#fanboy garcia

[kcsplace]

Top Gun Silliness

[itwillbethescarletwitch]

Split Second

Bob Floyd x fem!aviator!reader

call sign: Bolt

The squadroom buzzed with tired energy—helmets off, hair tousled from the Gs, and sweat slicking flight suits as bodies crashed into worn leather chairs.

Phoenix tossed her gloves on the table. “Hangman, if you’d flown any looser, you’d have circled the carrier.”

Hangman grinned, cocky as ever. “You’re just mad Bolt smoked you on that last vertical climb.”

“She smoked all of you,” Rooster said, voice dry. “Again.”

At the far end of the table, you sat with one leg crossed over the other, flight suit halfway unzipped, tank top soaked with sweat and salt and victory.

“Maybe if y’all spent less time talking and more time flying,” you said without looking up from your notepad,

“I wouldn’t keep embarrassing you in front of Maverick.”

Hangman pointed a finger at you. “Someday, Bolt, I’m gonna knock you out of the sky.”

You smiled—lazy, lethal.

“Then I’ll know I’m dreaming.”

Laughter rippled around the room.

Bob leaned against the back wall, arms crossed, smiling to himself. He hadn’t said a word since you landed. He never had to. The quiet way he watched you said more than anything else.

You didn’t see it—but he always saw you.

⸻

Maverick walked in, tossed his clipboard onto the table.

“Good work today. Debrief’s short—we’ll run again tomorrow at 0500.”

Everyone groaned.

“Unless Bolt gets bored and laps you again,” he added, without glancing up.

You saluted with two fingers and a wicked grin.

“I’ll try to keep it interesting.”

⸻

It happened in a blink.

Your phone buzzed.

You glanced down.

Stopped smiling.

One beat. Two.

Your hand tightened around the phone. Then you stood up—abrupt, stiff—and turned away from the table.

Phoenix noticed first. “Bolt?”

You didn’t answer.

You were already out the door.

Bob pushed off the wall.

When it lights up again—Incoming call – Mom—you don’t hesitate.

“Hey,” you say, voice flat. “What’s going on?”

And then you just… listen.

The room fades. So do the voices and the banter and the scrape of Phoenix’s helmet hitting the bench beside you.

Your fingers curl tight around the phone. Your throat goes dry.

“How long?” you whisper.

Your mother’s voice cracks.

“They’re waiting for you.”

You close your eyes.

“I’ll be on the next flight.”

———

The airport is loud in the way all airports are—metal chairs scraping the floor, heels clicking past, toddlers crying in spurts of exhaustion.

But around you, it’s muffled. Hollow. Like you’re hearing everything from underwater.

You sit by the window. Shoulders stiff. Hands in your lap. Your flight to Vegas boards in thirteen minutes.

You haven’t blinked in twice that.

Your duffel is under the chair. You packed it in six minutes flat. Just enough to get through the night and the next day.

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t say goodbye to anyone.

You didn’t let Bob or Phoenix or anyone walk you out of the squadroom.

You just left.

Ordered an Uber. Didn’t speak to the driver. Watched the base fade behind you in the rearview mirror.

“We’re waiting for you,” your mom had said.

You can’t stop replaying it. The way her voice cracked around it. The way the silence afterward said what she couldn’t:

She’s not going to wake up.

⸻

You stare out at the tarmac. A jet lifts off somewhere across the field. You don’t follow it.

You’re not thinking about flying.

You’re thinking about the last text your sister ever sent.

Don’t die in a training accident before my wedding.

I still haven’t found another maid of honor.

You smile. Barely. It hurts.

She’ll never have a wedding now.

⸻

You rub your palms against your thighs. Hard. Like maybe if you move fast enough, think sharp enough, you can stay ahead of the grief crawling up your spine.

You’re the strong one.

The sharp one.

The bolt of lightning that everyone watches hit but no one dares to follow.

You’re not the one who breaks.

Not in public.

Not ever.

But your throat aches. Your chest is tight. And suddenly the thought of walking into that hospital room alone—seeing her face, hearing the machines—makes your stomach lurch.

“Just make it through the flight,” you whisper.

“Just make it to Vegas.”

You fold your arms. Press your chin to your knuckles. Close your eyes and pretend you’re somewhere else.

Anywhere else.

———

The lights in the hallway are too bright.

The nurse at the front desk knows your name when you give it. She doesn’t look surprised to see you. Just sad. Like she’s done this a hundred times.

“Room 614. Take the elevator on your left.”

“They’re all in there.”

Your feet move before your mind does.

The tile is cold. The elevator hums. And when the doors open, you have to make yourself step out.

It’s late, but the waiting room outside the ICU is still full. Your mom’s on the couch, her hands clenched in her lap. Her mascara’s been smudged down her cheeks for hours. You’ve never seen her cry before.

Your cousin looks up. Tries to smile. Doesn’t make it.

You stand there for one long moment, and no one says a word.

Because you’re here. And that means it’s time.

“They’ll let you have a few minutes,” someone says.

You nod. Walk past them.

Your mother reaches for your hand. You don’t stop walking.

⸻

ICU – Room 614

The first thing you notice is the sound.

Machines. Steady, rhythmic. One long exhale at a time.

Then her face.

Pale. Still. Too still.

Your sister lies in the bed like she’s asleep. But her chest doesn’t rise on its own.

A machine breathes for her.

Her fingers twitch slightly, but it’s not real. You know that.

You close the door behind you.

It clicks too loud.

Your knees almost give out.

You walk to the side of the bed and sit down. Her hand is small in yours. Cold from the IVs. From the stillness.

She used to be louder than you. Bigger than you, somehow, even though you shared everything—blood, bones, birthdays.

She used to say, “If I die before you, you better do something dramatic. Like start a war or name your kid after me or tattoo my face on your ass.”

You let out a sound—half laugh, half sob.

“Hey,” you whisper, brushing hair off her forehead.

“You can hear me, right?”

She doesn’t move.

“It’s me. Obviously. Who else would drive like a maniac through McCarran just to get here in time?”

Your voice breaks.

“You weren’t supposed to go first.”

You bend forward, forehead to hers.

“We were supposed to be old and wrinkled and yelling at people in a retirement home together. Remember that?”

A tear slips down your nose onto the blanket.

“I don’t know how to do this without you.”

“You’ve been here my whole life.”

You take a shaky breath.

“If you’re still in there… I need you to know I’m going to be okay.”

“I’ll fly. I’ll live. I’ll make you proud.”

You bite your lip so hard it bleeds.

“But it’s gonna hurt for a long time.”

You lean down and kiss her temple.

The machine sighs.

A nurse knocks gently. You only nod.

“We’re ready when you are,” she says.

You press your forehead to hers again. One last time.

