#i like drawing him with really big ears ^__^ and making them emote with him too | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luveline · 11 months

Note

Hi Jade! First of all thank you for bringing back the zombie au, it is my absolute fave! Second, if you are taking requests for it currently, maybe r (with Robin maybe?) goes and finds a gift for Steve just to make him smile (which may or may not make him break into tears with how vulnerable and emotional he's been with all the stuff he's been through?) Thank you for all your lovely writing!

thank you anon! fem!reader, 8k —You, Steve and Robin make a risky trip for non-essentials to improve your quality of life at the camp. Steve's feeling stressed, you try to make it better, and Robin finds a cat in the display section of the mattress store.

tw for zombie apocalypse typical implied violence and gore, food insecurity, injury

"We'll call it something really cool," Robin says, "like Y/N and Robin's ultimate quest for cleanliness."

Robin is a little dirty today. She's scraped her hair back into a tiny ponytail, and it flicks out at the back of her head like a feather duster. You think it's adorable, and you lean around her shoulders to try and touch it. Steve pulls you back bodily.

"Stop touching her," he says.

"Just her hair," you say.

"No, because you know how ansty she is, it's like poking a sleeping dragon."

"Shut up! Shut up, loser, I haven't been antsy at all, I'm planning a girl's trip as we speak."

You laugh and fall back into Steve's arms, the kind of laugh that makes your chest feel tight and your eyes scrunch closed. A girl's trip is definitely one way to put it.

"I'm just saying," Steve says, not just saying at all, "that you're dangerous right now. Next time I'll let her touch your hair and you can bite her hand off."

"She can touch my hair. I don't know if you've noticed, Harrington, but that right there is my very best friend."

And okay, it's not true, Steve and Robin have the strongest friendship you've ever seen, but there is a truth behind it —you and Robin get along well. It would be difficult not to love her, she's a gem, and she cares about the person you care about most in the world at the same level (though in a different calibre).

You worm out of Steve's arms to give her a quick hug. Steve steals you away again and you laugh as you go, flopping your weight onto him and almost knocking him flat onto his back.

You, Robin and Steve are sitting around the campfire in the centre of camp. It's rather big and blissfully hot, the sky a velvet black that hides the smoke. Children sit with droopy eyes to the left, some with parents and most without, though the community is full of good people with great hearts who've swooped in to help look after them. Already, an older woman named Matildhe seems to have gathered a brood of six children, all young, and all wanting cuddles. To the right, Jeremy Livingstone and Joyce Byers plan the unplannable, a map of Michigan at their feet held down by stones. Jonathan sits by his mother's legs with a baby in his lap, her sleeping face pressed to his chest. He taps her back absent-mindedly. "What about here?" he asks, drawing a circle with his finger. Will, his younger brother, moves the flashlight beam to follow his direction.

Despite the fire, the wind bites at your backs, a nippy chill. Steve has solved this by becoming your windbreaker, or so he claims.

"She loves me," you murmur.

"I love her," Robin agrees.

"That's why you can't come on our girl's trip," you say.

"Girls," Steve says, measured, "I'm unsure, but I'm starting to think that you think you're going somewhere without me."

"No, we know you'll crash the party. But we're going to pretend you aren't there," Robin says.

Her chipper attitude makes you laugh for the millionth time tonight. Steve laughs in tandem behind you, his breath fanning warmly over the shell of your ear.

It smells like woodsmoke and pine needles meshed together here, two smells that alone are nice but together give you a headache. You wrinkle your nose and sit up properly, worried about squashing Steve or hurting his bad knee. "The smell is so strong out here," you say.

"Shit, this guy bothering you?" Steve asks, pointing his thumb at the fire.

"Kick his ass, Steve," Robin says.

"Are you losers drunk?" Dustin asks.

You twist on your butt to face him, Steve's favourite sixteen year old standing in the dark wearing two coats and three scarfs.

"Are you cold?" Steve asks. "Come and sit with us."

"We aren't drunk, just happy," you say, gesturing for him to do as Steve said.

Dustin sits by the fire with you, groaning. "What is there to be happy about?"

You bite your top lip. Dustin is so young, and he's lost a lot. More than he ever should've had to lose, twice, his sense of normalcy destroyed. You don't blame him for being depressed over what is possibly the most traumatic thing he will ever have to experience. You don't want to offer him empty platitudes or tell him how to feel, and Steve doesn't want to either, but he can't watch him mope. He loves him too much.

