glad for it. He could keep an arm around your waist the whole night. And that's exactly what he did.
Billy did not stop touching you at all that evening, keeping one or more arms around your waist and making you lean back into his chest. For the first time, he felt truly comfortable at a party. Your presence kept him satiated for more than three hours. He was content just standing beside you and holding you while you talked to everyone, working your charm.
But after that period of time, he grew rather impatient, squeezing his arms around your waist and leaning down to whisper, "Can I talk to you outside for a second, baby?"
You thought something was wrong, and so you nodded, excusing yourself from the conversation you'd been in the midst of.
Once you got outside you turned to him. "What's the ma-oh!"
Billy's lips found yours immediately, hungrily moving against them. His right hand wound around your waist, pulling you nice and close while his left found its way to your hair, tangling into it.
You smiled into the kiss, breathlessly murmuring, "You couldn't wait a few more minutes?"
"Not with you in that dress, baby," his lips chased yours as he spoke. "Uh uh, m' girl looks too pretty f' me to keep m' hands off f' much longer."
You kissed him softly, letting him press you to the porch railing. Your back arched against it, but he propped an elbow up so his hand was supporting you. Billy's lips parted against yours, the brim of his hat poking your forehead. "Oh baby..." he kissed you again, relishing in your sighs.
He parted his lips from yours with a pop and leaned his forehead against yours. "Anyone else you need to talk to tonight?"
You shook your head.
Billy grinned. "Good." He hoisted you into his arms and swept you away, many kisses afoot.
#billy the kid#billy the kid x reader#billy the kid fanfiction#billy the kid x you#william h bonney x reader#william h bonney fanfiction#billy the kid imagines#billy the kid 2022#billy bonney#william h bonney x you#william h bonney imagines#milliesfishes billy#milliesfishes imagines
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abby's birthday blurb weekend!
my birthday (March 12th) is upon us once again!! so I'm going to be hosting a last minute blurb weekend!! I'll be accepting blurb requests from tonight until my birthday. so send them in within the next four days!!!
prompts:
- late night
- responses after they kiss you
- coworkers to lovers
- during a storm
- smutty dialogue
characters/fandoms:
- top gun maverick
- the bear
- bridgerton
- joel miller
- brian o'conner
- anakin skywalker
- game of thrones
- house of the dragon
- felix catton
- barry keoghan characters
- adam driver characters
- lewis pullman characters
I'd like to say thank you ahead of time to those who participate and send things in! I can't wait to see what you all send in!! <3
#moths 26th#blurb weekend#top gun maverick#the bear#bridgerton#joel miller#anakin skywalker#game of thrones#house of the dragon#felix catton#barry keoghan#adam driver#lewis pullman#blurb event#brian o'conner
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Hi lovely! I hope you are well!! <3
First time sending an ask so if this doesn’t spark any interest, you can totally ignore the blurb weekend request!
#16 from the 2nd prompt list: "Dancing is a dangerous game."
character: Hangman
Regardless, thank you! You’re an amazing and very talented writer :)
Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader
Summary: Dancing with Jake Seresin was a dangerous game. One look as he twirled you and you'd fall in love. But would that be so bad?
wc: 1.1k
A/N: I got a lil carried away, Gigi!!!! I love this prompt so so much and I'm such a sucker for writing Jake fics. I hope you like it!!
Join my blurb weekend!
You didn’t really want to be here tonight, dressed in a long satin gown (it was a nice change from your formal Navy outfits, but you wouldn’t admit that) and shoes that made your heels ache. But it was the last party you and the other daggers were legally obliged to attend, and thankfully this one was hosted by Admiral Kazansky himself.
It was more than the outfit, forced smiles, and droning small talk. It was him: the tall blond with an ego the size of his home state. Jake Seresin had caught you in his sights years ago when you two were trying to establish yourselves in Top Gun. As any smart girl should, you stayed away from the man with hypnotizing eyes and a cute accent. He’d only break your heart, you told yourself once spending some time with him at The Hard Deck right after telling yourself, I could fall in love with him.
He never got the hint, his continuous flirting, and lingering glances kept on after all this time. Jake upped the ante at the first post-miracle mission event, “Dance with me,” he asked, his accent laid on thick and dripping with charm when he spoke your name. You remembered how your heart skipped a beat and the way you paused while looking at his extended hand; you wondered what it would be like to feel the touch of his hand. You didn’t dare to look into his eyes, excusing yourself and faking being called over by a member of the Brass. Every party after that—he’d ask—you’d say no.
Dancing was a dangerous game.
One look into emerald green eyes, being twirled around a dance floor meant losing this game you felt like you were winning. You weren’t falling in love with Jake Seresin.
It was almost cinematic walking into the hotel’s grand ballroom, looking out into the crowd, and seeing the aviator looking directly at you. “Shit,” you muttered to yourself, surprise dropping to the pit of your stomach. Why weren’t you looking away? It was like you were giving him an open invitation, like a wrong move on a chessboard.
You knew why. Deep down you wanted to lose, give in and take him by the hand. Maybe he’d love you right? Take you out instead of taking you back to his place like all the girls before. It pained you watching him leave with girls he picked up at the bar, but this was what you wanted, right?
Jake started to make his way through the crowd, grinning and charming his way around the Naval men who offered their congratulations. Your legs felt like concrete, unable to move and fade into the crowd. Those green eyes got closer, and the colorful lights from around the room painted his skin so beautifully. “Evenin’, Y/N,” he greeted, sticking his hands casually in the front pockets of his black dress pants.
