#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.

[sebsxphia]

the cure for a bad day.

mickey ‘fanboy’ garcia x reader.

￫ description: mickey comes home wound tighter than ever and he’s looking for a sweet release.

￫ word count: 900.

￫ c/w: oral (m!receiving), blowjobs, deep throating, face fucking, praise, kissing and swearing.

￫ a/n: a while back i asked a question, “who would laugh out of pure joy after they got a really good blowjob?” and mickey was the common consensus, so this is the result! this is part of my 3.5K celly here! my main masterlist can be found here! 💌

The warmth of Mickey’s dark amber eyes were on you as you ran your hand up and over his shaft, giving it a couple of strokes with your own spit. You watched intently as his own gaze faltered with his eyelashes fluttering open and close. Mickey wanted to hold your gaze because your piercing eyes were drawing him under, but the sight and feel of your plush lips wrapping around his head and sinking further down his shaft, made him throw his head back completely in defeat.

He let out a long and strained groan. It came from deep within his torso, with the stress of today’s training leaving his body with every run of your lips over his cock. He let his body sink deeper into the blissful sensation before picking his head back up and looking down at you. Your eyes flicked back up to him and Mickey let out another grunt, followed by his praise. “Fucking hell, my angel.” He nestled his hands into your hair and gripped onto it tightly to tug on the roots. From the hold he had on you, he was able to guide your mouth rhythmically up and down his cock.

His day was shit, for lack of better word and when you offered to make it better for him, Mickey’s cock twitched beaten his flight suit, too exhausted to change on base. He was already feeling tightly wound and he knew it wasn’t going to take much movement from your slick mouth to bring him close to the edge.

Your hand came up to gently cradle at his balls. You gave them a gentle squeeze and rolled them in the palm of your hand. A gasp, followed by another guttural groan left Mickey’s throat. It always made your cunt clench around nothing at how low and deep Mickey’s moans became in the throws of pleasure.

His hips stuttered at the feeling of your nimble hand and he jerked his hips closer, pushing his painfully hard cock further down your throat. His tip hit the back of your throat and you let out a crude sounding gag in response. “Shit, baby!” Mickey’s head was thrown back again. The feeling was all consuming and he was putty in your hands. Although Mickey’s own hands were still tightly buried in your hair, you were now close enough to his pelvis that you could control your own strokes.

You pushed to the last inch of Mickey’s cock and your nose finally met his dark curls. You spluttered on the size of him and your jaw twinged with the first signs of aching. Through all the throat training you’d gone through, you still hadn’t grown accustomed to his size. However, you remembered to breathe steady through your nose, which was the most important thing Mickey had taught you.

You pushed your mouth over the last remaining inches of his length and he praised you for doing so. “That’s it, good girl.” You let your jaw relax and swallow responsively around him. The collection of saliva in your mouth started to drool out the corners and drip down onto your thighs as you knelt on your living room floor.

“Jesus, my sweet angel. I’m not gon’ hold on much longer, you feel so fuckin’ good.”

The sweet encouragement from Mickey was all you needed to push through a couple of lasting sucks. The head of his cock was hitting the back of your throat and that’s when you felt him twitch in your warm mouth.

“Shit, shit, shit. Baby angel, I’m gon’ come.” Mickey’s chest was rising and falling rapidly with heavy pants. Strangled groans left his mouth repeatedly, followed by your name as you pushed him over the precipice. His hips chased after his own orgasm and he thrusted down your throat further than before.

Mickey was using your mouth to let out his own frustration however he wanted and it made you dizzy. Your cunt clenched around nothing again and you moaned desperately around him. It was muffled, but the vibrations went straight through to Mickey and you could finally taste his salty cum spilling down your throat.

“That’s it, angel. Take it, take my cum. Good girl.” Mickey choked out as he caught up with his own high. You swallowed a handful more times to get his warm spend down you, before pulling off his shaft inch by inch. You came off with a satisfying, ‘pop’ and a trail of spit mixed with his cum connecting from your bottom lip to the head of his softening cock.

His hands un-tangled from your hair and they rested behind his head. He leaned back onto the sofa. Normally, Mickey would follow with a string of praises and ask to pleasure you next, but on this occasion all that met your eyes and ears was Mickey letting out a huff of laughter. His hands came back to cover his face and he followed with another string of belly aching laughter. His release was clearly well needed and you had a prideful smile on your face, all due to the fact that you could reduce your sweet boy to a puddle of pleasure induced laughter.

The giggles subsided and Mickey leant down to cup your warm cheeks in his hands, ducking down to place a soft kiss to your lips. “That felt so good, you have no idea, my sweet angel. Thank you.”

taglist: @beachbabey @tallrock35 @luckyladycreator2 @unmistakablyunknown

[bonitanightmxres]

512 || MICKEY 'FANBOY' GARCIA

PAIRING: Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia x fem! reader

SYNOPSIS: You finally make a move on the cute guy who lives in your apartment complex

WARNINGS: none

WORD COUNT: 1.2k

He was beautiful. That's all there was to it, really. His beautifully dark and curly hair, naturally brown and tanned skin like god enveloped him in the eternal warmth and sunshine of summer. But his smile? That was the killer-- the one feature of his that quite literally made your brain short circuit.

Seriously.

Last weekend, you'd gone down to the laundry room of the apartment complex, obviously planning on doing laundry and calling it a day. You thought about watching a movie and ordering take out, having a well-deserved chill day. When you got there, though, the only other person in there was him. You'd had conversations with him before, small-talk really, nothing past how are you, have a nice weekend, Merry Christmas. But that day? You'd found out his name--Mickey.

It was when he took the shirt off his back and tossed it into the washing machine that things went awry. You became so intoxicated by the way his thin gold chains hung around his neck and fell at his toned chest, the way the little curls of his hair clung to his forehead from sweating in the California heat, and even the way his biceps protruded as he lifted the detergent with ease. Running your hands in his hair as he lazily slept or holding onto his muscular arm were only two of the more tame thoughts that ran through your head.

Mickey smiled and wished you a good weekend before he left, and it was the stupidly gorgeous smile that fried your brain, but you wouldn't know until you were completely done with laundry that day. Because while you were fantasizing about Mickey, you'd poured bleach into your laundry instead of detergent--ruining your entire load.

Since then, you'd seen him around like you always had--occasionally through the halls, the stairwell, or the parking lot. Now, you stood in the elevator bringing groceries up to your apartment, walking slowly to your door, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mickey. This was usually around the time he left for the gym and blessed you with an image of his built arms in a tank top.

Turning the corner, you saw his back as he locked the door to his home. You weren’t one for sports, but the backwards Dodgers cap on his head made you want to learn about baseball. 

Tired of the hallway conversations you would have with Mickey, you wanted to do something about it. By now, you were crushing hard on him and you knew yourself well enough to know that if you kept on pretending like you had no feelings for him, you’d end up embarrassing yourself in front of him somehow. Or even worse, what if you were too late and some other girl swoops in and steals him?

Okay, you thought, this is it. I’m gonna do it.

Mickey’s apartment wasn’t that far from yours, only a few doors down. As you’re about to open your mouth to speak, one of your neighbors sees you, and offers to help you with your groceries. If it were any other neighbor, you would’ve accepted the help, you wouldn’t have minded it. But this one in particular had been trying to get in your pants ever since you moved into the complex years ago. You didn’t even remember his name, and he brought a new girl around nearly every few weeks. If that wasn’t the biggest red flag, you weren’t sure what was. By the time you fend this guy off, Mickey’s already jogging down the stairs with his earbuds in and leaves. 

Well, there goes that. So much for courage. No, you don’t lose hope. You can’t. 

A few days later, you’re in the parking lot, getting ready to leave, and Mickey just arrives. Of course, that’s just your luck. He’s a few cars away, but he spots you and waves, “You look nice!”

You. Look. Nice.

Repeating the words in your head, you almost forget to thank him. It was only a simple summer dress to meet your friends for dinner, and sure you’d spent more time than usual on your hair and makeup just in case you ran into him, but you weren’t really expecting him to actually compliment you. Either way, his words live in your head 24/7.

The next day, you’re on a mission. It’s a Saturday–the Saturday, actually. Mickey’s usually home on Saturdays. It’s the Saturday that you decide to act. It's your chance to finally make a move, and honestly, what’s the worst that can happen?

You spend all morning thinking about how you’re going to ask him, to the point that you almost chicken out. 

But you don’t. 

Walking down the hall, you knock on his door and you think about how chipped the paint is on all of the apartment doors. Someone should fix that. 

The door swings open, and you swear you can hear your heart shatter into a million pieces, stabbing every inch of your chest.

A young girl answers the door, probably your age, but she’s so gorgeous. Her dark hair is waist-length and wavy, neatly pinned out of her face. Her summer dress is even prettier than the ones you have, though you’re pretty sure you have the same exact one from Target. Somehow she makes it look prettier. Her makeup and her skin are flawless, like Instagram model flawless. She smiles at you, and she has a pretty smile– a bright one that makes you wonder what kind of toothpaste she uses. 

Of course a girl like this would be with him, she’d be dumb not to be. 

“I-I’m sorry what did you say?” You ask. Totally lost in your own mind, you hadn’t realized she’d spoken.

“No worries,” she laughs lightly–even her laugh is pretty. “I asked if you were looking for my brother.”

“Y-your brother?”

“Yeah,” she turns her head back into the apartment, yelling, “Mickey! Your pretty neighbor is looking for you! The one you have a crush on!”

