Someone may not be interested in relationships but doesn't want to say they're a virgin? Maybe they've fucked an object before? Congrats! They're not a virgin!
Virginity can be a stupid concept, some people lose their virginity to their alters/headmates in their inner worlds.
If people can do that, you can lose it to your plushie or pool toy or TV or laptop.
or... certain pilot going after the prettiest teacher in the whole Top Gun grounds.
warnings : suggestive!
ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: might make this an au why not....
♱ *ೃ.⋆
You're the most respected (and secretly fantasized about) instructor at Top Gun: the only woman, and utterly off-limits. Every cadet has tried their luck; but Maverick doesn’t just try—he dares. You’ve scolded him in class. Ignored his winks. Endured his smug grin when you pass him in the halls. But after today, after that unapproved maneuver, he’s crossed the line.
And now it's detention.
Just you and him.
The room is dead silent except for the tick of the clock on the far wall and the lazy scrape of Maverick’s boot against the tile floor. He’s seated backwards in a chair, arms draped over the backrest like he owns the place, grinning up at you like you’re the one who did something wrong.
Cocky little shit.
His flight suit is unzipped halfway—of course it is—exposing a glimpse of tanned chest and the dog tags that swing gently against his sternum. His hair’s still mussed from the flight. His cheeks flushed. He looks every inch the troublemaker you knew he’d grow into the moment he first winked at you in class.
He shifts, his legs splayed wide, giving you a shameless view as his grin deepens. “Because I’m a fast learner, miss?”
That grin. That swagger. That filthy little glint in his eyes like he already knows what you’re going to do with him—and he’s begging for it.
You narrow your eyes. “You’re not here to flirt.”
His boots scuff as he pushes the chair back a few inches, tilting his chin like he wants you to come closer. “No? Then what am I here for?”
You slowly circle the desk.
Click. Click. Click.
Your heels echo off the tile.
Maverick watches you like a hawk, that pretty pink tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. His hands twitch against the backrest, like he’s thinking about touching you. But he won’t. Not yet. He knows better.
“I told you not to perform that maneuver. I told every single pilot it was restricted during practical. But you did it anyway.” You reach the front of his chair, lean in slightly. “Why?”
He shrugs. “Felt good.”
God, he’s such a brat.
You grip the chair behind his shoulder, lean in just enough so he is face-to-face with the low-cut of your shirt and he can smell the faint hint of perfume you rarely indulge in—only today, because something in your gut knew you’d be dealing with him.
“And if I say you’re not allowed to feel good without permission?” you murmur.
That gets him. He blinks. Licks his lips. Then smiles again, wider this time. “Then I guess I’ve been very, very bad.”
Before he can reply, you grab him by the collar of his flight suit and yank. He stumbles up to his feet, unbalanced by how quickly the control shifts. And you don’t wait, you shove him hard, back into the wall, the solid thump echoing like a warning shot.
Your body presses into his, chest to chest, breath to breath.
“You like disobeying me, Lieutenant?”
His mouth opens. “Yes, ma’a—”
You slap him.
Not hard. Just enough.
Just enough to wipe the smirk off his face.
Just enough to see his pupils dilate, his mouth fall open in shock—and arousal.
You take a step back, arms crossed. “On your knees.”
He blinks.
You tilt your head. “I said, on. Your. Knees.”
He sinks so fast it makes your stomach flutter.
Now he’s looking up at you, eyes wide and dark, hands on his thighs like he knows not to reach. His mouth is slightly parted. Breathing quick. Waiting.
“Open,” you whisper.
He does.
God, that tongue—soft pink, greedy, trembling.
You push two fingers into his mouth. Not slow this time.
He chokes, just once, and moans around you. And stays there.
You work your fingers against his tongue, deeper, slower, hitting his gag reflex just for fun until he’s drooling down his chin and his eyes are fluttering, glassy with heat.
“Maybe I should make you gag every time you disobey,” you murmur, thrusting your fingers deeper, feeling his throath close around your digits with a small spasm. “Until that smug little mouth is too sore to flirt with me in class.”
He hums.
You withdraw slowly, wet and gleaming, and smack his cheek with your slick hand.
“Strip.”
He stares up at you.
You raise your brows. “You need me to help you? are you a puppy?”
