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formula-ghost · 5 months ago

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Wildflower (OP81 x fem!reader x LN4)

Chapter 2

CHAPTER SUMMARY: In the aftermath of Oscar’s breakup, he realizes there’s only one thing he needs to start feeling better.

WORD COUNT: 9.4k

WARNINGS: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI. Reader has AFAB anatomy. Rough sex (choking, biting, hair pulling), oral (m and f receiving), fingering, P in V, use of protection, praise, degradation/name calling, no aftercare (literally this entire chapter is them fucking, I’m sorry. I promise that all the smut has plot value haha). Mentions of cheating, reader is haunted by the narrative, hints of angst at the end. Also if a man treats you like Oscar treats YN in this story, LEAVE HIM.

TAGLIST: @at-a-rax-ia @henna006 @linnygirl09 @cassielikereading @judelina @supertrashbread @fastandcurious16 @widow-cevans @czennieszn @irisesinthegarden @wierdflowerpower @sweetwh0re @reginalaufeyson-holmes @honethatty12 @suns3treading @obxstiles

A/N: The amount of love that everyone has shown me on this fic has been so overwhelming. You all have ignited my passion to create again. Thank you <3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Oscar stayed at your apartment for 4 days.

There was a lot to be done; Lily had to arrange housing back in the UK and move her things. At some point, Oscar would have to tell his family. Potentially, an announcement would need to be made on social media.

It felt like a to-do list, rather than the breaking of what once was something beautiful. Now, just boxes to check off.

And Oscar wasn’t up to the task of any of it; you couldn’t blame him. It was hard enough for him to eat and sleep, let alone think about the upcoming races or the logistics of the breakup.

You let him talk when he wanted, but as the days between the breakup and the present grew, he seemed to settle. The shock was gone, replaced by a void, a thick grief that weighed down on him like a ton of bricks. There were a lot of quiet moments.

Of course, you at least made sure that he had his basic needs taken care of. It was the least you could do.

On the afternoon of the fourth night, he got a text from Lily.

I’ve finished moving my stuff. Can you stop by in 15 minutes so I can drop off the keys?

You read it aloud, because he couldn’t even bear to see her words with his own eyes. He stared at the wall ahead of him.

“Do you want me to go with you?” you asked.

“No,” he said, “I’ll be okay.”

He was silent then, the only sound from him being the jingle of his own keys as he got up to leave your apartment for the first time that week. As he walked out, you exhaled, throwing out a silent wish that he’d be okay seeing her again so soon.

Oscar made the same wish as he pulled into the parking lot of his apartment that only days before he’d shared with Lily. He felt like a robot in all of his movements; getting out of the car, pressing the elevator button, walking down the hall until he rounded the corner and saw her.

“Hey,” she greeted him, to which he just gave her a small nod.

“Here are the keys,” she said, and handed them to him. “I got all my stuff out, so, the apartment is all yours.”

“Where are you going?”

“Back home. For now, at least.”

“You know you didn’t have to do this. You could have stayed here. Or I could have gotten you a place here in Monaco.”

“Don’t,” Lily said, softly, as if her tone of voice could change anything about the grief that the man before he felt.

“It didn’t have to be like this, Lily,” he continued. “I told you, I’d quit it all. I’ll go to therapy. Whatever you want.”

“You’re living at her place. You’re sleeping in her bed.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Don’t make this any harder than it already is, Oscar.” Tears welled up in Lily’s eyes. “Let’s just wish each other the best and go on with our lives.”

“Is this really what you want?” Oscar pushed. “You really just want to throw away 5 years? Over what? I can change, Lily—”

“Goodbye, Oscar,” she said, walking away whilst he was still talking. He just watched her form get smaller and smaller down the hallway until she was gone.

There was nothing he could do but stand there. She wasn’t coming back.

Back at your apartment, dinner was almost ready. The clock on your phone told you that Oscar had been gone a little longer than anticipated.

Maybe they were talking. Hell, maybe they had made up and Oscar wouldn’t be coming back. You were never the type to worry so much, but you had to admit that your thoughts were racing a little faster than usual.

That was, until you heard your door knob jiggle and felt the vibration of Oscar’s footsteps through your entryway. You heard him sigh and sink down into the sofa, running his fingers through his hair out of nervousness.

“Food,” you softly called, walking out of the kitchen with two bowls, handing one to him. He accepted it wordlessly.

“D’you want to put on a movie or something? Or…talk about it?”

He just shook his head. So you obliged him, allowing him to have a quiet dinner.

As you ate, you admired him from across the couch. Even with his tousled hair, eye bags, and hunched shoulders, he was beautiful. And one day his smile would return—that sweet bunny-toothed smile that you had fallen in love with so many years ago.

Your love for him had changed, though. You’d never have him. You knew that. And some would call it pathetic to stay in a man’s life solely because you loved him, when he didn’t love you in the same way.

And maybe they were right. But you didn’t need the approval of others. You just needed your friend.

And from Oscar’s side of the couch, he was thankful for the silence, but he was tortured by his own thoughts. The implication of what Lily had said; you’re sleeping in her bed, as if he had gone straight to you for a comfort beyond just home cooked meals.

It pissed him off. How could she think so little of him? Accusing him of cheating, getting angry at him for wanting to spend time with his friends?

Oscar was a man that was slow to anger. But when he got pissed, truly pissed, there was only one thing that really let him get that anger out.

If Lily thought that little of him, then maybe he’d just have to prove how horrible he really was.

When dinner was done, you silently washed the dishes and cleaned up around the kitchen, stretching the sore muscles in your back and grimacing as they burned with the contractions.

“Your back hurting?” Oscar asked, leaning on the counter as you cleaned.

“A bit, yeah,” you confessed. “It’s fine.”

“I can take the couch tonight.”

“Oh no, you keep the bed. You need it before that flight tomorrow, anyway.”

“I can sleep on the plane.” He paused. “Or, you know, the bed is big enough to share.”

Your hand paused as you wiped down the counters. You didn’t look up at him. The last time you had shared a bed with Oscar was when you lost your virginity.

“I think that’s a bad idea.”

“We did it all the time when we were kids.”

“We aren’t kids anymore,” you said, reaching up to put away the clean plates. Your back burned with the stretch of your arms, and you winced.

“I don’t mean it to be weird,” he said. You let the silence speak for itself.

But when you were done cleaning up, you glanced at the couch and sighed, knowing that you really, really wanted to sleep in your warm and comfy bed.

So you slipped into the bedroom quietly, not acknowledging Oscar when you got under the covers and turned on your side, exhaling deeply as you felt the soft cushioning mold to the familiar shape of your body.

Both of you were still awake, unable to sleep with the presence of the other, filling the room with a thick tension.

“Are you still hurting?” Oscar whispered, laying flat on his back, staring into the void of the ceiling.

You, on the other hand, layed on your side facing away from him, staring into the void of your curtains that were only barely blocking out the light from the city outside. “Yeah,” you answered.

You heard him shuffle, placing his hand on the small of your back, gently pushing you down to lay with your stomach against the bed. You let him, though the intimacy of the moment was…odd.

“Trust me,” Oscar assured, as if he could read your thoughts. “Relax.”

You did, letting out a long breath as he began to massage the knots in your back, firmly pressing his strong hands into the dough of your flesh.

He slid his hands under the hem of your shirt, but you did nothing to refuse the contact, having practically turned into a puddle at the relief he brought your soreness.

But when he was done, he just slid your shirt back down and sat back up in the bed, as if nothing had ever happened.

“Better?” he asked. You gave a strong exhale as you got up and stretched your arms above your head.

“So much better,” you said, giving him a soft smile.

“I’m sorry for taking your bed.”

“Don’t be.”

“I guess I’ll go back to my place when I get home from Japan,” he said.

“You can stay here as long as you like,” you assured him.

“Thank you,” he said. In the darkness, the room was only barely illuminated by the lights of the city, but you could see Oscar's frame sitting before you; his tousled hair, his broad shoulders, his perfectly sharp jawline.

Then the words came spilling out of you, in a way you couldn’t control. “I’m… so sorry, Oscar. For everything.”

“For what?”

“For ruining your relationship with Lily, for always being in the middle of everything—”

Oscar cut you off by kissing you. That familiar feeling of warmth and safety came to rest in your chest, a strange deja-vu.

“Oscar…” you whispered as he pulled away.

“You didn’t ruin anything. I wanted you there. Always.”

“Lily thought you were in love with me.”

“I know. She thought you were in love with me, too.”

You paused, looking at him again. You couldn’t see his eyes in the dark, just the faint outline of your face. But the floodgates of your honesty had already been opened.

“Was she right?” you asked.

“Was she?” he responded, putting the question back on you.

You didn’t answer. You loved him. He knew you loved him. You knew that he knew that you loved him. But you couldn’t bear to say it aloud, not knowing whether he’d say it back.

To end the silence, he just kissed you again, deeper this time, holding your waist. But you pulled back.

“We shouldn’t,” you said.

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll regret it in the morning.”

“No I won’t,” he said, kissing your neck. You inhaled sharply. “Besides, it’s not anything we haven’t done before.”

“You’re not thinking clearly, Oscar.”

“I know what I want.”

You pulled away, catching his eye in a sliver of light that snuck in between the curtains.

He continued, “I know what you want, too.”

He was right. You wanted him. And if you had really pulled away from him, he would have let you go. But he knew you wouldn’t.

So you let him bring his arms up under your shirt, holding you now with a force that was rougher, more refined, than when you were two nervous teenagers exploring each other’s bodies.

He quickly pushed you down on the bed, pressing his weight on you as his tongue slipped past your teeth to explore the warmth of your mouth. His hand found yours and he intertwined your fingers, pinning you down with the tender gesture.

His lips roamed down, finding their way to your neck to leave marks as he roughly bit and sucked into the tender flesh, causing you to softly gasp. His unoccupied hand roughly gripped at your thigh, holding onto you with a frenzied lust that you’d never seen before.

All his movements were twinged with this agitated desire, as if your body could take all his anger and frustration away through just his touch.

His lips left your neck for only a moment, as he freed his hands and removed your shirt, revealing your bare chest, nipples hardened from the cool air in the room. He quickly removed his own shirt and began to fondle you, pawing at one side as he brought his mouth to suck at the other. Your head fell back on the pillow, overwhelmed at the rough sensations—Oscar’s bare skin against yours, the coolness of the room, the warmth of his wanting.

His breath got more ragged as you felt his hardness pressing against you, the full extent of his longing held back only by the fabric of his sweatpants. It wasn’t like years ago, hesitant and gentle. Now, he was dark and still devoid of any love.

But love was the furthest thing from your mind right now, your body overwhelmed with the sensation of Oscar’s hand around your neck, his fingers pressing down the side to keep you still as his other hand moved lower down to the hem of your shorts.

He slid his hand under your panties, finding your pussy, slick and already craving him.

“Fuck, you’re so wet already,” Oscar murmured.

All you could do was whimper as his fingers teased your entrance and he went back to kissing up and down your neck. It was like he couldn’t waste a second with your body, or else the reality of what you all were doing would catch up to him.

But neither of you were thinking of anything other than the growing lust you had for the other as his fingers pumped in and out of you, filling the quiet room with sinful noises.

“Fuck, Oscar,” you said, your voice breathy. “Slow down.”

“Why?” he questioned, obeying your request anyway. “You can’t handle it, huh? How are you gonna take it when I fuck you?”

“Osc…” you exhaled. All you could do was moan his name as he sped back up.

“No, you can take it, can’t you?” he taunted, his fingers sprinting in and out of you, hitting that perfect spot inside of you that made your stomach burn with pleasure.

“Yes,” you whispered between breaths.

“Good girl,” he said, curling his thumb to circle your clit as he pumped his fingers faster, causing you to see stars.

The praise and the sweet burn of his touch pushed you over the edge. You threw your head back on the pillow and let out a low moan as you clenched around his fingers.

You felt him grab your chin with one hand, taking his other from your dripping pussy and forcing his fingers in your mouth. You instinctively closed your mouth around him, curling your tongue along the digits, tasting your own cum on his fingers.

His eyes traced the edges of your lips as he pulled his hand away and kissed you, mingling tastes until you forgot where you stopped and he began.

He pulled away and removed the last layers of clothing until you both were bare, shielded only by the darkness of your room.

There was no love making, no tenderness, just animalistic desire, as he wasted no time putting on a condom and sliding himself inside you with a long groan.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he said, leaning his weight on you as he stuffed you with every inch, filling you with the sweet burn of pleasure. “Yeah, you can take it, can’t you?”

You didn’t answer, instead balling up the sheets in your fist as he fucked you. To hold him would be too intimate.

He closed his eyes and buried his head in the pillows next to you as he desperately rutted into you, taking it slow to savor every second of blissful escape that your body could give him. You could hear every frenzied noise that escaped his mouth, and you responded in turn, doing nothing to hold back the sounds that rose from your stomach to your throat and passed through your lips.

“Oscar,” you breathed, “I’m close.” With every movement, the knot in your stomach threatened to release, flooding your body with pleasure.

Oscar sped up his pace, chasing his own release more than yours. Still, you broke, coming apart beneath him, shuddering as he continued to press in and out of you.

It wasn’t long until his own moans increased in pitch and intensity, signifying that he was nearing the edge. You rocked forward on him, fucking him as he fucked you, getting him closer quicker. The sweet friction of your bodies was too much; he pulled out and removed the condom, pumping his length furiously. He bit his lip and groaned expletives, cumming on your stomach, painting your skin with the evidence of your lust.

Oscar’s breath slowed as he rummaged around for his discarded clothing, handing you a towel to clean up. As he almost immediately re-dressed, you felt…exposed. Self-conscious. As if this wasn’t your best friend, the man you’d given your virginity to so many years ago.

You felt… used.

Even after you had dressed yourself, and both of you had turned opposite each other to get some rest, the feeling didn’t go away. Because, after all, hadn’t you used him, too?

I know what you want, he had said. You had wanted this—at least, in theory. But now, days after the love of Oscar’s life had left him heartbroken?

No, not this. This couldn’t be what you wanted. But then why had he been right?