Of course. She was his sister. Now you feel like an idiot, but a happy idiot–a happy idiot who still has a chance.

“Hey,” Mickey stumbles out of the apartment, blushing, “Sorry about my sister. She’s visiting for the weekend and she’s a bit much.”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t think so.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Really?” 

“Yeah,” you begin, heart beating faster and faster and you’re losing courage by the second. “Your pretty neighbor, the one you have a crush on, kinda has a crush on you too.” 

Mickey smiles that stupidly beautiful smile again, and leans against the wall. “Oh, does she now?” 

You can’t help but smile back. “She does. And she thinks that if you’re not busy next weekend you two should go out.”

“I think we should too.”

You and Mickey stand there smiling awkwardly at each other until his sister comes out, whispering, “This is the part where you exchange numbers.”

Laughing and fumbling with your phones, you do as you’re told. When you finally walk back to your apartment, you can still hear his sister, “It’s about damn time! I was getting sick of hearing you talk about her and not making a move!”

As you squeal from excitement into a pillow on your couch, your phone goes off.

Mickey: I can’t wait until next week, how about tomorrow? We can have lunch :)

You: sounds like a plan. meet you at your place?

Mickey: It’s a date then. Know which apartment it is?

You roll your eyes playfully at his awful attempt at a joke. How couldn’t you know which apartment he lived in? After all, it was the first thing you knew about him and before he was Mickey, he was “the boy in apartment 512”.

------

a/n: this is honestly my fav. @angelic-dreams13 i think you'll like this

[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.

[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. ✈️❤️

[lazypeachsoul]

Are you a good girl?

Summary: First meetings are important, but what happens when Fanboy forgets to actually tell you before hand? 

Pairing: Mickey "Fanboy" García x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.6k (whoops)

Rating: No warnings, except maybe a bit cringe worthy.

A/N: It's been a while since I've written something and it's the first time I've ever written for Top Gun, so please be gentle. Also, this is completely inspired by an episode of Grey's Anatomy Oh, and english isn't my first language so be warned.

Few things could make the sweltering San Diego heat better for the troops stationed at MCAS Miramar base, and one of them was the Annual Miramar Air Show. For the US Armed forces it provided a chance to bring the Navy closer to the civilians, but for most of the troops there stationed it was the best occasion to receive their families in their workplace without the higher ups grumbling about loss of time. An open doors day of sorts. 

And this occasion proved even more important for the naval aviators who could show said families how incredibly cool their jobs were – and show off their elite skills–. The Dagger Squad had been talking and planning about this occasion since the days were announced. And the evening before the exhibition was not going to be different. The Hard Deck was buzzing with conversations about the upcoming weekend of uninhibited air time and family visits. Sitting around the pool table –for once not competing against each other for a win– aviators exchanged attendance lists.

“My mother is arriving just in time for the first show. She 's been talking my ear off about not wanting to miss anything.” Coyote explained before taking a swig of his beer. “I think she just wants to snoop around the base for a bit.”

Laughs could be heard all around the table, the air relaxed and happy. Conversations about family were usually scarce, not because of a lack of love but of understanding that in difficult situations the thought of loved ones can break your heart more than mend it. Especially in the presence of people who suffered loss because of this job like Rooster. But the Airshow was the moment when those conversations could occur without fear. 

“What about you Fanboy? Your girl is coming, right?” Payback asked his partner who was playing with the sticker of his beer bottle.

“Yeah, she’s pretty excited too. Said she wants to see Phoenix fly, something about her being the best pilot on the squad.”

A confident I am was spoken before laughter turned into playful groans of disagreement. Mickey’s girl had spent evenings in The Hard Deck with the pilots to the point of becoming almost an honorary member of the squad, so her opinions about their abilities raised more playfulness than bad blood. Although Payback’s face of betrayal was very convincing. 

“My mother and grandmother are coming too. First time visiting me on base.” Mickey spoke bashfully. His excitement was difficult to contain at the thought of showing the women who had raised him, and supported him when he joined the Navy, how his hard work paid off. “They don’t want to miss any of the demos either.”

“That 's great! Now I get to show off to Abuela García instead of your girl since she prefers other pilots.” Payback joked and both men raised their beers as kind of a promise to fly their best. “Speaking of, is she excited to finally meet your family? You’ve been dating for a while, took you long enough to introduce them…” 

The words died in the pilot's mouth when he saw his WSO’s face fall. And the same reaction could be seen all around the table, small conversations stopping to look at Fanboy’s face for an answer. The entire squad knew how important those three women were for their team mate –and being as close as they were to Mickey’s girlfriend they also knew how important it was for her–, so their interest in the situation was high. 

“Shit, Mickey” And when no callsign was used the importance of the situation really dawned. “You haven’t told your girlfriend?”

And fuck, Mickey knew there was something he was missing. He really wished he could blame work or the stress of preparing the airshow, but the truth was that it really had just escaped his mind in between all the excitement. Nothing would go wrong, right? 

The next morning was an early one for the Dagger Squad, and out of solidarity with your boyfriend Mickey you woke up just as early to make him breakfast and show him all your support. What you didn’t expect is to be on the receiving end of all his affections. It started with a good morning kiss that left you breathless followed by cuddles while you tried to brush your teeth and wash your face. You weren’t about to complain, because if there was one thing in this world that you really loved was any moment spent next to him, but it made some part of your brain light up with curiosity. 

Still thinking -maybe overthinking– about his weird behavior you walked into the kitchen to find the star of the day pushing a mug full of coffee in your direction. Maybe the nerves of the show were making him antsy and he needed to clear his mind, and that’s why he took over all the acts of service possible in the world. Your internal monologue was interrupted when he placed the mug in your hands and more or less crashed into you in a mess of kisses and good mornings. 

“M-Mickey…Baby, careful.” You murmured against his lips with a smile on your face.

“I’m trying but you just look so good I need to keep you close.” He mumbled against your cheek, before pushing back a little to drink from his own cup. 

You lifted the coffee mug to your lips when something caught your attention. In your hand was his Star Trek mug. And for anyone who didn’t wake up next to Mickey everyday it would just be a nod to his callsign, but you knew the deeper story. Because when you had made breakfast for the first time for Mickey you used that mug for your coffee and he had to bashfully explain that it was his good luck mug and that you could use it but you should be super careful because, you know, it was very important. And ever since that mug had remained a ritual before big missions or events. So why wasn’t he using it for himself if he’s the one supposed to fly? 

“Everything good, my love?” He asked nervously with a tiny smile behind his mug. See Miguel García was a lot of things –a great boyfriend, even better son and grandson, one of the best WSOs ever seen…– but above all he was smiley. Worthy of a toothpaste commercial smiley. So when you saw that his smile didn’t reach his eyes you knew. 

“Good luck mug. Why would I need good luck, Mickey?” You drank a big gulp, searching for the energy you would need for whatever was coming your way.

“Yeah…uh… luck is always good.” He tried to explain but your poor boyfriend could never find it in his heart to lie. “I might have forgotten to tell you something kind of important.”

Okay, maybe not the conversation you might want to have at 7:00 am on a saturday on your first cup of coffee but if it was important you couldn’t say no. Mickey’s face looked worried and that worried you. Was something wrong at work? Is he feeling sick? Has something important happened? In the middle of coming up with your thousands of theories the doorbell rang. And the way your boyfriends face fell you knew whatever he forgot to tell you was behind that door. 

Moving out of the kitchen and into the foyer you took a peek through the peephole to find the same two women whose picture rested in your living room. No way. No way you were about to meet the two most important women of your boyfriend's life while wearing your ratty house clothes and disheveled hair. You turned to look at the door of the kitchen and you saw his head peeking out, looking back at you with the biggest case of puppy eyes ever seen. He was mouthing something that looked like ‘sorry’ and ‘i love you’, but you just couldn’t process it at that moment. 

Looking at yourself in the mirror you tried to smooth your hair and the wrinkles on your t-shirt, but quickly abandoned it when you realized that’s the best you would do. Meanwhile, Mickey had moved towards your position and smiled encouragingly at you in the mirror before kissing the back of your head lovingly and turning towards the door. Taking a deep breath you turned towards the door with the biggest smile you could muster.

“¡Mamá! ¡Abuela!” Your boyfriend exclaimed before throwing himself towards the two women. And just hearing the love in his voice made you almost forget the complicated situation he left you in. “Pasen. Give me your bags, they must be heavy.” 

Being a spectator to this reunion you felt out of place, not really knowing how to react. At the end you decided to just move aside to allow the two women to enter the house, although they were too busy squishing your boyfriend's face and fussing over him. Slowly the three of them made their way inside and that’s when Mickey held your hand before speaking at the two women. They looked at you almost expectantly, knowing who you were but waiting for the official introduction. Probably the same way you were looking at them, although you could see something deeper in Abuela’s eyes. 

“Ma, Abuela. I want you to meet my girlfriend-” 

His introduction was cut short when Abuela stepped forward and held your cheeks with a soft grip. Your breath caught in your face at the unexpected move and looking at the other two García you didn’t know if you should relax or be even more scared. 

“Nice to meet you ma’am-” 

“Are you a good girl?” Out of all the things you would have expected, that wasn't on the list.

“I-am I- What?” 

“A good girl. I don’t mean perfect, I mean relatively speaking. Are you?”

“Yes.” You answered with probably too much emphasis but nothing could have prepared you for this conversation.

“How many sexual partners have you had?” And it was that question that seemed to snap your boyfriend out of his stupor because he seemed to choke on air and took a step towards you.

