#Learning Workstation

[omarvektrapc12]

Introducing the Vektra Ai Quantum 5U Workstation, meticulously engineered for professionals in machine learning, deep learning, and data science. This robust system combines top-tier components and cutting-edge technology to deliver unparalleled performance and reliability for your most demanding tasks.

[budgetgameruae]

Best PC for Data Science & AI with 12GB GPU at Budget Gamer UAE

Are you looking for a powerful yet affordable PC for Data Science, AI, and Deep Learning? Budget Gamer UAE brings you the best PC for Data Science with 12GB GPU that handles complex computations, neural networks, and big data processing without breaking the bank!

Why Do You Need a 12GB GPU for Data Science & AI?

Before diving into the build, let’s understand why a 12GB GPU is essential:

✅ Handles Large Datasets – More VRAM means smoother processing of big data. ✅ Faster Deep Learning – Train AI models efficiently with CUDA cores. ✅ Multi-Tasking – Run multiple virtual machines and experiments simultaneously. ✅ Future-Proofing – Avoid frequent upgrades with a high-capacity GPU.

Best Budget Data Science PC Build – UAE Edition

Here’s a cost-effective yet high-performance PC build tailored for AI, Machine Learning, and Data Science in the UAE.

1. Processor (CPU): AMD Ryzen 7 5800X

8 Cores / 16 Threads – Perfect for parallel processing.

3.8GHz Base Clock (4.7GHz Boost) – Speeds up data computations.

PCIe 4.0 Support – Faster data transfer for AI workloads.

2. Graphics Card (GPU): NVIDIA RTX 3060 12GB

12GB GDDR6 VRAM – Ideal for deep learning frameworks (TensorFlow, PyTorch).

CUDA Cores & RT Cores – Accelerates AI model training.

DLSS Support – Boosts performance in AI-based rendering.

3. RAM: 32GB DDR4 (3200MHz)

Smooth Multitasking – Run Jupyter Notebooks, IDEs, and virtual machines effortlessly.

Future-Expandable – Upgrade to 64GB if needed.

4. Storage: 1TB NVMe SSD + 2TB HDD

Ultra-Fast Boot & Load Times – NVMe SSD for OS and datasets.

Extra HDD Storage – Store large datasets and backups.

5. Motherboard: B550 Chipset

PCIe 4.0 Support – Maximizes GPU and SSD performance.

Great VRM Cooling – Ensures stability during long AI training sessions.

6. Power Supply (PSU): 650W 80+ Gold

Reliable & Efficient – Handles high GPU/CPU loads.

Future-Proof – Supports upgrades to more powerful GPUs.

7. Cooling: Air or Liquid Cooling

AMD Wraith Cooler (Included) – Good for moderate workloads.

Optional AIO Liquid Cooler – Better for overclocking and heavy tasks.

8. Case: Mid-Tower with Good Airflow

Multiple Fan Mounts – Keeps components cool during extended AI training.

Cable Management – Neat and efficient build.

Why Choose Budget Gamer UAE for Your Data Science PC?

✔ Custom-Built for AI & Data Science – No pre-built compromises. ✔ Competitive UAE Pricing – Best deals on high-performance parts. ✔ Expert Advice – Get guidance on the perfect build for your needs. ✔ Warranty & Support – Reliable after-sales service.

Performance Benchmarks – How Does This PC Handle AI Workloads?

TaskPerformanceTensorFlow Training2x Faster than 8GB GPUsPython Data AnalysisSmooth with 32GB RAMNeural Network TrainingHandles large models efficientlyBig Data ProcessingNVMe SSD reduces load times

FAQs – Data Science PC Build in UAE

1. Is a 12GB GPU necessary for Machine Learning?

Yes! More VRAM allows training larger models without memory errors.

2. Can I use this PC for gaming too?

Absolutely! The RTX 3060 12GB crushes 1080p/1440p gaming.

3. Should I go for Intel or AMD for Data Science?

AMD Ryzen offers better multi-core performance at a lower price.

4. How much does this PC cost in the UAE?

Approx. AED 4,500 – AED 5,500 (depends on deals & upgrades).

5. Where can I buy this PC in the UAE?

Check Budget Gamer UAE for the best custom builds!

Final Verdict – Best Budget Data Science PC in UAE

If you're into best PC for Data Science with 12GB GPU PC build from Budget Gamer UAE is the perfect balance of power and affordability. With a Ryzen 7 CPU, RTX 3060, 32GB RAM, and ultra-fast storage, it handles heavy workloads like a champ.

[himblebo]

Oh Janet Arnold we’re really in it now

[deus-ex-mona]

kobayashi was right btw. getsuyoubi is very yuuutsu

[ithardware-info]

Which is the most vital element of a deep-learning workstation?

One of the most vital hardware parts of a deep-learning workstation is the GPU. Training neural networks is one of the important tasks in Deep learning are highly parallelizable. It means that the massive calculations in training neural networks can be divided into many smaller tasks that can be processed simultaneously. This is where GPUs work, as they are built for parallel computing, rendering them significantly faster than CPUs for deep learning tasks.

• Parallel Processing:

Deep learning, particularly training neural networks, includes immense amounts of calculations that can be segmented into smaller tasks processed simultaneously. GPUs are crafted for this kind of parallel processing, making them perfect for deep learning.

• CUDA Support:

NVIDIA GPUs with CUDA (Compute Unified Device Architecture) are favoured for deep learning due to their robust performance and compatibility with frameworks such as TensorFlow and PyTorch.

• VRAM:

The quantity of Video RAM (VRAM) on the GPU is also vital, as it dictates how large a model and dataset can be managed.

• Other Considerations:

While the GPU is essential, other components like the CPU (for standard processing), RAM (for managing large datasets), storage (for rapid data access), and a reliable power supply are also crucial. SO GPU is the most significant component for deep learning workstations.

When selecting a GPU, high-end models like the NVIDIA RTX series (e.g., RTX 3090 or the newer RTX

090) are perfect for deep-learning applications. These GPUs are equipped with thousands of CUDA cores, which allow them to carry out matrix operations that are crucial for training deep-learning models. Furthermore, newer GPUs in this series also include Tensor Cores, specifically optimized for AI workloads, further enhancing performance.

Key Considerations:

• Power Supply: High-end GPUs are incredibly power-hungry, often needing 350W or more. Make sure your workstation has a sufficiently powerful power supply unit (PSU), ideally 850W or above, to accommodate multiple GPUs.

• Cooling System: High-performance GPUs produce a lot of heat during demanding tasks. A workstation must possess an efficient cooling solution, which we will elaborate on later in this guide.

• Scalability: If your deep-learning projects grow, having a workstation that can accommodate multiple GPUs (2) is advantageous for accelerating training times.

The GPU is the core of any deep-learning system, as its performance directly correlates with the pace at which models can be trained, making it the most crucial component of your workstation.

[universallychildtimemachine]

Top Legal Technology Solutions Companies

In today's fast-paced world, the legal profession is experiencing a profound transformation, and it's all thanks to the rapid advancements in legal technology. Gone are the days when legal professionals relied solely on paper-based records, endless hours of research, and face-to-face consultations. Legal technology is ushering in a new era, offering greater efficiency, transparency, and accessibility in the legal field. This editorial will explore the evolution of legal technology and the profound impact it has had on the practice of law.

[warlockslovetomeow]

mdni. explicit sexual content. street!racer sylus x mechanic!female reader.

streetracer!sylus who showed up at your garage with an obnoxiously blue Ford GT fresh off the lot and a cocky smirk that seemed to say he’d win you over before you even touched his car. you told him the color was a crime. he smiled and asked for a full wrap in midnight black, and after his very gracious tip, you never looked back.

streetracer!sylus who learned real quick that you weren’t just proficient at wrapping, you had magic hands under the hood too. he left that day with a perfectly wrapped GT, a surprise ECU tune that had his engine growling, and a raging hard on he had to take care of on the ride home.

streetracer!sylus who started racing harder just to wreck his shit enough to come crawling back to you. bruised bumper, cracked undercarriage, maybe something knocked loose that didn’t even matter. he’d invent the problem if it meant hearing you mutter his name under your breath while you worked.

streetracer!sylus who didn’t like sharing, especially not you. he'd lean against your workstation, arms crossed, watching you talk to other customers with a twitch in his jaw. that day he made you an offer: he'd pay your full salary, better hours, no more walk-ins and all he wanted in return was you. your time. your hands. your focus. exclusively his.

streetracer!sylus who starts bringing his car in for mods he doesn’t need, just to watch you straddle the hood and get your hands dirty, grease smudged on your cheek like a target he’s dying to mark. the tension between you is hot enough to ignite a fuel tank and he’s banking on that.

streetracer!sylus who corners you in the shop one night after locking the front early, the smell of engine oil thick in the air. he doesn't touch you, not just yet. only leans in close and murmurs, "i ever tell you how much I love watching you work?” while his eyes burn low and hungry. he’ll wait until you beg him to kiss you.

streetracer!sylus who takes you on a midnight ride, engine purring beneath you. his hand rests comfortably on your thigh, inching higher every time you shift in your seat when he takes a corner going impossibly fast. who dares you to ride him in the driver’s seat after pulling over on some desolate stretch of road, headlights cutting through the dark while you bounce in his lap and his hands bruise your hips to keep your pace.

streetracer!sylus who showed up right after a race, engine still hot, eyes hotter, with a fresh scratch on his cheek and a filthy grin. “fix me up, baby,” he said, but you weren’t sure if he meant the car or the burning pull between you. and by the time he had you bent over his hood, mouth full of dirty praise while his belt clinked to the floor, you knew it was never about the GT.

a/n: quick scratch that i hadddd to itch. this idea has been rotting in my mind for so long im debating on writing a full fic about it…

[pdcloudex21]

Mastering Virtualization: Get Started with Workstation ESXi at ProLEAP Academy

In the ever-evolving landscape of IT and technology, the need for efficient and flexible solutions is paramount. Virtualization is one such revolutionary technology that has transformed the way we manage and deploy resources. VMware Workstation ESXi, one of the most prominent virtualization platforms, has gained immense popularity for its capabilities in creating, managing, and optimising virtual environments. At ProLEAP Academy, we understand the significance of staying ahead in this fast-paced industry, and that’s why we offer a comprehensive course titled “Getting Started with Virtualization-Workstation ESXi.” In this article, we will explore the benefits of virtualization and how ProLEAP Academy can shape your expertise in this field.

[ramp-it-up]

Call Me Captain When I...

Summary: You were Steve's subordinate, but you'd met as friends. And Steve needs your help with something.

Pairing: Early CATWS era Captain Steve Rogers x SHEILD Reader

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Not Beta’d. Read at your own risk. S MUT! Early CATWS Steve, talk of politics, flashbacks, groping while asleep, Not-so Inexpereinced-ish Steve, Dom Steve, Friends to lovers, angst, mutual pining, fluff, Captain and Sir kink, pulling rank, uniform kink, talking in sleep, masturbation, sex toy, voyeurism, dirty talk, nipple play, fingering, oral s ex (m receiving), raw p in v, intimations of female receiving oral.

A/N: This was supposed to be the conclusion to Greatest, but this popped in my head. This is set very soon after he first meets Sam and is still getting adjusted to the world. Also, I am not in the military and know nothing really of proper uniform or officer/subordinate address or etiquette. This is pure fantasy. Hope you like it. HBD Steve! 😁

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

-----

You woke up with a start, mouth dry, burning hot and seriously needing to pee. 

You weren’t sick; the cause of your discomfort was the 240 pound super soldier next to you. You looked over to see Steve Rogers’ sleeping face six inches away from yours on the chaise lounge of your sofa, the blue glow from your smart tv’s home screen bathing his face in eerie light. 

You allowed yourself two minutes to admire the man you had come to have a huge problematic crush on in such a short time.

You smiled to think of the first time you saw him in person as he wandered into the Information Technology Division of S.H.I.E.L.D., which you were running. 

------

He wasn’t in uniform, but who he was and his rank was unmistakable. Everyone rose when he entered. You watched him investigate the division by wandering around and looking at soldier’s workstation screens, reading files on desks, which was fine. The venerated Captain Steve Rogers had just about as high a clearance as anyone in the room.

You recognized the look on his face, a mixture of awe and earnestness, and something happened with your heart.

You couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to wake up, 70 years out of your own time. You watched his face, noting the anxiety, but mirroring his slight smile when he saw the book stacks at the rear of the room. Something like relief overtook his features. He scanned the room, calculating that the stacks went quite a way back into the facility, then he sized up the size of the troops in the division. 

You commanded 24 soldiers who helped you to oversee a good amount of basic historical, and quite a lot of classified information for SHIELD. You were too busy watching Steve’s face when his eyes found yours, and were caught off guard when he addressed you although you should not have been.

“Looks like you have quite the mission, Lieutenant.”

You snapped to attention and responded. 

“Yes, Sir. Information is key for the success of SHIELD, and we take pride in our work.”

“At ease.” 

Captain Rogers stood before you as you adjusted to parade rest. 

“I hear you do great work, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

There was an awkward silence.

“I need some help.”

“Sir?”

Steve huffed, annoyed at your formality. He looked around to see your entire division staring.

“Can we go into your office?”

“Of course, Sir.”

Once the door was closed, Steve had to address this first point, even though his body thrilled when you called him ‘Sir.’”

“You don’t need to be so formal, you know. You and I are friends, aren’t we?”

At the dulcet tone in his voice, you looked him in the eye, although you remained at parade rest. You knew that your troops were looking through your window. Steve noticed that your blinds were open and went to close them, which irritated you. That would only arouse suspicion.

Steve quickly admired your body in your work greens, eyes scanning from your boots up your pants, which were tailored very well out of necessity, to your shirt as he marveled how your buttons stayed closed. He chuckled as he had the same problem himself.

Your eyes were on him as his made their way to your face.

“You said you needed something, Captain?”

He almost groaned at that address. He needed you, spread out on his bed, calling him Captain and begging him to fuck you. But he had to play it cool. 

“I have this problem. And only you can help me with it.”

Steve had no idea how much that sounded like a line, so he barrelled ahead. He needed you, and he knew it from the moment he saw you at Sam’s house party the night before. The fact that you introduced yourself as a librarian endeared you to him, and the kind way that you talked to him all night about historical events of the 20th and 21st century cemented your place in his heart. He even adopted Sam’s nickname for you, Libby the librarian.

“I need a tutor.”

He’d piqued your interest.

“Sir?”

This time his groan was audible. That cute little head tilt was driving him crazy. And your braids up in that neat braid bun. You were wound tight at work.He wanted to have them down, waving along your ass and hypnotizing like they were last night. He wanted to wrap them around his hand as he….

You were going to be the death of him. He cleared his throat.

“I need someone to bring me up to speed. Someone who can help me understand this brave new world we have here.”

You didn’t respond, your eyes just scanned his face. He continued talking to fill the void.

“I mean, I wake up, and everything is different, society, technology, women, hell, even the president…”

“You never dreamed we’d have a black president, did you?”

You were toe to toe with him now, an equal in the field of knowledge, superior to him in history and culture. Steve liked this feeling. He really needed you.

“Honestly. No. I’ve missed the history that would lead me there. That’s why I need you.”

You bristled slightly, straightening your posture again and looking at the wall. Steve caught the vibe.

“This is not a command. I’m coming to you as a new friend that I thought we both gained last night. I want help. I’m asking you. Not as my subordinate, but as a friend. Please, Libby.”

Steve’s earnest plea melted you on the inside. You gave up trying to keep him at arm's length. You knew it was not appropriate what you did last night in your bedroom as you thought of the conversation with him last night. His voice, his eyes, those lips. And you did not overlook that body beneath his button up shirt and khakis. 

But he’d made it clear that you were friends and you would rock with that. Besides, you wanted to help America’s number one soldier see all sides of what he was fighting for. 

He needed to see the truth.

“Alright. One evening a week. Thursdays good for you?”

You walked around your desk and grabbed a post it note and started writing.

Steve was elated and nodded until you looked up at him and he responded verbally.

“Yes.”

He kind of liked you in control. It might be that much more pleasureable to subdue you. He shook his head, surprised at his own thoughts.

“Great.” 

You tore off a note and handed it to him.

“Order these books. Have one read, doesn’t matter which, by this Thursday and meet me at Pete’s Deli at 5:30.”

“Thank you.”

You smiled at him and Steve thought he was going to kneel at your feet.

“Don’t thank me yet until you’ve survived one of my very serious debates.”

“Sounds grueling.”

“You have no idea.”

—---

Over the last four months, you and Steve debated, argued, went through periods of needing space from each other, and late nights texting about tons of topics and cultural events during “the ice years,” as Steve called them. It was almost like a marriage.

You’d graduated from books, to Ted Talks, to movies, to videos on tons of topics and Steve was developing quite the knowledge base. 

You were proud of him, he digested information, reasoned it out, and didn’t become a carbon copy of you, but a well informed, better Steve Rogers. 

And fuck all, that made him even hotter.

Now, you were moving to the popular culture portion of your tutoring, and the night before you’d started the 1980’s/Spike Lee movie portion of your lessons. 

You’d binged She’s Gotta Have It, School Daze, and fell asleep halfway through Do The Right Thing. Now you were trapped between the arm of your couch and a 240 lb heat generator super strong super soldier.

You inched out from under Steve’s thick thigh, which was thrown over your legs, and was about to be able to escape when he turned over, his hand grabbing your boob and his fingers skillfully finding your thickened nub.

“Thank God for the right nipple. Thank God for the left nipple…”

You froze, but then remembered that was a line from the movie, and continued trying to escape without waking Steve up. He couldn’t be held responsible for his subconscious.

“Libby, wanna suck your nipples…please..”

You froze again. Well this was a development. Steve’s subconscious was trying to slide.

“Call me Captain when I suck your nipples. Sir when you suck me off…”

You managed to get up and you stood there, watching Steve, who was snoring now, and had no idea what he’d just said. You shook your head at the fact that he hadn’t learned the power of grey sweat pants.

In a daze, you walked to the bathroom and somehow ended up in the shower before you realized you had a guest. You were trying to process, and it was just a coincidence that your Leelo was in there. You’d be able to slake your hunger and clean up before he awoke.

Steve woke up, confused for a minute, and noticed that it was 4 am. 

He was on your couch with a Giant boner, and someone was in the shower. He stood up, stretched and went to your kitchen for a bottle of water when he heard you moan. 

Wanting to make sure that you were okay, Steve went to your slightly open bathroom door and got an earful.

“Ohhhh. Fuck, Captain, yessssss.”

Steve’s heart began to beat as he took a peek in at you through the clear glass of your shower, back against the wall as you held a sex toy to your pussy. The sight made him forget to breahe. The way you convulsed made his dick jump in his sweats. He rubbed himself to try and calm down, but your voice making those pretty sounds made him grab himself and chase friction against his clothes.

“Yes, Sir… would love to…suck… you…. offfff….fuck, Steve….!”

The sound of his name as you came made him feral and he hit his hand against the door frame. 

You stopped what you were doing as you looked toward the door. Steve used his best stealth tactics to go back to the couch, and that’s where he was when you came out of the bathroom in your robe.

“How much did you hear? Did you see anything?”

The way he was looking at you told you everything.

“I’m sorry, Steve. You were talking in your sleep, because of the movies. I got heated at what you said. Needed to relieve some tension. I understand if you want to stop meeting up. I’ve not been professional. Or a friend.”

“What did I say?”

“Hunh?”

Steve stood up and walked toward you. His voice was so deep. 

“What did I say when I was asleep?”

You gulped, but then you just said it.

“You said that you wanted to… suck my nipples and you said, ‘call me Captain when I suck your nipples. Sir when you suck me off…’”

Steve was closer now. 

“That wasn’t because of the movies.”

His hand was above you on the wall and you were staring up into his impossible blue eyes, which seemed to be shining in the dim light.

“It’s what I want to happen.”

“S-steve?”

Steve’s hand went to your hair, loosening the bun that you’d made for the shower.

“But I figured you only wanted to be friends, y’know?

“We are friends. That’s what you established when you came to my office…”

Steve fisted your braids in his hand and drew your head toward his. 

“I needed your help, true. But I was trying to get close to you without knowing how to make my move. Didn’t think you wanted me too, but what I just saw you doing in that bathroom. What I heard you saying, Libby…”

He stopped, his lips mere centimeters from yours.

“Christ, do you know how that ruined me?”

You whimpered in your throat and closed the distance between you.

If a supersoldier could slam someone against the wall gently, that is what Steve Rogers did to you as his lips and tongue explored yours. Your hands found his hair and tugged as he pulled yours, and your body pressed against his.

Steve pressed soft kisses all along your face. When he finally reached your lips, he teased you, barely touching them, causing you to whimper. He deepened the kiss, his tongue licking at yours, daring it to follow. Your mind was completely blown, and when you separated for air, Steve asked a question.

“So. Can you call me Captain when I suck your nipples? Sir when you suck me off?”

Your eyes met his and you made a silent agreement.

“Oh Yes, Sir.”

“Hmmmmmm.” 

Steve closed his eyes and groaned.

“Good girl. Correct answer.”

Steve kissed you again and this time his hands explored your body too. Your skin was moist and hot from the shower, and he ignited it even more. You writhed against him, brushing your nipples against his chest, causing them to swell and thicken. He groaned into your mouth, and it sent a pool of desire straight to your core. His hard cock pressed into your thigh insistently, and you reached into his sweats to wrap your hand around the rigid length of it.

“Jesus….” 

Steve’s ragged breath huffed into your face as his hand found your breasts and weighed them, rolling each of your nipples between his thumbs. You continued to stroke him, causing his hips to jerk up into your palm, beads of moisture helping to lubricate your hand as you stroked him as best you could, struggling to grip his girth. 

“Is this gonna fit in my mouth? In my pussy?”

Steve growled and kissed you again, his fingers parting your robe and dipping between your thighs. You shivered as first, one impossibly long thick finger slipped inside your slick heat, then two.

“We’ll make it work. You are so wet. So ready. And that mouth. If I can just experience you trying, I’d struggle not to blow my load, Libby. M’ struggling right now with just your hand.” 

“Let’s go to my bed.”

“Give me one now.”

“But-”

“What did I just say Lieutenant? Who is in command?”

Lust rocked your body at Steve pulling rank. You whimpered again.

“You are, Captain.”

“That’s right. Now stay here, and take this like the soldier you are.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Steve rewarded you with a kiss and then trailed more down your neck, moving south. He paused, his breath warming the skin over one of your swollen peaks. You were in agony.

“Captain, please.” 

“Please what?” 

“Please let me feel your lips.”

“As you wish.” 

You writhed as he kissed everywhere except where you wanted him. You tugged on his hair, which did nothing to dissuade him from his mission of driving you crazy. 

“I love that you are so desperate for me, Lib. So damn attractive.”

