#maverick x you

[tongue-like-a-razor]

There Are Limits

Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x F!Reader

Summary: Maverick's new female friend brings out your spiteful nature. And seeing you with a new man is harder on Maverick than he'd like to admit.

CW: age gap, student/instructor dynamic, swearing, drinking, and did someone say bring on the angst?? Because you know I can deliver..

WC: 4000+

This is Part 5 in the There Are Rules universe.

“Captain?”

Maverick looks up when you step into his office. He’s sitting on the edge of his desk and there’s a woman standing between his legs, so close, she might as well be in his lap. When you enter, she steps away half-heartedly, looking slightly annoyed that her conversation with Maverick has been cut short.

Maverick’s cheeky grin falters when he sees you, and he clears his throat as he hops off his desk.

“Lieutenant,” he says. “How can I help you?”

You stare at him in shock, not sure how to react. The last several weeks haven’t been easy; in fact, you and Maverick have barely spoken since your mutual decision to terminate your romantic relationship. But seeing him with another woman is a whole new level of difficult.

“Lieutenant?” he says, lifting his eyebrows worriedly. He doesn’t bother to introduce his companion, with whom he is obviously very familiar.

You swallow around the lump in your throat and exhale slowly. Maverick isn’t the only expert in self-regulation. It’s a skill that’s proven quite useful, if not invaluable, during your tenure in the navy. And, although it’s always come naturally to you, recent events have seen that you receive plenty of practice. “Sir,” you say promptly, saluting Maverick in an entirely professional manner, as if you’ve never even had his tongue down your throat. “It’s about next week’s squadron dinner,” you say.

It's true that you meant to speak about the dinner – about how you were planning on skipping it to avoid an ever vigilant Cyclone who's been watching both you and Maverick like a hawk. Moreover, the less you see of Maverick these days, the better.

But the scene before you has severely shifted the trajectory of your plans. And the next thing that comes out of your mouth is hideously unrehearsed. “I was wondering if we were allowed a plus one,” you blurt out, your eyes darting pointedly between Maverick and his female friend.

Maverick stares at you mutely, as though it’s taking him a minute to process your request. “You want to bring a date?” he then asks, his eyes widening and subsequently narrowing in a matter of milliseconds.

You feel like you might sweat right through your uniform with the way he’s staring you down, but you stand your ground defiantly. “If I may,” you respond unemotionally; the way you’d address any other superior.

Maverick nods slowly, glancing at the woman who’s currently rifling through some papers on his desk. You ignore how comfortable she seems in his office, like she’s been here plenty of times before. “I don’t see that being a problem,” he says. “Who’s the lucky…?” His voice trails off and he lets out a nervous laugh. “Should be fun,” he finishes, giving you a wide, artificial-looking grin.

You smile back at him. “I agree.”

…

“Boyfriend,” Maverick says, his eyebrows shooting upward for a moment before he checks himself and pulls at the collar of his jacket as if it’s suddenly an uncomfortable fit.

You try not to acknowledge his reaction and instead introduce your date to some of your squadron mates. You’re not sure why Sam has decided to put a label on your relationship at this exact moment, but you’re not going to argue semantics in front of the one person you wouldn’t mind buying into this spectacle.

“It’s new,” you hear Sam blurt out, presumably cowering under the scrutiny of Maverick’s gaze.

You make a point not to look Maverick in the eye because you’re still upset about walking in on him last week when he was clearly otherwise engaged. But when Sam walks ahead, busy conversing with the other aviators, you feel a finger brush gently over the back of your hand. You pull both hands behind your back and square your shoulders to face your instructor.

Maverick is watching you solemnly. “This is good,” he whispers, although the tilt of his eyebrows says otherwise.

You can’t express how much it hurts to hear him referring to this situation as good, and yet, you nod, grinning rigidly. “It is,” you say, pausing to give him an opportunity to come clean about his own blossoming relationship.

But Maverick does nothing of the sort. Maverick is as unreadable as ever.

You’re about to walk away when the woman you’d seen in Maverick’s office appears from behind him. She nudges him on the shoulder to get his attention and shoots him a brilliant smile.

Maverick gives her a polite nod before turning back to you. “Lieutenant,” he says. “I’d like to introduce you to an old friend of mine.”

The woman beams at you and holds out her hand. “I’m Charlie,” she says.

You shake her hand and return her smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Charlie,” you say. “Are you an instructor at Top Gun as well?”

She chuckles, throwing Maverick a flirty glance. “Not for a while,” she responds, looking back at you. “Not since this one made me rethink that particular career choice.”

Maverick drops his head with a laugh. “Sorry about that, by the way,” he says.

Charlie shakes her head. “Don’t be,” she replies. “It all worked out.”

Maverick nods, looking at her affectionately. “Charlie went on to bigger and better things. And by bigger, I mean she went on to design rockets.”

“Wow,” you say, both impressed and jealous of the woman who seems to hold a special place in Maverick’s heart.

“And look at how far you’ve come,” Charlie says to Maverick.

Maverick grimaces. “I’m right back where I started,” he remarks. “Full circle.”

“You’re right back where you’re meant to be,” she says earnestly. “And I’m proud of you.”

Maverick shifts his weight uncomfortably, hooking his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans. “We better grab a seat before Cyclone has an aneurysm,” he says.

You turn to see Cyclone watching the three of you with an irked expression from the table reserved for your group at the restaurant. He shakes his head ominously as you make your way toward the others. When the three of you arrive at the table, he mutters, “How gracious of you to join us.”

Maverick glances at him with a slight smirk but doesn’t say a word while Charlie lets out a small chuckle, taking her place beside Maverick at the table.

You lower yourself into the seat next to Sam, right across from Maverick and Charlie. Cyclone is sitting to Maverick’s right, aggressively perusing the menu.

“I hear the fish tacos are good here,” Maverick notes when Cyclone lays his menu down on the table in frustration.

Cyclone gives him a sour look. “Not a fish person,” he responds tartly.

You stifle a laugh, exchanging glances with Charlie, who is also snickering.

“There are non-fish tacos as well,” Maverick points out.

Cyclone nods grumpily. “Yes, I saw the entire section devoted to the various tacos they serve. I can read.”

Maverick bites the side of his lip to contain a grin. “Enchiladas,” he continues quietly, as if to himself. “Quesadillas, chiles rellenos…”

“I want a burger,” Cyclone declares, flipping through the menu anew.

Maverick shoots you an amused glance. “Let’s start with drinks,” he suggests, sliding a draft beer menu in front of his superior.

“Good idea.” Cyclone sighs theatrically, rolling his shoulders to loosen some tension.

“Hey, d’you want to share a couple of dishes?” Sam offers, tapping you on the arm to get your attention.

You glance over at him quickly, having almost forgotten he was there. “Sure.” You nod enthusiastically, even though it’s the last thing you would ever think to do.

Once all the drinks and food arrive, and you and Sam awkwardly try to allocate your respective shares of the dinner, Charlie pipes in. “How long have you two been together?” she asks, gesturing at you and Sam.

“It’s new,” Sam, the self-proclaimed boyfriend who has yet to work up the nerve to even kiss you, reiterates quickly while you chew on a quesadilla.

You wipe your mouth with a napkin before confirming, “Not long.”

Maverick’s eyes rest on you for a split second before he returns his attention to the ceviche in his bowl.

Meanwhile, Cyclone regards you with a dubious expression. “Where did you meet?” he asks gruffly.

“Through some friends,” Sam responds excitedly, as though it’s the most fascinating fact of the evening.

You take another bite of quesadilla and avoid looking directly at any of the three people sitting before you.

But Maverick cuts the silence short. “Is it serious?” he asks, and both you and Cyclone shoot him threatening glances. Charlie looks up from her plate, trying to interpret yours and Cyclone’s abrupt reactions.

Sam, meanwhile, is smiling blissfully to himself as he pokes at the contents of his fajita before rolling it up. “I’d say it has some potential of getting there,” he says.

You nearly choke on a pepper upon seeing Maverick’s expression transform from mild amusement to unequivocal displeasure. His jaw muscles contract as he forcefully stabs at his dinner with a fork.

Sam clears his throat nervously and speaks in a noticeably higher pitch, “Of course, I can’t predict the future.”

You roll your eyes and put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “It’s none of his business, anyway,” you say.

To Maverick’s left, you see Charlie’s jaw drop slightly in her shock at your informal – bordering on impolite – addition to the conversation with your superior officer.

Cyclone chuckles quietly, finally appeased by your interaction with Maverick. “At last, something we can all agree on.”

Maverick smiles politely. “I was just making small talk,” he says, laying his fork down without finishing his meal.

Cyclone gives him a flat look and leans forward to address his friend. “Charlie, how long are you in town?”

While Charlie and Cyclone engage in conversation, Maverick catches your gaze inquisitively, as if he’s trying to figure you out. His eyes are so penetrating, you feel like he can see right through you. He must know that your relationship with Sam isn’t even close to being serious. He must know that you’re probably going to break it off that very evening. He must know you only brought him because you were hurt and you wanted to hurt him back. Because Maverick has reconnected with someone of significance and is involved in something meaningful.

You tear your gaze away from him irritably. You’re about done letting Maverick stir up your emotions without so much as saying a word. You’re about done caring for a man who’s done nothing but cause you pain.

You rise from your seat and excuse yourself, heading for the bathroom near the back of the restaurant. No sooner do you break through the door, than you collapse onto the nearest sink and break down. You don’t even care that your mascara is leaving streaks down your cheeks, or that the tears are clouding your vision. You don’t even care that your hands are gripping the basin so tightly that your fingers are cramping.

You glance up at your reflection in the mirror; pathetic. How did you let yourself fall this far? This hard? This fast? You run the tap and dab some cool water on your skin, patting at the trails of makeup that your crying spell has left behind.

You take a deep breath, staring at your glistening face with a scowl, preparing yourself for the remainder of the evening. But just as you make your way for the door, it opens, and Maverick enters.

You jerk back in surprise, despite his history of showing up in places he isn’t supposed to be.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You panic. He knows. He knows that you ran away to cry. And this makes you furious. “I’m fine,” you respond curtly. “You shouldn’t be in here,” you add, gesturing to the door behind him.

He pulls his eyebrows together like he isn’t quite convinced. “You’re not okay,” he says.

You grit your teeth in anger. He can’t just ignore you for weeks and then try to comfort you like he gives a shit about your feelings. “Why are you here, Maverick?”

Maverick presses his lips into a thin line and breathes out steadily. “I was worried about you.”

You scoff resentfully. “Don’t be.”

Maverick sighs and lowers his head. “I can’t help it.”

You attempt to keep your voice even despite all the shaking your body is doing. “You better go, Captain,” you say spitefully. “Before Cyclone finds us. Or Charlie.”

He watches you soberly. “You asked me to stay,” he reminds you.

You stare wistfully into his eyes. He’s right, of course. You’re the reason he’s still here. Your relationship with him has been strained but civil since the incident on the carrier. There has been a mutual effort to avoid unnecessary encounters, and an unspoken understanding that, while romance is out of the question, it will take some time for both of you to move on completely. Obviously, you did not expect him to move on by moving in on someone new. Or old, in the case of Charlie, because the two of them go way back, apparently.

You struggle to remember why you’d wanted this – wanted him to stay despite knowing that nothing would ever come of it. In the moment, you were desperate not to lose him. But watching him carry on as though nothing ever happened between the two of you is absolute torture. You’d rather not witness just how little you actually meant to him.

You shrug. “Error in judgement, I guess,” you respond coldly, echoing his words from the night Cyclone had caught the two of you in the parking lot of the Hard Deck.

Maverick nods. “Been there,” he says pensively before turning to walk out. Just before he does, however, he glances back at you and adds, “I’ll wait out here until you’re ready.”

“Don’t,” you say.

Maverick meets your gaze with a weary look. “I’m not leaving.”

“What’s Cyclone going to think when the two of us come back together from the bathroom?”

Maverick shrugs. “I have no control over what Cyclone thinks.”

“What’s Charlie going to think?”

Maverick pauses in the doorway. “What’s Sam going to think?”

You roll your eyes. “He won’t even notice.”

Maverick watches you quietly for a moment, then says. “I doubt that very much.”

You lick your lips as a fresh round of tears threatens to obscure your eyesight. The fact that Sam isn’t here to check on you but Maverick is has not escaped you. “Go, please,” you whisper.

Maverick wavers slightly on the spot and, after a brief interval, holds his hand out to you. You glance down at it hesitantly as your stomach flips violently at the though of touching him again. Clearly, you’re angry with him, but the part of you that loves him always wins.

Slowly, you step forward and place your hand in his. He pulls you in the moment you make contact, wrapping his arms around you as he releases the door to the bathroom. He lets his face drop, pressing his mouth to the top of your head.

After a prolonged – mostly silent – embrace, you detach yourself from his arms and give him a nod. “I’m ready,” you say.

Maverick nods back without a word and then opens the door for you.

…

It’s past midnight when you hear the knocking, followed by some irregular footsteps and a string of quiet – but still audible – curse words. After a moment of hesitation, you unlock the door.

“Captain?”

Maverick is standing in the corridor before you, although calling it ‘standing’ might be a bit of a stretch. He’s not exactly stable on his feet.

You glance up and down the hallway to make sure that no one has seen him. “What are you doing here?”

Maverick is watching you with a squared jaw, as though he means to keep the purpose of his visit to himself. He breathes his frustration out through his nose before veering right into the doorframe.

“Sir!” you exclaim, grabbing a hold of his arm like you might have any chance of keeping him upright were he to topple over.

“Sir?” he murmurs, and you could smell the liquor on his breath. He catches your gaze now that you’re closer and, in another moment, his eyes begin to slip down your face before they finally close. “I told you,” he says, his mouth twitching as he grimaces. He pushes past you into the room.

You quickly close the door behind him, hoping nobody heard the commotion. Praying he’ll have the sense to keep his voice down.

But Maverick, it seems, isn’t nearly as concerned as you are about disturbing your neighbors. He rounds on you with a resentful expression and shakes his head. “I knew this would happen.”

You blink at him in confusion. “What?” you say. “What happened?”

“You happened,” Maverick says defeatedly. He takes a step toward you, his eyes flitting between yours as if he’s checking to see if you can relate.

But it’s a weekday and you had just drifted off to sleep when he’d started drumming on your door, so you’re not exactly following. You furrow your eyebrows. “I happened to what?” you ask.

Maverick watches you miserably, taking a step back now, as though he can’t decide which is worse: being closer or farther away from the source of all his troubles. “You two make a fine pair,” he manages to say, but not without a break in his voice.

You purse your lips, looking away from him. You’re not going to comfort a man who’s standing in his own way. After all, it was his decision not to be with you. Besides, Maverick brought his own date to the dinner, so you aren’t feeling overly sympathetic.

Maverick tears his gaze away from you and smacks a hand over his face. “What am I doing here, Lieutenant?”

It’s a fair question, to be sure; one you wouldn’t mind knowing the answer to, yourself. But you’re more immediately concerned about the consequences of Maverick’s unsanctioned visit to your quarters than the reasons behind it. “Maverick, it’s the middle of the night,” you say, shocked at how firm you sound despite the tremor travelling through you.

Maverick’s eyebrows converge and he shifts his jaw as his eyes well up with tears. “Yeah,” he whispers, nodding slowly.

“And you’re drunk,” you add when he takes a step toward you again.

“I am,” he admits, still in a whisper.

You ignore the stutter of your heart as he nears. “You can’t be here,” you warn.

He watches you wretchedly, giving his head a subtle shake. “I can’t,” he agrees.

You can hardly breathe when he finally stops before you, his soft eyes trailing down your face. His hand is coasting up the side of your neck before you even know what’s happening, and by the time his fingertips are hovering at the nape of your neck, you’re so lost in his gaze, it’s a miracle you’re still standing. Unsurprisingly, you aren’t in the state of mind to respond.

“I lied,” he says with a slight rasp despite the effort he’s exerting to steady his voice. “I think he’s terrible for you.”

You blink at him, taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“Sam,” he says. “He’s not the one.”

You pride yourself on your patience and understanding, even in trying circumstances; you’re not an unreasonable person by any means. But even you have limits. And, tonight, Maverick is testing every last one. “Are you the one?”

Maverick stares at you, his eyes swimming. Slowly, he shakes his head. “No, I’m not.”

You breathe out forcefully, astonished at his audacity. There is only so much you can let this man get away with. “Then, respectfully, shut the fuck up,” you hiss, pushing past him aggressively. You whip around sharply and point at the door. “Get out.”

…

The following afternoon in the briefing room, Maverick reviews the morning's flight footage with barely a look in your direction. He doesn’t even comment on the impulsive maneuver you pulled that left your partner confused and resulted in an uncoordinated hustle to regain momentum, costing your team valuable seconds that could have ended in tragedy were it a real dogfight.

Once the briefing is finished and the room begins to clear out, Maverick approaches your desk. “Can I have a minute, Lieutenant?” he asks in a subdued sort of tone.

You glance up at him grudgingly but don’t respond until the last of the pilots have left the room. “Is it about the Cobra Climb?” you ask monotonously.

“What?” He quirks his head in confusion before briefly closing his eyes and shaking his head. “No,” he says, and then adds, more emphatically, “No.” He lets out a heavy sigh and lifts a leg over the chair in front of your desk, sitting on it backwards to face you. “I want to apologize to you.”

You groan. “Not again.”

Maverick steals a glance at the door, ensuring that the two of you are still alone, and then he lays a hand over yours on the desk. “I’m sorry about last night. Showing up at your place – less than sober.” Maverick lowers his gaze with a disappointed frown. “I – I had no right. I have no right,” he says, looking back up at you. His eyes flit between yours imploringly, burdened with all the guilt he carries.

“Stop,” you say assertively, pulling your hand out from under his grasp. You can’t listen to another word. This entire relationship has been a series of failures in self-control, each one a ‘mistake’ in Maverick’s eyes for which he subsequently has taken full responsibility. You rise from your seat and gather your things mutely.

“Y/N,” he says hoarsely, standing up after you.

You shake your head. “I don’t need another apology, sir,” you say bitterly. “I just need some space.”

Maverick nods. “Of course,” he says. “And I’ve been denying you that – and I apologize –”

“I said, stop!” you exclaim, shooting him a threatening look.

Maverick trails you as you make your way to the door – the exact opposite of your request. You rush out of the briefing room, and he follows, not far behind. Thankfully, there’s no one in the hallway because he’s behaving irrationally, to say the least. He reaches for your arm and pulls you around to face him.

You gulp, staggering the moment you meet his gaze, the aching in his eyes undermining your determination.

“Let me finish,” he pleads in a whisper.

You exhale sharply. “Finish, then.”

Maverick slowly lets his hand fall away from your arm now that you’re no longer a flight risk and, this alone, hurts, because you want him to hold you forever. Even when you’re fuming, even when you’re yelling, even when you hate him.

“Seeing you,” he says slowly, evenly, as though he’s trying to compose himself as he’s talking. He takes a breath and tries again. “With another man –”

“Come on.” You scoff, even though your heart is already buzzing at the thrill of making Maverick jealous. “You can’t expect me to not date –”

“I don’t expect that,” he says. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

You think about the way you felt seeing him with Charlie and you’re instantly sorry for causing him that much pain, regardless of whether it was intentional or not.

“I was angry,” he says quietly. “At myself, mostly…” he trails off, moving his head to the side and lowering his gaze. “But also at you. And I blamed you for the way you make me feel.” He pulls his bottom lip under his teeth and grimaces. “But that’s not your fault,” he whispers shakily. “That’s on me.”

