#and refusing to see what’s on the screen

[rottenfyre]

⸻ ᴊ ᴀ ʏ ʙ ɪ ʀ ᴅ ⸻

“ Twisted Wings: The Joker’s Plaything ”

Pairing: Dark Jason Todd x Fem Reader Part 4

Summary: Everything hurts... But... But he can take it... He can take it... He just have to wait... He just have to wait... You and Bruce won't let him rot like this... Right?

Warning: Physically and mentally torture, Joker being Joker.

Notes: Merry Christmas everybody! I'm about to ruin it for you... English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

When the cell door creaked open, Jason didn’t even look up. He kept his head down, staring at the cracked concrete floor.

“Oh, bird boy,” the Joker sang, his voice laced with mockery. “Still sulking, are we? What’s the matter? Don’t like the accommodations? Or is it the lack of fine dining?”

Jason didn’t answer. He barely even moved, his breaths shallow and labored.

The Joker’s boots clunked against the floor as he sauntered in, something dangling from his gloved hand. “Well, lucky for you, Papa J is feeling generous today! I brought you something special.”

Jason’s stomach churned as the Joker dropped his “gift” onto the floor in front of him.

Dead rats. Three of them. Their tiny, broken bodies lay sprawled on the floor, their glazed eyes staring up at Jason.

Jason’s lips curled in disgust, and he finally looked up, glaring at the Joker. “You’re fucking insane,” he rasped, his voice barely audible.

The Joker grinned, crouching down so his face was level with Jason’s. “Oh, come on, kiddo. Don’t be rude. I went through all the trouble of finding these little guys for you! Freshly caught, too. You should be grateful.”

Jason swallowed hard, bile rising in his throat. His stomach twisted painfully, but he refused to give in. He spat at the Joker’s feet, his good eye blazing with defiance. “Fuck you.”

For a moment, the Joker stared at him, his grin faltering. Then, to Jason’s surprise, the clown’s face lit up with genuine delight. He clapped his hands together, letting out a peal of laughter that echoed through the cell.

“Oh, you’re precious! You really think you can starve yourself to death, don’t you? You’d rather wither away than eat the lovely meal I prepared just for you. How dramatic! How noble!”

Jason clenched his jaw, his body trembling with rage and hunger. “I’m not eating your fucking rats.”

The Joker’s grin widened, and he reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a phone. “Oh, I think you’ll change your mind, bird boy. Because if you don’t…” He tapped the screen, and the phone lit up. “Well, let’s just say things are going to get a lot more interesting.”

Jason froze. His heart dropped into his stomach as he stared at the screen.

It was her.

She was standing in what looked like an alley, her arms crossed, her face pale. She wasn’t tied up or restrained, but the fear in her eyes was unmistakable.

Jason’s chest tightened, his breath catching in his throat. “No…”

The Joker’s grin stretched impossibly wide. “Oh, yes. You see, bird boy, if you don’t play along, I’m going to pay your little girlfriend a visit. And do you know what I’m going to do?”

Jason shook his head, his voice trembling. “Please… don’t…”

“I’m going to skin her alive,” the Joker said, his voice gleeful. “I’ll peel her pretty little face right off, inch by inch. Then I’ll cook her up into a nice, juicy meal—just for you! Imagine that: you, sitting right here, munching on her crispy little fingers. Doesn’t that sound delicious?”

Jason’s vision blurred with tears. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. “No… Please, not her. I’ll do anything. Just don’t hurt her. Please…”

The Joker tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. “Then eat,” he said simply, gesturing to the rats.

Jason stared at the dead animals, bile rising in his throat. He wanted to say no, to refuse, to let himself starve. But the image of her face haunted him—the fear in her eyes, the trembling in her hands. He couldn’t let the Joker touch her. He couldn’t let him win.

With trembling hands, Jason reached for one of the rats.

“There’s a good boy,” the Joker cooed, clapping his hands. “Now, be a dear and eat up. And make it quick—I’ve got places to be!”

Jason gagged as he brought the rat to his mouth. The stench of decay hit him like a brick, and he had to fight the urge to vomit. He closed his eyes, tears streaming down his face, and bit into the flesh.

The Joker erupted into laughter, his cackles filling the room. “Oh, this is priceless! Look at you, bird boy, gobbling up rats like a starving stray. Faster now! Come on, show me how much you care about her!”

Jason obeyed, choking down the rancid meat as tears blurred his vision. The Joker’s cheers echoed in his ears, each word a dagger to his soul.

“Faster! Faster! Don’t keep Papa J waiting!”

Jason sobbed as he forced himself to eat, his body shaking with revulsion and despair. He couldn’t stop thinking about her—her smile, her laugh, the way she used to look at him. He clung to those memories like a lifeline, even as the Joker’s laughter threatened to drown him.

She loves me, she loves me. She was just scared. She’ll come back… She’ll come back…

His mind screamed at him to stop, to fight back, to do anything but this. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t let her die.

Everything hurts…

But he could take it.

He had to.

They’ll come for me, he told himself, over and over, like a mantra. Bruce won’t let me die here. She won’t let me die here. I just have to wait. Just a little longer…

But deep down, a voice whispered in the back of his mind—a voice that sounded eerily like the Joker’s.

What if they don’t?

Jason didn’t know how long he’d been in the chair. Days? Weeks? Months? The passage of time had become a blur, a murky haze of pain, humiliation, and Joker’s laughter. He couldn’t tell what was worse—the physical agony or the constant barrage of words designed to pick him apart piece by piece.

The room was cold and damp, the stench of mildew and blood lingering in the air. His wrists were raw and bleeding from the restraints, his muscles aching from being held in the same position for hours—days, maybe. He couldn’t feel his legs anymore. But worse than all of it was the gnawing emptiness inside him.

The door creaked open, and Jason instinctively flinched. He hated that reaction, hated how the sound of that door sent ice through his veins. But it was impossible not to. Joker entered with his usual swagger, his painted grin stretching impossibly wide.

“Wakey, wakey, bird boy!” he sang, his voice grating and shrill.

Jason didn’t look up. He couldn’t. He focused on the floor, the dirt-streaked concrete beneath his feet, anything but the clown.

“Aww, what’s the matter, kiddo?” Joker cooed, circling him like a vulture. “Cat got your tongue? Or maybe…” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a sinister whisper. “Maybe you’re starting to break, hmm?”

Jason didn’t respond. He clenched his jaw, ignoring the sharp pain in his cracked ribs. He wouldn’t give Joker the satisfaction.

But Joker didn’t need words. He always found a way to dig his claws into Jason’s mind.

“I brought you a little present today,” Joker said, his tone sing-song. “Thought it might cheer you up, you know, brighten your spirits!” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. “It’s picture day, after all!”

Jason finally looked up, his good eye narrowing at Joker. The clown grinned wider and held out the paper, waving it in front of Jason’s face.

“Go on, take a look. Don’t be shy!”

His bound hands couldn’t reach, so Joker leaned in and shoved the picture into his line of sight.

Jason’s blood turned to ice.

It was a photograph. A grainy, Polaroid snapshot of her. She was smiling—laughing, even—standing beside someone in a Robin suit. But it wasn’t him. It wasn’t his suit.

“No…” Jason whispered, his voice cracking.

“Oh, yes,” Joker said, his tone gleeful. “That’s your replacement, kiddo! Isn’t he a real charmer? A little younger, a little smarter… and oh, so much shinier!”

Jason’s chest tightened. He couldn’t breathe. His mind raced, his heart pounding against his bruised ribs.

“She’s moved on, bird boy,” Joker continued, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You’ve been replaced. Forgotten. Left behind. And look at her—she’s happier, isn’t she? Laughing, smiling, all while you’re down here rotting away.”

Jason shook his head, his breaths coming faster. “No… no, she wouldn’t…”

“Wouldn’t what?” Joker interrupted, his tone suddenly sharp. “Wouldn’t forget about you? Wouldn’t find someone better? Oh, come on, kid. Look at the picture. You’re not even a memory to her anymore. You’re nothing.”

Jason felt tears sting his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He couldn’t show weakness. Not now.

Joker noticed anyway. He always noticed.

“Aww, poor little Robin,” Joker mocked, crouching in front of him. “Does it hurt? Does it sting? Knowing she’s out there, living her life, while you’re stuck here… forgotten… abandoned…”

Jason’s silence only seemed to fuel the Joker’s sadistic glee.

“You know, I bet she doesn’t even think about you anymore,” the clown continued, his voice turning cruel. “She probably doesn’t even remember your name.”

“Shut up,” Jason growled, his voice trembling.

The Joker’s grin widened. “Oh, struck a nerve, did I? What’s the matter, kid? Can’t handle the truth?”

“SHUT UP!” Jason screamed, his voice raw.

Joker’s laughter filled the room, loud and maniacal, echoing off the walls.

“Oh, this is too good! You’re just so much fun to play with, bird boy!” He stood, pacing around Jason’s chair. “You know, I should thank you. Breaking you has been the highlight of my days.”

Jason clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He wouldn’t break. He couldn’t.

But then Joker leaned in close, his breath hot against Jason’s ear.

“You know what the best part is?” he whispered. “She doesn’t care. She never did.”

Jason’s resolve shattered.

Joker saw it—the moment the fight left Jason’s eyes—and his grin turned triumphant.

“That’s it, bird boy,” he said softly, almost lovingly. “Just let go. Stop fighting. It’s easier that way, isn’t it?”

Jason didn’t respond. He couldn’t.

Joker straightened, his grin returning. “Well, I’ll leave you to your thoughts, birdie. But don’t worry—I’ll be back. And who knows? Maybe I’ll bring another little picture next time. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Jason didn’t watch him leave. He stared at the floor, the photograph still burned into his mind.

She was smiling.

She was happy.

And he was nothing.

Jason barely registered the blows anymore. His entire body was a mess of torn skin, bruises, and agony so deep it numbed him to everything but Joker's voice. The laughter. Always the laughter. It echoed in his skull, filling every empty space where his own strength used to be.

By now, Jason had stopped flinching. When Joker’s boot slammed into his ribs again, he just let his head hang forward, blood dripping from his mouth onto the filthy floor.

“Oh, come on now, kid!” Joker taunted, squatting down to meet his eyes. He tilted his head in mock pity, his crimson smile as wide as ever. “Don’t tell me you’ve got nothing to say. Not even a little squeak? No ‘stop it’ or ‘please, sir’? You’re usually such a polite little punching bag.”

Jason forced himself to lift his head, just barely, his eyes glassy and unfocused. “Please… sir,” he croaked, his voice hoarse.

Joker’s grin split wider. “That’s the spirit! I knew you had some manners left in you.” He stood, pacing in lazy circles around the boy. “Now, I’ve got some questions for you, birdie. You’re gonna answer them, right? Be a good little boy for Uncle J?”

“Yes, sir,” Jason rasped, his voice trembling.

Joker clapped his hands together like a delighted child. “Oh, how precious! Alright, let’s get started, shall we?” He leaned against the wall, casually spinning a crowbar in his hand. “Tell me, Jaybird… what did you see in her?”

Jason blinked slowly, trying to process the question. His mind was a foggy haze, but when he thought of her—her smile, her laugh—it cut through the pain. His lips trembled. “She… she was everything,” he whispered.

Joker cackled, the sound sharp and cruel. “Everything! Oh, that’s rich! And what exactly does ‘everything’ mean, hmm? Did you think she loved you? That she cared about you?”

Jason’s throat tightened. He wanted to lie, to deny it, but he couldn’t. His voice was barely audible. “Yes, sir. I thought she did.”

Joker laughed harder, clutching his sides. “Oh, you poor, delusional boy! And what about you? What did you want with her? Hmm? Did you have plans, birdie? Little fantasies about your future together?”

Jason swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on the floor. The words came slowly, haltingly, dragged out of him like a confession. “I wanted… I wanted a family.”

Joker froze mid-laugh, his grin twisting into something darker. He stepped closer, crouching in front of Jason. “A family?” he repeated, his tone dripping with mockery.

Jason nodded weakly. “Yes, sir. I… I thought we could have a life together. Away from all this.” His voice cracked, tears streaming down his battered face. “I wanted… to marry her. Have kids. Be happy.”

Joker stared at him for a long moment before bursting into hysterical laughter. “Oh, my God! You really are pathetic, aren’t you? A little boy playing house, dreaming of a white picket fence while Daddy Bats fights crime.”

Jason didn’t respond. He couldn’t.

“And what about now, hmm?” Joker pressed, his grin predatory. “Do you still want that? After what she did?”

Jason’s head dipped lower, his tears falling freely now. “I don’t know, sir.”

The Joker’s smile faded slightly, replaced by something colder. He grabbed Jason by the hair, yanking his head up to force him to meet his eyes. “Oh, don’t go all quiet on me now, kid. You wanted her, didn’t you? You loved her. You would’ve done anything for her. So tell me…” His grin widened again, sharp and cruel. “Do you still love her?”

Jason’s lip trembled, blood mixing with tears as he whispered, “Yes, sir.”

Joker’s laughter exploded again, filling the room with its twisted echo. He shoved Jason’s head back, sending it slamming into the chair. “You really are a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?”

Jason didn’t respond. He just sat there, broken and defeated, Joker’s laughter ringing in his ears.

“That’s enough for now,” Joker said, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “But don’t worry, bird boy. We’ve got plenty of time to dive deeper into that broken little heart of yours.”

And as Joker walked away, Jason let his head hang again, wishing he could disappear.

Jason didn’t look up when Joker came back. He didn’t have the strength. His body was a wreck, each breath a struggle, each movement a new kind of pain. His mind… it was something else entirely. Foggy, frayed at the edges, and slipping into places he couldn’t pull it back from. It didn’t make sense anymore—none of it did.

The world was nothing but pain now. Pain and laughter. The Joker’s laughter, high-pitched and endless, reverberating through Jason’s broken skull.

"Alright, bird boy!" Joker’s voice rang out, sing-song and sharp, dragging Jason back to the surface of his nightmare. “Let’s play a game, shall we? I call it Truth… or Pain.”

Jason didn’t react. His body slumped in the chair, his head lolled forward. He could barely lift his eyes to meet the clown’s, blood and tears crusted to his face like a second skin.

Joker crouched in front of him, leaning close, so close Jason could smell the rancid stench of greasepaint and sweat. “Here’s how it works, kiddo,” he said, his voice mockingly gentle. “I ask you a question. You tell me the truth, or…” He smacked the crowbar into his palm with a wet thud, grinning wide. “You get the idea, don’tcha?”

Jason didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

The Joker’s smile twisted, his patience as thin as the thread Jason was clinging to. He grabbed a fistful of Jason’s hair, yanking his head up. “Nod if you understand, birdie.”

Jason nodded weakly, his neck too stiff and weak to do more than a faint dip.

“That’s my boy!” Joker chirped, releasing him and stepping back. He twirled the crowbar lazily, watching Jason with an almost fatherly gaze. “Now, first question.” He leaned forward, his grin sharpening. “What’s your name, hmm?”

Jason blinked slowly, his brain struggling to process the words. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

CRACK.

The crowbar slammed into his ribs, a sickening snap reverberating through the room. Jason choked on a scream, his body convulsing against the restraints.