He fumbles with the flight suit. Scrambles out of it. That lean, hard body revealed inch by inch—golden skin, toned abs, a cock that’s already hard and twitching against his briefs just from your fingers in his mouth.
“Look at you,” you laugh softly. “Desperate.”
You sink into the chair behind your desk, legs spread, watching him kneel—naked, panting, flushed.
“I’m going to remind you exactly who gives permission to act out, Lieutenant.”
could we get a really slutty mav fanfic you choose the story i need some more smut 😌😌
After Burn
pete “maverick” mitchell x reader
summary: after a you crash and burn at practice (literally), maverick insists on taking you home.
warnings: 18+, training accident, unprotected sex, age gap
wc: 1.05k
a/n: I think I’m getting back into this whole writing thing! I’m a little rusty on the smut, hope you still like it ❤️
“Look at me.”
Your thoughts are racing, you’re looking at everything but the person in front of you.
“It’s my fault,” you mumble.
“Y/n.”
The use of your first name snaps you out of your trance. You focus back to the present, back to the person in front of you.
Maverick.
“Hey, hey, look at me,” he says, placing his hands on your shoulders.
You blink slowly. “I shouldn’t… I didn’t…”
“Listen to me. You did everything right. You’re alive.”
“The plane is wrecked.”
“Planes are replaceable. You are not.”
You close your eyes, trying to ground yourself.
“Let’s go back inside, get you out of this flight suit and get you home, okay?”
You nod and let Maverick guide you back.
He stops outside the women’s locker room.
“You okay?”
You nod again. “I think so.”
“I’ll be right here,” he says, taking one last look at you before sitting on the bench in the hall.
You go into the locker room. As you reach for the lock, you stop. The scene plays out in your head.
You still don’t know how it happened. You lost control of your plane, but managed to crash land on the runway. You remember the smoke billowing out, and Maverick pulling you out of the cockpit.
The door creaks open.
“Lieutenant?”
Maverick’s voice echoes through the locker room.
“Yeah, I’m… I’m fine,” you say, putting the combination into your lock, opening your locker.
You unzip your flight suit and quickly change into your service khakis.
When you walk back out into the hall, Maverick immediately stands.
“Let me drive you home.”
You nod. You don’t want to fight with him. Not today, not after your crash. You just want to go home and lay in bed.
It’s a quiet ride back to your housing.
Maverick pulls into a parking spot and turns the truck off.
“You shouldn’t be alone tonight,” he says.
“I’ll be fine, Mav.”
“I know what it’s like to have a training accident. I isolated myself, and… and it’s not a good idea. Trust me.”
You bite your lip, thinking about what he said.
“Don’t you think it’s inappropriate?”
“No.”
“You answered too quickly,” you laugh awkwardly.
“Come on,” he says, getting out of the truck.
You stay seated, trying to comprehend the day’s events. You’re brought back to the present when Maverick opens the passenger door.
He offers you a hand. You pause.
“Trust me.”
You take his hand and get out of the truck. But neither one of you lets go of the other’s hand as you walk back to your apartment.
You open the door, and Maverick carefully follows you inside.
“Listen, I’m just here for some company. I don’t want to intrude. I’ll be on the couch if that’s okay.”
You nod.
“Go change into something more comfortable, okay?”
You walk into your bedroom, closing the door behind you. You slide down the door and sit on the floor.
You start to cry.
“Y/n,” Maverick says through the door.
You don’t answer.
He turns the doorknob and tries to come in. With you blocking the door, he only opens it a few inches.
“Y/n,” he repeats, softer. “Let me in… Please.”
You stand up and let him in. When he steps in, you move closer to him. He instinctively wraps you in his arms.
“Shh,” he coos, kissing your head.
You close your eyes, your head in the crook of his neck. Breathing him in, letting it ground you.
“I was scared,” you mumble into his neck.
“I know.”
“Mav?”
“Yes?”
“Can you… come to bed with me?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“It is.”
Maverick leads you to the bed, helping you in. He gets in beside you.
You immediately find him, curling up beside him. You kiss his chest.
“Mav…”
“What is it?”
“I want you.”
Pause. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, Mav, I am. I want you and I want to forget what happened in practice.”
“Y/n, I… I’ve wanted you too,” he murmurs.
That’s all the invitation you need.
You crawl up on him, straddling his torso. He runs his hands up your sides.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, taking a hand and gently stroking your cheek.
