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alyssumlovesthecosmere · 15 days ago

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So, the other day, Crash Course uploaded a video in their Religions series, about Judaism. Now, I haven't watched any video other than this one, but if this one is any metric to measure by.... well, it's bad. Really bad.

To start, the introduction starts with "shabbat toothbrushes", where John Green describes to us how (some) jews will brush their teeth on shabbat, while ensuring to not break any of the melachot, or prohibited actions. This, in my opinion, as an orthodox jew, is.... quite a framing to start with. Especially since immediately after that introduction, John Green let's us know that there are other jews! who don't do this! and just... sir, I'm an orthodox jew. Sure, I don't do follow that rule on the shabbat- sorry, the sabbath which you then explain is the shabbat to jews (the word Sabbath comes from the hebrew Shabbat), but I follow a lot of rules that folks find strange! And I do not appreciate a video talking about jews sidelining orthodox jews. Framing the video in that way is clearly an attempt to make Jews seem more "mainstream", but it erases, estranges, and (this happens more later on) villifies orthodox jews. Which isn't fair.

But we just started this 13 minute video. At this point last night, I sighed and figured this was going to be just your regular old "Orthodox Jews are strange and bad" sort of video, and resigned myself to that. And then I looked at the sections of the video. One of which included Zionism in it. And I immediately got more worried, because John and Hank donated through Project For Awesome to UNWRA which are.... very linked to Hamas, including there being evidence of UNWRA employees participating in the Oct. 7th Massacre. But okay. Maybe this video will be fine.

Spoiler alert: It wasn't. It was so incredibly bad. John Green admits at the start of the video that Judaism is complex, great! Now explain tha complexity correctly! no. So he starts off his history with... Ya'akov Avinu, sorry- Jacob. Who's a descendant of Avraham Avinu, sorry- Abraham (John uses the english names and not the hebrew one and it just bothers me). Which like... no, Jewish history starts with Eretz Yisrael, the land of Israel. In addition, a large majority of his sources are non jewish sources which is just. Why. There are so many jewish sources on Judaism!

As this is getting long, I'm gonna put a tl;dr here and then a read more cut. The tl;dr is this - the video is a horrendously western view of Judaism video, that seems to be written by non-jews who don't have any expertise in Judaism. It is filled with misrepresentation of jews, especially religious ones, is severely lacking pretty much all of jewish history, doesn't mention MENA/SWANA jews at all, and is quite frankly a disappointment. I'm mad and sad and upset and most of all disappointed with crash course for creating this video.

Still with me? great. I'm wordy and I have twelve minutes of this video to go through still. To make this a bit more organized, I'm gonna go according to the sections that John Green himself gave, and give a summary of what he said and what is wrong or misrepresented there.

The Many Versions of Judaism (aka, somehow not our history nor our story) there are a few things wrong/upsetting here. First off, as I said above, the fact that he uses the English names. Second off, the fact that he, bafflingly, starts the story with Ya'akov getting the name Yisrael, aka when Ya'akov fights with the angel. John then takes this to explain that Jews today still wrestle with Hashem in our own way, but in a... shall I say tumblr style reductionist way. Y'know, the "jews shake lemon at gd angrily behind a denny's" way. This chapter is the only one that will ever mention the ancient Israelites, and never the tie to the land of Israel itself. In addition to this, he describes Judaism as monotheistic, but that "half of religious jews today believe in some other spiritual force, and not the gd of the Hebrew Bible" which had me going what in the what. Just. No. like, sure, i'm a vaguely agnostic-atheist religious jew and uh, no? And I found his source, and well, if I had to guess - the jews who responded assumed that the god they were being asked about was the one in the xtian bible - and so answered no, while John assumed said jews meant the gd of the tanakh, aka hashem. Third, his "devil's advocate" scene is just. Once again, putting down Orthodox Jews, and compares without change Jewish Religious Institutions with Xtian ones. To quote "for a lot of jews, it's more about action than faith", I'd argue, personally, that that line is correct for most jews, as our religion is not really one of belief (orthodoxy) but of action (orthopraxy). And also, I'll paraphrase "many jewish people consider following Jewish law to be the most important thing" yes! yes we do! and not just many, most, that's! the whole! shtick! for us!! (and yes i'm aware this is a simplification). He also manages to vaguely describe Judaism as an ethnicity, and explain that some Jews are connected to the ancestral history (without explaining what that is, no connection to Israel here no sirree), which I guess is fine-ish? (it does not)

The Written Torah So here he starts off with saying that we'll focus on the torah and not the tanakh, as the torah is how we jews conceptualize our relationship to gd and each other. Except that... we also use the rest of the Tanakh for that! (minor kudos to him for saying that the tanakh was written by the ancient israelites. Just no mention of why there were ancient israelites and then we had to come back). The torah gives us most of our rules, but the tanakh expands on them, and teaches us how we choose to treat hashem, how we treat each other. When Jews say the written torah, we do oftentimes also mean the rest of the tanakh. Frankly, going through his sources, I can't figure out what source he used for this claim, except that he uses a lot of non-jewish sources (like the britannica), and very few Jewish ones which is just... why, you can clearly see these jewish sources exist, why not use them? I understand that this is meant to be lighthearted, but he compares the five books of the torah to seasons of friends, which is kinda eeeh. And added to that, his descriptor for bamidbar or numbers is "the ancient israelites wander and suffer through the wilderness" (paraphrased). First off, it was the desert, and second off this is exactly where in the torah we get all of the mitzvot and how to treat each other and hashem. This is it!! why name the book/"season" wrong?? He then continues and talks about how the themes of exile and return are common in the torah, and continue to resonate today, and yet doesn't... explain... the history of us being exiled. Instead, we take a tangent into antisemitism, specifically the plague related kind. Which... fine, I know he's got a liking for that aspect of history, but there's so much more. Of course, he also mentions that the Pope was one of the influential people who pushed back against it and... just... sigh. We're talking the catholic church here. The same catholic church WHO BLAMED JEWS FOR KILLING JESUS TILL THE NINETEEN SIXTIES. If the pope pushed back against it, it was because us jews had more value alive, not because he thought we had inherent value as people. Of course, since we're talking antisemitism, John only talks about xtian antisemitism. The "happy dhimmi" myth is alive and kicking in this video, as there is absolutely no mention of antisemitism within the non-western world. IN ADDITION, by framing the antisemitism the way he did - that the "dumb europeans" attacked the jews but their religious leaders were against it, John inadvertently erases antisemitism by non religious people, and by religious leaders. Both of which are and were alive and well.

Zionism (aka, I had to put this in here otherwise the tankies would yell at me, and I made a mess of it) And then we have this digression, which makes zero sense in the context of the story John is attempting to tell, into Zionism. There is no reason for it, and if it had to be in the video, it should have, quite frankly, gone in at the end. But that is only the start of the woes that I have to say on this section. To start, the amount of sources here are negligeble as compared to the other sections (note the numbers, all previous sources were for the other two sections)

48. Encyclopaedia Britannica | Zionism 49. University of Michigan | Zionism 50. Ben-Israel, Hedva. “Zionism and European Nationalisms: Comparative Aspects.” Israel Studies 8, no. 1 (2003): 91–104. 51. Ghanem, As’ad. “Israel’s Second-Class Citizens: Arabs in Israel and the Struggle for Equal Rights.” Foreign Affairs 95, no. 4 (2016): 37–42. 52. Halpern, Ben (2004) [1990]. "The Rise and Reception of Zionism in the Nineteenth Century". In Goldscheider, Calvin; Neusner, Jacob (eds.). Social Foundations of Judaism (2nd ed.). Eugene, Or: Wipf and Stock Publ. pp. 94–113. 53. American-Israeli Cooperative Enterprise| Zionism: Anti-Zionism Among Jews

[copied from the source sheet]

I haven't read the sources, so I'm not going to talk about them, but the fact that only half of the sources seem to have been written by jews is... not great. At all. And then there's how John introduces and talks about the topic. John compares the themes of exile and return in the Torah and Tanakh to the narrative told by Zionists, and mentions Zionism being a political movement. All of this is correct. However, what John is very obviously missing here is the history of Jews within the land of Israel. He talks about how we wanted a state for Jews run by Jews, but doesn't explain that we wanted it in the land where we came from, a land where we have mitzvot, commandments, that are specific to it. A land that our holidays and calendar center. The fact that this is missing is one of the glaring issues in the whole video. He also mentions that Zionism views Judaism as a nationality, which is true. Judaism is viewed as a nationality in the modern sense through Zionism, but it's also a nationality, or nation, in the older sense, regardless of Zionism. In addition to that, while Zionism is the idea of having a Jewish run state for Jews, it does not preclude the existence of other, nonjewish, people in this state. Which is important for the next bit. He then adds that, quote "this is complicated for lots of geopolitical reasons, but suffice it to say, Jewish people are not the only people with roots or a current presence in the modern state of Israel." Which, I guess does mention our roots in the land, but it also completely flattens the whole story into, what feels to me, "Jews Zionists bad for wanting a state because there are other people". He then mentions the Druze and Xtian and Muslim Palestinians, which is fair but also why specifically the Druze? And if the Druze, why not also the Bedouin? Both are minority groups within Israel, and if you want to talk about minority groups, the Bedouin are equally as important for this discussion! (another friend later pointed out that the likely reason is that the pbs source John uses mentions the Druze (but as muslims, and not as their own religious group which. sigh. Druze are not Muslim), but not the Bedouin. And of course, we get a "not all jews support the zionist movement, but many do" yeah. a huge womping majority. For a reason. At the end of this section he says you can find "much much more" on the topic in the sources and I just have to raise an eyebrow, because I do not count these 6 sources as "much much more" information.

Then, finally, we're off of this ill-placed and wrongly done section, and back to actual religion things. You know. Like how John had said we'd be talking about.

The Oral Torah and the Talmud We start off strong, with an accurate description as to what exactly is the Oral Torah, and what its place within Jewish society and Judaism is. And then... John tells us that there are "two guys who started it". Huh? Who? Hillel and Shammai of course! what. so, to explain to all of you who have somehow read till here and don't know, Hillel and Shammai are just one pair in a long lineage of those who were, according to tradition, in charge of the oral torah. Even more so, they weren't the first in their generation of pairs! (this is the time known as the Zugot, or pairs). Hillel and Shammai are the seventh generation in those who lived during the time of the mishna being slowly worked on and getting codified, and Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi was the one who did all of the codification, FIVE GENERATIONS AND A TEMPLE COLLAPSE AFTER THEM. So I chose to go into the sources to figure this one out, because frankly I'm baffled. And as far as I can tell, this comes from the encyclopedia britannica (again, why) saying that Hillel and Shammai were the last of the Zugot and that they taught the Tanaim (those who ended up writing the mishna), but just. What. Why. John then continues on to explain who Hillel and Shammai are, describing them as "Shammai, the rules are rules type" and "Hillel, the gentle, caring, impossible to anger type". I just- again with the putting down of one side (the stricter side) for the not so strict side. In addition to the fact that that isn't even an accurate description. It would be more accurate to describe the divide and debate between Hillel and Shammai as realistic and unrealistic. Hillel's school of thought, also known as Beit Hillel, worked with and around torah with the understanding that those who will be following it are people, and will make mistakes and need leniency. Shammai's school of thought, known as Beit Shammai, on the other hand, wanted people to strive to following the Torah in the most idealistic way. We follow Beit Hillel nowadays because they were better at taking day-to-day realities into account, but we remember Beit Shammai's halacha because we want to be able to fulfill our mitzvot in that way, and if human life didn't get in the way, we would do so. John Green stop putting those who keep stricter (or more idealistic) halacha as "bad" challange: level impossible. John Green then says, as is correct, that at around 200ce we started writing things down, but once again, he neglects to mention why we felt we needed to shift from oral to written (the answer is the Romans wanted us no longer jewish and we had lost our Temple and were going to be expelled from our holy land again, see, that's two sentences, is that so hard to say?) John Green then correctly explains that they way the Talmud was written down was by layers upon layers, "literally circling each other" however, that's only one portion of the halachic debate, and frankly, the Talmud is definitely not the central rabbinic text today. That's the Shulchan Aruch, which is based off of the Talmud, but collates all of Halachic debate into a masterpiece of a lot of books. It, too, has the layers upon layers thing, because why waste good paper space??? There are more mistakes here, in understanding that the Talmud is The Central Halachic thing, which again - look above I corrected it. I'll also happily admit that he's correct in saying that when we refer to the torah we mean both the written and oral ones. But we still have two sections to go, and I am still as wordy as ever.

Branches of Judaism Here is where I started to go from mildly annoyed at how he treats orthodox jews, to flat out mad. See, instead of explaining the differences between branches in a neutral way, John brings up differences that will make people feel things. He gives examples of questions - can women be rabbis - which will have listeners biased towards those communities that allow it (and yes, it is an issue within orthodox communities, but guess what! these communities are also trying to work within their framework of halacha for women's equality), or "can you push an elevator button on shabbat using electricity when the law says to refrain from creating fires and sparks on that day", which is an extreme oversimplification of the whole argument and discussion about electricity on shabbat, which will lead viewers to, once again, view those who do those things as backward, strange, and weird. And trust me, there are so many other halachic questions that can be used (such as can one heat food on shabbat, considering fire and heat, or how you deal with the dietary laws of kashrut), and idk. Maybe at this point I'm nitpicking, but as an orthodox not exactly a woman, it bothers me! It alienates me from the discussion, and it's really frustrating. He comments that the options you can choose are "unwavering, flexible, or somewhere in between", which to me shows a complete lack of understanding of what the orthodox framework of working with halacha is (too long; don't have time to explain - we can't strictly disagree with stuff but we can slowly push for change that may eventually end up disagreeing with something or another). He then explains Orthodox, Conservative, and Reform Judaism. His way of explaining is, while technically correct, missing an understanding of how we different streams of Judaism practice. John describes the differences as ones of strictness vs openness, lack of change vs flexibility. In reality, the difference between the streams is one of precedence. How much weight do we put on something that was written 2000 years ago? How much weight does our current way of living have? Orthodox Judaism will answer that what was written all that time ago has significantly more weight, that they knew more about halacha than we do, to Reform halacha, which takes halachic rulings from 2000 years ago under advisement, but sees how much the world has changed, and makes the rulings accordingly. I won't touch on his specific examples, and suffice it to say that they were in line with what I said earlier about his examples. They're there to make you feel something about these strange jews he's talking about, and that something is not always particularly nice, especially to Orthodox Jews. He then mentions a few other options, which is fine (though I wish he expanded on the "people who say 'I'm Jewish' but don't identify with any particular branch" as, with everything going on, and his sorely lacking explanation in how Judaism and conversion works, may lead to people deciding to just say they're jewish). After that he says that there "are jewish atheists". Yes. There are also orthodox jewish atheists, I thought we covered the fact that Judaism prefers action over belief at the start? I'm confused as to why he felt the need to add that here near the end of the video.

Next, he talks about the different physical branches of Judaism, and mentions that due to persecution we got to many different places. Of course, he once again neglects to mention the ur-persecution, or ur-reason that we are so spread out - our expulsion from Israel, and the beginning of the Jewish Diaspora (he mentions the Diaspora by name, but not the first reason for it). It's a glaring miss, but not as glaring as what is to come. He then talks about three diasporic communities, and I quote "...unique communities emerged in each new location: Ashkenazi Jews in Eastern Europe, Sephardic Jews in Spain and Portugal, and Beta Israel in Eithiopia". One nitpick and one incredibly important correction. Ashkenazi Jews were originally from ashkenaz, ie France and Germany and eventually got to Eastern Europe as well - the name of the general European tradition is, however, Ashkenaz. The second, and more pressing issue, is that he says that Sephardic Jews are in Spain and Portugal. Those communities haven't been there in a Hot Minute, ie since the Spanish Inquistion. They've been in the SWANA or MENA region, with some exceptions for some Dutch, American, and British Jews. I had to look at his sources, because are you kidding me. Both (all three, if we include Beta Israel) sources are from britannica. Again. My first instinct was that maybe the issue was with the source! I was wrong.

The source for Ashkenazi Judaism (emphasis mine)

Ashkenazi, member of the Jews who lived in the Rhineland valley and in neighbouring France before their migration eastward to Slavic lands (e.g., Poland, Lithuania, Russia) after the Crusades (11th–13th century) and their descendants. After the 17th-century persecutions in eastern Europe, large numbers of these Jews resettled in western Europe, where they assimilated, as they had done in eastern Europe, with other Jewish communities. In time, all Jews who had adopted the “German rite” synagogue ritual were referred to as Ashkenazim to distinguish them from Sephardic (Spanish rite) Jews. Ashkenazim differ from Sephardim in their pronunciation of Hebrew, in cultural traditions, in synagogue cantillation (chanting), in their widespread use of Yiddish (until the 20th century), and especially in synagogue liturgy. Today Ashkenazim constitute more than 80 percent of all the Jews in the world, vastly outnumbering Sephardic Jews. In the early 21st century, Ashkenazic Jews numbered about 11 million. In Israel the numbers of Ashkenazim and Sephardim are roughly equal, and the chief rabbinate has both an Ashkenazic and a Sephardic chief rabbi on equal footing. All Reform and Conservative Jewish congregations belong to the Ashkenazic tradition

As you can see, britannica does in fact mention that Ashkenazi Jews were first in the Rhineland valley (germany) and france, and later moved to Eastern Europe. I have some nitpicking on that as what I said doesn't match but regardless. Ashkenazi Jews aren't in Ashkenaz according to John, they are in Eastern Europe

The source for Sephardi Judaism (emphasis mine)

Sephardi, member or descendant of the Jews who lived in Spain and Portugal from at least the later centuries of the Roman Empire until their persecution and mass expulsion from those countries in the last decades of the 15th century. The Sephardim initially fled to North Africa and other parts of the Ottoman Empire, and many of these eventually settled in such countries as France, Holland, England, Italy, and the Balkans. Salonika (Thessaloníki) in Macedonia and the city of Amsterdam became major sites of Sephardic settlement. The transplanted Sephardim largely retained their native Judeo-Spanish language (Ladino), literature, and customs. They became noted for their cultural and intellectual achievements within the Mediterranean and northern European Jewish communities. In religious practice, the Sephardim differ from the Ashkenazim (German-rite Jews) in many ritual customs, but these reflect a difference in traditional expression rather than a difference in sect. Of the estimated 1.5 million Sephardic Jews worldwide in the early 21st century (far fewer than the Ashkenazim), the largest number were residing in the state of Israel. The chief rabbinate of Israel has both a Sephardic and an Ashkenazi chief rabbi. The designation Sephardim is frequently used to signify North African Jews and others who, though having no ancestral ties to Spain, have been influenced by Sephardic traditions, but the term Mizrahim is perhaps more properly applied.

As you can also see, the britannica also mentions that Sephardi talks about North African Jews. What is that? SWANA Jews exist? and experienced persecution? Couldn't be. Surely all Jews are actually European and are colonizers in the land of palestine (heavy sarcasm and cynicism). I've got to say, I find the fact that using where Jews ended up for Ashkenazi Jews, and where they "originated" (in quotation due to the fact that only the name originated from there) for Sephardi Jews rather disingenuous, as the story being told erases the existence of SWANA jews to an upsetting and worrying degree.

Review and Credits Almost done. Just have to get through the review. John finishes up the story with something that I have mixed feelings about. He describes Judaism as a religion, but that being Jewish doesn't require a religious identity. I find the but annoying. It's not "judaism is a religion but doesn't have to be", it's "judaism is a religion and a people, and a culture, etc etc". Judaism is older than the concept of religion, we're a people, who can also have a set of belief and behaviour, but not doing them does not preclude you from being part of the family (unless, of course, you actively leave the family but that is a nuance not for here). The rest of his review is fine in my opinion. And now, the credits, which have a list of names that don't seem to be Jewish, but I can't find that about all of them (i know at least one of the people in charge of information for either this video or the series in general is definitely not Jewish)

I don’t know how to finish this, other than… Do better, Crash Course, do better @sizzlingsandwichperfection-blog.

#jumblr #judaism #crash course #john green

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ckret2 · 4 months ago

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Chapter 63 of human Bill Cipher trying to debate his way out of still being the Mystery Shack's prisoner. Soos has found the stolen Journal 4 in Bill's possession and has to decide what to do about it in light of everything else he's learned about Bill lately.

[*you may notice chapter 61 is missing! This plot was done sooner, so I'll be posting chapter 61 sometime after 64. It's not chronological so you're not missing anything!]

Soos stared dumbfounded at the journal with a 4 on the cover that he'd pulled from Bill's hiding place. Ford had lost Journal 4 last fall—he'd said gnomes had stolen it. How in the world had Bill gotten it?

Soos sat in the attic window seat and flipped through it. The first few pages were Ford's journal entries—his observations of the dimensional rips they were glueing shut in Gravity Falls post-Weirdmageddon, a hand-drawn map highlighting various places around the globe he wanted to investigate, a few drawings and observations of paranormal beings he hadn't seen his first time in town, half a sketch of a gnome that ended with a jagged scribble across the page followed by a page that said "Shmebulock" over and over.

And then a page that said, in an unfamiliar handwriting of jagged, narrow gray letters: "CURSED BOOK! If your name is Mabon Mason Pines, STOP READING NOW or ENJOY YOUR HEX!"

Bill had written page after page of some weird code of gray and yellow-green dots and dashes. A few sentences in English—every one of them was a threatening message to Ford. "Everything would have been fantastic if you'd just helped me finish, Fordsy." "You'll regret not siding with me when you had the chance." "You should have known better than to let your idiot brother turn you against me." "Sixer, you're lying to yourself every time you say you never worshiped me, and you know it. You spent the first third of your life running away from the god you were raised with and the second third chasing after me. Don't waste your last third denying it. YOU'RE MINE." A small, worrying diagram of what looked like the interdimensional portal. And a sticker.

Wait, hold on.

A sticker. One of Mabel's. The rest of the page was the same as the others, the two-tone dots and dashes, except for the sticker, and an arrow drawn from one paragraph to the sticker.

A yellow smiley, its round edges filled in with black marker to make a triangle, over the words "Good job!"

Soos stared at the sticker.

####

A couple of weeks ago, Melody had texted to let Soos know that there was a mess in the upstairs bathroom, and the kids said they'd been fighting a werewolf ghost.

When Soos had gotten home the next morning, Melody had pulled him aside and quietly told him she hadn't wanted to worry him and the Stans, but she did not think it was a werewolf ghost.

When Soos saw the bathroom, he didn't think it was a werewolf ghost either.

It was a scene from a horror movie. Menacing magical sigils painted all over the walls in blood and toothpaste, Bill's zodiac painted on one mirror, the other mirror broken, glass and water all over the floor. It looked like the site of a really wet demon summoning. This contained none of the hallmarks of ghostly or werewolfish activity. Why would Bill do this?

Soos was kind of reluctant to ask Bill. Bill still sorta scared him sometimes. Sure, he looked like a lost 18-year-old, but Soos knew what teens were like in a fight. So he asked Mabel instead.

Mabel pursed her lips uncomfortably. "Ask Dipper."

So Soos asked Dipper.

Dipper winced and. "Promise you won't get mad."

Soos considered that. "Yeah, I guess that's a fair deal."

Dipper confessed that Bill got accidentally locked in the upstairs bathroom for like a whole day, because he and Mabel didn't hear him yelling. Not because they were out of the house when they shouldn't have been. They were just... somewhere else in the house. Doing something loud. For the whole day.

While Bill was trapped alone.

####

Soos had vented to Abuelita about cleaning the bathroom. Like sure, he got Bill was annoyed about being stuck, but that seemed excessive.

Abuelita had made the observation that sometimes people in profoundly bleak and oppressive situations would just... destroy whatever was around them. Like punching a hole in the wall or snapping a pencil when you were angry, but much more so. Not because they wanted their surroundings to be destroyed, but because that was the last and only thing they had power over, and they needed to feel like they were in control of something. Even if that thing was merely changing their environment from ordered to chaotic.

Bill didn't have control over very much. He probably hadn't since he died. Soos didn't know what kind of space triangle afterlife Bill had been in before he showed up as Toga Lady, but it couldn't have been great if he'd come straight back here.

Soos could remember the one time weeks ago he'd let Bill into the bathroom to shower and forgotten to come back and let him out. How Bill had screamed so all the Mystery Shack's tourists could hear; how he'd seethed in Soos's face, how he'd said he'd rather blow their collective cover and throw them all on the mercy of the town's law enforcement than remain locked in the bathroom a second longer than they'd agreed upon. Soos had thought Bill was just impatient and hotheaded.

Standing in the bathroom, looking at the material evidence of Bill's claustrophobic terror—the broken glass, the spilled blood—he wondered.

####

The same day, he had felt a breeze in the gift shop and found the trap doors to the roof left open. He'd climbed up, shut them, and in between tours he'd visited his office to check yesterday's security tapes.

He saw Wendy coming into the shack to hang out the morning before. That was fine. Soos had discovered she did that from time to time on days the shack was closed, but she wasn't doing anything bad and she hadn't brought it up yet, so Soos didn't bring it up either. Maybe she just needed a private place to hang. Teen stuff. He was just glad Wendy felt that safe at the Mystery Shack. Maybe she'd just gone up to hang out on the roof and forgot to shut the trap doors...

And then, right there on screen, Soos saw Bill letting himself into the gift shop, through the door, which he shouldn't be able to open. A chill shot up Soos's back. The door curse was their only real means of containing Bill. If he could use doors now, he was out, there was no way they could trap him without doing something crazy like locking him in the bunker and hoping he didn't kill himself.

Or could he use doors? Soos thought back to the frantic messages on the bathroom wall, written in Bill's own blood—his desperation over being unable to escape. Maybe he could use doors but not doorknobs. That was okay, maybe?

On tape, he saw Wendy run into Bill. He saw Wendy take Bill onto the roof. Out in the open air, where he could just... do whatever. But he didn't do whatever. Soos fast-forwarded the tape until Wendy and Bill came back down, and Bill simply returned to the living room.

He'd had the perfect opportunity to shove Wendy off the roof or escape. He didn't take it.

If all Bill was using his new door skills for was ducking into the gift shop and hanging out on the roof with Wendy, Soos thought maybe it would be kinda mean to take that away from him. There weren't a lot of other places Bill could go in the shack. (Soos kept seeing the blood on the bathroom wall. He kept trying to imagine what kind of helplessness would drive someone that far.) Maybe Bill needed the open air.

So Soos had put the security tape on his desk, not sure what to do about it.

####

A couple of day after that, while Soos was restocking the gift shop in between waves of tourists, he'd seen Wendy reading an oddly dull-looking booklet instead of one of her usual magazines. He tilted his head to glance at the cover. The Oregon state driving manual. "Aw dude, gonna get your learner's permit?"

"Think so," Wendy said. "Don't tell my dad."

Soos remembered Wendy groaning about her dad wrangling her into doing errands if she ever got her license. "Your secret is safe with me."

"Thanks."

"What made you change your mind? You were totally against getting a license a week ago."

"It's probably those stupid Gleeful Auto commercials that have been worming into my dreams." Wendy laughed. "I'm just waking up in the morning like, neeeed caaar."

"Oh yeah! Heh, funny coincidence, Melody says she had a dream like that too. Sometimes she gets these like, dreams about monsters watching her in bed? But one time, the monster was Bud Gleeful, whispering in her ear about a big car sale. She totally woke up laughing!"

"Ha! Annoying car commercials should be banned, man. Why do we need to be told multiple times a day to spend thousands of dollars?"

"You make a salient point."

They fell silent for a moment as Wendy read a couple more paragraphs. Then she said, "That, plus... I was talking to Goldie the other day."

Soos looked up from the t-shirt he'd been putting on a clothes hanger. "Oh. Yeah?"

"About where we wanna go when we get out of town."

"Huh." Very casually, Soos asked, "What did Goldie say?"

"He wants to go on some big vacation. Like a world cruise or something, I dunno."

"Huh." Soos wondered if that was true. He tried to imagine Bill Cipher as a tourist. Floating triangle in a Hawaiian shirt with a camera hanging from a strap and a fanny pack. What kind of places would he even visit? Soos bet he wanted to visit the pyramids. Heh. (Was that stereotyping? Maybe that was stereotyping.)

"And I told him I'm moving to Portland for college."

"Oh, hey, I didn't know you were thinking about college."

"I... actually, never told anybody else before," Wendy said. "I've been thinking about it for years, but part of me felt like it's just a fantasy? But Goldie said when he got out of high school, he did the same thing—moved to another town, made a new group of friends, all that. And... I don't know, actually talking to him out loud about it just... made it feel real, you know? So I thought, if I'm gonna move to Portland, I should probably start planning for it. Starting with how I'm getting there." She held up the driving manual.

Soos nodded slowly. "Huh. Yeah. That's a pretty mature way to look at it."

And that was what Bill was talking to Wendy about on the roof? Just... listening to a teen vent and helping her figure out her future?

And so, Soos took the security tape off his desk and put it in a drawer.

####

A few days later, Soos had heard the downstairs bathroom sink running for several minutes, assumed someone had forgotten to turn it off, and went to turn it off himself—and had caught Bill, in the dark, half undressed, washing himself in the sink.

After Soos had backed out and profusely apologized, he'd asked, "But—how come you're washing in the sink? I can let you in the upstairs bathroom if you need—"

"Worry about your own grooming habits and leave mine alone," Bill snapped. "As long as I don't smell, what do you humans care how I do it. Soap is soap and water is water."

It took Soos several days to realize he didn't think Bill had had a shower since he got locked in the bathroom. And nobody had noticed, because Bill made sure nobody noticed, because he'd been keeping himself clean in the bathroom he couldn't get locked in.

####

Dipper would go all summer without showering if he could get away with it; Stan showered like once a week and had constant old man smell; Abuelita also showered weekly and had a more refined old lady smell; Soos didn't know when Ford showered, but he'd never caught him doing it and Ford always smelled weirdly like burned hair. Soos showered almost daily during tourist season—that Mr. Mystery suit was hot—but outside that might go three days at a time. Mabel showered near daily.

From what Soos had observed, Bill was showering like, at least twice a week. He didn't know how often Bill cleaned himself in the sink in between.

That meant he was showering more often than two-thirds of the house.

Yet he was the only one in the house living under the threat of being thrown in the tub at 3 a.m. if someone decided he hadn't bathed enough for their tastes.

The reason Bill had refused to shower during his first week of imprisonment was so he could use the condition of his body as a bargaining chip—with no physical possessions in the world, his own body was the only bargaining chip he had—to try to buy a little more dignity. In return, his captors had taken more dignity away. They permitted Bill less autonomy over how to take care of his body than the household's children had.

Dipper had never gotten forced into a bathroom he couldn't let himself out of.

####

The day after the eclipse, Ford had pulled Soos aside and said quietly, "Soos, as soon as you have some time—could you repair the door to the kids' room? Before the end of the day? The latch has been broken since the tooth fairy's attack."

"Uh, sure, I can probably do that," Soos said. "How come?" The latch had been broken for a couple weeks, and the Pines hadn't been worried about it before.

"Right now, the door can swing freely with just a push," Ford said. "I think Bill's figured out how to use that to get in. Which is worrisome, since he shouldn't be able to use any doors..."

"O-oh." Soos thought about the swinging door into the gift shop. "Yeah, uh... sounds bad. Byyy the way—how'd you figure out he knows how to use the door?"

"Dipper says Bill somehow got in and out of the room last night," Ford said. "Mabel fell asleep in the living room and Bill carried her upstairs. I really don't like the thought of Bill being able to get his hands on the kids while they're asleep and defenseless."

Ford was mad at Bill for tucking a kid into bed? That was the big red flag? "No problem! I'll fix the door right after work."

The next time Soos visited his office, he took the security tape out of his drawer, rewound it, stuck it back into the tape recorder, and let that day's security camera footage overwrite and erase the evidence of Bill's visit to the gift shop.

####

And now, today, carrying Journal 4 in both hands, Soos trudged downstairs, trying to figure out what to do with it. He had to return it to Ford, obviously—but Bill and the Stans were already in the middle of a discussion that sounded a lot more like an argument. Flinging a stolen journal into the middle of the proceedings would just make it worse. Maybe he should wait until they were finished and everyone had cooled down a little—?

While Soos was upstairs, the discussion had apparently moved into the kitchen. He hovered awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs, watching.

"What do you mean, you need kitchen access," Stan was asking, "you already have kitchen access. It's never been off-limits! Even after you peed in the sink!"

"It's not kitchen access if I need to ask someone else for permission to eat anything but snacks."

"No one's making you ask for permission! You can take what you want!"

"Okay, fine. So what can I eat?" Bill gestures at the shelves. "Go on. List anything you can think of. Anything."

Stan grimaced, and glanced at Ford to see if he was willing to walk into the obvious trap first.

Ford looked at the nearby shelves. "Cereal."

"One point for Stanford Pines! Cereal! So am I supposed to eat dry cereal for every single meal, or—?"

"No, of course not."

"All right, then what else?"

"Brown meat," Stan said. "We've got plenty of brown meat. It's good for you!"

"You didn't give me can opener rights," Bill said.

"Huh."

"So no brown meat," Bill said. "No canned soup, no canned chili, no canned fruit, no canned vegetables—"

Ford cut in, "Some of the cans have pull tabs, you don't need a can opener for those."

"Terrific observation! As soon as you realized I could open those cans myself, you moved them all under the counter because you thought I'd use the sharp edges as weapons!"

"It's... possible to open cans without a can opener, I did it sometimes while roughing it in other dimensions—"

"Yeah, wearing off the metal rim with a rock, right? Lemme just go outside and grab a rock—oh wait." Bill crossed his arms.

Ford sighed, and turned to Stan to suggest something else.

Stan surveyed the available supplies, spotted the bread, and said, "You could make sandwiches!"

"With what filling?"

"Uh..." Stan kept looking.

Meats and cheeses, of course, were kept in the fridge. Along with jelly, condiments, most vegetables... tuna or spam weren't options, they were canned... "Hey, we leave out some meats that don't need refrigeration. Sausages and stuff."

"Right, right. The ones that don't need refrigeration because they're wrapped in plastic you need a knife to cut," Bill said. "Sometimes I bite the plastic open with my teeth and rip off chunks of sausage with my fingernails, that's always fun! Then you put the leftovers in the fridge, and I'm out of luck until we buy another sausage."

"You could put... peanut butter on your sandwiches?" Ford tried. "Peanut butter's nutritious."

Bill fixed him with a hard look. "For the past five weeks, every time I've gotten a meal without asking someone else to help feed me like a baby, I've had nothing but peanut butter and banana sandwiches, peanut butter and jerky sandwiches, peanut butter and raisin sandwiches, and peanut butter and potato chip sandwiches. And we're out of bananas, jerky, and raisins." He pointed at the tortillas. "Once I decided to get creative and made myself a cold peanut butter quesadilla! I can't even add spices, because guess where the breakable glass spice jars are kept?"

"Pasta," Ford tried. "We could keep the pasta out."

"Oh, wow, that'd be great! I just love pasta! But I can't open the microwave and I can't turn on the stove! How do I heat the water, Stanford?"

Ford frowned. "Hm."

"I can cook, you know—not that any of you bothered to ask! It might not suit your tastes, but it suits mine! I wouldn't need your help to eat if you didn't make me need help! I am sick to death—" his voice went thick and took on an uncharacteristic waver, "—of having to beg to... eat." He cleared his throat, squeezed his eyes shut, and rubbed his eyelids with one hand. "Sh-shouldn't even—need to eat." He clenched his jaw to keep it from trembling.

Stan and Ford exchanged a guilty look. Stan said, "You don't have to beg— I mean, we know the, uh... position you're in..."

Bill was silent for a moment as he tried to get a tough face back on. His voice came out as a rough whisper—too thick to get any louder without breaking. "I had to negotiate to get burnt eggs."

Ford winced.

Soos was dumbfounded.

When had Bill had to negotiate for food? He could all too easily understand how it might have happened—Bill was an annoying guy, sometimes they had to pull out dumb bargains to get him to do stuff. But bargaining for food should never be on that list. Meeting Bill's basic nutritional needs couldn't be dependent on whether he was annoying that day. If it was, he'd starve.

It sounded like he was starving. Right under Soos's roof. He hadn't even noticed.

He thought about the piles of junk food trash upstairs and the bag of chips Bill had hurled across the room.

Ford said, "We'll... discuss it."

"We'll figure something out," Stan said. "I mean it."

Bill nodded silently. Head down, without uncovering his eyes, he hurried out of the kitchen and toward the stairs.

He nearly bumped into Soos's chest without noticing him. Soos backed up a step, tucking Journal 4 under his arm. "Whoa, hey!"

Bill froze, head jerking up. "You." His voice was thick and his glare was watery and poisonous. "Don't you have anything better to do than eavesdrop?" He tried to elbow past Soos, smacking his leg with his umbrella. "Move."

Soos realized uneasily that Bill's face looked a little slimmer than it had when he'd arrived.

He stepped in Bill's way. "Can't go upstairs right now. Attic's being cleaned."

"I didn't ask you to clean!"

"I'm not cleaning for you, dawg. It's just gotta be cleaned."

"Fine! Whatever!" Bill veered around the staircase and stomped down the hall, muttering, "Can't decide when I eat, can't decide when I shower, why should I get to choose when my hovel's swept..."

Soos's leg hurt where Bill had smacked it. (Bill couldn't even control whether or not he cried; all he had control over was making someone else hurt.)

In the kitchen, Stan murmured, "Didn't even realize we don't keep anything decent out on the counters. They're so crowded..."

"Chip bags take up a lot of space." Ford sighed. "I assumed he'd get a serving with everyone else whenever Mrs. Ramirez cooks."

"He does, but she only does dinners. And he'll only eat it if he watched her cook it. I've seen him get lunch with Mabel, but I don't know what he does when she's not..." Stan spotted Soos on the stairs. He tiredly called, "Soos? You need something?"

"Uhhh..." Soos hid the journal behind his back. "Nope! I just thought I'd come downstairs! For no reason." He awkwardly walked up the stairs backwards, journal still tucked behind him. "And—and now I'm going up again." He stopped at the landing and scooted sideways up the next flight of stairs. "See ya."

He pressed the journal to his chest and returned to the attic.

