an: after seeing SEVERAL fan edits with danny’s characters to dandelion by ariana grande i couldn’t stop thinking about scandalizing sweet baby mickey on the dance floor!! (mickey being shy & respectful is just MY take on his characterization, if you don’t agree that’s okay friend 🫶🏾)
danny ramirez character masterlist
Every single one of them had warned him. Phoenix, Rooster, Bob, Coyote—even Hangman, who usually only cared about himself. They had all warned him from the moment you walked on the scene.
It makes Mickey wonder how poorly he was doing at hiding his crush on you.
At the end of the day, the only person’s opinion that mattered was yours. For the time being, it seemed you decidedly had no opinion—or maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as obvious as the others claimed he was.
“You’re in trouble now,” Phoenix whispered in his ear as they all celebrated on the flight deck.
“He’s gonna live up to his name tonight,” Coyote quipped, clapping Mickey on the shoulder.
“Guys, knock it off,” Bob said, giving Mickey an apologetic smile. He knew what it felt like to be the butt of the joke and wouldn’t wish that feeling on anyone.
Hangman ignored the scolding, wagging both of his eyebrows. “Ultimate Fanboy—loading.”
“Shut up,” Mickey murmured, his eyes flickering around on the lookout for you just in case.
And pop up you do, weaving through the throng of celebrating pilots and support staff. Your presence cuts through all the noise like a sunbeam, bright and impossible to ignore.
“Holy shit, we did it,” you yell as you join the group, scooping Phoenix into a hug.
“Juniper, how are we celebrating tonight?” Hangman asks, eyes never leaving Mickey’s.
“You know exactly how we’re celebrating. Everybody’s letting their hair down tonight—even Fanboy here,” you say, reaching up to run your fingers over the short bristle of his buzz cut.
Mickey nearly stops breathing, his chest hitching. The touch is fleeting, but it strikes him, energy flowing through him like a live wire. It takes everything in him not to lean into it, not to chase the feeling of your fingers against his scalp.
He swallows roughly, gives you the best smile he can manage, and makes an excuse about congratulating Rooster before you can notice the heat rising in his face.
—
The celebration had started at the Hard Deck, uniforms still in place, the familiarity of the bar keeping everything at a reasonable simmer. Mickey did his best to mingle with everyone but you, his eyes drifting over to you every once and a while.
“It wouldn’t kill you to talk to her, would it?” Phoenix asks him over the music.”
“Kill no, but I don’t wanna make a fool of myself.”
“That would be hard— she likes you, Mick. You’re just too enamored with her to see that.”
“I’m not into taking risks, you know that. Here, I’ll go get us another round,” He grabs her nearly empty mug and starts towards the bar, effectively ending their conversation.
The last thing he needs is to get his hopes up.
But, the second he stepped into the club later that night, every bit of self-restraint dissolved.
He doesn’t know when or where you had enough time to change into this number, but you’re going to be the death of him.
Your hair is down, framing your face in a way that makes his stomach drop. The dress—if it can even be called that—clings to you like shimmering silver raindrops, catching the club’s flashing lights with your every move. It’s a little see-through. Stops halfway down your thighs.
“I’m not gonna pass out,” he grumbles, staring down into his beer.
You make your way from the bar to join the two of them at the table. “Hey, where are the other boys?”
Phoenix nods towards the dance floor— Rooster, Hangman, and Coyote all have at least one girl on their arm, dancing under the colorful lights.
“Bob?”
“He said it wasn’t his scene,” Mickey shouts over the drum of the bass.
“Well do you wanna dance with me, Mickey?”
You’ve never called him that before. You’re always strictly professional and focused on the task at hand. He’s never seen you stray, never seen you distracted…or so relaxed. Your shoulders which are usually up to your ears are down, glowing with some sort of body oil.
It’s over for him; he feels turned to goo, unable to turn you down.
“I— uh, sure. Are you sure, because I—“
You cut him off with a laugh, grabbing his hand. “C’mon, Fanboy, it’s just a dance. Unless you’re scared?”
He swallows hard. “Not scared.”
“Good.”
Before whisking him away, you assure Phoenix that you’ll bring him back after a dance or two.
“Don’t mind me,” she calls after you two, a knowing grin on her face.
You guide him through the crowd effortlessly, moving to the rhythm of the bassline that thrums through the floor and straight into his chest. His hand is clammy, but he grips yours firmly, not wanting to mess up this moment.
Dancing with you is…it’s a problem.
You move like you were made for this—the music, the energy, the way your body fits so seamlessly against his. Every sway, every shift of your hips sends a fresh wave of heat through him. And then your hands are on his shoulders, skimming down his arms before slipping around his neck, pulling him in just a little closer.
His heart is pounding. You have to hear it, have to know how you’re affecting him this way. With how close you’ve guided him, he has no choice but to hold on to you tightly, his hands fitting like gloves around your hips.
As he grows more comfortable, you decide to test him.
Your hands skim up his arms, slow and deliberate, until they slip around his neck again. You press in just a little closer, tilting your head up to meet his eyes, your mouth curved into something dangerously close to a smirk.
“You know,” you murmur, “I think I like this side of you, Fanboy.”
He’s struggling to breathe. “What—what side?”
Your fingers toy with the short hairs at the nape of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. “The one that actually touches me instead of staring from across the room.”
Mickey swears under his breath, tightening his grip on your waist. You knew. You knew the whole time, and you’re having fun with it.
“I don’t—” His words cut off as you shift, your body rolling right against him. His jaw clenches. “Jesus, Juniper.”
Your laugh is warm and breathless. “Relax, Mickey. I don’t bite.”
But there’s a glint in your eye that says you could— that you would if he asked nicely enough.
The song shifts, the beat deepening, a low pulse of bass and heat. His fingers are caressing your waist with need. With urgency. His body finds the rhythm of yours like it’s second nature, a push and pull, a slow unraveling.
It’s intoxicating and dangerous, it’s got him thinking his dreams don’t have to just be dreams. They could be reality.
You can see his resolve crumbling— his breath grows quicker, eyes hazy with obsession.
Just when you think he’s about to combust, you lean in, lips brushing his ear. “Kiss me, Mickey.”
His heart drops into his stomach. Are you— could you be serious? Is he dreaming? Did he die on the mission and wake up in the afterlife to what he’s wanted since the first time he laid eyes on you?
No. You’re too real beneath his fingertips. Too warm and soft, the smell of your perfume somehow cutting through the alcohol and sweat of everyone else.
It’s the way you look at him that makes him sure this is truly happening. Eyes glittering with mischief, you have to know what you’re doing to him. The way you whisper it, like a secret, like you’re letting him have the control when really, you’re running this whole damn show.
He hesitates. Not because he doesn’t want it—he wants it, god, he needs it—but because this is you. And this feels like something bigger than just the heat of the moment. This isn't just a kiss with some girl in a club; its you.
You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers tightening ever so slightly at the nape of his neck. Your expression softens—not teasing or challenging. Just waiting, hope glowing in your eyes.
That glimmer of hope is all it takes.
Mickey leans in, closing the space between you with a kiss that’s hesitant at first—soft, searching. But when you respond, when you sigh with relief against his lips and press closer, he melts.
Any teasing energy you had left fades away now. All that’s left is you, your hands cupping his jaw, your body pressing flush against his as you kiss him slow and deep and unhurried like you’ve got all the time in the world.
Somewhere in the background, there’s a sharp whistle.
“Fanboy’s really living up to his name,” Hangman yells loud enough for probably the entire dancefloor to hear.
There's cheering, whooping but it can't hold his attention, not with you in his arms and the ghost of your taste in his lips.
Mickey should care. He should be embarrassed.
He can’t find it in himself to do either when you grin against his lips, sliding your hands down his chest before tugging him back in for another kiss—deeper, more insistent. It’s sensual, the way your tongue brushes against his.
And he realizes in that moment he would do anything you asked him.
He’s gone for you. Utterly, completely gone.
Judging by how you pull him even closer, how your fingers toy with the hem of his shirt and skim across the skin of his torso like you need to touch more of him—
You’re gone for him too.
lmk if you’d like to be on the danny ramirez characters taglist!
a/n: way back in 2023 i was plagued by this idea and i never actually got around to writing it. but kinktober this year is calling for me to finally pick up the wip again and finish it. i would like to expand this after the fact, but we'll see what i come up with. for now i hope you enjoy an idea that has literally sat in the back of my head for years. happy october everyone! mickey is NOT ghostface in this. he wears a mask, but it's not a scream au. FAIR WARNING: IF YOU DON'T FUCK WITH HORROR OR BLOOD OR FUCKED UP VIBES DO NOT READ THIS.
KINKTOBER 2025: knife play + deep throating + breath play
summary: mickey garcia, the infamous killer, the hitman who remained in whispers traded at night and legends told over fires. a man who held enough darkness to watch it bleed into his every day life. but when you cross his path - overflowing with sticky sweetness and bashful smiles - he is determined to keep that side of himself secret. until he finds that you delight in the color red staining your clothes just as much as he does.
word count: 7.9k+
pairing: killer!mickey 'fanboy' garcia x f!reader
warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!!, DARK FIC W/ HORROR TREAD LIGHTLY, INCREDIBLY OOC MICKEY, p in v sex, knife play, rough sex, dom!mickey, explicit torture, obsessive love, she/her used, insanity, pussy pronouns, exhibitionism, voyeurism, deep throating, choking, slasher, oral (f + m receiving), mickey kills people, TW BLOOD, TW: GORE, they're both severely fucked up in this one, little editing so there might be mistakes.
