#green engine bay

[onlyhappyvibes]

[larryshapiro]

Green Bay Metro Fire Department, WI - Twin E-ONE Typhoon pumpers

[berkeley-engineering]

Three years in the making, CalSol’s 10th generation solar-powered car is set to hit race tracks starting in July 2024! (Photos by Adam Lau/Berkeley Engineering)

[theonottsbxtch]

LOVE - LOCKED | FC43

an: this is based off of this request and i hope you like it bc i had sm fun writing a romantic slightly angsty thing i cant wait to hear what y'all thin, i also think it may be slightly rushed tho so lol ALSO LOL WE'RE GONNA PRETEND CARLOS IS YOUNGER IN THIS BC I NEEDED HER TO BE HIS OLDER SISTER

summary: carlos' sister has lived her life completely separated from him and their family name, instead she went and made a name for herself in the tennis world - she likes her life like that. that is until she meets franco colapinto

wc: 8.7k

The roar of engines, even from a distance, unsettled her.

They reminded her of the long days her father and brother spent in garages, the low rumble of motors and sharp tang of fuel in the air. Those were the hours she’d spend alone, working on her serve in the empty court across town, each hit ricocheting off the walls with a hollow, lonely echo. Her own choice, of course. She’d had no interest in the world of carbon fibre and grease, no desire to be the girl who simply tagged along, her name always in her brother’s shadow.

Now, years later, she’d become someone entirely on her own terms. A name people knew on its own — Vázquez de Castro — a name that meant something outside of her family, outside of her brother’s fame.

She slipped her phone into her bag and looked around the chaotic pit lane. Journalists, engineers, teams in matching shirts, faces alight with anticipation for the weekend's race. She knew she’d stand out here; her face might be familiar, but she was a stranger in this world.

The hum of voices around her faded as she felt his gaze. She’d been hoping to move through unnoticed, just a face in a sea of faces, but there he was: tall, familiar, unmistakably Carlos. His brow furrowed in surprise as he caught sight of her, his quick steps carrying him closer before she had a chance to dodge. She braced herself, turning to him with a calm that she didn’t quite feel.

“No aquí,” she murmured, her voice low, hoping that would be enough to keep curious ears at bay.

He paused, just a moment, his expression softening in understanding, and he tilted his head, his face somewhere between a grin and a frown. “You came.”

It wasn’t an accusation exactly — more surprise than anything. But she couldn’t miss the faint hope in his eyes, as if he thought she might be here to see him, to share a piece of his world after all this time. She let his words linger for a beat before she replied, her tone steady.

“I was invited,” she said, giving a slight shrug, “by Fernando.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the green and silver canopy, keeping her tone casual, but she saw his shoulders fall ever so slightly.

He nodded, glancing away for a moment, his jaw set. “Right. Fernando.”

There was something she wanted to say, something to soften the look in his eyes, but the pit lane was crowded, the eyes and cameras trained on every inch of the paddock sharper than she’d ever expected. They’d notice anything. And the last thing she wanted was for the papers to start spinning stories, putting her under a headline right next to him.

She touched his arm briefly. “Te hablo en el hotel. I’ll speak to you at the hotel.”

As she made her way toward the exit, ready to slip back into the background and disappear, she heard a voice calling out just over the rumble of engines and chatter.

“¡La princesa española!”

The words were unmistakable, lilting and clear, even with the crowd and machinery all around. The Spanish Princess. The nickname made her falter. It was something she sometimes heard on the tennis courts in Madrid or whispered by fans in distant cities when she played in international tournaments. But here? She scanned the area, puzzled at who would recognise her in this world of racing.

When she turned, her eyes met those of someone unfamiliar yet striking. He was tall, with an easy, disarming smile, his race suit gleaming with the bright, bold colours of his team’s livery. He looked young, not much older than she was, but he carried himself with that unmistakable energy she’d seen in rising stars before. The rookie, she realised, though she hadn’t kept up enough to know his name.

He held her gaze a moment too long, that same smile lingering as he approached, his eyes sparking with something between amusement and curiosity. She felt herself tense, almost involuntarily, her instinct telling her to slip away, to avoid whatever came next.

“Es realmente la princesa española,” he said, his tone playful yet certain.

Then it hit her.

Franco.

That was his name.

Franco’s grin widened as he closed the distance between them, his eyes bright with an almost boyish enthusiasm. “Soy un gran admirador de tu trabajo,” he said, his Argentine accent softening his words. “I’ve watched almost all your matches — I love the way you play.”

She blinked, taken aback. This wasn’t the usual kind of recognition she got, especially not here. She could count on one hand how many times she’d been recognised in public. She looked at him, trying to reconcile this confident young driver with the earnest fan in front of her.

“¿Me conoces?” The question slipped out before she could think, her voice tinged with disbelief.

He raised an eyebrow, his smile never faltering. “¿Quién no te conoce?” he replied, with a touch of humour. “La princesa española, queen of the clay court, unstoppable backhand — yeah, I know you.”

There was something genuine in his tone, something that set him apart from the usual strangers who said they knew her. 

And before she could stop herself, she found herself almost smiling. She cleared her throat, searching for a response, but her mind was blank. What could she say? That she knew nothing of him, or any of these people — that she had only set foot here today by chance?

She settled for a simple, “Gracias.”

Franco’s curiosity didn’t waver. He leaned in slightly, folding his arms with an amused glint in his eyes. “So, what brings la princesa española to the F1 paddock?”

She shrugged lightly, careful not to reveal too much. “I’m here as one of Fernando Alonso’s guests. Aston Martin.” She left it at that, hoping he wouldn’t dig further. Noticing that she looked a bit like another driver on the paddock. Thankfully, he didn’t.

His grin only grew wider, and she had the feeling that her mystery intrigued him. “Well then, if you’re one of Fernando’s guests, that means you’re not tied to my team,” he said with a glint of mischief. “Come with me — I’ll give you a tour of my garage. It’ll be like… a private tour.”

She hesitated, her gaze shifting back toward the exit, where she’d planned to slip out and leave all of this behind. If she went with him, there was a chance people would recognise her, start to connect her with her brother’s world. She’d spent her whole career carefully avoiding this — the headlines, the whispers, the inevitable questions about why she’d chosen such a different path. But the look on his face, that open, boyish enthusiasm, was hard to resist.

She let out a sigh, then looked up at him with a sudden, defiant glimmer in her eye. “Screw it. ¿Por qué no?”

His whole face lit up. She could practically see the excitement radiating off him as he extended his hand, his confidence a little too easy, a little too certain. She eyed his hand for a moment before raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms.

“Modales,” she chided, her tone playful. “I’ve known you for five minutes. We’re not dating.”

“Yet,” he replied without missing a beat, a spark in his eyes.

Despite herself, she smiled, a real one, something she hadn’t felt since stepping into the paddock that day.

He led her through the bustling paddock with an easy confidence, weaving between crew members, equipment, and cameras as if none of it could touch him. She was impressed, though she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying so. The chaos of the pit lane, the narrow spaces and the clang of metal, all seemed to bend around him.

When they reached his team’s garage, he stopped by a young assistant stationed just outside, who looked at them with curious eyes.

“Do me a favour,” he said, barely containing his grin, “and grab a VIP lanyard for Williams’ guests, will you?”

The assistant glanced at her, his eyes widening slightly in recognition before he nodded and ducked away, returning a moment later with a crisp, team-branded lanyard. Franco took it with a pleased smile, then held out his hand for hers. She unclipped the Aston Martin lanyard from her neck and handed it over, watching with a mix of surprise and amusement as he replaced it with the one from his own team.

“There,” he said, adjusting the lanyard’s position with exaggerated care. “Now you’re officially part of the team.”

She couldn’t hold back her smirk. “You know, I don’t think lanyards change allegiances so easily.”

“Maybe not. But I do think it’s an improvement.” He winked, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “Besides, the only lanyard you should be wearing here is mine.”

She laughed, caught off guard by his unfiltered charm, as he held out his arm with an exaggerated flourish. “And now, mi princesa, a grand tour.”

He led her into the garage, his tone switching between informative and teasing as he explained the various stations. “Over here, we have the engineering bay — where the magic of data happens.” He gestured toward a row of monitors displaying endless streams of numbers. “And these guys in the corner? They’re the wizards of aerodynamics. Make a mess, they won’t let you forget it.”

As they moved through each section, he offered her a glimpse into the world of F1, his energy and excitement almost contagious. She watched him with quiet intrigue; he seemed to belong here completely, as if he thrived in the chaos and intensity of it all.

“Now, over here,” he continued, leaning a bit closer to her as they approached a sleek wall of tires and tools, “this is where I go for my pre-race pep talks. I think it helps the tires, too.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You talk to the tires?”

“Only on occasion,” he said with a mock-serious nod. “And they listen. Or at least, I hope they do.” He grinned again, that glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Besides, they never talk back.”

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes, but there was a smile in it, one she couldn’t quite suppress. He was disarming, funny in a way that felt refreshingly different from the sharp, serious world she’d known. He noticed the hint of a smile and held her gaze, leaning in just slightly.

Before she could say anything else, Franco led her deeper into the garage, weaving through the maze of tools, car parts, and engineers, who looked up now and then with curious glances. She followed, intrigued despite herself, and finally, unable to keep silent, asked, “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he said, shooting her a look over his shoulder that was both charming and infuriatingly vague.

He stopped in front of a nondescript door tucked away from the bustle of the main garage. She glanced around, realising they were in the private part of the team’s area. He opened the door to his driver room, gesturing for her to step inside. The room was small but comfortable, filled with team memorabilia, spare racing gloves, and a neat rack of team-branded clothes. Before she could take it all in, he went over to a stack of neatly folded shirts and pulled one from the pile.

He turned back to her, holding up the shirt with a proud smile. “Here,” he said, offering it to her. “Wear this tomorrow.”

She raised an eyebrow, glancing between him and the shirt with mock scepticism. “Bold of you to assume I’d wear your merch.”

His grin only widened. “I think you’d look great in it,” he said, undeterred. “Besides, it’d be an honour to have la princesa española in my colours.”

She took the shirt, running her fingers over the soft fabric, and met his gaze with a slight smirk. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good enough for me,” he replied, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. He looked like he wanted to say more, but just then, his phone buzzed on the nearby table, and he glanced at it with a slight frown before pocketing it again.

“So,” he continued, his tone shifting to something a little more casual, “what are you doing for dinner?”

The question surprised her. She hadn’t planned on lingering much longer after her brother’s race prep finished. She hadn’t planned on any of this, really. But he was watching her expectantly, and for a moment, she let herself consider it.

“Dinner?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow in mock suspicion. “You’re not very subtle, are you?”

“Not at all,” he admitted with a grin. “What do you say? Let me take you out. I promise I’m as good at picking places to eat as I am at tours.”

She couldn’t resist a small laugh. “Alright,” she said, glancing up at him with an easy smile. “I’ll see you for dinner.”

He opened his mouth to say something more, but just then, a voice called out from down the hallway. “Franco man, we’ve been looking all around for you!” A team manager appeared in the doorway, looking equal parts exasperated and amused.

Franco sighed, flashing her an apologetic look as he straightened. “Duty calls,” he muttered with a smirk. He lingered a moment, as if reluctant to leave, then glanced back at her with a warm smile.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she said, feeling a thrill she hadn’t expected. “See you tonight.”

He nodded, his grin returning full force, then turned to follow the manager out, giving her a final, backward glance that lingered just a second too long.

Back in her hotel room, she brushed a final touch of mascara over her lashes and glanced at her phone, where a text from Franco glowed on the screen.

Franco: “Ready whenever you are. No rush. See you soon :)”

She couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. Tonight felt surprisingly… normal. Like she was just someone getting ready for a date, no stakes attached. She straightened her dress, checked her reflection, and took a steadying breath.

A soft knock at her door snapped her from her thoughts, and she felt a small flutter of excitement, assuming it was him. But when she opened the door, her breath caught.

Her brother stood there, his expression a mixture of confusion and something she couldn’t quite read. She masked her surprise quickly, stepping aside to let him in, though her voice was firm. “I can talk for a bit, but I have plans tonight.”

“With Franco?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

She narrowed her eyes slightly, caught off guard. “How did you know?”

He gave a soft, humourless laugh, crossing his arms. “I saw you two in the paddock,” he said. “And I overheard him talking about it in the garage. Apparently, he couldn’t stop telling anyone who’d listen about his ‘date with la princesa de España.’” He looked at her, and his voice softened. “So why is it you have no problem being seen with him, but not with your own brother?”

His question hung heavily in the air, the familiar tension between them settling back into place. She took a breath, struggling for the right words. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be seen with him — it was the weight of everything that came with it. The press, the fans, the inevitable comparisons. She could already see the headlines if they were spotted together, her name placed directly beside his, stripping away the hard-won independence she’d fought for.

She sighed, glancing at him. “It’s not… about you,” she said carefully. “It’s just… everything that comes with it. You know how it is.”

He shook his head, looking slightly hurt. “I don’t know, actually. I’ve always thought we were supposed to be in this together. But I feel like… I don’t know, like you’re just trying to run from anything that connects us.”

She sighed, leaning against the doorframe, her voice dropping to something softer, more serious. “It’s not that I don’t want to be seen with you,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I just don’t want to be known as Carlos’ sister everywhere I go. I’ve worked hard to build my own name, my own career, and sometimes… being around you, it overshadows that.”

Her brother studied her, his face a mix of understanding and something else, a flash of protective instinct. “You know, if you date Franco, you’ll just end up being known as his girlfriend,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “It’s just a date, Carlos. Nothing more.”

He shrugged, his mouth quirking in a small smile. “Yeah, well, with him, nothing ever stays ‘just’ anything. Just saying.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a warmth behind it. “Thanks for the concern, but I’ll be fine.”

They shared a quiet moment of understanding before she gently nudged him toward the door. “Go get some rest. And good luck tomorrow. I’ll be cheering from the sidelines.”

The evening was soft and cool, the sky painted in shades of violet and indigo as the city stretched out below them. The balcony they’d stepped onto was tucked away from the bustling noise of the hotel, private and intimate, offering only the sounds of the night breeze and the occasional far-off hum of the city.

Franco had arranged it all—quiet, serene, away from prying eyes. The dinner was simple but elegant: a few delicate dishes of fresh seafood, wine that wasn’t too heavy, just enough to let the conversation flow freely. It was just the two of them, and she realised as she stood there, her hand brushing the railing, how rare that felt.

She’d worn a dress that was understated, yet elegant—a deep midnight blue that mirrored the evening sky, the fabric light enough to catch the breeze. She hadn’t given it much thought; it wasn’t for anyone but herself. But when Franco first saw her, the look in his eyes told her that, maybe, it had been the right choice after all.

His gaze lifted from the table where he had been adjusting the wine glasses, and the moment he saw her, the words spilled out before he could even stop them.

“Dios mío, qué hermosa estás.” His voice was low, his gaze sweeping over her with a mixture of surprise and admiration.

She felt her cheeks flush, the compliment unexpected but not unwelcome. She had been nervous about the evening, unsure of what this was or what it would become. But his words, simple and sincere, relaxed something inside her.

“Gracias,” she replied with a small smile, feeling the warmth in her chest spread, her eyes meeting his.

He stood up, taking a small step toward her as if to take in the full picture, his gaze never leaving her face. “I swear,” he continued, his voice filled with genuine awe, “I didn’t think it was possible, but you’re even more stunning than earlier. It's like... you're glowing.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “I think you’re just being kind.”

“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head as he closed the distance between them. “I’m not the kind of guy to throw compliments around just to be polite. Te ves increíble, you look incredible.”

After a decent amount of eating, a stretched out silence, Franco spoke up. “So,” he began, his voice casual but warm, “what’s it like to be the la princesa española outside of tennis?”

She raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of her wine. “I don’t really think of myself as that,” she said lightly. “It’s just a nickname.”

“I don’t know,” he teased. “I think it suits you. You have a... regal air about you.” His eyes glinted with mischief as he added, “I’m sure you’d never get away with being late for anything. Everyone would just wait for the princess to show up.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless. “You really are persistent with those compliments, aren’t you?”

“Solo con la verdad,” he said with a grin, leaning back in his chair, clearly pleased with himself.

The evening unfolded easily after that. They spoke about everything and nothing: about their childhoods, what had brought them to this point in their careers, how it felt to always be in the spotlight. She told him stories from her tennis matches, and he shared wild tales of racing, of the constant pressure and adrenaline.

But it was the quieter moments, the small pauses between their words, that felt the most significant. When he leaned in to pass her the bottle of wine, their hands brushed, and the air seemed to thicken for a moment. His gaze lingered a bit longer than it needed to, and she noticed the subtle way his smile softened when their eyes met. She wasn’t used to this — this ease, this comfort that felt so unforced — but it was exactly what she hadn’t realised she’d been searching for.

“You know,” Franco said, his tone thoughtful, “I can’t remember the last time I had a night like this. Just—” He waved his hand toward the view, the quiet that surrounded them. “It’s nice. To not be rushing off to something. No cameras, no expectations.”

She looked out over the balcony at the skyline, the city lights twinkling in the distance. “I know what you mean. There’s always so much noise, so many people trying to pull you in different directions. It’s rare to just… be.” She turned to look at him, her voice lowering slightly. “It’s a little surreal, actually.”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, there was a silence between them that felt like a shared understanding. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as he looked at her, his expression genuine. “I’m glad you’re here with me tonight. I’m glad I got to spend this time with you.”

Her heart did a little flip at the sincerity in his voice. She wasn’t sure what she had expected from the evening, but this — this felt right.

“So,” he continued, his voice lightening again, “any chance I can convince you to wear my team’s shirt tomorrow?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re relentless, aren’t you?”

“I am,” he said with a wink, “but only because I know you’d look amazing in it.”

She rolled her eyes but could feel the warmth in her chest spread. “I’ll think about it,” she teased, mirroring his playful tone.

The conversation drifted back to lighter topics, the evening unfolding with ease as the world seemed to blur around them. As the night deepened, they shared stories, laughter, and quiet glances that spoke volumes. It wasn’t the fireworks, the grand gestures of a first date. But it was something else — something that felt like a beginning.

When the last of the wine was finished, and the candles flickered low, Franco stood, offering her a hand to help her to her feet. He didn’t say anything at first, but his eyes told her everything. His fingers brushed against hers, and she didn’t pull away.

As the night grew later, the air around them cooled, and they moved to the edge of the balcony, gazing out over the city. The quiet was comforting, the soft hum of distant traffic the only sound breaking the stillness between them.

She let out a small sigh, her mind wandering, and with it, the weight of everything that had brought her to this moment. She looked up at him, caught in the calm but uncertain about what this night might mean.

"Well, this has been lovely," she said, her voice light but tinged with something else. "But, just so you know… this is probably going to be our only date."

His eyebrows furrowed, his smile faltering for just a fraction of a second. “Why?” he asked, his tone suddenly laced with concern. “Have I done something wrong?”

She met his gaze, her chest tight for reasons she couldn’t quite place. There was no logical reason for her to feel that way — he had been nothing but kind, charming, and genuine all night. But there was still that lingering sense of hesitation, a wall she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to tear down.

“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head as if to reassure him. “You haven’t done anything wrong. It’s just… I don’t know if I can do this.”

He looked at her for a long moment, studying her face. The playful glint in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something softer, something quieter, as if he were trying to understand her better.

“I’m not really a person who runs from things," she said, her voice lowering slightly, unsure how to put her thoughts into words. “But there are parts of my life I’m... careful about. I can’t help but keep them to myself.”

She hesitated, feeling a strange tug in her chest. For the first time in what felt like forever, she found herself wanting to share something personal, something she had hidden away. She took a breath and let it slip out before she could second-guess herself.

“I have a brother,” she began, looking out at the city below them, trying to steady her voice. “He’s a Formula 1 driver.”

