#fanboy fic

[rae-gar-targaryen]

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frowned.

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

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

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

–

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

It was such a good dream.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mickey groaned in response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#mickey garcia x reader #mickey 'fanboy' garcia x reader #fanboy garcia x reader #mickey fanboy garcia x reader #fanboy x reader #mickey 'fanboy' garcia #mickey fanboy garcia #fanboy garcia #tgm fic #fanboy fic #danny ramirez #danny ramirez fic #top gun maverick fic #my wriitng #mickey fanboy garcia x you #fanboy garcia x you #fanboy smut #mickey garcia smut

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

Family Man - Fanboy

Pairing: Fanboy / GN!Spouse!Reader

Word Count: 0.7k

This work, all of my works, and my entire blog is 18+ Only

Warnings: Messy Kids; Implied Stay-at-Home Reader; Second Person POV ("You"), No Y/N, No Mention of Gender or Appearance for Reader; Unnamed Garcia Kid OCs (not Referenced if they're Adopted/Biological)

Summary: After a long day at work, Fanboy returns home to complete his most important job: taking care of his family.

Master List

Mickey returned home from work to find the house just as he left it—a disaster.

But with a toddler and a baby at home, there was no such thing as clean. There was no time to clean. And anyone who expected a house with a toddler and a baby to be anywhere close to clean had clearly never interacted with a child before. But he knew that a messy house always stressed you out and made a mental note to try and clean some of it after dinner.

Setting his work bag by the door and toeing off his shoes, Mickey walked into the kitchen area to see you already sitting at the dinner table. Your son was sitting in his high chair, happily taking the little bits of baby food that you fed him. Your daughter was making a, though you tried to get her to cooperate enough to eat some vegetables.

“I’m home!” Fanboy called, causing your daughter to let out a squeal.

“Daddy!”

She hopped down from her seat and raced around the table to Fanboy. He happily scooped her up and pressed a kiss to her forehead as he settled her on his hip. Fixing the bow in her hair, Fanboy pressed another kiss to her cheek.

“Did you miss me, huh?”

“Yeah! You left!” your daughter complained, playing with the pins on Mickey’s uniform.

“I had to go to work, Princess.”

“Why?”

“Well, you like eating food, don’t you?” Fanboy joked, bouncing your daughter teasingly. “Are you being a good girl?”

“Yeah!”

“Mostly,” you joked as your husband walked around the table to greet you. Fanboy leaned down to press a greeting kiss to your lips, earning a disgusted screech of ‘ew’ from your daughter in return. “How was work, Papi?”

“Long. The contractors from the Pentagon were still hanging around,” Fanboy explained, turning to kiss your son on top of his head. “Lots of long meetings that I could have done without.”

“Dinner is up on the stove,” you told him, scooping out more baby food for your son.

Fanboy set your daughter down in her seat and noted the fact that you didn’t have a plate of food in front of you yet. You were more focused on feeding your children than yourself, like the good parent that you were. But you had a long day too and Fanboy was sure that you were hungry.

He walked over to the stove and grabbed a plate from a cabinet. Filling it with enough food for two people, Fanboy returned to the dinner table. Sitting down across from you and in between your children, Fanboy put two pieces of vegetables on his fork. He held it out to you so that you could take a bite. You glanced over at fork and shot your husband a small smile before eating the vegetables.

Fanboy fed himself and dabbed at your daughter’s chin with a napkin before grabbing some chicken with his fork. Holding it out to you again, this time while you were feeding your son, Fanboy waited patiently for you to reach out and eat the chicken. You sent him another thankful smile as you ate it off of his fork.

And from there, the cycle continued. You would feed your kids and Fanboy would try and keep them settled and clean. He would feed himself some food and then feed you from his plate.

When your kids were done eating, Fanboy moved to take them away to give you a moment alone. Holding your son in his arms while your daughter ran off to grab her toys, Fanboy placed the plate full of your favorite food that he picked out for you down in front of you despite your momentary protest. You shot him a look, though your lips curled into a small smile.

“Take your time,” Fanboy assured you, pressing a kiss to your lips. “They’re a lot of work.”

“Of course, they are. They’re your kids,” you shot back at your husband. Though before he stepped too far away, you grabbed him by the front of his uniform and pulled him in for a better kiss that he happily returned. Pulling away, you cupped his cheek with your hand. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Fanboy told you, sneaking another quick kiss. “Now, eat.”

A.N. This was lowkey inspired by the photo of the TGM cast with Andrew Garfield where Danny was more focused on eating than anything else.

#mickey fanboy garcia x you #mickey fanboy garcia x reader #mickey fanboy garcia #mickey garcia x reader #mickey garcia x you #mickey garcia #fanboy x reader #fanboy top gun #fanboy garcia x reader #fanboy imagine #fanboy garcia x you #fanboy garcia #fanboy fic #top gun: maverick #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun #tgm #tgm fanfiction #tgm fic

[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

#mickey fanboy garcia #mickey garcia #mickey garcia fic #mickey garcia fluff #mickey garcia imagine #mickey garcia smut #mickey garcia x you #mickey garcia x reader #fanboy x reader #fanboy x you #fanboy fic #fanboy smut #fanboy fluff #fanboy imagine #fanboy garcia #fanboy garcia x you #fanboy garcia x reader #fanboy garcia fic #danny ramirez #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick smut #top gun maverick fic #top gun maverick x you #top gun maverick x reader #top gun maverick fluff #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick drabble

[notroosterbradshaw]

100 different kisses #100 w/ Fanboy (bc we’re starved of Fanboy content and I love Danny Ramirez)

PROMPT: 100. 'it's always been you' kisses

please be gentle, this is not my thing in the slightest, so please be kind and let me know what you think? A series of moments with Mickey, in ficlet form.

thank you for this, darling heart @dhwanishah09 this is completely gratuitous because I cannot break away from Danny’s long hair so it’s on him. be kind to me, I’m branching a little too far out of my comfort zone xx

It starts innocuously. Predictably. 

