#ron slider kerner x reader

[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

[topgun-imagines]

Show Her How It’s Done

Requested: yes

Summary: Slider takes you on a proper first date.

Word count: 0.9k

Note: 2k celebration!

Warnings: none.

Pairings: Ron ‘Slider’ Kerner x fem!reader

Slider heaved out a sigh as he pulled the towel against the back of his neck. Tonight was supposed to be his first date with you, and to say he was nervous would be an understatement. “You’ll be fine,” Ice clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re just thinking about it too much,” The blond collected the rest of his belongings before walking out of the locker room. One last comment was tossed over his shoulder as he left. “Show her how it’s done, Sli.”

Thirty minutes later Slider was standing on your front porch, nervously glancing around the pristine space. A number of flower pots lined the white railing, all growing perfectly despite the California heat. Suddenly, he could hear rustling on the other side of the door. He sucked in a deep breath and straightened up just as you pulled the blue door open.

The breath was knocked out of his lungs as he took in the sight in front of him. You were wearing a flimsy black tank top and a pair of denim jeans. It was a simple outfit but on you, Slider thought that it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

When he heard your quiet giggle, his eyes immediately snapped up to yours as he began sputtering. The weight of the flowers in his hand suddenly seemed heavier than before. He cleared his throat. “These are for you.” He murmured, passing you the small bouquet of lilacs and white baby’s breath. Your heart swelled at the gesture.

Slider waited patiently as you returned inside to put the flowers in a vase. His hands were clasped in front of him and he was staring at the flag hanging from the corner of your porch when you returned.

There was a nervous smile on his face as you locked up. When you turned back to him, his eyes were immediately drawn to the large smile on your face. He stretched a hand out to you. Your fingers intertwined with his as you began walking away from your house.

When Slider had first asked you out, he had assured you that he would plan the perfect date. Meaning that you had no idea where you were going. “So,” you started, glancing up at the tall RIO. “You gonna tell me where we’re going?” There was a light and airy tone to your voice, almost seeming to pull the weight off of his shoulders in seconds.

He glanced down to find your eyes fixed on him. A small smile overcame his face as he turned his eyes back to the sidewalk in front of him. “You’ll just have to wait and find out.” He teased as the two of you stopped at the cross walk.

After walking for a few minutes, Slider finally stopped the two of you across the road from a small, brightly coloured building. There was a large sign beside the door advertising the best ice cream in Miramar. Slider felt a wave of pride surge through him at the sight of your broad smile.

The two of you crossed the street carefully. Slider held open the door for you once you reached the quaint shop. You thanked him quietly, a pleasured sigh falling from you lips at the feeling of the cool air as you stepped into the shop. There was one couple in front of you, which gave you enough time to decide on what you were having.

A large chalk board hung behind the counter, colourfully displaying all the options that were available. “What are you gonna get?” You questioned as you debated between mint chip and cherry garcia. Slider hummed quietly before he made his choice.

“I think I’ll get pistachio and raspberry.” He decided a few seconds later.

Once the other couple had their ice cream, Slider stepped up, ready to order for the both of you. After a few more seconds of debate, you settled on mint chip.

As the two of you stepped aside to wait for your cones, Slider’s hand settled on your lower back, gently rubbing the skin through the thin fabric of your shirt. You leaned against his side as you listened to the waves crash against the shore only a few meters from the ice cream shop.

A few moments later, the older woman behind the counter called Slider’s name. You followed after him as he grabbed the cones from her. You thanked him quietly as he passed you yours. Almost out of instinct, your hand slipped into Slider’s as the two of you exited the shop. The older woman had a knowing smile on her face as the door closed softly behind you.

Slider led you behind the shop. There was a bench built up against it and looking out over the ocean. He gently pulled you down beside him. A comfortable silence fell over the two of you as you ate your ice cream. The RIO had his hand resting on your knee, thumb gently stroking over your exposed skin.

“Thank you for this.” You spoke quietly, as not to disturb the peace that had settled over the two of you. Your head fell against his shoulder.

The hand that was on your knee moved to wind around your shoulders, pulling you closer into his side. “I’m glad you had fun.” He spoke just as quiet. Any doubts from earlier were quickly forgotten as the two of you watched the sun sparkle off of the deep blue water.

A/n: Thank you all for reading! I enjoyed writing this one so much. Requests are open.

Tagging: @alexxavicry @chaoticcassidy @saturnsbabe69 @bbooks-and-teas

Join my taglist!

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[ohtobemare]

Gym Himbo • Ron Slider Kerner x Reader

Haven't written anything I've felt compelled to post for *awhile* so here's some Slider shit that I thought was fun. Dedicating this to @callsignthirsty, who had absolutely no business dragging me onto the Slider train like she has. but i refuse to get off, so, here we are. i may or may not need a part 2, but that's yet to be decided.

Warnings: minor swears, innuendos, Slider being a complete and utter sex god that he is

Pairing: Ron 'Slider' Kerner x reader

Gym Himbo

The gym is all but bursting by the time you manage to wedge your shitty little Camry in between two massive pickups. Which, in all honesty, is to be expected. It’s Friday, after 5–half the city is here. To cram in a workout before the long weekend, no doubt. Intentions similar, you feel more than a little dwarfed by the pickups at either side of your car as you pop the door handle and swing out of the driver’s seat. 

Bending to grab your bag through the backseat open window, whispered voices give you pause and you glance out the rear window to spot the group of girls, arm in, giggling in their matching Adidas. Strolling towards the gym, looking every bit of the jazzercise goers you assume they are. Rolling your eyes you shoulder your bag, watching them stroll towards the gym with the flock of other after-5ers. Your grip tightens on your bag as you spin your keys around your finger.  

You’ll be lucky if you get any machine time—Fridays bring in the muscle heads and the bodybuilders. And as much as you despise cardio, you could use to do a quick 45 minutes on a treadmill. Which is fine, it’s probably as it should be. Wait for the meatheads and himbos to clear out before getting in the real work. A solid plan. 

Eyes flitting over cars in the parking lot, you try not to look for her Lexus. Gina had told you she wouldn’t be meeting you today, which still hasn’t quite resonated in your head yet. As your best friend and self-proclaimed emotional support gym partner, you can’t remember a time G hasn’t met you here. You’ve been spotting each other for the year you’ve been coming to this gym. Working out together keeps the aforementioned meatheads at bay–after all, if you don’t need a spotter, what other opening line is there?–and is the perfect catch-up for the gossip going on between your respective offices. 

Three times a week, like clockwork, Gina parks towards the entrance—you park in the back. Together you meet halfway for the long walk to the gym, giggling and chatting much like the Adidas girls pulling open the heavy gym doors ahead of you as you jog to catch the door. Managing a muted “Thanks,” to the swinging ponytail in front of you, you slip towards the locker room quietly, secure a locker, and change out your street shoes for your gym Reebok’s. 

Trying not to be disappointed that Gina is probably well into outfit number three, prepping for her date with “AutoZone Rob,” you’re still more than a little pissed she hadn’t asked you to come over. Twisted your arm to skip your workout and help her pick outfits and pile quantifiable tonnes of AquaNet into her Farrah-perfect hair. Biting the inside of your cheek as you aggressively tighten the knot in your laces, your foot drops off the bench with a bit more attitude than the floor deserves. Flipping your hair forward, you manage it into a high tail before snatching your water bottle and towel from your lockers. 

Banging the door closed with a swat of your hand, a deep breath fills and exits your chest as you march out to the gym floor in search of a treadmill. Most of the usual walkers have abandoned their machines in favor of the jazzercise class, women funneling towards the separate room at nearly the speed of light. And you can hardly blame them. Kenny, the new hire who leads the class, has an ass that does not stop—you’d go if Gina was here to detract from your purely awful ability to dance. 

Snagging a machine in the corner, you set your workout and hop onto the machine lithly, like you’ve done it a million times. You have, to some extent. Settling into the immediate burn in the back of your calves, your eyes skirt over the other half of the room–the weights equipment and free weights. Buzzing like a hive with men brushing into one another. Women have all but abandoned the space between the towering giants of muscle and testosterone, mostly for Kenny and his class. From here you’re nearly blinded by the glistening sweat and ripple of muscle, which tightens a sharp, glorious little knot in the depth of your gut. 

Thank God you have opted for the treadmill for close to an hour. Most of these guys should clear out by the time you’re done, allowing you access to whatever machine you want. Not that the idea of smooshing yourself in between himbos cock-deep in deadlifts and dumbbells doesn't have an appeal. Most, if not all of them would make room for you. After all, a babe that can leg press 640 does turn heads. 

But being a spectacle isn’t your style—especially without Gina here to ward off the unwanted come-ons and approaches. And you prefer to ogle at a distance. Missing Gina’s intensity and her no-funny-business attitude, which matches yours nearly to the point of Siamese twinning, you focus your attention on stretching out your shoulders while the treadmill adjusts to a sharper, more intense, incline. 

Your view from the treadmill is stellar—and split between Designing Women on the small TV the front desk clerk is glued to for all of a few seconds as the absolutely ripped god currently deadlifting in the corner grabs your attention. Whiplash nearly snaps your neck as your gaze rips from the television to his direction. It takes herculean willpower to keep your jaw wired shut, but it only takes a few seconds before the muscle in your jaw ticks in absolute raw jealousy. 

From here, you estimate he’s right 450 or so—but people are passing to and fro in front of him, so it’s a guess at best. It wrinkles your brow for all of a few seconds. Because a himbo of his size and physique suggests far more weight than what you’re supposing, unless he’s simply warming up. Trying not to think too hard about it, he’s nearly impossible to miss—all six foot something of him is a head or so taller than everyone else in the free weights corner of the gym. That ripped-to-next-to-nothing-at-all t-shirt does little more than flash a “Look at me!” neon sign to his person. He nearly sparkles under the harsh fluorescent light. Sweat glistens in a fine, delicious sheen over the rippled muscle of his back. Definitions all but on display. 

As fine as he appears, you cannot help but seethe at little at the effortless lift and drop. Your fingers practically burn with the itch to lift heavy and drop. It swirls in an excited buzz through your core. Familiar memories of what it feels like kickstarts the crave for adrenaline in the back of your head, which slowly drips down your spine like molten lava. Wanting little more than to hop off the treadmill and actually start your workout, you resign yourself to finish the program—and Designing Women. 

It isn’t polite to stare. But with a body–and such an intention outfit—you doubt he’d mind. Catch yourself eyeballing the Grecian god of a man a few times over the next forty minutes, you’re more focused on the weight he’s adding and changing to the bar than you are the ebb and flow of muscle in his arms. Brain on a continuous loop of How? HOW?! you don’t even notice the ending of Designing Women, or the fact that he’s caught you looking at least twice, now. 

One by the one, men begin to pilfer out of the gym. Concluding their workouts, nodding goodbye to familiar faces and “buddies” as they filter to the locker rooms and out the door for the long weekend. What was formerly Israelites at the mouth of the Red Sea has become little more than a handful of the dedicated in the free weights area, giving you far more confidence than when you’d first arrived. There’s no better time than now to throw yourself into the mix. 

Calves burning, you brush at the hair clinging to your damp skin and take a pull of lukewarm water from your bottle. Machine sounding off, you kill the program and move to wipe down the controls. Tossing the rag back beside the sanitizer bottle, you march off in search of your first victim—a personal favorite, it’s your pride and joy. Gina would be grinning if she were here, the leg press is definitely the one machine you have absolutely no trouble destroying. 

You halfway ignore the stares that track you, possessively dropping your bottle to the seat. Position claimed, you waste no time adjusting the press to your standard measurements—but, the weight is off. Because of course it is, you press more than anyone would give your short stack frame for. Not reveling in preening is taking all the willpower you possess, because more than one guy has paused to consider the amount of weight you’re loading onto this machine. 

Calculating your startup weight takes all of a few seconds, it’s familiar. Almost going through the motions. Once you’re satisfied with your weights, you towel off the sweat pearling over your upper lip and at the back of your neck, fingers stretching as you hype yourself up. Guns n’ Roses blaring from the overhead is far too good to ignore. Boping to the familiar tune, you swing into the seat, settle yourself there, and get into position. 

You’re far too enthralled. Consumed with the rush this is going to finally give you, you absolutely don’t notice the tower of a man who’s come up behind you on the press, until his frame blocks the harsh lights overhead and throws a long down over you. Blinking, you peer up and over your shoulder. To the thick hand and absolutely tree-like arm that’s casually hanging over the back of your seat. Your eyes linger for all of a few seconds. 

“Need a spot?” 

At base level it is a simple question, but it swirls in between the soft tones of his bravado voice. Knocks you for a loop for all of a heartbeat. Your eyes skate up his arm to find his–they’re nearly glittering with confidence, ego nearly trackable it’s manifested so plainly in the set of his shoulders. It takes 2.5 seconds for you to realize it’s him.

The Himbo. The god you’d been ogling over from the treadmill. Between murdering yourself with cardio and attempts to enjoy Designing Women. All moisture suddenly vacates the back of your throat, but not in the way you’d expect—Why is he over here? 

Question looping through your brain, you are torn between being insulted that he’d assume you couldn’t handle startup weight and being flattered that he cares enough to actually ask. Dropping a foot off the plate, you sit forward a little and angle to face him. Sends him back half a step. His arm is still far too casually draped over the back of your seat, and you're biting the inside of your cheek hard enough to almost draw blood trying to discern how to respond to the insinuation. 

Insult gives way to injury, and you level a cool, half-mast look of indifference at him. A smirk lifts the corner of your mouth. It’s far too easy to take in all of his hulking self, but you show great restraint. Too much restraint; Gina would be livid. 

You try to mask a chuckle, but it doesn’t work nearly as well as you’d like it to. “This is my startup weight,” your shoulder shifts a little more flirtatiously than you’d like. But you’re rolling with it. “But thanks.” Heat somersaults in your gut at the absolute audacity of your tone as you bend to retrieve your water, take a pull. Your Gotcha! brow is smug. Why you’re flirting you don’t really know, you’ve never noticed him before. But God, he is gorgeous—maybe out of your league. 

Scratch that. You’re out of his league, pressing 650 and not even batting a frickin’ eyelash. He maybe able to deadlift three of you, but you most definitely can leg press at least three of him. Gina’s ever present best-friend validation blares like a loudspeaker in the back of your brain not to shortchange yourself. Confidence is the best thing a girl can wear, especially in the gym—even if you’re sporting stirrup pants and a top that leaves very little to the active imagination. 

A growing smile ticks up the corner of his lips, you don’t miss the second this registers on his face—his brows jump nearly into his hairline. Line of his jaw twitches with the effort, presumably, not to drop his mouth open. You’re preening at the dumbstruck look on his face as his eyes skate to double check the weight in a full Wait, is she actually serious? moment. Wheels in his brain chug as he calculates the weight, then cuts a quick look back to you from the corner of his eye. 

The smile is slow, understanding. Quicksilver and very nearly entertained. Lightbulbs all but go off over his head like he’s something out of Saturday morning Looney Tunes as he chuckles, drops his gaze to consider his feet and the absolutely beat high tops he’s sporting. His eyes look up to you in what is very nearly an ovary-leveling puppy dog look, and you bristle to an attention at what it does to your insides. 

Full silence between the two of you for longer than necessary when it hits that he isn’t about to make the first move recovery move. It’s up to you then. The little tip of your lips matches the slight cock of your head. Swinging fully off the plate, you plant your feet on the floor and rest your elbows on your thighs. You don’t miss that he’s watching like a hawk, tracking movement like you’re nothing short of prey. Might as well be a damn target-locked missile. 

“Was there something else?” Your hands clap to your knees and you pop up from the seat, ponytail swinging behind you like something out of Sports Illustrated. 

Arm dropping off the back of your seat, he blinks—easy brown eyes skip over you like he’s mapping terrain, and you can’t help the burst of pride that explodes like sparklers down the length of your spine. In a deliberate show, you move to check your weights again, then turn to rest an arm over one of the plates. Hand firmly planted on your hip. 

It takes all the willpower you possess not to chuckle when he puts his hands up, smiles, and backs off a few steps. 

“Easy there, honey—just trying to do you a solid.” Your smile is ineffable. Oh, I bet you are, “Didn’t mean anything by it, scout’s honor.” The fingers-over-heart is endearing. Brow lifts in a masquerade of conceit, but the chase is far from over—himbo is just stepping up to bat. You can see it in the glint of his eye; light that backstrokes in dark pools of knowing, guessing. Chasing. 

The faintest smile parts his lips enough to make out strong white teeth. Watching his tongue skate over them, your finger twitches slightly against the cool steel of the plate. It feels good on your burning skin, skin that’s itching suddenly under his focus. Attention. The way his head tips a little, his eyes skate quickly from the cut of your hip back to your eyes—he knows this is the wrong foot to get off on. Even if this approach has worked with other girls before. But, tough for him—you aren’t other girls. Between you and Gina in this gym, you make up a category all to yourselves. Ground that you’re willing to defend. 

But good sweet God in heaven, he is huge. His shoulders remind you extravagantly of old fashioned brick walls, the kind that Ivy creeps up slowly over time as it dissects height, weight, breadth. Hands the size of saucers. They’re nothing short of hands that have taken a hundred women apart slowly and enjoy stitching them back together enough to ruin all over, probably. Close cropped hair with just enough curl to pique your interest, he’s a little unshaven. By the stretch of shadows across the pavement of parking lots and goodbye, he’ll have a nice five o’clock show of scruff on his face. 

Checking yourself appreciating the thick vein that chases up his arm, your eyes flick back to his. Can’t resist the little bat of your lashes. Gently biting the corner of your bottom lip, quite visibly, you shift a little on your feet. He flirts with his eyes—his I saw that stabs painfully between the ribs of your innocent, Yeah? so much that you fear your resolve will bleed out to the floor beneath your feet.

His smile grows, arms crossing over his chest as he settles on his feet, head kicking back just a bit. It’s the macho shift of power, he’s almost looking down his nose. Waits for you to just plop into the palm of his hand and scarf down the attention like the pussy-starved cock he is. 

Well, that’s enough of that. He’s yummy, sure, but you don’t eat of open palms so easily. Nodding, you click your tongue off the wall of your cheek with a wet pop, and push off the machine easily. You’re about to slip back into the seat when his posture changes. Like a startled cat, his eyes frantically track your movements. His panic is tangible—he knows. Window closed, next. 

He clears his throat a little and nods to the plates. Scrambling. The boy thing is scrambling not to lose this battle of the sexes, and it is quite fun to watch. He moves just so beneath the overhead flourescents. Catch of glistening sweat beneath the light is unmissable and punches you harder in the pit of your uterus than you first thought possible.

“So,” his hand skates to rub the back of his neck. It isn’t sheepish, nothing about this goliath of a male specimen is sheepish. He’s about as subtle as a sledgehammer. He gestures to the weight, “That a rep weight for you, or—?” 

Smile. You can’t help but smile. He’s trying, you’ll give him that. Whether it’s a lack of thick skin from being unused to rejection, or blatantly stupidity you’re not sure–but he’s still here. Except now, the mouse has become the cat; you’re more the predator than the prey in this scenario. Just a little farther and you’ve got the fly reeling in your web, ready for the kill. 

Watching the weight pass through his eyes, his eyes flick down to consider your legs. Which are very much on display in stirrup pants and leg warmers you’d just snagged from Nordstroms. Muscle in his jaw ticks. which paints a lopsided smile on your face. Shifting onto the seat, you position your legs, raise a brow. Color erupts on his face in what’s either an embarrassed, or impressed, flush. 

You chuckle. “Kinda already asked me that, didn’t you?” The absolutely pummeled look on his face leaves him blinking. Speechless. You can’t help but giggle at the drumstruck hanging out on his face like a neon sign. It’s painfully obvious he didn’t expect any sort of pushback to whatever advance he’d plucked up the balls for. “But to answer the question, yeah—I’ll rep this for a bit.” 

