Husband! Cyclone who puts extra cash and and least one of his credit cards in your bag so you can treat yourself when he's not around
Husband! Cyclone who hates texting but sends you at least 10 "I love you"s a day
Husband! Cyclone who gets emotional every time he remembers that you chose him.
Husband! Cyclone who never forgets a date, anniversary, or social event.
Husband! Cyclone who keeps his work and his personal life completely separate, but has no less than 20 pictures of you scattered around his office.
Husband! Cyclone who keeps a note pinned in his phone of all of your restaurant orders (even though he already has them memorized).
Husband! Cyclone who absolutely hates being in photos but happily lets you take as many selfies together as you want and insists you send him every single one.
Husband! Cyclone who puts extra cologne on his pillow before he leaves because he overheard you mention that the smell is comforting
Husband! Cyclone who keeps a couple extra bottles of that same cologne around just in case they decide to discontinue the scent.
Husband! Cyclone who would lose his head if it wasn't attached, but has never once forgotten his wedding band
Husband! Cyclone who is anti-social media, but has a blank account for the sole purpose of liking and commenting on your posts.
Husband! Cyclone who runs hot but always wears a jacket when you go out together, purely because he knows you're too stubborn to take his advice and bring your own.
Summary: You arrive at The Hard Deck, a place that was once like a second home to you.
Warnings: mentions of anxiety, and Hangman being... Hangman.
Authors note: Life with a neurodivergent brain means I haven't updated this series since September but I managed to write this chapter in less than a day. Writers block be damned lol.
Read on AO3
It only took you twenty minutes to arrive at The Hard Deck, but another twenty minutes elapsed before you were able to convince yourself to open the car door.
You savor one last minute of air conditioning before willing yourself out of the car. Each crunch of sand under your shoes feels almost deafening but you push yourself forward, instead letting your eyes examine the scene in front of you. It’s early evening and a decent size crowd is occupying the parking lot while a slow moving but steady stream of people flow through the front door.
You join the back of the pack and slip your phone out from your back pocket. As luck would have it, your phone—unused since before you’d gotten in the shower—opens directly onto the text-that-shall-not-be-named. The panic inducing text bubbles have vanished and your initial message remains the last one sent between you both. Half of you is flooded with relief by the lack of response while the other half is more bothered by it than you’d ever care to admit.
You peer around the man in front of you, hoping to find a spot to slip through, but to no avail. From where you’re standing, you’re granted a perfectly framed view of The Hard Deck’s sun washed coastal siding against the blazing blue sky. It is a view that fills you with both comfort and nostalgia.
The nights you’d spent at this bar were among the few memories you let yourself get lost in. Quarters in the jukebox, the feeling of salt and sun making itself home on your skin, Clinking bottles and cans together after a job well done, the biting taste of whiskey on your tongue while venting frustrations. All things that drove you away, yet they kept you going when you needed it most.
Your spiraling thoughts barely register when you remember the phone still in your hands. You hurriedly lock the screen and slide the device back into your pocket. You far from expect anyone peering over your shoulder to piece together exactly who had left you on read, but your instincts tell you that you can’t be too careful. You’ve seen first hand how people here ensure that even the most baseless rumors spread quicker than wildfire. The last thing you need is to be pulled into an office and reprimanded before this mission even begins.
You were now second place from the entrance, so you capture the remaining moments and stomp out the last bit of anxiety left in your gut.
You cross the threshold in one quick step, your eyes already scanning the room and taking note of how many of the faces in this bar were completely unfamiliar. Whoever had sent the summoning text you’d received roughly two hours earlier chose to leave out who or what you should be looking for, so you instinctively set off towards the bar.
~
There wasn’t an empty barstool in sight, so you stay on your feet and shoulder your way through the rowdy servicemen until you can lean your elbows against bar top. Your chosen attire of light wash jeans and a brown tank top is nothing special, but your actions have earned more than a few glances, and you felt myself wanting to shrink under their eyes. You push your insecurities aside just in time to spot the woman you’re looking for.
“Penny!” you call out, raising your arm above your head in a lazy wave. She pivots instantly at the sound of her name and freezes briefly as her eyes land on you. A wave of memories—both wanted and not—wash over you in the time it takes her to abandon the towel and glass she’d been drying and pace over to you.
In a past life, you’d spent the majority of your free time helping out behind the bar or escorting Amelia and her friends around town. Penny was like a sister to you then, and both her and Amelia had been two of the hardest people to leave behind.
“Now that’s a face I didn’t expected to see at my bar again.” Penny says bluntly, but you can see the tell tale signs of a smile threatening to shine through.
“It’s good to see you too, pen.” You say with an easy smile.
“I assume you got called back too?” she asks. You give her a curt nod in response.
“Well then it seems like your friends got the party started without you.” She says while signaling towards the pool table on the far side of the bar.
“Friends is a strong word.” You say dryly.
“Well, in that case,“ She starts, only to pause and crouch down behind the bar. “Go easy on them.”
She finishes her sentence with a soft laugh and slides a can across the bar towards you. You wipe the ice and condensation off the rim and crack open the soda. The action is so familiar you don’t even give the can’s label a glance. You make sure to take a long, dramatic swig in the process.