"Dusty," he teases, "don't be so down. Haven't you seen this glorious and ridiculously enormous bonfire we have going on?"

"I see it," Dustin says from behind gritted teeth.

"Hey, do you want to sleep in our tent tonight?" Steve asks, a tad more seriously. "It's warmer with more people, and it's not as crowded as you think it'll be."

"No, thanks."

"You could drag your tent closer," you say, quieter, trying not to smother him or embarrass him with parenting he never asked for.

"I don't like being near the boundary. You guys might be okay with ending up as geek chow but the rest of us have common sense."

"Well, we didn't really have a choice there," Robin says.

Which is true. The kids all get to sleep in tents close to the fire, and the adults are a row behind. You guys aged out of the kids category a long time ago, so you're the ones who'll be eaten first, but you're also the ones who'll hear the can alarms when they ring on the tripwires first.

Steve sleeps with his baseball bat anyhow.

You disentangle yourself from Steve's grips and meet his eyes. He doesn't need you to tell him, but you give him a look that hopefully says, Maybe you should talk to him. Eyebrows raised gently, lips pursed.

Steve sighs like he's preparing himself and shuffles around you. He doesn't begrudge Dustin needing cheering up, you know that. He probably just wishes he could offer Dustin more than, "We have food and water and a place to pee."

Robin crawls right to your side and sets back on her haunches. "Here's what I think we should do."

"Wait, you don't wanna wait for Steve to explain?"

"Nope, he'll say no. Me and you have to find the best way to sell it so we can actually go."

"You aren't kidding about the girl's trip?"

"Nope. Look, the situation is dire. We know where the mall is, we've been there tons of times. The whole group can't go and we don't trust most people to keep us alive anyways, so me, you and Steve will go. We'll sleep there or something too, so there's no pressure on us to rush back and stress out Steve."

"Wouldn't it be safer to hurry back?" you ask.

Robin hums. "Maybe. Uh, if we travel at night like I've been thinking about doing I don't think we could hurry back."

"At night?"

"We're basically nocturnal at this point." You dip your head toward her mildly. She drops the slight facade she'd had, "I would feel better. If we went at night."

The College, the community you and your group had inhabited until recently, was attacked and destroyed by raiders. They were likely drawn by the black smoke of the small bonfire in the quad of the campus, lit to celebrate a quasi-thanksgiving. It wasn't supposed to end up the way it had.

Robin got attacked. Steve was there to help her get away uninjured, earning himself a black eye. She can't sleep if she's by herself anymore. You hate yourself for not being there to protect them.

She's afraid of being attacked by people rather than geeks now. Travelling at night increases the likelihood of dying via geek (you can't see them, they can smell you), but it vastly decreases the chance of meeting other people. It makes sense that a night time excursion is her preference.

You just don't know how you feel about it, and you have no clue how you might convince Steve to go along with it.

"So you want us to hike to the mall at night. Is it on the map? Where even is it?"

"I don't remember the name, Steve'll know it 'cos we've been there, but what matters is that I know for a fact there's a fancy soap store. I need soap, Y/N. I can't take this anymore. And if I don't brush my teeth soon I'm going to scream, my finger can only do so much."

Occasionally three of you take a pea sized dollop of paste and rub it over your teeth in an effort to feel less disgusting, the same way that you wash with a rag and cold water behind the treeline, and dunk your clothes in the river without detergent. Water is a good cleaner, but eventually there's a funk in the clothes that can't be washed out without soap, or Robin's current issue: oily hair.

Without soap and toothbrushes, you feel about as disgusting as a person can feel. If you don't make this trip soon, you'll be in the exact same boat as Robin, one bad stain away from screaming.

"And the fancy soap shop definitely has soap?"

"Definitely. And there's a department store with blankets, too. We could really improve the quality of our miserable lives."

"You don't have to convince me," you say, though it might not hurt in actuality. You're hesitant to leave the camp, but if Robin's leaving she can't go without Steve (who would never let her go alone), or you, because you refuse to be separated from Steve (or her, honestly). "It's Grim Fandango who needs greasing." Grim being Steve.

Steve has managed to wrap an arm around Dustin. You're half-expecting Dustin to be wriggling under his touch, desperate for an escape, a teenage boy allergic to both sincerity and affection, but Dustin's dissolved like jello powder in boiling water, totally slouched into Steve's side. Steve's hand runs the younger boy's upper arm briskly.