“Jake,” you greeted, tilting your chin upward, “You look nice.”
He smirked. “I don’t hold a candle to you, Navy issued clothes don’t do you justice.”
He took the lead in this imaginary game and suddenly your tongue felt heavy, unable to speak without giggling like a schoolgirl. Swallowing the nerves, you smiled politely and thought of a way to get out of this. “I should go and fi-”
“Dance with me?” he cut you off. You watched Jake smoothly take his hand out of his pocket and held it out for you.
“Jake, I don’t dance,” you chuckled, trying to keep the mood light.
“Ah,” he dismissed, rolling his eyes, “You’re a better liar than that, come on. Besides, this is the last one—you won’t have to see me again for a long time.”
You didn’t know what hurt worse, not seeing Jake on a regular basis or the soft pout of his lips.
Dancing is a dangerous game.
He’ll only break your heart.
What if he doesn’t?
You’ll wake up in a cold bed.
His hand looks warm.
Your eyes flashed upward, counting the colors in his eyes as you put your hand in his for the first time. Jake smiled, it never looked as genuine as it did at that moment, leading you to the dance floor. He looked back every so often to make sure you were still following, his grip tightened as the crowd condensed.
The music had slowed, not that you could focus on it because of the pounding of your heartbeat. You fought off making a visible show of your timidness as he guided your free hand on his shoulder and his found purchase on the small of your back. “Was that so hard?” he teased, beginning to sway to the music.
Yes. “As long as we don’t have to do this ever again,” you chuckled.
“What’s your problem with me, Y/N? You’ve been avoidin’ me.”
“Have not.”
“Don’t make me say ‘have too’, we’re adults,” he joked matter-of-factly.
You rolled your eyes and inhaled, fighting off a shudder as you caught a whiff of his cologne. Your gaze swiveled from the crowd over his shoulder to his chest. It looked so inviting, almost comforting.
You could still win this game if you don’t fall in lo—
“Did I upset you? Is that why we don’t talk anymore?” He asked, his voice soft and close to your ear.
“N-no,” you managed, voice wavering. “You didn’t upset me, Jake.”
“Then what is it?” His genuine confusion made your lips fall into a grimace. Hangman never asked what he did wrong—ever. Confidence was his main ally and that got him far. It was then you realized there was a difference between Jake and Hangman.
There was a long pause, you could see how his eyes softened right in front of you. Fuck the game. You leaned forward and placed the side of your face against his chest, hearing the faint thump of his heartbeat. “I didn’t want to be one of those other girls you dance with. One dance and you take ‘em home.”
“You’re more than that,” he defended instantly, “wouldn’t have asked you to dance every time, wouldn’t try to take up space when we’re together.”
You pulled away and kept your hands and your side, “and what happens after?” you asked in frustration. Frustrated at yourself for surrendering all your defenses.
Jake thinned his lips and furrowed his eyebrows. You were as stubborn as him. He jolted forward and put his hands on the side of your face, pulling you in for a kiss. Your lips moved together like you two had been lovers for the longest time. You were grateful his hand kept you from melting.
Jake pulled away, his lips ghosting over yours. “That,” he confirmed.
“And after that?” you whispered against his lips.
“I fall in love or burgers on the beach? Either works for me,” he laughed.
You shook your head at his comment and giggled lightly, leaning in for another kiss.
Dancing with Jake Seresin was a dangerous game, and you’ve never been happier to lose.
#siempre buckys blurb night#hangman x reader#hangman x you#hangman imagine#jake seresin x reader#jake seresin x you#jake seresin imagine#top gun maverick
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Smut prompt game.
79/Bob/as dirty as you can go babe
79) “Look at you, grinding against everything, you’re really desperate for it. Aren’t you?”
#bobfucks
You were a bad girl and totally unapologetic about it. You loved fucking and being fucked.
You had been prepared to turn this guy out when you saw him at The Hard Deck. Glasses, nerdy demeanor, unassuming aura.
But now, now you were grinding your pussy against his uniform clad leg, desperate to cum. And he was watching you, a slight smirk on his face as he bounced his leg to your rhythm.
“Look at you, grinding against everything, you’re really desperate for it. Aren’t you?”
“Uh huh,” was all you could say as his hands palmed your tits. You were the one that got turned out after all.
#bob floyd x y/n#bob top gun maverick#bobfucks#smut#drabbles#blurbs#bob floyd x you#bob floyd x female reader#bob floyd x reader#robert bob floyd#top gun prompts weekend#top gun smut#top gun maverick blurbs#top gun maverick smut#Bob top gun maverick smut
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Another Fred (and Brady) Friend here:
Could you do #14, Blanket (from the second prompt list), for Fred and Brady, please? Or #36, Security (also from the second prompt list), also for Fred and Brady. Whichever gives you nice inspiration.
I love all your MOTA/BOB stories, BTW, but Fred and Brady hold a special place in my heart.
Thank you!
I hope you have a great rest of your weekend.
It was almost peaceful, up here with the rain.
Captain Becker had stood the wing down for the day on account of the storm, which seemed poised to last all day, and so the whole base had been blessed with an unexpected day off - a chance to clean guns, and mend flight suits, for the crews to work on their paperwork and Bowman on his files and more than one pilot sneak off to parts unsaid for a little unscheduled R and R.
