This Is A Gem THANK YOU DARLING

This is a gem 💎 THANK YOU DARLING ❤️

It's so beautifully written, that's a really cute family 😭 and Mickey is jakuftjfkynlziveuz as always. I had a big smile all the read through, you're a genius and an excellent writer ✨!

Christmas ain't the same without you

Pairings - Mickey Garcia X fem!Reader (Holiday AU)

Premise - Holidays without your lover aren’t the same, you miss him with all your heart and he does too.

Word Count - 2.8K

Warnings: Some strong language, references to Pop Culture, allusions to SMUT, and a very brutal game of UNO

a/n - Thank you @labarboteuse for this wonderful request. I initially planned it as a headcanon but the holiday season was approaching so I made this into a holiday fic. I hope you like it <3 any and all headcanons/blurbs are mostly welcome.

My Main Masterlist || Mickey Garcia Masterlist

December 25, Christmas Eve

“...and then Phoenix lost her shit and then we had to group up and shield Harvard from getting waterboarded by her.” Mickey’s face on your phone was scrunched up in delight, as he laughed recounting the tales of Christmas at the base to you.

You touched your screen as if it were his face.

Mickey was your best friend, your husband, and the love of your life.

Staying away from him while he was deployed was difficult, and you handled it like a champ. Occasionally, though, sadness would loom over you unexpectedly. Like waking up and reaching out for him, and meeting the empty side of the bed. Accidentally making two cups of coffee in the morning. One day, when you realized he was not there when you called him, you broke down in tears.

But nothing hurts like not having him home during the holidays for the first time.

When Abuela Juliana bribed you with her homemade caramel cupcakes, you couldn't say no to Mickey's family; his parents, his brother Edgar and his wife Veronica, and their four-year-old twins Camillo and Ariana.

As a single kid, you were sent to boarding school away from home. You hardly knew your parents, and they were always on some crazy trip to Europe every year during Christmas. Celebrating the holidays with his family made you feel at home. Abuela would never let go of a chance to remind you that it was your home too, and you and Veronica were her granddaughters.

You had been reading in Mickey's old room, halfway through an Agatha Christie novel from his bookshelf before he called. It was cozy, with a makeshift space near the window to read, and a lot of Star Wars and hip-hop posters everywhere on the walls.

“How was Christmas?” he asks you, smiling at the camera.

“It was perfect. Abuela kept her promise, making a batch of caramel cupcakes just for me. Camillo and Ariana almost caught Edgar placing the gifts under the tree, but Veronica and I distracted them with Spongebob Squarepants.”

“Clever.”

“Marina and Carlos banned me from the kitchen because I tried to help them, and then fed me your share too.” you sighed.

“God I hope you didn’t eat all the cupcakes, share it with Edgar and Ariana too.” he shrugged.

"No way. Nu-uh" you nodded and snuggled under the covers.

Mickey listened to you with a sad smile on his face, and it hurt you to see that he so clearly missed home.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be home Carino," he says in a dejected tone.

You just wish you could squish his face with your hands and smother him in kisses. He was sad, and you hated seeing him like that.

“I miss you, baby," you say.

He smiled, “I miss you more.” he said as he lay down on his bed. “I really wanted you to be my kiss at midnight.”

“Me too.” you sniffle, tears brimming your eyes as you recall last year when he was home with you, and held you close as you counted down to midnight.

“Baby…” he whispered, noticing your tears, “don’t cry, please.” His eyebrows furrowed with worry, but just as he was about to say further, his image shook around.

It was Phoenix on the screen now, smiling with a Santa cap on.

“Mrs. Garciaaa! Happy Christmas my girl!” she hollered. You wiped your tears and realized she was drunk.

“Happy Christmas Nat.” you smiled, as she passed the phone to Payback.

“I’m sorry Y/N, she’s been drinking like a sailor once we stopped her from waterboarding Harvard.” he sighed, the camera shaking as he walked because he was clearly swatting away Phoenix with his other hand. 

Rooster, Bob, Coyote, Harvard, Yale, and even Hangman joined in to wish you. By the time they handed the phone back to Mickey, you were laughing again.

“There's my girl,” he whispers softly to you, his brown eyes adoringly looking at you.

"Good night, sweetie." you breathe out and kiss the screen.

He blushes and kisses his screen, “good night baby, can’t wait to meet you.”

December 30th, 8 AM

You woke up to the sound of We Don’t Talk About Bruno blaring through the speakers and groaned at the fact that Ariana and Camillo were watching Encanto. Again.

As you walked downstairs, you saw the twins jumping on the carpet to the song, while Veronica sang along to it with a straight face.

“Tia Y/N!” Ariana ran to you as you reached the landing, pulling at your pajamas. “Come on! Watch Mirabel with us.” She could not say Encanto yet, so she just called the movie Mirabel.

“Let her breathe Mija!” Abuela called out to her as she walked up to you, handing you a bag. “Another fresh batch.” she winked at you and you stood there, mouth agape, “Abuela you’re spoiling me.”

