#Mickey Garcia x waitress!reader

[blackwidownat2814]

Ever so often, a fic/blurb/oneshot comes along that is complete perfection. It is absolutely everything you needed, and you didn't have to ask. That's happened a few times for me, especially with @rmtndew's "Pretty In Pink" (an August Walker story), which I've told her several times...but I digress.

This story right here, Fangirl, is another of those times. The reader here fits me to a 'T'. That's not to say other versions of reader haven't, it's just that this is one particular makes it easier to visualize myself in that role. I love all things nerdy and fandom related, and I talk about it constantly...often to the detriment of my coworkers/friends because not all of them are as obsessed as I am. My desk at work is a shrine to all things nerdy because I love it.

However, I've had some a coworker tell me that my desk was a lot. I've had my own father tell me that maybe I should talk about other stuff, and be more ladylike (my dad is in his mid-70s, so he has all those boomer tendencies). Every time someone tells me something like that, it hurts. Like this reader, I'll stop smiling about it. I'll stop talking about it. It hurt so much to hear that once, that I took every single piece of fandom related things of my cubicle walls, changed my desktop (which was Eddie Munson at the time), and even switched out my purse (a Hellfire Club mini-backpack at the time) to a 'normal' purse. I hid it all completely away.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that's why I love this, because I truly see myself in this reader. This was perfectly written and I love it and it made me emotional in a way that I felt seen.

Thank you Jinx. I had a horrible start to my day (so many things went wrong), but you've made it so so so much better.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

Fangirl

Pairing: Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia x waitress!reader

Warnings: None! All fluffy

Wordcount: 919 (a short thing i know)

A/N: Just a little something I had in my head since last night

Translation: cielo means sky

Mickey is in love. Really.

Absolutely in love.

There’s this new waitress that Penny hired a few months ago, and he can’t stop thinking about her.

He’s always ready to go to the bar and ask for another round just so he can have an excuse to talk to you. He has also driven you home a couple of times when you got out really late, even though it wasn’t exactly close to the base.

But he loved talking to you. You were a bit of a nerd yourself. Scratch that; you’re a big nerd. There’s not a show you don’t know or a movie you haven’t watched. It’s like you’re this enormous encyclopedia of pop culture. Conversations with you can last for hours. And he enjoys it; he enjoys talking; he enjoys seeing that little smile on your face when you're talking about something you find fascinating, or the way your eyes shine like stars when he mentions that character you adore.

One day, however, you stop smiling. Happiness doesn’t reach your eyes anymore.

Why? Why don’t you talk about Marvel with him anymore? Where has your smile gone?

Payback tells him that maybe you’re going through a rough patch. Things will return to normal soon, and he will see that smile again.

But Mickey can’t wait for that smile to appear again by itself. Maybe he can help. Maybe he can help you.

At first, you dismiss it, not wanting to worry him. But the more you push him away, the more he insists on knowing what’s happening with you.

One day, tired of everything, he waits until the end of your turn, sitting on the hood of his car, until you come out of the bar.

“Mickey? What are you doing here?” You look at your phone to see what time it is. “It’s really late, you should go back to base and rest.”

“I’m not leaving, cielo. Not until you tell me what’s happening.” He gets up from the car, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Mickey, everything’s okay. I told you already.”

“Bullshit.”

“Oh, come on!” You groan, walking to the bus stop. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“So there’s something that’s bothering you!” He says with a triumphant tone, as if he’s glad that he caught you in a lie.

“Miguel!”

“Nah ah, don’t Miguel me.” He grabs you by the hand and turns you around. “You know I care about you, right?”

You nod, looking at his boots.

“Then talk to me, please. I need to know what’s happening so I can help you.” His tone, more tender than before, makes you feel butterflies in your stomach. He’s so sweet and kind.

“I…talked with this guy the other day. A friend of mine.” You turn your phone around, fidgeting with it. “I told him that I had a crush on this guy… He’s amazing, and lovely. We have many things in common.”

