Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia x reader and they’re having lshower sex. They’re at the base
Saving Water
Summary: While what was supposed to be saving water, you and Mickey do the opposite.
Warnings: mickey and reader are married, sweating, showering together, porn with little plot, oral (fem receiving), fingering, unprotected piv, smut, 18+ MDNI
A/n: yes I'm reusing this pic of him
You enter the building with a sigh of relief when the AC quickly engulfs you, cooling you from the San Diego sun. It's especially hot today outside, the scorching heat making you sweaty and gross.
You make your way to the office you're supposed to drop off the papers to but not before going to the water fountain to rehydrate your dry throat. The water is gross and somewhat warm but you'll take anything at this point to get rid of the desert in your throat.
After dropping off the stack of papers, you exit the office and hear footsteps coming towards you. You turn around to see who it is just as Mickey appears from around the corner. He stops in his tracks, surprised to see you. "Oh! Hey!" He smiles softly.
"Hi." You place a hand on his neck when he leans down to kiss you. "Mmm" you scrunch your face when you pull away, "you're all sweaty." You wipe the sweat now on your palm on his shirt and he chuckles.
"So are you" he counters.
"My manager has had me running around base dropping off papers. What's your excuse?" You give him an expected look.
"We were doing warm ups and Mav had us do 200 push ups."
"Why the hell would he do that?" You say furrowing your brows.
"It was technically Payback's idea. He wanted to spice things up a bit... and I encouraged it." He avoids eye contact as you tut at him. "Stupid idea since my arms are hella sore now." He groans and rolls his shoulders back. Your gaze falls to his biceps bulging out of his short sleeves as he does so and you bite your lip.
He nods his head at you, "When do you get off work?"
"About now. Jack said those were my last papers to drop off and I could go home. Are you done with training for the day?" You check your watch to see that it's a bit earlier than the usual time training ends.
"Yeah, Mav let us go early. Anyway, I was on my way to take a shower. I'll see you at home." He kisses your lips and begins to walk away from you.
"Yeah, I need to shower too." You grimace as you wipe some sweat dripping from your neck.
He turns back around, "Do you just wanna shower here instead? I'm like 99 percent sure everyone left already so the showers should be empty." He points his thumb back in the direction of the bathroom, once again showing off his bicep. It was an innocent question with no underlying intentions but that didn't stop your dirty thoughts forming.
You pause before answering, your gaze stuck on his sweaty muscles. You meet his eyes once again and he raises his brows waiting for your answer.
You bite your lip, failing to hide your smile. "Sure, we could save some water."
-
The shower wall meets your back as the force of his mouth devouring yours pushes you against it. The cold tile and the warm water cascading around you does nothing to cool your burning skin from his touch.
"I've missed you," he breathes against your neck. "I feel like I haven't been able to see you as often."
"I missed you too Mickey. So fucking much." Although you live and work on base with him and he comes home to you every day, he tends to work long exhausting hours which leaves you little time to spend with each other.
You gasp against his mouth and cling to him when he lifts you up into his arms. "I thought you said your arms were too sore."
"Never too sore for you baby." You smile before slamming your lips on his again. He grinds up against you throughout the makeout, causing you to moan in each other's mouths.
"I wanna taste you," he groans. "Can I taste you? Please?"
"Yes, do whatever you want to me." He grins happily and gently lowers your feet to the floor, careful to make sure you don't slip, before descending to his knees.
"Dios mio I miss this view." His eyes bore into yours from below as he takes in the angelic sight in front of him— you standing above him with the water falling on you like a Goddess saving him in the rain. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he lowers his mouth until his tongue is met with your sensitive bundle of nerves.
"Mickey! Yes!" You moan out from the feeling of his mouth on you. "I fucking missed you!"
"I missed you too," he mutters, "but you gotta be quiet for me okay? People might pass by and hear." The vibrations of his voice making you squeal and clench around nothing. He seems to sense your growing neediness and inserts two fingers into you.
"I don't care, I need you. I always need you."
He pulls his mouth away, his fingers still working on you. "Yeah? How do you need me?"
"I need you inside me, fucking me 'til I can't walk. 'Til your name is the only word I know. 'Til you make me yours all over again."
His face lights up but his eyes darken at the thought of him absolutely ruining you, at his work place of all places. He places one last kiss on your clit before standing back up to his full height. "I know you need me baby, I haven't been around to take care of you as I should."
You shake your head.
"Let me make it up to you." Your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders when he fills you in one thrust and you feel all of the air leave your lungs. The familiar stretch burned so deliciously. You missed it, you missed him.
He let's out a shaky moan when he's fully seated inside. "Oh my god I missed you." He pulls out until just the tip is inside before slamming into you once more. "I missed you." He repeats the action, murmuring the same words over and over again until it turns into babbles.
"I missed you Mickey. I've been dreaming about this for weeks." You whine and drop your head on his shoulder, letting him completely use you for his pleasure.
"Dreaming about me huh? Y'know I was only a few inches away from you corazon. You could've taken what you wanted."
You shake your head, "I didn't wanna wake you. You've been working so hard- fuck- I knew you were tired." You bite down on his neck when he hits your g spot.
He pulls you away from his neck so you can look at him, "I'm never too tired for you mi amor. I don't care if I get 9 hours of sleep or 2. If you need me, fucking take me."
His words have you clenching down on him. You close your eyes and squeeze at his hair, on the verge of losing yourself to him. "You close mami? I can feel you clenching."
You nod. "Feels so good!" You sigh against his lips, unable to speak any louder at the moment. "You always make me feel so good."
"I know I do," he breathlessly chuckles, "I know what my wife likes. I know her body so well." His hand slyly reaches to rub at your clit. "How it reacts to my touch."
And that does it. Your whole body tenses and you cling to him for dear life as you shake in his hold from how hard he's making you cum. "That's it mi amor. Keep giving it to me."
He keeps thrusting sloppily and you think you'll actually black out from pleasure when he finally stills with a moan. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" His chest heaves and he drops his forehead on your shoulder, his hot breath heating your skin.
He places a kiss on hour collarbone before looking up at you with a cheeky grin. "So much for saving water huh?"
"Shut up" you laugh and shove at his shoulder. "Let's get out so we can go home." He sets you down so you can stand,—which you're surprised you can still kind of do.
You kiss his shoulder and grab your towel just as he reaches behind you to turn the water off. You're about to change when you "accidentally" drop your shirt and bend down to pick it up.
You hear a groan behind you and turn your head to look at him as you bite your lip. "You're gonna turn me on again." He smacks your ass and you gasp.
You smile when he pulls you closer so your back is against his chest, feeling him growing hard again just like he said. "Yeah? What if that's what I want?" You grind your ass against him, eliciting a louder moan from him.
"Careful mi vida." He says through gritted teeth right into your ear. "We might not make it to the car if you keep this up."
"I'm always careful lieutenant." You turn your head to kiss him before moving away and slapping his chest. "C'mon Fanboy, keep it in your pants til we get home."
You begin to actually change while he just stares and scoffs in disbelief. Oh you'll get it when you get home.
Can you write something were Fanboy meets reader who has the callsign Fangirl?
The others tease them but they immediately get along.
Every Fanboy Gets His Fangirl ~ Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia
synopsis: Fanboy and Fangirl, a match made in heaven
tw: fem!reader, call sign is Fangirl, reader's a DC fan (I'm not too knowledgeable about DC so it's very vague), suggestive, barely edited.
fic, ficlet, drabble, request
It's my first Mickey request!! Also I love this idea so much.
