#pete mitchell x female reader

[romerona]

Ethera Operation!!

You're the government’s best hacker, but that doesn’t mean you were prepared to be thrown into a fighter jet.

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Awkward!Hacker! FemReader

Part I

This was never supposed to happen. Your role in this operation was simple—deliver the program, ensure it reached the right hands, and let the professionals handle the breaching.

And then, of course, reality decided to light that plan on fire.

The program—codenamed Ethera—was yours. You built it from scratch with encryption so advanced that even the most elite cyber operatives couldn’t crack it without your input. A next-generation adaptive, self-learning decryption software, an intrusion system designed to override and manipulate high-security military networks, Ethera was intended to be both a weapon and a shield, capable of infiltrating enemy systems while protecting your own from counterattacks in real-time. A ghost in the machine. A digital predator. A weapon in the form of pure code. If it fell into the wrong hands, it could disable fleets, and ground aircraft, and turn classified intelligence into an open book. Governments would kill for it. Nations could fall because of it.

Not that you ever meant to, of course. It started as a little experimental security measure program, something to protect high-level data from cyberattacks, not become the ultimate hacking tool. But innovation has a funny way of attracting the wrong kind of attention, and before you knew it, Ethera had become one, if not the most classified, high-risk program in modern times. Tier One asset or so the Secret Service called it.

It was too powerful, too dangerous—so secret that only a select few even knew of its existence, and even fewer could comprehend how it worked.

And therein lay the problem. You were the only person who could properly operate it.

Which was so unfair.

Because it wasn’t supposed to be your problem. You were just the creator, the brain behind the code, the one who spent way too many sleepless nights debugging this monstrosity. Your job was supposed to end at development. But no. Now, because of some bureaucratic nonsense and the fact that no one else could run it without accidentally bricking an entire system, you had been promoted—scratch that, forcibly conscripted—into field duty.

And your mission? To install it in an enemy satellite.

A literal, orbiting, high-security, military-grade satellite, may you add.

God. Why? Why was your country always at war with others? Why couldn’t world leaders just, you know, go to therapy like normal people? Why did everything have to escalate to international cyber warfare?

Which is how you ended up here.

At Top Gun. The last place in the world you wanted to be.

You weren’t built for this. You thrive in sipping coffee in a cosy little office and handling cyber threats from a safe, grounded location. You weren’t meant to be standing in the halls of an elite fighter pilot training program, surrounded by the best aviators in the world—people who thought breaking the sound barrier was a casual Wednesday.

It wasn’t the high-tech cyberwarfare department of the Pentagon, nor some dimly lit black ops facility where hackers in hoodies clacked away at keyboards. No. It was Top Gun. A place where pilots use G-forces like a personal amusement park ride.

You weren’t a soldier, you weren’t a spy, you got queasy in elevators, you got dizzy when you stood too fast, hell, you weren’t even good at keeping your phone screen from cracking.

... And now you were sweating.

You swallowed hard as Admiral Solomon "Warlock" Bates led you through the halls of the naval base, your heels clacking on the polished floors as you wiped your forehead. You're nervous, too damn nervous and this damned weather did not help.

"Relax, Miss," Warlock muttered in that calm, authoritative way of his. "They're just pilots."

Just pilots.

Right. And a nuclear warhead was just a firework.

And now, somehow, you were supposed to explain—loosely explain, because God help you, the full details were above even their clearance level—how Ethera, your elegant, lethal, unstoppable digital masterpiece, was about to be injected into an enemy satellite as part of a classified mission.

This was going to be a disaster.

You had barely made it through the doors of the briefing room when you felt it—every single eye in the room locking onto you.

It wasn’t just the number of them that got you, it was the intensity. These were Top Gun pilots, the best of the best, and they radiated the kind of confidence you could only dream of having. Meanwhile, you felt like a stray kitten wandering into a lion’s den.

Your hands tightened around the tablet clutched to your chest. It was your lifeline, holding every critical detail of Ethera, the program that had dragged you into this utterly ridiculous situation. If you could’ve melted into the walls, you absolutely would have. But there was no escaping this.

You just had to keep it together long enough to survive this briefing.

So, you inhaled deeply, squared your shoulders, and forced your heels forward, trying to project confidence—chin up, back straight, eyes locked onto Vice Admiral Beau "Cyclone" Simpson, who you’d been introduced to earlier that day.

And then, of course, you dropped the damn tablet.

Not a graceful drop. Not the kind of gentle slip where you could scoop it back up and act like nothing happened. No, this was a full-on, physics-defying fumble. The tablet flipped out of your arms, ricocheted off your knee, and skidded across the floor to the feet of one of the pilots.

Silence.

Pure, excruciating silence.

You didn’t even have the nerve to look up right away, too busy contemplating whether it was physically possible to disintegrate on command. But when you finally did glance up—because, you know, social convention demanded it—you were met with a sight that somehow made this entire disaster worse.

Because the person crouching down to pick up your poor, abused tablet was freaking hot.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with a head of golden curls that practically begged to be tousled by the wind, and, oh, yeah—a moustache that somehow worked way too well on him.

He turned the tablet over in his hands, inspecting it with an amused little smirk before handing it over to you. "You, uh… need this?"

Oh, great. His voice is hot too.

You grabbed it back, praying he couldn't see how your hands were shaking. “Nope. Just thought I’d test gravity real quick.”

A few chuckles rippled through the room, and his smirk deepened like he was enjoying this way too much. You, on the other hand, wanted to launch yourself into the sun.

With what little dignity you had left, you forced a quick, tight-lipped smile at him before turning on your heel and continuing forward, clutching your tablet like it was a life raft in the middle of the worst social shipwreck imaginable.

At the front of the room, Vice Admiral Beau Cyclone Simpson stood with the kind of posture that said he had zero time for nonsense, waiting for the room to settle. You barely had time to take a deep breath before his voice cut through the air.

“Alright, listen up.” His tone was crisp, commanding, and impossible to ignore. “This is Dr Y/N L/N. Everything she is about to tell you is highly classified. What you hear in this briefing does not leave this room. Understood?”

A chorus of nods. "Yes, sir."

You barely resisted the urge to physically cringe as every pilot in the room turned to stare at you—some with confusion, others with barely concealed amusement, and a few with the sharp assessing glances of people who had no clue what they were supposed to do with you.

You cleared your throat, squared your shoulders, and did your best to channel even an ounce of the confidence you usually had when you were coding at 3 AM in a secure, pilot-free lab—where the only judgment you faced was from coffee cups and the occasional system error.

As you reached the podium, you forced what you hoped was a composed smile. “Uh… hi, nice to meet you all.”

Solid. Real professional.

You glanced up just long enough to take in the mix of expressions in the room—some mildly interested, some unreadable, and one particular moustached pilot who still had the faintest trace of amusement on his face.

Nope. Not looking at him.

You exhaled slowly, centering yourself. Stay focused. Stay professional. You weren’t just here because of Ethera—you were Ethera. The only one who truly understood it. The only one who could execute this mission.

With another tap on your tablet, the slide shifted to a blacked-out, redacted briefing—only the necessary information was visible. A sleek 3D-rendered model of the enemy satellite appeared on the screen, rotating slowly. Most of its details were blurred or omitted entirely.

“This is Blackstar, a highly classified enemy satellite that has been operating in a low-Earth orbit over restricted airspace.” Your voice remained even, and steady, but the weight of what you were revealing sent a shiver down your spine. “Its existence has remained off the radar—literally and figuratively—until recently, when intelligence confirmed that it has been intercepting our encrypted communications, rerouting information, altering intelligence, and in some cases—fabricating entire communications.”

Someone exhaled sharply. Another shifted in their seat.

“So they’re feeding us bad intel?” one of them with big glasses and blonde hair asked, voice sceptical but sharp.

“That’s the theory,” you confirmed. “And given how quickly our ops have been compromised recently, it’s working.”

You tapped again, shifting to the next slide. The silent infiltration diagram appeared—an intricate web of glowing red lines showing Etherea’s integration process, slowly wrapping around the satellite’s systems like a virus embedding itself into a host.

“This is where Ethera comes in,” you said, shifting to a slide that displayed a cascading string of code, flickering across the screen. “Unlike traditional cyberweapons, Ethera doesn’t just break into a system. It integrates—restructuring security protocols as if it was always meant to be there. It’s undetectable, untraceable, and once inside, it grants us complete control of the Blackstar and won’t even register it as a breach.”

“So we’re not just hacking it," The only female pilot of the team said, arms crossed as she studied the data. “We’re hijacking it.”

“Exactly,” You nodded with a grin.

You switched to the next slide—a detailed radar map displaying the satellite’s location over international waters.

“This is the target area,” you continued after a deep breath. “It’s flying low-altitude reconnaissance patterns, which means it’s using ground relays for some of its communication. That gives us a small window to infiltrate and shut it down.”

The next slide appeared—a pair of unidentified fighter aircraft, patrolling the vicinity.

“And this is the problem,” you said grimly. “This satellite isn’t unguarded.”

A murmur rippled through the room as the pilots took in the fifth-generation stealth fighters displayed on the screen.

“We don’t know who they belong to,” you admitted. “What we do know is that they’re operating with highly classified tech—possibly experimental—and have been seen running defence patterns around the satellite’s flight path.”

Cyclone stepped forward then, arms crossed, his voice sharp and authoritative. “Which means your job is twofold. You will escort Dr L/N’s aircraft to the infiltration zone, ensuring Ethera is successfully deployed. If we are engaged, your priority remains protecting the package and ensuring a safe return.”

Oh, fantastic, you could not only feel your heartbeat in your toes, you were now officially the package.

You cleared your throat, tapping the screen again. Ethera’s interface expanded, displaying a cascade of sleek code.

“Once I’m in range,” you continued, “Ethera will lock onto the satellite’s frequency and begin infiltration. From that point, it’ll take approximately fifty-eight seconds to bypass security and assume control."

Silence settled over the room like a thick cloud, the weight of their stares pressing down on you. You could feel them analyzing, calculating, probably questioning who in their right mind thought putting you—a hacker, a tech specialist, someone whose idea of adrenaline was passing cars on the highway—into a fighter jet was a good idea.

Finally, one of the pilots—tall, broad-shouldered, blonde, and very clearly one of the cocky ones—tilted his head, arms crossed over his chest in a way that screamed too much confidence.

“So, let me get this straight.” His voice was smooth, and confident, with just the right amount of teasing. “You, Doctor—our very classified, very important tech specialist—have to be in the air, in a plane, during a mission that has a high probability of turning into a dogfight… just so you can press a button?”

Your stomach twisted at the mention of being airborne.

“Well…” You gulped, very much aware of how absolutely insane this sounded when put like that. “It’s… more than just that, but, yeah, essentially.”

A slow grin spread across his face, far too entertained by your predicament.

“Oh,” he drawled, “this is gonna be fun.”

Before you could fully process how much you already hated this, Cyclone—who had been watching the exchange with his signature unamused glare—stepped forward, cutting through the tension with his sharp, no-nonsense voice.

“This is a classified operation,” he stated, sharp and authoritative. “Not a joyride.”

The blonde’s smirk faded slightly as he straightened, and the rest of the pilots quickly fell in line.

Silence lingered for a moment longer before Vice Admiral Beau Cyclone Simpson let out a slow breath and straightened. His sharp gaze swept over the room before he nodded once.

“All right. That’s enough.” His tone was firm, the kind that left no room for argument. “We’ve got work to do. The mission will take place in a few weeks' time, once we’ve run full assessments, completed necessary preparations, and designated a lead for this operation.”

There was a slight shift in the room. Some of the pilots exchanged glances, the weight of the upcoming mission finally settling in. Others, mainly the cocky ones, looked as though they were already imagining themselves in the cockpit.

“Dismissed,” Cyclone finished.

The pilots stood, murmuring amongst themselves as they filed out of the room, the blonde one still wearing a smug grin as he passed you making you frown and turn away, your gaze then briefly met the eyes of the moustached pilot.

You hadn’t meant to look, but the moment your eyes connected, something flickered in his expression. Amusement? Curiosity? You weren’t sure, and frankly, you didn’t want to know.

So you did the only logical thing and immediately looked away and turned to gather your things. You needed to get out of here, to find some space to breathe before your brain short-circuited from stress—

“Doctor, Stay for a moment.”

You tightened your grip on your tablet and turned back to Cyclone, who was watching you with that unreadable, vaguely disapproving expression that all high-ranking officers seemed to have perfected. “Uh… yes, sir?”

Once the last pilot was out the door, Cyclone exhaled sharply and crossed his arms.

“You realize,” he said, “that you’re going to have to actually fly, correct?”

You swallowed. “I—well, technically, I’ll just be a passenger.”

His stare didn’t waver.

“Doctor,” he said, tone flat, “I’ve read your file. I know you requested to be driven here instead of taking a military transport plane. You also took a ferry across the bay instead of a helicopter. And I know that you chose to work remotely for three years to avoid getting on a plane.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. “That… could mean anything.”

“It means you do not like flying, am I correct?”

Your fingers tightened around the tablet as you tried to find a way—any way—out of this. “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t need to fly the plane. I just need to be in it long enough to deploy Ethera—”

Cyclone cut you off with a sharp look. “And what happens if something goes wrong, Doctor? If the aircraft takes damage? If you have to eject mid-flight? If you lose comms and have to rely on emergency protocols?”

You swallowed hard, your stomach twisting at the very thought of ejecting from a jet.

Cyclone sighed, rubbing his temple as if this entire conversation was giving him a migraine. “We cannot afford to have you panicking mid-mission. If this is going to work, you need to be prepared. That’s why, starting next week you will train with the pilots on aerial procedures and undergoing mandatory training in our flight simulation program.”

Your stomach dropped. “I—wait, what? That’s not necessary—”

“It’s absolutely necessary,” Cyclone cut in, his tone sharp. “If you can’t handle a simulated flight, you become a liability—not just to yourself, but to the pilots escorting you. And in case I need to remind you, Doctor, this mission is classified at the highest level. If you panic mid-air, it won’t just be your life at risk. It’ll be theirs. And it’ll be national security at stake.”

You inhaled sharply. No pressure. None at all.

Cyclone watched you for a moment before speaking again, his tone slightly softer but still firm. “You’re the only one who can do this, Doctor. That means you need to be ready.”

You exhaled slowly, pressing your lips together before nodding stiffly. “Understood, sir.”

Cyclone gave a small nod of approval. “Good. Dismissed.”

You turned and walked out, shoulders tense, fully aware that in three days' time, you were going to be strapped into a high-speed, fighter jet. And knowing your luck?

You were definitely going to puke.

Part 2???

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Best of the Bad Boys | Part II

Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x F!Reader

Summary: You've fallen for the best of the best. Unfortunately, he also happens to be the worst of the worst.

