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callsignthirsty · 2 years

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Wrong Answer, Sweetheart

This man? Jealous? Possessive? Wherever did you get that idea? @juniebugg and @redpandabel this is for you.

Pairing: Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x F!Reader Word Count: 3600 Warnings: Smut, possessive behavior, jealousy, dirty talk Minors DNI

The O Club is full to bursting by the time you arrive. Which is to be expected on a Friday. Officers and civvies mingling with drinks in hand.

Ice had called you earlier, the patter of a shower in the background as he told you that he and the guys were headed over to grab a drink once they were done in the locker room. He asked you to meet him there. The thing the two of you have going on is still relatively new, so you were quick to agree, your finger twirling in the phone cable at the thought of Ice leaning over the phone in little more than a towel. You wrapped up your work for the day, drove home for a change of clothes, and then walked over to the club, fully expecting to be going home with Ice at the end of the night.

You spot him — well, more accurately, you spot Slider (the man's too damn tall) — in the corner of the bar near the pool table, surrounded by the rest of his class, and push your way through the crowd. When you reach the group, you brush your hand over Ice's arm, sidling up to him and meeting his eyes through your long lashes. "Hey."

And for a heart-stopping moment, he fixes you with a smile-

"Well, look who it is," Wolfman drawls, Hollywood whistling as you settle against Ice's side.

"Lookin' mighty fine today, Mrs. Ice," Hollywood says with a wink, and you chuckle at the harmless flirtation. They all know you're off-limits, but Ice's hand tightens around your waist all the same, and he shoots Hollywood a glare while he takes a sip of his beer.

Wolfman isn't deterred. " Mighty fine. " If anything, Ice's annoyance spurs him on. "Say, you wouldn't happen to have a sister, would you?"

"She'd be out of your league, too, Wolf," Slider says, earning a satisfied snort from Ice and howls from the rest of the pilots. After that, the conversation drifts back to where it had derailed when you first joined.

Eventually, you decide that you need a drink. You try to bring Ice with you, but he's busy detailing all the reasons why what Chipper said is categorically wrong. He gently shakes your hand from his and leaves you to wander to the bar on your own.

Your lips press into a tight line. You open your mouth to say something — why invite me along for a drink if you aren't going to spend time with me? — but stop short. That won't get you anywhere, not in front of his colleagues.

You stomp your way through the crowd until you're pressed against the smooth, lacquered wood of the bar and settle in for the long wait until the bartender can take your order. You're drawing figure eights in the condensation left behind by someone's glass when someone shoves themself into the bar beside you

"Hey!" A smile parts your lips. Mav. You pull the pilot into a hug. "When did you get here?" Mav is easy to talk with, and the two of you fall into an easy conversation. He asks you about your job, smiling even though you know he must be bored out of his mind while you go on about your spreadsheets.

It doesn't take long for the conversation to turn flirty, as things with Mav tend to do. He brushes imaginary dust off your shoulder, places a hand against the small of your back to steady you when some rowdy patrons knock you off balance, leans in close so he can hear you over the music and other conversations. You know that he doesn't mean anything by it. Not with you. It's just who he is — all dare and charm and green eyes.

Every so often, your attention flickers over to Ice, but he's still deep in conversation.

When the bartender finally makes it over to you, you ask him for a beer — whatever's on tap — and Mav leans in to add his and Goose's next round on top of it. "Put it on my tab."

Mouth open in mock surprise, you turn to face the pilot. "Are you buying me a drink, Mav?"

"Someone's got to," he says, eyebrow raised as he chances his own look toward Ice.

"Pretty bold of you."

"I'm told some women like bold."

"Some?" Mav looks down and to the side at your question as if he's embarrassed. And that's something you weren't expecting. You wonder who the lucky lady is. "Is the notorious Maverick having girl troubles?" His eyes meet yours, and you know that you're right. As the bartender returns with your drinks, you bite your bottom lip to hold in a guffaw. "Oh c'mon, Mav. A pretty boy like you?"

A hand slams on the bar between you and Maverick no later than those words leave your lips. You jump, eyes blown wide in surprise.

"Money for the lady's drink."

"Hey, Ice." Mav stumbles back against the bar, a mischievous glint in his green eyes as Ice forcibly shoulders his way between you and the other pilot.

"Mitchell." He shoots Mav a look that could kill. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Thought that was pretty obvious," Mav says. "I was buying a pretty girl a drink." He has the audacity to wink at you, and Ice shoves himself further into his space.

"You better watch your mouth," Ice snaps.

A Cheshire grin takes over Maverick's face. "I've certainly got my eyes on someone's mouth."

Instead of responding, Ice reaches out and grabs your hand, still glaring at Maverick. "We're leaving."

"Don't be ridiculous," you say, slipping your hand from his as he'd done to you earlier. "We just got here."

"Yeah, Ice." And Mav knows precisely what he's doing with that mocking tone. Ice stands to his full height, looking down his nose at Maverick, who is more than a couple inches shorter than him with the way he's casually leaning against the bar. "Don't be ridiculous."

A hand grabs your arm around the bicep and leads — practically drags — you out of the bar. Mav gives you a half-hearted salute, all three drinks in his hands as he disappears into the crowd like the shit-stirring goblin he is.

Ice escorts you from the bar in record time. His face is an indecipherable mask as he brings you to the passenger side of his car, opens the door, and crowds forward until you have no choice but to sit in the leather seat. He towers over you. "What the hell was that?"

"Which part? You ditching me in a Navy bar, or you dragging me out of said bar?"

Light from the building plays across his jaw as it tenses, but that's the only tell that anything is wrong. Otherwise, his expression gives nothing away. "Why were you talking with Mitchell?" It's less a question than a demand for an answer.

You can't help but scoff. "You can't ditch your girl at a bar and then act surprised when someone gives her a little attention."

"You like that, huh? The attention of other guys."

And it stings. Hot and cold at the same time. Like frostbite. Two can play at that game. "Nothing wrong with a little variety," you bite back. It's a lie; normally, Ice would know that, but his eyes are still glacial when he steps back to close your door and hops into the driver's seat. He sits there for a handful of seconds, not looking at you. Not starting the car. So you make a split-second decision and place your hand on the door pull, popping it open.

"Where do you think you're going?" His eyes bore into the back of your head. It's enough to stop you in your tracks.

"For a drink."

"With Mitchell."

You glare back at him, exasperated. "Yeah. With Mav." You like that, huh? The attention of other guys. "Don't wait up. I'm sure he can give me a ride home."

Your eyes stay locked, neither of you blinking as the implication hangs heavy in the air.

"You're not going anywhere." You close the door as Ice starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot.

The ride to Ice's housing is silent. Ice eyes the road with a single-minded determination, his face an impassive mask, but his fists grip the steering wheel harder than necessary. You look resolutely out the passenger window as dark, sandy beaches turn into telephone poles, mailboxes, fences, and finally, Ice's driveway. Ice doesn't help you out of the car when you arrive, just unlocks the front door and expects you to follow.

You find him in the kitchen, sipping bourbon and pouring another two fingers' worth of the amber liquid into a rocks glass for you. But you turn the drink down when he tries to hand it to you. "I'm not thirsty."

"But you'll let Mitchell buy you a drink."

"At least he offered." You wanted him to buy you a drink, but he'd been too busy for you.

"That why you let him touch you?"

Your eyes roll. "Is that what this is about?"

"That is exactly what this is about." Ice throws your drink back in one go, leaving both glasses on the counter before crowding you against the wall. The glint behind blue eyes tells you you're in trouble. "You are mine ." Each word is bitten out, and you can't help how you react, head tilting back and lips parting in anticipation of a kiss that never comes. Instead, Ice leans in until his breath caresses your ear. "Or do you need a reminder?"

You'd love one. Instead, you say: "I don't belong to anybody ."

A deceptively soft kiss is pressed to the spot where your jaw meets the long line of your neck. "Wrong answer, sweetheart." One of Ice's hands grabs you by the back of the neck and pulls you into a bruising kiss, his tongue tasting of vanilla, oak, and caramel from the bourbon. You moan helplessly as his teeth catch your lower lip before he releases it in favor of sucking a deep mark over your pulse. One you won't be able to hide. One he'll be sure to parade you around in with his arm draped around your waist or hand tucked into your back pocket.

And a part of you likes the idea of that. Shouldn't , but does, and it sends a thrill through you.

"Get on your knees." Heat blossoms in your chest, mouth watering as your tongue runs over your lips to chase the hints of bourbon Ice has left behind. Placing your hands on Ice's chest, you scratch your nails down his front until your knees hit the kitchen tile. "You know what to do." You do. Your fingers trace the outline of him where he's already straining through his pants, but he stops that real quick.

His fingers catch your chin and angle your face up. "Don't tease." Then, while he still clutches your chin, you blindly reach for his belt, the metal clinking open before you pop the button and pull down his zipper. His other hand pulls his cock free and slaps it against your cheek before brushing it against your full lips. "Open up."

Your pink tongue pokes past your lips in invitation as Ice guides his cock into your mouth. His taste on your tongue never fails to pull a groan from you. Ice encourages you with a hiss. You lick around the fat tip before enthusiastically taking more of him into your hot mouth.