####

When Soos and Abuelita moved into the shack, the first thing Soos had done was turn Ford's ground-floor study into a bedroom for Abuelita. Because she was a little old lady, and not quite as steady as she used to be, so Soos didn't want her constantly going up and down the stairs—because falling once, just ONCE, could send her to the hospital or worse. That was how serious it was! You don't mess around with that!

Bill tripped and fell on the stairs so often that they could use it to tell when he was awake. And nobody had thought to offer him a cane? Did anybody even ask if he was alright?

When Bill first arrived and tried to murder everyone, naturally, he came out of it pretty banged up and bruised. That was to be expected. It was self-defense. They'd gotten used to seeing Bill with scrapes on his arms and legs, rope burns around his ankles, and the angry purple-black bruises of chain links over his arms. But in all the weeks since then, Soos hadn't seen Bill bruise-free once. Bruises on his shins and arms, scrapes on his elbows and knees. Soos had seen him with a four-inch burn on his forearm. Bill had brushed it off.

In Bill's first few days in the shack, he'd resorted to peeing in the kitchen sink because nobody had bothered to give a guy who couldn't open doors a way to use the bathroom. And they were the reason he couldn't open doors in the first place!

He threw up in the living room in the middle of the night and went upstairs to sleep on couch cushions on the floor and nobody had talked about it.

He burned off all his hair and was so upset about it that he stole Soos's zodiac blanket and hid under it for half a week, and everyone but Mabel just ignored him.

In less than a month in the Mystery Shack, Bill had lost a tooth.

He had been dragged out of the house during a weird weather phenomenon while terrified out of his mind. Soos had seen Bill cowering on the ground in fear, Ford looming over him, grabbing him by the collar and snarling in rage. Bill had been pleading with everyone in hearing range not to make him go, and had come back in such a state of shock he could hardly walk.

And yet, he'd protected the whole town from getting hurt in zero gravity—and he'd brought a pet for Soos.

They'd tried to execute Bill two days later.

####

Soos sat in the window seat, flipping through the remaining filled-in pages in Journal 4. The last few pages were packed with stickers. A cat that said PURRFECT! A smiling fish that said A REEL PAL! Bill had started a little collection of pizza slice stickers for some reason. A couple of holographic rainbows, a smiling scratch-and-sniff sun. (Apparently, the sun smelled like lemons and oranges. Astronomy facts!)

Soos reached the current page. Bill was using several pieces of paper—regular printer paper and notebook paper, folded in half—like a bookmark. Soos unfolded them. A list of animals ranked by fuzziness. (Soos was satisfied that he'd been placed under the "smooth and squishy" category, but wondered whether he should be bothered by the fact that he shared the category with pigs and slugs.) A drawing of Bill riding a looping rocket ship and waving a fishbowl helmet above him. A drawing of a blue house with a couple of kids and a pig in the window. Several drawings of shape people kinda like Bill: a pink heart person labeled "Me in Flatworld," a stern-looking red stop sign wearing sunglasses labeled "Bill's parole officer," Bill dancing, the pink heart protecting Bill from some villainous-looking shapes—all clearly Mabel's art.

Several notebook pages in someone else's handwriting detailing names, addresses, and contact information, with statements Soos couldn't make sense of—as if maybe someone had been asking somebody else questions and writing down their answers. He thought the questions might be about how some people had reacted to the end of Weirdmageddon. He got the impression the people being discussed had known that Weirdmageddon was coming. He got the impression they were disappointed it hadn't happened. There were several questions at the end: How will we rendes-vouz? (Whoever was writing didn't know how to spell rendezvous, but to be fair Soos wasn't 100% sure either.) What supplies do you need? What are your interim orders?

Soos stared at the notebook papers.

He flipped back through the journal again, looking at each page more closely.

Sometimes the two-tone dot-and-dash segments had a stray human word: a few characters he recognized from his Teach Yourself Japanese workbooks, sometimes words Soos thought might be Arabic but honestly he didn't have a clue. At one point he listed half a dozen human names that Soos didn't recognize. The most common character was a stretched-out letter M (Mabel?), followed by a 6 knocked on its side (Sixer?).

The dot-and-dash segments had occasional amateurish illustrations. Sometimes they were human stick figures; sometimes the stick figures' heads had symbols off of Bill's zodiac wheel. He saw Stan's fish symbol, Gideon's star symbol, and Mabel's shooting star symbol. Ford's stick figures were the only ones with hands; Bill consistently gave them six fingers. The doodles were like particularly esoteric cave drawings; they were so bad that Soos couldn't tell what most of them were supposed to illustrate.

Except for one featuring Bill (as a triangle) and Mabel and some other inscrutable figures in a really awesome car with flames on the side, its coolness limited only by the fact that it was all in gray and yellow-green crayon. When Soos had been in high school, there had always been a couple of kids who didn't know how to draw anything except expensive cars or name-brand sports shoes, but they drew them in extreme realistic detail. Apparently, Bill was that kind of artist. Nothing but stick figures and the sickest crayon car Soos had ever seen.

It didn't do anything to dispel Soos's impression of Bill as a lost alien 18-year-old.

On one page, in sloppy lines of handwriting that meandered drunkenly up and down the paper, Bill had written, "I don't get why you won't give me a second shot. I asked you to join my gang. I serenaded you in a pyramid. I got a fantastic makeover. I offered you godhood. I showed you my dimension. I didn't torture you until I had to. I even made you a skin couch! I know how much you've always wanted a leather furniture set! I've given you everything from chicken zombification magic to jelly beans, what does it take? What am I missing?"

Soos reread Bill's other messages to Ford. All that "you'll regret not siding with me" junk wasn't threats. It was the impotent rage of a socially inept teenager who didn't understand his own creepiness had driven his friends away. It was the whiny moan of some guy going "Why doesn't she like me anymore" about an ex-girlfriend who had told him five times she didn't like him anymore because he didn't listen to her. Like that guy Wendy dated last summer. So like, a jerk, but not a terrifying world-ending monster jerk, just an annoying creep jerk. A regular jerk. A human jerk.

Soos stood, gave one last look at this journal—clearly stolen, definitely a violation of Bill's "no writing materials" restriction, completely stuffed full of mysterious messages to outsiders and some kind of weird alien code that could say anything at all and might have been super dangerous—and he slid it back into the ripped seam in the attic seat cushion where he'd found it.

He finished vacuuming up the potato chips Bill had flung across the room, thinking about how offended Bill had been that Soos had given him any food except what he'd asked for, remembering what Abuelita had said about people who destroy the things around them when they feel like that's the last and only thing they still have power over.

Enough was enough.

####

(Hope y'all enjoyed! Next week we may interrupt our regularly-scheduled programming to post a TBOB-based chapter I'm inserting early into the fic—it depends on if I get it done by next Friday. In the meantime, I'm looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts on this chapter!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #soos ramirez #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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xxsabitoxx · 7 months ago

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xxSabitoxx is now archived.

After some heavy consideration over the last few months, I have come to the conclusion that I am going to be archiving xxSabitoxx.

I have poured nearly three years of my life into this blog. I have seen several friends come and go. And most of all, I have been blessed with such a large following that I truly don’t deserve.

However, my love for writing has slowly diminished, just as my love for this site has. I am not going to go into boring detail as I do not want it to seem like I am searching for pity.

But, before I go, it has been brought to my attention that many are displeased with the way I handled a particular anon ask last week. I wanted to take a second to apologize, as I agree that I could have answered that question much more level-headed and maturely. It has since been deleted because I did not like the way I was spoken to, and I especially disliked the way I spoke to them.

I could have responded to that ask in several ways and I chose to be rude, and for that I am sorry.

With that being said, I’ve had my fair share of ups and downs on Tumblr over the last decade under a few other usernames and aliases. I’ve witnessed the steady dumpster-fire decline of Tumblr etiquette and people's genuine disregard for others on here.

I am simply one person with a life outside of the stories I choose to write. I have several priorities that will always outweigh my hobbies.

After all this time, I can say I am finally done. I’m over it. There is no point in putting effort into a hobby I no longer have a passion for. So I am closing this chapter today to start fresh tomorrow.

I cannot begin to thank you all enough for choosing to read my work and support my blog. Whether you’ve been with me since the start or just followed me today, you supported me in some way and I’m forever thankful for that.

I’m deeply sorry I couldn’t do more, and I am especially sorry for those who were waiting on stories that will never be written. I hope you can forgive me but I understand if you can’t.

It has been both a wonderful and terrible journey as xxSabitoxx / May. And as much as I would love to be done with this and simply click the “delete blog” button in my settings – I know many of you enjoy the stories I’ve posted and quite frankly I have grown attached to this blog as well.

So, it shall remain an archive that may one day revive itself but please do not hold your breath. If the day comes that I decide it’s time to delete this blog, I will take the time to move as much of my work as I can over to ao3 before doing so.

So, until we meet again, take care.

- May

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ichatake · 5 months ago

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SECOND CHANCE PT.2

Request are open! Request rules here!

Part. 1, Part. 2

Pairing: Obito x reader x Kakashi

Summary: Obito, after surviving the war was allowed back into the village. You made it your mission to make sure he gets completely rehabilitated. However, a certain someone gets jealous at the loss of attention.

Warning: mentions of blood, slight violence.

A/N: Finally the long awaited part. 2 has come out! I really focused on making this a better chapter than the first one, and was written a little less rushed. I really enjoy how I've developed the story, and I hope you guys do too! Thank you so much for all of your support, and I hope you enjoy! (Also I reread this a few times but there still might be a few mistakes here and there, sorry!!)

The atmosphere was oppressive and thick, the heavy rain showing no signs of ceasing as you trudged forward on the muddy path. Your two students followed close behind you, tired and worn out after so much non-stop walking. Their feet got stuck in the thick mud, feeling heavy and wet as it stuck to their shoes and weighed them down relentlessly. Yet you seemed restless and preoccupied—a far-off look on your face that they had never seen before. It suggested that your mind had wandered elsewhere; somewhere far from where the mission demanded it to be.

Toko’s voice had been the one breaking your train of thought for only a moment, his words carrying a hint of concern as he spoke. “Sensei, it’s been hours—the weather isn’t getting any better, and we can barely see through this fog. We should take shelter,” he suggested tiredly, noticing that you were already a fair distance ahead of them.

“Seek shelter where, idiot? We’re stranded—stuck in the middle of nowhere, this damn rain isn’t doing us any favors, and we can barely see anyone who might be standing a good few feet away from us. You’re just wishing that we get ambushed by rogue ninjas, aren’t you?” Kenji blurts out irritably, his mood further battered by the horrible weather. He hated being tired—more than he already was. However, despite the bickering, you didn’t slow down. It seems as if you hadn’t even heard their small exchange, which they noticed immediately. Has something happened? You hadn’t muttered a word since you left the village—so something was obviously wrong with their teacher who showed this uncharacteristic behavior.

Toko quickened his pace, catching up to you and running in front of you, forcing you to halt before you could collide with him. “Sensei?” He called out to you, concern evident on his expression as he scanned your face.

“Huh?” You blink, “What are you doing? We still have a long way to go, we need to keep moving,” you reply as you look at your map. It was… drenched and torn in some places, making it difficult to make out its content. Nonetheless, you refused to stop now, despite the mist obscuring your path and vision.

As if things couldn’t possibly get worse, it began thundering, prompting all the three of you to look up at the gray sky. The fact that the weather wouldn’t improve any time soon had you release an annoyed sigh, leading you to fold your damp map and stuff it inside your pocket. Toko’s facial expression seemed to relax slightly, a glimmer of relief evident on his face. “So,” you exclaim, arms crossing over your chest as your eyes fixed on the dark haired boy standing before you. “What do you propose we do—better yet, where do you suggest we stay?”

“Well, I’ve seen a few lamps here and there—fences as well. So we aren’t in a completely secluded area,” he observes, scanning his surroundings, only to find gray mist obstructing his vision. “So, you want to stray from the path to find a shelter?” you ask once more, rubbing your throbbing head with the palm of your hand. “We couldn’t possibly be near a place to stay, we’re—,”

“Look, right there,” Kenji suddenly pointed in another direction. As both you and Toko shifted your attention towards the direction pointed, you saw a faint glow cutting through the dense fog. You were cautious at first, hesitating and wondering if it was worth pursuing. For all you knew, it might be someone following you. However, as you closed the distance between the light and the three of you, a small cabin surrounded by low wooden fences came into view. They seemed more decorative than practical, in all honesty, considering their height made them ineffective to keep anyone out.

“Be careful,” you caution your students as you approach the door. The thunder was getting worse, so if whatever—or whoever stayed here had the heart to give refuge to three Konoha shinobi, you’d deeply appreciate it.

You firmly knock on the door—the cabin’s exterior is made out of the same dark-hued wood, while the roof was constructed from heavy metal. You heard shuffling from the inside, and finally, the door opened. An elderly lady, short and plump, gazed up at you, a hint of concern falling onto her features as she noticed your weary state. “Oh dear,” she mutters in concern as she examines all three of you. You were drenched and covered in mud, in need of assistance. In other words, you looked horrible and helpless. With one glance at your headband, she instantly recognizes the familiar leaf symbol, her eyes darting to your face as though she’d seen you before.

“I’m sorry to bother ma’am,” you begin, your voice laced with the chill of the cold weather, your cheeks cold and red, “But would you be willing to provide us refuge until the weather gets any better?” the lady gazes downwards, contemplating your request before nodding in agreement. She opens the door wider, signaling for you and your students to enter. She certainly wouldn’t like being outside in this weather. “Come, come. Hurry,” she beckons, her hospitality reaching you.

You, Toko, and Kenji step inside hurriedly, muddy shoes leaving messy footprints on the floor, turning the wood into a mess. You looked down at your mess, opening your mouth to apologize, but the elderly lady swiftly reassures you. “Don’t worry about that, I’ll clean it up later,” She takes the heavy bags from your back, placing them near the fireplace to dry. “You must be freezing, I’ll get you some nice, warm clothes and—,”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you begin, waving your hands in front of you, “You don’t have to go through the trouble—,”

“Oh shush, this is no trouble at all, dear,” she reassures you as she disappears into another room, briefly leaving the three of you standing awkwardly at the door as you wait. You take the initiative to remove your dirty shoes, before glancing at your students tentatively. “Take your shoes off,” you swiftly say, considering it impolite to wear shoes indoors. They comply, placing them at the doorway where yours were placed neatly, “I’m guessing this two day mission is going to take a little longer than expected,” Toko complains, only straightening up when he sees the lady coming back carrying some nice traditional-looking robes.

“Here, these will fit perfectly. You two are about the same size as my grandsons,” she smiles, pinching Toko’s cheek affectionately and handing him the robe, repeating her actions with Kenji, causing him to become a little flustered.

“And this is for you,” she kindly hands you a robe in a deep shade of purple, “This was my daughter’s, but it hasn’t been in use in a long time,” Grateful for her actions, you take the piece of clothing and bow respectfully, showing your deep gratitude, “Thank you, I appreciate this a lot ma’am. How can I ever repay you—,” you start, only to be interrupted by the lady.

“Don't be silly, dear. There’s no need for that,” she smiles, patting your cheek while dismissing your offer of repayment. “Come, I’ll show you where you can get changed into these warm clothes,” she guides you three down the hallways of her home, leading the boys to a room, while you are taken to another. “Here you are,” she smiles, opening the door for you. “I’ll prepare some soup for you, make yourself at home,” she closes the door behind you, leaving you to change into the clothes she had provided you with.

The room was empty, with clear signs that someone had previously lived there before your intrusion. Photographs of a young woman and a few more family members decorated the walls, making you slightly uncomfortable at the thought that you were intruding on a family home. However, you pushed the thoughts away as you began peeling off your soaked clothes.

‘Just know that I’m sorry’

Kakashi’s words still echoed softly through your head like a faint lullaby. ‘I should’ve said something’ you thought, releasing a heavy sigh you had been holding in you ever since you left the village. A pang of regret tugged at you as you sat on the edge of the bed, draped in the silk robes that fit you like a glove. ‘He apologized and I didn’t even say anything,’ you rub your temple, your head throbbing in pain. It was a constant companion since you’d left the village, and now It seemed that you finally had time to dwell on the events that occurred these past few weeks. Now that you were away from both Obito and Kakashi, there was space to think clearly, undisturbed by their presence.

Your heart squeezed at the thought of Kakashi—a bright blush staining your cheeks. He had confessed his feelings for you—Kakashi Hatake—the man whom everyone believed would remain lonely throughout the remainder of his life. The man that never seemed to fall for anyone. He let himself become vulnerable for you, a side of him you had never witnessed, and you had shut him out. You gently smack yourself on the cheek, reprimanding yourself for your actions, “I’m such an idiot,” you murmur. You had potentially ruined a once-in-a-lifetime relationship with the man you had feelings for! You’ve liked this man for years, and you rejected him—technically rejected him—over a man who you barely knew.

In that moment, you realized the fault in your actions. You had been blinded by a foolish crush that you failed to recognize the differences between the two men. Kakashi was right, Obito wasn’t the same boy he once was. He was a man who had altered ideals, someone bent on reshaping reality as he pleased. He was a broken man that changed all throughout those lonesome years. You didn’t know him; you had a painted image of who he could possibly be. In contrast, your relationship with Kakashi was built with shared experiences and vulnerabilities. You two taught together, fought together, cried together. He’s seen you at your most vulnerable state and you’ve seen him in his. And that’s what you pushed aside? For someone who could be considered a stranger? Because Obito had not cried with you, had not fought with you, had not been there for you when you were hurt. All you knew about Obito was what he wanted you to know. You knew what he told you. You knew what you saw.

You rubbed your temple, attempting to dispel the thoughts from running your mind. Dwelling on them would only amplify the growing stress you had. There was no point in thinking about this now, considering how the mission demanded your full attention. Finally standing up, you opened the sliding door and stepped out, hearing the faint voices coming from the direction you had come from before. They were your students. The floorboards creaked under your feet as you approached them, their heads turning towards you when you finally got there. They had been sitting down on the floor at the table—waiting for something, you assumed.

“Hey sensei,” Toko grins, “Take a look at these,” He stands up and shows off his clothing, “They fit perfectly,” he strikes a pose, ultimately leading to Kenji pulling him down to sit, “Sit down and be quiet will you? (Y/N) sensei already looks tired enough for you to wear her out any more,” he rolls his eyes as Toko began to protest, “What’s your deal Kenji, I’m trying to show off these cool robes!” he exclaims, plopping down cross-legged, sulking playfully.

You can’t help but let out a chuckle at their banter, taking a moment to glance around the cabin, “They look fine,”you say, and as you gazed at the home, you noticed the lady was inside of what you assumed to be the kitchen. You approach the table and sit down, getting comfortable on the small cushion that was beneath you.

“Say, how’s Obito? I haven’t heard from him in a while,” Toko questions, leaning back and putting all his weight on his hands. The question makes you gaze up at him, and you shrug, “He’s been fine. He just hasn’t gone out lately. He’s used to being indoors all the time, so I don't blame him for always wanting to stay in the house,” Toko groans, pouting, “Oh man, I really wanna see him again. He’s so cool,” he says, straightening up, “Even if he was part of what happened… you know,” he adds, referring to the war, while glancing down at his legs, “I think he just needed someone to talk to,”

You observe Toko with soft eyes, watching how he spoke so empathetically. The boy has always had a gentle heart, sometimes too gentle. His empathy towards others was part of who he was. “I think so too,” you nod slowly in agreement while giving him a smile, Kenji looking away moments after, “It’s sad, you know?” Kenji mumbles, suddenly fixated on the floorboards as he tried to find the right words, “I remember what he said during the war. His reasons for the infinite Tsukuyomi,” he frowns, continuing “A person can be so lonely to the point where they need to distort reality,”

Your eyes fell on his expression, noticing the deep sadness etched on his face. “I understand why he did it,” he whispers, sighing and shrugging his shoulders, “But you know, it doesn’t mean what he did was okay,” You nod in agreement when he says this, replying “However, we shouldn’t focus on the past. Sure, it’s important to know what he did, but what matters is that he accepted change,” you smile warmly, “And he is willing to take another chance at life,”

“As he should, he would’ve been an awesome sensei,” Toko grins, making you playfully raise a brow at him, “Now hold on a second Toko, you’re not liking him better than me, are you?” you ask as you lean forward to look at him, making him shake his head furiously, “No! Of course not!” he chuckles nervously, his eyes darting around the room before insisting “You’ll always be the best teacher,” a soft hum of contentment escapes you, pleased with his answer.

“Alrighty kids, supper is ready,” the elderly lady suddenly approached the table with a gentle smile, carrying a heavy-looking metal pot brimming with soup. The smell was absolutely enticing, leaving you with a rumbling stomach and great anticipation. Toko eagerly rises, offering his assistance, “Let me help you,” he says, carefully taking the steaming pot and setting it down on the table, “Oh, thank you dear, could you be so kind and help me with the bowls as well?” She asks and without a moment’s hesitation, he nods and strides towards the kitchen to look for the wooden bowls she had pointed him to.

“I hope you like the soup, it’s my special recipe,” the old lady smiles as Toko sets down the bowls. She diligently pours the warm, flavorful broth into each bowl, her smile growing. “This was my grandsons’ favorite meal. They would beg for me to cook them some soup late at night,” a hearty chuckle escapes her, “Dig in,”

All three of you exchange glances before turning your attention towards the lady, sincere gratitude etched on each of your faces, “Thank you for this wonderful meal,” you express your appreciation, giving respect for her before digging in. All of you begin to eat, and the moment the warm liquid envelopes your tongue, your soul leaves your body. You had never tasted soup this good.

Toko’s eyes light up at the taste as well, “Oh man, this is amazing!” he exclaims and sips down the warm soup savagely, causing Kenji to snarl and smack Toko on the back of his head, scowling at him, “Stop eating like a pig,” he snarls, making Toko glare at him. “I’m not! You’re just so used to eating like a little prince, you don’t know what enjoying a delicious meal actually looks like,” he argues, setting the bowl down. They once again started bickering, which made your brow twitch in annoyance. They seemed to never stop bickering, not even when they’re tired. “You better stop it before I knock some sense into both of you,” you warned, making them stop momentarily, exchanging glares before they continue eating.

You exhale deeply, shifting your gaze down to the soup in front of you. The lady sits across from you, her warm presence a comforting sight. “Thank you so much for taking us in, and I’m sorry about the boys and their bickering. I promise they’re better behaved than this” you thanked her, bowing your head in appreciation. “If it weren’t for you ma’am, we would’ve been freezing out there,”

“It’s nothing, my dear,” she reassures you, her hands gently wrapping around a clay mug filled with steaming tea, “I could never leave you out there. Not when you’re from the leaf village,” Her statement hangs in the air as she takes a slow sip of her tea before examining your face intently. “Huh?” you respond, furrowing your brows in curiosity at what she means. The lady chuckles at your reaction before she sets the mug down.

“My husband was a leaf ninja, such a nice man he was. May he rest in peace,” she places a hand on her chest, “I welcome Ninja from anywhere. I help anyone who needs it,” she looks at you as her gaze softens, “And you certainly needed it,”

You chuckle sheepishly, humbled by her kindness, “Well regardless, I appreciate what you’ve done for us,” The lady waves her hand, “No need to thank me,”

After the meal, the atmosphere in the room relaxes as Toko and Kenji seem to die down. The persistent harsh weather outside was still going, and it was clearly draining their energy. The lady offered them a room so they could sleep in, and they immediately accepted her offer. They bid you goodnight and went to bed, leaving you sitting on the floor. The old lady was recounting to you some of her life stories, and you politely listened to her. You were glad, because it kept your mind away from Kakashi and Obito.

“You know, I didn’t know if it was really you, but now that I see you up close, it’s definitely you,” the lady smiles widely, making you raise a brow, “What?” you ask and the lady gives you a nod, “I know you. I saw you when you were just a little teen,” she pours you a warm cup of tea, “You had been wounded, and a young boy brought you here,”

You listened intently as she recounted the story, a puzzling frown decorating your face. You never recalled being here, even though you have gone to the mist village before, “I’m… sorry? I don’t recall that happening…,” you respond, meeting her gaze with uncertainty as she shook her head, “Well of course not, you were unconscious. The boy had brought you here because you needed medical attention. Nothing bad happened to you, just a few cuts here and there, but you were exhausted and fell unconscious,” the statement lingered in the air for a few seconds before you spoke up.

“So you’re saying you saved my life before? Who was the boy?”

“A silver haired boy, with a mask. Such a sweet boy. He never let go of your hand while I patched you up,” she chuckles, “He was very worried about you,”

A flicker of realization crossed your face as the lady’s description reminded you of Kakashi. The memory of an old mission to the Mist village surfaced in your mind. You recalled the long and exhausting battle that led to your loss of consciousness. However, when you had awakened, you were already in the Konoha hospital. Kakashi had carried you all the way there, and you had been left with only hazy fragments of what happened.

“So that’s…” a grateful smile tugs at your lips, “I never got to thank you,”

“Don’t worry, the boy had already thanked me enough,” she grins, “Do you still speak to that young man? Because a boy like that would’ve had me swooning,” your cheeks flushed at her comment, the corner of her lips raised in a smirk as she awaited your reply, “We still talk, but it’s nothing like that,” you clear your throat, “Well that’s just a waste,” she huffs in feigned disappointment, “You young people and your complicated feelings,”

“We just aren’t… well, we haven’t talked about it,” your cheeks flared with embarrassment as the conversation shifted to your love life. You found it pitiful that you were speaking about this with a woman you just met. But hey, they say old people know better than younglings, and you could definitely use some wisdom and understanding from someone like her. “Is that so? Then there must be another man in the picture,” shock flickered across your features as your eyes widened. Was she some sort of witch or something? How’d she know?

“Oh don’t look at me like that, I’ve lived in this world long enough to know what’s going on,” she laughs, “So, who’s the other man,”

“I uh… well…,” you sigh, looking at your hands, “This boy you mentioned, the silver haired boy, he and another boy were friends. I was friends with them too. We would’ve grown up together, but… things happened and the other boy and I… drifted apart,” you explain, trying to be as specific as possible without giving too much detail.

“Then what’s the hard choice?” the woman inquired, her brow raised in curiosity as she tried to understand your situation, “Well, me and the silver haired boy drifted apart as well, but when I became a teacher, we kinda began speaking a lot again. Then the other boy came back into my life, and now the silver haired man is starting to drift apart from me again,” you explained yourself, but in all honesty, you were barely making any sense.

“Drift away this, drift away that,” the woman rolls her eyes, her voice previously laced with sarcasm. “Honey, what you’re saying is making no sense at all,” she shakes her head “So, let me ask you,” she leans in, her eyes locking with yours to find pure honesty, “Who has been there for you the most?”

You take a moment to collect your thoughts, reflecting deeply on her question. You wanted to be honest with your response, not wanting to inadvertently deceive her. “Well… Kakashi,” you spoke after a few moments of contemplation, your voice soft but earnest. The name left your lips with a certain vulnerability, a mix of emotions attached to it.

The amused glint in the woman's eyes made your cheeks burn with embarrassment, “I don’t know who Kakahsi is, dear,” she teased playfully.

You quickly corrected yourself, “The silver haired boy,”

“Then what’s the point of liking the other boy, if the person who has always been with you should be your first choice,” you look down and at your hands, absorbed in her words “I didn’t waste any time. When my husband saved my life, I made sure I married him,” she hums and slowly stands up, “But, it is your choice. What does an old lady like myself know anyways?” she shrugs with a smile, “You should get some rest, you still haven’t completed your mission, and you’ll need all that energy for tomorrow”

Obito peered at the ninja standing in front of him, sizing them up with a thoughtful gaze. He paused for a brief moment before clearing his throat and responding, "A summoning? Urgent?" A glint of curiosity flickered in his eyes as he feigned nonchalance. "I’m guessing this must be really important then?" he mused, noticing the confused expressions on the faces of the ninjas before him. "Naturally, given the Hokage's busy schedule, any meeting he initiates is bound to be of utmost importance," the men responded, avoiding any unnecessary conversation.

Obito sighed, stepping outside and addressing the ninja with a hint of irritation, "Very well, let's not keep your precious Hokage waiting any longer," Despite his attempt to conceal his feelings, a tinge of bitterness laced his voice. He wasn't apprehensive or troubled; he was simply curious. After so long without exchanging words, what could be so important that the Hokage had summoned him in such haste? It was suspicious to him. Nonetheless, he followed the men closely, "Any idea why he would want to see me all of a sudden?" His question was met with pure silence.

Obito walked quietly, his eyes taking in the changes that had swept over the village since his absence. New buildings had appeared, old shops had vanished, and even the places he used to visit with Kakashi and Rin were nowhere to be found. The realization of all he had missed out on weighed heavily on him. As the Hokage building loomed into view, he looked up at the window where he suspected Kakashi might be, feeling the weight of his gaze boring into him. Climbing the stairs and reaching the Hokage's door, the ninja escorting him left him there all by himself.

Obito's eyes closed for a moment as he readied himself for the impending encounter. With a firm pull, he opened the door, his gaze falling upon the silver-haired man who stood by the window, engrossed in thought and clutching a stack of paperwork. Something within Obito stirred the moment his gaze fixated upon that white Hokage robe that Kakashi wore, a pang of realization hitting him. Kakashi was living the dream that Obito had envisioned for himself, or at least what his dreams had been before life took unexpected turns. Turns he took by his own resolve.

Obito stood there, his voice carrying a hint of statement rather than question. "You called for me," he said in a matter-of-fact tone, causing Kakashi to turn his attention towards him. With a deliberate motion, Kakashi set the papers he held onto his desk before sliding into his seat and replying, “Yes, we need to talk,”

Obito crossed his arms defiantly and stood a few feet away from Kakashi's desk, the silence between them weighed down by his sardonic tone. "Well I assumed so," he replied, his sarcasm hanging heavily in the air. "I suppose you didn’t just summon me here to jump rope," there was a moment of silence once he spoke, Kakashi’s eyes burning into him.

"I'd appreciate it if you could reserve your sarcasm for a later occasion." Kakashi responded with a weary sigh, his annoyance evident as he spoke. Frustration was etched on his face, a clear indication of the stress and irritation he was experiencing.

Obito uncrossed his arms in a display of carelessness, his gaze shifting away from Kakashi. “Yeah, whatever,” There was a moment of impatient silence as he waited for Kakashi to speak, fidgeting and shuffling on his feet expectantly.

Kakashi paused briefly, his gaze skimming over several reports scattered on his desk. With a glance raised towards Obito, his eyes met his, "As I was saying," he continued, "I've observed that your interactions with (Y/N) have yielded positive results. Her reports on you have been consistently favorable, and your acts of kindness towards others in the village haven't gone unnoticed." He paused once more, briefly glancing back down at the reports before returning his gaze to Obito.

It was remarkable how much the human body could endure, Kakashi thought to himself. Obito’s own body bore testament to that—scarred, battered, and permanently marked from the aftermath of war. Tsunade, in her medical prowess, had managed to restore parts of his body using his own cells, but the scars that had ingrained themselves on his skin stayed, indomitable, a constant reminder of his battles.

Obito's gaze traveled from the bookshelf to Kakashi, his stomach flipping at the revelation that you had been speaking highly of him. It filled him with a sense of satisfaction, knowing that his efforts had not gone unnoticed. Despite his own self-doubt, the knowledge that you found improvement within him gave him a sense of validation and contentment.

Kakashi's tone turned more serious as he continued, "Based on (Y/N)'s reports and my trust in her words, I've decided to offer you a position within the Anbu. You'll work under my direct supervision," he stated, his gaze remaining steady, anticipating a look of surprise on Obito's face.

Just as stated, Obito's expression twisted into a bewildered frown as the words left Kakashi's mouth. "You must be joking," he exclaimed, his disbelief evident. He was aware of his own capabilities, but the suddenness of this offer left him taken aback. The idea seemed ludicrous, especially since some within the village still harbored distrust towards him. Was Kakashi truly expecting him to become his personal assassin?

"You want me to become one of your assassin dogs?" He let out scoff, disbelief evident in his tone. "I thought the purpose of rehabilitating me was to prevent me from harming anyone else, given what I've already done," He paused, his expression filled with skepticism.

Kakashi leaned back in his chair, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. He observed Obito intently, "Yes," he acknowledged, "But I've had a change of mind. You possess the potential for greatness," he said, a hint of conviction in his voice. He paused for a moment before continuing, "It might even be beneficial for you. It'll keep you occupied, you'll earn your own income, and you'll get to experience the life of a shinobi once again," Kakashi explained, his gaze never leaving Obito.

Obito stared at Kakashi in shock, trying to process his words before speaking again, “What are you trying to say?”

Kakashi's tone remained firm and authoritative as he clarified his words. "What I'm trying to say is that by joining the Anbu, you'll earn my trust and secure yourself a decent position within the village. To be clear, I'm not asking for your permission. It's not a request," he reiterated, emphasizing the gravity of his demand.

“Right, you’re demanding I join,” Obito’s lip curls up in a slight snarl.

"You're free to refuse my offer, of course," Kakashi said in a condescending tone. "But doing so will deem you untrustworthy," he continued, his gaze fixed on Obito. "Keep in mind that you're here because I allow it. You're not exactly in a position to say no to anything I propose," he affirmed.

Obito's eye widened momentarily as a bitter chuckle threatened to escape his lips. It was a stark reminder that he was at Kakashi's mercy, alive only because the Hokage allowed it. The feeling of being bound and controlled by someone else's authority was not something he had yet forgotten. With a forced smile, he finally responded, "Ah, how could I ever forget," his voice was dripping with sarcasm and resignation.

“Glad to know you wouldn’t,” Kakashi smiled beneath his mask, his eye forming a crescent moon shape in response to Obito's sarcastic remark. He pulled out a bag from under his desk, revealing a familiar grayish-black uniform neatly folded inside. With a steady hand, he placed it on top of the desk. Next, Kakashi pulled out another object, a pristine white porcelain mask, molded into the shape of a bird. Obito recognized it as an Anbu mask; he had seen them before, or rather, he had once worn one alongside Itachi. Yet, the eeriness of this particular mask sent a chill down his spine.

Instead of the usual frown associated with the animal masks, this one possessed a unique feature: the red lines that adorned it curved upwards into a sinister smile, stretching nearly from ear to ear. The expression seemed far from natural, as if it was designed for intimidation rather than mere concealment. Furthermore, there was only one eye hole, while the other side was veiled and painted red, where his left eye should have been.

"So, you've been planning this for a while," Obito remarked, his tone containing a hint of sarcasm. "I'm assuming you don't have a spare Anbu mask with only one eye hole," Obito observed, causing Kakashi to chuckle. "I suppose so,"

Obito accepted the mask and uniform, his gaze fixated on the plastic bag as if he was contemplating the decision. However, deep down, he knew he had no choice in the matter. As if to add to the already less-than-ideal news, Kakashi spoke up again, "With this new job, you'll have to move out of (Y/N)'s house." He paused before continuing, "No one can know your identity as an Anbu member. Only a select few will be privileged enough to be privy to that information, and (Y/N) will not be among them."

Obito started to open his mouth to protest, but was interrupted by Kakashi's silencing gesture, his words cutting him off before he could speak. "I've already found a nice apartment for you, temporarily," Kakashi informed him, "You'll move out of her house while she's on her mission. That gives you about two to three days, maybe four if things get complicated and they get delayed due to the bad weather." Obito stayed quiet, considering the situation, realizing the reality: he had little choice in the matter. To further solidify his point, Kakashi added a crucial detail, a small nudge that might persuade Obito to comply. Depending on how Obito perceived it, it could either be seen as a subtle manipulation or merely a necessary precaution. "And just to be clear," Kakashi began, his voice firm but not unkind. "The primary reason why you're moving out is to protect (Y/N). You've shown a clear concern for her well-being, and to ensure nothing happens to her, she must remain ignorant of your new role in the Anbu."

"And what does that have to do with me moving out?" Obito asked, his tone laced with hesitation. Kakashi chuckled at his question, "Think about it," he replied, his eyes fixed on the dark haired man. "If word gets out about your identity, and they learn you're living with a woman, she'll instantly become a prime target for other dangerous ninjas." He paused, shrugging his shoulders. "Unless, of course, you want her to end up as rogue ninja bait. Whatever case it is, I suggest you start packing."

Obito's frustration bubbled up inside him, his lips pressing tightly together. He shouldn't feel this way; after all, he was simply moving out. Yet, a pang of disappointment and unease tugged at his heart. He'd lived with you since he returned to the village, and there was no denying that you'd positively influenced him. Your presence had helped him transform in unforeseen ways. He felt comfortable with you, like an old friend. You didn't hold anything against him, only offering care and compassion.

With a resigned sigh, Obito accepted the situation. No point in arguing further. After all, it's not like he wouldn't get to see you anymore. Sure, maybe he'd be busy with his new Anbu duties, but there was no way he'd be swamped 24/7, right? "Fine, I'll move out and join your assassin club. It’s not like I haven’t killed thousands before anyway," he mutters, his arms tensing as he tries to quell the burning feeling in his chest. A nagging anxiety crept inside him, "Is there anything else you'd like to say before I leave?"

Kakashi's brows furrowed, "Just remember that my main intention is to safeguard the village," he said, his voice steady. "You have immense potential that shouldn't be wasted, so try not to hold these circumstances too deeply against me," he added, his expression almost complimentary.

"Are you trying to flatter me?" Obito almost laughed in amusement, a hint of sarcasm lacing his voice. "You, of all people, dishing out compliments? I never saw that coming." He observed Kakashi's hands as they lowered to his lap with a cold stare, Kakashi's response following quickly, "Take it however you want. Ultimately, I'm making decisions that benefit the village. That's all that matters."

With a slight sense of defeat, Obito picked up the bag containing his new uniform. He couldn't help but let out a bitter chuckle as he held it in his hands. This wasn't the life he'd envisioned for himself as a child, nor was he thrilled to be stepping back into the role of an assassin. But the past couldn't be changed, and here he was. He finally tore his gaze away from the uniform and posed his question, "So, when do I start?"

