#Mickey 'fanboy' Garcia

[sometimes-i-write-good]

Abs Sans Brain

Top Gun: Maverick - Jake “Hangman” Seresin x f!pilotreader [no use of y/n]

2.6k || Your date with Jake at the Hard Deck is crashed by the rest of the squad.

==== Genre: Fluffy, flirty, and funky

CW: Swearing, drinking

Author’s Note: I’m writing this before I start writing the fic itself. I’m shooting for 600 - 800 words. Please laugh at me when we see how wrong I end up being. Oh, and the reader is best friends with Bob because I said so. || cross-posted on ao3

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===

There were very few things you had asked for in life. Good health, good people, and the entire sky at your disposal. A small list, if a bit demanding. One thing you hadn’t been expecting when you’d asked for the Heavens was all those who came with it. In particular, Jake Seresin, who slid into the booth across from you. Beers in hand, grin in place.

“Come here often, doll?”

You roll your eyes at him. A movement that does little to hide the smile blooming across your lips. “I can’t believe I ever let that line work on me.”

“In your defense,” he said, taking a long swig of his beer. “The first time I used that line, we were thousands of feet in the sky. It’s where I’m at my most irresistible.”

“Ah, yes. That must have been it. Everywhere else you’re just insufferable.” You laughed and took a significantly smaller sip of your beer. It’s your second one in ten minutes. “If I didn’t know you any better, Seresin, I’d say you’re trying to get me drunk here.”

“Tryin’?” he scoffed, “and you say you know me.”

The unfortunate thing about this whole situation was that you did know Jake. You knew him well, better than Coyote. You knew his favorite color was yellow. That’s why it had been put in his helmet. (He’d also left off the ‘a’ in his helmet because the idea of filling it in to say ‘Hungman’ fit his sixth grade sense of humor). You knew he over-exaggerated his southern drawl whenever you walked into a room because you’d once drunkenly admitted to him that hearing him talk flooded your mind with dirty thoughts. You knew Jake’s mind was fifty percent dirty thoughts, twenty-five percent sky, twenty percent you, five percent ways to school you at cards and five percent cheeky comebacks he was sitting on to annoy the rest of the squad with. And, most disheartening of all, you knew Jake was not a romantic.

It didn’t bother him that date night was a few beers, fried food, and a game of pool. It didn’t bother you either. Not entirely, but you were hoping for one night where you could dress up nice and go out somewhere fancy. Somewhere along the lines of joining the military and ending up at TOPGUN the line of being feminine had been blurred. Commanders couldn’t understand why you’d want to put on a bit of mascara to fly a plane. In the same stretch of imagination, Hangman seemingly couldn’t put it together that you’d like a bit of romance in your life beyond the cheesy pickup lines and pet names.

If you could add anything to your list of ‘good health, good people, and the entire sky’ it would be a few nice dates. You’d say nothing fancy, but you wouldn’t mean it. You wanted fancy. Even if it was just to realize that fancy is actually not what you wanted at all. Something to change up the pace of playing pool with Jake and being hit on by him like you were his latest conquest and not his girlfriend of six months.

Part of you felt like you were being slightly unfair.

“Your turn, doll,” Jake said, but when you went to pass in front of him he grabbed you by your belt loop. He pulled you back towards him, matching your laugh, and captured your lips with his.

Moments like these almost had you convinced that maybe you could push those selfish date ideas off to the side. Jake liked showing off. He liked being able to flirt with you in a place where you could laugh loudly and no one would look at you weird. He liked being able to slip out the back door to walk down the beach with you under the stars.

“If it’s my turn,” you said between kisses, “then let me shoot the ball.”

Reluctantly, he let go of your waist and you positioned yourself to sink yet another ball into the pocket. You planned to kick his ass in an embarrassingly short amount of time to get the pettiness out of your system, then enjoy your night together.

Except for the fact that the front bell chimed, and familiar shouts filled the bar. Familiar because you’d heard them less than an hour ago. You considered altering your list once more. ‘Good people who knew when not to come get a drink.’

“Hangman!” Payback shouted across the bar. “Rack ‘em up. Rooster was just telling me how the two of you ended in a tie game last week.”

Jake’s laughter filled your ears. He still had a hand on the small of your back, but his attention was entirely on your group of friends trailing through the door. “Chicken doesn’t know what he’s talkin’ about. I smoked his ass.”

“I’d like to see you put your money where your mouth is, Seresin. Unless you’re still broke from the last time I kicked your ass.”

Rooster headed over to the pool table followed closely by Fanboy and Coyote. Payback, scribbling in a notebook, hung back for a moment. Then opened his mouth to edge the tension on a bit more. You knew your date night had been pushed aside, so you took it upon yourself to step off to the side yourself.

Phoenix smiled at you, waving, and tilted her head. “I thought you guys were on a date?” She asked. You shot her a look that said ‘We’ll talk later.’ Natasha let out a laugh. “Sorry. Look, I’ll get you something strong to drink.”

“Make it a double!” You called out after her as she made her way over to the bar where she’d be trapped by millions of questions from Penny. The sound of your name, your government name, being called by a certain southern drawl caught your attention. “Yes, love?” You asked, hoping that your boyfriend was about to make an unexpected promise that the two of you could leave after one game.

“What’s the matter, darlin’?” Jake nudged you softly with his shoulder then threw his head over in Bradley’s direction. “We can always just ask the peanut squad to leave. The small man will only get so much smaller when I whoop his ass for the hundredth time”

Rooster stiffens, almost to attention. He holds the pool cue next to him. Straight and tall. “I’m taller than you are, Bagman.”

It had become a trend of sorts to refer to Jake with various insults that fell so effortlessly from Bob’s mouth. You had tried your hardest to resist, out of solidarity for your boyfriend, some of the nicknames were too creative to avoid… and it gave you an excuse to make Jake try and draw his true name from your lips.

“I wasn’t referring to that kind of height, Chick.”

“C’mon, Jake,” you whine, “can you please just be the polite Jake I know you to be?”

“Oxymoron!” Rooster calls from across the pool table to which Jake whirls around and says, “What the fuck did you just call me?”

You shoot a glare in Bradley’s direction. “Seriously?” Out of the corner of your eye you see Payback pulling that same little notebook out of his pocket to make a mark. You turn on him. “And what the hell are you doing?”

He turns the page towards you. On it in crude, unintelligible handwriting is what you can only assume to be two columns labeled “Hangman” and “Rooster�� with a series of ticks beneath them. Jake in the lead by a long shot. “I like to keep track.”

In the corner, you noticed when you squinted to read the handwriting, was a third little box. Completely full of ticks. “Who is that?”

“Bob,” Payback said at the same time Bob said, “Mine.”

You rolled your eyes and turned your attention back to Jake. “Can I talk to you?”

Your tone is enough to etch worry on his face. He set his pool cue against the table, grabbed you by the waist, and pulled you off to the side. “What’s wrong, doll?”

“This isn’t a date.” The whiny lit to your voice didn’t make you feel the most sexy, but you’d tried seducing Jake to go to a movie so the two of you could make out in the dark instead and that hadn’t worked. Pouting was your last resort. “Every time we go on a date, they show up. They’re like fleas!”

“At least fleas can do tricks.” Jake turned to look over his shoulder. “Rooster can’t even hit a ball straight.”

“Jake, I’m being serious. Why won’t you just take me on a date? A real one.”

“Look, pretty girl, I’ll make a deal with you.”

You side-eyed him, unconvinced, and sighed. “Lucky me.”

“Play me in darts. I win, we stay and hang out with everyone. Lord knows Rooster and Phoenix need to be humbled in pool. Plus, you’re the only one here who can get Bob to do enough shots to start doing karaoke.” He rests his forehead against yours. “I know how much you love his drunk renditions of ‘Sweet Caroline.’”

Jake had a point. There had been one night - shockingly, another date night at the Hard Deck turned into a group activity - where you went to sulk in a booth while your schmooze of a boyfriend fueled his bromance with Coyote, Rooster, and Payback. Bob, still not the biggest partier, had grown tired of the swapping insults over darts and was worn out from dodging Phoenix and Fanboy’s attempts to get him to dance with them. So he’d ended up in the booth across from you.

You’d been pounding back shots of tequila like they were water. “He’s stupid,” you had slurred to Bob, “but you’re not stupid. You’re fun. Here, do a shot with me. Let’s be fun.”

He would tell you the next day that he had only intended to do one shot but one turned into two which turned into four which turned into Bob unplugging the jukebox to sing a melody of songs from your Grandma’s playlist with impressive range. After each one he would make sure to point you out of the gathering crowd of dazzled patrons. “This one’s for her!” He’d shout in dedication and start up singing again.

It hadn’t been a bad night then, and, even though you’d never admit it to Jake, you had a lot of fun. Tonight would be the same if you could let yourself stop moping long enough to enjoy it. But there was still the matter of:

“What if I win?” You ask. Competition was the reason you were here on the West Coast to begin with. You were the best of the best because you refused to let anyone else get the upper hand on you. “What do I get then, Seresin?”

“If you win,” Jake said, slowly kneading your hips with his hands. “I will take you out on another date - a fancy one. With roses and the opening of doors and the biggest bottle of wine this nice restaurant downtown has to offer. I’ll dress up and give you the most romantic night of your life. But tonight we’ll stay here and do everything we’d do anyway if I had win.”

“If I win.”

“If you win… but you won’t.”

He didn’t have to say it for you to know it was true. He threw darts the same way he flew planes: with deadly precision. There was a reason Hangman was the only one out of everyone in their generation with two confirmed kills. He could land a shot with his eyes closed. In the air and with two feet planted firmly on the hardwood floors of the Hard Deck.

“That’s not fair at all.”

“I don’t make the rules, sweet thing.” That stupid smirk was back on his face. The two of you hadn’t made it back to your booth yet for appetizers, otherwise there’d surely be a toothpick rolling between those lips of his too.  “C’mon, we’ll make it easy. Three darts each. Most points win.”

“That’s not how you play darts, Jake. Even I know that.”

“Bagman,” Payback called out, “what are you doing, the balls are racked?”

You went to grab the darts from the board as Jake said, “Kicking my girl’s ass in darts as a warm up for kicking your sorry asses in every game after.”

“Ladies first,” you gestured, mimicking his smug smirk. He glared playfully at you but stepped up to throw the first dart in a movement almost too quick for you to see. A perfect bullseye. “Show off.”

“Got to put some skin in the game.” Jake moved you in front of him. His hands gripping your waist to hold you in place as he pressed kisses to your neck. “I like your skin better, darlin’.”

You shooed him away. The dart felt heavy in your hand. Screwing this up would essentially be throwing away your only sure shot at the date of your dreams. You lifted your arm and threw the dart. It flew, fitting itself snugly into the single bull.

Jake’s turn. He moved just as quickly as the first time, but the angle he shot at landed the dart in a single scoring 18. Winning was still well within your grasp. A decent date was inching closer and closer.

Your turn. A deep steady breath. This dart felt weightless. An extension of yourself. You throw the dart in a less fluid motion than Jake, but manage to stick it in the bullseye right next to his.

“Look at that!” You shouted, pointing and jumping. Joy overwhelmed you not just because you were currently winning, but because this had been the first bullseye you’d made without Jake helping you in the slightest. He’d likely still claim this victory as his. It was his silly deal that made you so determined in the first place.

Jake’s final turn. He still had the chance to put you in the dust. Your eyes were glued to the board, but the dart never came. When you turned to look at him, Jake threw the dart at the ground. “You win,” he said, but you shook your head. Eyes back to the board. You won even without throwing this last dart.

You snapped your head in his direction, ready to call him out for cheating, but you were cut off by Jake’s lips crashing onto yours. He pulled away quickly, muttered a small, “You really think I’d deny you anything, doll?” then rushed off to join the restless group at the pool table. Leaving you to glance from the stray dart stuck in the floor and the man you were beginning to fall for at the pool table.

Phoenix saddled up next to you, drink in hand, and passed one over to you. “What did he promise you if you won?”

“A real date.”

“The fancy one with all that inspiration you’ve been sending me on Pintrest.”

“That’s the one.”

She let out a low whistle. “Wow, and I thought he loved you just by the way he looked at you, but this is something else. He’s smitten.”

“I guess I have that effect on some people,” you said and hid your giddy grin with a sip of your drink. “Did you ask Penny to get the tequila shots ready?”

“The real question is if we’re ready to hear Bob signing.”

This might just be one of your favorite dates yet.

===

oneshot taglist: 

@rosiahills22 @pono-pura-vida @gizmodear​

[moonlight-prose]

✧ FANTASY ✧

a/n: so out of all the fics i've written so far i particularly love this one a lot. probably because it's with fanboy and he continues to hold a whole section of my heart to himself. it's not as filthy as all the other prompts i have written, but i love it. enjoy!

day two - photos | kinktober 2023

summary: "but this—you dressed in all black and lace to match—was more than he could have hoped for. you were a dream come true—a fantasy he was lucky enough to have right in front of him."

word count: 1.3k+

pairing: mickey 'fanboy' garcia x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, dirty photos, face fucking, oral (m receiving), cumeating, mickey being cocky.

The familiar click of your Polaroid camera echoed through the room as you lay there. Remaining as still as humanly possible to achieve the perfect vision in his mind. A sight he claimed he could see clearer than he saw the clouds when he was mid flight. You wanted to tell him he was simply trying to flatter you. An act he always partook in. But this time was different.

This time…he knew how he wanted you.

The sheer black gloves you wore were pulled up to your elbows, matching your pretty and delicate thigh highs. The soft glow of the lamp illuminated you in the darkness of your shared bedroom—your body stretched across the bed exactly how he desired. Every minute detail in his head now displayed before him like a piece of fucking art.

“Mi vida,” he said softly, drawing your attention to him—your lips parting at the sight of his dark eyes now blown wide with lust. “Perfecta.”

You grinned, stretching your leg out, your shiny patent black heel shifting to press against his bare chest. Mickey swallowed thickly, his eyes drinking you in—struggling to hold himself back from finally taking you. He said he wanted pictures for when he was gone. When all he had was his hand and the mental image of you.

But this—you dressed in all black and lace to match—was more than he could have hoped for. You were a dream come true—a fantasy he was lucky enough to have right in front of him.

“Are you going to take the picture mi amor? Or are you going to keep staring?” you teased softly—your eyes trailing down to the gray sweatpants he wore that were slung low on his hips. The happy trail you’d kissed to lovingly an hour before now on full display.

He grinned. Positioning the camera back up to his eyeline, he gave you a moment to fix the lens with a stare that was proven to rile him up, before pressing down on the small button. The echo of the film being spit out—developing slowly—sent chills down your spine. Your body reacting in a way it hadn’t before. There was something about knowing what would happen to these photos that sent another wave of slick pouring into your already thin panties.

“Wanna try something,” you said softly, shifting to your knees and watching as he trailed his eyes down the length of your body.

If there’s one thing you knew for certain it was this. Whenever you were with Mickey, you felt like the only person in the world. As if everything faded away until eventually it was just you and him and your shared bedroom, existing on a plane away from everything and everyone. You wanted to stay there. Sink into the sheet, spread your legs, and feel him fill you as he’d done a hundred times before.

But the need to rile him up even further won the battle in your head.

Smiling softly, you reached for the waistband of his sweatpants, dipping your hand beneath the surface and watching him gulp in a lungful of air. His body shuddered when your hand slid along his already hard and leaking cock. You hadn’t even touched him completely, yet he was already this far gone. Entirely ready to cum with just a few gentle strokes and whispered words of praise.

“Ah fuck—” he sucked in another breath, his mouth parting—a groan falling past his plush lips. “Baby I won’t last if you keep—shit—”

Pressing a kiss to his chest, you grinned at the stain of red lipstick that was left behind on his already flushed skin. “You don’t need to last.”

“But I want to…”

“Shh,” you breathed, stroking him softly and allowing him to buck into your hand. “Just get ready to shoot, yeah?”

He nodded, fumbling with the camera as you tugged his sweatpants down until they were around his thighs. A raspy moan echoed in your ears when you leaned down, wrapping your painted lips around the head of his cock. Licking up what had started to bead up at the top.

“Oh fuck,” he panted, his eyes wide in awe—watching intently as you took him into your mouth, positioning yourself to show the expanse of your body.

Blinking up at him, you raised an eyebrow, seeing the understanding quickly spread across his face. If the photos were for him to find some semblance of release when he was away, then you would give him something to remember you by. An image that would no doubt be burned into his brain by the time he came back to you.

Mickey’s hands shook slightly as he held up the camera, the image of you sucking on his cock too much for his already lust addled brain. If you weren’t careful he would cum long before he even got a chance to be inside you. Yet the way you were pumping your hand, stimulating him in just the right way, told him that’s exactly what you wanted.

“Okay,” he muttered to himself, trying not to completely ruin this shot for either of you. He was a man who could handle high risk situations in mid air. Yet his cock in the wet heat of your mouth turned him into a complete and utter mess.

Mickey wasn’t sure how you did it. What spell you cast over him, but it certainly was working.