He hovered over your nipple as he teased it with the hot air from his mouth, looking up at you with those blue, blue eyes.

“You love this, don’t you?”

“Yes, Captain!”

Steve added his thumb to the mix of his fingers pumping in and out of you. He kept the pace consistent, no matter how much you tried to move against his fingers. Chuckling, he finally settled his lips around your nipple and hallowed his cheeks as he drew you into his mouth, causing your pussy to shudder to gush over his fingers as you came.

“C-captain!”

“Yes, Doll?” 

“N-need you to fuck me. Please.” 

“Who’s in command?” 

He grazed your nipple with his teeth. 

“You, Captain, I—” 

Steve withdrew his fingers from your cunt.

“Can you call me Sir first?”

You looked into his eyes and suddenly you wanted nothing more. You dropped to your knees in your living room, not caring how the hardwood felt on your knees. Relishing it, even.

Steve pushed your robe off your shoulders and it pooled around you as you watched him take off his t-shirt and pull down his sweats and boxers. You practically drooled at the sight of the thick tan staff in front of your face.

You watched Steve’s thick fingers grab the base of himself and squeeze and you looked up to see him clenching his jaw.

“You’ are trying to make me blow my load on your face with those eyes of yours, Lieutenant. Maybe I should ask you again. Who is in charge here?” 

“You Sir. Let me taste you, please?”

You were topping him with a request, but Steve let it slide as his cock slid past your lips and tongue.

“So fucking hot. Isn’t that what the kids say?”

Steve took your head in his hands as you put your hands behind your back and let him fuck your face. You hummed an acknowledgement as Steve groaned above you. Your pussy was sopping wet at this point.

Steve let go of your head and braced himself against the wall as he warned you through clenched teeth.

“Do you want this? Because… it….fuck… here it comes….”

You prepared yourself and swallowed quite a lot of Steve’s cum, which tasted surprisingly good. You moaned your approval as he gave you his spend.

He grasped himself again and pulled his still hard cock out of your mouth as you grinned up at him. 

“I could do that all day, Doll." He licked his lips as he looked down at you.

"Where is your bedroom again?”

You smiled and took his hand as he helped you to stand, and he followed you to your bedroom, nodding his head toward your California king.

“Get on the bed.”

Steve watched as you obeyed and stroked himself. Then, he kneeled beside you and ran his fingers along your body.

“You don’t know how much I’ve thought about this.”

You rolled under his touch, desire consuming you.

“Please…Steve”

Steve sighed, but secretly thrilled that his dream was coming true. You were begging him for it.

“I thought you knew what this was, who was in charge…”

He rolled your nipple and then pinched it when you said,

"You are, Sir!"

Steve rolled his big body over yours, supporting himself with his arms over your head. His cock nudged your wet slit, and he swore. 

“So damn good, Doll.” 

You moved your hips, trying for friction, or the goal, penetration, desperate now. 

“Please, Steve, don’t make me wait. I need you. I’m yours.”

Steve stilled, and looked into your eyes.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear that…that you’re mine?” 

His tongue licked at your bottom lip before he kissed you. 

“I’m not letting you go.” 

His hips started moving, sliding his rigid member through your folds before testing your entrance. His eyes stuttered closed at the resistance there and at the way you slowly yielded open for him. Your eyes rolled back as he stretched you out like never before, fully sliding into you.

You both gasped as he bottomed out, and you gazed at each other, getting lost in the moment. You knew you would never be the same as you met Steve’s thrusts and he didn’t break eye contact as he stroked you to the most mind-numbing orgasm you’d ever had, embarrassingly quickly. 

Steve stroked lazily for a few minutes before he pulled out, turned you over and admired your back, tenderly kissing your shoulder blades.

“You are so beautiful. Everywhere.”

He lined up to your sopping wet pussy and slowly breached you again.

“What is the proper response, Lieutenant?”

“To what, Sir?”

Steve’s head dropped so that his hair brushed your neck and his tongue traced your spine, causing you to arch your back as he slid all of the way home.

“To the statement of fact that you are beautiful. Everywhere.”

His voice was a desperate groan, and so sexy.

“Oh,” you exclaimed, and kept your mouth open, searching for air because you almost forgot how to breathe.

Steve smacked your ass.

“That’s not correct.”

He was going hard now, and his voice was strained. He was close.

“Y-yes, Sirrrrrrr!”

You came again, pussy clutching Captain America’s cock. Steve became the most profane you’d ever heard him.

“Feels so fucking good, Doll. Love this ass, and this tight, wet, pussy. Fuckkkkk!”

Steve roared as you felt his hot ropes of cum spurt inside you, triggering yet another orgasm.

“Oh my goddd!”

You collapsed and Steve moved so that you were still connected, but on your sides.

“We’ve got to finish the movie. Need to find out what happens with Mookie…”

"Yes, Sir."

But Steve was falling asleep, and you looked over your shoulder at the super soldier who looked more relaxed than you’d ever seen him. You kissed his arm, which was wound around you, and which was holding you tight.

—--

The next Thursday, you were in your office when you heard a commotion. You looked out of your window as you saw Captain Rogers striding toward your office, this time in uniform, his hat under his arm. You closed your blinds and went to stand outside the door of your space as he moved nearer to you.

Damn. You should never have told Steve how much him being in uniform affected you.

“Captain Rogers, this is a surprise.”

You kept your eyes straight ahead as you stood at attention and he moved around you.

“I need your help again, Lieutenant. In your office. Now.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“At ease.”

You relaxed as Steve put his hat on your desk, advanced upon you, putting his hands on your waist as he kissed you silly while easily lifting you and placing you on your desk. He backed up to take a look at you as you crossed your legs.

“I’m here to inspect your uniform today, Lieutenant. From this view, it looks splendid.”

“Thank you, Sir.” 

You straightened your torso and pulled on your jacket, but you knew that he was speaking about the fact that you’d worn a skirt today, as he requested.

“I’m interested to see if you followed all instructions.”

Steve’s hands were on your thighs and he pulled them apart and got on his knees before you. He smiled and licked his lips as he saw that you were in fact, not wearing any underwear. He also could smell your arousal and opened his mouth to breathe it in. He was transfixed. You snapped him out of it when you asked him a question.

“You said you needed help, Sir?”

He looked up at your cocky grin.

“Yes, lieutenant. Need you to help me with a new term I came across today in my reading. Cunnilingus?”

“Y-yes, Sir. Of course Sir.”

It was all you could say as Captain Steve Rogers inspected your uniform from underneath your skirt.

------

Read Mood.

Reblog if you liked it!

[guyspleasehesmyfriend]

landoscar fic recs

the goats of landoscar fics to Me

impasse of biting - @wanderingblindly

12.5k | 2/2 | vampire au | barista!lando/vampire!oscar | M

"Maybe it would be good for you, something like this." Lando looks away from the espresso machine, over at Charles. "Like what?" "A vampire." "Charles," Lando breathes out, leaning against the back of his workstation and crossing his arms. "I've told you, it's not..." it's a me problem. He's the one that can't seem to connect to people, he's the one that's not noteworthy enough to want.

one of the first landoscar fics i ever read and it did change the trajectory of my life forever, liquid ur a genius btw. u could say im a real SUCKER for vampires…….

sgraffito - @ocontraire

19k | 1/1 | non-driver au | art teacher!lando/f1 driver!oscar | T

Maybe it could have been him, instead. It could have been him driving alongside Oscar, his hands lifting trophies, his dreams soaked in champagne. But Lando taught art while his brother raced, and he didn't regret it. Not when Oli seemed so happy.

hurt my feelings in the best way possible, pretty sure i cried, very beautiful overall

learned behavior - @passengerprincipessa

59.2k | 1/1 | 2024 season fwb / driver!lando/driver!oscar | E

Lando tries to win a championship and learns how to want.

THEEEEE landoscar fic, made me really weird about lando forever.

death and other lies - @finifugue

42.7k | 3/3 | spies but also so much more | assassin!lando/serial killer!oscar | M

Oscar kills people. Lando is legally dead. Someone wants to restart the war.

one of the most entertaining and well written fics i have ever read, incredibly devastating and heartwarming at the same time.

catechism - debrief

9.4k | 2/2 | theyre cats. | cat!lando/cat!oscar | T

“My faves are Temptation MixUps, but they only come in tubs,” Lando remarks. “I know how to open tubs,” Oscar says offhandedly. He knows how to what. “Will you marry me?” Lando asks without much thought.

prison break but cats, it is so silly and perfect

take it offline - @lellabellas

20k | 3/3 | office au doesnt even begin to describe it | ceo!lando/cto!oscar | M

"Why don't you put that mouth to better use, mate?" Lando's stomach turns even as he spreads his legs farther apart into a suggestive position. He's so fucked. Forget crossing a line; he's just pole-vaulted the line, done six backflips, and launched himself into the stratosphere. Half promises to hangers on in a bar is one thing—a little 'you take care of me, I'll take care of you,' and then never call them back. Coming onto a work colleague is something else entirely. But Oscar doesn't crack. He slowly closes his mouth that's fallen open in shock, licks his lips, and stares Lando down just as hard. "Alright."

blatantly unhinged and evil oscar is my favorite, and he is so well written in this fic, was on the edge of my seat the whole time and audibly gasped at least twice while reading it. Rancid in the best of ways.

run, rabbit, run (ive got you in my sights) - @saccharinenectarine123

8.5k | 1/1 | canon divergence | driver!lando/driver!oscar | E

Oscar's been obsessed with Lando since he was 14. Now they’re teammates at McLaren, and he's struggling to keep it together. Lando's not a better man.

LOVE when oscar is a loser who is obsessed with lando and lando is kind of evil about it, very beautiful outcome

sun kissed - @passengerprincipessa

45.5k | 6/6 | backpacking au | yachtie!lando/engineer!oscar | E

Oscar gets broken up with and impulsively books a four-week backpacking trip through Europe. He doesn't expect to fall in love along the way.

the most rom com fic ever + some of the most incredible character development everrrrrr incredibly heartwarming and feel good fic

in the firing line - @sincerelylancelot

5.3k | 1/1 | restaurant au | server!lando/chef!oscar | E

On Monday morning, Oscar finds a coffee next to his chopping board and a note.

i dont know why this fic itches my brain the way it does but i have read it 5 times and its perfect, simple idea + beautiful execution

certain uncertainty - @celellken

21.5k | 1/1 | ranch au | ranch hand!lando/ranch hand!oscar | NR

Oscar and Lando work on a ranch. Oscar is used to keeping his head down and his emotions in check. But when Lando arrives, all easy smiles and restless energy, Oscar finds himself thrown off balance.

slice of life found family ranch au...need i say more. deserves her flowers

the road not taken - @zelebrini

49.4k | 7/7 | slowburn exes to lovers | photographer!lando/vet!oscar | E

A long time ago, Oscar lost something he’s not sure he’s ever getting back.

WHAT IF UR OLD SITUATIONSHIP CAME BACK TO HAUNT U. AND HE WAS A BEAUTIFUL VET. AND U SAVED A CAT TOGETHER. so tragic...so amazing...i killed myself 17 times every chapter and loved every second of it

forget the protocol - astronautaficionado

68.7k | 10/10 | hockey au | goalie!lando/defenseman!oscar | E

By the time Oscar's first NHL contract ends, he's spent most of it in the minors. When he receives a controversial offer to join another team, it changes everything about his life, especially the hockey.

oscar psychologically tortures himself over a crush when literally nobody asked him to do that

so what are you waiting for? (its your serve) - @serve-cunt

76.4k | 11/11 | tennis au | tennis player!lando/tennis player!oscar | M

“Good evening and welcome to the press conference for Oscar Piastri,” said the organiser, in an officious, bored voice. “A reminder to keep your questions brief.” She pointed to a blonde woman in the first row. “Catherine, go ahead.” Catherine leaned forward. "First of all, Oscar, congratulations," she said. "With the points from this win you’ll be in the top twenty ranked male tennis players. That's a huge deal, especially this young. Did you expect that when you woke up this morning?"

just impeccable. oscar learning he can have sport and cute boy at the same time will get me every single time, and also now im fighting tennis demons

leading lines - @volantium

16.5k | 1/1 | fake dating au | photographer!lando/driver!oscar | T

Oscar blinks at him, slowly, mind gone horrifically blank. Lando keeps on talking but Oscar doesn’t hear any sound come out of his mouth. “What do you mean,” Oscar speaks over Lando, and can hear the audible click of Lando’s jaw snapping shut, “that you told your parents we’re dating?”

they r so stupid and i love them terribly

afterburn - @passengerprincipessa

75.1k | 5/5 | canon divergence | ferrari driver!lando/mclaren driver!oscar | E

At the end of 2027, Lando leaves for Ferrari. Oscar doesn't know why.

might just be The oscar character study, oscar learning he can have sport and cute boy at the same time once again

half-lives - anon

16.9k | 1/1 | gang au | gang member!lando/get away driver!oscar | E

Oscar is the crew's new getaway driver. Lando doesn't trust him. Doesn't like how calm he stays when things go to hell. But then things do go to hell, a job gone sideways, crew lost. Now it's just the two of them on the run. Bleeding. Breathing too close. Oscar starts seeing the cracks in Lando's armor. The way he folds when someone handles him right. The way he begs but never says it out loud. The hatred is always easy. What comes after isn’t.

i wish i knew who this anon was so i could kiss their brain for this utter masterpiece, running from the cops is my favorite brand of forced proximity

already home - @nyoomfruits

32.5k | 1/1 | non drivers + fake relationship au | producer(kinda)!lando/lawyer!oscar | T

Lando takes a deep steadying breath. “I think I might be in love with Oscar.” He says, and hates how immediately when he says the words, he knows it’s true. “Right,” Max says, nodding. “And?” “What do you mean, ‘and?’” Lando says, a little outraged. “I can’t be in love with him! We’re married! This is like, a disaster waiting to happen!”

rom com, friends to lovers, and fake relationship.....the holy trinity of fics i think

a single great error - @sincerelylancelot

12.4 k | 1/1 | magic + dark academia | everyone has magic powers | M

Lando reminds him of a black hole. Not just all-consuming and endless, but a bridge to infinite possibilities. Oscar’s hands can rip the universe apart, knit it back together, and feel the air shimmer where reality was—but to him, Lando is what’s left in that space: infinite and always.

heart! breaking! stuff! the sequel is also incredible.

off the record - anon

19.2k | 2/2 | pwp | secret camboy!lando/driver!oscar | E

Oscar stumbles upon a camboy account that looks a lot like Lando. It ruins his focus, rewires his brain, and makes him want things he shouldn't.

HOT. SO HOT. SO GOOD. ONCE AGAIN I WISH I KNEW WHO THIS ANON WAS SO I COULD KISS THEIR BRAIN. love when landoscar match each others freaks

negative splits - @ocontraire

10k | 1/1 | pro runners au | runner!lando/runner!oscar | T

So officially, Oscar Piastri, pretty good steepler and pretty bad pacer, was now a professional runner. They wanted him to steeple, mostly, though he’d be doing cross country in the fall, and Lando had pinky promised him, mid-distance guy to mid-distance guy, that if he wanted to get into the 3k flat indoor then he would get him in. Oscar didn’t really want to ask how he planned on doing that. Felt safer not to ask.

every single one of leaf's sport aus is a masterpiece, and this is no exception. top tier landoscar dynamics

[just-aake]

Widow’s Charm

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha finds herself falling for Tony’s new lab assistant and weapons technician.

Warnings: fluff

Words: 3322

Natasha walks down the hallway towards Tony’s lab, holding her widow bite gauntlets in her hand. Typically, she would have just sent them down to be repaired, but an unexpected mission came up which means she needs them fixed sooner rather than later. Reaching the entrance of the lab, the doors slide open for her as she enters.

“Hey Tony, can you fix–,” Natasha stops when she notices someone else working in the lab.

You look up from your work table at the new voice in the room and see the Black Widow staring at you curiously. You have been working at the Avenger’s Compound as the new weapons technician as well as Tony’s lab assistant for the past few months. 

Since then, you’ve met all of the other Avengers already except for the mysterious Black Widow, though you have repaired some of her equipment that she had sent down previously. 

Tony tells you that she prefers to keep to herself, which you can understand. You settled with the fact that you may never meet her in person, so it is a small shock to see her standing in front of you.

Putting down your tools, you wipe your hands on your apron and walk over to her. Extending your hand to her, you give her a polite smile as you introduce yourself.

“Hello, my name is Y/n L/n. I’m the new weapons technician and Mr. Stark’s assistant in the lab. How can I help, Ms. Romanoff?” 

A small surprised smile forms on Natasha’s face at your words. Intrigued to learn more about you, she raises her hand to yours in greeting.

“Hi, you can just call me Nata–.” 

“No, no, no!” A voice yells from down the halls outside of the lab.

Tony comes rushing into the lab, breathing heavily. Looking around frantically, his eyes widen at the two of you. He rushes over to you quickly, grabbing you by the shoulders, and pushing you away from Natasha and out into the hallway. 

“I need you to go get the thing from Pepper,” he tells you.

“What thing?” you ask in confusion as you turn back around to him.

He gives you a brief wave before pressing the button on the side, shutting the lab doors in your face.

For a moment, Tony remains standing by the door, tensed as he purposely avoid looking at Natasha. Then, in the next second, his entire body suddenly relaxes, and he moves casually over to his workstation. 

“FRIDAY, what’s the plan for today?” Tony asks.

“The parts for the new repulsors arrived today, sir,” the AI voice replies.

“Great, get those plans pulled up for me, will you?”

Natasha blinks at the lab doors as she tries to process what just happened. She turns to Tony, looking for an explanation.

“What the hell was that Tony?” she exclaims.

Tony looks at her with his eyebrows raised.

“What was what?”

“You just suddenly pushed Y/n out of the room.”

Tony's mouth presses into a tight line as he gives her a confused look. “Never heard of her. Was there somebody here FRIDAY?”

“No, sir.” 

Tony nods back at her with a satisfied look.

Crossing her arms, Natasha was about to argue when the lab doors opened up again. 

Pepper walks into the room towards Tony.

“Y/n said you told her to get a ‘thing’ from me?”

Tony lets out a groan as he hangs his head. Sighing, he gestures to Natasha.

“Y/n met Natasha.” 

Pepper lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Really, Tony? We talked about this. You can’t place all the blame on her.”

Natasha raises her hands to get their attention. “Can somebody please explain to me what’s going on?”

Pepper turns to her, a small apologetic look on her face.

“Tony thinks you are the reason why his assistants keep quitting.”

Natasha frowns at the accusation. “How is that my fault?”

Tony scoffs in disbelief. “FRIDAY, pull up the timeline.” 

A holographic screen pops up between them showing the past year with certain dates highlighted. Tony points to one of the earliest dates in the year. 

“Avery Grayson. She met you on her second day on the job. A week later she asks you out but you decline. She turns in her resignation the following week.”

Natasha raises her eyebrows at the information.

“That doesn’t prove—“ 

Tony interrupts her, “Quinn Turner. She confesses to you a month after your first interaction. Gets turned down too and then quits three days later.”

Tony brings up the two most recent dates.

“Same thing with Riley and Harper. It’s a pattern. They meet you, fall for you, get rejected, and then quit.”

Natasha looks over at Pepper, silently asking if he was serious. In response, Pepper gives her a resigned nod as she rubs her head tiredly.

Tony gets her attention when he points at her accusingly.

“Do you know how hard it is to find competent people who know how to handle this level of equipment?”

Natasha lets out a huff of disbelief, crossing her arms. She remembers his previous assistants. To be honest, most of her interactions with them were completely professional. She didn’t get close to any of them personally or showed any romantic interest, which made each of the confessions surprising to her. 

Still, this doesn’t explain what he was trying to do with you. She raises her eyebrow at him.

“So your plan was to what? Hide your new assistant from me forever?”

“Not forever. Just until I can find someone for her so that she doesn’t fall for you.”

Natasha rolls her eyes at his ridiculousness. Focusing back on her original intention, she places her widow bite gauntlets on the work table.

“Can you just fix these for me? I have a mission in a few hours.”

“Fine, but you stay away from my assistant,” he warns.

Natasha heads toward the exit and waves her hand, dismissing his words. It’s not like she intends to make you fall for her, but she has to admit that she is interested to learn more about you. 

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

You look up from your sketches at the sound of the lab door opening and see the Black Widow stroll into the room. You give her a smile in greeting.

“Welcome back, Ms. Romanoff. Are you looking for Mr. Stark?”

She walks over to your workspace, leaning slightly against the table as she looks at you.

“Actually, I was coming to see you, and you can just call me Natasha. We got interrupted the last time we met.”

Nodding your head, you laugh softly at the memory.

“Pepper explained to me what that was about.” You give her a teasing suspicious look. “So are you here to make me fall for you?”

Natasha gives you an amused smile. Most people don’t usually get comfortable around her so quickly. 

“Only if you want to,” she says nonchalantly.

You chuckle at her response.

“Unfortunately, you won’t be hearing a confession from me soon. I like my job here.” 

Natasha feels a tinge of disappointment at your words, her smile dropping slightly. You don’t notice though since your attention had drifted to the widow bite gauntlets on her wrists.

“Speaking of, did you want me to take a look at that?” You can see that there was some damage from a fight probably during her recent mission.

Glancing down, Natasha shrugs. “I can do it later myself.”

“Well, that explains why I don’t see your stuff across my desk that often.” You raise your hand out to her anyway.

She stares at you curiously before slowly placing her hand in yours.

You let out a small laugh at her action. “This is nice, but I actually want the gauntlets.” You hold her hand gently in yours before turning it around to reach the clasp on the weapon.

Natasha tilts her head as she observes you. You were focused but gentle as you worked, and you didn’t show any signs that you were intimidated by who she was. In fact, you were pretty cute as you scrunch your face in concentration. She decides to tease you a little.

“You know, I don’t usually let people take things off my body until at least the second date.”

You remove the second gauntlet from her other wrist with a start before you see the teasing smirk on her face. You let out a small huff before refocusing your attention on your table.

“I see what Mr. Stark means when he said you were charming.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Oh? And what else did he tell you about me?”

“That you didn’t like meeting new people, though now I think that may have been a lie.”

Natasha shrugs before leaning in a little closer to you.

“It’s sort of true. I just prefer to meet people that I’m interested in.”

You turn away from her to hide the smile on your face, pretending to look for some tools. 

The lab doors slide open as Tony walks in while reading the tablet in his hand. Looking up, he sighs sadly when he sees Natasha next to you.

“Did she get to you already?”

You give him a reassuring look. “No confessions from me. Natasha just needed some things fixed.”

Tony stares at the two of you doubtfully before pointing to Natasha.

“Don’t you have reports to do or something?”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha stands to leave. She turns to you with a soft smile.

“I’ll come visit more often now that I know you exist.”

You bite your lips to hide your smile as you watch her leave. 

As Natasha exits the lab, she hears Tony’s voice call out.