“I’ll give you your first assignment once you’ve moved out. Come to my office and I’ll present to you your new comrades,”

It was the morning after the storm had passed, and the sky was clear and the sun shone brightly, almost as if there had been no storm the day before. Despite the sunlight, though, the path was still damp and muddy, causing Toko to grumble and complain again. Before leaving, the old lady had packed some meals, bandages, and medical herbs for you and the boys, insisting that you take them. "You don't have to—" you started to protest, only to be cut off by her firm and gentle nudge.

"Oh, hush now," she insisted, continuing to pack your belongings. She filled your bags with supplies, making sure you were well-prepared. "It never hurts to be prepared," she added with a smile. "You don't know when you might need them." As you prepared to set off, the old lady stood in the doorway and waved you a warm goodbye, her expression filled with motherly affection.

Toko waved enthusiastically, a wide grin on his face. "Bye, granny!" he exclaimed, eagerly walking behind you. "I like her," he continued, his voice filled with cheerfulness. "She's just like my grandma." Kenji, who seemed well-rested, walked beside Toko, his expression one of contentment. However, it was suddenly cut short when Toko continued his loud ramblings.

"Keep it down, will you? It's too early for this racket." Kenji grumbled, his tone weary. He shoved his hands into his pockets, obviously not quite fully awake yet. Toko was ready to respond, but your intervention cut him off. "Let's keep the squabbling to a minimum," you advised, peering at the map in your hands with a frown. "We're about to enter dangerous territory, so let's stay focused." You mention, furrowing your brows as you tried to make out the direction you were supposed to head towards. “There’s so many paths… but not a single one connects to the city…,”

Toko's curiosity got the better of him as he peeked over your shoulder, his head tilted to the side as his gaze darted across the map. Confusion etched on his face as he examined the symbols and drawings that adorned the scroll. "Why bother with a map if it won't even guide you to where you need to go?" he questioned, genuinely baffled.

"It's a hidden village, idiot," Kenji interrupted with an exasperated sigh. "If the village was easily found on a map, it would defeat the purpose of being 'hidden.'" He rolled his eyes, continuing his explanation. "They've been kind enough to give us a basic layout of where they are located, so it's better than having nothing at all." You added with a sigh.

Toko opened his mouth to retort, but you quickly hushed him, lowering the map and bringing the group to a halt. You had walked for a good amount of time, and the old lady's house had long vanished from sight. Time had passed faster than you realized, and now you stood before a colossal forest, its towering trees casting a shadowy canopy over the path ahead. As you observed the towering trees that loomed overhead, a nervous churning settled in your stomach. There was an inexplicable unease that gnawed at your senses, even though no foreign chakra presences threatened you at the moment. Perhaps it was the imposing shadows cast by the trees, or the dense mist that engulfed the forest, which left you feeling queasy. Whatever the cause, the feeling was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

As you struggle with the inexplicable feeling, Toko's voice breaks the silence, tinged with concern. He places a gentle hand on your shoulder and asks, "Are you okay, sensei?" With a forced composure, you respond, "I'm fine, we have to go through here,” You take a deep breath, attempting to ease your tensed shoulders. "We should be cautious," you advise, your voice steady as you speak. "There's likely to be traps. We won't be able to see much inside either, so we need to focus." Your hand tightens around the straps of your bag, a comforting reassurance against the uncertainty that lies ahead. “If anything happens, leave your bags and evacuate. If you manage to split up, use paper bombs to find each other. If you can’t find me, leave me behind and forget the mission—,”

“You know we’re not going to do that, sensei,” Toko cuts you off with unwavering worry.

"It's not a request. This is an order. You will follow my instructions, understand?" Your eyes narrow as you address him. "You're both Chunin now, but don't overestimate yourselves. You have limits, and you need to know them." You take a moment to gather yourself, steadying your breath and grip on your kunai. Despite being well-rested, your body felt heavy, and a cloudiness lingered in your mind, despite your attempts to stay focused. "Let's move,"

As you journeyed deeper into the forest, the path became increasingly obscured, shrouded in a dense gray mist that blanketed the ground. Seeing no other option, you curse under your breath, peering up at the towering trees that seemed to stretch endlessly into the sky. "Dammit," you muttered. "Looks like I'll have to climb up there and see if we can find a way out of this forest." With a decisive movement, you buckled your bag tightly on your back, ensuring it was secure before preparing to scale the trees. “I’ll be quick, so you two stay where you are,”

Toko adjusted the straps of his bag, nodding earnestly in agreement. "No worries, sensei," he chimed in, his eyes fixed on you with a confident smile. "We'll keep a watchful eye out for anything suspicious." With a silent understanding between them, Kenji bobbed his head in agreement. The boys had observed your uneasiness since leaving Konoha, and they were trying to ease it. A glimmer of relief washed over you as their reassurance eased the tension in your shoulders, even if just momentarily. You centered your chakra in your feet, preparing to scale the towering trees before you. Sensing that reaching the top of the trees would take you at least five minutes, you mentally steeled yourself to be as swift and efficient as possible.

Despite your best efforts to maintain focus, the unsettling feeling in your stomach persisted, growing more intense with every passing moment. Not being a sensory ninja, you questioned the source of this unease, attributing it to your stress. Was it the conversation that you had with the lady back at the cabin that was making you nervous? Or maybe you were becoming paranoid with each passing second thanks to this mission. As you immerse yourself in your thoughts, your footing falters, and your foot slips on the bark of the tree. You would’ve fallen down, but thankfully your chakra was strong enough to maintain your weight. However, the extra weight of your bag pulled you downward, and a sense of panic surged through you. In a desperate attempt to regain balance, you hastily let your bag fall off your shoulders as you propelled yourself forward, managing to regain your position on the tree trunk once more. The unexpected scare left you panting, your breath coming in ragged gasps. A cold sweat trickled down your forehead as adrenaline coursed through your burning veins. That was a close one, and you couldn’t help but curse yourself out. There was a slight delay, and then the loud thump of your bag hitting the ground echoed through the air, reverberating through the forest.

Craning your neck to look over your shoulder, your eyes widened as the dense mist obscured any view of the ground below. The realization of your position set in, and the thought of plummeting headfirst down to that unseen abyss sent a shiver down your spine. "What the hell is wrong with me?" you muttered under your breath, swallowing the lump of saliva that had accumulated in your mouth. A pang of worry laced your thoughts as you hoped the boys wouldn't panic upon seeing your bag fall.

Climbing the rest of the way up with a moment of hesitation, you finally reached the top of the tree. As you placed your foot on top, a soothing breeze greeted your face, caressing your nose and playfully tousling your hair. The view was breathtaking, a vast expanse of trees stretching as far as the eye could see. Amidst this forest kingdom, your gaze snagged on something significant. "There you are," you murmured as you spotted what you had been searching for.

Toko and Kenji waited anxiously, their backs resting against the trees as they watched you vanish into the distance. After a few minutes, Toko's restlessness got the better of him, and he started fidgeting with his gloves, stealing glances upwards in search of your descent. He turned to face Kenji, who was immersed in his book, and voiced his concern, "Do you think she's alright?"

"She might take a while," Kenji responded calmly, casting a brief glance upwards before returning his attention to his book. "This isn't exactly a small forest. Stop worrying so much." He paused for effect, then added, "It's only been about five minutes, anyway."

Toko let out a sigh, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, maybe I’m worrying too much." He sat down cross-legged on the ground, leaning back on his arms. A lighthearted chuckle escaped his lips as he continued, "I have no idea how you—," His sentence was interrupted by the abrupt sound of something hitting the ground beside them. The unexpected thump caused Toko to jump, his senses alarmed. In a swift motion, Kenji had already tucked away his book and drew his kunai, ready for whatever lay ahead.

Kenji turned to Toko, concern etched on his face, "Toko, you okay?" He asked, searching their surroundings for the source of the sound. Their minds raced with paranoia, convinced that they were being followed and watched. Toko patted himself down, readying his own weapons as he replied, "Yeah, I'm good." Together, they carefully approached the direction they thought the sound had originated from, weapons ready, prepared for whatever danger might await them.

They came to an abrupt halt as they reached the spot and laid eyes on the heavy bag, its contents scattered on the ground. "It's Sensei's bag," Toko exclaimed, lowering his shuriken and rushing toward it.

"She dropped it?" Kenji muttered, his gaze darting skyward in the hopes of seeing you descending from the treetop. However, Toko was unconvinced. "Dropped? That doesn't make sense. Something must have happened," he says, already retracing his steps towards the tree you had initially climbed. Dropping his own bag, he prepared to ascend the tree so he could look for you.

"She probably dropped it because of its weight," Kenji reasoned, attempting to calm Toko's growing concern, "Maybe it was weighing her down the farther she went." He grabbed Toko's arm and pulled him away from the tree, "Let's wait a little longer. She told us to wait."

"We can't wait!" Toko protested, his voice filled with urgency. "What if someone got to her up there?"

"Then we would have seen her body dropping. Toko, there are so many other reasons why she would have dropped her bag. You're being dramatic." He attempted to reason, only to have his hand slapped away by Toko.

"Dramatic? No, I'm concerned for her safety!" he retorted, frustration evident in his voice. "You're the one who doesn't seem to care! You never care about anything!" He jabbed an accusing finger at Kenji, his tone laced with anger. Frustration ignited within Kenji as he clicked his tongue at the harsh accusations coming from his friend, "Of course I care, but I also use common sense."

"Common sense my ass," Toko snapped, "You're the last one to talk about common sense." The shift in Toko's tone was familiar territory for Kenji. The implications of his words were clear, a biting jab at something they both knew very well.

"Don't you dare bring that up," Toko warned, his voice a low, sharp hiss. Both of them knew exactly where the conversation was heading, a topic that had been avoided for a long time, but the memories and feelings still lingered fresh in their minds.

“You know exactly what happened, so stop blaming me for everything,” he snarls at his friend, obviously bothered by the matter.

“I blame you because you were stubborn. You think you’re the smartest, strongest ninja out here, and that’s why she died,” Toko argued, turning around to face him fully.

“I didn’t think any of that. You were a coward and you stepped back. We needed that mission more—”

"What we needed was to go back and get help!" Toko’s voice escalated into a yell, frustration reaching a boiling point as he pushed at Kenji. "Don't you dare put your hands on me," Kenji shot back, his own frustration rising. But Toko, fueled by anger and past memories, paid no heed to his warning.

"You left us behind and went on your own, just because you thought you could do anything without us," Toko seethed, grabbing Kenji by the collar. "I would've left, but she was worried for you.” His voice trembled with anger and grief. "And we went back. And she died because you couldn't let go of your pride and forget the mission," the words hung heavy in the air, their impact as potent as a physical blow. That’s why Kenji didn’t think about his actions. He couldn’t, not when he was being accused of something so serious.

Toko's body connected with the ground, his cheek inflamed and stinging from the impact. He looked up to see Kenji towering over him, fist clenched tight. "You bastard," Toko spat, pushing himself up off the ground with a surge of anger. He lunged forward, tackling Kenji to the ground, and his fist shot forward, aiming for his friend's face. However, Kenji was quick to react, pushing Toko off and pulling out a kunai in the blink of an eye.

The situation escalated, and the sight of the drawn weapon and the intent to harm each other fueled the conflict. Toko saw it as a direct threat to his life, and drew his own kunai. They both launched forwards with only one intent in mind; to hurt each other. However, as the two boys were about to clash, a pair of strong hands intervened, seizing their wrists and squeezing them hard enough to make them release their weapons in a swift motion.

Your voice echoed through the clearing, filled with disbelief and anger. "What the hell is wrong with you two, huh? What were you thinkin?!" You shoved them away, making them stumble onto the dirt. Your eyes darted between them, their heads lowered in shame, attempting to avoid your piercing glare. "You guys never turn on each other, do you understand me?!" The anger in your tone was evident, a boiling cauldron of frustration and disappointment at what they were doing. Your hurt and disappointment were palpable as the memories of your past resurfaced. The uneasy sense of déjà vu weighed heavily on your heart. After receiving no response from them, you spoke again, your voice firm and demanding, "I asked you something, so you better answer me!"

"Yes ma’am," Kenji responded, his voice obedient yet filled with tension. He stood up, grabbing his arm as his head remained bowed. Toko's response came next, the venom in his eyes directed at Kenji. "Whatever," he responded bitterly, wiping the blood that dripped from his nose. His gaze never wavered, filled with a potent mix of hatred, anger, and spite. Your hands came up to rub your face, attempting to ease the headache that formed. "I taught you to never betray each other. I hope this is the first and last time you two ever pull out your weapons on each other,”

"Maybe he should learn to keep his hands to himself." Toko retaliated, but your head whipped around, your eyes locking onto his. "And maybe you should learn how to forgive," you retorted, the words cutting through the air like a sharp blade. "I heard your argument, I know what this is about. I heard everything as I was coming down. Her death was no one’s fault" Your eyes trailed down his face, watching as his expression twisted in pain. "It doesn't seem that way," he finally said, grabbing his bag and harsly pushing past Kenji, who was still staring at the ground.

Kenji's hands were clenched tight, his fingernails digging into his skin and his knuckles turning a pale white. You could sense the tension in his body, recognizing the need for a conversation on this matter. You knew deep down that the underlying issues had to be addressed once you returned home. All of you had been avoiding it ever since it happened, and you couldn’t help but blame yourself for it. However, there was still a mission waiting to be completed, and you would have to push aside the issue once more.

“We’ll speak about this when we get back, for now, just focus on the mission,” you say, grabbing the kunais that were on the ground, “I found out where we have to go,”

The trek towards the destination proceeded awkwardly, each step taken in complete silence. The atmosphere was thick with tension, making it feel nearly impossible to breathe. Hours ticked by without a word being uttered between any of you, none of you sure of what to say. It was then that you settled on waiting until you reached the village to address the situation. You felt it was best to hold off on any conversations until you were in the safety and comfort of your own home, knowing the pressure on them would only grow if you brought it up now. Your sole focus was on the mission at hand. As long as you kept your mind free from any distractions, everything would go smoothly. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself in hopes of managing your anxiety. You observed the boys walking alongside you, their eyes avoiding each other like magnets repelling the same pole. They seemed immersed in their own thoughts, perhaps consumed by anger and regret. The scene reminded you of Obito and Kakashi, and your heart ached slightly as the memory of your friends surfaced once again.You had made a silent promise to yourself that your students would never turn against each other like Obito did to Kakashi. Yet, the events that had just unfolded had planted seeds of doubt in your mind about what the future held in store for them. The thought of your students becoming ensnared in a cycle of hatred filled you with dread and fear.

Your body felt weighed down once again, but not due to the muddy terrain. This time, it was the weight of worry that was resting on your shoulders. It was as if you were being physically held back by the embodiment of anxiety. Yet, despite the weight, you also inexplicably felt a sense of lightness. The suppressed emotions you harbored were taking a toll on your physical self, causing you to silently curse at your own vulnerability. As their teacher and mentor, you were meant to inspire them to forge forward. You were supposed to set an example, yet here you were, feeling crushed beneath the weight of your own worries. Doubts clawed at you, making you question if you were truly fit to be their sensei. You were acutely aware of your previous failures, of your imperfections. Now, you found yourself failing them yet again, berating yourself for not taking action when you could have. You should have addressed the incident and spoken to them, but you held your tongue. The unresolved tensions and bottled-up emotions continued to fester between your students while you tried avoiding ever mentioning anything. Your eyes remained fixated on the path, and your legs moved mechanically, even though you were unaware of your surroundings. It was as if you were caught in a trance, your mind stuck in deep reflections while your body went through the motions. It wasn’t until the giant gates of the Hidden Mist Village emerged before your eyes that you finally snapped out of your contemplative daze. The guards stood vigilantly at the gates, their masked faces intently focused on you and your students. Their weapons were raised in anticipation, their gaze unwavering. It was only then, as their intense stares met your eyes, that your body snapped back into reality. The haze of your thoughts lifted, and your mind cleared, becoming acutely aware of the moment.

Your arms slowly raised, palms facing the guards to signal that you meant no harm. Your feet remained firmly planted on the ground as you addressed the guards with a firm tone. "We're from the Hidden Leaf Village," you explained, "We were called for an important mission. We've heard reports of rogue ninjas terrorizing your village. We're here to assist your people." Your voice was crisp and precise, making your purpose abundantly clear. "Please," you reiterated firmly, "If you need more information, let me approach so I can present the mission scroll." The guards exchanged glances again, before one of them finally stepped forward. It was the captain, you assumed, and his hand reached out, silently asking for the mission scroll.

Without wasting another moment, you reached into your pouch, quickly retrieving the scroll and placing it in the waiting hand of the captain. You waited patiently as he perused the scroll, making sure that you posed no threat to them. Your eyes darted back to Toko and Kenji, who stood behind you, their heads downcast and avoiding eye contact.

"You may come through. We have been waiting for your arrival." With a deep voice, the captain’s words reverberated through the air. He then gestured for you to follow, leading the way into the village. Initially, you didn't notice how empty the streets were, until you walked past a nearby hospital. The sight of numerous civilians lying pale and ill on the floor caught your attention in an instant, and the scene unfolding before you was nothing short of horrific. Nurses were overwhelmed, tending to the massive number of ill patients who had filled the entire hospital and were now flooding the streets. The people lying on the floor appeared deathly ill, their bodies wasting away as the nurses fought desperately to keep them alive. The sight was eerie and heart-wrenching, sending chills down your spine. However, you found yourself unable to tear your eyes away from the patients, which didn’t go unnoticed by the captain.

"They're all dying," the guard stated matter-of-factly, his gaze fixed forward as if refusing to acknowledge the suffering of the people around him. "All because of poison," he added with a callousness that sent a chill down your spine. Your eyes then fell upon an elderly man who was writhing in agony, his leg profusely bleeding and contorting in ways that defied the limits of the human body. He was wounded, a large gash the shape of a large blade tainted his weak leg. His wound appeared to be decaying, yet fresh blood continued to flow from it, a stark contrast to the slow decay. As your eyes locked with the elderly man's pleading gaze, he muttered a desperate "help us" before you averted your eyes and shut them tightly. Your body trembled at the sight, the suffering of the people weighing heavily on your heart. "And there's no cure for it," the captain’s words echoed in your mind, causing your eyes to open in disbelief. Slowly, you walked past the hospital, your senses still reeling from the stark reality you had just witnessed. A few people could be seen making their way towards the hospital, but beyond that, the village seemed eerily deserted once more.

“No cure? Then all those people….”

The captain's voice was raw and frustrated as he clenched his spear tightly, “All my people will die in vain,” he exclaimed, his anger noticeable. "We've always dealt with similar cases, but after being repeatedly attacked by those damn rogue ninjas, the number of incidents has tripled over the past few months. I can feel it in my bones – they're to blame for this, but I can't prove it, because we’ve never caught them" the captain continued, the helplessness in his tone was obvious.

With furrowed brows, you looked at the captain, "Do you have any information on them?". It was difficult for you to fathom how anyone could be so cruel as to slowly torment and kill an entire village of innocent people.

The captain exhaled a deep sigh, his expression heavy with disappointment, "I wish I had something of value to tell you, but the truth is, I don't," He paused, his voice carrying a sense of helplessness, "We've only spotted cloaked figures breaking in and harming innocent civilians, and anyone wounded in those attacks always end up the same – poisoned and rotting." Frustration tinged his voice as he continued, "We don't know where they come from or why they're doing this. We don't even know how they create that poison they use." You understood how he felt—you understood the helplessness of not being able to protect someone, in his case, everyone.

"I appreciate that information, sir. In situations like this, any information is helpful. Rest assured, we will do our utmost to protect your people. The safety of your village is our top priority." The captain didn't meet your gaze as you spoke, and you could sense his struggle to believe it. Given the countless lives lost, it was almost impossible for him to harbor hope that the nightmare would end. Toko and Kenji stood beside you, their faces betraying a mix of horror and sympathy for the village. Toko, in particular, fidgeted nervously, his uneasiness evident. The weight of the situation was becoming more real and pressing with every passing moment.

"It'll be alright, Toko," you offered a faint smile, trying to provide reassurance. Meanwhile, the captain continued his instructions. "Make sure you avoid getting hit by their weapons. From what the doctors have reported, every patient who’s ended up in the hospital has been stabbed or cut by those ninjas. It seems they carry poisoned knives of some kind. If they even scratch you, you'll find yourself dead," he warned gravely. You couldn't quite determine if the captain's intentions were to scare you or if he was genuinely worried for your safety, but regardless, you nodded in response. "We will be careful,"

The captain led you to the highest point in the village, situated atop a hill on the outskirts. This vantage point would serve as your watchtower for the remainder of the day, with an unobstructed view of the entire town below. You knew you had to remain vigilant, ready to take action at the first sign of trouble. With a resolve to put an end to the suffering of the villagers, you silently vowed to complete your mission as efficiently as possible.

"You will stay here. This vantage point offers a perfect view of the village. I wish you the best of luck, to all three of you. May you emerge victorious and save our people." The man then bowed his head in respect, but you caught a glimpse of his eyes beneath his mask. They were dark, as if the light of hope had been extinguished from within them. He had witnessed the grim reality of the situation time and time again, and his eyes seemed to convey the belief that at least some of you would not survive this ordeal. Countless Jonin from other villages had faced the same grim outcome. They had come, fought valiantly, yet ultimately succumbed to their fate. The captain's eyes reflected the weight of past failures, and yet, within him, there lingered a faint hope—a slender thread of fate that perhaps you and your students would defy the odds and succeed. He desperately yearned for it, hoping that you would put an end to the suffering that had ravaged his village.

You observed as the captain descended the hill, your face contorted in a frown. The pain and despair you had glimpsed in his eyes continued to haunt your thoughts, making it difficult to fully focus on anything else. It wasn't until the captain was completely out of sight that your mind finally caught up, and you turned your attention towards the boys, who had already taken a seat on the ground, their gazes wandering around the barren hill that offered nothing but patches of grass and a few scattered rocks. They were still silent, and you quickly noticed the somber expression on Toko's face and attempted to provide reassurance. "We'll help them," you stated firmly, placing all the bags together and double-checking your weapons to ensure you were ready for any situation. "And we'll be okay,"

"Even if we capture those ninjas, what will happen to all those people who are already poisoned?" Toko, who had not spoken a single word during your time here, finally spoke. His voice trembled, void of the earlier excitement that had filled his words before. Your gaze shifted towards the village, taking in the unsettling sight of deserted streets—a haunting portrayal of the misery and despair that had ensnared these people.

"They'll die. There's nothing we can do for them except avenge them. They will die in peace, knowing that no one else will get hurt." There was no room for debate or argument. Toko accepted your words without protest, a clear indication that the emotional toll of the events had left him exhausted. Kenji sat quietly nearby, leaned against a rock, listening intently to your exchange. In a rare display of positivity, Kenji spoke up, "Maybe our medical ninjas can find a cure for them," His words stood in stark contrast to his usual stoicism and pessimism, and you couldn't help but appreciate the glimmer of optimism. However, Toko's frown remained unchanged, and he paid no heed to Kenji's statement.

"Maybe so, Kenji," you replied with a faint smile, slowly standing up to keep watch. Silence blanketed the area once more as the sun slowly dipped below the horizon, transforming the city into a canvas illuminated by the street lamps. The translucent mist began to form, casting an eerily beautiful yet ominous veil over the surroundings. Minutes turned into hours as you, Toko, and Kenji took turns observing the village, looking for any signs of unusual activity in the silent and deserted town. The sky was obscured by thick gray clouds, concealing the moon's silvery glow and blocking any natural light from filtering through. The temperature had dropped significantly as well, and you had been shuddering all night long, your cheeks reddened from the biting cold. From the corner of your eye, you could see Toko and Kenji also shivering, the winter chill seeping into their bones and making them restless.

"You boys okay?" Your aching feet, throbbing from standing for so long and prompted you to speak up as your voice echoed through the silent night. The idea of standing for the entire night seemed both physically draining and unnecessary, considering the uncertainty of whether the rogue ninjas would even make an appearance tonight. Who knew if they would even show up? Doubt began creeping into your mind as you considered the slim chances of any action occurring in the next few hours.

“I’m fine,” Kenji answers, his head body leaned against an uncomfortable rock, “Just uncomfortable,”

"You're not supposed to feel comfortable," Toko retorted, finally speaking to Kenji after hours of icy silence. "I'm just trying to lighten the mood, relax," Kenji responded with a frustrated huff, his body straightening up as he shot a glare at Toko, who sat a few feet away from him. “Funny, you never try to lighten the mood but now you’re suddenly caring if it’s tense or not,”

“Boys, stop it,” you warn before things got heated, “It’s not the time or place to argue,”

“Oh please, when is it ever the time or place?” Your eyes widen at the sudden hostility towards you, making Kenji stand up to your defense. “Don’t talk to her like that, asshole,” he warns, his voice dripping with a venom you had never heard before as he made his way towards Toko in a threatening manner, “Or what? You’re going to hit me again?”

“Stop it you two!” you exclaimed, quickly standing up and forcefully pushing them apart, “You need to stop this bullshit, or else all three of us will go down. Is that what you want? You want to put us in danger?” your voice was stern and authoritative, trying to paint a clear message for the both of them. Your eyes flicker back and forth between them, searching for at least an ounce of shame on both their faces. However, Toko simply let out a loud scoff, backing away while his eyes sent a scorching glare at Kenji. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned on us,” he accused, his expression turning bitter once Kenji’s body tensed. “What the hell is your problem? I’m suddenly the bad guy here?”

“You always were,”

Their argument was about to continue despite all your attempts to alleviate the situation, but the sudden sharp and horrific scream of a woman that pierced through the cold and silent night caught you off guard. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up when the scream echoed through the night, and the boys were quick to gather at the edge of the hill beside you. Your eyes scanned the darkened town, searching for an explanation or a culprit, catching a glimpse of four cloaked figures jumping out of one of the townsfolk’s windows. Their backs were adorned with toll rods, a knife at the end of each one gleaming ominously in the shadows below. You assumed it was their weapons as one was tainted crimson red—Blood. “It’s them,” your voice hardened, and without any hesitation, you jumped down from the hill, your students quickly following behind you. Your presence had been figured by the ninjas as they immediately split up and darted in different directions. Instead of attacking you, they decided to avoid you, as if their attention was focused on something else. Something more important. “Alright,” you stop your tracks on top of one of the rooftops, memorizing the directions the ninja went, “We’ll go for the one up north first—,”

“I’ll go for the one on the right,” Toko exclaims in impulsive haste, giving you no time to react nor respond as he sprinted into the deep night. Anger bubbled up in your chest, making you curse, “Dammit! Toko! Come back here!” you called out, but he was already out of sight. “Shit, go after him Kenji, I’ll take care of the other two. Don’t get cut. Be careful,” the boy nods his head, muttering a soft “You too,” before vanishing into the shadows, leaving you all by yourself. You shook your worries away and began jumping over the rooftops towards the direction two of the ninjas had gone, and thankfully, they hadn’t gotten too far. They had soon made their way into your line of vision, and you swiftly followed behind them. They were under you, running through the paths of the village as you followed on the rooftops.

They were faster than you expected, and your breath came out as ragged gasps as you sprinted after them. There was no way you were going to catch them like this. They knew the village. They knew where to run to. They knew every corner and curve, as if they had done this thousands of times. “Shit,” you cursed under your breath, continuing to jump from roof to roof as you followed both cloaked figures. As you followed them, you reached for the pouch on your vest, pulling out a few paper bombs. ‘You’ve got this,’ you reassure yourself as you gain enough speed to jump down on top of one the figures. Your fingers swiftly stick the bombs onto its back, and you push yourself off and away from it. The cloaked figure reacted instantaneously, reaching for its weapon and swiftly swinging it at you, the knife-tipped rod a deadly threat. You felt the slightest brush of air as the weapon narrowly missed you, just barely avoiding a serious cut. Before the blade could do any harm, the paper bomb detonated, sparing you from injury. The ensuing blast sent you staggering backward, your feet struggling to maintain balance in the aftermath. As the smoke dispersed, you surveyed the scene, expecting to find the slumped body of the rogue ninja. However, to your surprise, nothing remained except an empty spot. Has it been a clone all this time?

‘Crack’

A wave of shock flashed across your face, your reflexes pushing you backwards just in time to avoid the figure that plummeted onto the spot you had recently occupied. Once again, the weapon-wielding figure narrowly missed you, your luck holding strong, "Who the hell are you, and why are you doing this?" Spinning the kunai skillfully around your finger, you clenched the handle tightly as you waited for an answer.

The mysterious figure stood mute, shaking its head as it spoke in a low, distorted voice. "Stay out of my way, and you shall not get hurt," it warned. Confusion gripped you, as you found yourself unable to determine the figure's gender from their concealed features. As you scrutinized more closely, you glimpsed what appeared to be a mask under the expanse of their large straw hat, further obscuring their identity.

Your determined eyes locked onto the mysterious figure, "I'm not letting you guys terrorize this village any longer," you hissed. As your mind briefly wondered about the whereabouts of the second figure, you remained vigilant, refusing to let your guard drop. "You have no idea what this village has done," it pauses for a brief moment. "Please, just be on your way. You have nothing to do with this. I do not want to hurt you, but if you get in my way, you will end up just like them." It trained its weapon on you. “I am sparing you and the young men, leave, or seal your fate this very moment,”

“I don’t need your mercy,” you glare at him and take out your shuriken, “I’m not letting you kill these people,”

"Then you shall die like the rest of them," suddenly, the second figure reappeared, delivering a powerful kick to your abdomen, sending you sprawling against the wall. Your head hit the bricks and snapped back, leaving you unconscious for a few fleeting seconds. As you slowly regained yourself, your eyes snapped open just in time to avoid another attack. With a well-aimed kick, you connected solidly with the figure's head, causing it to stumble as it tried to extract its weapon from the ground. Without hesitating, you took its own weapon and jammed it into its stomach, making sure the blade pierced its muscle deeply. However, as you gripped the handle tightly and pushed it even further, the figure turned into some sort of liquid that melted away under your feet. “A clone?!”

As you glanced back, your confusion grew as the person you had been speaking to appeared a few feet away from you, now charging towards you with an additional rod in hand. The blade swung past you multiple times, trimming some stray strands of hair caught in its path. You swiftly dodged and ducked, sweeping your leg across the ground to knock its legs out from under it. It briefly stumbled but quickly caught itself, and before you could react, it attempted to swing its weapon at you once more.

With lightning reflexes, you grabbed the rod, yanking it toward you as you discarded your previous weapon. A firm kick to its stomach sent it stumbling backwards. As the rod slipped from its hands, you firmly held onto it, a hint of superiority in your voice. "You're nothing without your weapon, aren't you?" you taunted, hurling it to the side, out of reach for both of you along with the other.

"You have no idea what you are doing," it said, rising from the ground. It locked your wrist in a firm grip, and you fought for control. "You think you are doing good, but you are only defending horrible people," it continued, its strength surprising you as it began to push your arms downwards. "Everything you do now will be in vain," it taunted. "They will die, and so will you." With immense strength, you managed to break free, swinging your kunai at its neck. To your surprise, it lifted his hand, allowing the blade to pierce through its palm with no reaction.

"Your students will perish because of your decisions," it sneered. "You could have turned away from all of this, yet you chose to blindly follow your foolish orders," it continued. A powerful kick to your stomach sent you stumbling to your knees, a pained groan escaping your lips. Your arms instinctively wrapped around your aching stomach as you struggled to catch your breath.

The figure unflinchingly removed the kunai from its wounded palm, its expression remaining stoic despite the blood trickling out. Its words hung in the air, a mix of nonsense and malice, as you gazed up at it, your teeth clenched together. "But, I must admit," it continued, "you will die with honor. I admire that." With deliberate strides, it approached you, firmly grasping your weapon in its hands. "This is your end," Its ominous words trailed off as it prepared to deliver a final blow. You were about to dodge, but the sudden intervention of another figure caught you off guard.

Toko lunged at the figure with lightning-fast precision, tackling it to the ground. Moments later, Kenji rushed into view, his voice filled with concern as he called out to you in worry, "Sensei!" He hurried to your side, helping you up and diligently checking your body for any injuries. "Are you okay?" he asked anxiously, his gaze scrutinizing every inch of your frame in search of any signs of harm. "I'm okay," you responded, wincing as a sharp pain radiated from your stomach. “We fought those two ninjas, but both of them were clones,” he says and looks at Toko who jumped back towards you after tackling the figure, “I’m assuming that guy is the real deal,”

“Yeah, they haven’t used up much chakra, and they only used clones,” you hiss, “But we can’t let them escape,”

"You think I'll let him escape? I've had enough of this damn mission to let that happen." Toko sneered as he was about to dash back at the figure when you intervened, stopping him. "Wait, we need to work together," you urged. "I fought with them, and I barely got any information of what they can do, so we have no idea what they’re capable of." Your arm halted his advance, but it didn't deter his anger. "So what?" he snapped, shoving your arm away. "He's on the floor. Let's get the job done." He sprints towards the figure, pulling out his blade to finish it off.

"Toko!" you yelled, your voice strained with the effort, your lungs burning in protest. Before Toko could get any closer, you noticed the figure slyly retrieve the kunai it had taken from you, hidden beneath its form to secretly attack Toko. "Toko, get out of the way!" you warned urgently. With a swift movement, you pushed Kenji safely away from you and dashed toward your other student, just in time to shove him out of the path of the incoming blade. Kenji's quick thinking resulted in the figure being entrapped in an earth style jutsu, the ground surrounding him turning solid and trapping him in place.

Toko’s eyes were wide, and for the first time during the whole night, he seemed to snap back into reality. “Shit, sensei—,”

"I’m fine," you reassured as you glanced between Kenji and the now immobilized figure. You took a step towards it, your voice firm as you declared, "You're done." With a swift motion, you pulled the straw hat and mask off its face, revealing the true identity beneath. To your surprise, the person behind the mask was a young man, no older than your students. A wave of realization washed over you, causing your stomach to drop. This person was so young...

The young man, having shed his disguise, locked his pale eyes with yours, his voice carrying a note of resignation. "You should have stayed back," he told you. "She will have it her way, no matter what it takes," he continued, his gaze drifting towards the approaching town guards. The captain, who had previously assisted you, appeared beside you, his voice filled with surprise as he spoke. "You did it," he exclaimed, "You actually caught him..."

A nagging sense of wrongness crept over you as you observed the situation. It all felt too easy. How could this young man, this seemingly helpless individual, have defeated other jonin from various villages? How could he be solely responsible for the terrorizing of the village? Your supposed victory felt strangely hollow, as if the pieces of the puzzle didn't quite fit together. If this was the person responsible for the commotion, why hadn't he been apprehended earlier?

Your gaze lingered on the young man, observing as he silently accepted his fate, the guards quickly restraining him now that he was freed from the muddy trap, "Your reign of terror ends here." The captain exclaims, his masked face leaning towards the young man.

However, his words continued to echo in your mind, a sinister melody. "She will have it her way, no matter what it takes." Who he was referring to was unclear, and the possibility of there being another person behind the terrorizing acts only added to the mystery. Questions raced through your mind, but your body had finally caught up to the events of the day. The adrenaline wore off, and the sharp pain on your side became overwhelming, forcing you to close your eyes in pain. You glanced down at your vest, noticing the growing red spot on it. The wound was located right where the man had attacked you when you had selflessly pushed Toko away. Kenji, alarmed by your condition, quickly rushed to your side, concern etched on his face. "Sensei, you're hurt," he exclaimed, his voice filled with worry.

The guard's attention immediately shifted towards you as he registered your injury. "You're... hurt," he uttered, his voice filled with dread. "I'm so sorry," he apologized, but you shrugged it off, a hint of humor in your words, "Don't worry, he didn't stab me with his blade. He hurt me with my own weapon." His shoulders visibly relaxed as he exhaled, relieved to hear your reassurance. "I see," he finally responded. "I was worried for a moment. I wouldn't want our hero to suffer such a terrible fate." You could hear the smile on his face, “Thanks to all of you, we will finally live peacefully once more,”

Your students, ever humble, responded to the guard's gratitude with a sense of duty. "There's no need to thank us," Kenji explained, firmly supporting you from one side, "We're just doing our jobs." As the group moved along, Toko, who had been deep in thought, snapped out of his contemplation and quickly rushed to your side, firmly grasping your arm to provide additional support.

“Please, come to the hospital. Let us take care of your wound,” the captain offered, and you hesitantly agreed.

With the stitches in place and your injuries tended to, you finally made your way out of the village with a completed mission, guided by a sense of accomplishment yet plagued by an underlying dissatisfaction. The villagers cheered as you passed, celebrating your victory, but the lingering question of whether more of the perpetrators were still at large nagged at you. Despite the celebration, you couldn't shake off the feeling that the threat wasn't entirely neutralized. Nonetheless, you walked out the gates with your students, Toko and Kenji, both of them remaining quiet and tense but safe and sound.

Each step back felt like an eternity, your wounded body protesting with every movement you made. The pain radiated from your injury, making the journey seem considerably longer than it actually was. In a moment of misplaced stubbornness, you had refused to accept the offer of a full healing from the medical ninja who attended to you. Instead, you had insisted on merely receiving stitches and bandages, reasoning that there were patients who required the medics' attention more urgently than you did. As a result, you now found yourself regretting that decision, every step an agony.

As you kept walking, a sense of relief washed over you as you passed by the familiar cabin where you had once stayed at. There, the old lady, sitting on her porch, noticed you and instantly broke into a wide grin, eagerly waving at you in greeting.

Kenji and Toko both urged you to take a break, sensing your stubbornness but knowing you needed the rest. "We should stop here, Sensei," Kenji insisted, with Toko nodding in agreement as well. However, you protested, "I just want to get home as soon as possible." They were right, though. Your body was exhausted, and pushing yourself could lead to you collapsing before reaching your destination. With each step towards the cabin, time seemed to slow down, particularly for you as your injured side protested with every movement. Seeing your struggle, the old lady's expression immediately filled with worry as you approached her. "Oh, my dear..." The old lady quickly stood up upon noticing your uncomfortable demeanor and reached out to grasp your arms, gently guiding you inside the cabin. "Look at you, come, come," she said, her voice filled with maternal concern. "I will take care of you." Toko and Kenji followed closely behind, their concern matching hers.

Once you were inside, you chuckled apologetically, leaning heavily against the wall while clutching your wounded side. "We're sorry to bother you again," you said, wincing slightly. "I hoped you might have something for my pain?" The old lady, ever resourceful, began rummaging through her cabinets, and you watched as she took a jar filled with various herbs. "Of course," she replied, turning towards you. "But tell me, how did you get hurt?"