CW: mild angst, swearing, fluff

WC: ~1900

Part I | Masterlist

“Why didn’t you tell me Viper was your father?” Maverick calls, following you out into the lot.

You’re walking briskly ahead of him because you were hoping to postpone this very conversation. You slow your pace a touch and glance back at him over your shoulder. “You didn’t ask.”

Maverick gives you a disgruntled look and slides a pair of aviators over his eyes. “Cute,” he replies curtly, walking past you toward his bike.

“Did you tell my father what you’re giving me a ride in?” you ask, eyeing the motorcycle skeptically.

Maverick pauses briefly as he grabs the handlebar and lowers his head to peek up at you over the rims of his sunglasses. “Your father trusts me to fly jets. I think he’d be okay with the Ninja.”

You shrug nonchalantly. “It’s your ass on the line.”

Maverick exhales sharply and takes a step toward you. “Exactly,” he says moodily. “You could’ve given me a heads up.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again!” you exclaim in a forceful whisper, very conscious of how close he’s gotten. “I never come here.” You look around anxiously, ensuring that no one is around. “Today was an exception – obviously,” you finish, rubbing the back of your head where your clip had broken against it.

Maverick watches you intently. “Are you okay?” he finally says.

“You already asked me that,” you retort grumpily, lowering your gaze.

“I’m asking again.”

“I’m fine.”

Maverick lets out another sigh and then mounts his bike. He glances over at you. “You coming?”

You hesitate for a moment before climbing onto the back of the seat. Tentatively, you take a hold of his jacket, being careful not to actually touch his body.

But Maverick takes your hand in his and brings it around his torso, pressing it into his abdomen. You hold your breath nervously, trying not to think about the ripple of abs you can feel underneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt. “I’m not going to be flooring it,” he says, starting the engine. “But I’d still prefer it if you held on.”

You bring your other hand around to his stomach, wondering if riding around on a motorcycle is really the best pastime for someone whose limbs are still feeling like jelly after an – albeit minor – collision. You know that your father would certainly not approve. And yet, you somehow feel like you could trust Maverick to deliver you home safe and sound.

As Maverick pulls out of the lot, he yells to you over the roar of the engine, “You thought you’d never see me again?”

You stare at the back of his neck, wondering how the heck you’re going to reply. Thankfully, the motor is loud enough that you have some time to think about it.

When Maverick slows to a stop at a red light, he turns his head to the side so that you’re graced with the contours of his side profile for several moments. He doesn’t strain to look at you over his shoulder but the pause as he lowers his gaze to the asphalt is enough to confirm that he’s awaiting a response.

“I didn’t know you were planning on staying,” you say, trying to infuse your voice with confidence despite your discomfort.

Maverick revs his engine just before the light turns green and starts rolling through the intersection the moment it changes. He doesn’t say anything else until he parks outside your house and kills the engine. “I wasn’t,” he says evenly and then climbs off the bike. He turns to look at you coolly and offers a hand to help you down.

You ignore his outstretched hand and dismount without his help. “You weren’t going to stay?” you ask casually, pretending that the impending answer is entirely insignificant to you.

Maverick shakes his head. “I turned down the offer last week.”

You gulp anxiously, suddenly severely distraught at the thought of Maverick leaving – even though you apparently ‘never thought you’d see him again.’  “But my dad said – does he know that you turned down the offer?”

Maverick watches you in silence for a second and then nods. He drops his gaze then and mutters, “I called him this morning, told him I was reconsidering my decision.” His eyes meet yours again with a stoic expression.

You blink to break the eye contact and look away uneasily. “How come?” you ask nonchalantly.

“Just felt like sticking around for a bit,” he says.

You glance up at him and, while he’s still not exactly smiling, the crease between his furrowed eyebrows has softened a touch. You realize that his change of heart must have had – at least in part – something to do with you, considering it happened immediately after your encounter. But you’re too afraid of being wrong to voice this theory so, instead, you say, “Even so, I’m hardly ever on base and I don’t exactly hang out at the officer’s club very often. The chances of us running into each other again were pretty slim.”

Maverick narrows his eyes. “You gave me your number.”

“Would you have called?”

Maverick stares at you. “I wouldn’t have asked for it if I wasn’t going to call.”

You shrug. “It was a fake number.”

Maverick raises his eyebrows and scoffs. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll see you around then.” He turns back to his bike and swings his leg over to mount it. “Or I guess I won’t,” he adds, turning the key in the ignition.

You panic and take a step toward him, placing your hand over the handlebar and grasping it firmly. “Can you image if I had given you my real number?” you ask. “You would’ve called – maybe” – you add with an eyeroll – “But, if you had and my father picked up? Then what?”

Maverick holds your gaze as your words sink in. Of course, your logic is sound. You couldn’t give him your real number. “You could’ve told me he was your father,” he says levelly, clearly still abundantly vexed. “What else did you lie about?”

You tighten your grip around the handlebar until your knuckles turn white. “Don’t act like you had any intention of seeing me again. And, if you did, how would I know? It’s not like you have a history of committed relationships.”

“What do you know about my history?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow as though you’ve piqued his interest.

You freeze for a moment and press your lips together crossly, annoyed that he’s caught onto the fact that you know more about him than you’d originally let on. “Are you going to take the position?” you ask irritably, completely ignoring his question.

“How can I?” he asks, raising his voice. Then, in a desperate whisper, he adds, “I slept with my superior officer’s daughter!”

You stare at him guiltily. “He doesn’t have to know,” you say.

“I know,” Maverick responds, his eyes boring into yours.

You sigh. “Pretend you don’t.” After a few moments of silence, you let go of the bike and give him a tight smile and a small wave as you start to back away.

Maverick doesn’t wave back. He watches you grimly as you retreat until you finally turn your back to him and ascend the steps of your porch.

You pause at your front door, wondering if you're ever going to see him again. But as you start to dig in your pocket for your house key, you feel a hand graze your upper back, and you whip your head around in surprise. How Maverick managed to scale your porch in under five seconds is beyond you, but you’re far too swept away to ruminate on the details.

Maverick waits a beat, his fingers sliding down your arm as you rotate to face him. His gaze slips momentarily to your lips before he says, “I’m not good at pretending.”

You stare at him in shock as the familiar weakness in your knees – a recurring ailment where Maverick is concerned – threatens to compromise your balance. Standing there, admiring the angles of his face, you suddenly can't think of anything more awe-inspiring. “You should take the job,” you say feebly as he draws ever closer.

Maverick sets his jaw and breathes forcefully out through his nose as though he’s combatting a sentiment he’d rather not express. “Okay,” he whispers, pressing his lips to your forehead. This move destabilizes you further.

You glance up at him and his lips brush softly over the tip of your nose. Your heart springs violently into your throat and then proceeds to bounce around your ribcage like a pinball. He smells like leather and cologne and his light eyes hold your gaze like a magnet. “I’ll stay away from the base,” you say quietly, not daring to believe your own words.

His hands slide up your shoulders and then your neck and then he cradles your head in his palms. “Okay,” he repeats, his face so close to yours that you can almost taste the citrus in his aftershave.

You try to control your breathing, closing your eyes as his thumbs sweep gently over your cheeks. “We can forget all about this,” you whisper very faintly, as though you don’t want to be heard.

Maverick nudges your face with the tip of his nose and mutters, “Okay,” in a warm, humid whisper. His lips move slowly over yours and, languidly, he wraps an entire arm around the back of your neck to bring your closer. He takes a few steps toward you but, since you’re already flush against his body, you’re forced to take a few steps back.

“Thank you for the ride,” you mumble against his lips and you feel him grin at your words.

“My pleasure,” he responds without taking his mouth off yours. He guides you backward until you’re against the front door of your house and suddenly you realize that you’re making out with a Top Gun aviator under your father’s roof.

This thought startles you awake and you brace your hands against Maverick’s chest, giving him a slight push.

Maverick withdraws instantly and drops his head with a heavy sigh before glancing up at you with a sheepish smile. “Sorry,” he says, despite the unapologetic grin.

You scoff with an eye roll and shake your head. Not only is this turn of events the complete opposite of your earlier proposition but it’s also very much something you swore you’d never do. Maverick is just about the worst decision you could make and yet, here you are continuing to make it. “My friend told me you’re trouble,” you say, straightening your posture because you’re now addressing something of utmost importance.

Maverick’s mouth tightens slightly as he attempts to keep a straight face. “Susan?”

“Yes, Susan,” you retort mockingly, surprised that he remembers her name.

Maverick purses his lips, shifting his jaw in thought as he squints his eyes at you. “What sort of trouble?”

You give him a flat look. “She wasn’t specific.”

He nods. “How convenient.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “You’re denying this?”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Nah, she’s probably right.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “Good to know.”

He meets your gaze with a more genuine expression. “Come on,” he says. “It’s not like you haven’t already made up your mind about me.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, ignoring the way his eyes are sparkling in the afternoon sun. You’d love to just be straightforward and ask what his true intentions are, but that seems lame and boring and awkward. And you’re none of those things. So, you say, “Would you like to come in for a minute?”

Maverick gives you a small smile and nods. “Okay,” He responds.

Maverick Tag List:

The rest of the list will be in the comments. Let me know if I missed you! As always, let me know if you no longer wish to be tagged in my Mav works!

@wandering-wah

@callsign-sunshine

@ghost-heart34

@birdy-bat-writes

@matya4

@wkndwlff

@nyx2021

@bellamy1998

@oliviah-25

@alexxavicry

@army24--7

@thefandomimagines

@dracosluvbot

@smit41

@scenesofobx

@Criminalmindsandmarvel

@lunamoonbby

@malums-trash-can

@malindacath

@karleetakeenan

@callsign-echo

@toothemoonanddback

@broketraveler87

@atarmychick007

@shanimallina87

@creativitybeware

@xoxabs88xox

@Yoyop7

@hallecarey1

@nik2blog

@rrocky0ah

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@lilianashomaresparza

@latetedslesetoiles

@Elenavampire21

@starberryhorse

@ginger-gabsq

@sarcastic-sourwolf

@risingtripletaurus

@callsignmaverick5

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@hermaeusmorax

@littlebadariell

@simp-for-fictional-people

@ollyoxenfrees

@iamabeautifulperson18

@living-in-my-imagination88

@wintercap89

@mavrellover91

@gingerbreadandpaper

[missmarveledsblog]

Bet on it ( Bradley bradshaw x reader ) part one

summary : everyone thought since they were best friend that their kids would be but after some unknown reason bradley bradshaw and y/n mitchell hated each other . after confrontation one night that leaves bradley in a dry spell well the guys make a claim and bradley's willing to bet and prove them wrong all he had to do was get into a relationship with the one person that couldn't stand him .

warning : enemies to lovers, bradley bit of a dick in the start not gonna lie , bet trope , age gap ( ten years hes 38 , she 28 ) this series is gonna be a roller coaster of emotions

They were soulmate platonic  where Mav was, goose was not far behind , both mischievous , both good at what they did . best friends til the end of time even if the time was short lived . so naturally people thought it would be the same with their kids and yet they were very wrong. It was like the two were fire and ice constantly going against each other whenever they got close .  there was a break she went to med school as bradley was back at top gun only for their secret feud to fire back up when she was transferred to a hospital right in san diego and of course she was able to win the hearts of the dagger squad and her turning up to the hard deck it was his worst nightmare come true . if they weren’t locked in the childish back and forth it was ignoring the other existence all together which honestly their friends preferred and as aggravating as y/n mitchell could be nothing was going to dampen bradley bradshaws mood tonight. He almost floated over to his friends the moment he step into the hard deck . the smile on his face was almost cheek splitting when they all looked at him . 

“ guess who got a date with the barista” he flashed his dazzling smile pulling the aviator to perch on his nose . 

“  nice even for you chicken” hangman nodded. 

“ well bagman you know i could give you some advice  , i mean i guess it been a dry spell” he shrugged taking his seat beside phoenix who rolled her eyes and called them both “ disgusting pigs”. 

“ yeah i don’t need advice we both now i do well and even better than you” . 

“ god you both ever gonna tire of the hook ups “ she groaned . 

“ hey this could be best date of my life and she could be the one” bradley smirked. 

Before they could even say more the door open and an excited y/n bounded towards them . 

“ i pass the interview i passed it” she yelled excitedly. 

“ wait the internship in new york?” nat asked unsure of how to feel . 

“ yes it’s not til six month from now but  in six month i will be heading to big city and studying under the greats of pediatrics “ she excitedly dance in her spot barely even sparing the usually happy man in her wake. 

“A date with hot ass woman and she leaving jesus this is my lucky day” rooster felt like crying he was so happy. 

“ in six month pornstache … wow playing in the dog park finally worked out good job” she smiled only for jake to lift her up and spin her around . 

“Knew you could do it , what i tell you this morning” he chuckled ruffling her hair. 

“ not to doubt myself “ she smiled bashfully . “ shit there’s my dad i’ll be back “ she giggled rushing off . 

“ or don’t that’s a good option “ rooster smiled. 

“ i don’t get why you don’t like her” fanboy mused . 

“ because you’ll learn like i did she’ll drop you like that no reason” he rolled his eyes sick of his friend constantly going on about how great she was honestly he thought the same one time and well he learned his lesson . 

“ people change or maybe you done something “ jake mused although he may of know more than he let on giving how close he and y/n got over the two years since she came to san diego. 

“ day that happens i’ll sell my bronco “ bradley scoffed. “ going to the mens room if my date comes tell her i’ll be out in a minute” . 

She stood watching the news sinking in from excitement to straight on nerves .  hoping he would show even a hint of happiness for her . 

“ it’s great news but we .. i just got you back” he smiled uneasy . 

“ it’s only a short flight and i’ll be home for holidays come on dad this is once in a lifetime opportunity i’m literally the youngest and female to be accepted on to this programme “ she almost pleaded with him . 

“ how long is it” 

“ two years with a chance to stay on in new york or head back to my residency here which i will because it will earn my spot on more paid job and more opportunities  it’s only two years and i can visit” she repeated . 

“ well i still got you for six months so i better make most of it i am proud of you but your my baby girl too … penny round on me to celebrate my daughters great work” he smiled sadly although he meant it when he said he was proud . 

“ i’ll have this one with you next one with the guys “ she smiled . 

“ sorry i was suppose to meet someone here and i don’t think i can see him “ a woman called making them turn . 

“ who you looking for honey “ penny beamed 

“ bradley bradshaw oh god i have the wrong place don’t i “ she chuckled . 

“  the wrong man i’d run if i was you” another woman scoffed. 

“ you sure he was charming when i met him “ the girls eyes widened . 

