#pete mitchell x you

[lieutenantfloyd]

The Little things with Husband! Maverick ♡

Husband! Maverick who's your biggest partner in crime

Husband! Maverick who drags you to karaoke night at The Hard Deck every single week

Husband! Maverick who never stops talking whenever he's around you

Husband! Maverick who pulls out the film camera Goose got him for the first time in decades just to take candid pictures of you

Husband! Maverick who fights with himself every day to become the man he thinks you deserve

Husband! Maverick who makes you breakfast in bed at least once a month

Husband! Maverick who is so loud while making you breakfast in bed that you have to pretend to be asleep when he comes in to deliver it to you (he never notices)

Husband! Maverick who's favorite moments are the ones you spend together in the hangar

Husband! Maverick who never wanted to get married, until he realized he couldn’t picture a life without you

Husband! Maverick who's proposal was a spur of the moment action that surprised you both

Husband! Maverick who takes you on spontaneous trips as often as he can

Husband! Maverick who tells you endless stories about the Goose, Carole, and Rooster

Husband! Maverick who will never stop flirting with you, and blushes when you flirt back

Husband! Maverick who starts to question the safety of his stunts

Husband! Maverick who leaves you shocked as to how a man who has experienced so much loss and loneliness still practically radiates love

Husband! Maverick who learns about love languages and takes them very seriously

Husband! Maverick who, with your help, is able to begin healing from his trauma and fully reconciles with Bradley

Husband! Maverick who, with you and the dagger squad, finally has a family to call his own

[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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[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.

[call-sign-shark]

SACRILÈGE || Teacher!Tom Cruise (+18)

Summary:  Mr. Cruise is the director of St. Helena, a religious boarding school for troubling young women. Besides managing the school, he also teaches physics and mathematics. Lost in a forest, St. Helena is said to give a second chance to desperate girls. When your parents sent you there, they expected you to behave... Not to engage in a twisted romance with your teacher

Words: 3k of pure smut

Tags: Religious context, toy, fingering, corruption kink, age gap (reader is in her early 20's and Tom is 45-50), this is straight-up porn with a minimal plot so don't expect this to be a masterpiece. You've been warned. Minor DNI.

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“To solve this equation we will have to…”

Mr. Cruise’s words flew across the room but never really reached you. A small sigh escaped from your juicy lips as you repositioned yourself on the wooden chair. As you did, a delightful surge, followed by a wave of arousal, spread through your whole quivering body. It was like that at each of your movement.

“Now, I’m going to ask one of you to come and solve the new equation I just wrote on the board.”

You slightly wiggled on the chair, pressing your body against its surface a bit harder. It felt so frustrating not to move as you’d wish to… The friction of your panties’ fabric against your swollen and sensitive clit, pleasant at first, had become a lustful torture. It almost made you whimper but, fortunately enough, you had managed to choke it in your throat before it reached your lips. All you wanted was to moan but you knew that if you did, you would be in trouble. The thing was that the heat pooling in your loins was slowly turning into a wildfire, which threatened to burn you from within. You gripped the edge of your seat and clenched your fingers around it, for you did not know what to do anymore to control the pleasure you were experiencing. Your pulsing walls tightened around the vaginal plug that was buried in your drooling cunt and satisfying your growing sexual appetite.

Weeks ago you discussed with the baker’s wife during your gardening time and when the topic of men came you told her, quite timidly, that you never had sex before. She was not particularly surprised. You were trapped in religious boarding school for women after all. However, the baker’s wife still wondered why you had never fucked with a man before your parents dragged you here. To this question, you just shrugged. You were simply not ready. It seemed like your desire only woke up days after your arrival at St. Helena — how ironic. You could have slept with men countless times before, but it was only when you could not do it anymore that your body bloomed with sexual urges.

The first advice your friend gave you was to masturbate, which you did but it could be quite difficult for intimacy was scarce at St. Helena. You shared the dorm with five other girls, and shower time was strictly monitored by the nun in charge of the floor on which your bedroom was. All in all, your whole day was planned down to the minute. As a consequence of this tight schedule, you could not really find the time nor the intimacy to relieve your naughty needs.

There came the idea of the vaginal plug. What happened next was quite simple: you saved the pocket money your parents sent you each week and asked the baker’s wife to buy you something. You had the plug for a few days but it had already become a necessity. The toy was extremely practical for all you had to do was push it inside your pussy and keep it as long as you wish. It was not like someone would rummage through your panties though.

“Y/N. Would you come to the board please?”

Hearing Mr. Cruise voice calling your name snatched you from your pleasure bubble.

“Oh, uh, me?”

“Is there another Y/N in my school I don’t know about?” He replied quietly, but the corner of his lips was tucked in a faint amused smile.

“I am afraid I won’t be able to solve this. To be honest with you I am not good with maths, Sir..” How you managed to line up so many words in a row without stuttering was a mystery.

“That’s okay, Y/N. We’re going to solve it together and I’ll explain the process to the class at the same time.” His forest green eyes stared at you with vivid interest. Your relationship with the attractive Mr. Cruise had been rocky. He was often more demanding with you than with the other girls. It was probably because your parents had warned him you were quite a rebel soul. It seemed like he was looking at you with a bit more of intensity than he should do, but you chased away the thought, certainly influenced by the indescribable arousal the sex toy was giving you. Defeated, you had no other choice than obey Mr. Cruise if you wanted to remain free of all suspicions. Gathering the willpower left in you, you shut your thighs tight and stood up on your staggering feet.

“Are you okay?” He asked, noticing the goosebumps not only on your arms but also on the skin of your legs your high socks could not cover. You were cute in a way he could not speak… Especially when you were wearing your skirt.

“Yes, Sir!” You hurried to reply before making your way to the board under the insistent gaze of your teacher, trying to keep your legs as closed as you could. With each step, another wave of pleasure crashed against your walls and reflected in your whole body. And during the whole walk of shame, Mr. Cruise did not look away, his emerald iris tantalized by the way your hips were swinging … Or by the adorable color your cheeks had turned into when he started talking to you.

“Alright.” Once you reached him, the teacher handed you the white chalk he had been using to write on the blackboard. You took it, barely daring to look at Mr. Cruise’s handsome face. The first time you saw him, you had to ask God for forgiveness in your prayers for a tsunami of obscene thoughts flooded your mind. St. Helena’s director was a breathtakingly attractive man in his late forties or early fifties — you could not tell. But what you could tell was that he inspired you with many wet dreams even though he was more than twice your age and could be your dad. So, looking at his piercing feline eyes when your pussy was tortured by a plug would 100% make you climax here in the middle of the classroom.

You grabbed the chalk and tried to focus on the calculus, but the gears of your brain did not want to work. They remained silent, like the frozen mechanism of some vintage clocks. In spite of the pressure of being in front of the class, your body could not take care of anything else than the maddening sensation of the plug’s egg shape stretching your tight and needy pussy. The sex toy was too big for you inexperienced hole, so you often had trouble putting it in.

“That’s okay, my dear. Let me explain the solution to you.” Joining gestures to words, Mr. Cruise’s large and slightly calloused hand wrapped yours and led the chalk on the board. Warm skin against cold one, the temperature difference between you strengthens the unbearable arousal pooling in your lower back. The musky and manly fragrance of his perfume tingled your nostrils, making you want to bury your face in the crook of his neck as you sat on his lap like a good girl.

No, Y/N! Don’t think about that kind of sinful thing! You forced your mind not to drift from the calculus, but you did not understand a single. Not that you weren’t hearing Mr. Cruise’s seductive voice, but you were not listening to it.

“And that’s how you solve the problem. See, Y/N? That was not so difficult.” He said, with a charming toothy smile etched on his lips.

“Thank you, Sir.” You said, your eyes still fixed on the wooden floor as blood rushed to your face. At least I can go back to my chair, you thought. You had barely moved when the teacher’s hand gently grabbed your wrist. Surprised, you finally glance at him.

“For the last ten minutes of the course, I ask you to stay here,” As he talked, Mr. Cruise gently put his hands on your shoulders and pressed on them. Forced to sit on the edge of his desk, you shut your eyes trying to keep your composure but could not hold the feverish sigh that came out, “So that you’ll be more attentive and you’ll leave the class understanding today’s lesson.” The teacher said with the most caring tone you’d ever heard. He held your shoulders for a little while, pressing on them a bit strongly. You discreetly pulled your lower lips with your teeth to not whimper as the plug pushed deeper into you because of the pressure Mr. Cruise was applying. His forest green eyes shone with a lecherous appetite — Could he know that something was buried in your cunt? No, it was not possible.

The attractive director Cruise finally freed you from his grip and took one quick glance at your perky nipples, which were pointing under the tight fabric of your blouse. Then, he focused back on the class.

The last ten minutes seemed to be hours of endless carnal torture. You felt your pulse in your swollen clit, and all your holes were open in anticipation of getting filled. Tears almost overflooded your Y/EC eyes for the hellish arousal you were undergoing almost made you run out of breath. Desire ignited your virgin body, and the sparkled that originally started the fire was Mr. Cruise.