“I love you.”

And then?

You let her go.

The air is dry and too warm.

You don’t remember taking the elevator back down. You don’t remember hugging your mom. You don’t remember walking out.

But you’re outside now.

Standing beneath a flickering streetlight, your duffel slung over one shoulder. There’s a vending machine humming nearby. A car alarm going off in the distance. And that smell—the city’s strange mix of heat, oil, and stale cigarettes.

You blink, and for one horrible second, you think,

I need to text her and let her know I made it in time.

But there’s no one to text.

You grip your phone anyway, knuckles white.

“She’s really gone,” you whisper.

Your voice doesn’t sound like yours.

You sit down on the curb because your legs won’t hold you anymore.

And you just sit there. Not crying. Not speaking. Just breathing through the throb in your chest and the silence she left behind.

People walk past. Cars roll by. Nobody stops.

The world keeps moving.

And you’re standing still.

⸻

Five Days Later – North Island Naval Base – Hangar 2

You walk back into base like nothing happened.

Aviators on. Hair pinned. Flight suit zipped to your collarbone. Clipboard in hand.

You nod at a few people in passing. Dodge Phoenix’s eyes. Pretend not to hear Hangman say “Glad you’re back.”

You don’t stop walking.

You head straight to the locker room. Your locker’s exactly how you left it. Helmet perched up top. Notes tucked into the door.

You sit down slowly. Flex your fingers once. Open your flight log.

And breathe.

Just like always.

⸻

The squad briefing room – 1345 hours

The room smells like sweat and old coffee. Everyone’s still in flight suits, sunburned and buzzing from adrenaline.

You sit at the far end of the long table, one leg crossed, hands folded neatly in your lap.

You haven’t taken off your gloves.

“Bolt was clean on that vertical loop,” Phoenix says, flipping through her notes. “Fastest response time I’ve seen in three weeks.”

“I told you,” Hangman mutters. “She flies like she’s got something to prove.”

You don’t react.

Rooster glances at you. His brows lift slightly. Not teasing—curious.

You keep your face still.

Your body moves automatically. You nod at the right beats. Tap your pen. Mark your page. You’re here. You’re sharp. You’re Bolt.

Just like always.

⸻

Maverick leans forward, elbows on the table.

“Clean drills. No gaps. Team cohesion is tight.”

He looks around the room.

Then his eyes land on you.

“Lieutenant Bolt,” he says, calm. Measured. “How are you holding up?”

You blink.

The room goes still.

You open your mouth.

“I’m good.”

A pause.

He doesn’t move.

“That wasn’t the question.”

It’s so quiet you can hear the AC kick on.

You shift in your chair. Glance at the notepad in front of you. Your hands suddenly feel too small. Your gloves too tight.

Everyone’s watching.

Phoenix. Rooster. Hangman.

And Bob—Bob is watching closer than anyone.

Your throat starts to close. Your chest tightens.

“I’m—”

“I’m—”

But the words die in your mouth.

And then—

Your hand flies up to cover it.

Your shoulders jerk.

And the first sob rips out of you without permission.

Not graceful. Not quiet.

You break. Hard.

Your head bows down into your arms as everything crashes out of you—sobs so deep they shake your whole body, so loud they echo in the stunned silence.

You can’t breathe.

You can’t—

“I’m sorry,” you gasp, voice wrecked.

“I didn’t mean to—I can’t—”

A chair scrapes back.

You feel motion beside you.

Bob.

He doesn’t say a word.

He just kneels beside your chair, both hands steady on your arms, and says your name once—soft, like something holy.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs. “You’re not alone.”

You turn into him without thinking.

Clutch his shoulders like you’re drowning. Let yourself cry into his neck. Shake and sob and break while the entire squad watches in stunned silence.

“She’s gone,” you sob.

“My twin. She’s gone. And I don’t know how to be here without her.”

Bob doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t hesitate.

He wraps his arms around you and holds on like he’ll never let go.

“Then don’t be here alone,” he whispers.

“Let me help carry it.”

And for the first time since Vegas…

You do.

———

North Island – Bob Floyd’s Apartment – 6:42 PM

You don’t remember agreeing to go home with him.

You just remember the feel of his hand on the small of your back—steady, warm, there—and the way he kept pace with your silence.

No one spoke as you walked off base. Not Phoenix. Not Rooster.

Not you.

You don’t remember how the car smelled. Or what song was playing. Or how long it took.

But now you’re sitting on his couch.

Still in your flight suit. Helmet on the floor. Back pressed into the corner of the cushion like you’re trying to disappear.

Bob’s in the kitchen.

You can hear him moving—quietly. A pan sizzling. The soft clink of silverware. A drawer closing.

He brings you a plate of food.

Sets it on the table without a word.

You don’t touch it.

You stare at the steam curling off the rice. The color of the sauce. The fork he’s already placed in your hand.

“You don’t have to eat,” he says, gently.

You set the fork down.

Then—

“It’s like… she took part of me with her,” you whisper.

Bob doesn’t answer right away.

He just lowers himself into the chair across from you. Elbows on his knees. Hands folded like he’s praying.

“Of course she did,” he says softly.

You look at him.

He meets your eyes.

“You were built together,” he says.

“You shared space before you even had names.”

Your chest tightens.

“How do you know that?” you rasp.

“I read,” he says with a small smile.

“And I watch people.”

He leans forward a little.

“And I’ve watched you long enough to know that losing her feels like losing gravity.”

You press your knuckles to your mouth.

Tears spring again. Not as sharp this time. Not as loud.

Just soft. Slow.

“I’m so tired, Bob.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to be alone.”

“You don’t have to be.”

⸻

Later – 9:26 PM

You’re lying on your side in one of Bob’s T-shirts. He gave it to you without asking. Just handed it over and turned around while you changed in the bathroom.

You’re curled on his couch with a blanket pulled up to your chin.

He’s on the floor beside you—back resting against the cushions, long legs stretched out, one arm resting along the back of the couch where your shoulder touches.

You’re not speaking. You don’t have to.

Your fingers drift toward him slowly.

He doesn’t move.

Just lets you find him.

You end up tangled.

Your cheek pressed against his chest.

His hand in your hair.

And he doesn’t say a thing when your breathing gets shallow. Or when you whisper “Don’t go.”

He just nods.

“I won’t.”

———

Bob Floyd’s Apartment – 6:47 AM

You wake slowly.

The light through the blinds is soft—gold cutting across the sheets in warm stripes. The kind of light that makes the world feel distant. Weightless.

But you don’t feel weightless.

Your chest still hurts. That tight, aching sort of grief that lingers in your bones.

You shift.

You’re in a T-shirt that isn’t yours.

Your duffel is still zipped in the corner.

