#maverick angst

[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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[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Eyes Wide Shut

Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell x Reader

Description: You once thought you'd found the love of your life. But love isn't supposed to drain away, leaving the vestiges of its warmth behind, leaving you numb and unfeeling. Yet that is exactly where you've found yourself. You've spent longer than you know pretending to be in love. One romantic dinner gone cold is the straw that breaks the camel's back. Finding your Grandmother's typewriter languishing in the garage when you thought it lost? The catalyst. Your friends had warned you. You didn't believe them. Now, you're taking your life back and he doesn't have a place in it anymore.

Warnings: Angst, Cheating (Implied), End of a Relationship, Angsty

Word Count: 3174

A/N: Hiya Lovelies!

I'm back! I hope you all enjoy this one-shot. I have to thank @sarahsmi13s for reading this fic over and steering me the right way. Thanks Vin! This fic is inspired by the Illenium and Avril Lavigne song, Eyes Wide Shut.

AO3: Cross-posted here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted here!

The candle flickers and gutters, wax dripping down the stubby remains of the taper. You’ve been sitting in silence for hours. Dinner is long cold in front of you, two pristine place settings waiting for the food, carefully arranged on the serving platters. You made his favorite meal, not that you've enjoyed a morsel of it. The only thing touched on your side of the table is your wine glass. Crimson prints dot the clear crystal rim, and the bottle of wine you opened for your anniversary is empty. You can’t remember the last time you saw your boyfriend. It feels like you only ever see each other in passing, stealing moments for a quick smile, a short exchange of words. You always find the time to tell him you love him, a phrase he presses into your temple before he rushes out of the door. But you’re not sure you believe the words anymore. Telling yourself you’re fine doesn’t seem to work anymore, either.

It’s your anniversary, and your boyfriend’s not here. Shouldn’t you feel something at this moment? Sad? Angry? Worried? You don’t feel much of anything anymore. It feels like you’ve been muffled in cotton batting for months. Those late nights when your house feels like a mausoleum, you wish you were anywhere but in San Diego. Once upon a time, everything felt different.

The peals of your laughter rang through the empty house. It’s your first house, and despite all of the boxes in the center of the room, you had been trying to paint the walls of your bedroom. Trying was the key word. There was more paint on your face and your boyfriend’s face than there is on the walls. Pete had been smearing bright blue over your skin, as you tried and failed to stop him. Of course you gave as good as you got. You still remember how there had been flakes of cerulean spiraling from his dark hair, scattered like freckles across his muscular shoulders.

You can still remember the joy in this room, how the sun had transformed the blue into warmth akin to the most placid of ocean waves. Now it feels like you're drowning.

“Pete!” 

You’d squealed the words as he pressed you into the wall, hard lean muscles and smooth skin weighing into you, with an impish smile crinkling the corners of his green eyes. He had paint, wet and glistening, on the palm of his hand as he brought it closer and closer to your torso.

“Nuh-uh, beautiful.” His grin made your heart skip a beat, once. “You know how much I like touching you when I kiss you.”

“I like you touching me when you're not covered in the paint, which should be on our wall, Peter.”

Your tone was only half-chiding. You'd ended up with more paint on yourself than your walls. But you hadn’t minded. That night ended like so many nights did between you and Pete in the beginning. There were cheap bottles of red wine opened in a half-painted room with a box of pizza open on your makeshift cardboard coffee table as the two of you swayed gently to music blaring out of the boombox sitting on the tarp covered floor.

Looking at the room, still half-painted four years later, doesn't bring you joy anymore, only pain. Once upon a time the two of you held as much potential as the streaks of paint did on the wall. You were supposed to make a life together. Piece by piece every brick of your dreams had been dismantled. It should be horrifying that you are only realizing it now, at half past 11 on your fifth anniversary.

But the truth is, you can’t remember how long it has been since you smiled. Pete used to make you smile every day, what with his endearing habit of singing off key and grabbing hold of you every chance he got. You used to shriek in laughter as he twirled you around, peppering kisses into the tender skin behind the hollows of your ears, the delicate skin of your inner wrists. Now, when you smile into the mirror you look deranged, the faux curl of your lips evident in the half light of the bedroom you used to share with Pete. Only half the bed is mussed, holding the shape of your body and your body alone. It's been at least a month or so since you've seen Pete in the house you still share on paper. 

He's not deployed. It’s been months since Pete was deployed. Anyways, the deployments, sparse and sporadic as they are, you believe you’ve handled with aplomb. At least when Pete is deployed you are able to call him on the phone. Now, even if you call, you're not sure he'll even pick up.

After Goose, after the Leyte Gulf, Pete came back to San Diego and accepted a post at Top Gun. You’d bought the house with Pete then, looking forward to settling down, spreading out roots. Bradley and Carole were still in town, needing to be close to the only family they had left. You welcomed their presence in your life, welcomed the stability and calm they brought about in Pete.

Now, you're not sure the man you loved is even there anymore. Back then, you'd have sworn Pete Mitchell was the love of your life. You're not sure when you fell out of love with him. You remember the ghosts of how that love felt, how the warmth of it had fanned across your cheeks and hovered in the hollow of your chest. But those feelings are just memories, now. The warmth you felt once has waned, ice growing in your chest where the flames once licked. 

You know Pete's not coming home tonight. A part of you had been hoping still. But as the clock ticks past the midnight hour and continues onward, you have to give up on your fledgling hope. If there was any love you still felt for Pete Mitchell, it's gone now. But you can’t bring yourself to care about the love you lost. All you can think about is what to do next.

There's nothing left for you here, in this house with its half-blue halls and echoes of your happiness. So why are you crying when you see your reflection in the mirror as you take off your new dress and rip your lingerie uncaringly away? You had plans for tonight. In another life, Pete would have been home at 6 o’clock on the dot, a bunch of red roses clenched in his fist. He’d have blushed at the sight of you in the scanty fabric of your dress, then said a line which would have had your blush joining his. The dinner congealing on your dining table? By now, it should have been just crumbs, as should the cake in the fridge. 

You wish you were dancing with Pete, swaying with your head over his heart as his hands curl around you. Once Pete’s hands were the safest place you knew. You used to trust him with your life, your heart. Now, tears trail down your cheeks from your swollen red eyes, evidence that Pete is no longer here to wipe them away. Even the clothes you prefer to lounge in are his. Everything in the bedroom is like he left it, just as you are. The worst part is how you can’t even find it in yourself to be angry with him. He pulled away first, but you didn’t chase after him either. Did you change without him? Or did he change without you?

It’s time to take stock of your life. What happened to the girl who was out celebrating her PhD at a Navy bar with her friends? You’d never have met Pete if you had stayed home that night like you sorely wanted to. You’d never have given up the job you had lined up in New York and settled into the life of a trophy girl if you hadn't met him. 

What happened to that girl? The one who wanted to become a journalist? Who wanted to write the next great American Novel or win the Pulitzer Prize? Have you written a word in the years since? Words other than notes to buy groceries or love notes to Pete?

When did Peter Mitchell snip your wings so completely, shackling you to the rise and fall of his career? 

Your lipstick streaks across your face as you wipe the tears away, smearing crimson across your cheeks. They’re as hot as the anger burning in you, because you can’t stay here, not anymore. You wanted Pete to propose when you woke up this morning, sure he was just busy at the office. Obviously the opposite is true now. You’ve just been completely, obtusely, ridiculously stupid.

Tom, sweet, kind Tom, one of your only friends in San Diego, had tried to warn you, too.

“You know what he’s like, he’s so in love with you!” 

He’d murmured one summer afternoon last year when you were over at the Kazanskys, loving cuddling with Tom and Sarah’s eldest boy, who was nine months old and gorgeous. “He’s always running out of work early to come home to you.”

Your heart should have broken when you heard those words.

“Tom, Pete’s missed dinner every night for months. He said he’s had a ton of paperwork to finish on base.”

At first you had missed the dismay growing on your friend's face, wholly occupied by the baby's giggles as you blew raspberries onto his chubby cheeks. The silence clued you in. When you look up, there are twin spots of red rising up on his cheeks and his hair is awry.

“He told me he was coming home to you.”

You had shrugged a little, choosing to focus your attention on the baby in your arms so you can’t see the expression on his face.

“I’m sure everything’s fine, Tom. This is Pete we’re talking about here! He wouldn’t cheat or lie!”

“But sweetheart, he is lying, isn't he? God knows I am fond of him, but you shouldn't let him treat you like that! Are you sure you don’t want to figure out what he is doing?”

It was easy to brush Tom off after that exchange, in the middle of a barbeque with people he hasn’t seen in months waiting to catch up. You’d ignored Sarah too, once the baby was in bed for the night and only close friends were left, when there was nobody for you to hide behind. 

You’d loved Pete enough to ignore the red flags hoisting up the flagpole. The blindfold has fallen off of your face now. You can’t deny the facts anymore. Pete��s lying to everyone. He’s lying to his friends. He’s lying to you. Worst of all, he’s treating you like you’re not worth the space you hold in the world. It would hurt less, you think, if he just had the decency to break up with you.

But he hadn’t. You’re not sure he ever will. It’s a little ironic, isn’t it? That the man is more than willing to strap himself to a rocket at high speeds and shoot at other people strapped to rockets moving at high speeds, but he can’t talk to you. The woman he loves, the woman he loved enough to string along. The woman who sacrificed her core being for him.

This is the last straw. You’re not going through this again. All the fights, all the tears, the pain, the despair. You’re done. You’re drawing the line in the sand. 

Two hours later, and the bedroom where you once laid your head to sleep every night as well as the home you built, is emptier than it’s been since before you moved in. Only Pete’s things are left arrayed around the place. It doesn’t feel like home anymore without your cheerful blanket laid across the foot of the bed, and without your cardigan laid over the chair of Pete’s office desk. It should be sad how easy it is to pack your life away - to split everything in the house into his and yours. But you can’t be sad.

Not when you clamber carefully up the ladder in the garage and see your typewriter, your vintage, lovingly-cared-for typewriter, the only inheritance you received from your grandmother, sitting on the shelf in its carrying case. When Pete and you had moved in together, he’d told you the typewriter had been lost by the post office, lost when your parents shipped it across the country. The rage simmering in your blood heats to a fever pitch. You can forgive a lot of Pete’s actions over the past five years and accept an equal share of the blame for how your relationship has deteriorated. But you can’t forgive how easily he dismissed your dreams.

Your car is loaded up with everything you can rightfully say you own. You’re taking the typewriter with you, of course you are. Somehow, it doesn’t feel right, leaving without saying a final goodbye. So you type your heart out, writing a letter to the man you once thought would be the love of your life. You leave it lying on the pristine dining table, all the leftovers discarded. The sun is just peeking out on the horizon, over the deep blue waves of the Pacific Ocean as you drive away from everything you’ve called home for the past five years. You’re finally free.

Dear Pete,

I’m leaving you.

I didn’t realize it would feel like this to say those words. I’m sad, of course I am. I hoped we would be forever once. I hoped beyond hope we could build a life together. I hoped we could settle down, have a family of our own. I realized today that my dreams were never going to happen. My dreams are always going to be working towards an opposite goal from yours, aren’t they? Do you even know what it is like to want something that doesn't involve you risking your life to fly in a jet faster than the speed of sound?

