#what are the most common engine starting problem

[expresscareautomn]

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[clausenauto]

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[inkskinned]

i have chronic pain. i am neurodivergent. i understand - deeply - the allure of a "quick fix" like AI. i also just grew up in a different time. we have been warned about this.

15 entire years ago i heard about this. in my forensics class in high school, we watched a documentary about how AI-based "crime solving" software was inevitably biased against people of color.

my teacher stressed that AI is like a book: when someone writes it, some part of the author will remain within the result. the internet existed but not as loudly at that point - we didn't know that AI would be able to teach itself off already-biased Reddit threads. i googled it: yes, this bias is still happening. yes, it's just as bad if not worse.

i can't actually stop you. if you wanna use ChatGPT to slide through your classes, that's on you. it's your money and it's your time. you will spend none of it thinking, you will learn nothing, and, in college, you will piss away hundreds of thousands of dollars. you will stand at the podium having done nothing, accomplished nothing. a cold and bitter pyrrhic victory.

i'm not even sure students actually read the essays or summaries or emails they have ChatGPT pump out. i think it just flows over them and they use the first answer they get. my brother teaches engineering - he recently got fifty-three copies of almost-the-exact-same lab reports. no one had even changed the wording.

and yes: AI itself (as a concept and practice) isn't always evil. there's AI that can help detect cancer, for example. and yet: when i ask my students if they'd be okay with a doctor that learned from AI, many of them balk. it is one thing if they don't read their engineering textbook or if they don't write the critical-thinking essay. it's another when it starts to affect them. they know it's wrong for AI to broad-spectrum deny insurance claims, but they swear their use of AI is different.

there's a strange desire to sort of divorce real-world AI malpractice over "personal use". for example, is it moral to use AI to write your cover letters? cover letters are essentially only templates, and besides: AI is going to be reading your job app, so isn't it kind of fair?

i recently found out that people use AI as a romantic or sexual partner. it seems like teenagers particularly enjoy this connection, and this is one of those "sticky" moments as a teacher. honestly - you can roast me for this - but if it was an actually-safe AI, i think teenagers exploring their sexuality with a fake partner is amazing. it prevents them from making permanent mistakes, it can teach them about their bodies and their desires, and it can help their confidence. but the problem is that it's not safe. there isn't a well-educated, sensitive AI specifically to help teens explore their hormones. it's just internet-fed cycle. who knows what they're learning. who knows what misinformation they're getting.

the most common pushback i get involves therapy. none of us have access to the therapist of our dreams - it's expensive, elusive, and involves an annoying amount of insurance claims. someone once asked me: are you going to be mad when AI saves someone's life?

therapists are not just trained on the book, they're trained on patient management and helping you see things you don't see yourself. part of it will involve discomfort. i don't know that AI is ever going to be able to analyze the words you feed it and answer with a mind towards the "whole person" writing those words. but also - if it keeps/kept you alive, i'm not a purist. i've done terrible things to myself when i was at rock bottom. in an emergency, we kind of forgive the seatbelt for leaving bruises. it's just that chat shouldn't be your only form of self-care and recovery.

and i worry that the influence chat has is expanding. more and more i see people use chat for the smallest, most easily-navigated situations. and i can't like, make you worry about that in your own life. i often think about how easy it was for social media to take over all my time - how i can't have a tiktok because i spend hours on it. i don't want that to happen with chat. i want to enjoy thinking. i want to enjoy writing. i want to be here. i've already really been struggling to put the phone down. this feels like another way to get you to pick the phone up.

the other day, i was frustrated by a book i was reading. it's far in the series and is about a character i resent. i googled if i had to read it, or if it was one of those "in between" books that don't actually affect the plot (you know, one of those ".5" books). someone said something that really stuck with me - theoretically you're reading this series for enjoyment, so while you don't actually have to read it, one would assume you want to read it.

i am watching a generation of people learn they don't have to read the thing in their hand. and it is kind of a strange sort of doom that comes over me: i read because it's genuinely fun. i learn because even though it's hard, it feels good. i try because it makes me happy to try. and i'm watching a generation of people all lay down and say: but i don't want to try.

[autorepairhendersonnv]

What are the most common engine starting problems? The auto experts at Rebel Automotive can provide advice about needed engine repair.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

🧃 How to Develop a Vibe AND a Plot (aesthetic doesn’t cancel arcs. let’s balance them.)

hey you. yes, you. the one with the moody playlists, the 73-tab Pinterest board, and a half-written draft that just keeps…vibing in circles.

if you’ve ever written 10k of immaculate vibes but couldn’t tell anyone what your story is about, this post is for you. because here’s the thing: ✨ aesthetic is not a substitute for stakes. ✨

let’s talk about how to keep your ✨vibes✨ and actually have a plot that moves. no ✧ fluff ✧ just structure, character arcs, and some lovingly blunt advice from your local writeblr gremlin (me).

🌊 1. aesthetic is a result, not a premise

the most common mistake i see is starting with a vibe as the story. like:

“sad girls on the beach in 1996”

“a cursed forest full of dead gods”

“a pastel academic rivalry with secrets and sexual tension”

cool. great. love that for you. but… what’s the story? what’s happening?

✨vibes = setting + mood + tone. ✨plot = choices + consequences + change.

your aesthetic can inspire the story (please keep making playlists. i love them). but don’t confuse the feel of your world with the function of your plot. start with tension. stakes. character flaws. emotional damage. that’s the engine. the aesthetic is the paint job.

🎯 2. define your “emotional throughline”

okay, so you’ve got an aesthetic. what’s the emotional core of it? your plot should orbit a single emotional question, like:

will this character ever let themselves be known?

what does it take to unlearn loyalty?

is love worth destroying something sacred?

start with that. then attach aesthetic scenes to it.

🧩 pro tip: aesthetic scenes are more powerful when they contradict or complicate your emotional throughline.

ex: your story’s about loneliness? show them at the loudest, busiest party. story’s about grief? show them smiling in photos while everything breaks behind the lens.

aesthetic is stronger with irony. contrast. juxtapositions. don’t just bathe the reader in vibes. weaponize them.

💥 3. let your aesthetic hurt your characters

whatever your aesthetic is--soft academia, vaporwave horror, regency witchcore, don’t make it just a backdrop. make it an obstacle.

your setting should create problems. friction. conflict.

if it’s a sleepy coastal town: what’s festering beneath the quiet?

if it’s a hauntingly beautiful forest: what does it take from people?

if it’s a cursed mansion: what happens to the girls who stay too long?

every time you design a pretty place or moody visual, ask: ❓ how does this setting test my characters’ beliefs or desires?

because then your aesthetic drives the story forward instead of just decorating it.

📚 4. develop plot like a playlist: structure the escalation

your aesthetic playlist has structure, right? (don’t lie. i know you’ve got a specific song for act 3 heartbreak.)

plot works the same way. it’s not a mystery. it’s escalation.

you want a structure? here’s a dead-simple one:

give your main character a desire (internal & external)

give them a reason they can’t have it (flaw, fear, lie)

make them try anyway (rising stakes)

make it cost them something (midpoint shift)

force them to change or break (climax)

let that change play out (falling action / resolution)

that’s it. apply that structure to your vibey little story and suddenly it’s a book.

👁‍🗨 5. plot is what they do - vibe is how it feels

don’t choose one. you can have both.

you can have a soft lighting scene on a rooftop and the secret betrayal reveal. you can have dreamy prose and broken character dynamics. you can give me worldbuilding so lush it smells like petrichor and rot and still give me a plot twist that leaves me feral.

you just need to be intentional.

every scene = a purpose. every aesthetic = an angle. every image = tied to stakes, desire, or change.

✨ that’s the difference between “ooh pretty” and “oh my god i can’t stop thinking about this story.” ✨

💌 so in conclusion:

start with an emotional arc

let your aesthetic scenes earn their place

make your world fight your characters

escalate, escalate, escalate

and stop hiding a lack of plot under “vibe” like a glittery throw blanket over a broken chair

you’ve got this. now go write the beautifully messy, aesthetic and emotionally devastating story you were meant to.

i believe in you.

🧃rin t.

P.S. I made a free mini eBook about the 5 biggest mistakes writers make in the first 10 pages 👀 you can grab it here for FREE:

[bad268]

MercDuo (Andrea Kimi Antonelli X Mercedes Strategist! Reader)

Fandom: RPF/F2/F3

Requested: Yeah (I was wondering if you could possibly write something about Kimi and a reader who is very young, but works for an F1 team (maybe in the strategy side or on the pitfall as someone's engineer). Maybe even at Williams with Logan to create some drama about Logan being replaced.) (Anon, thank you for being so nice! I <3 you!)

Warnings: Danica Patrick mentioned (but Jenson Button is a reader-defender on live!)

POV: Second Person (You/your/They/them)

W.C. 1221

Summary: Kimi and the reader are the youngest driver-engineer duo in F1.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

You started your internship with the Mercedes-AMG Petronas F1 team when you turned 16 and in the short year and a half you were there, you flew through the ranks. When Bono told you he was stepping down to follow Lewis to Ferrari, you assumed the new person would be just as cool.

As it turns out, Bono personally recommended you to Toto Wolff to take his place as race engineer. 

Your boyfriend Kimi, who you met at a smaller karting track when you first started learning about engineering, was going to be your driver. There’s no way this could have gone right. There were too many conflicting relationships and forces for it to run smoothly. At least, that’s what the media said. 

Well, you learned from the best and the best nominated you to fill the void. That said something. Not to mention, Toto would not have put you in the role if he didn’t think you could handle it. That said something. And last but most certainly not least, you and Kimi always had a working relationship. 

Ever since you joined Mercedes after him, you two set clear boundaries. Rule number one, no flirting on the job if they are in the middle of something. Randomly in passing was fine, but it was kept to a minimum. Rule number two, you work together, and work to find common ground. Sounded like a given. Rule number three, work is work; leave it at the garage, track, factory, or wherever you are at. Work stays at work and it’s not brought home. Vice versa. Your personal relationship stays outside of working hours.

It was never a problem because Kimi was in the junior program and you were in F1, shadowing Bono. Obviously, with Lewis leaving, the new seat was open for practically anyone. Also, while you were usually a part of the driver decisions and contracts, the team conveniently left you out of the new driver decisions until Kimi himself told you he was taking Lewis’s place. 

This was fine at first because you already saw Kimi around the factory, and you would just be in the background during races. There was absolutely no crossover.

Yeah, then Bono decided to go with Lewis, and Toto promoted you to Kimi’s race engineer. Queue the iconic moments between you and Kimi.

Australia, round one of the 2025 season, was one for the books. Not only were you and Kimi excited to show off the new car (which is definitely championship worthy!), but the entire fanbase was curious (and some angry) to see how you and Kimi would match up against the rest of the grid. You two were barely legal, and neither of you had much experience. That’s what they thought, at least. You had been studying strategy since you could read, and you were ahead of your classes. It was the same story with Kimi except he was driving.  Both of you flew through your respective ranks and were highly regarded. Some people were anticipating you both living up to the hype. Others were honestly hoping you would fail. 

You both walked through the gates hand in hand toward the Mercedes garage. Journalists and fans alike shouted questions at you both, but you two just walked straight past them and put on some sunglasses. This was the first sign you both meant business, and it brought a lot of attention to Mercedes in general.

“Here we see Mercedes rookie, Andrea Kimi Antonelli, and his race engineer and partner, Y/n L/n,” Jenson Button said as you two walked past the camera where he was commenting on the prerace show. “They are probably the youngest driver-engineer duo in all of motorsports, but they are proving everyone wrong with Kimi topping the free practice sessions and bagging pole in qualifying.”

“Not many people know this, but Y/n actually graduated at the top of their class super early, and started an internship shadowing Peter Bonnington, Lewis Hamilton’s race engineer, when they were 16. While that’s impressive, I just don’t think they’re ready for this kind of pressure just yet. They only just turned 18, and 2 years is not enough experience before being the lead race engineer.” Leave it to Danica Patrick to say something condescending, but Jenson was not going to stand for it.

“I am a(n) Y/n-defender first, commentator second,” Jenson chuckled, but anyone watching or listening knew he was being completely serious. Jenson knew your character. He knew how hard you worked to get where you are, and he was not going to stand for anyone shit-talking you. It just made it a little better that he got to tell off his nemesis, Danica Patrick. “I will fight for Y/n any time, any day. They have worked too hard for someone to start badmouthing them.”

“But don’t you think it’s at least a little questionable of Toto Wolff to bring on the second youngest driver, next to Max Verstappen, and the youngest race engineer of all time?”

“I think the answer is in the results,” Jenson stressed in disbelief. “You said it yourself that they’ve topped every session together, and the team has been looking pretty reliable for pitstops all weekend. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if Kimi pulled out a win on his maiden race.”

“Kimi, radio check,” the broadcast cut to the drivers lining up on the grid, and your radio message to Kimi rang out.

“Loud and clear,” Kimi answered, and that was the end of the broadcast, so they didn’t catch the second half of Kimi’s message. Instead, it cut short, and the commentary team jumped into their own conversation.

“This goes to show they can be professional when needed,” Jenson laughed. “They may be young but they are professional enough to know there is a time and place. On the grid is not one of them.”

If they had heard the rest of the message, they would know everything Jenson just said was a lie.

“Oh, I don’t get any good luck?” Kimi teased as he looked to the lights for the formation lap.

“Amour (love), now is not the time,” You lectured as you talked a little quieter, especially around the rest of the team. They did not need to be alerted that their driver was currently distracted as he proceeded through the turns of Australia.

“What if I crash? Do you really want the last thing you say to me be ‘now’s not the time’?” Kimi retorted as he went through the formation lap.

“You’re so dramatic,” You groaned, but you couldn’t wipe the smile from your face. You glanced around at everyone briefly just as Kimi was coming around the last turn and into his grid slot. You signed, “Ti amo. Stai attento bello. Torna a casa da me (I love you. Be careful handsome. Come home to me).”

“Sempre (Always),” Kimi said as he waited for the green flag to fly at the end of the queue.

“Now, focus on the race,” You turned serious again, “In the words of Sebastian Vettel, go fast, don’t crash.”

“I try my best,” Kimi chuckled as he turned his full attention to the lights for his first Formula 1 race. His first pole position. His, eventual, first win in Formula 1.

~~~ Part 2 ->

~~~~~

© BAD268 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[sammsays]

Which would you say hinders the establishment of operant conditioning more, presenting the stimulus without prompting the desired response or prompting the response and not presenting the stimulus? I’m struggling with getting it to work. For normal reasons.

I would say, "presenting the stimulus without prompting the desired response".

Lengthy explanation of Operant Conditioning and how to use it below!

A common mistake in hypnosis and conditioning would be to give the reward or stimulus in general too frequently. In operant conditioning, we have what are called "schedules of reinforcement", which speak to frequency and technique in the timing of providing stimuli.

Providing the reward every time would be called "Continuous Reinforcement". This is a fine method of conditioning, but it is far from the most effective.

Partial Reinforcement Schedules are any means of conditioning that don't provide the stimuli every single time.

Fixed Ratio & Fixed Interval

Charts used from helpfulprofessor.com.

Fixed schedules suffer from a relatively predictable problem.

Fixed Ratio schedules are when a stimulus is provided after a certain number of behaviors are completed.

Fixed Interval schedules are when a reinforcement stimuli is provided at regular intervals (say, every hour).

The issues with Fixed schedules comes in the fact that we are aware of things (sadly). If a pattern is predictable, then we are both able to anticipate when it's about to happen, lessening the impact of the reward, and we know that right after the stimuli is finished, we won't be getting another one for a predictable amount of time.

Not only are there often lulls immediately after the stimuli, but the conditioning holds far, far weaker than both continuous and the other type of partial schedule.

When the stumuli stops being provided at the regular time (that singular moment being the only time where it feels possible), then its far easier for that anticipation to be flipped on its head and have a very negative impact, very quickly undoing any progress.

As a solution, we have...

Variable Ratio & Variable Interval

Charts used from helpfulprofessor.com.

Variable schedules are deeply, deeply effective. This is how gambling becomes addictive to people, but also how many other things are conditioned into creatures.

The one you should choose depends on what it is that you want to do.

Variable Ratio

This is the schedule you should follow if you want to enforce a behavior that you want to happen often. An example in the hypnosis sphere (most especially my hypnosis sphere) would be getting someone to start barking as part of their regular means of talking and typing.

All that is necessary to do is encourage the behavior initially, start the engines with rewards (either hypnotic triggers or just praise), and to only do it sometimes and at random.

Variable Interval

This is the schedule you should follow if you want to enforce a more continuous behavior that you want to happen steadily. This would be something more like obedience, giving a reward for good behavior at random, but importantly within a reasonably similar range each time.

You can't do it one hour then 48 hours later then 12, you should have something like a range of variance and stick to that, so long as the exact timing is not anticipatable.

This can also be done for singular behaviors like barking, if you wish for the conditioning to be much slower, and also to simply not be related to an amount of times being done.

Both methods build conditioning that takes a very, very long time to undo or fall away. In the case of many behaviors, unlike what is shown in the charts, they can become a near-permanent part of someone's existence, never quite going away without active efforts to do so.