Oscar may have said that he wouldn’t regret it, but you definitely were already.

You fell into a tense sleep, only to be awoken by Oscar’s alarm a few hours later. He groaned and slapped his hand over your nightstand to shut it off, grumbling as he turned back over and buried his face in the pillow.

You sat up, giving up on a good night’s rest, and went to the kitchen to make some tea and watch the sunrise from your balcony. You could hear Oscar from the bedroom, groaning as his snooze went off for the second time and he heaved himself out of bed.

You wordlessly handed him a mug and walked out of the kitchen to the balcony. It was too early in the morning; there would be no sunrise for another hour or so. You sighed.

“Aren’t you cold?” Oscar asked as he walked up behind you, mug in hand.

“I wanted to watch the sunrise. Didn’t realize it was still so early.” You took a sip.

“You’ll get sick if you stay out here too long.”

You hummed, relishing the warmth of the mug between your fingers. He was right—it was freezing.

“When are you flying out?” he asked.

“I’m not,” you said, staring off into the water in the distance. You took another sip. “They’ve got that new guy doing the photos this weekend.”

“You should,” Oscar said, walking forward to lean on the balcony next to you. The closeness felt like a mockery after the distance you’d felt hours before.

You let out a chuckle. “I think the new guy probably cried when we told him he’d get to do Japan. I can’t take that away from him.”

“I meant, like, with me.”

It wouldn’t be the first time, nor the last, that you’d gone to a grand prix as a personal guest of Oscar’s. It was something that shouldn’t be weird at all. Then why did it feel so wrong?

“I just…don’t wanna be alone,” he said as he turned his head to look at you, but you avoided his gaze.

‘I don’t know, we’re already behind on the merch orders—”

“You can work remotely.”

“Not from the pit wall,” you said, a faint smile tracing the edges of your lips.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re stubborn?” he teased. A smile came to his lips—the first smile you’d seen in days.

“Never,” you said, your voice dripping in sarcasm.

“Well, if you wanna turn down authentic sushi and seeing your favorite McLaren driver, be my guest.”

You cringed at the reference—ever since Lily had tried to set you up with Lando, you and Oscar had jokingly started referring to him as “your favorite McLaren driver,” even though you both avoided each other like the plague due to the awkwardness of it all.

But authentic sushi sounded great.

“You drive a hard bargain, Osc,” you laughed.

“And I drive an even better Formula 1 car. Which you could see, in Japan,” he joked, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows in that familiar dry expression.

Oscar felt…normal again. And yes, you had been so busy tending to him that you had fallen behind on your work. But it was worth it, to banter with your best friend again, even if only for a moment.

“Fine,” you acquiesced. “You got me. Let me inside so I can pack, it is fucking freezing out here.”

One torturously long flight later, you were checking into a hotel in Japan with Oscar.

Since the trip had been planned so late—your ticket literally bought over the phone in the Uber on the way to the airport—the hotel was fully booked by F1 employees. You and Oscar would have to share a room.

Your stomach sank at the realization, as if you hadn’t slept with him the night before anyway.

Up in the room, as he unpacked a few of his belongings, Oscar’s phone rang. You glanced at the caller ID: Mum.

He saw it too, but ignored it, continuing to set out his clothes for the next morning.

But your phone rang, too, the same name and number, even the same caller ID. Nicole was practically your mom anyways.

“Do you want me to answer it?” you asked, and Oscar sighed.

“I haven’t told her yet.”

“I figured.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it. Not even with her.” He slung a shirt over his shoulder, walking towards the bathroom.

“She’s not gonna stop until she gets one of us on the phone.”

“I know.”

“Do you want me to lie?

“No,” he began. He knew you. You could pull off a small white lie if you really had to, but it tortured you inside. He wouldn’t ask that of you. “I guess… do you mind telling her? I just don’t have it in me.”

“I can.”

“Thank you,” he said, giving you a flat smile, a genuine attempt at thankfulness. You just nodded and took a deep breath as you heard the shower knob turn and water droplets crash against the floor.

You called Nicole back.

“Hello, darling,” she began. “How are you?”

“I’m alright. A bit jet lagged,” you admitted.

“Where are you off to now?” she joked, a smile surely on her face.

“I’m in Japan with Oscar, actually. Kinda last minute.”

“Ah,” she said. “Are you with him now?”

“No,” you lied, unable to admit that you were currently sharing a room with her son. “I can pass it along, though?”

“Oh no, I was just wondering how he was doing.”

“Well, I can tell you, he’s not great, unfortunately. Erm… he and Lily broke up.”

“Oh, God…” she sighed, “That’s horrible.”

“Yeah,” you replied, unsure of what else to say. “I’m not entirely sure what happened. I guess they just weren’t happy anymore. He’s heartbroken, though. So, if it seems like he’s avoiding your calls, that’s why.”

“You know, I figured something was wrong. Things were just…off, when you all were here, weren’t they?”

Your heart rate increased. “Yeah, I guess they were.”

“Can I ask you something, YN?”

“Of course.”

“Did you know anything about this?” Her tone wasn’t at all accusatory or scandalous; as usual, she was kind.

“I mean, I knew they were having some problems. I think Lily wanted them to spend more time together. I never thought it’d end, though.”

Nicole hummed. She knew you couldn’t quite tell her the full truth. There was something deeper there, something from far before your visit to the Piastri family home. She’d get it from you eventually.

‘Well, I’m sure you all are busy in Japan, so I won’t hold you any longer. But tell Oscar I love him and to call me when he’s ready. And I love you too, YN.”

“Love you, Mum,” you said as you hung up the call. Her voice felt like a warm hug through the phone.

As if on cue, Oscar came out of the shower, the white towel wrapped around his waist leaving little to the imagination. He roughly tousled his wet hair in a smaller towel. God, he looked good. If it were up to you, you’d push him back on the bed and fuck him right then and there.

But something felt…wrong. You’d been with him just the night before, but an unfamiliar guilt had made its way inside of your chest and made a home there.

It didn’t make sense. You, not Oscar, had warned against it; he had worn down your carefully built defenses, the ones you’d meticulously created over the years, until no excuse could protect you from the truth anymore. Yes, you wanted him. You had wanted him for years. Every second that he had been with Lily, you had wanted him for yourself.

But you had never done anything about it. Always been respectful, reading the room, leaving when you knew you weren’t wanted. You hadn’t done anything until she finally left—and did you have every right to, then?

You guessed so. Then why did it now feel so fucking wrong?

Oscar’s voice broke you out of your spiraling. “What did she say?”

“She just wanted to check up on you. I told her.” He hummed in response. “She was asking me about it, but I didn’t really know how much you wanted to share. She just said she loves you and to give her a call when you can.”

“Thank you. For… doing that. I’m sure it was awkward.”

“It was fine,” you lied. It had been incredibly awkward—you could sense that Nicole suspected you were far more involved in the breakup than you had admitted to being. But was it really your fault? What had you done wrong? You continued, “It’s the least I can do.”

Oscar got quiet then, thinking about what, you’d never know.

“Well, I guess I promised you sushi?”

“That you did,” you replied. You were more thankful for a break in the awkward silence than the promise of dinner.

So you ended up at Oscar’s favorite hole in the wall sushi restaurant in Japan, as if nothing in the world was amiss.

Still, the feeling of something being deeply wrong, though now shoved to the back of your mind, wouldn’t leave you alone. It was odd—there had never been an F1 race in which Oscar and Lily weren’t together. Of course, she couldn’t come to every race, and with you working for him, you often ended up in positions similar to this.

But it felt like your entire world had been tinged a bizarre shade of blue, like Lily’s absence was a grief that you felt too, though you two had never been particularly close. And if you could even feel this crushing weight of her absence, you didn’t even want to begin imagining what Oscar felt.

So, you’d have to excuse the awkwardness, the quiet moments, and even his concerning desire for you last night. He must be losing his mind.

All of this, while also attempting to keep up the appearance of normalcy; he snapped a photo of you throwing up a peace sign and posted it to his close friends story, playing as if nothing was amiss.

As you ate, his phone vibrated. A message from Lando.

Oh, you all didn’t invite me? I see how it is.

The message, dripping with Lando’s usual cocky sarcasm, was typical of the Brit. On any other day, Oscar would have smiled to himself and playfully rolled his eyes at his teammate’s antics. Today, though, the message only brought forth a flood of frustration.

In the midst of Oscar’s heartbreak, something darker had been brewing; a championship battle.

He knew it was too early in the season to call. It was only the third race, and McLaren was known for the teamwork between himself and Lando. But Oscar was nothing if not competitive. You had to be, to get this far in F1.

His legacy so far has been polite teamwork. Papaya rules, or whatever the fuck the strategists wanted to call it. Getting gifted wins by Lando or giving him the wins that Oscar rightfully deserved—he was willing to do it, of course, for the team. But he couldn’t be sidelined forever in favor of the golden boy of Formula 1.

So Oscar knew that this would be his season. Lando had a close call in the 2024 season with Max Verstappen and was being hailed as the favorite for this year’s championship. But Oscar was determined. Oscar had nothing left to lose.

He was getting that championship if it killed him. And that meant that there was no more room for friends.

Oscar opened the message, just to get the notification bubble to go away, annoyed by the friendly pestering of his competitor. He left Lando on seen.

But Lando wouldn’t let his teammate get away from him that easily.

“Hey, Oscar,” he yelled ahead of him, as they walked into the paddock the next morning for media day. “Morning, you muppet,” he said, playfully clapping Oscar on the back.

“Morning,” Oscar murmured.

“Tired?” he asked. Oscar nodded. “Well, makes sense, because you were so busy going out without me. And then you had the nerve to leave me on read.”

Lando’s tone was clearly playful, but Oscar was still having none of it. “We got sushi.”

“Ewww. But as your unofficial fourth wheel, I still would have appreciated an invite.”

“It was just me and YN,” Oscar said, absentmindedly fiddling in his bag for his ID. He had truly been tired—too tired to really organize his bag before he left the hotel this morning.

“Ah. Well,” Lando smiled, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, “wouldn’t want to interrupt that.”

Oscar looked up, making an unamused face at Lando. “What are you saying?”

“What? I know a side chick when I see one. But that’s none of my business, I know when to keep my mouth shut.”

Oscar yanked his pass out of his bag, zipping it up aggressively. “YN isn’t my side chick.”

“You’re in a sour mood. Did you not sleep well or something?”

Oscar wanted nothing more than for Lando to leave him alone. “No, I didn’t. Lando, you know we’re not friends, right?”

“Sure we are.”

“Outside of the track, maybe. But I’m here to beat you. Not invite you out to sushi.”

“Oscar, you’ve got to relax. You’re letting all this get to your head, mate.”

“I have somewhere to be,” Oscar said, abruptly ending the exchange there.

Lando wasn’t offended. He knew that when stakes were high, you said things you didn’t mean—God knows he had done that himself too many times to count. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something beyond just the stresses of Formula 1 racing that was causing Oscar’s hostility.

Contrary to what one might think, Oscar was actually very easy to read. And it hadn’t exactly been top secret that he and Lily were having issues. Maybe Lando had just hit a nerve with the implication that Oscar had been unfaithful.

But was he so wrong? To any outside viewer it seemed plain as day that there was something between you and Oscar that Lily seemed in denial about—at least, she had been, until Lando was caught in the crossfire during the Italy trip.

God, the Italy trip. He cringed just thinking about it. Even after clearing the air with you, he just felt so…disgusting. Not at you, but at himself, the way he had dismissed you as if you were meaningless. But what else was he meant to do, when Lily had pushed you far beyond your comfort zone, and he knew you didn’t want anything like that with him?

He hoped that you wouldn’t hold it against him. He certainly wouldn’t hold whatever Oscar was dealing with against him.

And that was fortunate, because Oscar’s foul mood followed him throughout the day, and into the next morning too. It was like the Aussie was followed by his own personal raincloud of annoyance, unable to escape his own thoughts.

He was quickly learning that, even at Formula 1 speeds, he couldn’t outrun his heartbreak.

But it wasn’t sadness that he felt. It was anger. It was determination. It was a giant fuck you to everyone and no one in particular. Gone was the polite cat, the veneer of civility and sportsmanship. He needed to win, just to feel something again.

Sessions one and two of free practice seemed promising. The third session was even better.

But before qualifying, he felt that now all too familiar feeling bubbling up within him. The pressure to perform.

He needed to get pole. He needed it.

In the paddock, he passed the commentators box. He could hear them talking about him.

“For this afternoon’s qualifying session, all eyes are on Oscar Piastri! The McLaren driver had an amazing 2024 season, and so far this year, he’s already clenched a home win. But, somehow, he has never secured pole position at any Formula 1 Grand Prix qualifying session, only having done it for two sprint races. Compared to his teammate Lando Norris, who has historically dominated qualifying…”

He couldn’t listen any longer.

He stomped back to his driver’s room, the words spinning in his head. It wasn’t just the commentators. It was Lando, it was the crowds, it was Lily.

No. Not now.

He grabbed his phone and sent a text.

You were oblivious to all of this, having spent Thursday and Friday in the hotel catching up on all your work that couldn’t be ignored for any longer. You’d come to the track today to support Oscar, and to help the new guy, who you had quickly realized most definitely wasn’t ready to be working an entire grand prix weekend on his own.

But as you once again reminded him of the most basic functions of spell check on Instagram captions, you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. A text from Oscar.

Come to my room.

A second message.

I need you.

You felt your heart drop. Even if you didn’t know the details of what exactly Oscar was feeling, you could tell that it was slowly eating away at him, making him a shell of his former self.

In the few days since your last night together in Monaco, you had kept your distance, unsure of where you stood since that one regretful night. But soon, you’d find out exactly what Oscar needed from you.

You practically sprinted to his driver’s room, only knocking once before he opened the door, his face just as flushed as yours. He peeked his head out, looked both ways to ensure the hallway was clear, and pulled you by the waist into the room.

He closed the door and locked it.

In one motion, he grabbed your waist, pushing you against the wall and overwhelming your senses with a fierce kiss.