“ really rooster is great guy , don’t listen cheryl she as bitter as those gins “ y/n smiled . 

“ yeah great guy when he and hangman used me as pawn in their who can sleep with most women game , i think i was number 8 made me think i was special never felt the spark like it “ 

“ she’s drunk really rooster is great , he’s sweet and listens to good music “  y/n defended more although she didn’t know why he was an ass to her all time even though he was one that hurt her all those years.

“ sure look he already over there high fiving his friend “ cheryl smirked as the other girl eyes narrowed before y/n  could say anything the woman was barrelling over like a storm . 

Now as bradley looked up ready to greet his date what he didn’t expect was the slap across his face or the anger of a bull on her. 

“ you bastard i thought .. shit i thought one decent guy out there til that woman set me straight “ she pointed over at cheryl although bradley misread it  now he was pissed. 

“ whatever she said was crock of shit  trust me” he defended. 

“ so you and some guy called hangman didn’t have a sleezy contest i will not be a part of delete my number asshole “ was all she said before storming out the bar completely . 

“ she has got some nerve” was all bradley said before he storming towards the bar only he wasn’t going for the right person . 

“ what the hell is your problem  what me being happy isn’t good enough you have to ruin it “ he pulled y/n around as she almost looked shocked. 

“ i didn’t … i didn’t do anything” she stuttered out completely confused. 

 “ yeah you told her about stupid game me and hangman had … do you really like ruining things for me i mean life was great til you showed up here making everyone think your some little sweetheart when in actuality  your’re a cold hearted bitch” he scoffed. 

“ and you said he was a great guy” cheryl laughed . 

“ i guess i was wrong, drop dead rooster “ y/n walked off ignoring everyone’s calls . 

“ shit that girl defended you after i told your date what your really like jesus thanks for proving me right”cheryl saunter off playing her bill and leaving . 

“ wait wait what “ he froze . 

“ rooster what the hell .. you two used to love each other now god your at each others throat but never like that ...   i thought you were better than that .. godson or not you talk to her like that again we’re gonna have problems “ mav warned as he headed out the door .  leaving bradley looking like biggest dickhead in the hard deck head low and tail between his legs he headed back to the table the guys were bar nat and jake who probably fixing his fuck up . 

“ wow harsh man” payback whistled lowly . 

“ yeah not my finest moment “ he grumbled . 

That  sentence was like a mantra on his tongue hell he didn’t want to admit it the dry spell he was having which after his outburst completely extended it first couple of week no girl would even look his way hitting another bust as he headed back to the rest of his squad as y/n sat with jake as far as she could barely even looking his way til she ended up smiling at her phone and bidding the rest a farewell , he didn’t want to admit it but the complete freeze out was worse than before the fact she didn’t even give him a second thought was driving him crazy maybe  the dry spell was affecting him more than he thought . 

“ guess it was a bust” fanboy smirked. 

“ losing your status rooster”  javy laughed , 

“ maybe it for the best between him and hangman  they going to sleep through san diego or that was case” bob chuckled . 

“ now what i would love to see is either of them try a relationship they would fold the second things get serious” payback  pointed out . 

“ ok first ouch bob i’m nothing like bagman  and second i could do serious relationship with any girl “ he stood hand on hips . 

“ not any girl “ bob mused . 

“ baby on board is right not any girl “ jake leaned against the pool table maybe it was a risk and shit if it ended badly well he would hate it but he could see it , he could see it the moment she walked into the hard deck two years ago . 

“ i’d bet my bronco on it “ bradley stood falling into the trap hook line and sinker . 

“ you sure you wanna bet on something you’ll lose chicken ?”  he goaded willing him to take the bait . 

“ fuck it your on bagman name her , point her out” he stood toe to toe with the man . 

“ easy y/n “ that damn smile , the cocky one rooster loved to wipe of his face and yet this one was gonna be tough shit did he have it in him. “ you really are a chicken on it “ he had him hook , line  

“ your on “  sinker .

A.N : Let me know if you wanna be added to taglist for future parts

[warnersister]

I Remember Everything

bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw x mitchell!reader

Inspired by the song ‘I Remember Everything’ by Zach Bryan -> you and Bradley were only together back then to piss off your dad.. right?

Flashbacks & song lyrics in italics

top gun masterlist

“What can I get ya?” You ask, back turned to the patron but you could feel their expectant presence behind you. “Rotgut whiskey's gonna ease my mind” your breath hitched in your throat as you recognised the voice, pivoting to the voice you used to yearn for just to comfort your own sanity. “Bradley.”

Yourself and Bradley went way back. Back further than you wanted to admit. You started fraternising with him when you were freshly eighteen, pissed off at your father, Pete Mitchell. And as president of the ‘Pete-Mitchell-Hatred Club’, Bradley was more than happy to oblige. He himself was 25, finally managing to begin his naval training without any support of his surrogate uncle, and he’d just dumped you in California and fucked off to the dessert for annoying some admiral, leaving you with Penny despite your argument that you were old enough now to make your own decisions.

Bradley was at a two month station at top gun, not to train; no he wasn’t at that stage in his naval aviation training yet, but to boost morale and promote dog-fighting initiative amongst the new recruits. To throw them in at the deep end and put them up against the best.

You knew the two of them didn’t get along and you knew how your father yearned for a relationship with Bradley, so it was the perfect was to get under his skin in a way that would truly aggravate him. Being with Bradley.

At first, the reason Bradley even entertained your behaviour because he knew how it would get to maverick and how, realistically, Maverick had absolutely no say in what you did anymore. Because you were an adult making your own choices, and he surrendered any parental ties on Bradley when he withdrew his papers. It was a win-win situation as far as he was concerned, that was until he really started to fall for you.

It was a hot day in mid-July and Bradley had a day off so he opted to spend it with you, honking his horn twice in his Bronco, right outside Maverick’s house as you came running out and your dad shouted after you - regardless of the fact you were always in the passenger seat. You made it to the beach but ended up in Bradley’s military accommodation, as per usual. He watched the way your hair whipped as you observed passers-by, in nothing but a bikini as your beach towel rests on the dryin’ line.

He approached you and rested his head on your shoulder, hands on your hips as he followed your eye-line to where you were watching a couple of golden-coast born boys playing volleyball on the beach.

“Do I remind you of your daddy in his ‘88 Ford?” He asked as you handed him his whiskey from across the bar. You scoffed. “You were like a Labrador hanging out the passenger door” he continued, reminiscing on the way you used to hang your body half out of the window to feel the humid breeze against your skin, a panicked Bradley with his knuckles going white as his fingers grasped at the loop holes of your worn denim shorts to keep you in the vehicle.

The sand from your hair was blowing in his eyes. He’d blame it on the beach, grown men don’t cry. He knew what you wanted out of this: a bit of fun, a dig at your father. And he knew that he shouldn’t be feeling the way he did, a sense of growing adoration for you and your company. Your constant sleep overs and loving attention.

“Do you remember that beat down basement couch?” He asked after the silence and for the first time since you looked at him, you smiled. “God I loved that thing, of course I do Brad” you say in an almost accidentally small voice. “I'd sing you my love songs and you'd tell me about how your mama ran off and pawned her ring” you nodded “I remember,” you began with a steady inhale “I remember everything.”

You worked at the hard deck over the summer while you waited on news from the colleges you’d applied to, Bradley always overstaying his welcome despite you giving a cold shoulder at closing time, before he’d approach you and manage to coax you away from the bar for the evening.

“You were begging me to stay 'til the sun rose” you remembered with a grin, thinking back on all the times you’d given into him. Bradley could hardly muster any sort of words, unable to string a sentence together as he realised you really did appreciate his first summer in North Island; strained words come on out of a grown man's mouth when his mind's broke. Thinking of the pictures and passing time, all these years apart. He wondered if you were married now, if the hard deck was what you actually did for work, if you had a man, a child, a life without him, before you broke the silence with your realisation. “You only smile like that when you're drinking” you tell his dopey grin. “I wish I didn't, but I do… remember every moment on the nights with you” he tells you.

You begin to wipe down the counter, questioning his reiterative choice of beverage. “You're drinkin' everything to ease your mind?” You asked, rhetorically. “But when the hell are you gonna ease mine?” He retorted in question and you creased your brows. He peered around the bar, it still technically closed, being only 4pm, but you couldn’t deny Bradley entrance. Not after your history together. Acknowledging that there was nobody else, he took it in his stride to zip around the bar to you, trapping you against the bar and leaning closer, you could smell the Rotgun whiskey on his mouth. “You're like concrete feet in the summer heat” he tells you with a shake of his head, laughing sarcastically as he throws his head back “It burns like hell when two souls meet”.

You look up at him and trace his moustache with your thumbs, hands cupping his chiselled jaw. “No, you'll never be the man that you always swore” you tell him, reminding him that he was nothing like your father, but you nod to the familiar Bronco in the parking lot “but I'll remember you singin' in that '88 Ford”, you smile.

“Are you gonna give me a cold shoulder at closing time?” He asked “are you gonna be begging me to stay ‘til the sun rose?” You ask in response. “You of all people know that strained words come on out of a grown man's mouth when his mind's broke” he whispers, moving to bury his head between your collar and jaw. “I still think about the pictures and passing time” you tell him, threading your hands into his hair.

You feel his brows raising “what? So I wasn’t just a way to get back at your daddy?” He asked and you shook your head. “What? I thought I was a way for you to get back at him. No, you were everything to me Bradley. Everything. You just happened to be there when I wasn’t getting along with Mav” you tell him and he takes his head from the crevice of your neck to give you a boyish smile as he realises after all this time, his feelings were always requited. “You only smile like that when you're drinking” you tell him. “I wish I didn't, but I do remember every moment on the nights with you” you tell him and he creases his brows.

“Now why’re you tryna forget me, honey?” He asked, nose almost pressed against your own. Almost. “Well you’re probably married now, kids, job, everything.” You say meekly. “And I never moved on.” His breath caught in his throat. “Darlin, I ain’t married. Ain’t got no kids or anything, no girl, no nothing. I never got over you” he tells you. “No one was ever as good as you Brad, no one made me feel the way you made me feel” you tell him as he inches dangerously close.

“Well can I give you something to take the edge off, princess?” He asks, eyes meeting yours after fleeting between them to your lips for the past few moments. “Rotgut whiskey's gonna ease my mind” you tell him as he finally leans into close the gap between the both of you, tasting the bitter sweetness on his tongue and the smell of the liquor on his moustache.

You pull away and become acutely aware of how he’s only in his swim shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, as his beach towel rests on the drying line. “Do I remind you of your daddy in my '88 Ford?” He asks as he leans his forehead against yours and you nod, with a jokingly “Labrador hangin' out the passenger door.”

“Why’re you still in North Island, sugar? Still working the Hard Deck?” He questions as he nips your neck with his teeth. You stop him and pull his head from where it was taunting against your sight. You hold his head in your hands as you shake your head with a serious look crossing your face. “Bradley I’m only helping Penny clean up. I’m stationed here for the foreseeable.” You say, as the obvious dawned on him. He hadn’t seen you since that summer before you started college “you’re in the navy?” He asked “aviator.” You replied and he grinned to pick you up and sling you over his shoulder as you yelp with surprise.

“Bradley! What are you doing?” You ask with a breathless laugh. “Got a lot to catch up on, sugar.” He tells you as you approach his Bronco. “How about an all night revival?”

[lieutenantfloyd]

Happy birthday Tom Cruise!!💕🎂🎉🎈

(Credit to avocadoji on TikTok)

[helloitstsyu]

hello, I have a request for a tom cruise x reader fic based on the ariana grande song ‘fantasize’. that’s all, thank you xx

fantasize | Tom Cruise 18+

a/n : goshhhh this req is stuck in my mind for so long. finally I'm able to finish writing itt... i hope it fills your expectations! love the suggestion so much xx.

Pairing : Tom Cruise x f¡reader

Warning : unprotected sex, clothed sex, dirty talks, assume age gap, smut, minor dni!

Polo match.

You always hate when you're dragged to these kinda events. But your dad always insists on bringing you here. And since you just come back from college overseas, you owe it to him for a bit of quality time.

You would much rather stay at home or go out with your friends for a spa day or a pool party. Definitely not this. You feel awkward here and you don't know everyone here except your dad. Dad said it's not just about the game but it's about the networking. And so there he is, leaving you behind as he talks to his colleagues.

The game is about to start. Your dad calls for you. As you walk towards him, you see he's standing next to a man. His hair is perfectly styled. He's wearing a navy suit with a matching navy patterned tie. His eyes covered behind a sunglasses, but you kinda feel something about him is familiar, like you've seen him somewhere or something.

"Tom, i want you to meet my daughter." Dad places his hand behind your waist. Looks at you proudly, "She just came back from Harvard– took MBA there while running her own business... couldn't get much prouder of my little cupcake." Your dad says.

Your dad has a habit of over-introducing you in front of people. "Dad, you're doing it again," you chuckle awkwardly as you shake your head.

Turning your head, you prolong your hand first for a shake. Shooting the man your most friendliest smile. "Hi, pleasure to meet you, i'm Y/N Y/L/N,"

He takes his glasses off and then shakes your hand.

That face. That eyes. Beat drops. You could feel your heart stop at the sight.

"Hi... I'm Tom,"

Cruise. He is Tom Cruise.

That's why you knew something about him is familiar, he's the freaking Hollywood god.

This shouldn't surprise you– to meet celebrities and all. Your dad works in the business as a producer. But something is different this time. Something is different about Tom Cruise. You almost feel like the air gets hotter. Perhaps it is him being so hot, or perhaps it's the way he stares at you with an intrigue in his eyes.

"So you're the famous Y/N Y/L/N... I've heard so much about you." He says, shooting a friendly smile.

"Yeah? Not the fun part, though," you mutter quietly.

Your dad and Tom both only stay silent and look at you, processing what you've just said.That came out of nowhere. The moment you realized you've said it, you regret it.

A few seconds pass with silence, but thankfully, your dad breaks into a laughter, lightening up the intense situation. "You're funny, sweetheart," your dad says. He must've not gotten the hidden intent behind what you said.

Tom however, just chuckles a little and a ghost smile appears on his face, his eyes light up as if he's enjoying some private humor. "Well.. I'd love to know more," Tom says. His gaze is unwavering and intense.

The event host then announces that the game is about to be started. You take your seat next to your dad. Tom is sitting a couple rows down from you, that doesn't stop you from keeping your eyes glued at him all the time.

For some reason, your heart is pounding mercilessly. You curse at yourself for being so stupid, muttering things out of your mouth before you think more about it. The way Tom gazed at you makes you feel some type of way, you're mentally and physically weak.