Mickey feels his soul break in two. One part of him feels like he has lost his opportunity. Another part thinks that maybe, and just maybe, you’re talking about him.

And he needs to desperately hold onto that idea.

“Go on, please.”

“Yeah well, he told me that a girl like me should be… less like me, and more like the other girls.”

“Less you? I don’t know who this guy is, but he’s an absolute idiot. You’re awesome, cielo. Any guy would be lucky to be with you.”

You smile sadly. “You think so?”

“I don’t think so, I know so.” He places his hand under your chin, raising your hand so you can look at him. “What other stupid things did this friend of yours tell you?”

“That I should stop being a fangirl.”

Mickey frowns. “Honey, that’s like your whole personality.”

“Yeah… It’s not easy to stop being who you are.”

“Then why do you follow his advice?”

“Because I wanted to impress you!”

“Me?” He cups your face, laughing. “Cielo, do you remember my call sign?”

“Fanboy.” You close your eyes, feeling absolutely stupid. “Yeah, I guess I forgot to mention that part to my friend.”

“Hold on, hold on, let me process this.” He chuckles, licking his lips before tilting his head. "Little miss, you have a crush on me, and you stop talking about everything you like just to impress me?"

“If you say it like that, it sounds like I’m an idiot.” You whine, covering your face.

“You’re lucky I like idiots, then.”

You punch him in the shoulder, and he moves his hand over that spot, trying to sooth the pain. “Hey!”

"I am the only one who can refer to myself as an idiot, idiot."

He snorts, getting the keys of his car out of his pants. “Sooooo, there’s a new episode of The Last of Us. Maybe we can watch it together?”

“Are you asking me on a date, Fanboy?”

“Only if you accept, Fangirl.”

“But we’re getting pizza. And sweets. Lots of sweets.”

“And tissues, because you’re gonna cry a lot.” He says, walking you to his car.

“It’s not my fault that Pedro Pascal is such a good actor!”

Mickey opens the door for you, waiting until you get inside. “Do you have a Latino kink or something?”

“Miguel!”

He starts laughing while closing the door. He’s happy now. Not only can he see that smile on your face again, but he also knows that there’s an opportunity for him.

He got his own personal fangirl.

[princessmisery666]

Fries, Goodbyes & The Rest Of Our Lives

Summary: Being stood up isn’t always a bad thing. 

Warnings/Genre etc.: Fluff, lousy singing. 

W/C: 2k

Characters: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw, Mentions/Small Parts: Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace, Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia, Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd, Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, Harvard. 

Pairing: Rooster x Fem!Reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

Notes: I saw this post on Instagram, and it immediately made me think of Rooster. Songs: Is This Love by White Snake, Can’t Take My Eyes Off You by Frankie Valli.

A/N: the wonderful and brilliant @writercole helped with ideas, summary, and title and helped make the muses comply. 

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch

Master Lists: Top Gun: Maverick // All The Fandoms

Fries, Goodbyes & The Rest Of Our Lives

It’s been a week. It’s not even worth listing all the things that went wrong. The icing on the cake (presumably made with salt and not sugar - cause it's that kind of week) was your date canceled on you as you took a seat at a booth in the diner.

You sigh as the waitress comes to take your order, accepting that you’ve been stood up and decide you may as well eat since you’re already there.

“I’ll take a cheeseburger, side salad, no tomato, extra dressing, please.” 

The elderly waitress smiles. It’s comforting and sweet. Her name tag says Pattie, and you imagine her grandkids get overly excited whenever Granny Pat visits. “You want the fries with that?”

You ponder for half a second before declining, “No thanks.”

“You sure, hun? They’re included in the price.”

You had dirty Cajun fries from the food cart outside the office at lunch. You know the diner’s fries won’t taste as good, besides you want to leave room for dessert, so you politely decline again. 

“I’ll take them, Pattie!”