A weekender to a Mexican beachside border town with friends with more beer and tequila than you know what to do with. A cute boy and some of his buddies skipping the border with 36 hours to burn, a holiday fling that changes the course of your life? 

Yes. 

You feel it before you know what it is. A warmth floods you and it feels like hands tenderly caressing your back, you turn to face... nothing. But the warmth remains. And then you look up and see him. See him looking back at you across the room while he sips his beer. He has an open smile, he knows you’re looking at him and you know you’re smiling as bold as he is.

Your heart is racing, your palms are clammy, and you know his must be too. Because the warmth that emanates from him you now feel it all over. He moves to you without hesitation and he knows that he’s never felt so confident. It’s not the alcohol, it’s not the idea of a cheap holiday fuck. 

It’s you. 

“I’m Mickey,” he smiled, his dark hair is cropped and his eyes are so open and genuine, they feel like home to you so many miles away from where you should be, as he offered you his calloused palm. His incredible grin widens across his clear features like he knew it but you just confirmed it for him. His teeth are perfect and momentarily distract you into an incoherent reply, you tried again, giving him your name. He laughs quietly as your friend gets between you and introduces you to him properly. Everything he ever needed to know. And lastly?

Single. 

You were so terribly embarrassed and he laughs, he likes that emotion on you and how it clouds your features. 

His friends thrust more shots before you and before you realise what’s happening, you’re making out with the fresh-faced Naval recruit much to the hooting and hollering of his friends in the middle of the dance floor of the beach-side bar. 

“Leave with me,” he pleads, nudging his head towards the water lapping the shoreline, your fingers linked with his. 

“Anywhere,” you told him. Anytime, any place, you want to add. This wasn’t you. You were cautious, thoughtful, a good girl who didn’t give it up to pretty boys on the pretence of going into war zones but as he leads you into the sand a little while away from the fanfare, you’re not scared. He’s gentle, considerate, and unexpectedly cheeky. 

Laying down in the sand and staring up at more stars than you’d seen in your entire lifetime, it’s not long before the conversation is forgotten and you’re kissing each other frenetically. That’s how strong the pull is, that you can’t stop and you don’t want to stop because as much as you could blame it on the alcohol, you were as sober as a judge, your body, heart and soul knowing that this was what would define you in years to come. 

You want to kiss him, you want to touch and do all those things you shouldn’t because you’re here with your friends and you’ve ditched them for this beautiful boy who maybe, just maybe, as enamoured by you as you are with him. When you roll to sit on his waist, his strong hands grip your hips and he asks if this is what you want.

And you willingly take everything he gives you. 

“‘I’m in town, I don’t even know where in the world you are’,” you say aloud as you type. You hadn’t seen him in so long. You’d never made anything official or serious, but you knew in time... “‘Miss you and hope you’re around for a drink between friends?’”

You know he’s probably not around, but when your phone lights up and says he ships out at dawn, you are already giving him your hotel details and running for the shower.

You meet his friends, his detachment, he called them. It seemed cold but they seemed harmless. He needs you to meet Payback.

“All this call sign business, Mickey,” you laugh softly. “Tell me what you’ve never told me before.”

He almost blushes as he sits on his stool, keeping you close as you preferred to stand between his knees, his hands tracing the seams of your underwear against your hip under your sundress. The one he took off you that night at the beach those years ago. His favourite, the one you’d only dare wear for him and the only one you’d want him to take off.

“Fanboy,” he admits as you giggle quietly.

“My darling nerd,” you say as he explains the ins and out of how he got his call sign and those of his friends around that he knew. 

“This is Reuben,” Mickey tells you as he keeps his arm around your waist. It means a lot for him to introduce you because he flies with Rueben and they are the perfect 1-2 jab. Rueben is kind and you understand why Mickey gets along with him so well. You figure out pretty quickly why Mickey thinks Hangman is a douche, why Rooster is misunderstood and Phoenix leads. 

He doesn’t let you go all night and when he walks you back to your hotel room well after last call in the early hours of the next day, he tells you he’s never been on a mission like this and he hopes one day he can see you again. You swear you’ve felt your heart stop and he buries his forehead in your shoulder all the while you beg yourself not to fall apart for this wonderful man before you. He doesn’t need that on the eve of something that is clearly terrifying him. 

“Can you stay?” you asked him, raising your eyes to his and yours searching the deep brown pools.

“I can’t stay long. I don’t want you to think that I’m here for a cheap fuck and then I leave,” he admitted, his eyes dropping.

“It’s never cheap, Mickey,” you tell him quietly as you turn your back to him and he sees the zip, the zip he’s downed so many nights before. 

“What do I have to do to get you to stay?” Mickey asked, his delicate fingers brushing the strap of your sundress off your shoulder and replacing his lips with it. “What do I have to say to stop us being a series of moments, muñequita, and being forever instead?”

“Tell me you love me again,” you teased as his lips traced to your wildly racing pulse and your fingers were lost to his wild curls. The curls you’d missed terribly. Growing slowly, flourishing delightfully. This man before you. 

“Mi vida... Eres tú. Siempre has sido tú,” Mickey whispered into your skin. “After all this time... there’s no one else. Don’t you get that?” 

“I love you, Mickey,” you told him, using your finger to drag him by the chin back to your face. He licked his lips, tenderly kissing you, reminding you that all along... 

“Quiero estar contigo... Mi corazón es tuyo. All these years, and I knew from the moment I saw you - no, felt you, that this was all I was ever gonna need. Say yes, be mine and let’s start the rest of our lives together before we waste more time.”  

“Yes,” you breathed, as he eased you back and kissed you. “Love me,” you say like a mantra and Mickey knows because he’s always known. Just like you. It’s always been you. 