The knife's handle felt smooth against your palm—complete. Black leather stitched and stained in crimson, the cold blade pointed towards your own stomach until you shivered with the soft pinch on bare skin.
Wouldn't it be so easy? To plunge a weapon coated in another's essence right to the base of your liver; to destroy the one piece of evidence that could end the man before you.
A smile twisted up the edge of your lips, gaze fixed on how the yellowed light reflected off the silver mirror—red splattered on the edge, paint you longed to drag your fingers through. To create an image of perfection similar to the one splayed out. It would be a pathetic replica. An amateurish version of paint by numbers you would never be able to get quite right.
That didn't stop the pull in your chest—the longing you felt in your gut to at least try.
He asked you to watch. A show worthy of ornate theaters and soft velvet seats, the precise way he carved a halo into the man's side. Flesh tearing away as thin as paper. The mastery in something so brutal—so inhumane.
Blood became the river that flowed between you and him. Dark red flecked with bits of a person's soul. You could taste copper on your tongue, feel it invade your nose with a burn. A haze of lust shrouded your vision, eyes glazed and hands clenching tight around the blade as you watched crimson bubble to the surface of your stomach.
There were days you swore you saw yourself in the restless waters. Narcissus gazing at true beauty. Hades reaching into the River Styx for the lost remnants of a human he took from this world. You were the paramour to a god—your heart stolen by death's grip as he slaughtered those already damned to the underworld. Fear numbed your heart, terror became your companion, and in the end all that existed was him.
Your lover, your lifeline.
Devouring your guilt became simple. Persephone sinking her teeth into the pomegranate until red spilled down the sides of her mouth, seeds trapped in her throat—suffocating the hope ravaging in your stomach. You swallowed it down, licked the taste it off your fingers, and begged him for more. Death became a craving never to be sated—a sworn oath with your soul as the only bargaining chip.
"Baby," he muttered, his boots staining the hallway red—marking each step in the proof of his actions.
You'd be damned right along with him. Dropped to the depths of Tarturus to reside in darkness for all eternity. And you'd fall with a smile, your hand clasped in his and heart torn from your chest, clutched in his palm as he sunk his red stained teeth into the organ's tissue.
"Hm?" your eyes raised, a glaze of desperation pierced through the blown out pupil.
"Hand me the knife bebita. I'll get rid of it."
"But it's so pretty," you murmured.
There remained an ethereal beauty that existed on his face. An afterglow of serenity bleeding into his nerves—the peace he could never find buried within the eye of a gruesome storm. And you…at the center of it all. His sinful angel perched on the side gazing in awe at the art he created; a dedication of his adoration for someone so precious.
His hand—sticky and warm with that copper tanged liquid—cupped your cheek, thumb running along your bottom lip. The taste of it dripped onto the tip of your tongue, smeared hot on tastebuds that relished in its beauty. You'd grown used to it's heavy weight, the thickness of something so pure—so lovely that you sucked on his finger to get more.
"Can I keep it?" Your eyes were wide, wet with need, and Mickey felt his cock jump at the sight. So similar to the way you looked when he had you pinned beneath him.
He'd give you anything you asked. Hand over his own throat if it meant he'd get to watch such a pretty face cut him open in the end. Nothing so precious could exist as long as you walked the Earth, and oh how he longed to keep you—satiate any craving and need you longed for. It was all worth it in the end. The corruption of your soul, the promise of tomorrow and the day after that festering deep in a wound he knew he created.
"Of course," he replied, lips pulling up into a snarl. But you read it as a smile, a wonderful fleeting flicker of joy.
To him that was enough.
THREE MONTHS AGO
The flowers on the porch were dead.
White lilies that wilted in the summer heat, now decayed in the autumn air. Leaves snapping off, petals shriveled and brown. He thumbed at one with a sigh and watched as it fell to the bottom of the pot, the soil bone dry and roots no doubt black with death. They were an anniversary gift to you three months ago—a chance to start your home together in a small but meaningful way.
He'd planted roses in the backyard. Deep wine red, subtle yellows and pale whites. Colors that seemed to glow in the sunlight, their stems and thorns and roots all bleeding enough life to spill out into the ground below. The grass did well even with the heat, but that was nothing compared to what was buried beneath—twisted up in the very plants you watered with a smile. A new rose bush for every work trip.
He kicked his boots off and left them by the door long before you heard him. The lump that made your form lost beneath layers of quilts and throw blankets, shoved into the corner of a coal colored couch. You held a book right up to your nose, brows furrowed and thumb pressed between the pages. But that isn't what made saliva pool in his mouth, an ache forming quick and unrelenting in his stomach.
Bare legs peeked out from the covers, a chest covered only in a sports bra and nothing else. You were a vision. A piece of perfection he dreamed of coming home to on his nights away from this place.
"Dame un beso mi amor."
Jerking up with a gasp, you felt the race in your heart nearly stop the organ altogether at the sight of him. "Mickey," you squealed, clambering out of your hovel to launch into his grasp.
There existed in the base of your throat and heavy need you could never quite voice in his absence. Days without him. Time spent trying to trace the shape of his face behind your tightly shut eyes. Nights working your fingers tirelessly between your thighs until you came with disappointment curling in the pit of your stomach—never quite the same if it wasn't from him.
But that all but disappeared when he gripped you tight, burying his face into the crook of your neck as your hand dug into his disheveled curls. You could breathe again. Suck in a cold clear lungful of air and taste the bitterness of dirt that still clung to his jacket—dust and debris no doubt stuck onto every fiber and stitch. You'd wash it out later and see the water run black, but it welcomed you home with a warmth unlike any you'd known before him.
"I missed you," he rasped, hand cupping your jaw and lips molding rough over your own. You gasped into it and pulled him close, tugging sharp on his hair until a groan was pressed into your mouth—his tongue hot and tinged with coffee as he devoured you.
"Wait-"
He yanked back, thumb running smooth beneath your bottom lip. "Something wrong?"
"I need to breathe baby," you teased, cupping his face and feeling a harsh flutter when his lips found your wrist, tongue licking along the thumping vein. "How was it this time?"
"Mierda," he tossed back. "Spent half the time trying to wrangle the guys to do their actual fuckin' work."
A lie.
Blatant. Translucent and fragile and made up of a delicate spider's web.
But the truth belonged to him—stuck like the taste of sugared honey to the back of his throat. He'd never felt more alive than when his fingers were covered in another's blood, never more awake than hearing them beg for their measly existence. Except when he was with you. To you he was normal, a man who went to work and came back, only to sink into your waiting and wet cunt. To you he was the love of your life and forever was displayed out before you without question.
"Construction keeps taking you away from me," you pout, feeling his thumb press your mouth open with a grin.
"I'm home now bebita. For a few months at least."
Until they called him once again, until they demanded another life, until the bottom of his face was covered and his hands were gloved and he did it all over again. A relentless unforgiving cycle he yearned for, bid his time with gnashing teeth and a tongue that craved the tang of copper.
"Tell me what happened," you said, pulling him to settle on the couch, feeling the grip of his hands on your hips. "I've missed your voice."
He smiled, heart singing a tune that only you knew how to play. "I've missed something else."
"Mickey-"
A soft push landed you flat on your back, blankets and pillows sliding to the floor as he yanked your legs up and over his hips, pushing them wide with a flash of his teeth. You sucked in a breath. The thrum of your heart unsteady and all too welcome when he settled between spread thighs and a dark spot on your panties. Unmistakable in the bright afternoon sun. And how could you deny that you missed this too.
The way his nose pressed to your core, groaning with a harsh rasp you felt rush to the tips of your fingers. You shivered beneath the hand dragging up to your throat, thumb wrenching your mouth open with a breathy version of your name on his tongue.
"Gonna let me eat mi amor?"
Nodding rapidly you watched him shove the thin piece of fabric to the side. "L-Love you baby."
A flash of a smile, eyes dark lids drooped as he was met with your sweet fluttering hole. "How many times while I was gone?"
"Two," you gasped, head tipping back into the cushions. "Couldn't finish—oh-"
His tongue clicked, pity swallowing his pupil whole. "Pobrecita. Think she can get there with me?"
"Yes."
"You sure? Might take awhile." Mirth dripped silver from his lips, slicing through the shame you wore as armor. He'd remind you—drag it to the surface with venom in his teeth—that you were worth loving, worth all the worship he laid down at your feet. "I'll make it happen. Okay? Don't gotta worry about a thing."
You suck in a breath, thighs twitching when he dropped his head, mouth finding you with a harsh moan. As if he'd just waltzed through the door after years spent in the distance. Unable to reach for you, wading through a sea of lifeless corpses to claw his way back across that threshold. You gripped his curls with a fractured cry of his name, eyes rolling back and relented to his touch.
Gave into his touch with a smile on your face.
The knife set was used to belong to your mother. Passed between relatives over the decades before they landed in her lap at twenty-three with the death of her parents. She told the story over dining room tables, sorrow spilling out the seams of each word, crowding the once joyous house with a darkness you felt creep along your spine.
It called your name at night, pricked cold against bare skin you fought the urge to scratch. A bug bite with no true location—a monster you couldn't name.
You toyed with the handle as he cut into his steak, mouth full and sauce dripping down his chin. He wiped at it with the back of his hand and smiled when you tossed a napkin across the table—narrowly missing the taper candles flickering with dim romantic lighting. There was no occasion to be had. No celebration to announce, but something hung in the air, nipping at your heels with the love of a chase you never remembered joining.