People have always commented that you and I were an odd pair. I refused to believe it, but sitting in the half light of our dining room on the night of our fifth anniversary, a night where I don’t know where you are, I think I might be starting to. 

On paper, you and I shouldn't have worked. You're a Naval Aviator, smart and devilishly handsome. You can have anyone, anything you want and you have the stubbornness, the will to make it happen, too. In contrast, I was a twenty-something just out of school. School was all I knew. I remember feeling so exhilarated that night at the O-Club. The world was full of promise. I wasn't looking for anything, but like I said, you’ve never had a problem fighting for what you want. You also didn't have a problem convincing me that what you wanted was what I wanted - but that is besides the point.

It was your ability to fight for what you believed in that had me falling head-over-heels for you. It was easy to shelve my dreams, everything I was hoping to achieve with my PhD, for you. You were worth deferring my dreams because I knew then that you would fight for me, for us. Apparently I was wrong. 

Tom told me the truth at Parker's first birthday party. He told me you were leaving work early, carrying bouquets of flowers, seemingly for me. His face when I told him I've barely seen you in months? The horror and shock in it? I don't relish causing our friends pain. So I made excuses. I've been making excuses for years, after all.

“Sorry, mom. Pete's deployed so he won't be coming home with me for the holidays. I worry about him, but I know he's doing alright. I just spoke to him on the phone the other day and he sent you his love.”

“I’m sorry, Sarah! Pete's running a little late. He wouldn't miss Parker's first birthday!”

I can't make those excuses for you anymore - not to our friends and family and not to myself.

So how come you haven’t given me flowers in two years but you've been leaving work holding bouquets almost every night? I guess it's a question I'll never get an answer for. There's one other thing bothering me. You're a straight-shooter, Pete. You always have been. So why, if you fell out of love with me, did you not just tell me?

Were you scared of the response you'd get? Were you scared you would break my heart? 

My heart's a little battered and bruised, but it's far from broken, Pete. I'm sad, sad to lose a relationship I've put effort into for five years of my life, but I'm not heartsore about the loss. Instead, I'm angry. I'm angry that I wasted five years of my life being shoved into a box by you. I loved you, but I hated, I still hate, how easy it was for you to discount me, discount my aspirations. We were supposed to be equal partners in this relationship. I was never supposed to be the woman waiting at home for you to come back, the kind who has dinner on the table prompt at 6:30. I wanted to live my life, too. My career, my hopes, wants and dreams were always supposed to be equal to yours. It's my biggest shame that I let you convince me they weren't.

I haven't been in love with you for a long time. I've been telling you I loved you on muscle memory, the words of affection tasting like ashes in my mouth because my heart wasn't behind them. I’m not sure who I was protecting, you or myself. Especially when it’s obvious the loss is more of a blow to me than it is to you.

Despite it all, Pete, I am thankful for the good times we had. I will miss the nights sitting in the living room with a cheap bottle of red open and records playing. I will miss the early mornings where you and I would list against each other half asleep at the kitchen table, our feet intertwined in the morning sunlight as we sat in each other’s company. Above all, I think I’ll miss the sensation of knowing someone as deeply, as intimately as I once knew you.

I’ve spoken to Carole and little Bradley, Tom and Sarah and Parker, all of our friends, our family. They know how to reach me, they’ve been ordered to stay in touch. You’ll forgive me if I don’t extend the same offer to you. I think I need the space from you. I think you need the space from me too. 

I hope, Pete, you find who and what you’re looking for.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR ON TUMBLR BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR TUMBLR, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

Taglist:

@desert-fern @sarahsmi13s @horseshoegirl @dakotakazansky @teacupsandtopgun @roosterforme @beyondthesefourwalls @cherrycola27 @chaoticassidy @kmc1989 @blue-aconite

[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.

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

[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.

[jaidens]

Maverick Mitchell angst fic where breakdowns in front of the reader after Goose's death

And Feel You Forget Me Like I Used To Feel You Breathe

pairing [s] : pete mitchell x reader

warning [s] : mentions of : death, crying, regret, blame |

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

After Goose’s death, Pete became distant and gone. Drinking away his feelings and long motorcycle rides to flee away from his problems, and people that brought up his problems. He only called Carole five times since that day; deciding that in her head, he was the worst person to ever touch the ground of the Earth.

One day he comes home smelling like cheap booze. He shrugs his bomber jacket off of him and sets it on the hooks that are on the wall. You're sleeping on the small couch with a thin blanket over you. The television is on and it's playing some dumb movie from the 70s. You pop up whenever Pete accidentally drops one of his boots too quickly on the floor.

“Pete! Oh, I was worried sick. Where have you been? Oh you smell like alcohol.” You stand up and walk over to Pete and smooth out his t-shirt. He doesn't hold eye contact with you. He looks at the ground like a kid who just got in time out.

“I was nowhere. Get off me.” The anger spits from his mouth and he pushes against you. You immediately turn to look at his back side. “What? I’m an adult. I can do whatever I goddamn please!” You can't even tell why he's so angry. You haven't crowded him or anything, he's just getting angry at his own head. You attempt to walk closer to him and he's huffing and puffing while throwing together a sandwich on the island counter.

You're dressed in his t-shirt and a pair of underwear. Usually, he would get real close to hug you whenever he gets home. Now, he's cold to you and only speaks to you whenever he's forced too. “Pete what is happening to you? Honey, you have to talk.” Your hand goes to his forearm and sits there comfortingly.

“I don't wanna talk. That's all everyone tells me. ‘You have to talk Pete!’ What if I don't want too? Has anyone ever thought of that?!” His voice echoes through the house and you see his lip quivers whenever he finishes. His eyes start to tear and you see his face start to flush. He covers his face with his hand and shakes it.

All you do is stare at him and choose to not speak. He's vulnerable right now and you worry you might hurt him. Quiet sobs start and he moves his body to lay in your arms. You attempt to drag him away from the kitchen to the living room, to let him sit down against the couch.

He sits down on the creme-colored couch and he sets his elbows on his knees. Your hand goes to his back and he almost begins to shake. You've only seen Pete like this a few times, vulnerable and scared. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I'm sorry. I’m Sor—” Pete says quickly before you stop him.

“Pete no, you don't have to apologize for anything. You're grieving. This is normal.”

Pete looks at you with blood-shot eyes, cheeks a burning red, and puffy eyes. The feelings he's been having finally started to cut through his strong walls he had put up. He wipes away the tears that fall from his eyes. “It's so hard. To go to work and know everyone looks at me. And it's my fault that Bradley doesn't have a Dad, Carole doesn't have a husband, and I lost my best friend.”

You sit there and let him talk. Pete curls in on himself to hide himself. “It wasn't your fault. I understand it's hard to not think that. The situation was the plane, not the pilot. Those are your words, not mine. Carole doesn't blame you, honey. You shouldn't blame yourself. Bradley has so much love.” Pete continues to sniffle as he attempts to breathe and relax from his crying fit.

“I know. And, I'm sorry for just not talking to you. I couldn't look you in the face knowing what I did.” Pete admits and you smile at him. He gently scoots over to you and lays against your shoulder. You kiss the temple of his head and put your hand on the side of his head. With a gentle pull, you lay against the arm of the couch and open your legs. Pete slides in-between them and lays his head on your chest.

“It’s alright. You're fine, I'm fine, we'll be alright.” You end the conversation with a hum and gentle rub of his back. Pete was still mourning; and with an understanding of his feelings you would be able to help. Either way, you knew it would eventually be fine.

[call-sign-shark]

Can I request a Maverick fic inspired by the song “The Devil Doesn’t Bargain” where protective Mav makes reader see her boyfriend is awful and she is stronger than that and deserves better

✨ The Devil Doesn’t Bargain ✨

Oh my God I loved it so much, thank you for your request. I almost cried writing it. Platonic or not, the choice is yours. Depends if you need an older lover or a father figure soooo ~

Tags: Angst, mention of domestic abuse, Mav being your emotional support

Words: 1.5k

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It all started at the Hard Deck.

Penny had thrown a party to celebrate the success of the Uranium Mission. To please everyone, she allowed guests to bring their civilian significant other, which was what you did. Mav had barely laid his eyes on your boyfriend when he saw the red flags. Protective by nature -especially with you-, Captain Mitchell spent the rest of the evening observing you. To all appearances, you formed a casual couple but Mav knew the Devil always was in the details. He noticed you were quieter when your boyfriend was here. You, who were usually bubbly and joyful, would withdraw into silence each time your man spoke. There were also the looks he gave you when you did something he did not like. The kind of dark and harsh look that would kill you right on the spot if it could.

Mav tried wanted to warn you, but the man spent the party glued to you. Despite all of this, Captain Mitchell greeted you. When you saw him, a cheerful smile enlightened your lovely face. You started talking, your eyes sparkling with admiration and affection when looking at Maverick. It pissed your boyfriend so hard that he cut you in the middle of the sentence with condescending words: “No one cares about your opinion!” He had said, growing impatient. Maverick felt a burning anger blooming in his stomach. His traits, usually so soft when talking to you, turned into ice. Mav had stood fiercely, his blazing green eyes staring at your boyfriend. Mav’s presence was so impressive, that your boyfriend shut the hell up for the first time since he arrived at Penny’s party. It took all Captain Mitchell’s willpower not to punch him in the face in front, but God knew how he wished to destroy him.

After the party, Mav started being more aware: he would notice the slightest detail. Just like that one time when you picked up your phone and your smile faded away when you saw your boyfriend’s name on the screen. You picked up and when you came back in the hangar, your eyes were still clouded with tears.

Or that other time you almost had a panic attack in front of him because you noticed you would come home late. He had offered you a ride on his motorcycle but you refused - your boyfriend would kill you if he saw you with Mav.

Today he saw them.

The bruises.

Purple bruises, like paint stains on the delicate canvas of your skin. Mav had spotted them at the end of the training when you had rolled up one of your sleeves to massage your sore wrist. The sight felt like someone had punched him right in the guts. The Captain clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles whitened. His heart pounded in his chest, fueled by corrosive anger. It was too much for him to handle. He had to do something.

Today’s training is over and you are about to leave the hangar when Mav’s voice calls you. Anxious, you take a quick look at the watch on your wrist and raise your gaze to your instructor. He walks to you and stops only a few centimeters. Mav might not be the tallest guy on the base, but you feel like he is towering you anyway.

“Listen, I know it’s none of my business but it’s not worth it, darling.” He finally says, unable to hold it anymore. You look at him with furrowed brows.

“Excuse me, Sir?” You answer, slightly confused. Mav remains silent for a few seconds, his emerald eyes glimmering with worry.

“Your boyfriend… He hurts you. I don’t say that in a condescending tone, it’s just that- “ he pauses. Takes a deep breath and goes on, “I want what’s best for you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Everything is fine.” Words escape from your mouth, knocked out of your lips by surprise. You start to chew your nails nervously, avoiding Maverick’s eyes.

“Don’t lie to me Y/N. Please don’t. I know he’s abusive. Now I don’t mean to meddle but it has to stop. You are a sweet and clever girl, you don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

You stay silent, tears blurring your vision, and still not daring to look at him. Your lower lip starts to quiver, for it struggles to hold your sobs. It has been years and no one suspected anything. No one noticed what happened when the door was closed. Pete Maverick Mitchell, your instructor, is the first one.

