#mickey garcia fic

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Hello!! I love your work so much ❤🥰. I wanted to know if I could request something with Mickey 'Fanboy' Garcia? Something fluffy, loving with him?

Thank you so much ❤🥰

Dr Cupid.

Synopsis - Mickey Garcia passes out in hospitals. Luckily, this time there's a pretty nurse there to catch him.

Pairing - Mickey Garcia x Nurse!Reader

Warnings - a little cursing, a lot of tooth rotting fluff. mentions of blood and hospitals. brief abuse mention.

Age Rating - 16+

Word Count - 1.5k

Author's Note - thank you for this request!! i love mickey so much. i've been a HUGE danny ramirez fan for years, so i was so excited when he was cast in top gun, and mickey did not disappoint. an angel <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

You pull back the crinkly blue curtain with a bit too much force, startling the man sat on the edge of the bed.

"Sorry!" you apologise, closing it behind you. "These things are always lighter than I think they're going to be."

"It's alright, ma'am. No worries."

He's handsome. Really handsome. Big blue eyes, golden blonde hair, an air about him that exudes intelligence and compassion. You smile at him gently before retrieving his chart, giving it a once over quickly.

"Lieutenant Robert Floyd. United States Navy."

He introduces himself, shaking your hand formally. You tell him your name, and he repeats it carefully.

"Pretty name."

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

"Please, call me Bob."

"Thank you, Bob."

He smiles at you bashfully, nodding his head.

"So, Bob, what seems to be the problem today?"

"Training exercise gone wrong. I'm clumsy. You can probably tell by my medical history."

You look over the chart, and laugh softly.

"So you are. What happened this time?"

"It's just a little cut, on my shoulder. I fell onto it, onto the tarmac. I told everyone I didn't need to see a doctor, but they insisted."

"Well luckily for you, I'm a nurse," you wink, chuckling when he blushes. "Let's get this shirt off you so I can take a look. You mind if I cut it?"

"Go ahead."

You cut a line clean down the middle of his t shirt, an old, grey thing. It falls off of him, allowing you to see his shoulder wound.

Just as you're about to explain your next steps, the curtain flies open, a man in a flight suit rushing in.

"Sir, can I help you?"

"He's with me. He's in my squad," Bob reassures you. "Fanboy, you don't have to be here."

"I want to be."

"Fanboy?" you ask, confused about the unusual name.

"It's my call sign. We're pilots. US Navy."

"Why didn't I know they had pilots in the navy? I thought that was the air force."

Fanboy grins at you, all gleaming white teeth, before holding his hand out for you to shake.

"Lieutenant Mickey Garcia. Weapons Systems Officer."

You tell him your name, followed by 'nurse', which makes them both laugh.

"Well, Mickey, if you take a seat, I'll patch up Bob here and you can both get back to flying your jet planes."

Mickey steps around you, eyes darting over Bob as he goes. He catches sight of his bleeding shoulder, and all the colour drains from him.

You've seen this before.

He goes pale, and then wobbles on his feet. You stride over and wrap your arms around him, catching him as he passes out.

"Shit," Bob swears. "I'd help, ma'am, but I'm a little out of commission right now."

"It's alright," you chuckle. "This happens a lot. I'm stronger than I look."

You manage to walk Mickey backwards, sitting him in the chair that you originally sent him towards. You cradle his face in your hands, holding up his head. His eyes flutter open, straight onto you.

"Did I die? Is this heaven?" he whispers.

Both you and Bob try not to laugh as you check him over.

"I'm afraid not, Lieutenant. You're in the hospital, visiting Bob. He's hurt his shoulder. Remember?"

"Yeah, I remember," he murmurs, embarrassed.

You grab him a cup of water, placing it into his hand carefully.

"You okay?"

His big brown eyes are locked on you, not leaving for a minute. He's beautiful, you realise suddenly. Yes, Bob is handsome, but Mickey is beautiful.

"I get a little weird around blood."

"You're telling me."

The smile he gives you is enough to move mountains.

"Okay, Garcia, listen up. You're gonna sit here and drink your water. Take big, slow, deep breaths. And do not, under any circumstances, look at Bob, okay? Keep your eyes on me, no matter what."

"Yes ma'am."

You leave him in his chair, returning your attention to the blonde. You take a good look at the wound, and decide it'll need a couple of stitches.

"I'm gonna clean this up for you, and sew it shut. I'm sure you'll heal fast, being a healthy pilot and all."

You glance over at Mickey, and see that he's still watching you. Gazing at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

"Bob, I won't lie to you. This is going to hurt. Feel free to hold onto me if you need to."

You numb his shoulder, before getting to work stitching it up. You flick your eyes to Mickey intermittently, smiling gently when his stare meets yours.

"Garcia, did you bring any spare clothes? I had to cut Bob's shirt off. I doubt he wants to walk out of here shirtless."

"Yeah, Phoenix has a bag in the waiting room. I'll go and grab it."

You watch him carefully as he stands, making sure he doesn't pass out again. He leaves, and Bob grins at you.

"He likes you."

"Everyone likes me, Bob. I'm a good nurse."

"No, he likes you. That's the quietest I've ever heard him sit. And he took your orders. He doesn't do that for anyone."

You shake your head, smiling as you do it.

"Are you single?"

"Very forward, Lieutenant."

"For him, not for me! You're beautiful," he justifies, "but I'm sort of dating my copilot."

"Sort of?"

"It's complicated."

"Then make it uncomplicated, Bob."

He thinks for a moment, before nodding.

"You're right. I'm going to talk to her."

Mickey comes barging back in with a t shirt in hand.

"Phoenix packed you an overnight bag, just in case. She says this is your shirt anyway."

You look at Bob and wink, chuckling when he blushes.

"Anything else, ma'am?"

"That's all. You've been a perfect patient Bob," you say, squeezing his other shoulder. "If you go to the desk, they'll give you some spare dressings for when you need to change it. Besides that, just take care of yourself, okay?"

"Okay. Understood. Thank you, for everything. I appreciate it."

The two of them leave in a flurry of thanks, Mickey casting a longing glance back at you. You can hear them bickering on the other side of the curtain.

"Fine!" you hear Mickey say, before he reappears.

"Uh... hi."

"You forget something?" you ask, looking around the bed.

"Yeah. To ask you out."

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, corners of your lips twitching.

"And to apologise. For before. Passing out, and all. I, uh-"

He scratches the back of his neck nervously before perching on the edge of the bed. You move to sit next to him, leg pressing into his.

"I practically grew up in a hospital. My Dad wasn't a nice guy, so my Mom was here all the time."

You lace your fingers with his, resting them on your thigh.

"I used to try and clean up her injuries at home the best I could, but sometimes it wasn't enough. He finally left when I was thirteen, and I didn't have to play doctor anymore."

He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

"Now, as an adult, I have this crazy reaction to blood. Even just a papercut is enough to have me hyperventilating. I guess I saw so much of it when I was a kid, that I can't handle it now?"

He looks at you expectantly, unsure of what you'll say.

"It's way more common than you think, you know. I have people pass out on me all the time. You're not alone, I promise."

He smiles at you softly, and you're convinced you've never met someone more beautiful.

"I have a friend who works on the fourth floor. She's a psychiatrist - which I know people roll their eyes at, especially men - but, she's really great to talk to. About anything. She can help with phobias. I've seen her do it."

He nods almost imperceptibly.

"I mean... it can't hurt to talk to her, right? Just once?"

"Exactly. I can give you her number, you can give her a call whenever suits you."

He nudges your shoulder with his, your hands still linked.

"Thank you. Bob doesn't love hospitals either, but you really set his mind at ease today."

"Just doing my job."

"Trust me, you're doing a hell of a lot more."

You feel the heat rise up your chest, praying he can't hear how fast your heart is beating.

"I know you probably work crazy shifts here, but... would you like to go for dinner sometime? I'd love to get to know you in a less... uh... clinical setting."

You grin at him, squeezing his hand tightly.

"I'd love to. As long as you promise not to pass out," you wink.

"That is a promise I cannot make."

You laugh with him, shaking your head.

"I should get back to work. God knows this place needs me."

"Of course. Do your thing, SuperNurse."

You lean over and press a kiss to his cheek, handing him a card with your number on.

"Call me."

"What time do you get off?"

"7."

"I'll call you at 7:01."

"Deal," you laugh, pulling the curtains back.

You watch as he leaves to join Bob and a woman you assume is Phoenix in the waiting area. You wave at Mickey as you go, the other two pilots looking between you with knowing grins on their faces.

[t-nd-rfoot]

SOMETHING MORE aka Another Kind of Friend

If you want something you never had, you have to do something you've never done before.

Pairing Mickey 'Fanboy' Garcia x fwb!gn!reader

Theme cliche fluff

Warnings FWB dynamic so mentions of sex but no descriptions; minors DNI

Word Count 509

Note This was actually an exerpt for a fic I had in mind but had no concrete story to lead up to it, so it's a little different than how I usually write things! Also find it kinda funny that this is my second love confession fic with Fanboy, but I love it anyway 😌

Your eyes grew wide at the unexpected visitor.

“Hi,” he huffed, as if he had rushed over here.

“Mickey. Um, hi, yourself,” you replied slowly, glancing back at your friends laughing in the living room, all unsuspecting of the awkwardness building up quickly at your front door.

His eyes grew wide once he realized you weren’t alone. You quietly ushered him out to the hallway for some privacy. “Shit, sorry. I should’ve called first. If I knew you were busy—”

“No, no! It’s fine, actually. Well, I just didn’t—I’m sorry, did we plan something? Did I forget?” you asked, more than confused.

He assured with a chuckle, “you’re good.” But his expression quickly grew serious as he ran his fingers through his hair nervously. “That’s actually not why I’m here.”

Unsure of how to respond, you stayed quiet, allowing him to continue.

“I like you,” he confessed, completely catching you off-guard. “And before you ask, no, I don’t like you just because we’re sleeping together. Don’t get me wrong, okay? The past few months have been fun and all, but I—I want to have fun with you outside the bedroom too.”

As serious as he was being, you couldn’t help let out a small giggle. Only then did his eyes grow wide at the accidental innuendo.

“Ah, fuck—sorry, I didn’t—I mean—” Mickey stuttered, though he couldn’t help but laugh along with you.

The laughter died down a few moments later before he sobered himself and locked eyes with yours.

“What I meant,” he continued in that soft voice you could never resist, “was that I want to be able to call you and actually talk to you. I want to be able to spend time with you and not leave when things get too personal. I want to be able to kiss you’ll let me, not just when we’re hooking up.”

Neither of you realized the distance between you closed until he was holding your waist and pressing his forehead on yours.

“I want to be yours.”

Nothing could contain the warmth you felt all over, and it pulled you to press your lips to his. You’ve kissed him many times before, but none of them ever felt like this.

So this is what it feels like to mean something to someone.

You pulled away slowly but unable to hide the smile on your face, “I want all of that, too.”

Just as he was about to lean in again, shrieks of laughter from inside brought the two you back down to earth.

“I guess that’s my cue,” you said sheepishly.

“It’s alright,” Mickey assured you. He made his way down the hall before turning back to you, “It’s not like we won’t be seeing each other again.”

“Call me tonight?” you asked.

Just as the elevator doors closed, he grinned back at you, “and every night!”

And this time, he meant it.

Tag List @bonitanightmxres @avaleineandafryingpan @bradshawseresinbabe @hangmanbrainrot @babyonboardfloyd @demxters @footprintsinthesxnd

Add yourself to my tag list!

Disclaimer I do not own Top Gun: Maverick or any of its characters. Please do not copy my work or translate without my permission.

[callsignspark]

soft-tober announcement

soft October - part of the Dagger, Sword & Shield universe

by callsignspark

October is my favorite month of fall. It’s just the right blend of warm days and chilly nights. Apple picking, hay rides, pumpkin carving, corn mazes, and trick-or-treating to end the month. It’s filled with soft memories of fun times spent with loved ones. I’m taking inspiration from these fond memories of mine and creating soft-tober!

Sixteen days of warm, cozy, and sweet fall-related prompts for all of my Dagger, Sword & Shield universe couples! (Plus a few extras!) Starting October 1st, I’ll be posting a short one-shot of each DSS couple based on a prompt from one of these three lists.

The masterlist for soft-tober can be found here! And on my main masterlist and the DSS universe masterlist! All posts relating to soft-tober can be found here!

If you'd like to be tagged for soft-tober, please send an ask!

callsignspark disclaimer: my blog is an 18+ space; minors do not interact - you will be blocked. I do not consent to my work being copied, run through an AI generator, translated, or posted elsewhere. I do have an AO3, where I eventually will be cross-posting my works.

01. Javy & Erin - “Do you want some hot chocolate?”

03. Callie & Kelly - “Do you like cinnamon?”

05. Jake & Flora - “Trick or treat?” “…Depends on if you’re the treat.”

07. Logan & Kristina - “It’s Halloween, why are you already putting up Christmas decorations?”

09. Bradley & Mary - “Is this costume too revealing?”

11. Billy & Aaron - “I don’t like scary movies.” “I’ll keep you safe.”

13. Warlock & Betty - “Here, take my sweater.”

15. Mav & Penny - “It’s never too early for Halloween music!”

17. Mickey & Carlee - “Quit trying to scare me! I know that’s you!”

19. Hondo & Cara - “Isn’t this stuff for kids?”

21. Cyclone & Linda - “Halloween is for children.”

23. Neil & Laura - “Candy corn is the best candy.”

25. Reuben & Danielle - “I forgot how cold it could get.”

27. Natasha & Calvin - “Do you like my costume?"

29. Brigham & Catherine - “Hey, where’s your costume?”

31. Bob & Elaine - “We should carve pumpkins!”

tagging some friends and people who might be interested!

@gretagerwigsmuse | @hangmanapologist | @hangmanbrainrot | @princessphilly | @hangmanssunnies | @thesewordsareallihavetogive | @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby | @katieshook02 | @hellojameshowyadoin | @aristotles-butthole | @atarmychick007 | @whatislovevavy | @kmc1989 | @sometimesanalice | @laracrofted | @yuckosworld | @mika-darling | @bradshawsbaddie | @bobblebobsbae | @mothdruid | @ohtobeleah | @rhettabbotts | @sunlightmurdock | @withahappyrefrain | @roosterbruiser | @blue-aconite | @sylviebell

divider credit here

[joaquinwhorres]

If you're a Top Gun writer, come into my asks and recommend your own fic to me. Reader insert, OC, whatever you think is your best or most underrated. Come spill. ✈️❤️

[mxgyver]

play stupid (xbox) games, win stupid prizes (not getting to fuck your girl)

Could you do Fanboy, smut list 3, #5 - "If you don't turn off that stupid video game and have sex with me, I'm gonna masturbate right here."

Pairing: Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+! mdni! lingerie, masturbation, p in v, unprotected sex (be smart with your parts)

Ash's 1K Follower Celebration

It wasn't often that his incessant gaming bugged you. Most of the time it worked for you two. Mickey would game and you would spend your day with a friend or doing whatever obscure crafting project you were hyper focusing on at the moment.

Today was one of those rare days where you craving his attention. You needed to feel Mick's hands all over you and instead they were all over that stupid Xbox controller.

That's what led you to the current position you were in now: clad in lingerie and perched on Mickey's lap, back pressed against his chest and your fingers fucking in and out of you. Every time he tried to touch you, you'd slap his hand away causing him to whine.

"I told you Mick," your fingers brushed against your sweet spot at the same time he sucked on the sweet spot behind your ear forcing a moan out of you. "That if you didn't shut this fucking game off I'd fuck myself in front of you."

Mickey adjusted his hips and pressed his hard on into your ass. He was trying to get some sort of relief in any way he could.

He didn't have an excuse. All he could do was mumble I'm sorry against your skin over and over.

Your intention was to make him watch you finger fuck yourself until you came, but you were slowly coming to the realization that your fingers weren't enough.

Spinning around you reached down, forcing his shorts down enough that his cock sprang free. Mickey watched with hungry eyes as you ran the bulbous mushroom top along your slit, covering it in your slick before sinking down on him.

"Holy shit," you breathed out. A strangled whine made its way out as you felt his fingers tangle in your hair. Mick adjusted his position, giving himself the leverage he needed to pound you from below.

His cock slamming into the spot you needed to feel him as you simultaneously bounced.

"Fuckfuckfuck!"

"Perfect-ungh...fucking pussy..." he breathed giving one last good thrust before you came crying out his name. His hips stuttered and shortly after he came, coating your walls with thick ropes of cum.