He clicked the button and both of you watched the film begin to slowly slide out of the bottom. The picture a blank white canvas for now. But he wasn’t concerned with watching it develop. Shit he could barely stand to not cum all over your hand at this moment. Gathering the photos and the camera, he shoved them over to the other side of the bed. He’d worry about them later. Right now you were doubling down on your efforts to bring him to a fast and mind numbing orgasm.

“Fuck baby,” he grunted, thrusting into your mouth and feeling your throat constrict around him. “Gonna cum if you keep that up.”

Your lips quirked up slightly, hand shifting down to cup his balls—tugging on them gently. The fact that you could barely breathe wasn’t a concern to you. Not when Mickey was gripping the back of your head, guiding your movements how he wanted—his pupils nearly swallowing the brown of his irises. A broken sound tore from his chest, his stomach flexing with every thrust, and all it took was you taking him just a little bit more down your throat to send him flying over the edge.

He spurted into your mouth with a pained grunt, his body arching forward into himself; a string of curse words spilling from his lips. And you swallowed every last drop. Sucking along his cock to make sure nothing remained, until he was pulling you up and slotting his lips roughly against yours.

“I should have taken a picture of that,” you gasped, smiling when his hands practically ripped at the lace of your panties. “Could have kept it for when you’re away.”

Something rumbled low and dark in his chest, his hands gripping your thighs painfully as he pushed you back into the mattress. The thought of you getting off to a picture of him made his spent cock twitch again—seeking out the warmth he could only find when he was buried deep within you. Grabbing for the camera, he practically shoved it into your hands, flipping the both of you until he was the one on his back.

A sly smile spreading across his lips.

“Yeah?” he taunted, sliding his thumb to your clit and watching in rapture as your entire body shivered. “Get ready to shoot then mi vida.”

[sushiwriterhere]

top gun threesomeissance 2023 masterlist

wow y'all!!! i'm so sorry for how late this is but you guys blew me away with each of these pieces. thank you to everyone who wrote, read, reblogged, liked, commented, and just in general encouraged their friends to write. so much love, and i hope everyone enjoyed!! now, in no particular order...... the masterlist:

bradley, jake, x f!reader

Up the Ante - @sometimesanalice Rooster had heard the whispers. He knew what the stories were about- the ones that had followed him and Hangman around for years. You, however, are more than happy to find out for yourself if all the rumors were true.

jake, f!reader, x f!reader's friend

You and Me and She Makes Three - @roosterforme Jake had feelings for you. And that was a problem, because he didn't do relationships. He was going to have to choose his independence over being with you. At least that's what he thought until he was presented with the opportunity to enjoy you and his freedom at the same time. 

bob, jake, x reader

three tender lovers - @sebsxphia bob proposes a solution to jake’s remarks to the marks on bob’s back. all three of you find resolution and something else. love.

(im)Patiently Waiting - @callsign-cacti You and Bob have been dancing around one another for years. Now, with Jake and Bob eyeing each other, you have a plan. Hopefully, it ends with both of them in your bed... or any bed.

mickey, bob, x f!reader

Two Turns Into Three - @foreverrandomwritings You and your boyfriend Fanboy propostion your close friend Bob with a threesome request.

javy, bradley, x f!reader

Merrier the More - @sylviebell Jake strikes out at the bar, but you hit a couple of home runs

javy, natasha, x reader

The Last Unicorn - @thedroneranger Getting caught between Natasha and Javy leads to a unique experience.

javy, mickey, x f!plus size!reader

"It was always gonna end this way" - @briseisgone [no author written summary but!] smut, polyamory, boys being bisexual boys, and a whole lotta fun

beau, jake, x f!reader

The Magic Number - @wkndwlff Beau and his fiancé discover the magic of threes.

[rae-gar-targaryen]

sin adorno o flores | without decoration or flowers [mickey "fanboy" garcia x fem!reader]

Summary: Some soapy, sinful sweetness in the bathtub with Fanboy. (Thanks to @fanboys-fangirl for this one).

Pairing: Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia x fem!civilian!reader (aka “Cielo;” as always no use of y/n – my readers are written ambiguous, but with a latina!reader in mind.)

Warnings: improbable bathtub shenanigans, adult content so 18+, fingering, allusions to smut, it’s unedited and probably terrible please don’t disown me.

Word Count: 1.7k of a sudsy, sexy solution to insomnia. 

--

Neither of you were immune to a sleepless night here and there.

Mickey knew you were prone to late night bouts of inspiration, slipping from your bedsheets to go draw. Prising yourself from his arms and leaving him with the lingering heat of your skin against his, dreams of sunlight and artist’s graceful hands dancing in his head.

And he would sometimes wake, the anxious itch that he had overslept or missed his alarm causing him to jolt awake at 2 a.m., damning him to spend the remainder of the witching hour tossing and turning. Restless nights when he was away were spent with wisps of you in his arms, in the form of imagination. Longing for the feel of your skin against his, despite damnable distance.

Even when he was home, sleep had a funny way of remaining elusive. Blame it on jet lag. Blame it on adrenaline. Blame it on the thoughts running a mile a minute in his head, the way the sky blurs past the canopy of his jet, an ocean of streaking, rolling blue.

Mickey's thoughts are muddled as he slips from your shared bed, careful not to disturb you as you continue to snooze on -- and were you dreaming of him? Your thoughts spinning, spilling into your pillow to piece together from dreams into shareable thoughts when you wake, an easy smile detectable on your lips through the 2 a.m. hazy spell of the room. 

Mickey creeps into the ensuite bathroom, cursing the transition of cold hardwood beneath his feet to cold tile as he shuts the door behind him and makes his way over to the tub -- cranking the brass tap and praying that the sudden rumble of water into the porcelain isn't enough to disturb your sleep.

You had a long day, after all. While Mickey played COD with Payback, you had worked. Taking nonstop calls from your project manager.

And you had still made time to make dinner. Mickey had helped, of course – If by help, you counted him slipping his hands along your waist as he crept up behind you while waiting for the pasta to boil. The warmth of his hands flooding through the thin fabric of your t-shirt, improbably unstoppable. His lips meeting your neck in a teasing peck, humming into your skin like tickling, tufty bee’s wings, as he watched you stir the noodles. 

“You’re not getting out of heating the sauce,” you admonished, turning in his arm to press a kiss to his lips, all scorn in your voice absent in favor of a lilting tease. 

“Baby,” he rumbled. “I’ll heat up every jar of alfredo I can find if you make that mean little wrinkle with your eyebrows at me again.”

You frowned.

“That’s the one,” he kissed your cheek. “Gets me hot.”  

And after dinner, you’d had to go back to your project – promises of devilish downtime with your boyfriend crumbling as the evening wore on, and the two of you had gone to bed.

Now, while he waited for the tub to fill, Mickey lit your large basin candle on the stand near the tub, the smell of cinnamon and oranges instantaneously filling his nose, washing him in warm sweetness as he dropped some of your honey-oat bath milk into the tub, watching it froth and foam. He eased himself into the tub, urging his mind to sooth as the warm water seeped and danced over his skin.

–

The slicing splash of water from the other side of the bathroom door meets your ears, stirring you from lavender hued dreams of warm smiles, tanned skin, and inky curls. Of the skimming skate of warm palms rasping up the skin of your arms and shoulders. Cupping your jaw. Of the hazy promise of a kiss, even in your dreams, as smiling lips danced along yours.

It was such a good dream.

You turned in your sheets, hands seeking hands in the darkness of your room, eager to make your dream a reality --

Only to find that his side of the bed was empty. Hm.

The tinkling trail of water dripping into the tub met your ears once more, prompting you to ease out of bed and make your way to the bathroom. 

Opening the door to be met with the sight of your beloved -- his curls, which had grown out since his return home, pulled back into a bun, a loose tendril sticking to his forehead, frizzing slightly at the steaming heat of the bathwater. 

And it was staggering, you thought, how he managed to steal the breath from your lungs each time, after all this time, like some sort of clever trick. One that he would never share. 

"A magician never reveals their secrets, Cielo," he would tease.

But he looked magical now, you thought. The golden glow of your single candle splashing across the exposed tawny skin of his arms, resting against the porcelain curve of the tub. His eyes closed and head tilted back as he rested in the warm, soapy water. 

He cracked an eye open, as though greeting you with a sleepy wink -- still cheeky, even when exhausted. His lips curling into a smile as he took in your form in the doorway. 

"Couldn't sleep?" You murmured, your footsteps silent over the tile as you made your way to the side of the tub.

Mickey groaned in response.

"Hmm, no." He opened both eyes now, sitting up and allowing the soapy bubbles that had rested there to slip their way down his chest with the movement. 

"Do you want to talk about it? Or just a restless night?" You eased, crouching beside the tub and allowing your arm to drape over the side. You trailed your fingers through the water, admiring the trails you cut through the soapy water, before glancing up to lock eyes with your beloved. 

“Just a tough night to sleep,” he shrugged. “But this is helping. You should go back to sleep, Cielo. I’ll be back in in a bit.”

“Well I’m awake now,” you huffed in mock consternation, allowing your brow to crease in the sexy little frown he had teased you for before. You reached for his hand, lacing his fingers through yours. “I suppose,” you pressed your lips to each fingertip between your words. “I could join you?” 

Mickey nodded, swallowing heavily in his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing as he took in the sight of you, standing now to step into the tub. His hand still joined with yours, he guided you into the water as you were, still clothed in your loose, soft sleeping t-shirt and white panties. 

You eased your way down with Mickey’s guidance, coming to rest between his legs, the feel of his firm chest pressing into your back through the damp shirt now sticking to your skin. You rested your head against his shoulder, sighing at the feel of being held once more.

“Relaxed?” you asked, tilting your head to look back and up at him, only to find his gaze already upon you.

His irises were the slow drip of honeyed bourbon, swirling, in the dim glow of your bathroom by candlelight as he took you in. His gaze blazing along your skin, taking in the sight of the rise and fall of your chest, your nipples visible through the thin dampness of your t-shirt as it clung to you. 

“No,” Mickey bit, reaching for you and allowing his hands to slip, obscured beneath the soapy water to toy with the elastic of your panties at your waist. Gripping your skin beneath your shirt as he allowed the water to assist, turning you in his lap to face him. Your chest now pressed against his.

Mickey’s lips met yours, a euphoric rush of sweltering sin as he nipped your lower lip. Easing your lips to part with heat and bite as he slid his tongue into your mouth, one hand at the back of your neck and one at the curve of the small of your back, keeping your hips pressed to his.

He released your lips from his, his eyes taking you in, wild and wanton –  the sections of hair dampened by his touch, your kiss-swollen lips. Your blown, doe-eyes glimmering like bottle-glass in the dim light of the bathroom. He reveled in the feel of the rise and fall of your chest as against his, the feel of your pebbled nipples. Of the now-soaked shirt clinging to your every dip and curve.

“Gonna kiss me again, Romeo?” you asked, breathlessly.

Mickey smiled, a fox’s grin. He parted his legs further, pressing them against the edges of the edges of the porcelain, allowing you to fill the space as he wrapped his arms fully around you, his hands spanning against your back. Pushing your shirt like tissue paper up and exposing more of your damp, glistening skin to his gaze as he brought his lips to yours once more. 

Using his leverage as he leaned back into the tub, bringing you with him, slipping up his body from your space between his legs. Your panties soaked through and clinging to you as you rolled your hips, begging for some friction as he continued to kiss you.

You brought your hands up the firm plane of his chest, allowing them to rest there as you parted your lips from his, taking in the glow-lit sight of your beloved below you.

And there it was again, you thought. The magician’s trick.

Mickey was still smirking at you through lust-blown eyes as one of his hands wandered from the small of your back. One hand to your neck as he kissed you again, tugging at the collar of your t-shirt, tugging it aside to press a kiss to your collarbone, a sly, sensational little thing – the feeling of his lips on your skin. The other hand moved toward your waist, inching toward your center, a thick finger snapping the waist of your panties against your slick, heated skin, the action muffled by the warm-but-cooling bathwater. He slid his down the front of your panties, a thick finger running along your wet slit, purposeful and cruel.

You tilted your head back at the feeling of his fingers at your center, sweet and firm, causing your eyes to flutter shut and your lips to part, the attention rendering the fluttering feeling between your thighs giving way to full, pulsing ache.

Mickey paused to take in the sight of you – of the bubbles trailing along your skin, glinting in the candlelight. 

The sloshing water met your ears as Mickey shifted beneath you, sitting up more fully to guide your lips into a kiss once more as he eased a finger inside of you, stroking you gently as the water continued to roll with the motion. 

“M,” you gasped, using your hands still pressed to his chest to push away, “Don’t take this the wrong way,” you rolled your hips against his hand once, a cracked-glass moan catching in your throat as the curve of his finger inside of you caused you to throb. “But we’ve gotta stop.”

Mickey’s brow creased at your words, a mild frown of his own playing on his shadow-danced features as you gently guided his hand from you with a gentle grip on his wrist. 

On shaky, Bambi legs, you made to stand – Mickey’s wrist still gripped in yours as you stepped out of the tub and onto the plush bath mat.

“Cielo, if this is some kind of game,” Mickey’s eyes followed you as you went, doing his best to keep the minor crack of desperation from his voice. You weren’t the only one aching by now, after all …

“No game,” you guided Mickey to stand in the tub, removing your grip from his to bring your hands to your own waist. With a traipsing trip, you hooked your fingers through the waistband of your panties, allowing the damp fabric to roll as you guided it down your legs to step out of them, kicking them to the side. “No trick,” you assured. 

You helped Mickey step from the tub, his body pressed to yours as you both stood on the plush rectangle of the bath mat. You glanced up at him through your lashes, guiding his hand to cup your jaw. Turning  your face slightly in his grip, you allowed your lips to follow, sucking his thumb lightly as you kept your heated gaze locked on his…

Reveling in the visible swallow in his throat at the feeling of your lips around him. In the way the candlelight made the peaks of his high cheekbones look somehow finer. As though your love was made of spun gold and the liquid aureate drip of the late-afternoon winter sun. 

“I know just how to help you sleep,” you murmured, leading him from your bathroom back to the bedroom and guiding him down onto the sheets –  dampness be damned.

Mickey had his tricks, sure. But so did you. 

tagging:  @joaquinwhorres @withahappyrefrain @clints-lucky-arrow @inklore @phoenixhalliwell @ohmagawd-life @levylovegood @thatredheadwriter @zombieaurora @shadeds-library @writercole @ijustwantedplums @justalonelyslytherin @gretagerwigsmuse @fanboys-fangirl @siriusfahey @the-navistar-carol @jadore-andor @fanboygarcia @lavenderluna10 @thedaredevilsgirl @fluffyprettykitty @mickeyluvs @mothdruid   @maxmayfield @eagerforthesky @callmemana @mxgyver  @andrewrussgarfield @bioodforbiood  @the-purity-pen @luxuryberzatto @liz-allyn  @moonlight-prose @thegirlwhowritesfics @phoebe-danvers ​@jadore-andor  @marvelousmermaid @spidervee ​@t-nd-rfoot @teacupsandtopgun @therebeccaw​

[writercole]

Sealed With A Kiss

Summary: A secret identity. A secret pining. And one mutual friend who knows all the secrets. Words: 2304 Warnings: Fluff, boudoir photography if that's triggering, some negative self-talk. Credits: None. This is all me, baby. A/N: This has been in progress for months. Finally he managed to visit today and help me finish off the story. A/N 2: Logan is based off of Florida Boy and Formula 1 driver, Logan Sargeant.

Things that seem to make the most sense never really hit you until they’ve happened. Like the moment you realize your anger has been because you’re hungry or the fight you picked over one thing was due to stress about another. The italicized ‘oh’ moment, if you will.

For Mickey Garcia, that moment came when he stepped into the studio the day of his latest photo shoot to find the woman he’d been pining after for years walking in on the other side of the mirrored glass.

He’d been great at keeping his secret passion a secret, loving the way he could create a happiness and a confidence in his subjects by drawing out the beauty that they naturally possessed. His photographs got featured in international ad campaigns for major brands of clothing and lingerie. But the only name that was credited was “Fanboy.”

There was one person who knew his true identity. His best friend from high school and college, Logan, helped to manage everything when Mickey couldn’t show his face. Logan accepted awards on Fanboy’s behalf, welcomed clients to the studio, met with marketing executives. Everyone knew who Logan worked for, but none knew who the man behind the call sign was.

Logan had more than once proven himself loyal and trustworthy, never revealing the identity of his friend, even to the women who climbed into his bed.

It wasn’t always the easiest thing in the world for Mickey to keep his secret from his other friends. No one else in his life knew the work he did, least of all his roommate. And now she was standing just on the other side of the glass, talking to his best friend, the same friend who wore a knowing smirk as he looked over her head, directly where Mickey was standing.

Mickey watched as Logan directed his roommate and the woman he pined for to the dressing room and showed her the robe, telling her to come out whenever she was ready. Once Logan entered the holding area, Mickey began yelling as loud as he dared.

“What are you doing?!” He demanded of his assistant and best friend.