Your eyes carefully scanned the contents of the jar that the old lady had taken, before darting up to meet her gaze. "It was some rogue ninja," you explained, grimacing slightly. "Fortunately, he hurt me with my own weapon. Otherwise, I would’ve been poisoned," you continued, wincing as the pain flared. "But it still hurts like a bitch," you grumbled, shifting uncomfortably against the wall.

“I see,” she hums, pulling you towards the fireplace, “I’ll patch you up my dear, I have some soup ready too. I’ll pour you some after I take care of you,”

Toko's concern was evident as he glanced at your wounded side, his worry growing. "It's not bad, right?" he asked nervously. You attempted to soothe his concerns with reassurance, though your voice trembled slightly with pain. "It's just a small gash, Toko," you managed. The kind lady had already laid out a silk mat for you to rest on, and you gingerly laid down, wincing slightly as you did. The old lady then spoke up, shooing Toko and Kenji away. "How about you two boys start pouring the soups while I work on your teacher? Go, go,”

The old lady gently shooed Toko and Kenji away towards the kitchen, gesturing for them to go. You sighed, watching them leave as the lady began to tend to your wound, carefully removing your vest and lifting your shirt to reveal the injury. "Been a long day, hm?" she mused, her voice filled with warmth. As she poured some liquid onto the wound, you involuntarily hissed, the pain sharp and intense. “Yeah,” you managed to squeeze out. After a few moments of silence—and pure agony—your curiosity got the best of you.

You observed as the old lady skillfully mixed and crushed various herbs together, her expertise evident in her movements. "You seem to know a lot about medicine," you noted, your gaze fixed on her hands, "Yes, I was a medical nin back in the day," she replied, her smile warm and reminiscing. As she gently rubbed the herbs around your wound, you continued to observe her, intrigued by her past, "They even called me the 'miracle doctor,' but that's all just old news," she added, a hint of nostalgia in her voice.

Your eyes stayed fixed on her hands, watching intently as she poured more liquid onto your injury. "However, I barely have any chakra left to fully heal anyone anymore," she explained, her voice laced with a hint of regret. "I can only resort to medicine now," she continued, gently wrapping the bandages around your wound. Her words were interrupted by your suggestion, "Maybe you can help the people in the village," you proposed, your voice filled with hope. "You might have something that could help them, some sort of cure—,"

“Those people don’t want me, dear,” she shakes her head, “Trust me, I have tried,”

Your expression turned puzzled, "But why?" you asked, watching as she skillfully bandaged your stomach. "I was banished from my village, and am no longer welcomed," she replied, her voice steady and accepting. Once she finished, she handed you a bowl filled with a thick substance. "Here, drink this," she instructed. "It will help you with the pain." You obliged, lifting the bowl to your lips and taking a sip. The bitter liquid burned your throat as you swallowed, its thickness and heaviness leaving an unpleasant aftertaste. After swallowing the bitter liquid, you were left with a sour taste in your mouth, the experience far from enjoyable. Nevertheless, you mustered a grateful expression and thanked the old lady, though your face still showed signs of discomfort. "I don't understand," you finally voiced your confusion, turning your gaze towards her as she began organizing her medical supplies.

“It’s not for you to understand, dear,” she smiles, “Besides, I’ve come to term with it. I had a family and lived my life happily here. What more could I have asked for?” The smile that was plastered on her face was one of genuine happiness, and so you decided not to question any further.

After enjoying a meal and giving your body the rest it needed, you finally bid farewell to the old lady, expressing your gratitude for her assistance. She simply brushed off your thanks, insisting it was her duty to help those in need. As you waved goodbye and set off back towards the village, the journey seemed eerily similar to the one you had undertaken earlier. Although your wound had lost its initial stinging pain due to the medicine the old lady had given you, the trek back felt even longer and more arduous than before.

With your head feeling light and your body heavy, each step felt like a struggle. The only thought keeping you going was the idea of finally reaching the comfort of your own home. To your relief, the familiar gates of Konoha came into view, and you took the first step inside. A wave of relief washed over you, your smile growing bigger as you savored the feeling of being back in the safety of your village.

“Finally, back home,” you mumble, the boys stepping at each side of you, “Yeah,” Kenji sighed in relief as he uncrossed his arms, “You’ll… be going to the hospital?”

“I think I’ll go home and rest first,” you chuckle, rubbing your face tiredly, “I barely used any chakra but I feel like I did,”

"Then rest well. I'll see you later, sensei," Toko chimed in, his voice fading into the distance as he walked away. You couldn't help but frown as tension coiled in your stomach, a sense of dread settling over you as all your worries and unresolved issues assaulted you like a relentless wave. You exhaled deeply, turning to face Kenji, "Go home. You need to rest as well,”

“I barely did anything, you did all the work. All we did was stand by and watch,” he rubs his neck, “I’m sorry… if I acted out or anything like that,” he apologizes with a low head, “It’s never gotten this bad, ever,”

“You shouldn’t be apologizing to me,” you place a gentle hand on his shoulder, “We’ll work this out. The three of us. But right now, I’m more worried about our physical condition. Go home and take a break,” you smile, earning a nod from him. “I understand… see you around, sensei,” a small, yet gentle smile decorates his features, his feet guiding him away from you and towards his home.

Your exhaustion was evident as you rubbed your temple, letting out an exasperated sigh. "Right..." you murmured, your voice tinged with stress. "I need to file a report," you reminded yourself, recalling the formalities and paperwork needed to officially mark the mission as complete. Frustration and exhaustion weighed heavily upon you as you reluctantly began making your way towards the Hokage building, reluctant to face yet another task that stood between you and the sleep you longed for.

Every fiber of your being ached to collapse on the ground, and a familiar feeling of dizziness and disorientation washed over you once more. You couldn't understand why you felt so utterly exhausted, your annoyance growing with each passing second. This was a new level of tiredness, one you had never experienced before, not even during the traumatic days of war. The fatigue weighed heavily on you, and you found yourself becoming increasingly irritable as you struggled to push forward.

As you made your way across the bridge, your thoughts were abruptly interrupted as a familiar figure with silver hair caught your eye. A sense of curiosity washed over you, as you wondered why the man was there at all. You approached him, and as you drew closer, you noticed that he was standing near the river, gazing out at the water with a book in one hand and the other resting on the rail.

“Having fun, mister Hokage?” Your voice echoed and reached his ears, making him turn towards you and give you a welcoming smile. Not that you saw, you just assumed he smiled at the way his eyes formed a crescent.

“Ah, (Y/N), you’re finally back,” he greets, closing his book as he takes in your features, “Though, you seem a little worn out,”

“Well, the mission wasn’t exactly easy,” you cross your arms over your chest, “Not only that, but the boys also got into a crazy argument, I’ve got a lot on my plate,” you close your eyes and furrow your brows, “It’s never ending,”

“Ah, I’m sorry to hear that,” he says sincerely, “Don’t be. Anyways, what’s the oh-so-busy Hokage doing walking around the village reading?” You raise your brow at him, tilting your head slightly before clearing your throat. Your hand flies up and grips the bridge’s rail, feeling a little weak in the knees. “Just admiring the day. It’s about time I took a little walk and got out of that office,” he chuckles, looking at your face for a reaction before he suddenly becomes concerned.

“(Y/N)?” Your name escaped the man's lips as he noticed you leaning against the rail, your body visibly struggling to stay upright. "Are you alright?" he asked, concern evident in his voice as he took a step closer to you. Your eyes met his, but they were dull and weary.

“I don’t… feel so good,” you mumble, your balance giving up on you before you stumble forward, thankfully having him catch you right before you hit the ground. Your vision was becoming a blur, and you couldn’t quite hear anything except for a faint ringing sound. Has the exhaustion caught up to you? No, this was way different. Your stomach tingles and your skin feels… out of place. You felt hyper aware of everything, yet nothing at all. All you could see was the blur of Kakashi’s figure holding onto you.

As Kakashi caught you, worry began to consume him as he watched you slowly fade in and out of consciousness, “Shit! (Y/N)!” His eyes scanned your face and body, to search for anything that might be causing this, and they fell onto the red patch on your vest that was stained. As he pulled away the arm that had been covering the wound, he found his sleeve covered with your warm blood. You were bleeding. You were hurt. Whatever had happened to you needed to be treated immediately. Even though you were patched up, you were in dire need of even more medical assistance.

“I’ve got you, (Y/N). You’ll be okay,” were the last words you heard before fading into the dark unconsciousness.

Part 3 coming soon...

A/N: what do you guys think of it? I was planning on continuing it, but it was getting way too long, so I decided to split it into parts! Do you guys prefer this series short like the first part, or longer like this one? Also, most importantly, I hope you guys enjoy it!!

Tag list: @saltybloodtears @capynul @yuujifii @sammyxorae @babychunks10 @yourlocaljobstealer @hbessey89 @mammons-master (sorry if you didn’t want to be tagged!!! Please let me know if it bothers you!!)

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rosenclaws · 2 months ago

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Storytime (rainy days part ii) | Leopold Mountbatten x reader

summary: Leo has become the perfect guest and friend in your little shop and you realize that you can put him to good use as a children's story teller.

cw: fem!reader, fluff, me simping for leopold lol, poorly written story aksdfjl

a/n: okay so I wasn't sure what to do with this story but this idea popped into my head and I got to writing as soon as I could <33 I hope u like it!!

read part 1 here

Leopold was the best thing to happen to you. The moment he stopped into your store you knew he was something special. Then he explained everything about how he got here. To be honest you thought he was lying. I mean to think he came from the past?

But he seemed so sincere and there were things that just couldn't be explained that you believed him. The sincerity in his eyes drew you in and kept a hold on you.

When the rain let up you were sad, knowing that he had to go. He promised he'd come back and he did, over and over again. He's your friend, even if you fantasized about more, you're happy to be friends.

"Good morning Leo," You hand him a cup of tea which he gladly takes. He takes a sip and smiles.

"Perfect as always." You turn away as you bite your lip, not wanting him to see you flustered. It's not fair how easy he was able to reduce you to a giggling mess. He notices the stack of boxes by your door and sets down his cup to take a peek.

"Children's books?" He pulls out a few that he doesn't recognize. Some were picture books but others were chapter books.

"I realized I don't have many kids books here and I wanted to open up my stock to welcome all ages." You say as you pick the books out of his hand. You reach down to pick up a few boxes but Leopold beats you to it. He effortlessly picks up the boxes filled with books. Your eyes linger on his arms before turning your head away. Walking away towards the soon to be kids section.

"Over here would be perfect Leo," The door chimes alerting you to a customer and you quickly turn your attention to them. Leopold starts to unpack the books and put them away. He flips through a few picture books with curiosity. The children's books when he was a kid weren't nearly this colorful.

"That's my favorite!" He looks up to see a little girl pointing at the book in his hands.

"This one?" He glances at the cover, If you give a mouse a cookie. He scrunches his nose and shakes his head.

“Why would you ever give a rodent a cookie?" The girl giggles and sits down on the chair next to him.

"It's funny, because he just keeps asking for stuff." She looks at him with wide eyes, silently begging him to read the book. He sits on the ground and opens the book.

"If you give a mouse a cookie, he's going to ask for a glass of milk." He reads through the book, capturing the attention of a few other people. Leopold's voice is enchanting that's for sure.

"What a demanding mouse." "Read it again!" He laughs as the girls mother comes over, apologizing on behalf of her daughter. He stands and puts his hands behind his back.

"It's no trouble at all, It was a delightful story."

"Do you work here?" She asks sweetly.

"No, he's my friend." You step in with a smile.

“You should keep him around, it might be good for business." Leopold tilts his head in confusion as she leaves. "Keep me around?"

"I think she was flirting, though that's not a bad idea." You take a look at the stack of books and an idea pops into your head. He lifts his eyebrow as a smile spreads across your face.

"I need to ask you a favor."

–

That favor turned into many more as children's story time became a massive success. Of course you offered Leo a job and he quickly accepted. It was no brainer to him. Now he reads books every weekend and he’s got quite the knack for it.

It didn't matter what book he picked, he was able to weave a story that had both kids and adults listening to every word. You included. He was mesmerizing to watch. Though you noticed some of the adults were there just for Leopold, not that you could blame them. Even as you helped customers your eyes always went back to him. Sometimes he'd look over at you too. A bright smile as he sends you a wink that reduces you into a flustered mess every time.

This time though was a different story. The kids begged him to tell a new story, one they've never heard before. That caught your attention. People crowded around him as he thought for a moment. His eyes drifted to you, watching you work as everyone else waited for his story. A soft smile appears on his face as he launches into his story.

"Once upon a time there was a prince who fell through time." You recognize the story as his own but with a few tweaks. Turning his uncle into a villain who wants him to marry an evil witch and his friends into helpful animals who lead the prince to his true happy ending.

"The prince had been banished, lost in the rain with nowhere to go when suddenly he stumbled upon a small shop." All other tasks have been forgotten as you stand in the back of the crowd, your ears perk up, this is where you come in. You wonder what he'll have you be. Maybe a fairy?

"The prince entered the shop and inside of the shop," His eyes darted to where you're standing.

"Was the most beautiful maiden he had ever seen." You have to stop yourself from reacting, surely he's just exaggerating for the story right?

"She took him in, fed him and he told her his troubles." To your shock he weaves through the crowd until he's standing in front of you.

"What are you doing?" You whisper in a panicked tone.

"Telling a story," He whispers back.

"Whatever shall I do," He says louder, slipping back into character. The kids' eyes land on you as you stumble for something to say.

"You have to go back, your kingdom needs you." You try your best and it seems to work for him.

"You're right, I must go back to save my people." He grabs your hand and kisses your knuckles. He gently guides you through the crowd, having you sit and pretend to be kidnapped by the witch.

"Help me my prince," You say dramatically, placing your hand on your forehead. The kids laugh as he acts out the rest of the story. Using an old paper towel roll as a sword he "defeats" the witch and saves his kingdom.

"My hero," You tease as Leopold takes you in his arms. He smiles warmly and you can't help yourself. With a burst of confidence you lean in and kiss his cheek.

"Thank you for saving me," Leopold stands there stunned for a moment. Nervousness in your eyes as he doesn't react. What if you went too far? Worries start to swarm in your head until he snaps back to reality. He brushes his fingers along his cheek and smiles.

"Of course my princess." For a moment it's like everything disappears and it's just you and him. His cute floppy hair and gorgeous face, he really does look like a prince. The door chimes as people start to leave, pulling you from your fantasy.

"I uh, better go back to the register." You say shyly.

His hands drop from your sides as you rush past him. Thankfully the store is busy enough to keep you from having to face Leo for the rest of the day. Worries swarm in your head, wondering if you had just made the biggest mistake of your life.

It wasn't even a real kiss, just a kiss on the cheek and yet it feels like you can't go back. You don't even want to see him right now, fearing that if you look at him it will all come spilling out. When the last customer leaves you sigh in relief, flipping the sign to closed.

"Hello," You jump as you turn to see Leopold standing behind you.

"I thought you left already," You look at the ground as you try to walk away but he stops you.

"I apologize for bringing you into the story, I did not mean to make you uncomfortable." You feel guilty as he apologizes.

"Don't worry about it, I had fun." There's a few moments of silence before you speak again, wanting to hurry up and forget anything ever happened.

"I'm sorry for earlier,"

"Sorry for what?"

"The kiss. I'm sorry if It uh, it was uh..." You don't know what to say. You're a mess, a complete mess as he stares deeply into your eyes. Jesus it's like he fell out a fucking book sometimes. It all becomes too much. The words vomit from your mouth before you can stop yourself.

"Look Leopold, I really like you and I just, I'm sorry if I let my silly crush get in the way-Mmph!" Your words are cut off with his lips on yours. Your eyes flutter closed as you cup his face with your hands. His lips are soft and sweet. To your disappointment it ends too soon. His thumb runs along your lips as you both catch your breath.

"Forgive me for being so forward,” He whispers. “I, how did you put it, really like you too.” You laugh shyly and Leopold takes your hand.

“So my princess, Would you give me the honor of taking you on a real date.”

“Yes, but only because you saved me from an evil witch.” You joke, still feeling giddy.

His hands slip to your sides, holding you close as he leans in for another kiss. Your hands snake to his hair, tugging him closer until your back hits the counter and knocking over a pile of books. Though you could care less as you pull apart. His hair is a mess and you reach up to try and fix it. The store fills with quiet laughter as the two of you slowly fade into your own fairytale ending.

Maybe happily ever after isn’t just for books anymore.

#kate and leopold #leopold mountbatten x reader #hugh jackman x reader #leopold mountbatten

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whumpsday · 4 months ago

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Kane & Jim #56: Else

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: recovery and lots of it, angst, sickfic, accidental emotional whump, fear of starvation, vampire whumpee, whumper turned whumpee (turned caretaker), reunions

Whumpmas in July Day 18: "Or else"

i'm sorry for being so slow with k&j chapters! i'm going to try to be quicker with them in the future. here's one people have been waiting for for a very long time!

“You’re sick.”

Jim blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“You’re sick,” Kane repeated, taking another sip from the bowl. One of his last bowls before he was to start finding his own elsewhere. “I can taste it.”

“What? What kind of sick? Is it serious?” Jim asked with increasing urgency. Kane could see it in his eyes: he knew fear, and he hated to see it in Jim.

He wanted more than anything to reassure him, but he couldn’t lie. “I-I don’t know?” he admitted. “I don’t know much of human illnesses. You seem… fine?”

“Shit. Shit shit shit.” Jim grabbed his coat. “I’ll be back soon. I gotta… go to the doctor, or something. Door,” he warned.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you’ll be okay! You can’t even feel it! You’re a healthy young man!” Kane assured him, ducking into the kitchen.

“Thanks for warning me!” Jim’s voice was laden with nerves. A flash of sunlight made Kane shiver, and he only returned to the living room when it was gone.

Kane knew what this meant: Jim would likely not finish out the week. This was his last meal given. He would have to go to vampire territory tonight, or else he would have nothing to eat come tomorrow. He had to find blood tonight, or else he’d starve. He’d go back to that horrible, empty state, always wanting, always in pain.

He knew Jim wouldn’t really let that happen, but it wasn’t fair to rely on him for blood forever, either. Kane had taken enough, with and without permission. It was Jim’s turn to rest.

Still, the fear of hunger never left him. It was a part of him now, permanently, no matter how much he fed.

And this meant one thing. The thing he’d been putting off and dreading since Jim set him free.

He would have to go to vampire territory and talk to his parents. He knew already that it would not go over well. Father would be either furious or crushingly disappointed that he’d allowed himself to be humiliated by humans, and he wasn’t sure which was worse. Mother would undoubtedly be the latter. He wondered, not for the first time, if they preferred him ‘dead’.

It shouldn’t matter. He knew now that they weren’t… good people. He could see that. He had a new family of sorts, now that Jim had taken him in.

But Jim wasn’t his legal next of kin, and Jim wasn’t the one he had to ask if he wanted his money returned so he could buy blood.

He could always get a job. But it seemed ridiculous to do when he had money sitting right there, and he would likely be found by his parents at some point anyway. There was no avoiding it forever.

Kane drank the bowl down quickly.

It was a flu, apparently. Nothing life-threatening, but it set Jim’s anxieties alight. His parents had died of illness, he explained.

While Kane had managed to catch it early, Jim started to devolve within a few hours of arriving home.

Kane knocked on his bedroom door. “Jim? Can I come in?”

“Ugh. Yeah,” he agreed.

Carefully balancing the tray, he entered. He found Jim curled up in bed, looking miserable.

“I’ve brought you lunch.” He’d been practicing his human food skills. He was still quite afraid of the stove, so though he used it when feeling especially brave, he mainly stuck to things that didn’t require cooking. He’d written down several combinations of foods that humans found appetizing, which could often be served in between slices of bread as a ‘sandwich’.

But he needed a tray instead of a plate, because despite his strength, he simply didn’t have enough hands to carry the six cups of water circled around it.

“Lotta water,” Jim noted weakly, grabbing a glass and taking a sip when Kane brought it close. His hand shook, the liquid threatening to spill. Kane watched it close, ready to steady it in a heartbeat if Jim needed him to.

He spoke gently, like he was worried speaking too loud would break Jim in his fragile state. “...Like I’d mentioned, I don’t know much about human illness. Most of what I know comes from you. I just remember… you wanted a lot of water, last time.”

He thought about that time a lot. How he was so close to losing Jim, because he was too proud to listen.

“Ah. Yeah.” Jim wouldn’t look him in the eye. “I remember.”

Kane set the tray down. “I should have taken better care of you,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I mean–I shouldn’t have had you in the first place, but I did, and you were my responsibility, and I didn’t care for you like I should have.” A hint of tears in his eyes, he took Jim’s unusually-sweaty hand. “I’ll do better this time. Anything you need, I’ll be there.”

That earned a small smile from Jim. “Guess it isn’t so bad being waited on. ‘Specially because you can’t get sick, right?” The smile faded. “…Right?”

“I can’t,” Kane assured him. “You don’t need to worry. Just rest, and I’ll take care of anything you need.”

Jim huffed an almost-laugh. “You really changed, man.”

Liz did come over to visit come nightfall, which was good, since despite his promises, Kane had to leave. He didn’t like the thought of leaving Jim alone at night. He knew it made him scared, and Jim deserved to never feel afraid ever again. She brought a container of soup, a yellow liquid with colorful plants and large white orbs floating in it.

He waited, patient, until Liz emerged from Jim’s room. “Liz?”

“Hey. Thanks for looking after him,” Liz said.

“Of course!” The praise spread warmly through him. “There’s, um, something I wanted to talk to you about, if you have the time? Advice, I suppose.”

“Shoot,” she encouraged, flopping over on the couch.

Kane took a deep breath. “So, um, I assume now is a good time to start getting my own blood.”

“Yyyyeah.” Liz shot a glance to the stairs leading to Jim’s room. “I’d say that’s about right.”

“Blood… isn’t free. I have the money–had the money, but I’ve likely been assumed dead for many years. I’ll need to go to my parents to get it back,” he explained. “My parents are not kind people, I’ve come to realize.”

Liz raised an eyebrow, but politely refrained from making any comments about his former obliviousness. “You think they won’t give it back? Isn’t there, like, laws? This can’t be the first time this has happened with vampires, you guys are too good at not dying.”

“No! No, that’s not it, they’d give it back. It’s just, um, they’ll be… quite upset with me, I think. Especially my father.” He sighed. “I didn’t want to talk about it with Jim. I was worried he would feel pressured into giving me more blood than he’s comfortable with. I don’t know. It shouldn’t be as big a deal as it is. I’ve been through so much worse, I don’t understand why this is so terrifying. I suppose I’ve just never failed this badly before.”

“Hey, you made it out of five years with those monsters, alive. Bet there’s not a lot of vampires who could say that,” Liz pointed out.

“Ah, that’s just… not how Father would see it,” Kane said vaguely. Humans were supposed to be the weak ones. The fact that it took him five years to be freed, and he couldn’t even do it himself, would make him an utter embarrassment in their eyes.

And it was all because he couldn’t use persuasion. Everything they’d always believed about him, proven true.

Liz pursed her lips, lost in thought for a moment. “I don’t remember my parents that well,” she admitted. “I know yours suck pretty bad. I don’t think you have to admit more than you need to, right? Like, do they even need to know where you’ve really been? You could just make something up, for the sake of keeping the peace.”

“Make something up…” Kane murmured. He shook his head. “I’m not a very good liar. They’d see right through me. It’s fine, actually, the more I talk about it, the more I realize I’m being a bit ridiculous.” He forced a laugh. “It’s one uncomfortable conversation and then I can come back home.”

“You’ve got this.” Liz patted him lightly on the back, a modification from her usual clap she’d learned tended to scare him. “You’re tough.”

Kane certainly didn’t feel ‘tough’.

“Thank you. It was nice to at least… get it out of my system. Oh, and congratulations. Jim told me about you and Laken.”

Liz smiled. “After what happened, I just knew I had to say something, you know? If they could just be taken from me at any moment. Stuff happens. People die. I didn’t want something to happen to one of us before I could tell them how I feel.”

She stood. “I can give you one more night’s worth, maybe two. If you need some time to think about it and all.”

Kane startled. He and Liz had grown far more amicable over the past months, but he hadn’t expected this from her.

Maybe he should have. It wasn’t the first time. He thought of Jim, on that first night, vehemently denying Liz’s offer to provide blood, vowing to do it himself.

“...Thank you. That means so, so much to me. It’s alright, though. I’ll go tonight,” he decided.

“Good luck. We’ll be here when you get back,” she promised.

And that was all he really needed, in the end.

Kane got up, heading to the door with a quick glance back to make sure it was alright. For the freedom he’d earned, he hadn’t gone more than ten feet from the house since he’d returned with Laken. But of course, Liz made no move to stop him. “I’ll see you soon.”

The night was as beautiful as ever, even in the cool autumn air. He liked it better this way, in fact. It made it more comfortable to wear more clothing, the long pants and long sleeves and jacket he liked, especially when he ran. When he went this fast, he hardly felt the cold, and his mind was occupied elsewhere.

What if his parents made demands of him in exchange for their help? What if they expected him to return to vampire territory, to isolate himself out of the way in a socially-acceptable manner? Now that he’d tasted true companionship, he almost couldn’t bear to give it up. And what about Jim? Ever since Laken’s abduction, he’d been more scared at night. The very least Kane owed him was his protection.

His petty worries disappeared the instant he realized he could hear a vehicle coming closer.

Kane ran faster, opposite the sound. He’d likely been pushing fifty miles an hour before, and could make sixty if he tried–but he was out of practice, and the vehicle was faster.

A glance behind him showed moonlight glinting off a silver crossbow.

“I have permission!” he wailed as the off-roader gained, heart threatening to burst from his chest. This couldn’t happen, not again, no. Jim and Liz wouldn’t even think to look for him until a day had passed, a day that could easily be spent baking in the hot sun. “Liz Lieberman granted me permission to cross! Please, I didn’t do anything! Mercy!”

“Kane?” an unfamiliar voice called. The vehicle caught up to him, but there was no attack. “Oh shit, it’s you!” the driver said. “It’s so dark, I almost didn’t recognize you from the picture Laken showed us. Thanks for bringing ‘em back.”

Kane slowed, just a bit. “What?” he squeaked, tears streaming down his face.

The hunter in the passenger seat elbowed his partner, making quick movements with his hands that Kane could not understand. A signed language of some sort, he assumed. Though he didn’t know much about such things, other than that spoken orders under persuasion often didn’t work on humans who utilized it.

“Uh, my partner wants to know if you’re good? Like, you’re alright?” The driver asked. “Did we scare you? Sorry. Just, uh, you know, gotta be quick with the other guys. One second wasted and you miss ‘em, and that’s someone’s whole life, y’know.”

“Oh. Um, yes, you’d–you’d frightened me. I’m sorry.” Kane wasn’t quite sure what he was apologizing for. “Am I… free to go, sirs?”

“Yeah! Yeah, you can go… sir? Shoot, don’t let us keep you,” the hunter assured.

The one in the passenger seat made more hand-signs, waving him goodbye after. “Nice to meet you!” the other translated, finally driving away.

Kane picked up speed again and didn’t stop until he was sure he’d left the border far behind. He collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.

He was so close to going back to the pain. If they hadn’t recognized him, he would have been skewered with silver–likely soon killed, not tortured, given they were from Liz’s guild, but still, he would have died in pain. No matter how hard he breathed, he felt like he couldn’t get enough air, and he wasn’t sure if it was that he’d been sprinting for too long or the sheer horror.

He wanted Jim. He wanted Jim to hold him and tell him everything was alright, that he was safe, that no one was going to hurt him. But Jim was miles and miles away, and could not help him here.

And he couldn’t cry on the ground forever. He was burning moonlight, and he needed blood.

Kane forced himself to his feet and wrapped his arms around him. If he squeezed his eyes tight, he could pretend he wasn’t alone, for just a moment.

After a minute like that, he started running once more.

By the time Kane reached his parents’ estate, he’d mostly calmed down. It was hard to feel as though hunters would ambush him out of nowhere when he went deep enough into vampire territory to see buildings and people. Any hunter here would be apprehended in seconds.

He touched the gate, brass-coated, though he knew there was silver underneath. There seemed to be some sort of electronic device attached to it, a new addition since his last visit, but he wasn’t sure how to use it. He could climb it, or simply shout, and one of the staff would likely hear him. If he wanted to be extra polite, which he did, he could simply stand here until someone came or went and ask to be let in.

And then that would be it. Kane would be standing face-to-face with his parents. He would accept Father’s ire without complaint. He’d had worse, he reminded himself, even when it came to the comparable. The hunters had spit on him while calling him worthless, ground his face into the floor while forcing him to decry himself as beneath them. It had been so much worse.

His hand shook against the gate.

You’ve really changed, man.

Had he? If he was still back here, ready to take whatever judgments his parents threw at him, debase himself and eagerly beg for their forgiveness, had he really changed? There were humans in there. Captive, hurt humans who he could never in a thousand years be able to free if he tried, locked away in their quarters. What happened to all his regrets? His vows that he would never associate with anything of the sort again?

What would he have done differently here before, if he’d realized back then everything he knew now?

Kane left.

It took him a bit to find it, he hadn’t been to this town before, but it wasn’t far, and he knew the address.

There was a different kind of dread this time. If he was rejected here, it might be even worse than his parents. But as he rang the doorbell, he knew this was what he had to do.

The man who answered looked almost exactly the same as the last time he’d seen him, thirteen years ago. The same dark skin, perfect hair, typically garishly-colorful shirt.

Bellamy’s eyes went impossibly wide, as though he’d seen a ghost.

“Kane?”

taglist in reblogs, chapter 57 coming july 30th :)

edit: sorry i was wrong about july 30th. it's coming thoooo i promise

@whumpmasinjuly

#kane and jim #whump #my writing #vampire whumpee #vampire whump #sickfic #angst #recovery whump #accidental whump #whumper turned whumpee #whumpmasinjuly2024 #wij24day18

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millervrse · 3 months ago

Text

❝ BY THE COFFEE MACHINE ❞ javier peña x reader

summary: Javier Peña doesn’t like you. You’re too nice, too bubbly, and you get on his last nerve. He didn’t get how anybody in this line of work could be so goddamn cheery all the time. Though aside from your, in his eyes, forced and fake kindness, you had no bad features, and perhaps that, added to your beauty, is what ticked him off so much. Could he learn to like you the more time passes, or would you do this dance of hatred forever?

pairing: javier peña x afab!reader

warnings, notes: EVENTUAL 18+ smut, r! has a bit of an established backstory, a few uses of y/n but only when necessary, r! has a dog, references to narcos and thus real life people and occurrences (pablo escobar, the cartel, dea, etc), ENEMIES TO LOVERS but it’s one sided because javier hates r!, r! has an established personality, grumpy x sunshine, workplace setting, javier and r! are coworkers, use of cigarettes

word count: 2.6k+

LYN SPEAKING! so this is the first chapter of, again, a finished piece that was written nearly a year ago. you can read the prologue here! and again, this is all from javier’s pov, but i’m going to throw in some nsfw chapters using second person for the economy so, yeah! enjoy! lyn out!

DO YOU WANNA KNOW? @bishtrouille @axshadows @troubledsoul-black let me know if you’d like to be added!

“Coffee,” I said simply. Her smile softened a little, and she raised her eyebrows in confusion. “What?” she asks. ❝ YOU'RE BLOCKING THE COFFEE MACHINE ❞

CHAPTER 1: FIRST IMPRESSIONS

COLUMBIA, SEPTEMBER 1982

For once in our lives of chaos, the madness had died down, and there was no new news regarding the man who had been the focus of our missions for months now.

Pablo Emilio Escobar Gaviria: A drug dealer, and a major pain in my ass.

In the years that I’ve worked Escobar’s case, the man has put the DEA, and the whole of Columbia, for that matter, through hell and back. A war of drugs has been going on under our noses, and the man behind it is an evasive ghost.

We haven’t found him because he doesn't want to be found.

Days in the office have been passing by slowly. With no new leads, and little for us to do, we’re at a loss here. Can’t tell you how much time I’ve used clicking my pens or looking through the same case files over and over again, just to see if something appears that wasn’t there before.

It hasn’t happened yet.

For the third time that morning, I got up from my seat to get a cup of coffee, since having drained mine. Murphy’s eyes snapped to mine from where he sat across from me, and he raised an eyebrow.

Murphy was the guy I’d been working with on the drug cases for a few months, and we’ve come to be pretty friendly with each other during that time. Thus, his first words when he sees me get out of my seat.

He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head at me. “You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack with all that damn caffeine,” he remarked, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his chair.

I shrugged, throwing away the paper coffee cup that I’d been drinking out of. “Murphy,” I scoffed, crossing my arms to mirror him. “If there’s a damn thing in this world that’s going to give me a heart attack, it’s going to be Escobar, not coffee.”

Murphy sighed in response. I could tell the guy was just as done with Escobar’s shit as me, even if he was better at not discussing it than me. He shrugged and rubbed his forehead before responding, “Yeah, fair enough. Drink away.”

I nodded at him, then made my way to the door.

As I made my third journey that day down to the coffee machine, I passed by the hallway where the ambassador’s office was. What was already a shitty day only worsened by the feeling I got in my gut only by looking at her door.

It was hard at the DEA, Murphy and I being the main people assigned to this case, the only two men in the world who knew as much about Escobar and his cartel as the man himself.

And regardless of that, what we knew was minimal.

While the ambassador wasn’t really our boss, just walking by her office was enough to remind me of the drug cases: And that we weren’t getting a damn thing out of them.

I shook off the feelings that crossed over me then and there, and just went on walking.

I was veering the corner to go to our break room, where the coffee machine was, when I heard and saw a view I surely hadn’t when I clocked in this morning.

“Where can I put my things?” a feminine voice rang out from down the hallway, the voice filled with a sort of cheer that wasn’t very common from those who worked here in the DEA building.

My eyes snapped to the speaker before my brain could even process it.

There was a woman at the very end of the hallway I was in, holding a brown box, presumably the “things” she had been referring to mere seconds ago. My eyebrows raised fairly quickly: I had never seen her in the office.

Because I’m sure I’d remember a face like that.

It was impossible to miss her. Her eyes seemed to mesmerize the man she was speaking to, because he was looking at her with an expression usually saved for old, married couples.

He wasn’t the only one.

I couldn’t take my damn eyes off of her: I was drawn to her appearance, and she wasn’t releasing her hold. There was a serious and assured, yet honeyed way about her. Her eyes and smile spoke volumes to what I assumed was a kind persona, but her attire, a white collared shirt, black slacks, belt, and tie, vouched for her professionalism.

It made me uneasy to get so much from her based on her appearance alone. So that was when I whirled on my heel, all but jogging back to where Murphy was.

I loped back to the room with a concerning pace, closing the door quickly behind me. Murphy’s head snapped up, and he looked at me with a concerned expression.

“Hey, hey, hey, Murphy,” I said in a hoarse voice, a little out of breath from getting here so quickly. I took a second to relax, then asked, “Who’s that girl?”

Murphy’s eyebrows raised up, and he looked at me like I’d just asked him to marry me. “What girl?” he asked as his face scrunched up in cluelessness.

I let out a huff and opened the door again to see where the woman had gone. Then, I came back in the room and waved to the window. “That girl there. All the way down the hallway,” I clarified.

Murphy got up and looked through the window that showed the hallway outside of it. His eyes landed on the woman’s, and a look of realization crossed over his face. “Oh. Oh, yeah. That’s the new girl. I think her name is Y/N,” said Murphy.

I looked at Murphy with a furrowed brow when he said that. “You knew?”

Murphy shrugged and nodded, walking back to his chair and sitting down. “I heard some folks whispering about her. She was pretty popular in her old job, I think, skilled in her field. That’s why everyone’s talking about her,” he shrugged, like the fact was common knowledge.

“And no one was gonna tell me?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Uh, no, I guess not. Why would it matter, anyways? She won’t be working with us that much,” he responded.

“She won’t? Why not?” I asked curiously. Why was she up here, then?

“No, she’ll be working with the coaches, training the dogs for drug sniffing. She’ll be around, but—” Murphy explained, but then he suddenly cut himself off. He cocked an eyebrow. “Wait a second, why does this even matter to you, Peña?”

That got me to shut up real quick.

For one of the first times in my life, I was at a loss for words. I licked my lips as I tried to pick my brains for a response that would make sense.

But my mind was abandoned, way too preoccupied to give him a reason. Sooner or later, I just shook my head, giving myself a way out of this conversation.

“It doesn’t,” I shrugged, walking over to my desk. I ruffled through the drawers for a second, before grabbing the final cigarette from the box that I always had with me.

I took a deep breath as I made a note to myself to get more, before saying, “I just wanna know who I’m working with.”

Murphy nodded, though he didn’t really look convinced.

But the good thing was, if there was one thing Murphy knew about me, it was to never push my words. He picked up the case file that he’d been working on when I walked in the room and simply mumbled, “Yeah, okay.”

I sighed in relief, glad that he had just dropped the issue; I seriously didn’t want to talk about this right then and there. Talk about a woman.

I left the room without so much as another word, perching the cigarette in my mouth before I had even made it out of it. I usually smoked in the office, not giving much of a shit to our boss’ wish for me not to.

But today, I obliged, making my way down the lift to go outside.

When I walked through the lobby and through the doors to exit the building, I mulled over the morning that I’d just had. Escobar’s doings may not be in plain view now, but a new sense of chaos was clearly ready to take the podium.

I lit the cigarette as I leaned on a pillar in front of the building, rubbing my forehead as a migraine began to form there. I exhaled puffs of smoke from my nose and lips, praying that it’d ease all the tension in my figure.

Fuck, what was even going on with me? Who was this girl, and why the hell was one glance her way driving me crazy?

She was just a woman. That’s all she was. And I’ve had countless experiences with women, an art that I knew like the back of my hand. I knew my way around them, and I wasn’t looking to get wrapped up in one at any point, at any time.

I’d just have to pray that this wouldn’t cause any problems in the workplace for me.

I’d have to have hope, and a hell of a goddamn lot of it.