Metal scraped loud against porcelain. Eerie and familiar. Like family dinners back home with nothing to be said and little to be remembered. You sipped at a half full glass of wine he poured you—a treat he picked up on his way home. Certainly not your favorite, but with him smiling and laughing, you could learn to love it just the same. Even if the tang of it was bitter, angry in the aromatics—practically vampiric.
"This is fucking delicious mi amor," he moaned around another bite, digging into the fried potatoes in a separate bowl. "You're spoiling me."
"I'm not supposed to spoil the man I love?"
Cheeks flushed red as he took a swig of his beer—your heart soaring at the sight. "I should be spoiling you."
You head tilted, lips twisting into a grin. "And eating me out until I cried wasn't spoiling me?"
"Call it fulfilling my duties as yours."
"Yeah?" He nodded, teeth scraping metal as he swallowed another mouthful of food. Your thighs pressed tight, heat spilling into your still wet panties that clung to you uncomfortably. "What other duties do you have? Being mine and all."
"Cuidado." Dark eyes broke the surface of your skin, digging beneath flesh and bone until you felt it in the base of your lungs. "Finish eating and I'll tell you."
"Tell me now," you pressed, bare foot finding the rough denim on his thigh. The jolt in his body deepened your smile as you dragged it up further, pressing lightly on the bulge in his jeans until a hand clamped down on your ankle. "Don't I deserve to know?"
He pressed your heel down hard, grinding into it with a guttural groan. "Eat. Before I take you on this fucking table."
"Now that sounds like a dare."
There it was again. Peeking its head out behind a solid heavy door. That darkness you understood so well, the prick of cold adrenaline coursing through veins already thrumming with heat. You watched him hump into your foot, the clatter of metal hitting his plate the only sound you could hear. Wax dripped along wood, a fly buzzed somewhere in the corner of the room, and Mickey's eyes became slits as he panted for air—his fingers digging spitefully into your skin.
You knew the effect you had over his body, the need that bloomed from your touch alone. But to witness it firsthand. To see him rendered a whining mess at the dinner table all because your foot pressed ruthlessly into his cock. It left you breathless—heat pooling along every crack and crevice of your body.
How far he'd let you go wasn't a question you felt was necessary to ask.
The harsh moan of your name became your answer.
Sipping on your wine, you watched his eyes roll as he leaked into his jeans. A broken pathetic noise bubbling up his throat. And for the first time that night you dug into the meat of other things—the normalcy he always came back to.
"The neighbor asked about you the other day."
He stilled, fingers wrenching your foot away before you could utter a single complaint. "What?"
"Baby." The whine slipped past your lips before they clamped shut—his eyes flashing with a piece of that darkness, jaw going rigid as he awaited your response.
"Words querida," he snipped.
"It was nothing. He asked about what type of construction you do. Said he wanted to remodel his home. So I told him you worked for a place called Halo."
The slump in his shoulders wiped the unease from your chest. He took a sip from your glass; you swallowed down the thick glob of spit on your tongue. "Tell him anything else?"
Shaking your head you watched him slice through another piece, chewing it with a stiff mouth as he tapped your foot off his lap. The sound of his teeth chewing through food roared in your ears—the incessant tick of the clock reminding you just how much time passed with him back home. How long you'd had him for before it started. The suspicion, the worry.
He wouldn't lie to you. Couldn't.
But the twist in your gut rarely released you from its grip—toying with your nerves like a cat playing with its food. You watched him drain the last dregs of his beer, traced the lines of his face as your heart called his name. And with a flick of his molten brown eyes back to yours, the lingering doubt diminished with a gasp.
"He looked it up and said he couldn't find it anywhere. Like the company didn't exist."
Mickey scoffed, settling the knife snug against the plate. "It exists bebita. You've seen the site for yourself."
"That's why it was strange."
"Then he was probably lying."
"Why would he bother?"
His brow rose with a smirk, a look that first ensnared you in his grasp at a friend's party months prior. It didn't take much to know you were his. Barely even a sliver of uncertainty before he was asking for your number, promising a date, and walking you home with a smile. The jacket he gave you still hung in the hall closet, the piece of ripped paper stuck in the corner of a frame.
A part of you knew him with an ease that should have scared you—forced you to run for the hills and escape his grasp. But where else would you be loved the way he loved you? Where else could you find someone who held you in the middle of the night, who knew you like coffee over water. Who saved up every penny for a ring stuffed into the back of his safe.
"Because you're beautiful," he murmured. "I'd have been stupid enough to lie too. It gave him a chance to come back—to see you again.”
The word love felt too insignificant to describe how you felt for him. Too little in comparison to the twist in your heart. A knife you never asked him to embed, yet still you twisted the handle anyways—content to bleed for him with a smile on your face.
Dinner lulled you into a false sense of romance. A life overflowing with gifted bottles of wine and roses in the backyard and food on the dining room table. Some nights he’d cook old family recipes, secrets shared over his mother’s stove before she passed away; other nights he’d spread you on the kitchen counter and claim you as his meal, a smile painted across a pristine face—eyes dripping with enough life to keep you with him. Stable, above ground, clutching onto a calloused palm as he pressed a kiss to your temple.
“I wanna know what you got up to while I was gone,” he finally said, scraping the last of his food his fork. “Do anything fun?”
“I started painting again.”
He grinned and for a moment time bent to your will, wrapping the both of you in a cocoon of your own design. “I’ll clean out the garage for a studio.”
Cold air seeped in through the open window, sinking beneath the comforter he buried you in. The neon glow of your alarm clock dragged your bleary gaze to the blinking three as you pushed a hand to the other side of the bed. Half expecting a bare back always running hotter than normal, you were unpleasantly surprised to find the space empty. Entirely void of the man you were wrapped around four hours ago. The sticky wet mess now dried to the tops of your thighs.
“Mickey?” Your voice was thick with sleep, body screaming at you to settle back and wait for him to return.
This happened on occasion. Nightmares from a life he no longer grasped, time he couldn’t take back and memories that ran him ragged with just a flicker of their presence. Eventually he always came back. Tangling his arms around your form and pushing his face into your back. As if you’d pulled him back with that thin strand of fate—wrapping it tight around his wrists to bind him to your soul.
The pitched cry was muffled, breaking through the locked door with enough volume to stir you from a partial slumber. A scream you didn’t recognize. You could pick out Mickey’s voice in a crowded room, each of his words and lilt of his voice, but this echoed with unrelenting pain.
An agony that rarely had space in this house.
Nightmare became the only thought on your weary mind as you clambered out of the bed, yanking the door open with a quick breath and deafening heart.
He was in trouble, he was struggling to find his way back to you. Fighting with demons you recognized in the mirror—twisted faces and pitch black souls chewing on the organs you didn’t remember offering up. They sacrificed you anyways, picked at your insides and devoured what you begged them to give back; he understood it more than anyone.
Another cry echoed in the dark of your house, your feet thumping soft on the wooden stairs. He must have fallen asleep on the couch in an attempt to find some solace. Something he took for himself after coming back from hard jobs and long work days.
You rubbed at your eyes, partially seeing a thick head of mussed curls walking slow from the kitchen—your mouth parting to ask that same old familiar questions. Are you okay? Was it a nightmare? Do you want to talk about it?
They died on the back of your tongue, dried up and shriveled as you watched him stride in with a thick black fabric mask tied to the bottom of his face. Almost surgical—the sting of antiseptic nearly invading your mind until you realized it didn’t exist. You weren’t in a hospital room and Mickey wasn’t a doctor and reality was shourded in a darkness you ignored. You ducked back into the shadows, peering over the banister when the glint of silver caught the lamp’s faint yellow glow.
Your mother’s knives.
The set he cleaned and put away hours before.
“I hate to do this in my home,” his voice was muffled, somber. “But you asked too many fucking questions for a man like me.”
The drag of your eyes felt painful, a dull throbbing behind your skull you tried to blink away. Mickey shifted, his boots scraping loud on the hardwood floor, and your heart dropped. Landed in the pit of your stomach with a dull lifeless thud you felt ricochet down to the tips of your fingers.
The neighbor with his once pristine blond hair and clear face, lay bound up in thick ropes and ripped duct tape—blood smeared in stains across his face, dripping steadily into his hair, until you were certain the color would change permanently. Or maybe he was always strawberry blond. Maybe the blood was a figment of your exhaustion, imagination opting to run wild with thoughts you’d never have otherwise.
Mickey crouched, a black latex gloved hand snapping forward to grip the man’s chin, his mouth moving subtly beneath the duct tape smeared in red. A laugh reached your ears. Raspy and thick, a familiar echo you’d heard countless times before. Now strung together with the wires of malevolence, twisting it a pitch lower and forcing something sinister past his covered mouth.
“Should have fuckin’ known you weren’t a neighbor,” Mickey muttered, slamming the man’s head down with a crack that pierced the air.
You flinched when he cried out in pain, the whites of his eyes peering at you like a spirit you should have seen coming—a warning inscribed in plaster and nailed to the wall.
“But I don’t blame you. She’s a pretty little thing—far too trusting for her own good.”
Your heart leapt up to your throat, pulsing an unfamiliar rhythm that spread down to your veins, turning the tips of your fingers numb. The urge to flee should have dug through your skull, pushing past every other thought in your mind. You knew running was your only option. The one thing that made sense.
But this was Mickey.
Your Mickey.
With infectious laughter and blinding smiles. The man who swept you into his arms to greet you, who brought light back into your once dull existence with just his words. You turned over the memories in your mind and watched as he pulled free a knife unlike any you’d seen before. The blade was near black, matching the handle he gripped. But that’s not what careened your heart into a horrifying flutter—you swallowed it down, sucked in another gasp of air to combat that spill of heat.