“Abuela-” But it was quickly shushed by the older woman.

“Um…six. No, seven.” You replied meekly. It was too early for this and you didn’t have the clearest mind since you hadn’t even drunk your coffee. “Kind of six..kind of seven.” 

You could feel your skin get hotter by the minute because even if deep down you knew your answer wasn’t bad and Abuela had said she wouldn’t judge, what if she did? What if she didn’t approve? Jesus, she was going to hate you.

“Criminal record?” She asked with a face that rivaled that of any Admiral in Miramar and a beautiful accent that you were kind of sad her grandson didn’t share. 

“Speeding ticket.” Why were you more scared to lie to this woman than to the police itself?

“How fast?”

“12 miles over.” You answered and you realized that if you hadn’t messed up with the previous question you definitely messed up when she gasped and her hands fell from your face.

“That 's fast!” Damn it, not a good answer.

“It wasn’t too fast.” You started but seeing the woman’s serious face you cracked. “It was way too fast. I’m sorry. But I was in a rush because Mickey had told me he needed me and I thought something happened.” 

You rambled your explanation trying to look at your boyfriend to silently ask for help. But he only answered your silent pleas with a forced smile and a small shrug. Coward. Meanwhile, Mickey’s mother looked at you with a genuine smile which was unexpected seeing as you thought you were over in their eyes. 

“Well, I don’t suppose you could tell me where I can leave my jacket, can you? It’s been a long trip, mija.” 

Even if you wanted to be shocked at the change in her voice you jumped into the opportunity to leave the foyer where the entire interrogation had taken place. You took their bags that had been discarded on the floor and showed them the house, leaving them contemplating the living room with your boyfriend with the excuse of needing to change for the airshow. 

You were in the middle of putting on your blouse when the door to the bedroom opened and the man of the hour appeared. He closed the door almost all the way and tried to walk you way before he was hit in the face with the t-shirt of your pajamas. 

“You didn’t just let me embarrass myself like that.” You whisper-yelled to avoid your guests hearing you tearing their darling boy a new one. 

“Mi amor. Beautiful. You know how much I love you.” He spoke huskly while walking closer to your position. And damn him for knowing you so well and for knowing how you reacted to that voice. “I promise I didn’t want to frame you. It slipped my mind with all the excitement. I’m sorry.”

He wrapped his arms around you once he made sure you wouldn’t push him away and you were grateful the height difference allowed you to rest your face against his chest. He rocked you slowly whispering sweet nothings and you couldn’t help but start to melt into his touch.

“They hate me.” You spoke muffled by his t-shirt. “She hates me.”

He chuckled and squeezed a bit harder. “She doesn’t hate you. Trust me she would have let you know if she hated you.” His chin rested on top of your head and you could hear his words reverberate in his chest. “Also, you looked really cute being interrogated. Like a deer in the headlights.” 

His laugh reverberated even stronger than his voice and you smiled against him before you pinched his side. He groaned and pushed back, but now it was your moment to laugh and squeeze him. “And you looked like a coward. What kind of man doesn’t defend his girlfriend when she’s being interrogated?”

“The one who got on his grandmother’s bad side once and has no intention of ever doing it again.”

The airshow went as good as anyone could have expected. The weather couldn’t have been nicer and the crowds of visitors went wild when they saw all the performers. Having finished their turn and after clocking out for the day, the Dagger Squad made their way towards the camping spot where their families were waiting for them. Payback and Fanboy walked side by side talking about their performance and how cool they looked up there when the picnics came into view. 

Payback could see the very familiar face of his backseater’s girlfriend sitting on one of the picnic tables talking animatedly with two older women who looked too much like Fanboy to not be related. He gently slapped the younger man’s chest and discreetly pointed at the image. 

“I guess it went well even without a warning.” Payback spoke jokingly, the good relations between the women obvious.

“It went…well. Not a single bump or problem.” Fanboy confirmed way too sure of himself, which in reality only showed his pilot that something had indeed happened. 

“If I ask her, will she say the same?”

“Nope.”

Payback’s chuckle could be heard from the tables now that they were closer because you raised your head to look for the owner of the contagious laugh. Once you saw the pair walking your way you smiled at them, leaving Fanboy almost without breath at the image. 

“You don’t deserve her man. I would leave you sleeping on the couch for a month after that stunt.”

“I really don’t.” He exclaimed, patting his friend on the shoulder as a goodbye before jogging the rest of the way to your table. Eager to spend the rest of his day –and weekend– with his girls.

[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

[beachbabey]

Your Girlfriend

Mickey x reader (jake's girlfriends) college!au

Summary: mickey's roommate has a new girlfriend, and it wouldn't hurt so much if she wasn't around so much. - inspired by 'your girlfriend' by blossoms

playlist - masterlist

C/W: smut, minors do not interact, pining, college!au, unrequited love, mickey has the mopiest masturbating session of his life

word count: approx 800

He knows he shouldn't be so petty, discreetly scowling at them from the moment he stepped through the door, seeing you both cuddled up on that lumpy couch he and jake found on the side of the road and carried all the way to their dorms in their first year. He blames it on being tired after his morning lecture, but anybody could tell.

All he wanted was a peaceful night, maybe he'd go to the gym after dinner, if he could stomach actually going into the kitchen, praying he could keep the two of you making out, completely ignoring the movie playing, in his peripherals and just focus on the music coming from his headphones, knowing his luck, a song you both listen to would come on, you had so much in common, same music taste, same style, fuck, you even had the same favourite takeout, the small deli just a couple of blocks away from your dorm.

"Dude! we're doing a Star Wars marathon, you wanna join?" Jake's ever-perky voice cuts through his self-loathing monologue

"Babe you know he prefers Star Trek, 'it's more realistic' remember?" you note with a small giggle, your voice dropping to mimic the laidback, chummy tone he always had with you. His eyes flit to you for a second, you look so comfy and content, giving him a sleepy little grin, and he hates that it makes all the childish jealousy he's held onto for the last few months completely fizzle out of him as he gives you a little knowing smile at your impression of him. 

Not for long though

"Uh, nah I'm good guys, class really took it out of me today, y'all enjoy though" his voice sounded genuinely drained as he turns to kick his shoes off, locking the door, quickly beelining to the kitchen for a drink, silently cursing whoever made the dorm, was there really a need for an open plan kitchen?? he could see you both from the fridge, so sickly in love the way only 20 somethings could be. he felt like his grandfather, grumbling about how close you always were to each other and he'd be embarrassed about it if he could just stop staring at the love-drunk eyes you were giving his roommate

It was ridiculous how thin the walls were in this place

If he listened close enough, he could hear Jake panting through the walls, the sound of your ass smacking into Jake’s hips, even the fucking springs in the old mattress straining under the activity. 

He just wanted a quiet night of gaming in his room, wanting to be distracted from you, and this is what he decided was best for that. Clubbing wouldn’t help, all the faces of the girls he dances with just turn into yours, and the low lights and shitty beer didn’t help him at all.  

As your moans get louder and whinier, he sighs dejectedly rips his headphone off and digs his hand into his pants, cock already half hard and he huffs a spiteful laugh to himself, stroking himself in time to Jake's headboard hitting his wall. He moans oh so quietly to himself, his hand coming up to palm over the tip of his cock, collecting the drops of precum that had started to pool there, wondering if your pussy would squeeze around him as tight as his palm does, the mere thought making his hips buck up and his head fall back, he could feel the rhythmic thumping of wood against plaster on his head, spurring him to fuck his hand faster, sweat starting to bead at his temples.

“M’gonna cum” he mumbles to himself, teeth knawing on his bottom lip in desperation for something to ground him

Go on baby, did so good for me, cum, cum for me 

He hears you, so clearly in his head, and has to clap his free hand over his mouth, afraid that his groan would be so loud, you’d both hear him, even over the crash of the bed against the wall. And that one line plays over and over in his mind. And it’s all that it takes for him to let go, your name in his lungs as he cums. 

It sprays all over his stomach and it feels so good it’s bad; It feels like shame, lust, greed and you.

He wished it was you, dripping all over his thighs, wishes he had the weight of your body on his chest, hearing your fucked out whimpers as he slides out of you, placing gentle kisses all over the hickeys he gave before fucking you, running as quietly as he could to the bathroom for a flannel, trying not to alert his roommate even though they almost definitely heard. 

Mickey wouldn’t mind, though, everyone should know how good he makes you feel, how good he loves you. 

How hard he makes you cum.

[planetpiastri]

💝+ a kiss that isn't meant to happen but does so anyway from this list with fanboy🤍

this turned out VERY unserious but like 90s romcom unserious if that makes sense? anyways i hope you enjoy!! | [wc - 1.1k]

This was bad. This was very, very bad. You couldn’t recall a time when you’d been in a situation this bad.

Mickey was off limits. Before you ever even met him, you’d set that rule for yourself. It didn’t matter that with every little thing your friend told you about him, you found yourself liking him more and more. It didn’t matter that when you did finally meet, you hit things off uncomfortably well. It didn’t matter that somewhere along the line he’d become one of your closest friends. It didn’t matter that their relationship had only lasted a couple months and had ended amicably. It didn’t matter that you’d fallen hopelessly, utterly in love with him.

He was your friend’s ex-boyfriend, which meant he was off limits. 

And now you were sitting next to him at a baseball game, the seats so small you were practically in his lap, and his arm was around the back of your chair.

This was very bad.

