#engineers are now a thing and they can vent

[traintrainingmontage]

Oh, absolutely agree! Fair enough about Edward having a few close confidants, too; I don't think he is necessarily forthcoming when things bother him, as in he's not one to just start venting to whoever's around, but those who know him know something's wrong anyway.

But I also don't necessarily think Edward is happy about The Author's meddling and how he recounts their stories. I feel like Edward's accounts to The Author were probably as factual as he could make them, but The Author then got more details from other humans involved, who likely... had their own opinions about things. After all, like you said, Edward's PR campaign has been quite effective, and everyone's likely to have their own ideas about this. Maybe he enjoyed talking to The Author at first, but then when the first book came out and he saw what their stories had become, he saw the writing on the wall and pulled back.

What I moreso mean about venting to The Author is that from Gordon's POV, Awdry's books hold so much more about what Edward has thought and felt about various situations than the engine himself has actually told Gordon. And since Gordon is an engine who works much better with directness, I think that he would hear these stories and feel somewhat blindsided. It may not have been Edward's intention whatsoever, but this would still get back to Gordon, and I feel that he might take the Edward depicted in the books as "if this is how Edward really feels, then he must actually hate me." After all, Edward does not express himself freely around Gordon. Gordon doesn't know what to make of his responses. But he knows that Edward has talked to The Author, as have his crew, so these books might be the closest thing he has to Edward's actual thoughts. And it's not great.

In other words, I can see Gordon thinking that Edward has vented to The Author, and treating some of the RWS like it's a tell-all (even if Edward didn't do that and never wanted it to be) because it tells him more than Edward has about where they stand with each other. And knowing where he stands with others—and where they stand with him—seems to be a very important thing for Gordon.

If anything, the RWS might have actually contributed to worsening their relationship for reasons we've both mentioned by taking some of their biggest pain points and sensationalizing them. I'm sure that's got to rankle Edward on some level (and like you said, keep himself at arm's length from The Author) because this sort of outcome was exactly what he'd wanted to avoid. Edward has been a conflict avoidant kind of engine for a long time, and only now when he feels confident enough to stand up to Gordon does all of this come out and just make things that much more difficult to navigate (although, in my heart of hearts, I hope it blossoms into the kind of confrontation that finally lets them both get the lead out. Maybe I'll write that one day...).

Gordon and Edward, Part 3

As Lady is my witness, I will never take more than 500 words to ever answer a simple ask again 🫡 Enjoy this last hurrah of hyperlexia!

Part 1: Gordon, what's your damage? 😭 / The Doylist Reason / Rent. Free. 

Post 2: Edward's Defences / Gordon's Growth

Post 3 (this post): Collision / Uh… Cleanup Crew?

Collision

Folks take Main Line Engines Edward and Gordon as a glimpse into just normal day-in-the-life stuff for them. It's not. It's the culmination of 40+ years of their shit. (From a Doylist perspective, it's also the last time Awdry would ever visit this dynamic – it's the last time any Awdry would, in a proper RWS book – and he seems to have known it.) 

So, cue scene: "Wrong Road." Here we are, late evening, chilling on a couple of sidings somewhere outside Tidmouth station. The text puts this setting in a sort of void. I’d assume our heroes are taking on coal or water or something, as after this they report to the station for their trains. But that’s not for a bit yet. Right now we’re chilling. Eddie and Gordo. Great old friends. 

All right, that might have been sarcastic if we were setting this scene in the ‘20s, but this is now 1964 or -65 (depending on just how rapidly you think The Author and his publishers beam these stories out there). Don’t be so cynical, dear reader. Time has passed. 

This is Gordon matured. In his prime. He’s an Evolved Being these days (still capitalizes random things in his head, though). He has come to recognize that, grand and mighty though he is, relationships are important. He's been reminded of this just recently, in fact, what with his old driver retiring. (How's he doing with the transition, you ask? Wonderfully. No one copes with change better than Gordon the Big Engine. No one!) And so he’s going to make an effort here to find something to chat about with Edward. Even if Edward is kind of a queer old fellow, one of his tougher relationships. They don’t often see eye-to-eye on things, you see. But Evolved Being Gordon values his relationships, so, goddammit, he puts himself out there. Truly, he has a certain respect for Edward for never being drawn into Gordon’s lead on things. Like, it’s irritating – very – but Gordon can acknowledge that this is because, in his own way, Edward is something sort of like a leader, and indeed on occasion Gordon has had cause to admit to himself, after the fact, that Edward may have been right. Once. Or even twice. Anyway, their differences make things tricky and a bit distant, but Gordon still values the relationship. Enough to make an effort.

And! Tonight, he has a commonality for them to bond over. Something that’s been bugging the hell out of him and that surely must be worrying Edward, too. 

"It's not fair," grumbled Gordon. "What isn't fair?" asked Edward.  "Letting Branch Line diesels pull Main Line trains." 

Coz diesels, amirite? 

I cannot emphasize enough that Gordon makes this conversational gambit in good faith. He knows that Edward has had insecurities about being replaced before. Edward’s been dealing with The Fat Controller letting this diesel lurk around on his Branch Line for some while. And now Gordon and the others are facing the same threat! Gordon can genuinely carp to Edward about this and fully expect sympathy! Then after that Gordon can offer sympathy, too! They have a common interest, huzzah!

Gordon is sure that tonight he is getting a good grade in Friendship. 

Then - 

"Never mind, Gordon. I'm sure BoCo will let you pull his trucks sometimes. That would make it quite fair."

Needle scratch. 

From Gordon’s perspective: WTF just happened here? Edward’s… Edward’s teasing him, isn’t he? 

Now, look. Part of Gordon’s maturation is that he has accepted that he is part of the great karmic circle of life. Some days you’re the champ, and some days you take the L and just have to graciously accept that everyone else is gonna enjoy their victory laps. He’s used to this. He can handle it with good grace, indeed. 

However: 

1) Is that… is that what’s going on? IS Edward zinging him? Gordon’s pretty sure. He’s familiar with the experience ("never trust domeless engines! teehee"). But Edward does like to take his shots with an angelically serious face, which Gordon always finds confusing and a bit annoying. No one else bothers to disguise it when they’re laughing at him, and Gordon has learned to take it well (well, take it without melting down). But he does wish Edward would be more direct about it. Because… is that what’s going on here??

2) And, if it is… WHY? What the hell just happened? You tease someone after they fucked up and you’ve won this round. Did something just happen in the time it took Gordon to blink? What was the round? How did Gordon fuck up? They were having a perfectly amiable conversation like one bloody second ago! Garrrrgh. 

(This is the whole problem with Edward, Gordon harrumps to himself. What is ‘this’, you ask? Well, if Gordon could explain it, it wouldn’t be such a problem now would it!)

Well, where he went wrong is utterly baffling to Gordon. But it’s clear as day to Edward, and pretty obvious to everyone he tells (and he seems to manage to relate this story to at least some parties within an extraordinarily short window of time…) The others may only tease when they’re in a position of strength. Edward’s playful teasing is not necessarily a sign that he’s comfortable; it’s a defense mechanism. When Edward is comfortable and relaxed with other engines, he tends to be practical-minded (job swap time!) and/or very much 100% in earnest (“I was pleased to hear your happy whistle yesterday”). Teasing is something he resorts to in order to find or restore equilibrium. So he’s not trying to signal that he’s “won” anything, but he is trying to win the exchange and turn the tables on Gordon in a moment when Gordon’s superior, dismissive attitude towards an engine rubs Edward the wrong way. Gordon thinks Edward will relate to him; they’re both steam engines who go way back, after all. Instead Edward instinctively relates to whatever engine Gordon is talking down. He probably would even if he hadn’t already made friends with BoCo - and he has. (This is another thing Gordon can’t fathom. Edward’s intuition lets him find and form friendships way faster than Gordon can comprehend warming up to anyone. To Gordon this feels like disloyalty.)

So Edward’s already lowkey annoyed - ‘Oh, Gordon’s being Gordon again’ - even as Gordon unconsciously stomps on the old, old wound that Edward still carries from the far past when Gordon would talk down him. Gordon doesn’t do that to him these days, but he’s still out here doing it to other engines and Edward dislikes it. A lot. 

But, because it is Gordon and Edward just isn’t comfortable enough to communicate with him in any sort of straightforward way, Edward once again pretends not to be bothered - even as he deliberately turns the tables on Gordon, playfully suggesting something he knows Gordon will hate as a fair solution to the problem. 

Winding Gordon up is so much easier and safer than, like, actually communicating with him. 

And so Edward does. He knows that when he pulls this sort of passive-aggressive move that it leaves Gordon pleasingly unsettled. 

What Edward may not understand is that Gordon really is genuinely out of his depth. It’s not clear to Gordon whether Edward is joking or not - and, unfortunately, wherever this notion appeared from, The Fat Controller does tend to call things Edward’s way so the fact that Edward has a bright idea really could imply that it’s going to become reality in a bafflingly brief amount of time. 

At any rate, Gordon deals with what seems to him this sucker punch out of nowhere by resorting to his old well-worn defense mechanism - his superiority complex. To soothe his confusion and his own hurt feelings (why is Edward laughing at him? how did Gordon just lose a game that he didn’t even know he was playing? what in Gresley’s name is Edward all the sudden trying to PUNISH him for?) Gordon grabs and flaunts his superior importance and breeding as a trump card: 

Gordon spluttered furiously. "I won't pull BoCo's dirty trucks. I won't run on Branch Lines."

(Gordon needs the comfort of this sort of boast, maybe needs to say it to convince himself.)

"Why not? It would be a nice change." "The Fat Controller would never approve," said Gordon loftily. "Branch Lines are vulgar." He puffed away in a dignified manner. Edward chuckled and followed him to the station… 

Of course, the fact that Gordon instantly needs to resort to boasting and putting Edward down (ho-hum; anyone here have a branch line?) only confirms to Edward that he’s always been right not to put much trust in this new amiability between them. To Edward’s eye, he barely had to tap on it before it shattered. From Gordon’s point of view, Edward just did a lot more than tap on it - stomped on it rather. Still, it’s incredibly fair to my eye for Edward to conclude that he was right not to think Gordon’s latter-day changes run very deep, and to keep up his ‘laugh and pretend not to care’ tactic even as the scene closes.

It’s completely fair. Still, Gordon, I’m sure, never gave this baffling exchange a second thought after he left the platform that evening with his train (for the first time). As far as Gordon is concerned, Edward scored one off on him SOMEHOW, Gordon harrumphed and did a little tit for tat which is his goddamn right, and perhaps they both could have been a little more mature about it but at any rate that’s over. 

It was dark by the time the trains reached the Junction, and you can guess what happened – Edward went through on the Main, while Gordon was switched to the Branch… It took The Fat Controller several hours to sort out the tangle and pacify the passengers. In the end Gordon was left, with his fire drawn, cold and cross on one of Edward's sidings[...]  "No, Bill, this lot's useless for scrap. We'll take it to the harbour and dump it in the sea." Gordon was alarmed. "I am Gordon. Stop! Stop!"  The twins paid no attention. Gordon shut his eyes and prepared for the worst[...] 

After an absolutely terrible night and, somehow, a more terrible morning with what Gordon (not autistic at all btw!) sincerely regards as a genuine attempt on his life…  

Edward scolded the twins severely, but told Gordon it served him right. Gordon was furious. 

… Gordon encounters Edward again the next day only to be told that his whole harrowing experience, complete with the disrespect and the death threats from Edward’s own weird little industrial twin terrorists, ‘served him right.’ 

Gordon: 

WHAT?????? 

Gordon thinks that, at most, he got a little shirty the night before but that Edward literally started it. 

Edward, however, is taking a cool account of every sin Gordon has ever committed, up to and including Gordon being a drama queen about this whole ‘dump him in the sea’ business (I’m sure Edward could fathom taking the china clay twins seriously if he tried - if this were Duck coming to him with this complaint I’m sure Edward could make that leap of imagination - but this is Gordon. Edward doesn’t regard the twins as all that challenging and he’s not about to make an effort right now to understand the troubles of Gordon, who just last night had turned back the clock some thirty years in order to directly insult his branch line out of nowhere.) 

Basically: All the sudden, their old truce is in tatters. Both think that it’s the other’s fault – Edward reckons Gordon’s just proved it never meant much, while Gordon thinks Edward just spat on all his efforts for no reason at all that he can see. 

I am sympathetic to Gordon’s bafflement up to this point - I understand why Edward is blowing hot and cold like this, and I think he has a right to, but this hostile confusion and mutual pain was always going to be the inevitable result, sooner or later. 

But Gordon loses my sympathy real fast when he reacts to this development by… partying like it’s Vicarstown 1922:

(Note of course that while Henry and James gave Gordon an opening, their remarks were far more neutral – Gordon takes the opportunity to tank the entire vibe:) 

"Did you see him straining?" asked Henry.  "Positively painful," remarked James. "Just pathetic," grunted Gordon. "He should give up and be Preserved before it's too late."  "Shut up!" burst out Duck. 

Okay, yep. I am vividly reminded why kind little Edward, once-upon-a-time a very straightforward and transparent character, had to go and develop this entire fucky points-scoring communication style to begin with. 

But my proposal here is that this blow-up represents an aberration from their postwar relationship. They seemed to have moved on. They had at least 15 years of relative peace. The above scene represents something of a surprise twist (appropriate for a finale): Nah, they never did patch things up! They’re as fucked up as ever! 

Now, the previous paragraph was a place where I think that I am actually reading in concert with what Awdry’s writing. I do think he intended that as a bit of a twist. I think “Edward’s Exploit” is in a way meant to be a callback to those days, a deliberate “Edward’s Day Out/Edward and Gordon Part 2: Electric Boogaloo.” 