“What? She had mentioned loving Fanboy’s work and feeling like she could use a confidence boost. I casually offered to see if there was a date on his schedule that could work for her. I may have neglected to mention that fact to you,” Logan replied with cool confidence, daring Mickey to challenge him on this. “Look, man, I know you like her and -”

“She’s my roommate, of course I like her!”

“You know exactly what I mean, Garcia,” Logan snapped. “This is your chance. She’s hella into you, too!”

“She is not, Logan. And now I have to live with the knowledge that she’s in my studio waiting for me dressed for a boudoir shoot -”

“How do you know it’s a boudoir?”

“WHAT ELSE DO I SHOOT IN THE STUDIO, SARGENT?!”

“Fair,” Logan mused, “but also you have done head shots and other things in the studio and, since it’s me we’re talking about, I could have booked something that wouldn’t have made you uncomfortable because I know you’re thinking of her when -”

“LOGAN SHUT UP!” Mickey bellowed.

“Look, Mick, if you’re really not okay with this, I’ll tell her something came up with Fanboy and that I can do the shoot for her. You know I don’t look at her that way.”

“No, I can, I just...”

“Mick, trust me,” implored Logan as he clasped his hand on Mickey’s shoulder, “she’s as into you as you’re into her. And she doesn’t think you look at her twice.”

“Logan?” she called from the other side of the one-way glass.

“Last chance to back out,” Logan offered.

“No,” Mickey sighed, “no, I’m good. I got this.”

“Damn right you do,” grinned Logan, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “Now you have about a minute to get back behind the camera before she comes through the door.”

Logan stepped out of the secret room back into the corridor, taking the door on the left that led to the dressing area instead of the one on the right leading to the set, grinning at his friend as he saw her wrapped in the robe, black tights and heels poking out of the bottom, fidgeting nervously as he approached.

“Why do you look like you’re about to throw up, darlin?” He asked as he approached, opening his arms wide for her to burrow into him, something he’d gotten used to over the last few months when he’d been encouraging her to go out on dates that always ended in disaster. He knew of her feelings towards her roommate and his best friend, feelings that were reciprocated, feelings that she always told Logan he was imagining.

She stepped into his arms and rested her head on his chest as he wrapped her in a tight hug, somehow holding all of her together. “Logan, how did I let you talk me into this? I feel ridiculous.”

“But you look beautiful,” he rebutted.

“You’re just saying that because you’re friends with Mickey.”

“I am not just friends with Mickey,” scoffed Logan, “how dare you insinuate that I’m not your friend too?”

“I know you are, Logan.”

“And do you trust me?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed, pulling away from him to smile teasingly, “you did let me go on those awful dates.”

“I also told you to tell Mickey how you feel about him but you didn’t trust me there, either.”

“He doesn’t want someone like me.” Her smile faded and a sadness took over her eyes, breaking Logan’s heart.

“Why wouldn’t he want someone intelligent, kind, funny, and gorgeous?”

“Because I’m not, Logan. Look at me! I’ve got a flabby stomach, huge thighs, frizzy hair. My eyes are too dark, my lashes too short, and my nose is awful.”

“I’m so glad I made you come here today if that’s really how you think,” Logan growled, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and leading her to the studio set.

“You’re not going to leave me, are you?” she whispered.

“Not a chance.”

“Miss, I’m Fanboy,” Mickey stated, his voice filling the room through speakers positioned in the corners. “You won’t see me but I’ll be here the whole time. If anything makes you too uncomfortable, please tell me.”

She glanced up at Logan and he nodded, sending a sense of relief through her. “Okay,” she sighed.

“Whenever you’re ready, stand at the foot of the bed and take off your robe.”

“Any way in particular?” Her heart pounded beneath the lingerie clinging to her voluptuous figure, out of her depth and feeling like she was drowning, held afloat by only the comforting presence of Logan, wishing somehow he were traded for the one person she truly wanted there, the one who not only made her heart race and her palms sweat but also made her feel comfortable and safe and protected.

“No, sweetheart, however you want to is fine with me. I have a few poses in mind but I’m mostly going to trust you and the way you’re moving and feeling, okay?”

She cocked her head and looked at Logan who shrugged.

“Is something wrong?” Fanboy’s voice asked.

“No, no, nothing’s wrong,” she denied, shaking her head before taking a step forward to the bed, “it’s just that my roommate calls me sweetheart.”

“Is it okay if I call you that?”

“I..I guess. I mean, it’s kind of his thing. But you almost sound like him so it’s not as weird as I thought it would be.”

“But is it something you like?” he pressed, snapping pictures of her from behind as she slipped her robe off of her shoulders.

She looked over her shoulder with a soft smile, her eyes cast downwards as she held her robe to her chest. “Now you really do sound like him. He asked me a very similar question.”

The shutter clicked several more times before he spoke again. “That’s still not an answer.”

“Yes, I like it,” she chuckled.

“Okay, sweetheart. It’s time to take a breath and let that robe drop.”

“I’m sure you say that to all your clients,” she retorted, sucking in a few breaths before stretching her arms and letting the soft fabric fall to the floor, turning around and letting her legs hit the mattress behind her.

Mickey choked on air when he saw the way her lingerie hugged her curves, garter straps clipped to fishnet thigh highs, her thick legs lengthened by the simple black pumps she wore. His cock strained against the fabric of his jeans, yearning to break free, desperate for a touch, for her touch. “I, uh, I actually don’t.”

“He really doesn’t,” Logan laughed from his spot against the wall next to the photo booth.

“Thank you, Logan. I don’t think we’ll need you for the rest of the session,” Mickey – Fanboy – growled. His best friend was ruining his day, putting the woman he was in love with almost naked in front of him when he couldn’t touch her. When she didn’t know, didn’t want him the same way. Damn asshole.

“Now, now, Fanboy,” Logan drawled, “I promised the lady that I wouldn’t leave her. She is a close, personal friend of mine, after all.”

The fury that was building inside of Mickey’s veins dissipated when she giggled. Every word that he had been close to shouting at his assistant and best friend, words that would have outed him in front of his client, words that she would have used to figure out exactly who he was, dissolved on his tongue like sugar when he saw the playful glint in her eyes.

“Could he stay for a little longer? Please?”

There was no way he’d deny that request.

“As long as it makes you comfortable, he can stay.”

“Thank you, boss,” Logan smirked as he tossed a knowing glance over at the booth where he knew Mickey was standing.

“Don’t disrupt my client, Sargeant,” Mickey warned one last time before turning his attention back to her, finding her grinning. “There are really no rules here, sweetheart. It’s whatever level you’re comfortable with. I might suggest a pose or something here and there but this is to make you feel sexy and confident.”

“I really don’t feel either,” she replied, sitting on the edge of the bed and resting her hands on her knees.

“Why is that?” Mickey snapped shot after shot of her, looking up at the booth with doe eyes, pushing her tits together, biting her lip.

“I mean, look at me.”

“Trust me, he is,” Logan snorted.

“Strike two, Sargeant.”

“Logan, what do you mean?” Her gaze shifted from the booth to their friend, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Do not tell her, Logan!”

“Tell me, Logan!”

“Well, he’s -” Logan started. His eyes darted between the booth and the woman pleading with him. “He’s a good friend, darlin’, and so are you. This is absolutely insane. Dude, you get out here and tell her or I will. Look at those eyes. I can’t!”

“Tell me what?”

The door to the booth swung open slowly and Mickey stepped out, his eyes downcast as he allowed her to process.

“Mickey?!” She exclaimed, reaching for the robe at her feet.

“Sweetheart, I swear, I had no idea until I got here a few minutes ago,” he rushed out, “Logan’s been helping me for years and you know he set it all up and -”

“Logan Hunter don’t you dare walk out of this room!” She yelled.

Mickey shifted his attention over to his friend, seeing that he was nearly out of the room with a sly grin. He froze and his face shifted to an apologetic smile and his blue eyes widened. “You two refused to listen to me. I had to do something.”

“Did you have to do this?!”

“Yeah, darlin’, I did. Because for the last six months I’ve had to hear you tell me how you had feelings for Mickey and no matter what I said to assure you that he liked you, too, you wouldn’t believe me. You are so down on yourself that you can’t see the absolute beautiful person you are.

“And you, Garcia, are a giant pussy and refused to see any of the things she did as any more than friendship.”

“I wouldn’t say -” Mickey started.

“I would. And since I am the only sane and rational one here,” Logan interrupted, “I am going to leave now that the cat is out of the bag. And in case I wasn’t clear enough. Mickey is in love with you. Mickey, she loves you back. Now. TALK.”

Logan strode out of the room, leaving the two of them standing awkwardly, avoiding each other’s gaze.

“Fuck it,” Mickey said, crossing the room in a flash. His hands grabbed her face as he crashed his lips to hers, pouring every emotion into the kiss, every ounce of affection he’d felt since he’d gotten to know her.

She squeaked in surprise before melting into the kiss, her hands wrapping around his neck as she pressed into him. Their lips moved as one until they broke apart for air, leaving mere inches between their lips as they panted.

“Do you really?” He whispered.

“Yeah,” she smiled, “so you’re?”

“Uh huh.”

“And what does this mean for us?”

“First, we murder Logan,” Mickey smirked, “then we keep going like we have been. With more kisses and touches. And I make you forget every asshole who ever made you feel unworthy.”

“Should we shake on it?”

“I have a better idea.” He leaned in again and pressed his lips to hers softly, his hand cupping her cheek gently. “There. Sealed with a kiss.”

[make-me-imagine]

Comfort of Home

Plot: After a long stressful week, your boyfriend decides to show you how much he loves you.

Pairing: Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia x Gn!Reader

Requests: 'Fanboy surprises you with favorite food to make you smile'. + 'Fanboy builds you a pillow fort just to make you smile.'

Requested By: Anonymous

Warnings: Mentions of stress, anxiety, exhaustion. Mostly just pure fluff and comfort though.

Words: ~1k

A/n: I know it's not a gif of him as Fanboy but there aren't enough good gifs from TG.

-

You tapped your fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as you slowly approached your street. All you wanted to do was get home and relax after the week you had, but the drive home felt like it had gotten longer each day.

Relief slowly began to creep over you as you turned down the familiar street. You couldnt wait to kick off your shoes, get into your cozy clothes, eat and then go to sleep.

But what you wanted the most, was Mickey. You had no idea if he'd be home tonight, with how busy he had been as well this week. The worst thing about your already stressfull week, was that you had barely been able to see him.

With your heavy work load, lazy coworkers, and general anxiety over it all, all you wanted was to be engulfed in his arms and inhale his familiar scent. But you had only beeen able to have breakfast with him twice, and lunch once, before each of you had to run off to work.

He'd been staying at the base most nights, only able to come home once this week. You missed him more than anything.

As you turned into your driveway and saw his car, your heart jolted in your chest as you smiled with relief and excitement.

Quickly grabbing your bag, you hurried inside, only making it a couple steps in before he darted around the corner and scooped you up into his arms, your feet leaving the ground as he did.

You let out a startled laugh as you quickly wrapped your arms around his neck. His scent washed over you and you felt your stress begin to fade away as your whole body relaxed.

"Baby! I missed you" he said into your neck as he hugged you tightly before setting you back on the ground.

Meeting his eyes you grinned up at him "I missed you too. I was so happy to see you were home"

He pressed a kiss to your forehead before pecking your lips "Both of our busy weeks are over it seems."

You wrapped your arms around his neck as his hands held your waist "Does that mean you are home for the weekend?"

"And longer hopefully. At least I should be able to come home to you every night for a while."

You grinned up at him and he smiled "Good. I hate not sleeping next to you."

Leaning closer, he kissed you, pulling you closer to him. He kissed you slowly and gently before he pulled away with a sigh.

Meeting your eyes he suddenly smiled "I got you something."

You perked up a bit "You did?"

He pulled away but slipped his hand into yours as he led you towards the kitchen. As you entered, you noticed a bright bouquet of flowers on the counter and you grinned, before walking up to them and engulfing their scent.

"So pretty." You said softly, warmth swirling in your chest.

"And this."

Looking over, you saw him set bags on the counter from your favorite restauraunt. You let out a soft gap "No"

He grinned as he pulled out the food, the smell reaching your nose as you recognized your favorite dishes "Yes."

You hopped happily over to him, making him chuckle as you wrapped your arms around his waist "You're too good to me" You mumble as you pressed a kiss to his arm

He shook his head "No, I'm your boyfriend, this is exactly how I sould be."

You smiled as you tightened your grip on him, as he moved his arm around to hold you close. "How tired are you?" he asked and you looked up at him.

You thought for a moment. The exhaustion you had felt on your way home seemed to have faded away.

"I think my body is more tired than my mind."

"So tired but not sleepy?"

You nodded in agreement and he nodded "Good"

"Good?"

Taking your hand again he lead you towards the living room. As you rounded the corner, your eyes lit up in surprise as you noticed the whole room had been turned into a pillow fort.

Pillows, cushions and blankets lined the floor, as sheets were draped above them, hanging over the tv, successfully creating a comfy cave of sorts. On the table you saw a stack of movies you had been planning on watching. Nearby, a box of snacks for you assumed after dinner.

Looking over at Mickey, he grinned down at you before wrapping his arms around you from behind "Don't worry, I'll clean it all up once we're done. What do you think?"

You felt tears prickle your eyes as you turned around to face him. His eyes widened a bit as he cupped your face.

"Baby! I didn't meant to make you cry."

You let out a laugh "It's okay, you're just so sweet. I don't deserve you."

He gently caressed your face with his thumbs "I'm supposed to say that to you." He pressed a soft kiss to your lips "You take care of me when I'm busy and stressed. The least I can do is show you how much I love you when you have a bad week. Plus-" he ran his thumb over your lips as you ginned at him "I missed your smile."

Quickly kissing him on the lips, you wrapped your arms around him and pressed your face into his chest. He quickly wrapped his arms around you and held you close.

"I love you Mickey."

"I love you too Baby."

xx End xx

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[bobby-r2d2-floyd]

behind the glass part one | (tgm x nhl)

note: i've finally sat down long enough to actually write this and im so excited that it's finally here!

warnings: a few swear words, nothing too bad. not a lot of dialogue, mostly background stuff, time jumping, mentions of the covid-19 pandemic

beta'd by the lovely @sarahsmi13s

word count: 4.2k

------------

The first time your parents took you to a hockey game, it was 2008 and you were 13 years old. You remember it was glass seats, home-shoots-twice side right off to the left of the net for the Pittsburgh Penguins in Mellon Arena, affectionately named The Igloo for the white domed top and it being home to the Penguins. 

Sidney Crosby and Evgeni Malkin, the Penguins Two Headed Monster, had a combined 68 goals and 148 assists that season. They both racked up career 100 goals with Crosby earning his 200th career assist and 300th career point. Malkin earned the Art Ross trophy as well as the Conn Smythe trophy with a nod to the Hart Memorial trophy, whereas Crosby only received a nod for the Mark Messier Leadership Award. 

The Penguins had a decent regular season that year as a team. 45 wins to their 37 losses (28 in regulation and 9 in overtime) but they went on to beat the Philadelphia Flyers, then the Washington Capitals, then the Hurricanes over in Raleigh before finally beating the Detroit Red Wings for the Stanley Cup at the Joe Louis Arena.

Your dad used to joke that you didn’t blink the entire time that you were there, not even during the intermissions between periods. From that moment forward, you were hooked. Hockey consumed your life, you begged your parents for the chance to go again, and again, and again. You went to every home game that took place on weekends. The glass seats were a gift as a back to school surprise, but you never minded sitting further back if it meant you had a better view of the ice. 

Over the next 12 years you must have attended nearly 500 games (professional and college), and when you weren't at the games, you were watching them on TV. You, with the help of your parents and grandparents, cultivated your childhood around the sport. Games, practices, meet-the-players events… you attended as much as you could; you even played on a rec team for a bit. 

In high school you convinced the head of the newspaper to let you write all four years instead of just your junior and senior years. You specialized in sports, aside from hockey, you were well educated with baseball and football. You graduated high school with a full ride to Penn State University where you double majored in digital journalism and telecommunications and received a certificate in sports journalism. 

You thanked whatever god there was above that you managed to bag a position with the Penguins as an assistant photographer for the team. You became a permanent fixture on your favorite team during year one of their back-to-back Stanley Cups, one away at San Jose (2016) and the second one at Nashville (2017) and you were just as over the moon as the players were as you watched Sidney lift the cup for the third time in the last decade. 

As you made your way onto the ice, you threw some of the Predators players condolences and “good game [insert player here]” as they worked their way off the ice. 

You had developed a close bond with the Russian half of the Monster, and with his wife at home with their newborn son, you made sure to facetime her as Geno skated up to you with the cup, cheering to her in their native tongue. You leave him to talk to his wife while you go off and take pictures of the rest of the players and staff that made it out to Nashville while they’re still celebrating on the ice before moving into the locker room. 

The summer of 2017 was a whirlwind event. 

Between attending cup celebrations for the friends you made on the team and then almost immediately getting right back to it with pre-season at the Penguins practice facility, UPMC Lemieux Sports Complex, in Cranberry. 