"That's it," he encourages as you get into a rhythm, bobbing up and down on his cock. You hollow your cheeks as you release the head with a pop to kiss and lick all along the shaft, lips dark and slick with spit as you take him into your mouth once again. "That's my girl." You moan around his cock in your mouth — my girl — the vibrations knocking Ice's head back, his hips jerking forward until you're gagging, eyes glassy with unshed tears. "Look so good chocking on my cock." The praise has you practically purring, and you pull off his cock for a quick breath before taking him as far down as you can, ignoring the tears as they track down your cheeks and swallow around him. You're rewarded with another sinful groan that goes straight to the heat between your legs.

A hand pulls you off of him, Ice's other hand coming down to fist at his cock, its glide slick. And he hasn't done this before, but you keep your mouth open, looking up at him through long lashes when his breath catches, and the first rope of his release bursts salty across your tongue. When he's done, he catches the cum that's missed your lips with his thumb and pushes it against your tongue, and you suck it down with the rest of him.

Ice is on you again as soon as you stand up, the crisscross of the kitchen tiles still freshly imprinted on your knees. Your back is once again pressed to the wall, one of your legs pulled up to circle his hip, blue eyes sharp as his hand slips beneath the waist of your jean shorts to find you soaking.

"Look at you," he murmurs, fingers gliding over your puffy lips. "Who's got you this wet, huh?" You huff and look away, and he sinks a finger into you to the knuckle. No resistance. "Eyes on me, sweetheart." And the endearment sounds vicious from his lips. You don't want to look, but you can't help it. He's magnetic.

You whimper and grind your swollen clit against his palm when he slips another finger into you, but Ice pulls back. His fingers return to running up and down the length of your heat — "Who?" — barely-there touches a far cry from what he knows you need.

"You know who," you say, swiveling your hips and pulling him closer to you with the leg wrapped around his hip and down his leg. His fingers start up again, and you let out a breathy chuckle, thinking you've won.

Ice's fingers skillfully build you up higher and higher until: "Yeah, but I want to hear you say it." You clench desperately around nothing when his fingers withdraw. Your high receding like the tide until it has well and truly slipped through your fingers and all you can do is whine. Once he's sure you're not going to cum, his fingers press back into you, massaging at your g-spot, and you arch into him, keening. "Who?"

"Fuck, Ice. You. "

"That's not my name."

Another frustrated groan tumbles from your lips as his fingers leave your core to ruck your shirt up beneath your arms, pulling down the cups of your bra until your breasts pop out. He attacks a nipple with lips and teeth and tongue. "You, Tom. You, you, you ."

He pulls off of you when you arch into his mouth. "That wasn't so hard, now, was it?" His lips ghost up your neck with a final lick to your peaked nipple, drawing goosebumps in their wake. "What do you want me to do about it?" he whispers directly into your ear, tugging at the lobe with his teeth. His hips rock against yours, pressing hot and hard against your clothed clit, fingers skimming along the waist of your shorts, and you whimper. Ready for round two.

"Touch me. Please."

Ice releases your leg, hooks his fingers in your belt loops, and drags you away from the wall. Then, faster than you can keep up with while your mind is swimming, he bends you over the kitchen table. Talented fingers reach around to unbutton your shorts and pull them down your long legs. You peek at him over your shoulder, shivering at the chill of fresh air against your slick folds. Ice's hands are back on you, but they aren't touching you where you need him to, fingers skirting around your slick heat to tease your upper thighs. You groan.

"What? You said to touch you."

"That the best you got, Ice?" You yelp, back arching when Ice's palm connects with your asscheek, its sting blazing and blurring into pleasure.

"I'm just getting started."

His fingers delve back into your heat and yours grip the edge of the table, eyes falling shut as you press your cheek against the polished wood, and you moan.

When you open your eyes again, you have a clear line of sight to the window at the front of the assignment. The glass is blocked by a near-translucent sheet — calling it a curtain would probably be too generous. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip to fend off a groan as Ice's fingers disappear from you, the sound of his zipper soon following. "We should probably take this upstairs," you suggest, neck craning as your eyes lock with his over your shoulder.

Ice runs the thick head of his cock over your cunt, leans over you, and his fingers are back on your jaw. He redirects your gaze to the window, the fabric billowing in the gentle night breeze. "Thought you liked the attention," he hisses into your ear, and then he's sinking into you in a single thrust.

He doesn't give you time to adjust to him, just picks up a slow tempo — dragging his hips back until you're squeezing around nothing and filling you back up until your walls are fluttering around him and your cheeks are flushed. "We just started," he murmurs, "and you're already close, aren't you?"

You want to say something clever about how he's brought you the edge a couple times now, but he fucks the words out of you, chuckling as you make a strangled noise.

"Bet Mitchell couldn't fuck you like this, huh?"

And you know it's supposed to be rhetorical, but you can't help yourself. "Bet he'd think of something," you pant. "He's creative like that."

"Pretty boy wouldn't know what to do with a girl like you."

"You spend a lot of time thinking about Mav fucking me?"

Ice presses your cheek back into the table, his hand resting between your shoulder blades so that your ass sticks up in the air. "Shut up." His pace picks up with the steady clap of skin on skin and the creak of the table against the tile floor. And the spring in your abdomen coils so tight that if he keeps fucking you like that, you'll reach nirvana in no time.

"You're mine, " he all but growls, biting at the junction of your neck and shoulder and sucking. "Mine to treat. Mine to touch. Mine to fuck whenever and wherever —" his hand fists in your hair, pulling until you're staring straight out the window to the deserted road "—I want." Your body spasms, walls fluttering around his cock before it disappears, and you could scream , but all that comes out is a whimper. "And you'll cum when I let you."

"You fucking dick," you seethe.

"You love my fucking dick." He thrusts back into you, pulling out again when you roll back to meet him halfway. "Don't you?" You throw your head back and keen when he bottoms out in you again, grinding that perfect cock against your sweet spot and making you see stars. "Tell me."

"I fucking love your cock."

"Yeah, you do." Ice rewards you with another hard thrust. "Whose pussy is this?"

"Yours." You clench down around him, unable to help the roll of your hips against his. "All yours. Only yours."

"You sure, princess? Sounded like you didn't need me earlier," he says, and it's smug now. Mocking. "Sure you don't want me to call Mitchell to finish you off?"

"He couldn't handle me," you whine. "Couldn't treat me good like you do. Pretty boy couldn't — fuck!" You're babbling now, Ice's pace picking up to fuck you stupid, but you don't care that the neighbors can hear you as long as Ice keeps fucking you like that. As long as he keeps hitting that spot and his balls keep slapping your clit, keeps kissing your neck, keeps grunting in your ear.

"Couldn't what, sweetheart?" His hands pull your hips back to meet his.

"Couldn't give me what I need. Not like you can. Fuck! Not like you. Never like you."

You're so close that it hurts. "Please," you sob, tears prickling at the corner of your eyes. "Please, Tom. Please let me cum. Please, please, please. I'm yours. All yours. Please."

"Don't worry, baby," he croons. "I've got you."

And then you're dissolving into pleasure, melting into the wood grain of the table as Ice continues to chase his own end. He pulls out when his hips stutter, hand on his cock, cumming all over your pussy, thick strands of white dripping down your thighs.

His.

Instead of letting you up, Ice leans back over you, taking his time to suck more marks into the unblemished canvas of your shoulders, neck, jaw.

“Ice,” you whine, your earlier passion replaced with heart-swelling annoyance. “You can’t do this every time someone talks to me at the bar.”

Ice smiles against your skin, calloused hands running a path down your body until they reach your soiled thighs and give you a mischievous squeeze. “Guess you’ll just have to be more careful.”

You guffaw. “Of what? Talking with people?”

“You’re mine, and I don’t share,” he hums, nuzzling his agreement into the crook of your neck. “ Especially not with Mitchell.”

#thirsty answers #tom iceman kazansky x reader #tom kazansky x reader #iceman x reader #top gun 1986 #tom iceman kazansky #tom iceman kazansky smut #iceman smut #top gun smut #female reader #f!reader

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tiredlilguy · 7 months

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[DILFTOBER] [NSFW] [CURRENTLY ON PAUSE]

lost? main masterlist page. / welcome page.

desc: yo, in fashion of october being every writer/artist's time to shine and crack out daily to weekly stuff, i am joining >:D this october for me is going to be dilftober (with my fav dilfs). this is only going to be an event for this month, and i will be pumping out five fics this month! masterlist will get updated accordingly on this one as well as their respective fandom lists... i hope you enjoy :O below is what to look forward to~

key: scenarios - [s] layout goes like: [character]|[kink]|[title]

this series is also available on A03! >:D

last updated: 240211

WEEK 1 (starting off like i usually do... with a stormbringer character ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)) iceman|size + food play [s] WEEK 2 kento nanami|overstimulation + breeding + sensory deprivation [s] WEEK 3 shouta aizawa|bondage [s] WEEK 4 oda sakunosuke|virginity loss [s] WEEK 5 lucifer morningstar (obey me!)|edging + decryphilia [s] (BONUS!) WEEK 6 kishibe (chainsawman)|waxplay + orgasm control + h*nd h*lding [s]

enjoy ;) ya filthy animals

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roosterbruiser · 1 year

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Now hold on!! What about an iceman blurb! Anything would work honestly

prompt I chose: I love the way your brain works.