The way Tom moves a couple rows down there, the way he runs his fingers to his hair, the way his eyes dead-locked-focused watching the game as he chews a gum. That eyes, that jawline, that hair — Everything about this man just attracts every single bit of your cell. You're actually feeling all hot and horny right now.

Your mind starts to play on its own. Imagining what those lips would taste like. Imagining to run your fingers through that brunette strands. Imagining yourself getting fucked in this VIP little box — him pinning you down, he'd make you moaning hard, he'd pound mercilessly to you as he licks your moaning mouth. Oh, you'd give anything for him.

The loud cheer of the audience as the game ends awakes you back into reality. Somehow, you miss the whole game having your own preferred one in your head.

As you're about to leave your box, Tom comes to you and your dad again. Making some casual talks about the game and how great it was. You just stand there silence, still recovering from that heavy game you played in your mind.

"Cupcake," your dad turns around and calls for you, "If it's okay... i invite Tom to our lunch, i still have some business to discuss with him. I hope you're okay with it."

Before you can answer, your dad's phone rings. "Shit... hang on, sweetheart,"

"It's all fine, dad. I'll just go wait in the car." You say. You know whenever your dad's phone rings, that'll take some time. So rather than spending here talking with Tom and risking yourself to be flustered and caught in the open. You'd rather go back to your car and chill alone.

You get in your car and quickly turn on the air conditioning to the fullest setting. You sigh heavily.

You try to shake the picture of him in your head, trying to stop this feeling. You take a long breath in and just look at yourself from the rearview mirror. For some reason, you still feel horny. As if this feeling is not gonna go away until you're fed.

Looking around there's no one here around the parking lot. So you do what you gotta do to help yourself. You move to the back seat and lay down comfortably. You shut your eyes close and hoping that Tom is here. Hoping that Tom knows what he did to you, the feeling he inflicted on you.

All of a sudden, your door just pulled open, startling you to open your eyes and sit up. To your much surprise, it's Tom. He is ducking his head in.

"Tom? Wh-what are you doing?" You cluelessly ask.

"What needs to be done," he retorts in hushed voice.

He gets in and slams back the door close. In one quick motion, he lunges at you, grabs you by your face and kisses you. His lips on yours feel so soft and so burning at the same time— addicting, that's what he tastes like. You moan into his mouth, giving him just enough the opening. His tongue expertly exploring your mouth.

You have never been kissed like this. Your tongue tentatively plays back and joins his in an erotic movement. He gently pushes you back till you're laying down flat on the back seat with him on top of you. You're helpless, you're all pinned down, and he's restraining you with his whole body. You wrap your legs around his hips, allowing him to completely have his body pressed to yours. His hand explores your body, trailing the length of your thigh to your hips. Feeling something hardering, nudging you, you couldnt help to grind your center to his cock.

He hiss against your mouth. But Tom doesn't stop you or anything, rather he moves to kiss all over your chin, moving to your neck. The moment he sucks and nibs your sensitive skin, he got your eyes rolling back. You grip onto his jacket and swallows your edging moan.

"Tom..." you mutter.

Tom asks. Kiss more of your neck.

"Yes, darling?" Tom whispers in your ear before he gently bites your earlobe. Earning your jaw falls agape. He moves again to your collar bone, kissing you in the softest-teasing way.

He breathes against your flushed chest. His breath is hot, just like the way he makes you feel right now. He lays a soft, gentle kiss all across your flushed chest. Lowering himself even more as he gradually pulls your dress down along his way till your breast finally uncovered. He softly gasps at the sight of you. He glances to your eyes, lust covers in his gaze, before he places a kiss around your nipple.

You hiss, fingers grip onto his jacket.The moment he flick his tongue then sucks your nipple, you couldn't hold in your moan even more. "Ohh!" You moan.

Tom pushes himself off your neck and looks back into your eyes. "Come on, Y/N, show me how fun you can be," he challenges.

And just like that, the switch is being made. You turn off all of the good girl sides about you and this lust overdriving you into some dangerous character that'll put you in trouble. You pull him back to your lips and kiss him passionately. Your hands quickly run his body, feeling the toned muscles underneath. It is a joke that he's looking this damn hot at this age. You rub him from outside his pants.

You could feel Tom smirking against your lips. "Good girl," he chuckles.

You hurriedly take off his belt. Him helping you too. You push his trousers down just enough till you can grab his hard shaft and pulls it out from the torment of its lack of space. Tom groans as you wrap your hand around him. Fuck, he's big. And so hard. You pump his cock and spread his precum all over his shaft.

"Is that what you want?" Tom asks.

Glancing back to his eyes, you nod. "I want you to fuck me,"

A content smile appears on his face. He pushes your panties to the side and just pushes himself through your folds without warning.

"Ahh!" You squal uncomfortably to the unfamiliar size of him, gripping onto his shoulder.

Tom quickly bottoms out, pushing all the way of him inside of you. He doesn't wait for you to adjust to his size. He starts to pound his hips mercilessly into you, fucking you in a relentless pace.

"Ohhh! Fuck! ToOoMMm!" You shut your eyes and titled your head back.

"Yes! Yes! That's it moan my name!" He grins loving the way your face contorts to pleasure drunk. "You wanted my cock the moment you laid your eyes on me, huh? Looking at me with all of that slutty eyes, you know what you're doing, darling," he says to your ears as his cock pounds mercilessly to your tight channel.

You couldn't reply to him even if you wanted to. You only look back to him and nod.

"Oh, T-tom!" You cry. Tears dripping down your cheek.

"Fuck, Y/N" he groans. Tom holds your face. He presses his lips to yours again, silencing you from screaming loud.

He got you a moaning mess that you don't care if someone could hear you or see this little scene in your car. You never fucked like this before. So good that you'd do anything to have him fuck you like this again and again. You'd give your pussy for him, five to nine, nine to five. Tom fucks you like the way you fantasize your filthiest fantasies.

You feel your walls clenching hard. And the white hot pleasure becomes too unbearable to hold back. A few more thrust, and you're spilling all over. You squal all over the car. Knees clamping together as all of your muscles tighten.

You never have orgasm like that. It is by far your most intense that after the pinnacle, you feel bliss. For a few seconds, the room is so quiet — so peaceful...

You open your eyes and stare at the roof of your car. All of a sudden, like a slap to your face, waking you back into reality, your door is pulled open from the outside. Quickly, you sit up and try to fix yourself, push down your dress and all but it is all helpless. You're so caught right-handed. Looking up, the person who caught you right-handed guilty is the one you hope for dear life it wont be— Tom Cruise. He's peering down, slightly bending to meet your eyes.

You feel so embarrassed that you couldn't even feel a thing or think anything.

"Your dad wanted me to tell you lunch is off... meetings." He tells.

You just sit there feeling like you're slowly crippling to die. The optimistic side of you still whispers that perhaps he didn't see nothing. You have a tinted window afterall.... do you?

Tom gaze down at you with that light up, amused emerald eyes. Then slightly the corner of his lips pulled up to a smirk, like he's been there for a while and just watched you pleasuring yourself.

"Have a great day, Y/N," he mischievously smiles and closes back your door.

I WROTE PART 2 》》 FANTASIZE SERIES MASTERLIST

[s0urw00lf]

୨⎯ “ 𝐒𝟎𝐮𝐫𝐰𝟎𝟎𝐥𝐟’𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭“ ⎯୧

╰┈➤ 𝐼𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 - 𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑛 𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑗𝑖. 𝑇𝑜 𝑗𝑜𝑖𝑛 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 𝑝𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑗𝑖 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠

𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥

╰┈➤ 𝒔𝒂𝒎 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 🫎

@fandom-princess-forevermore @sweetiecelin @flow33didontsmoke @theprettylittlebambi @multiversefanfics @l0v3cuts

╰┈➤ 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 🔪

@fandom-princess-forevermore @flow33didontsmoke @theprettylittlebambi @multiversefanfics @l0v3cuts

╰┈➤ 𝒄𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒍 🪽 @flow33didontsmoke @multiversefanfics @l0v3cuts

╰┈➤ 𝐑𝐮𝐛𝐲 🩸 @flow33didontsmoke

𝐎𝐁𝐗

╰┈➤ 𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 💪🏼

╰┈➤ 𝐣𝐣 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤 🌊

╰┈➤ 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐛 🚐

𝐒𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞

╰┈➤ 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭 🦸🏻

@boombangpow

╰┈➤𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐮𝐞 ⚽️

𝐓𝐨𝐩 𝐠𝐮𝐧 - 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧

╰┈➤ 𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞 “𝐦𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤” 𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥 ✈️

@reofamy

╰┈➤ 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 “𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫” 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 🐔

@fandom-princess-forevermore @reofamy

╰┈➤ 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 “𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐚𝐧” 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧 🧔🏼‍♂️

@fandom-princess-forevermore

╰┈➤ 𝐑𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 “𝐛𝐨𝐛” 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐝👓

@fandom-princess-forevermore

╰┈➤ 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐲 🦅

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐧𝐨𝐰 🩷😁

[kaffiko]

a risky game

pairing - tom cruise x fem!reader summary - after your friend on set tells you she likes tom, you realise that they can't happen, because you like tom, and you know you need to confess your feelings before it's too late. warnings - a dash of angst, but mostly just fluff word count - 2.1k

you recalled the first time you'd met tom cruise. he was so incredibly handsome. his large, deep, green eyes and his shiny brunette hair... he was majestic. not only was he dazzling, but tom was driven and talented. when he introduced himself, shaking your hand, his voice was deep and charismatic.

although you had worked with many huge movie stars throughout your career, none of them came close to the way tom made you feel. he wanted you to be comfortable, like you were made to be a part of the cast. it was one of his ideas to make the movie a more authentic experience. you supposed that was why you never acted on your feelings. he was determined, and focused on his career. it seemed as if tom could never be interested in a relationship with someone on set.

as the filming continued, you kept your feelings towards tom bottled up inside you. you talked to him completely out of professionalism. of course, you didn't want to be awkward around him, so you told him stories of your family, your career, and he did the same. you learned so many amazing things about him, his family, how he raised up into the industry. the only thing that did was make you want him more. but you knew, attraction was a risky game.

tom was kind to everyone, though he had a special spot for you. he'd had many lead roles with various actresses, who were all beautiful and charming, but they weren't even close to being in the same vicinity as you. he knew you were oblivious to it, but you were on his mind twenty-four-seven, no one else. the first day tom laid eyes on you, shook your hand, saw your beautiful smile, he knew he had fallen for you. he was entranced by your gorgeous y/e/c eyes, y/h/c hair, your slight pink cheeks, everything. to him, everything about you was flawless.

as much as tom wanted you, he knew he could never have you. he was a couple years older than you, and so immensely famous that everyone he'd ever been with was scared of the news circulating them. tom didn't ever want that to happen to you.

consequently, the two of you kept your feelings for each other to yourselves. exchanging glances, smiles, and small talk was all you could ever do.

now, you find yourself in tom's arms. his shirt is off, with you still fully clothed, though both your lips were puffy and pink from the previous kiss, make-out, whatever you want to call it, scene. it was heavenly. kissing tom was exactly how you envisioned it, like having a taste of something delicious, but you had to share it with your sibling. his lips were soft on yours, but the kiss was rough. your hands ran through his fluffy hair, melting completely into him. meanwhile, tom's left hand was placed firmly on your waist, while his right was moving up and down your body. you swore you heard him groan into your mouth at one point.

tom, himself, the director, and the producers loved the scene, but tom loved it on a whole other level, and in a completely different way. having your lips on his felt like a dream that he wanted to last forever. after that scene, tom loved you even more, if that was even possible.

your makeup artist, hanna, would often give you a lecture on how you should confess to tom. she knew everything about everyone, including how the two of you were apparently 'head over heels' for one another. hanna was the same makeup artist for almost everyone, since they wanted to spend more money on sets instead of makeup, so she was on top of all the gossip. half the time, you were still part asleep, so you paid no attention. that is, until she mentioned someone else was soon going to shoot her shot.

"i'm sorry, what?!" you semi-yelled, fully aware there were other actors still getting ready. your makeup artist nodded at you.

"yep. little miss lindsay turner is going to go for your man! you can't let that happen, can you?" hanna grinned. god, she was trying to get to you, and it was working.

you and lindsay certainly weren't close friends, but she was the only person you talked to at lunch besides tom. despite all the chatter that was going around, you never would have imagined lindsay actually liking tom. sometimes, she would get a little touchy, holding onto his arm as she giggled, and although you thought it was a little weird at first, you knew it was all platonic. at least, that's what you thought you knew.

it made you nervous. for the first time in your life, after a long time, you felt fear, and all the happy thoughts from the past few days had disintegrated into thin air. lindsay was undeniably beautiful. everyone admired her luscious red hair - they thought she was prettiest red head they'd seen in their entire lives. it hurt to say that you did, sort of, agree. tom could look even better with a girl like lindsay, why would he ever choose you?

lindsay and tom also had a lot in common, she was delighted to work with someone who was just as motivated as she was. she spoke with such confidence in her voice that it washed away all that was in yours. you felt invisible whenever lindsay was in the same room as you.

you sighed, looking at hanna hopelessly, "what do i do, hanna?"

she smiled, "well, i'm gonna make you look extra good today, even though you already look perfect on a daily basis. luckily for you, you have one of those date scenes with tom, so you need to look glammed up anyway. getting him to fall for you, not like he hasn't already," she winked, "is all about your mentality. you need to hint that you are thinking about tom in the scene, and not his character."

hanna was right. today, had, yet another, scene where you needed to kiss tom. she continued, "you need to make him love you, no one gives a damn about professionalism and his character, and what not." she finished your makeup, which was stunning, and handed you your costume. by the time she was done with the finishing touches, even you admitted you looked good.

"can we get y/n on in two minutes?" a voice from outside called.

"alright, y/n, go get him girl." hanna breathed out, patting your shoulders. you smiled at her quickly before leaving the room.

when tom saw you, his jaw quite literally dropped. he always found you stunning, but today, you were a different kind of stunning. you approached him, smiling warmly. "hey," you said.

his eyes scanned you quickly. you felt your cheeks heat up. was tom cruise really checking you out? "wow," tom chuckled, breathlessly, "you look... great."

you laughed lightly, stunned by his shocked expression, "thank you. you do too."

tom was dressed in a crisp, white dress shirt, paired with black slacks. his outfit matched with your sparkling, white dress and black heels. the scene was meant to be at a fancy restaurant, where tom's character took yours out on a date, and near the end, the two of you would share a passionate kiss. you couldn't help but smirk as lindsay discreetly gritted her teeth.

there were only a few minutes left before the shooting of the scene started, though that didn't stop lindsay from pulling you aside just as you were about to walk into the room. "hey, y/n," lindsay whispered, "i need to tell you something."

you looked at her, about ninety percent sure of what she was going to say next. "you have to promise you won't tell anyone though," she added.

you placed a hand on her shoulder. that was one of the many things lindsay hated about you. you were so, so kind, it made her feel guilty of how much she despised you. occasionally, she would think to herself, 'it's just a man', but it really wasn't just a man. it was tom cruise. lindsay was extremely envious of you. while you didn't know it, every single member of the cast was wrapped around your finger, especially tom. lindsay knew there was no way of competing against you. so, in order to score tom, she thought she had to do what she had originally been dreading.