A necklace worn on your very first date with him accidentally snapped off in the midst of getting your dress off in between stumbling to his room and tequila tainted kisses. You thought you’d lost it for good. The peek of red jewels and gold chains; one of your favorites.
It dangled from the hilt of his blade, catching the fear in the man’s eyes and thrusting it before you on black hued silver. As if Mickey was intent on slicing through his heart, a huntsman tasked to deliver his greatest prize—the hunt of a helpless screeching animal.
“Eres listo,” he joked behind the mask, his eyes crinkling when the man writhed away from him, crying against the tip of the blade against his sternum. “Gotta hand it to you. You fucks are getting smarter. I wouldn’t have caught you if it wasn’t for her.”
A muffled scream of fuck you bled through the tape. You reared back at the sound, feet bumping into the wall. Neither heard you, too engrossed in the clash of fear and confidence clawing at one another in the air. You could practically smell the stench of it when you sucked in another lungful of air, fingers clamping down around the wood. Pain pricked in your nail beds, marks now etched into the grain line.
“Don’t worry. I won’t kill you in here.” A scream pitched high bounced off the walls of your living room, digging sharp into your eardrums. Flesh ripped jagged and putrid and obscenely ugly to make way for the dull edge of a knife.
Blood poured free, pooling against the man’s stomach as Mickey carved a near perfect circle into his chest. Marking him with a familiar tattoo you’d traced thousands of times before. It sat on his bicep, hollow and void of any meaning. Or at least that’s what he told you.
The gloves were soaked in red, his forearms coated in the thick hot fluids as copper tainted the air until you tasted its bitter essence on your tongue.
A wail ruptured through the man’s throat as you shuffled closer, peering down at Mickey’s steady hands. He stilled, knife gripped in one hand and swung faster than you could have anticipated. His fist clocked the man’s jaw hard enough to sever bone, the snap coursing through you, filling your ears and soaking into your skin. Darkness reared its ugly head behind the shut door, pushing you close to the threshold of sickening thoughts and altruistic motives.
You begged it to release you. Pleaded for a chance to sprint from the scene of the crime, to feel your fingers claw into soft dirt as you dragged your body out of an already dug grave. But the saccharine taste of his kiss echoed loud against the skip in your heart—the need for his hand clasped in yours, blood and all, morphing into a familiar likeness.
“Have some fucking manners,” Mickey spit behind his mask, clamping a hand onto the man’s mouth tight enough to bruise the skin. “My girl is sleeping upstairs.”
A flutter.
Imperceptible. Unconscious.
Your body barely recognized it the longer you stood there, eyes fixed on the gaping hole in the man’s chest, blood spurting to the surface—his skin skin mangled and raw.
Mickey grumbled as he wiped the blade on his jeans, reaching for a smaller weapon attached to his thigh. “This would have been easy if you answered my questions. But your people always want to play the hard way.”
The strangled yell was all he got in response, the man thrashing beneath Mickey’s hold. “Halo isn’t interested in your fucking games.”
Halo.
“What’s the tattoo on your arm?”
He shrugged, cupping your chin with a sly smile—his cock twitching hard against your stomach. “‘S nothing. Just a thing I got in training a long time ago.”
“It looks like a halo.”
The knife cut through the man’s leg, splitting open muscles you could see and flesh that fell to the sides. You wanted to get in closer, see the way Mickey’s wrist turned and as twisted the blade up and out—blood splattering onto the floor with a wet plop. It burned in the air now. Stuck to your throat as you shuffled to the edge of the stairs—your hand clamping down until your knuckles began to ache.
Mickey growled low, digging a thumb into the wound until the man roared and your footing slid to the side, elbow landing with a crack into the wall behind you.
The lines on his back went stiff beneath his shirt, head whipped to the side as his hands fell away. You swallowed down your slight gasp, locking all the remaining air into lungs that begged for mercy. Every limb of your body screamed at you to flee, clamber back up the stairs and slam the door shut behind you. But Mickey was already standing to his full height, eyes flashing dark in the dim light—finding you with an ease that once left you giddy.
He stilled at the sight of you cowering back into the wall, mouth agape and hands fidgeting at your sides. A deer in the headlights, fawning at the wolf with jaws matted in blood.
“Mi amor,” he croaked, gaze relentlessly calm in your state of panic.
“Mickey?” You loathed how meek—how small—you sounded. Fear gave way to the welcoming chill fisting tight around your spine, wrenching you close on unsteady legs. Only for him to back away. “I thought you were having a nightmare.”
“Don’t move for me baby. Alright? Just stay there.”
“What’s happening?” Your whisper was faint, softer than the man’s cries and yet all too loud for both of you in the end.
“I don’t…” A gloved hand curled tight, brows threading together. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Okay.”
A whimper echoed like the bass of drum, uneven and imperfect but you half expected the crescendo of screaming violins to begin. But this wasn’t a play and you weren’t trapped in this storyline. You were meant for it.
Your nails dug into the skin of your palm, cutting into the soft tender flesh and you felt that intimate tug on your spine begin anew. Renewed at the touch of his bare hand to your cheek—warm skin still hot from being coated in another man’s blood.
“I’m doing this for us,” he murmured, almost pleading with your incoherence to remain in tact.
For what better judgment might have lingered in the back of your mind to be squashed with the reminder of his devotion. What he would do for you remained endless—never lacking, never void of what you clung to most.
And you sunk your teeth into it, felt the inner shreds of who you once were slide down to the pit of your stomach to be dissolved in acid. He vowed till death without needing to utter the words. Unalterable, fixed in the maw of frigid darkness you sunk into. A grin plastered on your skin, stitched into cheeks that pulled taut below catatonic eyes.
“I believe you.” The words slipped off your tongue, nose pressing into his palm with a pleased sigh.
Silence burst at the seams of the man’s cries for help, swallowing the both of you with a soft growl. Mickey stared at you, expression blank and chest heaving, but his thumb dragged along your cheek. Tracing the lines of your face with a reverence that made your toes curl along the floor—your nails digging sharp into his wrist. There was no rescue from the shadows pricking sharp along your back, no attempt to drag you back into the light.
He dived in with you. Held your hand and drowned as air bubbled to the surface and your eyes went milky white. Mickey Garcia died alongside you with a Cheshire smile on his face and chest bleeding adoration.
He spoke with gravel in his voice, awe tinging the lilt of every word. “So you’ll keep my secret? You won’t try to hurt me for this? For who I am?”
Silver and red. An echo of your past with him, a tick of time notched onto a bedpost you knew would hold no other markings.
Curling your fingers around his other wrist, you brought the knife up to your eye level, catching a glimpse of your reflection—pupils blown wide, swallowing the iris whole, but you’d never been more recognizable in your life. She smiled back at you, wide and unsettling and you felt the fist clamp down on your stomach, ripping you in two.
The final shred of who you were—who you’d never be again—falling privy to the mouth of death.
“Teach me?” you breathed, eyes watery and glistening with a veneration only found in devotees. Humble in the face of your beloved.
Delight flashed across his face, eyes crinkling and thumb hooking onto your bottom lip, drawing your mouth wide. “Eres maravillosa mi amor.”
Trembling fingers tugged on his mask, revealing lips pulled wide and flushed cheeks—his breath coming out sharp and needy. The whine of the man fell on deaf ears when Mickey yanked you close, mouth seeking yours and begging for the sweet taste of your blind faith. His tongue slid along yours, spit trailing messy onto your cheek, but you’d never felt more alive. A glimpse of the future now settling deep into your bones, altering the marrow with the cold need he produced.
You gripped his curls, dragging him close enough to smell the sweat on his skin and the blood on his shirt. The pungent taste of death on his lips, trading it in licks along his back teeth that had him pressing you up against the wall. Hands tight on your waist as you breathed him in.
This was your damnation.
Your salvation.
The darkness smiled, shadows curling around your body as he pulled away—lines of spit trailing off his lips and sticking to yours, a giddy smile flashing across your mouth. His bare hand took yours when he stepped back, leading you to the threshold. He wouldn’t force you to cross. That wasn’t who he was. But he watched as you leapt over it with an airy laugh, feet crashing onto the stilled surface of black water, the unknown slithering around a bare ankle to drag you down.
“Aquí. Take this one,” he pressed into your hair, the smaller knife gripped in your palm, red staining the silver. “Find your spot, the piece of him you like the most and paint. Tell me. I’ll show you.”
The shuffle of his boots behind you echoed softly beneath the rush of blood in your ears, body thrumming with exhilaration. Faintly you caught the sound of rushing sink water, his hands cleaning the knife with trained accuracy. A blind swift memory embedded into muscles that had done this dance before—a man who knew the routine of death.
Blue eyes. Crystalline and yet dull in the lamp’s yellow glow. They latched onto you, pleaded silently with salty tears that stained his face, cleaning patches of dried murky brown blood off his cheeks.
Swirls and stains. Different strokes of an entirely new artistry—talent seeping through your fingers as you fell to your knees. The circle stared you in the face, calling your hand forth—Mickey’s footsteps coming to a stop directly behind you. Warmth spilled evenly across your back; your body in tune with the shift in his movements long before you could recognize them.
Mickey’s face was shrouded by the mask, your head tilting back to see him gazing at you with need clouding his sight. You felt the sharp bite of need curl in the base of your spine—approval glimmering in eyes you stared up into, teeth digging into your bottom lip. Words traded over dinner tables, sex on the couch, didn’t compare to this.