"how's it going?" Ice asks from his spot on the sofa, glancing over at you on the loveseat. you're hunched over, eyes narrowed in concentration, lips tucked between your teeth. "don't hurt yourself."

"I'll bite you," you warn absently, not glancing up at him.

he smirks, just about to quip something witty back, when you drop your voice a few octaves and mock him, "I should be so lucky."

"trying to say I'm getting predictable or something, slugger?"

"love it when you talk baseball to me," you mutter, still not looking away from your deformed chain. "gets me real hot and bothered."

he can't wipe that grin off his face--that broad one that only you can stick on his lips for more than a few fleeting minutes.

your fingers are tangled in yarn, as are your forearms somehow, and you can't quite figure out how yarning over works or what the fuck chaining one even means. your concoction doesn't look great--hardly looks good, even--but it's much better than when you first started.

Ice knows that you're dedicated like this. you'll spend your day off picking up a new hobby and obsessively restart it until it begins to resemble something remotely successful. he admires it, really, how stubborn you are about it.

since this is a rare day off for him, too, he spent it doing the things he enjoys but hardly gets to do. he went for a run, grabbed decent coffee from the local roasterie, grilled steak for dinner. and now he's watching an old baseball game--except he's moreso been watching you diligently work on whatever it is you're making.

"whatcha making anyway?" Ice hums, raising his brows and craning his neck to look at the twists of yarn in his lap.

very seriously, you hold up a very uneven and pathetic rope that took you more time than you care to admit to complete, and look him dead in the eyes.

"a scarf," you tell him, "for you."

and dammit if he doesn't have a hard time keeping up that cool exterior. so much so that when he's at home with you, there's really no such thing as Iceman--he's just Tom. still, he tries to keep some semblance of composure.

"oh?" he asks, his heart pulsing with affection. with the baseball game still droning on in the background and totally forgotten, he pushes himself up on his elbows before nodding sharply for you to come to him. "c'mere. I wanna try it on."

you debate it for a moment, looking down at your creation. it isn't necessarily what you envisioned when you started out. it's certainly not thick enough to be a scarf--nor is it long enough to wrap around his throat twice.

"c'mon," he encourages, a grin tugging at his lips. "I won't bite."

and this time, Ice mocks you, raising his voice a few octaves and waggling his eyebrows: "I wish you would."

narrowing your eyes at him, but biting a smile all the same, you slink off the sofa and then settle yourself on his lap, a fair amount of blue yarn trailing behind you.

Ice, smirking, holds onto your thighs and watches as you detangle yourself from your creation, eyebrows knit.

"got it, slugger?"

"you're in the danger zone," you warn, all bark and no bite. "here."

he sits up and lets you wrap the scarf around his throat, never minding that it's the middle of summer in California or the fact that he only has on a tee-shirt and boxers right now.

and then you press your palms against his hard belly, lips pursed as you admire the color against his tanned skin. he's grinning up at you, massaging the meat of your thighs until you're squirming a bit.

"how do I look?" he asks.

sucking your teeth, you fidget with a particularly strange looking stitch.

"whipped," you answer honestly.

he barks out a big laugh and you keen.

"that's the ugliest thing I've ever seen," you chuckle. he's still laughing and now you're laughing harder, too. "I mean, really, don't wear that out of the house! it's bad!"

"no, it's not!" he insists.

groaning, you collapse on his chest, cheek pressed against his neck.

"I just wasted my day off," you complain, but he can still feel that smile on your lips, that chuckle in your throat.

he smooths his hands over your hair, humming.

"nuh-uh," he insists. "I love it. really, I do! I'm gonna wear it to work tomorrow."

"fat chance," you snort.

he teasingly pinches your sides until you're squeaking and burrowing deeper against the warm skin of his throat.

"how 'bout this," he starts, tucking your hair behind your ears and craning his neck to catch your gaze. "Mav's birthday's coming up. we could always...regift."

grinning, you hold his cheeks.

"I love the way your mind works."

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mysticaldeanvoidhorse · 1 year

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Not to get political here, but 80s and 90s Val Kilmer can rail me anytime

#val kilmer #tom kazansky #iceman top gun #top gun headcanons #doing my best #my words #hot boi #iceman smut #i love him #celebrity crush #need i say more #can i say that #top gun maverick #top gun fandom #quotes #rambles #what else can i say #what a man

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topgun-imagines · 1 year

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ANGST

Just A Dream

After a terrible dream Ice heads out on a run to clear his mind, unintentionally seeking out the one person he needed most. Warnings: car accident, death, nightmares.

Promise?

You hear something that you're not supposed to. Ice tries to explain himself. But is he too late? Warnings: arguments, bird strike, plane crash, hospitals, allusions to smut.

Hurting

After Ice finds out you lied to him he comes to confront you about it, not at all expecting to learn what he does. Warnings: abuse, derogatory language, swearing, bruises, blood, crying, parental abuse.

The Truth

You have a beautiful relationship with Goose. One that only began because of a certain blond pilot. Warnings: angst, marriage, break ups, conflicted emotions.

It’s Okay

After Goose’s death, Ice is there to help you put the pieces back. But maybe you’re not the only one that needs reassurance. Warnings: death, plane crash.

Sleepless Nights

One night, Ice finds out that you have trouble sleeping. He will do anything in his power to change that. Warnings: angst, nightmares, insomnia, death.

You’re Not Alone

After Ice makes a comment that, unbeknownst to him, hurts you, he needs to make sure that you know just how sorry he is. Warnings: sexism, crying, arguments, drinking.

Touch

Ice notices that you have become more distant since you moved in together. When it’s been nearly weeks of you avoiding his touch, he confronts you about it. Warnings: angst, touch adversity, messy relationships, light abuse.

I’m Not Going Anywhere

Iceman finally gets the courage to confess his feeling for you after he learns you’re leaving Top Gun. Warnings: angst, crying, arguments, medical terminology, cerebral palsy.

Scared

A fight between you and your fiancé spirals out of control. Warnings: angst, light abuse, flinching, arguments, cuts, blood, tears.

SMUT

Bratty

You learn what happens after you act like a brat at a New Year’s Eve party. 18+ Warnings: smut, penetrative sex, fingering, oral sex (f!recieving), cum play, drinking, foul language.

FLUFF

Better Than We Thought

After a date night doesn’t go as planned, you and Ice come up with something else. Is it able to salvage the night or is it a waste of time? Warnings: None.

Pay Attention

Ice needs something to fiddle with. Braiding your hair seems like a good idea. Warnings: None.

Perfect Night

You and Ice spend the night in your backyard with nothing but s’mores, stars and each other. Warnings: None.

Sick Day

Ice looks after you while you’re sick, even going as far as making you his homemade soup. Warnings: sickness.

Finally

After months of trying for a baby, you and your husband finally get the chance. Warnings: conceptions issues, pregnancy, vomiting.

The One

A night of singing at the bar leads Ice to realize something. Maybe you’re the one for him. Warnings: drinking.

Seven Minutes

A game night with friends leads to confessions made in an unconventional way. Warnings: light smut, drinking.

That’s My Sister

Once you finally have a moment alone with your boyfriend, your brother just can’t help but interrupt. Warnings: None.

She’s His Girl

Maverick has a talk with Iceman after the events in the locker room. Once you finally have a chance to explain yourself, Maverick realizes just how much you love each other. Warnings: light angst, tense relationship, nudity.

Who’s This?

Ice shocks everyone when he arrives at a Navy ball with a girl on his arm. Warnings: social anxiety.

Guitar Player

Ice comes home one day to find his girlfriend playing guitar. Something that he didn’t know. Warnings: None.

The Engineer

You're just the engineer, a man like Tom Kazansky should have no reason to pay attention to you. Or at least that's what you thought. Warnings: drinking.

Haunted House

In the spirit of Halloween, you and Ice decide to go to a haunted house with the rest of the squad. Warnings: haunted house, jump scares, Halloween.

Fresh

You and Ice have finally moved in together. A fresh start with fresh paint. What could go wrong? Warnings: None.

One Too Many

A Christmas party at the O Club leaves you with many questions for your fiancé. One, however, catches him completely off guard. Warnings: drinking.

Peppermint Hot Chocolate

A vacation in the mountains leads to you and your fiancé enjoying some alone time. Warnings: light smut, sexual innuendos.

Bad Day

Your husband comforts you after you have a bad day at work. Warnings: None.

Movie Night

Ice comforts you after you watch a sad movie. Warnings: None.

Wine and Roses

You and your husband celebrate your 5th wedding anniversary. Warnings: None.

Neon Lights

You and your boyfriend go roller skating. Warnings: None.

Closed Quarters

When you and Ice are locked in a room together by your meddling friends, it gives you a chance to start over. Warnings: enemies to lovers.

Relief

Your husband figures out how to give you some relief during the late stages of your pregnancy. Warnings: pregnancy.

Caring For You

When Ice comes home battered and bruised, you make it your personal mission to make him feel better. Warnings: bar fights, drinking, injury, bruises.