"i promise. your secret's safe with me." you whispered back.

lindsay took a deep breath, then sighed it out, "i like tom." the words were like bullets, piercing your flesh, and racing straight through. you saw it coming, yet here you are, speechless. just when everything was going well for you, a pretty girl like lindsay had to ruin it.

"i-" you stuttered, struggling to even find words, "tom's great. he's an amazing and talented guy, you should totally shoot your shot."

lindsay beamed at your words, thrilled you didn't yell at her. "that's exactly what i was thinking!" she squealed, "i was going to tell him today, but i wanted your approval first. you know, girl best friends never let another girl steal them."

such a backhanded statement. you could feel the glare she gave you from a mile away. 'approval', 'girl best friend', 'steal'. you decided that if she said another word, you would hire a hitman to crawl into her trailer and stab her.

to save yourself trouble, you cut the conversation short, "you're absolutely right. you need to tell him, he actually really likes you. he thinks you're beautiful." you purposely used the same tone of voice as her and dragged out the 'beautiful'. "i need to go now. good luck, lindsay!"

lindsay watched as you walked down the hall, your glossy hair swishing each step you took. she was relieved she didn't need to say anything more.

she felt her hope fade each time she conversed with you, and this time, it might have just all gone away.

your mouth curved into a small smile just as tom placed his hand on top of yours. the cameras were solely on the two of you. tom's eyes were staring directly into your own, his gaze safe and lustful. "you're beautiful." he said, still looking attentively at you. you stayed silent, as mentioned in the script, but you continued smiling.

tom leaned in, just slightly. you did the same a couple seconds later, and soon, the two of you were almost touching. you felt his warm breath graze against your lips. tom leaned in a little more, placing one small kiss, then pulling away. you loved it. so much, that you wanted more. you leaned in again. this time, the kiss was different. it was as if you found the delicious delicacy again, and needed to selfishly devour the whole thing.

the director yelled cut, and the two of you pulled apart. after that kiss, you couldn't hold it in anymore.

you couldn't keep looking at tom every day and pretend you didn't feel more than friendship. you couldn't talk to tom, and hide away everything you wanted to tell him. attraction was a risky game, but it was one you were willing to play.

"tom." he was still sitting across from you. his head was bowed down to fix his shirt, but he looked up at the sound of your voice.

"i love you." you managed to say through shaky breaths.

tom smiled, shaking his head, "y/n, the camera isn't rolling anymore."

"no," you stopped tom, "i'm serious. let me say it again. i love you."

he was frozen. the most still you'd ever seen anyone be. tom couldn't believe the words that had just come out of your mouth. all these moments, where he could've said something, and didn't, were suddenly all a waste of time. if only he had known earlier, he could've stopped himself from this misery of hiding his, clearly obvious, feelings.

"i totally understand if you don't feel the same, i mean, you're a huge movie-" you were immediately cut off by tom's lips crashing onto yours. you instantly kissed back. you were finally kissing tom cruise, off camera. it was complete bliss.

"i love you too." tom said, bringing your hand up and placing small kisses on your knuckles.

on the side, lindsay was only slightly angry. she was definitely jealous, but she had realised just how amazing you were for tom. he looked at you with such love in his eyes, she came to the conclusion that he would never look at anyone else the same.

you were too happy to notice lindsay, though you would've been glad to know she wasn't fuming.

you were focused entirely on tom, and he was focused entirely on you. attraction was a risky game, and it was one you had won.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I love you."

taglist:

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

[romerona]

https://www.tumblr.com/romerona/779775449552371712/ethera-operation?source=share

Omgg do you have the charlie angels reader draft?!?! If so, could you post it someday? I LOVE charlies angels ✨️✨️.

Heyyy, so, yessss I do have a small one shot I think? I never thought would see the light of day, so I polished it a bit because I am more than happy to share itttt, actually thank you for asking lol <3<3<3

Only Angels fly this high!

Bradley Bradshaw x Charlie's Angel reader!

You were never just Maverick’s daughter.

You were the girl who swept your district's science fair four years straight, the one who could solve a Rubik's cube in under sixty seconds without even looking flustered. You knew every Avenger’s and DC's origin story by heart, had an unshakable love for Aragorn and your textbooks, and could quote Star Wars like scripture.

With your braces gleaming, frizzy ponytails bouncing, and socks that never once matched, you were a walking storm of heart, brilliance, and sunshine. A true geek with a gymnast's poise, a mind too quick to sit still, and a laugh that could fill a room before you even entered it. You were fire and fizz and full of wonder— Pete Maverick Mitchell's daughter, sure, but unmistakably, undeniably you.

When your dad disappeared on those long, classified missions—off saving the world in ways you weren’t allowed to know, you just packed your bag like clockwork and headed to one of two places. Sometimes, it was to your godfather, Uncle Ice, who’d ruffle your hair and tell you, with that steady calm of his, that even though you hardly looked like your dad, you had the same fire in your eyes. The same stubborn spark. The same refusal to back down. He said it like a compliment, like a promise. You loved him deeply, truly. He was a quiet sort of anchor, a man who never needed many words to make you feel seen.

But most of the time, you went to the Bradshaws’.

Carol always welcomed you like one of her own, with a warm smile, a hug that smelled like fresh laundry and vanilla, and a plate of something home-cooked waiting on the table. Over time, their house became your second home, the place where you memorized the sound of their old floorboards and where you felt safest when the sky felt just a little too big.

And then there was Bradley.

Older. Cooler. Already growing into the kind of person you could only dream of becoming. He had this effortless way about him—music in his ears, sun in his smile, the kind of person that made rooms quieter and your heart louder. You followed him around with books hugged to your chest, spilling facts about superheroes and black holes, always hoping he'd listen—and he did.

He never rolled his eyes. Never made you feel silly for talking too much or knowing too many things. He let you tag along, called you “kid” with a grin that somehow didn’t sting, and made you feel like being exactly who you were, loud laugh, wild ideas, frizzy hair and all, was something worth being proud of.

You adored him.

Not in a way that needed anything in return, but in that pure, clumsy way that only happens when someone older and kinder and just out of reach shows you what it feels like to be seen.

When Bradley left for college, you told yourself not to miss him. You tried to tuck the ache away somewhere quiet, somewhere small, behind schoolwork, hobbies, competitions and all the things you used to ramble about to him when he’d pretend not to listen but always did. It wasn’t just that he left; it was that things changed.

You only saw him once after that. At Carol’s funeral. The air that day was thick with loss, the kind you could feel in your throat. You spotted him across the room—older, more tired, a stranger in the shape of someone you used to adore. You exchanged a look. Maybe a nod. Nothing more. Heavy. Wordless.

Calls stopped. Messages faded. And after the falling-out between him and your dad, whatever thread had quietly tied the two of you together just… vanished.

But even as time tugged Bradley further away, you never drifted from your dad. If anything, you clung to him tighter. You sent him everything—snapshots of you mid-flip in your gymnastics uniform, shaky videos of your band performing at school, newspaper articles of your victories, long, rambling letters from chess tournaments detailing every single move like it was a mission report. When you got your college acceptance letter, you didn’t just call him, you sent a copy with a doodle you’d drawn of the two of you in matching aviator sunglasses, grinning like dorks.

Because he wasn’t just your dad. He was your rock. Your anchor. Your hero in a flight suit. And no matter how many people came and went, how many versions of yourself you outgrew, he was always the one constant, the voice on the other end of the line who never once stopped believing in you.

And then… you became something more.

Charlie's Angel.

Not long after you started college out in California, with wide eyes and ambition for your future, you were approached by a curious agency. The Townsend Agency. It wasn’t like anything you expected. There were no job postings or open interviews. Just a whisper, a test, and then a door you didn’t even know was there opened right in front of you.

What followed was a whirlwind training that pushed your body to its limits, missions that tested your mind and your morals, and partnerships that carved something fierce and beautiful into your soul. You weren’t alone in it, either. There were two other girls—no, women—who became your teammates, your family, your sisters in everything but blood. Together, the three of you tackled the impossible. Missions took you all over the world—scaling rooftops, decoding encrypted files on the fly, surviving car chases, shootouts, betrayal. It was thrilling. Dangerous. Meaningful. Just the kind of beautiful chaos you lived for. Like a good Mitchell. You always did love flying close to the sun.

That being said… you still haven’t told your dad.

Not because you didn’t want to. You did… do. You’ve come close a dozen times, standing at the edge of the truth with your phone in hand or your heart in your throat, thinking this is it. But it never felt quite right.

Because how do you tell Maverick, the legendary naval aviator, your fighter pilot of a father, that his little girl became a spy?

Not a doctor or a lawyer or a quiet observer behind a desk. No, you became an Angel, a full-blown, off-the-books, world-saving, chaos-wrangling secret agent. You jump out of planes sometimes without a parachute, trusting only your timing and a teammate’s hand to catch you. You've fought trained mercenaries twice your size in the back alleys of foreign cities. You’ve disarmed bombs with ten seconds left on the clock. Posed as arms dealers, infiltrated corrupt corporations, survived car crashes, scaled a glass building in Dubai with nothing but suction grips and nerves, hotwired a moving car in Paris while dodging sniper fire.

And somehow still walked away—bloody, bruised, but grinning with your sisters.

How do you sit your dad down and say, “Hey, remember how you used to panic when I scraped my knee on the monkey bars? Well, now I carry lockpicks in my heels and can kill a man with a paperclip.”

Your friends tell you to just do it. “He’ll understand,” they say. “He’s military. He gets it, he's done dangerous things all his life."

But you know better.

He was a father first. He always had been, even when he wasn’t physically there, even when he was halfway around the world, flying high above everything. His heart was always anchored to you. You were his little girl, his sunshine, his soft spot in a hard-edged world, who checked your helmet twice before you could ride a bike, who made you text the second you got somewhere, worried when you scraped your knee, when you stayed up too late studying.

He was Maverick. Top Gun. Hero to most. But to you, he was just Dad.

So no, it’s not easy. Not when you know the truth will make his pulse spike and his mind race to every worst-case scenario. Not when you can still picture his face the day you fell off the beam at your gymnastics meet and he looked like the world had ended.

But still… there’s a part of you that hopes—when the moment comes, when you do tell him—he won’t just see the danger. He’ll see the strength, the purpose, the pride.

That somewhere deep down, the Maverick in him will recognize the Angel in you... Today is not that day, though.

Not when you’ve finally managed to visit after months apart—not because you didn’t want to come sooner, but because life had a funny way of keeping you both busy. His schedule was packed with flights and trainings and whatever top-secret projects still pulled at the edges of his life. Yours… well, yours was classified. Let’s just say saving the world tends to mess with your calendar.

But now, with a rare stretch of time off, you showed up at his hangar-home like no time had passed at all. He met you at the door with that familiar squint and slow-building smile, arms pulling you into one of those hugs that made you feel twelve again, like the universe could shrink down to just the two of you and still be enough.

You showed off your latest toy—a vintage, growling Mercedes-Benz Heritage, sleek and silver, like something out of a Bond film. He gave it an approving nod, muttered something about it being too pretty to trust you behind the wheel, and you both laughed like no time had passed.

At some point, after he proudly showed you the new project he was working on—an old plane with more history than metal—you insisted on cooking. Said you wanted to treat him. He looked skeptical but stepped aside, letting you take over the tiny kitchen.

The thing is… you might know how to hack into secure government servers blindfolded. You can decode encrypted files while hanging out of a moving vehicle and disarm a bomb with nothing but a bobby pin, chewing gum, and sheer nerve.

But apparently, you still don’t know how long garlic bread is supposed to stay in the oven.

Smoke curled out of the toaster oven like a signal flare, thick and dramatic, as if announcing your failure to the whole Mojave. You stood there, spatula in hand, staring at what used to be garlic bread—but now looked more like a charred fossil.

“Dammit,” you muttered under your breath, coughing as you fanned the smoke with a dishtowel, trying to open a window that didn’t want to budge.

So, you stumbled out of the silver trailer—smoke still trailing behind you like you were escaping a failed op—waving the towel above your head, hoping to clear the air.

"Everything is fine, just give me a vacuum and a YouTube tutorial," you coughed, still fanning the smoky air like your life depended on it. The kitchen now smelled less like garlic and more like defeat.

Then you heard it—your name, called out in a voice that was both familiar and unfamiliar all at once. Warm but deeper. Steady. Older. You froze mid-wave of the dish towel, eyes narrowing as you turned around.

And there he was.

Bradley Bradshaw.

Holy. Shit.

"Bradley!" you gasped, the breath catching somewhere between shock and joy.

Before you could think, you dropped the towel, launched forward, and threw your arms around him. It wasn’t graceful—your elbow clipped his sunglasses, you nearly tripped over your own feet, and there was definitely still flour smeared across your shirt—but none of it mattered. The hug was tight, warm, all the things unsaid wrapped into a single, breathless squeeze.

“Oh, it’s been forever,” you said breathlessly, pulling back just enough to look at him.

You were grinning wildly, eyes dancing, completely caught up in the joy of the moment. What you didn’t notice—not at first—was how stunned he looked.

He blinked, almost like he wasn’t sure how to catch up.

“Look at you!” you said, poking his chest with mock offense. “You grew a mustache!!!”

Bradley let out a soft, incredulous laugh, shaking his head as if trying to make sense of it all.

“And you… grew up,” he said quietly, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud—like the realization had just hit him and slipped past his guard.

“Barely,” your dad chimed in from across the hangar, where he was wiping his hands clean with an old rag, smudged with grease from the plane’s engine. His voice cut through the moment like a well-timed punchline.

You turned just in time to see him eyeing the thin trail of smoke still drifting from the open trailer door.

“Please tell me you did not burn down my kitchen,” he said, eyebrows raised, half-exasperated, half-amused.

You held up your hands in surrender, cheeks flushed. “Not entirely! It’s still standing. Just… maybe don’t open the toaster for a while.”

“Great…” Your dad shot you a long-suffering look, then sighed like a man who’d seen combat but still wasn’t prepared for you in the kitchen. Then he turned to Bradley, wiping the last of the grease from his palms. “Hey, I wasn’t expecting you today.”

“Yeah… uh, just happened to be nearby,” Bradley said, almost too casually. Then he lifted the takeout bag in his hand. “And—looks like I showed up just in time.”