His rapid blinking hasn’t improved. Amusing. It’s always amusing, the audacity of these men. Poor thing. He hasn’t gotten the hint—or if he has, he’s persistent. This isn’t the first time a meathead at the gym has tried to pick you, or Gina, up. What you wouldn’t give for a dollar every time it’s happened. Biting the inside of your cheek, you kind of smile at him a little dorkishly. Wait for him to say something. To recover what a flaming trainwreck this entire conversation has become for his ego. 

“Hey, Slider—you almost finished? We’ve got muster in half an hour, let’s move.”  

The speed at which his head whips to acknowledge whoever has called across the gym is alarming. Eyes widening at what you can only assume is a nickname, you track his attention to find the blonde standing, hand on the latch of the door. Like an impatient mother calling after a child. Eyes skate between “Slider,” apparently, and the man at the door. 

Your brow raises surprisingly at the absolute gall this man has to wear aviators actually inside a building, but given the stance and the way his jaw works at a piece of gum just so, you realize he really doesn’t appear the type to mind. Or even care. Any second now blondie is going to start tapping his foot, and your bottom lip rolls inward beneath your top teeth as Slider turns back to consider you with a crooked quicksilver gleam, the flush on his cheeks deepening a little. Replaying the man’s callout in your brain, your brow lifts. 

“Muster, huh. Military?” San Diego is crawling with Navy boys. Mouth open to respond, you beat him to the punch. “Ah. Navy. Got it, “ peeking around his goliath frame, you smile, tip your chin up, and wiggle your fingers at the blonde standing in the entry, “your friend seems awfully ready to get back at it.” When he waves back, you wink across the room at him. Slider’s expression nearly hits to the floor, right off his face. “He’s cute.” 

He scoffs. “Cute?” His face takes on an expression that is not far removed from baffled. His strangle chuckled matches the lifted brows of surprise, “I’ve heard the Iceman called many things, and ‘cute’ is on the very bottom of that particular shitlist.” Jealousy all but paints his face emerald as you smile, “But honestly, he’s not your type. Like at all.” 

Disbelief all but seals up your throat like an Indiana Jones temple, and you splutter on the pull of water you manage from your bottle. Amused, this asshole of a man has the audacity to chuckle at you as you recover, brows in your hairline as you blink rapid fire at him. Galled at the very insinuation he has an inkling of an idea about anything regarding you, you fall back against the seat a little rough. Flabbergasted is too kind a word. 

“And how in the hell is it you think you know anything about my type?” Tone loaded and patronizing, the smirk on his face nearly jumps up and screams Ha! right in your face. You think briefly about smacking it off his face, but decide against you. You like this gym, don’t really want to get kicked out. Today, anyway. Maybe another time, preferable with Gina around to post bail. 

Popping into a squat beside your seat, your eyes nearly stretch out of your head at the absolutely perfect view of his bicep that’s just hanging out in your line of sight as he smiles, cool as a cucumber, on his feet. Balancing like fucking Hercules on the ball of his feet. Slightly alarmed by the sudden bolt of heat that rushes down your spine, your head is suddenly nothing but pulsating blood between your ears and swimming with the sight of little droplets of sweat dripping from a loose curl over his forehead. He smells incredible—like sweat. Heat. Sex. 

Tongue skating out to coat his bottom lip, his eyes all but drag down the cut of your shirt before they slowly traverse their way back up the column of your throat. Linger on your mouth. And before you know it, your staring dead in the face of the little gold rim in his eyes, feeling disarmed and bothered and warm in the cradle of your pelvis. 

His turn to click his tongue off the wall of his cheek. It makes a curtailing tsk, disarming you more than you should probably allow. “Call it a sixth sense,” he winks, lifting a hand to gesture between the two of you. “We should go out sometime.” 

Scoff rocketing up the back of your throat before you can even think about it, you're shaking your head in disbelief as your smile grows a little broader. “Oh, we should, should we?”

Lightyears separate you and any chance of going out with this himbo that could possibly ever exist—not because you don’t want to. But because the likelihood of seeing him again is probably close to one in a million. Not that you want to see him. You don’t. He’s an egotistical cocksucker. Probably. 

His brows lift in a telling little wag. “Yeah, I think so. Don’t you?” 

Lips parting to reply, the sharp, “Slider!” that cuts across the room matches the obvious huff of impatience from the man you’ve come to understand as the Iceman. Pushing off the door, he’s beginning to stalk across the floor to the free weights area. Impatience, such impatience. Heartbeat kicked up behind your ribs, Slider is waiting for your answer. Lifted brow and all.

Without entering the area, the Iceman lifts his shades into his hair, and with a firm tip of his head, gestures towards the door. “Sli. Let’s move.” He all but snaps his finger and you snort a little—they remind you of an old married couple. Probably not all that far removed, actually, if you know anything about the Navy and its boys. And you don’t, not really. Yet. 

Eyes skirting back to Slider, you sigh a little chuckle and lift a flirty shoulder. “I think you’d better go,” leaning forward, you screw up your lips in a twisted little smile and squint at him, nodding in the direction of his tagalong. “Better not keep daddy waiting, Slider.” 

And with that his lips form a little impressed “O,” his chuckle all but a little defeated in that macho way guys always manage. Slowly standing, the look behind his eyes is wolfish. Impressed even. Gina would be fucking applauding if she was here, watching you run circles with this Hercules and all the ego his wafting into the atmosphere. But the idea of seeing him again doesn’t exactly not have appeal, and you’re feeling flirty. Confident in a way you haven’t in weeks. 

“Tell you what. I’ve been known to visit my favorite little haunt in the strip mall across town after a, long ass workout,” situating back in the seat, you position your feet on the plate to begin your warmup, and smile at him as he backsteps away from the machine with a little bounce in his step, “If you happen to run into me, well—I’m not one to turn friends away from an empty table.” 

“Sounds like a deal,” his smile is all but megawatt, “I’ll see ya around.” 

“Maybe you will.” 

Well into the burn of your startup weight by the time you spot Slider and his friend slip from the locker room to the front door, it takes little to no effort at all to smile at the pair as Slider checks over his shoulder for one last look. Impressed with himself, no doubt. You suppose there’ll a very good chance you’ll see him tomorrow when you and Gina come back for her favorite mid-week pilates meet. 

And somehow, you’re okay with that. 

taglist:

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#ron slider kerner #ron kerner x reader #top gun #top gun 1986 #top gun imagines #slider x reader #ron slider kerner x reader

[imawkwardlysoc]

champagne and sunshine

Dedicated to @skiddit, @optimisticmiraclecolor, and other members of the slider slut society.

Song- champagne and sunshine by plvtinum ft. tarro

Pairing- ron 'slider' kerner x female! reader

Warnings(s)- 18+, MDNI, degradation, full-on smut, dirty talk, slider calling himself daddy, p in v, aftercare

Summary- slider goes absolutely feral when he sees the reader in a sundress.

Wordcount- 1,473

After a day of training in the hot San Diego weather, some of the boys decided to go to the O-Bar to grab some cold drinks to cool them out and to also let go of some stress. While Hollywood and Wolfman grabbed the drinks, Maverick, Iceman, Slider, and Goose sat around the tables talking about their plans for the weekend.

“So Carole’s wondering if you guys are still down to have a little barbeque at our place tomorrow,” Goose started the conversation.

“Yeah, Y/N and I are already planning on bringing something,” Slider nodded his head.

“Oh, how are you two doing?” Ice asked his RIO.

“We’re good,” the RIO smiled. “Really good.”

As Hollywood and Wolfman returned with the cold drinks in their hands, Slider started to gush about his partner not knowing that Y/N just arrived. Adjusting the straps of her dress and fixing her hair, she walked into the bar to see some Top Gun students eyeing her down, planning a plan on how to get her in their beds at the end of the evening. Y/N ignored their looks and headed straight to the table where her boyfriend and his friends sat.

“Sorry, but is this seat taken?” Y/N wrapped her arms around Slider.

“Only for you,” Slider smiled as he pulled Y/N by her waist and pulled her into his lap.

“Y/N, nice of you to join us,” Mav smiled.

“Yeah, I just need a drink after the busy day I had,” Y/N took a sip out of Slider’s drink and looked at Goose. “By the way, I got the thing you and Carole needed for tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Goose thanked Y/N.

“It’s no problem,” Y/N smiled as she laid her head on Slider’s shoulder.

Throughout the two hours they were there, Y/N was laughing and enjoying the conversations that were happening while Slider was distracted with his own thoughts and the sundress Y/N was wearing. The floral sundress fell above her knees while the dress slit went mid thigh giving Slider easy access. The sweetheart neckline showed the right amount of breast while her collar bone was exposed which Slider wished to trail all of his hickies all over her body. The tie straps will make it faster for him to rip the dress off of her when they get home.

While Y/N was in a conversation with Ice, she felt Slider put his hand on her thigh where the slit was and started to ride his hand up. Y/N bit the inside of her cheek as she felt the tingling feeling. As Slider made it up her dress, he used his two fingers to open the fold and started to rub her clit. Y/N tried to remain calm and interested in the conversation while fighting the urge to let out a moan.

“Y/N, are you okay? You’re looking a little blushed,” Hollywood questioned.

“Yeah, it’s just a little hot,” Y/N let out a chuckle.

“Well then gentlemen, I’m going to take this lady home and cool her down,” Slider announced while removing his hand from under her dress. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

All of them said their goodbyes and Y/N and Slider went to where Slider’s truck was parked. Slider helped her into the truck since it was slightly elevated and closed the passenger door before getting into the driver’s seat.

“You’re an asshole you know?” Y/N slapped his arm.

“How am I?” He questioned.

“That thing that you did while we were inside,” she explained, slightly frustrated. “What would happen if anyone saw it? Especially the guys.”

“And I will kill them if they mention it,” Slider placed a kiss on Y/N’s lips. “Damn, it’s hot when you're frustrated.”

“Just shut up and take us home,” Y/N whined.

“As you say,” Slider winked.

He pulled the truck out of the parking space and made the fifteen minute drive to their house. Throughout the drive, the sexual tension was tense as Slider kept on guiding his freehand up Y/N’s thigh. Y/N let out a tiny moan which Slider smirked at when he pulled into their driveway. Getting out of the car, Slider quickly locked the car as Y/N opened the front door. When the two of them got into the house, they closed the door and hurried to their bedroom.

Y/N let out another moan as her back was against the wall while Slider started to place kisses along her neck and neckline. Ripping her underwear off and moving the dress slit away, Slider inserted his fingers into her again while rubbing the clit. With his free hand, he started to untie one of the straps of her dress while Y/N helped with the other one.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Slider groaned as her dress fell exposing her breasts.

Removing his fingers, he let the dress fall to the floor and looked at the expression that was shown on Y/N’s face. With a satisfied look on his face, he picked her up and placed her on the bed while towering over her giving her a nod. Y/N started to unbutton his uniform while kissing him and placing kisses along his neck. Throwing the button up onto the floor, Slider quickly tossed his white beater off leaving his dog tags on. Kneeling onto the bed now, Slider started to place kisses along Y/N’s bare body as she quickly took his pants off. Taking off his underwear, Y/N cupped his crotch for a few seconds before starting to stroke his cock. Slider soon got on top of her as his dog tags dangled above her face with her eyes pleading.

“You want it don’t you?” Slider’s voice went down an octave as he went closer to her ear to whisper the last part. “You dirty, little slut.”

Y/N let out a whimper while also nodding her head yes.

“Oh no, I need a verbal answer,” the RIO tilted her chin up so he could see her.

“Yes!” Y/N moaned and whimpered. “Please! I need it!” 

“Oh wait for Daddy,” Slider smirked as he began to go down. “I’ll fill you up soon you little whore.”

Slider started to place kisses along her legs and inner thighs. Y/N gripped the bedsheets as her back arched while letting out some small moans. Taking one of her hands, Y/N gripped onto his hair as he continued to eat her out.

“Are you ready?” Slider asked.

“Yes, please!” Y/N screamed out.

With that answer, Slider started to tease her a little while misplacing his cock which caused Y/N to moan more. Soon he inserted it in and started to slowly thrust into her. Moans filled the room as each thrust quickened. Y/N wrapped her legs around her partner’s waist while he kissed him passionately. 

“Ron,” Y/N moaned. “I’m about-”

“No, not yet.” Ron started to do some of his final thrusts.

In his final thrust, the two moaned out their names so loud that the whole neighborhood could hear it. Slider collapsed next to Y/N who were both a sweaty mess as they panted.

“Fuck, that was,” Y/N panted.

“Amazing,” Slider completed. “I’ll be right back.”

Slider got out of bed and left the room for a few minutes before coming back with a damp hand towel. He cleaned the area between Y/N’s legs before tossing it into the laundry basket and getting into bed. He pulled her closer making their legs tangled together. Slider softly talked to her asking her if she was alright while rubbing circles on her thighs. The two shared a conversation before deciding it was time for bed.

*The Day After at the Party*

“So, you had an eventful night didn’t you?” Mav smirked.

“Mitchell, shut up before I throw you into the ocean when we’re on a carrier,” Slider sends him a daggered look.

He soon looked over to see Y/N talking and laughing at the conversation she was having with Carole and Sarah.

“Looks like you and Ron had a pretty exciting night,” Carole nudged Y/N a little.

“How did you know?” Y/N blushed.

“Well you’re still glowing and you missed a spot.” Sarah pointed out the missed love mark that peeped over the neckline of her dress.

“Oh well,” Y/N replied while shrugging her shoulders.

“You’re planning on doing it again aren’t you?” Carole questioned as she saw the look on her friend’s face.

“Oh yeah.”

Y/N took a sip of her drink and sent Slider a wink before turning her attention back to the conversation.

“He’s gone isn’t he?” Wolfman asked.

“Yep,” everyone answered at the same time.

#ron kerner x reader #ron slider kerner x reader #top gun x reader #ron kerner #ron slider kerner #top gun #top gun fanfiction #Spotify

[h-c-u]

A different type of exercise

Summary: You do your best to convince Slider to come back to bed, but he wants to finish a set before that... 

Pairing: Ron "Slider" Kerner x fem!reader 

W/C: 1.6k

Rating: +18, size difference, daddy kink

TWs: none

A/N: Porn without plot. Also - don't distract someone lifting weights in real life, it's dangerous af. But beside that - enjoy! 

Masterlist | List of tags

You didn't exactly know why your wonderful boyfriend liked to exercise in the middle of the night, and it's not like you were totally against it. What you really hated was waking up and not having him in bed with you...

And this time you woke up already horny and soaked... You didn't remember what you were dreaming about but it must have been amazing, because the feeling didn't want to go away, not allowing you to go back to sleep. And you definitely didn't want to take care of that yourself, when Ron was just in another room.

With a heavy sigh, you got out of bed and went to your home gym wearing only one of his old t-shirts.

He was currently getting ready to lay on the bench and start lifting, with his hands wrapped in tape and everything else prepared.

- Ronnie...? - you said, grabbing his attention, but not enough for him to stop. - Come to bed, I need you... - you knew that just by your tone he could tell that you weren't joking.

- One last set, doll, and I'll be there, I promise... - he replied, finding the right position, wrapping his hands around the bar, and lifting it in the air.

- You don't understand... I need you now... - your voice was low and full of that primal need, but he still assumed that you'll be able to manage 10 more minutes. He was wrong.

Seeing his muscles tense, his whole body working intensely on lowering and lifting the weights just did something to you... On a regular day you could watch his impressive physique for hours, no matter what he was doing, but now... Now watching wasn’t enough, so you slowly came closer to him and stood over the bench, giving him one last chance to stop, but he didn't... So you took matters into your own hands.

- Y/n... - he warned you when you lowered the band of his shorts and got closer to his exposed penis. You always had trouble with fitting his whole cock into your mouth, and you honestly tried to work on your gag reflex, but he was just... so big. Fortunately, you just needed him hard, not even caring how your actions affected him now. - Ffffffuck.... - he said, still trying to finish the set, but he was slowly losing count, with his dick quickly filling up in your warm, soft mouth. Not even half a minute later, you straddled him and with your hand, guided him inside you; he didn't even have time to react properly. Next to extreme pleasure, he felt that he was in real danger of getting stuck under the weights because you were distracting him so much.

So while you were slowly sinking down, taking him deeper and deeper, he finally lifted the bar one last time and rested it on the handles, just as your pussy swallowed him whole.

- Needy little thing... Couldn't even wait 10 minutes... Do you want daddy so bad...? - you eagerly nodded, enjoying the burning stretch without moving just yet, but you knew you wouldn't be able to stay still much longer. - Awww... Poor thing... Daddy's sorry he wasn't there to take care of you when you woke up. - he rose on the bench, changing the angle, which drew a long, deep moan from your mouth. He immediately drank it directly from a source, kissing you with a passion that took your breath away. - And you're taking me so well... Such a good little girl... - he smiled between the kisses and started taking off the shirt you were wearing; he wanted to see the bulge in your stomach and how it will move when you were ready to continue, which didn't take long.

You had to stand on your toes, just to rise enough to get half of him out of you, but you were determined to make it work, so instead of actually getting up, you started grinding against his body, trying your best to stimulate your clit. The sounds you were making were lewd, and he loved every single one of them... You could feel your juices making his pubic hair wet, somehow making them rougher, and the pleasant scratch only added to the stimulation, but even that wasn't enough... Your calves were twitching and spasming, ready to give up. You knew what you had to do...

- Daddy... - you were a mess... Your body was covered in sweat, your hair sticking to your forehead, and you were already out of breath.

- Yes princess...? - he asked with a cheeky smile as if what you were doing wasn't affecting him at all.

- Please... - your voice cracked from desperation and you rested your head on his shoulder because you just... weren't strong enough.

- Please what, princess...? - you huffed in frustration and bit him. Not hard enough to leave a mark, but he definitely felt it, because he chuckled. He knew that you had trouble regulating your reactions when you were so desperately helpless, and he wouldn't mind even if you drew blood, because he loved being marked by you. - Use your words. - he requested in a soft tone, but you knew that if you didn't ask, he would inform you in that same soft tone dipped in honey that good girls ask for things nicely, and if you couldn't do that, it meant you didn't really want it... And that would be the end of the night... And that was something you just couldn't deal with.

- Daddy... Please fuck me... Make me cum and fill me up... - you said, suddenly embarrassed by your actions and words, hiding your face in the nook of his neck.

- Since you asked so nicely... - he teased, but his strong hands found their way under your ass and squeezed your cheeks hard; you knew well what that meant and you lifted your feet from the floor and crossed your ankles behind him. He shifted once more, moving his forearms under your thighs, giving himself more leverage to actually start moving your body, and then he slowly lifted you in the air, so only his tip stayed inside you, and you almost cried at the sudden emptiness, but you didn't have time to even think about complaining because he let the gravity work with him, and you literally fell onto his whole length. And then again... And again... He was using your body as a toy, and you were more than happy to let him because he was making you feel so good... He was dragging the tip against your g spot with every move, whispering sweet praises directly into your ear... How good you felt around him, how he loved that your tiny body was taking him without a hitch, how perfect your moans were, and how you should moan even louder...

And even through all the praises and compliments, you could hear the obscene sounds your pussy was making every time he entered, and even though you two did much kinkier things in the past, it made you blush because it was a clear sign how strongly Slider could affect your body. And with every move he was getting you closer and closer to the peak, but when you were almost there...

- Hold on, princess... just one minute longer... So we can cum together and your tight walls can milk me even harder. Ok...? - he asked, but you knew it wasn't a request, and something in you broke when he looked at you. You were so close, even stronger breath could push you over the edge, and yet he was intent on keeping you there for just a little longer. You nodded, tears of frustration and desperation streaming down your face, while he was still moving your body. You bit your lip so hard that you drew blood, trying your best not to cum. It was hard and he knew exactly what he was doing, especially when he moved one hand to your lower abdomen and pressed on it hard at the same time as he said. - Now you can cum... - as soon as the words left his mouth, the tightly woven cord in your core unraveled and you slumped against Ron's torso, so checked out, that you didn't even realize what exactly happened when you came.

It took you a few minutes to come back to consciousness...

Slider's arm was still tightly wrapped around your waist, while his second hand was gently playing with your hair... He was still panting, and so were you, but you also realized something else... Everything was... wet. And not from sweat...