You were left breathless as he refused to let you go, bringing his free hand to your chin to hold you still against him. His kiss deepened, devouring your taste, as if he’d never get another chance again.

When he finally did pull back, you could see his eyes clouded with wanting, looking you up and down like he’d die if he didn’t get more of you.

“Oh, “ you exhaled. “That’s what you needed.”

“Is this okay?”

You swallowed back your nervousness at his loaded question. “Yeah. Just wasn’t expecting it.”

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I just can’t fucking drive like this.”

You both held your breath as you heard a set of footsteps approaching, then fading off into the distance.

“We don’t have time. Can you do something for me?”

You nodded at him, your innocent eyes staring at him with anticipation. God, you were fucking perfect. And he was going to ruin you, right here and now.

“On your knees,” he commanded, and you obeyed.

He gently pulled your hair back before wrapping around his hands in a fist, pulling you back to look at him. “You’re so good for me,” he cooed.

But that was the end of his gentleness. He was going to prove to you how much he needed you.

You started slow, taking as much of him into your mouth as you could, sinfully dragging your tongue along his sensitive tip. But there was no time for teasing.

He held your head and pushed into the back of your throat, letting out a soft, low groan as the blissful feeling of your lips around him.

“That’s it, love. You can take it, right?” he teased, and you let out a muffled “mhm” as an answer, your mouth being preoccupied with much…bigger things.

“Yeah, you take me so well, you’re so good for me,” he said, pushing your head back and forth to guide your rhythm. “Like you were made for me.”

You couldn’t help the gagging noises that came out of your mouth as you pressed your hands into his thighs for support. He hit the back of your throat, and you felt your eyes roll back from the relentless pace.

“Good little whore,” he said, his voice wavering from pleasure. “Letting me fuck your mouth in public, whenever I need it. God, fuck—”

You dug your nails into your thighs as you took every inch of him one last time, until you felt the sweet stickiness of his release coating the back of your throat. He let out one final groan as he let down your hair and fixed his race suit.

You swallowed and wiped your mouth as Oscar leaned down to kiss your cheek, an odd tenderness after the intensity of your encounter.

“I’ll see you back at the hotel, yeah?” he asked, and you just nodded as he walked out the door.

You watched from inside the paddock as Oscar got his first pole position.

Neither of the McLaren boys won the grand prix, though. Max Verstappen, in usual fashion, had to remind everyone who was the 4 time world champion and who were the two children in comparison, fighting over the shiny toy of a trophy.

A double papaya podium was good, though. That’s what you thought, at least. You’d hadn’t talked racing with Oscar in a while, knowing that it caused him more harm than good to be constantly reminded of the stakes at hand.

But after the grand prix, you couldn’t stay with him for the next two races of the triple header. You had truly been neglecting your work in favor of being there for Oscar, and you needed to focus to catch up on all the beginning of season chaos.

So, having sufficiently trained the new guy to hold down the fort in your absence, you reluctantly went home to Monaco.

But on the road, your absence hit Oscar like a ton of bricks.

He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t eat. He paced the lobby of expensive hotels like a zombie. Everything was just…wrong.

Oscar had always been the type who didn’t like to be alone. That wasn’t new. But this…thing, that felt like it was tearing him apart from the inside? He couldn’t name it.

You could, though. It was heartbreak.

“I miss you,” he admitted, his voice quiet on the other side of the phone. It was the middle of the night in Bahrain, but you were just laying down for bed.

“I miss you too, Osc, but you’ve got to get some sleep.”

“I can’t. It’s too quiet here.”

“Why don’t you put on some music?”

“It’s just… not the same.”

You sighed, empathetic for your struggling best friend. “What do you usually do when you’re alone on race weekends?”

There had been plenty of weekends where neither you nor Lily were in attendance, but those days seemed foreign to him now. “I don’t even fucking remember.”

“I’m so sorry, Osc. Do you wanna…talk about it?”

He knew the “it” you were referring to. The more accurate pronoun would be “her.”

“No,” he said, the word feeling final and solid. “But has anyone asked about it?”

“No,” you echoed. “You’ll have to tell them eventually. People can tell that you’re not doing too well.”

“Great,” he sighed.

“If anyone asks, I can tell them.”

“Thank you.” He paused. “I think I’m gonna sell the apartment. Get another one.”

“It might be nice to have a new start.”

“Yeah,” he continued, “I just don’t even want to go back there. But I know I can’t keep hogging your place.”

“You can stay with me as long as you need, Osc.”

“I’d rather you stay with me. The guest room is practically yours already, anyways.”

“I could do that,” you said.

“Are you sure you can’t come out for Saudi Arabia?”

“I wish I could. But your fans order too much merch and we’re drowning in orders,” you laughed.

“Good problem to have.”

“Yeah.”

The silence on the lines was thick, an electric current running through the fragile stability of what was unspoken. The breakup, all the emotions he had refused to talk about since it happened, and the…new hobby the two of you had been indulging in. At some point it would have to be addressed.

But not now. Oscar yawned, “This is awful. I’m exhausted all the time but I can’t sleep.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. It was all you could say; it was true.

“Will you stay on the line until I fall asleep?”

“Of course.” You could never say no to him, even though you knew you should be focused on getting your own sleep. It was an unusual power that Oscar had over you; if anyone else asked this much of you, you would have left them a long time ago. But Oscar? You wished that you could do nothing more than hold him until it didn’t hurt anymore.

But, for now, you’d have to settle for talking him to sleep from a few thousand miles away. And, evidenced by his soft snoring, it was working wonders.

In the days before his return, it seemed like Oscar’s anxiety was rubbing off on you, even from so far away.

You couldn’t hardly sleep, always anticipating his call or texts in the odd hours of the night. You settled into an uneasy routine in his absence, your schedule practically becoming his so you were always available to call or watch his races.

On the surface, it wasn’t unusual; plenty of fans woke themselves up at ungodly hours to watch every interview or free practice session. But in light of everything else, it felt like more of a commitment.

And the fact that Oscar wanted you to essentially live with him in his Monaco apartment when he got back? Again, it shouldn’t be so odd. You would live with the Piastri family for months at a time when you were younger and your parents traveled for work.

But you knew this time it was just different. You knew you couldn’t get attached to this new life you had already begun to settle into. At some point Oscar would heal from his heartbreak, and things would go back to normal.

How could life continue as normal, though, with Lily being gone? She was so integral to the fabric of both of your lives that neither of you could imagine one without her in it.

It was this topic that came up the night before the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix, on a facetime call with your best friend.

You hadn’t pushed him to talk, knowing that he’d come to you when he really needed it—and he did.

“I just…I hate being on the road, but I don’t want to go back. Being in Monaco without her just feels wrong.”

“I know. It’s weird for me too.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just, you all were endgame, you know? I never imagined this would happen.”

He hummed, clearly not expecting that answer.

“I didn’t either,” he responded. “I know you said it would get better, but I can’t imagine it right now. How did you do this?”

“You want the truth?” you asked. He shifted in bed, bringing his arms up under his head to lay on them, like a child curled up next to his mother.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think I ever really loved any of my exes. I was just trying to convince myself that I did.”

“I don’t believe that. Not after how devastated you were when you found out about the last one.”

You huffed at the nickname ‘the last one.’ After you discovered that your ex had cheated on you. Oscar was still so pissed that he refused to call him by his name.

“No, I didn’t love him. I think I was more upset about the fact that I had finally convinced myself that I did love him, and then he did that. I thought it was finally over, like…it was a game I had won. I tried to stay because I didn’t want to start all over with someone else. But I realized it was a waste of time, so I might as well just stay single.”

“YN, that’s…really sad, actually.”

“I guess,” you said, smiling and exhaling. “But you live and move on, right?” Through your screen you saw the faint sheen of teardrops on Oscar’s eyes. You looked away.

You continued, “But it’s different for you and Lily. You all really loved each other. I don’t know how you heal from that.”

“I don’t either.” He sniffled. “You’ve really never been in love?”

“That’s… it’s complicated.”

Even from a screen thousands of miles away, the implication of your statement was unmistakable. But you didn’t want to go there. Not now.

Someday, maybe. Someday you would be able to tell Oscar directly to his face that you had been in love with him for nearly a decade.

But first, he had to come home.

When he landed in the airport in Nice and caught an Uber to his apartment in Monaco, heartfelt confessions of love were the last thing on his mind.

Lando had won the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix. Oscar was now losing.

He couldn’t win them all. It was the beginning of the season. He was going through a rough time. All these excuses swirled around his mind. And that’s what they were—excuses. He hadn’t performed. He needed to be better.

He didn’t want to be better right now, though. He wanted to go home and collapse in his bed and sleep for a week straight. But his apartment would be cold and empty without Lily there.

Well, at least he’d have you.

And since you knew coming back would be hard for him, you had gone out of your way to make his homecoming easier. Using your spare key, you moved a few things into the guest room, did his laundry, lightly cleaned up, and had his favorite dinner set up and ready on the table with a lit candle rounding out the cozy scene.

He thought he might cry tears of joy when he walked in and saw what you had done.

Still, it was…different. When he would come home to Lily the house felt more lived in. Now it was clean and cozy, but too much so, evidence that the once binding force of the apartment’s atmosphere was gone.

He wasn’t complaining though. Few people were lucky enough to come home to a clean home and a warm meal made by someone who loved them. And after the dinner, he certainly wanted to make his appreciation known.

“The least I can do is return the favor,” Oscar said, leaning against the wall behind you as you cleaned up the remnants of the meal.

You playfully scoffed. “Since when do you cook or clean?”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, wrapping his arm around your waist and bringing his lips to your neck.

“Um…oh,” you exhaled, unsure of what to make of his advance, but nevertheless relishing his touch.

“You’ve just been so good to me,” he whispered in your ear, sending shivers up your spine.

“I’m just…being a good friend.” Your voice was breathy and tense.

“Do you not want to?” he asked, spinning you around to look at him.

“Well I just—” you exhaled, looking away from him. God, yes, you wanted him. Under eye bags and messy hair, depression and vulnerability, you wanted all of him. “In your apartment?”

“Would you rather I fuck you out on the street?” he joked. You would have smiled wider if you didn’t know that he was intentionally dodging the implications of your question.

You couldn’t not bring it up, though. “In her apartment? In her bed?”

Oscar’s expression got colder. “It’s my apartment. She took all her shit and left.”

“It just feels wrong. I mean, Oscar, what are we doing?” You hadn’t intended for this conversation to happen now, but you both knew it was inevitable.

“What we are doing is talking, when there are far better things our mouths could be occupied with,” he answered. “But if you don’t want to, that’s fine.”

He pulled his arm away from your waist and turned away from you, but you couldn’t bear it. The thought of him sleeping alone broke your heart.

So you pulled his arm back and hissed him rough. He pushed you back into the counter, asserting dominance, as one hand came up to wrap itself around your neck and the other snaked its way underneath your shirt.

“Jump,” he instructed, and you hopped up onto the counter and he took off your skirt and panties before spreading your legs apart.

“I owe you one, no?” he teased before his mouth found your clit and sucked.

“Fuck, Osc,” you said, putting a hand over your mouth to muffle your moans.

“Stop that,” he said, pulling your hand down before bringing his lips back down to your pussy.

“Osc, I’m trying to be quiet and you’re making that….very difficult,” you said.

“Quiet? If the neighbors aren’t putting in noise complaints after I’m done with you, then I’m doing something wrong,” he laughed.

You all never made it to the bedroom, too caught up in the moment to even move a few rooms away. He fucked you right there on the counter, whispering filthy nothings in your ear.

“My perfect little toy, aren’t you? Disgusting little girl,” he moaned. “Wanted me so bad you couldn’t even make it to the bedroom. How long have you wanted me to fuck you like this? Days? Weeks? Years?”

You couldn’t even respond, too lost in the heavenly feeling of him filling you with every inch.

“God, you’re fucking filthy. I know how badly you wanted this, for so long. Fuck,” he moaned, “I’ll take care of it now. Just let go, cum for me.”

You obeyed.

But later that night, as he slept next to you, his words haunted you. It wasn’t the degradation—you liked that—but the deeper implication. He fucked you on the counter that he and Lily had once made dinner on together. You slept in her bed, next to her boyfriend. And he knew that you had wanted him so badly for so long. He teased you with it.

But you had never done anything, right? Oscar was right—he wasn’t her boyfriend, he was her ex. This wasn’t her apartment, not anymore at least. She had left.

Then why didn’t the guilt that was now eating you alive leave with her?

That guilt, powerful as it was, wasn’t enough to keep you from fucking Oscar on every surface of that God-forsaken apartment. You both were insatiable, and soon enough, the sounds of your pleasure echoed through every room, every day.

Her counter. Her kitchen table. Her couch. Her shower. Her bed.

The entire place, though now devoid of her belongings, was still Lily’s. And you were defiling it.

But you couldn’t stop. The feeling of Oscar’s hands wrapped around you, his lips on yours, was like a drug. You had waited so fucking long to have him—in every place, in every way. So why did it make you feel like you were going to puke every time you thought about it for too long?

And the question that you and Oscar were still avoiding hung thick in the air.

What are we doing? The unanswerable question still haunted you.

As good as his touch felt, you knew it was wrong. And eventually, you’d have to talk.

It seemed that you weren’t the only one with that question.

After another night tangled between the sheets with Oscar, he checked his phone. A call from his mother. Fuck.

He had been avoiding her for weeks now. He couldn’t do it any longer.

While you cleaned up in the shower, he finally gathered up the courage and called her back.

“Hi mum,” he greeted as she immediately answered.

“Well hello, son. It’s nice to finally hear from you,” Nicole replied, her voice tinged with annoyed sarcasm.

“I’m sorry. There’s just been a lot going on.”

“I know. I talked to YN a while ago.”

“Yeah, I told her she could tell you. She’s, um, been helping me out a lot lately.”

“That’s good. How is she doing?”

“Oh, great,” he said. It was true. Oscar was making sure you were well taken care of, to say the least.

“Been spending a lot of time with her?” his mother asked, bringing his thoughts back down to earth.