A/N: the tag list no longer exists. To keep up to date, give @notroosterbradshaw-library a follow and turn on notifications x Thank you for being so sweet to have a gander @almostgenerallyalways xx

#notroosterbradshaw #fanboy #mickey fanboy garcia #fanboy x reader #fanboy fic #fanboy top gun #mickey garcia #fanboy garcia x reader #mickey garcia x reader #writing prompts

[topgun-imagines]

Frosty The Snowman

Requested: yes

Summary: You, your husband Mickey, and your children build a snowman together.

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: none

Pairings: Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia x wife!reader

The fireplace flickered softly, casting a warm glow over your living room. You and Mickey were curled up on the couch with your kids sprawled across the room. Emma was sitting on the other side of the sofa while Finn sat on the floor in front of it. Both of the kids' eyes were trained on the TV. It was a Christmas tradition for your family to relax every Friday of the month while a classic Christmas movie played in the background. A bowl of popcorn was sitting in the center of the couch. The kids would occasionally grab handfuls of popcorn, eyes never leaving the screen.

This week's movie was Frosty The Snowman. As children, both you and Mickey loved watching the Christmas classic. Now, you were finally able to share one of your favorite traditions with your children. While Finn had seen the movie a few times before, having just turned seven in October, it was the first time that your four-year-old, Emma, had seen it. That she would remember anyways. The warm glow shining from the fireplace was the only source of light aside from the television.

There was only around five minutes left in the short film when an advertisement came on. Emma and Finn groaned loudly. They were definitely engrossed in the film. Both of them turned simultaneously to grab a handful of popcorn. Mickey pressed his lips to the crown of your head as you snuggled further into his chest. “Bedtime after this, Kiddos.” He spoke softly. You could feel his chest rumble under your ear. They hummed in response, eyes settling back on the TV as they waited for the movie.

The movie came back on moments later, drawing their attention completely. You and your husband chuckled quietly at the looks of complete concentration on their faces. Sooner than they would have liked, the TV was being shut off and you and Mickey were scooping them up. You grabbed Emma while Mickey picked up Finn. You carried them to the bathroom before setting them on the counter. Mickey headed to their room to grab their pajamas while you began to help them brush their teeth. When your husband returned you were gently washing Emma’s face. She had some chocolate stains around her mouth.

Once they were in their PJs, you lead the kiddos to their room before tucking them into bed. You could have sworn you felt Mickey pat your ass as you walked down the hallway. After pressing a kiss to both of your kids' heads, you and Mickey were about to leave the room when Finn’s soft voice called out to you. “Mumma?” He questioned. You turned back and kneeled next to his bed. He continued once he knew he had your attention. “Can we make a snowman like Frosty tomorrow?” You could hear your husband laugh softly behind you. You smiled at your son as you tucked a lock of hair behind his ear.

“Sure buddy,” You murmured, kissing his forehead again. “But you’re gonna have to get some sleep, okay?” He nodded eagerly. Both you and Mickey bid your children goodnight one last time before you closed the door to their room. You and Mickey headed back to the living room. He scooped you up bridal style causing you to shriek quietly. Setting you down on the couch, he pressed his lips to your temple before moving into the kitchen. Your husband reappeared moments later with two mugs of hot chocolate. You took one from him gratefully as he sat down next to you. A random movie was turned on as the two of you cuddled into each other.

Halfway through the movie, a loud yawn escaped your lips causing your husband to chuckle. He plucked your half-empty mug from your hands before setting both of your cups on the coffee table. The TV was shut off before the pair of you made your way upstairs. You went through your night-time routine in comfortable silence before you climbed into bed. Mickey kissed your forehead softly as your eyes slipped shut.

In the morning, you were woken by the sounds of your kid's loud laughs. You groaned slowly when one of them landed on your stomach. Your eyes fluttered open to see Emma and Finn jumping around on your bed while they tried to wake their father. Emma squealed loudly when she saw that you were awake. Your daughter snuggled into your side while Finn shook his father. Mickey groaned as he flipped over onto his back. His eyes opened, squinting slightly at the light streaming into the room.

“Mumma, Daddy, c’mon wake-up!” He called, slipping off the bed and running from the room, his sister hot on his heels. “We have a snowman to make!” For such a small boy, he was quite loud. You and Mickey shared a look before huffing and climbing out of bed. The pair of you were dressed in record time, hurrying down the stairs before your kid’s created a disaster.

By the time you were downstairs, the kiddos had already started pulling on their snow gear. Usually, they wouldn’t need it seeing as you live in sunny California but this year you were spending the Christmas season in frozen Montana. You and Mickey hurriedly got dressed before following Finn and Emma out the door. They quickly rushed to the front yard, having clearly already made a plan for their snowman.

You and Mickey sat on the porch, for the most part, watching your kids roll the snow into large balls. Some even too large for them to pick up. ‘Daddy!” Emma called loudly. Your husband's eyes darted over to your daughter, worried that she was hurt. When he saw that she was fine he relaxed instantly. She pointed at the massive ball of snow in front of her causing her dad to laugh. He stood up and moved to help the kids lift it onto the base for the snowman. Now, the only part they had left to do was the head.

Your husband rejoined you on the steps, watching your children roll the snowball through the rest of the snow littering the ground. When it was finished, Finn lifted his little sister up so that she could place the head on the snowman. Tears gathered on your lash line that you quickly wiped away. Just as you thought they were finished, Finn slipped off his scarf and handed it to Emma before walking away from their snowman. He returned moments later with two sticks and some rocks. “Come help decorate the snowman!” He yelled toward you and Mickey. Your husband stood, offering you his hand with a soft smile. Pulling you up gently, your fingers interlaced with his as you walked toward the snowman.

