#iceman x afab!reader

[callsignthirsty]

Something to Remember Me By

Pairing: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky x F!Reader Summary: Following the graduates’ post-ceremony assignment, Ice becomes stuck in his head. What if Mav hadn’t reengaged? What if his life had ended somewhere up there, over the Indian Ocean? It was a risk of the job. It happened every day. It happened to Goose. Or, the one where the reality of his service hits Ice harder than he ever expected and he decides to give you something to remember him by. Word Count: 3600 Warnings: Smut with some feelings. Slight breeding kink(?) Minors DNI

Ice had been back in Miramar less than an hour and despite his best efforts, everyone knew something was off. He brushed off Hollywood and Wolf with a grin that he didn’t really feel as they’d tried to corral him toward the O Club for a well-deserved drink. Merlin had raised a brow but left it alone. Slider had been another story. The RIO was determined to give him a hard time — needing to get to the bar as badly as Ice needed to steer clear — and tried to convince him they all deserved it after their mission success.

Somehow, Mav had been the only one to understand. His wingman's smile effortless and understanding as he intercepted Slider and redirected his attention long enough for Ice to slip away. He wasn’t even sure where he was going, head still circling some 45,000 feet overhead. And that was how Ice found himself on your doorstep, running on fumes in service khakis long since wrinkled from his return trip and unable to do more than stare at the old knocker on your front door.

He’s been to your home countless times, but he isn’t sure that he should be there now. Like this.

A distant horn brings him back — knocks him just a little closer to the ground — and that’s a good start; otherwise, he may have spent the entire afternoon into dusk just staring. He raises his hand.

Shave and a haircut.

A minute goes by and he wonders if you’re even home. Takes half a step back before your footsteps are approaching from the other side of the door, for the porch light to turn on, then the door is swinging open.

You suck in a breath. “Tom?” You hadn’t been expecting visitors — he hadn’t called — and your voice is colored in equal parts relief and surprise at this unannounced return stateside.

“Can I come in?” He’s only said four words and your expression shifts, your relief short lived. You know, too. Can see the mess hiding behind his stiff stance and carefully schooled expression clear as day. But you still open the door wide enough to let him in.

"Do you want anything to drink?" you ask, already halfway to your kitchen to fetch a glass.

“Water.” He’s still moving on autopilot, sitting on your sofa and taking in your living room decorated sparingly except for a collection of photo frames that line a standard-issue cabinet: your siblings, your parents, your family. Ice’s attention returns to you as you hand him his water, but he sets it on the coffee table without any intention of actually drinking it.

Your eyes flick from the glass sweating in the San Diego summer to the coaster Ice has ignored. He’s sitting beside you, but his mind is still far away. The urge to wrap him in your arms is strong, but you resist. You aren’t sure that’s what he needs right now, so instead of holding him close or asking what’s on his mind, you give him time to organize his thoughts.

It takes a couple minutes or eternities for him to find the words. “We took down the hostiles.” He’s so far from his usual eloquence that he nearly winces, but if you notice, you don't mention it.

A gentle smile graces your lips. “I heard,” you choose to say instead. “You and Mav made it onto the front page of the paper.” And what a relief it had been, to see them again after their rushed exit from the graduation ceremony — smiling, shaking hands, alive. Sleep came easier to you, then. “It’s all Fightertown’s been able to talk about.”

Your words don’t settle Ice the way he’d have thought they would. The old springs of your sofa squeal as he shifts. “It wan’t,” he starts but loses steam. He tries again: “I…” And he knows you’re worried now because it isn’t often that he doesn’t have something to say.

But he feels every bit as cold and detached as his call sign suggests. Struggling to come up with a way to explain the fear that had taken over him. How could you ever understand?

He didn't want you to understand.

Barreling through the sky, pulling out all the tricks and still barely able to escape Death's glacial fingers. He and Slider and the wind howling against the canopy and the hostile on their tail. And he hadn't been able to shake them. He was the best of the best, but what had that meant up there? What if Mav hadn't reengaged? What if he hadn't banked right? The high-pitched whine of the missile lock forcing him into a cold sweat, the sour splash of bile rising in the back of his throat as the missile missed them by feet, and God, he hadn't been sick in a cockpit since flight training.

"Hey," you whisper, clasping Ice's hand in yours before bringing one up to cup his cheek. He leans into the touch, eyes fluttering closed as he tries to soak you in.

His breathing is irregular, a cold sweat beading his temples as he continues drifting out to sea. What if his life had ended somewhere over the Indian Ocean? It was a risk of the job. It happened every day.

It happened to Goose.

Ice takes a shaky breath, and his hand brings yours up to his lips, kissing the palm, then your wrist. Still silent. Still a prisoner in his own head. Missile lock ringing between his ears.

Goose had been with them one moment and gone the next. His wife, a widow. His best friend forever changed. But everyone who had loved Goose and been loved by him had something to remember him by in his son. Bradley. What would you have? Would the Defense Department even know to knock on your door? Would they give you anything to remember him by? The flag he'd flown under? Their regrets? His dog tags?

Ice brings your palm to his chest, rests it over his heart, and bluebird skies can't hold a candle to the clarity the simple touch brings him. The weight you lift from his shoulders simply by being. Existing in the same space and time as he is. A tremor runs up his spine, his jaw clenching as he tries to swallow, but his tongue has turned to sandpaper in his mouth.

"Mav saved my life," he admits, eyes locked on yours, and the truth is easier to say than he'd expected. It practically tumbles out. "We wouldn't've made it out of there without him. And…" The realization of what he needs hits him like he's pulling seven Gs, and it's so unexpected that he's dizzy with it. Ashamed of the thought and how it burns him up from the inside, unfurling and fanning until the hot licks of it have scorched his mind, and he struggles to find the words. So, instead, he pulls you into a barely-there kiss, and you go easily.

Ice loves you. He doesn't need to say it. You already know.

But it isn't enough.

Another kiss is laid on your lips, just as tender as the last. Ice knows he'll remember you — think of you with his dying breath whether he's shot out of the sky or goes up in flames. You're the closest Ice has ever come to flying with both his feet on the ground. But he needs more. It's selfish and all-consuming and desperate, and it swims through his veins like a poison until he’s sick with it. Because who is he? What had he done in this life? How could he ensure that a part of him was with you, no matter what? That you'd always have something to remember him by? The thought of leaving you alone in the world drives Ice nearly out of his mind.

His thumb caresses your cheek, then his hand is trailing down until it rests over your flat stomach. "I need you to remember me," he whispers, and this truth is so much harder to concede because he's terrified that it'll be the thing that finally pushes you away. Fear grips him tight around the chest, and his instincts are screaming, 'eject! eject!' so he can live to salvage what's left of his life after the crash, but then your eyes meet his, and Ice holds his breath.

Your eyes are softer than he's ever seen them. They're the eyes of someone who loves him deeply. Someone just as scared as he is, but of what he can't be sure of until your lips tug into a tender smile. "Yeah."

"Yeah?" And Ice is surprised that you're open to the idea because the topic of marriage hasn't even come up yet, and this is all so backward — so dangerous — but it feels so right as your hand joins his, the other cradling the sharp line of his jaw as you tilt him down to place a kiss on his forehead.

"Yeah." And you may have stunned him because it's you who has to initiate the next press of lips.

Your heart flutters low in your stomach as you pull away so you can take Ice's hand and lead him down the hall to the bedroom that is more his than the bed in his assignment has been in weeks. You press him back until his legs bump into the mattress and his arms wrap around you, pulling you close as you move to sit atop his lap. A breathy chuckle fills the space between your lips and he swallows it, your lashes drooping closed. Ice's lips are soft and strong, pressing yours open before pulling away, a clear invitation for you to follow and slot your mouth back against his.

He caresses your sides, hands skimming up and down, thumbs brushing over your hip bones as you sigh into each new, lingering kiss. A delicate brush of lips until you both need more. Because you're doing this.

You're giving this to him.

He'll never leave you alone again.

Ice's need flares. He eliminates the gap between your bodies with a hand on the back of your neck, wraps his arm around you tight, and vows to himself that he'll never let you go. And you're there for all of it: keening and tasting of spearmint and lemonade and the hot ocean breeze as your fingers tangle in blonde hair to urge him into a deeper kiss. He indulges.

As Ice licks into your mouth, your hands leave his scalp to help him out of his shirt — he's wearing entirely too much for what the both of you have planned.

Needy fingers pull at his shirt until it's been untucked, and when you finally force yourself from his lips to focus on the troublesome buttons, he swoops in to distract you with peppered kisses from the corner of your lips down to your neck. You gasp, fingers balling in polyester as he teases sensitive skin between his teeth, then push his shirt from his broad shoulders. Now the only thing between your fingers and the tanned skin of his chest is a white undershirt. You get to work on it immediately, rucking it up as Ice litters your neck with small bites. Your fingers slip beneath the hem, tingling as they land on smooth skin; the touch is electric, zinging straight from your fingertips to the apex of your legs, and you're so hot that you can't stop yourself from rolling your hips against his.

You feel his groan more than you hear it — deep and rumbling against your throat, his teeth working a dark bruise into your tender neck as he grinds up into you. Then, Ice is ripping the shirt over his head, and your eyes wander the miles of his tanned skin as his hands grip your hips and pull you against him again. “Did you miss me?” he asks, hips rolling, and your mouth falls open around a ‘yes’ before he takes them in another kiss. Regrettably, his hands don't linger long. Nimble, calloused fingers slip beneath your shirt, skimming along your side until they're brushing the smooth skin below your breasts, and you break the kiss to shiver.

Ever the opportunist, Ice lifts your shirt over your head, ducking to kiss your collarbone before his hand is splaying against the small of your back to bring your chests flush, the warm metal of his dog tags caught between the two of you, and you pull the chain to bring his lips back to yours with a contented sigh.

A hand moves to your thigh, thumb rubbing circles along the inside as his hand creeps higher until it's brushing beneath the leg of your loose shorts. “You’re so wet,” he groans, white teeth bared in a sharp smile and you suck in a quick breath as Ice parts your lips. “Is all this for me?” His fingers play with your juices, spreading them around until you're absolutely dripping, your legs shaking with the effort to stay still. You nod. “Out loud, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” you hiss, and Ice seals his lips over yours, finally slipping a finger into you, and he isn't sure if the moan he swallows belongs to you or not.

"Beautiful," he huffs, squeezes a second finger into you, and another sound escapes your kiss-swollen lips. "You're beautiful." Your heart swells with the compliment, fingers trailing down from where they've been clutching his shoulders until they snag on his belt. His fingers curl against your sweet spot, making it a challenge to pull the leather from its clasp, but once his belt is off, you pop the button on his khakis and drag the zipper down. You bite your lip and palm him through his boxer briefs until Ice brings his fingers, still slick with you, to his lips and moves to push you off his lap.

"Get on the bed."

Slipping from his lap, you settle on your back, head amongst the pillows so you can watch as Ice unlaces his boots and kicks them off with the rest of his clothes. He's beautiful like this. Body trained into hard lines, hair a mess, and eyes a damning blue. Cock bobbing heavy between his thighs, the head flushed a dusky pink. Your thighs clench in a desperate ploy for friction where you need it most. His knee is on the bed, then he crawls up — hands on either side of you as he kisses your calf up to your thigh, grabbing each leg behind your knees and opening you up to his hungry gaze. You jerk, head tipping back and an unabashed moan spilling from your lips when he licks a fat strip up your cunt.

“Tell me what you need,” he purrs, wetting his lips before he ignores the scratch of your nails in his hair and dives back in for another taste.

"Need you." It's an understatement. And fuck him sideways if that isn't the best thing he's heard all day. All week. With a deep breath, he takes you in from his spot between your thighs: hair wild, eyes blown wide, lips bitten and slick with his spit, cheeks an amorous red. He needs you, too.

"I've got you," he says as he acquiesces, drags himself the rest of the way up your body, and presses a filthy kiss to your lips, tongue tainted with the tang of your arousal.

A gentle hand rests on your lower abdomen once again. It's a moment he'll remember for the rest of his life. The most significant thing he's ever committed himself to. The only thing that matters anymore.

“You ready for me?” He’s cocky, but when he reaches for the bedside drawer out of habit, he freezes. His eyes soften a fraction. "Are you sure?" And he’s looking into your eyes but he hasn’t retracted his hand. He will if you say so. Because even though he needs this, he needs to know that you crave it just as badly. Needs to know that you're with him.

"Yeah." You caress his cheek, and he presses his forehead to yours so that you can breathe each other in. "I've never been more sure of anything," you confess, and his hand returns to the bed to hold you close. Before you can say anything embarrassing, you bring him into a kiss, your tongues rolling together slowly.

You whine when you feel him adjust to bring your hips together, the head of his cock pressed right where you want him most, and you can't help but roll your hips together. But Ice doesn't push in right away; instead, running his length through your soaked folds, and you whimper, pussy trembling because the friction is everything.

You're both a bit overwhelmed when he starts to sink into you — it's the first time you've been this close. No room to breathe. No latex.

A needy moan leaves Ice's lips, his eyes slipping shut and plush lips hanging open in ecstasy. "Perfect," he gasps, eyes opening to take in your hot cheeks and glassy eyes. "You're fucking perfect." And he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, nipping at it as he continues to rock into you until your hips are flush, and he has to take a minute or this will all be over before it's really begun.

You mouth at his clenched jaw, lick at the salty skin of his neck and dig your nails in between his shoulder blades. Your entire body is pulsing: heart pounding and blood roaring in your ears. It's unbearable having him completely seated and still inside you, so you wrap your legs around his hips, hoping to entice him into action. It has half the desired effect.

Ice shakes his head. Brows furrowed, he groans like he's toeing the fine line between pleasure and pain. "You're going to make me cum."

"I thought that was the point?" Your grin is lopsided, drunk on the moment, and you bite your bottom lip because you know it drives him mad. Ice keens, rutting his hips shallowly into you, and you encourage him with a lewd moan.

When he finally begins to move, it's all slow movements and breathy groans. His hips, fingers, and lips wringing pleasure out of each moment until you're both sweaty and gasping into each other's mouths.

Ice readjusts your legs so that they wrap higher up on his waist. “You want it, don’t you?” He sinks further into you and grinds against your sweet spot, the pull and push of his cock interrupted as a shudder wracks through him. Fuck, he wants it. He distracts himself, dipping his head to capture your nipple between his lips until you're arching into his mouth.

He grabs your hand, lacing your fingers by your head and kissing you with a flick of his tongue. You chase his lips when they leave yours and you’re trembling. “You going to cum for me?” he mumbles, his hips pressing into you and starting up another slow rhythm. His chest is pressed to yours, his dog tags resting between your breasts and his cheek brushing yours as he shifts like the tide to clap your hips together and continues directly into your ear — “Want to see you cum on my cock.” And your free hand clutches him closer with a whine, your head tossed back in a shameless cry.

“Come on, baby.” When Ice finally brings a hand to rub slow, firm circles into your clit, you’ve lost track of how long you’ve been like this.

"Tom," you rasp, lost to everything but the smell of jet fuel, sweat, and spearmint and the shift of Ice's muscles beneath impossibly smooth skin as his hips snap forward. "Oh fuck, there. Just like that."

“Gonna fill you up.” He's close, too. You can feel it in the way his hips fall out of their carefully maintained rhythm and see it in the wild glint in his eyes. You just need a little more, and it's like he can read your mind because — "Fucking Christ, Tom!" — with a wanton sob, you're there.

The shockwaves of your climax are still rippling through you as Ice snaps his hips once, twice, and lets out his own low groan. He spills into you, drawing out your highs, thrusting sloppily as you encourage him to keep going with your heels crossed against his lower back, enthusiastically milking him for every last drop.

Ice holds himself up on his forearms, panting as he licks into your mouth again, the inferno of his want reduced to embers. You hold him in your arms, running your hands over every bit of him within your reach as the tension drifts from your body, leaving you with a giddy, butterfly feeling in your stomach.

When he finally pulls out of you, Ice sits back and watches as pearly strings of his cum trickle from your still-throbbing pussy. He collects the excess with a finger and pushes it back into you, Adam's apple bobbing as your walls squeeze around him. When his eyes meet yours again, the fear is gone. So is the distance. He's finally home.

"You know," you say, legs falling apart as his eyes return to your cunt, "we'll probably have to do this a couple times."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You nod, a coquettish smile on your lips. "I’ve heard it can take a couple tries."

Ice's smile is slow and easy, taking over his face. He's irresistible, so you don't even try. You pull him back down, a mirroring smile on your lips.

No one sees the Iceman at the O Club for a while.

#top gun fanfiction #top gun x reader #tom iceman kazansky #tom kazansky x reader #tom iceman kazansky x reader #iceman x reader #iceman x afab!reader #afab!reader #top gun smut #iceman smut #there isn't enough iceman content #i'm trying to be the content i want to see on this hellsite

[deceitfuldevout]

'Easy Money' Masterlist:

Dark!Robert Pronge x Heiress!Reader

❤️ = Fluff

🔞 = Spicy/Nsfw

🖤 = Dark

❌ = No warnings/Sfw

Part 1 - Easy Money: 🔞🖤https://www.tumblr.com/deceitfuldevout/706183176153923584/easy-money-part-1?source=share

Part 2 - Breaking and Entering: 🔞🖤https://www.tumblr.com/deceitfuldevout/706183378711511040/easy-money-part-2?source=share

Part 3 - Money Maker: 🔞🖤 https://www.tumblr.com/deceitfuldevout/706295047580270592/easy-money-part-3?source=share

Part 4 - A Reunion: 🔞🖤https://www.tumblr.com/deceitfuldevout/706295259765850112/easy-money-part-4?source=share

Part 5 - Your Worst Nightmare: 🔞🖤https://www.tumblr.com/deceitfuldevout/706379812461281280/easy-money-part-5?source=share

Part 6 - A Barbed-Wired Picket fence: 🔞🖤https://www.tumblr.com/deceitfuldevout/706379816368226304/easy-money-part-6?source=share

#the iceman #my works #my work #dark!fanfic #dark!fic #dark!smut #dark!fanfiction #dark fic #dark fanfic #dark smut #dark fanfiction #reader #reader insert #chris evans #robert pronge x reader #mr. freezy x reader #fem!reader #afab!reader #fab!reader #dark!robert pronge x reader #dark!mr. freezy x reader

[missxmav]

new beginnings - tom kazansky

tom 'iceman' kazansky x reader

Summary: Tom finds his pregnant wife in the heart of their shared home, the sight of her simply takes his breath away. Word count: 1,120+ Warnings: fluuuufffff, SERIOUSLY FLUFFY SOFT TOM, pregnancy, afab!reader (still working on gender neutral tone as best I can), assumptions about size (I play into the plus size side of things because I am plus size, but there's no direct mention), no use of y/n (just she/her pronouns) A/N: This is only rough edited by myself, I'm so sorry for any mistakes. (Im rusty as f*ck at fic writing) I've had this fic in my back pocket for months, please enjoy all the fluff. I'm head over heels for val kilmer as a person, and I'm well aware that the gif is not from Top Gun... this is however an aged up version of Commander Kazansky (;

Tom wasn't typically a man of many words, even after Top Gun and becoming a commander... He was still on track to becoming an admiral in a couple years and his stoic ice-cold exterior has carried him far in the Navy. No, there wasn't much that could get in his way now. 

Except for her.

She melted his every icy edge. Especially now that she's 7 months pregnant with his baby. The way she waddled around the sizable estate that he purchased the year they got married. It'd been nearly 7 years since that beautiful day, but Tom and his wife decided to focus on their separate careers before committing to living with little ones under foot. He was nearing his mid-to-late 30's now and with his career excelling, his mind constantly settled on imagining what her beautiful features would be like mixed with his. 

Would they get his ice-like stare or her warm bright irises that see right through to his soul? Would they get his pin straight hair that stuck up in all the wrong places or her beautiful, textured hair that fell beautifully in every light? 

His mind would run rampant every time he looked at her, his eyes never failing to trail up and down her whole figure. He would linger on her face, taking in how absolutely mesmerizing she was in the pregnancy glow before darting down to her ever-changing belly. It was very noticeable now, and the way she braced the underside of the bump softened his stare every time. Even through the literal growing pains of making a human, she looked ethereal. He subconsciously pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. Tom was fully convinced that she could never be more beautiful than she was in this exact moment. 

With a warm but soft chuckle under his breath, he stood slowly and made his way over to her. The book she'd been perusing at the kitchen counter happened to be a cookbook he got her for Christmas in the early years of their relationship. He'd assumed she must be craving something specific by the way she quickly flipped through the pages. He placed his hands over the tops of her shoulders, giving a gentle rub to the tense muscles in her shoulder blades and leaned in to kiss her neck. The smell of her conditioner and body wash from her shower this morning is almost intoxicating. His body was warm, causing her to lean back on his chest.

"You're absolutely radiant dear," Tom stated, a smile forming across his lips. "And absolutely distracting..." He hasn't been able to take his eyes off her since she entered the kitchen adjacent to the doors of his office. He'd been trying to get through some paperwork before finding her to ask what you might want for lunch as she graced her way into the heart of their shared home.

She was one of the only women that could ever truly take his breath away, though many tried. Even in a moment like this... with his wedding band heavy on her finger and growing the fruit of his love for her in her tummy, he still had to remind himself to breathe.

His large arms made their way down her body until they gently embraced her and her bump. He supported her belly gently, the same way the two had learned in the parenting classes Tom insisted on attending once she confirmed her pregnancy. The soft hum that escaped her throat told him that she needed this. Her eyes fluttered closed as he stood there, swaying gently with her in his arms.

“Blueberry.” Was the only thing that snapped the quiet of the moment between the two of them. Her words were soft in his ears. Tom raised an eyebrow in curiosity as he leaned forward to place his chin on her shoulder. The pages of the cookbook landed on a muffin recipe that had been dog-eared and made enough times to sport the stains of baking chaos. 

Another low chuckle reverberated through his chest. “Cravings?” Tom placed another gentle kiss on her neck as he slowly released his childbearing wife to turn to the refrigerator behind him. This recipe was one he was familiar with, having made it several times over the years. He grabbed out the bowl of blueberries, buttermilk, butter and eggs while his wife gathered the remaining dry ingredients. 

A quiet melodic sound filled the kitchen as Tom watched his wife pull up the large glass bowl from the cabinet. The smile spread across his face as he recognized their wedding song falling from her lips. “I wanna know what love is…”

Tom set the cold ingredients out on the counter, crossing the kitchen swiftly to pull her back into his arms. “I want you to show me…” He whispered to her, a hum parting his lips as he twirled her around slowly in the afternoon light of their kitchen. He mirrored her radiant smile as they slowly swayed together, her baby bump separating them a little more than usual but neither of them cared. 

After enjoying the embrace of her husband, Tom’s wife pushed him away gently as she resumed making the muffins lil’ kazansky was craving so badly. The blonde commander only laughed as he kissed her hand before parting their embrace. He too busied himself making muffins again wordlessly as he reached into the bottom drawer of the oven. Grabbing out the old muffin tin, he paused to preheat the oven as he lingered there for a moment.

Tom’s hand immediately found his wife’s lower back as he brought the tin over to the island countertop, using the other to place the white liners in each cup. A devious giggle caught his attention and before he could even blink, she’d managed to touch his nose with a flour-covered hand. His steely eyes closed suddenly as she swiped at his face, unable to hide the slow grin that parted his lips as he dipped his own hand into the bowl of flour. 

He laughed as he pulled her back from the counter slightly, his flour covered hand landing gently over the top of her baby bump. The white handprint was stark on her dark dress. The gasp that escaped from the woman in his arms only made him laugh harder as she rolled her eyes and shook her head at her husband’s antics. 

"What am I going to do with you, Thomas Kazansky? ” She said exasperatedly despite a smile growing on her face.

“Love me.” He said simply, his eyes gazing deeply into hers as he pulled her in close again. “And make muffins with me forever.” She laughed, her heart full, as she accepted his proposal.