You twist in the booth to look over your shoulder and find the source. A handsome guy sitting at the bar, wearing a light yellow floral print shirt, smiles and gives a two-fingered wave. You’d clocked him when you’d entered. You’d caught his eye too, and he’d given you a broad smile. His mustache was a flashback to a decade or two ago, but he wore it well. He carried it with a sense of pride and confidence. It looked good on him. Anyone else, you’d have thought it was creepy.

“Hush now, boy,” Pattie scolds, but she’s smiling when she turns back to face you.

You chuckle, nodding toward him, “He’ll take the fries.”

Pattie takes your menu and disappears to the kitchen. You look at Mr. Mustache, who tips his beer bottle to you before bringing it to his lips.

You grab your phone and message the “No Scrubs” group. 

You: Stood up again. Where you guys at?

Cole: At that navy bar I was telling you about. Come meet us.

You: I’ve just ordered dinner. Will see how I feel after.

You scroll social media while you wait. Pattie comes by a few times, brings cutlery and sauces, and refreshes your drink. 

You hear the bell ring to signal an order’s ready, and your mouth waters when you see Pattie heading toward you. The burger looks delicious. The brioche bun glistens under the lights as the cheese melts over the edge onto the plate. It's so tall there’s a wooden skewer through the top to keep it in place, and the fries are fat and look perfectly crispy.  

Pattie sets the plate down, “Enjoy, sweetheart,” and you swallow before drool slips out.

Just as you pull the skewer out of the burger, you hear, “Those are mine, remember.”

You laugh, twisting to look at him again. He’s got a cheerful smirk, but his brow is raised as if challenging you. “Why don’t you join me?” you offer. 

He grabs his beer and twists off his stool. The smile remains while he saunters over, and you can’t take your eyes off him, admiring the sway of his hips. He’s confident in an almost bashful way. The open floral shirt shows a white shirt beneath it, and the contrast against his tanned skin looks as edible as your burger. 

“Tell me,” he says, grabbing a fry and biting off the end. “What kind of psychopath doesn’t have fries with their burger?”

You shrug, “The same kind that offers to take a stranger's fries.”

“Touché,” he chuckles. 

You laugh, explaining, “I had fries at lunch and want dessert.”

 He nods as if now understanding your logic. “Ah, she’s got a sweet tooth.” 

“I’ve heard that the chocolate malt here is the best in the state. I can’t pass that up,” you grin.

“Well, that is true,” he shrugs, popping another fry into his mouth. “Make or break question here, whipped cream on top of the shake?”

“I fear this will affect our budding friendship,” you tease, “but ab-so-lutely whipped cream on top of the shake. Among other places,” you wink. 

His boldness flounders for half a second, recognizing he’s met his match, but he recovers quickly. Wetting his lips and giving a cheeky smile. “Are you flirting with me?” 

“Depends.” 

“On what?”

“I don’t see a ring, and you’re here alone. Are you single?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes, I’m definitely flirting with you.”

His smile widens and remains while the conversation flows and the two of you eat. Flirtations and laughter pass back and forth effortlessly.

Your phone chimes with another message, and you see the ‘No Scrubs’ group chat has two unread messages. You don’t want to be rude and pick it up to reply, but you know if you don’t, they’ll likely call to make sure you’re okay. 

“Somewhere else you need to be?” he asks, a hint of disappointment in his voice that he attempts to hide behind a sip of beer.

“No, just some friends trying to get me to go meet them at some Navy bar.” You roll your eyes and type a quick ‘maybe’ before locking your phone, setting it face down on the table.

“Navy bar? The Hard Deck?” he questions, tilting his head to the side.

“I think that’s what Cole said. Do you know it?”

“That’s actually where I’m headed after. I could give you a ride. If you need one, that is.”

“I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Bradley, but my friends call me Rooster.”

“Rooster?” you laugh. “Please tell me there’s a good story there.”

“There might be. I guess that depends on if you want to hear it.”

“How about you tell me on the way to the bar?”

The open window lifts your hair slightly, and every time Rooster gets a hit of your perfume, he inhales deeply, savoring it. 