Finn handed you some rocks and instructed you to press them into the snowman, which they had unsurprisingly named Frosty, very gently. His instructions were very clear. You elbowed Mickey when he stifled his laugh. With your help, Frosty was decorated in a matter of minutes. Emma made grabby hands at her dad. He picked her up with an easy smile. Before he even realized it, his hat was being plucked off his head and set on the snowman. He let out an over exaggerated gasp. You watched as your husband began to tickle your daughter's sides, causing her to squeal loudly.

Your son came over to stand beside you. His hand reached up to grab yours while he grinned widely. A smile of your own came over your face. You watched your husband chase your daughter around the yard. Loud laughs filled your ears as your family was finally able to enjoy their first Christmas together. This was the first time in a while that Mickey had been home for Christmas. And after the wonderful past few days, you hoped that it would be like this for years to come.

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

#top gun #top gun x female reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun x reader #top gun fluff #mickey fanboy garcia #mickey garcia #top gun maverick fanfiction #fanboy x reader #fanboy fanfic #Mickey fanboy Garcia x reader #fanboy x fem!reader #fanboy top gun #fanboy x you #fanboy imagine #fanboy fic #fanboy garcia x reader #maverick top gun #top gun maverick #christmas 2022 #christmas requests

[t-nd-rfoot]

Hi can I please get the 7th prompt from forbidden love w/ either bob or Mickey? Ty!

BEFORE YOU DO aka The Best Man For You

The most important decision should be made at your wedding, not before it.

Summary Mickey asks you to choose between your head and your heart the day before you get married

Pairing Mickey Garcia x engaged!reader

Theme angst

Warning/s reader is engaged to someone else; mentions of cheating; mentions of toxic relationship; emotional cheating?; conflicted feelings; prompt altered to fit dialogue

Word Count 701

Note Hi, Anon! Sorry huhu there was no specified list between the two forbidden love prompt lists so I just chose 😬 Also, sorry if I made you wait for this, I was literally halfway through my first draft when I realized the prompt wouldn't work with it 🙃 nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it and thank you for requesting!

Playlist (coming soon)

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!

“Don’t marry him.”

Your eyes shifted across the mirror and found Mickey—your fiancé’s best man—locking the bathroom door behind him and rushing over to you.

“Mickey, what are you—”

You were suddenly wrapped in Mickey’s arms, forehead resting on yours, hands cradling your cheeks.

“Don’t marry him. Please, please, please don’t marry him,” he whispered and begged, “you know he’s not right for you, and you know how I feel about you, and I know deep inside of you, you feel the same way.”

Guilt and longing battled inside you.

It pained you to know that Mickey tugged on your heartstrings more than your fiancé did. He was a good man, you kept trying to convince yourself. He provided for you just like any dutiful partner would. He greeted you with a kiss every morning and night—sometimes, he’ll even look up from his phone as he did so. He always asked you how your day went—before he locked himself up in his study. He showered you jewelry and flowers—only once, you saw someone else’s name on the card. He is a good man, you kept trying to convince yourself, in front of everyone else. And that’s what matters.

But then there was Mickey. It always confused you how he and your husband were related because they were polar opposites. Your fiancé was a talker; he was a listener. Your fiancé was stubborn; he was adventurous. Your fiancé was extravagant; he was simple. But Mickey was also the closest thing your fiancé had for a brother, so you maintained a boundary. And while the two of you have kept things platonic for the most part, you couldn’t help but notice all the subtle comments and gestures that said otherwise.

And little did you know how it hurt him to see your cousin dangle you like a little accessory: nice to show off to everyone only to take you off and stow you away until he needed to use you again. How you had to ask for his opinions on the wedding plans because his cousin couldn’t care less, only wanting to ‘lock you down.’

“I leave for base the day after tomorrow. If we leave now, we have time to get your things ready so you could come with me. We’ll never have to leave each other again.”

“Mick…” Tears welled in your eyes. Not just because your emotions were flooding, but because he was right. You constantly tried to put out the flame you held for him, but you couldn’t deny anymore to yourself that there was always something there. But how would it look to his family—to your fiancé—if you up and left him for his cousin at your dress rehearsal?

Your hands fell from his arms as you shook your head. You wanted this too, but there was too much at stake, and you weren’t sure if you were ready to face the consequences.

“We can’t—”

“No, sweetheart. You can’t.” He didn’t even want you to finish that sentence, not ready to accept your decision to push through with the wedding that isn’t meant to be. “I’ve been wearing my heart on my sleeve for you, and you…throw it away. Every time, you choose him, and I don’t know how much more I can take.” His voice strained of the emotional exhaustion he’s put himself through to do this.

“I’m sorry,” he said, trying to calm down, “but please, please. I promise you, if you do, you won’t ever regret it. Or I’ll be gone. Forever.”

You knew he wasn’t just talking about his deployment anymore. If you pushed through with this wedding, whatever was happening between you can’t go on.

“I…” You couldn’t find the words.

He could sense the wave of emotions inside you. So instead of demanding an answer, he held on tightly to what little patience he had left and kissed your forehead, as though that might soften the battle between your mind and heart.

“We still have time. If you want this, meet me by the fountain outside. I’ll be waiting for you.”

And just as quickly as he came in, he left, waiting for you to make the biggest decision of your life.

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

(edited layout)

#top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #tgm fic #mickey fanboy garcia #fanboy garcia #fanboy top gun #fanboy fanfiction #fanboy x reader #fanboy imagine #fanboy fic #mickey garcia fanfiction #mickey garcia imagine #mickey garcia x reader #mickey garcia fic

[callsigndragon]

First Daughter | A Mickey Garcia AU

Pairing: Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia x fem!pilot reader (Call sign: Hawk. Reader's surname is Miller but because she is adopted.)