"It'll be okay, dude, I promise. We've come this far," Steve says.

"I'm just tired," Dustin says quietly.

"Maybe we should sell it, as uh, an enrichment trip," you suggest to Robin. "We can get stuff for the kids, some board games or something." They need an escape.

"I miss my books," Robin says.

"Holy shit, me too. Steve says you can tell the plot of every Agatha Christie novel from memory, is that true?" you ask.

"Only the good ones. Can I lie down on you?"

You let Robin lie down with her head on your thigh. It can't be comfortable but maybe it's better than the floor, or maybe it's just nice to be close to someone. You like having Robin with you. You'd been so apprehensive of her when you met, not because she was Steve's best friend —though that did worry you to some extent— but because you had trust issues to the neck and she was the first person beside Steve to be nice to you without motivation. In this world, that doesn't check out.

"What ones do you know?"

"Murder on the Orient Express?" she offers.

"Okay. Set the scene, Buckley."

Steve returns just after the detective finds out that Ratchet has been murdered. "I love this part," he says.

"Then let me tell it."

Robin spins for a while, but you peel away from the fire before you're too tired to stand and retreat to your makeshift tent. It's a tarp held up by two sticks and a blanket on the floor, but it works to keep away the rain and most bugs. There's not quite enough room for you three, but there's also literally no other option, and none of you mind. You squeeze in like tinned sardines, sleeping in your coats and shoes.

In the morning, you and Robin attempt to sell your idea to Steve over lukewarm oxtail soup. You and Steve share. Robin had to tip half into a bowl for someone else. The rationing is going okay.

You could've ended up with a can of garden peas, or chopped tomatoes.

"It's actually better if it's only us, you see, because we can sneak around and it'll be much quieter. And they don't need us here right now, everything's settled. And me and Y/N want to so we should."

Steve wraps your hand around the can of soup so you don't touch the hot bottom. He doesn't look like he's even remotely listening to Robin, his eyes on your face and his hands not far behind. He neatens you up, so to speak, scratching a little dirt speck from your cheek and folding the rolled collar of your shirt. "This," he says finally, his hand curling behind your neck, "sounds like a very bad idea."

You shudder happily as he starts to scratch your neck down to your shoulders. "Steve, what's bad about it? We'll be like the Three Musketeers, travelling in darkness, a mission for the people."

"Did you ever read that book?" Steve asks, his hand dropping to your shoulder, where it stays for a reverent second. You look gross and he still wants to squeeze you.

"No," you admit, lips on the sharp edge of your soup. You take a careful sip.

"We get there quickly, spend a night on the mattresses at the department store, and… Hey, why don't we go live in the mall?" Robin asks.

The idea of a real mattress is seductive, but not that much.

"Because we don't want to paint a huge target on our backs?" you ask.

"I'm kidding." Robin peers down at her soup unhappily. "I really hate oxtail."

Steve noticeably flickers. He meets your eyes, and you think he's speaking to you in his head. Fucking hell, I can't believe what I'm about to agree to.

"If you can convince Mrs. Byers to delegate us an actual weapon, then okay, fine, we can go to the mall." He stretches out his mostly healed knee and rubs it with both hands. "Fuck. A knife. Actually, I want each of us to have a weapon. So if you can somehow magic that into being, we can go."

"I don't see why we even had to ask permission," Robin jokes, "like it's the sixties or something." She springs up to her feet, forces her oxtail soup into the hands of one of the preteens by the fire, and beelines for the small crowd of kids surrounding one much taller Joyce.

"You'd still come with us even if you didn't want to," you say.

"Yeah, obviously. Robin's right, this isn't the sixties. That being said, if it was a worse plan, I'd tie you to a tree."

"I could be into that," you tease, pleased when he scoffs through a laugh. His elbow drives into your side. "Stop, fiend."

"No, fiend. Take the force of my elbow." He nudges you.

You elbow back. He elbows harder. You potentially give him a bruise and feel extremely bad when he "Oofs," aloud.

"Sorry," you say, climbing up on your knees to put your arms on his shoulders. "Sorry, sorry, sorry."

He shoves you away from him and you're evil, you're selfish, you want him to dote. You fall flat on your back in the dirt and grass, covering your smile with the crook of your elbow so he doesn't immediately know you're fine.