“Thanks.” You say, tilting the can towards her while simultaneously breezing past her comment.
“I mean what I said. I obviously don’t know what’s ahead, but I get the sense that they don’t either. Hold your cards close to your chest around them.” She warns.
“Yes ma’am.” You affirm.
The area around you has cleared a bit which gives you some much appreciated breathing room. Over Penny’s shoulder you watch yet another man approach the bar, only this time it’s a face you’re anything but excited to recognize.
Of course Hangman would be back too.
You fight back the urge to grimace as he calls out to Penny, who quickly acknowledges him before turning back to you.
“Do you still have my number?” She asks.
“Always.” You answer, which earns me a soft smile from Penny.
“Good. We have a lot of catching up to do.”
“That we do.” you agree, trying your best to mask any lingering unease about what the following weeks had in store.
You take your time circling the bar, and keep your eyes on Hangman as Penny serves him another beer. You have half a mind to ask him if he has any idea why we were all called back, but the thought dies the minute he makes an painful show of checking you out.
"Hangman." You say with the fakest smile you can manage.
“Just when I’d thought you were gone for good…” he says while dragging his gaze slowly up your body until he reaches your eyes.
“I knew you’d be bored without me.”
Jake laughs while you take a sip of soda and swallow down the anger building inside you.
“Aw, how considerate.”
“We can’t all be complete assholes, so…” You respond pointedly.
Hangman gears up in rebuttal just as Penny calls out your name and waves you back over. He turns to make his leave—and you’re almost shocked he’s accepting defeat—but the shock instantly becomes irritation when you both back away while throwing each other equally unkind hand gestures.
Turning towards Penny, you let her take your free hand in hers and give it a sisterly squeeze. An uncomfortable silence lies between you, and you can practically see the wheels of contemplation turning in her head.
“Have you… talked to him?” She queries in a low voice.
You don’t know what your face betrays, but hers instantly fills with a look of regret. You change your grip on the soda can, the chilled aluminum suddenly searing against your fingertips. You open your mouth to answer but can’t find the right words. Thankfully, she seems to take the silence as a hint.
“Well, I hope to see you both around more often.” She says quietly.
Her words are simple and pleasant, but you can’t help but feel the urge to read deeper into them.
“Yeah, me too.” You breathe.
She squeezes your hand once more, and you all but cringe as the vulnerability in your words and voice rings loudly in your ears.
After the unfortunate events of the last ten minutes, you’re quick to follow Hangman’s path towards the pool table.
~
You can feel eyes on you as you drop into one of the surrounding barstools, but make no effort of acknowledging them. The game plan you’d written earlier in the day flashes through your mind, and you know you don’t want to draw any more attention to yourself than necessary. You chose to sit and observe for a while before briefly catching up with old friends from your first time at Top Gun over a few rounds of pool. Soon after, you use the uncomfortably tense exchange between Hangman and Rooster as cover and slink onto the stool next to Phoenix’s new backseater.
You quickly learn that as quiet as he may be, the WSO—who’s stationed out in Lemoore and has the name and callsign Bob, according to your former wingman Natasha—Is more than happy to engage in a bit of gossip. Something which you’re happy to do as you watch the last several aviators file through the door.
It is only when you rise from your seat to refill Bob’s bucket of peanuts that you notice the awkward hush falling over the group. It wasn’t hard to decide that if the already heavy dose of tension was anything to go by, this mission—and the complete lack of details as to why any of you had been called back here in the first place—has everyone feeling shook up.
Bucket in hand, you skim the outskirts of the group. And quickly share a collective double take with Harvard, Yale, Omaha, and Fritz. You know the same question weighing heavy on your mind is doing the same to theirs. Yet before you can ask, the sound of Phoenix’s voice commands everyone’s attention and breathes life into one of the many questions you are all dying to ask.
“Everyone here is the best there is. So who the hell are they going to get to teach us?”
Warnings: Mentions of alcoholism, abuse, parental abandonment, and parental death.
Authors note: These are my current headcanons for Cyclone’s background and childhood. Very loosely based on some of the headcanons I posted about a year and a half ago.
He's in his early 50s during TGM (roughly 53)
He's a January baby.
He had nightmares almost every night as a child, and even as an adult they've never quite gone away.
His parents are Cajun, and he spent the first decade of his life in south Louisiana.
His mom was a nurse and his dad was a Vietnam War vet who found work on shrimp boats and oil rigs.
His dad was violent man who spent every penny he earned on either alcohol and gambling.
Beau's mom left when he was 10, and he hasn't seen or heard from her since.
He hasn't attended Mass since she left.
His parents spoke Cajun French at home, but because of societal pressures and family matters Beau has almost entirely forgotten his first language.
His most prominent memory of the language is Fais Dodo, the nursery rhyme his mother sang to him when he was young.
His mom was deeply Catholic, and made sure to raise her son in the same faith.
The older he gets, the more he finds himself reciting his mothers' French prayers and nursery rhymes whenever he's overly stressed or nervous.
Shortly after his mother left, his dad moved them both to Alaska in search of work and to escape his gambling debt.