The ring echoed in the corridor, striking the end of school — or striking a miraculous liberation for you.

“Alright girls, don’t forget to do exercises three and four for tomorrow. See you soon.” The teacher said, hands crossed in his back.

You stood up from the desk, quickly grabbed your stuff, and proceeded to leave the classroom.

“Not you, Y/N.” You froze

“Sir?”

“In my office. Now.” His sweet voice had turned to ice when the last woman exited the room, leaving you and Mr. Cruise alone.

Stricken by panic, your heart quickened and your being shattered. Now you were in trouble.

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You had followed Mr. Cruise to his office in complete silence. Not once you tried to ask him the reason behind such an appointment nor what did you do wrong, for you were far too afraid of the answer. Yet, the most logical part of your mind was trying to soothe your fears: no one could possibly know about the plug. You had managed to hide it so well that no one ever suspected you owned such an object. At this point, the only possible reason behind Mr. Cruise’s reprimands was your distracted behavior during today��s class. The seductive man made you enter the room first so that he could shut the door behind you. What you did not expect was to hear the door’s locking though. Chills ran down your spine as a thin streak of pussy juice ran down your inner thighs.

“Do you know what kind of school St. Helena is, Y/N?” He asked, his words sharp as glass shards. You turned around to look at him.

“A religious boarding school, Sir.”

“A religious boarding school,” The teacher repeated, tilting his head to the side without looking away, “You’re right, dear. So, can I ask you why do you have such a dirty attitude?”

Your heart stopped, thunder-stricken by fear.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Sir.” You tried to sound convincing but you stuttered like a guilty child. Mr. Cruise walked to you and leaned to whisper in your ear.

“Bend over the desk.”

Your breath hitched, for the atmosphere thickened in the room. This time, you were shaking like a leaf. Did you hear well?

“Y/N. Bend. Now.” His voice remained quiet but his words were coated with a thrilling coldness. Having no other choice than giving in, you sniffed and bent over the director’s desk, your skirt lifting up and exposing your panties to him as you did so.

“Y/N… You are such a naughty girl,” He said, shaking his head with discontent. However, you could perceive a tint of excitement in his tone. He seemed to genuinely enjoy the whole situation. Mr. Cruise’s grin could not help but stretch further at the sight of the wet spot on the fabric of your panties. He could almost smell your arousal from here, and it was slowly driving him crazy.

“The Devil is in you, I knew it.”

You squealed, for you felt his fingertips brushing your intimate part above your soaked underwear, “So wet…”

You bit your lips, almost choking with shame.

“He makes you mind buzzing with impure thoughts, and you are listening to them.” When he decided he had petted your pussy enough, he pressed his fingers right where your plug was. A feverish and slutty moan escaped from your lips.

“Do you want a man to fuck you, Y/N?”

“N-No, Sir!”

“Little liar,” He growled and his fingers hooked your panties’ fabric to slowly pull it down along your legs. Eyes wide open, your body remained frozen with both terror and intense arousal at the sensation of the room’s fresh air caressing your exposed sensitive folds. No matter how hard you tried, your brain could not get over the fact you were bending over your director’s desk, your pussy in sights , “ You’re such a whore… A whore that needs to feed her greedy cunt even during my class. You should be ashamed.” Something in his voice made you wetter: he was lecturing you, but his breath had become a bit erratic. Now you were convinced he was as turned on as you. A quick look was enough for you to notice the huge bulge between his legs. His cock twitched, hypnotized by the wonderful sight of your glistening lips and your filled hole.

“Confess, or I’ll expose you to the whole school so that they know what a slut you are.

“I-I want to be filled!” You blurred out, desperate.

“Tell me more.”

“I don’t know why, Sir, but I have these constant disgusting urges since I arrived here. My dreams are filled with perverse images, and I wake up in the middle of the night sweaty and soaked with love juice,” As you talked, Mr. Cruise watched the plug move inside your tight walls.

“This is a very serious matter, Y/N.”

“I tried to resist but I crave sex so bad, Sir… I am so sorry!! I won’t do it anymore, I swear I’ll throw this toy away and I’ll behave! But please don’t tell the others!!”

“Hm.” He simply replied, thrilled with arousal and starting to feel too tight in his pants.

Following a serious accident that had happened years ago, Mr. Cruise turned to God and gave up his debauchery to live closer to purity. But when you arrived at St. Helena, you shook all the foundations he had spent the last years building. He who was certain to be immune to sin soon found himself jerking off every night thinking about you, his oh-so-young student. With your perfect curves and your mischievous pout, you swept away his self-control and corrupted his holy heart to the core with obscene urges since the first day he met you.

Mr. Cruise’s senses were overwhelmed: his eyes could not look away from your dripping cunt and the plug. His nose was deliciously assaulted by the faint smell of your perfume. His ears were lulled by your shy whimpers. His mouth was watering at the simple thought of licking your forbidden fruit — and his hands, oh how he wanted them to spank the Devil out from you with them!

Keeping a bit of self-control, he swallowed and brought his hand near your entrance to softy grab the plug’s edge between his fingers.

“Are you virgin, my dear?”

“Y-Yes Sir, I am.”

“So you don’t even know what it feels to have your fragile flower pounded and your inside filled with warm semen?”

Fire rushed to your cheeks and loins at his words, as if your whole body begged for someone to fill every of its hole. Your fingers clenched on the wooden desk, “No I don’t, Sir.”

“Good,” Without the slightest warning, the teacher pulled the toy out of your pussy. An exciting suction noise echoed in the room. This, added to the surprise, caused you to moan louder and wave your hips, asking for more. As soon as he relieved the tension in your walls, glistening love juice flowed from your stretched hole like magical water from the fountain of Youth. Mr. Cruise moistened his lips with his tongue, drooling over the sweet taste of you, “there, love. There…” He whispered with a caring tone, his free hand gently stroking your lips and, sometimes, he pressed the tip of one finger against your hole for it to just drip even more.

At this point, you had to bite your tongue not to beg him to fuck you.

“I’ll keep your misbehavior for myself. Let’s say it will be our little secret,” He started.

You sighed, half reassured even though the shame was still burning your cheeks. The sensation of Mr. Cruise petting your virgin cunt, his fingers grazing your sensitive flesh, and his thumb massaging your swollen clit blissed you out. Mouth half opened, head slightly tilted backward, and eyes shut, you were starting to get dizzy.

“Under one condition,” He grinned, satisfied with the reaction his touch provided you.

“Sir!” You whined as he slipped one finger into you.

“I’ll keep my tongue but, in exchange, I want you to keep that slutty sex toy buried deep in your innocent pussy during each of my lessons.” His words melt like butter. As he talked, he slipped a second finger and started massaging your pulsing walls with back-and-forth movements. Your body answered by arching your back and spreading your legs even wider. Drool dripped from the corner of your lips. This was so humiliating and exciting at the same time you could not resist moving your hips on his fingers, lingering for more and more.

“Y-Yes Sir! Owww more, please Sir!”

But Mr. Cruise pulled out his fingers, doing the exact opposite.

“Enough for today,” He brought his glistening fingers to his mouth and, eager to taste you, he licked your juice from his skin, humming with joy as he did, “Now take your plug back, and go take a shower. Dinner will be served soon, and people will ask questions if they don’t see you there.”

You stood on your shaking legs: he had turned you into a dirty and soaked mess. With an ashamed hand, you leaned to pick your panties up but his hand brutally slapped your butt cheeks. You squealed, half in surprise and half in pain. His lips quirked in a sadistic smirk.

“Hurry up.” He concluded before you left the office with your head down and your pussy dripping. You closed the door behind you and disappear into St. Helena’s dark corridors, sin weighting on your shoulders.

Your twice-your-age teacher just fingered you and you liked it. So much that you’d die for him to do it again. A shaky sigh escaped from your greedy lips, that wanted to taste his. Maybe he was right when he said that the Devil was inside you and everything you did.

And you were ready to embrace it if it meant to drive your teacher pussy drunk for you…

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Tag lists for Tom Cruise’s babies: @malavera @helloitstsyu @tomsf18 @moondustfairies

[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

[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.

[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.

[jaidens]

We Would've Been Timeless

pairing [s] : pete mitchell x reader

warning [s] : late nite, short write

a/n [s] : requests are open!

Pete Mitchell was infamous for his hook-up and leaving moments. Whether it was between an Admiral’s daughter or a woman he found at a bar who loved scratching down his arm with freshly acrylic nails. The only relationship he had was longer than twelve hours had been one he had in highschool with his first girlfriend after he got out of braces. All in all, he didn't have a relationship filled with life. If Pete had to be honest, he was completely terrified to have a relationship due to his job and his hunger for pure adrenaline.

Pete had his best friend Goose, his wife Carole, and their lovely son Bradley, in his life. They were the ones to take in the broken boy, just looking for happiness after the loss of his Father Peter. He was carefully pieced together using love and support as the glue to the cracks in his heart. When he met you, a girl who already had her run of adrenaline, sitting in the corner of a bar with her friends singing and dancing to a Def Leppard song; he knew he had to find her.