He sticks to the speed limit, if not a little below it. He’s not quite ready to say goodbye to you. He’s never had such an instant, effortless connection with someone, and he wants to make it last as long as possible.

You’d laughed at the story about his name. You’d have never guessed that it was a nickname his uncle gave him when he was a kid. The radio is playing at a low volume, but as soon as the opening bars of Is This Love by White Snake start, you lean over and crank the volume as loud as it will go, singing along as if he isn’t there.

“Is this love that I'm feeling?” you sing, holding a pretend microphone. “Is this the love that I've been searching for? Is this love, or am I dreaming? This must be love. 'Cause, it's really got a hold on me. A hold on me.” 

You can’t hold a tune, and your voice cracks a few times, but still, you belt it out with vigor, and Rooster thinks he may be falling in love. Did Pattie put something in those fries? 

“Sorry,” you say, settling back into your seat, “that’s one of my favorites.” 

It’s one of my favorites now too. But he doesn’t say it. Instead, he laughs, “I never would’ve guessed.”

“Are you not a car karaoke kinda guy?” you ask. “You seem like you like to sing along.” 

“I’ve been known to hold a few car concerts,” he admits, “but I didn’t want to interrupt your flow.” 

“Can you sing as good as me?”

He looks at you and sees the jesting expression. You know you can’t sing, and you don’t care one little bit.

“I’d love to serenade you,” he says, “but unfortunately, we’re here.”

“Some other time?” you ask, and he swears you sound hopeful.

Rooster opens the Hard Deck door, and as soon as he hears the hustle and bustle from inside, he wishes he’d suggested you stay at the diner. Holding the door open, he gestures for you to enter first, and you smile a thanks as you pass by.

You stop a few feet inside, scanning the room as he stands beside you. This is the one time he hopes Hangman is being himself and has, by some miracle, coaxed your friends over to the group so Rooster has an excuse to keep talking to you. 

“Those are my friends over there,” you say, dashing all his hopes as you point to the pool tables on the opposite side of the room. 

“I’m over there,” Rooster says, pointing to where the Dagger squad is assembled. 

“Thanks for the ride.”

“Thanks for the fries.” 

“Anytime.” 

“Enjoy the rest of your night.” 

“You too.” 

There’s a pause, neither of you knowing what to do. You rise to the tips of your toes, and he dips to let you place a gentle kiss on his cheek. 

His cheeks quickly flush, hearing the jeers, shouts, and wolf whistles, but you drop back down with a laugh.

“Sorry,” he says. “They’re a bunch of idiots.”

He scolds himself for being an idiot as you walk away. He should invite you over or ask for your number, but he’s suddenly tongue-tied. He stares at you, frozen to the spot, long enough to see your friends turn to look at him as you settle into your seat.

Throughout the night, flirtatious glances are passed back and forth, and smiles exchanged when they linger. Of course, it’s Hangman who notices the consequence of Rooster’s error. 

“Looks like you lose again, Rooster,” the blond pilot remarks, a way too smug grin showing off his perfectly white teeth. “Too snug on that perch, and Harvard is gonna take your lady right out from under your beak.”

Rooster doesn’t care if it proves Hangman’s point. He looks directly at you. Harvard is whispering in your ear. You're smiling, but Rooster thinks it's more of a polite, courteous smile than genuine interest. 

But it’s the kick he needs to take action. He looks to Phoenix, Bob, and Mickey, almost pleading, “I need your help.” 

Phoenix nods once, Bob smiles, and Mickey asks, “What?”

“He wants to do the Goose move,” Phoenix explains without Bradley needing to tell her any more. 

“What’s the Goose move?”

“It’s the move his Dad did to get his Mom,” Bob says. 

“I don’t know what that is,” Mickey shrugs. 

“Technically, we've been doing it for years,” Rooster says, “it’s just that this time, it involves my future wife.”

“So, no pressure,” Bob gulps. 

