#it is harder to accept that the person talking

[cherryxbooo]

Nothing lasts forever

Summary: Being a dedicated McLaren engineer with a cold demeanor means one thing: judgment. Trusting and opening up to a certain driver leads to a bigger mistake.

Reader x Oscar Piastri

Genre: Angst

I had always dreamed of working for McLaren.

The team’s history, the legacy, the championships, everything about it had captivated me since I was a kid.

I’d spent years idolizing the drivers, the engineers, the people who made it all happen.

And then, there I was.

Standing in the paddock, a part of the machine I had once only watched from the sidelines.

The air felt thick with history, with success, with the roar of engines and the buzz of anticipation.

It was everything I had ever wanted.

But, as much as I tried to convince myself it was everything I had dreamed of, there was something that gnawed at me.

There was an ache deep in my chest that no amount of triumph could soothe.

I had arrived, but the reality? The reality was a constant weight on my shoulders that I wasn’t prepared for.

I’d imagined walking into the garage, feeling the excitement of the team, and being welcomed as one of their own.

But instead, there were whispers.

Quiet, cutting whispers that followed me like a shadow.

I could feel the eyes on my back, the scrutiny, the judgment.

It didn’t matter how many hours I put in, how many sacrifices I made.

The rumors about me spread faster than the engine roar on the track.

I wasn’t the “right” kind of person.

Too focused, too ambitious, too cold.

Too much of everything that didn’t fit their ideal.

And it stung.

Every word. Every glance. Every offhand comment.

I tried to tell myself to ignore it. That they were wrong, that I had a place here because I earned it.

But each passing day, each race weekend, it felt harder to believe that.

The weight of their expectations, their judgments, it was like suffocating under a blanket of misunderstanding.

The worst part was when the comments came from the people I thought I could trust.

From the people I worked alongside. The people I shared ideas with.

How many times had I stayed late, just to make sure everything was perfect? Just to be sure I was giving it my all?

And yet, it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.

The world outside the track didn’t care about my dedication.

They cared about who I was, who they thought I was, and who I wasn’t.

It felt like every tiny detail of my life was scrutinized, dissected, and criticized.

So, I built walls.

Higher and higher, until they were towering around me. I kept my head down, kept my focus laser-sharp, kept to myself.

No one was going to see the cracks forming inside.

No one would ever know how often I lay awake at night, replaying everything, questioning my worth, wondering if all those whispers were true.

Was I too cold? Too intense? Too much of something that no one could accept?

Could they see me as I truly was, or was I just a puzzle piece that didn’t fit the picture they had in mind?

Then came Oscar.

The new guy, the fresh-faced rookie with that infectious energy.

He had that spark of hope, that belief in things I had lost along the way. He didn’t see the walls I built.

He didn’t seem to care about the rumors. To him, I was just another teammate. Another person to work with.

He didn’t judge me for how I carried myself, didn’t dismiss me for my focus. Instead, he laughed with me.

He challenged me in the best ways, without making me feel like an outsider.

For a while, it felt like maybe, just maybe, there was someone who didn’t see me through that lens of judgment.

Someone who saw me.

Oscar didn’t care about my reputation or the harsh words spoken behind my back.

He saw the work, the effort. And for the first time in a long time, I felt... like I mattered.

We started talking more.

Late-night debriefs, sitting alone after everyone else had gone to bed, dissecting the race, talking about what went wrong and what we could have done better.

I listened to him, really listened.

He told me about his journey to Formula 1, about his struggles to prove himself, about his dreams.

And in turn, I opened up. I shared my frustrations. My doubts. I talked about the battles I fought every day just to be here, just to be seen.

I never expected him to understand, but he did.

He didn’t judge.

He listened.

One night, after a particularly brutal race weekend, we found ourselves alone in the garage.

The others had already left for their rooms, and the garage was eerily quiet, save for the hum of the equipment.

I was staring at the car, my mind a whirlwind of calculations and what-ifs.

Oscar walked up to me, leaning against the tool chest, arms crossed, his usual easy smile softened.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle.

I didn’t turn to him immediately.

I didn’t trust myself to speak.

“I just... I just can’t stop thinking about what went wrong. There were so many little things that could’ve been fixed. If I had just—”

“Y/n,” he interrupted, his voice firm but not harsh.

“You’re one of the best at what you do. Don’t let one bad weekend define you.”

I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. “Easier said than done, right?”

He chuckled softly, pushing himself off the tool chest and walking closer to me.

“I get it. But you can’t carry that weight on your own. You’ve got a team here. Me included.”

The sincerity in his voice hit me harder than I expected.

I finally looked up at him, and for the first time, I saw not just the rookie but someone who genuinely cared.

Someone who wanted to help. It was almost too much to take in.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he added quietly, almost as if he was afraid of scaring me away.

I swallowed hard, feeling something stir inside me, something I hadn’t let myself feel in years.

Hope.

I nodded, unsure of how to respond. “I... I know. It’s just hard.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, his eyes softening.

“But you don’t have to have all the answers, all the time. Sometimes, it’s okay to lean on others.”

His voice lowered.

“Especially if that means leaning on me.”

I felt a warmth bloom in my chest, a sensation I hadn’t allowed myself to experience in so long.

Maybe it was okay to let someone in.

Maybe Oscar was the one person who could help me see things differently.

The next few days were full of more small moments that made my walls tremble.

We found ourselves in those quiet spaces between races, just talking.

I’d laugh at his dry humor, and he’d listen as I explained things I thought only made sense in my head.

He didn’t rush me. He didn’t expect anything from me except honesty.

One evening, as we sat on the pit wall, watching the sunset after another long practice session, he nudged me gently with his shoulder.