If you get someone to bark consistently, and they do not have a reason for it to stop, it will become a part of themselves in a way deeper than you may ever expect.

As a fair warning, these methods of conditioning, as stated prior, are essentially forming an addictive loop for someone. It is not nearly so strong as gambling in most cases, but with the wrong person, the wrong environment, and the wrong precautions, you can steer into very unhealthy territory very, very quickly.

...it can be quite fun to condition people, though.

So, to again answer the original question: not only is "prompting the response and not presenting the stimulus" perfectly okay to do, it's actually better than doing it every single time.

Follow me for more interesting posts, and do ask me more questions. I'm telling you to do it. Be good and come up with something, okay?

I'll see you later! ^w^

[v-o-i-d-e-d]

Spock x reader

Could you please do. 5 times Spock caught the reader from falling +1 time he didn't. Reader gets really hurt but no death. Just hurt/comfort please✨

Of course I will do this for you! I hope you don't mind I shortened it a little for the sake of my word count. (It's already too long) But the premise is the same!

Warnings: reader is very clumsy, blood, brief description of a burn, language and I think that's it!

Word Count: 3,351 (buckle up)

Let me know if you guys want a part 2 to this one, I feel like it has tha kind of potential 👀

Allow the Ground to Find its Brutal Way to Me - Spock x Reader

1.

               The first time Ensign (Y/N) met Spock was an accident. She was supposed to be in the engine room – as per her engineering status – but instead, she was hiding away in the lounge. Most of her daily work was finished anyway, she could stand to take a break and catch up on her reading. However, just as she had reached a particularly exciting part of her book, her communicator crackled to life and Scotty’s voice filled the once peaceful silence.

               “(L/N), I need you to return to the engine room. I need your help repairing a minor issue with the hyperdrive.”

               The thought of ignoring the call crossed her mind but then so did the thought of losing her job,

               “On my way.”

               With a defeated sigh, (Y/N) marked her page and left the lounge. As the door hissed open, she stepped out without looking and bumped harshly into someone. (Y/N) and the stranger tottered for a moment before they both stabilized.

               “Sorry-“

               “Apologies-“

               Commander Spock was admittedly distracted by his datapad when he heard the lounge door open. He had looked up a bit too late and walked straight into the woman walking out of the room. After their quick apologies, the young ensign left without introduction. Spock had never seen her before and upon noting her red dress surmised that she worked primarily in the engine room. He let out a short hum as he continued on his path toward the bridge, this time making sure to keep his eyes on the hallway.

2.

               Over the next few months, (Y/N) and Spock saw a lot more of each other. Whether it was a coincidence or fate (Y/N) did not care she was just glad it happened. The two have many things in common such as a love for reading, art, and history. (Y/N) had become quite fond of her commanding officer and upon that realization, the thought of losing her job crossed her mind once again. The door to the Bridge hissed open and she walked as gracefully as she could beside Scotty as they entered for their weekly report. Supposedly, this ritual was so that Captain Kirk could be kept in the loop about any problems we may be having down in the engine room but (Y/N) was starting to think that it was simply a way for Kirk and Scotty to chat. For about five minutes the two men had a serious conversation, and then it transitioned into a more friendly and less important one that (Y/N) tuned out of. 

Spock noticed her as soon as she stepped onto the Bridge. Her hair was pulled away from her face today - she must have been doing mechanical work. He recalled her mentioning that she doesn’t like pulling her hair up because it gives her a headache. 

“...so I only pull it up when I have to. Don’t want it to get in the way while I’m neck deep in a turbine of something.”

The Vulcan huffed a breath through his nose that almost resembled a chuckle at the memory. Spock looked back toward (Y/N) at the sound of her laughter. Her lips curled in a lopsided grin and her cheeks flushed a pretty pink color as she waved off whatever it was Kirk had said to make her laugh. Spock’s brown eyes stared intently at (Y/N)’s face. She was a very beautiful woman - it would be illogical for him to deny that - but it was not practical to dwell on those thoughts so he begrudgingly looked back down at his work. 

(Y/N) had sneaked what she thought were subtle glances toward the Vulcan. How could she not? But apparently, the glances were not subtle enough to go undetected by Captain Kirk who had connected her gaze with his second in command. 

“Spock? Really? Come on, of all the men on board,” Kirk scoffed. 

(Y/N) looked down at her shoes feeling a bit caught and murmured, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Scotty and Kirk exchanged knowing glances and Kirk reached out and tapped (Y/N) on the shoulder, “Hey, do you think Vulcans get jealous? I think we should test it out and call it a science experiment.”

(Y/N) couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up at the notion. She waved off the suggestion and shook her head in disbelief. “You are unbelievable. Can I be dismissed? I do have a job to complete.” 

Kirk nodded and sent her away with a smile. She was relieved to be out of that situation and made her way back toward the elevator which just so happened to lead her right past a certain Vulcan. He looked up as she walked past and she waved and smiled. He nodded back. Unfortunately for (Y/N)’s confidence, she happened to walk a bit too close to the control table Spock was standing behind and managed to knock her hip into it hard enough for her to stumble. Spock quickly reached out and grabbed her bicep so she wouldn’t fall and (Y/N) gave him a sheepish grin. 

“Whoops,” she chuckled as she straightened herself up. “My clumsiness strikes again.” She chuckled to herself as she left the room. 

3.

(Y/N)’s palms were sweaty as she quickly swiped them against her uniform. Her eyes flicked between the aliens in front of her and Kirk. She had been part of a group that was meant to explore a newly found planet, however, the locals were not as accepting as the captain had anticipated. Normally, (Y/N) would not be involved in such missions but much to her annoyance the people on this planet spoke a dialect close enough to a language she knew to make her a valuable translator. The mood was quite tense as she stood in between the two groups. The aliens had just told Kirk that if they did not leave the planet soon, they would be punished.

“Punished how?” Kirk asked her. She cringed.

“I’d rather not repeat that one. Just know the description was very graphic and I think we should follow their direction.”

Kirk rolled his shoulders back and narrowed his eyes. “How about a bargain?” 

(Y/N) hesitated before relaying the question to the lead alien. The alien paused before allowing Kirk to elaborate. 

“You keep a member of our crew until we’re done with analysis and then we will come back for them when we leave. No more than 24 hours.”

Spock, who had remained silent by Kirk’s side grabbed the captain’s shoulder, “This is not a good idea. We don’t know how they treat prisoners here. You could be putting one of the crew members in danger.” 

“Relax. We’ll send one of the officers with them. They have training to withstand or escape if necessary. I know what I’m doing, Spock.

(Y/N) had relayed the proposition and the aliens turned to each other to deliberate. (Y/N) shifted on her feet and looked over at Spock with a wary expression. She said nothing but Spock understood: Whatever the aliens were saying wasn’t good. After a few moments, the aliens gave their response. As they spoke, (Y/N)’s eyes widened. When the aliens finished, she turned to Kirk and cleared her throat. 

“They say that they accept your bargain as long as they get to choose who stays.”

“Fine. Who do they want?”

“Me.”

A long pause. Kirk could feel Spock’s glare burning into the back of his head and chose not to cast a glance in his direction. “No.”

“It does make the most sense. I’m the only one who can speak to them and it’s only for a day. Who knows, maybe they’ll tell me stuff about their people.” (Y/N) could not believe she was advocating for herself to be a prisoner of some strange race but she just didn’t want shooting to start. 

Kirk finally cast a sidelong glance to his second in command who was already looking at him with an unreadable expression. Spock simply nodded. He couldn’t deny the logic. While she was there she could act as an ambassador on behalf of Star Fleet. 

“Fine” Kirk nodded and immediately (Y/N) was taken by the arms in a firm grip. She yelped in surprise and forced her legs to cooperate as she was led away from her group. 

“I guess the 24 hours starts now!” She said over her shoulder as she was led back toward the little village the aliens came from. 

Data gathering and analysis had never gone quicker. Everyone on the ground crew worked overtime through the night to gather as much as they could in the short time they were given. To say Spock was nervous would be a bit of an understatement. Anytime his hands were not occupied by work he would be picking his cuticles raw at the thought of (Y/N) stuck in that village. He was not optimistic, but Kirk reminded him that the aliens may not be hostile toward her. Spock often forgot that possibility. The group stood at the edge of the village just as the 24 hours were up. Much to Spock’s relief, (Y/N) was being led over to them unharmed. She was held firmly by the arm just as she had been yesterday but she seemed much less nervous today. 

“You okay?” Kirk asked when she was standing across from him 

“Yeah, I’m fine. They want to know if you have what you came for.”

Kirk nodded and, as if on cue, the alien holding (Y/N) pushed her forward. It wasn’t a particularly hard push, however, (Y/N) was not expecting the sudden forward momentum and tripped over her own feet. Spock, who stood once again at Kirk’s side, stepped forward and allowed (Y/N) to fall into him so she wouldn't hit the ground. The Ensign’s fingers softly gripped into Spock’s forearms and she straightened herself, murmuring a thanks under her breath. 

“Let’s head back to the ship.” She said grabbing both Spock and Kirk by the arm and leading the group away from the watching aliens. 

1. 

The only lights in the engine room were the red flashing emergency lights. The zap of electricity was heard from frayed or snapped wires and steam blew from busted pipes. (Y/N) had her hair messily pulled from her face and sweat dripping down the back of her neck as she gritted her teeth. She was clinging tightly to a pipe close to the hyperdrive with a tool in hand attempting to fix the catastrophic problem that had come from a too close encounter with the Klingons. The Enterprise groaned and tilted causing (Y/N) to hold tighter to her only anchor. The tool fell from her hand as she squeezed her eyes shut. When she didn’t hear the clang of the metal tool hitting the floor for several seconds she suddenly realized how far off the ground she really was. She had already climbed several feet up the scaffolding before the ship tilted, but now even if she tried to drop to the floor she would begin falling toward the wall. The ship was almost completely on its side and there was no way she would survive a fall from where she was. 

“Shit, shit, shit!” (Y/N) whined as she willed her aching arms and legs to stay wrapped around the pipe. The metal beneath her hands quivered and clicked as pressure built up in the pipe. (Y/N) looked around for something, anything, that she could grab to move away from this pipe which felt like it was going to burst at any time. 

“Ensign (Y/N)?” Someone shouted her name but she couldn’t see where they were standing. 

“Help! I’m definitely stuck!” She shouted at the top of her lungs, hoping the person could pinpoint her location. There was a pause and then the sound of something exploding and crackling with electricity. 

“I can’t use the walkway, the ship has tilted too far and the alternative route has just been…obstructed.”

It was Spock! (Y/N) could have cried from relief even though he was telling her he couldn’t get to her. Something about knowing he was there with her made her a little less afraid. She took a deep breath and looked around again. This time for a way for Spock. She saw one on the North side of the room. It was just level enough that if He came through that door, he could carefully walk toward where she was. There was just one problem. 

“I see another way but,” (Y/N) let out a breathy, humorless chuckle, “You’re going to have to come in from the North hallway.”

Spock blinked in his spot against the wall. The ship shuddered and he stabilized himself with his hands. He heard (Y/N) gasp but didn’t hear anything else. The North Hall was all the way on the other side. He would have to backtrack and go around and who knows the state of that side of the ship. 

“That- that may not work.” 

“I know but there’s no other good way in.” (Y/N) could feel her arms tiring. If something didn’t change soon, she was going to fall. She felt her stomach sink at the thought. 

Spock didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t see (Y/N) so he had no idea what kind of state she was in. He swore under his breath. It didn’t matter. The only way to possibly help her was to go to the other side. If she sounded that calm, she must believe she’ll be okay long enough for him to make it. 

“I’m going around. I swear I will come to get you just stay where you are.” Before she could answer he was gone.

(Y/N) sighed and briefly rested her forehead on the warmed metal. “God, you have no idea how difficult that’s going to be.” 

She didn’t know how long she had been hanging there, but it felt like forever. Every few moments the ship would groan and shift and it was getting increasingly hard to stay on the pipe. (Y/N) felt her eyes sting with unwanted tears as her limbs grew numb. She grunted as she tried to adjust her grip. She bit back a sob. The metal was getting warmer. Air was compressing on the inside and pressure was building. At any moment it would- another awful groan, then a hiss and a loud crack as the metal in front of her chest broke open. (Y/N) screamed as hot steam hit her. Her arms and legs finally lost grip as the shock of the pain ran through her body. Another blood-curdling scream ripped itself from her throat as she fell from the pipe, quickly plummeting toward the far wall below her. When the hard material met her back, the air left her lungs as she gurgled on the fluid bubbling up in her throat, and just as the sensation of the pain of her fall crept in, the darkness in the corner of her vision overcame her. 

“(Y/N)! (Y/N)!” 

The sound was very faint but it was unmistakable. It was Spock calling her name. Her eyes were stubbornly refusing to open and the rest of her body felt numb but she could hear him getting closer. She noted through hazy sensation that she was lying on her side. The ship must have shifted again. Hands were on her. She couldn’t tell where but she knew the familiar pressure of Spock’s grip on her. A gurgling sound came from her as she was carefully turned over. 

Blood lazily drooled from her lips and her head flopped lazily to the side. She looked dead, Spock thought as he searched for a pulse. His eyes burned with unshed tears but he couldn't let himself feel at that moment. He had to focus on getting (Y/N) out. Like he promised. However weak it was, the pulse he felt beneath his fingers overwhelmed him. 

“(Y/N), can you hear me?” 

Yes. 

He got no response. Spock looked her over once again before gently scooping her up into his arms. It was as he walked toward the - now clear - exit of the engine room that he let his eyes roam the large burn on her upper chest. Parts of her uniform had been melted against her skin and some of the skin had started to blister. Spock tore his eyes away. He couldn’t stand to look. “I am going to get you out of here.” He said to her, but it was him who needed the reassurance. 

Burning. That’s the first thing (Y/N) smelled. As if someone were burning meat. It was to her horror as she opened her eyes and focused on her surroundings that the smell was coming from her own body. Despite her panic, she didn’t have the energy to move but, as she looked around at the infirmary she was in, her body decided that she had the energy to cry. Silent tears streamed down her face as she tried to make some kind of noise. To her left, the heart monitor began to rapidly beep in accordance to her rising heart rate which caused two people to come rushing into the room: Dr. Bones and Spock. Their presence told (Y/N) that she must be in a Star Fleet infirmary, maybe even still on the ship. Bones began to fuss over her, checking her vitals and talking to her in a soft but stern tone, 

“What the hell were you thinkin’ staying in the engine room? You were supposed to evacuate with everyone else.”

Obviously, Bones didn’t expect a response from the girl who still had tears rolling down her cheeks. He glanced at Spock who was awkwardly standing at the foot of the hospital bed, watching. When he looked back (Y/N), her wide, wet eyes were pleading up at him. 

“Now don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re on some pretty strong meds right now so you shouldn’t be feelin’ any pain. Once you’re more physically stable we can start your burn treatments and the physical therapy for your back.”

The heart monitor picked up speed once again as (Y/N)’s eyes seemed to get impossibly wide. Spock chose that moment to gently rest a hand on her leg in comfort. Bones shook his head softly. 

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about all that right now. Just get some rest and you’ll be right as rain soon.” The doctor patted her head gently and with one final scan of the machinery in the room, he left the two alone. 

“I-” Spock started then stopped. His brown eyes found (Y/N)’s and he hesitated. He looked down at her hand before continuing, “I am sorry I did not get to you sooner.”

(Y/N) wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault. To grab his hand or shake her head no but she couldn’t. All she could do was look at him and listen as the man before her pleaded for her forgiveness. 

Luckily, she didn’t have to wait very long for Spock to take her hand himself. His skin was cold compared to hers and he felt her fingers twitch against his palm. His eyes snapped to meet hers. Her eyes were still watery but she was no longer crying. She sniffled softly and her cheek twitched, the corner of her mouth barely perking up into a small, lopsided smile. 

I forgive you.

Spock scoffed as a small smile of his own made its way to his face. He stood up and gently rested (Y/N)’s hand against the scratchy hospital blanket. Spock leaned down, pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, and sighed. He could still smell your shampoo in your hair. 

“Get some rest.”

[ladsrlife]

What are you doing step brother???!!!

Caleb x Reader

Where you start living with your step-brother for uni and the relationship starts to take an interesting turn...

tags: slow burn, angst, taboo, obsessive/yandere caleb 😋

Chapter 1💗 Chapter 2💗 Chapter 3💗 Chapter 4💗 Chapter 5💗

Also started posting on ao3 :)

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Chapter 6

On Thursday, your meeting with Zayne goes well.

“It’s normal to be stressed by a change of environment. Especially starting a new chapter in life. For now, I think you’ll feel better if we slightly increase the dosage of your antidepressants.”

As the appointment draws to an end, Zayne types something into his monitor as he explains the reason behind changes in your medication.

“Okay. Thank you.” You reply.

He is an attentive doctor. He listens to what you say, even if it comes out in shambles, patiently and objectively. His logical, nonjudgmental, and detached approach paradoxically makes you open up more. More than you’ve done on the first appointment with any other doctor.

It also makes you blurt out the thing that’s been bothering you the most these past few weeks.

“One last thing…"

You lock eyes with Zayne’s amber, attentive ones. He nods for you to go on.