MOODBOARDS

Perfect Night || Moodboard

Promise || Moodboard

Sick Day || Moodboard

Who’s This || Moodboard

The Engineer || Moodboard

Haunted House || Moodboard

Sleepless Nights || Moodboard

#top gun #top gun fanfiction #top gun x female reader #top gun x reader #top gun fluff #top gun angst #top gun smut #Tom Kazansky #tom iceman kazansky #iceman x reader #tom kazansky fluff #Tom Kazansky angst #tom kazansky smut #Tom Kazansky masterlist #iceman fluff #iceman angst #iceman smut #iceman masterlist #top gun masterlist

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randoauthor · 2 years

Text

Venom (T.K)

Pairings: Iceman x Fem!Reader, Platonic!Viper x Fem!Reader

Warnings: so many. PIV. sex, swearing. probably more ;)

Word Count: 2.1k

Author's Note: I for some reason poured my heart into this one and I feel like it's because I was already exhausted and then took some melatonin on top of it so yeah.

Summary: There's a new recruit at Top Gun, a female nonetheless. She drives the boys wild, and her mysterious nature and her off-limits rules make her stand out to the ones that like to play hard to get. The biggest thing they don't know is the one rule of mother nature. What's the one thing Vipers produce? Venom.

MasterList!

"Boys," Viper's voice came through the room, stern and strong. He stood tall in front of all of us his demeanor shifting slightly when the door opened.

Holy shit.

The black hair had been pulled into a tight bun. Her stature was tall, and she appeared closed off in the way of never letting anything on. Her eyes were a piercing blue and her skin was a soft tan. She smiled at the sight of Viper and made her way to the front of the room.

"(Y/N) Metcalf, callsign Venom."

I took a small glance over to Slider whose eyes couldn't be any bigger than they were. A hand shoots up into the air. Viper sends a sharp nod to Maverick's way.

"How off limits is she?" He questioned. A smirk displayed itself across Viper's face as he lead his daughter to a seat in the front row.

"She is very off-limits boys, if you so much as look in her direction I will have your ass packing before you can ask why."

Pete gave a sharp nod before looking over at his buddy, the two of them ogling at her for the rest of the lesson.

By the time we headed to change our first problem arose.

"Where the hell was she supposed to change?" Slider asked, rather loudly.

She chuckled slightly before looking at me. My breath disappeared from my lungs in an instant as her shirt lifted above her head, her bra was a light pink and I learned very quickly that it matched the thong she was wearing too.

Fucking hell.

"She's gonna be the death of me," I whisper to Slider as we get ready just two locker rows down from the beauty that was untouchable.

***

And not only was she beautiful but she could fly better than all of us. It made sense that she was Viper's kid. She was graceful in the air and once she was on the ground you could ask her any question you wanted to ask and shed come up with some kind of an answer for you.

She was magnificent. She was beautiful. She was Viper's daughter.

I couldn't ruin my chance at Top Gun but at the same time, she give me literally every reason to ruin my chances.

Today was no different than any other except for the fact that she didn't have much of a uniform. Not like ours. Her khakis came in the form of a tight pencil skirt that cupped her ass so beautifully that I thanked god every time I saw it.

"Iceman," Viper's voice pulled me from the thoughts I really shouldn't be having.

If she sounds so pretty over the comms I wonder how pretty she'd sound moaning my name?

No, no I can't think like that. If Viper only knew I'd be out of here so fast.

"You're flying with Venom today, Slider has some personal business to attend to." I glance over at her, those piercing blue eyes already staring back at me. I give Viper a nod before preparing myself to be up in the air, alone with her.

"So," she said catching up to me as we head to the locker room, "you've been awfully quiet. The famous Tom 'Iceman' Kazansky, a total ladies' man can't even open his mouth around me?"

I offer her a smile before keeping my eyes straight again. We take the longest in the locker room.

"What's your problem Kazansky?" She sounds frustrated. "I am trying my hardest to show I am interested in you and you don't even bat an eye at me. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

I slam my locker in frustration only to reveal the female pilot, who seemed just as mad as me.

I ran my hands through my hair as I let out a frustrated breath of air.

"Maybe if you let even more hot air out, your head will get smaller." She shot at me, breaking something inside of me.

Within seconds I had her pinned to a locker, my hand gently around her throat as she let out a surprised gasp, her eyes growing wide at my outburst. My other hand finds her waist in a relatively firm grip. I lean in closer, so very close that I can smell the strawberry chapstick she always wore.

"I have been watching you for two weeks now, I have been wanting you for two weeks." I lean in for just a moment for our lips to touch and I was already hooked.

"For two weeks," I say looking into those blue eyes again, "for two weeks I have been wondering what you would sound like moaning my name while I fucked you."

I hear her breath catch in her throat ever so softly and for once I let my mind go wild.

My lips nibble gently at the sweet spot on her neck, my hands applying a gentle pressure to the sides of her throat. Her soft gasp made me want to take her right then and there, but soft footsteps approached.

And Viper opened the door.

He gave us just enough time to look more casual then I felt but I did my best to hide the ever growing bulge in my pants. This girl drove me crazy and the smirk on her face let me know that she knew it too.

"What are you two doing?" Viper questioned with one raised eyebrow.

"Nothing dad," she said in such a soft voice that I fell more to jelly than before. "Iceman and I were discussing strategy, it is you we are going up against after all."

Viper smiled at his daughter and gave a sharp nod before leaving the room in a hurry.

"As for you," she said, attention returning to where it had to be. "I don't fuck pilots usually, but something about you is different." She shot me the prettiest smile I've ever seen. "We can't do anything here it's too risky, I however have an entire floor to myself. Meet me tonight?"

I gave her a nod, a sharp fast nod.

I saw all of her that night. I saw her and I heard her and with every thrust into her I made I drove myself more crazy then the thrust before.

***

It's been two weeks since then, and after the events of today I haven't said a word to her.

We usually go at it every night but tonight was different, tonight was different because we were all forced to take a good long look at how our lives have turned out so far and if we are really okay dying tomorrow because of it.

The Navy was no joke, the things we did on a daily basis, putting our lives on the line.

Lieutenant Nick Bradshaw died today. And I was in the air with him.

I know she's asking about me, I know somewhere right now her father is questioning why she seems so concerned about another pilot.

In his eyes we are nothing more then pilots.

I had been drinking, slider having gone home a while ago just stopping by to see how I was holding up before heading off to the bar to pick up a new girl for the night. By my fourth glass I realized that the knocking wasn't my imagination.

She seemed tired when our eyes met. She had clearly been crying but I was not about to be the one to point that out to her. The sweatshirt she wore was huge on her but she seemed so cozy. I never said anything. Instead I took a step forward and found my hand in the crook of her neck, I lingered for just a moment more before finally allowing my lips to find hers. This time it feels different, this kiss is saying everything she won't.

I could have died today.

"Tom," she says pulling away from me slightly, those damn eyes making me melt again. "Make love to me."

And thats exactly what I did.

I pulled her inside before pressing her softly against the wall, my hands resting on her hips as I lazily find her lips again. This time was so different then the rest, the other times I have torn her clothes off by now, taken her right against this wall. But this time? This time I trail my lips down her neck finding that sweet spot just as easily as day one.

Her soft whimper made my heart beat faster and I grabbed her hand, leading her to the bedroom. God I wish I had fucked her here sooner. I didn't have any lights on, but the slight glow from the streetlights outside gave us just enough of a sense of where we where in the room, enough for her to sit on the edge of the bed. Enough for me to find my way on top of her. My lips found her neck first this time, carefully trailing down to the collar of her shirt.

"May I?" I ask softly, the soft whimper I earn in response tells me everything we need to know. I pull it over her head to reveal that she isn't wearing anything underneath it. I thank god and curse him at the same time.

While on hand finds her breast I let the other hold her close, her chest rises and falls more rapidly as my mouth moves from her neck down her chest, rolling her free nipple between my teeth while my hand gently plays with the other one.

The soft moans she was allowing to escape her mouth were intoxicating. And I knew that while I could continue to drag this out I wouldn't last much longer. I find her lips one more time before pulling myself off her, walking over to the night stand I pull out the empty box of condoms.

"Fuck." I say softly tossing the box to the side.

"It's okay," she smiles, "I'm on the pill."

I stand there for a moment weighing my options before taking my shirt off, discarding it to the floor. My pants eventually find their way to the floor too. She had taken her pants off at some point during my scuffle with the condom box.

I found myself above her again, her naked body proving to be a temple for me to explore and the anguish that was released as I pushed past her folds and plunged deep into her was insane.

I clung to her like she was my final source of oxygen and I was in outer space. I buried my head in the crook of her neck letting all my fear from today vanish within her. Each thrust grew harder as I kept my slow pace, her hands finding my back. At this moment in time I didn't even care if she left marks, I could deal with the torment in the locker room tomorrow. Her soft whimpers danced through my ears and coaxed a few sounds out of me too.

I could feel her nearing her high, after being inside her so frequently these past four weeks I have been able to learn her every move, know her every cue, love her every noise.

And the breathy whimpers she was letting out told me that I was doing everything right. Her hand moves to my forearm gripping it tight as her whimpers turn to shaky exhales of her breath, her eyes rolled into the back of her head and her back arched enough that it her chest met mine.

I held her as she came undone, and with a few more fast strokes I found myself falling apart inside of her.

I rested my forehead against hers before giving her a breathy kiss, both of us trying to find enough oxygen to say anything at all. But we don't. It's not like there is much that could be said, not after today at least.