On a rare day off, you and fellow Penguins photographer Leland Hawkins were at PNC Park watching the Pirates play the Cubs when the news came through.

“Jesus Christ.” you mumble as you look at your phone screen.

“What?” Leland asks, eyes not leaving the field as she shovels popcorn into her mouth.

“San Diego just announced that they were approved for their own NHL team and they broke ground on an arena that’s expected to be complete prior to the start of the 2020-21 season,” you paraphrase aloud as you scan the article. “We just went through a draft with Vegas and now we need to go through it again?” 

“You’re joking, right? We just lost Fleury and now we’re about to lose ANOTHER person? Unbelievable…” Lee mutters before taking your phone from you and reading the article for yourself. 

You watch as Rizzo hits a line drive to left field to take first base and you smile a bit, he was your favorite player after all, but the Pirates were the home team. Either way you would be happy with the outcome. 

Expansion drafts were never fun for anyone. You remember the hot coal feeling in your stomach as you watched Marc-Andre say his goodbyes to Sid, Geno, and Kris. Players he had known for his entire career to go somewhere completely new. 

“I hope I never get asked to go somewhere new. I don’t think I could ever leave this view,” you say as you kick your feet up on the seat in front of you, stealing Leland’s popcorn as you look out past the outfield to the Allegheny River and the Pittsburgh Skyline. For it being Father’s Day, the park wasn’t that packed considering the weather was absolutely beautiful. 

“Yeah I think I could. Isn’t there a Navy base in San Diego? All the hot seamen.” 

“Is there even a market for another team there? There’s already three teams in California, two of them are not even three hours away.” you say before cheering as Rizzo crosses home plate, bringing the score to 3-0, Cubs. 

“New York has two basically next door to each other and then there’s the New Jersey team, ALSO right there.” Leland tries to rationalize and you shake your head.

“Madison Square Garden is in Manhattan and the Barclays Center is in Brooklyn, there’s a forty-ish minute difference and the Prudential Center is an hour away from Madison,” you correct her before standing. “Want anything from concession?” 

“Get me a beer please? And why do you know all that?”

“I make it my job to know!” you yell back as you walk away from her. 

While in line, you scan through the article again. The old Pechanga Arena will be demolished and then rebuilt to become a new top of the line facility, not too much different from the newer Little Ceasar’s Arena in Detroit, and will only be a 15 minute highway drive from Petco Park. 

You shake your head and slip your phone back into your pocket before ordering two beers and a couple of pretzels before pressing the thought of another expansion team to the back of your mind. 

The rest of the game flies by and the Pirates lost the series 7-1 which you weren’t surprised by. Tthe Cubs are a good team who’re just coming off the tail end of winning the World Series only eight months prior. 

The news of another expansion was the talk of the locker room the next time you were at the Sports Complex. You were sitting in the hallway leading up to the locker room taking pictures when a little blond boy came running up to you.

“Lens!” You hear and you have barely enough time to set your camera down before you’re being knocked over by Nikita Malkin.

“Nik! What are you doing here?” you laugh as you wrap your arms around him.

“Gonna skate with daddy,” he says, his English is good but you know that Anna and Geno speak Russian primarily at home. 

“That’ll be fun, gonna score some goals on Muzz?” He nods and you smile, “Good, score one for me.” you say before he bounces off and you manage to get a few photos of him and Geno walking down the hallway. 

During the first half of the 2017-18 season the Pens were 19-21 and 28-14 in the back half. They managed to take second in the metropolitan division and head into the playoffs, where, unfortunately they had a second round exit after losing to the Capitals in game six. 

As sad as you were for the team to go early, you were thankful for the opportunity to take a bit of a break. You and Leland were able to travel around Europe for a few months before reporting back to Pennsylvania before the players were due to return. 

You were taking some pictures of new players’ jerseys that were hanging up when you heard the door open. You look over and see the captain standing there and you give him a small smile. 

“Hey Sid. Ready to be back?” you ask as you move over to the next stall.

“Oh yeah, hopefully we’ll make it past round two this year,” he says and he takes a seat and starts pulling stuff out of his duffle that he had slung around his shoulder. 

“Well, you never know. I’m just glad Ovechkin can finally shut up now about not having a cup,” you say and he laughs. His rivalry with the Russian has always been a big thing on the ice, but off you knew that the two were friends. 

“Right, happy for him though,” he says before looking over at you. “What happened to Leland? Doesn’t she usually do this?” 

“She actually moved to Denver. So it’s just me now. Well, at least until my assistant gets here.” you say and he laughs.

“A promotion? Good for you. You always deserved it.” He hesitates, “No offense to Lee.” 

You smile and nod, “I’m sure she wouldn’t take any offense, Sid. How was your off season?”

“It was good, Nate and I did a lot around Cole Harbour. Spent a lot of time relaxing at home, played a bit with Taylor while she was in town. What about you?”

“Went to a lot of Pirates games, helped Lee move, spent a lot of time outside with my younger siblings, hung out with some of the WAGs that stayed in town..” you say before taking a seat next to him. “Did you read that on top of the San Diego expansion, Seattle is getting a team now too? Making the even 32 teams and odd 33? Wonder who will be next.”

“Yeah I heard… It’s weird though, that Bettman has allowed so many expansions.”

“It’s Bettman, are you surprised? Why does he do half the shit he does?” You roll your eyes, your disdain for the NHL Commissioner very evident on your face. 

“Don’t say that too loud, he might hear you,” he bumps your shoulder and you laugh.

“Right, the last thing I need is to be fired, or worse… transferred.”

“Hey, you work for Mario and he loves you. He won’t let you leave.” Sidney tells you and you can tell he’s being honest. Crosby may be many things, but a liar? Never.

You notice the proximity between the two of you and you take a deep breath, his cologne filling your senses before you clear your throat and stand up. “I uh.. I’ll leave you to change. See you on the ice, Cap.” 

You shake the thought of being so close to him off, he’s Sidney Crosby and you’re just a photographer for the team. 

You wait for Sid to take the ice before moving down to the bench so you can get pictures of him without the glass being in the way. 

You remember the day that he got drafted to the Penguins in 2005, you remember all the things that everyone had said about him, “he was going to save the Penguins”. All the injuries he had, all the concussions, the year of missed games… He was one of the best skaters in the game after some of the legends. Watching him skate is the reason that you took up skating yourself, he was your on ice hero but you would never tell him that. 

After taking some pictures of him skating, you make your way out from behind the bench so you can head up to your office and get started on picking what pictures to send to the digital media team. 

Before you know it, the season is already ending with a first round exit, swept by the Islanders despite winning 44 games in the regular season. 

By the time March of 2020 rolled around, the Penguins had 40 wins and 29 losses, a comeback that they needed. 

Until everything came to a standstill. 

Commissioner Bettman paused the season due to the threat of Covid-19. All non-essential positions were suspended due to the virus. 

For the next four months you didn’t leave your home. All groceries were ordered from people who were brave enough to do Shipt, you taught yourself how to actually cook, spent a lot of time talking to your parents over Zoom, you started to write more, making mock articles to get back into the swing of the journalism aspect of your job again. 

By the time that July had come around there were two hub cities named for the play-offs, Toronto and Edmonton. You traveled with the Penguins to Toronto for the modified tournament but left after the Canadiens knocked out the Penguins after three games.

September 28, 2020 the Lightning were crowned Stanley Cup Champions, and the 20-21 season began officially on January 13, 2021. Only 56 games would be played before the Cup would be returned to the Lightning again only a few short months later. 

The San Diego expansion draft took place just after Stamkos raised the cup for the second time. 

You watched as players got drafted to the San Diego Tomcats, shocked as some teams traded away some of their best skaters, knowing that they didn’t go lightly. Just like what happened with Vegas when Fleury left, you felt a sinking feeling in your chest. 

You watched as the last six players were drafted: first was Bradley Bradshaw, center from the Capitals; Reuben Fitch, left defense from the Predators; Mickey Garcia, left wing from the Rangers; Jake Seresin, right wing from the Stars [you rolled your eyes at his name, good luck Tomcats]; Javy Machado, right defense from the Bruins; and the fortieth man drafted was Robert Floyd, goalie from the Blues. 

Floyd and Bradshaw were the two you recognized the most between the six of them. Both were on cup winning teams in the last five years so you were surprised to see them there, but then again they weren’t the only Cup winners on the team, some guy named Brigham Lennox from the Lightning was also there. He was going to be a cocky asshole. 

You were driving into PPG Paints the next morning when you got the phone call, it was a number you didn’t recognize so you were hesitant when you finally did answer.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Y/N Champaign?” a deep voice asked from the other side and you sucked in a breath before answering.

“This is.”

“My name is Beau Simpson, I’m calling to inform you that you’re being relocated to San Diego. You’ll need to be here when players report for training.” he says and you pull over to the side of the road.

“Sir I’m employed directly with the Penguins, not the NHL-”

“Oh I know. You’re being sent over by recommendation of Mario Lemieux.”

“Oh.” 

“I know you’re comfortable with the Penguins, I know that you’re from Pittsburgh so it’ll be hard leaving home. But I’ve seen your work both on the ice and off, as well as behind the glass. You’re talented and as a new team, we could use some talent everywhere it counts.” he says, and you throw your head back against your seat.

“Of course, sir. I’ll be on a plane before the afternoon.” you tell him and you can hear the relief in his voice.

“Wonderful. Bradley Bradshaw will meet you at the gate, he was the first one here so he can get you to the facility.”

“I’m assuming this is an office phone, so I’ll email you the details of my flight.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mario already has them. I’ll pass your number along to Bradshaw.” he says before the line goes dead and you look at your phone as the line disconnects. 

You pull back into the road and continue your drive, the last one to PPG Paints as a home team member. 

Mario is in his office when you make your way upstairs. A gentle knock on the glass alerts him to your presence and he gives you a smile, “come in.”

“Beau Simpson called me while I was on my way over.” you tell him as you sit down across from him.

“Yeah, he called me last night. I’m sorry I didn’t-”

You hold your hand up and stop him, “don’t worry about it. It’s… okay. It’ll suck leaving the team and everyone behind but new opportunities, right? Plus it’ll be nice seeing the sun for longer than three out of twelve months.” you joke and he cracks a smile and laughs with you.

“You’ll be missed.”

“I know.” 

He passes you an envelope and it has your last check as well as a flight itinerary and contract for the Tomcats for you to read through on the plane. “Well, I’m sure you have some owner stuff to do so I’m gonna go say bye to the team.” 

He stands and pulls you in for a hug, you were close with everyone, players and staff, so it wasn’t surprising when he pulled you in gently. “I’m gonna miss you, kid.” 

You pull away and give him a gentle squeeze on his arm before walking out of the office and down to the ice, stopping along the way to say goodbye to familiar faces in the hallways. 

You take a look out to the ice, you watch as the team laughs and smiles, passing the pucks to each other as they all run their own drills. Coach Sullivan is the first person to notice you, skating over and leaning against the boards. 

“No camera today?”

“No.. not today… or tomorrow… or next week.” you say and his smile drops. 

“No, where to?”

“San Diego.” 

“Well, they just got a great person added to their team, it sucks it comes at our loss.” he says before blowing his whistle, getting the attention of all the players. Sidney is the first to skate over to you, slowing down before hitting the boards.

“What’s going on?” 

“I’m being relocated. So I just wanted to come by and say goodbye to the team.” you tell him with a sad smile. He opens the gate for you and you set down your paper work on the bench before taking his hand and stepping onto the ice. 

One by one, all players new and old (mostly old) pull you in for a tight hug, ignoring the sting of the hard pads digging into you at odd angles. You laugh as Geno hauls you into the air before setting you back down on the ice, only slipping a little bit but he’s quick to steady you. 

After wrapping up your goodbyes, you head back to your apartment and pack up just the necessities before meeting your mom downstairs. 

“You ready sweetheart?” she asks, helping you with your camera bags and you sigh.

“As ready as I’ll ever be to move away from the two homes I’ve ever known.” you tell her and she gives you a small smile. 

“You’re going to be just fine over there.” 

“I know, it's just… this city means so much to me. It’ll suck only being back for a few games a season.”

“And holidays.” she says and you laugh.

“And holidays.” you confirm and she smiles.

The drive to the airport went too quick for your liking and before you knew it, you were in the air above the steel city, watching as the skyline and the yellow bridges fade into the distance. 

Six hours later you were landing in Fightertown, USA. Stiff from the flight, you do your best to work out all the kinks and cracks that your body goes through as you walk over to baggage claim. It’s easy to find your gear bags due to the giant Penguins logo on the sides, and the small bright yellow suitcase came shortly after. 

You turned your phone back on and the first notification that you get is from an unknown number and a text that reads

Waiting for you at the Starbucks in term. 2. See you soon! -Rooster

“Rooster? Who the fuck is that?” you mumble before making your way to the Starbucks. You do a quick scan of the area, you know what Bradley looks like, so you know that none of the people around you are him. 

15 minutes go by when an out of breath, lanky brunette walks up to you.

“I am so sorry I’m late, I was here but then I had to go to the bathroom and then there was some kids that recognized me and-”

“Take a breath, I’m not mad.”

“Okay, give me a minute,” he takes a few deep breaths before holding out his hand, “I’m Bradley Bradshaw, or Rooster, if you want.”

“Rooster?” you ask, his palm large and warm against your own as you introduce yourself as well and you take the moment to take him in, his brown hair is already sun bleached at the front and he dons a pornstache that he somehow manages to pull off.

“Yeah, Ovi started calling me that when I joined the Caps so..” 

“Oh trust me, I am well versed with Ovi nicknames. He used to call me chicken because my family had chickens a few years ago.. He’s the one who started calling me Lens, actually.” you say as you stand up and pull the handle up on your suitcase.

Bradley is taking the strap of your gear bag when you grab it from him and he looks at you wide eyed.

“Sorry it's just.. There’s a lot of expensive equipment and-”

“Hey, it’s okay. I get it. Would you rather carry it or…?” 

“Yeah, sorry I know it's weird and I know everything is packed really well, but I know it was probably thrown around during loading and unloading.” you say and he gives you a small smile. 

“Well, then I’m taking this.” he says as he takes the handle of your suitcase from you. “Welcome to San Diego, Lens.” he says as you make your way to the front where his Bronco is waiting for you. 

You two make idle small talk as he makes the short drive from the airport to where the new Pechanga Arena is located.

“It’s going to be weird not seeing you in the Caps uniform anymore.” you say as you climb out of the car and he laughs. 

“Yeah, but it’ll be nice to see you everyday now.” he says and you notice the flirty smile on his face and you roll your eyes. 

“Just remember to smile for the camera, Bradshaw.” you chirp back to him as he opens the door for you. 

Standing in the vestibule of the arena, you take everything in. The Navy timeline that wraps around the wall, the Top Gun memorabilia that's displayed behind glass. Bronze statues of the old San Diego Gulls members standing proudly. Bradley gives you a gentle nudge before looking up and you do the same, a replica F-14 Tomcat is hanging, wings in, right above your head. 

“Wow… I’ve been to Little Caesars many times over the years, for various reasons, so I knew a little bit of what to expect but this is… Amazing.” 

The two of you wander down into the bowl seating and you watch as the ice gets painted, the steel blue and slate gray of the logo is being carefully brushed onto the stark white ice. You follow him around the rest of the arena, a small tour of the locker room where there’s various players in a state of undress after a voluntary workout before going to the offices. 

Your office was a bit bigger than the one at PPG, the only difference was the F-14 that was painted on the wall instead of the Penguin from the 90’s that you loved so much. 

“Simpson, Coach Kazansky and the rest of the coaching staff are going to be waiting in the review room whenever you’re ready. It’s down the hall to the left, and then it's the third door on the right.” Bradley says before leaving you to settle in.

You pull out your phone and send a quick text to your mom that you landed just fine and were already settling into your new office before you put your hands on your hips and let out a sigh as you looked around, it’ll be a long road of making your office comfortable like it was back home, but you honestly couldn’t wait to see what this new city would bring you. 

------------

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[withahappyrefrain]

Jake and Javy will 100% watch your favorite trashy reality TV show. They will learn everyone's names and be fucking invested.

Bradley and Reuben scoff at it, but whenever you watch it, they always happen to be doing something in the same room. They let it slip they've watching when they ask what a specific person has done.

Bob and Mickey watch with you because they know it makes you happy. They pay attention, but don't get super invested. They're more focused on how cute you look when you watch the show.

[sometimes-i-write-good]

5 + 1

Top Gun: Maverick - Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x f!pilot reader (callsign: Fallbeil)

4.4k || 5 times Bob remembers your little quirks and habits, and 1 time you remember his. 

===

Genre: Fluff, crushing, love confessions

CW: mentions of drinking, swearing

Author’s Note: Bob is such an acts of service kind of person - I can feel it deep in my soul. Also, I thought the idea of him ending up with someone who has a scary ass callsign like Guillotine (which is Fallbeil in German) despite him being a cinnamon roll would be the funniest thing in the world. || cross-posted on ao3

===

===

The first time you noticed something was because Hangman had that stupid ass look on his face again. That same one he always had, the only one he had in all honesty. The one that, recently, only ever seemed to be directed at you and that pissed you off most of all. 