Summary: Hawk Miller has been surrounded by cameras since she can remember. Because of her mother’s political career, she has been in the public eye her entire life and spent most of the time worried about the repercussions of her words rather than living the life of a normal teenager. When she joined the Navy against her mom’s wishes, Hawk thought that her days of being the perfect daughter were over… But it all becomes worse when Joanne Miller becomes the first female President of the United States. When she gets accepted in Top Gun, Hawk finds the opportunity to prove, not only her mom but the rest of the world, that she's more than just a politician's daughter.

Mickey Garcia doesn’t hate anyone. Well, maybe he hates someone. Just a bit. No, not a bit. A lot. He hates Hawk Miller with his whole soul. She’s a nepo baby, only accepted in Top Gun because she is the First Daughter. So when Joanne makes the wizzo an offer that will make Hawk disappear from his life… how can he say no to the President of the United States?

Tags: enemies to lovers, crack, angst, fluff and more tags to be add in every chapter.

Coming soon!

Moodboards

Meet the First Family

Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia

#top gun maverick fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun x reader #top gun #top gun maverick #mickey fanboy garcia x reader #fanboy x you #top gun fanboy #mickey fanboy garcia #fanboy x reader #mickey garcia x reader #mickey garcia #fanboy fluff #top gun fluff #mickey garcia fluff #mickey garcia fanfic #mickey fanboy garcia x female reader #fanboy garcia #fanboy top gun #fanboy fic #fanboy imagine

[callsign-magnolia]

Congratulations on 200!! Can I get fluff with Fanboy? Maybe a meet cute kind of fluff?

Please and thank you!!

"Auntie! Wait up!" Eli yelled. I was so excited to get to the toy aisle, I forgot about his little legs. "I'm sorry buddy. Come on, let's go to the lego aisle." He cheered and I slowed down to a pace he could keep up with. Finally we got to the lego aisle and I looked down, seeing the last box for the Imperial Star Destroyer. I've been checking with the store for months, because prices online were ridiculous, and now, the last piece to my collection was before me.

I took a step forward and was stopped when Eli didn't move. "Eli, come on." He poked his bottom lip out at me before looking at the Jurassic Park lego sets. "I wanna stay here!" I crouched down to his level as tears welled in his little eyes. "As soon as I grab this, we can come back and I'll get you one of these." I said as I gestured to the second shelf full of dinosaurs. "But I wanna look." He seemed so pitiful and I have been dragging him around with me all day. I glanced down the aisle to the star wars section, and saw it was only five feet away. But so much can happen with five feet of space.

"You stay right here. You do not move. What do we do if a stranger comes up to us?" I asked, adjusting his little hoodie. "I scream, and run." I nodded, messing up his hair. "Smart boy." He really was smart at four years old. I stood up, walking backwards down the aisle, not letting him out of my sight. I reached behind me to grab the box, and just as my hand wrapped around the end I bumped into a body. "I'm so sorry." I said as I turned around. I was immediately met with warm brown eyes and a beautiful smile. "It's no problem." He said as he flashed me a smile. We locked eyes for about thirty seconds before he glanced to my hand and back to me. "Can you let go of my box?"

I couldn't get a response out, stumbling over my words until I cleared my throat. "Actually this is my box." I said and he chuckled, shaking his head. "No, I had my hand on it first." I bit my lip. I really, really wanted this lego set. I have put months of work into finding it. "Look, my nephew really wants this set, and I've been searching for months to get it for him." What could hurt about a little white lie? He glanced behind me, looking at Eli as he grabbed a box before sighing. "Alright. You can have it. I'd hate to crush the little guys dreams." I smiled at him just as Eli came over with a box in hand. "I want this one!" I chuckled as he held the box up for me to see. "Wow, two sets in one day? You must be a lucky guy to have such a cool aunt! She told me how excited you were about this star wars one!" The man said as he crouched down to Eli's level. Eli scrunched his face up and I knew I was done for. "I don't wike star wars. I wike dinosaurs!" He said proudly as he should him the box.

I hid my face behind the box as I blushed, hoping he wouldn't call me out. "Doesn't like star wars, huh?" I sighed, holding the box to my chest. "Look, I'm sorry but I have been searching for months for this and it's the last piece I need for my collection!" I pleaded, hoping he would let me keep it. He held my gaze before sighing. "Alright, I'll let you keep it, on one condition." I looked at him excitedly. "Anything!" He chuckled. "You have to let me help you build it." I bit my lip, smiling at him. "Okay." I agreed, giving him my name and number. "That's a beautiful name. I'm Mickey." I giggled at his name as he gave me my phone back. "I look forward to building this with you, Mickey." He smiled at me, almost making me melt. "Me too."

@jynxmirage thank you so much and I loved writing this! I really hope you enjoy it as well!

#fanboy top gun #fanboy fic #mickey fanboy garcia #mickey garcia #tgm #top gun maverick #top gun imagine

[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.

#mickey ‘fanboy’ garcia #mickey garcia x reader #fanboy x reader #fanboy garcia x reader #top gun fic #top gun maverick fic #mickey 'fanboy' garcia x reader #fanboy fluff #fanboy fic #fanboy x you #fanboy garcia x you #mickey garcia x you #mickey garcia fluff #mickey garcia fic

[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.

#mickey garcia #mickey fanboy garcia #mickey garcia x reader #mickey garcia x you #mickey fanboy garcia x reader #mickey fanboy garcia x you #fanboy garcia x you #mickey garcia fic #mickey garcia fluff #mickey garcia imagine #mickey garcia blurb #fanboy x you #fanboy x reader #fanboy blurb #fanboy fluff #fanboy fic #fanboy imagine #vinny fics #vinny's valentine's prompt party

[sometimes-i-write-good]

¿Quieres bailar conmigo?

Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia x gn!pilotreader [no use of y/n]

2.6k || Fanboy comes home from leave a day early to surprise you, but you surprise him instead.