“Wrong answer!” Joker sang, his voice bright and cheerful. “Let’s try again, hmm? Who’s Batman’s favorite? Which one of you brats he loves more?”

Jason wheezed, blood dripping from his lips as he forced himself to speak. “D… Dick…”

The Joker tilted his head, feigning curiosity. “Oh, really? Are you sure?”

Jason’s throat worked, but the words wouldn’t come.

CRACK.

The crowbar struck again, this time across his knee. Jason screamed, the sound raw and broken, echoing in the dark room.

“Ooh, wrong answer!” Joker said cheerfully. “See, the correct answer is none of you! You’re all just little tools in his utility belt. Didn’t you know that?”

Jason didn’t reply.

“C’mon, birdie! You’re not even trying!” Joker taunted, twirling the crowbar again. “Alright, let’s make this interesting. What’s your biggest fear, hmm? What keeps you up at night, even in this lovely little hell of ours?”

Jason’s breaths came in short, ragged gasps. His vision blurred, but the question cut through the fog. His biggest fear…

The words spilled from him, trembling and desperate, like a confession to a god who wouldn’t listen. “I’m… afraid…” His voice cracked, barely audible. “I’m afraid of forgetting her…”

Joker froze, his grin faltering for just a moment.

Jason didn’t notice. He couldn’t stop now, the words pouring out like blood from a wound. “Please… don’t make me forget Y/N…” His voice broke, tears streaming down his battered face. “It’s only her… only her and me… in this whole world…”

The Joker tilted his head, his grin returning, slower this time. “Oh, kiddo…” he murmured, his tone almost tender.

Jason’s voice cracked again, his words dissolving into sobs. “Just… give me that. Please… please… don’t take her from me… Don’t make me forget her… please…”

Joker stepped closer, crouching again to meet Jason’s tear-streaked gaze. He cupped Jason’s bloodied chin, forcing him to look up.

“Oh, sweet, sweet birdie,” he cooed, his voice soft and mocking. “Don’t you know? She’s already forgotten you.”

Jason’s breath hitched, his chest heaving as the words tore through him like shards of glass.

“She’s out there, laughing, living, loving… while you’re here, rotting away.” Joker’s grin widened, his voice dripping with venom. “And when you’re gone, birdie, no one will even remember you. Not her. Not Batman. No one.”

Jason’s head dropped, his sobs choking him as the Joker’s laughter filled the room once more.

“Truth or Pain, birdie?” Joker asked, raising the crowbar again. “Oops! Looks like it’s both!”

And the blows rained down again, each one erasing a little more of Jason, until all that was left was a broken, empty husk whispering one name into the darkness.

“Y/N…”

Next: Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 5.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ��ʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[eu-nicola]

the fastest driver part 3

summary: you are a young and talented driver, who begins your journey in Formula 1 with Ferrari. despite your undeniable ability, you are constantly relegated to the background due to the Scuderia's strategies, which always favor your teammate, Charles Leclerc

warnings: take of pills

word counter: 7364

author's note: english is not my first language, this is from an amazing request, thanks for the comments 🤍

tags: @ilovechickenwings @amortentiaaaa @ananyasribughead @supertrashbread @amalialeclerc @rawr-123s-stuff @wierdflowerpower @malvikareader @freyathehuntress @sweetmuffynsblog @vjbillno

Endless hours passed after the accident before the first clear update about your condition reached the media and the paddock. Everyone was anxiously waiting for news about your health. The uncertainty left fans, journalists, and especially those who truly knew you in a state of tense anticipation.

Finally, a statement from the hospital's medical team brought some relief: you were stable and conscious. While initial tests had ruled out serious spinal injuries or significant fractures, the impact had been severe, leaving you with a moderate concussion and several internal bruises that required monitoring. What concerned the doctors most were the potential psychological and emotional aftereffects: the nature of the crash, the impact, and all the built-up stress could take a toll later.

Hours later, you woke up in a hospital room softly lit by the afternoon light. Everything was quiet except for the rhythmic beeping of the monitor beside your bed. Your body felt heavy, like it was filled with lead, and the headache was sharp and constant. As your eyes adjusted to the light, you noticed someone sitting nearby.

It was Charles. He was there, his hands clasped in front of his mouth, as if praying or just trying to calm his own nerves. When he saw you stir slightly, he lifted his head, and his expression changed a mix of relief and worry crossed his face.

“You’re awake,” he said softly, as if he didn’t want to scare you. “Thank God.”

You hadn’t expected to see him there. In fact, you hadn’t expected to see anyone. And yet, here he was.

“Charles…” you tried to speak, but your voice came out as barely a whisper.

“Shhh, don’t talk too much. The doctors said you need to rest.”

“What are you doing here?” you asked, ignoring his warning, even though just talking felt like needles stabbing your skull.

He shrugged, offering a light but sincere smile.  

“Someone had to make sure you were okay.”

Charles stayed by your side for hours, even when the doctors came in and out to check on you. He answered questions from the journalists crowding outside the hospital, desperate for a statement, and refused requests from photographers trying to get a shot of you. There was something unusually warm and protective about the way he acted.

As you lay back, eyes closed to avoid making the headache worse, you heard his voice.

“You scared me, you know? I’ve never seen anything so…” He paused, searching for the right word. “So violent. Not since Jules. And when I saw the crash on the screen, I thought the worst.”

You opened your eyes and looked at him. There was sincerity in his face, something you hadn’t expected.

“I’m okay… sort of.” You tried to joke, but the pain turned it into a grimace.

“No, you’re not okay. But you will be. You have to be.”

As Charles stayed with you, messages started pouring in. Your phone sat on the bedside table, just out of reach, and Charles offered to read some.

“Everyone’s worried about you. Here’s one from Lando… and even one from Toto. Seems like the entire F1 world is waiting for you to get better.”

“Who else?” you asked, almost dreading the answer.

Charles scrolled through, his expression hardening briefly before softening again.

“Max,” he said simply.

Your heart stopped for a moment. You didn’t know what to expect. Since the accident, you’d assumed Max was too caught up in his own world to care, but the fact that he’d written at all was enough to twist your stomach.

“What does it say?” you asked, trying to sound indifferent, though you knew Charles could see right through you.

He hesitated before answering.

“‘Hope you’re okay. Sorry I wasn’t there sooner. Let me know if you need anything.’”

The neutrality of the words didn’t match the intensity of what you felt hearing them. You closed your eyes, trying to process it all. What did that message even mean? Was it just courtesy, or was there something more behind those words?

Charles noticed your discomfort and set the phone aside.

“You don’t have to reply if you don’t want to.”

“I won’t,” you said quickly, though part of you knew that wasn’t true.

As night fell, Charles finally said goodbye, promising to return the next day. There was something comforting about his presence, how he’d set aside any competitiveness or formality just to be there for you. Yet, when you were left alone, the thoughts began to overwhelm you.

The crash, the messages, the worries it all tangled into a mess of emotions you couldn’t unravel. The only thing clear was that while you were physically stable, emotionally, you were far from okay.

After that day in the hospital, Charles became a constant presence in your life. His support wasn’t limited to encouraging messages or occasional visits. He went beyond that. Where others saw a moral obligation or an opportunity to score points with the media, he saw something else: a chance to show you that you weren’t alone.  

The medical team made it clear you could return to racing, but not without certain restrictions. You had to stick to a strict combination of medications after every race: anti-inflammatories, painkillers, and supplements to manage the physical and mental stress you still felt after the accident. Charles was the first person to offer to help you with this. It wasn’t his responsibility, but he seemed to take on the role without hesitation.  

The first race after the accident was a mental and physical challenge. As you prepared to get back in the cockpit, fear swirled in your chest. The accident was fresh in your memory, and even though you knew you were capable, there was a shadow of doubt you couldn’t shake.  

The day before the race, Charles showed up at your hotel. He had a small bag in hand and a calm expression, almost as if it was meant to soothe you.  

"I thought you might need this," he said, placing the bag on the table.  

Inside, there was a box of relaxing tea, a small book about mental strategies in sports, and a handwritten note. When you opened it, you found a simple phrase: "You’re stronger than you think."  

"Thank u," you said, moved by the gesture.  

"You don’t have to thank me. I just want you to know I’m here, okay? If you need to talk, if you need anything..."  

You nodded, grateful for his sincerity. For a long time, you’d felt alone in this world. It was strange to realize someone was willing to stand by your side without asking for anything in return.  

Race day was a whirlwind. Even though you tried to stay calm, every time you sat in the car, the memory of the crash resurfaced. You gripped the steering wheel tightly, reminding yourself you’d done this thousands of times before, that you were capable—one of the best.  

The race wasn’t easy, but you finished in a solid fifth place, a result any other driver would’ve considered a success under the circumstances. When you got out of the car, exhausted but relieved, Charles was the first to approach you.  

"Well done," he said, patting your shoulder.  

After every race, Charles made sure you followed the medical protocol. Sometimes, when you forgot the pills, he’d show up holding the box, reminding you that your health came first.  

"How do you even know I haven’t taken them?" you asked one day, half-joking.  

"Because I know you well enough to know you hate depending on this stuff," he said with a smile, handing you the water and pills.  

It was strange how his presence had gone from sporadic to constant. He wasn’t just there for the serious moments; he also found ways to make you laugh, to lighten the weight on your shoulders.  

It wasn’t something you’d planned or even imagined after everything you’d been through, but your friendship with Charles was good for you. So much so that you felt comfortable asking him something after noticing he’d been off for a while. You’d seen his behavior become quieter than usual, even in the paddock, where he usually managed to keep up appearances in front of the cameras.  

"Are you okay? You seem... off."  

His response came almost immediately.  

"Do you have time to talk?"  

You invited him to your place, where you saw a different side of Charles. He’d shed his usual composure and looked... vulnerable, almost like the facade he kept in public had cracked.  

"Thanks for this," he said, sitting on the small couch as you handed him a bottle of water.  

"You don’t have to thank me, Charles. What’s going on?"  

He sighed, fiddling with the cap of the bottle before speaking.  

"It’s... complicated. Ferrari doesn’t feel like my team anymore."  

You frowned, surprised by his words.  

"What do you mean?"  

"Since Lewis joined this year, everything changed. I knew it would be different, it’s Lewis Hamilton, of course but I didn’t think it’d be like this," he confessed, his voice low, almost a whisper. "I feel like everything revolves around him. The strategies, the resources, even the engineers’ attention... It’s like I’m a shadow in my own team."  

You felt a pang in your chest hearing that. It was almost an exact replica of what you’d felt when you shared a team with him at Ferrari.  

"Charles... you don’t know how much I get it," you said, sitting across from him. "That feeling of being invisible, like your efforts don’t matter... I went through the same thing with you."  

He looked up, surprised by your honesty.  

"Really?"  

"Yeah. Do you remember all those team orders? All those moments where no matter how fast I was, they always put me aside to favor you. It’s... frustrating. It makes you question everything you do."  

Charles nodded slowly, processing your words.  

"I guess I never saw it from your perspective. I always thought the team’s decisions were fair, but now... now I know what it feels like."  

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees.  

"Charles, I know how hard this is. But what you need to remember is that your talent doesn’t depend on them. Ferrari is just one team, one stage in your career—it doesn’t define who you are as a driver."  

"How did you deal with it?" he asked, genuinely curious.  

"At first, I didn’t," you admitted. "I kept everything inside, let the frustration eat me up... until I couldn’t take it anymore. But I learned something: you can’t let them take away what you love about this sport. If Ferrari doesn’t value you the way they should, then prove your worth on the track. Force them to see you."  

Charles nodded slowly, as if your words were beginning to sink in.  

"It’s easier said than done," he said, with a bitter smile.  

"I know. But I also know you have the talent to do it."  

The conversation went on for hours, shifting from serious topics to shared memories and stories from your days at Ferrari. It was strange, but comforting, to share that space with him. He’d gone from being the rival who overshadowed you at your lowest to someone you could fully trust.  

When he finally stood to leave, Charles paused at the door and looked at you with an expression you hadn’t seen before.  

"Thank you for this. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you."  

"I’m always here. You know that."  

As the door closed behind him, you couldn’t help but smile. Charles was so much more than you’d ever thought. And somehow, he’d brought out the best in you too.

While you were helping Charles find his way in a team that relegated him to second place, you couldn’t ignore the fact that your own demons were still lurking. And, as if that wasn’t enough, Max remained a constant presence both on the track and in your personal life.  

Since your move to McLaren, the rivalry with Max had reached a new level. If before you shared moments of camaraderie and confidences, now every interaction was loaded with tension. And not just on the track.  

The championship was on fire. You and Max were leading the standings, swapping first and second place race after race. On every circuit, every corner, and every straight, it felt like only the two of you existed. It didn’t matter who else made it to the podium; the battle was always between you and him.  

During qualifying, both of you pushed to the limit, but an incident in Q3 left Max without a lap time. As soon as he got out of the car, Max stormed straight toward you, visibly furious.  

“What the hell was that?” he snapped, his voice sharp as he closed the distance between you in the paddock.  

“What was what?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, though you knew exactly what he was referring to.  

“You blocked me on my flying lap.”  

“Max, you were too far behind when I started my lap. I didn’t block you.”  

“Of course you did!” he insisted, stepping even closer. His blue eyes burned with a mix of frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place.  

The argument caught the attention of journalists and members of both teams. You knew that one wrong word could make headlines the next day, so you chose to stay calm.  

“If you have a problem, take it up with the stewards, not me,” you said before turning and walking away, leaving Max with the words stuck in his throat.  

But the tension wasn’t confined to the track. It had started to bleed into your personal lives. Even though both of you tried to avoid each other outside of race weekends, coincidences were inevitable especially at sponsor events or official meetings.  

At one of these events, an FIA gala in Monaco, Max couldn’t resist looking for you in the crowd. When he finally spotted you, you were talking to Charles, laughing at something he’d said. The sight seemed to ignite something in Max, and he couldn’t hold back as he approached.  

“Can we talk?” he asked, cutting into the conversation.  

Charles glanced at you, his expression a mix of curiosity and caution, before stepping back to let you decide.  

“What do you want, Max?” you asked, trying to keep your voice neutral.  

“You and Charles, what’s going on between you two?” he asked quietly, though his tone carried an accusatory edge.  

“What kind of question is that?” you replied, crossing your arms.  

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m losing it, but… every time I see you two together, I can’t help thinking that…”  

“That what?” you interrupted, annoyed. “That maybe someone else can actually support me and understand me in this chaos that you chose to ignore?”  

Max pressed his lips together, clearly feeling the sting of your words. But instead of responding, he looked away and muttered:  

“You still know how to twist everything around.”  

The conversation was left unfinished, but the night didn’t end there. Later, as you tried to avoid him, you found Max alone on the terrace of the venue, staring out at the sea, his figure illuminated by the lights.  

“Why do you do this?” you asked, walking toward him. Your tone was no longer defiant but tired.  

“Do what?” he asked without looking at you.  

“Show up, disappear, demand things from me that you can’t even give yourself. You’re still with her, and yet…”  

Max closed his eyes, as if your words were too heavy to bear.  

“I don’t know how to handle this,” he admitted finally, turning to face you. “You and me… I don’t know how to handle it.”  

“Then maybe you should stop trying,” you said, though your voice cracked at the end.  

The silence between you was deafening. Too many unsaid emotions, too many decisions both of you refused to make. Finally, Max stepped back.  