Pete attempts to use his casual charm to get through your protective friends which ends up not working, he continues pushing. Before you speak up, telling your friends to let him through. He watches your friends move away, and he swears the future plays for him like an old shutter film. Or whatever happened, you're there. Maybe some cosmic event happened, making two young stars connect and fall in love, because that's what Pete could've sworn happened. When his hazel eyes fell upon your eyes, he knew everything made sense.

Whatever streets he chose to make it to you. What shampoo his Mom bought him when he was 6 years old, brought him here now. Everything he's ever done has brought you closer to him.

—

Now, Pete thanks his lucky stars you decided to stick around with his ass for 32 years. He stares at you watching TV, the smile lines that surround your face makes him remember why he fell in love. Your smile that can make anyone feel warm inside on a bad day. You look over at him and catch his eyes on you. “You’re staring.” Pete snickers and kisses you. “I'm always staring. Have been since 1990. And you can't get me to stop.”

[averagewriter-inthedark]

The Doc Is In 🩺 | Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell Imagine

Takes place during TGM

TGM Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell x doctor!reader (romantic), dagger squad (platonic)

Content Warnings: fluff, slight profanity, mentions of medical operations | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 2.7k

Requested 📨 yes/no (for @wildellaa 🤍)

Premise: Funny how a routine checkup after a near-death experience can lead to sudden revelations. For the dagger squad, this revelation comes in the news their infamous instructor happens to be quite close to the new base physician…who happens to be a high ranking Air Force personnel.

Note: I’m sorry by how long this took and I apologize if its bad/weak 🥹 I started a new job (my first job every) and it’s been a wild couple weeks but I promise I’m coming back! Also side note- the joke I added about the Air Force Dress Blues is an actual jab the branches use against the Air Force 😂 my mom was in the AF for 24 years and hated the Blues after they changed the uniform.

———————————

“Are you feeling any lightheadedness, nausea, or ringing in your ears?” Nat squinted against the light shining in her eyes, but adjusted before answering.

“No, just a little shaken. That’s all.” She kept her gaze forward as instructed, blinking once the light turned off. A light chuckle left the physician's lips.

“I would expect so after what you just experienced,” her smile was kind, jotting down notes on the pad beside her. “Normal behavior, but if you feel any of the symptoms I just listed at any point let me know. It doesn’t appear you have a concussion but we can never be too careful. And no visible sign of injuries to the chest or torso, indicating you had a more graceful landing than most pilots I see.”

“Is emergency ejections a common occurrence for you, Colonel?”

The woman chuckled, “You’d be surprised. Between the Air Force and Navy, my resume with treating you a lot doesn’t seem to be slowing down anytime soon.” She goes to the computer to enter the report, “Most cases involve broken or bruised ribs. But thankfully you appear in good shape. We just wanna watch out for any changes regarding your head.”

Nat nodded, moving to zip up her flight suit while the physician, an Air Force Colonel, the highest ranking for Air Force officers, with the last name L/n-Mitchell, wrote up the report notes on the computer.

Huh, funny how she shared the same last name as her boss.

“Your vitals are normal, no visible external injuries, and no sign of a concussion,” she repeated, fingers typing away, “but again we’ll keep an eye on those. I’ll get you and Lieutenant Floyd checked in for overnight observation—in the meantime is there anyone I can call to bring you anything you might need?”

“No need,” Nat waved a hand, “They’re all out in the lobby waiting for an update.” Rooster had sent her a text saying they had her and Bob’s things from their locker and food from the base Exchange.

Colonel L/n-Mitchell chuckled, “I’ll go grab them for you two.” She goes to the edge of the curtain, speaks to the person on the other side briefly before moving the fabric away to release the divide between the two spaces. When she does so the curtain reveals a pale-faced Bob on the opposite side.

“You good, Floyd?” Nat asks, untying her boots to make herself comfortable since she was to stay the night. Her answer was a groan.

“I might have thrown up a couple times.”

“What’s the diagnosis?”

“Just the case of my stomach being flipped upside down,” Bob leans back until he’s sprawled out on the bed. “I’m surprised I didn’t crap my pants.” Phoenix cringed, but bit back a laugh.

The Colonel placed her pen in her front pocket, smiling at the aviators, “I’ll be right back with your friends. Hang tight.” She opened the front curtain and disappeared, combat boots echoing with each step.

Bob and Nat waited about five minutes tops when she returned with Jake, Bradley, Mickey, Reuben, and Javy. “They’re in one piece,” she teased, moving to the side so they could all greet each other.

“We got your favorite,” Jake lifted a bag from Subway. Pulling out two sandwiches for Nat and Bob. They thanked them and started showing down when the curtain drew back again to reveal Pete.

“Sorry I’m late,” eyes instantly go toward the physician causing a smile to form on his lips. “Well this is a surprise.” Her own smile appeared.

“I told you I was transferring here.” The statement had all eyes, minus Bradley’s go wide. In fact Bradley mirrored Mav’s happy expression. Indicating he had some sort of familiarity to the Colonel.

Pete shocked them even more when he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I was expecting to see you next week,” he lets his eyes wander her uniform clad figure, grinning from ear to ear. She was in her Air Force ABUs, “Did you get in last night?”

“I did. Got settled at tlf, was planning on surprising you tonight but it looks like fate had other ideas,” she giggled, accepting his kiss causing gasps to ring out. “I take it this bunch belongs to you?”

“Hold the phone,” Javy said what everyone was thinking. He pointed at Mav, “You,” then pivoted to the woman, “And you are….”

She finished for him, “married.”

“Married!”

“I missed some chapters.”

“You never said you were married,” Phoenix stated, not seeing a wedding ring on either of their hands. It was common for military personnel to not wear rings due to their jobs, but surely Maverick would’ve mentioned in passing.

“I thought you guys knew.”

Javy scoffed, “We sure did not. Let alone to the base physician.”

“New base physician,” she corrected, “I just transferred here so really no one would have known. Although,” she turns to Bradley, “I thought you would’ve said something, Bradley.” The pilot just shrugged and mumbled how his thoughts were occupied with Nat and Bob. “Anyway, it is nice to meet you all. Sorry we had to become acquainted in these circumstances.”

The pilots were flabbergasted. First to find out that their instructor was married, and second to discover it was to a full bird Colonel.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Colonel,” Jake began, not used to addressing Air Force personnel. The Navy’s equivalent to a full bird colonel was Captain. Which happened to be her husband's rank. And generally when licensed physicians enter the Air Force they’re automatically ranked Captain or Major. So it made him wonder how long Pete’s wife had been in the Air Force to reach the rank of Colonel. “But where were you before coming to Miramar?”

“Vandenberg.” Ah, the Air Force Base up north in central California. One of the largest bases in the country and satellite home of both NASA and SpaceX.

Not to mention in the last two decades it had several shark attacks on its beaches.

The next hour consisted of the squad asking the couple several questions including the typical, “how long have you two been together?” “Have you always been in the Air Force?” And “Why haven’t you mentioned you were married, Captain?”

“Again, I thought you knew,” Mav reinstated, slightly flustered from the knowing look he received from his wife.

“We’ve been married ten years,” Y/n explained with a smile. “Though we’d been friends for some time. So…” she brought a finger to her lips, “I wanna say it was 2004 when we met for the first time. I had just commissioned.”

“What did you come in as?”

“Captain,” she answered Payback, “well, Lieutenant in your case.”

“And how long have you been a full bird, ma’am,” Mickey’s eyes were full of curiosity. He thought it was so cool his instructor was the highest officer rank for the Navy and married to the highest officer rank of the Air Force.

“About three years,” her face was full of pride, as was Mav’s. “And to answer your question from earlier; no, I hadn’t joined until after six years of being a civilian practitioner following my residency.” If they were to do the math, it would put Y/n at graduating from both high school, college, and med school one year early.

Oh she was smart smart.

One could guess by the John Hopkins and Duke University class rings on her fingers.

“I gotta ask,” Mickey looked between the two, grin already forming. “Do you ever have rivalry?”

“You mean because of Air Force vs Navy?” Y/n laughed. “Of course we do. Especially during college football season.” Pete laughed with her.

“You’re outnumbered here, darling.”

She playfully scoffed, “It’s only fair since you were back in Lompoc.” Turning to the pilots who were holding back smiles she added, “fifteen years and things don’t seem to change. I hope,” she motions a hand between them, “we can find some civility. All things considered.” Of course it was a joke, the branch rivalry and all that. But Y/n loved a good friendly bicker and the squad seemed to also.

“Just don’t wear your Blues around here,” Javy started, “unless you wanna be called a flight attendant.” The entire room erupted in laughter, Y/n pointing a finger as if to say, ‘Good one.’ She hated how the Air Force Dress Blues looked. It was the running joke between the branches and she couldn’t blame it.

Every time she had to wear them when flying she was stopped by people asking where to find their gate.