- I've made a mess, didn't I...? - you asked quietly, your cheeks on fire.

- A beautiful mess, princess... I just wish I could have drank it all straight from a source. - he grinned, a plan already forming in his head. It's not like it was the first time you squirted, but it wasn't happening often, so it was always a pleasant surprise. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. - You were perfect... - small praise, but it made you grin like an idiot.

- Carry me to bed...? - you requested quietly, wrapping your arms around his neck, and he started to stand up, a change of position making his cock fall out of you, and with it, you could feel sticky cum sliding down your thigh.

- Quick shower first... - he pressed another gentle kiss, this time to your temple and you couldn't help but smile. 

A/N 2: Please don't feel obligated/pressured to reblog, because I write mostly for myself. But I would really appreciated if you commented :) Love, G.

#my writing #Ron Kerner Fanfiction #Ron Slider Kerner Fanfiction #Slider Fanfiction #Top Gun fanfiction #Top Gun Smut #Ron Kerner x reader #Ron Slider Kerner x reader #Slider x reader #Ron Kerner smut #Ron Slider Kerner smut #Slider smut #🧰 #🎤 #💋 #🎀 #📏 #🔥

[ai-luni]

Could you please do a smut where slider is eyeing reader from across the bar and ends up walking you home and then yk… but like he is really “bossy” when it comes to bed, but not aggressive

I AM SO DOWN FOR MORE SLIDER CONTENT PLEASE.

So I got a little carried away... but I hope you still like it because it was too much fun to write.

Come on Baby

Ron "Slider" Kerner x fem!Reader

Warnings: Unprotected sex, awful jokes... I'm so sorry

Song rec: Closer - Nine Inch Nails

Wrapping up another week at a bar. You think you’d be sick of it by now but every time, you never regretted a night. Tonight was different, a bachelorette party for your friend Donna. Arriving at a bar near the TOPGUN naval station, you hear a lot about this place from her. She has a thing for pilots but she got engaged to a cop instead. It was then everyone realised she really just had a thing for men in uniforms. 

You guessed it was already 10 and Donna was drunk as she usually was. Left to the devices of her maid of honour, she sent the bridesmaids scattering around the room. You sat at the bar barely touching your drink, instead having a good time with your best friend and fellow bridesmaid Lisa. 

“How about that one?” She motioned over the pair of guys standing close to the restroom entries, “the tall ones have been watching you all night!” 

She took a long sip from her straw giving you time to look before continuing.

“You reckon if you take the tall one, I could take the blond one? God you know I love blonds.” you could only laugh at her in disbelief but you really weren’t surprised. You watched as the tall guy across the bar noticed Lisa’s stare and nudged his blond friend to look too. “Come on! Both in uniform, good psychiques and those sunglasses.” 

“You want me to go up there?” You said with a playful roll of your eyes. This isn’t the first time you’ve done your little one two with her. And with a dead serious look directly into your eyes she gave you a ‘yes’.

Donna made you wear these ridiculous hot pink ribbons tonight that you had both taken off and rested on the bar until this moment. With an idea you tied the ribbon loosely in your hair and started your strut to the restroom. Just like that ribbon was a paid actor, it gracefully slipped onto the floor behind you, landing at the feet of the men on target. You didn’t stop until you heard an “excuse me, miss” behind you.

You turned around and surely enough the blond was holding the hot pink ribbon out to you with charm oozing from his smile. 

“Y/n oh my god! Don’t tell me you almost lost your ribbon. Donna would’ve killed you!” Lisa joined your side, her line sounding so artificial you had to hold back a chuckle - she was never one for acting or lying or hiding any kind of emotion. You took the ribbon from his hand and half hazardly put it back in your hair.

“Thank you…” you smiled towards him, eyes expecting a name in return.

“Tom Kazansky, you can call me iceman.” He was coy beyond all belief and was now eyeing Lisa.

“A pilot huh?” Lisa wasn’t hiding any of it either, eyes wide looking at the boy with her lip caught between her teeth.

“Yes ma’am,” he tips his sunglasses up and gets another good look at her, “and my RIO, Slider.” 

“I’m Lisa, this is my friend y/n. Bridesmaids tonight.” She says. You got a good look at ‘Slider’. Handsome for sure but if he was your type, you were unsure. He kept an eye on you, probably already deciding out of the two that ice would take Lisa home. 

“Always the bridesmaid, never the bride huh.” He chuckles, resting his arm on Iceman’s shoulder. Iceman cracked a smile but not much else of a response was given to the joke. You had your arms crossed, maybe this is why he didn’t seem like your type.

“Always the RIO, never the pilot.” You slipped out without much thought, something in this interaction felt like a challenge to you now. Iceman left out a hearty chuckle before patting his friend on the back, as if saying “good luck with that one”. He puts an arm around Lisa, a coy “let me get you a drink” was heard as they walked away. Leaving you and Slider there alone.

You let out a small awkward cough, he took a sip from his drink. 

Eventually the conversation picked up, you didn’t completely dislike the man. He was cocky but he wasn’t disrespectful and he was damn nice to look at. He had a gorgeous smile but god if some vile stuff didn’t come out of it sometimes. It made you laugh though and with every drink you had, you felt yourself loosen up and care less how demanding he was.  

“So.. why do they call you slider?” You took a small sip of your drink, at this point you’ve completely lost track of Lisa.

“Because the way I talk up girls, it just slides right in.” and that sip you took was put right back into that glass. He looked proud of that one.

“Gross.”

—

You took him back to your place, you couldn’t help it. It was his large hands on your hips, or maybe it was his smile. Whatever it was, you didn’t think he would get you but you caved in. The way he began to speak to you over a couple drinks. He told you to sit in his lap or take his hand or take him home, you were almost in a trance. 

He couldn’t keep his hands off you, lips attached to your neck when all you wanted to do in the moment was unlock your front door. His hands never left your hips, from opening the door to stepping inside and locking it again. He was persistent.

“Where’s your bedroom?” Sultry with an American twang in your ear - a breath of fresh air compared to the loud club music playing all night. You pointed down the hall and for the first time since you got to your place, his hands left your sides. All you could do is stand and watch as he strode down the hallway, cocky kind of confidence in his step.

“You coming baby?” Damn straight you were. Your bed wasn’t made, he didn’t even notice. Because under three buttons, two straps and one clasp, you were all his. 

You finally walked into your room to see him already making himself at home. Sitting on the edge of your bed and unbuttoning his shirt. Largest manspread you’ve ever seen, naturally your eyes had to look. Look… more like stare but he loved the attention and the look on his face told you so. The boy was smug.

“Do a twirl for me” he had a wide smirk on his face, the kind you’d read about in romance novels. Shamelessly staring at your hips.

“A what?” You were taken aback but not surprised at this point. He was certainly confident.

“You heard me baby.” He was on his feet now, shirt abandoned and hands back on your hips. For half a second, his grip tightened and he spun you around. His head craned back to get a better look of you. You weren’t sure what face you were making but from Slider’s response, he thought you didn’t look so impressed. 

“What, are you embarrassed now?” He raised an eyebrow as though he couldn’t believe you’d already forgotten the series of conversations from earlier that night.

“And so what if I am?” Your eyebrows were raised to match his, a cheeky smile fighting its way onto your face now. Feigning innocence. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him hot in the ears.

“I don’t believe you.” His hand moulded around the back of your neck, bringing your face closer to his. Lips meeting again and again. He likes to hear the smacking echo. Slowly he backed you up against a wall, you only noticed when your back hit it. His tan forearm resting against the wall, next to your head. You let out a couple of deep breaths watching the way his chest would rise and fall in front of your face.

You met his eye, the signal you gave was subtle but he caught on. A flick of your eyes down and he was scooting back to give you more room to work. You started high, at his collarbone. One kiss at a time. By the time you got to his stomach, he’d had enough and grabbed the back of your head, guiding you faster. The express trail until you were on your knees in front of his belt. He continued to hold your face closer.

Your nose nudged his cotton covered crotch and the sigh he let out did something to the butterflies in your stomach. His hand didn’t budge, you were stuck nose to pants. So you did what any rational, hot and bothered gal would do. Kitten licks turned into full on sucking, until there was a stained patch of saliva on his white pants. He was sure a bit of that wet patch was from his own contribution. The action gave him barely any stimulation but the sight was enough to get him off there and then.

The belt started to come off the moment you sat back to take a break and admire your work. His dick loud and proud in front of you in the blink of an eye. You met his gaze again and he broke.

“God I gotta have you.” You shimmied your way back up the wall, working slowly at the buttons of your dress until it fell to the floor. Your hands laid themself on his chest quite comfortably.

“I’m all yours. Go on big boy.” Your teasing smile soon disappeared from the sheer speed at which he yanked you against him. Head in your neck and hands comfortably seated on your ass. Your eyes are already rolling to the back at the way his tongue worked your neck. You knew you were still having the same effect on him - your fingers scratching the short hairs on the nape of his neck and soft moans leaving your mouth - by the way his hips were subconsciously grinding against yours.

“Off.” He mumbled into your neck after yanking the edge of your panties and releasing them to snap against your skin. You did as he asked. His eyes on your hips as one leg stepped out of the fabric at a time. And once they were flung across the room, he pushed you back against the wall. 

The same forearm was holding him up against the wall, the other he brought up to you. His flat palm presented out, waiting for your response. 

“Lick it.” He demanded, however it came out more desperate with the way his eyes pleaded for you and his chest heaved. Again you did just as he asked, conjuring as much spit up in your mouth as possible and dragging it across his open palm. Slowly, feeling every ridge and calloused piece of skin. He soaked up the sight and let out a long insufferable groan to cope with it all. 

His hand langed around his dick, dropping the spit on the carpet which you were too preoccupied to even make a conscious mental note of. His eyes were screwed shut, breath heavy as he hung his head next to yours. He stroked himself in front of you, your nails gently gliding over his chest as you took in the sight.

“Tell me something baby.” He could barely speak, he was so out of breath, “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you so badly.” Your hand covered his, encouraging him to stroke himself faster and the groan he let out beside was testament to that. It was all he needed hear and his hands were on your ass again. Your hand replacing where his once was, keeping him steady, keeping the friction going. 

“Jump.” He demanded once more, laser focused on one task and one task only. Soon enough he had your legs wrapped around his waist, your fingernails digging into his back. He drove into you like he was waiting for it all day, all week. Relentlessly, You could hear the picture frame on the other side of the wall bang and jump and rattle at his movements. All you could do was arch your back and lean into him further.

Head resting against the wall, chest to chest and hand hanging to him for dear life by the neck. You were definitely feeding his ego with the noises you were making. He ducked his head to your wide open chest, leaving kisse. You felt his smile against your skin paired with a huff of his hot breath. Between the occasional groan, he coaxed you on with “that feel good” and “come on baby”, like every line he learnt was from a porno vhs but you found it hot.

“Hold on tight now.” He groaned, readjusting his grip on your waist. His hand reached down between your bodies, two fingers sliding across your slit in a messy attempt to find your clit. You could tell he was struggling to keep himself together and was desperate to get you off so he could follow suit. You grabbed his hand, guiding him where you needed him and all hell broke loose. 

His groans turned to moans he could hold back anymore. The noises that echoed in your small bedroom, the pounding, the moaning. Both of you quickly covered in sweat, his grip slipping down your waist slowly but surely. The air was getting thicker and thicker.

“More oO moRe oh god Ron.” You undid in his hands like putty, hips grinding into his movements as you babbled out for more. He didn't think you remembered his actual name but the moment it left your lips, he knew he was a goner. 

“COME ON BABY!” He let out loud pumped up yells into your chest. Hips bucking into you at a rapid but sporadic rate. He could tell you had ridden through your high and with a final yell, he punched the wall next to you and pulled out. Your hand was quick to take over. His grip on your waist tightened as he tried not to drop you through his release. He could barely keep his eyes open but boy did he try. The sight of your perfect, sweat covered stomach getting decorated from his cum was a dream come true for him. 

He held you up a little longer as you both tried to catch your breath. Your hand completely nested in his hair, his forehead glued to your collarbone. After a good couple minutes, you both finally collected yourselves and made your way to the bathroom to clean up.

“You know, you punched a hole in my wall.” You laughed in disbelief the moment you saw it  walking out of the bathroom.

“A big one?” He yelled through the wall, sounding concerned now. He does tend to lose himself sometimes. You shook your head as he approached you, entering your bedroom again soon after you.

“Oh no, I guess you’re just going to have to come back and fix it for me.” A playful sigh left your lips, slider laughed at your sarcasm until it processed what you really said.He contemplated if you were being serious or not for a second before grabbing your hips again.

“You mean it?” It almost sounded like he couldn’t believe it but was definitely on board to see you again. You demeanour grew even more playful knowing he was up for making this more than just a one night stand.

“Yeah but… I don't have money.” You twirled your hair and put on a fake innocent pout. He only chuckled and picked you up. He was fully prepared to throw you on your bed until he heard you laugh. Your gorgeous laugh, he was breathless for a moment. Was he swooning? Did Slider have a crush all of a sudden?

“Let’s get a coffee.” a smitten little smile played on his lips.

“Right now?” your eyebrows raised, it was half past midnight. He fake checked the watch on his wrist that didn’t exist. 

“Well I ain’t planning on sleeping anytime soon, I don’t know about you.”

#ron slider kerner #ron kerner #ron kerner x reader #ron slider kerner x reader #slider #slider x reader #top gun x reader #top gun #top gun 1986

[shelfwar]

Definitely see slider being a big movie person but his S/O can never stay awake so they just end up asleep in sliders arms. Thoughts?

Hey thanks for the request, I had lots of fun writing this so I hope you enjoy it!! Sorry if the ending was crappy... Requests are currently open at this time.

Slider X Reader ~Movie date~

Tonight was Sliders night to pick out the date and that was movie night at your house. So here were the two of you sorting through VHS tapes trying to decide on what to watch and Slider being the biggest movie goer you know was hogging up your collection in which you could care less.

You were the complete opposite of Slider, you weren't really into watching movies, because well you slept through half of the movies to even remember what happened. But Slider didn't even know about, your oh so called embarrassment so you would have to wait for him to see.

"What about this one?" Slider held up the movie Back To The Future. "Nah, oh I know!" You rummaged through the collection and found what you were looking for; the movie Scrooged that had Bill Murray in it. "Hey, that's one movie I haven't watched yet." He said as he plucked the tape from your hands and took it out of its case. He then put the tape in the VHS player and started to rewind the movie as you started to get sorta comfortable on the couch.

Once the movie was done rewinding he leaped onto the couch and as started to get comfortable with you snuggling closer to him. You laid your head on his shoulder as the previews for the upcoming movies played. Slider wrapped the fluffy blanket around your bodies as he placed a light kiss on your forehead before wrapping his one arm around your body.

About an hour into the movie your eyes started to grow heavy as slumber started taking over your tired body. "He is such a dumbas he, just, ugh my lord he's a asshole!" Slider slightly yelled, as you shifted in your sleep. He looked down and saw that your face had nuzzled into his chest as a small drop of drool was starting to drip onto his shirt. Slider sighed in content and wrapped his arms tightly around you as he watched your sleepy state. "Your so beautiful, I love you. Sweets" He said softly as he rubbed your back ever so slowly making sure he didn't disturb you.

#ron kerner #ron kerner x reader #ron slider kerner x reader #slider x reader #topgun #top gun 1986 #slider top gun #80s movies #request #happy holidays

[whiskeyswriting]

Maverick: I know you snuck out last night, Slider.

Whiskey: Play dumb!

Slider: Who's Slider?

Whiskey: NOT THAT DUMB!!!

~*~*~*~*

Slider: Come on, I wasn’t that drunk last night.

Iceman: You were flirting with Whiskey.

Slider: So what? They're my partner.

Iceman: You asked them if they were single.

Slider:

Iceman: And then you cried when they said they weren't.

~*~*~*~*

Whiskey: Bye Slider! Bye Iceman! Bye Maverick! Bye Goose! Bye Slider! Iceman: You said ‘bye Slider’ twice. Whiskey: I like Slider.

~*~*~*~*

Whiskey: Slider and I don’t use pet names. Wolfman: I see. Hey, what do bees make? Whiskey: Honey? Slider: Yes, dear? Whiskey: Wolfman: Don't ever lie to my face again.

~*~*~*~*

Goose: Here’s a fun Christmas idea. We hang mistletoe, but instead of kissing, you have to FIGHT whoever else is under it. Whiskey: Goose no. Slider: Mistlefoe. Whiskey: Please stop encouraging them.

~*~*~*~*

Goose: Whiskey isn’t answering their phone Slider: I’ll call Goose: Iceman and I have both tried six times each, what makes you thi- Whiskey: Hello?

~*~*~*~*

#whiskey talks crap #mrsjaderogerswrites #top gun #top gun incorrect quotes #incorrect quotes #ron slider kerner x reader #ron slider kerner #tom iceman kazansky #leonard wolfman wolfe #nick goose bradshaw

[labarboteuse]

Punishment

Pairing: Ron "Slider" Kerner x f!reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: She's trying to punish him for not having told her something, he's gonna punish her for her attitude.

Warnings: MINOR DNI, daddy kink, oral sex receiving for him, spanking, dominant - submissive, me being a simp for Slider? I plead guilty your honor.

Plunged in her book she didn’t raise her eyes when the mattress sagged next to her and that an arm came to slip on her belly followed by a brown head, one of her hands which held the book came to slip in his hair.

"Hey you, how was your day?"

"I missed you." Ron replied in a muffled sound against her shirt. "Did you already take a shower?" He asked hoping that it wasn't the case.

"I did." He grumbled and straightened his head just to look at her over her book. "You could have waited for me."

She looked up at him over the book.

"You're a big boy, since when do you need me to take a shower?"

His mischievous look and smirk gave her the answer to her question, making her roll her eyes.

"Someone's horny tonight." She muttered, returning her attention to her reading.

"Always when I see you." He lowered the book and dove toward her to crush his lips on hers, which made her laugh and she pushed him away without really any great conviction.

"You stink Slider."

"Okay okay, I leave, but don't get too comfortable, I'm not finished with you yet." 

The bed creaked when he got up to go to the bathroom and she looked up, biting her lip and wondering if the bed would need to be changed once again. The previous one hadn't withstood the daily and perhaps too energetic exercises of the couple, this one already announcing signs of weakness.  When Ron came out of the bathroom with a simple towel around his waist, she barely looked up from her book to devour him discreetly with her eyes. God he was beautifully cut, when he reached over the dresser to leave his watch there, a sudden wave of heat went up in her at the sight of his muscular forearm and his biceps sticking out. Clearly his muscular arms had always had a great effect on her.

"Enjoying the view?" He asked with a teasing tone.

Her eyes quickly returned to the page of her book, a hint of red coloring her cheeks, busted like a young teenager ogling the muscular high school

apollo.

"Don't dare to climb on the bed while you're still wet."

"Oh princess, there is someone else who's getting to be wet."

She rolled her eyes and threw her book at him, which he avoided with a laugh.

"I'm still mad at you Ron. Give me that book." She said raising her hand to him so he gives her the book she just has thrown.

"Oh you're showing it perfectly well." He laughed ironically, leaning over to get the book and move forward to her. "I said I was sorry."

"Don't care, you wouldn't have to apologize if you told me."

"Are you gonna be mad at me forever?"

"You should have told me what happened, you could have died out there!"

"And I'm alive! And I can show you how much I am by the way. 

"Ron."

"Baby."

"Give me that book."

"Please?"

"Please Ron give me that damn book." He was about to give it to her and when she was about to take it, pulled it away with a smile.

"Say it. You know how to correctly ask for something princess."

"You're really cheeky to pushing further that direction right now."

He leaned toward her, "Say it." he added in a breath.

She looked into his eyes, which she tried to be as hard as possible, and added in a dry tone, "Fine."

"I'm waiting darling."  The glint of mischief that constantly animated his gaze when he was with her shone in his eyes, he enjoyed pushing her to her limits.

"Daddy please, give me that book." 