Fred was sitting up in her bed, half-dressed and with her pillow braced against the wall, John's head heavy in her lap, a blanket pulled haphazardly over the both of them, listening to the rain thunder through the gutters at the eaves of the house. They'd had a record on, earlier, but when they'd got to the end John wouldn't let her get up to move the needle, and it was still floating, back and forth, the static hardly noticeable behind the rain. If she was lucky they wouldn't ruin the needle, but they could get another, probably - and she was a little more concerned, in the moment, about what would ruin the man on her lap.
He felt thinner, recently - she knew he ate lighter, on mission days, and they'd had a lot of those in the last few weeks. Thinner, and - and quieter, too. Less apt to pick up his clarinet, or her guitar, or even sit next to the piano downstairs and tease out whatever he was thinking as music. They'd all been sad slow songs lately - a little bit of Debussy or Satie.
"Harding wants to send us to Coombe House." His fingers traced back and forth over the top of her trouser-leg, aimlessly making shapes over the surface of the fabric.
"Oh?"
"He thinks we're losing our edge."
Fred brushed his hair back out of his face and behind his ear. "You've been flying a lot lately. You deserve a break."
"Do I? I don't feel like we're doing anything."
"You're doing plenty," she said, stroking his head like she would a cat she were intent on calming down. "Would it… be bad, taking some time away?" I'm worried about you, she wanted to say. You're not sleeping well. Your temper's shorter. And you're smoking more.
"But then we couldn't have this," he murmured, turning his face up to look at her, his hand closing around the outside of her thigh.
"Maybe I could ask for some time off," she said idly, knowing it wouldn't come to anything. "Volunteer to go help out there for a bit."
"How about we just stay here," he said, his voice somewhat sleepy, burrowing his head closer into her lap. "Where it's safe."
Sure, John, she said silently, still stroking his hair as his eyes wavered between wakefulness and sleep, until finally they closed, and his breathing leveled out. We can stay here, where you're safe.
--
You can read more about Fred (and Brady!) here at her masterlist.
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Hey, Mel! I don’t know what was going on with tumblr yesterday, but every time I tried to find your blog, it said it didn’t exist. 🙄 Stupid tumblr. 😒 Anyway, here is a list of my favorite Top Gun writers on here:
@discount-shades - She has two canon Jake series that are awesome and she just started a Jake Western AU (they’re all outlaws) that’s amazing so far.
@teacupsandtopgun - She has a phenomenal Jake x OC (Felicity March) that is sweet and spicy! She also has some gut-wrenching stories for Fanboy and Bob.
@topgun-imagines - She writes for both movies and her current Jake series is so heartbreakingly good!
@sometimesanalice - She mostly writes for Bradley and her Like I Can series is enough to make you swoon.
@desert-fern - She’s in the middle of a Jake series featuring a team of Navy Seals that enlist the Daggers’ help to take out a corrupt foreign power in the Middle East. Her Reader, Bear, is the commander of the Seal Team and she gives Jake sooo much shit! She also wrote a really sweet Fanboy oneshot about the Reader being completely overwhelmed with work and life and how amazingly sweet Mickey is about it. (It’s not quite a “sick” fic, but it is comforting)
@mayhemmanaged - She has two new series (both AUs) with Jake. One is being cowritten with @cassiemitchell about a group of vigilante women helping to protect abused women and all them are married to the men on the task force who are trying to catch them! May’s other story is about a dystopian society where Jake’s family are basically American royalty and he falls in love with a woman who isn’t “noble.”
@roosterforme - She has soooo many Bradley series. She also has some oneshots of Bradley, Jake, and Bob that are really good.
@tongue-like-a-razor - She is in the middle of two Jake series that I love. Less Talk and Brother’s Best Friend (Bradley’s little sister is the Reader in that one) they’re both slow burns which I love!
@startrekfangirl2233-writes - She’s in the middle of a kiss prompt challenge and has about a dozen one shots with the guys from both movies and different types of kisses. She also wrote a Bob oneshot that absolutely broke my heart!
@ohgodnotagainn - She’s in the middle of a coffee shop AU with Bob and the Daggers and it’s just so sweet and fluffy!
@beyondthesefourwalls - She’s writing a Bradley series about an ex-girlfriend that comes back into his life, but she’s got this creepy coworker that’s stalking her and making her life a living hell. It’s so good so far, and we’re only on Part 5!
@wkndwlff - She has some Bradley oneshots that are really good! The Sunday Scaries isn’t a “sick” fic, but Bradley is super comforting in that one.
@sylviebell - She just started a Bradley x Natasha series that seems like it’s going to be amazing! It’s a fake-dating, friends to lovers fic and those are some of my favorite fics!
@say-al0e - I’ve only read one of her fics, Home Run, but it’s a friends to lovers with Bradley that just blew me away.
@sweetwhispersofchaos - She writes Bob x Phoenix and I’ve only read one of her stories, Tomorrow, but it was so good I can’t wait to binge the rest of her masterlist.
I hope you find enjoy a few of the fics from these awesome ladies! BTW, I’ve got the sequel to That Part written and queued up for Tuesday. (I might have already told you that, but I can’t remember.) It’s a bit spicy, so be warned! 😏😏🔥🔥 It’s very music-centered and I’ve created a couple playlists that I’m going to post this weekend if you want to listen and set the mood for the story. ❤️
Becca!!! Oh my goodness!!! You are amazing beyond words!! I will check out all of these masterlists. I think I have browsed a few of them but I will dive deep into them all. I did find a sweet Bob x sick reader fic. Reader woke up with strep on their birthday. I had to giggle, only b/c my birthday is next week (27th) and if I wake up sick(er), I will not be happy. But, I’m feeling better. Everything seems to have moved from my head into my chest. I’d rather deal with a cough and not sore teeth and sinuses. Lol
I cannot wait to read part 2 of That Part!! Bring on the spice!! You’re awesome!! ❤️❤️🥰🥰
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Did you at least think of me when you were with her? - Prompt
Prompt: Did you at least think of me when you were with her?