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You were always bullied growing up, it wasn't considered girly to like comics and superheroes. But you did and you tried to hide it, you really did. But the first friend you made in the Academy, Marcus or Playboy, found out about your love for all things nerdy and suddenly you were Fangirl.
At some point, you grew to love it. Everyone had the expectation of you being a fangirl when meeting you so you had no need to hide your interests. Your graphic tees, the keychains, even the elaborate costumes for Halloween were all proudly shown off. Marcus would always joke that if you had the money, you would be a cosplayer.
You weren't called back to TOP GUN originally, you were called back a few months later when they wanted to make another special permanent team. Marcus was called back with you and you got a frantic text message from him the day before you got there.
Bunny: brooooo
Bunny: I met someone you'll love
Girly: Who?
Bunny: not telling you a name
Bunny: just know it will be a match made in heaven
Girly: I haven't even met them yet
Bunny: doesn't matter just get here faster so you can
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You weren't the first of your team to arrive, but you weren't the last. Marcus was no where to be found at The Hard Deck the night before you reported, so you found yourself sipping your drink while talking to Mouse, Jamie, about his latest Dungeons and Dragons campaign. "Y/n!" You heard Marcus shout your name and you looked towards the doors.
You groaned when you saw him walking in with the infamous VF-1 Daggers. You looked to Jamie who shrugged at you before you told him you'd be back and made your way from the table you were at to the pool tables in the back. "Hey, Bunny," you leaned against the wall and he shot you a smile.
You watched as everyone looked at you two curiously, you weren't in your khakis like the others were. "This is y/n, call sign Fangirl," Marcus introduced you. "Also my best friend," he added as he pulled you to his side. You jabbed your thumb into his stomach before moving away from him.
You looked at the others, the way they were looking between you and a man. "Hi, sorry about Playboy. He's kinda dumb," you told them before looking back at Marcus. "Is this all? Because Mouse and I were talking about his DND campaign and it was just getting good," you raised an eyebrow.
Marcus rolled his eyes at you. "Girly, you could at least stay for their introductions," he nudged your forward and you looked over to the table Jamie was at. He looked uncomfortable alone so you wanted to hurry this along.
Each person introduced themselves with their name then call sign. You shook each hand until you got to the last one, the man everyone had been darting their eyes to before they darted back to you. "Mickey Garcia," he held his hand out and you shook it with a smile. "My call sign's Fanboy," he added and you tilted your head before looking back at Marcus.
You saw him beaming at you. "This one?"
"This one, Girly," he nodded and you looked back to Mickey, who looked rightfully confused.
You gave him a smile before speaking. "It's nice to meet you," you looked back to the others. "All of you, but I did tell Mouse that I would be back so he could finish his story. So," you trailed off a bit before shrugging and taking an awkward step backward. "Bye?" You waved and started walking away but Mickey fell into step next to you.
You looked to your side as Mickey started speaking, "You don't think Mouse would mind if I joined, right?" He gave you a dazzling smile.
"Probably not," you shook your head. "Do you know about DND?"
"I play with Bob and some people we've met here every other Sunday," Mickey responded.
"Really? That's so cool!" You gushed, your excitement bubbling over. "I haven't played in months, but Mouse said he's going to put together a new campaign and I can join that one," you excitedly shook out your free hand as you got back to Jamie. "Hey, Mouse," you smiled at him and watched him relax once he was no longer alone. "This is Fanboy, he wanted to hear about your last campaign," you told him.
One thing about Mouse is that he was quiet, but not shy or meek. "Fanboy and Fangirl? Fitting, plus your kids would be cute," Jamie spoke and you blinked at him slowly.
If you were to turn your head, you notice the blush spreading across Mickey's face but you were too busy processing Jamie's words. "Ok," you nodded. "Let's just talk about DND," you said. Jamie laughed but complied, going back to explaining his campaign to you and Mickey while the two of you tried to avoid eye contact.
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Jamie had left earlier, claiming his wife wanted him home. You didn't question it until you remembered something a few hours after he had left. "Mouse doesn't have a wife," you groaned randomly as you and Mickey were talking.
Mickey paused his sentence and scrunched his eyebrows. "He doesn't?" Mickey watched as you shook your head before looking around.
"And I'm assuming the others aren't all in the bathrooms," you said and Mickey looked towards the empty pool tables.
"They just left?" Mickey pulled his phone out while you laughed.
"They left Fanboy and Fangirl alone. Probably thinking we would argue about something," you muttered and Mickey laughed while slipping is phone back into his pocket.
"Jokes on them," Mickey gave you another dazzling smile, the one you've quickly fallen for. "We're getting along just fine."
You laughed at his words, your embarrassing crush stinging at the corners of your being. "We clicked, how horrible," you joked, leaning just a little closer to Mickey as you two laughed about it.
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You and Mickey found out you two lived in the same apartment building. So Mickey offered to drive you to work the next day, you didn't hesitate to take the offer. Which is how you and Mickey ended up walking into work together the next morning. "Good morning, Girly," Marcus threw his arm around your shoulders as you and Mickey entered the ready room.
"Hey, Bunny," you greeted him, letting him lead you away from Mickey, who you waved goodbye to as you walked to your squad. You were apart of the VF-2 Titans, you laughed when Marcus fake complained about leaving the Reapers for the Titans.
"Fangirl, why do you call Playboy bunny?" You heard Jake ask and you looked towards him.
"Playboy Bunny..." you told him, dragging out the last syllable until it clicked in Jake's head.
"Oh," Jake nodded and you looked towards the others.
Marcus was laughing and you had your lips pursed. The conversation switched from there and you found yourself looking towards Mickey only to find him already looking at you.
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"Ok, Titans," you heard Pete's voice over the comms. "You're against my aviators this morning," he said. "The only rules? A hard deck of 500 feet and work as a team," he announced before there was the distinct sound of him switching channels.
"Should we be worried that it's us against the Daggers? And that the only rule is the hard deck?" You mused, listening to someone hum over the comms.
"Should we be worried that you walked in with Fanboy this morning?" Marcus shot back.
"Hey!" You called into the comms as you spotted one of the Daggers farther out. "We live at the same apartment, sue a girl for getting a ride to work," you told him as Jamie cut in.
"Sorry to break up this wonderful back and forth," Jamie cut in. "But we have Rooster coming up on Girly's ass, fast," Jamie told you and you quickly shot up.
"Let the game begin," you muttered.
"Isn't it games?" Fable, Belle, asked as she flew towards you to help you out.
"I was quoting Saw, but I'm pretty sure it's more common to say games," you explained, whizzing around Jake's jet to force him and Bradley to compensate and swerve or hit each other.
"Sometimes I forget how dangerous you can get until you do some dumb shit," Jamie told you and you laughed lightly.
"I like to win," you told him before whizzing over to lock onto Reuben and Mickey as they tried to get a lock on Marcus.
"Clearly, she's not even giving her future husband a break," Marcus joked and you pursed your lips behind your face mask.
Your sigh was heard loud and clear from the comms and you heard everyone laugh at it. "I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that," you told him, moving your jet to the side as you saw someone flying up on your nose.
Jamie spoke before you Marcus could. "I told you last night, y'all's kids would be cute," he told you.