"No princess, that's still sounds like an order. You know I can't accept that."

Her chest heaved with a deep breath, was she upset or was this having the desired effect?

"Daddy please, could you give me that book?"

"I rather prefer that tone." He then gave her the book which she took, less curtly than she would have liked, with a few words he had managed to make pudding out of her. Now he could have done whatever he wanted with her but she wouldn’t flinch. She had been scared to death by what had happened on his mission in the Pacific after his graduation. He could have died out there, and that event made her realize that he was going to put his life in constant danger. She would never have a peaceful mind when he would be left. But that wasn't what made her angry, it was the fact that he hadn't told her and that she had found out by chance, by talking to Wolfman and Hollywood's girlfriends. Even so, her anxiety had gotten the better of her anger and she couldn't give him what he deserved as well as she would have liked. She now needed most of all to feel him close to her, to have him hold her and reassure her that he was there, that he was okay, and to make love to her as if it had been the last time. She was incapable of being angry with him. Which he knew very well and was taking advantage of it.

"You should deserve to be on your knees for that attitude young lady."

"Yeah count on that." She mumbled before opening the book where she had left it and take back her reading.

"I really don't like that attitude of yours tonight princess."

"Ron, shut up, I'm trying to read, which is by the way far more interesting than you."

A growl sounded in the pilot's chest and without waiting any longer he snatched the book from her hands before tossing it to the other side of the bed.

"Hey!" She exclaimed in a protest.

"On your knees."

"Or what?" She replied challenging him.

"Don't make me say it twice."

"I'm not in a mood to play Ron." She said standing up from the bed determinate not to give him the task easy and to retrieve her book. He stopped her by grabbing her forearm and squeezing it, not too hard so as not to hurt her but just enough to make her understand that he wasn't playing.

"I said, on your knees." Her heart sped up and she vainly tried to keep a straight and assertive posture, her head cool so as not to show him the effect he was having on her by acting this way. And then without knowing why, she burst out laughing, which took him by surprise, and he frowned. "I'm not sure you're in a good position to laugh. You are just making your case worse."

"That's enough Ron." Perturbed by her reaction he unconsciously loosened his grip around her arm and she took the opportunity to extract herself and leave the room after retrieving her book. He stood up and followed her up the stairs.

"You know your efforts to show you don't want that are futile, you crave for it."

She rolled her eyes as she made her way to the living room, if he wouldn't let her read in their room she would stay in the couch. Knowing full well that it was utopian since he wasn't going to leave her alone. He caught up with her and pressed his torso against her back, one hand on her arm along her body, the other on her stomach.

"Everything in you is screaming for that. It's been days you fight against it, you think it's part of your so-called punishment? But you're dying for me to take you and make you scream my name. We both know that, and everything in you is calling for me. The way you walk in front of me, making dance your hips, the way you bend over to pick something you probably let dropped on purpose, the way you laugh with others to make me jealous, you think I didn't see it?" His whisper in her ear and his breath in her neck woke up butterflies in her stomach and she bit her lower lip trying not to fall right at his feet. "Really babe? Letting your lace panties drawer open just for me to see it? It's childish, but you know how well it works. So now you're gonna obey like the good daddy's girl you are and beg for me to spare your tiny ass." He placed a kiss in her neck and smile feeling how warm her skin was. "Say you're gonna."

"I will." Her voice softened, shit, how fucking right he was.

"I need more than that princess."

"I will beg for daddy not to wreck me."

"But will I listen?"

"No."

"Why won't I?"

"Because I truly want you to wreck me." 

"But still, you know how much I love to hear you beg." She nodded. "Now what did I ask you?"

She then knelt and put her hands flat on her thighs as how he taught her to be. Still behind her he caressed her hair and lean over her to leave a kiss on the top of her head.

"You know you'll be rewarded if you obey. I don't want to be hard on you, but something you don't give me any other choice."

She let him speak without adding anything, had she wanted to punish him for hiding what had happened during the mission? Of course she had. Had it worked for even a fraction of a second? Absolutely not. Was she going to be reluctant at what he was about to do? No way, she wanted it too much for that. Ron came to place himself in front of her and she raised her eyes looking at him through her eyelashes, he showed a satisfied smile. Without him having to say anything, she undid the knot of the towel that he always had on his waist and this one fell on the ground revealing all his excitement. She held back a smile and took him in hand, a sigh crossed his lips when he felt her warm hand wrap around him. His glance anchored in hers while she gratified him slow back and forth making him shiver. One of his hands slipped into her hair that he grabbed and she approached the face to take him between her lips, caressing his sensitive foreskin of her lips which tore him a groan, he contracted his thighs when he slipped entirely into her mouth, feeling her tongue on his length. Tightening his grip on her hair he pushed further into her throat making her cough as he began to tap in. Her second hand went to his thigh to grab onto something as he fucked her throat with vigor making her almost choke on his member. Closing his eyes he tilt the head back filled with a feeling of plenitude, slowing down its movements of pelvis, she took advantage of it to breath again. Embedding her nails in the skin of his thigh, taking him down a grunt, she literally impaled her throat on his cock activating to make him come. When he was on the point to pour himself in her throat he pulled firmly on her hair to tilt her head backwards.

"What does daddy's girl then."

She swallowed his seed as he filled her mouth, feeling the warm liquid flow down her throat.

"Such a good girl." He caressed her cheek with his thumb before reaching out to her to straighten up, she took it and stood up welcoming a passionate and fiery kiss from Ron whose one hand slid between her loins, the other finding its way back to her hair. Head back she closed her eyes as he buried his face in her neck to lay kisses and nibble her skin before sliding down her shoulder.

"Ronnie.." She moaned.

“Yes love."

"Fuck me."

Brushing her ear with the tip of his lips, his chuckle echoed in her ear.

"Daddy please fuck me." She whimpered. 

"Put your hands on the wall." 

She turned around and put the palms of her hands on the wall facing her and knowing what he was about to do, bend over a bit, while he took off her pants and her panties. Before she could say something, she felt his hand smashed on her butt, biting her lips trying not to escape a moan. She received another spanking and a small scream of pleasure came through her lips followed by a third one, no longer trying to hold it back.

She gasped when he spoke into her ear, not expecting him to be so close. "You're not supposed to enjoy your punishment princess.” He said amused before putting a kiss on her shoulder. "Do you want me to continue?" She nodded her head in response which stretched a smile on Ron's face. A fourth one, butterflies were felt in her stomach. Fifth one, a louder scream. Sixth one, she felt the blood in her clit making it grow with pleasure. Seventh, she couldn't wait no more.

"Ron please fuck me!" She beg making him chuckle.

Pressing himself against her he put his hands on her hips and slipped in her tearing her a moan of ecstasy tilting the head backwards, beginning with slow back and forth, so that she could feel him going and coming in her of all his length. He quickly accelerated the cadence, making resound in the room the sound of his skin to slap against hers. Nestling his face in her neck, which stifled his hoarse moans, he placed his hands on hers still on the wall. She felt him pressing in her back to penetrate her as deeply as possible, then she took off one of her hands of the wall to come to place it behind his nape of the neck as she could and he covered her arm and her wrist of kisses, wrist around which he rolled up his long fingers, his other hand always on hers on the wall sliding along her arm and coming to slip on her belly, tightening her, desperate to feel her against him. Hearing her moan his name increased his pleasure tenfold, when he felt her legs start to shake he knew that she was not far from the orgasm, then he tightened his embrace around her waist and kissed her behind the ear.

"Marry me." He whispered in her ear making her wide open her eyes in shock.

"Tha-That's unexpected." She blew between two moans.

"I think it's a very original way to propose." He chuckled getting deeper inside her to finally break her, filling the room with her yelling drowning with him into a powerful orgasm. "Should I take that for a yes?" He laughed, she trying to find her breath.

"No more secret."

"No more secret." He replied tightening her in his arms and kissing her cheek.

#ron slider kerner #ron slider kerner x reader #slider x reader #slider imagine #slider x reader imagine #top gun

[swirlysmile]

not sure if everyone is as in love with slider as i am but i’m biting the bullet and doing it

word count: 700

warnings; swearing which is in all my fics but this has the most i think

Reading With The Boys

If there’s one thing Slider knows for certain, it’s that he is the best of the best, the top 1%.

Something else Slider knows? He does not stink. Literally and metaphorically speaking, and sure, he had to check to be sure, but he’s definitely sure now. 

Sundown is laughing at him, and Slider rolls his eyes and curses Pete Mitchell out. In his head of course, nobody needs to know that he cares that much about what the shorty thinks. 

“Crashed and burned, huh Slider?” Sundown says, and Slider is really resisting the urge to punch him. 

“Hey, at least I don’t have a secret love affair with my superior.” He grimaces, circling back to insulting Maverick. 

He’s lucky that Ice isn’t here, because he would have no problem exposing his RIO’s ‘love affair’. Definitely not as clandestine, but hey, that’s what best friends are for. 

He doesn’t know whose idea it was, but Slider isn’t complaining. He just wishes he wasn’t in sweatpants. All of the pilots are at the beach for a good natured (competitive) game of volleyball. 

“Maverick, Goose.” Slider says, a hint of distaste in his voice as they step onto the court. 

“Ice, Slider.” Maverick smiles, mocking salute in tow. Ice is playing with the ball, spinning it on his finger like you would a basketball. 

Ice serves it hard without a warning, and now everyone is jumping around to throw it back up and across. 

Slider likes watching Maverick and Goose jump around, it looks funny.

Seeing you on the sidelines during the game though? Certainly seals the deal, and now, he’s flexing more than he already had been. It’s no shock that Slider is ripped, he’s a pilot for god's sake, but playing volleyball in the blistering California heat, oddly enough, makes him even more attractive than he normally is.

Ice sends him a teasing side glance accompanied by a wink at the sight of you, your eyes glued to him. Maybe it’d be more descriptive  to say your eyes were glued to his abs, but there’s no need for specifics. 

After a few more points are scored, Slider is wrapping his arm around Ice. They’re losing a little miserably, 3-6, and it’s a big blow to his ego. 

“It’s cause you’re trying to show off for her,” Ice says, poking fun at Sliders ‘desperation’. 

Slider swore there was a better word for it, admiration perhaps? Scratch that- it doesn’t sound right.

“I’m not trying anything.” Slider says, jabbing Ice in the side. 

His eyes involuntarily slide to where you’re sitting, and the fact that you’re reading a book instead of watching him makes him almost jealous.

“Jealous of a damn book, real smooth Ron” he says to himself and he’s lucky Tom didn’t hear. 

Then, they lose. Maverick is packing up, pulling his shirt on while Ice is making some offhanded comment about how he’s just scared to lose. 

“Mother Goose you pussy!” 

Maverick still leaves despite Goose’s pleas, it’s weird. He’s never been able to say no to Nick Bradshaw, but suddenly it clicks. That damn note. 

Right now, all that Slider can think is that he  is much more intelligent than Goose has ever given him credit for.

The game dies down scarily fast after Maverick leaves. The real entertainment was from Mav trying to jump around and spike the ball, since he’s so short and all. Without Maverick though, there’s less of a crowd. 

“Alright,” Ice starts, reaching to straighten out Slider's nonexistent shirt. “Go get ‘em, tiger.” 

Slider stares dumbfounded. 

“You know what I mean, Ron.” 

“No, I’m not sure I do, Tom.” He says, venom lacing his voice. He’s a bit embarrassed because Ice definitely isn’t being quiet. He’s sure that Hollywood is going to give him hell for this, especially if Ice doesn’t shut up. 

“Don’t be yourself, Ron. Nobody likes that!” Goose calls, and Slider flips him off. 

“He’s right,” Wolfman smiles and Ron knows they’re doing it to piss him off.

Boy is it working.

“Fuck all of you.” He says, finally walking in your direction. He’s murmuring something to himself, something like “Man up Ron,” or “Don’t be so scared, it’s just her,”. 

Obviously you looked up from your book at the sound of cheering, and god are you glad you did. 

#slider x reader #ron slider kerner x reader #ron ‘slider’ kerner x reader #ron kerner x reader #slider #ron slider kerner #ron ‘slider’ kerner #ron kerner #top gun #top gun fic #top gun 1989 #top gun 1989 fic #iceman #sundown #hollywood #wolfman #goose #maverick

[callsignthirsty]

Stuck in the Middle — Chapter 3 — Both

Co-written with a friend who isn't on tumblr. Pairing: Ron “Slider” Kerner x Reader x Tom “Iceman” Kazansky Summary: The one where Maverick’s sister is on a mission to give her brother a heart attack by sleeping with not one, but two of his colleagues. Word Count: 6400 Warnings: Smut, dirty talk, threesome, creampie(s) Chapter: 3/3 Read Previous Minors DNI

Pete returned home some hours later to find you in a very… festive scarf. Unfortunately for Goose, who had opted to stay with you until Pete arrived, it had done little to hide the hickeys littering your neck. That had been an interesting night.

Little did any of you know that hickeys, unseasonal scarves, and the Iceman would be the least of your worries in the coming days.

A hop gone wrong had you and Carole scrambling to get to the hospital.

They were alive, but it had been a close thing.

Pete was released that same day after a thorough evaluation. Goose was still unconscious. As tears leaked from his eyes, you knew that your brother was blaming himself, but there was little he could’ve done to avoid flying through Ice’s jetwash — Viper had stopped by the hospital to say as much.

You spent one, then two days in the hospital. Classes continued — fly long enough and it happens, they said, but Pete wasn’t ready to go up again. Not without Goose. And on the third day, like a miracle, Goose’s eyes blinked open. “Holy shit.” His voice was scratchy from disuse.

Carole sat upright at his side. “Nick?”

“Mav, where’s my camera?” Goose croaked, ignoring his wife. “There’s an angel by my bed. The guys ‘ll never believe it if I don’t take a picture.” When a nurse entered the room, relieved tears were tracking down a laughing Carole’s face, Bradley smiling in his Uncle Mav’s arms.

On the fourth day, Goose encouraged Pete to return to class because “You can’t let Ice and that big oaf run away with our trophy. They’ll never let us live it down.” Pete had reluctantly agreed when Goose gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry, honey. You’ll do great.”

Pete smiled. “Thanks, dear.”

So the summer continued: hot days spent on the tarmac and by Goose’s side. And then, graduation was just a day away. Goose, unfortunately, wouldn’t be able to attend, but he had enough points to graduate, and Pete planned on going for both of them. You, Pete knew, would be in the audience, and there lay his current predicament:

Iceman.

Well, more accurately: Slider. After he’d returned home from his date with Charlie, Pete got an eyeful of hickeys and Goose’s side of the story. Namely, everything had been fine until Kerner opened his big mouth and burrowed beneath Goose’s skin so that Ice could steal you away.

If Pete had any hopes of keeping you and Ice separated after the commencement ceremony, he needed Slider.

* * *

Classes wrap and Slider is cleaning out his locker when he becomes acutely aware that he's one of two people left in the room. And even though Mitchell's back is to him, years of training and locker room antics mean that Slider knows when he's being watched. But the silence grows long and goes stale to the point that he's almost convinced that Maverick isn't going to say anything — which is a surprise because Maverick always has something to say.

"Kerner."

There it is.

"Mitchell."

"Congrats on the trophy." It must be killing Maverick to say it, and Slider smiles because, yeah, the trophy is his. It feels fucking good. But that's not what Maverick stuck around to say. It isn’t what he’s after.

Slider doesn’t want to drag this out longer than it has to be, so he gets to the point. "What do you want?"

The question hangs while Maverick takes a second to think before speaking — and isn’t that a scary thought? — when he finally spits out: “I have a proposition for you.”

"I don't swing that way."

"What? No." And Maverick spins to shoot Slider a dirty look. "I want your help keeping Ice away from my sister. At graduation."

"Why me?" The million-dollar question, though Maverick doesn't realize it.

"If you're helping me, you aren't helping him," Maverick says like it should be obvious. And, okay, yeah, that’s fair.

"What makes you so sure I'll help you?" Slider can’t tamp down the Cheshire grin at the way Maverick squirms. But besides being his pilot, Ice is his friend, and… well, they aren’t putting labels on whatever this thing is with Mitchell’s sister. "Besides, I think he's earned a little celebration." Hadn't they both? From the look on Maverick’s face, Slider would say his answer is ‘no.’

"I can pay you."

“No, you can’t.” Because even if Mav did have money, which Slider’s sure he doesn’t, his price would be too high. The trophy and a fuck? Pete Mitchell would have to be the richest man alive.

“I heard the guys say you got yourself a girl.” It’s a reach at best, but it shocks Slider into silence. Briefly, he wonders if someone had, in fact, seen the two of you in or on his car. But if that were the case, he doubts Maverick would be talking with him now. “She coming to the ceremony?” Maverick tries as Slider collects himself, trying to come off cool and collected like Ice always manages to.

“She hasn’t decided yet.” A lie. You’ll be there. You wouldn’t miss it for the world. Hadn’t let Maverick and Goose come to Fightertown without you in the first place.

Maverick smiles as if he’s got an idea. An in. “If you help me out,” he says, “you can borrow my bike.”

“Why would I—”

“Ladies love it,” Maverick insists, and Slider ignores him in favor of clearing out his locker. “Even you’d look good on a bike, Kerner,” Maverick tries again. “Everyone does.”

“Hey.”

“Think about it,” Maverick’s voice drops as he sets the scene. “She’s clinging to you as you speed down the road. Wind in your hair. Her arms wrapped around your waist. Tight body pressed all up against your back. And the adrenaline rush—” Mav’s eyebrows raise as if he’s remembering something fondly or really trying to sell the idea “—makes for amazing sex.”

Slider can’t help the smug grin that overtakes him — ice-cold, no mistakes was never his schtick. “Is that right?”

Mav’s smiling too, his head nodding lightly like they’re on the same wavelength. And maybe they are because Slider’s thinking about it. “Mind-blowing.”

Well, if Mav insists. “Alright.”

“So you’ll do it?” Maverick seems almost surprised that it’s worked. Like he hadn’t imagined Slider was, in fact, a man who could be reasoned with.

“Yeah,” Slider confirms, zipping up his bag and knocking his locker shut one last time. “Don’t make me regret this.” He wouldn’t.

* * *

“Gentlemen,” Viper says from the podium with a proud smile. “You came here the best of the best. We made you better.” You sit near the front of the audience, smiling and clapping with everyone else as the speeches finish, and the Top Gun trophy is presented to Lt. Tom “Iceman” Kazansky and Lt. Ron “Slider” Kerner. The new nameplate shines brighter than the others, but maybe you’re biased.

As soon as you can, you’re up from your seat. You go to Pete first; give him a hug and a heartfelt congratulations. Then, when he’s distracted by another graduate asking after Goose, you slip away. You’ve successfully snuck up on Ice’s six and are seconds from giving him a congratulatory kiss when Slider moves to intercept. Time freezes for a moment, and you’re worried that Slider intends to kiss you in front of this crowd — Top Gun trophy still in the hands of the man most of his class knows you to be with. When the moment passes, however, that worry twists into deep-seated confusion.

Ice frowns. “What gives?” Because he’s never known Slider to be a cock-block.

“I’ve got orders.”

“From?” And you can see Pete smirking into his drink as Ice all but demands an answer.

“Mitchell.” You and Ice look at Slider as if he’s grown a second head. “With Mother Goose still in the hospital, he needed some help keeping the Iceman away from his baby sister.”

“And you accepted?” Ice’s jaw clenches.

“Deal’s a deal.” Ice scowls, the look wholly out of place considering the trophy still in his grasp.

“What did he offer you?” you can’t help but ask.

“Not important.” Somehow you doubt that.

The rest of the graduation party is… well, not what you’d expected or hoped for. For one, you’re still there. Every time you try to get close to Ice, either Slider or Pete gets in your way. And this is worse than Pete and Goose because Slider is intimately aware of all your evasion maneuvers — he’d helped you come up with a good number of them.

You’re positive you’re going to scream when Viper swoops in with actual orders. Jester hands envelopes to Ice, Slider, Hollywood, and Wolfman. And Pete.