“FRIDAY, can you restrict her access to the lab?”

“I’m afraid Ms. Potts has already denied that request, sir.”

Natasha smirks at the AI response. She should get something for Pepper later as thanks.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

As she said, over the following weeks, Natasha visits you often in the lab. Sometimes with some equipment that needed to be fixed. Other times just to talk. Later, when she finds out that you usually eat your lunch in the lab, she would also join you if she had the time. 

You look up when you hear the doors open, already knowing who to expect. Natasha walks in, waving the take-out bag in her hands.

You groan in relief at the sight of her. “You are a lifesaver.” 

You stand and grab the food from her eagerly before moving it to an area where the two of you can eat.

Natasha sits on the edge of your work table as she watches you set out the food.

“Well, I know how you get absorbed into your work and forget to eat,” she tells you knowingly.

Her eyes glance at the papers on your desk that you were previously working on. Most of them had rough sketches of designs for some of the equipment of the other Avengers. Her name on one paper catches her attention. Picking it up, Natasha examines the details curiously. 

At the sudden silence, you glance up at her. You do a double take when you realize what she was looking at.

Over time, as you worked on her equipment, you’ve noticed that her current suit’s belt doesn’t hold much ammo or gadgets, so you had sketched some ideas that you had for her.

“That’s just some ideas of some upgrades that I had. It’s not really anything worth looking at.” 

Natasha shakes her head in disagreement before handing the paper back to you.

“I like it. I’m sure Tony will get you the parts that you would need if you want to work on it.”

“Really?” you ask her, astonished.

She nods at you reassuringly before pushing you back towards the food.

“We can discuss it later, but first, let’s eat.”

A few weeks later, you completed your first prototype, and you were excited to show Natasha and test it out.

Natasha admires the new belt on the table. It was still slim and compact, but she can see where you had added extra slots for her weapons. You also included her signature red symbol on the buckle.

You were practically buzzing with excitement.

“I just need to see if there needs to be any more adjustments with the sizing.”

Without thinking, you grab her hand to pull her closer to you. You move quickly as you remove her current belt. Taking the new belt, your hands wrap around her waist as you grab one end before bringing it to her front and snapping it into place. You fidget with the belt, checking for any snags or looseness, totally absorbed in your work. 

Natasha’s initial surprised expression melts into an amused and fond look on her face as she watches you. You were adorable when you concentrated on your work, and honestly, she’s not sure how much longer she can hold in her feelings for you.

After performing your final checks and detailing little changes that needed to be adjusted, you suddenly froze when you realized Natasha hadn’t said a word since you started. 

Your eyes widened, mortified when you see your current position. Your body had moved closer to Natasha’s when you were making adjustments. One of your hands was still placed atop the belt while the other was resting against her stomach, and you could feel her toned body underneath your hand. You swallow nervously as you look up at her.

She tilts her head at you as you continue to stare at her.

“Everything okay?”

The closeness between your bodies was making it hard for you to think. Eventually, you were able to get your brain to function enough to respond.

“Yeah…all good.” You unconsciously lick your lips out of embarrassment.

You see Natasha's eyes flick down to your mouth at the action, and you feel your face heat up even more. You should definitely step away from her now. As you go to move, Natasha’s next words causes you to stop in surprise.

“Would you like to go out with me?”

Your eyes widen at her question, and you see a hopeful expression on her face as she waits for your response. Instinctively, you want to say ‘yes’ and close the distance between you two, but you stop yourself, hesistating. 

Natasha sees the conflicting feelings on your face, so she decides to ease the pressure a little with some teasing. 

“You know, according to Tony’s theory, since I’m the one who confessed, a rejection would mean that I would need to quit my job.”

You can't help but laugh at her reasoning before giving her a playful smile, teasing back. 

“Well, we can’t have the Black Widow quitting over a failed confession.”

Natasha places her hands on your waist, pulling you in closer. She tilts her head at you in question.

“I haven’t failed yet. Technically, you never gave me an answer.”

You move your arms to wrap around the back of her neck as you pretend to think about your decision.

“So I still get to keep my job?”

Natasha nods reassuringly. “For however long you can stand working with Tony’s ego.”

You give her a fond smile.

“Then yes, I would love to go out with you.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Tony was throwing you a party to celebrate your first anniversary since working with the Avengers and him, even though you insisted that it wasn’t necessary. He disagrees, saying how nobody has lasted this long, so you relented.

Naturally, you went with Natasha as your date since you have been dating her for several months already. The only problem is that you forgot to update Tony about your new relationship.

When the two of you enter the party, Natasha leans down and whispers next to your ear, “I’ll go get us something to drink.”

With a light touch against your back, she walks away toward the bar. 

You are lost in your thoughts as you admire her walk away, so you are startled when Tony slides in front of you, excitement in his eyes.

“Y/n! Good, I found you.”

You smile at him, used to his frantic energy by now.

“Hello, Mr. Stark, was there something that you needed?”

He waves his hand dismissively at you.

“This party is for you, and you’ve been working with me for a year now. I’ve told you to just call me Tony.” 

You give him an apologetic look before asking him curiously.

“You said you were looking for me?”

Tony claps his hands at the reminder.

“Yes, I want you to meet someone. She’s a nice person, has a great personality, and she works as a pilot.”

You raise your hand to try and stop him. “I already have some—“

“Oh, here she is!”

You give him a tight smile as the woman approaches the two of you. Tony pats you on the back in encouragement, turning to leave.

“Alright, I’ll leave the two of you alone.”

“Wait, Tony—,“ you try to stop him, but he rushes away. Turning back to the woman, you give her a polite smile as she introduces herself.

Meanwhile, Natasha was standing at the bar, waiting for your drinks.

“I am the greatest boss ever,” Tony exclaims, sliding in next to her.

Natasha rolls her eyes at his words. Deciding to indulge him while she waits, she asks him to explain.

“How’s that?”

“I just found the perfect date for our favorite weapons techie.”

Natasha frowns when she realizes what he said. Turning around to look at where she left you, she sees that you were currently talking with a beautiful woman. 

Her posture relaxes when she reads your body language. You had a polite smile on your face as you listened to the woman, but she could see how tense your body was, and your hand at your side kept fidgeting with your dress. 

“Now I don’t have to worry about her falling for you,” Tony says smugly.

“No, we wouldn’t want that,” Natasha smirks as she turns back around to grab the drinks that the bartender just placed in front of her. 

Tony notices the two drinks in her hands and raises his eyebrows at her.

“You have a date?”

“Girlfriend.”

Without explaining further, she heads back toward you. By the time Natasha reaches you, the other woman was already turning to leave, nodding at Natasha in acknowledgment. 

You let out a breath of relief as Natasha comes back to your side. Thankfully, the woman was understanding when you explained the situation to her. 

Natasha hands you your drink as she returns her hand around your waist, pulling you against her. She sighs in disappointment as she watches the woman leave.

“Here I thought I had the chance to be a hero and save you.”

You give her a teasing smile. “Maybe next time.” 

Natasha presses a soft kiss to your lips in response before pulling away.

You tilt your head curiously at her. “What was that for?”

Natasha gives you an affectionate look.

“First, because I love you.” 

Her expression shifts into a smirk.

“Second, is Tony freaking out?”

You look over her shoulders at the bar and see Tony gaping at the two of you, pointing accusingly at Natasha while Pepper holds him back from rushing over.

You turn back to her, giving her an amused look.

“He’s going to lock you out again.”

Natasha just shrugs, unbothered. “He can’t keep me away from you.” She raises her eyebrows suggestively at you. “He also can’t stop you from visiting me in my room during your breaks.”

You push her lightly before bringing her face close for a kiss.

When you accepted this job, you never thought you would end up in a relationship with the Black Widow. Then again you never imagine that she would end up falling for you.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

[julietsf1]

Factory Reset - Franco Colapinto x Engineer!Reader

summary: After a major crash, Franco Colapinto is sent to the Williams factory to work alongside the engineers repairing his car. Tensions run high as he’s forced to confront the realities of their work and the sharp wit of performance engineer Y/N. What begins as a clash of worlds becomes an eye-opening experience for both. (6k words)

content: overconfident Franco; smart but salty Y/N; 3rd person POV; written by someone who doesn't know much about engineering lol it's the vibes that count innit

an: Sorry for disappearing cuties! I had some unexpected work obligations but will be uploading all my WIPs today! thanks for sticking around <3

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

The tension in the Williams Racing debrief room was almost as palpable as the screeching halt Franco Colapinto’s car had come to in Las Vegas. The crash had been spectacularly disastrous, with debris scattered across the strip like confetti. And now, here he was, summoned not to a glamorous event or strategy meeting but to a mandatory visit to the Williams factory in Grove. Franco couldn’t remember the last time he felt this much dread walking into a building.

James Vowles stood at the head of the room, his usual calm demeanor carrying an edge of authority that demanded attention.

“We’re implementing a new initiative,” James began, his sharp eyes darting between Franco and the engineers gathered. “To strengthen team spirit and accountability. After a crash like the one in Vegas and our previous years with many crashes, it’s crucial to recognize that Formula 1 isn’t just about what happens on track. It’s also about the people who make it all possible behind the scenes.”

Franco leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. He wasn’t a fan of the lecture tone, but he wasn’t about to interrupt.

“This initiative,” James continued, “involves drivers spending time at the factory. Working alongside the team. Seeing firsthand the hours, the sweat, and the dedication it takes to repair the damages—damages that fall under the cost cap.”

There it was. The thinly veiled jab. Franco sat up straighter, his jaw tightening.

“I’m sure we all agree,” James said with a smile that wasn’t entirely warm, “this will benefit everyone. Franco, you’ll spend the next three days with us here in Grove.”

The engineers in the room exchanged glances. Some smirked, others looked indifferent, but one person in particular didn’t even bother to mask her displeasure. Y/N, one of the team’s senior performance engineers, leaned back in her chair, arms folded, with an expression that screamed, “Of course it’s him.”

Franco noticed her immediately. He’d seen her around the garage before but had never exchanged more than a brief nod. Now, as her steely eyes bore into him, he felt the weight of the animosity she clearly didn’t bother to hide.

“Any questions?” James asked, breaking the silence.

Franco raised a hand half-heartedly. “Yeah. What exactly am I supposed to do for three days?”

James smiled, his tone sharper than the words themselves. “Learn.”

…

The hum of machinery filled the Williams factory, a symphony of clanging metal, whirring drills, and distant chatter. Franco stood awkwardly at the edge of the main floor, dressed in a team-issued polo and jeans, feeling painfully out of place. Engineers bustled past him with purpose, pushing carts laden with parts or gesturing at detailed schematics. Everyone seemed to know where they were going—everyone but him.

Y/N emerged from a row of workstations, a tablet tucked under her arm and a look of mild irritation on her face. Her presence was commanding, despite her relatively small stature among the towering racks and machinery. When she spotted Franco, her expression tightened further, as if this entire ordeal was a personal inconvenience.

“Right,” she said, stopping in front of him. “Let’s get this over with.”

Franco raised an eyebrow. “Wow. You really know how to make a guy feel welcome.”

Y/N didn’t bite. Instead, she thrust the tablet toward him. “Here’s your schedule for the day. You’ll shadow me for the morning. Try to keep up.”

“Keep up?” Franco smirked, taking the tablet. “I’m an F1 driver. I think I can manage.”

She didn’t even look back as she turned on her heel. “We’ll see.”

The morning was a whirlwind of tasks that Franco barely understood. Y/N walked him through the telemetry department, where engineers analyzed data from his car. The lead analyst, a middle-aged man named Paul, greeted Y/N warmly but barely spared Franco a glance.

“So this is the data from Vegas,” Y/N said, pulling up a graph on one of the monitors. “See these spikes here? That’s where you oversteered.”

Franco squinted at the screen, trying to make sense of the jagged lines. “Okay, but in my defense, the rear was completeshit by that point.”

Y/N shot him a sharp look. “In your defense? Do you know how much work it took to rebuild the floor after that?”

Paul cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the tension. “It’s not all bad,” he interjected. “We did get some valuable data—”

“Valuable data doesn’t fix a wrecked car,” Y/N cut him off, her eyes still on Franco. “Next time, maybe don’t treat the car like it’s disposable.”

Franco clenched his jaw. He was used to criticism from team principals or the media, but this felt different—more personal. “I don’t crash on purpose, you know,” he muttered.

Y/N turned back to the screen. “Could’ve fooled me.”

The tour continued through the machine shop, where technicians were crafting replacement parts, and the aerodynamics lab, where wind tunnel models were being adjusted. Franco noticed that while most people greeted Y/N with respect, their reactions to him ranged from polite nods to outright indifference.

By the time they reached the assembly area, Franco was bristling with frustration. “Is everyone here always this friendly, or is it just me?”

Y/N glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “They’re busy. Unlike you, they don’t have time to play the victim.”

Franco stopped walking, forcing her to turn around. “What’s your problem with me?”

“My problem?” Y/N folded her arms, her voice low but pointed. “You think this team exists to make you look good on Sundays. But for us, this is our life. Every crash, every mistake, it’s hours of extra work. Late nights. Missed weekends. Let alone you blaming it all on the car every time. So yeah, excuse me if I’m not rolling out the red carpet for you.”

Franco opened his mouth to respond but couldn’t find the words. Instead, he fell silent and followed her as she led him to the next department.

The afternoon brought more hands-on tasks. Y/N handed Franco a wrench and pointed to a disassembled gearbox. “Think you can manage this?”

“Depends,” Franco said, inspecting the gearbox. “What’s the record time for putting one of these together?”

“This isn’t a race,” Y/N snapped, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes.

Franco worked diligently, occasionally asking questions that Y/N grudgingly answered. By the end of the day, the gearbox was reassembled, and Franco felt a small sense of accomplishment—though Y/N didn’t offer any praise.

As they packed up, Franco noticed her pause by one of the workbenches, her expression softening as she examined a photo taped to the wall. It showed a younger Y/N during her internship at McLaren, laughing with Daniel Ricciardo and Lando Norris.

“You worked at McLaren?” Franco asked, genuinely curious.

Y/N nodded without looking at him. “Internship during uni. Best year of my life.”

“Let me guess,” Franco said. “You were one of Danny Ric’s ‘shoey’ victims?”

Y/N laughed, a sound that surprised them both. “Only once. But it was worth it.”

For a moment, the tension between them eased. Then Y/N’s phone buzzed, and she glanced at the screen. “Back to reality. See you tomorrow, Colapinto.”

As she walked away, Franco found himself smiling despite himself. 

…

The second day at the Williams factory was already shaping up to be a long one. Franco arrived earlier than expected, determined not to let Y/N accuse him of slacking off. The factory came alive with distant murmur of conversations slowly filling the space. He leaned against the telemetry lab doorframe, holding a cup of coffee that smelled like it had been brewed by an engineer experimenting with car oil, waiting for Y/N to show up.

When she finally appeared, cradling a steaming cup of tea and glancing down at her tablet, Franco couldn’t help himself. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

Y/N looked up, unimpressed. “You’re early. Trying to win points or just lost?”

“Maybe I just enjoy our morning chats,” Franco replied, grinning over the rim of his coffee cup. “Your warmth really sets the tone for the day.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but there was a flicker of amusement behind her usual sharpness. “If sarcasm counts as effort, you’re doing great.”

The morning routine started where the conversation with Paul had left off the previous day: telemetry analysis. Franco was seated in the simulator cockpit while Y/N pulled up detailed graphs of his Vegas laps, pointing out each mistake with the precision of a scalpel.

“See this spike here?” she said, her finger hovering over the screen. “That’s where you decided braking wasn’t necessary.”

“I didn’t decide that,” Franco countered, leaning forward to study the data. “The rear was loose, and I had to adjust—”

“You overcompensated,” Y/N interrupted, highlighting another section. “Instead of making a gradual adjustment, you panicked. A car doesn’t respond well to panic.”

Franco frowned, leaning back in the seat. “I didn’t panic.”

Y/N turned to face him, her gaze piercing. “You’re telling me plowing into the barrier was part of the plan?”

For a moment, Franco stared at her, at a complete loss for words. Then he laughed, the tension easing slightly. “You know, you’d make a great drill sergeant.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said dryly, though the faintest hint of a smirk played on her lips.

By lunchtime, Franco had decided to stop avoiding the canteen drama and instead followed Y/N to her usual table. She sat with a group of engineers, all engaged in animated conversation about the latest updates to the floor design. Franco tried to follow along, but the technical jargon quickly became overwhelming.

“You look lost,” Y/N said, leaning toward him. Her voice was low enough that only he could hear. “Too many big words?”

Franco smirked, stealing a chip from her tray. “Just biding my time. Waiting for you to talk about something interesting.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow but didn’t stop him from taking another chip. “Bold move.”

“I can be bold,” he said, popping the chip into his mouth.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward, betraying her amusement.

…

At four o’clock sharp Y/N stood by the sideline of the nearby paddle court, tapping her racket against her leg and scanning the group of engineers gathering for the weekly game. It was her favorite way to let off steam after a long week - competitive enough to keep her engaged but lighthearted enough to remind her that work wasn’t everything.

“Where’s Ethan?” someone asked, voicing the question on her mind.

Y/N’s usual partner was nowhere to be seen. A quick check of her phone confirmed it: Ethan had bailed last-minute with a text about a migraine and a sincere promise to make it up to her next week.

“Great,” Y/N muttered under her breath. Without a partner, she’d be sitting this one out.

“Problem?” Franco’s voice cut through the crowd, his grin as smug as ever as he leaned against the court’s railing.

Y/N turned to him, crossing her arms. “Ethan flaked. No partner, no game.”

“Shame,” Franco said, though he didn’t sound particularly sorry. “Guess you’ll just have to cheer from the sidelines.”

Y/N glared at him, but before she could retort, he held up his hands in mock surrender.

“Or,” he continued, “I could step in. You know, save the day.”

She snorted, looking him up and down. “You? Save my day?”

“Hey,” Franco said, grabbing a spare paddle from the bench. “I’m more coordinated than I look.”

“That’s a low bar,” Y/N shot back, but her lips twitched as if suppressing a smile.

“You need a partner,” Franco said, spinning the paddle in his hand. “I’m offering. Unless you’re too scared I’ll outplay you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the thought of sitting out was more annoying than the idea of teaming up with him. “Fine,” she said, pointing at him with her paddle. “But if you screw this up, I’m never letting you live it down.”

The first few minutes were rocky. Franco’s confidence far outstripped his paddle skills, and Y/N found herself darting across the court to cover his missed volleys.

“Are you actually trying?” she called after him when he completely whiffed a return.

“Relax,” Franco said, jogging back to his position. “I’m just warming up.”

“You better warm up fast, I have a competition ranking to keep up,” she snapped, returning a wicked shot from their opponents.

But to her surprise, Franco adjusted quickly. His natural athleticism took over, and soon he was diving for impossible shots and landing them with a flourish that almost made Y/N forget his rough start.

“Not bad,” she admitted after he scored their first point with a sharp return.

“Not bad?” Franco said, feigning offense. “That was textbook genius.”

“Let’s not get carried away,” Y/N said, though she couldn’t help the grin that tugged at her lips.

As the match progressed, Y/N found herself enjoying their unlikely partnership. Franco’s energy was infectious, and his relentless determination to win made her laugh more than once.

“Nice shot!” he shouted after one of her perfectly placed lobs.

“Thanks,” she replied, her voice tinged with mock sweetness. “Try not to ruin it.”

“I’m carrying this team,” Franco said, panting as he prepared for the next serve.

“Only thing you’re carrying is that big head of yours,” Y/N muttered, but the teasing tone softened her words.

At some point, a stray ball sailed out of the court, bouncing into the parking lot. Franco volunteered to fetch it, jogging off while Y/N leaned against the net to catch her breath.

James Vowles strolled over from the sidelines, hands in his pockets and a wide smile on his face.

“Not bad out there,” James said, nodding toward the court. “You’ve got Franco moving, at least.”

Y/N laughed, brushing a stray hair from her face. “He’s not as useless as I thought. Still reckless, though.”

James chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “You know, it’s good to see him having fun. It’s been a rough season—rookie pressure and all that. Moments like this are rare for him.”

Y/N glanced toward Franco, who was bent over retrieving the ball. His usual bravado seemed lighter today, less forced. She’d never thought about how intense the pressure must be for him.

“He hides it well,” Y/N said softly.

James nodded, still smiling. “He does. Sometimes I forget how young he still is.”

When Franco jogged back onto the court, tossing the ball into the air with a cocky grin, Y/N felt a twinge of sympathy she hadn’t expected.

“Ready?” Franco called, positioning himself for the next serve.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” Y/N replied, her voice softer than before.

Franco’s serve caught her off guard. It was precise and powerful, skimming the net and clipping the edge of the line.

“Nice serve,” Y/N said, the words escaping before she could think better of them.

Franco froze mid-smile. “Did you just compliment me?”

“Don’t get used to it,” she said quickly, but there was a faint blush on her cheeks.

The rest of the match passed in a blur of fast volleys and laughter. Y/N found herself encouraging Franco more often, and he responded by playing even better, his confidence growing with every point.

By the time they won—21 to 17—they were both breathless and grinning.

“Good game,” Franco said, holding out his hand.

Y/N shook it, her grip firm. “Not terrible.”

“Coming from you, I’ll take that as glowing praise,” Franco said, his grin widening.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she said, though her tone was more teasing than cutting.

As the match wrapped up and the court cleared, Y/N crouched down to zip her bag, her mind still buzzing with the game’s energy. She couldn’t help but replay the last few points in her head—the unexpected precision of Franco’s serve, the way he’d thrown himself into every volley, and, perhaps most surprising, how well they’d worked together. It wasn’t something she’d anticipated when she grudgingly let him join her earlier.

Franco, standing a few feet away, adjusted the strap of his bag and hesitated. He glanced at Y/N, his usual cocky grin nowhere in sight. Instead, his expression was softer, more sincere, as though he was wrestling with what to say.

“Thanks for letting me play,” he said finally, his voice quieter than usual. It wasn’t just a throwaway comment—it carried a weight Y/N hadn’t expected.

She paused, straightening up and meeting his gaze. For a moment, she wasn’t sure how to respond. Franco wasn’t looking at her with his usual smirk or playful glint. There was something vulnerable in his eyes, something she hadn’t seen before. Gratitude, maybe, or relief.

I should be thanking you,” she said simply, her tone gentler than usual.

Franco blinked, as though her words had surprised him, and for the first time since he’d arrived at the factory, he looked almost shy. He nodded, slinging his bag over his shoulder and stepping closer.

“Seriously,” he added, his voice a little firmer now. “I needed that. It’s been… a lot lately. You didn’t have to let me join, but you did. So, thanks.”