This whole book is, I think, meant to be a new as well as a final word on Edward’s character development. Hence, he shows us an Edward who throughout the book displays a new level of assuredness. We see his dynamic with Bill and Ben, introduced here for the first time. We’re shown that, far from fading away, he’s fast becoming besties with one of those newfangled diesels. And - well, you couldn’t really crown Edward’s character development without revisiting the Gordon dynamic, now could you? “Wrong Road” shows us the playful, teasing, never-fear-these-days-I-can-handle-Gordon-with-a-smile Edward we already met for the first time in “Cows,” but then for this go-’round Awdry takes it one step further: Edward no longer has to couch his disapproval of Gordon’s attitude indirectly, but can assert himself in a direct conflict. Edward’s never canonically scolded anyone before, but now we see he’s able to manage both titchy little saddletanks and Gordon Himself. The next time someone says Edward is a static character, I swear to Lady I am going to chuck this book at their head. That was a very deliberate character arc. And I love it! Lookit my sweet boy crack some skulls! Awesome! 

… it is, however, very depressing to me that we had to explode the apparent Edward+Gordon truce in order to achieve this. 

Mind you, Awdry thinks he resolved that conflict by the end of “Exploit.” I cannot emphasize this enough. Yes, Gordon reverted to his old tricks when Edward leveled up and told him off – but by the end of the story Edward’s wildly popular exploit has shut him up, so yay! It’s all good! 👍 👍

…

Oh, wait? You don’t think it’s so good? You feel like maybe you could use a bit more, before you felt like these two were on new and solider-than-ever ground? Like maybe this relationship needs a bit more than Gordon merely shutting up? Like you’d wish it to be deeper than Gordon apparently resigning himself to the fact that Edward is Always Fuckin’ Right, and Edward Always Fuckin’ Wins? Like maybe we haven’t really addressed the underlying problem here at all, maybe jealousy and pique and hierarchy was always their obstacle from Day 1? And so they can never compete their way out of this mess?

Yeah, weird. I feel like that too, somehow. 

However, this is what canon gives us. We can add some more to it, sure. But I do think it’s worth just… sitting with this for a while. Processing things. These are two characters who are flawed but who have such great qualities, as well, and there are these obvious points of connection and potential understanding, and you just feel like this could be a much richer relationship, instead of merely a decades-long tug-of-war. I mean, we go on to see it with Gordon and BoCo. (All right, obviously I’ll never admit BoCo is ‘just a diesel Edward.’ But for purposes of this particular essay, I’ll just say that… he’s not not a diesel Edward, y’know? They’re certainly goddamn similar enough that it’s incredible how close Gordon becomes with one of them and how, despite so much time and opportunity, he will forever be held at arms’-length with the other.) That relationship seems like one of genuine mutual support. Indeed the other remarkable thing that goes down in "Wrong Road" is that for once Gordon not only connects to someone without relying on the "benevolent patron" role, but indeed that he is the one who needs help – but he actually responds to it well and, instead of condescending to BoCo, he shows respect. And it seems so obvious that Gordon and Edward’s could have been like that too, but instead they’ve spent so long bothering each other despite a fair amount of good intention on each side. 

That’s how it goes sometimes, I guess. 

But hey, you know what. Maybe their relationship improved later, off-screen. Like maybe it had some space to breathe once The Author stopped poking around and fuckin’ writing about it. 

I’ve heard of wilder things. 

Uh, Cleanup Crew? 

"All three engines are now great friends." 

I think this famous conclusion is true – at least, it was true in 1945, at the height of their optimism and unity. However the tension in the Gordon-Edward leg of this triangle, seen from the beginning of canon, only ever gets worse. 

Honestly, the notorious TTRE stuff doesn’t strike me as all that bad. I read TTRE and I’m actually like, yeah sure, I can see how these two would move on to become friends. Honestly I can see it at the end of TTRE a lot more easily for Gordon and Edward than for Gordon and Henry - I feel like Gordon’s actually been a lot worse to Henry. Most of the red flags in this relationship – the aggressive ostracizing of Troublesome Engines and Edward’s backbiting and Taking Control of the Narrative – come later! And look, Gordon and Henry have their rough patches too. Henry the Green Engine is a terrible low point, Gordon was a flaming dumpster fire in his whistle story. But it’s also clear that Gordon and Henry do a lot of relationship repair, off-screen. We see continually how joined at the hip they are, we see them genuinely enjoying each other’s company, and it makes sense because we know they have interests and personality traits in common. 

In contrast, even though Gordon and Edward’s relationship seems more recoverable in theory, in practice nearly every interaction between them ranges from uncomfortable to actively hostile. There is never any repair, there’s only ever Edward managing to keep Gordon in check, and when you are constantly playing defense you might be able to make some sort of old working relationship creak and clatter on but you are never really getting close to each other either. If Henry needed an apology from Gordon, and I expect he did, then Henry spoke up and he got one. Edward is tougher than Henry, more independent. Which is good for him but one result from never moaning or complaining to Gordon about Gordon’s past offenses is that Gordon, oblivious and proud, is never going to take responsibility or make amends for them. Usually in real life I’d just be like 'good riddance!’ but this is fiction, lol, and despite this one major flaw Gordon truly is so valuable as a friend. But there’s no evidence to me that he ever really became one for Edward. Edward doesn’t hate him, I think sheer necessity and his capacity to understand others makes him genuinely fond of Gordon. But he doesn’t trust him, and because he doesn’t trust him he provokes Gordon to forever give him fresh reason to not trust him, and because of this no matter how well they can work together or chit chat this never becomes a mutually supportive relationship and, like… that’s sad. That’s real sad. By the end of TTRE I’m like ‘aww, this friendship could be cute.’ By the end of MLE I’m like ‘Family counseling, stat. Or just communicate solely through intermediaries for the rest of your life, that could work too.’ 

But Jobey. I don’t accept this. I imagine them as genuine friends and/or I straight-up ship them and LA LA LAAA I can’t heeeear youuuu. 

You’re perfectly welcome to do so, lol. I'd like to take a sad song and make it better, too. 

The one fortunate thing is that, after Main Line Engines, there is plenty of blank space where anyone can continue or add to the 2+4 story. I think one can plausibly fill in a happy ending. Gordon still has some character development after MLE. Edward doesn't, but I think he ought, and I can see a couple areas where he could. To make a happy ending for this dynamic convincing three things still do have to click into place. In no particular order: 

The narrative actually has to validate the good parts of Gordon's ethos (not the selfish parts - but the subversive/rebellious/engine autonomy parts) as a necessary complement to Edward's ethos.

Edward has to be willing to let himself be vulnerable in front of Gordon. 

Gordon needs to need Edward's help and then actually express gratitude afterwards. 

Shouldn't be too tough, honestly! The first has to be done by we the transformative-work fans; canon never did and never could. The third is especially easy because we do finally see Gordon doing this in Main Line Engines and again in his second book, High Speed Engine – it's just that both times it's with BoCo, lmao. Gordon's there. Gordon's ready. He just needs a plot point opportunity. To be honest the second is going to be the toughest nut to crack. Again, Edward is not shown to develop after MLE. For this dynamic, he's gonna have to. Just a smidge more. Unlike TVS, I don't think "Gordon is humbled" is going to be enough of a wandwave to make this right. I'm not interested in blame, I'm interested in them finding a groove that works for them. A relationship that doesn't need to make either of them smaller for it to work.

And it should be possible, to somehow get those boxes checked. Some factors are already very much in their favor: 

The Author is no longer sticking a mic in their smokeboxes and publishing the shit they say about each other every few years. 

We saw them have normal, comfortable interactions in 1952. We already know a level of mutual trust is possible.

Presumably more and more engines are coming to Sodor, making this older bond rarer and more important to them. 

They're good friends with each other's friends. 

Gordon's growth clearly takes some cues from Edward's example. Their outlooks are converging, not diverging.

(If we need to wait this long for something to facilitate this) Gordon getting knocked off the express in 2011 radically changed his lifestyle. 

So, I don't feel too despairing about this relationship. Hell, I kind of like to imagine that by the time the century turns they're able to laugh together and even mutually pitch caricatures of their old relationship missteps to the new writers lol. 

And their proposed smoothing-out and reconnection would have big thematic resonance. The early conflicts in canon often had to do with the Edward ethos and the Gordon ethos. Part of the reason those conflicts taper off is because both the characters mature, of course. But part of the reason is just that the external circumstances change. The world whole environment of the NWR changes, and when it does these two ethos are incorporated into a whole. They begin to merge and complement each other. Indeed, arguably a lot of the success of the railway's culture is because everyone figures out a way embrace both. Innit? I think so. And if you buy that interpretation (Awdry didn't, lol, but what does he know?) then this long and winding 2+4 road actually ends up as a very nice story. Best story never written, perhaps.

But, for all the promising signs for the post-MLE era, I would still love to see more fan content within the original RWS canon timeline that represents the high degree of textual tension between them (and uniquely between them) from the 1920s to the 1960s. It's messy as hell, I hate the discomfort and would-you-two-dumbasses-just-COMMUNICATE of it sooo much, at the same time it's extremely compelling. Very good food. Even if things have improved, I hope they're still sometimes Problematic and Passive-Aggressive. I hope newbies are occasionally stuck with them in the sheds when they trip over a sensitive old topic and these two oldies don't even look at each other but the temperature still drops like a falling snowcap and the most oblivious of the newbies is like "Uhh, guys? ? ? Real weird vibe in here!" 

And Henry and BoCo just look fuckin' exhausted, lmaoo. 

[lilredbird101]

I Would – Sevika x OC (Delilah)

OKAY~! So this is my first actual story that I'm posting on here. I've written a lot for myself but they've all sat on my laptop. *Hides hands shaking with nerves*

This piece was inspired by the cute AF art done by @sumilane.

It involves my OC, an environmental scientist and engineer called Delilah. She's a Piltover whistleblower who ratted on the company she was working for. They'd been finding work arounds with waste disposal regulations to cut costs and now she's down in the lanes. I'm not much of a digital artist, so this is my Picrew rendition of her. Unfortunately they don't do accents of greens and blues in the hair colours, so please imagine.

Now, I know that sumilane's art has S2 Sevika hair, but let's just play around with time lines here.

Also, Delilah calls Sevika "Osavika". It's a play on the Spanish word for "bear" - "osa". No, she's not Spanish, and YES, I know Spain doesn't exist in Arcane's universe. Let me be cute XD

Anyway, here is my sappy af fanfiction!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Genuinely, fuck my life.”

Sevika knew who it was before they’d even spoken. Delilah rarely went for any other shoes than her blunnies, and the weight and pace of her gait in them was distinct. Slightly heavy with purpose but twisting and skipping around obstacles lithely. However, Sevika was usually the first seated at the Last Drop for their meetups and by now could tell Delilah’s mood from her step. Today, they trudged.

Sevika glanced her way as she shed her lab coat with stiff shoulders, sighed and slumped onto the stool next to her at the empty bar, flopping her head onto the sticky tabletop. Only Silco’s top employees could be there before evening hours, and there wasn’t anyone else around to witness the lax in professional poise. “Rough day for you too, huh?”

Delilah peered up, old bar nut crumbs sticking to her forehead, noticing a few new bruises and cuts along Sevika’s body. Her eyebrows bounced up, but not in worry – she knew Osavika could take a beating, “Oh shit. How’s the other guy?”

Sevika’s mouth twitched upwards as she reached for her bottle and another glass to pour, “Lying in an alley with many regrets and broken ribs.” She slipped the glass into Delilah’s hand, gently brushing the food from her brow. Delilah scrunched her eyes shut as they tickled her nose. “What about you? You look like shit.”

Delilah scoffed and raised the glass to her lips, knowing full well how her crumpled and stained lab coat, red eyes with dark circles, pale and sunken cheeks, cracked lips and greasy, frizz-ball hair looked. “Silco’s got me working double time until the new compound is finished. Urgh!” She grimaced at the taste of the amber liquid, “This tastes like acetone.”

Sevika reached out, “Well in that case, I’ll take it back.” Delilah snatched her hand back, smacking the hand and gave a playfully indignant look. Sevika’s shoulders bounced, chuckling, “Then don’t complain about free drinks.” Delilah smiled and nodded in thanks and a long silence hung in the air. Sevika rolled her eyes, “You can still complain about everything else if you want.” Having known each other so long by this point, their time together was always the highlight of both women’s days, and a safe venting point. Anyone who’d seen their first interactions would not believe that these where the two same people they’d seen several years ago.

Their “bond” had formed early into Delilah’s contract with Silco.

He was conducting an inspection of the labs to make sure everything was running smoothly under new management. Sevika looked her up and down. The slight little thing had the body more of a dancer than one in their dangerous business, and she moved like it to, gliding with a bounce in her step from bench to bench.

Delilah noticed her wandering eyes, “Anything wrong, Sevika?” She spoke as if each consonant and vowel deserved recognition. Delilah’s voice had lilted out from her mouth like fluttering velvet during the explanation of possible carcinogenic side effects of long-term use, and Sevika found the contrast of presence to present such a juxtaposition. Messing with this little bird will be so much fun.

Sevika leaned against a table and noticed how Delilah tensed up, glancing at the set-up behind her, “Oh nothing, twinkle-toes. Just watching your moves. With pegs like that, what were you? Some kind of ballerina in your infinite spare-time?” She jabbed.

Delilah’s face remained neutral as she collected papers to let Silco check, “Lessons from five to seventeen years. Mum insisted. Principle ballerina in my cohort for six. Why? Are you wanting lessons?”

Sevika laughed, “Certainly not.”

Delilah turned back to her; now it was her turned to look Sevika over, “Shame. I’d pay to see you in a leotard.” And just like that, she was back to her tour with Silco.

Sevika blinked, What in the…? If this little fairy wanted to try and show her up or rattle her, she had another thing coming.

For the next long while, Sevika was strutting around and poking her nose into work benches. She’d seen the woman react when she got too close to them. Delilah liked things just-so and was hyperaware of every millimetre a Bunsen or beaker budged under Sevika’s prodding. She was trying hard to concentrate on Silco’s questioning, but this woman’s damn roaming and smirking was distracting for so many reasons. The feeling built up like beetles scuttering up her back and into her brain.

