#and learn they can watch videos to learn how to play on their own

[polarisbibliotheque]

Silly writer things and some musical ramblings

*sigh* just a little silly writing update to you all before I come back with serious stuff, shattering whole worlds, making you cry over feels for these unhinged half-demons,

I 100.000% blame my sister for throwing me back into my Richie Sambora crush and I must warn you all it will show in the next things I write for Dante - we'll have 'you yee'd your last 'haw' silly red devil in these premises soon enough and I regret nothing.

Though Dante will be more like this, probably

Before you guys ask, it's the Bon Jovi docuseries. I first listened to them when I was 6 y/o, probably, and Livin' on a Prayer was the first song I felt things I didn't even know I could feel with music. I saw Richie singing and playing, bam, love at first guitar chord.

Plus, Wanted Dead or Alive is one of Dante's life anthems, he would sing and play it 10/10 dressed like Richie, I'll die on this hill. I'll leave you with the video that made me go "I wanna be a badass guitar player someday":

(and some of my music ramblings under the cut for those interested in it, feel free to not read it but give the video a shot! Seriously. It's a very long ramble, though you might learn a thing or two on music!)

OK! MUSICAL SHENANIGANS!

Little disclaimer: I'm just getting back to it, so sorry for blabbering about this here - I kinda need an outlet and I have no one else to talk to about all this. Music has been my best friend ever since I was a kid and I had to muffle it for a very long time in my life, I'm just now coming back to life and it feels amazing!

I had piano classes at school, but I always wanted to play and learn things that weren't quite in the curriculum...

Hence why I got used to watching videos and observing musicians extensively. It's kinda creepy actually

So, Richie has a triple neck guitar here, first time I ever saw one. The first neck, I think it's something close to a mandolin, second neck a normal 6 strings guitar, third neck a 12 strings guitar - basically, 2 strings instead of just one like a regular guitar. The 12 strings is the one that gives Wanted Dead or Alive that cowboy feels to it.

Now, that behemoth of a guitar must weight a fucking ton. My normal, 6 strings stratocaster already weights like hell - don't ever be fooled by those guitarists manhandling their guitars around like nothing 'cause those things are heavy - imagine a triple threat like that. No wonder he plays most of it sitting down.

Hence why Dante can play and wield Nevan like it's made of cardboard, it's his demonic side showing, that showoff

Another thing to note, is that when he gets his electric guitar, his strap is adjusted so his guitar isn't super low on his body... And he doesn't look like young Beatles with the guitars on their chests. He looks cool, I can play my guitar like Richie and I'll be cool, 'cause I CAN'T for THE LIFE OF ME play with my guitar almost on my knees. I personally find it easier and better to play like he does.

My arms aren't that long, I'm pocket-sized, thanks Richie for avenging me back in the 80's and looking cool regardless.

And size has nothing to do with it, 'cause this man is big - and I say that by his hands. My main pet peeve with guitarists worldwide: men have big hands and can wrap them easily around the guitar necks and play 5 finger chords using their thumbs like it's nothing.

Not exclusive to men, though: my sister can do the same, but she doesn't play anything. Blessings were wasted on her :')

Nevertheless, I love watching guitarists hands and how they do stuff: how they hold their picks, how they play the notes, how they move their hands. Richie has wonderful hands and hand movements, and there's a lot to learn there by carefully watching him play.

For instance: I can rest assured I'm not learning alternate picking and training to play faster wrong, 'cause Richie rests his pinky finger of his rhythm hand on the guitar while picking the strings and it's exactly what I naturally do.

I can ditch all those "5 things you're doing wrong when playing guitar!! Avoid this!! Bet you're doing the 3rd example!!" videos, 'cause if Richie Fucking Sambora plays like this, then I'm not doing it wrong, just differently. It gives you some reassurance if you don't have a teacher or if your teacher is an asshole.

I hate people who put so many rules in music. I'm kinda like Barbossa, the Code (theory) is more of a guideline than rules set in stone, anyway. I'm learning theory, but I personally believe the ~feeling~ is more important

One thing I always do, is watch where they play on the fret and their rhythm hand movement, and I managed to figure out some songs I had trouble with just by watching them playing live.

Figured out the C9 chord while watching this video of Richie and "why isn't he playing the C chord that I play when I learned this song?" because the man knows best and taught me a thing or two I didn't know ;)

Hahahaha so, my fellow musicians, I do this with all instruments. I learn the chords, but I always watch thoroughly various videos of the guys who made the songs playing live so I can double, triple, quadruple check if I'm doing it right or how to get unstuck in a particularly annoying part I cannot figure out for the life of me.

You know those videos people make of musicians playing live on social media? Currently I'm getting a lot of Nameless Ghouls on my instagram hahahaha and said videos are WONDERFUL to watch hands and learn. I have a hand issue

And I'll end this on: Richie's ragged voice singing his part of the song at the end does things to me. Sorry Jon. But Richie snatched my heart right then and there.

I hope you guys who were patient enough to read this learned something from it and NOW I shall go write a little more and go to sleep, 'cause it's almost 2 a.m over here and I think it's showing :)

[cloudster-clown]

I am trying SO HARD not to look at echoes of wisdom spoilers + fanart. But the demon inside me wants to.

[freakied]

if you asked me what i want most in life i would say world peace, and then if you asked me what i really want most in life i would say fiancé!satoru being so obsessed with your engagement ring that he only wants handjobs for a week!!!!

its the pretty jewels moving up and down on his cock with your hand, of course, its mesmerizing! he's always thought your hands were so pretty, but now that your left one is decorated with a (ridiculously expensive) ring that he had brought, just the sight alone makes his dick jump...

so, once you get home from a late night out together one night, you had put satoru to sleep one time with a handjob. and as he was laying back and watching through his pretty lashes as your ring moved up and down with his building pleasure, he got a taste for your touch in a way he hasn't known before.

he was so obsessed with your ringed fingers wrapped around his cock that he wasn't even embarrassed when he came within minutes.if nothing else, the sight of his sticky cum dripping down over your ring was enough to turn this into a thing.

you don't know whether to be offended or not when the next night, you're kneeling down between his spread legs and itching for a taste of him, when he asks very sweetly if you could use your hand instead.

but you oblige, because he whines even louder now when you're stroking his thick, veiny length. he moans like he's in heat, because it's not only the sight of your ring that gets him going, it's what it represents. that he has access to you like this, to the intimate sides of you that no one else will ever see, for the rest of his life!

he's also the type of man to buy himself a matching engagement ring, so he has his own little decoration to symbolise his commitment to you. and once he learns that he can enjoy your engagement bands in other ways, sex progresses from handjobs to a whole new horizon of pleasure that didn't exist before you got engaged.

like when he has you on your back, legs locked around his waist to prevent him from going anywhere as he pistons into you, he's able to watch his ringed finger wrap around your neck and press down ever so gently. the glint of light that his ring catches when he's playing with your breath makes him twitch inside of you: and the look on your face tells him that you enjoy it just as much as him.

or when you're riding him, setting the pace as his fingers dig into your waist to ground himself. you reach up and troke the side of his face with your left hand, just to push your ring and middle finger into his mouth and press down on his tongue. his lips wrap around the ring on your finger and your poor fiancé can't help but reach orgasm there and then!

even when you're not having sex, it stays a thing. like when he's busy and missing you while he's away for work. and you send him a video that he opens in private to be met with the sight of your ringed-finger pushing deep into your cunt in a desperate attempt to emulate what he feels like inside of you. of course he ends up stroking himself in the nearest toilet or locked room, recording his own ring literally blurring from how fast he's jerking his cock to the thought of you needy and missing your fiancé at home.

everything sexual has to involve your rings, one way or another. he's taking nudes with his hand holding your tits together to show off his ring. he's holding onto your thighs so tight when tasting you that you're left with an indentation of his ring in your skin when he's done.

imagine how bad it gets when you actually get married.

thank u for all the love and welcoming me to tumblr i luv it here awww hopefully this was okay !! if ur reading this you're officially a resident of avivanation and its MY turn to welcome YOU! so welcome ^.^

[buildthoughts]

Minecrafters Using Reference

Reference as in real world architecture, not other minecrafters' builds, though that's a fair way to learn too. Studying real world architecture gives insights about designing buildings, while studying other minecrafters would give insight into how to accomplish certain effects in Minecraft.

I didn't have more than passing interest in architecture before watching mcyt, but now whenever I'm outside, I'm evaluating the buildings around me. Do I like their shape? color? Any interesting details? Any wear or texture? And above all: How would you do that detail/shape/etc in minecraft? (please note: I don't even play minecraft)

Rendition and Inspiration

There's a minecraft project called BuildtheEarth that's replicating the earth in minecraft on a 1 to 1 scale. There's some fantastic builds on there.

On hermitcraft, Joe Hills is known for creating to scale renditions of real world places/objects. In season 10, he's tackled a project of massive scale with Bell Labs. He used a map from the library of congress to layout all the shapes!

These are examples of renditions/replicas/copies/whatever you want to call it (Although Joe's doubles as a community build area in place of massive parking lots).

Then there's using the buildings for inspiration. This may involve just taking bits and pieces. Or maybe you just take a color palette. Or maybe just the shape. Maybe you don't take anything but vibes. As a general rule, I think having multiple sources of inspiration is important so the new build doesn't end up feeling like a rendition instead of its own thing.

Bdubs in season 9 used the bakery from Kiki's Delivery Service as inspiration for his mud cafe. It can be seen in the wood framing, the stairs, the archway, the shape, the shed, the chimney designs. But the colors, the composition, Bdubs made changes that made it his own and combined the addition to his previous shop Moss o Menos.

The aesthetics of Geminitay's season 10 base is based on the video game Dredge. I feel like the most obvious influence is in her research castle and fishing boats. She used inspiration from the spooky sea creatures in the game to create a uniquely frightening angler shop.

In Pearl's Build a Day series, she did a week focused on real world places. Here's the one she designed after a countryside home in Australia (her home country):

Goodtimeswithscar in season 7, when starting Aqua Town, based his shop on old department stores:

I like looking at his Aqua Town builds in comparison to his Scarland Main Street facades, which draw additional inspiration from Disneyland:

I feel like, comparing the builds you can see how he's grown; he's learned new detailing tricks, found colors and textures that work better with the architecture style. The main street has a similar layout to Disneyland, but his buildings are all unique.

Mogswamp is working on a massive build that's based on architecture drawings from Renzo Picasso:

He's incorporating groin vaults from roman architecture too!

I think builders learning about existing architecture is so good. It can give them so many ideas to add into their toolbox. It reminds them of small details that give builds life, like small sheds, some pipes, porches. And the builds don't need to be realistic; My mind goes to work by Shovel and Joel. Or everything Mumbo has done in season 10.

[angrythingstarlight]

Can see this being roommate!Bucky

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPRcGCfkW/

Tell me why I saw a comment that said: I've watched my husband down a whole team just cause they downed me first. He definitely got the gak gak that night. 😂😂

-gif/idea anon

Roommate Bucky is always ready to defend you. And you—you're about to learn firsthand why gamers are notorious for being good with their fingers.

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

WC: 2K

CW: Size kink, Beefy Bucky being absolutely massive, praise, degradation, choking, hand kink, fingering, overstimulation, hint of voyeurism, video game violence.

AN: Written on my phone, unbetad. This isn't based on any game in particular. It's just an excuse to write a little bit o' smut.

“No. No. Nonononono.” 

YOU’RE DEAD flashes across the screen mocking you as your avatar’s bullet-riddled body fades into the abyss. You slump in the oversized gaming chair, tossing your controller on the desk. Jeers ring in your headset and you rip it off, throwing it next to the controller. She was so pretty. It took you ages to find one you liked and could pair with the cute outfit you picked.

The guys on your team didn’t even give you a chance. Who takes out one of their own? These jackasses apparently.

"You okay?" Heavy footsteps resound behind you. Glancing up, you see your roommate strolling into the living room. Your heart races at the sight of him. He’s gorgeous. No one should look this good.

Deep blue eyes framed by long lashes. Beard neatly trimmed, enhancing his jaw. He's wearing a pair of loose grey sweats that cling to his muscular thighs, long brunet locks, damp from the shower, curl around his nape. No shirt of course.

Your eyes follow a bead of water that rolls down his massive chest and goes into the valley of his ridged abs. It hits the band of his navy blue boxers peeking out from his pants and your mouth goes dry imagining what's hidden under those layers of cotton.

While you’re busy ogling him, he notices the mess you left on his desk and the start over screen on his gaming computer. “What happened, bunny?” 

The reminder of that stupid game has your frustation and anger returning in droves and it overtakes your burgeoning lust. You explain how the guys, his gaming buddies, decided to fuck with you by taking you out in a flurry of friendly fire when they realized Bucky wasn’t in the room. The longer you speak, detailing all the nasty things they said to you, the more his features harden, a muscle ticking away in his clenched jaw.  

“Huh,” he mutters under his breath. Bucky ambles over to the chair and lifts you out of it like you weigh nothing to him, considering what he benches for fun, you know you don’t. He sits down and arranges you over his thick thighs, your back resting against his warm, bare chest. He leans forward, picking up the controller and headset.

 It's not the first time, you've sat on his lap during one of his gaming marathons, Bucky says you help him play better.

“What are you doing?” You ask, canting your head back, his body wash, fresh cedar and vanilla, wafts over you and it takes everything in you not to drop your face into his chest and just inhale him. 

The corner of his lip lifts into a smirk. “You’ll see.” 

Adjusting the headset, he takes the controller in both hands, his corded biceps that are bigger than your head brush against the sides of your breasts.

If he feels the shiver that wracks down your body, he doesn’t comment on it. He never does.

The controller looks so small in his large hands, your gaze follows the veins lining the back of them as his fingers nimbly manipulate the buttons. A rush of heat spreads through you when he rests his chin on your shoulder.

You try to clench your thighs to quell the ache beating between them, but your legs are dangling over his and you can’t.

“I—I’m not.” The lie is obvious even to your ears. He hums noncommittally, but you feel his arms press closer to your body, pushing your tits together. 

You shift on his lap, freezing in place when you feel his chest rise and fall against your back, his deep, knowing laugh rolls across your skin. He teaaes, “don’t tell me you're needy already, bunny?” 

Sometimes you can't tell if he's teasing or not. You asked once and he just grinned like tie answer should be obvious.

“Sure you’re not,” Bucky casually retorts after a man appears on the screen. His guy is more menacing than your avatar, tall and flanked in dark green camouflage, face concealed by a skull mask. Weapons rotate next to him, eventually stopping on a machine gun. Static crackles through his headset and he’s dropped onto a rooftop. “I’m back fuckers.” 

Various greetings trickle through, only to be cut short when it becomes apparent that Bucky is going on a rampage. He storms across the building. Player after player goes down. Some you don’t even see until they fall to their death. 

“Aw c’mon.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Seriously, what the fuck Barnes–” 

He’s ruthless. Headshots. Stabbing. More headshots. Your already damp panties are drenched when you point out the one that shot you first, and Bucky’s guy stomps the fuck out of Walker6969 before snapping his neck. A slightly undignified giggle slips past your lips when you hear his obnoxious complaint about Bucky not playing fair. Oh. Fucking. Well. More curses filter through his headset as he absolutely decimates the field. 

Bucky tilts his face towards you with a blithe smirk, taking out another player without missing a beat. “I warned you shitstains that you better be nice to my girl.” 

It’s not long before there’s no one left. Bucky tosses the control down, and wraps his arm around your belly, and leans back, taking you with him. “Feel better?” 

“Yeah,” you reply sincerely, both impressed at his skill and pleased that he was so willing to defend you. “Thank you.” 

“You really want to thank me, Bunny?” he whispers in your ear, nipping the lobe with a soft bite. 

Your breath hitches. His hands curve under your knees, placing your legs over the armrests. “I asked you a question,” Bucky states, his tone domineering and dark. 

You struggle to find any answer, but you can’t think with your roommate’s warm hand sliding down your shorts and cupping pussy and all you can do is whimper.

“You’re soaked,” he teases, tracing a finger down the middle of your clothed cunt. His touch is light, so light, but it sends a zap through your clit. “Could feel this hot little pussy throbbing on me. Practically begging for my cock,” Heat fans up the back of your neck and spreads to your face. He could feel that? Before you can drown in embarrassment, he’s kissing his way across your shoulder. ”Need me to get rid of this ache, don’t you?”

You want your roommates hands on you more than anything in this world. You’ve thought about this so many times, you can’t believe it’s happening. His touch feels better than you dreamed. His other hand travels a leisurely, gradual path up your shirt, moving your bra out of the way so he can roll your sensitive nipple between his rough fingers. 

Another slow sweep over your pussy, just skimming your pulsating, swollen clit. It’s not enough. “Please,” you whine out, grinding down over his growing bulge. He’s getting bigger and bigger under you. 

“Please what? Hmm, bunny, please what?” He cruelly taunts, pinching your nipple until your back arches off his chest. “Use your words.” 

You cry out, the spark of pain fades into a heady, warm pleasure. “Touch me.” 

You feel his lips curve into a smile, his teeth scrape over your throat. His thumb presses down your clit and goes still. “I am touching you.” 

This is unbearable.

You’ve never been so wet in your life and he hasn’t done anything. You need him so badly it hurts.

Your pussy clenches down on nothing, you feel so empty.

“Bucky, I need you, need your fingers inside me, please fuck me,” you babble, willing to say anything to get more of him. 

He doesn’t make you wait long. Without warning, he pushes your panties aside and a thick, calloused finger slides inside you. 

“Tight little thing, aren’t you?” he remarks, adding another. Bucky used to everything being small compared to him. You are no exception. He doesn’t give you time to get used to the stretch before he starts scissoring you open, working your hot, wet cunt until he can give you one more finger. Bucky crooks his fingers, and he finds that elusive spot, the one you swore didn’t exist until now. He finds it again. And again. And again. White-hot sensations make you curl in yourself, your thighs trembling. The rough pads of his thick fingers languidly working that sensitive spot as he moves to your other nipple, plucking it into a hard peak.

“That’s your spot huh?” He asks with a cocky rasp. He knows. You told him by the way your moans went all breathy and softy and you started grinding on his cock like a greedy slut being to be filled. Judging by the way he can barely fit three fingers inside you, he knows his cock is going to split you in two. He can’t wait.

“Oh god,” you breathe out, clawing deep marks in the leather under your hands.

The wet schlick schlick schlick of your pussy with every knuckle-deep thrust of his fingers is pornographic.

Right around the second or third time, you clench down around him; he decides he’s going to film you, put your pretty pussy front and center on his flatscreen across from his bed, and make you watch as he fucks you the same way you’re fucking yourself on his fingers, your hips rolling back and forth, grinding your ass over his throbbing cock. Gonna make you watch as you struggle to keep every inch inside you, make you watch him fuck you stupid. 

“Look at you making a mess all over me. Should make you clean it when you’re done. Gonna have you keep my cock warm while I finish the game.” The debauched image of you sitting on his cock while he plays flashes through your mind and a desperate moan builds in your throat, spilling out of your parted lips. “Yeah, you’re going to let me use this sweet cunt any time I want, gonna turn you into my personal fuckdoll.” 

His thumb swipes over your clit, once, twice. Sensations burn through your veins, your body feels so hot and tight, like you’re on the edge of imploding. His hand leaves your nipple and grabs your throat, the sudden pressure makes your head feel light. “Oh god." Right there, fuck he just has to keep doing that, you’re so close, he just has to stay right there. 

It’s like he can read your mind because he does, going harder and harder, giving you everything you need. “C’mon bunny, let me have it, give it to me.” 

“Fuck yesyesyes, don’t stop please don’t–” you sob, the start of your orgasm sparks inside you. 

“Not gonna tell you again, cum for me right the fuck now,” he rasps in your ear, squeezing tightly as he slams into your cunt, his thumb circling your clit faster and faster. His fingers catch your spot again, the pressure so good and so right that it sends you over the edge. Your orgasm barreling over you, wringing pleasure from every nerve in your body, and you gush around him.

“There it is, that’s my girl,” he praises, his words lost over the steady roar in your ears. He fucks you through it, drawing it out, only stopping after your vision blurs and you let out a pathetic noise, somewhere between a whimper and a sob, but you feel too good to care how you sound.

You’re a mess—limbs trembling and weak, still so lightheaded, you can't lift your head, letting it loll lazily over his broad shoulder. He gently takes his fingers out of your pulsating cunt and holds it up, the evidence of your release dripping down to his wrist. He brings his long index finger to his mouth, sucking it dry with a grin. “Damn, you taste good.”