Maverick had always been a reckless pilot, chasing the speed and the freedom of the skies. You met him before he went to Top Gun and immediately fell for the dark-haired pilot with mischievous green eyes. He wasn’t interested at first but slowly started talking more with you and by the end of the mission you were going out on a date. Everything went well, you had often missions together as you had flown well together and it made it easier to be together.
Goose had been the most supportive person when you started dating and often tried to give you time together. Maverick was an attentive boyfriend, always with his arm around you and trying to get you into his mischief. The two years flew by, and you still felt as in love as you were when the relationship started, maybe even more as you could see yourself starting a life with Maverick.
Top Gun came along, and he had to leave but you couldn’t have been prouder of him, he was going to be one of the one percent. It was still hard to watch him and Goose leave, you had become so used to be with them that it was going to feel weird not seeing them every day.
“I promise you I’ll keep him in line.”, Goose said with a confident smile as he pats your shoulder while trying to escape Maverick’s slap.
“Be careful you two and show them what you’ve got.”, Maverick smirked, and you knew he wasn’t going to be as careful as he should but that was Maverick. After a long kiss where Goose started making disgusted noises Maverick kissed you one last time before leaving, sending you a wink over his shoulder.
You tried to call daily to try and have some time with Maverick but through the weeks he started being distant, not really answering any calls. The guy you had on the line today was Iceman, who Maverick hated if you remember correctly from his first call.
“Sorry, he isn’t there at the moment, but I’ll tell him you called.”, the guy sounded sorry, and you could feel the pity, it had been the third time you called this week and every time it was Iceman who picked up the phone.
“No worries. Thank you for your help.”, you didn’t know what to do, you were lost in your head and worried about what was happening to Maverick that you hadn’t even heard that Ice hadn’t stopped the call.
“If it makes it any better, you deserve better then how he is treating you.”, the words felt like a slap, and you had to take a deep breath.
“He is just not around when I call, it is probably nothing, you don’t have to assume the worst.”, you tell Ice with a hard voice, annoyed that the man would say such things about Maverick, but you only heard a sigh.
“Alright, I’ll tell him you called.”, you thank him and end the call, sitting down on your couch, wondering what was happening.
The next time you felt like you had been slapped in the face had been when Carol told you that there was a family weekend at base and Maverick hadn’t bothered to tell you the only time you had him on the line. You decided to go with Carol to help her with Bradley and see Maverick, hoping that this was all a misunderstanding.
Goose and Maverick were at the airport waiting for the two of you and you had to stop yourself from smiling as Bradley ran to his father with a bright smile. Maverick greeted you but it lacked the usual grin and long kiss that he usually would give you, but you ignored it.
Top Gun was beautiful, and you couldn’t help but feel breathless at the sight, hoping that one day you would be able to come here. Goose was giving you a tour and made you all laugh at his detailed explanation of the food that they were served until you met two men in a flight suit.
“Ice, Slider, thought you would be off base.”, the taller of the two rolls his eyes at Goose’s words but a smile can be seen.
“Some people have to work, unlike the two of you.”, Maverick scoffs and you can feel the tension in the air between the pilots.
“And who are you lovely ladies?”, Carole smiles brightly at the man and you catch the gaze of the blond, he has frosty tips in his hair, and you guess that the is the infamous Iceman.
“This is my wife Carole, and this is Maverick’s girlfriend Y/N.”, Goose quickly says with a smile before taking Bradley into his arms and introducing him. Ice seems to have recognized you and the both of you look at each other for a moment before Slider talks.
“It was nice to meet you ladies and little guy, but we need to go shower.”, we quickly say goodbye and leave the two aviators, but you can’t help the unease at Ice’s eyes, like he feels sorry for something.
The rest of the morning is spent at the base until Goose suggests going to eat at a little diner. Maverick is quiet which is rare, and you try to talk to him but only get a few short answers. The diner is old, but you can’t help but love it and Maverick seems to be more relaxed and seems to talk more. You try to ignore the bad feeling that you have, but it seems to stick around as you all start eating.
At one point a blond woman appears, with red lips and you can’t help but think that she is gorgeous. She looks surprised to see you and offers you one of the fakest smiles you have ever seen but the cold shower comes when Maverick spents the rest of the time talking to her, when he didn’t even utter three words directly to you. Carole looks at you with raised eyebrows and worry in her eyes, but you shake your head, trying to ignore the stinging in your eyes.
Goose drags you all to the O’club where apparently the whole Navy always goes, and you try to tell yourself that there isn’t something between Charlie and Maverick, but they seem far too close to be colleagues. Carole and Goose go dancing and before you can try to ask Maverick if he wants to dance, he is gone and nowhere in sight. The bar is crowded but you manage to find a stool and ask for the strongest thing they have.
“He is an idiot you know that right?”, you sigh at the voice, the one you only heard through the phone before and turn to look at Ice.
“What do you mean?”, the pilot looks at you with striking blue eyes and a frown before sitting down next to you.