“He’s not like that. He’s a good guy, he’s just having a rough time.”

“Hey, hey…” His voice is so soft, so full of tenderness that you gently dare look at him. Maverick’s heart breaks when he sees the pain in your eyes. Tears stream down your face.

He wants you to feel his skin against yours. To gently cup your beautiful face in his warm hands. To pull you in a soft, protective hug and never let you go - but he is too afraid to touch you. Afraid to hurt you. As if you would shatter at one simple brush from his fingertips.

“He’s gonna change. I can change him. ” Your voice breaks. If you keep talking you know you’ll burst into tears. You bring one trembling hand to your mouth and look down. Mav exhales slowly, trying to find the correct words not to hurt you more than you already are. He does not want to lecture you - he wants to help you free your wings from their chains.

“You can’t change him, darling. You think “this time will be the last; he’s truly sorry” but he is not. And deep down, you know it’s just a matter of time before he hurt you again. And blow by blow you lose your colorful feathers.”

Your legs are shaking, threatening you to collapse.

“Sir -“ You try to defend him but you cannot anymore.

“The Devil does not bargain, darling.” He says with a soft, soothing smile. Five words. It is all it takes to break years for abuses free. This time you burst into tears. Mav clenches his jaws, his heart sinking.

He gently open his arms to make you understand that you could hug him if you needed to. Even though he knows you might not want to feel a man’s touch. Yet, you take a step and, to his surprise, hug him tight, burying your face against his strong chest. You feel his muscular arms wrapping you and pressing your body against his. One of his large hands runs through your hair to pet you.

Melting into his embrace, you shake like a leaf and, when he notices it, Mav hugs you tighter to glue the shards of your shattered soul back together.

“ I tried to leave him, Mav. But I can’t! It’s just… so hard.” You stutter between two sobs. You did try, but you got used to the pain. Your whole being had been numbed for too many years, and now you were here, feeling constantly outside of your own skin. Outside your own body. All the blows, all the abuses, you watched yourself bearing them because that’s all life had taught you. That’s all you knew.

“ I know you don’t want to let go, but you deserve better.” He lays a gentle kiss on your forehead. You feel instantly better, “you deserve so much better. You deserve a man who will take care of you. I swear Y/N, you deserve to be loved. You deserve someone to help you clean your wounds and help you fly.” He backs off his head slightly, just to look at your adorable face. A shy and tiny smile stretches the corner of your quivering lips when your eyes met his - you feel like nothing can hurt you in Maverick’s arms. You feel …

Safe.

“But what if I'm not strong enough?"

He lets out a faint chuckle and tilts his head to the side, the green of his eyes lost in the Y/EC of yours, "Darling, look at you. You are one hell of a strong woman. And it is not due to your job as a pilot. You are strong because that's what your soul is. Trust me, there's a fierce flame burning within."

You take a deep breath: you had stopped shaking. Maverick's hand leaves your hair only to gently press it against one of your cheeks. You close your lids, tears forming crystal beads on your eyelashes. His touch makes you immediately stronger.

"You're right." You whisper. Maverick nods, proud of you, and takes a few steps back to release you from his protective arms.

"You're right." This time your tone is louder, fiercer.

The Devil does not bargain, but the Angel does not kneel.

Not anymore.

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Tagging: @malavera and @helloitstsyu because its Tom cruise content

[phantomtgm]

Phantom - Chapter Nineteen

Phantom’s P.O.V

Maverick effortlessly opened the door to his house while maintaining the heated makeout session we were currently having. Moans and gasps filled the entire room as we entered his bedroom.

We walked blindly towards the bed and as the back of my knees hit the bed, I allowed myself to fall back on it, taking Maverick with me. 

The alcohol had contained some of the nerves but not all of them. My entire body was shaking as he climbed on top of me, spreading my still clothed legs. I could feel every inch of him but I want him inside me.

He kissed me like I was air and as I reached to remove his shirt, Maverick hesitated. With my heart beating fast, I moved my hand from his hem line to his face. “What’s wrong?”

Pausing from what we were doing, he looked at me in the most loving way and it only made me want him more. He was hesitating so I rubbed my thumb on his face. 

“We should stop.” Not expecting that response, I pulled my hand back and said quietly “Why? I want to. If it’-” He interrupted me and cradled my head. His eyes went wide as he said “Oh believe me, I want to but I want to do this the right way.” He began sprinkling kisses down my throat and a tingling spread throughout my body. 

“When we both haven’t had something to drink.” Disappointment rang through my body but…also understanding. He was right, we shouldn’t have sex for the first time drunk off our asses so I sighed and attempted to relax. 

Being riled up was going to take a bit of time to relax and I think Maverick thought the same thing because he said “I think I’m going to take a cold shower.” I laughed as he awkwardly got off and stood. I could see the bulge in his pants from here and my cheeks heated. The fact that he got that worked up over me stirred a lot of feelings inside me.

“Be right back sweetheart.” Winking, I watched as he disappeared into the bathroom. Yawning, I turned on my side, not realizing how tired I was. As much as I wanted to be with him tonight, I could feel my eyes fall heavy and before I knew it, I fell asleep.

-

Maverick’s P.O.V

Shaking the towel over my wet hair, I walked out of the bathroom and saw Ava curled up on my bed, chest moving up and down. Walking towards the bed, I sat down. She had fallen asleep and I smiled to myself. After everything that had happened this past week, I was happy to see her sleeping peacefully. 

I knew I had disappointed her telling her we should stop but it was the right thing to do. I didn’t want to take advantage of her even though I know that’s not what she thought but…I wanted to do things differently with her. All of those other women that I had been with, well, I wasn’t exactly a gentleman so I wanted to do her right. 

Feeling the effect of the alcohol, I crawled into bed beside Ava, draping an arm around her waist and scooted her closer. Her heart beat matched mine. Slow and steady. I smiled to myself as I drifted off to a deep sleep.

-

Phantom’s P.O.V

I have been awake for two hours now, getting ready for another big day of training. Maverick made coffee and I slurped it down. I looked at the time as I tied my hair into a bun, eyes practically bugging out. 

I turned around, about to say goodbye when Maverick held a smirk. “What?!” I squeaked, earning a laugh from him. 

“Worried about being late?” I crossed my arms and gave him a look. 

Coming forward, he placed a kiss on my forehead and said “Don’t worry…I won’t pull you into my office.” Another wink later and the dizziness that occurred caused me to grip the counter in fear that I might actually fall down. 

I stood there for a moment getting my shit together then finally forced myself to move from my spot. I walked towards the door and the memory of last night popped into my brain. We almost had sex! 

The care that he showed me last night had me questioning my feelings. I had never felt that way with anyone before. If it had been any other guy, they would have taken that opportunity to get laid and the fact that Maverick didn’t…said a lot. I appreciated it and made me want him more. 

Maybe it had to do with his cock  and if that was the case then I totally wanted to ba- Opening the door and stuck in my dirty thoughts, I hadn’t been paying attention when walking outside because Rooster stood directly outside with a highly confused look on his face. 

“Ava? What are you doing here?” He asked, his eyes looking at me then to the inside of Maverick’s place. Connecting the dots, his eyes narrowed. 

“Well?” He asked and I froze.

Well, shit.

[sarahsmi13s]

|| Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell Masterlist ||

i DO NOT consent to copies or translations of my work!

hello my little cassettes! here is where you can find all of the stories that feature pete 'maverick' mitchell!

general taglist

series

sorry... none yet 😅

angst

sorry... none yet 😅

smut -- 18+ MDNI

sorry... none yet 😅

fluff

-> "would you just shut up and kiss him already?" (pete mitchell x simpson!reader)

[tobytoobs]

I haven’t seen nearly enough fics of Maverick just grieving. I feel like it’s pushed aside so much and I just want a grieving, depressed Mav, Please, I need the threat of 86’ trying to comfort him. I want sad Mav.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Medical Emergency

Summary: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Fe!Reader -> When Jake gets a call asking to pick you up from the hospital, it's safe to say he's confused. Especially considering neither of you were known for getting along with the other.

Disclaimer: Enemies to lovers, brother's best friend, descriptions of being ill (nothing fully specified, just fainting a lot, low blood sugar and hormones), swearing, fluff, steamy moments, he takes care of you. This has been in my w.i.p for a while now so it's kinda a long one. Not Proof Read.

It was safe to say Jake was confused to find out he was your emergency contact. 

It was known to most people in the town that you and Jake weren’t exactly the best of friends. The hatred started all back when he was brought into Top Gun the first time round. Before he suddenly became the best, of the best of the best. And each year he came back, it only got worse. 

Neither of you would be surprised if everyone in San Diego knew about how much you and Jake didn’t get along. 

So, yeah. Getting a call from a Nurse called Emma telling him he needed to come and pick you up from the hospital…he was confused. 

He’d spent most of the day training the new recruits at Top Gun. He was on base when he got the call, but twenty minutes later, he was parked outside the hospital and was being shown to your room. 

“She’s to take two of these every six hours for the next three days. If she has any drastic changes; dizziness, nausea, vomiting, etc. Bring her back. But she should be okay.”

He hadn’t even been told what had happened. 

Then he saw you. 

On a typical day, your hair was either up or down. You typically wore bright colours since the kids in your class like to point them out and name them. And even at the end of the week when you’d walk into the Hard Deck, Penny already having your drink waiting for you, and you’d look tired and ready to go to bed, you were still…bright. Put together. 

But from where he was standing, you were dressed in grey sweats and a Top-Gun hoodie. Most likely, you thought it was your brother’s. But from the worn hole around the edge of it let Jake know it was his. One your brother had never returned to him. 

You looked…like you needed to be comforted. 

Your hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail at the base of your skull. Any hints of make-up had been long washed away. Your nail polish was chipped, if not already peeled from your nails. 

Finally slipping your shoes on, you stood slowly. You looked like you needed to sleep for a year, and maybe take another nap for eight months. 

“Just sign here and here and then you’re free to go.”

Jake watched as the nurse’s words just about registered in your ears before you slowly picked the pen up from her hand and signed your name at the bottom of the paper. 

Reaching to grab the rest of your stuff, Jake almost swooped forwards. “I’ve got it.”

You just nodded. “Thanks.”

Any other day, you would have told him you could do it yourself and tell him to fuck off. 

He picked up your overnight bag and, with a hand at the bottom of your back, led you out of the hospital. 

“This way.”

You followed him back to his car and once he knew you were safe inside the passenger seat, he rounded the car and got into his seat. 

“I did tell them just to call me a cab. You can just drop me off down the road. You don’t need to-”

“I’m not letting you walk home.” He told you. “What’s your address?”

Part of Jake wished you’d fight him more about walking home. At least that way he’d know you were actually okay. He still would have driven you home, but…he wanted you back. 

Typing your address into his phone, he followed the sat-nav. 

By the time he pulled up outside your house, you were asleep. He waited for five minutes, letting you sleep whilst he researched and read the prescription you’d been given. 

Then he looked up at your house. You had to have a spare key. 

Carefully, he left his car and walked up your path. He looked in all the typical places until he found a small patch of wood from your porch coming loose. Inside was your key. 