When you finally caught your breath you let out a soft laugh. "Finally broke in your new gaming chair."

[iliketopgun]

Y'all I gotta say something

Please remember this is my opinion!!

I can't stand when I'm looking for /reader stuff and I keep getting the use of "I", maybe I'm just being dramatic and pissy but I just cannot stand it when first person is used... I can't!

Anyways! I'm gonna go attempt to write

[joeliz99]

The Warmth of You- Danny Ramirez

Description: (Y/N) is overwhelmed, caught between exhaustion and self-doubt, but Danny reminds her that she doesn’t have to carry it all alone in a quiet night filled with warmth, music, and understanding.

Warnings: RPF, Fluff.

GIF Credit: @lesbiradshaw

The house felt unusually quiet on that Friday afternoon, the kind of stillness that seemed out of place when both Danny and (Y/N) were home. She had been going through a tough time lately, and her usual cheerful self seemed to be fading. Danny knew she needed space, and he was more than willing to respect that. But, deep down, he couldn’t just stand by and let her face it by herself.

The sun was already setting when she finally stepped out of their room, Danny calling for her a second time. She followed the sound of his voice, instinctively heading toward the kitchen as the smell of food floated toward her. As she rounded the corner, Danny turned his head from the stove, just as he finished the pasta. He turned the music down a notch to be able to talk to her.

"I'm almost done here. How’s it look?" he asked, a small grin tugging at his lips.

(Y/N) took a step closer, her eyes scanning the dish as he plated the second one.

"Look at you," She offered him a half-smile, "You decided to step it up this time. Looks great."

Danny flashed a smug smile in return, happy to see her smile, even if it was just a little. He handed her the plate, his voice playful. "Don't sleep on me, baby. What you learn right, you never forget." He tossed the towel over his shoulder, then grabbed his plate with one hand and a couple of drinks with the other.

"Come on," he said, nudging her toward the balcony.

(Y/N) followed him, a little confused as to why he was leading her outside instead of to their usual dining area. But as they reached the balcony, her confusion faded into surprise. He had transformed the space into a cozy little setup — a coffee table, the small sofa, and a couple of blankets arranged perfectly, creating a warm, intimate corner.

"Wow," she spoke softly, stopping for a moment to take in the scene. The last light of the setting sun bathed the space in a soft orange glow, casting gentle shadows over everything. It was quiet and peaceful.

Danny smiled, placing her plate down on the table and taking a seat on the couch. "I figured we could hang out here. It’s been a while since we did something like this."

He knew how much she loved watching the sunsets, and while they didn’t always have the luxury of enjoying them at the beach, they had found a place where they could at least catch that golden hour every now and then.

(Y/N) smiled, truly touched by the effort he’d put into making this moment feel special.

"This is really nice... Thank you," She settled beside him and crossed her legs while he handed her the food.

As they both settled into the cozy setup, the faint hum of the city below them was the only sound besides the occasional clink of their plates. Slowly, the golden light faded as the sky darkened, being replaced by the twinkling city lights. The soft sound of music played in the background, creating a comforting rhythm as they ate, the melody weaving its way through the air, adding a layer of calm to the moment.

Danny occasionally cracked a joke about how the whole dinner thing was turning out better than he expected, and (Y/N) playfully rolled her eyes, but the faintest smile tugged at her lips. It was nice to have moments like this, the simple act of sharing a meal providing a sense of normalcy.

When they finished, he took their empty plates and set them aside, still humming to the music as he moved around the kitchen. (Y/N) didn’t say much, content to sit for a moment and let the evening sink in before Danny returned to her side and sat back down next to her.

The girl kept her eyes trained on the view, her thoughts drifting to places she hadn’t visited in a while. She felt the weight of everything she had been holding onto — the stress, the quiet sadness she hadn’t shared with anyone. It wasn’t that she wanted to keep it to herself; it was just hard to explain.

Danny, sensing the stillness in her, leaned back against the couch. Without a word, he shifted, making room as he laid down on the other side, and gently encouraged her to stretch her legs out. She hesitated for a second, but then did as he suggested, resting her legs across his lap. He mindlessly began to soothe one of them, his hand moving in soft circles as he waited for her to speak, giving her space but showing he was right there, present.

After a long moment, (Y/N) sighed softly, breaking the silence. She shifted slightly, her voice quiet, but steady. "You know," she began, "I think I’m burned out… I’ve been doing so much lately, always trying to get things done and it never seems like I’m doing enough." Her fingers absently traced the rim of her glass, her eyes not quite meeting his. 

"It’s been hard to shake off. And honestly… I don’t even know if it’s worth it anymore. I mean… I’m trying to build something for myself, but it feels like everything’s slipping away. Work’s been a mess, and I’m barely holding it together. I don’t even know if I’m doing right by my family anymore." She paused, looking away, her throat tightening slightly. "I’ve spent so much time away from them, trying to prove I can do it… but at what cost? It feels like I’m losing control over everything I’ve worked so hard for."

Danny’s expression softened as he heard the vulnerability in her words. He could see it — the exhaustion, the frustration that had built up. His hand never stopped moving in slow, reassuring circles, and he shifted, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look at her more closely. "I get it. I really do. But you’re trying to carry so much on your own. No one can do that forever."

She let out a shaky breath, her voice thick with emotion. "I don’t even know how to let go of it all, though. I’m scared that if I do, everything I’ve been working for will just... disappear."

Danny shook his head slowly, his voice steady, but firm. He was a man who didn’t mince words, especially when it came to matters of the heart. "Look, (Y/N), I know how much you care and how you’re determined to build something great for yourself and for us. But let me tell you something — you can’t keep pushing yourself like this. You’re not a machine, and you’re not meant to do this alone." He paused, giving her a moment to take in his words before continuing. "What’s the point of all the success, if it means you’re losing yourself in the process? And what’s the point if you don’t have the people who love you around to share it with? You don’t have to do everything perfectly, and you sure as hell don’t have to do it to prove to something to yourself or anyone else. I’m here, every step of the way, just like I’ve always been, and I’ve seen the wonders you’ve done with so little in your hands. You’re a doer, always been… But I need you to trust that it’s okay to rest and lean on me, and on the people who care about you whenever you feel like it.” 

He shifted to face her, his gaze softening as he spoke, but there was strength in his words. "I can’t tell you what the right decision is. Only you can figure that out. But I’ll be here to support you, even when you don’t have it all figured out. That’s what we’re supposed to do for each other. And you know what? It’s okay to let go sometimes. It doesn’t mean you’re giving up or that everything’s falling apart. It just means you’re human."

(Y/N) blinked, feeling a tear slip down her cheek. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear that, or how much she had been holding back. For the first time in a while, she felt the tight grip she had on her thoughts loosen a little.

Danny closed the distance between them, wrapping her in a tight embrace that she immediately reciprocated, her head resting against his chest. He pressed a lingering kiss to the top of her head, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles down her back, offering comfort without saying a word. There was nothing more to do in that moment—just be there, present for each other, and that alone was enough.

A familiar melody drifted through the speakers, low and steady in the background.

Danny recognized it instantly. It was one of his favorite songs—one she had introduced to him years ago in the middle of a record store.

He could still picture it vividly: her eyes lighting up as she flipped through vinyls, excitement spilling from her lips as she pressed a pair of headphones over his ears. That was the moment he really saw her. Not just as his best friend, not just as someone he cared about, but as something more—someone who felt like home.  

And now, years later, that same song played between them. Danny glanced down at her, a quiet thought forming before he acted on impulse. Without hesitation, he rose from the sofa, his hands slipping to the curve of her back as he gently pulled her with him. She gave him a confused look, but he only smiled, guiding her into movement, slow and effortless, swaying to the deep rhythm of the music.  

"I'm not about to waste this opportunity," he murmured, his grin widening when he saw the corner of her lips twitch up. His hands found hers, lifting them to rest on his shoulders, while his own slid down to her waist, keeping her close.  

“Remember this song?” he asked, his voice laced with nostalgia. 

Her expression softened as she nodded. “Of course I remember… Why wouldn’t I?”  

They moved in sync, their bodies close and their steps unhurried. It was intimate in a way that words couldn’t quite capture—something between them that had always been there, something unspoken yet deeply understood.

There was a time when this moment had been nothing more than a distant dream, a quiet wish. Now, it was their reality, theirs to hold onto whenever they wanted. 

As the song neared its end, Danny’s movements slowed, his grip tightening ever so slightly as his gaze flickered over her face. He dipped his head, his lips brushing softly against her cheek, trailing a path along her jaw, lingering at the birthmark just above her lips—one of his favorite details about her.

His hands moved with an ease that came from knowing her so well, gliding gently over her body as if committing every curve to memory.  

When his hands found their way to the sides of her neck, his thumbs resting just below her jaw, she instinctively tilted her head up, her breath catching in anticipation.

Danny studied her for a brief moment, his expression unreadable—until his thumb ghosted over her bottom lip, and he finally closed the space between them.  

The kiss was slow, deliberate. A deep, lingering exploration that held no urgency—only purpose. His lips moved against hers in a rhythm that felt like second nature, savoring the way she softened beneath his touch. His hold on her grew firmer, pulling her just that little bit closer, grounding them both in the moment.  

There was something about the way he kissed her—like he had all the time in the world. Like there was nowhere else he'd rather be, nothing else he’d rather be doing than this—than her. The lazy drag of his lips, the way his tongue barely brushed against hers before retreating, teasing, deepening the kiss just enough to leave her wanting more.  

And maybe that was the point.  

When they finally parted, her lips were swollen, her breath uneven, her fingers still gripping the fabric of his shirt as if to steady herself. Danny took in the sight of her, his own breathing slightly heavier, his hands still cradling her face like she was something fragile, something precious.  

She sighed, a soft, content sound that filled the space between them.  

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice tinged with something raw, something deeply felt. "For everything."  

Danny smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His voice was quiet but certain as he murmured, "That’s why I’m here, baby… You’re never alone in this, not with me around."  

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering just a little longer than necessary before pulling her back into his arms. And as they stood there, wrapped up in each other, she finally let herself believe it. That no matter what happened—no matter how heavy life got—he would always be right there, holding her through it all.

————————————

Just a quick little idea of something I couldn’t get out of my head. Soon there will be a new part for “You, Always.”

Still wanting to read more? Here are some other Danny's shots to read. You're welcome!!!!

[missmarveledsblog]

it's fate ( Bradley Bradshaw x reader )

Summary : from a young age carole bradshaw always told her son meeting his father was fate , it was like she knew he was the one from her , now older bradley starts to think of fate when he see's a beautiful face everywhere until one night she comes to the hard deck and well fate can be funny .

warnings : none , some fluffy goofy fun with the hawaiian shirt wearing aviator

Since he was a young boy to his earliest memories , his mother told him of soulmates and fate the way she met his father. even after his fathers death when love wouldn't be the first thought , yet Carole bradshaw told her son of true love instilled the idea into the young boys head . back then he told her girls were gross and yucky , then he got older he didn't see the fate or true love so he just put it down to his mothers love stick and broken heart rambles . his whole life he never thought of fate or true love well that was til her. He didn't know her name , nothing and yet when everywhere he went she was there .

At first it wasn't anything yeah he thought she was hot at a glance but never thought he would see the pretty stranger again . how wrong was he everywhere he went she was there . when he was entering the gym she was leaving , when she was entering the cafe he was leaving . Not once did he speak to her nor did she speak to him but this had to be something more ,he saw her more to point he was completely and utterly enamoured. the words his mother spoke finally making sense and for once in his life bradley felt shy almost unsure how to approach a woman like it was something he's never done before .

His friends the fellow members of the dagger squad were honestly over it , they heard of the mystery woman one times too many . How he was sure she was next mrs bradshaw he just needed to find the right way about it .

" what if the last time you seen her was the last time? Or what if she's a stalker " fanboy questioned .

" or if she exists i'm starting to think the g's are getting to you chicken , i doubt she'd be stalking him c" jake snided barely breaking his glance from the game before him to know he was irriatating the hell out of his friend.

"she's real bagman nat's seen her few times" .

" back of her head if that counts but she real" nat mused .

" and you rooster who probably only one of us who slept with the same amount of women as bagman hasn't done a thing about it ?" payback asked .

" next time i see her because well it's ... " he started .

" FATE" They called in unison .

" well i'll make a move " he smirked and sort of new found determined to prove them right.

" yeah or i'll show her a real man" jake snickered ignoring the glares being sent his way .

in all the talk of fate it seemed to be knocking as the bell above of the door rang out and it was like it called to him . when he stared in disbelief as he watched her walking in the doors . he couldn't believe they couldn't deny it now not when it was so obvious.

" there she is the next ..."

" do not finish that sentence chicken " jake stood only to see the woman in question eyes hit his .

" JAKE SERESIN YOU DUMBASS" she yelled the whole bar going quiet as she stormed pass.

"mrs bradshaw? " bradley whisper watching the girl he been pining after heading toward his friend , enemy it was a day to day thing between the two .

" i would ask if you were dropped on your head as child but i'm starting to think momma played basketball with that big ass head of yours " she growled.

" what i do now ?" he asked trying not to glare and feel sort of sick knowing this was the woman bradshaw was moping about .

" well one sleeping with my coworker she won't talk to me now and the fact you keep stealing my keys" she huffed.

" lets talk outside" he groaned watching . " don't need my little sister yelling all over damn bar".

" ohhh .... OHHH" nat eyes widened at sudden realisation of the scene before her.

" hey you look familiar" she stood looking directly at rooster only for jake to push he out to the door before another word could be exchange.

" so hangman's sister is your future wife man this fate stuff is absolutely amazing " nat broke out laughing as the other joined in .

" is really fate if she was there to see hangman like the gym and stuff" javy snorted.

" well fate is funny isn't alway cut clear but that was the future mrs bradshaw i am telling you guys and you all gonna look dumb at our wedding shit" bradley mumbled slightly questioning everything in the moment .

" you ain't marrying my sister chicken , she is off limits ... even to fate " jake huffed sitting back in his spot.

......

he tried to stay away really he did he pretended not to see her going as much to cross to the other side of the road . well it lasted one day but hey he tried or so he could tell himself that. standing in the bakery , his day well wasn't going to plan , the new recruits were dumber than a box of rock . it was one of those morning where if he wanted to go left he'd end up somehow going right so instead of going to the canteen for lunch he decided to enjoy his own company one where he wasn't listening to his fuck ups that were oh so hilarious to his friends . standing in line ready to order his pick me up when he heard that voice. one that had him cursing his mother in a busy cafe queue.

" iced caramel latte and ohh one of those brownies thank you" her voice god dam it was like some milk of magnesia sort of shit so smooth and calming and yet a little husk to it pair with the accent he hated to hear from bagman yet suddenly was loving the way it came out of hers .

" americano shot of espresso and three brownies thanks " he nodded trying to talk lowly.

" hey don't i know you" the voice called. yet all he could think was " wanna know me" but instead he just said:

" i was there when you yelled at bagman" a smile and his eyes soften instantly turning.

" yeah not first or last time .. looks busy in here tables filling fast i'll save you seat.. ?" she smiled brightly waiting for him to tell him his name.

" brooster...wait no it's radley .... am i having a stroke shit my name is bradley bradshaw" he felt his cheek heat up and his brain screaming at him calling him a dumbass.

" well bradley brooster radley .. names y/n seresin i'll see you over there" she laughed god even her laugh made his knee week and she didn't run from his clear frazzled brain moment and secretly thanking his mom in the line of a coffee shop .

he was almost begging his body not to trip or fall and make himself look like more of an idiot then he already did . she wasn't lying when she said it was busy and moment he walked to the table already staring down the man who was going to make his way over.

" well brooster you got enough brownies " she giggle as he place the small tower on the table .

" hey im a growing boy it's needed" he winked .

" do y'all ever grow up?" she teased.

" i'm more grown than your brother i would never steal your keys".

" why would you have them ?" she smirked .

" i was just erm ... god my brain is out for me today" he laughed breathlessly .

" i'm kidding so what brings you here .. other than its best place in this state" she asked softly.

" well it's my favourite spots , the coffee isn't watered down and it got a warm feel to it like cosy god i sound like a hallmark card" he sighed only for her to giggle he was never tired of hearing it , honestly if it got that reaction and sweet sound he was going to make more of an idiot of himself. the two talk away , talking about her work as a kindergarten teacher , he would talk about being in the navy . it was perfect once he got over the weird start . he was having so much fun he barely notice the time slip away til his phone began dinging away .

" shit i better get going but this .. this was cool" he stood .