“These are good seats,” you said for maybe the billionth time.

“Thanks. I won them on the radio,” he replied for the billion-and-first time.

You tried desperately not to read into the fact that when Mickey won Dodgers tickets, you had been the first one he’d called, his voice loud and exuberant as he word-vomited: “I bought tickets no I didn’t buy them I won them I won Dodgers tickets I was the seventeenth caller and I won tickets there’s two of them for this Saturday are you free do you want to come do you want to come to a Dodgers game with me please?” 

Mickey was one of your best friends, and you were one of his. It made sense that he’d want to take you with him to an event like this. Did you know much about baseball? No, not really. But you knew enough to know when to cheer and when to boo and when to shout, “Aw, come on!”

This made sense. This was completely platonic. There wasn’t anything to read into here. 

Maybe if you said it to yourself enough, you’d start to believe it, too.

On the field, the players scrambled into action. A Dodgers player sprinted for third and got tagged out. The stands roared.

“Aw, come on!” you said.

Mickey glanced at you and laughed. His arm moved, bumping against your shoulders, and you went stiff as a board. Surely he knew what he was doing. So why the hell was he doing it?

He must be messing with you. Mickey was always teasing you like that. The other night at the bar Hangman had made some offhand comment about ‘When are you two going to just get together?,’ and ever since that, Mickey had been playing things up around everyone. That must be what this was. He was just teasing you, enjoying watching you squirm.

This was normal. Mickey was off limits. 

“Hey,” he said suddenly, his mouth so close to your ear that you nearly jumped out of your skin. “Can I ask you a question?”

“I’m gonna get something to drink!” you almost yelled, standing so abruptly that your shoulder knocked against Mickey’s chin. You immediately cringed, reaching out to cup his face and blurting, “Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“S'okay,” Mickey grunted. “Are you okay?”

You opened your mouth to reply and apologize again, but a whistle blared down on the field. The teams began to switch, and music began to play, and the jumbotron began to play a kitschy, red-and-pink heart animation.

“Here comes that kiss cam!” the announcer said loudly. “Pucker up, fans!”

“God, I’m thirsty!” you said hoarsely. “Do you want a drink, Mickey? Maybe some ice for your face?”

His hands were still on your wrists, his gaze serious. “I really need to ask you something.”

“Wouldn’t you rather ask me with a nice, cold Coke in your hand?” you blurted, panicked heat coursing through your skin.

Overhead, the announcer said, “Alright, you two, how about a kiss?” You cast a quick glance towards the jumbotron as an elderly couple chastely pressed their lips together. The crowd aww-ed.

“No, I'm okay,” said Mickey, tugging at your arms. “Can’t you sit down?”

“Or a hot dog,” you rambled, your mouth working independently of your brain. “Or nachos! Don’t you want nachos?”

“Are you okay?” asked Mickey, his eyebrows knitting in concern. “Maybe you do need some water.”

On the jumbotron, the camera found a little boy sitting with his mother in an oversized Dodgers jersey. The announcer said, “And a kiss for mom! How sweet.”

“I’m okay,” you said quickly. “It’s just hot up here. Don’t you think it’s hot up here? Mickey, can you let go of my hands, please?”

He did, but he angled his legs across the aisle so you couldn’t run away. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No!” you yelped, scrubbing your hands across your face. “No, you didn’t—you haven’t—you’re great. This is just me.”

“But I just—”

“And how about these two? Oh, are we interrupting something?” said the announcer, and when you jerked your head to look over at the jumbotron, you saw yourself.

This could not be happening.

“How about a kiss?” said the announcer.

You sat down in your seat, hard, your face burning. Your heart was pounding your chest, and you could feel your blood pulsing in your head. Mickey was shaking you gently and saying something, and when you looked over at him, everything else seemed to fade away.

“We don’t have to,” he was saying, trying to give you a bolstering smile.

You said something. Later, you’d have a hard time remembering what exactly it was you said, but you were pretty sure it was something like, “I wish we could.” 

“We’re waiting,” said the announcer. People were chanting, encouraging you.

“We shouldn’t,” you said.

“Shouldn’t we?” said Mickey. His fingers brushed the hair at your temple, grounding you as his hand cupped the side of your head.

“What about that question you wanted to ask?” you murmured, unable to focus on anything except his eyes, pinning you in place.

“Forget the question,” said Mickey, and then his other hand came up to the other side of your face and he kissed you. You sighed into his mouth, which maybe would have been embarrassing, but this was Mickey. If you couldn’t be yourself with him, you couldn’t be yourself with anyone.

And what a kiss. It was like listening to your favorite song—every rhythm, every beat, every crescendo and every fade, it was all familiar and expected and anticipated and satisfying.

When he pulled away, you felt calm—and profoundly silly. The kiss cam was long gone; the game was going again. It was just you and Mickey in the seats he had won on the radio.

Your mouth fumbled for words. “I didn’t mean—I didn’t—I just—I didn’t plan for this.”

That more than anything else is what finally made Mickey break into a beautiful, wide smile. “Well, jeez,” he said, “I’d sure hope not.”

And then he kissed you again.

[purplevortexx]

THE DANGER WE FACE ⌖ PROLOGUE ⌖ FIGURES IN THE DARK

⌖add yourself to my tag list(s) here ⌖

pairing ⌖ Hacker! Fanboy X Agent! Reader

warnings ⌖ dark themes, mentions of death and blood

a/n ⌖ the first instalment of the dagger security series! Thanks to Jenn ( @callsignmeiga ) for the awesome graphics! Lots more to come. As always feedback is appreciated! 🫶

It’s raining outside when a figure steps into the warmth of their work room. Footsteps sound on the concrete floor, the only competing sound being the soft whirring of an extreme array of technical equipment lining the left wall of the room. The figure makes their way over to the row of computer monitors spread across a table which is pressed snugly to the wall, each monitor displaying different data. As their eyes scan over the monitors, a dark smile lifts at the corner of the fugues lips. The code is still running across one screen, a programme helping to check for any possible errors. So far 80% done and no errors detected. Everything seems to be going smoothly.

Satisfied everything is going according to plan, the figure crosses the room, heading for a small desk in the opposite corner. Sitting down, a chain is pulled to turn a small lamp on which illuminates a pristine silver briefcase perched on the centre of the desk. With a click, the chrome clasps of the briefcase swing open and the lid comes loose, allowing for its contents to come into view.

There, in the leather lined case, sit eight files in number order. All the files look the same except for one thing: the first 6 don a red cross, as red as the blood currently seeping into the material of the figures gloves. As the figure sits, the gloves are removed and thrown to the ground, forgotten about in favour of the files in the case.

The file marked #7 is plucked from the order, and is opened. The face of a smiling Pakistani girl stares up, the paper clip that holds the photo to the paper blocking out her left eye. The figure brushes a thumb over the paper clip, aiming to unobstruct the face of the gorgeous girl, unintentionally leaving a leftover smear of crimson over her face instead. Sighing in frustration at the ruined photo, the figure looks over the details again.

Samiya Aziz. Sami. 21 years old, an exchange student looking for money and maybe even a better life. Such a smart girl and nice too, if a little naive at times. She really should’ve been careful who she opened her door to.

With a nostalgic smile and a dark laugh, Sami’s file is closed for the final time and the red marker is pulled from its place at the bottom of the briefcase. A mark of a cross the same shade of red as Sami’s blood is drawn hastily over the front of the file as the actual blood smudges more into the photograph on the inside of the file which will never see the light of day again. File #7 is done. Now for the final one.

The figure chuckles, this has been too easy and now there’s only one left. The eighth and final folder is pulled from the bottom and opened. The picture this time is of a Latino man, a frown over his face as he’s unaware of the camera meters away from him snapping the picture. Now this man has been very useful, it’s almost a shame he’s on this list but unfortunately that’s just the way things have to go.

And that means Miguel García has to die.

⌖tag list ⌖

@fandom-princess-forevermore

@callsignmeiga

@shrimping-for-all

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@birdyfloyd14

@roosters-girl

@princessofdorkness

@v0id-chaos

@imawkwardlysoc

@captainmarvels-blog

@babybabygrogu

@forhgyeom

@puffylhq

[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."

[t-nd-rfoot]

✨🎆 w/ Fanboy

3...2...1...! aka New Years with Mickey Headcanons

Time for Mickey to ring in the new year.

Pairing Mickey Garcia x reader

Theme fluff

Word Count 381

Note Ahhh it is officially New Year's Eve Day where I'm from so I'm taking this as the perfect opportunity for a New Year’s fic! 😌 and who better to write about than our favorite Fanboy! This is a short one but I loved writing it! I hope you like it and thank you for this request!

If you enjoyed this, please reblog! Reblogs are the best way to support creators (writers, artists, gif makers, everyone!) on this platform. Share the content, share the love!