Franco froze, his brows knitting together in confusion. “Wait... what?”

She glanced at him, a slight laugh escaping her lips at the look of genuine surprise on his face. “Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “Carlos.”

He blinked, his surprise turning into a quiet sense of disbelief. “Carlos Sainz?” He repeated her brother’s name, almost as if he were trying to process it. “I had no idea…”

She looked at him, a slight sadness settling in her chest. “Most people don’t,” she said, her voice quiet now. “I never tell anyone. I’ve worked my entire life to be known for me—for what I do, not because of who I’m related to. I don’t want to live in someone’s shadow.”

Franco didn’t say anything at first, letting the silence stretch out between them. He was thinking, she could tell. It was as though he were weighing her words, weighing the tension in her tone. Then, slowly, he spoke, his voice steady but sincere.

“With me, you wouldn't,” he said, his gaze meeting hers with an intensity that took her by surprise. “You wouldn’t be in anyone’s shadow. Not if you didn’t want to be.”

She was quiet for a long moment, his words sinking in. Part of her wanted to dismiss it, wanted to keep pushing away the idea of anyone in her life stepping into that shadow. But there was something in his eyes—something honest and unwavering—that made her hesitate. He wasn’t offering her fame or status. He was offering her something far simpler. The space to be herself.

Then, he said something that made her heart skip a beat.

“I’ll be your WAG,” he said, his voice surprisingly matter-of-fact, his smile just a little crooked.

She laughed, a quick, startled sound. “What?” she teased, shaking her head. “Are you serious? ‘WAG’—really?”

He leaned in slightly, the smile still on his face but his eyes unflinching. “En serio. I’m serious.” he added with a little more emphasis, the words flowing naturally from him.

Her laughter died down, replaced by a brief, curious silence. She was still processing his words, still trying to understand how it had escalated from a simple dinner to this.

“You’re joking,” she said softly, unsure whether to laugh or take him seriously.

“No,” he7 replied, his voice now calm, almost earnest. “I’m not. Look, I get it. The whole ‘WAG’ thing... it sounds ridiculous, I know. But the way I see it, we’d be a team. You’d have my back, and I’d have yours. No shadows, no expectations, just us. What we make of it.”

She took a step back, crossing her arms as she considered what he was saying. The idea of it felt foreign, a little intimidating, but something about it also felt right in a way she hadn’t expected. No grand gestures, no drama. Just… us, as he’d said.

“Don’t you think I’d look good in a sponsored Channel crop top?” he joked, and the thought of it made her laugh.

Before she could stop it, however, her mind flashed to her brother, to the years of keeping her life private, to the way she had fought so hard to remain in the background of her family’s legacy. And yet here was Franco, offering something different. He wasn’t asking her to be a part of his world—he was offering her a partnership, an equal footing.

For the first time that evening, she allowed herself to truly think about what that might mean. To be seen, not as someone’s sister or someone’s girlfriend, but just as herself.

“Maybe... maybe it’s not such a bad idea,” she said quietly, her voice uncertain but filled with a growing sense of possibility.

Franco looked at her, a quiet confidence in his eyes. “Entonces, we’ll figure it out together. No shadows. Just us.”

“Just us.”

“You better wear my shirt tomorrow,” he said, his voice teasing but hopeful.

She smirked, folding her arms across her chest as she looked at him. “I’ll think about it.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly closer. “You better. I’ll be watching.”

She laughed, shaking her head at his persistence. “We’ll see.”

The next morning arrived with the usual rush, the anticipation of race day filling the air. She woke up to a sunlit room and a few messages on her phone, the familiar bustle of the paddock already beginning to take shape outside her window. As she moved around the room, preparing for the day ahead, her mind wandered back to the previous evening.

She stood in front of the mirror, brushing her hair back into a sleek ponytail, glancing over her outfit choices. She’d packed a nice pair of fitted trousers and a smart blouse for the day. But then, as she opened her suitcase to grab something, she saw it—the shirt.

It was sitting on top of her suitcase, folded neatly, the soft fabric of his team’s shirt catching the light. The sight of it made her pause. She could feel a flutter of uncertainty in her chest as she stared at the shirt. It wasn’t like her to let herself be swayed by someone else’s request. But something about Franco, about the way he’d looked at her, made her reconsider.

She bit her lip, considering her options. The shirt was casual, simple, but it also felt like a statement. She could wear it for him, just this once, maybe just to see how it felt. There was no harm in that, right?

She grabbed the shirt, examining it for a moment. It was an understated design—his team’s logo in the corner, a soft fabric, nothing too flashy. It wasn’t the sort of thing she would normally wear, but for some reason, she felt drawn to it. And then it hit her—maybe it wasn’t about the shirt at all. It was about the confidence to wear it, to stand beside him and let the world see her as she was, without hesitation.

She had a moment of inspiration.

Instead of simply slipping it on with jeans like she’d imagined, she decided to give it a bit of a twist. She styled it with an oversized blazer, the sleeves rolled up just enough to show off the shirt underneath, and a pair of high-waisted pants. The look was effortlessly cool, edgy, but still very much her. She paired it with a pair of sleek, minimalist sneakers, and, just before she finished, added a bold red lip to complete the ensemble.

When she looked in the mirror, she felt a sense of pride. It was a simple shirt, yes, but it was her way of wearing it. And somehow, it made her feel like she was making her own mark, not hiding behind anyone else’s expectations.

She grabbed her phone, checking the time, then sent Franco a quick message.

“I thought about it. I’ll wear the shirt. But only because it goes with my outfit.”

She added a playful winking emoji before hitting send, knowing that he’d appreciate the humour in it.

The morning was just beginning to pick up its pace as she finished getting ready. The weight of the day’s events, the race, the energy of the paddock, all began to settle in. But for the first time in a while, she felt a small sense of excitement, an eagerness she hadn’t expected. It wasn’t about the race itself, but about the people she was meeting, the connections she was making, and—perhaps most unexpectedly—what might lie ahead with Franco.

She was just about to head out of her hotel room when there was a knock on the door. She knew that knock—steady and familiar. Taking a deep breath, she opened it to find her brother standing there, his usual calm exterior softened by a quiet intensity in his gaze.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his voice low, his eyes searching hers.

She nodded, stepping back to let him in. She could tell he was a bit surprised when he saw the shirt she was wearing—the shirt of a rival team. He glanced at it, one brow raised slightly, but he didn’t comment, just closed the door behind him and leaned against the wall.

He took a deep breath, as if he’d been building up to this. “Are you… thinking of seeing him again?”

There was something tentative in the way he asked, a kind of brotherly concern that she hadn’t seen in a long time. She shrugged, trying to keep her tone casual. “Maybe. I’m considering it.”

He nodded slowly, looking away for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Then, almost hesitantly, he said, “Why are you okay with being seen with him, and not with me?”

The question landed heavily between them, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to answer. She looked at him, seeing the vulnerability in his expression, the unspoken hurt in his eyes. It was rare for him to open up like this, to say exactly what was on his mind. She let out a long breath, searching for the right words.

“It’s different,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Different how?” he pressed, his tone gentle but persistent.

She met his gaze, feeling a lump rise in her throat. She hadn’t realised just how much this division had affected them both, how much it lingered in moments like these. “I never felt like I was a part of your world,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “It wasn’t just about you. It was Dad, too. He… he made it clear that I wasn’t cut out to be a part of it. I wasn’t… enough. Not like you.”

He looked at her, the quiet hurt in his eyes turning into something deeper, something sadder. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

She gave him a small, sad smile. “How could you? You were busy making him proud. And you were great at it. I always saw how he looked at you, how proud he was of everything you were doing. He saw you as this… continuation of him, of his legacy. But me… I was never part of that.”

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he processed her words. “I never wanted it to be that way. I thought you just didn’t care about what we were doing. I thought you were happy doing your own thing.”

“I am,” she said, and she meant it. “Tennis is my world; it’s where I feel strong, where I feel like I belong. But… it didn’t come without sacrifices. I grew up watching you and Dad bond over racing, and it was like there was this door between us that was shut for good. I could watch, but I couldn’t be a part of it.”

There was a long pause, her brother absorbing her words, the weight of years of misunderstanding settling between them.

“I wish I’d known,” he said finally, his voice soft, tinged with regret. “I thought… I thought you didn’t want to be a part of it. I thought it didn’t matter to you if Dad and I had that bond. But I get it now. I see what it must’ve felt like, standing on the outside.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken years filling the space between them. And then he added, “You know, you don’t have to keep yourself hidden to be in my life, right? I get it now. But it doesn’t have to be like that.”

Her throat tightened, a wave of unexpected emotion rising within her. She’d spent so long feeling like an outsider in her own family, so sure that her brother had never noticed. But now, here he was, standing in front of her, wanting to bridge that gap.

“It’s hard to just undo it all,” she admitted. “Sometimes, it feels easier to just… stay on my own path. To keep these things separate.”

He nodded, understanding. “But if you’re thinking of seeing Franco… letting yourself be part of his world… doesn’t it mean you’re ready to be seen? To be yourself, even in places that are unfamiliar?”

She considered this, his words striking a chord deep within her. He wasn’t wrong. She’d spent so long hiding parts of herself, keeping herself separate to avoid comparison or judgement. But with Franco, she hadn’t felt the same need. For once, she had felt like she could be herself—no shadows, no expectations.

“I think… I just want to find something that’s mine,” she said finally. “A space where I’m not just ‘your sister,’ where I don’t have to carry someone else’s legacy.”

Her brother gave her a soft, understanding look. “You’ve already done that. You are more than just my sister. You’ve made a name for yourself that has nothing to do with anyone else. You’re not living in anyone’s shadow… but if you ever want to step into our world—my world—I’d like to be part of yours too. Just… let me be there for you, even if it’s only sometimes.”

She nodded, feeling a sense of warmth, a sense of connection that hadn’t been there before. Maybe there was room for both worlds, after all. For the first time, she felt like she didn’t have to choose.

“I’ll think about it,” she said softly, echoing her words from last night.

He smiled, a hint of relief in his eyes. “I hope you do.”

With that, he gave her a quick, reassuring squeeze on her shoulder, a wordless acknowledgment of the unspoken bond they shared. And as he left, she felt a sense of closure, a feeling that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to keep running from her family’s legacy to be seen as her own person. She could walk her own path, even if it sometimes crossed into theirs.

She arrived at the paddock a little while later, weaving her way through the bustle of race day, her heart beating a little faster than usual. Wearing Franco’s shirt under her blazer felt like a small, bold choice—one that had her both excited and slightly nervous. She walked through the crowd until she reached his team’s garage, where the energy was already crackling with anticipation.

As soon as she stepped in, Franco spotted her from across the garage. His face lit up the second he saw her, and he immediately started making his way toward her. When he was close enough, he lowered his voice and said in Spanish, a playful gleam in his eyes, “Wait here for just a second. Don’t move.”

Before she could respond, he turned and jogged back toward his driver’s room, leaving her standing in the middle of the garage, a little bewildered but smiling to herself. She watched as he disappeared into the room, curious about whatever he was planning. Within a moment, he was back, holding a bouquet of flowers—a mix of deep red roses and bright sunflowers, their colours vivid against the greys and metallics of the garage.

“For you,” he said, handing them over with a grin, his accent warm and lilting. His eyes softened as he added, “To celebrate your first race day as my guest.”

She took the bouquet, feeling a rush of warmth as she held the flowers. “You know, you didn’t have to do this,” she said, trying to hide the smile tugging at her lips. “I’m just here as… well, just as me.”

“And I think that’s worth celebrating,” he replied smoothly, his gaze locked on hers with unmistakable admiration. “Besides, you didn’t say no to the shirt, so I think I’m allowed a little celebration, no?”

She laughed, her cheeks warming as she looked down at the bouquet. “Alright, fine. You win. Thank you—they’re beautiful.”

Franco glanced around the garage, then leaned in slightly, dropping his voice to a playful murmur. “You know, you’re even more beautiful than I remember from last night. I thought maybe I was exaggerating, but… no. I wasn’t.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. “Careful, or I’ll start to think you’re trying to distract me from the race.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, chuckling. Then, as if struck by a sudden idea, he looked around the garage again and spotted one of his engineers nearby. Franco gestured to the man, who quickly nodded, understanding exactly what Franco was after.

The engineer handed him a headset, and Franco turned back to her, holding it up. “Here—so you can listen in and watch from inside the garage. You’ll get the best seat here.”

She blinked, surprised by the gesture. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. You’ll get to hear all the comms, see how it all works up close. Plus”—he leaned in, his voice low—“you’ll have an excuse to stay around here.”

She shook her head with a smirk, taking the headset from him. “Alright. But only because you’ve convinced me with flowers and shameless flattery.”

“Good,” he replied, his grin widening as he watched her settle the headset over her ears. “I’ll keep it coming if it means you stay.”

As the team began their pre-race preparations, Franco showed her the best spot to watch from, and he took a few moments to explain some of the technical details. She found herself captivated, not just by the race, but by the way he was so eager to share his world with her. His enthusiasm was infectious, and despite herself, she felt the thrill of race day in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

Before he had to step away to start his own warm-up routine, he gave her one last look, his gaze holding a touch of that familiar mischievous glint. “Enjoy the show, princesa. And don’t go falling in love with the cars now��they’re not as charming as I am.”

She laughed, giving him a playful shove. “No promises.”

Franco winked, backing away with a grin as he joined the other drivers and team members preparing for the race. She stayed in the garage, feeling the weight of the headset and bouquet in her hands, both of them symbols of the way her world had shifted in just a few days.

As she watched him walk away, his words echoing in her ears, she realised just how different today felt. For the first time, she wasn’t just watching as an outsider; she was here, part of the energy, sharing a moment in his world, just as he’d promised. And maybe—just maybe—she was finally ready to be a part of something new.

The race was intense, the roar of engines filling the air as she watched Franco’s car weave through the track, making his way up from P16 to P12, gaining positions one by one with determined precision. Her heart raced with every turn, every overtake. She’d never felt the thrill of Formula One from this close before, and she found herself completely absorbed, balancing her attention between the live race and the screens in the garage that tracked every driver’s progress.

And then, in the final laps, her eyes moved to another part of the screen—a familiar car that was in the lead. A red car. Her brother was out front, defending his position with expert skill, pushing with everything he had toward the finish line. She held her breath, fingers tightening around the edges of the headset as she watched the seconds count down. When he crossed the finish line in first place, a feeling she hadn’t expected washed over her—pride, pure and radiant, filled her chest. She found herself clapping, cheering, a bright smile spreading across her face.

Franco, having just finished his own race and done the mandatory weigh-in and debrief with his engineers, finally found her in the garage. He looked exhausted but happy, his face still flushed from the adrenaline of the race. When he walked over, he paused, noticing the way her eyes were glued to the screen as her brother celebrated his victory, lifting his fists in the air in triumph.

“You’re glowing,” Franco murmured, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched her reaction.

She blinked, glancing back at him and realising how giddy she must look. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think it would feel like this. I’m just… so happy for him.” Her voice was breathless, filled with a genuine joy she couldn’t hide.

He chuckled, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from her face. “Then you should go to him. He’s probably waiting for you.”

She shook her head, hesitating, her gaze flickering back to the screen. “No, I couldn’t. I don’t… I don’t belong over there, with everyone. That’s his world.”

Franco tilted his head, giving her a knowing look. “Maybe that’s true most days. But today, you belong there just as much as anyone else. He’s your brother. Go celebrate with him. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

She bit her lip, uncertainty still holding her back. “I wouldn’t even know what to say.”

“Start with congratulations,” Franco said, flashing her a gentle, reassuring grin. “Trust me, it’ll be enough.”

He gestured toward the edge of the garage, where the barriers separated the track from the paddock. After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded, taking a shaky breath as he guided her forward. The crowd around them was roaring with excitement as her brother’s car was pulled into parc fermé, fans and teammates celebrating around him. She could feel her heart pounding, each step filling her with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness.

At the barrier, Franco gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Go on. I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

With that, he released her hand, and she took a step forward, catching sight of her brother through the haze of people and cameras. He was laughing, practically glowing as he embraced his team, still basking in the thrill of his victory. And then, as if sensing her, he turned and saw her standing there, just beyond the barrier.

His expression softened, and a smile broke across his face, one that was filled with surprise and unmistakable happiness. Without a moment’s hesitation, he made his way over, reaching out to pull her into a tight, heartfelt hug. She hugged him back, feeling the last remnants of the old distance between them dissolve as she held her brother close, finally sharing in his moment.

When they pulled apart, he looked at her, pride shining in his eyes. “You came,” he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet gratitude. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

She laughed softly, tears threatening to sting her eyes. “I wouldn’t have missed it. I’m so proud of you.”

He grinned, leaning in to press a quick, brotherly kiss to her forehead. “Thank you. It means a lot that you’re here. Really.”

As the team around them cheered and the cameras continued to flash, she felt the enormity of the moment—a sense of belonging, not just as a tennis player, or his sister, but as herself.

She grinned at her brother, reaching up to ruffle his hair in a rare show of sibling affection. “Te quiero mucho, hermanito,” she said, her voice filled with warmth and pride. “I’m so proud of you, you know that?”

His smile softened, and he looked at her with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. “Te quiero también,” he replied, wrapping her in one last quick hug. “Thank you for being here. Really.”

The moment was brief but profound, a quiet reassurance that, despite the different worlds they had each chosen, they were still connected. He glanced back toward his team, who were waving him over for post-race celebrations and interviews.

“I have to go,” he said, releasing her. “But I’ll see you later?”

“Of course,” she replied, giving him a nod and a small wave as he returned to his crew. She watched him for a moment longer, feeling a sense of pride she hadn’t felt in years—one that was entirely unclouded by the complexities of the past. Then she turned and made her way back toward Franco’s garage, her heart still racing from the intense energy of the day.

When she found him, Franco was waiting near the garage entrance, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, a proud smile lighting up his face as he saw her approach.

“You did it,” he said softly, admiration in his eyes. “You finally let yourself be a part of all this.”

As she reached Franco, he turned to face her, his expression softening with a mixture of pride and relief as he took her hands in his. Her heart pounded, the intensity of the day lingering between them like a magnetic pull. She gazed up at him, her breath catching as she saw the warmth in his eyes—the genuine care and admiration there, as if he saw every part of her that she had worked so hard to keep separate.

Without a word, she stepped closer, her hand moving up to rest gently against his cheek. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze searching hers, as if waiting for her to close the last small gap between them. Finally, she leaned up, closing her eyes as her lips met his in a slow, lingering kiss.

The world around them seemed to dissolve, the roar of the crowd and bustle of the paddock fading as the kiss deepened. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer, his touch both steady and tender. She felt the warmth of him seep into her, grounding her in the moment, and she responded instinctively, fingers threading through his hair as he held her tighter. There was a gentleness in his touch, but an undeniable passion too, a desire that built slowly between them.

Time slipped away as they shared this unguarded moment, the boundaries she had set for herself crumbling with every heartbeat. She could feel the strength in his arms, the quiet reassurance he offered, and a warmth that sparked through her, as if he was silently promising that he would be there, no matter what.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing a little harder, their foreheads touching as they lingered close, unwilling to step away. Franco’s thumb traced a gentle line along her jaw as he looked into her eyes, his gaze filled with an affection so deep that it nearly overwhelmed her. “I needed that push,” she murmured against his lips.

His arms came around her, but he laughed as he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “Come on,” he said with a teasing glint, “the cameras have probably caught enough kissing for one day.”

She chuckled, letting him lead her back toward the quiet of his garage, away from the noise and eyes of the crowd. For the first time, she felt an undeniable sense of belonging—not just to the world she had worked so hard to create for herself, but to this moment, with him, with her family. She’d finally allowed herself to be part of it all, and it felt right in a way she hadn’t expected.

the end.