===

Genre: fluff

CW: overload of charisma

Author's Note: Fanboy is my favorite Top Gun: Maverick character and I’ve already read everything in existence about him, so I have to take matters into my own hands. || cross-posted on ao3

===

===

The first thing Mickey heard when he turned the lock to your shared apartment was a breakup song playing loudly. Punctuated by your passionate cries. In some form of a miracle, you managed to miss every note, which Fanboy took as a sign that your heart was not truly broken and José José merely possessed you with the urge to put on the performance of a lifetime.

He slipped quietly into the flat. Taking his time to unlace his shoes, set down his bag, and softly clicked the door shut behind him. You were not alerted in the slightest. Too busy in the kitchen stirring and shouting, “Qué triste luce todo sin ti. Los mares de las playas se van.”

Every other line you would spin, working your feet through a quick box step with the occasional fling of your spoon when the emotion built. “Se tiñen los colores de gris. Hoy todo es soledad.” you stepped backwards, closer and closer to Mickey with your hips swaying in a way that made his uniform fit a bit too tight.

“Media naranja…” he let his voice trail off, soft enough for you to hear him. The last thing he wanted to do was interrupt the moment with a spike of adrenaline. He’d tried his best, but he never was good at subtlety when it came to you.

“Holy fuck!” You let out a startled scream, hand coming up to clutch at your heaving chest. “Mickey, I thought I asked you to stop doing that.”

“Aw, mi vida,” he laughed, stepping closer to grab you by the hips and pull you close to him. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You stick your bottom lip out at him in a pout. Far enough out that he can’t help the way his gaze lingers on it. “Don’t think you can kiss it better,” you tell him.

Fanboy hums. He brings a hand up to trail the back of his index finger down your cheek so that he can tilt your chin up a bit further. “Can’t I?” It’s fun to watch your reaction to the question, feeling the slightest strain against his fingers and you try to move closer to kiss him.

“Mickey,” you whine.

He closes the gap between you. “Mi cielo.” His voice is low, raspy. All his attempted teasing seems to take more out of him than you and he’d been away for far too long to let his moment draw out any longer. Fanboy cupped your cheek then pressed his lips against yours, filling in all the passion he’d left you without while he was away.

The last kiss he gave you before he’d left was quick. A domestic kind of peck married couples gave one another as they ran out the door for work. In a way, Mickey had convinced himself on the plane to Virginia Beach, that is exactly who the two of you were. You’d been together so long that being moved around from base to base wasn’t the heartbreaking news that it had once been but rather a fact of life the two of you had to live with. Still, it didn’t excuse the way Fanboy had let his own being late impact the last memory of him you were left with before he’d walked out the door. It was something he fully planned to make up for today.

His tongue ran over your bottom lip greedily. Mickey could, and had, memorized every corner of your mouth and it would never be enough to truly satiate him. The moment your lips parted for him Fanboy jumped on the opportunity to run his tongue along the side of yours. He moved with a confidence you had only ever been able to bring out of him.

You hum in satisfaction, fingers going to hook in the belt loops of his uniform. Sure of yourself. A goddess in control of his futile sense of humanity. Freedom and a prison all in one. There could be worse fates than being locked onto your lips for all eternity. Some Fanboy didn’t care enough to explore. Not when he had your body pressed against him and his lips bruised by the shape of yours.

“Mi cielo.” Mickey murmurs against your lips when he goes to take a breath. A kiss pressed to each of the corners of your mouth. “You have no clue what you do to me.” And then, as though you knew full well what you did to him, you slid your hand around the back of his neck and pulled him to your lips once again.

You’re the one to pull away after a few more blissful moments of kissing. Mickey expected you to be. Yet he still had to take a moment, pressing his forehead to yours, hand cupped around your cheek, with his eyes closed. If he had the choice, the two of you would be in the bedroom right now but you had been in the middle of cooking, and he was hard pressed to pull you away from a task once you’d begun. “I love you.”

Mickey doesn’t need to open his eyes to know there was a goofy grin on your face. “I love you more, darling.” The words brought a heat up the back of his neck, settling on his ears. Years into this relationship and you still could fluster him. Mickey opened his eyes, pressed one more swift kiss to your lips, then leaned back to look at you.

For a moment it felt like the two of you were plunged back into the moment of your first kiss. Two kids in love staring at one another with smiles of disbelief. Fanboy knew a part of him would always be stuck in that feeling whenever the two of you kissed. There was no conceivable explanation for how he got so lucky to be able to kiss you whenever he pleased. To be able to call you his everything.

“Mi vida, when I came in… is that really how you’d react in the case of an intruder?” He asked quietly in a poor attempt to cover a soft laugh. “Scream your head off first, figure out a way to fight later?”

You roll your eyes at him and, even in your moments of playful aggravation, Mickey can’t help the way his pulse quickens. He uses his thumb to trace hearts on your waist. A way

“I’m a pilot, mi sol. There’s a reason I do all my fighting in the air.”

“I can teach you to fight.” When you laugh, he pulls you tight to him. “I’m serious. It’s easy, mi vida, a lot like dancing.”

“I’m a horrid dancer,” you tell him. Mickey shakes his head. You have the tendency to be overtly hard on yourself, but he’d seen you when he had walked through that door. Stunning, if a little out of practice. He knew that if he were to tell you that you’d only dismiss the idea entirely claiming that he thought everything you did was stunning and, while you wouldn’t exactly be wrong, he didn’t want you to shy away from his next offer, “Dance with me?”

“Right now? I’ve got dinner on the stove.”

In a swift series of steps, Mickey had you clinging onto him so that he could position the pair of you right in front of the stove. He turned off the stove with a self-satisfied smile. For every excuse you’d planned to make, Mickey had already compiled a thousand reasons why not to worry. It’s how the two of you had always been. Fanboy had lived up to his callsign in more ways than one. He followed you everywhere fixing one problem or the next, easing your fears without you having to so much as ask. A love language, people would call it, but Mickey must have been the only person on earth who could speak it.