A scream filled your mind, Mickey crouching low to guide your hand down onto a spot you’d only seen on his skin. Between the ribs, slotting into a lung. He would choke to death on his own blood, gasping for air that would never come.
“How much do you want it mi amor?” The words dropped a match onto kindling, flames roaring to life in a thundering heart.
“I want it Mickey.”
He grinned. “Tonight you watch. Okay? I was told to do it myself. Can’t have you interfering.”
“Is he innocent?” you whispered, lips dragging along the edge of his mask.
“No.”
“Good.”
A muffled groan was his only response, a firm grip on the back of your neck wrenching your head back even further. “Fuck I love you.”
The knife clattered to the floor and you gasped when he pulled you up, a kitchen chair scraping loudly behind you became the only notice before you were dropped in its seat. Clutching his arms, you felt his hands grip blindly at your waist to tip you back, fingers curling around the edge of his t-shirt draped over your body. Ripping off the other glove, he dropped his forehead to yours, thumb snapping the waistband of your panties with a chuckle.
“So good,” he huffed, pressing over the dark patch of slick you felt gather along the fabric—your eyes rolling back as he placed pressure on your clit without mercy. “My pretty girl.”
“Oh God-”
Tugging them off your hips he let them hook around your ankle, pushing your thighs open with a harsh breath you felt puff through the mask—his gaze swallowing you whole. A breathy curse filled your ears at the first touch of his fingers to your throbbing clit, smearing what dripped from you up until it clicked audibly in the silence. The man’s pathetic cries were drowned out by Mickey’s harsh moan, two fingers sinking into you until your head dropped back.
“Already begging for it querida,” he mused, watching in rapture at the sight of your walls fluttering around him. “But you need more huh?” You nodded frantically, rolling your hips into his palm. “She’s always just so fucking greedy,” he tossed over his shoulder.
Speaking about you with casual confidence. His name already carved onto ribs that caged your expanding lungs. You felt sticky heat pool in your stomach, burning across your skin.
“Mickey please.”
“I know,” he cooed. “Fingers aren’t enough for that pretty pussy.”
A whine tore from your throat when you shook your head, teary eyes catching his mirthful gaze before they snapped down to the space between your legs. Where a cold press nudged against your entrance. A flash of the now clean blade caught your eye, your mouth dropping open in a guttural moan as he pushed it forward with a huff.
“That’s it.” The handle thrust into you with ease, your walls clamping down around the cold temperature until it sat snug at the hilt—the beads of your necklace dragging up along your clit. “That’s what you need huh?”
You sobbed, clawed at his forearm at the first drag of it slow and torturous against your soaking center. The rush to your head brought with it a haze you’d never dared to graze your fingers on. A need you now felt soak into every limb of your body, draping itself over pieces that were no longer afraid of the dark. He fucked you on the hilt of his knife with slow steady strokes and you begged for more.
The slick echo of your pussy overtook anything else around. Even as Mickey’s hand rucked up the shirt over your breasts and wrapped a palm tight around your throat. He shifted—subtly and without your noticing—until you were on display for the man before you.
Spread out like the last fucking meal he’d never get to taste.
Steadily working the piece in and our of your clenching walls, his harsh groan pressed against your ear, his body behind the chair you were limp against.
Shame threatened to trap you, thick and hot in its unavoidable gaze, but you’d never felt so beautiful. He squashed it beneath his boot with a snarl, burnt it alive with a flick of his wrist, and watched as you bloomed.
“The prettiest fucking sight you’ve ever seen isn’t it?” he goaded the man. Your eyes dragged down to the audible bulge in his blood soaked jeans, a wet patch dark on the light denim. “You’ve got him ready to cum in his pants mi amor.”
Digging his nose into your neck, he angled the hilt and purposely dragged the necklace along your clit, a happy sound echoing in your ear when your legs twitched. A cry falling past your open mouth. The man’s eyes watched you, drank you down with a hunger you could feel lay heavy in the air. But you barely felt his gaze, Mickey’s hold, his voice, the way he brushed that spot on your walls. It careened you towards a cliff you were desperate for.
The tension in your stomach went taut, building with each squelch and soft cry—tears spilling down your face as you rocked into it, pleading helplessly for that consuming heat. And he gave it to you with a smile. Pressed a kiss through the mask to your wet lips and fucked it deep enough to pinch pain at your entrance.
A soft growl to cum bit out on your bottom lip, your thighs trembling and back arching hard.
“Give him one last gorgeous sight. For me,” he demanded, fingers growing tight around your throat.
The crash was relentless. A brutal wave of pleasure that snapped you in two, frayed you at the seams until there was no putting you back together. The sob wrenched from your throat hung in the air, invading the space until it pressed heavy upon your chest—your breaths coming in quick and short.
Mickey soothed you, lulling you with soft praise and touches that curled warm along your blazing skin. Pulling free the hilt he moaned at the creamy ring you left behind, the beads coated in your slick—begging for his tongue to soak up your taste. He nearly ripped off his mask but stilled at the gaze of the man writhing along the floor, tears spilling down his chin.
“Show’s over fucker,” he snapped, foot slamming his back and shoving him to his side with a thud. “I’ll deal with you later.”
“Baby,” you whimpered, shaky hand reaching for the loop on his jeans to tug him back. “Need you.”
“Estoy aquí bebita.” Hands cupped your cheeks, tipping your gaze up. “Did so good for me. My perfect girl.”
He should have stalled you, gripped your hands and forced them away, but a fire burned dark in your gaze—dragging him willingly into the flames. Working his belt open the whisper of his zipper jolted him back to the present. Hands doing what he could to help you—get you there quicker as he leaked in his briefs.
The race in his heart filled his throat, pulsing sporadically down to the tips of his fingers when you pulled him free. A moan dripping off your bruised lips at the sight of his cock blushed crimson and spilling over with precum. He’d never felt so fucking nervous with you. Shaking with anticipation as your tongue peeked out and licked him clean with a pleased hum—darkened gaze finding him beneath fluttering lashes.
“Fuck!” His head fell back, stomach jolting at the feeling. “I won’t last long.”
“I don’t care,” you rushed out, sinking down.
A scream pierced the room, fists thumping against the ground behind him, but Mickey was too far gone to listen. Too entrenched in the feel of his cock brushing the back of your throat, pushing far enough to have you choking. You spluttered for air, spit dropping in globs down your chin. But determination flared bright in your eyes.
He sucked in air, jerking his hips forward—the tight warmth of your throat and your nose pressed right up to the hair at the base of his cock drove him to the brink of a madness he’d never indulged in before. You choked on it. Let him fuck your face with deep grinds as your nails dug into his thighs—eyes blurry with tears and throat bulging slightly. And he felt it hit him faster than expected.
“Shit-” he gasped “Take it all.”
You did. Even if you had no air left in your lungs, you would have swallowed him down with a smile. A dreamlike gaze that left him clutching the back of your head and moaning. The man disappeared even as he screamed for someone to help. The blood, Halo, it all vanished when your throat tightened around his cock and he came with a harsh cry of your name.
Spurting into your mouth he watched it spill over your stretched lips, dripping down onto your bare chest. Mickey scooped it up in awe, swirling it around peaked nipples and tugging on them to hear you moan—the vibrations rolling up the back of his spine. His balls clenched painfully as you licked him clean. Swiping your thumb along the top to watch his thigh shake and chest heave.
You pulled off with a soft giggle, his hands wiping the tears off your cheeks. “That was fun.”
The pen of death was forced into his hands and he signed away his soul with a pleased sigh. You killed him. Destroyed his very being with renewed light in your eyes and bliss clouding your vision. And he’d do it all again. He’d ruin every bit of himself to see you smile at him like that.
“I’m gonna marry you,” he mumbled much to your delight.
Another helpless cry sounded behind him, the shuffle of a body finding its footing rearing to the forefront of his mind. But you settled back with a pat to his thigh, pulling the shirt down along your form as he reached for the small blade you dropped. An echo of nothing—of shadows and malice—formed a shell around his body.
“You’ve got a death wish,” he mused with a harsh chuckle. The man shook his head, dragging his bound hands up to an already broken face. “Let me make it come true.”
Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.
Notes: Look, I know this would never happen and the logistics are a nightmare. But this is fic and I do what I want. Thanks to @mermaidxatxheart for reading this over! And thanks to @wyn-n-tonic for the equipment line. Pure genius, as usual!
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**Reader is not described
Main Masterlist
Mickey “Fanboy” Garcia Masterlist
"Are you sure we're allowed to be here?" I whisper, looking back over my shoulder like I expected someone to be there, following us.
Mickey shrugs. "Captain Mitchell brings his girlfriend all the time."
"Yeah, but he's Maverick. He can do whatever he wants."
My boyfriend, who thinks he's so funny, chuckles, his fingers laced between my own as he pulls my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it. "You've been asking me for damn near a year to see the planes I fly. You really gonna back out now?"
"I don't want to be arrested."
Mickey laughs. "You won't be. Kicked off base, maybe."
"Ok, maybe we should go back to the bar, Mick."
He spins me around, pushing my back against the hanger wall, the metal cool on my back as he presses his body to mine, his fingers gently tipping my chin up to face him. His lips are soft on mine, a slight neediness behind them before he pulls back. "Do you trust me?"
I sigh, my fingers trying to grasp the tight fabric of his uniform as I pull him back down towards me. "With my life."
He kisses me softly again before pushing away from the wall, offering me his arm. I take it, my cheeks warming under his smile as he guides me out of the building and onto the tarmac.