He gave you a small smile, the kind that was soft around the edges and held a hint of something else—something unreadable and warm.

,You grinned at the bag like it was the Holy Grail. “Ohh, like a psychic… or maybe Lady Fate herself. What you brought and please tell me you brought enough for an unexpected mouth?”

“I did,” Bradley smirked, giving the bag a little shake for dramatic flair. “Thai. From a little spot near the base—place looks like a shack but cooks like heaven. One of those joints where they always forget the utensils, but never mess up the order.”

You gasped like he’d just told you he found buried treasure. “My kind of place. Who needs forks when destiny delivers Pad Thai?”

Bradley chuckled, handing you the bag with a knowing grin. “Hope you still like spicy, because I told them to go easy—and they still said ‘mild’ was more of a suggestion than a promise.”

You peeked inside the bag, the smell already making your mouth water. “Perfect. I like my food with a little danger. Keeps me humble.”

Your dad chimed in from behind you, grabbing plates “You say that now, but let’s see you talk tough after the first bite.”

You shot him a look. “Says the man who thinks pepper is a bold seasoning choice.”

The three of you settled in around the small table—plates spread out, drinks poured, laughter drifting lazily through the warm air. Conversation flowed easily, the kind that bounced between memories, light teasing, and just enough catch-up to fill in the gaps years apart had left.

You asked Bradley about his life, his job—nudging him gently with curiosity, dancing around certain topics with the kind of practiced grace that would’ve made Bosley proud. You didn’t lie—you just knew how to steer. How to let a story breathe without giving away the details underneath.

While delicately munching on a spring roll, you hummed quietly, savoring the flavor, then murmured without thinking, “I’ve been craving them like crazy since I came back from Thailand.”

Bradley, mid-bite, paused and looked up with a mild tilt of his head. “You’ve been to Thailand?”

You froze—not visibly, just a flicker of hesitation behind your eyes. The kind of pause most wouldn’t notice. But Bradley had always paid attention.

Still, your smile was easy as you nodded, grabbing your drink for cover. “Yeah. Work keeps me traveling.”

Bradley leaned back slightly, chopsticks in hand, eyeing you with playful suspicion. “Yeah? What do you do, exactly? Something fancy, I imagine, if that car outside is any indication. Since when do you have that kind of taste, huh?”

You raised a brow, feigning offense. “Excuse me, I’ve always had taste.”

He snorted. “Right. Last time I saw you drooling over a car, it was that busted-up ‘Back to the Future’ knockoff you swore was the coolest thing ever. What was it? That rusty little hatchback with spray-painted flames and a bumper sticker that said ‘Flux This’?”

You laughed, nearly choking on your spring roll. “Hey, that car had personality. It was vintage.”

“It was a safety hazard.”

“It was charming!”

Bradley grinned, shaking his head. “You’ve upgraded. I’ll give you that. So, seriously—what do you do now?”

You smiled sweetly, taking another bite of your spring roll with practiced nonchalance.

“I’m a private art conservator,” you said, repeating the same polished line you’d fed your dad years ago—the one you’d carefully crafted to sound just vague and boring enough to kill curiosity.

Bradley blinked. “A what?”

“Art conservator,” you repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I restore paintings and sculptures—help private collectors preserve rare pieces. Lots of travel, lots of delicate work, very serious,”

Bradley glanced at your dad, who didn’t even flinch, too busy digging into his pad see ew like this was Tuesday.

Then he looked back at you, eyes narrowing slightly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Seriously?”

You met his gaze, unblinking. “Dead serious.”

He leaned back in his chair, skeptical. “You? Art conservator? The same girl who once glued googly eyes onto her dad’s Elvis poster because—and I quote—‘It improved the emotional depth’?”

You shrugged, all cool confidence. “Every great artist starts somewhere.”

Bradley laughed, shaking his head. “Unreal.”

“Hey,” you said, pointing your chopsticks at him. “Don’t knock the hustle. Art is very fragile. Almost as fragile as, say… classified intel of the worlds economy on a microchip hidden in the frame of a nineteenth-century oil painting inside the vaults of the luvre.”

Both Bradley and your dad raised their eyebrows in perfect unison, like a synchronized team of disbelief.

You blinked, then raised your hands. “Kidding, pass the rice please."

Bradley chuckled and reached for the plate, shaking his head as he handed it over.

“See, that’s what I find unreal,” he said, his voice laced with something halfway between nostalgia and awe. “You were always… I don’t know. Too clever and smart for your own good.”

Your dad grunted in agreement, still chewing.

You tilted your head, scooping rice onto your plate with a lazy grin. “Is that your way of saying I was annoying?”

He smirked. “Terribly. But also kind of a genius. I always figured you’d end up running some multibillion-dollar tech company or… I don’t know, sending astronauts to Mars.”

You snorted. “Wow, aim high, why don’t you?”

He leaned his elbows on the table, studying you. “I did. You had that kind of brain, y’know? The kind that never turned off. It always felt like you were thinking ten steps ahead of everyone else.”

You paused for just a second, fingers tightening on the chopsticks before you smiled again, softer this time. “Still am, just not in the way most people would guess.”

Bradley narrowed his eyes slightly, playful but curious. “Yeah, I’m starting to get that.”

You returned to your food, casually scooping rice onto your plate, but you could still feel Bradley’s eyes on you—curious, watching like he was trying to piece together a puzzle he didn’t know he’d started.

“So,” you said, changing the subject with a too-bright smile, “what about you, Lieutenant Mustache? Still flying? Still breaking hearts?”

Your dad let out a soft snort, clearly enjoying the turn of the conversation.

Bradley leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, giving you a look. “I’ll have you know the mustache has become a very powerful asset.”

You raised a brow. “Does it come with a security clearance?”

“Practically,” he said with mock pride. “Still flying, still in uniform… just with slightly more facial hair and responsibility.”

“Terrifying,” you muttered, hiding a grin behind your drink—because in all honesty, that mustache looked damn good on him. Not that you’d ever admit it out loud. At least not yet.

There was a beat of silence after that, easy and warm. The kind that settles between people who’ve shared enough history to skip over the awkward parts. Three lives woven through time, scattered and now briefly realigned. It felt like no time had passed at all—and somehow like everything had changed.

Your dad stood with a quiet groan, stretching his back as he grabbed the empty soda cans and crumpled napkins.

“I’ll grab more,” he said casually. “Napkins, too, since someone eats like she’s still thirteen.”

You shot him a look. “Rude.”

“But true,” he replied over his shoulder, disappearing inside the trailer.

And just like that, you and Bradley were alone.

The hangar fell into a soft, ambient quiet—just the hum of the overhead fan, the distant creak of the cooling engine, and the sound of Bradley’s thumb absentmindedly tapping the rim of his drink.

He looked over at you, eyes thoughtful. “So… ‘private art conservator,’ huh?”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Still hung up on that?”

“Just trying to picture it,” he said, tone teasing but curious. “You, in gloves, hunched over a painting with a little brush.”

You leaned in slightly, resting your elbow on the table. “What, you don’t think I’ve got the patience for restoration?”

“I think you’ve got the precision,” he said, eyes not leaving yours. “I’m just not used to you being quiet for long.”

You smiled slowly, the kind of smile that said you’re not the only one who’s changed. “People grow up, Bradshaw.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, gaze flicking down and then back to you again. “Apparently, they do.”

The tension between you wasn’t thick, but it was there, like static. Familiar and new, cautious and curious. It buzzed just beneath the surface, waiting- your phone began to ring.

The sudden sound made you flinch just slightly, dragging you out of the moment. You set your plate down with a reluctant clink and fished the phone from your pocket.

Bosley.

Your eyes flicked to Bradley for half a second—he was watching you, still relaxed but alert, picking up on the shift in your energy. You forced a smile, one hand already tucking the phone to your ear as you stood.

“Gimme a sec,” you said casually, stepping away from the table, from him, from that dangerous almost-moment.

You put the phone to your ear, trying to keep your voice casual. “Hello… Yeah, okay. I’ll be right in.”

You hung up, slipped the phone back into your pocket, and took a moment to school your features before turning back around. A practiced smile curved across your lips—effortless, easy. You walked back to the table like you hadn’t just been called back into a secret life.

Bradley was still seated, watching you with mild curiosity, like he knew something wasn’t adding up but didn’t know quite what.

“Everything good?” he asked, tone neutral but eyes searching.

“Yeah,” you said with a shrug that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Work. Something I need to take care of.”

Before he could say more, your dad emerged from the trailer with two cans of soda under one arm and a bundle of napkins in the other.

“Alright, I brought backup—oh.” He paused, catching the shift in your expression, one you always wear when you need to leave impromptu. “You leaving already?”

You gave him an apologetic look. “Duty calls.”

He sighed, handing over a soda anyway. “Figures. You show up after a year, almost burn my kitchen down, steal my spring rolls, then vanish.”

You grinned and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Classic me.”

Your dad chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t be a stranger and text me ass soon as you get there.”

"Of course and don’t worry I'll come back as soon as I can."

You turned to Bradley, catching his gaze again—still curious, still trying to piece together the puzzle of who you were now.

“Guess I owe you a proper catch-up,” you said softly.

He stood, nodding slowly. “Yeah. You do.”

And just like that, you slid into your sleek silver Mercedes, the engine purring to life beneath your fingertips like it knew exactly where you were going—and why. One last glance in the rearview mirror caught the faintest reflection of your dad watching from the hangar, soda in hand, and Bradley still standing by the table, napkin clutched loosely in his fingers, brow furrowed like he wasn’t quite ready for you to disappear again.

You gave a small wave—half playful, half I’ll be back—then pulled out of the dusty lot, tires crunching against gravel as the sun dipped lower behind you.

Back to the mission.

Back to the life they didn’t know about.

Back to saving the day, as usual.

Y/N: Heyyy hope you enjoyed ittttt. There's something about Top Gun x Charlie's Angels that just scratched my brain just right, y'know? One of my favs movies ever.

[fandoms--fluff]

Hcs for being Natasha “Phoenix’s” sister from top gun?

Being Phoenix's Sister Headcannons

She's five years older than you but holds that over you from time to time

You met Bradley and Jake after her Top Gun class graduation

Bradley treats you as his own little sister

And Hangman annoys you to no end, to which you annoy him right back

You've also got a flying license, you're just not a naval aviator

Nat and Bradley taught you how to fly an F-14 in sligjt combat, that was a week after their top gun grad.

Under no circumstances does Phe let you use the stove or the oven. She barely let's you use the microwave without her watch when she's state side

^Which is fair, considering the amount of fires you've had to extinguish

You live off a bunch if vending machine food at the top gun base

And that's how you met your sister's CO, Pete Mitchell, for the special detachment her, Bradly and jackass (aka Jake) were called back for. He caught you kicking the vending machine since it stopped half way through, not dropping the bag of chips you paid for.

To which you guys had a pretty good conversation together, forgetting to mention you're not an actual aviator.

He didn't learn about who you are until after the suicide mission. He saw you and Nat huh each other tightly after everyone got back state side, on the beach. Everyone was relaxing on the beach after the huge excitement that had happened.

Nat introduced you to him as her little sister, and you chuckled as his mouth gaped in surprise.

Everyone watches as you throw one of the footballs they brought at Hangman after him insulting your sister.

^Bradley giving you a fistbump and Nat sighs while trying to hide her smile.

You, Nat and Halo have a big sleepover movie night, just the three of you girls. Halo taking a liking to you, seeing a lot of Nat in you.

You 'borrow' a bunch of Nat's navy sweaters and wear them around the base and the Hard Deck, seeing how many people will belive that you're in the Navy.

You and Penny become good friends at the bar

^you learn some (a lot of) dirt on Maverick from her

Bradley explains to you about his relationship with Maverick and you may or may not have smacked him upside the head about how he cut connection with the man

^to which he agreed he deserved

The whole dagger squad now treat you as their baby sister and you can't go anywhere without 'protection' aka one of them.

You love your big sister to death, when you were younger you wanted to be just like her. Strong, loyal, pretty and much more.

Amelia and you become good friends, you like a mentor to her and teaching her about different flight maneuvers with model planes, everything you learnt from Nat and Bradley...and maybe....maybe Jake.

[tongue-like-a-razor]

There Are Circumstances

Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x F!Reader

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

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

WC: 3000+

This is Part 4 in the There Are Rules universe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, am I?” you respond scathingly.

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

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

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

“That’s the word you used” –

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

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

“Why are you starting a fight?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare at him in disbelief.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, this is punishment?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

“I said no, Lieutenant.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Another pilot?”

Cyclone grimaces. “Maverick pulled a stunt.”

“A stunt, sir?”

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

Your heart sinks. “He went back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

“Y/N,” he warns as you draw nearer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maverick sets his jaw. “Precisely.”

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not what this is about” –

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

“It won’t change how I feel” –

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

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

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

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

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

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

Read Part 5

Tag List:

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

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[missmarveledsblog]

Where the hell have you been ... all my life ( Bradley Bradshaw x reader )

summary : when a pretty woman shows up at the bar well there's a questions on rooster lips only to find out she not that much of a stranger

warning : fluffy as hell it since my bet on it series been angsty as hell , age gap 10 years , fast burn because this rooster is a hopeless romantic

Friday a beautiful day of the week , one that signified the start of the weekend , one of sleeping in and being lazy . one of not training recruits or test flights  it was glorious day of the week and what made it better was having a drink or two after long hard week .  The perfect place to do such a thing was the hard deck of course a place  he know  all his life , fond memories that laced in it walls  and now he was following foot steps of the greatest men in his life . something surreal about being back even though he’s been here years now.  In all his memories and all his life though he never saw the place as busy as it was shit he couldn’t even see the bar at all as his fellow naval officers crowds the space excitedly. 

“ hey bradshaw got you a beer “ nat held the bottle up as he noticed the rest of the bar was empty , women tag chaser sitting at vacant table eyeing up the men that weren’t paying attention . 

“ penny have a deal on or something ?” he took the beer his head tilt wondering what the commotion could be . 

“some thing like that ?” she snorted as she looked to see her fellow dagger squad members coming back pouting like children . 

“ what’s wrong with you  guys “ 

“ we couldn’t get to talk to her long , jake did though” javy rolled his eyes . 

“ yeah she rejected him “ fanboy snorted . 

“ she did not reject me , all she said was she busy which she is “ the blonde shrugged . 

“ a girl all of this over a girl” he laughed wavy his arm in the direction of  the crowd . 

“ a very hot girl even bob went up “ payback smirked.

“ what are you highschoolers “ rooster snorted . 

“ once you see her man you will understand” was all jake said before he and guys  spilt into teams . 

