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kxsagi · 2 months ago

Note

hiii! how r you? i like your writings so much<3 can you do this one where the reader is the pilot/captain of the plane the bllk boys are flying on?

“𝟏𝟎-𝟒, 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭”

a/n: i'm good and i hope you are too! thank you so much!!!

ngl this request idea reminded me of that one caleb tik tok edit audio where he’s like “10-4, captain caleb out” with take my breath away playing (hence the titel)

ft. itoshi rin, isagi yoichi, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, hyoma chigiri, kaiser michael, bachira meguru, itoshi sae, shidou ryusei

itoshi rin

he’s dead silent the entire boarding process. headphones in. hoodie up. classic.

until he hears the pilot’s voice over the intercom and thinks: that sounds familiar…

then you say your name and he just… freezes mid-scroll. no music. no breathing. no way.

stares at the ceiling like it personally betrayed him.

you’re flying this plane? oh gosh. he’s proud of you, of course, you’re amazing, he just didn’t mentally prepare for this.

texts you: “we're not gonna die right” “i trust you but also i’m scared” “i love you btw”

won’t admit he was nervous until like a week later.

makes you a bento the day after to “thank you for keeping his ass alive.”

isagi yoichi

literally gasps when he hears your voice on the speaker.

beaming like a proud dad. keeps telling the flight attendants “that’s my girlfriend!!” like a loser.

opens flight radar just to stare at the little plane icon and pretend he understands what’s going on.

tries to peek into the cockpit before takeoff. gets caught. blushes.

will not shut up about how ✨cool✨ and ✨smart✨ you are.

“babe, you flew the plane! like? the actual PLANE???”

asks you a million questions afterward like you’re a celebrity.

makes it his phone wallpaper: you in your pilot uniform, looking all hot and composed.

mikage reo

his reaction is immediate and dramatic: “no. way.”

claps like he’s in the front row of a runway show.

“i knew you were talented but babe this is HOT.”

keeps bragging to everyone nearby. “i invested in this airline. emotionally, too.”

calls his family during boarding just to say, “guess who’s flying my plane? MY GIRLFRIEND.”

asks if he can get cockpit selfies with you after the flight.

will try to buy the whole airline just to rename it after you.

nagi seishiro

half asleep when you announce your name over the intercom.

slowly opens one eye. stares at the speaker. groans. “so loud...”

texts you: “you’re the pilot? that’s kinda sick” “wake me up if we crash”

immediately falls back asleep.

wakes up halfway through the flight, checks the sky outside the window and shrugs. “guess she’s good at this too.”

kisses your cheek after landing and says, “good game.”

gets weirdly obsessed with flight simulators after this.

hyoma chigiri

jaw hits the floor. you’re the pilot?

he’s in awe the whole time, even while trying to stay calm and collected.

heart flutters when you say “this is your captain speaking.”

he clutches his seat during turbulence but tells himself, “no, she’s got this. she’s amazing. she’s got this.”

definitely brings you flowers the next time he sees you.

insists on taking cute post-landing photos with you and says, “i want to show our future kids how badass their mom is.”

kaiser michael

smirking immediately.

“ah, so i am in good hands.”

texts you: “i think i’m in love with my captain” “take me to the mile high club”

acts chill but is actually so turned on by how powerful and composed you sound.

gets way too into the captain/flight attendant roleplay ideas afterward.

flirts with the flight attendant just to make you jealous, until you purposely hit turbulence for one second and he shuts up.

bachira meguru

screams. “THAT’S MY BABY!”

literally runs down the aisle (the flight attendant has to stop him).

flirty text: “can i press buttons in the cockpit? pretty please?”

asks if he can wear your hat.

draws you in a superhero cape later with the caption “CAPTAIN CUTIE” in all caps.

you catch him narrating the flight to his seatmate like it’s a magical journey: “and now my beautiful girlfriend is taking us over the clouds…”

itoshi sae

he does not react externally. at all. like he hears your voice and just blinks slowly.

the most emotion he shows is a very subtle smirk and maybe a nose exhale.

he already knew you were a pilot but didn’t expect to be on your flight.

checks the flight info and texts you: “you better not crash. i have a commercial to film tomorrow.” then a second text: “jk” “don’t get distracted thinking about me.”

wears a sleeping mask the whole time.

but after landing, he purposely waits at the gate for you just to say in that dry, quiet voice: “smooth landing. you looked hot up there.”

gives you a lil side hug like he’s not absolutely obsessed with you.

shidou ryusei

deadass gets turned on the moment you say “this is your captain speaking.”

full-on puts his hands over his mouth like he just saw a hot celebrity walk by.

“no fucking way. MY GIRLFRIEND? THE PILOT? OH, I’M GONNA DIE SEXY.”

immediately presses the call button and tries to bribe a flight attendant to let him in the cockpit.

texts you: “hey baby wanna join me in the air tonight 🤭” “you can land on me later”

gets way too excited during turbulence. “IS SHE TESTING ME?”

when the plane lands smoothly he claps obnoxiously and yells “THAT’S MY GIRL!!” from row 12A.

calls you “captain mommy” for the next week and you have to threaten to ground him.

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itwillbethescarletwitch · 10 days ago

Text

Under Neon Lights

bob floyd x fem!aviator!reader

call sign: Whiskey

The bass was already hitting before they even got out of the Uber.

It thumped through the pavement, up their legs, like a second heartbeat under the streetlights. The whole squad piled out of the SUV, laughter spilling into the night. It was hot, humid, coastal air clinging to their skin, the kind that stuck to your clothes in all the right (and wrong) places.

Phoenix was the first out, pulling the door open with a grin. “If anyone leaves sober, I’m disowning you.”