“It’s easier said than done, isn’t it?”  

And with that, he left, leaving you alone on the terrace, feeling like the two of you were trapped in a vicious cycle neither of you knew how to escape.  

In the days that followed, you tried to focus on racing and your friendship with Charles, who had become a kind of refuge in the chaos. But every time you saw Max, every time your eyes met in the paddock, you felt the storm lingering, waiting for the right moment to break again.  

The rivalry on the track only grew more intense. Max and you raced as if every race was the last, as if the championship depended on who was stronger, more determined, more ruthless. But off the track, you both continued to grapple with the same internal conflict: what you felt for each other and what the world expected of you.  

You and Max were the top contenders for the title, and every race turned into a war. The media called it “the battle of the century,” comparing it to the legendary Senna-Prost rivalry. Every overtake, every strategy, every word in a press conference was scrutinized.  

At the Brazilian Grand Prix, things came to a head. From the first lap, the fight between you and Max was fierce. You knew every one of his tricks, every weakness, every strength. There were moments when the cars seemed to touch, pushing the limits of competition to the extreme.  

On lap 43, you attempted an overtake on the inside of Turn 1, but Max, in his trademark aggressive style, shut the door almost recklessly. Your front tires brushed his, and though both of you managed to maintain control, the incident was enough to set off commentators and social media.  

“This is unacceptable!” your engineer shouted over the radio. “We’re reporting it.”  

But you didn’t want to win the championship through a penalty.  

“Leave it. I’ll settle it on the track,” you said, with a determination that surprised even yourself.  

In the end, you finished second, behind Max, but the battle was epic. Fans were divided, some siding with you, others defending Max. But in your mind, one thought started to take root: maybe you’d had enough of this world.  

After that race, you decided to take a break. You flew back to your hometown to spend time with your family, seeking comfort in their presence. One night, sitting in the garden of your parents’ house, you opened up to your mom.  

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” you admitted, staring at the stars. “Every race feels like a battle not just on the track, but inside me, too.”  

Your mom, always wise and patient, looked at you with gentle understanding.  

“Then why do you keep going?”

You stayed silent for a moment, searching for the words.  

“Because it’s all I’ve ever known. Since I was a kid, my entire world has revolved around racing. But lately… lately, I feel like I want something more. I want a normal life, a family. I want to stop fighting all the time.”

“What’s stopping you?.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I don’t know what that life would look like, or who it would be with.”

It was the first time you’d said those words out loud. The idea of giving up Formula 1, of walking away from everything you’d worked so hard for, was terrifying but also freeing.  

You couldn’t help but think of Max. Even though your relationship was broken, and the rivalry had reached its peak, there was still something about him pulling you in. But the question that haunted you was: did he feel the same?  

Max was still with his partner, at least publicly. But his actions, his looks, even his comments during races, hinted at something more. Could you build a life with someone who seemed incapable of facing his own feelings?  

“Maybe it’s not Max,” you muttered to yourself that night, curled up on the couch in your childhood bedroom. “Maybe it’s someone else. Or maybe I just need to find myself first.”

When you returned to the paddock for the US Grand Prix, something had shifted inside you. You hadn’t made any final decisions, but you knew this chapter of your life was nearing its end. Still, as long as you were in F1, you were going to give it everything you had.  

In the pre-race interviews, journalists bombarded you with questions about your rivalry with Max.  

“Is it personal?,” one of them asked with a sly grin.  

“Everything in Formula 1 is personal,” you replied with a wry smile, offering no further explanation.  

Max, sitting next to you at the press conference, shot you a sideways glance but said nothing. The tension between you two was palpable, even in front of the cameras.  

That race turned into yet another head-to-head battle between the two of you. During the final laps, the radio chatter grew more intense.  

“He’s losing rear grip. Push him.”

“I already am!,” you snapped, pushing the car to its limit.  

In the last lap, you pulled off a risky overtake that left everyone stunned. You won the race, and as you stepped out of the car, you felt a mix of euphoria and exhaustion.  

While celebrating with your team, your thoughts drifted back to your conversation with your mom. Maybe this was the ending you’d been searching for, or maybe it was just the start of something new.  

Max watched you from the podium, his blue eyes filled with something you couldn’t decipher. In the crowd, you couldn’t help but wonder: could you ever leave it all behind, even him?  

The next race, under the scorching Qatar sun, felt heavier, both in the air and in the paddock. Everything about this second-to-last race of the season felt like a countdown to something inevitable. You and Max were tied in points, both neck and neck after a season of epic battles, controversies, and moments that had pushed you to the edge emotionally.  

The tension in the McLaren garage was palpable. Though your relationship with your team was excellent, you knew the pressure was on you. Lando tried to lighten the mood with his usual sense of humor, but even his energy couldn’t cut through the wall of your thoughts.  

“Come on, don’t be so serious. We could both use a win today,” he joked while adjusting his gloves.  

“Sure, but if you win, I won’t complain,” you replied with a faint smile, though you both knew that wasn’t true. This race meant everything to you.  

Meanwhile, Charles had sent a message that morning: ‘Remember, one race at a time. You can do this. You’ve already proven you’re the best.’ His unwavering support had become one of the few things keeping you mentally afloat during this emotional rollercoaster.  

From qualifying, it was clear this race would be another direct battle between you and Max. Both of you blocked every attempt the other made to set the fastest time, ending up on the front row: Max on pole, you in second.  

The start was clean but intense. From the first corner, Max showed his usual aggression, shutting you out in an attempt to stay ahead. But you knew this game; he had taught you how to play it. You used the slipstream on the main straight, and on lap five, you overtook him with a surgical move in turn 6.  

For a moment, the world seemed to stop as you led the race, but you knew the real battle had just begun.  

Midway through the race, things heated up. Teams began to play with strategies, and tire choices became crucial. On lap 32, as you exited the pits after a tire change, Max appeared beside you. The overtake that followed was so tight the two cars brushed slightly, sparking an explosion of shouting over the radio.  

“That was way too close!,” your engineer protested, but you were too focused to respond.  

Max didn’t back down. In the following laps, he kept relentless pressure on you, looking for any weakness in your defense. On lap 48, he attempted an inside overtake on a tight corner, but you managed to hold your position with a move that left everyone on the edge of their seats.  

In the final laps, your mind was torn between the adrenaline of the race and the mental exhaustion you’d been carrying all season. Max was glued to your diffuser, but he made a small mistake on the second-to-last corner, giving you just enough of a margin to cross the finish line first.  

Your team’s shout over the radio was deafening:  

“Victory! You’re incredible, what a race!.”

But you didn’t have time to celebrate. As you parked the car in parc fermé, reality hit you: this victory only meant you were still tied in points, and everything would come down to the final race.  

The journalists were in a frenzy. In the post-race press conference, the questions came at you like bullets.  

“How do you handle the pressure heading into the last race?.”

“Calmly. One race at a time.” you replied, echoing Charles’ words, even though calm was the last thing you felt.  

Max, sitting beside you, spoke after you.  

“I always knew this season would be decided in the end. I’m ready for it.”

His gaze met yours for a second, and in that brief moment, the tension between you two felt more personal than ever.  

Back at the hotel, you tried to disconnect, but it was impossible. Your mind raced, replaying every detail of the race and anticipating what was to come. Charles called to congratulate you but also to remind you to rest.  

“Don’t let this consume you, okay?,” he said, his tone serious but kind. “You’ve done an amazing job, and you have everything you need to win.”

“Thanks, Charles. Really. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I don’t know what you’d do without me either,” he joked, managing to make you laugh.

However, when you hung up, you kept staring at the ceiling of your room, wondering if you were truly ready to face everything the final race was about to bring.  

Even though you hadn’t seen Max since the press conference, you knew he was just as restless as you. Despite everything that had happened between you two, you couldn’t help but think about him, about how this rivalry had consumed everything you once shared.  

Is this really what you wanted? To keep fighting, keep competing, keep losing yourself in the process?  

You closed your eyes, trying to calm your thoughts. Just one race left. One final battle. And after that, maybe you’d finally have the answers you’d been searching for.  

The last week of the season was a whirlwind of emotions, preparations, and a tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. The entire paddock was on edge. Everything would be decided in Abu Dhabi.  

Escaping the media’s attention was impossible. Cameras followed you everywhere, looking for any reaction that could turn into a headline. The atmosphere at McLaren was optimistic but tense. You’d brought the team to its highest point in years, and that was already a monumental achievement. But for you, it wasn’t enough. You wanted that title.  

During the press conferences, the questions were relentless. You and Max were the center of attention. Though both of you kept calm outwardly, the discomfort between you was obvious. Every word, every gesture was analyzed by the journalists.  

“How do you feel heading into this decisive race?” they asked you during one of the press rounds.  

“Focused. This is what we’ve worked for all year. I just want to do my job and see what happens,” you replied diplomatically, though inside your heart was racing.  

Max, sitting next to you, simply said:  

“I’m focused too. We both know what’s at stake. May the best win.”  

There was a moment when your eyes met, but it was fleeting. There were so many words left unsaid between you, and the weight of that silence felt unbearable.  

In the final strategy meeting with your team, the tension was palpable. You knew every decision would matter, every detail could be the difference between winning and losing. Your race engineer, always meticulous, reviewed the plans calmly, but even you could tell he was nervous.  

“I believe in you. You’ve proven you can do this,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder before you left the garage.  

Lando, on the other hand, tried to lighten the mood with a joke.  

“If you don’t win, can I keep the consolation trophy?” he said with a cheeky grin.  

“There won’t be a consolation trophy,” you replied with a smirk.  

That day, Yas Marina Circuit was lit up like a jewel in the desert, and the atmosphere was electric. Before getting in the car, you took a moment for yourself. You took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and visualized every corner, every move. You knew you had to give it everything.  

The anthem played, and the world seemed to pause for a moment. Max was beside you on the grid. Though you didn’t speak, you could feel his presence, his energy. You both knew this race wasn’t just about the championship but also everything that had happened between you.  

The start was flawless. From the first corner, you and Max were locked in an intense battle. Neither of you gave an inch. Every lap was a fight, every overtake a statement. The rest of the drivers might as well have been racing in a different category; it was as if this championship was meant to be decided between just the two of you.  

On lap 35, a slow pit stop almost cost you the race, but you quickly recovered, overtaking Max in a spectacular move on lap 42. The crowd went wild.  

But Max wasn’t going to give up. On lap 50, he took the lead back, forcing you slightly off the track. It was an aggressive move, but clean—classic Max.  

In the final five laps, both of you were at the limit. Your hands trembled slightly from the adrenaline, but your focus was unshakable. In the penultimate lap, you found a gap on the main straight and passed Max on the inside. This time, he had no answer.  

When you crossed the finish line, the world seemed to stop for a moment before exploding in celebration. You’d done it. You were a world champion.  

Your team screamed over the radio, their voices full of tears and joy.  

“You’re the world champion! You did it!”  

As you climbed out of the car, the emotions overwhelmed you. Your team surrounded you, celebrating. Lando was one of the first to hug you, shouting:  

“I told you! I knew you’d do it!”  

As you stood with your team, your eyes instinctively searched for Max. He was there, watching you from a distance. Slowly, he approached, his steps a mix of pride and resignation.  

When he reached you, he extended his hand.  

“Congratulations,” he said, his voice calm but heavy with emotion.  

“Thanks, Max,” you replied, shaking his hand. For a moment, his eyes reflected something that looked like regret, but he said nothing more. He turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.  

That night was magical. There was laughter, tears, toasts. The tension of the entire season melted away in a whirlwind of emotions. Charles called to congratulate you, and his genuine happiness was like a balm to your heart.  

“I knew you could do it. I’m so proud of you,” he said, his voice full of sincerity.  

As the celebration went on, you took a moment to reflect. You’d reached the pinnacle of the world, but you knew this was just the beginning of a new chapter in your life. The future was full of uncertainty, but that night, you decided to enjoy the present, savoring every moment of your triumph.  

The emotional hangover the next day was overwhelming. It wasn’t physical, nor from the celebration, but a deep emptiness you hadn’t expected to feel after achieving the dream of your life. You’d won the Formula 1 World Championship, the peak of your career, but instead of feeling complete, you felt lost.

You woke up in your hotel room, sunlight streaming through the curtains. Around you, there were remnants of the celebration: a half-empty champagne glass on the table, the dress you wore last night carelessly thrown over a chair. The trophy, shiny and imposing, sat on the nightstand, but as you looked at it, you didn’t feel the euphoria you’d imagined for years.  

You got up and walked to the mirror. The reflection staring back at you was different from the one you were used to. It wasn’t just the physical exhaustion from the season; it was something deeper a sense of disconnect with yourself.  

You spent the morning avoiding your phone, even though you knew the notifications had to be flooding in. Messages of congratulations, articles from the media, videos of the highlights... but you weren’t ready to face it yet. Instead of feeling celebrated, you felt isolated.  

The idea had been lingering in your mind for weeks, maybe even months. The crash, the endless emotional struggles, the pressure to always be the best... it had all left its mark. And now, after achieving what you’d always dreamed of, you realized something: you didn’t want to keep going anymore.  

During breakfast with your parents, you decided to share your thoughts. You’d avoided bringing it up before, afraid of their reactions, but now felt like the right time.  

“I’ve been thinking about something... important,” you said, breaking the silence while fiddling with your coffee mug.  

Your mom looked at you with concern.  

“Are you okay? Does this have to do with Formula 1?”  

You shook your head.  

“No… well, partly, yes. Like I said, I’ve been reflecting, and I think... I don’t want to keep racing anymore.”  

The silence that followed was heavy. Your dad, ever the pragmatic one, was the first to speak.  

“Are you sure? You’ve worked your whole life for this.”  

“I know, Dad. But I’ve also given it everything I had. And now I feel like if I keep going, it’ll just be out of habit, not because I really want to.”  

Your mom took your hand.  

“We’ve always wanted you to be happy, no matter what you do. If you feel this is the time to stop, we’ll support you.”  

That conversation was the turning point. Over the following days, you talked to your team, Lando, and even Charles, who, although surprised, understood your decision. Lando tried to convince you to stay for one more year.  

“Are you really going to leave me here alone? We were just starting to have fun!” he joked, though there was genuine sadness in his eyes.  

“It’s your time, Lando. I’m sure you’ll do amazing things,” you replied, hugging him.  

Charles, on the other hand, was more serious.  

“I didn’t see this coming, but I get it. Just… promise me you won’t disappear completely.”  

“I won’t. I’ll always be here, even if it’s just as a spectator.”  

That same night, after hours of figuring out how to word it, you sat in front of the camera in your room. You were nervous, not about the decision, but about how the world would react. You wore a simple t-shirt, your hair tied back. You wanted the message to be honest, without distractions.  

‘Hi, everyone. I know this isn’t the video you were expecting after the incredible season we just had, but I wanted to share something important with you...’

You took a deep breath before continuing.  

‘I’ve decided to retire from Formula 1. This year has been the most exciting but also the most exhausting of my life. Winning the championship was a dream come true, but it also made me realize it’s time to close this chapter and start a new one.’

You paused, letting your words sink in.  

‘This wasn’t an easy decision. Formula 1 has been my life for so many years that I barely remember what it was like before. But I also know I want other things. I want time for myself, for my family, to explore who I am outside of this sport.’