He hated it , hated how right jake was because when the crowd started to push back either reject or fear of rejection he caught the sight of a woman that made his throat dry up and his mouth water all in one hell if he knew that’s what was waiting at the bar all this time he would of climbed his fellow navy brothers.  Everything was perfection from those eyes that sparkle or a smile warm enough to rivaled  the sun . maybe he was a highschooler because the moment his eyes hit hers well fuck he almost swallowed the bottle whole , glass and all .  He didn’t listen to his friends  “ told you so “ or  much of anything as  he strolled leisurely over to the bar or though he thinks he did .  he watch and waited his turned how he was almost  a goofy grin on his face as he watched her laugh and joke with the older men trying to relive their youth til that smile was directed at him , how  he went from wow to deer in headlights real fast . not wanting to screw it up or make a fool of himself as she got closer and closer. 

“ what can  i get you “ she smiled nearly melting him into the seat and he sighed out his order. 

Sitting on the seat he turned to see an older guy nodded and winking before nudging his head  in her direction as bradley grimaced turning his attention to anything but . it was the beer it had to be the alcohol to why words where failing him . then she came back handing his beer bright smile once more before asking him if he needed anything else which at that point he should of said “ no thank you “ but instead he asked : 

“ i need to know where the hell you’ve been…  all  my life” .

He could feel the cringe of his own words and action building throughout  , cursing his brain and mouth for betraying him in such a way and yet astonishingly  she didn’t throw a drink  in his face or tell him get the hell out but instead she broke out into laughter .

“ on the ground  while your in the sky flyboy “ she called before heading to serve another patron . 

“ how you know i’m a fly boy “ he asked turning her attention back to him . 

“ because i know flyboys all my life can tell em a mile away “ she shrugged . 

“ parents in the navy ? or family member… please don't say a husband or boyfriend  “ he winked. 

“ nah none of that .. my dad is … speak of the devil “ she nodded to the door as he turned wondering which of his higher ups produced one of the most beautiful women he’s ever known to exist only for that smile to falter the moment his eyes clapped on pete mitchell . 

“ Mav.. oh my god y/n “ he gasped  .

 “ how you know my name?” her head tilted making her look even more adorable in his eyes . 

“ see you bumped into bradley , whats it been ten years since you seen each other” pete smiled proudly seeing the two together . 

“so that’s where i was all your life growing up “ she snorted . 

“ yeah not my proudest moment … should let me take you dinner make it up “ .

“ don’t you mean catch up “ pete asked as penny stood knowing smile looking between the two . 

“ whatever gets her to say yes to dinner and i stop looking like an idiot “ . 

“ wouldn’t want that “ she amused smile on her face . 

“ actually its quiet here so why don’t you get off early since start of your first night was so crazy “ penny winked . 

“ ok let me grab my stuff “  she shrugged . 

“ i’ll say by to my friends “ he nodded.  “ especially jake” he added almost bouncing to his group . 

“ what just happened “ pete scratched the back of his neck . 

“ just fate unfolding before your eyes ” penny smirked as she handed him a beer. 

The smile on his face , nothing could take it off not even bagman when he got to his friends . 

“ she turn ya down listen chicken i’ll take care of her” he snickered . 

“ i got a date see you tomorrow, maybe not ..” he went to turn only for them to crowd him.

“ how you get a date .. shit i should of went up  “ the blonde cursed . 

“ funny thing actually  i know her well last time i saw her was when she was a kid … that doesn’t sound good anyways she grown up and hot … “ 

“ stop talking before i call the cops “ nat grimaced. 

“ it’s not like that you sicko  , i mean is this is gonna be my future wife i can already tell so i’ll  keep you updated especially bagman and i’ll see you later “ he almost sang as he headed to where she was waiting . 

“ you ready to go old man ?” she asked walking out ahead of him . 

“ hey i’m not that old” he called after her the big smile on his face said he didn’t care . 

“ rooster gonna be my son in law isn’t he” pete sighed as he watched the two disappear out into the night .

“ i mean your already like a father figure in his life why not add in law at the end of it “ penny nudged him excited to see the story unfold .

He couldn't believe the shift in his night , he wanted to pinch himself to see if it was real that was til he felt the sting on his forearm . 

“ did you just pinch me ?” he chuckled . 

“ yeah i was asking where are we going ?” she laughed . 

“ oh yeah i should of asked where would you like huh?  “ he smiled nervously . 

“ here give me your phone “ she rolled her eyes taking it from him hand putting in her own address unaware to him . 

“  so what made you come to san diego and your mom how is she ?” he asked softly . 

“ mom is good married to another mom lila ,   oh and i came to go college and hopefully become a doctor dad’s trying to get me to  work on base but i told him it not how that works “ she rolled her eyes .

“ i knew it .. about your mom i mean her and Mav never made sense plus i’ve seen her eye up some of the moms  at your plays and stuff “ he exclaimed making that beautiful melody that was her laugh. 

“ dude you never realized  that my mom and Mav were never actually together it was just to my grandfather happy  and me a product of too many drinks and experimentation which honestly i wish my mom took to her grave , my dad got me and to look like he was well getting his shit together but well he’s pete mitchell that only last so long “ . 

“ now that you say it i never saw them be a couple like buddies at best “ his brows furrowed. 

“ he had more sexual tension with ice than he did my mom ,  but my mom is happiest she been in year and mama lila is awesome  all about vibes and auras  while my mom is still navy seriousness they balance each other out “ she explained . 

“  so navy baby with peace and love  turns out to be a doctor ?”he chuckled. 

“ healing hands bradshaw  best booboo helper since pre k “ she winked. 

“ working in the hard deck ?” 

“ oh that’s just help penny out since she my step mom” . 

“ hey you got all these moms and i got no parents ? no fair share with orphan ?” he poke her sides making her burst into eruptions of giggles .  “ wait where are we?” he asked looking around to see nothing but houses .

“ well you never said where we were going so i thought my place so i can make you food instead … i mean you are my future husband if i heard correctly “ she got out of the car coy smile on her face. 

“ wait your heard that .. oh shit i was just .. i didn’t … “ 

“ are you coming or not ?” she called . 

“ yes ma’am “ 

@shanimallina87 something fluffy since my bet on it series is in sad stage

[warnersister]

Post Show Pleazures (Twizted Bliss) - Rockstar!Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

[Bradley Bradshaw x reader, rooster x reader]

Summary: your band was performing as DaggeR 1’s warmup act on their world tour; a group significantly younger than the Nu metal heads - and Rooster thought he could handle having you around, could handle his own hard on’s. But you’re a month in and Manchester proves otherwise.

Warnings: smut, age gap relationship 35//24, degradation, p in v, no protection, oral (m receiving), begging, basically Roo being a perv

This was originally about Munky from Korn, but it didn’t do well so if you’re into Korn maybe check out the original here

Rooster was a respectful guy, he’s midway through his umpteenth fucking world tour for God’s sake, a grown ass man. He kept his distance, stayed way back, promised himself he wouldn’t do anything to make you uncomfortable; only a young thing after all.

It was all fun and games until it came time for the bands to be introduced to one another. DaggeR 1 had sit in their studio and their manager had put on your music for them all to listen to before they agreed to anything, just like them - a Nu metal mashup with screaming and incoherency every now and then. And they had to admit, you could fucking sing.

And then it was organised, the posters printed, the ads sent out - Twizted Blizter would front for DaggeR 1 in their upcoming tour, formally meeting the week prior in order to get all your affairs straight. “I’m telling you dude she’s real good” Jake said, pushing open the door to the studio as himself and Rooster discussed you.

Rooster stopped in his tracks when he was faced with a young woman with her hands on her hips, stood like some undead Avril Lavigne, smoky eyeshadow, pierced brow, sharp dark nails and this stupid shit eating smirk that he could kiss off your face- wait what?

“Hey! This is the band I was telling you guys about!” Jake introduced you all to each member of the band, Rooster’s eyes lingering on you a little more than necessary. And as you shook his hand and your tongue protruded to wet your blackened lips, teeth bared as you grinned up at him and voice a hell of a lot softer than he expected judging on your voice’s ability to warp into some hellish chant. “It’s a pleasure to meet you” you say meekly, nails scratching his skin slightly as he reluctantly pulled his hand away from your own. “You’ve got rhythm” he tells you and you smile again, appreciatively “that’s what they all say” you reply with a wink. He hadn’t a chance to compute that underlying meaning that sentence suggested, before you shook Coyote’s hand.

“Y’ wanna watch the band?” Coyote asked, walking out of his dressing room; beer in hand. Rooster looked at him and shrugged. “Alright man” your set had already started, band already getting into their stride as the beat gyrated through the venue’s flooring. Rooster took a swig from the bottle as he watched you throw profanities into the mic; hair frazzled around your head, makeup running, sweat dripping off your body, nails digging into your thighs and creating crescent shaped indentations beginning to leak with blood as you scraped them up your skin like a satanic tattoo artist.

Rooster barely made it through the first song before he had to force his way back to the bathrooms, just to rub one out before the show - angrily cursing himself as he hated the way he thought about you, the way you carried yourself, the way he could have you. You were over a decade younger than him and this was disgusting. But as he climaxed and moaned out your name, it felt so goddamn right.

“Mr Bradshaw?” He heard from behind him as he prepared for his own set, head still foggy. He turned to see you staring up at him through your lashes, fingers on one hand fiddling with the index nail on the other, nervously chewing your lip. He gulped at the way you called him. “Yeah hun?” He found himself saying, like some pensioner talking to the teenage intern at the nutcase ward. “Did you like our set?” You asked him, tone dripping with nerves. “Holy fuck yeah it sure was good” he tells you with a smile “really?” Your face lit up as you took a step forward and he certainly didn’t step back. “Yeah. Damn good singer you are.” He tells you and you giggle giddily. “Thank you” you tell him, appreciatively. “I really look up to you as an artist, Mr Bradshaw.” You tell him, honestly. And he almost can’t help but think your honey-laced words are fakery for the horny shit you were doing ten minutes ago. “You do?” He found himself asking, dreamily. Get your shit together, man. You nodded in response. “It’s an honour to be working with you and your band.” You say with a child-like grin, your eyes darting down and up again as fast as they had. “Best of luck for your set.” You said, taking a sip of water. “Not that you need it” you tell him, pivoting and walking in the other direction.

Rooster sighs heavily and runs a hand over his face, seeing his flustered reflection in the mirror across from him, distracted by the obvious wet patch on his trousers. Did you see that? Shit.

And that’s how it went for the rest of the North America tour. You’d play, he’d rub one out, and then he’d head to the stage already dripping in sweat as he’d see your eyes watching him tentatively.

It was on the way to the UK tour when the two bands were mingling on the plane, Rooster excusing himself to get a drink and walking past your group. He looked at your face, sleeping soundly in the arms of your drummer who looked like a shitty Travis Barker wannabe, who raised an eyebrow at Rooster and smirked.

He felt his nostrils flare as he walked on, having to force himself to walk past the two of you again only to see not-Travis stroking your hair and pushing it out of your face and Rooster could tell it was clearly for his benefit. He felt a twisting pang of jealously in his chest as whatshisface threaded a hand under your thighs to pull you closer. Rooster just shook his head and walked back to his seat.

God this is so fucking wrong.

Manchester, England. Ironically where your band formed so you knew exactly where all the best bars were in the area - and as usual, your band was on before DaggeR 1 - your expression hazy and dazed as you blared into the microphone, clawing at your own skin with such desperation Rooster so wished you’d take out on him. And of course, he had to have his inaugural trip to a more private area to sort out his predicament before anyone saw the boner he was nursing.

In his dressing room, he sat palming at the obvious tent in his pants. Cursing himself as he urged his cock for some sort of relief, moaning your name reiteratively like some sort of sickened chant. “Mr Bradshaw?” He heard your voice from the door as you looked at him with widened, evidently startled eyes. “Shit! I-” he began before you slammed the door behind you, him hearing a “sorry!” Squeaked from you and he rushed to pull his pants up and sprint for the door, grabbing your wrist before you could go anywhere. “Did you hear that?” He asked and you gulped with a slight nod. “Shit I’m so sorry-” he began as you pulled your hand away “I didn’t mean to interrupt-” “you must think I’m such a pervert.” He says, running his hands through his hair. “Look I’m so fucking sorry, you must think I’m a real creep, I’m so much older than you and I’m rubbing one out after your sets and it’s disgusting and-” he rants. “Mr Bradshaw” you cut him off and he looks at you. “It’s ok.” You say and he raises his brows. “It is?” You nod “it is perverted but it’s okay cause I get off to you too-” you say honestly and he grunts involuntarily. “You what?” “You heard me” you reply and he grits his jaw. “I can help you Mr Bradshaw-” “shit” he swears and drags you back into his dressing room, making sure to shut the door tightly and pushing you against it.

“Are you okay with what I’m ’bouta do to you?” He asks and you consent “I’m a grown ass woman Mr Bradshaw” you say “I’m okay with it” “shit call me that again” “Mr Bradshaw?” He groans “yeah that” “Mr Bradshaw” his knees go weak and he slinks back onto his couch with a groan, watching you sink to your knees as you undo his pants and palming him through his boxers. “Please forgive me I’m so disgusting” he says, as you take him into your hand “I’m a filthy pervert” he breathes as you lick a stripe up the bottom of his cock “you’re too pure for a sick old man like me” he says, as your head begins to bob “I don’t deserve this.” He says, embarrassed how quickly he was building up to his orgasm “please make me cum” he begs as you hollow out your cheeks and he shoots cum into the back of your throat, throwing his head back as he watches you swallow his cum through hooded eyelids.

“Shit” he groans as he pulls you forward as he stands up, laying you on your back on the couch “how much do you like these pants?” He asks and you shrug as he uses a decent deal of effort to rip the flimsy material along with your underwear. “They were expensive though-” you sigh “shit I’m sorry. I should’ve checked, I’m such a sleaze. So desperate for you. I’ll take you shopping, I sound like some goddamn sugar daddy-” “Bradley, it’s okay.” You tell him and he groans pathetically as he sinks into you, your arms reaching around his neck as he peppers kisses onto your stage-sweated face. “M sorry. ‘M such a perv.” He reiterates again and again and you shut him up by kissing him firmly on the lips and clawing your sharp nails into his back.

“You are a perv” you breathe “‘nd this shouldn’t feel right” you agree and he cries out “I look up to you” you say “and I’m letting you down” he groans, feeling you hook your legs around his waist. “But I can’t stop it’s so good” he moans as he cums inside of you, watching your face contort in pleasure as you came moments after. “Shit I came inside of you, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” “you’re good” you breathe with a smile, catching your breath as he pulls out of you and provides you with an oversized pair of khakis in lieu of your trousers in odder to accommodate the lack there of, collecting himself and looking at you, hands delicately reaching up to cradle your face as he looks you over, touch so gentle as if you were an antique doll. “M sorry you’re too good for me. He says, kissing your forehead. “It’s okay Mr Bradshaw, I liked it.” He groaned as you kissed his palm and leant into his touch.