[bluelizardlives]

"I'm a train engineer!" "Do you know what that valve does?" "Uh...well, no..."

[lostintransist]

Broken Beyond Bearing

-… . - .- … / -… . .. -. —. / -… ..- - -.-. …. . .-. . -..

@beloveds-embrace I hope I did this idea a bit of justice so far. Inspired by the delcious idea from beloveds found here.

AO3

CW: references to medical procedures that were not agreed to, reader is dying, A/B/O, odd dynamics, babies first time writing A/B/O.

A/N: I am really new to A/B/O so if something feels off or if you want more of this idea LMK!

Kate told you that the CIA still used Morse code in the field sometimes. It had fallen out of fashion after World War II and the alphabet soup of government agencies liked to reuse what they could. She said it worked best for short messages and when speaking could alert enemies. She talked at you nonstop on the long drive from the hospital. You wondered if the silence would bite at her toes or if the drone of the engine would keep it at bay.

She found you in the waiting room. Back straight, head upright you stare out the window across from you. If you ignore her maybe she will leave you alone like everyone else. You had been freed from a facility when some government agency or another busted them for performing illegal experiments on betas. Everyone else had a family to return to.

You weren’t everyone.

“I have a friend at this hospital. He called me when he saw that you had yet to be released,” she uses a soft voice as if the mint green and oddly shaped couches were pews instead. Pews don’t creak like plastic when you shift your weight. “My name is Kate. My friend, Ty, is an administrator here. He mentioned you needed someone to sign for you due to your beta status and the lack of documentation on your identity.”

Silence had been your only weapon against the staff there and the staff here.

She smells of alpha, the heady scent that should reek of safety and confidence. It tastes sour in the back of your throat.

“I’ve read through the information about you from Scorpio, the changes they made to you? They don’t expect you to make it another five years.” Kate rubbed her hands down the top of her slacks. “I’m here to give you an offer.”

Glancing at her without turning your head you wait. When she meets your side eye you shift your gaze back to the distant fluffy clouds dotting the sky like sheep grazing through a meadow. The sky sheep look all the whiter for the blanket of snow smothering the earth below.

“I know of a group of men, even split between them alpha and omega, who could use someone to care for. They are gone for long stretches of time and won’t pressure you for anything, only to care for you and use you as a touchstone of normalcy,” Kate lets out a breath, the shifting air bringing more of her should be comforting scent to your nose.

Voices drift past the locked doors to your right. You had posted up on the maternity floor, the staff had yet to find you here the last few times you were able to avoid their gazes.

“Why me?” Your voice whispers out. Should have grabbed the water mug the night nurse had left on your tray before you ducked from the room.

“Well, that’s the sticking point. They don’t know you would be coming. The guys have started to fray at the edges, getting reckless on jobs. I need them to be safe. If they have someone to come home to?”

Ah, so this wasn’t about you. Couldn’t ever be about you could it? No. Always a beta, never important.

Scorpio had seen six hundred seventeen betas through their doors before you quit counting. Not one of them left through the front door.

“You can’t tell them I’m dying.”

Control had to be a resource you doled out sparingly.

“Done.”

“And I get my own bed.”

The wrinkles around her face deepen as Kate settles on an unsure look.

“I’m not sure…”

“I will spend time in their nest when invited but I get my own bed,” you look at her now, face to face.

She must see something unmovable in your expression.

Sighing, her eyes drift shut and her shoulders relax.

“I will make it happen.”

Nodding once you stand.

“Lead on Kate, let us meet my doom head-on.”

Kate chooses not to comment on your morose declaration.

Maybe that is why she filled the car with her voice? She must not appreciate your brand of deadly honesty.

Her voice drifts away as she turns off the well-maintained and snow-cleared highway for a clear spot marked only by the tire tracks that lead between the dense trees.

“I’ve told them so many damn times they need to move closer but no it’s all ‘Kate you don’t understand we need the space from everyone’ and never thinking of how hard it is for people to visit them,” she mutters to herself as the color leeches from her knuckles with each slip of the tires.

“Maybe they don’t want visitors.”

Kate’s brows pull down as she glares out the windshield.

Looking back out the window you catch sight of a massive moose between the trunks before it disappears into the trees. It takes another twenty minutes of achingly slow driving before Kate finally relaxes her shoulders.

The smell of satisfaction drifts through the car heater. Turning you find a modestly large cabin, a green metal slanted roof, and a porch that reaches from one corner of the house to the other. Next to the stairs that connected the porch to the ground are two vehicles, one SUV and one large truck, though these both sit neatly under the porch. Kate parks in the open.

Without hesitation she climbs from the driver’s seat, grabbing the backpack she picked up for you with your three changes of clothes and two sets for sleeping. Kate is halfway up the stairs when you finally join her. Snow clings to the canvas of your shoes even as you follow in the large boot prints she left behind for you.

Tucking your arms close to your chest you stand behind Kate as she pounds with a fist on the door. The swish of her coat is the loudest sound beyond her beating for entry. You are fighting to keep your teeth from chattering when the door finally opens. You didn’t know cold had a smell. The only word you could find for it? Sharp.

“John. Took you long enough,” Kate pushes her way through the opening in the door.

A burly man steps back to allow her entrance. He is barely decent, his robe hanging open and tie only just covering his bits. John lifts a brow at you when you don’t immediately follow. You are not dressed for winter. When a particularly chilled bit of wind rushes past you and into the house, he moves to shut the door. Darting inside you watch him warily until you stand near Kate again. She stands in front of a massive couch. Counting the cushions, you give yourself the space to breathe. Twelve separate sitting spaces, three walls of a square, and still with room to walk behind and peer out the window that took up nearly the whole wall behind it.

“Not like you to show up without calling Kate. What is this about?” John steps around the snow you shed on his hardwood floor.

“I brought you a wife.”

They stare at each other for nearly thirty seconds. Your toes start to sting from the cold. The shoes on your feet squeak as you shift from foot to foot. Making the mistake of breathing too deeply you can taste the battle of wills between them. Kate’s shouldn’t be sour scent warred with John’s masculine, woodsy scent. He was an omega?

A long table is positioned opposite the kitchen, and central to it all is a wood-burning stove. The kitchen has an excess of cabinets. You start to count them to avoid what your nose is telling you.

“Why would I need a wife?” He finally asks.

You are also curious about the word choice. Betas weren’t terribly important in the grand scheme, born at a lower rate and died at a faster one. Populations didn’t need betas to survive, they, you, were mostly only good for keeping fights from escalating. With everyone receiving training in school anymore on how to address and deal with signs of rut/heat to avoid fights, death due to rut-related combat had reduced by over half. Betas were less important than ever. The other reduction in deaths had come from Scorpio.

Sarah had always been so proud to tell you about how you were contributing to keeping alphas from killing each other when she drew your blood or injected you with yet another unknown serum. The government had started to pump the barest amount of what Sarah called, calmers, into the water system. Said it was good for everyone, like fluoride.

“Serin, helicopter, Los Alamos, hospital visit. Would you like me to go on?” Kate said all those words as if they made any sort of sense.

John sucked in a deep breath through his nose. His eyes snapped to you.

“What are you?”

Kate steps in front of you. The slap of your hand to your scent gland runs parallel to her words. Sarah had done something to you, changed everything at a base level, including your scent.

“Beta, and a wife. Someone to care for, someone who needs you.”

His eyes are on you as sounds from deeper in the house reach your ears. Deep voices, a loud thump, then laughter. You look past John and see a set of stairs near the front door that leads to a second floor that only takes up part of the space from the vaulted ceiling.

“We don’t need anyone Kate-” he folds his arms across his hairy chest as Kate cuts him off.

“Should I ask them then? Call them down and see what they say?” She glares up at him, the height difference not making a difference even when her alpha to his omega should. You had only ever seen one dynamic, alpha ruling, all else managing to stay out of their way. That did not hold true here. They battled as equals.

John let his lung full of air go, a sigh of admission as his hands fell to his hips.

“No. We will take her.”

Kate nods once, settling your backpack on the couch before turning and giving your shoulder a squeeze.

When she turns back to John she gives him the final piece of information.

“She gets a room to herself. Doesn’t need to be much, but at least a place to retreat when everything becomes too much.”

He rolls his eyes but nods.

“Anything else Kate?” He asks drolly.

The glare she sends him is met with a smirk.

“I will check back in a week to see how everyone is settling.”

John walks her to the front door, opening it for Kate to step back into the startling brilliance of the sun twinkling off snow.

When the door clicks shut behind her John turns to you. His eyes drift from your feet upward until settling on your face.

“Hello, wife.”

Part 2 | Broken Masterlist | Masterlist

[natailiatulls07]

He doesn’t want any other nurse

Charles Leclerc x female!nurse!reader

Summary - Charles has a habit of hurting himself so he visits the medical bay quite a lot which he doesn’t mind because his favourite nurse is there

Warning - Cuts, Crash, tripping over, medical centres, bruising

A/n - This was inspired by a character ai bot lmao

-

This was becoming a regular routine. And it’s not like no noticed, everyone noticed. Every other race, Charles would have to be taken to the medical centre in the paddock, why?

Because of her; one of the nurses who would travel around with the FIA as a nurse.

Like Zandvoort, Charles had crashed his SF-23 into the first corner.

“Charles, are you okay? Are you okay?” Xavier voiced through the radio, the race engineer could see Charles moving in his car.

“Yeah I’m good…I think I’ll go to medical just in case…” Surprisingly he sounded somewhat excited to be visiting medical, it was usually dreaded by the drivers.

So that’s what he did. He took himself all the way back to the paddock and through the paddock to medical. There’s was a small waiting room, Charles sat himself down excitedly.

One of the other nurses had come out to the waiting room. “Charles, I can see you now” she offered but he quickly turned her down.

“No thank you, um is Y/n here today?” The Monégasque asked eagerly. The nurse looked back through to the medical bay, and saw that Y/n was in fact treating someone who had fallen in the paddock.

“Uh she’s a bit busy at the moment…please I can help you” The nurse tried again to which Charles just shook his head again.

“I’ll wait…” His tone was blunt and straight to the point. The nurse just sighed, knowing there was nothing she could do to change his mind, before walking back into the medical bay.

-

I was just finishing up cleaning up a small cut on someone’s knee as they fell in the paddock. “There you go ma’am…take it easy on your feet” Smiling softly I walk the women out through the medical bay carefully.

I walk into the medical bay as one of the other nurse told me that a certain Ferrari driver was waiting on me and only me.

Knowing of his refusal of any other nurse here, I strike up a conversation with him “I heard you’ve been waiting for me”

His response is quick and almost impatient “Too long” I look him over and notice a few cuts but other than that he seems okay.

“Why?” I ask in defeat. The driver just stares me down.

“Because I wanted you…” Charles just picks at the skin around his cuts, going silent again.

“You do realise that there are more qualified nurses than me…right?”

Glancing away from his cuts up at me, Charles continues “Yes and I rejected them” He looks around the medical bay before meeting my eyes again. “Your qualifications don’t matter to me, I still want you”

As I treat his cuts, cleaning them up and putting some plasters on, I continue the conversation “I don’t understand…why me?”

He remains still allowing me to treat him correctly “Why not you?” Charles’ green eyes follow my hands as I work.

“Whatever you say…” Chucklibg softly before move to grab the plasters. After I finish fixing him up, I pat his shoulder “You’re all done…”

“Thank you” He mumbles before making his way to the media tent, feeling that bit more excited.

-

The two Ferrari drivers were in their teams hospitality filming a challenge video for the Ferrari YouTube channel. However, Carlos had accidentally tripped up Charles.

That’s how Charles ended up back in the medical bay waiting room, rejecting away any nurse until his favourite arrived in the waiting room. Y/n.

-

“Back again so soon Charles” I teased as I walked over to him, he was sat clutching his head.

Charles just offered me a tired smile. “Why are you so busy when I come in?” He asks with a grumble.

“Because…this is my job, I have to treat other people as well” I smile softly, laughing slightly. Reaching over, I inspect his head.

“What happened?” Asking him, I notice some bruising on his head just before the forehead.

“Carlos, le moromi, tripped me up” Laughing softly as Charles curses in his mother tongue. I move to the medical fridge, picking up a small ice pack wrapping it in a blue paper towel.

Holding to the bruising, I take one of his hand before putting it in place of mine. “Hold this here…” Once Charles is holding onto the ice pack, I take my clipboard “Do you feel dizzy, nauseous?”

Nodding his head, I start to worry before Charles speaks up “Only because of you…”

Crimson blush covers my cheeks, my face feeling flustered. “Okay Charles that’s not what I mean…I uh meant the bruising”

“Oh no but…can I ask you a question?” He looks up at me from his seat. I nod politely. “Are you single?”

Taken back, I am instantly taken back by his confidence. “Uh um yeah…being a nurse and travelling around the world with f1 is that ideal when it comes to relationships…” Once again chuckling quietly.

Despite his injury, Charles laughs along with me before speaking again “Can I ask you another question?”

Nodding my head again, I let me continue. “Are you busy tonight?”

My laughter continues with his questions. “No not really…I was probably order room service and then fall asleep to a chick flick…the usual” I blush at my obvious loneliness.

“That’s cute” My blush on deepens “Do you…um doyouwanttogoonadatewithme?…tonight” Charles just quickly mumbles, this makes it hard for me to hear his question.

“Pardon?” I ask politely and patiently.

The Monégasque breaths in hesitate before speak again, this time more slowly and clearly “Do you…want to go on a date with me?”

I just smile softly, yeah my blush is still there but I don’t care really. “Of course…”

“Oh perfect…I’ll pick you up around seven tonight” Charles is evidently more confident now that I agree to the date.

“I’ll see you then” Walking off to another patient, I feel his green eyes staring at me.

-

[mutable-manifestation]

Actual Scientists Jack & Maddie AU Part 3

Part 1 & 2

***

The lab is empty when they get to Fenton Works, his parents busy off helping the JLD wherever it was they were working from.

The journey the rest of the way to the Far Frozen passes relatively quickly under the weight of discussing how to reverse engineer the sarcophagus of forever sleep to make Naptime Box 2: Vlad Edition.

Could they probably just beat him up with the right plan and aid? Sure. But then they risk having to play royal hot potato (Danny doesn't want it and he doubts most of the allies he has would want the extra responsibility. Assuming there are responsibilities - Danny wouldn't know since there hasn't been a king, for all intents and purposes, since well before he became a halfa so who knows what the position even means in the context of the Zone).

Plus it would be way more satisfying to shove him in a box. Vlad gets a nice long nap and Danny gets to live the rest of his half-life without worrying about his Dad getting stabbed or something if Vlad starts feeling impatient.

It would also give Danny plenty of time to find some way to buy the Packers - not because he wants them, just because it would be really funny if Vlad eventually woke up to find that the only thing he wanted other than Maddie was now also very permanently out of reach.

The city of Green Bay could fold eventually, after all. But Danny? Danny would never yield, just to spite him, and Vlad would know that.

He probably won't actually do it, seeing as a) expensive and b) probably complicated.

But it would be really funny.

Their discussion on the ethics of using the Fenton Stockades as the base for the Box cut off as they land.

Without the distraction of their chat the adrenaline of panic comes rushing back, and he transforms as he steps out of the Speeder, nyooming to hover in front of Frostbite so quickly that the entire welcoming party - Frostbite somehow manages to have one arranged every time he drops by, and Danny is usually willing to at least try and indulge them since it seems to make them happy - jolts in surprise.

"Greetings!" Frostbite smiles wide, arms open in a grand welcoming, the only hint of lingering surprise the trails of slightly puffed up fur up his arms and the sides of his neck that has already mostly smoothed itself back out. "The Far Frozen welcomes the Great One and friends-"

"Hey Frostbite sorry for being abrupt but I'm kind of freaking out and you seemed like the best person - uh, ghost to go to because you always seem to know lots of things and I kind of need to know what's going on as soon as possible just in case it's a worst case scenario because the Justice League came to talk to my parents about some papers and I probably haven't mentioned them to you before because they're awful and I thought my parents made them but surprise I was wrong! Which is good! Except the League was mostly worried about them maybe causing the new ghost king to war with the human realm because apparently there's a supernatural branch of the Justice League and they think there's a new Ghost KingTM as in the Ghost King after Pariah Dark and I'm kind of freaking out because if there is a new ghost king there's actually a chance it's Vlad and oh ancients please tell me it's not Vlad or that the League heard wrong please."

Sam and Tucker had caught up by then, coming to stand on either side of him as Frostbite blinked.

"You are...asking me the identity of the current High King?" He asks, face scrunched in a bewildered expression.

"Oh my gosh Batman was right!?" He floats a bit higher at the news. "Please just tell me it's not Vlad! Uh, Plasmius."

"Plasmius?" Frostbite asks, eyebrows crawling higher. "Certainly not! What in the realms - do you truly not know?"

"Oh thank goodness," Danny sighs, sinking back to his usual level. "Not Vlad, okay, one less disastrous possibility. And whoever it is probably already knows they're the king and nothing bad has happened yet so it's probably fine, right?"

He looks back to meet Frostbite's eyes.

"Wait, nothing bad has happened yet, right? Like, is everything okay? I know Pariah caused you guys a lot of grief before; the new guy 's not going around causing trouble for you and you just haven't told me because you're worried about being a bother, right?" He frets, eyes flicking about, searching for fresh injuries on the various members of the welcoming party.

"...No, Great One," Frostbite answers, blinking away the surprised expression to be replaced by something soft. "Though I, and all the Far Frozen, are honored by your concern. While Pariah Dark is no longer the High King of the Infinite Realms, I can assure you, with utmost certainty, that you have nothing to fear from his successor. But I believe we have much more to discuss. Come, let us find somewhere more comfortable to talk - and get your human friends out of the cold."

***

It didn't take them long to reach a sitting room, and soon enough they were all settled into the enormous, fuzzy chairs in one of the warmer rooms available, Danny and Frostbite each with a cup of shaved ice tea while Sam and Tucker were offered beverages warm enough to steam in deference to their need for warmth.

Once everyone had taken a sip - or bite - Danny launched back into his questioning.

"So did Dark have a kid hidden away somewhere or did some kind of council finally decide on his replacement? Actually can ghosts even have - wait right Box Lunch, forgot about that on purpose but never mind. Or is there some fourth option that isn't those or trial by combat that we didn't think of?"

"Before I answer that, Great One, may I ask why you have already discounted trial by combat?" He returns curiously.

"Because if it was trial by combat it would be Vlad - er, Plasmius - and you already said it isn't him."

"Or it could be you," Tucker ribs, waggling his fingers at him.

"We already talked about why it couldn't be me, Tuck," Danny huffs, rolling his eyes and taking another bite of his... smoothie?

"Oh? And why do you think it would be Plasmius?" Frostbite asks.

"Because! I may have fought Pariah Dark, and sure I put him back in the sarcophagus, but I was running on fumes by that point, and he was still slamming around in there! Vlad, as much as I hate to admit it, is the one that turned the key and made sure he stayed locked away. It took almost everything I had to keep him pinned long enough. If...if he'd been even a few seconds later I probably would've died the rest of the way before he even had the time to break out a second time."

"But had you not put him there, no key would have mattered," Frostbite begins quietly. "Plasmius was no match for Pariah Dark; he was defeated in an instant the first time they clashed."

"Well, yeah, but so was I," he protests, not liking the direction the conversation is beginning to take.

"And yet, you alone went to face him a second time. You alone stood against the King of All Ghosts while your armies clashed."

"Our-!? I didn't have- you mean the ghosts that came to help me???" Danny sputtered, incredulous. "They weren't an army they were just-"

He pauses, searching for words that would not come.

"They were just a large group of ghosts who sided with you, who aided you in combat and kept the multitudes distracted while you went to face their leader alone. However you thought of them at the time, whatever they were to you up till then or are to you now, after, in that moment they were your army."