“He has a beautiful girlfriend who tries to call him every day or every week and still doesn’t even have the decency to be here when you come to visit.”, you know that he is right, that Maverick is treating you in a shitty way, but you do love him.
“It’s just the distance, makes it hard.”
“Normally it makes the heart grow fonder, or so I’ve heard.”, you can’t help the smile that appears at Ice’s words.
“I just don’t know what to do, he is far away, and I don’t know how to go back to how things were.”, you don’t know why you would tell that to the man next to you, probably because of the alcohol but as you look into his blue eyes you feel safe.
“You can never really go back to how things were, but you are doing everything right, he is the one being an idiot.”, you nod, but the words confuse you, you don’t know what to think anymore. You look around the bar and try to find the blond woman that joined you at the dinner, but you can’t see her, an uneasy feeling starts to rise.
“Can I ask you something?”, he seems surprised at your words but looks at you with an earnest look.
“Anything.”, you take a deep breath before drinking half of your drink.
“Is there something between Maverick and that woman, Charlie?”, you know that Ice got his callsign because he was ice-cold and showed nothing but at your question an array of emotions pass by. The one that sticks around is guilt and you immediately now what he is going to say but you need to hear him say it.
“Ice, please.”, you whisper, and the pilot releases a sigh before looking you into your eyes.
“They have been fooling around.”, there it was, the reason why Maverick hadn’t responded to your calls, ignoring you for the blond and trying to get you away from him. You felt sick, like you were going to throw up any moment now.
“How long?”, Ice sighs and you look at him with tearful eyes.
“Three weeks.”, you can’t breathe at his words and close your eyes, a few tears leaving. A warm hand rubs your back and you open your eyes to see Ice look at you with guilty eyes.
“I’m so sorry, you deserved to know.”, you nod slowly and look at him gratefully.
“Thank you, for telling me the truth. Guess I should’ve listened to you two weeks ago.”, Ice chuckles but his sad eyes tell you everything.
“Would’ve preferred if I was wrong in this case.”, you nod and try to swallow the lump down your throat, but you know you need to see Maverick.
“You know where he is?”, the pilot nods and tilts his head toward the woman bathroom and you scoff, feeling the anger take over.
You leave your seat and say a quick thank you to Ice before going towards the bathroom and barging in. the sight that greets you is Charlie coming out of a cabin with red lipstick everywhere, trying to button up her blouse and a disheveled Maverick coming out.
“Looks like you two were busy in there.”, they both turn to look at you, like deer’s caught in a headlight and you look at them with anger, disgust in your eyes.
“I can explain.”, Maverick says after a few seconds and you laugh, but no humor can be found in it.
“I’m sure you can.”, Charlie tries to leave but you stop her.
“I hope you liked your job because first thing I’m doing in the morning is telling the captain how his instructor is having a relationship with a student.”, she looks scared and you can’t help but feel satisfied, even if it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. You let her go and turn around to see Maverick, who is looking at you with pleading eyes.
“Don’t even try to tell me some bullshit excuse, I know that you have been seeing her for three weeks.”, you say as Maverick tries to talk and he takes a deep breath.
“I never wanted to hurt you.”, you scoff at his words, and he looks at you in surprise.
“You didn’t mean to hurt me, but you went behind my back and cheated.”, he flinches, like you just slapped him, but you can’t stop.
“You were shoving down your tongue down her throat while I was there in the bar waiting for you. You ignored my calls for weeks and when I come and see you, you ignore me for another woman. Did you at least think of me when you were with her?”, Maverick has tears in his eyes and you feel sick, tears streaming down your face and your voice hoarse from screaming.
When Maverick tries to open his mouth, you shake your head and look at him disgusted.
“Save it, I don’t even want to know it. We’re done.”, you said with a final tone before turning back to leave the bathroom.
“I love you. And I know I fucked up but please give me a second chance, I can’t lose you.”, the tears are rolling down your cheeks and you feel like a panic attack is going to come any minute now.
“You should’ve thought about that before going with her. I can’t even look you in the eyes, I don’t trust you anymore.”, tears are falling down his cheeks, but you ignore them as you leave the bathroom, ignoring his pleas.
Carole is outside looking at you with tearful eyes and takes you into her arms, trying to reassure you.
“Ice came to us and told me you needed someone.”, you sob against her shoulder, and she holds you tighter.
“I’m so sorry, you never deserved this.”, Carole whispers soothing words for the next minutes and you sob against her shoulder, trying to breath.
The both of you leave the club and go back to your hotel, she pushes you into the shower and after helping you get into pajamas you lie down next to her in bed.
“I’m sorry.”, you whisper softly, and you feel Carole move closer to you.
“What are you sorry for? You didn’t do anything wrong.”, you look at her and she is looking at you with a motherly gaze.
“You wanted to see Goose and now you have to take care of me when you should be with your husband.”, she scoffs, and you look at her surprised.
“Goose is the one that told me to bring you here, so that he could go and scream at Mav, I’ve spent the whole day with him, taking a few hours to help a friend isn’t going to make me lose time with my Goose.”, you nod slowly but the tears fall down at the mention of Maverick and Carole takes you into her arms.
The next morning is a blur, Carole agrees that you should tell the captain that the two have a relationship and when you leave the captain’s office you come face to face with Ice.
“Heard someone was going to cause some drama, had to see it with my own eyes.”, you chuckle and the pilot smiles before looking at you with serious eyes.
“Are you doing, okay? It’s probably a stupid question, but still.”, you chuckle at his words and nod slowly.