"Ah, nonsense!” she laughed and held your hand. "Walk me to the kitchen. I need to bake more.”

You walked her to the busy kitchen, with Edgar, Marina, and Carlos running around and helping each other.

All of them were speaking in rapid Spanish at once, and you had no idea what they were saying even though it was your third language.

“So, what shall I do?” you asked, and as soon as you did, all four of them turned to you screaming, “No!”

You were taken aback, looking at them with wide eyes as Carlos took you by the shoulders and pushed you into the living room. “When I said you and Veronica were banned from cooking for the holidays, I was serious.”

He made you sit next to Veronica, who was trying not to laugh and stood in front of you. “Ladies, you both worked day and night for the entire year. It’s time for you to relax, watch a movie, talk about whatever ladies talk about, and leave the work to us.” He pointed to himself.

Mickey really was his father’s son, because that’s what he would do whenever he was home. You never complained, his cooking skills were top-notch.

"What about Marina? Why is she working then?” you asked.

Carlos took a deep breath, and said, “I have been married for thirty years, Mija, and I could never tell that woman what to do because the only person she ever listens to is herself.”

“I can hear that!” Marina shouted from the kitchen which made you and Veronica burst out laughing.

9 PM

“Aw goddammit!” Edgar shouts as Marina slams four draw 4 cards on the table.

Abuela smacks him across the head as he realizes what he just said. "Sorry Abuela” he whispers.

It was almost 9 PM and snowing. The kids fell asleep after dinner and rewatched Encanto for the fifth time that day. It was quiet all around except for their laughter in the living room. Everyone was playing Uno next to the fireplace in cozy pajamas and glasses filled with hot chocolate. 

You were having a staring contest with Veronica as you both had only two cards left, while Edgar had ended up with half the deck. “What do you think, wanna drawback?”

“Never.” you answer, as Carlos places every card on his deck screaming “Uno!” and winning the game.

Everyone collectively groans as he gets up and heads to the kitchen for a refill.

“You know, if Mickey was here he would have won first,” Marina says as she starts to gather the cards.

"True! My first Christmas here, he almost made me cry because he won one-on-one all three times.” Veronica sighs as she rearranges her cards.

As on cue, your phone rings, and there is Mickey’s name flashing as a Video Call.

You pick it up to see him smirking at you, wearing the fur hood of his jacket.

“Good evening mi amor.” His voice comes through the speakers of your phone, as you see Marina nudge Abuela to look at you.

“Good evening, Mickey.” you smile like you always do, watching him on your screen. “Are you outside?” you ask, noticing the heavy jacket he was wearing.

"Yeah I was getting a bit bored sitting around in the hangar so I stepped out for a walk," he says.

You looked at his mother and grandmother watching you talk to him. Therefore, you sat next to them and extended your hand, making sure that everyone was visible to him.

Mickey's mischievous smile graces your screen, "okay, please tell me this is a game of UNO and Edgar ended up with half the deck."

Edgar threw up his hands, "Ma, are you gonna let your firstborn get insulted like that?"

Carlos enters holding his refill, “is that Mickey?” his face lights up when Marina nods, she hands him the phone, “Mickey! How are you?”

“Hey dad.” you could hear his laughter which always made your heart flutter.

Carlos takes a seat and Marina and Abuela surround him to talk to Mickey. Veronica takes the cards away from Edgar and sends him toward them. You both smile at how happy the family was to talk to Mickey.

Just then the doorbell rang.

Veronica gives you a puzzled look as to who this may be. You get up and she follows you to the door. “I swear if Camillo calls for pizza again I’m grounding him,” she mutters under her breath as you sniffle with a laugh.

Through the transparent window of the door, you could see a figure standing on the porch, but you didn't know who it was.

"Who is it?” you shouted.

"Uh, pizza delivery ma’am” a deep voice replies.

“See? I told you!” Veronica whispers as you unlock the door. You open the door, the cold air blowing inside the house as you wrap your arms around you and see that…

It was Mickey.

A wide smile plastered his face, while he held a duffle bag in one hand and his phone in the other. His heavy jacket was wet with melted snow, and his cheeks were pink.

“Told you I’d see you soon.” He breathes out in his normal voice, smoke coming out of his mouth.

Taking a moment to register what you were seeing, you realized that yes, that really was him.

Mickey, your Mickey, is back.

You break down in tears as you throw yourself at him. He catches you just in time, swirls you around, and wastes no time crashing his lips on yours.

You melt into him, the cold of his jacket being the last of your concerns. He breaks out and holds you closer, softly holding your face as you cry.

“Surprise.” He chuckles.

You punch him in the chest. “You could have told me!” you shout, but a second later you break into laughter.

You hear fast-approaching footsteps and look inside the house to see everyone rushing toward him. He puts you down as Abuela cups his face with tears streaming down her fragile face. "Mi nieto finalmente volvió a mí!” (My grandson had finally returned to me)

“te extrañé mucho Abuela” he laughs out, hugging her. (I missed you so much, grandma)

Carlos and Marina join in, and soon Veronica pulls Edgar and you in a giant group hug, a smile on everyone's face.