Your voice wavered slightly, but you kept going.  

‘I want to thank my team, my teammates, my rivals, and, of course, the fans. Without your support, none of this would’ve been possible.’

When you finished, you turned off the camera and fell onto the bed. It wasn’t immediate relief, but there was something freeing about putting an end to that chapter.  

The video was released the next day and, as expected, caused a storm. The media debated your decision, fans flooded social media with messages of support and gratitude, and some even expressed disbelief.  

Charles sent you a text:  

“I saw it. I’m proud of you. You’ll do amazing things, no matter where you go.”  

And Max, who had avoided talking to you since the last race, also sent a short message:  

“You were the best. I always knew it. I hope you find what you’re looking for and that you forgive me.”  

Even though his words were few, they left a lump in your throat.  

That night, while staring at the stars from your balcony, you realized that, even though the future was uncertain, you were ready to face it.  

Weeks passed since your decision, and life finally seemed to find its rhythm. The constant noise of racing and the pressure to be the best slowly faded. But deep down, you felt like something or someone was still missing.  

Your house, now quieter than ever, became your sanctuary. You spent those days focusing on yourself, resting, discovering what you truly liked outside the track. But even in the peace of your own thoughts, Max lingered in your mind. He wasn’t a constant thought, but you’d remember him, especially when news of his breakup with his girlfriend started circulating. That, unexpectedly, stirred something in you, a knot in your stomach.  

Late one night, your phone buzzed. The name on the screen made you hesitate for a second. Max.  

The message was short, direct.  

“Can I see you? I need to talk to you.”  

You didn’t think much about it. You knew this conversation needed to happen eventually. You’d been avoiding it, but now it felt like the universe was putting it in your path.  

You agreed to meet at your house the next day, and when the door opened, there he was. Max, with that intense, direct gaze that had known you for years. Now, though, there was something different something more vulnerable.  

“Hi,” he said, his voice softer than usual.  

You invited him in, and he settled on the couch like it was his own home. The silence between you was heavy, filled with unresolved emotions.  

“I don’t know where to start,” he began, with a nervous smile.  

“Neither do I,” you replied, sitting across from him.  

The two of you just sat there, watching each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. Finally, Max spoke.  

“Breaking up with her... wasn’t easy. I knew it wasn’t fair, but I couldn’t keep lying to myself. The truth is… I never stopped thinking about you.”  

Your heart skipped a beat, and a lump formed in your throat. You didn’t know what to say. Max, always so sure of himself, seemed completely different now.  

“Max... I don’t know what you want me to say. We’ve been on such different paths. You… always so focused on F1, on competing… and me too. Things were never easy between us, and now… I don’t know if any of this makes sense.”  

He nodded, understanding what you meant.  

“I know. I’ve been an idiot. I thought I could keep everything under control, but in the end… I lost what mattered most.”  

He looked at you intently, and in his eyes was a sincerity that made you question everything you’d been thinking until that moment.  

“But that doesn’t mean I forgot about you. It doesn’t mean I don’t care about what we had. If anything, it’s taken me time to realize that… maybe there’s something here we never really figured out.”  

You stayed silent, processing his words. The tension was thick, but something in his voice made you want to listen, even though you knew the situation was complicated.  

“And what is it that you want, Max?” you asked, your voice a bit shaky.  

“I don’t know,” he admitted with a small, sad smile. “I’m not asking you to forgive me or to go back to what we had. But I think… we should at least try. Not now, not right away, but… maybe we can see what happens, without the pressures of F1, without everything that kept us apart.”  

You got up and walked to the window, staring outside without really seeing anything. Max watched you from the couch, waiting for your response. The atmosphere between you had shifted somehow, and for the first time, it felt like you had both let go of the fight to always be the best.  

You turned to look at him.  

“I’m not sure I’m ready to start something new. After all, I made the decision to retire for a reason, Max. I’ve spent so much time on F1 that now I need to rediscover myself. And I don’t know what I want.”  

Max got up from the couch, slowly approaching you.  

“I get it. I’m not expecting it to be easy, or for everything to be resolved right now. But I want you to know I’m not pressuring you. I just… wanted you to know that, no matter what happens, I’ll be here. And if someday you decide what we had is worth another shot, I’ll be ready to try, no matter the past.”  

A deep silence followed his words. You knew there was still so much to figure out between the two of you, but something about his attitude, about his willingness to wait, struck a chord within you.  

You didn’t say anything else. You walked toward him, and for a moment, words weren’t necessary. The look in your eyes said it all. Still, there were no promises, no certainties just a silent understanding that, maybe, the future could be different. Maybe even together.  

“We’ll see what happens,” you finally said.  

Max nodded, not pushing, knowing that time would have to decide the course for both of you. And with that response, the future remained suspended between you, open, uncertain, but carrying a possibility that hadn’t existed before.

[lunaritex]

𓏲࣪ ִֶָ ︎ִֶָ DRUNKEN WHISPERS 𖤐. — sim jaeyun

(*´▽`*) Ꮺ sim jaeyun + fem! reader non-idol au college/university au friends to lovers ᛝ warning cursing drinking partying drunken confession one kiss scene open ending so interpret it as how you would . . !? & 1249 — m.list

note. i've been itching to write something related to drunk confessions so yeah. also this is my first jake fic, hopefully i didn't messed up his character here. i might make a part two for this if this blew up hehe. and merry xmas! 🎄tagging @senascoooop

Ring, ring. Ring, ring. 

“Hello?” You picked up the ringing phone without checking the screen. Your desk was a sight to behold; a stack of books placed dangerously close to the edge of your desk with sheets of papers covering the surface. In the middle was your laptop, the blaring screen nearly blinding you. 

“Hey uh, do you mind coming over to pick Jake up? He’s drunk,” Heeseung said, sounding embarrassed. You could make out the faint booming music from the other line. 

“Again? Heeseung, this is the fourth time it has happened this week,” you sighed, already rising to your feet, swiping your phone, wallet and car keys off the table as you stepped out of your room.

You heard a laugh. “We tried to stop him, (Name) but you know how it always turns out.” 

You merely rolled your eyes, having known Jake long enough to visualise how the scenario played out. As far as you were aware, Jake was a persistent pillar in your life. You had known each other since you were toddlers, due to both of you being neighbours and how your mothers were friends too. Everywhere you went, he was sure to follow you. It was an endearing sight to behold for the public, like a puppy following its owner. 

“Whatever, I’ll be there in thirty minutes. In the meantime, please stop him from drinking again,” you replied, hanging the call after Heeseung texted you the location of where they were. 

It didn’t take you long to arrive at your destination and you stepped out of your car after parking it, able to hear the loud bass boosted music that grew louder as you got closer. Thankfully, you didn’t have to enter the club as you easily spotted Jake and the others seated outside. It was like Jake had heightened hearing, for he perked up at the sound of your approaching footsteps. His face lit up as he rose to his feet while swaying side to side, resulting in both Heeseung and Jay having to steady him. 

But Jake didn’t care. He staggered his way towards you, throwing his entire body weight on you. You would have fallen to the ground if you didn’t catch yourself in the nick of time. You scrunch your nose at the revolting stench of alcohol lingering on his body and you could smell it from his mouth too, much to your disgust. 

“(Name)~, I’ve missed you so much,” his words were borderline slurring, barely comprehensible but you were still able to make out what he said. 

Thankfully, Heeseung and Jay pulled him away from you, eliciting a pathetic whine from Jake who struggles to free himself. You, on the other hand, ran a hand through your hair. “How many did he drink?” You asked. 

“Uh, like seven?” Heeseung replied, earning a smack to the arm from Jay, who shot him a glare.

“Seven? And none of you tried to stop him?” You asked, exasperated. 

“Hey, we tried our best but he refused to listen to us. He only listens to you,” Jay pointed out, a knowing glint in his eyes; a glint that made you look away, ignoring how your stomach tightened. 

“I’ll take him home now then, I’ll see you guys next week,” you sighed, bidding them farewell as you threw Jake’s right arm around your shoulder, having to grip onto him to prevent him from falling forward or backward. The others see you off before returning to the club, wanting to get more drinks before heading home. 

Needless to say, it was a struggle trying to complete the short walk to your car. You had to support the weight of a fully-grown man who is drunk, all the while maintaining your balance. With some difficulty, you managed to overcome it. However when you were trying to fish for your keys, Jake thought it was a good idea to bury his face in the crook of your neck. You groaned when his abyssal-like hair blocked off a good portion of your view, making a simple task harder than it should be. 

“Jake, what are you doing?” You asked, trying to push his head away but it was futile. 

He whined, still able to move his limbs despite his current state. You froze when Jake wrapped his arms around your waist. Physical contact is a common thing in your friendship but something about the way his lips brushed against the sensitive skin of your neck caused goosebumps to form. You involuntarily shivered when he rubbed circles on your waist, through the fabric of your clothes. 

“Jake, seriously, stop this,” you said, your voice wavering at the end and it didn’t go unnoticed by him. 

“Noooo,” he whined, his hot breath grazing against your skin with every word he spoke. “I miss you so much.” 

“We literally meet every day, how can you miss me?” You sighed, finally pulling out your keys to unlock your car. You opened the backdoor, managing to get him in. 

Jake grabbed your wrist and before you could react, he tugged you down. You yelped, falling forward and thankfully, you didn’t hit your head against anything. You held yourself up in an awkward position, one knee digging into the car seat, one hand gripping onto the headrest of the driver’s seat while the other was pressed against the window in front of you. Your breath hitched in your throat when you realized just how close he was. 

You were so close that if one of you were to move, you would be kissing. You have always known Jake is attractive but it was another level to see his features up close. His eyes were windows to his soul. No matter how expressive he is or how he tries to hide his feelings, his eyes will never lie. And right now, you could detect nothing but pure love and adoration in them. It was enough to make you gulp nervously. 

“(Name), you’re so pretty. Wanna kiss you so bad,” he murmured, words no longer slurring and for a moment, you thought he had sobered up, only for him to giggle and the thought was washed down the drain. 

“Jake, enough. You’re not thinking straight,” you said, not wanting to ruin your many years of friendship. You didn’t want to let something as simple as your feelings for him ruin it. You tried to move away but his grip on your wrist tightened. 

“I’m telling the truth,” he whines, lips curling down in a pout. You were tempted to kiss him right there and then but you held yourself back. “Heeseung and the others know about how I’m madly in love with you. You’re always on my mind, no matter what I go. If only you know how crazy I am for you.” 

You were rendered speechless, taken aback by the utmost sincerity in his voice and the abrupt confession. Never in your life have you thought that your friend feels the same way. 

“Jake, I—!?” 

You weren’t given the chance to finish his sentence. Jake moved and with one smooth movement, he captured your lips in a kiss. You were too stunned to react and the kiss ended as fast as it started. He pulled away, looking into your eyes for a few seconds before passing out. All you could do was to openly gape at him, watching as he fell asleep, occupying the entire backrow of your car.  

What the fuck just happened? 

[leascorner]

j.b.b | The Grinch

Summary: Y/N can’t travel to see her family on Christmas so she invite her grumpy loner neighbour, Bucky.

Pairing:  Post blip!Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Warnings: Use of Y/N and feminine pronoums, a few mentions of food and alcohol, angst, some vulgar language, everything is in the summary really, this is set like the falcon and the winter soldier never happened or it's happening before that.

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: This is the 4th Xmas OS of the series. So sorry it is a couple of days late. Please do share and like if you enjoyed it, it means a lot! Merry Christmas!

2024 Christmas Masterlist | Main Masterlist

18th of December

$125

Y/N blinked at the number being displayed on her phone’s screen. She had stopped right in the middle of what she was doing, in utter disbelief of her discovery. Her whole process of thoughts seemed to have frozen; just like her computer would display “error 404” when she would perform contradictory actions.

She didn’t understand how this was possible; something was wrong obviously wrong because she didn’t expect this number to be displayed. Refusing what she was seeing, she logged out of the app and then back in a couple of times.

Yet, every time, the sentence was the same.

$125

Despite everything, this was currently the amount of money Y/N had on her bank account. These past couple of months, she had been saving for this moment; a moment she had been imagining all year long and for which she expected to be shredding happy tears. Instead, the tears currently running down her cheeks were made of pure anger.

She found the culprit quite easily. A monthly interest payment of a loan that was playfully mocking her on top of her bank statement. Now that she was thinking of it, she should have probably read all those letters; the ones with the red-inked stamp “urgent” printed on them. She had found all the excuses in the world: especially how exhaustive was she after having worked double shifts almost every day lately or that it had just been easier to have them sitting on her coffee table.

Y/N had no idea what she would do. If $125 was probably quite enough to eat until the end of the month if she made a few compromises, there was no way she would be able to buy flight tickets to get home for Christmas. She would have brought them earlier if she had been able to – at a time she still had the money on her bank account, for example – but her colleague had only confirmed that same day they could take over her shifts during the Christmas week. Now, she didn’t have any money and would be alone for the year-end celebration.

Her cell phone ringing made her snap back to reality. She was still in front of her building, keys in one hand, frozen in her action to enter. Her heart sunk has she discovered the picture displayed on the screen; her sister and her, one of the last pictures they had taken together, at Y/N’s university graduation ceremony, a couple of weeks before the blip. Her sister was most likely calling her about this “very good news” Y/N had texted her about that afternoon. Now, she only had to let her know that it had been a false alarm and that she wouldn’t be able to make it home this year.

Again.

It wouldn’t be the first time indeed. In fact, ever since the blip had been reversed, Y/N had not been home for the Christmas. At first, she had chosen not to. She was the only person in her family to have been gone. Without her, they all had continued with their lives, and the post-blip had been brutal for her. One second, she was full of life: she had just gotten an amazing job in New York, and she was going to live her dream. The other, the blip had happened, five years had passed, and she had lost everything. Her family, her job, herself. Her little sister was now older than her, graduating college and ready to start a family. Her parents had retired and started a new life in California. She didn’t have a dream job anymore; she had no job at all in fact. In this world that had changed so much, she felt out of places. So, she did what she thought was could do. She left everyone behind and moved to New York.

The months after moving there had been full of hope. Hope that she could still make it to her dream job and life after all. She had gotten in touch with associations working on helping people post-blip. They said: if she took a few classes, she could be retrained on the most up to date information and she would be able to get the job she had always dreamt of after all. Yet, it was even worse than college. She had to work part-time to be able to take the night classes. She either worked or studied; leaving only a few minutes a day to eat, sleep and bath. This was until some court bailiffs came banging to her door. The banks had been quick to be back to find the people that had disappeared and were now asking them to provide the past five years’ debt payment. All of her dreams had been shattered yet again.

Determined not to ask for help, Y/N stayed in New York and totally forgot about her dreams. Instead, she found another job at a bar-restaurant – one that paid better than the cashier part-time job she had until that – and worked there ever since, trying to pay off her initial student loan and the other loan she had had to take to be able to repay the requested five-years’ worth of debt in one go. She was now planning every spendings up to the last penny. She was living off diluted body and hair shower gel and all sorts of techniques to have the impression of having eaten a lot more than she had. Yet, it hadn’t been enough.