You bite into your lip to keep it steady. You wish you could look away because the devastation on his face is undoing you, but you aren’t strong enough. You take a step back and take a shuddering breath. “Please don’t look at me like that,” you say, your voice unsteady. You can barely get a grasp on his words because you’re too absorbed in his eyes.

Maverick’s eyebrows lift inward, as if your request has him concerned – or confused. “Like what?”

You roll your eyes – as if he doesn’t know like what. “Like that!” you respond as he takes a step toward you in alarm. “Just stop!” You sigh in frustration, unable to articulate your thoughts because his eyes are still commanding all of your attention.

“Where am I supposed to look?” he asks, agitated.

“It’s the way you’re looking at me,” you explain angrily.

“Are you listening to what I’m saying?” he asks urgently. “I need you to hear me.”

You shut your eyes and shake your head. “Enough, Maverick!” you exclaim.

Maverick stills immediately, watching you uneasily.

“You’ve been tiptoeing around me, treating me like I’m injured or in need of assistance –”

“I’m not –”

“You are and I’m tired of it. Why didn’t you call me out on the Cobra Climb?”

Maverick stares at you like you’re unhinged. “You want me to reprimand you?”

You let out a heavy sigh. “If you’re going to be my instructor – just my instructor – then instruct me. It was an idiot move and I shouldn’t have done it.”

“You were distracted –”

“You’re making excuses for me! Why?”

“Don’t question my teaching methods,” Maverick says in a low voice.

You scoff, shaking your head. “You’re afraid of confrontation so you’ve been avoiding me. You didn’t even think to give me a heads up about Charlie!”

Maverick narrows his eyes. “What about Charlie?”

“Whatever,” you grumble. “Just don’t stand here and proclaim that my bringing a date to the squadron dinner somehow threw you for a loop.”

Maverick studies you silently so you boldly meet his gaze. His jaw is set but there’s a tenderness in his eyes that nearly draws you in.

“Stop coddling me,” you say firmly.

You watch his Adam’s apple rise then fall as he gulps down whatever retort he decides to keep to himself. His jaw muscles contract once more as his eyes settle over your face.

You tear your gaze away. “And quit looking at me like you…” You sigh, unsure how to describe the inimitable combination of exasperation and affection you see in his eyes.

“Like what?” he asks, his voice rising in volume. You can tell that he’s becoming increasingly defensive as your blows continue.

You’re annoyed that he’s annoyed and you blurt the words out before you can stop yourself. “Like you’re in love with me or –”

“I CAN’T LOOK AT YOU ANY OTHER WAY!” he roars.

You freeze. Stunned by the volume of his voice. Stunned by the emphatic delivery. Stunned at his words.

He turns away in a huff, placing one hand on his hip while the other is balled up into a fist at his mouth.

“This was your idea,” you say quietly as he slowly turns back to look at you. You aren’t the one who refuses to even try, and he needs to acknowledge that.

“I know,” he whispers, his eyes brimming with tears.

You clench your teeth to keep your mouth from trembling. “Then stop,” you implore.

He shakes his head, pulling his lips into a rigid line. “I don’t know how.”

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[mitchellpete]

Kinktober Day 6 - Cockwarming

pairing: pete “maverick” mitchell x f!reader

cw: instructor!mav, student x teacher relationship, power imbalance, angst if you squint?, age gap, office sex, oral sex (m receiving), penetration, cockwarming

word count: 1875

kinktober masterlist here.

18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI

-

It takes Maverick about a minute to notice you standing in the doorway to his office. He’s swamped with paperwork, his pen nearly running out of ink at the scrabbling he’s been doing the past couple of hours. It seems you’d both ended up with irritable days, hence the reason you found yourself here in the first place.

It was late, thank God, and no one was really around anymore and you really didn’t feel like leaving base and spending the rest of the evening sulking alone at home. You knew that Captain Mitchell was staying in late, knew that if you didn’t wander in to see him, you might not see him at all over the next couple of days.

It was a bad habit he had. He gave you too much space. 

“Lieutenant,” he greets you now, a small smile curving the end of his mouth at the sight of you.

You ignore his propriety, stepping inside and shutting the door behind you. You try to match his smile. “Hi, Mav.”

He immediately drops the act. Eyes darting from you to the closed door, he asks in a hushed voice, “What are you doing?” 

You approach his desk, your failed smile replaced by a frown. You want to hug him. You want him to hug you, you mean. To make it all better. You’re not sure how to ask for that, though.

“Just wanted to see you,” you say instead, curious hands reaching for the objects on his desk. 

He doesn’t break eye contact as he takes each object from your hands, placing them back in their spot as you move them. “I’ve got a lot of work to do, sweetheart.”

Your heart sinks a little at the rejection, and he seems to notice the disappointment cross your face. 

“Come here,” he says then, beckoning you over with a single nod.

You step behind the desk and into his space, leaning down to meet him for a kiss. It’s risky; you didn’t lock the door and the blinds aren’t fully shut, but the kiss lasts maybe two seconds. It’s fine.

Mav smiles and looks up at you with a soft glint in his eyes, the one that reads I’ll see you soon, okay? It’s the look he gives you every time he sneaks out of your house, or drops you off. You’ve started to dread it. There’s so much uncertainty that comes with it. Every single time you see him after that affectionate look, he’s just your instructor again. The affection is gone and you’re never sure when it’ll return. It doesn’t matter how much you ache for him. 

Boy, how badly you ache for him now. A kiss is never enough.

You’re almost going to swallow your pride and leave his office, seemingly satisfied with the one little kiss, until your eyes land on his lap. Then at his paperwork, then at the door.

He cocks an eyebrow, curious.

Fuck. You slowly stride over to the door, battling with your choices, but decide you have no intention of leaving. 

“Wh–” Maverick sits up straight at the sound of the door locking, and then watches as you move towards the windows to start shutting the blinds all the way. “What are you doing?”

“I wanna try something,” you say confidently, like he already gave you permission.

“Try something?”

“Mhm.” You shut the last set, take a step back to make sure they’re all closed and then turn your attention to him again. “Blinds shut, door locked. I think you’ve left for the day.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. He drops his pen instead, tilting his head as he tries to figure out what it is you’re planning.

He sort of gets an idea when he notices your eyes scanning his side of the desk.

“Baby, I do have a lot of work to do.”

You smile. “And if I promise you won’t get your hands dirty? At all?”

Mav chuckles, shakes his head like it’s the most absurd idea he’s ever heard. It might be, you think, but it’s something you can pull off. The door is locked, after all.

“I think we’d be really stupid if we tried,” he admits, though his smile doesn’t falter.

“You don’t have to do anything,” you reiterate. “I just want to sit there. You can continue working.”

It’s like he opens his mouth to protest again, but then his lips press together instead, and he beckons you toward him with a nod like before.

Excitement fills you as he scoots his chair back to grant you access.

It’s hard to get on your knees in the cramped space underneath the desk, so you have to urge Mav to move his chair back with a gentle push to his legs. He complies, does his best to make as much room for you as he can. You find that you’re sort of shaky when your fingers pry at the button on his jeans, so he helps you with that, too. The position is slightly ridiculous, the chair a little higher than it should be, so you end up on your haunches when you pull his cock out of his briefs, and then sort of yank his garments down with your other hand for easier access. 

His eyes are still nervously peering at the closed blinds, making sure there aren’t any shapes or sounds coming from behind them, but you ease his worries when you take his shaft into your mouth. There’s no time to prolong this, so you get right to it; you take him in as much as you can, using a hand to stroke him at the same time. His knuckles are white from gripping the arms of his chair as he hardens in your mouth. Stifled groans leave his lips, filthy wet ones coming from yours. 

He throws his head back in silent satisfaction when you swirl your tongue around the tip, and accidentally groans out loud when you dip your head and trace your tongue down, and then back up his frenulum.

The noise he makes reminds you that you’re not supposed to make him cum here, that this is something different, and you pull back after a minute or so. Maverick is biting down hard on his lip, watches as you stand up off your haunches and immediately work your pants off. He shifts in his seat, positions himself as best he can for you.

With your pants completely off and kicked aside, you grab onto his shoulders and mount yourself atop his lap. Hovering above him, you reach down to grab him and line yourself up with him the best you can; usually he would do that for you but you did promise he wouldn’t have to get his hands dirty. 

“No moving,” you prompt, exhaling softly at the feel of his tip against your slit.

You whimper at the stretch—it stings just a little from lack of foreplay—but gradually sink onto him little by little. You let your body accommodate him, feel yourself growing wetter around him before you sink any lower. He tenses up, tries to minimize his reaction by gritting his teeth. The long groan that leaves his mouth is inevitable when you fully slip onto his lap, his cock buried inside you to the hilt. Christ, this is gonna be harder than you thought.

He seems to think so too, as his grip around your waist tightens slightly. “Sweetheart, I don’t—I don’t think this is such a good idea,” he groans.

“Just get back to work,” you whisper, arms wrapping around his shoulders.

His hands leave your waist to resume his task, but his breathing remains heavy near your ear. You relax into him, face buried in the crook of his neck, breathing him in. You’ve got your hug. This is all you wanted today.

Maverick scoots his chair forward as best he can, picks up his pen and shuffles through his papers. 

You try not to clench around him, a very difficult problem when he scoots forward slightly a second time, his balls rubbing up into your clit. You try to focus on something else, on his scent, past him at the frames on the wall, on the bits of light coming in through the blinds.

A minute passes.

Two minutes pass.

Three, and Mav still hasn’t touched pen to paper yet, clearly dazed by the situation. His eyes skim over the words he’s already written instead, trying to give his brain an idea on where to get started again. 

He wants to move very badly. It’s a terrible itch he needs to scratch.

He starts to think that this is maybe a form of torture. You try not to think much of it, try to pretend this is the hug you were here for, and it sort of works. Sort of. His cock prods at a very delicious spot inside you the more he begins to shift his hips, and it becomes harder and harder to stay still.

It’s when you hear his pen drop and roll across the desk that you realize Maverick is not so fond of your idea. Get back to work how, he must be thinking, and God, you hope he’s not frustrated that this whole ordeal probably just set him back. 

If he is, he doesn’t show it, instead wrapping his arms around you and inadvertently rolling his hips underneath you. You gasp, taken by sudden surprise, clasping a hand over your mouth when his hips jerk a second time.

“Mav,” you whisper. “I said—fuck, I said no moving.”

He scoffs, bows his head to lazily kiss at your collarbone. “You’re killing me. I’ll never go back to work like this.”

You bite back a moan. “I promised you wouldn’t get your hands dirty. I just wanted to sit he–”

He shuts you up with a sharp, fully intended snap of his hips. His arms drop to cup the bottom of your thighs, and neither of you care anymore after the first stroke. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room and it’s hard not to make any additional noise, suppressing your moans into little whines instead. Maverick starts fucking into you as if it were the first time, as if he’d never felt something so good before. 

Neither of you last very long.

Maverick’s thrusts get sloppy when you’re both seconds away, his tiring pace beginning to stumble. He’s smart enough to take you in for a deep kiss when you both cum at the same time, your quiet, high-pitched noises trapped in between your mouths. He continues kissing you through your unplanned orgasm, tongue licking against yours.

When he pulls back, you’re both panting heavily, savoring the glow. 

He helps you off of him eventually. Your legs are a little sore and shaky, and you clumsily stumble back against his desk. Maverick’s good reflexes prevent your fall, an arm around your waist, and you avoid landing on his messy stack of paperwork. You can’t help but snicker at how absurd this really was.

Maverick, on the other hand, has a smirk on his face at the sight of you propped over his desk.

#SORRY SORRY SORRY #i hate being late but unfortunately i ran out of time #top gun #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fic #top gun fanfic #top gun fic #top gun maverick x reader #pete mitchell x reader #pete mitchell #maverick x reader #maverick x you #pete maverick mitchell x reader #top gun 1986 #mav #kinktober 2023 #tom cruise x reader #top gun headcanons #*

[simpforrooster]

i love when you call me pete.

pete ‘maverick’ mitchell x f!reader

t/w: mentions of an age gap, some smooching. drunk!maverick

summary: maverick almost drunkenly tells reader how he feels about her

a/n: lowercase intended! wrote this on my phone and have autocaps off xD two fics in one day!!!

maverick laughs as jake, one hand over his own eyes, takes aim at the dart board.

jake hits a bullseye. mav pulls out his wallet, and reluctantly hands jake a folded bill. your eyes roll at the captain’s stupidity. jake never misses a bullseye.

the guys surely hustled the poor man. mav’s hand falls on jake’s shoulder as he finishes off his beer.

“how long are you gonna stare at him?” phoenix asks with a raised brow.

“i am not staring,” you counter, knowing full well that you are indeed staring.

not that you could help it. the man may be twice your age, but he’s hot. even phoenix, happily engaged to bob, gets her an eye full of the elder captain.

you wipe down the bar in front of phoenix and hand her another lemon drop. tucking the rag in your back belt loop, you turn to hand another regular their drink.

ever since penny hired you, you’ve managed to take care of the bar almost as good as she does. she lets you take on the slower days of the week alone, and the two of you manage the weekend crowds together.

once everyone has been taken care of, you turn your attention back to your friend. you catch her admiring her ring. she looks up at you with a grin.

“sorry,” she shrugs. you shake your head.

“no indeed. i’d be gawking at that rock all day if it was mine.”

“you know you said that entire sentence looking at him and not me, right.”

you startle. she’s right. you’d basically been undressing maverick with your eyes. imagining your left hand heavy with a ring.

“you’re impossible,” she laughs.

your heart picks up its pace as maverick saunters, or better yet, sways up to the bar.

“four more, please. on my tab, babe.” maverick holds up five fingers, a giant grin on his face.

babe?

you lean over the bar and lay his thumb back against his palm. “that’s four.”

maverick looks down at you and then back to his hand. a chuckle falls languidly from his lips. “you’re right.”

phoenix raises a brow at you, out of sight from mav, who is looking at you like you’re his center of gravity.

“have i ever told you how gorgeous you are?” maverick says, still holding up those four fingers. the comment turns your insides into jelly.

“are you drunk, pete?” you ask him. there’s no way he’d be saying any of this if he were sober.

his hand falls to the bar top and his eyes fall closed. he stands there a moment, gathering himself, you assume.

his eyes open, those blue irises almost knocking you off your feet with how intense they look at you.

“i may be drunk, but that doesn’t mean i’m lying about you being gorgeous.”

phoenix grins at you over his shoulder, maverick completely oblivious to her.

no, he’s definitely only noticing you. every moved you’ve made, he’s tracked it. well, as well as he can given that he’s shitfaced.

maverick shrugs a shoulder. “maybe sober me is just nervous to tell you that.”

“pete,” you breathe. “you’re a naval aviator. there’s no way i make you nervous.”

“god, i love how you say my name,” he admits. before he can say anything else, jake and rooster appear at his side.

“come on, pops, we’ll get you home.” the men each take an arm, seeing as maverick can hardly remain upright.

he tries to shake them off. “i can’t go until i ask y/n out.”

your hand comes up to your mouth, your heart picking up pace again.

“let’s try tomorrow, mav,” rooster murmurs to his godfather. maverick vehemently shakes his head.

“no. i have to tell her now. i have to tell her i—,”

“oh no you don’t,” jake says, forcing maverick away from the bar. “you will not finish that sentence until you’re sober. she doesn’t deserve a drunk admission.”

rooster shoots you an apologetic look, handing you his card to close out the three of their tabs. you move on autopilot. punching in the men’s names, clicking on them, swiping the card, repeat. you hesitate on pete’s account. god, he did have a lot to drink.

that’s all that was. drunken words. he won’t remember any of this in the morning.

once the men are out the bar and pete is loaded in the back of the bronco, you turn to phoenix.

“what the fuck?” she screeches.

“i told them not to let him approach her with as far gone as he was,” bob comments, saddling up in the barstool next to his fiancé.

“what are you talking about, bob?” you ask.

bob shares a look with phoenix.

“you’re nuts if you’ve never seen the way he looks at you.”

“please don’t get my hopes up, bob,” you tell the bar, already fearful of those hopes plummeting once maverick comes to his senses and takes everything that just happened back.

you close out the remaining people at the bar. phoenix and bob hang around with you, walking you to your car once you’ve got the hard deck locked up.

the dagger squad take turns staying with you when you have a closing shift. they’re more protective of you than a set of new parents.

you hug your friends goodbye and drive to your apartment.

~

the next morning, your doorbell wakes you up with a start.

literally rolling out of the bed, you hit the floor tangled in your sheets. the doorbell chimes again. searching for a pair of pants, dread fills you as the doorbell rings once again.

what could be so urgent at..7 am?!

your mind runs through every possibility.

the doorbells chimes for a forth time just as you throw the door open, shrieking, “what?!”

pete mitchell stands on your stoop. he looks like hell. the two of you stare at one another, while pete grips the flowers he’s holding with a death grip.

you open the door wider, silently inviting him in. he follows you to the kitchen and settles at your island. the silence in the room thickens as you set to work making coffee. you feel his eyes on you the entire time.

“listen, y/n,” maverick starts, but you cut him off, sharply holding up a finger. you fish two mugs from your cabinet. you fill his mug to the brim, spooning two teaspoons of sugar in it. you fix yourself a little coffee with your creamer. setting the coffee in front of him, you step back and lean against the counter across him.

waving your hand, you tell him to proceed.

“i’m so sorry about last night,” he says, finally laying the flowers down. he runs his hands down the front of his jeans, wiping away the sweat.

“if you’re about to take it all back, i really don’t want to hear it, mav,” you tell him.

“mav..” he repeats to himself, looking at your counter top. “last night you called me pete.” he brings his eyes to yours.

you stare at him. okay, he remembers that.

“i don’t want to take any of it back, y/n.”

your breath catches at the back of your throat.

“i want to apologize,” he continues. “you didn’t deserve a drunken admission. i was being cowardly. because believe it or not, you’re ten times scarier than an f-18.”

when you say nothing, he keeps on.

“i know how to handle an f-18. i know what makes it work, how to get it back on track. i know that plan inside and out.” he takes a breath. “i don’t know how to navigate this. you.”

“me?”

“you. god, y/n. you have the ability to wreck me to my core. and i have so terrified to admit my feelings to you.”

“come on, pete, you can’t mean that,” you tell him, folding in on yourself.

“of course i do. the guys told me talking to you drunk was a bad idea. i thought i could handle it, but you just looked so gorgeous, i couldn’t help it.”

you are fully aware of how you looked last night during that fiasco. and gorgeous surely wasn’t it. not with your tank top and cut offs. and you know your hair had to be a mess. it always was at the end of a shift.

maverick rises from his stool. coming around the kitchen island, he stuffs his hands in his pockets, looking terrified as he walks over to you.

“i am sorry i tried to do this shitfaced,” he whispers, a breathe away from you. “tell me i didn’t ruin anything.”

he’s never stood this close to you, and it’s doing odd things to your heart.

“you didn’t ruin anything, pete,” you tell him. his eyes drop down to your mouth, silently asking permission. you nod, not trusting your voice to not betray how much you want this.

maverick pins you to the counter, his hands on either side of you, holding his weight off you. you speed him up by balling your hand in his shirt and pulling him down to you.

maverick grins as his mouth meets yours, falling back into his normal self. you can fill the confidence flowing through him as his hands move from the counter to your body.

his expert hands fall exactly where you need them. he deepens the kiss, his tongue running along your bottom lip. opening up to him, he pulls you tight against his body.

“fuck,” he breathes against your lips.