I pull her close to me again after cleaning ourselves up. The twin size bed not offering us much room to move but neither of us cared. I let her fall asleep listening to my heartbeat. I fall asleep with my hands tangled in her hair.

When I wake up in the morning she is gone, her clothes missing from my floor. I pull myself out of bed a prepare myself for another day when a pair of pink lacy panties catch my eye.

Because they are the same ones she was wearing the day I met her.

I smile before picking them up off their perch, only to find a note sitting underneath it.

Tom,

Last night was different, it was better, it was real. And I want that for the rest of my life. I'll see you in class.

Venom.

Sitting next to her name was a taunt. A taunt consisting of red lipstick in the shape of those lips I love to kiss so much. She is definitely living up to her call sign.

Because she is going to be the death of me.

Taglist!

@itscheybaby

@turningtoclown

@daryldixonstorm

@Dilfsandtherapy

@Nickie-amore

@malindacath

@luckyladycreator2

@sadpetalsstuff

@Shanimallina87

@Wishingwell-2

@Xoxoloverb

@Majormaybe1

@Mizzy-pop

@Saramaple

@Hope-love-equality2

@toothhurtyam

@beaner-life-23

@fogle97

@justanothermagicalsara

@tallrock35

@callsigns-roo-and-bag

@marchingicenotes7

@scoopsahoy008

@oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo

@malindacath

@calsjack

@notanordinaryprincess95

@fxngsfxgxrty

@louisahale

#maverick top gun #top gun: maverick #tg:m #top gun #goose top gun #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #top gun movie #top gun 1986 #iceman val kilmer #iceman smut #iceman top gun #iceman kazansky x reader #tom kazansky #nick bradshaw #ron kerner #pete mitchell #slider #maverick

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jupitercomet · 1 year

Text

Off the Ice

𝐃𝐮𝐜𝐤, 𝐃𝐮𝐜𝐤, 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞

𝙶𝚘𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙳𝚞𝚌𝚔

One shots of your relationship with Goose.

𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐦𝐛

𝚂𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙲𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚢

One shots of your relationship with Slider.

𝐓𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐥 𝐖𝐚𝐯𝐞

𝙸𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚢𝚙𝚜𝚘

One shots of your relationship with Iceman.

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loki-halstead · 2 years

Text

Me coming home from a holiday with no signal to find all my Top Gun tags updated: 😍🎉

I love you guys!

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradleybradshaw #top gun maverick #topgun #bradley bradshaw smut #bradleybradshaw x oc #icemav #iceman x reader #iceman smut #tom kazansky smut #tom kazansky x reader

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sarahsmi13s · 5 months

Text

|| Tom 'Iceman' Kazansky Masterlist ||

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

hello my little cassettes! here is where you can find all of the stories that feature tom 'iceman' kazansky!

general taglist

series

sorry... none yet 😅

angst

sorry... none yet 😅

smut -- 18+ MDNI

-> "is there a reason you're naked in my bed?" (tom kazansky x kerner!reader)

fluff

sorry... none yet 😅

#vinny's multiverse #tom iceman kazasky masterlist #tom iceman kazansky #iceman #tom kazansky #iceman smut #tom kazansky smut #iceman angst #tom kazansky angst #iceman fluff #tom kazansky fluff #x reader #x oc #tom iceman kazansky x reader #tom iceman kazansky x oc #top gun maverick #top gun #sarahsmi13s masterlist #sarahsmi13s

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icegirl03 · 1 year

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Monster under my bed

Y/n: Guys, there’s a monster under my bed and it’s really ugly.

Jake, on the bottom bunk: Honestly, fuck you.

#top gun maverick #iceman x you #top gun #iceman x y/n #top gun au #maverick fanfic #hangman x reader #iceman smut #top gun 1986 #top gun headcanons #jake seresin imagine #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake the dog

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callsignthirsty · 2 years

Note

an idea: a homecoming smut as Iceman gets back from deployment

Ah yissss.

Pairing: Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x F!Reader Word Count: 2600 Warnings: Smut, dirty talk, oral sex, p in v Minors DNI

Homecoming

Two days. The carrier was set to return in two days. Fortunately — you thought, leaning back against your car as a tomcat screamed overhead — you wouldn't have to wait that long.

Last to board, first to disembark.

Your car was one of a couple hundred packed into the parking lot alongside the Naval Air Station at Miramar. Parents and siblings and wives and children and girlfriends and you. The homecoming before the homecoming. Downright tiny compared to the crowd that would amass in the shadow of the carrier in a couple days. But that doesn't matter. What matters is that you've missed Ice every day for the six months he's been deployed, and today, in just a handful of hours, you'll have him back.

You break out in giggles when you see the familiar head of blonde hair exit the building, heart already beating wild in your chest. You can see the minute he spots you, too, a pearly grin overcoming his face. When he's close enough, he opens his arms. He scoops you up, and your lips are on his in a second, aviators knocked askew, and you'd have stayed there longer if it weren't for the man beside him.

"Alright, let's keep it moving, you two. There are kids here."

Ice sets you down and readjusts his glasses, a lazy smile taking over your lips. "Hey, Ron."

"Hey yourself." But the RIO is smiling too. "Get us the hell out of here."

The three of you hop in your car and carefully navigate the crowd. From there, it's a quick ride to the off-base housing you share with Ice. Pulling up to the curb to leave the driveway free, you kill the engine. Once you let them into the house, Ice disappears into the bedroom to put down his bags.

"How was it?" you ask, passing Slider his keys from where you've kept them safe next to Ice's in the laundry room.

Slider groans, pocketing his keys and collapsing into your sofa. "Longest six months of my life."

"Yeah." You chuckle as Ice walks back into the living room, and your eyes remain on his arms as he crosses them over his broad chest. The way sun-kissed muscles flex against the sleeves of his khaki shirt. "I can relate."

Ice has been home for less than 10 minutes, and Slider has made himself comfortable on your sofa. You're positively itching for him to leave: Ice is perched on the arm of said sofa, engaging in one-word answers, his eyes never straying far from you, lingering on your legs where the skirt of your dress swishes a couple inches above your knees. Rides up when you sit down.

But he doesn't tell Slider to leave.

You disappear into the kitchen to grab everyone something to drink since it seems that Slider is here to stay. He's talking about something or another while you grab three glasses from the cupboard and set them next to the sink. When you turn, you're being bracketed against the counter. Ice grabs your chin, tilts it up, and crashes his lips into yours in one fluid movement.

Your arms loop around his neck, fingers carding through his hair. Ice crouches, picks you up by the backs of your thighs, and lifts you onto the countertop, stepping into the space between your legs.

Ice breaks apart from your lips. "Slider."

"Yeah?"

"Get lost."

Slider lets out a whooping laugh as if his waiting around has all been a game to see how long Ice could hold out. His keys jingling as he stands up, whistling as he passes through the kitchen where Ice has you ensnared in another deep kiss, and exits through the garage to grab his car. Probably. You've stopped paying attention to anything that isn't Ice's lightly chapped lips on yours or his hands on your thighs.

"Thought he'd never leave," you whine when Ice's lips move to the corner of your jaw.

A nip to your neck has you biting your lips into a fine line, but the demanding "Forget him" has a noise spilling past them regardless. Possessive bastard. But you can't deny that it turns you on. You scoot forward on the counter, closer to Ice until the only thing keeping you from tumbling over is the press of Ice's body against yours and his palms hiking your dress higher up your thighs. You aren't opposed to him taking you then and there — the both of you touch starved and desperate — but when you reach for his belt, Ice backs away. He has other plans for you.

A hand disappears beneath your skirt, and blue eyes go wide as he groans. A coy smile tugs at your lips at his reaction. "You're not wearing any panties."

"Surprise," you sing-song breathlessly as he slips a finger into your soaked cunt.

"Fuck, you're so wet."

"Missed you," you keen, walls fluttering around his finger, and this is already the best you've felt in months. To have him inside of you again. To look into his eyes as his finger fucks into you, and he drops to his knees, slinging one of your legs over his shoulder and pushing your dress the rest of the way up to your waist.

Ice takes turns licking, kissing, and biting his way up to the apex of your long legs, and you know that your skin will be littered with the evidence of his affection for days. Longer if he had it his way. And you positively burn for it.

You couldn't have bitten down the moan that looses from your lips when he licks at your pussy even if you'd wanted to. Ice seems to like it. He huffs a smile into your dripping folds, letting your hips rut against his perfect lips before his hands hold you still on the counter, the laminate hard and sticky against your back. At his mercy as your legs try to fall open further, give him all the room he wants to lick into you, your arousal smearing across his tongue, lips, and chin. Devouring you like a man starved.

"Missed this," he mumbles into your thigh as he works two fingers into your soaked cunt, his tongue returning to flick at your clit.

"Tom!"

"The way you taste." A sloppy kiss over your cunt. "The way you shiver and tighten around my fingers." He makes a come hither motion with his fingers, and you do exactly that, trying to keep him within you. "Then you sent me that photo, and fuck," he bites at the delicate skin of your thigh, sucking at it until it blooms purple, then licks at it as if the tender treatment will ease the sizzle of his brand on you. And you know exactly which photo he's talking about. On a particularly lonely night, you'd found your way into his closet, wrapped yourself in an old khaki shirt — only his shirt, unbuttoned, and Tom Kazansky, "Iceman" emblazoned on the left breast —, and snapped a Polaroid in the mirror. Signed, sealed, delivered. "Had me so hard it was embarrassing. Couldn't get home fast enough."