You smile and lean down to kiss him. The kiss is slow and sure, his hands cradling your face. You instinctively roll your hips against him. A moan escapes him. You roll your hips again, the friction adding something nice for both of you.
hello, can I request for Maverick with a drunk reader? They go to bar after another successful mission, and the reader getting too drunk after taking too many shots. When the reader is drunk, he teases, jokes, and most importantly flirts. Reader is the type of guy like that even when he sober, but when he drunk, it doubled. He flirts with slider and laughs as if he jokes and flirts in the same time and slider play along. It make Maverick jealous a bit(a lot), and as a good roommate(and admirer), he drag his roommate out of the bar, drag reader back to their shared quarters. But the reader is pretty much dangerous when he is drunk. Keep talking dirty, being all touchy. When he was put in bed, he pulled Maverick by the collar and whispering sweet nothing. And yeah, they end up doing devil tango. It's a win-win situation
The bar was dim, alive with the haze of cigarette smoke, the low thrum of music, and the constant clink of glasses. Pete had always liked this place, enough noise to drown out your thoughts, enough bodies to disappear into.
But tonight, he couldn’t take his eyes off (y/n).
His roommate.
His mistake.
(y/n) (l/n) was dangerous when drunk. All loose limbs and lingering touches, flirty smirks hiding sharp, knowing eyes. He wore a snug white shirt tucked halfway into black jeans, curls wild and falling into his face. (y/n) had that look again, trouble wrapped in sweet-talking sin.
And he was currently wrapped around Slider, arms hanging lazily around the taller man’s shoulders, whispering something into his ear that made the guy laugh, blush, touch his waist in return.
Pete’s jaw clenched.
“I’ll get him,” He muttered to Goose, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
He crossed the bar in a few short strides, ignoring the flutter of anticipation in his chest. He touched (y/n)’s shoulder with a possessive grip that made Slider immediately step back.
“Time to go,” Pete said, voice low.
(y/n) turned his head slowly, eyes glassy from drink, smile too smug. “You tryna be my knight in sweaty flight gear, Pete?”
“I’m trying to get your drunk ass home before you do something stupid,” Pete snapped.
“Too late,” (y/n) purred, and let himself be led out.
The walk to their apartment was a blur. Pete kept one hand curled around (y/n)’s wrist like he was afraid the man might float away again. (y/n) didn’t protest, he just leaned closer, breath hot near Pete’s ear, laughing softly every time the pilot twitched.
“You jealous of Slider?” (y/n) asked, fingers brushing up under the back of Pete’s shirt. “You don’t have to be.”
Pete stopped walking. “(y/n), you’re drunk.”
“Mmm. Not that drunk.”
His hand slid lower, to Pete’s waist, slipping under the waistband of his jeans in a slow, suggestive tease.
Pete cursed under his breath.
Back inside the apartment, the door slammed behind them and the silence felt charged.
“You mad at me, Mav?” (y/n) asked, all false innocence and flushed cheeks. He backed him up until Pete’s spine met the wall, and his body reacted. To the voice, the smell of sweat and whiskey on (y/n)’s breath, the hand gripping his belt.
“You’re a fucking menace when you drink,” Pete growled.
“And you love it,” (y/n) murmured. “You like it when I act out, gets you all worked up.”
Pete didn’t answer, but his breath hitched.
(y/n) leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “You didn’t drag me home to play babysitter, did you?”
“I, fuck..-” Pete choked, trying to think, trying to resist.
“You could’ve let me go home with Slider.”
Pete grabbed him by the shirt. “Don’t say his name.”
(y/n) grinned, tilting his head. “That’s what I thought.”
Then he kissed him and it was nothing like he’d expected. (y/n) kissed like he flew: reckless, unapologetic, in control. Tongue sliding past Pete’s lips, hand slipping into his jeans like he had every right to be there.
Pete groaned, trying to push him back, but (y/n) pinned his wrists to the wall instead.
“Let me,” (y/n) whispered, kissing down his jaw. “Let me fuck you, Pete.”
That shouldn’t have made his knees weak. But it did.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” Pete warned, voice shaking.
“Oh, I do,” (y/n) said, dragging him toward the bedroom with frightening ease. “And you’re gonna give it to me.”
The bedroom door slammed behind them, Pete stumbling backward with (y/n) pushing into his space like gravity itself. His back hit the wall, but his heart was already pounding from something deeper than impact.