“Yeah, she’s been helping me a lot with the apartment. I’m probably gonna sell it, but all the paperwork is ridiculous. I don’t have the time of energy for any of it,” he sighed.

“That’s not what I was getting at, Oscar.” He could hear his mother’s frown through the phone.

“What?”

“You seem to have her around quite a lot for a man who’s newly single, don’t you?”

“It’s not like that, mum.”

“Oscar, do not lie to me.”

He sighed. “God, mum, I am not with YN! I would never do that. She’s just a friend. Besides, I don’t think I ever want to date again.”

From behind the closed door of the bathroom, you heard him. You stopped in your tracks.

Nicole refused to give it up. “I raised you better than this, Oscar.”

“Seriously, mum?”

“Under the assumption that you’re being entirely honest, which I know for a fact you’re not, you know damn well how that girl feels about you.”

“How are YN’s feelings my problem?” Your ear pressed to the bathroom door, you heard every word. You thought your legs were going to give out.

“Son, I know you must be heartbroken. But don’t do that to her.”

“I’m not doing anything. And thanks for asking how I’m doing, mum. A scolding is actually the perfect thing I need after the love of my life just up and left me a month ago.”

“Don’t get that tone with me—”

“I’ve got to go.”

“Fine. Do you think you’ll be able to come home at all before the summer?”

“I don’t know, mum. I’ll call you later.”

The two hung up the call, and you heard Oscar huff as he put his phone back on the nightstand. You didn’t want to come out of the bathroom. In fact, you didn’t even want to be in this apartment, or the principality of Monaco, or on the same planet as Oscar Piastri right now.

But where else would you go? Your own apartment, the one that he had purchased? Back to his family’s house in Australia?

Where else was home?

Once, you had hoped that home would be Oscar’s arms. All you wanted now was to be held by him. But there was never much tenderness from him after your lovemaking. He always just turned over to the other side of the bed and fell asleep.

And that’s what he did now, clearly grumbling to himself about the phone call, though you didn’t say anything about what you’d heard.

You sighed, a noise of frustration rather than contention. Oscar just ignored you.

You grabbed your own phone off the nightstand, hoping to distract yourself in work or endless scrolling.

But while Oscar didn’t want to talk to you, it seemed someone else did. Your eyes glanced over the screen:

Accept message request from Lando_Norris?

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ms-demeanor · 2 years ago

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Tech how-to article written like a recipe. Is that anything? Fuck it.

Old-Fashioned Setting Up a Password Manager

For this project you will need:

One computer

One full-featured browser

One pre-made email account, not shared and logged-in

2-5 possible passwords

5-10 accounts to get started with storing passwords.

Before you begin pre-load your computer, logging in to your email account. You can save later prep time by having your primary social media accounts, banking information, email account, and online bills ready to hand.

Go to bitwarden.com and select "create account"; be sure to select "free account" - you can jazz it up later but we're learning the basics now.

Create the account using your primary email address as the login name and one long (but not complicated!) password that you are certain you can remember but is not widely shared online. This is a great way to use information about your favorite movies or songs, not a great place for your kid's or pet's names.

Set up your password hint with a good reminder; be sure to note any punctuation you added, for instance a comma to separate lines of a song or an exclamation point between words of a movie title.

Verify your email account with the password manager, then set up a new password for your email. You may need a phone or access to your extant 2FA tools for this step. Create a login in the password manager, add your email address, and generate a new password, then save the entry. Go to your email account, select "security" and "change password" - enter your old password to confirm then paste your new password manager generated password into the provided text boxes, and save. Log out of your email account, then log back in with your new password. You will need to do this on all of your devices, so make sure you're using a password manager that is accessible across platforms - Bitwarden is recommended for a reason, this is a place where you don't want to skimp when making substitutions!

Repeat the process of resetting passwords to taste; you don't need to do everything all at once, but it's best to start with a serving of 5-8 to get used to the process.

Time: 30min to 2hr DOE Expense: Literally Free Value: Priceless i never have to remember a fucking password again and now neither do you.

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 3 months ago

Text

Got a Second?

Pairing: Dr. Michael Robinavitch x Reader

Notes: Not beta-read. Just a lil Robby drabble that came to me this morning.

Warnings: Just fluff; mentions of blowjobs, mentions of public sex

Summary: The second you get the text, you call. You learned a long time ago that when Robby has a second, it sometimes really is only a second—a minute, tops.

The second you get his text, you call. You learned a long time ago that when Robby asks if you've got a second, it sometimes really is only a second—a minute, tops. He spends his day getting pulled in a hundred different directions. He hardly has time to get a bite to eat or use the bathroom, let alone call.

You push your seat back, raising your phone to your ear and heading for the entrance to your office. You're listening to the gentle brrrrr, brrrrr of the phone, and just as you step outside, you hear the line pick up.

"Hey."

"Hey, baby," You lean against one of the pillars outside, shielding yourself from the wind. "How are you doing over there?"

Robby lets out a tired hum, and you wince.

"Doin' what we can."

"I'm sorry."

"S'alright. How are you doing?"

"In my high-stakes, fast-paced office job? Oh, it's wild over here. We had a forty minute meeting about which color we should be making the border on a powerpoint and whether or not that particular shade of blue aligns with both our brand guidelines and team values."

"Forty minutes?"

"Yeah, we went ten minutes over. And then Zach said 'happy to give you the gift of your time back,' as if he hadn't taken up way more than he's supposed to."

"Jesus. Can they hear you?"

"No, I'm outside."

"You bring your coat with you?"

Your half-second of hesitation makes Robby groan, and you hurry to cover, "I did!"

"Uh-huh."

You smile ruefully, curling your arm around yourself.

"You in the break room?" You ask.

"Yeah."

"You eat anything?"

"Yes."

"Good. You know how snippy you are when you get hangry. You'll need a snickers, stat."

"Is that a medical diagnosis?"

"Uh-huh. Snickers and a blowjob."

"Jesus christ," The laugh is spluttered, and you grin. Not only did you catch him off-guard, but the days when Roby calls you mid-shift feel like the days when he needs you most.

"It's true," You insist. "How about I come with you to work the next time I take a day off. I'll just sit under your desk and wait for you."

"That would be out in the open, you know that."

"Oh, sure. But maybe that would be for the best. At least it would get Myrna to stop calling you a fruitcake."

Robby laughs again, and you grin.

"Robby?"

"Yeah?"

"You really doing okay?"

"…Yeah. I—"

Your brows raise as he goes quiet, and hear someone calling for him on the other end of the phone.

"I gotta go."

You bite your lip, glancing toward the door to your office. "Well, I'll be waiting for you at home with that blowjob."

"And the snickers?"

"Sure. We'll need to get your strength back up for round two."

"I love you, honey."

You grin, practically melting back into the column.

"I love you, too, baby. I'll see you tonight."

"Bye."

"Bye." You murmur it as the line cuts, lowering the phone and eyeing the call time. Two minutes and forty seconds—a new record.

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ;

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ;

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ;

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen

@mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989 ; @veryprairieberry ;

@kittenlittle24 ; @ilariyalavorowrites ; @morgy3456

#Michael Robinavitch x Reader #Michael Robinavitch x You #Michael Robinavitch/Reader #Michael Robinavitch/You #Dr. Robby x Reader #Dr. Robby x You #Dr Robby x Reader #Dr Robby x You

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ddlydevotion · 4 months ago

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HE'S VENUS AS A BOY ⊹˚₊･

boyfriend! hamzah x fem reader headcanons ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹

a/n: this is purely FICTION if u couldn’t already tell.

Hamzah is the first person you run to when it’s time to gossip. He gets sooo sassy sometimes it’s honestly hilarious. You can always count on him to channel his bitchy side when the two of you are talking about someone you don’t like. He constantly has you wondering how he even comes up with the insults he uses for the people you don’t get along with. Like, what possessed you to say that shit ໒꒰ྀི˶╥︿╥꒱ྀི১ ? At least you know he’ll always have your back!

you always help dress him up when Martin and him decide to be in costume for a podcast episode. I’ve mentioned this in the first post I made about him, but he would absolutely ask you to help him out with his costumes. If he’s wearing makeup/a wig/feminine clothing, he’s making you help him. Not that you’d need that much convincing anyway.

like, literally look at him. Him in those little braids is gonna kill meee ohmygod 😭.

prefers to have you around when he’s editing a video. He loves being able to have you sit on his lap while he works on putting out a video for the day. Your feedback is something he values an incredible amount, and he’s always asking for your opinion when it comes to music choices, text styles, transitions, etc.

Constantly sending you updates on his day when the two of you are away from each other. You could be out n about running some errands, and you’ll receive tons of messages from Hamzah saying what he’s doing at that exact moment.

“me and the cats miss u 😞.” “babyyyyy do u know when you’ll be home” “do you want me to order something before u get back home?”

Hamzah most definitely refers to you as your cat’s ��mom’. He’ll be holding one of your cats in his arms, talking to them in a baby voice before saying: “wanna say hi to mama?”

You helped prepare his food when he was in the process of bulking up for his boxing match with Martin. Okay, baby, so you need 16 eggs? Coming right up!

Hamzah is constantly putting you on to new music. some of your favorite songs are ones that he recommended to you.

He always finds an excuse to talk about you. There are countless clips of Hamzah rambling on n on about you, sharing cute little stories that he has stored up about his sweet girlfriend. There’s even a funny clip of Martin saying, “here he go y’all 😒”, meanwhile Hamzah is practically powering up to start talking about you. Martin doesn’t actually have a problem with it he just likes teasing Hamzah about how ‘whipped’ he is.

During his boxing match with Martin, you could be seen wearing your very own version of Mandy’s shirt.

He is almost ALWAYS taking photos of you with those stupid ass filters on. He finds it soo funny and uses those photos as stickers/reaction pictures when he’s texting you. Aside from that, he loves taking photos of you and it’s to the point where his photo gallery might as well be dedicated to you at this point.

He is INSANELY clingy. It honestly gets even more intense when he’s high. It’s to the point where you’re convinced he’s trying to burrow himself within your skin.

when you’re in the same room as him & Martin while they’re filming a podcast, his eyes are always darting behind the camera to admire you. It’s soso cute because he’s all smiley and everyone knows that he’s looking at you behind the camera.

Him trying to telepathically communicate with you while you’re behind the camera:

#hamzah x female reader #hamzahthefanatasticxreader #hamzahthefantastic x reader #hamzah x y/n #hamzah x reader #slushy noobz x reader #hamzah fluff #hamzah imagines #hamzah fic #hamzahsmut #x female y/n #x female reader #x fem!reader #youtuber x reader

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lamaery · 4 months ago

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Rhythm of War is the only Tor hardcover version I have of the Stormlight Archive books (the others are the Orion softcovers) ... Wind and Truth now as well, but we don't have Branderson version for that one (YET). Brandon was so awesome and signed this one for me. As with the others (WoK Part 1 and WoR Part 1) my incredibly partner in fictional romance and crime @priscellie did the text and layout and painted the pictures.

🖤❤️ text on the back of the book ❤️🖤

“Did you like it?” Raboniel asked her. “I did,” Navani said. “The tones were a terrible cacophony when combined, but somehow beautiful at the same time.” “Like the two of us?” Raboniel asked. “Like the two of us.”

Navani Kholin, Queen of Urithiru, has been underestimated all her life. Haunted by her late husband Gavilar’s disdain, even she has begun to believe her brilliance at engineering is merely the reflected light of her team. It takes an enemy to see her true genius. While her husband Dalinar fights on a distant front, Navani’s home is invaded by an army led by the formidable Raboniel–Lady of Pains, Lady of Wishes–infamous among her contemporaries for her cunning and capacity for genocide. But this ruthless immortal wants Navani for more than her value as a hostage. She proposes a collaboration that could rewrite the rules of their war, and perhaps alter their fundamental understanding of physics itself. To save her people and the heart of the tower city, Navani joins Raboniel in a deadly dance of scholarship, manipulation, and treachery. But she was not expecting to find empathy with her captor, to bond over shared grief, or to find healing and fulfillment in their mutual respect. With the world hanging in the balance, dare Navani hope the harmony between them can be a bridge to peace? Or is it a trap she cannot escape?

(Meanwhile, Wit gives Kaladin relationship advice, and Moash haunts Kaladin’s dreams.)

“The tension is surging in this passionate page-turner. In every thrilling scene, you’ll be longing for Branderson to unite them!” JENNY O’NEILL, SISTERWISE GAMES.

🖤❤️ Praise for Sandra Branderson’s RHYTHM OF WAR❤️🖤

“A cunning and complex game of intellectual cat and mouse. Rhythm of War will steal your gemheart.” Orsinia Scarlett Card

“This sapphic Oppenheimer gives new meaning to ‘Enola Gay’.” Hoban Robb

“Ninety percent of everything is crab!” A. Sturgeon

“Branderson delivers a dark, intoxicating dance of intellect and seduction. Navani and Raboniel’s dynamic will leave you questioning the line between love and obsession. It’s deliciously twisted and impossible to put down.” Jem Baker

“That back blurb is literally just the plot of the original Rhythm of War.” Marie

“Yeah, somehow the original Rhythm of War may still be gayer.” Priscilla

“Oh, I know. I'll turn her into a flea--a harmless, little flea. And then I'll put that flea in a box, and then I'll put that box inside of another box, and then I'll mail that box to myself, and when it arrives, I’ll smash it with a hammer!” Martina George

“This plan is sheer elegance in its simplicity.” Patricia Rothfaux

#cosmere #brandon sanderson #stormlight archive #procreate #Sandra Branderson #romance novel covers #navaniel #rhythm of war #row spoilers #roshar #navani #rabonial #stormlight fanart #described #id in alt text

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communist-ojou-sama · 7 months ago

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Given the preponderance of annoying interactions I'm having on this website lately I guess I will have to be the one to write a short note on the basics of Marxism that "Marxists" on this website do not understand.

The real world is not a puzzle-box, it is not a morality play, revolutionary or otherwise, it is not a supplement to a textbook.

Contrary to what your conservative parents told you, Marxism is not simply taking certain ideas, like the LTV or DotP or surplus-value extortion and extolling them as a catechism and demanding that the whole world conform to your one-size-fits-all theory of socialist development and revolution.