You moan brokenly as he returns to your clit, sucking. "You like that?" he asks. "Knowing I couldn't keep my hands off myself-" you nod breathlessly "-that I fucked my hand every night looking at your pretty picture and wishing it was you?"

"God, yes!"

Ice groans, slipping a third finger into you and watching them disappear a couple times, your wetness dripping around his knuckles and down to his wrist. "Tell me what you want." And his voice leaves no room for argument, rubs over your nerves like velvet brushed backward.

"Want to cum." And you sound so needy, but you're past the point of shame. The pressure has been building in your gut, and nothing you've tried in the last six months has even held a candle to how he's making you feel. "Please, Tom, make me cum."

"That can be arranged," he says, placing a soft kiss next to his fingers as they disappear into you again and again. It would've sounded playful if not for its huskiness. "You want to cum on my fingers-" he asks with a slow grind against your sweet spot that has you shivering, "-or my face?"

One of your hands snakes down to grip at blonde strands and pull him further into you until his nose bumps into your clit and the touch is electric. "Both. Both, Tom, please."

Ice doesn't need to be asked twice. Lips and fingers and tongue working together to pull you further and further from sanity until, with a final grind of his tongue against your clit, you're tipped into ecstasy. Clenching around his fingers and grinding up into that sinfully sharp tongue.

When you come to, Ice is standing, tongue lapping up the evidence of your arousal as it drips down his hand, his lips slick with it. He peels you off the laminate, and you can feel his erection straining through his pants, the polyester rough against your sensitive pussy as you wrap your legs around his hips, and you're positive that you're soaking through the material as he carries you out the bedroom.

Once he's pressed you into the bed, Ice makes quick work of your dress, then his shirt. But instead of tossing it behind him, he hands the shirt over to you. "Put it on." You shove your arms through the short sleeves while he rids himself of his undershirt and rips off his belt. It's so big on you, and you bring the collar up to your nose to breathe him in with a low moan. Jet fuel, sweat, ocean spray, spearmint. Completely intoxicating.

Ice loops his dog tags around your neck to drop between your breasts and pushes you back down on the bed. His hand brushes the lapels open until the shirt practically slips off your shoulders and your breasts are uncovered. He takes a nipple in his mouth, pinching the other with calloused fingers until you're whimpering, rolling your hips against his, your sex gliding over his soaked pants.

"So needy." Ice flashes you that signature dagger grin, but he's just as needy as you are, fingers leaving your breast to pop the button on his pants and drag the zipper down. Soon, he's kicking the last of his clothes off the edge of the bed, and you're convinced you'll combust if he doesn't fuck you now. All those months waiting just to burn up once he has you in his bed.

Ice takes himself in hand, runs the thick head through your sopping lips, and groans. "Tell me you need me."

"God, Tom," you moan, arching into his touch, fingers tweaking your nipples, "I need you. Please." And you say it so sweetly; how could he deny you?

"That's my girl," he croons, and you want to kiss him, but he's intent on watching your face go slack in pleasure as he finally starts to sink into you, his dark eyes boring into yours the last thing you see before your eyes shut and your head tosses back. "Fuck, I missed this." And you're not entirely sure how he's still talking because your brain is fried, has been since you felt him stretching you out.

Ice pauses once he's fully seated in you. His hips snug against the swell of your ass. He kisses across your collarbones, following the curve of your neck, and tangles your lips in a kiss that's all heat. "I'm going to fuck you now." And everything from his words to how he looks at you and the way he's already rocking gently into you is dripping with promise. "That's what you want, right?" he asks, pulling back slowly and snapping forward to punch the breath out of your lungs in a long moan.

"Fuck, Tom, yes." You dig your nails into the meat of his shoulders, your thighs hugging his sides, and you can already feel your walls fluttering around him.

"Need me to fuck this pretty pussy?" Your mouth falls open. "Tell me, sweetheart." His hips are already picking up the pace. "Tell me how bad you need me."

You're lost for words, but then he stops, and you're scrambling to think of something, anything. "Ice. Tom-" your nails drag down his back, and he lets his eyes fall closed at the sting of it, grinding into you. "Wanna feel it for days." He groans. "Want you to fill me up."

"Fuck, you're perfect." You bite your lip when Ice grabs your hip and starts a fast rhythm, the headboard slamming into the wall loud enough that you're sure the neighbors can hear, but there will be time to be embarrassed about that later. Now, Ice is well on his way to making you forget everything but the taste of his tongue, the feel of his thick cock as it drags over your sensitive walls, and his name. How had you survived six months without this?

It hasn't been that long since he made you cum the first time, but Ice is already dangerously close to making you cum again. You try to warn him, but the only word you can get out is his name.

"You going to cum on my cock, sweetheart?"

"Tom!"

"That's it. I want to see you cum on this cock." And when you throw your head back into the pillows with a cry, he's soothing you through it — "Mmm… good girl" — and it shouldn't make your cunt throb the way it does.

You're growing sensitive, but your walls are still sucking Ice in on every push forward, and you're not ready to stop yet either. You push up to capture Ice's mouth with yours, to feel him grunt into your lips and crush you against his front, abs contracting and chest rubbing the rough fabric of his service khakis into your nipples. "Thought about this every time I looked at that picture," he groans, taking in your blissed-out expression, drinking in the way his cock squelches into your cunt, the way your tits bounce between the lapels of his shirt. You turn your head, catching the collar between white teeth. "Fuck, I'm close."

Ice's fingers grind into your clit, circling it roughly. "One more," he demands, and you whine. "Give me one more. I know you can do it." Your fingers pinch your nipples until they ache, but it still isn't enough. "One more and I'll give you what you need," he promises. Your mind reels at the idea, and you keen. "Fill this pussy up."

"Tom!" you sob as you're dragged over the edge one last time, your whole body pulsing, fuzzy, and light. Ice pushes into you, hips stuttering and grinding into your sweet spot as he comes undone, his lips slack and eyes reduced to slits as he watches you through it.

You bring his lips back to yours, and it starts needy, but soon it's reduced to a lazy roll of tongues.

You smile. You'd missed this. Not just the sex, but the after. The part where you become boneless and melt into each other until you're one heartbeat. When Ice pulls you into his chest and whispers soft nothings as you drift into a deep sleep, sated and safe in his arms. Waking up, curled into his side. Your head on his chest. His heartbeat.

The everyday.

The mundane.

The domestic pleasure of sharing a coffee early in the morning before he leaves for the base.

"Welcome home," you say, running fingers through his hair, thumbs brushing over high cheekbones. He really is beautiful. And he's all yours, at least until his next deployment.

Ice lays a soft kiss on your forehead as if he can hear your thoughts. "I'm not going anywhere for a while."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

#thirsty answers #top gun (1986)#top gun requests #tom iceman kazansky x reader #tom kazansky x reader #iceman x reader #afab!reader #top gun smut #tom kazansky #iceman smut #tom iceman kazansky smut #tom iceman kazansky #iceman top gun #trying to be the iceman x reader content i want to see on this hellsite #there will never be enough iceman content

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scott-summers2 · 1 year

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Christmas Special: Let it go

Do you want to see more of them? Do you want to read a fic where Emma calls out Bobby about his sexuality especifically? Because that is exactly what you are going to find if you click this link:

#emma frost #iceman smut #bobby drake #kitty pryde #gay fanfiction

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roosterbruiser · 1 year

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𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐬𝐤𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

𓁹 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Ice is finally back on solid ground. For the first time in your life, you're not. 𓁹 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 1.5k 𓁹 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐬𝐤𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𓁹 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𓁹 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𓁹 𝐓𝐨𝐦 "𝐈𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧" 𝐊𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𓁹 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝? 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭! 𓁹 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐀𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥 𝟐𝟑𝐫𝐝, 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟏 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐈𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐂𝐀 & 𝐒𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡, 𝐍𝐘

It’s been a while since Ice has stood on solid ground.

Sometimes when he’s on a carrier in the middle of the ocean and eating oatmeal for the millionth day in a row or when Slider’s roping him into another game of Black Jack before drills, he can’t remember the simple things that he can only do on the ground. Like having his boots covered in mud after a trek across the park, the kind of mud that he has to polish at home with wax and a horseshoe brush. Or leaning against the apple tree in the backyard of his parents home, plucking down palm-sized granny smith’s and devouring them as he reads Pablo Neruda or Kurt Vonnegut. Even just walking into the grocery store, pushing his aviators to sit in his blonde hair, and breathing in all that artificial crispness before grabbing a rickety cart. These are all things that he never knows that he takes for granted until he doesn’t have them anymore, when he’s cutting through a gray sky over enemy territory, when he’s talking about bogeys and angels and firewalls.

This is his first day back on solid ground in eighteen months, his first time back on solid ground since Kuwait. He can’t go home to Michigan and pick a granny smith from his mother’s apple tree and he doesn’t have his copy of Slaughterhouse-Five on hand. He did go to the grocery store, though, and now he’s walking across the park and eating a red delicious as the sun sinks out over the hills of California.

All around him, life is happening. Children are flying kites, lovers are picnicking, men are biking, women are jogging, birds are singing, the wind is blowing. And it’s all just happening around him like he was never really gone at all--like he hasn’t seen what he’s seen and done what he’s done. He’s not sure if that makes him feel better or worse.