I was walking back up to the breakroom after I’d got back to the building half an hour later. After all, I hadn’t even gotten that cup of coffee I’d been craving before leaving to have a smoke.

But when I walked in the room, I didn’t envision the first person I’d see inside of it.

The new girl.

There she was in front of me again, the same vibe that had emitted from her earlier in my presence once more: Only, it was closer to me now. She was conversing with a male coworker of mine, and they seemed to be engaged in some happy go lucky discussion, because the woman was grinning from ear to ear.

“Yeah, I figured, why not? My dog is my best friend, and I don’t want to leave her home all of the time while I’m working, you know?” she giggled as coffee poured from the coffee machine she was next to.

The man, whose name I didn’t even know, chuckled in response. “That’s crazy. So they just let you bring her, huh? And you’re gonna train her up with the other dogs?” the man asked her.

She nodded, flashing him a smile that seemed to glare off the walls. “Yeah! Pretty cool, isn’t it? I’m glad they let me. I wasn’t really sure they would,” the woman laughed, picking up her cup and taking a long sip out of it.

The man was about to answer, when his eyes finally met mine, acknowledging my presence for the first time since I’d walked in the damn room. This caused the woman to look at me too, only smiling at me.

“Yeah, well, I’m sure your dog will do well. Shepherds are pretty big, and the ones we already have do a good job,” he murmured, looking down at the ground. “Anyway, I should get back to work. You have yourself a good day, Y/N. And good luck.”

So that was her name. Guess Murphy didn’t lie.

“Peña,” he said with a professional nod and awkward smile. Then, he left the room.

When it was just her and I in there, we looked at each other for several long seconds. My eyes glazed over her, fully analyzing her appearance now that she was so much closer to me.

I furrowed my eyebrows.

I don’t know what it was about this girl that was seriously getting to me.

She was just different.

And I couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” she smiled widely at me, putting her coffee cup down to offer her hand to me before giving me her last name. “I’m new to the DEA, if you couldn’t tell. It’s my first day. What’s your name?” she asked.

Her kindly demeanor unsettled me, being both refreshing and alarming. Most of the men and women on this job worked with somber faces. No feelings, small talk, laughs or smiles. Just work, work, work. It was bizarre to see someone in the DEA building beaming, like we worked in some candy shop.

Didn’t she have any idea what this job encompassed?

“Coffee,” I said simply. Her smile softened a little, and she raised her eyebrows in confusion.

“What?” she asks.

��You're blocking the coffee machine,” I clarified for her. Sure enough, she looked to her side to see that I wasn’t lying about that. She murmured a quick, “Sorry,” then moved out of the way.

“Yeah,” I groaned in response. I grabbed one of the paper coffee cups near the machine, then got to fixing myself a cup.

To my surprise, she didn’t leave the room. She crossed her arms behind me, and I could see her looking over me out of the corner of my eye. I could tell she had the urge to speak, but didn’t know how to do so.

Black coffee poured from the maker when she finally opened her mouth. “I haven’t gotten your name yet,” she murmured.

I let out a sigh, wondering why she even needed to know it. “What does it matter?” I replied without a care in the world, looking for creamer in the drawers below the machine.

“I don’t know. It doesn’t, I suppose. I just want to know,” she answered. Then, she perked up, looking at me with a new sense of hope in her eyes. I craned my head towards her for only a second, just to see that same pearly white smile she’d been wearing across her face earlier. “Do you work on this floor, too?”

I closed the paper cup with a lid as she spoke, not even realizing that I’d forgotten to add creamer to it. “Name’s Peña. Javier Peña. And I don’t do small talk,” I replied composedly, turning my body to face her. Clearly, I had yet to get used to her appearance. I’m pretty sure my heart dropped down to my ass when I laid my eyes on her again.

However much I didn’t want to talk to her, there was a fact that remained true, regardless of how it was I was feeling.

She was fucking gorgeous.

Even with my semi rude remark, she smiled at me nevertheless, giving me a little shrug. “Fair enough. It’s not everyone’s thing, especially early in the morning. I get it, Peña—”

“Agent Peña. And no, it’s not,” I said back to her. I was just about ready to leave the room, when she grabbed me by the arm, causing me to pause in my tracks.

“Wait,” she said, clearly doing her best to cling to this conversation for as long as she could.

“What?” I snapped. Though, I didn’t move her hand away.

“Do you know an Agent Murphy? I’ve been looking for him,” she asked very quickly, tilting her head. I raised an eyebrow: She had my attention with that one.

“Murphy? Yeah, he’s my partner. Why, what do you want with him?” I asked curiously, facing my body back towards hers.

“He was supposed to give me some case files on drugs, mainly cocaine. I’m going to be working with the dogs, training them on sniffing out drugs and things like that, so I kind of need them.”

I sighed, trying not to roll my eyes at her. “He’s in the office down the hall. I’ll take you there,” I annoyedly offered. That’s where I was going, anyways, so I didn’t have much of a choice.

“Great! Thank you so much. Lead the way,” she grinned in a brilliant smile, signaling to the door. I grumbled and nodded, before making my way down the hall to Murphy and I’s shared office.

What was it I was saying earlier about hope?

if you made it to the end of this, i really hope you liked it! please consider leaving a reblog, as they help my work immensely <3 kisses!

#javier peña #javier pena smut #javier pena narcos #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #narcos

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blog-name-idk · 5 months ago

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The Plot Twist | 05

Written by @blog-name-idk and @eserethriddle

Summary: Once upon a time you would have jumped at the chance to live the idol girlfriend life. The cameras, the action, the whirlwind romance. But what was once a dream has now become your worst nightmare, and you fully intend to fight the universe as it repeatedly conspires to set you up with your seven perfectly good soulmates from Bangtan Sonyeondan.

In which we punt Y/N into all the fanfiction tropes and you do your feral best to subvert the love story.

Because nani the fuck, you are The Plot Twist.

Pairing: OT7 X Fem!Reader

Genre: Soulmate!AU, crack, humor, idol!AU, light angst, slow burn, romantic comedy, just a fun silly old time

Rating: 18+

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Chapter 5: "It's fine! South Korea has universal healthcare coverage!"

Of three things you are absolutely certain. First, soulmates exist. Second, the universe – and you don't know how potent its power may be – runs on some sort of karmic imbalance. And third, you are unconditionally, and irrevocably, fucked.

It is raining.

In a rare, extremely odd fit of forethought, you actually have an umbrella in your bag. Normally, you would scoff at weather predictions and dare the clouds to do their worst. But today, you found yourself grabbing your umbrella before leaving for your commute, and the skies that have darkened into an ominous, storm-like gray after your work shift do not phase you at all.

Today, your undoing lies in a different kind of disaster preparedness.

Hard water pelts down almost as if it is herding you, and you hurry from the assault of the rippling sky to the awning of a closed coffee shop to grab your umbrella. Expletives spew from your lips as you dig through your messy bag. You're so focused that you barely register someone also taking refuge from the sudden storm – a man wearing a mask and a bucket hat, but is shivering through a wet, black long sleeved t-shirt that's sticking to what looks like a very toned body.

Not that that's the type of thing you typically notice or anything.

"Found you!" you screech excitedly as you pull out your umbrella and brandish it at the sky. The man beside you flinches, like you're about to attack him, and you give him a disdainful look.

"S-sorry," he mutters, the brim of his hat still hiding his eyes. "I thought you meant something else."

Something else? Is he on the run from the mob, or fleeing the national military? The incredibility of either prospect nearly makes you snicker, but whatever, you need to get home before the storm gets –

BOOM!

– worse.

The thunderclap makes both of you jump, and you wince at the realization that the rain is coming down even harder. Unforgiving sheets of water pour down, and you can barely see even a few feet past the awning. Maybe you can get an Uber instead…

You pull out your phone to see no bars. No data, no phone signal, nothing. The guy next to you is shivering even more violently now, and you internally sigh. You can't just ignore him, not when helplessness is wafting off him in tenebrous waves.

"Do you have a ride coming?" you ask reluctantly, wishing you had been raised to be more selfish. Your mother does whatever the hell she wants, why hasn't she taught you the same? Though, to be fair, she probably would have been able to get the rain to stop by glaring. Perhaps someday, in your final form, you'll be just as powerful.

The man wilts and shakes his head, and you’re alarmed when you hear a sniffle. Shit, you are not equipped to handle a crying man. You're not even equipped to handle your own emotions.

"I – I left rehearsal because I had a fight with my hyung," the guy begins to share, morosely wiping his face with a wet hand that only leaves more moisture behind. His voice quivers, and despite your misgivings, the piteous sight of him tugs at your heartstrings. "And now I'm lost. I only have my phone, and it’s useless right now."

You start to feel a little sympathy for someone who's clearly been having a bad day. You're about to offer to share your umbrella to the nearest train station when he finally looks straight at you, meeting your eyes for the first time.

The patch of skin behind your ear suddenly tingles and–

Oh.

The rain falls, lightning cracks, and your stomach drops in time with the crash of thunder that follows. Yet you can barely hear it over the sudden pounding of your heartbeat.

"Do you… Could you… If it's not too much trouble, could I walk with you to the train station?" Jeon Jungkook pleads, large doe-eyes gazing brilliantly at you from half of an unmistakable face.

This… is why you felt like bringing an umbrella today? Because of the universe and its cosmic–fucking–intervention?

The man across you fidgets, growing self-conscious as he waits for your answer. For a few long seconds, all you can do is stare numbly at him.

Are you going to have to assume every man you run into these days is one of your soulmates? How is this even possible?

You reach your decision in less than a minute.

Dejectedly, you hold out your umbrella wordlessly to Jungkook, and his face lights up. His smile does something unspeakable to your heart that you refuse to acknowledge. His expression scrunches – cutely, to your dismay – in confusion when you just hand him the umbrella. You shove a few crumpled bills from your back pocket into his free hand, careful not to touch his skin, and he looks completely baffled.

"For the train fare," you manage to choke out, already backing away into the unforgiving rain. It's coming down so hard the pelting drops almost hurt, but this is infinitely preferable to whatever the fuck the alternative is.

"What…? No! You don't have to – I just wanted to share – "

"It's fine!" you call over your shoulder, already twenty meters away and sopping wet in the opposite way to what the universe was probably trying to contrive. "Just get home safe! I'm sure your hyung is worried!"

With that you're off, leaving a very confused and equally charmed idol behind. Jungkook stares after the strange, kind girl, wondering why it feels like you're running away.

Pondering, he scratches the tattoo behind his ear.

He’s just about to run after you, but then his phone buzzes in his pocket, and he opens it in surprise to see a wall of text messages.

How odd. The signal bars are full now.

At the influx of messages from his hyungs, his argument with Jimin at the rehearsal studio floods back into his mind, and Jungkook sniffles again and dials the familiar number.

"What do you want?" answers a grumbling Jimin, filling Jungkook's chest with guilt.

"Hyung, I'm so sorry!" Jungkook cries, blubbering in earnest now, the familiar voice opening the floodgates until his tears almost match the tempest around him.

"Don't call me!" his hyung scolds, clearly still angry. And yet, he picked up the call when he could have just ignored him. Jungkook hears Jimin sigh, the sound static and long. "Fine. Where are you?"

"I don't know," Jungkook whimpers as another crack of lightning cleaves the air. Thunder follows soon after, and he hopes that you're okay, wherever you've gone.

“What do you mean you ‘don’t know’?!” Jimin demands, suddenly all love, all worry. "Tell me where you are and I'll come get you."

Ah… warmth. This is what his team has taught him: brotherhood, love, and family. To be angry, to piss each other off, but in the end be willing to drop everything to help one another.

Something the stranger had done despite having no need to.

"I don't know where I am," Jungkook replies, already feeling a little better. "But I'll take a taxi home. S-someone gave me some money."

"Come safely. I'll wait outside for you."

Before Jungkook can protest, Jimin hangs up. The maknae can't help but smile despite how stressful the day has been. Between his team members and the kindness of the girl from earlier, his chest feels warm and fuzzy, driving away the cold and the gloom of the gray skies and icy rain.

He just wishes he had gotten your name.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Fuck.

You wake with a head full of cotton and a nose more clogged than a toilet at an American WacDonald's. Feeling like death, you drag yourself out of bed to the bathroom, force yourself into a scalding hot shower that – for a blessed moment – clears your sinuses. You get ready for work, and by the time you're ready, you at least look put together, though inside you're already wishing you could crawl back under your covers.

Any other time, you might have taken a day off to not inflict your coworkers with your germs, but today is that stupid executive meeting and you can't afford to miss it.

You pop some cold medicine into your mouth, mask up, and get to work early, because despite your utter lack of care when it comes to your personal life, you are a demon in the office.

"[Y/n]!" calls Mijoo, one of your favorite administrative assistants. It's for that reason and that reason alone that you pull your head away from your screen to give her a smile she probably can't see through the cloth of your mask.

"Hey," you greet, clearing your throat and relieved you haven't hit the "uncontrollable cough" stage of your cold yet. "What's going on?"

"Soonyoung is freaking out about something again," she replies quietly, casting her eyes over to the corner office where your Senior Vice-President resides.

You're not sure if he ever actually leaves the building.

You sigh. This is a big project, one that is being presented to the company execs, and you really need everything to go perfectly. It's a good thing you got here early.

"When I finish here, I'll go talk to him," you say reluctantly, making Mijoo shoot you a smile of relief.

After you've confirmed that everything should as expected, you push off your desk, letting your chair roll backwards. Then you slip your feet back into your heels, stand, and give a lazy stretch of your limbs before heading to put out the fire, rolling your shoulders as you do so.

Through the glass surrounding the door, you can see your VP frowning at his computer screen, gray brows knit in some sort of frustration. You knock twice, and he looks up, still frowning. It vanishes as soon as he realizes it's you, and with a grin he beckons you inside.

"[Y/n]! Thank goodness," he said in a relieved voice, already angling his monitor so that you can see. "I can't get VLOOKUP to work!"

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from saying something you shouldn't, instead ambling over to help the dinosaur who is (hopefully) planning on retiring soon. Why is someone so high up even messing with spreadsheets, anyway? You barely have time to do any hands-on work at this point, and all you manage is your own team.

"It's tricky," you agree fondly, humoring him not because you have to, but because he kind of reminds you of your grandpa. "Here, let me help."

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Your next meeting also has an unusually high number of execs, and you frown as you recall the vague wording of the invite. You settle in a chair next to your work friend slash rival Jaesung, who looks just as confused as you feel.

"Any idea what this 'very important meeting' is about?" you whisper in his direction, and he shakes his head.

"No clue, but there are rumors that there's something big coming up," he whispers back. The two of you are unable to speculate any further, however, as your CEO appears. What the hell?

By the time the meeting ends, you are torn between laughing and crying hysterically. The execs have announced the planned launch of a top secret flagship product, one that the company is expecting massive returns on due to a collaboration with – because this is your life now – motherfucking BTS.

And then VP Soonyoung stands, looks at you and Jaesung proudly, and says that as two of his best people, you will be spearheading the marketing and sales efforts. He adds, with an elderly jovial laugh, “Both of you will even get the chance to meet them, so go get your autograph plaques ready!”

As if you needed to be disincentivized!

"You’re so lucky!" wails Mijoo as you sit in your cube, where you have been staring woodenly at your computer screen for over five minutes now. She thinks you're in joyful shock, and maybe, it definitely is shock. The electric chair kind.

It's bad enough that you had to spend an entire wonderful excruciating evening with Hoba – Hoseok – and he is now aware of your existence, even if he hasn't realized you're soulmates. But now this?

You mull over filing for your immediate resignation, which only adds to your headache. Eventually, you conclude that your time and compensation package from Samsong are just too good, too unbeatable, and… you’ve grown as a professional here. People respect you, value you for you, and you absolutely love working with your personally curated team.

The problem is the universe keeps testing your limits. Executive meetings? Easy. Flagship product development? Doable with the right people. But passionate, self-consuming cosmic schemes involving the world’s biggest boy band in the guise of soulmateship?

You’d rather get hit by a car.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The universe hates me.

That is your last thought as you hear the squeal of tires on pavement and the frantic honks of a car horn before you're suddenly staring up at the sky, pain flaring throughout your entire body.

A man gets out of the black Hyundai Palisade with tinted windows, and you suddenly wish that you had been truly run over with no hope of recovery. Of course it's Kim fucking Namjoon of BTS, and he's looking at you in a mixture of panic and concern that makes your heart flutter despite your best efforts.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" he asks, to which part of your brain thinks, What a fucking idiot of course I'm not. The other half stupidly admires the broad set of his shoulders, the strange mixture of grace and clumsiness as he stumbles over to your battered body.

Wait.

You return to your senses, and begin to push yourself back up to your feet.

"Yep, totally fine!" you insist through gritted teeth, ignoring the way one of your legs is twisted awkwardly, and the flare of agony that permeates your body when you're able to bring yourself upright. "It was my fault anyway!"

It wasn't, but you're not going to stick around to let this play out.

You begin to limp away as fast as your contorted ankle allows, ignoring the flabbergasted expression on Namjoon's handsome face.

"I – can I at least pay for your medical bills?" he asks as he takes a tentative step after you. You hobble faster despite the burning pain in your legs.

"It's fine!" you call behind you, getting a regrettable glimpse of his beautiful, worried eyes. "South Korea has universal healthcare coverage!"

Unfortunately, you can only wobble so fast until the physically fit, able-bodied man catches up to you. By this point, your vision is fuzzing with strange dotted lights and your body doesn't feel quite real anymore. Namjoon's hand touches your shoulder, and you turn around to tell him off. Instead, you feel your legs buckle and strong arms catch you before everything goes black.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

"You keep appearing in unexpected places, and often." Jimin swallows, his heart beginning to race. "Your skin is always covered up. You don't eat or drink anything when I'm around."

He takes a deep breath, knowing you're just a step behind him.

"How old are you?"

You hesitate – just barely – before you reply.

"Twenty-five."

"... How long have you been twenty-five?"

"A few months."

A few months. A few months since he's moved into your apartment complex. A few months since the strange not-quite-ennui and melancholy has begun plaguing him. A few months since you have turned of age to manifest your soulmate connection.

"I know what you are."

He feels your body tense behind him, and a thrill runs down his spine. When you speak, he can feel your breath on his neck.

"Say it."

“Soulma–”

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Kim Namjoon looks anxiously at the nurse checking your vitals as you lay prone on the hospital bed, wishing he could do more to help.

"I think – I think she might have hit her head," he offers, for the tenth time, thinking about the way you had tried to run away on what the nurse is reasonably certain is a badly sprained ankle. The nurse gives him a tight smile, because one does not simply roll their eyes at the leader of Bangtan Sonyeondan, no matter how many times he's said the same thing.

"We'll check for it," the nurse promises, soothing the tall man. For the time being.

Namjoon chews on his lip as he gazes at you, wondering what your story is, what kind of past would drive you to such strange lengths.

For some reason, he itches to hold your hand, but that would be completely inappropriate from a total stranger. Especially when it could cause dating rumors if anyone gets a glimpse or a picture. His manager is already going to kill him for chasing down an injured girl in broad daylight.

His eyes keep getting drawn back to your face, peaceful in sleep and – dare he say it – quite pretty. Very pretty. Beautiful, even. And you had felt so soft and nice in his arms, warm and –

"Sir, please stay seated while I finish here," comes the nurse's tired voice, and Namjoon realizes he's gotten up and has an arm outstretched to stroke your cheek.

"Uh, sorry," he stutters, face burning as he sits back down. What the hell is wrong with him? Why does he feel drawn to this very strange, very lovely girl?

A soft groan tears Namjoon out of his spiraling thoughts, and his gaze shoots to your form as your eyelids flutter open.

"Wha – " you ask blearily, waking up from the weirdest parody dream of the world’s best vampire movie ever. Shifting in your bed, pain contorts your face and you let out a hiss. "Ow!"

Namjoon rushes over, and your mouth drops open when you realize who he is. Before you can react, he's holding your hand in his, and he staggers as something in the universe fundamentally shifts. By your gasp, you're experiencing a similar sensation, and you yank your hand out of his grip before he can get his bearings.

"Your leg seems severely strained," the nurse explains, blissfully unaware of the way the world is tumbling around the both of you. "We'll need to do x-rays to make sure it’s not broken."

"I'll… get a wheelchair…" Namjoon says, in a daze, desperate to be of help even as his mind races to understand what is going on. He stumbles outside of the room, desperately hoping that a moment alone will help him get his thoughts in order and help him find the right questions to ask.

Apparently these are questions he won't receive answers to any time soon, because by the time he's back, the room is empty. The nurse follows after him, and looks around in confusion.

"Where'd she go?" the nurse asks, and Namjoon wishes he knew the answer. Who are you? Why are you so hellbent on getting away from him?

And why does holding your hand feel like home?

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

That was too close. Too fucking close.

You pull yourself onto the bus by the railing, ignoring the driver's confused, concerned expression as he takes in your hospital gown and the way you're wincing in pain. You swipe your card, only vaguely aware that everyone behind you can see your rump through the poorly tied flaps of the gown.

It's fine. Your dignity is unimportant compared to the bulletproof boy scout you just dodged.

You drag yourself to a handicapped seat – if there's ever a time you can confidently sit in one, it's now – and fall into it, finding an angle for your leg that gives some sort of relief.

Despite the pain, it's the warm feeling in your hand you can't stop thinking about.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Kim Namjoon is at a loss.

Despite searching the entire hospital, the mysterious girl was nowhere to be found, vanishing from the premises as if she were never there. Still, out of personal guilt and liability, Namjoon lingered, offering to settle the missing girl’s hospital expenses, but the charge nurse expertly dismissed his generosity once it became apparent that he did not know you at all. He couldn’t even give them your name, or any proof of relation, and the rest of the staff quickly became tight-lipped around him.

Even Kim Namjoon, the illustrious 148 IQ leader of BTS, can’t argue against health privacy laws.

Since leaving his phone number with the charge nurse – his final, desperate effort – Namjoon has been staring at his phone, waiting for any news about you… news that simply never comes.

That same evening, he walks into the band’s shared dormitory with aplomb.

Single-minded, he heads straight for the living room and picks up the remote control off of the coffee table.

The flatscreen TV goes dark, and Kim Taehyung complains, “Hyung, no! What gives!”

Jungkook cries in offense, shooting up from the sofa, “My vampire baseball scene!”

Namjoon deigns them both with a long-suffering look. “We need to talk, so call the team.”

His assertive voice, usually reserved for critical matters and scolding, makes Taehyung and Jungkook abandon their emotional support movie in favor of gathering the rest of the group.

One by one, the boys pile into the living room from separate parts of the apartment at Namjoon’s behest. Most of them are sporting rumpled clothes and bedheads, save for Jimin, who looked ready to leave for his own place.

Namjoon announces, “There’s something I want to discuss. A… possibility.” He clears his throat. “A girl.”

"That's what you interrupted our movie for?" Taehyung asks, indignant. "A crush?"

Hoseok lets out an immediate sigh of relief. “Is that it?” And then he pauses, scratching at his nape, “Well, me too, I guess.”

Jimin’s eyes brighten. “No way, hyungs! Me too!”

When Jin, Jungkook, and Taehyung concede that they've also had a run-in with a very memorable girl recently, a new suspicion blooms in the back of Namjoon's mind.

Could they be talking about the same girl?

Though unlikely, he decides to ask, “Did any of you manage to get her name?”

Jin nods, seriously. “G0d$l@yeR_69.”

Namjoon shoots him another long-suffering look.

Hoseok stays silent, if only because his memories of you are one of the few non-idol centered things he still holds onto. Besides, his girl can’t possibly be their girl, too. The odds of that happening would be astronomical.

It's not so wrong to want to keep one aspect of his life to himself… right?

“Sorry, I… I didn’t get her name,” Jimin lies, for the same reason Hoseok keeps quiet. Besides, even if Jin is interested in you, Jimin's your neighbor! He should get first dibs! He's not going to give up your name so his handsome, charismatic hyung can find you and woo you before Jimin even has a chance to try.

"What's this important meeting about?" asks Min Yoongi, walking into the room with a mug of coffee in hand.

"A girl," Jungkook replies, somewhat dreamily, remembering the guardian angel that saved him that rainy day. Yoongi rolls his eyes and immediately turns around to leave despite Namjoon's protests. He has more important things to do than sit around gossiping, especially since he has a meeting with Samsong tomorrow about their new collaboration.

There's a hubbub behind him, a thump, and a curse from the ungainly leader as Namjoon's prized George Nakashima coffee table claims yet another victim. Yoongi's toe throbs, and he sighs.

"There's a first-aid kit in my room." He calls over his shoulder as he goes. "Knock yourselves out."

Far away, in a clinic near your apartment where your ankle is being put into a brace, you sneeze.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Masterlist | Next

#bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts ot7 x reader #ot7 x reader #bts soulmate au #soulmate au #eserethriddle #reveri #fruit party 🥭🍒

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saffusthings · 2 months ago

Text

It's Written All Over Your Face

oscar piastri x personal assistant! reader

summary: the one where they learn feelings can be messy. and weird. word count: 15.9k (...) warnings: abuse aftermath, a sprinkle of angst, don't try this at home kids, poorly edited writing a/n: i have a love/hate relationship with my writing of this chapter, but it seems alright. but it's got a couple scenes i'm excited for y'all to see :) also mc is a Hot Mess but i love her sm

Part 1 | Part 2

“O- Oscar,” she trembles, too busy to be bothered to be professional. “I think s- something’s wrong…”

He pulls her in tightly, letting her head rest against his shoulder.

"Shhh," he whispers. "I'm here. It's okay."

He's trying to be strong for her. He knows that she needs it right now, and even though something inside him is vibrating with fear.

She covered another cough with her hand, only to find it smeared a deep red.

Oh, that's blood.

"Y/N, what happened?" He finds himself asking, even though he already knows the answer.

“I don- I don’t know,” she wheezes.

It’s been a few minutes since Oscar went into the bathroom. Lando also doesn’t hear any of the tell tale signs of two people… well, getting it on - so tentatively, he calls out for his teammate. “Everything alright, Osc?”

"No" Oscar finally manages to get out, his voice choked and thick. "Things don’t look too good. Can you… Can you go get help?"

“What?” Lando rushes in at the first sign that something is not right.

He turns to give Lando a panicked look, his eyes wide and desperate. "I don't know what's wrong - just go get help or something!" he demands, desperate for someone, anyone to help them.

He wants to run his fingers through her hair again - wants to be able to soothe her - but he's worried he'll make it worse somehow.

This can't be happening. This isn’t fair.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come t-to lunch. I was g- going to, b-but…”

Her hands feel cold. Why are they cold?

"No, no," he says, giving her his most convincing smile. "Don't talk, don't apologize - just breathe. Breathe."

He's saying the words just as much to himself, he thinks. His mouth has gone completely dry, and he's sweating profusely. He can't tell if it's from the heat or terror or both.

Lando grabs his keys and reappears in a moment. “We’re going to the hospital. I’ll drive.”

He nods numbly, before forcing himself to think straight. This is not the time.

He tries to figure out how to do that. He's going to have to do most of the work here, but she's already weak as it is. He's going to have to try and carry her. When they finally reach the car, what feels like months later, Lando gestures for Oscar to ride in the back with her.

“Think she’d want you with her,” he explains quietly, before opening the driver’s seat and getting in. Oscar gives the older man a nod, climbing into the back of the car.

She's so out of it now, his efforts to sit her up only causing her to cough harder. He tries to keep his hold on her strong, trying his best to keep her upright on his lap so she'll have an easier time breathing.

"It's okay," he keeps whispering to her, countless times. "It's okay."

“It…” Her speech is getting more and more strained as time passes. “Hurts.”

He gives her a pained smile, trying to hide how absolutely horrible this is really going.

"Hey, I know it hurts right now," he says quietly. "But it's all going to be okay. We're on our way to the hospital now, okay? You've just gotta hold on. You can do that, can't you? Hold on for me, I know you can."

She wraps one of her hands around one of his. The touch is soft, gentle.

It takes him a few minutes to realize that it’s meant to be a firm grip on his hand.

He feels completely useless - more useless than he's felt in his life. He wants to be able to do something, help her out in some way - but he can't. He's helpless here, completely at the mercy of whatever is happening to her right now.

That's something that makes his stomach turn in terror. He's never been this scared for someone else's life before - and he doesn't like it.

As her eyes become half-lidded, he turns to face Lando.

“What do I do? Something is wrong with her, and I can’t tell what the fuck it is,” Oscar asks, frustrated, an undercurrent of panic in his tone.

"Hey, hey, just concentrate on getting her to stay awake, okay? She just needs to stay conscious. Just keep her talking, just anything. Doesn't matter what it is," he reassures him - although honestly, he's feeling just as scared, just as anxious as Oscar. His friend is coughing up blood in his backseat, and these cars ahead just won’t fucking move. In his mind, all he keeps hoping for is that they'll make it just one damn minute closer to the hospital. Just one more minute.

He starts to rub her sides gently - trying to get her to focus. His face is the picture of calm, a soft small on his lips as he soothes her.

"I'm sorry I got grumpy at you earlier. You didn't deserve that. I'll make it up to you later, I promise," he says.

“…Yeah?” She smiles weakly, trying to make him feel a bit better.

"Yeah, I will," he says, trying to sound brave.

Once they reach the hospital, Oscar wraps her arms around his shoulders as he works to prop her up, supporting her weight. He ends up looping an arm underneath both of hers, before he practically drags her along with him. They inch towards the doors of the emergency room, Oscar hoping against all hope that she's still conscious.

He can manage anything - he'll work through absolutely anything if she's okay.

There are no clear images - the entire rush of the hospital sounds like it’s happening… underwater?

She can vaguely register that she’s in someone’s arms - probably Oscar’s. The ceiling lights look more like blurry blobs, disfigured and unclear. She tries her best to keep her eyes open.

Oscar is the one to spot a couple of nurses walking out of the double doors, and instantly, starts striding up to them in a panic. "Excuse me? Help, please!" he calls out desperately.

He's trying to keep his voice from shaking, trying to get her to a hospital bed - and fast. His voice draws the gaze of the nurses, who look at them in astonishment, their eyes widening at the sight of the blood on her shirt. Immediately, they snap out of their stupor and get to work.

"Bring the gurney over!" one of them cries out, as they push one the double doors open, allowing him to rush into the hospital - the girl now limp in his arms.

“…O-Osc?”

He hears the sound of her small voice, the word coming out broken and barely there. She’s speaking, barely, and for now, this is enough assurance for him that she's okay.

"Oh, hey - it's okay, we're at the hospital now. You're gonna be okay, okay? Just hold on to me a little longer. We're gonna get you to a doctor, and it's all gonna be good - you'll see," he tries to reassure her, his hands gripping her shoulders gently - keeping her in his arms.

“I can’t-“ she wheezes out. “Can’t–“

He hears the sound of her labored breathing, and his eyes widen in panic.

"Shhh, shhh, it's okay,” he coos gently.” You don't have to talk - just keep breathin’, alright? You just have to keep breathing," he tells her, voice straining to stay even, his knuckles going white with how hard they're gripping her.

“Can’t breathe–“ she finally manages to get out.

His eyes search desperately around for help, for a nurse, a doctor, somebody to come and help her. He’s just about to resume shouting for help when, like a breath of fresh air, he hears the clatter of the gurney being wheeled in, and two nurses pushing it up to him - ready to load her into the gurney.

"Just stay awake," he tells her desperately, his face going deathly pale as she is shifted from his grasp. He only just manages to keep the sob of relief in his throat as he watches them wheel her away from him, towards a trauma room.

The sound around him feels like it fades in and out - distant shouts for an IV, for blood, about a fracture causing a lung puncture leading to internal bleeding. Time is too slow and too fast all at once.

When something pulls at the corner of his mind, it’s only then that Oscar sees Lando trying to get his attention. He feels Lando gently nudging him again, trying to pull him away from the trauma room door - and his head snaps up, almost as if he's been woken up from a deep sleep.

"Huh?" he repeats back to Lando blankly. He blinks and shakes his head, feeling the fogginess in his mind start to clear a little. "What'd you say?"

He feels a little lightheaded - and it takes him a moment to realize it's from the fact that he's still not breathing right, too busy trying to listen to the nurses talk to the doctor through the door. Lando looks at him with a sympathetic expression, pulling him further from the door. "Come on, mate. She's gonna be alright. They've got it handled."

He lets Lando shepherd him towards some of the waiting room chairs - a little bit further away from the door - as he listens desperately, trying to get some hint of what was happening from the murmurs inside.

The only things that actually register in his mind is what he's pretty sure is the sound of beeping heart rate monitors - and the sound of the nurse informing the doctor that there's more bleeding somewhere then they'd originally thought.

For a second time, Lando's voice is what breaks his train of thought.

“I don’t mean to overstep,” he starts cautiously, afraid of setting off an emotional trigger of some sort. “But… do we know what happened?”

He blinks, and tries to focus on Lando, and not the faint sounds coming from the trauma room a few feet away. "I don't know," he tells Lando honestly, his eyes going cold like he's about to say something that he really just doesn't want to admit. "… But I'm betting it had something to do with her parents."

Lando’s not sure he understands. While he doesn’t know the exact nature of whatever is going on between Oscar and his assistant, he knows there’s something there. And he’s willing to bet that that means Oscar is the one who probably knows the most here.

His brows furrow. “What, like she’s sick?”

The younger man nods, his jaw tightening slightly. "Yeah, you could say that."

"I'm fine, Lando," he says quietly when Lando seems to continue to hover nearby - because he thinks maybe Lando's concerned about him, and he needs his best friend to understand that right now, he's okay. "I'm just worried about her."

“And why’s that?” Lando asks knowingly.

"Because she-" he stops himself again, realizing that the one thing he doesn't want to say about her is exactly what he's just about to blurt out. But before he can utter another word, their attention is stolen by commotion in the trauma room.

His head immediately snaps up, eyes wide as he takes in the noise. The heart rate monitor sounds different - the rhythm of the beeping is somehow even more intense. It makes a strange sense of panic encroaching across his chest - the way suspense music in horror movies are meant to, except a dozen times worse.

He can make out the sounds of nurses shouting different medical directives and things to each other.

What the hell is going on in there?

His throat tightens as he takes in the noise. There’s shouting - they're commanding each other to do things, and it sounds like discord. It sounds too hurried, and incessant beeping of the heart rate monitor doesn’t ease up either..

Lando spares a quick glance to check on Oscar, worried for him. He knows this cant be easy for him, and yet, Oscar's face has the serenity of a blank slate. He then turns his attention back to the room, trying to observe and figure out what’s going on through the small windows on the doors to the trauma room. Oscar, of course, does the same.

He can barely see anything through the little window.

It's all flashes of movement, and he's not even sure which colours belong to who - but whatever is happening, it's happening really fast. The nurses are still shouting and the heart rate monitor is still beeping furiously and no-one has come out to tell him what's happening, and nothing about this seems remotely okay.

This isn’t real.

This isn’t real. It’s all he can think, feel - over and over again. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.

When Lando turns to look at Oscar, he’s gone pale.

Paler than usual.

“Oscar?” Lando’s voice sounds far away. “Osc? Hey, mate, I need you to look at me, okay? You need to breathe, yeah?” He feels Lando's hands on his face, gripping his chin and turning his head towards him.

He opens his eyes slowly - they're wet.

When did the room start getting blurry for him?

God, this feels like his worst nightmare is coming true.

If Oscar thought he was scared before, when the commotion started?

Then his heart stills in his fucking chest when the commotion is no more.

No.

No, no, no, no.

The silence feels all-encompassing - like it's drowning his senses. His chest feels impossibly tight. The room disappears - the noise around him mutes into a dull roar, and he can't breathe right now. He can't even feel his own fingertips.

“Sir?” A young man tries, attempting to get Oscar’s attention.

His head snaps up at the word, eyes blinking back into sharpness and his vision sharpening in an instant. He looks around, the sound of the nurse's voice bringing him back to his senses.

“Are you…” the young resident checks his clipboard. “… Mr. Piastri?”

The Australian nods quickly, swallowing hard before speaking.

He knows his voice is shaky right now. It's obvious that he's freaked out right now - everyone who walks by him is looking at him like he's going to fall apart, and he would if they'd just tell him what happened to her.

"Y-yeah," he manages, "that's me. That's me. Can you tell me what's going on?"

“Could you provide a valid form of identification? It’s all procedure - we can’t release medical information to anyone except to the emergency contact we have on file,” he explains.

Right. Right.

Provide information. Valid form of ID. Procedure.

It's all very logical. It's all very reasonable.

Oscar nods, reaching for the wallet on the other side of his back pocket. His fingers are only shaking a little, but it takes him an absurdly long time to pull out the card - because he can't remember where he keeps his ID and when he finally does find it, his hands feel some degree of numbness.

Lando puts a warm hand on his. “Mate, breathe,” he whispers, trying to get him to calm down. He’s just watched Oscar fumble with his ID four different times as he fails to slip it out of his wallet.

Lando gives him a small smile that he hopes is at least a little reassuring.

He takes a slow deep breath in and out - his fingers still shaking. Come on, Piastri. He tells himself - but the words ring false in his mind right now when he doesn't feel like he's really fully himself at this very moment.

Someone needs to tell him what's wrong with her.

“Mate, he needs your ID,” Lando grounds him gently.

"Right. Right. Yeah," he agrees, trying to compose himself. It's impossible. He can't think straight.

He finally manages to pry his ID from his shaky fingers, handing it to the man in the powder blue scrubs without another word. The assistant, after taking a moment to confirm, returns his ID and checks his notes before eyeing Lando warily, unsure if he should provide Y/N’s medical update in front of the third party.

He’s not looking to get fired, after all.

When all he gets in turn is a nod of confirmation from her emergency contact, the assistant swallows, and then starts to speak.

"Based on the X-rays and MRI tests, we’ve been able to conclude that Ms. L/N has suffered an extensive lung injury. That's most likely the cause of the bleeding. We've also taken her to intensive care for urgent treatment."

The man in the lab coat hesitates before ultimately continuing.

“Right now, the doctor suspects the cause to be an untreated fracture of her ribs,” he reads off his documents before looking up at Oscar. “We believe that the cracked rib or ribs placed pressure on the lung, causing a puncture and the subsequent internal bleeding.”