"I–fuck Bucky that was amazing." You grab the armrests and push yourself up.

“Where ya goin’? I didn’t say I was done with you,” Bucky says, his hand loose around your throat as he brings you back down. "I was jus' getting you warmed up."

Oh.

He grinds against your ass, his heavy cock digging into you. He's so big. Despite the fact that you're still on an orgasmic high, you want more. You want Bucky.

“You still gonna thank me Bunny?"

And I—

Roommate!Bucky has returned!

[arijackz]

PICK A CARD: How You Hypnotize

❤︎ "People are afraid, very much afraid of those who know themselves. They have a certain power, a certain aura and a certain magnetism." - Rajneesh

Disclaimer: This is a general reading, take what resonates. This is a gender-neutral reading, change any pronouns to apply to you.

p1 → p2 ↙︎ p3 → p4

✿ Pile One (5oW, Strength, 8oC, Judgement)

Do you have Mula (Sagittarius), Magha (Leo), or Ashwini (Aries) placements? You’re giving off some serious last-one-standing energy. Mula is particularly known for its ability to defy all odds, taking down a “beast” that seems far stronger through wit and quick resolve. It embodies the Belle archetype—well-read, gentle, and kind—able to reign in even the most formidable challenges. This energy suggests a remarkable strength in navigating difficult situations, using intelligence and empathy to emerge victorious.

Life has tried you, pushed you to the brink, and dangled you over a cliff. All while a crowd of people whooped and hollered, rooting for your demise.

But guess what… you’re the one sitting pretty on top of a mountain while everyone else is where?… oh, AT THE BOTTOM OF THE FUCKING CLIFF!

I didn’t plan this reading to be so… boastful? But you deserve to puff your chest out, babe.

You’ve had enemies. Honestly, this isn’t common. When the average person hears about somebody having a lot of “haters” they brush it off and assume that person just has a big head. However, that’s your reality. Your energy triggers people so they consider you a threat to whatever they have going on. For some of you, this could be your own family or closest friends. 

There’s a quiet, obsessive intensity behind your eyes. The fire element is prominent in this reading, indicating a deep, aching desire to consume, burn, and clear everything in your path. While you may feel exhausted from a lifetime of battles, your soul thrives on challenges, igniting a fierce determination within you. This duality fuels your passion, pushing you to confront obstacles head-on, even when the struggle feels overwhelming. Embrace that fire; it’s not just a source of exhaustion, but also a wellspring of resilience and transformation.

🎵YOU KNOW WHEN TO HOLLLDDD ‘EM, KNOWW WHEN TO FOOLLDD ‘EMM, KNOW WHEN TO WALLKKK AWAY, KNOW WHEN TO RUUUUUNNNNNN! 🎵

Your intelligence transcends mere book smarts and common sense, creating an incredibly hypnotic aura around you. Your situational awareness allows you to navigate social dynamics effortlessly, running circles around people, and leaving them tangled in their own webs of thought. You’re scarily smart, a strategic thinker who sees layers others miss. There’s a striking contrast between your physical appearance and the cunning nature beneath the surface; you may look like a doll, seemingly delicate and innocent, but there’s a fierce and dangerous intellect at play. This duality not only captivates those around you but also keeps them guessing about your next move. You also possess incredible endurance—not just in a physical sense, but in your ability to withstand a remarkable amount of bullshit that would have caused most people to tap out long ago.

People look at you and think, “How?” How are you still standing, and how did you manage to come out on top? This aura of resilience draws some people in, compelling them to want to learn your secrets. However, not everyone’s interest is innocent; for some, it morphs into a dark obsession, pushing them to challenge your resolve and see if they can crack your thick skin. This dynamic creates a complex dance around you, where admiration and envy intertwine.

P.S. Even if you’re not Ketu dominant or a Mula native, please watch Claire Nakti’s, The “Final Girl” Astrological placement research video, you will definitely resonate. If you comment, tell them AriJackz from Tumblr sent you!

Okay bye, MUAH 💋

✿ Pile Two (Knight of Pentacles, 2oS, Strength, 7oC (S?), The Star, Judgemental, Short, Melancholic, 4oP)

“HEART BEEN BROKE SO MANY TIIMMESSS

I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO BELIEVEEE

MAMA SAYS IT’S MY FAULLT, IT’S MY FAULLTTT

I WEAR MY HEART OF MY SLEEEEVVVEEEE!”

It’s not your fault, baby! Bitches are just greedy 🙄

This is straightforward, you’re a star! You have that undeniable je ne sais quoi, ¿Cómo se dice… “Everyone wants to be them” energy. As a multi-faceted individual, you possess countless layers that draw people in. Each aspect of your personality holds a unique appeal, making it so that there’s a piece of you that everyone desires. This captivating nature not only sets you apart but also invites beggars who benefit from being near your energy. 

You’re not consciously aware of this power and that’s what makes it great; it’s not manipulated or curated, you just are. In your younger years, you were like a fairy prancing around with a basket of love, giving away pieces of your heart to anyone who looked your way with sad little-kicked puppy eyes. 

However, the world is full of greedy hands that have no intention of giving as much as they receive. You were born with a heart of gold and encountered these all-consuming energies quite early in life, prompting you to spend your adolescence developing discernment and better judgment to avoid getting burned again. This journey has shaped you into someone who values authenticity and reciprocity, allowing you to navigate relationships with a keen awareness of what truly nurtures your spirit.

Even if you don’t feel you have anything explicitly special about you, everyone else sees that you do! In a world where many feel boring and unoriginal in their own skin, your vibrant energy can be a source of irritation for those who struggle with their own identity. Your unique shine serves as a reminder of what they lack, sparking feelings of envy or frustration.

Although, that doesn't mean they won’t play nice in your face while robbing you blind behind your back. You learned this the hard way. 

“There's an old saying in Tennessee — I know it's in Texas, probably in Tennessee — that says, fool me once, shame on — shame on you. Fool me — you can't get fooled again.” - George W. Bush

YOU DON’T PLAY. You hold your magic close to your chest and are very weary of possible leeches. This guardedness reflects your hard-won wisdom; you know how precious your energy is and are selective about who gets to share in it. THIS IS HYPNOTICCCC.

Your presence is exclusive; not just anyone gets to brush shoulders with you. This rarity makes people eager to be seen as special enough to get close to you. You have options—a variety of choices in friends, partners, lovers—and that selectivity only heightens the allure. People yearn to be among the few you hand-select to join your inner circle, hoping to share in your energy and insights. This creates a magnetic pull, as they aspire to earn a place in your life.

If you didn’t know this, I’m telling you now. Look back on your social interactions and the slick words said to you, probably people accusing you of thinking you’re the shit (you are), and you’ll see just how much of a star you are. 

P.S. Some of you are tiny little spitfires. I don’t think that’s important, but I felt inclined to mention it. If so, that adds to the allure. 5 foot nothing but your attitude is 10 feet tall.

Okay bye, MUAH 💋

✿ Pile Three (Knight of Pentacles, 2oS, Strength, 7oC (S?), The Star, Judgemental, Short, Melancholic, 4oP)

You’re a storm, baby. I know I got some Adra natives in the cleerrb!

A few days ago, my 59-year-old neighbor and I were walking around the park, it was eerily quiet- no children were playing in the field and the trees were the stillest I had ever seen. Breaking the silence, she told me about a belief in ancient Hindu folklore that on days when the sky is framed in dark, dense clouds and the winds are still- not a single gust rustling the trees- the Earth is waiting with weighted breath for the outcome of a long-withstanding battle against good and evil.

She said that when I woke up the next morning, to check the news and see if a famous politician or some powerful person behind the scenes had died- thus being defeated. I checked; a few notable names had passed but the stand-out thing that happened was a vision I saw in a dream where an ex-friend sent me a letter in the mail admitting to some harmful actions I had growing suspicions about. This finally put my mind at ease and reaffirmed my gut intuition. 

I don’t know how to say this without sounding so… metaphorical/poetic, but you’re the person divine consciousness sends to represent the light’s grand victory. You are the embodiment of a prevailing soul. With all ten swords in your back, you’ll get up again and again. 

You’re not sent to the world as the Universe’s sparkling trophy because of luck; no, you’re highly regarded because you walked the same path, you’re no stranger to going to war and coming out with more than a few bumps and scrapes. 

This is not a flashy victory. Not like in the movies where you get ganged up on by bullies, pull out karate moves, whoop some ass, and come out looking like an underdog. This war consists of consecutive, painstaking setbacks and challenges slowly chipping away at your character, leaving behind a shell of a person for you to pick the pieces up and rebuild stronger. It’s a series of quiet battles fought within, where the scars aren’t always visible but the growth is profound. Every moment of doubt, every instance of perseverance, shapes you in ways that aren’t always glamorous but are deeply transformative.

You have scars that manifest as art, each one a mark of survival. Artistic souls look at you and see a single tree still standing after a hellish storm—roots deep in resilience, branches reaching for the light. Each scar is a testament to your journey, a story etched into your skin, reminding the world that even after the fiercest winds, life is reborn with greater tenacity to endure and thrive. 

You carry a thick atmosphere with you, whenever you’re coming the Earth seems to hold its breath to await you. You’re not abrasive or stand-offish, conversely, you’re quite soft, well-balanced, and can even be romantic at times. But that only emphasizes the sharp, heaviness of your presence. 

Yea, we all go through shit but do we all come out the other end with an open heart and willingness to live life optimistically? Fuck no 😭😭.

Somehow... you do and that’s hypnotic as fuck, my love! It’s like, hOW?! Even if people didn’t see the wars you fought, your backbone poses itself like a warrior’s. The way you carry yourself speaks volumes; it imprints on the minds of others far more than words ever could. Your presence is magnetic, a silent testament to your strength and resilience. Talking is just the bare bones of communication; it’s your spirit, your aura, that truly captivates. 

LMAO you’re the type to say less than five words to someone and they’re running back to their friends telling them you’re different from everyone else.

P.S. Your key to bagging anyone you want is your eyes, learn to flirt with your eyes. 

Okay bye, MUAH 💋

✿ Pile Four (The Emperor, Ace of Wands, 3oS, Judgement, The Fool, courageous, Spiritual, Observant, Self-assured, Thirsty, Aimless)

Hmmm, you’re a playboy, stay far away from my easily attached heart, DEMON 🫵.

I’M PLAYING. But for real, you knew the answer to this question before you chose the pile LMFAO.

You’re just plain sexy! That’s it! You’re vivacious and a smooth talker; you like to razzle dazzle your way into people’s minds where your imprint overstays its welcome, making them sick with their lack of permanent access to you.

You’re a social butterfly, flying from person to person, pollinating them with the attention they yearn for, and then flying off to the next adventure, leaving them dizzy with the need to catch and keep you in a cutely decorated mason jar with poked holes up top. Of course, this would kill you, so stay how you are, beautiful!

This might be a bit explicit, but you have a unique way of stirring people’s desires. You don’t need to be overtly sexual; it’s your rare lack of fear of rejection that draws people in. At least, that’s how others see it. In a social world laced with fear, you seem to have an optimistic mentality where, “Every shot you don’t take, you miss.” So you are one of the few humans who aren’t riddled with worries about how you’re perceived and people’s judgments of your character. What is rare is wildly hypnotic.

People thirst over you, like foaming-at-the-mouth rabid dog ARFF ARFF BARK BARK type of thirst… in silence. You are actually way too intimidating to approach. Male or female, socially, people perceive you as high quality and assume you get a lot of attention that the everyday person can not compete with, so they only daydream from afar. 

You’re arm candy. Throughout writing this I pictured famous videos of celebrities like Angelina Jolie, Jhene Aiko, and Chris Evans seducing and unnerving the interviewer through subtle actions. Like the other piles, your aura is the dominant communicator and it doesn’t take much for you to get a mf barking. 

People fear you’ll break their hearts, but funnily enough, you’ve entertained one or two losers in the past and left relationships with a few scars and stories you have to sniffle through to tell. But that’s okay; those experiences teach us how to discern who deserves to be in our lives and who doesn’t. You only let them in because you try not to discriminate, and truly just have a deep passion for connection with anyone and everyone you encounter. Never change, you’re the flame the rest of us moths flock to.

P.S. Discernment and trusting your judgment is a lifelong study; don’t beat yourself if someone who you thought had your best interest at heart, doesn’t in reality. Count that towards your research, dust yourself off, and try again. You’re too brave to let a liar stop your ability to enjoy human company. 

Okay bye, MUAH 💋

[readwritealldayallnight]

reader who is flexible / does yoga x simon who gets really flustered watching it? 👀

During those first few months of living together as flatmates, having gone from strangers who happened to have a friend in common to sharing a bedroom wall within 24 hours, you both learned a lot about each other

On your end, you learned that his presence in the flat was a rarity, gone for days if not weeks at a time before coming home. Even then, he usually was only back for short periods of time, most of it spent sleeping

You do discover that he’s an early riser however, much to your chagrin when the sound of his routine post workout shower wakes you up before the sun has ever risen

You learn that he’s a decent enough cook, but will always insist on helping in some way if he finds you in the kitchen working on something, no matter how simple or complicated the dish is

Over time you even find out how he prefers his tea in the morning and when you get the chance, try and surprise him with a warm drink waiting for him after his shower

When you know that he prefers to keep the flat a little cooler than you usually have it, you’ll turn the thermostat down a degree just before he comes home, just as he’s gotten into the habit of turning it back up for you on his way out, the gesture going unspoken between the two of you

Simon also learns a lot about you in the time since you’ve moved in

He learns all about your taste in music, a melody never not playing in the background of whichever room you’re occupying, often telling him the name of a song or artist you can tell he likes from the way his foot will tap or fingers will drum against his thigh

He discovers you’re a bit of a night owl, often hearing you in the kitchen baking some dessert or another at midnight, or talking on the phone with a friend. He never minds though. In one case he wakes up to sweet treats in the morning, and the other he gets to overhear your even sweeter voice chirping and giggling. And if one time a smile of his own graces his lips when he hears you telling your friend how you’re loving the new flat, and your flatmate “isn’t so bad on the eyes either”, then who’s complaining?

He finds out what your favourite take out food is, often surprising you with something on his return home, definitely not blushing under the mask if it earns him a hug or peck on the cheek as thanks

But one thing Simon learns about you early on, something that he thinks about not just at home but on base, in briefings, on missions, on helis and jets and trucks, is how part of your daily routine, is doing fucking yoga in the living room.

He’s been in countless situations most civilians could never even dream up, let alone withstand, and Simon under the mask that is Ghost always stays as cool and collected as any seasoned vet would

But seeing you in sweatpants, or leggings, or even worse when you’re wearing those shorts of yours, strolling into the living room with your yoga mat tucked under your arm, his pants instantly tighten every single time, knowing what’s to come (or rather who’s to c-)

Following along to your instructional video playing on the telly, paying him no mind as he sits in the adjoining kitchen as you bend into position after position, simply doing your nightly routine as you have for years now, unknowingly putting your flatmate through a torture he’s never endured before

Every time he’s lucky enough to witness you stretching your limbs, contorting your body into poses he couldn’t fathom doing himself, he finds his dreams that night filled with the very same images of you, though wearing far less clothing, and in his bed instead of a yoga mat, though he would take you anywhere let’s be honest

He always waits for you to finish your routine, be it a quick 15 minute stretch or a nearly hour long session, he remains and watches you until you leave, before he dares to stand with his arousal on full display through his pants, rushing to his room or bathroom to take care of business

He learns that he’s never felt more intense pleasure at his own hand than when he thinks of you, when he has has your face and body freshly imprinted on his mind as he finishes, imagining the heaven that it must be to have the real thing rather than his calloused fist

It’s interesting you see

You really like Simon, and you like when he’s home, like getting to know him and spend more time with him

And if you happen to learn that when you do your yoga routine out where he can see you, that he suddenly spends a lot more time in the flat than on base, coming home more and more often, no matter how short his stay is… well, who’s complaining?

[cicidarkarts]

Ways to connect with your f/o (a list for slow living and mindful moments)

♡ Go for a walk and imagine you're holding their hand

♡ Try to make your f/o's favorite foods

♡ If you'd prefer to be pampered, when you make food, put it down with a little love note from your f/o saying how happy they were to make it for you, and that they hope you enjoy it (even if it's just a sandwich or something small!)

♡ Bake bread with your f/o

♡ Go on a picnic with your f/o

♡ Use pictures of them on your phone or computer to body double when you do chores or study

♡ Use pictures of them on your phone or computer to play video games or watch movies and shows with them

♡ Along that same vein, watch something that they expressed interest in—or that you think they'd really like—and imagine the comments they'd make about their favorite media

♡ Print out a picture or use photos on your phone or computer to have a romantic candlelit dinner with them (even if it's just ramen!)

♡ Buy flowers or a plant from or for your f/o and take care of it

♡ Take up a hobby that they enjoy, even if you're not very good at it—additionally, imagine that your f/o is helping teach you Addition by @uss-moonveil

♡ Curate a playlist using music they would enjoy

♡ Or you can curate a playlist using music with meaningful lyrics about you and your f/o's relationship

♡ Write loving post-it notes or letters from your f/o and leave them around the house for yourself

♡ If you need reminders, write one for yourself in your f/o's voice (for appointments, medicine, to eat, or any aspect where you need a little help—they're so happy to help you!)

♡ Run yourself a bath with bath bombs or bubbles and imagine your f/o made it for you to relax

♡ If you prefer showers: light some candles, use your favorite music, and imagine your f/o set everything up for you

♡ Spend time in nature with your f/o enjoying the sun or the trees or the beach or whatever little safe spots of nature you can find around you

♡ Imagine their voice guiding you through meditative or mindful deep breathing

♡ If your f/o is from a different culture than you, learn about their culture—make food from their culture, immerse yourself in music or media from their culture, and/or learn their language (even if it's just terms of endearment or phrases of their love for you)

♡ On the flipside, have them learn from your culture, too, and be enthralled and surprised by what they learn

♡ Buy or thrift clothes that look like your f/o's so you can wear them

♡ If you have to purchase clothes for yourself, imagine your f/o hyping up every outfit you try on

♡ Buy or thrift trinkets they would own and decorate your home with them

♡ Buy perfumes or colognes that your f/o wears and spray them on your clothes or bed (or scents that remind you of them)

♡ Use shampoos, conditioners, and/or body washes that they'd use so you can have a shared shower space with them

♡ Paint your nails your f/o's favorite color or colors that remind you of them

♡ Read a book you think they would enjoy, and—if you own the book—annotate the margins with little notes for them

♡ Journal your thoughts about them—gush about them, write about their flaws and merits, outline all of your favorite aspects of their physical features or personality, all of the reasons you're grateful to have them in your life, and include lots of little hearts and declarations of love

♡ Alternatively, get a journal that they would have and do the same thing, but in their voice about you

♡ You can also use journals to vent to your f/o so they can read it and help comfort you

♡ When you purchase something online, buy it as a gift and have it sent from your f/o with a love note attached Addition by @nathandrakeisabottom

Remember: your f/o wants you to eat, drink water, remember your meds/vitamins, take care of your hygiene, and exercise! Not for them, but because it will make you feel better—they love seeing you happy!

[geminiwritten]

punishment ; bradley 'rooster' bradshaw

fandom: top gun

pairing: bradley x reader

summary: after performing an impressive but reckless stunt in front of an admiral, you're sent to be babysat by maverick under the cover of a 'tactical training specialist' which means no one can know just how legendary you are... but hangman isn't playing nice and rooster is too nice to ignore

notes: there are no words in any language (real or fictional) for how much i love this man, it's genuinely consuming... but anyway! have some fighter pilot fun! when i reread this, i felt like it didn't hit the way i hoped, but i can't keep rewriting bradley stuff just because i want everything about him to be perfect... so please be kind! and please, please let me know what you think! i actually worked super hard on this (lots of research) and i absolutely love hearing from y'all!

warnings: swearing, italics, hangman is a proper dick, the word 'cannibalism' is used (as a joke), kind of super cheesy, and it gets a bit horny in some places (no actual smut) so 18+ ONLY please!!! (let me know if i missed anything)

disclaimer: there is a lot more navy / pilot wording in this than i usually write. i do not claim that any of it is accurate or correct. i google things and i watch youtube videos, tv shows, and movies. as long as it sounds like it could make sense, i don't care. but please do not assume any of it is absolute fact, and please don't come for me if it's laughably incorrect or unfeasible.

word count: 13863

The bar smells like leather polish and beer. It sounds like a rowdy dive, full of off-duty naval officers and a few old veterans, but it doesn’t look like a dive. It’s clean and full of light, the sun pouring in through the beachside windows and bouncing off every shiny surface it can find. 