"Danny's totally the ghost king, isn't he?" Sam drawls after the brief silence that follows.

"Indeed," Frostbite answers her, but he looks Danny in the eyes as he does so. "You are the savior of the Ghost Zone, Pariah's Bane. And you are the High King of the Infinite Realms."

"I cheated!" Danny blurts out, shooting up to float above his chair.

"Cheated?" Frostbite's lips twitch as he fights down a smile.

"I had the Fenton Ecto-Skeleton! That's totally cheating! Don't combat trials have to be honorable or something?!" He begs.

Frostbite chuckles.

"I apologize, Great One, but I am afraid there is no such thing as an honorable war," he says, expression briefly turning solemn. "And even if it were, just as you had your "Ecto-Skeleton," did not Pariah have his ring and crown?

You issued a challenge and he answered, your armies clashed while the two of you stood against each other and each other alone; you alone put him back into the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep, and you alone held it shut long enough for Plasmius to turn the key.”

Danny drifts back down to his seat as Frostbite speaks, then continues slouching further with every word.

“I am given to understand that Plasmius likes to think of others as pawns on his own personal chessboard,” he says, “But at the time he was but another ghost, come to fight Pariah's army on your behalf - as a member of your army. A pawn, to paraphrase his own words, that you used to topple a king - not through any intentional manipulation, but through the sheer magnetic charisma of your willingness to stand against monsters like Pariah Dark and of your ability to do so. The confidence to stand alongside you that such strength inspires. 

He would not have approached if he did not believe you could win - would not risk endangering himself so. At best, you could consider him a referee, calling the match to a close once it was decisively in your favor.

Plasmius may think of existence as a game with himself as the only player, and he may have been acting in his own self-interest overall, but by every measure, in this instance, he was undeniably your piece.

The Zone itself acknowledges your right to rule by the way the crown of fire sits where you left it, unmoving on the floor of Pariah's keep until the day you finally choose to wear it, no matter how many hands may try to move it."

Frostbite's words are slow and measured, but as undeniable as the creeping of a glacier. And by the time they cease, Danny has sunk so far as to end up an undignified heap on the floor before his chair.

The trio remains silent as they absorb his words.

Minutes pass before Danny finally speaks.

"If the crown can't be taken, then how did I get it from Pariah?" He questions, a final hope that Frostbite may be mistaken.

"It will only remain unmoved until you first put it on. After that, it will be up to you whether it stays safe on your head."

Danny groans his despair, final bit of hope shattered.

"I must apologize again, Great One," he says solemnly. "Had I known you were unaware of your station, I would have informed you sooner."

He frowns heavily, looking into the distance thoughtfully.

"The Observants should have informed you long before now."

"Well, that explains it. The Observants hate Danny's guts," Tucker says.

"To neglect their duties for such a reason...," He trails off, his glower highlighting the inhuman nature of his visage. 

The trio fidget.

Danny coughs after a few seconds of tense silence.

“Uh, speaking of duties,” he begins, relaxing as Frostbite’s expression smooths back into something kind and polite as he listens, “What exactly does the Ghost King even do? Like. Pariah was locked away for… a long time? I guess. So does the Zone even need a King? Can’t I just, like, resign?”

“I suppose it might seem that way from a younger ghost’s perspective - Pariah has been locked away for millenia, after all, and the Zone is still in one piece.” 

Frostbite pauses, leaning back in his seat and taking another bite of his drink. 

“However. What you must understand, Great One, is that the problems caused by the absence of a king in the Infinite Realms are not the whirlwind that such a thing would be in the living realm - social order is affected, but the speed of bureaucracy is slower by orders of magnitude in the Realms, and there is not the same level of inter-reliance that the living tend to require - but rather, they are winds and waters sliding against a rock, chipping away at it bit by bit until it is either worn smooth… or the whole structure collapses under its own weight.”

“How does not having a king cause dimensional collapse!?” Tucker shrieks, clutching his cup like a lifeline.

“How long do we have before it collapses?” Sam asks urgently not a second later.

“Oh shit, how long do we have before it collapses???” he echoes, hunching over his cup enough that the steam adds a layer of fog to his glasses.

Danny sits bolt upright, whipping wide eyes away from his friends to join them in staring at Frostbite.

“Total collapse would take millenia more to truly begin,” he placates before taking a more grave expression. “This does not mean that there will not be issues before that point, however; the symptoms of the High King’s absence have begun to show this past millennium. But rest assured, there is time enough to heal the wounds that have been wrought. The only permanent damage would be the collapse itself, and that, as I said, is millenia away.”

“Is… is that why you never mentioned it to me before?” Danny asks, dropping back to the ground in relief. “Because it’s not urgent and you figured I’d just…get to it eventually? Actually, why did you think I knew if you knew that the crown was still in Pariah’s Keep?”

“It is the duty of the Observants to observe, but also, as you have experienced, to oversee - the timeline, trials, the general functioning of the zone. Without a king to report to, much of their ability to act is crippled, of course - their ability to interfere directly with the timeline has always been severely restricted, their options for sentencing are severely reduced, and there are some things the Realms require that only the High King can provide - but one duty remains unaffected: overseeing the ascension of new kings. 

Coronations have taken many forms in the past, from a quick swap in the battlefield to a formal ceremony to a celebration that lasted a decade. Given the dark era we are, at last, able to put behind us and the non-urgent nature of even the most severe problems that the Realms are currently affected by, I had assumed that the large delay was in preparation for that last form - the lead-up to a grand celebration.”

“Except instead it’s just them being petty,” Sam notes, sitting back up from her own relieved slouch. 

Danny groans, leaving his tea to float and covering his face with his hands.

“Why couldn’t it have just been as easy as shoving Vlad in a box,” he whines.

“I mean, we still can?” Tucker offers, prompting Sam to smack him over the head before pausing consideringly.

“OW!”

“He might be right, actually,” she says, ignoring his exclamation. “Given Vortex’s trial and sentencing, there’s clearly some kind of legal system in the Zone that isn’t just Walker on a power trip. No doubt he’s broken some kind of Actual Realms Law - I’d be surprised if breaking Pariah out like he did wasn’t some form of highly illegal - so you could probably send him to actual Ghost Jail. It’s certainly where he belongs, given all the….”

She makes a vague gesture with her hand in lieu of words.

“That doesn’t resolve the problem of I Don’t Wanna Be A King!” Danny exclaims, sitting back and throwing his hands in the air.

Then he turns to Frostbite, eyes pleading. 

“Can’t you be king?” he asks. 

Frostbite opens his mouth to reply, but Danny steamrolls over him.

“It makes sense! You already know how to lead people! And your people love you! You already know about all the king stuff too! You’ve beaten me in spars before! We’d just have to go to the keep, I put on the crown, you beat me, and problem solved!”

Frostbite’s smile is a mix of amused and pitying.

“I have only ever beaten you in training spars, Great One, and you and I both know that is largely because they were focused on improving your skill with ice and ice alone. Even if I could defeat you in a true all-out fight as you are, I believe you underestimate the boost granted by the crown of fire.”

“I can just put it on then take it off again before we fight! And we can stick to ice!”

“I’m afraid it is not so simple,” he shakes his head. “If you do not give it your all, the crown - the Realms - will not recognize the transition. The only way to “throw the match” successfully would require your opponent to fully End you: to crush your core and snuff your spirit from the very fabric of existence. I am unwilling to do such a thing, and I sincerely hope you would not ask it of me - or, indeed, of anyone.”

Danny paled enough that he nearly matched his human form in skin tone.

“Right. Let’s… let’s not do that, actually.”

“On the bright side, you can probably weasel ruling tips out of Aquaman in exchange for not declaring war on the Living Realm!” Tucker chirps, aiming to cheer him up.

“I’m not going to threaten the Justice League!” he yelps, scandalized.

“But you probably won’t have to threaten them,” Sam chimes in. “They’re already trying to summon you, you already know their goal is to avoid a war. As long as you don’t ask for anything unreasonable, they should be inclined to give you what you want in exchange for peace.”

“Once you offer peace, they will be invested in your successful rule of their own volition as a means of perpetuating said peace,” Frostbite corrects. “If you would like to set preconditions to an accord you should make them things that will not readily be given as a result of said accord. But before we discuss further, perhaps you can fill me in on why war was a concern in the first place? I believe you mentioned something about papers?”

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1970 Dodge Challenger T/A

1970 Dodge Challenger T/A Sitting for 45 Years Is a Rare Barn Find in Sublime Green

Introduced in 1969 on the then-new E-body platform, the first-generation Dodge Challenger was a big hit, moving nearly 77,000 units in its first year on the market. And while it may seem rather common, the 1970 Challenger lineup included a few rare gems.

Nearly 73% of the cars were ordered in standard trim, leaving only 18,512 R/T models. Most of the latter left the assembly line with the 383-cubic-inch (6.3-liter) V8, and just 6,231 units were specified with the larger 440-cubic-inch (7.2-liter) RB and 426-cubic-inch (7.0-liter) HEMI mills.

The HEMI is arguably the rarest 1970 Challenger, with only 356 examples made. Just 60 were also ordered with the SE package, and only nine were convertibles. The 440 Six Pack version is also rare at 2,035 examples, while the regular four-barrel 440 found its way into 3,840 vehicles.

But Dodge also built a small-block gem that saw daylight in limited numbers. I'm talking about the Challenger T/A. Developed to homologate the Challenger for the SCCA Trans-Am series, the T/A was available for only a few months in 1970. And its short stint on the assembly line resulted in only 2,399 street-legal models being built and sold.

The T/A packs several unique features, including a low-restriction exhaust system with side-exiting pipes, a larger air scoop, a fiberglass hood, and a heavy-duty suspension. The stripe package is also unique to this car, as is the 340-cubic-inch (5.6-liter) V8 with a triple two-barrel carburetor setup.

An upgrade over the more common four-barrel 340, the Six Pack layout gave the T/A 290 horsepower to play with. And even though it's nowhere near as powerful as the big-block cars, the T/A has a solid advantage in terms of curb weight and handling.

Come 2023, the T/A is one of the most desirable versions of the 1970 Challenger. And while many cars are still around as restored gems, some are rotting away in junkyards and barns, often missing vital components. The Sublime green example you see here is one of them. But unlike other abandoned T/As, this survivor got a second chance at life, and it's roaming the streets again.

Documented by YouTube's "Auto Archaeology," this T/A spent most of its life off the road. According to our host, the Challenger was parked for unknown reasons sometime in 1977. So that's only seven years on the road and more than four decades in storage.

Parked with a four-barrel carburetor instead of the Six Pack setup, it remained in storage in Memphis and Arkansas until 2022. That's when the car was sold and dragged out of its barn. And surprisingly enough, the T/A emerged in surprisingly solid condition.

Sure, the Sublime paint has faded away, and the black vinyl top is long gone, but the body is straight and almost rust-free. There's some rust on the trunk floor, but it's an easy fix with a regular Challenger pan, which is relatively easy to find.

The engine bay was empty at the time of the rescue, but the car still had the original block. And even though the Six-Pack carb was gone, it came with a period correct unit. The driveshaft, air cleaner, automatic gearbox, and the original wheels (which are very rare) were still with the car.

Speaking of which, the automatic makes this T/A one of 1,410 vehicles built with this drivetrain combo. The vinyl top decreases that number even more. It's unclear if it came with a V1G gator grain top, but if it did, it's one of only 33 T/As built like this.

But the really good news about this Challenger is that it has since been revamped and put back on the road. It hasn't been restored just yet, but it's not a solid survivor that's no longer rotting away in a barn. And that's a win in my book.

[deathworlders-of-e24]

Jane, Medical Technician

Part 1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sorry I’m late doctor, this ship is huge.” Jane hadn’t realized until she got on board that her quarters were halfway across the ship and a full deck up from her work station in the Med Bay. She was going to have to fabricate some more sensible shoes at this rate. She wished she could have her own synthetic tree put into the med bay, just roll outta the hammock and get straight to work, but those perks belonged to the head doctor on the ship.

“It’s fine, it’s just day one,” said Doctor Huhuma, brushing it off with a wave of her furred hand. “I think I can trust these people to go at least a week without almost dying.”

While Jane Shaw was a doctor in her own right, the head physician on board the Noah was Doctor Huhuma, an Indoprime, something akin to the moneys on E24 in the Terran system, locally called Earth. They were so similar in fact that multiple ongoing studies were being conducted to see if they had any common genetic ancestry. Indoprimes stood just as tall as humans on two legs, with two arms that hung down to their torsos. The only real difference was the fur and semi prehensile tails.

“We’ve only left the station a few hours ago, what could have happened? I think today will be quiet at least,” Jane joked. As if the universe heard her and quietly whispered ‘bet’, the door to Med Bay hissed opened and in walked one of the engineers with a thin length of pipe all the way through their arm. Their green blood was a stark contrast to their gray skin and jumpsuit, and their face was turning ashen.

“Oh for- why?” Doctor Huhuma rushed over to the fresh patient. “Thanks for that, Jinxed Jane. Grab a kit, I’ll get him on the table. You had to say the Q-word, huh?”

God damnit, Jane thought. Hours into a first shift and the nickname has already come up. Jinxed Jane had followed her all throughout her residency on Earth and apparently it’d made its way into her GAIL file too.

You accidentally bump a few nurses during surgery and they never let you forget it, she thought miserly. There was a reason she was trying to get away from people who knew her. Jinxed Jane was one of them.

She grabbed a kit from the shelves and brought it to the table, handing the med scanner to the doctor.

“Thank you…sorry. For the-”

“Don’t worry about it.” Jane didn’t want to think about it.

The little gray guy on the table was breathing hard. His life wasn’t in any danger, thankfully, but the pipe was only a half inch thinner than his arm. Jane recognized his species from the crew list, he was one of the Gally. Apparently they’d been to earth a ton of times in the past, abducting cattle and occasionally leaving crop circles as a joke. They’d actually shown up so often that the Gally were the default for ‘Alien’ in pop culture in the Terran System. Throughout the Galaxy and especially the GAIL member planets, the Gally were known to be obnoxious pranksters of the highest order.

“Oouuuch,” said the Gally, wincing at the pain.

“Get him a shot of something good for the pain, this’ll take a second.” The med scanner wasn’t done compiling.

“On it.” Jane grabbed a dose of multi-species painkiller from the kit, took the cap off with her teeth, and jabbed it into his thigh. Almost immediately the Gally relaxed.

“Laser wave scalpel, please,” Doctor Huhuma asked.

“Here.” Jane handed her the tool quickly, a short cylinder tapered on one end. The doctor clicked it on and a red beam several centimeters long sprouted from the tip.

“Cover his eyes for me, this might throw sparks.”

“Got it, Doc.”

Jane grabbed a surgical mask and slipped it on the Gally’s face, then took a stainless steel tray and used it to shield their eyes. Huhuma leaned down and with one hand covering her eyes, she used the laser saw to cut the pipe as close to the skin as possible. The Gally flinched at first so Jane put her hand on his shoulder to comfort him as best she could.

The pipe fell, one end red hot, and Huhuma caught it with her tail before it hit the floor.

“Okay,” the doctor said, “easy part is done, this is where it will probably be awful for you.”

“How?” The Gally asked, speaking for the first time other than slight groans of pain.

“Why don’t you tell us your name so we can get this filed away after we’re done?”

“I’m an engineer below decks, my name is Simms of the Gall-”

Huhuma pulled the pipe out the other side of his arm, causing Simms to break off his introduction for a yelp of pain. The doctor quickly took the tissue regenerator, commonly called a Patch Box, and started closing up the wound.

“Well, Simms of the Gally, my name is Doctor Huhuma, and this is Doctor Shaw. You’re our very first patient on this ship, and let me tell you, I wasn’t expecting anything to happen before we left the system, so while I go start the paperwork, Doctor Shaw is going to finish up for me.”

Huhuma handed over the device before walking calmly into her office. Jane wasn’t sure but she thought she heard a long sigh before the door closed, but that could’ve just been the door’s hydraulics.

“I don’t believe she likes me,” Simms said.

“Oh you’re fine, she’s just…settling into the ship, I suppose. So yeah, like she said, I’m Doctor Jane Shaw, and I suppose I’ll be your doctor now, so it’s nice to meet you, though I’m wondering how you got a pipe through your arm.”

“Oh, that.” Apparently it was possible for people with gray skin to blush. They just got a little darker in the cheeks.

“I kinda deserved it. One of the other humans in engineering, Thomas I think, was doing something weird with the drone he picked up, and we thought it’d be funny to prank him.”

“What was he doing?”

“Well it’s a service drone, it shouldn’t even be active right now right? He’s got one of the ones that crawls into maintenance channels and fixes the wiring, and he’s got it playing one of your human’s game things, and he’s just talking to it like a person, for hours!”

“And what did you do?”

“Well, we thought about cabling his shoes to the catwalk but I, uhh, slipped and fell into some exposed pipping.”

“Hence the arm.”

“Yes, hence my arm.”

“So you could say if you hadn’t been being a jerk, this could’ve been avoided. Can’t wait to tell your primary care giver that her crew are idiots and jerks. Leave the guy alone, if he’s not hurting anything then it doesn’t matter.”

“What, do you know the guy? He your friend or something?”

Jane didn’t particularly like the tone of the conversation anymore, but wanted to be professional.

“Never met the guy, but if you keep coming in here for pointless procedures like this, the chances of you getting the wrong doses are gonna get pretty high.”

Professional. Right.

“Look I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend the humans, we’ll leave him alone, okay?” Simms seemed way more afraid than Jane figured he should be, but rolled with it.

“Good. Now, how would you rate your care today?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aside from the rough start, the day in the Med Bay went by relatively easily. Jane met the nurses and other support staff she’d be working with, and they all seemed very nice. A couple of the senior officers came down to introduce themselves to Doctor Huhuma and herself, and the 3 other Indoprime came down to have lunch together in the office, primarily fruits and such. Jane went to the mess hall and enjoyed small talk with a delightful short haired alien that she almost immediately forgot the name of.

It wasn’t until she was coming back to the Med Bay that things took a turn. Rounding the corner, Jane saw the door to Med Bay open and a very suspicious looking Simms the Gally come out, looking both ways down the hall before practically jogging down to the corner and out of sight.

Jane sped up and ducked her head into the clinic. There was a giant string of crop circles on the wall drawn in what looked like an oil paint.

Now, she wasn’t sure when she started sprinting, but before she knew it, Jane was already within 20 yards of Simms the Gally.

“YOU LITTLE FUCKER!”

Simms spun around, eyes wide.

“Oh shit what the fu-”

That was as far as he got before she tackled him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Doctor Huhuma watched the door while Doctor Jane Shaw watched the gray alien known as Simms the Gally sponge wash the crop circles off the Med Bay wall.

“So when in this big plan of yours did you think it was a good idea to piss off your doctors?” Jane asked, arms crossed.

“When I thought you’d still be in the mess hall for another 30 seconds.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Huhuma laughed, the sound coming from deep in her chest. Jane smiled at her. It was a good, hearty kind of laugh. It suited her.

“So are you guys gonna tell the captain about this?”

Jane thought for a second, then turned to Huhuma and shrugged.

“Your call boss.”

“I think if you just clean this place up…once a week, till we tell you otherwise, we could keep this to ourselves.”

Simms the Gally groaned, but kept scrubbing.

Jane the human laughed.

Huhuma the Indoprime smiled at her.

Liking the new job so far, Jane thought. This’ll be fun.

[savageonwheels]

Car Spot: Ford Pantera

One of Lee Iacocca's Italian hookups is this week's car spot, the Ford Pantera.