You swallow and continue. “I feel like I can’t control my desires lately. The type, where, you know. You keep obsessing over a certain someone.”

“Do you feel that this obsession is, excessive? Does it interfere with your daily life?”

“Well, not really. But, it… it’s…”

You search for words. You don’t want Zayne to realize you’re talking about Caleb. What do you say?

Zayne looks at you patiently, but his stare makes you flush and fumble.

“Well, what if that person is married?” You make up the most similar scenario you can think of. “You shouldn’t like them. But you keep thinking about them and you hate yourself for it.”

Zayne follows your question with another, without any hints of judgement. “Are you in close proximity with this person often?”

“…Yes.” You answer. Agreeing shouldn’t reveal much right?

“Then I suggest you either figure out a way to distance yourself from them as much as possible. Or if that’s not possible, try to redirect your desires to another person.” He pauses a moment to see if you’re understanding him. You nod in response. “It’s not your fault you feel desires for someone you shouldn’t. It’s more common than you think. However, while feeling them is fine, acting on them is another problem.”

“…Right.” A pang of guilt washes over you as you remember yourself pressing against Caleb as a desperate act of overflowing desire.

“How about you try to do what I’ve advised you, and tell me how it works out in our next appointment in two weeks. If it doesn’t work out, we’ll go over other alternatives.”

“Yes. That’d be great.” You answer as if he’s offered you a lifeline. “Thank you.”

The appointment ends and you exit the building to find Caleb waiting for you. He’s leaning against his large black Land Rover with his legs crossed. He looks up from his phone and grins when you approach him.

“How was it, pips?”

He reaches to stroke your hair.

After a brief second of letting him touch you, you step away as you pretend to busy yourself opening the passenger door.

“It was great. I feel much better. We decided to temporarily increase my dosage.” You say as you sit down on the passenger seat.

Caleb hums as if you told him something interesting. You hold your breath as he reaches over to fasten the seatbelt for you. You can feel the heat radiating off his body with the close proximity.

“I’m glad it’s helping you.” He says affectionately before jokingly ruffling your hair, closing the door and hopping on the other side. “I wish I could be of that much help to you too, though.” He says as he turns on the engine.

“Well, you already know much of it. Plus I think it’s just the stress of starting university getting to me.”

“Right.” His long fingers tap the steering wheel rhythmically. His eyes roam over the dashboard before meeting yours, his gaze searching for something. “You sure it’s not because something else?”

“Something else…?” You dumbly repeat after him.

“Never mind.” He says with a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Just know I’m here if you want to talk it out.” He says in a sincere voice, while reaching out again.

This time, his eyes follow the movement as his fingers stroke your hair once, slowly, from the back of your head, down past your ear, and along the side of your neck. It’s less a casual gesture and more a tender caress.

You ignore the heat that blooms in your lower belly as you squirm beneath his intense, unreadable lavender gaze.

A small smile plays by his mouth as he returns his gaze back to the front and adjusts the gear. “You want to have dinner out before returning home? There’s a new burger place by the plaza.”

“…I’m a little tired.” You say as you turn your head to stare outside the car window.

“…Alright then.” After a short pause, Caleb replies.

The car starts moving smoothly out of the parking lot.

You lean back in your seat and close your eyes as if to signal to him that you’re done talking.

He takes the hint, and the car ride back home is unprecedentedly quiet.

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

Friday goes by in a breeze, and by the time you know it, you’re meeting up with Jessica and Ethan to spend the weekend at California Beach Resorts.

“Thanks for picking us up!” Jessica says as she and Ethan enter the car from a pickup place near their dorms on campus.

“We’re the ones getting a free resort night.” Caleb replies to her with a cheeky smile through the rearview mirror, his black sunglasses hanging low on the bridge of his nose. He’s wearing a black tank top that shows off his broad shoulders and thick biceps, the muscles in his arms flexing subtly as he grips the steering wheel.

“Honestly I’m surprised you even agreed to this. You always backed out of any travelling plans.” Jessica complains from the back seat.

“Probs cus of Y/N.” Ethan flatly says to her, “He acts so amicable now it’s crazy.”

You intercept before Caleb can complain. You turn to the backseat, and meet eyes with Ethan and Jessica who, with their vacation clothes and hats, look buzzing and happy. “What do you mean?”

“He has a knack for playing hard to get-” Jessica starts explaining with Ethan nodding in the side.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Caleb interrupts and shakes his head in disbelief.

“Yeah pretend all you want, but we’ll show Y/N your true side. Evil side.” Ethan grins menacingly.

“Don’t listen to them.” Caleb shares a glance with you, smirking.

You’re surprised there’s a side to Caleb you haven’t seen, but then again, you’ve been noticing new sides of Caleb ever since you moved in with him.

You wonder what else you’ve yet to see.

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

The four of you share a condo by the beach. It’s more luxurious and spacious than you expect, with a big living room and kitchen, and two bedrooms. You and Jessica, Caleb and Ethan, each share a room.

“Jessica, can you help me tie this?”

You approach Jessica who’s nervously fixing her turquoise bikini, and ask for help with your white ones.

“Sure.” Jessica answers and turns around, only to openly gawk at your boobs. “Damn.”

“What?” Do they look weird? You try to cover them sheepishly but she can’t take her eyes off of them.

“I’m no better than a man.” She giggles as she moves to stand behind you.

You thank her after she helps you out, and compliment her look. She nervously returns to the mirror, fidgeting with her hair.

The two of you head out to the living room, belongings for the day in one hand.

You greet Caleb and Ethan who’s already waiting by the couch, when you notice Caleb’s face turn red as his eyes wander lower. He quickly stands up, fumbling with his bag as he pulls out a towel, eyes avoiding yours like they’ve seen something he shouldn’t have.

“You’re seriously going out like that?”

You slap away his hands that try to put a towel over your shoulders.

“We’re swimming. What do you expect?”

“Doesn’t mean you have to swim in your birthday suit?” He exaggerates the question.

“What is she, 12?” Ethan scolds Caleb who’s still hovering over you, restless like he has to take a dump. “Stop overreacting.”

Caleb doesn’t listen. You wrestle with him for a moment, and the four of you are finally able to leave the condo after you ‘at least let him’ drape the towel over you.

The beach is bustling with people who want to enjoy the last minute sun before the weather turns cold. The sunlight shatters into a million particles as it shines on the emerald waves.

The four of you make room under a private parasol by the beach.

As Caleb undresses, you start to understand why he was so adamant on you covering up.

You had vaguely noticed that he was bigger, from the way his everyday clothes hung to when you felt his muscles under your skin.

But actually seeing it for yourself - it was like his body had been sculpted by Michelangelo himself. It was hard not to gawk. And it wasn’t a surprise to see everyone else on the beach think the same.

You fight the urge to shoo every stranger staring in his direction as the four of you enter the water.

“Ah, it’s kinda cold.” Jessica says when the water reaches her ankles, hugging herself.

“Yeah, it might have even been too cold if we came next week.” You agree.

The two of you erupt into a scream as Ethan splashes water all over your direction.

“Ethan!” Jessica complains.

“I’m helping you guys - woah!” Ethan yells as Caleb picks him up like a sack of potatoes and carries him into the sea.

“Our superhero!” Jessica cheers him on from your side.

Ethan’s arms flail around as he tries to get off. As soon as the water is waist height, Caleb motions to plunge Ethan into the sea.

From a distance you hear Ethan’s frantic begging and Caleb’s evil laugh.

“You sure he’s the hero?” You ask Jessica and the both of you snicker.

Soon after, a big splash erupts and Ethan drags Caleb down with him with all his might. The two fight fervently to keep the other under water.

You and Jessica try to avoid them so as to avoid getting splashed, but somehow you end up getting caught up in their fight anyway. One moment you fight off limbs that you aren’t sure are connected to who, and in another you’re being lifted by Caleb who’s about to plunge you into the water, the same way he did to Ethan.

You wrap your arms around his neck as you frantically scream out his name. ”Caleb, Caleb!”

“Not listening-” He playfully sings as he rocks you back and forth, his hands on your waist and legs, as he motions to throw you in.

“Truce?! I said tru-” Salt water enters your mouth mid sentence as he throws you in mercilessly.

Enraged, a thousand scenarios run through your mind and you try to select the one that gives you the highest possibility of beating him.

You decide to act like you fainted. You try to float with your head underwater, but no one comes to save you. As you gasp for air you look up only to find Caleb staring at you like you’re stupid.

“No way I’m falling for that.” Caleb smiles, smug.

Huffing in frustration, you decide to switch it up and act like the salt water is killing you. You cough like an old person in a death bed, and Caleb, who at first scoffs at your blatant acting, starts to seriously worry as you stubbornly keep the act up like you’re about to cough up blood.

“Pips, you okay?”

As he reaches out a worried, unsuspicious hand, you grab it and topple him over into the water.

Grinning in victory, you push his head under, using all your weight to hold him down. His large hands shoot up and grab both your wrists to pry them off, and, in a pathetic attempt to beat the sheer imbalance in strength, you wrap your legs around his torso, clinging to him like a koala. He manages to pull your arms apart, but you hang onto him stubbornly, yelling into the water, to which he lets out a gurgling laugh in response.

You continue to splash and wrestle him above and under the water, until you accidentally end up pressing your chest against his, way harder than you intended to.

A strained sound escapes Caleb’s lips as he clenches his eyes shut and cups your upper back like its life support.

The splashing suddenly stops. Startled, you look up, in which sunlight breaks over Caleb’s face, with water dripping down his clenched jaw. Under water, your chest is still pressed flushed against his, legs wrapped tightly around him.

That’s when you also feel something hard against your ass.

Heat rushes up your spine. You panic and try to get off of him, but he doesn’t let you. His hands clamp tighter around down to your lower back and thigh, not allowing the slightest gap between you and him.

You meet eyes with darkened purple ones, ones you’ve seen too often recently than you’d like to admit, and Caleb’s hand cupping your lower thigh slowly starts to inch upwards.

“Caleb-“

You slam your mouth shut. What you meant to say as warning ends up coming out more like a breathy moan. His grip tightens in response. Flustered and extremely anxious that someone might notice, you grab a fistful of his wet hair and yank it back with every ounce of strength you have.

He winces, neat eyebrows furrowing under his slicked-back hair.

“Ow, pips,” He mutters, releasing you at least. “You trying to make me go bald? Though I don’t mind being manhandled…”

Your face flushes as his voice drops dangerously, and you hurriedly run away from him and make a beeline towards the shore. You hear him laugh and follow you from behind as you join Ethan and Jessica chatting by more shallow waters.

As you wade towards them, you try your best to catch your breath and act normal.

“Having fun?” Jessica greets you as you approach.

Before you can answer, Caleb steps up beside you, a satisfied grin still tugging at his lips. You notice the way Jessica’s body subtly angles toward him.

“You’re both soaked wet” she comments, giving you and him a once-over.

Caleb smirks. “Courtesy of Y/N.”

Caleb flops down beside you in the water, arm brushing against yours casually. You move aside to make some space. He had been excessively touchy lately, but you didn’t know he would act like this even when Ethan and Jessica were around.

“Jesus, Y/N, you okay? your eyes are red.” Ethan asks you, his green eyes looking at yours in concern, then fleeting lower before looking away.

“Yeah, I’m okay, thanks.” you answer, rubbing the residue water off your face. They were a bit sore from the salt water.

“What about me? My eyes are probably red too. Aren’t you worried about me?” Caleb whines beside you.

Ethan gives him the finger. “Y/N, call my name anytime you need a bodyguard.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Caleb splashes him almost immediately.

“Hey!” Ethan, and Jessica who got caught up in the splash, both verbally complain.

You slap Caleb on the arm. “Be nice.” You mutter under your breath.

Caleb grins sheepishly in return. “Yes ma’am.”

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

The day goes by in a breeze. After some chatting, some snacks, a chaotic swim competition, sun bathing, and some more mindless chatter, the four of you call it a day and return to the condo for dinner.

Later, after a sunset barbecue on the balcony, you gather in the living room - skin sunburnt, hair damp, limbs comfortably heavy, you nestle on the couch as the low hum of a fan buzzes in the background, and someone’s random playlist loops quietly through the bluetooth speaker. Caleb sits next to you, letting his arm rest casually behind the couch where your shoulders are.

This time you don’t complain as Caleb moderates your alcohol intake. You admit you did go a bit overboard last time.

But while you manage to stay relatively sober, Jessica, for some reason, is adamant on getting sloppily drunk - and for some reason, also adamant on taking Ethan down with her.

“Chickening out, like a little pussy?” Jessica roughly provokes Ethan, who, flustered way too easily, ends up drinking right alongside her.

After a lot of concerning shots, Caleb finally calls it a night before anyone starts vomiting and passing out.

“Alright, it’s time to wrap it up.” Caleb says firmly, rising beside you and beginning to confiscate and hide the alcohol.

“Wait! I can handle more!” Jessica slurs as she tries to get up to chase him, only to collapse right back down.

Caleb gently leads a very docile and dazed Ethan, who keeps muttering “Where am I?”, into their shared room.

You glance at Jessica whose head is bobbing up and down from the drowsiness.

“Jessica, you need to get some rest.” You sigh, moving to lift her up by both arms.

“Nuh-uh,” she mutters stubbornly, pressing her weight down like her butt is glued to the floor.

Caleb, who shuts the door behind him as he finishes placing Ethan to rest, swiftly comes over and takes your place, slipping his arms under hers.

“Jessica,” He says in a low, gentle, cooing voice. “how about we call it a night?”

Suddenly she bursts into shy laughter and nods. Unlike before, she cooperatively gets up with Caleb’s help and leans on him as he helps her lie down on the bed.

As she lays on the bed like a sack of laundry, Caleb turns to you.

“I’ll be fine.” You whisper, reassuring him.

He chuckles lightly, strokes your cheek once, and whispers good night in your ear before leaving the room.

You make sure Jessica lays on her side so that she doesn’t choke, and get ready for bed. You listen to her loud, rhythmical breathing while you change, wash, dim the lights, and slide under the covers next to her.

You’re about to drift off to sleep when you hear sudden muffled sobbing.

Startled, you turn to see Jessica’s frame trembling with quiet cries.

“Jessica…?” You call out to her. “You okay?”

She turns toward you, face wet with tears.

“Y/N…” she chokes out between sobs.

You hesitate, unsure what to do, before opening your arms, to which she leaps in like she’s been waiting her whole life. It makes you kind of chuckle.

“Y/N. I don’t know what to do…” She murmurs, the front of your pajamas soaking steadily with her tears.

“What’s the matter?” You ask gently.

“I… I really, really like Caleb.”

You freeze. Your stomach knots instinctively, but you don’t say anything.

“I mean, I’ve liked him ever since the beginning of freshman year. Like, love at first sight. You know? And he’s just so nice, funny, and gentle. He has that quality to him, you know?” She confesses between gasps of air. You can’t help but agree. Yes, Caleb does have a quality that attracts people.

“And we got along well. Me, him, and Ethan. So I thought maybe I had a chance. I mean, look at me. I’m hot! No one’s ever rejected me.” She lets out an exasperated sigh.“But there was always this line. Like, he would block out any effort to get closer. Not just with me, but anyone in general. So I eventually gave up. Figured it was just the way he was. Maybe he even liked men!”

Her voice rises as she speaks more fervently.

“But, but then I saw how he treats you. How he’s so warm, so soft, and so open to someone he actually lets into his heart. And, it’s made me realize how much more I want him. How much I wish he treated me the way he treats you, his little sister.”

You try to ignore the dizzying shame that stirs inside you when she says ‘little sister’. But Jessica continues.

“Y/N… please. Can you help me? Just, just help me get closer to him. Just a little, please?”

You swallow a sigh as you look at her. Her head’s lifted from your chest now, and she’s staring at you with her tear-filled eyes full of hope.

You want to tell her no. You want to confess, right then and there, all the filthy thoughts you’ve had about your step brother, and the strange atmosphere that always thickens between you and him when no one’s watching. The moment from earlier that day flashes in your mind - of his hand brushing your thigh, the hunger in his eyes, and the way your body responded without hesitation.

But all you do, all you can really do, is avoid her gaze, stubbornly stare at a blank point in the wall, and try to swallow the guilt thick in your throat.

Then Zayne’s voice returns to you.

“Try to redirect your desires to another person…”

“…acting on them is another problem.”

You remember what he told you. Maybe this was the universe trying to offer you an escape hatch, from the messy, terrible road you were about to walk down.

Jessica likes Caleb. Ethan likes… you. You’d seen the way he’d stare at you.

Help Jessica, and turn your heart to Ethan. The solution was right in front of your eyes.

You look back at Jessica, who’s still looking at you like you’re her last hope.

You slowly nod.

“Okay.” you whisper. “I’ll help you.”

You say it like someone’s holding you at a gunpoint.

And Jessica’s face lights up like it’s early Christmas.

“Oh Y/N! You’re the best! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

As she keeps thanking you, she hugs you tightly as her left over tears soak into your pajamas once again. You try to hold back your own tears, blinking up at the ceiling, as you tell yourself that this is the way things should play out in a normal world.

A world with a happy ending everyone deserves.