“(y/n), you're drunk.” Pete muttered.
“I’m not that drunk,” (y/n) whispered again, voice low and dangerous, and god, Pete believed him now.
Because (y/n) was threading his fingers through Pete’s belt loops, tugging, grinding just enough to feel the outline of their cocks press together. (y/n)’s lips brushed his jaw.
“You came to the bar lookin’ at me like you were gonna fuckin’ lose it. And then you did. Dragged me home like a jealous boyfriend.”
“I wasn’t..-”
(y/n) bit his earlobe. “You were. And now you’re gonna deal with it.”
Pete’s hands came up in defense, but (y/n) pinned them effortlessly against the wall, hips rolling in slow, deliberate friction against his front. “You gonna stop me?”
Pete breathed, “No.”
(y/n) didn’t waste time. He stripped him like he’d done this before. Shirt yanked over his head, pants dropped with one pull of the fly, briefs shoved down until Pete was bare and flushed, chest rising with each shaky breath.
(y/n) stepped back just long enough to undress himself, slow, teasing, showing off the lean muscle beneath his tight clothes, a trail of hair dipping down into his boxers.
Pete watched with blown pupils, lips parted. “You’re fucking unreal.”
(y/n) stepped between his knees on the bed, grinning. “Wait until I ruin you.”
And then he was on him.
Pete’s back hit the mattress with a soft thud. (y/n) climbed over him, grabbing his wrists again and pinning them above his head, holding them there with one hand while the other trailed down his chest, fingers grazing a nipple before sliding lower.
Pete arched into the touch, grinding up against (y/n)’s thigh helplessly.
“Desperate already?” (y/n) teased, voice like silk over steel.
“Shut up and, ahh..-”
(y/n)’s fingers wrapped around his cock, slow, teasing strokes while his other hand, having let go of his wrists, worked between Pete’s legs. Two fingers pushed against his rim, circling until he slid one in. Then two.
“God, you’re tight,” (y/n) groaned, pressing kisses down Pete’s chest. “Loosen up, Pete. Let me in.”
Pete moaned, face flushed, thighs twitching around (y/n)’s hand.
(y/n) leaned down, voice warm against his lips. “I wanna hear you. I want the neighbors to know who’s fucking you.”
The stretch was sudden and deep when (y/n) finally pushed in.
Pete gasped, fingers clawing at the sheets now that his hands were free. “Fuck, (y/n), too much..-"
“You can take it,” (y/n) whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth as he began to thrust, slow at first, but hard. Each stroke knocked the air from Pete’s lungs.
“You feel me?” (y/n) growled, hips snapping forward again. “Right there, fuck, you’re squeezing me so good.”
Pete was shaking, sweat slicking his skin, back arched and lips red from biting back moans.
(y/n) didn’t let up.
He grabbed Pete’s thighs, shoved them up and held them there, driving deeper, until the other was panting, whimpering.
“That’s it,” (y/n) groaned, “let me fuck you dumb.”
He angled his hips and hit that sweet spot, making Pete cry out, a wreck beneath him.
“Right there..- fuck, do it again!”
“Oh, baby,” (y/n) rasped, picking up the pace. “You’re mine now. You belong under me like this.”
He leaned down and bit Pete’s shoulder, hips slamming in, the sound of skin on skin filling the room, mixed with the desperate gasps and filthy moans Pete couldn’t hold back anymore.
“Come for me,” (y/n) commanded, hand wrapping around Maverick’s cock.
Can you do an imagine (maverick x bottom male! reader) wherein the reader formerly trained maverick (basically teaching him all he knows but they're the same age, reader's just a genius who ranked higher) before getting into an accident that leaves him disabled and unable to fly again?
Maverick— not allowing a person he respects (and loves) deeply to fall down a pithole of depression, he takes the reader flying before making love with him in a flower field that reader showed him a long time ago as a trainee, reminding him that not everything is over just yet.
The old hangar still smelled of jet fuel and sun-scorched tarmac.
Pete stood in front of the plane, his plane, hands tucked into his jeans, trying to swallow down nerves he never used to feel. But then again, this wasn’t just another mission. This was him.
(y/n).
He looked the same. All lean muscle under a plain shirt and leather jacket that had faded over the years but never lost its authority. There were new lines at the corners of his eyes, a stiffness to the way he stood, ever since the crash. He hadn’t flown since. Not once.