You tuck yourself onto the furthest stool at the bar, hiding behind a well-placed pillar to quietly sulk and sip your beer. You’re not interested in conversation today. Not after the ass-whooping you took last week, which landed you on this stupid island in the first place. 

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, and you pull it out to check the text. It’s from Maverick: “0700 sharp. Don’t be late. Khakis.” 

You scoff and stuff it back into the pocket of your leather jacket. Does he really think you’re that dumb? That you’re not going to wear your service khakis on your first day? You’ve got a full day tomorrow of getting chewed out by a whole new slew of admirals. Why would you possibly want to piss them off? 

A smirk tugs at your lips, but you quickly hide it behind a sip of beer. Not that it really matters if anyone notices—they’d probably just think you’re a little crazy, smirking to yourself. No one here knows who you are—at least not by looking at you. Except Maverick, of course. Your new babysitter. 

Just because you pulled off a high-speed, low-level flyby mere feet from the deck of an aircraft carrier while some snooty admiral and a group of very important people were onboard for a very serious demonstration, you get booted from your squad and strapped with a babysitter. 

You didn’t even hit anyone. It was just a very close call. A few people toppled over. But it’s not your fault they didn’t see you coming and brace for jet wash. 

It was actually quite an impressive stunt. 

But the admiral didn’t see it that way. He sent you to learn from one of the Navy’s most notorious rebels about what happens when you break the rules. You’re still not sure why they stuck you with Maverick. Maybe they’re using the logic of ‘two wrongs make a right.’ Either way, that’s one part of this whole shitshow you’re actually relieved about. Maverick’s not a total stick-up-the-ass. 

A voice pulls you out of your spiralling thoughts and back to the bar. “You here alone?”

Your head snaps toward your personal space intruder, bringing you face-to-face with a rather handsome man who is almost definitely too cocky for his own good. 

“That your big opener?” you ask, twisting on the stool to face him. “Because it’s giving more serial killer vibes than fuck-me vibes.” 

He smirks, unbothered by your prickliness. “Enlighten me, then. What would make you wanna fuck me?” 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you take a deep swig of beer, then glance back at him. “About fifteen more years of age and a nice, salt-and-pepper beard.” You slide off the stool and smack your empty pint glass down on the bar. “Sorry, pal. I’m only into DILFs.” 

He rears back, finally unsettled. You flash your prettiest grin and a wink before heading for the doors. 

You almost make it out without looking back—almost. 

Glancing over your shoulder, you spot the man rejoining his table of friends, all of them giggling like idiots. 

All but one. 

He’s got honey-brown hair that curls in the most mesmerising way, catching the sunlight like spun gold. His lips are tipped up at the corner beneath a moustache that shouldn’t be as hot as it is. And when you meet his big brown eyes, you can’t help but bite your lip like a shy little schoolgirl. 

Now, if that man had approached you, you’d probably be halfway to his bed by now. 

- 

You had your khakis dry-cleaned at the seedy little place next to the equally seedy fish and chip shop you found after sulking at the beach for most of Saturday. 

The studio apartment you’re leasing for your three months of punishment is in a block right by the sand—another small win in the grand scheme of things. At least you’re not stuck on base. 

You thought it was a small fuck you to the system to skip the official base dry cleaners and take your uniform somewhere else. 

But it wasn’t worth it. 

Now your khakis are super fucking itchy. They look fine, but every inch of fabric touching you—which is a lot—makes you want to peel your skin off. 

“What’s wrong?” Maverick asks, frowning as he watches you twist and turn in your front-row seat in the training room. 

You sigh, rubbing your back against the chair. “I took my uniform to a dry cleaner near my apartment. Now it’s fucking itchy.” 

Any other CO would rip into you for swearing, but Maverick just chuckles. “Serves you right.” 

Smug prick. 

You take a deep breath and try to settle, ignoring the prickling fabric scraping against your skin. 

“Don’t worry,” he says, shuffling through papers at the desk, “you’ll be in a flight suit soon enough.” 

Your eyes widen. You jump to your feet and step closer to where he’s hunched over the desk at the front of the room. 

“You’re going to let me fly?” 

He chuckles. “Of course.” 

“But-” 

“I cleared it with Admiral Simpson,” he says, flipping a page. “As long as the squad doesn’t know who you really are, and you don’t pull anything totally reckless, you’re cleared to fly.” 

For the first time in two weeks, it feels like you’re finally breaking the surface of the water. “Oh my God. Thank you, Mav.” 

He straightens up, finally giving you his full attention. “You don’t have to thank me. I trust you. Just don’t prove me wrong. And for the record—” he adds, a teasing glint in his eye, “—I know you’re a damn good pilot. In fact, you remind me of someone.” 

The cheeky grin on his lips is completely readable. 

You quirk a brow. “You?” 

He laughs—low, light, and smug. “How’d you guess?” 

You shrug one shoulder, slipping back into your seat. “Because I know Admiral Cain has it out for you. Why else would he saddle you with me if not to punish both of us?” 

Maverick sighs, but the grin stays on his face. “You’re not stupid, I’ll give you that. But you’re dangerous. And honestly, I’m not sure Admiral Cain really thought through what happens when you throw two dangerous people together.” 

You drop your voice low, just in case anyone else is listening. “Maybe Admiral Cain is the stupid one. Underestimating both of us.” 

Maverick tries—and fails—to hide his laughter behind the stack of papers, and you realize that maybe this punishment won’t be quite as punishing as you first thought. 

A few minutes later—and after completely shattering all professional boundaries by getting Maverick to scratch a spot on your back you couldn’t reach—the aviators who make up his special detachment start to arrive. 

You stay low and still in your seat as they file in, one by one, filling up the rows while Maverick stands grinning at the front of the room. Two aviators across the aisle glance at you curiously, like they almost recognize you. God, you hope not. 

“Good morning,” Maverick says, grinning at the room. “Apologies for the late start. I had a meeting with Admiral Simpson this morning because today..." He glances at you and nods for you to stand. “We have someone new joining us.” 

You plaster on a polite smile and scan the room—only to freeze when your eyes land on a familiar face. The guy who approached you at the bar last night. The one you all but told to fuck off. 

A snort of laughter escapes before you can stop it. 

He looks like he’s seen a ghost, his face turning redder by the second. You almost feel bad. Almost. 

“This is our new tactical training specialist,” Maverick continues, oblivious. But then he hesitates, glancing down at his paperwork before looking back up and saying your name—your first name, not your last, and definitely not your callsign. 

Just like Admiral Simpson ordered. No one can know who you really are. 

You open your mouth to say something—anything—but the words get stuck when your gaze drifts a few seats over... and lands on the moustached sex god you locked eyes with across the bar before you left. The one you shamelessly eye-fucked before blushing like a fool, ducking out the door, and mentally writing a very detailed fantasy about that moustache between your legs. 

He’s even hotter in a flight suit. Shit. 

“Uh, anyway,” Maverick says, clearing his throat, “let’s get on with the briefing so we can fly.” 

You sink back into your chair, cheeks burning and heart thudding way too fast against your ribs. 

Maverick drawls on about a few mission updates, occasionally throwing in extra context just for you—over-explaining like you hadn’t already gotten the full briefing before being flown in. You’re still too stunned to speak—or correct him—so you just press your lips together and nod along. 

An hour later, when you’ve almost completely forgotten about your itchy khakis, Maverick dismisses the group and tells them to meet Hondo in the hangar. He calls on the woman seated across the aisle from you—Phoenix—before she can leave with the others, and asks her to show you to the women’s locker room. 

She nods, then turns to you with a small smirk. “It's Natasha, by the way. Feels a little weird calling you by your real name if you don’t know mine.” 

You return the smile—genuine this time—and keep your eyes on her instead of following the sex god in a flight suit walking out the door. “Nice to meet you.” 

She leads the way out, and you follow, assuming she's heading toward the locker rooms. 

“So, you fly?” she asks, nodding at the shiny wings pinned to your chest. 

You nod. “Yep.” 

“Where were you before this?” 

You hesitate, wishing you’d hashed out a backstory with Mav. “Uh… around. It’s… mostly classified.” 

She raises an eyebrow, sharp curiosity gleaming in her big brown eyes. “Or you've been ordered not to tell us.” 

You snort softly. “Yeah, something like that.” 

She guides you down a set of stairs and a short hallway before gesturing toward the women’s locker room. “Just in there. If they’ve assigned you a locker, your flight suit should already be inside.” 

“Thanks, Phoenix.” 

“Anytime.” She turns to go, but pauses, casting one last curious glance your way before smiling, nodding, and walking off. 

You like her. No bullshit. 

With a deep breath, you push the door open and step into the locker room. Sure enough, your flight suit is hanging beside a locker with your first name written in Sharpie on a piece of masking tape slapped across the front. It’s strange, seeing that instead of your callsign—but it confirms that Admiral Simpson is serious about keeping your identity buried. 

You’d heard your little stunt had made waves, but halfway across the country? If they’re hiding your name out here, then yeah—no wonder you’re in trouble. 

Your flight suit doesn’t have your name on it, either. Just a worn Velcro patch that reads ‘INSTRUCTOR’—the kind that looks like it’s been passed around longer than you’ve been in the Navy. Lovely. 

You peel off your khakis, relieved to shove the itchy green material into your locker, and slip your legs into your flight suit. You leave the top half hanging loose as you re-lace your boots and check your reflection in the mirror before heading out of the locker room. 

You turn down the hall without a second glance, awkwardly trying to shove your arms into your suit—only to carelessly bump into someone coming from the opposite direction. 

“Shit, sorry, I-” You choke on your words when you look up at the prettiest damn smirk you’ve ever seen. 

“You’re good,” he says—the moustached sex god. “Need a hand?” 

Normally, no. But right now, your traitorous body is practically catatonic, pretending it’s forgotten how to function just so the sexy man will help you into your flight suit. You’re supposed to be a tactical training specialist, not an inept fool who can’t dress herself. 

“Uh, yeah, actually,” you say, ignoring the screaming voice of feminism in your head. “I don’t know how I got so twisted up.” 

He chuckles—deep and warm, like smoke curling around you, pulling you closer. 

“I’m Bradley, by the way,” he says as he steps behind you. “Or Rooster.” 

Your brain completely short-circuits. You don't even think to respond as his fingertips brush your bare arms, sliding the suit up over your shoulders. Even through your thin t-shirt, the heat of his touch sends a riot of butterflies through your stomach. 

“Thanks.” You turn to face him, digging deep for the confidence that usually fools people into thinking you’re calm and collected. “I might need your number… in case I need a little help undressing later.” 

His face breaks into the most breathtaking grin you’ve ever seen. His cheeks flush pink, his Adam’s apple bobs with a soft chuckle, and when his brown eyes meet yours again, they sparkle so brightly you forget how to breathe. 

“Before I say yes, I need to know… do you usually ask your trainees to help you undress, or am I just special?” 

You laugh softly, your confidence flickering, and start down the hall—walking backward so you can still face him. “Right, because I’m technically an instructor.” You tap the Velcro patch on your chest. “And that would be highly inappropriate.” 

Bradley stands with his hands clasped behind his back, a look of amusement tugging at his mouth. “Highly.” 

“Good thing I’m not exactly known for my propriety.” You flash him your cheekiest smile, then spin around and quicken your pace down the hall. 

You make your way to the hangar—a little breathless from your run-in with the hottest man you’ve ever met—only to be intercepted by Maverick before you can reach the rest of the team. 

“Nothing fancy today, alright?” 

He hands you a dark green, slightly scuffed helmet. 

You frown at it. “But my helmet-” 

“Has your callsign on it.” 

He gives you a pointed look—a silent warning wrapped in patience—before shifting his attention to the squad. 

You roll your eyes as he walks off, then inspect the helmet in your hands, cringing at the cracked lining inside. At least it smells clean. 

After he picks the pilots flying the first drill, everyone heads to their jets. Your fingers twitch with anticipation as you climb into the cockpit, stomach flipping with that familiar mix of nerves and adrenaline. It’s only been a couple of weeks, but it feels like a lifetime. 

Once you're in the air, you follow Maverick’s orders to hang back, constantly reminding yourself that one more slip-up could ground you for good. 

First up: Hangman, Payback, and Fanboy. They’re good, but Hangman is cocky—and there’s a difference between cocky and confident. You’re confident. You know you’re good. And it’s borderline painful to fly like a rookie while he runs his mouth over the comms. 

“Hey Mav,” Hangman says, his voice crackling in your ear. “I’m curious—why do we need a tactical training specialist?” 

“Because you’re not good enough, Hangman. You need to be better,” Maverick replies coolly. 

“With all due respect, sir”—you can practically hear his smirk—“what are we supposed to learn from someone who flies like my grandma drives her Honda Civic?” 

There’s muffled laughter from Payback and Fanboy. 

“Maybe that’s her callsign,” Payback says. “Honda Civic.” 

“I was thinking Grandma,” Fanboy adds. 

More laughter—like they’re the funniest assholes in the sky. 

For a fleeting moment, you consider soaring up in front of them in an admittedly reckless inverted climb just to scare the smug off their faces. But you grit your teeth and bank slowly through a patch of low, cottony clouds instead. 

“Cut the chatter,” Maverick says, voice sharper now. “Or I won’t go easy on you.” 

You almost wish he’d let you off the leash. Let you show them exactly why you’re here. But he’s right. As excruciating as it is to fly like a grandma driving a Honda Civic... this is what you have to do right now. 

By the end of the day, you're bored out of your brain. You've heard so much trash talk from the pilots that you're not only feeling more defeated than after your reaming from Admiral Cain, but you're seriously considering punching one of them square in the face. 

You know it's just banter. They're not really trying to upset you—test you, maybe. Haze you. But it still grates, especially when they keep jabbing at your flying—the one thing you’re damn proud of. 

It sucks hiding your superpower. Is this how Clark Kent feels at the Daily Planet? 

When it’s finally time to hit the showers before Maverick’s afternoon briefing, you’re relieved. You drag your feet down the hall ahead of the others, not in the mood for post-flight chatter. You slip into the locker room, peel off your flight suit and underlayers, and step into the nearest stall. 

The water warms almost instantly, and you sigh in quiet appreciation. You’re just starting to relax when— 

“Get your shit outta my way, Fanboy.” 

You flinch at the voice—Hangman’s—closer than it should be while you're stark naked and dripping wet. Then you glance up and spot a vent high on the wall. It must connect to the men’s locker room. 

“You have a locker. Use it,” Hangman snaps again. 

You roll your eyes and duck back under the stream, letting the hot water drown him out. Or trying to. 

“So, what do we think the deal is with our new tactical training specialist?” one of them—Coyote, you think—asks. 

Hangman scoffs. “She’s no specialist. I’d be surprised if she’s even a fully trained aviator.” 

“She didn’t seem like she had any trouble flying,” Bob says, voice soft but clear. “She just seemed like she was hanging back. Laying low.” 

“Yeah,” Bradley adds—and your stomach does a little somersault. “Maybe she’s a total gun and just waiting to embarrass us all.” 

You smirk. He’s not wrong. If they ever take the leash off, you definitely plan to humiliate them. 

“I doubt it,” Hangman grunts. 

“She’s probably just here to babysit Maverick,” Fanboy says. “We all know Cyclone doesn’t trust him.” 

You snort quietly. 

“You’re not wrong,” Payback chimes in. 

“Probably some admiral’s daughter, too,” Coyote jokes. 

Hangman laughs—smug and overconfident. “I don’t care who she is. One way or another, I’m gonna find out why she’s really here.” 

- 

The rest of the week passes in much the same way. You fly like a rookie, listen to Jake—yes, you’ve learned all their real names now—run his mouth like the class clown he insists on being, and endure Maverick assigning you to lead post-flight reviews breaking down the squad’s tactical performance. 

Your nights are spent reading, studying, absorbing everything you can about the thing you’re supposedly a specialist in. You already know your stuff—you like to think you’re pretty sharp tactically—but now that Jake is gunning for you, your cover needs to be airtight. 

The rest of the squad has been decent, if a little wary—not that you blame them. And then there’s Bradley. 

Bradley is nice to you. Like, really nice. Almost suspiciously nice, despite Jake’s constant digs. You catch him looking your way more often than not—though, to be fair, you’re not exactly subtle about your own ogling. He backs you up when Jake crosses the line, and so does Natasha—which only confirms why you liked her from the start. 

But Bradley? Bradley is a problem. The man is a walking, talking hazard to your mental, emotional, and physical well-being. Just hearing his voice over the comms is enough to make your heart skip. 

And the worst part? You have absolutely no idea how to act around him. Cool confidence is second nature when you don’t care what anyone thinks—but with him, you’re suddenly a fumbling schoolgirl with a colossal, deeply inconvenient crush. He’s kind. He’s hot. He’s got that easy swagger of a guy who knows he’s good—and he’s right. It’s not too much; it’s the perfect, dangerously attractive amount of confidence. 

Honestly? He might be the most punishing part of your punishment. 

You spend most of the weekend trying—and failing—not to think about what it would feel like to have that stupid moustache between your legs. Or worse: on the pillow beside yours, with his arms wrapped around you while you sleep. Just sleep. 

Dating seriously in the Navy—or any branch of the military, really—is notoriously difficult. You’ve made peace with casual, mediocre—often infrequent—sex. You’ve learned to ignore the craving for real connection, to smother it under adrenaline and the thrill of flying. But when you look at Bradley—stupid, hot, kind Bradley—you wonder what it would feel like to love him. And to be loved by him. 

Ugh. Gross. 

“You alright?” Maverick asks, brows pinched as he holds out a stack of paperwork. 

You blink, realizing you’ve been zoned out. You’re not sure how long he’s been standing there. 

“Yeah, sorry. Mondayitis,” you mumble, shaking your head and reaching for the stack. 

He rolls his eyes and glances toward the spot you’d just been staring at—where Bradley is talking to a maintenance tech beside his jet. 

“Yeah,” Mav chuckles. “Sure.” 

You snatch the paperwork with a little more attitude than necessary, but at this point, you’re comfortable enough with Maverick to get away with it. He knows the difference between you being genuinely annoyed—usually whenever Jake is within twenty feet—and just being a smartass. 

“You sure you’re good to stay back tonight?” he asks after a beat. “It’s just a routine FOD sweep, but the techs like having someone around who understands the tactical systems, just in case.” 

“It’s fine,” you say, hugging the paperwork to your chest. “I’ve got nothing better to do. Honestly, I’ll take any excuse to speak to humans outside the hours of nine to five.” 

Maverick chuckles, but then tilts his head, studying you. “You’re really not doing anything else? You don’t even go out? Or, I don’t know… do Tinder?” 

You raise a brow at him, trying not to laugh. “No, Mav. I don’t do Tinder.” 

“Oh.” He nods like that’s good news, but then frowns. “Still, you should go out sometime. Grab a drink, meet someone. This is a Navy town—there’s plenty of-” 

“Are you seriously giving me advice on getting laid?” you interrupt, eyes wide with disbelief. 

A faint pink tints his cheeks, but he doesn’t backpedal. “Not explicitly. But I just don’t see the point in making this punishment even more miserable by ignoring the outside world.” 

“Punishment?” 

You both freeze. Bob is suddenly beside you, looking wide-eyed and flushed—like he knows he shouldn’t have overheard but absolutely couldn’t help himself. 

You turn to him, panicked. “He—uh, what Mav means is-” 

“Bob!” Natasha’s voice cuts across the hangar. “Move it or you’re walking to The Hard Deck!” 

He gives a polite nod and bolts before either of you can say more. 

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath. 

Maverick waves it off. “It’s fine. Bob’s a vault. Even if he does say something, we’ll spin it.” 

You narrow your eyes. “I’m starting to think you’re the one trying to blow my cover, not Hangman.” 

He laughs, unbothered. “You need to relax. Seriously—go out with the others tonight. Let off some steam. Maybe meet someone.” 

You groan, stepping back. “Are we back to this already? I can’t go out tonight—I’m stuck here babysitting the FOD inspections so you can go on a date and get laid.” 

That earns you a devilish grin. “You could still go out after.” 

“It’ll be too late.” 

“Alright then.” He flashes that troublemaking smile, then strolls off toward Bradley. 

You can’t hear what they’re saying, but you see it. The mischief in Maverick’s eyes, the subtle glance Bradley throws your way, the small nod. 

“Rooster’s staying back with you,” Mav says when he returns. “He’s going to help start inventorying the night gear before next week’s night ops. Keep you company.” Then he winks. “You’re welcome.” 