" yeah it was .. maybe you would like to do it again" she smiled softly holding out her phone instantly he took it putting his number in watching as he called himself the two walked to the door only for her to be heading to same way .

" i swear i'm not following you look see the corvette that's mine" she snorted seeing how it looked .

" you like vintage cars?" he always yelled in disbelief .

" i do jake calls them flintstone mobiles " she rolled her eyes.

" well not to brag or anything the bronco beside it well that's my baby" he smiled proudly.

" well look at that looks like fate i met you today radly brooster bradley" she called out heading to her car . " i'll call you later" .

" well i'd be a sucker to turn down fate" he winked watching as she drove off . " yep that my future wife" he shook his head knowing he was going to have to deal with hangman sooner or later .

part two

A.N:Let me know if you want a part two but this was fun to write .

[callsignspark]

LEAH! as scary as the thought of this situation is, I absolutely loved how Mickey handled everything and how worried he was!! he's such a sweetheart! I know you're not writing a part two, but I NEED to know how everything happened after? does she fully recovered? does she get her hearing/sight back only partially? do they get together no matter what?

Sixth Sense // Mickey Garcia

Summary: A freak accident occurs at the Hard Deck and Fanboy is faced with the challenge of being left to care for you, his not so official girlfriend.

Warnings: Mickey Garcia x F!reader. Hurt/Comfort. Gas explosion resulting in hearing and vision loss.

Word Count: 1.7k

Author Note: Day Three of Whumptober. Prompt I chose: Sensory Deprivation. Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for the prompt list.

Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“Holy shit, what the hell was that?” It all happened so fast, so fast in fact that the explosion that ricocheted through the Hard Deck didn’t register a sound until a few seconds after the fact. 

Patrons laid strewn across the bar, ducking for cover under tables and bars. Glass from the windows had sliced unsuspecting patrons as it blew apart from the force of the blast. Food and beverages littered the floor, thrown in the panic of the moment as all inside ducked. 

“Everybody okay?” Jake Seresin stayed shielding Natasha Trace with his entire body. “Is anyone hurt?” His arms pinned her down against the hardwood floor at either side of her head. Seconds ago—they’d been arguing over a long standing disagreement over who could tie more Cherry stems with just their tongue in three minutes. Now, Phoenix had never been this close to a man she could hardly stand. 

“Yeah—we’re good!” Rooster replied as he looked around, he’d been knocked on his ass by the bast. Coyote was right beside him, as was Payback. The three of them had been indulging in a game of darts to see who could knock Hangman down a peg or two on the leaderboard. “Bob? Fanboy? You guys okay?” 

“I think we’re alright?” Bob groaned as he pushed himself up off the ground—peanuts were crushed all over the ground around him. Mickey sat back on his knees scanning the Hard Deck. He couldn’t see you. There was a small cut on the side of Mickey's face but other than an artificial flesh wound, he was relatively unscathed from the unsuspecting blast that had pummeled through the Hard Deck. 

“Anyone seen Y/n?” Fanboys eyes continued to scour the entire expanse of the Hard Deck as he rose to his feet and dusted himself off. “Yo, guys—anyone see Miss Barkeep?” 

“She was heading out back to help the gas guy change out the—“ Bob didn’t even need to finish his sentence before he’d connected the dots. “Oh god, Y/n.”

A gas explosion. 

Mickey took a few seconds to register where his best friend's mind had gone, but then he realised. In those few seconds where Fanboy couldn’t breathe he knew he couldn’t live without you before he had a chance to really have you. 

Sure, the two of you were friendly. Probably more than most friends would be. Sure, you sometimes spent the night in Mickey's bed after he’d stay back and help you shut the Hard Deck up. Sure, he spent lazy Sunday mornings with you in the kitchen making breakfast and drinking coffee more often than not. And sure, the two of you enjoyed each other’s company, blatantly flirted beyond belief and made sure to always text each other when you got home, finished work, and stole secret kisses here and there when it was just the two of you. But. You weren’t official. 

And that may have been Mickey Garcia's biggest mistake. 

“Y/n!?” There you were. “Oh my god!” Lying unconscious on the ground a few meters away from where the gas bottles were kept behind the Hard Deck. Penny kept a tight ship—they were locked behind a wire cage that made sure patrons couldn’t fuck around. Something must have gone wrong during the change over, because the gas man wasn’t too far away from you. 

“Hey—hey!?” Mickey was by your side in an instant, the second his eyes caught your body lying there—thrown away and discarded like you weren’t the most important person to him, he was by your side. “Amor? Can you hear me?” 

Rooster had already called for paramedics to attend the scene while Hangman and Phoenix had begun to do whatever they could with their advanced first aid training—using the Hard Decks first aid kit to fix small cuts and abrasions on patrons from lying shards of glass. 

“Y/n?” You had a pulse, Mickey knew that much. But you weren’t waking up. “Please—come on Amor, you gotta wake up for me.” 

“This guys dead—“ Payback calls out. Mickey's mind fills with worst case scenarios the longer you were down for. “He’s got no pulse and the back of his head’s cracked.” He’s an ex paramedic, he knows. “I'm gonna start chest compressions, see if I can bring him back, how’s the kid?” 

You weren’t just shy of Fanboys age, he was the youngest in the group after all. Top of his class, intellectually gifted enough to graduate highschool three years earlier than most ever would. But to Paybacks forty one? You were still a child, in his mind anyway. 

“She’s breathing.” Is all he says before your stirrings. “Hold on! I think she’s waking up!” There’s nothing but a ringing in your ear. A sharp high pitched buzzing that’s incessant and ear piercing. You groan at the sound as you try to blink away the clouded vision that’s plaguing your eyes. But nothing can get rid of the thick fog like blur. “Y/n—it’s me, you’re okay, I’ve got you—“  But you can’t make out who it is. You can’t hear anything but that annoying ringing that won’t go away. Your head hurts, holy shit what the hell happened? 

“I—“ You stutter out. “I can’t see.” It sends Mickey's heart racing inside his chest, even more so than it already was. “I—I can’t see—“ You can't even hear yourself talking so you just assume you’re talking far too quiet. But in reality you're screaming, screaming so loud you’re straining your neck. “I CAN'T HEAR!” 

“Hey—I’ve got you.” Mickey doesn’t know what else to do besides try and calm you while medics make their way around the Hard Deck. “I love you, yeah?” Payback hears Mickey say it before you ever do and his heart breaks. You don’t deserve this. Neither does Fanboy. “You’re gonna be alright Amor, I’m right here.” 

But all you do is cry. You can’t hear a single thing being spoken or see a single thing in front of you. All there is before you are shadows of light and darkness. Mickey's hands squeeze yours and you feel it. His signet ring—the one his Abuela brought him many moons ago. But you know in the darkness and uncertainty that it’s Mickey at your side. 

“If she’s lost senses, Mick, it's gonna be a head trauma of some sort.” Payback keeps going with his chest compressions. “Is there any sign of blood?” You squeeze Mickey's hand a little harder as he goes to pull away to check. You squeeze so hard that he can’t let go, you’re far too afraid of being left alone in the dark. “Fanboy?”

“I—I dunno, probably! She probably hit her head on the ground!” Mickey manages to wiggle free just one of his hands so he can push your hair out of your face. “Shhh—I’m right here.” He tries to soothe you once again, but your cries are just too heartbreaking. “Amor, I am right here with you—I’ve got you.” 

“Please don’t let me die here alone.” Was all you mumbled out. You didn’t know what Mickey was saying or if he was saying anything at all. The ringing was all too deafening. But when you begged him to stay, to not leave your side. Mickey's heart shattered into a million different pieces. “Please don’t leave me.” 

“I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here.” He traced your face with his fingers, just letting you know he was there with you. Your grip on his hand began to falter as you slipped into unconsciousness again, just trying to find some shelter from the ringing. “I’m right here with you.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Without the surgery your daughter might regain her vision but it’s only a slim chance Mrs Y/l/n—“ Doctor Perry spoke to the woman on the other end of your phone. Mickey had called her on your behalf from the other side of the country, she was already packing her things for the flight she’d booked to be by your side. “I’d say it’s barely twenty percent.” 

“What about with the surgery?” Mickey asked as his eyes looked over you. You looked too peaceful to be in this situation. You knew he was there just by his touch alone. He made sure you knew it was him by his ring as he ran his thumb across your palm. “What’s the odds of her getting her vision back with the surgery?” 

“Almost one hundred percent—if the surgery were to go well. If it doesn’t then she runs the risk of being permanently incapacitated for the rest of her life.” Doctor Perry was a little too blunt for Mickey's liking, but he appreciated the direct route. “She’ll regain her hearing, hopefully, her ear drums were significantly damaged in the blast but they should recover.” 

“Do the surgery.” Your mother barked on the other side of the phone. “My daughter can’t be deaf and blind—what type of future would she have then? What kind of quality of life would she have?” Mickey couldn’t take his eyes off you as you slept. It was better this way, to keep you sedated. That way you couldn’t panic. But he thought about it while the doctor droned on to your mother about the surgery, that no matter the outcome you’d have a life with him. He’d take care of you—learn how to adapt, help you with anything you ever needed. Do anything you ever needed him to do. 

A freak accident that took away two of your six senses shouldn’t be the reason your life ends. You were still alive and oh how Mickey Garcia was grateful to whatever God was on duty that day. 

“Mrs Y/ln?” Mickey interrupted as he turned the phone back his way. Your mother silenced herself mid sentence to listen to what Mickey had to say. “I know we haven’t formally met before but I just want you to know that I’ve been head over heels in love with your daughter since she served me for the first time.” He explained all the while his eyes never left your perfect face. A face he really wouldn’t mind waking up to every day. “And I know there’s a hell of a lot of uncertainty about what may come, but I just want you to know that her quality of life doesn’t diminish if her sight can’t be restored or her hearing doesn’t improve.” Mickey could feel the tears streaming down his cheeks as he squeezed your hand, and as much as he wished none of this ever happened, he knew he couldn’t leave you know. Not ever. 

“I’ve got her ma’am—“ 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

Whumptober Tags 🏷️ @xoxabs88xox @oldermenaremyreligion @slut-f0r-u @emma-is-cool @armydrcamers @topguncortez @topgun-imagines @kmc1989 @els-marvelvsp @blindedbythelightt

[callsign-mayhem]

heartbreak feels so good (part 2)

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader Word count: 3861 CW: Shitty ex-boyfriends, slow burn, angst, fluff

Part One Part Three

Your boyfriend's callsign is Viper, which is fitting. Bradley doesn't know how much longer he can watch this man destroy you, but luckily for him, he doesn't have to wait too long.

Use of Y/N, but no description of reader. THIS IS A MULTI-PART FIC.

The eerie silence of your apartment woke you that morning. Either it was never usually this quiet, or you just hadn’t noticed it when Elijah stayed over. There had been a few occasions over the weekend where you’d noticed differences like this, and you wondered when and if it got any easier to deal with. 

You had awoken with your childhood teddy bear tucked beneath your chin. Somewhat disoriented, you sat up and glanced around the room. Your phone was charging on your nightstand with a glass of water and a Post-It next to it. That’s when it hit you that Bradley had been here the night before. You must have fallen asleep on the sofa during your wallowing sesh, which meant he’d carried you to bed. Ted was staring at you accusingly as though he’d noticed how your heartbeat stuttered once, twice, and then righted itself. 

Burning with curiosity, you reached over and grabbed the orange Post-It, reading what you could only assume were Bradley’s words hungrily. His handwriting was atrocious, as wonky as his voice was raspy.

Getting Starbs. Be back soon x

Well, that explained that one. For the second morning in a row, you’d woken up feeling rough, although you didn’t feel as bad as yesterday. Yesterday, crawling out of bed had felt more like crawling out of the pits of hell. Today, you knew that Bradley was coming back with coffee—after having slept over—and while this was confusing, it gave you something to think about aside from Elijah. 

You took a cold shower to reset your central nervous system, using all your fancy products in an attempt to make yourself feel better. It only partially worked, so you decided to put on one of your favourite outfits, which had the tendency to make you appear more confident than you actually felt. Now seemed as good a time as any to buy into the fake it till you make it movement. 

When you ventured into the living room, you noticed that the nest you had built on the sofa was still intact, although it had been moved around slightly to serve as a makeshift bed. This must have been where Bradley spent the night after he’d tucked you in. Something about this was hard to accept, and as you stood there staring at the pillows and duvet, you tried to come up with an explanation as to why he’d stayed. As you cycled through the possibilities, the same part of your brain that believed you weren’t worthy of anyone better than Elijah started trying to convince you that Bradley was going to do the same thing he had. Or worse, he was just pitying you. 

These were the kinds of tricks your brain liked to play on you, and usually, it was successful, but this time you were interrupted. Someone was knocking on your front door, presumably Bradley, who didn’t have a key. It dawned on you too late that you’d given Bradley your spare yesterday evening when he’d told you he might go out and grab coffee in the morning, and you were turning the handle before you could really register what this meant. 

It had only been a few days, but you’d forgotten just how disarming Elijah was. He was standing in the hallway with a bunch of beautiful red roses, dressed in your favourite outfit of his: black cargos, one of his band tees and his beat-up Docs. You could smell his aftershave from where you stood, and he’d obviously had a haircut and beard trim before coming to see you. 

Both relief and dread flooded you simultaneously, and you were torn between slamming the door in his face or collapsing into his arms, flowers be damned. 

‘El,’ you croaked. ‘What’re you doing here?’

He smiled sheepishly, holding out the flowers so you could take them. They smelled like second chances and summer romance. ‘Went to that market we used to go to this morning and saw these. They made me think of you, so I thought you should have them.’

‘T-thanks?’

‘I know it’s out of the blue, but I thought we should talk.’ He said all of this so calmly— cool as a cucumber—as if this were the most natural thing in the world. As if you were going to discuss the weather and not his narcissistic tendencies. ‘I might have overreacted.’

You scoffed. ‘What was your first clue?’

Elijah rolled his eyes. ‘I didn’t come here to fight. I came to apologise, Y/N. Maybe there’s something here worth salvaging.’

And didn’t this happen every single time? He fucked up on a monumental scale, only realised because of your reaction, and apologised because he knew that’s what he was supposed to do, not because he saw any issues with his behaviour. He’d promise to work on it, you’d believe him, and then the cycle would start all over again. After dealing with it for a year, you were only just becoming aware of the ways he manipulated you, ways that would probably still work if you gave him enough time.

The scary part is that you were considering letting him despite the newly reawakened, sane part of your brain screaming at you not to.

‘Y/N?’ 

Oh God. No, no, no, no.

Bradley Bradshaw had materialised behind Elijah in all his golden glory, two coffees in hand, aviators perched on the tip of his perfect nose. He was wearing shorts and a black tank top, so clearly, he’d popped home to change clothes. To top it off, he was doused in a light sheen of sweat that glistened underneath the lights in the hallway. 

The sane part of your brain was relieved to see him, but the part that Elijah controlled was about to implode. Your hands felt clammy, and your throat was thick with nerves, making it incredibly difficult to talk. 

Elijah spun around. Even though he now had his back to you, you had a pretty good idea of what his face looked like. His shoulders tensed up and you watched him squeeze both of his hands into fists. 

‘What the fuck?’

‘El, it’s not what it looks like, he-’

Elijah spun around. His anger was an almost tangible thing. He’d always struggled with it, what with having undiagnosed and unmedicated ADHD, and it could be terrifying. He also liked using it as an excuse when he acted out, claiming he couldn’t help it. 

Bradley seemed relatively calm. You knew it was a front, that he wanted to rip Elijah’s head off, but that would end up hurting you, so he was reigning it in for your benefit. 

Elijah was glancing between you and Bradley, nostrils flaring and jaw set with anger. Briefly, you locked eyes with Bradley but couldn’t determine what emotions were hidden there.

‘Not that it’s any of your business, Viper,’ Bradley started. ‘But I’m here helping Y/N through a tough time. We’re friends, and that’s what friends do.’ 

‘Not sure why she’s having a tough time.’ Elijah spat. ‘I’m the one getting sent pictures of his girlfriend walking down the beach with another guy. Do you have any idea how that made me look?’ 

‘Maybe it should’ve been you, then. Oh, wait,’ Bradley smiled sarcastically. ‘You were too busy ghosting her because she went out with her friends.’

‘I don’t need to stand here and listen to this. Who the fuck do you think you are, man? This has nothing to do with you.’

‘Elijah.’ You warned.

‘And you’re defending this guy now, Y/N? What the fuck is wrong with you?’

‘That’s enough.’