#tom kazansky x reader #tom iceman kazansky x reader #iceman x reader #tom kazansky #tom iceman kazansky #iceman #top gun iceman #top gun #top gun maverick #tom kazansky x pregnant!reader #fluff #val kilmer #pregnant reader

[imawkwardlysoc]

you wonder how he got his call sign

Song: Don't Blame Me by Taylor Swift

Paring: mickey garcia x reader (afab)

Warning(s): None, just pure fluff!

Word Count: 2,767

Summary: A little story on how Mickey got his call sign.

Call signs. No matter if you’re in the Marines, Navy, or Air Force, you get a call sign. Some badass ones like Iceman and Maverick may have a cool background if you assume, but in reality, most of them come from pretty embarrassing things. Like Payback for example and the amount of bets that he lost. Mickey “Fanboy” Garcia, on the other hand, has another story.

The first of artists covering other artists' songs first came out in the 1950s. Soon over half a decade later, cover videos started to come out more on YouTube. Singers like Sam Tsui, Christina Grimmie, Conor Maynard, and many others have risen to fame with their covers coming out in the late 2000s/early 2010s. Some have also got the chance to be signed to record labels and winning awards like Y/N L/N. To Mickey though, he doesn’t think of Grammy Award winner Y/N L/N, he thinks of Y/N L/N who he used to help record her cover videos in her bedroom or the backyard of her house.

Every Friday since meeting each other freshman year of high school, Y/N would drag Mickey out of their last period class and out of their high school in Miami to her house to start recording cover videos. As she uploaded her videos onto YouTube, her views went from a few hundred to a few thousand until one day.

“Mickey! Mickey!” The junior yelled her best friend’s name as she ran down the school hallway. “Where are you?”

“Yo! What’s going on?” Mickey closed his locker after grabbing everything he needed.

He turned to face the singer whose face was all red from the running as the screen of her BlackBerry Bold was in his line of sight. Squinting his eyes a little, he looked at the screen which showed one of the recent covers she uploaded.

“Holy shit!” He exclaimed. “One hundred thousand?”

“I know right!” The two of them started to jump together in celebration, ignoring the looks they’re getting.

“This is crazy!” Y/N said, still not believing that her cover of Before He Cheats by Carrie Underwood reached that many views.

“You know what this means?” Mickey’s eyebrow was raised. “The chance of you getting signed to a record label.”

“Yeah, not happening,” Y/N let out a laugh. “Never in a million years.”

“Hey,” he gently squeezed her shoulder. “It’s going to happen. I have a good feeling.”

Y/N shook her head at her friend’s nonsense and dragged him to their first class of the day.

Years passed and their friendship grew even more. They shared homecoming and prom dances together. They had many all nighters studying for the AP tests they signed up for and working on college applications. The both of them dated people but their relationships only lasted for three to four months max because they both were missing something. Mickey still continued to help Y/N post her covers on her channel which grew after that one day.

Towards the end of the summer break after they graduated, the duo had to head their separate ways for college. They still kept in contact though by the emails they sent each other and visiting each other in Miami during breaks. With every visit, their feelings grew more without them realizing it.

Mickey had achieved his dream of getting into the Naval Academy and became a weapons system officer, getting the callsign Fanboy from his classmates seeing him geek out and watch Y/N’s covers. Y/N continued uploading her covers onto YouTube while studying literature at the University of Miami. It wasn’t until her senior year of college she got the best news of her life.

The sound of her sandals slapping the concrete sidewalk boomed as she ran down the concrete path which led to the park her and Mickey would sometimes hang out at. With his back facing against her, she leaped on his back which took Mickey out a little.

“Hey, you missed me that much?” Mickey laughed.

“Yeah, but I have some news,” Y/N answered.

“Which is?” He asked.

She didn’t verbally answer but she handed him the small stack of papers. Going through the papers, she saw the look on Mickey’s face as his face lit up with each page.

“No, you’re joking.” Mickey pulled her into a hug.

“I’m not,” she confirmed. “You’re looking at the newest artist signed with Atlantic Records.”

“You’re not going to forget me when you become famous right?” Mickey joked.

“Are you kidding? I won’t forget my best friend.” Y/N lightly punched his shoulder.

“Yeah, best friend,” Mickey sighed.

“What? Are you okay?” A quizzed look formed on her face.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Mickey brushed off his emotions.

“Hey Mick, tell me what’s up.” Y/N held his hand which sent sparks through the both of them.

“You’re going to hate me when I do this,” he said.

“Do wh-” Y/N was interrupted when Mickey’s lips touched hers.

Butterflies and fireworks exploded inside them as their lips moved in sync. Detaching their lips from each other to catch their breath, they looked each other in the eyes questioning what just happened.

“Did that just?”

“Yeah.”

Kissing each other again, they confirmed that their feelings for each other were true. After the second kiss, Mickey decided to take Y/N for an early dinner to celebrate her getting a record deal and have a pre-first date date.

More years have passed with the both of them graduating with their degrees. Their relationship grew more as they became official. Mickey was out doing the five years required to serve after he graduated after the academy. Y/N on the other hand was busy writing and recording her first album. Constant filming for her music videos and traveling to promote her album.

Despite them being hundreds or thousands of miles apart, they managed to keep their relationship alive. They had many video calls together and if she toured in an area where Mickey was at, he would watch her concerts with Reuben “Payback” Finch, who is the only person that knows her and Mickey are together other than close friends and family. When Y/N started to become more well known, she wanted to keep her personal life private. She did post pictures of her and Mickey together on her social media accounts but they didn’t show Mickey’s face.

On the eve of Mickey’s last deployment, she came back home with the living room of their shared house decorated with flowers and lit candles. In the space where their coffee table used to be, Mickey was on one knee holding a velvet box in his hand. With a short and sweet speech as tears ran down their faces, Y/N nodded her head saying yes to his proposal. A few months after Mickey came back from his deployment, the two had a small private ceremony with their close friends and family in a cabin up in the Santa Cruz mountains. Reuben as Mickey’s best man and Y/N’s college roommate as her maid of honor.

Luckily for Y/N, she could travel and stay anywhere with her job. With Mickey being moved from base to base because of his job, she would follow him while still making music while renting a house off base. From time to time she would have to travel and stay in New York for a little bit for meetings and to record her music. Thankfully when Mickey got called back to Top Gun, they resided permanently in a house that was only a fifteen minute drive away from base after the Dagger Squadron was made permanent in San Diego. Many dinners with her, Mickey, and Reuben were shared as they told stories of the other squadron members they met for the mission. Y/N continued to make music and released her next album which caused her to be away from Mickey to promote it and tour around Europe and North America.

After a day of training, the Dagger Squad decided to head to the Hard Deck for some drinks.

“Amelia has been depressed since the LA tickets for Y/N sold out,” Rooster said before taking a sip of his beer.

“Really?” Mickey raised his eyebrow.

“Yeah, Y/N is one of her favorite singers. Ever since those tickets sold out the first day, she’s been blasting her music in her room and headphones,” the aviator answered.

The WSO nodded his head and excused himself. Taking his phone out, he checked the time to see that Y/N wasn’t on stage yet. Calling her and waiting for a few rings, she answered her husband’s call.

“Hey baby, what’s up?” She asked. “How was work?”

“It was good, got our asses handed by Maverick but that’s normal,” he chuckled. “How are you?”

“I’m good, just two hours before we head onto stage,” she replied. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, but hey can I ask for a favor?” He asked.

“What is it?” She said.

“You know Rooster right?” Y/N hummed in confirmation. “Well, his little sister wants to see you in LA but the tickets sold out immediately. Is there any way you can get a ticket for her?”

“I’ll check, give me a minute,” she told him. “Stay on the line.”

Taking a sip of his drink, he waited for his wife while admiring the cooling winds of San Diego while the sun setted.

“Hey, you’re still there?” Y/N voice popped into his ear.

“Yeah, so what’s the verdict?” He replied, mentally crossing his fingers.

“Yeah, how many tickets do you need?” The singer asked. “Twelve plus your captain, his girlfriend, and daughter, that would be fifteen. Is that good?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, we have more than enough tickets. Just tell everyone and I’ll send you the info. Also, all of y’all need a break from training.”

“Wow, I’ll tell everyone. Thank you for doing this. I love you.”

“I love you too. You can thank me later when you get to LA.” Mickey could already imagine the smirk on his wife’s face.

Hanging up the phone with a grin on his face, Mickey headed back into the bar and stood next to Rooster.

“I managed to get a ticket for Amelia,” he told the pilot.

“Wait, how?” The pilot questioned.

“I know someone who’s one of the guitar techs on her tour. I managed to get all of us plus Maverick and Penny a ticket,” he told everyone.

“Wait, we’re seeing Y/N in LA?” Phoenix started to fangirl a little. “Don’t mess with me Fanboy.”

“I’m not, I’ll text you the information into the group chat,” he confirmed.

“We’re going to see Y/N baby!” Coyote cheered.

While everyone celebrated, Reuben sent his WSO a smirk knowing who gave them the tickets.

*Concert Day*

“Mick, are you sure we’re supposed to park here?” Maverick asked as he got out of Rooster’s Bronco.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Mickey answered his captain.

“Because we’re by where Y/N L/N’s tour bus is,” Rooster added.

“Trust me, we can be here,” Mickey reassured them while pulling out his phone.

Making the call, they waited for a few more minutes before Y/N’s manager came out of the Forum with VIP passes in hand. Mickey greeted the manager and they handed Mickey the passes. All of the members were shocked when they saw the passes they got, questioning how Mickey managed to get these. All of them thought they were getting tickets up in the nosebleeds, but they were mistaken.

“Mickey!” The singer jumped into her husband’s arms when she saw him.

“Hello my love,” the Navy man mumbled before kissing her.

Everyone except for Reuben was shocked at the sight they were seeing. They couldn’t believe that one of their WSO’s was kissing the singer they would soberly and drunkenly sing out the lyrics while doing karaoke.

“I missed you,” the singer wrapped her arms around Mickey’s neck.

“Me too, four weeks is too long.” Mickey moved a strand of hair out of Y/N’s face. “Everyone’s here already.”

Y/N moved away from Mickey and saw his pilot standing there with a grin on his face. “Ru-Ru, it’s good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you again too,” the pilot returned her hug.

Letting go of the hug, Y/N looked at the rest of her husband’s squadron who had shocked expressions on their faces. “Hi, you must be Mickey’s squadron and you must be Amelia, is that right?”

“Y-Yeah,” Amelia stuttered as her idol stood in front of her.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Y/N smiled at her and looked at Maverick who stood behind her. “You must be Captain Mitchell. Mickey and Reuben have been telling me great things about you.”

“It’s a pleasure meeting you m’am. Thank you for inviting us,” Maverick said.

“Anything for Mickey's adopted family,” Y/N smiled. “Also, call me Y/N.”

“I will if you call me Pete or Maverick,” Pete smiled.

“That’s a deal,” Y/N chuckled and faced the squad again. “Mickey, wanna introduce me to your team members?”

Mickey nodded his head and introduced his wife to the rest of the Dagger Squad. After the introductions, everyone headed to the greenroom.

“So, you’re telling me that Reuben knew that Fanboy over here is dating Y/N?” Hangman asked. “The same Y/N who won a Grammy and many Billboard Music awards?”

“Not dating, we’re married,” Y/N corrected the Texan.

“What!” Everyone yelled/exclaimed.

“Married for almost five years.” Mickey and Y/N looked at each other in admiration.

“You knew that already didn’t you?” Halo asked Reuben.

“He should, he was my best man,” Mickey answered for his pilot. “Also, who do you think Don’t Blame Me is about?”

“And I thought Bob over here had secrets we don’t know about,” Omaha chuckled.

“Nah, she’s the only secret that I have.” Mickey tenderly pressed his lips onto his wife’s.

Soon after that, the topic of conversation changed, promising them the couple would host dinner to get to know Y/N more.

After spending an hour or so in the greenroom, Y/N had to start getting ready for the show. Giving his wife one last kiss, he met up with the squad following one of the assistants to the VIP booth Y/N set them in. The booth provided food, snacks, and drinks for them while giving them a view close to the stage.

The lights in the venue started to dim down as the crowd’s cheers started to rise. The band started playing the introduction and the cheers from the audience elevated as Y/N rose into the stage.

Throughout the concert, the energy was amazing. Everyone was screaming and jamming out to the lyrics. All of the Dagger Squad and Penny and Amelia were enjoying the time they were having and thanking Mickey for the tickets. Mickey was pretty sure he saw Hangman and Coyote doing the choreography to I Did Something Bad.

“Alright, before we do this next song, how is everyone doing?” Y/N asked the audience as they replied with cheers. “That’s good. Fun fact, the person that I wrote this next song about is in the crowd tonight with his friends. This song is dedicated to him. Love you darling.”

Y/N sent him a wink and he winked back at her. The band started to play Don’t Blame me and everyone was taken to church by the way she performed it. The singer got down on her knees, belting out the high note which caused Mickey to form a proud smile on his face.

After a few songs and the encore, the last show of the tour was finished. Mickey and the gang headed backstage to see Y/N in a pair of sweat shorts and one of Mickey’s old t-shirts.

“You were amazing.” Mickey picked her up and spun her around.

“Thanks,” she laughed. “So, what did you guys think?”

Everyone started to compliment her performance at the same time. Y/N blushed because she wasn’t used to compliments they were giving her and let out a laugh.

“So, instead of driving back to San Diego this late, my producer is out of town and allowed us to use her house to sleepover,” Y/N told them. “What do y’all think?”

Everyone nodded their heads in approval and started to leave the venue.

#mickey garcia x reader #mickey fanboy garcia x reader #fanboy x reader #fanboy imagine #mickey fanboy garcia #natasha phoenix trace #jake hangman seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #robert bob floyd #javy coyote machado #callie halo bassett #pete maverick mitchell #amelia benjamin #penny benjamin #top gun x reader #top gun maverick fic #top gun maverick x reader #top gun maverick #top gun #Spotify

[delopsia]

Void | Bob x Rhett x Reader

✦°．• Void Masterpost Word Count: 8,400 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, Villain/Dark!AU, prophetic visions, verbal altercations & mentions of physical altercations, a dash of magic, edging, unprotected sex, comfort, themes of betrayal, heavy usage of Outer Range's hole and the ore that comes with it. Brief Summary: You are the monsters they created, and they must suffer the consequences. But first, there are more important things that must be taken care of in the bedroom.

"Because it was your fucking job!" 

"It was no one's job to be an experiment!" Robert's voice bellows over top of Maverick's. A reverberating noise that crawls up the walls and dances around your ears. An echo you'd be able to shake if not for the ice that has formed in your bones. Joints frozen with something akin to fear. Equally cold but...calmer. 

At peace, even.

Chestnut shoes click across the tile, each foot perfectly timed, walking to an inaudible beat so smoothly that Bob's shoulders hardly bounce with his step. "I signed up to protect my country," his index finger jamming toward his chest. Once. "Phoenix signed up to protect her country." Twice.

So many people in this room, and yet Maverick is the only one speaking. His white-knuckled fist shakes as he raises his voice once more. Barking like a dog in a fight. "Phoenix agreed to fly the mission!" 

Smoke smolders in the corner of your eye. Lurking up in the rafters. But all you can look between the open switchblade clutched in Bob's palm and his audience.

This isn't how this was supposed to go. 

"She didn't agree to die." The walls shiver. You know this story. Yet this feels like the first time you've heard Bob utter it. "I didn't agree to lose four years of my life!"

No, no, no, this wasn't the plan. 

As unfamiliar as you are with Bob's old coworkers—no, friends, you're almost certain that the one who reaches for Maverick's arm is Rooster. The only man you recall having a mustache. Certainly, the only one who has any grounds to stop him, but Maverick isn't hearing it. Shrugging Rooster's unwanted hand away, "We tried to help you, but—" 

"You had me charged with desertion!" Bob's voice booms. 

Time nearly stops. 

Milliseconds ticking impossibly slow as that delicate blade flies out of his hand. Intricately carved steel dancing, catching in the light of the crystal chandelier as it twists across the room. A perfect dance that never loses her momentum, darting across a path with such precision that you wonder if it was practiced. 

Until it strikes home in a picture frame. 

Right between the eyes of a recently deceased Admiral. 

Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, the plaque reads. You don't recognize that name.

The room explodes into movement before you can reach your next thought. Maverick surging across the room. The screech of his voice masked by the yelling of nameless faces that bolt behind him. A leader of a charge. His outstretched fist vying to snap those delicate glasses in two. 

Plumes of black smoke descend from above. Swift. Sweeping through the crowd with an ear-splitting howl. Gold twinkles in the air like pixie dust. 

It solidifies. A vaguely human shape that strikes Maverick from behind. His muscles going taut. Falling into a full-body spasm as he falls. Face slamming flat against the tile. Blood pouring from his nose. Boots squeal as his companions skitter to a halt. 

Smoke fades into fog. That vague shape now an undeniable form. Solid knee digging into the fragile space between Maverick's shoulder blades, the other, cowboy boot-clad foot firm against the ground. 

"Easy, Rhett," you don't like that eerily calm tone in Bob's words. 

By the looks of it, Rhett's not too fond of being called off so easily. His brows furrowed as he steps to his feet, spurs chiming as he finds his place on Bob's right side where his vision is the worst. The result of an out-of-date glasses prescription that can no longer fully correct that astigmatism of his. 

"What is that?" Someone's stuttering, his feet tangling as he backs up. Blindly bumping into the shoulders of his colleagues in his effort to get away.

Rhett's head tilts, his dark eyes meeting yours, deep blue still clouded with the ore flooding his body. But he doesn't say a word. Silent as the wind on an eerily calm night.

It is not a word or a shout that shatters the silence. Nor is it the thundering of feet racing down the corridor, Naval security responding to a distress call. 

No, it isn't that at all.

It's a sharp intake of air. Boots clomping against the floor as Robert stumbles backward. Heels of his palms clanking against his glasses. Groaning low in his throat as he doubles over, a guttural noise that is too loud to be in this room full of his opponent. His enemy. Streaks of black raise from his forearms, veins bulging with it. 

Your shoes are ungluing from the floor. Knees cracking as you cross the room, out from your idle resting place by the door, fighting against better judgment as you shove between the bodies of nameless pilots and backseaters. Your outstretched arms reach for those shuddering shoulders. Not here. Not here. Not here.

But your hands are going through Bob's frame. Your body as opaque as water. A flickering presence that can hardly be seen by the naked eye. Why now? Why here? Of all times for your body to start slipping out of this timeline, why does it have to be when Bob's eyes are flooding with that telltale black? Frantic baby blue irises dart across your translucent face, helpless. Until they too have been taken over by darkness. 

"Stay with me," Rhett's hands appear on your shoulders. A vague contact that grows as his hands darken, gold flickering through the air once more. 

But that can wait. You're not going to slip out of this timeline that quickly. It's Bob who he should be focusing his efforts on. "You don't need to—"

"'s gonna be worse if you slip outta here entirely," Rhett's palms firmly squeeze your shoulders; has already gathered up every molecule of you from where it's been meandering between the folds of reality. "He'll come out of it."

Bob's shivering body bumps against yours, moving blindly, "hallway."

"What?" Your voice blending with Rhett's. Two voices, one question.

Bob's shivering mouth can hardly form another word, his weight settling against you, and the strain it puts on your knees has you fearing that you're the only thing holding him upright. "Hallway," he breathes, voice hardly audible, "the hallway. There's, there's, in the hallway—"

"Rhett!" That voice. You don't recognize it. 

But Rhett does. Shoulders stiffening. Spinning on his heels so quickly that they squeak against the floor. The very first to lay eyes on the stocky frame stomping through those double doors, his face so red it could burst. 

Royal Abbott. 

"Rhett!" He barks once more. His clenched fist bears that same inky darkness that is spreading across Rhett's skin. And here, you'd thought he was the only member of his family born with this ability. 

"Don't move," Rhett's voice is low. A borderline growl. 

And he needn't say more because the room explodes into a plume of black smoke. Dancing out from his sides, swirling and twirling around your bodies, wrapping you and Bob in a misty blanket that swallows you up entirely. Plunged into a glittering darkness that puts the night sky to shame. 

"We still haven't..." No, no, no, why is your voice dying in your throat? "The documents—Bobby."

 His clammy cheek squishes against your temple, flimsy arms draping around your icy frame. "This isn't going to work," he mutters, words that only you can hear, "this isn't...not with Royal."

"What do you mean?" Your voice breaks, "We can't give up on this now!"

But it's far too late for a debate. Bob's fingers rise to his lips, a low whistle washing over the silence. A calm tone that doesn't match the frenzy it sends Rhett into. Across the room within the second. Darkness spreads everywhere he touches. Through the air. Across the walls. Voices yelp and shout as a dull hum grows into an ear-splitting whine—the distorted sound of a weathered gate being opened. 

The floor beneath your feet is no more. But you don't feel the fall. It's as if the world ceases to exist, leaving you and Bob to float within a dark nothingness. Your legs tangle as you draw each other in, arms wrapping around torsos and heads burying into crooks of necks, desperately clinging to each other out of fear of drifting apart. 

Gold flickers. A dusting of a presence that curls around your back, cold nose bumping into the back of your neck. 

"Rhett?" You whisper, and despite feeling the rumble of your voice in your throat, you cannot hear your own words. Lost to the void. 

The arms that coil around you are familiar, strong, and bearing scars you've traced more times than you can count. Hands slip beneath the hem of your shirt, calloused fingertips tracing letters into the sensitive skin of your belly.

I'm here.

Despite this vast nothingness, you've never felt less alone. Safely wrapped up in the arms of the only men your weary heart can trust, the only place where the world cannot flash its sharp teeth at you. 

Your feet settle upon solid ground, soft carpet squishing beneath your shoes. Home once more. Where a nest of blankets sits in the corner of the couch, pictures in frames hang proudly on the wall, and an electric candle flickers next to the television. 

Precisely as you left it. 

"You didn't need to call me off," Rhett says, in a muttering fashion that sounds more like a rumble than anything else. "I could have handled it."

"And what if you couldn't?" Bobby's sharp voice echoes through the living room and into the kitchen. Repeating over and over until it dies into crippling silence. A cruel sort of thing that is somehow louder than the words themselves. 

His weight shifts from foot to foot. Rapidly blinking. "I'm sorry, I...." his bottom lip shivers, mouth opening and closing, fighting for words that do not exist. "I can't...I can't risk..."

But his knees give out before he can finish his sentence. Dropping so quickly that you hardly have time to dive for him. Weary arms catching his waist, too weak to do anything but slow his fall. Rhett's appearing on the other side, his face long since softened. Eyelashes fluttering a million miles a second.

Black bulges from the vein on Bob's forehead, your only indication of what has once again taken over his psyche. Jaw locked so tight it shakes. Sucking in air through his teeth. Falling into a full-bodied shiver. 

You don't understand. How is it happening again? "Rhett—"

"I know," he's already got his hands on either side of Bob's head. Flecks of black emerge onto his skin, drawn from the mineral trapped in the very fibers of Robby's brain. Unruly and running rampant, forcing visions behind his eyelids and threatening to take over his very being. 

You know that it's been growing. That the increase of this...this thing, whatever it is, has been eating away at him. A sort of eternal hell whose violent attacks keep his muscles tight and his eyes wide open for days on end. But you didn't realize that it's been this bad. Rhett's only removed some last Tuesday, and here he is again, two weeks earlier than usual. 

Bob slackens. Free of whatever invisible strings have been pulling on him, and when his eyes open, they're themselves again. Not black with the time mineral, or a muddied mixture of it, just the baby blue that is as soft as he is. 

"I can't lose you," he chokes, tone suddenly frail as he looks between you and Rhett, "Either of you." His shivering arms curl around the backs of your necks, drawing you both in. 

And it's easy. Sitting here on your living room floor, burying your head in the crook of Bobby's neck, your arms tight around him. Rhett's wrapping around you two like a blanket, long curls of his hair tickling your cheek. A big pile of shivering flesh and bone that defies the will of fate herself. Souls from separate timelines, trespassing in the name of a four-letter word. 

You could stay here forever. Pressing endless kisses to their cheeks, like you are now. Feeling the softness of Bob's skin and the coarseness that is Rhett's out-of-hand stubble. 