"Please," you heard Raven, Lacy, speak for the first time in the air. She was Jamie's pilot. "They're probably too similar, I guarantee that once they talk without alcohol they'll be at each other's throats," she bit out and you scrunched your eyebrows, Lacy's been nothing but nice to you before.
"You just say that because you and Fanboy used to hook up," Tarot, Sam, deadpanned.
"I- That's- No!" Lacy shouted but you didn't have to hear from her much more when she got out with no one moving to help keep her in.
"Now that she's gone," Sam said, zooming after Javy who had just gotten Lacy out.
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"Fucking useless," you muttered, whizzing around some trees. "The whole lot of you," you added and you heard Sam laugh at you.
"When did you turn British?" Sam teased.
"Fuck off," you sighed, you knew you wouldn't hear the end of your reflexive posh British accent when you said the whole lot of you.
"Well good luck, it's about to be just you and Maverick," he added, you knew he was going to be the last to land.
"Tell my tale! Avenge me!" You dramatically called out before you heard the telltale sign of him disconnecting from the comms. "No one will judge you for getting out to Maverick," you told yourself. "Well, maybe yourself, but you can't say anything that you haven't heard before," you mumbled, trying to shake Maverick off your tail. It wasn't working, but it kept him from getting a good enough read to lock onto you.
You groaned in disappointment when you finally did get out, but you landed with a smile anyway when you saw Mickey standing there. "Hey, cariño," Mickey smiled when you walked up to him, the two of you started your walk into the building.
"Hey, did you wait for everyone or am I just special?" You teased, raising an eyebrow as you spoke.
Mickey gave you his dazzling smile as you two walked into the ready room. You two were too busy looking at each other to notice the schemes being brewed up by the others and the glare from Lacy. "Just you," he told you, his voice low as he leaned in like it was a secret.
"Lucky me," you whispered back, pausing a few steps away from the others and turning towards him. Neither of you caring to hide the closeness, you literally showed up together after all.
Mickey shook his head gently before disagreeing with you. "Lucky me," he stressed the word before Jake's voice broke through the tension.
"We ought to change one of y'all's call sign," Jake said and you looked towards him.
"That was the most Texan I've heard you be," you told him quietly, like you were processing what he said but got caught up on his drawl.
"I'm just sayin," Jake leaned forward. "Fanboy and Fangirl are way too close."
You blinked at him before slowly turning towards Mickey and holding your hand out towards him in a fist, your other hand moving to rest under it. Mickey matched your stance and the two of you did the slowest game of rock, paper, scissors ever. Mickey won the first two and you spun back to Jake. "There you go?" You questioned, your confusion still evident.
You watched as everyone else just huffed. "That did not go as planned, ok," Marcus spoke and you scrunched your eyebrows. "Oh! Fanboy, how did it feel that Girly had no remorse about getting you out first?"
You realized what was happening and you took a seat for it, only for Mickey to squeeze himself in the space between you and the armrest of the couch so you two were pressed against each other. "Kinda hot," he shrugged as you closed your eyes and tried to suppress your smile.
"We're trying to get you two go fight or something," Marcus complained. "It's too peaceful and it would be so fun for Fanboy and Fangirl to fight," Marcus added.
"What can we say? We just clicked," Mickey spoke and you opened your eyes before turning your head to look at him. There was that tension again, the one that begged for you two to close the distance and lock lips.
"Ok, but," Lacy cut in, her voice higher pitch than you thought it was. "Fangirl's a DC fan, and I know you're a Marvel fan," Lacy added.
"DC's cool, I just don't know too much about it," Mickey told her.
"I could teach you," you told him, an idea popping into your head. "If you'll let me dress you up as Nightwing," you smirked to yourself and you heard the startled laugh of Jamie.
"Do it man, I can almost guarantee you'll only be in it for a few minutes before she rips it off you," Jamie spoke and you looked over at him with narrowed eyes.
"Sometimes I wish your call sign was more true," you muttered.
"I'd do it, all you have to do is ask," Mickey told you and you looked back to him.
"We're not even dating," you mused. "Are you already falling, Garcia?"
"Nope," he shook his head and something in you told you to wait a second before reacting. "I've already fallen, just waiting for you to catch up," he smirked.
"Oh, so this is a race, huh?" You smirked back at him.
"Yeah, and you're losing," he told you.
You leaned in close, letting your lips gently graze his ear as you whispered, "I don't lose, Fanboy. But don't worry, you'll learn soon enough just how hard I've fallen," you leaned back in your seat as you watched a delicious blush spread across his cheeks.
"Yeah, those two aren't fighting. But if we aren't careful they might end up fucking in front of us," Jamie joked and you reluctantly huffed a laugh while the others howled in laughter and Mickey blushed.
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You were dragged away from Mickey after work, everyone agreeing to go to The Hard Deck to get to know each other better. "I'm stealing her, Fanboy!" Marcus yelled as he pulled you to his truck.
"What?" You sighed, you knew there was something. Sam was by Marcus' truck when you got there, but he let you have the passenger seat.
Marcus waited until you were in his car and he was pulling out of the parking spot to answer. "You and Fanboy are hot together, like devastatingly so," Marcus warned. "And Raven doesn't like that."
"Raven doesn't like anything, not really," Sam cut in. "She liked Fanboy because he looks like the only ex she's ever actually liked," Sam told the car and you looked back at him.
"Why are we telling me this?" You asked, looked between the two.
"Raven will try and make you seem like an ass at any cost," Sam informed you. "Just be careful," he warned.
"Ok?" You mused, confused as The Hard Deck came into view.
"We aren't saying don't go and date Fanboy, like actually do it, just watch out for Raven," Marcus said as he parked next to Mickey's car.
"Alright I will," you nodded jumping out with them.
The three of you walked in and Mickey appeared out of almost no where. "Care if I steal her?" Mickey didn't give them time to answer before he pulled you off to a booth mostly hidden from the others.
You sat down with Mickey, confused on what he was aiming for. "What's with the booth?"
Mickey just looked at you for a moment before speaking. "All day and last night there has been this tension, and I'd like to act on it," he admitted and you nodded.
"No one is stopping you," you replied softly, letting Mickey pull you closer to him before his lips slanted across yours. You soaked in every second of it, enjoying the feel of his soft lips against yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck, running one of your hand over the growing hair on his head.
"You taste oddly sweet," Mickey pointed out as he pulled away.
"Cherry cola chapstick," you replied right before Mickey lunged forward to kiss you again. "Mmm," you hummed in shock, moving just a little closer to him.
"I love it," Mickey admitted as he moved to kiss your neck.
"There's a whole bunch of matching products, including perfume and lipgloss," you said softly, enjoying the feeling of Mickey's lips on your neck.
You giggled as Mickey nipped your neck before moving back to your lips. "You're going to make me hooked on you," he muttered, his lips brushing yours.
"Good, because I'm already hooked on you," you replied, quietly squealing as Mickey pulled you into his lap.
"Do you want to go out with me? Properly?" Mickey asked, his eyes trained on yours.
"I'd love to," you smiled, dipping your head down to press your lips to his again.
"Can I ask you to be my girl before the date?"
"Only if I can make a request," you countered.
"Anything," Mickey waited for you to make it.
"Grow your hair out a little," you leaned in to brush your lips against the shell of his ear. "I like something to hold onto," you smirked as you pulled away only for Mickey to pull your lips back to his.
"I can do that," Mickey told you before Jamie walked up to the table before sprinting off yelling about you two getting freaky. "Let's go before we get bombarded with questions," Mickey helped you out of his lap and you two snuck out of The Hard Deck together.