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

Oh my gosh this chapter took so long to write.

Hope you guys enjoyed this!!!

Will try to update at least once a week :D (I'm actually on vacation now and have tons of time. Maybe I'll just speed through it while I have the chance)

Likes and comments are life <3

tagged readers💕: @noxus123 @plzdonutpercieveme

[redflagshipwriter]

Red Hot Ghouls 14 part 1/2

masterpost

“Hey, what’s up? Just checking in. Any luck so far? I finished my books!” Danny read mockingly off the burner phone with only one contact. He felt his eyebrow twitch. “What is this guy’s problem?” He got up in a jerky motion and started pacing around his one room apartment like the world’s most broke-ass tiger. It took three steps to get off the rug and onto the 3 tiles in front of his front door. He wheeled on his heel and did it again, and again, and then he forcibly collapsed back onto his couch in a huff. “What a bitch,” Danny complained. He kicked at the cushion. “Where does he get off talking to me like he doesn’t know…”

His voice trailed off as he accidentally had a thought. The thought happened to him entirely against his will. He really hated the thought.

Like. What if, just as a guess. What if he supposed that Jason the hapless performance-art biker tough guy rough guy had not found his secret identity? What if he had just like, gone out to a dark coffeeshop to read a new book? And from his perspective, some weird guy had yelled at him and made a funny face like a pissy toddler?

Shit. Shit, fuck, and damn. Danny groaned. Was Jason just a local??? Had he walked into that place by chance- oh. Holy fucking shit.

“I am the dumbest engineer I know,” Danny marveled. He looked up at the ceiling and sort of wished it would fall in and kill him instantly. “Jeremy is in Arkham. That implies he committed this crime in Gotham. That would imply his victim was from Gotham.”

Honestly… He had kinda just thought that Jeremy was in Arkham because it was convenient for him. But of course not. No one knew he was in Gotham. If Jeremy knew that Danny Phantom was on Gotham he would have been taking out creepy billboards to beg for his attention and damnation or something.

‘So Jason just thinks I am a total weirdo.’

Pain. Pain. Psychic damage. Danny threw his arm over his face and muffled a scream into his forearm, fucking mortified. Why was he so embarrassing? 

‘I don’t actually know that this happened in Gotham; Jeremy could have gone outside of city limits for his little ritual. Jason didn’t ask me to take him to Gotham from the GZ,’ Danny clung to in faint hope. ‘Maybe he really did hunt me down. Or maybe he looked up ectobiologists, learned about my family, and just sought out the geographically closest Fenton.’ 

…Get real. Come on. Jason wasn’t a detective. The straightest line between two points was the most likely path of events.

He unlocked his phone with numb fingers and started searching for any proof that this guy was a Gothamite. 

Jason Gotham

A bunch of Linked in profiles, a bunch of articles about rich people, and a flood of bookface profiles. It was a common name.

“That figures,” Danny huffed, feeling a little stupid for thinking that would work. He blew out a long breath. “It’s not like there’s ever just one guy in the world. There’s a billion Dannys out there for chrissake. There’s a Danny in my Econ class.”

Jason Gotham big strong guy

There was a wrestler from Gotham whose agent was named Jason. Danny clicked through the article to look at the photos just in case. No dice. His Jason was built prettier than the agent or the wrestler, Danny thought absently. Oh. He did have something that a wrestler didn’t, though.

Jason Gotham guns

Weirdly, the Linked-in profiles came back up. Danny was baffled and curious enough to read through a couple. “Gotham is such a goddamn place,” he marveled, eyebrows traveling up. “I thought you weren’t supposed to talk about things like…” Then the penny dropped. “Henchmen get hired off Linked-in?” He sat up explicitly so that he could shake his head in disbelief at the state of this city. “Wild.”

Well. The mission was not a success. Danny buried his face in his hands and accidentally smacked himself with the phone still in his hand. He ignored the stinging of his cheekbone to wallow in self-pity. It would heal up fast anyway.

“I think I need to answer his message,” Danny said. He felt real low. He felt like such a silly bastard. “I have to be smart and feel out if he knows I’m Danny.” He paused. “Danny Fenton, not Danny Phantom. Because I introduced myself as Danny Phantom.” Danny groaned. That seemed like an unnecessary clue, now that he really thought about it.

‘I need to avoid Jazz,’ Danny thought grimly. ‘If she sees me, she is going to sense weakness and find out what I did.’

He mulled over his options for a bit, trying to plot a response that would reveal all of Jason’s secrets and also make sense in conversation.

He failed. “I’m not a smart man,” Danny said conversationally, and sent,

You finished all those books already?? You unemployed, dude???

Jason must have been waiting on him. His response was pretty fast. 

Self-employed, actually. 

[mostlysignssomeportents]

AI is a WMD

I'm in TARTU, ESTONIA! AI, copyright and creative workers' labor rights (TOMORROW, May 10, 8AM: Science Fiction Research Association talk, Institute of Foreign Languages and Cultures building, Lossi 3, lobby). A talk for hackers on seizing the means of computation (TOMORROW, May 10, 3PM, University of Tartu Delta Centre, Narva 18, room 1037).

Fun fact: "The Tragedy Of the Commons" is a hoax created by the white nationalist Garrett Hardin to justify stealing land from colonized people and moving it from collective ownership, "rescuing" it from the inevitable tragedy by putting it in the hands of a private owner, who will care for it properly, thanks to "rational self-interest":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/04/analytical-democratic-theory/#epistocratic-delusions

Get that? If control over a key resource is diffused among the people who rely on it, then (Garrett claims) those people will all behave like selfish assholes, overusing and undermaintaining the commons. It's only when we let someone own that commons and charge rent for its use that (Hardin says) we will get sound management.

By that logic, Google should be the internet's most competent and reliable manager. After all, the company used its access to the capital markets to buy control over the internet, spending billions every year to make sure that you never try a search-engine other than its own, thus guaranteeing it a 90% market share:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/21/im-feeling-unlucky/#not-up-to-the-task

Google seems to think it's got the problem of deciding what we see on the internet licked. Otherwise, why would the company flush $80b down the toilet with a giant stock-buyback, and then do multiple waves of mass layoffs, from last year's 12,000 person bloodbath to this year's deep cuts to the company's "core teams"?

https://qz.com/google-is-laying-off-hundreds-as-it-moves-core-jobs-abr-1851449528

And yet, Google is overrun with scams and spam, which find their way to the very top of the first page of its search results:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security

The entire internet is shaped by Google's decisions about what shows up on that first page of listings. When Google decided to prioritize shopping site results over informative discussions and other possible matches, the entire internet shifted its focus to producing affiliate-link-strewn "reviews" that would show up on Google's front door:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/24/naming-names/#prabhakar-raghavan

This was catnip to the kind of sociopath who a) owns a hedge-fund and b) hates journalists for being pain-in-the-ass, stick-in-the-mud sticklers for "truth" and "facts" and other impediments to the care and maintenance of a functional reality-distortion field. These dickheads started buying up beloved news sites and converting them to spam-farms, filled with garbage "reviews" and other Google-pleasing, affiliate-fee-generating nonsense.

(These news-sites were vulnerable to acquisition in large part thanks to Google, whose dominance of ad-tech lets it cream 51 cents off every ad dollar and whose mobile OS monopoly lets it steal 30 cents off every in-app subscriber dollar):

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/04/saving-news-big-tech

Now, the spam on these sites didn't write itself. Much to the chagrin of the tech/finance bros who bought up Sports Illustrated and other venerable news sites, they still needed to pay actual human writers to produce plausible word-salads. This was a waste of money that could be better spent on reverse-engineering Google's ranking algorithm and getting pride-of-place on search results pages:

https://housefresh.com/david-vs-digital-goliaths/

That's where AI comes in. Spicy autocomplete absolutely can't replace journalists. The planet-destroying, next-word-guessing programs from Openai and its competitors are incorrigible liars that require so much "supervision" that they cost more than they save in a newsroom:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/29/what-part-of-no/#dont-you-understand

But while a chatbot can't produce truthful and informative articles, it can produce bullshit – at unimaginable scale. Chatbots are the workers that hedge-fund wreckers dream of: tireless, uncomplaining, compliant and obedient producers of nonsense on demand.

That's why the capital class is so insatiably horny for chatbots. Chatbots aren't going to write Hollywood movies, but studio bosses hyperventilated at the prospect of a "writer" that would accept your brilliant idea and diligently turned it into a movie. You prompt an LLM in exactly the same way a studio exec gives writers notes. The difference is that the LLM won't roll its eyes and make sarcastic remarks about your brainwaves like "ET, but starring a dog, with a love plot in the second act and a big car-chase at the end":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/01/how-the-writers-guild-sunk-ais-ship/

Similarly, chatbots are a dream come true for a hedge fundie who ends up running a beloved news site, only to have to fight with their own writers to get the profitable nonsense produced at a scale and velocity that will guarantee a high Google ranking and millions in "passive income" from affiliate links.

One of the premier profitable nonsense companies is Advon, which helped usher in an era in which sites from Forbes to Money to USA Today create semi-secret "review" sites that are stuffed full of badly researched top-ten lists for products from air purifiers to cat beds:

https://housefresh.com/how-google-decimated-housefresh/

Advon swears that it only uses living humans to produce nonsense, and not AI. This isn't just wildly implausible, it's also belied by easily uncovered evidence, like its own employees' Linkedin profiles, which boast of using AI to create "content":

https://housefresh.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/05/Advon-AI-LinkedIn.jpg

It's not true. Advon uses AI to produce its nonsense, at scale. In an excellent, deeply reported piece for Futurism, Maggie Harrison Dupré brings proof that Advon replaced its miserable human nonsense-writers with tireless chatbots:

https://futurism.com/advon-ai-content

Dupré describes how Advon's ability to create botshit at scale contributed to the enshittification of clients from Yoga Journal to the LA Times, "Us Weekly" to the Miami Herald.

All of this is very timely, because this is the week that Google finally bestirred itself to commence downranking publishers who engage in "site reputation abuse" – creating these SEO-stuffed fake reviews with the help of third parties like Advon:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/03/keyword-swarming/#site-reputation-abuse

(Google's policy only forbids site reputation abuse with the help of third parties; if these publishers take their nonsense production in-house, Google may allow them to continue to dominate its search listings):

https://developers.google.com/search/blog/2024/03/core-update-spam-policies#site-reputation

There's a reason so many people believed Hardin's racist "Tragedy of the Commons" hoax. We have an intuitive understanding that commons are fragile. All it takes is one monster to start shitting in the well where the rest of us get our drinking water and we're all poisoned.

The financial markets love these monsters. Mark Zuckerberg's key insight was that he could make billions by assembling vast dossiers of compromising, sensitive personal information on half the world's population without their consent, but only if he kept his costs down by failing to safeguard that data and the systems for exploiting it. He's like a guy who figures out that if he accumulates enough oily rags, he can extract so much low-grade oil from them that he can grow rich, but only if he doesn't waste money on fire-suppression:

https://locusmag.com/2018/07/cory-doctorow-zucks-empire-of-oily-rags/

Now Zuckerberg and the wealthy, powerful monsters who seized control over our commons are getting a comeuppance. The weak countermeasures they created to maintain the minimum levels of quality to keep their platforms as viable, going concerns are being overwhelmed by AI. This was a totally foreseeable outcome: the history of the internet is a story of bad actors who upended the assumptions built into our security systems by automating their attacks, transforming an assault that wouldn't be economically viable into a global, high-speed crime wave:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/24/automation-is-magic/

But it is possible for a community to maintain a commons. This is something Hardin could have discovered by studying actual commons, instead of inventing imaginary histories in which commons turned tragic. As it happens, someone else did exactly that: Nobel Laureate Elinor Ostrom:

https://www.onthecommons.org/magazine/elinor-ostroms-8-principles-managing-commmons/

Ostrom described how commons can be wisely managed, over very long timescales, by communities that self-governed. Part of her work concerns how users of a commons must have the ability to exclude bad actors from their shared resources.

When that breaks down, commons can fail – because there's always someone who thinks it's fine to shit in the well rather than walk 100 yards to the outhouse.

Enshittification is the process by which control over the internet moved from self-governance by members of the commons to acts of wanton destruction committed by despicable, greedy assholes who shit in the well over and over again.

It's not just the spammers who take advantage of Google's lazy incompetence, either. Take "copyleft trolls," who post images using outdated Creative Commons licenses that allow them to terminate the CC license if a user makes minor errors in attributing the images they use:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/24/a-bug-in-early-creative-commons-licenses-has-enabled-a-new-breed-of-superpredator/

The first copyleft trolls were individuals, but these days, the racket is dominated by a company called Pixsy, which pretends to be a "rights protection" agency that helps photographers track down copyright infringers. In reality, the company is committed to helping copyleft trolls entrap innocent Creative Commons users into paying hundreds or even thousands of dollars to use images that are licensed for free use. Just as Advon upends the economics of spam and deception through automation, Pixsy has figured out how to send legal threats at scale, robolawyering demand letters that aren't signed by lawyers; the company refuses to say whether any lawyer ever reviews these threats:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/13/an-open-letter-to-pixsy-ceo-kain-jones-who-keeps-sending-me-legal-threats/

This is shitting in the well, at scale. It's an online WMD, designed to wipe out the commons. Creative Commons has allowed millions of creators to produce a commons with billions of works in it, and Pixsy exploits a minor error in the early versions of CC licenses to indiscriminately manufacture legal land-mines, wantonly blowing off innocent commons-users' legs and laughing all the way to the bank:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/02/commafuckers-versus-the-commons/

We can have an online commons, but only if it's run by and for its users. Google has shown us that any "benevolent dictator" who amasses power in the name of defending the open internet will eventually grow too big to care, and will allow our commons to be demolished by well-shitters:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/09/shitting-in-the-well/#advon

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

--

Catherine Poh Huay Tan (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/68166820@N08/49729911222/

Laia Balagueró (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/lbalaguero/6551235503/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

[multiheadcanons]

MERCS AT THEIR BREAKING POINT

scout: scout gets more, and more, and more angry and vicious and vitriolic until he’s at his limit. once he’s at his limit, there is no bringing him back from that. he doesn’t want to hear anything from anyone. he just wants to fight. and everyone is at risk, because everything is a reason to fight, or argue. and he’ll argue with you until one of you are ready to put your dukes up. screaming matches are common. he says hurtful shit, and just won’t care. he already feels like it’s him against the world. what’s the difference in making that true?

soldier: soldier doesn’t really reach breaking points. even at his most heated, his most distraught, his most baffled, he just needs one good explosive moment and he’ll be back to a more “normal” version of pissed. a pissed you can talk to and work things out with. so in that sense, his breaking point is constantly being reached. depending on the severity of the transgression against him will determine the amount of damage he’s going to do to your immediate vicinity; but after he’s wreaked havoc you could probably talk to him with minimal issue!

pyro: pyro locks themselves in their room. they don’t want to be seen, don’t want to be spoken to, don’t want to be interacted with at all. and frankly, nobody wants to interact with pyro when they’re at their breaking point. it’s like interacting with a tantruming child. they’re not particularly nice, nor are they as easygoing as they like to pretend they are. hides under the bed. falls asleep under there.

demo: the drinking goes from already a Not Good Thing to a genuine problem. he goes from a marginally concerning, yet mainly functional alcoholic to just dysfunctional. won’t get out of bed unless it’s to get a drink. won’t think about anything but when he’s gonna get his next drink. he’s also one of the mercs that the team is a little more curt with their support of, because he is the one with an active addiction. and they enable it, for the most part. as long as it’s not affecting everyone else. the second it starts affecting others they put him in mann co rehab. it seems harsh, but he just doesn’t respond to kindness in these situations. it is a green light for him to keep doing exactly what he’s doing.

heavy: teeth grit and stiff upper lip. there’s only so many times he can vocalize he is aching before that voice in his head says “they don’t care.” and it only takes one time of that voice entering the back of his mind that he just shuts down. and the kicker is, he thinks he’s going about his day business as usual. he thinks he’s doing such a good job of keeping to himself, but still being kind, still being friendly. he is so confident until the team forcibly places themselves in the man’s vicinity, and physically show him they’re here for him. and he can’t shoo them all away at once, which is what he’s been doing anytime anyone has approached him. they’ll all sit together quietly. maybe get close enough to give him a hug if they have the gumption for that, at least they let him know he’s a vital member of the team. eventually heavy will open up with what’s weighing on him. or he won’t. either way, he feels a lot less alone. and that voice goes away. if only for a moment.

engineer: he argues. everything is an argument and if he really feels like nothing matters he’s picking physical fights. and nobody handles that well, coming from dell. nobody really considers that maybe he’s going through it. it’s very hard to maintain sympathy when he’s actively asking “what are you gonna do about that” because he’s actively getting aggressive. snipes, heavy, and spy have found decent enough ways to circumvent him when he’s in these moods, or they will just walk away. scout and medic will indulge him in a fight. if he wants to play that game and get his shit rocked to feel like he’s being heard then hey, dell conagher, put your dukes up. we still love you, but go ahead and come catch these hands. it doesn’t make him feel better. and if actually fighting doesn’t make him feel better, pyro’s schtick is absolutely ridiculous. pyro does not do well with engie being mean to them, at all. and will give him a big ass thumbs down, shaking their head. and it makes engie feel worse. he gets so mad at himself. he just can’t do anything right.