“What?” He asked, but the smirk pulling his lips back into the stupid, smug fucking smile told you clearly: he knew exactly what.

“Leave her alone, Bagman. I’m not in the mood today,” Rooster said, and you could tell he meant it. HIs voice sounded surprisingly tired considering mornings were his prime time of existence. Maverick insisted on calling these meetings earlier and earlier, chinking away at everyone's stability, and it was proving to be too much for even the earliest of risers. 

Hangman scoffed, pressing his hand to his chest, and feigning offense. “Why am I always the bad guy? What if today was the day Fallbeil finally snapped and did something to me instead?” 

You rolled your eyes. “If I snapped, you wouldn’t be holding a conversation with me. Your head wouldn’t even be attached to your body.” 

“Living up to your name as always, doll.” 

Rooster slid into one of the empty chairs at the conference table, slapping down a notebook, and turned to look at you. “I’ll punch him if you want.” 

“I’m perfectly capable of throwing my own punches, thank you.” The look on Rooster’s face said he didn’t trust you not to take it too far. 

“And coffee mugs.” Hangman glanced over his shoulder; eyes trained on the spot where a cracked, open travel cup lay open. Opened and spilled, everywhere. “Which I managed to dodge.” 

“Try to dodge my-” but your insult was cut short by Rooster saying, “Coffee? You hate coffee.” 

You set your lips in a thin, embarrassed line. “He told me that it was tea.” 

“And you believed him?” Rooster snorted. 

You slunk back into your chair, crossing your arms with a pout. “It’s early! I’m basically the walking dead right now, birdbrain.” 

As with every mission of this sheer level of importance, your anxiety had been too great to let you sleep. Usually Bob or Phoenix or Rooster, the early risers of the group, would be up to go for a job or hit the gym with you. You were up well before all of them today and had taken it upon yourself to go for a run, shower, and be painfully early to this briefing. You had hoped Bob would be the first one there, he typically was, but the universe was out to get you because instead of those sweet, doe eyes behind some thick-lensed glasses all you got was a stupid pair of lips messing with a toothpick. 

“Don’t be too hard on, Rooster.” Phoenix called out, walking into the hangar with Fanboy, Payback, and Coyote in tow. “I already smoked him during our run this morning. He’s fragile.” 

Before Rooster could get all up in arms or Hangman could jump on a moment of vulnerability, Maverick walked in. He had his way to the head of the table while everyone else found their seats. “Good morning, everyone.” Tired, disjointed voices repeated the sentiment, pulling a smile onto Mav’s face. “I see we’re all ready for a busy day. What do you say we get started?” 

“Sorry, I’m late, sir!” Bob’s voice comes from behind you. “I couldn’t find the kettle.” 

Kettle, you thought to yourself, but Maverick just waved for him to sit down and continued talking. Before Bob headed over to the only open seat, by Hangman of all people, he placed a small cup of tea in front of you without a word. In your favorite mug, too. You brought it up to your lips to taste it… and it was perfect. Exactly the way you liked it. 

‘Thank you,’ you mouthed at him after he sat down. Bob just nodded and focused his attention on Maverick. You did the same, not even registering that he didn’t have a cup of anything for himself. 

–

The second time you noticed something nice Bob did for you was during poker night. Fanboy and Payback had decided tempting fate and coming out the other side had bonded you all for life. A point any of you could hardly disagree with. That mission was not something any of you were supposed to come back from. So, the idea of a movie night had been tossed around, but Payback always tried to guess the endings and Hangman tried to outdo the one-liners and Rooster just had to know if he knew that actor from another movie - needless to say, movie nights were shelved very fast. 

Then the idea of bar hopping came about, followed by karaoke night, followed by trivia night. Each of which ended up in all of you spending too much money on booze and drunkenly embarrassing yourselves with horrible vocals or blatantly wrong answers to obscure history questions. You all settled on the idea of a game night. It seemed to work well enough. A ‘family’ dinner followed by a board game. Except for the fact that Payback instead of placing bets no matter if it was CandyLand or Monopoly, which Coyote would double, and Hangman would triple. Leaving you all spending just as much money as you had at the bar. 

It was Bob who brought up the idea of having poker nights. Something with betting already designed into it so that none of you had to worry about emptying your bank accounts at the end of the night. That was the problem with setting elite competitors against one another, they never knew when to quit. 

You’d all been kept relatively close to TOPGUN, usually stationed a few hours away max. Months where distance wasn’t a problem, you all tried to meet once a week. If one of you weren’t stateside, then once a month worked just fine. Six months into poker nights so far and you’d been able to have at least one every month. Every time the list of things to bring shifted down a person, so that each time a new person would be in charge of chips or appetizers or the main entree, etc. It was a system that worked with military precision. 

Until the one time it didn’t. 

Bob was the last through the door of Payback’s small apartment. At least, it looked small with so many people crammed in there. “Here, I got special plates this time.” He raised them high above his head like a prize. Large, sturdy, and compartmentalized. Like the trays you’d get in the mess hall or for a school lunch. 

The statement caused immediate uproar.

“I was on plates and napkins!” Coyote said around a mouthful of sour cream and onion chips, brought by yours truly. And Hangman started making comments about how if no one was going to follow the list, then he wasn’t going to either. 

“You weren’t in charge of plates, Bob!” Fanboy tried his best not to get too worked up over it. He had created a spreadsheet of everyone’s responsibilities. Verifying everyone knew their roles was his main role in making sure this whole operation ran smoothly. “Please tell me you still brought dessert.” 

“I’ve got dessert. My grandma came out this weekend and made a peach cobbler.” 

The mention of his grandma’s baking ensured the pitchforks and torches were put away, for now. That woman had godly skills in the kitchen. You would gladly sit down and eat an entire cobbler of hers by yourself in one sitting.

Coyote, still hurt by his duty being impeded on, asked, “So then what are the plates for?” 

“Fallbeil doesn’t like when her food touches,” Bob said as though it were the most common knowledge in the world. “You guys always insist on getting plates that are way too small.” 

He set down the plates on the counter, followed by the pie, and went to take off his shoes and didn’t bring anything like that up again for the rest of the night. 

–

The third time you noticed something nice that Bob did for you was a day he had to leave early. A helicopter was coming to pick him and Phoenix up to take them overseas. Just for a few days, or so said those in charge, and you knew how easily a few days could change to a few weeks to a few months. 

The thought of possibly not seeing them for a while aggravated you. It meant being stuck on a ship hundreds of miles from the nearest shore without your two best friends. You’d known what you were signing up for when you first started. The military liked to keep their secrets. At any moment you could be swept away for a mission, but it still felt unfair when you woke up only to realize that your wingwoman and her WSO are replaced by strangers.

Back soon, take care. 

Not signed but the handwriting was so obviously Bob. Cursive with careful, purposeful loops. Hangman tried to tear him apart for taking so much care in his notes during the pre-briefs before the uranium mission. The insults died out fast once everyone realized he had chicken scratch for handwriting. Funny how spreading a rumor Hangman deserved the callsign Rooster over Bradley could put him in his place so quickly. 

Back soon, take care.

You stared at the sticky note, so carefully pressed against the outside of your locker. It was easy to imagine the conversation among him and Phoenix. 

“I’m leaving her a note.” 

“She’ll be fine, Bob. We’ve got to go.” 

“Four words.” 

He’d gotten into the habit of leaving sticky note updates in between lengthy letters. They held more emotion than an email or text, and you found that you liked it more than digital words on a screen. You could trace your fingers over each letter. Pretend as though he were pressed up in the seat next to you like when you’d go to the Hard Deck on a busy night and everyone would shove together in a few booths. A closeness you’d found yourself longing for in all moments spent together despite there being no reason for the two of you to share an armchair in the common room. 

You had crushes before. A few relationships littered your history of schooling, but you, like many others who had graduated from TOPGUN, assumed the sky was to be your first and only love. And then Bob showed up with his quiet, gentle ways and your heart would soar every time he walked into a room. There were days you went without talking, but you could count on some kind of a note to be waiting for you on your door or waiting for you on the control of your jet. 

Reminders that he was thinking of you. The way a best friend would. Surely. That’s all it had to be. No sense in constructing something out of nothing. Something that could wreck this perfect routine the two of you had created in one another’s lives. 

You peeled the sticky note off the front of your locker to place inside, out of harm's way. Your finger traced each letter. It was likely he and Phoenix were off somewhere with Coyote or Rooster or Hangman doing something far more dangerous than the intelligence patrol you’d been assigned to. As you swung open your locker, you wished you’d had enough sense to write him a letter before he’d left. Something reminding him and Phoenix to be safe, but you hadn’t known he was leaving. You hadn’t even let the thought cross your mind.

“Oh, Bob,” you sighed. 

A smile tugs its way onto your face. He’d left a mug in your locker. Not filled with tea this time, but with pens and highlighters and all your favorite stationary to use on your paperwork. You usually had a pencil case with you filled with pens that flowed smoothly and didn’t smudge or highlighters that didn’t bleed through the page.

He must have packed extra in his bag in case you’d forgotten that pencil case, which you had. But that wasn’t the best part. Somehow he’d managed to keep a rose alive and blooming to stick amongst the stationary. For, what it seemed to you, the sole purpose of making you smile. 

–

The fourth time you noticed something nice that Bob did for you was at Coyote’s birthday cookout. You were running late. Very late. More late than you’d ever been in your whole life to a point that you would have turned around if you could have, but you had been stuck on a highway without an exit for miles on end. The need to pee had never been stronger. 

Stuck in the literal sense. Construction fed into traffic fed into cars stopping for no reason at all fed into fender benders fed into your frustration. “Please just move!” You shouted at the trail of brake lights in front of you. All you had to do was make it to the next exit two miles away. 

But no one met your frustrated request. Instead, the standstill continued. You were destined to never arrive at this party. It had been weeks since you’d seen everyone together in one spot. Poker night had been postponed to tomorrow. Bound to be a dismal affair of hangovers and stale chips left out in bowls overnight. A slice of heaven on earth. Though, you would say that for just about anything if it meant being released from a fucking prison of a car. 

Your phone went off. The distinct sound of big band music filling your car. Bob’s ringtone. 

“Where are you?” His voice came through the other line at the same moment you shouted, “I want to rip my head off!” 

An amused chuckle filled your car which only caused you to fume further. “I’m serious, Robert. This two-hour drive has become four- maybe five. I lost count when I had to come to a full and complete stop for the three millionth time today. It would be so much easier if Coyote had a runway in his backyard. Then I could just fly there-”

“Fallbeil,” Bob cut in, “are you almost here?” 

“I’m a mile from my exit. I should be there in twenty. If I’m allowed to take my foot off the brake for more than a few seconds.” You let out a loud groan. “I’m going to stop at a gas station because I think my bladder might explode. So expect me in thirty actually-” 

Bob laughed and spoke once more, saving you from yet another breathless tangent. “I’m excited to see you.” 

You smiled to yourself. Grinning at the stopped cars in front of you like an idiot. “Yeah?” 

“Have I ever not been?” 

“I’m excited to see you too.” You could envision Bob’s own shy grin. No, you couldn’t hear the sounds of the party going on around him. He had closed himself off alone in a room to talk to you, which would mean the smile would be big and beaming. “Coyote enjoying himself?” 

“I think he might have cried when Natasha put on the birthday playlist she made for him.” 

“She’s good at that.” 

“Good?” Bob laughed. “She’s elite at it.” Then, after a moment of comfortable silence fell over the two of you he said, “Want me to stay on the phone until you show up?”  

If it were a normal poker night, you would have jumped on the offer. Phone calls with Bob had become a staple in that routine in one another’s lives. Letters and notes were not nearly enough to tide the two of you over. But today was a special occasion. 

“No,” you told him. “I’ll be there soon.” He deserved to go enjoy the party. Not be tied up in a phone call where you were bound to blow your lid if the car in front of you did not speed up. 

“Be careful. Drive safe.” The line clicked. 

Be careful, you turned the words over in your head wondering what they would sound like punctuated with a kiss every morning when you headed out the door. 

You turned down Coyote’s street, knowing exactly what you’d find. Cars taking every spot. Coyote was the most popular out of the crew. Charming personality, willingness to help everyone so much as passing by, and good looks. The combination needed for a party of the century. 

And the shouts of excitement that flowed from his backyard told you just that was happening. Without you, and it would continue to go on without you if you couldn’t find an open spot to park. Bob waited at the end of Coyote’s packed driveway, hands stuffed into his jeans. A surprising amount of muscle strained beneath the button up shirt he wore to every part. More cars shoved onto the asphalt and spilled over onto the lawn.

Bob waved, waited patiently for you to park the car in the middle of the street, and then came around to the driver's side of the car. “Hey,” he said as he popped open your door. “How was the drive?” 

You shot him a look. One that immediately set that bright, beautiful smile on his face. “Funny.” 

“Here, get out.” 

“What?”

“Get out. Go inside and say hi.” He leaned over to unbuckle you and the scent of his cologne tickled your nose. “I have a plate of food for you in the oven, on low so it stays warm. There’s one in the fridge too with the cold stuff.” 

“Bob-” 

“They’re all separated.” He waved you out of the car, grabbing your hand to help, and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “I’m glad you’re here, Fallbeil.” 

You saw him again ten minutes later because he had to park two blocks away and walk back. 

–

The fifth time you really noticed Bob going out of his way for you was a few months into the two of you moving in together. Solely as roommates, two best friends making the most of a perfect situation. Rent was going up, you had an extra room, and Bob had just gotten hired as an instructor at TOPGUN. The timing couldn’t have been better. 

In truth, nothing could be better. The two of you fit perfectly into each other’s lives. Bob with his early habits. Having tea on the table for you alongside the crossword section of the newspaper he insisted on reading every morning. The hardest word always filled in as a starting point. He’d saved you the frustration of straining your mind over a word you couldn’t have dreamed up in the wildest corners of your imagination. 

The preference over sticky notes as communication over texts still remained the same. Left on the mirror in your shared bathroom always signed with “be careful” or “take care.” Sometimes there is nothing of importance to say, but Bob would write those two words anyway as a reminder. 

You’d leave voicemails if it was something that needed your immediate attention - talking on the phone to Bob became a bright spot in your week. You tried your hardest to leave them only for emergencies but hearing his voice every day had spoiled you. Sometimes your mind would lock on something you would absolutely have to tell him. Then you would find yourself pulling out your phone, typing in his number, and putting it away with a great sigh. You had planes to fly, he had students to teach, and the torture of being apart for a few hours each day made returning home to him all the sweeter. Returning home to movie nights or long walks on the beach or stories of students who remind Bob of each member of the Dagger Crew. 

Phoenix would crash often when she got called back to TOPGUN, and Bradley hung around often enough seeing that Mav and Penny had made their lives here. Everyone cycled through at some point. Even Hangman had a welcome place on your couch if he ever needed it. 

There was one night Jake had spent the night. Out of the blue and completely inconvenient as was the case with Hangman, but he offered to cook dinner while the two of you were at work and you came home to a good meal and surprisingly good company. What a sight to see the three of you laughing at a small table. 

You hadn’t minded Hangman staying over. Though he did scare the shit out of you when he knocked on your door and let himself into your room to talk. “You know he likes you,” he had said, perched on the corner of your bed with that same stupid ass look on his face that meant trouble. “I think he might even be in love with you.” 

“Bagman-” 

“Hey, I come in here to tell you some life-altering news and you start with insulting me.” Hangman had let out a low whistle. “Think about it, Fallbeil.” 

“What if it ruins everything? We’re doing so well.” 

“What if it changes everything for the better?” 

You hadn’t expected those words to play in your head as often as they did when Hangman finally left. It had been weeks since you’d last seen him. Poker night was tonight. He was hosting, and you had a feeling he was going to corner you with all sorts of questions as to if you’d made a move on Bob yet. A foolish notion. Bob might not be a skittish dog, but making a move on him still might cause spontaneous combustion. You were just trying to figure out which one of you it would be. 

What could be the right time to tell your best friend and roommate that you loved him? That you have always wanted to be more? 

You thought it over as you wiped sleep from your eyes and made your way into the bathroom. Bob had left earlier than usual this morning. It was a test day for the students and he was nothing if not prepared. Likely that kind, painfully chirpy teacher in the early hours of the day. 

There was a sticky note on the mirror. As expected. Longer than usual. Unexpected. 

Took your car this morning. Saw you needed an oil change. Be home late, then he can head to Bagman’s. Hope that’s okay. My keys are on the counter. Be safe. Love you.

You traced those last two words with the tip of your finger. It was the first time he’d added those two words. 

And they fit so naturally on the note. Like they always belonged there.

–

The one time (the first time) you realized you were going out of your way to do things because you loved Robert Floyd when you went into the mall with a head full of ideas to get for Rooster’s birthday and came out twenty minutes later with one thing. One thing not for Rooster. 

A model plane for Bob. Before he’d gotten so overwhelmed with his responsibilities at TOPGUN to cease having many hobbies, he’d built model planes. It’s what had gotten him into a love of planes. At least, that’s what he had told you one night at the Hard Deck, when the two of you were shoved up against one another. 