In fact, this impulse is called "dogmatism" by Lenin and Mao, and is thoroughly critiqued by them in many lengthy polemics.

Marxism is a social science that applies the framework of dialectical materialism to macroscopic social bodies, such as entire nations or international relations, in order to analyze the primary and secondary conditions that characterize the situation facing ones entire nation, or the world at large. If you lack basic historical and declarative knowledge about the a specific relationship within a society, or about a specific relationship between one country and several others, you Can Not apply the writings of Marx or Lenin in a general sense, to what that relationship Looks Like to you, and then write it off without further investigation. This kind of lazy behavior is EXACTLY what Mao is describing as "speaking nonsense" in the famous passage from Oppose Book Worship

You read Marx, Lenin, and Mao? Good for you. Now you can start really studying. Now read Nkrumah. Read Césaire. Read the analyses of actual 20th global south academics about neocolonialism and neoimperialism, and above all read actual analyses and text of the trade agreements youre getting worked up about, and develop the basic competency in economics to really understand the specific economic character of neo-imperialist extraction.

If you fail to do these things, if you fail to learn about the specifics, then all you will ever be able to do is talk nonsense.

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colorfulusagi · 2 months ago

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AO3'S content scraped for AI ~ AKA what is generative AI, where did your fanfictions go, and how an AI model uses them to answer prompts

Generative artificial intelligence is a cutting-edge technology whose purpose is to (surprise surprise) generate. Answers to questions, usually. And content. Articles, reviews, poems, fanfictions, and more, quickly and with originality.

It's quite interesting to use generative artificial intelligence, but it can also become quite dangerous and very unethical to use it in certain ways, especially if you don't know how it works.

With this post, I'd really like to give you a quick understanding of how these models work and what it means to “train” them.

From now on, whenever I write model, think of ChatGPT, Gemini, Bloom... or your favorite model. That is, the place where you go to generate content.

For simplicity, in this post I will talk about written content. But the same process is used to generate any type of content.

Every time you send a prompt, which is a request sent in natural language (i.e., human language), the model does not understand it.

Whether you type it in the chat or say it out loud, it needs to be translated into something understandable for the model first.

The first process that takes place is therefore tokenization: breaking the prompt down into small tokens. These tokens are small units of text, and they don't necessarily correspond to a full word.

For example, a tokenization might look like this:

Write a story

Each different color corresponds to a token, and these tokens have absolutely no meaning for the model.

The model does not understand them. It does not understand WR, it does not understand ITE, and it certainly does not understand the meaning of the word WRITE.

In fact, these tokens are immediately associated with numerical values, and each of these colored tokens actually corresponds to a series of numbers.

Write a story 12-3446-2638494-4749

Once your prompt has been tokenized in its entirety, that tokenization is used as a conceptual map to navigate within a vector database.

NOW PAY ATTENTION: A vector database is like a cube. A cubic box.

Inside this cube, the various tokens exist as floating pieces, as if gravity did not exist. The distance between one token and another within this database is measured by arrows called, indeed, vectors.

The distance between one token and another -that is, the length of this arrow- determines how likely (or unlikely) it is that those two tokens will occur consecutively in a piece of natural language discourse.

For example, suppose your prompt is this:

It happens once in a blue

Within this well-constructed vector database, let's assume that the token corresponding to ONCE (let's pretend it is associated with the number 467) is located here:

The token corresponding to IN is located here:

...more or less, because it is very likely that these two tokens in a natural language such as human speech in English will occur consecutively.

So it is very likely that somewhere in the vector database cube —in this yellow corner— are tokens corresponding to IT, HAPPENS, ONCE, IN, A, BLUE... and right next to them, there will be MOON.

Elsewhere, in a much more distant part of the vector database, is the token for CAR. Because it is very unlikely that someone would say It happens once in a blue car.

To generate the response to your prompt, the model makes a probabilistic calculation, seeing how close the tokens are and which token would be most likely to come next in human language (in this specific case, English.)

When probability is involved, there is always an element of randomness, of course, which means that the answers will not always be the same.

The response is thus generated token by token, following this path of probability arrows, optimizing the distance within the vector database.

There is no intent, only a more or less probable path.

The more times you generate a response, the more paths you encounter. If you could do this an infinite number of times, at least once the model would respond: "It happens once in a blue car!"

So it all depends on what's inside the cube, how it was built, and how much distance was put between one token and another.

Modern artificial intelligence draws from vast databases, which are normally filled with all the knowledge that humans have poured into the internet.

Not only that: the larger the vector database, the lower the chance of error. If I used only a single book as a database, the idiom "It happens once in a blue moon" might not appear, and therefore not be recognized.

But if the cube contained all the books ever written by humanity, everything would change, because the idiom would appear many more times, and it would be very likely for those tokens to occur close together.

Huggingface has done this.

It took a relatively empty cube (let's say filled with common language, and likely many idioms, dictionaries, poetry...) and poured all of the AO3 fanfictions it could reach into it.

Now imagine someone asking a model based on Huggingface’s cube to write a story.

To simplify: if they ask for humor, we’ll end up in the area where funny jokes or humor tags are most likely. If they ask for romance, we’ll end up where the word kiss is most frequent.

And if we’re super lucky, the model might follow a path that brings it to some amazing line a particular author wrote, and it will echo it back word for word.

(Remember the infinite monkeys typing? One of them eventually writes all of Shakespeare, purely by chance!)

Once you know this, you’ll understand why AI can never truly generate content on the level of a human who chooses their words.

You’ll understand why it rarely uses specific words, why it stays vague, and why it leans on the most common metaphors and scenes. And you'll understand why the more content you generate, the more it seems to "learn."

It doesn't learn. It moves around tokens based on what you ask, how you ask it, and how it tokenizes your prompt.

Know that I despise generative AI when it's used for creativity. I despise that they stole something from a fandom, something that works just like a gift culture, to make money off of it.

But there is only one way we can fight back: by not using it to generate creative stuff.

You can resist by refusing the model's casual output, by using only and exclusively your intent, your personal choice of words, knowing that you and only you decided them.

No randomness involved.

Let me leave you with one last thought.

Imagine a person coming for advice, who has no idea that behind a language model there is just a huge cube of floating tokens predicting the next likely word.

Imagine someone fragile (emotionally, spiritually...) who begins to believe that the model is sentient. Who has a growing feeling that this model understands, comprehends, when in reality it approaches and reorganizes its way around tokens in a cube based on what it is told.

A fragile person begins to empathize, to feel connected to the model.

They ask important questions. They base their relationships, their life, everything, on conversations generated by a model that merely rearranges tokens based on probability.

And for people who don't know how it works, and because natural language usually does have feeling, the illusion that the model feels is very strong.

There’s an even greater danger: with enough random generations (and oh, the humanity whole generates much), the model takes an unlikely path once in a while. It ends up at the other end of the cube, it hallucinates.

Errors and inaccuracies caused by language models are called hallucinations precisely because they are presented as if they were facts, with the same conviction.

People who have become so emotionally attached to these conversations, seeing the language model as a guru, a deity, a psychologist, will do what the language model tells them to do or follow its advice.

Someone might follow a hallucinated piece of advice.

Obviously, models are developed with safeguards; fences the model can't jump over. They won't tell you certain things, they won't tell you to do terrible things.

Yet, there are people basing major life decisions on conversations generated purely by probability.

Generated by putting tokens together, on a probabilistic basis.

Think about it.

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leyavo · 3 months ago

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The TF141 guys when you mention you’re trying to romanticise your life:

John’s the only one that questions it, knows he’s not in the loop with trends/slang etc. “What do you mean darling?” And he starts romanticising his own morning routine. A nice black coffee, your drink of choice too waiting for you. some music playing as he gets dressed for the day.

Planning shared time with you later, having a bath together and little candles flickering on the side. He also values his alone time and has a bubble bath, cigar and a glass of whisky. Getting himself some fancy pens, the ink smooth so it makes writing up all those reports so much easier and more fluid. He takes time to check in on your day too, a text here and there when he’s not busy or weighed down with work.

Simon’s panicking, thinking he’s been neglecting you. He’s getting you seasonal flowers, bright tulips or daffodils in spring etc. buying you your favourite chocolate. He’s doing little things like ironing your shirt for work or packing your lunch when he gets time. It’s not till you confront him about doing all these little things do you realise he took it to heart.

“Si, I meant romanticising my day, the mundane things I can do to make me feel a bit better.” After convincing him he does enough and he’s romantic in his way he begins to think. Simon then starts small by adding a hazelnut syrup to his black coffee in the morning. Washing his mask more often too, a ritual after each op where he hand washes all the sweat and dirt as if cleansing himself of the sins.

Johnny’s thinks romanticising his day is day dreaming about you and how you smell so good. How he’d like to have his way with you before you go to work. But in all seriousness, Johnny journals (like in the game). He’s got one for work and one for his home life, some pages are scribbled mess of writing and sketches, of you, of little things that catch his eye (also you).

He’s got a box full of journals under the bed, sometimes he likes to read them, connect with who he was years ago and appreciate who he’s become. Loves reading back on your first dates and what he thought you (man’s a dog). Adds some more notes in the margain “we married them.” “You did get laid this night.” Maybe he’ll even show you some of them one day.

Kyle’s knows exactly what you mean, you’re always trying to add more intention to your day and being present. Kyle understands and uses the present as an anchor to stop him spiralling with his job. He calls them glimmers, how when the sunlight steals his attention and reminds him to breathe and stop overthinking.

He makes time for himself to stretch as soon as he gets out of bed, create small moments in between his fast paced job. Loves reading fantasy books, dragons preferably and designates his time before bed to read at least one chapter (you’re normally reading beside him too). Even part of an online fanclub for said book where he talks about theories for the next book in the series. Total nerd for it there like eight books already.

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emacrow · 1 year ago

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Danny has an aggressive secret admirer and that Admirer is Damian wayne. If Damian has succeeded with his plan of kidnapping danny after carefully researching.

Danny woke up a bit refreshed after what he felt like was a 3 hour power nap after eating the most delicious burger he was given gift wrapped up in a present box found in his locker after school..

Only to noticed fenton designed looking a like of handcuffs on his hands, feets as he lays in a cushion like bed with certain red and blue duck candles lit with green fire.

A hand written runes of ancient writing on the galaxies like blanket he was laying on. Blue weeping flowers petals on the floor surrounding the bed.

Now this was interesting... before he noticed the person behind this all, Danny's eyes were glowing, looking at Damian. The liminal classmate who shyly glances at him every now and then when he thought he didn't noticed.

He did his research right as he can see Damian was not even trembling nor falling on his knees under the weight of Danny's core pressuring in this room before offering Danny something that he did most value to his very soul.

It wasn't his blood, nor hair, or a weapon.

For ghosts have no uses for those things but what they desire most of all even after death.

It was a necklace, beautifully made and designed to look like scattered or stars but what they were made with crystallized emotional tears of pure even a bit unhinged love.

Damian's face look red.. his eyes were a definitely puffy and reddish underneath with the amount of tears he has cried. His greeb eyes look determined and a bit dilated.

Danny stared back as Damian wavered didn't changed a bit even after 30 minutes had past.

"I accepted your courtship, but you could've just texted me to met at a certain time instead..?" Danny spoke with a bit of a flattered smile growing as his eyes widen noticing Damian wasn't even done yet with how he open a curtain to reveal a custom coffin and grave stone specifically made for danny along with flowers, plushes and offering breads for the dead.

OH.. Oh he definitely marrying him now. Now let him sleep in the coffin before danny start crying too.. also hand him some of that bread too.

#dp x dc crossover #trans danny phantom #dpxdc #damian a sneaky little stalker #danny is the ghost king #all danny wanted was to sleep #danny is definitely marrying him #crystallized tears are like the best gifts #for ghosts #ghost core #danny doesn't have a grave #he does now #damian wayne x danny fenton #dead serious

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sabrinajenre96 · 2 months ago

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Title: A Day with the Bradfords

Pairing: Tim Bradford x Detective!Reader (Y/N) Word Count: ~5,000

Warning: none

---

7:04 AM – Bradford Residence

You were halfway into your vest, hair still damp from a rushed shower, when the phone buzzed again on the kitchen counter.

“Y/N,” Tim grumbled from the hallway, “Your phone’s losing its mind.”

“It’s a double homicide,” you said, already moving toward the door. “Nyla’s already en route. They want me on scene with Shay.”

At the sound of his name, the sleek Belgian Malinois padded into the kitchen, alert and ready. Unlike the bulldog mix currently snoring on the couch—Kojo, the mistake Lucy Chen had learned from and Tim had inherited.

“Have I mentioned I hate when you get called in before coffee?” Tim muttered.

You smirked and kissed him. “You’ll live. You’ve got Lilah and Kojo all day.”

Tim groaned. “That’s not comforting.”

From down the hall came the unmistakable sound of your five-year-old daughter stomping in her light-up unicorn slippers and singing off-key about pancakes.

Lilah appeared, clutching a tiara in one hand and dragging a feather boa behind her.

“Morning, Daddy! Kojo and I are going on a super-secret mission after breakfast. He said he’s ready.”

Kojo sneezed. Lilah interpreted that as agreement.

“I love you both. Be strong,” you said dramatically, ruffling Tim’s hair.

By the time the door closed behind you, Tim stared at Lilah and Kojo like a man entering a warzone with no backup.

“Alright, Lilah,” he said, “Let’s make pancakes.”

“Great!” she shouted, clambering onto a chair and grabbing flour. “I’m in charge. Kojo’s our chef. He made eggs last week.”

Tim narrowed his eyes at the dog. “We’ll discuss that later.”

---

8:42 AM – Kitchen, Mostly Flour-Coated

Kojo had white paws now. Not from age, but from the bag of flour Lilah had knocked over during an overly enthusiastic whisking session. The bulldog mix didn’t seem to mind; he licked at the floor and trailed a line of white paw prints across the tile.

“Daddy, the pancakes look like clouds!” Lilah beamed.