So, opening your door and carrying your things inside, he came back for you. 

Unbuckling your seatbelt, he placed one of your arms around his neck before placing his own arms around your back and under your legs. 

“It’s okay. Go back to sleep.”

And you did. 

Shutting the door to his car with his back, he carried you into your house, shutting your front door with his foot before taking you into your bedroom and laying you on top of your sheets. Looking around, he found a basket of blankets just under your window. 

However, as he covered you up, he checked your temp with the back of his hand. You seemed okay. 

Then you reached for him. 

It was only for a few seconds, but you held his hand before your body fell back to sleep. 

Before he left your room, Jake got you a glass of water and left your window on a latch. And then he stayed. 

Kicking off his boots by the door, he locked everything up around your home before laying down on top of the guest bed with a million and one questions circling around his head. 

Why was he your emergency contact? What had happened? Why didn’t anyone else tell him you were in the hospital for, clearly, more than a couple of hours? 

You spent the next two days in and out of consciousness. The hospital told Jake not to worry and that it was a good sign you were sleeping. He’d wake you every couple of hours and give you your tablets. 

And each time, you’d wake up with the same confusion of how and why he was in your house. And then you’d remember. And apologise. And thank him. Before he’d tell you to lay back down and get some rest. 

By the time you came round, you woke up to texts pinging on your phone. 

How could you not tell me you were dating someone?

We SERIOUSLY need to catch up about this when you’re back in. 

Your boyfriend called the school. Why is this how I’m finding out you’re sick?

Get better soon, honey xoxo

Also, don’t worry about the kids. I’ve got your class covered. 

One of your fellow-teacher best friends. You and her had joined the school as teachers in the same year. She had been away on a cruise for the last two weeks. 

Slowly, everything that had happened over the last two days came flooding back to you. They had called Jake. He had come to get you at the hospital. He kept waking you up. Had he stayed that whole time? Was he the one to call your school?

Pulling yourself from your bed and heading to the bathroom, you caught a look of yourself in the mirror. You looked…rough. And also the exact same as you had when you’d left the hospital. Maybe there was a little more colour in your cheeks. 

And you did feel better. 

The room felt still and you didn’t feel like throwing up all your insides out, despite being unable to do so. 

Drying your hands on the towel, you made your way through your home. Things were��tidy. Militarily so. The last time your place, although tidy, had looked militarily tidy had been when your brother had visited you before he got deployed again. 

So, either, he was here now. Jake was still here. Or you had a ghost haunting your house that just so happened to be in the Navy. 

Walking down the stairs, you found a pair of boots at the bottom of your stairs. They definitely weren’t yours. 

Then you heard someone in the kitchen. The smell of fresh bread and chicken noodle soup wafted through your home. 

It was a minute or two before Jake spotted you. It felt like a fever dream, watching him in your kitchen, dressed normally, a towel slung over his shoulder as he slid the bread buns from the tray to a cooling rack. 

“Oh, hey. You’re awake.”

You nodded. “Did you cook?”

“How are you feeling?” Jake made his way over to you, his hand coming to touch your forehead and cheeks. You swatted his hands away. You could have sworn you saw him smile after you did it. 

“Get off me, I’m fine.”

Jake smiled as he watched you make your way to sit down on the opposite side of the kitchen island. You looked way better than you had done when he saw you in the hospital. 

“What day is it?”

“Tuesday.” He told you, continuing to slide all but one of the bread buns onto the cooling back. The final one, he dropped onto a plate before dishing out a bowl of the soup. 

“Eat up. You’re gonna need your strength.”

You looked at the food in front of you. “You made this?”

“I made it.”

You looked at him sceptically. “Is this how you plan to kill me? She was weak, your honour. I just wanted to help her.”

“Why would I take care of you for three days and then kill you? It’d be easier if I did it in three days.”

“So you did think about it.”

Jake rolled his eyes and handed you a fork. “Just eat.”

You couldn’t lie, it was one of the best meal’s you’d had in a long time. And as you ate, you looked around your home. Your books had been tidied away and back onto your shelves. All except two. One you were part way through reading and one that was…almost finished. But not by you. 

You didn’t notice as Jake watched you take everything in. Your books, your pots of pens. You dish towels, your spices and other baking ingredients. Some had even been put into the jars you had been meaning to fill back up. Then you noticed the smaller things. Like how he’d put up the wooden signs in your kitchen you’d been planning to do for months, and how he’d cleaned…everything. 

It looked like he’d done a complete renovation of your place whilst you’d been knocked out. 

Then you noticed the pile of papers on your kitchen counter. 

The English and maths tests you’d given to your class a few weeks ago. You hadn’t finished marking them. 

But Jake had. 

You took the top paper and looked it over. 

“Did you mark these?” You flipped through the pages. Not only were they marked, but they were marked correctly. They even had a sticker on each of “well done” or “great stuff”. 

You heard Jake chuckle. “I am a teacher, too, you know.”

“You’re a…Top Gun instructor. Not a third-grade teacher.”

“I do suppose I am over qualified to help but-”

You shook your head. You hadn’t meant for it to sound so insulting.

“No, I-I mean, thank you. But you didn’t have to do this. Any of this.” You gestured around your home. “You already did enough bringing me home.”

“I wanted to ask you about that. Why was it me that brought you home? Surely you have people who you actually like, to be your emergency contact?”

Tyler watched as you fell silent and searched for the words to tell him. 

“You’re…not.” Taking a breath, you looked up at him. “They…they tried a couple of people. They couldn’t make it. One of the nurses knows Penny so called and asked if she had anyone’s number who I knew. I did try and tell them to just call me a cab.”

He let your words settle over him. 

“Who?”

“What?”

“Who else did you call? Who didn’t pick up?”

You listed them off. Most were people in your family and a couple of friends. 

“I would have fought them on it but-”

“I’m glad you called me.” Jake admitted you. And it struck you. “Give me your phone.”

You slid it over to him. And he called his number from your phone. 

“If anything like that happens again, I want you to call me.”

“Jake-”

He shook his head. “You’re not fighting me on this. Fight me on everything else. Anything else. But not this. Call me.”

So you just nodded. “Okay.”

“Good. And eat up, too.”

You did. “You say that as if we’ve got some place to be.”

“We do.”

“Where?”

“You’ll see.”

Twenty minutes later he practically shoved you into your bathroom en-suit telling you to shower and get changed. 

“I thought my nurse was meant to be kind.”

“I am kind!” He said. “And I’m not a nurse. And I’m a friend.”

You laughed a little at that one. 

“I’ve seen the inside of your junk drawer. I’m your friend. I have to be, or else I don’t have a word for it.”

He did have a point on that. Your junk drawer…even you hadn’t seen the inside of that thing in at least a year. 

So, after getting dressed, taking the last of your antibiotic and forcing some kind of health smoothie Hangman had made you with the blender he found at the back of your cupboard, you found yourself back in the passenger seat of his car. 

“Where are we going?”

He said nothing, just smiled and pulled the aviators from his collar and put them on before starting his engine and for a moment you wondered if that was what he did when he got into his jet. Flash his million-dollar smile before starting his jet engine and taking off into the sky. For a moment you wondered what it would be like to watch him land and look over at you just like he did. 

But then you forced yourself back to reality. 

This was Jake Seresin, aka Hangman. Given that name because he hangs his team out to dry. 

But he didn’t leave you. 

In fact, he was the only one to show up. 

And the first to stay. 

You read the road signs as best as you could until you realised where he was taking you. 

“You know there is a beach like ten minutes from my house.”

He nodded. “I know. But you’re there all the time. You’ve seen that patch a thousand times. This is different.”

“How? Isn’t all sand the same?”

He shrugged, still smiling. “Maybe. But they always say the beach can work a thousand miracles. Come on.”

It was a five minute walk to the bottom. 

“Is it usually this empty?”

He looked around. “There’s usually a couple more people, but yeah. This is usually it. Not many people drive this far down. They think it’s not the best but to me…couldn’t be more perfect.”

“Huh.”

“What?” Jake asked, looking at you. 

You continued looking out to the water. You shook your head. “No, nothing. Just…never thought you’d be the sentimental type.”

“Well…I’m not.” 

You looked at him. 

“To most people.”

It was at that moment you felt a small crackle. Either in your chest or your gut, something crackled. And you felt the blanket of hatred you had for Jake Seresin start to fade. 

His call sign might be ‘Hangman’, but you had a strong feeling that when it came to those he cared about…he tried his best to stick around. And even if he couldn’t, he’d make a memory of them to last a lifetime. 

 For the rest of the day, you spent most of your time lying on the beach watching the waves or reading your book, which he had packed. And it was…one of the best days you’d had in a long time. 

“Why are you doing this?”

“What?” Moving the book from his face, Jake looked at you from beneath his shades as you lay on your stomach beside him. 

“This? Less than a week ago I’m pretty sure people would have made money on you and I killing each other. Why are you helping me?”

“Because you need it. And I’m pretty sure anyone else would believe you when you say that you don’t.”

“And you don’t believe me?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know you.”

You scoffed. “What do you mean you know me?”

You watched as he smiled and tried to kill the butterflies in your stomach. 

“Y/n.”

You were still getting used to the fact he was using your first name. Usually it was your last, or some sweet nickname like ‘Sweetheart’ that would grate through your entire body. 

“You spend most of your time making sure everyone feels okay and is doing okay. The only time you actually let your feelings know is when you’re taking shit to me. You deserve a break. You deserve to take one before your body forces you to have one.”

Hearing his words as he spoke, you slowly sat up until your back was to the water and you were fully facing him. 

“Plus, your brother asked me to look out for you. And I’d rather not suffer his wrath again.”

Okay, that had to be complete bull. Your brother’s wrath when it came to protecting you, that was true. But why ask Jake of all people given he knew your history and track record with him. 

And what did he mean by again?

You barely had time to ask all of your questions before you watched him stand up, throwing his book closed to the ground. You mentally scolded yourself for letting your eyes wander all over him. 

You weren’t blind to the fact Hangman looked, well, like him. A daring smile, enough charm to charm even the most sourest of people and the body to go with it. But before today, you had been immune. At least, you considered yourself immune since the blanket of hatred that you held for him seemed to block plenty out. 

Worst of all, he caught you. 

You knew he caught you because of the smirk on his face and the chuckle that escaped his broad chest. 

“Shut up.” You groaned, forcing yourself to stand. “I’ve been in the hospital. My immune system is temporarily weakened.”

“It isn’t the first time I’ve caught you, Sweetheart.” Seresin drawled just as you looked at him both annoyed and confused. And maybe slightly offended that he thought you had, before today, purposefully checked him out. 

But he just laughed. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

“But what about our stuff?”

“It’ll be safe. I know most of the people on this beach, they’ll make sure nothing happens to it.”

Taking your hand in his, he led you down the beach, under a small cove and through to the otherside where some rocks were covered in seaweed and sand. 

And for a while, you and Jake explored the place. You’d never been this far down the beach so finding out it existed was a bonus. Finding seaweed to pop and watching the crabs crawl across some of the rocks was fun. 