I gasp, fighter jets all in a neat line glisten in the setting sun, each of them just as powerful as the next. They make me feel small but not in a bad way. More like, I'm in awe of their presence and the skill it takes to master one.
"Which one is yours?"
"It's not really mine. They belong to the Navy."
I punch his arm lightly. "You know what I mean."
He leads me over to a jet a few down from the front and tells me all about it. What all of the markings mean, what it's made of, how fast it can go. His eyes light up, a proud smile always tugging at the corners of his lips as he continues talking.
"Hey baby?" I ask.
"Yeah?"
"Can I see you in it?"
"You wanna see me in the jet?"
"Very much so."
"Alright. Wait here." Mick reaches up and pulls a ladder out from the side of the jet. He gives me a quick kiss and a wink before he ascends the stairs, opening the cockpit and lowering himself inside. He waves a hand to me, beckoning me to him.
"Come on up!"
I take a breath and ascend the narrow stairs, my hands slightly sweaty against the metal handrails. But then I'm at the top, looking down into Mick's upturned face, those espresso eyes waiting expectantly.
"There's a lot of buttons."
He laughs, shoulders shaking with it as his smile makes me warm. "Yeah there are."
"Do you know what they all do?"
"Of course." He starts pointing and explaining each of the buttons, his face lighting up with each explanation. I watch him, the small movements he makes to point to another one of the thousand buttons on the console, a smile stretched across his face as he keeps glancing at me to make sure I'm paying attention.
As if I could look anywhere else.
"You look hot as fuck, Mick."
He stops mid sentence, the tips of his ears heating up. "What?"
"You're so fucking hot." I glance around and see no one. We're completely alone on the strip. "Sit back."
He does as I ask, his eyebrows raised in silent question. But as I lower myself carefully down onto his lap, his eyes darken, hands settling on my hips.
"What are you doing, babe?" He asks, his eyes darting down to my lips.
I scratch my nails lightly at the back of his head, loving the feel of his shaved cut under them. I kiss him, slowly moving down his neck, my hips moving of their own accord.
"I need you, Mick."
He pants in my ear before pushing me a little to get me to sit up, making sure I'm looking at him. "This is a serious piece of equipment, babe."
"You're a serious piece of equipment."
His eyes glance down at my lips and for a moment we don't move, me waiting for him to accept or say no.
"Fuck it." He grips the back of my head, pulling me to him, the hand that had been on my hip now sliding up my bare thigh. I moan into his mouth when his fingers brush against my wet cunt.
"Fuck, babe you're so wet."
"Watching my extremely hot boyfriend sit in his fighter jet while he Ted Talks me about it with giddy excitement really turns me on."
"You're such a slut." He kisses me, sliding his fingers under my panties and I gasp at his touch.
"Only for you."
He inserts a finger and then another, guiding my hips down on them as I moan. But it's not what I want. I grip his wrist and pull him from me, feeling my wetness on his fingers as they brush past my inner thigh. Sliding my hands down his chest, I kiss him again, my fingers fumbling with his belt, moving his zipper down and cupping him. He gasps into my mouth, hardening even more the longer I hold him.
I push down the top of his boxers, gently pulling him out as he slaps against me. Our breaths are steaming up the windows, his soft whimpers filling the silence as I push my panties aside and line him up, sinking down onto him, my mouth hanging open as I stretch around him. We waste no time, my hips moving over him as he thrusts up into me, pulling his favorite sounds from me. He wraps his arms around my back, holding onto my shoulders as he thrusts faster, harder, and it's all I can do to hold on, one hand gripping his arm and the other splayed across the window.
"Oh fuck, Mick! I'm gonna…" my orgasm comes on quick, my body tensing as I chant his name over and over, my hips rocking against his to get as much pleasure as I can. I see he's close, so I look down at him, meeting his dark gaze.
"Come inside me, Lieutenant Garcia."
"Fuck!" Mick groans, whimpering as he spills inside of me, hips thrusting a few more erratic times, his breaths panting out across my face. Mick looks up at his girl, the last of the days sunlight on her face, sweaty and fucked out and he thinks he's never seen anyone so beautiful before.
"You ok, Mick?"
"I love you."
"Of course you do. I just fucked you in your jet."
"No. I mean it. You're the most beautiful person I've ever met and you love me for me. I love you."
His eyes are bright and wide as he looks at me and it's then I realize that I love him too. I lean down to him, pressing my lips to his before cupping his cheek, pulling back just enough for him to see me.
"I love you too, Mickey."
—----
An hour later, we walk into the bar, Mick's arm around my shoulder, pressing a kiss to my temple as we walk up to his group of friends. They all greet us, shaking hands and cracking jokes. Only Bob seems to notice my slight limp, looking from me to Mick, the way he holds me close, his fingers playing with mine. When I look at Bob he winks, giving me a small smirk before taking a drink. When we pass by him later, Bob grabs Mick's wrist and pulls him closer.
"I hope you cleaned up the jet when you were done. I don't want to fail inspection."
My cheeks heat up, but then Mick is speaking quieter. "At least I made sure not to leave her panties behind, Bob."
My mouth falls open as I look at Bob, whose cheeks are warming, his ears turning pink. He just smirks and nods, lifting his glass to us. "Touché."
a/n: i don't want to say that i'm behind, but i'm kind of behind. anyways i kind of wrote this fic twice cause i hated how it was turning out. the story felt wrong and i just had no idea what i was trying to go for. but somehow it turned into this. i'm still not sure about it, but i hope y'all enjoy.
day seventeen - deep throating | kinktober 2023
summary: "the open tube of lipstick sat beside it, red smeared along the edge and over the black packaging. it signaled use and if one were to see it they’d think nothing of it."
word count: 1.1k+
pairing: mickey 'fanboy' garcia x f!reader
warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, deep throating, oral (m receiving), face fucking, gratuitous prose about giving mickey sloppy head, inappropriate use of lipstick, spit play sort of, cumplay sort of.
A single bottle of wine sat on the coffee table, two empty glasses beside it. A ring of your lips was placed on the edge of one—a stain to show that you were there. The open tube of lipstick sat beside it, red smeared along the edge and over the black packaging. It signaled use and if one were to see it they’d think nothing of it.
They would realize that you were smearing it across your lips as you sat, settled between his spread knees. The color was a bright contrast to your black dress. The same one that was pulled down your chest, tits exposed for him to stare at. For him to play with. His hand curved along one, squeezing the flesh as you applied another sticky layer of lipstick. Not bothering to keep it neat—knowing what would happen to it.
“Eres tan hermosa,” he breathed, drinking in the sight of you messy and bare. Completely exposed for him and only him.
You sighed, head tilting back as the lipstick was discarded on the coffee table, your body practically singing as he touched you. You were lascivious. Seconds away from begging him to give you what you wanted tonight. But Mickey understood you better than you would ever know. It’s part of why you loved him as much as you did.
With a soft puff of air released from his red stained lips, he popped the button on his jeans, shuffling them down his thighs a bit until his cock sprang free. You moaned softly at the sight. Shifting forward on your knees to get a closer look at the red swollen tip—precum sliding down and pooling in the coarse hair at the base. That alone made your mouth water, but it was his hand on the back of your head that had you pressing your thighs together.
“What do you want, querida?” he asked, thumb sliding along your cheek as you tilted your eyes back up to his flushed face.
You parted your lips, allowing spit to form in your mouth before letting it fall down, spreading along the head of his cock. A gasp tore from his chest, thumb digging into your cheek as you watched the shiny wetness spread along his cock. Sticking to the base lewdly.
“You want to suck it?”
Nodded, you leaned in even closer. “Can I baby?”
He groaned when your lips brushed his length, dragging upwards softly. “You can have whatever you want.” His hand slid to cup the back of your neck, palm gripping you tight. “You already know that.”
A smile crossed your face, eyes glinting with that familiar look that drove him wild. “Stay still for me.”
A streak of red went down his cock, causing his heart rate to spike. The sight made his cock twitch. With a soft sound, you wrapped your lips around him, taking him as deep as possible. He was thick, the head of his cock brushing the back of your throat when you sucked in a breath through your nose. Your hand wrapping around what you couldn’t take yet. It always took you a minute to form your throat around the size of him, but Mickey already looked gone.
His eyes were glazed over, hips bucking up slightly and mouth falling open. Sounds ripped from his chest and he watched while each inch disappeared into your mouth. A whine echoing in the living room. The throbbing in between your legs was growing by the second, but you were too focused on his cock—the taste that spread along your tongue with each pump of your hand.
Sliding your tongue through his slit, you felt his whole body jolt. Hips pressing up, shoving you down even further until you had no choice but to splutter out a gasp, tearing yourself off his cock.
“Fuck I’m sorry,” he gasped, hand loosening up on your neck. “‘M sorry baby. I didn’t mean—”
His eyes dropped to see what you were fixated on. Your mouth parted, chest heaving as you stared at the red rings of lipstick that went up and down his cock. You could feel something hot build in your stomach, a need that nearly took your breath away. Red smeared down your chin, mixing with your spit. Mickey’s thumb slid through the combination, spread it along your skin until you matched his cock.
“Perfecta,” he murmured, catching your gaze with a grin.
You didn’t respond, simply pressed a sloppy kiss to his thumb before letting him lead you back to his cock. Taking him again, you relaxed your throat and sunk down until your nose was pressed into the curls at the base. He cried out, hips bucking up and sliding just a bit further. Except this time he didn’t profusely apologize. This time, he felt you pat his leg, giving him a signal that what he wanted was okay.