Fanboy climbed out after her with a snort. “If I go missing, check the DJ booth.”

Payback pointed at him. “No, check the bar. That’s where your heart lives.”

Then came Bob—tall, quiet, awkward as hell in his fitted navy button-down and clean jeans, adjusting his glasses and scanning the building like he was about to walk into a mission briefing.

And then there was you—Whiskey—last one out.

You swung your legs out slow, like you knew every single person was already watching. Hair down. Lip gloss shimmering. Tight black dress that hugged your hips and stopped mid-thigh. Heels loud on the concrete as you stepped forward, eyes gleaming under the city lights.

Bob looked up at the sound of your heels and nearly forgot how to breathe.

Cyclone had approved a rare Friday night leave for all of you after a brutal round of training simulations, and you’d picked the club—a slightly off-the-radar, neon-lit spot downtown with just enough grime to feel cool and just enough glitter to feel dangerous.

The bouncer looked you all over—first with suspicion, then with a grin.

“Y’all Navy?” he asked, cocking his head.

Hangman clapped a hand to Bob’s shoulder and smirked. “You could say that.”

The velvet rope dropped.

Inside, the club pulsed—dim lights flickering pink, purple, gold. The bar to the left glowed like a spaceship, rows of bottles catching light as the bartenders moved like magicians. The dance floor was packed, hips grinding, drinks spilling, music vibrating through every surface. A full sensual hum of bass and breath and heat.

Phoenix whistled low. “Okay, okay. She doesn’t look like much outside, but she’s a whole mood in here.”

“Right?” you smirked, tugging her hand. “Come on. First round’s on me.”

Hangman muttered under his breath, “If this ends in a conga line, I’m out.”

The crew split naturally—Fanboy and Payback made a beeline for the bar to order drinks with way too much liquor and way too little class. Phoenix leaned into you, the two of you laughing as you started naming songs you wanted to hear. Your hips were already swaying before you made it to the bar. Music was your oxygen tonight.

Bob hovered by the edge of the group, a quiet current in a storm, eyes locked on you—how easily you moved, how alive you looked under colored lights, like you belonged in a music video or a fever dream.

“Whatcha drinkin’, Whiskey?” Phoenix yelled over the bass.

“Tequila and trouble,” you shot back with a wink.

Bob nearly choked on his own breath.

You turned toward him, as if you’d felt his eyes on you, and smiled softly. “You gonna stand there all night, Floyd, or are you gonna come get corrupted?”

His mouth opened. Closed. Then opened again.

“I—I’m coming,” he stammered.

Hangman barked a laugh. “Not yet, I hope.”

You tossed your head back laughing. “Down, cowboy.”

Everyone grabbed drinks, shots, cocktails, beers. Toasts clinked. Someone shouted something about “to bad decisions” and Fanboy tried to start a chant that flopped so hard you all had to pretend it never happened.

Then—the DJ shifted tracks.

You knew it within five seconds.

You shrieked, “PHOENIX—IT’S PINK PONY CLUB!”

“Oh shit!” Phoenix screamed, slamming her shot glass down.

And like that, you were gone. Glasses abandoned, drinks forgotten, you both grabbed each other’s hands and hit the dance floor. You were singing every word at full volume, twirling under the strobes, laughing so hard you nearly fell.

Phoenix shouted to Hangman as she danced past, “Try to keep up, Texas!”

“Not with you two!” he shouted back. “You’ve got main character syndrome!”

Back at the table, Bob watched it all unfold like a man possessed.

You in that dress. You lit up. You singing every line to a glitter-pop anthem like you wrote it yourself. You locking eyes with him mid-chorus, tongue poking out between your teeth, daring him without a word.

He took a long sip of his drink and thought, Heaven help me.

You were just getting started.

———

The lights dimmed just a little deeper.

The beat slowed down.

That soft, sensual guitar riff slid through the speakers like honey. The kind of sound that curled low in your spine and made you sway before you even realized you were moving. And when Romeo Santos whispered the first line, you turned around slowly like you already knew the next chapter of your night had just arrived.

Hangman clocked it instantly. “Oh no.”

You grinned, stalking toward him with the dangerous confidence of a woman who knew what she was doing.

“Oh yes,” you purred.

“Whiskey,” he warned. “I don’t know how to dance to this. This is like… forbidden fruit music.”

“Then consider this your crash course,” you said, grabbing him by the hand. “C’mon, cowboy. I’ll lead.”

“You always do,” he muttered under his breath.

You dragged him onto the dance floor just as Usher’s verse slid in, and he stood there stiffly for a second like he was preparing for a goddamn duel.

“Relax,” you said, stepping in close—closer than close. Your palm landed gently on his shoulder, guiding him. “It’s just three steps. And hips. Always the hips.”

“I have hips,” he said, sounding personally offended.

“Prove it.”

You swayed.

He followed, stiff as a board, and you burst into laughter. “Oh my God, you move like a tax form.”

“Ma’am, this is harassment.”

“This is bachata,” you said, “and you’re doing it with me, so shut up and move your hips.”

Slowly, painfully, he started to get it. You led with subtle, practiced rhythm, rolling your hips just enough to make it dangerous. The beat was slow, romantic, every movement a suggestion instead of a shout. Your hands moved—up his arm, across his shoulder, back down again, always in time with the music.

And then you flipped it—your back to him, his hand on your hip.

He audibly swallowed.

“This feels illegal,” he whispered into your ear.

“Only if you’re doing it right,” you murmured, rocking your hips back into him.

Hangman froze. Fully froze.

You laughed and reached back to grab his hand. “Don’t lock up on me, Texas. Move with me.”