Before anyone can stop you, you wrap Ice in a hug. You throw your arms around Slider next, then Pete, who can’t be mad when you’re squeezing him like this might be the last time you get to. The “be safe” you whisper into his ear means more after Goose’s accident, but you don’t have time to talk about it before they’re all whisked away.

* * *

Maverick doesn’t want to give Slider his bike when they return to Fightertown. Says he’d barely had to work for it since they’d left the graduation party early.

“A deal’s a deal, Mav,” Slider says, but it’s gentler than it would’ve been a week ago. Mav and Ice are wingmen now, so Slider’s trying to be nice. Not too nice. Not I’ll-stop-fucking-your-sister nice — and Slider supposes that’s the one that counts the most — but nice-nice.

It’s a start.

You’d received no fewer than three phone calls, so you’re not surprised to hear the motorcycle roll up to the curb. What does surprise you is Slider at your door with Pete’s keys in his hand.

“Come on,” he says as he gathers you in his arms until you can feel the solid ba-dum of his heart on your cheek. “We’re going for a ride.”

It feels strange climbing onto Pete’s Kawasaki behind Slider, but as the engine roars to life and you wrap your arms around his middle, you’re confident you’ll enjoy it while it lasts.

Slider pulls over at a roadside diner. Ice is already inside, fingers drumming against a table in the corner and Academy ring glinting in the sun when Slider holds the door open for you. He beams when he sees you and makes room beside him at the booth. It seems only fitting to sit beside him since you’d been clinging to Slider moments ago.

The three of you catch up over food and a shared milkshake. Ice and Slider tell you what they can about the mission: the tight bunks, the awful food, the budding friendship with your brother. In exchange, you give them the latest on Goose’s progress in physical therapy. It’ll be a long road to recovery, but if anyone can do it, you know it’s Goose.

When you’re ready to leave, Slider wants to take you out for a spin — after all, he’s been assured that the ladies dig a man on a bike, and he wants to test that theory.

Slider would rather swallow glass or wait in line at the DMV than admit it out loud, but Mav’s right. The warm press of you along his back, small hands clutching at his waist as the engine hums between your thighs, is something else. Ice isn’t thrilled to see him climb onto the bike with you, both sans helmet, and insists on trailing behind the bike in case something goes wrong. It won’t, but whatever makes Ice feel better, Slider supposes.

And although his tailing had started as a protective compulsion, Ice quite likes the way you look wrapped around Slider — your hair a wind-tousled mess and jacket snapping in the wind.

It’s purely coincidence when you spot Charlie’s Porsche at a stoplight; its top down and a familiar head of cropped black-brown hair behind the wheel. At first, Pete offers Slider a cheeky grin, a friendly wave, and then — out of curiosity, you’re sure — his eyes slide to the back of his bike. You can’t bring yourself to hide your face, frozen when Pete’s eyes lock on you and almost bug out of his head, his smile dropping and face ashen with sudden realization. Slider’s laughter reverberates through your chest. The light chooses that moment to turn green, and Slider takes off.

Over your shoulder, Ice honks when Pete refuses to move, a smug smile on his lips as he zips after you.

When you return to Ice and Slider’s place, you rest your cheek in the space between Slider’s shoulder blades, your own shoulders shaking as your mirth bubbles over, and soon you’re shaking from the rush of it all.

Cat’s definitely out of the bag now.

Once the door is open, Slider gets to work. By the time Ice walks in, Slider already has your back against the wall, lips taking yours in a bruising kiss as adrenaline courses through your veins. His big hands slide beneath your shirt to cup you over your bra. Damn Mav, but he’s right. And, as your fingers catch in his shirt-back and pull him closer, Slider has zero intentions of letting you go anytime soon. Not when he’s got you exactly where he wants you. Definitely not when each slide of his tongue over yours teases cute noises from the back of your throat.

Ice must be thinking something similar because he’s quick to join you. His fingers find yours tangled in Slider’s shirt to help you lift it until the RIO has to break your kiss to take the offending garment off. It’s a mistake that Ice takes full advantage of, stealing your lips in a kiss of his own.

Hands resting on your hips, Ice guides you around until he’s the one leaning against the wall. He’d wrap an arm around your waist to tug you closer, but Slider is already plastering himself to your back, so Ice settles for a deep kiss and revels in the wanton noise it earns him.

Without the sweet distraction of a kiss, Slider works your jacket down your arms and into a heap on the floor. He takes your hands in his and leads one into his hair; the other he guides down until it’s slipping under the loose hem of Ice’s shirt. Ice jolts at the skin-to-skin contact and your answering moan gets lost between the slick slide of lips and tongues. Your teeth clack against Ice’s when Slider presses his hips into yours with a sinful grind that drags his cock against the swell of your ass as he finally sucks a mark into your neck — consequences be damned. But instead of pulling him away, the hand in Slider’s hair encourages him. You tilt your head to the side and re-slot your lips against Ice’s while giving Slider more room to work a deep bruise into smooth skin.

One of Ice’s hands cradles the back of your head, his lips working insistently against yours as your hand trails fire over his abs and up to his chest. Perfect teeth catch on your bottom lip and you break apart panting, but then Ice pulls you back for more greedy kisses. His other hand grabs one of your belt loops and uses it to pull your hips away from Slider’s so they’re flush with his own.

While Ice keeps your mouth occupied, Slider’s hands return to the thin material of your bra. He’s growing more impatient with each of your whimpers, the steady roll of Ice’s hips pushing your ass back against his erection which, to Slider’s exasperation, is still trapped uncomfortably beneath the rough denim of his pants. With a barely-there nip that erupts goosebumps across your shoulders, Slider rucks your shirt up until it’s bunched beneath your arm, but Ice refuses to stop kissing you — whether because he’s a greedy bastard or because he’s skeptical that Slider will steal your lips away the way Ice had was anyone’s guess.

The sharp rip of tearing fabric wrenches your lips from Ice faster than anything else Slider could’ve thought up, your nipples pebbling as cold air assaults your heated skin. “Hey!” you scold as the fabric falls limp to the floor.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” Slider promises as he unhooks your bra with deft fingers and grabs your chin to pull you in, licking at your lips before taking them in another harsh kiss. You let yourself be turned from Ice to chase the feeling of Slider’s lips claiming yours. Behind you, Ice flings your bra to the side and hastily removes his own shirt.

Slider may be driving, what with the way he has both you and Ice trapped against the wall, but Ice is far from passive. The two join forces in an all-out assault on you from both sides. Hands bumping as they knead and tease and take you apart piece by delicious piece. Teeth scraping against your collarbone. Your nipples pebbling between calloused fingers. Chests heaving. Lips smacking. The sweet friction of denim dragging over denim as you all move together. Sighs, growls, and groans lost between teeth and tongues. The mixing taste of them on your tongue as they push and pull, give and take.

You shiver, moaning into Ice’s mouth as he plays with your tits. Not to be ignored, Slider shoves a hand down the front of your jeans, two fingers working deep into your dripping cunt. Then Slider’s fingers are gone, and before you can say something in protest, you squeal as he throws you over his shoulder. “Ron!” you giggle, another excited shout leaving you as one of Slider’s hands lands playfully on your ass and he turns to bite at your hip just above the line of your jeans as he moves the party to the bedroom.

Slider throws you onto the bed, and you bounce before settling tousled among the pillows. Your thighs fall open in a wanton display, and you crook a finger to reel Slider in until he’s licking a path from your open zipper and up to nibble at your jaw until he’s stretched over you. You moan at how he fits so snugly between your legs and his chest rubs against your own.

“How do you want to do this?” Ice asks, leaning against the doorframe, his arms flexing none-too-subtly when your eyes find him over Slider’s shoulder. He’s a sight to behold — cheeks a slight, breathless pink, arms crossed beneath his chest, belt buckle weighing down the open flap of his pants to reveal more smooth skin and the tented white of his briefs. You lose sight of him when Slider turns his head.

“You can take her mouth since you’ve been hogging it all night.” Slider kisses your cheek, his dark eyes on your as he crawls back down your body. “I’ve been thinking about this pussy for days.”

Ice crosses the room with unhurried steps, long fingers caressing your jaw. “Is that what you want?” he asks, thumb tracing your full bottom lip while Slider mouths at your hip bones. The RIO’s hands slowly pull your jeans and panties down to savor the moment. You bite your lip, briefly catching Ice’s thumb before he pulls it back. A flush of heat travels through you as Slider’s eyes meet your own and he presses a final kiss to your hip bones before he ventures lower.

When you nod, Ice pulls his cock free, eyes never leaving yours as he pumps himself lazily and kicks the rest of his clothes all the way off. Opposite him, Slider grips your leg behind the knee and raises it, revealing the diamond of your cunt. You keen, fingers threading through Slider’s hair and hips jerking as his tongue drags over your core. Lightly stubbled cheeks rub against your sensitive thighs and set them aflame as Slider’s eyes blow wide, his breath fanning over your clit before he gets to work.

Not to be forgotten, Ice’s fingers return to your jaw, light but with enough pressure to turn you back to him. His cock hangs heavy between his thighs as the bed dips to accommodate him. As he rubs the head across the seam of your lips, Slider pushes his tongue against your slick folds with a groan. You’re buzzing, jaw falling open with a sweet noise, and Ice gives into the temptation to tap his cock to your tongue before pulling back and smearing saliva and precum across your cheek.

Unprompted, you take the tip between your lips, tonguing at the slit to savor Ice’s taste before trying to work more of him into your mouth. Slider watches from between your thighs as Ice lets out a low groan, his hand falling into your hair as you work his cock in and out of your mouth. All the while, Slider’s tongue continues to fuck into you, a finger coming to rub spit and arousal into your clit until you’re trembling, hips seeking out the slick press. Slider slips a finger into you alongside his tongue, reveling in the way that Ice’s cock slips from between your lips as you unabashedly moan, thoroughly distracted from your current task.

Distantly, Slider thinks that the real surprise isn’t that Hollywood and Wolf had heard you; it’s that it took them so long.

Ice brings one of your hands up to fist around his cock, his eyes glued to Slider as he continues to wring more wanton cries from you.

Slider smacks his lips. “She tastes good.”

“Yeah?” Ice’s Adam’s apple bobs.

Slider takes another lick that’s purely for show, his chin covered in your juices. “Sweetest pussy there ever was.” Ice groans as he imagines it, cock twitching as he thrusts into your fist, and Slider ducks down to suck on your clit before he asks: “Want a taste?”

“Fuck yes.”

Slider stands back and practically rips his pants off while Ice takes his place between your thighs. Ice throws your legs over his shoulders before diving in and drinking his fill. He groans as the tang of your sex explodes across his tongue, your heels digging into his back. Slurps at your dripping cunt with a fervor that makes your back arch off the bed.

“Please,” you cry.

“What do you want, sweetheart,” Slider asks, suddenly at your side and taking one of your nipples into his hot mouth.

You whine, arching up into Slider and down against Ice’s face. “Fuck me. Please.”

“Well, when you ask so pretty.”

“Don’t worry, baby,” Ice soothes. He scrambles up, already running the leaking tip of his cock through your spit-slick folds. “I’ll fuck you real good.”

Slider raises a brow. “Why do you get to fuck her first?”

“Because I’m here.”

For a moment, you’re worried they’re going to break into rock, paper, scissors. Slider looks ready to get up and do something about Ice taking advantage of his generosity — he’d said Ice could have your mouth, dammit. But before he does, or you can whine for someone to hurry up and fuck you already, Ice’s hand settles on the curve of your waist, and he pushes in. You groan. Slider drops back against the bed and rolls his eyes. He shouldn’t be surprised; Ice always gets what he wants.

As the jut of Ice’s hips settle against you, Slider takes your lips in another kiss, his hands kneading at your tits. It isn’t his first choice, but Slider can be content with this — swallowing your needy moans, tracing the outline of your lips with his tongue. Making up for the time he’s lost with your mouth to Ice’s greed.

Each rock of Ice’s hips causes your tits to jump the slightest bit within Slider’s large palms and against his tongue as he sucks on a perky bud and applies gentle pressure with his teeth. Before his lips find yours again, his hand trails up your chest and applies gentle pressure to your neck. You shiver, arching into the touch. Slider loves the dazed expression, the slack ‘o’ of your spit-glazed lips when you wear his hand like a necklace, and your eyes brim with rampant desire. He dives in to leave a mark just below your jaw, reveling in the way that you dig your nails into his hair and the way your head is thrown back, and the way you must be clenching around Ice from the strained “fuck” he hears coming from the foot of the bed.

Slider lets out his own punched-out “fuck” when your hand wraps around his cock and strokes. It’s uncoordinated with the way Ice is trying to take you apart and awkward due to the angle, but that’s more than fine. Slider needs something to take the edge off, and your touch is just that. He doesn’t want to finish in your hand. Not tonight.

You bring your lips to Slider’s and let him take the lead while Ice turns his attention to your legs. He lifts one up to his shoulder, and you hum into your kiss at the stretch. Progressively sloppier kisses are pressed from your ankle up your calf. Ice’s new angle has him sinking deeper into you, but he keeps his thrusts slow, the cadence so different from the one you’d had on the beach, but one that — if kept up — he knows will have your legs shaking, back arching, nails scratching. Especially if he keeps hitting that spot.

As it is, your cunt is clenching around him with each forward shove of his hips into yours. Squeezing around him as if to keep him inside of you. Milking him.

With a curse, Ice pulls out, and you break from Slider to whine at the sudden empty feeling. Ice gropes at your hip and offers it a pat before he’s encouraging you to roll over. As you move to accommodate the change in position, Slider grabs you, and you yelp as he manhandles you onto your knees.

“Hey,” Ice says.

Slider just turns you so you’re facing Ice and enters you with a harsh snap of his hips. “My turn.” You want to chastise them, tell them to play nice, but all that comes out is a pathetic mewl. Slider’s smile is haughty. “Still so tight even after Ice fucked you,” he groans as your walls suck him in. Your jaw falls slack, and a pleasured noise tumbles free into the night. When Slider has you screaming, one of his hands fists in your hair. “Come on,” he growls. “Open that pretty little mouth for Ice.” And you do, tongue lolling out over your bottom lip as you look up from beneath thick lashes.

Every time Slider’s hips crash into yours, you’re pushed further down Ice’s cock. Your taste is heavy on his skin, an intoxicating mixture of tang and his musk. Sweet. Salty. You suck more vigorously, hollowing your cheeks as your head swims. When Ice’s hips jerk forward and his cock tickles the back of your throat, you moan long and low. The vibration pulls a shiver from Ice, his fingers whispering across your flushed cheeks and attempting to card through your hair where Slider has it pulled tight.

When Slider nails your sweet spot, you pull off of Ice. “Ah, fuck!”

“That’s right, sweetheart,” Slider preens, releasing your hair to smack your ass. “Want you to let everyone know who’s making you feel this good.” He holds your hips still and grinds torturously into you when you don’t comply.

“God, Ron,” you gasp. “Don’t stop!”

“That’s it, baby,” Slider says. You bite your lip self-consciously, wanting to keep your pleasure from the ears of any passersby.

Ice thumbs your lip free of your teeth. Rubs over the indents left behind until you let out another pathetic whine. “Don’t hold back,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. We want to hear you. Everyone already knows.”

Slider’s hips slam forward. “Now let them all know how good you feel.”

Ice catches you as your arms give out and lifts you up until you’re clutching his shoulders. You kiss him desperately as Slider picks up the pace, the clap of skin on skin filling the bedroom. Slider buries himself in your neck to leave another bruise as you cling to Ice. Your kisses are less lips and more teeth and tongues now, but you couldn’t care less. Ice’s palms caress your sides while Slider’s hands anchor themselves on your hips to pull you back against him with each increasingly desperate thrust. The kisses Ice gives you do little to shut you up at this point, to neither man’s disappointment. You’re stuck between them. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere you’d rather be when Ice’s hand leaves your side to play with your clit, delicately circles it as Slider continues to hammer into you.

In the end, that’s what does you in, your head thrown back against Slider’s shoulder as both men work together to take you apart.

Distantly, you’re aware of Slider’s grip tightening enough to bruise, the stutter of his hips, and the garbled curses as he presses tight between your quivering thighs and cums.

Gentle fingers turn your head to the side, and Slider captures your lips in a kiss. Simple. Passionate. His tongue rolls over yours as his hands smooth over your hip bones and down your thighs. He shakes as he soaks in the closeness, your highs still crashing through you.

He pulls you with him as he half lays back against the headboard, cum dribbling from your cunt as his spent cock slips free. You melt back against his broad chest and hum as you settle against him. Slider feels warm, and you still tingle everywhere he touches you.

The bed dips as Ice crawls forward until he’s knelt between your knees, his hands planted against the duvet on either side of Slider’s thighs. “You still up for round two?” Your pussy pulses at the thought, more of Slider’s cum trailing down the crack of your ass. Ice gathers the cum on his middle and ring finger and pushes it back into you with a wet squelch. You can’t help but clench around his long fingers, back arching when one of Slider’s hands presses flat against your lower abdomen and encourages more of his pearly essence to leak out around Ice’s fingers, both of them entranced by the sight.

“Words, baby,” Slider whispers breathless and sated against your ear. “You need him to fuck you?” Ice closes his eyes and groans, his cock twitching red and heavy where it leaks against your thigh. “Need Ice to fill up that pretty pussy?”

“She’s already so full.”

“I can take it.” Your legs circle Ice’s trim waist and drag him closer still. You feel hot as you imagine him spilling within you. Being so full of Ice and Slider both that you can’t possibly keep it all inside. “I want it.”

That’s all that Ice needs to hear. He wastes no time sinking into you right up to the hilt with a sinful groan. Trembles when you cry out, soft and exquisite, your eyes already blissed out but your cunt still so wet and needy, gripping him tight as if you were the one who hadn’t cum mere minutes ago.

Each rock drives you into Slider’s chest. Not to be left out, the RIO’s arms lazily snake around to cup your breasts and tweak your nipples, his lips subdued but no less sizzling as they skim over the marks he left on you earlier.

Ice leans close, his glacial eyes dark and blown wide, lids at half-mast. He catches your bottom lip between his teeth and worries at it until you gasp, releasing it with a slick pop. “Tom.” It’s not a scream like earlier, more a frantic, heady pant, your voice rough as it washes over Ice in all the right ways. It tingles low in his spine and raises goosebumps along his arms until his shoulders bunch with the feeling.

You arch up, away from Slider’s chest but into fingers clamped over your nipples as Ice’s rhythm falters. The wet clapping of your sex is loud between your ears compared to the heavy sighs and the continuous squeak of old bed springs.

Ice gulps. “You’re so sensitive.” It’s true. Every touch feels like fire. Like straight electricity. Like pleasedon’tletgodon’tstop! and Ice’s dentist won’t be pleased with how he’s clenching his jaw. Drawing in ragged breaths and grinding his teeth to make this last even the slightest bit longer. But you’re right there with him.

Slider’s calloused fingers tap against your clit, and you’re gone. A silent scream passes your lips as you pull tight like a bow and release, and Ice snaps with you.

The three of you lie together in a pile of sweaty limbs. Cum and arousal leak thickly down your thigh and onto the bed. Despite the mess, none of you are willing to move. This is the most comfortable you’ve been in weeks. Floating somewhere high above the bed. Ice is your blanket, and Slider your pillow. At least for a couple blissful minutes.

“Alright,” Slider says, nudging none too gently at Ice’s shoulder, “get off. You’re heavy.”

Instead of telling Slider to go fuck himself, Ice rolls his shoulders and peels himself off of you. He marvels at the mess they’ve made between your legs, then moves to get off the bed and start the shower.

The shower, it turns out, is a waste.

You don’t get much sleep that night.

* * *

After breakfast, Ice helps you into his car and drives you to the hospital while Slider wheels Pete’s bike to his housing assignment just a couple doors down. Ice pulls the car to a smooth stop right in front of the visitor’s entrance. He gives you a sweet kiss on the lips, then leans up to place one on your forehead. You breathe him in — spearmint, sunscreen, aftershave.