While Silco was grilling Delilah on specifics, she noticed Sevika messing around with the glassware currently distilling a new shimmer formula she was testing, making a full flask under the rotary evaporator tip dangerously. She immediately turned from Silco mid-sentence, “I’m sorry, sir-,” and— SNAP! Delilah’s voice dropped like a stone, booming out in gravelly baritone built to project, “Get your paws off my equipment you bloody great bear of a bothersome bitch!” It was like a different person burst forward. Her whole posture and accent had changed to something more guttural, more feral.

Delilah stormed over and shoved between her workspace and the woman who was at least a head taller, “If you want to blow yourself up then go ahead and piss that blue-hair brat off, maybe she’ll do you a favour, but don’t go fucking around with this shit. It is volatile IN the body alone, even after testing, and I haven’t run any on this unfiltered stuff yet. I appreciate this is not your field but take some professional advice and BACK OFF.”

Sevika paused, registering that this noodle-armed twig had just insulted her AND ordered her about. Her condescending smirk returned, “Professional advice? I thought you were stripped of all those shiny credentials after the racket you made whistleblowing Up Top.”

“It’s called sacrifice. But then again, I hear you know a lot about that.” Delilah wasn’t shielded from water-cooler talk. She knew all about Vander and the kids, despite being from Piltover.

The corners of Sevika’s eyes tensed, making her mouth appear all the more sharp, “Careful, Sunshine. Bears can get awfully heavy-handed when upset.” Delilah didn’t ease up, she actually raised herself on her tippy toes to get closer to Sevika’s face. Adorable.

“Aww, did I upset you? Go on then, Osavika, take a swipe. Just remember that I’m now the only person on your team that actually knows how to make your fluro coke syrup from scratch.”

Sevika couldn’t believe she was actually having fun underneath her scathed pride, “There are plenty of ways to hurt someone without taking them out of commission.” She gave the balanced Delilah a small shove to the chest, sending her tippy-toes down and scuttling to right themselves.

“Ha! Try it! I’m running off a three-day shift, four hours sleep, a caffeine overdose, ire and manic fucking energy. I guarantee I’ll at least get a few bites in.”

That sent a completely new feeling to Sevika’s gut.

“Ladies!” Silco was momentarily amused, but now just perturbed by the disruption.

The two women eased back, but Delilah wouldn’t return to Silco and the conversation until Sevika moved away from the bench space. She stared her down/up until the woman stepped back. Like a cloud soothing itself after a storm, Delilah posture and voice floated back to it’s original poise and tone, “Apologies, sir. Now, you specified that you wanted a longer run of the effects per dose. Understandable, but I wanted to discuss the side-effects and “hangover” of such a dosage with you. Are you wanting your users to actually LIVE through the experience or is “single use” what you’re going for here? Because I’m going to need more time and resources if it’s the former…”

Delilah kept glancing back towards Sevika occasionally to make sure she was keeping her hands at bay… And to… No, keep your head focused… Unpack that mess of thoughts later.

It had been nearly three years since then, and each gruelling week had brought more stock to their sparring relationship. Then through the tough times it simmered down to mutual respect and appreciation, eventually into what could be called a burgeoning friendship. When Sevika had invited Delilah out for a drink after work, that friendship quickly solidified. They’d had more in common than they originally thought, and being in the same space felt natural after the first hour.

Their company became routine. After-work drinks and matches at the pool table were where it started. Delilah had a terrible poker-face compared to seasoned pros, so cards weren’t an option with more serious players as Sevika quickly found out when she made a terrible decision to fund Delilah’s first games. Teaching her how to line up the cue, take long shots and snooker fools was much easier since she was a visual learner and knew how to work angles. Getting up close and personal to show her the holds was also a bonus for Sevika, though she wouldn’t admit it.

They started not-so-discretely scheduling their rounds and duties to coincide despite their different fields, Sevika volunteering to do follow-ups in the labs just to talk, and Delilah often personally delivering updates in Silco’s office instead of using lackies. Delilah enjoyed bringing the meagre crop of veg from her balcony garden to gift Sevika and invited her over many times to excitedly show her the new sprouts of greens when they finally emerged. They even went going out to get dinner on late nights at work, ending with Sevika dropping Delilah off at home personally… For safety reasons of course.

When Delilah invited Sevika in for late night drinks her mind was flooded with how she might usually play this with other women, but as they sat on the balcony and watched the skyline, it felt too sacred a moment for that. It felt like she’d been given a rest stop or sanctuary. At some point Delilah was mentioning how much she missed her father. She wished desperately that she could return to Piltover and mess around in his workshop with him again, have a joint in the gardens or just fucking talk to him. It was her one regret of her actions.

Sevika surprised herself.

“He sounds nice. Better than mine, anyway.” Delilah cocked her head to the side, not pushing for details or denying with an, Oh he can’t be that bad. Just listening. “Strong family units are hard to find in Zaun, as I’m sure you can imagine. Even more-so when your mum has had enough of the booze and debt and walks out. He didn’t take it easy on me before and sure as Hell didn’t after… Maybe I looked a little too much like her…” She took a sip of her whiskey, but barely moved otherwise, “Got his fucking eyes though…” Her bitterness at that last fact seeped through in her tone, just a little. A cluster of decorative amber lights in the distance brought back a kind pair of irises from Sevika’s memory, and she wished with everything that she’d been given those instead. That she could still look at her before she slept… Just one last time.

Delilah let the moment sit before reaching towards her friend, brushing her cheek. Sevika was startled to feel a tear smudging against Delilah’s soft thumb. “She must have been very beautiful.”

Sevika’s eyes widened slightly in shock at the tenderness of it all, and she tried not to let her lips wobble, “… She was.”

A feeling, so strong and burning like coals rose from her gut as she looked back at Delilah and absorbed the warmth radiating off her… Then she realised…

Damn it.

Inside jokes abound by then and the two felt comfortable enough to get into each other’s space. Not because their shackled feelings were secretly eating them up on the inside. No, of course not. Certainly not because every little touch or lingering morsel of eye-contact had their nerves zinging like electricity through copper wiring.

One time, Sevika was leaning over Delilah’s shoulder to observe the notes she was showing Silco, and her exhale skimmed Delilah’s neck, wafting into her own airways. She felt a fool, but Delilah could have sworn the warmth of it had snaked into her gut and impregnated her, even though she knew the reproductive and respiratory systems weren’t linked that way. She made a mental note to set up her showcase on cramped desk corners more often.

Another time, Sevika was escorting Delilah to a nearby shimmer outlet. It was a particularly hot day and Delilah asked ever so sweetly for a sip from Sevika’s canteen. Her dry windpipe made her voice sound hypnotically smoky, and how could Sevika say no? How could she look away from the droplet that hung at the corner of her mouth, or the pink tip of her tongue that darted out to catch it? How could she not let her tastebuds linger on the remnants of coconut lip balm around the rim of her bottle later?

And don’t get any ideas. Sevika only called Delilah “Sunshine” to make fun of her untameable sun-bleached curls, not because she felt warmer and lighter when Delilah was nearby. And Delilah only added Osa to the start of Sevika’s name so frequently because of the bear joke, not because she felt safe, protected and calm whenever Sevika was around. She didn’t even know the word’s original language fully; she just thought it was an apt pun.

Their infatuation – nay – deep affections were visible to anyone who cared to look or had the time, but somehow these two women, both brilliant in their own fields, had absolutely no damn clue. Or maybe they just couldn’t risk realising. Sometimes the now is too precious to risk the what if.

Delilah let her breath out in a slow, robust, steady blow – a regular stim Sevika had noticed at work -, pulling the pencil from her hair that was holding the lengths of curls up and dropping it to the bar-top with a clatter. The release of pressure had her sighing as she ran her hands through the unwashed mess, and Sevika tried not to file the view away for later. “What am I doing here, Sevika?” The despondent tone got her attention, and she turned to face her coworker more directly. “Like, is it really all worth it? I know it is, but… Is it?”

Delilah turned to her, with such a sad, confused void of a look that Sevika didn’t know what to do with. “… You know I’m not a mind reader, right? You’ll have to give me more detail than that if you want an opinion.”

Delilah breathed again, “When you’re a kid you get told the basic outline of life people follow, and most of us just aim to be happy. Well, here I am, and I feel like I’m in limbo or hell or… Something! My plan was always to get my higher education (check), become an environmental scientist or engineer (check), and find some way to reverse the caustic pollutants that filter down into Zaun,” Delilah made a comically negative buzzer sound and took another sip. “No one gave a fuck up top, and I burnt all my bridges by pushing too hard. Now I’m working for effectively a drug lord in exchange for funding which by the time I take out my living expenses is pittance. The work conditions are shit too, I’m in constant burnout, and as a Topsider no one wants anything to do with me down here! I have no one…”

Sevika looked down at her drink, trying not to let that last remark sting.

Delilah winced, realising how that must have sounded, “Except for you.” She reached her hand out to rest ever so naturally on Sevika’s metal wrist. She didn’t know what Sevika would call their connection to anyone else or if they would ever have anything more, but she knew what it was to herself and that it was at least a deep friendship between them… And that meant the world to Delilah. Sevika was technically her superior, sure, but it hadn’t felt like that for years. To Delilah it was so much more, even if it was just wishful thinking that was becoming harder and harder to silence.

There was something niggling in how Sevika made regular check-ins at the labs, why she felt that Sevika always listened with gruff but genuine care, why Sevika had made sure no one at work or the Last Drop gave her a hard time, why Sevika’s mere presence made her feel like she was in her own secure little bubble. And that barely scratched the surface. Sevika was the best part of any days Delilah spent down in Zaun. Even if what some said was true and it was just to protect an asset of Silco’s, Delilah still felt that… “You are my rough-as-guts saving grace here, Osavika.” The nickname played on her lips deliciously.

God, that smile. Sevika did a great job of hiding it, but she couldn’t ignore the volts that trilled up her arm at Delilah’s touch. It was just phantom pains, but God! Her body gave her no choice but to return the smile in her slight way. “Good save, there Lila.”

“I mean it.” Delilah squeezed the metal before letting go, as if it would have the give or sensation of flesh. “You’re my solace.” She looked forward and took another sip.

Sevika’s tone changed, “What would you do?”

“Huh?”

“If you could choose another life?” Sevika seemed hesitant, playing with the rim of her glass. She hadn’t had many conversations like this before Delilah came along. No one really seemed to think they had other options down here, but she was curious.

Delilah shook her head, “I’ve seen too many damaged by the waste pouring from Piltover. I have a moral obligation to fix this, or at least try. I couldn’t walk away from my work now--”

Sevika cut her off, “But if you could. No moral responsibility. No rules or restrictions. No one else to answer to… What would you do?”

Delilah was taken aback. She hadn’t thought about it in so long, but an image she had as a child came back into her mind. Suddenly her eyes didn’t seem so weary.

“A little house out in nature somewhere. Lots of windows for natural light, clear skies, a little garden with a bird bath, and a water source nearby. Maybe the beach or a river. I don’t know what I’d do to support myself, but maybe I could just get by. And maybe, if I’m lucky, I could have someone to share it with.”

The figure she envisioned with her was so clear in Delilah’s mind. They seemed lighter in the open space away from carnage, smile lines growing around their mouth instead of constant frown lines on their forehead. The sun, good food and rest had softened their dark circles, and their metal claws were replaced with appendages better suited for cuddling by firelight under stars. She wished she could take them away and show them something better. Delilah tried not to blush or look towards the woman by her side.

Sevika watched her mind wandering. It seemed like such a nice vision that she was envious of whomever Delilah would share it with. “It sounds nice,” she said softly, softer than she’d meant it to come out. The vision seemed to have Sevika in a daze as she imagined Little Lila pulling up crop from the dirt, painting the delicate flowers she’d doodle in her lab notes onto the door frame, or washing clothes by the river. Whenever she walked past her at the shimmer labs, Sevika could smell the orange blossom and jasmine oil Delilah dropped into her laundry, and she imagined what it would be like to carry the same smell. Sevika tried not to be so indulgent as to insert herself there in Delilah’s fantasy, but the idea of sharing all that with her felt so easy that she almost forgot who she was in service to.

Delilah shook herself, “Yeah, well, I know I would most definitely need another person to get that idea going. Money is scarce for everyone and a freedom like that is pricy. No one in Zaun would trust each other enough outside of marriage to share funds like that. No one above or below trusts me enough to get to know me in the first place, I barely have enough free time to brush my teeth under Silco let alone go on a date, and who in their right mind would want any part of Silco’s network, anyway? There’s no way I’d be able to get close to anyone to where they’d want to spend a life with me, never mind marriage.”

It slipped out of Sevika’s mouth as naturally as breathing, “I’d marry you.”

…

The air froze.

Delilah slowly turned to look in Sevika’s grey eyes. They’d always reminded her of heavy clouds ready to cool the earth. A brewing storm ready to unleash invigorating, glorious potential energy into the air and light up the sky. She shook her head, trying to get a grip of herself. She must have heard wrong!

“I’m sorry, say that again?”

For once in her life, Sevika felt cold with fear and hot with embarrassment all at once. She scolded herself as her eyes darted down. What had she done? Why would Lovely Lila want someone like her? How could she have jeopardised this one good thing in her life. God, she was a fool!

…

But she wasn’t a coward. She’d already said it. No turning back now. Sevika brought her eyes back to Delilah’s and in a moment her turmoil was swept away in fields of pale green on an overcast day; a natural soft-fall, a masterpiece hiding intricate life beneath it made from infinite small strokes, capable of growing nearly anywhere. She could almost feel the breeze on her face as she stepped out of THEIR front door. The one with the little flowers painted on it.

“I… I’d marry you.” And then it all felt so easy, “In a heartbeat.”

Delilah’s breath caught in her chest, “You… You would…? Really?” Sevika slowly nodded. “But… WHY?” Delilah sounded utterly bewildered. Hearing this seemed so surreal to her she’d dare not trust her own senses.