‘No, I’m not done. Because I wanna know what you think gives you the right-’

Bradley sidestepped Elijah and handed you the two iced coffees. You stood there dumbly, unable to do anything.

‘I’m her friend, that’s what gives me the right. I’m the one who’s gonna pick up all the fucking pieces.’

Elijah was trying to square up to Bradley, but he was a fair bit shorter, so it just looked pathetic. 

‘Pick up all the pieces of what? Her broken heart?’ Elijah laughed bitterly. ‘Boo fucking hoo. If she weren’t such a slut, we’d still be together. It’s her own fault.’

Bradley Bradshaw wasn’t a violent person. It was a last resort for him, so when he slammed Elijah into the wall, you knew it was because he’d been pushed way beyond his limit by that last comment. 

Elijah shoved Bradley off him and swung, clipping the side of his face and causing him to stagger back. Bradley took a second to right himself and, with a great heaving breath, swung back hard. You squeezed your eyes shut, but the sound of Bradley’s fist meeting Elijah’s nose was loud enough that you could still picture it vividly. It reminded you of the sound of gravel getting crushed underneath the tyres of the Bronco or the eggshells you’d spent the last year walking over to spare Elijah’s feelings. 

The sound seemed to snap you out of your helpless daze.

‘That’s enough!’ You yelled. 

The bin bag containing Elijah’s belongings was next to the front door so you’d remember to take it to work the next day. You grabbed it and threw it at Elijah, who just about managed to catch it before it hit him in the face. 

‘I don’t wanna see your face around here again.’ You said bitterly. ‘And I don’t want any rumours going around base about Bradley and me because this breakup is all your fault. You’re the one who couldn’t get his act together.’

‘And if you ever call her a slut—or anything else—again, I’ll make sure you never fly for the navy again.’

You meant every word of it, but it was still difficult to look Elijah in the eye one last time before he walked out of your life for good. It was hard because you’d still loved a version of this man, laughed, cried, and talked for hours with him. And if he’d managed to admit to a few of his shortcomings, work on them and maybe go to therapy for his unhealed trauma, you’d probably still be laughing, crying and talking with him. 

You would have probably married him. 

But he would never admit to having shortcomings, never take the time to work on things, and therapy was out of the question. Love is only a small part of what makes a relationship work, and when it came to your relationship with Elijah, your love for him was the only thing keeping it going. Most days, this wasn’t even enough. 

You half expected him to say something else, but he seemed to know better. Clutching the bin bag full of his belongings, Elijah skulked off down the hallway, and you watched uneasily until he disappeared around the corner, finally leaving you and Bradley alone.

You released a shaky breath, and Bradley pulled you into a hug so comforting that you just about melted. He smelled of sunshine, clean cotton, and Bleu De Chanel, and you had to refrain from inhaling. 

‘I leave you for half hour, and that dick shows up.’ Bradley murmured. 

You could hear the smile in his voice, which was also a comfort. After a scene like that, the last thing on Elijah’s mind would have been comforting you. Even though Bradley was the one physically hurt, his priority was still taking care of you and keeping the mood light so you didn’t start spiralling. 

Reluctantly you pulled away from Bradley, not because you wanted to, but because you thought he deserved some breakfast after his morning heroics. 

‘Did he get your eye?’ You asked, concerned. 

‘No,’ Bradley smiled reassuringly. ‘Almost, but no.’

Once back inside, you set about making breakfast. Bradley was glancing around, somewhat disorientated, and you briefly worried if he had a concussion.

‘You good, Roo?’

‘Yeah, what happened to the coffees?’

‘Oh, they’re on the side where I keep my car keys. By the door.’

Bradley fetched the coffee and sat in his usual spot at the kitchen island. He was unharmed, but it was evident in the way he wouldn’t meet your eye that something was on his mind. While you cooked the bacon—having deja vu from yesterday—you thought about the best way to approach the situation. Bradley was entitled to feel some type of way about what had just happened, and he was under no obligation to share said feelings with you if he didn’t want to. After all he’d done for you, he was entitled to a few private thoughts. But something about the brooding look on his face made it hard to leave well enough alone, and all of a sudden, you found yourself wanting to know every thought—good and bad—going on inside his pretty little head. 

You lowered the heat on the stove and turned around to grab your coffee, making a point of trying to meet Bradley’s eye. The contact lasted about three seconds before he refocused his attention on his coffee cup, which had suddenly become very interesting. This man had tells, and you were going to learn them all. 

‘What’s wrong, Bradley? You can talk to me, you know?’

He shook his head slightly. ‘Nothing.’

‘Bullcrap. You can tell when I’m not being honest about how I feel, and guess what? It’s a two-way street. And just like you encourage me to talk about what’s bothering me, I’m encouraging you to do the same.’ 

‘I’ve created a monster.’ Bradley grinned.

‘You have. It’s your own fault, Bradshaw.’

‘It’s not a big deal,’ he said, sipping his iced latte. ‘I’ve just been trying to imagine what would’ve happened if I didn’t come at that exact moment.’

Your stomach twisted. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You were holding roses. That look on your face, Y/N… I think if I didn’t come back when I did, you would’ve let him in.’ 

‘That’s…’

He was gazing at you expectantly. 

‘...Ridiculous.’ You finished. 

‘See, I really wanna believe that,’ he smiled sadly. ‘But I know you well enough to know that you’re lying.’ 

You turned back around to face the stove, partly because you needed to flip the bacon and get started on the eggs and partly because you couldn’t keep the agony off your face. Because Bradley was right as usual—as much as it pained you to admit it, you would have eventually let Elijah in. 

‘It’s not as black and white as that.’

Bradley’s eyes were burning holes in the back of your head. It was extremely off-putting.

‘I know, Y/N. Nothing is.’

This caught your attention. You spun around and pointed the spatula at him accusingly. 

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ You asked.

Bradley held his hands up. ‘Nothing, doll. I’m just agreeing with you.’

‘Nothing in life is simple,’ you murmured, opening the cupboard above you and taking the packet of bagels out. ‘No matter how much you wish it was.’

‘Just to be clear, I don’t blame you for wanting to let him in. He’s a manipulator, and he’s good at what he does. And you love with everything you have.’

‘Even when I shouldn’t.’

You heard Bradley sigh. ‘Y/N, I’m gonna tell you something, and I want you to really take it in, okay?’

‘Okay?’

‘Loving hard is never a bad thing, and you should never shrink your love to make it easier for people to digest. If you find yourself doing that, then the person you’re doing it for isn’t meant for you. The right people will always take your love as it comes, and you won���t have to change anything.’

 You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. ‘Like you. And Nat.’

‘Yes,’ he breathed, seemingly relieved that you were beginning to understand. ‘Just like me and Nat.’

Bradley Bradshaw was not in the business of denying you of anything, which is how he found himself curled up on your sofa for the second afternoon in a row, watching reruns of Gilmore Girls. The two of you had watched so many episodes that he knew the theme song by heart, and as catchy as it was, he only liked it because you sang it each time without fail. This was the happiest and calmest he’d seen you all weekend, which was surprising after Elijah’s surprise visit earlier that day. After quite the internal debate, he’d come to the conclusion that you needed to see him after the breakup, no matter how briefly, in order to start the process of moving on. 

Bradley was starting to fancy himself a love and relationship expert despite not having experienced it many times himself. Something about you and your particular situation made him feel he needed to monitor it, as though it were his job to make sure you emerged relatively unscathed. 

He glanced at you sideways, wrapped up in a pumpkin-covered throw with a mug of tea keeping your hands warm, and felt this innate need to protect you from the world and everyone in it. Especially Elijah. He couldn’t explain it, but it went further than friendship, possibly even further than love. 

Bradley was just about to suggest going for a walk to stretch your legs and get some air, but then the intercom started buzzing, causing the both of you to jump out of your skins. 

He reached and took your tea from you so you could get up without ending up wearing it. Whoever was waiting to be let in was pretty persistent, constantly buzzing until you managed to get to the front door and click the intercom.

‘Who is it?’ You asked, panting from the exertion. 

‘Natasha Trace, you know, the best friend you’ve been blanking all weekend.’ 

You cursed under your breath, pressing the release for the door. ‘Sorry, Nat. Come on up.’

It suddenly dawned on Bradley that he hadn’t updated Nat since sometime yesterday and that she was probably worried sick. She knew nothing about Elijah showing up at your apartment or the fact that Bradley had stayed over. The fact that he’d slept on the sofa wouldn’t matter to her when she found out. He’d never hear the end of it. 

You were hovering nervously by the door, clearly anticipating the same telling-off as Bradley. ‘I was supposed to call her last night,’ you told him. ‘And then I passed out on the couch.’

‘We’re both done for, Y/CS,’ he grinned. ‘It’s been super nice knowing you.’

Somehow—in the time it took her to get up the three flights of stairs to your front door—he managed to convince himself that she wouldn’t be that mad at the two of you. But when you opened the door, he could almost feel her anger, like heat rolling off her in waves. Before you could get a word out, she was pulling you in for a rough but well-meaning hug.

‘I was worried sick, Y/N.’

You relaxed into the hug and put your arms around her middle, squeezing reassuringly. ‘I’m sorry, Nat. I should have called.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘You should’ve. Last time I saw you, you were half-cut and running away from us at The Hard Deck.’ You stepped aside so she could come in. ‘You’ve got some explaining to-’

When Natasha noticed Bradley reclining comfortably on your couch, she stopped speaking. Bradley had a shit-eating grin plastered across his face, and he wiggled his eyebrows at her teasingly. 

‘Hey, Nix.’ 

Briefly, she glanced at you and then back at Bradley. Then back at you, then back to Bradley.

‘Don’t ‘hey, Nix’ me, mister. You’ve been here all weekend?’

He shrugged apologetically. ‘Pretty much.’

‘No text? No call?’

‘Sorry. We were kinda preoccupied with wallowing and fighting Viper off.’

‘What do you mean fighting him off?’

With a great sigh, you traipsed over to the couch and collapsed back into your spot. ‘He showed up this morning with roses and the usual fake apology.’

Natasha was incredulous. She didn’t sit down, she just started pacing in front of the couch, Gilmore Girls still playing on the flat screen behind her. 

‘Are you serious?’

‘Yup, and it’s lucky I came back when I did,’ Bradley chimed in. ‘Y/N was gonna let him in.’

Natasha stopped pacing to glare at you. ‘You were gonna do what?’

You launched a throw pillow at Bradley’s head, which, fortunately for you, he didn’t manage to dodge. 

‘Hey!’ He huffed. ‘I’m not blaming you! We talked about this earlier.’

You rolled your eyes. ‘It wasn’t my finest moment, okay? I’ve been drinking his Kool-Aid for so long it’s gonna be a while before it’s all out of my system. So I guess Bradley really did come back at the right time.’

This didn’t seem to satisfy Nat, so you launched into a more detailed account of the past weekend, filling her in on everything except a few details about Bradley. Those you would save for when it was just the two of you. Halfway through, she perched herself on the edge of the coffee table, facing you and listening intently to what you had to say. By the end of it, she was literally seething with rage. This time, directed at your now ex-boyfriend. 

‘He ought to watch his back,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘Cause if I see him on base, he’s gonna wish he’d never been born.’

The three of you ended up ordering pizza. At one point, you got up to go to the bathroom, and Natasha took the opportunity to grill Bradley some more. He wasn’t surprised in the slightest. Only surprised that it had taken her this long. 

She started the interrogation by smacking the back of his head.

‘What was that for?’ He hissed.

‘That’s for going after your best friend when she’s just had her heart broken.’

‘What makes you think I’m going after her?’

Nat pretended to think about this. ‘Hmmm, let me see… Maybe because you’ve slept here two nights in a row, and I walked into you cuddled up on her couch drinking fucking cocoa!’

‘It was tea, actually. And I slept out here both nights. Just didn’t want her to be alone.’

She relented, but only slightly. ‘Still, you need to cool it. She’s probably feeling all kinds of confused right now, and she doesn’t need you and your big puppy dog eyes making things even more complicated.’

He smiled despite himself. ‘You think I have big puppy dog eyes?’

She glared at him witheringly. ‘Is missing the point a personality trait of yours?’

‘Nix, will you calm down? I’m not going after her, I’m not confusing her, and I’m not making things difficult with my big eyes. I’ve been giving her advice, helping her through the worst of it. That’s all.’

Natasha softened, satisfied that Bradley was telling the truth. The toilet flushed, and the bathroom door opened, so they’d have to finish this conversation some other time. But before you came back, Natasha whispered one last thing…

‘I know you love her, Bradley. I know you always have. But you have to give her some time.’

End of part 2. Final part coming soon!

Taglist: primroseluna eloquentdreamer sgt-barnesveins daybleedsintonightfa11

[sparklypinkflightsuit]

The Island: Entry 1

Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

A Lost AU

Mood Board

Warnings: Smut, Fluff, Angst, Gore, Violence, Swearing, Death, Alcohol, Plane Crash, Various Inaccuracies

Authors note and TW: This story does depict a plane crash in quite a lot of it so please be aware 💛 especially now with all of the recent accidents worldwide, just wanting to put an extra precaution out there so as not to surprise or upset anyone!

——————————

18+ Only

——————————




A roaring sound roused Bradley from a dream, a dream where he was souring through the air in his favourite F/A-18, the sunset beautifully cast along the ocean below, someone behind him lovingly squeezing his shoulder, someone he longed for but whom didn’t know yet.




The roaring sound blared loudly even from far away, and Bradley strained to open his eyes, the bright light burning his sensitive retina. He covered his eyes as he sat up, his bed hard and lumpy, and he blinked several times to adjust.




Suddenly he realised his bed wasn’t a bed after all, but a stony jungle floor, matted with rotting leaves and sand and soil.




Bradley looked around, confused and dazed and trying to find the source of the horrible noise. He was surrounded by trees and the stark stench of leaf rot, the faint smell of the sea and… jet fuel.




He realised suddenly that the roaring wasn’t even that, it was a whirring, the sound of a jet engine struggling to keep itself in the air. But was it in the air?




By the volume and steadiness of the sound Bradley could only think the engine was no longer in the sky, and he scrambled to his feet as vague memories began to come back to him.




His leg was badly bruised and he thought he may have a broken rib or two, but he scrambled through the jungle as fast as his body would take him, the noise growing louder.




As he neared, he began to hear screaming, so much screaming, now just audible over the jet roar as the thick of the jungle turned to sparse bush, and Bradley fought to keep himself composed, braving himself for what he might see.




The beach was long and windy, blue ocean stretched on for what seemed like forever, and Bradley quickly realised he wasn’t on any sort of mainland. Bodies littered the white sand and the front of the plane, pinned onto its side by a boulder, sat ablaze, towering, the engine angrily trying to keep itself alive.




Bradley took but a split second to take in the damage, panic so close to taking hold, when he spotted Jake Seresin crawling out of the sea, coughing and spluttering as he collapsed to the sand.




He ran over to him, quickly helping his friend further up onto the sand and away from the water.




“Hangman…” was all Bradley could get out.




Jake coughed again, taking deep, painful breaths as he lay on his back. “Where’s…” another cough, “where’s everyone else?” He just barely murmured over the noise.




Bradley knew he meant the rest of the boys they had been travelling with.




Bob, Javy, Reuben and Mickey.




“I don’t know… I’ll be back.” Bradley left Jake to gain his strength as he stumbled to his feet, wincing at the pain in his side.




He took a second to watch the chaos, people screaming over lost loved ones, running to get as far from the wreckage as they could before it inevitably exploded, others helping the injured, or rescuing suitcases from inside the burning hull.




He walked closer to the plane, hoping to recognise someone, anyone, when the sun glinted against a familiar pair of glasses.




“Bob!” Bradley cried hoarsely.




Bob couldn’t hear him, too close to the engine, helping a woman free her leg from a heavy metal beam.




“Bob!” Bradley called louder this time, “You gotta move!”




Bob lifted his head and relief washed over him as his eyes landed on Bradley.




“Help me move her!” Bob called, and Bradley hesitantly eyed up the wing of the plane that hovered and bowed treacherously over Bob’s head.




“Fuck.” Bradley mumbled to himself as he limped quickly towards Bob, dropping to his knees with a wince once by his side.




After a quick assessment of the situation, the leg pinned and pierced to the ground, Bradley grabbed Bob’s shoulder.




“We gotta dig her out, and we gotta do it quick, this thing’s about to collapse.”




Bob nodded and the pair began to dig into the sand beneath the woman’s injured thigh, little by little lowering her leg out of the bar that pierced through it.




The wing groaned under its own weight and the breeze that tormented it, threatening to snap off at any second, the sound mingling with the woman’s agonising cries.