And this… this is Bob’s bed.

But Bob isn’t beside you.

You sit up slowly.

And that’s when you see it—

He’s on the floor.

Pillow tucked behind his head. Blanket kicked off. One arm flung across his chest. Still in yesterday’s clothes.

You stare.

Your heart twists.

He gave you the bed.

And never left the room.

⸻

You slide off the mattress, careful not to wake him, but the second your feet hit the ground—

“Mornin’.”

His voice is gravel and warmth and something too gentle to name.

You freeze.

“Sorry,” you murmur. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

He sits up slowly. Blinks at you. His hair’s a mess. His spine probably hates him.

But he smiles.

“Didn’t sleep too deep.”

You nod.

“Me neither.”

A beat.

He pushes himself to his feet.

“You want coffee?”

You should say no. You should say you need to go.

But—

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Please.”

———

The coffee’s gone cold in your mug.

You’ve barely touched it.

You’re just watching him.

The sunlight hits the side of his face, and for one second—one long, aching second—you want to tell him everything.

So you do.

“I have feelings for you.”

Bob stills.

His head turns slowly toward you.

“You’re exhausted,” he says gently. “You’ve been through hell.”

You don’t blink.

“That doesn’t make it untrue.”

He sets his cup down. Carefully.

“Y/N—”

“I’ve felt this way for a while,” you interrupt, voice cracking. “Before Vegas. Before the hospital. Before the flight drills. Before all of it.”

He goes still.

His throat moves, but no sound comes out.

“I didn’t say anything because I thought…”

“I thought someone like you could never love someone like me.”

That makes him flinch.

“What does that mean?”

You let out a breath, sharp and shaking.

“It means I’m loud. I’m fast. I don’t know how to slow down unless someone makes me. I don’t do quiet. I don’t do soft.”

“And you—you’re gentle. You’re… the safe thing. The thing I’ve never been allowed to want.”

Your eyes sting. You look down at the table.

“But I did. I do. I want you.”

A long silence.

Then—

“Y/N,” he says quietly. “You’re grieving. You just lost the most important person in your world. You don’t—”

“Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t say I don’t know what I’m feeling.”

He presses his lips together.

Doesn’t speak.

So you do.

“I know what grief is,” you say. “I know how it twists things and makes you reach for the closest lifeline.”

“But that’s not what this is.”

You meet his eyes.

“I don’t need you to fix me, Bob.”

“I just want you to believe me.”

⸻

He looks wrecked.

More wrecked than you’ve ever seen him.

“I want to believe you,” he says. “God, I do.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Because you’re everything I never let myself want. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

You stare at him.

And suddenly—there’s no anger. No panic. Just something heavy and aching in your chest.

You nod once.

“Okay.”

You push your chair back. Stand slowly.

“I’m gonna go.”

“Y/N—”

“It’s okay,” you say gently, even though it isn’t. “I just needed to say it out loud.”

You don’t slam the door.

You don’t cry until you’re already outside.

And you don’t look back.

———

The door doesn’t slam.

You just… leave.

And for a long time after, Bob doesn’t move.

He sits at the table, coffee cold in front of him, his hands gripping the edges like they’re the only thing keeping him tethered.

Your chair is still warm.

Your mug is still half-full.

And he’s still trying to breathe.

⸻

I’ve felt this way for a while.

The words echo in his head.

He presses the heels of his palms to his eyes.

Hard.

I want you.

He wants to believe it.

He wants to believe it so badly it physically hurts.

But all he can hear underneath it is that low, cruel voice he’s carried for years:

She’s lightning.

You’re not meant to catch lightning.

She’ll realize it was just the grief talking. Just the moment.

⸻

He stands up too fast. His chair scrapes the floor.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself.

He walks into the bedroom.

Stops.

Stares.

Your duffel bag is gone.

But your flight patch—the spare one from your jacket—is still sitting on his nightstand.

Folded. Deliberate. Like you left it for him.

He walks over slowly.

Picks it up.

Just holds it in his hands.

The stitching is worn. The call sign BOLT stitched in faded silver thread.

He runs a thumb over it, and suddenly he can hear your laugh from a few weeks ago—sharp and bright and reckless as hell after a good landing.

“You’re too good for me, Bobby.”

He thought you were joking when you said it.

But maybe you meant it.

Maybe you’ve always meant it.

⸻

He sinks onto the edge of the bed.

Drops his head into his hands.

And whispers—

“Goddammit.”

Because the truth is?

You’re not just grief.

You’re not just lightning.

You’re the only thing that’s ever made him want more than quiet.

More than safety.

More than staying invisible.

And he let you walk away.

 ———

North Island – Five Days Later – 1440 Hours

You haven’t spoken to Bob since that morning in his kitchen.

You haven’t spoken to anyone, really.

You show up to drills early. You finish debrief late. You don’t joke. You don’t answer Phoenix’s texts. You don’t even glance at Hangman’s stupid grin.

You’re locked in.

Dead silent.

Untouchable.

Just the way they expect you to be.

Bolt, the unbreakable.

And that’s exactly what you give them.

⸻

In the air, you’re terrifying.

Faster than ever.

Sharp turns. No hesitation.

You take corners like you’re trying to rip yourself out of your own skin.

It earns you silence over the comms.

And then a single word from Maverick at the end of the flight:

“Dangerous.”

You don’t argue.

You land. Strip your helmet. Walk away.

⸻

Hangar 2 – 5:17 PM

You’re the last one inside.

Everyone else is gone.

You sit on the wing of your jet, wiping down the surface with a cloth you don’t need. Just an excuse to not go home.

You’re still in your flight suit. Your hair’s still tucked up tight. You haven’t eaten today.

You’re not sure you care.

The ache in your chest is quieter now.

Not gone. Just… dull. Numb.

Like scar tissue forming around something that used to be soft.

⸻

And then you hear the door open.

Footsteps.

You know who it is without turning.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say.

“Neither should you.”

You freeze.

Bob’s voice is low. Careful. Like he’s approaching something wounded.

You don’t move.

“Don’t worry,” you say flatly. “I’m not about to fall apart in front of you again.”

A pause.

“That’s not why I’m here.”

You turn around slowly.

Bob’s standing near the back of the hangar. Still in uniform. Still looking at you like he’s not sure you’ll let him close.

You stare.

Your voice is quiet when you speak.

“You made your choice.”

“No,” he says. “I made a mistake.”

⸻

Your hands curl tight around the rag in your fist.

“Don’t do that.”

“Y/N—”

“Don’t come here and try to take it back because you feel guilty.”

“It’s not guilt,” he says, stepping forward. “It’s clarity.”

You shake your head.

“I don’t need clarity. I needed honesty.”

“Then here it is.”