That you’d let him use you like this.
“Te amo,” he gasped, cupping your head as he began to gently fuck your mouth. “The most perfect fuckin’ girl—”
Your eyes fluttered shut, tears spilling down your face as he continued. If you weren’t so fucked out already, you would have slipped your hand beneath your panties. But Mickey held your full attention. Fucking your face with earnest until you felt his stomach go taut. Balls drawing up beneath your touch.
“Wait,” he panted, pulling you off. A string of spit connecting your lips to his cock still. The sight one he wanted to sear into his mind.
“Wha—” Your voice was hoarse, but you didn’t have time to say anything more.
He fisted his cock, rapidly pumping—the echo of his hand spreading your spit burning into you. “Wanna finish on your chest querida.”
A thrill went down your spine and you cupped your breasts, pushing them together to give him a view. “Mickey,” you whined, biting onto your bottom lip.
“F-Fuck.” With a low groan of your name he came. Hard. Spilling onto your skin, his body curled forward, hand digging into your shoulder as he smeared cum over your chest.
With a shaky breath he finally stopped, eyes shifting to see how the pearly essence dripped down your nipples, coating you in him. He blindly reached out, fingers streaking through it and gathering as much as he could, before pressing them to your lips. Watching as you took them with a happy hum. Eyes fluttering shut and body shifting closer.
“You’re not real,” he whispered, cheeks bright red and eyes hazy.
You grinned, using his knees as leverage to move up and catch his lips in a sloppy kiss—lipstick and cum smearing on his mouth. “I’m definitely real baby.”
“Then I’m the luckiest man to exist.”
Standing with a wince, he slid his hands along the back of your thighs, staring up at you as if you were a statue in a museum. A goddess that materialized before him. You pulled him up, sliding your lips along his and stealing another kiss, before leading him back to your bedroom.
❛ say you want me, and i’m yours. ❜ + ❛ i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know. ❜ w/ fanboy ? 🫣
FOOLS FOR FALLING IN LOVE
a/n: babes!! when i had started this, i had just recently rewatched top gun maverick which means the inspo for this man was through the roof. i kind of went overboard a bit and turned it into a long ass one shot. (even going so far as to giving it a moodboard). if it's alright with you i only used the first prompt due to someone requesting the second already. i swear this fic was meant to be short, but then again it's fanboy and i can never help myself. so enjoy this monster.
summary: pining after your best friend never ended well. however in the case of said best friend being mickey garcia, things turn out better than expected.
word count: 3.7k+
pairing: mickey "fanboy" garcia x f!reader
warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, flirting amongst friends, friends to lovers, pining, exhibitionism (seriously idk what happened), cumplay, cumeating, thigh riding, oblivious idiots falling madly in love.
It was just drinks they said. Just a group of people who were there to laugh, enjoy each other’s company, and eventually go home at some ungodly hour. That’s what you expected when you walked into the bar. Ready to nurse one beer, talk to Phoenix about your work issues, and go home.
Quick. Easy. Painless.
At least the hangover part the next day was.
What you didn’t expect was to find him sitting there, talking with Bob as if he didn’t have a single care in the world. You had half a mind to turn around and head back to your car—try this socializing bit on a different day. But Rooster’s arm was slinging around your shoulder, tugging you into a warm and rather hard body. You had to be careful not to trip over your sneaker as he dragged you with him. Never bothering to check if you were actually in step with him.
“Look who I found!” he shouted, his breath giving away the exact number of drinks he had.
“Rooster,” you hissed, trying to pull away before he made you sweat too.
“Leave her alone,” Phoenix chastised, finally yanking you free from his tight grasp. “You’re drunk off your ass Rooster. Sober up or you won’t be getting anywhere near the pilot’s seat tomorrow.”
You sighed in relief as she led you to the bar, signaling to Penny to put another beer on her tab for you. “He’s pretty touchy feely tonight.”
She laughed. “Yeah well he just got permission for a week off next month. I’m pretty sure he’s over the moon for a break.”
“Definitely sounds nice.”
It’s not that you didn’t want to make conversation with Phoenix. You looked forward to seeing her, hearing all the juicy details about what went on in the Top Gun halls. Hell you were even interested in what current feud Hangman and Rooster were stuck in this week. Tonight however, you were barely comprehending a single word she said. Your brain, lagging—unable to catch up fast enough.
You could see her hands moving animatedly as she spoke, lips moving fast, but the words went in one ear and out the other. Because he was sitting mere feet away, eyes fixed entirely on you. The burn from his stare singed through the thin dress you wore to combat the current heat wave outside. Even though you remained focused on Phoenix, you could tell he was in the exact same situation as you.
Transfixed by the utter longing that tore at your chests. Clawing for a way to get out.
“So that’s how I ended up fucking Hangman.”
You nearly choked on your spit. “What?”
“Ah there you are.” She grinned, taking a sip of her beer. “I’ve been talking for the past five minutes and you’ve been completely out of it.”
“Sorry.” You scraped your nail on the bottle’s label, attempting to refocus your attention on Phoenix, but it seemed to be too late. She had figured out where your mind had drifted off to.
“You know you can talk to him right?”
“What are you…”
“Fanboy.”
Was it that obvious that you were unable to even keep your composure in the same room as him? Your mouth opened and closed, words evading you as her lips pulled up into a shit eating grin. You could hear the words echo in your head: Got you. She knew you were close with Mickey. The two of you became fast friends a year ago, bonding over scifi shows and comic books.
But then he left. You understood he couldn’t be around for months at a time; his job came before everything and you accepted that. However, four months without his presence left you feeling empty in a way you couldn’t fully describe, even if you wanted to. He was the sunlight on your dark days. The warmth you clung to when life turned cold. And he was gone.
It didn’t take you long to realize how evident your feelings for him were. Which also meant…it took Phoenix less time.
You coughed, swallowing your beer to avoid giving her a response, but it was clear by the expression on her face that you weren’t getting off that easy. She sighed as if you were one of her irritable students who refused to see reason. When in fact, you were her oblivious friend who couldn’t see past your own fear to finally realize that Mickey was head over heels in love with you.
“Explains why he’s been sulking all day.”
That caught your attention. “What do you mean?”
“He’s been back in town for two days.” You nodded, remembering the text he sent you a week before with his flight details. “And have you spoken to him in person yet?”
She knew she caught you when you averted your gaze to the bartop. “I figured he was busy.”
“Bullshit.”
Your eyes snapped to her. “It’s not—”
“You just figured you could avoid him and hope your feelings disappeared.” Heat crept up your cheeks, but she wasn’t done with you. Far from it. “Meanwhile Fanboy’s been acting like a kicked puppy for two days and none of us could figure out why.”
“He hasn’t been—” Her glare cut you off, forcing your eyes to wander back to where he sat rather quietly.
Most nights he was one of the loudest people there. Laughing and spouting jokes funny enough to have you in stitches. Except for tonight. His eyes were cast anywhere but you, smile only showing when he forced it. But even then, it never quite reached his eyes. All in all, he looked exactly like Phoenix described him. A man who couldn’t figure out why one of his best friends was avoiding him like he was the plague.
You felt the heavy weight of guilt settle in the bottom of your stomach, turning the taste of your beer sour. He’d been gone long enough for you to miss him. But it never occurred to you how much he’d miss you.
Before you could wrangle the remaining courage in your body and get up from the stool, his eyes traveled back to yours. Meeting them for the first time that night. He sat up a bit straighter, the small grin you loved so much making a reappearance as he sent a small wave your way. A peace offering that would hopefully lead to more.
You found yourself unable to stop the smile that spread across your lips. The familiar lick of warmth, coursing through your body.
He was your best friend. The man you spoke to on the phone for hours at a time while he was away. You sent him letters, various comics, and care packages full of his favorite kind of cookies. Even going so far as to send him cheesy holiday cards full of Star Trek references that you knew would make him smile.
He was your best friend…and you were completely in love with him.
Phoenix nudged your knee with hers, jutting her head in his direction. Only you were too late on that front. Mickey was already getting up, excusing himself from the group’s conversation, and heading your way. The familiar standard issue khaki uniform he had to wear did nothing to hide the strong shoulders you knew lay beneath the fabric. Simply watching him maneuver his way through the overcrowded bar towards you, took your breath away.
“What do I say?” you said under your breath, leaning closer to Phoenix.
She shrugged, grabbing the full beer in front of her that she asked Penny for. “Tell him you want to get married.”
You spluttered, trying not to choke on your beer. “I can’t say that!”
“Can’t say what?”
The all too familiar deep vibrato of his voice caused your whole body to stiffen in your seat. Embarrassment washing over you at the realization that he had heard you. Phoenix however was more than happy to slide out of his way, pressing the cold beer into his hands, and muttering what you believed to be a quick: Don’t fuck this up.
You had half a mind to drag her back just to get some more context, but Mickey sitting down, his knees pressing on the outside of your thighs drew your attention to him. He smiled and took a sip of the beer. And you tried your best to ignore the searing heat that came with watching the way his throat moved as he swallowed.
The silence that grew between you the longer he sat there was deafening. So much so that you found yourself half tempted to drag him outside where nobody could see you. At least maybe you’d finally have a chance to get the truth out. Or if not the truth, then some form of words strung together to make a single sentence. That was a better option than sitting there staring at him like an idiot.
“Welcome back,” you blurted out, trying to calm the rapid beat of your heart.
He smiled and this time it reached his eyes. “Thanks.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything to you sooner. Works been keeping me busy and I—”
His hand on your knee caused the remainder of your rant to die in the back of your throat. “I figured you were occupied. So it’s alright.”