“You know, for someone who’s supposed to be the ice queen,” he said with a teasing grin,

“you’re actually kind of fun to hang out with.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips.

“I’m not that bad, am I?”

He raised an eyebrow, pretending to think it over.

“Maybe just a little. But that’s what makes it fun.” He nudged me again, this time making me laugh out loud.

It was a soft, genuine moment.

And for the first time, I allowed myself to feel it, really feel it.

The connection we were building was something I didn’t expect, something that was slowly chipping away at the walls I had so carefully crafted.

Oscar was breaking through, piece by piece. And it scared me. But in the best way possible.

But nothing lasts forever right?

The morning sun was just beginning to rise, casting long, amber-hued shadows over the paddock.

The air was still cool, with a slight breeze stirring the flags and team banners fluttering gently in the wind.

The hum of the pit lane was just starting to pick up as teams were making their final preparations for the day’s race.

Oscar and Lando stood by the car, both immersed in the quiet but urgent task of fine-tuning the machine that would carry them into the competition.

Oscar, his focus unwavering, leaned over the rear wing, adjusting a setting on the aerodynamics.

His fingers moved with practiced precision, checking measurements, recalibrating.

He didn’t take his eyes off the components as he made the final tweaks.

The team relied on him to deliver his best performance, and he wouldn’t let them down.

Lando, on the other hand, leaned casually against the car, arms crossed, watching Oscar work.

There was an easy-going air about him, a stark contrast to the intensity radiating from Oscar.

Lando's eyes followed his teammate’s every move with a small, amused smile on his lips.

It wasn’t that Lando wasn’t focused; it was just that he had a different way of working, more laid back, like everything was under control even if it wasn’t.

After a few moments of silence, Lando spoke, breaking the quiet concentration.

“I have to admit,” he said, his tone light but thoughtful, “Y/n’s not as bad as I thought.”

Oscar glanced up from his task, a small, surprised smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Yeah? I’ve noticed that too. She’s... unique.”

Lando chuckled, nudging him playfully with his elbow.

“Unique, huh? You mean cold and distant?”

he teased, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

Oscar’s expression softened, and he straightened up from the car, wiping his hands on his overalls as he met Lando’s eyes.

His smile faltered for a second, but only for a moment.

“She’s not cold,” he said, his voice quieter, more serious.

“She’s just... guarded. And I think once you get to know her, you’ll see a different side.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical, and took a step toward him, crossing his arms as he leaned in slightly.

“Really? You’ve spent a lot of time with her, huh? I didn’t think you’d put up with her cold demeanor. I mean, how do you even manage it? She’s like a brick wall sometimes.”

Oscar’s fingers tightened on the tools he was holding, but he didn’t let the tension show on his face.

He took a breath before speaking. “It’s not like that. She’s actually very sweet once you get past the walls she’s built.”

His voice softened, as if speaking about something fragile.

“There’s more to her than people realize. People don’t take the time to see that.”

Lando frowned, narrowing his eyes as he stared at Oscar, clearly unconvinced.

“Sweet? Dude, you’ve got to be kidding. I don’t know if I’m buying that. I mean, have you seen how she reacts to people? Most of the time, it’s like she’s trying to push everyone away. She doesn't smile, doesn't really talk unless she has to.”

Oscar hesitated, the flicker of unease in his chest threatening to break through, but he pushed it down.

He didn’t want to let Lando’s skepticism affect his thoughts about Y/n.

He could feel something real there, something that couldn’t be captured by just looking at the surface.

“I think you’re wrong,” Oscar said, his voice firm, though the unease lingered at the edge of his words.

“She’s just... been through a lot. I can see it in her eyes. She’s been hurt before, but she’s not who people think she is. She just needs someone to understand her.”

Lando’s face darkened slightly, his expression hardening as he stepped closer, his voice lowering to a more serious tone.

“You’re really going to let her fool you, huh? What if she’s just using you, Oscar? What if she’s trying to win you over for something, like fame, or to get information out of you? People like her, they’re good at manipulating others. They know how to get what they want, and you might just be her latest target.”

Oscar’s pulse quickened at Lando’s words. His grip on the tools tightened until his knuckles went white.

His initial instinct was to push back, to tell Lando that he didn’t know Y/n like he did, but the words hit a little too close to home.

He tried to control the rising heat in his chest, not wanting to let it spill over.

“No,” Oscar finally said, his voice quieter, though the defensive edge was still there.

“I don’t believe that. She’s not like that. You don’t know her the way I do.”

Lando’s gaze shifted, his brow furrowing as he leaned in closer, his tone shifting to something more insistent, more urgent.

“Come on, man. I’m just looking out for you. You’re still new here. She’s smart, and she’s got a way of getting people to like her, but it’s all for a reason. Maybe she’s just trying to get close to you for some advantage. I’m just trying to warn you before you get too deep in. You should keep an eye on her.”

Oscar felt a tightening in his chest, a flicker of doubt threatening to cloud his judgment.

He wanted to trust Y/n, to believe that the connection they had was real, but Lando’s words were like a seed planted in the back of his mind, something he couldn’t ignore.

He shook his head, trying to shake off the feeling.

“I don’t think I need to be worried about her,” Oscar replied, his voice firming again, though his hands were still clenched.

“She’s been nothing but professional with me, and I trust her. I’m not going to let something like this ruin that.”

Lando sighed, his posture relaxing just a fraction, though his concern was still evident.

“I hope you’re right, mate,” he said, his voice quiet but serious.

“Just keep your eyes open. You might be seeing things through rose-colored glasses right now, but trust me, people like her don’t change easily. Don’t let yourself get hurt.”