medic: medic’s breaking point is interesting in the sense that he will lose his shit the absolute second his mind starts moving faster than his body. the doctor is constantly moving a mile a minute; both mentally and physically. he is a man of immediacy. and he’s always running through his plans down to the minute detail, ensuring he hasn’t skipped a thing. if he’s speaking, and he stutters on a word, he is fully derailed. and the person he’s speaking to has to die. he’s sorry, you just have to die. nobody can know he has ADHD. and he knows that it’s just a stupid thing that pushes him to the edge so quickly. it’s embarrassing, it’s annoying, and it’s so small. but that one small thing reminds him that he is flawed. flawed, and very dumb. this happens most often when he’s arguing, particularly against scout. scout just talks too fast. and he’ll entertain it, momentarily, but the second scout starts doing that keyboard smash talk medic knows it’s time to back out. it’s either time to back out or kill that rat bastard. and if he can’t back out, his mind will eventually blank. and all he can think is “he has to die.”

sniper: business as usual. it doesn’t matter how he really feels, his behaviors don’t change, but what he says does. his face is normally set in one of four expressions, and he shuffles through the same five phrases. “all good, mate!” “doin alright!” “meh.” “rough day.” “not today.” but if you ask him why he’s feeling the way he’s feeling, he’ll take a moment to think about it, then he just shrugs. just the way he’s feeling today, he guesses. unless you are there to witness his mood change, up or down, in real time, he’s not gonna know or consider why he feels that way. he just knows he feels that way. which is fine, because he’s gotten good at sitting in discomfort. he’s good at sitting with hard feelings. he just has issue moving through them. he should maybe start keeping journals, because if he knew what causes his mood to make switches like this, maybe he could start looking for the support he needs in those areas.

spy: spy reaches the breaking point so rarely that when he does it’s absolutely frightening. it is a tornado forming in front of your eyes that you’re not going to be able to outrun. he’s generally very controlled when it comes to his emotions. he’s never willingly put himself in positions where he hasn’t accounted and planned for every single thing that could go wrong. but there comes a moment when he snaps. his eyes shut, he takes a deep breath, and as his eyes open his face has twisted into a look of pure rage. it is not enough to cuss you out in english. it is not enough to cuss you out in french. it’s not enough to shake you by your collar. he might actually reach across the table and strangle you. he might actually break your kneecaps. he might set your shit on fire. he might drive you off a cliff in your own car. he’s so annoyed, so frustrated, so genuinely angry that the higher brain functions telling him don’t be stupid is tossed directly out of the window. he was nice enough for long enough. it’s time to meet you where you’re at.

[struggling-with-drivers]

No Red Flags - Oscar Piastri

⋗ Pairing - Oscar Piastri x Mechanical Engineering Student!reader

⋗ Summary - Oscar comes crashes back into your life, quite literally when he barrels you down on the paddock, bringing with him all types of unwanted feelings and a whole slew of problems.

⋗ Word count - 11.2k words, fluff, Oscar being emotionally unavailable

⋗ Masterlist - requests are open, I hope y'all don't mind this long fic, this was a reminder to myself that I hate type-setting texting, feedback and reblogs are appreciated

Oscar has never been the type to keep a girl for long, a mix of not having the time, and focusing all his efforts on karting, which has finally turned fruitful and given him a contract in F1. 

A series of events has led him to exchange the girl on his arm just twice this year, one for another. His feelings just seemed to change, he tells you. 

And you? You aren't much better, never able to hold onto a relationship, never falling fast, but always falling hard. The havoc the last guy left you in is still fresh in your mind, even if the guy isn't. 

You're doing your internship at McLaren for their mechanical engineering department, and Oscar is in and out of the factory constantly to get ready for his debut next year. There aren't a lot of people around your age in the department, most are a lot more than a few years older. You would be as well if you managed to get a job when you're done with your master's. But that is years into the future, and you’re still writing your bachelor's. 

It leaves Oscar to gravitate towards you, still not used to all the people constantly trying to get him to do this, do that, stand here, stand there. You're asking none of those things of him, mostly because you're stressed out of your mind with the looming deadline, and that you know you're behind on your bachelor. 

But you get talking, a few words at first, which turns to exchanging weekend stories, turns to deep conversations when you're the only ones left in the department that one Tuesday afternoon. And you show him what you've been working on for your bachelor. 

Oscar is intrigued, seemingly asking the right questions, admitting he would probably have been an engineer if he hadn't become a driver. 

You mention offhand that you don't want to go home because you have to eat leftovers again, and Oscar pipes up with "I like food."

"What?"

"I like food, I can eat the last of your leftovers."

The already long Tuesday turns longer as you find yourself heating pasta and tomato sauce for this guy. Both are things that are definitely not on his dietary plan, but you're not complaining. Just happy to finally be rid of the last of your leftovers from the week before. 

Oscar starts to talk about himself and tells you he used to go to boarding school, and you slowly realise you have quite a few things in common as the evening progresses. You tell him about your own short stint at a boarding school while your parents lived abroad. When the topic comes to past partners, Oscar tells you of how he kind of met his current girlfriend while being with his past one, how that was a dick move that he broke up with her 2 weeks after telling his ex that he was up for the long distance. 

You tell him of the guy that fucked you up, how he had promised the world, only to go ahead and break your heart, and like a fool, you had taken him back when he apologised, only for him to go ahead and cheat on you, not just 1, not 2, but 3 times within the summer months. How he had wrecked your self-esteem, as he hadn't left quietly but wanted to tear you down as he left your world. 

Then you sober up a bit and ask Oscar "Does your girlfriend know that you're here?" 

Oscar shrugs, and goes "She doesn't have to if you don't tell her." The air shifts and it all feels wrong. He is sitting too close. You’re feeling nervous. A look of worry flashes on his face. You tell him he should get going.

“It's getting late, and I have work early in the morning.” 

Oscar doesn't understand why you're kicking him out, and why you've suddenly closed yourself back up. 

Once you've practically shoved him out of the door, you realise that you've fucked up. That was not what was meant to happen. That was not how you needed the last few weeks of your internship to be used. 

But here you are, with Oscar in your vicinity at work, and he’s not understanding why you're so curt with him, why you aren't having the same kind of conversations with him anymore. And then one day you're gone, and he's told that your internship is over. 

You become a passing thought in his head, and he becomes a distant memory in yours, something that happened during your internship. 

◦━⇜━❈━⇝━◦

2 years later, you’re in the beginning stages of your master's degree. Oscar has had an amazing first year driving for McLaren and is still living his best life, although his relationships only seem to become even more short-lived than the last one. His current girl won't stick around for long, he knows this, it doesn't take an intellect to see that she's here for the travels and followers she gets on Instagram, and Oscar doesn't really care. 

But then he sees you in Silverstone, at least he thinks he does. He tries to unsubtly turn around and walk past the Mercedes garage again. Instead, he ends up turning around and just staring straight into the group of students who are talking to the engineers. And sure enough, right by the group of guys you stick out. 

"Oscar, what are you doing?" The PR manager asks, "We have places to be." 

"Uh, yes, coming." Oscar turns away and catches back up.

"If you're going to steal secrets, don't do it so obviously,” his PR manager jokes, before rambling on about all the interviews he has to do after free practice today.

Oscar doesn't get why he can't get the image of you out of his head. He had honestly forgotten about you, but here you are, wearing Mercedes clothes, and for some reason, it unnerves him. You had always worn your own clothes or something with McLaren branding back 2 years ago. But now you're sporting an ever-usual ponytail and Mercedes clothes. 

You stroll past the McLaren garage, hopeful to spot familiar faces from your internship. Instead, you find yourself halting, taking a moment to point out details on the car that you saw being worked on to your classmate – a reminiscent gesture from your internship at the McLaren factory. Unintentionally, your eyes briefly catch Oscar's. Witnessing a moment of hesitation, he pauses his conversation with Lando Norris, the first seater at McLaren. Choosing to move forward, you leave the scene as Patrick wants to see the Red Bull team before the qualifier kicks off.

Instead, Oscar comes barrelling out of the garage, yelling your name after you, causing you to flinch and stop. You turn around slowly, fully aware of the hundreds of eyes that have turned onto you.

"Hey." Oscar breathes out, his lips gracing a small smile. 

"Hi?" You question back before your classmate sticks his hand out.

"Hello! I'm Patrick," your classmate says, waiting for Oscar to take his hand, and a few seconds too long passes before Oscar does. 

"I'm Oscar, the driver for McLaren."

Patrick smiles wide, "I know! Can I take a picture with you? I'm sorry, I've just been a massive fan the last few years, tried to get in to write my master's degree but there weren't any slots open for our year and-"

"Yeah, sure." Oscar cuts him off, with a nod and a pr practised smile. Patrick fishes out his phone and quickly makes you snap a picture of the two. 

"Thank you so much!" Your last lifeline, says as he's hurrying down the paddock ready to brag that he got a picture with Oscar Piastri. 

"I thought you were a McLaren fan at heart." He tries to joke, as you shrug your shoulders. 

"You heard him, there weren't any spots for our year, and I was lucky to get a foot in the door at Mercedes. I wasn't going to turn that down,” you tell him, looking around awkwardly, fully aware of how it looks to have what looks like a Mercedes engineer talking to the McLaren driver. 

"You could have asked me?" The two of you aren't sure who's the most surprised by those words. Oscar for saying them, or you for hearing them. 

"What?" 

"I mean, you could have, eh, asked me?" Oscar realises how it sounds as he tries to defend his previous question. How could you even do that? You two never exchanged info, you were only friendly at work, and then you just stopped talking to each other. 

"I will... I will keep that in mind?" You say although it comes out as another question, the surrounding air is turning awkward, and you know you should probably leave. "I will see you around. I just have things to do, and you know, Mercedes... Yes." You make a weird hand gesture before hurrying off down the paddock. 

Oscar waves after you awkwardly, before stopping himself, realising that you aren't turning around to look at him.

◦━⇜━❈━⇝━◦ 

The next time you see Oscar, it’s a lot less you see him, and much more you barely hear him calling out your name before he rams straight into you, sending both of you tumbling to the asphalt of the paddock. 

“I’m so sorry!” Oscar is quick to apologise, as you’re trying to untangle yourself from the surprise attack. “Hello to you too.” You run a hand over your left elbow, you’ve scraped it. Oscar finally gets up on his feet, staring at you as you sit on the ground. “If I get blood on my shirt, I’m definitely sending you the invoice.” 

You crack a small smile at his dumbfounded look, nodding to his hand before he reaches forward and you grab it. You let him help you up. 

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to catch you before you were gone,” Oscar repeats himself. “I wasn’t sure if I was going to get the chance to give you my number.” He hands over a piece of paper. Chicken scratches in a surprisingly neat row, spelling out what you can barely decipher as a phone number. 

“Thank you… Oscar?” 

He smiles for a moment before the silence falls and his face seems to as well. He’s openly searching for a response, and you aren’t sure what it is. Apparently, thanking him wasn’t what he was hoping for. 

You bite your tongue, before sighing. “You shouldn’t hand out your number to other girls when you’re in a relationship.” 

Oscar blinks at you, “I’m not?”

“Then what about her?” You nod at the girl standing by the garage, wearing a hoodie with Oscar’s number on it. She’s looking more and more uncomfortable by the second as Oscar turns around and looks at her. 

“Oh that… Yeah.” Oscar shrugs. It sends a shiver down your spine, his dismissal tone mixed with his indifferent facial expression. All of it screaming to you, he’s a walking red flag. Don’t do this to yourself. 

You take a step back, your scraped elbow forgotten in the sudden surge of discomfort.

"Yeah," you manage to mumble, not wanting to linger any longer in this awkward exchange. You glance at the girl by the garage, whose eyes briefly meet yours before she looks away. It's clear she's caught in the middle of something she probably didn't sign up for.

"I... I thought..." Oscar stammers, seemingly at a loss for words.

You shake your head, deciding it is best not to delve into the intricacies of his personal life. "It doesn't matter. I have to go," you say, tucking the paper with his number into your pocket, the weight of it feeling surprisingly heavy.

As you walk away, you can't help but replay the brief encounter in your mind. It's a strange mix of nostalgia, irritation, and a newfound realisation that some things never really change. Oscar seems to be stuck in the same patterns, and you don't want to be a part of that cycle.

◦━⇜━❈━⇝━◦

Days pass, and you find yourself torn between dialling the number and simply discarding it. The rational part of your mind screams at you to let it go, but there's a small, persistent voice that wonders if people can truly change. Another one telling you that you won’t be part of whatever cycle he’s going through if you just keep him at arm's length.

Eventually, curiosity gets the better of you, and you type in his number. Chuckling to yourself at his contact name, before you decide to send a brief text. 

You: Hey finally deciphered your chicken scratches how have you been?

The response is almost immediate. 

Os🚗: Hey! I've been good. Any invoices I need to pay? You: Invoices? Os🚗: Yeah, for your team shirt, I know the first few ones are special. You:  Ah no got it out with cold water and soap You: Thanks for that btw

You wait a minute before sending another text.

You: My elbow is all healed up as well  Os🚗: Good to hear 👍 You:  You text like my dad Os🚗: 👎 You:  Skill issue

You laugh to yourself, before realising half your lecture is now looking at you. It pulls you right back to reality. You only texted him because it seemed slightly more fun than listening to a guest lecture on spring physics. 

◦━⇜━❈━⇝━◦ 

The days pass, and your interactions with Oscar continue sporadically through text. The initial awkwardness fades, replaced by a casual banter that surprises you. It's almost as if the past is being overwritten by a new script, one in which you're just two acquaintances catching up.

Yet, in the back of your mind, the warning signs still linger. The memory of that awkward encounter with the girl by the garage and Oscar's dismissive attitude towards her. Then add on all those years ago in your apartment where he told you to keep quiet, it all sits as a constant reminder. You find yourself treading carefully, keeping the conversations light and steering clear of anything that could lead to future problems.

As you're scrolling through your phone during a break, TikTok seems to think you’ve found a sudden interest in the edits of Oscar. A notification pops up. It's a message from the man of the hour.

Os🚗: Hey, I have a weekend off, and Lando has me coming to the UK. Do you have time to meet for some time?

You hesitate, considering the invitation. A part of you is curious about how a casual meeting would unfold, but another part is wary. Oscar has been very clear in every single one of your interactions that he wants to get closer to you, in a way that’s intruding on all your thoughts, will only bring you trouble, unwanted complications, and unneeded problems. You know he will try to mask any advantages with the simple gesture of just wanting to be friends. 

But friends don’t look at each other the way Oscar looks at you, and it’s weird, you don’t want to find out why he does look at you like that.

You: Thanks for the offer but I've got plans this weekend. Maybe some other time

Oscar's response is swift.

Os🚗: No problem. Just let me know when you're free.

When you’re free? You really shouldn’t, you absolutely shouldn’t be considering it. 

As the days pass, you find yourself contemplating the situation. The cautious voice in your head warns against getting too involved, while the curious side wonders if people truly can change. It's a delicate balance, and you're not sure which way to lean.

◦━⇜━❈━⇝━◦

The allure of a face-to-face meeting lingers, but so does the memory of that uncomfortable encounter at the paddock. Oscar keeps pestering you through texts as the months pass, you’re making up excuses as you go, yet your reasoning keeps running thinner until you’re left with nothing to justify your rejections.

You're sipping coffee and reviewing some notes, as your phone buzzes with a call from Oscar. Why would he be calling you, he never calls, he only ever texts in that dad-type of way. Curiosity gets the best of you, and you answer.

"Hey, it's Oscar."

A small laugh slips past your lips, "Yeah, I know, caller ID was invented half a century ago."

"McLaren has me in London, well, south of it, and I was thinking we could grab a coffee or something. Face-to-face, you know?"

“Oscar… Why are you so insistent?” The question blurts out of you before you seem to realise you actually said it out loud. 

“Because we’re friends?” It’s meant to sound like an answer, but to you, it sounds like he’s inquiring about the most obvious thing in the world. And for a moment you feel like an asshole.

A small moment of weakness shows in the way you say, “I don’t have the time to come to London, but if you find yourself in Brackley on Thursday.”

You never mention a time or a place, yet he agrees so easily, and you wonder if you’re going to regret this. 

◦━⇜━❈━⇝━◦ 

Thursday arrives, and you’re nervously glancing at the clock as the appointed time approaches. Your work at Mercedes keeps you occupied, but there's a subtle anticipation building in the background. The decision to meet Oscar has left you in a state of conflicting emotions, and you're not entirely sure what to expect.

As the clock strikes the start of your lunch break, you're surprised to see Oscar approaching the entrance of the Mercedes facility. His casual demeanour contrasts with the high-security surroundings, but he seems unfazed. You meet him at the entrance, exchanging a brief nod.

"Hey," he greets you with a warm smile.

"Hey," you reply, feeling a mix of uncertainty and curiosity.

Oscar suggests grabbing a coffee from a nearby café, and you agree yet again. The conversation flows more smoothly than you anticipated. It's easy and casual, and you're reminded of the times when you first met at McLaren. The awkwardness seems to have dissipated, replaced by a shared understanding of each other's worlds.