By the time the chorus hit, he’d stopped thinking. You had him—completely in your rhythm, moving like his bones belonged to you. A hand on your hip, the other brushing your arm, breath hot at your neck. He kept messing up the steps, but you didn’t care. He was trying. And he was sweating.

You leaned in and whispered, “You’re a little heavy on the lead, Lieutenant.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m not used to dancing like this.”

“No one is. That’s why it works.”

And God, it worked.

By the time the song faded out, Hangman looked like he’d just run a marathon. His hair was sticking to his forehead. His eyes were wide. You turned around slowly, chest to chest, face inches from his, and grinned.

“Well?”

Hangman didn’t answer right away.

He just staggered off the dance floor, shoulders loose, lips parted, breathing like he needed a defibrillator. He got halfway back to the table where Bob, Payback, and Fanboy were watching with drinks in hand before he turned back and said—

“What the fuck? I’m never dancing bachata again. It was too much.”

Fanboy spit beer.

Payback howled.

Bob? Bob looked like he was experiencing a medical event.

Because the whole time Hangman had been struggling through that dance, Bob had been picturing himself in his place—your hips, your hands, your laugh, all pressed against someone else. And now that image was seared into his skull.

And the worst part? You looked even hotter walking off that dance floor, flushed and smiling, dress clinging to every curve like it had something to say.

Bob downed half his drink and prayed.

Hangman had barely recovered from his bachata-induced near-death experience when the speakers shifted again—this time, snapping into a sharp, punchy beat that practically demanded a comeback.

Phoenix grinned.

You turned to her like you were psychic.

“Oh hell yes,” you both said at the same time.

“New Rules.”

“I’ll get us shots,” Payback offered quickly, fully aware of what was about to happen.

Fanboy was already screaming. “OH THEY’RE ABOUT TO GET STUPID WITH IT—SOMEBODY GET A CAMERA.”

You didn’t even look back. You and Phoenix locked eyes, nodded like it was a military maneuver, and hit the floor hard—boots stomping, hips snapping, hair flying. It wasn’t sexy the way Promise had been. This was commanding. Sharp. Confident. Bitchy in the best way.

You knew every lyric.

So did she.

And together? Y’all were untouchable.

“I got new rules, I count ‘em—

One, don’t pick up the phone—”

You pointed at each other like backup dancers in formation. Phoenix spun, hair whipping around her shoulders as she mouthed every word. You dropped into a low shimmy, one hand dragging slowly down your body like a slow clap for your own damn self. The people around you started cheering.

Even the DJ hyped it.

Bob watched with his jaw slack, eyes laser-focused on you like you were some kind of divine punishment sent from heaven to wreck his life in real time.

Because God help him, when you danced like this—with that much joy, that much power, like the entire damn club was your personal runway—he couldn’t even breathe.

Fanboy leaned over. “She’s doing that on purpose.”

“I know,” Bob said quietly.

“She’s killing you.”

“I know.”

Payback slid in next to him. “This is like watching someone flirt by stepping on your throat.”

“I KNOW.”

You grabbed Phoenix’s hand and spun her under your arm like y’all were in a music video, then bumped hips dramatically as you shouted the chorus together—

“I gotta tell them to myself—

DON’T GET UNDER HIM!!”

You were laughing, singing, stomping, alive, and it was contagious. A group of girls joined you on the floor. Even a couple of guys followed your lead. It was a damn movement. You and Phoenix were at the center of it—two fighter pilots fully locked into your off-duty, out-of-uniform, hot girl night out energy.

The song ended in chaos.

Screaming. Clapping. One random girl hugged you and Phoenix like y’all had just saved her from her ex.

You stumbled back to the table, glowing and breathless, and collapsed onto the seat next to Bob.

“You good?” you asked, winking.

He didn’t answer at first. Just blinked slowly like someone rebooting after a blackout.

“…Fine.”

Your smirk turned dangerous.

“You sure? You look a little flushed.”

He was going to combust.

But before he could answer, the DJ clicked something low and filthy into the speakers.

The lights in the club shifted.

Dimmed low.

Tinted red.

Velvet and sin.

And then—

“You make it look like it’s magic…”

You froze mid-laugh.

Phoenix clutched your forearm with a gasp. “Oh my god.”

You looked at her.

She looked at you.

Fanboy looked between you both and whispered, “Uh oh.”

“Cause I see nobody, nobody but you…”

Phoenix started shaking your arm. “Please.”

“No.”

“Please, I’m begging.”

You were already smiling. “Phoenix—”

“Whiskey,” she said in full government tone. “Give me this.”

Bob’s mouth was dry.

Payback was suddenly on the edge of his seat. “Wait, wait, wait, is this happening—”

Phoenix stood and shouted, hands cupped around her mouth:

“ONE SOLO. THAT’S ALL I’M ASKING.”

People nearby turned. The group of girls who danced with you earlier screamed like they’d been waiting for this exact moment their whole lives.

You sipped your drink with faux innocence and turned toward Bob, voice sweet:

“You mind?”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“Phoenix wants a show.”

Bob opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Swallowed hard.

Phoenix shoved your drink out of your hand and dragged you to your feet before you could change your mind.

“You’re a menace,” you hissed at her as she pulled you to the middle of the floor.

“And you’re the main character,” she said proudly. “Go ruin someone’s life.”

“Girl you’re perfect… you’re always worth it…”

You started slow.

Hips swaying, back turned to the table. Hands sliding down the curves of your body like you were setting a fire only you could survive. You danced like honey off the comb—sweet, sensual, dangerous if taken too fast.

Bob was not breathing.

You turned your head just enough to catch him watching.

Frozen. Blushing. Swallowing hard.