"Want to show me just how tight I'll have to hold?" You challenged as you got into Mickey's car.
"I'll show you more than that," he promised, already pulling out of the parking lot to get to your apartment buliding.
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Masterlist | Requests
If you want to be added to the tag list, follow the directions on my masterlist
Can I can any kind of flatline in fic mood board with Mickey? Maybe an angsty protective moment? Thank you!
When Mickey pulls into the ER each day, he considers the shift to be a good one if he manages to catch a glimpse of you.
You've been dating for a few months now, and he's happier than he's ever been before. Sure, the schedules are a little hectic, and he's still getting used to the narcolepsy, but he really thinks this might be it for him.
Today, he's expecting to be able to grab a coffee with you on his break. Except, when the ambulance draws to a stop, he spots you, standing inside with Floyd, blood streaming from your nose.
Immediately, he leaps out of the van, pushing through the ER doors. "What the hell happened?"
"I'm fine," You insist, as Floyd shakes her head behind you and mouths 'she's not'.
"Baby, there's blood everywhere - that's not fine-"
Doctor Floyd wipes at the blood, examining the blossoming black eye. "She got hit by a patient who didn't want to be sedated-"
"Floyd!" You groan.
"What? He was going to find out anyway-"
"You got hit? Where the fuck is this guy?"
"Mick, please. It's alright. Jake dealt with it."
"Why don't you take Sleepy to the staff room?" Floyd offers. "You can both take your breaks. I don't think there's anything broken, but you're probably concussed. You need someone to keep an eye on you."
Mickey nods, slipping his hand into yours. "Yeah. I can do that."
Hello!! I love your work so much ❤🥰. I wanted to know if I could request something with Mickey 'Fanboy' Garcia? Something fluffy, loving with him?
Thank you so much ❤🥰
Dr Cupid.
Synopsis - Mickey Garcia passes out in hospitals. Luckily, this time there's a pretty nurse there to catch him.
Pairing - Mickey Garcia x Nurse!Reader
Warnings - a little cursing, a lot of tooth rotting fluff. mentions of blood and hospitals. brief abuse mention.
Age Rating - 16+
Word Count - 1.5k
Author's Note - thank you for this request!! i love mickey so much. i've been a HUGE danny ramirez fan for years, so i was so excited when he was cast in top gun, and mickey did not disappoint. an angel <3
Masterlist. Inbox.
You pull back the crinkly blue curtain with a bit too much force, startling the man sat on the edge of the bed.
"Sorry!" you apologise, closing it behind you. "These things are always lighter than I think they're going to be."
"It's alright, ma'am. No worries."
He's handsome. Really handsome. Big blue eyes, golden blonde hair, an air about him that exudes intelligence and compassion. You smile at him gently before retrieving his chart, giving it a once over quickly.
"Lieutenant Robert Floyd. United States Navy."
He introduces himself, shaking your hand formally. You tell him your name, and he repeats it carefully.
"Pretty name."
"Thank you, Lieutenant."
"Please, call me Bob."
"Thank you, Bob."
He smiles at you bashfully, nodding his head.
"So, Bob, what seems to be the problem today?"
"Training exercise gone wrong. I'm clumsy. You can probably tell by my medical history."
You look over the chart, and laugh softly.
"So you are. What happened this time?"
"It's just a little cut, on my shoulder. I fell onto it, onto the tarmac. I told everyone I didn't need to see a doctor, but they insisted."
"Well luckily for you, I'm a nurse," you wink, chuckling when he blushes. "Let's get this shirt off you so I can take a look. You mind if I cut it?"
"Go ahead."
You cut a line clean down the middle of his t shirt, an old, grey thing. It falls off of him, allowing you to see his shoulder wound.
Just as you're about to explain your next steps, the curtain flies open, a man in a flight suit rushing in.
"Sir, can I help you?"
"He's with me. He's in my squad," Bob reassures you. "Fanboy, you don't have to be here."
"I want to be."
"Fanboy?" you ask, confused about the unusual name.
"It's my call sign. We're pilots. US Navy."
"Why didn't I know they had pilots in the navy? I thought that was the air force."
Fanboy grins at you, all gleaming white teeth, before holding his hand out for you to shake.
"Lieutenant Mickey Garcia. Weapons Systems Officer."
You tell him your name, followed by 'nurse', which makes them both laugh.
"Well, Mickey, if you take a seat, I'll patch up Bob here and you can both get back to flying your jet planes."
Mickey steps around you, eyes darting over Bob as he goes. He catches sight of his bleeding shoulder, and all the colour drains from him.
You've seen this before.
He goes pale, and then wobbles on his feet. You stride over and wrap your arms around him, catching him as he passes out.
"Shit," Bob swears. "I'd help, ma'am, but I'm a little out of commission right now."
"It's alright," you chuckle. "This happens a lot. I'm stronger than I look."
You manage to walk Mickey backwards, sitting him in the chair that you originally sent him towards. You cradle his face in your hands, holding up his head. His eyes flutter open, straight onto you.
"Did I die? Is this heaven?" he whispers.
Both you and Bob try not to laugh as you check him over.
"I'm afraid not, Lieutenant. You're in the hospital, visiting Bob. He's hurt his shoulder. Remember?"
"Yeah, I remember," he murmurs, embarrassed.
You grab him a cup of water, placing it into his hand carefully.
"You okay?"
His big brown eyes are locked on you, not leaving for a minute. He's beautiful, you realise suddenly. Yes, Bob is handsome, but Mickey is beautiful.
"I get a little weird around blood."
"You're telling me."
The smile he gives you is enough to move mountains.
"Okay, Garcia, listen up. You're gonna sit here and drink your water. Take big, slow, deep breaths. And do not, under any circumstances, look at Bob, okay? Keep your eyes on me, no matter what."
"Yes ma'am."
You leave him in his chair, returning your attention to the blonde. You take a good look at the wound, and decide it'll need a couple of stitches.
"I'm gonna clean this up for you, and sew it shut. I'm sure you'll heal fast, being a healthy pilot and all."
You glance over at Mickey, and see that he's still watching you. Gazing at you like you hung the stars in the sky.
"Bob, I won't lie to you. This is going to hurt. Feel free to hold onto me if you need to."
You numb his shoulder, before getting to work stitching it up. You flick your eyes to Mickey intermittently, smiling gently when his stare meets yours.
"Garcia, did you bring any spare clothes? I had to cut Bob's shirt off. I doubt he wants to walk out of here shirtless."
"Yeah, Phoenix has a bag in the waiting room. I'll go and grab it."
You watch him carefully as he stands, making sure he doesn't pass out again. He leaves, and Bob grins at you.
"He likes you."
"Everyone likes me, Bob. I'm a good nurse."
"No, he likes you. That's the quietest I've ever heard him sit. And he took your orders. He doesn't do that for anyone."
You shake your head, smiling as you do it.
"Are you single?"
"Very forward, Lieutenant."
"For him, not for me! You're beautiful," he justifies, "but I'm sort of dating my copilot."
"Sort of?"
"It's complicated."
"Then make it uncomplicated, Bob."
He thinks for a moment, before nodding.
"You're right. I'm going to talk to her."
Mickey comes barging back in with a t shirt in hand.
"Phoenix packed you an overnight bag, just in case. She says this is your shirt anyway."