"Shit," he cusses, kneeling between your legs, moving to hover over you. "I didn't mean to knock you down…" He sees your smile. "You lying conniving trickster."

You smile harder, lips pressed together and your chest light as a feather for the first time in days, until suddenly he's squished on top of you and pressing down. "Ow," you fake, wriggling away from him. "I think there's a twig in my brain."

He wriggles with you. "You suck, you made me think I hurt you."

"Don't be a wuss, I get hurt all the time, how do you even know I'm not hurt?"

He sighs all quiet and lifts your head off of the grass. "I can't see through your hair," he says, "did it actually hurt?"

You take his face into your hands. Your fingers are very cold, but he doesn't flinch.

"I'm messing with you, H."

"When did that nickname catch on?"

You rub his cheeks with your thumbs. Fingers behind his ears, you smooth over his short scratchy stubble affectionately. Quick, you lift your chin and touch your lips to his. It's hardly a kiss.

He leans down slowly and makes it a better one.

"Stop," Robin says, kicking you in the ribs. She isn't cruel about it, more of a toe touch.

"Oh, hi, that was a quick rejection," you say, frowning.

Robin beams. "Actually, we've been approved. One knife apiece and a request for children's clothes. Get packing!"

She whizzes off in another direction, seemingly to pack and gather the allocated weaponry.

Steve drops his chin back down to you.

"Does she have secret things we don't know about?" he asks.

You scratch his scalp, "Mm… I'm not supposed to tell you."

He sits up. You frown.

"She really has a secret stash?"

"No, Steve," you laugh. "No, of course she doesn't. Where would she hide them?"

Steve yanks you up by the arm playfully. You pretend to fight him, but it's no use. You'll do anything he wants you to.

—

Steve didn't necessarily think that a hike through the outskirts of an infested city would be easy, but he also hadn't realised it would be this boring. Especially a trip he's already made in the past. Boring and kind of hard.

It's not because you aren't capable —you might've taken a hit when The College collapsed, but you've mostly recovered, and your endurance is good. You have the best survival skills you've ever had, and Robin is similarly ready for whatever it is that might get thrown at you. Too bad preparation doesn't make you a ninja.

He isn't at his peak and he was no man of steel beforehand, and although he was good enough to keep you both alive, he's not sure if it's still true. Plus, he wasn't expecting to feel so moody.

You're marching on like a true warrior next to him, your hand around his wrist and swinging gently, your eyes on the ground. Steve's flashlight carves a weak path through the dusk. Soon, it'll be completely dark, and that's when he imagines his worrying will reach a fever pitch.

For now, he tries to be chill.

"Is my hand not good enough for you?" he asks.

"I figure you can pull away from me quicker if you need to if we're not, like, sewed together."

"You have weird hands," Robin interjects. "They're big. I wouldn’t hold them either.”

"That's why they're nice hands, Robin," you say. "Well, maybe they're just nice because I love him."

"I love him. Mostly. He still has weird hands," she says.

"You don't get it," you say.

You wrap your arms around his bicep and hug it quickly before backing away again. He thinks you kiss his coat, but he really can't tell.

"I don't think I want to get it," Robin says.

You're quieter when you ask, "Is that really true? You don't want to be in love?"

In the dark, and at night, it's quiet. It's nearly always quiet everywhere you go nowadays, but it feels immense this far from the camp. Steve is on edge. Too distracted for heart to hearts. But he wants to know the answer too, so he stays nice and quiet.

"I love that you're in love," Robin says lightly. "And I love you both. But I've seen you guys when you think you're going to lose each other, and surviving is hard enough without… that."

You let your hand slide down to his hand, your palm flat to the top, not holding it but holding him.

Steve clears his throat. "It's worth losing my mind every time she decides to wander off because of the peace she gives me when we're together."

"The peace?" Robin asks. She sounds like she wants to be incredulous but his sincerity has tripped her up.

"I'm with her and…" He can see the side of your face in the flashlight. You're smiling shyly, your gaze on the grass beneath your shoes. Footsteps rustle in the gap of his words. "I don't want to be anywhere else as long as she's there."

"It sounds like a toothache," Robin says.

"You know, I used to get bad toothaches all the time before we found you, and Steve made me a teeth guard out of a leather armchair with a pen knife and a needle and thread."

"Did you just make that up? Trying to convince me about the magic of love?" Robin asks.