“It is?” you asked, your voice barely loud enough to hear over the raucous noise of the bar.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” He shrugged, his hand never moving higher and never pulling away. You swore your heart had stopped beating the second his warm palm touched your bare skin—your eyes dropping down quickly to see the veins that spread beneath the skin.
Shifting slightly, you tamped down the emotions that ran rampant in your mind. Whatever you were feeling—or dreaming about—wasn’t going to happen tonight. If you were being entirely honest with yourself, it didn’t seem like a possibility that would come to fruition at any time. Which meant you were stuck in this neverending pit of pining over your best friend. Part of you wished Mickey could read minds just so you wouldn’t have to say the words yourself.
“I wasn’t avoiding you.” The words came before you could stop them—fully revealing that you were in fact avoiding him. “I mean…I wasn’t…um…”
“Right,” he said, his hand pulling away and eyes shifting back to the bar.
You could physically see his walls begin to close up, the light that had reappeared in his eyes, now vanishing from sight. It wasn’t until then did you realize that saying the words wasn’t the hard part. No, in fact you found you could say them in an instant if you had to. The hard part was the possibility of losing him for good. The fear of him never reciprocating your feelings held you back—causing the chasm in your heart to grow every second.
“No, wait.” You grabbed onto his wrist lightly, catching sight of the disappointment in his eyes, and it broke your heart. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
You sighed. “Can we go outside? Away from all this noise?”
Mickey was standing up faster than you expected him too, digging out enough cash to toss on the bar for Penny before taking your hand in his. You didn’t fight the small grin that appeared on your lips this time. There was just something about him that pulled on the strings of happiness in your chest. That made you want to always see the good in the world—the good that you knew resided in him.
“Slow down,” you called, trying to keep up the pace as he practically sprinted towards the parking lot. You caught sight of his familiar dark blue car—having been in it more times than you could count.
“Sorry,” he replied, giving you a chance to catch your breath. “I figured you wanted out of there quickly.”
“I did.” How the fuck were you supposed to go about things now? When it was just the two of you standing there, his back pressed to the passenger door of his car.
You tried to ignore the way he looked—how the soft lights from the bar played across his face. Turning him into an almost ethereal painting you were visiting in a museum. It took your breath away and for a moment you remained silent. Watching as his eyes took in your features, his chest rising and falling with each breath. There wasn’t a better moment to kiss him than right now. Except your doubts began to rear their ugly head again.
A bitter heat crept up the back of your neck as you turned your attention to the rest of the parking lot. Trying—and failing—to come up with something to say. You just never expected Mickey to beat you to the punch.
“Don’t do that,” he said. Your eyes snapped back to him, catching the glimmer of dejection in his eyes.
“Do what?” You knew exactly what he was talking about and playing it coy wouldn’t stop him from pressing even further. It was a quality about him you both loved and hated. He would never stop until you told him the truth.
“Don’t hide from me.” His hand still held onto yours, thumb pressing gently along your knuckles. “What’s going on with you huh? What aren’t you telling me?”
You let out a breath, attempting to get a hold of the nerves that seemed intent on keeping you quiet. “I like you.”
He paused, eyes taking in the panicked expression on your face. You half expected him to say something in return—anything to appease whatever it was you were dealing with. But he didn’t. Instead he watched, his mouth opening and closing every few seconds as if trying to soak in the full extent of your words. I like you wasn’t much to go on, you’d give him that.
So you continued. “I’ve liked you for a while—although like is probably not the right word to describe how I feel about you. And I understand if you just want to remain friends. If it’s…easier that way. Or even if this is the end—”
He yanked you forward, his hand cupping your cheek to turn your face towards his. Lips capturing yours in a kiss that left you sinking into his chest, a soft moan emitting from your mouth as your eyes fluttered closed. Mickey kissed you like it had been the only thing on his mind since you first met. He licked into your mouth, dragging out sounds you didn’t know you could make—his hand wrapping tightly around your waist to keep you pressed close.
He kissed you as if he would never get the chance to again.
“Mickey,” you sighed, his lips sliding along your jaw, other hand pressing tightly to your waist to press your hips against his.
“I love you,” he murmured, bunching up the back of your dress as heat quickly filled your senses.
“You…” Tilting your head back, you tried to gain some sense of control over your thoughts. He however seemed adamant on keeping you right where you were. That is…until his words finally registered. “You love me?” you exclaimed, pulling away—much to his disappointment.
His smile was sheepish, red staining his cheeks and the very tips of his ears. “Have for a while now mi vida.”
Heat burned beneath your cheeks at the small nickname—the words burrowing deep in your heart. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He had you there.
Smiling, you wrapped your arms around his neck, dragging his lips back to yours. “I love you mi amor. More than you know.”
A sound pulled from his throat—high and wanting. It was pressed into your mouth, his hands grasping parts of you that he had only dreamed of touching. Scrunching up the side of your dress, his hand slid up your thigh, digging into the plush skin as you moaned against him. You were right outside of the bar where anyone could walk out and see you. Yet neither of you cared.
Licking into his mouth, you dug your hands into his newly grown out short curls—your nails scraping against his scalp. He shivered, pulling you even closer and slotting his thigh between your legs. Giving you something to press down on.
That alone stirred something in the base of your stomach. A molten heat sliding through your veins until you were putty in his hands. Mickey seemed to sense the shift—your needy whine a slight beg for more—and began to guide your hips along his leg. The wet patch you knew was on your panties, now seeping into the light color of his khakis.
“Fuck,” you gasped, head falling back and hands grasping onto the front of his shirt. “M-Mickey.”
“Mhm?” he hummed against your throat, teeth digging in until it sparked pain through you.
“I need—ah—” His grip on your hip grew tighter, thigh bumping up and pressing against your clit perfectly. “I need more.”
He shuddered, his lips colliding against yours in a heady kiss. This one was different. You could taste the desperation on his tongue as he took you apart with his mouth. He wanted to leave you breathless. To see you writhe because of him and have you begging for more. And you’d give into him without question. You’d give him whatever he desired, because he’d do the same for you in a heartbeat.
“Say you want me, and I’m yours,” he breathed, pulling you along his thigh harder.
Your knee pressed against him, grinding against him with each movement and you visibly watched him chase his high. He bucked his hips, desperate for the minimal amount of friction. A moan tore from his throat, his lips sliding along your jaw, hand shifting to grip your ass tightly. You wanted to give him that high. To watch him combust as you did. But you were lost to the sensations sparking through your body.
Something built in your stomach, pulling impossibly tight. You felt it grow—driving you so high that you were certain you’d go mad if you didn’t have it in your grasp. He pushed and pulled your body until you were a whimpering mess against him. His name was a reverent prayer you pressed into his mouth in the hopes he’d answer your greatest wish. To feel his love pour into you—captivate you so entirely you’d never be rid of it.
“I-I want you,” you stammered, your eyes hazy with lust.
“C’mon then.” He slid his hand down the front of your body, fingers dipping into the sopping mess that was your panties and finding your clit with ease. “Think you can cum like this mi vida?”
You nodded frantically, moving your hips to catch the friction of his fingers. Your heart nearly beat out of your chest when he began to whisper praise against your skin. Kissing down your chest until he reached the top of your dress. Something in your brain begged him to pull it down. To keep going. But you understood the risk with being outside still. Neither of you wanted to get caught; the both of you would never live it down.
“You’re beautiful,” he breathed, his fingers pressing down harder—face lighting up at the sight of your eyes rolling back.
He yanked you back to him, lips sliding against your own as you shattered in his arms. It burned through you, causing your whole body to shake and your breath to catch in your lungs. Rather than pull away entirely, he kept going. Prolonging the pleasure until there wasn’t anything you could do. A muffled cry echoed around the parking lot and it took you a moment to realize that you were the one who made the sound.
Mickey gasped, his hips canting up against you in search of that same feeling. So you pulled on his curls, dragging his lips back to yours as his fingers still pressed firm circles around your clit.
“I love you Mickey.” You pressed the words against his jaw, watching as his eyes fluttered shut, his brows pulling tight. He managed to quickly muffle his moan against your neck, his whole body shuddering in your grasp and a soft whine of your name echoing in your ears.
Yet he never stopped his fingers from moving. Two of them gathering your cum that steadily leaked out and sliding them up to your clit. Sending another soft wave of pleasure through your body. You wanted to remain there. Forever stuck in this moment with him. But you knew the faster you managed to get home, the better the odds were for the both of you.
“I can’t,” you gasped, grasping onto this wrist to stop him from shifting the overstimulation into an uncomfortable pain.
Before you could ask him to take you home, he was rendering you speechless—slipping his shiny coated fingers into his mouth and groaning at the taste. Your clit throbbed and for a moment you felt dizzy. Even as he held you upright. You watched his tongue peek out, wondering how it might feel against you. And once more the heat began to build again, causing your imagination to spin out of control.
“Mi vida?” he asked, pulling from your haze. His small smile let you know he had figured out what you were thinking—already halfway to teasing the answer out of you.
“Take me home Mickey,” you croaked, unable to wait any longer. “I want you.”
His eyes softened, fingers gently pinching your chin as he pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. Pouring all the emotion he ever said aloud into you. This was it. The moment that would replay in your head for the rest of your life. Mickey Garcia smiling sweetly, his hands caressing your hips to soothe the ache of his tight hold—love shining in his eyes. You felt your heart leap in your chest, breath once more getting stolen just by his mere proximity.