Your cheeks flame instantly. You can feel the blush rising from your chest to the tips of your ears, especially as Bradley sends you one of those slow, devastating smirks from across the hangar. 

You never imagined this would be your biggest problem, but here you are—drowning in paperwork and feelings, stuck with one ridiculously hot pilot… all because your CO thinks he’s Cupid. 

You do your best to avoid Bradley at first—and it mostly works. He waves off his friends, all of whom are more than a little annoyed he’s skipping the bar, but for some reason, he doesn’t seem to mind. You find a relatively clear table toward the back of the hangar to spread out your paperwork and start sorting through what needs signing for tonight’s special inspections. 

One of the technicians wanders over and spends twenty straight minutes mansplaining the FOD sweep and borescope process. Normally, you'd bite a guy’s head off for talking to you like you're five, but this time, you let him ramble. Anything to keep a buffer between you and Bradley. 

The night wears on, and the techs move through their routines with smooth, practiced efficiency. You answer questions when needed, sign off on paperwork, and try not to keep checking to see where he is. After a couple of hours, you find yourself staring blankly at your neatly reorganized stack of documents—for the fourth time. 

“You alright?” Bradley’s voice cuts in, low and warm. He stops a few feet away, arms full of night vision goggles. 

You snap upright and nod. “Yep. Just a little bored. Need help?” The words tumble out before you can stop them, and your stomach does a full aerial twist when he smiles. 

“Yeah, actually. There’s more NVGs to go through, and I need to check we’ve got enough night-adapted flight helmets.” 

You nod again and follow him to the gear closet. It isn’t small, but it’s tightly packed with equipment that smells like age and dust. The doorknob is mottled with rust, and the door itself is being propped open by a bent prybar wedged underneath. 

“Wow,” you mutter. “Luxury storage.” 

Bradley chuckles, low and easy. “Yeah, not exactly state of the art. But Mav avoids complaining—less time in the admiral’s office.” 

You laugh softly, running a finger along a dusty shelf. “Can’t argue with that.” 

He casts a glance your way, curious but unreadable, as he stacks the goggles beside you. Then he points to the shelf of helmets and tells you to grab what you can and bring them over to where he’s been cleaning and inspecting gear. 

It takes a few trips, but eventually you’ve got all the helmets laid out across the hangar floor while Bradley goes down the checklist on his clipboard. You drop into a cross-legged seat beside the gear, inspecting each helmet one by one—checking the straps, the fixings, the visor, making sure there are no cracks or faults. 

Bradley settles across from you, reaching for a helmet of his own. “So,” he says, casual and curious, “do you already have a callsign, or are we still workshopping?” 

You glance up through your lashes, a smirk tugging at your mouth. “Classified.” 

He arches a brow. “That’s not a no. Should I be worried it’s something like Deathwish? Or Heartbreaker?” 

A quiet laugh escapes you as you trade one helmet for the next. “What if it’s closer to the second one?” 

He nods slowly, a smirk tugging beneath that damn moustache. “Then I’ll adjust my expectations.”  

“That’s your first mistake,” you say lightly. “Having expectations.” 

His gaze lingers a little longer this time, thoughtful. Like he’s trying to solve a puzzle without all the pieces. You’re not trying to be cryptic—it’s just that words get sticky around him. Being guarded feels easier than being obvious. You’re not that complicated, really… but for some reason, with Bradley, keeping your walls up feels safer. 

And maybe, if he’s curious enough, he’ll keep pushing. You kind of hope he does. 

More hours pass, and you fall into a comfortable rhythm. When needed, the techs call you over to check something or sign something off, then you return to Bradley with a sarcastic remark or a curious question. He doesn’t pry too much about why you’re here, but he asks simple things—where you grew up, what your favourite colour is, if you have any pets. The conversation stays light and easy, and you find yourself looking forward to hearing his voice again after every question you answer. 

“Alright, we’re just about finished up,” one of the technicians—Randall— says as he ambles over. 

You’re crouched on the floor with a few open night ops survival kits in front of you, checking for chem lights, strobes, and IR beacons.  

“Oh, that’s great,” you say, brushing your hands off on your pants as you stand. “Thanks.” 

He nods. “Security did a walk-through ten minutes back. I told ’em you two were in here, and they said they’d circle back unless you’re planning to leave with the rest of us.” 

You glance at Bradley, silently letting him decide—though you’re secretly hoping he chooses to stay. 

“We’ll be here a little longer,” he says, his eyes flicking to you. “I think.” 

You nod, and his cheekbones flush pink as a small smile tugs at his lips. 

Randall glances up, motioning vaguely at the walls. “Cameras there,” he says, pointing, “there, and there. Dead spots are that corner… or the gear closet. Y’know—if you don’t want to get caught.” 

Your eyes widen and heat floods your face. 

Bradley lets out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Right. Thanks, Randall. I don’t even want to ask how you know that, but… good to know.” 

The older man grins and lumbers off, whistling. 

The second he’s out of earshot, you groan into your hands. “What is with old men today?” 

Bradley raises a brow. “Don’t tell me one of the other techs gave you a hookup tutorial.” 

“Nope,” you sigh, dropping your hands. “Mav. I think he was trying to give me dating advice. Told me I should ‘get out there’ more.” 

Bradley snorts. “Was it any good?” 

“Well,” you say, “he’s glad I’m not on Tinder—wants me to meet someone the authentically. But then he was annoyed I’m not going to the bar tonight. Never mind the fact he’s the reason I’m stuck with overtime.” 

Bradley opens his mouth, pauses, then squints at you. “Wait… was this right before he came and told me to start inventorying night gear?”  

“Yup,” you reply, popping the p and being careful not to look at him. 

“Right,” Bradley chuckles. “Maybe we should change Mav’s callsign to Cupid.” 

You roll your eyes, ignoring the blush blooming in your cheeks. “Or Stupid.” 

You quietly keep packing up the survival kits and carrying them back to the gear closet. A few of the techs call out their goodbyes as they leave, but most don’t. And then—it’s quiet. Too quiet. 

You’re not sure if the tension comes from being suddenly alone—or from the fact that Bradley now knows why Maverick asked him to stay. Would he have bailed if he’d known sooner? 

He didn’t look horrified. Didn’t flinch or recoil. Just made a joke. 

But what the hell is that supposed to mean? 

“We can finish up soon, if you want,” you offer, even though you don’t want to. 

But now you’re overthinking everything. What if he doesn’t want to be here? What if he thinks you expect something to happen—like you’re in on whatever matchmaking crap Mav is trying to pull? 

“Oh,” he says, following you into the gear closet. “I mean, it’s up to you.” 

There’s a beat of silence while you both stack kits onto the shelf. 

“I mean, if you’re trying to make it to the bar,” he adds, his laugh a little forced. 

You shoot him a flat look. “Yeah, right. With all my friends.” 

He shrugs, but it looks stiff. “Maybe you’ve decided to take Mav’s advice. Meet a guy or whatever.” 

You lead the way out of the closet, your brows furrowed as you try to decode his words. 

Is he encouraging you to go? Telling you not to? 

Why is this suddenly complicated? Why are you even thinking about any of this when you’re only here as punishment? You shouldn’t be worrying about boys and feelings. 

You shake your head and decide to ignore it, scooping up more survival kits to return to the gear closet. Bradley is right behind you, carrying the last of them. 

You’ve just reached the shelf and freed your arms when there’s a bang and a sharp screech. 

“Shit,” Bradley mutters, stumbling forward. 

He catches himself before dropping anything—but then a loud slam echoes through the space, and both of your heads snap toward the door. 

“No,” you mutter, rushing from the shelf to the door. “No, no, no. You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

The rusted doorknob starts to crack in your grip. It doesn’t twist or even budge—just crumbles like sugar in hot water. 

“Wait,” Bradley says, dumping the kits on the shelf. “Are we actually trapped?” 

“No,” you bite out, twisting the handle again. It snaps, and a piece of rusted metal—fantastic—sticks into your palm. “Fuck. Shit.” You whirl around, clutching your hand. “Okay, maybe.” 

Bradley doesn’t panic. He chuckles. It’s light, casual—and laced with something else. Satisfaction, maybe? 

“You okay?” he asks, stepping closer. 

You instinctively offer your hand. The cut isn’t deep, but there’s a decent smear of red pooling in your palm. 

“Lucky we just restocked the survival kits,” he says with a wink. 

You want to roll your eyes—but instead, you smile like an idiot. He’s so close you can feel the warmth radiating off him, seeping into your skin like a slow burn—and then his hand wraps gently around yours, sending a surge of electricity crackling up your arm and straight to your chest. 

“This is just my luck,” you mutter. 

He raises an eyebrow. “Technically, I’m the one who tripped on the prybar, so I think it’s my luck.” 

“Yeah, but I’m known to be a bit of a…” You trail off, clearing your throat, scrambling to find a word other than the one on the tip of your tongue. 

His head tips, eyes narrowing. “A what?” 

“Walking disaster,” you say quickly. 

That earns another chuckle as he turns to the shelf of survival kits. “I wouldn’t call this a disaster.” 

You scoff. “Really? We’re stuck in a dusty gear closet at ten o’clock at night, the techs just bailed, our phones are in our lockers, and security probably won’t even realise we’re in here.” 

Still facing away, he rummages through one of the kits. “I’m trapped in a closet with a pretty girl,” he says. “Not exactly a disaster in my books.” 

You press your lips together, trying to smother the grin threatening to break loose—but then he turns around, wearing the kind of smirk that should come with a warning label. It’s cocky and knowing, like he’s fully aware of the effect he’s having on you—and worse, he’s enjoying it. Heat flares beneath your skin, and suddenly the gear closet feels about ten degrees hotter. 

“See?” he says, offering his hand for yours again. “Can’t argue with logic.” 

You let him clean and bandage the cut on your hand, silence stretching thick between you. The warmth radiating off his body fogs your brain, making it nearly impossible to focus on escape routes from this stupid closet. His hands are slightly calloused—evidence of years gripping the F/A-18’s control stick the way you’re now imagining gripping something else entirely. 

Fuck. This man might actually be the death of you. 

“You sure you’re alright?” he asks, voice low, breath brushing your cheek as he stands so damn close. “You’re not claustrophobic or anything, right?” 

You shake your head, subtle and slow, your gaze locked on his lips, your voice nowhere to be found. 

“Good,” he says. “Because we’re probably stuck in here all night. No windows, no vents, and there’s no way we’re getting any of these radios on the same frequency as the tower. That door’s older and more stubborn than Mav—it was built to keep people out, which means it’ll do just fine keeping us in.” 

You sigh, eyes drifting down to your bandaged hand. “Great.” 

He quietly packs the kit away, head bowed over the shelf as he works, giving you a moment to just look. His long legs are braced slightly wider than his shoulders, making him seem even more solid, more commanding. He all but consumes the small closet space, his honey-brown hair dangerously close to grazing the low ceiling. His fingers move deftly, expertly, and you can’t help but wonder what else they’d be good at. 

“You’re staring,” he says suddenly. 

Your cheeks warm. “I’m calculating.” 

He gives you a sideways glance and that crooked smile—the one that makes your heart miss a beat. “Calculating what?” 

“What chance I have of overpowering you if the situation becomes dire.” 

He chuckles, but it’s lower this time. Rougher. A little dangerous. “Define ‘dire’.” 

You shrug and turn your back to the shelves, sliding down to the floor. “You know. Cannibalism.” 

You lean against the bottom shelf, packed tight with gear boxes—solid enough to act as a makeshift backrest while you stretch your legs out in front of you. 

“Cannibalism,” Bradley echoes, settling beside you. “Right. So, is it straight to eating each other, or are there warning signs I should look out for?” 

His arm brushes yours as he shifts, the heat of his body seeping through your flight suit. And the way he said eating each other? Yeah—that’s not helping. 

“Well,” you say, clearing your throat to redirect your filthy thoughts. “First comes shock and denial.” You lift your bandaged hand. “But I think I’m past that.” 

He nods, eyes on you, like he’s genuinely interested—or just waiting for your next move. 

“Then anxiety and panic,” you continue, a smile tugging at your lips. “You might start crying, beating your fists on the door…” 

He snorts, and you catch him glancing at your mouth. 

“Then comes anger and frustration,” you say, letting your voice drop just a little. “We’ll start blaming each other. Arguing. And then…” You trail off, licking your lips, gaze moving slowly down his body with exaggerated interest. “Desperation.” 

“What happens then?” he asks, his voice soft, deep—almost reverent. Like you’re telling him a secret he already knows. 

You glance at his hands, clasped tight in his lap. His long fingers tangled with tension, as if he’s holding himself still. 

“We’ll probably give in to all the tension,” you murmur. 

There’s a pause—so brief it’s barely a breath—before he asks, “What does that mean?” 

You finally meet his gaze, smirking like you already have him cornered. “You know exactly what I mean, Bradshaw.” 

The tension snaps when he laughs softly, his cheekbones tinged pink as he looks away. 

“Well then,” he says, “if we’re going to be stuck in here until we both go mad, don’t you think I deserve to know who you really are?” 

You roll your eyes playfully. “Not a bad try. Still classified.” 

He tips his head back against the shelf, and your eyes catch on the long column of his throat as he speaks. “Oh, come on. You think I’m going to tell anyone?” 

“No, not really,” you murmur, gaze still fixed on the warm tan skin of his neck. 

You feel like a starved vampire, fixated on his jugular with something close to bloodlust. But really, you just want to sink your teeth in—hard enough to leave a mark. Claim him. 

God. Since when has a man made you feel this feral? 

Then he tips his head down again and pins you with those big brown eyes. “So why won’t you tell me?” 

You meet his gaze. “I think you already know more about me than most people do. Is it really that bad not knowing my last name or callsign? Ask me anything else.” 

His smile turns boyish, softening him, making him look younger than he is. “So you admit you have a callsign?” 

You nod. “Yep.” 

“When’d you get it?” 

“Flight school.” 

“Is there a cool story behind it?” 

You wobble your head as if weighing the answer. “Sort of. It’s not really a story—it’s more of a personality trait.” 

He nods slowly. “So I might be able to figure it out?” 

You shake your head. “Probably not. Not with the way Mav has me flying.” You don’t entirely mean to throw him a bone—some sliver of the truth behind why you’re really here—but it slips out anyway. 

His eyes narrow. “So you are holding back,” he says. It’s not a question. 

You don’t answer. Instead, you draw your bottom lip between your teeth and bite down—hard. His gaze flicks to your mouth, and lingers there, watching you. Something in his eyes darkens, and you can see the flush crawl up his cheeks to the tips of his ears. 

“Okay, my turn,” you say, angling your body toward him. “This whole ‘prince charming’ thing. The cheeky smiles, the perfectly tousled hair—does it always work for you?” 

He frowns, but the twitch at the corner of his lips betrays the amusement threatening to break across his face. “What do you mean, ‘does it work’?” 

You shrug, trying—and failing—to seem nonchalant. The green-eyed monster in your chest rearing its ugly head. “I’ve seen you walking around like you own the place. Don’t tell me you haven’t left a trail of broken hearts across the country. I mean, I see the way you are with Phoenix, all the-” 

“Phoenix?” he interrupts, his eyes growing wide. “Phoenix and I are friends. Period. I’m actually pretty sure she’s hooking up with Bob, but she’s too scared to tell the rest of us because we’ll ruin it. Which, fair enough. Hangman can be a bit of a bitch.” 

“Oh, I know,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him. “But don’t change the subject. You seriously don’t expect me to believe there aren’t a hundred women trying to beat down your door every Friday and Saturday night?” 

He rolls his eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips. “There might be one or two broken hearts in my past, but I can promise you, no one is beating down my door. And the ‘prince charming’ act...” He leans in just a little, his voice lowering. “That’s just for you.” 

This man is actually trying to kill you. 

You roll your eyes and feign indifference. “Smooth.” 

He raises his brows, that smirk still firmly in place. “You think?” 

“You know exactly what you’re doing, Bradshaw.” 

He chuckles, leaning back and resting his head against the shelf again. “Well, yeah. I know what I’m doing. But I can’t tell if it’s working or not.” 

You fight a smile, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “Yeah,” you mutter, “it’s working.” 

The next hour passes with random questions exchanged, both of you settling into an easy rhythm. He’s careful not to pry too much, slipping in the occasional question about your past or why you're really here. You answer with playful eye rolls and a quick “that’s classified,” but despite the walls you try to keep up, you find yourself telling him more than you expected. His presence is warm and easy, and there’s something about the way his eyes study you—genuine curiosity mixed with a hint of hunger—that makes you open up in ways you didn’t expect. 

Then, after a beat of silence, he asks, “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?” 

It’s a stark contrast to the casual questions you’ve been tossing back and forth. Your brows pinch, and you tip your head, a wave of exhaustion making your posture sag. You open your mouth to reply, but he jumps in again, voice laced with sudden panic. “Wait, you don’t have some secret boyfriend... right?” 

A soft laugh escapes your lips. “No, I don’t.” 

His shoulders visibly relax, his eyes blinking slowly, tiredly. “Why not? Aside from the stock standard military excuse.” 

You rest your head against the shelf, staring up at the paint flaking off the ceiling. “I like to blame the navy, but I think it’s mostly my fault. I can be... picky. I guess my standards are higher than they have a right to be. The last actual boyfriend I had... sucked. Monumentally.” You pause, biting your lip. “He scarred me. Haven’t really wanted to date seriously since.” 

There’s a flash of something unfamiliar across Bradley’s face—an emotion that’s gone before you can catch it, replaced quickly by curiosity. “Why did he suck?” 

You snort softly, remembering your last relationship with a sick feeling in your stomach. “Do you want the PG version or the real one?” 

His gaze hardens, anger flashing behind his eyes, though he masks it quickly. “The real one.” 

“Okay,” you say, steeling yourself for the uncomfortable memories. “Well, aside from just being a piece of shit...” You pause, taking a deep breath. “After almost two years together, he—uh, he had a hard time finishing... with me. Told me it was because he was bored, too used to me. Said I wasn’t good enough to, you know... get him there.” 

The silence that follows is suffocating, thick enough to make you choke. Your chest aches, but you can’t find the strength to breathe. Bradley’s expression has turned murderous. His eyes darken, his brows drawn tight, lips pressed into a thin line. His cheeks are flushed, redder than before, and the colour crawls down his neck and disappears beneath his flight suit collar. 

“He told you that?” he asks, his voice rough, low, cutting through the silence like a blade. 

You nod, a bitter laugh escaping as you remember the moment. “Yep. Right in the middle of it.” 

His eyes narrow, and the anger in his gaze intensifies. “He said that to you while you were having sex?” 

You nod again, your lips pressed tight, bracing for whatever might come next. Bradley looks like he’s ready to explode, like a bull in a chute, and though it’s scary, it’s also... unsettlingly hot. 

“I broke up with him the next day,” you say softly. 

“Good,” Bradley growls, his voice tight. 

Silence settles between you again, but this time it’s softer—less charged, more intimate. You can breathe. And now that the adrenaline has faded, so has your energy. Your eyelids are heavy, your shoulders ache, but the hard clips of the gear boxes digging into your back are making it impossible to get comfortable. 

You shift upright with a quiet sigh, glancing around the cramped space for anything soft to lie on. But the only thing that looks remotely inviting is Bradley’s lap. 

He has his head tipped back, lids half-lowered, but there’s no missing the way he catches your gaze. A slow, knowing smile curves his lips—lazy and warm. 

“You can lie down,” he murmurs, voice husky and low, dragging heat across your skin. 

“You sure?” you ask, even though you’re already moving. 

He adjusts his posture, leaning back against the shelves to make room. The slight shift in his stance feels oddly like an invitation, like he’s preparing for you. Your heart pounds as you reposition yourself, curling toward him and easing your head gently into his lap. 

It feels too intimate for what it is—but he doesn’t stop you. If anything, his body goes still, and then he exhales through his nose like he’s trying to ground himself. 

The heat of him is immediate, seeping into your skin. Without thinking, you press your freezing hands to his thighs with a groan of relief. 

Bradley stiffens. “Shit. Uh... careful where you put those.” 

You glance up. His mouth is parted slightly, breath coming and going faster now. That faint pink flush has darkened, stretching across the bridge of his nose. His eyes—wide, dark, hungry—meet yours. 

“Oops,” you murmur, lips twitching. “Sorry.” Though you’re absolutely not. 

You try to focus on relaxing, but the feel of him beneath you is intoxicating. Your exhaustion is at war with the slow burn licking through your blood. You close your eyes anyway, willing your body to settle. 