As you discuss work, life, and everything in between, you notice a genuine interest in Oscar's eyes. It's a stark contrast to the distant look he had during your internship. Maybe people can change, you think, or at least, they can show different sides of themselves.

As the coffee date comes to an end, you both stand outside the café. There's a moment of silence, and you can sense a question lingering in the air.

"Look," Oscar starts, "I know things got weird back then, and I probably should've been more upfront. I just want you to know that I genuinely enjoyed our conversations, and I'd like to keep talking, don’t… run away again, please."

You appreciate his honesty, and for a moment, you contemplate sharing your reservations. But you decide against it, choosing instead to take things one step at a time.

"I appreciate that, Oscar," you reply, offering a small smile. "But let's just see where things go."

The two of you part ways, and you can't deny the subtle warmth that lingers. Maybe, just maybe, this time around will be different. As you return to your work at Mercedes, you can't help but wonder how the next chapter of your story with Oscar will unfold.

That voice in the back of your head is screaming that Oscar is going to cause you problems, yet you can’t help but feel a bit giddy. And as much as you know you should agree, you find yourself ignoring it. 

◦━⇜━❈━⇝━◦ 

You're not quite sure how Oscar ended up in your apartment once again, however, you can not find it in yourself to complain. Nor do you want him to leave. The smile that rests on his lips has your heart fluttering, despite your mind knowing Oscar is nothing but trouble. 

The soft hum of a familiar tune plays in the background as you move around your kitchen, gathering ingredients for a simple pasta dish. Oscar sits at the small dining table, watching with genuine interest as you go about your culinary routine.

"Do you cook often?" he asks, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity.

You chuckle, glancing over your shoulder. "Well, I try. It's therapeutic, you know? I want to say it's cheaper, but we both know in this economy nothing is cheap."

Oscar smiles, appreciating the casual atmosphere that envelops your apartment. The aroma of garlic and tomatoes begins to fill the air as you start chopping vegetables.

"Need any help?" he offers, standing up and joining you at the counter.

You hand him a knife and a bell pepper. "How about you tackle this? Just chop it into small pieces."

Oscar nods, mimicking your chopping technique. The rhythmic sound of knives against cutting boards fills the kitchen, creating a comforting melody. As you work side by side, a gentle ease settles between you.

"So," Oscar begins, breaking the silence, "what's the secret ingredient in this pasta?"

You wink playfully. "That's a trade secret. But I'll give you a hint – it starts with 'herbs.'"

He laughs, and the genuine warmth in the sound makes your heart flutter. As the vegetables sizzle in the pan, you find yourself caught in the simplicity of the moment. The soft glow of the kitchen lights, the shared laughter, and the anticipation of a homemade meal create a cocoon of tranquillity.

Once the pasta is perfectly al dente, you drain it and add it to the simmering sauce. Oscar takes a step closer, his eyes fixed on the creation taking shape before him.

"Looks delicious," he remarks.

You grin, handing him a fork. "The real test is in the taste."

Together, you sit at the table, savouring each bite of the pasta. The flavours dance on your taste buds, and you can't help but appreciate the quiet joy of sharing a meal you have prepared together.

The dinner table is adorned with the remnants of the delicious pasta, and the two of you sit comfortably, basking in the warmth of shared food and easy conversation. The soft glow of the kitchen lights casts a cosy ambience.

Oscar looks at you, a gentle smile on his face. "This is really good, you know. You've got some serious cooking skills. It's even better than last time when I got to eat your leftovers."

You return the smile, appreciating the compliment. "Thanks, Oscar. I'm glad you like it."

There's a brief pause, and Oscar's expression becomes more contemplative. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," you reply, taking a sip of your drink.

Oscar hesitates for a moment before speaking. "I've noticed that things have been a bit... different between us. You seem to be, I don't know, running away or avoiding me. Did I do something wrong?"

You take a deep breath, choosing your words carefully. "It's not that you did something wrong, Oscar. It's just that... it feels like you're set on making things complicated for me."

His brow furrows in confusion. "Complicated? What do you mean?"

You chuckle, a hint of irony in your tone. "Oscar, you're a walking enigma. You come into my life, seemingly wanting to be friends, and then there's this underlying tension, this feeling that you're here to stir up trouble."

He looks genuinely perplexed. "Trouble? I don't want to cause trouble for you. I just want to get to know you better."

You meet his gaze, sincerity in your eyes. "I appreciate that, but there are moments when it feels like you're intentionally making things challenging. Like you enjoy the chaos."

Oscar leans back, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I genuinely don't want to complicate things for you. If there's something I'm doing that makes you uncomfortable, please let me know."

You sigh, realising the complexity of the situation. "Let's not dwell on it too much. It's just a feeling I get sometimes."

He seems about to press further, but you change the topic with a light laugh. "Anyway, did I tell you about the time I accidentally set off the fire alarm at University? We were trying to test out this new engine, but it caught on fire. Disaster in the garage, trust me."

Oscar chuckles along, as you make a point to ignore the way he's staring at you. You can feel his eyes searching for your face for something you won't give to him. Instead, deep inside of you, you realise that little voice in your head has been quiet the entire time Oscar has been in your apartment. 

◦━⇜━❈━⇝━◦ 

You’re neglecting your book about fluid physics as you and Oscar are talking over Facetime. The idea of going clubbing has just been tossed into the conversation, and Oscar, ever the persuader, leans closer to the camera with a playful glint in his eyes.

"Come on," he says, a charming smile playing on his lips. "Even university students need a break, you know? It's all about finding the right balance between work and play."

You raise an eyebrow, sceptical but intrigued. "Balance, huh? I do have assignments due next week."

Oscar chuckles, leaning back in his chair. "And that's precisely why you should take a break. Trust me, a night of dancing and fun is the perfect way to recharge those academic batteries. Besides, Lando and I have been planning this for ages, and it wouldn't be the same without you."

He glances towards something out of the camera's lens, you aren't sure what, yet you can sense the anticipation in his demeanour.

"I'm not sure," you admit, considering the proposition.

Oscar leans in again, adopting a more serious tone. "Look, I get it. University life can be hectic, but you deserve to have some fun too. It's not just about the grades and deadlines; it's about creating memories and enjoying the journey. Tonight, let's forget about responsibilities and just live in the moment."

His words resonate with a certain truth, and you find yourself swaying toward the idea. Still, a hint of hesitation lingers.

"I promise it won't be an all-night affair," Oscar reassures, sensing your wavering resolve. "Just a couple of hours of music, laughter, and good company. You won't regret it."

You weigh the options, glancing between Oscar's earnest expression and your open book about fluid physics. A sigh escapes you, accompanied by a smile. "Alright, fine. But just for a couple of hours."

Oscar's face lights up with triumph, and he gives you a playful wink. "That's the spirit! Trust me; you won't regret this."

The pulsating beat of the music reverberates through the club as you, Oscar, and Lando immerse yourselves in the vibrant atmosphere. The dance floor is a sea of moving bodies, and the colourful lights create a kaleidoscope of patterns.

Lando, with his infectious energy, is already lost in the rhythm, leaving you and Oscar to navigate the crowded space. The bass thumps in your chest, and you sway to the music, caught up in the electrifying ambience.

Oscar, with his hand on the small of your back, guides you through the sea of dancers. The touch is subtle, but the warmth of his palm sends a shiver down your spine. You can't help but notice how close he is, the proximity making your senses come alive.

As the music intensifies, Oscar pulls you into a spontaneous twirl. The movement is fluid, and for a brief moment, everything else fades away. The chemistry between you two on the dance floor is undeniable, a magnetic pull that defies logic.

You catch a glimpse of Lando, who's thoroughly enjoying the night, his carefree spirit infectious. But your attention keeps drifting back to Oscar – the way his body moves in sync with yours, the fleeting touches that send sparks, and the undeniable connection that lingers in the air.

Amid the chaos, you try to remind yourself of the reality. Oscar has a girlfriend, and this moment on the dance floor should be nothing more than a carefree escapade. Still, the pull between you two is undeniable, and your mind can't help but wander to places it shouldn't.

The bass drops, the lights flash, and the intensity of the music amplifies. Oscar's hands find their way to your hips, the touch sending a surge of electricity through your veins. It's intoxicating, and for a fleeting second, you forget the boundaries that should exist.

As the night unfolds, the three of you lose track of time on the dance floor. The chemistry between you and Oscar continues to spark, creating a tension that hangs in the air. Each touch, each movement, is a delicate dance on the fine line between desire and restraint.

Finally, as the music winds down, you catch your breath, the thumping beat still echoing in your ears. Lando grins, thoroughly pleased with the night's festivities, while Oscar's gaze lingers, a silent acknowledgement of the shared energy on the dance floor.

You step away, the cool air outside the club hitting you, offering a momentary respite from the heated atmosphere within. As you take a deep breath, you can't shake off the lingering sensations – Oscar's touch, the rhythmic dance, and the unspoken tension that hangs in the air.

You remind yourself once more, that you're just friends. You're just friends. You're just friends. You repeat this as your mantra.

You are not a homewrecker. 

◦━⇜━❈━⇝━◦ 

You're engrossed in your studies at the university library, and your defence of your master's degree is around the corner. You need every moment you can get to study your thesis when a voice interrupts your concentration.

"Hey there."

You glance up, and to your utter surprise, there's Oscar standing right beside your table, a grin on his face.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, a mixture of shock and concern in your voice.

"Thought I'd surprise you," he replies casually.

You cast a wary glance around, acutely aware of the studious atmosphere in the library. "Oscar, you can't just show up here. People will talk."

He shrugs nonchalantly. "Let them talk. What's the big deal?"

You lower your voice, trying to convey the gravity of the situation. "The big deal is that you're dating someone else, and it's not a great look for either of us if you're seen here."

He glances around, noticing a few curious stares. "Come on, it's not a big deal. Let's grab some coffee or something."

Despite your protests, Oscar leads you out of the library, and you can't shake off the feeling of eyes following the two of you. As you walk through the campus, people start recognising Oscar, and the camera shutters start clicking.

"Oscar, seriously. This is a bad idea," you insist, glancing nervously at the onlookers.

He brushes off your concerns. "Relax, it's just a few pictures. No one will care."

But you know better. You can already feel the whispers and stares, and you're caught in the uncomfortable spotlight of a situation you never signed up for. As you enter a nearby café, the buzzing of conversations seems to rise.

"This is not how I imagined spending my afternoon," you mutter, frustration evident in your voice.

Oscar, however, seems unfazed, ordering coffee as if everything is perfectly normal. "It's just people taking photos. It'll blow over."

You glance at the coffee cup he hands you, the whole situation feeling surreal. "Oscar, you're dating someone else. This is not fair to anyone involved."

He chuckles, dismissing your concern. "Let them speculate. It's not like we're doing anything wrong."

Despite his nonchalance, you can't shake off the unease settling in your stomach. As the two of you sit in the café, surrounded by curious glances, you realise that Oscar's surprise visit has turned into a spectacle – one that you would have preferred to avoid.

"Oscar, be honest. Why are you here?" you ask, watching his facade of nonchalance crumble.

"I missed your cooking?" he tries, but the way he winces completely gives away any chance that the lie might have worked.

"You're supposed to be, like, in the US," you say, your gaze making him squirm in his seat.

"Brazil, actually," he corrects, avoiding eye contact and glancing around at the spectacle he has unwittingly created. Phones around the two of you are noticeably pointing in your direction. "Maybe we should leave?"

"Oscar–"

He grabs your hand, tugging you along with him. Your coffee, still hot and now abandoned, sits on the table inside the store. As he leads you away from the prying eyes, you can feel a mixture of frustration and confusion bubbling inside you.

"Where are we going?" you ask, trying to keep pace with his hurried steps.

"Anywhere away from here. Let's find someplace quiet," he suggests the urgency in his voice betraying the fact that he recognises the magnitude of his misstep.

The two of you navigate through the campus, Oscar leading the way with a determination that seems at odds with the careless attitude he had displayed earlier. As you distance yourselves from the buzzing crowd, he finally slows down.

"I didn't think it would be this... chaotic," he admits a touch of regret in his voice.

"You didn't think? Oscar, you're dating someone else. This isn't just about me. What were you expecting?" you say, frustration lacing your words.

He looks genuinely remorseful. "I just wanted to surprise you. I didn't realise it would turn into this."

"Well, surprises come with consequences, especially when you're in the public eye," you reply, your tone firm.

Oscar sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I messed up, and I'm sorry."

You stop walking, forcing him to face you. "This isn't just about today. It's about everything, Oscar. You're dating someone, yet you keep showing up, making it complicated."

He looks down, seemingly at a loss for words. After a moment, he meets your gaze. "I don't know what to say."

You take a step back, disentangling your hand from his. "Maybe it's time to figure that out. For both of our sakes."

The weight of the situation hangs in the air, and you realise that this unexpected encounter has unravelled more than just a quiet afternoon. As Oscar searches for words, you can't help but wonder how he thought this could have ever been a good idea. 

“Why can't you let me be your friend?” He asks. Oscar has the audacity to ask that? As though he didn't fly across the world to surprise you on a race week. 

“Because friends don't act like this, and I don't want to be a home wrecker.” You tell him, frustration bubbling in your blood as he seems to keep missing the point.

Oscar looks at you, a mix of confusion and perhaps realisation in his eyes. "Home wrecker? We're just friends hanging out."

You can't help but scoff at his apparent obliviousness. "Friends don't cause scenes, Oscar. Friends don't make grand gestures across continents when they're in a committed relationship."

He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration. "I just wanted to see you. What's the harm in that?"

"The harm, Oscar, is that you're not being fair to anyone involved. Not to me, not to your girlfriend," you reply, your voice carrying the weight of your exasperation.

He looks at you, a hint of defiance in his eyes. "She doesn't have to know every little thing. We can just enjoy our time together."

You shake your head, feeling the need to make him understand. "It's not about keeping secrets. It's about respecting boundaries, about being honest with yourself and the people around you. I can't be a part of something that feels like it's headed for disaster."

He seems to be grappling with your words, his expression shifting between frustration and a realisation that maybe this situation isn't as casual as he thought.

“I didn't mean to complicate things,” he finally admits, a rare vulnerability in his voice.

You take a deep breath, the frustration in your blood now replaced with a sombre resolve. "Oscar, sort things out on your end. I need to focus on my studies and my life. I can't keep navigating this uncertainty."

He nods, his gaze dropping to the ground. "I didn't mean to make things complicated… For you."

“You keep saying that, and then… You– you do things like this.” You take a deep breath, “I'm going home, I have things to study, and you have somewhere to be across the– god, Oscar… You're supposed to be halfway across the world.”

You tighten the grab on your bag as you watch his eyes flicker over your face, before turning and walking away. Leaving him standing there. 

◦━⇜━❈━⇝━◦ 

The world is cruel, horrifically cruel in fact. Your nerves are all over as you wait outside the set of doors that's going to decide the fate of your master's degree. You're about to go defend your thesis when your phone flashes with the words. 

Os🚗 is calling… 

You're quick to swipe it, the last thing you need is to talk to Oscar after 2 months of silence. Especially not right now, not before you're going to defend your thesis. 

Os🚗 is calling…

Flashes once more, you glance up at the clock. 15 minutes before it's your turn. 

You deny the call. 

Os🚗 is calling…

Fuck. 

“What?” You hiss into the phone. 

“I broke up with my girlfriend.” His voice is slightly chipper, as though the news is supposed to make you rejoice with glee. 

“Good for you? Oscar, I don't know what to say, what do you want me to say? I don't have time for this!” You're stressed, the clock reads 14 minutes till your defence. You're pacing the floor, unable to stand still, your nerves are eating you from the inside out. You wish this could all just be over with, you need it to pass you by in an instant. 

Oscar's voice on the other end remains unnervingly nonchalant, a stark contrast to the chaos of emotions stirring within you. "I thought you should know. You know, in case you cared."

"Oscar, this is not the time," you snap, the urgency of the ticking clock amplifying your frustration. "I have my master's thesis defence in a few minutes, and I can't deal with this right now."

There's a brief pause on the line before Oscar continues, seemingly undeterred. "I just thought you should know since, you know, we're friends and all."

The word "friends" echoes in your ears, a reminder of the blurred lines that have caused so much turmoil in the past. You take a deep breath, attempting to centre yourself amidst the storm of conflicting emotions.

"Oscar, please. I appreciate you letting me know, but I can't handle this distraction right now. I need to focus on my defence," you plead, trying to convey the urgency of the situation.

"Right, right," Oscar says, the realisation in his tone belated. "Good luck with your defence. I'll, uh, talk to you later?"

You nod, even though he can't see it. "Later, Oscar."

As you end the call, you glance at the clock – 12 minutes left. The weight of impending judgment looms over you, but you shake off the distraction, determined to face the panel and defend your thesis with the focus it deserves. The world may be cruel, but you're not about to let it derail the culmination of your hard work and dedication.

The defence room is a blur of questions, explanations, and nods of approval. Somehow, you manage to navigate the academic minefield, answering each query with a precision that surprises even yourself. As the last question concludes, the panel members exchange satisfied glances, and you feel a wave of relief wash over you. The defence is over, and you've held your ground.