“Faster!” Bradley grunted as he cupped the sand and threw it to the side with a speed that left him dizzy, the movements worsening the pain he was in.




The woman screamed as her leg slid off the bar and blood sprayed out, covering Bob and Bradley. They hooked their arms in hers quickly, shuffling backwards in the sand to pull her to safety.




Barely out from beneath the shadow of the wing, a large creak and snap echoed across the beach as the wing buckled under its own weight, plummeting with a deafening crash onto the ground below.




Bob and Bradley watched in horror mere feet away. Even a couple of seconds more and they would have met their untimely end.




Bradley was having a hard time coming to to grips with the situation, barely even able to remember what had happened before the crash, and he felt dazed.




“Rooster, Bob!” Another familiar voice rang out, Reuben.




The pair sighed with some sort of relief as the tall man helped them to their feet, pulling them in for a hug.




“Shit guys, I thought you were gone.” Reuben’s voice cracked, audible even over the chaos.




“We… we need to move her to the shade, see if there are any doctors or…” Bob stopped to wipe blood from his face, staring at his hand in shock.




“Yeah, help me move her.” Bradley winced as he bent down to hook his arms under the unconscious woman’s armpits. Bob carefully hooked his arms under her good leg and they haphazardly carried her to the trees.




Placing her gently down, Bradley left Bob with her so he could try and find someone who could help.




Bob was already prepping a tourniquet with some fabric and a stick, and he spotted Jake and Reuben by the shore, turning bodies over and trying to separate the dead from the living, helping where they could.




Javy and Mickey were nowhere to be seen, but there were so many people, dead and alive, scattered across the sand, that it would be difficult to differentiate faces, especially in the state he was in.




People screamed through the pain of broken limbs and burns and cuts and his eyes drew him across the beach, scanning over as many faces as he could, and that’s when he spotted you, down in the distance.




You were beautiful but frantic, hair a mess and clothes bloodied, as you tied a piece of ripped fabric carefully around a little boys arm to stop him from bleeding.




You winced as the boy cried, Bradley couldn’t hear you but he could see you apologising, telling the boy you had to tie it tight for just a little while.




Without realising he was moving, Bradley began to stumble over to you, stepping over discarded suitcases and debris, the deafening sound of the engine mangled painfully with the agony in the voices of people crying for help in the jungle and at the shore.




“You’re gonna be okay… you’re gonna be okay.” You mumbled, unsure of yourself, as you stroked the little boys head, “I’m gonna find your mom, you just need to stay here. Okay? By this tree.”




The boy wailed inconsolably, dirty face streaked with tears.




Bradley winced as he knelt down next to you, forcing a smile at the little boy, “Wow, look at you! You’re so brave, you’re gonna have a cool scar to show off to your friends real soon.”




The little boy slowly stopped crying and looked up at Bradley curiously. You did the same, taking a second to breathe as he spoke.




“You can tell people you fought off a tiger.” Bradley winked, and the little boy began to giggle.




You eyed Bradley up suspiciously but we’re also relieved to have some help.




“Hey, you stay here, I just gotta borrow your friend for a moment okay?” The boy nodded and Bradley struggled to his feet, clutching briefly at his side. You looked at the blood on his t-shirt, wondering how badly he was injured.




“Oh… it’s… it’s not me.” He winced again, one eye closed as he fought through a wave of pain, “There’s a lady up there with a through-and-through pole wound to her leg, there’s a lot of blood but one of my guys has got her in a makeshift tourniquet. I guess I was hoping you’re a doctor?” He asked anxiously.




You nodded, “Well… not a people doctor, I’m a Veterinarian.” You had been in practice for 5 years, but you were still always unsure of yourself.




“That will be fine, we just need someone with more experience than we do.” Bradley nodded, hands on his hips. In the chaos, you and Bradley stood just staring at one another for a moment, almost relishing in the brief peace it brought.




“Well… I’m gonna need to find a sewing kit, I reckon a lot of these people will need it.” You made a start towards the blazing hull where the scattered suitcases lay a strewn. He followed you, hoping you’d give him instructions or tell him to do anything that would make him feel less lost.




“Anything else?” Bradley rose his voice as you and him got closer to the whirring engine.




“Any medicine you can find, even if it belongs to someone, we can divvy out important meds later, but we need a stockpile of antibiotics and anti-inflammatories.” You were using your logical brain now. You knew even if you were going to be rescued, it would likely be a few days, if not longer before anyone came, and people were going to get sick or infected. “And alcohol… lots of it.”




“Okay… Wait, what’s your name?” Bradley called out as you walked away.




You turned and gave him a soft smile, something steady in the chaos, “Y/N, but you can just call me Doc. What’s yours?”




Bradley grinned through the pain, “Bradley, but my friends call me Rooster.”




You chuckled, “I won’t ask.” And with that you turned to find a sewing kit amongst the debris.




Bradley was sure his heart was racing because of the agony he was in, not because of you… he was sure of it.




—————————




*Flashback*




“Sorry, excuse me.” You pardoned yourself as you shuffled past rows of seats with your clunky carryon, trying to make your way through the busy airplane isle to stow your bag above your seat.




You had gotten an earlier flight home from Sydney than expected, the job interview you had been so excited for having not gone to plan. You were frustrated and irritable but in a way you were glad to be going home.




You stowed your carryon above you seat, and plonked down heavily, a deep sigh as you relaxed into the cheap fabric. You hadn’t had much sleep since arriving in Australia, which you wanted to chalk up to jet lag, but surely that would make you want to sleep more? It was likely the anxiety of the looming interview, and that if you got the job you’d be uprooting your entire life to move, but it would have meant big things for your career.




You were beyond disappointed when you showed up and the owner of the practise turned out to be a pervert. You had never felt like you’d wanted to crawl out of your own skin until that day, when he implied on several occasions during your interview that you’d need to keep him happy to get anywhere in his workplace, and to put the icing on the cake, his hand found your rear end shamelessly as he showed you out.




“I do hope you’ll accept our offer and join us, sweetheart.” He’d winked at you as you left, his beady eyes grotesquely eyeing up your behind.




You’d immediately booked your flight home, feeling as though you’d wasted a trip but desperately wanting to get out of there, despite how beautiful the country was and how you longed to spend the week on a beach.




You closed your eyes as the flight took off, hoping for sleep to find you.




You must have dozed off, because before you knew it you blinked your eyes open and the plane was darker, cosy ambient lighting dowsing the whole cabin in soft orange. You closed your eyes again, body stiff but eyes heavy, keen on getting a few more hours sleep.




Your throat tickled, and you coughed softly into your arm to clear it, settling back and stretching, trying to find a comfortable position.




The scratchy feeling continued, and you tried to discreetly clear your throat without making too much noise, but you couldn’t, so you opened your eyes and took a sip of water from your bottle.




A few others coughed, and your first thought was that someone had brought a cold onto the plane and you groaned internally. You swallowed to try and coat your dry throat, but you began to cough more, alongside almost everyone on the plane.


Suddenly there was a commotion at the front of your section and someone jumped out of their seat.




“Fire! There’s a fire!” The man shouted.




You realised with horror that the soft orange lighting was not ambient LED strips but rather a fire in the hostess kitchen, and you coughed on the smoke that began to fill the cabin.




You unbuckled your seatbelt quickly, standing at your seat and readying yourself to help extinguish the flames if it came to it, blanket at hand.




The air hostess’ rushed to the kitchen and were quick to put the fire out, apologising to the passengers as they passed by and wafted the thick smoke towards the vents in the ceiling.




A few seconds later, interrupting the distressed murmurs of the stressed out passengers, the beep of the intercom sounded and the captains voice echoed throughout the cabin.




“Sorry folks, it appears there may have been a small fire in the hold caused by a faulty wire, which had spread to one of the hostess kitchens, but the fire has been put out and there does not appear to be anything other than superficial damage. Complimentary drinks will now be served as an apology. Please rest assured everything is-“




Before he could finish his sentence, the plane jerked violently, sending several hostess’ into the laps of passengers and a collective yelp sounded.




You quickly sat back into your seat, your heart in your throat as you fumbled with the buckle. “Shit, come on.” You mumbled as the buckle kept slipping out, refusing to click into place.




Another violent bout of turbulence sent bags flying out of the stow holds, knocking some unconscious in their seats. People began to scream and you continued to fumble with your seatbelt.




“Everyone please get back to your seats!” An air hostess tried to instruct calmly, “It’s just a bit of turbulence as we go over the pacific-“




Another big bump and she went crashing backwards, hitting her head on the wall and she fell unconscious to the ground. It was now full blown chaos, people screaming and clambering over seats, buckling in unconscious loved ones, trying not to fall over as the turbulence grew more and more violent.




Your seat belt was not playing nicely, it had finally clipped in, but now the tightening buckle wasn’t holding in place, causing the belt to slip. You pulled the belt tight and held it in your hand as best as you could, hoping it would be enough to pin you to your seat.




You could feel the plane plummeting, and your bum lifting off of the seat as you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to drown out the screams of panicked passengers.




Suddenly there was deafening snap and your breath was sucked out of you, as the side of plane tore off. Your eyes shot open in terror and you caught a brief glimpse of blue and then green before you blacked out completely.




—————————

- Entry 2 Here -

Taglist:

@randomfangirlof @scarletseresin @halflifejess @bradshawbaby

[callsignspark]

soft-tober | 17 | Mickey Garcia

soft-tober is about experiencing the joys of October with loved ones. each day is a fall-related one-shot for one of the couples from my Dagger, Sword & Shield universe, plus a few extras! today is Mickey and Carlee with “Quit trying to scare me! I know that’s you!” from this prompt list.

If you’d like to be tagged for soft-tober, please send an ask!

word count: 1.9k

soft-tober masterlist | main masterlist | divider credit here

warnings: plane crash (no description, mentioned in a flashback), leg amputation (no descriptions), a little suggestive/implied smut

callsignspark disclaimer: my blog is an 18+ space; minors do not interact - you will be blocked. I do not consent to my work being copied, run through an AI generator, translated, or posted elsewhere. I do have an AO3, where I eventually will be cross-posting my works.

17. "Quit trying to scare me! I know that's you!"

It’s a cold and rainy Friday evening in October when the power goes out, rain viciously pelting the siding. The storm gets louder without the soft background noise of sports highlights playing, the wind whipping even faster as thunder rumbles nearby. The eerie quiet of the house unsettles Mickey.

He’s always hated storms, and after the horror movie marathon Fritz hosted last week, he’s even more on edge. And it doesn’t help that Carlee has been messing with him. His lovely wife taking advantage of his jumpiness just to make herself laugh.

She’s used her phone to flicker the smart lightbulbs when she’s not home. She’s snuck into a room and moved things on him, feigning innocence when he asks. Her favorite so far was when she scared him without even trying; she was just standing in the kitchen, and he hadn’t expected her to be home. The undignified squeak he let out had her snorting in laughter.

They’ve been harmless and funny pranks so far, but turning the lights out during a storm is too far.

“Quit trying to scare me! I know that’s you!” Mickey yells from his spot on the couch, rolling his eyes when Carlee doesn’t respond.

He stays on the couch, knowing that she’ll give up soon enough if he doesn’t react, and checks the weather report, hoping it’s changed. It hasn’t. The worst storm of the year, and it’s now predicted to go all night. He jumps a little when lightning flashes, branches slamming against the windows.

“Carlee, just flip the breaker back on; I want to finish watching the highlights from the Mexico match!”

Mickey waits for a minute, straining to hear movement over the rain and groaning when she doesn’t listen to him. His annoyance grows when he stands up and sees the Clarks still have power across the street.

“Why tonight of all nights? She couldn’t do this when it’s sunny outside?” He grumbles, searching through the junk drawer to find the good flashlight before making his way to the garage.

“Seriously, Carls? This is just not fun-” He cuts himself off, almost tripping through the doorway in surprise as he shines the light around the garage. Shocked to only see his car, realizing that his wife isn’t home.

“Shit, I guess the power really did go out.” He mumbles, hesitantly shuffling down the steps into the conjoining garage.

Or it’s a serial killer like in that movie, his brain adds.

“It’s not a serial killer; it’s just the storm. It’s not a serial killer; it’s just the storm.” He chants, feeling less confident about his decision to investigate alone. “Fuck! This is how white people always die in horror movies!”

“What are you talking about?”

Mickey is forty-six and a Captain in the United States Navy; he’s defied death a hundred times, watched the love of his life almost die in front of him, and seen atrocities play out all over the world. He is a brave man, and he has the chest candy to prove it. So, needless to say, he isn’t exactly proud of the high-pitched scream he lets out. Or the way he chucks the flashlight towards the voice, wincing as it clangs off something metal.

“Mickey!”

“When did you get home!”

The married couple yells at each other, one laughing so hard that tears are forming, the other hunched over, trying to regulate his heart rate.

“I just got home!”

“Why didn’t you park in the garage?!”

“Baby, the power is out on our side of the street. I can’t open the door right now.” Carlee explains through poorly muffled giggles. “I parked in the driveway and came in the front door.”

“Our side of the street?”

“Yeah, the grid must be split down the middle.”

“Stop laughing!” He demands. “I think I’m having a heart attack!”

“You are not having a heart attack, you big baby.” She stands beside him, comfortingly rubbing his back even as she laughs at him.

Mickey straightens up after a few minutes, his heart rate mostly normal, and he happily accepts a kiss. Tugging his wife closer to deepen the kiss, he hums when her nails scratch the back of his head. His hair is too short right now for her to grab the way she likes.

“Don’t you wanna know what you hit with the flashlight?” Carlee murmurs against his lips.

“Hmmm… what did I hit?”

“My leg.”

“Oh, fuck! I’m so sorry, Carlee!” Mickey drops to a knee, using the beam from the discarded flashlight to guide him as he rolls her pants up. “Did I hurt you?”

His strong fingers gently brush over her skin, looking for signs of injury as goose bumps erupt across her body.

“It was the other leg, Mic.” She cups his cheek as he finishes examining her right leg, her heart fluttering at the way her husband looks on his knees for her. Big brown eyes looking up at her, filled with concern and love.

“Well…” He trails off, pressing a kiss to her stomach as he unbuttons her slacks. “Better check this one, too. Just in case.”

Mickey slides her pants off, a slight fumble as they realize her shoes are still on, but it doesn’t ruin the mood; the garage suddenly warm despite the dreary weather outside. He loves the way her professional button-up looks dangling around her thighs. How it gives him a glimpse of her blue panties underneath every time she shifts.

He carefully examines her left leg, starting at the titanium ankle and working his way up to her knee. He treats the prosthetic limb the same way he did her other leg, genuinely checking for dings in the metal. Mickey’s heart clenches when he kisses the skin of her knee, still scarred after all these years. It’s been almost two decades, but he still can’t think about that day. About how many times they almost lost each other.

If he lets his brain go there, he can still feel the heat of the flames licking at his skin through his flight suit. The smoke stinging his eyes as Carlee yells at him to leave, to save himself.

Fanboy! Go!

No! Not without you!

You have to go! There’s nothing you can do!

I am not leaving you!

Miguel, you have to, or we’ll both die!

Then we’ll both die! I’m not leaving you! I’m getting you out of here!

And he did. Pulling her from the wreckage of what used to be their plane and to safety mere seconds before it completely blew apart. Everyone kept touting the accident and subsequent rescue as a miracle. The malfunction that took down their plane was a wide-reaching issue, but it was something that could be fixed before it hurt anyone else. And Mickey was hailed as a hero, willing to sacrifice himself to save his pilot.

It’s a miracle you were able to get to her, was the praise Mickey received over and over again, even as he was getting reamed out for not following protocol.

It’s a miracle you’re alive, came the chorus as Carlee was honorably discharged from the Navy. No one seemed to care that she was still in a coma.

It’s a miracle, was the party line, as everyone ignored the negligence and failure of the software company that didn’t account for everything.

The two of them seemed to be the only ones who knew it wasn’t a miracle.

It was pure luck.

Luck that Mickey was able to drag her out from under the mangled metal. Luck that the tourniquet in the medical supplies was unharmed. Luck that it was only one of Carlee’s legs that was hurt.

The real miracle would be if she ever woke up again. The medically induced coma the doctors put her into after the amputation surgery was complete meant that they had no idea how about her brain function. If she had been deprived of oxygen too long in the wreck.

The slight damage to Mickey’s lungs from smoke inhalation gave them a clue of the best-case scenario. But Carlee had been in the thick of it for a while before he had been able to reach her. He could only hope that he had been quick enough. Hope wasn’t enough, though, so from his post at her bedside, he did something he hadn’t done in years.