You look at Bob and wink, chuckling when he blushes.
"Anything else, ma'am?"
"That's all. You've been a perfect patient Bob," you say, squeezing his other shoulder. "If you go to the desk, they'll give you some spare dressings for when you need to change it. Besides that, just take care of yourself, okay?"
"Okay. Understood. Thank you, for everything. I appreciate it."
The two of them leave in a flurry of thanks, Mickey casting a longing glance back at you. You can hear them bickering on the other side of the curtain.
"Fine!" you hear Mickey say, before he reappears.
"Uh... hi."
"You forget something?" you ask, looking around the bed.
"Yeah. To ask you out."
Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, corners of your lips twitching.
"And to apologise. For before. Passing out, and all. I, uh-"
He scratches the back of his neck nervously before perching on the edge of the bed. You move to sit next to him, leg pressing into his.
"I practically grew up in a hospital. My Dad wasn't a nice guy, so my Mom was here all the time."
You lace your fingers with his, resting them on your thigh.
"I used to try and clean up her injuries at home the best I could, but sometimes it wasn't enough. He finally left when I was thirteen, and I didn't have to play doctor anymore."
He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly.
"Now, as an adult, I have this crazy reaction to blood. Even just a papercut is enough to have me hyperventilating. I guess I saw so much of it when I was a kid, that I can't handle it now?"
He looks at you expectantly, unsure of what you'll say.
"It's way more common than you think, you know. I have people pass out on me all the time. You're not alone, I promise."
He smiles at you softly, and you're convinced you've never met someone more beautiful.
"I have a friend who works on the fourth floor. She's a psychiatrist - which I know people roll their eyes at, especially men - but, she's really great to talk to. About anything. She can help with phobias. I've seen her do it."
He nods almost imperceptibly.
"I mean... it can't hurt to talk to her, right? Just once?"
"Exactly. I can give you her number, you can give her a call whenever suits you."
He nudges your shoulder with his, your hands still linked.
"Thank you. Bob doesn't love hospitals either, but you really set his mind at ease today."
"Just doing my job."
"Trust me, you're doing a hell of a lot more."
You feel the heat rise up your chest, praying he can't hear how fast your heart is beating.
"I know you probably work crazy shifts here, but... would you like to go for dinner sometime? I'd love to get to know you in a less... uh... clinical setting."
You grin at him, squeezing his hand tightly.
"I'd love to. As long as you promise not to pass out," you wink.
"That is a promise I cannot make."
You laugh with him, shaking your head.
"I should get back to work. God knows this place needs me."
"Of course. Do your thing, SuperNurse."
You lean over and press a kiss to his cheek, handing him a card with your number on.
"Call me."
"What time do you get off?"
"7."
"I'll call you at 7:01."
"Deal," you laugh, pulling the curtains back.
You watch as he leaves to join Bob and a woman you assume is Phoenix in the waiting area. You wave at Mickey as you go, the other two pilots looking between you with knowing grins on their faces.
￫ 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 was on you as you ran your hand up and over his shaft, giving it a couple of strokes with your spit. You watched intently as his 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 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 a better word and when you offered to make it better for him, Mickey’s cock twitched against his beaten 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 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 strokes.
You pushed to the last inch of Mickey’s cock and your nose finally met his dark curls. You spluttered at 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 steadily 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 orgasm and he thrusted down your throat further than before.
Mickey was using your mouth to let out his 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 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 well-needed and you had a prideful smile on your face, all because you could reduce your sweet boy to a puddle of pleasure-induced laughter.
The giggles subsided and Mickey leaned down to cup your warm cheeks in his hands, ducking down to place a soft kiss on your lips.
“That felt so good, you have no idea, my sweet angel. Thank you.”
as blue as your taste (i taste the same) [mickey “fanboy” garcia x fem!civilian reader aka “cielo”]
A/N: For Fanboy’s fangirls, more Fanboy and his cielita linda. (Remember, reblogs make the world go round!). Fic title from I’ll never tell you where, fic vibe inspired by a twittering little birdy who knows only one, two-syllable word (iykyk).
Pairing: Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia x fem!reader (aka “Cielo;” as always no use of y/n – my readers are written ambiguous, but with a latina!reader in mind.)
Word Count: 3.8k (what a joke I am) of a sun-soaked morning drenched in promise, the taste of coffee, and of your love (beneath your tongue)
Warnings: my writing is its own warning, smut, so 18+ ONLY – p in v sex, unprotected sex (look, it's fic, let's suspend a certain amount of disbelief about what's advisable), touching, fingering, spit as lube, v mild daddy kink (oops i gave away the twittering little birdy reference.)
Summary: Your boyfriend, Mickey, is home and is keen to cater to you early in the morning, whether it’s with a cup of coffee, or all of him. Loving is easy, it’s partial to teasing, tugging, desperation, and softness [part of the Fanboy y Cielo ‘verse.]
--
Hardwood floor, however elegant, bears the inescapable curse of being cold first thing in the morning. And the bedroom floor is chilly and smooth as ice against the flats of Mickey’s feet as he slides out of your shared bed, extricating himself from your snuggled warmth. Your shared bed – something he’d never tire of.
Mickey cursed his internal clock, burned into his being from the repetitive, intensive military training and the value of routine imbued in every recruit. But if it wasn’t for routine, he wouldn’t be awake at 5:00 a.m., even while on leave. If it wasn’t for routine, he would still be in bed with you. If it wasn’t for routine, he would wrap his arms around you ever-tighter, ensconced in the cloudlike grip of dreamy sleep – his reality, even better with you in his arms.
But he was a man of routine. Except that today there was no barracks check. No drills. Nothing to do with his time in this moment, except to be awake.
Stretching his arms, Mickey reveled in the popping of his joints and the pleasant tingling burn in his muscles as he made to stand, glancing over his shoulder (not enviously, he swears – but adoringly) at your still-sleeping form, starry-eyed at the sight of you clad and snuggled in his grey sweatshirt.
The well-loved – not worn out, thanks very much – baggy one he’d worn to your first movie date, when he’d come over to your house with an armful of snacks and a perpetually sunshiney grin. You’d chosen “The Thing” (a horror sci-fi classic – and he could respect a woman of taste), and ended up burrowing into his shoulder, snuggling into the warmth of the very hoodie you were wrapped in now. He couldn’t remember now exactly when it had become a permanent fixture in your home. But now he couldn’t envision it on anyone but you.
And you hadn’t stirred at Mickey’s departure from your bed – perhaps, Mickey thought, forlornly, perhaps you were used to being in it without him when he was gone for months at a time. The absence just as much a part of your routine as morning laps were a part of his. He shook his head gently, the now grown-in curls caressing his forehead gently at the motion. He refused to let himself dwell on that, when he was home now. When you were together.
And you had done such a good job of maintaining your shared home while he was away. And as much as MIckey loved seeing you during your FaceTime calls, he would be remiss to say he didn’t also relish catching glimpses of the lived-in domesticity of your space in the background. The sight of your favorite blanket rumpled into the corner of the couch off to the side of your camera. A water glass left on the coffee table. Your golden retriever, Artoo, sprawled on the kitchen tile, snoozing gently while you spoke to your beloved through the little glass screen of your phone.
It was the least he could do, Mickey thought, to give you some of that domesticity back while you slept. To contribute to your home in ways he otherwise couldn’t while away.
With that, Mickey slid his feet in preparation over the cool hardwood once more before standing, before slipping quietly from the room, and beckoning Artoo to follow with gently-clacking paws.