Hangman let out a whistle after they all calmed down. “When I woke up this morning I didn’t expect It end with meeting Mrs. Mitchell?” The couple shared a look, a smile on Y/n’s face.

“I prefer Doctor Mitchell.”

Pete went into detail of how the two met—which had Nat snapping her head to Y/n only to receive a wink.

No wonder she mentioned chest injuries as a theme when dealing with pilots.

It was a stellar retelling of how the man decided to defy yet another Admiral resulting in him ejecting from a high speed plane over a mountain range. Y/n had recently commissioned and was sent to Langley Air Force Base in Virginia, but was TDY to Oceana Naval Base for a seminar. Seeing she was the most qualified and only personnel available at the time, she was to conduct Pete’s medical examination.

“So,” she mused at the name on the clipboard, not bothering to pay him a glance as he sat on the bed. “You’re the infamous Pete Mitchell everyone has been buzzing about.” Beelining to the computer, Y/n heard a deep chuckle.

“Guilty.”

The response led to a roll of the eyes, focusing on the screen in front of her, “Are you experiencing any nausea, dizziness, lightness of the head?”

“No.”

“Ringing in the ears, distortion of the eyesight, or pain in any area?”

“No, ma’am.”

The clicking of the mouse rang with each check off the electronic list, “It says you made physical contact with the ground when you landed. Are you feeling any discomfort in your chest or abdomen?”

Pete shook his head despite her not looking at him, “just a little soreness and a bruised ego. But other than that I’m good.” Biting back a grin, Y/n grabbed the stethoscope and began to turn.

“Well we can't be too careful now can we?” Upon settling her gaze on Pete Mitchell, Y/n felt an instant ‘Woah’ to her otherwise relaxed composure. Freezing for a bare second as their eyes locked before remembering where she was, stepping to his side to begin her evaluation.

Only her heart was beating a little faster than the average rate.

The nurse had already taken Pete’s vitals. Blood pressure, temperature, and all that. Now it was time for Y/n to conduct a more thorough scan.

“Deep breath for me, please,” were her instructions, the scope on his back, “And tell me if you feel any pain.”

Pete, hoping the skip in his own heart goes unnoticed by the doctor, does as he’s told. A slight wince causes her brows to raise in concern, “Commander?”

He clears his throat, “Yes, sorry. I feel a little tense.” She steps away from him, asking to point out the area. She places the scope lightly where he locates the discomfort.

“Deep breath, slow this time,” leaning in, Y/n pays close attention to the sound thumping against her ears. “Inhale.” Pete draws in a breath. “And exhale,” he winces again. Removing the stethoscope, the Captain instructed him to lean back until he was laying down.

“Would you mind unzipping your flight suit, Commander Mitchell?” Pete was left in his undershirt, suit unzipped to his hips allowing Y/n to lift the material to assess his chest. She was trying not to look flustered at her obvious attraction to the man. He had to have been nearly ten years older than her, probably in his 40s to her mid thirties.

Still, he was quite the looker. And without a ring on his finger.

The light purplish-yellow swelling on Pete’s torso was an indication he sustained more than just a damaged ego. “By my accounts, Commander, it appears you have acquired at least one if not two bruised ribs,” she lifts his shirt back down, helping him sit up, “I’m impressed you’ve managed to hide the pain you’re experiencing.”

Pete flushed, “I’m used to it. Feels no more than a tickle nowadays.” Y/n snickers, returning to the computer to log the report, “Well you certainly live up to your reputation.”

“I try to,” Pete winked, sending a ripple of warmth through Y/n. Quickly she shook it off to remain professional.

“I’m putting you on bed rest for at least three weeks. Considering this isn’t your first rodeo, I assume you know it takes three to six weeks for bruised ribs to heal completely before going about any physical activities.” Taking a pad to write down his prescription, Y/n continued, “over the counter ibuprofen works fine, but I’m gonna go ahead and prescribe you with Naproxen which is basically Aleve. Cold compress for ten to twenty minutes each day and I would recommend you coming back to the physician on duty for a green light before getting back in the box, Commander.”

Pete makes a face, tilting his head slightly, “You won’t be giving me the green light,” eyes flicker to the ranks on her collar, realizing they were indeed Air Force and not Navy ranks, “Captain?”

His question has her smile, albeit sadly, “Unfortunately I will be back at Langley, Commander. I only assessed you because everyone else on duty was occupied.”

Well that instantly had Mav deflate, stomach sinking at the thought of not being able to see her beautiful face again. Already the pilot was becoming smitten. He wanted to learn more about Y/n, like her career and the things that make her laugh and smile. The type of food she ordered and what she envisioned her life would be like.

“How long are you in town?” He couldn’t help but ask. It made her lips curl up.

“Till Sunday.” It happened to be Wednesday. Allowing the two half of week to allow the sparks starting to form to ignite into fireworks.

One can best believe Mav and Y/n took the opportunity once it was in their grasp. It started with lunch on Thursday to dinner on Friday and a late night drink at the bar on Saturday. By Sunday Y/n left with a light heaviness to her chest that was amended with the fact Pete’s number was in her phone and they had made plans to meet again. Langley and Oceania were not far in distance, so there was hope for the two.

And it was very well received.

The next five years were endless bliss. They had done the distance back and forth for some time and were lucky when they got duty stations near each other, but it wouldn’t be until they married that the Air Force and Navy would station them together or within the same state.

With Y/n as a licensed physician she could be sent to any base, be that Air Force, Navy, or Army. Working through the ranks at an impressive rate. Every base wanted her at their clinic then of course local hospitals were fighting to get her on their board. Then there was Mav as the Navy’s best fighter pilot with a reputation they both loath and admire. Sometimes they were at a base for six months to a year. Other times they didn’t even unpack the boxes.

Let’s just say….Pete lost count of the amount of disapproving looks when he fucked up.

“Seriously, Pete? Again?” Her eyes remained on the paperwork in front of her, arms crossed across her chest while her boyfriend pouted on the opposite side of the table. “We haven’t even been here for a year.”

“I know, but……” he paused, unsure if he would make it worse with his defense. “You did say you hated it here and wish to be reassigned.” He was met with a groan.

“That didn’t mean I gave you the green light to piss off your boss! Again!”

On their five year anniversary, Mav made sure it was one to remember. Following a long day at work all he said to Y/n was to change and met him in the car. Overlooking his typical Levis and white tee, she asked, “Any particular way I should dress?”

“Cute and cozy,” he kissed her cheek, “just like you love.”

Say less. Throwing off her Abu’s Y/n put on a sweater dress since it was chilly and simple shoes. Finishing off the look with one of Pete’s bomber jackets knowing he loved when she wore them. Evident by the smirk on his lips.

Driving down to their fav outdoor bar and grill they ordered appetizers and drinks while enjoying the live music and setting sun. Afterwards he took her to one of their favorite spots in the park. It was filled with lights and fountains, stars twirling from the sky above.

When it came time to present Y/n with the ring, Mav took her hands in his, got down on one knee and relayed a speech straight from his heart that brought tears to both their eyes.

“What do you say, Mrs. Mitchell?” He ended with a cheeky smile, the diamond ring sparkling from within its velvet boxed.

Teary eyed and grinning from ear to ear, Y/n leaned down to kiss him on the lips. “I prefer Doctor Mitchell.”

………………

Tag list: @avaleineandafryingpan , @caitsymichelle13 , @poppyalice2001 , @cutelittlepotatofry , @luckyladycreator2 , @americaarse , @elenavampire21 , @back-tooo-black , @wildellaa , @artemissunn , @pinkpantheris

[topgun-imagines]

Will You Be My Wife?

Requested: yes

Summary: on Valentines Day, Maverick finally asks you to marry him. 18+

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: Smut.

Pairings: Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell x fem!reader

Maverick fiddled anxiously with the small velvet box in his pocket. He was standing outside your door with a bouquet of flowers in hand. Normally, Maverick never would have been this nervous to have dinner with a woman. But you seemed to change everything about him. You were the one person that was able to make Maverick rethink how he acted. Now, he wasn’t as much of a lady's man as he was before. Ever since you came into his life, Mav found himself more anxious to please you and make sure that you got what you needed. He found that he loved you more than he ever thought possible. Which is why tonight, he planned on proposing to the love of his life; you. 

Maverick sucked in a breath before knocking on the door, glancing around nervously as he waited. You pulled open the door moments later, smiling widely when you saw your boyfriend. Stepping aside, you opened the door wider and invited him in. Once he was beside you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek as he passed you the bouquet. It was a beautiful bunch of red roses. He pressed a kiss to your temple. “Happy Valentine's Day, Baby.” He murmured against your skin. You smiled up at him before moving into the kitchen to find a vase. Mav followed after you. 

When the two of you stepped into the kitchen, Maverick was instantly hit with the smell of biscuits and stew. There were candles on the table and a bottle of wine in the middle. Mav smiled at the thought that you had put into it. A little while after you started dating, Mav told you that his favorite meal was biscuits and stew. His mother had always made them for him as a hood. It was like a comfort meal for him. 