He prayed.

Prayed for a miracle.

In the end, he’s pretty sure it was the doctors who saved her, and whatever higher power he begged to save his pilot tucked his request for a miracle away for a day when it was needed more. For a day that allowed him to live and put him on a path that would reconnect him with Carlee. That day of the uranium mission was the catalyst for Act II of their story, this half with a happy ending.

“Mickey… It’s okay, we’re okay.” She hums, wiping the tears that have begun dripping down his cheeks.

“I know, I know, amor.” He kisses his way up her thigh, his words muffled against the crease of her hip. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He pulls back, face damp as he takes in her smile, bright in the darkness. “Well, as a medical professional, I can safely declare your legs free of injury from the dastardly flashlight.”

“Oh! Thank you, doctor! Whatever would I have done without you?” Mickey laughs as she throws a hand over her eyes, playing up her Georgia drawl as they move past the heaviness of the moment.

“Well, now, ma’am. I was only able to look at your lovely legs. I still need to complete your full body examination to give you a clean bill of health.”

Carlee tugs him up, smiling as he wraps his hands around her waist. “Is this a thing you wanna try, or are you doing a cheesy bit.”

“Cheesy bit, I don’t think I could keep up the doctor thing without ruining the mood.”

“Good, otherwise it would be a waste of a cute set.”

“Oh… are you planning something special for tonight, Mrs. Garcia?”

“I am. Now, if you’re a good boy and pull my car into the garage, I’ll show you what I had in mind up in the bedroom.”

She’s planted a quick kiss to his lips and gathered her clothes before his brain can even begin to catch up, distracted by the sway of her hips as she heads toward the house.

“Is this some kind of trick so you can scare me?”

Carlee cackles from the doorway, her shirt mysteriously unbuttoned to confirm that she is, in fact, wearing a matching set. “Are you still gonna come upstairs, even if it is?”

“Yeah, course.”

It’s at that moment the power comes back on, and he stares at his wife. Admiring the way her figure is backlit by the kitchen light. Her dark skin glowing as she smiles at him, short-circuiting his brain.

“I’ll see you upstairs then, baby.”

The wink she sends him as she saunters away gets his heart racing, in a good way this time, and Mickey can’t even bring himself to care that he’s getting soaked as he pulls her car into the garage or that she’s definitely going to scare him. He gets to fall asleep next to her, which is something he never thought would happen.

That’s more than enough. That’s all I need.

@gretagerwigsmuse | @hangmanapologist | @hangmanbrainrot | @princessphilly | @hangmanssunnies | @thesewordsareallihavetogive | @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby | @katieshook02 | @hellojameshowyadoin | @aristotles-butthole | @atarmychick007 | @whatislovevavy | @kmc1989 | @sometimesanalice | @laracrofted | @yuckosworld | @mika-darling | @bradshawsbaddie | @bobblebobsbae | @ohtobeleah | @withahappyrefrain

[mxgyver]

SCREAAAAAAAMING EMILY THIS WAS SO GOOD

Heyy!! For smutfest :) love you <33

Dagger: I was thinking Mickey?? I love him sm

Quote: 40. "You'll take what I give you."

And smutty element: keeping your voice down

Lots of love <33

I am a Fanboy fan! I combined this with an ask from @dhwanishah09

Written for my Smutsational Smutfest!

It's My Party

"Is it wrong to sneak away from your own party?" you asked, walking backwards down the hallway with your index finger hooked through Mickey's belt loop. 

"It's your birthday, babe," he replied. "You can do anything you want."

"I wanna do you, Mickey!" you said, bouncing up and down with delight. 

"Shh! Keep your voice down," he whispered with an enormous grin on his face. "Be nice and quiet, and you'll get what you want."

You whispered, "I'll never get enough of you," as you pulled him into the master bedroom and shut the door. Mickey realized you and he were probably still in the honeymoon stage, your wedding taking place barely a month ago. But he loved you so much, and he never wanted this to stop. 

A minute later, you were bent over the end of the bed with your dress pulled up around your waist, wiggling yourself at him. 

"I want you." Your voice was a needy moan as he ran his hands along your ass before easing his cock into your wet pussy. 

"Good, because you'll take what I give you." He thrust into you as you rolled your hips back to meet him stroke for stroke until you were getting so loud, he told you to put your fingers in your mouth. 

As your body squeezed every last drop out of him, Mickey chanted your name. "You're so good, babe. You're so fucking good to me!"

He was mesmerized as you took his hand and led him back to the party. And he was thinking about your cum soaked pussy for the rest of the evening. 

[almondcroissantsandink]

i'm feeling very halloween-y and wanted to draw something for i see your face in the mirror by @miraculousmultifan, which is a very fun little fic i read recently! :) I also really love mirror mazes, so

[shadowsndaisies]

dogfighting 101: 05 - sugar and spice

wc: 1.6k

synopsis: hangman leaves everyone hanging... right?

main masterlist

athena-verse master post

a/n: absolutely loving all of your comments!! heres some hangman and then centric stuff which I KNOW people are waiting to see more of. the next update will be the final for dogfighting 101 but will feature an interaction between rooster and athena that probably (very honestly) wont answer your questions (yet)

“Howdy Miss ‘Thena,” is Hangman’s opening as you both enter the range.

“Hangman,” your greeting’s lacking a little luster.

Despite your early success, you’d only managed tone once and this was rotation four for you, and that’s not even taking into account the variations in which you weren’t flying and that no one else had managed to take your dad down yet.

Your arms hurt, your shoulders hurt, your back hurt, and you wanted to shower so incredibly bad. More than all of that though, you were emotionally exhausted. Flying with Bradley had been the gift that kept giving because even though you’d already gone through another rotation, you kept thinking about the blow out, about the before, about Bradley. As you stood on the tarmac again, you took in the little indents in your palms from the gravel being pushed into them during your push-ups, rubbing over one red mark and shaking your head. Safe to say, you could not wait to finish out the final few rotations, and then go home.

“What’s the matter, Honey?” the tease comes over the comms and even though you know he wants an answer all you can do is scoff.

“Getting tired of push-ups is all,” you say simply.

“I was hoping so,” Jake decides and your brow furrows. You don’t need to see him to know he was planning something.

“What are you planning?” you ask seriously, fully aware that your dad and the rest of the detachment was listening in.

“I was wondering, are you still made of sugar and spice and everything nice?” it sounds condescending, and you’re sure Phoenix and Halo are scoffing at the question, but you know better.

Sugar and Spice was a code, a reference to something you’d only ever talked through with Jake during some downtime on the carrier. Unlike Rock and Roll which you’d actually trained for with Harvard and Yale during Top Gun, Sugar and Spice was completely theoretical.

“You’re joking,” you deadpan, turning to glare at him through the canopy.

“You said you were tired of push-ups. I think it could work, especially since two highly decorated and competent aviators came up with it. Unless, of course, you’d rather continue the heavy set arm day you’ve got going on?” he says nonchalantly.

“Why does it feel like you called me a coward while also complementing me?” you scoff.

“Because you know me,” is all he offers.

“That’s a lot of chatter for two aviators who don’t have the bandit in their sights,” Maverick’s voice finally cuts through, interrupting your back and forth with Jake.

“Hangman, you got eyes?” you ask staring around and out the canopy after confirming your dad wasn’t on the radar.

“No, my guess is he’s coming from below the hard deck again,” the other aviator offers and you do a quick roll, inverting like you had on the first run.

“No contact,” you huff, rolling back.

And then all of a sudden you hear a boom and Mav comes zipping down in front of you. Breaking the sound barrier as he drops from where he’d been miles above you and Jake moving faster than you’d anticipated.

“Holy shit!” you shout.

“Oh fuck!” Jake’s curse echoes with yours.

“Fight’s on, Aviators, let’s see how your arms feel after, kid,” your dad teases as he circles around.

“Break left!” Hangman’s shout echoes.

And you do.

You break left and loop around, looking for Jake who’d gone int he opposite direction. He hadn’t ditched you, yet. Not like he had with Phoenix and Bob earlier. You know it’s not entirely fair a line of thought though, he was different with you, he’d yet to break a promise or leave you out to dry, not like he so flippantly seemed to be with everyone else. You hesitate a second longer before deciding, no, I do not want to do more push ups, and yes, I do trust Jake.

“Sugar and Spice,” you finally shout.

“Wait, really?” the surprise is evident, as if despite his cocky attitude he couldn’t believe you were agreeing.

“Yes!” you confirm, rolling your eyes. “Now move your ass, Hangman!”

“My fine ass, you mean,” he shouts back and you can hear the smirk as he loops back to meet you so you could assume the correct positions.

It’s tricky, you decide.

You always knew it would be, but you never thought you’d actually try it out. In theory, Sugar and Spice was supposed to create a gap that was a trap for the bandit. Where Rock and Roll was a distraction and attack, with each aviator having a specific goal, Sugar and Spice held more risk. Here both pilots act as the distraction, while attempting to get tone at the same time. When you’d initially talked it out with Jake there were three possible formations. Option A was the Side by Side, where you fly parallel. Option B was the Stack, where one pilot flies directly above the other. And Option C, which you had succinctly named, the collision course; in which one approaches from the tail of the bandit, and the other nose.

It seemed Jake had decided to run the collision course. It took a few maneuvers, some creative flying in order to lure Maverick into the right space at the right time, but then you were approaching form his nose, while Jake came in from the tail.

“What the fuck?” was your dads response when he realized that he had to make a choice, continue to attempt tone on you, move before Jake got tone on him, or move before you got close enough to get tone on him.

He feigned a left, which you followed, but then he made a sharp turn right.

What Mav didn’t anticipate was the height change. Jake had moved up, just enough to angle himself perfectly, and to ensure that if your dad didn’t move from the game of chicken you were playing with him, you wouldn’t just crash into your own teammate.

When Maverick flipped a hard right, probably hoping to get tone on you, Jake got tone first, having seen the move coming, and prepared accordingly.

It was silent for a moment, as the tone rang out.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Maverick’s voice crackles over the comms as if he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

When you land Hangman’s already on the ground by your ladder, having rushed out of his jet after landing first.

You’re not even all the way down when his arms wrap around you and he pulls you down, “Holy shit, ‘Thena, that was fucking incredible!” he shouts, squeezing you for just a moment.

This is Jake, you think fondly. You liked Jake, a lot. You liked him a hell of a lot more than Hangman. Unfortunately, you knew that not everyone got to meet Jake, and that, you decided was a god damned shame.

“I mean, I always knew you were smart, ‘Thee but this idea really was something else entirely! And getting to test it out, I’m fucking ecstatic the height change worked….” he was rambling, and there was this twinkle in his eyes that made the green seem alive.

You hadn’t seen him ramble since before the announcement of the detachment, honestly not for a while if you’re honest. Maybe the last time you’d both had feet on solid ground instead of an Air Craft Carrier in the middle of the Pacific. He seemed younger, the southern drawl more evident as he talked too fast to fully enunciate each word.

“Seresin! Mitchell!” the shout from your dad forces Jake to stop, and you notice as his brain finally catches up, how he steps back from you and straightens out, how the excited gleam in his eye dies out a bit, and you frown at Jake, because you watch as he tucks the more authentic parts of himself away.

“Yes, Sir?” you ask, turning to your father who was approaching.

“Hell of a move, where’d you learn that?” he asks, looking between the two of you.

“Lieutenant Mitchell designed it, Sir. After a cat and mouse training exercise on the carrier between our squads,” and if your dad was shocked before, hearing Hangman of all people pay another pilot credit was the blackout on top of the bingo.

“It was a team effort, Sir,” you argue. “Then and now, I honestly wouldn’t have been able to do it with anyone else,” you admit, and something in both your father’s gaze, and Jake’s softens.

“Keep thinking outside the box. It’s a good skill, and you’ll need it,” your father praises you, before turning to head to Hondo for his push ups, giving the next group a bit of a break.

“Hey Maverick!” you shout after him, “Always think the 360!”

A random sentence that no one else would understand, but he would, and based off of the near prideful smile he shoots you before turning back around, you know he understood.

While your dad did his push ups and the next pairing came down, you stopped in an empty hallway. “Hey, Jake?”

“Yeah?” he asks, pausing and then turning back once he realized you were no longer right beside him.

“I’m happy it worked too. Thanks for not leaving me hanging,” you say softly.

He looks down and then back at you, brows furrowed as if something wasn’t adding up for him, “Mitchell, you should know by now, I’d never leave you,” he says in response, green eyes swirling with emotion, too many to place, but his words feel like so much more than just talking as your wingman.

...

everything: @butterfly-skinnylegend

athena’s tags: @omgbrianab @smoothdogsgirl @bazellawriz @sbrewer21 @inky-sun @djs8891 @rory-cakes @geeksareunique @je6291 @kee-0-kee @fanreader75 @whoismurphyslaw @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @thespillingvoid

if your tag is striked it means i was unable to tag you.

[sometimes-i-write-good]

Handling It

Top Gun: Maverick - Fanboy x f!reader [no use of y/n]

7.2k | Fanboy couldn’t remember the last time he punched someone square in the face. Today seemed as good a day as any. He’d forgotten the way pain blossomed behind his knuckles and webbed its way up his arm. Assault and battery charges were the last thing on his mind. Honestly the only thing on his mind when he threw that punch was you.

===

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

CW: Mentions of Abuse and Stalking, Breaking of Restraining Order, one-sided bar fight, insults and confrontation by a past abuser (there is no mentions or illusions to physical abuse, but please handle anything to do with emotional/mental abuse, stalking, and breaking of restraining orders with care. If this story isn’t for you, that’s okay. Just be safe <3) 

Author’s Note: I’m a sucker for the ‘who did this to you’ style fics or any kind of ‘you came? you called’ - also, sorry to any Brent’s who caught a stray today.

===

===

“I can’t name just one thing.” 

Mickey laughed over the lip of his beer bottle.  A quick sip to, hopefully, mask the pink gracing his cheeks, even though he knew the effort was futile at best.  “You know that.”

Reuben wouldn’t listen.  He never did.  It was one of the many qualities that made him such a great friend at times, and such a frustrating one tonight.  “One thing you like about her,” Payback pushed for an answer.  “It’s not that difficult of a question, Mick.” 

But it was. 

They went through this once a week.  Minimum.  He and Payback skirted off base early - easier to secure a spot at the bar before the crowds rolled in - all to sip a few beers and lament over the fact that they both missed the clause in their kickass fighter pilot careers where it stated relationships wouldn’t fall into their laps.  If anything, their chances at love were as out of reach as the horizon in front of them.  They could speed towards it all they wanted.  The line would still always be there, a hair’s breadth away. 

Reuben often started.  Making sure to take his time in overanalyzing every interaction he had that week with the woman who worked in the control tower.  Fanboy could agree she had the voice of an angel.  Payback’s infatuation was completely warranted.  Even before they found out she also looked like an angel, Mickey could tell she was a good fit for his wingman.  Reuben would flirt relentlessly and she, ever professional, would instruct them with a smile in her voice.  Occasionally she’d joke around, but not enough for a week by week breakdown.  Her clearing them for landing wasn’t the easiest thing to warp into a ‘dude, she likes you. You should totally ask her out.’  

Creating a conversation around you took no effort for Fanboy at all. 

“She’s like no one else I’ve ever met, Reuben.” Once Mickey got started, he couldn’t stop.  His callsign hadn’t exactly spawned into existence because of his cool, detached, and nonchalant approach towards anything he remotely liked.

“I know what you mean,” Payback said.  

He motioned to the bartender for another beer.  Mav and Penny had a date tonight.  Precisely why he and Mickey were sitting belly up to the bar so early on a Thursday afternoon.  No eavesdropping from Penny.  She was known for meddling if any of her regulars were remotely interested in each other.

“Day,” Payback sighed, “she has the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard.  You know what she did last week?” 

Fanboy arched a brow.  He did know what she did last week.  The past few months of being stationed here sat in his mind, carefully cataloged away.  From the batting eyelashes to the extremely obvious attempts to get Reuben to ask her out on a date.  Mickey knew Day’s entire day all thanks to Payback’s crush.  At this point, he felt like he knew her well enough to consider her a friend despite having never held a conversation with her. 

Payback could easily do the same.  There was one memory in particular Fanboy would break down again and again - Reuben truly had the patience of a saint. 

“Does your mother call you Garcia?”  You asked the first time he took you out for drinks.

The rest of the Dagger Squad milled about the bar.  You all had shown up together, along with some of your fellow TOPGUN instructors, but somehow Mickey paid for everyone’s drinks that night.  The two of you ended up tucked away in a booth by yourselves.  He couldn’t help but to think of it as a date.