“tell me about it,” you murmur.

he plants tantalizing kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

“pete,” you moan. he tightens his hold in response.

“i love it when you call me pete,” he says, returning his kisses to your mouth.

#top gun maverick #top gun #top gun maverick fic #pete mitchell x you #pete mitchell x y/n #pete mitchell imagine #pete mitchell x reader #pete maverick mitchell #maverick x y/n #maverick x you #maverick fanfic #maverick imagine #maverick x reader

[i-wear-wet-socks313]

POV: you brought a camera to your top gun training in 1986 and are determined to capture every minute pt5

#top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #top gun movie #bradley bradshaw #rooster x reader #top gun fandom #glenn powell #hangman x reader #maverick x you #top gun hangman #dagger squad #milles teller #top gun 1986 #bob floyd x reader #coyote top gun #natasha trace #nick goose bradshaw #payback top gun #anthony edwards #iceman x reader

[thewulf]

Downright Gorgeous || Pete "Maverick" Mitchell

Summary: Request - Hi! Can you write a request about ‘86 Maverick where they’re like at the club or something and some other pilot tries to flirt with the reader and that makes the reader feel anxious and nervous, so when Maverick sees this, he gets all mad at the other pilot and protective over the reader and he defends her. Just something angsty and fluffy:) I’d totally understand if you don’t want to write it

A/N: Who doesn't love a good Top Gun 1986 Mav! He's so precious.

Pairing: Young Pete "Maverick"Mitchell x Y/N

Word Count: 3,400+

You’d known Pete for almost as long as your brother, Nick, had. He’d only beaten you by a few days. You were a Naval nurse that always seemed to be stationed close to your brother. The first time you met Pete was when he got sucker punched in the face by a rather handsome man in Tom Kazansky. He went running to medical and you were his nurse. He was enamored with you quickly, especially learning that you were Goose’s sister, twin sister at that.

After years of playful flirting and happen chances you were moved to Miramar right after your brother and Pete were shipped off. Curious it was. You missed him, truly, so it was a little exciting to get the call. The two of you were literally attached at the hip growing up, being twins and all. This was the loneliest time in your life, you’d be amiss to say you were jealous he’d found a replacement for you so quickly after he left for flight school. Those couple years between school and deployments were your least favorite as the two of you barely saw each other.

You were captured in that Mitchell charm rather quickly that first time you met him. It took you a moment to piece together that he was your brothers new friend. You’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t think he was handsome as hell, even if he wasn’t the kind of guy you’d normally go after.

You knew you could look but couldn’t touch. Not with Nick’s best friend. He’d skin your ass alive, and you knew that. That didn’t stop you from forming a massive crush on him as you got to know him more throughout the years though. The two of you shamelessly danced around what could be on a daily basis. Nick knew there was probably something more there. Even if he tried to deny the connection the two of you had. He’d only be able to stop it for so long. But he’d keep trying for his sake. He knew as soon as Pete committed to somebody the time he got with his best friend would dwindle quickly. But, if Pete was going to get with somebody he’d be thrilled for it to be you.

You’d just gotten into Miramar and settled in when your brother invited you out to The Hard Deck for some drinks. He promised it wouldn’t get too rowdy knowing you were much more of a homebody rather than a party goer these days. When Nick casually mentioned that Pete would be coming with him you quickly agreed. Nick wasn’t stupid. He knew all about your silly little crush on his best friend. He could get you to go almost anywhere if Pete would be going. He then turned around and convinced Pete to go by mentioning that you agreed if he’d be there. Little did Nick know he was playing mini matchmaker as the two of you got closer and closer with each little activity he’d planned.

When you walked through the front door of the Hard Deck, after putting some effort into the way you looked because… Pete, your attention was drawn to the bar where your brother and Pete were already sitting, “Well I’ll be damned. Y/N Bradshaw out at a bar. A sight rarely seen.” He stood offering his seat to you as the bar had already filled out earlier on in the night than you’d expect. You’d be lying if you said you thought far too much of the little interaction. He was just being kind. You were his best friends twin sister after all. Nothing more, no matter how much you wished it differently.

You rolled your eyes punching him in the shoulder, “Keep that up and I’ll high tail it right out of here Mitchell.”

He winked leaning on your barstool rather than Nick’s, “Love that mouth on you Bradshaw.”

“Jesus, I’m sitting right here.” Nick sighed rolling his eyes at the two of you. Seemingly realizing the two of you were closer than ever at actually going for it. He’d seen Pete lay it on thick before, but this was something else.

Pete flicked his eyes over to his friend, “Wish you weren’t.” That got a laugh out of you. He was so fucking smooth when he wanted to be. Nick simply flipped him off before muttering something, grabbing his beer, and heading to the other side of the bar.

“Can’t believe that worked.” You laughed while flagging down the bartender to order your drink.

Pete smiled at you, taking in your appearance. You hadn’t a clue the massive crush he too harbored on you. Nick didn’t know for sure, but he thought he knew it was deeper than he was making it out to be. Pete wasn’t shy about making comments. He was always careful not to cross a line. But lately things were changing for the two of you. He was utterly pulled to you. Wanting to be around you at nearly every turn. Like two magnets drawn to one another.

“You should know by now Goose does what I ask him to.” He raised his eyebrows studying your face for your reaction.

“Does he now?” You asked leaning back after thanking the bartender for your pale ale.

Pete nodded slowly grinning right at you.

“Won’t be the same case for me. But you know that.” Not having a clue where the outwardly confidence was coming from you took a sip of your own beer eyeing him curiously.

Laughing, he nodded his head in agreement, “Trust me pretty, I do.” Pete smirked seeing the inevitable blush that started forming on your cheeks. It wasn’t the first time he’d used that name on you, but damn did it make your heart race. You wanted nothing more than to have him think you were pretty.

You decided to push it tonight because why not? Pete always pushed it, maybe it was your turn, “Pretty?” You asked leaning forward towards him, utterly interested as to what he had to say to that.

Pete raked his eyes up and down you sitting frame slowly, so slowly, “Downright gorgeous if I’m honest.” He nodded agreeing with himself.

“I don’t think Nick would like you saying that.” You could’ve sworn your heart stopped at the way he smiled at you. Like nothing you’d ever seen before with him.

“Goose isn’t around. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” He leaned forward staring right at your lips. He surely wasn’t afraid to hide his desires. Desires you wished the two of you could act upon.

Before anything further could go on Pete was pulled into another conversation to his side, literally. A hand grabbed him and pulled him. You heard the groan as he turned back to you, “Be right back pretty. Iceman here needs some help.” He winked at you before receiving a clap to the back of the head earning a snicker from you.

It wasn’t five seconds later another person tried and succeeded in sitting at Pete’s spot, “I’m sorry, that spots taken.” You spoke not looking over. Truth be told you hated confrontation more than anything.

“Well, I’d argue it’s not.” A male voice spoke. You rolled your eyes finally looking over at him. ‘Course he was a pilot in those pretty white Navy uniforms you loved so dearly. He would’ve been handsome had he not opened up that ugly mouth of his.

“My friend is just using the restroom. He’ll be right back.” You looked around for Pete after losing him in the crowd to his pilot buddies. Your brother was long lost to the crowd as well. You’d just have to deal with the pig on your own.

“I’ll hold his spot until he’s back then, beautiful.” That got you to look at the sleezy man once again. He just wasn’t getting your hint.

This right here was why you avoided places like these. You peaked around once more feeling defeated not spotting any familiar faces in the crowd, “I’d rather you not.”

He laughed, a gross sound compared to Pete’s casual one, “Playing hard to get is adorable hun.” He cooed, mocking you. Surely a man who rarely got rejected. Maybe you should just get up and give up the spot. It wasn’t worth it at this point. This douchebag was being relentless, and he wouldn’t stop, you knew that.

Your frustration was evident on your face, he clearly wasn’t picking that up, “Please, just go, my boyfriend will be right back.”

He laughed that nasty laugh, throwing his head back, “Oh he’s your boyfriend now? Was just your friend a moment ago.” He leaned forward placing a hand on your knee. You jerked it back quickly without much of a second thought while sending him a nasty glare.

“Don’t touch me.” It didn’t sound as menacing as you’d have hoped. A shaky sounding voice exited as you’d prayed somebody would come and save you. The dude clearly didn’t have any boundaries.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He cooed at you again with that stupid smile creeping up all over again.

Lucky for you Pete had seen the interaction as he was keeping an eye on you. The dude seemed harmless at first until he laid a hand on you. Disgust crossing your face let him know you weren’t comfortable in the slightest. He had to do something. You were his best friends sister.

Before you could respond Pete did for you, “Get the hell out of my seat. The fuck is wrong with you?” Pete nearly growled. A sight you had yet to see from the man. It made you feel weirdly attracted to him at that very moment, a protective nature unfolding before you.

The man smirked while getting up from the seat, “The friend boyfriend I presume.” Shooting you a wink he turned back to Pete.

Pete shook his head, “Fuck off Lieutenant.” You saw the man glance at Pete’s status on his uniform indicating his recent promotion to Captain. There was something. The man rolled his eyes this time before walking away leaving you with an enraged Pete.

He turned to you looking you over. His expression softened seeing your irritated gaze, “Are you alright Y/N?” He asked looking you over, afraid of what the answer could be.

“I’m fine.” You looked away from him quickly feeling almost embarrassed at how quickly the entire thing escalated.

He sat down looking at you skeptically, “Are you sure?”

You nodded finding his concern more than endearing, “Yeah.”

“You don’t sound like it Bradshaw. The woman I know is usually a lot more decisive.” He pressed wanting to make sure you actually were fine. As much as you tried to deny it or wanted to hide it Pete knew you. He knew what your ticks were and handsy men were certainly one of them.

Closing your eyes, sighing, then taking a sip of your beer you thought for a moment, “I’m okay. You got here just in time. I just…” You paused not sure where you were going with it, “Never mind.” You spoke softly in frustration with yourself. Why was being real and vulnerable with him seeming so impossible? He’d been nothing but patient and kind with you, why were you having a hard time returning the favor? Digging down into the next layer seemed so scary, you’d never let anybody do it before. Maybe, just maybe, you were terrified to take the next step with somebody. Let alone your fucking brothers best friend.

Pete shook his head terribly unsatisfied at that answer, “No say it pretty girl. Stop hiding from me. It’s just you and me here, nobody is listening in.” He could see your eyes nervously trailing the bar. Like you were planning your escape. God, he really did know you and your mind because that’s exactly what you were planning, the great escape.

You gulped down a few drinks of the cold beer trying to find the nerve before continuing, “I just wish men would listen. I told him no five times and he wouldn’t take the damn hint Pete. It’s not the first time either. Seems like every time I come to one of these stupid bars this type of shit happens.” You sighed setting the coaster you were playing with in your hands down, “That’s why I hate coming out. It happens more often than not.” You admitted to him. Slowly you looked over to him, afraid of the reaction you would get from him. So often you’d get dismissed, your concerns tossed aside. It’s truly why you just stayed home. It was easier to avoid the situation entirely rather than get victim blamed for whatever action the man of the day decided to do.

You watched him process your words though. Really listen. A brief flash of hope surged through your body as he seemed to be the first male, other than your brother, who actually listened to you, “I know it doesn’t mean much, but I’m sorry. I’m sorry you have to worry about that. I’m sorry we are like that…” This time he paused looking away from you, trying to find his words. Because this wasn’t easy for him either. He was Pete, the playboy. The guy who flirted with anything that moved. The guy who could get whatever he wanted. But with you? You made him feel special. You filled a void he’d been searching for. He was convinced that was why he was the way he was. He was searching for that something that he could never seem to find. Then he found you. But you were off limits. So, he doubled down and tried to find something just like you, or better. But that was a pipe dream, he knew it. Nobody was like you. Nobody could compliment him as well as you did. Nobody seemed to come even remotely close to challenging him like you did. You were quick, witty, charismatic, everything he was looking for in a partner.

You nodded listening to him. Before you could respond though he continued, “I won’t lie to you Bradshaw, I was one of those guys. Been one of those guys. Thought it was charming or some shit like that. But you’ve opened my eyes to it. A lot of these guys think they know better, they’ll never listen. They’re asshole pilots.”

You laughed at that, feeling a small weight being lifted off your shoulders. Pete was digging with you, willing to get deeper than either of you had before, “Like you? An asshole pilot?” You joked with him, wanting to lift the mood just a bit.

He pushed your side lightly, loving the banter between the two of you. That’s how he knew you really were okay. Or that you’d be okay. He’d make sure of it, that was for damn sure, “Oh pretty.” He tossed back the last bit of beer from his glass, snickering after he gulped it down, “You’re sitting with the biggest asshole pilot out here.”

You laughed at that comment, “For some reason, I don’t have a doubt in my mind at all.”

He grinned enjoying seeing you with a smile on your face once more. He adored that smile of yours, “Only in the air though.”

You pushed his side in return, “Now I know you’re lying.” You shot him a wink loving the reactions you were able to stir out of him.

“You’re nothing but trouble Bradshaw.” His laugh was infectious. You couldn’t help but to join in giggling with him. There was something about him that just made you feel so utterly like yourself, perfectly content.

Feeling overly confident you answered him, “I don’t think you’d have it any other way. I get the feeling you like it.”

He nodded, a growing smile on his face, “I do. You know what else I like?” He looked you over again, letting you know just how pretty he thought you really were with that smirk washing over his face.

You cocked your head to the side wondering where he was going with this, “What’s that?”

He grinned loving every second of this, “You, I like you Y/N.”

You were sure your cheeks were as red as a damn tomato, sure of it. Your heart picked up to a rapid-fire speed as you processed what he said to you, “You… what?” Was all your brain could think to spit out at that comment.

His smile only grew seeing you work through it knowing he had completely thrown you off your game. He loved doing that to you. The overthinker you were surely didn’t account for this though, “I like you. Isn’t it obvious Bradshaw? I call you pretty, flirt with you all the time, annoy your brother to death about you.”

The blush on your cheeks surely darkened at that, “You do? He’s never said anything.”

Pete nodded, “Don’t think he’s actively trying to hook his best friend and sister up.”

“Well, when you put it like that.” You laughed realizing how ludicrous it really did sound. Was this actually happening? He actually liked you?

When you went silent for a moment and got that far off stare he knew he needed to speak up, “Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours Y/N.” He took your hand in his, a bold move. One he’d been dying to do for quite some time. Between the alcohol and the confession and your obviously good reaction to it all had him feeling a little bit more daring with you than he’d normally would have been.

“You like me?” You turned to him with a look of confusion on your face.

He nodded quickly, “I thought I made it pretty obvious.”

“You probably did. I’m just clueless sometimes.” You smiled relishing in the feeling of Pete holding your hand in his much larger ones.

“You don’t say.” He gave your hand a squeeze letting you take your time. Not forcing you into any sort of confession.

But you wanted to give him one, because damn did he make you feel all sorts of things, “I like you too. You know that?”

This time it was his turn to have that shocked expression cross his face, “You do?”

“A lot.” You nodded your head at him, “More than I probably should.”

He leaned in a little closer now, closer than he’d been before, “I’d argue against that Bradshaw.” Brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face he took you in at a distance much closer than he’d normally seen you. Breathtakingly beautiful, that was his conclusion.

“At the bar? Really guys?” Your brothers annoying as hell voice broke the concentration the two of you had on one another. Pete rolled his eyes while you turned away in embarrassment.

Pete sighed before flipping his eyes to his RIO, "Goose! Really man?” Pete threw him a nasty look before pulling away from you.

“That’s my sister.” He shot him an equally as nasty look with his arms crossed over his chest. If your face wasn’t as red as a damn tomato from the confession it surely was from getting caught by your brother.

“Adult sister who can make her own decisions.” You coughed making sure to insert yourself between the bickering boys.

Nick only flipped you off. Pete gave you a high five loving how you could get under your brothers skin just as deep as he could. He was convinced the two of you were made for each other.

Nick scrunched his nose getting that defeated look across his face, “I don’t condone this.” He pointed at the both of you.

“But?” You interjected knowing he had more to say. Nick always had something more to say.

“I can’t stop it either.” He shook his head before looking right at Pete, “Maverick I swear to God if you hurt her in any way… I’ll beat the living shit out of you.”

Pete smiled knowing that was a valid threat, “I wouldn’t expect anything less Goose. Trust me though, I think it’s her you have to worry about. She’s going to break my heart.” Pete shot you one last wink before grabbing your hand in his. Letting Nick know just how serious he was planning to take this one. You weren’t like his flings of the past. You were different. You were you. He was waiting on you and here you are. Ready to start this life with him, one step at a time.

Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!): @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove

#pete mitchell angst #top gun maverick #top gun #top gun imagine #pete mitchell x reader #pete mitchell x y/n #pete mitchell fanfiction #pete mitchell x you #pete maverick mitchell #ron kerner #tom iceman kazansky #top gun 1986 #pete mitchell #pete mitchell fluff #pete mitchell imagine #maverick x y/n #maverick x reader #maverick x iceman #maverick x goose #maverick x you #maverick mitchell #maverick top gun #tg86 #tom kazansky #top gun x oc #top gun x reader #top gun x you #top gun x y/n #top gun 86 #top gun masterlist

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

Handyman - Maverick

Pairing: (Young) Maverick / Fem!Reader (Wife!Reader)

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Maverick Being Maverick; Maverick and Reader have an Unnamed Daughter Together; Second Person POV ("You"), No Y/N, No Physical Description of Reader or Daughter

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

Summary: When it comes time to give your newborn daughter a bath in the kitchen sink, it conveniently breaks. Fortunately or unfortunately, Maverick is a handyman.

A.N. I wrote this with a younger Maverick in mind, maybe even before he attended Top Gun, but there's no actual age specified for anyone (except the baby).

Master List

Life with Pete Mitchell as your husband was always an adventure. From the moment that you met him to the present day, he always had you on your toes. Sometimes, it was a great attribute. There were a lot of memories from spontaneous dates and outings that you would treasure for the rest of your life. Other times, you could have done without the arrogance and spontaneity.

Your husband, although he had no skills in the field whatsoever, was a self-proclaimed handyman. The house that you two lived in was a fixer upper and your husband was intent upon fixing it up. Of course, your newborn daughter got in the way of that goal and you had to reprioritize.

But now the kitchen sink wasn’t working and you had no other safe way to bathe your newborn. You would have called a plumber to fix it, but it was a national holiday. You were willing to wait another day to let a professional take a look at your kitchen sink. Your husband, however, insisted that he could fix it himself without any outside help.

And you were already regretting giving him the ‘okay’ on that one.

The cabinets underneath the sink were thrown open and an assortment of tools and other devices were spread out on the kitchen floor. Maverick poured over a manual that he pulled out of nowhere while you stood with your daughter a few feet away.

“Are you sure that you understand it, Mav?” you asked softly, looking concerned. “Maybe we should just wait to have a professional look at it.”

“No, no, no, she needs a bath, so she’s going to get a bath. Today.” Maverick stared down at the directions for a moment before holding them up for you to see. He pointed at one part in particular. “But do you know what this thing is?”

“Do I look like a plumber to you?” you replied in a deadpan, raising an eyebrow at your husband.

“I’ll figure it out.”

Your daughter started to cry and with a quick check of her clean diaper, you moved to feed her. Sitting down at the kitchen table, you glanced over as Maverick messed around with the pipes underneath the sink. Shaking your head, you turned back to your nursing daughter. Up until there was a crash followed by a set of curses from under the sink.

“Are you okay?” you called to your husband.

“Fine. Just fine,” Maverick grunted out, clearly in some pain.