Mav waited as you filled the case with water and put the flowers in. Then, he pulled out your chair for you and gestured for you to sit down. Once you were comfortable in your seat, he moved to the other side of the table and sat down as well. You and Maverick both dished up, both digging into your food once you were ready. Mav groaned in pleasure as the delicious taste of the stew exploded across his taste buds. You smiled, happy to know that he was enjoying the meal. 

The rest of dinner passed quickly, both you and Maverick grabbing one last biscuit before you were finished. Once you were finished with your biscuit, you moved to go stand from the table, ready to start washing dishes. However, just as you were about to stand up, Mav’s hand shot out to grab yours, pulling you back down with a pleading expression. You could have sworn that he looked nervous. You sat back in your chair, fixing Mav with a confused expression as you waited for him to talk. As he cleared his throat, Mav stood from the chair and moved to stand beside you. 

Your eyebrows furrowed as you watched him suck in a large breath. Before you even knew what was happening, Mav was fishing something from his pocket and dropping to a knee. You gasped quietly and moved your shaking hands up to cover your mouth. Your boyfriend smiled up at you before he began speaking. “Honestly, baby, I had a whole speech planned. But now, here in front of you, it’s like I’ve lost all words,” The last part was a breathless whisper, his eyes glancing over you as if he couldn’t believe that you were his. Tears lined your lashes. He brought the box up in front of you, pausing for a moment before speaking again. “I love you, baby. And that is never going to change,” He opened the lid of the box slowly. “So, will you make me the happiest man in the world and be my wife?” 

A sob bubbled up and out of your chest, causing the tears to steady down your face. Maverick watched you nervously, waiting for the worst to happen. “Oh my god,” You whispered quietly. “Yes. Of course I’ll marry you, Pete.” Maverick's face split into a wide grin, his own lashes holding unshed tears. Grabbing your hand, Mav slipped the beautiful ring onto your finger, before leaning up and capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. One of your hands wound into his hair as the other rested on the back of his neck. “I love you. So much.” You gasped into his mouth. 

Maverick hummed against your lips before pulling away. “I love you too, honey,” You instantly captured his lips in a kiss once more. Mav groaned deep in his throat when you bit down on his bottom lip. With one last kiss, Maverick pulled away from you causing you to whine quietly. With a smirk, Maverick suddenly scooped you out of the chair and began carrying you up the stairs. “Let’s take this to the bedroom.” You grinned up at him before you began pressing kisses to the underside of his jaw. His jaw instantly tightened. A groan spilled from your lips as you sucked a mark into his sweet spot, biting into it lightly afterward. 

When you finally reached the bedroom, Mav dropped you onto the bed causing you to giggle softly. Your teeth sunk into your lower lip as you watched Mav strip off his shirt, revealing his extremely defined abs. His jeans were next, leaving him standing in front of you in his plain white boxers. With a large smile on his face, Mav moved up the bed toward you, coming to a stop when he was directly above you. With a grin, you slipped your shirt off and tossed it off the bed. Maverick began kissing up your neck as his hand reached around your back, undoing your bra in mere seconds. 

Your pants followed soon after, leaving both you and your fiancé in your underwear. As Maverick kissed across the expanse of your chest, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth causing you to let out a content sigh, his hand trailed down your body, coming to a stop at the top of your panties. A high-pitched whine escaped you when his fingers slipped under the band and began rubbing delicate circles around your clit. You moaned breathlessly as one of his fingers moved lower, teasing around your entrance. “Please.” You moaned out. Maverick sucked a deep purple mark into your skin before soothing it with his tongue. Moments later you felt one of his fingers prod at your entrance. 

His finger slipped into you, causing you to groan out in pleasure. As your fiancé slowly worked up open, your hand trailed down his abs to his boxers, palming him over the thin fabric. He moaned into your ear, picking up the pace at which his fingers moved inside of you. A second one joined the first as you thumbed over the tip of his cock. You moaned out as his fingers began massaging your spongy insides, pulling moan after moan from your parted lips. Mav rutted his hips against your hand, seeking the pleasure that only you could give him. It never felt the same when it was his own hand. 

You cried out loudly as his fingers sped up inside of you, hitting the sweet spot that only he knew how to find. The coil began forming in your belly. You gripped his cock firmly, spreading the pre-cum that had gathered on his tip across his boxers. He groaned deeply into your ear. High-pitched moans continued to fall from your lips as Maverick steered you toward the edge. Your cunt tightened around his fingers as you reached your high, loud cries echoing off the walls of the bedroom as you came on his fingers. Mav worked you through your orgasm, only stopping when you began to pull away, oversensitivity causing you to squirm. 

You panted lightly as Mav pulled back, fingers slipping from your dripping cunt. Mav pulled your panties down, pressing a kiss to your clit as he did. You moaned quietly at the contact, fingers clutching at the sheets desperately. His boxers were removed seconds later, Mav groaning as he fisted his cock. He moved back up the bed, pumping himself a few times before he dragged the thick head of his cock through your wetness. His lips were suddenly on yours, occupying every part of your mind as he spread your legs. The next thing you knew, he was slipping inside of you in one fluid motion. You both groaned quietly at the feeling. You tossed your head to the side at the feeling of his thick cock stretching you out, your eyes catching sight of the diamond ring on your hand glinting in the dim light. 

Mav slowly began rutting his hips into yours, the tip of his cock hitting your sweet spot with every thrust. He continued working his cock into you, pulling noises from you that you didn’t even know you could make. Your fiancé groaned as his head ducked down and rested against your neck. He began kissing your soft skin, occasionally nipping at it as he worked himself in and out of you. The sweet drag of your velvety walls against his cock was causing him to lose himself faster than he normally did. “I’m gonna come.” Mav warned you, thrusting into you sloppily as he worked the both of you toward your highs. 

“Me too.” You moaned quietly, fingers weaving into his hair and tugging harshly. His hips snapped into you, once, twice, three more times before he was spilling into you, his sticky release coating your walls. You moaned loudly as his thumb pressed against your clit, pulling your second orgasm of the night from you. Mav rutted into you a few more times before his hips stilled. Collapsing on top of you, he kissed over the marks that he left before slipping his softening cock from your spent hole. You whined quietly at the emptiness. 

Maverick maneuvered the two of you until you were resting against his chest, his fingers stroking over your hair softly. You stayed like that for the next few minutes, both of you simply enjoying laying there with each other. Your head was on his shoulder, tracing intricate patterns into his skin with your fingers as your eyes drifted shut. It was when you felt something prod at the skin of your thigh that you pulled your eyes open. Glancing down, you were met with the sight of Mav’s stiffening cock. You quirked an eyebrow, looking up to find him staring at you with a cheeky smile. “Round two?” He questioned before rolling on top of you. Needless to say, you were in for a long night. 

A/n: Thank you all for reading! Happy Valentine’s Day. Requests are open.

[mqverick]

Walking On Air || chapter 9

Take me to bed or lose me forever, was what Carole said to Goose every time they were together, having fun. Maverick never really understood what she meant by it until he started having feelings for you. It was exactly how he felt about you; he needed to just fuck everything and everyone, every obstacle in the way, and take you with him before he could lose you to someone else — which ironically enough, had already happened.

Or so he thought, until the other night.

He had been so fixated on the fact that you were taken so deeply inside of him, that he believed he could never fully have you, that part of your mind would always stay true to Iceman, even if the miracle happened and you broke up with him.

Hearing the drunken words come out of your mouth, so rushed and so painfully angsty, got him hoping you might be getting lost in the same path he’d been since the day you spoke to him for the first time. Drunken words were — in fact — sober thoughts, after all. Not to mention that it was the — what, third? — time he almost got to kiss you. Maverick was not the one to pine after someone, he was used to the exact opposite effect, never having to chase anyone.

He liked having to chase after you, though. He liked to dream up flawless scenarios of you, desperately wanting them to come to life. He liked how much of a dopamine rush he got from those breathless conversations and moments with you. It was hard to resist the urge to keep his feelings buried, opting to play them off as a charismatic, casual flirt — because that was what he’d been used to. That was all he knew.

You liked the way he yearned for you as well. He just made you feel so irresistibly wanted and loved, even if his cockiness never really helped his pure feelings come to light. You were very aware of them though, you were in the same page as him, never mind the fact that for you, it happened as an accident. Sure, a little flirting never hurt anyone — but oh, he was holding your hand (and for some reason you found yourself struggling to breathe steadily.)

In the morning, you woke up wanting to beat yourself to death. You’d been mindless; consuming all that alcohol, getting yourself hammered and ignoring the consequences.

Goose’s words were bloody when he said that Maverick technically had every right to hit on others. Goose’s words teared your heartstrings in pieces and made you conscious of how you’d been accusing everyone else to be a jerk, when in reality, you’d been the only twat in the story.

Maverick probably hated you.

Tom would probably hate you, too.

You tried. Gave it your all — good point to chuckle — to make your relationship with him work, but every time you closed your eyes, your mind betrayed you, unable of getting a certain someone out of the picture. The worst thing was the fact that you didn’t even really care whether Tom would want to cut you off once he found out about the situation you’d been dealing with.