He’s in front of you now. Not touching. But close.

“You scare the hell out of me,” he says quietly. “You’re everything I’ve ever told myself I couldn’t have.”

“And I didn’t believe you when you said you wanted me, because I’ve spent my whole life thinking someone like you would never choose someone like me.”

You look up at him.

Eyes sharp. Shoulders stiff.

“And now?”

He swallows hard.

“Now I don’t care how scared I am.”

“Because letting you walk away was worse.”

⸻

He reaches into his jacket.

Pulls something out.

Your patch.

“You left this.”

You stare at it. Frozen.

He holds it out.

“I’ve been carrying it every day.”

You don’t speak.

You take it from his hand slowly. Let your fingers graze his.

And finally—

Your voice cracks.

“You hurt me.”

“I know,” he whispers.

“And I’ll never stop being sorry for that.”

“You made me feel small.”

“You were never small,” he says. “You were never anything but lightning.”

“Then why couldn’t you believe I meant it?”

“Because I wanted it too much.”

⸻

Silence.

Then:

“Do you still want me?” you ask, barely audible.

His breath hitches.

“Every goddamn second.”

⸻

You fall into his arms like gravity wins.

And this time?

He doesn’t let go.

Your hands fist into the front of his flight suit and drag him forward like you’ve run out of time, like you’ve run out of air, like the only thing left that makes sense is his mouth on yours.

⸻

The kiss is hard.

Messy.

Hungry.

Your lips crash against his like a threat—like don’t ever leave me again, like you should’ve said this sooner, like you’re mine if you mean it.

And he answers every word of it.

His hands slide up your back. Slow at first. But once he feels you shake—once he hears the sound you make when he kisses you deeper—

He breaks.

“God, I missed you,” he breathes between kisses.

“I didn’t even have you, and I missed you.”

You shudder.

Your fingers slide up into his hair. Tug tight. You pull him closer.

“Tell me again,” you whisper against his mouth.

“What?”

“That you want me.”

He kisses you once. Then again.

Then says it between every single one—

“I want you.”

kiss

“I want you.”

kiss

“I want you, I want you, I want you.”

Like he’s trying to make up for every second you thought he didn’t.

⸻

Your back hits the side of the jet.

Your helmet falls from the wing and clatters on the floor.

You barely notice.

You’re breathless now. Both of you. Heat and sweat and grief and want tangled in every rough slide of lips and teeth and tongue.

But it’s not sex.

Not yet.

This is something deeper. Rawer.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper.

“Never.”

⸻

You slow down. Eventually. But your hands stay on his chest, and his forehead stays pressed to yours.

You’re not done. You’re just catching your breath.

And for the first time in weeks, you believe him.

He wants you.

He always did.

[queenofwands89]

Quiet Affections

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Pilot!reader

Summary: After her friends tease her about Jake having a crush on her, Y/N reflects on certain memories that make her question whether there might be some truth to their playful jabs.

Warnings: Teasing, pining, Jake being a sweetheart, Y/N being oblivious, insults aimed at Y/N, protective Jake, mention and description of injury, anxiety, doubts, fluff.

Notes: Happy Friday, everyone! We made it! 🎉 I just hit 2,500 likes on here and wanted to thank each and every one of you who liked, reblogged, or commented on my works. It means the world to me. I’m down bad for Jake, and need him badly so I wrote this. Enjoy byeeee

You find yourself deep in the heart of the Hard Deck, the familiar hum of chatter and clinking glasses forming a comforting backdrop. Rooster, Natasha, Javy, Bob, Reuben, and Mickey are clustered around the pool table, laughter spilling freely as they take turns making shots and throwing jabs. Jake had just excused himself to go to the restroom, but not before brushing a lingering hand against your shoulder and whispering something that made you smile. This action set off a chain reaction of teasing directed at you.

"Y/N, you know Hangman’s got a huge crush on you, right?" Rooster's mustache twitches with a sly smile as he lines up for his shot.

You laugh it off, waving a hand dismissively. "Oh please, Bradley. Jake? No way. He's just... nice."

Rooster and Natasha exchange glances before Natasha cocks an eyebrow at you. "Nice? Hangman is many things, but nice isn't the first word I'd use. Unless he’s talking to you," she remarks, tapping her cue stick against her palm.

Bob, always the quiet observer, chimes in. "He's got a point though, Y/N. I've seen how he looks at you."

You can't help but roll your eyes. "I'm just completely unaware of it," you say, sarcasm dripping from your voice. "You guys are ridiculous."

Mickey grins, his boyish charm lighting up his face. "Maybe, but can you really deny the way he's always got your back?" he asks, leaning casually against the pool table.

Your first instinct is to rebut, but as their words settle in, you start to think about some of the things Jake had done for you. Not just the grand gestures like saving your hide in aerial combat, but the small, everyday things. The way he'd always save you a seat, bring you coffee exactly how you like it, offer subtle words of encouragement when you doubted yourself.

Javy steps forward, his competitive spirit twinkling in his eyes. "You're telling me you haven't noticed how he always goes out of his way to make sure you're okay?"

Reuben, good-natured but always vigilant, nods in agreement. "Hangman's not exactly an altruistic guy, Y/N. But for you? He'd go to lengths he wouldn't for anyone else."

You crack a wry smile, determined to stay firm in your denial. "He's just protective. We're teammates."

Natasha had already joined in, her voice warm yet teasing. “Don’t sell yourself short, Y/N. It’s not just about being teammates. He genuinely cares.”

In the ensuing silence, you can't help but ponder on their words. Jake "Hangman" Seresin is charismatic and assertive, traits forged from his exceptional flying skills and competitive nature. But beneath that cocky exterior, there lies a heart incredibly loving and caring, willing to sacrifice anything for his loved ones. Slowly, you find yourself drifting into a vivid memory, reliving the countless cherished moments and experiences you've shared with Jake.

You recall that evening at the Hard Deck vividly. The bar was buzzing with the usual chatter and laughter, the hum of camaraderie filling the air. You were amidst your friends, enjoying the rare downtime when an unfamiliar voice cut through the noise—this stranger making an offhand but cruel remark about you. The comment was subtle, yet it stung deeply, rooting you in place with a mix of shock and mortification. Your cheeks burned under the weight of the ridicule, words lodged in your throat.

Before you could muster a response, you felt Jake's presence beside you, solid and reassuring. He stepped forward, placing himself between you and the offender. His usual easy going demeanor was replaced by a steely resolve, his eyes dark with anger. "Do us all a favor and think before you speak," he said, his voice steady but carrying an unmistakable edge.

The bar fell into an uneasy silence as Jake’s glare pinned the offender in place. "If you've got a problem with Y/N," he continued, his voice low and unwavering, "you’ll be dealing with me."