"How did he find you?" Bob's speaking again, albeit not very loudly. A whisper punctuated by the reciprocal smooch on the tip of your nose. "I thought you were the only one who could control the mineral?"

Rhett's quiet, his head shaking. "I don't..." pausing to accept his honorary nose kiss, face scrunching and all, "I don't know." 

You don't like that answer. Not one bit. 

But there isn't anything you can do about it. Not right this second, at least. For now, you've got a bigger problem on your hands, particularly named Robert Floyd.

"Think y' can get up for us?" Rhett's asking, his fingers carding through the short strands of hair atop Bob's head. Perfectly kept, as if he's still got a strict Naval standard to adhere to. It's as if he has yet to find his individuality, even after all this time. 

Weak, he nods. 

It's easy getting him down the hallway and into the bedroom, where the curtains are still open, showcasing that grandiose view of the valley below, distant, snowcapped mountains, and twinkling stars above. As wild as a place can possibly get when you live so far up on this lonely little mountain.

Far too isolated, but it's the only place that can ensure you'll know when someone is coming. 

"Need t' try gettin' the rest of that shit outta your head," Rhett mutters as the two of you guide Bobby to the corner of the bed, where he can't possibly miss the mattress. 

Your head cocks to the side, confused, "didn't you just take some?"  

"I mean, gettin' it all out," he says it like it's easy, some simple walk in the park, despite having never walked that path before. 

Eyes darting to Bob's fallen face, you reach to run your fingers against the curve of his cheek. Some thoughtless little motion that has him nuzzling into your palm, desperate for the warmth of it against his skin. Not enough to soothe the wrinkles on his forehead, from the way his eyebrows furrow with thought, but it's a start. 

You know what he's worrying about.

And you wish you didn't.

"I don't..." his head shakes back and forth, refusing to look up at you and Rhett like your gazes will burn him alive, "how do I...if I lose the visions..." His tongue too flimsy to get the words off, all but flailing in his mouth. 

"What d' ya mean?" Rhett's taking the words right out of your mouth.

Frustrated, Bobby's head shakes back and forth, unintentionally pushing your hand away. "What if something happens?" His voice cracks. Suddenly frantic. "And I can't—and I can't protect you?"

On its own, your voice finally bursts through, "We'll find a better way." And you don't have a clue what that better way is, but there has to be one out there, right? 

That sudden burst of hope shatters the moment Bob's glassy eyes flash up at you. Windows into his soul that must silently communicate his thoughts with you because, by the time his uneasy mouth opens, you've already heard what he has to say. "The visions are the only way I can keep you both safe." 

...but is it worth the expense of his life? Being slowly and painfully consumed by an out-of-control substance in the name of protection? 

Rhett's big, wavering hands reach out, no longer stained with midnight ink, as he takes hold of Bobby's wrist, guiding it up until knuckles brush against his scratchy cheek. You can't tell who it soothes more. "It's eatin' you alive," there's a hint of fragileness to Rhett's tone, "Please...just let me try."

Now your hand is being taken hold of, squeezed up against Rhett's chest, just above his thumping heart, alive as ever. His stubble tickling as he cranes his neck down to kiss your fingers. 

"Okay," Bob lets go of a breath, and it's as if the weight of the world lifts off your shoulders. His mouth opens again, but his tongue fails to produce another word. Distracted by the way he's warily holding his arms out, a welcoming invitation that you can never deny.

Hugging him feels awkward in all of the right ways. Your cheek squished against Rhett's shoulder, half bent over as you struggle to squirm onto the bed. Three pairs of legs flailing, but your arms refusing to unwind from Bobby to help. 

Four years ago, you'd hopefully believed that practice would end the bumping knees, sharp elbows, and clumsy limbs that don't quite go where they were intended. Unpracticed and out of sync with the two bodies sharing the room with you. And you're almost ashamed to admit that, if anything, it's gotten worse. 

Almost.

Because now there's a confidence to the way you press kisses to Bobby's sensitive neck, and you're unafraid to meet Rhett's darkened eyes as you do it. You're familiar with each other. Can tell that the hand disappearing beneath your shirt belongs to a cowboy and the knee between your thighs is attached to a former aviator on the run from the police. 

You've heard the story more times than you'd like to admit, but it still feels strange. That this gentle soul could be sentenced to five years in prison, all because he and his pilot were sent to fly through a time hole that didn't spit them out until four years later. As if being given a false funeral and losing a massive chunk of his life wasn't enough.

"I can see those gears turning in your head," Rhett's suddenly right next to your ear. Sends you jumping and knocking your forehead into Bob's jaw. 

"Rhett!" You squeal, but it's too late. He's already laughing. So is Bob, for that matter. All at your weary heart's expense. 

Soft kisses press to your skin. The work of two pairs of lips trailing across your cheeks, Robby's working his way to your mouth, Rhett on his way to your sensitive neck, teeth scraping against delicate flesh like a warning. What that could be, you're not sure because you're silenced before you can even begin to speak. 

And you're downright melting into this familiar touch, noses bumping together, moving blindly. Your hands are roaming up Bob's chest, curling around the back of his neck, clinging as you swing your leg over his waist. Straddling him is so much easier. 

Dully, you're aware that Rhett has stopped; can feel the way his hungry eyes eat up every movement. The way Bob's hands grip your waist, how you sigh and tilt your head, inhaling the sweetness of cologne that still clings to him. Drowning in the small, surprised grunt when you nip his bottom lip. 

Thin, bitten lips part, welcoming you like a sweetheart who's been waiting for you to come home from a long day at work. Smiling and leaning up into you, his soft tongue twisting with yours in some lazy, practiced dance that makes your head spin. Breaking away only to gasp for a breath, then meeting again.

To your right, someone whines. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, baby," you coo. Can already feel the way a pair of big blue eyes are drilling into you, no longer happy with just watching. But knowing what you're going to find doesn't make the pang in your chest hurt any less; Rhett's hands rest innocently in his lap, bottom lip jutted out just a smidge, eager to lean in and steal your kisses away from Bobby. "Did you feel left out?" 

He hums, too content with this newfound attention to speak. Scratchy chin bumping against yours with every peck, four, five, six times, until he's been called down to steal from Bob, too. 

It's times like these when you wonder how they look so similar without being related. The scruff of Rhett's jaw is a mere distraction from their matching noses. Bob's eyelashes are thinner, and his cheeks bear a dusting of freckles that Rhett only carries a sprinkling of on his back, but God, the blue gazes peering up at you are identical. 

Until Bob's hips buck up against your ass. 

Your gasp echoes, eyelashes fluttering, "Bobby!" 

"I'm sorry," he grins, sheepish, "couldn't help myself."

But your knees are already digging into the mattress, grinding yourself back against him in such a way that you can feel his length twitch in his slacks. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you catch yourself wondering how many more times you will get to experience this. Your time is limited, cut even shorter by the furious hearts of men and women you don't know, vying to find a justice that will ultimately tear you apart. 

To have Robert jailed in the name of setting an example that you cannot flee from the law. 

To charge Rhett for framing his brother for his murder; who cares if he survived the attack? He lived, didn't he? 

To return your weary soul to a place where friends are your closest enemies. bold enough to lock you out and leave you in the cold as some sick prank, refusing to speak your name to cover their hides.

Betrayal is a hideous thing; it doesn't start small; no, it shatters you into a million tiny pieces and asks how you could ever be so angry for what it did to you. Because you survived, and the sight of your soul bloodied and broken has made their warped heart feel a twinge of guilt. It demands forgiveness when you have none to hand out. It makes you question if you're allowed to feel these horrible things, anger and hurt, and something you can't quite name. 

But these hands that roam your paper-thin skin, the delicate ones stroking your hips, and the strong ones roaming your arm...they have never made you feel so horribly. They have every reason to; they've been hurt, too, but the only thing they have ever done, from the moment they found you on the street, is love you. 

"So, how's this fixing to go?" Bob asks after a long while, his head tilting as he looks up at you like he's trying to eavesdrop on the thoughts in your head. 

You'd almost forgotten the ongoing plan to pull the mineral from his head. 

Rhett hums, gingerly squeezing your wrist, "jus' keep doin' what you're doin'."

You needn't be told twice, thighs shivering as you scoot yourself downward. Far enough to feel the heated bulge between your legs, where you crave him the most. Don't quite recall when the heat in your core had sparked to life, but oh, does it burn brighter at Bob's groan. 

The corner of Rhett's lip rises, transfixed by this show you're putting on. 

Bobby's hips jerk up, pressing painfully close but so unfortunately separated by these layers of clothing. Why do pants have to exist? All they do is get in the damn way.

The two of you must have the same thought because you reach for each other's waistband simultaneously. Your practiced fingertips slide across the smooth leather of his belt, unfastening it while he thumbs at your button, yanking on the zipper. Rhett's boots thunk against the floor as he kicks them off, suddenly spurred into action at the sight of you two pulling the offending garments down your legs, underwear and all.

From the moment you're able to, you're back in his lap. Can barely think about the way that Rhett pulls your shirt over your head, too distracted by the soft glide of skin against skin. The glide of his cock against your folds, heavy and throbbing with the same need that has made you dizzy in the head.

"Ain't you two just a sight," Rhett whispers beneath his breath, never once tearing his gaze away. 

"You can always join," you tease, delicate fingers reaching out to tap the tip of his nose if only to see it scrunch. 

All it takes is one glance before Bob figures him out. "That devil's got a trick up his sleeve." 

"Damn right, I do," now that he's moving, you regret opening your mouth. Because nothing good ever comes out of Rhett Abbott sidling up behind you, heavy cock resting against the curve of your ass, as he presses kisses to your naked shoulder. Gingerly working his way up your neck to that soft spot behind your ear. 

Two of his fingers nudge at your lips, wordlessly asking for entrance that you happily grant. Tongue slipping between them, wrapping around each knuckle, lightly sucking on them in the same fashion you do his sensitive cock head. You know he recognizes it because he twitches against you, breath catching in his throat.

Bob's hands smooth up your naked thighs, the callouses of his palms catching on the sensitive insides of them, rough in the gentlest of ways. Knows what he's doing almost as well as you do, how to make you shiver and whine around Rhett's thick fingers, all from such a simple touch. He's yet to daringly reach where you crave him most, innocently roaming your body like it's a work of art. 

You almost hate Rhett for drawing his hand away from your mouth, leaving it open and far too empty. But it's hard to be upset when he dips between your legs, dripping fingers dragging through your folts, across your aching clit, until he can lazily circle your entrance. Still aching from how they had their way with you in this morning, pushed to a limit you didn't know you had.

It's hard to tell who gasps louder when two fingers dip inside, your breaths intertwining into one.

"So tight already," Rhett murmurs, his voice darker than the midnight mineral flowing through his veins, "thought your poor lil' pussy would still be gapin' from us."

Bold, Bob's hand roams between your quivering legs, meeting where Rhett's fingers laz thrust into you. And you're certainly not expecting Bobby to push his finger in, too, but there are suddenly three within you. Curling to stroke at a sensitive bundle of nerves that Rhett has intentionally been avoiding. 

"Soaking, too," Robby's eyelashes flutter at the way you jolt, his cock jumping against his belly. Flushed at the tip, heavy in your hand when you reach for him. You may not be able to reach Rhett right now, but you can play this game, too.

Your soft palm running up his heated skin, thumb swiping over the single beat of precum that has collected at his tip, not enough to wet him, but it makes him glisten all the same. Not quite the borderline faucet that Rhett is, making a downright mess on the back of your thigh. 

Bob's other hand disappears beneath the pillow, fishing out the poorly hidden bottle of lubricant that certainly should not be hiding there. If you could see Rhett's face, you just know you'd find guilt written all over it. 

For once, though, his inability to put things where he found them has made things easier. Don't have to quit stroking Bob's throbbing length as he pours the clear fluid until he's satisfied with the glide. Laziness enables more laziness. 

"Do y' need more?" Rhett's fingers twitch in you, and the corners of your vision sparkle with a painting of the galaxy. Always seems to spasm after using those mythical abilities, briefly losing control of the unnamed ore that his body manufactures on its own accord.

At least he didn't make you see into the future this time. 

"I think I'm alright," your tongue tingles in your mouth, difficult to move. 

Their fingers pull away simultaneously, leaving you way, way too empty. But again, you've got the perfect remedy for that. Scooting up Bob's soft thighs and guiding him to meet your dripping sex, cock head kissing your loosened entrance. Their hands interlock on your hips, holding you steady; in the odd freak event, you slip up and take him all at once.

It's never happened, but they act like it happens every time. 

If it has something to do with those visions, you're thankful you haven't witnessed it. 

Just like how thankful you are for the gentle pressure of Bob's cock, his thick tip slipping inside for the second time today. Just big enough to make you weaken at the stretch, a whimper catching in your throat. Dragging against that bundle of nerves as he slips past, indirectly massaging against it. 

Rhett's sinful hand dips between your legs once more, two fingers bracketing Bob's cock, feeling where it disappears inside. 

The rain pattering against the window is the only thing you can hear; the three of you stunned into silence as you sink lower and lower on Bob's lap. Fighting to relax around him, pushed closer and closer to the border of too much when your skin finally meets with his. Flush against each other. Nothing left to take.

A shaky breath slips past your lips, heart pounding heavy in your chest. So, so full. 

"You're shakin', baby," Rhett's breath tickles your naked shoulder, "needin' Robby that bad, hm?" And maybe that's why you're having such a hard time controlling yourself, shivering palms settling on Bob's sturdy chest, fighting to lift your body.

Only manage to lift yourself an inch or two before you're sinking back down, and barely able to match that when you repeat it. Exhausted muscles further weakened by the drag of his cock along your walls, rubbing right where you crave him. So good, but you can't fucking move, face wrinkling as your knees sink into the mattress, rising the smallest bit, only to fall back down onto him.

Bob's fingers swirl against your weary hips, "Having trouble?" 

All you can do is nod. 

Those hands rise, smoothing over your back. Only takes the slightest bit of pressure for him to draw you down into his chest. Laying against him as he digs his feet into the bed, searching for leverage. 

And then he finds it, and he's thrusting up into you long and slow, and you might forget how to breathe altogether. Cheek squishing against his flushed collarbone, your eyes rolling as he does it again. Can only imagine what kind of view Rhett's got. It must be quite something because he's gone virtually silent. Watching in silent awe.

Maybe you'd be able to ask if you weren't rendered speechless by the way Bob drives up into you. Blunt tip rubbing right past those quivering nerves, punctuated by the soft smack of skin on skin, gradually quickening. Your hands are fluttering. Grabbing at the sheets. His hair. A little bit of both. 

"Bobby, Bobby, Bobby," you catch yourself babbling. Don't know when your lips started moving or how to shut yourself up. It's too early to be falling apart. It's, it's...

"There you go," he's whispering in return, "does that feel good?" 

Outside, thunder rumbles, the bedside lamp flickering as the wind begins to howl around the corners of the house. But you can't be brought to worry about potential power outages and how you'd clean up in the dark because Rhett's hands are smoothing up your thighs. Drawing your attention back to the way your swollen cunt spasms around Bob's length, the kind of thing that makes you shiver from head to toe. 

"Talk t' him, darlin'," Rhett croons, absolutely entranced, his rough palms roaming up the soft skin of your back. 

You don't even know what to say. Scrambling for words that you've forgotten the meaning of. But your fists are clenching around handfuls of the comforter as you push back against him, meeting thrust after thrust. Harder. Faster now. Bouncing your body with every soft smack. 

"Come on," Bob rasps, and you've leaned back just enough to see the redness that's formed on his cheeks. He's lost his glasses, lying discarded near the pillows. Unfocused blue eyes peering down at you, eager to drink you in. "Talk to us, baby."

"Feels," choking on your words, eyes scrunching shut. Come on, come on, it's right on the tip of your tongue. "Feels good—!"

"Yeah?" That tone. Rhett's up to something, and you're too weak to look back and find out what. "Y' like it when y' get Robby's fat cock in your lil' pussy?" 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, your head is starting to spin, cunt clenching needlessly at his words. Can feel yourself grow wetter, downright dripping around the thick length driving up into you. And there's nothing you can do but pant for a breath you can never catch, taking every inch.

Bob grumbles this loud noise that vibrates out of his chest and into yours, "Rhett—"

"Would be a shame if he..." Before Rhett can finish speaking, Bob is gasping, stuttering to a sudden halt, "stopped." 

"Quit," Bob's shuddering breath cuts him short, "Quit rubbing my balls like that." 

But Rhett isn't stopping. You can feel his thumb bumping into your skin with every feather-light spiral, massaging in this frustrating sort of way that makes Bob jerk up into you. Unable to do a damn thing about this torment without hurting himself. His hot breath hitting your forehead, flushed cock still throbbing deep inside of you. 

"Shit, Rhett, that..." he pants, breathless, "that...'m gonna cum if you keep..."

"A'ight," and just like that, Rhett stops. 

But he's not done.

No, now he's curling an arm around you. Gingerly guiding you to sit on your haunches, your heavy head falling back against his shoulder, still full of cock. Split wide and putting on a hell of a show for Bob's darkened gaze. Especially when Rhett dips down, his fingers slipping between your folds in favor of sliding across your clit. 

"Rhett," you don't know what else to see. Repeating their names like an incantation, the voicings of a weary heart desperate for a promise of forever. The one thing that the world doesn't want you to have. So unfortunate that you crave it like a fallen angel craves the warmth of the heavens.

But Rhett's hands are just as warm. Burning fingertips spiraling effortlessly around that swollen bud. Has you clenching down around Bob's cock, squeezing him up against the frenzied nerves along your walls, crying high in your throat. 

"Just like that," Helplessly grabbing at his meaty wrist, squeezing until you can feel iron bone pressing back against you, "Rhett, just like...just..."

Your tongue is starting to go limp in your mouth, and somewhere between the haze settling in your senses, you catch the way Bob's eyes roll back into his head. All from the involuntary massage of your pussy, desperately chasing the way Rhett's rubbing you. Heat pools in your lower belly, sending your skin prickling. 

You're...you're...

Head lolling back against Rhett's shoulder, your eyelashes flutter closed. Heart hammering against your chest, feels like the entire room has begun to spin. Can't think of anything but the soft nudge of Rhett's jaw against your forehead and his soft whisper of your name. 

"Cum for us, baby," he breathes, fingers working a little faster, "come on."

And you do.

Oh, you do.

With a cry that you cannot hear, the ringing in your ears growing into an all-encompassing hum as your orgasm washes over you. Pussy squeezing around Bob's cock, chest heaving as you gasp for air, head spinning off of your shoulders and up into the clouds above. And it's warm, and it's perfect, and for just a second, you think you might be able to see a bright light in the distance of your blackened future. 

But then you're coming back down all too quickly, returning to your senses just as your weary cheek comes to rest against Bob's sweaty chest. His cock slipping out of you, still painfully hard and begging for attention. 

Attention that Rhett's all too eager to give him, scooting closer, collecting their flushed lengths into one oversized hand. Stroking loosely at first. Spreading remnants of leftover lube and your wetness onto himself until every motion is punctuated by a sickly squelch. Knuckles bumping into the curve of your ass, the only indication you have that he's still moving. 

Bob's arms coil around you, fingers kneading into your weary flesh, has to occupy himself with something. Breath fanning out against the top of your head, swallowing down a grunt you hardly catch. It's not what he wanted, but oh, is he not complaining, bucking up into Rhett's warm hand, jostling you in the process.

"Awfully quiet down there," it's hard to tell if Rhett's remark is directed toward you or Bobby, maybe both. 

Bob's trying his best to talk, his head shaking back and forth, unintentionally grants you an excellent view of the vein in his neck, flexing with the motion. "It's hard to talk when you're—fuck, when you're..." his speech stumbles into a whine, and you can feel the way his belly twitches beneath you, "God, your hand." 

You can't help but lean up and press your lips to that thin skin, gingerly sucking on the vein. And so what if your free hand reaches up, two fingers pinching a pale pink nipple? 

"Ah—"  He damn near jumps, body bucking up into yours, "Hey!"

It's the straw that breaks the camel's back. Now that he's made one loud noise, he can't close his mouth again. A melody of breathy moans that could make anyone fall to their knees. Backed by Rhett's guttural groan, bucking up into his own hand, the meaty head of his cock bumping into you.

"I'm..." Bob's panting, "close."

Rhett stops. Not another word or warning spoken, as his big hands curl around your hips, pulling you up onto your knees, ass up for him. You already know what's coming, but you're hardly prepared for the aching stretch of his cock pressing into you. The glide smoother than before, still stretched and open for him.

"Again?" You squeak, voice punched out of you by the smack of his balls against your oversensitive clit. Not ready for another cock to fuck into you just yet, but he's already moving. Short, jerky thrusts punctuated by the exhausted wetness of your pussy, sent into a spasm of flutters around him. 

Below you, Bob grumbles, "You don't have to tease me for this to work." 

"I know it," you can hear Rhett's wild grin distorting the corners of his words, "but it's more fun this way, ain't it?"

His cockiness is short-lived. Karma, you suppose. Because he's leaning down, his body caging yours. Rutting into you a little quicker as he buries his face in your shoulder, muffling those soft grunts until he's stuttering to a halt, cumming in you with a garbled cry. And you're just lucid enough to feel the twitching of his cock, the heat that fills the deepest parts of you, pumping you full until he has nothing left to give.  

"Couldn't help yourself, could you?" Teasing, you tilt your head to look back at him. Wasn't quite anticipating him to be leaning in for a kiss, but the shallow peck is a welcomed gift. 

Rhett's quiet until he draws out of you, leaning back on his haunches to get a look at the mess he's made of your cunt. His cum already beginning to leak out, threatening to stain the sheets again if you aren't careful. 

"Look so pretty when you're full of us," he muses aloud, and before you can open your mouth again, he's nudging into you again.

Or is that...no, that's Bobby, who's sinking into you. A shiver wracking down his spine as Rhett guides him back inside the absolute mess they've made of you. Cum and sweat, and lube coming together to create this sickly noise that makes you shudder. 

"Am I hurtin' you?" Bob's gasping, the edges of a Texas-born accent audible, and you genuinely don't know what you would do if he always spoke like that because it's enough to make you bite back a moan.

"I'm alright," reassuring both yourself and him at the same time.

That's all he needs. Jerking up into you without abandon, arms squeezing you tight to his chest, anchoring you to his overheated body. The softest sounds drifting from his lips, punctuating his every shallow thrust. But just as quickly as he started, he's tipping over the edge, stalling to a halt with a noise you can only describe as strangled. Filling you once more until you don't think you can possibly let them between your legs for a minimum of forty-eight hours.

You've hardly got the strength to lift yourself off of him, collapsing to his left. They're leaking out of you, coating your thighs in a sticky mess that you have no hope of cleaning on your own. Not in this century. 

By the looks of it, Bob might be able to join you for a nice, hundred-year nap. His half-lidded eyes staring up at the ceiling, hardly reacting to the two fingers you're walking across his chest. 

But he reacts when Rhett's rough hand wraps around his spent length—jolting, wailing, as Rhett's empty hand rises to press against his forehead. Wicked thumb massaging over that flushed, weeping cock head, right where Bobby is most sensitive. Sends him into a full-bodied tremor.

"Sen—sensitive!" Tears roll down his flushed cheeks, speech devolving into something incoherent. 

The hand on his forehead darkens. Drawing some nameless black ore from the depths of Robert's overworked brain. Cruel, how such a thing can be such a gift to one man and a curse to another, destroying and building up innocent bodies without rhyme or reason. 

It runs out. That steady stream of midnight fading away in wriggling splotches until it's no more. And it still might not mean the end of those visions. There's no way to tell if there's more hidden somewhere in his body, or worse, it may have begun to manufacture itself like it does in Rhett. Running rampant for eternity. 

But right now, there's no more, and Rhett's letting go of his abused length, and you're both leaning in to press kisses to his clammy cheeks, and it's the closest thing one can get to perfection. Your exhausted mind can hardly find the energy to return to what happened earlier.

A discussion for tomorrow. 

"Are you okay?" You whisper somewhere around when he stops shaking. Calm at last. 

He hums. The best that you're going to get. 