“You’re insufferable.” Your words make him grin. The radio starts up with a new song. “Tú” by Los Elegantes de Jerez, one of his favorites to request at the Hard Deck when Penny had live bands instead of just letting the jukebox play the same music over and over each night. He’d yet to convince you to come out and dance with him, but Phoenix was always willing. Otherwise he was more than content to dance on his own, throwing out flirtatious remarks to try and persuade you to join him.

He steps back just enough to take you all in. You let out a confused laugh.  “What?”

“¿Quieres bailar conmigo?”

“Mickey…”

“¿Quieres bailar conmigo, mi cielo?” He asks again with a bit more seriousness behind it and, when you don’t jump on the opportunity he adds, “Cocodrilo que duerme es cartera.”

“Fine, Mick. I’ll dance with-” You’re cut off with a squeak as Fanboy pulls you close. One arm wrapped tight around your waist, hand resting at the small of your back, and placed his left knee so that it rested against the inside of your right knee. It isn’t nearly as close as Mickey would like to be. He longed to crack open his chest and allow you to crawl inside to take residence in his heart so that the two of you physically portrayed Fanboy’s constant state of existence.

He brought his other arm up with your hand in his and waited patiently as you wrapped your arm around his neck. “Rest your weight into your hips.” He drags his gaze over your face, watching you calculate the right way to stand. Your analytical nature made him fall in love with you. The way your tongue would drag along your lips in deep concentration. It made it hard for him to remember what the hell he was saying in the first place. “The norteño means we have to keep our torsos connected.”

You settled your weight, pressing against him, and Mickey’s breath left him in a nervous exhale. “Not so confident anymore are we, Fanboy?” You laugh, and he ducked down slightly to press a kiss to the hollow beneath your ear.

“You make me crazy,” he said and started moving without giving you a warning. If he had told you to concentrate on the tempo you were bound to overthink and start lifting your feet instead of shuffling in wide arcs wherever Mickey led you. Once he was sure you weren’t going to stop him to start counting the beats he added, “we’re going to to step and swing our hips on each beat.”

Growing up his mother used to tell him how important it was to know how to dance. That it was the easiest way to find your other half that way. A perfect complement. Each move followed his lead. Right and then left. Two halves of a whole collapsed in an embrace Mickey never wanted to free himself from.

“Tú, solamente tú,” he sang into your ear with the fondness of someone discovering affection for the first time. A soulmate connected by the chorus of a song. “No necesito de nadie. Ni puedo dejar de mirarte.” You pressed against him, biting down roughly on your lip, and he could see the tender concentration as you counted in your head. “Hey,” he said, “eyes on me.”

Only, when you lifted your gaze to him, Mickey captured your lips in a tender kiss not once breaking step. These movements were second nature. Natural as ducking and dodging during a dogfight. He knew exactly where to let his smooth movements whirl him next. If he weren’t feeling so selfish, he might have included a spin just to hear your laughter. A sound as weightless as the way you moved against him. Mickey did not miss the way you playfully ground against him with each sway of your hips. The innocent confusion on your face while you watched his breath hitch. His hand stayed pressed to the small of your back. Drew you closer on each beat. Your hand on the base of his neck twirled the hair that needed to be cut before he went back. The gesture made him weak in the knees.

The song had finished minutes ago, but the two of you were still moving. He had been caught in the trance of your everything. Your smile, pulled back with mischievous joy; your eyes, how they lingered on his lips as he sang along; and your hands, how they clung to him even though he had no plans on letting you stray away from him during your dance.

He wanted to twirl the two of you out of this apartment. Take you to the Hard Deck. He wanted to call everyone on the Dagger Crew to the bar. Hell, he’d call anyone in off the streets to watch the two of you dance. Show everyone that you were his. Only he could draw this dreamy smile out of you. Only he could pull you out of your own head. Only he could love you like this.

You leaned forward to kiss him. “Thanks, darling. Can I finish dinner?” He relented. You, with great difficulty, managed to take a step back. Only to come back and kiss him with a ferocity that parted his lips almost immediately.

A different kind of dance began. Your tongue in his mouth, searching desperately for the words he had sung earlier. All you could pull out of him were gentle groans of pleasure. Mickey’s hands gripped at your waist. You were entirely in control. Each step forward led him backwards until he was pressed up against the counter.

Abandoning your hips, Fanboy moved his hands up to your hair. He had always learned in moments like this to let you believe that you could bring him to his knees. That thought might hold more truth to it that he cared to admit. But he could always slide his hands down to cup your face. Your weakness. He would tilt your head slightly, allowing him more room to slip his tongue into your mouth, and expose your neck enough for him to trail kisses downwards. So that when he did get onto his knees for you it was entirely of his own violation.

You noticed the change. You noticed everything when you cared to. “Mickey.” Your voice was muffled by his tongue tracing the shape of your bottom lip. “Mickey.” Once more he captured his own name and you had to pull away to say, “I have to make dinner.”

He sighed. “Do you?”

“Yes, I’m hungry.”

With one final peck he watched as you made your way back over to the stove. “I’ll have to make something more. I wasn’t expecting you today.”

There was no hint of annoyance in your voice. Fanboy could see you bite back a smile. He longed to turn you around to kiss you, but instead let you turn on the gas and stir the soup you’d been making humming José José.

“You do realize ‘El Triste’ is a breakup song, mi amor?” Mickey said, wrapping his arms around your waist, and pulling you flush against him as you stirred the soup on the stove.

“When you’re gone I like to pretend I’m heartbroken.”

“And when I’m home?” He pressed a soft kiss to your neck. “What do you like to pretend when I’m holding you like this?”

He could feel the sigh work its way out of your chest. You flicked off the gas once more. “I like to pretend that we’ll get a chance to eat dinner, but…”

Mickey laughed. “But?”