Until a strong wind blows through the porch, sending everyone shivering, and Carlos starts pulling everyone inside.

11 PM

And after an eventful dinner, everyone retired to their rooms.

Marina and Abuela provided Mickey with literally every dish they had prepared, and he happily ate them all. During dinner, he told the entire story of how he got here. Apparently, Maverick gave everyone a week off because the practice exercises were postponed for yet another week due to increased air traffic. Instead of telling anyone, Mickey wanted to surprise them all.

You unpacked Mickey’s bag and put out some nightwear for him while he was showering. You changed into sweatpants, turned off the lights, and sat next to the window. Watching the snow fall from the sky, and the streetlight across the house, its soft rays being the only source of light in the room. You smiled as you saw one stuck to the window and it created a beautiful pattern.

The door to the washroom opens, and you turn to see Mickey coming out of it, his hair stuck out in spikes as he dried them with a towel. He was wearing the sweatpants you had kept aside for him.

Mickey freezes watching you get up and move toward him. His eyes do not waver from yours as he sits on the edge of the bed, and you stand between his legs. Taking the towel and wrapping it around his neck, he gulps as you dry his head. He takes a deep breath and relaxes as your hands skillfully move on his scalp. 

“Love it when you do that.” He sighs, smiling up at you. “My pleasure, Lieutenant,” you smirk, knowing exactly the effect it has on him.

His smile dropped, and you saw how his eyes dilated as soon as he heard that.

He grabs your waist and tackles you on the bed. You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck, and the next thing you know, your back hits the bed and he hovers over you.

The dog tags on his chest strike your chest, and his eyes rake over your body like he wants to devour you.

“You wanna kiss me Mickey?” you ask as you arch your spine.

"Do you think I'll just stop at kissing"? He asks, slipping his face into the crook of your neck as he begins to slowly suck on the spots that always make you go feral. "You're such a tease darling.”

He holds on to your wrists and pins them down on the mattress, caging you against him. 

You squirm under him. “Please…” you breathe out as he bites your neck.

Against your skin, he murmurs, "Please what?"

"Please kiss me Mickey” you whisper in his ear. And that's all it took for him to let go of your wrists and grab your waist, lifting you up on the bed and falling on top of you.

He didn’t give you a second to think as he kissed you that instant. Your heart hammered in your chest as his hands, cold as ice, started to travel under your hoodie, caressing your belly, and traveling up toward your chest.

Your hands rushed straight to his hair. You were heaving for air at this point, but he didn’t let go of your mouth for a second.

While he squeezed your breasts, you hissed and backed away from his lips as he grew impatient with you. You looked at Mickey’s swollen lips and flushed-out face as you exhaled, “your hands… cold… I-” he didn’t wait for you to complete the sentence as he got up and grabbed the heavy quilt from the end of the bed, bringing it over you both. He fell down on you, and you grabbed onto his clothes.

“Impatient?” His hoarse voice sent shivers down your spine.

"Shut up!” you laugh as you take off his sweatshirt.

December 31st, 7 AM

In the early morning light, your hands brush the space next to you, expecting to meet the cold blanket.

Instead, Mickey’s warm body met your palm.

You stirred up from your sleep, your eyes slowly opened to see Mickey’s face next to you, feeling his limbs tangled with yours under the quilt.

You smile realizing it wasn’t a dream this time, and your face heats up suddenly recalling the events from last night.

He opened his eyes, blinking slowly as a soft smile adorned his face. His hands moved up your body and he pulled you in. He planted a kiss on your lips.

"Hey." you smile.

"Hey." Mickey laughed as he kissed you again.

You fall into a comfortable silence, holding each other and living in the present.

Fast-approaching footsteps outside the room sent you into a panic. You only had a second before there were knocks on the door.

“Tia Y/N! Open up!!!” Ariana screamed loudly.

The two of you giggled softly as you put on your clothes. While you were fixing the bed, Mickey opened the door and got tackled by the twins.

"Ahhhhhh! Tio Mickey is back! He's here!” Camillo screams and runs through the hallway.

Mickey embraced Ariana as Camillo brought back a sleepy Veronica rubbing her eyes to wake up. In a matter of seconds, the twins pulled him by his clothes. “You need to watch Mirabel! Come on, Tio." Without looking, they ran into the living room.

Mickey looked back at you. “Who's Mirabel?”

Just as the opening lyrics of The Family Madrigal blared through the speakers, Veronica and you sighed together, "Don't ask."

A/N - Thank you everyone for sticking with me till the end of this fic! if you liked it please let me know through the asks and the comments. Any and all requests, headcanons, and drabble requests are most welcome. Love y'all, Take Care!

Requests are open! Feel free to request anything.

Taglist &lt;3

@tuiccim @parkjammys @akinrawsx @asteph22 @iamthebeth @thefandomqueenbb @onlyhereforthefics @yikesdameron @savedfanfics1992 @amigaytho @samwilson-mylove @jenniweaslee @anna-phora @fluffyprettykitty @weigheddownbyfandoms @fanboygarcia @fanboymickey

First steps

Pairing: Beau "Cyclone" Simpson x wife!reader

Summary: Cyclone being the first and best supporter for his son.