And he's quiet like that for some time. Virtually silent, reduced to grunts and offhanded chuckles when you decide it's time to clean yourselves up before things start to dry in places they should not. Three pairs of legs stumble down the hall and into the bathroom; Rhett's arms are full of clothes, you're fumbling with the hot water, and Bob's simply glued to your side. 

"Pink or purple?" Rhett chirps, and you don't need to look to know that he's reached under the sink and picked up a handful of bath bombs. He'd use them all at once if you'd let him.

Without a word, Bob points to the pink. Conveniently, it's also the bomb with a toy capsule hidden inside. A mystery that will surely join the small shelf of collected surprises above the towel rack.

Somewhere between the fizzing of the bomb and a sneeze that nearly sends Rhett falling into the bath, Bob grabs both of your hands. Toying with your fingers as if amused by their shape and varying sizes. How Rhett's hands are massive even compared to Bob's, and how soft yours are. 

"Do you think you got it all out?" He asks after a long while. Breaking whatever silence had fallen over the room. 

"Felt like I bled y' dry," Rhett hums, his foot kicking against yours, vying to start another water fight, "but there ain't no tellin' this early."

That doesn't seem to be the answer Bob was looking for. Hell, it certainly isn't the answer you want to hear, either, but what can you do other than wait?

A clear capsule rises to the surface, bouncing with its excitement to be seen and opened. A small yellow duck with a misprinted eye that has left one half of its head coated in black. 

"Looks like someone turned Rhett into a duck," Bobby chirps, twisting the adorably shaped hunk of plastic in his fingers. And now that he says it out loud, it does look like Rhett when he uses his abilities. Whatever they're meant to be called. 

The duck travels into the bedroom, one way or another. You find it sitting on your pillow, staring back at you with its singular eye like it's been employed to keep an eye on your whereabouts while Bob fusses with the security system. Motion detectors and alarms galore, monitoring every room and entry point that could possibly exist. 

They act like there will come a day when someone breaks in, and you hope it's a measure fueled by worry rather than a vision detailing the worst. 

But tonight isn't that night. No, just one of tangled legs and kisses pressed against sore skin and muscle and mumblings about plans of getting back into the Naval base. Get ahold of those documents that narrowly slipped through your fingers earlier. Copy and replace them before anyone is the wiser, keeping the originals as evidence of what happened. The only truth that can possibly force them all to acknowledge what they did to Bobby and his old pilot, Phoenix.

You wish you'd gotten the chance to know her before the hole took her life. Bob's recount of her always makes her seem like such a lovely woman. 

"We can do it for you too, you know," he says, and you know he's directing it toward Rhett, because the evidence of the crime against you has already been collected. 

The security footage of so-called friends locking you out in the cold, some grand plan to get back at you for forgetting to reserve the first cabin. A little "Oops, it's annoying to be forgotten, isn't it?" that left you stranded in the worst blizzard the state had seen in decades. Wandering through a perpetual blanket of white until a hole opened up beneath your feet and swallowed you up.

To think that they tried to cover up what happened to you, in the same fashion Rhett's family did to him, by pretending it never happened. Everyone in the house had simply forgotten the past twelve hours. No, we don't know what happened to them, officer; they just disappeared!

"I know," Rhett's cold nose nudges your shoulder; you'd almost forgotten that he curled up behind you, "wanna enjoy Perry in prison, a lil' longer."

Your fingers reach to run through Bob's damp hair; need something to do."Are you still showing up in the cell to scare him?" 

"Absolutely."

The air is silent.

And then the three of you devolve into a giggle. 

The drone of the city is one that swallows you up before you've even stepped foot into it. Flashing lights, squealing horns, and clashing of voices. People. Individuals with their own stories, purposes, and meanings in this world, crossing paths for the briefest moment, on their way to a better destination. 

You are surrounded by more people than you can count, yet you might as well be invisible. A ghost that can be stepped through, only visible to a select few. 

Rhett's hand squeezes yours, and it's the most solid you've felt in weeks. Maybe it's the kind of curse that applies to more than one. The three of you seemingly frozen in time as the world bustles about, never stopping for a second because the world does not stop for just anyone. 

But it will soon.

God, you hope it stops on a fucking dime. Sends everyone reeling, a sucker punch flying in somewhere from behind. Rattles everything they've ever considered about themselves, the people around them, the higher power above, the world itself. Because America tells you that the only things worth knowing are those which can be known. 

America is wrong.

You are worth knowing.

And you want them to hurt like Rhett did when his brother picked up his fists and beat him into the ground because how dare anyone make a simple comment about moving on. To feel the complete and utter betrayal to wake up to your father throwing you into the unknown, uncaring of how you plead for your life. Promises that you won't tell anyone what happened.

You want them to lose like Bob did when he and Phoenix were deceived. Convinced to climb into the backseat of that F/A-18, not knowing they were about to be sent through a hole that wasn't just some silly illusion. To be struck by an unknown substance that kills their best friend and forces them to suffer violent visions. 

Return home after five years to find that you have been given a false funeral, your possessions no longer remain, and the Navy is accusing you of desertion. Any other way would force them to explain what happened, and a ruined life is worth the price of secrecy. 

You want them to know what it's like to be betrayed by those they trust the most. Left for dead and not be given the grace of having their names plastered in the paper. Reduced to just another faceless person. A tragedy for one day, forgotten on the next. 

Your eyes dart to the small phone in Bob's hand. It doesn't hurt to look at it anymore—no more bubblings of memories or invisible nippings of frostbite at your skin. It's just a cheap phone meant to do its job, and that is all. 

Rhett looks to Bob.

Bob looks to you.

You look back at them.

Together, you smile. There's no going back from this, and that's okay. You are the monsters they created, after all. Bob's finger taps the crudely designed button on the phone. 

Every screen in the city lights up with the same video. 

Oh, what could have been.

#void au #rhett abbott #bob floyd #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader x rhett abbott #oneshot #smut

[mess-with-a-purpose]

Midnight Love Calls

Pairing: Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x afab!reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: SMUT/NSFW (18+) minors please go away or I will take your phone, overstimulation, cum eating, oral (f receiving), face fucking, slight dirty talk, established relationship, AFTERCARE because ice is a gENTLEMAN, fluff

“Tom, please, I can’t–” his head was between your thighs for the second time that night, spurring your fourth orgasm of the evening. Every touch on your clit felt like an electric spasm and his tongue was maintaining a maddening technique. Every sensation rolled through your body as Tom’s fingers and tongue lapped up his own cum that had spilled out of you. 

Tom glanced up at you sweetly, his dominant presence flickered behind his eyes as he continued to drive you insane. Thighs clenched around his ears, you moved your hips against his mouth at an alarming rate, the desire to meet your final high consumed your consciousness. Fingers yanked at his hair as you steadied his head to buck your hips against his lips and nose. Catching on, he removed his fingers to focus solely on your swollen clit. His hands, slick with the mixture of your cum, cupped your thighs as he flattened his tongue to accommodate your thrusts. 

“Fuck my face, baby,” his voice was dark, desire peeking through as he groaned against your dripping slit. His tongue flattened against you, your hips finding their rhythm. You felt euphoric, chasing the pleasure relentlessly as you reached for his hand. Tom never took his eyes from you, his fingers weaving with yours as you toppled over the ultimate edge, thighs already slick with both of your previous climaxes. Devilish sounds filled the room, a symphony created from your squeaked moans paired with messy, slurped licks rolls you through the initial wave. However, Tom wasn’t quite finished with you. His mouth covered your slit, catching your essence but never letting up with his own symphony of desire. The messy pops and slurps cause you to bite down on your lip as the urge to scream burns in your raw throat. The only thing keeping you somewhat grounded was the feeling of his hair between your fingers, the damp sheets against your back, and Tom’s fingers kneading your skin.

He was addicted to seeing you like this; sprawled out underneath him as he brought you endless pleasure. He loved seeing your face contort with desire; your brow knitting together while your lips form a perfect “O” just before you take in a sharp breath to meet your finish. This was the first time he’d go for five and he knew you’d need the attention after, especially having gone the last six months without each other. The intensity beckoned tears to the corner of your eyes, slipping toward your temples as the aftershock turned into an explosion. You felt yourself tense as Tom stroked the skin around your hips, guiding you through your very last orgasm of the night. His sinful tongue causes you to let out a silent scream, your silence morphing into a yelp as you squeezed his hand before your hips bucked one final time.

Chest tight, your breaths came in shudders as you clenched your eyes shut through the aftershock. Tom placed a careful kiss against your slit, a hiss escaping your lips at the sensitivity of your clit brushing his nose. His hands massaged your quivering thighs, slowly settling them back down onto the damp sheets.

“Please, no more, Tom. I–I can’t,” your voice was small and breathy as Tom moved up your body, leaving soft and gentle kisses along your skin. You felt charged, each press of his lips seemed to set off a spark aftershock. God, you’d missed him.

“I know, sweetheart. It’s alright,” he whispered, his fingers cupping your jaw. More tears fell from your eyes, Tom’s body going stiff as his thumb stroked your damp skin. You had yet to open your eyes, stuck behind the galaxy of stars bursting in the dark. 

“Oh, god, baby, are you alright? Did I hurt you?” Tom’s voice was gentle but concerned, his gaze scanning along your shivering body. 

You felt for his hand, clenching your fingers around his to anchor yourself. “N-no, Tom,” you licked your lips, slowly opening your eyes to look at him. “I–it was ju–just a lot.”

Tom’s face softened. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he kissed your knuckles, bringing them under his chin. “I should’ve been more careful.” You felt the tremors slowly settle, legs limp and heavy as you tried to curl against his bare chest. He hesitates for a moment, a look of confusion glossing over your eyes. “Let me get you cleaned up first.”

You whine, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him to you. You knew the routine. This first part meant he would get up from the bed and you were reluctant to let your anchor go adrift. Tom pressed a firm kiss to your forehead before gently settling your arms at your chest, pulling a blanket to cover you as he headed to the bathroom. You hear the tap run as you let your eyes flutter shut. The mattress dipped underneath Tom’s weight as he returned to you.

“Sweetheart, is it okay if I–” he interrupts himself as he sees you nod, eyes still closed. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

His fingers tickle over your skin as he spreads your legs, the towel pleasantly warm as he wiped down your thighs and slit. You let out a whimper, the strokes getting too close to your overly sensitive clit. Tom immediately stopped, closing your legs and tucking them back under the blanket. He crossed the room, headed towards the record player perched on your shared dresser to flip the switch on the needle; a soft click followed by music that filled the room with a gentle beat. The mattress dipped again as he returned from the bathroom to hang up the towel and grab a glass of water.

“Here,” he helps you sit up on your elbows, pulling the blanket across your chest. “Drink some of this, sweetheart.” His arm caged you in as he watched you carefully take the glass from his hand, lips caressing your head.

You obeyed, eagerly drinking half of the glass before coming up for air. Tom saw as your elbows shook under the weight of your torso, still reeling from your mind blowing session. He pressed his lips to your bare shoulder, then your cheek. He rested his forehead against yours, fingers trailing lovingly up your arm as you both soaked in the moment held together by music. 

“I love you,” he said, his voice was tender to match his touch.

You felt tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. You’d heard Tom say it a million times before, the latest had been over hurried phone calls. You remember one time when Tom had to miss your scheduled call time, something with work had kept him. It had been about midnight your time, but you could never sleep with Tom gone so you had perched yourself on the porch to read. When the phone rang, you had flinched; a bad time to read a thriller, you’d decided. Picking up the phone, you didn’t even have time to get out a “hello” and you heard a rushed “Tom Kazansky loves Y/N” before the line clicked. You’d loved your Navy man, midnight love calls and all.

“And I love you,” tears slipped down your cheeks, fingers quickly wiping them away. You licked your lips once again, opening the blanket for him. “Will you hold me?”

“Of course, baby.”

Tom took the glass from your hand, setting it on the nightstand, not caring about the potential ring it would leave on the wood. You scoot over the best you can, your legs shaking with any weight put on them and Tom drapes your body over his. He tenderly kissed your hair as you settled against his chest, his fingertips ghosting across your skin to draw meaningless patterns that soothed you. Sure, you loved the sex you had with Tom. He was always so attentive and knew how to leave you satisfied. But it was in those moments where you felt the true intimacy, the vulnerability. Tom was not a man to express himself outwardly, except with you. 

“I think we beat our own record,” you joked, Tom letting out a chuckle against your hair as his hands ran down your arm. You felt his lips press against your head, warm and soothing.

An inviting squeeze compacted you against his chest, your cheek nuzzled against his skin as you eyed his dog tags. “Are you alright, baby?” his voice flickered with a gentleness that made your heart flutter.

Tracing your fingers along his chain, you nod before kissing his peck. A smile grazed your lips as you felt his hand stroke your arm. “Guess you missed me, huh, Lieutenant?” you giggled against his skin, suddenly bashful as the last couple of hours played back in your head. 

“More than you know.”

“Me too,” you whispered, relaxing against his body as the occasional shudder quaked through your nerves. His heartbeat thumped in your ear, breaths soothing as your head rose and fell with his chest. Your eyelids felt heavy, fluttering closed as your record shut off, the needle clicking back into its holder as if waiting for the next task. Nothing but your breathing in the room as you drift into sleep’s waiting arms.

Just before you let yourself succumb to your fatigue, you give Tom a squeeze. “Y-you’ll be here, right? When I wake up?” You couldn't bear to meet his eyes.

Tom knew the concern in your voice, the fear, the pain. It killed him inside to hear you like that. His hands cupped your head, lips pressed softly against yours, foreheads resting against each other. “I promise.”

“It’s just…” you trailed off, remembering the morning he left for his last assignment. A part of you was always scared of falling asleep in his arms because you would usually wake up alone in the morning. 

Tom stroked his thumb against your cheek, eyes closed. “I know and I promise.”

“Okay,” your voice was softer without the music to fill any space. You knew it seemed ridiculous; it was the reality of his job and you knew that. You couldn’t think about it now, though, or it would force you to drift too far away from the reality you were holding in that moment. Anchoring yourself to him, you smile before lightening the mood. “I need to let you in on a secret, Lieutenant.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

You bit your lip, preparing for the punchline. “Y/N loves Tom Kazansky!” 

As you buried your head in his chest to mute your giggle, his laugh from deep within his belly, he squeezed you again. “And Tom Kazansky loves Y/N.”

Spent from your evening activities and the built up exhaustion from Tom’s absence, you felt your eyes flutter closed as you heard him hum softly. His fingers continued to trail across your skin, breath gently blowing your hair, arms encasing you against his body.

It was the best you’d slept in months.

A/N: I hope y’all enjoyed! I’m still getting the hang of writing smut that doesn’t sound too technical so, if anyone has some gentle tips/suggestions, please let me know! :)

#tom kazansky #tom kazansky x reader #tom iceman kazansky #tom iceman kazansky x reader #top gun smut #top gun #val kilmer #top gun fic #tom kazansky smut #val kilmer smut

[invidiia]

[BSD] albatross x reader // embarrassing favors

❐ - albatross (bsd) with a reader who got their period

note ; first non yandere post on my blog so far, actually. i just saw the cutest reddit story ever through a tiktok soo here it is!! ohhh, and the people in that story got married by the way!! been married for over 10 years, and i almost started sobbing it was sooo cute!!!

prompt ; the reader realizes they accidentally bled through their pants while a meeting took place.

warning ; crack/fluff, reader in albatross not yet dating, flag!reader, blood cuz of periods and all, afab reader, chuuya's just not mentioned/pre stormbringer??

masterlist - rules - previous work

well.. this sucked.

after quickly excusing yourself from a meeting and rushing into the port mafia's washrooms as soon as you felt what you think you felt, it turned out you were right. not only were you right, but there was blood on your clothing, too.

thankfully no one else at the meeting noticed, but it didn't help a whole lot, considering there was still a red stain adorning your clothes.

there were almost no options. you could maybe go to doc, the medical supervisor of the group, which wasn't that bad of an idea. although, you'd have to go back into the meeting room, and the blood would be obvious. plus, you kind of avoided talking to doc, and the rest of the flags.

not that they were scary or anything.. but they were. lippman and albatross made an effort to speak with you, and sometimes even piano man spoke to you. doc often commented on your words or actions, sometimes annoyingly, but never spoke to you much. iceman never spoke to you or commented on anything, always laying low, but he didn't seem like a bad guy.

but instead of thinking about how you felt about your peers, why don't you think instead about your current situation? maybe it could be worse, because at least nobody saw.

maybe you could ask a female member of the mafia? but no one else was in this part of the building, only the rest of the flags and a few others. you had no idea who those others were, but there was good chance it wasn't a female member, soo..

you were in the bathroom for well over five minutes. you spent most of that time peeking down the hall, waiting for a female member to walk over so you could wave them down and ask for help. after minutes passed by, no one came. maybe it was better none than the worst, right? at least it wasn't someone loud and talkative, or ---

"y/nnnn! helloo?" a voice sang out.

okay, maybe you were wrong. it was someone loud and talkative. albatross. you hid behind the door and got out of his sight, but unluckily for you, the door was loud, and he noticed. "wait, don't close the door! what's wrong? why were you gone so long?" he was a little late, so the door already closed, but it didn't stop him from leaning against the door and yelling out to you. "hello? what's wrong?"

you hid behind the door and spoke, "i am begging you, please go get another girl from the other side of the building." you muttered through the door separating you two. "no way, piano man is gonna get pissed at me if i take any longer! can't you tell me what's wrong?" god, how screwed could you get?

"please? it's really important, he'd probably understand if he knew." not that you had any intention of telling him, but you just needed albatross to call a female member for help. "why can't you tell me? come out!" you peeked your head outside the door again, keeping your lower half hidden for obvious reasons. "oh.. you need that?"

you sighed in frustration and relief, or maybe a mix of the two. a part of you hoped he knew what you were talking about. "what is 'that'?"

"you know! ..that." albatross continued, not being clear with you at all. in a frustrated sigh of annoyance, you nodded rapidly and hoped he knew, because at this point, you didn't care. "okay, okay, hang on, i have one!" you looked at him confused. he had one? he didn't really strike you as the type of guy who kept feminine products on him at any time.

and then he pulled it out. 'it' being a safety pin. albatross handed you the safety pin from his pocket. "...what am i supposed to do with this?"

"...close it up?" he shrugged, just as puzzled as you were. was he serious?? did he expect you to use a safety pin? "with all due respect, how the hell am i going to do that?!" you whisper yelled, trying not to make loud noise down the empty hallway.

"you don't know how to use a safety pin? it's easy..?" albatross looked at you weird, taking back the pin back and messing with it in his hands. "i thought your clothes ripped or something. isn't that what you meant?"

oh. this dumbass.

"you idiot, no! i need something else! not that!" you resisted the urge to smack him, instead facepalming. "it's a girl's thing! that's why i asked you to call a female member!" albatross just watched you facepalm, feeling guilty and clueless for bringing you a safety pin. he actually understood what you needed now - considering the look of realization on his face was priceless. maybe not at the moment, but looking back on it later, it'd definitely be something to laugh at.

"..oh! okay, i'm sorry, i had no idea you meant that!" you could see his eyes widen under his tinted glasses. now he knew. "i'll be right back, i think i know what to do..?" and before you could say another word, he ran off, leaving you in the bathroom by yourself again. you had to admit, you appreciated his efforts.

and two minutes later, you heard footsteps growing louder, and then knocking at the door. "y/nn, come out please, i have your thing!" you laughed to yourself out of relief, and peeked back outside to see albatross with a first-aid kit in one hand and a pad in the other. "i took the whole kit and found it," he explained, his hand shaking while he handed it to you. "here, take it."

"why's your hand shaking?" you asked him, gratefully taking the pad from his hand and putting it in your pocket for the meantime. "i've never touched one before..?" it was funny, seeing him distressed over holding the product. you laughed, turning to go back inside and close the door.

"wait! y/n," albatross stopped you, and you turned around. "here, take this to cover up, you know.." he shrugged off his jacket, handing it to you while looking away. "thank you, albatross." you smiled at him, returning to go do what you needed to.

two minutes passed, and you were about to walk out. it was a little weird, because you never heard him leave. you opened the door, and there he was, waiting. he saw your puzzled face, basically reading your mind and proceeded to answer the question he knew you were about to ask. "i figured i could walk you back to the room..?"

"sure," you smiled at him, starting to walk down the hallway and back to the room where you excused yourself from earlier.

of course, you got a scolding from piano man, but you didn't care all too much. it was hard to focus on his words when your mind was on albatross. and his eyes were on you.

#bsd x reader #albatross x reader #bsd albatross x reader #stormbringer x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #albatross bsd x reader #bsd fanfic #klya..writes

[midnightdevotion]

Party of Three

Request: Reader is maverick's sister and is dating iceman, finds out she's pregnant.

@sebastianstangirl01

Pairing: Iceman x Reader (afab)

Tag list is open!

Requests are open!

Warnings: Some angst, some fluff, one punch. ( i did not proof read, bc it's midnight )

a/n: In true gen-z fashion I cannot write a fic without the use of cell phones so, were going with it. Everything else is pretty cannon i think.

You've been feeling off for almost three weeks before you realize you haven't had your period for 2 months. Your heart hasn't stopped racing since you came the realization of what that probably means.

Rushing to the store at a prompt 8:46 this morning to get pregnancy tests. You haven't been able to work up the nerve to actually take said tests. Anxiously biting your lips, even though they are already tender and you taste the tang of blood.

Sighing you look at the clock, and seeing it is 4:00 and you've wasted the entire day looking at the damn tests on your coffee table you stand. Finally grabbing the box you march to the bathroom in what you hope is confidence but you know is really just fear and mental exhaustion.

You've spent all day running through every possible situation that could come from this. No matter what your older brother is going to be pissed. You groan as you think about what he's going to say to you. Not ready for the onslaught of being told you are irresponsible and how could you be so reckless.

Opening the boxes to gather the tests out you have shaky hands and almost drop the pregnancy tests. It takes another ten minutes to actually build up the courage to sit down to take the tests.

Within a minute you have three tests sitting on the counter. You turn on your phone timer to 5 minutes, and god you'd rather plank for five minutes straight than wait for this. You sit on the ground, back to the cabinets that are holding your entire future on top of it.

Your leg is shaking as you anxiously wait for the results. Glancing down at your phone every 3 seconds feeling like it's been 30. When the timer finally does go off, you've never stood up so fast. Legs feeling like jello, and your palms are sweaty.

Swallowing hard you pick up the first test. Looking down to see a plus sign your heart stops. Quickly glancing at the other two you see they are also plus signs.

You can't take it anymore and your nerves are shot. Rushing to the toilet you let out all the contents from the sandwich you forced yourself to eat earlier.

Hearing your phone buzz on the counter you stand, leaning against the counter as you read the message.

My love: Hey sweetheart, we're all gonna go to the bar tonight, want me to swing by and pick you up.

It takes you a solid two minutes to come up with a halfway decent reply, hoping it sounds like you in any way.

You: I'm actually not feeling too hot, just a headache so don't worry about me go have fun :)

It doesn't take him more than 10 seconds to call.

"Do you need anything?" He doesn't even bother with a hello when he hears you pick up the phone. You try to control the shaky in your voice when you answer.

"No-no that's okay, I'm just gonna take some tylenol and try and sleep." You can picture him furrowing his brow, because usually you love cuddles when you aren't feeling well and you never say no to take out and icecream when you have a headache either.

"Babe are you sure? I can go to your favorite Chinese food and grab some ben and jerry's?"

"yea I'm sure, I just really feel tired, So go enjoy your time with the boys" You feel so bad lying to him, knowing he's got that confused look in his eyes and he's probably running a hand through his blond hair. Almost like if he does it enough he will solve whatever problem is wracking his brain.

"alright... but you'll call if you need anything right?" You hate yourself for the sad tone to his voice.

"Of course babe" you cringe because you know this whole conversation is a train wreck attempt at acting normal. You quickly say your goodbyes and love you's before hanging up. You call the only other person you know you can trust with this.

"Mav... I need you"

And thank god for Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell, because he's outside of your place in less than 30 minutes. You do feel bad because he picks up your favorite Chinese food on his way over. An offer you just ignored from the man you swear is the love of your life.