But today, Pete had convinced him.
“Come on, one last ride,” he’d said earlier that morning, soft enough to give (y/n) an out, firm enough to let him know it wasn’t just about flying.
It was about them.
Now, the sun was setting as they taxied down the runway, the cockpit close and quiet. (y/n) didn’t speak much, he never did, but Pete kept stealing glances, cataloguing the way his fingers twitched at the controls, like his body still remembered.
They flew until the sun dipped low and golden, carving the sky into ribbons of orange and lavender. Pete didn’t say a word. He just let (y/n) feel it again. The speed, the freedom, the thing he’d once loved more than anything.
And when they landed, not at base, but a little private airstrip hidden near the cliffs, Pete could see the shimmer in (y/n)’s eyes. Not quite tears. Just memory.
“I can’t believe you still remembered this place,” (y/n) said quietly.
“How could I forget?” Pete replied. “You showed it to me, remember?”
They hiked down in silence, boots crunching on dry grass and pebbles, until the flower field came into view, wild, golden, endless.
(y/n) stopped just at the edge, blinking. “I thought it’d be gone by now.”
Pete stepped behind him, voice low. “It’s still here. Like you.”
(y/n) turned to look at him, and there was something raw in his expression. All those years of longing, restraint, shame from the crash and the guilt that came with it.
“I’m not who I used to be.”
Pete’s voice dropped an octave. “You’re still mine.”
(y/n) opened his mouth, maybe to protest, maybe to speak his heart, but Pete silenced him with a kiss. Deep. Anchored. Years of tension exploding in the press of lips, the way Pete pushed him back gently into the tall grass.
Their jackets were shed quickly. Shirts tugged off. Pete hovered over (y/n), breathless.
“You remember how to take orders, Captain?” Pete murmured, grinning as he slid a hand over (y/n)’s chest.
“From you?” (y/n) rasped, voice tight with anticipation. “Always.”
Pete kissed down his stomach, slow and reverent, dragging his tongue along the soft trail of hair that led to (y/n)’s waistband. He undid his pants without ceremony, freeing (y/n)’s cock and wrapping a hand around it, just to feel the way (y/n)’s breath hitched.
“Fuck, Pete…” (y/n)’s hips arched, legs parting in offering.
Pete shushed him, sucking a bruise into his inner thigh. “You’ve been haunting me,” he said. “Every damn time I fly, I think of you. How you looked in the cockpit. How you taught me everything. How I wanted you even then.”
(y/n) moaned, fingers threading into Pete’s hair as he was taken into Pete’s mouth. Heat rolled through him, shivers climbing up his spine, every inch of him alight. Pete’s mouth was greedy, practiced, tongue swirling, jaw flexing as he took him deeper.
But Pete didn’t let him come. Not yet.
He pulled off with a slick pop, licking his lips as he fumbled for the small tube of lube he’d kept in his jacket pocket. He looked sheepish for exactly one second.
“You planned this,” (y/n) said, breathless.
“I hoped for it.”
He slicked his fingers and pressed one in slowly, watching the way (y/n)’s expression twisted into something desperate and sweet. Then another. Scissoring gently, curling until (y/n) gasped, grabbing fistfuls of grass.
“God, I missed the way you fall apart,” Pete whispered. “Let me fuck you, (y/n). Let me take care of you.”
(y/n) nodded, breath shaky. “Do it.”
Pete lined up and pressed in slowly, inch by inch, and they both groaned when he bottomed out.
The field around them swayed in the wind, petals brushing against bare skin, but all Pete could see was him. The flush on (y/n)’s cheeks, the way his eyes fluttered, his lips parted in wordless pleasure.
He moved slowly at first, rocking into him with care. Worshipful. Each thrust punctuated with breathy gasps and Pete’s low growl of “So tight…” “So good…” “I’ve wanted this for so fucking long.”
And then faster. Rougher.
Pete gripped (y/n)’s hips, fucking him into the earth, the sound of skin against skin rising in the twilight air. He bent down to kiss him, still thrusting deep, swallowing (y/n)’s moans as his cock rubbed perfectly inside him.
(y/n) reached between them, stroking himself fast, desperate.
“Pete..-”
“Come for me, baby.”