After feeding and burping your daughter, you set her down in her bassinet before walking over to where Maverick was still working on the sink. Noting the gunk all over the front of his white tank top, you took another step forward and lowered your voice.

“Pete, honey, it’s okay if you can’t fix it. I’ll just call them tomorrow.”

“I’ve got this. I just need another moment,” he replied, clearly determined to fix this problem. Thinking over his next steps, Maverick gestured behind you. “Can you pass me the wrench?”

“Which one? You have the whole store selection littered around the kitchen floor.”

“The one with the yellow tape on it,” Maverick clarified, pointing over at it.

You pushed the wrench over to your husband and leaned against the kitchen countertop, watching him work. You glanced back in your daughter’s direction to make sure that she was sleeping peacefully when Maverick dropped the wrench and let out another long string of curses. You whipped around to face Maverick as your daughter let out a startled and annoyed wail.

“Mav? What happened?”

“I dropped the wrench on my face,” Maverick sighed, rubbing his nose.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, honey, I’m peachy,” Maverick muttered, clearly getting frustrated.

When you saw that your husband wasn’t bleeding, you walked over to soothe your daughter. Leaning over, you tried to shush your daughter as you rocked her once again.

“I know, I know, your daddy isn’t a plumber, I know,” you cooed, trying to soothe your baby.

She settled back to sleep easily, clearly in need of a nap, and you placed her back in her bassinet once her breathing evened out. Adjusting your daughter’s hat, you turned back to your husband.

“How’s it coming, honey?”

“Don’t rush perfection.”

“Who said that it was going to be perfect?”

“Your handyman husband,” Maverick quipped, crawling underneath the sink again.

“Yes, I’m sure that every plumber drops his wrench on his face.”

“Laugh now, but when the sink works again, you’ll be so amazed and sorry that you ever doubted me.”

“I’m sure that I will,” you mused, walking back over to him.

Twenty minutes later, after some more tinkering around, Maverick stood up. Smiling proudly, he ushered you towards the sink.

“Try the tap.”

You shot your husband a concerned expression before walking over to the sink. Pulling the handle up, you waited for water to pour out of the faucet. But nothing came out. Your feet, on the other hand, were now soaking wet. Looking down, you saw the pipe spewing water all over your floor. You shot your husband a tired expression, to which he smiled sheepishly.

“Maybe I got the parts wrong,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You think?”

Maverick hastily mopped up the mess and went back to working on the pipes. You put the TV on low and kept a close eye on your daughter as she slept peacefully in her bassinet.

“I got it, honey!” Maverick announced about a half hour later.

“I swear, Pete, this is your last chance, otherwise I’m calling a plumber whether you like it or not,” you warned your husband as you got up and walked over to him.

“Just try it, will you?”

You walked over to the faucet once again and cautiously grabbed the handle. With one last cautious glance over at your husband, you pulled the handle upwards. And then you screamed as you were hit by a strong stream water. You were soaked to the bone in a few seconds from a leak that you couldn’t find because you were being sprayed with water.

“Pete!”

Your husband ran over and the both of you tried to stop the water from spraying all over the place. Maverick ripped off his shirt and shoved it around the faucet. You held the shirt in place while he hurried to turn off the water. When all was said and done, you were soaked to the bone and absolutely not amused with your husband.

Turning to Maverick, you took a deep breath as you tried to not strangle him. Wiping some of the water off of your face, you folded your arms over your chest as you husband smiled sheepishly at you, hoping that you didn’t pick up the frying pan within arm’s length and whack him with it.  

“You’re lucky that I want our daughter to have a father, Pete Mitchell,” you muttered before waddling off to go shower.

“I love you,” Maverick called after you.

He was greeted by the sound of your bedroom door shutting, effectively ending the conversation. And his career as a plumber.

#top gun #top gun 1986 #pete maverick mitchell #pete maverick mitchell x reader #pete mitchell x reader #pete mitchell #maverick x reader #maverick x you #pete maverick mitchell x you #pete mitchell x you #pete mitchell imagine #maverick

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Head Over Heels - Pete Mitchell x Reader

A/N: I've watched the OG so many times over the last month I felt inspired to write a little 1980s set piece for baby Mav. It's roughly set in 1983 (obvs. I wasn't born yet so I'm going purely off my obsession with 80s shit bare with me ok).

pairing: Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x reader

warnings/content: fluff, set in the 1980s, Maverick hits on you in a bar while you're working, brief mention of Goose & Carole if you squint.

word count: 2.2k

“You're a rich girl, and you've gone too far, ‘cause you know it don't matter anyway…”

The sounds of Hall and Oates’ Rich Girl rang out from the jukebox that sat opposite from the bar, a few off-key voices attempting to sing the words in slurred tones, incoherent to anyone other than themselves. It was a typical Friday night, with a few people seated on the red vinyl booths that encircled the bar counter, empty beer glasses in front of them as they waited anxiously for a top up. 

You didn’t love your job here - you only did it to put yourself through school, and even then, it wasn’t as though you needed to - your parents had offered you financial assistance on more than one occasion, almost scandalized at the thought of their precious daughter working in a dive bar on weekends to put herself through college, but you were determined. You wanted to earn this degree on your own merit, without your parents holding the loan of a few thousand dollars over your head and without the feeling that you were some spoiled little rich kid that others should despise or envy. 

As you wiped a table clean in the far corner of the bar, you took note of two young men in bomber jackets coming through the entrance. The shorter of the two, a dark-haired man with intriguing eyes - were they hazel, blue or green? It was nearly impossible to tell. - laughed as he looked back to his friend, a tall blonde haired man with a mustache, who looked incredibly unimpressed about the choice of bar that his buddy had. You couldn’t say you blamed him - the food was decent, but that was about it. You weren’t exactly known for being the Ritz Carlton of dive bars. 

The two men sidled up to a booth, and you sighed to yourself, knowing that it meant they’d become your responsibility, whether they were aware of that fact or not. You finished cleaning the table off and retreated behind the bar to find two menus - not that they seemed like the type who were here for food - you knew the younger men that came in usually only came for one thing, cheap beer. You approached their table, plastering your customer service smile on your face as you sauntered over. You handed them each a menu and greeted them with your normally joyful voice, and you couldn’t help but feel like you came off as someone deranged for being so cheerful. 

“Hi! What can I get you both?”

“I’ll have whatever’s on tap, thanks,” the blonde replied with a polite head nod towards you. 

The brunette started eyeing you up, a grin plastered on his face as he took in the sight of you. Your outfit was hardly anything worth looking at, you thought to yourself. Fitted high-waisted jeans and a t-shirt with the restaurant’s logo emblazoned on the back, the baggier fitting shirt tucked into your jeans to accentuate the fact that, despite how the t-shirt might come off, you did in fact have hips. His grin was playful - not the kind you were used to from men who saw you at work. He didn’t give you the impression he was only interested in taking you to bed with him, although you weren’t entirely convinced that wasn’t his motive. His hazel eyes lit up as he looked at you, his thousand-watt grin almost distracting.

“What do you recommend? I’ve never been here before.” He charmed, still smiling up at you.

“Well, our wings are pretty popular, I personally like them dressed in Kansas City sauce, it’s a bit spicier but it’s not too overpowering, and for a drink, I usually go for a rye and coke, but if you’re more of a beer guy, I recommend pairing it with a Budweiser. You can never go wrong there.”

“Perfect, I’ll have that, please. With a side of coleslaw.”

“Alright, two beers, an order of KC wings and a side of coleslaw? You got it.”

You disappeared behind the counter with their order and returned a few moments later with their drinks in hand. The brunette was leaning in towards his friend, whispering in a hushed tone that you could barely make out, but it was evident that your presence wasn’t known. You set the drinks down on the table and both men sat straighter in their seats. The blonde one looked at you with a charming smile, the kind you’d give a teacher who’d walked in on you doing something you weren’t supposed to at school. He cleared his throat and laughed slightly as he took a sip of his drink before setting the glass down on the cardboard coaster you’d brought over. 

“I’m so sorry, but my friend here, he’s a little shy. He thinks you’re really pretty though. Not that I don’t, I’m just engaged.” The blonde babbled, seemingly nervous, as if he was afraid you’d throw his drink over him. 

“Does he? Why doesn’t he tell me so himself?” You teased, looking over to the brunette, who was now blushing and grinning like an absolute idiot - the most attractive idiot you’d ever seen.

“He is afraid of women. Sort of, anyways. I never say the right thing.” He explained matter of factly. 

His eyes squinted to read the name tag on your shirt, saying it slowly to make sure he was pronouncing it correctly before giving you another smile. “Beautiful name,” he added. 

“Well, now this seems unfair - you know my name but I don’t know yours.”

“Right! Right. I’m Maverick. This here’s my buddy, Goose.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, Navy callsigns. I’m Pete. He’s Nick.”

“Goose is fine,” the blonde interjected, shaking his head as he held up a hand to stop Pete from talking further, “Only my mom calls me Nick. And usually it’s if I’m in shit for something.”

“Nice to meet you, Pete. Goose.” 

You politely excused yourself from the table with a laugh before continuing with your other duties that night - waiting the few surrounding tables with  patrons, cleaning and restocking napkins and cutlery around the bar. You noticed at one point that Pete had approached the jukebox. He flipped through the available songs, selecting one seemingly at random, bringing Vacation by The Go-Gos to an abrupt end as his choice of song began playing. The opening bars of Making Love Out of Nothing At All by Air Supply began to fill the room, and Pete gave you a beaming grin as he retreated back to his seat. He began singing along to song with Goose, the two carrying on in an off-key harmonic ensemble that, admittedly, had you fighting the urge to sing along. 

As you approached the table once more, a playful smirk gracing your lips at Pete's rendition of the song, you couldn't deny the infectious energy he exuded. His performance, though not flawless, carried a certain charm that captivated your attention. As you deftly cleared away their empty dishes, Pete's gaze met yours once again, but this time with a smile that held a hint of mischief, a smile that could easily disarm even the most composed.

"Are you finishing up soon?" His voice was casual, but there was an underlying eagerness in his tone. Checking his watch briefly before locking eyes with you again, he continued, "I don’t have to be back on base until tomorrow morning. I was wondering if maybe you’d like to do something after work."

You couldn't help but grin at his forwardness, though you made a show of feigning reluctance. "I don’t accept dates from guys who ask me out at my workplace," you teased, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips.

Pete's response was quick, his charm effortlessly slipping through the cracks of your defenses. "Ok, that’s understandable. What time are you off work?"

"In ten minutes," you replied, a mixture of amusement and surprise coloring your tone as you realized the clever loophole he had found in your earlier rejection.

"Perfect. I’ll meet you outside in ten."

True to his word, ten minutes later found you standing outside, Goose offering a polite wave as he departed. Pete's smile was infectious as he approached you, his demeanor exuding a newfound confidence. He gestured towards you, his grin widening as he spoke.

"You said no because I asked you out inside, but now?"

A playful glint danced in your eyes as you played along. "Now, I suppose I can say yes. You’re no longer a creepy guy asking me out at work."

"Exactly, now I’m a creepy guy asking you out outside of your work. Much better," he quipped, a chuckle escaping him as he extended his arm towards you.

You couldn't help but laugh at his remark, the tension between you dissipating as you fell into an easy banter. As he introduced himself, the warmth in his voice was palpable, and you found yourself drawn in despite your initial reservations.

Pete shook his head, a self-amused chuckle escaping him before he gallantly extended his arm towards you. His cheeks took on a charming shade of pink, adding a subtle glow to his already handsome features. It was then that the disparity in height between the two of you became apparent, your gaze meeting his from a slightly elevated position. A grin played at his lips as he ran a hand through his dark locks, his eyes squinting ever so slightly as he regarded you with a mix of earnestness and intrigue.

"Sorry, I’m relatively new to this," he confessed with a sheepish grin. "My success rate’s not the highest unless I’m in uniform, and even then."

"Uniform?" you echoed, curiosity lacing your tone.

Straightening up, Pete cleared his throat before executing a mock salute with a touch of playful flair. "Lieutenant Junior Grade Peter Mitchell, United States Naval Air Force, currently stationed over at North Island, just across the bay," he announced with a subtle gesture toward the distant island.

"Peter, huh?"

A smirk tugged at his lips. "Did you think my parents just put Pete on the birth certificate and called it a day?"

"Actually," you quipped back, "earlier before you clarified, I thought they put Maverick on there and called it a day - Pete didn’t seem like too far of a stretch."

"I suppose you’re right," he conceded with a grin. "I don’t think I’ve been called by my full name since school, and even then, it was back when Peter from The Brady Bunch was still cool. I liked it then, all the girls liked him anyways."

"I was more of a Greg girl, actually," you teased, raising an eyebrow in playful defiance as you pretended to inspect your manicure.

"Of course you were," he chuckled, his tone teasing yet affectionate. "You’re one of the first girls I’ve met to not care about the military thing. Most girls are all over that."

"It’s impressive, don’t get me wrong," you interjected with a shrug. "I’ve just dated military guys before."

"Have you?" Pete's interest was piqued, his gaze locked onto yours with a newfound curiosity.

"Well, one," you admitted. "My first boyfriend when I moved down to San Diego from Oakland."

"You’re from Oakland?! I’m from San Francisco!"

"Small world, isn't it?" Pete's eyes lit up with a spark of excitement, a genuine smile gracing his lips as he realized the unexpected connection between your hometowns. "I guess that makes us Bay Area neighbors, in a sense."

You couldn't help but return his smile, feeling a sense of warmth in the shared familiarity of your origins. "Seems like it," you agreed, the playful banter easing any remaining tension between you.

As the conversation flowed effortlessly between you, a comfortable silence settled, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the bustling pier. In that moment, standing on the threshold of possibility, you couldn't ignore the magnetic pull drawing you closer to Pete.

"So," he began, breaking the silence with a gentle tone, "any chance I could persuade you to show a newcomer around San Diego? I'm afraid my knowledge of the city is limited to the base and a few local hotspots."

The invitation hung in the air, laden with unspoken implications. With a playful glint in your eyes, you considered his request, allowing yourself to entertain the idea of exploring the city with him.

"I suppose I could be persuaded," you teased, a coy smile playing at the corners of your lips. "But only if you promise to keep up with this newfound charm of yours, Lieutenant Mitchell."

Pete's laughter echoed against the backdrop of the bay, his eyes crinkling with genuine amusement. "Consider it a deal, Miss Oakland," he replied, extending his arm once more in a silent invitation to embark on this newfound adventure together.

As you linked your arm with his, a sense of anticipation tingled in the air, the promise of new beginnings lingering on the horizon. With each step forward, you couldn't help but wonder where this unexpected encounter would lead, but one thing was certain: with Pete by your side, the journey promised to be anything but ordinary.

#pete maverick mitchell #pete maverick mitchell x reader #pete maverick mitchell x you #pete mitchell #pete mitchell x reader #pete mitchell x you #maverick #maverick x reader #maverick x you #top gun fanfiction #top gun 1986 #top gun maverick

[mqverick]

buick roadmaster | ₊˚⊹ᰔ

mature themes, +18

rough smut included, consider yourselves warned

“Because I’m going deeper and deeper

Harder and harder”

─── ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ───

“I don’t want to be demanding here, but… could you say maybe ten — twelve words to me before we get to the hotel?” you asked Charlie, half frustrated, half smiling at him, trying not to look too pissed off. It had almost been an hour ever since he’d begun driving, not even bothering to turn the radio on. Just dead silence.

Charlie glanced over at you, then returned his attention to the street, driving quietly with opaque eyes. You sighed, hand coming up to your forehead as you rubbed the skin between your eyebrows in despair, not knowing what to do.

“…Consider it foreplay,” you tried again, this time more playfully, hoping to get him in the feels.

Instead of saying anything, though, he just smirked discreetly, secretly loving being busted by you. “Glad we decided to spend the weekend together, gives you two whole days to bitch at me,” he eventually replied. As a response, you scooted over and knelt his thigh, crossing your arms as you looked forward with narrowed eyes. “What, you’re not talking to me now?”

God, the nerve of that man.

“If you’re so damn worried that you can’t look like you’re not holding back a giant shit, call your dumb service. I took Friday off because I wanted to spend three nice days with my loving boyfriend, who apparently is the biggest, pompous jerk I’ve ever met.”

Charlie chuckled sarcastically, still not giving the slightest care of looking at you, his gaze firmly locked on the road ahead of you. “So that’s what’s on my mind, huh? The service?”

“I sure hope it’s not another woman,” you replied with the same snarky tone, your head now leaned against the widow as you also refused to look at him. You could feel the radiation of his proud, teasing smirk burning you, nevertheless.

“Maybe it’s three other women.”

Oh, he just loved keeping the tension going, didn’t he? Hadn’t you had enough patience and experience of his almost childish behavior after dating (and baring) him for a whole year, you would’ve grabbed the steering wheel from him and crash the car right into the nearest tree. Sometimes, you wondered how you put up with him, with how full of himself he was.

You saw his motor running and huffed. How convenient, you thought, urging him to pick up.

“Maybe they’re calling you right now.” With flared nostrils, you punched up the speed dial on the car phone, hearing the electronic beeps as Charlie continued ignoring you. His nerves were at the surface, fingers gripping unintentionally hard onto the steering wheel as he pushed his sunglasses over the bridge of his nose, scratching the spot there for just a second.

“Babbitt,” he called.

“Two calls from a Mr. Bateman. You want the number?” the voice operator spoke and you the way Charlie closed his eyes didn’t go unnoticed by you as you slowly turned your body around so that you could see him better, getting worried.

Quietly into silence, “No.”

“Oh, okay. Then there’s, uh — oh shit. There’s this, um, Mr. Mooney, says he’s your father’s lawyer in Chicago… your father died, sir.”

Charlie clicked off the line, interrupting the call. Driving with one hand, the other one sat on his lap, looking for something to fiddle with, doing eighty. He was shaken, that you could tell, even though he was putting up the biggest effort not to let it show. All the previous anger you felt about him was long gone, taken over by compassion.

“Oh, Charlie. Are you all right?” you asked, your fingertips reaching for the side of his face, but he shook them away, strangely cold and distant. You just stared at him, unable to read him as he pulled off the road, trying to turn. No reply to your question, struggling to keep up the façade.

“Sorry about the weekend, hon,” he mumbled lowly, turning the car around. Was he serious? Did he really think all you cared about was Palm Springs? You opted to maintain your calm.

“The weekend? Charlie…?”

You found it weird, how little emotion he showed. Charlie always tempted to do things like that, completely leave you out of his thoughts, pretend that nothing had ever bothered you. It annoyed you, sure, but mostly, it caused you sadness. You wanted to be there for him, let him know that he could count on you whenever he was feeling bad, if only you knew what was going on in that mind of his. He was really good at hiding his reactions and feelings from everyone as well.

“Didn’t mean to ruin our trip, I’ll make it up to you, though, I promise,” he announced weakly. “Look, we… uh, we hated each other. Mom died when I was two and it’s been me and him ever since.”

You reached for his face again, this time more gently. Charlie accepted your touch, leaning into it for comfort as he closed his eyes just for a short moment. That was the most vulnerable you’d ever seen him — that he’d ever let you seen him.

“Did he not treat you well?” you asked, stroking his hair carefully, smoothing it back.

“Beat me up. Emotionally, I mean. Nothing I did was ever good enough… I dealt with it, eventually. Learnt to ignore and let go. Hated him.”

To you, it explained a lot about why Charlie had been behaving like that. It was how he’d grown up, having to shield himself from the others. It hurt you that you couldn’t seem to be helpful for him, hurt you when he abruptly pulled away from your touch away, swallowing back his feelings.