“You earned it…”

Your hands lifted above your head. Eyes half-lidded, a little smile playing at your lips. You moved like the song had seeped under your skin—like temptation given form. Your fingers traced a lazy line down your neck, chest, hips. Every movement deliberate. Languid. Intimate.

The room around you blurred.

It wasn’t about the crowd.

It was about him.

And he knew it.

“On that lonely night…”

You turned toward him fully. Walked.

The crowd parted instinctively. Even Phoenix stepped back like she knew something sacred was about to go down.

Bob’s eyes widened as you sauntered closer.

You stopped right in front of him.

Bent just enough to whisper in his ear—

“I like when you look at me like that.”

He made a quiet, strangled sound that did things to your spine.

You pulled back, smirking.

Straightened.

Walked away before you could see his soul leave his body.

Phoenix screamed, “WHISKEY!!” and collapsed into the booth like she’d been tackled.

Payback stood up and fanned himself with a napkin.

Fanboy fell off the couch.

Bob hadn’t blinked in two full minutes.

You slid back into your seat like nothing happened.

Picked up your drink.

Took a sip.

Bob still hadn’t moved.

You leaned toward him and purred, “You doing okay, Lieutenant?”

His hand gripped the edge of the table like he was trying not to levitate.

“…Fine.”

———

The DJ fades into the next track — Neighbors Know My Name — and the booth erupts.

Phoenix throws her head back laughing. “Oh hell yes!” she yells, pounding the table like a judge handing down a sentence. “WHISKEY, PERFORMANCE. NOW.”

Fanboy nearly chokes on his drink. “This is not a drill—this is the horny Hunger Games!”

You stand without a word, just smirking, already moving toward Bob with purpose.

He’s stiff in the booth, hands gripping the edge like he’s bracing for impact.

You straddle him.

Dead silence at the table. Payback whispers, “He’s not surviving this.”

The first lyric hits:

“Soon as we get started making love, goin’ hard I hear a…

(Knock knock) knock knock, knock on the wall.”

Your hips roll against him, slow and controlled, dragging your hands up his chest like you’re carving your name into him.

Bob’s head drops back, a sharp exhale punching out of him.

“And as soon as I go deep, gettin’ it in then again

There goes the (knock knock) knock knock, knock on the wall.”

You mouth the words right in his ear, breath hot, your fingers threading through his hair while your hips grind a slow, relentless rhythm against him.

Bob groans — loud.

The table reacts like a sports bar watching a Hail Mary pass.

Fanboy stands and shouts, “REF! I’M CALLING A TIMEOUT! SHE’S KILLING HIM!”

Phoenix is doubled over, pounding the table again. “SHE’S LITERALLY ENDING HIS BLOODLINE.”

“Bet the neighbors know my name, They be stressin’ while we sexin’”

You whisper the line, and Bob shudders.

You lean back, still on him, your hands on your thighs now, chest heaving as you move to the music like you were born for this exact moment.

“Girl the love we make, gone keep banging on the wall”

Phoenix throws a fry at Fanboy. “Put your tongue back in your mouth.”

“I CAN’T,” Fanboy yells. “I THINK I SAW HEAVEN.”

Bob grabs your waist now — tightly — and for a second, his lips almost crash into yours.

But you pull back, teasing, smirking. “You haven’t earned that yet.”

The table groans in sync.

Payback: “Okay but like… I’m a little in love with her too now.”

———

You hear the beat first — a deep dembow, hips-first kind of rhythm — and immediately your whole posture changes. The sway in your walk turns hypnotic. You’re not teasing anymore.

You’re showing off now.

Fanboy sees your face and literally gasps. “Oh no. Oh no. I know that look. That’s a heritage unlock.”

Payback holds up a napkin like a white flag. “I surrender. I can’t handle what’s coming.”

Phoenix leans back like she’s watching the climax of a telenovela. “Y’all. Watch this.”

You turn to Bob, lifting a single brow. “Can you keep up?”

He swallows. “I can try.”

You pull him to his feet like he’s being summoned by a goddess. The music crashes in fully — the percussion pounding, the lyrics fast, raw, spicy. You don’t just dance to this.

You embody it.

You roll your hips, fast and tight, your hands sliding along your waist as you move like you were born in the music. Bob’s behind you now — both of you dancing together, the heat between your bodies blazing.

The lyrics fly:

“Tú me pones mal, baby, con ese cuerpo criminal…”

You drop it low. He stutters. You throw your arm back and wrap it around his neck, winding your hips against him.

Bob’s jaw is clenched, knuckles white on your waist.

Fanboy is straight-up praying at the table. “Santa María, Madre de Dios—”

Phoenix smacks him. “SHUT UP AND LET HER COOK.”

You spin in Bob’s arms and let the beat take you — chest to chest, lips inches apart, and then…

You mouth the next lyric right at his lips, eyes dark, heat dripping from every syllable:

“Tú y yo no somos santos… pero eso es lo que me encanta.”

The tension’s nuclear now. His hands are everywhere — waist, hips, back — like he doesn’t know where to touch first, but he knows he can’t stop.

You’re a whole storm in a black dress.

And he’s drowning beautifully.

———

The lights dim just slightly. A familiar guitar riff slides into the speakers.

The gasps are immediate.

The beginning of “Ella y Yo” echoes through the club.

Phoenix goes, “No—NO. Don’t even think about it.”

You and Fanboy rise in sync from your chairs like you’ve rehearsed this for Broadway.

Whiskey’s jaw is tight, eyes narrowed.

Fanboy’s shaking his head, already pacing in a circle like he’s about to defend himself in court.

The squad? Losing it. Payback has tears forming already.