Y/N studied him, her sharp instincts catching the subtle way his shoulders relaxed, the way he shifted his weight like he wasn’t used to opening up. This wasn’t the brash rookie who crashed cars and cracked jokes at every opportunity. This was someone who carried more than he let on—someone who, despite his flaws, was trying.

Her reply came almost automatically, her voice softer than she expected. “Well, don’t let it go to your head.”

But there was no edge to her words this time, no undercurrent of sarcasm. It was the kind of teasing that felt less like a wall and more like an olive branch.

For the first time, she didn’t see him as just the reckless rookie who kept wrecking her hard work. He was something more—someone navigating a high-pressure world, someone trying to find his place just like everyone else. And, Y/N realized, he wasn’t half-bad at it when he let himself breathe.

Franco smiled—an easy, genuine smile that lit up his face in a way that was, dare she admit it, a little endearing. “Careful,” he said, his tone regaining its usual playfulness. “Keep this up, and I might start thinking you like me.”

“Let’s not get carried away,” she shot back, though her lips twitched into a faint smile of their own.

As they walked out of the court together, their banter trailing into the evening air, Y/N couldn’t help but feel like something had shifted. Maybe, just maybe, Franco Colapinto wasn’t as bad as she’d thought.

…

The hum of the factory felt louder than usual the next morning, or maybe it was just the lingering buzz from the paddle game. Y/N sat at her workstation, staring at the detailed telemetry graphs on her screen but not entirely focused on them. She couldn’t stop thinking about Franco—not in the way she was used to, with irritation bubbling under the surface, but something else. Something softer.

“Morning,” a familiar voice called, jolting her out of her thoughts.

Franco leaned against the edge of her desk, his trademark grin firmly in place. He was holding a cup of coffee—factory brew, by the looks of it—and looked annoyingly chipper for someone who had spent the previous day sprinting across a court.

“Don’t you have someone else to bother?” Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow but unable to keep the amusement out of her tone.

“Probably,” Franco replied, setting the coffee down on her desk. “But I figured I’d start with you.”

Y/N eyed the cup suspiciously. “What’s this?”

“Peace offering,” he said, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Figured I owed you for carrying me in paddle yesterday.”

Y/N snorted, picking up the cup. “You’re lucky I like caffeine.” She took a cautious sip, then looked up at him. “Still terrible coffee, though.”

“Hey, I tried,” Franco said, raising his hands in mock surrender.

The morning flew by in a blur of meetings and simulations. Franco had started shadowing her more closely, asking questions that, to her surprise, weren’t entirely stupid.

“So, this graph,” Franco said, leaning over her shoulder as she pulled up data from one of the wind tunnel tests. “What does this spike mean?”

“It means the airflow over the rear wing is separating,” Y/N explained, highlighting the section with my cursor. “See this spike? That’s where the turbulence is disrupting the downforce. Less downforce means less grip, especially through the high-speed corners.”

Franco leaned in, squinting at the data. “So that’s why we were losing time through Sector 2 at Interlagos—the Esses and that long left-hander?”

Y/N glanced at him, impressed despite herself. “Exactly. Nice to see you’ve been paying attention for once.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Franco said, grinning.

Their banter flowed more easily now, the sharp edges of their earlier exchanges softened into something almost friendly. Almost.

During their mid-morning coffee break, Y/N found herself sitting with Franco at one of the smaller tables near the canteen window. She usually avoided these moments, preferring to spend her breaks with other engineers or, more often, alone. But today, she didn’t mind the company.

“So,” Franco said, leaning back in his chair. “How’d you end up here, anyway?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Here, as in Williams? Or here, as in motorsport?”

“Motorsport,” Franco clarified, taking a sip of his coffee. “You don’t exactly seem like the type to spend your weekends watching races.”

Y/N chuckled. “You’d be right about that. My dad was obsessed with cars, though. Used to take me to karting tracks when I was a kid. At first, I hated it—too loud, too smelly. But then I started paying attention to the mechanics, how everything fit together. It just… made sense.”

Franco tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “And that led you here?”

“Eventually,” Y/N said, shrugging. “I studied engineering, did an internship with McLaren during uni. That’s when I realized this wasn’t just some childhood fascination. It was what I wanted to do.”

Franco nodded, his voice quieter now. “Well, you’re really good at it. I hope you know that.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. “Thanks, Franco,” she said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips.

The afternoon was hectic. With the car rebuild still behind schedule, the factory floor buzzed with a sense of urgency. Y/N was stationed at one of the workbenches, assembling a new rear suspension with a few other engineers, when Franco wandered over.

“Need a hand?” he asked, pulling up a stool beside her.

“Can you tell the difference between a torque wrench and a spanner?” Y/N asked without looking up.

“Not yet,” Franco admitted, resting his chin on his hand. “But I’m a fast learner.”

Y/N sighed but handed him a tool anyway. “Fine. Hold this. And don’t drop it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Franco said, mimicking a salute.

Despite her initial reservations, Y/N found herself enjoying his presence. He asked questions, paid attention to her answers, and even managed to make her laugh a few times. By the end of the day, she was surprised at how much they’d gotten done—and how much lighter the workload had felt with him around.

As the factory began to wind down for the evening, Y/N was packing up her tools when Franco appeared beside her, hands in his pockets and a lopsided smile on his face.

“Busy tomorrow?” he asked.

“Probably,” Y/N replied, zipping up her bag. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” Franco said, his tone casual. “Figured I should plan my day around annoying you as much as possible.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her face. “Good luck with that.”

As they walked out of the factory together, the air between them felt lighter, less charged with the tension that had defined their earlier interactions. For the first time, Y/N found herself looking forward to the next day—not just for the work, but for the company.

…

The pub was crowded, buzzing with the energy of Williams team members finally letting loose after a grueling week. Laughter echoed off the wooden beams, glasses clinked, and the occasional burst of cheering from the engineers at the dartboard carried through the room. Franco sat at a high table with James Vowles and a handful of other engineers, a pint of beer in front of him, untouched.

“So there I was,” one of the engineers was saying, his hands gesturing wildly, “under the car, trying to weld the damn thing back together while the rear wing’s hanging on by duct tape—”

James chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Sounds like just another Tuesday.”

Franco forced a smile, but his mind was elsewhere. He could still hear the faint hum of the factory in his head, see the way Y/N’s brow furrowed as she focused on her work. He had no doubt she was still there, surrounded by telemetry data and spreadsheets, hunched over some impossible task to get the car ready for Qatar.

“Franco!” James called, snapping him out of his thoughts. “You’re quiet tonight. That’s not like you.”

Franco shrugged, lifting his pint and taking a sip just to appease him. “Just tired.”

James tilted his head, studying him with a faint smile. “You’ve been spending too much time in the factory. It’ll do that to you.”

“It’s not so bad,” Franco said, setting his glass down. “The coffee is shit though.”

James’s smile grew, but he didn’t press further. Another round of laughter from the group filled the silence, but Franco found himself restless. He glanced at the time on his phone and then at the door.

“Back in a bit,” he said abruptly, grabbing his jacket.

“Running off already?” James teased, but Franco didn’t answer. He was already weaving his way through the crowd, his mind made up.

The factory was eerily quiet when Franco returned, the once-bustling floor now deserted save for the faint hum of machinery. The lights were dimmed, casting long shadows across the empty workstations. He made his way to the telemetry department, navigating the maze of desks and monitors like he belonged there - which, after the past few days, he almost did.

He found her exactly where he expected: sitting at her workstation, her face illuminated by the glow of her screen. Her hair was slightly mussed, one hand absently running through it as she scrolled through what looked like another mountain of data. There was an empty coffee cup on her desk, and a faint crease on her forehead betrayed her exhaustion.

Franco paused, watching her for a moment. She looked so focused, so determined, and it struck him how much effort she poured into her work. Not just effort – her whole heart.

He cleared his throat softly, not wanting to startle her too much. She glanced up, her eyes widening in surprise when she saw him standing there.

“Franco?” she said, setting her stylus down. “What are you doing here? I thought you were at the pub.”

“I was,” he admitted, holding up two brown takeout bags. “But it was boring without someone yelling at me every five minutes.”

Y/N blinked, clearly caught off guard. “And you brought… food?”

“Figured you’d still be here,” he said, stepping closer and setting the bags down on the edge of her desk. “You’ve probably been here all night, haven’t you?”

“I’ve got work to do,” she replied, as though that explained everything.

“Yeah, and you’ve also got to eat,” Franco said, pulling up a chair and sitting down beside her. “So I’m here to make sure you don’t keel over from starvation. You’re welcome, by the way.”

She stared at him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, to his surprise, she let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously thoughtful,” Franco corrected, grinning.

They unpacked the food, and Y/N couldn’t help but appreciate the gesture despite herself. The noodles were still warm, the comforting aroma filling the small space around them. She took a bite, her stomach growling in approval.

“This is surprisingly good,” she admitted, glancing at him.

“You’re welcome,” Franco said, digging into his own container.

For a while, they ate in comfortable silence, the tension between them replaced by an unexpected ease. Franco leaned back in his chair, watching her with a curious expression.

“You really don’t stop, do you?” he asked, nodding toward her screen.

Y/N shrugged, setting her chopsticks down for a moment. “Deadlines don’t stop. Someone has to keep the car running.”

He tilted his head, studying her. “Why do you do it?”

The question caught her off guard. She hesitated, then sighed. “Because it matters. It’s not just about the car—it’s about the people. Everyone here gives their all to make sure we succeed, and I don’t want to let them down.”

Franco nodded slowly, his gaze steady. “You’re really one of a kind, you know.”

Y/N blinked, startled by the sincerity in his voice. “Thanks,” she said softly.

“Seriously,” he added, his voice quieter now. “It’s incredible what you do here.”

She smiled, a faint blush creeping into her cheeks. “It’s not glamorous, but it’s worth it.”

As the meal wound down, Y/N turned back to her screen, scrolling through the data she’d been working on before Franco arrived. Her fingers danced across the keyboard, but her mind wasn’t entirely on the numbers. She could feel him beside her, his presence surprisingly steady and not as intrusive as she would’ve thought a few days ago.

Franco, meanwhile, hadn’t moved. Instead, he pulled his chair closer, resting his elbows on the edge of the desk as he watched her work. The soft glow of the monitor lit her face, highlighting the faint creases on her forehead and the small, almost invisible smudge of grease on her temple.

“You really don’t stop,” he said, breaking the silence.

“Not when there’s this much to do,” she replied without looking at him.

“Still,” he said, his tone quieter now. “You’re doing all of this, late into the night, and you’re not even asking for help.”

Y/N glanced at him, her brows furrowing. “Because there’s no point. If I want it done right, I might as well do it myself.”

Franco tilted his head, his gaze unwavering. “That’s not true. You just don’t let people try.”

Her hands stilled over the keyboard, his words striking deeper than she expected. She turned to him fully, her lips parting as if to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped her. There was no teasing, no arrogance - just genuine concern.

“You don’t have to carry all of it alone,” he said softly.

Her breath hitched, the words lodging themselves in her chest. For a moment, all she could do was stare at him, her mind racing. He was so close now, close enough that she could see the faint stubble on his jaw, the tiredness in his green eyes, and the way his shoulders seemed more relaxed than usual.

“Do you need help?” he asked suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.

She blinked, his question pulling her back into the moment. “You? Help with this?”

“I’m serious,” Franco said, his grin reappearing, though it was softer now. “I’m good at following orders. Well, sometimes.”

She smiled faintly, shaking her head. “I appreciate ­­­­it but highly doubt you’d be any use here.”

“Try me,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his tone playful but laced with something deeper.

Y/N opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, his hand moved toward her. He reached out tentatively, his fingers brushing against her temple as he gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The touch was light, barely there, but it sent a jolt through her all the same.

Her breath caught, and for a moment, time seemed to slow. His hand lingered near her face, his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. The usual sharp retorts and witty comebacks she relied on were suddenly out of reach, replaced by a charged silence that felt heavier with each passing second.

“Franco…” she began, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Just tell me what you need,” he murmured, his tone steady but impossibly soft.

Her heart pounded, her chest tight with a mix of emotions she couldn’t quite name. The walls she’d kept firmly in place all week seemed to crack, piece by piece, under the weight of his gaze.

And then, before she could second-guess herself, she leaned in.

The kiss was slow at first, almost hesitant, her lips brushing against his in a way that felt more like a question than a statement. But the moment his hand came up to cup her jaw, his fingers warm against her skin, the hesitation melted away. She tilted her head, her hands instinctively gripping the front of his jacket to pull him closer.

Franco responded in kind, his lips moving against hers with a surprising gentleness that caught her off guard. There was no urgency, no rush - just a quiet intensity that left her breathless. The air between them crackled with the kind of tension that had been building for days, unspoken and simmering just beneath the surface.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, her breath coming in uneven bursts. Franco was staring at her, his expression a mix of awe and disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite process what had just happened.

“Well,” he said after a moment, his voice huskier than usual. “If I knew takeout was all it took—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted, her voice firm but laced with amusement.

A grin spread across his face, the kind that made his green eyes crinkle at the corners. “Noted.”

Y/N shook her head, but there was no hiding the smile tugging at her lips. She turned back to her screen, though the work in front of her suddenly felt far less urgent. The weight of the week wasn’t gone, but it had shifted, lightened in a way she hadn’t thought possible just hours ago.

Beside her, Franco leaned back in his chair, his presence steady and unassuming. For the first time, Y/N didn’t mind him being there—not in the slightest.

…

The Williams garage in Qatar buzzed with the familiar energy of a race weekend. Mechanics hurried from here to there, engineers huddled around monitors, and the drivers moved through their routines with laser focus. But amidst the usual chaos, Y/N felt strangely at ease - a rare calm she hadn’t experienced in years of working in motorsport.

She stood near the garage entrance, tablet in hand, scrolling through last-minute setup notes for the car. It was a crisp, clear evening, and the desert air carried a cool breeze that contrasted with the heat of the track.

“Looking for me?”

Y/N didn’t even have to turn around. Franco’s voice, smug but undeniably warm, was unmistakable.

“You wish,” she replied without missing a beat, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Franco stepped into her peripheral vision, his race suit unzipped and hanging around his waist. His green eyes sparkled under the fluorescent paddock lights. “Well, if you weren’t, I’m a little disappointed.”

She finally looked up, tilting her head. “Shouldn’t you be focusing on the race? You know, doing the thing we all worked so hard to make possible?”

“I am focused,” he said, leaning casually against the wall. “Just… multitasking. Driver prep and talking with my favorite engineer - it’s all about balance.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though her smile didn’t fade. “If you’re trying to charm me, it’s not working.”

“Who says I’m trying?” Franco countered, his grin widening.

Y/N shook her head, turning back to her tablet. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah,” Franco said, his voice softer now, “but you kind of like that about me.”

Y/N snorted softly, pretending to focus on the setup notes. “Delusional as ever.”

Franco leaned in closer, his voice dropping slightly. “Call it what you want, but I think I’m growing on you.”

She tilted her head, arching a brow. “More like you’re wearing me down.”

“Same thing,” he said with a grin, stepping back slightly but not leaving.

“You ready for this?” she asked, breaking the silence.

Franco shrugged, his grin softening into something more earnest. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

She studied him for a beat, noting the slight tension in his posture and the way his fingers tapped lightly against his thigh. Beneath the bravado, there was a trace of nerves—small, but there.

“Hey,” she said, lowering her tablet and meeting his gaze. “You’ll be fine. You’ve got this.”

Franco’s eyes softened, and for a moment, his usual smirk faded. “Coming from you, that actually means a lot.”

“Good,” Y/N said simply, her lips curving into a small smile.

The sound of an engine roaring to life in the garage snapped them both back to reality. Franco straightened, tugging at the collar of his race suit and exhaling deeply.

“Guess that’s my cue,” he said, his voice softer this time, though there was still a faint smile playing on his lips.

Y/N didn’t look up from her tablet, her fingers flying over the screen as she reviewed another set of setup notes. “Good. Try to avoid the barriers, would you?”

Franco chuckled quietly, stepping closer until he was just beside her. “You always know how to motivate me, don’t you?”

She finally glanced up, tilting her head. “Do you really need a speech? The car’s ready, the data’s solid, and you’re…” She paused, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’re as ready as you’ll ever be.”

“That almost sounded supportive,” Franco said, his grin warming.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Y/N replied, shaking her head lightly before looking back at her screen.

Franco lingered, his hands resting lightly on the edge of her desk. “You know, you could just wish me good luck. It’d be nice to hear.”

Y/N sighed theatrically but set her tablet down, looking up at him again. “Fine. Good luck, Franco. Now go make it count.”

His smile softened, and for a moment, he seemed to hesitate. Then, with a quick glance toward the bustling garage behind them, he leaned down and kissed her—a quick, warm kiss that caught her completely off guard.

From across the garage, a few engineers burst into laughter and cheers. “Woo, Colapinto!” someone shouted, and another voice chimed in, “About time!”

Y/N’s face flushed instantly as she pulled back, her eyes wide. “Franco—”

“Hey, they said it, not me,” Franco said with a small laugh, holding his hands up as if to plead innocence. But his voice had softened even more now, his gaze lingering on her with something closer to gratitude. “You look cute with those red cheeks.”

She blinked, her blush deepening, but she managed to recover quickly enough. “You’re lucky I have work to do, or I’d make you regret that.”

“You’ll miss me out there,” he teased gently, stepping back toward the car. He turned just before climbing in, his grin more genuine now. “I’ll make sure your hard work shines.”

Y/N shook her head, picking up her tablet again to distract herself from the lingering warmth on her cheeks. As the car rolled out of the garage, she caught herself smiling - just for a moment - before diving back into her work.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath, though there was no mistaking the fondness in her tone.

[2b4st4r]

Oh hi! I hope you're doing! Been enjoying your work a little too much, I thought maybe I could make an ask..

I love katakuri, but there isn't much on him. Could you please write something for him?

Here's a scenario if you'd like to you use one:

The reader is a talented pastry chef who becomes Katakuri's new assistant on Whole Cake Island. As they work together, Katakuri develops strong feelings for the reader, but struggles with jealousy when they receive attention from other family members (cracker, oven, Daifuku etc.)

The Pastries Heart 

Reader x Reader

Words: 4,168

Warnings: implied power imbalance, jealousy, minor injuries, wholesome/romance, use of y/n.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:��ﾟ. ───

The humid air of Whole Cake Island usually felt like a warm hug, but today it was more of a suffocating embrace. You wiped a bead of sweat from your brow, the scent of melting chocolate and simmering fruit clinging to your clothes like a second skin. Most people would find the constant sugary perfume overwhelming, but to you, it was the sweet symphony of your life's work.

Your small corner of the Chateau was a whirlwind of flour, sugar, and artistic chaos. Unlike the mechanical precision of some of the other Big Mom pirates' kitchens, yours hummed with a different kind of energy—one born from passion and an almost obsessive attention to detail. This was where magic happened, where simple ingredients transformed into edible dreams.

You hummed along to the distant clang of a blacksmith, a surprising but not unwelcome sound on an island dedicated to confectionery. Your hands moved with practiced grace, rolling out a delicate sheet of feuilletage so thin you could practically see through it. This wasn't just any puff pastry; it was destined to become the crispy, ethereal layers of a Mille-Feuille aux Fruits Rouges. Each individual fruit—plump raspberries, glistening blueberries, and fragrant wild strawberries—had been personally selected and glazed to perfection, their natural sweetness heightened by a hint of vanilla bean. The crème pâtissière, a silky, golden custard, was cooling in the chiller, infused with just the right amount of Madagascar vanilla.

Your eyes, however, were currently focused on something far more intricate: miniature Mont Blancs. These weren't the rustic, hearty versions you might find in a mountain cafe. Yours were individual works of art, each a delicate mound of sweetened chestnut cream piped into intricate swirls, resembling freshly fallen snow. Hidden beneath the chestnut "snow" was a light-as-air vanilla sponge and a dollop of tart blackcurrant compote, providing a bright counterpoint to the richness. A single candied violet graced the peak of each, a tiny edible crown.

The oven timer chimed, pulling you away from your precise piping. You carefully pulled out a tray of your signature Pain au Chocolat, their golden-brown exteriors gleaming, promising a buttery, flaky interior filled with rich, molten chocolate. You smiled; Katakuri always seemed to appreciate those, despite his usual stoic demeanor.

Working for the second son of the Charlotte Family, Katakuri, was… an experience. He was a man of few words, especially when it came to compliments, but you'd learned to read the subtle signs. The way his shoulders would relax slightly when he took a bite of your latest creation, or the almost imperceptible nod of approval he'd give after finishing a particularly complex dessert. It was enough. Your pastries spoke for you, and they spoke volumes.

As the aroma of freshly baked goods filled the air, a familiar shadow fell across your workstation. You didn't need to look up to know who it was. The scent of mochi and strong black coffee preceded him, a strangely comforting combination that had become as much a part of your daily routine as the flour on your apron. You simply smiled, a silent invitation for him to taste the magic you’d created today.

You felt a familiar presence behind you, the subtle shift in the air, the faint scent of mochi. It was Katakuri. You didn't even need to turn around anymore; a year of working side-by-side had forged a comfortable, almost silent understanding between you two.

"Just finished the Mont Blancs," you announced, gesturing with a flour-dusted hand. "They're still cooling, but the Pain au Chocolat are fresh out of the oven if you want one."

A large hand reached past you, not for the pastry, but for your arm. Your breath hitched slightly as Katakuri's fingers, surprisingly gentle, closed around your wrist. You’d barely registered the sting, but he clearly had. He turned your hand over, revealing a small, angry red mark just below your thumb – a fresh burn from a moment of distraction near the hot oven rack.

Without a word, he led you to the sink, turning on the cold tap. You winced as the icy water hit your skin, but the immediate relief was undeniable. He held your hand patiently under the stream, his gaze fixed on the burn. This was Katakuri. The formidable second son of Big Mom, a man who faced down pirates and marines without flinching, yet he’d stop everything for a minor kitchen mishap.

It had been like this for months. Your occasional kitchen mishaps, the late nights perfecting a new recipe, the frustrating moments when a soufflé refused to rise – he was always there. Not with grand gestures, but with quiet, steady care. If you were muttering under your breath about a batch of curdled ganache, he’d simply listen, his presence a grounding force. If you accidentally nicked your finger, he’d be there with a bandage before you even thought to look for one.

You’d often find yourself ranting about the humidity affecting your meringues, or the struggle to source the perfect seasonal fruits. You’d talk about your childhood dream of opening your own small bakery, about the joy of seeing someone’s face light up at the first bite of your creations. And he would just listen, his dark eyes seemingly absorbing every word, his silence more comforting than any advice.

Katakuri, for his part, found himself drawn to your vibrant energy, a stark contrast to the often grim reality of his life. He loved the way your eyes would light up when you spoke of a new pastry idea, the almost childlike wonder you possessed when a complex recipe came together perfectly. He loved the genuine passion that fueled you, a fire that burned so brightly it felt like it could melt through his perpetually stoic exterior.