Exiting the room, you're greeted by the smiles of your family, the relief in their eyes mirroring your own. You share a moment of celebration, the culmination of years of hard work and determination. The weight on your shoulders begins to lift, replaced by the joy of accomplishment.

Just as you're about to immerse yourself in the warmth of your family's congratulations, a familiar voice cuts through the air. "Congratulations!"

You turn, and there he is – Oscar, standing in the corridor, an awkward smile on his face. The shock of seeing him here, especially after the phone call just an hour ago, momentarily freezes your elation.

"Oscar, what are you doing here?" you ask, a mix of surprise and confusion in your voice.

He rubs the back of his neck, a nervous gesture. "I wanted to congratulate you. I mean, you just defended your thesis, right? That's a big deal."

Your family exchanges curious glances, and you can feel their unspoken questions. You take a deep breath, deciding to focus on the achievement at hand. "Thank you, Oscar. I appreciate that. But I'm with my family right now, and we're celebrating. Maybe we can catch up later."

His smile falters for a moment, but he quickly recovers. "Of course. I just wanted to say congrats. I'll see you around, then."

As Oscar walks away, you turn back to your family, their expressions a mix of understanding and concern. The elation from your successful defence is now tempered by the unexpected encounter with Oscar. You push the lingering questions to the back of your mind, choosing to savour the joy of the moment with those who have been with you through thick and thin.

Your dinner out with your family is nice, but your mind is solely on Oscar. You didn't know he was in town, not that you wanted to know when he was. A headache works its way through your head, as you put on a smile and cheer with your parents and siblings. Brushing off questions about the cute guy who came to congratulate you, forcing you to call him a friend. That stupid word still doesn't sit right in your mouth, it never does when it comes to Oscar. 

◦━⇜━❈━⇝━◦

You find yourself unable to think about anything but yesterday, your phone is in your hand as Oscar’s contact is pulled up. Why did he call you about breaking up with his girlfriend? Why did he then show up? What did he expect you to do? To say? To… You’re frustrated, pacing the floor once again, as you can’t figure out whether or not you should call him. Instead, the universe seems to decide for you, as his contact flashes on your phone, mirroring yesterday. 

Os🚗 is calling…

You stare at the screen, contemplating whether to answer or not. The events of the past 24 hours have left you emotionally drained, and you're not sure if you have the energy to navigate through another conversation with Oscar. However, a part of you, perhaps against your better judgement, decides to answer.

"What now, Oscar?" you answer, your tone a mix of exhaustion and frustration.

"Hey," his voice sounds through the phone, and you can almost picture the casual smile he might be wearing.

"What do you want?" you ask bluntly, not in the mood for small talk.

"I just wanted to check in. You know, after your defence and all," he replies, feigning innocence.

"Save it, Oscar. I don't need your checking in," you snap, the irritation is evident in your voice. "What happened yesterday was unnecessary. I was celebrating with my family, and you just had to insert yourself into the moment."

There's a moment of silence on the other end of the line before he speaks, his voice carrying a sincerity that catches you off guard. "I genuinely wanted to congratulate you. I didn't mean to cause any trouble."

"Well, you did," you retort, feeling a mix of anger and disappointment. "And I don't need your congratulations. I need you to respect my boundaries."

Another pause follows, and when Oscar finally speaks, his tone is more subdued. "I get it. I messed up. I'm sorry."

Sorry. It's a word you've heard from him before, and each time it feels less convincing. You take a deep breath, attempting to collect your thoughts. "Oscar, I don't know what you expect from me, but we can't keep doing this."

"I know, I know," he says, and you can almost picture him running a hand through his hair, a gesture you've come to associate with his moments of frustration. "I just... I thought we were friends, and I wanted to be there for you."

You let out a bitter laugh. "Friends? Oscar, friends don't complicate each other's lives like this. We've been through this before. I can't keep playing this game with you."

There's a heavy silence, and you wonder if he's even listening or if he's already moved on to the next distraction. Finally, he speaks, his voice softer. "Then let me be more…"

"Oscar, let me be clear," you assert, the frustration evident in your voice. "I need you to get your shit together. This constant back-and-forth, the unexpected appearances, it's not fair to anyone involved, especially not to me. Figure out what you want, sort out your own life, and maybe then we can talk about what 'more' means."

His silence hangs on the line, and you take a moment to collect your thoughts. This is a conversation long overdue, and the weight of the words you're about to say carries a gravity you can't ignore.

“But once you do…” You are already regretting the next words you are to speak. "I will not wait around for you, but... But I wouldn't be completely opposed to finding out whatever ‘more' means."

“Okay, okay I can do that.” Oscar sounds, not happy, but rather optimistic and hopeful. “Do you think you would want to… Maybe let me cook for once?”

“Yeah…” You breathe out, “I think I would like that.”

◦━⇜━❈━⇝━◦

The hum of machinery fills the air as you make your way through the bustling Mercedes factory, a stark contrast to the chaotic world you left behind. The engineering department is your sanctuary, a place where the precision of machines and the logic of design bring a sense of order to your life.

You sit at your desk, surrounded by schematics and blueprints, immersing yourself in the intricate details of your work. The rhythm of your routine is comforting, and you've come to appreciate the stability your job offers. As a mechanical engineer, your skills find their purpose in the assembly and improvement of high-performance engines, a far cry from the unpredictable whirlwind that was Oscar Piastri.

Today, a new intern, Gabbie, has joined the team, bringing with her a fresh enthusiasm that seems almost infectious. She approaches your desk, curiosity written all over her face.

"Hey there! I heard you're one of the seasoned engineers around here. Mind if I pick your brain a bit?" Gabbie asks, her eyes wide with excitement.

You offer a friendly smile, welcoming the chance for a break from the monotony. "Sure, what's on your mind?"

Gabbie hesitates for a moment before blurting out, "Oscar Piastri! Do you know him? The McLaren driver?"

Your eyes narrow slightly, caught off guard by the unexpected mention of Oscar in this professional setting. "Yeah, I know him. What about him?"

Gabbie grins, oblivious to any subtleties. "I heard he's a pretty cool guy. You know, being a Formula 1 driver and all. Any interesting stories or insights about him?"

You take a deep breath, contemplating how to navigate this conversation without delving into the complexities of your history with Oscar. "Well, he's certainly talented on the track. As for stories, you might want to focus on the engineering marvels we're creating here. That's where the real excitement is."

Gabbie seems undeterred, pushing for more details. "Come on, there must be something. What's he like in person? Is he as cool as he seems on TV?"

You lean back in your chair, trying to redirect the conversation. "Look, we're here to work on groundbreaking technology and push the limits of performance. If you want insights into the world of Formula 1, maybe you should visit a race or something. But around here, let's focus on the engineering challenges ahead of us."

Gabbie, slightly disappointed but still eager, nods and scurries off, likely in search of a more willing source of gossip. You return to your work, the hum of the factory providing a comforting backdrop.

As you refocus on your work, another colleague, Tom, strolls over, his friendly demeanour evident. He glances at Gabbie retreating in the distance and raises an inquisitive eyebrow.

"What was that all about?" Tom asks, nodding towards Gabbie's disappearing figure.

You can't help but smile, the memory of Oscar and the whirlwind of emotions he brings resurfacing. "Oh, she just wanted to know something about a friend of mine."

Tom chuckles, sensing there's more beneath the surface. "Friend, huh? Spill the details. You've got that mysterious smile on your face."

You shake your head, a playful glint in your eyes. "Nothing scandalous, just Oscar she's curious about. You know how people get star-struck."

“Ah, Piastri, right? I forgot you know him.” Tom laughs, "Well, since you mentioned that you're friends with an F1 driver, you've got to share some perks with the rest of us, right?"

“Shut up Tom,” you roll your eyes at him, as he wiggles his eyebrows. “What did you drop by for anyways?”

He waves his iPad in the air. “I got the analytical data back from the stress test, and I need you to go over it before this afternoon.”

Your thoughts of Oscars are washed away in an array of statistics and equations. 

◦━⇜━❈━⇝━◦

Despite not being on the best speaking terms with Oscar for the moment, you truly can’t seem to escape him. Twitter has become obsessed with a recent interview with Oscar. You try not to follow his life through the media, an attempt to respect him enough to let him tell you what he wants you to know about him. That said, sometimes the internet makes that an impossible feat. 

In the interview clip circulating on Twitter, Oscar sits comfortably in the studio, a backdrop of sponsor logos and racing memorabilia behind him. The interviewer, armed with a charismatic smile, delves into various aspects of Oscar's life, from his recent races to his off-track interests.

As you scroll through the snippets, you can't deny the pang of curiosity that tugs at you. The dichotomy between the Oscar you know personally and the one presented to the world through interviews is stark. It's a reminder of the deliberate distance he maintains, carefully navigating the narrative of his public persona.

The interviewer grins, steering the conversation towards personal anecdotes. "And what about love, Oscar? Any new special someone in your life?"

Oscar squirms in his seat, as a blush spreads across his face. “Well…” His eyes flicker around the room. “No, not recently.”

“Oh really? That’s a surprise, you’re otherwise known for changing it up quite a bit.” The interviewer winks, as though that statement wasn’t wildly inappropriate. 

Oscar chuckles nervously, clearly uncomfortable with the turn the conversation has taken. "Yeah, well, I've had my fair share of changes. But, you see, there's someone… someone I've known for a long time. And, uh, I guess I messed up. Big time."

The interviewer leans forward, sensing a potential scoop. "Care to share more about this mystery person?"

Oscar hesitates, glancing at his hands for a moment before meeting the interviewer's gaze. "We've been through a lot together. I've known her for years, and I can honestly say she's the one who knows me best. But, you know, life happens, and I've hurt her more than I care to admit."

The revelation hangs in the air, leaving an unspoken weight. Your heart skips a beat as the pieces click into place. The cryptic words, the veiled references – it's about you. The interview, unbeknownst to the public, has become a confessional, a subtle admission of guilt and remorse.

The interviewer, sensing the delicacy of the situation, shifts gears. "It sounds like a complicated story. Do you think there's a chance for reconciliation?"

Oscar's gaze falters, a mixture of regret and uncertainty in his eyes. "I don't know. I hope so. But I've got a lot to figure out, and it might be too late."

The vulnerability in his admission is palpable, and the internet, now buzzing with speculation, picks up on the emotional depth of Oscar's words. As you close the app, a whirlwind of emotions engulfs you, surprise, sadness, and an unexpected twinge of hope as your phone pings with a text message.

Os🚗: Don’t open Twitter.  You: Good morning to you too Os🚗: I’m serious. Os🚗: Remember that old picture from a few years ago? You: What picture? Os🚗: When I ran into you, and we both ended up on the ground, that one. 

You snort, you absolutely remember both the picture and that day.

Os🚗: I gave an interview, and I might have mentioned you by accident? You: You don’t sound sure   Os🚗 is calling…

You’re quick to accept the call, as you twirl your coffee. A long day of work ahead of you, and now a mess that Oscar has apparently dragged you into it seems. “Okay, so I just wanted the interviewer to change the questions, and I mentioned you, and I’m sorry, and then someone started digging online, and that you’ve been around me for years, and that stupid picture from back then got dug up, and someone else then found out that you’re still working for Mercedes, and please let me pick you up Friday?” All the words come rushing out of Oscar's mouth at once. 

“I’m sorry what?” Your head is already spinning. 

“Go out with me,” Oscar repeats. “Friday, I’ll pick you up.”

“Yeah, okay, okay, okay, I got that part. Now back up. What about the rest?” You suck in a deep breath, as you prepare yourself for what the hell Oscar just said. Oscar takes a moment to gather his thoughts, realising he might have split too much in a rush of anxiety. "Look, I messed up during the interview. I didn't mean to bring you into it, but then people started connecting the dots, and now it's all over social media. I didn't want you to be dragged into this mess, especially considering everything."

"Considering everything? Oscar, what did you say?" Your tone edges towards frustration. “I saw a few clips on Twitter.”

“I thought I said not to – never mind.” He sighs, "I might have hinted that you're someone important to me and that I've messed things up with you. It wasn't supposed to be like this, and I'm genuinely sorry for bringing you into it without your consent."

Your mind races, both with irritation at the situation and a surprising warmth at Oscar's unexpected admission. "Okay, I appreciate the apology, but fuck, I don’t need my job jeopardised because of something online. What if someone reaches out, I mean my supervisor is already not ecstatic about the fact that I’m good friends with you. The last thing I need is for him to think I’m dating you.”

“But –” Oscar starts before you cut him off. 

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” You tell him. 

“So you’ll let me take you out on Friday?” He asks, anticipation hanging in the air, a soft smile on your lips. One he can’t see, and one you would not admit to if he were to ask. 

“Yeah, yeah…” You breathe out, “I want you to bring the ugliest bouquet of flowers though, that’s the only thing I ask of you.”

“The ugliest?” 

You hum in approval. “We’ll figure out the rest later, I have to get back to work before I get too far behind on my assignments for today.”

“I’ll text you the details,” Oscar says before hanging up, you keep the phone against your chin as you take a long slurp of your coffee. You can’t believe you actually agreed to go out with him, especially in the middle of the mess he has just created. 

Oscar drives you insane, and it seems to be in the best way possible. You smile as you finally put away your phone and start up on your first assignment of the day. 

◦━⇜━❈━⇝━◦

The anticipation builds as you wait outside, glancing at your watch and then at the passing cars. It's Friday evening, and Oscar is supposed to pick you up. Your attire is casual, as per his instructions, but you can't shake off the lingering nervousness and excitement.

Finally, you spot his distinctive car approaching, the engine's low growl hinting at its power. Oscar pulls up with a confident smile, and you can't help but notice how his presence seems to fill the space around him.

He steps out of the car, wearing a simple yet stylish outfit. "Hey," he greets you, his eyes reflecting a mix of eagerness and uncertainty.

"Hey," you reply, a small smile playing on your lips. "Nice car."

Oscar grins, clearly proud of his choice. "Thanks. Ready for an adventure?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Is this going to be an adventure?"

He chuckles. "Well, let's just say, it's a night of surprises."

As you get into the car, you can't help but wonder what exactly Oscar has planned. The tension in the air is palpable, a mix of unresolved emotions and the promise of something new. The drive is filled with light banter, both of you carefully avoiding the elephant in the room – the mess created by Oscar's interview.

The car pulls to a night school, you look over at Oscar, a smile on his lips. Secrecy in his eyes, as he’s quickly out of his door. Walking around the car to help you out of it, a hand in yours. 

“I promised I would cook for you,” he reminds you, as he leads you through the hallways of the school, before reaching the kitchen, “except I would like for it to be edible, so I got us into a cooking class.”

He opens the door, and two other couples are already inside the kitchen, including what you’re guessing is going to be your teacher. 

“Oscar Piastri,” He tells the teacher, who notes it down before remarking on there still being a couple missing. She points you and Oscar to stand at the front right kitchen island. 

“You’re so stupid.” You whisper to him, as he eagerly drags you over to the island. Helping you get your apron on. 

He leans in, his breath hot on your neck as he’s tying your apron. “You haven’t seen the half of it yet.”

As the class begins, you find yourselves surrounded by the aromas of various ingredients and the lively chatter of the other couples. Oscar seems surprisingly excited about the cooking class, and you can't help but be swept up in his enthusiasm.

The teacher, a seasoned chef with a no-nonsense attitude, introduces the menu for the evening – a complex dish that involves a delicate balance of flavours and precise techniques. As the instructions are given, you exchange glances with Oscar, both of you silently agreeing to tackle this challenge together.

Oscar takes charge of the first step, expertly handling the knife as he chops vegetables with precision. You observe his focused expression, the playful glint in his eyes occasionally surfacing. The air between you carries a comfortable warmth, a stark contrast to the earlier tensions.

As you work side by side, the occasional laughter and banter with the other couples create a communal atmosphere in the kitchen. You can't help but be grateful for the distraction – the opportunity to focus on something other than the complexities of your relationship with Oscar.

The cooking process unfolds smoothly, and soon, the kitchen is filled with the enticing aroma of the dish coming together. Oscar steals a moment to glance at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. "How are we doing so far?"

You return the smile, genuinely enjoying the experience. "Surprisingly well, considering your questionable reputation in the kitchen."

He mockingly gasps, placing a hand over his heart. "Ouch, right in the culinary skills."

The teacher makes her rounds, offering guidance and checking on each couple's progress. As she approaches you and Oscar, you brace yourself for scrutiny. To your surprise, she nods approvingly. "You two seem to have a good handle on things. Impressive."

You share a triumphant look with Oscar, the sense of accomplishment strengthening the connection between you. The dish is finally plated, and the class gathers to taste each other's creations. The blend of flavours is exquisite, a testament to the collective effort of the participants.

With the cooking portion complete, the teacher commends the class and invites everyone to enjoy the fruits of their labour. You and Oscar find a quiet corner, plates in hand, and sit together.

As you take the first bite, the rich flavours dance on your palate. Oscar watches you, anticipation in his eyes. You meet his gaze, a silent acknowledgement passing between you. Despite the chaos and unexpected twists, this evening has become a shared memory, a moment of unity amidst the complexities of life.