“Will we see you tonight?” You shrug, resting your forehead against Ice’s shoulder as his hand gently massages the back of your neck. “I’m just a call away if you need me to pick you up.”

“I know,” you say, giving Ice a quick peck before opening the car door and stepping out.

As you get closer to your destination, you become increasingly aware that you’re wearing yesterday’s clothes and one of Slider’s definitely-too-big-for-you shirts. But that doesn’t stop you from slipping into Goose’s room with a knock.

“Look who decided to show up.” Pete’s arms are crossed over his chest, brows furrowed in his patent big brother scowl, but Carole is smiling where she sits at her husband’s bedside, Bradley sitting on his lap. When you don’t say anything, Pete continues: “You didn’t come home last night.”

Goose turns to you, wide-eyed and head bobbing, before falling back against his stacked pillows. They must have already given him his post-PT drugs. “Wait, where were you, then?” Pete glares at his best friend; it takes a minute for Goose's drug-addled mind to catch up. “Oh.” Goose covers Bradley’s ears, then loudly whispers to his wife, “She was having sex with The Iceman.”

“Thank you, Goose,” Pete bites in frustrated exasperation while Carole giggles.

“He wouldn’t have found out if she wore the scarf I bought her,” Goose insists before turning back to you. “Did you show Carole the scarf?” Back to his wife. “It’s a great scarf, hun.” Great was a relative term. He’d bought it from a 7-Eleven.

Carole nods, Goose dopily nodding along with her. “I bet it is.”

“Can we talk about literally anything else?” Pete asks, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Eventually, you’ll have to accept that this is a thing, Pete,” you say. It comes out strong, but internally you’re a quivering mess. You love your brother, but you can’t live your life for him; you have to live it for yourself.

Pete sighs. “I know, it’s just… a lot.” And... yeah.

“I know,” you say. Because it is a lot, and that’s okay. It can be a lot. You just need him to be okay with it. Okay with you.

“It’s just…” Pete shakes his head. “Kerner? Really? Ice, I get, but Slider?” Your cheeks heat, but you refuse to look away even if you’re sure the floor looks incredibly interesting right about now.

“Oh my god,” Goose gasps. “Carole?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Did you know she was sleeping with Slider, too?”

Carole grins, shaking her head. “No.”

“Mav.”

Pete sighs. “What, Goose?”

“Did you know—”

“I’m the one who just told you.” You can’t help but smile at your brother’s displeasure.

“So when we were keeping her away from Ice… was she just off with Slider?”

Pete’s head whips from Goose to you, and this time you give into temptation and study the floor. “Well, we Mitchells aren’t exactly known for our good decisions, are we?” you mumble. Pete can’t help but laugh at that.

“No, we’re not.” And with that, some of the tension bleeds out of the room.

Until Goose bolts upright, almost knocking Bradley from his lap. “We’re at a hospital.” Everyone gives Goose a confused look. He’s known he’s been at the hospital since he woke up — had the doctors switched up his meds? But Goose is staring intently at you now. “Do you need to take a pregnancy test? The nurses gave me this button that I can push to bring them in and– Mav, you okay?”

Pete does not look okay. His face is ashen, eyes wide but unseeing as he slowly slides down the hospital wall.

“Goose, dear,” Carole says with a hand on her husband’s arm as she watches Pete with a careful eye, “you can press the button now.”

“Ahh yisss,” Goose slurs, hugging Bradley close and spamming the nurse-call button.

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[daughterofthereaper02]

Slider ‘Size Kink’ Kerner

Thank you

Goodnight

YESYESYESYESYES

Did I say yes!??

And you get your ass back here, we're talking about this.

Ron Kerner (my other husband) loves his size, always has. But making you feel little in general? He eats that shit UP!

But here's the thing, you would think his size would be scary during sex but you feel so safe in his big arms.

Yes, he has a massive dick. He goes, I don't make the rules. And it fills you completely.

His hands? Thumbs circle your clit right. Hands hold your throat gently.

Favorite thing is to always point our how little you are compared to him.

#ron kerner #ron slider kerner #ron slider kerner x reader #ron kerner x reader #slider #slider x reader #top gun #size kink

[topgun-imagines]

The Best Boyfriend || Moodboard

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[ohtobemare]

Happiest of birthdays to you! Would love to request my man Slider and the prompt “you remembered?!”¹ “what kind of question is that? of course i did!”

Hope you have fun plans for your bday (or at least good VK dreams!)

Alright, nonny. Here it is. The kickoff to my birthday celly. And woof, she was rough. Slider is so hard in all the right ways, of course and I really hope it doesn't take me this long to get through all of these. Enjoy our favorite RIO (sorry, Goose!) and thanks so much for celebrating with me!

Favors

“Sli? Sli baby, you here?” 

Ankles all but throbbing as you wobble through the front door in heels, quick eyes skirt the kitchen for any signs of life potentially lurking in the after-5 shadows crisscrossing the tiles of the floor.

Nothing but the quiet hum from the open window and the overhead light on the stove fills the space. Huffing a little breath, the groceries drop to the granite countertop of your island with a hard thunk, overflowing arms aching with the sudden relief. 

Tossing keys on the counter and kicking your heels off against the island, cool tile feels miraculous on your feet. Does wonders for the dull flame in your arches as you curl your toes, adjusting to the change. Eyes catching the time on the stove, your hand slips along the granite countertop as you cross the kitchen. Do the mental math.

And that makes you a little more anxious than you were before, hurrying towards the stairs. 

Calling for Slider again, you’re not sure where he is. That piece of shit he drives is parked at the curb, just as it had been last night. When Ron had passed out on your couch. He obviously hadn’t bothered leaving, the hood on his pickup was still cold.

You head upstairs, two at a time, surveying the living room from the open banister. TV still, Ron’s once-rumpled blanket from where you’d covered him up folded with clinical care on one of the cushions. His Navy duffle parked by the recliner he’s been calling his since the day you’d moved it in. 

Nothingness. It’s there, like a taut wire. Waiting to be plucked, for the butterknife to come and cut the tension like it’s Sunday dinner. Odd that Slider isn’t rumbling around your duplex in your absence—usually he’s doing something. Working out, changing a lightbulb, that one time he’d taken it upon himself to wash baseboards. The man isn’t prone to stagnancy. Even if you insist he relax. 

At the top of the stairs, a hit of familiar peach tickles your nose and gives you pause. Wriggling toes into the plush carpet, you hear the running water at the end of the hall. This house is nothing if not held together with paper-thin walls and discount nails. A true product of the 1970s, you’d replaced the carpet last year. Slider had wrangled up some of the boys, beer and home cooked food had brought them around to help lay carpet and new tile.

The neighbors hadn’t been so nosy, or visible, since. 

Curiosing your way down the hall in the direction of running water, you slip into the master to find light cutting into the shadows of your bedroom from the on-suite. Fusty shampoo and steam roll from the cracked door, and your lips quirk up into a goofy smile at the little off-key humming.

Some tune you don’t know, but coming from Ron? It’s like front row seats at Billy Joel. Or it might as well be. 

Stopping at the door, you gently grab the knob and use your other hand to knock a knuckle against the door. Immediately mute, nothing but the rush of the shower slapping water against the backsplash takes up the space.

Peeking past the door to the mirror hanging over the sink, you can see Ron in the shower. He’s paused, mid-shampoo. Eyes squeezed shut, adorable crow’s feet and all. 

“I’m back from the store, Sli,” you check his watch, which has been hanging out on your wrist since you’d snatched it off the nightstand this morning. Resting your head against the door, you twist the ball of your foot against the carpet and gnaw teasingly on your lower lip. 

“Yeah?” The titter of a laugh is there. More of a chuckle, really. “Get what you need, baby?” 

Baby. It punches low, white-hot. Sends tingles of pleasurable heat; promises all the things he does right buzzing through your fingertips.

Sticking your head through the crack of the door, you smile crookedly at the reflection of him trying to clear the soap from his face. Mirror half fogged over from the heavy steam, something similar rolls through the low of your gut. Pleasant but clawing, devastating but delicious. 

And he really is a beautiful creature of a thing—all hard muscle and suntan, there isn’t a part of him that isn’t near to carved bronze. Little more than Icarus flying into a too-near sun, he cuts you at the knees every time he smiles your direction. When his hand takes yours, the atmosphere thins into hardly-there air that’s all too good and impossible to breathe at once.

And that little thing he does, the slow drag of his lips against the line of your jaw, down the soft flesh of your neck to the collarbone? It shakes you all the way down. 

Ron Kerner is the glistening sun, you all too thrilled to orbit. A clear northern sky. Endless canvas of midnight sprinkled with the glow of far-off worlds only ever promised in poems and movies and stories, what he does to you is nearly sinful. Little does he know that he grips you in strong, calloused hands that balance so much more than the way he holds your hips, the way he cups your face—you little more than putty in his hands. They hold your world, your heart, your ability to love. 

Two years together—two revolutions around the sun—has throttled you into never letting go. Into thinking you can’t exist without the hard planes of him fitting so perfectly against you. He’s a disease you can’t shake, radiation poisoning that corrupts the body and soul; toxic divinity that’s contaminating every realm of your fathomable existence. 

Even here, separated by doors and steaming clouds and frosted glass of a shower door that hides all the things that matter, you’re one calculation from drowning in the way he’s smiling crookedly. How his hair curls so beautifully when it’s wet—how rivulets of water carve what feel like unexplored chasms down his breastbone, his pecs, obliques. 

Hands dropping from working shampoo through his hair, his little smirk twists when he goes to bite the corner of his bottom lip. He can feel you staring, obviously. And the frosted strip of glass on the door is doing a magnificent job of hiding everything that crosshairs your line of sight. Welded there and unable to move for any amount of collateral known to man, you hardly notice the door moving. Or the fact that you’re squirming. 

Until Ron steps forward, head poking through the opening to grin at you, goofily. 

“My eyes are up here, gorgeous.” And his wagging brows make you blush. Eyes dragging away to far off places, all conveniently across the bathroom, your bottom lip rolls inward.

Drumming your nails against the back of the door, he snorts at the color lighting up your face. “Well don’t be shy about it, for Christ sake,” teasing is only half of Ron’s game.

Cool eyes find the inferno of yours, the corner of his mouth ticking up a quirk. “Get over here.” 

And before you can even breathe, he’s waving his hand for you to come. 

For a few beats he doesn’t say anything. You weigh the decision from behind the door as if it's stock and your flat-footed stance behind the door is Wall Street. But you’re burning in all the right places—for a moment, thinking you might be combusting from beneath the collar of your button down shirt.

Because you can’t feel the limp noodles that have conveniently replaced your arms at either of your sides. Legs feel like they’ve disconnected from your body. All you can feel is the pulled-taut hot little feeling between your legs, the way your core is absolutely throbbing in need of the way he’s looking at you. 

Fingers curling and uncurling at your sides, you slip through the door. Gently toe it closed. Pressing your ass against the twin sink countertop, your toes flex against the cool tile of the floor. It’s slick in that way that cool tile gets when steam is in the air, and one wrong move will have you skating like a newborn foal.

And suddenly everything about this room is hyperaware, flogging you in deeper living color. The atrocious color of the walls you haven’t repainted; that ugly spot that one painting from your mother was supposed to cover, but sits perpetually at the back of your closet because it’s not your style.

It’s all so here, so alive, as Slider does nothing but hold your attention. Waving you come like a damn siren of a thing and not the Naval aviator you've been pining over since that day you'd seen him at the O-Club. 

Fortifying your position, your fingers curl into the granite countertop before a desperate, coy little smile twists your lips. Shaking your head, the throaty chuckle rolling around the back of your throat is a little deeper than you thought possible. And your tongue is thick, clumsy in your mouth over him.

Your eyes dart immediately when he slips further out of the shower, one of his tree-like legs stepping home on the bathmat. Water pours from him like the gates of Sesame have opened, taking with it all moisture from the back of your throat.

Chuckling in disbelief at your stubbornness, he leans out of the shower to reach for you. “What? Don’t trust me?” How his brow lifts conspiratorially confirms that he knows, and you lift to your toes to lean back from his grabbing hand, farther over the sink. “Oh come on, gorgeous—” 

“—you get over here, Kerner. Away from the shower.” Your eyes drop to the center of his abdomen, more telling than you'd like to be.

You heave yourself onto the counter with a heavy plop, planting heels against the cupboards beneath, the heavy oak a little rougher on your feet than you remember. Then, crooking a finger at him, your chin lifts as your eyes drop to a lusty half mast.

His face might as well be a landing strip the way his brows take off, and you chuckle when his tongue so visibly fills the pocket of his lower lip. 

“What? You don't trust me?” 

Return smile slow, “Not even for a second,” has your brows bouncing suggestively. That tight little snake that’s been slipping low down your spine curls into a tight coil at the base of your stomach, poised. Waiting. Like springs; catapults that clamp metric tonnes of aircraft home to the cold blue surface of carriers. Waiting for the greenlight. Of flight. Of going. 

And like the crack of a whip, Slider slaps open the shower door with a wet palm. Stepping out, his hand drags through the rivers of water cascading down the glass to the floor, like life itself depends on finding paydirt.

In a breath he’s suddenly standing between your legs, water from every crevice of his finely-hewn body pouring to the floor. Fingers curled into the granite at either side of your thighs, the running shower that’s wasting water by the gallons disappears from thought. 

The only thing tangible is Slider’s hot breath between the two of you. His cock, heavy between the yummy, God-ordained V of his hips. The way his breathing is just a little ragged when he steps between your legs makes you forget your name; one of his thick wet hands sliding home to your hip.

Fingers twisting in the Rayon of your shirt, his other comes to brush your bangs from your forehead, playing. Exploring. Investigating how they whisp away, how it sends shivers down your spine. 

Even two years under Ronnie’s spell, you still can’t breathe when his eyes move from yours to your mouth. Catching your bottom lip between your teeth, you attempt to steady the heart that’s practically pulsating between your ribs. Any second you expect it to jump into his awaiting hand—little’s changed since the first time he’d kissed you in the front seat of your Pontiac, tasting like beer and chapstick and cologne that didn’t match his personality. Your heart had beat just as quickly then.

Jury’s out on when it would ever not. 

Slider leans forward a little to brush his lips against yours. And you try to kiss him, breathless and head spinning, but he pulls back a little, smiling. Angling to skim his mouth along your jaw, his nose brushes the apple of your cheek. Wet, and his like-steel grip on your thigh has left a wet handprint in the denim of your Levi’s. But you don’t care, not really.

Because it’s so hot, so perfect the way his fingers skim to the sensitive juncture of your legs. To that whiny, needy little spot that aches just so in way’s only God Himself could smile at. 

Goosebumps chase up your arms as his fingers curl into the meat of your thigh. Fingertips brush up the curve of your side to the collar of your shirt as he works thick, inferno kisses to that spot he knows you love. It’ll be all kinds of red and blue by tomorrow, and it will all but stand up and demand your best full-coverage base, but that’s a tomorrow problem.

Right now all you can feel is the magnetism in the base of your gut, the twitch of fighting the urge to close your thighs around his waist and pull him close. 

His lips drag back to your mouth, hovering. Tasting, teasing. And he smells like shampoo, like peach and rain and that musk that only men seem to ever have on their skin. Nose brushing the end of yours lightly, his lips curl into quicksilver as he takes your hand, laces his fingers through yours, and guides it to the middle of his chest. 

All but shaking, you gnaw at the inside pocket of your cheek. “Smile for me, sweetheart,” and the throatiness of it rips a breathless little whimper from the back of your throat, his fingertips brushing down the column of your neck. Head tipping back as your eyes flutter closed, toes burning against the rough oak cabinets like you can feel every splinter of rough wood. 

“Smile for Slider on your birthday, hm?” 

And that punches your gut like nothing ever has. Head snapping forward, you can’t resist—your mouth crashes against his like steel punching steel, teeth knocking together in a way that makes neither of you pause but pulls a surprised grunt from him. Legs lift to wrap around his waist. Pull him forward, suck him in.

Your fingers memorize every swell and curve of hard muscle as they trace up his arms, across his collarbones. Until all at once your arms slip around his neck, pulling him down, flush against your chest. His fingers skip along the hem of your shirt, dangerous. Possessive. It’s nearly treason. 

“You remembered,” between lazy kisses that pull and push in all the right ways, your smile grows. And his fingers slip up your back lightly, fisting the material of your shirt as he holds you. Dips you forward with gentle pressure until you’re chest-to-chest. Heartbeat to heartbeat. Until you’re looking up into lusty eyes beneath your lashes, hardly able to breathe. 

“‘Course I remembered,” his brow furrows a little, like he’s a bit confused by the question, “what kind of guy would I be if I forgot my babygirl’s birthday?” Ownership is definitely a thing between the two of you–-a bedroom kink that snaps you just short of a rubber band. Curls heat down your spine like its smoke in the air. 

Biting your lower lip, you smile at him before your nose wrinkles a little. “You’re bad for me, Ronnie,” his lips curl up into a grin as he chuckles against your mouth, a singular finger tracing the line of your shoulder blade beneath your shirt. 

“And you’re too gorgeous to be twenty-nine,” it's almost whining. Taking your bottom lip between his teeth, his brows wag a little when you blush up at him. Pulling away, piglet cheeks warm under his attention as you arch back into his hands, the front of your shirt stains wet from his chest. 

And arching back only snags his attention. Ducking to press an open-mouth kiss to the pulse in your neck, his teeth lightly drag against your skin when he sucks. Hard. Twisting a delicious little hiss that tastes like heat on your tongue, he chuckles. Your finger playing through the curls on his chest sends goosebumps across his skin, you feel them pebble beneath your fingertips. Droplets on his skin have fanned cold, but the room is still swirling with team from the nearly overwhelming thunder of the shower. 

“Feel any older?” His murmur is thick against soft skin. Very suddenly nothing about him is chilled–he may as well be cut from volcanic rock.

Throaty hum chasing any reasonable response from your head, his hand lifts to the back of your hair, fingers searching for a handful of hair before the light tug drops your head back. 

Pain is momentary before it bleeds into warm heat that lights up your nerves, sends blood ripping through your ears like a stoked locomotive on fire and threatening the rails. Chest rising and falling in tandem with his, your fingers curl into the damp curve of his bicep, pulling him a little closer.

“'Only as old as you feel, Ron,” your tongue skates your bottom lip, eyes darting over his shoulder to consider the shower, “And I don’t feel very old. Not yet, anyway,” head canting to the side, his other hand cards through your hair. Looking hungry, looking very engaged with what you’re saying, your smile grows. Sweetly, innocently. 

“I think I’ve got some miles left in me. Don’t you?” 

It’s taking visible effort for him to stay composed, you can tell. It’s in the twitch of his fingers, the little tick of muscle in his jaw. Ron has never, in two years, been very good at keeping a poker face—the man is too animated. Too much of a card to keep any secrets, and today he’s as much Ron Kerner as you’ve always known him to be. 

But the push and pull of your body against his working off your shirt is uncoordinated and hot, too many steps to even fathom as that familiar twisting serpent hums in the base of your belly. In the perfect, God-designed V of your legs, the damn thing.

And Slider is nothing if not easily entertained—it takes little to no effort for his attention to drop to the growing cut of your shirt as one by one, your fingers work at buttons like they are hardly there. 

Watching to the point of huffing, Slider resolves to just rip the garment the rest of the way off, tossing it away into the abyss this on-suite has become. His disregard–the nerve. It was your favorite shirt. A white and gray little striped thing that you got at Bloomingdales, on sale. Normally couldn’t afford.

But Ron hasn’t ever really cared about clothes, not in the heat of the moment—he’s replaced every garment he’s destroyed. Bless him and his generous soul, you’re willing to bet a week’s salary he’s prepared to buy you three more. Had planned to rip that one off of you as soon as you’d kissed him goodbye to leave for the damn store. 

Chest to chest, your skin nearly ripples with feel-good bumps that make you shiver—it’s the only thing keeping you boots on the ground. And he wastes exactly zero seconds—his fingers are nearly lithe with the button of your jeans, laying them open with a mere pop of his thumb.