The tension hung in the air, thick and palpable. The offender, unable to match Jake's intensity, muttered an apology and slunk away, deflated. The moment passed, but the impact lingered. Jake remained there a moment longer, ensuring the threat had fully dissipated before turning back to you.

As he met your gaze, the hardness in his features softened, replaced by a gentle concern. He reached out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "You okay?" he asked, his voice filled with a tenderness reserved just for you.

You felt an overwhelming wave of gratitude, the initial embarrassment giving way to a profound sense of relief. Jake had stood up for you without a second thought, his protective instinct leaving no room for compromise. In that moment, you knew you were safe, not just physically but emotionally, knowing Jake had your back. His touch and the concern in his eyes reassured you even more, providing a solace that words alone could not.

.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

Then there was the night when you couldn’t sleep, tormented by insecurities that gnawed at the edges of your mind. It was long past midnight, and you found yourself seated on the deck of the aircraft carrier, trying to get some fresh air to clear your head before the mission. The vast expanse of the ocean and the cool night breeze did little to quiet the whirlwind of self-doubt swirling inside you.

The stars dotted the sky like tiny beacons, and the waves below gently lapped against the ship's hull, but none of it brought you peace. You wrapped your arms around yourself, tense and lost in thought, barely noticing the sound of footsteps approaching.

Jake emerged from the shadows, his silhouette becoming clearer in the soft glow of the ship's lights. He paused when he saw you, his brow furrowing with concern. He looked around, ensuring no one else was around, before walking over to you with determined but careful strides.

"Y/N, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice breaking the solitude with an edge of worry.

You hesitated, feeling foolish for bothering him. "I…I just can't stop thinking about everything that's been going wrong. I don't know if I'm cut out for this, Jake."

Jake's eyes softened, and he lowered himself to sit beside you on the cold metal deck. "Tell me more," he said gently, coaxing you to open up. His voice was so steady, so soothing, that you found yourself pouring out all your fears and anxieties—the relentless pressure, the fear of failure, the nagging feeling that you weren't good enough. With each word, you felt a weight lifting from your chest.

Jake listened without interrupting, his usual cocky demeanor replaced by an unwavering focus on you. His eyes never left your face, and his expression remained kind and attentive. "You know what I see when I look at you?" he said quietly once you had finished. "I see someone who's brave, who fights every day to be better, who cares deeply about others. You're stronger than you think, Y/N. Don't let those doubts control you."

His words felt like a balm to your soul, soothing the raw edges of your insecurities. When he reached out to brush a stray tear from your cheek, the warmth of his touch and the sincerity in his eyes melted away your remaining doubts, leaving you wrapped in a cocoon of reassurance. Sitting there on the deck, under the endless sky, you felt profoundly grateful for Jake's unwavering support and the strength he helped you find within yourself.

.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

You also remember the time when you injured your ankle during a training exercise. You had insisted on limping back to your quarters, trying to maintain your independence. But Jake wouldn't hear of it. He had scooped you up without a second thought, cradling you in his arms as if you weighed nothing. "I've got you," he murmured, his voice laced with an uncharacteristic gentleness. The entire trek back, he kept you engaged in light-hearted banter, ensuring your mind stayed off the pain.

.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

And how could you forget the morning he had brought you coffee? Not just any coffee, but a complex, personalized concoction—an oat milk latte with a shot of caramel, a pinch of cinnamon, and a dash of nutmeg, and no foam. You hadn’t even mentioned it to him before. "Thought you could use a pick-me-up," he had said nonchalantly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. But you knew the effort he had put into remembering such a detailed order, and it made your heart swell with an unfamiliar warmth.

These memories play in your mind like a cherished montage, each moment a testament to the man beneath the bravado. Jake "Hangman" Seresin wasn’t just the cocky pilot everyone else saw. He was a protector, a confidant, a friend who cared deeply for you, even if you had been too blind to see it before.

Returning back to the present moment amidst the lively ambiance of the Hard Deck, surrounded by the warmth of friends and laughter, you notice Jake returning from the restroom. As your eyes meet, his familiar smirk emerges, but this time there’s a tender softness in his gaze that you hadn’t noticed before—or perhaps, hadn't allowed yourself to see.

“Miss me?” he jokes, sliding back into the chaos of pool cues and friendly banter.

You chuckle, shaking off the speculative thoughts. “Like a bad habit, Seresin.”

But later, as the night winds down and the camaraderie ebbs into a quieter hum, you catch yourself glancing his way more often. The teasing remarks of your friends aren’t so easily dismissed anymore. And as Jake catches your gaze across the room, you start to wonder if maybe, just maybe, they might be onto something.

Because sometimes, the most significant realizations are the ones that had been right in front of you all along, masked by the comfort of friendship and the chaos of duty.

You smile to yourself, feeling an inexplicable warmth. Maybe it was time to see what was beyond the camaraderie, to delve into the possibilities of what if. The thought lingers, like an unopened letter, waiting for the right moment.

For now, you return to the laughter and games, but with a new awareness, a curiosity that couldn’t be easily shaken. One thing was for sure—things were going to get interesting.

-

Text divider credits: @bunnysrph

[lieutenantfloyd]

Top Gun: Maverick as chaotic romantic texts

[callsign-fangirl]

Dagger squad pt 4?

Dagger1

Dagger2

Dagger3

Bonus

@theharddeck @hangmanshoney @bradshawsbaby @bradshawswife @callsign-phoenix @callsignuncle @bradleybeachbabe @sebsxphia @fanboygarcia @lewmagoo @bobfloydssunnies @top-hhun @iguana-braces @javihoney @justalonelyslytherin @floydsglasses @rhettabbotts @caystar13star @daggerspare-standingby @birdy-bat-writes @mothdruid @dragon-kazansky @garnette-gal @topguncortez @ysmmsy @robertcallsignbobfloyd @b-bradshaw @callsign-viper @bobfloydsbabe @floydsglasses @hxad-ovxr-hxart @lannisterdaddyissues @callsignstingray

[scottishaccentsareawesome]

(Maverick had to skip out on instructing for the day because of a personal emergency, but didn’t tell Cyclone, so now the Daggers have been covering for him) Coyote (popping into the briefing room): Cyclone just turned down the hallway, he’s heading straight for us! Payback: Geez, man, this isn’t “Jaws”… Bob: I mean, it may as well be… Phoenix: We need a distraction! A big distraction that can throw Cyclone off! Fanboy: We could have a big public spectacle! Like a proposal or something! (Rooster glances over at Hangman) Hangman(to Rooster): Don’t you dare. I would kill you. I would kill you dead. Rooster(puts on Puppy Dog Eyes): But it’s for MAVERICK… Hangman:…………Ah, fuck.