Eventually, his breathing evens out again—and so does yours. You curl in tighter, tucking your knees up, and nestle into him a little more. His breath catches, barely audible, but telling. Then, after a beat, his hand rests lightly on your hip. Just that. But it sends a rush of heat spiralling through you. 

His other hand shifts near your face, and, emboldened, you ease one of your own free and find his. Your fingers slide into place between his, lacing together like it’s instinct. 

The spark that jolts up your arm is instant—sharp, electric, undeniable. 

Yeah. This man is a hazard. To your health, to your career… And definitely to your cover. 

- 

You’re not woken by your alarm or the sound of your neighbour—who also happens to be navy—slamming his door on his way out. You’re woken by something solid pressing into the back of your head. Something warm. Something insistent. Almost like… 

Holy shit. 

You sit up like a shot, as if a gun’s gone off, your body protesting the movement after a night on the floor. But the aches barely register. Not when you’re suddenly very aware of the very impressive bulge currently tenting Bradley’s flight suit. 

You press your lips together, partly to hold back your laugh—and partly to keep yourself from doing something absolutely unholy. Like burying your face in his lap. Mouthing him through the thick material. Slowly unzipping that khaki jumpsuit and devouring him until he forgets how to breathe. 

God. You’ve never woken up so horny in your life. 

You briefly consider nuzzling back into him, soaking up every drop of that delicious warmth—until you hear voices outside. And then you see it: a sliver of daylight spilling beneath the door. 

You scramble to your feet and tiptoe to the door, pressing your ear against it. You should be thrilled you’re getting out of this dusty closet, but disappointment prickles under your skin. You’re not going to sleep with Bradley tonight—not in any sense of the word. Which is stupid. Completely insane. You’d rather spend another night on a hard floor with him than go home to your own bed. 

You shake your head and focus on the voices. You don’t recognize any of them. Tech crew, most likely—starting early. 

You lean over Bradley, gently scratching the crown of his head. “Hey,” you whisper, keeping your voice low just in case. 

His eyes flutter, then snap open—briefly panicked before he remembers where he is. He looks up at you with a sleepy smile, soft and hazy. “Hey. How’d you sleep?” 

You laugh quietly. “Surprisingly well. Until I was woken up by your little lieutenant—well, actually, not-so-little, but anyway…” You trail off, heat creeping into your cheeks. “I’m going to shut up now.” 

His brows knit in sleepy confusion… until understanding hits. He glances down—and immediately covers his lap with both hands. “Shit. Sorry.” 

You shake your head. “Don’t apologize. I’d offer to help you out, but I think we should probably get out of here before the others show up.” 

His mouth opens, his gaze snapping to yours—hopeful and tortured all at once. Clearly debating whether it would be worth the risk. 

He sighs, defeated, and pushes to his feet. “Yeah. You’re probably right.” 

You both move to the door, listening for familiar voices. 

After a moment, Bradley murmurs, “I think we’re in the clear. Sounds like it’s just techies.” 

You nod. “Alright, do we start yelling for help now?” 

He glances down at himself and makes a face. “Can I get a minute first?” 

You snort softly, biting your bottom lip to contain your grin. But you can’t stop the way your eyes drift down, or the warmth that floods your chest. Whether it’s the lap-nap or the fact you’ve gone completely stupid for this man, you’ve never wanted to drop to your knees more in your life. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” he mutters, brows drawn as he focuses on anything that isn’t you. “You’re not helping.” 

“Sorry,” you giggle, turning fully toward the door. “I’ll just wait here.” 

He chuckles, low and rough, his voice coated in sleep and something far thicker—undeniable desire. He paces the tiny length of the closet like a caged tiger, careful not to look at you. 

A few minutes later, he returns to your side and nods. “Okay. Ready now.” 

You smirk and nod, resisting the very strong urge to glance down. Then you both turn toward the door and start knocking. 

“Hello!” you shout, mouth close to the seam. “Help! Please!” 

There’s the sound of footsteps, muffled voices. Then a rough voice answers, “Hello? Someone in there?” 

“Yes!” you call back. “The doorknob’s broken—we can’t get out.” 

There’s a jiggle of what’s left of the knob on your side, but it doesn’t move. 

“S’not budgin’,” the man says. “Stand back, alrigh’?” 

“Okay,” you say just as Bradley grabs your arm and pulls you to the back corner of the closet. 

He cages you with his body, chest pressed to yours, shielding you like a human wall. You can feel the heat of him everywhere—his breath ghosting over your cheek, his thigh brushing yours, your mouth so close to his. One glance up and you know you’d be kissing. You want to. God, do you want to. But now isn’t the time. 

A bang. Then another. The door rattles, the hinges groaning. One final crash sends the door flying inward, half-torn from its frame. 

Bradley doesn’t move at first. Then he exhales and shifts away slightly—just enough to look—but his hand remains on your wrist, protective. 

“You alrigh’?” the voice asks, silhouetted in the sudden glare of morning light. 

You squint, the brightness stabbing at your eyes. 

“Yeah,” you mutter. “We’re fine.” 

You both blink as your vision adjusts and step toward the opening. 

“Exactly how long have you two been in there?” comes a second voice. One you know far too well. 

Maverick. 

Your stomach drops. 

As your vision clears, the scene before you sharpens into a full-blown nightmare. Maverick, arms crossed, wearing the most smug, slap-worthy smirk imaginable. Behind him: Natasha, wide-eyed, biting her lip to keep from laughing; Bob, cheeks glowing red; Reuben and Mickey, snickering like they’re in middle school; and—of course—Jake, grinning like he’s just won the damn lottery. 

You're never living this down. 

Before you can even begin to defend yourself, Jake lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Rooster. Didn’t know we were doing supply closet survival drills.” 

Bradley sighs. “It was locked, Hangman.” 

“Oh, I believe you,” Jake says, his grin wide. “But the rest of the hangar? Not so much.” 

Maverick raises a brow, smirk firmly in place. “Glad to see you both survived the night. Though next time, maybe just request a room.” 

You shoot him your sharpest glare—just shy of throwing a knife right at your CO. “That door needs to be fixed. You’re lucky I was stuck in there with Bradshaw and not one of these other idiots, or you’d have a dead body to deal with.” 

Your glare swings to Jake, cutting him off before he can open his mouth again. 

Maverick starts to reply but pauses, eyes flicking down to your bandaged hand. “Do you need to go to medical?” 

You shake your head. “No. But I could really use a shower.” 

He nods, then turns his attention to Bradley. “You need the day off?” 

“No,” Bradley says. “We slept.” 

Jake chuckles, wicked and bright. “That’s not what the security tapes say.” 

Your heart stutters. “Th-There’s no camera in there. Randall said-” 

“Randall told you about the camera blind spots?” Maverick cuts in, clearly amused. 

The group bursts into laughter, and even Bradley’s mouth twitches into a smirk. 

Jake winks. “Relax, I was kidding, sweetheart. But hey, good to know Rooster kept you safe. Always knew he was the gentleman type.” 

You roll your eyes and cross your arms, a physical barrier against the swarm of smug faces. “Unlike you, Hangman, Rooster is a gentleman.” 

“Alright, that’s enough,” Maverick says, waving a hand to dismiss the squad. “You lot suit up. And you two—hit the showers.” He starts to walk off, then glances over his shoulder with a teasing grin. “Separately.” 

Your cheeks go up in flames, but there’s no clever comeback waiting on your tongue. You just take a breath and storm toward the locker rooms, resisting the ridiculous urge to look back at Bradley… and ask if maybe he would want to shower together. 

After a longer-than-necessary shower, you change into spare underclothes and slip your flight suit on over the top. It takes a little extra confidence to step back out of the locker room, but eventually, you do. You settle in the waiting room and do your best to pretend to work—analysing flight data and scribbling notes on tactical performance from Maverick’s current sky drills. 

No one speaks to you, but you don’t miss the way Jake smirks as he strolls into the room after his run. Or the way he leans toward Javy, whispering something just out of earshot. You ignore it. You’re too tightly wound to entertain his usual bullshit. 

When the day finally ends, you drag yourself home and go through the usual motions. But you can’t stop checking your phone. 

You know last night was a fluke—an accident that landed you in a supply closet with the man your heart has apparently chosen to obsess over. You know better than to expect a message or a call. To think he might actually take you up on that teasing offer from this morning. 

He’d been perfect last night. Soft, warm, protective—furious at your ex and almost wrecked with want when you’d touched him. 

But today? He didn’t speak to you once. Not in an obvious, pointed way. Just… didn’t. He didn’t sit next to you in the afternoon briefing. He didn’t chase you down before you left. 

Maybe he’s not interested. Maybe you’re not as good at reading people as you thought. 

Despite how much your body aches and how tired you are, sleep doesn’t come easy. Your mattress is too soft. Your pillows are too cold. There’s no steady heartbeat to lull you into slumber. No warm hand to tangle your fingers with. The silence feels sharp in your ears, and your room feels colder than it did the night before last. 

- 

You’re awake well before your alarm, so you take your time getting ready. You shower even though you don’t need to, apply a little makeup even though you usually don’t, and secure your hair with more precision than normal. Breakfast is slow and deliberate, eaten in front of the TV as if you have all the time in the world. 

You’re still out the door early—even before your inconsiderate neighbour, Slammy Steve. You finally gave him a name for when you curse him every morning as his door slams shut. 

At base, you head toward the usual hangar, steeling yourself to face the squad again—to face Bradley. Your stomach twists at the thought. You’re far too hung up on a man who probably sees you as nothing more than a bit of fun to flirt with. 

You’re the first in the briefing room by a good half hour, but the time passes quickly as your thoughts spiral. Bob’s the next to arrive, and he gives you a polite smile before settling in with his travel mug and quietly watching videos on his phone. 

One by one, the rest of the squad filters in. 

“You know me, Coyote,” Jake’s voice rings out, smug and too loud as he strolls in with his wingman. “I’m a generous man. I can’t help myself.” 

You don’t know what he’s talking about, but you know it’s bullshit. 

You sink lower in your chair and roll your eyes, hoping he won’t see you. 

“Morning, ladies and gentlemen,” Jake calls as he drops into his usual seat just behind you. Then he leans in, his voice close to your ear. “What do we have here?” 

You don’t react. 

“Hangman,” Natasha warns flatly, “for once in your life, don’t be a dick.” 

“What?” he says, mock innocence dripping from every syllable. “Just trying to say good morning to our lovely tactical training specialist.” 

You glance at Natasha. She meets your eyes and offers a soft, apologetic smile—not that this idiot is any of her fault. 

“Good morning, aviators,” Maverick’s voice fills the room, and some of the nausea in your stomach eases. “How are we today?” 

There are a few mumbled responses—none from you—as he sets a stack of papers on the desk and powers up his laptop for the interactive display. He casts you a brief look and a small smile before returning to the task of setting up. 

Then another set of footsteps enters at the back of the room, and you can’t help but turn. 

“Sorry,” Bradley mutters. “Overslept.” 

Maverick nods as Bradley takes his seat. No one says anything—until Jake does. 

A low, sharp whistle. Then, into your ear again, “Guess getting locked in a closet’s the only way you’ll ever get Rooster to spend the night, huh?” 

That’s all it takes to make the rubber band snap. 

You’re on your feet in an instant, eyes narrowed, anger simmering beneath your skin like wildfire. You’re nauseous again—burning from the inside out. 

“What the fuck is your problem?!” you snap, louder than intended—but you don’t care. 

You’re angry. You’re humiliated. A week of jabs and insults from a man who doesn’t even know you, and now this, after falling for another man who apparently wants nothing to do with you. 

Jake chuckles, condescending as hell. “Woah, settle down. It was just a joke.” 

“You’re a fucking joke,” you bite back, voice low and steady—deadly. “You talk a big game, but the only thing you’ve mastered is flying straight and fast. You burn fuel and pull Gs like it’s a dick-measuring contest, but the second a manoeuvre requires restraint, finesse, or actual tactical thinking? You fall apart.” 

You lean in, eyes locked on his like a missile. “You’re sloppy in a merge, predictable in a climb, and your cross-checks are lazy as hell. You fly like you’re invincible—which might be fine in a video game, but up there? That gets people killed.” 

You pause, just long enough to see if Maverick will step in. He doesn’t. 

“You’re not untouchable, Seresin. You’re just loud.” 

Then you turn back to the front and drop into your seat, arms crossed, chest heaving as you take a few deep, centring breaths. 

A low snicker breaks the silence, followed by a quiet, impressed whisper: ‘Damn… take that, Bagman.’ You don’t turn around, but you don’t have to—Jake’s probably still blinking. Pride simmers in your chest, and despite your best efforts, a smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth. 

“Well then,” Maverick says, rubbing his palms together with a smirk. “Let’s get started.” 

The morning briefing goes better than usual, mainly because Jake is too embarrassed to pipe up with his usual bullshit. Maverick talks through today’s drills, outlining what he’s looking for in their flying. He also mentions that you'll be up in the air today, analysing their tactical skills and reviewing their performance once they’re back on the ground. He gives Jake a pointed look as he says this, and you can’t help but bite back a giggle. 

About an hour later, Maverick announces that it’s time to fly, and the team starts filing out of the room. Jake casts you a quick glance—not lethal, just a small warning. Somehow, his stupidly cocky grin is already back in place. 

When you reach the door, you realise that Bradley has lingered behind, falling into step beside you just as you exit the room. 

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” he says, glancing at you with that small smirk beneath that damn moustache, the sight of which sends a warm ache straight to your lower belly. 

You offer him a clipped smile, a brief glance before looking back down, focusing on the movement of your boots. 

“Unless... I already am,” he adds, his voice a mixture of question and statement. 

You walk in silence for a moment, acutely aware of Bradley’s eyes on you—watching, soft and thoughtful. 

“I mean,” he continues, hesitating for a moment with a soft chuckle. “I know I should have called or something, especially after waking you up with my dick, but... I was honestly spent last night. Barely made it home before crashing out. But, if you’ll let me, I’d like to... you know... wake you up with my dick in a way that’s more enjoyable for the both of us?” 

You can’t help the grin that breaks across your face, a soft laugh slipping out before you can catch it. When you turn to look at him, his smile is sheepish and flushed, impossibly endearing, with a laugh hovering just behind it. His brown eyes are shining, warm and full of something that makes your chest ache—something you know is written all over your own face too. 

And damn. If this isn’t the man you’re supposed to spend your life with, you know you’ll be spending it alone. 

“Yeah, alright,” you sigh, feigning indifference. “I’ll allow it.” 

“Allow it?” he echoes, his voice rich with laughter. “Wow. I’m a lucky guy.” 

Warmth spreads through your whole body as the two of you continue into the hangar. You feel like you’re standing next to the sun—but it’s not burning you. It’s keeping you warm, keeping you alive. 

You can’t help glancing at him every few seconds, even while Maverick shouts instructions and assigns the first flyers. You find it hard to tear yourself away from Bradley when you’re called to your jet, waiting for ground crew instructions. Your mind is foggy with thoughts of him: his eyes, his smile, the little laugh he lets out, and that adorable crease between his brows when he’s confused or offended. 

Fuck. You’re so gone. You haven’t even kissed him yet, and it might kill you when you do. 

At least you’ll die happy. 

When the jet starts to rumble and your hands move over the controls, you pull your thoughts in. You focus on the here and now—the cockpit, the sky, the mission. Even the idea of flying like a grandma all day doesn’t kill your mood. Because you’ll see Bradley when you're back on the ground, and that’s enough to keep you grinning like an idiot behind your oxygen mask. 

The sky is clear—perfect flying weather—and the wind is barely a whisper. You feel like a horse champing at the bit, waiting for the gate to open. But that’s not what you’re here for. So you settle, banking slow beneath where you know Maverick is flying, waiting for instruction. 

“All right,” Maverick says, his voice crackling over comms. “Hangman, you’re mission lead. Payback, Fanboy, don’t let your wingman down. Fly the profile in your system. Deviate, and you’d better have a damn good reason. Watch for enemy aircraft.” 

“Sorry, Mav, my comms are a little fuzzy,” Jake replies. “Did you say enemy or grandma? ’Cause from where I’m flying, I can only see a Honda Civic.” 

Maverick’s irritation bleeds into his voice. “I’m the enemy aircraft, Hangman. Watch out for me. Our tactical specialist will be monitoring, and you can explain your mistakes to her when you’re back on the ground.” 

“I don’t make mistakes,” Jake says, that smirk practically audible. 

“We’ll see about that,” Maverick shoots back. 

You roll your eyes, taking a deep breath and tamping down the irritation rising in your chest. 

The others take off, and you track them—eyes sharp on the HUD and the sky. Maverick is flawless. And unfortunately, so is Jake. He’s a damn good pilot. Cocky, but predictable. You already know what he’s going to try next. 

The drill plays out. You listen to the comm chatter as you stay low and out of the way, observing. The team gives Maverick a decent run for his money, nearly finishing the nav route before he takes out Reuben and Mickey. Jake claims victory anyway—but Maverick shuts him down fast. 

“Fail,” he says. “Your wingman’s dead. Put the cocky bravado away, I’m done with it.” 

You’ve never heard Maverick so sharp. He actually sounds like a CO—calm, stern, commanding—as he orders everyone back to base. 

You keep low, banking through a few fluffy clouds, weaving like you’re bored. But your eyes stay trained, watching Jake flying just above, at your six. 

“Hey, tactical specialist,” Jake’s voice cuts in. “Just watching your cross-checks from up here. I can practically see the superiority from miles away.” 

You bite your tongue, suppressing the sarcastic retort clawing at your throat. 

He adds, “Oh wait. Nope. That’s just your nose in the air.” 

You roll your eyes and surge forward, jaw tight. 

“That’s it,” Maverick says, voice stern. “Back to the nav route. Now. You’re flying it again. And I’m not the enemy this time.” 

Jake snorts. “Mav, come on. You’re really gonna embarrass her like this?” 

“That’s enough, Lieutenant,” Maverick snaps. “Follow your orders. Stick to your waypoints. And good luck.” 

The way he says those last two words makes your pulse spike. Adrenaline kicks in, fast and sharp. 

Your limbs feel light. Your chest is buzzing. Your breath hitches, and a wicked smile spreads beneath your mask. 

“Alright,” Jake drawls, still clueless. “Come on, boys. Let’s show this Honda Civic how real men fly.” 

You’re practically vibrating now. Locked in. Focused. You follow the others back to the route—Maverick hangs back. You’re a bull in the chute, about to blow the gate. You’re going to kick this cowboy into the dust. 

All you need is the green light. The words. 

“Whenever you’re ready, Grandma,” Jake says, smug as ever. 

You take a breath. Narrow your gaze. 

You’re not just going to shoot them down. That’s too easy. You’re going to humiliate them. Drag it out. Make them suffer before they burn. 

Then Maverick speaks—low and clear, straight in your ear. A spark struck to gasoline. 

“Flip the switch, Jinx.” 

You’re gone before they can take their next breath. 

They can’t see you. You know it. You’re good at disappearing. Now you wait—watching from the shadows, letting them scramble. 

“Holy shit,” Reuben mutters, disbelief thick in his voice. 

“Who the hell is Jinx?” Jake asks, a beat behind. 

Reuben groans. “She is, idiot.” 

“Wait—where have I heard that before?” Mickey pipes up. 

“Jinx is the pilot Admiral Cain just grounded,” Reuben replies, his tone shifting fast toward panic. “Fastest low-level flyby of an aircraft carrier—barely two feet from the deck. And she’s the highest-scoring TOPGUN grad in twenty years. She’s fucking legendary.” 

“No,” Jake breathes, full of denial. “No, she’s not Jinx. She can’t be.” 

“You just had to run your fucking mouth, didn’t you?” Reuben says, voice deadpan with defeat. 

“Oh, we’re fucked,” Mickey declares. 

You slip beneath them like a shadow—silent, smooth—so close you could kiss their undercarriage with your canopy. But you don’t rush. You wait. Calculating. Cold. Planning the most humiliating move you can pull. You’re not here to play nice. You’re here to dominate. 

“Payback,” Jake says, still cocky, still smug. “You’ve got a shadow on your six.” 

“What?” Reuben’s voice spikes. “Where the hell is she? Fanboy, talk to me.” 

“Negative radar contact,” Mickey answers. “I don’t see anything.” 

You throttle back just enough to hover beneath them, then slide up—then down again—dancing through their blind spots like smoke in a breeze. 

“Hangman,” Reuben snaps, panic rising, “get her off us.” 

“Relax, Payback,” Jake drawls. “I’ve got eyes on her. She’s not as good as she thinks.” 

You breathe deep—steady, focused. The smile on your face is razor sharp. 