And all too quickly, his hands are in yours, fingers interlaced as he steps back from the sink, tugging you with him.

“You think so, huh?” You’re nearly a full foot shorter than Slider, a fact he’s never failed to bring to your attention. Lowering to lazily play with your bottom lip, his smile grows as he steps back a few more paces, and now you can all but feel the spray of the shower dance across your skin. “How about putting money where your mouth is, baby?”

And like a crack of lightning, both of you are suddenly beneath near-scalding water, chest to chest with your back pressed hard against the backsplash. 

“You hate shower sex, Sli,” never mind saturated jeans weighing heavy on your legs, and how truly awful that feels—you couldn’t wriggle out of them if you’d even tried, “Why would you—” Boxed in between either of his arms, there’s little more between you than him.

And there’s nowhere to run, pulse of hot water lighting up your skin like fire. Another fistful of your hair has your head tipped back against the tile, his fingers slipping through the droplets clinging to your skin. 

“But you don’t,” he shakes his head once, saturated curls all but bouncing with the effort before he rakes them back with a smooth hand, “and today is about you, gorgeous,” hands falling to either of your hips, he guides you forward until his dick presses softly to your thigh.

"And besides," In a sweet, hardly-ordinary-for-Slider nose-to-nose kiss, his smile becomes loose for all of a few seconds. Leaves you breathless, dizzy. Stupid—more stupid than you want to feel on your birthday. Almost conspiratorial. 

“—my birthday is in a couple weeks."

#ron slider kerner #ron kerner x reader #top gun #top gun 1986 #top gun imagines #slider x reader #ron slider kerner x reader #mare's top gun 29 birthday celebration #writing prompts #prompts #asks #ask box #anonymous #anon ask #ask mare #answered asks

[imawkwardlysoc]

i found me a lover who could play the bass

Song- Pierre by Ryn Weaver

Paring- ron kerner x gn!reader

Warning(s)- Just some mentions of alcohol, no pronouns used

Wordcount- 1,285

Summary- Reader meets a pretty cute bassist.

“Come on, let’s go out,” Carol tried to drag me out of my seat.

“Can’t gotta study,” I told her.

“Study?” She waved her arms in the air exaggeratedly. “Y/N, we just finished midterms today.”

“And I have finals to study for already,” I groaned. “Also, if I want to make summa or magna, I need to get my shit together.”

“Y/N, hun,” she cupped my face. “You will, you just gotta take a break. I don’t want you to burn out, I’ve seen it. Do you want to burn yourself out?”

“No,” I shook my head.

“Now come on, let’s get ready,” she smiled and skipped to her room.

Shaking my head and letting out a laugh, I got out of my seat and looked through my closet. Grabbing a pair of ripped black jeans, an off gray t-shirt, and a flannel, I got dressed before putting a jacket over my.  Sliding on my boots, I looked at myself in the mirror to check out my look. I mean it’s pretty basic and I’m too lazy to actually put an outfit together, but it’s alright.

Walking out of my room, I saw Carol in an outfit with the same vibe as mine but dolled up. Grabbing our bags and keys, we walked out of our college apartment and I followed Carol.

“Where are we going anyways?” I asked her as we walked down the sidewalk.

“To the local bar because Nick’s band is playing,” she answered.

“So, we’re just watching your crush’s band play?” I raised my eyebrow.

“While having drinks and bar food at half price because of our student discount,” she added as she linked her arm with mine.

“Why don’t you tell him already?” I asked her. “You two already have a class together and there’s no way in hell you’re shy.”

“Well, I can be around him,” she blushed in embarrassment.

“Hey, get a drink inside you, loosen up, and go up to him when their set is done to ask him out,” I gave her some encouragement.

“We’ll see,” she chuckled as we walked into the bar.

Looking at the stage, we saw some people setting things up on the stage. Carol and I sat down in one of the corner booths where we could see the stage easily. One of the waiters came over to our table and took our orders before leaving again to get our drinks. After a few minutes, our drinks came and the band came on stage. Some cheers were heard from the crowd and Carol’s mouth. Popping a fry into my mouth, I listened to the band as their cover of 1985.

I bobbed my head to the songs they played while mouthing the lyrics. Sometimes I would glance at Carol who is just crushing over the drummer.

“How’s everyone doing?” The singer asked which caused everyone to cheer. “Alright, some of you who have already seen us already know who I am, but those who don’t, I’m Tom.”

More cheers came out.

“Over to the right of me is our guitarist, Pete,” Tom pointed to the man that stood next to him. “Oh my left is our bassist Ron.”

I looked over at the bassist and felt my heart stop a little. I’m not sure if it's the fact he’s in a band or the defined jawline or his wavy brunette hair, but he’s pretty attractive. Making eye contact, I felt myself blush when he sent me a wink.

“And the drummer behind me is Nicholas.” I nudged Carol a little when her crush was mentioned. “We're the Flyboys and we’re going to play you an original song now. This is Break Your Little Heart.”

The sound of Pete’s guitar filled the bar and all of us started to jam out. With two beers and a bunch of fried food in my system, the band finished playing their forty-five minute set.

“I’m going to get another drink,” I told Carol as I saw Nick walking up to our table.

Walking up to the bar, I ordered myself another beer. When I waited for my beer, I felt another presence next to me. Looking over my shoulder, I saw him standing there.

“Hi,” he smiled.

“Hi,” I smiled back. “You were great up there. I’m Y/N by the way.”

“Nice to meet you,” we both shared a laugh as we shook hands.

“Is this your first time seeing us perform?” He asked as I sipped on my beer.

“Yeah, my friend and roommate have seen you guys before,” I replied while nudging my head to the booth. “She’s gonna kill me but she has a thing for your drummer.”

“Yeah, Nick also has a thing for her,” he laughed. “Finally took some balls for him to talk to her.”

We took a sip of our beers and started a conversation on a different topic. As we drank our beers, we started to get to know each other a little. We’re both in our last year of college while I major in chemistry and him being in political science.

“Hey, I’m going to grab some pizza with Nick, I’ll be home soon,” Carol told me. “You’ll be fine going home?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about me,” I hugged her. “Go have fun. Don’t worry about the table. I’ll pay.”

“I will, see you back home,” she told me after letting go.

Walking up to Nick and holding his hand, Ron and I watched our friends leave the bar.

“She’s going to be alright,” Ron told me.

I nodded my head and drank the last sip of my beer. “Well, that’s it for me. Gotta head home.”

“Let me walk you home,” Ron says.

“You don’t need to,” I said while handing the bartender my school ID.

“Look, it’s late outside, please,” he looked me in the eyes. “Just let me get my bass and I’ll be back five minutes max.”

“Alright, if you’re not back in five minutes I’m leaving,” I chuckled.

He nodded his head and paid for his beer before grabbing his bass. While I waited for him, I checked my to-do list for tomorrow and saw him with his bass in it’s case, over his shoulder.

“Ready to go?” He asked.

“Yep,” I nodded my head.

We walked out of the bar and started making my way back to Carol and I’s apartment. From the far distance you can hear music blasting out of the frat and sorority houses that were a few streets over. The evening weather was the perfect temperature. The spring air wasn’t too cold where I needed another jacket. Despite us just meeting, we walked in comfortable silence.

“Well, this is me,” we stood in front of the front door of the apartment. “It’s nice meeting you.”

“It was nice meeting you also,” he agreed. “Wanna hang out on campus one day?”

“Sure,” I nodded my head. “Give me your phone so I can put my number in it.

Pulling out his phone from his pocket, he handed it to me and I put my number in before giving it back to him.

“I’ll see around,” I gave him a peck on the cheek.

I opened my front door and headed into the apartment, shutting the door behind me. I placed my back against the door while having a smile on my face. Hearing a ding from my phone, I pulled it out of my pocket and saw a message from an unknown number.

Unknown- Wanna grab a coffee on Monday? -Ron

Sending him a yes and adding him to my contacts, I shut my phone off and headed to bed thinking about the bassist.

#ron kerner x reader #ron slider kerner x reader #ron kerner #ron slider kerner #slider kerner #pete maverick mitchell #pete mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #tom kazansky #nick goose bradshaw #nick bradshaw #carol bradshaw #top gun x reader #top gun fic #Spotify

[h-c-u]

Unhealthy Obsession

Summary: The one where Slider is obsessed with you, but you were obsessed with him first

Pairing: Ron "Slider" Kerner x stalker fem!reader 

W/C: 7.6k

Rating: +18, stalking, age gap, size difference, creepy and unhealthy relationship, psycho reader, underage reader in the beginning (no descriptions of sex until she's 19), mentions of other people having underage sex.

TWs: Stalking

A/N: Dead Dove Do Not Eat. You are responsible for the media you consume. 

Taglist: @jovialladyaurora

Masterlist | List of tags

You were just a few weeks shy of 17 when you saw him for the first time, and right then and there you knew that he was yours and you were going to be his... He just didn't know it yet.

He came to your high school with his friend who was giving a speech about how important the Navy is, and why all of you should consider joining, although he didn't exactly look like he believed in what he was saying, at least not to a bunch of teens. You didn't care about the rear admiral of whatever though... Instead, your eyes were glued to his shadow, leaning back on a very uncomfortable chair... He looked as if being here was a punishment, and you couldn't blame him, because you hated this place with passion. And he was just so easy to look at, all nonchalant, skillfully playing with a butterfly knife without any care in the world, and you couldn't help but wonder what else his fingers could do. You knew that one day you would find out, but for now - you just wanted to know his name... The patch on his uniform only said "Slider", and you smirked as soon as you were able to decipher it from afar. But that wasn't enough to find him...

Finally, you overheard him introduce himself to your English teacher after the whole presentation. Ron Kerner... He was laying it thick, and she was blushing. Oh well... you never liked that bitch. You took a very calculated look at them both and noticed the knife sticking out of the back pocket of his pants. One more look around, and no one was paying attention to anyone, people were walking briskly away from the corridor, and it wasn't that uncommon to bump into someone if you were not careful.

You were very fortunate to have a best friend who was your literal ride-or-die, and one look between you two was enough for her to see that you were in your little psycho mode, and she was already jumping in on it. You grabbed her by the wrist and both of you jogged towards your man. Just as you were getting closer, you pulled her in, so from the outside it looked like she accidentally shoved you. Enough for you to glide against his back and lift the knife from his back pocket, but not enough for you to land on the floor. Before both of you sped up, she shouted sorry, and dragged you around the corner, pushing your back against the wall.

- You always choose them hot... - she whispered, grabbing your hand, which was wrapped around the stolen black butterfly knife, and forcing you to present your trophy. She hummed, a little bit impressed with your pickpocketing skills

- After all, I chose you too, didn't I...? - you laughed, but when she reached to grab the knife you shot her a warning look, and she backed off immediately. Even though you shared almost everything, there was still respect for the few boundaries that were left. Well... When it mattered.

- You did. What's your plan...? - she took a quick look around the corner, and let you know it was safe to watch, so you peeked at him again.

- I'll just take him... - you said with a dangerous smile, while he was still flirting with your teacher. - It will take some time and a lot of effort, but he's the last one... I can feel it... - Heather looked at you instead at him, and something in your eyes told her that this time you were serious, and it made her sad a little because it meant an end to a certain era.

- What are we doing about her? - she asked, and she didn't even have to add anything else for you to understand exactly who she was talking about.

- It's an old building... So many things are worn to the point of danger... And it's so easy to just... slip... if you're not careful. - the devious smile crept on your face, especially when you saw that he put his hand under her chin, forcing her to look at him and you clenched your jaw. It would be so easy for you to unravel and lunge at the older women, but you knew it wouldn't work to your liking in the long term... You had to be patient.

- Noted... Leave it to me... - she leaned a bit closer to you and put a hand on your hip. - Do you think he's got a record? - she asked quietly, and you liked where her thoughts were going.

- I don't think so... Military and all... And even if he did something illegal, he might have gotten away scot-free... But... We can still check. - he finally left the woman alone and flustered, because his friend called him and let him know that it was time to leave.

- What are you gonna do about Matty...? - Heather leaned back when he finally disappeared from your line of sight, giving you more room to breathe.

- I can prep him for you if you want... He would give you a sweet, perfect, pillow-princess life that we all know you deserve. - you flashed your teeth at her, and she laughed out loud at the thought. You honestly liked Matt; being his girlfriend without that might have been a bit hard. But you knew from the beginning that it just wasn't… it. But his parents were loaded and more than fine with you staying there most nights, since they knew your situation.

You never knew your parents, and the idea of adoption never stuck with any of your foster families. Well, you didn't blame them, because when you were a kid, you didn't know how to keep your psycho in check. Now things were different... You were much crueler and more calculated, but only when you were sure that you could get away with it; you had to learn that the hard way... But it was already too late for you to find a good home since most families wanted kids young enough to call them mommy and daddy, so you had to find a way to get a good life on your own. And the simplest option was to marry into a good, naive family, and Matt was exactly that for you, a means to a good life... Well, until today.

- Nah, we both know I'd suffocate. Milk him for all you can till the last possible moment. - Heather gave you a soft smile. - And maybe make him buy me a nice, expensive purse for my birthday... - she laughed, and you were finally ready to move.

- Deal. - she wrapped her arm around your waist and led you both out of school.

It didn't take you long to get to the police station, where the sheriff was already waiting for Heather, and when she was screwing him in the bathroom, you snuck into his unlocked office - perks of a small town; everyone trusted each other. But leaving your login and password on a sticky note taped to the monitor was just stupidity; you weren't complaining about that though.

It wasn't the first time you found yourself searching through all the databases that this shitty department had access to. It took some time to load everything, but you were able to find a file with his name from over 20 years ago, which must have been before he joined the Navy; fortunately for you - it wasn't sealed. And just like that you had all his details, including the address, although you doubted, he still lived there. But there was also a mugshot, all beaten and bloody, but with a cocky smile lighting up his face as if he didn't regret anything he did. You quickly skimmed through the file to learn what he did, and you couldn't help but grin. He beat up 6 other guys for trying to gang up on some girl. He was released the next day, but there was no information about what happened after that.

You quickly printed two copies of the file and deleted the information about your search, although you seriously doubted that anyone here would realize what happened. You waited patiently in front of the building for Heather, and it didn't take long; they never lasted long with her... But fucking the sheriff had its perks, especially when her afterschool activities weren't exactly legal.

- Got what you wanted? - she asked as soon as she opened the door, and you nodded with a smile, file safely tucked away in your bag. - Great. Do you want to spend the night and brainstorm...? - like she had to ask. You loved her to bits, and you knew exactly how lucky you were to have someone as crazy as you, either to keep in check, or push you to extremes, and Heather was perfect in balancing both sides of you.

- With you? Always! - you laughed and grabbed her hand, intertwining your fingers with hers. In another life, she would have been the love of your life and you would ride into a sunset together, but in this one, you were more likely to blow up the factory and walk away from it, with explosions behind you.

Her house was modest, a complete contrast to her personality, clothes, and accessories, but it's not like she could flaunt her money in front of her grandma, who was her legal guardian. Although considering how oblivious she was, you wouldn't be surprised if she didn't even notice.

It took both of you a few hours of intense research to find all the necessary details and make a plan based on them.

You found out that Captain Ron Kerner was a highly decorated RIO, but it was hard to find much more about specifically him. Fortunately, there was information about how to get in touch with former and active members of the military via a specific office. And Heather also found information about the Naval Academy archive, where some of the files were kept, so you knew that sooner rather than later, there will be a road trip in your plans.

You also learned more about the Navy recruitment process because you already knew that you were going to change your whole carrier path just for him. Technically you would be able to apply in less than a month if you wanted to go the more... traditional route. But you wanted to be a pilot, to be close to him, and the Naval Academy wouldn't admit someone without a high school diploma, so you would have to wait two more months until graduation.

The Naval Academy itself would last 4 years, but in the end - it would have been worth it... For him, you were willing to starve yourself and live off the crumbs, because the meal you'll be eating till the end of your days would be better than ambrosia.

The second time you saw him was during your third week of boot camp and it took all your self-control not to throw yourself at him when you saw him sitting in a white plastic chair, all smug and with one leg thrown over the armrest, reading a newspaper, while his group of newbies was doing push-ups on rough sand. It was so easy to imagine sliding in between his thighs, undoing his pants, and taking his whole length into your mouth... But it wasn't the time just yet. You needed him wrapped around your finger and not thinking about you as a one-night stand.

But you still couldn't help yourself, and you messed up your exercise on purpose to get more laps at the end of the day, just so you could spend more time outside and catch a glimpse of him every three minutes when you were at that specific part of the field. You felt like a drug addict with the next dose dangling right in front of your face; like he was a magnet pulling you in with such strength, that you couldn't lose focus even for a second, because if you did – you would mess everything up.

And yet it still didn't stop you from sneaking to the men's locker room at the end of the day, when you noticed him going in there. You knew that at this time every single recruit would be eating dinner, so the chances of anyone catching you there were minimal. You were just hoping to catch a glimpse of him, maybe smell what type of gel he was using, but you got so much more...

The loud sounds of water drowned your light steps when you got to the common area, wrapped only in a towel, so you could use getting lost as a possible excuse if needed. Only one of the stalls was occupied and the shower curtain was almost entirely drawn, but there was a maybe... 3-5cm gap through which you were able to see him... Well, his back, to be more specific. The water was cascading over his neck and back muscles. One of his hands was on the wall in front of him and the other was lower, moving around his abdomen in a slow but rhythmic pace... And then you heard his moan... It shot straight through your core, and you had to put your hand over your mouth not to reveal that you were there.

You tried moving to a different spot in hopes of seeing more from a different angle, but it was futile. So instead, you leaned on the wall close to the door, and keeping your eyes on him, you moved one of your hands under your towel. He was just a couple of meters away from you and you could almost taste him in the steamy air. You wanted nothing more than for him to sink into you and use you in any way he wanted... But for now, the knowledge of him getting off with your eyes laser-focused on him had to be enough, and with Slider so close, it didn't take you much time to cum and drench your hand with your own release. Thank gods the floor was already wet, and you were wrapped in a towel.

And then the water suddenly stopped, so you reached for the door handle, but before you left you couldn't help yourself from grabbing a t-shirt he was wearing earlier today from a bag on the bench, and then you bolted outside, not really caring about much more.

After the shower encounter you had to wait much longer to see him again, but you knew that was a possibility due to the nature of his career. It didn't change the fact that you still craved him with every atom of your body, so when you heard his voice... You had to lean on the wall not to fall over. It took you a moment to compose yourself, but when you eventually did, you turned around, so you could look at him speaking with one of the commanders you knew you should remember the name of, but you didn't. Slider was asking about the exact group size, and you instantly got curious, so you stayed back to learn even more.

He was about to do a guest lecture for a class two years above you and hell would have to freeze over for you to miss it. So, after overhearing the lecture's name and the room number, you came up with a plan for how to sneak into the auditorium. It wasn't exactly hard, because there were over one hundred people waiting, and because it was a mix of few groups, no one knew everyone. You made sure to sit in the back of the auditorium, but not entirely in the back, so you wouldn't stick out on the background of mostly much taller, male aviators who occupied the last few rows.

By this time, you already knew about every non-classified mission he was a part of, whom he flew with, and who his friends were. You knew all his grades, memorized his dissertation, and every published essay he was a part of creating... You were basically a walking encyclopedia on Captain Ron Kerner, thanks to the files available in the academy.

But then the attendance list was read out loud and your name wasn't on it. The guy next to you gave you a dirty look when he realized that, but you just shrugged and mumbled something about talking to the teachers after the lecture, because you didn't want to interrupt now. But then, as the presentation was loading up on the screen, someone else realized. You could tell Slider noticed you for the first time ever and was about to call you out, so you did the only thing that came to your mind which was placing a finger on your lips, as if you tried to shush him, and winking at him, and as soon as you did that, he gave the most beautiful, jaw-dropping smirk that almost made you blush. But he didn't draw attention to you, although his gaze stopped at you a few times over the whole lecture, which contents you wouldn’t be able to recall even under torture.