WHISKEY (storming forward, intense):

“Y te repito, lucha por amor…”

FANBOY (pointing a finger, defensive):

“No me aconsejes en tu posición.”

WHISKEY (mocking):

“Quizás su marido no mande en su corazón.”

FANBOY (louder now):

“No sabes quién es víctima en esta confusión!”

WHISKEY (arms flung wide, voice breaking):

“¡No seas tan tonto, lucha por amor!”

FANBOY (pacing in a full circle):

“No, no me aconsejes en tu posición.”

WHISKEY:

“Quizás ese tipo no mande en su corazón.”

FANBOY (stepping in close):

“Tú no sabes quién es víctima en esta confusión.”

You both pause.

The beat swells.

And then—

⸻

FANBOY (quiet, almost regretful):

“Amigo pido perdón, yo nunca te fallé…”

He grips an imaginary rosary as he continues:

“Me traicionaron las ganas de volverla a ver…”

WHISKEY is glaring, pacing behind him like a betrayed lover.

FANBOY (emotional):

“Y aunque todavía no puedo creer… lo que este amargo encuentro me hizo comprender…”

He turns to you with raw pain in his voice:

“Pues tú también llegaste a ese lugar…”

“Donde tantas veces yo la fui a buscar…”

Phoenix screams, “OH MY GODDDD!”

FANBOY (fully yelling now):

“Y aunque no es fácil lo que voy a hacer…”

“Admitiré que salí con tu mujer.”

⸻

WHISKEY (eyes wide):

“…¿QUÉ?!”

TOGETHER:

“Salí con tu mujer!

Salí con tu mujer!

Salí con tu mujer!”

The dance floor erupts. People are clapping, hooting, and a couple of strangers even join the dramatics like it’s a flash mob.

WHISKEY (gritted teeth, biting out every word):

“Que te perdone Dios, yo no lo voy a hacer…”

“Los perdí a los dos y a la misma vez…”

She spins, grabbing a beer bottle off the table like it’s a fake Oscar trophy.

“Ya veo que todo era mentira cuando ella me decía…”

“Que se iba pa’ Puerto Rico a vacaciones con su amiga…”

Fanboy winces.

Payback is curled in a ball, laughing.

“Me mintió, tú y ella en una cama, allá en Bayamón…”

“Quizás en Isla Verde o Carolina, ��cuántos hoteles ensució!”

WHISKEY (pointing directly in Fanboy’s face):

“TÚ TAMBIÉN. LOS ODIO A LOS DOS!”

⸻

FANBOY (suddenly soft):

“(No me entiendes…)”

He clutches his chest.

“Que yo, soy quien más sufro con todo esto…”

“Me mata el dolor…”

“Fue una traición…”

“Perdí un amigo por la tentación…”

“…Perdón.”

He lowers his eyes and breathes the last word like a dagger:

“…Adiós.”

⸻

Silence.

Phoenix chokes on her drink.

The table is dead quiet.

The lights pulse purple, pink, and gold. The air’s thick with sweat, laughter, and the scent of overpriced tequila. Phones are still out, people still hollering from the last performance—“¡Eso fue una novela, carajo!”

But the DJ—cheeky bastard that he is—knows exactly what to do next.

The club falls silent for half a beat.

Then:

🎶 “Si te invito a una copa y me acerco a tu boca…” 🎶

The first strum of Romeo Santos’ “Propuesta Indecente” slides over the speakers like silk.

Whiskey gasps. Fanboy’s already backing up, laughing.

“No. Nooo. We just got out of a scandal—”

Too late. She grabs his wrist and drags him back to the floor, hips already rolling with the beat, that devilish grin on her lips.

WHISKEY (singing, seductive, almost whispering):

“Si te invito a una copa y me acerco a tu boca…”

“Si te robo un besito, a ver, ¿te enojas conmigo?”

Fanboy groans—playfully tortured. “You’re going to get me killed.”

FANBOY (singing, overly dramatic):

“¿Qué dirías si esta noche te seduzco en mi coche…”

“Que se empañen los vidrios y la regla es que goces?”

Their hips are already locked. Whiskey’s hands slide slowly up Fanboy’s chest. She spins, her back to him again, grinding low—

WHISKEY (teasing, turning her head over her shoulder):

“Si te falto el respeto y luego culpo al alcohol…”

“Si levanto tu falda, ¿me darías el derecho…”

FANBOY:

“…A medir tu sensatez?”

“Poner en juego tu cuerpo…”

“Si te parece prudente…”

BOTH (in sync, sultry as hell):

“Esta propuesta indecente…”

Phoenix SCREAMS and nearly knocks over her drink. Payback falls out of his seat. Even Bob chokes, eyes locked on Whiskey as her body moves like the music is built into her bones.

🎶 “Permíteme apreciar tu desnudez… (take it off)”

“Relájate…”

“Que este Martini calmará tu timidez…” (don’t be shy) 🎶

Whiskey whispers the words as she drapes herself over Fanboy, her hands slipping into his hair. He plays along, leaning into it—committed to the bit like a true drama kid.

WHISKEY (in his ear, breath hot):

“Y una aventura es más divertida…”

“Si huele a peligro…”

FANBOY (responding, grinning wide):

“Si te invito a una copa y me acerco a tu boca…”

“Si te robo un besito, a ver, ¿te enojas conmigo?”

WHISKEY (face inches from his):

“¿Qué dirías si esta noche te seduzco en mi coche?”

“Que se empañen los vidrios y la regla es que goces…”

They sway. They grind. They turn the dance floor into satin sin. People are filming. Couples are making out in the shadows. The vibe is unholy and unstoppable.

🎶 “I’m back…”

“It feels good to be king…”

“Gostoso…”

“Hey…”

“Listen, I know what you like…” 🎶

Fanboy raises a brow. “This you?”