[jasperhaleluver]

fanboy smut?

Yesss I've been waiting for this one! I've only ever written smut like once so I'm sorry if this is bad. I hope you guys enjoy!

Mickey fanboy Garcia x reader smut!

author's note: hi guys! I hope you enjoy this any feedback or requests are welcome. Thank you!

warnings: MDNI! 18+, mentions of alcohol, squad gets drunk, making out, smut (p in v) semi-unprotected sex? just not super reliable protection, fingering, oral sex (m! and f! receiving), aftercare, overall just smut!

no mentions of y/n, no word count, not proofread. sorry about any typos.

You were out at the hard deck with the crew, it was passed 10:30 pm on a Saturday night. You and Phoenix are sitting in the corner eating some chips and salsa while the guys are playing their hundredth round of pool.

Your phone chimes and lights up, you pick it up and see a text from your roommate. "At Jack's tonight. There's pizza in the fridge, get home safe." Ugh, of course. Sadie is your roommate and she's always spending the night at her boyfriend Jack's house.

Well it's nice to have the house to yourself, the silence is really comforting. And you can just walk home it's not too far. But you just were unsure of tonight. You sigh and set your phone down and watch the guys play their game. Gosh they are all over the place, Hangman and Rooster are singing their hearts out, Payback and Coyote are trying to keep playing but they can't even hold themselves up from how drunk they are, but then there's Bob and Fanboy. Sober and just enjoying the night.

You think fanboy is so damn cute, you've had a crush on him for a while now. You've been friends for a while and you guys are actually really close. You've even slept in his bed, not like that of course but there's been nights where you guys just hangout for so long that it gets late and he somehow convinces you to spend the night. But he would never think about you in that way.

"You're staring" Phoenix says kicking your foot to snap you out of your thoughts. "Oh." You can feel your cheeks heat up from embarrassment and you wipe your face. Phoenix chuckles and stands up. You look over to the bar and see Penny cleaning up, so it's about time to leave. You go around the pool table and the stools, you're picking up all of the empty beer bottles. They clatter together as you walk to the bar and throw them in the trashcan by the bar. You grab a rag and walk back to your area and you wipe down the messes.

"Oh hey thanks you didn't have to clean up SOMEONE's mess." Bob chuckles as he eyes down the four drunk guys. "It's no problem really, I've got no rush to get home." You return the rag and see that fanboy and Bob are struggling to get the drunk ones out to their cars. You and Phoenix go over and help them, you take rooster from fanboy so he can handle hangman.

"Woahhhh who is this pretty ladyyyy." Rooster slurs as he stumbles out the door with you and he moves your hair out of your face. "Bradley, stop it." You say and his smile fades. Everybody knows that if you're not called your callsign then you need to knock it off. Especially when it's with you. Fanboy helps hangman into the backseat, he shuts the door and opens the door on the other side for you to help rooster in.

You give fanboy a smile and help rooster in, he hits his head on the way in and hangman starts laughing. The two guys start bickering about random shit and you shut the door on them. "Have fun with these two." You laugh as you walk back inside to grab your phone. You say goodbye to Penny and walk back outside to see that Phoenix has already left with Coyote and Payback, Bob is just leaving the bar too. "Need a ride?" He asks walking towards his car. Fanboys window is rolled down and Bob sees his facial expression indicating that he was gonna ask you. So Bob doesn't insist when you say you're fine to walk. He tells you to be safe and he drives off. You noticed fanboy still hadn't left, you imagined he's just trying to get the guys settled.

You start walking as you put your hands in your pocket, it's kind of chilly. You reach the end of the parking lot and fanboy drives up to you. "Hey let me take you home, it's 11pm you're not walking home alone." He says "it's okay really, I enjoy walking." You say starting to walk away. "Fuck." He mutters, he looks around and turns on his emergency blinkers and he gets out of the car. He grabs you by the arm "seriously, you're not walking home." He looks you straight in the eyes. God he looks so good.

"Okay, fine." You give in and let him walk you to the passenger seat, he opens the door for you and shuts it too. He gets in "you can help me walk these to their front doors too. God forbid Carole thinks I did something to her baby boy, it seems more trusting if she sees you too." he laughs nodding towards the two in the back. You look back and see the two sound asleep.

You guys arrive at Hangman's house first, fanboy walks him all the way inside since he lives alone. He takes a hot minute inside, seems like he's probably tucking him into bed.

"He really likes you." Rooster grunts as he sits up straight. "What?" You turn to look at him. "Yeah I mean the way he looks at you- uh it just.. yeah-" rooster manages to say but falls back into his deep sleep. "What the fuck" you sigh and lean your head on the window.

Fanboy is finally back and you guys are back on the road, you eventually make it to Rooster's house. Both you and Fanboy get out of the car, he helps rooster out as you make it to the front door. All of the lights are still on so Carole is definitely still up waiting for him. You ring the doorbell and she immediately opens the door. "Hi sweetie!! What's happened?- she asks but cuts herself off when she sees fanboy with roosters arm over his shoulder. "Bradley Bradshaw! What has gotten into you!!." She yells in her mom voice. "He's in good hands Mrs. Bradshaw, we made sure to get him home safe" fanboy says letting go of rooster. "Get inside" she sternly says. Rooster stumbles inside and Carole thanks the two of you and follows rooster.

"You ready?" Fanboy says heading to his car, you hum and silently follow him. Again the gentleman opens the door for you and shuts it after you. You guys drive off on the way to your house now. He makes small talk on the way there, nothing fancy. He pulls in to your driveway and sees that it's empty.

"You alone tonight?" He asks. You start grabbing the door handle to get out as you mutter out a small "yeah".

"I don't know if it's a good idea for you to stay alone." He says, you get butterflies at the idea of spending the night with him. "Can you stay?" You ask. Before even giving you an answer he takes the key out of the ignition and says of course.

You two walk up to the front door, your hands shaky and sweaty as you shuffle your keys to unlock the door. You walk in and fanboy follows you in, he goes and sits on the couch. You hang up your keys and sit by him. The silence is comforting but a little bit awkward. You sigh and lean against the backrest of the couch.

"Well tonight was eventful." He says also leaning into the couch. "Oh it sure was." You chuckle. He suddenly sits back up like he just thought of something. "I need to tell you something." He says looking straight at you. "Okay..." You say looking up at him admiring him. "Okay I don't know how to say this. So I'm just gonna- he leans in just centimeters from your face. You can tell he's about to kiss you. You break the gap between you two and you lean in for a kiss. He grabs your face and kisses you deeply.