Another one of Lee Iacocca’s Italian deals Ford, and Chrysler’s, Lee Iacocca loved doing hookups with Italian car companies Maserati and Fiat. This week’s car spot, a 1972 Ford Pantera I came across at the Cars & Guitars event put on by the Automobile Gallery in Green Bay. This was a spotless example. Developed by De Tomaso’s Alessandro, the Pantera was designed to appeal to markets on both…

[bird-in-the-space]

Echoes of the Unknown

You save Miko from a risky situation and end up losing your patience with her.

Warnings: violence, reader getting annoyed, Miko giving bad name ideas, killing a con, an outburst, some regrets, and making up.

Chapter 13

-------------------------------------

A few days have passed and you have started to get used to your new life. You worked on the hologram projector with Raf, making great progress on it. He taught you more tech stuff and even agreed to teach you a few cybertronian things. Miko started calling you two nerds when you were invested in your little project. When you were not working on the projector, you would be helping Ratchet in the sick bay. He showed you the ropes, and whenever he was done, you would help fix things or clean his tools.

Today, Emily had to go back home to check on things, so you were alone with the kids and the bots. It wasn’t too bad since you had time to get to know them better. 

With Ratchet’s permission to use his tools, you worked on making your prosthetic fingers. It was challenging but with the things you learned and the parts, you had an idea of how to create the joins and make it detachable as you doubted you could modify your own hand without causing any nerve damage. 

You adjusted the finger joints and the straps you used to attach the finger between your two main fingers. You placed the tool down and looked it over, testing its mobility and density. You then grabbed a box and tested how well it helped you hold it. 

“Hey, not bad,” Raf complimented as he watched from the side. 

“Yeah. I guess this makes holding things much easier now. Maybe I could try making a little finger as well,” you said. 

“Not a bad idea, then you five fingers again,” he said.

You then heard someone come from the entrance. It was Bulkhead as he came back from his drive with Miko. The energetic girl stepped out of the passenger seat, allowing the bot to transform into his robot form. 

“What’s up geeks? Got anything interesting going on?” she asked. 

“Nothing much. (Name) managed to make herself a new finger,” Raf said. 

“Cool. Hey, maybe you could make new weapons and stuff? Maybe you could make one of those wrist blades or brass knuckles,” she suggested, throwing punches in the air. “Oh! oh! maybe you could make a cannon to blast cons away,” she said. 

“I just made a new finger. I’m not a weapon engineer,” you shook your head. 

“Oh, come on. Have some fun little?” Miko pestered. 

“By the way, we should come up with a bot name for you,” she said. 

“What’s wrong with my current name?” you asked with a frown. 

“Nothing. It’s just it's a human name. You are a giant robot now. So how about you get a cool robot name!” Miko said.

You groaned as she had been at it for a few days now. It was constantly about being a cool robot and doing cybertronian stuff. You would be lying if you said that you didn’t find it a bit annoying by now. 

“How about… Skullcrusher?” 

“No,” you shook your head. 

“Mauveine,” 

“That’s a color,” you said. 

“Metallica,” she threw in 

“Isn’t that the name of that one metal band?” you frowned. 

“Oh, now I got it. Mirage,” she said. 

“I think I am going to stay with my current name,” you stated. 

“Oh, don’t be so boring,” Miko whined. 

“Sometimes boring is good enough. Deal with it,” you said, taking out your finger. 

A loud beeping came from the main computer. You looked over as Optimus and the other bots checked out what their computer found. 

“The cons are active,” Arcee said. 

“Could be a false alarm,” Bulkhead added. 

“Whatever it is. It is worth investigating. “ Optimus said. 

“Autobots. Transform and roll out,” he said as they opened the ground bridge. They transformed and drove into the green vortex. 

After the ground bridge closed, you tried to get back on your project, but then you noticed someone missing. 

“Where’s Miko?” you asked. 

Ratchet, Raf, and Jack looked around but the girl was nowhere to be seen. 

“She was just here a moment ago,” Jack said. 

You were then reminded of what Jack said about Miko joining the missions despite the dangers. She disappeared right after the bots left through the ground bridge. 

“You don’t think she went after the bots?” you asked, glancing toward the ground bridge. 

“Well, it would not be the first time,” Jack said. 

Ratchet groaned loudly before contacting Optimus and the other bots.

“Optimus. Miko disappeared right after you left. Did she follow you?” he asked. 

“Negative. We are currently engaging the decepticons,” Optimus said. 

“I have eyes on her. Miko! Get to cover!” Bulkhead yelled as you all heard blaster fire in the background. 

You felt worried for Miko’s sake. 

“Scrap! They sound too engaged to get Miko out of there,” Ratchet said. 

“What should we do?” Jack asked. 

You considered your options. Ratchet was pretty much needed at the base. Jack and Raf would be too at risk to go get her. The bots were engaging the enemy and it would be too risky just to wait and hope for the best. There was only one option. 

“I could go get her,” you stood up. 

“Absolutely not,” Ratchet said strictly. 

“I’m not gonna join the fight. I stay hidden, find Miko, and come back,” You explained. 

“Are you sure?” Raf asked. 

“We could wait here and hope nothing happens to her. Besides I’m a robot now, I have the least chance of getting hurt unlike Miko,” you answered. 

You all then looked at Ratchet. He groaned with a sigh. 

“Fine.” he opened the ground bridge. 

“But you better be quick and stay out of harm,” He said as you turned toward the ground bridge. 

“Be careful,” Raf said as you ran into the vortex. 

You jumped out of the ground bridge as it closed behind you. You quickly hid when you saw the bots fighting the cons. It was violent as punches and kicks were thrown at each other. You looked around for the girl. However, you couldn’t see her. 

“Bulkhead! Where’s Miko?!” you called out as he was the nearest. 

“I told her to hide over there!” he pointed at rocks before continuing the fight. 

You quickly sneaked toward the boulders where Miko should be and soon enough, saw her watching the fight. 

“Miko!” you called out. 

“Huh?” Miko looked toward you, but then one of those vehicons noticed her. Your eyes widened in panic. 

“Miko! Get down!” you yelled as you ran toward the vehicon and tackled him to the ground before he could grab the girl. Miko yelped then watched as you started wrestling with the con. 

The vehicon was stunned but struggled hard against you. You groaned as you tried to push him down. He then tried to shoot you with his blaster arm. You tried to push it away but when he fired, you were forced back to avoid getting shot. The vehicon then tried to get up. You tried to think something then remembered you shared a similar body, which meant you should have a blaster arm as well. 

“Come on…” you tried to think of your arm as a weapon, and then a click happened and your arm turned into a blaster. 

“(Name)!” Miko pointed at the vehicon as it prepared to shoot you. 

You aimed and a blast came out of your blaster arm. You were thrown back from the recoil, however, your shot struck the vehicon right in the core, causing it to fall and lay on the ground motionlessly with smoke rising out of it. 

You both stared at the dead con in stunned silence. Your arm turned back to normal and you released a heavy breath. 

“Dude! That was so cool!” Miko said beside you. You frowned and then grabbed her into your hands. 

You ran away from the battlefield, returning to the spot where you first arrived. 

“Ratchet! I got Miko! Bring us back!” you said through the com and he then opened the ground bridge again. You ran into the vortex, away from the battlefield. 

Back at the base, after the ground bridge closed behind you, you placed Miko back on her feet. 

“Are you okay?” Raf asked when he saw you rub your head. 

“I’m fine,” you uttered annoyed. 

“Dude! That was epic! You totally scrapped that con!” Miko said excitedly. 

“You are tougher than you look,” she said. 

You looked at her. “You got to be joking you could have gotten yourself killed!” You said. 

“Well, it’s a good thing you came. You make one awesome bot, and I got some sweet pictures” she said like what just happened wasn’t a big deal. Your patience finally ran out. You had enough of her antics. 

“Are you fucking shitting me right now?!” you snapped. 

“Oh oh,” Jack said, covering Raf’s ears. 

“We were on an active battlefield just now and all you cared about was getting some dumb photos? Do you think this is some kind of a game?” you asked with anger in your tone. 

“Relax. It’s alright now,” Miko said. 

“No! Miko! It’s not!” you stepped toward her, causing her to step back and look at you with a bewildered expression. 

“We could have gotten ourselves killed! I did not want to be there, but one more second, and you would have been a goner for good. No second chances. Like, come on Miko! That was an actual battle zone! You could have actually died there!” you yelled, pointing at the ground bridge from where you came. 

“I…I…” Miko stuttered under her words. 

“How about you actually think with your head once in a while instead of trying to get dumb photos?!” You asked. 

“Okay. Everyone calm down,” Ratchet tried to de-escalate as he stepped forward. 

“(Name). How about you go outside for a moment? Cool yourself down,” he said. 

“For the record, Miko. I find none of this cool. My human body is gone. I can never return to my human life, so how about you stop with the stupid name suggestions,” you marched out of the hangar while Miko looked after you with tears in her eyes. 

“That was… intense,” Jack said. 

“I… I didn’t mean to,” Miko sniffed. 

“Calm down, Miko. Give her some alone time. She’ll come around eventually,” Ratchet said before returning to the monitors. 

Miko dried her eyes and quietly walked to the yellow couch where she continued to sit in silence. Raf and Jack looked at her with worry but did not know if they should try to comfort her after that outburst. 

The bots soon returned to the base after dealing with the cons. Bulkhead quickly walked over to Miko after seeing her. 

“Miko. Are you alright? You didn’t get hurt, now did ya?” he asked. 

“I’m fine,” Miko uttered. Bulkhead immediately noticed the sullen look and tone in her voice. 

“Hey, Miko. What’s wrong? Did something happen?” he asked. 

“Let’s just say… when (Name) brought Miko back, she kinda lost her patience and had an outburst,” Raf explained. 

“Yeah, she did not like the experience and apparently there was a con she had to scrap to save Miko,” Jack said. "I guess she also got annoyed about being a bot," he added.  

“I didn’t mean to make her that upset,” Miko exclaimed. 

Bumblebee beeped something. 

“Understand that (Name) did not become this out of her choice and that her condition is irreversible, which means she can never return to the life she once knew,” Optimus said. 

“Meaning she can’t go home or do human things anymore,” Jack said. 

“Maybe she actually misses being a human,” Raf added. 

“Whatever the case, perhaps giving each other time to think will help you both resolve this issue,” Optimus stated. 

Arcee looked toward Miko before her thoughts came to you. 

At the top of the base, you were sitting at the edge of the cliff, gazing at the view after releasing a few angry tears and thinking the whole thing through. You felt regretful for cursing out on Miko like that. 

“Hey,” 

You looked behind you and saw Arcee walking toward you. 

“Ugh… hey,” you replied, slightly awkwardly.

“I heard you had a blowout with Miko after bringing her back,” she said. 

“Yeah. I lost my patience. I shouldn’t have done that,” you sighed, holding your knee as your other feet hung from the edge. 

“No. I get it. Miko does tend to get herself into dangerous situations,” Arcee said as she sat down beside you. 

“Yeah, but I still shouldn't have blown up on her like that. God. I’m so stupid. I said some pretty nasty stuff to her, “ you said. 

“Don’t beat yourself over that. Miko is just how she is even though she could be more considerate of her own safety, and it’s completely normal to feel the way you did after saving her from a con,” Arcee comforted.  

“I really didn’t think much. When I saw that con trying to grab her, I just ran and tackled the con to the ground,” you explained. 

“It was a close call and her being so careless about it kinda pissed me off,” you said. “Now she probably won’t talk to me after that whole episode,” You uttered sadly. 

“Don’t overthink it. Everyone can get frustrated at times and need to blow up steam. And Miko is just a kid. Kids tend to do reckless things without considering the consequences,” Arcee said. “I doubt she thinks badly of you. You came to make sure she would come back safely and fought a con. Bulkhead already appreciates you for it,” she said. 

You considered her words. “You’re right. But… I think I still need to make up to her in a way,” you said. 

Arcee smiled with a nod. “ You know, you might look like a con, but you’re definitely not one from the inside,” 

You chuckled as you two then gazed at the view before you. 

Back inside the base, you walked up to Miko as she was sketching on the couch. 

“Miko,” you said, catching her attention. 

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry for my outburst earlier. The thing is I’m scared by this whole alien war thing, and I was really worried when that con nearly got you,” you said. 

“I’m sorry too. I know I can get a bit ahead of myself. Thanks for coming to my rescue,” she said. 

“It’s fine. Also… I kinda miss being a human. As a robot, there are now some things I can’t do anymore. Like I can no longer eat my favorite food. I can’t drink any of my favorite drinks, not even something as bland as water. I can’t run my fingers through my hair, and I can barely feel the wind on my face. I can’t even take casual walks outside to clear my head. Those seem like small things, but after a long time, you can’t help but grow to miss them,” you explained. 

 “I— didn’t really think of it that way. I can’t imagine myself never being able to drink my favorite soda again, “ Miko said thoughtfully. 

“I know right? Energon doesn’t really taste much and now it’s the only thing I need to survive. Being a robot might have been cool if it was temporal. However, I’m stuck like this forever,” you said. 

“(Name). I’m sorry,” Miko said. 

“No. it’s okay. There are some positive perks in being a robot,” you said. 

“Like what?” she said curiously. 

“You do not need to worry about getting a driver’s license. You can pretty much now climb and jump from any high places that would have gravely injured you as a human. And… well, you no longer suffer from periods,” you said. 

“Oh yeah, you’re right,” Miko grinned. 

“Periods?” Bulkhead looked confused. 

“What I wanna say is… well… don’t stop being you, but maybe be a bit more considerate of your safety. I’m pretty sure none of us here wants to see you get hurt,” you said. 

“No promises,” Miko teased, making you tilt your head at her. “But I promise to try,” she said. 

You smiled and then glanced at her book, having an idea. 

“You know, Emily has been talking about getting a new look for me. Do you wanna help us out on that?” you asked. 

“Absolutely! I can come up with the most rad colors ever,” Miko said, taking out her pencil and began drawing. She rambled ideas while you just listened, nodding along as she came up with interesting color design ideas. 

[okasuka]

Damian Wayne x Y/N?

disclaimer! : this y/n is female and is given their own features because i write these fanfictions for myself!

——————————————————————————

Word count: 3600 words? i think….. did NOT count ts —————

Part 1: The Mission’s End

The Batmobile screeched into the Batcave, its engines rumbling as the vehicle ground to a halt. Damian Wayne, fifteen and already a seasoned fighter, stumbled out of the passenger side, holding his hand over a jagged cut slashed across his torso. His green eyes darted to his father, Bruce Wayne, who exited the driver’s side with a grimace.

“You should have been more careful,” Bruce said, his voice firm but tinged with concern. “That strike was avoidable.”

“Tt,” Damian scoffed, though his usual arrogance was dulled by the pain rippling through his body. “The mission was a success, Father. The cut is superficial.”

Bruce didn’t argue, but his sharp glance said otherwise. Damian was pale, his movements stiffer than usual, and the blood seeping through his suit wasn’t exactly “superficial.”

From the other side of the Batcave, Y/N stood, her hands on her hips as she surveyed them both. Y/N was a unique fixture in the Bat-family—a mix of Oracle and Alfred, though just as stubborn and fierce as Damian. Her tan skin gleamed under the cave’s harsh lighting, her short, wavy hair catching the fluorescent glow. The red streak in her hair and the faint scars on her cheek gave her an edge that matched her sharp tongue.

“You’re late,” she said bluntly, striding toward them. Her eyes swept over Bruce first, then Damian. Her gaze landed on the bloodstain blooming on Damian’s suit. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing,” Damian said, attempting to brush past her. He didn’t get far before Y/N placed a firm hand on his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

“You’re bleeding,” she shot back, her voice steely. “I don’t care how much of a ninja assassin prodigy you think you are, Damian. Sit. Down.”

Bruce let out a low chuckle as he walked toward the Bat-computer. “I’ll leave him in your hands, Y/N. He’s all yours.”

“Of course you will,” Y/N muttered under her breath, already steering Damian toward the med bay corner of the Batcave. “Sit.”

Damian sat reluctantly, his arms crossed over his chest. “This is unnecessary.”

Y/N rolled her eyes as she grabbed the med kit. “Oh sure, because bleeding out in the middle of the Batcave is totally your idea of a good time.”

Part 2: Close Quarters

Y/N returned with scissors, gloves, and antiseptics in hand. Damian raised an eyebrow at her. “I don’t need—”

“Shirt off,” she interrupted, her tone leaving no room for argument. When he hesitated, she arched a brow. “Do you want me to stitch you up or not?”

“Tt,” Damian muttered again, though a faint flush crept up his neck as he slowly pulled at the zipper of his suit. He was clearly struggling, his movements jerky and awkward, so Y/N sighed in exasperation.

“Oh, for crying out loud.” She stepped forward, pushing his hands away. “Hold still.”

She carefully cut the fabric of his suit, peeling back the top half to reveal his torso. The wound was deep, a jagged slash running diagonally across his toned chest, and Y/N’s breath hitched for a split second. She quickly schooled her features into professionalism, refusing to let her mind wander.

Damian, however, wasn’t faring as well. Her closeness—her sharp, focused gaze and steady hands—was doing something to his already fluttering nerves. He shifted slightly in his seat.

“Stop moving,” Y/N scolded, holding his shoulder steady. “You’re making this harder.”

“I’m not—”

“You are,” she cut him off, glaring at him. “Sit still, Damian.”

He grumbled under his breath but obeyed, his jaw tight. As Y/N began cleaning the wound, his body tensed, and he flinched slightly at the sting of the antiseptic.

“Relax,” she said, her voice softer now. “It’ll hurt more if you keep squirming.”

Damian clenched his fists, trying to focus on anything but the way her fingers brushed against his skin as she worked. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Y/N smirked, not bothering to look up. “You’re right. Nothing I love more than patching up stubborn boys who can’t sit still.”

“I’m not stubborn,” Damian shot back.

“Right. And I’m the Queen of England.”

Part 3: Dick’s Intervention

From across the cave, a new voice chimed in. “Aw, isn’t this adorable?” Dick Grayson, Nightwing himself, leaned against a nearby console, a wide grin plastered across his face. “Little D getting all flustered.”

Damian’s head snapped toward his older brother. “I am not flustered!”

Y/N, oblivious to the tension, kept working, her hands steady as she began threading a needle. “Hold still,” she murmured, her focus entirely on her task. “I’m almost done.”

Dick’s grin widened. “You know, Y/N, Damian here has quite the—”

“Finish that sentence, Grayson, and I’ll—” Damian’s threat was cut off by a sharp intake of breath as Y/N pressed her fingers against his side to steady him. His head whipped back toward her. “Careful!”

“I am being careful,” Y/N said, narrowing her eyes at him. “Maybe if you stopped moving, this would be over by now.”

Dick chuckled. “You two really are something.”

“Grayson,” Damian growled, his tone dangerous.

But Dick wasn’t deterred. He sauntered over and, with a mischievous glint in his eye, nudged Y/N—hard enough that she stumbled forward, landing squarely in Damian’s lap.

“Dick!” Y/N yelped, her cheeks burning as she quickly tried to push herself off.

“Grayson!” Damian snarled, his face as red as the Robin insignia on his suit. He instinctively grabbed Y/N’s waist to steady her, though he immediately regretted it when his brain short-circuited at the contact.

“Oops,” Dick said, feigning innocence. “My bad.”

Part 4: The Lock-In Scheme

“Get. Off. Me,” Damian hissed through gritted teeth, his face burning.

“I’m trying!” Y/N snapped, just as flustered, struggling to untangle herself. Damian’s hands dropped away as if burned, but her movement only made the situation worse. She ended up leaning even closer, her breath brushing against his neck.

“Relax, guys,” Dick said, casually leaning against the wall, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “You two look cozy.”

“Grayson!” Damian’s voice was sharp enough to cut steel. “If you don’t leave this instant, I’ll—”

“Let me guess: end my life in seventy-five creative ways?” Dick’s smirk widened. “I’m shaking.”

Y/N finally pushed herself off Damian’s lap, standing up so fast she nearly knocked over the chair he was sitting in. “You’re such a jerk, Dick!” she said, glaring at him.