“Relax. I’ve got a plan,” Phoenix winks, gesturing for the three guys to come closer.

Harvard doesn’t seem all that smart, and you wonder if it's an ironic nickname or callsign, as Rooster had explained. Harvard certainly doesn’t understand body language. You’ve tried, unsuccessfully, to put some distance between you three times. The third time he slides his arm around your shoulders. 

Before you can shrug, his arm slips off, and suddenly, a pretty brunette woman is in his place. “Hi,” she says brightly, her back to a flustered-looking Harvard. “I’m Phoenix, and this is Fanboy. We’re friends with Rooster.” 

Butterflies dance in your stomach. Before she can say anymore or you have a chance to wonder why he’s sent his friends to rescue you, the jukebox cuts off, and a collective groan echoes around the room. 

“That was supposed to happen,” Phoenix smiles. Fanboy is speaking quietly to Harvard, and he doesn’t seem happy about whatever is being said, but you're grateful for the interruption. 

There’s a soft twinkling from a piano somewhere in the room, and after a few more notes, you find the source. Phoenix continues, “That’s Bob, and you’ve met Rooster.” 

Your eyes drift up from the piano player and land on Bradley, fingers tapping the wooden top, while Bob continues to find the right melody.

Rooster’s eyes are locked on you, a shy smirk lifting the corner of his mustache. 

“Thanks for the save,” you say to Phoenix but keep your eyes on Rooster. 

“Well, it wasn’t the actual intention, but Harvard can be a bit…” she trails off.

“Thick?” 

“That’s a good word for him,” she laughs.

The bright random notes turn into a clear, rich melody that flows through the room moments before the smooth baritone of Rooster’s voice fills the air. “You’re just too good to be true. Can’t take my eyes off of you.”

Damn, he can sing! 

Taking the lyrics literally, he doesn’t avert his eyes while he serenades you. You feel Phoenix’s hand at your elbow, but you can’t look away from the gorgeous man belting out a song just for you. Only when he draws closer do you realize she’s guiding you to him. 

The bar is packed, and the crowd gathers around the piano, but somehow Rooster is always in your line of sight, and then Fanboy is in front of you, splitting the crowd to let you through. 

It feels surreal but magical when somehow there’s a clear path straight to Rooster. It looks like an aisle leading to an altar, and the man that awaits you has been sent from the heavens because he’s gorgeous, kind, funny, and clearly has a talent for commanding a room. You wonder what else you could uncover, given some time.

“At long last, love has arrived,” Rooster sings as you reach his side. Phoenix slips away as you reach for Bradley’s outstretched hand. 

Definitely an altar, and you’ll happily worship here for eternity. Interlocking your fingers with his, he pulls you against him. “Now that I found you, stay,” it’s more than a song, it's a question, and you nod. 

Slowly, he inches closer, and the crowd takes over, singing the chorus, when his lips connect with yours and the world melts away. 

Tag List Info

Take To The Skies: @alexxavicry / @b3autyfuldisast3r / @fandom-princess-forevermore / @imjess-themess / @justagirlinafandomworld / @leigh70 / @letsbys-library / @shanimallina87 / @wildbornsiren / @writercole / @xoxabs88xox / @atarmychick007

Master Lists: Top Gun: Maverick // All The Fandoms

[callsign-jinx]

Fangirl

Pairing: Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia x waitress!reader

Warnings: None! All fluffy

Wordcount: 919 (a short thing i know)

A/N: Just a little something I had in my head since last night

Translation: cielo means sky

Mickey is in love. Really.

Absolutely in love.

There’s this new waitress that Penny hired a few months ago, and he can’t stop thinking about her.

He’s always ready to go to the bar and ask for another round just so he can have an excuse to talk to you. He has also driven you home a couple of times when you got out really late, even though it wasn’t exactly close to the base.