“Alright, Hangman,” you murmur, voice low and lethal. “Want to see how a real man flies?” 

You yank the stick back and rocket toward the sun—fast, blinding, gone. They lose you instantly. 

“Where’d she go?” Jake barks. “Fanboy, where the hell did she go?” 

“She’s too fast,” Mickey replies, frantic. “She’s over—wait—no, she’s—shit. I can’t get a lock!” 

Leveling out, you catch a glint of sunlight off a wing at two o’clock—Jake, hanging wide. Sloppy. 

You grin and dive—clean, silent, deadly. 

Back behind Payback and Fanboy, you slip into their six like a phantom. One breath. Then you float up, nose aligned perfectly. 

“Boo,” you whisper. 

“Shit!” Mickey yells. “She’s on us!” 

“Break, break, break!” Reuben shouts, yanking the stick. But you’re tighter than their turns, reading every move. Mickey’s calling positions, but it’s useless—you’re already there. 

Tone lock. Missile fired. 

“Damn it!” Reuben groans. 

You peel away quickly, climbing high and vanishing back into the sun. 

Then you wait. 

Jake’s climbing now, banking, twisting. Scanning. You can feel it—his nerves crackling across the sky. You disappeared, struck, and disappeared again. And now it’s just him. No backup. No noise. Just the slow, sinking realisation. 

“Where the hell is she now?” he snaps. 

“She’s hunting you,” Mickey says, voice laced with amusement. 

Jake loops, banks, scans his six. He’s getting desperate. But it’s too late—you’re already behind him, tracking every flick of his wings like you're inside the cockpit. 

Then you dive. 

Fast. Precise. Dead-on. 

He doesn’t even hear the tone until it screams. 

“Splash two, Hangman,” you say, smooth as silk, smug as sin. 

“Fuck!” he barks, pulling hard. 

You stick with him and surge upward, wings slicing through a cloudbank. Then you roll cleanly inverted—and drop. 

You hover over his jet, canopy to canopy, just feet apart. Perfect. Effortless. Deadly. 

Jake looks up. 

And you salute him—with one elegant, deliberate middle finger. 

“No fucking way,” he mutters, eyes wide. 

“Mission failed,” Maverick says, the smile audible in his voice. “Nice work, Jinx.” 

You right your jet, throttle back with surgical control, and leave Jake spinning in your jet wash—stunned, smoked, and thoroughly outflown. 

The comms are silent on the way back to base, and you can’t stop grinning behind your mask. Your cheeks are starting to ache. You feel like a caged bird finally stretching its wings. Like yourself again—confident, alive—and almost as smug as Jake probably feels every morning when he looks in the mirror at his stupid, pretty-boy face. 

Then Reuben’s voice crackles through your headset. “Is it true you once locked three bogeys in a single sweep during a TOPGUN exercise?” 

You laugh, quiet enough that your mic doesn’t catch it. “Yeah. Second fly drill. Some guy was running his mouth, so I unleashed hell. Got an earful for it, though—reckless flying and all.” 

Feeling a little cocky, you bank up beside their jet, then roll cleanly over—canopy to canopy. You give them a polite little wave before settling beneath them, then punch the throttle and streak ahead toward base. 

“Dude,” Mickey says, awestruck, “I think I’m in love.” 

You grin and surge forward, barrelling up beside Maverick. You sweep past him—closer than regulation, jostling his jet just enough to rattle him. His laughter fills your headset as you rocket ahead, heart pounding as he closes in behind you. 

You chase each other through the sky in a tame game of cat and mouse until it's time to land. Following instructions from the ground crew, you ease into a holding pattern, waiting your turn to descend. 

It’s not long before you’re popping the canopy and tearing off your helmet, still grinning as you climb out of the jet and drop to the tarmac—light on your feet and high on adrenaline. 

“Holy shit!” Natasha storms toward you, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. “You—you’re Jinx! I can’t believe—oh my God.” 

Bob is right behind her. “You pulled a Cobra manoeuvre during a mock dogfight at a showcase event to evade missile lock. I was there.” 

Laughter bubbles from your lips, heat blooming in your cheeks as the squad quickly surrounds you. 

Natasha shakes her head in disbelief. “The navy hasn’t seen a pilot like you since-” 

“Me,” Maverick cuts in, stepping up beside you with his helmet tucked under his arm. 

You glance at him, noting the proud grin on his face, before turning back to the others. Natasha and Bob are front and centre, Javy just behind them, with Reuben and Mickey lingering in the back, still wearing their helmets. But you don’t see Bradley. 

“Listen up,” Maverick says, his tone turning serious. “As most of you know, Jinx was grounded for a particularly dangerous stunt—well, she should be grounded. Admiral Simpson agreed to let her fly on the condition that only need-to-know personnel are made aware of her identity. I’ve just made you all need-to-know. Now you have to prove you can be trusted with that.” 

Jake steps forward, falling in beside Natasha, his expression unreadable. You and Maverick both turn toward him, and your stomach twists. If he wanted to, he could unravel everything. 

Jake meets your eyes, and for the first time, there’s nothing but sincerity behind his. “I’m sorry,” he says. “You’re... you’re fucking amazing.” 

A grin breaks across his face—and yours follows. The squad erupts in cheers as Maverick claps a hand on your shoulder. You offer Jake a fist bump, and he accepts it with a laugh. 

“You know,” he says, that cocky smirk firmly back in place, “if it doesn’t work out with Rooster, I’m always-” 

“That’s enough, Hangman,” Bradley cuts in, dropping a hand on Jake’s shoulder and nudging him aside. 

You giggle like a schoolgirl with a crush. Your cheeks are on fire, and you have to bite down on your bottom lip to keep from grinning like an idiot. 

Bradley turns to you. “Hey.” 

You tilt your head slightly, eyes locking on his stupidly handsome face. “Hi.” 

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck, his own cheeks tinged red. “That was—uh, you’re even cooler than I thought.” 

You snort, unladylike and unbothered. “That so?” 

He nods and steps closer, just a few inches between your boots. 

“Does that intimidate you?” you tease. 

He laughs again and glances up, Adam’s apple bobbing beneath that sun-kissed skin. The world falls away—it’s just the two of you now, the rest of the squad, watching and waiting, have all but disappeared. 

“No,” he says, eyes back on you. “It kinda turns me on.” 

You don’t think. You just move. 

Your hand slides up the front of his flight suit, fingers curling into his collar as you tug him down before he can say another word. 

And then you kiss him. 

It’s not soft. It’s not tentative. It’s everything—all the tension, the smart-ass remarks, the stolen glances and breathless moments that led to this. 

You rise onto your toes and his hands catch your waist, pulling you closer. His mouth claims yours like a promise, like he’s been waiting for this as long as you have. And when his tongue brushes the seam of your lips, you don’t hesitate—you part for him, and it’s like striking a match. 

There’s laughter in the background, noise and movement, but it all fades beneath the roar of your pulse and the heat of his mouth. All you can feel is him—his body, his breath, his hands. You want the flight suits gone, burned, anything that dares keep him from you reduced to ash. 

It takes everything you have not to absolutely devour him right there on the tarmac. But you’re still at work. And people are watching. 

So you part—eventually—grinning like idiots and panting like you’ve just sprinted a mile in full gear. 

“Jesus,” Mickey mutters from somewhere behind Bradley. “Even I’m hot and bothered after that.” 

“All right, you two,” Maverick chuckles. “Save it for the supply closet.” 

You roll your eyes and drop back onto your heels, shooting him your best unimpressed glare—which, admittedly, isn’t very convincing when you’re high on adrenaline and kissing Bradley Bradshaw. 

“We’re never living that down, are we?” 

“No,” Maverick replies with a grin. “Never.” 

You groan and turn back toward Bradley, letting your forehead fall against his chest. 

“I’m still not convinced you two didn’t fuck in there,” Jake says, striding past toward the briefing room. 

A chorus of half-laughs and agreement follows him. 

Bradley’s chest shakes with laughter beneath your cheek, one arm still wrapped around your shoulders, holding you close. 

“If they’re going to assume we did it in there,” he murmurs, just for you, “maybe we should just go do it in there.” 

You glance up at him, eyes flicking to his mouth, already picturing that stupidly hot moustache between your thighs. 

“Don’t fucking tempt me.” 

He laughs again and drops his hand to yours, fingers tangling as he tugs you toward the briefing room. Your eyes fall to his ass—shameless, hungry—watching the way it moves with each step just ahead of you. Teasing. Taunting. 

Being assigned to Maverick’s special detachment isn’t your punishment. Flying like Jake’s grandma in her Honda Civic isn’t your punishment either. No—the real punishment is spending ten hours a day, five days a week with Bradley fucking Bradshaw, pretending to be professional. Just waiting for the evenings when you can drag him to bed and completely, unapologetically devour him. 

END.

[strayingawayy]

it's the little things for me

chan: folding the laundry as he admires you while you scream to lady gaga on a friday night, cleaning your spectacles/ sun glasses for you, feeding you with his own chopsticks, making sure you're on the opposite side of the traffic while crossing the street, taking strands of hair out of your mouth when you're asleep, making sure he always has time for you, rocking you in his arms while you cry, sharing the tiniest of umbrellas even if you BOTH get wet in the process, silently wiping sauce off your face while you ramble on about the latest gossip at work/uni, sends flowers to your place on random days, saying he loves you more than he loves the ocean. lee know: wearing even the most cringe frilly pink aprons you'll get him which stay stuff like 'kiss the cook' or 'mr. good lookin is cookin', learning how to make all your comfort foods, buying you stuffed toys resembling your childhood pets, always making you taste test the food he's cooking, "do you want it to be spicier? it'll help with the cold.", oiling and massaging your hair on sunday mornings, talking to you like he does with his cats whenever you're sick, screeching to songs in the car, buying stupid matching sunglasses, sharpening your pencils for you, leaving sooni, doongi and dori at his parents' claiming you spend more time with them than him, cracking your fingers when he's bored.

changbin: washing your dishes no matter how much you insist you can do it, keeping in touch with your family once you introduce them to him, giving you piggy back rides, letting you make stupidly cute hairstyles with his hair, sleeping with your stuffed toys when you're not at home, always packing your favourite toothpaste because he knows how much you despise the hotel ones, letting you win at arm wrestling, racing with you to the nearby convenience store.

hyunjin: learning your drink orders for different moods and seasons, slipping little encouraging notes with the cutest doodles into your bag, jacket pockets, underwear pile, EVERYWHERE, clicking lots of candid polaroids of you, always keeping a lipbalm in his pocket for you, making a list of places you want to visit and taking you on surprise trips, rubbing your noses together, drawing on your arms while you watch a movie, listening to you rant about your passions all. night. long.

jisung: always wanting you to share new music you like with him, buying you guys matching fluffy house slippers with the most bizarre stuff like cheese puffs or flamingos on them, decorating your shared space with childhood photos of you, singing karaoke with you until 4 am, watching panda and hamster videos together, singing you awake every morning, playing careless whisper as a way of asking you to dance with him, binging studio ghibli movies with you on days off, afternoon naps, watching fireflies together, weird nicknames like 'cake batter eater' or 'hairbrush stealer', rewatching childhood cartoons, doubling over in laughter one second and having the most serious conversations the next, "would you still love me if i was a worm?"

felix: reporting accounts which abuse skzoo >:(, always stocking up on your favourite snacks, letting you tease him over his small hands, giving you the best massages after long days, whispering and quiet laughing in silent spaces, biting your shoulder whenever you expose him in front of the boys, showing off his latest dance moves while dusting the house, giggling and rolling around in fresh sheets you just finished putting on, being your personal heater during the winters, miserably gardening together, smiling in between kisses.

seungmin: learning small phrases in your mother tongue and making sure his pronunciation is on spot, wearing animal onesies together, waking you up with your favourite cup of coffee every morning, giving you head scratches when you can't sleep, cuddling together on a rocking chair, fighting over who pays for the bill, going to fancy stores and trying out clothes only to leave without buying anything, always finding you first whenever there's a blackout, going to the local adoption center and cooing at puppies together, tracing your features while you sleep, a quick forehead kiss before he rushes to work, replacing photocards you have of other members with his own.

jeongin: "mentioned you in their story", staying on call with you when you're taking a cab at night, wearing normal shoes when he goes out with you, eating caramel popcorn at 2 am, getting on a subway and going to the nearby town because you heard it's raining there and needed a reason to dance together, laying his head on your lap while reading manga, wearing fuzzy socks, trying out stupid tiktok couple trends, pretending to be a toxic couple while grocery shopping.

[hallowxiu]

How the Brothers Would Deal with MC's Mortality

Mammon:

You casually brought it up as a joke

Probably something like “i’m here for a good time, not a long time” or “why should i care what happens in 100 years? It’s not like i’ll be around to care”

Would probably confuse Mammon at first as to why you wouldn’t be around, but he would put the pieces together in the middle of the night when trying to sleep.

A whole, eyes snapping wide opening and flinging out of his bed kind of moment.

Mammon would worry himself sick

Yes, he knows humans can die, hell, he used to mock you for being so frail when you first came to the Devildom, but now? 

Well, now things are different. How he feels about you is different

He's spending all his money on ways to keep you kicking longer. 

Anything he can think of that’ll help, he’s buying it. Vegetables, fruits, protein powder, comfortable clothes, a nice pillow, vitamins, shampoos- anything. He has no idea where to start, so he just starts grabbing everything. 

I mean, something will have to help, right? 

If you notice he looks panicked, don’t point it out, it’ll only make it worse. Unless you want to be smothered to death from his affection and worry, then by all means. ;)

Leviathan:

Look, he can barely handle his favorite anime characters dying, so you? Yeah, no, that’s way too much. 

Nothing actually popped up to remind Leviathan of your mortality, it was because of Satan throwing his books all around the house that did it. 

Suddenly, it was all he could think about. How did he not think of this before? 

Leviathan is no Satan though, and he’s certainly not Lucifer. Researching medical documents and trying to think of things to keep you alive longer are a little over his head. That being said, there were some things he could do.

Leviathan dove into his own research that would be within his realm of understanding, studying that humans who have more positive mindsets and who are less exposed to depressing forms of media, may live longer than the average person. This- this was something he could work with. 

Suddenly, you were constantly being invited to his room, Leviathan having a variety of slice-of-life anime for you to watch with him, all of which had happy endings to boot. If an anime was even remotely depressing, he made sure to keep that out of reach. 

Video games? He’s keeping it safe; he’s not risking anything here. If it’s not similar to Stardew Valley, Animal Crossing, Dreamlight Valley, or The Sims (which must be on a good day), you’re just not playing it. Kingdom Hearts if you’re lucky. 

Satan:

Would do an insane amount of research 

Likely overheard the topic on a news segment about the tragically short lifespans of humans before it all clicked together.

Satan, unlike the other brothers, has never experienced death before, so while it sounds silly, he never had reason to think of you dying.

Looks up humans who had long lifespans to see how he can implement those things into your lifestyle.

Books will be littered everywhere (although that’s not really unusual, but what is would be the topic of said books- The Long Lives of Humans, Human Lifestyle for Dummies 101, The Road to Human Immortality, etc. etc.)

This is when Satan learns just how easy it is for a human to kick the bucket.

Heart attacks, brain aneurysms, strokes, seizures, cancer, the list goes on and on and it’s starting to scare him. He didn’t know humans could just drop dead. 

He’s going to start researching curses to increase your lifespan, or at the very least he’s going to make sure you’re careful as hell. 

You won’t even get as much as a cut without him being aware of it; he’s going to hover around and mother hen the absolute shit out of you. 

Try not to get too annoyed with him though, it all stems from good intentions. 

Asmodeus:

He’ll be damned if his shopping partner for life is going to die on him.

Asmo isn’t stupid; if anything he’s pretty emotionally aware. He's known for a long time just how short the lifespan of humans is.

But still, it came in the form of a nightmare. One where he couldn’t save you, despite giving his best efforts. The way you died was tragic, long before your life should have ended. 

This sent Asmo somewhat into a frenzied state trying to find things to keep you alive once he woke up. 

Vitamins, vitamins, vitamins

Humans benefit from vitamins, right? Surely you’d benefit from Devildom vitamins then. If it’ll increase the lifespan of a demon, he sees no reason why it wouldn’t increase your lifespan. 

Of course, it really only gives you nicer nails and shinier hair. 

He’s 10x more intense with your morning and night routines. 

He will be unloading all his facial creams on you, and telling you the benefits of each one and how it might add a few years to your lifespan. 

You want to stay up late at night to finish homework? Maybe watch a movie? Yeah, no, not on Asmo’s watch. 

Your ass is going to bed every night at 10pm, right along with him. You do realize you’ll be getting exactly 8 hours of sleep each night, too, right? 

Beelzebub:

Regarding his trauma with Lilith, it came as no surprise when he started to fret over your well-being. 

Poor Beel saw an article that discussed how tragically easy it is for a human to die. The cherry on top? How they could die from simply overeating. 

Overeating isn’t a concept Beel is overly familiar with (because to him, it’s never overeating), and while he knew most people couldn’t keep up with his eating habits, he didn’t think it could actually cause harm to a human, let alone kill them. 

Grocery trips are now a more anxiety-inducing event. 

He’s suddenly paranoid that any of the Devildom food could and will kill you. Are you allergic to anything? How would you even know? 

What if one day he serves you his favorite boiled dragonhead and you just drop dead at the dinner table?? No, that will never do. 

There’s a list of Devildom foods that he knows for sure you can have without dying, but then comes the issue of portion control. How much is too much for a human? 

Beelzebub swore he would never lose another loved one again, and it’s a promise he intends to keep. From now on, you will only eat what he deems safe. 

You want to try a new food in the Devildom that you’ve never had before? You better get some seriously good convincing skills if you want him to cave in. For someone who only ever thinks with his stomach, he’s surprisingly stubborn. 

Belphegor:

He’s still plagued with nightmares about Lilith, especially since he still thinks it’s his fault. Tack that on to the way he blamed you and the rest of the human race for it? The man is walking trauma. 

 Like Asmodeus, this was brought on by nightmares about you dying. Different from Asmo’s, however, you usually died by his hand. Naturally, considering your tumultuous history. 

Belphegor, unlike his brothers, takes a different approach. He just doesn’t approach you at all. 

What better way to keep your lifespan long than by staying away from you altogether? 

Is it something that he wants? Of course not! But how can he trust himself to never hurt you again? To never kill you again. 

He can’t. 

So, he locks himself away in his room, sleeping most of the day or just avoiding the areas you normally like to lounge. 

On a normal day, almost everyone in the household, including yourself, would notice this behavior change. However, since you’re now being cornered by all the brothers and their concerns about your lifespan, it’s easy for Belphegor’s absence to slip your mind. 

This hurts Belphegor, but at the end of the day, he believes this is for the best.

Lucifer: 

Lucifer didn’t need a reminder of your short lifespan; if anything, it’s something he’s thought plenty about. 

Lucifer has trauma, we all know that much. After Lilith, he’s absolutely terrified of losing another loved one to something outside of his control.

And your lifespan is not something that’s out of his control. At least not how he sees it, anyway. 

If you thought he was overbearing or overprotective before, brace yourself. He’s going to step it up several notches. 

No excess of junk food, no more pulling all-nighters, no more sitting around the house gaming all day, and definitely no more overexerting your use of magic. He’s no fool, he knows the toll your magic could eventually take on your body. 

Honestly? He wasn’t this bad until his brothers started to panic about your mortality, and though Lucifer told himself he was above such nonsense, he quickly found himself taking all the precautions they were taking (and then some). 

Fortunately, if you find yourself becoming overwhelmed, they’ll be more than willing to listen to you (granted you take some of their concerns into account).

[companion-showdown]

Who is your favourite companion?