Before Oscar could respond, the team was called for practice, the urgency of the situation pushing the conversation aside.

Both drivers were pulled into the whirlwind of final checks and preparations for the race.

But even as they walked toward the garage, Oscar couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that Lando’s words had left behind.

He tried to push it to the back of his mind, but the doubt lingered, simmering beneath the surface.

He caught a glimpse of Y/n as they made their way to their cars, and for a moment, he found himself wondering if maybe, just maybe, Lando was right.

Could she really be hiding something?

Or was it just the fear of getting too close to someone who had built walls around herself for so long?

Oscar didn’t know, but what he did know was that he wanted to figure it out, he couldn’t just dismiss her like that.

He took a deep breath and forced the thought away.

The race was about to begin, and there was no room for distractions now.

But as they took their positions for practice, Oscar couldn’t shake the lingering doubt that now danced at the edge of his mind.

Later that afternoon,

after the chaos of the post-race debrief, I was given a simple task, one that I had done countless times before.

I was asked to grab some papers from the drivers’ room that had been left behind after a last-minute meeting with Oscar.

It's an easy. Simple. Routine. Right?

I pushed the door open to the driver's room, the quiet atmosphere inside making me feel alone for some reason.

I started sifting through the papers on the desk, the disarray mirroring the mess in my head.

Coffee cups, race schedules, notes from the meeting, all scattered in a haphazard way.

Then, my hand brushed against something, and before I could react, I heard the unmistakable sound of a phone hitting the floor.

A loud thud.

I froze.

Oscar’s phone.

My heart skipped a beat as I bent down quickly, my fingers shaking slightly as I scooped it up.

I checked it over anxiously, my mind racing.

It seemed fine, no cracks, no shattered screen. Just a small scratch on the corner, nothing that couldn’t be fixed.

I let out a quiet sigh of relief and, for a split second, considered just leaving it there on the desk.

Maybe pretending it hadn’t happened would be easier than facing him.

But before I could even make the decision, the door swung open.

Oscar stood in the doorway, his gaze immediately locking onto the phone in my hand.

His eyes flicked from the phone to my face, his expression shifting in rapid succession, surprise, confusion, and then something darker, something colder that made my stomach churn.

“What are you doing with my phone?”

His voice was tight, almost accusing.

I felt a lump form in my throat.

“I—I'm sorry, I knocked it over, and I was just checking to see if it was okay.”

His eyes didn’t soften. If anything, they hardened.

His jaw clenched as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click that felt like the final barrier between us.

“Why were you going through it?”

His words cut through the air like a knife, and I could feel my pulse racing in my ears.

“I wasn’t going through it,” I quickly explained, trying to remain calm despite the panic rising in my chest.

“I swear, Oscar. I wasn’t—”

But he wasn’t listening. He cut me off, his voice rising with frustration.

“I just don’t get it,” he muttered, more to himself than to me.

“Lando was right, wasn’t he? You’re just trying to get something out of me. Trying to manipulate me.”

I stood frozen, the words hitting me like a punch to the gut.

My head spun as I tried to process what he was saying.

“What? What are you talking about?”

Oscar’s gaze was cold, distant, like a stranger’s.

He took a step closer, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“I know what Lando said,” he spat, his words laced with frustration.

“You’re trying to win me over, aren’t you? Maybe you just want to get close to me for some advantage, information, fame, whatever.”

Each word stung like a slap. I felt my chest tighten, the weight of the accusations suffocating me.

I had spent so long building trust with Oscar, trying to make him see the real me beneath the walls I had built.

But now, it was as if all that effort had meant nothing.

“Oscar, I don’t know what he’s told you, but I swear, that’s not it. You have to believe me,”

I pleaded, my voice cracking despite my best efforts to keep it steady.

But his gaze hardened further, like an impenetrable wall had been built between us.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore, Y/n. I thought I understood you. But now… I don’t know.”

The words cut deeper than anything he had said before. I felt them settle in my chest like a heavy stone, each one sinking further into the pit of my heart.

The silence that followed felt unbearable. Neither of us moved, the air thick with unspoken words and hurt.

Finally, Oscar broke the silence with a sharp exhale, his frustration palpable.

“I don’t want to argue with you right now.”

And just like that, he turned and left, slamming the door behind him with a finality that echoed in my chest.

The sound of the door closing felt like the door between us had been shut permanently.

I stood there for a long moment, frozen in place.

My mind raced, but the only thing that kept repeating in my head was how completely shattered I felt.

It wasn’t just the argument, or the mistrust, it was the way everything I had worked for, everything I had built with Oscar, had just come crumbling down in an instant.

And for the first time in a long time, I was completely alone.

Hours had passed since the argument, and the weight of it sat heavily on my chest.

The tension between Oscar and me still lingered in the air, suffocating and sharp.

I had kept to myself in the aftermath, buried in data and numbers, trying to escape the clamor of my own thoughts.

I needed the distraction, anything to keep my mind from spiraling further into the uncertainty of everything that had unfolded between us.

But as I walked down the narrow hallway, heading toward the garage, I heard the familiar voices of Lando and Oscar in the distance.

Their voices cut through the stillness of the hallway, and without meaning to, I found myself slowing down, drawn to the conversation like a moth to a flame.

I tried to stay calm, but something in my gut told me I wouldn’t like what I was about to hear.

“…She’s just so cold,”

Lando’s voice was low but carried a certain finality, like he was trying to convince Oscar of something he already believed.

“I’ve tried to get close to her, man, but it’s like she doesn’t even care. She’s got this wall up that I can’t get through. It’s exhausting and childish.”

Oscar’s response was quieter, but still audible.