You’d never stop to take a break. Straight out of college, you’d begun teaching. It had been in your home town until your brother got accepted into Top Gun. And, with an internalised fear of losing him, you moved out to San Diego. You knew after a while he’d be stationed somewhere else, but you’d managed to find a home there. And when your brother was stationed not too far from his Top Gun base, the rest of your family moved closer. 

Since then, it has been helping them get settled, tutoring their children after spending all day teaching. It was sleepless nights spent alone at home, living off the quickest food you could make because you simply didn’t have time to cook. It was running yourself so far into the ground that the one person who you never thought would even step foot into your home was the only one to show up and give you enough space to actually relax. 

So watching crabs walk along the rocks was fun. 

And hearing your name, and calling out his name above the waves, without hatred or malice behind it, was fun, too. 

“Come and look at this.”

Carefully, you made your way over the rocks, trying your best not to slip and hit your head. And you did so, until the last rock before you joined him. 

Letting out a small yell as you reached out to try and catch yourself, he threw out his hand and caught you. 

“You okay?”

“Fine.”

“Can you stand?”

You lowered yourself to a lower rock, still holding onto his arms before letting go and allowing yourself to take his hand and help you up the rest of the way. 

“What am I looking at?”

It was a starfish. 

The rest of the day, you and Jake explored the shore, skipped rocks on the calming water, sunbathed and even took a swim in the water. 

By the time the sun had set, you found yourself sitting with him on the hood of his car, a pizza box between you both, watching the planes fly from the airport. 

A week ago, if anyone had told you that you would have done any of this, especially with Hangman, you would never have believed them. 

“Thank you, for your help.” You blurted out as you watched another plane fly into the sky. 

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“Yes, I do.” You wanted him to listen to you. “Given our track record for being nice to each other, I wouldn’t have been surprised if you didn’t turn up at the hospital to bring me home. But you did. And you made sure I didn’t fall into some kind of coma after it. And today you gave me the first day, I think, ever, where I’ve not done a thousand things for somebody else and enjoyed what I was doing. So, I do need to thank you for that.”

“Are you saying…you…like me?”

You couldn’t stop the smile on your face, but you tried to force it away. “Okay.”

“No, no. I mean, this is a miracle.”

“You’re tolerable.” You corrected him. 

Smiling, he took another slice of pizza. “You like me.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You like me. I am now your friend. We are now friends.”

You shook your head, holding in a laugh. “Just shut up and eat your pizza.”

It was safe to say after that, that everyone was shocked at the dynamic between both you and Hangman. 

They had all gotten so used to the insults and borderline flirty comments you’d both sling each other's way, it had become like white noise. So, when it was gone and replaced with laughter and smiling, it gave everyone a terrified feeling. 

“I’m guessing they’re not here yet.”

Penny shook her head as she poured another pint. With a smile, she nodded over to the other end of the bar. “They’re over there.”

Twenty minutes later, it had become like a social study for everyone in the bar to watch you and Jake. 

“Do you think they fucked? Got all that pent up energy out?”

Coyote shook his head. “No, he would have told me. How long have they been like this? Maybe they’ve been hypnotised into liking each other?”

Rooster shook his head. “The hypnotist left like three months ago. Maybe they’re…faking it. Do you think they heard us talking about them last week? About who would kill who first? Maybe they’re teaming up so nobody wins?”

Penny shook her head as she wiped down the bar. “Well, whatever it is, it’s a nice change. She looks a lot happier. They both do. Who knows, maybe next we’ll be holding a wedding here.”

“Not their wedding?” Rooster seemed shocked. “Penny, they were about three insults away from killing each other three weeks ago.”

“Love is blind, as they say.”

For the rest of the night, people watched you and Jake sat together. Seresin and Y/l/n. Hangman and Sweetheart. 

And then they watched as you walked home. 

Together. 

It was safe to say everyone was shocked to their core. For the first time ever, there had been a night where both you and Jake had not only been in the bar at the same time but had also sat together for the whole night, and not once killed each other. 

Verbally or otherwise. 

“You know, you’re not as big of a dick as I thought you were Seresin. Tonight was a nice change.”

“I have been known to be kind once in a while.”

“Keep this up, you might be fit to see another day.”

“So might you.” Jake replied as he watched you climb the steps of your front porch. “I meant what I said, about taking a break. You deserve one, Y/n.”

You took in what he said with a small nod before adding. “You know, it’s still freaking me out, you even know my first name.”

“If it helps, the nurse had to tell me.” He said. “Guess I’ve called you by your last name so much, I forgot your first.”

“Is that why you keep saying it? So you don’t forget?”

He shrugged, a slight smirk on his face. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“You know, it is okay if you forget it once in a while.”

Jake smiled a little at that. “How could I forget the name of the woman who once dumped three shots of tabasco sauce into my drink?”

“Hey, you can’t prove that was me.”

“Hey, the bottle was in your hand.”

You unlocked your door. “I still plead not guilty.”

“Whatever you say, Sweetheart. Sure you’re okay on your own?”

You nodded. “I’ll be fine. Besides, don’t you have an early start in the morning?”

He nodded. “Even so. Call me.”

“Goodnight, Jake.”

“Night, Sweetheart.”

He waited for you to lock your doors before he got into his car and drove back home. 

The following weeks continued the same way. If anybody who was anybody saw you and Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin together, in the same room, talking. They would stop and watch. 

Never in a million years did anyone expect you and Jake to talk, never mind actually become friends. 

Each Friday, you met each other at the bar. You both have a drink. You’d both sit and talk. Maybe some of your old ways were still there with each other, but there was less “25 to life” about it and more “affection” in the words you both said. 

However, it nearly gave people an aneurysm when they thought you were both actually dating. 

Two people who were thirty seconds away from physically fighting each other every day had gone from, well, that, to…to…to dating?

It couldn’t be…could it?

And the rumours that had been spread by one of the bar regulars, after she’d spotted both of you grocery shopping together before spotting Jake’s car leave from the top of your road hours later, were only fueled when they heard about what happened at the school. 

It had been months since you fainted and you had been getting better. You felt better, you felt like you had more energy. And with Jake’s help you started to feel like a person again. A person who wasn’t wholly consumed by their work constantly, whether they were ten miles from the building or not. 

Except, one morning, you woke up and felt…off. 

Something wasn’t right. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something didn’t feel right. Maybe your period was coming early. It has been doing that lately. Surprising you when you least expected or wanted it. 

Just a few weeks ago, it had arrived early once again. And the pain you’d felt in the days before nearly floored you. And when you hadn’t showed up at the bar like you’d agreed to with Jake, he came looking for you. That night he’d taken a quick trip to the grocery store after you told him what happened. He looked after you. Made sure you were okay. The next day, he drove you back to the store and you stocked up on supplies and snacks. 

It was also later that night when he surprised you by making dinner. 

Opening up your fridge, you took one of the healthy smoothies that Jake had left you the last time he’d come round, before packing it into your bag and heading to work. 

Your queasy feelings only got worse. And then…you felt it. 

Sticking on a documentary for your class, you took your phone and slowly made your way towards the teachers bathroom, stopping off at the next class. 

“Can you keep an eye on them for a couple of minutes?” 

Your best friend nodded. “Course’ honey.” Before asking her TA to go next door. 

“You okay?”

You tried your best to look okay, despite everything you were feeling inside. 

“Yeah. Yeah. I will be.”

As the TA headed next door, you made your way towards the bathroom, then dialled his number. 

“Hey,” Jake said as he answered. “Just about to call you. They’ve got a showing of The Wizard of Oz tonight at the theatre, if you wanted to go-”

“Jake.”

“Are you okay? What’s happened? Is everything okay? Is it your brother-”

“Every…” You swallowed thickly before carefully lowering yourself onto the floor with your back against the wall, and unlocking the door. “Everything’s okay, it’s just…”

Jake had a strong feeling he knew what was happening. “I’m on my way. Where are you?”

“School bathroom. Teacher’s.”

“Okay.” You could hear him leaving his office and getting into his car. “Is the door unlocked?”

You didn’t answer. 

“Y/n.”

“I’m here.”

Jake breathed. “Y/n, Sweetheart. Is the door unlocked to the bathroom?”

“Yes.”

“Does anyone else know you’re there?”

You explained what happened as best as you could. 

“Just, please get here soon?”

“I will, Sweetheart. I promise. I’m almost there.”

You didn’t know how long had passed but it wasn’t long before you heard your name being called out by Jake. 

Pulling the door open a little from the floor, Jake ran towards it and peeked inside. There you were, sat with your knees close to your chest, against the wall. 

He stepped inside before crouching down. 

“I-I’m sorry I called. I just-”

Checking you over, Jake cupped your face. “Hey, no. No. I’m glad you called me. You can always call me. How are you feeling?”

“Dizzy. It’s better now but still like the room is spinning. And I’m not harnessed in.”

“Okay. Do you think you can stand?”

You gave a small nod. “Maybe.”

Helping you up, Jake took your hands in his and you stood up. 

“Come on, we’re getting you checked out at the ER.”

You would have fought him on it but considering the last time it happened they kept you in overnight, you went willingly. 

Thankfully, you didn’t pass out even when the dizziness and the nausea felt like they were getting worse. 

By the time the doctor saw you, she did all of the routine checks before turning and looking at Jake and back to you. 

“Is there a possibility you could be pregnant? I’ve seen a lot of couples come in here with similar symptoms and-”

Oh shit. 

“Oh, no. I-I’m not. And he’s not-”

“We’re- We’re not together.”

A few more awkward moments like that filled the next couple of hours until both yourself and Jake seemed to give up on correcting people. 

By the time they discharged you, they told you your blood sugar levels had dropped and your hormones were beginning to change with your cycle. Along with the advice to try and reduce stress. 

Driving you home that night, Jake made a detour. Towards the diner and then towards the beach along The Hard Deck. 

It was quiet for a Tuesday evening, but yourself and Jake just sat and ate dinner whilst watching the water push in and pull out constantly across the sand until eventually, laying your head on his shoulder, he placed his arm around your own. 

“Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me.”

“Thank you for calling me. Are you feeling any better?”

You nodded, gratefully. “Just a little tired, that's all.”

“I’ll drop you off at home, soon, if you’d like.”

You nodded then looked at him. And before you could stop yourself, you asked him; “Would you stay with me? Tonight? If you can’t- or if you don’t want to-”

“I’ll stay.”

“A-are you…sure?”

Jake nodded, a faint smile on his lips. “I’ll stay with you.”

You didn’t know what else to say other than thank you, so pressing a light kiss to his cheek, you said as much. “Thank you.”

You could have sworn you saw him blush as he smiled and looked down. “Anytime.”

It was odd really, laying beside the man you thought you’d be telling your kids about when you were older. About how much you hated him and how much he hated you, and why neither of you could sit next to each other at the Thanksgiving table every year. 

Jake had decided to stay in your guest bedroom, but the minute you heard him lay down in his bed, you felt…awake. Not wide awake. You were still tired. But you weren’t settled. Something inside of you wanted to be closer to him. 

So, after an hour of laying on your back, staring at your ceiling and listening to the distant shore line, with the odd rumble of a car’s engine running up and down the road every now and again, you got up. 

Jake had left his door open. If you shouted for him, or needed him, he would be able to hear you. Usually, he’d be out like a light, waking up at the smallest of noises. But this time, he couldn’t sleep. 