It was never enough…

Drying off her tears, she answered her phone and stuck it against her ear with her shoulder while she entered the building. She was quick to break the news to her sister. She kept her voice steady, not showing any emotions to shorten the conversation as much as possible. She did so as she collected her mail and then turned to take the stairs up to her apartment.

On the phone, Y/N didn’t see her neighbour coming down the stairs and eventually run straight into him. She would have fallen down the two steps she had just climbed if he hadn’t caught up by the arms at the very last moment.

"For fuck’s sake!" he sighed angrily. "Can’t you watch where you’re going?"

Y/N only answered by rolling her eyes. She picked up her phone from the floor; her sister was still on the line, calling after her. While she turned it to her, she discovered her screen totally shattered. She would have cried if she could have…

Without further ado, she put her phone back to her ear and continued to go up the stairs. Her neighbour – a guy that moved in a couple of months ago and that was hardly saying ‘hello’ the few times they had seen each other in the hall – huffed and without thinking nor turning back, Y/N flipped him off. She would probably be ashamed of this later, but at that moment, she couldn’t care less of what he would think of her.

She couldn’t care less about anything anyway.

20th of December

Two days later, as Y/N was slowly accepting the fact that she would not be with her family for Christmas, she encountered her favourite neighbour in the hall again.

She had just gotten home from work and was collecting a parcel in her letterbox. This was a present for her sister that she wouldn’t be able to give her in the end and for which she couldn’t even pay stamp to ship it to her home. She would be lucky if she could return it and get a few dollars back.

As she was closing her letterbox, her neighbour entered the hall. Feeling a little guilty about the other night, Y/N’s first thought was to apologies for her behaviour. A quick look at the guy and the constant frown on his face made her swallow her saliva; hard.

He was good-looking though, with his blue-piercing eyes and full lips. The stubble on his chin –always of the same length whenever she would see him – let her think that he was taking care of himself; though the way he dressed was clearly demonstrating he wasn’t really on point on the fashion side. If he wasn’t always so… whatever he always was… she probably would have liked him. With his grumpy looks, he reminded her of this movie character she liked so much when she was a kid: the Grinch.

In silence, Y/N watched from the corner of her eyes as he also checked his mailbox, a couple of meters away from hers. After gathering the few letters in the box, he sighed and abruptly closed the door.

“What now?” he asked as he turned to her.

Y/N jumped to the tone of his voice. He was clearly annoyed at her while she hadn’t done anything. At least that day.

“No need to be a dick,” she quickly bit back, annoyance building up in her voice as much as his, and he huffed again – this seemed to be something he would do a lot. She had to take a quick deep breath before continuing: "I wanted to… apology for the other night.”

The words nearly burnt her mouth as she was saying them. It cost her a lot to admit her wrongs, yet his cold eyes only started at her, and he spoke no words back. She didn’t know how she wanted him to react, but his absence of reaction startled her, and only made her want to justify herself further.

“I wasn’t in a good mood,” she added.

“You are not the only one to have bad days,” was all he said before leaving.

Taken aback, Y/N watched as he climbed the stairs and disappeared out of his sight. She couldn’t believe how much of a jerk he had been. She swore this was the last time she would ever speak to him.

22nd of December

Y/N rarely overslept.

The only reason for that was that she didn’t sleep a lot. Ever since the blip, she had trouble finding sleep and then, staying asleep. It was like her body had a big fear of missing out on everything and anything, so it just let her sleep the number of hours she needed to keep going. She would have thought that with the double shifts she was doing, she would have slept better, but she didn’t. Instead, she stayed wide awake in her bed, fixing the ceiling, eyes heavy with tiredness. She had all this time to think about the misery of her own life.

However, it seemed that night that the tiredness had gotten the most out of her, and as she never set an alarm clock – because she rarely needed, she was now going to be late for work. She took only a couple of minutes to get ready, drink a coffee and brush her teeth all at the same times. Ten minutes later, she was already grabbing her stuff and putting her coat on.

As she opened the door of her apartment, she came face-to-face with her neighbour going up the stairs. They both immediately stopped in their tracks.

He looked at her. Her eyes still puffy from the fact she had still been sleeping less than fifteen minutes ago. Hair all other the place even if she had put hair clips in them to keep them into place. She had dressed up in such a hurry, the shirt of her uniform was halfway in and halfway out of her pants.

She looked at him looking at her. With the same frown on his face and the same cold glance. Just this time, the circles around his eyes were darker than ever and he looked much more tired than her. For the first time, she saw something vulnerable in him, a flash of sadness in the blankness of his face.

They looked at one another. So different yet somehow similar. With their inability to sleep properly, the memories that kept them up at night and their resentment about this life that had been taken away from them. Both of them with all their trauma and weaknesses. With their constant melancholy and sometimes, their good days.

They looked at each other some more and then they both continued on with their day.

24th of December

Y/N was just settling on her couch – which was also her bed – in front of the TV, wrapped in her fluffy blanket and two pairs of fleece socks on her feet when she heard a knock on her door. She froze instantly; bad memories coming back to her in an instant. She had been visited a few times by different people always banging on her door at sunrise; each time, it never had ended well. Per pure reflex, she held her breath as if whoever was on her front door would be able to hear her - the walls were probably thin, but not this thin.

After counting to ten and not hearing anything else, she relaxed into her sofa. It was probably just her imagination at this point, this was how tired she was. She reached for the remote on the coffee table and started an episode of her favourite TV show. This was when she heard a knock for the second time. One time too many for her.

This time she paused her show and got on her feet to have a look. Sulking for the five steps it took her to go to the front door, she opened it bluntly and was surprised to find her neighbour ‘The Grinch’.

He looked at her, surprised and she looked at him, probably even more surprised. Her gaze turned instinctively to her feet and the fluffy pyjamas she was wearing. She couldn’t help the heat crawling up her neck, so she looked back to him and her eyes got stuck on his hands. One of flesh and one of metal. Holding a metal box between them. That he was now holding up to her.

She frowned.

“For you.”

Her eyes moved up to his face again, to check if he was serious or not. She could have fallen asleep the minutes her show started and be dreaming; though from how cold her feet were, she was pretty sure she wasn’t. Nothing on his face indicated he was joking – he didn’t seem to be the type to joke anyway. He wasn’t actually frowning, but he still had a small wrinkle in between his two eyebrows from all the frowning he was doing that somehow it still looked like he was. She wouldn’t say the expression on his face was friendly, but it had something that for once made her not want to close the door on his face.

Perhaps, it was because of the straight line his lips were in. They which were was usually so pink and so… luscious. From that, she couldn’t tell what he was feeling right now – was he nervous? Or simply contemplating all his life choices now that he was in front of her. She knew it was costing him to be here in front of her.

She looked back at the metal box in his hands; was he really expecting her to take it?

“My ma’ used to cook cookies for our neighbours,” he stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. His glance adverted to the ceiling as if he was looking for the right words to continue: “I thought maybe… this was a good way to apologize. For the other day…and all the times before that.”

This time, it was Y/N’s time to stop frowning – she would have to check later if she had also a wrinkle. She took the box he was handing her and nodded, in some sort of way to mean ‘thank you’. The box was heavier than she had expected it to be. She wondered if he had made them himself, like his ‘ma’ was probably doing.

“My name is Bucky by the way.” Was all he said before leaving her like that, a box of cookies in her hands.

25th of December

Working at a restaurant had its own perks. One of them being that Y/N could have at least one meal a day in the form of the staff meal. And on special occasions – like today – she could even get home with leftovers, most of them she would normally stock up in her freezer to make sure she had something to eat in the next couple of days.

That day though, when she climbed up the stairs, she didn’t stop on the second floor where her apartment was. Instead, her feet got her to the fourth floor, on the second door on the right. One she had never been to and yet, she knew exactly where to find it.

She didn’t hesitate one second before knocking, though the few seconds she had to wait she did get cold feet and wonder if it was really a good idea. Bucky did have gifted her handmade cookies – she had eaten a couple after he left while watching her favourite show, and it was the best she probably ever had. However, it did not mean they were now friends. They were just two adults, seeing each other in the hall of their building sometimes. That was all… Then, why was she so damned pulled towards him?

Bucky opened the door when she was about to turn around. He had a blank tank top and black pants on. Thankfully, he did not seem to be in the middle of a Christmas dinner and his apartment was pretty quiet behind him. His usual frown had been replaced by raised eyebrows. He was surprised to see her, on Christmas day, in her work clothes, at his door. He would have probably expected her to be in her family, with her friends or boyfriend, even. Instead, she had nowhere better to be than in front of him, right now.

They stared at each other for what seemed to be a long time, before his cat – Alpine as he called after, while trying to stop it to get outside his apartment – came to rub itself against her legs. She immediately lowered herself to scratch it behind the ear and Bucky observed them without a word. His cat, who was usually more than a little fearful of people it didn't know, was on the verge of lying down on the floor and beg for belly rubs.

“Are you on your own too?” was the only thing he spoke, and she got back on her feet, suddenly remembering why she was actually here.

“Wanna share?” she asked while showing him the paper bag in which she had the leftovers from the restaurant.

His eyes scanned her face a little too long for Y/N’s liking that she grew nervous. She felt like an idiot, believing… whatever – she wasn’t even sure she was believing. She was just lonely, having been alone for too long. The only people she hung out with would be her colleagues, on her work time – and they had taken a drink together after work a time or two. Most of them were students or only planning to be in the job for a couple of months before bouncing back. None of them was like her, as if she had been the only one to disappear off of the surface of the earth.

Over the last few years, she had repeated to herself – over and over again – that she didn’t need anyone. It was true somehow; she was fine alone. It was just that today she wanted a break from all of this, and she had thought of him. Because she had seen the veil before his eyes. She had seen it on hers before. She knew why… He was just like her. And perhaps, she had thought, they could be alone together. That was what they called the Christmas spirit, no?

“I mean, I’ve got more than enough, and you can have some. We don’t need to eat together. Totally fine if you wish to be alone.” She overexplained, speaking so fast he couldn’t say a word, even if he wanted to. She was just going to go home anyway. It was probably already late in the day; she would eat some food because she could – it was a victory on its own. “And you’ve probably already eaten, it’s fine. Don’t mind me.”

She was going to turn around, but he stepped on the side, making room for her to get in. Alpine instantly trotted in, its tail straight as a pick.

“I’ve got Gin,” was all he said again. A man of a few words he was.

And that was how they would both of them spent their first Christmases with someone in years. They would drink gin, try a bit of every leftover Y/N had gotten and finish by some kind of French pastry neither of them knew how it was named. They would speak for hours – or sort of, it was a few words here and there, making sentences altogether. They would have a good time and when it was time for Y/N to go home, she would suggest doing it again and Bucky would smile in response. A soft smile that would warm her heart forever. A smile that illuminated his whole face and probably his life.

And perhaps that was what exactly what she had come to find that night.

Some warmth.

[p0ckykiss]

to the moon and back - jake sim

summary -> jake wouldn't call himself a christmas hater, but this year all this just doesn't feel right. until it does.

genre -> fluff, established relationship, christmas, lowk whipped jake

it’s not that jake hates christmas.

he really doesn’t, he has always been rather indifferent to it, passing the holiday by, letting it come and go, no big feelings, no attachment, no expectations.

this year, it’s different. everything that happens around screams about christmas, about happiness louder than ever and it annoys the shit out of jake. all the families in the tv ads meeting because of the exceptional occasion, all the people happily returning home and the people greeting the ones that arrive, it all makes jake sick.

because, while all the others are shoving their joy and unity onto his face, he can’t spend this special time with his favorite person.

you may call him a little dramatic, but this is the first christmas he has to spend without you in years and it makes him suddenly hyper aware of the situation.

he was always able to pass by christmas, because he had something, someone else to focus on. you would always find a way to come home despite your busy schedule, but this year you couldn’t. you are overseas and christmas falls right in the middle of your event, no way to take even a day off.

jake browses through the tv programs, finding only movies about holiday’s spirit and the magic of sharing it with relatives. he clicks the button on the remote control mindlessly, waiting for something that won’t blind him with the colors of red and green.

what actually lights up with a color of gray is his phone. he reaches for it right after turning the volume of tv down so a music program doesn’t bother him with carols.

the message on the screen is from jay, a friend of his, jake frowns as he reads the text. somewhere between the lines, what he understands is that jay wants to get him out of his house. jake snorts to himself silently as he types his refusal without hesitation.

when you informed him about your upcoming absence, jake firmly made a decision to simply stay home and ignore everything related to christmas, eventually facetime you and exchange wishes and ‘i miss you’s. it turns out not to be as easy as jake first thought.

he picks up the remote control once again to continue scrolling through the channels, but it doesn’t take long before another text makes his phone light up. jay seems to be really determined and jake would lie if he said he wasn’t getting curious. what was so important that jay even offered food in return?

after a moment getting the deal as beneficial for jake as possible, he eventually stands up from the couch, turning off tv and messaging jay that he will come. only then does he get the location and, oh god, he should have bargained more.

the place jay wants to meet him in is basically on the other side of the city and, as every year, on christmas eve there are no buses riding through the center of the town. he could take a bike, but he knows how much snow and how much people will be in his way. he sighs, putting on his heaviest boots. if he has already said he will come, then he will.

the way through the center isn’t actually so long, but at this time, it has to be busy. and if jake forgot about christmas already, everything around him would remind him and make sure the awareness doesn’t leave his mind even for a step.

the first thing he sees as he comes out of his garden onto the street is the house on the opposite side of the road. in front of it there stands a car, slightly tilted, with one wheel on a sidewalk. three people get out of it at the same time, enthusiast and eager to come closer to the door, dragging big suitcases behind themselves. they meet with the ones living in the house, standing now on a porch with big smiles and open arms, ready to greet them warmly.

jake's heart clenches at the sight. he can’t help but feel a sympathetic joy towards the reunited family, but his mind circles around the thought of you coming home and jake being the one to greet you with a tight hug. even if he has done it many times before, it still feels empty without the one that should happen today.

jake looks away not to cause himself more pain than needed and turns into another street, following the shortest way to jay's location.

both sides of the road are full of houses, all of them decorated with thousands of lights, colorful and bright. the irregular flashing of them and the range of colors feel like an eyesore to jake's irritated self. there is something hypnotizing in them in the worst meaning possible, that makes him observe the changes, until the small spots start appearing within his sight. he eventually looks away and blinking furiously, almost blinded, he bumps into someone.

that’s when he realizes he steps into the region where there are more and more people around, everyone cheerful in haste, on their way home or to some kind of group celebration.

he decides to take a different route so as to get quickly out of the reach of the sound and enjoy the silence once again. but it doesn’t last long before he finds himself in the middle of a fair. the loud voices are coming from every side, shouting about the things one could buy if they were more excited than jake. there are apparently enough takers, responding equally loud and clear to create a commotion, almost deafening experience.

what is even worse for jake is the amount of smells coming from the counters with homemade cakes and cookies. as soon as he senses an aroma of cinnamon enter his nose, he knows he won’t stop sneezing for the next couple of minutes. he has to get through the fair, weaving between the people, at the same time covering his nose, trying to refrain his reaction to next strong and prickly smells.

as he reaches the end of it and comes out onto an open square, he takes a deep breath of relief, the cold air tickling his throat. he feels how frozen his cheeks have become, a shiver runs down his back. he hopes jay is waiting for him with something really important because this whole trip has made him feel even worse than before leaving his house.

the square is the one jay has described in the message so jake doesn’t waste any more time and searches for this very specific location jay has indicated to him. the second building on the left, he murmurs to himself, recalling the instructions, not wanting to take his hand with the phone out of his pocket, exposing it to the freezing cold. 

jake reaches the destination after a moment, spotting a person from afar. but the closer he gets to them, the faster he realizes what he has come to. it is not jay waiting for him.