“Me?!” Dick put a hand over his heart, mock-offended. “I’m just trying to help!”

Damian shot to his feet, ignoring the sharp pull of the stitches Y/N had just finished. “You call that helping?” He advanced on his brother, his fists clenched, but Y/N caught his arm.

“Damian! You’re going to rip your stitches!”

Dick saw his opening. “You know, you’re so good at taking care of him, Y/N. Maybe you should be his full-time nurse.” He tapped his chin, feigning thought. “Actually, I know the perfect place for that!”

Before either of them could ask what he meant, Dick was gone in a blur of blue and black. The sound of a distant door slamming shut echoed through the Batcave.

“What did he—” Y/N started, but she didn’t get to finish.

The door to Damian’s room slid shut, and a telltale click of the lock echoed ominously.

Part 5: Trapped

Damian’s expression darkened. “He wouldn’t dare—”

Y/N moved toward the door and yanked at the handle. It didn’t budge. She turned back to Damian, her hands on her hips. “He did.”

“Dick Grayson,” Damian growled, pacing like a caged tiger. “I’ll make him regret this.”

Y/N, however, was less concerned with revenge and more with the fact that they were locked in. “Well, this is just fantastic,” she muttered, running a hand through her hair. “We’re stuck in your room, Damian.”

He froze mid-step, realizing the full scope of the situation. His face turned redder than before. “This is… unacceptable.”

“You’re telling me,” Y/N said, leaning against the wall. She stared at the ceiling, clearly trying to process the absurdity of the situation. “I can’t believe I’m locked in with you of all people.”

“Excuse me?” Damian shot her a glare. “You make it sound like a punishment.”

“Because it is,” she shot back, though the teasing glint in her eye softened the blow.

Damian crossed his arms over his chest, turning his back to her. “Tt. You should consider yourself lucky to be in the company of someone with my skills and intellect.”

“Oh, yeah, real lucky,” Y/N said dryly. “Especially with how good you are at holding still when someone’s trying to help you.”

Damian stiffened, his hands clenching at his sides. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope.”

They lapsed into an awkward silence. Damian sat on the edge of his bed, trying not to focus on the fact that Y/N was standing mere feet away in his personal space. Y/N, meanwhile, leaned against the wall, her arms crossed, clearly trying to act casual.

Part 6: Midnight Conversations

As the hours ticked by, the tension began to ease—though neither of them would admit it.

“I’ll bet Dick’s sitting out there laughing his head off,” Y/N muttered, breaking the silence.

“No doubt,” Damian replied. He stared at the door, his jaw tight. “He’s insufferable.”

“At least we agree on that,” Y/N said with a small smile. “So… how long do you think he’s going to keep us in here?”

“Knowing him? All night.”

Y/N sighed, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. “Great. Just great.”

Damian glanced at her, hesitating. After a moment, he stood and grabbed the blanket off his bed, tossing it toward her. “You’ll catch a cold sitting on the floor.”

She caught the blanket, raising an eyebrow. “Did Damian Wayne just do something… nice?”

“Tt. Don’t make me regret it.”

Y/N smirked but didn’t press further. She wrapped the blanket around herself, watching as Damian sat back down, his back straight as a board. “You know, you don’t have to sit there like you’re on guard duty.”

“I’m comfortable,” he said stiffly.

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you tolerate me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. “What choice do I have? You’re always getting yourself hurt.”

“You act like that’s intentional.”

“Sometimes I wonder,” she said, shaking her head. “You don’t have to prove yourself all the time, you know.”

Damian frowned, her words striking a nerve. “You think that’s what I’m doing?”

Y/N shrugged, her tone softer now. “I don’t know. I just… I think you push yourself too hard sometimes. You don’t have to carry the world on your shoulders, Damian.”

He didn’t respond right away. For once, his usual retorts and sharp comebacks were absent. Instead, he looked at her, his expression unreadable. “You sound like Father.”

“Well, maybe he’s right,” Y/N said, her voice light but sincere. “Sometimes.”

Damian huffed but didn’t argue. Another silence fell, though this one felt less strained.

Part 7: Morning After

Y/N woke up to the sound of voices outside the door. She blinked, disoriented, and realized she was still wrapped in the blanket Damian had given her. She glanced over and saw him sitting on the floor by the bed, his head resting against the wall, fast asleep.

The door slid open, and Dick poked his head inside. “Aw, look at you two.”

“Grayson,” Damian snapped, instantly awake and on his feet. “Open the door sooner next time.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Dick smirked, glancing at Y/N, who was rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Did you two have a nice bonding experience?”

“Shut up,” Damian muttered, his cheeks tinged pink.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You’re the worst, Dick.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dick said, waving her off. “Breakfast is ready. Come on.”

As they walked into the kitchen, Bruce gave them both a long, assessing look. “Did something happen?”

“No,” Damian said quickly.

“Absolutely not,” Y/N added, though the slight redness in both their faces said otherwise.

Tim, sitting at the table with a cup of coffee, smirked. “You two look… disheveled.”

“Must’ve been a wild night,” Dick chimed in, grinning.

Damian’s glare could’ve melted steel. “Say one more word, Grayson—”

“Or what? You’ll lock me in a room with someone I like? Oh, wait, that already happened.”

“Grayson!”

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I hate all of you.”

Dick and Tim just laughed, and even Bruce’s lips twitched in amusement. Damian, meanwhile, was already plotting his revenge.

Part 8: Kitchen Duty

The late breakfast had been an eventful affair. Between Tim and Dick’s relentless teasing, Damian’s smoldering glares, and Bruce’s subtle but knowing glances, Y/N felt like she’d been thrust into the middle of a sitcom. She was almost relieved when Alfred entered the kitchen and promptly handed out post-meal assignments.

“Young Master Damian and Miss Y/N,” Alfred began, his calm tone betraying the glint of amusement in his eyes. “The dishes are yours to manage today.”

“What?!” Damian’s voice rose an octave, his indignation immediate. “Why me?”

Alfred arched a brow. “Perhaps as penance for the… incident last evening.”

Dick snorted into his coffee.

Damian’s jaw clenched. “I wasn’t the one who locked us in a room.”

“No,” Alfred agreed, “but you did fail to prevent your brother from doing so. A team effort, as it were.” His eyes slid to Y/N, who looked torn between sympathy and amusement. “You, Miss Y/N, may consider this a reward for successfully patching him up.”

“Some reward,” Y/N muttered under her breath. “Fine. Come on, Damian.”

“Tt.” Damian rose from the table with the enthusiasm of someone walking to the gallows. He shot a final glare at Dick, who grinned innocently, before following Y/N to the sink.

Part 9: Close Quarters

The kitchen had fallen quiet except for the clinking of dishes and the sound of running water. Y/N was leaned over the sink, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing a stubborn plate while Damian dried dishes next to her, his movements precise and sharp. He looked at the plate she was working on and frowned.

“You missed a spot.”

Y/N paused, giving him a side-eye glance. “Do you want to switch? No? Then hush.”

“I’m merely pointing out your inefficiency,” Damian replied, his tone smug.

“Oh, I’ll show you inefficiency,” Y/N muttered, scrubbing harder.

From the kitchen table, Dick, Tim, and Bruce were ostensibly minding their own business, though Dick kept sneaking glances toward the pair by the sink, an unmistakable twinkle in his eye. Tim, catching on to the brewing mischief, leaned over to whisper something to Dick, who covered his mouth to muffle his laughter.

“Care to share with the class?” Y/N called over her shoulder, catching sight of their poorly disguised giggles.

“Nope, nothing to see here!” Dick replied, waving a hand dismissively.

“Sure,” Y/N said, rolling her eyes. “They’re definitely up to something.”

“Tt. As always,” Damian grumbled, wiping down a glass.

Y/N smirked, shifting slightly to bump his shoulder. “Oh, relax. They’re harmless.”

“Harmless is not how I’d describe them.”

As if on cue, Tim suddenly rose from the table and meandered toward the sink with a glass in hand. His expression was the picture of innocence as he slid in beside Damian, placing the glass down.

“Forgot this one,” Tim said lightly, but then his elbow “accidentally” nudged Damian’s side.

The impact sent Damian stumbling forward, right into Y/N, who was still leaning over the sink.

Part 10: Tension at the Sink

“Tim!” Damian growled as he collided with Y/N’s back.

Y/N let out a startled yelp, bracing herself against the counter as Damian’s chest pressed against her, his hands instinctively gripping her waist to steady himself. The warmth of his touch and the proximity sent a jolt through both of them.

“Damian!” Y/N exclaimed, her voice her voice rising in a mix of shock and exasperation. “What are you doing?”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Damian snapped, his voice higher than usual as he scrambled to back away. Unfortunately, the slippery tile and the awkward angle only made things worse. He stumbled again, his grip tightening on her waist for balance.

From the table, Dick burst into laughter so loud it echoed through the kitchen. “Oh my God, this is amazing,” he choked out between wheezes. “Keep going, Tim! You’re a genius!”

Tim, casually leaning against the counter, smirked as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “Oops. My bad, Dami. Didn’t see you there.”

“You did that on purpose!” Damian growled, finally managing to regain his balance and step back. His hands lingered on Y/N’s waist for half a second too long before he quickly pulled them away, his face turning beet red.

“I swear,” Y/N muttered, turning to face him, her cheeks just as flushed. “Are you trying to make this harder?”

Damian glared at her, though his expression was more flustered than angry. “I wasn’t trying to—Tim pushed me!”

“Oh, so it’s Tim’s fault that you’re clumsy?” Y/N shot back, crossing her arms.

“I am not clumsy!” Damian bristled. “I was perfectly fine until—”

“Until you fell all over me?”

“I did not fall all over you!”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Y/N quipped, her lips twitching in a suppressed grin.

“Are you two done?” Bruce’s deep voice cut through the bickering like a knife. He had been watching the whole scene unfold with a raised eyebrow, his piercing gaze moving from Damian to Y/N and back again. “Do I need to intervene?”

Damian snapped his mouth shut, his embarrassment now palpable. Y/N rubbed the back of her neck, suddenly feeling very aware of the attention on them.

“We’re fine,” Y/N said quickly, shooting Damian a look that said, Don’t start.

Bruce’s eyebrow remained arched. “Am I missing something here?”

“No,” Damian said flatly, his voice tight.

Dick, however, was still doubled over with laughter. “You’re missing everything, B!” he managed between gasps. “Seriously, this is pure gold. You should’ve seen the way Damian just—”

“Grayson!” Damian snapped, his face somehow growing even redder. “Say another word, and I will personally—”

“Destroy me in seventy-five creative ways?” Dick finished for him, wiping a tear from his eye. “Yeah, yeah, we’ve heard it before.”

Tim, still smirking, pushed himself off the counter. “Guess I’ll leave you two lovebirds to finish the dishes. Don’t let us distract you.”

“Lovebirds?” Y/N choked, her voice jumping an octave. “Are you kidding me?!”

“Out,” Damian growled, pointing toward the door. “Both of you. Out. Now.”

Tim and Dick exchanged amused looks but wisely retreated, though Dick couldn’t resist one final jab as he walked away. “Hey, Damian, next time, maybe just ask her to hold your hand instead of falling on her.”

“Grayson!”

Part 11: Damage Control

As the door swung shut, an awkward silence settled over the kitchen. Damian stood rigid, his jaw clenched and his fists balled at his sides. Y/N glanced at him, then back at the sink, trying to decide whether to address the elephant in the room or pretend it never happened.

“So…” she said finally, breaking the tension. “That was… something.”

Damian’s eyes snapped to hers, his expression guarded. “I told you—it wasn’t my fault.”

“I know,” Y/N said, her tone gentler now. “It’s not like I think you did it on purpose, Damian.”

He relaxed slightly but still looked uncomfortable. “Tt. They’re insufferable.”

Y/N chuckled softly, grabbing another plate to scrub. “That’s just how they are. You get used to it.”

“I don’t see how.”

“You’ve lived with them for years,” she pointed out. “How have you not figured it out by now?”

Damian didn’t answer right away. Instead, he picked up a clean dish towel and resumed drying the plates, his movements stiff and deliberate. “They take every opportunity to humiliate me,” he muttered.

“It’s not humiliation,” Y/N said, glancing at him with a small smile. “It’s teasing. There’s a difference.”

“Not to me,” Damian replied, frowning. After a beat, he added, almost grudgingly, “They don’t tease you like that.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Oh, they definitely do. Trust me. You just don’t notice because they save their best material for you.”

“That’s hardly comforting.”

“Well,” Y/N said, shrugging, “look on the bright side: at least they didn’t lock us in a room again.”

Damian gave her a sidelong glance, the corner of his mouth twitching upward despite himself. “Small mercies.”

They worked in relative silence for a few minutes, the tension easing as the initial awkwardness faded. Y/N couldn’t help but notice, though, that Damian was unusually quiet, his usual sharp remarks replaced with thoughtful pauses.

“Something on your mind?” she asked finally.

Damian hesitated, his hands tightening around the dish towel. “You shouldn’t let them treat you like that.”

“Like what?” Y/N tilted her head, genuinely curious.

“Like you’re some… joke,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You’re better than that.”

Y/N blinked, surprised by the sudden sincerity in his tone. “Damian, they’re not treating me like a joke. They’re just being… well, them. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is to me,” he said, meeting her eyes. There was something vulnerable in his expression, something Y/N wasn’t used to seeing from him.

For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. Then she smiled, nudging his shoulder gently. “Thanks, Damian. But I can handle myself, okay? You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Tt.” He looked away, his cheeks tinged pink. “I’m not worried.”

“Of course you’re not.”

“I’m not.”

“Sure.”

“I’m not, Y/N!”

“Okay, okay!” she said, laughing. “Whatever you say, Damian.”

He grumbled something under his breath, but the faintest smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Part 12: Bruce’s Watchful Eye

As they finished the last of the dishes, the kitchen door swung open, and Bruce stepped inside. He surveyed the scene, his expression unreadable as always.

“You’re still in one piece,” he said, his tone dry. “That’s a relief.”

“Barely,” Y/N muttered, sending Damian a teasing glance. He scowled but didn’t respond.

Bruce’s eyes lingered on the two of them for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. “Is there anything I should know about?”

“No!” Damian and Y/N said in unison, both of their voices slightly too loud.

Bruce raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Hm.”

From the hallway, Dick’s voice rang out: “Don’t worry, B! I’ll fill you in later!”

“Grayson!” Damian bellowed, storming toward the door. “You will regret this!”

Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t even want to know.”

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head as she dried her hands. “Welcome to the family, right?”

Bruce gave her a long look, then nodded. “You’re adjusting faster than most.”

“Thanks… I think?”

As Damian stormed out after Dick, yelling threats that grew increasingly elaborate, Y/N couldn’t help but laugh. Bruce watched her for a moment longer before following his youngest son, leaving her alone in the now-quiet kitchen.

“Well,” Y/N said to herself, tossing the dish towel onto the counter. “That was fun.”

Part 13: The Schemes Begin

After the morning’s kitchen fiasco, Y/N and Damian tried their best to avoid Dick and Tim for the rest of the day. Unfortunately for them, the two older brothers seemed to have made it their mission to meddle.

Event #1: The “Accidental” Training Partner Switch

Y/N had just stepped into the Batcave to find Bruce organizing the schedule for the day. Training was up next, and she was eager to let off some steam after the morning’s events.

“I’ll spar with Y/N,” Damian announced as he entered, his usual confidence radiating from every step. “Father, you can work with Grayson.”

“I think it’ll be the other way around today,” Bruce replied, glancing at Dick. “Grayson, you’re with Y/N. Damian, you’re with me.”

Y/N’s shoulders sagged slightly, but she gave Damian a small, teasing smile. “Guess you’re stuck with Bruce today.”

“I don’t need to be ‘stuck’ with anyone,” Damian grumbled, glaring at his father. “My skills surpass all of yours.”

Dick, leaning against the wall, grinned. “Wow, big talk, Dami. But, uh… I think there’s been a last-minute change.”

Without warning, Tim appeared behind Bruce, subtly swapping two names on the training roster projected on the Batcomputer. The screen now read:

Group A: Damian & Y/N

Group B: Bruce & Dick

“Hmm,” Bruce murmured, raising a brow. “I don’t recall changing—”

“Too late now!” Dick interrupted, grabbing a training staff and twirling it dramatically. “Let’s go, B!”

“Fine,” Bruce relented, though his suspicious glance lingered on Tim for a beat before he followed Dick to the mats.

Y/N turned to Damian, trying not to notice the way his green eyes lit up at the new pairing. “Looks like we’re sparring after all.”

“Tt.” He shrugged, but the slight smirk tugging at his lips betrayed his satisfaction.

The Sparring Mishap

As Y/N and Damian faced off, the Batcave rang with the clang of training staffs. Their movements were fast and precise, Damian’s skill clear as he pushed Y/N to her limits. But she held her ground, forcing him to block a particularly clever strike.

“You’re improving,” Damian admitted grudgingly, stepping back to reassess.

“Thanks,” Y/N replied, panting slightly. “Still not letting you win.”

“As if you could.” He lunged forward, aiming for her side.

Y/N sidestepped, narrowly dodging, but as she moved, she caught a glimpse of Dick and Tim hovering near the edge of the mats, whispering and grinning.

“Don’t get distracted,” Damian warned, striking again. This time, Y/N’s foot slipped.

With lightning-fast reflexes, Damian caught her wrist, pulling her back to keep her from falling. Unfortunately, the momentum carried them both downward. Damian landed first, flat on his back, with Y/N sprawled across his chest.

“Um,” Y/N mumbled, blinking at him. Her face hovered inches above his, and her heart hammered at the proximity. “Sorry.”

“Watch where you’re going next time,” Damian muttered, though his voice was softer than usual. His hands rested on her waist, steadying her, but he quickly dropped them like she’d burned him. His cheeks were bright red.

Before either of them could move, Dick’s voice echoed across the Batcave. “You two done cuddling yet?”

Y/N scrambled off Damian so fast she nearly tripped again. Damian stood more slowly, his glare searing. “Grayson…”

“Careful, Damian,” Tim teased, grinning. “That glare might set something on fire.”

“Out. Now,” Damian snapped, pointing to the exit. “Before I—”

“Destroy us in seventy-five creative ways?” Dick finished, laughing. “Yeah, yeah. See you at lunch, lovebirds!”

The two older brothers disappeared, their laughter echoing behind them.

Event #2: The “Mysterious” Lunch Seating Plan

When lunch rolled around, Y/N wasn’t surprised to find Dick and Tim had more antics up their sleeves.

“Grab a seat, Y/N!” Dick called as she entered the dining room. She looked around, only to find that every chair at the large table was occupied—except one. And it was right next to Damian.

She hesitated, glancing at Damian, who was studiously avoiding her gaze. Tim smirked from his seat beside Bruce, clearly pleased with his handiwork.

“Is there a problem?” Bruce asked, glancing between Y/N and the brothers.

“Nope,” Y/N said quickly, taking the open seat. She tried to ignore the way Damian stiffened slightly as she sat down, his shoulders tense.

Lunch began uneventfully, but soon, Tim and Dick’s efforts became glaringly obvious.

“Hey, Y/N,” Tim said casually, passing her the breadbasket. “Could you hand this to Damian?”

Y/N gave him a suspicious look but complied, turning to offer the basket to Damian. Their hands brushed as he took it, and Y/N could practically feel the heat radiating from his face.

“Thanks,” he muttered, refusing to meet her eyes.

“No problem,” Y/N replied, equally flustered.

From across the table, Dick leaned back in his chair, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Aw, look at you two sharing. So cute.”

Damian’s grip on the breadbasket tightened. “Grayson, I will—”

“Destroy me in seventy-five creative ways?” Dick interrupted with a smirk. “You’ve really gotta mix it up, Damian. That one’s getting old.”