"Oh mini Mitchell, what's got you all out of wack" is the first thing your brother says to you. The look on your face must say it all, because he is wrapping you in a hug without you even saying a word.

You called Mav for a reason, knowing he would give you the time you needed to get whatever is on your mind sorted before speaking. He's making idle chit chat about his day, knowing both of you aren't here to hear or talk about Mav and his dare devil ways. However, he does know that you aren't ready to tell him why you called him over so he's dishing out the food and distracting his sister the best way he knows how.

It takes two and a half hours before you blurt out your thoughts. Anxiety running rampant in your mind and seeping into your tone.

"Mav...I'm Pregnant" It can't be more than a whisper but you know he hears you because he freezes mid reach for popcorn. It feels like a lifetime could go by in the time you are waiting for maverick to reply. "mav... please say something" You're desperate, needing to know that maverick will support you in this.

"I don't know what to say" You can tell his answer is honest, and you can't really fault him for being shocked and stumped for words, because if you're being honest so are you.

"Please just be here for me...I can't do this on my own"

"you will never do anything alone" his blue eyes pierce into you as he says this, and you are so thankful to have a brother as loyal as maverick.

With the small weight of maverick knowing and knowing you won't be in this alone, no matter what Tom says, you feel like you can breathe slightly lighter now. Your brother is a man of few words in this moment though, and you let him, because you don't really have anything else to add either.

He reaches over and hugs you, and it's then you feel the exhaustion of such an emotionally grueling day hit you. You don't have it in you to stay up to face Tom when he gets home, knowing he prefers to sleep here instead of on base on weekends.

______

Maverick might not have said it to you, but boy oh boy was he pissed. First Kazansky had the nerve to date his little sister, now he's gotten you pregnant?!

After he made sure you had everything you needed and went to bed, he headed directly to the bar he was counting on Iceman being at. He keeps rehearing the phrase "I can't do this on my own" in your scared voice bounce around his head. Clenching his jaw, rage runs through him at the thought of Tom thinking he could just get you pregnant and leave you out to dry.

He whips his bike into a parking stall, seeing none other than Ice's car parked in the third stall over. He's seeing nothing but red as he makes his way into the crowded bar. Eyes searching for one person only.

Goose see's maverick walk in, brow furrowing as the brunette brushes right past him, anger radiating off of him in thick waves.

"KAZANSKY" is shouted as soon as Maverick lands eyes on him. It takes not two seconds for him to be within grasp and Maverick doesn't hesitate to send a brutal punch to the blond pilots eye.

"Maverick what the hell!" Tom reaches for his eye, confused as to why he's standing in searing pain when sure he and Mav have always had somewhat of a turbulent friendship but things had been sailing smoothly for a while now, since he started dating you.

"DON'T WHAT THE HELL ME, YOU THINK YOU CAN GET MY SISTER PREGNANT AND BAIL AND I WONT KICK YOUR ASS" and has never been more confused because... well what the fuck?

"Maverick what the fuck are you talking about?"

"Don't fucking play dumb with me!" and goose the level headed one-- an odd thing to say about the usual goofball, steps between the two.

"Mav... can you explain what's going on" and if it were anyone other than goose who was asking they probably would have been punched too.

"This fucking asshole got my little sister pregnant, now she's sitting at home terrified because he left her to do it alone!" and goose has to physically hold maverick to keep him for going in for another strike.

"She's pregnant?" and it's like a bucket of ice cold water gets dumped over the trio. Tom's head is spinning. Why didn't you tell him? He's gonna be a dad? Wait why did you think you were going to do it alone? Man his eye still hurts.

Maverick has immediate guilt wash over him, he didn't know you hadn't told tom yet, and maybe he shouldn't have punched the guy and caused and scene out in public before he knew the whole story. Maverick has always been an act first think later sort of person and usually it works out, but this time his gut is telling him he's not gonna be so lucky.

"You-you didn't know" and it's not a question, it's a statement. Iceman just shakes his head, shouldering his way out of the bar. Easy to ignore the throbbing of his eye when his heart feels like it might shatter.

_____

You wake up the next morning feeling slightly better about the situation than you did yesterday. Finding it weird when you don't see tom in bed next to you. Yawning you figure maybe he got too tipsy at the bar last night and had to get a ride with someone else, leading him to stay on base.

You slowly make your way into the living room, scanning the mess on the coffee table from your's and Mavericks movie escapades. Telling yourself you'll clean that up later you walk into the kitchen. Gasping at what you see, or rather who you see at the kitchen island.

"Honey what happened to your face!" you reach out to touch his cheek and feel a stinging in your chest when he moves away.

"Were you going to tell me" Your heart freezes at his words.

"t-tell you what" and you hate the stutter to your voice, feeling like you might explode from fear.

"You know what" is his cold reply.

"How did you find out" your voice is so quiet, and you can feel a tear leave the corner of your eye. He won't even look at you. This is exactly what you were afraid of, you two had never talked about kids, and god if he were anything like your brother then he didn't want them.

"Your brother told me, gave me this shiner too" and there's such a dead tone to his voice that it has you scared. He never sounds this monotone to you, so much like he just doesn't care.

"I-I...." and your voice catches on sobs in your throat.

"I'm sorry" it finally makes it's way out of your mouth, combined with an ugly sob. He finally looks up at you, and you see his swollen eye for all it's glory.

"For what exactly, sending your brother after me or--" and you cut him off.

"for getting pregnant... I know you don't want this, so it's okay if you go..." and you are whispering, any louder and you might break in half. You can't bear the thought of losing the one man you've ever really loved, but you don't want him to feel trapped to you and this baby.

You see his brow furrow, and you think here we go, he's trying to figure out how to tell you he doesn't want you or this baby, and to leave him alone.

"what makes you think I don't want this" You don't even have to think about your response.

"because you're a pilot, you don't want to be held back"

"I am not Maverick." You glance up at him, to see him now standing in front of you, just out of arms reach.

"Darling, all I've ever wanted was a future with you, and here you are carrying ours and thinking I don't want it?" Your breath hitches at his words, speechless as he moves closer, resting his hand on your non existent bump.

"I'm gonna be a dad" it's nothing but a whisper and maybe you aren't even supposed to hear it, but it makes you cry harder. All the anxiety of him not wanting this washes away in an instant.

He looks up, quickly bringing his hands to your face, wiping your tears off your face as best he can with how quick they are leaving your eyes. Softly he places his lips against yours, it's every bit reassuring as any words he's going to say to you.

"Sweetheart, I hate that you didn't trust me to come to me with this, but I'm not going anywhere, You are carrying our baby and you're my future wife. There's nothing that could keep me away from you" It sends fresh tears down your cheeks and you can't help but laugh.

"I'm so sorry I didn't tell you first, and I'm so sorry maverick gave you that awful black eye. I was just- I was so scared that you wouldn't want us." He glances down at your stomach, full smile on his face.

"I'd take a black eye for you any day love, just give me a chance next time please?"

_____

You two spend the next three hours discussing plans, calling a doctor and him pulling you out of your anxious thoughts of 'will I be a good mom?'

"This little bean is going to make us a party of three tom!" You have anxiety pouring out of you.

"Can't wait to make it a party of four" comes his suggestive reply and wink. You throw a pillow at him.

"Can't you let me deal with this pregnancy first" you grumble, a happy smile on your face.

"Only if you let me marry you" and when you turn back around you see tom kneeling, ring out.

"this isn't really how i planned on doing this, but you're carrying my baby and I just don't want to wait any longer to have my ring on your finger" He lets out a nervous laugh, as you tear up again. If any one asks you're going to say it's pregnancy hormones.

"Oh my god yes!!" you can't help but to tackle the gorgeous aviator to the ground in excitement.

"we're waiting till after the baby though, no way I'm walking down the aisle with a baby belly" You add as an afterthought. Unable to stop yourself from joining Tom's laughter at your comment.

"God I can't wait for your baby belly... but whatever you want for our wedding honey" you both can't help but grin at those words. Our wedding.

Yeah maybe you had nothing to worry about in the first place but you'd live through it ten times over if it meant marrying the love of your life and having his kids.

Taglist: @alanadetigy

#iceman x reader #top gun #top gun maverick #tom iceman kazansky #iceman #tom kazansky x reader #tom kazansky

[lovingbradshawafterdark]

Kinktober 2022 masterlist (discontinued ☹️)

This was very sudden decision but I decided to hopefully commit and do this :) not all this may be top gun so there may be a few surprises :) I’d you would like to be tagged join my taglist! (Also days may change) the first day will be on October 6th and I will add to this list :D

1. Pet play-Bradly Bradshaw x reader (Gn!reader)

2. Bondage-iceman x fem!reader

3. Breeding-Bob x reader (fem/Afab)

4. Pegging-Matt Murdock x fem!reader

5. Aphrodisiac-bradley bradhsaw x reader (fem/Afab)

6. Biting/blood-Vampire!Jake x Vampire!Mav x gn!reader

7. Choking-Matt Murdock x fem!reader

8. Overstimulation-Maverick x reader

9. Mommy/daddy kink-Ethan hunt x reader

10. Camming-cam!girl reader x bradley x Jake

11. Praise-Jake x fem!reader

12. Holding-Matt Murdock x reader

13. Dry humping-Rooster x reader

14. Double penetration hangman x rooster x reader

15. Roleplay Chris knight x reader

16. Dumbifacation iceman x reader

17. Anal sex- Bradley Bradshaw x reader

18. Public play

19. Cock warming-Maverick x reader

20. Spanking

21. Oral sex

22. Period sex

23. Mask kink

24. Wax play

25. Knife play

26. Boot worship

27. Degradation

28. Thigh job

29. Vouyerism

30. Exhibitionism

31. Predator and prey

#top gun #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun x reader #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x reader #bob floyd x reader #tobey!peter x reader #Peter Parker x reader #chris knight x reader #bradley bradshaw #rooster x reader #top gun fanfic #top gun smut #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #ethan hunt x reader #Ethan hunt

[onebigfangirlworld]

Whos got a bun in the oven

Summary: Iceman and Maverick come home to find a pregnancy test on the counter and think that you are pregnant but could someone else be pregnant?

Relationship: Carole Bradshaw x Nick “Goose” Bradshaw, Iceman x Maverick x afab!Reader

Warnings: Mention of pregnancy

Word Count: 2147

A/N: I tried to keep the pronouns in this as gender neutral as possible since not everyone who has the capacity to carry a child does identify as female or use she/her pronouns

Link to Masterlist

“I’m pregnant.” Carole drops that bomb of information on you. You drop the spatula that you had been holding. You stare at your friend in shock, before you smile and move to hug one of your closest friends.

“That’s great, Carole! I know you Nick have been trying for like forever,” you exclaim. “I’m so happy for you. What’s with that face?” Your friend, who was always so confident, looked nervous and apprehensive. There was even a small hint of fear in her eyes.

“I actually don’t know if I’m pregnant.” she tells you, her eyes locking on yours.

“What do you mean? You’ve peed on a stick right? And you’ve been to the doctors to confirm it? Right, Carole?” She hesitantly shakes her head no. “Okay, come with me.”

You turn off the oven, and the stove and grab Carole’s hand, pulling her up the stairs to the bedroom that you, Tom and Pete share. The cats, Enterprise and Chicken, were startled awake by the two of you running up the house and they followed the two of you to the bedroom. 

Rushing into the attached bathroom, you squat down and start digging through the cabinets under the sink. 

“I have some under here, I know, yes hello chicken. I see you but I can’t pet you right now, go hang with Carole.” Chicken, the cat, had plopped herself right in front of you trying to get you to pet her. If you had to guess, Enterprise would be curled up on the massive bed, enjoying having it all to himself. You gently pushed her out of the way and continued digging through all the junk that had accumulated in the cabinet. 

“Aha! Found it!” You turn to hand Carole the test and see that Chicken had in fact gone to bother carole, and was now being held by said woman. Wordlessly you hand the test to her and take Chicken into your arms. You plop onto the bed, and Enterprise moves to sit next to you. You mindlessly pet him, and wait for Carole. 

She soon opens the bathroom door, and you walk back in, the cats trail behind you. Carole has taken a seat on the floor, and you follow suit, sitting next to her, shoulder to shoulder. Chicken and Enterprise plant themselves in the windowsill, basking in the afternoon sunlight that filters in. The test sits on the sink.

“I hope you get the results you want Carole”, you tell her, breaking the silence.

“I really want a baby. Nick and I have been trying for so long.”

“Then let's hope it's positive.” You grab her hand and hold it. She rests her head on your shoulder and lets out a deep sigh. 

“Have you, Pete and Tom talked about kids?” she asks.

“Here and there. I mean, we’ve all been together for 3 years. Those two have been together for even longer. We’ve all agreed that we do want kids but not right now. For now though, we're just happy with the cats. We’ve been talking about getting a third one, y’know?”

“What do you need a third one for? Aren’t the two you have enough?” she asks with a chuckle.

“Well yeah but Tom is Enterprise’s favorite human and I’m chicken’s favorite human, so Pete is left out. He needs a cat that is going to let him be their favorite human,” you tell her, also laughing. “Now that I say that outloud it is kind of funny.”

“You think?” Carole says and lets out a screeching laugh. Soon the two of you are laughing so hard that tears are streaming out of your eyes. Everytime you think that you're done laughing, the two of you look at each other and start laughing even more. 

“Me and Nick are talking about having human kids-”

“And Pete, Tom and I are talking about getting another cat. Who would’ve thought?” The two of you just could not stop laughing.

Carole’s phone lets out a ring and the two of you stop laughing and look at each other. Time to see what the results were.

“Will you look for me?” Carole shyly asks.

“Of course.” 

Keeping a hold of Carole’s hand, you stand up and grab the test off the sink. Taking a deep breath, you turn the test over and read the results. Positive.

“Well,” Carole’s grip on your hand tightens, “Hope your ready for a new person to join your family cause you are pregnant.”

Carole stands up and rips the test from your hand. 

“Oh my god. Oh my god.” She keeps repeating that phrase over and over.

“Hey, hey, hey,” you try to get her attention, “look at me, Carole. This is what you wanted right?”

“Yes but it’s real now. This is really happening.” Carole looks at you, tears in her eyes. You pull her into a comforting hug.

“Everything is going to be okay, okay. You have me and I know Nick is going to be so excited. He’s gonna be the best father there is.”

“He is isnt he?”

“Yes he is,” you pull back to look at her face. “Now c’mon you need to call the doctor and get an appointment set up just to make sure everything is going fine, and I am going to start searching for baby clothes and we can also talk about a nursery. I’m going to get them so many clothes and stuffed animals.” The two of you start to make your way down the stairs.

“Now hold on just a minute. We just found out I’m pregnant. Goose doesn't even know,” Carole laughed as you pulled her out to your car.

“Who cares?! I want to be the favorite aunt out of all of them!”

“You’re the only one!” Carole is laughing so hard there are tears streaming down her face. OYu are also dying of laughter.

“Who cares! I’m going to be the favorite out of everyone!” and with that you pull out of the driveway and towards the store.

A few hours passed and you and Carole were still at the store, when Pete and Tom came home. It had been a long day, nad they both were exhausted. Enterprise greeted them at the door, and Chicken lounged on the couch, not even bothering to greet two of her owners. Pete asked Chicken where you were but the cat just looked at him then went back to sleeping. 

“Pete!” Tom yelled from their shared bedroom. Pete raced up the stairs to one of his loves.

“What’s wrong?” Pete frantically looked around the bedroom and raced into the bathroom, where he found Tom holding onto something.

“Is everything okay? Whats wrong?” Pete kept asking since he wasn’t getting answers. He grabbed Tom’s face and made him look at him. Seeing nothing wrong, Pete kept inspecting Tom looking for any sign of something being wrong.

“They're pregnant,” Tom said.

“What? Who?” Pete had confusion written across his face.

“Y/N.” Tom turned around the thing he had been holding, so that pete could get a good look at it. It finally clicked for Pete what Tom had been holding. True to Tom’s word on the little screen on the test was one word. Positive. Pete looked at Tom. Both men’s eyes were wide and they both seemed to be going into shock. 

“Oh my god. Oh my god” Pete kept repeating the phrase, a smile blooming 

“I know.” The two men’s excitement could not be contained. The two embraced each other and jumped for joy. They shared a quick kiss.

“We need to start getting a nursery room ready, maybe we could clear out the room across from us-”

“Mav”

“But also we could do the one down the hall. Gotta start thinking of-”

“Mav, hold on”

“Of course there’s also choosing godparents. What color do you think we should paint the-”

“Mav slow your roll for 2 minutes,” Mav stops his rambling and looks up at Ice, “they haven’t even told us that they’re pregnant.”

“But you have the positive test  in your hand. It’s literally right there in your hand.”

“But maybe they’re still trying to process it and thinking of a way to tell us. This is a huge change not only for them but us. More for them than us,” Ice explains to him.

“I hate when you're right.” 

“You love it though,” Iceman teases.

“Shut up.” Maverick chuckled and gave Iceman a quick kiss on the lips. They moved to the kitchen to clean up the mess that you had left and to wait for your return. 

Carole and you returned to the house a few hours later, your car ladened down with stuff the two of you had gotten for the baby.

“I can’t believe you bought out all the baby shoes!” Carole exclaimed.

“They were all cute and you need options. You have to have options for all occasions.” 

“He won’t be able to walk for like a year. He’s just gonna grow out of them!”

“Don’t care! Remember to film Nick’s reaction, I wanna see it and call me as soon as you’ve told him so you two can tell Pete and Tom, okay?” You watch her get into her car, having moved everything from your car to hers.

“Don’t worry I will!” You watch her leave the driveway and turn to go back into the house. Chicken greeted you at the door. You could smell whatever was cooking and it smelled delicious. 

“Hey handsomes,” you greeted Tom and Pete. Tom was cooking while Pete was sitting at the table, looking at something on his phone. At the sound of your voice, Pete bounded over to you, lifted you into his arms and spun you around. He peppered your face with kisses.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve that greeting but I love it,” you tell him.

“Just happy to see you.” Pete looked you up and down, inspecting you.

“What’s with that face?” you ask.

“I’m not making a face.”

“Yes, you are.” 

Tom chimes in, “You're making a face, Pete. What’d you do today, sweetheart?”

Deciding not to push on it anymore you turn to Tom, “Oh Carol came over for a little bit and then we went out shopping.”

“For baby clothes?” Pete excitedly asks. You turn to him, eyes wide in shock. “Pete!” 

“How did you know?” your voice shaking slightly. You glance between the two of them, your nerves starting to consume you.

“We found the positive pregnancy test in the bathroom. We wanted to wait for you to tell us but someone jumped the gun,” Tom explains. They both look so excited and happy. You felt slightly guilty that you were going to break their hearts. 

“Oh uhm, yeah it was for baby clothes but it was-” your sentence is cut off by Pete’s phone ringing. The three of you look at it. “You should answer that. It’s Goose calling you.” 

Pete looks at you in confusion then to his phone. “How did you?”

“Just answer it, Pete,” you whisper. He answers it. You can hear Goose yelling through the phone. The excitement in his voice. If you could guess, he was probably crying tears of joy. Pete smiles through it all and tells Goose how happy he is for him and that they would have to celebrate some time together.

“Carole’s pregnant,” Pete says out loud to the three of you. YOu nod your head and see Tom do the same.

“The pregnancy test you found was for her, not me. She was here and thought she was pregnant but hadn’t taken a test yet. I had some upstairs so yeah,” you explain, your voice soft. “I’m so sorry.”

“There’s nothing for you to be sorry about, I jumped the gun like Tom said and didn’t wait for you to say anything,” Pete tells you. You pull him in for a hug and just hold him there. Soon you feel Tom embrace the two of you as well. You all stand there in silence, just taking in the moment.

“It’ll happen when it’s supposed to happen but for now we’ve got the cats,” you say. “Did I tell y’all I found another cat while we were out? I think it might be perfect for us.” 

“You’ll have to show us later but for now it’s dinner time,” Tom says. The three of you and the two cats all sit down for dinner, laughing and talking about the baby that Goose and Carole were about to have. You knew deep down that you were ready to have kids with them but it would happen whenever it would happen and for now you would just spoil the ever loving shit out of Carole and Goose’s kid. 

Nine months later, Bradley Bradshaw entered the world.

#top gun #tom "iceman' kazansky #pete 'maverick' mitchell #carole bradshaw #nick 'goose' bradshaw #iceman x maverick x reader #iceman x reader #maverick x reader #goose x carole

[twistnet]

kinktober masterlist — 2022

going to pin this for a while, so if you’re looking for the navigation ⇢ go here

“i think they should be absolutely terrified of you...”

welcome all to another year of kinktober! just like with the previous year, random names were drawn from my character list using the wheel of death and were matched with a prompt that fit that chosen character!

⋯ ✧ PROMPTS ; prompts were chosen from this [ post ] by @the-purity-pen​​ ; these are pure smut, meaning 18+ only [ minors do not interact! ] — you can block #twistnet :: kinktober 2022 if you do not wish to see

⋯ ✧ EXPECTATIONS ; all works are 500-1000 words, with little to no plot -- just plain ole smut [ gn!readers, afab!readers + female!readers; will be listed in warnings + tags ]

⋯ ✧ NOTICES ; things to keep in mind

all kinks, pairings + readers were chosen by me; based entirely off what i felt comfortable writing. if anything from the below list makes you uncomfortable, i strongly advise you not to read it

ageless blogs // minors interacting with this post, or any of the linked posts, will be blocked

this post will serve as the masterlist for the event + days will be updated with links upon posting

day one. 69 — pete mitchell x fem!reader

day two. floor sex — stella kidd x afab!reader

day three. glove kink — dmitri ‘enzo’ antonov x fem!reader

day four. missionary — jim street x gn!reader

day five. leather // latex — jill valentine x fem!reader

day six. cockwarming — matt murdock x gn!reader

day seven. costumes — robin buckley x fem!reader

day eight. voice kink — druig x gn!reader

day nine. double penetration — cobb vanth x din djarin x fem!reader

day ten. creampie — bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw x gn!reader

day eleven. erotic photos — abby anderson x fem!reader

day twelve. exhibitionism // voyuerism — steve harrington x fem!reader + eddie munson

day thirteen. face-sitting // fucking — kim burgess x afab!reader

day fourteen. love bites // markings — dani powell x fem!reader

day fifteen. overstimulation — jake ‘hangman’ seresin x fem!reader

day sixteen. bath // shower sex — vi x fem!reader

day seventeen. pegging — scott lang x afab!reader

day eighteen. lingerie — nancy wheeler x fem!reader

day nineteen. masturbation — alexei smirnoff x afab!reader

day twenty. mirror sex — tom ‘iceman’ kazansky x fem!reader

day twenty-one. praise kink — robert ‘bob’ floyd x fem!reader

day twenty-two. phone sex — javier peña x female!reader

day twenty-three. orgasm denial — leonard ‘wolfman’ wolfe x gn!reader

day twenty-four. outdoor sex — ellie williams x fem!reader

day twenty-five. sex pollen — stephen strange x gn!reader

day twenty-six. wax play — nora fowler x afab!reader

day twenty-seven. sensory deprivation — fennec shand x fem!reader

day twenty-eight. strap-ons — chris alonso x afab!reader

day twenty-nine. body worship — natasha ‘pheonix’ trace x fem!reader

day thirty. temperature play — robbie reyes x gn!reader

day thirty-one. wild card — robert hicks x afab!reader

thank you and please enjoy!

~ love twisty

#twistnet :: masterlists #twistnet :: kinktober 2022

[callsignthirsty]

Stuck at the Navy Ball

So… I decided I wasn’t done playin’ with the boys.

As this is a continuation of the original Stuck in the Middle fic, I highly recommend that you read through that before diving into this. Could you dive headfirst into this? Yes. There might be a little confusion, though.

Inspired by a comment someone left on SitM over on AO3.