–
The laundry had been started. The dishes from last night’s dinner removed from the drying rack and put away. Artoo had been walked and fed and was now curled atop his cushion with his favorite rawhide chew. And, perhaps most importantly, the softly-burbling coffee maker had filled up enough for Mickey to pour a cup, steaming, and prepared the way you liked it best.
Slipping quietly back to your bedroom with the porcelain mug generating a welcome warmth that seeped into his fingertips – a contrast to the still-frigid surface beneath his feet – Mickey slid beneath the covers on his side of the bed. Mindful of the fact that you were still sleeping, your features angelic, smooth, and untroubled in that way of deep sleepers, lavender haze cloudy and dreamlike.
The desire to let you sleep was at odds with the desire he felt as he gazed upon you, his cielo. His morning sky, radiant, even when compared to the purpling, blooming dawn of the expanse outside of your window, casting the room in a sweet morning glow. Bathing your features, resplendent, as though you were made to be seen in the morning light. And perhaps you were.
It was no secret that Mickey’s days began with you, his name on your lips and his first thought when he awoke, no matter the distance between the two of you. And his nights (when he was lucky), ended with you, too. Lucky to be ensconced in your touch, with the wax and wane of your skylight pull, a siren’s song beckoning him into the bygone era of your devotion, ever lost to time in its eternity. With your breath fanning across his face, and your lips on his.
And wouldn’t it be so nice to begin his day this way, too?
Gently, Mickey set your coffee mug on the bedside table nearest him before turning back to you and bending to skate his hand, warmed by the sweet heat of morning caffeine encased in porcelain, beneath his (your) hoodie and along the skin of your waist, tracing up your side and along the ridges of your ribs.
Bending, Mickey revels in the slight gasp that his touch has emitted from you as you begin to stir, quick to follow the teasing traipse of his fingertips with the skating bridge of his nose, and the sweetest skim of his lips along your neck, trailing up, up to the bridge of your cheek.
What a way to wake up.
“Good morning, tease,” you rasped, twisting in the sheets to separate Mickey’s lips from your neck so that you could crack an eye open, taking in the sight of your beloved leaning over you. “What time is it?”
Instead of responding, Mickey pressed forward further, closing the gap between you two, to press his lips fully to yours, the softness of his (your) hoodie pressing into his chest as he sucked your lower lip between his. A little something like ardor blooming, aching in his chest as he withdrew in time to see the flutter of your lashes as you opened your eyes fully at his departure.
“Still early, Cielo,” he murmured, nudging his nose along the bridge of yours, cocking his head to press another kiss to your cheek.
You hmmm’d at Mickey’s attentions, the tingling sensation of goosebumps erupting across your skin – no matter how many times your Mickey has kissed you, no matter how many times you feel his lips across your skin, it garners the same reaction. As though your very person was surprised, pleased, to be the recipient of this man’s love.
The cool air of the room bit across your face, now that Mickey had retreated from you some. Prompting you to snuggle into his (your) hoodie, and burrow ever further beneath the covers to shield your legs, your slipper-socked feet, from the bite of cold air.
“I have to get up,” you sighed, wistful that your time beneath the warm cocoon of your comforter was coming to an end. “Artoo needs to go out, and…”
Mickey silenced you with a press of his finger to your lips,
“S’alright, Cielo, I took care of it. And the dishes, and the laundry. I wanted you to sleep in. You know, you work so hard, … and I come bearing gifts,” Mickey passes you the still-warm mug from the nightstand, into your eager fingertips, pleased at the look of gentle surprise that crossed your features.
“You did all my morning chores?” You asked, cracking voice warming with the first grateful sip of your morning caffeine, ever-careful not to belabor too much the loss of the feel of his finger from your lips in favor of coffee. “Oh,” you groaned at the feeling, the taste, of the divinely hot liquid down your throat. “Holy shit, babe. This is amazing.”
Mickey felt himself flush, a pleasing prickle tickling the tips of his ears and warming his cheeks. Though whether it was at the pleased noise you had made, or the praise that had dripped from your lips, he wasn’t sure. Both were sure to get him going. Coupled with the sight of you in his (your, damnit) hoodie, and he was working his way up to being a total goner.
“Haré cualquier cosa por ti, amor,” Mickey breathed, easing an arm around you as you pressed into his side, sipping happily at your coffee. Anything for you. “I know how you like it.”
You raised an eyebrow at your boyfriend then, at the perhaps-innuendo, “You do, do you? Careful. A girl could get used to this level of service.”
“I do,” Mickey assured, using his arm around you to guide you between his legs, allowing your back to rest against his chest. “And you know, as a dutiful soldier, I’m only happy to serve you.”
You huffed through your nose at that, an undignified little snort, gently knocking your elbow back into the crook of his side.
“You’re corny when you’re horny, I just want you to know that,” you chided, your voice lilted and teasing.
“Me?!” Mickey spluttered, indignant. “What a rude thing to say. I bring you coffee in bed, I let you sleep in my hoodie, and this is how you repay me?”
You twist in Mickey’s arms, coming to face him now, resting on your knees and leaning past him, brushing your chest to his as you place your coffee cup gingerly on his bedside table once more.
“You’re right,” you sigh, mock consternation coloring your voice. “Maybe it’s just me that’s turned on. Hot guy brings me coffee in bed? How can a girl resist?” You slid your arms around your boyfriend’s neck, allowing your fingers to tangle in the curls at the base of his neck and tugging lightly, causing Mickey’s head to tilt, his jaw to jut ever-slightly upward, pleased at the groan that burned its way from his throat to your ears. “And don’t act like you don’t like me sleeping in this hoodie.”
And you loved him like this, if you were honest. Teasing, sweet, as he is. And slightly at your mercy.
You allowed your eyes to drag over your boyfriend’s angelic features, his honeytar eyes swirling as he took you in, in kind. The flash of white teeth behind full lips, parted, waiting with bated breath for your next move. Cinnamon burn married with honey sweetness.
Your lips met his, then. Full and flush.
And isn’t it just like Mickey to overwhelm your senses, even when you’re the one –barely– in control? If the sight of him at your mercy wasn’t devastating enough, the feel of his silken curls between your fingers was unmatched in its ecstasy, second only to the feel of his lips on yours. The clean, warm smell you associate with him surrounding you, bleeding into the taste of him on your tongue. Paired remarkably with the taste of the coffee he’d made, rich, bold, and wanting. His sweet little hitch of breath, music to your ears.
“Rude,” Mickey murmured as your lips parted, “a rude thing, you are.”
“Rude, hm?” You pecked another kiss to his pouted mouth, a mocking, quizzical little question. “So I shouldn’t let you fuck me now?”
And isn’t just like Mickey … To render you breathless as he flips you beneath him? Teasing giggles punched from your lungs in exchange for the ever-sweet surprise of his display of strength as he surges over you like a tidal wave of want.
“Don’t fucking tease me, Cielo,” Mickey breathed, lips inches from yours as his molten-whiskey eyes roved your form. “Don’t you wanna be a good girl?” His hands, warm and firm against your skin, steadied your wriggling thighs as he skated his palms along your legs and up, up, up and beneath the loose hem of your hoodie that skimmed along the tops of your thighs.