Bruce cleared his throat, giving Dick and Tim a warning look. “Enough.”

“Right, sorry,” Tim said innocently, though the mischievous glint in his eye remained. “We wouldn’t want to embarrass Damian too much.”

Y/N shot Damian a sympathetic glance, but his gaze was fixed on his plate, his jaw clenched as if he was using all his willpower not to throw something at his brothers. She decided to change the subject.

“So, uh, Bruce,” Y/N started, hoping to steer the conversation into less dangerous waters, “any plans for patrol tonight?”

Bruce looked at her, his expression softening. “We’ll rotate the teams. You’re with Tim tonight.”

“Lucky me,” Tim quipped, earning a glare from Y/N.

“What about me?” Damian asked, his tone a little sharper than usual.

“You’re with me,” Bruce replied. “I need to review your new tactics.”

Damian sighed, clearly disappointed. Y/N couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt at how eager he’d seemed to spend more time with her, even if he didn’t say it outright.

Event #3: The Library Ambush

Later that afternoon, Y/N retreated to the Wayne Manor library for some peace and quiet. She settled into one of the plush chairs with a book, relishing the calm after the chaotic morning.

It didn’t last long.

Dick appeared in the doorway, holding a stack of books he definitely had no intention of reading. “Oh, hey, Y/N. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Totally.”

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, not waiting for an answer before plopping into the chair across from her.

“What do you want, Dick?” Y/N asked, closing her book with a sigh.

“Oh, nothing,” he said, feigning nonchalance. “Just thought I’d keep you company.”

Before Y/N could respond, Damian entered the library, his expression a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. “What are you doing here, Grayson?”

“Same as you, apparently,” Dick replied with a grin. “Looking for Y/N.”

Damian froze, his eyes darting to Y/N, who shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t invite him.”

Dick leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “You know, this is a cozy little setup. Just the two of you, in the quiet, surrounded by books… very romantic.”

“Grayson, leave,” Damian snapped, his ears turning pink.

“Oh, fine,” Dick said, standing up and heading for the door. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.”

“Stop calling us that!” Y/N and Damian shouted in unison, their voices echoing through the library.

Dick’s laughter faded as he disappeared down the hallway. Y/N sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Does he ever let up?”

“No,” Damian muttered, sitting in the chair Dick had vacated. He looked at her for a moment, his usual bravado giving way to something softer. “I’m sorry about him.”

“It’s not your fault,” Y/N said, offering a small smile. “Besides, it’s not that bad.”

Damian frowned. “You don’t find it annoying?”

“Well, yeah,” Y/N admitted, “but I think they mean well. In their own twisted, obnoxious way.”

Damian huffed, crossing his arms. “They’re insufferable.”

“True,” Y/N agreed, chuckling. “But at least they make things interesting.”

Damian’s lips quirked upward, almost involuntarily. “I suppose.”

Event #4: The Fall That Changed Everything

As the day wore on, the teasing continued. Dick and Tim found every excuse to throw Damian and Y/N together, from conveniently leaving them alone in the Batcave to assigning them tasks that required close collaboration.

By evening, Damian was at his wit’s end. Y/N, though amused, was starting to feel just as exasperated.

“Do they ever get tired?” Y/N asked as she and Damian worked side by side to sort through some supplies in the Batcave.

“No,” Damian said flatly. “They thrive on chaos.”

Y/N chuckled. “Sounds about right.”

They worked in companionable silence for a while until, predictably, chaos struck again.

Dick and Tim strolled into the Batcave, whispering conspiratorially. Y/N didn’t notice at first—she was too busy organizing medical supplies on a high shelf—but Damian’s glare followed the pair as they “casually” positioned themselves nearby.

“Don’t you two have anything better to do?” Damian asked, his tone sharp.

“Nope,” Tim replied cheerfully.

“Absolutely not,” Dick added with a grin.

Y/N sighed, balancing on her tiptoes to reach the last box. “You’re not even subtle anymore.”

“Oh, subtlety is overrated,” Dick said, waving a hand. “Besides, we’re just here to… supervise.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed. “Supervise what?”

Tim smirked. “Oh, you’ll see.”

Before Damian could fire back, Y/N stretched a little too far, the box in her hands wobbling dangerously. “Oh, no—!”

Damian moved on instinct. “Y/N, wait—”

The box tipped, Y/N lost her balance, and suddenly the world tilted as she tumbled backward. Damian caught her just in time, his arms wrapping around her as they both went down in a heap.

Unfortunately, their landing wasn’t as graceful as Damian might have hoped. He ended up flat on his back—again—with Y/N sprawled across him, her hands braced against his chest.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Their faces were inches apart, their breaths mingling as the shock of the fall faded. Y/N’s cheeks flushed, and Damian’s heart thundered in his chest. He knew he should say something—anything—but his mind had gone blank.

“Uh…” Y/N finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Sorry?”

“Stop apologizing,” Damian muttered, his voice low and a little rough. His hands rested on her waist, steadying her, and he could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her shirt. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Y/N opened her mouth to respond, but the words died as her gaze flicked down to his lips—completely unintentionally, of course. She immediately looked away, her cheeks burning, but not before Damian noticed.

His breath hitched. For once, his sharp tongue failed him, and all he could do was stare up at her, his usually guarded expression softening.

“Are you two going to kiss or just keep staring at each other?” Dick’s voice rang out, loud and teasing.

Y/N and Damian jolted apart like they’d been electrocuted. Y/N scrambled to her feet, her face a deep shade of red. Damian followed, brushing himself off with a scowl.

“Grayson!” Damian barked, his voice cracking slightly. “Get out!”

Dick grinned, completely unbothered. “Not until you admit I’m the best wingman ever.”

“You’re the worst,” Damian snapped, his fists clenched.

Tim, who had been recording the whole thing on his phone, chimed in. “I don’t know, Dami. That looked like progress to me.”

“Give me that,” Damian growled, lunging for the phone.

Tim dodged easily, laughing as he bolted for the stairs. “You’re welcome!”

“Come back here, Drake!”

As Damian chased Tim out of the Batcave, Dick turned to Y/N, his grin widening. “So… how was it?”

“How was what?” Y/N asked, crossing her arms in an attempt to hide how flustered she was.

“The moment,” Dick said, waggling his eyebrows. “You know, the romantic tension, the accidental tumble, the sparks—”

“There were no sparks!” Y/N interrupted, though her voice lacked conviction.

Dick raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because from where I was standing, it looked like a scene straight out of a rom-com.”

“You’re insufferable,” Y/N muttered, brushing past him. “I’m going to find Damian before he murders Tim.”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t like it!” Dick called after her, his laughter echoing through the Batcave.

The Aftermath

Y/N found Damian in the library, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. He stopped when he saw her, his expression a mix of embarrassment and frustration.

“Did you catch him?” Y/N asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“No,” Damian grumbled, raking a hand through his hair. “He locked himself in the panic room.”

Y/N snorted. “Smart move.”

Damian sighed, turning to face her. “I’m sorry. For all of this. My brothers are…” He trailed off, searching for the right word.

“The worst?” Y/N offered.

“That’s putting it lightly.”

Y/N smiled, stepping closer. “You don’t have to apologize. Honestly, it’s kind of funny.”

“Funny?” Damian repeated, his brow furrowing.

“Well, maybe not right now,” Y/N admitted. “But someday, we’ll look back on this and laugh.”

Damian crossed his arms, clearly unconvinced. “I don’t see how.”

Y/N hesitated, then placed a hand on his arm, drawing his attention. “Hey. It’s okay to let them tease you, you know. It’s just their way of showing they care.”

Damian huffed, his gaze softening as he looked at her. “Tt. They have a strange way of showing it.”

“Yeah, well, that’s family for you.”

For a moment, they stood in silence, the tension from earlier lingering in the air. Damian’s eyes flicked to Y/N’s hand on his arm, and he felt his pulse quicken.

“Y/N,” he said quietly, his voice unusually hesitant.

“Yeah?” she asked, tilting her head.

Before he could overthink it, Damian leaned forward and kissed her. It was quick, almost tentative, but it sent a jolt through both of them.

When he pulled back, his face was bright red. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Y/N blinked, stunned for a moment as her brain caught up with what had just happened. Her fingers hovered where they’d gripped Damian’s arm, and she stared at him, her mouth slightly open. Damian’s usual confidence had vanished; his hands were at his sides, clenched into nervous fists, and his face was crimson.

“You…” she started, her voice soft. “You kissed me.”

Damian winced slightly, his usual bravado crumbling further. “Tt. I know. I shouldn’t have. I—”

“Damian,” Y/N interrupted, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Shut up.”

Before he could process her words, she closed the gap between them and kissed him back. It wasn’t tentative this time—it was firm, deliberate, and left no room for doubt. Damian froze for half a second before instinct took over, and he kissed her back, his hands gently finding her waist.

When they finally pulled away, both of them were breathless, their foreheads nearly touching. Y/N’s cheeks were flushed, and she could feel her heart pounding, but she didn’t pull away.

“Well,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “That was… something.”

Damian’s lips quirked upward into the smallest of smirks, though the faint pink in his cheeks lingered. “Agreed.”

The moment was perfect—until Dick’s voice echoed from the hallway.

“Finally!”

Y/N and Damian jerked apart, their heads whipping toward the door. Dick leaned against the frame with his arms crossed, a smug grin plastered across his face. Tim stood behind him, holding his phone up like he’d just caught the winning goal of a championship game.

“Oh, come on,” Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Do you guys ever quit?”

“Nope,” Tim said cheerfully, spinning his phone. “This is gold.”

“Delete that,” Damian snapped, advancing toward Tim with murder in his eyes.

“Not a chance,” Tim said, darting away before Damian could grab him. “This is going in the family archives.”

“Drake!” Damian shouted, storming after him.

Y/N sighed, glancing at Dick, who looked far too pleased with himself. “Did you really have to ruin the moment?”

“Oh, it wasn’t ruined,” Dick said, his grin widening. “It was perfectly timed. You’re welcome.”

“Remind me to get revenge later,” Y/N muttered, though she couldn’t keep the small smile off her face.

Later That Night

By the time the chaos settled, Y/N found herself sitting alone in the Wayne Manor living room, staring at the fireplace. The events of the day swirled in her head—the teasing, the pranks, the fall, the kiss. It all felt surreal.

The sound of quiet footsteps made her look up. Damian stood in the doorway, his usual stoic expression softened by a hint of nervousness.

“Hey,” she said softly, motioning for him to sit beside her.

He hesitated for a moment before crossing the room and settling onto the couch. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the crackle of the fire filling the silence.

“I wanted to apologize,” Damian said finally, his voice low. “For everything. My brothers… they’ve been insufferable.”

“It’s okay,” Y/N replied with a small smile. “Honestly, I think I needed the push.”

Damian looked at her, his brow furrowing. “You mean…”

Y/N nodded, reaching out to take his hand. “Yeah. I probably wouldn’t have had the guts to kiss you otherwise.”

Damian’s lips twitched into a rare, genuine smile. “Tt. I suppose some good came out of it, then.”

“Definitely,” Y/N said, her smile widening.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, their hands still intertwined. Y/N couldn’t help but feel grateful—not just for Damian, but for the chaotic, meddling family that had brought them together.

From somewhere upstairs, a muffled laugh echoed, followed by Tim’s unmistakable voice. “Do you think they’re holding hands right now?”

“I give it five minutes before they kiss again,” Dick replied, his tone dripping with amusement.

Damian sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to kill them.”

Y/N laughed, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Maybe tomorrow.”

Damian glanced down at her, his irritation melting away as he met her gaze. “Fine. Tomorrow.”

And as Y/N closed her eyes, the warmth of the fire and Damian’s steady presence lulling her into a sense of peace, she couldn’t help but think that maybe Dick and Tim weren’t so bad after all.

[hookhausenschips]

Episode 2: Under The Neon Lights

Main Menu

Summary: In Episode 2, Y/N and her friend Zara immerse themselves in the lively F1 paddock in Singapore. There, Y/N meets Ferrari driver Charles Leclerc and shares some playful exchanges with Lando Norris and Max Verstappen. They bond over the adrenaline of underground racing, but when Y/N receives an invitation to a street race that night, she feels drawn back to her roots and opts to leave the F1 excitement behind.

WC: 2k

Warnings: Language, Dangerous Behaviour, Intense Situations, Romantic/Flirtatious Interactions, Class and Culture Differences

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

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Later that evening

The sun had dipped below the horizon, and Singapore’s night skyline was lighting up in brilliant neon. The city buzzed with life, energy pulsing through the streets, but none more so than around the Marina Bay Street Circuit. The soft hum of engines in the distance was like a constant reminder of why I was here, and the air crackled with anticipation for the race that Sunday.

I was hanging back near the paddock after exploring a few garages on my own, feeling a little out of place but also oddly curious about this world. My street racing instincts made me analyze every car, every conversation, comparing it to my world back home. Everything here was so… polished. Precise. The opposite of the raw, gritty thrill of the streets. But damn if the engineering didn’t fascinate me. I couldn’t help but respect the sheer mastery behind these machines.

Just as I was contemplating heading back to the VIP lounge for the evening, Zara appeared, her tall figure striding confidently through the paddock.

“There you are, Y/N! I’ve been looking all over for you,” she called, a wide grin spreading across her face.

I grinned back, pushing myself off the barrier I’d been leaning on. “Was just getting my bearings. This place is… different.”

Zara chuckled, nodding knowingly. “Yeah, it can feel a bit stiff compared to the streets. But once you’re in, it’s pretty wild. Come on, I promised you a proper tour of the garages, didn’t I?”

“Thought you forgot about me for a second there,” I teased, falling in step beside her.

“As if I could. You're the only street racer crazy enough to walk into an F1 paddock like you own it,” Zara shot back with a wink.

We weaved through the paddock, Zara pointing out different garage entrances and dropping names of team members she’d met over the years. It was surreal being so close to the heart of the action, even if I wasn’t completely sold on the whole F1 scene. The exclusivity and the hype felt so distant from what I knew. But at the same time, the adrenaline pumping through the air wasn’t that different from the streets back home.

“Did you get a good look at any of the cars earlier?” Zara asked, slowing as we approached another garage.

“I checked out a couple, but I wouldn’t mind seeing more,” I admitted. “The tech’s insane. It’s like… everything’s stripped down to pure speed. I get why people lose their minds over these things.”

Zara smiled. “I knew you’d appreciate it. These engineers live and breathe for every millisecond. Come on, let’s check out one more garage before things get too busy.”

We were about to head toward the Red Bull garage when suddenly, someone stepped into my path. I wasn’t paying attention, caught in conversation with Zara, and I collided into a solid chest.

“Whoa, easy there!” a voice chuckled, steadying me by my arms.

I looked up, and my heart did a double take. Charles Leclerc. The Ferrari driver that Zara had mentioned on some occasions. The Charles Leclerc. His green eyes sparkled under the dim paddock lights, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He didn’t let go immediately, his hands lingering just a second longer than necessary.

“Sorry about that,” I said, quickly stepping back and shrugging off his grip. “Didn’t see you.”

“No harm done,” Charles replied smoothly, his Monegasque accent wrapping around the words. “You’re new here, aren’t you? I don’t remember seeing you around.”

I gave him a once-over, keeping my expression neutral. “Just passing through. VIP guest for the weekend. You?”

Charles chuckled at my dry response, clearly amused. “I guess you could say I’m here every year,” he said with a wink. “Charles Leclerc. Ferrari.”

“I know who you are,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “The whole world knows who you are.”

“Ah, so you’re a fan then?” He leaned in slightly, clearly enjoying the banter.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I shot back, smirking. “I’m here for the cars, not the celebrities.”

Zara, standing beside me, stifled a laugh, clearly enjoying the exchange.

Charles, however, wasn’t deterred by my lack of awe. If anything, it seemed to pique his interest. “Well, I’ll have to make sure you leave Singapore with a better impression of us drivers, then,” he said smoothly, flashing a smile that probably made half the paddock swoon.

I crossed my arms, meeting his gaze. “Good luck with that.”

Before he could respond, Zara tugged on my arm. “Come on, Y/N, we’ve got more to see. You can let Charles try his luck another time.”

Charles chuckled, giving me a slow, lingering glance as Zara led me away. “I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t deny the flicker of amusement that crossed my face as we walked away.

“That was… something,” Zara said once we were out of earshot.

“Was it?” I shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “He’s just like every other guy who thinks he’s God’s gift to the world.”

Zara laughed. “Charles can be charming when he wants to be. Looks like he was laying it on thick for you.”

“He’ll have to try harder if he wants to impress me,” I said with a grin. “Let’s go see the damn cars already.”

---

Later that night, after Zara had to leave for a meeting with some motorsports people, I wandered back to the garages on my own. I wasn’t ready to call it a night just yet, and the hum of the engineers working late on the cars was like a siren’s call.

I found myself at one of the garages, watching an engineer tweak something on a Red Bull car. The precision and care they took with every adjustment were insane. I couldn’t help but think about how different it was from my world, where we often fixed our cars on the fly, piecing things together with whatever we had on hand.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” a voice said from behind me.

I turned to see a guy, maybe in his early twenties, standing next to me. He had messy brown curls and bright blue eyes that twinkled with mischief. His boyish grin practically screamed trouble, and he looked like the kind of guy who didn’t take things too seriously. He was casually leaning against a wall, his arms folded across his chest as he watched me with amusement.

“I guess you could say that,” I replied, tilting my head. “Though I’m more used to doing this in the back alleys with fewer people watching.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Street racing, huh?”

“Something like that,” I said, watching as the engineer made another adjustment to the car. “You’d be surprised how similar it is. Different tools, but the heart of it’s the same.”

The guy grinned wider. “Yeah? Maybe I should come check it out sometime. Could use some tips for when I’m not behind the wheel of an F1 car.”

I chuckled. “You wouldn’t last a minute in my world. Too… corporate for the streets.”

He clutched his chest dramatically. “Ouch. Give me some credit. I can handle myself.”

Before I could respond, another voice cut in. “Trust me, he couldn’t.”

I turned to see a taller guy approaching, his posture exuding a quiet intensity. He had sharp features, dark blond hair, and piercing blue eyes that studied me like I was a puzzle he wanted to solve. He wore a subtle smirk, like he was used to people underestimating him, and there was something about him that screamed competitive.

The guy with the curly hair looked between us, laughing. “Oh great, now I’ve got backup.”

“Backup?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow at the new guy. “You think you could handle it?”

He tilted his head, his smirk widening just a fraction. “Maybe. Depends on the stakes.”

The tension between us was palpable, but not in a bad way. This guy was definitely sizing me up, trying to figure out what made me tick. It was clear he was used to being in control, but he wasn’t the type to back down from a challenge. I wasn’t either.

“Well,” I said, crossing my arms, meeting his intense gaze, “if you’re ever looking for a real race, let me know.”

The new guy grinned, clearly enjoying the challenge. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The guy with the curly hair laughed, throwing an arm over my shoulder. “Looks like you’ve got two drivers to impress now, Y/N.”

I raised an eyebrow, finally realizing I didn’t know either of their names. “And you are?”

The curly-haired guy flashed me a charming grin. “Lando. Lando Norris.”

“And I’m Max,” the other guy said, his voice steady and confident. “Max Verstappen.”

I shrugged, smirking at both of them. “I’m not here to impress anyone. Just here for the cars.”

Max’s gaze lingered on me a moment longer before he nodded, a hint of respect in his eyes. “Fair enough.”

As the night deepened and the paddock began to quiet down, I found myself smiling. I wasn’t here for them. I wasn’t here for anything but the love of racing and the thrill of being in this world. But if they thought they could charm me or impress me, they were in for a surprise.

The streets were where I belonged, but I could play in their world for a while, just to see how it felt.