“I’ll be fine, just need to get out of here and never see his face again.”, Ice smiles sadly and you take a deep breath.
“Thank you, for telling me. You didn’t have to and yet you still did.”, this seems to surprise the pilot, but he just smiles bashfully.
“Was the normal thing to do, even if it wasn’t something pleasant to say.”, you nod and look at him with a small smile.
“You better win this trophy Iceman.”, he laughs at your words and nods seriously.
“No worries, we are already first place, but I’ll do my best.”, you both laugh softly and as you are ready to leave, Ice looks at you with a shy smile.
“Maybe I could call you to tell you when we win the trophy.”, you felt breathless at his words, and the pilot is blushing as you look at him.
“Sure, let me write the number on a piece of paper.”, you give it to Ice and after saying goodbye you leave the base to join Carole, no Maverick in sight.
“He wanted to come but Goose stopped him.”, you smile thankful at Goose, and he brings you into a tight hug before saying goodbye to Carole and Bradley.
You didn’t really expect a call from Ice and certainly not a week before the trophy was going to be given. What you hadn’t expected at all was a crying Ice telling you about Goose.
#top gun fanfiction#top gun imagine#top gun x reader#pete mitchell fanfiction#pete mitchell x y/n#pete maverick mitchell#pete mitchell x reader#maverick fanfic#maverick x y/n#tom iceman kazansky
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My AO3 Works
Top Gun: Maverick — Hangster
You’re a Bad Habit… Series - 2 Works / Complete / Omegaverse, Mpreg, Explicit
You’re a Bad Habit I Can’t Shake Off (but I still want more): They don't date, they are not even friends, what they have is similar to a bad habit you want to quit. And now they have to figure out how to be parents together.
In Need of Some Life-Affirming Touches: They don't date, they are not even friends, what they have is similar to a bad habit you want to quit. Now, in the face of uncertainty, boy do they love getting high on each other.
Other TG:M Works
How Long Does It Take? — One Shot / Past Mpreg
A passionate goodbye leads to long lasting consequences for Jake.
Formula 1 — Lestappen
I was looking for comfort (and I found you) — One Shot / Omegaverse
Charles wakes up feeling off, craving the comfort of his nest but not having the luxury to lay in it for the day, not when it’s a race weekend. When he finally is able to relax, he ends up finding more than the confort he was looking for.
A Happy Turn of Events — One Shot / Omegaverse
He never would have thought that stupidly standing up to Max so he wouldn’t start a fight with Charles’ teammate would lead to the omega being as I’m
MCU — Stony
Divided We Fall, Together We Stand — Complete / Omegaverse, Mpreg, Explicit
Tony is left to deal with the aftermath of everything.
Peaky Blinders — Sholomons
Deals Series — 14 Works / Complete / Omegaverse, Mpreg, Explicit
Deals Have Consequences: Tommy needed to ensure Alfie's loyalty no matter what. He didn't expect the extent of the consequences of his actions.
Closing the Deal: Two weeks have passed since they signed the contract. It's time to close the deal and enjoy its perks.
A New Deal is Made: No matter what they are doing, no matter the situation, Tommy is first and foremost a businessman.
The Offer: Their lives through the years since they met up until the moment they decided to live together, told by one Alfie Solomons.
The Fine Print: All things considered, Alfie should probably know better about de importance of reading the fine print whenever he signs a contract.
Changes: With everything that has been going on, Tommy can't help to ponder in all the changes that have taken place in the last few months. And in the ones that are about to come.
Getting to Know You: Jealousy makes Alfie angry. Tommy doesn't have time for his bullshit. So they are going to talk like the fucking adults that they are.
Turn of Events: Alfie has to go to London. Tommy goes along. Things don’t go as planned.
The Rest of Their Lives: Bedrest is driving Tommy insane, reading isn't enough, writting isn't enough to keep him distracted; he's spending too much time on his head and some uncomfortable doubts are making their ways to his mind. All he wants is for the babies to be here already so he can walk again, and for Alfie to pay him a little more attention.
Loyalty: Cyril is very grateful for the life he has been give, that's why he makes his mission in life to protect the one who he loves -and love him- the most. (Or: A Story where Cyril prefers the Shelby boys more.)
Together: It's been a month since the twins arrived in a rather dramatic way, and this story is about how Tommy and Alfie are managing how to raise three kids and find time for them as a couple.
Another Type of Contract: “This holiday season, Tommy, I offer you another type of contract.”
One Last Deal: Tommy has a lot on his mind — kids, husband, the company he has to run. Having to worry about his fuckin' cousin lurking around, shouldn't be one of them. It's time to make a decision and negotiate one last deal.
Headcanons — Deals Series: A collection of headcan on requests about Tommy, Alfie and their kids. All set in the Deals series.
Other PB Works
Easy to Manipulate — One Shot
There’s one sure way to make Alfie agree to whatever Tommy asks, and Tommy isn’t afraid to use it.
The Model & The Baker — One Shot / Based on Prompt
It was impossible, he knows, for Tommy to still want him. He knows there’s no chance for them to get back together, and it’s all his fault. Ada seems to thinks otherwise.
Surprise! — One Shot / Based on Prompt
When he saw her there, he realized he couldn't just leave her to her own devices. So, he took her home.
Wish You Were Mine — One Shot / Based on Prompt
I want to blame you, but we both know I hurt myself with my own expectations.