Cracked ribs.

He wants to throw up. He thinks he might even dry heave for a second, but he stops himself. "I don't- I don't understand," he tries to say, his voice thick.

Lando watches the blood drain from Oscar's face. He needs to get Oscar out of the situation - out before the dam breaks. So he takes a small step closer and rests a comforting hand on Oscar's shoulder again.

"C'mon," he says gently. "Let's go take a walk, yeah?"

Lando’s caught off guard when Oscar plants himself in that spot, his body resisting the older man’s hold.

"No." he forces himself to say. He can't think straight right now, but he doesn't want to move from the exact spot he's standing in.

He stares at Lando, his jaw clenched, "I'm not leaving until I see her."

“Oscar-,” Lando tries, gently yet firmly using his arm to usher Oscar in the direction of the door leading outside.

He knows what Lando's trying to do - he's trying to help him not freak out in public, he's trying to keep him from falling apart in front of the nurses.

Goddammit, Lando. Leave me alone.

He shakes his head, his hands subtly clenching into fists, "No! I'm not- I don't need to go outside, okay? I'm fine! Just let go of me!"

He glances at Lando, his face desperate, before he repeats his plea, trying to focus on the one thing he wants right now.

"I'm not leaving until we see her."

Lando’s hands come up to both sides of Oscar’s face. They don’t shake him, but they do hold him - Lando’s hands a warm and firm pressure against him. “Mate,” Lando says slowly, evenly. He makes it a point to look him directly in the eyes. “You’re not talking sense. I need to know what’s going on, yeah?”

Oscar meets Lando's eyes, taking a steadying breath. "I just… I need to know that she's okay," Oscar whispers, his voice rough and hoarse.

“Okay,” Lando nods, trying his best to be understanding. “Yeah, I’m with you there.”

Lando’s eyes search his face for any indication of what he’s thinking.

"I like her," Oscar says quietly, finally managing to meet Lando's eyes, "A lot more than I should, and I'm afraid she might…"

Oh.

That wasn’t what Lando was expecting. But I can work with that, Lando thinks.

Lando nods, and he understands and for some reason, Oscar feels like he might start crying in sheer relief right there. That, of course, would be horribly embarrassing. His pride won't let him do it, so he holds back. But he thinks he can start breathing a little bit easier, knowing that Lando gets it.

He swallows hard, his eyes closing for a moment as he forces the words out, "With her, it's just… it's different, y’know? Like someone who speaks your language in foreign land, she just-"

He cuts himself off, choking on the words.

“Yeah?” Lando teases good naturedly. Sue him for having a little fun with it. “Sounds like she’s special.”

Oscar nods. "Yeah," he says softly. "She is." He looks up to find him wearing a small smile.

“Say, how’d you bag an assistant like that anyway? No way she came ‘cause of your stats,” Lando shrugs, something smug brewing in the curve of his lips.

Lando sounds genuinely curious as he asks, and it throws Oscar off a bit.

"I…" He stops, trying to force his mind to work right now. "She started out as a junior assistant at the team," he continues, trying to focus, but the memory of her at the beginning - her shy smile, her quiet, gentle nature - it's all flooding his mind again.

"She was… shy. More than shy - she didn't really talk, but- she was so quiet. The others-... they’d crack jokes about it, snide remarks and the like.."

"But when she did talk, she was... she was just so smart. And know how her sense of humor is - hers are the jokes that are actually funny.”

“That so?”

"Yeah," he says, the memory still fresh in his mind. He'd watched, completely entranced.

He'd never thought of taking the assistant out for a drink before, but he'd somehow found himself offering her one that weekend.

"She didn't agree to go," he remembers, his mouth curving into a bitter smile. "I think she thought it was like, a joke or something. Like I was doing it to make fun of her."

"She was pretty wary the first few times," he continues, his voice softer now. She'd always been shy and quiet as his assistant, but once he'd begun to earn her trust, slowly but surely. It was only then he'd seen a different side to her - the confident, sweet, gentle persona that only he was privy to.

"But then she got a little more open, a little more herself- god. It was this beautiful thing."

The idiot’s in love, Lando thinks. But some self-preservation instinct tells him that if he’d like to keep his body and his car intact, then he should keep his mouth shut.

At least this once.

They cross the threshold into the room, the sight of her broken body in a hospital bed greeting Oscar immediately. The room smells overwhelmingly of hand sanitizer, paper products and latex gloves. Fluorescent lights are dimmed, a couple of them on across the tiled ceiling.

She lays there, still and silent - not unlike the way she’d been asleep in his bed just last night. But like sand slipping through his fingers, that image gives way to the one before him: the present.

There’s dried blood on her lips from when she’d been spitting up blood earlier. She’s connected to all sorts of machines - the IV, the heart rate monitor, a couple other things Oscar’s sure must also be important. She’d hate this, he finds himself thinking.

Instinctively, he steps closer.

He’s almost frightened to get too close to her, too scared to make the wrong move somehow as he stands by the edge of the bed. She’s always had an elegance - a grace - about her that’s always commanded his attention. But right now, it’s all gone.

“They had to put her under to stop her from trying to speak or move,” an attendant pipes up, from where she’s been noting down her vitals in the corner of the. “Because of the fracture in her ribs.”

Oscar's face remains the picture of neutral, dancing somewhere between stoic and lost.

“She can still hear you,” he informs him quietly.

He reaches forward, resting his hand carefully on the top of her head, his fingers gently smoothing down her loose strands of hair. “I’m here now,” he murmurs quietly, his voice cracking with an emotion he can’t place. “You’re okay - you’re okay,” he repeats, more to himself than to her.

He watches her for a moment again - she looks more peaceful now, now that he’s standing here, talking to her. His fingers move through her hair, the way he sometimes did when she’d accidentally fall asleep on his shoulder.

“Do you think she can feel too?” he asks aloud, directed towards no one in particular. The attendant has left the room a while ago, but minutes blend together into one long indiscernible stretch of time.

Lando seems to consider the question thoroughly, his brow furrowed.

“I’d say so,” he answers, quietly. “She might not react to it, because of the drugs, but her brain would register the touch regardless. I don’t think there’s anything that would stop her from feeling it.”

He takes his free hand, carefully wrapping his fingers around her much smaller, bruised one.

Lando briefly wonders if his mind is playing tricks on him when the beeping of the heart monitor speeds up by a fraction of a second.

Oscar, on the other hand, remains focused elsewhere. It’s the oddest thing, he thinks - how he was dying to be near her and now that he is, he’s not sure what to say.

Say something, he thinks to himself.

But he’s drawing a blank. Everything he thought he’d say to her in a position like this vanishes from his mind and he’s left standing here, still holding her hand, a complete and utter blank.

He looks down at her face again, studying her. He can make out a scratch on her forehead that seems to disappear into her hairline, and he carefully runs his thumb over it. He stays like that, running his thumb over her forehead, over her eyebrow... until his eyes finally move down to her mouth.

He pauses, watching the slight part of her lips, her lower lip still caked with the dried blood.

He doesn’t quite know why, but all of a sudden the idea of her being dirty, of being covered in blood - of looking so unlike her - feels like venom in his veins.

His gaze is fixated on the dried blood stuck to her lip, and on an impulse, he grabs the tissue that’s resting nearby and reaches forward to clean it away. His touch is so gentle as he brushes the tissue over her lower lip, the dried blood coming off on the tissue.

He wants the image of her, bloody, dirty, to stop plaguing his mind - he wants her to look like herself again.

He continues wiping carefully, his touch feather-light, wiping away the dirt that’s stained her face. She deserves to be clean, to be safe, and so he keeps gently wiping at her lip long after the blood’s gone from her face.

“Osc,” Lando calls tentatively, trying to bring him back to the present from wherever his mind has gone. “It’s alright, it’s okay. She’s clean.”

He snaps out of his reverie at Lando’s voice, stopping the repetitive brushing of the tissue against her lip.

“I miss her too, y’know,” Lando pipes up. He’s not sure whether that’s helpful, but he says it anyway. The younger man doesn’t turn around to look at Lando, eyes still fixed on her face, afraid to miss anything if he loses focus for just a second.

“I know,” he murmurs, his voice almost lost as he continues tracing mindless patterns on her palm.

“I’m not saying it’s the same,” Lando corrects gently. “I know that this… this is different. I’m not saying I don’t care about her, but anyone with eyes can see. “With you it’s different. You and her… it’s different,” he finally shrugs.

He doesn’t say anything, but he nods - his only acknowledgement of Lando’s words, not wanting to make a sound in case it disturbs her - in case she’s listening.

“She came to me.”

That makes him lift his head up for a moment, surprised by the statement, and he looks over his shoulder at Lando.

“She… what?” he questions, confused.

He nods, a fond smile on his lips as he reminisces.

“Yeah. Asked me a whole bunch of questions, all about you - what you like to eat, where you like to eat, what kind of gifts you like.”

He shakes his head in disbelief and mutters, more to himself than to Lando, “I have no idea where the hell this girl manages to get so much energy from.”

Lando’s reply is simple, like it’s obvious. “You.”

His brow furrow. Huh?

“Me?” he all but echoes, confusion clear on his face.

“Can’t you see it?”

He can’t figure out what Lando’s hinting at, so he shakes his head.

“I- I’m lost, mate. What d’you mean?”

“It’s… she’s different with you, mate. With everyone else, she’s more guarded, more reserved, more sarcastic. Not that she isn’t charming, but…” he trails off, trying to figure out how to put it into words.

“I don’t think she notices it either. She comes alive whenever you’re around.” For a moment, Luisa flashes in his minds eye.

He turns back to look at her again, his eyes scanning over her face, and then shifts his gaze to their hands - to his fingers, still tracing mindless patterns against hers.

He’s never noticed it - he thought that she always had this energy, that this was just who she was. But different? Oscar isn’t too sure about that. He looks down at her again and wonders why he never noticed anything himself before.

“She’s friendly, always. But anytime it’s the three of us, it’s like I get to be the third wheel to the most awkward and embarrassing old married couple ever,” Lando jokes.

For a split second, the joke makes him smile - a real, proper smile that’s genuine and not forced for any sort of public appearance. And, in that second, he almost imagines what it would be like if they were a married couple - like it wouldn’t be so bad.

“You guys finish each other’s sentences,” he deadpans.

“She’s just good at reading between the lines,” Oscar explains.

But he can’t deny that in spite of that, Lando’s not entirely wrong. Even in all their time alone, they’d fallen into a certain sort of rhythm - an easy flow, like they both just instinctively knew what the other one was thinking at almost all times.

“It makes work easier,” he adds on, trying to downplay it.

“Yeah. Work.”

He ignores Lando’s sarcastic tone - he’s too focused on something else right now.

“She should be awake by now, right?” he blurts out, looking back at Lando.

“I don’t know,” his teammate says quietly.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” he presses, his tone harsher than he’d intended.

He takes another glance at her face, hoping for some sign of change, some sign of life.

Nothing.

“Just talk. Whatever you want to say to her, anything - you can just talk,” Lando suggests awkwardly. It’s often that Lando finds Oscar a bit difficult to read, but now it’s impossible to know what will help and what will set him off..

“Right, okay, yeah,” he mutters, nodding.

He turns back to her, silence filling the room while he thinks. There’s something he really wants to say, a phrase that’s been on the tip of his tongue for weeks now - but the timing is awful.

He decides to start with something simpler instead. His voice sounds shaky when he speaks up again.

“Hey,” he calls out softly. “…Hey.”

He waits for a response, any response - a word, a twitch, a blinking of the eyelashes - but nothing comes. He takes another deep breath before he continues.

“You’re really stubborn, you know,” he chides. “Stupidly stubborn.”

“Just… just wake up, okay?”

He takes a glance at Lando, who’s standing off to the side and observing silently, before looking back down at her face. But she’s still the same as before - no response, no movement, no sign that she’s even heard either of them.

“Oscar…” Lando starts cautiously.

He has a feeling he knows what Lando’s about to say.

It’s not what he wants to hear.

“No,” he cuts him off before Lando even utters a word. “No, not yet. Just… give her a minute, okay?”

“Oscar…”

“No, stop,” he pleads, his voice cracking for a fraction of a second.

“Os-“

“I said stop,” he snaps back, turning to give him a pleading look. “She just… just give her a minute.”

Lando takes it upon himself to try to limit the damage. He’s already got one friend laying motionless in a hospital bed - he is not going to let Oscar lose it now.

“I just don’t think that that yelling at her will do-“

“I wasn’t yelling,” he bites back, though he knows that the volume of his voice was edging towards it.

“Oscar,” Lando commands, trying to get Oscar to listen.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, lifting his head to look back at her. “Sorry, I just…”

Lando’s face molds into a sympathetic expression. He’s usually more comfortable in joyous environments, always the one to crack a joke or make things more relaxed. But here, he forces the discomfort down. Lando Norris is not one to let someone suffer alone.

The Australian knows what he wants to tell her - has desperately wanted to tell her, wants to say it so badly that it’s taking all of his willpower to not blurt the words out.

But the timing still feels wrong - the circumstances around them feel completely off and he can’t bring himself to do it. He looks back at Lando for guidance, Like there’s something the man can do that he can’t.

“She’s easy to talk to, isn’t she?” Lando remembers gas station runs, forbidden slushies and the dark of night as accessories to conversations that never seemed to end. Y/N is eloquent - there’s no doubt about it. Her words can command a room, can simplify the most

“Yeah,” he replies automatically.

“Then just talk to her. She was your assistant, our friend - before she was ever anything else to you,” Lando says indignantly. “Talk to her. Tell her what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling. This might be the onl-“

“Don’t.” Oscar is quick to cut him off. “Don’t say that.”

Lando’s lips press together into a straight line, falling silent.

He turns to look down at her again, his mind working overtime as he tries to figure out what to say. Oscar says the only thing he can, sparing no time for niceties or lighthearted anecdotes.

“You have to wake up, okay?” he mumbles, almost to himself. “I need to tell you that you were right about the error in our tyre deg numbers.”

He laughs softly, in spite of himself, as the memory of her being the sensible one for once comes to mind.

“And… and while we’re on the topic, I just need to say that you were also such a pain in the ass during flights, alright?” he continues. “You’re always so difficult with me when we fly together.”

“And don’t get me wrong, it’s almost endearing when you’re all bossy and sarcastic -” he’s talking faster now, his mind speeding through all the things he wants to say to her “- but it makes me want to strangle you sometimes. You drive me absolutely mental sometimes.”

“But at the same time…” he hesitates. Oscar’s never really been a man of many words. He thinks a lot more than he speaks.

He hesitates because it’s the truth - she drives him crazy, in some of the best and worst ways.

“At the same time, I don’t think I’d be able to do this without you, somehow. Despite all the insane, impossible things I put you through, you’re always here for me, always taking care of me, always by my side.”

Her first thought feels like it’s a distant memory, located in some faraway room that she can only think of if she tries with all her might not to let it melt away.

She can feel her fingertips.

He’s rambling, the words tumbling out faster with each sentence, and he doesn’t even notice that her fingers twitch against his hand.

“And I know you never ask for anything in return, I know you don’t expect anything in return, I know you just want me to be happy and healthy and I don’t even know how you just-“

The next sensation she registers is much less kind.

Before she can settle into the moment of unexpected peace, a sharp, stabbing pain pierces her side. She feels like molten lava dunked in ice cold water. She feels painfully cold and burning hot simultaneously.

It’s the way her body suddenly twitches involuntarily, so fast and hard that it jolts him out of his rambling, that he realizes something’s wrong.

“Hey,” he says, gripping her hand a little tighter to get her attention, “hey.”

Her hand twitches once again, but they barely have time to pay any attention to it because suddenly the monitor spikes, sending off alarms, the loud sound blaring through the room.

A cold chill runs down his spine, and his grip on her hand tightens without him even realizing. The next thing he knows, a swarm of doctors are rushing into the room. Instantly, her hand is being ripped from his and he’s looking at Lando with wide eyes.

He jumps up to his feet instinctively, wanting to follow where they’re taking her but being pulled back by Lando.

“Wha-“ he asks, his voice carrying an uneasy pitch, his heart threatening to break his rib cage with how hard it’s beating now. “Will someone tell us what’s going on?”

The words would have been loud, but the alarm bares over them. Everything’s happening faster than they can keep up with - one moment ago he was trying to think of a way to say how much he cares about her and the next she’s being pulled away and the machinery around her is going crazy.

There’s a man in a white coat suddenly ushering them both out of the room.

“Why?!” he demands as he attempts to wriggle out of Lando’s grip, trying to dig his feet into the floor to prevent himself from being thrown out. “What’s going on?!

“No,” he protests, resisting Lando's pulling, “No, I need to see her-”

“Sir, you can’t be in there-“

“Why not?!” he demands, his voice rising in volume. “Why can’t I be in there?!”

Lando has his arm around Oscar's shoulders now, trying to physically pull him away. “Mate, we don’t want to get in the way-“

“No! I’m not-“

He stays frozen there like a historic statue, but the man is physically stronger and he’s not able to break free. It only serves to make him feel more claustrophobic.

Lando sighs. He never thought he’d need to wrestle Oscar. That kid’s got some serious fight in him.

He proceeds to put all his strength into holding Oscar back, trying to usher him into the waiting room. He can’t let Oscar thrown out of the hospital for not cooperating because forget the media circus - he’s not sure Oscar will be able to take not being able to see her.

Lando feels like something in his chest is cracking at the sight of seeing his teammate, his friend, practically his brother - the calm and rational one of the duo - fall apart.

Instantly, when he feels Oscar shift, Lando’s muscles tense in anticipation of holding him back as he tries to break free.

Except he doesn’t.

Lando looks down to find Oscar shaking.

He’s crying.

Oscar’s head is suddenly hung low, and his shoulders are hunched forward.

He’s practically shaking, on the verge of breaking down completely. And it probably shouldn’t be such a surprise - he’s been running on adrenaline the past few days, and it finally feels like his body is finally crashing. He’s leaning heavily against Lando, and it’s the only reason he’s being held upright.

He can’t help but think there’s a chance that while he’s out here, he’s losing one of his best friends.

That could be the last time he’d get to see her.

The possibility of that just makes him cry harder, his shoulders shaking violently despite his best efforts. He’s slumped against Lando now, practically being held up by his best friend. He buries his face in the crook of Lando’s shoulder, not even trying to fight any more.

“It’s okay, mate. You’re okay, you’re alright, yeah?“

The words help somewhat - Lando’s familiar voice, and the firm embrace - but he can’t help the broken sobs. His brain is running through the last few days, the last few hours, over and over.

“I can’t do this,” he rasps suddenly, his voice shaking. “I don’t know how to do it without her.”

“I know, I know…”

“I’ve never even…” he chokes out, shaking his head. “I’ve never even told her-“

“You’ll get to,” Lando winces, trying to console his friend. He inhaled deeply, internally praying to any deity that exists that he isn’t lying to him.

“You will. Breathe, mate.”

Lando stands there, arms locked around the younger man for what feels like forever. He’s not sure if it’s because he’s afraid he’ll hurt himself somehow or collapse to the floor. It’s a while later when his body finally loosens up a bit.

“I’m tired,” he mumbles over Lando’s shoulder, his voice still shaky.

“Yeah,” Lando breathes shakily. At least he’s talking. “Yeah, o’course. Let’s get you sat, yeah?”

He nods his head weakly, allowing himself to be guided over to some of the nearby seats. He collapses onto the chair. His head is in his hands, his elbows on his knees, and takes several shaky breaths as he tries to regain some sense of control over his own body.

Get it together.

Lando is awoken a few hours later by the sound of approaching footsteps.

He’s startled and disoriented when he’s suddenly woken up, and he has to spend a couple seconds piecing together where he is. He always did appreciate a good nap.

He tries to process the time - it’s dark outside. He’s in a waiting room chair, and Oscar’s in the seat beside him, sleeping with his head propped up on the palm of his hand.

His eyes instantly lock onto the person approaching them, and he blinks a couple times before recognizing the doctor from earlier. The woman seems nice enough with deep smile lines and warm auburn hair. She speaks quietly, presumably in an effort not to wake the sleeping man beside him.

“Mr. Piastri?”

Lando gives a quick nod, silently gesturing to Oscar as he does. He’s the other one.

He looks over, gently shaking at Oscar’s shoulder. “Hey, wake up, mate. It’s the doctor.”

Oscar’s eyes instantly shoot open, and he sits up quickly, any remaining drowsiness from sleep disappearing instantly. He’s instantly alert, his body tense, and a hopeful sort of fear in his eyes.

“Mr. Piastri?” she tries again.

“Yes,” he acknowledges, his voice coming out a little shaky. All the fatigue and tiredness from before seem to have left him at the doctor’s approach.

“Oscar Piastri?” she confirms.

“That’s me,” he nods again, watching her carefully. He’s trying to judge her expression, figure out what kind of news she’s come to give him. His heart is skipping beats, playing some sort of sick game, as he holds his breath.

“She keeps asking for you.”

The words immediately have the tension in his body dropping.

“She- What?” His tone is disbelieving, but there’s a part of him that feels lightheaded with relief.

The doctor smiles warmly at him, happy to be able to give some good news. “We’ve been successful in artificially resetting the bone in her ribs as well as patching the lung puncture.”

Pausing before she continues, she tells him, “In fact, you were very lucky to catch her when you did - if the nurses hadn’t seen her then, she likely would have choked-“

“Is she okay?” He swallows hard, trying to hide his voice shaking. “That means she’s well then, right?”

The doctor nods. “She’s still healing though, of course,” she reminds him, with a hint of an accent filtering through. Scottish, perhaps?

“I can see her?” he asks hopefully, already getting to his feet. “I can go in?”

The doctor nods in confirmation, before flipping a page up on her clipboard. “Just a few things before she has any visitors:

No outside food for the patient, and we wanna be as gentle as possible with her. Let's also try to avoid anything that would cause her stress - she’s just come out of surgery and we want her to recover nicely. Alright?”

He nods quickly, not even really caring what she’s saying to him at this point as long as it means that he can see her.

“Yes, of course. No stress. Gentle. I’ll do whatever you say.”

The doctor shoots Lando a wary look. Lando gives her a weak smile - He's harmless, he tries to tell her. “I need to see her,” Oscar explains, like it's the most obvious thing.

“He just wants to see her,” Lando reassures her. “Let him, yeah?”

Oscar shoots Lando a grateful look, before turning back to the doctor, his eyes practically begging the woman to let him in. She smiles kindly, turning around to guide the young man to Y/N’s room.

"That's funny,” she smiles, the kind that even has her teeth on display. “She said the same thing about you."

For the first time in what feels like so long, he starts to allow himself a spark of hope, and it makes his heart beat a little faster. His eyes roam over the doors on either side of them as the doctor leads him closer and closer to her room, his heart in his throat.

“When she was asking for me,” he asks, aiming for casual. “What did she say?”

The woman glances back at him and gives him a knowing look, like she knows something he doesn’t.

“That she wanted to see you,” she tells him as she stops before a door halfway down the hall. “She kept asking to see if you were here or around - likely to reassure herself.”

She chuckles, a deep, hearty laugh. “But she was quite determined - nearly told off a nurse before we finally calmed her down.”

The thought of her asking about him, and asking to see him, soothes a part of him that he wasn’t even aware was aching.

He lets out a shaky exhale of relief, his entire body relaxing as the doctor stops in front of a room. His gaze locks onto the door, and then back at the doctor, his eyes wide with anticipation.

"Don't worry," the doctor reassures kindly. "Your girlfriend is quite brave. The hard part is over, - she'll be okay."

“She’s not-“ He clears his throat, forcing himself to speak again. “Can I go in?”

"Of course," she replies softly, opening the door for him to enter before turning away to leave them be.

He gives her a short, grateful smile - before finally turning back to the open door. But then his eyes land on her figure on the bed and his breath catches in his throat.

She seems so small, so silent and peaceful. She’s covered in cuts and bruises that look fresh, dark purple and red marks covering her skin. And there’s an IV on her arm and god, he’d tear this place to pieces if he thought it’d bring her any comfort.

His eyes scan over her body, taking in the injuries on her, the way the bruises and cuts are scattered along her skin. His stomach clenches, bile suddenly threatening to rise up and overtake him. It’s more than he’d been expecting - more than he could ever be prepared for, the thought of her in this much pain-

He forces himself to take several deep breaths, steadying himself before continuing to approach the bed - slowly, carefully, like a scared animal.

“Y/N?” he murmurs under his breath. She barely stirs.

He gently places a hand on her shoulder, gently - so gently, mindful of the cuts and bruises scattered across her skin as he tries to shake her shoulder.

"Wake up,” he whispers under his breath, his fingers trembling. “Wake up, c’mon.”

She's disturbed from the thick haze of sleep by the feeling of warm fingers touching her skin.

Huh?

He feels her wake up, her body stirring as he keeps his hand on her shoulder, trying to soothe her and reassure himself all at once.

“Hey,” he murmurs, as she starts to open her eyes. “Hey there-“

Eyes still bleary with sleep, her mind races to figure out what's going on. "O- Oscar...?"

She looks tired and disoriented, and it makes something in his stomach clenches. But the sound of his name from her lips is like a cool mist, soothing and familiar all at once.

“Yeah,” he confirms softly, his fingers gently tracing the same circle on her shoulder. “Yeah, it’s me.”

Hearing Oscar’s voice after so long makes something in her chest feel weird and warm and-

“Oscar.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he murmurs, his fingers running gently through the strands of hair at the nape of her neck as his other hand traces small circles at her shoulder.

“I’m here,” he reassures, his tone as gentle as possible. Unsure of what to do or how to approach this, he resigns to standing there awkwardly. “I’m here. You, uh- you asked for me?”

Before she realizes, her face is wet with tears. Warm droplets trickle down her cheeks, dripping off her chin and onto her neck. She can barely see Oscar through her blurred vision.

“Whoa, whoa, shhhh,” he murmurs, trying to soothe her. “Hey, s’alright - shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, you’re okay, I’m here.”

He reaches forward, gently brushing the tears off her cheek. As the sniffles finally subside and Oscar takes a seat by her hospital bed, she turns her head toward him, taking in his presence. Every detail is one she’s trying to commit to memory - the swoop of his hair, the warmth of his eyes, the freckles that decorate his skin.

He tries to keep his expression encouraging, reassuring as she stares at him, but he’s sure that he looks as terrified and devastated as he feels. Instead of commenting on his own state of mind, he tries his luck. “Is it okay if I hold your hand?”

“Can we go?”

He tilts his head, not entirely registering what she’s said.

“What?”

She blinks once, slowly. “I want to go. Can you take me-“

“No,” he replies abruptly - before catching himself, mentally scolding himself for the sharp tone he’d used.

Instead, he tries to soften his tone as he gently adds, “No, Y/N. You need to stay here - you’re hurt, and you need medical care. They need to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine now,” she tries. Whether it's the medications or the sleep or whatever the hell is supposed to be in that IV, she has to find her thoughts through a haze. “They fixed me, remember? I can-“

“No, sweetheart,” he replies gently - but his tone is still firm. “You’re not leaving. Not until you’re properly healthy.”

She turns away, cross.

“You might feel fine now, but you- you were really hurt. You need to recover, and these people know how to take care of you,” he tries to explain.

“Whatever.” The syllables slur ever so slightly, making it sound more like whud-ever.

“It’s not fair of you to be mad at me for this,” he argues.

Her words are icy cold. “You can go now.”

His jaw clenches again, as he feels irritation stirring along with it.

“No,” he retorts, his voice still firm. “I’m sticking right by your side.”

“What if I don’t want you here?”

He falters at her words, something in his heart clenching.

“That’s not fair,” he retorts, the hurt clear from his voice. “You’re mad at me for no reason.”

She turns over, and continues her silent treatment.

His irritation boils over, and he grits his teeth for a moment, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to settle himself down.

“Hey,” he murmurs, fondness bleeding through his voice inadvertently. Placing a hand on his shoulder, gently trying to turn her towards him. “Don’t be mad at me. Just- just talk to me.”

“I don’t wanna,” she mumbles gruffly. “I want to go home.”

He swallows against the painful lump in his throat that forms when he hears the word “home” from her lips.

“I know you do,” he answers, his voice gentle. “And I know you want to be out of here, but they’re trying to take care of you, yeah? This is the best place for you right now.”

She keeps ignoring him, hoping he’ll eventually go away.

He can feel his irritation rising as her silent treatment continues - trying to drown out the voice in his head telling him that she’s just scared and confused, and that she doesn’t really mean it.

“Stop it,” he tries again, his patience starting to run thin as he grabs her shoulder, and turns her towards him this time. “Don’t be like this. You have to know I'm trying to help.”

He’s only greeted by more silence.

He’s silent as well for a moment, his eyes still fixed on the heart monitor, watching the steady rise and fall of the screen, the steady, slow beeping that tells him she’s okay, she’s okay.

He tries to keep his voice quiet and steady, to avoid letting his frustration show. “Please just say something. Don’t do this.”

The silence is deafening, and he hates every second of it.

With a small noise of frustration, he reaches out to grab her shoulder, his fingers wrapping gently around it as he tries to pull her towards him. When she’s forced to turn, he finds she’s hastily wiping away tears.

All of the irritation and frustration and even a little bit of anger immediately evaporates, leaving only the urge to pull her into his arms and hold her until she feels better. Without thinking, he gently uses his hand on her shoulder to pull her towards him, helping her up into a sitting position and then gently pulls her against his side, wrapping a secure arm around her.

He’s quiet for a moment, just holding her close to his side as he feels her body shaking against his. He moves the hand that’s wrapped around her, sliding his fingers gently into her hair, gently massaging her scalp in an attempt to help calm her.

“You can cry,” he murmurs gently against her head, placing a gentle kiss against her hair. “It’s okay, s’alright.”

“M’not,” she mumbles. “I don’t want to be here.”

“I know. I know you don’t..” he sympathizes. “But you need to be here for a while - you need to rest.”

She plays along. “Yeah,” she sniffles. “I s’pose so.”

His hand moves without consciously meaning to, wrapping a gentle hand around her other shoulder and pulling her entirely into his side, so that she’s practically falling against him, leaning heavily against his torso.

“Right,” he murmurs, resting his chin on the top of her head. “Just rest, okay? Rest - I’ve got you.”

He keeps her close against his side, still absently moving his fingers through her hair as he tries to keep her calm and settled. But what comes out of his mouth is, “You’re still mad at me, huh?”

“Actually…”

He lifts an eyebrow, his hand briefly stopping the soft massage, his heart briefly stopping when it does. “Actually?” he prompts gently.

It’s a wonder that Oscar doesn’t comment on how heart is thudding against her chest. Maybe its because he’s being polite. Yeah, he seems like the type to do that. Or maybe he doesn’t have good hearing. Stallard should probably know about that-

Her mental rambling is only cut off when somehow, words tumble out of her mouth, seemingly of her own accord. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to lay in the bed,” she mumbles, except the words come so rapidly that they’re barely understandable.

Immediately, she goes to backtrack. “Or not! It’s fine actually-“

For a moment, she watches as he just blinks at her. It’s a little disconcerting, really.

“Move,” he instructs her softly, gently maneuvering her so that he can climb in the bed beside her. Eh, he figures. They’ve been in worse situations than this.

Once he’s settled behind her, he pulls her back closer to his chest, tucking her tight against his side, her back against his chest, and wrapping an arm snugly around her waist. He closes his eyes, his chin resting on the top of her head. “Better?”

“Mhmm,” she hums contentedly.

He can feel himself smiling as he relaxes, his body melting against hers. He feels her relax against him as well, her shoulders losing some of their tension, and his free hand moves to rest gently on her stomach.

It’s over two hours later when Lando starts getting fidgety - the man is not exactly known for his ability to sit still. It’s been a while since he’s heard from his teammate, and he hasn’t heard any updates. Once Lando reaches his third round of pacing, his phone finally lights up with texts from Oscar:

She's okay

Doctor says she'll be alright

But we're both tired, so I'm going to stay the night.

Oscar glances down at where Y/N is resting against his chest, and he feels some of the tension leave his shoulders.

Lando successfully forces sends Oscar home to get some real rest before tomorrow’s free practice - only after Oscar makes him swear on his favorite golf club that Lando’d call him immediately if anything happened. He grabs an extra chair and pulls it over so that it sits right by her bedside, and he sits down on it, watching her.

The sight of her like this feels incorrect, like those AI images that distort reality. The hospital room, the tubes, the bandages and the bruising and the cuts - none of it looks right. His mind struggles to wrap itself around how her parents could have done this to her.

He’s lost in thought, his knuckles absently running up and down the back of her hand, when suddenly, her eyes flutter open.

“…O- Osc?”

She’s disoriented when she first opens her eyes, confused to find herself still in a hospital room when she’d fallen asleep beside Oscar. But then she looks up, and she sees Lando’s face.

“Hey… hey,” he says softly, smiling gently down at her as he keeps his voice quiet. “It’s me.”

“Oscar? Where’s Oscar? He was just…“ She looks around, confused. How much morphine have they been giving her?

“He’s at home,” her companion corrects eagerly, his voice gentle. “He had to go home, get some proper sleep. But he let me chill here and hang out with you.”

“He left?”

“Yeah,” he says gently, still speaking softly. “Only for the night, though.”

He keeps rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, trying to soothe her before she gets more upset than she already is.

“Oh.”

Lando’s heart clenches with pity when he notices the look on her face, her expression fallen, and his voice drops even further down to a whisper.

“I know you’re disappointed,” he consoles quietly. “But believe me when I say he needs the rest. You’ll see him again soon.”

Lando takes a moment to examine her in the hospital bed. He doesn’t need to be a doctor to notice how small she looks in the hospital bed - she always is in comparison with him and Oscar, but this just highlights it even more.

“How are you feeling right now? Are you in any pain?” he asks, his voice still lowered.

“I’m… feeling much better, actually,” she says carefully. If she lays it on too thick, Lando won’t believe her. “The meds have been helping.”

“You sure?” he asks, his voice doubtful, looking at her in a somewhat skeptical manner. “You’re really not in any pain?”

“Just a bit of discomfort, but that’s it,” she lies through her teeth. In reality, any real jostling of her midsection sends a searing pain through her side.

Lando gives her an uncertain look, still not fully convinced by her reassurances. His eyes search her face for any kind of hint to her real pain level, but she’s gotten too good at hiding it over the years for him to tell now.

He sighs. “Okay, fine. But if that changes, you’ve got to tell someone, alright?”

“Of course,” she smiles.

He gives her a look that says he’s still not convinced, but decides not to press the issue.

He returns the smile, gently squeezing her hand.

“Good.”

A beat.

“Are you hungry, thirsty? Or… or something?”

“I’m alright,” she answers, but is immediately interrupted by the sound of her stomach grumbling.

He smirks, raising an eyebrow. “Mmhmm. ‘Alright’, huh?”

He takes the hint though, standing up straight and offering her a smile. “You stay put. I’ll go find a nurse and see if I can get you something to eat or drink.”

Like she can go anywhere. “Lando?”

He’s halfway out the door already, but he pauses in the doorway, turning back when her voice calls out to him. “Yeah?”

“Think the cafeteria has mac n’ cheese?”

“Macaroni and cheese?” He repeats, sounding amused, but he’s still somewhat confused by it. “Like, mac n’ cheese, specifically?”

“Just a craving,” she mutters sheepishly.

“You are… something else,” he chuckles, shaking his head. Bringing his hand to his forehead in a mock salute, he declares, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you! You’re the best!” she whisper-yells after him,

He turns to head into the hallway again, and he throws a smile at her over his shoulder before disappearing out the door.

He returns to the room about fifteen minutes later, a large mug of hot tea and a bowl of what smells like shepherd’s pie in his hands. “Made you a cuppa,” he informs her, before her gaze lands on the fresh goods.

“Is that-“

Lando holds the steaming box out to her with an amused smirk, clearly proud of himself for his accomplishment. “Shepherd’s pie,” he confirms confidently, giving her a smile. “Just as you ordered, madam.”

“You didn’t.”

He grins, holding it out to her - he actually went and did it.

“I did indeed.”

“Wasn’t it closed?” she asked as she brought the tray table closer to herself, eyeing the comfort food with delight.

The first bite is so good she has to close her eyes to savor it. The warm, hearty food feels like manna from heaven for her weakened body - she could cry tears of joy. There’s no way this food was made in a hospital cafeteria.

Lando sets the tea on the table, watching her as she tries the food, and can’t help the smile that spreads on his face when he sees how pleased she is with the food he chose.

“Closed, yes,” he says, sitting back down on the chair he’d previously been in. “But I’m very charming and persuasive.”

“So you ordered it from a shop.”

He grins.

“And who’s the smart one?” he asks, watching her eat. “Turns out the place next door does a pretty amazing Shepherd’s pie. Who knew?”

She’s too happy at the food to be bothered to tease him back. “This is amazing, dude. You’re the best.”

He can’t help but smile again, watching her enjoying the food he got like it’s the best thing she has had in years. He’s happy to have done this one thing to make her happy - he can’t help but tease, though. “Well, you know…”

He sits back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.

“I am pretty great.”

“Alright, alright,” she says, waving him off. Now that she’s gotten a few bites in her, she gets a bit quieter. Eating and chewing is a surprisingly exhaustive task for someone who’s still on the mend.

She wipes the corner of her mouth, before finally turning to Lando.

“How is he?” she asks quietly.

He’s a bit surprised when she shifts the conversation, turning to ask about how Oscar is doing now, but he still answers willingly.

“He’s…” Lando hesitates a moment, searching for a word that would most accurately describe the situation .

“He’s… not great right now,” he says at last. Might as well be honest. “But… I think he’ll pull through. He’s a bit of a mess, but he’s… alright.”

“Yeah,” she sighs softly. She doesn’t look at Lando as she says it, feeling too responsible for his predicament. Instead, she tries her best to clean up after her meal - wrapping away the leftovers that feel like too much work to eat right now.

She gives her friend a tired smile before yawning. “Do you think it’s okay if I get some rest?”

He eyes her carefully, noticing the exhaustion on her face. “Yeah, f’course,” he assures her, standing up from the chair. “You’ve had a long few days. You should rest while you can.”

He takes the leftovers and sets them on the bedside table, before pulling the blankets up to her shoulders.

“Thanks, Lan,” she hums, before her eyes fall shut.