“No, she doesn’t.”  He remembered how to form words somewhere between watching you polish off your drink and feeling you lean in closer to show your interest.

“Does she call you Fanboy?”  A sheepish grin and a small shake of his head.  “So what does she call you?” 

He leaned closer to you, stopping just before your noses could touch.  “She calls me Miguel.”

You tested the word out for yourself.  Reuben swears that was the moment Mickey fell in love, and he wasn’t entirely wrong.  Fanboy melted when he heard his name on your lips.  This shift in power felt dangerous.  At any point you could have this man in a puddle at your feet, willing to do anything for you.  Yet, Mickey felt nothing but trust.  You had never been one to abuse power - unless, of course, it was to give Hangman shit or get Payback back for something.

“But I can call you Mickey?”  You smiled one of the most stunning smiles Fanboy ever saw out of you.  How could he say no? 

And that’s how you wormed your way into a first name basis.  On top of becoming a featured subject for their Friday debriefs.  If Payback took a shot every time Fanboy asked “Do you think her asking to call me Mickey was her way of hitting on me?” he’d have alcohol poisoning. 

“Mickey!”  

His head snapped towards the sound of your voice like a moth to a flame.  Icarus to the sun.  Maverick to bad decisions.  Hangman to asshole comments.  Thousands of similes all as timeless as the way his heart ached in your presence.  A romance for the ages.  

He only wished it could get off the ground.  

Reuben slapped him on the shoulder.  He passed Fanboy a tequila shot saying, “You need to make a move tonight.” 

You moved towards the pair, splitting off from your friends.  Surely that was something Mickey could overanalyze later tonight.

“Yeah,” he answered absentmindedly.  “Sounds good.”

“Hi, Reuben.”  You saddled up to the bar.  Payback crushed you in a hug, and Mickey couldn’t ignore the jealousy flickering about in his chest.  When would he build up the courage to greet you with a hug?  Why couldn’t he approach anything that had to do with you with the same surefire confidence he could impart towards flying?

You squirmed in Payback’s grip.  “Too tight,” you playfully choked out.  “I’m dyin’ here.” 

Payback released you, taking care to carefully shove you closer to Mickey, and laughed.  “Good to see you too, Einstein.” 

Both you and Mickey shot him a look.  You’d been through your fair share of shitty callsigns. Mouth, which finally got axed after filing enough harassment claims, started because you’d mouthed off to your superior once during Plebe Summer and had your whole squad in the doghouse for two months.  It took another two months for the disdain to finally drop off whenever someone called you.  By then, though, people had been shifted around, and most at The Academy (those with extreme insecurity) didn’t appreciate having a woman attempting to be a future TOPGUN flier.  

Needless to say, Mouth in the hands of young men with sexism at the forefront of their minds quickly became a problem. So the remainder of your time at The Academy, and sometime after, marked you as IKEA.  I Know Everything Anyway.  Not nearly as cool as Maverick, Slider, or Iceman, but you’d rather be known for your brain than your hotheadedness. Talking over everyone simply had to happen in class.  Otherwise you weren’t going to be heard at all. 

Einstein came later; from Iceman himself.  He came to personally congratulate you on your perfect score.  “You’re a regular Einstein, aren’t you?”  He’d said, and it stuck.  Sometimes spoken in awe, sometimes with disgust, but mostly in a playful manner like Payback always managed. 

“Watch yourself, Payback.”  You plucked the shot from Mickey’s fingertips.  It was gone in a flash.  “Can I have another round, please?”  You asked the bartender, then turned towards Fanboy with a grin.  “You’re having one with me, right?  And one more, probably, to make things even.”

The one thing Reuben asked about earlier came to mind.  Your refusal to take shit.  That would have to be his favorite thing (in this moment because Fanboy knew he truly couldn’t choose a single aspect) about you.

“What’re you starin’ at?”  How you tilted your head to scrutinize him reminded Mickey of his childhood dog.  A stray his mother swore up and down would never come in the house, only to end up sleeping in bed with her each night.  Kind of like you - except you snuck your way into his heart rather than his bed.  “Are you okay?”

Mickey could feel the heat radiating off his face.  In comparing you to his childhood dog, he had gotten the image of you in his bed stuck in his mind.  What a dream, and not even in the typical horny way people used the term ‘in bed.’  Fanboy’s fantasy consisted of being able to hold you, talk to you for hours in the early hours of the morning, and revel in the knowledge that out of anyone in the world you could choose, you chose him.  Anything more that came with a domestic love like that would be a bonus. 

Of course, you weren’t a mind reader.  Thank god for that.  No stumbling apology would ever be enough to save Mickey from the embarrassment of daydreaming about you while you were next to him.  This crush steadily reached towards schoolgirl doodling your joint married name in a notebook levels of delusion.  Whoever said be friends with your crush never mentioned the crushing anxiety of ruining that friendship with any given misstep.  When did Mickey know it was safe to take the next step?

“Hmmm?”  The tips of his ears grew hot as you stared.  Somehow he managed to grasp every chance to make a fool of himself around you.  “Yeah,” he breathed, acutely aware of Payback’s smirk off to the side, “I’m fine.” 

“Are you doing a tequila shot?” 

“I don’t know about Mick here-” Reuben brought a hand down on Mickey’s shoulder- “but I will definitely be having one.”  He turned his attention to the bartender pouring the shots.  “Lime and salt too, please.”

Your eyebrows practically shot to your forehead.  “You can’t handle a tequila shot?  I would not have guessed that about you, Payback.” 

If only she knew how Reuben truly partied.  Fanboy knew him longest out of anyone on The Dagger Squad; they'd been a pair for most of his career.  

Payback brought a hand to his chest.  He gasped dramatically and Mickey rolled his eyes.  “We call him Payback because of all the shots I paid for that he promised to pay me back for.”

“I did pay you back!” 

“When?” 

“How many times have I saved your life?”

You laughed, doing nothing for the heat still trapped in Mickey’s cheeks.  “Isn’t that your job?”

“I could be shit at my job.”  Payback shrugged.  He shifted his position to reach for the salt on the table.  All the confidence of a man who didn’t own this tab - Mickey, unfortunately, would be paying for more of the squad’s drinks tonight.  “The lime and salt,” he explained, “are a part of the experience.  There’s a comradery to a ritual done together.  After this, we’re bonded for life.” 

Long ago Fanboy used to be envious of the way people flocked to Payback.  This simple act transformed into a performance.  Storytelling was an art, and Reuben perfected it.  He even had you succumbing to the supposed weakness of using a chaser.

To not stare you down while you licked your hand, Fanboy busied himself with the salt.  However, his eyes flickered to you for the briefest of seconds.  Right as he dragged his tongue over the fleshy part between his thumb and wrist.  The want must have been apparent.  He had always been the type to wear his emotions on his face.  

But you weren’t.  So when your eyes widened, Mickey paused.  A horrible thing to do considering his current position.   Your chest stilled for a second, eyes trained on him, and time stopped entirely.  The knowledge that you might just want him too sent Fanboy crashing back to reality.  He salted his hand with as steady a hand he could manage.

“A toast!”  You cleared your throat, eyes darting around before settling pointedly not on Fanyboy.  He could see your desperation for control.  “Payback?”

Payback lifted his shot glass.  The two of you followed suit.  “May it always be the other guy who says 'This drink's on me.’”

Between Fanboy’s annoyance and your giggle Reuben licked the salt, threw back the shot, and grabbed a lime wedge to bite down on.  He grinned around the peel.  “I win.” 

The competitive nature of fighter pilots took over.  Mickey completed the sequence with ease.  His bank account wouldn’t appreciate the smooth taste of the liquor but nearly dying those few months ago made him realize two things.  One, he really didn’t want to spend all his time pining over you - he’d rather be with you.  Two, he was getting too old for cheap liquor.

“That’s really- hey!”  You felt around blindly on the counter.  “Mickey, that's so not fair.” 

He brandished your lime slice.  “You’re supposed to do the shot, then complain about Payback.  Everyone knows this.” 

You stuck your bottom lip out in an overdramatic pout.  “I wanted that.”

“Oh, yeah?”  Sure, Fanboy may have deepened his voice slightly.  He might have seized the opportunity to slide forward, closer to you.  What was he supposed to do?  Ignore your blatant attempts at flirting because someone else was standing right there?  He’d been doing that for the entire time he’d known you.  At some point the third wheel needed to read the room.

Placing the lime wedge between your lips helped Payback do precisely that.  His gaze flicked back and forth between Fanboy and his thumb gently pushing the fruit to your mouth.  “I, uh,” Reuben fumbled for words, “I’ll go over there.” 

No one acknowledged his departure.  Fanboy kept his eyes locked on yours.  After all, you were the whole reason he was at the bar in the first place.  You pulled the lime into your mouth, and he let his thumb linger on your bottom lip for a moment before leaning back on the bar stool.

“Done pouting?”  

You popped the lime out of your mouth.  “I wasn’t pouting.”

Being a gentleman became so much harder when you ran your tongue over your lips to lick up all the juice.  The movement killed Fanboy’s ability to speak entirely.  Your smirk confirmed what he already knew.  You were well aware of his weaknesses.

“So, Mickey…”

Like the sound of his name falling from those very lips.

It had been a while since the two of you talked about something other than work.  Hell, Fanboy couldn’t remember the last time you and him were one on one.  A lie.  Payback debriefed that last one on one conversation with Mickey a few days ago.  He couldn’t help it.  Every day you were gentle on his mind. 

“What have you been fanboying over recently?”  You toyed with the citrus peel.  Focused intently on pushing the thing around the counter.  “Anything interesting?”

“You mean other than you?”  

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.  His eyes locked on yours.  Widening by the second with embarrassment.  “I mean-”

A shy smile played on your lips.  You looked pleased with yourself as you said, “Yeah, other than me.  I try not to talk about myself too much.  Don’t want to be Bagman Jr.”

Oh, Mickey could kiss you right now.

“Then what do you want to talk about?”  He asked.  Straightforward in the hopes of appearing more confident than he felt.  Fanboy could face certain death, he could face Cyclone, and he could face Bob in poker.  Your pretty face on the other hand almost always left him flustered.

You tapped a finger against your chin.  Faking a deep concentration to pull a smile out of Mickey.  “What was that TV show you’ve been dying to get everyone to watch, again?”

He instantly perked up.  “You sure you want to open that door?”

“You’re right.  Let’s have one more shot first,” you teased.  Your hand rested on Mickey’s forearm.  He tried hard not to stare at the headliner for flirty behavior and focused on your beautiful smile instead.  The whole time his heart threatened to beat out of his chest.  “I’m sure, Mickey.  I like listening to you talk.” 

And, damn, did Mickey talk.  Somewhere in the midst of laughter, finding excuses to touch one another, and conversation the two limes turned into seven.  The liquor worked any and all tension from Mickey.  Tipsy - maybe leaning more on drunk - confidence coursed through him.  Any flirty freudian slips he took in stride.  

Tequila made a new man out of Fanboy.  A closer version of himself, might be a better way to look at it.  How he normally attempted to pick women up at bars.  You weren’t any woman.  Precisely why so many shots were necessary in the first place.

“Is it Thursday today?”  You slurred your words together ever so slightly.  The drinks brought a warmth to your cheeks that hadn’t been there earlier.  Fanboy resisted the urge to reach out.  Scared the slightest touch would shatter the illusion.  “Thursday is darts day.” 

“Thursday is karaoke day,” Mickey corrected, his sentence also fuzzy around the edges.  “ ‘s why Coyote’s not here.” 

He focused on the concentrated furrow between your brow.  An expression that only ever came out when you were drinking.  Sober you calculated everything immediately.  A beer or two in a loading screen appeared while you clicked the pieces into place.  “But Bob’s here.” 

Bob and Javy often skipped Thursday’s at The Hard Deck.  Karaoke was bad enough with sober people who couldn’t sing.  Adding drunkenness to the equation ended in certain disaster.  Case in point - Javy “Coyote” Machado almost became Javy “Wolf” Machado because of all the drunken howling he did onstage instead of singing.  

He hadn’t shown his face at karaoke since.

“Bob is here at Phoenix’s request.”  That request being he lost a bet, but semantics were lost on the squad.  “My guess is she gets him to sing ‘Sweet Caroline.’”

“All that attention on him?  He’d melt.” 

Fanboy shook his head.  Bob was shy, sure, but he could handle the spotlight with enough time to prepare.  “No, but Rooster is absolutely going to take the next three slots after to prove he’s the better singer.”  

You laughed, and Fanboy could have sworn you used that as an excuse to lean in close and squeeze his bicep.  “Oh, I’m telling him you said that.”  You swung around in your stool, using Mickey’s arm to stabilize yourself, and searched for Rooster in the sea of people.

In your time surveying the crowd, Fanboy traced the rim of his empty shot glass and reveled in being your rock.  Could this be your future together?  Inside jokes over drinks.  Innocent touches with serious potential to transform into something more.

Tonight everything became clear.  All questions would be answered - good or bad - Mickey decided.  You were the brains.  IKEA.  You could tell him if you knew your feelings for him.  If this pipedream had potential or would swirl down the drain.

Nails pricking skin pulled Fanboy from his thoughts.  Your grip went stiff along with the rest of your body.  Any traces of a buzz disappeared entirely in this strange rigid poster.  He carefully pried your hand off him.  “What is it?”

“Brent.”  Your voice escaped you in a panicked whisper.

The name registered with Mickey briefly after wracking his tequila soaked brain for a moment longer than necessary.   A few weeks ago, during downtime between practice hops, everyone traded stories about the worst ex they had.  Payback shared his egregious tale about a girl he dated in high school stealing his dog when he didn’t ask her to prom, Phoenix told everyone how her blind date ended up storming into the kitchen of the restaurant they were at to cook his own meal, and Mickey gave the pared down version of his longest relationship ending when she moved halfway across the country to reunite with her… other boyfriend.

No one had anything nice to say.  Except for you.  

Your most recent ex, it seemed, had boundary issues that couldn’t be solved in a relationship with someone in the military.  The constant reminders and communication simply weren’t compatible with where you were at in your career.  Always moving around from base to base, fully prepared to be whisked away on a secret mission without a word of warning, didn’t bode well for the two of you.  So, you split.

Everyone - Hangman - blatantly accused you of still having feelings for this man.  Mickey couldn’t help but lean forward with interest, waiting for your answer.  He prepared himself for crushing disappointment.  You simply dismissed the notion with a gentle, “He’s not bad people.  I wish him nothing but the best, and I hope that best for him is far, far away from me.” 

But your body language conveyed the opposite.  You stood, swaying on your feet, and shook your head. Mickey was immediately off the barstool.  Buzz be damned.  He let himself assume the worst and boost some adrenaline into his system.  Overpowering the effects of the alcohol with stress always pulled Mickey’s mind back together.  He called a constant state of anxiety home.  Fight or flight was where he performed best.  Fanboy had medals to prove it. 

“Einstein?  Are you okay?”

One arm wrapped around your waist.  The look of shock on your face had Fanboy scared your legs would give out from beneath you at any given moment.  His earlier thought of being your rock solidified in this storm.  He wanted to be your constant, a source of comfort. 

If only he knew how to help you.

For a second you didn’t answer him.  Your eyes were locked on the man who had just passed through the threshold of The Hard Deck.  Then you nodded.  “Yeah.”  You sounded far away.  “Everything’s fine.” 

Fanboy followed your gaze.  He wanted to know exactly which man you side-eyed.  

Smaller and skinnier than a lot of the men in the bar, expected from someone who wasn’t training with the Navy seven days a week.  He appeared unassuming.  Still, you knuckles were turning white from where you were gripping the counter.  Unassuming didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of harm. 

“What do you need from me?”  He asked.

You swallowed, and your eyes finally met his.  Mickey could have cried.  You looked… small.  The feared Naval aviator he knew so well had been replaced with someone else.  Someone hurt, clearly because fear wasn’t an emotion you willingly showed.  In all of a few seconds you’d become human.

“Einstein,” he repeated in a slow, gentle voice.  “What do you need from me?”

“I have a restraining order on that man.”  Shame, which Fanboy couldn’t comprehend why, lit your eyes.  You turned back towards the bar.  Eyes trained on the pile of lime peels.  “For stalking.”  

Boundary issues seemed like a serious downplay.

Mickey slid behind you to shield you from view of anyone approaching.  He brought an arm around to rest against the bar.  To anyone else, this would look flirty, but really Fanboy wanted to give you the ability to whisper to him without anyone else overhearing.  “We should get you out of here.”