You were frightened of the scenario where Pete stopped caring about you, mostly because it was impossible to imagine. Therefore, you did your best to turn yourself invisible by making up a rushed excuse of being too hungover to properly function at Top Gun, opting to stay home.

Tom respected your decision, wishing you to get well soon as he gave you a sweet kiss goodbye.

“Fuck,” you muttered as you fell back on the couch with a plop. You felt as if hours had passed when a thud on the door startled you. You fumbled to get up, standing unblinking as you opened the door to see Maverick holding a paper bag with both of his hands as he fiddled the heel of his shoe around the floor while chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“Heard Ice say you felt poorly and got you something,” he spoke lowly, reaching his hand out for you to take the item he held. Your lips parted in silent surprise as you hesitantly invited him in. “Look, I know you don’t want to see me, but you might as well say a word, because it’s getting sort of weird.”

“Maverick, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d bring you a little something to eat.”

You honestly despised the man. How did he still care about you after you you’d been unable to seal your mouth shut the night before, yammering about mistreating you (mind the irony), you didn’t know. Still, that did not constitute an obstacle for you to lunge forward and fling yourself into his arms, your head hitting against his chest as you encircled his waist tightly. You moved your head a little, stopping dead in your tracks as your ear picked up the sound of his heartbeat violently increasing.

He still had to reach for you, taken aback by your sudden affection and not being sure how to react. Maverick’s brain short-circuited, until everything finally clicked and he was holding you so close to his body, he thought he was squishing the life out of you — but he never heard you complain.

“I’m so sorry, Pete,” you whispered, muffled in the fabric of his shirt. You wanted to say more, apologize for being so ridiculously indecisive and not giving him the chance to move on, instead having him wait until you could grow a pair and end things with Tom, but the words died down in your throat when you felt his fingers tangle in your hair, his palm now cupping the back of your head. He knew you could hear his heartbeat and he also knew it was giving him away.

When you pulled away, your knees buckled and you almost melted into a puddle. His hands had somehow traveled down to your smaller ones, holding them delicately.

Take me to bed or lose me forever.

“It’s a grilled cheese, in case you were wondering, by the way,” Maverick blurted, looking over to the paper bag with the food you’d left on a counter.

“I love it.” I love you.

“I need to get going.”

“No,” you argued, grabbing his hand in yours the moment he reached for the door handle. “Stay here with me. I’m sure Viper’s more than happy that you’re not there to wreck the planes. Goose might be missing you, but he can cry about it to Carole when the day is over.”

Maverick let an amused chuckle escape from his lips as he wrapped his fingers around your wrists, gently rubbing on the skin with his thumbs.

“You want me to stay with you?” he asked in disbelief. It was adorable how flustered he was.

“I’m not repeating anything, Mitchell.”

With a little smirk and a smudge look on his face, he moved toward you, leaning in closer to your lips, which was a scenario you’d accepted, hadn’t he had a sudden change of heart and went for your forehead instead, pressing a long, warm kiss against it that made you shudder under his touch.

“You want me to stay with you,” he chimed, sounding more as if he was bragging to himself.

You tried to stifle a smile as you placed your ear over his drumming heartbeat, already forgetting you had the whole ‘sick from the booze’ act to keep up, but then again, when had you ever been able to hide what you really felt around Maverick?

“We can’t be here though,” you suddenly mouthed, the image of Tom unlocking the door to you and the man he hated snuggling comfortably up on the couch causing sweat to form on the back of your neck as you pushed Maverick away from you and fixed your fingers through your hair.

“Why not?” You gave him a knowing look that made him sigh. “We can’t hide forever, you know.”

Deciding to ignore his comment, you dragged him outside by the hand, nodding where he’d parked his motorcycle. “Cliff tops,” you silently explained and saw the corners of his lips turn upward as he helped you onto the seat.

It seemed to startle him when you wrapped your arms around his middle, laying your face against the fabric of the leather jacket that covered his back, turning his head ever so slightly to look at you with that charming Maverick smirk of his.

Your heart hammered against your chest as he began driving, hair flying carelessly through the wind, leaning further into him and clutching your intertwined hands firmly against his stomach.

Your brain felt as if it was fogged by the light fragrance he was wearing, head nuzzling on his shoulder now, lips moving dangerously close to his cheek. You let them carefully graze his skin, feeling him shudder — or was it just your mind playing tricks on you?

After having arrived at the tops, Maverick got off his motorcycle, lending you his hand to take as he helped you get off as well, shaky, nervous fingers testing the waters as he gently let them linger around yours, waiting for your hand to pull away. Instead, your knuckles tightened, grasp sinking into his, not daring to look up at him for capturing his reaction.

He sat next to you on the hill, so close that the warmth radiating from his outer thigh gave you goosebumps. You shifted just a little, so that your leg could be touching his, eyes darting down on your lap as you crossed your arms.

“It’s beautiful up here. I like how I can consider it our spot now,” you heard Maverick mutter.

“Our spot?”

His head turned to look at you. “Yeah. Ideally, the first time I would’ve liked to bring you here would be a date, but I can settle for the late sneak-out after your fight with Kazansky.”

Your heart clenched as you hesitantly met his cherishing gaze. You hadn’t wanted anyone like that in really long time and it felt like something was sucking the soul out of you. “Maverick?”

“Hm?”

“When you’re flying, you might lose power. It’s a fatal risk, but it doesn’t stop you from enlisting in the Navy. Flying at up to 700 mph, the smallest mistake can be deadly, your plane could plunge out of the sky, break apart on impact. The cockpit is too small, so you’ll feel like your losing your breath even though you might not have died just yet — and it’s all terrifying and out of control.”

Maverick stared blankly at you, waiting for you to make a point. “What are you trying to say?”

“This is exactly how I feel whenever you look at me,” you finally mustered the courage to confess, seeing your lip starting to quiver. Unsure of how to properly weave the complexity of your feelings, you opted to let your pinky softly wrap around his.

Maverick stared at you, jaw slightly hung, eyes gleaming. “You feel that way about me?”

His question came out so shaky and gentle that it worsened your situation of trying not to break down right there in front of him. “Of course I do. You’re so ridiculously insufferable, I hate you.”

He cocked his head to the side with the tiniest hint of a smirk. “But you love flying.”

“I love flying,” you confirmed, letting the rest of your fingers wrap around his hand as you brought it over to your lap, holding it firmly enough to believe that what was happening in that moment was not just a figment of your imagination.

“I love flying, too.”

With hope written all over your face, your mouth stretched into a grin, holding back a giggle. God, when had you turned fourteen all over again?

Right when you were about to say something, you felt his lips ghost above your forehead before he was leaning down just a bit and kissing the bridge of your nose as tenderly as he could, making you dizzy and unable to think straight. Kiss me, kiss me before I regret it, before I start thinking again. He stalled against you, foreheads now touching as he realized that you hadn’t moved away from him yet.

“Take me to bed or lose me forever.”

“What?”

“It’s what Carole says to Goose. Said. I don’t know if she still tells him that. I never got it, to be honest, but all I know is that I don’t want to lose you, Maverick. Never,” you explained breathily.

“You’re not losing me, not even if you want to,” Maverick chuckled, letting a warm puff hit your already very reddened cheeks. You smiled at him, head now moving forward, so that you could nudge the top of his nose with your own.

“Pete,” you whispered, the words coming out as a ghost tugging at his heart. His hands came up to cup your cheeks, bringing you oh so impossibly close to him that if you squinted hard enough, your lips would be touching. And there it was again; that look he’d been giving you ever since the day you met, lovestruck eyes melting into yours. “Drop looking at me like that, Pete.”

“I can’t,” he spoke, voice weary as if he was on the verge of tears. “You walked in the room the first time Viper came in and the breath was knocked out of my lungs the very same second. So, no, I don’t think I can look at you in a way that’s not giving away how deeply head over heels I—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, stunned by his words. “Don’t continue the sentence, Mav. Don’t continue it, because if you do, I’m going to lose every last ounce of self control I have in my body right now and I should warn you, there’s not much remaining.”

Maverick nodded slowly in acceptance before pressing a quick kiss to your forehead, then deciding to be brave, ducking down just the right direction to kiss the corner of your lips. His palms were still holding onto your cheeks, applying more pressure now as he let his mouth linger, heads connecting. You were about to lose it; all the sanity in your system, all the thoughts of do’s and dont’s. With a slight angle twist, he could be kissing you properly, on the lips, but every cell in your body was sweating to prevent that from happening. It was killing you.

“I love flying so much, Roger. So much that I don’t care if it costs me my life, I’m going to keep pursuing breaking the typical rules and fly on my own. It makes me feel alive,” Maverick confessed.

“You should,” you replied breathlessly. “It’ll get you places, Pete. You can hold your own.”

“Take me to bed,” he whispered, loud enough so that you heard him, a small smirk creeping up against the — now flushed from the kiss — corners of your lips.