His hands snake down to your waist pulling you closer to him, he sits back, bringing you closer. You bring your leg over his and straddle him not breaking the kiss. His hands go further down and his hands are all over your lower back and your thighs. You reach down to the hem of his shirt and you swiftly take it off of him. He puts his hands back where they were, he goes a bit too low causing your hips to buck upwards basically grinding on him. You can feel how hard he is under you.

You keep slowly moving your hips causing a groan to leave his mouth. Your lips trail off to his neck, your hands are all over each other as you nip and suck at his neck. You get even lower passed his chest, your hand lands on his belt buckle. You look up to him for reassurance and he just nods his head. Your hands shuffle to take his belt off and unzip his jeans. You palm his bulge from over his boxers.

He helps you bring his boxers down and his cock springs out. You bring his tip to your mouth giving it a small lick as you feel him shiver under you. His hand is on your head as you take all of him in your mouth. You move your head sucking him off. His tip touches the back of your throat causing you to gag and your eyes get watery. "oh-it's okay baby." he moans as he caresses your face. You move your head faster, making him a moaning mess under you. "fuck. fuck oh my god you're perfect baby." he pulls you off of him, his cock falls out of your mouth with a "pop" sound.

Not letting himself cum, he brings you back up to his lap and connects his lips to yours once again. But this time, not breaking the kiss he stands up and carries you down the hallway. You can feel his hard cock even over your jeans. He opens the door to your room, holding you with his other hand.

He sets you down on your bed and he starts kissing at your neck. His hands snake down your waist and get to the bottom of your shirt. He slides it off, revealing your red bra. He puts his hands on your chest. "Can I?" He asks going for the straps of your bra. You nod and sit up for him to unclip your bra. He takes it off and as soon are your breasts are free, his mouth immediately latches to your chest while he plays with your other boob.

"God you drive me crazy." He says kissing down your body. He reaches the button on your jeans and you lift your hips up to help him take them off, revealing red lacy underwear that match your bra. "Well somebody had plans for tonight." He smirks. You let out a shaky laugh and you slide out of your underwear.

He continues kissing down towards your thighs. He taps your thighs signalling you to bring them up, he puts them over his shoulders and keeps kissing in between them. He slides his fingers through your folds. "So wet just for me baby." He says as he suddenly sticks his finger inside of you. His tongue latches onto your clit at the same time

"Oh!" You moan at the sudden feeling.

He adds another finger, curling them at a faster pace and sucking your clit. Your hand is on his head for something to hold onto. (His curls aren't grown out so you can't pull on them.)

You can feel yourself nearing your climax, you pull his hand that isn't inside of you off of your thighs and pull him up towards you.

"I want to cum with you inside of me." You say kissing his neck. "Yeah baby?" He says kissing you.

He gets off from on top of you "Do you have condoms?" He asks. "Fuck, I don't but I'm on the pill it's okay." You say bringing him closer. He sits back leaning on your headboard and you get up on top of him. You stroke him a few times before aligning him to your entrance, your free hand is on his chest as you sink down onto him. "Oh my god." You moan as he stretches you out.

He leans his head back as he grips your thighs. "Oh baby you feel so good." His hands are all over your thighs and your ass. You start rocking your hips as he still holds on to your thighs. You love seeing him like this, his mouth open, his eyes closed, and his eyebrows knitted together.

You keep riding him and you're kissing down his neck, the burning sensation in your legs hurts so good. You stop for a second to relieve the burn but he grabs your thighs and starts pounding up into you.

"Oh! God mickey! Ugh!" You moan as you bury your face into his neck. "Ugh. Oh God " he moans. The sound of moans and your skin slapping fills the room. You can feel yourself about to cum.

"Mickey I'm gonna cum!" He's still pounding into you "Let it go baby. Cum for me princess." He says. You moan loudly as you ride out your high, he still doesn't stop as he's nearing his climax too. He lets out a load moan as he cums inside of you.

You ride out your highs together as he still holds you. He stops moving into you and just holds you for a second, still inside you.

"Oh my god, you're perfect." He says moving hair out of your face. You lean up and kiss him. He lifts you by the waist so he can pull out. You both moan as he pulls out. He moves to grab his t-shirt from the floor to wipe off your inner thighs. He cleans himself up and lays back down by you.

"Come here." He says bringing the covers over him. He opens his arms for you to lay on him.

"I really like you." He says putting his hand on your head. You're laying on his chest with your arms around him. "Really? I didn't know." You chuckle. "Well I really like you too." You say sitting up and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"Be my girlfriend." Mickey says looking straight at you tucking your hair behind your ear.

"Of course." You smile and lean in to kiss him.

Okay guys I hope you liked it!! I'm not sure how good this is but any feedback is welcome!!

[angelbby555]

Division problems

Summary: Mickey attempts to help his daughter with math homework but experiences the canon event of making her sob with confusion (Mickey speaking in Spanish) Word count: 1.7k

⋆. ୨୧˚⋆

"No mija. You have to drop the zero. Tienes que bajar el tres para abajo." Mickey's patience was close to snapping. It was 10 o'clock and he wanted to crawl into bed but his 10-year-old daughter Angelica forgot to do her math packet that consisted of division problems.

"Pero porque?" The little girl's voice cracked like she was ready to cry any minute here at the dining table.

"Because 743 dividido por 25 no da dos. Te falta un poco de proceso princesa." Fanboy yawned. Before he used to go to bed around midnight but ever since his routine mimicked his daughters, he was in bed by ten o'clock now.

Angelica's pencil eraser had reached to metal from how often she had used it that night. She started to erase 74 - 50 = 24 even though that part of the long division was correct.

"No mija, mija. No lo borres. Haci estaba bien. Nunca te dije que estaba malo." Angelica stopped erasing her work and stared up at him and her lips jutted out in a pout.

"¡Papi no te entiendo! ¡Usted no explica bien como mi maestra!" His daughter's voice came out in a high-pitched whine. When he saw the tears pooling at her dark brown eyes, Mickey felt like he was hitting his limit. He was tired and had work in the morning. Angelica wasn't understanding his long division explanation, and she still had 10 more problems left to do.

"No te quiero ver esas lágrimas o chillando." Mickey strictly spoke, on another day if he wasn't half asleep, he would have been more gentle with her. "You had todo el día to finish these problems. But you chose el último momento para terminar lo. Entonces no te quiero ver llorar."

Angelica bit her bottom lip at her father's scolding but her whole body was ready to break into heavy pants and sobs. When Mickey was younger and this same situation happened to him with his dad, Mickey remembered thinking that when he was older he wouldn't get upset about his kid not understanding math. Yet here he was experiencing a moment that almost every dad went through.

"I'm not- not- not gonna d-d-do my homework anymore w-with you." Angelica was sobbing so violently that her own words were cutting off. Mickey didn't even yell at her so bad for her to already be crying. But he hadn't realized that she was stressed out too.