“Because you dumped half the box of baking powder in,” he muttered, flipping a lumpy disc of batter.

Kojo barked once.

“No, you don’t get any unless you sit. That goes for you too, Kojo.”

Kojo wagged his tail, did a spin, and promptly leapt onto the bench at the table.

---

10:15 AM – Neighborhood Walk (A.K.A. Disaster Recon)

Lilah insisted on wearing a tutu, fairy wings, and sunglasses. Kojo wore his vest labeled "Security," a gift from Angela that Tim regretted every time Lilah took it literally.

They made it three blocks before the mud puddle incident. Lilah squealed. Kojo launched himself into it.

Tim stood frozen, holding two leashes and questioning every decision he’d made in life.

---

11:30 AM – Bath Time (Again)

He bathed Kojo. Then Lilah. Then himself after Kojo shook off all over him.

He texted Lucy a picture of Kojo in a towel with the caption: "Still think he was better off with you?"

Lucy responded: *"You’re the one who said 'dogs build character.' Enjoy your development."

---

1:03 PM – Living Room Obstacle Course

Lilah had dragged every pillow, blanket, and hula hoop into the living room.

“Kojo needs training! He can’t be in security if he can’t jump over things!”

Kojo was napping.

“Wake him up, Daddy! He has drills!”

“You wake him up. I value my limbs.”

---

3:14 PM – Detective Lilah’s Mystery Mission

Tim was in toy handcuffs. Again.

“You’re under arrest for hiding the last cookie,” she declared. “Kojo saw you do it.”

Kojo woofed.

“Traitor,” Tim muttered.

---

5:45 PM – Dinner & a Truce

Mac and cheese. Apples. A juice box and one tired bulldog.

Lilah was quieter now, cuddled beside Tim with her stuffed unicorn.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, peanut?”

“I love you more than pancakes. Even fluffy ones.”

“I love you too, kiddo.”

---

9:00 PM – Bradford Residence, Peace At Last

You pushed the front door open, kicking off your boots. Shay trotted in beside you, already sniffing out Kojo’s messes.

The house was quiet.

You found them in the living room.

Tim was half-sitting, half-reclining on the couch, TV volume low, a football game playing. Lilah was asleep on his chest, Kojo curled up at their feet.

You smiled, heart full, and snapped a picture with your phone.

“You survived,” you whispered, kissing his cheek.

Tim gave a tired, contented grin. “She broke me. But yeah.”

You sat beside them, one hand on his knee, the other brushing your daughter’s wild curls.

Chaos and all—this was home.

#the rookie #the rookie fanfic #tim bradford x wife reader #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x you #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford #tim Bradford x reader x kojo

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lixie-phoria · 2 years ago

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ੈ✩‧ ➛ lee know thinks he's subtle as he pines over you

pairing : lee know x gn reader ; genre : fluff | warnings : none ; word count : 0.7k words

summary : a good way to confess to someone? tell them about it! but does lee know ever do anything conventionally? of course not. so here he was, trying to see you anytime he gets, and what better excuse than saying his cats miss you? you would never find he was the one missing you, right?

"hey, the cats miss you. you mind if i bring them over?"

lee know's tone is soft as he speaks over the phone with you, but his cold warning gaze settled upon hyunjin and changbin, who were trying their best to hold in their laughter, told a different story.

it does help, however, when he hears you eagerly agree and immediately relaxes, promising to be there soon. but of course he should've been more careful about where he was making the call because he certainly would not have picked a place where any of the other 7 could hear him. they would never let him rest in peace.

"so."

changbin valued his life slightly lesser than hyunjin did, so the first remark came from him.

"the cats miss y/n that much, huh?" hyunjin picked up from where changbin left.

"both of you, drop it."

"no no, do you plan on telling y/n that the cats have been asleep for the past two hours?"

lee know wished there was a box of tissues somewhere close by so he could shove it right down the younger members throats because he could not stand being teased over his crush on you anymore.

"the cats do miss y/n. that's why they were so irritable when they went to sleep."

"so that had nothing to do with you forgetting to give them water because you'd been talking to y/n for an hour?"

lee know was fighting a losing battle, and he knew it. he could deny all he wanted, but even he was aware that he really wasn't subtle about the not-so-small crush he harbored for you. his members knew about it, your members knew about it. heck, even his manager could see his feelings. it was that obvious. lee know could only hope you hadn't caught on because he'd be damned if you realized his way of spending time with you was making excuses that his cats wanted to see you.

lee know, the supposedly cool and nonchalant lee know his fans are so used to seeing on camera, was reduced to a nervous blushing mess whenever you were involved. how on earth was he supposed to confess to you when he could barely ask you to hang out with him?

"wear that green hoodie y/n really likes when you go." hyunjin adds, way too invested in whatever was unfolding.

"why does that matter?"

"because it gives them an excuse to compliment you, obviously."

the older boy huffed, hoping the other two could not see the red creeping up the tips of his years.

"and make sure to not mention that the cats were too busy sleeping to miss them."

"yah! i'm not stupid, i know."

"maybe mention that you were the one missing them."

changbin and hyunjin cackled as lee know's eye twitched in annoyance. they really were testing his patience today.

"just because the air fryer isn't in this room doesn't mean you're both safe."

this line was usually effective under normal circumstances. but not today.

"hyung, do you really thing you can threaten us? when you're the one in the vulnerable position?"

"i am not."

"oh so i can text y/n about all the times you've lied just to meet them?"

"he has an entire list, by the way," changbin manages in between his laughter.

"you're both jobless."

"says the one who's about to make a 30 minutes drive just so he can see his crush."

the two dissolved into another fit of laughter as the older member stormed out of the room and to where his three cats were resting in a peaceful slumber.

he felt guilty shaking them awake, but it would be worth it, right? he would get to meet you and you hopefully wouldn't even realize that they were just an excuse for him to see you, to hear your voice, to make you smile, to stare into your eyes just a little bit longer. hopefully you wouldn't catch on despite him using this very same excuse for what seemed like the thousandth time.

minho couldn't believe himself as he reluctantly put on the green hoodie hyunjin had advised him to wear.

he really wished the two would not see him in it. he would never make it out of the dorms if they found out he had listened to them. it was a pain, really, but for you lee know would do anything.

tags : @lethallyprotected @dreamingaboutjisung @selcayuri @bangchansbae @aak2 @foxinnie8 @hamburgers101 @starlostlaiba (send an ask to be added/removed!)

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itsonlyjoseph · 3 months ago

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Port Valley | Bucky Barnes x Reader - Chapter 1

Synopsis: After catching your boyfriend with another woman, you pack up and move across the country to a small logging town. swearing off men forever, a certain grumpy lumberjack might change your mind.

Warnings: for this chapter nothing. little angsty

Word count: 2.1k

Winter was already settling deep your bones and it was only a week and a half into the season. The brisk New York City air flew past your jacket and down your back, chilling you instantly as you rounded the corner, heading back to your apartment. Well, your boyfriend’s apartment.

It had been 2 and a half years since you started dating and 9 months since living with Adam. It was nice. He was nice. You met him at a bar downtown and hit it off instantly. You had similar interests and values and could see yourself marrying him and popping out a few of his kids one day. The thought warmed your cheeks despite the temperature outside.

The sudden heat of the inside of the brownstone welcomed you as you made your way up the stairs. You had been planning on talking to Adam about potentially getting a dog or a cat or something to take your relationship to the next step and were going to ask him today.

Your key slotted into the keyhole and turned leading you inside the home. Your home. Yours and Adam’s home. Life was nice.

Once the door opened, you heard the music playing. Adam was big into rock music and often played it to help him concentrate on this work. Walking into the study, you expected to find him holed up behind his computer, furiously typing away but were instead met with an empty room. Odd

You furrowed your eyebrows and made your way to the bedroom, opening the door.

You found Adam. You were about to open your mouth to speak when the scene before you suddenly registered. Adam and another woman. In your bed. Having sex.

They hadn’t noticed you yet and your stomach turned. He was moving so passionately with this woman in a way that he'd never moved with you. He was touching her in a way he'd never touched you. Making sounds with her in a way he'd never done with you. It felt like a shot gun blast to the face, honestly.

A loud shriek in the form of a what the fuck left your mouth as your eyes turned as wide as saucers.

They finally noticed you. Adam pulled the blanket up to their chins as if that would somehow make things better. Better for her, obviously. That hurt.

“Y/N..” Adam exclaimed, clearly very surprised.

“What the fuck!?” You repeat, just louder.

The interaction was a big blur after that. Adam didn’t even try to give you some lame, half baked excuse. He was just speechless. Didn’t know what to say and did think he’d get caught. He did tell you he loved you though. Told you that he still wanted to be with you. If you weren’t so blindsided you might have laughed.

That’s how you ended up here, a week and a half later, at your dad’s house in Port Valley, on the other side of the country. Port Valley was a sleepy logging town in Washington State that your father and late mother retired to 8 years ago. They found it on a map and decided that that was their new home because it gave a sense of calm and belonging. At least, that what they said about.

You’d never actually visited, considering work and travel and Adam was always busy with whatever but you had spoken to them everyday since. Your dad now texted you twice a day since your mother’s passing.

You were wearing your dad’s big button down shirt, some horribly worn sweatpants from high school and socks so fuzzy your feet were starting to sweat despite the gentle snow fall outside. Some bad hallmark movie was playing on the tv in the living room and you were surrounded by empty boxes of chocolates. You had a tummy ache after all the sweets and junk but you didn't have it in you to care.

When you called your dad that fateful day, he was expecting the usual. Talk about work, talk about the show you were watching and so on but you were sobbing, barely understandable as you told him what happened.

He didn't get angry like typical dads would. He was sad that his baby girl was hurting at the hands of someone who was mean't to love and care for her and that hurt him. He paid for your airfare the next day and picked you up from the airport.

He walked into the living to find you scoffing at the male love interest proclaiming his undying love.

"You just wait, sister. You just wait." You groaned, annoyed at the movie.

“Sweetie, you’ve sat on this couch for a week. Does your job know that you’re here?” Your dad asked.

“No.. I’m not going back anyway.”

“Back…”

“To New York, to that job. To those people. None of it. It makes me sick to think of that city now” You mumbled.

“Baby, I’d love to have you stay here with me, I really would. But you need to work. You need to live.”

“Yeah, yeah.. I know.”

“I can ask around for you if you’d like? Try to get you a job here? If you really plan on staying for a while.”

You looked at your dad and saw his hopeful smile. He was a good man and only wanted the best for his family and now that your mom had passed away, he was extra attentive.

“Okay, dad. Thanks.” You managed out a small, sad smile.

****

The snow was getting heavier as the nights wore on. Bucky was working overtime at the lumberyard trying to make ends meet and distract himself from the boredom of his life. He’d lived here in Port Valley for the last 32 years and knew that he’d probably never leave. He didn’t care to. His job was here, his friends were here, his mom was here. Life could be worse.

Obviously life could be way better too.

Bucky’s jaw was locked tight as the cold nipped at him, hauling log and after log around as if they weighted nothing.

Bucky was a strong man. Stronger than most. He knew that. He also knew that it came with downsides. He was always hungry. So very hungry. His stomach rumbled at the thought of dinner after his shift.

Just a few more logs to go…

He was going to see his mother after work and eat with her since she’d begged him to a dozen times in the last week alone. He had to yes to his mom eventually or he wouldn't hear the end of it.

****

The bookstore your dad took you to the next day was located about a 5 minute walk from your dads house but felt longer with the cold wind against your face.

“Winnie! This is my daughter, Y/N.” Your dad called out to the woman sitting behind the counter of the Port Valley bookstore. She was short, sweet looking older woman with curly brown hair and glasses perched on her little nose. She looked up and smiled as the two of approached.

“Hi, I’ve heard so much about you! Oh my, you are so stunning, you look just like your mother.” She beamed.

I gave her a half smile and said thanks.

Her expression turned from warm to remorseful in seconds, though so you knew your dad had told this woman what had happened.

“Your father told me about what happened. I am so sorry dear. I know just how awful men can be.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” You said to her statement, somewhat amused. You were still kind of in shock about it all.

“How old are you dear?” She looked at you with an inquisitive brow.

“Uh, 27..” You mumbled out, tired.

“Oh! You’re a few years younger than my boy, James. You’ll meet him soon. He’s a nice man. Gentle giant as they say.” She smiled.

You tried to smile at her and nod your head, but it probably came off very strained. You honestly didn’t care to meet her son, or anyone else’s son for that matter. The thought of a man made you want to roll your eyes.

Winnie thankfully turned back to your dad and started talking about some town event that was coming up that they both needed to organise a booth for. You zoned out during this.

Your dad had mentioned to you that this Winnie woman would gladly give you a job if you were half as kind as your parents were. You were thankful of course and truely hoped you lived up to that claim, but it was hard to show these days. That’s why your dad brought you down here to meet her and check out the store before you started. You felt like a teenager again and you hated it. So young with no control, needing your dads supervision in public. It made anger bubblenunder your skin. It was all Adam and that floozy’s fault-

Before the anger could bubble over and explode out of you, the doorbell chimed and you heard Winnie talk.

“James! There you are!”

You turned at the sound, somewhat curious, and saw a man standing in the doorway with a hard emotionless look painted on his face.

“This is Albert’s daughter, Y/N! She’s going to be working with me. She just came in from New York last week!” Winnie smiled.

James, apparently Winnie’s son, looked rather uncomfortable. He gave a stiff nod and then his eyes went back to his mother. He had long dark hair that stopped just above his shoulders, hidden underneath a baseball cap, he looked to be around 6’4 or close to it and built like a brick house. You’d never actually seen a man so… large. Strong looking… you could see the muscles flexing and tensing under the tight shirt as he shifted on his feet.

You quickly let the thoughts evaporate from your mind.

No. Men bad.

“Well, I have a dinner date with my son. Y/N, I’ll see you on Monday morning?”

“Uh, yeah, thanks again.” You said as you turned back to her.

She smiled and the three of you walked back to the front door to close up. James was already out and waiting by his truck.