“Or lose me forever.”

tags:

@holishol

@honeymvnt

[topguncortez]

Worth Fighting For | Maverick Mitchell

masterlist | One Year TG celebration

synopsis: Maverick can't help but fight for who he loves

word count: 2.5k

warnings: sexism, fighting, cursing, mentions of canon character death, oblivious friends to lovers

“Why should I have to respect her? She’s a-“

Maverick knew that it probably wasn’t a good idea to go to the O Club on a night after an exam.

He knew the whole place would be crawling with young pilots wanting to blow off steam from a stressful week of flights and studying for the exam. He also knew there would be a handful of spiteful pilots who were pissed about their exam grades. But there was no arguing a grade when every single question was multiple choice.

Maverick had a love-hate relationship with his position at top gun. He hated being chained to a classroom most days. He hated lecturing. He hated having to teach “by the book”. He hated having to answer to Ron Kerner of all people.

but he did love teaching young pilots and seeing them excel throughout the course. And he also loved getting to work with the love of his life day after day.

You and Maverick knew that there was no replacing your brother, Goose. You had been on the ground in the rec room hearing every single bit of the accident and had begged Viper to let you get on the rescue chopper. It was the worst day of your lives to go up to Carole’s door and tell her that her husband was dead. 

But before the accident, the two of you were never really close. You always saw Maverick as Goose’s annoying, hotshot best friend, and Maverick saw you as his RIO’s little sister. But after the accident, everything had changed. He had been driving your brother when he died, and you saved Maverick’s life in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Maverick had found the courage later that night to ask you out, but that dream was squashed when he saw Tom Kazansky leading you to his room. 

You didn’t know that Maverick had caught you that night, and he never did bring it up. The two of you both seemed to just brush off that night and continue on as best friends. Now, the two of you were both instructors at TopGun, alongside Ice and Slider. 

Even though you were one of the best pilots in the Navy, the Navy didn’t seem to treat you with that kind of respect. You were the same rank as your male counterparts and had higher ASVAB and GT scores. You also graduated top of your class at the Academy. You were almost as decorated, if not more decorated than Ice. . . but because you were a girl, everyone seemed to turn the other way. You tried your best to not let it bother you, rolling back your shoulders and keeping your head held high with confidence. But some days it got the better of you, and it would be clearly drawn across your face. 

“Ignore what that prick said to you. He’s just pissed ‘cause his boy failed the test,” Slider said to you, pushing a shot of tequila toward you. 

You sighed, “It’s not even the fact that Captain Holloway yelled at me, it’s the fact that he did it in front of Viper. And fucking Viper just stood there!” 

“Because he knows you can handle it,” Ice chimed, “He knows you can handle your own. You don’t need us for backup.” 

“Well, it would’ve been nice, assholes,” You chided and grabbed the shot in front of you. Maverick watched as you tilted your head back and downed it in one go. 

Everyone knew that having a legacy student in the class was going to cause some complications, but no one expected Captain Holloway to drive across base and demand to see the “half-wit instructor” who gave his son a failing grade on his exam. Iceman had originally stood up, preparing to take the fall for it, but you stood up instead, taking 100% accountability. Captain Holloway let you know how angry he was that his son had failed and was being kicked out of TopGun, his face growing red with anger and the vein in his forehead pulsing. But you just stood calmly, letting the old naval aviator get his frustration out. And when he was done yelling and insulting your intelligence, you handed him his son’s failed exam and the answer key, telling him to look through and see it for himself. 

“I think I’m gonna turn in,” You said, causing groans to arise from Slider and Iceman, “Yeah, yeah, cry me a damn river.” You slid out of the booth, and retrieved your wallet to toss a couple of bills on the table to cover your drinks, “It was nice gossiping with you ladies, but I am beat. I’ll see you Monday.” 

“Goodnight, Hawk,” Maverick said, as you turned to leave. You gave him a small smile before grabbing your cap and getting lost in the sea of naval officers. 

The booth was silent for just a moment, and Maverick looked down at the drink in front of him, until an ice cube hit him right in the forehead. He lifted his head up and furrowed his eyebrows at Slider, who had a guilty grin on his face. 

“What the fuck, Slider?” Maverick asked. 

“No, you what the fuck,” Slider said. 

“‘Goodnight, Hawk’?” Ice asked and Maverick looked at him confused, “She had an awful day and you say all of three words to her the whole night? What the hell is your deal?” 

Maverick rolled his eyes and sat back in the booth, “You said she had it handled, and she did. She didn’t need any additional sympathy.” 

“God, no wonder you couldn’t keep Charlie around,” Slider mumbled. 

Maverick scoffed, before downing his beer, “I’m getting another drink.” 

“Oh, me too?” Slider asked, holding up his rocks glass. 

“Suck my johnson, Kerner,” Maverick cursed as he left the two pilots in the booth. 

Maverick nodded to Tony as he bellied up at the bar, sliding his empty beer bottle across the dark wood. He knew that his feelings towards Hawk were very one-sided and that everyone could see it. Hell, even Charlie could see it for the short amount of time they were together. Maverick was always at your beck and call, always right by your side when you needed him. Charlie had confronted Maverick about it a couple of days before she left for DC. But there was nothing Maverick could do, you were Ice’s girl. . . well, as far as anyone knew, you were Ice’s girl. 

“Did you see Commander Bradshaw was here?” Maverick turned his head slightly, seeing two of his young pilots walking up to the bar, “Can’t believe she’d even come to a place like this.” 

The other pilot, a blonde one that Maverick couldn’t remember the name of, but didn’t like, smirked, “Of course, she’d be here. They gotta get her loosened up somehow.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Didn’t you see who she was with? Maverick, Slider, and Ice. . . It’s not rocket surgery to know how she got her job.” 

Maverick clenched his jaw as Tony set a fresh beer in front of him. He muttered thanks and slid some bills out of his wallet, still listening to the young pilots insult you. 

“Did you see the way she nearly cried today? God, I wish Viper would’ve fired her,” The Blonde pilot said, “She doesn’t know her shit. She’s slow in the air. She acts like a fucking twat anytime Maverick is-” 

Maverick slammed his beer bottle down, causing the two pilots to look at him. From across the bar, Slider and Ice turned their heads to see the showdown starting to happen. 

“Oh Jesus Christ,” Iceman muttered, seeing Maverick’s small frame try to square up to a taller pilot. 

“You two,” Maverick said, pointing between the two pilots, “Need to watch what you say about your commander.” 

The Blonde scoffed, “For what fucking reason? You clearly didn’t have a thing to say when Captain Holloway was ripping her a new one.” 

Maverick could feel the blood pulsing through his body as his hands started to shake with rage, “He’s her superior, you are not. You need to treat Commander Bradshaw with respect.”

“Why the fuck should I have to show her any respect? She’s a-” 

Nobody heard the last part of the blonde pilot’s sentence, because Maverick had punched him right in the jaw. Gasps were heard throughout the club as Maverick grabbed the pilot’s collar, and punched him again, a sickening crack filling the air. But the blonde didn’t stay down for long, reeling his head back and headbutting Maverick. Maverick groaned, lunging forward to throw another punch, but was held back by Ice. Slider grabbed the other pilot and pulled him away from the bar. 

“No more fucking scenes, Mitchell,” Ice muttered in his ear, dragging him towards the front door of the O Club. 

Maverick didn’t put up any protests as Ice put him in the car, and drove down the familiar streets to your house. Instead, Maverick looked down at his split knuckles and occasionally wiped away the blood falling from his nose. When the two of them arrived at your house, Ice told Maverick to stay in the car, as he jogged up to your front door. Maverick watched out the window as you came to the door, a smirk on your face, your body clad in a silk nightgown. Then he watched the smirk fall as Iceman pointed towards the passenger seat where Mav was at. He gave you a small wave, and you rolled your eyes, walking into your house. 

Ice jogged back to the car, and pulled open the passenger side door, “C’mon, she said she’ll fix you up.” Maverick just huffed and looked down at his hands, “Quit being a fucking toddler and get out of the car.” 

Maverick complied and got out of the car. He walked up the steps to your front door, finding it slightly ajar, and walked in. You were already laying out first aid supplies on the coffee table, and now you had a sheer robe covering your silk nightgown. Maverick felt bad as he shuffled his feet and sat down on your couch, already knowing this all too familiar drill. You sat down next to him, your knee gently brushing his khaki-clad thigh, as you grabbed his face and turned his head towards you. 

“What have I told you about getting into fights?” You asked. 

“It was for a good cause,” Maverick gave you that all too sweet signature smirk. But you saw right through it, just like your brother once had, “Some pilots were talking shit about you. I couldn’t just not do anything.” 

You nodded your head, reaching forward on the coffee table and getting a cotton ball. You doused it in hydrogen peroxide, then grabbed Maverick’s bloodied hand. He hissed as you touched the cleaning agent to the split skin. 

“You realize you can’t punch every aviator who says something bad about me,” You briefly glanced up from cleaning his hand, “It won’t end well for you.” 

“It’s a chance I’m willing to take.” 