As I stood between Max and Lando, the night was cooling down, but the energy in the paddock was still electric. We were casually chatting about racing—well, they were, mostly. I was just soaking it all in, adding a comment here and there when something caught my interest. Max was explaining some technical detail about cornering in wet conditions when my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I glanced down, the screen lighting up with a message that had my heart immediately picking up speed.

“Race tonight. Few hours. You in?”

It was from one of my street racing contacts. The kind of text that made me forget where I was for a moment, pulling me right back to what felt like my real life. The pulse of the streets. The thrill of an illegal race, the adrenaline, the danger. I’d come to Singapore for F1, but now, the familiar rush of street racing was calling me, and it was a pull I wasn’t sure I could ignore.

Lando noticed the shift in my expression. “Everything okay?”

I locked my phone and slipped it back into my pocket, meeting his curious gaze. “Yeah, just… something came up.”

Max raised an eyebrow, clearly noticing I was hiding something. “You don’t seem like the kind of person who ‘just something came up’ applies to.”

I laughed softly. “You’d be surprised.”

Lando leaned in a bit, looking intrigued. “What is it? Sounds like something fun.”

I hesitated for a second. This was my world, not theirs. They had their pristine tracks and multi-million-dollar teams backing them. Street racing wasn’t just dangerous; it was raw, illegal, and lived in the shadows. Telling them about it felt like breaking some kind of unspoken rule. But at the same time, part of me was curious how they’d react.

“Let’s just say there’s a race happening tonight,” I said slowly, testing their reactions.

Max’s eyes sharpened, his posture shifting slightly. “A race? Here? What kind?”

“The kind you don’t advertise,” I replied with a smirk. “A street race.”

Lando’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Like… an underground race?”

“Exactly like that,” I confirmed, watching their expressions closely.

Max seemed to consider this, his usual calm demeanor shifting just a little. “You race in those often?”

I shrugged casually. “It’s where I come from. It’s what I do. Street racing’s a whole different game than this.” I gestured to the glitzy F1 surroundings. “But the adrenaline? The speed? It’s the same.”

Lando, always the curious one, leaned in closer, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Are you racing tonight?”

I met his gaze, the challenge in his eyes unmistakable. “Thinking about it.”

Max crossed his arms, his expression unreadable but clearly interested. “Why not just race here on the track? Why risk it in the streets?”

I smirked, looking from Max to Lando. “You guys have the luxury of controlled environments, state-of-the-art technology, teams with backup plans, safety nets. In street racing, it’s just you, your car, and the road. No guarantees. No room for mistakes. And no rules.”

Lando whistled, clearly impressed. “Sounds wild.”

“You have no idea,” I replied, a familiar rush of adrenaline creeping into my veins at the thought of hitting the streets again.

Max narrowed his eyes slightly, watching me closely. “You ever think about going pro instead of in the streets?”

I shook my head, the answer coming easily. “Never. The streets are where I belong. It’s unpredictable. Real. There’s no comparison.”

There was a beat of silence as both Max and Lando absorbed what I’d said. I could see the gears turning in their heads, trying to wrap their minds around a world that was so different from theirs.

Max finally spoke, his tone thoughtful. “Sounds like you live for that kind of chaos.”

I met his gaze head-on, unflinching. “I live for the freedom. Pros are incredible, don’t get me wrong, but there’s something about the streets… it’s addictive. You don’t have to answer to anyone, don’t have to play by anyone else’s rules.”

Lando grinned, clearly itching to learn more. “So… can we come watch?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I don’t think this scene is your style, Norris.”

Lando pouted in mock disappointment. “Come on, I can handle a bit of chaos.”

Max, on the other hand, looked more serious, his intense gaze still focused on me. “You sure it’s safe?”

I smiled, the rush of anticipation bubbling under my skin. “It’s never safe. That’s the whole point.”

Another buzz from my phone made me glance down again. Time was ticking. If I was going to make the race, I needed to leave soon. But standing here with two of the biggest names in F1, something struck me—this weird, unexpected overlap between their world and mine. Maybe they didn’t get it, but they were curious. And in some strange way, that made me feel… seen.

I looked back up at them, a grin spreading across my face. “I’ve gotta go. Race is starting soon.”

Lando’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “So, what? You just… show up and race?”

“Pretty much,” I said, turning to leave. “Wish me luck.”

Max stepped forward, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he wanted to say something else. “Good luck, Y/N.”

I gave them a quick nod, feeling the adrenaline already building in my chest. I could feel their eyes on me as I walked away, disappearing into the paddock lights. My pulse was already pounding, my mind switching gears from the clean, controlled world of F1 back to the gritty, dangerous streets where I belonged.

As I made my way toward the exit, I could already hear the low roar of engines in the distance. The night wasn’t over yet, and neither was the thrill. The streets were calling. And I was more than ready to answer.

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[apothe-roses]

I Wanna Ride

modern Aemond Targaryen x reader

Part 1

Summary: After finally getting your hands on a ‘dragon’, you find yourself needing help with repairs. Enter hot yet rude mechanic Aemond Targaryen

Fic contains: swearing, Aemond beings prick, I think that’s it?

A/N: I’ve been sitting on this fic for weeks and am finally ready to post it. I tried to use the right terminology, but I know fuck-all about biker culture so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Hope you enjoy!

“No fucking way.”

Alysanne Blackwood turns and looks at you, mouth agape. “You actually got one.” You smile back at her, practically vibrating with excitement.

“I know. I didn’t fully believe it myself til I saw her in person.” The ‘her’ in question was a beat-up white motorcycle that was currently sitting in your workshop, but this wasn’t just any old bike. No. This was a dragon. The top of the line. Even non-bikers knew a thing or two about dragons. Made by Targaryen Corp., these beauties were prized for their powerful engines, speed, and endurance. The model you picked up was a Meraxes—one of the earlier models that has since been retired.

“I never thought you’d actually pluck up the nerve to buy a bike for yourself. Much less a dragon.”

“You know I’ve always wanted to learn to ride,” you tell her.

“Yeah, but you never acted on that. Well, ‘til now,” Aly quips.

“I already know more than enough about bikes,” you assert.

“Fixing a dragon and riding one are two completely different things.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t do both.”

“We’ll see,” Aly laughs. You smile back, shoving her playfully.

That had been six months ago. You were so close to being ready, but you'd hit a roadblock in her repairs. No matter what, you just couldn't get the transmission to run the way you wanted it to.

"If you stare at that engine for much longer, it's gonna burst into flames," Alysanne muses. You look over your shoulder and shoot her a glare. She only giggles at you, hopping off the workbench she was sitting on.

"You know, there's nothing wrong with needing help every once in a while," she says.

“I know,” you sigh back. “It’s just…”

“Too stubborn to admit defeat?” she teases.

“No!” you answer back a little too quickly.

“Maybe,” you mutter, turning your gaze towards the floor. “It’s also the money.” Mechanics who worked on older bikes were hard to come by in your area, and the ones that were in the area charged an arm and a leg for their services.

"Listen, I know just the place for you to go. There’s this one place Cregan loves to frequent. He swears up and down they're the best in town. I’ve met the owners several times, and they’re trustworthy. One of them even specializes in older bikes like this gal right here," she pats one of Meraxes's handlebars. That piques your interest. You knew Aly’s boyfriend was a man of his work, so this place must be good if he says so.

“And will this specialist leave me up to my ears in debt?”

“They’re pretty far when it comes to prices for service. Plus, you can always come to me if you’re short a few bucks,” Aly replies, going to grab her phone. You grimace at the thought. You love Aly and appreciate her generosity, but you don’t like the idea of inconveniencing herself to help you (even if she comes from a rich family). Aly walked back over to you, phone in hand.

“Do you want your bike fixed, or are you gonna stay stuck at a dead end for who knows how long?”

You look at her phone, open to the Contacts app, then back at your bike. You let out a sigh.

“What’s the name?”

That's how you found yourself pulling up to Green Auto Shop in the passenger seat of Aly’s pickup truck, your precious Meraxes securely tied down in the back. It was a rather unassuming garage located not far from Blackwater Bay. Alysanne looks over at you from the driver’s seat. "Don't judge a book by its cover," she says, undoing her seatbelt and opening her door.

You scramble to follow her as she walks confidently into one of the garages. You see a pair of legs sticking out from beneath an old car. Music blares in the background mixed with the sound of metal on metal.

"Egg," Aly shouts over the ruckus. "You've got company." The man working under the car slides out, giving Aly a bright smile. You can't help but gape as Aegon fucking Targaryen walks over to greet the two of you. You've heard and seen a lot about the eldest son of Viserys Targaryen. He has quite the reputation for drinking and partying, but the Sunfyre—a model he masterminded—is one of the company's most popular. In all the photos you've seen of him, he always looked sullen and hungover, a far cry from the relaxed and cheerful man before you.

"Aye, it's Cregan's girl, "he greets, wiping his hands off on a dirty rag. His gaze shifts to you, giving a quick once-over. “And who is this?” He asks flirtatiously while sauntering over to you. “Hi, I’m Aegon,” he holds a mostly clean hand out.

“She’s my friend,” Alysanne replies, pushing her way between the two of you. “And she’s here to see your brother, not you. She’s having trouble with her bike and could really use his help.”

Aegon pouts and puts his hand over his heart. “You don’t trust me, Aly? I’m wounded.” He rubs his hands together, walking out to the pickup. “Now let’s see what my little bro’s got to work with.” Without waiting for permission, he hops into the truck bed and whistles at the bike.

“Never thought I’d see a Meraxes in person again. Aem’s gonna have a field day with this beauty.” Aly grabs his pant leg and gives it a tug. “Off,” she orders. He hops back onto the pavement, his hands raised in mock surrender.

“Where is your cryptid brother? It feels like he’s never here,” Aly asks.

“You just missed him. He went to grab lunch,” Aegon responds. “He’ll be gone a while, but we can talk pricing in the office?” He leads the two of you back into the garage, to a small office off to the side. As you feared, the service would be quite expensive, but Aegon set you up with a payment plan. That put you at ease a bit. You’re also worried about the fact that you haven’t met the person who will actually be working on your bike. You voice your concerns to Aly over burgers that evening.

“Aemond isn’t…the best with people, but what he lacks in people skills he makes up for in his work. Cregan claims he’s a miracle worker after he fixed his Direwolf following a gnarly crash,” Aly reaches across the table and gives your hand a squeeze. “Trust me, your baby’s in good hands.”

About a week later, you borrow Aly’s truck to swing by the garage and check on your bike. One of the doors was up, but Aegon was nowhere to be found. You wondered if he left the garage open by mistake, but you could hear noises coming from in the garage.

You tentatively walk to the entrance and peek inside. Your Meraxes was propped in the bay where you’d left it. Someone was kneeling in front of it, clearly at work. His back was turned, so all you could see was his back and the long, silver hair pulled into a bun at the nape of his neck.

So this must be the elusive Aemond. You knew significantly less about him than you did his other siblings. Him attending public events was rare, and taking photos at said events was rarer.

Cryptid indeed.

You take a tentative step into the garage. He doesn’t notice you approaching, completely engrossed by the bike.

“Um, hello,” you say shyly. He goes rigid, the wrench falling from his grasp. He turns to look at you, and your brain shuts down. You fully expected some kind of Quasimodo-looking guy based on how everyone described Aemond. But this man looked like a Greek statue come to life.

From his nose to his cheekbones to even his lips, he was all sharp angles. One of his eyes was covered by a simple black path. The other was a soft blue, almost periwinkle. The coveralls he’s wearing are unzipped down to his navel, showing the dirty white singlet underneath.

“Can I help you?” He asks briskly, rising to his feet and snapping you out of your daze.

You’re taken aback by his bluntness, a far cry from Aegon’s relaxed demeanor.

“Yeah…I’m here to pick up my bike,” you reply, indicating to the bike behind him.

He gives you a small ‘hmm’ and grabs a rag to wipe his hands. Your gaze is drawn to his long, elegant fingers and the prominent veins that trail down from his arms.

“Your transmission clip was loose,” he explains curtly. “Had to replace it.”

He walks over to the bike, swings a leg over, and starts her up. The engine revs without a problem.

“Crazy how something so small can cause such a large problem,” you say. He once again doesn’t respond, only kills the engine and moves away from the bike. An uncomfortable silence falls between the two of you.

“Sooo…how many of these older bikes do you usually—“

“I need to get back to work. You can talk to Aegon about payment and such. He’s in the back,” Aemond interjects, turning and walking away from you. Your mouth falls open, eyebrows raised.

“O-okay. I was just trying to make conversation,” you mutter.

“Well, I Don’t have time to ‘make conversation.’ I’ve got work to do,” he replies, back turned.

“Apparently, you Don’t have time for manners either,” you snap back.

Aemond turns to you. “Excuse m-“

“Hey! What’s going on?” Aegon rushes in from a back room. He smiles, but his eyes glance nervously between the two of you. “I see you’ve met my brother.” Aemond casts his gaze towards the ground, giving yet another ‘hmm.’

Unfortunately, you want to tell him. Instead you say, “I can give you the first payment now.”

“Awesome! Let’s handle that in the office, shall we?” Aegon asks, ushering you away without waiting for a response. Not that you needed to give one; you were more than eager to get away from Aegon’s rude brother. You pay Aegon, then the two of you head back into the garage. Aemond is nowhere to be found. Busy my ass, you think, trying not to grimace.

Together, you and Aegon load your Meraxes into the bed of the pickup. When you're done, you both lean against the side. Aegon turns his head to look at you.

“Sorry ‘bout Aemond. He’s not…the best with people. But he’s wicked good at what he does. This shop wouldn’t be running without him.”

You don’t say anything, only giving a small nod in response.

“Hey, if you’re free this weekend, there’s a meet going on near Visenya’s hill. You should come. It’ll be fun,” he explains with a small smile.”Ask Aly about it. She should know all the details.”

“Alright,” you tell him. “I’ll be there.”

Next Part

[jpitha]

Drives like Crazy

So, humans have this thing where they underestimate risks that are long term, and overestimate risks that are short term. Since we come from such a dangerous world, it kind of makes sense. In the deep recesses of the past, if you were overly wary about that bear over there, you were more likely to survive. But eating healthy all life long to avoid heart disease? That's a problem for Tomorrow Me.

It could be that Xenos that come from less dangerous words have a different view of risk than we do, and would be... concerned by the things that we do all the time because we underestimate their risk.

****

"Set helm to manual, I have control." Jesse's voice was smooth and confident as she sat forward in the leatherette upholstered seat on the command deck. A joystick and a panel with buttons rose out of the floor as foot pedals rose up to meet her booted feet.

"Captain, I would like to register a concern." Unity said. They were the transport freighter that Jesse was now controlling, and they were clearly against this.

"Your concern is registered and noted" Jessie didn't stop setting up the controls. "But as you are aware, manual controls must be tested and verified working quarterly."

Mer'ally, the chief engineer, and unofficial voice of the K'laxi crew onboard Unity turned from her station and looked at Jesse. "I mean, Unity has a point. While we do have to test the manual control system, we don't have to test it while coming to dock at Hyacinth during one of the busiest times of the year."

Jesse's smile was thin and strained. "Once again, your concern has been noted." Jesse's eyes flicked up to the K'laxi staring at her. Mer'ally was unusually tall for a K'laxi, she was nearly Jesse's height. Her reddish orange fur complimented her large green eyes. With her large expressive ears flicking as she spoke her worries, Jesse couldn't help wonder why she was so distracted by her. She shook her head slightly. "Regardless. We have to test manual controls, and I want to practice docking with Hyacinth. We need to know how to pilot Unity in all situations, including docking."

Unity sighed. They weren't going to be able to talk her out of this. "As you wish, Captain, relinquishing control."

Jesse harumphed and got back to work. She ran the joystick in all directions, and everyone felt the ship wiggle in response. With a satisfied nod, Jesse adjusted the inertial compensators down a touch. She wanted to be able to feel the ship move, but not enough to get people motion sick. She nodded in satisfaction and looked up at the other people with her.

"Yen. Please request docking with Hyacinth."

"Aye Captain." Yen bustled at her station. Jesse wondered how she lucked out that all the officers on the command deck today were women, and once again had to push that thought out of her mind. She was on duty now.

After a moment Yen called out. "Docking approved. We're clear to dock on the lower ring, bay 33."

"Bay 33 aye." Jesse punched in the location on her control screen, and her vision was overlayed with the best path to the dock. She'll have to match rotation with Hyacinth, but since it's so large, they shouldn't have to go too fast. She goosed the thrusters and Unity started moving forward.

As they trundled towards bay 33, Jesse put Unity's controls through their paces. She gently rolled the ship to make sure the maneuvering thrusters worked correctly, she tumbled it end-over-end and she yawed it in place all the way around. It was actually a lot of fun. She could imagine the looks the other ships gave as Unity spun and pirouetted in place as it moved slowly towards their docking bay, but Jesse didn't care. Maybe she wanted to show off.

As the last maneuver finished, Jesse spun Unity such that with a few puffs from the main drive they'd match rotation with Hyacinth and being docking. Right before she fired the main drive, her console squawked.

"Collision imminent! Collision imminent! CHANGE DIRECTION NOW"

"What?" Jesse pulled hard on the joystick, and the front thrusters fired, sending the noise high while also stopping their forward momentum. With the compensators set low, everyone lurched forward in their seats. In the distance, Jesse heard a crash as something tipped over.

Unity called out. "Captain! There's a Starjumper that's thrusting away from Hyacinth without getting departure permission. Hyacinth is firing on it, and it's coming this way!"

"Why would they be shooting at a Starjumper?" Mer'ally's tail flicked. "Did they skip out on their docking fee?"

"Doesn't matter why right now." Yen didn't move her head from her console. "Comms are screaming with people yelling at them. They're not responding to anyone. They're on the run."

Jesse's screen was filled with the sight of one of the gigantic old interstellar starships bearing down on them. Orange lights of the tracers from the slug launchers oh Hyacinth were zipping past them. She felt ice in her veins as she realized that the Starjumper was going to hit them unless she did something drastic. An instant later, the collision alarm screamed loud again in the ship.

Jesse toggled ship-wide comms. "Juke charges! Brace for shock!" She fired the juke charges; small emergency explosives fired out of Unity and immediately exploded with their characteristic double boom. The area around the juke charge launchers were reinforced and bowl shaped to catch as much of the energy from the explosion as possible. The blast pushed the ship away with a lurch just as the Starjumper and slugs from Hyacinth passed where they were not a second ago.

"Hold tight everyone, I'm going get us away from here" Jesse's hands and feet danced over the panel as she increased power and started to thrust away. With the compensators still turned down, everyone felt the sickening drop as Unity dove and spun and turned as they were trying to get away from the attack.

"Jesse! You're too close to that ship!" Unity didn't even bother to call her Captain. Jesse saw the ship that Unity mentioned almost too late. She came hard on the portside thrusters and everyone held their breath as they glided by the ship.

"You were close enough to scorch their paint Jes-Captain." Mer'ally sighed in relief and grinned.

"The important thing is we missed, Mer." Jesse looked up and flashed a smile and a wink. Mer'ally quickly turned back to her station, but not before a ripple of fur went down her body, a K'laxi blush.

Unity sounded testy. "Captain. The danger has passed and you have more than proven your piloting ability as well as the function of the manual controls. Can I please have the helm?"

Jesse leaned back from her station and stretched. She was concentrating so hard it felt like no time at all had passed. "All right Unity. I release the helm. You have control."

"Aye Captain. Resuming docking with Hyacinth."

Now all Jesse had to do was wait for docking to complete and stress about whether she could ask Mer'ally out on a date. Unity was a civilian ship and they all worked for Houndstooth, one of the major Sol based corporations, so it wasn't like they had to worry about a higher ranked officer hitting on a lower ranked one, but Jesse still worried. She might say no. It was going to be a long wait to dock.