New Year’s was almost always a particularly special holiday for Mickey

It wasn’t his favorite holiday (it’s a tie between Halloween and San Diego Comic Con weekend, and yes, he considers it a holiday), but there were a few traditions he liked to follow to for a truly happy new year

First: set 3 resolutions he wants to fulfill in the next year

Even before he entered the navy, Mickey always considered himself to be a diligent person

He was always a good student in school, and never liked to disobey his parents when it came to chores

When he sets goals, he has to have an actual, tangible, visible list so he can really see his progress

(He has good memory but he loves being able to cross out or check off an item on paper rather than on an app or just mentally)

He has a little “resolutions” notebook that he started using in high school

Every year, he goes through the existing list of goals he’s had ever since he started the notebook

There are goals from years ago that either have yet to be done (star in a Star Trek reboot) or he had just crossed off recently (reach 100 days on Duolingo)

But no matter how many goals he’s done or hasn’t done, he will always add 3 new resolutions

Next: Prepare 2 of his favorite New Year’s dishes

Food was always a hit at the Garcia’s New Year’s celebrations (and just in general)

His whole family would gather in their abuelita’s kitchen and spend days planning and preparing the menu

His favorites were most definitely the tamales and the stuffed pork loin his family would prepare together

Since joining the navy, he knew that there may come a time he wouldn’t get to spend New Year’s at home

Luckily, he knew how to make them on his own from all the times he would help make them

He even video called them so that they could make it together even if they were apart

His didn’t turn out as perfect as the ones his abuelita or his mom would make, but they were pretty close

Lastly: kiss his 1 favorite girl at the stroke of midnight

He thinks your kisses are better than fireworks, anyway

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

[joaquinwhorres]

Tailspin - Part 4 (Fanboy Garcia x F!OC)

SUMMARY ››››› Having grown up just across the bridge from North Island, Carolina Alvarez has been told her whole life to stay away from the Top Gun boys. And for the most part, she has. That is, until Fanboy catches her putting quarters in the jukebox at The Hard Deck and initiates a game of cat and mouse that ends with her exactly where she swore she’d never be.

PAIRING ››››› Mickey “Fanboy” Garcia x F!OC

WORD COUNT ››››› 5,592

WARNINGS ››››› None?

MASTERLIST ››››› Here

A/N ››››› The moment you've all been waiting for. Unless you've somehow managed to avoid all of the spoilers I have on my blog about this.

She didn't respond to any of his texts.

His calls went unanswered too, the line ringing only once before routing to voicemail each of the three times he tried.

But it wasn't until the small Read 10:59 AM appeared on Bob's phone that he started to accept that Phoenix might be right. 

His face fell as he stared at the screen for a moment longer before handing the phone back to Bob. "Thanks," he said, the word sounding flat and hollow. 

The other man's mouth made silent attempts to form words as he accepted the phone, only stopping when Fanboy shook his head, relieving Bob of the sense of duty to respond. Bob sighed, pressing his lips together in a commiserative frown as he placed his phone upside down on the bar in front of him. "I'm sorry," he finally managed. 

"Jesus, he doesn't need your condolences," Hangman sighed loudly from where he lay across the leather couch nearby. The accompanying eye roll was practically audible. 

Bob side-eyed Hangman, his lips twisting in contempt.

"Oh, come on," Hangman scoffed as he rose into a seated position, throwing a hand out to gesture towards Fanboy. "You're acting like you just found out your mother died just 'cause some ex from five years ago who blocked you."

The words either didn't reach Fanboy or rolled right off him because his attention remained fixed on the phone in front of Bob. 

"I just don't get it," Fanboy murmured. 

"She's. Not. Interested," Hangman asserted, ignoring the warning looks from the other aviators. "Get over it or give up the dream that you're going on this mission." The blonde shook his head as he stood up. "If I stay at this pity party any longer, I'm going to start growing ovaries," he quipped, heading towards the door.

"Like you could handle them," Phoenix called after his retreating form. Hangman didn't slow down or even acknowledge her statement though as he disappeared out to the hallway. 

Bob shot Phoenix a smile as she shook her head. "Asshole."

"As much as I hate to say it, he has a point," Payback said gently from his seat next to Fanboy. "You've been off your game up there."

"I–"

"Come on man," Payback cut him off with a sympathetic smile. "I've seen what you can do. You were the best Wizzo in our class."

"I know," Fanboy said, hanging his head. "I just can't shake it." 

Payback pressed his lips together, meeting Bob's eyes over Fanboy's hunched form. The other WSO widened his eyes meaningfully, the loss for what to do written clearly on his face. Payback jerked his head in dismissal, and Bob slid from his seat, patting Fanboy's back once before heading over to Harvard and Fritz. 

With a quick glance up to the heavens and prayer for help, Payback scooted closer to Fanboy. "Look, do you still trust her?" he asked, keeping his voice gentle and low. 

Fanboy looked up, meeting Payback's eyes, and he could see that his closest friend here—the only one who knew just how little sense this all made—was approaching the end of his rope. 

"Yeah, of course." 

"Then trust that whatever reason she has for not wanting to talk to you is a good one." 

It was a solid piece of logic, easily traced back to the golden ring that encircled Payback's left finger. Fanboy could practically hear Neema's voice in the advice, reminding him that Caro had never done anything without a reason. While each of her decisions were explained with a breezy sentence or sharp quip, there had always been a thorough and conscientious thought process behind her actions.

But she had always offered up her reasonings willingly. They had never been so much as veiled, let alone something he had to pry from her. 

And it was that thought that led him to shake his head, eyes peering appealingly at Payback, urging him to understand.  "I can't," he whispered, the admission coming out pained and apologetic. 

Payback didn't have the time to do much more than sigh before there was a shuffling at the door that drew their attention. An administrative officer stood in the doorway, clipboard in hand. "Coyote, Payback, Fanboy, you're next." 

The three men nodded, Coyote using Yale's distractedness to spin a shot into the goal before backing up, grinning from the foosball table. Payback slid from his seat, clapping Fanboy on the shoulder as he did so. "Come on. We'll figure this out after we go make an old man do some push ups." 

"198…" Hondo counted, following it up with a loud, "Down!" 

Fanboy wasn't sure what hurt more: his muscles that had been battered from the flying and subsequent push ups, his ego at having Maverick continue to best them despite having no WSO or wingman, or his conscience for being the reason that Payback and Coyote were both sweating next to him. 

Because he couldn't stop thinking about it.

About that look on her face when he told her he'd missed her. 

About the stupid gray letters that appeared on Bob's phone. 

About the last time he'd seen her and how he should have just said it. 

"200!" Hondo announced. "You're good to—" 

The rest of his sentence was lost as Fanboy pushed himself up off the ground and onto his feet, taking off down the tarmac.

"Fanboy!" Payback called after him, but the backseater didn't stop, starting towards the building with more purpose than he'd even shown in the goddamn air. 

Ahead of him, Hangman grinned, the sun glinting off his golden hair. "You know, if you ever get her to talk to you, make sure to thank her for me. For taking out the competition." 

Fanboy's jaw set, his hands clenching into fists, but he continued on and into the showers, to wash away–even temporarily–the feeling of failure. But even the scalding water couldn't burn it away, and he emerged from the showers feeling somehow worse than when he went in.

"Fanboy." 

The sudden sound of his name caused his heart to jump in his chest, jerking around to see Phoenix's form waiting beside the door. She pushed herself away from the wall to fall in line with him. 

"What was that?"

He shook his head, turning back around so he could head towards the debrief room early for some peace and quiet before Hangman, Harvard, and Yale came down. 

"Hey," Phoenix called after him, catching up with long strides. "I'm serious. Calling the wrong break is the kind of error that gets you washed out of flight school."

Fanboy shook his head, looking away from Phoenix. He could still feel her gaze on him, insistent and intense. "I know," he mumbled. 

"Look, I've already got my hands full with Rooster; I can't have you spinning out too," Phoenix sighed, hand pushing at his arm to turn him towards her, finally getting him to stop. "So explain it to me–why is an ex you haven't seen or spoken to in the past five years so in your head?" 

Fanboy sighed, running a hand over his head, the short hairs tickling his palm. His eyes rested on a photo of a pilot grinning in the seat of an old F-14. 

"Because when I left, she loved me, and now she looks terrified of me. Something happened."

He chanced a glance at Phoenix's face finding the pilot staring at him with furrowed brows. "Five years happened." 

He shook his head. "It's bigger than that. I mean, if you're right, she blocked me a while ago, and I don't know what I did." 

"Maybe you didn't do anything," Phoenix shook her head. It was his time to look at her confused. "Maybe it isn't about you. Maybe she needed to block you to move on. Maybe she has."

The sentence hit him like a punch to the gut, knocking the air out of his lungs. It was a moment before he could breathe again. 

"But why wouldn't she just say that?"

"I don't know," Phoenix shrugged. "But you need to figure out a way to let this go and get your head on straight. We need you on this mission." 

Her last sentence was lost to him though because finally someone said something actually actionable.

He needed to get his head on straight. And that's exactly what he would do.

Renew Chiropractic was a six minute drive from base.

Six minutes.

For the past week, he had only been one well-timed traffic light or random turn down a side street away from seeing her on one of his runs. Instead, it took a Google Search and a four hour wait until his scheduled appointment slot. 

His head was still reeling with the revelation as he pushed open the glass front door, entering the serene chiropractic office. Everything about the room was meant to be calming: the soft jade color of the walls, the essential oil blend puffing out of the diffuser, and the soothing nature sounds bubbling from the speaker. Even the row of empty chairs along the wall looked more plush than one might expect from a doctor's office. 

None of it seemed to have any effect on him though, each muscle in his body still tense and on alert as he approached the front desk. 

A tall, thin black man with wire-rimmed glasses looked up as he approached, eyes widening for a second upon seeing Fanboy in front of him. 

"Hi, can I help you?" the receptionist asked. The middle-aged white woman sat next to him cast him a puzzled look before her eyes too wandered to Fanboy. She sat up a bit straighter in her seat, hazel eyes narrowed slightly as she followed his progress towards them. 