Warnings: relatively short, not really good quality sorry about that.

"Okay buddy, here we go, you can do it."

Intrigued by Beau's words you heard from the kitchen, you frowned curiously and headed for the living room. Stopping between both rooms you saw Beau standing, leaning forward holding Luke's hands, arms raised above his head, struggling to stand on his legs and trying hard to put one foot in front of the other. Amused, a smirk stretched your lips and you crossed your arms over your chest watching the show.

Seeing you out of the corner of his eye, Beau turned his head towards you with a huge smile on his lips and swiveled towards you, pulling Luke who was staggering on his little legs.

"Hey, look at mommy. Show mommy what a big boy you are."

Raising his head from his feet on which he was focused, his smile revealed his one small tooth and he gesticulated awkwardly trying to make his way towards you with his father's encouragement. You crouch down and stretch your arms towards him, encouraging him to come towards you.

"Oh my baby, how big you are! Look at you, you can almost walk!" You exclaimed cheerfully, Luke chuckling at the sound of his mother's voice.

"He's growing up so fast! It feels like yesterday that you expelled him from your womb." He says nostalgically.

"Oh oh, don't worry I remember it very well, as if it was yesterday." You say while laughing.

Being only a meter away from you, he knelt behind Luke and when Luke seemed to find his balance, he gently let go of his hands, placing them on either side of his waist, without touching him, to catch him if necessary.

"Come on little man. Show us what you're made of."

Luke glanced behind him as Beau dropped his hands and leaned forward slightly, as if looking for balance or a way to move forward. He turned his head toward you and you clapped your hands, arms outstretched toward him, to make him come. With great confidence, probably greater than himself, he lifted his right leg to take a step forward and stopped, perhaps waiting for the fall, which didn't come.

He then raised his left foot to try again and gesticulated, clapping his hands and laughing as he saw that he was still standing. Repeating the experience, he cautiously walked towards you with a huge smile on his face, little chirps of joy coming out of his mouth. When finally after a few steps he almost reached you, he stumbled and you caught him in time. Luke in your arms you clapped and congratulated him and Beau did the same joining you. Luke imitated you, clapping his hands and shouting with joy mixed with his high-pitched laugh.

"Our baby boy walks!" Beau exclaimed joyfully, placing a kiss on the top of Luke's head and subsequently crushing his lips to yours. "I wouldn't want to live this adventure with anyone else but you."

"And I with you."

Enjoy, daddy

Pairing: Daddy!Beau "Cyclone" Simpson x wife!reader

Summary: Cyclone receives an unexpected visit while at work.

Warnings: the sexiest daddy, short one

Beau ran his palms over his face, rubbing his eyes. These last few months had been particularly grueling since the birth of your son. With the work during the day and the nights marked by little Luke's awakenings, a permanent state of fatigue had set in with him as with you. He took his steaming cup of coffee on his desk then drank a sip while sinking in his armchair, his glance slipping on one of the photographs on his desk which had been taken a few days after the birth of your progeny and a soft smile stretched his lips.

He was about to get back to work when his attention was drawn to a knock on the door, which opened directly after that. The only person who could afford to enter his office without his permission, because he let it happen, was you.

First he had the stroller in his sights and then you, a far too cheerful look on your face. You never came on the base unless there was a problem, and from the look you had, that wasn't the case.

"Hey, there's my two prides. What are you doing here, is something wrong?"

He stood up and came to meet you, putting an arm around your waist while placing a kiss on your temple.

"Everything is fine, I was out for a walk with baby Cyclone when we thought you'd like it if we came to say hello at work."

He smiled and leaned over the stroller to pick Luke up, wiggling around as he saw his father's face. Holding him with one arm around his small waist and the other hand behind his head he kissed him on the forehead to which Luke responded with a chirp.

"It's a little far from home for a walk."

"It's good to get a change of scenery once in a while." You say passing the back of your hand over the little one's rosy cheek. But Beau was far from stupid, he had a very good intuition, a very very good intuition, you weren't there for a simple courtesy visit and he became sure of it when he saw the changing bag under the stroller, way too big for a simple walk.

"Honey..." He started to say suddenly realizing but you didn't give him time to continue, cutting him off.

"The diaper has been changed, the last bottle was an hour ago, there are three more in the bag just in case and everything you need to change him. You'll manage, you're the greatest daddy ever. I love you, enjoy daddy!" Sneakily kissing him you rushed out of the office to run down the hallway. With a stunned look on his face he tried to stammer something, some kind of protest as he followed you but when he came out of the office you already had left the hallway. He glanced around, no one, not a sound except the chirping of your son still in his arms on whom he returned his attention without knowing what to say. Father and son looked into each other's eyes and while Beau looked totally lost in what had just happened, Luke's attitude contrasted with his own, a big smile on his cute face, fidgeting in his father's arms, drooling on his shoulder. As he walked back into his office realizing that you had abandoned him the baby for the day, a laugh echoed through the hallway, a sigh of relief escaped his lips, knowing that laugh all too well. He then poked his head through the door and saw you appear at the corner, laughing out loud with one hand on your abdomen and the other over your mouth trying to cover the laughter.