Instead, his mind was going over the fact you had called him when you were at work. And the fact that he enjoyed it when you were with him. That he was the one you chose to lean on. And the fact that he wished he was down the hall with you at that moment, then lay alone in the dark in your guest bedroom. 

Then he heard you. 

From the dim, moonlit hallway, he saw you. 

“Hey, everything-”

“Can I stay with you?”

Already half way up, Jake paused for a second. Then nodded. “‘Course. Come ‘ere.”

Walking over, Jake pulled the covers back and you climbed under them before feeling his arm wrap around you. And your arms came around him, one over his shoulder and round his neck, the other by his side. 

Instinctively, he pulled one of your legs across him and held it there whilst his other arm remained securely around your back, holding you to him. 

“Is this okay?”

He felt you nod and he nervously swallowed. 

“Are you okay, Sweetheart?”

In a quiet voice, your breath against his neck, you answered. “Better now.”

Pressing a kiss to your head, you nuzzled into each other. 

“Good.”

Not too long after that, you both fell asleep. 

And when you both woke up, neither of you wanted to move. 

If this had somehow happened six months ago, you probably would have thrown each other to the other side of the room. But it wasn’t six months ago. And you’d come to know Jake as…Jake. Who took care of his friends, and made sure everyone was okay and was kind and caring and…a lot of other things you didn’t want to think about at six o’clock in the morning. 

And the way he was looking at you at that moment made you think about other things that you didn’t want to think about. 

“What are you thinking about?” Jake asked after a few moments of watching you study him. 

“That you need to stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you…like me.”

Jake smiled. “I do like you, Sweetheart.”

“Jake.”

Then, for a moment, everything felt…serious. His tired smile dropped a little from his lips as he looked at you. 

“Do you trust me?”

You felt your heartbeat pick up in your chest and for a moment, you wondered if he could hear it. 

“Yes.”

Tucking your hair behind your ear, you felt him cup your cheek. “Y/n…”

He seemed nervous. 

“Can I kiss you?”

If you had let yourself think about it long enough, you never would have guessed Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, who went after whatever, and usually whoever he wanted, would ask if he could kiss. You’d always assumed that he was so confident in life and with women that he’d know. That he’d see the small signals. Or even the loud ones. And just…kiss a girl. 

But no. 

He asked. 

And something in your gut jumped. 

So you answered; “Yes.”

Nervously, he licked his lips before he leaned in. And kissing him felt…weird. Because it felt…normal. Unlike anything else you’d felt in your life. 

You managed to pull him closer, until he was leaning above you. “Is this okay?”

“Yes.”

From there, the softer, searching kisses slowly faded away and turned into something more. More wanting, more needing. Feeling his hands move down your body before he gripped your hips, and pulled you closer to him and carefully slid them back up until the fabric of your t-shirt began to bunch together. 

Feeling him press into your thigh, you let out a small noise that was only swallowed by his kiss. Swiftly, he pulled you across him, your legs straddling his lap before he sat up. Once more, he pushed the hair from your face and took you in, in the rising daylight. 

No words were spoken out loud, but everything was said. 

Leaning down, you kissed him again before letting your own hands move down his chest and towards the hem of his t-shirt. Except, just as he pulled you closer by your waist, his hips rocking into you, you both jolted at the sound of his alarm. 

“Sorry.” Jake quickly turned and switched it off. You were both going to be late for work. 

“If we don’t get ready now, we’re gonna be late.”

Looking at him, you didn’t know fully what to say. It had just been the hottest make out session of your life, with a guy six months ago people would have bet money on you killing. And you’d both been cock-blocked by his alarm. 

“I’ll meet you here, after work?”

That made you smile. “Okay.”

Then he did, too. “Okay.” Before throwing his phone to the side and pulling you down to kiss him. But as you pulled away, he groaned, trying to pull you back to continue but you walked a good three feet away from the bed. 

“Can’t be late, Hangman. You’ve got pilots to teach.”

With a coy smile, he was standing in front of you within seconds before lifting you onto the dresser behind you. This time, it was you trying to pull him back when he stopped kissing you. But he just stood back and let out a small chuckle. 

“We’ve both got students to teach, Sweetheart. We stay here any longer, they’re both gonna miss us.”

One final kiss to your lips, he stood back and practically ran away before you could grab hold of him. 

Twenty minutes later, he was showered and dressed for the day and had poured you a coffee to-go as well as packed you another smoothie and grabbed your lunch for you before you’d come downstairs, dressed and began loading the last of the exam papers into your bags. 

He dropped you back off at work, however, when you realised he was waiting in the parking lot for you to enter, you left your bags by the pillar and walked back. With his window already being down, you leaned in and kissed him, feeling his hand cup the back of your head. 

“See you tonight?”

“See you tonight.”

The day for either of you couldn’t have felt longer. And by the time Jake came walking through your back door, dropping his bag onto one of the pantry hooks, he couldn’t have been more relieved to see you. 

And for a moment, he just watched you as you sat on the sofa with crossed legs, flipping through a textbook and making notes. Softly, he approached you from behind before wrapping his arms around your shoulders. 

You smiled. 

“Hey, Sweetheart.”

“You’re back.”

You felt him relax against you. “Finally.”

“There’s some food. I made you a plate in the oven.”

He pressed a kiss to your head before walking towards the kitchen. “I would have cooked.”

“I know, but I needed the distraction.”

Waltzing back inside holding onto the warm plate, he smirked as he popped a fork-full of veg into his mouth. You could already feel your cheeks heating and from the look on his face, he could see it clear as day. 

“Distraction from what?”

“Nothing in particular.”

“Nothing, huh?”

At some point, he put down his plate and rounded back to the sofa, standing behind you before pressing soft kisses into the side of your neck. 

“Jake.”

The way you said his name went straight to his dick. 

As he moved your hair, you leaned to grant him more access. A satisfied smirk came to his lips as he watched your legs move to straighten out. 

“I’ve been thinking about you all day, Sweetheart.”

Eventually, you felt Jake move away but he appeared again, lowering himself in front of you. Taking the textbooks and notes from you and placing them on the coffee table behind him, he leaned forward and pulled you in to kiss him. 

“Have you been thinking about me?”

Feeling his hand move up your thigh and towards your shorts, you leaned in closer. “Have you, Sweetheart?”

“Yes,” your voice came out breathy. 

“Is this okay?”

You nodded. 

“I need words, darlin’.”

“Yes. Yes, it’s okay.”

As time passed, the small part of you that was still able to function started to ask questions. Like why you had hated him so much in the first place? And how you almost missed…him. 

And by the time you woke up in the morning, Jake practically wrapped around you like a boa constrictor, you had come to a new conclusion. 

You didn’t hate him anymore. 

You hadn’t hated him for a long time. 

All opinions you had of him, especially after a night of mindblowing sex, had been shot out of the water. 

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin was no longer the man you thought he was. The man you had come to know and lo- 

The man you had come to know was a man that showed up. And stayed. He was someone that took care of the people he cared about. He was someone that would fix things in your home without you asking. He was someone that cooked meals, even if it was almost one o’clock in the morning and you were craving a grilled cheese. He was someone that, even after sex, took care of you in a way nobody had ever even thought about doing before. He was someone that you could trust and respect, and did so. 

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin was a man that had proved your theories wrong and he was a man that you realised you were falling for. 

And in some ways, that scared you. And in some ways, it didn’t. 

Because, for as much as he could be so sure of himself. So bold. So confident, it bordered on cocky. You were also sure of him. Sure that, if he was feeling the same things you felt, that he wouldn’t let you hurt yourself when you fell, but rather he’d catch you. 

And it, surprisingly, didn’t take him very long. 

By the time you woke up in the morning and headed downstairs, freshly dressed in a worn Top Gun hoodie and a pair of sleep shorts, you started making breakfast. However, as you stood at the stove, flipping the bacon, you felt a newly familiar pair of arms wrap around your waist from behind. 

Dropping his chin to your shoulder, Jake pulled you close to his chest. 

“Good morning.”

“Morning’.” He drawled. “Whatcha’ cookin’?”

“Bacon and eggs. There’s also toast in the toaster.”

With a smile, Jake pressed a kiss to your exposed collar which caused you to let out a small giggle before quickly turning the stove off. 

“You’ve gotta be careful, Hangman. You’ll make me burn breakfast.”

He hummed a response. “I had a couple other meals in mind.”

“Oh really? Like what?”

With his hands on your hips and his lips on your neck where you suspected he’d just left another hickey, he slowly turned you around. “I can think of one.”

Finally facing him, he kissed you as you fumbled with the last temperature gauge and turned it off. Picking you up, he carried you away from the counter near the stove to the one complete opposite. 

“You’re driving me insane dressed like this.” He mumbled against your kiss. “Wearing my shirt.”

“Your shirt?” You asked as his lips moved to your neck. 

Looking at you for a moment, half drunk on your kiss, he nodded. “Didn’t you know, Sweetheart? This here is mine.” Pinching some of the fabric between his fingers he shook it as he told you so. 

You laughed. “No it’s not.”

He nodded. “God's honest truth. Your brother stayed at mine one night after he’d gone out drinking. Lost his shirt, don’t ask me how. Stole one of my hoodies. Never got it back.”

“How do you know this is yours?”

With a smile, Jake showed you the small hole that you’d made a little bigger over the years from when you’d get nervous. “This right here. Loose thread got caught in a cabinet I was fixing in my room. Pulled at it too hard. And…”

Jake watched as your expression changed a little, hungry for more of his touches, as he pushed his hand slowly up the inside of your- his hoodie. 

A slight smirk, he pulled at the side tag and showed you. And it baffled you how you’d never noticed before. 

J.H.S

“See. But, I have to say, Sweetheart. It looks better on you than it ever did me.”

And as he was looking at you, he asked you something else. “Let me take you out on a date. A real one. You know, seeing you like this…I never want to see anyone else like this but you.”

“Jake…”

“I’m being serious. Sweetheart, I want you. And not just temporarily.” Then he looked away as he said the next part. “I’d get it…if you didn’t want that. God knows you and I don’t have the best history when it comes to even getting along but-”

“I want to date you.”

He looked up at you. 

“I want to date you,” you repeated. “Believe me, half of the time I don’t get it myself. How we’ve gone from one extreme to the other, but I know…I know I want you around.”

“I want you around, too.”

“So, yes.”

Jake smiled. “Yes?”

You smiled back. “Yes. Take me out on a date, Jake Seresin.”

Leaning forwards, he kissed you. And before long, your hands started to feel for the hem of his shirt before pulling it over his head. 

It was safe to say, when you and Jake walked into The Hard Deck in the evening after your official first date, hand in hand before he pressed a kiss to your lips, a lot of people were shocked. 

And lost a lot of money. 

But Penny won it all. 

She knew the minute Jake saw you, and your brother scolded him, that something would happen. After all, Hangman was known for going after what he wanted. She just never expected to have to be the one to force you to be in the same room and for that room to be a hospital.

[tongue-like-a-razor]

There Are Rules

Your risky flying seriously pisses off your instructor at Top Gun and you're about to find out why.