Lando doesn’t know when his own eyes fall shut, but they do.

Oscar does not, in fact, return.

Over the course of the next few days, Y/N gets very familiar with the hospital’s jello variety. She decides that she likes fruit punch the most, but that isn’t much of a surprise. What does surprise her, however, is when she wakes to a beautiful bouquet by her bedside. It’s an elegant collection, a haze of lavender florals - peonies and chrysanthemums - beautifully framed by stems of baby’s breath.

She eagerly reaches for the gift, excited to examine it up close. There’s a note tucked into the silk white ribbon that ties the wrapping together - a small cardstock thing that seems to have something written on it. Carefully plucking it out with her fingers, her eyes drift across the angular scrawl, penned in black ink.

“Heard you decided to sit Silverstone out. Don’t worry, it

was boring anyway. You know it isn’t the same with you.

I’ll swing by sometime with bad puns and greasy pizza.

That’ll fix you up real quick, trust me.

Get well soon, Loser.”

A smile blooms on her face as she reads the thoughtful words. She searches the note, trying to find the identity of the sender so she can at least send them a message of gratitude. Turning the card over, there's a misshapen looking smiley face next to a familiar name.

Love ya,

Logan

She’s lucky to have a friend like Logan - another American on the paddock, one who’s taken up the role of annoying older brother. They’d met through Oscar, initially - back in those early weeks of their rookie seasons. But then the conversation went to whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza, and then the rest is history.

The card is returned to her bedside table as shuffles in her bed, turning over to get comfortable so she can take a nap.

Letting her head sink into the starchy fabric of the hospital pillow, she tries not to think of the feeling that rose up in her throat when the name on the card wasn’t the one she was looking for.

Lando wakes up to his butt uncomfortably numb. Someone seriously needs to work on a better replacement for these inconvenient contraptions disguised as chairs. Isn’t the hospital meant to make you feel better?

Lando’s fairly certain he was much better conditioned when he walked in this morning - at this rate, they may just have to wheel him out.

“-and this one you’re going to take orally 3 times a day, alright? So that’s every 8 hours, to help reduce pain and any inflammation.”

Lando blearily blinks at the noise, but the words slowly get his brain up to speed, and he sits up a little straighter. He glances at her, who looks about as sleepy as he does - her eyelids look heavy, and her voice is still a little hoarse from sleep.

“Okay,” she nods, taking the meds from the doctor, and putting them away in a bag by the bedside.

The doctor checks something off on her clipboard, before looking back up at the young woman seated on the side of the bed.

“Right then. And do you have someone with you at home who’ll be able to keep an eye on you these next few weeks once you go home today?”

Suddenly, Lando really doesn’t like the doctor or the way this conversation is going. He doesn’t like the idea of her being all alone for the next few weeks. With all the medication she’s on, she’s not going to be able to drive.

She nods. “Yeah. I do. I live with my boyfriend,” she smiles reassuringly. The lie is so good that it even has Lando confused.

She has a boyfriend? That she lives with?

Lando’s immediate next thought is, Does Oscar know?

But he keeps quiet as the doctor continues to finish up her lecture about Y/N’s instructions for care. Lando sits there quietly, not knowing what to think.

Boyfriend? That’s news to him. If she had a boyfriend that she was living with… wouldn’t he have known that?

He watches her as she quietly nods and talks with the doctor, and he’s left to wonder how long this boyfriend has been around. When the doctor finally leaves and the room goes quiet again, Lando lets out a little yawn and then turns around in his chair to face her. There’s a confused, almost suspicious look on his face as he regards the girl.

“So… you have a boyfriend?” Lando doesn’t know if he feels protective or betrayed, but neither make the conversation less awkward. In all the time the three have spent together, the young assistant has barely, if ever, brought up her dating life. Probably because she’s in love with her Google calendar.

“Hmm?” she says, gathering her things. Finally, free at last.

Lando can’t really blame her for wanting to get out of a hospital bed and away from the crappy food. But he also hasn’t forgotten about her boyfriend comment from earlier. He looks at her skeptically. “You said you live wit’ your boyfriend, do you?”

“Oh,” she shrugs. “Just told the doctor what she needed to hear so I could get outta here.”

Lando blinks at her - and he’s left with the sudden, weird urge to laugh for the first time all night. The Briton stares at her for a few more seconds, trying to sort out the mixed bundle of feelings running through his mind. Then, teasingly bumping his shoulder with hers and grinning like the cat who got the cream, he finally manages to ask, “So… Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No,” she says with a wave of her hand, like the mere notion is ridiculous. “Single as a pringle.”

“Yeah? That’s not what you told the doctor, though…” He sing-songs. If she is actually seeing someone, then Lando can’t help but be happy for her. He’d be even happier though if it was Oscar - then he could finally make good those on that cash from some of the other drivers.

Lando hums. He’s been meaning to add a new Richard Mille to his collection.

“She wanted to hear that I had someone at home in case something went awry. So that’s what I told her,” she explains simply. Once she’s done packing her things, she turns to Lando. “Ready to go? Oscar has a meeting soon and I’d like to be there for it.”

“So let me get this straight,” Lando says, no longer thinking of luxury watches. This time when he speaks, the tone of his voice is quite clear that he’s not happy with what he’s hearing. “You lied to a medical professional - told her you were living with a boyfriend - so you’d get discharged earlier… and there’s a meeting at work?”

“Yes,” she deadpans. “Now that you’re all caught up, can we go?”

When they arrive at the MTC, it’s business as usual. They each go their separate ways - Lando off to do whatever it is that Lando does, and Y/N to her office. She turns into the familiar space, dropping off her things, and taking inventory of the stack of papers that have accumulated on her desk in her absence.

Oscar’s sim session was okay. It wasn’t the greatest practice he’s had, but it wasn’t a complete disaster of a session either.

He tries not to think about the fact that he’s only semi-focused on the practice. His mind keeps wandering away from the simulator, and his eyes find their way to the office door that’s right across from the simulator room, where a familiar name plate adorns the door.

He shakes his head. His mind has been imagining her in this familiar setting - filling in the gaps where he’s used to her being. There’s been at least three occasions where he’s walking into her office, caught up in his theories or hypothetical to remember for a moment that she isn’t here.

A member of the janitorial staff saw him one of those times.

It was embarrassing, to say the least.

And yet his mind continues to picture her sitting at her desk. His brain supplies an image of her - a memory? - her, hard at work on her laptop or tablet, completely immersed, headphones on, chewing on her pen.

Except, when he blinks… the image of her is still there.

What the fuck?

“Good afternoon,” Y/N greets, trying to keep her voice as casual and even as she can.

He nearly jumps up at the sound of her voice - but it’s also a familiar, welcome sound. Before his mind can catch up to his brain, he lets out a blunt, “You shouldn’t be here.”

She flinches ever so slightly at that.

“Was discharged this morning,” she smiles professionally, trying to keep it light. She decides to leave out the part where she orchestrated her own discharge from the hospital so that she could be at work, because she has a feeling that her boss will not react well to that.

He wants to be relieved. He does. But he also can’t stop the feeling of annoyance at the idea of her returning to work within hours of being discharged from the hospital.

“Wait, let me get this straight,” he starts, and the irritation he feels is definitely showing in his voice. “You were discharged this morning, and you came here?”

Her lips press together into a straight line. He’s the one who’s annoyed?

“I am here now. Whether you choose to utilize my services or not is, of course, up to you.”

“That’s not an answer,” he counters, walking towards her. He’s definitely trying to suppress some feelings right now - irritation, relief at the sight of her, and something else that he can’t place.

“You’re supposed to be resting - not here,” he stresses, his stance and tone both authoritative.

“Oscar,” she hisses lowly. “I believe we have a guests.”

Y/N points her gaze in the direction of Zack and Andrea who seem to be making their rounds this morning, the CEO and team principal respectively. He turns to see both Andrea and Zack walking by and greeting people in the nearby rooms, handshakes and half hugs.

He can’t lose his cool now, even if what she’s doing right now is downright idiotic. He clenches his teeth, his jaw tight, but he manages to keep his irritation tampered down.

She can’t help but feel a little hurt by that. After everything, he could at least pretend to be happy to see her.

“Thank you, Mr. Piastri,” she says sarcastically, before plastering a fake smile onto her face. “Anything else?”

The too-tight smile she throws his way is unexpected.

He tries to ignore the fact that it makes him feel like the world’s biggest dickhead.

“Er… no,” he says, sounding a little unsure. “That should be everything.”

“Very well,” she nods curtly, before walking off to god knows where.

She sets course for her office. When she reaches the sleek door, she pushes against it with, letting herself inside.

Taking a seat on one of the armchairs placed by the coffee table, she leans her head back against the cushioned backing. Unshed tears of frustration stay locked in her chest, taking a deep sigh instead.

Why the fuck is she so worked up about this?

Everything is fine - she has no idea why she feels like shit. Oscar’s reaction to seeing her back from the hospital doesn’t mean anything.

It shouldn’t mean anything. Right?

He watches her leave his office, and the whole time - the whole time he feels like he can feel the disappointment radiating from her.

It’s unwarranted - she has no reason to be pissed at him when she’s the one who’s being an idiot, he tries to convince himself. But he doesn’t quite manage.

He knows he’s in for a long evening.

The nagging feeling in his gut leads him to her door. There’s no reason to be nervous, right? Y/N has been here for the good, the bad, and ugly - sleeve deprived rants and mood swing and one drink too many and even giving him a ride from the sheriff’s office that one time he caused a fender bender.

Before he thinks it over any more, he pushes again the elegant oak door.

Her office is some combination of elegant and cozy. To one side, there is a sitting area - cream coloured armchairs he’s been a frequent visitor of. Against the wall, navy bookshelves frame both sides of an art piece, the shelves of books punctuated by hand crafted decorations.

To the far end of the room is where her desk is, a large monitor displaying the McLaren logo adorning the glass wall. There’s a few picture frames oh er desk that he’s seen dozens of time’s before - a little boy at his first soccer game, friends at a birthday party, someone posing at the top of some rock formation. Her vase has been filled with dainty lilac flowers.

Her tall, black office chair sticks out, and it’s there he finds her, face illuminated by the glow of the computer she’s diligently working on. The clacking of keys is the only sound in the room, interrupted only when she turns to note something down.

She’s a vision. A beautiful, perfect vision, with her hair pulled back into a claw clip, loose strands framing her face. And he’s frozen in place, unable to do anything other than just stare.

His heart is racing out of his chest, and after seconds of just staring, he tries to get his mouth to work.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks gruffly, surprised by how rough his voice comes out.

“Get lost, Lando,” she grumbles without looking. She’s not in the mood for Lando’s attempts to cheer her up - she just wants to be a miserable workaholic in peace.

He can’t help the chuckle that escapes his lips at that. It’s a quiet one, but hearing her think that he’s Lando amuses him.

“What, no time for me?” he asks, the tone of his voice teasing even though he’s feeling anything but on the inside.

Her eyes fly open in recognition, before she returns her attention to her desktop. Her eyes focus themselves on the facts and figures, making it a point not to pay him any attention.

“I’m not in the mood,” she mumbles, still upset from earlier. What is he even doing here?

The silent treatment, really? After he spent the whole afternoon worrying about her? She doesn’t get to just ignore him after he spent the whole day unable to function.

That thought makes him start to feel irritable. “I don’t care what ‘mood’ you’re in,” he snaps, not caring how harsh he sounds.

There’s something about the way she’s avoiding his gaze, ignoring him - she’s doing it on purpose. She’s making a point of deliberately looking away, looking elsewhere. It makes him frustrated, it makes him feel raw, like he’s suddenly vulnerable, out in the open.

“Look at me,” he says in an authoritative tone, his irritation seeping into his words.

“Don’t want to.”

His jaw clenches at her response. She’s being petulant, and maybe he does deserve it, but god does it piss him off.

He walks closer to her, stopping right before her and blocking her from moving any further away.

“I said look at me,” he repeats, his voice coming through gritted teeth.

With a roll of her eyes, she brings her gaze to his face.

He tries to resist the urge to immediately look her over - to make a visual catalog of each cut, bruise and injury on her skin, to catalog which specific shade of blue and red every mark is, to count how many stitches are on her forehead - to catalog the full extent of the damage that’s been done.

Instead, he forces himself to look into her eyes, his irritation turning into intense, barely concealed anger.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming back today,” he accuses, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Well, here I am.”

There’s more clicking, a shift in the color of the light reflecting her face as she switches between tabs. A beat of silence passes over the room.

“You done?” she says with a raised eyebrow.

Nope, he’s not done. He hasn’t even started.

“No, actually,” he shoots back, his anger bubbling up at her feistiness. “We’re not ‘done’ until we actually have a real conversation.”

“What are you on about?”

“You heard me,” he says, his voice more firm in response to her disbelief. “If you think we’re just pushing this to the side, and act like everything fair and dandy, then you’re very mistaken.”

Finally sparing him a glance, she tells him nonchalantly, “I don’t see much for us to talk about.”

His face scrunches, eyebrows pinching together as he holds back a scoff. “I’m the one over here who’s trying to fix whatever the hell this mess is,” he points out, gesturing with his finger between the two.. “I’m the one who’s actually worried about you, after what you went through -”

He breaks off abruptly, not wanting to go there.

She whips her head to the side when she hears that.

“Fuck off,” she spits, almost-tears in her eyes. “You don’t get to act like you care about me whenever you feel like it and then decide you don’t whenever you want.”

“Goddamnit - that’s not what I do!”

Anger is rising in his chest. Does she really think that he only cares when he feels like it? Does she have any idea how much time he spends worrying about her, how many times he has to hold himself back because he’s worried of crossing a line?

“You just don’t want to accept that I do care about you,” he accuses, his voice rising, his temper flaring.

Her reply is immediate, a pre-loaded bullet.

“No, ‘Hi, how are you?’ or ‘Glad to have you back.’ No, instead,” she scoffs, “the first words out of your mouth after you see me is, ‘You’re not supposed to be here?’”

That stops him in his tracks.

His eyes widen in realization as he’s suddenly hit with the realization of just how cold and shitty his first words to her had been.

No greeting, no ‘good to have your back’, no ‘glad you’re okay’ - just accusations. His heart clenches in his chest as he realizes it - how careless he must have sounded.

“You know,” she laughs humorlessly, like it’s an inside joke that only she is in on. “I can’t believe I was foolish enough to think that night meant something to you.”

Images of that night, what feels like years ago, flash in her mind - his tender touches, his caring whispers, those soft kisses they shared. The way he’d confessed how much he cared about her as he patched her up, how he’d come to her aid when she needed it most.

“But apparently not. Because apparently it’s really easy to ignore me for a whole week, to give me the cold shoulder all day, right? To make sure you have anyone else to replace the work I do for you every day?”

The words feel like a slap to the face.

He feels the anger in his gut subside, being replaced by immediate regret.

“That’s not what it was-” he stumbles over his words, his voice coming out more pleading than he’d like to admit.

“That’s not what any of it was,” he shakes his head emphatically, trying to make her understand, make her see that he didn’t mean to come off the way he had. “I was just- I was just worried about you, I-”

“Tell me you didn’t have Kelsey schedule your meetings then. Or have Hendrix manage your correspondence. Or, maybe you didn’t specifically ask for Annika to run your errands just so that you wouldn’t have to talk to me.”

His heart is in his stomach. When she says it like that - lists all his actions out in such a clinical way - it sounds so damn manipulative that he doesn’t have an immediate response.

“It wasn’t like that-” he tries to protest, trying to say something, anything to make her understand that no, that wasn’t him trying to give her the cold shoulder, that wasn’t him trying to get away from her.

She puts a hand up to halt his train of thought.

“Look, it’s one thing to disagree with a personal decision of mine, but to punish me for it professionally?” Her tone is as incredulous as it is hurt.

“I work very hard, and I am damn good at my job,” she states, certain. “There is a reason it takes so many people to fill in for what I do everyday.”

She takes a breath, trying to keep her voice even.

“So you do not get to insult me and my work this way.”

He takes a few steps towards her, his hands itching desperately to reach out and grab her. He wants to grab her shoulders, make her look at him - to just let him say something, but she’s right.

“I know,” he says quietly, his voice laced with shame, “I know you do good work. I was just…”

“I was just mad,” he confesses with a reluctant sigh. “I was mad that everything… everything happened, and I didn’t know what to do. And I know that’s a terrible excuse, but I didn’t- I was just feeling all these- feelings, and I reacted like an - an ass, and I…”

He runs his hand along his face, exhaling in frustration.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for how I acted.”

She continues to glare at him, silent.

He hates the way she’s looking at him - like the sight of him hurts her.

“Please,” he whispers, hating the pleading tone that crept into his voice. “Please, don’t look at me like that. Just- just let me make up for it, yeah? Let me make this right. Can you… can you at least…?”

He slowly starts moving closer to her - one, then two steps.

She moves back.

“‘At least’ what? What do you want from me now?”

He takes another step, the distance between them now a mere foot. When he’s standing just in front of her, he stops.

His heart is lodged in his throat.

“Can… can I touch you?”

“Why? You want me to be your charity case again? Something you can hold and try to fix to make yourself feel better?”

Okay, maybe that was a bit too far. But she was scared because she was this close to forgiving him, to letting all the anger dissipate like it never existed and letting him hold her like he did so many nights ago.

She shouldn’t forgive him so easily. She shouldn’t want to forgive him so quickly.

He shouldn’t influence her as easily as he does.

He winces, as if she’d physically hit him with those words. He hates the way she’s reacting - hates how she’s talking like she doesn’t know him.

“No,” he says shakily, the word coming out as a breath. “No, I… you’re not a charity case. I just-”

He’s desperate now, desperate to fix this.

“I want to hold you,” he says quietly, his voice breaking. “I just want to hold you.”

“Why?” she tries to sound demanding, angry, cross with him. But her voice cracks instead.

The sound of her voice cracking makes his chest ache.

“Because I care about you,” he says, the words coming out rushed. “Because I’m terrified that you’ll disappear. And because after everything that’s happened these last couple days, I… I just want to hold you in my arms and make sure that you’re real. That you’re here. I just want you.”

“Please,” he whispers. “Please just let me hold you.”

His heart is beating so damn fast that it’s making his head fuzzy, but he needs her to say yes.

She eyes him warily. This wouldn’t be the first time he acted like he cared about her like this, only to distance himself after.

“I’m not leaving,” he says slowly, his voice serious. “I’m not going to push you away. I swear. I swear to you, I will not push you away again this time, okay?”

He reaches out slowly, trying to seem as unthreatening as possible, and puts his hand lightly to her wrist - just barely keeping his touch there, like he’s afraid she’ll recoil away.

“Please,” he whispers, his eyes never leaving hers. “Please just… just give me a chance. Let me just have this one thing. Please.”

Still eyeing him, she gives him the barest nod.

She’s never been that good at saying no to him anyway.

Slowly, he moves closer to her, taking one small step at a time. His hands hover at her shoulders for a moment, pulling her to stand up, before he reaches out again and gently pushes her shirt sleeves up slightly, exposing her bare forearms.

She watches him curiously, wondering what he’s doing.

He carefully wraps his fingers loosely around both of her wrists, being mindful of a bruise, and gently guides them up and around his shoulders.

His hands settle on her hips, and then he hesitates. He knows she’s still upset. He knows that he’s still got to apologize and make it up to her properly, but right now, he desperately just wants her close. So he takes a deep breath and gently pulls her body closer, until he can feel her flush against him.

He rests his chin on the top of her head, and god, she feels so good in his arms. She feels so right, and he doesn’t even care that she’s hurt and angry with him right now - she’s here. She’s here, and she’s not pushing him away.

She inhales and that scent that’s so Oscar fills her senses.

She wonders why Oscar smells like coming home.

His hands rub up and down her body slowly - still as gentle as he can manage, not wanting to overstep. He feels her flinch when he accidentally brushes his fingers over a patch of bruise just above her hip bone, and he quickly moves his hand to other spots.

He just wants to hold her. He wants to be close to her.

“Do friends hug like this?” she whispers, not daring to look at him.

The question catches him off guard, and he freezes for a moment.

“No,” he says slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. He continues his slow rhythm of rubbing up and down along her body, tracing an invisible pattern of loops and circles. Silence falls over the room like a blanket of fog, the night sky a backdrop to the intimacy of two people.

“No, I don’t think friends do,” he says quietly.

“You kissed me. The other night, at your place - you kissed me,” she murmurs into his embrace.

He doesn’t move for a moment, absorbing the words.

“I did,” he says simply.

His hands continue to gently rub up and down against her form, his touch careful and calculated. It’d be so easy, so easy just to slip his hands beneath the fabric of her clothes, to just touch her - skin to skin. But not yet.

“And when I did, you kissed me back,” he says quietly.

Her breathing hitches - she wasn’t sure he’d remember.

“I did,” she admits quietly.

A warm feeling begins to take root in his chest and he tightens his hold around her. Pulling his head back, his hooked finger tilting up her chin, he tries to read her eyes.

“And if I were to kiss you again right now, do you think you’d kiss me back?” he asks slowly, his voice still a soft whisper.

She looks up at him, eyes meeting his.

“Only one way to find out,” she breathes.

He holds her gaze for a moment longer, searching her face for any sign of discomfort or uncertainty.

And then he’s carefully lifting one of his hands to her face, his fingers barely coming to rest against her cheek. He rubs the pad of his thumb across her cheek for a moment, just wanting to savor the brief feeling, before gently tilting her head up.

And then he’s slowly lowering his head down, until he can just barely feel her breath against his lips.

Foreheads pressed together, all she can see, feel, breathe is him.

“Don’t play with my heart like this,” she murmurs against his lips.

He swallows hard.

“I’m not,” he breathes quietly, his eyes closed. He can’t bring himself to open them now - he’s scared of what he’ll see in her expression.

He hesitates. He wants to kiss her, wants to kiss her so bad, but he’s not sure she’ll let him. He’s not sure she trusts him again yet.

He moves his head slightly, his nose just brushing against hers.

“I won’t,” he says quietly, this time with more conviction - more force. “I swear I will never hurt you again. I’ll prove it, I’ll show you-“

His words are interrupted by a knock at her door.

They have the worst timing.

Part 4

#formula 1 fic #oscar x assistant!reader #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri #oscar piastri angst #oscar piastri x reader #please read and validate me #saffu's works #formula 1

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azrielwingspan · 4 months ago

Text

RED SERPENT (Mob!Bucky x f!reader)

Chapter 2- Bastards and Pawns

Chapter 1

Summary: King and Queen of New York. The one who knows how to play the game, survives.

Warnings: Violence, mature content, sexual themes, foul language.

Disclaimer: I do not condone any of the actions written in this story.

"Came back at 3am and went to his office." the maid whispered as you cut into your omelette with a silver knife.

"Hmm....pour me a glass of orange juice, will you Betty?"

"Yes, Mrs. Barnes." Your thoughts rang through the silence as you chewed on your omelette, your hunger long gone.

"Oh...and Mr.Barnes hasn't had his breakfast yet." Betty whispered again, her urge to please beyond satisfaction.

Nodding in understanding, you quickly wiped your mouth with a napkin and stood up.

"Thankyou, Betty. You've done well...as always." Giving her a small smile, you grabbed the glass of orange juice and made a beeline towards Bucky's office, a plan forming in your head.

Something had happened last night. Something crucial. You'd stayed up most of the night trying to figure out what could have gone wrong. The security was on high alert and Bucky hadn't returned to the room at all.

Damping down the irritation rearing its head once again, you walked into his office. Sitting there, his lip busted open and stains of blood on his white shirt was your beloved husband.

"Good morning." Walking leisurely, you placed the glass of orange juice on the table. His eyes stalked your every movement as you took a second to scan him all over. He still had his jacket on, the first few buttons on his shirt unbuttoned giving a view of his blood smeared chest. Only James Bucky Buchanan Barnes could look sexy half beaten up.

"I hope the other guy is dead."

A smirk crawled onto Buckys face as he gave a slight nod.

"Good." You redirected your gaze to the documents spread across the table, taking a quick glance at the titles in bold. "When were you going to tell me?" you ask, voice deceptively calm and composed.

The only response from the man was a heavy sigh as he leaned back in his chair.

"I asked you a question, James." your sharp edged voice cut through the silence left behind by your husband.

"I know." his eyes had never left your face, a certain coldness in his gaze.

So this is how he was going to play. Bastard. Over the year, he had come to trust you with his business operations but it was never a hundred percent. Some days, like this, you could see the mistrust and the hesitancy in his eyes. To be fair, if the positions were reversed, you wouldn't have trusted him either. However, you had the innate need to know everything.

Every. Single. Thing.

As they say, knowledge is power.

Letting out a breath and loosening up the tension in your body, you walked around the desk to Bucky's side not breaking eye contact with him. Once you were in front of him, you gave him a small smile and sat down on his lap.

"James darling..my dear husband." Running a knuckle down his face you leaned closer to him, a pulse of satisfaction shooting through you as you saw his eyes darken. His hands were still placed upon the arm rests but you knew he was struggling to hold back. Good.

"I am your wife. Your partner. Your biggest ally." Running a thumb across his split lip, your gaze momentarily dropping and his hands slowly making their way to your hips, you dropped your voice to a whisper.

"So when someone tries to fuck with OUR business, I need to know." His hands gripped onto your hips as you pushed yourself down onto him, the growing tightness beneath his pants making you smug.

"Now tell me.." you continued. "Why did Tony Stark send a hitman after you ?"

His hands loosened immediately, surprise flashing across his features. It was your turn to watch him silently as the cogs in his brain worked. The lust filled haze had disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

"It doesn't involve you, Y/N." he said sternly. "It goes way back. Old rivalries."

"Hmm." Placing your hands on either side of his face, you made him meet your eyes. "Being a widow doesn't suit me, James. It's...detrimental to my image and capabilities."

Scoffing in amusement, he took his bottom lip between his teeth. You decided to stay silent and let him spill the beans soon.

One...

Two...

Three...

Four...

Five...

A deep breath and...BINGO.

"I blocked one of the more important deals of his life. He would have been unstoppable if it had gone through. But now...he'll never get the opportunity again."

"So you've been trying to kill each ever since?" you asked sarcastically.

Men and their stupid fragile egos.

Bucky held back a laugh as he said "No..I must admit this attack was quite out of the blue."

Your thoughts were going so fast that you barely keep up.

This changes things. This changes everything.

"Well...go take a shower. You need it." You got off of his lap abruptly only to be yanked back.

"Ja—"

“Now doll..I do admire your incessant need to know the ins and outs of my life but I do not appreciate your maid snooping around.” His hands slid down to your ass and grabbed it. “I think she’s done enough. Don’t you think?”

You tried your best to maintain a poker face. Of course he knew. He was the white wolf. He could sniff out bullshit from a mile away.

He must have been satisfied with the look in your eyes because he said “Good. I’ll see you at lunch.” And that was that.

Shooting a cold look at him, you left the room grabbing the glass of orange juice on the way.

The headlights of your car cut through the foggy night barely illuminating the surroundings.

He was late. Idiot.

This was such a delicate game. One wrong move and you could end up dead. That was the thrill of it. So as you waited in the car drumming your fingers against the steering wheel, adrenaline rushing through your veins, you went through the possible outcomes of your actions. All of them equally deadly. Perfect.

A break in the fog ahead of you cut through your thoughts.

Finally. 10 minutes late.

You got out of your car grabbing the envelope of cash with you. Heels clacked against the pavement as you reached one of your pawns.

"Took you long enough." you said sharply, handing over the envelope. "Twenty in cash. The rest in cheque."

A brisk nod followed by "It's always a pleasure doing business with you...Mrs.Barnes." The mocking tone used to address you did not escape your notice.

You smirked at him and his impudence. "I wish I could say the same."

That was that.

Getting back into your car, you watched as Alexander Pierce disappeared once again.

Chapter 3

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stevie-petey · 1 year ago

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episode two: the weirdo on maple street

Trying to ease the awkwardness, you hold up a poster and offer it to them, but Steve snatches it from your grasp. “Henderson, didn’t know you were also a little know-it-all. Why don’t you share your review sheet with the rest of us?” He says, casting a teasing look your way. It isn’t until he inspects the piece of paper that he finally notices that it’s a missing poster for a child, not a review sheet. “Oh, shit. I’m so sorry.” You snatch the poster back from him. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”

summary: you use your limited psych knowledge to help a bald girl, you force jonathan to accept $20 and he's later an ass to you, steve doesn't know what a "missing" poster looks like, and it's really hard being a single mother to now four kids.

rating: general, but there's cursing as usual and steve being... well, steve - but hes still season 1 steve so give him some time

warnings: cursing, fem!reader, use of y/n, and there's more angst in this chapter with some fighting between reader and jonathan, so fair warning.

words: 10.1k (the longest thing ive ever written)

before you swing in: i'm almost done with chapter 4, so here's a sweet treat as i cram for exams lmao. some housekeeping: should i do a tag list ? i got a few questions about it, so pls let me know soldiers. also, i feel the need to clarify that i adore nancy but for plot reasons - reader and her don't really get along (but they def will later, trust me). season 1 nancy and steve are just so silly. anyways, i hope y'all enjoy this loooong chapter. the rest definitely aren't as lengthy due to plot, but wow. i amazed myself. carry on !

Your jeans drip onto the Wheeler’s carpet, and you’ve definitely left a wet imprint on the couch cushion beneath you. The other boys are dripping as well, but all their attention is on the girl in front of them.

After finding her in the woods, your motherly instincts kicked in, immediately removing your coat to place on her and gently ushering her to your bike and demanding that the boys go back to Mike’s. Your mom is home, so your house was out of the question, and it’s always been easy sneaking into the Wheeler’s, anyways.

Once you all had made it back, you guided the girl onto the couch and sat next to her. You refuse to let her go too far from you, having no idea where she came from or why, but regardless you know she’s too young for any of it to have been good.

Which leads you to now: wearily watching the boys stare at the girl as if she’s some science experiment, asking her a million questions a second.

Bless them and their little prepubescent minds.

Lucas reaches out to touch her, and before you can nudge him away, Mike slaps at his hand. “Stop it! You’re freaking her out!”

“She’s freaking me out!” Lucas retaliates, which honestly? That’s fair. The girl hasn’t said anything yet, even after your multiple attempts to get her to do so. No matter how much you try, you can’t coax a response out of her.

“I bet she’s deaf.” Your brother offers, suddenly clapping his hands to scare her, making both you and her flinch. “Not deaf…”

You roll your eyes at him. “Guys, she’s probably just really scared right now. We should give her some space,” you look at both Lucas and Dustin, “and time,” now you look at Mike. The three boys deflate a bit.

“She’s probably cold,” Mike says after a moment of silence, and you nod at his suggestion. Seeing your agreement, he walks over to a basket of clothes and takes out some pajamas.

While Mike is away, thunder rumbles and the girl jumps, unconsciously getting closer to you. You wrap an arm around her reassuringly, making note that she doesn’t like loud noises. If anything, she’s showing more and more signs of trauma response, which makes you uneasy. You remember Hopper saying something about Will being in danger. What are the odds that this little girl was running from something as well?

“Here, these are clean.” Mike’s return breaks you from your thoughts, and you take the clothes from him and stand up. You thank him, then offer your hand to the girl. She looks at you uncertainly.

“It’s okay,” you reassure her. “Let’s go get you dressed in some warm clothes. I’m right here, sweetheart.”

“She’s super nice.” Dustin says, trying to help.

Lucas adds, “Yeah, you can trust her.”

“She’s alright.” Is all Mike offers.

You give them all an appreciative smile, even if Mike is being a bit of an ass, and then you feel a small, cold hand wrap around yours. The girl stands up, looking around shyly, and you lead her to the bathroom. When you go to close the door, she stops you.

Mike has followed, seeing the interaction. “You don’t want it closed?”

Her voice is quiet, solemn. “No,”

You and Mike look at each other, and he voices what you’re thinking. “So you can speak.”

He looks excited about this new information, and you shove his head out of the doorway. She needs to get dressed. “We’ll leave the door cracked, okay?”

She nods at you, and you stand guard outside the door. It’s not that you don’t trust the boys, but Mike has only known her for ten minutes and he’s already been nicer to her than you’ve ever seen him with anyone else. The only other person he’s this soft spoken to is Will, so you’re protective of her.

You can hear the boys discussing tonight’s events from the living area while the girl gets dressed. They sound scared, and a part of you can’t blame them. While you’re fairly certain that the girl isn’t dangerous, it’s still a creepy situation. Once again, Hopper’s new theory surrounding Will floats through your mind. This all can’t be some coincidence.

Sighing, you approach the boys and catch a bit of the conversation.

“Our houses become Alcatraz.” You hear Lucas saying, and you figure they’ve finally pieced together that there’s no way any of you can tell anyone about the girl. None of you were supposed to be out tonight. As much as you know you should tell an adult, you also need to be able to help Jonathan with finding Will. If your mom locks the house down, you’re doomed.

“Lucas is right,” the boys turn to you. “We can’t go to anyone about this just yet, but I also don’t think it’s a good idea to hide her. She’s been through something terrible, it’s obvious. Tonight, I say she gets some rest. We can figure out what to do later.”

Mike nods, for once agreeing wholeheartedly with you. “She’ll sleep here tonight-”

Dustin’s eyes widen in horror, “You’re letting a girl-”

You clamp your hand over his mouth, motioning for Mike to continue.

“Thanks, Y/N. In the morning, she sneaks around my house, goes to the front door and rings my doorbell. My mom will answer and know exactly what to do. She’ll send her back to Pennhurst,”

They think she’s from Pennhurst? You think, but don’t verbalize it.

“Or wherever she comes from. We’ll be totally in the clear! And tomorrow night, we go back out, and this time we find Will.”

You gotta hand it to Mike Wheeler, he may be a pain in the ass, but he’s a smart pain in the ass. The plan is pretty sound, so long as he follows through with it. However, it’s him following through with it that leaves you a bit unsure.

He looks at you for approval, and you hesitantly nod. “It’s a pretty good plan, Wheeler. So long as you stick to it.”

Lucas and Dustin nod along with you, there’s an unspoken sense of doubt that Mike will actually be able to turn the girl over to his mom. Then she walks out, dressed now in some of Nancy’s old clothes. She draws into herself when you all turn to her, shy. You walk over and offer your hand again, which she accepts.

“Mike, go find her something to sleep on. Dustin, we gotta go soon before mom notices we’re gone.”

Both boys comply, with Mike searching for a sleeping bag and Dustin packing up his stuff. You crouch down next to the girl, so that you’re face to face, and give her a warm smile. “It was lovely meeting you. My name is Y/N, I hope Mike over there doesn’t give you a hard time tonight.”

Mike flips you off, having heard you. “If he’s annoying,” you lean in close to her now, whispering in her ear. “You have my permission to pinch him.”

The girl giggles, finally relaxing a bit, and you warm with pride. She’ll be okay, she seems like a very resilient girl and you’ll oddly miss her.

The two other boys are waiting for you upstairs. You all wish Mrs. Wheeler a good night and head out. Thankfully the rain has now stopped, so the bike ride home isn’t bad. You stop at Lucas’ turn to make sure he gets home safely before finally arriving at your place. As Dustin begins pedaling into your driveway, you don’t follow.

“I’m going to go see Jonathan, he didn’t answer my calls earlier and I just…”

Dustin waves at you, not even bothering to turn around. “Yeah yeah, go see your boyfriend. If mom asks, you’re asleep.”

“He’s not my boyfriend-”

“Are you seriously going to argue with me after I offered to cover for you?”

Your brother gives you a pointed look, and you know he’s right. “Touche.”

Dustin goes to leave, but you quickly grab at his jacket. “Before I forget, swear to me that you’ll keep me updated if anything weird happens, okay?”

He nods at you, knowing better than to argue, and gives you a mock salute as he heads inside.

The living room light is on when you arrive at the Byers home, despite the late hour, but you aren’t surprised. You knock on the door and wait. When no one comes, you knock again, a bit louder this time. After another few moments, the door swings open.

Jonathan has a finger over his lips in a shushing manner, motioning to Joyce who is passed out on the couch. You nod, letting him know you understand. The two of you go to his room and when he closes the door, you finally get a good look at him. He looks worse than he did earlier, the bags under his eyes have somehow gotten darker. His hair is a mess, his eyes bloodshot.

“You’re soaked.” Jonathan says.

“Yeah,” he doesn’t want to talk about it yet, so you play along. “Got caught in the rain. Are some of my spare clothes still in your bottom drawer?”

He nods at you, going over and grabbing a t-shirt and pajama pants for you. You accept them gratefully and excuse yourself to the bathroom to change. Your bones are cold, the rain seemingly having penetrated the layers of your skin. In the mirror you see that your own eyes are bloodshot; you don’t look much better than Jonathan, really.

When you return Jonathan is sitting on his bed, so you join him. It’s silent between you, all you can hear is his breathing. You stare straight ahead, so does he, and you wait. You’ve only seen Jonathan like this a handful of times, where the stress and anxiety becomes too much for him. He shuts down, draws into himself, and all you can do is wait for him to return to you; he always does.

“Mom got a call tonight.” Jonathan’s voice is hoarse, and he looks frail. You wonder if he ever did end up making the spaghetti you prepared for him.

“Who was it?”

He swallows heavily, taking a moment to respond. “She said it was Will.”

“Will?” You look at him now, searching for any signs on his face, his voice lacks emotion. By the way he stares blankly ahead, as if he’s not really present with you right now, you know that it hadn’t been Will on the other end.

“She started freaking out, going ballistic,” his voice cracks a bit, so you take a chance and reach for his hand. He lets you take it, giving you a squeeze, before continuing. “She was screaming, begging whoever it was to give Will back.”

Jonathan pauses again. You don’t say anything, because no words will help. He’s never been the type for comforting words, anyways. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. “It wasn’t him. Lightning struck and our phone got charred. It wasn’t Will.”

Now it’s your turn to squeeze Jonathan’s hand. He doesn’t deserve any of this. None of the Byers do. Out of the entire town, they’re the family who deserves the most that life can give. Will, too good. Jonathan, too selfless. Joyce, too loving. They’re the best damn people you know.

“I tried calming her down, but she was hysterical. She’s only asleep right now because she worked herself up too much and passed out. I’m worried she-'' Jonathan shakes his head, as if ashamed by his own words. “I’m worried she’s going crazy, Y/N.”