"Hilarious, really hilarious." He says with a smirk, unable to blame you for a second.

"You should have seen the look on your face, would you have panicked at the thought of being alone all day with your son Vice Admiral?"

He gently shook his head in amusement and bent down to put the baby back in his baby carriage, wrapping him in his little blanket, then straightened up to face you, pulling you to him, putting his arms around your waist.

"I'd rather be alone with you, you deserve a little correction." He purrs in your ear before placing a kiss on your neck.

"If you arrange to come home early I think I can give you a moment once Luke is in bed."

"I'll be home by 7 p.m., be ready."

Want to be sick and have him taking care of me

“Open your mouth” with Hangman 😇

pairing- hangman x reader

warnings- there's like 2 allusions to smut...so idk 18+? reader is sick with unspecified nonthreatening illness

length- 0.3k

an- i'm so sorry this is probably not nearly as smutty as you were hoping for…i don't even know who i am anymore how did i manage to take the sluttiest prompt on the there and turn it into basically fluff (for me anyways)...which i normally hate writing. idk this is the only thing my brain would come up with for this

It’s really rude that the sun feels the need to bore itself into your head while you have a 101-degree fever. As if you’re not sweaty enough.

You could get up and close the curtains, but that’s just asking too much at this point.

The front door opens and you don’t even bother to look up. If someone’s breaking in they can have your dirty dishes and dying plants for all you care.

Luckily for your neglected monstera, it’s just Jake.

He brushes your sweaty hair back, making a face when he feels how warm you still are. “I brought you some food.”

“Leave me alone, you heathen,” you whine, voice muffled by the pillow you’re shoving your face in to get away from his hands.

You should feel bad. He’s being entirely too sweet, taking your grumpiness in stride. But your body aches, your throat is dry, everything hurts, and you just want to sleep for eternity.

“Sweetheart.” You want to punch him for the hint of a laugh you hear in his voice. “You have to eat.”

“Too hard,” you protest, turning your head to look at him blearily. “Throat hurts.”

Jake looks like he wants to make a joke or several, but instead purses his lips and nudges your head up from the pillow, pulling you into a sitting position. “At least drink some water.”

“No.”

Something dark flashes across his bright eyes, jaw tightening.

“Baby,” Jake says sternly. “Open your mouth.”

Your mouth drops open unceremoniously, some Pavlovian response you have no control over, and you immediately flush crimson.

Jake looks so proud of himself that you can’t even be mad as he puts a bottle of water to your lips before you can protest any further.

“You have to get better so I can put that bratty mouth to good use, sweetheart.”

Geez, I want a jealous Tom Kazansky rn please.

Wrong Answer, Sweetheart

This man? Jealous? Possessive? Wherever did you get that idea? @juniebugg and @redpandabel this is for you.

Pairing: Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x F!Reader Word Count: 3600 Warnings: Smut, possessive behavior, jealousy, dirty talk Minors DNI

The O Club is full to bursting by the time you arrive. Which is to be expected on a Friday. Officers and civvies mingling with drinks in hand.

Ice had called you earlier, the patter of a shower in the background as he told you that he and the guys were headed over to grab a drink once they were done in the locker room. He asked you to meet him there. The thing the two of you have going on is still relatively new, so you were quick to agree, your finger twirling in the phone cable at the thought of Ice leaning over the phone in little more than a towel. You wrapped up your work for the day, drove home for a change of clothes, and then walked over to the club, fully expecting to be going home with Ice at the end of the night.

You spot him — well, more accurately, you spot Slider (the man's too damn tall) — in the corner of the bar near the pool table, surrounded by the rest of his class, and push your way through the crowd. When you reach the group, you brush your hand over Ice's arm, sidling up to him and meeting his eyes through your long lashes. "Hey."

And for a heart-stopping moment, he fixes you with a smile-

"Well, look who it is," Wolfman drawls, Hollywood whistling as you settle against Ice's side.

"Lookin' mighty fine today, Mrs. Ice," Hollywood says with a wink, and you chuckle at the harmless flirtation. They all know you're off-limits, but Ice's hand tightens around your waist all the same, and he shoots Hollywood a glare while he takes a sip of his beer.

Wolfman isn't deterred. " Mighty fine. " If anything, Ice's annoyance spurs him on. "Say, you wouldn't happen to have a sister, would you?"

"She'd be out of your league, too, Wolf," Slider says, earning a satisfied snort from Ice and howls from the rest of the pilots. After that, the conversation drifts back to where it had derailed when you first joined.

Eventually, you decide that you need a drink. You try to bring Ice with you, but he's busy detailing all the reasons why what Chipper said is categorically wrong. He gently shakes your hand from his and leaves you to wander to the bar on your own.

Your lips press into a tight line. You open your mouth to say something — why invite me along for a drink if you aren't going to spend time with me? — but stop short. That won't get you anywhere, not in front of his colleagues.