He admired your resilience, how you’d bounce back from every burnt crust or collapsed cake, learning from each mistake with an unwavering determination. He respected your talent, a skill that transcended mere cooking and ventured into artistry. The intricate designs, the perfect balance of flavors, the sheer beauty of everything you created – it was all a reflection of the beautiful, dedicated soul he saw in you.

But more than anything, he loved your kindness. You saw him, truly saw him, beyond his intimidating reputation, beyond his large frame and imposing scar. You treated him with a gentle familiarity that no one else dared to offer. You worried about him, in your own quiet ways, leaving out a special batch of his favorite mochi when he’d had a particularly long day, or simply offering a soft smile that reached his rarely seen depths. He loved the way you made him feel, not just like a formidable warrior, but simply… Katakuri. And that, to him, was everything.

You finally pulled your hand from under the cool water, the sting of the burn already subsiding. Katakuri’s hand lingered for a moment, his thumb gently brushing over the reddened skin before he finally withdrew. "Be more careful," he rumbled, his voice a low vibration that always sent a strange shiver down your spine. It wasn't a reprimand, more a statement of concern.

You just nodded, already turning back to your workstation. "I know, I know. My mind was on that new berry compote. It's just not quite hitting the right note yet."

Katakuri, instead of leaving, simply stood beside you, a silent sentinel. You continued your work, pulling out various jars of spices and sniffing them thoughtfully, occasionally holding a small spoon of compote to your nose. He watched, utterly still, as you meticulously added a tiny pinch of cinnamon, then a whisper of star anise, stirring and tasting with intense focus. To him, this was endlessly fascinating. He’d seen you spend hours on a single flavor profile, your brow furrowed in concentration, your tongue darting out to sample, your eyes alight when you finally found that perfect balance. This unwavering dedication to perfection was something he deeply admired, a mirror to his own relentless pursuit of strength.

Later that afternoon, a sudden, torrential downpour lashed against the Chateau windows. You’d been meticulously piping ganache onto a batch of chocolate truffles, a task that required absolute stillness and concentration. The sudden crash of thunder made you jump, and a delicate truffle rolled off the counter, splattering onto the floor.

A sigh escaped your lips. "Oh, for…!" You crouched down, gathering the ruined truffle. Just as you were about to wipe the smudge of ganache from the pristine floor, Katakuri moved. He produced a crisp, white handkerchief from seemingly nowhere and knelt with surprising grace for a man his size, wiping the spot clean himself.

You stared, slightly dumbfounded. "Katakuri, you don't have to—"

"It's fine," he interrupted, rising smoothly. He just handed you the now-stained handkerchief. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. It was his way of saying, Don't worry about the small things; I've got them. This quiet attentiveness to your struggles, no matter how minor, was a constant source of comfort.

One evening, after a particularly demanding day filled with orders for a special occasion, you found yourself slumped on a stool, nursing a cup of herbal tea. Your feet ached, and your shoulders were stiff from hours of standing over counters. You barely registered Katakuri's presence until a warm, steaming mug of something sweet and aromatic was placed gently in your hands.

It was ginger tea with honey, exactly what you needed for your tired muscles. You looked up to see him standing there, his back to you, looking out over the moonlit ocean. He hadn't said a word, hadn't even looked at you, but he knew. He always seemed to know when you were at your limit. This intuitive understanding of your needs, anticipating them before you even voiced them, was a silent testament to his deep care for you. It was in these quiet, unspoken moments that the true depth of his feelings for you shone brightest.

You were humming a lively tune, a habit you picked up whenever you were particularly pleased with a new creation. Today, it was your new line of fruit tarts, each one a miniature masterpiece of shimmering glaze and perfectly arranged berries. You beamed, holding one up to the light, satisfied with its vibrant colors.

A booming laugh echoed from the doorway, and Oven, his massive frame filling the archway, strode in. "Those look fantastic, Y/N! Sending some over to the main hall?"

"Of course!" you replied, genuinely pleased to see him. "I just finished a batch. Help yourself, Oven. And tell me what you think."

Oven, surprisingly gentle for a man who could boil someone alive with a touch, carefully selected a tart. He took a large bite, his eyes widening. "Magnificent! The crust is perfect, and the berries are so fresh." He flashed you a rare, genuine smile, making you feel a surge of satisfaction.

Just then, the clanking of metal announced Daifuku’s arrival. He peered over Oven's shoulder, his lamp genie hovering nearby. "What's this? Pastries already? Don't tell me you've been slacking, Y/N." His tone was gruff, but you knew him well enough to detect the underlying curiosity.

"Never!" you chirped, playfully flicking a tiny bit of flour at him. "Just perfecting my craft. Try one, Daifuku. I made an extra batch just for you brothers."

Daifuku grunted but took a tart, his genie mimicking the action with an ethereal version. As he bit into it, a flicker of appreciation crossed his usually stern face. "Hmm. Not bad, for you." You simply laughed, knowing that was high praise from him.

A rustle of biscuits preceded Cracker, who, ever the dramatic one, burst in with a flourish. "My dear Y/N! I smelled your artistry from across the hall! Are those my special chocolate ones?"

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly. "They're everyone's special chocolate ones, Cracker. But yes, I saved you a few."

Cracker's face, or rather, his biscuit armor, seemed to brighten. He snatched a chocolate tart, taking a theatrical bite. "Exquisite! You truly are the jewel of Whole Cake Island, Y/N!"

You blushed slightly at his effusive praise, secretly pleased. You enjoyed your interactions with them. Oven's straightforwardness, Daifuku's gruff affection, and Cracker's flamboyant charm – they were all part of your daily life here, and you genuinely liked them. They were Katakuri's brothers, after all, and you saw glimpses of him in each of them.

Katakuri, however, did not share your enjoyment.

He stood in the doorway, his usual imposing figure seeming even more rigid. His eyes, normally fixated on you, flickered between you and his brothers. He watched as you laughed at one of Cracker's boasts, as you playfully jabbed Daifuku, as you shared a genuine smile with Oven. Each interaction felt like a small dagger twisting in his gut.

He saw the way Cracker preened under your attention, the way Oven’s stoic face softened when you offered him a fresh pastry, the way Daifuku, for all his bluster, always made a point to seek you out. It was infuriating. Your attention, your smiles, your laughter – they were precious. They were yours. And his brothers, oblivious oafs that they were, were soaking it all up.

He felt a familiar, unpleasant clenching in his chest – jealousy. It was a raw, visceral emotion he rarely allowed himself to acknowledge, let alone feel so strongly. He was the most formidable, the most respected, the strongest. Yet, here he was, silently seething because you were being kind to his siblings. He knew it was irrational. You were genuinely friendly, and they were, technically, family. But he couldn't help it. He wanted your undivided attention, your exclusive smiles, your singular focus. He wanted to be the only one who made you laugh, the only one you fretted over, the only one you instinctively cared for. He wanted to be the one you vented to, the one who saw your little mishaps, the one you offered a freshly baked Pain au Chocolat to, first.

He watched you now, handing Cracker another tart, your fingers brushing lightly. His knuckles whitened, and the scent of burnt sugar, not from your oven, but from the heat of his own irritation, began to faintly permeate the air. He cleared his throat, a low, guttural sound that instantly silenced the boisterous room. All three brothers turned, their expressions shifting to wary respect.

Your head snapped up, a bright, welcoming smile gracing your lips as you finally met his gaze. "Katakuri! Perfect timing! I was just about to send some of these over to your quarters. Which one would you like?"

He looked at the array of vibrant tarts, then back at his brothers, who were suddenly very interested in the floor. A low growl rumbled in his chest. "The chocolate," he finally said, his voice flat, his gaze never leaving yours, a silent challenge in his eyes. Mine, he thought, you are mine.

Cracker, oblivious to the simmering tension that had just entered the room with Katakuri, took another dramatic bite of his chocolate tart. He leaned closer to you, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, though it was still loud enough to carry in the now-silent kitchen. "You know, Y/N, these are so good, they almost make me forget the endless paperwork Mama dumps on us. Perhaps you could join me for a break later? I'm sure you could brighten up even my tedious reports." He punctuated his offer with a charming, if slightly smug, wink.

You, utterly caught up in the warmth of the compliments and the casual banter, simply smiled. "Oh, Cracker, you're always trying to rope me into something! But maybe, if I finish this special order for Brulee, I'll bring some fresh macaroons over." You were just being friendly, completely missing the loaded undertone in his voice, the slight shift in his posture, the way his eyes lingered on your face.

But Katakuri saw it all. He saw the way Cracker’s gaze lingered, the subtle, almost imperceptible lean of his body towards you, the confident smirk playing on his lips. He saw the overt attempt to monopolize your time, to pull you further into Cracker's orbit. And he saw your charmingly oblivious response, your innocent agreement to bring him macaroons.

A low growl, like shifting tectonic plates, vibrated in Katakuri’s chest. His eyes, usually half-lidded, narrowed imperceptibly. He moved.

It wasn't a sudden, aggressive motion, but a deliberate, unhurried stride that brought him to your side. His large hand, the one capable of devastating blows, settled lightly yet possessively on the small of your back. It wasn't a squeeze or a pull, just a firm, undeniable presence that radiated a silent warning. His fingers, calloused from countless battles, were warm against your apron, a silent claim.

The air in the room thickened instantly. Oven stiffened, his eyes darting between you and Katakuri. Daifuku's genie seemed to shrink, and he cleared his throat, suddenly finding the wall immensely interesting. Cracker's smile faltered, his confident posture subtly deflating. His eyes, fixed on Katakuri's hand on your waist, widened almost imperceptibly, a flicker of understanding—and perhaps a touch of fear—crossing his features.

You, however, remained blissfully unaware. You merely leaned back instinctively into the warmth at your back, a comfortable acceptance of his presence. "Oh, Katakuri," you said, your voice cheerful, "are you picking out your chocolate tart now?"

Katakuri’s gaze remained fixed on Cracker, his eyes promising swift and unpleasant consequences should the biscuit man dare to push his luck again. His voice, when he finally spoke, was a low, even rumble that seemed to fill the entire kitchen. "Yes. And I believe Y/N was just about to tell me about her new macaroons." His grip on your waist tightened, just barely, a silent reinforcement of his words.

Cracker coughed awkwardly, suddenly looking very uncomfortable. "Right. Well, I, uh... I just remembered I have pressing matters in the main hall. An urgent report, you see." He backed away slowly, practically tripping over his own feet in his haste to escape the oppressive atmosphere. Oven and Daifuku, sensing the shift in the wind, muttered their goodbyes and followed him out with remarkable speed, leaving the kitchen suddenly quiet.

You blinked, a little surprised by their abrupt departure. "Well, that was fast," you mused, turning back to Katakuri, oblivious to the silent battle that had just been fought and won. "So, about those macaroons..."

You looked up at Katakuri, a bright, questioning look on your face. "So, about those macaroons… I was thinking a new flavor for them. Maybe a salted caramel or a passion fruit? What do you think?"

Katakuri's hand remained firmly on your lower back, a comforting weight that you now barely registered. His gaze, however, had softened considerably, his earlier intensity replaced by his usual thoughtful stillness. "Passion fruit," he rumbled, his voice a deep thrum. "Less sweet."

You chuckled. "Always thinking about balance, aren't you? Alright, passion fruit it is. I'll get started on a test batch after I finish up these tarts." You stretched, a small groan escaping your lips as your back protested. "Whew, long day."

Without a word, Katakuri shifted. His vast presence, usually so imposing, suddenly felt like a solid, warm wall behind you. He didn't pull you, didn't push. He simply… was there, providing an anchor. You, still feeling the lingering fatigue, found yourself leaning back against him.

It was a little awkward at first. His chest was incredibly broad, and your head, even when leaning back, didn't quite reach his shoulder. You were a little taller than average, but he was a giant. Your back pressed against his firm, muscled front, and you could feel the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing. The scent of mochi and strong coffee was more pronounced now, warm and comforting.

You shifted slightly, trying to find a more natural position, and he subtly adjusted with you, a silent dance of two bodies finding their fit. Your head eventually found a surprisingly comfortable spot just below his chin, nestled against his chest. His arm, the one that wasn't on your back, slowly, almost imperceptibly, came up to rest lightly on your shoulder, completing the embrace. It wasn’t tight or demanding, just a quiet, protective hold.

You let out a soft sigh, the tension in your shoulders slowly melting away. The sheer size of him, which once felt intimidating, now felt incredibly safe. It was like leaning against a mountain, solid and unwavering. You could hear the faint, steady thump of his heart against your ear.

In that moment, a warmth spread through your chest, deeper and more profound than the heat from any oven. It wasn't just comfort; it was something else entirely. You found yourself admiring the quiet strength of him, the way he just was, without needing grand gestures or flowery words. He was always there, always steady, always looking out for you in his own silent way.

You liked the way his large hand felt on your back, the solid presence of him behind you. You liked the way he listened to your rants, the way he cared for your small cuts and burns, the way he silently chased away anyone who dared to annoy you. You liked the way he anticipated your needs, bringing you tea when you were tired, picking the less sweet option for your macaroons.

A realization, warm and bright like fresh-baked bread, bloomed in your heart. You didn't just like him; you really liked him. A lot. It wasn't just comfortable; it was something deeper, something that made your own heart beat a little faster against his vast chest. Resting there, enveloped in his quiet strength, you knew you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

You chuckled. "Always thinking about balance, aren't you? Alright, passion fruit it is. I'll get started on a test batch after I finish up these tarts." You stretched, a small groan escaping your lips as your back protested. "Whew, long day."

Without a word, Katakuri shifted. His vast presence, usually so imposing, suddenly felt like a solid, warm wall behind you. He didn't pull you, didn't push. He simply… was there, providing an anchor. You, still feeling the lingering fatigue, found yourself leaning back against him.

It was a little awkward at first. His chest was incredibly broad, and your head, even when leaning back, didn't quite reach his shoulder. You were a little taller than average, but he was a giant. Your back pressed against his firm, muscled front, and you could feel the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing. The scent of mochi and strong coffee was more pronounced now, warm and comforting.

You shifted slightly, trying to find a more natural position, and he subtly adjusted with you, a silent dance of two bodies finding their fit. Your head eventually found a surprisingly comfortable spot just below his chin, nestled against his chest. His arm, the one that wasn't on your back, slowly, almost imperceptibly, came up to rest lightly on your shoulder, completing the embrace. It wasn’t tight or demanding, just a quiet, protective hold.

You let out a soft sigh, the tension in your shoulders slowly melting away. The sheer size of him, which once felt intimidating, now felt incredibly safe. It was like leaning against a mountain, solid and unwavering. You could hear the faint, steady thump of his heart against your ear.

In that moment, a warmth spread through your chest, deeper and more profound than the heat from any oven. It wasn't just comfort; it was something else entirely. You found yourself admiring the quiet strength of him, the way he just was, without needing grand gestures or flowery words. He was always there, always steady, always looking out for you in his own silent way.

[ithardware-info]

CPU Requirements for Machine Learning and AI Workstations

CPU Requirements for Machine Learning and AI Workstations From conventional regression models, non-neural network classifiers, and statistical models that are represented by capabilities in Python SciKitLearn and the R language to Deep Learning models using frameworks like PyTorch and TensorFlow, there are many different kinds of machine learning and artificial intelligence applications. There may also be a great deal of variation among these various ML/AI model types. Although the "best" hardware will generally follow certain patterns, the ideal specifications for a particular application may differ. We will base our suggestions on generalizations from common workflows. Please be aware that this is more about programming model "training" than "inference" using AI machine learning workstation hardware. CPU (processor) Performance in the ML/AI space is typically dominated by GPU acceleration. But the platform to support it is defined by the motherboard and CPU. The fact that preparing for GPU training requires a substantial amount of work in data analysis and cleanup, which is typically accomplished on the CPU, is another truth. When GPU constraints like onboard memory (VRAM) availability necessitate it, the CPU can also serve as the primary computing engine. Which CPU is ideal for AI and machine learning workstations? AMD Threadripper Pro and Intel Xeon W are the two suggested CPU systems. This is due to the fact that both of these provide outstanding memory performance in CPU space, exceptional stability, and the ability to provide the necessary PCI-Express lanes for multiple video cards (GPUs). In order to reduce memory mapping problems over multi-CPU interconnects, which can result in issues mapping memory to GPUs, we often advise single-socket CPU workstations. Does machine learning and AI speed up with more CPU cores? The anticipated load for non-GPU operations will determine how many cores are selected. It is generally advised that each GPU accelerator have a minimum of four cores. However, 32 or even 64 cores can be perfect if there is a sizable CPU computation component to your task. In any event, a 16-core CPU is typically regarded as the bare minimum for this kind of workstation. Does AI and machine learning perform better on AMD or Intel CPUs? Choosing a brand in this market is primarily a personal decision, at least if GPU acceleration is the primary factor in your workload. However, if some of the technologies in the Intel oneAPI AI Analytics Toolkit may improve your workflow, the Intel platform would be better. Why are Threadripper Pro or Xeon CPUs suggested over more "consumer" level CPUs? When it comes to ML and AI workloads, the main justification for this advice is the number of PCI-Express lanes that these CPUs support, which will determine how many GPUs can be used. Depending on motherboard design, chassis size, and power consumption, the AMD Threadripper PRO 7000 Series and Intel Xeon W-3500 both have enough PCIe lanes to accommodate three or four GPUs. Additionally, this processor class offers eight memory channels, which can significantly affect performance for tasks that are CPU-bound. The fact that these processors are enterprise grade and that the platform as a whole is probably resilient to high, continuous compute loads is another factor to take into account.

[baisemains]

Elements of Desire

Chapter 6: On the Mend

single mom!sevika x reader

word count: 6.3k

contains: angst-ish, tension, language, food mention, vi (iykyk), some fluff!

description: school is back in session and after learning of some good news, you and sevika must learn to chart unfamiliar waters.

ao3 link | spotify playlist

previous | next // sevika masterlist

Monday morning, your eyes spring open before your alarm can even do its job, and you waste no time getting ready. Putting more effort than usual into your look today, you try at least four different outfits before deciding on one that’s a perfect balance between eye catching and comfortable.

Loading your things into your car, you put on your feel good playlist for your drive to work, determined to have a great day. Once there, your nerves start to creep in, but you do your best to settle them and remember that there’s no stakes involved with your announcement later. Sort of.

As usual, Ekko is the first one to arrive to class and he walks right up to your desk sporting a huge grin.

“Who has two thumbs and is going to the next round of the science fair?”

Pointing to himself, you match his smile and round your desk, hugging the boy.

“So proud of you dude, you have no idea how happy I was when I read your name in the email.”

Ekko had submitted this same project the previous two years but failed to make it past the first round each time. You had suggested doing something different this year but he stuck to his gut and it paid off.

“Thanks Teach, I couldn't have done it without your support, though.”

Letting him go, you place your hand on his shoulders and shake your head.

“That’s all you kid, from the idea to the execution. I was just a sounding board.”

Smiling, you walk up to the whiteboard and start writing the topic for today’s lesson, conversing with Ekko about what he did over his break. A few minutes later, the conversation ends when students start filing in and he turns around to walk to his desk, you doing the same. Pausing when you remember something, you spin around and call out to the boy.

“Hey! Um, Powder doesn’t know that she got in yet, so if she asks you about it, just say I haven’t said anything, cool?”

“Wait, she passed too?”

Nodding, you see his eyes light up as he fights back a smile and you quirk a brow. Interesting.

“Yeah, I forgot to email her mom when I told your parents,” you lied.

“Cool. I won’t say anything then.”

Schooling his face back into a neutral expression, Ekko continues his journey to his workstation and you face the whiteboard once again. You thought he would have been annoyed at best that Powder was also accepted, his lab partner being his competition for such a prestigious prize seems like it would be a nightmare.

Starting to think about it, the two have had tension between them since they met, but you honestly thought it was because they just didn’t get along. Smiling to yourself, you think, could there be a little crush there?

A couple more kids arriving brings your attention back to what you were doing, and you quickly finish writing what you had to on the board. Eventually, most of the class is in their seats, and when you glance up from your computer, you see Powder walking up to you.

“Hi Teach,” she says, unusually shy.

Smiling at the girl, you realize that you know nothing about what her last couple weeks have been like and it tugs at your heart.

“Hi Powder, how was your break?”

Beaming, Powder starts relaying everything she did, the girl’s animated storytelling making you laugh several times. She sees how your expression slightly changes every time Sevika is mentioned, and it almost makes her frown.

“So, I brought you a little something back. Or a couple somethings, actually.”

Reaching into her bag, she pulls out three keychains and raises them in your direction. You instantly pout, not expecting the gesture at all.

“Powder, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

Taking them in your hands, you look at each one in detail, loving them instantly.

“I wanted to though, these last few months would’ve been a lot harder without you.”

Looking up, you see the vulnerable look on the girl’s face and it almost brings a tear to your eye.

“Plus they were too cute to pass up, look at the dolphin one.”

To prove her point, she flicks one of the keychains, causing it to spin in circles. Setting them all down on your desk, you walk to stand in front of her, engulfing her in an embrace.

“This was so nice of you Powder, thank you. It means more than you know.”

She returns the hug, giving you a quick squeeze. No matter what her sister said, she believed you were a good person, and conversations like this only proved that.

“You’re my favorite teacher, I had to.”

Pulling apart, you thank her again and Powder begins heading to her seat. You catch Ekko’s eye, nodding your head to remind him of what you said earlier. Once everyone else arrives and the bell rings, you get their attention and begin the day’s lesson.

Soon enough, the end of the day rolls around and Sevika will be arriving shortly for your impromptu meeting. You’ve somehow managed to not think about it since the morning but as the clock ticks by, your nerves return. Busying yourself with organizing your classroom as if it’s something she’ll care about, you flit about from corner to corner, tidying up.

You hear footsteps in the hallway and almost sprint to the front of the room, cleaning off the board in an attempt to look casual when your visitors walk in. Hearing a knock from the doorway, you slowly turn around, instantly making eye contact with the woman who’s been plaguing your thoughts.

Neither of you say anything for a moment as you observe each other, and your stomach does a little flip when you see Sevika look you up and down. All that time picking out my outfit was worth it, then. You notice that her skin is a bit darker than the last time you saw her, and you mentally thank the beach Powder was telling you about this morning. She’s wearing a boxy work jacket you’ve never seen before over her signature plain white tee and dark jeans and though it’s simple, it brings a tingle to the back of your neck. She looks good.

“Hey Teach.”

Powder is absolutely beaming when you look over at her, recognizing her presence as well. Knowing you’ve been caught, you clear your throat and straighten up your posture, welcoming them in.

“Hi Powder. Sevika. Please, come sit down.”

The two of them move into the room and you allow yourself to stare at Sevika’s profile while you can, taking in every detail. It gives you deja vu, but there couldn’t be a bigger difference in your situation from then to now. Once they take their seats, you walk over to them, leaving a healthy distance between you.