Pairing: Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x F!Reader x Ron “Slider” Kerner Summary: You, Ice, and Sli haven’t lost that loving feeling. So when the flyboys are reunited at the 1986 Navy Ball, it's only natural that they bring a bit of chaos with them. Word Count: 4200 Warnings: Smut, bets and wagers, under-negotiated situations (but everyone involved is fine), fingering Chapter: 1/4 Minors DNI

gif originally posted by neuromancer1888

Chapter 1: Under the Table

The invitation arrives early in September, printed on thick cardstock and addressed to your brother. But if Viper’s words are to be believed—and you’ve yet to hear of a situation in which they aren’t—Pete’s attendance isn’t exactly optional. So the summons finds its way from the trash onto the fridge, rough edges taped back together.

Please Join Us For the 211th Navy Ball. Monday, October 13th Washington D.C.

Cocktail Hour 1700 | Ceremony Begins 1800 Live Music. Food. Dancing.

The same invitation has Carole positively giddy. Born and raised in Virginia, she’s been looking for an excuse to fly east to visit her parents. And for a party? Isn’t that swell! Arrangements are made for Bradley to sleep at his grandparents on the night of the ball before Goose—whose PT-mandated wheelchair has landed him desk duty—is home from work.

Which is how, roughly one month later, you find yourself in Goose’s room at the Hyatt Regency on Capitol Hill, sharing precious mirror space with Carole. Breathing in Aqua Net while putting the finishing touches on your looks.

The hotel calls the four of you a taxi, Goose’s wheelchair is stuffed into the trunk, and then you’re off to meet your date.

Singular.

There hadn’t been a question of if you’d attend or whose arm you’d decorate once Pete’s invite arrived. Officially, you’re at the ball with Ice. After Layton, Ice had made it a point to be seen with you while he was off-duty. Your relationship, which you’d tried to keep on the down-low, was worth showing off publicly after he and your brother had dropped their rivalry in favor of mutual respect. Friendship. 

But the other half of your relationship was still very much under wraps. 

That fact hadn’t stopped you from nodding eagerly when Ice pulled you close to ask you to attend the Navy Ball with him. Ice wants to climb the ladder, and earning stars is more than clambering into the cockpit every morning or disappearing on a carrier for the better part of a year at a time. It’s politics. It’s achieving perceived milestones on or ahead of schedule. And in October, for Lieutenant Tom “Iceman” Kazansky, naval aviator and promotion hopeful, it’s attending the Navy Ball with a woman on his arm.

Pete wrestles the wheelchair out of the trunk while Goose pays the cab driver. As you step into the crisp October evening, you marvel at the palatial, white-stone building that is to be the backdrop of your night. A steady flow of servicemen and women crossing beneath grand archways with their dates for the promise of a good night.

You aren’t left alone to gawk for long before you catch sight of them chatting with someone or another: decked in their whites, Slider leaning against the wrought iron rail and Ice to his side. Ice’s gaze flicks to you instantaneously, as if he’d felt your eyes land on him. The natural pout of his lips morphs into a grin as he excuses himself from the conversation and moves toward you against the flow of the crowd. Slider follows close behind, ultimately making his way to Goose, Carole, and your brother. But you catch the hesitation in his step. The course-correct.

Events like these will be challenging for the three of you—that had been a foregone conclusion—but this knowledge doesn’t make it any easier. It feels all sorts of wrong to have Slider keep himself at such a purposeful distance when you’re used to his proximity. Even at the O Club, he manages to stand close. Doesn’t shy away.

Before your mood can be irreparably embittered, Ice takes your hand in his and coaxes you into a slow spin. “You’re beautiful,” he coos as he kisses your cheek, and a delicate smile lights your lips. 

The dress had been a surprise. Something you’d insisted on buying yourself despite Ice and Slider offering to pool their money for something truly extravagant. But after years spent in the foster system, even the thought of spending money on something so frivolous left a bad taste in your mouth. Instead, you’d taken Carole, your more comfortable budget, and found an old gala dress at a thrift shop. The sleek, black velvet gown up to your collarbones with the slightest sparkle as the fabric shifted beneath the store’s old lights ticked all your self-imposed boxes. A dress fit for an aspirational young officer’s date, even after Carole added a slit up the left side to show a little leg and “bring the dress into this decade.”

“Look who’s talking,” you say, squeezing Ice’s arm as it’s offered to you. Typically, the change of season calls for blues, but the Navy Ball is an exception to the rule. You wonder whose wife you have to thank for that because although your boys look damn fine in both, you have a not-so-hidden preference. “And Kerner didn’t clean up so bad, either,” you shoot in Slider’s direction with a playful grin.

“Surprised?” Slider asks, brow raised. You shrug because, no, you’re not surprised, but you aren’t sure what to say that will fly under the radar. And that’s the name of the night’s game. That doesn’t stop Pete from rolling his eyes as he passes you with Goose and Carole on their way to the building’s ramp.

The closest you ever got to a ball before tonight was prom—not yours; you’d been on staff at the venue. Frankly, you’d half expected you and Pete to have been blacklisted, given your father’s ill-gotten reputation, but they let you in without issue. You wonder if Pete’s face appearing on the front page of every magazine in the English-speaking world has anything to do with it, but you keep that to yourself while Ice, ever the gentleman, escorts you further into the event. 

If the outside of the building is beautiful, then the inside is magnificent: all barrel vaulted ceilings decorated with Romanesque gold leafing and warm mahogany. A vast hall that steadily fills as guests arrive for cocktail hour and to mingle before the evening officially kicks off.

Slider spots Carole’s shock of blonde hair by a table with easy access for Goose and herds Ice in her direction. They aren’t alone at the table. “Merlin,” Slider barks, bounding over to shake his fellow RIO’s hand. “I thought you were stationed over the Atlantic. What’re you doing here?”

“Turned out to be an exercise. Over and back in sixty-two days.”

“And just in time for the party,” the woman at his side chips in, and Merlin wraps an arm around her to pull her close.

“Oh! Tom Kazansky, Ron Kerner, my wife, Laura.” Ice takes the opportunity to introduce you in turn. The conversation is easy-going, Ice and Slider filling Merlin in on their time instructing at Miramar.

Slider gets in several quips about Ice having a list of officers whose asses he needs to kiss to speed up a promotion when Ice spies one of said officers. He gently tugs you in the right direction so you can play the part of the doting girlfriend. The officer—a captain—quickly introduces you to his wife before he and Ice talk shop.

You manage to pluck a champagne flute from a waiter’s tray, sipping daintily and nodding along with the captain’s wife. Considering most of your knowledge concerning the Navy revolves around the planes your brother flies and the stunts he’s pulled in them, the conversation goes in one ear and out the other.

Not that it matters. Your role tonight—thankfully—is just to follow Ice around and look pretty.

The captain’s wife finishes her champagne in record time, and though you’re hesitant at first, you aren’t too far behind her. It is at this point, glass empty, that Slider appears like your guardian angel. “Captain,” he nods. “Ice.”

“Captain Reid, have you met my RIO?” Ice asks, knowing full well that Slider has no interest in schmoozing. Much like your brother, Slider is there because it is expected of him. Unlike Pete, Ice doesn’t need his friend’s emotional support or commiseration to make it through such events, mandatory or otherwise. Every opportunity like this is one Ice can use to his advantage. 

Slider offers the captain a firm handshake. “Lieutenant Ron Kerner, sir.”

“Your RIO? I thought you were stationed at Miramar?”

“The perks of winning the trophy, sir,” pride leaks through as Slider says it. He and Ice worked damn hard to finish at the top of their class. “We’ve been together since flight school. When Ice took a teaching position at TOPGUN, I followed.”

“And how does a man of your stature fit in the cockpit, lieutenant?” the captain’s wife asks from beneath heavily painted lashes.

The grin Slider offers her is loose. “It’s a bit of a squeeze, but no complaints so far.” The minute narrowing of Ice’s eyes says behave. You nearly avoid snorting, hiding the unladylike compulsion behind the rim of your empty flute, a reflection off the crystal drawing Slider’s eye.

“Actually,” Slider says, hand twitching as if he’s had to stop himself from resting it against your back, “I noticed your glass is empty.” Sli nods toward the bar, an invitation to refill your glass. You look up at him with a grin—a genuine one, not the soft smile that’s grown stale throughout Ice’s conversation—acceptance on your lips when–

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Ice’s brow wrinkles, noticing for the first time that you’ve finished your drink.

”I didn’t want to interrupt,” is your bashful answer.

”Don’t be ridiculous,” Ice says. “I’ll come with you.”

”You don’t have to leave.” Slider will take care of me, you don’t say.

Ice picks up on the silent part but blatantly ignores it. His eyes take on that warm, charmed look, tongue peeking out before his lips curl into that honeyed smile you love so much. “You’re too good for me,” he says as if it’s a secret meant only for you. There’s no doubt he means it, but something about the way he’s playing the sentiment up for the brass makes it feel different in a way you’re not entirely comfortable with. No mistakes. “If you’ll excuse us, sir. Ma’am.”

Captain Reid is already turning to walk the room with his wife when Ice’s eyes narrow into what can only be described as a glare at Slider, his arm cementing itself around your waist in a way that probably looks far more relaxed than it feels.

”What?” Slider asks, shooting for casual, but now you’re not sure you’re buying it, either. “I’m just trying to do my part so you can talk to everyone on your list.” The subconscious flex of Ice’s jaw, as if he wishes he could chew out his frustration on the butt of a cig or some gum, doesn’t go unnoticed, but it does go unheeded. “Admiral Benjamin is on your list, right?” You perk up. As in Penny Benjamin? “I think I saw him by the corner with wife number three and Commander Johnson.”

“You know,” Ice says, his grin glacial, “it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if you rubbed elbows at an event like this.”

Slider scoffs, though it’s affectionate. “Why bother? We both know my military career ends when you take a desk job. Besides, I think my time is much better spent keeping your date’s cup full.” You’ve all agreed to go to the bar, but no one is moving. The tension between Ice and Slider is palpable.

”Okay,” you interrupt. There’s something off about their banter tonight. You’ve seen Ice stare down many a handful of people since landing in Miramar, but never Slider. It’s enough to raise a sculpted brow. “What am I missing?”

Slider senses blood in the water. Sees the smoke in the air. The grin he gives you is far tighter than the one he gave the captain’s wife. He opens his mouth, but Ice beats him to the punch. “You said something about grabbing my date a drink.”

Slider’s jaw clicks shut, but his grin isn’t so easily wiped away. “More champagne?” When you nod, Slider picks his way toward the bar while Ice escorts you to the side of the room where there’s more room to breathe and a lesser likelihood that someone will overhear when he presses close. “Sli’s upset that you’re with me tonight.”

That’s it? You hadn’t thought the arrangement would bother Slider so much. The three of you had discussed it and mutually concluded that you should go with Ice. That you had to go with Ice. Was Slider having second thoughts?

“Well, not upset,” Ice concedes at the concern that drags your lips down. “But he was talking a big game.”

Color you curious. “What’d he say?”

“Well,” Ice pulls you closer so his breath tickles your ear and you can smell the mint on his breath, “he thinks he can get you off before we leave the building. Steal you away while you’re being my pretty little girlfriend for the brass.” You gulp. Where is Slider with that drink?

”Oh.”

Ice chuckles. “Yeah. Oh. But I’m not worried.” Two fingers find their way under your chin and lift until your eyes meet Ice’s. “I know you’ll be good for me.”

“What’s the winner get?”

”Bragging rights.”

”And?”

It’s impossible to miss the way Ice’s eyes flit to your lips and linger there because he can. Those are the perks of being your date out in the light of day. “Can’t that be it?”

“Could be,” you breathe and slowly wet your bottom lip with your tongue, delighting in the way gray-blue eyes track the movement, “but it isn’t.”

Ice double-checks that no one is eavesdropping on your conversation. “You remember what got delivered the other day?” Your breath hitches. Yeah. You remember the catalog order you’d put in for a remote-controlled toy. The excitement and disappointment that had come with unfortunate delivery schedules. “Single-night, exclusive access once we’re all home.”

”That’s quite a lot on the line.”

”It would be,” Ice concedes, one large hand spanning the small of your back, warming you and holding you close enough you can breathe in his cologne, “but you can be good for me, right, baby? I’ll make it worth your while.” You nod, a little dumb as you inhale teakwood, sage, and sea salt.

It’s sure to be a profoundly satisfying night as long as you can stick to the script.

“I’m not going to make it easy on you,” Slider promises, appearing by Ice’s shoulder.

”Wouldn’t be fun if you did.” Ice’s smirk is all cocky confidence, cracking only when he notices Slider has only fetched two flutes of champagne.

”Only got two hands, Tommy,” Slider says with a toothy grin, “but I’ll keep her company while you grab yourself a glass.” The crystal buzzes with the steady fizz of bubbles, your fingers brushing Sli’s ever so slightly before Ice pulls you back into the throng.

The room becomes more difficult to navigate with each new attendee, but Ice only seems more in his element as cocktail hour drags on. He introduces you to a flurry of officers and their wives whose jewel-tone dresses all start to blend together, brushing shoulders with the men who ultimately control his upward trajectory. 

On his arm, you smile and nod, interjecting where appropriate because, despite the smattering of female officers present, the Navy remains very much a boy’s club.

Still, it’s nice to be shown off so publicly. To delight in the knowledge that Ice’s attention never strays far from you despite his planned schmoozing. You preen each time he introduces you to someone new with a tender look—there are many things tonight that may be manufactured, but that look isn’t one of them. 

An ache blooms in the ball of your foot as Ice delivers on the same script over and over to increasingly dismal company. The throbbing is nothing compared to the pinpricks in your cheeks, though. Beauty pageant smiles are their own form of torture. But this is important.

It’s all for a good cause.

Tonight is important to Ice, so it’s important to you.

You’d do anything for your boys: ignore every sour expression at your last name, force a pleasant laugh along with each rear admiral’s wife, stifle a relieved sigh when everyone is invited to find their seats for dinner.

The flyboys have claimed three closely clustered tables during your absence, forcing others to walk around them as they spill into the spaces between each table, leaning close to make up for the distance forced by post-graduation reassignments. Viper is curiously absent, or perhaps Jester had pulled the short straw and been stuck with babysitting duties.

But there’s someone you don’t recognize at your table, sat between Merlin and Slider, a stranger in your midst. A smile splits Ice’s face when he spots him. “Cougar?” The man stands and pulls Ice into a quick embrace, Ice’s hand on the man’s—Cougar’s—shoulder. Ice makes quick work of introducing you to Bill Cortell and his wife, Maria. “Cougar and I were like brothers in flight school,” Ice beams. “We were supposed to meet up at TOPGUN, but–”

”It turned out for the best,” Cougar cuts Ice off goodnaturedly with a quick nod toward Pete. “Besides, desk life isn’t so bad.” Ice raises a brow at the assertion while Goose lets out a ‘bullshit!’ “Okay,” he cedes, “it’s pretty bad, but I wouldn’t give up being at home with Maria and the kids for the world.” Maria, who is heavily pregnant, rests her hand over her bundle of joy.

The lights choose that moment to dim, commanding stragglers to find their seats, but neither man moves. Slider stands up. “Here,” he offers Ice his seat on Cougar’s left because the two clearly have some catching up to do. Ice takes the seat while you slide over to stay seated next to him, and Slider takes your spot as the lights come up on the stage for the opening ceremony.

By the time everyone is seated and some speaker makes his way to center stage, Ice is only half paying attention to the night’s program. He and Cougar have a lot to catch up on in appropriately hushed whispers. You’re about to zone out when you’re yanked back to the present by a hand on your knee.

Above the table, for prying eyes, Slider doesn’t give anything away. Attention seemingly focused on the stage. Below the table’s skirt, however, you press your thighs together as Slider’s hand massages the skin exposed by the modified slit in your dress. Familiar callouses drawing senseless patterns above your knee. His hand stays there, occasionally giving you a comforting squeeze, like he knows you crave reassurance through gentle touches after being dragged so far out of your comfort zone. It’s nice. Before long, between the buzz of quiet conversation and each soothing caress, you relax back into your chair.

Polite applause fills the room as the admiral gives the podium to the next presenter. Pete and Carole chuckle at something Goose murmurs. Wolfman yawns. Someone coughs. A waiter comes around to top off champagne.

You wrap your fingers around the delicate stem of your flute, raising it to your lips in the same instant that Slider’s palm shifts so it’s wedged between your thighs. Your sharp breath is lost in the crowd as nimble fingers creep higher, never once pausing their massage.

The corner of Slider’s lip tugs the slightest bit up. Smug bastard. When you’re sure no one is paying attention, you give his wrist a tug, but instead of retreating, Slider brushes a finger against the flimsy fabric of your panties.

Your heart jumps into your throat as you become hyper-aware of how loud your breathing is, and your brain kicks into overdrive. Can anyone hear you over the clink of glasses? Your nails dig into the meat of Slider’s wrist in surprise, but you’re fairly confident that the rest of you looks normal—suddenly, you’re not sure what that means.

Is this the way a normal person’s mouth rests? The way a normal person sits in their chair? You need to leave, but you can’t. Being good for Ice, among other things, means not causing a scene. Not fleeing the room in the middle of a presentation. Not letting anyone know that while your boyfriend dutifully splits his time between the podium and his colleague, his RIO is pushing your underwear to the side for better access to your cunt. How you’re responding to his touch.

“Hey.” Pete’s giving you a strange look from across the table. “You okay?” From the way he’s pulled a face, you missed the bar for normal, and now Goose and Carole are also looking your way.

“I’m fine,” you hiss. “I-” need a distraction. You mentally stumble as Slider continues to stroke up and down your slit, his fingers spreading the wetness until they glide effortlessly through your lips.

The universe grants your wish when the crowd bursts into polite applause and the mic is turned over to the next speaker. “Isn’t that Admiral Benjamin?”

“As in Penny Benjamin?” Carole perks up, sitting tall in an attempt to get a better look at the stage while Pete bangs his head onto the table. Probably. You’re admittedly not paying attention.

Pleasure zings up your spine as thick fingers nudge your clit. A reward for redirecting the eyes on you. It’s everything you can do not to press your hips into the pressure or let your head loll back with a gasp. And with Penny’s father keeping attention off of you, Slider hooks an ankle around yours to encourage your legs further apart.

You shouldn’t, but Slider has always been convincing.

Ice won’t be particularly pleased with how promptly you gave into Slider’s suggestions, how readily your legs fall open, but that’s barely a blip on your radar as firm circles rub into your clit. The devil on your shoulder whispers that if Ice had really wanted to win, he shouldn’t have allowed himself to be so easily distracted. 

None of that matters nearly as much as it should when your heart pulses between your legs.

A hand lands on your velvet-covered thigh. Ice. “Sweetheart.” You whip your head around too quickly for the move to be anything but suspicious. Like you’ve been caught with your hand—or someone else’s—in the cookie jar. You try to focus on the cool, grounding pressure of his touch. It’s working, you think, but your leg is still trembling from the effort it takes to keep still. Keen eyes move from your face to your leg, trembling under his touch, to your lap, and then to Slider, where they narrow almost imperceptibly. “You alright?”

With a nod, you reach past your champagne for water to wet your dry throat. “Just taking it all in.”

A poor choice of words. Ever the opportunist, Slider presses a finger into your hole, the stretch delicious and unexpected enough that you almost choke. If anyone catches the color on your cheeks, you hope they’ll blame your earlier drinks.

“I was just saying I didn’t know Maverick had a sister,” Cougar says, this time loud enough for the table to hear him.

“He doesn’t talk about me much.”

“Yeah,” Pete scoffs, “because when people find out about you, this–” he gestures between you and Ice “–happens.”

“You got any other sisters, Mav?” Chipper’s question from the next table over prompts Pete to load a pomegranate seed onto this salad fork. He’s ready to launch, but a disapproving look from Jester dissuades him. Goose flips Chipper the bird in a show of solidarity.

“So when did this happen?” Cougar asks, eyes flitting from you to the blonde on your right.

Slider chuckles and leans into the conversation at the same time as he crooks his fingers. You bite the inside of your cheek. The circles Ice is rubbing into your knee aren’t as distracting as either of you wants them to be. “He hasn’t been able to keep his hands off of her since we made it to Miramar.”

Hypocrite. You clear your throat. “About five months?”

“Aw,” Maria sighs in that way so many in long-term relationships do. You try and fail to focus on that as a second finger prods at your opening before pushing in slowly. “You’re still in the honeymoon phase.” Thankfully, Ice steps in with a reply because all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears when Slider rubs his fingers against your sweet spot, thumb applying steady pressure to your clit. Your nails dig crescent moons into Ice’s wrist in a last-ditch attempt to ground yourself because if Slider keeps this up, it’s going to take a miracle to keep you from causing a scene.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Viper’s unapologetic quip appears from seemingly nowhere. Your own personal savior. “I need to borrow Iceman and Slider, Maverick and Merlin, Hollywood and Wolfman.”

You shiver at the abrupt emptiness. Slider wipes his fingers, dripping with arousal, off on the tablecloth, eyes locked on Ice.

Next Chapter

#thirsty's fics #fic: stuck in the middle #fic: stuck at the navy ball #chapter 1: under the table #tom iceman kazansky x reader #tom iceman kazansky f!reader #ron slider kerner x reader #ron slider kerner x f!reader #female reader #afab reader #tom iceman kazansky x reader x ron slider kerner #back for another reader sandwich #top gun fanfiction #top gun smut #tom iceman kazansky smut #ron slider kerner smut #the one where mav's sister continues to fuck his rivals-turned-friends #nick goose bradshaw #carole bradshaw #all the flyboys really

[sketchy-rosewitch]

Take a Break: Bobby Cobb x afab!gn!reader.

Warnings: sprinkle of angst, eating out, fingering, PinV. (Lemme know if I missed anything)

A/N: Yes I made Bobby give you a Top Gun nickname.

Taggies: @blurrymango @bosinclairz @ninakuli

A small sigh escapes your lips as you stare at your computer screen. You were so close to finishing your essay but your brain was absolutely fried.

You groan and put your face in your hands, rubbing it to stop your eyes from hurting.

Just one more paragraph and tomorrow you could edit it and send it off. Bobby would be home in a half hour you could do it.

“Iceman, I’m home!”

Never mind.

Bobby comes in with his golf bag and pizza. He sets the pizza on the table and looks at you.

“You’re still workin’ on that thing?”

“Yes.. I’m almost done though. Just go head and eat I’ll be there in a minute.” You shoo him away so you can continue working. He goes into the garage to put his golf bag away then comes back.

“Take a break. Let’s go shower together.” Bobby comes around you and kisses your head. You shake him off of you.

“No, not right now. I really am almost done. Just, go do it without me.” You sigh, the words in the screen no longer compute in your mind. Neither have the words Bobby spoke to you. Bobby furrows his brows. Hurt swirls in his chest for a second.

“No.”

You look up at Bobby, he takes this moment and grabs your laptop, shutting it and holding it out of arm’s reach. “Bobby give it back.” You huff. “I need to work on it so I can edit it tomorrow!”

“I said no. You’ve been workin’ on it all week. You need a break!” Bobby pouts. You roll your eyes.

“I don’t have time for you acting like a child, Robert.” You pull out your phone to look at your draft. Bobby is quick to snatch that too.

“You know I don’t like you using my actual name.”

“You know I don’t like getting my stuff taken from me.”

“Well maybe you wouldn’t if you didn’t push yourself too far. You’ve been at this essay for days. We haven’t eaten together and you’ve slept downstairs. The paper isn’t even due until Friday! I just want some time with you. Give that brain of yours a break.” Bobby’s eyes are glossed over as you look at him. Your body feels tense and you want to cry.

You really had been neglecting him and yourself for the last few days haven’t you? Not eating dinner, staying up late, sleeping in the couch.

You give a slow nod. “Okay… you’re right. Sorry..”

Bobby kisses your head again and sets your laptop and phone on the counter. He grabs two paper plates and puts pizza on them and the two of you eat in a comfortable silence. Once Bobby knows you’re done he grabs you and practically drags you up the stairs. He turns on the shower and starts to undress you, kissing your neck gently.

“I’ve missed you so much.” He mumbles, fingers running up and down your body, practically feeling every inch of you.

“I’ve missed you too.” You watch as he undresses himself and kiss his lips softly. “I’m sorry, it’s just- this is my last class before the semester is over. I just want it to end good.”