As the sky, which feels very far away from him down here, is painted gold by the evening, he sits down on the grass. His boots are muddy--a smile tugs at his lips.

And before he can really even think about it, he finds himself holding the soft apple against his mouth with his teeth and untying his boots before slipping them off. He peels off his socks, carefully tucks them into the boots. And then he holds his bare feet against the earth for the first time since touching down.

It’s the first day of his sabbatical.

He knows that he’s going to spend it like this: with fruit pulp between his teeth, with bare feet. Not here, though--somewhere far away from jet fuel and palm trees and the Golden Gate Bridge.

Across the country, you’re sitting at the table with your grandmother.

She’s smoking a cigarette, her white gloves impeccably unwrinkled and pristine, as she watches George Junior field congratulations and back pats from all these politicians and socialites and family members.

“Funny,” your grandmother says, nose upturned and lips a flat line. “Can’t tell where Du Pont’s begin and crooks' end.”

She cuts to the chase, doesn’t worry about hurting feelings, which is something you’ve always admired. If you had it in you, you’d smile. But your heart is still racing and your temples are throbbing and that salmon really isn’t sitting well--but that could just be because of the corset you’ve got on beneath this already-tight dress.

Cocoa, who married into the Wallace family a sturdy fifty-three years ago, has always been unimpressed by manicured events like this. Tonight’s dinner was supposed to center around campaign strategy, which was why they hired waiters to serve hors d’oeuvres and prosecco, and it somehow ended with you becoming engaged to George Du Pont Junior. Personally, Cocoa thinks that George is a blundering idiot. It isn't even his person that she dislikes--it's just people that are like him. Coyotes on the prowl. He’s been sniffing around for a wife of means, one that he can use as a ladder-wrung, for years. And now he’s hiked his leg and spread his scent all over you--in the form of the gaudiest diamond ring she’s ever seen.

She loves you--which is why she hasn’t said that this is the difference between old money and new money. Wallace’s appreciate tradition, history, heirlooms. Du Pont’s don’t, which is why your ring has never been worn before by anyone but you.

It’s too heavy on your finger. This is the kind of ring you could never forget is there--the band is made from thick gold, tight around your knuckle, and the diamond is bright and heavy. It feels like it’s weighing your hand down now on the tablecloth, among all the empty platters and discarded nameplates.

“It’s so big,” you tell your grandmother softly, unable to break your gaze from the gleaming diamond. “How am I ever gonna get anything done?”

Cocoa watches the skin between your brows pucker with concern, your cheeks hollowed and bitten with confusion.

“With your right hand, I suppose,” Cocoa sighs, nudging you.

You hardly budge, don’t smile. You're each other's ally at stuffy events like this. So, she knows undoubtedly that you are unhappy when you don't flush and try and shush her, giggling and biting your lip.

“How am I ever gonna get anything done now?” You murmur again, quieter now.

Cocoa understands then that you don’t just mean tasks you have to do with your hands.

She knew it. She knew you would feel this way when it came time to move, when it came to you wearing your ring and picking out veils and bridesmaids. You’ve practically been force-fed marriage your entire life--it’s easy to understand, at least for her, why you’ve been so obsessed with it happening. You’re so young, though, only twenty-six--which is only a year older than she was when she married. She remembers what it felt like wearing an engagement ring for the first time--like it was a leash.

She’s smart enough to avoid saying all of this to you. Instead she just leans back in her wing-backed chair and casually strokes your hair a few times.

“Might do you some good to summer at the cottage. You know, just before the wedding planning begins. Trust me, darling, you won’t have time to rest once it begins. What, with the guest list and registry and venue and tastings,” she lists. Your throat grows tight just thinking about it. She picks her manicure for a moment, watching your face from underneath her eyelashes. “No one’s claimed it yet, anyway. Not for the summer.”

“Oh?” You ask.

She can hardly hear you over the orchestra, who’s still persevering through their Antonia Vivaldi as all the suited men in the room slap each other’s backs and light cigars and talk crudely about taxes and donations.

“Yes, darling,” she says, squeezing your shoulder. “Go.”

You look at her finally, feeling faint beneath the glow of the yellow lights in this banquet hall.

“Would you excuse me?” You ask very softly, a polite smile tugging at your lips.

You start for the exit without awaiting her response, heavy gown dusting the floor as you cross the wooden floor in these blistering heels.

“Here comes the bride,” George Du Pont Senior sings, ruddy cheeks smothered with grease from his foie gras, capturing you in his arms and pulling you against his chest with a booming laugh. “All dressed in white!”

Suddenly, you’re standing in a cloud of cigar smoke as all these men guffaw and pinch your cheeks and sides, chiding and calling you Missus. The orchestra is louder and the floor feels hot and your feet are pulsing and the ring is too tight on your finger.

“Oh, Mister Du Pont,” you say very politely, face warm, “ever the charmer.”

Carefully, you try to break away, but suddenly you’re being handed off to George Junior, who peppers your face with wet, whiskey-scented kisses like he always does when he’s had too much to drink.

“How about an August wedding, huh?” George Senior says. “Oughta give you some time to get into shape, huh?”

“Easy now,” Mrs. Du Pont warns, elbowing him. You can tell from where you’re standing a few feet away from her that the string of pearls around her throat is made from freshwater pearls. New money. “An August wedding would be a good way to bookend the summer, though, wouldn’t it?”

“And we could get it out of the way before election season,” your father adds, brows raised. “That would be a weight off your shoulders, wouldn’t it, kitten?”

Kitten. You haven’t liked that nickname since you were five-years-old.

“Yes,” you answer.

George Junior sighs into your skin, his chest pressed against your back.

“Are you buzzing?” He asks you. “Finally going to be a bride!”

You thought you would be buzzing--since this is what you’ve been waiting for the past three years the two of you have been together.

“Yes,” you answer, wearing a grin even if it makes you feel overdressed. “Now, I’ve got to powder my nose.”

You don’t powder your nose, though.

You run boiling water over your hands and lather soap on your ring finger until you can slide the diamond ring off.

Then you stand there in front of the antiqued mirror, clutching the quartz countertop, and wonder how the Hell you’re ever going to get through this summer.

When you fall back into your seat beside Grandma Cocoa, you’re flushed.

“Okay,” you tell her.

She smiles, touching up her lipstick blindly.

“Thought you’d say that,” she tells you. “Keys are in my bureau. Feel free to take the Wildcat--I never use it during the summer months, anyway.”

𓁹 𝐚/𝐧: I'm so excited to share w everyone!!!

𓁹 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

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bustylesbian · 1 year

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#iceman smut

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topgun-imagines · 1 year

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Bratty

Requested: yes

Summary: You learn what happens after you act like a brat at a New Year’s Eve party. 18+

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: Smut. Penetrative sex. Fingering. Oral (f!receiving) cum play? Drinking. Foul language.

Note: This my first time writing smut. If anyone has any suggestions or tips feel free to send them in. Thank you to @alitheia-foxes for proof reading this. (Also, Madmartigan cause why not)

Pairings: Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky x fem!reader

Soft music floated through the car as you and Tom drove. His hand was resting on your thigh as his thumb stroked patterns into your skin. The pair of you were headed to a New Year’s Eve party. One of the fancy ones that the Navy put on every year. While getting ready, Tom had expressed to you many times how he expected you to be on your very best behavior. You had a history of disobeying his rules at events like this. He was hoping that this night would be different.

In less than ten minutes, you were pulling up to the hall that had been rented out. Tom jumped out of the car first, moving around to your side to open your door. You accepted the hand he offered you gratefully. Grabbing the edge of your dress, you were careful to not let it get dirty as you stepped from the car. Your husband looped his arm through yours while you walked into the hall. A small smirk rose on your face at the sight of all the people. This should be interesting.

Tom lead you around the room, introducing you to various people whom he had worked with over the years. While you knew a few of your husband's colleagues, there was a vast majority that you had either never met, or you honestly didn’t care enough to know. While Tom was talking your eyes drifted around the room in boredom. He must have noticed the blank, disinterested look on your face because he removed the pair of you from the group and led you to a corner. His lips found the shell of your ear as he whispered in a low, harsh voice. “Be good and I promise you’ll enjoy what happens when we get home,” His words sent shivers down your spine.

A small smirk graced your lips. You feigned innocence as your eyes drifted up to meet his. There was a harmless smile on your face that seemed to fool your husband. In your heels, you were able to press your lips to his cheek softly. “Of course, Tommy.” You could feel him stiffen beside you. You were the only person allowed to call him that and normally, it was reserved for very specific scenarios. Ones that usually took place in the bedroom.

His eyes closed as he cleared his throat. When his eyes reopened, any trace of your malicious intent was wiped off your face. You offered him an easy smile when he looked down at you. You could practically feel his urge to roll his eyes. Honestly, you found it impressive that he resisted. “Can we go get a drink?” He nodded at you silently. His hand settled on your ass while he lead you to the makeshift bar.

About an hour later you were seated at a table with your husband and a few of his colleagues. Slider and his wife had decided to show up a few minutes ago, plopping themselves down beside you. You were sipping on your second champagne of the night while Tom was still nursing his scotch. The only reason that you were seated was that one of the Rear Admirals had decided to do a speech thanking everyone for coming. You couldn’t have been more bored.