“Well I’m not going to let you,” You sighed, putting the sullied cotton ball on a paper towel. You grabbed a roll of gauze and wrapped it around his hand. Maverick could tell that there was something you wanted to say. You and Goose were the exact same; clenching your jaw and letting out small sighs when there was something right on the tip of your tongue that you wanted to say. 

“Just say it,” Maverick said. 

You looked up at him for a moment and then back down at his hand, “I put in my resignation letter to Viper.” 

“What?” Maverick pulled his hand away from you, “Well. . . go take it back.” 

“I can’t.” 

“Yes, you can!” Maverick shouted, standing up from your couch, “I quit TopGun and came back, you surely can go take your resignation letter-” 

“I’m not going to,” You said calmly. You let out a deep breath and patted the spot next to you for Maverick to sit. He kept his emerald eyes on you as he sat back down. You grabbed his good hand, and held it in both of yours, “I am not going to take my resignation letter back. I realized today when Captain Holloway was yelling at me, that this isn’t what I want to do. I only took the job because it was what Goose wanted. He wanted to get first so he could get the teaching job and have something more permanent for Bradley and Carole. But teaching, being chained to a classroom? It’s just not me.” 

Maverick totally understood where you were coming from. He thought so many times about writing his resignation letter, but the one thing that stopped him was you and the feelings he had. But now, he wasn’t so sure if his love for teaching was enough to keep him at TopGun. 

“And, normally, I would never ask this of anyone, let alone a fucking guy,” You said and Maverick snapped his head towards you, “But. . . uh. . . come with me?” 

“What?” Maverick asked, his jaw slightly open in awe. 

“Come with me,” You said, “You hate teaching as much as I do and I don’t think that I-” 

You were cut off by Maverick’s lips on yours. You were frozen for only a split second before you kissed him back, your hands going to rest on his cheeks. He pulled back first for air, looking into those eyes that he had known to love so much. But then, it all came crashing down and Maverick realized what he had done. 

“Oh my god, Hawk,” Maverick said, getting up from the couch. You tried to ignore the pang in your chest as he walked to the other side of the room, “I’m so sorry. I know that you are with Ice and that was so-” 

“Wait, what? What did you just say?” 

“That I’m sorry.” 

“No, after that.” 

“You are with Ice.” 

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing at Maverick’s words. You had heard some ridiculous rumors about yourself, but this was definitely a new one. Maverick’s eyebrows furrowed as he watched tears fall down your cheeks as you clutched your belly from laughing so hard. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he had seen you laugh like this, but it had to have been before Goose died. 

“Oh God, Maverick, you are so funny,” You said, wiping a tear from your eye, “Me? With Tom?” You shook your head as more giggles fell from your mouth. 

“But after the Indian Ocean-” 

“He had one of my gloves in his room, I went to get it back,” You said. 

“And tonight? That smirk on your face when he was at the door?” 

“I thought he was coming over to watch The Shinning again,” You shrugged, “He obsessed with it and is wearing out my damn tape.” 

Maverick cocked his head to the side, “So nothing is going on with you and Ice?” 

“Other than his obsession with VHS player.” 

“Oh God, I’m an idiot,” Maverick said, shaking his head. 

“Yeah, you are,” You responded, “Now come over here and kiss me again.”

taglist: @shanimallina87 @desert-fern@mygyn @cherrycola27  @yanna-banana @topgun-imagines  @startrekfangirl2233 @xoxabs88xox@bradshawseresinbabe @bradswolfe@fandom-princess-forevermore@callsignharper @genius2050

another amazing request from @a-reader-and-a-writer

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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

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[simpforrooster]

don't you dare.

pete 'maverick' mitchell x f!reader

summary: you are sick of your captain not making a move. reader's call sign in Queenie.

t/w: age gap, sexual tension, allusions to smut, cursing

“You smile like that because you think it’ll get you attention,” a deep voice murmurs into your ear. Your body reacts the way you want it to, but you shouldn’t want it. Everything about this little crush is dangerous. 

“My tactic seems to have worked,” you shrug, your shoulder brushing against his body. He's standing so close. “You came over.” 

You don’t need to turn around to imagine the crooked smile that’s fallen on his face. He brushes the back of your neck as he brings his beer to his mouth. Goosebumps rain over your arms. 

“Queenie, you don’t have to put on a show to get my attention,” he admits. “You’ve had it since the first day I walked into that hangar.” Now you’re the one with the crooked smile. 

“But you haven’t done anything about it.” The five seconds of confidence from earlier has faded, and is replaced with the desperation that laces your last sentence. The only thing worse than not knowing how someone feels about you, is knowing they feel the same but can’t act on it for one reason or another. 

In both of your cases, he’s your captain. 

Maverick takes another swig of his beer. Your back is still to him, but he brushes against you again as he does this. 

“You think I don’t want to?” he all but growls into your ear. Just as quickly as his mouth is to your ear, it’s gone again. 

To hell with keeping up appearances, you swing around to look at him. How did he expect you to not react to that? Regret weaves through his features, like he hadn’t meant for that to come out. Like he wanted to keep it in because he knows it won’t change anything. He can’t give Cyclone a reason to ground him.

“Of course, I want to,” the words are barely a whisper. “You have no clue how much I want to do something about this.” 

This. This being whatever the tension between y’all is. Too many things are up against the two of you. Him outranking you. Him being the one to put together the dagger team. Let’s just go ahead and mention the elephant in the room. The one that is a little more obvious to onlookers.

The damn age difference. 

“I think I have an idea,” you admit, shoving aside every reason you shouldn’t say this. “Because I have been dying for you to make some kind of move.”

Maverick’s eyes fall closed. His jaw works back and forth, fighting an inner battle. Most likely to grab your hand and pull you out of here or to walk away. 

You’re hoping for the former because his hand reaches out for you, lightly brushing against your arm. He jerks his hand back, seemingly coming to his senses. Like that one touch would be his undoing. The thought of Maverick having such a reaction to you thrills you way more than it should. 

“We can’t,” he croaks out. His voice is strained and so very sexy. It has to sound like that after a hot makeout session too. 

“When have you ever followed the rules?” you press. 

This catches his attention. His eyes pop open, and they are sparkling with mischief. You may not have met Maverick before this deployment, but you’ve heard all about him. Just the other day, you passed by Cyclone’s office and heard him giving Mav a verbal beating. 

“Come on, Queenie, it’s not just me being your captain,” he murmurs. “And you know it.” He searches your eyes, silently saying don’t make me say it. 

Here’s the thing. You want him to say it. You want to hear him admit the thing that is holding him back is something as a meaningless age difference. The amount of fucks you give about him being older than you are nonexistent. 

“Say it, Mav,” you push. The flirtation you felt earlier has quickly morphed into something between annoyance and anger. Annoyed that he’s having a moral debate about dating you, rather than the way he flies his damn F-18. Angry that he came over here guns ablazzin’ calling you out and acting like he was finally going to lay a kiss somewhere on your body. You don’t even care which part at this point. As long as he fucking does it. 

The mischief in his eyes has flickered out to pain. “You know you should be with someone like Hangman or Rooster.” Rooster? His pseudo son? 

You move in closer to him, craning your neck back to look him in the eyes. Those gorgeous eyes. “Don’t you dare tell me who I should be with, Pete Mitchell.” 

His pupils dilate when he realizes you’ve used his name and not his callsign. He doesn’t speak, seemingly in shock, so you keep going. 

“In our line of work, I don’t want to be with someone you think I should be with. I want to be with someone I want and it’s you I want,” before you can think better of it, you add, “sir.” 

Maverick must lose that moral battle, because he grabs your hips and pulls you flush against him. “I am not going to be able to handle hearing you call me sir,” he growls in your ear. “At least not outside of my bedroom.” 

The words, his breath, and the adrenaline send a sweet line of pleasure down your spine. It feels like a lifetime, but Mav finally brings his lips to your jaw, testing the waters with a brief kiss. His expert hands are placed just where they need to be. He slowly runs one up from your hips to your waist. Meanwhile, yours play at the top of his jeans, seeing how far you can push him. 

“Shit,” he whispers, “I need to get you out of here before I really get us in trouble.” 

“Good, I didn’t want our first kiss to be in the Hard Deck,” you admit. “Take me home, sir.” 

Maverick groans, and pulls you from the bar. 

“Our tabs!” you giggle at his urgency. “We can’t skip out.”

Maverick leans into you against his motorcycle. “A bar tab is the furthest from my mind at the moment, Lieutenant.” His lips are a breath away from yours. 

“Come on, Pete, kiss me already,” you challenge. 

“I don’t know what’s better, when you call me Pete or Sir. It shouldn’t be that provocative,” he says. 

“You’re such a simp,” you mutter, pulling him down by the collar of his bomber jacket. Taking charge like you did in the bar, you place your lips against his. The intensity is everything you hoped it would be. He slowly drags his tongue against yours, you immediately grant him access. 

When he pulls back, he says, “You’ll have to explain what that means later.” He voice as sexy as you predicted it would be. 

[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.

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credits:

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

[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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