You stomp your way through the crowd until you're pressed against the smooth, lacquered wood of the bar and settle in for the long wait until the bartender can take your order. You're drawing figure eights in the condensation left behind by someone's glass when someone shoves themself into the bar beside you

"Hey!" A smile parts your lips. Mav. You pull the pilot into a hug. "When did you get here?" Mav is easy to talk with, and the two of you fall into an easy conversation. He asks you about your job, smiling even though you know he must be bored out of his mind while you go on about your spreadsheets.

It doesn't take long for the conversation to turn flirty, as things with Mav tend to do. He brushes imaginary dust off your shoulder, places a hand against the small of your back to steady you when some rowdy patrons knock you off balance, leans in close so he can hear you over the music and other conversations. You know that he doesn't mean anything by it. Not with you. It's just who he is — all dare and charm and green eyes.

Every so often, your attention flickers over to Ice, but he's still deep in conversation.

When the bartender finally makes it over to you, you ask him for a beer — whatever's on tap — and Mav leans in to add his and Goose's next round on top of it. "Put it on my tab."

Mouth open in mock surprise, you turn to face the pilot. "Are you buying me a drink, Mav?"

"Someone's got to," he says, eyebrow raised as he chances his own look toward Ice.

"Pretty bold of you."

"I'm told some women like bold."

"Some?" Mav looks down and to the side at your question as if he's embarrassed. And that's something you weren't expecting. You wonder who the lucky lady is. "Is the notorious Maverick having girl troubles?" His eyes meet yours, and you know that you're right. As the bartender returns with your drinks, you bite your bottom lip to hold in a guffaw. "Oh c'mon, Mav. A pretty boy like you?"

A hand slams on the bar between you and Maverick no later than those words leave your lips. You jump, eyes blown wide in surprise.

"Money for the lady's drink."

"Hey, Ice." Mav stumbles back against the bar, a mischievous glint in his green eyes as Ice forcibly shoulders his way between you and the other pilot.

"Mitchell." He shoots Mav a look that could kill. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Thought that was pretty obvious," Mav says. "I was buying a pretty girl a drink." He has the audacity to wink at you, and Ice shoves himself further into his space.

"You better watch your mouth," Ice snaps.

A Cheshire grin takes over Maverick's face. "I've certainly got my eyes on someone's mouth."

Instead of responding, Ice reaches out and grabs your hand, still glaring at Maverick. "We're leaving."

"Don't be ridiculous," you say, slipping your hand from his as he'd done to you earlier. "We just got here."

"Yeah, Ice." And Mav knows precisely what he's doing with that mocking tone. Ice stands to his full height, looking down his nose at Maverick, who is more than a couple inches shorter than him with the way he's casually leaning against the bar. "Don't be ridiculous."

A hand grabs your arm around the bicep and leads — practically drags — you out of the bar. Mav gives you a half-hearted salute, all three drinks in his hands as he disappears into the crowd like the shit-stirring goblin he is.

Ice escorts you from the bar in record time. His face is an indecipherable mask as he brings you to the passenger side of his car, opens the door, and crowds forward until you have no choice but to sit in the leather seat. He towers over you. "What the hell was that?"

"Which part? You ditching me in a Navy bar, or you dragging me out of said bar?"

Light from the building plays across his jaw as it tenses, but that's the only tell that anything is wrong. Otherwise, his expression gives nothing away. "Why were you talking with Mitchell?" It's less a question than a demand for an answer.

You can't help but scoff. "You can't ditch your girl at a bar and then act surprised when someone gives her a little attention."

"You like that, huh? The attention of other guys."

And it stings. Hot and cold at the same time. Like frostbite. Two can play at that game. "Nothing wrong with a little variety," you bite back. It's a lie; normally, Ice would know that, but his eyes are still glacial when he steps back to close your door and hops into the driver's seat. He sits there for a handful of seconds, not looking at you. Not starting the car. So you make a split-second decision and place your hand on the door pull, popping it open.

"Where do you think you're going?" His eyes bore into the back of your head. It's enough to stop you in your tracks.

"For a drink."

"With Mitchell."

You glare back at him, exasperated. "Yeah. With Mav." You like that, huh? The attention of other guys. "Don't wait up. I'm sure he can give me a ride home."

Your eyes stay locked, neither of you blinking as the implication hangs heavy in the air.

"You're not going anywhere." You close the door as Ice starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot.

The ride to Ice's housing is silent. Ice eyes the road with a single-minded determination, his face an impassive mask, but his fists grip the steering wheel harder than necessary. You look resolutely out the passenger window as dark, sandy beaches turn into telephone poles, mailboxes, fences, and finally, Ice's driveway. Ice doesn't help you out of the car when you arrive, just unlocks the front door and expects you to follow.

You find him in the kitchen, sipping bourbon and pouring another two fingers' worth of the amber liquid into a rocks glass for you. But you turn the drink down when he tries to hand it to you. "I'm not thirsty."

"But you'll let Mitchell buy you a drink."

"At least he offered." You wanted him to buy you a drink, but he'd been too busy for you.