You shook your head.  “I don’t know where he is.”  The way your voice broke, broke Mickey’s heart. What did he do to you?  “I don’t want to move if I don’t know where he is.” 

“Okay.”  Mickey nodded.  “If I tell you where he’s at, then we’ll figure out if we’re using the back door or the front door.” 

He keeps his eyes locked on yours, searching your face for any sign that you heard him.  Gears turned behind your eyes.  Emotions clicked away, compartmentalized to deal with later.  You were using your training.  Adrenaline killed if not dealt with effectively.  

“You okay?”  He whispered.

“I don’t want you to look away.”  Selfishly, Mickey nodded.  He didn’t want to look away until he felt confident he wasn’t leaving you to drift about in your anxiety alone.  “I have to… to get myself under control.” 

The bartender passed by without a glance in their direction.  Conversation around them continued loudly.  As far as Mickey could tell, no one paid you two any mind at all.

“You’re doing a great job.”

You closed your eyes.  “Thank you, Mickey.”  When you opened your eyes, any trace of fear vanished.  Einstein, the Navy’s top aviator, would do what everyone else on a particularly traumatic mission did - deal with the emotional shit later, and eliminate the threat now.  “Ready to go?”

Right now?  He shouldn’t be shocked.  When you were in action, you didn’t hesitate. 

Mickey nodded.  Now was as good a time as any.  He held out a hand and helped you step around the barstool.  You clung to him, the only impression that Brent’s appearance still had you rattled.  It didn’t seem like a good time for Fanboy to peel himself away from you.  Having a hand on you might be smart anyway.  You wouldn’t get separated as you made your way through the crowd.

“There you are.”  

Brent stood an uncomfortably close foot away.  His teeth weren’t sharpened fangs, but his smile cut Mickey to the core regardless.  This was worse case scenario - coffin corner.  “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you, but my calls go straight to voicemail.” 

Hands still clasped, the two of you turned to face him.  You stared straight past him, right over his shoulder.  Only when it became clear you couldn’t pass by without him being able to lay a hand on you did you acknowledge him.  “Brent.” 

The grin grew.  Mickey straightened to full height.  He wished he had the intimidating extra few inches most of the others on Dagger Squad had.  Brent’s eyes slid Mickey’s way, down to your enjoined hands,  but snapped back up to Einstein quick.  Like you’d vanish given the slightest opportunity.

“Please move.”  Your voice gave no room for further conversation but Brent made an attempt anyway.

“Went by your place, but your windows were dark.”  

A pit of unease grew in Mickey’s stomach.  Einstein had been going through this all on her own.  None of them knew the baggage she carried.  Some squad they were.  He glanced your way, but you had the same blank look on your face.

Brent barreled on.  “Key didn’t work in the lock.  The one you kept under that stupid garden decoration was gone.”  His eyes bore into your face.  Too aggressive to be considered making eye contact.  Fanboy had only ever seen a power display like this in interrogation training.  “Did you move or something?”

You lifted a shoulder in a noncommittal shrug.  “If you’d like to contact me, you’ll have to do so through my lawyer.”

The mere implication Brent was breaking his restraining order changed the set of his jaw.  Muscles feathered and he pressed his lips together.  “But,” he said around a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “I’m here now.  Look.  This is the last time, I swear. I just need closure.” 

“If you’d like to contact me, you’ll have to do so through my lawyer.”  You gripped Mickey’s hand a bit tighter and moved to step around Brent, but he sidestepped in your way.  “Please move.” 

“It’s a public bar, darling.  I can stand wherever I fucking please.”  All attempts at playing nice slowly started to drip away.  “You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

Darling.  Mickey’s stomach rolled.  He felt your hand jerk backwards but neither of you could back up without the bar digging into your back.  Brent seemed well aware of such a fact.  He took a lazy step forward.  “Whenever you want to ditch this one-” he spoke about Fanboy without sparing him a glance- “I’d like to talk to you.” 

Enough was enough.  Fanboy stepped forward with intent.  What exactly said intent was he would figure out halfway through the confrontation.  He wasn’t exactly known for his foresight in his personal life.  The only thing that stopped him was you tugging him back.

With one small squeeze, you removed your hand from Mickey’s.

“You can talk to my fucking lawyer.”  You used the same sickly sweet voice Fanboy heard you use on higher up’s that refused to take you seriously.  “Until then, you need to move.  Now.”

“Can we just talk outside?”  Brent asked.  He reached out to grab for your arm, but you dodged his advances.   

“Please, do not touch me.”  Your words were firm and flat.  “I don’t want you touching me.” 

“You owe me the courtesy of a conversation.”

Mickey never wanted to white knight on your behalf, but there wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to let this douchebag get anywhere near leaving his sight with you let alone get all the way to the front doors.  He could handle you being mad at him for fighting a battle for you.  He couldn’t handle what would happen if you took on a fight like this by yourself when you didn’t have to. 

“Can we talk outside?  Or are you going to keep letting your friends gaslight you into thinking I’m always the bad guy?”

When you failed to answer, Brent rephrased his question.  It seemed your lack of emotional response wormed its way under his skin in a way he couldn’t hide. 

“Can you stop being such a bitch and answer me?”  He asked, reaching out once again to put his hands on you.  A mistake.

Everyone in the bar fell silent at the dull ‘thack’ of your fist connecting with Brent’s cheek.  Somewhere in the wide arsenal of cinema there was a scene just like this that ends in an all out brawl.  Here Brent’s head snapped to the side thanks to the sheer force you packed in a single punch.  He blinked in disbelief.

Mickey, on the other hand, saw the first forming a while ago. He wasn’t one for violence, but watching you remind everyone you weren’t one to take shit always made his mouth water. And watching you throw a punch may just be the hottest thing he’d seen all week.

Excusing, of course, the fact that your creep of an ex boyfriend still stood there in front of you with a dumbfounded look on his face like he had no clue what he could have done to deserve that.

You cleared your throat.  “I asked you not to touch me, please.” 

Fanboy grew tired of the niceties.  The second you looked towards him for help, he was telling Brent to fuck off and he wouldn’t give him any choice but to listen.

Payback paced behind Brent.  He inched close enough to catch Fanboy’s eye.  Mickey and Reuben could always reasonably assume the other’s thoughts without words.  Half the time they only talked because they liked to hear themselves speak.  One look from Fanboy said everything, though.  His wingman was headed out the front door on the phone with the cops in an instant.

All Fanboy had to do was keep things from escalating. 

Brent straightened, eyes shifting around to all the Navy’s finest, and brought a hand up to where you punched him.  For a second, Mickey foolishly thought he would swallow his pride.  Brent looked ready to tuck his tail, turn on his heel, and run out of the Hard Deck.  

No one said anything while they waited for Brent to respond.  If he left, no one would bother him too badly.  If he didn’t take the warning punch seriously, Mickey could almost bring himself to pity the poor fool.  Almost, but not really. 

Creepy smile devoid of emotion in place, Brent reached out politely once again and, this time, caught ahold of you.  “I’m not leaving until I get what I came for.”     

At the sight of Brent gripping your arm, the sound of your first name falling from his lips, Fanboy’s self-control snapped.  This thin string holding himself together split.  

His fist flew up faster than he could process.  Brent’s teeth clacked as his jaw came together.  Fanboy clipped your ex’s chin in the perfect uppercut, and he dropped straight to the floor.

Unconscious.

You, who talked so highly of this ex those few weeks ago that Fanboy convinced himself you were still in love with him, turned to Mickey with panic written across your features.

“You punched him!”  You shouted to Mickey, eyes flickering between your ex on the floor and Fanboy.  The angle wasn’t the slightest bit flattering for the poor guy.  

Fanboy couldn’t remember the last time he punched someone square in the face.  He’d forgotten the way pain blossomed behind his knuckles and webbed its way up his arm.  Assault and battery charges were the last thing on his mind.  Honestly the only thing on his mind when he threw that punch was you.

“You punched him first.”  Mickey shrugged.  He shook his hand out in a gesture he hoped passed as nonchalant.  Pain lingered, though, and he couldn’t help but grimace when he flexed his fingers.

“I had a reason.” 

“So did I.”  You crossed your arms and arched a brow.  Mickey sighed and stepped over Brent’s unconscious body.  “He didn’t respect you clearly stating you didn’t want to be touched.” 

“I was handling it.” 

“I know,” he said, and shrugged.  “I just handled it with you.” 

You opened your mouth to argue, but, when your gaze moved from Brent to Fanboy one more time, he could see gratefulness.  “I have to call my lawyer.” 

—

Those bright red knuckles of yours had yet to fade.  From the sound of it, Mickey could guess you’d hit his cheek bone and would be sporting some nasty bruises for a while.  He didn’t bother to look at his own hand.  It throbbed to an annoying degree.  The chances of his knuckle being split was exceptionally high, but your well being in the moment mattered far more. 

Neither of you wanted ice for your hands.  Fanboy hoped it would make him look tough.  You had been more preoccupied with leaving a voicemail explaining Brent had broken his restraining order and the police had been called and “to please call me back as soon as humanly possible.”

Then you both collapsed in a booth in the furthest corner possible of the Hard Deck because you wanted to see when the cops walked through the door rather than tuck yourself in the back.  Fanboy refused to stray far.  You hadn’t asked him to leave, which he took as a good sign.  At least you weren’t too mad at him for stepping in.

“That’s one hell of a right hook you’ve got there.”  

He hoped to ease the tension with a teasing joke.  In classic Fanboy fashion, he misread the timing. 

“My lawyer is not going to like this one bit.”  You dragged a hand over your face.  The one with the angry knuckles.  “She told me, ‘If he breaks his restraining order, you can’t just punch him.  As much as he might deserve it.’”  

Mickey smothered a grin.  He wanted to throw out a joke about you being the only one to find a lawyer who talks like Bob, but instead he motioned for your hand.  

“Here.”  A towel of half-melted ice sat next to him, waiting for the opportune moment for Mickey to refuse to let you suffer any longer.  You extended your hand across the table for him to grab.  He set the ice down gently, muttering a soft “sorry” at your hiss of pain.  “You handled yourself pretty well out there.” 

You made no move to take the ice pack or your hand away from Mickey.  So he sat there, icing your hand, and watched you wrestle with your reaction.  Fear, anger, grief, aggravation.  They all shuffled over your features like Payback trying to pick a song from the jukebox.

Eventually, you settled on a classic.  Humor as deflection.  “I think I’d feel better if my punch was a one and done.” 

He lifted the makeshift ice pack and made a show of inspecting your knuckles.  “I’d say you packed a pretty good punch.” 

That same shy, flirty smile from earlier came back.  “Thanks, Mickey.”

“Of course.”  Any attempt to appear cool shattered the second he saw the gratefulness in your eyes.  “I hope I didn’t overstep.  I’m not really up to date on the laws surrounding restraining orders or stalker exes.” 

You shook your head with a self-deprecating laugh.  “I don’t think you would be.  You don’t strike me as someone who would ever turn out like Brent.” 

“If I do, you have full permission to punch me.  Whether your lawyer advises it or not,” he teased, and relief flooded him when you laughed.

“It isn’t self-defense to punch someone violating their restraining order.  No matter how scared I was seeing how he found me.” 

The tone in the booth shifted towards seriousness.  Any trace of a smile on your face vanished, and you curled your fingers around Mickey’s hand.  “I used to live out in Texas.  Stationed there so often, I rented out an apartment because living on base didn’t feel permanent.  I wanted a place to call my own.” 

Mickey glanced out towards the bar full of the Navy’s best.  Payback stood watch over Brent, who had finally come to and was arguing with the wall that was Rooster, Hangman, and Bob.  

“He followed you from Texas?”  He asked.

You nodded.  Whatever you attempted to say got lost in the tears welling up behind your eyes.  “Sorry.”  You swallowed and blinked rapidly to clear the emotion from your face.  “I saw him around town a few times, but this was the first time I felt like he actually knew where I was.  Like it was more than a coincidence.  When he talked about coming around to my place… there’s this part of me that can’t tell if he was talking about back in Texas or where I live now.  It’s terrifying.” 

Fanboy hoped the cops would hurry up.  The sooner Brent could get out of here, the better.  One punch suddenly didn’t feel like enough, and if Mickey threw another he didn’t think he’d be able to stop.

“And there’s a good chance I’ll be charged for assault.”  Your laughter was ice cold.  “I shouldn’t have reacted like that.  I know better- god, I’m so fucking stupid.” 

Mickey squeezed your hand, drawing your attention back to him, and shook his head.  “You are not stupid.  He put his hands on you.” 

“That’s not self-defense either,” you sighed.  “He wasn’t attacking.  The cameras are going to show him reaching out with a smile and he’ll, at most, get a slap on his wrist.  I’m screwed.” 

“He was attacking.”

“Did you not hear what I just said?  He wasn’t attacking.” 

“He.  Was.  Attacking.”  Fanboy emphasized every word, then gestured to the bar you were in.  “There’s at least 20 people I can count who will give that same story without needing to be asked.  I’m sure Phoenix and Bob are already out there waiting for the cops so they can be the first to let them know what he did.”

You turned to look at the crowd of people, mouth quirking up into a smile when you spotted the rest of the squad keeping Brent on the other side of The Hard Deck.  Fanboy watched your gaze lock onto the camera capturing the man acting like a saint for the sake of the security camera in the corner of the room.  

The smile faltered.  “You really think so?”

“You’re one of us, Einstein.  We don’t care what base you’re coming in from.  You’re assigned to our squad and we take care of our own.”  

Mickey moved the ice pack and released your hand back to you.  “Don’t worry about the security cam footage, either.  The cops tend to take our word at face value.  Plus, Penny’s got a good reputation for not calling unless it’s warranted.  There hasn’t been a single bar fight she hasn’t sorted out herself..”

“That feels…”

“Like how Maverick would handle something?”  He supplied.

You nodded with a laugh.  “Exactly.”  Your eyes traveled over Mickey’s face.  “I appreciate you handling things with me today.  I’ve been dealing with this on my own for a few years now.  I forgot what it’s like to know someone has my back on the ground instead of only in the sky.”

“I’ve always got your back, Einstein.  Ground, sky, and all areas in between.” 

The opening practically presented itself to him in the way you smiled at him.  

“Look, I know this might not be the best time or anything…” Mickey trailed off.  He cleared his throat in an attempt to keep his nerves at bay.  What kind of moron decided to ask someone out immediately after an incident like this?  “But, after all the statements are taken, would you, maybe, want to take a walk along the beach with me?  Just get out of here, get your mind off everything?” 

You sat up straighter in the booth.  For once, Fanboy wished he wasn’t alone with you.  If Payback were here, he could confirm if your eyes actually lit up at the proposition or if Mickey’s wishful thinking clouded his mind again.  

“Are you asking me out on a date, Mickey?”  You asked.  His name passing over your lips, over the teasing smile spreading across your face, rendered him speechless.  

He cringed.  “I’m an idiot, right?”  Nervous laughter escaped him.  “I mean, I planned on asking you out tonight anyway.  If that changes anything.  I don’t want you to think I’m, like, stepping in to take advantage of a bad situation.  You can tell me no, Einstein.  I know it’s been a… I mean, the past hour has been a lot.

“But I don’t want you to be alone while you’re dealing with all of this.”  He turned in his seat to glance around for Phoenix.  “Should we call Nat over here?  Would you rather talk to her?  I’m serious, this doesn’t have to be a date.  I didn’t mean to overstep… What?  Why are you laughing at me?” 

You sat across the seat, hand smothering the giggles slipping through your smile.  “Am I rambling again?”  He asked, and you nodded.  “Sorry.  I’m usually better at dealing with emotional situations like this.” 

“I’d say you knocked it out of the park today,” you joked.  Fanboy could only groan at the pun.

The two of you sat in silence for a bit.  Mickey hoped the flush on his face appeared to be alcohol induced rather than his lapse of judgement.  Your phone sat between them, screen still black while you waited for your lawyer to get the voicemail and call you back. 

“It took you long enough.”

He tilted his head.  Much like how you did when you first walked in today.  “What?”

“Asking me out,” you clarified, “that took you a while.” 

“Is that a yes?”

You threw your head back and laughed in a way Fanboy never heard you laugh before.  A mix of elation and pure joy.  Maybe the sound of your voice saying his name could be his second favorite sound.  That laugh needed to be bottled away in his memories forever.  “Yes,” you said.  “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

“I really like you,” he said, then, after a moment’s consideration, he tacked your first name at the end of the sentence.  It only felt fitting.