"Yeah," Fanboy said, stepping up to the desk. "I have an appointment with Dr. Alvarez." 

He offered them a hesitant smile, one that he hoped softened the edges of his obvious anxiety. Instead, the woman's mouth drew in tighter, dangerously close to a frown. The man next to her however schooled his features into professional sympathy. "I'm sorry, sir. Dr. Alvarez actually had to step out." 

Fanboy's shoulders sank under the weight of his disappointment. He'd known it'd been a risk using his name while making the appointment. A part of him had considered using a fake name, but ultimately decided that would cross the line into unhinged.  "Do you know if she'll be back today or this week?"

The man shook his head. "She didn't say." 

"Dr. Houten is still in and he should be finishing up with his last patient if you would like to see him instead," the woman offered, rising from her chair. "I'll just let him know." 

Fanboy took a deep breath, eyes floating to the open hallway behind them as he weighed his options. He could stay and waste his time getting adjusted by her colleague which meant he'd have to wait until next week in order to try catching her here again or he could just leave and camp out in the parking lot like a total lunatic—he didn't finish the thought. Instead, down the hall a door opened and out of it came Dr. Lane. 

The same woman who had spilled a drink on Caro that first night back at the Hard Deck. 

Who, when he asked during his physical, had scoffed at the very idea of knowing Caro beyond that incident.

Who now made eye-contact with him and clearly and solemnly said, "Shit." 

She spun on her heel, hands coming up as if to push someone behind her, but instead, the person brushed her aside, coming out and peering down the hall to see what had prompted the reaction.

Caro.

She was openly shocked, her eyes wide and locked on him. Dr. Lane cast a quick glance between Caro and Fanboy before fixing her own determined gaze on him, her jaw set as she started down the hallway towards him with long purposeful strides. She stopped next to the older woman who had freed herself from behind the receptionist's desk.

It took less than a second for him to discern what was happening, the piercing realization bringing with it an acute and sharp pain in his chest. They were barricading him from the hallway. They were protecting her from him. 

His face crumpled, brows furrowing and lips bowing into a frown. "I just came to talk," he said, his voice desperate and thin.

Dr. Lane shook her head. "You should head back to base." The words were technically a suggestion, but they sounded far more like an order. "She knows how to reach you if she wants to talk." 

Fanboy opened and closed his mouth again, eyes shooting over her shoulder to try to find Caro. She had come closer, reaching the trio now and laying a hand on the other doctor's shoulder. "Jas," she said calmly, gently pushing her to the side so that she could come out into the waiting room. "It's ok." 

The statement did little to pacify Dr. Lane. Instead, the other woman shot Caro a look that very clearly expressed her distrust of the situation. She didn't say anything though, allowing Caro to pass in between her and the Renew Chiropractic employee. 

"We can talk outside," Caro said, pointing to the door behind Fanboy. 

He nodded, leading the way out, pausing only to hold the door open for her before he headed down the path and out of sight of the glass front door. 

When he turned to face Caro, he found her with her hand stuffed in the pockets of her maroon scrubs, her face carefully and uncharacteristically impassive. 

"I'm sorry–" he started before Caro cut him off.

"You found where I work?" Her words came out even, dull almost, but he could sense the danger underneath them. 

"I tried to text and call, but–"

"But I didn't answer, so you decided to ambush me at my job," she finished for him, folding her arms across her chest.

"It wasn't an ambush!" he protested, his heart rate rocketing at the accusation. "I made an appointment. So you'd know I was coming." 

He watched her process this statement in real time. Her brow scrunching in the middle and corners of her mouth tugging down slightly. Her eyes slid to the right, towards the building, before snapping back to him. It was then that she seemed to see him for the first time—noticing that he was in his service khakis and the tension in his shoulders and maybe even the plea in his face for her to just give him a chance. 

Caro took a deep breath, audibly pushing it out through her nose. "Ok," she said, her voice having lost some of its edge. "I can give you fifteen minutes." 

Fanboy also breathed out a sigh of relief, eyes falling to the ground between them before flickering up to her. "You know, the website said forty-five," he attempted with a smile which faded quickly as her eyes hardened once more. "Sorry, yeah, fifteen minutes." 

Silence entwined itself between the two of them as they stood in front of her office building, both in their respective uniforms and both wishing very much that this wasn't how they were spending their day.

Caro was the one who finally broke the silence. "You wanted to talk?" 

"Yeah," Fanboy breathed out, hand coming up to rub the back of his head. "Yeah, I did." His eyes met hers again, despite the fact that every time he seemed to look at her, she seemed to grow even more guarded, even further away. "The other night at the Hard Deck…and then now…" he took in a deep breath before releasing it and the remainder of his sentence with it. "It just seems like there's something wrong between us." 

"I was just surprised," Caro shrugged.

"Yeah," Fanboy agreed, hating his masochistic need to push the subject. "It just seemed like more than surprise. I know it's been years, but I thought…you just didn't seem…I don't know…"

"Happy to see you?" Caro supplied, raising an eyebrow. 

He flushed at the accurate indictment of his own ego, and she shook her head at him. 

"What were you expecting, Mickey?" she asked, exasperation tingeing every word. "Me to throw myself into your arms like nothing's changed?"

The thought had crossed his mind more than once, but even he knew that outcome was more of a daydream, a fantasy, than a possible outcome of his arrival back in Fightertown. 

"No," Fanboy shook his head. "I just thought we were good." 

"We're fine." 

"Then why did your receptionists just try to keep me from seeing you? And why has Dr. Lane stepped in to keep you from spending more than five minutes with me?" 

He didn't want to know the answer to either question. There couldn't be a good reason–one that would get him back on track and restore his focus on earning a spot in the mission. Whatever she said was going to spin him out worse than he was already. But he had to know. Because if he left it at Caro's lie he would never forgive himself. Just like he already couldn't forgive himself for just accepting that the original plan for their relationship's end was just fine. That nothing had changed from the moment they made that agreement to his last moments of saying goodbye.

"They're overprotective," Caro supplied. 

"But they don't even know me." 

"They know about you. That's enough."

He grew quiet, and the urge he had to walk towards her, to close the space between them, died. Instead, he pulled back some, as if she had poked a finger into his chest the way she used to when she was mad. 

"What do they know?" 

For the first time, Caro was unable to meet his gaze, her eyes going to a large ceramic flower pot that lined the path. "They know I loved you and that you left and blocked me so I haven't seen or heard from you in five years."

"What?" His horrified whisper seemed to suck out all of the air and sounds from their surroundings. 

Caro met his eyes, and he could see the emotion there for the first time, thick and threatening.  "You left," she repeated, "And you blocked me." 

"I didn't block you–" he started, voice still wavering and almost soundless. 

"You did," Caro said with a nod. She took a breath in, and like that, the emotions fell back down into her and away from the surface. "It's fine, though. It doesn't matter anymore."

"It matters," Fanboy insisted, finally taking a step towards her. 

"No it doesn't. I'm over it." 

"It matters to me," he tried again, taking another step, but Caro tightened her arms against her chest. 

"It shouldn't," she said flatly. "Because it wouldn't change anything. You'd still have gone to Virginia, I'd still have been here, and life still would've moved on for both of us."

"Would it have?" He sounded almost as desperate as he felt.

"It did," she said, quietly. Caro ran a hand through her hair, looking over his shoulder and out into the parking lot. "Things are different now."

There was something in her voice. A distance almost as if trying to avoid coming too close to what exactly life had changed. 

A thought popped into his head, and before he could stop himself, the question was escaping. "Are you seeing someone?"

Caro's expression turned stony, and she straightened her spine. "What? You'll only respect the fact that I'm not interested in starting whatever it is you're hoping for if another man is involved?"

"No," he sputtered. 

"Then why does it matter if I'm seeing anyone?"

The pressure in his chest felt worse than any G force he had ever experienced. 

"I just–" he started, struggling to form a response that wouldn't further drive her away. "I'm trying to understand."

Her eyes fluttered closed in obvious annoyance, but he supposed the gesture was better than having her turn away. When she looked at him once more, she was still clearly frustrated, but her gaze had softened some.

"I'm not seeing anyone," she admitted. "I'm just older now. I have more responsibilities, and I can't—" she cut herself off, swallowing and then breathing and then restarting again, slower this time. "I can't do this again," she finished, gesturing with a finger. "I need something stable now."

He was able to nod twice before the weight of his thoughts caused him to just hang his head to stare at his shoes. "Yeah that's...that's fair," he managed. Quiet once more settled itself around them, ballooning in the space between them so he felt even further from her. "Could we at least maybe get a drink while I'm here. As friends?"

"Mickey," she said, gently. Too gently. "You know we can't be just friends."

A car door slammed in the parking lot behind him, pulling Caro's attention from him. The color drained from her face, taking with it the awful look of sympathy. Instead she looked horrified, like she might throw up or pass out. Or both. 

"Caro?" Fanboy asked, closing the space between them in two long strides. "Are you —"

"Mama!" A delighted shriek cut him off as quick and heavy thwaps hurtled towards them. He turned, watching with wide eyes as a little girl with bronzed skin and dark pigtails barreled towards Caro, only stopping when she collided with the chiropractor's legs, narrowly missing him. 

He was going to be sick. 

"Look!" The little girl demanded, shoving her hand up into Caro--her mother--'s face. "Kelsey painted my nails!"

Each little finger nail was a different color. Some a neon green, others a deep glittery navy, a sleek red, and a metallic purple. No two colors or textures were the same. 