(y/n) came with a gasp, body shuddering beneath him, and Pete followed not long after, thrusting deep and staying there, filling him to the brim.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Just the sound of wind in the grass, the last light of day stretching over their spent bodies.
Pete pressed a kiss to (y/n)’s temple. “Let me take you flying again. Every damn day, if you’ll let me.”
(y/n) smiled, exhausted but full of something warm. “Only if you land me like that again.”
or... obsessed husband! maverick having a lazy day home with his wifey !!
warnings : suggestive<33
ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: ... yeah so.. i might be the one obsessed with this concept lol🥰
( 🏷 @callme-holly , @johnnycadesslut )
The California sun, warm and honey-thick, streamed through the blinds of your small, shared home, painting stripes of gold across the wooden floor. It was a perfect, lazy Sunday. The kind of day that felt made for soft pajamas, endless cups of coffee, and the gentle, shared silence of two people completely at ease with one another.
But Pete "Maverick" Mitchell was not at ease.
From the moment he’d woken up, nuzzling into the space between your shoulder blades with a sleep-rough murmur of, "G'mornin', sweetheart," there had been a different kind of energy buzzing under his skin. It was a quiet, persistent hum, a current of pure, unadulterated need that seemed to have him in a constant state of motion towards you.
You felt it first as you stood at the coffee maker, waiting for the blessed brew to finish dripping. His arms slid around your waist from behind, his chest, warm and solid, pressing against your back. He didn't just hold you; he molded himself to you, burying his face in your hair with a deep, inhaling sigh.
"You smell so good," he mumbled against your neck, his voice still gravelly with sleep. "Better than jet fuel in the morning." He placed a single, soft kiss just below your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. It was a familiar ritual, but today, the kiss lingered, his lips warm and insistent.
"Someone's affectionate this morning," you teased, leaning back into his embrace.
"Always am for you," he replied, his tone simple, as if stating an undeniable fact of physics. He gave you one last squeeze before releasing you to pour the coffee, but his eyes never left you.
That was how the entire morning went. He was your shadow, a warm, tactile presence attached to your hip. While you folded laundry on the couch, he sat so close his thigh was flush against yours. He’d pluck a shirt from the basket, fold it clumsily, and then, as if drawn by a magnet, his head would dip, and he’d press a quick, biting kiss to your bare shoulder.
"Pete!" you’d laugh, swatting at him playfully.
"Just a little one," he'd argue, a boyish grin spreading across his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Couldn't help it."
When you got up to put the folded clothes away, he followed you into the bedroom, his hands finding your hips as you placed stacks in the dresser. He’d rest his chin on your shoulder, watching your hands work, then turn his head to pepper the side of your neck with a series of light, rapid-fire kisses that made you giggle and squirm.
"You're like a puppy today," you said, turning in his arms to face him. You smoothed a hand over his sleep-mussed hair. "What's gotten into you?"
He just looked at you, his gaze so intensely fond it nearly stole your breath. "Just you," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "It's always you." He leaned in and captured your lips in a soft, fleeting kiss. It was over before it really began, leaving you wanting more. He pulled back with a satisfied sigh, his thumb stroking your cheek. "Just one more," he whispered, and dipped in for another peck.
It continued through lunch. As you made sandwiches, he came up behind you, his arms a secure cage around you as he nibbled on the shell of your ear. When you tried to shoo him away so you could slice the tomato, he just chuckled, a low, warm sound against your back, and reluctantly released you, only to lean against the counter and watch you with a simmering heat in his eyes that promised this wasn't over.
By early afternoon, the constant, gentle assault was driving you wonderfully, delightfully mad. Every touch, every stolen kiss, was a spark on kindling, building a slow, warm fire in your belly. He was a man possessed, not by demons, but by a desperate, puppy-like love for his own wife.
The breaking point came in the kitchen. You were washing the few lunch dishes, your hands submerged in the warm, soapy water. You heard his soft footfalls on the tile behind you, but this time, there was no preamble of arms around your waist. He came right up against you, his body firm and unyielding, caging you against the cool countertop. His hands settled on your hips, his grip firm but not rough.
You turned off the faucet, the sudden silence loud in the room. You could feel the heat of him through your thin pajamas.
"Pete?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.