Sevika reached out tentatively, giving Delilah plenty of time to pull away before her flesh hand reached hers, “Because when I’m around you I forget who I’m meant to be. I feel like the world isn’t as big, ruthless or cruel. Your laugh plays in my head as I go to sleep, and when I wake up – most often from dreams of you - I feel like I’m holding my breath until I see you again. You’re one of the first people in so long who values me as a whole, someone I can completely trust to share myself with, and I love that you trust me enough to do the same.”

Delilah couldn’t believe that such a proclamation that she’d only ever imagined in her daydreams was happening. She knew what it would be taking for Sevika to be so vulnerable, and it filled her chest with a golden joy like sunshine throwing rainbows onto a wall through hanging crystals in a window. She was only kicking herself that she hadn’t done the same sooner.

Sevika continued, “I know our situation is difficult, and I know your work is important and comes first, but… When you’re ready… When you’re ready to live for you… I will spend my days making sure that you’re happy. Until then… I’ll take any part of you that you can give, and I’ll give you anything you want of me.”

Tears that she hadn’t realised were forming finally rolled down Delilah’s cheeks. Sevika reached up to cup her face ever so gently - a tenderness that she would hesitate to show in front of others – and Delilah leaned into it like a little kitten in relief, her own palm raising to press it further. The metal of her hand cooled Delilah’s flushed flesh as she wiped away the offending droplets, and though she knew Sevika couldn’t truly feel it, Delilah pressed a kiss into it anyway. Sevika’s voice came out in a whisper, “I love you, Delilah.”

Delilah’s breath escaped in shudders as the years of yearning finally flew out of her in an explosion of butterflies. More tears flowed and she giggled at the silly worry of bringing rust to Sevika’s hand. Delilah threaded her hands into Sevika’s short locks and brought her forehead to rest on hers, tasting each other’s breath in the small space.

“Oh, good grief, Sevika… I love you too.” And in that moment their lips and hearts finally met.

[sketch-pencilpoint]

You know what I wanna do? Show off some of my Thomas the tank engine (alright, they're tugs) ocs! Starting with the one I've already shown and his twin sister (and their brother).

Seafoam, and his older twin sister

Stardust! Named (in a meta sense) after this years art fight promt as a nod to that being my first art fight prompt.

As said before, seafoam is an ice-breaker tug, and his sister is an ocean going tug. They were built at the same time, by the same people in the same factory. Hence being twins. Fun fact, they also have a triplet. You may know him already.

For the both of them, they're privately owned boats that are loaned to areas that need either one of them, usually seafoam. This means they can be busy in the winter. They are sent to sodor a while after their original owners grandson got them, as he wanted them to be able to work again, and so did they. This is also the same for the tugs in my main au as well.

Seafoam

While he appears reckless, eager, and even cocky at first, he is a very hardworking tug with a harsh respect for ice. He knows that ice is dangerous, and as reckless as he can be in his off hours, safety is the main concern on the clock. He is very extroverted and is the life of the party, always bringing everyone's mood up.

Stardust

Stardust is very chill, almost too chill. She's laid back but scary when provoked, and she is the protective big sister. Her head can also be in the clouds, but that seems to be an ocean tug thing. Its likely that her aloof personality is a trauma response, having to be the shoulder to lean on and having no one to turn to. But, none the less, she is a friendly face who is someone to vent to.

Also, human forms.

Also again, monster engine forms.

As for the third, since they are triplets...

Yeah, I made top hat into a triplet.

In their youth, they were the tug triplets. Seafoam, the youngest, stardust, the oldest and top hat was called skyline at the time, and was the middle child. Of course, while he adores his siblings he hated being known as 'just an extension of his siblings.' Especially since he was the least likely to be allowed to do his specialised job since it was way more specific. So he ran away. His siblings though he was dead for a while, until stardust found the recording he left and knew the full story. She never told seafoam, and this ate at her. They reunited first when the two were brought to bigg city to help with the big freeze, where they finally reunited. It was like they were never separated after the initial shock. They all were permanently reunited on sodor, where they were a trio, now with their own individual merit, once more.

[hannahhasafact]

So I decided to play Among Us again for the first time in like a year and there are a lot of changes… but the most important thing was you can now get this skin:

I thought the people should know

[phagodyke]

my flatmate asking me the day before "do u want to hang out w me and [old friend] everyone else cancelled so I can invite u now" is not the heartfelt offer she thinks it is :^/

[domesticated-pirate]

happy one year anniversary of My Mum Saying The Worst Part Of My Grandma's Funeral Was Not Burying Her But The Fact That I Was There And She Wished I Hadn't Gone To The Funeral At All to me

[zipquips]

.

[l4ndonorizz]

sleepless nights / lando norris

pairing: lando norris x reader

song: chase atlantic - falling

summary: unable to sleep, lando calls you in the middle of the night, seeking comfort. What starts as a late-night conversation turns into an emotional confession, as hidden feelings come to light and change everything between you

wc: 1.6k

The soft buzz of your phone on the nightstand broke the silence of your room. You blinked groggily at the screen, trying to focus as the late hour made everything seem hazy. Lando’s name lit up the display, and a small knot of concern formed in your chest.

It was nearly 2 a.m.

Swiping to answer, you held the phone to your ear, voice thick with drowsiness. “Lando? It’s really late. What’s going on?”

There was a pause, the quiet sound of his breathing filling the space between your words. “Yeah, sorry,” he replied, sounding hesitant. “Did I wake you?”

You sat up a little, pushing the sleep from your mind. “It’s okay. I wasn’t really asleep yet. What’s up? You sound… off.”

He let out a deep sigh, the weight in his voice unmistakable. “I can’t sleep.”

Your concern deepened. Lando was usually carefree, the type who always found a way to joke through anything. But this time, he sounded different—worn out. “Again?” you asked softly, knowing he’d struggled with sleepless nights recently.

“Yeah,” he admitted, his voice quiet, almost defeated. “It’s been like this for days. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, settling deeper into your pillows as you listened. “What’s on your mind? You wanna talk about it?”

Lando hesitated, and you could almost picture him running a hand through his messy hair, trying to find the right words. “It’s just… everything, I guess. Racing, the pressure, what’s next… I can’t shut my brain off.”

Your heart ached a little at how tired he sounded, and you wished you could be there to help ease whatever burden he was carrying. “I’m sorry, Lando. That sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” he said, his voice tinged with frustration. “I hate it. I lie there for hours, and my head just keeps spinning.”

You listened as he vented, the words pouring out now that he had someone to talk to. Lando rarely let people in like this—he preferred to keep things light, brushing off the hard stuff with a joke or a smile. But tonight, he was raw and unfiltered, and it made you realize just how much weight he carried on his shoulders.

After a few moments of silence, Lando spoke again, his voice softer, almost hesitant. “Do you think… do you think I could come over?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Come over? Now?”

“Yeah,” he replied, and you could hear the vulnerability in his voice. “I know it’s late, but I don’t want to be alone right now. I think… I think I just need to be around someone.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and without hesitation, you nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “Of course, Lando. You can come over.”

“Thanks,” he said softly, the relief in his voice palpable. “I’ll be there soon. Can we stay on the phone while I drive?”

You smiled at the thought of him wanting to keep talking to you, even during the short drive. “Yeah, of course.”

You heard the faint sounds of him moving around, probably grabbing his keys and pulling on a hoodie. The soft rumble of his car’s engine started in the background, and then he was back on the line with you, the quiet hum of the road accompanying his voice.

“What’s been keeping you up the most?” you asked gently, not wanting to push too hard but knowing that sometimes it helped to talk through things.

Lando sighed, the sound tired and heavy. “Honestly? I don’t know. It’s like… I’m trying to be everything at once, you know? The perfect driver, the perfect teammate, even the perfect friend. But no matter what I do, it never feels like enough.”

The vulnerability in his words hit you hard, and you wished you could reach through the phone and just hold him. “Lando… you don’t have to be perfect,” you said softly. “You’re allowed to have bad days, and you’re allowed to feel overwhelmed.”

“I know, but it’s hard,” he murmured. “I keep thinking about the future, what’s next, what I’m supposed to be doing… and I just don’t know.”

Your chest tightened with empathy as you listened to the quiet frustration in his voice. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now, Lando. You’re doing your best, and that’s all anyone can ask of you.”

There was a long pause, the sound of the road faint in the background as he processed your words. “You always know what to say,” he said finally, his voice quieter. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the warmth in his tone, and for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. “You’d be just fine,” you joked lightly, hoping to ease the tension, but even as you said it, you knew that wasn’t entirely true. He leaned on you in a way that felt different from how he leaned on others, and deep down, you’d always known that.

“You think?” he teased, a hint of his usual playful tone creeping back into his voice. But then, after a brief pause, he added more softly, “I don’t know. I think you’re a bigger part of my life than you realize.”

Your breath caught at the unexpected honesty in his words. There was something about the quiet of the night, the intimacy of the late hour, that made everything feel more open, more real. “I think you’re a bigger part of my life than you realize too,” you confessed quietly.

Lando didn’t respond right away, but you could hear his breathing on the other end, slow and steady, as if he were thinking carefully about what to say next. “I’m almost there,” he said softly, his voice carrying a weight that told you he wasn’t just talking about the drive.

A few minutes later, you heard the faint sound of his car pulling up outside. “I’m here,” he said, his voice gentle as he stepped out of the car.

You climbed out of bed, pulling your blanket around you as you padded to the door. Opening it, you found Lando standing there, his hair tousled from the drive, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. His face was soft, tired but relieved, and something in his eyes made your chest tighten.

“Hi,” you said quietly, stepping aside to let him in.

“Hi,” he replied, offering you a small smile as he stepped inside, kicking off his shoes by the door. You closed it softly behind him, the quiet of your apartment wrapping around you both like a warm blanket.

Lando stood in the middle of your living room, looking around for a moment before turning back to you, his expression soft but serious. “I’m sorry for showing up like this,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me,” you reassured him, stepping closer until you were standing just a few feet apart. “I’m glad you came.”

He looked down at his hands, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie, and for a moment, he seemed almost unsure of what to say. “I’ve been thinking about a lot of things lately,” he said softly. “Mostly about you.”

Your breath hitched at the confession, and you took another step closer, your heart pounding in your chest. “About me?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I’ve been thinking about how much you mean to me. How you’re always there for me, even when I don’t deserve it. And… how scared I am of losing you.”

The vulnerability in his words made your chest tighten, and you felt the urge to reach out and touch him, to reassure him that you weren’t going anywhere. “You won’t lose me, Lando,” you whispered, taking his hand in yours. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He looked down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing softly over your skin. “I care about you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “More than just as a friend.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and suddenly, everything felt clear. The late-night phone calls, the way you always felt so safe around him, the way your heart fluttered every time he smiled—it had all been leading to this.

“I care about you too,” you admitted, your voice soft but sure. “More than I’ve let myself realize.”

Lando’s eyes softened, and he stepped closer, his free hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. “I didn’t want to mess this up,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over your skin. “But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way.”

You smiled, your heart swelling at the tenderness in his voice. “You’re not messing anything up,” you whispered back.

For a moment, you just stood there, the world falling away as Lando’s gaze locked with yours. Then, slowly, he leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours in a kiss that felt like a promise—gentle, warm, and filled with everything that had been left unsaid.

When you finally pulled back, Lando rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I think I can finally sleep now,” he murmured with a small laugh.

You smiled, your heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks. “I think I can too.”

[simping-overload]

ᴛʜᴇ ʏᴀᴘᴘᴇʀ & ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪꜱᴛᴇɴᴇʀ

a/n: I'm back! with a gift for my bsf, and my hyperfixation with TF is back full swing :D

tags: fluff, established relationship, robot/human, brief spoilers but nothing major

synopsis: You sit on Sentinels shoulder as he talks about his day.

on ao3!

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You like listening to Sentinel speak, finding his voice rather soothing and almost therapeutic. Most people—cybertrionians—didn't, esspically the ones who have been working for him over the decades. You can easily see the annoyance prevalent on their faces, but they never dared to voice it.

He knows this all too well and simply doesn't care. With his ego and self-confidence, he never lets it bother him. Although, he seems to talk even more when he's around you.

He doesn't talk at you like he does others. He actually talks to you, actively including you in his conversations that he'd normally have for himself.

Just as he is now, in the privacy of your shared habsuite. He sits at his desk, typing away on boring data pads as he talks about his day. You relax on his shoulder, leaning against his vents and enjoying the breeze that warms your cold skin.

"Those two miners- by primus were they something. I never thought I'd see those cogless bots actually try to be... different." Sentinel says, and sarcastic chuckle emits from his voice box.

You nod, flipping a page in your book. It was one of the many that you brought with you on your spaceship when you crashed and landed on Cybertrion.

"Is that a good or bad thing?" You ask as look up from your book and stare at the side of his helm. The gold of his audials still shone under the dim lighting.

He huffed, his vents pushing out a hot breeze of air. "Not necessarily. It did make the race more enjoyable and boosted the work ethic of the other minors, but they broke rank, so they will be dealt with."

A frown tugs at your lips. You didn't like the way he delved out punishments. Finding them too much for even the littlest things.

"They won't mysteriously disappear, right?"

Sentinel turns his head to you, and the striking blue of his optics locks with your eyes. You tense slightly, the stare was intense, and unnerving. You can't read him when he's like this. The unpredictability puts you on edge.

"Nuh uh, they'll just be going to one of the sublevels. Don't worry, you're pretty little head about it, 'kay?" He reassures you and grins, leaning forward to press a light kiss to your lips, the best he could anyway since his face obviously drawfs yours.

His engine rumbles—sounding like a cats purr—, and he pulls back, eyes analyzing your now smiling face. Sentinel raises a servo and his digit through your hair, pushing it back and away from your face. He would touch your hair for days if he could. Its softness brings him a great sense of peace.