“hi.”

your wide smile is the first thing jake recognizes and it makes him return it reflexively even before he fully understands the situation. he stops in his steps right in front of you, staring in shock and awe. in bliss.

“hi,” he answers under his breath and watches as you open your arms. jake doesn’t wait a second before taking his hands out of pockets and jumping into a hug to squeeze you tightly as ever, making you giggle.

jake moves away quickly as if to check whether it is really you, his y/n, here, right in front of him. when your eyes meet, jake's smile stretches even wider before he cups your face with his hands and pulls you into a longing kiss.

your lips are cold against each other, but this is what makes everything more real, more palpable. jake can feel your smile so close, he doesn’t need anything more.

in no time, you are on your way back to the apartment, jake basically dragging you behind, so excited and happy to be able to spend as much time together as possible.

the snow accompanying you creates a magical surrounding, making your walk more special and unique. jake admires the blush the cold causes on your cheeks as if it was the most adorable thing in the whole world. your hands don’t get to feel frozen as you hold each other tightly and warmly through the whole way.

you both take the same route jake had chosen earlier, even though now he wouldn’t complain if the road was the longest one. you walk through the christmas fair, all the smells now blending nice together in jake's nose as the strongest one, of lavender, is right by his side. also the shouting doesn’t feel so aggressive when his posture shields you from the half of the counters. he would even say he enjoys it, the sight and smell of different baked goods.

the singing kids sound nicely when jake doesn’t pay so much attention, letting them be a background music to your voice.

“arriving here at all is a challenge, not to mention doing it on time.” your free hand gestures vaguely as you complain about the schedule that barely allowed you to take a last-minute flight. you take a glance at jake before turning to the road in front of you again and smiling. “but the hardest was to keep it a secret from you.”

the kids’ voices let jake feel slightly less embarrassed when your words have such an effect on him, the possibility of blaming the creeping blush on a mood created by the song makes his life easier. and he knows you are aware of it, but at least spare him and don't mention it, not right away.

the crowd of people thin out as you move further and further from the center, your hands swinging lightly with a feeling of privacy surrounding you. jake turns his head to the side to look up at you, words on his tongue quickly forgotten.

you are watching the lights hung on the houses, your head slightly tilted back. all the colors are reflecting in your wide open eyes and jake can’t look away, can’t name anything more beautiful than the christmas lights. the christmas lights in your eyes. jake is hypnotized.

the most colorful street eventually ends and jake feels a little disappointed at it as your gaze drops from the decorated roofs and balconies to him. only then does jake realize that the way which you look in, hasn’t changed. you look at jake with the same adoration you were observing the lights, with the same stars appearing in them. jake feels his ears heat up.

you arrive in front of the apartment and before taking out the key, jake looks over your shoulder at the house on the other side of the road. there is no one there now, but jake knows the people inside are happy and together, emptying their suitcases and getting ready for a good time.

jake's gaze wanders to you to notice you don't have a big suitcase with you. you don't need much, all of your things are already at jake's. because you aren't a guest here.

you're finally home.

[tealvenetianmask]

We need some Barbie Wire Analysis . . .

Because for a character with maybe . . . 2-3 minutes of screen time, she sure has an outsized importance in the show. This is rivaled only by Tilla, who we know even less about.

Barbie gets the major callback in the last scene of Season 2. As other bloggers have pointed out, it could have been Fizz, who's a much bigger character so far. Fizz hated Blitz for 15 years, and they were able to finally reconcile-- even though 15 years is still a long time, that would have been, arguably, a more hopeful, comforting story for Stolas to hear.

But Barb, well, she's on his mind. She always is. "I miss her every day."

Barbie's absense, I think, is made more real by the way in which the show introduces her through photos, and she's never overtly mentioned in all of Season 1.

We're told that Blitz has a twin, that they performed together in the circus (or maybe after), and through her non-mentions, that something bad happened.

Then she's in the photo that makes Blitz finally break down at the end of Ozzie's.

I like how the twins mirror each other here. Similar eyes and face shapes, circus marks on their foreheads, pointy teeth, simple joy and enthusiasm. Whatever their lives were like at that time, they experienced it together, and there were good times.

Barb is central to Blitz's loss and his capacity for love.

We finally meet Barb in Unhappy Campers, and the way she's introduced . . . well. Unfortunately a lot of us were so disappointed that Blitz wasn't going to visit Stolas that we couldn't fully process what he was doing. When he first asked about Barb, my first reaction was "who?"

But that hasn't been Blitz's experience. He's just been keeping a major part of his day to day thoughts and feelings from us.

This nurse knows what's up. He's come back again and again to see Barb, and no taser can deter him.

It's such an obvious and central part of his life- missing Barb, trying to reconnect with her, that he seems honestly unaware that he's never told Moxxie about her at all.

It might feel like we're thrown into an emotional family confrontation out of nowhere, but Blitz has gone through years, potentially, of trying to get Barb to talk to him and being shut down. The hurt in his face, how it wears on him, and how he can't bear to give up hope. Well. It's all there.

So at this point, we still don't know Barb deeply. We only know what Blitz has told us, but more importantly, how he reacts to her absence, how he refuses to give up.

It tells us a lot about his stubbornness, the fine line he walks between resilience, hope, and just a pigheaded refusal to give up.

Maybe Barb is a part of why Blitz is like this. Maybe losing her taught him that some things are so important that it's worth never giving up, even if continuing to try is painful.

Maybe there will be a reconciliation, in part or in full.

But honestly, I also won't mind if a lesson Blitz needs to learn is that sometimes you do need to give up on someone you love. For that person's freedom to reinvent themselves. For your own sanity and contentment in life.

And if Blitz does let her go (at least of the practical fight to reconnect)? He'll think of her every day still.

[rezwrites]

Hello! Can I request Dark Agatha x Reader? Reader swears she's seen the same car following her since last week, but no one will believe her when she says she thinks someone is following her. When Reader returns home after a long day, she sees the same car parked in front of her house and her door is open, someone is inside.

Thank you!!!

No problem, here you go!

Warnings: +18 MDNI stalking, mind control/body manipulation, allusion to kidnapping

“Can you please hang out tonight?” You were leaning over the small table grasping your friend’s hand in yours. Practically begging her, a comical frown on your face. For the past week you’ve seen the same car everywhere. At the grocery store, parked right across the street from your home, even at your favorite small restaurant. “Maybe if they see someone with me, they’ll back off. Elaine, please.” You’ve tried telling your friends and family, but nobody believes you. They aren’t even willing to listen.

“You know I got my date. This guy is a keeper. A date on Christmas Eve? I can’t miss this.” She pulled herself away, taking a sip of her coffee. Waving her hand, she dismissed your fears, “You’re being paranoid. It’s probably just one of your neighbors having family visit for the holidays. You’re fine.”

Seething the entire elevator ride back up to the office, while Elaine babbles about the guy she’s seeing. You aren’t paranoid, you know for a fact that you’re being stalked. Tears of frustration brimmed your eyes as you briskly walked back to your office. You don’t understand why no one will believe you.

Dread loomed over you for the rest of the day. Watching the clock tick until it was time to leave. Even after clocking out you stayed late into the night, out of fear. The entire office building was devoid of and life by the time you left. Wanting to prolong your journey home you drove around looking at all the lights and decorations.

—

Turning on your street you spot the same car parked across the street from your home. Pulling into your driveway you sat for a minute trying to calm your frantic mind. Looking at the car in your sideview mirror you noticed it was empty. Letting out a deep sigh you slumped in your seat, doubting yourself.

Fishing out your house keys from your pocket you went to put them in the lock, only for the door to open once you grasped the knob. Heart sinking because you know you locked your door this morning. You frantically grabbed your phone to set up an emergency call.

Shit!

The phones screen refuses to turn on. It must’ve died in the middle of the day. Cursing yourself for forgetting to plug it in overnight and being in too much of a rush for work to even check the battery. Grabbing the pepper spray that hangs on your keys, you made your way into your house.

Mentally chastising yourself repeatedly as you looked around your home for any discrepancies. None were found, however, nearing the living room you froze upon hearing soft hums. Slipping your thumb under the cap of the pepper spray you prepared to defend yourself. Stepping out from behind the wall you spot a woman standing in front of the tree, a glass on eggnog in her hand. She carelessly pushed your family’s gifts around with her foot, before sharply turning around sending you a beaming smile, “There you are! I was starting to get impatient. Wondering when my gift was going to arrive.”

A frigid chill shot up your spine, your body suddenly enveloped by coldness. Fear sunk in your stomach staring at your ex, Agatha. Memories flooded back at how manipulative she was, trying to isolate you from your family, and friends. At the first opportunity you had you moved out, and far away from her. You tried to talk, scream at her to leave but your tongue was as heavy as stone.

“What the matter?” Faux concern etched on her face as she inched closer. Snatching the pepper spray from your hand her eyebrows arched. Scoffing Agatha simply finished her eggnog, dropping both the glass and small canister on the floor. All you could do was flinch hearing the glass shatter on the floor.

“Kringle got your tongue?” She cackled, “I’m sure you have a load of questions, but I can answer them after we do gifts tomorrow.” She stepped behind you, hands running over your torso. Black and violet blotted the edges of your peripheral vision. A hand crept under your shirt, nails digging into your sides. Her voice low and seductive, “And, Darling, I can’t wait to tear into mine.”

[frillydolle]

reader and sevika cuddling? <3

sevika x female reader

꒰ 𝝑𓏲 ꒱ sorry that this is soo short:( making out near end)

after loong hours of sevika being away to silco, she was finally home. she was sitting on the couch, her legs raised up by the seat. ur head was resting on her chest while the two of u were watching a movie. soke romcom that u decided to watch,the change from the usual taste on films, not that sevika minded too much since she was always happy with what u picked.

her neutral gaze was set on the movie while u were inching closer, like u wanted to connect to her as one, connecting like two cherries that refused to be apart. u adored her, and she adored u, too. she's never felt more lucky to have u by her side.

“sev...” dragging her name out ur pretty mouth. u look up to her with ur soft gaze, like a doll.

“yes, sweet girl?” “can we cuddle?.. missed you all day.”

and with that knowing smirk on her face, she pulled u closer to her. eventually landing u on her lap. and u wrapped ur arms around her torso as u inhaled her tobacco scent. she scooped u up proper into her arms as u get more comfortable. ur head rests against her chest as u listen to her slow breathing.

deeply thinking about it, seeing a muscular woman cuddling with a cutesy girl like u! it was a funny sight<3 but u wouldn't change it for the world. she was always the sweetest to u!!

“do you like the movie, sev? i wasn't sure if it was your thing or not.. we could change it if you-”

“no, its good. i like it, [name].” her tone softening as she spoke to u. it was like her gentle tone was only reserved for u. she'd usual bark orders or listen to silco. she was more of a follower than anything but she couldn't be like that to u.

“good. i don't wanna change it again. you could be so-” “i am not. you're so picky, angel.”

u nudged her slightly, and a small giggle escaped ur lips before u tear ur gaze away from her, returning ur focus to the big screen. her arm was soon wrapped around ur waist, and she squeezed gently. but of course, cuddling couldn't ever be completed without some kissing, right?

it never took long for the two of u to end up not kissing.

[kaija-rayne-author]

Woof. The amount of copium I'm seeing people huffing about DAV today. Yikes.

Sorry, peeps. There are so many retcons in that game I probably couldn't list them all. And yeah, I could prove it with sources. (Will I? Nope. I've far better things to do with my time. Unless someone wants to pay me, in which case I'd be quite happy to debunk all the retcons with sources.)

It's cool if you liked it even with the retcons. I'm honestly happy for you. But, and this is just a thought, maaaaybe listen to the Lore fiends on the topic of retcons rather than blowing so much smoke up your own ass you float away?

It's not like most Lore fiends haven't spent weeks to months to years marinating ourselves in the Lore. Maybe we know a bit about it? Just... y'know, maybe?

The problem with any sort of fiction? If it's not shown in game/on screen/on page (or somewhere else in whatever media we're discussing) or in supplementary materials? (Official books/comics etc.) Or it's shown differently from previous series media entries? It just didn't happen. It doesn't exist. It is a retcon. Which stands for retroactive continuity.

Anything else you come up with is a headcanon. (Headcanons are fine! I've got plenty of my own, but that's all they are.) It's not proof or an actual rebuttal to the problems endemic to DAV. And, uh, when attempting to rebutt a purported retcon, maybe get your details correct?

Anything the devs/writers say on social media/interviews etc., especially after the fact? Yeah, that didn't happen either and also doesn't count. If it makes you feel better, go for it. But when we're talking editorial critique and media literacy? (Which is what you're talking about when you deny retcons) it just didn't happen if it's not in the published material. Shrugs.

I personally refuse to do the heavy lifting of the story. That was the writers' job. They didn't do it very well. And all the imagination and headcanons and copium isn't going to change this simple fact.

Nor the fact that you sound completely uneducated when stretching so far to try to deny a retcon to anyone who knows more facts. I think I almost rolled my eyes hard enough to roll them out of my damned head at the last one to cross my dash.

[bossboudicca]

in this essay i will-

my rambles on johnmanny and why i love this rarepair and you should too

first off, that wink. me and mine didn't even notice it at first, and i've seen TP about a million times and the minute i spotted it i think i actually screamed out loud. like yeah right in front of my parents and family let me observe your fond little smirk and then wink at you, like these mfers were playing footsie under the damn table i tell ya.

manny kicking jp by accident, jp like "can i fuckin help you??"

but for real jp is to johnmanny as harry welsh is to winnix. at least to me.

next we have:

manny noticing john the second he walks into a room full of a bunch of other dudes in the exact same clothes with basically the exact same haircut and very similar builds. like his ass was WAITING and WATCHING that doorway for his little boyfriend.