"So," Oscar begins, breaking the comfortable silence, "how would you rate my cooking skills?"

You savour another bite before responding with a playful grin. "I'll give you a solid eight out of ten. Surprisingly, you didn't burn anything."

He feigns offence, but the smile on his lips betrays him.

You lift your fork to let him taste a part of the elderly couple’s dish. You expect Oscar to take your fork. Instead, he leans in, keeping eye contact with you, as he eats from your fork. Your breath hitches, and his eyes are staring into yours intensely. Warmth spreads from your neck and up. Then he pulls back, finally chewing on the food.

He uses the back of his hand to dry off his mouth, still keeping his eyes locked with yours, as he flashes you a cheeky grin. “That was delicious.”

A sudden shyness overtakes you, as you look away. Why did he…?

Then the teacher claps her hands, telling everyone it’s time to start doing the dishes, and your small intimate moment is broken and forgotten as Oscar springs to his feet. Already holding his hand out to help you up, no need for you to tell him this time. 

The scene replaying in your mind as you’re going through the motions of washing up, it’s still fresh on your mind as Oscar is thanking the teacher for the great lesson. Even when he slides his hand into yours, and you walk out to his car.

He once again opens the door for you, helping you get into the car.

“Oh, before I forget.” His voice pulls you out of your thoughts completely as a bouquet of the ugliest flowers you’ve ever seen is presented in front of you. Oscar smiles proudly at you, happy that he has taken you by surprise. 

“I didn’t…” You trail off. The flowers are horrendous to look at, an absolute horror show in floral form. “They’re hideous.” 

“Just like you asked.” He finally slips into the driver's seat, smiling at you, waiting patiently for a bit of praise, as you can’t seem to find the right words to describe the warm feelings inside of your heart. 

“Thank you.” You settle on, “Thank you, Oscar. You did good… You are good.” 

You look over at him, and the flowers in your hands are quickly abandoned and forgotten, when his face is right there. You place your hands gently on each of his cheeks. He leans in close to you, placing his own hand on your cheek. You close your eyes, as his lips finally meet yours. 

The car falls away, and for a moment, it's just the two of you, the taste of rich food lingering on your lips. His lips move against yours with a tender rhythm, a silent language conveying emotions that words have struggled to express.

His hand, warm against your cheek, sends a shiver down your spine, and you tighten your grip on his cheeks, deepening the kiss. The connection is familiar yet different, a blend of shared history and the uncharted territory of something new.

Time seems to stretch, the world narrowing down to the sensation of his lips, the warmth of his touch. It's a kiss that holds the weight of unspoken apologies and the promise of something more. At that moment, the complications and uncertainties fade into the background, leaving only the raw, honest emotion exchanged between two people on the precipice of change.

As the kiss finally breaks, you find yourself breathless, a silent understanding passing between you. You open your eyes to meet his gaze, the vulnerability mirrored in both your expressions. There's a question in his eyes, one that lingers in the air, waiting for acknowledgement.

The taste of the kiss lingers, the sweet aftertaste of a decision made, of boundaries crossed. It's a moment suspended in time, a threshold crossed, and you can't help but wonder where this unexpected journey with Oscar might lead.

"Wow," he breathes, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek. "That was..."

You finish his sentence with a soft smile. "Unexpected?"

He chuckles a sound that resonates with shared joy. "Yeah, unexpected. But good. Very, very good."

The shared laughter dispels any remaining tension, replaced by a newfound ease. As you sit there, still holding each other's gaze, you realise that the evening has become a turning point. The kitchen adventure, the banter, and now this shared kiss – it's a series of moments that have rewritten the script between you and Oscar.

The reality of the situation lingers in the air, but instead of feeling weighed down, you find a sense of lightness, a subtle shift in the atmosphere between you two. The kiss becomes a symbol, a bridge between the past and a future that holds the promise of understanding and growth.

With a contented smile, you break the silence. "Well, I guess we've officially moved past the 'friends' territory."

Oscar grins, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief and anticipation. "Yeah, we have. And I'm looking forward to wherever this takes us."

Your worries about your supervisor and what it might mean for your job at Mercedes fade away as Oscar leans in again, capturing your lips once more. You can get used to this. 

Oscar might be someone who only brings chaos and problems into your life, but you’re all too prepared to deal with that now. Willing to deal with it all, and happy to have him by your side as you do.

⋗ a/n - thank you for reading this, shout out to @pucksandpower for making me not kill Oscar, and for them to actually end up together. Also my beta readers Fari and @thisismeracing for editing this.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Late Bloomer 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Peter Parker, Steve Rogers (Professor AU)

Summary: you start your second year of university but as the workload grows more intense, you start to feel your age. (mid-30s reader)

Part of the Bad Professors AU

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. 

You look at the grade on your quiz. It’s not the end of the world but it isn’t the best. And this course is negligible in the scheme of your degree, yet, you thought you were really getting this. It’s disappointing and you can do better. You will. 

As class lets out, you head down the centre aisle past the fleeing coeds. Most don’t stick around after the intense lectures. The whiteboard still shows the chaos of formulas as the professor closes his Mac. You approach nervously. 

“Professor Parker,” you greet. 

He turns and knocks over the cup of whiteboard markers. “Ah gee.” 

He rights the cup and you bend to catch the scatter that roll around your feet. He does the same on his side of the table. As you stand and slide them back into their place, he bats away a pesky curl form his forehead. He pushes his glasses back up his nose and gives a sheepish smile. You could cringe. He’s a professor and you just know he’s younger than you. 

“Hi, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“No, no, I was just thinking,” he grabs the cup as he shoves the rest of the markers inside. “How’s it going?” 

“Uh, yeah, it’s good. I was just...” you stop yourself. “I think I forgot your office hours. I was just going to ask for a little help going over my quiz but I don’t want to keep you--” 

“No, it’s fine,” he rattles the cup of markers then makes himself still. “I can help you know.” 

“Oh, okay,” you lay your quiz on the table. “I think I did pretty good but 4a really messed me up,” you flip the page and point.  

He leans to look over your work. He gently pushes aside the pen cup and reaches to his ear. He frees the pen behind it and bends over the table. He puts his weight on one elbow. You loom over him, crouching to watch him. 

He reaches up to pat his hair then pinches the arm of his glasses and chuckles, “already on. Oops.” 

You realise he’d been looking to pull his glasses down to his nose. He reminds you of Cerise sometimes. Come to think of it, she might do with a prescription herself. 

“Okay, I think I see what happened,” he taps with the tip of the pen. “Missed a step here.” You focus on the ink scrawling over in his tight writing. “But you were on the right track.” 

You take in his explanation patiently. When he looks up at you, his brown eyes surprise you. They're almost sparkling. 

“Right, thanks, I get it now,” you say. “Next time I’ll go over my work twice.” 

“Never hurts,” he stands and flips the front page over. He lifts it and hands it over. “You’ll be fine. It’s second year. Got my engineering degree no problem after flunking a course. Just had to put in a summer course.” 

“Oh, I’m not an engineering student,” you say. “But I do need the elective.” 

“No? Pretty good for not an engineering student.” 

“Art,” you supply. 

“Art? Wow. Not what I expected.” He muses. 

“I know. I’m gonna be working at a Starbucks in no time,” you kid. 

“No, that’s not... fair,” he protests. “What kinda art? Like, er, do you paint or whatever?” 

“I like to paint. Sketch... working on clayworks in one of my studios.” You say, “actually, I think you’ll laugh.” 

You bring your bag up and tuck away the quiz as you pull out your notebook. You open it and show him that day’s note. The margins are full of aimless doodles. 

“Oh, wow,” he admires your careless scribbles. “Bet you make all sorts of cool things. I’m not very good at drawing.” He glances over his shoulder at the whiteboard, “don’t know if it’s obvious.” 

His writing is narrow and bit all over but it’s legible. 

“Not that bad,” you assure him as you close up the notebook. “I meant to ask, how’s your leg?” 

“My leg? Oh yeah. It’s healing. Can’t say the same for the khakis. Lost cause,” he sighs. 

“Oh,” you give a tight-lipped smile, “well, I’m glad it wasn’t worse.” 

“I swear, they built this place like a death trap. Too many stairs,” he clucks. 

You chuckle, “yeah, I could go for a bit less... but wouldn’t that be an engineer’s thing?” 

“Architects help...” He says defensively. 

“Alright, alright, I’m just kidding,” you haul your bag onto your shoulder. 

“Hey, I would argue we need some artists to pretty these things up. Buildings are so boring these days. You know, I went to Italy, all those marble columns and statues...” he says. “Not that I’m bragging. Just an observation I made. I went to some museums and saw paintings too. The DiCaprios... No Da Vinci! Oh god!” He slaps his forehead in embarrassment, “my brain is fried, I’m sorry.” 

“All good,” you assure him, “we’re all feeling it, I think.” You step back on your heel, “anyway, I think I’ve kept you long enough. Thanks for the help.” 

“Any time. Everyone else runs away from me,” he says. “I’m still getting used to this ‘Professor’ thing.” 

“Well, you’re a really good teacher,” you assure him, “I should go.” 

“Right, see ya next class,” he says. 

“Sure, see ya then,” you give a tiny wave and retreat.  

You turn and climb the centre stairs to the rear exit. You open the door and glance back. He’s watching you. Caught, he coughs and turns back to the board and searches for the erase. He starts to wipe out the numbers and you leave him to his clean up.  

You have time before you can stop by the studio. Enough to eat something or get a coffee. It’s only week two and you’re wondering how you’re going to get through the rest of it. Especially with your overnight shifts in between. 

[bowserbowser29]

Previous Anon is also right but I consider demoman to be more of an alcoholic rather then completely batshit insane. He's still less sane than scout, who might arguably be the most sane guy there.

Just for funzies, imma rate the mercs on how I personally think they are sanity wise, starting from who I think is the most sane down to the bottom.

1. Spy: Don’t really need to elaborate. He’s easily the most professional of all the mercs, has no discernible mental problems, and knows that he’s too good to be working with these simpletons. (Though, maybe not. There’s, like, a picture of him pissing on a wall while stealing a briefcase. I dunno where it’s from but it’s fucking hilarious)

2. Scout: Just as you said, Scout is probably the most sane out of all the mercs. He doesn’t talk to his guns, he doesn’t try an experiment on his teammates, he doesn’t have hallucinations. Scout’s really only seen on the same level as them because he’s an idiot. A guy who drinks radioactive soda is not all that bright, but at least he knows what’s going on around him.

3. Heavy: Probably the one most people put at the top for Poker Night at the Inventory and his depiction in the comics with his family. Both of these are a good showcase that, when Heavy is not on the battlefield shouting at babies and mowing down shit with his minigun, he is a very level headed and caring individual. That being said,..he’s also a guy that tells his gun to kiss him and tucks it into bed. Now, men often personify objects or machines from their work that are important to them. As a train nerd I know this is something very common. But to the degree Heavy does it? …kinda weird.

4. Demo: Pretty much the same deal as Heavy. In the comics it shows that Demo might just be the most competent of the mercs, especially when he is not drunk. The man held three jobs, takes care of his blind mother, and is easily Pauling’s only source of common sense before they rescue Spy. But…gotta dock him some points for the whole…talking to his own liver thing. I mean, yeah, could just be a dream or sumthin, but…who the hell knows?

5. Engi: Kind of surprising until you look a little deeper into his character. Compared to literally everyone else before him, Engineer is the most calm, cool, and collected character in the entire series. He’s a genius who can build sentry guns, teleporters, and sources of infinite health and ammo. But…also remember this; Scout, Spy, Demo, and Heavy have never done anything to alter their bodies (that’s Medic’s job, but you know what I mean) yet here’s Engi, cutting off his own hand to use the gunslinger. Not to mention a few of his domination lines hint at some sort of god complex he has. Though, all that being said, Engi being the halfway mark may hint that most of the mercs are more sane than they first seem. In other words…now we’re getting into the rough end.

6. Sniper: Yet another man who, on the surface, seems to have his marbles locked up tight. He’s a professional, just like Spy, and even has a more grounded view on sniping than the TFC Sniper. But…he also throws jars of piss at people…and shoots tranquilizer darts full of piss at people. In my mind, that easily shoots him lower than Engi.

7. Soldier: seeing him anywhere above second to last is probably insane of me, and it is. Soldier is, in every sense of the word, insane. He talks to wooden cutouts, hallucinates, is suffering from lead poisoning, thought he fought in a war that was already over. The sanity distance between him and Sniper is ten thousand miles long. And yet…

8. Pyro: I mean…yeah. It’s harder to get more nutty than a homicidal pyromaniac who thinks the world is made of lollipops and rainbows. It’s hard to rank someone on a sanity scale when they don’t even know what’s going on, but…I think Pyro, however old he is, should know that Pyrovision is not reality. And yet, she still is not last…and that’s for one simple fact.

9. Medic: Here’s the thing. Pyro? He has no idea what’s going on. Soldier? He has a completely different idea to what is going on. But Medic? Medic knows exactly what he is doing. All his inhuman experiments, deals with the devil, borderline disregard for human life on a level worse than an enTIRE TEAM OF CONTRACT KILLERS! It’s not a contest. Medic is hands down the most insane merc of them all, and it’s is…still scarily close.

[ode-to-arecibo]

Sapsippers, the third species to join the empire and the only hive mind as of the war.

Sapsippers are a hive mind that communicates between members via tapping on the ground. That has a lot of ramifications.

We're not talking about one of those weird unrealistic queen mind controlling everyone hive mind. I mean ants. A gestalt consciousness. An individual sapsipper isn't really a person, and one that gets isolated will freeze and hope someone will come pick it up. Get six of them together and they start to resemble a person. Six or more sapsippers communicating in one place are called a thrum. There's no limit to how large a thrum can get, though in practice subthrums form once you can no longer fit everyone in one room. All this communication is done through vibrations in the ground, and partially pheremones, which resemble emotions.

Sapsippers can also form a thrum over their internet (which is made of flesh), by standing on pads that transmit their tapping. Each sapsipper planet often consists of a single massive thrum which outside governments often treat more like a lect than a country.

A lot of their tech is made of flesh. Because they don't have genes, rather their protein equivalent also acts as genes and self replicates, just injecting a foreign protein alters their genetic material. This is true of everything on their planet. The hardest part of genetic engineering there is purifying the proteins. And then figuring out which proteins and how much will give you the desired result. But they were trying as soon as they figured out glass. Their spaceships still have to be metal though.

They use D-glucose like humans, so you can bring a thrum to a restaurant and order sugar water for them. They can tolerate most alien substances, though high sulphur drake food tastes terrible, so there's a culture of trying things like honey and maple syrup among smaller independent thrums.

Sapsipper philosophy has two "souls" or minds or personhoods or consciousnesses. The tatik is contained within the body, each individual sapsipper has one and it contains whatever their expertise is. A tatik can be trained to do specific things, just as different parts of your brain do different things, and it will contribute it's skills to any thrum it joins. Some optimize for pure processing power, some for specific knowledge, usually at least one per thrum knows Universal and has a translator implant to let them pronounce drake phonemes (all drake phonemes except the mandible clicks can be pronounced by humans, but humans invariably have horrible accents). The eidika is the soul of a thrum. It only appears when at least six tatik get together into a thrum. It's consider the more important consciousness, and it's the closest sapsipper concept to what a person is.

Thrum intelligence scales continuously with size, but there are two main classifications who hate eachother. Massive thrums the size of a planet or space station act similarly to lects. Huge gestalts that manage a ship and engage in many conversations at once. Talking to these things is like talking to an AI or a call center. The other kind is more common, if only because it doesn't require hundreds or thousands of bodies to form. Talking to the smaller sort is like talking to a human.

All crimes from minor theft and vandalism to mass murder are considered being cancerous and punishable by death. Or, well, they kill the tatik that isn't cooperating. Something like theft is indicative of a general lack of cohesion and a sapsipper that can't or won't merge with the thrum around it is treated like a tumor that must be excised.

They don't worry about death so much in general, and medicine is only considered important for queens (who limit population size) and queenless thrums like on many smaller ships (that can't repopulate on their own). Sapsippers only live 6 to 12 years, but since the eidika is more of a person than the tatik, a dead worker just gets replaced no problem. At worst, that was the body with the translator implant and you won't be able to talk to non-sapsippers until you replace them. Bigger thrums have more redundancy built in.

Sapsippers have also had about a dozen wars total in their entire existence, counting the kinds of wars neanderthals could have had. before the bomber plane, any two colonies that got close enough to kill each other would merge into one whether they wanted to or not. After the radio, the homeworld was all one big thrum and fighting anyone would be like fighting yourself. People often hear this statistic and expect them to be pacifists. No, they love war, they're quite aggressive and generally consider violence to solve most problems. If not for the Empire being one big alliance they definitely would have taken over someone's homeworld.

They invented written language in 2050, after drakes and kaledevids tried to write down their language and did a terrible job. They didn't need it to communicate among themselves as one, they have terrible vision, they wouldn't be able to read 12 point font while sitting on it. And two, whenever they get close enough to another thrum, they merge, so they'd only use a written language for street signs in unpopulated areas, and sculpted maps work better for that.