"I see," Caro said with a nod, taking the girl's tiny hand in hers and tilting it back and forth to inspect each nail.

For a second it looked as if she might glance up to meet Fanboy's eyes, but instead she looked into the little girl--her daughter--'s face. 

"You know Bryson would probably like to see your nails, " she commented, releasing the small hand. "Why don't you go show him, and I'll meet you in there when I'm done talking? Then we can go home." 

The little girl looked up at her before suddenly shifting her attention to Fanboy, her big brown eyes peering intently at him, assessing. 

Evidently he failed as she frowned and then turned back to Caro, appealingly. "Um, what if you came with me?" Caro gave her a small smile, reaching down to brush hair out of her daughter's face. 

"Give me five minutes ok? You can ask Kelsey to help you keep track," she said, looking up to where the babysitter—Kelsey—hovered. It was then Fanboy noticed that she was staring between him and Caro, brow furrowed. She seemed to snap out of it at the sound of her name though, reaching a hand out for the little girl. 

"Come on, Dalia. Let's go show Bryson." 

The name caused all breath to escape from Mickey's lungs, and this time Caro's eyes did shoot to his, their gazes locking on each other. 

Neither of them took their eyes off of the other as the little girl reached for her babysitter's hand, letting the teenager guide her inside and away from Fanboy and Caro and the tension between them outside. 

"Dalia?" He asked, the repetition of the name more than just a question of whether or not he had heard it correctly. 

He was met with silence, which maybe should have been answer enough. Still, he felt like he needed to hear it, needed some sort of response, and so he attempted to ask again. 

"Is she…?" he trailed off, looking to the door the little girl had passed through just moments before. 

The little girl.

His–

He couldn't finish the thought. 

Because she couldn't be. They had been safe—mostly— and who was to say that she hadn't been with anyone after he left? And it was entirely possible that when he'd shared that name with her five years ago, both of them wrapped up in her sheets with his arms around her and her head resting against his shoulder, she had decided that she'd liked it too and wanted to use it herself for any future children.

But when he met her eyes again, he could see it all over her face. 

"Oh my God," he murmured. 

"Mickey, I—" 

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, heart pounding as the world seemed to spin around him, alarms whirring to life to signal that he was crashing. 

"I tried."

The words came out so small and quiet, it broke something in him. 

"What?" his voice cracked on the word. 

"Right after I found out. I tried calling you and texting, but nothing went through. I even tried reaching out on Facebook, and I was blocked." She spread her hands wide, shrugging.

It hit him then: he had blocked her. Right after he had returned to his squadron and gotten word of their upcoming short deployment. It had been too hard seeing pictures of her pop up on his feed. He wasted hours talking himself out of reaching back out and begging her to at least try long distance with him. He'd blocked her to protect her from any potential weak moments on the carrier. 

"Shit," he breathed out, stepping backwards. His hand going up to his forehead. He missed his curls, something to hold onto to ground him in reality.

"I–" he started before taking another breath and trying again. "Do I need to sign papers or something?" 

"Papers?"' Caro repeated. "For what?" she asked.

He lifted the hand from his head, gesturing to where his—Dalia had disappeared.  "For her."

Understanding dawned on her face as she offered a smile that made him want to scream just to dislodge the emotion caught in his throat, threatening to choke him. She shook her head. "You don't need to do anything."

"I should help. I want to help," he pressed, correcting himself. 

"Mickey," Caro said clearly, sternly. The same way he imagined she spoke to Dalia. "You're fine. Nothing changes just because you know now."

He breathed out a disbelieving, humorless laugh. "Everything changes."

"You're still in the Navy."

He sucked in a breath. Fuck. 

Fuck.

She didn't need to continue. Bringing up the Navy was enough, but she went on anyway, whether because she thought he'd need more explanation or because she wanted him to feel the weight of her world. 

"You're still stationed on the other side of the country. You're still gone in a month. You still have deployments and missions and wars and I don't want that for her." Caro stopped, and he could see the emotion back on the surface. It was everywhere from her eyes to her now slightly slumped shoulders to the desperate edge her voice had taken on. "I'm just trying to do what's best for my daughter here. You see that right?" 

Fanboy's shoulders dropped. "I know," he said. "It's just…I have a daughter, Caro. I want to at least meet her. Even if it's not as her dad." 

Caro was quiet, and he could see the thought turning over in her head. The tinkling bell of the front door opening interrupted her, prompting the pair to turn in tandem to see who was coming back out. Fanboy's breath caught hoping for Dalia to come bounding around the corner. Instead, it was Dr. Lane.

"Caro?" she asked. "I've been sent to inform you that it's been six minutes."

Caro nodded, offering a quick reassuring smile. "I'll be right in." 

Dr. Lane nodded, her eyes falling on Fanboy with a hard, assessing look. She remained standing, just off to the side, resolute. 

This prompted a softer, more genuine smile from Caro. "Can you let her know Jas?" she asked. The other doctor seemed more than a little reluctant to head back inside, disappearing with another sound of the bell.

Caro waited a second more, as if not entirely sure Jas was gone. Finally she faced him again, more relaxed than he'd seen her since he returned to San Diego. "I'll think about it," Caro assured. "Just promise me you won't try to come back here again or try to see her on your own. Please." 

Fanboy nodded, taking a deep breath. "Yeah, I promise."

"I'll text you. Either way, I'll text you, and we'll talk. Deal?" 

A sad half smile crossed his face remembering all of the other deals they'd made. This felt like the worst one by far. 

"Deal," he agreed.  

Caro re-entered the office to find Dalia standing on one of the chairs, peering over the reception  desk. 

"Dalia," she sighed, hand going to her head as her daughter's head whipped around. "No standing on the chairs, remember?" 

"Sorry," Dalia and Jas both apologized and Caro's eyes slid over to the auburn haired woman as her daughter jumped down off the seat.

"I thought you'd have headed back." 

Jas shrugged. "Thought I'd stick around just in case." 

"That's kind of you, but I'm fine," Caro said, heading forward to her daughter, wrapping her arms around the four year old's torso in a swaying hug. 

Jas snorted. "That has got to be the least convincing I'm fine ever." 

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," Kelsey apologized from where she had taken her mother's seat next to Bryson.

Caro shook her head. "You have nothing to apologize for. Thank you for dropping her off." She looked down at the four year old. "And giving her a fun day." 

Kelsey smiled as her parents came down the hall together, Dr. Houten giving his wife the same look he gave patients who came in after complicated car accidents. His eyes found Caro's, and her stomach dropped. 

"Are you ok?" 

"I'm fine. Really," Caro dismissed. "It was just awkward." 

"What was awkward, Mama?" Dalia asked, leaning her head back to peer up at her mother. Caro offered a smile.

"I got a surprise visit from someone I haven't seen in a really long time. And sometimes when you haven't seen someone in a long time, things are awkward."

"Oh." Dalia said, hanging herself forwards on Caro's arms. "Can we go home now?"

Caro nodded. "Let me grab my things from my office, ok?" 

She headed towards the back and Dr. Houten followed her. "Robin filled me in a little on what's going on. If you need to take a few days to sort this out, I can take your patients and we can reschedule the rest–"

"It's fine. Really," Caro said, bending over her desk to pick up her purse. "He won't be back."

He raised an eyebrow.

"He doesn't want to see Dalia?"

Caro looked up at him. "He won't be back here. I just–I need this to keep me busy."

He looked unsure, pressing his lips together before nodding. "Ok. But if it becomes obvious that you need time off, I'm not giving you an option."

"Thanks, Mark," Caro said, shouldering her purse. "Really."

He smiled, looking for a second like he might be tempted to give her a side hug before realizing that'd be even more awkward than a regular one. Instead, he laid a light hand on her back as if ushering her out of her own office. 

Dalia was straddling two chairs when Caro exited the office, her hands wrapped in Jas' for stability. The guilty look on Jas' face killed the reprimand on Caro's tongue, replaced instead with a laugh and shake of her head. 

"Ready?" She asked her daughter. 

Dalia jumped out of the chair, tugging her hands free from Jas'. "Can we get ice cream?"

Caro loved her daughter. 

She was so good. So easy all things considered. She wanted her mother and ice cream and fun, and she didn't need any complications to her life. 

"Hmm," she hummed, squinting in mock-thought. She could practically feel the excitement bubbling off of the four year old. "I don't know…."

"Pleeeeeeease," Dalia begged, skipping forward to wrap her arms around Caro, head tilted up to implore her mother with big eyes.

"Ok," Caro agreed, tapping her daughter's nose. Dalia let out a cheer, releasing Caro and bouncing off towards the door. 

It was entirely possible that more sugar was the last thing Dalia needed, but the girl apparently knew a thing or two about timing her questions. 

"You know," Jas said, sidling up next to Caro. "I like ice cream."

Caro raised an eyebrow as she pressed out the door, waving a hand to the staff remaining behind. "Is that supposed to be a subtle hint that you'd like to join us?"

"To be fair, subtlety is not my strong suit," Jas admitted, walking alongside Caro. "If you'd rather keep it just a mother daughter thing, though, I totally get it."

Caro smiled at her new friend before her eyes darted to her daughter about to hop into the parking lot. "Hand please, Dalia," she called out. The little girl turned and scampered back, taking hold of Cato's outstretched hand. "What do you think?" Caro asked her daughter. "Can Jas join us for ice cream?"

"Yep," Dalia chirped as she skipped next to her mom. Caro looked back at Jas with a smile. 

"You're in."