From a One Night Stand to Business Partners… — One Shot / Explicit
Before a big meeting in the morning, Tommy decides to go out the night before to get a feel of the city.
#my fics#my masterlist#top gun: maverick#hangster#sereshaw#icemav#mcu#stony#steve rogers x tony stark#peaky blinders#sholomons#tofie#tommy shelby x afie solomons#honeywhatever works
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Congratulations for the grand celebration🎉🎉
I would love to request prompts 10 and 13 for Eddie Munson, with a neutral reader. Just two clingy affectionate babies. Love you and thank you ❤️❤️
No More Goose - Eddie Munson
Summary: With Eddie gone for a week, your house felt all the more lonely.
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader
Word count: 0.9k
Warnings: fluff, top gun spoilers if you somehow haven't seen the film in the 36 years since it came out
Masterlist
Your house always felt colder without Eddie. Like it was missing the beating heart of your home.
You missed him, too.
A week with Eddie flew by, but without him? Every minute dragged by in a slow slog of work and coming home to an empty house, turning on the heat in an attempt to replicate the warmth that his mere presence provided you.
His Dungeons & Dragons convention in Indianapolis was important to him; an event that he and the rest of The Hellfire Club had been counting down to for months. You had been so happy for him on the morning they left, his smile so wide, you thought he might die of happiness as they piled into their cars and took off.
But now, five days in? Yeah, you were selfishly wanting him back.
The phone rang, and you stood from where you were curled up on the couch with one of his fantasy novels. “Hello?”
“Hey, babe.”
“Eddie!” you said, leaning against the wall behind you. “How’s the convention?”
You could practically see his grin as he said, “Insane, babe. Seriously. There are so many people from everywhere. And they have this huge stage where you can sign up to play. Oh, and the miniatures. I think Gareth and Dustin have brought out their whole stock. I picked up a few new sets of dice and some books.”
You found yourself smiling as you pictured it. The Hellfire club wandering the convention centre with bags weighing them down. “That’s so great.”
“How are things back home?”
You sighed. “Yeah, same old, you know? I miss you.” You felt bad admitting it. You wanted him to have a brilliant time without worrying about you pestering him.
“I miss you, too.” His voice had a significantly softer lull to it.
“When are you coming home?”
“I’ll be back Sunday,” he said, and you could hear chatter in the background, recognising Mike Wheeler shouting about how something was beyond unfair. You didn’t want to know. “It’s just two more days, and then I’ll be home. I’ll even let you pick the movie for date night.”
“You’re prepared to watch Top Gun again? I don’t believe it,” you teased.
He laughed. “Anything for you.” And you knew he meant it.
“I’ll see you Sunday then,” you replied.
“Sunday, babe.”
+
While the weekend brought a happy break for most working people, your job at the music store meant that you worked most Saturdays and Sundays.
Your job wasn’t all bad, you had met Eddie there, but it had begun to turn into a hangout spot for kids who wanted to just touch all of the instruments despite how many times you told them not to.
Like today, when you told a random teen not to touch the guitars lined up on the walls. And he proceeded to try and grab one before fumbling it, causing it to fall onto a drumkit. It didn’t only break the guitar, but put a whole bunch of holes in the drumheads, and then knocked over the cassette stand, causing the hundreds of tapes to careen across the vinyl floor.
All approximately 10 minutes from closing time.
You were wrecked by the time you drove home, autopilot taking over as you kicked your shoes off at the door and walked into the kitchen.
You completely missed the fact that all the lights were on. You didn’t even clock the guy sitting at the dining room table. You just walked straight to the sink and poured yourself a glass of water, relishing it as you downed the cup.
“Not quite the welcome home I was expecting.”
You jumped, spinning around to find Eddie standing behind you. “Eddie!” you shouted, abandoning your water in favour of rushing into his arms.
He chuckled as he wrapped you into a tight hug. You breathed in his signature cigarette smell, relaxing into him.
“You good?” he asked.
You hummed, dropping your arms from his back to rest around his hips. “Long day at work. Longer week without you. You’re not allowed to be gone for a whole week ever again,” you mumbled into his shirt.
He squeezed you tighter, placing a kiss the top of your head after he said, “I don’t plan on it, babe.”
You closed your eyes, sinking further into him. You were so comfortable in his arms, acting like a safety blanket around your shoulders. A kind of contentment and ease that only he could give you.
“I started on dinner,” he said after a moment. “Did you pick up a movie?”
“I didn’t have to. We already have it.”
He groaned and you held tight as he tried to pull away. “I thought you were joking about the Top Gun thing?”
“I never joke about my Maverick and Goose time.” You released him and he pulled back just far enough to look at you.
“Between you and Nancy, I can’t escape.”
You smiled and his eyes fell to your lips. “I thought you said anything for me?” you joked.
He returned your lazy smile, leaning down to kiss you. “Anything for you,” he confirmed. “But no more Goose. I don’t think my heart can handle it again.”
a/n: thank you for requesting this! it's such a nice cute break from the angst i'm currently working on!
if you would like to request something, check out my prompt celebration! <3 aeia
#eddie munson x reader#stranger things x reader#stranger things fanfiction#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fluff#outerspacebisexual
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heyyy queenie hope ur doin well!! bit of a curveball but im Curious since ive been brain rotted with it lately, so could i ask for whump prompt 13 for the scream franchise?? any characters/movie u want, but id love u to take a stab (tee hee hee) at it :]
not-quite-six sentence weekend :P
There were a lot of emotions playing across Mindy's face as Amber pulled the knife out: doubt, intrigue, disbelief, something that could only be described as pre-schadenfreude...but worry wasn't among them. Neither were its closest cousins, concern and fear, so Tara had to figure the sudden uptick in her pulse was, in fact, solely her issue. If Mindy wasn't worried, then there probably wasn't anything to worry about. Period.