He didn't answer with words. Instead, he bent his head and pressed his lips to the junction of your neck and shoulder. It wasn't a quick peck. It was a long, slow, open-mouthed kiss that had you gripping the edge of the sink. He sighed, a sound of pure contentment and yearning, and then trailed a line of softer kisses up the column of your throat.
"You taste like home," he murmured, his breath hot against your damp skin.
He turned you slowly in his arms until you were facing him. His eyes were dark, the green almost swallowed by black, his expression one of raw, unguarded need. He framed your face with his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones.
"Just one more kiss, baby," he breathed, his voice a low, pleading rasp. "Please?"
He didn't wait for an answer. He dipped his head and captured your lips.
It started as another one of his soft, fleeting pecks. But as he went to pull away, something shifted. A whimper, small and involuntary, escaped your throat. You reached up, one hand sliding into his soft, thick hair, your fingers tangling at the nape of his neck.
It was as if you’d flipped a switch.
A shudder ran through him, a full-body tremor of surrender. The last vestige of his playful control shattered. The soft pecks were gone.
With a low, guttural sound from deep in his chest, he melted into you, his mouth slanting over yours in a kiss that was no longer a request, but a claiming. This was not the playful husband of this morning. This was Maverick, desperate and hungry.
His arms banded around you, crushing you to his chest as he pinned you more firmly against the counter. The kiss deepened, becoming hot, wet, and searching. His tongue swept into your mouth, and you met it with your own, a silent permission that had him groaning. One of his hands slid from your face, down your back, pressing you into him until you could feel every hard plane of his body. The other hand fisted in the fabric of your shirt at your waist, holding on as if he were adrift and you were his only anchor.
He kissed you like he was starved for it, like he’d been holding his breath all day and only your air could sustain him. It was all-consuming, a little reckless, filled with the same intensity he poured into flying. He was flying dangerously close to the sun now, and he was taking you with him.
When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, you were both breathless. He didn't go far, resting his forehead against yours, his eyes closed. His chest heaved against yours.
"See?" he panted, a ghost of his earlier smirk playing on his swollen lips. "Told you I just needed one more."
You laughed, a breathless, happy sound, and stroked his hair. "You're a liar, Mitchell."
His eyes opened, and the look in them was so full of smitten, desperate love it made your heart ache. "For you? Always." He leaned in again, but this time it was softer, a slow, tender kiss that sealed the promise of the long, lazy Sunday afternoon melting into an even slower, more intimate evening. He sighed against your mouth, the word a prayer, a promise, a completion.
i neeeddd more tom cruise fics i love ur imagines abt him steve or maverick idc!!🙏🏼🙏🏼
────۶ৎ eat first, coffee later
or... your boyfriend coming home to you from break a little pent up.
warnings : smut<3
ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: sorry guys i'm ovulating and came up with this🙏
♱ *ೃ.⋆
The front door hadn’t even closed behind him before he was on you.
You hadn’t even gotten the words “Welcome ho-” out of your mouth before Pete Maverick Mitchell slammed it shut with one hand and pushed you up against it with the other.
The cold from outside still clung to him, but his mouth was scalding hot when it crashed into yours—urgent, wild, messy. His duffel hit the floor with a loud thud, his other hand already shoving your thigh up around his hip.
“Fucking finally,” he growled into your mouth, breath ragged like he’d just run a mile. “I’ve been losing my goddamn mind counting down the days.”
“Jesus, Mav, slow down-” you tried to laugh, but his lips crushed yours again, need devouring every syllable.
“Baby, I just spent three months flying ten-hour days with a hard-on. You think I came home to cuddle?”
You couldn’t stop the heat that flushed your skin.
“I was gonna make you coffee,” you teased, breath hitching as his hand slid under your skirt.
He grinned—but it was feral. Dangerous.
“Yeah? You know what I want to drink instead?” His voice dropped as his fingers slid over your panties, groaning when they came back soaked. “This. Fucking this. Wet for me already, baby?”
“I was excited to see you,” you whispered, gasping when his teeth grazed your jaw.
He growled, licking into your neck. “God, I fucking missed you. Missed this smell. Missed how you taste.”
Your breath hitched as he dropped to his knees in front of you, both hands under your skirt, rucking it up over your hips.
“Mav- wait, wait, the floor’s-”
“Don’t care. Let me see what I’ve been starving for.”