"oH WeLL iF tHeY'Re sO cLoSe WhY DiD'nT hE uSe HiS FiRsT nAmE?"

because half the guys in that room are probably named John, NEXT.

these fond ass looks. also hilarious that they both completely turn their backs on the doorway and do not even notice jp until he's right there lmao. manny was not waiting for his buddies, he was waiting for john specifically.

size difference goes crazy here. manny is so fuckin WIDE jesus

jp like "i am married here is my wife" (i told you he's harry welsh) while john and manny are like hhaha yeah marriage definitely we're totally straight 🙃

manny: "my mom couldn't understand how i could get through high school without that wedding date set"

jp: "i could!"

could understand what jp??? HMMM??? yeah okay bud

bonus: john looking right at manny after jp's comment and manny refusing to make eye contact. read into that what you will

this one is kind of a personal mind palace thing, but i like to think that manny observed this super sweet moment between john and his dad, and really took it upon himself to look out for john when they were deployed. more on this later. *brb crying*

this next one you're just getting a screen recording because a.) i dont wanna gif the whole thing b.) i feel like hearing manny's vocal inflections and stuff is important

manny's obviously gonna be rattled after their first bit of enemy contact, and john is not the only guy with blood on him but manny still immediately did a double take when he saw the blood on john's face.

the way he asks "hey...are you hit?" he dips his head and really looks at john, like yes looking for injuries john may not have noticed but to me it's like he's trying to get john to make eye contact, so he can see if he's mentally okay as well. idk, this seems important to me as manny literally does not even glance at the guy who's actually fuckin shot until john looks over at him.

then manny's little exhale and swallow after john says he's gucci 🥺

and when john stops and stares at the deceased man, manny does too but immediately looks back to john, gauging his reaction. i feel like most of these guys are like "you're physically okay? yeah moving on as i, another marine in this hellscape jungle, have my own issues" but maybe thats just me being ignorant.

and then manny doesn't take his eyes off john for the rest of the scene. also john's tiny little nod at manny, like he knows manny is always overly concerned about him; a little wordless gesture just for him. more on The Nod later. alsdkfjalsdjlsfj

also directly after this:

john: jp go set up on that hill 🙄 manny you dig in next to me 🥰🥰

more touching and staring

quick sidebar: manny and his slutty ass open shirt like sir-

and then john with his big gorgeous brown eyes he is literally a 6 week old puppy why is he in war

next we have Manuel "I Need To Shove Past Everyone So I Can Walk Next To My Boyfriend" Rodriguez

This Look is my all time favorite. ugh i am sick about these two.

and that little hint of sadness in john's eyes like he doesn't wanna let manny go but he's gotta because duty comes first 🥲

so he cracks a little joke and lets manny go and manny looks so crushed and forces himself to smile anyway and ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh his face absolutely sends me into a spiral right here

next up, personal space- dude did you really need to get RIGHT up in john's bubble like that?? (yes, yes he did)

i swear it must be in the hbo war actor manual that you have to look at your male companion's mouth X amount of times

watching chesty on the phone like "yeah but is john okay"

#bigbrowncoweyesquad

sorry this gif looks weird as hell, i cut it up and brightened it because its hard to see through all my tears

so yeah! this is the last time they see each other alive! i am okay!

it was something i didn't notice at first, but it looks like manny intentionally pushes john down and out of harms way, whereas i originally thought they just ran into each other and it was a lucky accident.

more prolonged eye contact and then the little tiny nod is back from earlier 😭 i am unwell about those two fucking nods and what they imply

circling back to earlier and how i mentioned maybe manny seeing that interaction between john and his father and taking it upon himself to be john's protector....yeah...yeah

continuing on-

no "hi jp are you okay, i noticed you almost got shot in the fuckin head last night", just straight into "where's my husband??"

also, to me it looks like the sun is close to being directly overhead when john starts asking about manny-

-by the time he finds him the sun is setting, so john literally spent HOURS looking for manny. im sure he was doing some other stuff but the show seems to suggest that's pretty much all he was doing.

how long do we think john sat with manny's body before going to get jp omg im gonna throw up

the way they carried him, john would have been looking at his face but he's looking away the whole time and im in pain about it

john doesn't look at his face at all.

and then of course we've got john's musings after the fact. in the short time we see him in combat/around combat he doesn't really seem to ruminate on things like this, he kinda takes everything in quietly and moves on. but here, he really sits with manny's death and i don't think he ever really got over it even though he shut down this conversation with jp after a few seconds. you know, because of the golf scene and his flashbacks to manny 🥲

anyway that's all i have for now because tumblr won't let me add any more gifs and screenshots and i'm sure those of you who stuck around to read this whole thing have had enough already lol

tldr: john and manny are tragic husbands and i think about them a lot

also shoutout to my new friend @tahnawanda for encouraging me to actually finish this post. rarepair solidarity ✊

[alia-alia12]

By Chance

Part 5: Unsent Words

𖧹Satoru Gojo x fem!reader

𖧹Angst

𖧹0.8k

𖧹Masterlist

The soft light of early morning spilled through the sheer curtains of your bedroom, painting the walls in hues of pale gold. Birds chirped faintly outside, filling the quiet with distant melody.

But despite the peaceful surroundings, you hadn’t slept.

Memories of the night before tangled with distant echoes of the past, leaving you restless and raw. His name clung stubbornly to your mind, refusing to fade no matter how hard you tried to push it away.

You sat up slowly, running a hand through your hair as you swung your legs over the side of the bed. The wooden floor was cool beneath your feet, grounding you just enough to clear the fog in your head.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you grabbed your phone from the nightstand. Old habits.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, hesitating just long enough to let doubt seep in. It would be easy—so easy—to look him up, send a simple message, or… something.

Would he even… want to hear from you?

Your breath hitched as your mind spiraled back to the last time you saw him.

The train station buzzed with distant chatter as you stood near the boarding platform, your suitcase gripped tightly in one trembling hand. The weight of unspoken words pressed heavily on your chest.

Satoru was late.

The announcement for your departure echoed through the station as your stomach twisted with every passing second. You hadn’t told him—not until the last possible moment.

But you hadn’t expected it to hurt this much.

Suddenly, you saw him—rushing through the crowd, breathless and wide-eyed.

“Y/N!”

His voice cut through the noise, freezing you in place as he skidded to a stop in front of you.

“You’re leaving?” His voice cracked, disbelief and hurt etched into every syllable. “Why… why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

You opened your mouth—but nothing came out. How could you explain?

“I… I didn’t want to make it harder,” you whispered. “Satoru… I had to go.”

His hands clenched at his sides, knuckles white. “You could’ve told me… I would’ve—”

“What?” You cut him off, voice trembling. “Wait for me? Drop everything? You have your life here. We both know long-distance wouldn’t work.”

“That’s not your choice to make,” he snapped, hurt flashing in his blue eyes. “I could’ve… we could’ve figured it out.”

The final boarding call echoed overhead.

You stepped back, blinking through tears. “I’m sorry… for everything.”

His mouth opened, but you didn’t wait. You couldn’t.

You turned, forcing yourself not to look back even as his shattered expression burned itself into your memory.

Your hand trembled as you stared at your phone’s blank screen. His name hovered on the tip of your tongue, but what would you even say?

“Hey, I’m back. Sorry for leaving like that.”

Pathetic.

He’d probably moved on—forgotten you, forgotten that day.

And maybe… maybe that was for the best.

With a shaky breath, you set the phone down, burying your face in your hands.

There were some things you couldn’t undo, some words you couldn’t take back.

And maybe reaching out after all this time would only make things worse.

Maybe it was better to let sleeping ghosts lie.

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

The morning light streamed through Satoru’s half-drawn curtains, highlighting the clutter of books, old receipts, and discarded coffee cups scattered across his apartment. He lay sprawled on the worn couch, one arm draped over his eyes, as if blocking out the world could erase the weight in his chest.

But no amount of darkness could drown out you.

He hadn’t slept. Again.

His mind kept circling back to that night—seeing you across the street, illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlamps outside the bookstore.

You’d been so close—just a few steps away.

And he’d done nothing.

His phone buzzed faintly on the coffee table, the screen lighting up with messages he couldn’t bring himself to check. It was probably just Suguru. He sighed, running a hand through his unruly hair, fingers trembling ever so slightly.

He’d been fine—or at least, pretending to be—until Shoko told him you were back.

Now, no matter how hard he tried, the memories kept bleeding through the cracks he’d worked so hard to seal.

The first time Satoru realized he loved you, you were already leaving.

He still remembered the sharp sting of the cold air biting his skin as he sprinted through the train station, desperate to reach you before it was too late.

The moment he saw you—standing near the platform with your suitcase, your face pale and drawn—his heart shattered.

“Y/N!”

You turned, eyes widening with something between relief and dread as he skidded to a stop in front of you.

“You’re leaving?” His voice cracked, the words raw and disbelieving. “Why… why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

The way your eyes dropped, filled with regret and guilt, nearly broke him.

“I didn’t want to make it harder,” you whispered. “Satoru… I had to go.”

Had to? What does that mean?

He clenched his fists, hating how powerless he felt. “You could’ve told me… I would’ve—”

“What?” you interrupted, voice trembling. “Wait for me? Drop everything? You have your life here. We both know long-distance wouldn’t work.”

Bullshit.

“That’s not your choice to make,” he hissed, every word cutting deep. “I could’ve… we could’ve figured it out.”

The final boarding call echoed overhead.

He watched helplessly as you took a shaky step back, eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

“I’m sorry… for everything.”

And before he could speak, before he could stop you—you turned and walked away.

The last thing he saw was your retreating figure disappearing through the boarding gates.

Satoru sat up abruptly, dragging both hands down his face with a frustrated groan. Why couldn’t he stop thinking about it?

It was years ago. Years. You were probably living some perfect life far away, happy and settled.

And yet.

He glanced at his phone, hesitating for a long moment before unlocking it. His thumb hovered over your name—the only contact he’d never deleted, despite telling himself he should’ve.

He shouldn’t call. He knew that.

But the ache in his chest twisted tighter with every passing second. He could still see you, hear you, feel you—as if no time had passed at all.

The soft buzz of an incoming message snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts.

Shoko: “Lunch. My treat. Don’t flake.”

He exhaled slowly, setting the phone down with a bitter laugh.

Reaching out wouldn’t change anything.

You’d already made your choice… once.

And as much as he hated it—as much as it killed him—maybe it was time he finally let you go.

[pinkestlittlebutterfly]

“Jeje,” Mikuni calls from the living room. “Come here right now. It’s an urgent matter.” 

Of course, just because Mikuni says something is urgent, that does not necessarily mean it actually is. He takes joy in being an enigma, and part of that – annoyingly, endearingly – is staunchly refusing to differentiate between an emergency and a need to bask in his Servamp’s attention. Jeje, in turn, staunchly refuses to learn from such behaviour, and thus he dutifully abandons the can of soup he just found at the back of their pantry, and rushes right on over. 

Mikuni must have just gotten home. He has discarded his winter jacket but not turned on the living room light yet, despite the early winter darkness outside their windows. Snowflakes are still caught in his hair, glittering in the twilight cast by the fire flickering on their TV screen, and the Christmas lights Lily decked the room in a few days ago, when neither of them were home to stop him. He looks beautiful like this, even with his back turned to Jeje, perched on the couch, staring intently at something on their living room table. 

He raises a hand over his shoulder while Jeje is still watching, palm turned up and fingers fanned expectantly. Jeje closes the last few steps separating them, letting his hand settle in the other; and Mikuni’s fingers curl, linking them together, tugging him even closer. 

“Look at this, Jeje,” He says; and Jeje, momentarily lost in the warmth of their touch, remembers there was some urgent matter to discuss. Peering over his Eve’s shoulder he finds a small package sitting on their living room table, inconspicuous and orange. He thinks it might say “Stollen” on the side.

“Your favourite,” He mutters. 

“Is it?” Mikuni asks, and Jeje’s shock at the distress in his voice fades into a familiar sense of fond exasperation much more quickly than he would have liked. 

“Why would it not be?” He asks, against better judgement. This, too, is something he refuses to learn.

“It has cranberries,” Mikuni tells him, tearing his eyes from the cranberry Stollen to cast Jeje a wide-eyed look of sorrow. “And apricot.” 

Jeje experimentally tugs at the hand wrapped by Mikuni’s. His Eve's grip on him is unyielding. 

“Stollen,” Mikuni continues, unbothered, “is made with raisins. And the candied peels of oranges and lemons.”

“Your point being?” Jeje mutters, because Mikuni wants him to. 

“Is this even still Stollen?” His Eve asks, still with the same urgency with which he’d also announce a hostile invasion of their apartment. “That’s what I’m hoping to find out today. Sit, Jeje.” 

Jeje sits. 

In the low light of their TV fire and Lily’s Christmas lights, he can see the corners of Mikuni’s mouth twitching in what surely would be a satisfied smirk in a person with less self control. In the comfort of their living room, he has discarded the veil he usually wears, and surely Mikuni can see the curl to his lips as well. 

How nice, he thinks despite himself, that this is all their urgency is about these days.

[koenigami]

and the nights were as dark as my baby, half as beautiful too. tags : hurt/comfort, fluff, fem!reader wc : 1k synopsis : Togame's not a great texter, but for you, he will always make an exception.

Togame's major trigger in a relationship is when you refuse. to. openly. communicate.

He doesn't blame you, though. He would never! He's aware that sharing your feelings freely can be simply a lot, and maybe even scary sometimes.

But the moment he sees you sitting on your shared couch, the TV playing your favourite show yet your gaze so far away as you stare into nothingness-

Images of his childhood friend suffering in silence cross his mind. Memories of past mistakes and his incompetence at helping the person closest to him, and letting both of them drown in loneliness and bitterness.

No. He won't let that happen again. He won't let you get consumed by your own thoughts and doubts, won't you brush every worry of his away with a forced smile and false reassuring words because you fear that he might run away from you at the slightest inconvenience.

It just has been a rougher week than usual, too many things gone wrong, too little right. You still tried to move on because no matter how awful a situation may be, they never last forever. Or so you have though. Because somehow you feel them still ingrained so deeply in your head, and they make you rethink and relive every single mistake that you've done the past few days in a way that makes you wonder whether there is something that you can actually do right for once.

You don't notice Togame disappear from the doorway and slip into the bedroom, too busy with slipping further into a downward spiral.

That is until the sudden and short vibrating sound of your phone pulls you back into reality. With a strained huff, you lean forward to grab it from the coffee table, and as soon as the sender's name on the display appears, you freeze in place.

Togame did not tell you that he'd gone somewhere, neither have you heard him leave the house, so why is he- Oh.

'Wanna tell me what's happening inside that pretty little head of yours?'

You stare at his text for a few seconds, rereading each word as if you were trying to learn his sentence by heart. The phone in your grip shakes the slightest as you feel your fingers twitch nervously, unsure about whether to answer or ignore him, meanwhile Togame sees the little dots beside your name appear and disappear over and over again.

Why would he let you burden him with your silly problems? Some of them minor, others nothing but a mere creation of your imagination and overthinking tendencies. He cares. He cares. He cares, is what you keep repeating to yourself once you decide to type out two simple words.

- 'A lot.'

Togame's glad that you can't see him right now. The way he jolts instantly, quickly sitting up once his phone pings with an incoming message from you. It feels as if he had travelled a few months back into the past. A time when every single text of yours, every touch, every smile that you shot his way, made his heart beat erratically and plaster a stupid lopsided grin on his face.

The excitement and giddiness of your love has slowly become something quiet and soft. A constant that makes him feel comforted and safe. The kind of love that he knows you need, especially in times like these.

'I see.. Wanna talk about it? It's okay if you don't'

Warmth spreads through your chest as you take slow deliberate breaths, each one shakier than the other. Never one to pressure or rush you, always a gentle voice, and a calm aura. That is your Jo.

And so you let your thoughts run freely as your fingers tap over your screen. With enough time to contemplate over your words, express your feelings properly while clumsily trying to explain some of them that you yourself truly don't quite understand, you feel your eyes sting.

He knew that this is what you needed.