Growing up in a small midwestern farm town didn’t give him many chances growing up to be around planes, but he’d watch the ones that flew over crops with rapt interest. He memorized flight patterns, sat alongside fields, and watched them every chance he got. Then, in the late nights where he only had his imagination to keep him company, Bob built model planes and memorized their histories.

“I’ve always wanted to be around planes.” He had slurred the words a bit back then. One too many sips of beer between handfuls of peanuts. “I kept them around me as much as I could.” 

You hadn’t been able to figure out how crop planes became fighter jets in his history, but more stories came out as the two of you moved in together. Dismissive comments about school bullies. Talks about how he knew he wasn’t the strongest, but had always felt the need to prove himself. It seemed to fit into this idea people created of him - always a bit behind the rest. You respected him for sticking to what people told him he couldn’t do and making a name for himself in spite of it all. 

And you loved that he trusted you enough to bring you in on those hobbies of his. Building fighter jets in the low light of desk lamps and night lights. Reminding you of the purpose of each piece. Telling the history of each plane. But your favorite part of all was when the two of you would build a jet you were flying and he would include all your statistics, everything you’ve accomplished, and, when you caught him in rare form, things Bob imagined you would do that would etch your name into the very fabric of history. 

“Did you get a present for Bradley?” He asked, hearing the click of the door behind you. There was a rag thrown over his shoulder. Bob turned to face you with a smile. In the midst of cooking, glasses slightly fogged from whatever it was he was cooking, and your heart couldn’t take it. 

“N-no,” you said, tripping up on your words. “I, um, I forgot.” 

“But on the phone you said you couldn’t wait to show me what you got?” He tilted his head, watching as you kicked off your shoes, and placed your shopping bag on the table. “I hope you’re not trying to sign your name onto my gift, Fallbeil. I spent three months finding a vintage record of ‘Great Balls of Fire’ for him.” 

You smiled at his thoughtfulness. “No, Robert, I will not steal credit for your gift. He’ll know it’s from you anyway.” You took a deep, shaky breath. “I got something for you instead.” 

Bob’s brows scrunched in confusion. “Me, but it’s Bradley’s birthday?” 

You pulled the model F-18 from the bag and held it out towards him. Your hands shook slightly. Silly considering the two of you were always going out of your way to do things for each other. Plates and oil changes and parking cars. Small things. Nothing as momentous as a declaration of pure understanding of one another. 

He said your name with a softness you’d never heard before. As though he were praying. 

“I love you.” You said it at the same time as him. And the words fell so naturally from both your lips. Like they always belonged there.

===

ask and you shall receive (taglist): @whoeverineedtobe​ @dhwanishah09​

[moonlight-prose]

❛ say you want me, and i’m yours. ❜ + ❛ i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know. ❜ w/ fanboy ? 🫣

FOOLS FOR FALLING IN LOVE

a/n: babes!! when i had started this, i had just recently rewatched top gun maverick which means the inspo for this man was through the roof. i kind of went overboard a bit and turned it into a long ass one shot. (even going so far as to giving it a moodboard). if it's alright with you i only used the first prompt due to someone requesting the second already. i swear this fic was meant to be short, but then again it's fanboy and i can never help myself. so enjoy this monster.

summary: pining after your best friend never ended well. however in the case of said best friend being mickey garcia, things turn out better than expected.

word count: 3.7k+

pairing: mickey "fanboy" garcia x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, flirting amongst friends, friends to lovers, pining, exhibitionism (seriously idk what happened), cumplay, cumeating, thigh riding, oblivious idiots falling madly in love.

It was just drinks they said. Just a group of people who were there to laugh, enjoy each other’s company, and eventually go home at some ungodly hour. That’s what you expected when you walked into the bar. Ready to nurse one beer, talk to Phoenix about your work issues, and go home.

Quick. Easy. Painless.

At least the hangover part the next day was.

What you didn’t expect was to find him sitting there, talking with Bob as if he didn’t have a single care in the world. You had half a mind to turn around and head back to your car—try this socializing bit on a different day. But Rooster’s arm was slinging around your shoulder, tugging you into a warm and rather hard body. You had to be careful not to trip over your sneaker as he dragged you with him. Never bothering to check if you were actually in step with him.

“Look who I found!” he shouted, his breath giving away the exact number of drinks he had.

“Rooster,” you hissed, trying to pull away before he made you sweat too.

“Leave her alone,” Phoenix chastised, finally yanking you free from his tight grasp. “You’re drunk off your ass Rooster. Sober up or you won’t be getting anywhere near the pilot’s seat tomorrow.”

You sighed in relief as she led you to the bar, signaling to Penny to put another beer on her tab for you. “He’s pretty touchy feely tonight.”

She laughed. “Yeah well he just got permission for a week off next month. I’m pretty sure he’s over the moon for a break.”

“Definitely sounds nice.”

It’s not that you didn’t want to make conversation with Phoenix. You looked forward to seeing her, hearing all the juicy details about what went on in the Top Gun halls. Hell you were even interested in what current feud Hangman and Rooster were stuck in this week. Tonight however, you were barely comprehending a single word she said. Your brain, lagging—unable to catch up fast enough.

You could see her hands moving animatedly as she spoke, lips moving fast, but the words went in one ear and out the other. Because he was sitting mere feet away, eyes fixed entirely on you. The burn from his stare singed through the thin dress you wore to combat the current heat wave outside. Even though you remained focused on Phoenix, you could tell he was in the exact same situation as you.

Transfixed by the utter longing that tore at your chests. Clawing for a way to get out.

“So that’s how I ended up fucking Hangman.”

You nearly choked on your spit. “What?”

“Ah there you are.” She grinned, taking a sip of her beer. “I’ve been talking for the past five minutes and you’ve been completely out of it.”

“Sorry.” You scraped your nail on the bottle’s label, attempting to refocus your attention on Phoenix, but it seemed to be too late. She had figured out where your mind had drifted off to.

“You know you can talk to him right?”

“What are you…”

“Fanboy.”

Was it that obvious that you were unable to even keep your composure in the same room as him? Your mouth opened and closed, words evading you as her lips pulled up into a shit eating grin. You could hear the words echo in your head: Got you. She knew you were close with Mickey. The two of you became fast friends a year ago, bonding over scifi shows and comic books.

But then he left. You understood he couldn’t be around for months at a time; his job came before everything and you accepted that. However, four months without his presence left you feeling empty in a way you couldn’t fully describe, even if you wanted to. He was the sunlight on your dark days. The warmth you clung to when life turned cold. And he was gone.

It didn’t take you long to realize how evident your feelings for him were. Which also meant…it took Phoenix less time.

You coughed, swallowing your beer to avoid giving her a response, but it was clear by the expression on her face that you weren’t getting off that easy. She sighed as if you were one of her irritable students who refused to see reason. When in fact, you were her oblivious friend who couldn’t see past your own fear to finally realize that Mickey was head over heels in love with you.

“Explains why he’s been sulking all day.”

That caught your attention. “What do you mean?”

“He’s been back in town for two days.” You nodded, remembering the text he sent you a week before with his flight details. “And have you spoken to him in person yet?”

She knew she caught you when you averted your gaze to the bartop. “I figured he was busy.”

“Bullshit.”

Your eyes snapped to her. “It’s not—”

“You just figured you could avoid him and hope your feelings disappeared.” Heat crept up your cheeks, but she wasn’t done with you. Far from it. “Meanwhile Fanboy’s been acting like a kicked puppy for two days and none of us could figure out why.”

“He hasn’t been—” Her glare cut you off, forcing your eyes to wander back to where he sat rather quietly.

Most nights he was one of the loudest people there. Laughing and spouting jokes funny enough to have you in stitches. Except for tonight. His eyes were cast anywhere but you, smile only showing when he forced it. But even then, it never quite reached his eyes. All in all, he looked exactly like Phoenix described him. A man who couldn’t figure out why one of his best friends was avoiding him like he was the plague.

You felt the heavy weight of guilt settle in the bottom of your stomach, turning the taste of your beer sour. He’d been gone long enough for you to miss him. But it never occurred to you how much he’d miss you.

Before you could wrangle the remaining courage in your body and get up from the stool, his eyes traveled back to yours. Meeting them for the first time that night. He sat up a bit straighter, the small grin you loved so much making a reappearance as he sent a small wave your way. A peace offering that would hopefully lead to more.

You found yourself unable to stop the smile that spread across your lips. The familiar lick of warmth, coursing through your body.

He was your best friend. The man you spoke to on the phone for hours at a time while he was away. You sent him letters, various comics, and care packages full of his favorite kind of cookies. Even going so far as to send him cheesy holiday cards full of Star Trek references that you knew would make him smile.

He was your best friend…and you were completely in love with him.

Phoenix nudged your knee with hers, jutting her head in his direction. Only you were too late on that front. Mickey was already getting up, excusing himself from the group’s conversation, and heading your way. The familiar standard issue khaki uniform he had to wear did nothing to hide the strong shoulders you knew lay beneath the fabric. Simply watching him maneuver his way through the overcrowded bar towards you, took your breath away.

“What do I say?” you said under your breath, leaning closer to Phoenix.

She shrugged, grabbing the full beer in front of her that she asked Penny for. “Tell him you want to get married.”

You spluttered, trying not to choke on your beer. “I can’t say that!”

“Can’t say what?”

The all too familiar deep vibrato of his voice caused your whole body to stiffen in your seat. Embarrassment washing over you at the realization that he had heard you. Phoenix however was more than happy to slide out of his way, pressing the cold beer into his hands, and muttering what you believed to be a quick: Don’t fuck this up.

You had half a mind to drag her back just to get some more context, but Mickey sitting down, his knees pressing on the outside of your thighs drew your attention to him. He smiled and took a sip of the beer. And you tried your best to ignore the searing heat that came with watching the way his throat moved as he swallowed.

The silence that grew between you the longer he sat there was deafening. So much so that you found yourself half tempted to drag him outside where nobody could see you. At least maybe you’d finally have a chance to get the truth out. Or if not the truth, then some form of words strung together to make a single sentence. That was a better option than sitting there staring at him like an idiot.

“Welcome back,” you blurted out, trying to calm the rapid beat of your heart.

He smiled and this time it reached his eyes. “Thanks.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything to you sooner. Works been keeping me busy and I—”

His hand on your knee caused the remainder of your rant to die in the back of your throat. “I figured you were occupied. So it’s alright.”

“It is?” you asked, your voice barely loud enough to hear over the raucous noise of the bar.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” He shrugged, his hand never moving higher and never pulling away. You swore your heart had stopped beating the second his warm palm touched your bare skin—your eyes dropping down quickly to see the veins that spread beneath the skin.

Shifting slightly, you tamped down the emotions that ran rampant in your mind. Whatever you were feeling—or dreaming about—wasn’t going to happen tonight. If you were being entirely honest with yourself, it didn’t seem like a possibility that would come to fruition at any time. Which meant you were stuck in this neverending pit of pining over your best friend. Part of you wished Mickey could read minds just so you wouldn’t have to say the words yourself.

“I wasn’t avoiding you.” The words came before you could stop them—fully revealing that you were in fact avoiding him. “I mean…I wasn’t…um…”

“Right,” he said, his hand pulling away and eyes shifting back to the bar.

You could physically see his walls begin to close up, the light that had reappeared in his eyes, now vanishing from sight. It wasn’t until then did you realize that saying the words wasn’t the hard part. No, in fact you found you could say them in an instant if you had to. The hard part was the possibility of losing him for good. The fear of him never reciprocating your feelings held you back—causing the chasm in your heart to grow every second.

“No, wait.” You grabbed onto his wrist lightly, catching sight of the disappointment in his eyes, and it broke your heart. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

You sighed. “Can we go outside? Away from all this noise?”

Mickey was standing up faster than you expected him too, digging out enough cash to toss on the bar for Penny before taking your hand in his. You didn’t fight the small grin that appeared on your lips this time. There was just something about him that pulled on the strings of happiness in your chest. That made you want to always see the good in the world—the good that you knew resided in him.

“Slow down,” you called, trying to keep up the pace as he practically sprinted towards the parking lot. You caught sight of his familiar dark blue car—having been in it more times than you could count.

“Sorry,” he replied, giving you a chance to catch your breath. “I figured you wanted out of there quickly.”

“I did.” How the fuck were you supposed to go about things now? When it was just the two of you standing there, his back pressed to the passenger door of his car.

You tried to ignore the way he looked—how the soft lights from the bar played across his face. Turning him into an almost ethereal painting you were visiting in a museum. It took your breath away and for a moment you remained silent. Watching as his eyes took in your features, his chest rising and falling with each breath. There wasn’t a better moment to kiss him than right now. Except your doubts began to rear their ugly head again.

A bitter heat crept up the back of your neck as you turned your attention to the rest of the parking lot. Trying—and failing—to come up with something to say. You just never expected Mickey to beat you to the punch.

“Don’t do that,” he said. Your eyes snapped back to him, catching the glimmer of dejection in his eyes.

“Do what?” You knew exactly what he was talking about and playing it coy wouldn’t stop him from pressing even further. It was a quality about him you both loved and hated. He would never stop until you told him the truth.

“Don’t hide from me.” His hand still held onto yours, thumb pressing gently along your knuckles. “What’s going on with you huh? What aren’t you telling me?”

You let out a breath, attempting to get a hold of the nerves that seemed intent on keeping you quiet. “I like you.”

He paused, eyes taking in the panicked expression on your face. You half expected him to say something in return—anything to appease whatever it was you were dealing with. But he didn’t. Instead he watched, his mouth opening and closing every few seconds as if trying to soak in the full extent of your words. I like you wasn’t much to go on, you’d give him that.

So you continued. “I’ve liked you for a while—although like is probably not the right word to describe how I feel about you. And I understand if you just want to remain friends. If it’s…easier that way. Or even if this is the end—”

He yanked you forward, his hand cupping your cheek to turn your face towards his. Lips capturing yours in a kiss that left you sinking into his chest, a soft moan emitting from your mouth as your eyes fluttered closed. Mickey kissed you like it had been the only thing on his mind since you first met. He licked into your mouth, dragging out sounds you didn’t know you could make—his hand wrapping tightly around your waist to keep you pressed close.

He kissed you as if he would never get the chance to again.

“Mickey,” you sighed, his lips sliding along your jaw, other hand pressing tightly to your waist to press your hips against his.

“I love you,” he murmured, bunching up the back of your dress as heat quickly filled your senses.

“You…” Tilting your head back, you tried to gain some sense of control over your thoughts. He however seemed adamant on keeping you right where you were. That is…until his words finally registered. “You love me?” you exclaimed, pulling away—much to his disappointment.

His smile was sheepish, red staining his cheeks and the very tips of his ears. “Have for a while now mi vida.”

Heat burned beneath your cheeks at the small nickname—the words burrowing deep in your heart. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He had you there.

Smiling, you wrapped your arms around his neck, dragging his lips back to yours. “I love you mi amor. More than you know.”

A sound pulled from his throat—high and wanting. It was pressed into your mouth, his hands grasping parts of you that he had only dreamed of touching. Scrunching up the side of your dress, his hand slid up your thigh, digging into the plush skin as you moaned against him. You were right outside of the bar where anyone could walk out and see you. Yet neither of you cared.

Licking into his mouth, you dug your hands into his newly grown out short curls—your nails scraping against his scalp. He shivered, pulling you even closer and slotting his thigh between your legs. Giving you something to press down on.

That alone stirred something in the base of your stomach. A molten heat sliding through your veins until you were putty in his hands. Mickey seemed to sense the shift—your needy whine a slight beg for more—and began to guide your hips along his leg. The wet patch you knew was on your panties, now seeping into the light color of his khakis.

“Fuck,” you gasped, head falling back and hands grasping onto the front of his shirt. “M-Mickey.”

“Mhm?” he hummed against your throat, teeth digging in until it sparked pain through you.

“I need—ah—” His grip on your hip grew tighter, thigh bumping up and pressing against your clit perfectly. “I need more.”

He shuddered, his lips colliding against yours in a heady kiss. This one was different. You could taste the desperation on his tongue as he took you apart with his mouth. He wanted to leave you breathless. To see you writhe because of him and have you begging for more. And you’d give into him without question. You’d give him whatever he desired, because he’d do the same for you in a heartbeat.

“Say you want me, and I’m yours,” he breathed, pulling you along his thigh harder.

Your knee pressed against him, grinding against him with each movement and you visibly watched him chase his high. He bucked his hips, desperate for the minimal amount of friction. A moan tore from his throat, his lips sliding along your jaw, hand shifting to grip your ass tightly. You wanted to give him that high. To watch him combust as you did. But you were lost to the sensations sparking through your body.

Something built in your stomach, pulling impossibly tight. You felt it grow—driving you so high that you were certain you’d go mad if you didn’t have it in your grasp. He pushed and pulled your body until you were a whimpering mess against him. His name was a reverent prayer you pressed into his mouth in the hopes he’d answer your greatest wish. To feel his love pour into you—captivate you so entirely you’d never be rid of it.