"That why you let him touch you?"

Your eyes roll. "Is that what this is about?"

"That is exactly what this is about." Ice throws your drink back in one go, leaving both glasses on the counter before crowding you against the wall. The glint behind blue eyes tells you you're in trouble. "You are mine ." Each word is bitten out, and you can't help how you react, head tilting back and lips parting in anticipation of a kiss that never comes. Instead, Ice leans in until his breath caresses your ear. "Or do you need a reminder?"

You'd love one. Instead, you say: "I don't belong to anybody ."

A deceptively soft kiss is pressed to the spot where your jaw meets the long line of your neck. "Wrong answer, sweetheart." One of Ice's hands grabs you by the back of the neck and pulls you into a bruising kiss, his tongue tasting of vanilla, oak, and caramel from the bourbon. You moan helplessly as his teeth catch your lower lip before he releases it in favor of sucking a deep mark over your pulse. One you won't be able to hide. One he'll be sure to parade you around in with his arm draped around your waist or hand tucked into your back pocket.

And a part of you likes the idea of that. Shouldn't , but does, and it sends a thrill through you.

"Get on your knees." Heat blossoms in your chest, mouth watering as your tongue runs over your lips to chase the hints of bourbon Ice has left behind. Placing your hands on Ice's chest, you scratch your nails down his front until your knees hit the kitchen tile. "You know what to do." You do. Your fingers trace the outline of him where he's already straining through his pants, but he stops that real quick.

His fingers catch your chin and angle your face up. "Don't tease." Then, while he still clutches your chin, you blindly reach for his belt, the metal clinking open before you pop the button and pull down his zipper. His other hand pulls his cock free and slaps it against your cheek before brushing it against your full lips. "Open up."

Your pink tongue pokes past your lips in invitation as Ice guides his cock into your mouth. His taste on your tongue never fails to pull a groan from you. Ice encourages you with a hiss. You lick around the fat tip before enthusiastically taking more of him into your hot mouth.

"That's it," he encourages as you get into a rhythm, bobbing up and down on his cock. You hollow your cheeks as you release the head with a pop to kiss and lick all along the shaft, lips dark and slick with spit as you take him into your mouth once again. "That's my girl." You moan around his cock in your mouth — my girl — the vibrations knocking Ice's head back, his hips jerking forward until you're gagging, eyes glassy with unshed tears. "Look so good chocking on my cock." The praise has you practically purring, and you pull off his cock for a quick breath before taking him as far down as you can, ignoring the tears as they track down your cheeks and swallow around him. You're rewarded with another sinful groan that goes straight to the heat between your legs.

A hand pulls you off of him, Ice's other hand coming down to fist at his cock, its glide slick. And he hasn't done this before, but you keep your mouth open, looking up at him through long lashes when his breath catches, and the first rope of his release bursts salty across your tongue. When he's done, he catches the cum that's missed your lips with his thumb and pushes it against your tongue, and you suck it down with the rest of him.

Ice is on you again as soon as you stand up, the crisscross of the kitchen tiles still freshly imprinted on your knees. Your back is once again pressed to the wall, one of your legs pulled up to circle his hip, blue eyes sharp as his hand slips beneath the waist of your jean shorts to find you soaking.

"Look at you," he murmurs, fingers gliding over your puffy lips. "Who's got you this wet, huh?" You huff and look away, and he sinks a finger into you to the knuckle. No resistance. "Eyes on me, sweetheart." And the endearment sounds vicious from his lips. You don't want to look, but you can't help it. He's magnetic.

You whimper and grind your swollen clit against his palm when he slips another finger into you, but Ice pulls back. His fingers return to running up and down the length of your heat — "Who?" — barely-there touches a far cry from what he knows you need.

"You know who," you say, swiveling your hips and pulling him closer to you with the leg wrapped around his hip and down his leg. His fingers start up again, and you let out a breathy chuckle, thinking you've won.

Ice's fingers skillfully build you up higher and higher until: "Yeah, but I want to hear you say it." You clench desperately around nothing when his fingers withdraw. Your high receding like the tide until it has well and truly slipped through your fingers and all you can do is whine. Once he's sure you're not going to cum, his fingers press back into you, massaging at your g-spot, and you arch into him, keening. "Who?"

"Fuck, Ice. You. "

"That's not my name."

Another frustrated groan tumbles from your lips as his fingers leave your core to ruck your shirt up beneath your arms, pulling down the cups of your bra until your breasts pop out. He attacks a nipple with lips and teeth and tongue. "You, Tom. You, you, you ."

He pulls off of you when you arch into his mouth. "That wasn't so hard, now, was it?" His lips ghost up your neck with a final lick to your peaked nipple, drawing goosebumps in their wake. "What do you want me to do about it?" he whispers directly into your ear, tugging at the lobe with his teeth. His hips rock against yours, pressing hot and hard against your clothed clit, fingers skimming along the waist of your shorts, and you whimper. Ready for round two.

"Touch me. Please."