WHISKEY (mock-serious, with a wink):

“How ‘bout if you and I, me and you—bailamos bachata…”

She pulls him into another spin, now dragging the front of his shirt toward her.

WHISKEY (singing):

“¿Terminamo’ en la cama?”

(She grins, mouthing: “que rico.”)

FANBOY:

“How ‘bout if you and I, me and you…”

“¿Bailamos bachata?”

She lets him spin her out, then drags herself back into him, hips never stopping.

BOTH (loud, laughing, drenched in sweat):

“¿Terminamos en la cama?”

And they do it again. And again. And again. Until the whole club is either chanting along or begging them to get a room.

———

The bass drops like a body in the dark.

Whiskey turns slowly on her heel, drink in hand. the second she hears the track change—

She grins.

🎶 “Come and ride on me like the waves…”

Bob looks up from the table. She’s already walking toward him.

🎶 “I flip the pages ’cause I wrote the book on the way…”

“Whiskey,” he starts—warning? prayer? plea?—but she’s climbing right into his lap before he can finish the word.

One knee on each side. Body flush against his. Hands resting on his shoulders like she owns the air around him.

🎶 “How to sex you up, sex you up…”

She rolls her hips once, slow enough to be dangerous. His hands fly to her waist like instinct.

🎶 “We can do it like I’m on the stage, we’ll have an audience…”

He’s not breathing.

She mouths it against his ear—

“Baby, I’ll show you the way that I sex you up…”

He groans so softly it’s almost a whimper.

She leans in, soft and close enough to kiss—but doesn’t.

Instead, she whispers, “I’m not done with you yet.”

🎶 “Baby, just stay comfortable / I want you as you are…”

Bob swallows hard. “I don’t think I’m gonna make it.”

🎶 “Let’s not get emotional / Let’s be who we are…”

She smiles sweetly. “Then don’t.”

🎶 “Keep your eyes closed ’til I roll through…”

Her hips roll again—lazy, slow, torturous.

🎶 “Somebody splittin’ your knees / Don’t worry, that’s me…”

Phoenix, Fanboy, Payback—they’re all frozen, pretending to drink or talk, pretending not to watch a public meltdown happen in real time.

Bob’s flushed. Breathing hard. Wholly undone.

🎶 “Baby, you ain’t gotta tell me what you want…”

———

The song winds down—

Usher’s last moaned lyric disappearing into the thud of the next beat. Bob looks wrecked. Flushed. Eyes heavy. Still gripping the edge of his seat like it’s the only thing tethering him to the floor.

Whiskey leans in one last time, her nose brushing his jaw, lips warm with tequila and trouble.

“Be right back,” she hums.

And just like that, she’s sliding off his lap—slowly, cruelly, like she knows exactly what kind of hell she’s leaving him in—and saunters off toward the bar.

Phoenix exhales hard. Fanboy whispers, “She did all that on a remix. God help us if the DJ ever plays ‘Wicked Games.’”

Bob’s hands are still in his lap. Fists clenched. He watches Whiskey disappear into the crowd, hips swaying with the same rhythm she used to ruin him.

He stands up.

The bartender is wiping down the counter when Whiskey slides into the empty space. She taps twice on the counter. “One more of whatever that cherry cinnamon thing was—”

“Whiskey.”

She turns.

Bob’s behind her. Eyes still dark, voice rougher than she’s ever heard it. He steps close—too close. One arm on the bar next to her, the other on her waist like he can’t stop himself anymore.

“Uh… you kinda need to stop,” Bob says, voice a little breathless, like he’s trying to keep it together but failing.

Whiskey blinks, surprised. “Wait. Did I just embarrass you?”

He scrambles for words, cheeks burning hotter. “Yeah. Kind of. But… not exactly the way you’d expect.”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Whiskey says softly, the teasing edge melting away as guilt colors her tone. She bites her lip, suddenly aware of the heat radiating between them.

Then, almost without thinking, Bob reaches out, capturing her hand and sliding it down—right to where his body tells a very different story than his shy words.

Whiskey freezes, wide-eyed. Her breath catches, heart skipping. “Oh. OH!” she says, voice hushed but daring. “Well… do you want to go home and fix that?”

Bob’s eyes darken with something playful and a little dangerous. “Nope,” he says, lips curling into a smirk. “I think I wanna suffer a little more.”

Whiskey grins, the kind of wicked smile that promises trouble. “Kinky,” she purrs.

The bar noise melts away around them. For a moment, it’s just the two of them—caught between fire and ice, and neither willing to back down.

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digilogic-system · 10 months ago

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Radar Target Echo Simulator from Digilogic Systems

The Radar Target Echo Simulator (RTES) developed by Digilogic Systems is one of the most effective means of radar system testing in the laboratory. It is capable of emulating real-world environments with reasonable precision and provides for the comprehensive testing and validation of the generated scenarios with the help of an effective scenario generator. The RTES is meant to be used to evaluate the effectiveness of different radar systems as well as Radar Seekers, Surveillance Radars and Tracking Radars.

On the basis of previous designs and constant development, Digilogic Systems has two options of Radar Echo Simulators, which can better fit the requirements of their customers. Both of these simulators mimic real-world radar environment in terms of signal and target echoes through which targets can be detected, tracked and assessed based on different environmental characteristics.

Digilogic Systems Radar Target Echo Simulator has therefore demonstrated superior performance and cutting edge technology and it is now widely used by defense and aerospace industries across the globe. It can produce life like echoes so that the operating radars can be tested right from inception to use. Hence, through the Radar Target Echo Simulator provided by Digilogic and its whopping saving in conducting field tests, this tool significantly contributes towards the development of radar technology as well as the efficiency and dependability of modern radar.