There was a hesitation in his voice that I hadn’t expected. “She's cold... but I guess that's just how she is”

My heart thudded painfully in my chest, the pressure of the situation suddenly too much to bear.

I thought, no, hoped, that Oscar might defend me, at least show some understanding of who I really was, what I had been through.

But instead, it was like he was agreeing with Lando.

And with every second that passed, the pain inside me deepened, unbearable and raw.

Lando’s voice cut through the silence again, sharper this time.

“Whatever, man. Just keep an eye on her, alright? I’m telling you, she’s got her own agenda. You can’t trust someone like that. She’s been playing everyone, and I’m sure you’re next.”

I stood frozen in place, my heart sinking.

Oscar was quiet for a moment, and I could feel the crackle of tension in the air, even from where I stood.

Was he really considering what Lando said? Was he starting to doubt me too?

Finally, Oscar spoke, his voice quieter than before, but there was an edge to it now, like something had shifted inside of him.

“Yeah, I’ll keep an eye on her. She seems suspicious and untrustworthy.”

The words hit me like a physical blow.

My stomach twisted painfully, and it was like all the air had been sucked from my lungs.

That was it. He didn’t defend me. He didn’t trust me.

He was agreeing with Lando’s words, buying into the idea that I was some sort of threat, someone who couldn’t be trusted.

The space between us that had once felt so close now seemed impossibly vast, like an insurmountable chasm had opened up between us.

I felt the sting of betrayal rush through me, even though I tried to swallow it down.

My mind raced. How could he believe that? How could he think that of me, after everything we had shared, the small moments of connection?

It didn’t make sense.

It wasn’t like me to be the one who couldn’t be trusted, but here I was, questioning everything.

Turning on my heel, I quickly walked away, the sound of their voices echoing behind me, but I couldn’t bring myself to face them.

I could feel the tears welling up, but I refused to let them fall.

Not now. Not when it felt like I had already lost everything.

As I made my way back through the hall, my stomach twisted with a kind of emptiness I couldn’t describe.

That was it. Oscar had chosen Lando’s side without hesitation. And that hurt more than anything.

The realization settled over me like a heavy blanket, and I couldn’t shake the feeling of being completely alone in a place I thought I had found some semblance of belonging.

I had hoped for more from Oscar, but now, I wasn’t sure what was real anymore.

What had we even shared if it could be so easily dismissed by someone who barely knew me?

Later that evening,

I found myself walking toward the tech area, my mind still reeling from the aftermath of everything.

The weight of the argument earlier that day had left me hollow, like a piece of me had been torn away and I couldn’t find the strength to patch it back together.

I wanted to drown out the pain, to lose myself in the data, in the work that always kept me busy.

But then, as I rounded the corner, I saw him.

Oscar.

We came face-to-face in the hallway, and for a moment, neither of us moved.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly between us, the world around us fading as the air between us thickened with unspoken words.

My heart raced, pounding in my chest, the weight of the moment pressing down on me like a thousand-ton brick.

The silence felt suffocating, every second of it making me feel smaller, more exposed, more vulnerable.

I could barely breathe.

Finally, he spoke, his voice hesitant, as if testing the air.

"Y/n, I want to talk about earlier. Please."

I couldn’t even look at him. His words felt like a distant echo, like something I couldn’t quite reach.

The sting of everything he’d said to me earlier, the doubt, the mistrust, burned too fiercely in my chest for me to react calmly.

I shook my head, my throat tight as I tried to hold it together.

My voice came out barely above a whisper, thick with emotion.

“What’s there to talk about? You don’t believe me. You don’t trust me.”

Oscar’s face softened, his eyes filled with something I couldn’t quite name, but it didn’t matter.

The pain in my heart was louder than anything he could say. He stepped closer, like he couldn’t bear the distance between us.

His voice was pleading, desperate for me to listen.

“That’s not true. I said those things out of anger, out of frustration. Lando’s words... they got to me. But I swear, I don’t think you’re using me. I—”

I cut him off, my voice breaking with the weight of my emotions. I couldn’t let him spin it.

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head furiously.

You’re just like everyone else. You heard one thing, and you turned your back on me.”

His steps faltered, and for a moment, I saw something like regret flash in his eyes.

But it didn’t change anything. Not anymore.

The damage had been done, and I couldn’t pretend it didn’t hurt.

“Y/n, please,” he said softly, reaching out, his hand hovering near my arm.

“I didn’t mean it.”

But his words felt hollow now.

I didn’t want to hear him apologize. Not when everything I had worked so hard to build between us seemed to have shattered in an instant.

I felt the tears welling up, burning my eyes, threatening to spill over.

My chest felt tight, suffocating under the weight of everything I had been trying to keep buried.

“You did,” I whispered through the tears. “You believed it. And now I can’t trust you either.”

Oscar’s hand dropped as if the weight of my words had physically knocked it from him.

The space between us seemed to stretch, a chasm that no words could bridge.

His eyes flickered with something like frustration, but I couldn’t find the energy to care.

“You’re always so defensive, always so closed off,” he said, his voice sharper now, tinged with anger.

“It’s exhausting. I can’t keep up with this anymore.”

I felt the sharp sting of his words, but there was something else beneath it.

Something that twisted in my chest.

“Maybe it’s because you don’t want to,” I choked out, my voice cracking with emotion.

“Maybe you just don’t want to understand.”

Oscar’s eyes turned cold, and his voice rose, filled with a rawness I wasn’t prepared for.

“You think you’re so much better than everyone, don’t you? You act like you don’t care, but deep down, you’re just scared. Scared that you’re not good enough. You’re scared of getting hurt, so you push everyone away. And it’s pathetic.”