They settled in a small fishing community.
Beau was left mostly on his own while his dad was away working on fishing boats.
He went to high school in Anchorage, and quickly fell in love with sports.
He was scouted for both baseball and hockey, but ended up joining the navy when his dad passed away shortly before he graduated.
He inherited his dad's remaining debt (which he promptly paid off) and the tiny cabin and surrounding land in Alaska.
As bad as the memories attached to the cabin are, he's never been able to bring himself to sell it.
Summary: After your deployment is cut short, you are sent home to San Diego with instructions to report to North Island the following day to begin a secret mission. As you and your new squad prep for the mission, you’re thrown right back into a world you fled from years ago. A world in which you're faced with old friends, new foes, and the man you so desperately love but can never quite have.
Series warnings: Language, age difference, superior/subordinate relationship. Dual POV, Slow burn, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, a bit of forced proximity. [updating]
Read on AO3 // Main Masterlist
Authors note: New chapters will be posted as soon and as consistently as possible, hopefully at least once every week to two weeks. My life is more than a little chaotic right now so please be patient with me. I do have a running taglist (below the cut) so please let me know if you'd like to be added!
Chapters:
[ Homecoming ]- Your first day back in San Diego brings you inner turmoil, prolonged typing bubbles, and a haphazard personal plan of action. [1.9k]
[ New Beginnings ] -You arrive at The Hard Deck, a place that was once like a second home to you [1.6k]
[ forced priorities ] - Beau reckons with the weight of his orders and his untold feelings.
[ coming soon! ]
Taglist: @luckyladycreator2, @katesmadness, @natasharomanoffisbaebby, @nobody7102, @idiomaticpunk, @thebeckyjolene, @paintballkid711, @simpledyiing, @barbiewritesstuff, @bbooks-and-teas, @starshipfantasy, @saramaple, @marchingicenotes7, @bayisdying, @princessofglitterland, @katesmadness, @shakira-sasha, @xoxabs88xox, @nyx2021, @qardasngan, @fanboyluvr, @mrsjaderogers, @bellamy1998, @alexxavicry, @madamemelancholysstuff, @autumnleaves1991-reads, @dozcan123, @nani-kenobi, @noxytopy, @accio-boys, @the-winter-marvel33, @justameresimp, @abaker74, @starlightmoon2020, @comfortzonequeen, @flrboyd, @heyitskay-21, @kmc1989, @comfortzonequeen (let me know if you’d like to be added!)
For better or worse Beau is, and always has been, a deeply prideful man.
It’s often the first thing people learn about him. The following fact being that the closest he's ever come to an apology in his decades-long career is a curt head nod and an inexplicably soulful expression.
But now, six days into his yearly two-week trip deep in the Alaskan wilderness, everything has come crashing down and he’s left fighting the urge to declare vanquishment. Simply because he asked his longtime crush to tag along.
Crush.
He's always hated that word. What a childish way to refer to feelings far deeper and more complex than he’d ever like to admit.
Yet, that’s really all you were to him. That’s all he’ll let you be.
He never lets himself feel, no, think deeper about you. Not about how you're each other's emergency contact, not about how he keeps a picture of your smiling face on his desk and in his wallet. And in his car visor. And on his bedside…, and definitely not about how you were one of the few people who didn’t run for the hills the first time you met him. Though on lonelier nights, he slips up and ponders why you chose to stick around or why you dared to dig deeper.
The reality of the situation washes over him. His mind alternates between emotional panic and scanning the tree line in hopes that some beast will come and swallow him whole. You're here, with your head propped up on his right shoulder, and the intricacies of life that keep him up at night are suddenly neither here nor there.
The sudden shift of your weight at his side abruptly pulls him back to reality. A comfortable silence hangs between you; and against his better judgment, he abandons those terribly interesting snow covered spruces to instead spare you a nervous glance.
As if on cue, your eyes drop from the sky and meet his. Instinct screams at him to move, only it speaks just a second too late. Now you find yourselves completely frozen. Not unlike the lake on the outskirts of his family’s property.
A million different emotions stir inside him while pure delight blooms on your features. A lazy smile hangs on your lips as your gaze bounces between his eyes and the powder that is now undoubtedly scattered in his short cropped hair.
Last night's snow had returned.
For the first time, he admits that; just like the early morning weather broadcast; he was wrong. Undeniably, wholeheartedly, and undoubtedly wrong.
Love is alive.
Not in fairy tale endings and Nicholas Sparks adaptations, but in drunken spur-of-the-moment invites because you can’t imagine being there without them. It's there when you’re rummaging through a dusty closet. search for your old winter coat even though you told them ten times to pack one. It’s in matching Adirondack chairs and locking eyes over a campfire.
Love looks at him with a kindness he will never be able to award himself. Its home is just inches away.
Now all he needs to do is reach out and claim it.
a/n: Firstly, thank you to @ahopelessromanticwritersworld for sending me this idea in the first place! I hope this lives up to what you imagined!! Another thank you to @bbooks-and-teas, @noxytopy, and @marchingicenotes7 for encouraging me to post this as well!