Part 1: There Are Rules

Part 2: There Are Exceptions

Part 3: There Are Consequences

Part 4: There Are Circumstances

Part 5: There Are Limits

Part 6

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Schedule for the Week of 07/01/2024 to 07/06/2024

Hiya lovelies! If you can’t tell, updates are going to be a little sporadic over the summer. Here's what we've got coming this week!

07/03/2024 - WEDNESDAY - A New Maverick Oneshot

Tagging some lovelies for awareness: @desert-fern @horseshoegirl @dakotakazansky @sarahsmi13s @teacupsandtopgun @roosterforme @beyondthesefourwalls @blue-aconite @chaoticassidy @kmc1989

[thewulf]

Hi I requested the Maverick x shy reader and I was thinking more of teacher Mav x Student, like maybe during the mission of tpg.m but whatever scenario choose I’ll love.

Thank you

Yay perfect! I was kinda hoping you'd say that dynamic. It's fun to write bridging the age gap?? Idk it doesn't feel creepy/weird bc reader would have to be in their late 20's early 30's to be in TG just by basis of ranking up through the Navy.

I'll try and get it out this week :)

[topgun-imagines]

Day 19: Bottom Of The Bottle

Pairings: Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell x fem!reader

Synopsis: You being to question yours and Maverick relationship when he develops a drinking problem.

Warnings: alcoholism, break-ups, mentions of hospitals, family issues, alcohol abuse, arguments & relationship issues.

Word count: 1.2k

Maverick was the love of your life. You believed that with every fibre of your being. The two of you were a match made in heaven. Everyone around you was convinced that there was never a more perfect pair than you and the pilot. He was your soulmate. Even through all the trials and tribulations that you had been through, the two of you remained as close as ever. However, you knew there were parts of his past that he wasn’t sharing with you.

Occasionally, Maverick would become distant. And while logically you knew that he had a good reason, your mind couldn’t help but play tricks on you. You rarely discussed issues from Maverick’s past. Any time you would try to bring it up, he would change the subject almost immediately. It wasn’t until two and a half years into your relationship that you noticed his frightening coping mechanisms.

At first, you thought that it was just an occasional drink after work. Soon enough, it turned into something so much worse than you ever could have imagined. All that you knew about the situation was that something was going on with Maverick’s mother. You knew very little about the woman, only hearing bits and pieces from Goose and Carole every once in a while. While you respected the fact that your boyfriend liked to keep some things a secret, part of you wished that he would open up to you more.

When his drinking had reached the point that it was severely concerning, you went to the first person you thought of; Goose. The RIO had told you everything that he knew which, albeit, wasn’t very much. All he knew was that his mother was in the hospital again. For what exactly, he couldn’t tell you.

You accepted that as reason enough for Maverick’s recent changes. That was until one drink after work became three. Then three became more than you could count. He would show up on your porch in the middle of the night, blabbering about something you couldn’t understand. In the morning, the pilot would act as if nothing ever happened; waking before sunrise and walking back to the bar to pick up his bike. After about a week of this new coping mechanism, you decided that enough was enough.

After talking to Goose, you decided that it was time to confront Maverick. At first, the pilot had tried to pretend that there was nothing wrong with him. Things had gotten ugly fast when you accused him of not being able to see the truth. When you mentioned what Goose had told you, Maverick was pissed. He was seeing red at the thought of his best friend betraying him like that. That night had ended with him storming out of your shared home.

Things only got worse from there. It took almost two weeks for Maverick to return to staying at your shared home. Even when he returned home, however, he was still distancing himself from you. You could tell that he still hadn’t forgiven you for things that had been said during that argument. Even though he was home now, it still felt like he was living miles away from you. There were no more shared dinners, no more rides to work together, and no more sweet words. Only harsh glares and cold silence.

The argument worked, at least for a while. As far as you knew, Maverick was no longer drinking to the point where he couldn’t remember anything the following day. According to Goose, he hadn’t even been to the bar in the past two weeks. Everything slowly seemed to be returning to normal. All except for the fact that your boyfriend was ignoring your existence.

Maverick’s break from drinking only lasted a few weeks. Before you knew it, he was back in the bar. This time, however, an argument wasn’t going to cut it. You hated the fact that you had no idea what was going on in your boyfriend’s life anymore. When it first began, you could tolerate it, hoping that it would blow over soon enough. But when it never blew over, you began to question if it was still worth it.

Of course, you loved Maverick with all your heart. But was this relationship really worth it? When you were younger, you had always pictured being with the love of your life. The sweet things he would do and the lovely connection that the two of you would have. That’s what you and Maverick were in the beginning. Now, the two of you weren’t even a semblance of the people you once were.

So, you decided that enough was enough. You knew what you wanted for your life and even if you didn’t want to admit it, deep down you knew that Maverick wasn’t the person for you anymore. If you were being honest with yourself, you had known that ever since his drinking problem began. You just didn’t want to leave him when you knew that he needed a support system. Now, you just couldn’t be that support system anymore.

These days, if Maverick wasn’t at the bar, he was crashing at Goose’s house. So, that was where you went. You found the pair sitting in the backyard, both nursing a beer. While Goose didn’t encourage Maverick’s drinking problem, he sure didn’t look like he was actively trying to help the situation either. Standing in the door frame, you called your boyfriend’s name firmly.

With a slight roll of his eyes, Maverick followed you into Goose’s house. The RIO remained in the backyard, ready to tune out the sound of your screams. At this point, Nick wouldn’t even blame you for leaving Maverick. He would still be there for the pilot. You needed to do what was best for you.

“Alright,” You started, voice firm as you tried to stop it from wavering. “You need to talk to me.” Sure, you were understanding about the fact that Maverick needed his space. But it was well past time for that. Maverick needed to tell you what was going on. It was now or never.

The only response you received from the pilot was a steady shake of his head. “No.” His tone left nearly no room for argument. But at this point, you didn’t care if he wanted an argument or not.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Regardless of how much you loved him, you couldn’t stay if it was going to be like this. “You’re either going to tell me what the fuck is going on,” You paused, hoping the message would sink in for him. “Or I’m going to walk out that door.”

Maverick remained silent. No matter how much you prepared yourself for actually having to walk away from him, you weren’t at all ready for him to let you go. When he didn’t say anything and didn’t even try to stop you when you turned around, you knew you had to leave. So that was what you did. Your stomach had dropped at the realization that you and Maverick were over. Weeks ago. You had been convinced that he was the love of your life. Now, you didn’t even recognize him.

The slam of the heavy door behind you plunged the dark house into silence.

a/n: hope you enjoyed! Join the taglist!

Tagging: @ohtobeleah @xoxabs88xox @oldermenaremyreligion @els-marvelvsp @kmc1989 @nyx2021 @mploopssek @callsignharper @seitmai @scarletmeii @inkandarsenic @alexandra-001 @plaguedzombie

[jaidens]

And Maybe I Don't Quite Know What To Say But I'm Here In Your Doorway

pairing [s] : pete mitchell x fem!reader

warning [s] : | mentions of goose’s death | petes drunk | crying | angst + comfort | pete decided to drink to block out his feelings |

a/n [s] : requests are open.

Pete was numb.

Numb was the only way to describe him, he was forcefully having to set his feet on land whenever he yearned for the sky. He put his entire life towards this and he was grounded at the loss of his best friend and only family Goose, better known as Nick Bradshaw. It was adjourned to not be Pete’s fault, but inherently he knew it was. He was the one supposed to keep his R.I.O safe as the pilot and he failed at just that.

Then, his relationship with his lovely fiancee went to hell.

Pete began to drink to push out the feelings. The Navy had offered a paid therapist, but he said no, and went to other things to cover up his feelings. You wanted to help him so badly, you begged him to let you in and let you help. he argued with you, telling how useless it was to attempt to help him when he deserved nothing. Then, you left. You took your bag and angrily moved away to your Mom's house.

Pete was left with himself: alone and absolutely terrified. He cried every night, gripping onto your pillow in his arms and then the picture of Nick on his bedside table would stare at him back. Everything felt like his fault and his carelessness for people he cared about. He gathered himself up whenever he was invited to fly once more, and attempted to get his head back in the game.

His drinking had gotten better and the bags under his eyes had lightened up eventually. Next, he had to gather his courage to see you. The flowers and your favorite candy was in the seat next to him, and it was a reminder of what he had done to you many months ago. The neighborhood is familiar and he remembers it from whenever he met your parents.

His stomach is weighing heavily inside, he can't tell if it's butterflies about seeing you or the feeling of him about to throw up. He sees your Mother’s house and pulls out in front and parks. Pete takes a moment in his car and breathes and grabs the flowers in one shaky hand and your favorite candy in the other; maybe even more shaky hand.

Pete is shaking and his heart is beating in his throat as he walks to the front door of your Mom's house. He knocks on the door and he hears your parents dog’s barking loudly at the door. He hears that voice he loves the most telling them to be quiet as you open the door and you immediately go to shut it, but his boot slams in and stops you from closing it.

“Please,” He cries out your name. “Can we talk please?” He begs and you open the door slowly, letting your head poke out. “You have two minutes.” Pete gives you a small smile and loosens out his nerves by shaking his shoulders. You're in front of him, you and all of your beautiful glory, staring at him with a relaxed frown.

“I messed up, I really messed up. I never wanted to lose you, especially after already losing Goose. You're the best thing I've had in my life, and losing you was one of the worst things. I have always loved you and I stayed loving you no matter what happened. I'm really, really sorry. Will you take me back?” You stared at him. Your eyes stay on his as you stare him up and down before looking at the Welcome Home rug on the floor.

“Okay.” Is all you say to him. “Okay?” Pete copies you and stares at you. “Okay, I'll take you back.” Pete feels better than four hundred wins and flights, he's won back everything hes ever wanted. “Now give me my candy.” You give him that smile and hold your hand out, and Pete takes it as an invitation to come inside.

He's won you back, which is one thing he had crossed off his lists of amends. And, it's one of the best things he's ever done in his life.

[warnersister]

Personal Space

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x reader

Summary: you love your personal space. Unfortunately, Bradley also loves your personal space.

Pt. 2

You never understood why Bradley stuck around. Since the academy you’d preferred to stick to yourself; get your head down and get the job done. Especially with a surname like Mitchell. You didn’t want your father and grandfather’s reputation to negatively proceed you, and by the time people had put two and two together as to whom loins you came from: you’d made your own reputation so Maverick never made much of a difference to it.

But still, having dinner in the mess you’d sat down, when someone came and thudded down next to you and began eating themselves. “I’m Bradley” he said when you finally looked up at him. You raised a brow “Bradshaw?” You ask and he nods: you recognise him from the photos your dad pinned up in your two’s hanger. You hum “and you are?” He asks “not important.” You reply, deciding you’d lost your appetite and stood to clear your plate “good talk!” Bradley said, but you were already walking away.

He’d next encountered you when you were running around the academy, early morning; before any naval training would take place. He hummed and decided it was perfectly acceptable to interrupt your jaunt with his presence. “Hey! Up so early?” He asks as he tries to match your pace from a standstill “could ask you the same.” You reply bluntly “well I wanted to get a run in before-” “well there’s your answer.” You reply, cutting him off. “You run really quick.” He says as you try to keep your pace increasing to shake him off “goodbye, Bradshaw.” You say, pulling your sunglasses over your eyes and taking off at a pace he couldn’t sustain. He just stops and shakes his head smiling, you were funny.