“It’s okay, you do what you gotta do. But you can’t forget to take care of yourself every once and awhile.” Bobby’s hands take yours and the two of you step into the shower. “I don’t want you to think I had you stop just cause we hadn’t been talkin’ as much. I’m just scared you’ll get all tired and stuff and not even finish your essay.”

Water hits your skin softly as Bobby kisses your neck. “I just know you’ll feel a lot better if you take tonight off, finish up tomorrow, and then you’ll be done.” He mumbles yet you hear every word. Bobby wets his hair and you grab shampoo scrubbing it into his hair. He hums and kisses you deeply before grabbing yours and doing the same.

Bobby’s hands are all over you, touching, scrubbing, massaging, grabbing. He leaves small marks on you causing soft noises to come from your lips and for Bobby to begin getting hard yet somehow he seems to be ignoring it.

The two of you stay under the water until it gets cold, you turn it off, getting out you wrap a towel around yourself and your boyfriend. Bobby pulls some bottles out and puts your hair products into his hands. “Come on Iceman.” Bobby smiles, you face towards him and he massages the products throughout your hair. Your body reacts by leaning into his touch. He his hands are delicate yet firm making sure everything is thoroughly in your hair. Afterwards he pulls out the hairdryer and spends time drying it.

It isn’t perfect but it’s the thought that counts. Your boyfriend then starts to kiss you again, this time more roughly. “God your lips are so soft Ice.” You roll your hips into him and he smiles backing you into your room and onto your bed.

Your towel easily comes off of you. Chills run up your spine as you watch Bobby kiss down your body, he stops at your cunt looking blissed out at you. “I need you to turn that brain of yours off for me.” He says.

“W-what?”

“You’ve been thinkin’ too hard. Relax, Lemme take care of things for a bit.” He smiles genuinely up at you.

You let out a content, “Okay.” And he starts to kiss the lips of your cunt before licking between the folds. You let out a small yelp and grab onto the sheets. He grabs your thighs and switches between sucking and licking your clit. His spit mixing with your wetness.

“Fuck! God please don’t stop baby. Please.” You push down and feel as one of his hands let go. You feel your hole stretch and moan louder rolling into his face. His mouth makes wet and sloppy noises with you. Your stomach clenches near the bottom.

“Please. Oh god!” You moan again, voice cracking and turning into broken squeals as he continues to finger fuck into you and lick at your clit. The knot in your stomach quickly builds up.

“Fuck, fuck, please please gonna cum.” You writhe. You swear it’s impossible but his tongue speeds up, tipping you over the edge. A single year rolls down your face as you arch your back, your legs shake. You let out a squeal as your vision goes blurry. Bobby lets you ride out your high on his face. He holds you down, telling you he’s in control right now yet you still attempt to curl up in a ball, your body feeling overwhelmed.

“S’okay baby. Doin’ so good.” Bobby mumbles, he kisses up your sweaty stomach and chest, all the way up to your face. You let out a soft whine as he gently kisses you all over your face and then your lips. “You wanna go again?” Bobby’s voice sounds gruff and gravely. You could lose your mind to it honestly.

Desperate for more and to finally shut your brain down for the night you nod your head. He gives you a pretty smile, you feel his hardness against your cunt and bite your lip. One thrust and he’s sliding easily into your slick hole. He grunts and you moan. “So tight, you feel so good.” Already he’s humping into you, not letting you properly adjust. You don’t care though, he feels good, he stretches your hole out rapidly. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck I love your hole.” He moans.

You nod and wrap your arms around his neck. Bobby kisses and moans into yours, he licks your jaw and bites your ear. “You’re so good. You feel good? God you’re so tight. I love fucking your cunt. Fuck.”

He sloppily kisses you, rutting into your cunt more and more. The knot comes back, tightening more and more as he fucks against your cervix. “So good, you’re a good hole.”

Your cunt tightens around him at that. He doesn’t even realize what he’s said as he feel him thrusts getting shorter and faster. You moan and roll your hips into him. “You like it? God I hope you do.” He grunts. You nod kissing him on the lips. “I love you. Wanna make you feel so good all the time.”

“I- I. Ah! I love you. Cum, gonna-“

Bobby cites you off. “Please please cum around my cock!” Come on baby!” He groans and grunts louder and louder. The knot breaks and your eyes roll back turning your vision hazy and white. Bobby fucks you through your orgasm feeling as you sweat and shake around him. Your cunt spasms and Bobby pulls out jerking himself off until his cums all over your stomach, thrusting into his hand repeatedly. You watch him in your dazed state as he calms down and kicks up his cum.

When he’s done, you make grabby hands and he grabs your cuddling into you. “You feel better? Do you feel relaxed?” Bobby asks, his tone is genuine. Not ready to talk yet you just nod and trace patterns on his chest. He lifts your chin and kisses you sweetly. “Good. Thank you for letting me take care of you.” His nose nuzzles into yours. “I love you so much.”

You feel his hands rubbing your back. You close your eyes and kiss him. He knows you love him too.

The two of you stay in bed together the rest of the night. He talks about his day and you listen. Your mind staying completely off the essay.

#bobby cobb x reader #bobby cobb #cougar town #bo sinclair

[callsignthirsty]

an idea: a homecoming smut as Iceman gets back from deployment

Ah yissss.

Pairing: Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x F!Reader Word Count: 2600 Warnings: Smut, dirty talk, oral sex, p in v Minors DNI

Homecoming

Two days. The carrier was set to return in two days. Fortunately — you thought, leaning back against your car as a tomcat screamed overhead — you wouldn't have to wait that long.

Last to board, first to disembark.

Your car was one of a couple hundred packed into the parking lot alongside the Naval Air Station at Miramar. Parents and siblings and wives and children and girlfriends and you. The homecoming before the homecoming. Downright tiny compared to the crowd that would amass in the shadow of the carrier in a couple days. But that doesn't matter. What matters is that you've missed Ice every day for the six months he's been deployed, and today, in just a handful of hours, you'll have him back.

You break out in giggles when you see the familiar head of blonde hair exit the building, heart already beating wild in your chest. You can see the minute he spots you, too, a pearly grin overcoming his face. When he's close enough, he opens his arms. He scoops you up, and your lips are on his in a second, aviators knocked askew, and you'd have stayed there longer if it weren't for the man beside him.

"Alright, let's keep it moving, you two. There are kids here."

Ice sets you down and readjusts his glasses, a lazy smile taking over your lips. "Hey, Ron."

"Hey yourself." But the RIO is smiling too. "Get us the hell out of here."

The three of you hop in your car and carefully navigate the crowd. From there, it's a quick ride to the off-base housing you share with Ice. Pulling up to the curb to leave the driveway free, you kill the engine. Once you let them into the house, Ice disappears into the bedroom to put down his bags.

"How was it?" you ask, passing Slider his keys from where you've kept them safe next to Ice's in the laundry room.

Slider groans, pocketing his keys and collapsing into your sofa. "Longest six months of my life."

"Yeah." You chuckle as Ice walks back into the living room, and your eyes remain on his arms as he crosses them over his broad chest. The way sun-kissed muscles flex against the sleeves of his khaki shirt. "I can relate."

Ice has been home for less than 10 minutes, and Slider has made himself comfortable on your sofa. You're positively itching for him to leave: Ice is perched on the arm of said sofa, engaging in one-word answers, his eyes never straying far from you, lingering on your legs where the skirt of your dress swishes a couple inches above your knees. Rides up when you sit down.

But he doesn't tell Slider to leave.

You disappear into the kitchen to grab everyone something to drink since it seems that Slider is here to stay. He's talking about something or another while you grab three glasses from the cupboard and set them next to the sink. When you turn, you're being bracketed against the counter. Ice grabs your chin, tilts it up, and crashes his lips into yours in one fluid movement.

Your arms loop around his neck, fingers carding through his hair. Ice crouches, picks you up by the backs of your thighs, and lifts you onto the countertop, stepping into the space between your legs.

Ice breaks apart from your lips. "Slider."

"Yeah?"

"Get lost."

Slider lets out a whooping laugh as if his waiting around has all been a game to see how long Ice could hold out. His keys jingling as he stands up, whistling as he passes through the kitchen where Ice has you ensnared in another deep kiss, and exits through the garage to grab his car. Probably. You've stopped paying attention to anything that isn't Ice's lightly chapped lips on yours or his hands on your thighs.

"Thought he'd never leave," you whine when Ice's lips move to the corner of your jaw.

A nip to your neck has you biting your lips into a fine line, but the demanding "Forget him" has a noise spilling past them regardless. Possessive bastard. But you can't deny that it turns you on. You scoot forward on the counter, closer to Ice until the only thing keeping you from tumbling over is the press of Ice's body against yours and his palms hiking your dress higher up your thighs. You aren't opposed to him taking you then and there — the both of you touch starved and desperate — but when you reach for his belt, Ice backs away. He has other plans for you.

A hand disappears beneath your skirt, and blue eyes go wide as he groans. A coy smile tugs at your lips at his reaction. "You're not wearing any panties."

"Surprise," you sing-song breathlessly as he slips a finger into your soaked cunt.

"Fuck, you're so wet."

"Missed you," you keen, walls fluttering around his finger, and this is already the best you've felt in months. To have him inside of you again. To look into his eyes as his finger fucks into you, and he drops to his knees, slinging one of your legs over his shoulder and pushing your dress the rest of the way up to your waist.

Ice takes turns licking, kissing, and biting his way up to the apex of your long legs, and you know that your skin will be littered with the evidence of his affection for days. Longer if he had it his way. And you positively burn for it.

You couldn't have bitten down the moan that looses from your lips when he licks at your pussy even if you'd wanted to. Ice seems to like it. He huffs a smile into your dripping folds, letting your hips rut against his perfect lips before his hands hold you still on the counter, the laminate hard and sticky against your back. At his mercy as your legs try to fall open further, give him all the room he wants to lick into you, your arousal smearing across his tongue, lips, and chin. Devouring you like a man starved.

"Missed this," he mumbles into your thigh as he works two fingers into your soaked cunt, his tongue returning to flick at your clit.

"Tom!"

"The way you taste." A sloppy kiss over your cunt. "The way you shiver and tighten around my fingers." He makes a come hither motion with his fingers, and you do exactly that, trying to keep him within you. "Then you sent me that photo, and fuck," he bites at the delicate skin of your thigh, sucking at it until it blooms purple, then licks at it as if the tender treatment will ease the sizzle of his brand on you. And you know exactly which photo he's talking about. On a particularly lonely night, you'd found your way into his closet, wrapped yourself in an old khaki shirt — only his shirt, unbuttoned, and Tom Kazansky, "Iceman" emblazoned on the left breast —, and snapped a Polaroid in the mirror. Signed, sealed, delivered. "Had me so hard it was embarrassing. Couldn't get home fast enough."

You moan brokenly as he returns to your clit, sucking. "You like that?" he asks. "Knowing I couldn't keep my hands off myself-" you nod breathlessly "-that I fucked my hand every night looking at your pretty picture and wishing it was you?"

"God, yes!"

Ice groans, slipping a third finger into you and watching them disappear a couple times, your wetness dripping around his knuckles and down to his wrist. "Tell me what you want." And his voice leaves no room for argument, rubs over your nerves like velvet brushed backward.

"Want to cum." And you sound so needy, but you're past the point of shame. The pressure has been building in your gut, and nothing you've tried in the last six months has even held a candle to how he's making you feel. "Please, Tom, make me cum."

"That can be arranged," he says, placing a soft kiss next to his fingers as they disappear into you again and again. It would've sounded playful if not for its huskiness. "You want to cum on my fingers-" he asks with a slow grind against your sweet spot that has you shivering, "-or my face?"

One of your hands snakes down to grip at blonde strands and pull him further into you until his nose bumps into your clit and the touch is electric. "Both. Both, Tom, please."

Ice doesn't need to be asked twice. Lips and fingers and tongue working together to pull you further and further from sanity until, with a final grind of his tongue against your clit, you're tipped into ecstasy. Clenching around his fingers and grinding up into that sinfully sharp tongue.

When you come to, Ice is standing, tongue lapping up the evidence of your arousal as it drips down his hand, his lips slick with it. He peels you off the laminate, and you can feel his erection straining through his pants, the polyester rough against your sensitive pussy as you wrap your legs around his hips, and you're positive that you're soaking through the material as he carries you out the bedroom.

Once he's pressed you into the bed, Ice makes quick work of your dress, then his shirt. But instead of tossing it behind him, he hands the shirt over to you. "Put it on." You shove your arms through the short sleeves while he rids himself of his undershirt and rips off his belt. It's so big on you, and you bring the collar up to your nose to breathe him in with a low moan. Jet fuel, sweat, ocean spray, spearmint. Completely intoxicating.

Ice loops his dog tags around your neck to drop between your breasts and pushes you back down on the bed. His hand brushes the lapels open until the shirt practically slips off your shoulders and your breasts are uncovered. He takes a nipple in his mouth, pinching the other with calloused fingers until you're whimpering, rolling your hips against his, your sex gliding over his soaked pants.

"So needy." Ice flashes you that signature dagger grin, but he's just as needy as you are, fingers leaving your breast to pop the button on his pants and drag the zipper down. Soon, he's kicking the last of his clothes off the edge of the bed, and you're convinced you'll combust if he doesn't fuck you now. All those months waiting just to burn up once he has you in his bed.

Ice takes himself in hand, runs the thick head through your sopping lips, and groans. "Tell me you need me."

"God, Tom," you moan, arching into his touch, fingers tweaking your nipples, "I need you. Please." And you say it so sweetly; how could he deny you?

"That's my girl," he croons, and you want to kiss him, but he's intent on watching your face go slack in pleasure as he finally starts to sink into you, his dark eyes boring into yours the last thing you see before your eyes shut and your head tosses back. "Fuck, I missed this." And you're not entirely sure how he's still talking because your brain is fried, has been since you felt him stretching you out.

Ice pauses once he's fully seated in you. His hips snug against the swell of your ass. He kisses across your collarbones, following the curve of your neck, and tangles your lips in a kiss that's all heat. "I'm going to fuck you now." And everything from his words to how he looks at you and the way he's already rocking gently into you is dripping with promise. "That's what you want, right?" he asks, pulling back slowly and snapping forward to punch the breath out of your lungs in a long moan.

"Fuck, Tom, yes." You dig your nails into the meat of his shoulders, your thighs hugging his sides, and you can already feel your walls fluttering around him.

"Need me to fuck this pretty pussy?" Your mouth falls open. "Tell me, sweetheart." His hips are already picking up the pace. "Tell me how bad you need me."

You're lost for words, but then he stops, and you're scrambling to think of something, anything. "Ice. Tom-" your nails drag down his back, and he lets his eyes fall closed at the sting of it, grinding into you. "Wanna feel it for days." He groans. "Want you to fill me up."

"Fuck, you're perfect." You bite your lip when Ice grabs your hip and starts a fast rhythm, the headboard slamming into the wall loud enough that you're sure the neighbors can hear, but there will be time to be embarrassed about that later. Now, Ice is well on his way to making you forget everything but the taste of his tongue, the feel of his thick cock as it drags over your sensitive walls, and his name. How had you survived six months without this?

It hasn't been that long since he made you cum the first time, but Ice is already dangerously close to making you cum again. You try to warn him, but the only word you can get out is his name.

"You going to cum on my cock, sweetheart?"

"Tom!"

"That's it. I want to see you cum on this cock." And when you throw your head back into the pillows with a cry, he's soothing you through it — "Mmm… good girl" — and it shouldn't make your cunt throb the way it does.

You're growing sensitive, but your walls are still sucking Ice in on every push forward, and you're not ready to stop yet either. You push up to capture Ice's mouth with yours, to feel him grunt into your lips and crush you against his front, abs contracting and chest rubbing the rough fabric of his service khakis into your nipples. "Thought about this every time I looked at that picture," he groans, taking in your blissed-out expression, drinking in the way his cock squelches into your cunt, the way your tits bounce between the lapels of his shirt. You turn your head, catching the collar between white teeth. "Fuck, I'm close."

Ice's fingers grind into your clit, circling it roughly. "One more," he demands, and you whine. "Give me one more. I know you can do it." Your fingers pinch your nipples until they ache, but it still isn't enough. "One more and I'll give you what you need," he promises. Your mind reels at the idea, and you keen. "Fill this pussy up."

"Tom!" you sob as you're dragged over the edge one last time, your whole body pulsing, fuzzy, and light. Ice pushes into you, hips stuttering and grinding into your sweet spot as he comes undone, his lips slack and eyes reduced to slits as he watches you through it.

You bring his lips back to yours, and it starts needy, but soon it's reduced to a lazy roll of tongues.

You smile. You'd missed this. Not just the sex, but the after. The part where you become boneless and melt into each other until you're one heartbeat. When Ice pulls you into his chest and whispers soft nothings as you drift into a deep sleep, sated and safe in his arms. Waking up, curled into his side. Your head on his chest. His heartbeat.

The everyday.

The mundane.

The domestic pleasure of sharing a coffee early in the morning before he leaves for the base.

"Welcome home," you say, running fingers through his hair, thumbs brushing over high cheekbones. He really is beautiful. And he's all yours, at least until his next deployment.

Ice lays a soft kiss on your forehead as if he can hear your thoughts. "I'm not going anywhere for a while."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

#thirsty answers #top gun (1986) #top gun requests #tom iceman kazansky x reader #tom kazansky x reader #iceman x reader #afab!reader #top gun smut #tom kazansky #iceman smut #tom iceman kazansky smut #tom iceman kazansky #iceman top gun #trying to be the iceman x reader content i want to see on this hellsite #there will never be enough iceman content

[callsignthirsty]

Chapter 2: On the Roof

Shit weather can only stop me for so long! Here's chapter 2

Pairing: Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x F!Reader x Ron “Slider” Kerner Summary: The boys receive their commendations, and you keep your legs crossed. Should be easy, right? Wrong. Word Count: 3680 Warnings: Smut, bets and wagers, semi-public sex, fingering, oral sex (female receiving) Chapter: 2/4 Minors DNI Previous Chapter

“Sooo,” Maria Cortell leans as far forward as her bump will allow, drawing out the word with a smile on her lips. It’s become apparent that you’ll be waiting a while for your stolen tablemates to walk onto the stage and receive their commendations. “Are wedding bells ringing?”

Your poor heart, which had only just slowed, skips an unsteady beat. Maria’s question, for as simple as it is, packs one helluva wallop.

The thought hasn’t crossed your mind. You haven’t even said I love you—not for a lack of love, but because you’ve lost many of the ones you love over your life. Admitting the depth of your feelings—whether for family, friends, or beaus—always seems to precede an abrupt departure of said person from your life. But now that Maria has mentioned it, what are you supposed to do?

Distracted, you twist your cloth napkin between clammy hands. It’s not like you can marry Ice and Slider, but you can’t date Ice forever, either. especially not if he’s trying to climb the ladder. He’s expected to marry. To have kids. The white picket fence experience. A wife to come home to.

“They must be,” Merlin’s wife jumps in.

Maria nods with the enthusiasm you wish you felt. “Bill and I were looking at houses after three months. I’m sure you’ve at least talked about it.”

Goose throws back a full glass of wine.

They think they’re being supportive, and it would be nice if it weren’t so terrifying. “I–”

“And now’s the perfect time,” Maria doesn’t even realize she’s cut you off. “Who knows how long he’ll be stationed at Miramar?”

“Ooh! You could get married on the beach.”

Cougar catches your lack of participation. “Don’t scare her off, now,” Cougar says, placing his hand on top of his wife’s to get her attention.

“Oh please,” Laura brushes Cougar aside, “they’ve been practically wrapped around each other all night. Ron said they’ve been inseparable.”

Maria sighs. “Poor Ron.” Carole chokes, but the only one who pays her any mind is Goose, who smacks her between her shoulder blades and refills her water. “I remember how close he and Tom were at Pensacola, must be hard for him to watch his friend settle down–“ something must flit across your face because she hesitates mid-sentence, her eyes widen a little as she realizes the insinuation, and she all but lunges for the distraction of her sentry of a water glass, “–but, um, I’m sure you have a friend you could set him up with?”

“Oh,” Goose interjects loud enough to turn a couple of heads and incite a stern look from Jester, “I think this is them.”

It isn’t.

“That would be fun,” Laura coos back to Maria without skipping a beat. “Think of the double dates.”

“Come on,” Goose tries again, “you don’t want to set someone up with Kerner, do you?” And didn’t Goose know it. He squawks when Carole catches him in the ribs with her elbow, but Maria and Laura are off to the races, passing the idea back and forth and painting a picture of your future while you struggle to keep up.

“You’ll always have someone to keep you company when they end up on a carrier halfway around the world.” Maria.

A sly look from Laura. “You know, if you time it right, your kids can grow up together.”

“Community is so important,” Maria agrees, ducking around a waiter’s arm as dinner plates are settled.

“Sam and I were lucky enough to be stationed near my family when we had the girls.”

“I don’t know what I’d have done without the wives’ group while I was pregnant with Robbie.” Maria gives her husband a tender smile and smoothes a hand over her belly. Whatever she says next is drowned out by applause.

This time—as Goose breathes an “Oh, thank god”—a familiar group of flyboys are led onto the stage. The commander keeps it brief; says some words about the Layton mission and the courageous efforts of the aviators who defended the boat from enemy MiGs. Everyone gets a pin on their lapel before they’re all ushered off the stage. Your legs are crossed by the time they make it back to the table.

The rest of the dinner passes without issue. Plates are cleared. The program comes to a close with the cutting of a cake. A cacophony of music and conversation erupts as the masses are released from their seats and the event finally catches its second wind. More immediately around you, the flyboys spill into the space between their tables and continue catching up.

Hollywood and Sundown introduce their dates—fiancée and wife, respectively—to the larger group. Jester and his wife sneak off, presumably to find Viper but definitely different company. It’s a relief to gain more social padding between yourself, Maria, and Laura, well-meaning though they may be.

It’s while you’re reacquainting yourself with the rest of the group when Hollywood asks Slider if he’s flying solo these days.

“What’s it look like?” Slider grumbles.

Wolfman slings an arm around his fellow RIO’s shoulders to pull him close. “Aw, man. What happened?”

Slider gives him a half-shrug, looking otherwise unaffected. “You know how it is. Couldn’t handle the job.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Chipper chimes in. “You’re still at Miramar.”

“So she dumped you?” Wolf’s winces as he looks up at Slider, taking his silence for confirmation. “Yikes.”

“Hey, it wasn’t like that–”

“Don’t mind them,” Sundown says, an arm wrapped around his wife. She beams at him when he assures Slider,“The right one will stick around.”

And the conversation could’ve ended there. Wolf, Chip, and Sli could’ve spent the rest of the night wingmanning each other until it was time to turn in and Slider would slip into your quarters.

Maria Cortell had other plans. “Don’t be ridiculous! We were just talking about how the future missus must have a friend she can set you up with.” Cheeks flaming, you tuck into Ice’s side in an attempt to escape his gaze. “Future missus?” His tone gives nothing away, but the stiffening of his arm beneath your hand speaks volumes.

Beside Ice, Slider raises a brow. “Were you, now?” This is a conversation you were hoping to avoid.

“Please,” Pete scoffs. “I wouldn’t wish Kerner on anyone.”

Slider sneers, but it doesn’t have any real heat behind it. “Bite me, Mitchell.”

And bless Carole Bradshaw because she sees Pete opening his mouth to say, “Which one?” from a mile away and deploys a very loud countermeasure: “I wanna dance!”

Goose grabs his wife’s hand and pulls her to sit across his lap. “Great idea, honey!” he crows, earning a kiss on the cheek.

For as long as you’ve known him, Goose has always been a darling. Everyone knows it, too. The sun is hot. Water is wet. Everyone loves Goose. His close call on Hop 31 only cemented that last truth. Nick Bradshaw is magnetic in a way few others are, and he could pull a crowd just as easily at the piano as he could, apparently, at his wife’s beck-and-call.

The display of eager, honeyed affection drawing the eyes and smiles of the group.

“C’mon, Mav, give us a push!” Goose loops his arms around Carole as she makes herself comfortable in his lap for the taxi to the dancefloor. “Should be a—what did you call it?—a target-rich environment.”