I froze.

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and my breath caught in my throat.

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move.

I was frozen in place, each syllable echoing through my mind, digging into the parts of me I tried so desperately to keep hidden.

The parts I had tried to lock away from everyone, including myself.

And now, here he was, exposing them in the worst way possible.

I trusted him, but he used my trust in him against me.

My worst fears, my deepest insecurities, laid bare before me in the cruelest possible light.

I didn’t want to cry. I couldn’t. But the tears came, hot and fast, and I couldn’t stop them.

I had built so many walls around myself, so many layers to protect the fragile parts inside, and now they felt like they were crumbling away with each word Oscar spoke.

Oscar’s expression faltered as soon as he realized what he had just said.

His eyes widened in horror like he couldn’t believe the words that had just left his mouth. This wasn't him.

He reached out to me, but the instinct to pull away was stronger than anything I had ever felt.

My body jerked back, my anger and hurt boiling over in that single moment.

“No,” I spat, my voice venomous and raw. “Don’t touch me.”

His hand dropped like a stone, and I saw the regret washing over his face, but it didn’t matter.

Not now.

Not after everything.

It seemed like he was regretting everything the minute he realized he was losing me.

But the damage was already done, and there was no taking it back.

I turned away from him, the weight of everything crashing down on me as I walked away, the tears falling freely now.

My heart felt like it had been torn in half.

I didn’t look back, because I knew if I did, I’d crumble.

The pain was too much.

I was almost out of the hallway when I heard his footsteps behind me.

He was following me.

“Y/n, please,” Oscar called again, his voice breaking through the distance between us.

“I’m sorry. I was wrong. Please, just let me explain.”

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t listen to him anymore.

I had trusted him and believed that he saw me for who I was, and now… now he had shattered everything.

My heart felt raw, bleeding from the wounds he had inflicted.

I stopped in my tracks and turned to face him.

“You want to apologize now?” I asked, my voice trembling with the pain I could no longer hide.

“It’s too late, Oscar. You’ve already made your choice. You’ve already believed the worst about me.”

Oscar stepped closer, his face full of regret. “Y/n, I—”

“No,” I interrupted, shaking my head, my heart breaking in two.

“I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep trusting people who turn on me the second something goes wrong. I’ve had enough.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.

The silence stretched between us, and I could see the conflict in his eyes. But it didn’t matter.

The damage was already done, and I couldn’t forgive him, not now.

Not after everything.

With a final, bitter glance, I turned away and walked off, the tears still falling as I left him standing there, his apology hanging in the air between us, unanswered and unaccepted.

But one thing was for sure: I had to put myself first.

The end

[bestruction]

The right incentives

Summary: Sasuke struggles with adapting to life after losing his arm, choosing not to accept a prosthetic made from Hashirama cells, as it would remind him of his past

Warnings: Suggestive, my crazy theories about how this would medically work

Sasuke had never been one to complain openly, but adapting to life with one arm was harder than he let on. He had refused the prosthetic arm offered to him—the Hashirama cells were a reminder of the destruction he’d caused, and accepting it felt like an unearned privilege. He bore the struggle quietly, a penance he believed he deserved.

You respected his choice, even if it pained you. But moments like today made you wonder if the price of his decision was too high.

The two of you had gone to the market to restock on essentials. The Uchiha district was slowly regaining its spark, the result of countless hours you’d spent together breathing life into its empty streets and crumbling homes. Yet it still lacked the conveniences of the main village, which meant long walks and heavy bags on market days.

“I’ll take these,” you said, smiling as you grabbed several bags from the vendor.

Sasuke reached for the rest. His single hand worked methodically, but the strain showed in the slight furrow of his brow, the careful movements as he adjusted his grip. When you moved to help, he shook his head.

“I’ve got it,” he muttered, his voice low but firm.

You didn’t argue. Sasuke’s pride was an unspoken rule between you, but as you walked home, you couldn’t ignore the way his steps slowed or how his knuckles whitened against the handles.

By the time you reached the house, you couldn’t stand it any longer. Ignoring his protests, you gently took the bags from his hand.

“Let me help,” you said softly. “It’s not a big deal.”

His jaw tightened, frustration flickering in his dark eyes, but he didn’t stop you.

Later that evening, you found him sitting in the garden, the fading sunlight casting warm hues across his profile. His gaze was fixed on the sky, distant and unreadable. Quietly, you sat beside him, your shoulder brushing against his.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence was familiar, comfortable in its way, but heavy with words left unsaid.

“I know it bothers you,” you said at last, your voice gentle.

Sasuke’s shoulders tensed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sasuke.” You placed a hand on his knee, grounding him. “You don’t have to hide it from me. It’s okay to admit when something’s hard.”

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I chose not to accept the cells,” he said, his tone quiet but steady. “I don’t regret it. But there are moments... when it’s frustrating. When I feel—” He hesitated, the word catching in his throat. “Useless.”

Your chest tightened. “You’re not useless,” you said firmly, the words carrying every ounce of love you felt for him. “You’re human, Sasuke. You’ve already punished yourself enough. You deserve to live fully—to heal.”

His dark eyes flicked toward you, guarded but searching. “You think I should accept the arm.”

“I think you should let yourself have a life,” you said softly. “It’s not about whether you deserve it. It’s about moving forward. Not just surviving"

For a moment, he looked impossibly young, as if the weight of his past had finally settled on his shoulders. Then he looked away, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “I just don’t want you to feel like you’re stuck with half a man.”

Your heart ached at his words. You shifted closer, resting a hand against his knee and leaning forward to catch his gaze. “Sasuke,” you said, your voice steady and tender, “you’re the strongest, most capable person I know. Losing your arm doesn’t make you less. Not to me. Not to anyone who matters.”