As Mickey’s lips met yours once more, heated and heady, the tips of his fingers toyed with the hem of the underwear you had slept in. You gasped at his touch so close to where you (always) wanted him, allowing Mickey to slide his tongue along yours, deepening the kiss as he tugged your panties down your legs, allowing you the slightest of wriggles of your hips to aid him in his effort.
And if your teasing before hadn’t done it, the feel of your back pressed to his chest as you had chided him, the feel of your thighs beneath his palms was certainly getting him there, the ache that so frequently accompanied his desire for you, rendering him half-hard. Because of course a touch was all it would take, when he (always) wanted you.
His cherry cola girl, sweetly radiant and resplendent beneath him. Unfairly resonant of some kind of solar goddess in the lavender-gold hue of early-morning sunlight awash on the creme color of your bedroom walls, splashing along the skin of your now-bared legs, beckoning him to paint you with the reverence you deserved – an eternal piece of art worthy of worship. The very notion of you, heavy in his bones, keeping him grounded whenever he was away, even when he was in the sky.
“I’ll be good, M,” you sighed, gripping Mickey’s wrist with wanting fingers, guiding one of his hands over the top of the hoodie, over the curve of your breast, and allowing his palm to rest along the plane of your throat, pressing a sweet kiss to his fingertips. “I’ll be good if you’ll be mine.”
And who was he to refuse?
And for as many times as you had told Mickey that the was sunshine personified, that his smile was dazzling, that he was the source of light in every room – he could say the same for you, of the sight of the golden light of morning dancing in your eyes, causing them to swim with sunshine and pleasure – with your love for him so naked and plain before him.
Kneeling between your parted thighs, one hand on your throat, the other squeezing the skin of your hip after he had absconded you of your panties. You brought your legs up to wrap loosely around Mickey’s tapered waist, encouraging him to touch you, with an impatient roll of your hips against the warmth of his thigh just barely within your reach.
Mickey chuckled at your resulting huff of impatience, conceding with sweet sin.
Pressing his index and middle fingers past your lips, you accepted them eagerly into your mouth, the warmth of you around any part of him enough to make Mickey close his eyes with a groan.
“That’s good, baby,” he praised as you gently sucked his fingers, allowing them to work gently in your mouth, satisfied with the feel of your saliva coating his fingers before withdrawing them, rewarding you with a dazzling smile as he took in the glisten of you along the skin of his fingers. “Don’t worry,” he assured, leaning forward to press a kiss to your neck as brought his fingers down to run through the seam of your bared pussy, your spit and the wetness already gathered there allowing him to glide his digits along your folds.
Your love continued to stroke you, one finger probing closer, closer to your entrance as he lavished attention with piteous lips along your neck, a heady, whiskeyed series of kisses with a chaser in the form of nipping teeth. Plucking and playing you as only he could.
“M, God,” you gasped, as he finally, finally, slid a long finger inside of you, urging, beckoning, demanding, the heel of his hand pressing against your clit as you continued to roll your hips against it.
Mickey’s other hand traveled up your side, pushing the hoodie up as he went to bare your tits, a light scrape of nails over a pebbled nipple enough to make you yelp, bucking your hips evermore into the hand that cupped you as he continued to finger you.
“M, please,” you whined, the pressure building inside you painfully exquisite, but not quite enough, “I w-wanna come with you inside me.”
And who was your love if not merciful? Especially when you begged for him, so pretty? So piteous?
“Y-yeah,” he breathed, shifting to allow your legs to release his waist so he could shuck his boxers down, his hard length prominent, curved. “Gonna fuck you, pretty girl. My good girl.”
And his pull over you as you reached down to guide his length between your slick folds was oceanic. You’d do anything he asked, if only he’d just — and with a snap of his hips, a groan, and a pitch forward to bring his hands down by either side of your head, Mickey was seated inside of you, rendering you full.
The surge of him was like the wax and wane of the tides as he began to roll his hips into yours, thrusting at an even, but weighted, pace – every thrust that much harder, harder, harder…
You turned your head to the side to press a kiss to the wrist of the arm that rested there, bringing your own arms up to greedily drink in the feel of your love, skin on skin.
And, oh, the firm, defined feel of his chest beneath your fingertips was worth any minute spent dreaming about it instead of touching it – because you could touch him now.
For his part, Mickey was awash at the feel of you around him, silken and warm, like a bolt of eternally-pleasing velvet only he would wrap himself in. The feel of your lips along his skin, of your touch along his torso, your fingers making their way once more to bury himself in his curls, tightening and tugging at a particularly hard thrust of Mickey’s hips.
And there you were, a veritable garden blooming beneath him, your soft-petaled heart open and bursting with your love as you moaned for him, the sound like honeyed nectar to Mickey’s ears.
The feel of Mickey inside of you, of the heavy drag of his cock with each flexing thrust was the sweetest torture, satisfying but not quite enough as you urged him for more with your body. Your hands twined in his curls gave a particularly harsh tug as you surged upward to meet Mickey’s lips, catching his lower with your teeth and giving an insistent, but gentle scrape, the bite of someone starved.
You were so close, so close… Just a bit more…
“B-baby,” you gasped, “p-please, Daddy, please…” your whimper escapes your lips, the word meeting Mickey’s ears, two syllables drenched in your desperation, your desire. Syrupy and sinful, from your lips to Mickey’s ears. From Mickey’s ears, down his body, tingling along his skin. Your sweet urges, all for him.
And had you ever used that word with him before? Mickey wasn’t sure (and he was sure that if you had, he would recall it) – but the sound of your sweet, breathy moans, the sound of that word was going to play on a loop in Mickey’s mind, burning into his bones in perpetuity. As ever-present as his desire for you. He was sure of it.
“Please,” you breathed again, dropping your hands to his sides and allowing your nails to drag along the skin of Mickey’s hips and up his torso, your thighs tightening around his tapered waist, soft, sock-bedecked feet locking in place behind him to pull your beloved closer, closer to you.
He groaned in your ear, a desperate, jumbled rumble from somewhere deep in his chest as he acquiesced to your pleas, surging, deliberate as he continued to fuck into you.
“Say it again, baby,” he urged, inching a hand down to where your bodies were joined, the promise of his precise touch over your clit, where you needed him most a threat enough to make you weep. He gripped your jaw with his other hand, forcing your eyes to lock with his as the cinching warmth of an impending orgasm began to bleed its way through his veins. “Fuckin’ say it again,” he pleaded.
And it had clicked, just as Mikey’s fingertips brushed your clit, causing the blush of that tightening coil inside of you to begin to burst – he had liked what you’d spilled from your lips, like the dirtiest secret.
You gazed at the looming glimmer that looked so like desperation behind your love’s eyes, wild and wanton, parting your lips to give him what he wanted – knowing it would result in him giving you what you wanted.
“Daddy,” you whined, fucking back onto Mickey’s cock with insistent rolls of your hips, and urging his touch along your clit, “Please make me come.”
And who was he to refuse?
As the moon in the sky controls the tides, you beckoned. And Mickey had no choice but to follow, rolling his thumb insistently over your clit as he fucked you, a seafoam wave of staticky pleasure overtaking you as your orgasm crested, thighs squeezing Mickey’s sides as the whole of you tightened around him like a viper.
Pleasantly warm and venomous, your pleasure bleeding into Mickey’s as the two of you joined.
And like a venom, your desire had spread, bleeding and burning its way through Mickey’s veins as he continued to roll his hips into yours before he spilled himself inside of you, the feeling of him giving you all of himself until he was spent made you want to pen sonnets – an incomparable feeling of secondhand ecstasy at the knowledge that you had given your love this pleasure.