“So, I received an email from the science fair committee last night regarding their decision. And I know I said that I would let you know as soon as I heard anything, but this felt important enough that I had to give you the results in person.”

A sharp inhale catches your attention and your gaze shifts to Powder, looking like she’s about to faint.

“Oh jeez.”

Sevika glances from Powder to you, an expectant look on her face. She didn’t show it, but she was actually nervous, and your tone wasn’t helping.

“What did they say?”

Taking a deep breath, a smile spreads onto your face as you tell them the news.

“Congratulations Powder, you made it to the next round.”

Jumping up, the girl immediately runs over to you, shoving her face into your chest as she wraps her arms around you, eyes welling with tears.

“Really?!”

At the same time, Sevika leans back in her chair as she brings both hands to her face, letting out the breath she was holding. Once you and Powder separate, she stands up, speed walks over to the two of you, and picks her daughter up, spinning her around.

Before you can blink, Sevika puts her down and embraces you next, catching you off guard. Immediately melting into her, you hug her back, feeling the muscles rippling underneath your fingertips while her cologne fills your nose. You vaguely hear a sigh, and you’re unsure of who it comes from.

Once Sevika realizes what she’s done, she straightens up and lets her arms fall away. Clearing her throat as she takes a step back and runs a hand through her hair, the tension hangs between you.

“Um, wow, this is amazing news.”

Nodding, you take a breath to try and clear your head of the Sevika induced brain fog. Itching to reach back out for her, you settle your hands on your hips in an attempt to keep them occupied.

“Absolutely, it’s well deserved too, her presentation was amazing.”

You then begin discussing what will likely come next, hearing from other teacher friends of yours who have been through the process before. The entire time, Powder’s eyes are bouncing back and forth between the two of you, a smirk plastered on her face. She knew Sevika still had a thing for you, and you clearly returned the feeling.

“And I’ll email all of this to you too, it’s best to have it in writing.”

Looking at Sevika, you try your best to keep a neutral expression as you talk, but a smile is fighting its way out the entire time.

“Like before, Powder will have to start staying after school again to work on this, and even though she’s up against less kids than before, attention to detail is going to be incredibly important and what’ll make her stand out from the rest.”

Nodding along, Sevika is absorbing everything you’re saying and reality starts settling in. The two of you will be back in constant communication, and as much as she thought she’d be upset about it, she actually feels a bit…happy. Yes, she had sprouted a little crush on you, but more importantly, you had begun a friendship, and she missed that more than anything. She decides that that’s a problem for later, and by the time you wrap up the meeting, her discomfort has subsided and she actually smiles.

You end your spiel with a nod and a smile, confident that Powder has what it takes to get to the next level.

“Take tonight, celebrate, and tomorrow, we’ll talk about when to start up again.”

“Sounds good.”

Sevika moves to give you a handshake, debating if she should say what else is on her mind. Not seeing any reason not to, she continues.

“And thank you for everything you’ve done for Powder, it means more than you know.”

Shaking your head, you tell her it’s not a big deal and Powder gives you another quick hug, waving as the two of them begin making their way toward the exit. Sevika then turns around, giving you a quick smile before she disappears through the doorway. You can tell it’s genuine, and a feeling of joy bubbles up in your chest.

Arriving home, Powder sprints out of the car to tell her sisters the news, leaving Sevika alone to take a breather. It was so nice seeing you in person again, even if she wouldn’t admit it to anyone.

She missed the way you brightened up a room with your positivity, always making her feel comfortable. It was so easy to talk to you, she never felt like she had to force anything, and though she had other friendships, it was different with you. Shaking her head, she gets out and walks in the house, thinking about what to cook for dinner.

By this time, Powder is already relaying what happened to the other girls, bouncing with excitement. They immediately congratulate her, Vi giving her a noogie, causing Powder to chase her around the house until Sevika walks in and Vi takes refuge behind her.

“Mom, Vi keeps messing with me!” Powder whines as Vi sticks her tongue out from behind the woman.

Taking no time to assess the situation, Sevika groans and pushes the two girls apart.

“Come on guys, we just got home.”

The two teenagers start bickering when Sevika claps her hands once, the noise silencing the room.

“Enough. We just got some great news, you guys should be happy.”

Caitlyn and Isha only look at each other, containing their laughs as the two get scolded.

“Anyways, I was thinking, you guys feel like going out to dinner tonight? We should celebrate.”

All the girls cheer at that, eating somewhere outside their home was a rare treat. Not that they had many meals that could top Sevika’s cooking, but it was always a fun experience. Looking towards Powder, Sevika asks her if she had any place in mind and her eyes light up immediately.

“Hibachi! I wanna see if I can catch more shrimp than last time.”

Of course, Sevika thinks. Leave it to her middle child to choose somewhere they play with your food and light it on fire.

“Okay then, give me a bit to shower and change and we’ll leave.”

Heading to her room, Sevika hears Powder and Isha grabbing snacks to practice for the restaurant, making sure to tell them not to fill up before dinner.

Once they arrive at the restaurant, Powder chooses the middle seat directly in front of where the chef will be, leaving everyone else to fill in around her. Sevika chooses to sit two seats down from her, putting Isha in the middle of them, and Vi and Caitlyn take their seats on the other side of Powder.

A little while later, almost all of the seats around the grill are filled and Powder can't wait for dinner to start. Her and Isha are going over strategy when she sees someone stop in their tracks behind Sevika and looks up, eyes widening.

“Teach!”

As soon as your meeting with Sevika and Powder ended, you were in a happier mood and it took you no time to pack up and grab your things.

You didn’t feel like staying home, though the weather outside was miserable, and texted your roommates if they were free to go to dinner with you. Two of them said yes, the other was at work and wouldn’t be home until later so she declined. Hearting all of the responses, you drove home and thought about where to go.

Once there, your roommates were almost ready to leave, and when you saw their outfits, you decided to upgrade your look into something a bit nicer than what you had on.

When you all finished, you piled into your car and put on a relaxing playlist for the drive. The three of you started talking about your days, and eventually the conversation landed on Sevika and the meeting. You confided in them how seeing her in person made you feel, and after they exchanged glances, they asked you what you planned to do moving forward.

At that question, you paused and thought of your answer carefully.

“I’m not sure, there was a little bit of a moment when she hugged me, but that could’ve just been excitement, and because she doesn’t want it to be awkward. The next deadline is in a month, so we’re gonna be around each other until then.”

You swear you could’ve heard a record scratch at the casual confession.

“Wait, back up. She hugged you? Like a full on ‘arms wrapped around you’ kind of hug?”

Sheepishly glancing at your friends, you nodded.

“Yeah, she was happy about the news, it’s understandable.”

“Right, I’m sure she goes around doing that to all her kids’ teachers.”

Exhaling harshly, you attempted to gather your thoughts.

“Honestly, I’m trying not to think about it too much cause I don’t wanna get excited over something that isn’t concrete.”

Your roommates nodded in understanding and one spoke up next.

“Well, we’re always here for you, no matter what happens.”

You looked at her through the rearview mirror and smiled in gratitude, they really did always have your back.

When you walked into the restaurant, your two roommates continued their conversation behind you as the host led you all to your table. As you made your way over, you saw a familiar silhouette sitting towards the corner of it and your stomach sank as your fear was confirmed.

So now here you are, standing in front of the woman you were just thinking about, eyes locked with a tension so palpable you can’t tear your gaze away. Her eyes look you up and down, even more intensely than earlier, and heat begins crawling up your back before spreading throughout your body.

Remembering you still haven’t responded to Powder, you snap out of it and say hello, looking at everyone else sitting with her. When Vi catches your eye, you see the scowl etched on her face and she looks away, ignoring you.

Isha leaps out of her seat to give you a hug, arms wrapping around your waist. You return the gesture and let her go as she signs that she’s happy to see you. Meanwhile, your roommates are behind you, watching this entire interaction with curiosity.

Standing back up, you glance around the table and see that the only empty seats are next to Sevika.

Just your luck that it would be fully packed on a Monday.

“Do you mind if we take these?”

Looking back at the woman, she quickly shakes her head as she extends her hand out towards them.

“No, of course not, go ahead.”

You, being the closest to her, take the seat right next to Sevika as your roommates sidle in beside you. Your heartbeat is thrumming by now, hyper aware of your movements and how close the two of you are.

Turning away from her, you see the looks on your roommates faces, slight frowns as they glance over at Sevika. Mouthing stop it, one of them rolls her eyes as the other looks at the menu in front of her. A waitress then comes by and quickly takes your orders before leaving you alone with your thoughts again.

Now you’re stuck. You’re not sure if it’s rude to ignore Sevika, while also feeling like you’re obligated to talk to her because you’re sitting next to each other. Rubbing your temples, you hope the chef comes out soon so you can have some sort of a distraction.

Your prayers are shortly answered when she arrives a minute later, immediately throwing food on the grill, causing Powder to cheer. You watch as her and Isha are enraptured by the flames, bringing a smile to your face. Those two may usually be shy kids, but seeing their personalities surface like this warms your heart.

Hearing your name, you turn around and see your roommates engrossed in a conversation, one of them catching your eye and leaning in towards you, whispering.

“That’s the oldest daughter? The one at the end?”

You try to recall the seating order from memory, not wanting to turn around and have someone catch you looking.

“The girl with the red hair, yeah, next to her is her girlfriend.”

Seeing her glance over, she looks up and down, assessing Vi, you assume.

“Hm. Okay.”

“Stop looking, I don’t need to give her another reason not to like me.”

Looking towards the chef, you watch her for a few seconds before your attention is brought back to your roommate.

“Hey, why don’t you just tell her what really happened? Clear the air and let her know that’s not the person you are.”

At her comment, you slowly shake your head, knowing Sevika wouldn’t go for that. Why would she believe you over her own daughter?

“I think it’s too late for that. She didn’t reach out the whole two week break, that says enough.”

Looking at Sevika from the corner of your eye, you see her staring at the fire with a blank expression, seemingly lost in her own thoughts.

“Wait, didn’t you say you had copies of all the texts between Gert and the side bitch?”

Suddenly, old memories come flooding back. You had emailed yourself screenshots of Gert’s cheating when you were still deciding whether you should leave her. That was only meant for your eyes though, showing them to someone else who wasn’t involved didn’t seem right.

“I don’t know, that feels…wrong.”

Sighing, they look at you with exasperated looks on their faces before one of them speaks up.

“Look, I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but if you like this lady, you have a way to clear your name, that’s all I’m saying. Don’t keep letting your old shit get in the way of something new.”

Leaning back in her chair, she turns to watch the chef tossing shrimp to people at the table, ending the conversation. Sighing, you know she’s right, and you needed the tough love, it was just the idea of exposing how badly someone treated you that made you apprehensive.

You hear Powder’s voice next to you, turning your head and seeing her almost stand up from her chair to get the cook’s attention. Everyone cheers when she catches a piece, and you clap for her, setting your hands on the table when you brush something. Looking down, you see that Sevika also has her hand laid on the table and you freeze.

How had you not noticed it was so close to yours until now?

You were suddenly extremely aware of her, realizing the woman was sitting closer than you thought. Sevika must have noticed too, because her hand twitched and pulled away, moving to lay on her thigh instead.

Before you could react, the chef calls out and you look back toward her to see what she’s talking about. Holding a piece of shrimp on her spatula, she gestures towards Sevika, who sternly shakes her head, much to the disappointment of her daughters. Powder and Isha start jeering before she quiets them with a raise of an eyebrow, reminding them of where they’re at.

The chef then turns to you, and your eyes widen. Opening your mouth to tell her no, you hear a “Yeah, Teach!” to your left and see Powder smiling at you. Isha gives you two thumbs up and even your roommates start quietly cheering you on. With so much attention directed your way, you feel obligated to say yes so you look back towards the chef and nod.

Watching the shrimp fly through the air, you can tell you won’t catch it unless you move, so you lean back just a bit further in your seat, or so you think. It feels like everything is moving in slow motion as your feet leave the ground and your chair starts tipping back, the feeling of falling settling in your stomach. Hearing gasps from around the table, you brace yourself for impact, praying your ego will recover from what’s about to happen.

Suddenly, your chair stops moving and you fly forward, all feet planted back on the ground. Glancing around, you then see Sevika’s arm wrapped around the back of your seat and a worried look on her face. Clearing your throat, you scratch the back of your neck and tear your gaze away from her, knowing your entire table, and maybe the whole restaurant, just witnessed you almost falling on your ass. Powder and Isha look shocked, and behind them, Vi has a smirk plastered on her face, clearly enjoying your misstep. You hear your friends asking if you’re okay, and after slightly nodding, you face Sevika to give her your gratitude, fighting through your embarrassment.

“Um, thanks. That could've been really bad.”

She only nods, looking at you with an understanding gleam in her eye.

“Don’t mention it, I’ve seen my fair share of falls with those three.”

She points her head in the girls’ direction, and you know she has stories. Holding back a smile, a vision of a tired Sevika protecting her rowdy girls springs to mind, and it’s adorable.

“Yeah, I bet they keep you on your toes.”

You look over at the girls, who are talking amongst themselves, no doubt about what just happened, and let out a small chuckle. It’s not hard to imagine them as little runts, constantly running Sevika ragged. Thinking about what an amazing parent she is, your gaze returns to the woman to see her already staring at you.

Her gaze catches you off guard, and she breaks eye contact right away, turning back towards the flame. Looking down towards your hands in your lap, you smile to yourself, starting to watch the chef again before hearing her voice cut through the noise of the restaurant.

“The girls missed you.”

Whipping your head towards her, you see that Sevika isn’t looking at you but straight ahead. You weren’t expecting her to strike up a conversation at this point in the night but you take advantage of the opening.

“I…missed them too.”

A sad smile adorns her face at that, and you get the urge to kiss it away. Thankfully, she speaks before you can embarrass yourself further.

“They didn’t stop talking about you our entire trip. Did Powder give you the keychains she bought?”

Slowly nodding, she turns her head towards you and lets her eyes flicker between yours, giving you the chance to do the same.

God, she’s beautiful.

“Good. She was really excited about them.”

The two of you make small talk from there, talking about the restaurant and the weather. After a few minutes, the conversation naturally ends and you no longer feel the awkward tension from earlier. You pick up your glass to take a sip when your attention is grabbed once again.

“So…when should Powder bring her project back to school? I get off early tomorrow so I can bring it with me when I pick her up.” She clears her throat, “If that’s okay with you.”

Looking over at her, you see the apprehension on her face and let yourself smile this time.

“Yeah, that works. You know where to park.”

The two of you get pulled into other conversations but the thought of seeing each other the next day carries you through the rest of the evening.

Eventually, dinner comes to an end and it’s time to go your separate ways, all of you standing up to leave.

Powder and Isha are the first ones to say goodbye, hugging you and telling you they missed you. Hearing them echo Sevika’s words from earlier warms your heart and has you squeezing them a little tighter. Sevika follows behind them, bidding you and your roommates good night with a tight lipped smile, and you return the gesture, albeit with a genuine one. Vi brings up the rear, dragging Caitlyn past you, but not before Caitlyn can sneakily wave at you behind her girlfriend’s back.

Not until they leave and you start your own journey to the exit do you realize that you failed to introduce everyone. Thinking about it, it probably wouldn’t have gone well so you decide it was for the best. Your roommates then pipe up behind you as you all reach the car.

“The girls were so cute saying bye to you, they seem really sweet.”

You beam as if they were your own, getting in and buckling up, checking all your mirrors.

“Yeah, they’re really good kids. Sevika’s doing a great job with them.”

The two of them exchange a knowing glance but say nothing. The drive home is filled with jokes and banter, and once you arrive, you see that your third roommate is in the living room on her laptop. Skipping hellos, your other two friends immediately start telling her about how the night went, not leaving out a single detail. When they get to the part where you almost fell and Sevika caught you, her mouth is agape and she starts laughing.

“Listen, I’m not her biggest fan but that was smooth, I’ll admit.”

They then tell her about how you two started talking later on, and they ask you what the conversation was about.

“Literally just the weather and how dinner was. And that she could bring Powder’s project back to school tomorrow.”

“So…that means you guys have to talk again?”

Biting your lip, you think thankfully.

“Well yeah, it’s the same schedule as before. Except now we have less time before the next deadline.”

Your roommate only nods at that, hearing the slight nerves in your voice, and you change the subject, afraid of getting your hopes up.

An hour later, you all decide to head to bed, tired from the day. Gliding through your bedtime routine as if on autopilot, you climb under the covers and wrap them tightly around yourself. That night, you dream of grey eyes and steady hands.

The next day passes by uneventfully, and after the final bell rings, Powder walks in, holding onto her backpack straps with a smile.

“Hey, Teach.”

You turn around and wave her in, clearing off your desk. Sevika had texted you a few minutes ago that she was on her way with Powder’s project so now the two of you are waiting for her, talking about a new movie that’s coming out soon. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and when you check the screen, you see a text simply saying “Here”.

You both walk out to the parking lot, propping open the main door as you make your way over to the truck parked nearby. Sevika’s already grabbed the two biggest boxes, hauling them with no effort and the sight never fails to make you swoon.

“The smaller two are in the backseat, you guys can grab those.”

Breezing past you, you’re able to stop yourself from looking directly at her, but the little bit you catch in your peripheral has you smiling. Snapping out of it, you remind yourself that you’re only trying to be cordial with her, nothing else.

Picking up the remaining boxes, you and Powder quickly follow Sevika inside to your classroom, setting them down in the corner. Looking around, you try to decide between asking if Powder can start working on it now or letting her go home for the day.

Sevika watches you walk in with an indiscernible look on her face, arms crossed over her chest as she waits for your direction. As the boxes are set down, she takes her phone out of her pocket, looking at something and making the decision for you.

“I’ve gotta head back to the shop real quick, but I can leave Powder here if you guys want to get started.”

Shifting her gaze towards you then Powder, you tell her it’s fine and she puts her phone back into her pocket, kissing her daughter on the head as she heads towards the door. Turning around, she calls out to you.

“Be back in a bit!”

As soon as she’s out the door, Powder starts to work, taking out the supplies she needs before placing them on the table. Watching her for a moment, you decide to start some grading at your desk, turning on your computer and pulling up the stack of papers.

Time seems to blur as you’re distracted by the numbers and comments you’re putting on the tests. Glancing back up, you see that Powder is still working diligently. You’ve come to appreciate how good she is at staying focused.

A rough knock at the door breaks you out of your thoughts, your head whipping towards the sound. You call out to let the person come in, assuming it’s Sevika.

When the door opens, you’re surprised to see Vi standing in the doorway. Her eyes flick around the room, a curious expression on her face when she sees Powder working, but a scowl replacing it as her gaze lands on you.

“Sev got caught up with something else, so she sent me to pick up Powder.”

You murmur out a stern okay, watching Vi stroll over to her sister as she looks over her shoulder at the project.

“What is it?”

Powder looks up, eyeing the girl.

“If I explain, will you understand what I’m talking about?”

“No.”

“Then why would I?”

The interaction causes you to hold in a smile, careful not to let them see you. Powder is feisty when she wants to be.

After a couple minutes, Powder grabs her things and walks over to your desk, Vi a few steps behind her. She lets you know what she worked on today and you smile, telling her you’ll look it over and give her your notes tomorrow. Telling you goodbye as she walks out, Vi follows, giving you a once over but not saying anything.

A few minutes later, you’ve written down your notations for the project, sliding them into your desk. Letting out a sigh, you gather your belongings, shoving your laptop inside, deciding you’re also done for the day. You’re ready to go home, eat your leftovers, and numb your brain with as much reality television as it will let you.

That week, you and Powder get into the swing of things with no problem, back to how they were before break. The only thing that was missing was Sevika’s homemade cooking waiting for you when she picked Powder up, and you missed it more than you realized.

On the bright side, you and Sevika were back to talking on a regular basis, which you were ecstatic about, even if it was only about Powder’s schoolwork. Two weeks of no contact didn’t sound like much, but you had grown accustomed to hearing from her daily and you missed your conversations more than anything. It was hard to find real connections as an adult, and if friendship was all that was in the cards, then that was good enough for you.

The comment from your roommate about showing Sevika the texts replays in your head the next few days, and you decide to go along with her idea. More than once, you almost had a chance to bring it up to Sevika, but something always interrupted the moment. A couple times, it was a work call she had to take, but most of it was by way of Vi hanging in the background, always watching you.

She had decided to start accompanying Sevika to pick Powder up after school, surprising all of you. You learn that she doesn’t have to be back at school for another month, and with nothing else to busy herself with, she decides to become Sevika’s personal chaperone. Knowing the reason why, you can’t blame her but you still wished she’d leave the two of you alone long enough to let you rectify the situation.

Another week passes, and your frustration starts to build. Sevika is still keeping your discussions very surface level, and you feel less and less confident about explaining your side. Even Powder has started to notice that something is wrong. She’s a very perceptive kid and sees the way that your shoulders have slumped, interactions with Sevika more reserved from your side.

As she works on her project, you sit at your desk, pretending to look over some papers so you can watch the door. Today, your eyes are glued to the clock, the seconds ticking by like hours.

As if you summoned her, a familiar figure steps into the room. Sevika, dressed in her work coveralls, glances over at Powder before her eyes catch yours. Giving you a small nod, she smiles faintly but her eyes still hold that weary look you’ve grown used to.

As usual, Vi is right on her heels, walking over to lean against one of the desks, propping her hands on top and crossing one leg over the other. They both watch Powder start to pack up her things, the three of you waiting for her to finish.

“How’s she doing?”

Sevika glances over at you, expectant.

“Really good. We’ve tweaked a couple things so she’s in the process of testing the new model but I have high hopes.”

You smile softly at the woman, sincerity laced in your voice. She grins back and her gap makes an appearance, causing you to look down at her lips. Luckily, Powder starts walking over that very moment and grabs everyone’s attention, causing Sevika to speak up.

“Ready, kid?”

“Almost. There was something I wanted to show Vi in the gym.”

The teenager in question looks up from where she was texting on her phone with a puzzled look.

“What?”

Sevika’s gaze flicks between Powder and Vi, looking as if she’s about to protest. Her hand even reaches out, just a fraction, but Vi is already putting her phone away and standing up as she groans.

“Fine, make it quick though, I got things to do.”

“What, like your girlfriend?”

Powder whispers that part, but in the quiet room, it reaches everyone’s ears. Seeing the angry look on Vi’s face, she sprints out of the room and down the hallway, her sister following close behind. Sevika can only sigh, closing her eyes as she rubs her forehead.

“Those girls are going to be the death of me, I swear.”

You stifle a snicker, taking the opportunity to fully stare at Sevika. Her uniform is old, covered in stains and the occasional frayed tear. It’s slightly unbuttoned at the top, leaving her throat and the middle of her collarbones exposed. The hand on her face is smeared with oil, and you think this might be your new favorite look of hers.