He swallowed hard, the walls he so carefully built cracking just enough to let you in.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, your voice soft but steady.

His arm hesitated before resting lightly against your back. “You don’t have to apologize,” he said quietly, though his tone betrayed the vulnerability he rarely let show.

“I do. I didn’t mean to hurt you earlier—I just want to help. But I swear, it was never because I thought you couldn’t handle it, but think about what I told you, please"

His lips quirked in the faintest of smiles. “You’re stubborn.”

“And you love me for it,” you teased, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips.

“I do,” he whispered, pulling you closer.

It took him a while to mature the idea and a lot of your insistence. When he finally said he would accept it, you nearly felt your heart melting. You wanted him to heal completely from the wounds of his past, letting him blame himself for everything that passed didn't even pass on your mind.

Kakashi wasted no time in arranging for the best med-nin in Konoha to perform the delicate procedure. The process was no ordinary surgery; it was a fusion of advanced medical ninjutsu and intricate chakra manipulation, requiring precision that only a select few could achieve.

The day of the surgery was long and filled with an uneasy silence. You waited just outside the room, your heart pounding with every muffled instruction or chakra flare you sensed through the walls. Kakashi stayed with you, his presence a steady anchor. When your pacing grew restless, he gently urged you to sit, offering quiet reassurances.

But that wasn't the hardest part, the adaptation was.

The arm, though responsive, required Sasuke to recalibrate the balance of his chakra. Every movement—every muscle twitch—was a deliberate effort, his body relearning what had once been second nature.

Weeks later,  Sasuke’s mood was anything but serene. He stood in the middle of the open space, repeatedly tossing a training ball with his new arm, trying to get the motions to feel natural. The prosthetic responded sluggishly, too stiff at times and too loose at others. When the ball slipped from his grasp for the third time, rolling uselessly across the ground, frustration overtook him.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, throwing the ball hard against the nearby tree. It bounced back limply, mocking his effort.

Hearing the noise, you popped your head out from the doorway of the house. "Everything okay?" you asked, noticing the tight line of his jaw and the furrow of his brows.

Sasuke didn’t answer at first, but when you walked over and gently placed a hand on his shoulder, his tension eased just slightly. "It’s this arm," he finally said. "Maybe it's not working. The first hokage must be turning over in his grave since I got it."

You tilted your head, considering his words before reaching for his new arm. "May I?"

He looked at you, hesitating for a moment, then gave a slight nod.

You held his hand between yours, your touch warm and grounding. "Can you feel this?" you asked, your thumbs gently brushing over his fingers.

He swallowed. "Yes."

You smiled softly, stepping closer. "And this?" You pressed his hand against your cheek, letting it rest there for a moment.

His dark eyes searched your face, his breath hitching slightly. "Yeah," he said, his voice quieter now while he caressed your cheek softly.

Without breaking eye contact, you slid his hand to the curve of your neck, letting it linger there for a moment before guiding it down to your breasts. His breath caught when your fingers trailed his hand further to your waist, where you placed his other hand. Before you could say more, he guided you onto his lap, one arm wrapping around your back while his new hand rested securely on your hip. You giggled leaning your forehead on his, loving the way his onix eyes watched you so closely.

"Do you feel that, Sasuke?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, looking deep into his eyes while you moved your hips in a circle, letting his hands feel the motion. "I think it's working pretty well"

His gaze softened as his hands tightened instinctively on your waist, pulling you closer "Now that you mention it..."

You bit your lip feeling that sweet pressure that you knew so well between your legs "You’ll get used to it," you murmured, sliding your fingers into his hair. "You just need the right...incentives."

A smirk tugged at his lips despite himself. "Is that so?"

That damn smirk would be the death of you one day. He brushed his lips on yours, his hand slowly finding its way between your legs to push the thin cotton fabric of your underwear aside under your dress.

"Mm-hmm," you replied, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.

"I think..." He mumbled in the kiss "We can try a different exercise for my fingers"

You giggled against his lips feeling your cheeks get warmer before his finger reached your clit "I'm here to help" 

[free-fart-avenue]

But they also know who he is.

At the end they hear about how he's from "another dimention" and want to know more, what if he meets with Sans briefly and asks if they should share Everything, Most things, or just make things up, then Papyrus and/or Frisk come over and remind them the hell they (almost entirely Geno) went through to just learn the lession that

They can depend on and tell their friends things. They don't have to lie about who Geno is because that would For Sure lead to more isolation.

Maybe Papyrus and Frisk don't even need to be there. Geno and Sans are both very smart and know that their friends, with being so strong already and now having a happy ending, could handle knowing that Geno was Sans. They both talk and figure that, nah, lying and hiding things is how they got here. How Geno got here, existed in the first place.

It could go either way, and would be up to whoever makes this into an actual thing if they do.

The others would have issues though. But maybe Geno's voice is more hoarse? Can you imagine how much he might have cried over.. everything? Watching his family and friends die, not being able to do anything, but he could probably deal with that, he knew something like that would happen long ago. But with how much he tried to convince himself just to be abandoned when his only hope of ending the pain gets taken from him again and again and Again.

Torriel would know Sans and Geno apart the best, Geno sounds sadder, but he puts more effort into talking then Sans does. Geno's voice is more tense.

Once the others all learn about and accept the fact that Sans and Geno were the same person, they can help show Geno how he is an individual, and one who lost all he cared about, just to get it replaced with copies.

Undyne keeps looking at him, he is quieter and he thinks maybe she is trying to see how they are the same, or how they're different, but then one day she approaches and tells him her thoughts.