“Wait. You not seeing Blackwood anymore?” Hollywood asks, receiving ‘oohs’ from the rest of the men. Pete’s shoulder’s bunch, but otherwise, he ignores his friends. Though she was a civilian contractor, Charlie did work for the DoD, and after her relocation to D.C., Pete was technically on her turf tonight.

“He doesn’t like to talk about it,” Ice deflects.

Pete grabs hold of Goose’s wheelchair, finding it more difficult to maneuver with two passengers.  “I wonder if Penny’s here.”

Carole throws her head back with a guffaw. “After your little joyride? I’d be surprised if her daddy lets her within a thousand feet of you!”

The group doesn’t stick together much longer, inevitably breaking up as they go their separate ways.

“What do you say?” Ice asks, nodding after the group headed to the dancefloor. Eventually, Ice needs to go back to rubbing shoulders with the brass, but there’s no harm in a quick dance or two to break up the monotony.

“That’s okay, Ice,” Slider butts in, a wicked glimmer in his eyes. You repress a shiver when the same hand that had been between your legs squeezes your shoulder, fingers ghosting over the velvet near your collarbone. “You go keep Mav out of trouble. We’ll grab dessert and meet you there.”

The twitch at the corner of his lips gives away how hard Slider is fighting to keep the wolfish grin off his lips. Your ears burn, but Ice’s only reaction is an unenthused, dismissive sound. Both of you know what Slider is playing. That doesn’t stop the pinpricks of arousal from returning as you imagine Slider’s hands—both of them this time—working to finish what he’d started under the table.

“How long have we known each other?” Ice asks Slider.

“Going on ten years.”

“And I can count the number of times I’ve seen you eat cake on one hand,” Ice muses.

Undeterred, Slider offers you a lopsided, wolfish grin, his fingers tracing down your arm and raising goosebumps in their wake. “Who said anything about cake?”

“There it is.” Ice flicks Slider’s fingers from their path and threads his fingers through your own. The same Iceman mask he wears around the tarmac is firmly in place when he levels Slider with a look. “You’re incorrigible.”

“You’re pissy because I had this in the bag before I was interrupted.”

“And how were you planning on getting away with it?” Ice hisses with a glance to make sure the three of you are well enough alone. “Sitting at a table full of people.”

“I had a plan,” Slider scoffs.

“A plan to get caught with your hand up her skirt.”

“You’re just upset you walked right into it.” Ice clenches his teeth. He doesn’t have a responding quip, and Slider knows it. Ice had been too excited by the sudden appearance of Cougar to realize Slider was gunning for a quick win. “All it takes is one mistake,” Slider needles.

Wearing down the competition with technical precision is a page straight out of Ice’s book and his fingers twitch ever so slightly in your grasp, Slider rubbing it in his face that he’s fallen prey to his own game. It’s a mistake he won’t make twice.

Ice takes a deep breath and looks to the barrel-vaulted ceiling as if he’ll find the answers he’s looking for among the gold leafing. “We’re leaving now.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that,” Slider taunts, but Ice is back on his game. He serves Slider a smug look as he wraps his arm around your waist.

“Goodbye, Kerner.”

In the dance hall, you’re a single drop in a rolling sea. The band is louder here, the floor tacky with spilled beverages, but you find a pocket of space as the music slows. Pete hangs onto the edge of the crowd with Goose and Carole, his face pressed between Goose’s shoulder blades as he helps his best friend stand to dance with his wife—Carole, you’re sure, is crying.

Gentle hands bring your focus back to your partner as he encourages you to step with him to the rhythm. When you look up at him through your lashes, you almost forget the rest of the room. Taken by the flint of his eyes in the low light. A smile bubbles to life on your rouged lips is an inevitability.

You spin beneath his arm and let Ice reel you in until his breath tickles your ear. “You’re stunning.” You glow under the praise, fingers playing with the short hairs at his nape. High praise.

It makes you wonder: does Ice even know what he looks like?

The ever-present tan of his skin highlighted by the contrasting white of his uniform. The smarts. The confidence. A beauty mark on his jaw. High cheekbones. The way he moves.

He has to know. Not for vanity, but for fact. 

“How’re you holding up?” He must pick up on the restless twitch of your muscles or maybe the flutter of your heart in your palm.

You paint on a smile. ”I’m fine.”

You can’t suppress the shudder that wracks you or the sharp intake of breath when he lifts your chin with a finger, lashes brushing your cheeks as a kiss is pressed to your forehead. When he tugs you closer, you go easily, but you’re unable to fully relax into the embrace.

“Did you know you only say you’re fine when you aren’t?” He shifts his hold so it feels more like a hug, a soft quirk to his lips. It’s easier for him to hold you like this when you fade into the crowd. There’s less pressure. Fewer eyes on him when his hand shifts lower, dexterous fingers tracing over the knobs of your spine and raising goosebumps beneath the luxurious drape of your gown.

The band does wonders to mute your gasp, but Ice doesn’t miss the way you jerk in his grasp. Sensitive.

“Was it…?” He doesn’t finish in an overabundance of caution for who may or may not be eavesdropping. The hand you’d let linger near his nape comes to fidget against his chest as you lay your head against his shoulder and nod while focusing on the ba-dum of his heart. “Do you need to leave?”

“No.” Sure, you tingle with each brush of skin on skin. Yes, you’re eager to soak up each touch. But, as you meet his eyes, you mean it. “I’m just a little overwhelmed by all of this,” you fib.

Slider may be pushing the boundaries of decency—may have definitely blown past them during the dinner— and you may be wound tight after so many days without either of their company, but you can do this. Tonight is about Ice, and you intend to see it through.

“But I don’t want to leave.”

Ice keeps you close as the song fades out and the band counts in a fast-paced number. “Look,” Ice concedes when you break free of the dancing. Playtime is over, you can practically see the cogs turning in the metal of his eyes as Ice comes up with a revised plan. “There are still some people I need to talk to, but after, I’ll get us out of–”

“Just the man I was looking for.” Ice stops so abruptly that you stumble into him. “Admiral John Benjamin,” Penny’s father introduces himself, taking Ice’s hand in a firm shake. “Really good stuff on the Enterprise.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The praise, though sparing, is well-deserved. But the obsequious nature of his comment is revealed in the way the admiral’s eyes scan the nearby crowd. Ice isn’t his target.

“Say,” the admiral drawls as he drops all pretenses, “you wouldn’t happen to know where your wingman is? I want to congratulate him on a job well done.”

You very much doubt that, but as you glance over to where Pete had been with Goose and Carole earlier, he’s long gone—Carole helping her husband back into his wheelchair, the only evidence Pete had been there at all. And Ice knows enough through retellings of Pete’s past run-ins with Admiral Benjamin that you trust him not to sell your brother out. At least, not if he doesn’t have to.

“I haven’t seen him since we received our commendation.”

“Of course. Congratulations again on those,” Benjamin clips. “But you must have some sort of idea of his whereabouts.”

“I–”

“Ice. Admiral, sir.” It never ceases to amaze you how someone as large as Slider can so easily fly under the radar when he wants to. “I need to borrow her for a minute,” he says before Ice can say anything, and because he can’t do anything when Admiral Benjamin continues to squeeze for information on Pete, Slider steers you out of the dance hall.

It had been a crisp 66 degrees in DC, the setting of the sun taking what remained of the day’s warmth with it. The cold creeps beneath your skin as Slider beckons you up the roof access, shimming the door with a wad of folded cocktail napkins so you can slip back to the party later.

Though shrouded in darkness on the flat of the rooftop, the bright lights of the capital might as well be a hair’s breadth away. Too close for comfort. Before you can protest, Slider engulfs your hand in his and looks for a more suitable, more private corner. It won’t do to be caught, though Slider doubts anyone will come looking. But it pays to be cautious.

“You have any idea how good you look in this?” Slider rumbles, voice resonating from deep within his chest in a way that makes your insides quake. He lets you know with a demanding kiss, his lips lightly stained with your rouge when he pulls back so you can suck in a breath.

“Sli.” The wind carries your whine toward the street, where it’s drowned by the brassy horns of street traffic. When goosebumps erupt along your arms, your fingers scrabble for his shoulder boards in a bid to keep him close.

It takes next to nothing to convince Slider to give in to your plea. Crowding close as he smears kisses and color down your neck. “It’s been so hard to keep my hands off you.” Said hands grab fistfuls of you over the velvet of your gown; the smooth rasp of the fabric over tender skin makes you gasp.

“You didn’t,” you point out.

“No,” he agrees, fingers reacquainting themselves with the gusset of your panties. “But can you blame me?”

“Who else would I blame?”

Dizzy with desire, you bite the inside of your cheek to keep a heady whine locked away when fingers slip between your pussy lips to tease around your entrance. “Do you want me to stop?” Slider asks with a lopsided, teasing grin.

“Don’t you dare.”

Instead of giving you what you want—two fingers to fill you where you feel hopelessly empty—Slider’s hand withdraws from your panties. You’re a second from demanding he put his hand right back where he had it when Slider lowers himself to the ground. “Wait–!” you exclaim as his first knee touches down on the unkempt rooftop floor “–your pants.”

“Don’t worry,” he says as both of his hands slip under your dress, eager fingers drawing the lacy elastic of your panties down your legs. “That’s what drycleaning’s for.” But his other knee stays decidedly off the ground.

Slider scoots himself closer, impatient hands rucking up your tight-fitting dress until he can take advantage of the slit in your skirt. He hikes your leg over his shoulder, soft skin exposed to the night, but you’re far from cold as he chases the fabric with scorching kisses up the inside of your thigh. Deliberately leaving marks where no one else at this stuffy party will see them.

His hair is just long enough that the tips begin to curl. You spear your fingers through the short waves and fist what you can. Normally, you’d hold him close as he litters your hip with hungry kisses and sharp, rosey blooms, but with the way he’d worked you up earlier, you pull his head toward the apex of your thighs. You can go back to being Ice’s pretty trophy girlfriend after you cum on Slider’s tongue.

Slider lets out a gruff rumble of a chuckle as if he’s read your mind. A nip makes your leg jump in his grasp, your heel knocking against his back, but he’s as eager to get this show on the road as you are.

Face half-obscured by black velvet, Slider’s tongue laps over your clit. Eyes slamming shut, whole body pulsing in time with your heart, head thunking back against the wall. Slack-jawed, you encourage him to do it again with a shuttered but wanton noise in the back of your throat.

“That’s it,” Slider encourages, his other hand reaching up to massage your ass and drag your hips forward in a slick grind against his mouth. You tremble in his grasp as he continues to roll your hips against his face before he opts for a new angle of attack.

A quick reposition of the leg over Slider’s shoulder grants him better access for a more thorough assault on your cunt, and your back arches when his tongue prods at your entrance. Blood roars in your ears while your walls clench around nothing at the promise of his tongue, but it only teases at your lips.

You try to drag him closer with your one leg, letting go of Slider’s hair with one hand to steady yourself against the wall. Sli takes that moment to dive in, tongue finally fucking into you and his nose bumping into your clit in a way that has your heart stuttering and limbs shaky. Your hips jolt at the touch, back arching off the wall.

It’s messy, the pinpricks of Slider’s stubble eased by the mix of arousal and spit coating the apex of your thighs. The barely muffled slurp as he parts your lips and delves his tongue inside before engulfing your clit in the wet heat of his mouth and giving it a suck.

Slider’s eyes are half-lidded when he meets your gaze. “You’re close,” he breathes, calloused fingers petting up your leg directly to your clit and drinking in the shiver it knocks loose, your lips red as you bite back a moan. “Don’t worry,” he says, two fingers dipping the slightest bit into your cunt before drawing back to rub at the opening, “we’ll get you there this time.”

Against your back, the wall rattles as the roof access bangs open.

Next Chapter

#thirsty's fics #fic: stuck in the middle #fic: stuck at the navy ball #chapter 2: on the roof #tom iceman kazansky x f!reader #tom iceman kazansky x reader #ron slider kerner x f!reader #ron slider kerner x reader #female reader #tom iceman kazansky x reader x ron slider kerner #top gun smut #tom iceman kazansky smut #ron slider kerner smut #nick goose bradshaw #afab reader #carole bradshaw #the '86 flyboys #because is fucking your rival-turned-friend's sister even fun if you don't have to be over-the-top sneaky about it?

[callsignthirsty]

Really wanting an iceman x reader where the reader was in his topgun class but she and others are on a dangerous mission (sometime after graduation) and ice is in the control room where he can hear the radio!! maybe she saves someone from being shot down while putting herself in danger or turns back to save someone, set kinda around the original movie?

Hey Nonnie! Thanks for the request. I wasn’t able to think up anything particularly high stakes, but I hope that you like what I cooked up for ya.

Pairing: Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x F!Reader (Your call sign is Lady Luck) Word Count: 2200 Warnings: N/A

No Promises

It was dark when you arrived in the briefing room, and it would still be dark in 30 minutes when you were shot off the deck to begin your mission.

You'd been stationed at sea for weeks, hoping that tensions never escalated beyond posturing, but the enemy attack on and sinking of a US frigate meant that you were being sent in.

"This–," your Captain approached the screen and circled an area, the projection distorting around his hand, "–is your target." Next slide. "It's the only enemy airfield within striking distance." Take out air cover, and their only option would be to send out the destroyers, but the enemy had to know that their navy was far outmatched. "Archer 1's missiles have been replaced with Mk 82s." Next slide. "Satellite imaging estimates roughly 30 jets within the target's hangar. Your mission, first and foremost, is to take out the runway before they can take off to retaliate."

The simplicity of the plan didn't make it any less dangerous. Three pilots to protect one equipped with enough gun powder to take out an entire hangar but barely enough to defend themself in a fight. Take out the airfield. Beat the enemy back into line. But after the previous day's attack, the enemy knew you'd be coming. They just didn't know when.

"Have I missed anything, Lieutenant Kazansky?"

Ice stood shrouded in shadow toward the front of the room, right arm in a plaster cast, Slider by his side. But not even a broken bone could stop Ice from participating. He'd worked his way into every possible strategy meeting. His fingerprints were all over the plan you'd just been walked through, and you were sure it killed him to see you — the only Top Gun pilot on board who was cleared to fly — get to lead it.

"Fly low. Fly fast." His eyes swept the room, alert even in the early morning hour as he singled you out from the group. You knew what was coming next: "And keep your comms on."

"Dismissed."

You climbed aboard your jet, Casper on your heels. Ticked all the boxes in your preflight check while the rest of your squad ran through theirs. Then, you were taxied to the canon, and before the sun had peaked over the horizon, you were shooting off the deck.

The comms crackled on as all four jets fell into formation, the glow of the runway lights disappearing amongst still-black waves: "Good morning, aviators." Ice. "20 minutes to target, do North Northwest. Fly low."

"Copy, Control," you answered, and you know it has to be killing him to sit this one out, but no one can fly with a broken wrist. Not even the Iceman. "This is Archer 1, headed North Northwest at 900 feet. Expected arrival just after 0500 hours." Right after sunrise.

Ice straightened from his position over the shoulder of the communications operator, his finger releasing the green push-to-talk button. Slider stood to his left to avoid bumping into Ice's casted arm. He'd told his RIO that he didn't need to come with, but Slider was nothing if not loyal, so he'd grumbled to the coffee maker and come along anyway. "Here we go," Slider said quiet enough that Ice was confident he was the only one to catch it. He nodded imperceptibly as the radio crackled, and you ran through a check with Archers 2, 3, and 4: Checkmate and Breaker, Burbank and Yellow, AOK and Plan B.

You'd been flying straight at the target for 11 minutes when two blips appeared on the radar.

"Archers, there are 2 bogeys at 2 o'clock," said the comms operator. "Headed past you at a healthy distance."

"Copy, Control."

Another 3 minutes, then the bogeys began a lazy circle back toward their base. Still, they couldn't have seen you: in addition to the low light and your flying below radar detection, they were too far away to see you with the naked eye.

"Archers, those bogeys are circling around. Looks like they're returning to base."

"They onto us?" That was Yellow.

"Negative, Archer 3, but their path intersects yours. Proceed as planned."

"Control, this is Archer 2 requesting permission to engage." Checkmate. The comms operator looked to the Captain, and it bothered Ice that they hadn't looked to him. It was his plan, after all.

The Captain nodded. "Archer 2, permission granted. Intercept the bogeys and fire at will."

"Copy, Control."

"Right behind you, Checkmate," AOK called out to his lead. Comms operators got to work flipping breakers to keep Checkmate and AOK's radio separate from yours and Burbank's.

"Archers 1 and 3, Archers 2 and 4 have split. Continue to target. Estimated arrival: 5 minutes."

The Control room broke into chaos as soon as Checkmate and AOK engaged the enemy planes.

"Oh shit, there's four of them."

"Break left!"

"4 minutes to target."

"AO, he's on my tail!"

"Bring'm 'round."

"Casper, prepare package for delivery."

"Check, I'm switching to guns."

"Oh shit, Burb, Luck, there's two bogeys headed past us high at 9 o'clock."

"That sonuvabitch hit me!"

"Did they see us?"

"Stay with me, AO."

"I don't think so."

"Check, get this asshole off of me!"

"3 minutes to target."

"I've got missile lock."

"Bank right!"

"Shit, that was close."

"How we doing, Cas?"

"Take the shot!"

"2 minutes to target."

"Ready for delivery, Luck."

"Bring 'em around, AO."

"Yellow, do you see anything?"

"Negative, Burb–"

"Checkmate, I'm out of missiles."

"–I don't think they saw us."

"1 minute to target."

"I can see it."

"Two down, two to go. Switching to guns."

"Checkmate, there's a hostile on our six."

"You ready for this Burbank?"

"Get 'em offa me, AO!"

"Born ready, Luck."

"Control, we are dropping the package in 3…"

"Left engine's out."

"Shutting it down."

"2…"

"Got 'em!"

"Yeehaw!"

"1."

"Control, this is Archers 2 and 4; hostiles have been dispatched–"

"Bombs away, boys."

"–but we're out of ammo. Returning to Flight Deck."

"Deploy Archer Spare." The command was out of Ice's lips, and he pointedly stared straight ahead, ignoring the Captain's glare. The Captain waved it off, not moving to approve takeoff.

"Oh, Lady Luck, they didn't like that one bit."

"What're they going to do about it, Burbank?" You and Burbank continued to circle the airstrip, dropping all six of your bombs, but not fast enough to prevent two planes from taking off. Plus, the two bogeys that had flown past you earlier had circled around after the first explosion.

"Archers 1 and 3: Four hostiles inbound from the runway and on your 6."

Finally, the Captain gave the go-ahead for Comms to clear Archer Spare for takeoff.

"Comms to Flight Deck: deploy Archer Spare."

"I see 'em."

"Begin return to Flight Deck. Archer Spare is on their way."

"Burb, Yellow: arm missiles. Cas, I'm switching to guns."

"Copy that. Arming missiles."

"How long until Archer Spare engages?" Ice asked, and it's only through years of honing his signature icy demeanor that he managed to keep the concern from his face, but his palm is sweaty beneath the plaster of his cast.

"12 minutes."

"This will be over in 5."

"Lieutenant Kazansky." Ice clenched his jaw shut as the Captain called him to heel.

"Now would be a great time to take the shot, Burb."

"What do you think I'm trying to do?!"

"Luck, we're taking a hostile down the left."

"Jesus Christ, that was close."

"Firing!"

"Where are they, Yellow?"

"Two coming around on our six."

"Split 'em!"

The chatter continued until you and Burbank had managed to take out all but one hostile out for the flight of his life. But it was two against one, and Ice liked those odds.

"Shit, Luck. We're out."

Unless, of course–

"Of what?"

"Everything."

Fuck.

"Bring 'em around nice and easy, Burbank."

"Fuck that–" a freaked-out Yellow "–Fly dammit! They're gonna get missile lock on us!"

"Keep mellow, Yellow."

"Fuck you, Casper."

"You gotta help me out here, Burbank. I can't get a shot!"

"9 minutes."

"Shit. We're out, too."

"What?!"

"You gotta shake him, Burb."

"I can't!"

"Luck, do something!"

Archers 1 and 3 were silent for a couple seconds before your voice filtered back over the radio. "Control, it loo- -’re h-ving prob-" Ice lunged forward and smashed his good hand down on the green button.

"Kazansky!"

"Luck, don't you dare–" but it was too late; you'd already switched off your comms. "Dammit!" Slider chuckled over his shoulder at the slip in his controlled façade. Ice didn't pay his RIO or the Captain any mind. In the minute that your comms were cut off, his head flooded with nightmare scenarios. You had been known to shut off your comms right before dragging Casper into something stupid.

Your comms switched back on. "Control, this is Archer 1 requesting deployment of a rescue helicopter." The blip of your jet banked wide right before reorienting itself with the path of the hostile on Burbank's tail. Ice's eyes went wide.

"Archer 1," the Comms operator sputtered, "Archer Spare will be at your location in 6 minutes."

Ice knew that neither you nor Burbank had six minutes. Still, he leaned over the console, ready to knock you off whatever Maverick bullshit you had planned, but he was too late.

"Mayday. Mayday. Archer 1 is going down," Casper's voice came out strong over the radio, nothing was wrong with your plane except for its collision course with the hostile. Your dot almost on top of them.

"Burb, roll right!"

"Eject! Eject!"

Static fuzz.

"Control, this is Archer 3 returning to Flight Deck." Ice continued to hold his breath, Slider's hand on his shoulder. "Archer 1 has deployed parachutes."

— —

When Ice appeared at your door, you were getting ready to leave the med bay in pursuit of dry clothes. "Here to congratulate me on a successful mission?"

"What the hell was that?" he bit, and you rolled your eyes as your expression soured.

"If you're just here to yell at me," you said, trailing off as you tried to push past him and into the hallway, but he blocked your escape.

"No. You don't get to pull a stunt like that and just walk away, Luck."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Was that not a part of your plan?" Ice remained silent as he took a deep breath, the muscle in his jaw twitching. It hadn't. He'd tried to deploy Archer Spare on time to get to you, but he'd been outranked. "Spare was too far out, and Burbank and I were out of ammo. What did you expect me to do? Leave him to die?"

"Burbank is a capable pilot–"

"He's a kid!" A cocky one, but what pilot wasn't? He'd come to you all fresh from flight school, 20 years old, and insisting that he was Hollywood. Slider had laughed in his face and told him that you already knew a Hollywood. When you'd all found out a couple days later that he was actually from Burbank, the name — much to his chagrin — stuck.

"–and what you did put not only your life, but Casper's, Yellow's, and Burbank's in danger."

"Is that it? Was I being too dangerous?" Where had you heard that one before?

"Luck."

"Why can't you just admit that you're jealous?" You crossed your arms over your chest and genuinely thought you had him, especially when he spat out a 'what?'. "The Navy's poster child sidelined, and Lady Luck takes his role leading a successful mission for the US of A."

Ice actually laughed as if you'd said the funniest damn thing he'd ever heard, and your arms crossed tighter over your chest for an entirely different reason. Had you really pinned him that wrong?

"That's what you think this is about?"

"Whatever, Kazansky." You tried to push past him to get out of your wet clothes. You were starting to get cold.

Ice caught you with his good hand and dragged you forward until you were pressed against his chest. You had to crane your head to meet his eyes, but there was something different in them. Not anger. Not frustration. Heat.

The warning registered too late, and suddenly his lips were on yours, the force of them bruising. His hand anchored on the side of your jaw, possessive as he tilted you into a better angle and licked at the seam of your lips. You groaned, eyes slipping closed as the plaster of his cast pressed into your lower back until you were arching into him.

Your hands rose to grip the lapels of his service khakis and drag him closer until his teeth caught on your lower lip and sucked it into his hot mouth.

You broke apart when your head spun from lack of oxygen, lids heavy as you stared up at him. "Oh."

"Don't you ever do that to me again," he commanded, his cheeks the same breathless pink as yours. 

"If this is the way you greet me once I'm back on the ground?" you asked, a cruel smile blossoming as your eyes flicked from his lips to his eyes. "No promises."

#thirsty answers #top gun (1986) #top gun requests #tom iceman kazansky x reader #tom kazansky x reader #iceman x reader #afab!reader #be the iceman x reader content you want to see on this hellsite