Probably.
Probably.
"Sick, right?" Amber flicked her wrist, a flourish that immediately came across as practiced even to her untrained eyes, and the butterfly knife click-click-clicked around her fingers before snapping back into place. "Copped it at a gun show this weekend with my dad. Guy running the stall said I was a natural."
"Why am I not surprised?" Tara snickered, then feigned a frightened little noise and pulled away when Amber turned, holding it out towards her. "You know if anyone catches you messing with that thing, like, right outside of school, they're gonna take it, right? You do get that? It makes sense to you? In your brain?"
She pulled a face, scrunching her nose up. "Uh, no they won't."
"Uhhh, why not?"
With another click-click-clack, she spun the knife around. "How're they gonna take it from me? I've got a kniiife."
Before she could pull away, Amber took one of Tara's hands in hers, laying it flat on the table they were sitting at. She laid her own hand perfectly on top of it, lining their fingers up until Tara's hand disappeared entirely.
"Want to see the coolest trick?"
"Uh." That was it. That was all she had time to say before Amber flexed her hand - both their hands, really - and their fingers spread wide, and...and she understood what she was about to do. Her eyes widened. "Hey, wait, nononononono!"
"Chillax, I've been doing it all week and I've still got all my fingers. You're in good hands."
"Famous last words." Though she'd been going on quite the face journey across the table, Mindy had been awfully quiet until then. Now, as Amber switched her grip on the knife, holding it more like a caveman getting ready to strike, she leaned forward with her elbows on the table, pointing her phone down at their hands.
Pre-schaudenfreude. Yeah. Tara had been right on the money with that one.
"Seriously?" Amber scoffed, "What? You think I'm gonna get performance anxiety or something?"
She sniffed once, Mindy, then shrugged one of her shoulders. Her phone didn't budge. "Nah, I just want to make sure I get this clusterfuck on video so there's evidence in the inevitable personal injury suit Tara's gonna file against you when you slice her open like an Amazon box."
Amber raised her eyes to Mindy's, her expression inscrutable. "I'd stab myself first, duh. That's the whole point of putting my hand over hers."
"Oh yeah, totally," she nodded. "The whole point, mhm. Well this is for you too, because when you stab yourself, then, I can send it to America's Funniest Home Videos. They give out cash rewards for the really funny ones, don't they?"
"Hilarious."
Tara braced herself as Amber readjusted, rolling her shoulders and assuming her focus-face. Ooh, she didn't want to be a part of the finger-stabby-knife-game-thing, she didn't want to be a part of that at all, but what choice did she have? If she pulled away, it'd knock Amber's concentration off! If she just sat there and took it, the risk of getting stabbed was literally exactly the same! There was no winning here, no getting out it, no -
"Hey guys!"
The choice was made for her.
Wes slammed his hands on the table as he joined them, sliding up from behind to sit on her other side. It startled her so badly that she could only pull away, jolting like a cat with its tail stepped on. Across the table, Mindy groaned, and beside her, Amber similarly jumped, and while her poor, asthmatic little lungs really didn't appreciate the sudden scare, her poor, unstabbed little fingers sure did.
"What's going on? Why're we all hunched over and whispery?" he asked, but the only answer she had for him with a quick smack on the wrist. "Ow?"
"Why would you do that?" she breathed a second later, the tension leaving her in one huge whooping rush. "That wasn't cool! You could've - " But as luck would have it, that was where her lecturing came to a close. Her eyes had flicked to the side for just a second, a natural human reaction, and what she'd seen...well, she wasn't sure what to make of it. "...what?" Tara asked, glancing between Amber and Mindy.
"So America's Funniest Home Videos then, huh?" Mindy's eyebrows went up as her phone went down. "If I was a pettier person, just so you know? This is where I'd be saying I told you so. But I'm not! Lucky you."
It took her a moment longer than she would've liked to figure out what that could've possibly meant. When she did, she startled all over again, almost jumping out of her seat as she spun to look at Amber. "Ohmygod - did you - ?!"
"I'm. Fine," she said through gritted teeth, looking anything but.
She did get up then, standing from the table's bench to circle around and - the noise that came out of her was a little too embarrassing to describe. "Fine? You're fine?! You have a goddamn knife sticking out of your leg!"
Wes paled immediately, turning to Mindy with wide eyes, no doubt hoping she'd shed some light on the situation. She didn't, surprising no one, and instead glanced towards the front doors of the school, waving Chad over to join them when she spotted him across the way. "Well here's the good news, Am," she said, not even trying to hide her amusement, "I think you can definitely still salvage that psychosexual homoerotic tension you were going for with that brilliant stunt. Just yank that puppy out, let Tara stick a finger in there and wiggle it around a little. No harm, no foul. Everybody wins!" Then, under her breath but still more than loud enough for them all to hear over Amber's harsh breathing, "Especially me, once your idiot-ass goes viral."
#sammyloomis#six sentence weekend#queenie writes scream#scream#ashhHHHH THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE 😭 truly you are a saint#i hope i have even APPROXIMATED everyone's voices all right.......and i hope you got a kick out of this after waiting so long! lskjdflkjsdf
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