“We’ve been dating for a year. When were you planning to tell me all this? Let me be there for you, Charlie, I’m sick and tired of always having to guess what’s on your head.” But he was back to being silent and acting as if he couldn’t hear you.

Putting up his guard again, not allowing himself to show you how he really felt. You hated him.

“I’m talking to you,” you said in a demanding tone. “Stop fucking playing a game with me. I’m your fucking girlfriend, I should know how to comfort you for Christ’s sake, but you pull away all the damn time! It’s always one step forward and a whole airplane flight back with us. Quit pushing me away every time I try to understand you, it’s exhausting.”

“Not one of these again,” Charlie whispered under his breath as he sighed too loudly for your liking.

“What? Doesn’t it concern you that you had to say ‘again’ in that sentence? You exclude me from everything that’s going on in your life, maybe you’d like to do something about it, just for a change?” you begged sarcastically.

“Fine, you want to talk? Let’s talk. How was your day, honey?” Charlie questioned with indifference, not bothering at the slightest to hide how much he felt like he itched to piss you off.

“I don’t want to talk, I want to—”

“No, you wanted to talk, let’s talk. C’mon, tell me, how have you been doing? Had a nice day? How was it, tell me everything about it, come on.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you mouthed, unbuckling yourself free from your seat. “Stop the car, I want to leave.” But once again, he pretended like he hadn’t heard anything from what you’d said.

“Not going anywhere,” you were simply given.

“No, you know what? One whole year and you haven’t once told me how you feel about me. It’s as though we’ve been stuck on the third date stage, going out for dinner and then fucking. That’s all we do. I’m not asking you to explain everything to me, just let me know that you feel comfortable confiding in me, trusting me. What if I wanted to meet your parents one day? When would you have told me that your mother had died and that you and your father didn’t speak? Relationships are about care for each other.”

“I care about you, you know that.”

You looked over at him with unsure eyes. You’d doubted Charlie’s faith in you before and maybe that was the problem with your relationship. You loved him, loved him dearly — had been in love with him ever since you began dating him. You knew he was capable of showing you a caring side, which was rare, but still very existing.

You believed you loved him enough for the two of you. None, however, had ever expressed that to each other. Spent days, weeks, months, patiently waited for him to make the move, do something romantic or even just spit it out awkwardly while watching a movie or cuddling in bed. But no, Charlie’s head was more stubborn than a donkey and if there was one thing he was good at, it was constantly shielding himself and drawing you away. As if he hated being in a relationship.

“Do I?”

And it killed him. Killed him how incapable he was of reassuring you that for him, it was pretty much over since the day he met you. How he’d bottled up all the things he wanted to say to you, how important you were to him, his only family.

“You don’t mean that,” he whispered lowly enough for you to unintentionally miss it.

“If you’re not ready for a relationship, Charlie, I won’t force you to be in one. And for fuck’s sake stop the fucking car already!” But he wasn’t stopping, wasn’t anywhere near stopping; instead only sprinted faster into the empty road. The wind was blowing through his hair, throwing it on top of his forehead as he pushed it aside, annoyed.

You hair was probably a mess too, for all you cared. You were furious with him, with how little he’d let you know him, how you’d almost never been a part of his life. If only you knew.

“You don’t get to go, I need you,” he yelled, voice loud enough for the first time during the car ride for you to actually hear. He was mad too and you didn’t even know why — no, but honestly — he had no right. No right to even have the smallest, tiniest bit of irritation into his body, when he was the only one responsible for all of this.

“You don’t fucking tell me what to do,” you gritted through your teeth, glaring holes into his head. “Now stop the fucking car or I’ll hit the brakes and we’ll both fly the fuck forward into the glass.”

“All right, stop you want?” Charlie asked, abruptly taking a turn that almost sent you out of the window, holding onto your stomach and the seatbelt that you’d unfastened earlier. “Then stop you’ll fucking get.” He was being insane with it, driving ridiculously fast, you were certain he was planning to end your lives once and for all.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” you screamed, regretting the moment you’d decided it would be sane and safe to not be wearing a seatbelt while on a car with a man who barely knew how to contain his anger tantrums.

“You wanted to stop, so we’re stopping the car. I’m stopping the fucking car!” he yelled back, slapping the steering wheel so loudly and with so much force that he accidentally winced in pain.

You were holding on for dear life, clutching onto the fabric of the seats and holding your breath down your throat, when he finally stopped with a turn that you were sure was a death sentence.

You didn’t even know where you were, where he’d driven. Your brain was permanently off after that reckless driving of him, making it clearer for you that you needed to leave him or at least threaten him about ending the relationship, giving him a break. There was no way he’d ever be clear enough to think straight, though, especially after your argument, especially after his dad’s death.

Man, he was really getting one slap after another.

“You’re not capable of handling a relationship, then you don’t fucking get to be in one! Go fuck yourself, Charlie!” you shouted at him as your hand went to clasp around the door’s handle, furious at him, but before you could even realize what was happening, Charlie had yanked you back by your shirt, sending you flying into his lap.

You yelped and tried to free yourself from his grasp, but he was holding you so tightly on him that you couldn’t move besides wiggle your legs. He looked both troubled and pissed, unsurprisingly hard to read. His eyes were cold and sharp, sparking as they glowered at you.

He wanted to say something. You could tell by the way his lips subconsciously moved as if he had the words right on the tip of his tongue, but were being choked up by him. He was weak with words, always had been. He thought of them as an action that you couldn’t take back, something like a pearl in your head that you’d be able to roll around as you reminisce. He hated words.

The second time you tried to pull away from him, he kissed you. Attached his lips forcefully into yours, causing you to gasp and completely stop moving. It took you a little to comprehend the situation, but once the warm feeling of his mouth moving against yours kicked in, you reciprocated the kiss with the same urge and compulsion.

“I need you,” he murmured into your ear as he rubbed his nose against the soft flesh of your cheek, wrapping his hands around you so tightly that he wouldn’t have to worry about you trying to make an escape again. With each hand firmly positioned on the sides of his neck, you pulled him down on top of you, laying uncomfortably on top of the seats. You didn’t even care if your back was hurt by hitting the transmission stick a little too hard, or how he’d accidentally pulled a few hairs from a strand that was covering your face.

You lifted your leg up as he crashed his lips into yours again, extending over the top of the console and wrapping it around his waist, arousal already pooling in your underwear. Charlie had his way of kissing you; knew exactly how long it took you to get weak for him, to shut your mind off and beg him for more. He loved using it against you.

Loved how it turned you on the same amount it did for him. His left hand travelled in your hair, pulling it from the ends. His right was around your waist, just under the rim of your shirt, gripping your hip. His tongue peaked out of his mouth, exploring yours before pressing an open-mouthed kiss against your lips, detaching abruptly and creating a thin string of saliva between the two of you. His breath was hard to catch and so was yours, both still incredibly mad at one another. He stared at you blankly for a second, his hard-on growing against his pants as he looked over at your swollen, wet lips.

“You fucking dick,” you snarled under your breath as you angled your knee outward until it was tight on the dashboard. You urgently unbuttoned your jeans, then pulled him back toward you, kissing him passionately as your left hand searched for his, leading it downwards and eventually pressing it firmly onto your mound. Charlie groaned into your mouth, cock twitching painfully against the hard material of his trousers. He let his fingers feel down your body, stroking your clothed leg as his palm curved over your butt and down the back of your thigh. His touch was your cause of death.

“Scoot a little,” he instructed you, struggling to pull down your jeans, accidentally hitting the top of his head against the roof of the car. You tried to suppress the automatic laughter, simply choking out a chuckle, which Charlie hushed away the very moment he ground his covered erection on your pulsing core, soaked through your panties.

Your moan came out ridiculously loud, shadowing the pleased hum that fell from his lips due to the feel of your warmth and wetness, almost convincing himself that he was just a second away from losing it when he hadn’t even gotten to touch you yet. You took the chance to knee him in the crotch, livid at the fact that he was smirking at how ready you were for him, feeling all proud of himself, knowing that he was the only one to ever offer you that feeling — that kind of pleasure.

Charlie looked at you with lustful, blown pupils. You were pretty sure you were as much of a mess as he was, hair combed, clothes half off, red neck and ears, swollen lips and glassy eyes. You grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head, the only thing covering your chest know being a black lacy bra. You swore you felt an orgasm creep up inside of you as the pad of his thumb made contact with your clit through the underwear, biting so hard down on your lip in order to not scream his name from the top of your lungs, hips subconsciously thrusting against his hand. You were embarrassed, on one side, but on the other, you couldn’t care less.

After all that was done, you were out.

Out of the car and out of his life, you’d decided.

“Fucking touch me already,” you demanded, but he responded negatively to your tone, pinning you down on the seat so tightly that it caused you to let out a tiny wince. With one hand, Charlie held your wrists down and over your head, while the other finally shoved your underwear out of the way. For a contemplative minute, he almost forgot that he was supposed to be mad at you.

How much he loved having you like this.

But he wasn’t going to say anything just yet. Maybe another time, in another case, where he wouldn’t utter it out during sex talk, where he was stronger than that, put his pride last instead of first. He didn’t want to break up with you, ever. To him, you were the one. It was hard to express, complex to explain — bless his heavy heart strings that only allowed him to pick all the wrong talks, places and times.

“Y’feel so good,” he murmured into your ear as he entered a finger into you, carefully enough not to hurt you with the rings he had on. “You fucking kill me whenever I see you. You’re too much, I can’t handle you, I just can’t.” The word came out of his mouth like honey and you had to dig your nails into his back, over his shirt, to stop yourself from cumming undone right then and there.

His finger curled inside your walls, following all the small bends and curves of the part of your body that needed him the most, sluggishly applying pressure and picking up place.

Your juices are dripping down your thighs, thing that helped him to easily add another finger in you. The mixture of his low groans, your choked moans and the slapping sounds of his hand rawing you was probably the biggest turn-on you’d ever experienced. All that in the middle of an empty street, in public view. All one had to do was peak over the windows of his car.

“Keep doing that, I’m so fucking close,” you purred into Charlie’s lips as you kissed him, giving permission to your hands to travel around the waistband of his trousers and undo the zipper.

“Yeah?”

“I want to fuck you.”

“Maybe another night,” Charlie replied with sureness as he suddenly dragged his fingers out of you and rubbing them against the skin of his bottom lip. You both wanted to punch the life out of him and not say anything at all, just enjoy the view of him licking your precum off his hand.

The image was so insanely sexy that you could orgasm just by looking at him and nothing else.

Charlie finally threw his black shirt off somewhere into the backseats, his trousers coming up next as he stood on top of you with just his boxers, which were pretty much a whole other level of mess; leaking with his own precum. He’d never looked so pretty before, so blown away.

It was visible to anyone with a single brain cell that he wanted to fuck you in a way of letting you know that you had no place to leave him, that he needed you more than anyone and more than ever. You opted not to comment on it, instead, leaving him be. Charlie loved angry sex, anyway.

Seemed that you were right after all — the twelve words he’d spoken had been the best foreplay.

“Charlie, I need you,” you pleaded beautifully, so desperately that he discarded his gray boxers immediately, taking his throbbing cock into his hand as he grazed the tip over your entrance, torturing you just a little. You cried out, wanting more, tired of his games. His heart pounded, close to beating right out of his rib cage.

Fuck it, he decided, as both of his hands grabbed your left hand and placed your open palm on his chest, right over his heart, and let it linger there. For the first time that night, you could finally understand what was going on behind his eyes. You smiled as he let go of your hands, running his fingers through your hair and gently guiding your face closer to his, eventually leaning himself in to rest his forehead on yours.

When he thrusted for the first time, you were already chasing after your high (and you were pretty sure the same thing could be applied to him as well.) The grunt he breathed was insane, sending you to heaven and back as you moaned along, realising that you didn’t want to repress yourself any longer. If he were to get cocky and insufferable, then so be it. You’d been used to it.

Your fingers flew into his hair, pulling at it and encouraging him to go deeper and harder. Charlie happily obliged, getting the message instantly as he whispered your name through every groan, beads of tension gripping one body on top of the other. Both his mind and vision were blurry as his thrusts frantically took off to a steady pace, fucking you so deeply, so roughly that he was sure it was hurting you. Why weren’t you stopping him? Why weren’t you telling him to slow down?

“Harder,” you hoarsed, and it nearly rocked his world. Charlie was quick to accomplish your request, filling you up with his dick so nicely as he fucked you through the pleasant moist of your combined bodily juices. He couldn’t comprehend how you weren’t scared of him damaging your body; instead taking lazy glances at you just to figure out that you were loving it, embracing him just right as you clenched so tightly against his dick, squeezing him gut-wrenchingly hard.

“Fuck — ‘m not going to last any longer,” he confessed while pressing his eyes shut, pursing his lips and trying not to fall apart on you yet.

“Just a little bit, Charlie,” you croaked, digging wounds into the muscles of his back with your nails, letting the roughness of his grinds and thrusts vibrate through your entire system, get you pathetically weak under his weight.

“‘M going to cum.” And with that, he gripped onto the sides of your outer thighs as he held still while still deep inside you, releasing hot jets of cum into you as you clamped down on his cock, following with your own earth shattering orgasm. You felt so full, so vulnerable and so fulfilled, all at the same time and it was overpowering. With an exhausted, loud groan, Charlie collapsed on top of you, squishing you as he buried his head in the crook of your neck, placing small pecks down on the curve of your shoulder as he tried to catch both his breath and untamable heartbeat.

“Charlie, I…”

“I just want to hear that it’s not over,” he interrupted you, still a bit breathless as you gave him a puzzled look. “I mean… I’m scared it’s over. Everything you said was right about me. I can’t offer you much, I’m terrible with relationships and I’m very fucking terrified of trusting someone. I’m not really good at showing my feelings.”

“There are many things you’re not good at.”

“I know. I know and I’m scared of getting my heart broken, because I genuinely believe I won’t be able to last one second without you. I’m in love with you,” Charlie finally confessed, trembling as he looked you dead in the eyes, hoping to catch the tiniest hint of response from them.

Your jaw hung slightly agape at his words, never in a million years expecting to hear him drop those words out of his mouth. You were on the verge of tearing up, grabbing him by the sides of his face as you pulled him down to kiss him sweetly on the lips, lingering there longer than needed. Charlie sighed in relief, chuckling with pure joy as he heard the following sentence reassuringly fall from your lips; “I love you too.”

FIN.

again, this is for my favourite person on earth @honeymvnt i hope you’ll like this ml 🫶🏼🎀

#charlie babbitt oneshot #charlie babbitt x reader #rain man x reader #rain man #tom cruise oneshot #tom cruise #so much smut #kinda depressing #there’s fluff too #pete maverick mitchell #maverick fanfic #maverick fluff #maverick x reader #maverick x you #pete mitchell #tom cruise x reader #tom cruise imagine #it’s midnight

[rooster-the-love-of-my-life]

Hey! I was wondering if I could request something angsty and fluffy with Maverick. Maybe Mav and the reader having a very tender romantic moment somewhere in public and then the reader’s friends casually see them and recognize the reader and the start making rude comments about Mav and their age gap but the reader comforts Mav and tells him that she loves him and she doesn’t want anyone else:) it’s fine if you don’t want to! Thanks!

Hello, my love. I am so so so so so sorry for replying a lifetime late. I just wasn't feeling it and tbh i didn't even see this ask till like a few minutes ago. So a) thank you for asking b) i'm sorry for being so late and c) enjoy!!!

"I don't care what they think or say about you Mav. I love you and you love me, that is all we'll ever need." You tried to reassure him, tell him everything is alright but it just wasn't working.

You had gone out for a date to a small restaurant just outside the base, hoping to catch a few private moments, when you noticed a few of your friends were also there. You were about to go up to them and say hi but while approaching them you heard somethings you were never meant to hear.

"Did you see how old he looks?" One of them whispered as the rest nodded their heads and added further.

"I know she's not with him for the money, he's a captain foe god's sake, how much can they make anyway?"

"And she's defiantly not with him for the sex. I'm sure grandpa can't even get it up. God knows why she's with him."

All of the giggled like high school girls, continuing to make fun of you and your boyfriend. This was nothing new to you, they had expressed their disapproval of your boyfriend and his age many time before. But what really hurt you was that he had heard what they were sying about him as well.

After that, you both finished you dinner and started to go back home. The silence in the car was deafening, you could see on his face, what the said had hurt, but you didn't know what to say to him. Upon reaching home, he quickly went to the bathroom, still not saying another word and locked himself there for a long time before finally coming out.

"Mav, I'm so sorry for what they said." You started, jumping up on your feet the moment he came out. "I didn't think they could ever be so mean. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay." He whispered softly, sitting down on your bed.

"No, it's not. They shouldn't have been saying things like that. They're my friends, were my friends, and you are the man I love. They can't just disrespect you like that.'

"It's not really disrespecting when what they're saying is true." It broke your heart to see him like this.

"I don't care what they think about you. I love you and you love me, that's all we'll ever need."

"It's not enough is it?" He finally spoke after a long pause. "They're your friends and if they think all that stuff about me, god know what your family thinks."

"My family loves you Mav!" You argued. "I love you, I don't give a flying fuck what they think or don't think about you. At the end of the day, it's you who I love, it's you who I come home to, it's your who loves me. That is the truth, and that is all I'll ever need."

It took him some time to process what you had just said, not being used to so much love. After a while, he wrapped his arms around you waist, pulled you closer, buried his face in your neck and slowly whispered-

"I love you."

taglist:

@jkasperj@4margaritasalex @futurecorps3 @thisisgracetrying @clairejpg @fangirlinc @thespeeder @ashewontcare @jonginvlog @igotmajordaddyissues @herladyshipxx @m3laniehearts @exo-wayv @mayafatimakhan @starkleila @itscheybaby @spookycupcakepirate @dcamelia @americaa @paulina1998 @lgg5989 @datingbtr @thatchickwiththecamera @kanevill @dempy @saramaple @hockeyboysarehot @redhoodedtoad @nobody7102 @icemanslove @blake-tc-fan

#top gun #tom cruise #top gun maverick spoilers #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick #pete maverick mitchell #maverick mitchell #top gun: maverick #maverick x you #maverick x reader #tom crusie #tom cruise x reader #tom cruise x female reader

[call-sign-shark]

✨ Might As Well Face It ✨

Summary: It started with sex, and it ended up with Pete Maverick Mitchell addicted to your love.

Words: 1.5k Tags:  masturbation, big smut allusions, love confession, age gap, student/teacher relationship, Pete is fucking addicted to you <3

notes: Here is my contribution to @roosterforme 's playlist challenge Love is in the Air TGM. My song was Robert Palmer's Addicted to Love! Here, treat yourself with a video of Tom Cruise singing that song! This is also self-indulgent because I used my own call sign, Shark, for this xReader one shot. Enjoy! 💚

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He had kissed her.

No, worst than that. He had fucked her. 

His student. 

His twenty-five-years-younger-than-him student.

It all started two months ago when he decided to have a drink at the Hard Deck to relieve the stress of the day. Coyote almost crashed his plane for he had fainted during a maneuver. Fortunately enough, he managed to wake up before it was too late. Following this anxious event, all Pete wanted was a few beers, a hot shower, and a good night of sleep. When he sat at the bar counter, his eyes fell on you - you were dancing and singing to the rhythm of Addicted to Love’s electric guitars. You, the student who had driven him crazy since day one. 