He’s quiet again, but you can tell he’s about to break. His knee is now bouncing up and down and his breathing has become slightly ragged. Everything from today has been building up, it was only a matter of time before he snapped. You’re also worried about Joyce, a part of you skeptical to believe her, but the little girl you found tonight in the rain? Something was definitely weird about Will’s disappearance, but you’re hesitant to tell Jonathan just yet. For all you know, she could’ve simply been a girl who got lost and will be returned to her family tomorrow.

You don’t want to worry Jonathan any more than you need to.

“I should’ve been there for him. I shouldn’t have taken that shift.” He gasps out, and like a dam the tears begin to fall. You’re quick to pull him into a hug and he crumbles into you. His body shakes with violent sobs and he clutches at you as if afraid you’ll leave.

“You can’t blame yourself.” You whisper, stroking a hand through his hair. He cries even harder, the force of it almost enough to knock you over, so you situate yourself so that you’re fully on the bed, laying against his pillows, with Jonathan crying into your chest beside you.

“He’s g-gone.”

“We’ll find him, I promise.” Your own tears threaten to come out, but you force them down. You have to be here for him, he needs you. The only other time Jonathan has so openly cried was when Lonnie left years ago. He’s been holding everything in since then, all those years of looking after his family, taking care of his brother, getting harassed by assholes like Tommy Hagan.

Neither of you say anything else, and you know that Jonathan needs to let it all out. You soothe him as best as you can, running a hand through his hair, stroking his back, reassuring him over and over again that none of this is his fault until your own voice becomes hoarse. You don’t know how long you stay like this, but sometime during the night Jonathan finally falls asleep, and you follow shortly after him.

—

Sunlight streams through Jonathan’s spare bed sheet that he’s pinned over his window, serving as a makeshift curtain, waking you up. You stretch, careful not to wake the boy beside you, and crawl out of the bed. You’re antsy, already knowing that today will be another long day. After grabbing some clothes from your designated drawer and getting dressed, you head into the kitchen and start making a quick breakfast. Just as you’re finishing up, Jonathan comes out of his room, dressed and ready for the day.

Neither of you say anything about the night prior, instead silently working around each other in the kitchen with years of practiced ease. He hands you the salt shaker right when you need it, you grab the pieces of toast that he popped into the toaster, the two of you never once get in each other’s way. You get deja vu, remembering all the times you’ve slept over with Dustin, you and Jonathan making the boys breakfast while they slept in.

The only indication that last night really happened is a forehead kiss from Jonathan, his lips soft against your head. Out of the two of you, you’re definitely the touchy one, so it’s always a nice surprise when he initiates the touch, and his forehead kisses were a welcome rarity.

When the plates have been made, Joyce gets up from the couch and stumbles over to the table. You quickly help her sit down, and for the first time since Will’s disappearance you’re able to really look at her. She looks like Jonathan, only worse. The bags under her eyes are darker, her hair is more matted, and you believe she’s still wearing the same shirt you saw her in the night that Will went missing.

“All right, mom. Breakfast is ready.” Jonathan tries to place her plate on the table, but Joyce stops him, worried about the poster of Will.

Jonathan gives you a look and you run over to the table, grabbing the poster so that he can set the plate down.

Joyce gives you a tired smile, “Thank you, Y/N, but I can’t eat.”

“I just need you to eat, mom.”

“Jonathan’s right, Mrs. Byers. You need to eat, we gotta keep your strength up.” You feel like you’re talking to a child, but in a way, you suppose you are.

The woman lights a cigarette instead, and faintly you wonder how many she’s had within the last 48 hours; you’ll need to wash your clothes when you get home. She begins to ask Jonathan to go to Xerox to make as many copies of Will’s poster as possible. You sit down in front of her, silently eating, knowing there’s no place for you in this conversation.

It’s not that the Byers are ashamed that they have little money, but you know it’s rude to listen in. They make do with what they have, and Jonathan has never felt embarrassed with you knowing it.

“I don’t want you to go alone,” Joyce says, causing you to speak up.

“I’ll go with him and help hang them up, it’s no problem.”

Jonathan turns to you. “You have that chem test, remember? I’m not letting you miss that.”

“Shit…” you bury your face into your hands. You completely forgot about that after finding the little girl last night and dealing with Jonathan. You’ve heard about how impossible the chem exams were, and science has never been your best subject. That was Dustin’s thing, your thing was more humanities.

“You’re the smartest person I know, you’ll ace the exam,” Jonathan reassures you before turning to his mom. “And I’ll handle the posters, it’s okay.”

Joyce has been lost in thought during your conversation with her son, only beginning to speak again when she’s asked how many copies will be efficient. Once she starts speaking again, it’s almost like she’s physically unable to stop. She begins to ramble, finally exposing the crumbling woman that you’ve only heard about, now understanding Jonathan’s fears for her.

“Mom-”

“If we… ten cents-”

“Mom!” Jonathan raises his voice a bit, now grabbing at his mother’s hand. “You can’t get like this, okay?”

The look on Joyce’s face kills you. She looks so lost, ashamed of her behavior, and you cast your head down; this is a private matter. Joyce profusely apologizes to him and all Jonathan can do is gently reassure her that it’s okay. All of this is okay.

Their tender moment is interrupted by knocking on the front door, revealing Hopper on the other side. His presence makes you uneasy, so you stay in the kitchen and begin to clean up with Jonathan while Joyce attacks him with questions.

“A little bit of trust here, alright? We’ve been searching all night.” You hear the cop say. Your hand clenches the sponge, rubbing a bit harder at the plate you’re cleaning. If they’ve been searching all night, why are they here now?

“Went all the way to Cartersville.” Ever since Will disappeared, you’ve been building a wall of hope within you that he’ll be found safe and sound. However, with every passing day, with every new situation that occurs, you can feel a piece of the wall collapse. You can feel it now; the search party went all the way to Cartersville.

“And?” Joyce asks.

“Nothing.” The cry that Joyce lets out causes you to drop the plate you’ve been cleaning, shattering on the floor. You curse, immediately bending down to pick up the pieces. Luckily it didn’t shatter into a million bits, but you still feel horrible for breaking one of their dishes.

Jonathan bends down as well to help, and the commotion catches Hopper’s attention. He sees you scrambling to clean up the mess and sighs with annoyance. “Does she live here or something?”

You and Jonathan look at each other, a slight smile on your faces, and only respond to Hopper with a synchronized shrug. You basically do live at the Byers’ at this point, you have been for years now. It was the same for Jonathan: if you weren’t at his house, he was at yours.

Joyce wipes some of her tears away. “Y/N is family, she’s here to help.”

Hopper ignores this, instead bringing up the phone call from the night before. Joyce leads him over to the phone, and you join them once you’ve collected the remaining pieces of broken glass. When you see the phone, you can’t help but gasp. Jonathan’s words from last night are accurate, the phone is charred.

“Storm barbecued this pretty good.” Hopper says.

Joyce waves her arms out, disbelieving. “The storm? You’re saying that that’s not… weird?”

“No, it’s weird.” Hopper begins, but you cut him off.

“It’s really weird.”

He glares at you. You mumble a quick sorry and back away a bit while Jonathan asks if the call can be traced. Hopper focuses back on the situation at hand, informing him that it isn’t possible and then questions if Joyce even heard Will in the first place. The question makes you cringe, knowing it’ll only make Joyce more agitated and hurt.

“Flo said you just heard some breathing.”

It’s the way he phrases the question, the way he emphasizes the word “just”, that bothers you. This woman has just lost her kid, what kind of mother wouldn’t know her own child’s breathing?

“Even if it was ‘just’ some breathing, I’d know it was my brother. Will is her son, she’d know better than anyone.” You find yourself saying. The words weren’t meant to leave your mouth, but the appreciative look Joyce casts your way outweighs the fear from Hopper’s glare.

“It was him. It was Will, and he was scared. Then something-”

“It was probably just a prank call,” Hopper tries to reason with her, causing you to roll your eyes at him. You respect the guy, you do, but could he at least attempt to listen to Joyce?

You excuse yourself before you say anything else, heading back into the kitchen to collect the two posters you and Jonathan made. While the others talk, you grab his things and pack his bag for him. You know he’ll probably skip school today to get the copies done in time, maybe keep an eye on his mom, so you make a mental note to inform him later that you’ll help with putting the fliers up the second you’re done with the exam. He needs someone there for him.

When you’ve grabbed the last of Jonathan’s things, Lonnie’s name is mentioned. You freeze, standing right outside the hall from them, only a wall between you. If Lonnie is somehow involved in this, you’ll kill him yourself. He was always cruel to Will, even when you were around to witness it. You hate him more than anything in this damn world.

“It’s been long enough, I’m having him checked out.” Hopper declares, storming out of the house.

You count to three in your head, and the second you get to three, Jonathan is following after Hopper. You knew he would, hating his father the most out of everyone who has had the displeasure of meeting him. You follow behind him, heading outside to talk to the Chief.

“Hey, Hopper. Let me go.”

Hopper takes a drag from his cigarette, facing the two of you. “I’m sorry?”

“To Lonnie’s,” Jonathan says, looking at you for backup.

You do your best to try. “If Will’s there, that means he probably ran away. Cops will scare the poor boy, he’ll think he’s in trouble.”

“And he’ll hide. He’s good at hiding.” Jonathan finishes for you.

Hopper stares at you both, inhaling more smoke from his cigarette and blowing it in your direction with a curious look in his eyes. “You two are sickening to be near, you know that?”

You and Jonathan share an annoyed look. A kid is missing, and you still have to clarify that you aren’t together? “It’s not like that,” Jonathan says.

“Sure, you know cops are good at detecting lies,” Hopper approaches him now, grabbing his shoulders. For a brief second you’re afraid he’ll hurt him. “And we’re also good at finding, okay? Stay here with your mom. She needs you.”

Hopper punches at Jonathan’s shoulder before facing you. “And you,” you brace for whatever he’s about to say, knowing you probably aren’t his favorite person at the moment. He points at Jonathan, “He needs you.”

His words hang in the air several minutes after he’s gone. You glance at Jonathan, but he doesn’t meet your eye and instead he goes back inside. You sigh, following after him because it’s what you do. Hopper’s right, he needs you.

Jonathan’s in the living room, speaking softly to his mom when you enter. You don’t disturb them but rather snatch Jonathan’s keys from the counter and wait for him by the door. Like Joyce said, Xerox opens in about thirty minutes and you have a chem exam to take. If you leave now, you’ll be able to make the copies with him and be back in time before school.

The ride to Xerox is tense, you know Jonathan is upset that he’s been sidelined by Hopper. You also know that he’s torn between wanting to help his mom and staying out of his house as much as possible. If it weren’t for your god damn chem test you’d offer to skip and hide out at your place, but you can’t. Jonathan wouldn’t let you risk your future for him (even though you would, in a heartbeat, a million times over).

The man at Xerox gives Jonathan a look of pity, clearly recognizing Will’s picture on the poster. It’s your favorite photo of him, smiling with all his teeth and happy as can be. From what you’ve heard, the whole town has been conducting search parties for him. Jonathan ignores the look and asks for the 200 copies to be made.

It’s just you and him in the store as you wait for the prints to be done. The guy said it’d be about a ten minute wait so you wander around the store. Jonathan clearly is in a no talking mood, so you occupy yourself with whatever you find. You wish you’d brought your backpack to Jonathan’s last night so you could at least study a bit while waiting, but you didn’t. It’d be a miracle if you pass this exam.

Jonathan wanders around as well, so you give a quick look around and find the employee. He’s standing over the printer when you approach. “I’d like to pay for the copies, please.”

“You can pay after they’re done-”

“No, I can’t let him see,” you point over to Jonathan, who is now looking at some stationary. “Please, just let me pay now so he can yell at me later.”

The guy gives you a shrug, clearly not getting paid enough to care. “Okay, it’ll be $20. Just leave the money on the counter over there, the prints should be done soon.”

You nod and do as you’re told, leaving the $20 bill on the counter while Jonathan isn’t looking. He can kill you later, right now you want to make up for not being able to help with hanging them up. There’s literally hundreds to get through, he can’t do that all alone.

When the posters are done and Jonathan collects them, you wish the worker a good day and then wrap your arms around him and use all your strength to drag your friend into the car. He doesn't fight back at first, too confused by your actions, and you’re almost out the door before he sees the man pocket the money and wave at you. The dots connect in his head and Jonathan begins to fight against you.

“Y/N, let me pay-”

“Nope. Not happening!”

“We both know I’m stronger-”

“Debatable, honestly, seeing as how we’re almost to your car.”

“Let go!” He tugs harshly as his arm, which you’ve got a secure hold on, causing you to stumble a bit.

You plant your feet more firmly against the ground and use all your weight to pull the boy forward. You’re a few feet away from the car, just one more solid pull should do the trick. “Stop fighting this, Byers. I’ve already paid-”

“Which you shouldn’t have!”

“Keep fighting and drop all the posters, I dare you.”

Jonathan looks down at the posters in his spare hand, realizing that you’re right. If he doesn’t give in soon, they’ll topple over. He lets out an agitated groan, throwing his head back, and then marches over to the car to unlock it and fling himself into the driver’s seat. “Just get in.”

You do a small victory dance and hop in the car.

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

He hesitates only for a moment. “God, I hate that I do.”

You smile, buckling your seatbelt. Jonathan pulls out of the parking lot and begins the drive to school. He’s less tense this time, at least. The small little wrestling match between the two of you seemingly did some good, then.

When you pull up to school, you once again apologize to Jonathan for being unable to help. He waves you off, understanding.

“It’s okay, I promise. I can’t have you failing out of high school because of me.”

You roll your eyes. “One test won’t make me become a high school dropout, Jonathan.”

He ruffles your hair, which you slap him for. “You can join me after, okay? Good luck, bug.”

“Fine, but I’m taking some posters with me so I can hang up on my way to my locker.”

“Deal.”

You run to your locker, flinging it open and letting out a sigh of relief when you spot your chem cards. Honestly, you really should’ve prepared better for your little sleepover at the Byers. You glance at the watch on your wrist, noting that you have roughly fifteen minutes to memorize all the elements in the periodic table as well as some chemistry definitions.

Just peachy.

You tie your hair up so you can focus better and grab the note cards. If you review the cards as you walk to class, you can save at least three minutes of studying time. You tuck the few remaining posters of Will under your arm and begin to head to your class, getting absorbed in all the elements and words. As you’re skimming a card about protein being K, you run into Nancy and Barb, who also seem to have the same idea as you.

“Oh, hey Y/N.” Nancy greets you, Barb waving to you as well.

They’re being nice, so you try to make conversation. “Studying for Kaminsky’s test?”

They nod at you and Nancy sighs, “Yeah, his exams are the worst.”

You laugh a bit, for once on the same page as her. “I know. I spent last night at Jonathan’s, I completely forgot about the test until this morning. I’m screwed.”

Barb raises her eyebrows at you while Nancy suddenly looks sad. “Oh, I’m sorry about Will. I know you and him are close.”

“Yeah, it must be hard taking care of Jonathan right now.” Barb voices.

You give them both an awkward smile. “Thanks, I guess? It’s just, there’s still hope, so…”

The three of you stand there as your voice trails off. It’s painfully awkward. While you’ve known Nancy since you were 12, and at some point you even called her a close friend of yours, the second you entered high school she became distant. You never blamed her for it, people simply grow up and grow apart. Now you only ever interact with her if it concerns the boys.

Trying to ease the awkwardness, you hold up a poster and offer it to them, but Steve snatches it from your grasp.

“Henderson, didn’t know you were also a little know-it-all. Why don’t you share your cheat sheet with the rest of us?” He says, casting a teasing look your way. It isn’t until he inspects the piece of paper that he finally notices that it’s a missing poster for a child, not a review sheet. “Oh, shit. I’m so sorry.”

You snatch the poster back from him. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”

His friends laugh, but Steve has a bit of heart to look guilty, so you count that as something. His shame doesn’t last long though and the goofy and sweet boy who made sure you were okay after almost hitting you with his car is gone.

Steve plays off the situation as if it were nothing. “Let me make it up to you, Henderson. I know you’re probably stressed out of your mind dealing with boyfriend troubles because of Bill-”

“His name is Will,” you grit out, remembering now why you dislike Steve so much. Everything was about impressing his friends, and while you can sympathize with him, it doesn’t give him an excuse to be an asshole.

“Right, Will. Anyways, I was just about to inform Nance over here that my dad has left town on a conference and my mom’s gone with him, ‘cause, ya know, she doesn’t trust him.”

“Good call,” Tommy says, and you glare at him.

Steve carries on. “So, are you guys in?”

“In for what?” Nancy asks.

“No parents, a big house?” Carol says, as if Nancy is a giant idiot.

You feel bad for her being treated so poorly by her boyfriend’s friends, so you lean in and whisper, “A party, Nancy.” Then you look at Steve. “And no, I’ll pass.”

Steve pouts. “Can’t leave loverboy alone for a couple hours?”

You scoff, shoving the poster against his chest, using more force than probably necessary, but the satisfying grunt he lets out pleases you. “If I didn’t know you I’d say you sound jealous. Unfortunately, I do know you, and that’s exactly why I’m not interested.”

“Meow,” says Carol as she and Tommy laugh.

You ignore her and push past the group to get to class. You’ve wasted enough time, you have to study. Steve lets you, hurt by your words, but tries to play it off, instead focusing his attention on Jonathan up ahead hanging up some posters. You both see him at the same time and as you start to approach him, you hear Steve and his group mock him.

“God, that’s depressing.” Steve says, and you’ve never wanted to hit a man more than you do right now.

You glance at Nancy, trying to convey your disappointment in her. She’s a nice girl, she shouldn’t be with an idiot like Harrington. Who the hell makes fun of a guy with a missing brother? Nancy doesn’t meet your eye, which pleases you. She should feel guilty.

As you near Jonathan, Nancy calls after you to wait up. You listen, mostly because you’re surprised she even followed, and together you walk up to him. “Hey, bee. I thought you’d be long gone by now.”

Jonathan looks up at your voice, surprised when he sees Nancy next to you. He gives you a look that you conclude is a what is she doing here? look and you can only shrug as if to say I have no clue how I ended up in this situation.

Nancy doesn’t see this exchange. “Hey,”

“Hey,” Jonathan responds, still confused.

Nancy looks at you uncertainly, but you refuse to leave. Screw your exam, if she even considers voicing her boyfriend’s opinions to Jonathan then you’ll personally see that she fails alongside you. “I just… I wanted to say, you know… I’m sorry, about everything.”

Oh, she’s being nice. You’re still unimpressed, but Jonathan motions to you to stop staring her down, so you reluctantly listen.

“Everyone’s thinking about you.”

You all turn towards Steve and his group, who are clearly listening in, and you snort at her words. “Right, obviously.”

“Y/N.” Jonathan warns.

“Sorry.”

“It sucks.” Nancy continues, and you have to give her some credit. You’re being a blatant bitch, but she’s still trying. You feel a bit bad now, which honestly makes you dislike her a bit more. Damn morals. “I’m sure he’ll be fine, he’s a smart kid.”

The bell rings, ending Nancy’s little monologue. “I have to go, chemistry test. Y/N, want to walk together?”

She really makes it impossible to be a bitch to her. “Sure, just give me a second.”

You lean close to Jonathan and lower your voice. “Good luck with your dad, bee.”

“How did you know I’d go-”

“Because of course you would. Now go, give him hell for me, will ya?”

Jonathan nods, relieved you aren’t pushing the topic. You know that Lonnie is a sore topic for him, for the entire Byers family, really. You only knew Lonnie for a year or so before Joyce left him, but you’ll never forget his spiteful words and the bruises that Jonathan tried to hide from you. He needs to do this alone, father and son.

You see Nancy watching, and just to spite her you kiss Jonathan’s cheek, relishing in the fact that she looks away, and you wish him luck once again before following her to class.

The test isn’t as bad as you’d feared, and the rest of the day goes by with relative ease. You don’t see much of Steve and his group and you’re thankful for that. Nancy also keeps her distance, no longer attempting to be all buddy buddy with you. A part of you feels bad about that, because honestly the thought of someone thinking you hate them makes you feel physically ill, but as long as Nancy is with someone like Steve, there’s not much you can do about that.

After school you stop by all of Jonathan’s classes and collect the work he’s missed over the last few days; he has enough to worry about, so you figured you could help do some assignments for him. It’s nothing unusual, truth to be told. There was a time you were out for two weeks straight due to the flu one year and Jonathan did every one of your assignments, so it’s about time you returned the favor.

Once you have what you need, you hang up the remaining flyers in your bag and begin your journey to work. You’ve used up all of your sick days helping the Byers, and while Mrs. Waters has insisted on letting you have more time off, you figured the distraction would be good for you. Jonathan will want some space after confronting his dad, and as much as you hated Lonnie, something told you he had nothing to do with Will.

Just when your shift is almost done, your coworker, this young kid named Alex who you’re honestly surprised can legally work, informs you that your mom is on the phone and wants to speak with you. You stack the remaining books in your hands and thank him, walking over to pick up the call.

“Hey, mom. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, sweetie! I was just calling to tell ya that Dusty is at the Wheeler’s tonight for dinner, so my plan for ribs won’t work without him. I was wondering if darling Johnny could feed you tonight? I know the two of you have that little sneaky food game.”

Your posture, once slumped over and uninterested, now straightens out. Why the hell is Dustin having dinner at the Wheeler’s? They never do that. “Uh, sure mom that won’t be an issue.”

Your mom lets out a sigh of relief. “Bless that Jonathan! I’ve always liked him…”

Your mom may be the biggest Jonathan supporter you’ve ever met. “Yeah, he’s your favorite. I know,” you shift a bit to catch Alex’s attention, mouthing to him that you need to leave work early. “Hey, did Dustin by chance say how long he’ll be at the Wheeler’s? I can swing by and pick him up after my shift.”

“Oh, I think he’s staying the night there. He mentioned something about Mike not finishing his part of their little science project?”

They’re calling the little girl a science project now? Boys are so typical. “Oh, I see. Well, I gotta get back to work, mom. I’ll be home late tonight.”

Your mom wishes you goodbye and warns you not to be out too late. You hum, already trying to figure out the quickest route to the Wheeler’s house. You can’t say you’re surprised that Mike didn’t follow the plan, but you also can’t say you were prepared for this either.

Alex comes back with your boss and you quickly make up a lie about not feeling well. Mrs. Waters gives you a pitying look and tells you to go. You’re incredibly grateful for her, she’s like a grandmother to you and has always been so kind.

You quickly bike to Mike’s house, going over a grand speech in your head for the boys. Logistically speaking, you’re not sure if they can even harbor the little girl in his basement. Would it be kidnapping? Could kids even kidnap other kids? You aren’t sure and you definitely aren’t willing to find out.

You arrive at the house just as Nancy and Barb are pulling out of the driveway, presumably to Steve’s grand house party. They wave at you awkwardly and you don’t have it in you to wave back. You park your bike next to their doorstep and knock on the door.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” Mrs. Wheeler asks after opening the door.

“Oh, I was just wondering if I could hang out with the boys tonight? Jonathan’s busy and I promised Dustin I’d help with their campaign.”

Mrs. Wheeler cocks her head at you. “But I thought there was a special assembly at the school for Will? Nancy and Barb just left for it.”

You feel your blood boil a bit. There was no assembly for Will at your school, and it was really damn low of Nancy to use his disappearance as a cover story for her stupid party. She’s known Will since he was practically a baby. You have no idea how someone could be so unaffected by a missing child, let alone one who has been at your house every damn weekend for years now.

“Oh, that!” You force yourself to remain calm; there isn’t time to snitch on Nancy, Mrs. Wheeler would only have more questions for you. “Yeah, I’m, uh, skipping it. Jonathan doesn’t want to go, so after he’s back from his errands I’m heading over to his place to, you know, comfort him?”

The woman stares at you for a second, trying to determine if there are any lies to your words. You’ve never been the best liar, but being the oldest Henderson child has unfortunately prepared you for being quick on your feet when needed.

“Well, come on then. They boys just went downstairs, and if you can please remind them to bring the plate of food back up here I’d really appreciate it.”

You thank Mrs. Wheeler and let yourself in. Her words have all but solidified your suspicions: Mike kept the girl.

When you descend the basement steps, it’s almost comical how the kids scramble to hide the girl like little cockroaches. They run around and Dustin screams something about covering her before the poor girl is being manhandled into a sheet as Mike screams at Lucas and Dustin to calm down.

“Guys! It’s just me! Jesus!” You shout, shoving past Mike to rush over to the girl and free her from the sheets. She looks more frightened than usual, but at least she’s alive.

“God, why am I always the one you push?”

You shush Mike, smoothing back the girl’s hair and offering her a reassuring smile. “Remember me, sweetheart?”

The girl nods and softly says, “Y/N.”

“Very good. I’m going to scream at my brother real quick, so why don’t you cover your ears for me so you don’t get too frightened?”

“Wait, what-”

The minute her ears are covered, you turn to Dustin and begin screaming. “Are you brain dead and not understand the words ‘tell me if anything weird happens’ or do you simply lack the appropriate empathy needed for a concerned sister?”

Dustin ducks his head in shame. “Y/N, look-”

“No! I’m all for helping you guys with your adventures and whatever, but Will went missing and then she appears and Mike,” you turn to him and he hides behind a frightened Lucas. “You said you’d stick to your plan. Now tell me, did you?”

Mike shakes his head, his eyes wide. Dustin looks no better as he cowers behind the others. Lucas simply shrugs, knowing that this would happen. You never, ever, yell at the boys; the few times you have in the past, all hell had broken loose.

“Y/N-”

“Zip it, Henderson. I’m so pissed off at you right now and if you want to make it to thirteen I suggest you keep quiet.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Now, why don’t you guys catch me up on what you’ve so sweetly kept hidden from me.” It’s worded as a question, but the boys know better than to deny you.

You sit on the ground so that you’re next to the girl and then motion for the three boys in front of you to start speaking. They look at Mike, giving him a nudge, and he hesitantly steps forward to begin speaking. “Her name is El.”

The girl, El, looks up at you and smiles. You return the smile and knock your shoulder against hers in a playful manner. “Nice to meet you, can I ask what El is short for?”

“Eleven,” she says, and you want to question the name further but the look on Mike’s face stops you. Now is not the time, you guess.

“El, she’s… different.” Mike continues, looking around nervously. He’s acting as if someone could break in any second and snipe you guys, and a part of you doesn’t doubt it can happen. “She has these powers, like, mind control powers.”

You snort, unable to stop yourself. El looks at you, looking unoffended, seemingly expecting this reaction. However, Mike groans at you. “Y/N, this is serious. She-she knows about Will.”

At this, your smile fades and you feel an overwhelming sense of hope take over you. You find your arms wrapping around El before you can control yourself and you give her a tight hug. She stiffens in your arms and you immediately pull away. “I’m sorry, I just… sorry.”

She laughs a bit, softly saying that it’s okay.

“Do you really know Will? Where he is?” You ask, almost too scared to say the words out loud. If she’s telling the truth… you shake your head in an attempt to dispel any false hope. You don’t know this girl, she could be lying.

Before El can say anything else, Mike speaks for her. “She does, but there’s bad men out there who want to hurt her. I think they’re after Will, too.”

You freeze. “Bad men?”

“Yes, this is why we didn’t want to tell you!”

“I wanted to tell her,” Lucas says, which causes Mike to glare at him.

You wave your arms at the two boys, breaking up their fight. “Mike, what do you mean by bad men? Honey,” you look at El, “did someone hurt you? Are you in danger? Should I call the police?”

“No!” All three boys shout at once.

You look at them, at the genuine fear in their eyes, and sigh, “Okay, if you can give me a good reason not to call the cops, I won’t.”

“Did you not hear the part about El having powers?” Dustin asks.

“Gee, Dustin. You’re right! It’s like her having powers is totally believable and reassuring to the situation at hand!”

“I can show you,” El speaks up.

You all face her now. “You can?”

She nods at you, getting up and grabbing your backpack that you threw on the ground when you walked in. She rustles through it while you and the boys look at one another. After a few seconds, El grabs one of your comic books and places it on the table. She looks at you and tilts her head, indicating for you to sit down next to her; you do as you’re told.

El straightens out your comic and then closes her eyes, going completely still. The air around you shifts and you can practically feel the static electricity encasing you; the hair on your arms stand up. The pages of the comic begin to flick up, fluttering as if someone is thumbing through them in rapid succession. You watch as the Spidey panels flash before your eyes, the pages flying faster and faster until it becomes almost frightening to be near. Then, once it gets to its last page, the comic flies up into the air and hovers for a few seconds, right in front of your face.

“Holy shit,” you breathe out, your eyes wide.

Just as quickly as it began, the comic drops back onto the table. You look up at El and see that her nose is now bleeding, which rips you back to reality. The chair scrapes against the ground as you get up to help her, dabbing at the blood with a tissue that had been laying on the table.

“Do you believe us now?” Mike asks, a smug look on his face.

You gently wipe away the remaining blood from El’s face, looking her in the eye and directing your words to her. “I’m listening, sweetheart. What can you do to help us find Will?”

El smiles, pleased to have earned your trust, and you get the feeling that this little girl is the most powerful thing in all of Hawkins, maybe even the world. At her request, Mike places his DnD board on the table and arranges the pieces for El to use. She sits down and closes her eyes once more.

Lucas gives you a doubtful look. “What’s the weirdo doing?”

You flick his head, not enjoying the name calling. Honestly, you thought you raised these boys better than that.

El seems to accomplish whatever she was doing and picks up the wizard piece, murmuring, “Will.”

You feel your heart stop. Will always insisted on being the wizard whenever they played the game. He was Will the Wise, forever and always. El couldn’t have simply guessed that, and you know it’s her-

“Superpowers,” Dustin finishes your thought for you. The two of you exchange a glance and you notice the slight glee in his eyes. Under different circumstances, you’d also find this all pretty cool.

Mike sits next to El and begins to ask some questions about where she last saw Will. She gives him a look that you can’t quite decipher before swiping her arm across the table and spilling the pieces onto the floor. She then flips the board over, having it now face upside down, and places Will’s piece back down.

You knit your brows together, trying to follow along. El’s movements are methodical and carefully planned, being unable to find the right words due to her poor speech, and you try to piece together the information you’ve been given.

“I don’t understand,” Mike says, being extra gentle with El. You’ve never seen him so soft spoken before and you’re grateful at least one of the boys doesn’t view her as some monster. Which reminds you that you need to have a conversation with Dustin about respecting women, but for now you’ll hold off.

“Hiding.” says El.

He’s good at hiding, Jonathan’s words echo in your head.

“Will is hiding?”

El nods, now looking more nervous. You can tell that Mike is getting closer to information that she doesn’t want him near, which finally causes you to ask the question that’s been heavily on your mind. “From the bad men?”

Now El gives a slight shake of the head, and Mike presses on. “Then from who?”

Without saying anything, El places a second piece onto the board right in front of Will’s. It’s a piece you’re unfamiliar with, with two snake-like heads that loom over the small wizard piece. Whatever it is, you know it isn’t good judging the way Mike, Dustin, and Lucas look at each other in fear.

You turn to Dustin and whisper, “What’s that piece?”

Your brother puts his hands behind his head and sighs deeply, a new resigned look on his face. He looks as if he’s just aged thirty years, which you find a bit dramatic. “It’s the Demogorgon.”

“The Demo-what?” The name sounds familiar, but you can’t remember anything about it.

Mike looks at you and for once his voice holds no annoyance when he says, “There’s a lot we still have to catch you up on.”

–

Your head is spinning as you bike to Jonathan’s with all the new information you’ve just received. Demogorgons, magical vortexes, kids with damn superpowers. It’s all a lot for you to take in, and while you fully believe that El is something entirely different from a normal little girl, how can you be sure that it’s connected to Will? While his disappearance still confuses you, it’s illogical to jump to supernatural conclusions.

Dustin had begged you to let him spend the night at Mikes in order to keep talking to El, and you only agreed because you figured you’d be at Jonathan’s again tonight anyways. He’s been MIA all day and you’re worried as usual, but you made him and Mike swear to you that they’d stay put in the house. At least this way they’re in one place, so if they screw around they’ll be easier to find.

When you arrive at the Byers home you notice that Jonathan’s car isn’t in the driveway, which only confuses you further. Where the hell is he? You gave him all day to deal with Lonnie and cool off, trusting that he wouldn’t do anything stupid for twelve hours, and yet…

You fear he’s done something stupid.

You don’t have time to think too much about Jonathan’s absence because a frantic Joyce runs out the door screaming. She runs straight past you and into her car, and the house begins to light up like a christmas tree. You can hear The Clash’s Should I Stay or Should I Go, a song that Will once had on repeat for three weeks straight, and you can feel the same static electricity in the air that you felt when El used her powers in front of you.

Joyce suddenly gets out of the car and spots you, pointing towards her house. “You see that too?”

You swallow. “Yeah,”

She nods, as if your confirmation is all she needs to determine her sanity, and then marches inside. You stand in the yard, motionless. You’re terrified, and after learning about El tonight, you don’t have it in you to discover any other supernatural beings in Hawkins at the moment. Sighing, you follow after the woman because Jonathan isn’t home and someone needs to talk her down from whatever panic attack the flashing lights have inevitably caused.

“Mrs. Byers-”

“Y/N, you can’t tell me there isn’t something,” Joyce waves her hands in front of her face, almost grasping at the air, “weird about all of this. That was Will’s song, the lights were flashing in Will’s room, something came out of Will’s wall-”

“Something came out of his wall?”

“Yes! I’m not… I promise I’m not crazy, okay? You saw it, please tell me you saw it.”

You bite your lip, now thinking about El. You swore to Mike you wouldn’t tell anyone about her, and honestly you’re not sure that you should tell Joyce about her right now. You’re still unsure if El is being honest with you, and you can’t just give the woman false hope for her son. It’d kill you if you were wrong about El. But seeing the lights, hearing the music, the thing in the wall… There’s something that she’s not telling you.

“Mrs. Byers… I’m not quite sure what I saw, but we just had a bad storm and it could be faulty wiring.”

Joyce slumps her shoulders, frustrated that you aren’t conspiring with her. You just… you can’t. Not yet. Not before you figure out what the hell El is doing in Hawkins. You refuse to worsen Joyce’s already chronic anxiety and paranoia; Jonathan would never forgive you if you fed into her delusions, but it kills you to lie to her.

“Look, I do think that something is weird about this entire situation, “ Joyce’s face lights up, but you’re quick to add, “however, there’s no proof. You, I mean-Mrs. Byers, you’ve seen things in the past. You’re stressed, and anxious, and all the other synonyms.”

The woman lets a few tears drop from her eyes, now embarrassed. “Maybe you’re right. I-I’m sorry, honey. I just-”

You grab her hand. “I know,”

Her smile is brittle, a ghost of the once beautiful smile she’d give you, and your heart breaks for her.

After your conversation, Joyce excuses herself to her room. She looks even more exhausted than before, so you leave her alone and hole yourself up in Jonthan’s room.

You glance at your watch and note the late hour; you’re starting to worry now. Jonathan didn’t mention anything besides Lonnie and the posters, so you don’t know what else he could be doing so late. He wouldn’t go searching for Will without you.

You wake up to Jonathan returning an hour or so later, apparently having fallen asleep while waiting for him.

“Y/N?” His voice is gruff and surprised.

You groan and rub your eyes. “Turn the light off, bee.”

He doesn’t. “What are you doing here?”

The tone of his voice wakes you up a bit, making you sit up and look at him more clearly. His shoulders are tense, his eyes are hiding something, and his overall demeanor is hard to read. “I had something to tell you, but is everything okay?”

“You couldn't have waited until tomorrow? Y/N, this is my house, just… just get out.”

“I’m sorry?” You’re confused by his behavior, now starting to become a bit defensive and hurt by his dismissal.

“You can’t just let yourself in whenever you please.” Jonathan puts his camera on his desk, still refusing to meet your eyes.

“Jonathan, we literally have always let ourselves into each other’s houses whenever we please.”

He rolls his eyes at you and rips off his jacket, throwing it at you. “Get out!”

You catch the jacket before it hits you in the face. “What the hell, Jonathan!”

“Listen, I get that you think you’re a part of the family, but you’re not. You’ve been here for days now, it’s getting old.”

His words cut through you and leave vicious wounds against your skin. He doesn’t mean that, he can’t mean that. You and him were family. He’s never, ever insinuated anything less. He wouldn’t dare. Your Jonathan would never act like this to you, and the only time he’s ever been this cruel to you was when he accidentally dropped Lonnie’s last beer in the fridge and was too embarrassed and ashamed to ask for help; he’d shown up with bruises later that night.

Then it hits you. He did something, something that makes him feel guilty; he keeps glancing at his camera. You soften your voice, “Bee, what did you do?”

He whips around, now yelling. “Nothing! Just get the hell out of my house! It’s getting pathetic!”

You swallow back the angry tears that build in your throat. Fine. Whatever. Let him be a raging bitch after everything you’ve done for him these last few days.

“Fine, I will.” Grabbing your backpack you snatch the assignments you were supposed to give Jonathan and slam them against his chest. “Here’s all your fucking assignments, by the way.”

He seems to come back to himself, blinking away the anger and shame. “Bug…”

“You don’t get to call me that.” And with that, you don’t spare Jonathan another glance.

–

When you get home, the house is eerily quiet. Dustin is at Mike’s and your mom leaves you a note saying that she’s spending the night at your aunt’s. Great. Looks like it’s just you and Mews tonight then.

After everything that’s happened tonight, you never found time to eat dinner, and your stomach is loudly growling. You drop your stuff in your room and then reheat some leftovers, feeling like a pathetic child. You know that Jonathan didn’t mean what he said, but the words had come too easily to him to have just been a way to dodge his guilt. There had been some truth to them. Maybe you were pathetic for always fretting over him.

Dinner is quiet tonight.

You wait for the phone to ring, for Jonathan to call you and apologize, but the call never comes.

You’ve never felt so alone before.

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#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things rewrite #slowburn #angst #wdtai #m's writing #the thought of steve just taking will's missing poster and then being like oh shit was so funny to me i had to add it #also sad ending #sorry #but also not

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