She shifts to stand up, and you realize the two of you are alone for the first time in weeks. A weight settles in your chest as you register that this is the chance you’ve been waiting for.

“Hey, can we talk?”

taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @vii-v @runawaybaby3 @ferxanda @sevikas-whore @vikashoneybee @sleepingwasp @savedforlaterr @lia-winther

[imagine-darksiders]

Transformers Prime: Optimus + Reader. Chapter 1.

So, I read @lovinglonerhybrid 's post here. And it absolutely had me in a chokehold, so this is based off that premise. I'm in the UK so please excuse my ignorance of American states lmao.

So, there is a part 2 to this, but I'm going away for 4 days and wanted to get some of it posted before then.

You've broken down fifteen miles short of Jasper's city limits in the dead of night. Deciding to hike in to town, you feel the earth rumble beneath you, and over the horizon, something enormous approaches...

Chapter 1: 9352 words.

-------

It’s a rare and covetous thing, to find even a single moment of peace in the midst of an intergalactic war.

The gap from one of those precious moments to the next seems to grow wider and wider every time, until their frequency is so negligible, it becomes hard to recognise them for what they are anymore.

For everything Earth could have offered Optimus Prime, he hadn’t been expecting it to relinquish the gift of peace so willingly. But he’s glad – more than glad – to accept them when they come, even if he’s only stealing glimpses of tranquillity on the sand-swept road leading out of Jasper.

Low-beam headlights lazily trace over the faded tarmac ahead of Optimus’s tyres as he trundles along Highway 49, one of only two roads that surround the small, sleepy city of Jasper. It’s a very routine patrol, one he obligingly excused Bumblebee from taking after his poor scout all but begged Optimus to give it to someone else, beeping out promises that he’ll take double shift tomorrow night, if need be.

All this on the back of Miko announcing another of her ‘slumber parties’ at the base, much to Ratchet’s noisy chagrin and Optimus’s private amusement. And, of course, when Bumblebee found out that Rafael would be staying the night too… Well…

‘You’re too indulging,’ their old medic had admonished from his workstation, the broad expanse of his back turned to the Prime, ‘He ought to learn he can’t always have his way.’

But it was a harmless indulgence, and Prime was more than happy to take over the patrol in this instance.

Besides, he had an arguably selfish reason for doing so.

If he’d admitted as much out loud, Ratchet would have scoffed and sent a pulse of chiding dismissal crashing into Optimus’s EM field. ‘You don’t have a selfish component in your body,’ he might say.

But this… Optimus muses, gazing skyward as he trundles down the highway in vehicle mode, letting the crisp, night air slide through his grill and cool his powerful engine… This is the appeal of a solo patrol.

Every now and then, there are times when the Decepticon activity goes quiet, Fowler has nothing to report, and Optimus can almost pretend that he’s just another Cybertronian enjoying a long, quiet drive through the Mojave wilderness. And while he remains ever vigilant, keeping every sensor poised outwardly in a constant surveillance of his surroundings, the old bot still permits at least one sense to wander.

Somehow, it’s always his sight.

Oftentimes he catches himself doing it. Other times, on nights that are quiet and still and clear like this one, there’s a wire-deep longing that overrides his logic gates, and the Prime won’t notice that he isn’t keeping his processor and his optics on the dusty road ahead of him. He’s too busy stealing long, pensive looks at the stars above him, scattered like a-hundred-billion souls sprawling across a curtain of crushed velvet.

It’s out there… somewhere… riding a lonely orbit on the furthest reaches of the galaxy’s Centaurus arm.

Cybertron.

Home.

Their first home, he amends gently, depressing his accelerator to speed up when he realises he’s starting to crawl. Earth is as much their home now as Cybertron ever was.

Sagging on his suspension with a low hiss, Optimus drags his hidden optics back to the road ahead, and all at once, he nearly lurches to a halt, his exhaust pipes sputtering out a hollow sound to betray his surprise.

There, parked several feet from the road a few hundred yards ahead of him, is a vehicle.

Prime’s senses sharpen to a startling focus.

Pumping his brakes, he slows down again, and the roar of his engine fades to a fluctuating hum.

A Decepticon…?

He doesn’t feel anything trying to breach his EM field, nor does he pick up on any resistance when his scanners hone in on the vehicle – ‘Ford. F250. A Pickup truck.’ Year….? Optimus’s focus narrows to a pinprick… ‘Eighty-seven.’

It’s red - a faded, dusky red like some of the sun-baked sandstone at Red Rock Canyon. As Prime’s massive form rumbles on through the night, looming closer and closer to the mysterious truck, his lights reflect off something situated above its rear bumper, the presence of which quells his flaring codes and eases his rigid frame.

A number plate.

Thick, black numbers and letters stand out against the white rectangle, though it isn’t the sequence that alleviates Optimus’s suspicion, it’s their mere presence.

No Decepticon he knows would ever suffer the ‘indignity’ of having a human number plate stapled to their bumpers.

Primus, even the Autobots have foregone the accessory after Fowler gave up trying to keep Bumblebee from losing his, Ratchet from ‘misplacing’ his, and Bulkhead from bending his irreparably whenever he transformed. Optimus had given it a go, for a time… mainly because he was growing worried that their overworked liaison would quite simply combust if he had to intercept one more phone call from ‘concerned civilians’ who were reporting a semi-truck driving through Jasper without its registration.

The Prime’s number plate came to its own crumpled end when he sat down on his berth one evening without removing it first.

One genuine, slightly sheepish apology to a very fed-up liaison later, and Optimus was informed that he and his team no longer needed to wear the plates.

So, the presence of one on this truck is a good sign. It’s less likely to transform and cause an incident.

That does, however, open up an entirely new avenue for concern to creep in.

A crash, perhaps?

Several dark skid marks indicate that it must have veered off the road after a hard, panicked brake.

He can’t pick up any biological signatures either. Even when he casts a wider net, all his sensors catch are the heat signatures of a few tiny, Earthen mammals scurrying about over the sand before they dart into various rock formations when he rolls by. But just because he isn’t picking up the presence of a living human, it doesn’t negate the possibility of a human being inside…

Frame suddenly taut, Optimus trundles to a cautious halt on the road alongside the truck, his engine idling like some great, murmuring beast in the quiet of the desert.

A throaty hum seems to escape his smokestacks as he peers down at the smaller truck, contemplative… considering… Then finally, relieved. There doesn’t appear to be anyone inside, judging by what his headlights illuminate through the cab windows.

What is it doing out here?

It definitely wasn’t here yesterday when he made the drive into Jasper. It isn’t a vehicle he recognises either, and he’s been doubly vigilant of late regarding all the civilian cars, bikes, trucks, vans, and even agricultural vehicles in and around the town.

Privately, he’s been compiling a catalogue of them all, for his own reference.

If there’s a threat to his human charges lurking about in their hometown, Optimus needs to know about it. A Decepticon disguised as a civilian vehicle would be an effective method of infiltration.

Casting one more, cursory ping out into the night to check that he’s definitely alone, he at last begins to unfurl himself into his bipedal mode. Metal plating slides away from his grill, pulling back and rolling along the body of the semi as he rises onto newly revealed pedes. The mechanical whines, whirrs and buzzes are terribly loud and alien amongst the desert’s natural ambiance, but soon enough, the air falls still once again, and a monolithic Cybertronian stands in the place where a Peterbilt used to be.

Soft, cerulean light spills over the abandoned truck as Optimus settles his optics upon it, easing his enormous frame down into a crouch and draping one arm across his knee with a ‘clunk.’

At first glance, he hadn’t noticed anything especially odd about the truck save for its unexpected presence. Leaning sideways, he casts an optic over the front bumper and finds nothing out of place, no damage to indicate a crash, no broken headlights or crushed bonnet.

It’s the same story with the truck’s bed. Only when Optimus hauls himself upright and treads carefully around it to inspect the other side does he notices the glaring problem.

The whole vehicle is canting onto its offside front tyre, a tyre that sports a rather sizeable puncture, considering how flat it is. And from the looks of it, this one was only ever meant to be used as a temporary spare. A quick glance into the truck’s bed reveals what he assumes must be the original tyre, flat as well, with the silver head of a nail jutting from the centre tread block.

Optimus clicks his glossa softly for the owner’s run of bad luck.

Right away, he sends a ping to his team, advising them to be wary of stray nails along this stretch…

He receives several pings in return. Immediately comes Bumblebee’s frustration, buzzed over the airwaves like a sulking sparkling who’s been told his toy was broken. Given the Scout’s inclination to race at top speed all over these roads, Optimus doesn’t doubt he’s just vexed at the shuddersome notion of having to slow down.

Arcee and Bulkhead respond in kind as their leader absently moves his attention to something strange obscuring part of driver’s window, letting their concern wash over his field.

‘Popped a tyre, Boss?’ Bulkhead’s message hits his comm, informal and probing, but with the warmth of care behind it.

Optimus is quick to send a pulse of reassurance back through their shared channel. He’s fine. If one little nail was all it took to take a Prime out of commission, they’d all be in serious, serious trouble.

The channels go quiet after Arcee and Ratchet send their short, concise responses, and once again, Optimus is alone on the road, peering down at a small sheet of paper that’s been taped to the inside of the truck’s front window.

Gradually, he furrows his optical ridges until they almost click together into one, solid line, the apertures inside each optic whirring and shrinking as he reads the words scribbled on the paper.

He recalls the first time he encountered the languages of Earth as they were written. The looping letters, graceful and elegant, chasing one another across the front of the letter Agent Fowler gave him as part of an unofficial welcome to the United States.

Optimus had held the paper so delicately between two of his digits, blinking down at the dark ink soaked into repurposed cellulose fibre. It was beautiful.

When he remarked as such, Fowler made a noncommittal comment that you could tell a lot about humans from their handwriting.

Optimus would sometimes find himself glancing over the children’s homework when they left their books out unattended on the table in their recreational area.

Jack’s neat and sensible cursive. Miko’s chaotic, glittery script that rose and fell and ventured outside the lines because she was usually paying more attention to her music than the words she wrote in her textbook. And Rafael, of course, with his quick, almost frantic stokes of the pen as he tried to scribble his thoughts down as fast as his brain could make them, only to end up losing his confidence halfway through a sentence, doubled back, drew a single line through the words, and started again on a fresh page.

This handwriting though… written in blue, splotchy ink and stuck with a piece of scotch tape to the truck’s window, makes Fowler’s words ring true in Optimus’s processor.

He can tell a lot about the human who wrote it.

‘Please don’t steal/break into my truck,’ it reads. The word ‘please’ has been underlined several times. ‘Not worth much, it’s all I’ve got. Tyre is flat, spare tyre too, so can’t get far anyway. Walking to town to find help bcos phone died and I don’t have a charger. Be back soon. Thanks.’

The ink has run in several places and rendered some of the letters illegible, as if water has been dropped on them from above.

Optimus isn’t naïve. He’s seen the children cry, more times than he can bear.

Then underneath all that, in much smaller writing stuffed underneath the first message like an afterthought they forgot to leave enough space for…

‘P.s, if the truck is still here in 3 days, assume I’m dead.’

With a sudden groan of his metal frame, Optimus braces a servo on his knee and hurriedly pushes himself to his pedes once again, helm swivelling sideways to stare down the length of the road.

The truck’s nose is pointed in the direction of Jasper, but the town itself is still about a fifteen-mile drive…

Surely they wouldn’t make the journey on foot…

But if the note is any indication, then…

His processor flashes again to the children; Miko in particular, and the alarming disregard she has for her own safety. The boys are guilty of that as well, though to a lesser degree.

Suddenly, there’s a very high likelihood that there might be a human wondering through the vast Mojave, alone. Worse still, Bumblebee had reported just last week that there’s been an increase in Decepticon patrols in the area around Jasper. No doubt Megatron has been ramping up his efforts to locate the Autobot base. Their growing presence in the vicinity of town makes these roads particularly treacherous…

Optimus ex-vents roughly, more troubled than frustrated.

Blue optics narrow at the road ahead, and once again, the peace of the desert night is filled by the sounds of living metal collapsing back in on itself.

A powerful engine roars to life. Somewhere nearby, a startled jackrabbit darts beneath the safety of a sagebrush, hiding herself amongst its silvery leaves.

Unblinking, her wild eyes stare after the great, thrumming beast as it moves on down the road.

—————-

You’ve had a lot of ideas in your life.

Some good. Some bad. Some that have paid off, but most that have gone nowhere at all.

Perhaps you were growing tired of going nowhere…

What else would have possessed you to up and move all the way to the middle of Nevada state on the back of a job offer that came from a man your uncle purported to know?

‘Oh yeah, Terry? Did a job with him a few years back for some cattle baron out in the sticks. ‘Course, Terry always wanted his own dairy… Want me to tell him you’re lookin’ for work?’

Turns out, Terry did end up getting that dairy he always wanted. And as it happened, he was looking for a farm hand.

Does it count as nepotism if you’re fairly sure your uncle had only met your future employer once?

Beyond a certain point, you simply couldn’t care less.

A job is a job, even if it is out here in the desert near a town you’d never heard of a month ago.

Dust-caked trainers trudge to a weary halt in front of a large, green road sign.

The moon, thankfully, hangs fat and luminous in the cloudless sky. So at least you don’t need a torch to see, not now that your eyes have had time to adjust the darkness cloaked over the desert.

With your run of bad luck, you half assumed the heavens would have opened by now and given the Mojave a nice, little dose of rain.

“Well,” you mutter aloud to yourself, peering up at the green sign with a grimace, “Could be worse…”

‘Jasper – 10 miles,’ reads like a slap to the face.

Still… It’s better than the fifteen miles.

You must have walked at least five already, dragging your legs behind you like extra baggage that doesn’t want to cooperate.

It has to be beyond midnight now. Well beyond, you suppose.

You’ve been walking for the better part of two hours, slow and sluggish and exhausted. The journey getting to Nevada had been tiring enough, then as soon as you crossed state lines, your tyre caught a puncture going over a particularly nasty pothole that had snuck up on you.

After an hour spent in the blazing sun jacking up the truck and changing to the spare, you set off again for another several hours of travel. Then, twenty miles out of Jasper, just as you dared to celebrate being home-free, the unthinkable had happened.

Who hits a pothole and drives over a nail in the same, damn day? Apparently, the same person who forgot to buy a charger adaptor for the truck.

No charger? No phone.

No phone…? No calling for help…

Your chest expands and deflates with a bone-tired sigh, turning your gaze back onto the long, dark road ahead of you. Tears sting at the inside of your eyelids, and for a moment, you consider letting them fall, if only to ease some of the pressure building up behind your temples. But crying hysterically about the unfairness of the world hadn’t un-punctured your spare tyre, so why would it help the situation now.

“Come on,” you coax yourself, hauling one leg out in front of the other. Rinse. Repeat. “Not far now.”

Just a few more hours…

The going is slow, tough, draining. Even the dark shapes of rocks start to look enticing as you pass them, letting your eyes slide over to them as you wonder just how safe it would be to fall asleep in the desert by the side of a road.

Ever since you broke down a few hours ago, you haven’t seen one, single vehicle out here.

‘Which,’ you hum, pursing your lips and tipping your head back to peer up at the bleary sky far above you, ‘Isn’t so bad…’

The stars are numerous, and startlingly clear out in the wilderness. The moon as well seems brighter here, unobscured by clouds. She makes for a quiet companion on your journey towards Jasper, her starry brethren endlessly stretching out to each corner of the horizon.

Suddenly, you feel very small. A hopeless traveller trying to find port in a sea of sand and rock.

Swallowing roughly, you hike your tattered rucksack high onto your shoulder and tear your gaze from the stars.

It’s quiet out here, save for the rustle of sage bushes disturbed by the warm breeze, and the skittering of rocks as night-time animals go about their hunts.

Perhaps that natural silence is why the sudden introduction of an entirely new sound unnerves you so much.

You jerk to a halt, ears straining to hear something approaching from the distance. Underneath the thin, worn soles of your shoes, you start to feel it; the road thrumming with gentle vibrations, growing stronger every second.

Lighting quick, you whirl around to face the way you’d come, hands flying up to grip anxiously at the straps of your rucksack.

You’d have thought you’d be excited to see those headlights rise up above the horizon line. At last! A stroke of luck! A potential ride! Potential help.

Instead, it’s as though the sudden appearance of two, dazzling lights blooming into view as they crest over the hill finally jar some sense back into your dizzy head.

The haze of fatigue lifts slightly, pushed away by little bursts of adrenaline as your brain fights to wake you up to an unconscious threat.

You’re alone out here. Defenceless, phoneless. You don’t know the area. Nobody knows you’ve broken down… You try so hard to think the best of people, but now that you’ve had one doubt, a hundred others start to scurry around in your brain, demanding attention.

You can see the vehicle, or their lights at least, but you doubt they can see you yet, this far down the road. You wonder what it is. Car? Truck?

… Alien spacecraft? Despite yourself, you let out a snort at that. Isn’t that infamous military base supposed to be in Nevada? The one hiding alien activity?

Right. Sure.

Despite your scepticism however, a thrill of fear rushes down the length of your spine as if to say, ‘Oh? But are you sure sure?’

 Gulping audibly, you take a few steps sideways off the road, stealing a glance at a cluster of large rocks that sit conveniently just several yards to your rear.

You have a decision to make.

Maybe you’ve been alone on the road for too long, and isolation has bred a paranoia in you that’s so deeply rooted, you can’t shift it at a moment’s notice. If the sun was out, perhaps you’d be less apprehensive, but the night, no matter where you are, makes everything seem so much more… treacherous. It hides things. People, motivations, monsters.

And though it pains you to do so, you swiftly decide to err on the side of personal safety.

The vehicle is closer now, and your blood trembles as the roar of a loud, formidable engine thunders over the tarmac. Yet you’re still certain it isn’t close enough to have caught you in its high-beams.

On sluggish legs, you haul yourself about and make a clumsy dash for the rocks, clenching a fist around one strap of the rucksack and using your other hand to grab the closest rock and swing yourself behind it. Dropping to your backside, you flatten your spine against the cool, solid surface, eyes wide, heart beating hard against the cage of ribs keeping it from leaping up into your throat.

‘Coward,’ a voice in the back of your head scoffs, sounding suspiciously like your father. You shake it loose. Now is not the time to be bothered by old ghosts.

The thundering engine draws nearer, rumbling in your chest as it seems to creep towards your hiding spot at a pace even a glacier would be impressed by.

Around the corner of the rock, you can finally see the glow of its headlights smoothing over the tarmac, illuminating the sand and brush all around you. Hurriedly, you tuck your toes right into the shadow cast by your rock, keeping a breath held hostage behind clenched teeth.

“Come on… Come on,” you urge it frustratedly, aware that every second you spend not moving is another second towards sunrise. If you’re not on the dairy ready for work by then…

The vehicle rolls to a stop.

It stops.

The temptation to let out a frustrated scream is only held in check by your tongue getting stuck to the roof of bone-dry mouth.

They saw you. They must have seen you. There’s no way they could have known you were here otherwise.

Idiot!

Wasting time on the decision has only taken it right out of your hands in the end.

A bead of sweat escapes your hairline and rolls down the side of your face, following the curve of your cheek. Should you run? Keep hiding? Did they stop by coincidence? If they meant no harm, they’d have seen you hide and kept on driving, wouldn’t they? Stopping is suspicious. It conveys a desire to engage.

And then something really strange happens.

“Excuse me?”

And… Well, you’re… not entirely proud of the choked gasp that jumps out of you, nor the way you flinch as if you’d been struck.

When did they – He? It’s a low voice, deeper than anything you’ve heard in a long while, full of bass but soft like distant brontide.

When did he get out of the vehicle? You didn’t hear a door open, nor close.

You nearly jump out of your skin when he speaks again.

“I’ve frightened you…” Despite how gentle the timbre is, his voice is loud, like he’s speaking all around you, not just behind you. “I apologise,” the stranger continues, “That is the last thing I meant to do.”

What the Hell is he talking about?

There’s a long, unpleasant stretch of time until he speaks again.

“Was that your… Ford?” he asks, like he’s testing the word on his tongue, “Up the road?”

Shit. You’re starting to regret leaving that note. He must have read it and knew someone would be walking into town, alone and vulnerable.

The vehicle's powerful engine is still idling, strong and steady, buzzing along the ground and up through the soles of your feet.

It goes against your nature to ignore someone when they’re talking to you, but there’s still a part of you clinging to the hope that he’ll just give up and move on if you don’t respond or show yourself. Perhaps he’ll think you were just a figment of an overtired imagination…

Of course, instead, he persists. “Please.”

Jesus, he almost squeezes the word out, oozing dejection.

“You have nothing to fear from me… I’m a friend.”

A friend indeed. You huff quietly to yourself. You don’t even know him. He doesn’t know you. He’s trying to coax you out of hiding after watching you flee from his vehicle. Hardly the foundation for a good friendship. Still, you have to wonder why he doesn’t just come around the rock to stand over you if he’s so keen.

After another few seconds of stubborn silence on your part, the voice speaks again.

“Will you at least step back from the rock?”

What?

“There are scorpions on it, and I fear you’ll get-“

You don’t think you’ve moved so fast in quite some time. One moment you’re pressing yourself to the rock, and the next, you’re scrabbling to your feet with gusto, lurching away from your prior hiding space and spinning around, skin already crawling.

Sure enough, a pair of giant scorpions are scuttling around on the flat top, their tails held aloft, proud and large in the moonlight.

“-Hurt,” the stranger finishes.

Snatching your head up, you find yourself staring right into the vehicle’s headlights, and you instantly grunt with discomfort, raising a hand to shield your eyes from the light.

“Oh.” There’s a pause, the vehicle’s engine skips, and the lights suddenly dim, plunging you into almost darkness save for the dim glow of residual light. “Forgive me. Is that better?”

“Much. Thanks,” you respond automatically, only to turn rigid once you realise you’ve spoken aloud.

Well. He’s already seen you. No point pretending you can’t talk either…

Again, the stranger’s vehicle makes an odd noise, it’s engine hums gently, and as you lower your arm to seek out the man you’ve just opened a line of conversation with, you finally see what you’d been hiding from.

A monstrous Peterbilt sits squarely across the width of the road, entirely alien in the barren, rocky landscape. Smokestacks on either side of its cab reach towards the sky, glinting silver in the moonlight. It looks red under the meagre glow, with lighter panelling on the main body and dark, blue accents on the wheel trims and storage compartment. The grill is, in a word, massive, standing taller than you are, sporting a logo you don’t recognise on the front.

All in all, it’s a hell of a truck. Powerful, you imagine. Expensive too.

You try not to let your mouth hang ajar.

“Where-” Your voice cracks, still dry. “Ahem…! Where are you?”