“I-I want you,” you stammered, your eyes hazy with lust.

“C’mon then.” He slid his hand down the front of your body, fingers dipping into the sopping mess that was your panties and finding your clit with ease. “Think you can cum like this mi vida?”

You nodded frantically, moving your hips to catch the friction of his fingers. Your heart nearly beat out of your chest when he began to whisper praise against your skin. Kissing down your chest until he reached the top of your dress. Something in your brain begged him to pull it down. To keep going. But you understood the risk with being outside still. Neither of you wanted to get caught; the both of you would never live it down.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed, his fingers pressing down harder—face lighting up at the sight of your eyes rolling back.

He yanked you back to him, lips sliding against your own as you shattered in his arms. It burned through you, causing your whole body to shake and your breath to catch in your lungs. Rather than pull away entirely, he kept going. Prolonging the pleasure until there wasn’t anything you could do. A muffled cry echoed around the parking lot and it took you a moment to realize that you were the one who made the sound.

Mickey gasped, his hips canting up against you in search of that same feeling. So you pulled on his curls, dragging his lips back to yours as his fingers still pressed firm circles around your clit.

“I love you Mickey.” You pressed the words against his jaw, watching as his eyes fluttered shut, his brows pulling tight. He managed to quickly muffle his moan against your neck, his whole body shuddering in your grasp and a soft whine of your name echoing in your ears.

Yet he never stopped his fingers from moving. Two of them gathering your cum that steadily leaked out and sliding them up to your clit. Sending another soft wave of pleasure through your body. You wanted to remain there. Forever stuck in this moment with him. But you knew the faster you managed to get home, the better the odds were for the both of you.

“I can’t,” you gasped, grasping onto this wrist to stop him from shifting the overstimulation into an uncomfortable pain.

Before you could ask him to take you home, he was rendering you speechless—slipping his shiny coated fingers into his mouth and groaning at the taste. Your clit throbbed and for a moment you felt dizzy. Even as he held you upright. You watched his tongue peek out, wondering how it might feel against you. And once more the heat began to build again, causing your imagination to spin out of control.

“Mi vida?” he asked, pulling from your haze. His small smile let you know he had figured out what you were thinking—already halfway to teasing the answer out of you.

“Take me home Mickey,” you croaked, unable to wait any longer. “I want you.”

His eyes softened, fingers gently pinching your chin as he pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. Pouring all the emotion he ever said aloud into you. This was it. The moment that would replay in your head for the rest of your life. Mickey Garcia smiling sweetly, his hands caressing your hips to soothe the ache of his tight hold—love shining in his eyes. You felt your heart leap in your chest, breath once more getting stolen just by his mere proximity.

“I’m yours.” 

[wildbornsiren]

12 days of Fluffmas!: Hot Chocolate || Mickey “Fanboy” Garcia/F!Reader

Day 7: Hot Chocolate. 

Summary: Mickey makes you a treat. 

561 words Female/AFAB reader

Warnings: None. Fluff. 

Summary: Day seven of the 12 days of Fluffmas!  Comments and reblogs fuel my writing, likes are appreciated. Thank you so much for reading, it’s appreciated and means the most.  

 **Tag list is done, please follow and turn on notifs for @wbslibrary​ **

Sundays were reserved for pajamas and being lazy. It was your favorite part of the week, curled up with Mickey on the couch, sharing a blanket and watching movies. Sometimes you’d get lost in books, only to emerge hours later to have food, or share what you’ve read. Today, you’re curled up on one end of the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, a blanket pulled up to your chin. Mickey’s head is resting in your lap, and his thumb brushing against the back of your hand. The two of you decided on the classic children’s Christmas movies. As the credits for ‘Frosty the Snowman’ play, he sits up.

“Your turn to pick the next one.” Mickey guides your face toward his with a gentle touch of fingers under your chin. He kisses you softly, once, before getting to his feet and doing it again. “I’m going to make us some hot chocolate and get some of those cookies Bob’s girlfriend gave us.”

You scroll through the options, settling on what you know is the best version of A Christmas Carol, the Muppets version of course, when you hear the clatter of pans, and Mickey cursing softly. You get up, wandering into the kitchen to find your boyfriend standing at the stove, pouring milk and heavy cream into a pan.

“Baby we have instant.” You go the cupboard pulling out a box of powdered mix.

“That. Is not hot chocolate.” Mickey looks up from the pot, eyes narrowed playfully.

“It’s what it says on the box.” You shake it in his direction, and he shakes his head.

“No, sweetheart, I’m going to make you the good stuff. The stuff my abuelita makes.”

“Is it a family secret?”

“It is shared with those we consider precious.” Mickey plunks three large hunks of chocolate from a yellow package into the warming milk.

“Precious huh?” You wrap around him from behind, and he leans back against you with a little sigh. “I love you too.” You hide your face between his shoulder blades, and you can feel him chuckle. It was a newer development in your relationship, and it still gave you butterflies to say how much he meant to you. Mickey had said it first, but never pressured you to say it in return—rather he accepted how you showed your love rather than saying it and spent time with him.

He heats the liquid slowly, letting it thicken, stirring constantly. It smells divine. Warm, with cinnamon and just a little bit of spice. He mixes sugar in, still stirring. “Grab two mugs, please my love.”

You hand over his favorite Star Trek mug, and your own favorite mug, watching as he ladles the hot chocolate into them. You grab a container of homemade whipped cream from the fridge and pass it to him.

“Good call.” He smiles at you, adding healthy scoops on top. “Try this first.” He offers you the spoon that he was stirring the mix with, his hand under it to catch any drops of hot chocolate that might spill.

“Wow,” you breathe when you taste the drink. “Mickey, this is wonderful.” It’s sweet, thick and there’s a hint of spice that lingers on your pallet. There’s a warmth that goes beyond the temperature and when you catch Mickey’s gaze, you can feel it there too.

/end

[rae-gar-targaryen]

this is a lil thot here but excuse you the breeding kink and baby fever go brrr.. anyways imagine mickey like finding out you want kids and then going FERAL. i just- that image in my head is one i am PROUD of creating

But it is an IMPORTANT thot. This awakened something, I think. A lil nsfwish so 18+, and there's a cut. (Reference to their conversation about what they'd name their kids from "swallow you like sunshine") ahoy, ahoy this became a whole thing --

--

so deep in love with you (baby love) [mickey “fanboy” garcia x fem!civilian!reader, aka “cielo”]

Word Count: 1.3k (always a nerd, never a blurb) of nerves, honey-sweetness, and the eternity of love’s promise

Warnings: hints of smut, fingering, breeding kink (obvi) and comeplay. mildest of mild hints of choking. 18+, please.

Why were you so nervous?

No, seriously, why were you nervous? You and Mickey had had this conversation before. There was no reason for you to be this anxious, sitting silently during the dinner he had made for you, twirling spaghetti around your fork endlessly.

If Mickey found your silence disquieting, he had the good grace not to say anything, eyeing you with those bourbon-honey swirled eyes of his that drove you absolutely crazy.

You could do this. This is Mickey you were talking to. Mickey, who had stood in front of the censor so the sliding door at the grocery store stayed open while you tried not to slip in a puddle on your way in. Mickey, who wraps his hands around you and puts them in the pouch pocket of your hoodie while you wait for movie tickets. Mickey, who brought you coffee in bed this morning. Mickey, who plays with Bob's kids, talks to them like they're adults, and excitedly talks too fast when he spills to you all the new facts he's learned about cuttlefish after spending an afternoon with them.

You could tell him this.

"Ehm," you cleared your throat, putting down your fork that had a veritable hive of spaghetti twirled to the end of it by now. "M?" You ventured, waiting for his eyes to meet yours across the table before continuing.

"Yeah, Cielo?" He must sense your nerves. He put his fork down, too, waiting patiently for you to continue.

You cast your eyes down the smear of red sauce across your plate that looked vaguely like a bloated bear before, murmuring,

"Ithinkimreadytotry," you rushed.

Mickey cocked his head to the side, eyes swimming with questions, "Sorry?" He asked.

"I think," you exhaled, tilting your jaw to boldly (in your opinion) meet your husband's eye. "I think I'm ready? To start, you know, trying? Only if you are, I mean, I know you leave again soon, so we don't have a ton of time, and it doesn't have to be now, but I'm ready if you're ready and I just wanna have a baby with you, if that's cool--" you rambled, cutting yourself off when you saw Mickey's eyes widen, his hand reaching over the table to press his finger gently over your lips, rendering you silent.

"Baby," he chuckled. "A baby?"

You nodded, slumping back in your seat, deflated, at the toll your rant had taken on your body.

Mickey eyed you again, seemingly not eager to respond.

He nods, pushing his chair back and standing up, making his way around the table and over to you.

"So," he reaches for you, beckoning you up from your seat with the gentle tug of his warm arm around your waist. "Which one do we try for first, hm?" He asks as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, lips trailing the thrumming pulse along the column of your throat. "Vero or Valencia, boy or girl?"

Without giving you a chance to respond, Mickey hoists you over his shoulder, carrying you through the threshold to the living room, gently depositing you on the couch. You gasped at the feel of his fingers tugging at the waistband of your leggings, seemingly perpetually warm, something that emanates from him, tried and true.

And Mickey barely lets you get a word in edgewise, as you open your mouth to respond, he fuses his lips to yours, sliding his tongue into your mouth as his fingers continue to tug your leggings down your legs.

Like a heatwave on a summer's day, Mickey had overwhelmed you, sunshine and molten gold, his hips now rolling into yours on the couch.

"W-wait," you pushed his shoulders, his lips separating from yours, flushed, kiss-bitten, and honeyed. "Now?!"

"You just gave this whole spiel about how we don't have a ton of time," Mickey reasoned, his fingers trailing to your waist as he rolled his hips into yours again, causing you to buck at the feel of him through his sweatpants. "Why not now?"

"M!" You swatted his bicep lightly with the back of your hand, "I haven't showered today. I'm wearing ratty old leggings, for god's sake. I look a mess!"

Mickey hmm'd, a purring little hum of dissent lodged in his throat, like a perpetually displeased jungle cat.

"Agree to disagree, amor," he eyed you as though you were the meal he had been enjoying moments ago.

"First of all," he presses a kiss to your throat, one hand coming up to follow it, fingers lightly wrapping their way around your neck as he feels the effect he has on you in the blood rushing through your veins, beneath his fingers, heated and heady. "You aren't wearing your leggings ... Anymore."

He presses a kiss to your lips, following the gentle gesture with an intentional scraping of teeth, a little bite to his bark.

"Second of all," his other hand at your waist now slips between you to feel the now-soaked lace at the very center of you, plucking it aside to allow him to stroke the seam of your cunt, his touch causing your lips to part in a gasp, your eyes to flutter closed. "You look hot as fuck. Always do."

With that, Mickey slips a finger inside of you, pleased at the feel of your heated walls around him as he plays you to an unheard rhythm, rolling his thumb over your clit. Eagerly swallowing your breathy little moans as he kisses you through his attentions.

"M'gonna fuck you, Cielo," he murmurs, the heat of his body leaving yours as he rocks back on the couch to shuck his sweatpants down. "Gonna give you a baby. Gonna make you come first, though..."

"I want that," you sigh, twining your fingers through the curls you know will be shorn once he leaves, eager to tug, eager to capitalize. Eager to make him yours. "Want everything with you."

...

Later in the night, Mickey takes in the serenity of your features bathed in the white-blue glow of the television as you two take in "The Empire Strikes Back" with unseeing eyes, exhausted and high off of each other. He had put on the movie and grabbed you a chocolate bar after round ... Three, was it?

And he didn't know if it would take right away, really. But he was hell-bent on trying, having fucked you into the couch until you'd forgotten your own name, pushing his release back into you when he had withdrawn, fingers gently sweeping along your opening to urge you through another orgasm, while keeping his spend inside of you.

Now, he's admiring you, the curve of your waist. Imagining the way your stomach will swell someday, the genesis of your collective devotion.

So, really, he doesn't know what compels him to tell you, but he says it anyway --

"You know," your eyes meet his at his words, lips curled in a sweet, sleepy smile, encouraging him to continue. "If you get pregnant this year, Javy owes Payback twenty bucks."

"Excuse me, what?!" You cock an eyebrow at him, seated on your elbows the better to take in what your husband had just said.

"Ehm, yeah," Mickey was sheepish now, scrubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "They were teasing, you know how they are... And, well, I know that I've got it in me, so really, I don't know what they were trying to imply. Just giving me shit, I think."

You put your hand up to silence your husband, biting back a chuckle as you clarify,

"M, do you mean to tell me you wagered with your co-workers about how soon you could knock me up?"

And Mickey, expert at reading you though be was, was grasping to tell whether you were amused or upset. It's a fine line to walk, sometimes, truly...

"Uh, yeah, I guess I did..." He trailed off, glancing at you with apologetic doe eyes.

A laugh bubbled from your lips, a tipsy little thing, telling champagne bubbles as you laughed at your husband's ridiculous antics, tugging him toward you, and pressing your lips to his.

"Claro. C'mon then, daddy," you murmur, kissing him with each word. "We've gotta get Reuben that money."

--

tagging some fanboy girlies (so sorry): @joaquinwhorres @withahappyrefrain @thegirlwhowritesfics  @clints-lucky-arrow @inklore @phoenixhalliwell @ohmagawd-life @moonlight-prose  @levylovegood @thatredheadwriter @zombieaurora @shadeds-library @writercole @ijustwantedplums @justalonelyslytherin @gretagerwigsmuse @fanboysfangirl @siriusfahey @the-navistar-carol @jadore-andor @fanboygarcia @lavenderluna10 @thedaredevilsgirl @fluffyprettykitty @mickeyluvs @mothdruid  @maxmayfield @eagerforthesky @callmemana @mxgyver  @andrewrussgarfield @bioodforbiood  @the-purity-pen @luxuryberzatto @liz-allyn

[make-me-imagine]

Secret Santa: Fanboy's Ending

12 Days of Christmas: Day 11

'Secret Santa: Part One'

Plot: The day of the festival has arrived and you are filled with anxiety and hope as to who might be waiting for you.

Pairing: Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia x Gn!Reader

Words: 1.1k

-

Your eyes lingered on Mickey as he joked with Payback. You could hear his laugh from across the hangar, and it was hard for you not to smile in response.

When you heard you and Mickey would be reunited yet again for another mission, you were ecstatic. This would be the fifth time, and another opportunity for you two to grow closer.

You were close friends, but you had feelings for him since the beginning. And you could only hope that he felt the same. Which is why you were so hopeful that it might be him who had left you those flowers, and the necklace.

Before the Secret Santa, the two of you had a moment. After a rough day of training, shared tired glances seemed to hold something behind them. He opened his mouth to say something, but faltered, and sad goodnight instead. You never knew what it was he wanted to say, and the thought seemed to haunt you.

Maybe he was going to confess something, ask you out, something that told you how he felt. But that was just a maybe.

And now with the secret Santa and these confessions to you, doubt sat heavy in your heart, fearing that it may be too good to be true. Mickey showed no signs it was him, and had acted exactly as he always did. You had expected some heightened nervousness or avoidance, but there was nothing.

A nervous jitter ran through you as you checked the time. You had to leave for the festival in about an hour. You needed to get ready.

Looking back over at Mickey you sighed softly, he didn't look to be in that big of a hurry to go anywhere. Maybe it wasn't him.

Leaving with one last glance at Mickey, you just missed his eyes landing on you as he watched you leave.

Checking his own watch he smacked Payback on the shoulder "Gotta go!"

"Where you off too?" Payback asked watching him jog off.

Fanboy smiled back at him "Got somewhere important to be!"

As you slowly moved up in line to enter the festival, your eyes cast nervously over the crowds. Whoever left you the presents could be anywhere, and the festival had grown in size since last year.

What would you do if you ended up never finding them? Would they find you the next day? Or would they assume you didn't show?

Walking around the entrance to the festival, you kept an eye out for anyone familiar. Slowly, you began wandering down the pathways, taking in the lights and stalls, but really only looking for a familiar face.

Just as you began fearing you may never find them, you caught onto a familiar face in the crowd.

Confusion washed over you as you recognized one of the pilots from the program. You knew him, but not that well. There was no way he had strong feelings for you was there?

You felt an overwhelming urge to run away before he saw you, fearing that this may be more awkward than you anticipated.

But you stopped short when you saw him grin at someone approaching him. You watched as another person ran up to him, handing him something. As he wrapped his arm around their waist, relief washed over you.

Turning around, deciding to walk a different way, your whole body froze as you spotted yet another familiar face not that far away.

He was looking around, hands shoved into his pockets, as obvious worry sat on his face.

Was he looking for you?

Without really realizing, you began walking towards him. As if your whole being gravitated to him. Watching as he looked around, you hoped he was looking for you.

When you were a few feet away from him you spoke up, "Mickey?"

His eyes shot over at the sound of your voice, and the second they found you, a grin spread across his face. You couldn't help the smile that crossed your own as he stepped up to you.

"Were you looking for me?" You asked softly, hope obvious in your voice.