TOURNAMENT MASTERPOST

Propaganda

Clara Oswald

No one is doing it like Clara Oswald. She’s bisexual, she’s a control freak, she’s made out with Jane Austen, she was the Doctor (and she was good at it). She looks like the normal one any time she’s standing next to twelve, but when you see her interact with humans on her own you realize how bad she is at acting like a normal person. Steven Moffat once said she’s what the Doctor would be like if they were a 20 something human woman stuck on earth. She is such an incredible enigma of compassion and bravery and ego. If she doesn’t make it to at least the top five then what are we even doing here. (@tardis-technician )

Jamie McCrimmon

He's the longest running companion (113 episodes!), the original companion with romantic tension with the Doctor, loyal as can be, on the same footing with the doctor despite being an 18th century highlander, he wears a kilt in space, and he was so devoted to the Doctor that he had to be forced away and have his memory erased, and the Doctor had to be grounded, for his run to end. Also really just watch a video of them they're so gay

What can I even say. It's Jamie Mccrimmon. He never would have chosen to leave the doctor, he's the doctor's most loyal companion. He's so Scottish and I love it! Always wears his kilt, gets excited when he hears bagpipe music and sees the Scottish Highlands on the Tardis screen, speaks Gàidhlig, what's not to love. (@gothicacetheatrekid )

Jamie is the longest running companion in all of Doctor Who. He is arguably the doctor’s first best friend and has been haunting the narrative ever since his departure in 1969 (even in 2024 “Boom” he is referenced!! The 10th doctor uses his name in s2e2, and the doctor-turned-master in s13 plays the skyeboat song, which only became a huge part of Doctor who because of Jamie, who was a Jacobite! Several classic doctors meet/reference Jamie in tv and extended universe media, and if you’re an I, TARDIS fan you’ll find Jamie’s entry is the only one where it’s explicitly referenced that Doctor - and the TARDIS! - loved him). He is a very complex character, who might be dismissed but is much more intelligent than he is given credit for. He’s brave and kind. He has a huge fan theory that gained enough traction to become canon through tv stories and audios - “s6b” - in which he works with the Doctor under time lord supervision. He came into the show at its most crucial watershed, the first regeneration, and impacted so much of what we consider core to doctor who today through his friendship with the second doctor. He’s a companion from the past who is quick to learn and adapt, and was the first companion who wanted to join the tardis AND never wanted to leave, until he was forcibly removed. Jamie was with the doctor for pretty much his whole second body, and Doctor who would not be what it is today without Jamie.

[retroaria]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 boyfriend nagi.ᐟᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⊹ ࣪ ˖ another set of bf headcanons finally !! ⊹ ࣪ ˖

warnings: this is post Blue Lock, not a high school!au

BLUE LOCK M.LIST | enjoy 🌵 - aria

pre-boyfriend!nagi who spends weeks, months even, questioning what exactly it is he feels for you because he just can’t wrap his head around it. doesn’t know why his heart throbs when you say his name, why his hands get sweaty when you sit close to him, why he feels the need to lie about certain things to make himself look better, why he feels the constant urge to just fall into your arms and lay there forever.

pre-boyfriend!nagi who goes to Reo for advice on the matter only to be called an idiot and have his own feelings explained to him at his big age

pre-boyfriend!nagi who now can associate those feelings with wanting a relationship with you, it’s all he thinks about. he yearns for you so bad. wants to have you in his arms, nap with you, teach you how to play games, let you cook for him (and feed him lol), introduce you to choki, show you all his cool soccer moves. it makes him really sad that he can’t just have you already, and it’s gonna be a hassle to ask you out.

pre-boyfriend!nagi who isn’t ready to ask you out but still wants to share his affections with you. He’s very touchy, always hugging you, leaning on your shoulder, brushing strands of hair out of your face so he can see your eyes. Asks you to hang out with him almost every day, even if he knows you’re gonna be busy, he still has to ask just in case you can.

pre-boyfriend!nagi who realizes that holding his feelings in is way more of a hassle than confessing so he does exactly that. He’s very straightforward about it. “Hey, I’ve liked you for a while now. Wanna go on a date?”. If you say yes he’d probably just kiss you on the spot. He hasn’t even taken you on the first date yet but in his head you guys are already dating.

pre-boyfriend!nagi who takes you to an arcade on the first date, beats you at every game, but then wins you a bunch of claw machine stuffies to make up for it.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

boyfriend!nagi who asks you to come live with him early on the relationship. He has such a straightforward mindset that he can’t wrap his head around how you guys are together but not “together”, as in together all the time (if that makes sense). He has to learn the concept of personal space in a relationship and eventually even after you guys start living together understands why he can’t cling to you every second of every day. He’ll still try sometimes and gets sad when you go off to do your own thing but gets over it once he’s preoccupied watching matches or playing games.

boyfriend!nagi who gets jealous very easily, but not in the stereotypical sense. He doesn’t get mad or aggressive when he’s jealous but he’s totally the type to deadpan you with “do you not love me anymore?” If he sees you giving anyone else more attention than him. This feeling he gets isn’t just towards guys or even people your age, it’s anyone. “Why were you talking to that old woman at the store for so long? I was right there.” “Nagi, she was ringing us up, she’s a cashier, it’s her job.” He actually has very little reaction to other guys flirting with you because he simply thinks that’s a stupid thing for them to do and is confident you’ll reject them.

boyfriend!nagi who lets you dress him up, style his hair, do his makeup for fun, would honestly let you give him a tattoo if you really wanted to. His mind doesn’t have negative preconceived notions about many things, and he thinks it’s adorable watching you have fun with him. Really likes when you do his hair just so he can feel your hands on his scalp. Same with doing his makeup, thinks both activities are relaxing and hassle free bonding moments for you two. All he has to do is sit there and look pretty.

boyfriend!nagi who mentions you unconsciously all the time. Along with football and video games, you’re a focal point of his life and you’ve become integrated in almost everything he does or thinks about. So much so that when responding to questions and such, he’ll say “we” more often than ”I”. “Nagi, did you get a chance to watch that match last week?” / “Yeah we watched it the other night.” / “There’s this new manga that just came out I think you’d be into it Nagi.” / “Oh alright, we’ll definitely check it out.”

boyfriend!nagi who drops the love bomb very early on because if he had feelings for you strong enough to even notice or care about, he’s confident it has to be love. He has different variations of “I love you”, the most commonly used ones are groggy and drawn out, “love youuuu~” or “Mhmm, love.” It’s a pet name and a confession all in one, verbal shortcuts make life easier (nagi logic 101). When he really wants you to hear it, he’ll say “I love you” in full but repeatedly. Either while he’s burying his face in the crook of your neck or following you around the house begging you to forgive him for sleeping all day instead of the chores you asked him to do.

boyfriend!nagi who wants to put more and more effort into himself and his lifestyle now that he has you. He wants to be the best he can be, give you everything you want and need, show his love for you in a million different ways. It’s so bad that he sometimes cries to himself thinking about all the ways he might mess up the relationship, he doesn’t know what he would do if you left him, he’d just feel so empty. :((

boyfriend!nagi who clings to you at every moment that he can, his heart stings at the feeling you leaving his grasp even if it’s just for a moment.

boyfriend!nagi who is absolutely whipped and unafraid to admit it. He’s so open and honest about his feelings with you because it’s a pain to not be able to tell you things. Is constantly reminding you how much he thinks about you and yearns for you. So much love with this boy <3

[kiefbowl]

wait ok genuinely kind of interested in your opinion on porn now......... if only because those big 3 you mentioned are always the reasons i see people throwing out so id love to hear a deeper take than that

I'm genuinely surprised anyone could follow me and not know my stance on porn, but that's okay. simplified and in no particular order and in no means exhaustive:

porn creates perverse incentives

porn normalizes the purchase of women as sexual objects for men to use

porn is often called "rape on tape" by feminists, which I mostly agree with in the sense that if a woman would otherwise not have had sex except that she is being paid, then she is not consenting. you cannot purchase consent, the consent is not meaningful then.

additionally, you can not verify if you are watching people be raped in any other way. porn sites are filled with stolen videos, coerced videos, actual minors, aggressive rape that was filmed with or without the victim's knowledge, and other videos of this nature. there is no way to verify this at all from videos that are somehow not these things. things like "amateur" are often just marketing by the porn company or pimp, or they're stolen videos.

porn creates a social script for sex. this social script is least of all - boring and predictable. it also reinforces the long standing conservative gender understanding (see 2). porn also reinforces ideas of homophobia and racism under the guise of "taboo." porn is literally so conservative, but because it's considered "shocking" to "puritans" (religious men watch porn all the time), people talk like it's this liberal fantasy. porn is constantly reestablishing the status quo in the most perverse ways.

it's been demonstrated that people who are porn addicts very quickly escalate to more violent porn, and that this plays out in their sex lives with their (often vulnerable) sex partners.

the violence that happens in porn is real. the idea that it's a "fantasy" is marketing by porn website and pimps. if a man slaps a woman across the face, that really happened. why does it matter if she says "yes" to it - that's her "job" so how can she say no? (see 3 and also 4).

there is so much evidence and testimony by porn stars of the absolutely awful and terrifying conditions in which they work, even in the quote unquote "real" industry. drugs, alcohol, violence, coercion, exposure to STIs, homelessness, pimping, prostitution, mental illness, suicide, lack of benefits. It's bananas that anyone would be surprised by this when it's pointed out, we're talking about an industry that films sex on video. The majority of people in the sex industry want out. It ruins their lives, and once in it's very hard to leave and lead a normal life. The idea that the industry needs regulation to be "fixed" is bizarre and just seems like pimp and porn industry marketing to get people to look the other way.

Poverty creates porn. Social welfare for the poorest of our women would prevent them from entering the industry in the first place. Women go into porn out of need, not desire. social media pushes that porn stars loooove their jobs is 1. porn site and pimp propaganda 2. literally marketing because men want to believe this.

I am not religious, I don't believe in god. I love sex and masturbation. it's the most natural thing in the world and people don't actually need to "learn" how to do it - it's innate within us. Porn is just one more way to humiliate women in a misogynist society that requires women to be fearful of sex and rape constantly, and uneducated in their own sexual desires and boundaries.

[milkoomi]

⋆˚࿔ a new canvas means a new you 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

a mini series on the art of becoming a better you

previous chapter

chapter two — THE ART OF SELF CONFIDENCE

i’ve touched on this topic before, but i wanted to do more of an in-depth deep dive into it! self confidence isn’t just about how you feel about your physical self, but it’s also about how you feel about your mental and emotional self; how you feel about your soul and the aura that surrounds you. self confidence can start at your physical self, like your looks, your style, etc. but reaching a true, deeper meaning of having confidence you have to dig deeper into your mind, heart, and soul.

references on self confidence:

“a guide to building confidence” - by me!

“study yourself to become confident” - thewizardliz

“the ultimate guide to becoming confident” - alessya farrugia

“rewiring your subconscious: guide to becoming your dreamiest self” - @glowettee

“building confidence” - @goddessinnerglow

ᥫ᭡. different types of confidence

in alessya farrguia’s youtube video, she discusses the 3 different types of self confidence: physical, social, and authentic confidence. i highly recommend watching her video! she makes really phenomenal points in her discussion!

i’d like to highlight some key points she made in her video:

physical confidence: “stop comparing your behind the scenes to everyone else’s highlights.”

social confidence: “confidence isn’t thinking ‘i know someone will like me’, it’s ‘i know it won’t bother me if they don’t’.”

authentic confidence: “true confidence means trusting yourself”

but i’d like to add mental & emotional confidence. the mentality that you have and how you feel about yourself plays a huge role in self confidence. having a mindset that makes you feel secure and having emotions toward yourself that are positive will help you become more confident. it also helps, immensely, to be in a headspace that makes you feel comfortable being you, that brings you joy, and that brings you peace. being able to have a good relationship with your own emotions can uplift you!

mental confidence:

destress & decompress — when your mind is weighed down by stress, you start to feel overwhelmed. that overwhelming feeling can cause your mind to break down and make you think that you won’t be capable of recovering from that stress. it’s important to manage your stress and remind yourself that you are capable of overcoming anything that’s causing you those feelings! stress is one of those things that make you feel like everything is impossible, but that’s only a feeling. it’s like having a bad dream, while you’re experiencing that dream it might feel too real and sometimes it may even be scary, but then you wake up and you realize that you’re safe. think of stress as just a bad dream, the feeling is only ever temporary and as soon as you manage it/overcome it you’ll be safe again. and, as a bonus, once you overcome that stress, you feel more secure within yourself and you’re reminded that, yes, everything is going to be okay and you are more than capable of overcoming those feelings!

practice mindfulness within yourself — “mindfulness is the practice of paying attention to the present moment without judgement.” with that being said, practice paying attention to yourself without any judgement. focus on how you’re feeling, what your current thoughts are; focus on you without judging yourself. learn to accept yourself as you are within that present moment and try to steer away from making quick, negative judgements about yourself. yes, you can judge yourself, but do so in a way that’s productive! judge your mental and emotional state, are you in a headspace that is ideal to you? judge your health, do you feel like there needs to be any changes in your lifestyle, diet, or activity level to better your body in a healthy manner? judge yourself, is there anything about yourself that you still need to work on or are there characteristics of yourself that you take pride in?

emotional confidence:

emotional intelligence — this is key to gaining emotional confidence. i recommend this video by The Glow Up Secrets Podcast on youtube! the host brings up so many wonderful and insightful points on becoming emotionally intelligent! being able to self-regulate and to understand exactly what you’re feeling can help you gain confidence in yourself. people will always pride themselves in their intelligence, so let being emotionally intelligent be the intelligence you pride yourself in!

ᥫ᭡. self-acceptance

people have this idea that self-acceptance is just settling for who you are, and well, that’s not really the case— at least in my eyes. learning to accept yourself as you are now will make it easier for you in your self improvement journey. we all want to become the “it-girl/person”, but a lot of us will look for quick fixes or even go towards trying unhealthy habits. allowing yourself to accept who you are right in this moment can be a first step towards becoming the person you strive to be.

accept your insecurities. accept your failures. accept your body as it is right now. accept your faults. then take all of that acceptance and turn it into a learning experience for yourself. learn that your insecurities only become insecurities because of that negative self-talk. learn that you cannot grow without any failures. learn what exactly it is that your body needs to become healthier and better for yourself.

accept yourself, then learn from yourself.

ᥫ᭡. manifestations & affirmations

we can make our dream selves become the reality. there’s so many amazing posts here on tumblr about manifesting, so go look into them! if we believe it, we can have it. you have to believe that you have confidence. you have to affirm yourself that you are confident. people, myself included, talk about “faking it til you make it”, but when you really think about it, the more you repeat these manifestations and affirmations the more it starts to feel true and real to yourself.

this also ties into positive self-talk. we have to speak to ourselves kindly, we have to uplift ourselves in a world that brings us down. talk to yourself with grace, gratitude, and genuine appreciation. you have gotten yourself through countless hardships. sure, there were probably people who helped you out on the way, but at the end of it, it was mostly your own doing that got you to a better place. so appreciate and love that about yourself!

grab a journal and write down all your manifestations and affirmations daily. writing it all down is like setting it in stone. be consistent, and soon enough all that you want for yourself— including self confidence— will come into fruition.

ᥫ᭡. take pride

think of it this way: no one can be you. people can try to imitate you, but they can never truly be you. take pride in how you look because no one has features like yours, take pride in your work because no one worked the way you did, take pride in your accomplishments because no one worked in the same way that you did to achieve those things; take pride in yourself. as cheesy and cliché as it all sounds, there’s literally no one else who is like you.

ᥫ᭡. find a deeper understanding for yourself

this point is heavily inspired by thewizardliz’s video “study yourself to become confident” (linked in the beginning of the chapter). i just want to reiterate her points and expand on them a little bit! her beginning statement includes: “once you know who you are, no one can tell you anything”.

i feel like we all understand ourselves to a certain degree. but understanding yourself on a deeper, more personal level will allow you to truly feel confident. in her video, liz talks about understanding and even studying ourselves to understand what we like/dislike, what we accept/don’t accept, etc. and i genuinely feel like she brings up a really great point in doing so!

we, as humans, feel like we know what we want for ourselves rather than actually knowing what we want for ourselves. we feel like certain people bring us joy, we feel like certain hobbies make us happy, we feel like we understand ourselves. but, in reality, most times we don’t actually know those things about ourselves.

people we surround ourselves with

we think that certain friends/partners bring us joy because we’re taught, sometimes unintentionally, to allow people to make us feel like we have to conform to them and their wants and needs. we don’t know that some of these people in our lives might actually be bringing us and our confidence down.

hobbies people partake in

we think that doing certain things, like drinking or hook-up culture, make us feel happy or satisfied with ourselves. but we don’t know or we’re not aware of how those hobbies, or even habits, might be destroying us physically, mentally, and even emotionally.

behaviors we accept

we think that if we accept certain behaviors that we’ll get more people to like us or get brownie points with a specific person, but we don’t know that accepting bad/poor behavior diminishes our strength and respect for ourself.

this all takes us back to chapter one: THE ART OF LETTING GO. the toxic people we surround ourselves with unknowingly, the hobbies we take part in unknowingly, the behaviors we accept unknowingly; that all needs to be let go of!

we have to truly understand ourselves and truly know exactly what we want for ourselves to gain the confidence we long for. without knowing yourself, you won’t understand how to find and feel genuine self confidence.

ᥫ᭡. final notes

at a certain point, confidence should feel like it comes naturally, but to even get to that point there’s a lot of work that needs to be put into ourselves. especially when a lot of us start off with almost no confidence at all, it can be extremely challenging to even wake up in the morning and think, “i can do this”. you have to be willing to put in the work for yourself. you have to be willing to have patience with yourself. you have to be willing to advocate for yourself. you have to be willing to do all of this for you, and you alone. you can be confident— and confidence will come to you! you’re more than capable of doing so, babe. believe in yourself like you would believe in someone you love and care for.

with lots of love, juno 🌷

[pullupinarari]

I feel so cold without you [LH]

summary: Lewis' schedule has been crazy, and he can't spend much time at home. but little Grace doesn't understand why.

author's note: I am still struggling with a writer's block so I'm so sorry cause this is honestly so bad and makes no sense, but I'm trying to get my creativity flowing again so pls bear with me. this is angsty but doesn't have a destructive ending. also barely proofread

• masterlist

wc: 5531 - English is not my first language! Feedback is always appreciated

Everybody knows that Lewis’ life involves traveling a lot, to different countries, continents, all the time - that’s not new to anyone. You met him in this reality, married him with this crazy agenda, and Grace was born in the middle of what you consider to be ‘normal’ for your life beside your husband. 

As a couple, you always managed to deal with the schedules, the work trips, the races abroad. As a family, you learned how to juggle being a mum and a wife to a F1 driver, with your own work responsibilities, teaching little Grace the best you can all about why her dad has to be away so much. 

When Lewis is away for a little time, your daughter understands it. She sees her daddy racing on the television, she chants his name as if she was there in person - she knows her dad is doing what he is best at, besides being the bestest daddy ever to her.

But Grace is very, very attached to Lewis, in the exact same way that Lewis is extremely attached to his princess, and they can’t stay away from each other for long. The problem is, for the past couple of weeks, your husband hasn’t been home. 

Lewis was in Italy, preparing everything at Ferrari, and setting everything up for the day you and Grace will meet him there, at the new place that you will call ‘home’ for this new period of your life. Then, the driver had to fly with the team to Spain, to prepare for the pre-season. So, his schedule has been incredibly tight, leaving him with no chance of flying back to London, to his girls’ arms, even for just a night. 

As the weeks pass by, your daughter starts growing confused. Daddy isn’t racing on the telly, he isn’t home to play with her, so the toddler could show him how she is feeling more confident to ride her pink bike, and the only time she sees him is through a video call that he does when calling you at the end of the day. 

So, why is daddy not home to tuck Gracie into bed every night? To give her the special forehead kisses that only he knows how to do, the ones that would scare away all the monsters?

Inside the three-year-old’s brain, everything made more sense while she could see him driving his car on the television, listening to him talking on the interviews following the race, knowing for a fact that her daddy is working. And, as much as you keep telling the toddler that dad is at work, where is he working? Why can’t Grace watch him on the television now? And why can’t he come home?

It’s been too long - you know. You admit it too. But you can’t say that to your baby’s face, adding more to the exasperation living inside her confused mind. It’s already heartbreaking enough to see your daughter’s eyes growing sadder by the day, noticing how she grows quieter through the week, seeing the disappointment plastered all over her face every time you have to say ‘no’ whenever she asks ‘is daddy coming home today?’

The salty tears painting the toddler’s features when she begs her daddy to come home over the phone are enough to make yours and Lewis’ hearts sting with an indescribable pain - one that seems to never cease, no matter how hard you try to nestle her close to your chest, trying your hardest to shush her fears and insecurities, making her feel protected in the first home she ever knew - your skin. 

- You don’t love me anymore, daddy? - Grace blurts out in between sobs, her little voice sounding muffled against your skin as she hides her face on the crook of your neck. 

The words leaving her mouth were enough to make Lewis’ heart sink, making sure that question will forever be engraved in his mind, not letting him forget about this moment, about the hurt in his princess’ voice when wondering why he is not home with her.

The man is left speechless for a minute, feeling a bunch of hot tears threatening to spill from his eyes as well. It has, definitely, been too long since he got to have a moment just for his family, dedicating all his hours to his favourite girls. 