Glancing around, your hackles start to rise. You can’t see the speaker anywhere. Which is why you let out an embarrassingly shrill yelp when his voice rumbles directly from the semi.

“I’m right here,” he assures you, polite enough not to show his amusement whilst you flap your mouth open and closed.

No, you shake your head. No, that is too weird. “What, are there like… speakers on the outside of your truck or something?”

There’s the tiniest of pauses, followed by a simple, concise, “There are.”

Oh. Well, then. That answers that burning question.

“Okay? So, um… Can I… help you?” you ask awkwardly, screwing one side of your face up.

The man seems to hesitate, allowing a pregnant pause to hang in the air between you before he replies, “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Somehow, your expression twists even further south, and you begin casting your eyes over the semi, squinting through its dark windshield to try and catch a glimpse of what’s on the other side.

“I saw your truck on the side of the road,” the unseen man continues, “I feared you might have been hurt in a crash, so, I stopped to check that you weren’t still inside the vehicle. Then I found your note.”

He falls silent, and the air is dominated once again by the purring of his semi’s engine.

“Okay?” you prompt, still unsure of his motivations.

“It said you need help.”

He trails off, waiting. You’re promptly struck by the idea that he’s trying to guide you to some conclusion he hasn’t yet revealed. Finally, just as you start to grow restless, he forges ahead, “These roads can be hazardous for a lone hu-“

Suddenly, the truck’s engine revs, drowning out his voice for a second and sending you leaping backwards, startled.

“- A lone traveller…” he clears his throat just after the roar of its exhaust cuts out. Then, “Ah, If I may be so bold...”

All of a sudden, the passenger side door unlatches and swings open, and you’re presented with a clear invitation into the darkened cab. “May I offer you a ride into town?”

You wonder if he can see you turn stiff at his suggestion. Your body all but pleads on hands and knees for you to accept. What’s the worst that could happen, after all?

Well. You’ve watched several documentaries and movies that give you a pretty good indication of what ‘the Worst’ entails, thank you very much. You don’t like that he’s inviting you into his truck without showing his face to you yet. You’d like to gauge the person you’re speaking to. Get a bead on him. Is he big? Strong? Tall? Could you overpower him if it came down to it? Does he look like he’s hiding a weapon on him?

All these questions only serve to dry the moisture in your throat.

“I… That’s… very kind of you,” you admit, wringing your hands together as you take a small step away from the semi, “But I’m sure it’ll be okay, it isn’t that far.”

“At an average speed of three miles per hour, you will reach the outskirts of town in just under three and a half hours.”

You blink, caught off guard. ‘And they said we’d never need to use equations after we graduated.’

“Maths guy, huh?” you cock a hip, laying a hand across it and shooting the truck’s windshield a tentative smile, “Maybe I walk at four miles an hour.”

“Two and a half then,” he quips back just as smoothly, the door to his semi still hanging open. When he continues, you can’t help but notice that the cadence of his baritone voice rumbling through the speakers has turned to something a little more sombre, quieter, like he’s trying to impress upon you the gravity of a situation you don’t yet know about. “But time and distance aside, I do not wish to leave you to walk into Jasper by yourself, particularly at this time of night.”

He speaks like he’s been to elocution lessons. Every word seems to be carefully selected, every vowel and consonant articulate and refined.

It’s disarming. He’s disarming. But you’re still not convinced.

“Listen… Thank you, again. But…” It feels rude, like you’re committing some kind of faux pas in turning your back on the semi, yet you can’t shake the nagging voice at the back of your head, telling you that there’s something not quite right about the man in the truck. Not bad, just… off.

“It’s a kind offer,” you tell him again lamely, turning on your heel. And so, you recommence your weary march for Jasper, tossing one last sentiment over your shoulder, “But I’m sure I can make it on my own. Take care, okay?”

You almost expect him to argue, but all you can hear is the now familiar drone of the semi’s almighty engine. For several paces, you can feel a pair of eyes watching you, scrutinising and pensive, if a little baffled by your short yet polite dismissal.

When you make it another ten feet, heaving your tired legs after you over the tarmac, your ears perk up to the sound of an engine revving.

Smokestacks chugging, the massive truck pulls out of its standstill, unseen behind you.

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you keep your gaze fixed to the ground ahead and raise a hand, flapping it about in an apologetic farewell as you meander further off the road and onto the sand, giving him plenty of space to get past.

You start to frown when you make it twenty paces without being overtaken by the truck.

That frown only grows deeper when the engine keeps churring away behind you, rubber tyres crunching tiny particles of sand under their treads as it crawls along in your wake.

Is he…?

Tearing your eyes off the toes of your shoes, you send a fleeting glance over your shoulder, surprised – but not much – to find the nose of the Peterbilt creeping slowly along in your peripheral vision, keeping pace with you.

Your frown eases back, and you quirk a brow at him instead, calmly asking, “What are you doing?”

And just as easily, the voice returns, “If you will not allow me to drive you, I will happily escort you to your destination.”

You can’t help yourself.

“Ha! ‘Escort.’” The snicker jumps out of you faster than you can raise your hands to press your fingertips against an unbidden grin. “Sorry,” you immediately try to amend, “You just sounded so serious.”

“… I… am serious?”

Letting your hand flop back to your side, you give your head a shake, still grinning. You really do meet all sorts on the road.

“Regardless, I’m sure you have far better things to be doing with your time.”

How the truck matches your walking speed without his engine faltering or sputtering, you’ll never know.

A strange noise gurgles from its exhaust, almost perfectly reminiscent of a troubled hum.

“On the contrary,” the driver responds, pulling forwards a little until only the grill overtakes you, and for a moment, you worry he’s about to drive across your path, “There is nothing at the moment that concerns me more than getting you safely where you need to go.”

Huh. Of all the genuine, stubborn…

“Look.” Your shoes scuff up a cloud of sand as you draw to an abrupt and decisive halt, turning bodily towards the truck. Hands splayed on your hips, you glare at the windscreen, aiming approximately for the driver. A second later, he must have hit the brakes because the semi lurches to a stop as well, hissing noisily.

Still, he doesn’t step out.

“You seem like a nice guy,” you start, trying to keep your chin raised and your tone stern. You fail, of course. Your voice cracks nervously, but at least you try. Taking a deep, steadying breath, you finally elect to stop beating around the bush and just address the elephant in the room – or desert, as it were.

“But I don’t make it a habit to get into random trucks with strangers.” You make it a point not to directly accuse him of having ulterior motives, but you hope you’ve at least driven home your main concern. At best, he’ll grow offended that you’d think him capable of such a thing and – hopefully – move on. At worst… Well. You brace yourself for that, teeth grit so tightly, your jaw starts to ache as you flick your eyes over towards the truck’s driver-side door, waiting.

The truck in question does something odd then. It… sinks? At least you think it does, lowering on its axles by a few inches like the wheels have just deflated. It’s difficult to tell in the dim moonlight though, and it’s over so quickly, you can’t be sure you saw anything at all that wasn’t just a trick of the desert.

How long have you been awake?

You’re busy calculating the hours you were driving when the stranger’s voice is kicked out over the speakers again.

“You assume I mean you harm…” he utters.

And just like that, the stern, rigid scowl is instantly wiped off your face.

He sounds…

…sad.

Not offended. Not angered by your thinly-veiled implication.

Just sad. Dispirited, even. As if it’s only just occurred to him that you might have perceived him as a threat.

It’s almost painful when the pair of you dissolve into an uncomfortable silence that lasts for several beats of your rapid-fire heart.

Biting down on the inside of your cheek, your brows drift apart whilst you try to think of something to say. Trouble is, you’re afraid that speaking again will only make things worse.

You have no idea what’s going through his head. What if his dejected tone is followed by something worse?

“I’m sorry,” you backtrack, pressing your lips together and chiding yourself for faltering, “It’s nothing personal, just… I-I should probably get going before I fall asleep standing up.” You give a stilted laugh, but it soon turns into an awkward sound made at the back of your throat, lips pulled over your teeth in a grimace.

Dipping your head, you swallow thickly and grip the straps of your rucksack again. But just as you make to turn away, the semi’s wheels abruptly twist towards you. It’s ever so slight, just enough that the truck rolls a few paces in your direction before it stops again, its grill pointed straight at you.

With an audible gulp, you go to take another step back, staring at the metal in anticipation. Your retreat is soon halted by the mellow rumble of his voice.

“I understand your hesitation. And I know that the word of a stranger may not hold much weight,” he begins slowly. The Peterbilt inches forwards again. “But I can assure you, you have nothing to fear from me…”

Shifting on your feet, you let go of your bag and clutch instead at your elbows, brows tipped up indecisively. He’s persistent, you’ll give him that. He also speaks with a candour you’ve never encountered outside of a film or a storybook. Frank and forthright in a way you’ve never been privy to. Is that why you’re hesitating? Is that why he seems ‘off?’ Because his level of sincerity doesn’t have a place in your world?

Perhaps you’ve been spending so much time by yourself, it’s turned you distrustful. Maybe you’re just getting cynical. Looking back on your journey here, you realise that only other person who you’ve spoken to was a disinterested server who took your order at a drive-thru… That was four days ago. How long before that did you listen to someone who wasn’t the people on your truck’s radio?

Why is it so suspicious that this trucker wants to help? Hell, you’d be concerned as well if you saw some poor bastard hiking alone through the desert at night without a friend in the world.

Christ, you need some perspective.

The driver must see the conflict painted like a brand across your expression.

“Would it reassure you to know that this vehicle is operated entirely remotely?” he pipes up.

You blink once. Then again to wake yourself up a little more, pulled from your inner turmoil. “What?”

“This vehicle,” he tells you, “It is an unmanned vehicle.”

Curiosity overtakes suspicion faster than you can uncross your arms and stare at the grill dumbly, face opening up in surprise. “Wait. You mean it’s one of those self-driving things?”

“In a sense.” The semi’s engine rumbles softly, and the not-driver adds, “I am what you might call… the safety driver.”

Now that is curious.

You don’t even realise you’ve taken a step closer. “Really? But I thought that sort of tech was still in testing?”

“It is,” he replies, “We are, however, attempting to advance to field-tests, to see if these vehicles can autonomously haul freight in areas with sparser populations, to minimise the risk of collision.”

“Hence why you’re driving it out here in the middle of the night,” you realise aloud, raising an inquisitive brow at the windscreen, “So you’re really not in there? You’re driving it from somewhere else?”

“Would you care to see for yourself?” he asks kindly.

Your wide eyes flit to the passenger door when it eases open once again, though this time, it seems far less foreboding than before.

Tugging a loose piece of skin between your teeth, you give the silver steps leading to the door a scrutinising glance.

That does reassure you…

Slowly, still at least a little wary, you coax your legs to move, and they begrudgingly carry you onto the road. You approach the semi-truck with all the caution of a doe crossing an open meadow.

As you venture closer, its engine kicks up a notch, emitting a steady, gentle purr as if the vehicle itself is pleased with your acquiescence.

Suddenly, as you move along to the open door, you’re dazzled by a light flickering on inside the cab, bathing what you can see from this angle in a calm, golden hue.

From down here, it looks… just like an ordinary interior.

And lo and behold, as you stand on your tiptoes to see in, you find the driver’s seat is eerily devoid of its occupant.

You let out a breath that emerges shakier than you would have liked it to.

“Wow,” you laugh, impressed.

Maybe just a quick peek…

A vast chunk of apprehension breaks away from your chest and vanishes into the ether as you shuffle towards the steps, raising an arm and stretching your fingers across the space to the grab handle that sits invitingly just beside the open door.

This side of the truck is bathed in silver moonlight, and it’s only now that you’re this close that you happen to notice something you hadn’t before.

You almost wince when you spot them.

Although shiny and speckled with only the lightest dusting of desert sand, the metal panelling on the semi is covered in signs of wear and tear.

Enough to give you pause, at least.

For a moment, you’re taken aback, turning bodily away from the open door and cocking your head at the myriad of scratches that criss-cross their way up towards the semi’s roof.

All the paint in the world couldn’t hide some of those shallow nicks and lines that have been scraped out of the metal. In any case, something big must have scuffed it. Perhaps another driver in their own Peterbilt? Or perhaps it’s all damage sustained in testing the vehicle’s automated capabilities.

Clicking your tongue, you absently raise a hand to stroke your fingertips gingerly along the length of a particularly prominent scratch by the door.

“Oh dear,” you tut softly at the side of the truck, “You’ve been in the wars, haven’t you?”

Without warning, the engine that had been buzzing so gently suddenly ramps up and starts to vibrate firmly beneath your fingers, so strong you can even feel it judder the ground through the soles of your feet.

Recoiling like you’ve been zapped, you whip your head around to peer through the open door, half expecting the driver to admonish you for touching his vehicle.

As swiftly as it started however, the thrumming engine dies down, and the truck returns to its soft, benign idling. “My apologies,” comes that gentle voice again through the speakers, “Just an overactive combustion chamber.”

“Is it... safe to ride in?” you retort, giving the back of the truck a sidelong glance.

“You will find very few vehicles safer than this one,” he tells you patiently, “I will not allow any harm to befall you, as I would not allow it to befall any of my passengers.”

Your shoulders jump with a silent laugh. “Befall,” you parrot, fighting a smile, “I love the way you talk.”

“… You do?” His speakers buzz with a pleasant hum.

Fingers flexing anxiously, you reach out once again and slide them around the grab handle beside the door, finding that it’s unexpectedly warm under your palm.

“So, I just… get in?” you ask, only to cringe immediately, realising you probably sound like a fool who’s forgotten how to get into a truck.

Before you can rebuke yourself harshly though, the absent stranger offers his response. “Do you require assistance?”

“No, no,” you rush out, placing one foot on the first, silver step and hoisting yourself up off the ground, bringing yourself level with the cab’s seats.

Your eyes grow wide with wonder as you take in the interior.

“Oh, wow,” you breathe, suddenly hesitant to pull yourself up those last few feet.

“Is there something wrong?”

“It’s just… It’s so clean!”

Laid out before you is a perfectly ordinary truck cabin. Soft, grey leather covers the seats, with the same dark colouration on the roof, doors and most of the glovebox, interspersed by a rich, black steering wheel. The soft light, you discover, is emitted by multiple strips of blue neon LEDs that the driver must have fitted underneath the radio dials and dashboard, casting the truck’s interior in a cool, soothing glow.

But most astonishingly, for as much as you search, you can’t spot a single thing out of place. It’s absolutely immaculate. There isn’t one receipt stuffed in the door pockets, no traces of sand or gravel dirtying the footwells, no loose change tossed into the centre console…

Dumbfounded, you glance into the back, but all you find it a dark, grey panel and a shelf set back into the semi’s rear wall, meant for use as a bed, you surmise. It’s empty, unsurprisingly. Not a blanket or a pillow in sight.

Finally, your suspicions are put to rest. This truck doesn’t look lived in at all. He really is operating it remotely.

“God, it looks brand new in here,” you marvel aloud, suddenly hyper-conscious of the abysmal state of your old pickup. The scratches on this semi’s exterior play briefly on your mind but you brush your musings aside, too fatigued to consider the contradictions of a worn exterior but an immaculate interior.

Instead, you feel a frown crease the skin between your brows.

It really is immaculate in here…

Glancing down, you scowl disdainfully at your filthy shoes, the tank-top that’s stained irreparably by dropped food and greasy finger-smears, and trousers that are tattered and worn at their hems.

“Is everything all right?” the ‘driver’ asks again. His voice must emerge from the speakers on each door, low and warm, filling up the cabin.

“My shoes are dirty,” you admit out loud, your grip on the handle turning slack until you sink a few inches back to the first step, “I’m dirty. I-I don’t want to get sand and crap all over your truck.”

“I don’t mind.”

Spoken with more consideration than you’ve heard in a long, long time.

You pause at once, brows tipping up in the centre of your forehead.

A deep inhale through your nose brings with it the unobtrusive scent of leather, with the faintest undertone of adhesive sealers, giving the interior that ‘new truck smell’ that so many drivers try to replicate artificially.

Comparatively, it’s been several days since you passed a rest stop that had showering facilities. Those that did asked for a hefty charge. You’d glanced down at the handful of coppers in your centre console and decided you could go without. Now, you’re starting to regret that decision. Every now and then, whenever you raised your arms to stretch or flip the visor down in your pickup, you’d catch an unpleasant whiff of yourself wafting out from under your light, cotton shirt.

Embarrassed as you are to confess that you’ve been severely neglecting your personal hygiene, you swallow past a lump in your throat and croak, “I… haven’t exactly washed for a couple of days… I wouldn’t want to make your truck smell…”

And in a tone so kind it threatens to brings a tear to your eye, the stranger answers consolingly, “I think your scent is perfectly fine.”

It’s so damnably genuine, you can’t even find it in yourself to point out that he isn’t here to smell you, so his point is moot.

“I…” One more cop-out strikes you. “I don’t have any money,” you murmur truthfully, ashamed, “I can’t pay you for the fuel, or-“

“-I ask for nothing in return but your company,” is all he says, cutting you off as gently as his profound voice will allow.

And just like that, you’re out of viable excuses. Or perhaps your body has noticed the comfortable seats right in front of it and you don’t have enough fight left in you to deny it a sit down. Besides, any reasons you come up with to dip are likely to be met with a counterpoint.

Even so, you can’t help but hesitate for one more question, hand clasping and unclasping around the grab handle. “Are you sure it’s okay? I’m not going to get you in trouble or anything am I?”

The next sound that hums through his speakers is so soft and rich, you think it’s the truck’s engine playing up again, at least until the stranger cuts the noise off by saying, “You do not look like trouble to me.”

If he only knew.

The sound prior, you realise, was a chuckle, the first one you’ve heard out of him yet. Something in the measure of it settles the last of your nerves, only slightly, just long enough to have you throwing caution to the wind. With a final heave, you pull yourself the rest of the way inside, sliding gingerly into the comfortable passenger seat. You never notice how the metal below your foot shifts microscopically, lifting you closer to the cab.

It takes a lot of restraint not to let your eyes drift closed, nor to slump backwards into the wondrously giving material on your spine.

Instead, you sit stiffly with your rucksack keeping you upright, legs pressed together, hands folded neatly in your lap. If you make any kind of mess in here, you’ll be mortified.

After a moment, you remember to close the door, but just as you turn and peel a hand off your thigh, you jolt, staring agog at the door as it swings slowly shut with a dull ‘click.’ All of its own accord.

“Full remote access,” the voice pipes up as the engine below you roars to life, and then you’re moving, and all you can do is stare through the window at the desert drifting by whilst trying to ignore the uninvited ache in your chest.

“Seatbelt.”

His gentle prompt spurs you to reach over and grab the fabric near your shoulder, tugging it across your body and fumbling a little to slot it into place. Suddenly, you feel an invisible pull on the belt, and the metal buckle finds its way into the socket on your next pass.

‘Must be magnetic,’ you muse distractedly.

“Are you comfortable?”

Blinking back the moisture in your eyes, you turn to glance at the empty driver’s seat. It’s bizarre, and more than a little unsettling to see the steering wheel turn itself around as the truck pulls back onto the road, driven by unseen hands.

When you don’t immediately respond to his query, the man continues just as patiently as before. “If it is too cold, I can turn up the heater. Or… perhaps you are too warm…” He hums to himself, thoughtful. “You have been exerting yourself.”

You instantly become aware of the light sheen of sweat that hasn’t quite dried on your forehead. Puckering your face up into a solemn smile, you shake your head and at last respond. “Not to worry. It’s very comfortable in here.”

What follows is a poignant moment of hesitation before the voice speaks again. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but… You do not seem comfortable…”

The open-ended statement fades into silence, and you’re left casting nervous glances around the cabin again. “How do you-?” you start, tugging your shirt further down your arms, “Can you see me? Like… in here?”

Again, there’s a pause, barely longer than a second, yet long enough for you to notice it.

“Cameras,” comes his measured response, “Both external and internal. They’re how I spotted you on the road.”

“Oh, I hadn’t even considered that… Of course.”

Suddenly self-conscious, you reach up and begin to paw uselessly at your dishevelled hair, humming though a thin-lipped smile. “I must look a sight,” you half joke.

“You look tired…” he replies diplomatically, and there’s nothing in it for you to be offended by.

Rubbing a thumb over the wrinkle slowly carving a home between your brows, you heave a dreary sigh. “It’s been a long journey.”

“I can only imagine… And… Where does it culminate, if I may?”

“Terry’s Dairy?” you offer, “Uh, it’s this little farm just on the outskirts of Jasper.”

The truck beneath you gives a reverberating thrum. “I know the pastures, but I’m afraid you will find they lay beyond the ‘outskirts’ of the city.”

Letting out a groan, you knock your head back against the seat behind you, staring bleakly up at the ceiling. “Of course… How far?”

“Only a few miles, to the East of Jasper. We’re coming in from the Northwest highway. I can get you there in twenty-five minutes.”

“Twenty- Oh, no, no. You really don’t have to do that,” you protest, shifting in the seat to frown at the empty driver’s seat in lieu of anywhere else to look, “Just drop me off in town and I’ll walk the rest. You’re already going out of your way for a stranger.”

“I am dropping you off at your destination and not a mile before,” he tells you steadily.

His uncompromising tone brooks no argument.

You stare at the spot a person should be for several, long moments, debating how much you could push an argument. He’s already coaxed you into his truck, his powers of persuasion are rather good. What chance do you have, sleep-deprived as you are?

Conceding sullenly, yet appreciatively, you let your back touch the seat, settling into it a little less hesitantly. “You won’t be taking no for an answer, I assume?”

He only lapses into a stubborn silence, an answer in and of itself.

That quiet is broken, however, when you suddenly let out all the air from your lungs, a smile growing across the width of your face as the breath escapes your nostrils in a sigh. “Thank you for this… Really. You’re saving me a lot of grief.”

The blue neons on his dashboard seem to flare a bit brighter for all of a second before they dim again. “I am glad to be of service,” he replies warmly.

“Oh my god,” you blurt without warning, leaning forwards in the seat and staring through the windscreen with wide eyes, “I’m so sorry, you’re being so nice and I’m so rude – I never asked your name.”

“Nor did I yours,” he points out, “You may call me Op-“

Suddenly, a burst of static buzzes through the radio. You shoot it a funny look.

“Optimus,” the stranger admits over the static with a hesitance you pick up on right away, drawing your gaze from the dash, “My name is Optimus.”

“Optimus?” you repeat incredulously, a small smile quirking at the edges of your mouth, “Wow… You must have had creative parents.”

“I appreciate that it might seem… an unusual name…”

“It is,” you agree pleasantly, “I like it. Makes you sound cool. Unique. My parents just stuck me with Y/n.”

At once, Optimus echoes your name, and you’re jarred by the sound of it coming from someone else’s lips, reverberating around the truck. It’s been a while since anyone used it.

“Y/n,” he says again in his velvety timbre, “It’s a fine name. I like yours too.”