But he loved talking to you. You were a bit of a nerd yourself. Scratch that; you’re a big nerd. There’s not a show you don’t know or a movie you haven’t watched. It’s like you’re this enormous encyclopedia of pop culture. Conversations with you can last for hours. And he enjoys it; he enjoys talking; he enjoys seeing that little smile on your face when you're talking about something you find fascinating, or the way your eyes shine like stars when he mentions that character you adore.

One day, however, you stop smiling. Happiness doesn’t reach your eyes anymore.

Why? Why don’t you talk about Marvel with him anymore? Where has your smile gone?

Payback tells him that maybe you’re going through a rough patch. Things will return to normal soon, and he will see that smile again.

But Mickey can’t wait for that smile to appear again by itself. Maybe he can help. Maybe he can help you.

At first, you dismiss it, not wanting to worry him. But the more you push him away, the more he insists on knowing what’s happening with you.

One day, tired of everything, he waits until the end of your turn, sitting on the hood of his car, until you come out of the bar.

“Mickey? What are you doing here?” You look at your phone to see what time it is. “It’s really late, you should go back to base and rest.”

“I’m not leaving, cielo. Not until you tell me what’s happening.” He gets up from the car, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Mickey, everything’s okay. I told you already.”

“Bullshit.”

“Oh, come on!” You groan, walking to the bus stop. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“So there’s something that’s bothering you!” He says with a triumphant tone, as if he’s glad that he caught you in a lie.

“Miguel!”

“Nah ah, don’t Miguel me.” He grabs you by the hand and turns you around. “You know I care about you, right?”

You nod, looking at his boots.

“Then talk to me, please. I need to know what’s happening so I can help you.” His tone, more tender than before, makes you feel butterflies in your stomach. He’s so sweet and kind.

“I…talked with this guy the other day. A friend of mine.” You turn your phone around, fidgeting with it. “I told him that I had a crush on this guy… He’s amazing, and lovely. We have many things in common.”

Mickey feels his soul break in two. One part of him feels like he has lost his opportunity. Another part thinks that maybe, and just maybe, you’re talking about him.

And he needs to desperately hold onto that idea.

“Go on, please.”

“Yeah well, he told me that a girl like me should be… less like me, and more like the other girls.”

“Less you? I don’t know who this guy is, but he’s an absolute idiot. You’re awesome, cielo. Any guy would be lucky to be with you.”

You smile sadly. “You think so?”

“I don’t think so, I know so.” He places his hand under your chin, raising your hand so you can look at him. “What other stupid things did this friend of yours tell you?”

“That I should stop being a fangirl.”

Mickey frowns. “Honey, that’s like your whole personality.”

“Yeah… It’s not easy to stop being who you are.”

“Then why do you follow his advice?”

“Because I wanted to impress you!”

“Me?” He cups your face, laughing. “Cielo, do you remember my call sign?”

“Fanboy.” You close your eyes, feeling absolutely stupid. “Yeah, I guess I forgot to mention that part to my friend.”

“Hold on, hold on, let me process this.” He chuckles, licking his lips before tilting his head. "Little miss, you have a crush on me, and you stop talking about everything you like just to impress me?"

“If you say it like that, it sounds like I’m an idiot.” You whine, covering your face.

“You’re lucky I like idiots, then.”

You punch him in the shoulder, and he moves his hand over that spot, trying to sooth the pain. “Hey!”

"I am the only one who can refer to myself as an idiot, idiot."

He snorts, getting the keys of his car out of his pants. “Sooooo, there’s a new episode of The Last of Us. Maybe we can watch it together?”

“Are you asking me on a date, Fanboy?”

“Only if you accept, Fangirl.”

“But we’re getting pizza. And sweets. Lots of sweets.”

“And tissues, because you’re gonna cry a lot.” He says, walking you to his car.

“It’s not my fault that Pedro Pascal is such a good actor!”

Mickey opens the door for you, waiting until you get inside. “Do you have a Latino kink or something?”

“Miguel!”

He starts laughing while closing the door. He’s happy now. Not only can he see that smile on your face again, but he also knows that there’s an opportunity for him.

He got his own personal fangirl.