Contact us today to discuss your Radar Target Echo Simulator requirements Website: https://www.digilogicsystems.com/ Phone: Hyderabad: (+91) 40 4547 4601 / 02 / 03 Bengaluru: (+91) 80 4975 6034 Email: [email protected] Location HEAD OFFICE

102, 1st Floor, DSL Abacus Tech Park Beside DSL Virtue Mall, Uppal, Hyderabad, Telangana-500 039, India

BRANCH OFFICE

216, 3rd floor, Zareen Heights, Varthur Road, Nagavarapalya, C. V. Raman Nagar, Bengaluru, Karnataka — 560093.

#aerospace #technology #defence #radar target echo simulator #radar technology #radar testing #rtes #innovation #defensetech #digilogic systems #technology innovation #radar simulation #radar seekers

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nasa · 9 months ago

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Student Experiments Soar!

youtube

Have you ever wondered what it takes to get a technology ready for space? The NASA TechRise Student Challenge gives middle and high school students a chance to do just that – team up with their classmates to design an original science or technology project and bring that idea to life as a payload on a suborbital vehicle.

Since March 2021, with the help of teachers and technical advisors, students across the country have dreamed up experiments with the potential to impact space exploration and collect data about our planet.

So far, more than 180 TechRise experiments have flown on suborbital vehicles that expose them to the conditions of space. Flight testing is a big step along the path of space technology development and scientific discovery.

The 2023-2024 TechRise Challenge flight tests took place this summer, with 60 student teams selected to fly their experiments on one of two commercial suborbital flight platforms: a high-altitude balloon operated by World View, or the Xodiac rocket-powered lander operated by Astrobotic. Xodiac flew over the company’s Lunar Surface Proving Ground — a test field designed to simulate the Moon’s surface — in Mojave, California, while World View’s high-altitude balloon launched out of Page, Arizona.

Here are four innovative TechRise experiments built by students and tested aboard NASA-supported flights this summer:

1. Oobleck Reaches the Skies

Oobleck, which gets its name from Dr. Seuss, is a mixture of cornstarch and water that behaves as both a liquid and a solid. Inspired by in-class science experiments, high school students at Colegio Otoqui in Bayomón, Puerto Rico, tested how Oobleck’s properties at 80,000 feet aboard a high-altitude balloon are different from those on Earth’s surface. Using sensors and the organic elements to create Oobleck, students aimed to collect data on the fluid under different conditions to determine if it could be used as a system for impact absorption.

2. Terrestrial Magnetic Field

Middle school students at Phillips Academy International Baccalaureate School in Birmingham, Alabama, tested the Earth’s magnetic field strength during the ascent, float, and descent of the high-altitude balloon. The team hypothesized the magnetic field strength decreases as the distance from Earth’s surface increases.

3. Rocket Lander Flame Experiment

To understand the impact of dust, rocks, and other materials kicked up by a rocket plume when landing on the Moon, middle school students at Cliff Valley School in Atlanta, Georgia, tested the vibrations of the Xodiac rocket-powered lander using CO2 and vibration sensors. The team also used infrared (thermal) and visual light cameras to attempt to detect the hazards produced by the rocket plume on the simulated lunar surface, which is important to ensure a safe landing.

4. Rocket Navigation

Middle and high school students at Tiospaye Topa School in LaPlant, South Dakota, developed an experiment to track motion data with the help of a GPS tracker and magnetic radar. Using data from the rocket-powered lander flight, the team will create a map of the flight path as well as the magnetic field of the terrain. The students plan to use their map to explore developing their own rocket navigation system.

youtube

The 2024-2025 TechRise Challenge is now accepting proposals for technology and science to be tested on a high-altitude balloon! Not only does TechRise offer hands-on experience in a live testing scenario, but it also provides an opportunity to learn about teamwork, project management, and other real-world skills.

“The TechRise Challenge was a truly remarkable journey for our team,” said Roshni Ismail, the team lead and educator at Cliff Valley School. “Watching them transform through the discovery of new skills, problem-solving together while being driven by the chance of flying their creation on a [rocket-powered lander] with NASA has been exhilarating. They challenged themselves to learn through trial and error and worked long hours to overcome every obstacle. We are very grateful for this opportunity.”

Are you ready to bring your experiment design to the launchpad? If you are a sixth to 12th grade student, you can make a team under the guidance of an educator and submit your experiment ideas by November 1. Get ready to create!

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

#NASA #STEM #middle school #high school #experiment #YouTube

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constelli1122 · 9 months ago

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batsandbirdbrains · 1 month ago

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I’ve been reminded that the reverse robins trope exists

The one where Damian has custody of Dick (reverse robins au)

I think it’s even better if most of the world doesn’t realize there are other Gotham vigilantes. Somehow, they’ve all stayed under the radar, but Robin is the one who goes out with Batman once he joins the Justice League. The others aren’t really interested in joining or even meeting them. They’re fine doing their own thing in Gotham & Blüdhaven.

But Bruce wasn’t actually around when Dick became part of the Wayne family. He’d been lost in time or whatever, and it was Damian who was at the circus that night. It was Damian who saw the Graysons fall. It was Damian who rushed to a tiny, frozen little boy who was kneeling in his parents’ blood and wrapped him in his coat, pulling him away and hiding his face in his shoulder.

Alfred thought the circus would maybe help Damian relax after all the pressure from taking over the Batman mantle. Give him something to smile about.

Instead, Damian gets in the car that night with a traumatized little boy, police and ambulance lights flickering from outside, and he looks Alfred dead in the eyes and says, “Congratulations. You’ve turned me into my father. The Commissioner and an agent from Child Protective Services will be stopping by the manor in about two hours.”