She couldn't imagine losing all her friends, she'd make sure that'd never happen. But right in front of her, Sans did let that happen, but got everything back by going through hell. She probably doesn't think it was all bad that Geno went through the hell he did because that was what it took for her best friend's brother to actually open up to those around him.

I can keep going with just Undyne's pov, but this is about Geno.

With him trying harder to be open to his friends, he can confide his guilt and shame into them, he can tell them how he feels and what he thinks and they can help.

He probably would spend time with his aquentences more, but if he is able to grieve the loss of his world, his family and friends, and even his own identity, all with the support of his friends and brothers, then it could be a healthy change, one because he is a different person from Sans, and he can have different.

Maybe he gets closer to them first and they help him work through his pain, that seems more likely.

They all have a lot to work through, and I can keep going, but this is getting long and I'm getting tired, so I'll make less sense and say dumb stuff.

do you think geno post-aftertale gets guilty for "replacing" his papyrus with the current one (and by extension everyone else). like yeah there's A papyrus here and he's his brother along with sans but he's still wearing the scarf of his papyrus.

the papyrus he failed to protect.

and like sure since the timeline reset technically the current papyrus IS his papyrus but both geno and sans being here could probably mess with him.

he knows he's here because of determination but maybe sometimes he can't help but look at the scarf he's wearing and papyrus and feel an immense sense of guilt

that's not to mention how everyone will think of him as a stranger. can you imagine they're all hanging out and then undyne tells geno something that sans did. but he already knows that because he did that but that's weird to say. "oh yeah i remember that i did that." they dont know that, you're not their sans.

does toriel sometimes get unsettled by how sans and geno's voice sounds the exact same. how often would she mistake the two at first when they're talking out of sight. how often do they get mistaken in general? and when they do get mistaken do people always assume it's sans and never geno?

like yeah aftertale had a happy ending but there's still so much to explore after it. how does geno adjust to being in the real world again (and on the surface at that). how does geno deal with his identity. does he keep his name? does he explain who exactly he is to the others or does he let that go unspoken? does he sometimes look at sans and get jealous he didn't have to go through everything that he did to get this happy ending and then feel bad for getting jealous?

i think it would be nice for geno to hang out with people that are less familiar with sans but still people he knows, like asgore, mettaton, napstablook, etc. there'd be less of that "i know sans well but you're almost like a stranger". it's simpler with acquaintances because they simply don't know either of them well enough. so geno doesn't have to be worried about being compared all the time, consciously or not

[le-trash-prince]

I know this website has been shared in BL fandom before, but I just want to pull some information from fujoshi.info that I think can be really enlightening in regards to how TERF rhetoric is used against BL fans, namely the idea that BL fans are straight women or that BL is made for the consumption of straight women.

I grew up having things like this said to my face as a young queer by people who knew I read BL, and it made it that much harder to accept both my gender and my sexuality, which, ironically, BL helped me to process. So I have little patience for these kinds of statements regarding BL. They are invalidating of many people's queer experiences.

Here is my stance: BL is made for BL fans. It's not made "for the hets" or "for people who aren't queer." It's made for BL fans. That includes us queers. We are and have always been part of the audience that BL is made for.

BL authors and fans come in all different shapes and sizes. Trans men and cisgender men both read and produce BL media. Based on multiple surveys of queer BL fans the majority of fans, male or female, fall on the bisexual spectrum. (source)

There is more, in the link above, about BL demographics, under the "Misconception 2" tab, that I think is well worth the read.

Second of all, I think the idea that "some BL is made for queers and some BL isn't" is just a repackaged TERF talking point that BL is made for straight women. Let me be clear: I am not implying that people who say things like this are TERFs. But you are parroting TERF talking points and propogating their ideology by implying that the people for whom these shows are made must not be queer.

Under gender critical ideology, trans men in fandom are treated as ‘hetero sexual female fujoshi’ who consume too much ‘sexual gay male content’ only to later ‘come out as “gay trans men”’ (Anti-fujoshi 2023). Gender criticals refer to trans men (and by extension fujoshi) as ‘homophobic’ due to their belief that trans men are heterosexual women forcing their way into authentic (i.e. cisgender) gay male spaces (Anti-fujoshi 2023). (link)

Unfortunately, this concept has long since been picked up by people in the queer community who think they're fighting homophobia... and TERFs love it.

I hate fujoshi but we’re even more astounded how [social justice warriors] [took] our statements as some pro-LGBT agenda […] [and] swallowed our thinly veiled gender critical statements […]. We’re ‘transphobic’. (link)

Here are examples from fujoshi.info of TERF talking points regarding BL fans being cishet women. These are quotes from actual TERFs, and I am placing them under a cut because they can be triggering, even though this is only just a sampling. But statements like these are the roots of the idea that BL is made for straight women, and I want people to understand the implications of what they are saying.

To keep my conclusion above the cut, I just want to say that it is dangerous to play into this agenda by making claims about who BL is made for. KinnPorsche was made for me. Pit Babe was made for me. Kidnap was made for me. Queer people have always been part of the BL audience, whether the series reflects what any given person considers to be "an authentic queer experience" or not.

"Yaoi is made only for women by women and seeks to commodify MLM identities and love while oppressing them and denying them their rights. “Fujoshis” are not friends of queer liberation."

"the idea that we should just let cishet women have a fetish for gay men at the off chance they might be gay or trans is fucking insanity"

"No fujoshi is a proper LGBT advocate. They are all straight women pretending to be bi."

"Fujoshis just started calling themselves non binary and gay trans men and most of you just fell for it huh?