Although you wanted nothing more than for him to bend you over that desk and fuck you so hard you would have bruises to remember him by, you focused on the bigger picture; it was too early. So, you snuck out of the auditorium about 10 minutes before the end of the lecture, without drawing any attention to yourself and left for your next class, trying your best to come up with a good excuse for why you missed the last one.

The next morning you just happened to hang out in the guest area, pretending you were waiting for someone, and not at all because you wanted to see in which room he was staying. He didn't notice you this time, his attention fully on one of the 4th year students, or rather - her breasts. you dutifully noted all you could about her to find her in the records later today. When they disappeared behind the corner, you went into the hall they emerged from and entered his room as if you were supposed to do that, and because of the confidence in your moves, nobody questioned you. It wasn't the first time you used the master key you stole from the cleaning crew during your first week here, and it definitely wouldn't be the last, but it would be the most memorable.

It wasn't the place he was living in, so it didn't have many marks that he was there, but still... The sheets in his bed were stained with his cum, which you found atrocious because you wouldn't let one drop go to waste, so that bitch definitely deserved what will come for her... His clothes were bundled up in his bag, and you just couldn't help yourself. You knew he wouldn't be back for a while, so you took out every single item from his bag and analyzed every detail. It wasn't much, just regular things a person would need during a three-day trip, but now you knew what type of soap and toothpaste he was using. He even had his cologne in the bag, and you just had to put it on your wrists and behind your ears.

You looked at your watch... If you stayed any longer, there was a high chance that you would be late, but you didn't know when would be the next time you'll be able to see him, so you chose to live a little... You climbed into the bed he had sex on last night, unbuttoned your trousers, and slid your hand under the material. You knew your body well and you knew where to rub, what to pinch, and where to push to get off as quickly as possible, and you did just that. It wasn't even two minutes before you were on your stomach, ass high up in the air and your face smashed against the pillow in search of the slightest trace of his scent. And when you finally finished, you had to bite on the material not to let anyone in the neighboring rooms know what you were doing there.

You unintentionally left a wet imprint of your mouth on that pillow, but you were 90% sure it would dry out before he comes back, so you honestly didn't care... And even if he realized, it's not like he could connect you to this small breaking and entering. Before you left, you grabbed one of his boxers from the bag, as a souvenir; it's not like he was going to miss them...

Next time you didn't exactly see him, only his gear in the locker room... Which meant that he was leading a flying exercise you unfortunately somehow missed. But you still waited patiently to see if he'd show up to collect it, but he didn't, which left you a little bit disappointed, because you haven't seen him for almost half a year now... But you still kept your eyes on the bigger picture, so instead of doing anything stupid or making a scene, you cut the straps of his helmet with the knife you stole from him the first time you saw him, which you started keeping on you after one of the guys from your year tried to do something he definitely shouldn't.

Back in your room, you cut the leather even more and sewn it back together, so it could be worn as a bracelet, and no one would be wiser. And after you put it on, it never left your wrist, serving as a reminder of what was about to come.

It was four months later when you met him next time... One of your teachers actually officially introduced you two together when you stayed longer to discuss a project you were working on. You didn't even know he was even in the academy because there were no guest lectures planned for the next week, so that meant he was here for something else.

- Pleasure to meet you, sir. - you donned your most neutral smile, but you could tell that he recognized you.

- I feel like I know you from somewhere... - there it was, that cocky grin that made your knees go weak, but fortunately you were already leaning on the desk, so you didn't fall over right then and there. - Have we already met? - he dug a little bit deeper, and you had to actively fight your body, so it wouldn't do anything stupid.

- I don't think so, sir. At least not officially... I was a spectator on one of your lectures last year, maybe that's it...? - you offered, and you knew that was it. Your brain was singing that he remembered you and that he deemed you worth remembering.

- Ah, you were the stowaway... - he laughed, and you never heard something as hypnotizing. - You weren't on the list, but you were still in the room. - he stated and there was no sense in denying it, so you sheepishly nodded and allowed a blush to show up on your face. It was actually perfect that you didn't have to keep it in check anymore, because it fit the situation, and you didn't have to force yourself to breathe in a specific way. - It's all right, I won't tell anyone... - he took a step closer, put his hand on your arm, and gently rubbed your skin there with his thumb. You could have sworn that there was electricity jumping in between your bodies, and when you looked up to gaze into his eyes... If it wasn't for the teacher still standing behind the desk, you would be pulling Slider into a deep kiss and undoing his pants, and the darkness in his eyes told you that he wouldn't object.

- Thank you, sir... - you whispered. You felt the need to swallow, but your mouth never felt drier. It took all the strength you had to look away and focus on your teacher.

- I should probably go to my next class. Can we finish discussing this tomorrow? - you asked, the blush still present on your face and chest, but from a completely different reason than the two men assumed.

- Sure. See you then. - he replied, and you broke the contact between Slider's hand and your bicep.

- Goodbye, sir... - you said much quieter and then you almost teleported out of the room, but your classes were the last thing on your mind. You quickly ducked into the bathroom and closed the door to one of the stalls to take care of the wet, sticky mess in between your thighs.

He was waiting for you the next day when you left the classroom you met in the day before, and he honestly scared you by saying your name, because you weren't expecting anyone on the other side of the door.

- Good afternoon, sir. - you said matter-of-factly. Today you were much more composed than yesterday. Maybe it was because you knew how close you were to your goal, or maybe the many, many orgasms you reached the night before. Alone, but still...

- Drop the "sir", Doll... You know both my name and my callsign, so why not use one of those? - there it was again... that cocky smile.

- Protocol, sir. – when you said the last word, you looked directly into his eyes and smirked. He laughed and you looked back into the corridor you were taking. He not only waited for you, he was actively following you right now to your next class, and you could feel the looks of other students on you, but you didn't give a fuck. Not when, after almost two years, he was finally paying attention to you.

- You shouldn't make a habit of disobeying direct orders from your superior officer... - he tried to tease, but you just chuckled.

- There is a whole HR department taking care of superior officers who order their subordinates to break rules and laws... Sir...- you teased right back, and you could tell that based on your interaction yesterday he wasn't expecting that. He was expecting a shy, naive, easy-to-manipulate girl that he could use and throw out, but you clearly had other plans. And since he was already interested, the hardest part was behind you. Now you had to remain challenging enough for him to have fun thinking he was seducing you, which was really as challenging as you wanted to be because his pride was even bigger than his muscles.

- Ah, touché... - he raised his arms in a gesture of surrender, but he didn't stop following you. - How about a private lesson then...? I could help you with your engineering project. - he offered, and you had to fight the smile, because you knew what he really meant by that.

- Thank you, sir, but respectfully no. I really have to work on it, and everyone knows how the "private lessons" with you can end. Especially the ones in your room. - you sighed, pretending to be just a little bit annoyed. Of course, he had a reputation. You knew every single one of his conquests because making their life miserable was one of your favorite hobbies. But he didn't need to know that... At least not yet.

- Oh yeah...? So, I have that kind of reputation...? - he tried to joke, but you shot him a warning look. You could easily bruise his ego by telling him that girls talk and imply that the things they were saying were not always good, but that might have been too much. - How about we meet in your room? That way your roommates can chaperon and make sure that I'm keeping my hands to myself...? - he offered, and you pretended to carefully consider his proposition.

- Fine. But just schoolwork. I really have to finish this project. - you eventually replied. - Room 312, 6:30 PM. Don't be late... Sir... - he chuckled, clearly pleased with himself.

- It's a date. - he laughed just as you were reaching the classroom you were about to have the next lesson in.

You didn't finish the project that evening because both of your roommates were magically busy all night. And you had nothing to do with that. Not at all.

He honestly did try to take you out on dates, but before you were able to leave the academy, you just ended up in your room. Or his. Or the janitor's closet. Or the bathroom closest to the exit. Once you even made it to his car, but the car never left the grounds... To the majority of people, from the outside, you were either a cute love story where two people met by accident and fell head over heels for each other, but there was a lot that saw your relationship as inappropriate, due to the fact, that he was a high ranking officer, and you were much younger than him, and they didn't even know the half of it.

With time you started showing him your darker side, and he repaid you by doing the exact same, or at least he thought he was, because you knew it for a long time by now.

But only when you were absolutely sure that Slider was as obsessed with you, as you were with him, you decided to tell him everything. A conversation wasn't exactly your style, though... So instead, you retrieved your special box from the vent and took everything out... The knife you stole from him when you saw him for the first time, the t-shirt that magically disappeared from his gym bag when he was training newbies in boot camp, the boxers he somehow managed to lose when he was visiting the Academy, and his arrest file, from before he joined the navy; the one you printed years ago, while Heather was screwing the sheriff.

You knew exactly when he'd be back in your quarters, so you were ready when the doors opened with a loud slam against the wall, and almost immediately slammed again, this time against the frame. You loved him like that, so eager to fuck you, that he was forgetting his own strength. He started taking his uniform off on his way to the bed, where you were splayed out, lazily reading his file (or rather pretending to read, because you had it all memorized for years now) and playing with a butterfly knife. Only when he unbuckled his belt did he realize from where exactly he recognized that t-shirt and growled so deeply that you felt it in your chest, even though he wasn't right next to you. It took him a few more seconds to recognize other items.

- Mmmmm... My little psycho kleptomaniac... - he purred, kneeled on the bed, and started kissing and licking up your calf and thigh until he got to his boxers. He buried his nose deep and inhaled your scent through the already-soaked material. - How long...? - he asked and bit on the material of the underwear that was one day his. You couldn't help but smile, when he started to remove the boxers with his teeth, dragging them all the way down your legs, until you were no longer wearing them.

- Almost two years before we officially met... - you replied, watching him closely when he started climbing on top of you, kissing, licking, and biting your leg, marking every inch of skin he came in contact with. But before he got to your pussy, you put your leg on his shoulder, stopping him where he was. You knew perfectly well he could easily overpower you by pinning your leg right next to your head and fucking you like an animal, but he didn't... not yet at least.

- Baby... - he pleaded, turned his head to your ankle, and bit it affectionately. But he still didn't move any further.

- You truly don't give a fuck, do you...? - there wasn't even a drop of judgment in your voice, just pure fascination.

- Oh, I want to give you all my fucks... - a devilish grin danced on his lips. - And it's hot... Knowing that you were watching me from afar... - he started moving again, and you let your leg slide on his shoulder until you were able to bend your knee over it. - Stealing my stuff just so you could get a sniff of my sweat... - he continued leaning forward, his torso looming over you. He finally reached your lips and started kissing you with such passion, that for a moment you forgot how to breathe. - I wonder how many times I could have fucked you before we officially met... You see what you did...? Now I'm angry... - you knew he wasn't serious, but it was still fun. - Because you got to know me much sooner. And because I was fucking all those bimbos while I could have been buried deep inside you, filling you with my cum every day... And you would have let me do that day one, wouldn't you...? - he grabbed your leg and pulled it down, so you could hook it around his hips. Even after all the crazy stuff you were doing in bed and out of it, a simple missionary was still your favorite... With his giant, strong body pinning you to the mattress, so you had no means to escape, while you could still stare at each other... Watching how the expressions on your faces changed, how you reacted to the sounds the other made, and devouring each other when all of that wasn't enough.

- You know I would. - you said with a huge grin, while he slowly started sliding between your folds, covering his dick with your juices, teasing you with every move, because he knew how desperate you were for him.

- Tell me about it. - he demanded. - Tell me when you knew you wanted me. - you couldn't stop a soft chuckle from escaping your mouth. You truly were a match made in hell.

- I was still 16, well 17th in two weeks... And you came into my high school with Iceman singing praises about how awesome the Navy was... - He finally dipped his head into your opening but didn't move until you started speaking again. - But I had eyes only for you... - a cocky smile crawled across his lips, while he slowly buried himself deeper and deeper inside of you. You honestly couldn't remember the last time he had to spend time stretching you, because even on a slow day, you fucked at least four times, and that mixed with the fact that a simple look from him could make you instantly wet... Well... Let's just say that you were always ready for him. - You were sitting a few rows in front of me, playing with that knife... - with your chin, you pointed at the black knife that lay next to the pillow. - And I just knew you were mine and I was yours...

- My perfect… little… psycho… stalker... - he grinned when he finally bottomed out inside you and leaned down to place a hungry kiss on your mouth. - How did you get the knife? - he asked pulling away, teeth still around your lip, and you let him pull you up like that, wrapping your arms around his neck at some point.

- I bumped into you when you were flirting with my English teacher and lifted it from your back pocket then... And Heather was with me, pretending that she accidentally shoved me. - you wanted him to move so badly, but you knew that won't happen just yet. You could feel your pussy stretched and pulsating around him, and you were slowly losing your mind.

- Ah... I think I remember... The teacher was married but still slipped me her number... - he grinned, and you clenched around him so hard that it actually hurt... In that gentle burn kind of way, but still.

- She didn't stay married for much longer... Her husband divorced her for his much, much younger mistress when she fell down the stairs and landed in a wheelchair. - there was something in your smile that told him exactly who was responsible for that unfortunate accident. - I fucked myself with it more times than I can count... - your smile was anything but innocent.

- Oh, baby... I would love to see that... So desperate for me that even the faint memory of my fingers on it could get you off. Tell me more... - he requested with a devilish grin.

- I'll tell you everything, but very pretty, please... Fuck me first... I missed you... - you grabbed a fist full of his hair and tried to pull him towards you, but he resisted.

- You said it yourself... You could have been fucking me for two whole years before we got introduced, so I know you can be patient when you want. You can wait a little bit more... - he teased, and you tried to wiggle your hips, but he had them in an iron grip, his fingers wrapped around almost your whole midsection. Every attempt to move was leaving red imprints of his hands on your skin because he was clenching them even more when you moved. You leaned forward and rubbed your forehead against his cheek.

- Ronnie, please, I can't... I can't think about anything with you inside... Please, please fuck your perfect little psycho into the mattress... - you were rambling, your eyes glossed, your cheeks flushed, and your lips parted and plumped from his bites earlier.

- Oh, baby... I will, I promise... But you gotta tell me more... Come on, you know you can do it for me... - and those magic words were enough for you to start talking. You could do anything and everything for him...

- I joined the Navy just for you... During my third week in boot camp, I saw you under the shower and it got me so horny that I squirted on the floor. That's when I stole the shirt... I got into the academy because I knew you were sometimes giving guest lectures. The day after I snuck into the... - he chose this moment to thrust into you once, and you couldn't stop the loud moan that escaped your lungs, but even if you could... You didn't want to. - Ronnie, please... - you begged quietly, but he didn't move, clearly letting you know that the more you said, the harder he'll fuck you. - The day after the lecture, I broke into your room and masturbated in your bed... And I stole your boxers. That evening when you were supposed to help with a project - all planned. I started training to be a pilot just so there would be a chance that we'd be stationed together... I left everything and did everything just for you... - the sentences coming out of your mouth weren't exactly coherent, but with your every word, he smiled more and more.

- All that just for little old me...? - he teased, but he released his grip on your hips and gently started moving his hands up your body, so they disappeared under the t-shirt that was one day his.

- Come on, we both know that you're anything but little... - you laughed quietly, still absolutely high on his smell, his taste, the delicious stretch he was a cause of. It was hard to think about anything but him... You leaned back a bit, so the bulge on your abdomen was visible even through the shirt; he couldn't help himself, and put his huge hand over it, which made you moan quietly. You loved how small you were compared to him, and how easily you could accommodate any part of him; it was like you were made for each other.

- So, you're calling me old...? - he continued teasing you, and you couldn't stop the tears coming to your eyes... You weren't sad, or angry... You were frustrated and desperate, and you could do nothing about it...

And you loved every second of it.

- I might start to think you're old if you won’t start fucking me, Ronnie... - you whispered, your voice more air than actual soundwaves... You honestly tried to match his energy, but your mind was starting to slowly check out from the overstimulation and hopelessness, but you just knew it will be worth it.

- Oh baby... - he cooed and licked the tears from your cheeks. - I love it when you're so desperate... - he licked over your closed eyes, squeezing a few more drops from under them, and gently blew on your face, drying all the wetness he left behind. - So perfect... Just for me... My perfect little psycho... - he wrapped his arms around your torso, holding you as close to him as possible. - Mine... - he growled and finally started moving you slowly up and down, as if you weighed nothing in his arms, and considering how much he could actually lift, it shouldn't be surprising.

Your moans were obscene and lewd, and he encouraged you to be even louder, so everyone in the dorms would know that you were his, and you happily obliged, because you no longer cared... You were moaning, screaming, crying mess while he was basically using your body like a toy. You begged him to go faster, stronger, deeper, more... But he was still burying himself in you painfully slow, whispering in your ear that if he knew how patient you could be, he would have used that earlier to drive you even crazier, to get you so drunk on his cock that you'd forgotten how to speak, just like you did now because words weren't important for such a perfectly desperate slut like you... And you couldn't even deny that, because the only thing you could think about right now was his dick moving inside you. You were on the verge of breaking completely, but before you managed to whisper that one magic word that could have changed everything, he laid you back on the bed, gripped your shoulders for leverage, and started pounding into you with his whole strength, and you instantly fell apart under him, but he wasn't done yet. He kept his pace, breaking you into smaller and smaller pieces, until there was nothing left behind your eyes.

Your whole body was twitching and spasming, locked in place in his strong grip, and you were overstimulated to the point of blinding pain, but you didn't tell him to stop even then; you knew you could take more, and more he gave. He used your body for his pleasure, letting your walls constantly milk his cock in a perpetuate state of multiple orgasms washing over your body again and again. Until he screamed so loud, everyone in the building had to hear him, and he slammed his hips against yours with such fervor, that you knew you wouldn't be able to walk straight tomorrow, because your whole midsection would be bruised.

He buried his face in your neck, and even though he collapsed on the bed from the intensity of everything, he still didn't let you go. It took both of you a moment to calm down, with your body occasionally involuntarily twitching from time to time.

- Marry me. - he said and you honestly thought you heard him wrong, so you didn't even bother opening your eyes.

- Hmmm...? - you just hummed, still lost in the aftershocks of pleasure and your nose buried in his hair.

- Marry me. - he repeated after he raised his head, so his words were more eligible now. You didn't answer at first, still processing the words. - I'm serious. I'm yours, you're mine. Why wait? - it was as simple as that.

- Hmmm... - you pretended to think about it - Mrs. Kerner does have a nice ring to it... - you laughed quietly and pulled him into a deeper kiss. He started to pull out of you, and a needy moan escaped your mouth, which made him smirk.

- Well, about the ring... - he said, pulling even further from you, and shifted, so his upper body was hanging off your bed. He reached somewhere deep under it, and you could feel the mattress shifting from below for a short moment, and then he moved back on top of you and presented you with a simple silver band with very intricate carvings of wildflowers etched into it. He knew you hated any type of jewelry with gemstones, and you didn't like wearing anything that might catch on anything, so that meant that he either went looking specifically for something he knew you'd love and just happened to find it or had it custom-made.

- You hid the engagement ring under my bed? - you couldn't help but laugh.

- You like going through my things, Doll, and I didn't want you to find it. - well, he wasn't wrong. Although by this time you were doing that with his full knowledge and permission because what was his - was yours, and what was yours - was his.

- What are you waiting for? Put it on! - you sat up and gave him your hand. Literally and metaphorically.

- I was waiting for a yes. - he took your hand to put a perfectly sized ring on your finger.

- Yes. You won't get rid of me that easy. With or without the ring. - you chuckled, admiring the intricate etchings on the silver band, not that they mattered, but you were curious.

- I think we already established that... - he replied with a devilish and pulled you into a kiss.

A/N 2: Please don’t feel obligated/pressured to reblog, because I write mostly for myself. A comment would be appreciated though :) Love, G.

#my writing #TW: Stalking #Ron Kerner Fanfiction #Ron Slider Kerner Fanfiction #Slider Fanfiction #Top Gun fanfiction #Top Gun Smut #Ron Kerner x reader #Ron Slider Kerner x reader #Slider x reader #Ron Kerner smut #Ron Slider Kerner smut #Slider smut #🖤 #🎤 #📏 #🔥