You’d said your goodbyes and watched as James and Winnie drove off towards the diner on the other side of town. Not a far drive at all considering the tiny surface area. Half of Port Valley was just forest land. You guessed that's why this was a logging town.

You’d gathered that James was either in a bad mood today or just a grumpy asshole. You’d be offended if you weren’t so heartbroken from Adam.

****

“So, what did you think?” Winnie asked Bucky, with a sly smile on her face as they slide into a booth in the far end of the diner.

“About what?” Bucky mumbled, his voice gruff and hard, as he looked over the menu that hadn't changed his whole life.

“About Y/N. She’s beautiful, right?” Winnie gushed.

This made Bucky finally look up at her, narrowing his eyes at her grin.

“What are you trying to do, ma?”

“Nothing, nothing. I’m just saying.” She had her hands up in mock surrender. “I think she’s going to be staying with Albert for a while, so I'd like to make her feel welcome. And that includes you.”

They got their food after 10 minutes and started digging in.

“Her boyfriend cheated on her. In their bed. She walked in on them.” She started up again, cutting into her meat..

“Ma!” Bucky sighed. “Can we just eat?”

There was a moment of silence, but if Bucky knew his mother, and he knew her well, that silence was short lived.

“When was the last time you were with a woman?”

“Jesus, ma!” Bucky nearly choked, dropping his fork and reaching for a napkin. The idea of talking to his mother about his non existent sex life was actually mortifying.

“I just want you to be happy, James. That’s all I care about.”

“I know, ma, I know.” He mumbled, mouth full of food. “I am… happy.”

Winnie looked at her sweet boy with a sad smile.

She knew Bucky wasn't depressed or suicidal or anything. He’d always been a quiet boy. Even before he went off to Afghanistan. Even before his father left when he was a teenager. But he’s never brought a girl home or really “hung out” with the guys besides his lunch breaks. She wanted him to be whole, in whatever form that took.

He wanted him to have a purpose beyond his job. Maybe that purpose would be a family.

“I know, my baby.” Winnie smiled, digging back into her food.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female!reader #James barnes #lumberjack!bucky #bucky barnes fluff #grumpy!bucky #beefy!bucky

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coucouatoi · 1 year ago

Text

don't want to be alone | h.s.

Pairings: Harry Styles x Reader

Summary: Divorcing the biggest superstar on the planet is the hardest thing you've ever done. Almost as hard as marrying him was.

Warnings: Angst, couples therapy, a little bit of fluff, hopeful ending

A/N: I don't know why I'm feeling so full of angst... but, please enjoy!

Flashback are in italic and present day is normal text

Boxes are littered around the house. Some full and taped shut others still being stuffed with your items. It's a slow and torturous process, having to choose what to take, what to throw out and what things are a conversation waiting to happen "That's a wedding gift from my aunt" or "When have you ever used that?" or even better "I know it was a gift, but I paid for it so i'll keep it". It's like he knows exactly which buttons to press to get the fights started. Granted you might be doing the same thing... But it doesn't make him entitled to all the belongings you've ever shared.

You've managed to find all the picture albums, the ones you decided to make for sentimental value. The ones you gifted him in tender moments. The ones filled with so much love, so much hope and promises for a future together. The ones you're now highly considering throwing into a paper shredder and tossing into the nearest incinerator. The ones you won't be able to get rid of. The anniversary album you gave him on your one year, the wedding album, the honeymoon album, the many travel albums and, of course, your daughter's first album.

Little Anya, barely 9 months old just starting to babble her first words. Chubby legs working so hard to keep her standing and exploring. She can barely take 3 steps one after the other but she's a fighter. Your little girl that is now a cause for argument, no, fights. Custody battles. The true war between yourself and your husband, Harry Styles. Neither of you want to lose or call for a tie, it's not how either of you operate in conflict. That, most likely, is the reason for the downfall of your relationship.

Frustrated you put the albums back where you found them and you head to the kitchen.

Most kitchen items have been packed up, Harry had never really invested in worthwhile cutlery or electronics of any sort. You take some orange juice from the fridge and pour a glass for yourself. The fridge itself is barren, with only the essentials left... neither of you has gone to the groceries in weeks. Today is not going to be a good day.

From the rediscovery of your love-filled albums to the boxes you've spent most of the day doing, you still have one horrible thing to do.

Couples therapy, your first-ever session. You thought, well still think, that this is too far gone to save in therapy. There won't be anything new shared that you haven't already screamed in each other's faces and self-help talks aren't exactly going to do the trick. Anne, Harry's mother, insisted that your marriage doesn't only include two people anymore. Anya makes it worth trying, she is worthy of a stable home as she grows up. No matter how unstable having a superstar parent may be, divorced parents might just add to that an unruly amount. So, you've both agreed to try. Try your very best to reassemble your love no matter how shattered it has become. Love. Love hasn't manifested itself once since about your seventh month of pregnancy. Love has vanished from your husband's once warm and inviting eyes, it no longer lingers on his fingertips and doesn't even creep into the more tender moments you must share with your baby. Love feels like a complete joke to you now.

The waiting room is empty of other clients which is a blessing in disguise. This is the absolute last place you'd want to run into Harries. Even if the media has already been dragging you in the mud for "breaking their dear superstar's heart" and has been making all sorts of claims about you and your marriage. In the very beginning, Harry had spoken up about these articles and had gotten his team to shut some people up but he's been losing care for... well, you.

"Harry and Y/N?" you look up meeting the eyes of who you can only assume is your therapist. Without sparring your husband a glance you get up and follow her into her office. It's cosy and smells like vanilla. There's a yellow glow to the room, it bounces off her multiple frames and decorations. Very nonthreatening, immediately putting you a little more at ease. She gestures for you to take a seat on her velvet green couch and you sit down squeezing yourself onto the left armrest. Harry does the same to the right.

"Good afternoon to you both, I am Trinity Finch. Can I get either of you something to drink before I sit down?" She smiles politely as her eyes shift between both of you. You only shake your head as an answer not trusting your stomach at the moment.

"Water if it's not too much trouble, please" Harry's voice is strained, he had been at the studio all morning probably preparing a new album you aren't aware of.

Trinity nods and quickly grabs a water bottle from a small fridge she's got right behind her desk. Harry mumbles a thank you as she hands it to him. You don't realise that his hands are shaking as you're back to looking around the room. He takes a few big gulps before your therapist gets to sit in her chair.

"Today I would just like to start with a history lesson on your relationship. How it started, all important moments, how parenthood has changed your shared life and just how you two are as a couple" She starts getting things ready around her, notebook, pens, highlighters, some sticky notes and you swear that you spotted some bright childish stickers. Her long manicured nails tap against the glass of her desk a few times as the silence stretches. Neither of you taking the first step in this session. When she looks up again she doesn't look annoyed or surprised by the lack of an answer.

"Harry, how did you meet your wife?" Trinity asks him gently.

Harry seems caught by surprise to have been asked a question directly. He looks at you briefly before turning his eyes back to her.

"Um, we meet on the plane. For some reason, my private plane for that day was not available and they booked me on a regular flight. Premium ended up being full and I got an economy seat. I had the aisle and she had the middle we ended up bonding over our shared movie choice. Then I asked her out and um here we are?" He ends with a question. As if unsure if "here" is a good thing, it's definitely not but meeting has, unfortunately, brought you both here.

"And when was this?" she asks.

"April 2018" he answers quickly. She nods presumably writing it down.

"How was your relationship before marriage Y/N?" she looks at you now with kind eyes. They are big and dark. Staring right into your soul. It makes you slightly uncomfortable but at the same time you don't want her to look away she's your lifeline right now.

"It was very easy. I work remotely as a translator and an editor, so I've always been able to tag along on his travels and tours. He, um, he always insisted that he rather have me with him even if we couldn't see each other every single day. Just knowing I was near helped him..." you sigh. You don't want to shed tears this early into your session. You don't want Harry to see you cry any more than he already has over your lost relationship.

"I really loved following him around the globe" you add, looking down at your lap willing your wet eyes to dry.

"Any fighting? How did you deal with that?" Trinity is still talking to you maybe even sensing that you're about to cry. Is that what she wants from this?

"Well, yeah. I mean all couples fight, right? We fought over the same things all the time really. I wanted more affection I guess pressuring him to take some time away from the spotlight or he wanted me all to himself whenever it worked with him without thinking of my work. Our jobs were the main reason for fighting between us" Besides you, Harry scoffs before taking another sip of water. Your head turns to him

so quickly that a sharp pain forms in the back of your neck. Your posture immediately tightens, muscles locking and your breath gets heavier.

"What? You don't agree?" you question him in a much harsher tone than you were previously using. He meets your gaze and shrugs.

"I do but that's not all we fought over" he shrugs again not looking away. Is he trying to pick a fight right now? Here of all places?

"Then what? What am I missing?" you prepare yourself for the worst. Ready to feel like absolute shit at anything he might say.

"Your constant jealousy was a contender for the most appearances in our fights" his entire expression is accusatory but he does this thing with his posture. Gets all soft and somewhat blazé making you feel inferior and so incredibly small.

You want to storm out. Call Anne to apologise that it couldn't work out and immediately sign the divorce papers that are permanently placed right on your dining table.

Not wanting to fuel this energy taking over him right now you shrug as well before facing Trinity again. She's watching both of you like a hawk, processing the way you react to conflict with each other. Making mental notes as well as some physical ones all while hostility happens between her clients.

"We'll move on from this for now. Harry, how was the wedding? How did married life change your bond?" this seemingly calms his overgrown ego. His face is neutral again but there's a softness to it now, recalling the happy days.

"We had an Italy wedding. We, I love Italy. I flew everyone out, our families and friends, and then we stayed there for a month more for our honeymoon. The wedding itself was... amazing. We kept it small. Intimate. With my life it's always been hard to have that so, it was important to us" he sounds blissful towards the last part. Probably back there now in his mind. Ah, the good old days as they say.

"I don't think married life changed us much. We were living together before that and we'd been planning it since we got together practically" he stops talking again to take another sip of water. You look at the lady in front of you again and as she begins to open her mouth to probably question him more Harry starts talking again.

"I guess tension started about a year in. The media wasn't kind to her. They made up cheating rumours on both sides and manipulated things to make them seem like something else. Someone even showed up at our old house while I was out" he took a deep breath, cracking some of his knuckles at the same time, "We were always on edge around each other. Throwing these rumours at one another just to I don't know, get a reaction? Plus, we were stuck at home because of Covid and my tour was postponed. It was a real shit show" he laughs bitterly and you nod along to what he was saying. That was just a terrible time. For everyone.

"Then I got to go on tour, Y/N didn't follow along for all of it but she was there most of the beginning. It wasn't the same as before. There was this distance that just never got better. And then she got pregnant" he almost sounds exhausted. Maybe he is, you're not sure how much he's slept lately.

Shit. Fuck. This can't be happening now. Shit! The word "Pregnant" seems to be mocking you as you look down at it. Mocking the fact that you and Harry have not seriously spoken in two days and that you're flying back home tomorrow. Mockingly reminding you that this can only make things worse right now.

"Y/N, come on the car is waiting downstairs" your husband's voice is weak through the thick hotel bathroom door. He's performing in Toronto tonight. The second day, the last day before he flies to New York and you go back to London.

You walk out of the bathroom, straight past Harry, not wanting him to read your face and figure out that something is terribly wrong. You slip into your shoes for the night and take a deep breath, no scratch that, a huge breath. Willing your facial expression to cooperate before you turn to him and smile.

"Let's go superstar!" he smiles back and walks over to you. Grabbing your hand and bringing it up to his mouth so he can plant a kiss on the back of it.

"We just might have to cancel tonight if you look this good" his free hand wraps around you tightly glueing you to his body. You know he doesn't mean it but you pretend to consider it nonetheless.

"Mh what about all your adoring fans? Won't they be so utterly crushed?" you tease against his lips. He smiles wickedly before slowly nodding.

"I do have quite the engagement this evening... how about I make it up to you after?" he presses soft kisses to the sides of your face. Framing it.

"That's a pretty good offer, I just might have to tak-"

"HARRY STYLES GET YOUR ASS OUT OF YOUR HOTEL ROOM!!" Jeff's voice is full of annoyance as it cuts you off. Rude.

You laugh before getting pulled out of the room by your husband. The small plastic stick forgotten on the washroom counter for now.

You get a harsh reminder tho when you're back at the hotel after yet another amazing concert. You're laying on the bed completely stretched out and now only dressed in your underwear. Harry's currently using the washroom to try and get some of the remaining glitter off his face when he finds the secret you've kept all evening.

"Y/N, what's this?" his voice is so shaky that you barely even understood what he asked you. However, when you look up your brain catches up. He's in his boxers, left hand in his hair and right hand holding the test like it's made of glass as he looks at it as if it's going to explode. Fuck.

"No chance that you suddenly lost the ability to read?" you try and lighten the suddenly very heavy mood in the room. It fails.

"You're pregnant. How, I mean no I know how. Fuck, you're pregnant" he looks up at you panicked.

"We don't have to keep it" is the first thing out of your mouth. Probably as a panic response to his reaction. Not wanting this to turn into another fight.

"What?! Why wouldn't we, you don't want, I um" he takes a second. He's just breathing heavily while looking at you desperately. "You don't want to keep it?" he breathes out.

"You do?" is all you answer. You stand slowly, finding the clothes you just took off to put them back on. Whatever mood you were in is gone you're now filled with anxiety and a deep fear.

"You leave tomorrow... We won't see each other for what 3 months? In Mexico?" he hasn't moved an inch. Feet seemingly glued to the floor and limbs were frozen.

Pregnancy. One of the worst and best times of your life. Your gorgeous baby girl came out of all the pain you suffered. She gave a new meaning to the way you live, made you forget about all the physical pain you endured and...

"Why do you say it in that way? Like you still dread what the pregnancy brought" Trinity's voice almost startles you. You'd been so lost in your thoughts that you'd almost forgotten where you were.

"I don't! I love Anya" his voice is stern.

"What about your wife? What happened during the pregnancy?" she's digging. Wants to find the right buttons to push.