Your back hit the door hard. He pushed your leg higher, lips pressing kisses up your inner thigh, slow and reverent—but his breathing was wild. Like a man coming apart before he even touched you.
“You have those lacy white panties on,” he whispered, voice hoarse as he mouthed over the soaked fabric. “You wore these just for me, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t think you’d—oh god—”
His tongue pressed against you through the lace, licking a hot, heavy stripe up your center.
“Fuck,” he growled into you. “You don’t know how bad I’ve needed this. I swear to God, I almost came in my seat just thinking about getting your thighs around my face again.”
Your fingers tangled in his hair as he mouthed you like he was trying to get drunk on you, licking you through the lace, groaning like a man possessed.
“You’re fucking insane,” you gasped, head thudding back. “You just got home—”
“Exactly,” he cut you off, voice rough. “Three months in that sterile, bunk-ass barracks, thinking about your pussy. I’ve had my hand around my cock almost every goddamn night, and it was never enough.”
His hands slid up your thighs, forcing them apart wider. “This pussy’s mine. Say it.”
“It’s yours,” you moaned, hips bucking into his face.
He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your core. “Damn right it is.”
He pressed his face between your thighs like a man starved, inhaling deep against the heat soaked fabric. “Fuck—these are ruined already.” He huffed a laugh, mouthing you through the lace with slow, wet strokes of his tongue. “Jesus, you smell so fuckin’ good.”
Your head thudded against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, the sound of his hungry growls and the slurping wet heat between your legs making your thighs shake already.
You could barely breathe before he shoved his nose against your clit, humping into your high heel like some filthy animal in heat.
His teeth caught the waistband of your panties, dragging them down just far enough to bare you, and then his mouth was on you—really on you.
Tongue flat and wide, dragging from your dripping entrance up to your clit in long, feral strokes, like he couldn’t decide whether to worship or devour you. You could hear him moaning against you, grinding his cock through his pants into your leg, using your shoe as leverage like he couldn’t stop himself.
“Soaked. So fucking wet. Just for me. You’re gonna come, baby. Right on my face. M'not moving until you flood my mouth.”he rasped, tongue licking into your folds as you squirmed against the door.
His mouth latched onto your clit, his fingers joined his mouth without warning, sliding inside you with a wet, obscene sound that made both of you groan.
"You're clenching already? Shit, girl—who’s this tight for, huh? You saving it for me like a good little whore?"
Your answer was a strangled cry, fingers buried in his hair, yanking, holding, pleading. He didn’t stop. Didn’t pause. Just kept fucking you with his mouth like a man who hadn’t eaten in weeks.
Your heel dug into the floor as he rutted harder against your leg, fucking his hips against the contact like he couldn’t wait another second to be inside you.
You whimpered, trying to close your legs as the pressure built.
“Uh-uh,” he growled, grabbing your thighs. “Keep them open for me. Be my good girl. Let me wreck this pretty cunt.”
Your voice broke. “Pete, I—I’m gonna—fuck—”
“You’re gonna come in my mouth before we even get to the fucking bed.”
He growled into your pussy like a man deranged, dragging his tongue up your slit, two fingers still pumping and curling inside you while his thumb replaced his mouth on your clit, rubbing fast, tight circles that made your knees give.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he rasped, face soaked with you, lips wet and swollen from the relentless worship. “Give it to me. Give me the first one right here, where I fuckin’ belong.”
Your orgasm slammed into you like a crash landing, your whole body locking up as you cried out, hips bucking wildly into his face. Maverick groaned against your clit like a man finally home, tongue working you through every last spasm, licking until your thighs trembled and your breath hitched into broken whines.
He only stopped when your legs gave out.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” you gasped, clinging to his shoulders as he stood, his face soaked, lips red and swollen, beard damp with you.
He looked wrecked. Like eating you had taken something from him.
But he smiled.
And it was feral.
“First one down,” he whispered into your ear, arms locking around your waist.
“Y-You’re insane.”
“Only for you, sweetheart.”
He grinded his cock into your stomach, still fully hard. Still desperate.
“I’m not even halfway done with you. Now I’m gonna bend you over the couch,” he hissed against your jaw, “pull that skirt up again, and fuck you until you forget your own name.”
You smirked, breathless. “You think you’ve earned that?”
Maverick stepped back, eyes gleaming.
“Oh, baby,” he growled, licking your taste off his lips. “I’ve served for that.”
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