"Okay, está bien. Ya nadie te va ayudar y aquí vas estar hasta la madrugada por ser irresponsable." Mickey was so tired he didn't even realize how heartbroken his daughter looked as she pinched her eyes together and wiped her tears.

At that moment the door softly opened then closed shut. You walked into the dining room wearing your blue scrubs after your shift at the hospital. After a full shift, his wife still looked gorgeous and put together. With your hair slicked back in a ponytail, and gold hoop earrings that complent your skin tone. Your eyes lively with a contagious smile.

The second Angelica saw you, she saw that as an outlet to escape this stressful last-minute math homework. Angelica pushed herself out of the wooden chair and went running to your arms. You hadn't even set your purse down before the 10-year-old arms were wrapped around your legs tightly.

"Why are you guys still awake-" When you noticed Angie's puffy eyes you turned to look at Mickey silently asking what was wrong. But Fanboy looked back at the math packet knowing he was about to be in trouble with you for accidentally making their daughter cry. "¿Ahi que paso? ¿Que te paso mamá?" His wife cooed, leaning down to wipe your daughter's tears. Mickey hated how you babied her, but he couldn't really say anything since he did feel terrible.

"¡Papi me-me-me regaño!" She violently sobbed.

"Baby I didn't even yell at her-"

"I don't want to hear it." You pointed a finger at Mickey making him shut up. Angelica sobbed into your stomach while you ran your hand soothingly on the top of her head as you peppered her black curly hair in kisses.

"No llores mí niña. Papi solo anda cansado y el ní sabe cómo divider tampoco." Your joke about Mickey not knowing how to divide which made your daughter giggle but it left him scoffing. Once Angelica had calmed down her heavy breathing, you kissed her one last time on the forehead. "Vaya te a la cama and put your pajamas on. Mañana vamos a ver qué hacemos con la tarea de mate."

"Okay mami." Angie wiped at her eyes and stiffly walked to her bedroom once you had dismissed her.

"You always gotta make me the bad guy huh?" Mickey could resist speaking up for himself, as he ran his hand through his jet-black hair.

"Well maybe if you didn't yell at her then you wouldn't have to be the bad guy." You walked closer to him.

"I wasn't yelling at her though!" Fanboy raised his voice since he was being accused yet again.

Your beautiful laugh reached his ear making him relax slightly. You placed your purse on the dining table and took a seat on his lap. Fanboy's arms instinctively found your waist, pulling you closer to him, his hand forced your legs to drape over his.

"What are we gonna do?" Mickey stared up at you like you held all the answers to his problems. Before you could respond Mickey leaned forward and rested his forehead on your chest. You placed your chin on his head and one of your hands threaded your fingers through his hair.

"I think you should apologize to your daughter before she thinks about running away from home." Mickey exhaled a laugh through his nose at your comment. "We can finish these division problems for her and then tomorrow we'll have to teach her the homework until she understands."

"I'm a terrible father huh?" Mickey pressed a kiss to the top of your breast before pulling away and gazing at you. "I should have been more patient with her. Or asked if she needed help earlier this week."

"No come on papi. Lo dos lo descuidamos con preguntarle a Angelica sobre su tarea. Pero si sos un padre increíble, solo estás estresado porque necesitas tu beauty rest." Mickey laughed at your spanglish and kissed your neck once more.

"Gracias por tu consejo y palabras mami. Now I will apologize to our daughter." Mickey tapped your thigh signaling for you to get up. "Meanwhile you finish these division problems up since alguien por aquí dice que yo no se como dividir." Mickey forced you to stand up with him, making you laugh.

"That was a joke, Papi." You smirked up at him.

"It wasn't a joke before when your daughter was crying. But it is now since you have to finish those problems up now huh?" Mickey aggressively smashed his lips on your cheek, moving away from you and down the hall. "Apurate también, ya quiero irme a dormir and get my beauty sleep."

You giggled making Mickey grin from ear to ear shaking his head. When he got to Angie's bedroom he softly knocked on the white door, before pushing it open. He watched her face fall when she saw it was him entering the room instead of her mom. She was already in her small bed in her pink button up pajamas.

"¿Estás brava conmigo Angie?" His daughter didn't answer, just crossing her arms, and looking toward the wall. "Dígamelo." Mickey egged her on to talk. He took a seat on the edge of the bed as she continued the silent treatment. "Sin miedo. ¿Qué pasa?" He threw his hands out when asking but all he was met was with silence. "Okay, that's cool. No, me hables." 

Mickey stared at her wooden drawer staring at all the trinkets and shopping toys she had on her dresser. After Mickey turned to face her, his hands went to her small belly and he started to tickle his daughter trying to get her to crack. Angie arched her back and squirmed letting out a shrieking laugh. Mickey was smiling too, as she was laughing and squirming so much.

"Stop! Me voy a ser pipí." She yelped. That's when Mickey calmed the tickling down not wanting her to wet her pants. Once Angelica sighed, she furrowed her brows together again putting her angry face back on. "Todavía estoy enojada." Mickey sighed at her words.

"Baby disculpame, me fue la paciencia. I was just really tired. No fue mí intención." Mickey hand found his daughters smaller once giving it a squeeze. "No me gusta ver te llorar tampoco." Angelica blinked at him hanging on to his every word. "Listen, la próxima vez que hacemos tu tarea de división no te voy a regañar. But you have to promise me that vas a preguntarme y reclamar cuando no entiendes algo. Capish?"

It took Angelica a second to respond before she nodded her head at him.

"Capish. Te prometo." She held out her small pinkie. Mickey interlocked his pinkie with hers feeling a satisfaction settle over him. 

"¿Y mí besito?" Mickey made a kissing noise and pointed at his cheek. Angelica leaned in closer and kissed his cheek, before throwing her arms around his neck in an embrace. "Ahí qué rico mi amor." Mickey dragged out, letting himself soak up the hug from his little girl. After he let go of her Mickey tucked her in and kissed her forehead goodnight.

"Te quiero muchísimo. Y no te preocupes de la tarea de mate, tu mamá te lo va ser." Mickey laughed, kissing her forehead again goodnight. "Buenas noches mi vida."

"Buenas noches papi!" She beamed as he moved out the room, flipped the light off and gently closed the door. Mickey retreated back to the table where you sat finishing the division homework. When you looked up at him you raised a brow. Silently asking what happened.

"It's all solved now. She is not mad at me anymore." Mickey smiled and you softly applauded him. Mickey moved closer to you. Located his hand on the table and leaned down to kiss you tenderly.

"Qué lindo." You said against his mouth.

First ever Fanboy fic I've written! I wrote the Spanish by myself... so if I'm missing a few tildes I'm sorry!