“Oh Mr Bradshaw, I made your back bleed” you say, eyes full of concern as a drop of blood seeps onto your thumb. He takes your hand in his and licks the blood off your thumb “good I deserve to be punished.” He says, walking you backward until your back hit the door, leaning against it and effectively trapping you on it as he leans down to pepper your lips with hot open mouth kisses. “M such a pervert”

“Two minutes, Rooster” you heard from beyond the door as he moaned, frustrated. “You’ll be great, Mr Bradshaw. Like you always are” you tell him, eyes full of pride. “And I’ll be in here when you’re done” you promise and he whimpers “make sure you don’t have the pants on” he says, before smacking his own head “asshole” he curses himself as you open the door “go be great, Rooster” you say as he walks over the threshold. “Don’t you want a shirt?” You ask and he walks away with a bleeding back “nah they can watch me bleed knownin’ it was you, princess” he says, thrusting his hands into his hair as he cursed himself for being such a crude and corruptive son of a bitch.

And he cried and fucked you all over again once the show was done, feeling every bit guilty- but not really.

And in the following show, Leeds, he sat through your whole set and as soon as you walked off stage, he picked you up at the waist and slung you over his shoulder, marching running to his dressing room not really taking care as to who sees, offering a cocky look to your drummer as you head past him. “Pervert” he says under his voice “hell yeah I am!” He shouts with a holler as he licked the exposed skin on your upper thigh, “and she’s gonna fuck me and call me names until I feel so guilty I cry!” slamming the door shut behind the two of you.

[lieutenantfloyd]

More of my favorite photos + gifs of Tom Cruise! ♡

[helloitstsyu]

TikTok Tease | Tom Cruise 18+

My masterlist

Summary : You did a tiktok video in front of Tom and teased him with it.

a/n : saw something on tiktok and just can't stop to think about this. here's the link . Also i tried smtg different, this is on reader's POV.

Pairing : Tom Cruise x Fem¡reader

Wc: 2k ish

Warning : smut. do not enter if you're minor

I saw this video and I'm itching to do it to Tom. He's upstairs right now in his office having his last phone call meeting for the day. Meanwhile I'm just down here in the kitchen preparing for our dinner while i jammed to A Gangester's Wife by Ms Krazie.

"Darling?" his voice shoots in between the upbeat tune.

Looking up, Tom's walking down the stairs. Donning a casual navy polo shirt and a pair of jeans, he looks just as ravishing as he always is.

"Hi babe, dinner's almost ready.." i smile to him as he walks closer and joins me in the kitchen. "Everything okay with the call?" I ask.

"Yeah..." he nods with a smile. "It went well. We still have to call the studio and ask for the greenlight, but yeah, everything sorted out one by one— is that my favorite pesto?" He leans to the stove and takes a look at the food that I'm cooking. Tom takes an inhale deeply at the smoking food on the stove. "Ahh.. smells amazing," he grins.

I chuckle, "Two more minutes, and I'll be done,"

"Okay.." Tom sits down on one of the stool right in front of me. He he stares at me with glimmering eyes, kid-like kind of stares. He props his chin with both hands. His big smile never leaves as his eyes glued on me.

"What are you a five year old?" I laugh and shake my head.

Tom chuckles. His eyes dart down to see what I'm wearing. Suddenly, those cheeky grins turn into a dirty smirk as he furrows his brows. His glimmering eyes turn darker.

"Is that a new apron?" Tom cocks an eyebrow.

Looking down at the blue stripy apron on my body, i remember i just ordered this a couple of weeks ago since i get bored with the other basic black apron. Blue is Tom's favorite color, i thought it would be appropriate to buy it in this color. Seems like he likes it.

"Uh-huh." i nod.

"Hmm," Tom squints his eyes and smirks. "Looks good on you, darling," his voice suddenly changes, drops an octave deeper.

"Is that so?" I tease him with a slight head titl as i turn off the stove. I lick the spilled pesto on my finger while i look up to his eyes with that sireny-spelled gaze.

Tom chuckles, he shakes his head, "Baby.. no! I'm hungry. We're gonna just eat this delicious dinner you made." His smile is wide despite the stern in his voice.

"Okay!" You laugh, "What else are we gonna do– it's done. Stop gawking at me and help me plate,"

Tom laughs, "Gawking at you?" He repeats as he stands up and turns around the island. Tom captures me, his hands around my waist, and he pulls me closer to him. "How am i gawking at you, huh?" he tickles me.

I giggle and try to stop his attacking tickles. "Tom! Tom, stop!" I laugh and try to hold down his tickling fingers. Tom grabs me and pulls me to his chest. He places a deep kiss on my temple.

"Go on, help me plate, please," you ask nicely. He finally lets go of me and takes some plates from the cabinet.

Remembering i have a bright idea of how to tease him (again). I set my phone against the oil bottle. He doesn't even see me setting up my phone. Tom just focuses on scooping the pesto pasta to our serving plate. I take off the apron i wore and undo my messy bun.

Then i just pressed the record button.

The song plays, and he noticed I'm recording. He stops, and he looks up at my phone screen.

Daddy let me know that I'm the only girl. The only man that i need in this gangster world.

I mouth along the lyrics as it plays. Tease him a little by leaning down a little bit too seductively cause i was feeling the song. His mouth drops open. His eyes widen in a surprise to find my little tease. I can't help to get out of character and laugh at his shocked, stalled-breath expression. Tom's blushing, and he's absolutely stunned. Tom laughs and quickly hoists me off the screen.

"Darling!!" He laughs, Tom picks me up like my bodyweight is nothing, setting me to sit on top of the granite top island.

Hooked in. Nailed it. Just the right thing to do to turn him on.

I just can't stop laughing. Tom keeps giggling, and his face turns even a brighter shade of red. His eyes flickers lightly. "Did you call me daddy, love?" Tom asks.

"Hmm... Maybe.." i shrug my shoulders.

He shakes his head, he's smile never seems this wide. The earlier tiredness on his face seems to be gone. "You little minx," he whispers as he pulls my chin and kisses my lips.

"Say it again," he demands.

Chuckling, I shake my head.

"Darling... say it again," his voice is low, and sexily hoarse. The way his demeanor shifted as he commanded me, it struck a tingling heat inside of me straight to my toes.

"Daddy." I whisper.

"Mmmhmm.." Tom grins, showing his satisfaction from hearing me say the new nickname. "How did the song go again?" He asks. His nails are clawing on my thighs. He knows i like it when he does this. I muffled a whimper, my head rolling, and falling back. "Tommy..." i murmur.

Tom uses the advantage to place a kiss on my neck. He grips my hips and pulls me closer to him. He gradually picks up his pace, erotically sucks and nibs my sweet spot, earning me to moan lightly into his ears. "Tom..." i whimper, my fingers gripping the collar of his shirt.

I feel warmth tingling inside of me. Excitement rushing in my veins. I feel myself pooling under there.

His heated kiss moves down to my collar bone as his hands never stop to explore my body. He cups my tits. Kneading them and his finger circling my erected nipples.

"I thought you said you were hungry?"

He lifts his face off my breast and looks back to me. He gives me a wild smirk. "I am. Starving right now."

His hand slips underneath my tanktop, shifting it up to reveal my naked breast underneath. He passionately kneading one in his hand while he's busy sucking roughly the other. I moan, fingers running through his soft brunette strands, the feeling of his warmth slick tongue on my nipple starts to bring tingling pleasure throughout my body.

Opening my eyes, i look back straight to his eyes. His eyes darken with lust. He looks amazingly intoxicating. Sometimes, it still hasn't kicks in that i have him for real. That I have the sexiest bachelor of Hollywood all for myself.

I pull him by his shirt and kiss him again. Tongue hungrily meeting his. I desperately pull him even closer to me. His fingers tucks on the waistband of my shorts. He takes my shorts off and toss it onto the floor. Spreading my legs apart widely, Tom chuckles at my submissive display.

Tom shakes his head and takes a step back. "I ask you something, darling. I won't continue if you're not going to answer me." He cocks an eyebrow.

"Wha... Tom!" I exclaim in disbelief. "Kiss me," i mewl. I try to pull him closer to me again, but Tom laughs. He grips my hand and holds it down. "Try me, darling," he challenged me to disobey him. He meant what he said he wouldn't continue till he heard what he wanted to hear. Such a dominant of him.

"What? What do you want?" I chuckle.

"Remind me how the song goes again?"

"Daddy, let me know—" i start to sing the lyrics. A wild smile appears on his face.

"Good girl," he cooes, then he squats down, face to my needing core.

"Ohh--" i moan as i feel his tongue flicking on my clit. "Tom," i purr. He sucks me passionately. His eyes look up to mine. He notices i stopped singing and enjoying the sensation of his oral expertise.

"Finish the song," he commands and eats me roughly again.

"Oh.. fuck—" i moan.

My breath starts to ragging. Feels like my voice is stuck in my throat. I feel the ecstasy starts to forming inside of me, needing for it to be released. My mind buzzing from the pleasure. I buck my head back, fingers tucking on his hair. "Ngh.. Ah! Tommhh," I helplessly moan.

"Sing." Tom tells, and sucks me again.

"D-daddy... let me know that—  oOH!" I lost it again when i feel his fingers entering me. He pumps his fingers in and out of my cunt, coaxing me closer to the edge of spilling all over for him.

Climbing, climbing, pleasure keeps adding: He curls his fingers and make that deadly beckoning movement. He knows my body front and back. He knows exactly how to get me easily falling apart.

"F-fuckk! Yes! Right there!!" I moan, and moan, and moan.

All of a sudden, once I'm nearly gonna cum, Tom stops.

The feeling of unfinished pleasure makes my mind buzz. I whimper and squirm uncomfortably. How cruel is he. "Wha— why'd you stop?" I look down to him.

Tom shoots me an innocent look, he slightly shrugs his shoulders as he brings his coated fingers to his mouth. "You stop singing." He licks his finger clean.

I can't believe this man sometimes. "Oh my God— Tommy!"

Tom can only laugh at me. "That's not my name!" He titls his head to the side.

"Right—" I climb off the island and push him back till his back crashes the other counter. I roughly kiss him, hands circling to the back of his neck, i desperately kiss him.

"Daddy." I say in between the sloppy kisses. Tom smirks against my lips, hearing that nickname. Guess i manage to pull a new kink outta him.

"Daddy, let me know that I'm the only girl."  I whisper to his ear as i place a wet kisses on his neck. "The only man–" i nibs on his neck. "The only fucking man," my hand explores his toned abs, i pull the polo shirt over his head, toss it down to meet my shorts on the floor.

I look up to his eyes. "You're the one that i need in this gangster world, daddy,"

Tom chuckles darkly. He cups my face and pulls me closer to him again. "That's right, I'm the only one," he cooes. He then continues to hungrily kiss me again. His kisses move to my neck, quickly finding my sweet spot, and erotically he nibs it, leaving his mark of ownership on me. I can feel his buldge pressing against me.

"Ouhh, daddy please..." i murmur, practically begging him

"Please? Please what, darling?" He cocks his eyebrows. The excitement is way too apparent in his tone and gaze.

"Let me have you,"

Tom chuckles darkly. "Have me?" He shakes his head, "Oh, I'm having my way with you tonight, darling," He throws me over his shoulder like my bodyweight is a feather. A playful slap lands to my cheek as he brings me to the couch and both of us falling onto the fluffy couch. Tom unbutton his jeans. He doesn't bother to take the whole thing off but just enough to free his cock. He aligns himself to my entrance. His tips rubbing against my opening. Tom instantly bottoms up, his cock fully enters me, stretching me to the brim. I yelp and squeal to his chest.

"You're gonna beg for me to let you cum," he darkly whisper into my ear. Tom starts to fuck me in a relentless pace.

I moan.... hard. My brain rattling with the immense amount of pleasure he's giving me. Tom looks down at me with intense, lustful eyes. His cock went deep inside of me as he have me folded in half with my knees to my chest.

My head falls back, eyeing the ceiling, my vision of the light blurs. "Ohh... god–" my eyes rolls to the back of my head.

"Nonono, eyes on me!" Tom pulls my neck back straight for me to face him again. "Oh you feel so fucking good," he moans. His eyebrows knitting together but his eyes still darkly looks down at me.

My nails dig on his shoulder. Tom leans closer, rest his forehead against mine, eyes still locked on mine. He fucks me so hard that I'm sure I'd be sore tomorrow. But it feels too good that it'll be so wrong to tell him to slow down. And I'm too overtaken by the pleasure. Too drunk with the taste of him.

"F-fuck— Tom!" I moan and panting hard.

"Yeah? Yeah, you wanted this? You think you deserve to cum after you tease daddy like a little slut, huh, darling?"

I can only helplessly nod.

"Tom... don't stop... p-please!" i beg feeling myself getting closer to cum.

"Not stopping, darling... You feel so good, all nice and tight for daddy,"

"O-oh! Tom let me cum please... please!" I cry out begging to him. He just smirks at me, dark lustful eyes looking down at me and still he's fucking me hard.

"Daddy please.. daddy let me cum!" I beg. My walls throbbing around him. I feel fire burning inside of me. My fingers gripping onto the couch hard.

"No! Wait!" He pants.

"S-sshhiit, Tom!" I squirm all over the place, trying my best to hold it.

"Wait baby! Cum with me," Tom leans closer holding me tightly. His forehead resting against mine. His panting breath meeting mine. I cry, couldn't bear the overflowing pleasure needing for the snap to occur.

I can feel his cock throbbing inside of me. He's close. He's holding onto me hard. His thrust starting to get sloppy. And just like that i lose it. The moment i feel him throbbing inside of me i can't help to hold it anymore.

I breathlessly scream daddy over and over again, moaning hard as i make a mess and squirm all over him. The sight of me falling apart got Tom spilling too. "Akhhh! FuUCk! Darling!" Tom groans. He remain freezes as he stills himself empty inside of me.

For a moment, he takes a breather and just rest of top of me. What's better than sex with him is what happened after the sex with him. It's like our soul intertwined, and i just feel a deep connection with him. Tom rolls me over so I'm on top of him, his arms instinctively hugs around me. He kiss me deeply. Still with a messy breath, he look deeply into my eyes with that shimmering after sex glow.

"You okay?" He softly asks.

Still panting i just can smile and nod. Tom kiss me deeply again. "I love you," he whispers softly.

I smile and kiss his cheek. "I love you too, daddy,"

Tom laughs and kisses me deeply again.