"[fujoshis] refers to specifically cishet women who only consume and create m/m content because they view it as something sexual because it is taboo and don't care about actual gay men, along with blatantly hating gay women [...] We cannot dilute what the term fujoshi means and the severe homophobia that mindset is rooted in."

[keepthedelta]

Hi Delta, what do you mean that Lewis was always more weirder about Nico during their careers? Because I totally agree with you. My older brother, who was quite into F1 since early 2010, used to tell me about these two, who were not teammates but were always together. Nowadays, he is not so into the sport anymore. He says there is no passion and the drivers play too much PR.

okay it's a totally personal opinion, but when you look at their actions when they were racing and after nico's retirement, i think lewis is the one who comes across as a bit weirder. it's stuff like the whole "i don't remember when i met nico that's the sort of thing you remember about your lady" thing, even though he had literally already written it in his book. it's the fact that when things first started getting nasty between them, nico's media line was "yes, there will always be a certain level of respect rooted in that friendship" while lewis went "well we're not friends". and after lewis said that, iirc there was a journalist that asked about their history together and lewis got very quiet and a bit lost and a bit emotional and didn't really have an answer. there was a time when lewis was asked by a journalist how he and nico had changed since they were children, and lewis said "well he's married now" (he did also follow that up with and i'm almost married, so i think some of it was about nicole scherzinger, but i think it's interesting that his response was about their personal lives).

and i think the way lewis has defined their relationship over the years is interesting. he's gone from talking about nico in his book to pretending he doesn't remember how they met to saying they're not friends to saying they were best friends to saying they were never friends. the story has changed so many times from him, while nico has generally been quite consistent about it. and although people think of nico as the one who can't stop talking about their relationship now, when they were racing together, lewis was the one largely defining the relationship to the media. nico mostly stuck to pr line "it's complicated" etc. while lewis was telling them that nico watched him swim in the pool and then came down to talk to him. and while this is something that had definitely happened at some point (i think they mentioned it in 2013), i personally have my doubts that it happened in 2016. lewis said that to the media just after baku i believe, which was where he fucked his quali astronomically and destroyed his drivers room he was so annoyed with himself. niki lauda said that they were barely talking and wouldn't even say the others name in the garage, so while it's very possible that they were trying to ignore each other at work and being desperately weird at home, i think it's equally possible that lewis was making the whole thing up to make the relationship seem better than it was (but also in a way that positioned nico as the weird one).

and then there's all the ways lewis tries not to say nico's name or acknowledge their friendship. when he was talking about coming to monaco for the first time on some british tv show he said he came to visit "a frien - someone i used to kn - a friend". like, someone is clearly not over that whole relationship. and when talking about having harder teammates than max verstappen, he can mention george and valtteri and jenson and fernando, all people he's beaten, but not the only teammate to beat him to a championship? and his excuse of "oh i've just had so many teammates" well you managed to name everyone except nico and lets face it that was not an accident. he put effort into not saying nico's name, and not talking about their relationship. meanwhile nico can say that they're neutral and that lewis gives his daughters presents at christmas because he has totally accepted their relationship and their history for what it is in a way that i don't think lewis has.

and i do agree with your brother, there's way too much pr now. i don't need the drivers to be physically fighting each other on the track but i think the way everyone has to pretend to be best friends is frustrating. it's a sport, and these are competitors, and if the fans are expected to have sports feelings about it then the actual athletes are also going to have sports feelings about their own careers. pretending otherwise is both boring, and almost insulting to the viewer. i know it's for marketing purposes, but most of the people watching are adults who can conceptualise people in competition with each other, even if they're on the same team, not being best friends.

[wxnd3rstrxck]

how evil is it that people think that everyone is inherently a bad person and therefore we can never make the world a better place.

[altschmerzes]

omgggg shipping is not arophobic in the LEAST but keep making us look like whiners with no real problems by continuing to complain about it I guess

yeah that's definitely what i said in any post ever man great job

average person who has made shipping their entire identity will see a post where someone says 'hey please don't say these specific types of things that are degrading and cruel about nonromantic relationships while enjoying your ships and maybe examine the thought processes and beliefs and prejudices that led to saying them' and be like 'oh so you're a whiner with no real problems who thinks shipping is arophobic?'

telling on yourself there bud

[bandsandwristbands]

Vent post

[sherlock-is-ace]

.

[mantisgodsdomain]

We ought to write more Pokemon fic some time. We want to recreate the Pokemon Manners/Human Manners cheat sheet that we made a few years ago we think that this site would like the Sliding Scale Of Politeness When Greeting A New Pokemon You've Never Met Before.

[herrmit]

not to start shit but. tell me you didn't understand princess jellyfish without telling me you didn't understand princess jellyfish

[musical-chick-13]

It is because these people are stupid. Hope this helps.

[halfricanloveyou]

“hey so we’re gonna need you to focus up and pay attention and not talk for 3 hours straight. and no you can’t look at your phone or ask brief questions or think out loud and 98% of what will be said won’t apply to you.”

“also i know you have adhd and that you said your adderall wore off but so do i. you just have to learn.”

do you seriously think i am capable of that. what if i blew you up with a cool wizard beam attack? what if the beam was purple.

[cynicalmusings]

‘the most crucial skill that a good drinksmith needs is listening… drinksmithing is all about having conversations with your guests’

tea house owner!reader energy for real

[dirt-str1der]

Love characterising nishikiyama as a booze hound drug hound meth addict high every day body mass 75% alcohol hands constantly shaking literally spacing out while driving fifty over the speed limit using elderly folk as speedbumps one hand on the wheel and one hand free to do more drugs and coming into work while functionally deaf and blind and he is still leagues more competent at his job than kiryu