With a groan, Mickey extricated himself from you – you truly had wrapped around him like a snake, eyes roving over your blissed-out form to confirm that he hadn’t been too rough with you before allowing himself to settle in by your side…
“Soooo,” Mickey sighed beside you, his breath steadying as he came down from his high, from your collective exertion. “Daddy, huh?”
You rolled your eyes, swatting his arm playfully with the back of your hand, “Please. As if you didn’t like it.”
The sheets slipped against your skin as Mickey pulled you – still wearing his (your) hoodie, now pulled back down to cover you once more – across the bed, all liquid limbs and pliant bones, into his arms. Pressing a kiss into the side of your head and retrieving your forgotten coffee cup from the bedside and depositing it once more into your waiting fingers.
“You liked it too, Cielo,” he noted, snickering at your semi-disgusted face at the dissatisfying sip of now-cold coffee.
“Well, yeah, Mickey,” you replied, ignoring the offending coffee in favor of the pleasure of his now stroking along your hair, the two of you settling back into the lazy morning as the sunlight along the walls began to blaze orange. “You’re still so fine.”
SYNOPSIS: You finally make a move on the cute guy who lives in your apartment complex
WARNINGS: none
WORD COUNT: 1.2k
He was beautiful. That's all there was to it, really. His beautifully dark and curly hair, naturally brown and tanned skin like god enveloped him in the eternal warmth and sunshine of summer. But his smile? That was the killer-- the one feature of his that quite literally made your brain short circuit.
Seriously.
Last weekend, you'd gone down to the laundry room of the apartment complex, obviously planning on doing laundry and calling it a day. You thought about watching a movie and ordering take out, having a well-deserved chill day. When you got there, though, the only other person in there was him. You'd had conversations with him before, small-talk really, nothing past how are you, have a nice weekend, Merry Christmas. But that day? You'd found out his name--Mickey.
It was when he took the shirt off his back and tossed it into the washing machine that things went awry. You became so intoxicated by the way his thin gold chains hung around his neck and fell at his toned chest, the way the little curls of his hair clung to his forehead from sweating in the California heat, and even the way his biceps protruded as he lifted the detergent with ease. Running your hands in his hair as he lazily slept or holding onto his muscular arm were only two of the more tame thoughts that ran through your head.
Mickey smiled and wished you a good weekend before he left, and it was the stupidly gorgeous smile that fried your brain, but you wouldn't know until you were completely done with laundry that day. Because while you were fantasizing about Mickey, you'd poured bleach into your laundry instead of detergent--ruining your entire load.
Since then, you'd seen him around like you always had--occasionally through the halls, the stairwell, or the parking lot. Now, you stood in the elevator bringing groceries up to your apartment, walking slowly to your door, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mickey. This was usually around the time he left for the gym and blessed you with an image of his built arms in a tank top.
Turning the corner, you saw his back as he locked the door to his home. You weren’t one for sports, but the backwards Dodgers cap on his head made you want to learn about baseball.
Tired of the hallway conversations you would have with Mickey, you wanted to do something about it. By now, you were crushing hard on him and you knew yourself well enough to know that if you kept on pretending like you had no feelings for him, you’d end up embarrassing yourself in front of him somehow. Or even worse, what if you were too late and some other girl swoops in and steals him?
Okay, you thought, this is it. I’m gonna do it.
Mickey’s apartment wasn’t that far from yours, only a few doors down. As you’re about to open your mouth to speak, one of your neighbors sees you, and offers to help you with your groceries. If it were any other neighbor, you would’ve accepted the help, you wouldn’t have minded it. But this one in particular had been trying to get in your pants ever since you moved into the complex years ago. You didn’t even remember his name, and he brought a new girl around nearly every few weeks. If that wasn’t the biggest red flag, you weren’t sure what was. By the time you fend this guy off, Mickey’s already jogging down the stairs with his earbuds in and leaves.
Well, there goes that. So much for courage. No, you don’t lose hope. You can’t.
A few days later, you’re in the parking lot, getting ready to leave, and Mickey just arrives. Of course, that’s just your luck. He’s a few cars away, but he spots you and waves, “You look nice!”
You. Look. Nice.
Repeating the words in your head, you almost forget to thank him. It was only a simple summer dress to meet your friends for dinner, and sure you’d spent more time than usual on your hair and makeup just in case you ran into him, but you weren’t really expecting him to actually compliment you. Either way, his words live in your head 24/7.
The next day, you’re on a mission. It’s a Saturday–the Saturday, actually. Mickey’s usually home on Saturdays. It’s the Saturday that you decide to act. It's your chance to finally make a move, and honestly, what’s the worst that can happen?
You spend all morning thinking about how you’re going to ask him, to the point that you almost chicken out.
But you don’t.
Walking down the hall, you knock on his door and you think about how chipped the paint is on all of the apartment doors. Someone should fix that.
The door swings open, and you swear you can hear your heart shatter into a million pieces, stabbing every inch of your chest.
A young girl answers the door, probably your age, but she’s so gorgeous. Her dark hair is waist-length and wavy, neatly pinned out of her face. Her summer dress is even prettier than the ones you have, though you’re pretty sure you have the same exact one from Target. Somehow she makes it look prettier. Her makeup and her skin are flawless, like Instagram model flawless. She smiles at you, and she has a pretty smile– a bright one that makes you wonder what kind of toothpaste she uses.
Of course a girl like this would be with him, she’d be dumb not to be.
“I-I’m sorry what did you say?” You ask. Totally lost in your own mind, you hadn’t realized she’d spoken.
“No worries,” she laughs lightly–even her laugh is pretty. “I asked if you were looking for my brother.”
“Y-your brother?”
“Yeah,” she turns her head back into the apartment, yelling, “Mickey! Your pretty neighbor is looking for you! The one you have a crush on!”
Of course. She was his sister. Now you feel like an idiot, but a happy idiot–a happy idiot who still has a chance.
“Hey,” Mickey stumbles out of the apartment, blushing, “Sorry about my sister. She’s visiting for the weekend and she’s a bit much.”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t think so.”
He raises an eyebrow, “Really?”
“Yeah,” you begin, heart beating faster and faster and you’re losing courage by the second. “Your pretty neighbor, the one you have a crush on, kinda has a crush on you too.”
Mickey smiles that stupidly beautiful smile again, and leans against the wall. “Oh, does she now?”
You can’t help but smile back. “She does. And she thinks that if you’re not busy next weekend you two should go out.”
“I think we should too.”
You and Mickey stand there smiling awkwardly at each other until his sister comes out, whispering, “This is the part where you exchange numbers.”
Laughing and fumbling with your phones, you do as you’re told. When you finally walk back to your apartment, you can still hear his sister, “It’s about damn time! I was getting sick of hearing you talk about her and not making a move!”
As you squeal from excitement into a pillow on your couch, your phone goes off.
Mickey: I can’t wait until next week, how about tomorrow? We can have lunch :)
You: sounds like a plan. meet you at your place?
Mickey: It’s a date then. Know which apartment it is?
You roll your eyes playfully at his awful attempt at a joke. How couldn’t you know which apartment he lived in? After all, it was the first thing you knew about him and before he was Mickey, he was “the boy in apartment 512”.
------
a/n: this is honestly my fav. @angelic-dreams13 i think you'll like this
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)
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“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.