You could see how invested Tom was in this man’s speech. He was most likely aiming for a promotion and wanted to impress. A wicked thought crossed your mind. Doing your best to contain your plan, you set your champagne flute on the table and moved your hand to his thigh. He paid you no mind, instead keeping his attention on the speaker. It became a different story when your hand began to drift higher up his leg. When your hand finally rested on your husband's bulge. Not able to help yourself anymore, you squeezed softly. You snickered quietly when he choked around his sip of scotch. Slider turned to check on his friend but Tom waved him off before he could. You were lucky that the tablecloth hid what you were doing.

Your thumb continued to brush over the fabric of his suit while you pretended to listen to the man’s speech. His hand disappeared below the tablecloth. Seconds later you felt his fingers wrap around yours and partially rip your hand off of him. He leaned over to you until his lips were level with your ear. His voice was low and measured, so as not to draw any attention to the pair of you. “Behave,” You only nodded softly in response. Your husband knew that nothing was going to change. He pinched your thigh softly. “I’m serious. Stop acting like a brat.” You could tell how serious he was and while you still planned on messing with him later, for now, it couldn’t hurt to fool him a little. You smiled innocently before pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. He returned his attention to the speaker once more.

Minutes after the incident at the table, you excused yourself to use the bathroom. You quickly began what would be phase two of your sneaky plan. When you were finished in the bathroom you headed back out to the hall. By the time you returned there were only 30 minutes left in the party. You slid up beside your husband, feigning innocence as you settled into his side. In the middle of his conversation with the Rear Admiral that you had seen on stage earlier his hand landed on your ass for the second time tonight. The difference now is that something was missing. You fought your smile as you felt him stiffen next to you.

In the most professional way he could muster, Tom excused himself from the conversation before focusing his attention on you. The other man disappeared from your line of vision. Tom’s words were sharp and curt. You had clearly struck a nerve. “Where are they?” His voice was rough. Exactly the reaction you were looking for. With a barely noticeable smile, you pressed your bunched-up panties into his jacket pocket. He sucked in a sharp breath.

Tom gripped your hand tightly before pulling you toward the doors. He offered some people some half-assed excuse about why you were leaving early but other than that he was silent. He opened your door for you and raced to the other side of the car before he peeled out of the parking lot. The ride home was silent. For the most part, you considered whether or not you had made the right choice.

When you pulled into the driveway of your home, your husband was out of the car faster than you would have thought possible. Your door was yanked open moments later. He lead you inside wordlessly. The second you passed through the entry, Tom had you pinned against the wall, lips marking up the side of your neck. “Bedroom. Now,” He murmured into your skin. You heard him all the same, knowing that now your best option was to listen to what he said. He entered the bedroom moments later, eyes trained on you expectantly. “Take it off.” He motioned to your dress. With shaking hands, you removed the soft dress.

You could hear your husband hum approvingly. You were now standing in front of him in nothing but the lacy bralette you had worn tonight. He took slow, calculating steps toward you while your eyes drifted over him. Since you had arrived home, Tom had undone his tie and the first few buttons of his dress shirt. He walked up to you, slipping the tie from around his neck. His hand grasped your wrist gently, but you knew better. “Since you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself,” He murmured. You watched as the tie wove around your wrists intricately. “Now you don’t get to touch at all.” You wanted to groan loudly, but figured it was better if you stayed quiet.

Once your wrists were secure Tom began to rub his hands over your arms gently. Slowly, his hands found their way to the clasp of your bra. He undid it swiftly. You instinctively wanted to bring your hands up to cover yourself but your husband stopped you before you could. He grasped one of your breasts in his hand. You shivered slightly at the light chill of his fingers mixed with the sharp feeling of his ring. A breathly moan passed your lips as he tweaked your nipple. The chill of his fingers caused it to harden instantly.

You gasped quietly as his head ducked down to lap at the other. All the while, his free hand slipped between your legs to stroke at your dripping folds. Tom began walking you backward until your knees hit the edge of the bed. You fell back onto it and let out a soft squeak. With a nod of his head, Tom encouraged you to shuffle further up the bed. Your head fell back onto the pillows. Ice began to strip off the rest of his clothes, leaving him standing before you in nothing but a pair of black boxers.

He settled himself on the edge of the bad. He grabbed one of your legs by the calf, pressing soft kisses along it as he made his way to your center. When he reached your thigh he nibbled on it softly, soothing the bites with gentle kisses and laps of his tongue afterward. Before you could even comprehend what was happening, both your legs were thrown over his shoulders as he lapped at your folds. You moaned loudly as you tossed your head back. It felt heavenly as his lips sealed around your clit, drawing moan after moan and cry after cry from you. ‘Tom!” You cried softly. You wanted nothing more than to reach down and tug on his hair but unfortunately, that wasn't possible in your current state.

He continued on, licking at your cunt as if his life depended on it. His tongue began to slide in and out of you, causing you to cry out loudly. You could feel his hands tighten on your hips as you began to raise them, seeking more friction. ‘’M gonna come,” You murmured, head lolling to the side. Your thighs began shaking as you felt the coil in your stomach tighten. He began sucking harder, lips sealing around your clit as one of his hands left your hips. The coil threatened to nap as Ice slipped one of his fingers into your tight heat. “Fuck!” You cried out weakly. Just as you were about to tip over the edge, both his mouth and fingers retracted from you suddenly. You groaned loudly, feeling your cunt clench around nothing.

“You thought you’d get away without a punishment, baby?” He cooed softly, climbing up your body. When his eyes met yours, he ground his sizeable bulge down into you. You whined softly. Miraculously, he was able to remove his boxers with one hand, tossing them to the other side of the room. Your eyes landed on his cock hanging heavy between his legs. He brought a hand down to stroke himself, pulling a low groan from him. Your mouth practically watered at the sight. The tip was an angry red, and slick with pre-come. A soft moan left your lips at the sight of another bead leaking from his slit.

With one arm and an impressive amount of strength, he pinned your arms above your head. With his other hand he lined his cock up with your entrance. With a small smirk he teased the tip of his cock through your folds a few times, tapping it against your clit lightly. You both groaned loudly when he pushed the first few inches in. Needless to say, your husband was one well endowed man.

The second he was balls-deep, he set a ruthless pace, knocking the air out of you with every thrust. “Couldn’t behave, could you?” He grunted out, bringing his hand to your clit. He began circling it in time with his thrusts. Your choked out whine was the only response that he got. He pulled out until only the tip was inside you before slamming back in. Ice’s lips landed on your chest, littering soft bites across your otherwise pristine skin. “Just needed one night of you behaving, but no. You just couldn’t help but be a little whore could you?” His words were sharp and straight to the point. He punctuated the unsavory name with a harsh thrust. The squelching sound of Tom rocking his hips into your brought another wave of wetness through you.

The only noises that could be heard in the room were the sounds of your slick and soft moans and groans from both you and Ice. His lips trailed up the side of your neck until they slotted with yours. The kiss was rough and messy, all teeth and tongue. He nipped on your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue. “Can I please come?” You whimpered out, coil forming once again. Your husband grinned down at you, fingers seizing their movement on your sensitive clit. His thrusts slowed until he was just sitting inside you, letting you keep his cock warm.

He stared down at you mockingly. “I don’t know, can you?” You let out a high pitched whine. You began wiggling on the bed, searching for any type of friction to get you off. C’mon baby. Use your words.” You stared into his eyes, watching as they softened slightly. Even underneath this tough, dominant exterior he was still your sweet caring husband that you knew and loved.

“Please,” you pleaded softly. “Please, Tommy. Please let me come.” Ice could hear how desperate you were, which is why he took pity on you. His thrusts picked back up, the tip of his cock hitting your sweet spot with each one. You sighed blissfully when his long fingers returned to your clit. He tweaked the swollen bud between his fingers. In a matter of minutes your high was rebuilding. Soft moans escaped your lips as your husband brought you to your climax. When you finally reached it a loud moan fell from your lips. You shuddered in Ice’s arms as he coaxed you through it.

A whimper escaped you when you felt Tom pump his load into you. His thrusts slowed to a stop but his finger remained on your puffy clit, tracing soft circles. When he slipped out of you, you could see his eyes drift down to your weeping hole. He watched as his come slowly began to leak out of you. Not able to help himself, he brought a finger up to push it back into you. You whined, shifting your hips away from him when the overstimulation became too much. His thumb retracted from your clit. “Let’s get you cleaned up baby.” He murmured, lips pressing to your temple softly.

He got off the bed before heading into the ensuite. Moments later he returned with a damp washcloth in hand. Tom approached you, moving your leg before softly wiping down the inside of your thighs. You sighed softly at his gentleness. The cloth was tossed away. Ice climbed onto the bed and pulled the covers over the both of you. He pulled you to his chest and began tracing patterns into your back. “I love you, baby.” He spoke quietly.

You let out a sleepy yawn, curling into his chest. Your fingers played lightly with the dark tuft of hair that sat on his chest. “I love you too, Tom.” Your eyes fluttered shut, sleep overcoming you as you snuggled with your husband. The last thing you felt before you drifted off was the feeling of his soft lips pleasing a chaste kiss on your forehead.

a/n: Thank you for reading! Requests for holiday fics and moodboards are open.

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