Sentinel will probably never admit it, but he likes it when he's with you. With you, he can relax, forgetting about the Quintessons and everything else on Cybertron he has to deal with.

He likes the quietness being with you brings, the comfortable presence you have, of someone who actually wants to be around him and indulge him in a real conversation.

Enjoying the hair stroking, you let your eyes fall shut, leaning back into his digit. The stroke of it is soothing, reminding you of your family back home.

Now he's your family, and you both are content with that.

[internalloops]

DA:TV rant … if you are of the mind that BioWare can do no wrong /its games can be criticize or if you truly enjoying the game and are loving everything that you’ve seen so far this post is not for you. Please move along and if you don’t want me showing up on your feed please block me.  I will not be engaging with any fan that will not allow me to take up space and vent my feelings on the disaster that is this fucking game.

*Also a lot of spoilers!!

.. it’s horrible, like I knew I was going to be disappointed but holy fucking shit …

I’m about to finish act one and .. they destroyed their entire lore … BioWare destroyed their ENTIRE lore /world build of Dragon Age

Minrathous has NO SLAVES !!! They are briefly talked about via shadow dragons but they’re are none visible at all in the city ( but they have the animation to give a poor person “fake money” )

The qunari who literally fought and tried to kill solas in trespasser have been turned into mindless brutes who willingly joined the evil gods … because they command dragons ?

The blight except for one mission is harmless. They purposely turned it into a bio weapon and then (besides the dark spawn spawning from it like something out of an MMO) due to *plot armor, no one actually contracts the blight ???

The black chantry minus one building that you go through in a side quest doesn’t exist? No chantry members , no talk of the black divine ..

Dalish are all engineers now and part of the veil jumpers ( which should not exist lore wise) and all elven magic has been converted into cyberpunk technology and artifacts. Very little talk about their oppression and they are all very willing to drop all their history , even their distrust of solas , to flight the old gods .

Varric Has been demoted to inspirational speaker and narrator he has no other role and the entire team acts like he died , even when he’s in the room with him ( I think BioWare actually planned to kill him but then chickened out ) and is a husk of his former self

Same with Morgan , you can’t interact with her at all and she’s given the same mysterious background as flemeth ( the theory that she carries mythal spirit is very strong right now )

Lyrim potions don’t exist, in fact lyrim doesn’t exist at all besides the dagger. All magic has turned into technology, and if you play as a mage mana just has an automatic replenish rate /cool down effect that you can level up.

Evil gods go back and forth between an actual intense adversary and threat to the world, and a typical Disney villain.

These are just the few I can think of off the top of my head, there is so much more than this …

The game can literally be summed up as Mass effect andromeda x2 with God of war animations and marvel style writing ( not the avengers I’m talking about the recent shit)

Also for the people who want to kill solas or simply dislike him, the game pushes a sympathetic view of him on you ,even your companions who outrightly want to kill him will feel sorry for him. And I’m saying this as a solavellan fan. Yes they’re options to be mean to him and antagonize him, but you won’t get anyone agreeing with your actions ,at best they’ll be neutral about it. Now this might play out differently for those who picked the “chooses to stop him “ option , but for those who’s inquisitions wanted to save him but they wanted their rooks to hate him … you’re not gonna be happy about what you get ..

The only thing that keeping me playing is the reveal of history of ancient elves and Titans and solas’s story. And Assan!! Assan can do no wrong !! Everything else is a slog to get through.

[sexydoffyman]

Weird request but how would TF141+König and Alejandro react to meeting an orphan around 15 years of age who's like extremely talented in engineering, mathematics and physics, like they could build a rocket if they had the materials ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ It can be HC, whatever you want! I was thinking maybe said orphan got in trouble with the government for unknowingly building some sort of weapon, maybe it was stolen? Twist that however you wish.

Just ignore this ask if you wanna <3

A KID?

genre: action

characters: König, Simon Riley, John MacTavish, Alejandro Vargas, Kyle Garrick

A/n: expect a lot more mistakes. Also thinking this needs a second part.

It’s been 6 years now since the war began. You were left stranded. All by yourself. Left on your own by everyone. Living was hard, but you pulled through. You learned how to do a lot of shit since you were there only with yourself for some time. Building stuff. That was your biggest interest.

You were constantly making things. New weapons mostly. You were always moving, never staying in one place for too long. You got brutal throughout the years you were alone. You took the uniform of a dead soldier. To blend in. You were mistaken for a recruit and pulled inside a helicopter by a military dude.

The military was a great provider of food and healthcare. So you just went along with everything they threw at you. Your knowledge of building shit helped out a lot. And even when some dude figured out you were a kid he let you stay.

The same dude put you in a task force with a man he trusted. You were cautious of everyone in there, but at least you had some people who you could trust a bit.

You picked up how things work from the years of pretending to be a soldier. Pretending to be an adult was getting easier and the task force you were assigned to found a place in your heart.

“There’s gotta be a way.” You finally snapped out of thinking about life before the war. You thought that the military would be a great cover. But now all your hope of making it out alive hit zero. You were stuck and with gas slowly filling the room that you and the others were in you knew your chances of survival were low.

You sat in the corner of the room. You had given up a few minutes ago already. The others were still trying to figure something out.

Suddently you felt something inside of you snap. You were not gonna die today. It must’ve been the panicking of the rough men infront of you that made you have that feeling. You started to search for a solution.

You found a small vent. It was too small to fit a grown man in, but you were not a grown man. You took off your gear and crawled into the vent unnoticed by your team.

You finally got to use the skills you gained. You crawled through the vent and dropped down from the ceiling right on the other side of a door that the rest of your team was trying to open. You managed to get inside some kind of an electrical system. You cut some wires and reconnected some other ones. The door opened with a space in between the doors just a centimeter big.

Grabbing a metal piece from the electrical you prayed the door open. You were met with the looks of your crew. You looked down and put your hand above your forehead to block your face. By now all of them realized that you weren't of age.

You ran into the room to grab your gear while your team gave each other a disgusted glance. “We need to get out of here ASAP,” you said as you walked away from the room. Price grabbed you by the shoulder to stop you. You turned to him with your mask on now.

“How old are you?” he was looking at you worriedly while he said that. You didn’t know what to answer and so after a few stutters you answered “Classified” This only made them feel more curious.

It has been days since that mission and nobody brought up the fact that you were a kid. You did notice that Price stopped shouting orders at you and started just saying them in a normal calm tone. Soap was making more small talk with you than usual. Ghost was staying closer to you, knowing you might not be able to fend off an enemy. Gaz was making sure to double-check your gear.

When you teamed up with Mexican special forces and met Alejandro you were given tasks that you’d be on with multiple people.

When you were stranded from the team, finding your way to a spot they could locate you at, you met another dude. Austrian and huge. Big dude. He was your enemy, but it didn’t take him long to find out that an adult dude would have a little more strength than you did. He forced your mask off and found out that you were in fact a kid.

Instead of killing you, he spared you. Helping you locate your tram instead of them having to look for you.

Would you survive the next missions? That you don’t know. But you do know that you don’t have to worry about pretending to be an adult.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Break Up with Your Toxic Boyfriend (2 of 4)

John "Soap" MacTavish x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: brief discussion of verbal and emotional injury, briefly implied future physical injury, protective / possessive Soap, hand job, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl)

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

You and Soap might no longer be together, but he is your "safe space", and you need to vent. While raging over the phone about your boyfriend, Soap arrives at your door.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // break up with your toxic boyfriend masterlist

The anger and hurt in your voice are the only fuel John needs.

You have no idea that he is already on his way to you, that he hooked your phone call up to his helmet. That, even now, John is on his sportbike zooming down roads and weaving around cars in an effort to get to you.

There is a fire under his skin. It burns away all other concerns. Every word you speak is a blown furnace, the destruction mounting until each utterance infuriates him further. This “boyfriend” of yours, the one you started seeing after the two of you broke up, deserves a fucking sharp punch to the jaw. He deserves missing teeth and broken bones.

Men like him aren’t men at all. They’re rubbish, only valuing women as objects, seeing them as their housekeeper and not their partner.

In his ear, you’re hardly taking a breath. Your words are a stream of consciousness, each word angrily pushing into the other until it’s a jumbled mess. John listens to it all, using that as motivation to get to you. It’s doesn’t fucking matter that you’re not his anymore.

John still cares. He still loves you. The need to protect and defend you is innate. One teary-laced word was enough for him to drop everything and head in your direction. Doesn’t matter that you and he ended things a bit messy. It was simply complicated. The two of you needed to work a few things out but broke it off because that was the easy thing to do.

He regrets that. He regrets not fighting. Not getting his shit together.

The engine revs, and John turns onto your street, almost throwing himself off his bike to get to your front door. In one hand he’s holding his helmet. In the other, he’s holding his phone, the device pressed to his ear as you keep talking. Reaching out, he pounds on the door.

You immediately pause on the other side of the phone. “There’s someone at my door,” you murmur, voice slightly distant.

“I know,” he replies. “It’s me.”

Silence on the other end. But then he hears it—the familiar click of a lock. Following that is your front door opening, revealing you.

The two of you stand there, staring at each other. Your momentary shock slips, dipping into confusion.

“What are you—” you begin but promptly stop as John pushes past you and into the flat.

“Is that fucker here?” John strides into the kitchen, placing his helmet down on the counter before ending the phone call and slipping the device into his back pocket.

“John.”

He glances down the hallway and then turns to you. “Is he here?”

You shake your head. “No. He’s not here.”

John’s chest heaves with relief, some of the tension receding.

“John,” you repeat, the concern in your voice enough to smother some of that fire burning beneath his ribcage.

“Did he hurt you?” he asks softly, approaching.

His gaze roams up and down your body, searching for signs of injury. There is none, at least not that he can see. That doesn’t mean there aren’t marks somewhere hiding beneath the clothes. The very thought fans the flames, charging John’s nerves until they crackle like lightening.

“No, Johnny. I’m fine.”

Johnny.

Only two people are allowed to call him that and one of them is standing right in front of him. The use of it, the way it falls from your lips, is enough to slightly quiet the anger. He sighs, expelling some of that smoky frustration. But then his gaze flicks to a spot just over your shoulder, and a new feeling emerges.

There are fist-sized holes in the wall. Four of them. Much too large to be your hands.

“What the fuck are those?” John’s voice drops as he nods toward them.

The sadness that forms on your features nearly rips his lungs from his body. John has never seen you like this. Never this defeated.

“They happened after,” you answer.

“After what?”

“The argument.”

You and John have had your fair share of arguments, but he’s never punched a wall. He’s never thrown anything or threatened you.

Never. Fucking never.

No. Fuck this guy.

“You’re breaking up with him.”

“What?” you ask, flustered by his sudden outburst.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” he murmurs. “Doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you. To kiss your lips. To be in your presence.”

You deserve so much more than whatever this fucker is providing. Which is apparently nothing served alongside fist-sized gapping wounds in the plaster.

Your mouth opens like you’re about to reject the idea, but it’s not a suggestion. You are breaking up with him. You will leave him even if that means John doesn’t get to have you. That’s fine. That’s okay. He can live with that. What he can’t live with is knowing you’re with someone who treats you like rubbish.

He needs to get this off his chest, to make you understand that you are entitled to more.

“I listened the whole way here and you know what I heard?” He pauses and notices the slight quiver in your bottom lip. “That you’re unhappy. Have been for some time.”

You blink and fresh tears form there. John has to bite back the instinct to kiss them away. It’s what he would do if you were still his.

He licks his lips, a large sigh leaving him as he points over your shoulder. “He treats you poorly.” John’s hand slices through the air. “Walks all over you. Doesn’t answer you for hours and then gets angry with you when he finally makes contact.”

As John talks, even he can hear his voice thickening. This always happens when he gets worked up, and you’ve always playfully teased him about it.

“He’s a fucking waste of space.”

“John—”

“Break it off. And—fuck. If you can’t face him, then let me do it.” He places his hand on his chest. “Allow me to defend you.”

Your features soften and John wants to drink it in, to remember the way you’re currently looking at him. He remembers this side of you, the one that easily pierces him like a needle breaks skin. A look like this will put John on his knees if you ask him to.

“Johnny.”

He’s done. Gone. There is no coming back from this. Whenever you say his name like that, you’re either annoyed with him, wanting him to listen, or you’re just about ready to kiss him. It momentarily rips away all the thoughts in his head, leaving him temporarily mute before his brain can catch up again.

“Listen to me,” he says, gripping the sides of your face. “Get rid of him. I—I know you don’t want me but fucking hell. Don’t pick him. Don’t—”

John is silenced.

Not by your words leaving your mouth but from your lips pressing to his. It startles him—shocks him that you’re kissing him. Leaning into him. John responds, kisses you back, his tongue exploding with the remembrance of your taste.

But you’re still not his. You belong to someone else still and this isn’t right, no matter how much he fucking hates it.

“Stop, love,” he murmurs, pushing on your shoulders.

John loathes telling you to stop. To move away from him. Doing so is like fish hooks caught in the skin. He wants to reel you right back in, to taste your lips again, and fall into memory.

“I ended it,” you reply softly. “It’s over. That’s why there are holes in the wall.”

John pauses, his gaze growing serious. “What?”

You shake your head. “He didn’t like that I wanted him to leave. That I didn’t want to see him anymore.”

Your fingers dig into the back of John’s neck and that one touch is enough to dissolve his resolve about not kissing you into dust.

He closes the distance, and you welcome him in, opening beautifully.

“Am I your rebound?” he teasingly asks between kisses.

You laugh against his lips and kiss him again. “Why did I ever leave you?” Your question is a sad murmur tinged with a regret that leaches off your words and floods into his heart.

“Because I was an asshole.” He believes these words completely but you’re shaking your head.

“No,” you reply. “You weren’t. Never that.”

The kisses between you, which at first were soft, quickly develop into deeper passion, twining like a spool of thread around a bobbin. John drags you against him, tasting over and over until you are imprinted on his memory.

Your arms drape over the back of his neck to pull him even closer, and John snaps. That gentle resolve is gone. He needs you.