Togame anxiously stares at the last text he has just sent three minutes ago, left on read. His own chest feels so much lighter knowing that your own hopefully feels just the same. Yet as he stares at his unanswered message, he wonders if he might have crossed a line. He starts feeling like a cowardly idiot for making you sit out there in the living room, all alone with all these overwhelming emotions while he's lazily lying in your shared bed.

Soon, the sudden noise of quick steps padding against the floor appears until the door bursts open. His body is quicker than his mind to register what is happening when you throw yourself on him, making him let out a breathless oomph. The bed and mattress creak and jump, but Togame immediately has a steady hold on you as his arms instinctively wrap around your waist.

"Hey-" His forehead creases in worry when he feels you shake, soft sniffles and sobs muffled by his chest.

But when you lift your head and smile at him, such a sweet, beautiful and real smile, he knows that you'll be fine despite the tears that keep flowing over your puffy cheeks. He gently wipes them away, not minding that they're immediately replaced by new ones.

The lightest shiver makes you jolt against him when his hand slips under your shirt and slowly caresses the skin along your back, his thumb softly moving back and forth. His chest rumbles with a deep chuckle when you groan annoyedly before almost aggressively wiping with your sleeves at your face to get rid of the overflowing emotions that somehow never cease to escalate when Togame's in your proximity.

At the same time, the world always becomes a quiet place when you're like this. In his arms, in safety and comfort, with nothing left but both your beating hearts and the feelings that you harbour inside them for each other.

"Thank you, Jo. I love you." You whisper as if it was a secret, and watch how Togame's eyes soften as if you'd said it for the first time again.

With a hand on the back of your head, fingers tangling into the soft strands of hair, he pulls you so close that you can feel his lips move against yours as he speaks.

"Love you more, doll."

[keelt9]

Paper 2

Masterlist

A/N: Merry Christmas! I hope you spend this holiday calmly and the way it makes you feel at ease.

Remember to take your time, one step at the time. ❄️

From far away I send you a big hug!🍒

The table near the small tree and the window, the messages are in his phone still he keeps mumbling all his way until the restaurant. 

Why the hell is even sweating this much?

The restaurant is a little bit crowded with people having breakfast but his eyes fly right away to the table near to the plant and the window.

His heart drops seeing in the table a man thanking the waitress, who just left a cup of coffee. One more time the endless questions flow through his mind.

Who is he? Is the table correct? Daniel was right and it’s fake after all? Did she get married?

The man lifts his eye in time to smile at Max and wave his hand, insecure Max walks to the table gripping his phone tight, in his head the worst possible scenario is developing so fast. 

The man will introduce him to his little elf fiance, probably they are already planning on having a family, living in a nice house in the town, they could even have a pet.

Is she still the same little elf of years ago?

“Oh, please, don’t put that face on Max.” The man shook his hand. “I’m not her boyfriend or husband.”

Max sighs, but still feels tension over his shoulders. 

“Sorry, sorry, diaper issue.” Max recognizes the girl, is the one his little elf is hugging, her sister; carrying a baby girl in her arms. “Omg, are you ok? You’re pale as a ghost.”

Max feels like he just saw one.

“Yes, I… I'm just…surprised.” The woman smiles tenderly following Max's eyes to the baby she had in her arms.

“Oh, please, don’t be scared.” She extends her hand with a soft smile on her face. “I’m Isabell… your little efl sister.” Max grabs her hand. “My husband Gonzalo and this baby girl is my daughter, Noah.”

“She is so beautiful, just like her.” Max's eyes stuck to the baby, his pinky cheek and shiny eyes. 

Isabell smiles tenderly at her baby and caresses her face. “My mom said I shouldn’t be disturbed that much to my sister or my baby will be so similar to her.”

Max giggles observing Noah hide her face in her mother's shoulder. “She forgot to mention, I’ll give birth to her twin.”

Max laughs, feeling lighter and relaxed. “Why don’t we sit?” Gonzalo mentions carrying their baby so they can sit.

“I’m sorry if I make things in such a weird way, but I’m afraid I won't find another idea in my mind.” Isabell mentioned. “Listen Max, let’s be honest, my sister knows who you are.”

Max shallow, and call for a waitress, is too early for a drink? With this situation, he doesn’t think so.

“She found out about you, the first year you were in Red bull, when she saw your face on the screen I believe she could faint in any seconds.” She smirks softly. “From that moment on, every time she knew a race would take place, she barely moved from the T.V.”

Gonzalo laughs probably remembering those moments. “Every clothing item you release, she will have it by the end of the month. She never said but she became your fan no.1.”

Noah looks with all her attention to him making him make a funny face putting a smile on her little face. 

“When you have that accident on the track, she really anguishes, until you appear to be dizzy but safe.” Max quivers for a second but he needs to ask.

“She never contacted me.” Those words closed his throat. “If she…”

“Max both of you move on, or at least she's been trying.” Max notices the unease expression in Isabell’s face. “She refused to come back to Benasque, she is acknowledging about the radical new world you're living, that she's felt doesn't belong there, but also she refuses to move one, you know what I mean?”

Max shakes his head, this time Gonzalo speaks. “Max isn't a secret she stops considering you just as a best friend, you can tell by the way she speaks about you.”

Noah giggles as she tries to grab Max's hand. “But she met a guy a couple of years ago, he's an enchanting person with her, and even he confessed his feelings a couple of months ago…”

“No.” It was an involuntary response, Max felt his heart squeeze.

“She refused to give him a chance until I spoke with her.” Isabell bits her lips. “Reason why she went one more time to Benasque.”

Suddenly the sunny day of Barcelona feels cold making him shiver.

“In a way to say goodbye.” Max moves in his chair, he feels nauseous. 

“However you started to search for her, she doesn't know because after Christmas she stops looking at your accounts, she cleans all that resembles you.”

“Then…the..then how do you know?” He shutters and blesses God in that moment his drink came.

“I worked for a sports magazine, you make a big show of this, it's just a simple deduction, you are looking for my sister in law.” Gonzalo giggles. “You Max Verstappen looking for someone I see every weekend is something weird.”

Isabell gives her baby’s bottle to Noah. “Maybe I sound like a crazy protective sister but Max, I love my sister, and I want the best for her, that is why I'm telling you all this… I'm sorry but if you are only looking for my sister just for bringing back a friendship, trust me she will always consider you like her most treasured friend.” 

Max opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, but he's just empty. “The best for her is you keep going in separate ways, because having you in her life, I'm afraid she will be stuck one more time.”

Gonzalo perceived the conflict expression in his face and the fact his drink disappeared. “Don't worry Max, she's fine, healthy, making her dreams true, don't have to worry about her.”

Noah laughs seeing the faces her mother makes to her, this would be the last time to hear the closest sound of her laugh?

“What if I see her in the same way she saw me?” Isabell shakes her head.”What if I…”

“Max! You don't have to do this.” Max feels hopeless every second. “I didn't come here for an answer, I came to assure you she's fine, for you can be at ease.”

“No, no, no, I, me…I… I'm confused, sorry, it's just…” Max breaths slowly. “Every year, I travel with a backpack full of notebooks with importants things that happened to me to tell her, every special moment and the most random ones are noted there.”

Noah grabs his finger across the table. “I miss her like hell.” He carefully covers Noah’s ears. “Fuck, I been stupid.” 

The big eyes of the baby girl and the smile make him speak. “There must be a reason, right?” 

Isabell sees Gonzalo with conflicted eyes.

Max gets down his head. “Maybe I already know but I'm… what if I say something wrong?”

“Ok, let's do this.” Isabell leans over the table. “I won't rush anything, take your time, thinking about it carefully, when you are ready, give me a call, we can find out what to do after that.”

Max sees his empty drink taking a few breaths, what if that time is enough for her to finally leave him in the oblivion?

“Max, believe me, we have plenty of time.” It must be a thing between sisters, they look like they could actually read his mind. “She likes to take her time for important decisions.”

Max nods, unable to say another word, feeling so overwhelmed but happy and relieved. Isabell observes him unable to stop a soft smile.

“Well, it’s time to go.” She and her husband stand with their baby in his arms. “You have my number Max, call anytime when you have it all clear.”

Max stands, seeing the photo. “Do you mind if I keep with this one?” 

Isabell shakes her head. “All yours.” Noah mumbled, extending her little arms to Max. “You have a special charm Max, now I see it.”

Max grabs her little hand, shaking it, feeling shy for the compliment; the red cheeks with the top of the nose too, bring him soft memories and the concern that now, he has a lot to think about.

The summer break turns into agony, the past months he has been able to focus on the race leaving him zero time to think properly, he refuses to take a decision with the fuss of emotions of a race.

“So?” Daniel asked, sitting next to him cleaning the sweat of his forehead after a tough padel game. “You decided already?”

Max sits on the floor drinking a half of the water of his bottle. It’s the second week of the summer break and every time he tries to dig into the decision, he has a migraine after 15 minutes of thinking. 

His lack of answer made Daniel sigh. “Mate if it’s that hard, it could be a sign that maybe you see her as what it is?” 

“I don’t follow you.” Max leaned his arms over his knees.

“A dear friend of the past.” Daniel said, raising his hand waving it, Charles is walking right to them. “Just think about it with that perspective in mind.”

He can’t, Max simply can’t.

The next morning he postone all his meetings with friends and family, as he is making a small travel bag.

“It's summer?” Victoria mentions as they keep talking through the phone. “What do you expect to find there?”

Max didn’t even know but if there is a place where he always finds peace is in Benasque.

“Nothing, just a space to think.” Max sees Jimmy stretching on the window. “It will be a couple of days, don’t worry.”

“Max.” Max takes his bag standing in front of one of the trophies, next to it the photo of his little elf puts a smile on his face. “Take care, ok?��

The next morning he spent time walking around after having breakfast in the small hotel, his mind seemed to clear in every step.

“Look what the wind brings.” The old men from the clockmaker's workshop cross in his path. “Young boy, it’s early for you to come.” 

Max nods seeing him carrying bags. “Do you need an extra hand?” 

“Thank you.” He gives him two bags, as they walk to his store, talking about his life, 20 years have passed and Max feels he just met the old men who see every year.

He opened the door next to the shop, his house. “Want to come in? I have a nice limoned on the fridge.”

Max quiver for a second. “Or I have a tiramisu.” Max raises his eyes quickly. “The cute little girl mentioned it is… sorry probably it was your favorite.”

She remembers, that’s enough for Max to take a step inside of the house.

All in brown colors, a lot of photos hanging on every wall as he walks to the living room, where the old man asks him to wait a couple of seconds. 

He takes his time observing every photo, until his eyes find one that calls for his attention; it’s the Roman coliseum covered in snow.

He takes it as a memory that comes back to his mind.

“It’s almost impossible.” Max buttons the last ones from the neck part of her cape. 

The little girl rolled her eyes. “It has already passed! Why can't it happen again?” She stands taking the snow off her lap.

The night reached them and the cold is increasing, tomorrow Max must leave.

“You’re talking about snow in Rome!” She grabs his hands between her warming up before leaving. 

“Oh my God! You’re so pessimistic sometimes.” She rubs his hands, the gloves help to warm it quickly. “Ok, let’s say if it happens one more time, I swear, I’ll be there.”

Max scoffs rolling his eyes.

“Believe me, Mr. Frozen hands. I’ll make it.” She winks at him.

The old man finds Max with the photo in his hands; Max hears him unable to stop looking at the girl, well, the back of the girl.

“She made it.” His voice cracks unintentionally.

The man set the two plates on the small table. “Oh, indeed, she came back that winter with two photos, this is for me and the other one I guess it was for you…”

Max never came that winter.

“Fuck! How much I would love to be with her.” The man tilted his head. “She must look adorable.”

“I always knew, young boy.” The old man sat on his big sofa. “It’s true love what I saw in you two.”

“What?” Max turned around, unable to take his eyes from the photo.

“She said the same.” He takes a bite of the tiramisu. “She would love having you with her that day. After all she has something to reproach after all.”

That afternoon in front of the old clock downtown, the beeps of the phone seemed to last like an hour between each one. 

“Hello?” Max sighs, relieved, sitting on the closet bench.

“I love her.” Max whispers feeling the weight of his shoulders lifts. “That’s what I feel and I couldn’t say.” 

Isabell didn’t reply. “I love your sister…Please help me, don’t let her forget me.” Max panic fearing the worst. “I know it can sound stupid, we barely know each other, it has been 10 years, I changed, probably she did too. You may think I’m doing this in such a dumb way to keep myself in her life, but….” 

Max takes a deep breath. “I have been carrying a pen with a couple of notebooks for 10 years, more than one time I write about the fact I got stung by a bee! Omg, what a stupid man who isn’t in love does that? I’m frighten with the simple thought of losing her forever”

“Do you want to hear her?” Max held his breath. “We can coordinate things later, but we’re in the middle of a familiar reunion, you know? It will be so weird.” 

Max let go a breath that sounds like he’s had a hurricane inside. 

“Can I?” Isabell giggles with the fact that Max Verstappen is nervous.

“After you hear her I’ll hang out and I’ll call you later to coordinate something, ok?” Max stands excited walking around the bench, waiting. 

The sound of chattering and plates with laughs became slowly more audible, Max saw his hands, he’s trembling. 

“What are you doing?” Isabell asked. Damn it! Max is technically invisible and he feels so exposed every second.

Then the soft giggle drains the blood of his body. “Making a mojito, duh!”

She is there, she’s fucking there!

“See, ron, lemon, ice, mint and other things that dad said I will need.” Max imagines her in a beautiful summer dress. “Everything alright?”

“Well, I bet right now, yes, everything seems perfect.” Isabell sees her phone, Max is online. 

“Great, now, stop staring at me and give me a hand. I’m confused.” Isabell laughs while hanging out. 

Max looks at his phone with a smile that he’s sure will cause painful cheeks.

As he walks to his hotel, this time to write his brainstorm of ideas for meeting her one more time, he finds in one of the window displays a ornament for Christmas of a Santa Claus.

He stops in front of me with a smirk. “Give me a hand big guy, I swear that if you need it, I’ll be a good boy all these years. Just help me a little bit.”

He was caught by the reflection of a boy with a lollipop in his mouth looking at him with a weird face. 

He takes out his lollipop. “He doesn't understand.” Max narrowed his eyes. “You must send him a letter to the north pole with what you want.” 

Max giggles. “Besides, it's advice.” The kid is so confident. “Make sure to write in a pretty paper, with a pretty letter, make sure he fully understands what you want.”

“Louis!” A woman shouted a name, making the kid turn around. 

He nods. “I have to go, good luck!”

Max chuckles and screams as the kid goes with his mother. “THANKS FOR THE ADVICE!”

He focuses one more time on Santa, “Let’s make my wish come true.”

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Tag: @anilovessadbooks

[arttheclown]

twicord isn’t a bad ship people are just mean ):

[notahaterbutakvetcher]

Open letter to everyone silent on the pogram in LA yesterday (being Sunday, June 23rd), despite reblogging misinformation after misinformation about Israel’s unique evil:

I see you. I see how quiet you are. I see how afraid you are, how scary it is to comment on it, because of the backlash you might face for “not supporting the movement.” I see the indecision as you hover over the reblog button.

And I am calling you a coward for it.

How dare you refuse to acknowledge what is happening within your own movement. How dare you claim to be on the side of peace, and allow yourself to ignore what your own protesters are doing.

I see you, and I am disgusted with you.