Next Chapter (Coming Soon)

[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

[mxgyver]

Vee… oh my word this was chef’s kiss wonderful

mirror sex, u choose the man😵‍💫

ooh, a fun choose-your-own-adventure type thing let’s do it 🌻

the top gun crew and mirror sex! -> 18+ only! assorted kinks (a bit of voyeurism, edging, daddy kink, phone/video sex; hair-pulling, etc.); fem!reader; not edited not sorry

jake “hangman” seresin

is an absolute menace and loves fucking you in front of the bathroom mirror

you’re getting ready to go out? brushing your teeth first thing in the morning, doing a quick arm pit check in the mirror? forget it, he’s bending you over and pulling your pants down/skirt up

he’d totally pull your hair back so you could watch yourself fall apart on him

and he leans super close over you to whisper dirty things in your ear, hiking your leg up on the counter so he can get deeper

everytime you go to windex that mirror, you get hot and bothered because there’s always fingerprints on it…

bradley “rooster” bradshaw

discovers he likes to watch in the mirror completely on accident when the two of you are going at it so wildly (he’s just back from a three-month stint overseas) that you tumble from the bed

and land in front of the standing mirror that’s tucked into the corner of your room, facing the opposite wall

bradley doesn’t really notice the mirror until he catches a glimpse of you bouncing on his cock in the reflection and he cums pretty quickly after that

you better believe that mirror finds a new permanent home right at the foot of your bed

new kink unlocked? yes. especially when bradley decides that windows totally count as reflective surfaces and your apartment is fourteen floors up and faces a park, so…

mickey “fanboy” garcia

totally not a fantasy he’s had since his teenage years…except it most definitely is, who does that boy think he’s fooling?

when he brings up wanting to watch himself fuck you from behind for the first time, he’s pretty shy because he was your first not all that long ago and what if it puts you off?

but damn if the thought of getting to see his face while he takes you like that doesn’t make your thighs clench together

you can’t stop watching his reflection and he doesn’t break eye contact with you through the mirror even as he’s groaning your name and filling you up

robert “bob” floyd

bob fucks

he knows what he likes and he knows he likes seeing your entire body splayed out for him so he absolutely loves mirrors

he’s deployed and when he finally gets the chance to video chat with you, he’s rock hard when he sees that you’ve made a little set up, camera behind you, facing the floor mirror…in his bedroom

because of course you let yourself in to his place for this

and of course you’re a whimpering mess the moment he tells you to put your hand between your legs

and of course he loves that he can see everything from the top of your head to the tips of your toes as they curl in delight

javy “coyote” machado

long and lazy afternoons spent with your back pressed to his chest, his ankles hooked inside your own, keeping your legs spread wide as he touches you

you can barely stand to look because javy is such a fucking tease and even if you could keep your eyes open, there’s tears blurring your vision

the way he makes you watch his fingers trail up the inside of one thigh and down the other, just skating over where you want him most

the way you can see yourself clench around nothing every time he denies you

but damn if it isn’t all worth it when he pulls you into his lap and makes you call him daddy

[planetpiastri]

congrats on returning to fic writing hehe! 💝 would u be able to do bouquet or pda from the valentines prompt list for fanboy? i love the way u write him

thank u anon!! i went with bouquet for this one bc i couldn't get one specific image out of my head lol. this was a lot of fun to write hope u enjoy! | [wc - 1.2k] | join my prompt party!

It wasn’t like Mickey to be late. I mean, with things like family brunches, or dinners, or group parties, yeah, sure, he wasn’t the most punctual. But with you it was different. With you, he was always right on time. No matter what.

But here it was, Valentine’s Day, and you were alone in your apartment, and he was late.

You knew that today was busy for him. He’d had brunch with his sisters, and then dinner with his parents across town, and after that he hadn’t been able to get out of going for a few beers with Hangman and the guys, but he’d promised to come over at nine o’clock on the dot. You guys didn’t even have anything particularly extravagant planned; probably just watching a movie and…well….

Anyways, it was nearly nine-fifteen now, and he was nowhere to be seen. An outgoing message sat in your thread, lonely and unread: Are you on your way? 

There was a heart-shaped box of chocolates open on the coffee table. There were chocolate-covered strawberries cooling in the fridge. You’d lit a couple candles. A stuffed teddy bear you intended to give to Mickey was sitting on the sofa next to you. She’s All That was queued up on the tv. Everything was ready. There was just one thing missing.

You checked your phone again even though it hadn’t buzzed. Still nothing.

It wasn’t like Mickey to be late.

As the clock ticked closer and closer towards nine-thirty, you contemplated calling him, decided against it, contemplated calling Natasha, decided against it, contemplated calling Hangman, and ultimately decided you just wanted to call it a night and be alone. You’d hear whatever apology Mickey had in the morning. Right now, you just wanted to go to bed.

You turned off the tv and blew out the candles, and just as you were moving to put the lid back on the chocolates, there was a pounding at your door so loud that you jumped.

You rushed to the foyer and yanked open the front door, an irritated admonishment prepared on your lips, but it fell away as soon as you saw who was there.

Mickey was standing in a nice jacket and jeans, his hands on his knees, gasping for breath. He was panting like he’d just ran a marathon, and when you stuck your head farther out the door, you couldn’t see his car parked anywhere in the driveway or on the street.

“Mickey? What—?” you started to say, but then he straightened up and your voice trailed away once more.

“I’m…sorry…” He wheezed. “Hangman…stole…keys…wouldn’t let…me leave…. Ran…all the way…here…. I’m so sorry….”

And in his hand was a cluster of flowers that you recognized as belonging to your neighbor at the end of the street. They were wilted from his run, some snapped in the middle, but the sight of them nearly brought tears to your eyes. 

He looked at them, realized what poor shape they were in, and his face fell. “Oh no,” he sighed. “I wanted to—oof.”

You flung yourself into his arms, holding him close. He was warm from his run, and his chest was still heaving, but he was here. After a moment, you felt him toss the flowers down and wrap his arms around you, cradling you tightly against his chest.

“I thought you forgot,” you admitted quietly.

“Are you kidding?” he asked, his breath finally coming back. “This is all I’ve looked forward to all day.”

You stepped back, shoving his shoulder gently. “Why didn’t you call me when you knew you were gonna be late?”

Mickey blinked dumbly at you like a deer in headlights, and then his lips quirked sideways in an embarrassed smile. “Because…I’m an idiot? And I forgot? And was just focused on running as fast as I could?”

A laugh bubbled out of your chest of its own volition, and as Mickey smiled sheepishly, you grabbed his face in your hands and kissed him deeply. He made a soft, contented noise in the back of his throat, and his hands splayed across your spine, pulling you closer to him. One of your hands threaded through his close-cropped hair, holding his head in place as your mouths moved together, and you arched forward so that your chests were touching from shoulder to sternum.

He tilted his head and groaned, and your mouth fell open for him. One of his hands tightened at your waist, and the relief and affection you felt for him combined into something heady and intense, replacing every anxiety you had with insatiable want. 

You staggered backwards, pulling him with you into the house. He made a soft, surprised noise and broke away, saying, "But the flowers—"

"We'll get another bouquet later," you said, shutting the door. As soon as you did, his mouth was back on yours and his hands were tracing your sides, pressing you gently against the door.

You shoved his shoulders, pushing him deeper into the house without breaking contact. As the two of you careened off the walls and stumbled deeper into the living room, Mickey pulled away to glance around the room and catch his breath. He was already winded, but his eyes were bright and he was smiling as he panted, "Oh, hey, you decorated—”

You kissed him again, swallowing his words, and continued moving across the rug, pulling him by his shirt. He laughed against your lips, fumbling with his coat. When your legs hit the back of the sofa, you tumbled backwards onto the cushions, breaking away long enough for Mickey to finish taking off his jacket. 

You scooted back, giving him room to join you, and moved the teddy bear gingerly onto the table. Mickey’s eyes followed the movement, and he said, “Aw, is that for me?”

“Would you get down here?” you demanded, fighting back a laugh.

“Hold on, hold on, I haven’t taken my shoes off,” he protested, fumbling with the laces.

“Mickey,” you said, your voice stern.

He stood up and gestured around the room. “You set all this up! We had a nice evening planned. What about the movie?”

“Mickey,” you said slowly, leaning forward and enunciating clearly, “forget—the—movie.”

“Oh,” he said, his eyebrows lifting. And then, again: “Ohh.”

“Yes,” you said with a nod, grinning. “Oh.”

He leaned down and kissed you softly, his hand cradling the back of your head, but just as you reached up for the hem of his shirt, he pulled away again. You fought the urge to sigh heavily as he said, “I just ran, like, thirteen blocks. I’m gonna go clean up real quick, but then I promise—we’ll do Valentine’s right. I’ll make it up to you.”

He started down the hall towards the bathroom, already undoing the buttons of his shirt.

“Okay,” you said, dramatically falling back on the couch and watching him go. “I’ve waited this long. I can wait a little longer. I’ll just find some way to entertain myself.”

Mickey froze and turned to you, his hands stilling halfway through the buttons. When he saw the teasing smile on your face, he pointed an accusatory finger at you and said, “Thirty seconds. Time me.” Then he turned and ran into the hall, skidding into the bathroom and out of sight.

You threw your head back and laughed at his antics, reaching for the remote again as the faucet turned on. As you got comfortable on the sofa and waited for him to come back out, you thought of the flowers on the front stoop. 

It wasn’t like Mickey to be late, but he always found some way to make it up to you.