He had sipped on his beer, his eyes burning with desire as he enjoyed the sight of your attractive body swinging. His focus shifted from your bratty face to your curves: first, he watched your breasts bouncing at each movement and could not help imagining how good it would feel to lay kisses on them. Then, he looked at your hips he could easily imagine grabbing while fucking you. Finally, he had bitten his lips when looking at your butt - Gosh, the only thing he wanted was spanking it to punish you for arousing him like that. He might have drunk a bit too much or maybe was it his young self breaking free, he could not tell.  Still, he had waited until you decided to leave and offered to bring you home with his motorcycle. The last thing he remembered was you, pinned against the wall of your bedroom, as he filled you with his cum.

Hot water was raining down on Pete Mitchell, who had buried his face in his forearm that was resting against the wet tiles of the shower walls. His heart sweated.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

He asked himself out loud, his breath shaky. He growled with pleasure. His free hand was holding his cock firmly, moving up and down along his length. Fuck - he had never been so hard in his entire life. The slow and languid strokes he had started with quickly turned into frenzied movements. Each time Pete closed his eyes, his mind was assaulted with the memories of your heated encounter. He could still hear your voice chanting, calling him “Sir” as he pounded you with his hips crashing against yours at each thrust.  His body shook.

After that first fuck, he had told her it was a mistake and that they should not do it again…Only to pound her harder two days later, right in the hangar in which he reached his lessons to the squad.  Another kiss was what it took.

“Fucking brat…” 

He swore, hating you for making him feel that way. 

“She could be your fucking daughter, you dumbass.” 

He swore again, hating himself for wanting you so bad. All his muscles tightened for the fire burning in his abdomen became far too much to handle. Pete threw his head back and let out a long, masculine, and final moan. His cock throbbed while releasing his seed. 

He remained there, motionless and panting, stars dancing in front of him. 

Damn, something was definitely wrong with him. 

That was why, two weeks ago, he left you in the morning. On your nightstand, there was a little paper plane with a note written on it.

He tried. He really tried to resist - He even did his best to avoid you. But those last two weeks without you had been the worst of his life. And here he was, jerking off constantly, thinking about you, and suffering from both physical and mental withdrawal symptoms.

After a while, Pete got out of the shower and grabbed a towel he wrapped around his sharp hips. He ran one of his hands through his wet hair to slick them back and looked at his own reflection in the mirror. Despite masturbating in the shower two times in a row, the Captain’s throat was still tight and he could barely breathe.  It has been only two weeks but his body wanted more of you. His soul wanted more of yours.

He could never get enough of you.

His brows furrowed at the piercing green eyes that were looking back at him, afraid of the feelings blazing in his heart. He could not believe it. Pete Mitchell used to think he was immune to the stuff - and by stuff, he meant love stuff. He was the one who broke hearts. He was the one making girls go crazy - at least when he was younger. 

What was he supposed to do? The wiser thing was to eat something and go to sleep, but he could barely do that since your last encounter for his mind was clouded by all the thoughts he had about his hot student and her sweet liquor lips he craved so much it hurt. Maverick, the man and legend, might as well face it: he was addicted to love. Torn between his reasonable self and his feelings, Pete’s mind was tormented.

Should he stick to the good decision of not flirting with his student? Or should he risk losing everything to be by her side?  The man shook his head and grabbed his clothes to put them back on. He had made his decision - another kiss is what he needed. 

The entrance’s door slammed behind him, for he almost run to his motorcycle. Riding it, he took a quick look at his watch to check the time. It was 9 pm but he could not care less: he needed to talk to you. He needed to see you, to kiss your lips, to touch your body, and to sink in your arms, apologizing for the stupid decision he took when he left you all alone in that motel room. 

Pete drove to your house, enforcing the speed limits Maverick style. When he arrived in front of your home, he got up from his bike and knocked at the door. His heart beat in double-time as he waited for you to answer. One, two, three minutes passed but no one came to the door. Pete’s seductive smile faded from his good-looking face. Maybe you were not home?

He took a few steps back, his emerald eyes watching through the living room’s windows. His brows furrowed when he noticed that the lights were on inside your house. After another few minutes, Pete lowered his head, disappointment on his face. Why would you talk to him after he dumped you with a paper note and avoided you for two full weeks? A long sigh escaped from his lips before he pinched the bridge of his nose as if he could feel a headache coming.

“I’m a fucking idiot…”  He said to himself, out loud. Goose was probably facepalming himself up in Heavens, for he had never stopped being the same loser with girls he was when he was young.

“Yes, you’re a fucking idiot Pete Mitchell.” 

Pete jumped at the sudden feminine voice he heard right behind him. He turned around and was welcomed by the blessed sight of your beautiful silhouette. He opened his mouth to say something but no sound came out. Your beautiful eyes unsettled him.

Your instructor wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, realizing that he can’t be saved anymore. The mere fact of facing you again had him damned for eternity

“Cat got your tongue, Sir?” You asked, tilting your head to the side. Your mischievous eyes stared at him.

“I’m sorry Shark.” He finally managed to utter. 

“I know, that’s what you wrote on your stupid little paper plane.” 

“No, you don’t understand. I am really sorry.” 

Pete walked towards you. He was close, so close that your chest was almost pressed against his. You raised your head towards him to keep looking dagger at his green eyes.

“I was terrified. Terrified because I realized can’t live without you. I can’t and I don’t want to. I’ve felt more alive the past two months than I did in my entire life. But the truth is I am twenty-five years older than you, on top of being your teacher."

"That's why you fucked your student daily for two months and dumped her."

"I was afraid of getting fired but I don’t care anymore. All I want is to be with you and never leave.” 

"Seriously Pete. As if this Valentine's Day was not shitty enough... "

"I'm serious Shark. I don't want to leave anymore."

His eyes glimmered as he talked to you. He was struggling to hold back his tears.

A small twinge of pain pinched your heart at the sight of the legendary Maverick struggling to express the feeling he had for you. One look at his emerald eyes and all the grudge you hold against him disappeared.  What kind of superpowers he had, you thought.

“Pete.” You gently pressed the palm of your hand against his sharp jaw.

“I’m so sorry, I swear I am,” His gaze dived into yours. 

A smirk stretched the corner of your lips. Somehow, that apology was all you needed. Your fingers brushed his warm skin and traced the crow’s feet at the outer corner of one of his eyes. It was true, he was old enough to be your dad. And you could both get in trouble for your relationship... But you fell for Captain Mitchell.

And he fell. Harder.

“Might as well face it, Mitchell. You’re addicted to love.” 

“No,” he retorted, “I’m addicted to your love, Dear.” 

“Fucking idiot” You could not help but chuckle. The kind of bratty chuckle that sent Maverick to Heavens just by listening to it.

“Your idiot.” He whispered, his face coming closer to kiss you. Yet, you stopped him by pressing your index fingers on his lips. Surprised, Pete looked at you, perplexed.

"Another kiss, and you'll be mine." Your voice sang, quietly, words candy-coated with malice.

Pete snorted, amused. The way his eyes squinted when he smiled was irresistible. He chased away your finger with a head movement, only to capture your lips with his.

He was ready to risk it.

What did he have to lose? After all, he was already yours.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

credits:

Gif by @pohjanneito Mav's handwritting font by @k9effect

#love is in the air tgm #top gun maverick x reader #tom cruise #pete mitchell fanfiction #pete mitchell x reader #top gun x reader #top gun maverick imagine #top gun imagine #pete mitchell x you #pete mitchell x y/n #maverick x you #maverick x reader #maverick x oc #maverick imagine #Bradley bradshaw #Jake Seresin #hangman tgm #rooster tgm #rooster top gun #hangman top gun #top gun maverick smut #Tom cruise daddy

[jaidens]

Young Maverick Mitchell x reader fic where he falls in love with the admiral's daughter but they're forced to break up. They secretly get back together on the end

i'm the one on the phone as you whisper "do you know how much I miss you?"

pairing [s] : pete ‘maverick’ mitchell x reader

warning [s] : mentions of : hookups, kissing |

a/n [s] : ty the request! [requests are open]

The young Pete Mitchell was known for his rebellious ego and his daring maneuvers in the cockpit of his F-14. However, his most daring adventure was going to be on the solid ground of the Earth. With his ideals, he would take a challenge if it would kill him in the end, but he lived through the adrenaline.

He had met her at the military gala of 1986. They locked eyes across the marble floors. Pete was in his best whites, pressed and pins showing his absolute elegance across his chest. You're absolutely beautiful and Maverick’s fiery eyes pull you in deliciously. He was like a magnet and you were the opposite pole, and he was stuck to you.

You and his relationship were hidden from the public view, only blossoming behind closed doors and small closets around the base. Admiral Williams, Y/N’s father and Mavericks superior, shadowed over the relationship unknowingly. You had been told that dating a pilot was a dangerous business, and his anger would be if he found out you had been with one.

One day, the secret was out.

It was nine in the morning, the sun was pooling through the windows and into your room. Pete is laying in your bed, naked and sun-kissed. You're wrapped up in the sheets with him, tucked into his arms. You hate the sun in the morning for waking you up from the feeling of him.

“Oh, shit!” You jump up, grabbing your underwear from the ground and your clothes. While you're tugging them on, you hear a knock and a cough. Pete is utterly confused, one eyebrow raised as he wakes up from the events before. “Pete! Get up! My dad is coming over today, in like.. now!”

That gets him up and rising, trying to pull his jeans on and close the belt as he trips while shoving his legs in. Pete is trying to fix his hair while it's crazy, spikey on the top. In a second, your father is standing in the doorway as he opens his mouth, he shuts it. Pete turns his head at you, gives you a small ‘I’m sorry’ smile, then to his superior.

“Dad, listen, I can expla—” You say, holding your hands up. Your father shakes his head and holds his hand up.

“No, Y/N, go down stairs honey. Maverick, get dressed and I'll see you down there.” His words feel like a dangerous poison, and the venom seeps into your veins as you shamefully walk downstairs. You're young, eighteen years old, and still growing up. Pete is the same age, having just joined the Navy a year ago. The playing around is almost customary for two young adults still trying to find themselves. Hopefully your dad will understand that.

As you sit downstairs in a fluffy blanket pulled up your chest, flipping through the magazine that was on the coffee table. Your dad walks down stairs, rubbing a bent hand against his chin as he looks at you disappointedly. “Y/N, come here, sit at the bar.” You begrudgingly stand up and walk to the bar as your father makes breakfast. You're staring at the ground and he sets the food in front of you.

“Y/N. That boy is trouble. That's all he is. If you mess around with him, your reputation will get ruined.” Your father's words don't make it past your angst, as you chew into your food. “Are you listening to me?” Pete emerges from the stairwell, fully dressed with his bomber jacket on.

“Maverick. Sit down.” Your father's words aren't calmer than they were with you, they're angry. At either you, him, or most likely the both of you. “I don't care how long this has been going on. However, me and my daughters reputation will not be ruined by your behavior. I will see that you will stay away from her. I don't want to see you around the base, or even close to her.”

You go to retaliate but your father shushes you and Maverick looks down on embarrassment. “Which, means you will stop seeing my daughter. So, pack your stuff and leave, Maverick. I will see you tomorrow on base.” Your protests are ignored as Pete puts his boots on and starts walking towards the door, leaves the house, and shuts it close behind him.

You stand up and run after Maverick as you hear his bike rev up. “Pete!” You yell as you run out the door and for him. His head turned to yours, a small frown etched on his mouth. You make it to him and he wraps you in his arms. “I’m so sorry, Pete, I'm so sorry.” You're kissing him while he holds you. The kiss is different from the hundreds you've shared: it's long and you can't get enough of it.

“I have to go, don't you forget me.” Pete tells you, giving you a small kiss on the forehead before he revs up his bike one last time. “I love you, so much.” He says, kissing you before he rides away and leaves you.

You curse your father for making him leave, you curse your life, you curse everything.

You find him again.

You're sipping on a non-alcoholic Shirley Temple in the corner of the music hall. The live orchestra has your attention captured. Within a second, you see him talking with Goose and those bubbly feelings from when you were eighteen begin to appear. Suddenly, your feet are dragging you to the handsome pilot who drinks from a clear glass.

“Oh, Pete.” Is all you say as wrap yourself up in his arms. It's dangerous knowing your father is just on the other side of the room. But isn't that how it all started in the first place?

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[tongue-like-a-razor]

There Are Circumstances

Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x F!Reader

Summary: Maverick refuses to bring you on the mission which further deteriorates your already fragile relationship. And the true reason behind his decision catches you off guard.

CW: age gap, student/instructor dynamic, swearing, and, as always, a hefty dose of emotional torment

WC: 3000+

This is Part 4 in the There Are Rules universe.

“Lieutenant!” Maverick calls after you as you storm out of the briefing room before anybody else can exit. You hear him pushing past the others as he follows you out the door. “Lieutenant!” he repeats, his voice echoing in the narrow passageway.

You quicken your pace, the curve of the steel walls blurring in your peripherals as you nearly sprint through the winding corridor.

“Y/N!” Maverick hollers over the persistent rattle of the ship. You keep your course without acknowledging him, but the hum of machinery drowns out Maverick’s footsteps and you don’t hear him running up behind you until it’s too late and he’s cutting you off before you can go any further. He stops so abruptly that you nearly crash into him. He releases a sharp breath, his lips pressed together tightly, and blocks your way when you try to move past. “Don’t take it personally,” he says.

“Fuck off,” you snap, trying to go around him.

Maverick holds his hand out to stop you and gives his head a slight shake. “If this is your idea of professionalism” –

You scoff indignantly. How dare he speak of professionalism after washing you out for no good reason. You’re the best pilot in the squadron – he’d admitted it himself – so his decision to keep you off the mission is personal. “Never would’ve pegged you for the spiteful type,” you say, trying to keep your voice level despite its underlying tremor.

Maverick’s gaze drifts as he looks stoically over your shoulder. He seems unfazed by your assessment or, at the very least, he hides it well. “This has nothing to do with our relationship,” he says, still not meeting your eye.

“What relationship?” you respond maliciously, reminding him that he had severed whatever connection the two of you shared weeks ago.

Maverick breathes out steadily and looks at you once more. “I can’t take you,” he says firmly. “Please don’t question my judgement.”

You let out a bitter chuckle and it reverberates in the passage, for a moment drowning out the rumble of the ship’s engines. “Did Cyclone put you up to this?” you ask.

Maverick shakes his head sternly. “This was my decision.”

You grit your teeth to keep your mouth from trembling. You’re so offended that Maverick has excluded you from the operation, it hardly matters why he chose to do it. All that matters is that Maverick keeps hurting you. And all you want to do is hurt him back. “Let me pass,” you hiss, trying again to force your way through.

Maverick takes a hold of your arms to keep you in place. “Don’t do this,” he says, an edge to his tone despite the composure on his face.

“Do what?” you yell, fighting his firm grasp.

“You’re acting irrationally,” Maverick says in a low voice.

“Oh, am I?” you respond scathingly.

“We can discuss this in a mature, professional manner,” he urges.

You blink at him, stunned at his choice of words. “Are you saying I’m immature?”

He shakes his head solemnly. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“That’s the word you used” –

“Just listen to me, for god’s sake!” he growls, his volume rising threateningly. But you’re only pleased to witness the dissolution of his self-control. After all, you can’t be the only one here who feels something.

“I am listening!” you retort. “You’re professional and I’m not. You’re mature and I’m” –

“Why are you starting a fight?”

“I didn’t start this!” you shout, finally freeing yourself of his grip.

You push past him angrily, but he doesn’t let you get far before roaring, “YOU’RE A LOOSE CANNON!”

You freeze, silent for a second as you process this appraisal.

“If I can’t trust you down here, how am I supposed to trust you up there?” he yells.

You turn slowly to look at him, meeting his turbulent gaze. “You don’t trust me?” you ask quietly, your words barely audible amidst the clatter of the ship.

Maverick’s features contort apologetically, as though he immediately regrets his words. He sighs despairingly, his eyes glistening in the low, fluorescent lights as he squares his jaw. “I can’t get you to cooperate,” he says regretfully. “I don’t know how.”

You stare at him in disbelief.

“You’re a hell of a pilot,” he continues. “But, unfortunately, that’s not enough.”

You suck in your cheeks and bite into them aggressively, trying your best not to cry.

“I can’t have you ignoring my orders up there because you think you know better” –

“I would never –” you start, but he cuts you off.

“You have not demonstrated evidence to the contrary,” he says decisively.

“Maybe not during training, but on a mission” –

Maverick shakes his head. “I told you, Lieutenant: we train like we fight. So that, when we fight, we can come back alive. Ignoring instructions during training may have created bad habits that I don’t want to creep up on us in combat.”

“So, this is punishment?”

“No,” Maverick says quietly. “This is a lesson.”

You let out a disdainful sigh. “What’s the difference?”

Maverick takes a step toward you. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says.

You back away. “And yet, here we are.”

Maverick watches you levelly, having nearly regained all his composure. “I don’t want to leave this unresolved.”

You consider his request. In just a few hours, he will be leaving for a mission from which he may never return. And yet, your resentment gets the best of you anyhow. “You know that I would never jeopardize this mission,” you say through gritted teeth. “You know that your reason for leaving me behind is bullshit!”

Maverick nods solemnly. “You’re entitled to that opinion.”

You clench your jaw. “Don’t patronize me.”

Maverick doesn’t say much after this point, and you’re too distraught to carry on the conversation all on your own. Within minutes, other officers begin to round the corner as they make their way back to the living quarters and you join the procession mutely, giving Maverick one last, wounded glance.

…

You’re on deck when Maverick and his crew prepare for takeoff as your own fighter is on standby alert. He watches you solemnly as you wish your fellow aviators a successful mission and, when he approaches you, his eyebrows lifted inward worriedly, you’re suddenly overwhelmed with anguish at the thought of losing him for good.

He holds out his hand to you, but you don’t take it. Instead, you wrap your arms around his neck, shutting your eyes tightly when you feel his hands close around your back. “Fly safe, Captain,” you mutter, and you feel his head move up and down in a nod against your neck. When your eyes flutter open, you notice that Cyclone – who’d been watching your interaction from the sidelines – has turned away with a sour expression.

It takes every ounce of your self-control to keep from kissing him as you pull away from the embrace. And, when you catch Maverick’s miserable expression, you gather that he’s fighting the same impulse. He squeezes your hand discreetly before backing away with a grim expression. “We’ll see you soon,” he assures you.

…

“Requesting clearance for takeoff, sir,” you say tensely, interrupting the chaotic feed in your headset.

“Denied,” you hear Cyclone’s rigid response.

“But, sir –” you start when Cyclone interjects.

“I said no, Lieutenant.”

You throw your head back into your seat in frustration. Your heart is hammering so insistently that you feel its pulse in the tips of every one of your fingers. You’ve been trained to keep your emotions in check when faced with stressful situations. You’ve been taught to manage anxiety and overcome fear. But this? No amount of simulation exercises could have possibly prepared you for an event like this.

Maverick’s plane has been shot down and Cyclone has made the difficult decision of leaving him behind, despite the very real chance that he may still be alive. Rationally speaking, you understand that going back for Maverick isn’t worth the unnecessary risk of additional casualties. But, as is to be expected in such unprecedented circumstances, you’re noticing a rapid deterioration of your own logical reasoning skills to the point where you contemplate ignoring orders, taxiing to the runway, and taking off without pre-flight checks. Just when you’re about to release the parking brake, however, the ground crew cuts your engine. You glance down to see them signaling for you to exit the aircraft. “Admiral Simpson, what is happening?” you ask in a panic. “Why were my engines shut off?”

“You’ve been grounded, Lieutenant,” is his response. “Please report to mission control.”