Ice releases your leg, hooks his fingers in your belt loops, and drags you away from the wall. Then, faster than you can keep up with while your mind is swimming, he bends you over the kitchen table. Talented fingers reach around to unbutton your shorts and pull them down your long legs. You peek at him over your shoulder, shivering at the chill of fresh air against your slick folds. Ice's hands are back on you, but they aren't touching you where you need him to, fingers skirting around your slick heat to tease your upper thighs. You groan.

"What? You said to touch you."

"That the best you got, Ice?" You yelp, back arching when Ice's palm connects with your asscheek, its sting blazing and blurring into pleasure.

"I'm just getting started."

His fingers delve back into your heat and yours grip the edge of the table, eyes falling shut as you press your cheek against the polished wood, and you moan.

When you open your eyes again, you have a clear line of sight to the window at the front of the assignment. The glass is blocked by a near-translucent sheet — calling it a curtain would probably be too generous. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip to fend off a groan as Ice's fingers disappear from you, the sound of his zipper soon following. "We should probably take this upstairs," you suggest, neck craning as your eyes lock with his over your shoulder.

Ice runs the thick head of his cock over your cunt, leans over you, and his fingers are back on your jaw. He redirects your gaze to the window, the fabric billowing in the gentle night breeze. "Thought you liked the attention," he hisses into your ear, and then he's sinking into you in a single thrust.

He doesn't give you time to adjust to him, just picks up a slow tempo — dragging his hips back until you're squeezing around nothing and filling you back up until your walls are fluttering around him and your cheeks are flushed. "We just started," he murmurs, "and you're already close, aren't you?"

You want to say something clever about how he's brought you the edge a couple times now, but he fucks the words out of you, chuckling as you make a strangled noise.

"Bet Mitchell couldn't fuck you like this, huh?"

And you know it's supposed to be rhetorical, but you can't help yourself. "Bet he'd think of something," you pant. "He's creative like that."

"Pretty boy wouldn't know what to do with a girl like you."

"You spend a lot of time thinking about Mav fucking me?"

Ice presses your cheek back into the table, his hand resting between your shoulder blades so that your ass sticks up in the air. "Shut up." His pace picks up with the steady clap of skin on skin and the creak of the table against the tile floor. And the spring in your abdomen coils so tight that if he keeps fucking you like that, you'll reach nirvana in no time.

"You're mine, " he all but growls, biting at the junction of your neck and shoulder and sucking. "Mine to treat. Mine to touch. Mine to fuck whenever and wherever —" his hand fists in your hair, pulling until you're staring straight out the window to the deserted road "—I want." Your body spasms, walls fluttering around his cock before it disappears, and you could scream , but all that comes out is a whimper. "And you'll cum when I let you."

"You fucking dick," you seethe.

"You love my fucking dick." He thrusts back into you, pulling out again when you roll back to meet him halfway. "Don't you?" You throw your head back and keen when he bottoms out in you again, grinding that perfect cock against your sweet spot and making you see stars. "Tell me."

"I fucking love your cock."

"Yeah, you do." Ice rewards you with another hard thrust. "Whose pussy is this?"

"Yours." You clench down around him, unable to help the roll of your hips against his. "All yours. Only yours."

"You sure, princess? Sounded like you didn't need me earlier," he says, and it's smug now. Mocking. "Sure you don't want me to call Mitchell to finish you off?"

"He couldn't handle me," you whine. "Couldn't treat me good like you do. Pretty boy couldn't — fuck!" You're babbling now, Ice's pace picking up to fuck you stupid, but you don't care that the neighbors can hear you as long as Ice keeps fucking you like that. As long as he keeps hitting that spot and his balls keep slapping your clit, keeps kissing your neck, keeps grunting in your ear.

"Couldn't what, sweetheart?" His hands pull your hips back to meet his.

"Couldn't give me what I need. Not like you can. Fuck! Not like you. Never like you."

You're so close that it hurts. "Please," you sob, tears prickling at the corner of your eyes. "Please, Tom. Please let me cum. Please, please, please. I'm yours. All yours. Please."

"Don't worry, baby," he croons. "I've got you."

And then you're dissolving into pleasure, melting into the wood grain of the table as Ice continues to chase his own end. He pulls out when his hips stutter, hand on his cock, cumming all over your pussy, thick strands of white dripping down your thighs.

His.

Instead of letting you up, Ice leans back over you, taking his time to suck more marks into the unblemished canvas of your shoulders, neck, jaw.

“Ice,” you whine, your earlier passion replaced with heart-swelling annoyance. “You can’t do this every time someone talks to me at the bar.”

Ice smiles against your skin, calloused hands running a path down your body until they reach your soiled thighs and give you a mischievous squeeze. “Guess you’ll just have to be more careful.”

You guffaw. “Of what? Talking with people?”

“You’re mine, and I don’t share,” he hums, nuzzling his agreement into the crook of your neck. “ Especially not with Mitchell.”

if you add a :readmore: to your post, it'll make it shorter so it doesn't make it so difficult to scroll down on tags.

And I just found out something new😂 I didn't know about it. This will come in handy, thanks!