Reaching down to cup your ass, John lifts you off the ground until your legs naturally wrap around his waist. He knows where the bedroom is but that’s too fucking far. The desire writhing between and around his bones is a blood-beast. A feral thing that calls out for your skin against his.

Setting you down on the counter, John shoves his helmet out of the way. You’re already reaching for him, undoing the front of his pants, slipping in to palm him. The inhale you make when your fingers wrap around his cock is sweet and John breathes it in as if that one sound makes up his entire lifeblood.

Fuck. Fuck.

He’s going to taste you everywhere. His lips and teeth will mark your skin. His tongue will find a home between your legs. You’ll forget this fuckers name. He just needs a few hours and it’ll be his name you’re screaming.

You stroke him again, and John drags you right to the edge of the counter, intending to sink to his knees to worship between your spread thighs.

Your knees lock at his hips and with another stroke of your hand, you tell him what you want. “I need you inside me. I want to feel you.”

You ask so sweetly. He can’t say no. He doesn’t want to.

John helps you ease his pants down to his thighs. When he goes to undress you, he only finds underwear under that large, oversized shirt.

“Fuck, love.” John’s finger drags that fabric aside and he groans at the sight.

You’re already wet. Aching. Ready for him. Begging him to bury himself inside.

This one will be quick. It’ll be rough and he’ll probably fucking spill within a minute, but he has the whole night to take you over every surface in this flat, to make you writhe and moan beneath him.

Placing one hand on the counter and one on your thigh, John starts to ease in. Inch by inch, slowly, he disappears until there is nothing left for him to give. He has a perfect view of how you stretch around him. How you slightly clench and unclench, the pleasure of it shooting to the base of his spine.

“Don’t leave me,” you murmur as Soap begins to thrust into you.

“Never,” he replies, nuzzling the side of your face as you pepper him with kisses.

John anchors himself, snapping his hips, chasing the end just so he can get you back into that bedroom to do so much more.

“You’re mine,” he groans as your fingers dig into his skin, pulling him closer. “Always have been.”

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @keiva1000 @miss-mistinguett @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @jade1605 @miaraei @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez @gingergirl06 @kidd3ath @leed-bbg

[imaginaryf1shots]

Red Line | CL - LH

WC: 5K

Charles Leclerc x reader, Lewis Hamilton x reader

Summery;(REQUESTED) You have had feelings for Charles for years, your best friend. When he fails to return your feelings and a new Ferrari driver joins the team, he shows you attention and care. It is less complicated.

Warning: angst?

AN: i debated who she should end up with, but he's my number 1 driver, and I'm WEAK for him.

Masterlist

Charles Masterlist

Lewis Masterlist

You have been working at Scuderia Ferrari since 2018, you started as an intern under the engineering team, you quickly became a permanent engineer for Charles in 2019 and have continued to develop and grow as the time went on. Maybe it's because you joined the same year Charles did, or it's because you were one of his first engineers when he started working for the red team, but the two of you have grown so close to each other. You consider Charles to be one of the closest people to you, during work hours and out of work hours. You see each other a lot even in the off-season. Charles values your opinion and cares a lot about it, he also considers you one of his close friends. Whenever you’re in the paddock you're always close by, he can depend on you. He prides himself in knowing you, he knows your coffee order, your favourite food, your dreams and hopes, he knows it all.

The moment Charles joined the team, you just clicked, your connection instant and so effortless. You both don't have to overthink it... at the start at least.

On long days, feeling the effect of the jetlag, when you'd almost drop from how tired you are, Charles always brings you coffee for a boost. On days where you're both in Maranello, he'd always offers you a ride back to the small house you have in Italy, he always insists that it's on his way but both of you know that it wasn't. He's always been patient and calm, and that made him a good listener. On plane rides when only the two of you are awake he'd just happily sit down and listen to you vent, his patience seemingly endless.

Even the fans picked up on the bond between the two of you, some speculating you're a couple. Thankfully it wasn't a big thing or it would have affected your job, but every now and then you both get those kinds of comments. And maybe you just had the smallest hopes that you were an actual couple, those feelings you have slowly ate at you every day. You were in love with Charles, the intensity of your feelings scared you. You can never tell him what you're feeling with the fear of ruining the perfect balance of your friendship. And even though he treats you in a way a partner would on a lot of occasions, he acts completely oblivious to it, as if everything he does with you he does for everyone else.

On a late evening, as you looked over the latest numbers and data, Charles came seemingly out of nowhere with two cups of coffee in hand.

"Long night, huh?" He said, offering you the coffee, you smiled, grateful for his gesture.

"Thanks." You take a sip and sigh in content. "You always know when I need the caffeine boost."

Charles leans on the desk beside you and grins. "It's the perk of knowing you so well, how are my numbers?"

"Not good." You tease him, Charles leans over to see what you're looking at. "They're saying you're too nice."

Charles laughs and rolls his eyes. "I'll try to be less nice then, maybe I'll start with you."

"Come on now, I was just joking." You pout at him and he smiles.

"How long until you finish up?" Charles asks and you hum.

"Not long, I'm just finishing up." You tell him, and he nods but doesn't move.

"Do you need a ride?" Charles asks, his eyes not straying from you. "I'm heading out."

"You're staying on the other side of town." You raise an eyebrow, those words you say to him every time.

"It's no trouble, besides it's an excuse to spend more time with my favourite person on the team." Your heart skips a beat at his words and you can't fight the smile.

"Alright, I'll take you up on that."

Those kinds of things your mind wanders to, especially on those sleepless nights while you're lying in bed. Your mind always goes back to the little moments that you shared, the moments that got your heart to flutter, the lingering glances, the causal touches, and the shared laughter. You cherish those moments, holding them close to you like precious and delicate Chinas. But there was always doubt. Did he actually feel the same way? Will he ever feel the same way? Or are you just destined to always be his friend?

Your thoughts all came to a halt when the room buzzed, by the new arrival. The room was alight with anticipation as Lewis Hamilton walked in, his presence commanding attention. His move to Ferrari is sensational, the talk of the paddock all of last year. The move turned F1 upside down. Lewis greeted everyone with a practised charm, a smile on his face, he wanted to seem genuine, he wanted to not come across as a big headed driver and just to get to know everyone he works with, to create a harmonious and smooth working place. Lewis met everyone's gaze as he greeted them, but when his eyes met yours, something shifted.

"Hey there." Lewis said, approaching you with a smile. "You must be the genius behind these impressive numbers."

You laughed, feeling slightly flustered. "I'm not too sure about the genius part, but I try my best. Welcome to Ferrari, Lewis."

"Thanks, it's great to be here." Lewis said and looked around the room before his eyes settled back on you. "I've heard a lot about you, mind if I pick your brain a bit?"

"Not at all, what do you want to know?"

And so you and Lewis stood talking for a bit, before he was whisked away to continue his tour and meet the rest of the workers. But as his presence became permanent in the factory you found yourself spending a lot of time with him. He often sought you out and at first it was just to understand all the data and how the new car will function and he had ideas that he wanted to see if it could be implemented or not. Your conversations flowed easily, from the team, to the car to your role it all went and flowed easily. And you found yourself thinking more about Lewis and looking forward to your time together.

Lewis had a knack of lightening the mood and making everything seem so effortless. It's a trait that you appreciate. It was refreshing.

One afternoon, you were reviewing data together. Lewis leaned over your shoulder, his proximity causing you to lose focus for a moment.

"So what's the secret sauce here?" He asked his tone playful, it was as if he had no idea what he was doing, as if his proximity was not having any effect on you.

"If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret then, would it?" You laughed, nudging him lightly.

"Fair point, but come on, give me something." Lewis smiled at vou. "I promise I won't tell anyone.”

"Alright, alright." You said after rolling your eyes, your smile showed that you're actually okay with it. "It's all in optimising the balance between speed and control, especially in the corners. We've been finetuning it for months."

"See, now I'm learning something, you really are the genius everyone says you are." You blushed and shrugged, brushing off the compliment.

"It's a team effort."

"Yeah, but each team has its MVP." He said and his eyes locked with yours for a moment longer than necessary.

One dqy, you were in the garage with Charles, adjusting some settings to his car, when Lewis came a playful grin on his face.

"Hey, engineer extraordinaire, got a moment?" Lewis asked, his eyes filled with mischief.

"What's up, Lewis?" You looked up at him already amused.

"I've got a serious question for you, it's about strategy." Lewis leaned next to you, his eyes going to Charles with the playful look on his face. Charles watched the interaction with intrigue, he of course noticed how close you and Lewis became, but he never actually saw you interact.

"Go on."

"Pineapple on pizza, yes or no?" This was not what you expected at all, Charles was even surprised, but where you laughed he did not.

"Really? That's your serious question?"

"Absolutely, it's crucial information." He said laughing along with you.

"Well, if you must know, I'm a pro-pineapple." You shrugged, throwing your hands up. "Controversial, I know."

"I knew I loved you for a reason, you've got good taste." Lewis winked at you before he patted Charles's shoulder and left you back to what you were doing.

"That's it?" You asked after the older driver.

"Yeah." With a wave of his hand over his shoulder he was out of sight. You shook your head and went back to what you were doing before he came in with a smile on your face.

"Huh." Charles mutters frowning, things are changing, and it's making him feel some type of way, he has no idea what to feel about it.

As your relationship grew and your banter continued, you found yourself looking forward to these light-hearted moments. Lewis had a way of making the most mundane topics entertaining. He was effortlessly funny, and his humour was a refreshing change from the intense atmosphere of the garage.

One evening, after a particularly long day, you found yourselves alone in the garage. You were finishing up some data analysis when Lewis wandered over, two bottles of water in hand. You got dejavu, as your mind flashed to when Charles would get you coffee and drive you home whenever you had long days.

“Thought you might need this.” He said, handing you one.

“Thanks, Lewis, you’re a lifesaver.”

He took a seat next to her, watching her work. “You know, you’ve got this incredible focus. It’s impressive.”

You smiled, a little flustered by the compliment. “It’s part of the job.”

“Still, it’s something, I’ve been meaning to ask, how did you end up here? With Ferrari, I mean.”

You paused, considering how to condense years of passion and hard work into a few sentences. “I’ve always loved racing. Grew up watching it with my family. I studied engineering because I wanted to be part of this world, and Ferrari… well, it’s the dream, isn’t it?”

“It really is, and you’re amazing at what you do. The team’s lucky to have you.” Lewis nodded, genuinely believing his words.

“Thanks, Lewis. That means a lot.” You felt a blush creep up your cheeks.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks turned to months, you noticed more about Lewis. His dedication to his craft, the way he treated everyone on the team with respect, and his infectious enthusiasm. He was different from what you had expected, and you found yourself drawn to him in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

There was a particular day that stood out. You had a meeting scheduled and as you waited for it to begin, you were both early. Lewis started telling a story about an adventure he had on a race weekend in Japan.

“So there I was, completely lost in Tokyo, and none of my apps were working. I couldn’t read the signs, and I was pretty sure I was going to end up on the news as the driver who went missing in the middle of a city. Then, out of nowhere, this old lady comes up to me and starts speaking perfect English, asking if I needed help. Turns out she used to live in London. She got me back to my hotel, and we still exchange Christmas cards.”

“Only you, Lewis. Only you.” You laughed, shaking your head.

“What can I say? Adventure finds me.” He said with a wink.

It was in these moments that you started to notice his attractiveness, not just physically, though he was undeniably handsome, but in the way he carried himself, the kindness in his eyes, and the warmth of his smile. He made you laugh, made you feel seen and appreciated. It was a stark contrast to the complicated, often unspoken dynamics you had with Charles.

As time went on the lines between her professional and personal life began to blur once more, but with a new Ferrari driver. You and Lewis continued to grow closer, your bond solidifying with each shared laugh and meaningful conversation. Yet, with each passing day, the tension between you and Charles grew more.

One morning, as you arrived at the garage, Charles was waiting for you, his usual easygoing demeanour replaced with a more serious expression. Something that you picked on instantly, you can read Charles easily.

“Hey.” He greeted, handing you a cup of your favourite coffee. “Got a minute?”

“Sure, thanks for the coffee” You replied, knowing that something big is about to drop. “What’s up?”

He led her to a quieter corner of the garage, away from the prying eyes and ears of your colleagues. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something. It’s... about Lewis.”

You sighed inwardly, bracing yourself. “What about him?”

“I’ve noticed you two have been spending a lot of time together.” Charles ran a hand through his hair, a habit you knew indicated he was stressed.

“Yes, we have. He’s new and has a lot of questions. We’ve become friends.” You nodded, keeping your voice steady.

“Friends?” Charles echoed, a hint of scepticism in his voice. “It seems like more than that.”

“Charles, we are friends.” You looked him in the eye, his stare was unwavering, you’ve never hidden anything from Charles, it wasn’t in your nature. You blinked a few times before you continued, your voice dropping a little. “I may have feelings for him and I’m pretty sure he feels the same.

His jaw tightened, and he looked away for a moment before speaking again. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt. He’s got a reputation, you know.”

“Lewis has been nothing but kind and respectful to me.” You countered. “I appreciate your concern, Charles, but I can handle this.”

“Alright. Just... be careful, okay?” He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly.

“I will.” You promised, feeling a mix of relief and guilt as you walked away.

That evening, after another successful session, Lewis invited you out for dinner. As you sat in a cosy restaurant, the conversation flowed easily, and you found yourself relaxing in his presence.

“You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind,” Lewis observed, his eyes searching your face.

“Just the usual stress of the job.” You smiled, waving him off. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Anything I can help with?” It takes you a moment to answer before you decide to confide in him,

“It’s Charles. He’s... concerned about us spending time together, he thinks I might get hurt.”

Lewis’s expression softened. “I understand where he’s coming from, but I want you to know, I’m serious about this. About us.”

“I know.” You said, reaching out to squeeze his hand, fighting the blush from forming on your cheeks. “I just need to figure out how to manage everything.”