The thought that Cyclone might be omitting information about Maverick and taking you off the deck in order to share it in private is causing you to stagger as you climb out of the cockpit. You’re so nauseated that you feel like you might faint before reaching the ground.

You remove your helmet at a run, skirting the maintenance personnel on the flight deck to reach the first stairwell. You barrel down the stairs and through a passageway toward the center of the carrier. Then down another flight of stairs, and then another. It feels like a lifetime has passed before you finally reach the Combat Information Center.

“Is he okay?” you cry, bursting through the door.

Cyclone turns to look at you with barely concealed irritation. He doesn’t appear impressed with your conduct.

You clear your throat and salute your superior. Then, you try again. “Where is he, sir?”

Cyclone tightens his mouth sternly before looking back to the screen behind him. “We don’t know,” he responds.

“What?” you screech, forgetting protocol yet again. This time, however, Cyclone doesn’t even flinch at your tone. “Why am I here then?” you ask, adding, “Sir,” as an afterthought.

“You’re here because I’m not losing another pilot to insubordination,” he replies without so much as looking in your direction.

“Another pilot?”

Cyclone grimaces. “Maverick pulled a stunt.”

“A stunt, sir?”

“They missed the target,” Cyclone states. “Their time was up, I ordered them to return.”

Your heart sinks. “He went back.”

“He took it out,” Cyclone says with a hint of respect. “Just before he was shot down.”

There’s a somber stillness in the room which tells you that there isn’t a soul here that thinks Maverick could have survived. You feel yourself start to shake, the hope that you were clinging to extinguished as the words shot down begin to finally sink in. Meanwhile, you’re stranded in the depths of the carrier, watching helplessly as the tactical team continues strategizing with their commanding officer on how best to bring the rest of their pilots home.

You lean your back into the wall, trying to steady your breathing, not sure how you’re still standing at all. You notice Cyclone’s occasional glances in your direction but you pay him little attention; in fact, you’re doing a fine job of tuning everyone out, until someone’s surprised tone of voice peaks your interest.

“Sir.” One of the operators points at the radar screen. You and everybody else look up at the blip moving swiftly in the direction of the carrier.

“Is that…” Cyclone leans over the operator’s chair. “One of ours?”

“Comms are down, sir,” the operator responds. “But it’s a Hornet.”

"How the hell?" Cyclone straightens his back in awe. He looks over his shoulder at you with a mildly amused expression. “It’s his tail code,” he says, holding your gaze significantly.

Before he can say anything else, you’re out the door, hurtling back up the stairs. You’re blocked, however, by med crews as they flock to the flight deck. By the time you arrive, the crowd surrounding the returned aviator is so large that you can’t get through. But it doesn’t matter. Because he’s alive. Maverick is alive.

…

Half an hour later, you rush into the officer’s locker room to find a shirtless Maverick grabbing a t-shirt out of his locker. He whips his head around when he hears you enter and lowers his arms slowly as you approach.

He glances over your shoulder anxiously. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says.

Although this isn’t the greeting you had in mind, you gaze at him affectionately, nonetheless, still in shock that he’s made it back. That you were so close to losing him forever and yet, here he stands before you, alive and relatively unscathed.

“Y/N,” he warns as you draw nearer.

But you barely hear him. Or, rather, you ignore his words. Perhaps he’s been right all along about your reluctance to comply with authority.

Maverick opens his mouth as if to speak again but, the closer you get, the more powerless he appears in your presence. And before he can say anything else, you throw your arms around him, burying your face into his neck.

Immediately, he’s hugging you back. He holds you firmly, as though he knows just how much you need to feel him after the fear of never being able to touch him again. You collapse into his embrace entirely, until all your limbs are so weak, he’s practically holding you upright. You’re crying and kissing his neck, and his chest heaves as you fall apart in his arms. “Sweetheart,” he whispers into your ear before pressing a burning kiss on your cheekbone. “You can’t be here.”

You compress yourself against him, completely disregarding everything that followed the word Sweetheart. Maverick’s biceps contract as he hugs you even tighter than before, his rapid breaths washing over the top of your head. You lift your face to glance up at him from the snug embrace and he lowers his head to rest on yours. He closes his eyes when your hand starts to move softly down his bare, upper body. “Just a little longer,” you breathe.

He nods against your forehead, bringing a hand up to rest over yours on his chest. His fingers curl around yours and he lifts your hand up to his lips, kissing your fingertips gently. “I owe you an apology,” he says in an uneven tone.

Slowly and very reluctantly, you detach yourself from him. “No.” You shake your head. “You don’t.”

“Trust me,” he says, his gaze dropping. “I do.”

It’s the hard set of his jaw that makes you uneasy at first. And then, when he looks back up at you, the grief in his swimming eyes alarms you further. “What is it?” you ask, not entirely certain you can handle the answer.

Maverick exhales resolutely and turns away to grab his duffel bag out of the locker. The muscles in his back shift when he bends to set it down on the bench. “I applied for a transfer,” he says.

You stare at the back of his head, paralyzed. Confused. Feeling like you might be sick. “What?” you breathe. “Why?”

Maverick straightens out and gives you a somber look. “Because,” he says. “I’m letting my feelings for you cloud my judgement.”

“What are you talking about?” you exclaim. “You didn’t take me on the mission! Despite knowing that I’d get mad. You were right; I’m impulsive and unpredictable and –” you stop short when Maverick shakes his head.

“That’s not why I didn’t take you,” he says with a hint of regret in his tone.

You watch him drag a tired hand over his face. “It wasn’t because you don’t trust me?” you say quietly.

“No,” he admits. “It’s because I don’t trust myself.”

You furrow your eyebrows, wanting more than anything to know exactly what Maverick is thinking. What Maverick is feeling.

He meets your gaze hesitantly. “I couldn’t trust myself to prioritize the mission objective over your safety.” He shakes his head, letting out a tortured sigh. “I couldn’t do it,” he whispers desperately. He releases an uneven breath and shifts his jaw to keep it from trembling. “I can’t fly with you.”

You watch the man who so rarely demonstrates emotion crumble under the gravity of his own words. But the show is fleeting. Abruptly, he wipes his brow in frustration and presses his lips together tightly, squaring his shoulders after having dropped them in despair. You can tell that he’s made up his mind and, despite it being an obviously valid decision considering the situation, you’re hurt that he’s done so without consulting you. “So, you’re just leaving?” you say, stunned.

“I have to,” he responds, finally pulling his shirt over his head.

You stare at him as he packs up his uniform and puts his gear into the locker. You want to tell him that he can’t leave; he can’t because you can’t stand the idea of him leaving. But he’s already resumed his stoic expression, so you can’t possibly tell him that you’re in love with him now. “That’s some bullshit,” you comment resentfully.

He pulls his duffel bag over his shoulder and glances over your face as he straightens his posture. “Lieutenant,” he says. “You’re still not listening to me.”

You grit your teeth in anger. “Luckily, it won’t be a problem for very much longer,” you reply coolly.

He nods, then he steps over the bench to head for the door.

You glance after him, barely able to hold back your tears. “How could you?” you yell, no longer capable of keeping it together.

Maverick turns back in alarm. He drops his bag and, in two wide strides he’s standing right before you with a severe expression on his face. “Are you kidding me?” he hisses. “Why are you screaming?” He looks over his shoulder to ensure that the door is still closed.

You scoff. Of all things, he chooses to dwell on your momentary lapse in self-control. “Stop pretending like this means nothing to you,” you spit out angrily.

His eyes widen and his eyebrows converge. “That’s the impression you got from I can’t perform my duty if it means putting your life in danger?”

You open your mouth to say something, but his words have rendered you temporarily speechless. Finally, you remind him, “Putting my life on the line is my job.”

Maverick sets his jaw. “Precisely.”

“So, you’re going to run away because it’s a challenge?”

“It’s not just a challenge, Y/N,” he says. “It’s not possible. This was never going to work! Perhaps under different circumstances…” he sighs miserably. “We knew that!”

You let out a strangled breath. “I didn’t.”

His eyes search yours as though he can’t believe you haven’t come to the same conclusion. “Not only is it completely out of line for me to pursue a relationship with a lieutenant in my own squadron, but we also keep glossing over the fact that you are half my age! How could this have possibly gone anywhere?”

You feel the trembling of your bottom lip and bite into it forcefully, closing your eyes. “Please don’t go,” you whisper. “I… I –” I love you, is what you ought to say. But, instead, you utter, “I’ll stop disobeying orders.”

“That’s not what this is about” –

“I won’t question you,” you continue, opening your eyes. “I won’t seek you out. It’ll be just like before. A strictly professional relationship, nothing more. Just please don’t go.”

“It won’t change how I feel” –

“It will,” you assure him. “It will… in time. You’ll see. We can do this. You don’t have to go.”

Maverick watches you skeptically so you extend your hand to him to formally shake on it. His gaze sweeps over your features and the heartache is apparent in his eyes. “I can’t,” he says, but you can sense the hesitation in his words.

“You’re Maverick Mitchell,” you say, trying to sound casual while your heart hammers with dread. “Of course, you can.”

Maverick’s mouth twitches upward slightly, although his eyes still watch you sadly. Finally, he places his hand in yours. His grip isn’t nearly as firm as you’d expect; in fact, he’s barely touching you. “For the record,” he says, “I think this is a terrible idea.”

You let out a nervous chuckle when you glimpse the faint smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. “How hard can it be, Captain?” you say lightly.

He glances at you pointedly, then responds cheekily, “It can be very hard, Lieutenant.”

Read Part 5

Tag List:

It's a long one so the rest of the list is in the comments. Hope I got everyone, let me know if I missed you! As always, let me know if you no longer wish to be tagged in my works <3

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#pete mitchell #maverick #pete maverick mitchell #top gun #tom cruise #maverick imagine #top gun maverick #maverick x reader #maverick fanfic #pete mitchell x reader #maverick x y/n #maverick x you #maverick mitchell #pete mitchell x you #pete mitchell x y/n #pete mitchell imagine #tom cruise fanfiction #tom cruise x female reader #tom cruise imagine #maverick fluff

[mitchellpete]

KINKTOBER 2023

My first Kinktober and first ever writing challenge! (Wish me luck..) But I’m super excited to see you guys request! Kinks from this list, which was super intimidating (lol). First time I realize English not being my first language is kind of a nuisance because some of those I would have absolutely no clue how to write.. BUT ALAS. I picked these out and hope that they’re fun. Also hope you guys don’t mind that I filled one of them out already but I figured since I’m already writing it for an old request..

Will be updating this as slots get filled, so request away!

Characters I write for are here (plus Iceman who I kind of want to start writing for), but I’m very flexible so if you want to ask about any other characters, please do!

18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI

Day 1 - Overstimulation

↳ Tom “Iceman” Kazansky | Top Gun

Day 2 - Public

↳ Ethan Hunt | Mission: Impossible

Day 3 - 69

↳ Pete “Maverick” Mitchell | Top Gun: Maverick

Day 4 - Thigh riding

↳ Pete “Maverick” Mitchell | Top Gun: Maverick

Day 5 - Spanking

↳ Tom “Iceman” Kazansky | Top Gun

Day 6 - Cockwarming

↳ Pete “Maverick” Mitchell | Top Gun: Maverick

Day 7 - Blindfold

↳ Vincent | Collateral

Day 8 - Size

↳ Tom “Iceman” Kazansky | Top Gun

Day 9 - Praise

↳ Pete “Maverick” Mitchell | Top Gun: Maverick

Day 10 - Handjob

↳ Cole Trickle | Days of Thunder

Day 11 - Cunnilungus

↳ Ethan Hunt | Mission: Impossible

Day 12 - Voyeurism

↳ Tom “Iceman” Kazansky & Pete “Maverick” Mitchell | Top Gun

Day 13 - Hate sex

↳ Tom “Iceman” Kazansky | Top Gun

Day 14 - Virginity

↳ Pete “Maverick” Mitchell | Top Gun

Day 15 - Dirty talk

↳ Pete “Maverick” Mitchell | Top Gun: Maverick

Day 16 - Begging

↳ Pete “Maverick” Mitchell | Top Gun

Day 17 - Edging

↳ Ethan Hunt | Mission: Impossible

Day 18 - Mirror sex

↳ Pete “Maverick” Mitchell | Top Gun: Maverick

Day 19 - Orgasm denial

↳ Vincent | Collateral

Day 20 - Face sitting

↳ Pete “Maverick” Mitchell | Top Gun: Maverick

Day 21 - Deepthroating

↳ Tom “Iceman” Kazansky | Top Gun

Day 22 - Creampie

↳ Tom “Iceman” Kazansky | Top Gun

Day 23 - Bath/shower

↳ Ethan Hunt | Mission: Impossible

Day 24 - Bondage

↳ Ethan Hunt | Mission: Impossible

Day 25 - Sex toys

↳ Ethan Hunt | Mission: Impossible

Day 26 - Brat taming

↳ Pete “Maverick” Mitchell | Top Gun: Maverick

Day 27 - Fingering

↳ Jerry Maguire

Day 28 - Uniform

↳ Pete “Maverick” Mitchell | Top Gun

Day 29 - Table sex

↳ Pete “Maverick” Mitchell | Top Gun: Maverick

Day 30 - Squirting

↳ Brian Flanagan | Cocktail

Day 31 - Biting

↳ Lestat de Lioncourt | Interview with the Vampire

#pete mitchell x reader #maverick x reader #maverick x you #top gun maverick fanfic #pete maverick mitchell x reader #top gun #top gun maverick #tom cruise x reader #iceman x reader #tom kazansky x reader #tom iceman kazansky x reader #ethan hunt x reader #kinktober 2023

[simpforrooster]

captain.

Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x f!reader

t/w: age gap (two consenting adults here), making out? cursing. I think that all.

Maverick knows he shouldn't pursue you. You're one of his students. Surely you would want to date an old has been. He just can't help himself.

You’d caught Maverick’s eyes as soon as he saw you laughing with the other Top Gun graduates at the Hard Deck. He hadn’t expected to see Penny here, she all but wrote him off anyway.

“We’re not doing this again, Maverick. I met someone. We got married last spring,” Penny showed him the rock on her finger.

“Bradley!” your sweet voice calls out, making Mav turn his head so Rooster doesn’t notice him. Mav pretty much decides right then and there, your voice is the best thing he’s ever heard.

He also doesn’t miss the way Rooster takes you in, making a big show of checking you out. He watches Rooster pull you tight against him, and there is something deep in Mav’s stomach he knows can only be jealousy.

Jealous of his dead friend’s son. Jealous about one of his students. God, what a mess.

There is no way this could work. You were at least twenty years younger than him, and one of his students.

But, damn, he can’t take his eyes off you.

Maverick spends the time between now and him getting thrown out of the Hard Deck trying to stop himself from thinking about you.

~

It doesn't work.

From the moment you walked into the training room to when you went up in your jet, flying with such grace, Maverick couldn’t shake you.

After dogfight football, the crew talked Maverick into joining them at the Hard Deck.

“Here you go, Captain,” you tell him, handing him a beer.

Maverick hides the groan that slips out of his mouth at your use of his rank pretty well. He gives you a nod. “Thanks, Squish.” He uses your call sign, not trusting himself to use your rank, or hell, even your actual name.

Maverick found out they call you Squish as a call back to the stuffed animals you smuggled into basic training. Allegedly they’d reminded you of home, and you were known to lend them out to those who needed a little bit of home.

As if he couldn't fall more for you.

Your sweet heart, jaw-dropping good looks, and impeccable flying? Fuck.

If only he could get you away from Rooster. Mav and Rooster still hadn’t made up, and he was just going to add stealing Rooster’s girl onto the long list of reasons why Rooster hated him.

Maverick is pretty good at eavesdropping and learned that you and Rooster weren’t an item, but he’d heard enough from Hangman and Coyote’s conversation to know Rooster definitely had his eyes on you.

The only thing he doesn't know is how you feel about Bradley.

Maverick isn't worried, though. He may be older, but he hasn’t forgotten how to pull a lady when he needs to.

You settle onto the stool next to Maverick, and it takes everything in him to keep his hand wrapped around his beer and not around your shoulders.

~

You bought your instructor a beer. Your hot instructor. Your perfect in every way instructor.

What the hell are you thinking?

The grip on his beer bottle doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Does he think it’s inappropriate that you did that? You’re damn well old enough to go for him. Shit, Maverick could ram into the side of your jet and you would thank him.

Maverick looks over at you and gives you a smirk.

You pray the dim bar lights hide your flush.

“So, what’s the story between you and Bradley?” Maverick asks you, his voice neutral, but you can tell he’s fishing for information.

You could kill Bradley for the way he’s been hanging all over you lately. Bradley hasn’t said, but you know there is something in the past that has him and Mav rattled. You also know your best friend knows you better than yourself and could tell immediately that Maverick caught your eye.

“We’re just friends,” you admit, hoping you aren’t reading into anything. God, that would be embarrassing. “He’s like a brother to me.”

Did the side of his mouth just lift? You hope he caught on to you insinuating that Bradley was in the friendzone.

“Is that so?” Maverick gives you a stomach-flipping smile before bringing his beer to his lips. He tips it back, and you’re lost in what he’d taste like if you kissed him right now.

The tension between the two of you becomes so palpable, the next thing out of your mouth falls out with no consent.

“You know I’m not worried about the age difference, right?” Your voice is low. Almost so low you didn’t think Maverick heard you at all. He works his jaw, obviously battling some inner war. He squeezes his eyes shut, then reopens them. Maverick keeps his gaze forward.

“I am going to make an excuse to leave, wait five minutes, meet me in the alleyway.” His voice is hushed, and he speeds through the instructions, you almost don’t comprehend.

Your heart starts pumping overtime as he throws back the rest of his beer. He stands and feeds the gang some bullshit excuse about needing to head home to rest before training tomorrow. They brush him off, calling out his age. Mav holds his hands up in defeat and turns toward the exit. He doesn’t look at you as he slips out the door.

The next five minutes feel like five years.

When your phone finally shows that five minutes have passed, you put the device to your ear. “Oh hey, Mom! Yeah, I’m good. Let me step outside so I can hear you better.”

You follow Maverick’s path out the door unnoticed. In an instant, he has you backed up against the wall of the Hard Deck. One hand settles on your waist, the other above your shoulder, braced against the building. Maverick breathes you in, planting small kisses along your neck.

The butterflies ripping through your stomach are almost too much. Is this really happening?

Pete “Maverick” Mitchell is kissing your neck. He runs his nose along the trail of kisses he left until his mouth is at your ear.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to get you alone,” he murmurs, his hot breath sending chills down your arms.

“Please kiss me before I wake up from this dream,” you sigh. That’s what this is. It has to be. There is no way Maverick likes you back.

“This isn’t a dream, Y/N,” he whispers. This is the first time he’s used your name, and it sounds amazing coming from him.

You grip his bomber jacket in your hands, pulling him closer to you. Maverick is objectively not the tallest guy, but he still towers over your frame.

“Please, Pete,” you almost beg. Hearing his name must be his undoing, because his lips are meeting yours in a greedy kiss.

Expert lips move against yours, and Mav’s other hand finds its way to your hip. His fingers slip under your shirt, burning into your skin, causing a soft moan to fall against his lips.

This makes the corner of his mouse rise, he knows exactly how he’s making you feel right now.

Of course he does. The man is just as egotistical as Hangman. All these naval aviators are the same, but that doesn’t stop you from wanting him.

Maverick has you right where he wants you, and you couldn’t care less. He could ask you to rob a bank and you wouldn’t think twice.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says in your ear. His voice is hoarse. You have the same effect on him as he does you. This makes you grin.