He knows exactly how Grace is feeling, because Lewis feels the exact same void fulfilling his days, desperate to have some free time so he can go back home as soon as possible. But unfortunately, everything has been too much, lately, and the driver’s schedule is not giving him a break. 

- Daddy loves you more than anything else in this world, princess, you know that… - Lewis’ trembling voice cuts his phrase short, swallowing the knot that’s stuck in the man’s throat as his daughter continues weeping on the other side of the line.  - Then come home! I miss you so much, daddy - Grace insists, her sobs growing louder as the little girl tries to understand why her dad can’t be by her side, right now. 

He wishes he could. Lewis feels every bone in his body frail at night, when he lays his head on the pillow and opens his camera roll, going back to every picture and video that reminds him of some moments when he genuinely felt happy and at peace - with Grace in his arms, with you by his side. 

Tonight, some silent tears are finally freed from his eyes, looking at all the pictures of his child in his phone, while his brain is still replaying the toddler’s harsh question that she let out over the call earlier today. 

Lewis feels this moment completely wrecking him, especially when he stops to think about all the videos you send him while he is away, updating him on every new achievement and discovery your daughter makes during the days, trying your best so your husband won’t feel like he is missing too much. 

But he is. And he knows it - especially when he realizes how fast time passes by, how tomorrow isn’t guaranteed for anyone. How does he know that tomorrow is coming? Your husband keeps waiting for it, hoping that a break will eventually arrive so he can go home, but he shouldn’t suppose that tomorrow is coming, because nothing in this world can assure him that there will be one. And that thought kills him, because while he is thinking about it, he realizes that it’s been five weeks since the last time he got to be home, tucking his daughter to bed. 

The excited, bubbly Grace you know has been missing lately, leaving room for a sad and confused toddler to show up in her place - one that holds tighter to you when you hug her, when you’re holding her in your arms, kissing her curls as her lips just show you a downhearted pout. 

As your child grows up, she finds new challenges in life, and dealing with new emotions definitely is one of them - and missing her daddy this much has been leading to a rollercoaster of questions to erupt in your baby’s creative mind. You tuck her into bed, but it’s not the same thing. Your kisses are sweet and protective, but they are not Lewis’ cuddles that make sure to create a shield around the little princess, making sure no monsters can reach her. 

Your days have been hard as well, trying your best to deal with Grace’s doubts and tantrums, hushing her as you assure her that you are right there for her, informing her that her daddy will be by the girl’s side in no time. But, in the silent darkness of the night, heavy sighs escape your figure as well, loud noises of concern erupt in your mind, questioning if you are doing a good job, if you’re being a good mum, if you’re supporting your husband the right way. But, sometimes, you also ask yourself: where do you stand, in the middle of all this?

The arms that hold Grace are the same ones that hold Lewis when he needs it the most, you being the pillar of your family, holding everything in place when a storm threatens to push your boat away from safe land. Either way, you know better than to complain, understanding how this entire situation is hard for your husband as well, sharing the same pain and apprehension when you talk to him over the phone. 

Feeling restless from so many sleepless nights, being haunted by the infinite thoughts running through his brain, the man finally managed to get a free day - just 24 hours, but enough for him to fly back home, accepting the short break if that means he can hold the light of his life in his arms for a bit, shushing away all the small weeps that leave the toddler’s figure. 

Arriving early in the morning, you are already waiting to see your husband walking through the door, with a cup of warm tea in your hand. You can’t deny that there’s a small glimpse of nervousness bubbling inside of your stomach, at the thought of finally seeing him again, praying that his presence will lighten up the mood and help your daughter feel better. 

You’re sipping on your tea when you hear the front door open. Shortly after, his shadow appears on the kitchen’s tiles, mere seconds before the man himself is in front of you - the shine in his eyes, the relieved smile cracking through his tired features is noticeable, as he immediately walks over to you. 

Once your figures meet, Lewis wraps his arms around your figure, holding you close without saying a word, sharing a deep, tight hug while kissing your shoulder lovingly from time to time. There’s a heavy sigh leaving his body, as if being home is the magic solution that helps improve all his problems, taking a huge weight off his shoulders. 

His face is glued to the crook of your neck for a while, as your fingers reach to caress his scalp. It feels like time has stopped, as if the world is not spinning anymore. Both of you are merged in a bubble of comfort and reassurance, almost making up for all the stress and agony that your parental hearts have been feeling lately. 

When your lips finally connect again - after so long, a deafening silence is created between your bodies, as if your kisses speak for the two of you. I miss you, I need you, things have been so hard without you by my side. Both of you feel the same, both of you know how hard the past weeks have been for your family. 

Breaking the kiss, your foreheads are still glued, the tips of your noses touching, wanting to feel the other as close as possible. 

- She’s still asleep? - your husband breaks the silence, asking about Grace. He has very little time to stay, and he wants to enjoy every second by his daughter’s side. Still, the man can’t help but bite his own tongue as he looks at the time: it’s 7:24 am, and he knows that his baby usually doesn’t wake up that early. 

He earns a nod from you. The little girl hasn’t had nice nights of sleep lately either, constantly waking up after having bad dreams, always begging you to cuddle her to sleep, to let her sleep by your side. To tell the truth, your heart softens every time that your daughter asks to sleep with you, loving how she helps you fight Lewis’ absence as well, you two cuddling each other so you don’t feel so alone without his bright, powerful presence around.  

- She’s on your side of the bed, though - you inform him. Last night wasn’t any different. Another nightmare, another cuddle session in your bed before the toddler falls asleep again. 

Lewis furrows his eyebrows at your words for a second, before remembering that you had already told him all about how Grace has been having more bad dreams than usual, especially since she started feeling so down, constantly asking if her dad doesn’t want to be around her anymore. 

Again, a deep sigh leaves his lips, filling the air surrounding you. The memories of everything that his daughter has been saying, make an incredibly heavy weight to form on his shoulders, hating how he has to stay away for work so much, how he hasn’t been able to give his princess all the attention she needs and deserves. 

Trying to shrug those thoughts away, the man serves himself a cup of coffee before reaching for your hand, guiding you to lay on the sofa with him, wanting to enjoy this day to the fullest - starting with a cuddle session with his wife, until it’s time for Grace to wake up. 

Having your husband’s arms wrapped around you again almost feels like a dream. Something that has felt so distant for the past weeks, that you were craving and needing so much. And now, you finally have him all to yourself, and as you rest your head on his chest, a comfortable silence strings your bodies along. No one dares to say a word, just focusing on how each other’s touch feels light yet soothing against the other’s skin, leaving kisses here and there, hugging tighter and closer. 

In the back of your head, there’s a small assumption that keeps itching you. As much as you want to believe that he is home to stay - at least for a week or so, unfortunately, you noticed how small is the bag that he brought with him when he arrived. An incredibly small one, the type that Lewis only uses when he is only away for a weekend or so. So, as much as you want to make the most of this, the cuddles, his presence, you know it’s something that it won’t last. 

It’s like Lewis can feel the tension that slowly creeps on your muscles the more you think about it, his hands rubbing your back to try and calm you down, showing that he is here, right by your side, trying to take your mind off of whatever is bothering you. 

But in reality, he too has been obsessively thinking about the time passing by, how he needs to leave again in the middle of the night, not even being able to sleep beside his wife for an entire night - wanting nothing more than to cuddle you and Grace to sleep in his chest, protecting the loves of his life. But he can’t. Not tonight. And he knows that he hasn’t told you about it yet, but it’s like he can’t find the courage in his body to do it, to drop the bomb in your face, to ruin the moment you’re having right now. So he decides to keep it to himself, for now. 

8:47 am, you and your husband are climbing up the stairs to your shared bedroom, where your daughter is still sleeping. Opening the door to her tiny figure wrapped in the sheets, her curls all over his pillow, truly is the sight that the man didn’t know he needed to heal every wound in his heart. 

Lewis doesn’t even hold back, his body moving on its own as he sits at the end of the bed, on his side of the mattress that now apparently belongs to Grace, so he can have a better view of his baby’s features. 

She looks gorgeous as ever, the most beautiful and precious thing that Lewis has ever laid his eyes on, the most important thing in the driver’s life, the owner of his entire heart, without a doubt. Some small tears tingle in his eyes as his fingers gently caress the toddler’s cheek, slowly nudging her so the girl can wake up. 

- Princess - he calls quietly, before landing a small kiss on his child’s hand. - Time to wake up. 

Slowly opening her eyes, the little girl rubs her features as she wakes up from her slumber. Her gaze immediately is glued to the figure in front of her, almost as if she is trying to make sense of reality, questioning if she is still dreaming. 

- Daddy? - Grace whispers, before some tears appear in her eyes as Lewis nods at her question, getting close so he can hold her small body close to him. 

Small cries escape the toddler’s figure, as she immediately wraps her arms around her dad’s neck, using all her strength to not let him go, scared that he might leave again if she breaks the hug. 

Lewis can’t even describe the feeling washing over him as he can finally hold his daughter safely in his arms, noticing the scent of her baby shampoo, how her skin still holds his favourite smell ever. He can only take deep breaths, kissing the top of Grace’s head countless times, trying to calm himself down so as to not break down crying while holding his baby.

It’s an emotional sight, even for you , now that you are watching your two favourite people reunite, feeling your heart beating stronger in your chest, as if it’s being refilled with love again, after so many insecurities pooling over your head lately. 

And your daughter’s cries quickly turn into an excited gasp that leaves her lips, forgetting about all the sadness that she was carrying lately - now being substituted by happiness, the genuine type, from having her father near her again.

Soon enough, the toddler is jumping on the mattress, giggling loud as she celebrates the fact that daddy is home again, and now he can have tea parties with her, she can show him how she has mastered all the techniques he has taught her about riding her pink bike, watch her favourite cartoons with her on the sofa, and do everything that the girl has been wanting to do with him while he was away. 

Lewis giggles for a moment, before feeling a weight sinking in his chest again, remembering how he can’t do any of that with his princess, because he will leave again in a few hours. 

- Daddy! Can we go see the cute ducks at the lake tomorrow? Mummy took me there the other day, and there are little ones now! You need to see them, they are sooo cute!! - Her excited tone, mixed with the puppy eyes that she is giving him, are enough to break the man’s heart. And he knows that his next words are about to break his daughter’s heart as well.

Sighing, he tries his hardest to find the right words to say it, but it’s like his brain just forgot every single one of them. 

- Daddy can’t make it tomorrow, love. - the little girl furrows her eyebrows, not really understanding what her dad is trying to say. - Are you tired from the trip back home, daddy? It’s okay, we can go the day after tomorrow. We can just stay home and have a tea party instead? - her cute smile is just making everything hurt even more for him.  - Bubs, daddy is only home for today. I have a day off work and came back to see you and mummy, but I have to leave again after you go to sleep tonight. - there it is, the words that he didn’t want to say, and the ones that no one in the room wanted to hear. 

Your head hangs low as you hear it. Deep down, you already knew it. You knew it, as soon as you saw the bag that clearly showed that he wasn’t going to stay for long, when neither of you wanted to talk about the day he had to leave you two again. And now, you know why. 

His words hit Grace like a million bricks, the poor little girl being met with reality once again as she tries her best to hold back the tears that still slide down her cheeks. 

- You don’t love me anymore! You don’t want to spend time with me anymore! - the toddler screams before running away from her dad, hiding in between the four safe, pink walls of her room. 

And again, Lewis is met with his daughter’s harsh words, that are enough to tear his entire world apart. He gets up from the bed, wanting to go meet his child again, only to be stopped by your hand, touching his chest in a silent ‘don’t’. He too can see the disappointment evident in your eyes before you break eye contact, turning your back on him as you go to your daughter’s room. 

Your husband sits on the edge of the bed again, his head in his hands as he rethinks every small decision that he has ever made, questioning why his schedule has to be so chaotic, why life can’t ease up on him a little more, so he can have some more time for his family. At this point, he doesn’t know what he can do to be better, to make things right, to make it easier for everybody, knowing for a fact that he has, above all, been failing his family lately: failing you as a husband, failing Grace as her father. 

Opening the door of your shared bedroom a little bit, he can hear his baby’s loud cries again, as you hold her close in your chest, trying your best to calm her down again - something that has become a part of your routine already. And the sounds, the mental picture of what’s happening behind Grace’s bedroom door is enough to break him, to make some tears fall from his eyes as well as he clenches his fist, absolutely hating this entire situation, cursing himself from having to leave his family so soon. 

Grace doesn’t know how to deal with these new emotions that have been erupting through her small figure lately. All she knows is that she is sad, very sad. And very confused with her dad’s agenda, not understanding why this is making her chest hurt, only making her cry out more, feeling scared with the discomfort that these newfound emotions provide her. 

Tired of hearing his princess cry while staying still in his bedroom without doing anything to help or to make it better, Lewis decides to step up, gaining the courage to walk to the toddler’s room.

Knocking on the door gently, he hopes to be met with a ‘come in’. But instead, he is met with a loud ‘I don’t want to see you!’ coming from his daughter’s mouth, hearing how you reprimand her due to the attitude she is giving him, now. There’s a desperate sigh escaping Lewis’ lips now, but still, he decides to ignore Grace’s words, walking inside the room. 

Once he does, the toddler immediately hides her face in your chest again, trying her best not to look at her dad’s face, keeping her words. 

- Grace, please look at me - Lewis asks her with a serious tone, crouching down so he is eye leveled with the kid. But still, all he gets in return is silence, and the girl only hides her face further into the crook of your neck. 

Rubbing his features with his hands almost desperately, he looks up at you, giving you a pleading glance, needing your help with this - begging you to forget about how sad and disappointed you are feeling at him now as well, so you can help him solve this problem with your daughter now. 

With a tired sigh, you give in. 

- Grace, look at your father - you say. Still, nothing. You know she is as stubborn as you are, but you absolutely hate when she is acting up this way. - Grace. - you say more sternly, catching the girl’s attention as she slowly turns to look at him, now. 

Once Lewis’ eyes meet his child’s again, the pain in both of their chests connects, feeling it in the exact same intensity. Taking in the sight of his daughter’s tear stained face is the worst part of it all. 

- Bubs, please listen to daddy carefully. - he starts speaking, feeling his voice cracking a bit, laced with the million different emotions surrounding his body as well.  - You know how you and mummy are going to move to the new house that daddy got in Italy, right baby? I even showed you pictures of your new room and everything - he asks Grace, trying to give her a calm, light tone. The girl nods her head, not really in the mood to talk now.  - So, daddy needs to go because I am preparing everything so you can move there as fast as possible love, so we can spend every day together again. - the thought of having his family next to him all day, every day again, makes a small smile appear in the man’s face.  - But you are never home anymore. You can leave that house and come here! And you don’t want to play with me anymore. - the toddler finally speaks up, finding a perfectly reasonable solution for the problem. 

Lewis tries to get closer to the little girl, his fingers gently touching her small hand, hoping she will give in a bit, so she can better understand what’s going on and hug him again in no time. 

- Princess, my favourite thing in this world is to play with you. Tea parties, riding our bikes, you painting my nails, watching ducks at the lake, you name it. My favourite time in this world is the time I get to spend by your side - he admits, being completely transparent as he looks right into the toddler’s eyes. - You know daddy loves you more than anything in this entire world, bubs. 

The three-year-old slowly nods her head ‘yes’. She does know that her dad loves her more than anything, but she is still hurt. 

- I promise everything will get easier, princess. I’m doing everything I can so we can be together everyday again really, really fast, okay? Please forgive me, my love. Daddy never wanted to hurt you - landing a small kiss on her cheek, his hands caress her hair as the little girl moves in your lap, stretching her small arms to hug her daddy. 

And once Lewis is able to hold his princess in his arms again, everything feels a bit more right, as if the toddler has the power to glue the pieces of his heart together. The only things that can be heard in the room are muffled ‘I love you, bubs’, ‘I love you so much’, that Lewis keeps whispering to his daughter, to which Grace quietly replies ‘I love you too, daddy’. 

Today, there were no tea parties, the kid didn’t paint her dad’s nails, they didn’t go to see the ducks at the lake. Instead, they ate the toddler’s favourite breakfast together, at home, and decided to just spend the entire day cuddling on the sofa, enjoying the time together as a family, playing some small games, singing songs, dancing in the middle of the living room, to an extent that loud giggles would erupt through the walls.

After dinner, the air grows heavy again, as the three of you know that the day is coming to an end, and that Lewis won’t be home again once you and your daughter wake up. 

The man carries Grace safely in his arms, her tiny limbs strongly wrapped around his neck as well, as they reach the toddler’s bedroom. Now, you decided to let them have this moment to themselves, waiting downstairs for your husband to come back. 

Tucking his princess in bed as he usually does, the biggest kiss lands on the little girl’s forehead, ready to scare all monsters away, so she can have the most peaceful of sleeps, with the sweetest of dreams. 

- Have a nice night of sleep, my love - Lewis says, trying not to show how this goodbye is killing him, playing it off with a smile. 

However, he notices the kid’s big chocolate eyes looking up at him attentively. 

- Please come back fast, daddy. I feel so cold without you here. And mummy misses you too - the toddler whispers, almost on the verge of crying again. 

Lewis needs to swallow the lump forming in his throat again, staying silent for a second as he takes in his daughter’s words. 

- I promise I’ll be fast, bubs. You’ll be in your new room, in our new house, in no time. I promise - he shows her his pinky finger, knowing how serious Gracie takes pinky promises. 

The fact that her daddy is pinky promising her that they will be together again soon, makes a sparkle appear in the girl’s eyes, as she wraps her own pinky around his. 

- I love you so, so much, princess. More than anything in this world. Never doubt that - he insists, kissing her forehead again before giving her another bear hug.  - I love you too, daddy. And please make sure that my new bedroom has the right shade of pink in the walls - the three-year-old jokes, lightening the mood as her dad gets up from her bed.  - I will, baby. I will - he giggles lightly, before blowing one last kiss to his biggest reason to live, closing the door behind him. 

Lewis takes a moment before coming downstairs again, wiping away some of the tears that escaped his eyes. Saying goodbye to little Gracie is always the hardest, and definitely the worst part. 

Finally meeting you in the living room, the man completely breaks down as you engulf him in your arms, noticing how much of a wreck he is. You let him cry in your arms, staying silent as he apologizes over and over again to you. For not being home as much, for not having many days off of work, for failing you when you need him the most. 

At this moment, he starts thinking that maybe you were right all along. He should have slowed down already, he should have left F1 behind, dedicating himself to his other projects and especially to his family, which needs him so much. But he couldn’t say no to the opportunity of joining Ferrari, putting his dreams in front of everything else. 

This might only be temporary, until you and Grace finally meet him in Italy, but you are sure that you can’t keep up doing this for much longer, now. 

- Things can’t continue like this, Lewis - you tell him, hot tears sliding down your cheeks as well, now.  - I know, love. I know. I’m sorry, I promise I’ll make everything right. In a blink of an eye, the three of us will be together in our new home, baby. Please, just be a little more patient with me - he begs, his arms wrapping tighter around your silhouette as he voices his pleads. 

You sigh. You know you will end up giving in, but you can only take so much, and now, there’s not a day that you aren’t concerned about the future of your family. 

- Just don’t let this sport break you, baby. Don’t let them take you from us. We need you so, so much - you confess, seeing Lewis nod as his tears match yours, holding you in his chest as you mourn the time you had for each other. 

Before he has to leave, he makes sure to cuddle you extra close in bed, your words echoing in his mind to the point where he feels like he could drown in them, dying in your arms as you fall into a peaceful sleep in his chest, almost as if he will still be by your side once you wake up. 

But you know he will leave during the night. And so, while you have the privilege to fall asleep in his chest, you trick your mind to dream about him, so you can have him twice, making sure that, one way or another, he will still be with you once you wake up in the morning. 

In your absence, everything is suspended for Lewis. Your husband is so addicted to seeing you, that he just daydreams about your figure being right by his side, inventing you everywhere, feeding the void that the distance insists in creating between him and his family.

He hates it, he really does. But unfortunately, there’s nothing he can do right now. He wishes he could make a call and cancel all his responsibilities for the rest of the week, spending all day by his girls’ side. But he can’t. And right now, he can only pray for you to be even more patient, until the day you are together again, in your new house.

Tucking you in bed with a forehead kiss, the man leaves your shared room, feeling all the weight coming back to his shoulders as he picks up his bag, leaving his happiness behind as he travels back to his job, leaving his heart behind, in his home in the human shapes of you and Gracie, wanting to be right where his family is.