Charles sat alone in his hotel room, the dim light casting long shadows on the walls. The conversation with you earlier played over and over in his mind. He had always thought your friendship was special, but seeing you with Lewis had stirred something deep within him, something he couldn’t ignore any longer.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand, a new message from you: “Thank you for understanding, Charles. It means a lot to me.”

He stared at the words, feeling a pang of longing and regret. How had he not seen it before? The way his heart quickened whenever you laughed, the comfort he felt in your presence, the jealousy that gnawed at him every time he saw you with Lewis, it all pointed to one undeniable truth. He was in love with you.

Memories flooded his mind: the late-night conversations, the shared glances across the garage, the way you always seemed to know what he needed without him having to ask. He had taken it all for granted, thinking it was simply the bond of close friendship. But now, faced with the reality of losing you to someone else, he realised just how much you meant to him.

Charles leaned back against the headboard, running a hand through his hair. How could he have been so blind? He had always been there for you, and you for him, but he had never allowed himself to consider the possibility of something more. Now, it seems, it might be too late.

On track after that, Charles found it hard to focus. His mind was clouded with thoughts of you, of what he needed to do. He watched you from a distance, your interactions with Lewis emphasising the urgency of his situation. He couldn’t stand by and watch you slip away without at least telling you how he felt. And from then on tension between him and Lewis started to mount.

One afternoon, as the team prepared for a crucial race weekend, the tension between Charles and Lewis came to a head. They were in the garage, going over the final preparations, when Charles finally voiced his frustration.

“Lewis, can we talk?” Charles asked, his tone clipped.

“Sure.” Lewis replied, sensing the underlying tension, and he had a pretty good idea why Charles wanted to talk to him.

They stepped outside, away from the hustle of the garage. Charles turned to face him, his eyes blazing. “What are your intentions with y/n?”

“My intentions? I care about her, Charles.” Lewis raised an eyebrow, taken aback by the directness. “Isn’t that obvious?”

“She means a lot to me.” Charles clenched his fists, struggling to keep his emotions in check. “I don’t want to see her hurt.”

“And you think I do?” Lewis shot back, his voice rising. ��I’ve been nothing but honest with her. What about you, Charles? Have you told her how you feel?”

Charles was silent, the truth hanging heavily between them. He hadn’t, and now he feared it might be too late. It seemed that even Lewis knew about his feelings even before he did. Charles gave Lewis a nod and left him abruptly.

His feelings weren’t just affecting his relationship with you, and with Lewis but it started to be felt by the team as well, and it wouldn’t be long before the fans started to spot it as well.

Inside the garage, you could sense the growing tension between the two men. It was affecting the team’s morale, and you knew you had to do something. So you approached Charles.

“Charles, we need to talk.” You nodded to the side for him to follow her.

“What’s on your mind?” He asked once you stood in a quiet corner.

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. “This... thing between you and Lewis, it needs to stop. It’s affecting the team.”

“I know.” He admitted, his voice unsteady. “I just... I can’t stand the thought of losing you.”

“You’re not losing me,” You said gently, giving him one of your smiles that always calmed him down, but it seemed like it wasn’t working at this moment. “But you need to understand that I have feelings for Lewis. And I need you to respect that.”

“I’m trying. But it’s hard.” Charles looked at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and longing.

“I know it is.” You replied, placing a hand on his arm and his heart skipped a beat. “But we’ll get through this. We always do, as friends.”

This sent a bang to his heart, how many times he’s called you a friend not knowing the effect it had on you, it seemed like now he knows.

”What?” You asked, seeing the look on his face. “You have something you want to tell me.”

”I-uh…” Charles trailed off, his confidence suddenly gone.

”Charles, just say it.”

Charles took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and there’s something I need to tell you. Something I should have said a long time ago, and maybe this is not the right time but I can’t hold it in any longer.”

“Okay. What is it?” Your heart started beating fast in your chest.

“I’m in love with you.” He blurted out, the words rushing out in a torrent of emotion. “I have been for a long time. I just... I didn’t realise it until now. Seeing you with Lewis made me see what I’ve been too afraid to acknowledge. I don’t want to lose you, not like this.”

“Charles... I...” Your eyes widened in shock and confusion, those words you’ve longed to hear for years, and here he is saying them to you, but… it’s a bit late. This just complicated everything.

“I know this is sudden,” He continued, his voice trembling slightly. “And I know you have feelings for Lewis. But I had to tell you. I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer. You mean everything to me, and I can’t stand the thought of not trying.”

You were silent for a long moment, your gaze dropping to the ground as you processed his words. When you finally looked up, your eyes were filled with a mix of sadness and uncertainty.

“Charles, I... I don’t know what to say.” You admitted. “This is a lot to take in. I care about you so much, but I also have feelings for Lewis. I’m- I'm just so confused right now.”

“I understand.” He said softly. “I’m not asking for an answer right now. I just needed you to know how I feel. Whatever you decide, I’ll respect it. But I couldn’t let you go without telling you the truth.”

“I need some time to figure this out.” Your emotions were everywhere and you couldn’t make sense of them.

“Take all the time you need.” He replied, his voice gentle. “I’ll be here, no matter what.”

As you walked away, Charles felt a strange sense of relief mingled with apprehension. He had laid his heart bare, and now the rest was up to you. All he could do was hope that, in the end, you would see that he was the one who truly loved her, that with all your shared memories spent together you’d choose him, and that it wasn’t too late.

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of the situation pressing down on you. Your mind is spinning, the weight of his confession pressing heavily on your heart. As much as you had longed to hear those words from him, the timing felt like a cruel twist of fate. You needed clarity, and the only person who could help you find it was Lewis.

So that evening, you went to Lewis’s hotel room. The city lights outside cast a warm glow, creating an intimate atmosphere. Lewis welcomed you in with a gentle smile, sensing the turmoil in your eyes.

“Hey.” He said softly, leading you to the sofa. “You look like you’ve had a rough day.”

You nodded, your emotions still raw from your earlier conversation with Charles. “I need to talk to you about something important.”

“What’s going on?” Lewis sat beside you, frowning.

“Charles confessed his feelings to me today.” You took a deep breath. “He told me he’s in love with me.”

“I see.” He knew about his feelings, but he didn’t think Charles actually had it in him to confess. “ And how do you feel about that?”

“It’s complicated.” You admitted, your voice trembling. “I’ve had feelings for Charles for a long time. I thought he only saw me as a friend, so I never said anything. But now...”

“I understand.” Lewis nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “This must be really confusing for you.”

“It is.” Your voice barely above a whisper. “But the thing is, I’ve been waiting for Charles to notice me for years. And while I was waiting, I met you. You’ve been so kind, so genuine, and… I couldn’t help but start to have feelings for you.”

“I care about you a lot.” Lewis reached out, taking your hand in his. “More than I’ve cared about anyone in a long time. But I don’t want to be with you if your heart is somewhere else. You deserve to be happy, whatever that means for you.”

“I know. And that’s why I need to be honest with you.” Tears welled up in your eyes as you squeezed his hand, it’s all too much for you. “I’ve spent so much time waiting for Charles to return my feelings, and it’s cost me a lot of happiness. I don’t want to waste any more time. I want to give us a chance, Lewis. I want to see where this can go.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel pressured.” Lewis’s eyes softened with relief and warmth.

“I’m sure.” You nodded firmly, your decision made. “You’ve shown me what it feels like to be appreciated and cared for. I don’t want to let that go.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” He smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile that made your heart flutter. “I promise, I’ll do everything I can to make you happy.”

You sat in silence for a moment, the weight of your decision settling between you both. You felt a sense of peace, knowing you had made the right choice for yourself. The future was uncertain, but with Lewis by your side, you felt ready to face it.

After your talk with Lewis, and your decision being made, you were filled with a mix of excitement and apprehension. Being with Lewis felt right, it was easy and your bond just grew stronger every day. He made you laugh, supported your ambitions and treated you with a level of respect and affection, you hadn’t realised you were missing.

But your past with Charles still haunted you, you saw him every day for work and there was a subtle tension over you and it affected the team dynamic. Charles was professional, as always, but there was a distance and coldness to his demeanour that hadn’t been there before. It hurt you to see him struggling, but you knew you had made the right choice. For yourself.

After a race weekend, that was hard and gruelling on you and Lewis and the rest of the team, Lewis took you out to a quiet restaurant. The conversation was light and filled with laughter, a welcome respite from the pressure that is their work.

“Can you believe how many laps we ran today?” Lewis joked, shaking his head. “I thought my arms were going to fall off.”

You laughed, enjoying the ease of your banter. “I was beginning to think they’d made you a permanent fixture on the track.”

As you continued to talk, you felt a warmth spreading through your chest. This was what you had been missing—genuine connection, unburdened by years of unspoken feelings and what-ifs.

Meanwhile, back at the hotel, Charles sat alone in his room once more, he was staring at his phone. He had been avoiding you, unsure of how to navigate your new reality. The thought of you with Lewis was a constant ache in his heart, but he couldn’t deny that you seemed happier. Unable to bear the silence any longer, Charles decided to reach out. He typed out a message, his fingers hovering over the send button before finally pressing it.

Can we talk? I miss our friendship.

Your phone buzzed just as you and Lewis were finishing dessert. You glanced at the screen, your heart sinking slightly at the sight of Charles’s name. Lewis noticed your expression and raised an eyebrow.

“Everything okay?” he asked gently.

You nodded, showing him the message. “It’s from Charles. He wants to talk.”

“Do you want to go see him? It’s okay if you do.” Lewis took your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I think I should.” You said softly. “We need to clear the air.”

Later that evening, you found herself outside Charles’s hotel room, your heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and resolve. You knocked gently, and a moment later, the door opened to reveal Charles’s weary face.

“Hey,” he greeted, stepping aside to let you in.

“Hey.” You replied, taking a seat on the edge of the sofa. “You wanted to talk?”

“I did.” He nodded, closing the door and sitting opposite you. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what I said to you, and I realised I was being unfair. I shouldn’t have put you in that position.”

“Charles, it’s okay.” You said softly. “I’m glad you told me how you feel. But I also needed to be honest with myself. Waiting for you for so long, it was hard. And in that time, I found something real with Lewis.”

“I understand.” He looked down, his expression pained but accepting. “It just took me too long to see what was right in front of me. I don’t want to lose you as a friend, though. You mean too much to me.”

Your heart ached for him, for the years of missed opportunities and unspoken words.

“You won’t lose me, Charles. Our friendship is important to me too. It’ll take some time, but we can find a way to move forward.”

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I’d like that.”

And so the tension began to ease, it took time, but you and Charles found a new rhythm. Your friendship slowly mending as you navigated this new phase of thier relationship. Lewis was a constant source of support, his presence a steady anchor in the shifting tides of her emotions.

And so one race weekend, as the team prepared for another race, you found yourself standing between Lewis and Charles, the three of you chatting easily. There is a new understanding between you.

“Ready for this weekend?” Lewis asked, grinning at you.

You smiled, feeling a sense of contentment you hadn’t felt in a long time. “More than ever.”

Charles chimed in, his eyes warm with genuine affection. “We’ve got this.”

In that moment, surrounded by the people who meant the most to you, you knew you had made the right choices. Your relationships weren’t perfect but it was close to it. Most importantly you are happy.

Maintaglist:

@gnatthefly . @mochimommy2002 . @llando4norris . @mrswolffs-blog . @barcelonaloverf1life . @c-losur3 . @mysticalpenguinarbiter

[revelboo]

A little more thundercracker? (I'll even take a smidge of Skywarp if you'll allow it)

Sure!

Better Open the Door Pt 2

Thundercracker x Reader, Skywarp x Reader

• Somehow movie night is now an ongoing Friday night thing. And as crazy as it is, you even begin to look forward to it. Waiting impatiently for the credits to roll and the last car to pull out of the drive in has you fidgety. Excited even as you grieve your bank account, you set up the telescoping little, cloth screen and hook the new projector up to your laptop. It’s not that Thundercracker has said a word about having to watch movies on your tiny laptop, but you still feel slightly bad about it. The two of you had run through the Mission Impossible movies and you can admit you like his easy, laidback companionship. The questions he asks as you sit beside each other in the dark like he really wants to know the answers. Cares about your opinion. Your neck cranes as you hear the now familiar scream of a jet engine overhead, your smile wavering when there’s a second jet right behind.

• Venting heavily as he lands in a clearing near the drive in, he rounds on Skywarp as soon as he transforms. “You promised to behave,” Thundercracker growls, worry bright in his processor. Worry that he’s making a mistake and his tiny human will suffer for it. The promise being only a vague ‘I won’t break your little secret pet.’ Smirking, the purple and black mech pushes the servo leveled at him away and looks around.

• You hear their heavy steps before you see them and sure enough, there’s another one stepping out of the woods behind Thundercracker. Your skin prickles as that new robot spots you and grins in a decidedly unsettling way. That is exactly how you imagine a shark looks before biting down on a seal. Seeming to sense your unease, Thundercracker bends and scoops you up into his huge hands and you inhale sharply. Because he’s never grabbed you before and as he straightens you realize you might have a newfound issue with heights.

• “I said I wouldn’t break your toy,” Skywarp laughs as he stalks around, expression sly as he studies the little human clinging to Thundercracker’s servos. “Relax.”

• That interest is dangerous, rasping uncomfortably over Thundercracker as he forces his attention down to you. No matter what Skywarp says, if he decides it might amuse him, he might accidentally hurt you. Toy with you without realizing how fragile you are. “You okay?” He asks, feeling your insubstantial weight and how much softer you feel in his servos than he’d guessed you would be. Looking up at him with the trust that he’ll keep you safe. That small smile you give him spreads warmly through him.