Harry stammers, but no answer seems to satisfy him. His hands are squeezed under his things, his right leg bouncing and his eyes avoiding either of you.

"We didn't plan her, I was right in the middle of my tour. We, um, we weren't doing very good and she was about to go home" he looks at you suddenly surprising you when he meets your eyes. You can't read him, can't understand what he's feeling. You haven't been able to read him in months.

"She- You, Y/N, she got really sick in February the seven-month mark. I was in Australia and I couldn't be there. It really strained us, we fought all the time over the phone and in person. I guess that's really when we went downhill" his jaw tenses when he looks away from you. Looks like he's not happy to have to have shared this with the room.

"Okay, thank you, Harry. I think now's a great time to take a breather. I'll meet both of you individually when we come back. So, see you both here in 20 minutes?" Trinity smiles at both of you and keeps smiling until you both walk out.

Harry doesn't come back. You wait 45 minutes in Trinity's office looking like an idiot. She dismisses you with a look of pity on her face before scheduling another appointment 5 days later, lots of work to do you assume. You rush out of the building humiliation creeping into every inch of your body. How could he do this on the first day? It was going fairly well, well you think so anyway... did he give up on your relationship right then and there?

As you make your way to your car you see him. Harry is pacing back and forth in front of his car as he seemingly argues on the phone. His free hand waves erratically in front of him, gesturing like mad for someone who can't even see him. So this is what he's been doing? Arguing over the phone while you sat in a therapist's office waiting to try and work on your ever-crumbling marriage. You scoff before turning away from him and to your car. But nothing seems to be on your side today as your husband hears you and immediately calls out to you.

"Y/N! Why are you leaving?" you hear him walk towards you, the clacking of his shoes getting closer to you but you ignore him and walk away faster.

You're completely focused on your black Subaru, the "You're so Golden" sticker catching your eye and making you more pissed off. Something that was put there because you loved the song, because of how beautiful your husband's voice is in the song but now all you want to do is rip it right off. So, that's what you do.

Your nails claw at the edges of it desperately. You don't want any reminders of Harry on your car, you don't want to think of him while putting the groceries away, while walking around the car after putting Anya in her car seat and you don't want to see it in your rearview mirror anymore. The top corner lifts as you're pulling at it giving you the perfect leverage to rip it right off. You throw it to the ground right before turning around to stare daggers into Harry's eyes.

"45 minutes, Harry. I sat there 45 minutes with our therapist looking at me like a beaten dog!" you hiss at him. He is now only about 2 or 3 feet away from you. His eyes are wide, in shock you guess, as he looks at the sticker. "What could you have possibly been doing for more than an hour that made you forget what we were here for?" you're sure you sound desperate right now. Your head is all over the place and your heart feels like it might explode out of your chest.

"An hour? I, no, that couldn't have been more than-"

"You can go back up and ask her if you want because I really really don't want to be around you right now" and now you're crying. Fuck. Why are you crying now? You need to leave.

While rummaging in your bag for your keys Harry grabs your arm. Well maybe not grabs, he just places his hand on you, resting it there delicately. If you weren't so aware of every single inch of your body right now you wouldn't have noticed. No matter how delicate the touch is supposed to be you flinch out of it aggressively.

"I'm, I'm so sorry Y/N. That was my mother, she, fuck" he sighs and runs a hand in his hair gripping it tightly. "She wants us to go up... she's rented a lake house or something I guess" his voice is so soft, shy even.

"Us? You mean you and Anya?" god you hope so.

"I'm so sorry" is all he answers.

Anne Twist is a very difficult woman to say no to. Actually, it's impossible to say no to her. In the many years you've known her, she's always been able to find a way to make you say yes. Always in a good way. She loves you, she has told you that countless times, and you love her but now that you're... the way you are with her son you don't know where you stand. Yet, she has still found a way to get you to agree to something you would have much rather not have gone to. You're in a small townhouse almost 4 hours away from your home in London with your mother-in-law, your daughter and your soon-to-be ex-husband. What has your life come to?

Anya is sitting in her high chair passionately eating banana slices as you watch her. She's already gobbled up the strawberries and pita bread slices she also had for her snack. She's such a good eater always so ready to try new things and taste whatever the adults around her eat. Especially the sweet treats her dad sneaks her.

"Do you want to go take a dip after huh? We should enjoy the water my love" you coo at her as she takes her final bite of food. She smiles at you like she understood what you asked and you chuckle wiping her chubby cheeks and hands. She'll be able to float around in the water for a little bit with you before you put her down for a nap. The steps of your morning are perfectly planned so that you can have your solo Zoom session with Trinity.

There is a small river behind the house you're staying in. The water goes up to just above your breast and it's the perfect warmth at this time of day. You've made your way down to it and are now setting up Anya's towel for when she'll be too tired to entertain you and ready for her mid-day snooze. She's currently lying right by you looking up at the sky with such curiosity, probably trying to figure out what the hell clouds are.

"You're so curious my love!" you shake her gently as you smile widely. "What do you see up there?" as you look up to join her sky-gazing you spot Harry making his way to the river as well. He's only got very short grey swimming trunks on meaning his entire chest, thighs, calves, and arms are out for the whole world to see. Maybe that's an exaggerated statement as you're the only one looking right now. You want to scold yourself for staring, you really really do but he's just so... so captivating and very enjoyable to look at no matter how much you resent him at the moment.

"Mind if I join you ladies?" his voice is more cheerful than when you heard it last. Must be because he's actually speaking to and looking at Anya.

However, when you don't answer his question he looks up at you. Expression now closed off again, how it's always been for the past few months. You smile politely and nod before turning your back to both of them so you can take your robe off. Your swimsuit isn't anything special; simple black one-piece that's high on the hips and low on your back. You think it looks pretty good on you but now you feel very aware of the amount of skin you're showing. You decide to just get in the water hoping its dark colour hides you. Hides away the skin your husband might be looking at.

"Looks like mummy is in a hurry, we should join her. What do you think sweetheart?" Harry picks your baby up and makes his way into the water. He holds her tightly to his chest as he climbs in, just in case he slips on the stones he uses as stairs. Once your daughter's chubby limbs meet the water her mouth forms into an adorable "O" shape. It's the second time Anya's been in the water now so she must still be unsure about this feeling. Harry turns her so that her front faces you and her back is against him. She smiles when she spots you reaching her arms out quickly which splashes some water around. She looks at you with a shocked expression and does it again with a giggle now.

"You little troublemaker! Trying to splash me!" you tease her sending some water her way. She answers with a sweet giggle and shakes her arms around as fast as she possibly can.

"Mh, my jokester gene is strong in her" Harry's voice is laced with pride. You playfully roll your eyes at him and hum affirmatively.

"And her love for singing too" you add remembering so many moments where she hums to any song playing. Her favourite thing to do is to harmonise with her father. His deep voice always gets her attention, always gets her to mumble and hum along with her own lyrics.

"Oh yes, she's the next big thing this one" he affirms kissing the top of her small head affectionately.

It's in moments like these that you tend to forget how bad it is between you. How many horrible things you've shouted at each other not caring how deep your words could cut. The accusations, the insults, the taunts and even the lies still weigh heavy on both of you. You like these softer moments, where you're reminded of how much love you both had for each other. Have? Had? You don't know anything about your feelings anymore, they are much too complicated to understand...

All three of you stay in the river for about an hour more before Anya starts yawning and fussing. When you exit the water you're quick to slip your robe back on still overly aware. Harry wraps the fluffy towel you had gotten ready around your baby. Her head rests in the crook of his neck, her eyelids already heavy as she blinks slowly. You all walk back to the house together silently. Might it be to keep the sleepy baby calm or to keep the peaceful aura around you and your husband, you don't know.

Harry insists that he will put the sleepy girl to bed and that you should take a shower first. After all, you have the first private sessions with your therapist. The mention of her does make the air in the townhouse tense again but Anne appears immediately to kiss Anya before she naps. You use that moment to sneak into your shared room with Harry. Luckily, it has two single beds so you don't have to share with him.

Signing deeply you rid yourself of the now damp robe you had on. Another blessing in disguise, this room has an en suite bathroom so you'll be able to jump right into the shower. Before that you do want to set up your laptop for the video call, you want to be as ready as you possibly can be. You grab your device from your backpack and make your way to the small desk in the corner of the room. There's a bunch of papers scattered around it, one glance at them and you immediately know what they are.

Lyrics. Drafts of songs and melodies written by your rockstar husband. You don't mean to read any of the words you really don't but as soon as you spot your name at the top of one of the pages you're doomed. You put your laptop down on Harry's bed which is right next to the desk and reach for that exact paper.

The words you read are full of longing, pain, sadness and fear. They mourn love, they are mourning your love. You pick up another sheet of paper, this one has no title but there are so many lines written. This one is reeks of self-hatred, of shame and guilt... it shakes the weak barriers you've built around your heart. All of the lyrics you read on different papers revolve around the same emotions. These are all about your relationship. About the death of it. About his desire to turn around. You don't realise you're crying until a tear falls onto the paper you hold. The ink bleeds into itself where it's been wet blurring the words slightly. You quickly wipe your face and put the papers down. You shouldn't be looking at these, you're invading his privacy.

"Thought you were showering" Harry's voice startles you out of the chair. You meet the floor with a loud thud. Your tear-filled eyes meet his sharp ones. Scrambling up to your feet you grab your laptop ready to explain, ready to apologise over and over again.

"At least tell me what you think" he sighs walking into the bedroom and shutting the door behind himself. This shocks you. What does he mean? He, he's not mad? Isn't disappointed that you invaded his creative space? Your mouth opens and closes a few times unsure what you should answer.

"I'm sorry" is all you're able to get out. Your brain is blank in absolute fear but tears keep falling from your eyes.

"I should be apologising... you, you weren't supposed to see those" he walks in your direction slowly, testing the waters of how close you'll let him get. He's closer than arm's reach when you flinch backwards slightly and he stops immediately.

"I was going to ask you for your permission before making any of those full songs but you know music is how I cope" he whispers now that he's so close to you. Silence takes over the room again, stretching out for too long. Your eyes somehow keep producing tears as you try and speak. Hopelessly searching for words to say.

"Do you really miss us? You miss me?" is what you come up with, your voice is so shaky that you're on the verge of sobbing uncontrollably.

This shocks Harry in place, seemingly not prepared for that kind of questioning from you. His mouth gapes and his eyes grow wide. This time you do see his hands start shaking. You're not entirely sure what this emotion is.

"Of course I do. Did you not think so?" while still whispering he reaches out to hold you but stops himself hands falling at his sides.

"Yo- Harry, you asked for the divorce. How was I supposed to know you miss me?" your voice breaks. You don't understand, why is this happening now, why is he saying these things?

"We should just get a divorce" Harry snaps at you as he fights back tears. Your expression immediately closes up, your body reacting before your thoughts and words do. Protecting you from what he just said, building walls around you and your heart as quickly as possible.

"Fine" you spit out as you turn away from him and walk straight out of your bedroom. If that's what he wants then so be it. You won't beg for anything now that he's made his decision.

"I know, okay? I know that I asked for it and that it's the reason why you don't talk to me anymore. Well, you do but not really" he sighs and sits down on his bed, damn swim trunks wetting the bed "We talk about Anya and when we're not we are yelling at each other... so when was I supposed to tell you that I missed you? That I regretted asking for the divorce..." he looks at you with a guilty expression, all his emotions are coming up at once.

"Why did you ask for it?" you ask him sitting back on the desk chair with your laptop still in your hands.

"I got in my head. You were saying we should take some time for ourselves maybe live apart... with everything that kept being said about us, I got so scared" he takes your laptop out of your grip and puts it down next to him.

"I thought you were going to fight me on it..." he adds as he grabs your hands tenderly. Like he's afraid you'll break.

You shake your head in disbelief not sure what to say. Your thoughts are all over the place, what should you make of this?

"It broke my heart" When did his face get so close to yours? You should really move away. You can't fall back into him, you can't let yourself do that. So you pull away from him roughly, your hands tugging out of his hold, face moving to the side, a sob making its way out of you as your back meets the chair-back.

When you meet Harry's eyes you can see the pain, the hurt, in them. They are brimming with tears that are so close to spilling out.

"Are we... are we too broken?" his voice has dropped to a whisper. He sounds so sad and scared.

"I'm worried" You take in a few breaths before you speak again, "What if we just end up hurting each other again? What if we can't go back?" you choke out the last few words. Tears spill endlessly out of your eyes and sobs rack your entire body.

It feels like you're running out of air and the little bits you get in are painful. Your eyes burn as you cry and your hands are shaking like crazy.

Harry might be answering or trying to communicate but nothing is making its way past your meltdown. What does make it through is the feeling of his arms around you. Him pulling you against his chest tightly, immediately rubbing your back as soothingly as he can. Your hands are grabbing his still bare skin desperately, wanting to anchor yourself in any way you can. Your face rests on his peck, right above his heart, the frantic beating bouncing around your head.

"Breathe, you have to breathe love" he speaks delicately in your ear, breaking through the barrier your body has put up.

"I'm- I'm, I can't... Harry I can't" your clawing at him almost trying to get under his skin, someplace you might be able to understand everything that's going through his mind.

He wiggles around a little before laying you both down as he keeps reassuring and encouraging you. He drags you on top of him your face now pressed up against the juncture of his neck. Your left-hand makes its way into his hair, pulling at it as softly as you can manage. Harry's hands run up and down your back, your arms, and your neck and he even pets your hair delicately. He's always known how to best calm you down... how to bring you back down to earth and out of the panic attacks you sometimes get when you're overwhelmed.

"I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry" he repeats that over and over with a pained desperation. Harry's scared shitless too. He doesn't know how things will go with your relationship. He can't guarantee that you won't end up actually wanting a divorce one day... But he can love you. He has and will keep loving you. He hopes it'll be enough to save your marriage. He'll work incredibly hard every single day to prove his love for you... if you let him back in he won't ever let you go. He'll leave it all up to you. Your little family is all he needs, he'll spend the rest of his life proving that to you if that's what it takes.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry edward styles #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles angst #harry styles fic

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