He nodded "I was afraid you'd never find me. I didn't realize just how big the festival was."

You smiled as you glanced around "I really wasn't sure it was you I would find. You hadn't acted any different these last few days, so I started to doubt it could be you."

He shrugged his head softly, and you saw a small amount of doubt cross his face "So you're not disappointed?"

You quickly shook your head "No, no I'm not. I'm glad."

His smile found his face again "Good. Did you like my presents?"

You smiled as you nodded "Yes, I loved them. I didn't think you were a Greek historian."

He smiled "I'm not, but I wanted the gifts to be unique, and I know how you like hidden meaning behind things. I was actually kind of scared I would freak you out." He chuckled

"I was a bit startled at first, but excited, and now that I know it was you, I'm more than happy."

Mickey took a small step closer to you "I really hoped you felt the same, there's always seemed to be this, thing, between us since we first met. But I was still scared ya' know."

You nodded softly "Yeah, I do know."

His eyes scanned your face as you stared at each other with soft smiles for a moment.

"What now?" You asked.

"What now for us in general, or what now here at the festival?" He asked with an amused tone.

"Both?" You chuckled.

He smiled and looked around "Now we enjoy the festival, eat some food, maybe ride the Ferris Wheel-"

His eyes moved to catch on the Ferris Wheel nearby. And something told you he was hinting at a possible kiss at the top.

You watched as he reached out and gently took your hand "-and we enjoy our first date."

"Our first date?" You asked with a smile and he nodded.

He shrugged lightly with a crooked smile "Yeah, I've been wanting to ask you out for ages now."

You grinned at him, as butterflies rampaged through your stomach.

"Sounds like a great first date to me."

He grinned and gently pulled you closer, so you two could walk together, shoulders touching, hand in hand.

"I thought it might be." He said with a mildly cocky tone, making you giggle.

Your smile remained as a permanent fixture on your face for the rest of the night. And Mickey's hand never let go of yours. Not even at the top of the Ferris Wheel, where you shared your first kiss.

xx End xx

Unfortunately I struggled with this part for some reason, so it did not come out as long as I had hoped it would. But I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless :)

General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @imaginesfire, @onuen, @witchygagirl, @alexxavicry

Top Gun Taglist: @malindacath, @hotch-meeeeeuppppp, @sarcastic-sourwolf, @stargirl-05, @persephonesportal, @springflwer07, @pockyandme, @iceman-kazansky, @soultrysworld, @averyhotchner, @linkxneptune, @creativitybeware, @callsignmaverick5, @phoenix1389,

[kcsplace]

Top Gun Silliness

[nevilles-insinuations]

MY BOYS!!🥹

Bob and Fanboy being best friends at the hard deck

[princessmisery666]

Melted With The Snow - Part 4 - No One's In The Room Mini Series

Series Summary: Jake and Ryleigh find themselves stranded in a remote location when a mission goes sideways. Injured and dependent on his help, she gets a glimpse of the man beneath the façade of ‘The Terminator’. Once they are rescued, the bubble of their personal Vegas bursts, and Jake struggles with new emotions while Ryleigh hopes he will finally see the man she came to know when no one else is in the room.

Summary: Ryleigh attempts to extend her friendship with Jake now that they are back home, but jealousy rears its ugly head. 

Warnings: fluff, jealousy.

W/C: 2.6k

Characters: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, Ryleigh ‘Rodeo’. Small Parts/Mentioned: the rest of the Dagger Squad, Javy ‘Coyote’ Machado. 

Pairing: fwb - Ryleigh x Fanboy. 

Pairing: none for part 2.

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch

Graphics: made by me on canva.

Catch up here.

Melted With The Snow

Ryleigh’s leg ached as she awoke, but it was soon forgotten, feeling Jake cocooned around her. His arm rested across her stomach, chest pressed to her back, breath fanning her neck. She’d woken with the thought of needing painkillers, but the steady rhythm of Jake’s breathing and the warmth of his embrace seemed relief enough for the moment.

She timidly shuffled back, pulling his arm up and tighter around her, and even in the midst of sleep, he must have thought she was cold as he tugged the blanket higher and nestled his face into her neck.

She’d seen Jake in many scenarios, and his cocksure smirk was ever-present. Unable to stop herself, she gingerly turned over, careful not to wake him nor put too much pressure on her injury, as she wanted to see what he looked like, relaxed and vulnerable as he slept. 

A slight frown creased his brow, “Cold,” he murmured, eyes still firmly shut. Jake smoothly ran his hand over her side tucking it under the other side, and tugged her flush against him. Reflexively she threw her leg over his hip, and slowly his eyes opened. As close as they were, almost nose to nose, she noticed flecks of gold amongst the hazel. He smiled softly in a silent greeting, and she felt her stomach flip. 

No, Ryleigh. She warned herself. Don’t. 

Despite her brain screaming at her not to fall into the trap of Jake Seresin, her hands hadn’t quite caught up, and she found them swirling patterns on his back, down his side, and around his chest.

Jake hummed and followed her lead, tracing imaginary lines on the leg holding him against her. He shivered and wet his lips, tongue brushing her mouth as they tested the other’s boundaries. 

Gazes locked, Jake’s hand roamed further up her leg, and she wanted him to slip his fingers beneath her panty line, grip her tight, and take what he wanted.

The air was charged, something invisible but very present and tangible passed between them, but Jake hesitated. The hesitation worried him; he’d never been uncertain with someone before. He was confident and bold, so why couldn’t he close the minute gap between them? Her eyes searched his face, and without saying it aloud, he told her: “if you want this to happen, then you have to make it happen.”

He wanted her. He’d never be able to express how badly he wanted her and worried that having her in the ways he wanted wouldn’t satisfy his craving but only serve to increase it. 

She drew circles on his stomach, as low as their position allowed her hand to wander, and she felt him growing hard against her leg. Still, he made no move to get closer or kiss her. 

Was he teasing or as nervous and unsure as she was? Her eyes fell closed, and she steadily lifted her head to lean in closer, feeling the tickle of his lips against hers just before the crackle of static on the radio burst the bubble.

“Shit,” Jake jumped and didn’t give her a second glance before rolling out of bed and making his way to the living room to answer the call. 

Ryleigh waited in the bed listening to Jake’s mumbled replies to whoever was on the radio, unsettled by what almost happened. What was she doing? Why was she giving into… what was she giving into – lust, curiosity… feelings? No! Not feelings, no way, and why hadn’t he kissed her? She was sure he wanted to, and she’d made it very clear she wanted him even though she had previously told him it would never happen. 

Her leg began to ache again. She shuffled to sit up and readjust her position but remained in the bed, hoping Jake would rejoin her. 

Instead when he reappeared, he shoved his shoulder against the doorframe, arms folded over his chest, and barely looked at her.

“There’s a break in the storm,” he explained, “it’s the best chance for evac that we’re gonna get.”

“How long do we have?” she asked, chewing her bottom lip and shamelessly dragging her eyes down his body.

He felt his body flush with heat, something in the way she hungrily drank him in gave him pause. But why? Anyone else, he wouldn’t have hesitated to add to the long list of conquests. He’d have marched in there and taken her in all the ways she wanted him to.

He wanted it too, but suddenly not like this. Not because they were each other’s only option at that moment. He didn’t want a quick, meaningless hook-up. He wanted more. 

Fuck. No, it wasn’t that. Couldn’t be. 

“Jake?” she questioned. 

He cleared his throat. “There’s a clearing two klicks southeast. I’m gonna go meet them, lead them back here with a stretcher, save you walking.”

“I can walk just fine,” she insisted, “amongst other things.”

“The moment’s passed,” he said, walking further into the room to grab the jeans he’d thrown on the floor. “Let’s just forget it.” 

“What if I don’t want to forget it?”

He shrugged, “I’m sure Fanboy will be happy to help you forget it.”

She huffed a mirthless laugh, “so that’s how it’s going to be.”

“Vegas was fun while it lasted, Rodeo.” It had been fun. He wasn’t lying, but he had to sell it. Tone dripping with nonchalance, he added, “Fun’s over. We don’t need to play at being friends anymore,” as he walked out of the room. 

The Hard Deck was packed. Jake had barely been there ten minutes before he and Javy attracted a group of pretty women to flirt and shoot pool with, though his attention was divided. Rooster, Bob, Phoenix, Fanboy, and Payback stood around the piano, drinking and talking, and Jake kept glancing over to see if Ryleigh had arrived.

He hadn’t seen her since they’d got back. They’d whisked her off to medical and him to briefings. He spied Fanboy laughing with Bob, and curiosity had him staring while Coyote took his shot. 

What did Fanboy have that he didn’t? Why had Ryleigh so easily fallen into bed with Mickey but had repeatedly rebuffed him? He felt his chest tighten, a pang of envy, perhaps?

No. Jake mentally scoffed at himself. Him, jealous? Of Fanboy? Please. The thought was absurd. If anything, he pitted Mickey; he had his hands on something special and didn’t seem to know it. 

Jake took his shot after Javy scolded him for being distracted. He potted two balls in the top left corner, winning the game, and winked at his prey for the evening as he straightened up. She giggled, tucking an immaculate brunette curl behind her ear, and though he didn’t know her name yet, he knew he’d won her too. 

A rambunctious cheer caught his attention as he approached her, and over her shoulder, he spied the enthusiastic welcome Ryleigh received. 

“I’ll be right back,” he said and didn’t wait for a response. He pushed through the crowd and made it to Ryleigh’s side just as Fanboy released her from a tight embrace.

“Rodeo,” he said, tapping her elbow to get her attention.

She turned to him as did everyone else, except she was the only one with a welcoming smile. “Hey, Jake.”

“Jake?” Rooster commented, confusion knitted his brow, “but he’s Bagman!”

“No more Bagman,” she scolded and looked at each of them in turn, “it’s Hangman or Seresin.”

“Okay, what happened between you two?” Phoenix asked.

“Nothing,” snapped Jake, quicker than he perhaps should have, and instantly regretted approaching her. He should have waited and caught her when she was alone.

“Yeah, okay,” Fanboy said, and it was clear no one was buying it.

“The kegs in the car,” Rooster said, “let’s turn and burn. I got some money to win.” 

The group collectively groaned and gave him shit, but they all gulped the last of their drinks, and Jake took the opportunity to nod to Ryleigh, silently asking her to move away from the group, out of earshot.

“Go ahead,” she told Mickey when he hesitated to follow the group, “I’ll be out in a sec.”

Suspiciously he spied Jake over the top of her head as he moved to tuck himself against the nearest wall but didn’t comment. Fanboy kissed the top of her head, “don’t be long.”

The familiar and almost flippant way Ryleigh tiptoed to kiss his lips made Jake clench his fists at his sides. He took deep calming breaths to keep himself from clenching his jaw.

Ryleigh waited until Mickey was a few feet away before she turned and limped toward Jake. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” he snapped unintentionally. The jealousy catching him off guard, he continued before she could question his attitude. “I just wanted to catch up and see how you’re doing. Haven’t seen you since we got back, and I’m headed home tomorrow. Why are you limping?”

“I’ve spent days being poked, prodded, and assessed,” she groaned but smiled playfully, “but Docs say I get to keep my leg. Apparently, I had good first aid or something.”

“So celebrating?” he asked, pointing toward the group as they made their way out of the bar.

“I’m supposed to be resting, doctor's orders,” she explained, “but Rooster decided I can rest and have a poker night. You’re welcome to join us.”

“Not sure Fanboy would appreciate my attendance,” he chuckled, though, in truth, he wasn’t sure he could handle seeing them together. “And as tempting as it is to take their money, I got my own thing going on,” he said, nodding toward the brunette he planned to take home.

She followed his line of sight and saw the pretty woman staring back at them, a smug red-painted smile wrapped around the straw of her drink. 

“Have fun with that,” she said and only sounded mildly disdainful.

“Have fun with Fanboy,” Jake retorted, matching her tone. 

“What the hell is your problem with Mickey?” she snapped, the pain from her leg intensifying the pang of jealousy and the sting of betrayal.

“My problem with him?!” Jake exclaimed quietly, “my problem is that the only thing he wants is for you to be his personal fuck toy, which you claim you don’t want anymore.”

“Why do you care what I want?” 

“I don’t,” he snapped. 

She scoffed. “So why are we having this conversation?”

He stared her down, and she softened her expression, begging him to say it. Admit that he was jealous and be done with it. But he offered no reply, and reluctantly, she dropped her gaze. What happened in Vegas had clearly stayed there. 

“You can’t even….you know what? It doesn’t matter.” She stopped herself, shaking her head before she turned to leave, but Jake caught her arm, and she twisted back. 

“Why doesn’t it matter?” he demanded.

It sounded almost pleading. She stared into his hazel eyes, waiting for…what? What did he want her to say? Confess that she felt like something had changed between them. But didn’t him having a conquest already lined up prove it was one-sided? 

“‘Cause I’m an idiot,” she explained, somewhat angry but more so at herself for thinking something was different. “Back at the cabin, I thought…”

The bell of the Hard Deck rang out, and the patrons erupted into cheers, cutting her off.

“What did you think, Ryleigh?”

There was that tone again, imploring but still cautious. She couldn’t do this, not with him. Her sigh was heavily laden with regret as she looked over at his intended conquest. Meeting his eyes again, she mirthlessly smiled, “Whatever it was, I guess it melted with the snow.”

“I guess we’ll always have Vegas, huh?” Jake shrugged. 

Humorlessly, she chuckled, then kissed his cheek and hobbled away. 

Jake couldn’t decide whether it was a really good idea or a downright going to get his ass kicked into next week, colossal asshole of an idea? It didn’t matter, not really. Regardless, he felt he had no choice. He couldn’t go another minute without knowing, without doing it, at least once.

The woman he’d taken home was drop dead, trophy wife pretty, she was smart too, a lawyer or something. He hadn’t been paying that close attention, but the more she spoke and they kissed, the more Jake compared her to Ryleigh. 

It was ridiculous and all-consuming. He’d asked the woman for her address, and when the cab pulled up outside her place, he’d apologized and given the driver a new address.

Now his feet carried him up the concrete path, and as the cab pulled away from the curb, he realized he perhaps should have asked him to wait. He might have needed a ride to the hospital after.

He knocked on the door with more force and speed than he intended, but his heart was pounding, with nothing but white noise in his ears and the desperate need to complete his mission. 

The door opened, and the breeze of the motion fluttered Ryleigh’s hair around her face. She hadn’t even finished saying his name before he cupped her face and pressed his lips to hers. It was sloppy, and their teeth clashed. 

She grabbed onto his hips to steady her stumble, and after her initial shock subsided, she shocked him by tugging him closer, rising to the tips of her toes, and slipping her arms around his neck.

It wasn’t as frantic as he’d expected, not the ‘I want to rip your clothes off’ impatience he usually found. Yet, she widened her mouth to allow his tongue to find hers and swallowed down a groan he didn’t recognize as his own.

She tasted like red wine, and he hoped she wasn’t drunk enough that she was just caught up in the moment and she’d come to her senses.

His stomach flipped and rolled, doing somersaults, and he felt giddy and anxious, all wrapped up as one strange and unfamiliar feeling. A rumble gathered in his chest, and it wasn’t until Ryleigh smiled into the kiss he realized it had been a contented hum from a depth he never knew existed. 

Ryleigh pulled away, and though he wanted the moment to last forever, he loosened his grip and slowly opened his eyes to stare into hers.

Time ceased to exist. The heart hammering in his chest felt at odds with his usual cocksure attitude, leaving him unsteady and faltering. He wasn’t sure what to say. An apology seemed stupid. She’d reciprocated, so what did he have to be sorry for? Any admission of wonderment seemed redundant. He knew it was written in his expression.

Say something, he begged of himself. Tell her you want her in all the depraved ways you’ve dreamt and the ways she’d described; unconditional trust, no inhibitions, no fear of rejection or judgment, someone to lean on. 

His brain scrambled to catch up while he willed his mouth to form words, but Phoenix called from inside, “Ryleigh. What’s going on?” interrupted. 

“Give me a second,” she hollered, holding Jake’s eyes.

“Fuck,” Jake scolded himself in a tight whisper, stepping backward. “Sorry.” 

“Strike out at the bar?” she asked smugly. 

“No. What?” he asked, confusion creasing his brow. 

“Well, you’re here,” she explained, “I assume you struck out with the brunette, so you’re trying your luck with me.” It wasn’t an unfair assumption, and she silently prayed he’d deny that he’d struck out and tell her that he had chosen to seek her company instead. 

“That’s not what I’m doing,” he sighed, shaking his head. He didn’t know what he was doing, but clearly, it didn’t matter. Ryleigh had drawn her conclusions. She didn’t see what he felt, couldn’t see that he wanted to change, that being the terminator no longer worked for him. 

“Then what are you-” 

“Come on, Rolo,” Bradshaw yelled, interrupting her, “it’s your turn!”

“Forget it,” Jake said, “I’m sorry.”

“Jake,” she said, but he barely heard it. Spinning on his heels, he walked away as quickly as he could without running. 

Part 5 - About Last Night

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