Alfred isn’t even all that surprised.

Damian adopts Dick immediately. He doesn’t want Dick to feel like his place in the manor is uncertain, like his place in the family isn’t permanent. He’s one of them now. He’s a Wayne.

Dick even agrees to hyphenate his last name when he sees how much Damian is fighting for him, when he hears him yell at the cops and the CPS people who call him a dirty gypsy and try to convince Damian to throw Dick in juvie, insinuating that Dick probably already stole valuables from the manor.

Nevermind the fact that Dick has barely moved or spoken a word in three weeks following his parents’ deaths.

Aside from sneaking out at night to interrogate criminals on Tony Zucco and what they know about him. But Batman finds him and foils his plans every night, bringing him back to his room at the manor.

It takes Dick less than two weeks to figure out it’s Damian behind the cowl. Damian is actually impressed, and he eventually agrees to train Dick to join the bats.

Tim thinks it’s an awful idea. But Tim and Damian clash with most things, so Damian considers his opinion invalid. Jason just thinks it’s funny that the kid wants his costume to have shorts.

And after a couple months of intense training, Robin is seen on the streets of Gotham beside Batman.

But then Bruce comes back, and he takes over the Batman mantle again, and Damian goes back to being Nightwing. Dick wants to stay Damian’s partner, he doesn’t know Bruce that well, he wants to stay with his Baba. But Bruce insists that he take over training Dick, and that since the public outside of Gotham became aware of Batman and Robin due to a high profile case, that Robin has to stay Batman’s partner.

Damian convinces Dick that it’s alright, because Damian is still going to be his Baba. They’re still going to live together in the penthouse. He doesn’t have to move, he doesn’t have to start calling Bruce dad, “none of the others do, anyway. Besides, you’re still my son. You’re still my Robin.”

So Dick continues going out on patrol with Batman, even if he insists to Damian that, “he’s not my Batman. You’re my Batman.”

Damian only ever lets Dick see how happy that makes him. He has a reputation to keep up, after all.

It’s Damian who agrees to let Dick join the Young Justice team. It’s Damian who gives permission for missions and training.

It’s Damian who uses an override code to enter Mount Justice when Dick is long overdue to be home from “a simple training exercise” that Bruce planned.

It’s Damian who finds his son limp on a stone slab, stuck in a psychic simulation.

It’s Damian who holds Dick’s hands and whispers in his ear that he’s alright, it’s not real, he needs to come back now when Dick is the only one who doesn’t wake up right away once M’gann loses her psychic grip on the simulation.

And when Dick shoots up, brow covered in sweat, breathing so labored that Damian is afraid he’s going to pass right back out, he just continues holding him and whispering to him that it’s alright, everything is alright, Baba’s here now. And Dick clings to him, holding on so tight his knuckles turn white, whispering into Damian’s chest that he thought Damian had died, he thought everyone died. I saw it, I saw them zap you, you were all just gone.

(As a side note, I don’t think this Bruce would want to be called Grandpa. It makes him feel too old. Bruce is supposed to be Jewish, right? Let’s have him go by Saba.)

And Damian is livid. Because how dare his father make his son live through what is essentially his worst nightmare. He snaps his head towards Bruce and seethes, “I told you no psychic simulations.”

“Saba said you agreed.”

The catch in his voice damn near breaks Damian’s heart. But it only serves to make him that much angrier with Bruce.

“You what?” He snaps at Bruce. “You told him I did what?”

“It was perfectly safe,” Bruce tries to reason with him.

“Clearly it was not!” Damian bites back. “I heard what the Martian said, Robin’s mind thought he was dead! Your ridiculous training exercise could have killed him!”

“He was perfectly safe. There was no real danger.”

“Stop,” Damian says, his voice perfectly calm. He tugs Dick close to him, as if letting him go would make him disappear into thin air. “Just stop.”

“Nightwing-“

“This is not the first time you’ve ignored my boundaries for him,” Damian tells him. “He is my son. He was my Robin before he was ever yours. And yet you stomp all over my limits for him time and time again. He is thirteen, he is not a soldier.”

He stands up, still holding Dick close, keeping an arm tight around his shoulders. As they pass by Bruce, Damian tells him in a final hiss, “Batman and Robin are done.”

“You’re being unreasonable,” Bruce barks at him.

“And you are being like Ra’s al Ghul,” Damian hisses back, tightening his grip on Dick’s shoulder. “Count yourself lucky I’m not keeping you from your grandson entirely.”

Damian moves to leave, but Dick tugs at his arm and whispers, “Wait, wait Baba, wait,” then he throws himself at Bruce, hugging him tight. Bruce kneels down to hug him back, and maybe he finally realizes how much he fucked up when Dick whispers to him, “I’m glad you’re not really dead.”

But then as quick as he was to hug Bruce, he’s quick to let go and mutter, “Bye, Saba.”

Bruce just runs a hand through Dick’s hair before he can fully pull away, and he says back in a gentle tone, “Bye, Robin. Be good.”

Dick gives him a little smile and wave before attaching himself back to Damian’s side.

Idk I just want Damian being a protective dad and Bruce realizing he was kind of a shitty grandpa.

#dick grayson #young justice #bruce wayne #damian wayne #reverse robins #I’m trying to think how old I want the robins to be in this au #dick is 13 as per usual in season 1 of yj #then I think Damian would be 28. so a 15 year age difference #Tim would be like 26 and Jason would be 22 #so dick is like the babybaby #how old is Bruce? idk he’s Bruce aged #but young enough that the other league members are shocked when they realize Robin was his grandson

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