“But,” you said, “I think we’re ordering in tonight.”

“Are we now?” You spin around to wrap your arms around his neck, grinding up against him, and pulling away with a smug smile. “Oh, mi ciela, vamos a bailar.”

#mickey 'fanboy' garcia #mickey 'fanboy' garcia x reader #mickey 'fanboy' garcia fluff #fluff #domestic fluff #oneshot #top gun oneshot #mickey garcia x reader #reader insert #gender nuetral reader #top gun maverick #top gun fic #top gun imagine #fanboy top gun #fanboy x you #mickey fanboy garcia #fanboy fic #fanboy garcia #fanboy garcia x reader #he is my favorite #i am in love with him #jose jose's el triste has been stuck in my head for weeks

[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)

#fanboy garcia x OC #mickey garcia x OC #fanboy x OC #mickey fanboy garcia x OC #mickey “fanboy” garcia x OC #fanboy garcia #mickey garcia #fanboy #mickey fanboy garcia #mickey “fanboy” garcia #fanboy garcia fic #mickey garcia fic #fanboy fic #mickey fanboy garcia fic #mickey “fanboy” garcia fic #Top Gun: Maverick #Top Gun Maverick #TGM #Top Gun: Maverick OC #TGM OC #oc: carolina alvarez #oc: dalia alvarez-garcia #ship: fanro #series: tailspin #motion sickness universe

[bobfloydsbabe]

I must know more about post-party cuteness!!

Morgan, my love. It's a bit complicated to explain, but stay with me ✨

The setting is what me and two of my friends, @joaquinwhorres and @veetlegeuse, call the Ocean City!AU. It's set during a summer while they're in college. Mickey and Mei (my oc) are hopelessly in love with each other, but they both think the other person isn't interested, which isn’t true, of course. This blurb takes place the morning after a party where Mei got drunk, and Mickey sleeps in a chair in her room to make sure she's okay. It's just sweet and I can't help but root for them to get their act together and just be together, which I know I could make happen considering I write them, but I digress.

I legitimately word vomited that blurb at 2 am last night, and I’m facing a bit of friendly pressure to post it, but I kind of want to add more before I do. If I do.

Here's a lil sneak peek

She put the glass back on the table and looked at Mickey. He still wore his clothes from the night before, arms crossed in front of his chest as he slept. He looked peaceful. “Mickey,” she called softly, but nothing happened. Scooting to the edge of the bed, she leaned over and nudged his knee with her hand. “Mickey,” she said louder, and he startled awake, almost falling out of the chair. “I’m awake!” he insisted, looking bewildered and a little cross-eyed. Mei laughed. How could she not? He straightened his back and looked at her. His smile spread when their eyes met, and she hoped he couldn’t see the way her cheeks flushed. She’d never had a boy in her room before. “Morning,” he muttered and adjusted the backwards baseball cap that had gone askew when he first woke. “Good morning.” “How are you feeling?” he asked and stood. He stepped to the bed and sat on the edge, but far enough down that he wasn’t invading her personal space. She shrugged. “I don’t usually drink that much.” He chuckled. “Javy was a little heavy-handed when mixing drinks last night,” he said. “It’s not your fault.”

#mail #answered #attapullman #mickey fanboy garcia #fanboy garcia #mickey garcia #fanboy fic #fanboy x oc #mickey garcia x oc #tgm fic #top gun maverick fic #danny ramirez

[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

#top gun: maverick #mickey garcia x reader #mickey garcia #fanboy x reader #fanboy #mickey fanboy garcia #mickey fanboy garcia x reader #top gun fic #fanboy fic #mickey garcia fic #top gun maverick

[ilyasorokinn]

3/3 mikey “fanboy” garcia - "oh please, who's gonna stop us?" "the police."!!! (ik i sent alot of reqs so don't feel pressured to do all of them!!) congrats on 2.5k I couldn't imagine anyone who deserves it more!!

HORRIBLE VERY VERY BAD IDEA

ty my bestie! love you lots <3 *muah*

6. "oh please, who's gonna stop us?" "the police." (from this prompt list)

"this is actually a horrible idea, y/n." mikey spoke frantically from behind you.

"no, it's not, now be quiet."

"i can't! we're gonna get in trouble."

"oh please, who's gonna stop us?" you scoffed.

"the police!" he insisted.

"oh, yeah." you stopped what you were doing for a second, "oh well." you shrugged, "come on, help me up." you held up your arm waiting for him to help you out.

"y/n!"

"you're really gonna leave me in here? to rot?" you begged, flashing him the eyes you knew would make him do it. it wasn't like you were stealing. you found it in the dumpster, so that meant the movie theater was getting rid of it.

what was "it" exactly? an old movie poster for your favorite movie. the movie theater near base was a small one, so they often played old movies and happened to be playing "the sound of music" and it was one of the retro posters, so you had to have it.

"y/n, we are literally going to get arrested!"

"michael garcia, if you don't shut up, i'm going to punch you! we're done! we can go to the car now."

"oh, goodie." he excitedly got back into your car and didn't wait for you to put on your seatbelt before he was speeding back to your house.

"a little bit higher." you instructed, "now a little to the left." you leaned your head to the side, "and now down a little."

"y/n, i swear to god-"

"calm down, it looks good there." you smiled.

"finally." he drilled the hole into the wall and then hung up the now framed poster of "the sound of music" poster.

mikey took a step back so he could admire it alongside you, "see! look how good it looks."

"considering all we went through, i expect it to pay our bills." he joked.

taylor's 2.5k celly!

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[notroosterbradshaw]

I’m down to read about Fanboy!

dropped, and very nervous, so hopefully you enjoy, darling heart x

a series of moments

#asks answered #mickey garcia #mickey garcia x reader #mickey fanboy garcia #fanboy fic #fanboy x reader #fanboy garcia x reader #fanboy