Eventually, you’d both gotten up in the air and were quick to earn your callsigns “Rooster” and “Hen”. Bradley earned his because he was up before the chickens, you’d earned yours because the chicken kept fucking following you around like you were his mother. You were sat on the aircraft carrier, your trainee group learning how to land on a ship deck and you’d finally gotten a moment of peace that evening. You sat on the edge of the deck, feet dangling over the edge as you watched the sunset, not moving when you hear someone slip into the space between the barriers beside you.

“Oh look my chick is back.” You mumble sarcastically and Bradley laughs loudly at you. “You love me really” he says, looking at you as if he wanted to you agree with him “you seem to keep telling yourself that, don’t you?” You hum, turning to watch the sea lap against the grey metal. You can feel him fidgeting beside you, as if antsy to say something. “What?” You ask, finally turning to look at him. “What?” He repeats, looking at you with raised brows “you want to ask me something. You’re fidgeting.” You point out “so ask me or fuck off” you say, turning away again. “Your last name is Mitchell” he says and you roll your eyes “you can read and hear. Two things I’ve learnt today.” You huff, again, with sarcasm. “Are you related to Pete Mitchell?” He asks, looking at you and nearly holding his breath “you finally put two and two together?” You ask and he lets out the breath.

“Yeah, he’s my dad.” You say after a while “I was a whoopsie baby my mother didn’t want anything to do with” you tell him. “He used to fly with my dad.” Bradley almost whispers, voice just a few octaves above. “I know” you nod “he’s practically wallpapered all over our hanger.” You say “so are you” you eye him. “He pulled my papers” he says, again after a few moments of silence “I know” you say “do you know why?” He asks “yes.” You reply, and he could tell you weren’t going to elaborate. “Y’know I’m not a fan of your dad, but I really like you.” He says and you just look at him with a blank face. “Yup” you hum to yourself and he raises a brow “just as Mother Goose was described” you say, and Bradley’s face immediately lights up with a huge grin, stretching and arm around you and pulling you into his side.

“Get off me.” “Yup, yep, sorry.”

For your first deployment, the academy set it up that you’d at least be with one person from your training squadron, and today the list of names were coming out; they were scribbled on the back of a napkin and pinned to a notice board.

“1. Haywood & Solomons, 2. Hughes & Shelley & Omaha, 3. Cooper & Parker & Cromwell & Smith, 4. Bradshaw,” you crossed your fingers as someone read out the names, then yours was read alongside Bradley’s “oh for god’s sake” you grumble, turning to see Bradley practically jumping for joy. “This is great! Me and you, Hen!” Rooster cheers and you just stare at him “should’ve called you leech cause you’re acting like one. Calm down.” You instruct and he tries to chill out, but the cheeky smile on his face was indiminishagble.

He only became more unbearable then, with you every working hour, your wingman on the missions you’d fly, inseparable despite your complaints. “Where’s your boyfriend?” Hawk asked you, as he came to sit with you for lunch. You shush him loudly. “Woah woah I only asked where he was.” “Speak his name and he shows up. I’m trying to hide.” you say in a hushed voice “plus he isn’t my boyfriend” “sure” he scoffs but the daggers being shot into his head silenced him easily.

“Hey Hen! Hawk” Bradley greets as he sits down. You grunt and point an accusatory finger at Hawk “this is your fault, jackass” you say and he laughs at you, him and Bradley engage in conversation as you just eat, having learnt the skill of drowning him out. “What about you, Hen?” Hawk asked, drawing your attention away from your plate and up to the two men alongside you, you raise an eyebrow - letting them know you were insinuating that you weren’t listening to their conversation.

“Do you want a family?” He ask and you just nod “really?” Hawk asks “that’s cute, didn’t take you for a family gal” he jokes and you harshly kick his leg under the table “kids and everything?” He asks after the pain subsides. “Yup.” You say and Bradley hums “I didn’t know that” he says and you just look at him “you never asked.” You reply simply, and that was true: he hadn’t. He was quite prepared to spend the rest of existence chasing after you, whether that meant giving you your first kiss on your deathbeds.

The two of you even went to Top Gun together, training to be the finest naval aviators of them all. And boy, you two fought to be the best; tongue and teeth, blood sweat and tears, everything. The decision came down to one final dogfight. “May the best aviator win” Rooster jokes, sticking out a hand to you. You eye it and internally question if you were insane, before leaning up to peck his cheek. “Prepare to loose, chicken.” You say, leaving him frozen in his place while you head to your plane. That day, Bradley was seriously off his A-game, and you came out on top.

A Mitchell finally Top Gun.

“Congratulations!” Bradley says excitedly on graduation day when you victoriously lifted the trophy above your head. You turned to him and he leant down slightly - you weren’t stupid, you knew what he was intending to do. “Thank you, Brad.” You say, turning to walk over to where your father was stood - knowing that was probably the only time Bradley wouldn’t follow you. That was the first time you’d ever called him anything short of Bradley Bradshaw.

“I’m so proud of you honey” your dad says, hugging you tightly and you embrace him back, smiling widely “thank you, dad” you respond and he looks behind you where Bradley was stood a while back, watching the ordeal. “Is that-” “yes” you tell him and your dad just looks at you “I wouldn’t get all teary he follows me like a lost puppy” you grumble but he just grins “he’s a good kid, hon.” He says and you shake your head “he’s definitely something”

“So how does their relationship work?” Bob asks Hangman, watching Bradley talk your ear off and you just staring ahead into space, blankly. “You see Bobby my boy,” Jake begins “Hen loves her personal space” Bob nods “Rooster also loves Hen’s personal space.” Bob nods again, now understanding. “Haven’t they done everything together though?” He asks “I think it’s more the fact that Hen does something and Rooster just kinda goes with it” Phoenix said and Bob hums, as Bradley continues to converse one-sidedly with you.

“He means well” you hear from beside you as you stare out from the hanger, turning to see your honorary uncle Tom walking towards you, you run towards him as he embraces you tightly “hey Ice” you smile, sweetly. “Hey sweetheart” he croaks. “I mean what I said.” He states and you raise a brow “he means well” he nods towards the man doing his required push ups on the ground with Hondo. “I know, Ice.” You tell him. “No, I don’t think you do” he hums and you raise your eyebrows at him. “The kids in love with you. You’ve either got to let him in or tell him to get out.” He says, “you’re living together for goodness sake”. “It was cheaper” you argue “we both know the accommodation is subsidised.” He states, matter-of-factly, patting your shoulder as he turns to go talk to your dad when he walks into the room.

It was true, you and Bradley were sharing accommodation. “Hey Hen, they’ve offered us shared accommodation back in Miramar” Bradley says, coming over with a pamphlet. “Why?” You ask, taking it out of his hands. ‘Married couple accommodation’ it states and you raise your brows “you getting ahead of yourself, Bradshaw?” You ask and he shakes his head “the guy assumed our callsigns were cause we’re a couple” he tells you and you just hum. “Well I’d rather stay there than in an apartment.” You say simply, giving him back the leaflet and refocusing on the plane you were working on repairing. “Seriously?” He asks, voice overly hopeful. You look at him and shrug “just go get the damn house, Bradshaw. Before I change my mind!” You say and he grins, turning and breaking out into almost a jog to head to confirm your living situation.

You take a moment of hesitation, before loudly groaning and heading out onto the tarmac, getting down and doing push ups alongside Rooster. He turns his head and looks at you and you just raise your brows at him. “Hey honey” he grins “hello Bradley” he nudges your hip with his own. “I’ll drive us home.” You tell him, and he raises his eyebrows “Home?” He asks and you huff “okay, Bradley I will drive the two of us back to our shared accommodation that we accidentally got given.” You say and he laughs loudly “home sounded better.”

Then after the mission, the whole Dagger squad got permanently stationed in San Diego, other than deployment, so they urged the new additions to the base to buy their own properties closer to base rather than on it. You and Bradley were sat in the Hard Deck, a long time before it was open, the rest of the Daggers spending time on the beach while the two of you were scouring Bradley’s laptop for a property. Well, Bradley was.

How about this one? He turns his screen to you. You shake your head “I want grass in the garden. I want to plant flowers” you say as you point at the paved back of the house, explaining that it’s a waste of money to have it ripped out. Bradley nods “Mkay, garden” he says, moving back to look again.

“How about this one? Beach front, close to the running track for you. Only a walk from the Hard Deck. White picket fence, really” he hums, turning the laptop again “garden?” You ask and he nods “garden.” He nods with a grin. “Shall we go look?” You ask and he raises a brow at you. “You said it’s a walk from the hard deck. Let’s go.” You say, putting the address into your phone and immediately recognising the street name, Bradley quickly falling into step with you as you walk towards the property.

You look at it and place your hands on your hips. Bradley was right. Pretty damn perfect. “Can I help you?” A lady asks, walking outside of the house, clipboard in hand. “Oh no, we’d just seen this property online and wanted to take a look.” Bradley tells her. “Well I’ve had a no-show on a viewing. How’d you like to take a look?” She suggests, motioning to the open door. “Okay” you nod, following her into the house.

“Obviously the kitchen, living room, even a deck out back with a huge garden and high fences” she says nodding out the window and you hum. “Out the side there’s an entrance straight to the beach” she motions, then starts heading up the stairs “three bedrooms, attic space, bathroom” she says “I’m guessing it’s just you two at the moment?” She asks “oh we’re not-” Bradley begins “yes, just us.” You confirm, shutting him up. “Okay, so there’s a large room for your bed and then if any new additions are to join, you have the space for them” she smiles and leads you back out front.

“It’s not cheap, it’s California. So I understand if you’re not prepared to pay that much money, do you mind me asking what you do?” She asks “we’re naval aviators.” Bradley says “stationed here?” She asks and you both nod “ah! I get why you’re looking for a property here!” She says and Bradley looks at you. “I really like it, Roo.” You say, and Bradley has to stop his jaw hitting the floor at your nickname. “It’s your call, honey” he says and you look at the lady and smile as she offers her hand “we’ll take it.”

“How shall we split the payment?” You ask Bradley as you walk back to the Hard Deck after organising a meeting with the realtor to actually finalise all the kinks and bumps. “I don’t mind doing the down payment then we’ll take it in turn paying the loan” he suggests “we can get a joint bank account and do it that way” you say and he agrees as you settle back into your seats at the Hard Deck. “Where’ve you two been?” Hangman asks “we bought a house.”

One evening, after you were all moved in and were hanging out at the Hard Deck after a long day or routine flying, you were sat outside with Rooster; watching the sunset. “When are we getting married then?” You ask and he spits out his beer “what?” He asks, eyes wide and getting progressively more giddy. “Well we live together, we have a joint bank account, and Jake keeps telling me we’re practically married. So when are we getting married?” You ask as he hugs you tightly “whenever you want, baby” he says, kissing the top of your head and pulling a ring out of his pocket to get on his knee. “Will you marry me?” He asks and you raise a brow “didn’t I just say that?” You ask bluntly “just say yes, please” he begs and you nod “yes. Yes I will marry you, Bradley Bradshaw.” You confirm as he kisses your lips gently.

“Okay get off of me now.”

Pt. 2