• Nodding, you slowly relax. While you don’t trust this new alien at all, for better or worse, you do trust in Thundercracker. And you feel better about your instincts on his buddy when he shoots him a look that’s pure warning before setting you down near your setup. Shivering as you slide out of his hand, you realize exactly how warm he is and how chilly the night is. “I have something new tonight. It’s still action, but it’s also, um, well, it’s a bit different,” you say, floundering on how to explain a romantic comedy to a giant alien robot. Knight and Day still has enough action you think he might like it, but the romance bits? Maybe you should have chosen Mr. And Mrs. Smith instead.

• Your two huge guests settle themselves and you start the movie, retrieving a blanket to wrap yourself in as you sit on the ground near Thundercracker’s leg. As far from his buddy as you can get and the stranger just smirks like he knows you’re afraid of him and finds it particularly hilarious. A servo touches your shoulder, as the movie starts. “You’re shaking.” Thundercracker murmurs and you offer him a smile. Because he does keep an eye on you. Worries over you. Before you can explain it’s just a bit cold outside, he’s carefully picking you up again and you stiffen as he cradles you in a hand against his chassis. And he’s gloriously warm. Exhaling, you lean into him, giving in.

• It is a different kind of movie and it snares him, the interactions between the main characters fascinating. In his hand, you curl more firmly into him as the story continues. As engrossed in it as he is, he’s still very aware of you against him. Of your little head resting against his canopy and the change in your breathing. Trusting him so completely, you can let your guard down and rest knowing he’s there. That he has you and it’s such a precious thing. On the screen, the humans slowly evolve from at odds to lovers. Slowly. Softly.

Previous Next

[tinydefector]

Dudeee i am soooo curious what happened to baby/or sparkling (I think that's the term of baby on transformers) Megatron with the human :33333

Baby baths

Megatron x human reader

Word count: 1k

Warnings: bathing

Prev

_________

Megatron hums light as he cradles the tiny baby in his arms as gently as his massive servos allow. red optics gaze down in awe at the tiny child. "Fragile little thing," he rumbles softly, tone warmer than anyone might have believed possible. Megatron softly traces tiny fingers and wriggling his servo as tiny hands grip instinctively at his plating. The bitlet coos up at their sire, drawing a low purr Megatron as he smiles.

"My little star," he murmurs reverently. They giggle back up at him which makes his optics crinkle in adoring love. “Yes you my little star” he rumbles again only to hear his lover call out. “bathes ready” they make their way back over to Megatron. "OK let me grab them" they call out while waiting for Megatron to lean down enough to grab their baby. "Come here bubba" they coo.

Megatron chuckles as they pull their parents' cheeks squealing in excitement. “it still baffles me that you let sparkling water in this young” he hums as they move into the washroom. Megatron follows behind.

His optics linger on his lover as they slowly slide down to sit in the bath with their baby, setting them into the shallow water of the bath. They shoot Megatron a smile as their baby splashes water giggling and squealing in delight. “Yes, yes I know you love bath time.” With great care, Megatron lowers himself to sit on the floor beside the tub so he can rest his hand on the side while they sit in the water. The delight written across their little one's face is mirrored in his partner's smile.

Megatron finds himself leaning nearer, stooping low to better hear each tiny chatter and coo. Never did he imagine sharing in such mundane joys of new life - yet in this moment, this was the only place he wished to be.

"Yes papa’s here too" They coo at their child who squeals in delight as they grab at his large hand. "Maybe if you ask him real nicely he'll shrink and come sit in the bath with us" they tease their child who just giggles and smiles up at Megatron with big baby eyes.

Megatron's spark fluttered for a moment. At his partner's playful suggestion, a low rumble of mirth emerges from his engines. "As my little star commands," he replies gently, optics alight with joy.

Systems whir in concentration, slowly shifting as his frame decreases in size until his massive frame is smaller. A Servo gentle waves in the water, mindful of his reduced bulk yet enjoying each happy trill his actions invoke. Crimson gaze lifts adoringly between his sparkling, no baby and partner, he corrects himself.

He slowly steps into the bath cautious not to hurt either of his sweetsparks as he sits down. Scooping a few palmfuls to cascade over them in steady streams. "Look at you, you've come so far since the first time you held them, God you were so afraid to hurt them, when i placed them in your arms" they tease.

his little one wobbling eagerly towards their sire's outstretched arms. With the help of their parent. a rumble of profound affection rumbles from him as he carefully scoops them up in his arms, holding them close yet steady against his chassis.

"And I was," he murmurs gratefully, crimson optics flick with the memory files playback that first trembling moment, terror of crushing their delicate frame. Now, little hands pat fearlessly against his armour, drawing a purr from the ex warlord. As his partner and child settle securely against his chassis, Megatron vents softly in contentment.

"You should take your helmet off" they state Megatron hesitates, gazing between his child cheerfully playing and his partner's gentle request. Carefully he disengages catches holding the aged metal in place. Lifting it away exposes the sensitive finials beneath. They flick slightly before they flare out. His partner smiles softly, stroking the damp plating. Warmth blooms through Megatron's core at their touch, he gently brings one of their hands to his lips in a soft kiss.

The little one giggles with grabby hands as they try and reach out for the decorated finials, they twitch softly as his lover pats the side of one. "There's My handsome mech" they coo only for their baby to basically scale up Megatron's chest to try and touch the finials. Megatron meets their eager eyes with a fond flash of his own. Allowing his plating to expand just enough, he steadies them within reach of their goal, purring encouragement.

"Carefully now, little light," he rumbles gently, systems swelling with affection as tiny hand explore the finials, gripping and running along the metal. "Papa’s very pretty isn't he" they coo to their child.

Megatron releases a hum of contentment, optics brightening at his designations. ‘Pretty’ was never a choice word in his millennia of warfare - yet hearing it from his lover makes him believe it is true.

"Only through your eyes, beloved," he answers gently, nuzzling their shoulders as he relaxed. They continue to lay in the bath together with their child playing as they both watch. "You should let your finials out more. They are beautiful, " they call Megatron. "Think it would spook the crew if you walked around without your helmet?" They tease softly

Megatron emits a low chuckle, imagination sparked by the mental image. "Indeed, the crew would be in for quite a shock." Finials flick thoughtfully at his partner's praise, warmth pulsing through circuitry. "Coming from your lips, beloved, no praise could mean more." They lean back slightly, a hand moving to his face plate tracing soft patterns before they pull him down into a gentle kiss. They break away only when more squeals can be heard from the little one which makes Megatron rumble a chuckle. “I believe they want out of the bath now”

Hisnlover sighs softly. “mmm once I've put them to bed, would you like to have a proper bath with me?. This is nice and I really enjoy it” Megatron presses a soft peck to their forehead. “that would be lovely sweetspark, but only if it's in the larger pool”

______________

@angelxcvxc

@saturnhas82moons

@kgonbeiden

@murkyponds

@autobot79

@buddee

@bubblyjoonjoon

@chaihena

@pyreemo

@lovenotcomputed

@mskenway97

@delectableworm

@cheesecaketyrant

@ladyofnegativity

@desertrosesmetaldune

@stellasfallow

@coffee-or-hot-cocoa

@shinseiokami

@tea-loving-frog

@aquaioart

@daniel-meyer-03

@pupap123

[moonstruckme]

Can I request Spencer x anxious, overthinker reader ? Maybe, overwhelmed or stressed, like almost burnout, but not quite. Because this semester at uni had just been way too much in every way. Thank you 💕 🌸

Thanks for requeting love, hope you're able to get a break soon!

cw: academic stress, reader has symptoms of anxiety

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

When Spencer gets home in the middle of the night, you don’t hear him over the sound of sizzling and your own racing thoughts. 

“Hi,” he announces himself as he comes in, meeting your little jolt with a bemused look. “I’m surprised you’re still awake.” 

“Hey, how was your flight?” You whirl from the stove for the half a second it takes to brush a kiss against his cheek before turning back to keep pushing things around the pan. The momentary distraction is worth it for the emergence of Spencer’s smile, soft and fatigued. “Sorry, I was hoping to have this done before you got home.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he says automatically. “The flight was good. I’m happy to be back.” He sets his bag down and rounds the kitchen island to lean against the counter beside the stove, peering at your face. “I hope you’re not making dinner just for me.” 

“I’m going to have some too,” you reassure him. “I’m starving.” 

Spencer’s expression shifts. You get the sense you’ve confirmed something for him. “It’s pretty late. Why haven’t you eaten yet?” 

You wish you could say that you’d wanted to wait and eat with your boyfriend, but there’s never any point in lying to Spencer. 

“I just haven’t gotten around to it until now,” you say. “I have a lot of work to do.” 

“I know,” he replies. You know he does. You’d started venting about your workload before he left for the case, and he’d been kind about letting you continue to do so during your nightly calls when he was away. “Still, it’s a lot to be up until…” He glances at the microwave clock, unsure of what time it actually is. You can’t say you know, either. “Nearly three-thirty. How long have you been working for?” 

You push the vegetables around in the pan, olive oil spitting and burning the skin of your hand. You feel Spencer’s stare narrow on you. “Since I got home, so seven-ish.” 

He frowns. “You’re not feeling tired, are you?” 

You’re not, though you don’t ask how he can tell. You look tired, you know. Every time you look in the mirror lately, you think of the word unkempt. Messy hair, dull skin, purplish crescent moons stamped under both eyes. But you don’t feel like you could sleep if you tried. There’s an urgency in your blood that gets you up early every morning and propels you to work through the day, like there’s an engine inside of you that’s decided it doesn’t need gas to run. You’re always moving, humming, thinking, certain without reason that if you stop it’ll all fall apart. 

You shake your head, and Spencer frowns towards the pan. “What do you have left to do with this?” 

You’re surprised to find, upon looking down, that the vegetables look ready. “Um,” you switch the heat off, “I’m just waiting for the timer to finish on the pasta, and then I’m going to mix them together. It shouldn’t be long.” 

“Okay.” He takes the spoon from you, moving you out of the way with a careful hand on your shoulder. “I can handle that. You should go sit down.” 

“Spence,” you laugh, “I can do it.” 

He doesn’t argue with you, necessarily, just utters a quiet, “It’s okay,” and nudges you in the direction of the couch. 

You don’t have it in you to protest much, not when he’s just gotten home, so you do, curling up with your feet underneath you and pulling a blanket from over the side of the armrest. You think Spencer is going to want to talk, but he doesn’t, just stirring the pasta and pulling dishes out of the cabinet. Maybe he’s exhausted, too. It is late, and he’s been working on his case the same way you’ve been chipping away at your schoolwork, for days and days with little reprieve. 

You thank him when he passes you a bowl, slurping up the noodles the way your mom would chide you if she were here for and comforted by the fact that Spencer’s doing the same. You’re convinced the pasta somehow tastes better than if you’d finished it yourself, your boyfriend’s poor culinary skills supplemented by the love he puts into taking care of you. 

“You know,” he says after a minute, “there’s evidence to suggest that consistent sleep loss can lead to loss of brain cells.” 

You suck a noodle into your mouth. “I sleep,” you tell him. “I’m just having a late night.” 

Spencer gives you a sorry sort of smile. Like he almost wants to apologize for how smart he is, how it keeps you from getting away with anything. “I’ve only been gone for four days,” he says, “but you were texting me after I went to sleep and before I got up every morning.”  

“Only psychopaths look at timestamps,” you joke, looking down into your pasta bowl. 

He shrugs, quiet. 

“What else can I do?” you ask, and you really are asking. “I have deadlines, Spence. Due dates. I can’t just say fuck it and go to sleep at nine every night like I don’t still have work left to do.” 

“Which part is overwhelming you?” he asks curiously. 

You huff. Not at him. “All of it? It’s like every one of my professors thinks they’re my only class. There’s a bunch of essays and projects all due this week, and no break from the regular stuff to give me time to get it done.” You blink into your pasta bowl, ashamed at the emotion bullying its way into your voice. Blame it on fatigue, you guess. “Every day when I get home from class, I have this impossible list of things to do, and it’s like, if I don’t finish, what’s going to happen? My grades will tank, and I won’t be able to get any of the good internships, and then I won’t get a job, and—”

“It’s okay.” Spencer’s voice is quiet, and you might keep going if not for the hand he sets on your wrist. His thumb strokes once over the delicate skin just below your palm. “It’s okay, just try to breathe for a second. Calm down.” 

You do, only because it’s him. When other people tell you to calm down, it’s a demand, a criticism of your display of feeling. When Spencer does it, it's an assurance. That you can relax, because he’s going to make it all right. 

“I failed three classes when I was in college,” he tells you. 

You imagine your eyes bulging all the way out of your head on cartoon springs, lolling towards the ground. “What?” 

He shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “I didn’t like them. I never showed up to class, and eventually I just failed. I didn’t really care.” His mouth slants sheepishly. “I probably should have, but I still don’t, actually. You can get a job either way.” 

Your laugh is dry. “Spence, I think it’s a little different for genius prodigies.” 

“Not really,” he says, thumb still pressing into your wrist, and you finally realize he’s been taking your pulse. It’s strangely touching, the way he cares for you so quietly. “Even if you did fail these classes because of the assignments this week, the odds are actually pretty good that you could get a job. And you won’t fail, because you’ll still finish and the work will be great. I know you.” His long fingers stretch up your forearm, a caress. “I know you get really nervous about these things, but you’ll do better work if you sleep more. You’ll be more efficient.” 

“I can’t,” you admit quietly. 

A tiny, sympathetic crease appears between Spencer’s brows. “You can,” he promises. “I’ll make you some nighttime tea and we’ll make sure all the curtains are closed. We should turn off your alarms, too.” 

You bite your lip. “I have class in the morning.” 

“You can miss one. You have to miss a lot for it to really affect your grade, trust me.” He gives the base of your hand a little squeeze. “I’d know.” 

Your laugh is half breath, but Spencer smiles anyway. “Okay.” You’re giving in way too easily, but a morning spent in bed with your boyfriend sounds heavenly. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome,” he says sincerely, releasing your hand to pick up his fork. “We’ll go to bed once we finish this, okay? And I’ll pick up breakfast tacos for breakfast tomorrow. Protein is good for brain function.”