“Do I get to ride on the back of your motorcycle, Captain?” You test out using his rank again.

He pulls you in for one last kiss, before practically dragging you to his Kawasaki.

“Honey, you can do anything you want if you keep calling me that.”

a/n: phew. I couldn't let another day go by without writing for the man himself.

masterlist

#topgunmaverk #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fic #top gun #pete maverick mitchell #maverick x y/n #maverick x you #maverick x reader #pete mitchell imagine #pete mitchell x you #pete mitchell x y/n #maverick fanfic #maverick imagine

[i-wear-wet-socks313]

POV: you brought a camera to your top gun training in 1986 and are determined to capture every minute

#top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun movie #maverick x you #top gun 1986 #top gun fandom #tom iceman kazansky #iceman x reader #slider x reader #nick goose bradshaw #pov #slider #val kilmer #tom cruise #rick rossovich #anthony edwards #great balls of fire

[thewulf]

Authority Thing || Pete "Maverick" Mitchell

Summary: Request - Hi can you write a request about Maverick x a shy pilot reader and make it fluffy. Like Maverick pulls reader out of her shell?

A/N: Kinda made this a shy pilot because she’s crushing on him not because she’s shy in general. Also turned out way more angsty than I was planning but it’s still super fluffy! Hope you still enjoy :)

Pairing: Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x Y/N (2022 Version)

Word Count: 3.7k +

Edited again 3/11/24 after finding lots of issues - sorry!

He knew from the moment he spotted you in the back of the classroom on that very first day he was a goner. Physically, you were perfect. Your hair framed your face perfectly, your eyes reflected the sunshine in a way he’d never seen, your smile was truly infectious, you were perfect in all the right places.

Mentally, you were a challenge for him. You were shy. So quiet. He couldn’t seem to get through to you either. You were close. So damn close to taking that next step. But it’s like you were afraid. You were scared to fail. You were an exceptional pilot. Right on par with Hangman. You were good enough to block him out and take him down. You were able to prove that you were the best of the literal best. But something was stopping you.

You were never afraid to challenge your classmates. He got a kick out of it when you’d snap back at Hangman with the venom dripping in your voice. You were beyond intimidating when you needed to be. You didn’t need to talk shit because your flying proved how good you really were. You knew you were good. You knew you were great. You also knew your limits. You knew you needed to become exceptional. There was something more for you to give. You just had to find it first.

But Pete, Maverick, Mitchell? Maverick terrified you, in the best way. He was a legend. Literally never lost. Almost had five live air kills… you could go on and on about him. Ad to find out he was your instructor for the next six or so weeks? You knew you were toast. Absolute toast. Then you actually laid eyes on the Captain, and you wish you could’ve just exploded right there on the spot. He was handsome. So, fucking handsome. You locked eyes with him for only seconds on that first day of class before your turned away. You didn’t look back to him at all that class. Too terrified you’d make a damn fool of yourself.

So, you kept it short with him. Quick ‘Yes’s and No’s’. You’d often just take his corrections without fighting back. It confused him. You were so damn different with him than anybody else. You’d even warmed up to Cyclone, the Admiral for God’s sake. He saw you walking, talking, and laughing with him on your way to lunch one day. He didn’t have a clue as to why you were so shy around him. Why you’d rather run in the opposite direction than have to pass him in the hallway. It’d only been two weeks and it was driving him mad. He needed to talk with you. Was it something he did?

He would he decided. At the end of your next classroom session. One way or another he’d get some answers out of you. He needed to know if he did something wrong. It was gnawing at the back of his head.

“Birdie, if you don’t mind. Stay back for a second?” You looked at Bob who just shrugged, unsure of what your instructor could have wanted. You packed up slowly letting everybody trickle out before walking towards the front of the classroom.

Birdie. Your callsign. You had a love and hate relationship with it. You’d always joked that you felt like a bird in the sky when you were in training to become a pilot. Your friends promptly started calling you Birdie and it just stuck. You kind of wished you had a more fun story to tell other than the boring one of how you got your callsign. But alas, you didn’t. It was simple. Cute. Basic. Kind of like you. You’d never seen yourself as anything but ordinary. Just Y/N. Good at her job Y/N.

“Captain.” You let out a shaky breath. He made you nervous. So damn nervous. People of authority always did. And then he looked like that on top of it? Forget it. You were a goner. It wasn’t right to be thinking such unsavory thoughts about your damn instructor in your head. It made you act like a fucking weirdo in front of him. Case and point. You couldn’t even look him in the eyes.

“Good job up there today. Four for four.” You looked up from where you standing just quickly enough to see him staring right at you. Why’d he have to be so handsome? It was an unfair game that was suddenly being played against you.

“Thank you.” A small smile crept to your face hearing the compliment. It felt good. A small praise from the man giving you a small bit of confidence to look up to him but give him no more.

He nodded walking down to you, standing across from you. Your heart rate picked up quickly feeling his presence right there. Right in front of you. Oh, how you’ve avoided this situation masterfully. Now look where you were. Stuck alone in the classroom with him right there in front of you. What could possibly go wrong?

He waited until you looked at him to continue. He knew curiosity would get the better of you sooner or later. He was right. After thirty seconds of silence, you looked up.

He smiled seeing your doe-eyed expression. He shouldn’t feel this way about you. He shouldn’t want to brush the strand of hair that fell out of your bun away from your face. He shouldn’t want to run a hand along your back. He shouldn’t want to fucking kiss you senseless. But he wanted it. He wanted it all and more. So much more. What the hell was wrong with him? You were so young. So lively. Had so much to look forward too. Hell, you even had a shot of becoming an admiral if you had the drive to do it.

“Sir?” You asked, waiting on his question. His reason for holding you back.

He hummed delaying a second, “Everything alright?”

Nodding quickly your head turned up to him again, “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”

He shrugged looking away for a moment. Giving you a second of reprieve from his gaze. Everything about the man was commanding. Everything, “No reason. You just seem to be a bit fidgety?”

What the hell was he going on about? You weren’t acting any different than you had been prior, “I do?” Of course, you were fucking fidgety. He was less than a foot from you not having a damn clue what he was doing to you. You could smell him. He smelled better than you imagined. Leather, oil, and cedar all mixed together. Way too good for a day instructing on base.

“Did I do something?” He spit it out. Well, it was out in the open now. It’s not like he could take it back. It sounded so terribly insecure when he spoke it out loud.

You shook your head, “No, not at all Captain.” Your heart started racing as he gave you a once over.

���Then what is it Lieutenant?” He asked with all the calmness in the world.

Your head was swimming. Swimming with thousands, millions of thoughts, “Sir?” Play dumb. That was always the easiest route to go.

“Why can’t you look me in the eye Y/N?” Why’d he have to use your name like that? It got your dumb hear racing faster than even you were used to.

Your eyes snapped to his. That was not the question you were expecting, “You… Authority makes me nervous.” You spoke quietly deciding to keep your eyes locked in on his. Not letting his statement completely reign true.

He grinned a wicked look before a much more innocent one came to face, you didn’t miss it though, “I make you nervous?”

You said nothing at first, nodding quickly in agreement instead, “Authority.” It was merely a whisper.

Mav’s face cracked into a simper while he studied your features, “There’s nothing to be nervous about.”

You didn’t move your head, but your eyes moved to look to him, “I suppose that’s easier said than realized.” You admitted.

He stepped forward. Probably crossing a line, he shouldn’t have. But he couldn’t stand it. Why were you comfortable with everybody else but him, “What can I do then?”

You cocked your head to the side, “What do you mean Mav?” You asked so softly he thought his knees were going to buckle right then and there. You said his name so sweetly it took him off guard. He really should just let you go. This was a bad idea. He shouldn’t be pressing you like this. He knew better than to. But he didn’t want to. He wanted to press on. Dig a little deeper. See you a little bit better. He was intrigued.

“Is there anything I can do to make you less nervous?”

You laughed softly. Get ugly? Stop looking like that? Stop being so hot in a flight suit? Stop being my flight instructor? “Afraid not Captain.” You sat back on the desk knowing this was likely not going to be over soon.

He took a seat next to you, “Why not?”

You shrugged, “It’s the authority thing. Call it trauma.” You joked.

He smiled along with you, “So, say I wasn’t your instructor…”

Cutting him off quickly you felt your blood run cold, “You’re not going to kick me off the squadron are you?” your panicked look made him feel awful

He shook his head quickly, “No, no never. It’s a hypothetical.”

You sighed softly, “Sorry.” You felt an overwhelming amount of embarrassment consume you. You’d worked so hard to get to where you are that even a little bit of an inkling of a threat sent you into overthinking mode. You weren’t proud of it by any means. It was something you were working on.

“It’s fine.” He smiled feeling your tension just radiate off your body. He seemed to pick up on anything relating to you. Again, he had to wonder. What the hell was wrong with him?

“Would you be as nervous around me if I wasn’t your instructor?” He quirked up a brow all too curious to hear your answer.

You laughed softly, “Yes, I would.” It was starting to become easier to talk to him. But he still intimidated the hell out of you. You hadn’t a clue how to navigate your superior being hot as hell. Normally they were old dudes who had kids your age. Not Maverick.

He huffed in almost frustration. He appreciated thar you were being honest with him, but he wasn’t sure what it was about him, “But why?”

You shrugged, “Still an authority, Captain.”

He placed a hand a little too close to yours, “You seemed just fine with Cyclone earlier.” He leaned in almost challenging you. He loved talking to you, but this conversation had gone of for too long now. Curiosity was literally killing the cat.

You nodded along with him, “Well yeah, that’s different.”

He looked at you incredulously, “How?”

It slipped out before you really meant to say it, “He’s married.” And then it was out there. It didn’t take Pete long to put two and two together. You were basically screaming that he was off limits and that Pete wasn’t. You didn’t mean to all but admit it but here you were. Heart hammering in your chest.

“I mean. He’s established. He’s not my direct authority. You know what I mean?” Even you didn’t know what you meant. You were caught red handed. Hand in the cookie jar. Damn. It is what it is now.

Mav shook his head with a lopsided grin, “I think I know exactly what you mean Y/N.” He also knew you’d never outright admit it either. He realized just how damn weird the whole thing was for you as well. He was your superior. You couldn’t cross that line either. Not unless you knew for sure that it was alright. The game the both of you were playing was dangerous. Very dangerous.

Thick tension hung in the air. You hadn’t a clue what to say to your instructor after accidentally telling him the real reason he made you so nervous. Not outright spilling the truth but putting making it rather obvious in your wake instead.

“I should get going.” You stood from the table you were sitting on.

He mimicked your actions, “Should you?”

Nodding your head you gave him a flash of a smile, “Yeah, long day tomorrow. You said so yourself. Right?” Raising your eyebrows, you knew you had him there.

His otherworldly smile lit up his face. God, he was so handsome. That just wasn’t fair.

“Right. Sleep well Y/N. See you in the morning.”

“You too Pete.” You weren’t sure why you used his first name, but it felt right. Felt like a step you wanted to take for yourself.

You didn’t catch the furious blush that rose to his cheeks at that. He knew he needed to pull back immediately, or he’d get himself, or you, in trouble. He couldn’t be blushing around Cyclone when you came around. He’d just have to ignore it. He could do that. Or so he thought he could.

Maverick must have gotten in your head. The next day was... less than stellar. You had a bad day. A very bad day. You landed without a single victory. With Rooster shooting you down for the second time that afternoon.

Sitting in the jet cockpit of the hangar you’d pulled your helmet off without much thought and just sat there. Thinking. You were fine yesterday. What the hell happened today? You’d been shot down five times. Twice by Hangman, twice by Rooster and once by Phoenix. You weren’t even close to shooting them down.

You were too eager with you grip making dumb rookie mistakes. Mistakes that’d have you shot down in an instant up in the air. All of them were able to see it and exploit it. A bad day. That’s all it was. It didn’t make you a bad pilot. Not in the slightest. You had to remember that. Drop today and remember how good you really were.

“Are you going to come down Lieutenant?” That voice broke you from the thoughts that were seemingly tormenting you in the cockpit. The ones that kept seeming to tell you that you weren’t good enough. You might’ve been the best at your home base but not here. No. You were average amongst the best.

Your eyes snapped open. Pete? What was he doing down there? He hardly came out here after training, “Yeah.” You answered quickly not wanting to leave him waiting. He wasn't one for patience, “Just thinking.” You knew you needed an excuse or he would press. No matter how lame it may be. But it wasn’t a lie. You really were just thinking.

He didn’t say a word as you came down the ladder. When you got a good look at him he almost looked, angry? His lips were drawn in a thin line. He had a hard time looking at you. Eyebrows stitched too close together for him to be in a good mood.

“What the hell was that?” His normally chipper tone had vanished. He sounded too much like an instructor now. He didn’t even sound like the Maverick you had gotten to know. No, a drill sergeant instead. He noticed your expression change as you realized this wasn’t going to be a fun conversation.

He felt bad doing such a 180 on you like that. But he had to, for your sake. Or so he thought.

“I’m not sure sir… I...” You stammered trying to come up with something. He’d already made you nervous and now this? You were a blubbering mess. Sure to look like the fool of a woman you knew they were likely expecting of you. See, the men could make mistakes. You couldn't. Women couldn't.

“Not a single kill today Lieutenant?” His voice stayed icy as you stood there forward like he was a drill Sargant. It suddenly felt like you were back in basic training all over again.

You looked down in what felt like shame, “No, Captain.” The voice that came out of you sounded weak. Likely because you felt weak. You didn’t feel like you were good enough to be here. Like all those kills you got against Hangman and Rooster prior to this day was just all just luck. Straight luck. Rationally, you knew better. You knew how good of pilot you were. You wouldn’t be good enough to get here. But your own mind was playing tricks on you. Planting seeds that should’ve never been dug.

He pressed further not seeing that he was beginning to push you past your breaking point. Further than even you would have expected from him. Your head was already coming down too hard on yourself. His words only seemed to dig that dagger in a little further that drove the final nail in the coffin of your confidence.

“What’s the problem then Lieutenant?” He stepped closer, challenging you. You weren’t in the right headspace for this. Not in the slightest.

You shook your head slowly, “I don’t know Mav.” Looking down at your boots you couldn’t bear to look up at his disappointed expression. You were just trying to hold back the tears at this point.

“You don’t know?” He sounded patronizing as if he was talking to a toddler.

“I…no.” Your voice was too shaky, so you stopped. Collect yourself. You could do this. You’ve done this hundreds of times before.

He must’ve not noticed the tears that were threatening to spill over as you looked up at him finally, “I can’t put somebody on a team who doesn't know what's going on. I need somebody who knows what they do wrong!" His voice grew from anger to frustration as he spoke. Yet he failed to see your utterly devastated gaze as he went on and on about things you had already known. Each word felt like a knife as he continued on, "You won't get a second chance on this mission. If you get shot down you're as good as dead."

Your heart ran cold, feeling as though it was shattering into a million pieces right then and there, “You don’t think I know that sir?” Your voice nearly broke as it wobbled through trying to finish the sentence.

He’d certainly noticed it then as his eyes finally found your tear stained cheeks. He usually knew how hard he could push. He could usually push you a whole lot harder, but he’d gone too far today. He knew when he heard that unusual waver in your voice.

He hadn't planned it but he knew he needed to back off, “It’s a bad day. It happens. Shake it off Birdie." The words come out of his mouth so fast he was sure you felt like you were getting whiplash from his hot and cold behavior. One moment he was nearly flirting with you then the next he scolding you.

He didn’t mean it. Not a bit of it. He didn’t even like being an asshole to Hangman, although it was fun sometimes. Being one to you made him feel awful. But he had to. He wasn't kidding when he said you didn't get second chances out there.

You shook your head, “I’ll do better tomorrow. I don’t know…”

He cut you off by placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. He hadn’t noticed how wound up about the day you had already been. He didn’t mean to push you further. He was just trying to be the instructor you needed to succeed on this mission that didn't have amazing outcomes.

This was the opposite of being tough on you though, “It’s fine Y/N. Go home. Read a book or watch some TV. Come back tomorrow. You’ll be just fine.”

You looked at his hand on his shoulder before looking at him, giving him a curt nod, “Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You turned to walk away, brushing the tears away from your eyes.

Before you could walk through the locker room door you tuned back to him. After today you weren't sure if you even deserved the consideration,“You shouldn’t pick me.” You said so quiet you weren’t even sure if he heard it.

By the way he walked right over he must have. He grabbed your arm suddenly, not forcefully by any means, “Don’t say that. Why would you say that?” He genuinely felt awful for pushing too hard now. This didn't seem like you. You were headstrong. Stronger than even he seemed.

You looked down almost ashamed to admit it to him, “Because… because I’m not good enough sir. You saw me out there today. I'm as good as dead.” You were supposed to be the best of the best, but you hardly felt like it today. You were getting your ass handed to you left and right. Hangman was laying it on thick today too. He did that whenever he got the chance.

The day started bad when Rooster knocked you out almost immediately. And only got worse on subsequent runs. You were zero for four by the time you went up for the last round of the day. You got in your own damn head. It happened. It happened to everyone. You knew it. Still didn’t make it sting worse when you were on your thousandth pushup for the day.

He shook his head grabbing your hand quickly, “What are you talking about? You’re one of the best pilots I’ve ever worked with. You’re a fucking menace out there Y/N.”

You shook your head, “You’re just saying that because I’m about to cry.” You wanted to believe him. Maybe any other day you’d believe him. It was a no good, very bad day for you.

He only dropped his hand from your arm to bring it to your shoulder once again, giving it a gentle squeeze, “I’m not. I’m really not. Believe it or not.” He sighed collecting his thoughts once more, “I’m sorry. Really. I only come down hard on you because I know you can handle it. But I need you to not think like that. If you do get picked I need your head screwed all the way on. It’s not your run of the mill mission and you know that. You’ve got to be all the way there. All the way present. You hear me?”He asked.

You turned your head to look up to him, “Yeah. I hear you.” Your voice was much more you, more controlled.

He didn’t quite believe you though so he continued, “You are an exceptional pilot Y/N. The rest of the squad needs you to be. Bad days happen. Don’t let that asshole get to you.”

You smiled for the first time that day. It felt good talking with him. Actually, talking and not being afraid of him. A dramatic shift from that of moments ago, “You got it. Thanks Mav.” You wanted to thank him as a friend. Maybe a potential suitor. Not as a student. Not as a subordinate. But as a person.

He smiled for the first time that day as well. He had a long way yet to go with you, but it was a start. Something. He knew one thing that was sure. He was excited to get this damn mission over with. He didn’t want to be your superior anymore. He wanted to be your co-worker. The person you turned and laughed with whenever the most outrageous orders were given. He wanted to get there, was determined to get there.

“Sure thing, Y/N.” He let his hand fall, “See you at the Hard Deck tonight?” He asked curiously.

“You’re coming?” You’d seen him there the first night. You’d thought he was the most handsome thing in the bar. Hangman did not. Kept giving you shit for giving the ‘old man’ eyes. Whatever. You hadn’t seen him at the bar sense that night though. But he knew you guys went every Thursday. He listened.

“Maybe.”

You smiled once more, “You should. It’d be fun to see you kick Hangman’s ass in trivia.”

He laughed, a genuine one, one he hadn’t felt in quite some time, “How do you know I’m any good at trivia?”

You shrugged, “Have a feeling. Hope to see you tonight Pete.” The wink you sent him sent butterflies aflame throughout your body. Where in the hell did that confidence come from?

Pete legs went to jelly for a second as he watched you walk away. That you would. He was sure of it.

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