"No, he really made it for me, I used to keep it in my nightstand," you say. He can hear your smile.

He made it because watching you cry from toothache left him feeling powerless. A guy who'd never even held a needle and thread before bent over his lap with a flashlight in the hours while you slept until his eyes burned because watching you sniffle made him feel sick. He can't describe the ache of it, loving you but not having kissed you, or even really told you, his girl so stressed at night your jaw had locked tight and you were reduced to whimpers each morning. Having to watch you pretend it wasn't happening until you couldn't, until you broke down crying with your hand wrapped around his wrist like it is now. Sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Steve, I just– I want– I don't know– I can't–

He was useless. He was stupid. He could barely bring himself to rub your back because he thought another touch might knock you over.

Calm down, honey, he'd murmured. Just calm down.

He never could've imagined seeing you cry like that before he did. You couldn't move. You explained it like a headache when words became feasible again, which, Steve's had headaches; concussive migraines that were white hot and everywhere. So he could imagine it even if he'd never felt it, and there wasn't a single thing he could do about it. Willing to try anything, he'd even wondered if he could pull your tooth out himself. Mouth surgery is prone to infection, and he couldn't face levelling that amount of pain onto you personally. So rather than fix the tooth, he'd have to fix the stress. He couldn't fix the stress, so he looked for anything at all to ease the pain. Ibuprofen, codeine, even a course of antibiotics. And then, finally, the leather mouth guard. Leather stacked and sewed with sanitised, loving hands.

"It's weird what that kind of love can bring out of you," Steve says quietly, matching the surroundings. "I did a great job. I'm a seamstress."

Robin pretends to throw up generously and noisily. Steve shushes her. You, in a very good mood with no signs of calming down, laugh behind your hand.

"I can make you another one," he offers. He hadn't thought about it yet, but of course you don't have it anymore. Anything in your nightstand is lost forever.

"You might need to. I'll be a stressed mess all over again if we don't find some socks, I can feel my ankle bone piercing the back of my shoes," you say. No socks either.

Robin's flashlight turns quickly to the right. You and Steve flinch at the same time to guard the other, peering in the exposed direction. There aren't many trees around here, so all to be seen is yellow-green grass and empty air.

"Sorry, I got the heebies," Robin says. "Maybe it was your disgusting declarations of love."

"Hardy-har. Where the fuck do you think we are right now?" Steve asks.

"Wait, you don't know?" you ask.

"You have the map," he says back.

"Oh, right. But how do we navigate in the dark? We don't have a compass."

"I have the compass!" Robin announces.

"From where?" you ask.

"How did you think we'd get there in the dark, angel?" Steve asks you genuinely.

He doesn't have time to wonder if it's okay to call you angel. He's never done it before, but it felt right in the moment. You're kind of like an angel, protective and sweet and a symbol for goodness.

"I thought because you guys already knew where it was– we– we set off while it was still light! I assumed we'd just walk straight."

Steve and Robin laugh at you, but not without love.

You pretend to sulk for a while, though you shine your flashlight at the map when he asks, your arm threaded through his and face leaning on his shoulder. "I'm so confused," you mumble.

"Don't worry. I know where we are now," he says.

"No, I know where we are too, but I'm confused as to why I thought this was a good idea."

"This is a good idea because I've had greasy hair for two weeks and I feel like a worm," Robin says. "And we need blankets, and moisturiser, and to feel like real people."

Steve has a better list than that. He needs moisturisers for your cracked hands, antiseptic for the healing cut on your thigh. He needs shaving foam or at the least a goddamn razor, a new shirt, you both need underwear and you're in dire need of shoes that fit. He wouldn't mind a compression support for his knee, a pair of scissors, and most of all a box of cigarettes —a quick trip to the pharmacy would fix a lot of problems.

"I feel pretty real."

"You're real pretty," Steve says quickly.

"Yes! Oh, yes! Kiss?" you cheer, delighted at his swift wit.

Steve knows —he knows— you're putting on a brave face for him. He cried on your shoulder and you haven't cried since. You're being the strong one. You're trying to make it work.

You've always been the strong one. Steve has taken care of you so many times; held your hand in torrential rain when you were too tired to go on; scrambled through rotten floorboards to find you on your back and unconscious, fed you water in your sleep half-worried you were dying and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He's fought for you, the dead and the living —he would do worse for you. But you've done the impossible, surviving every ache and pain, coming back from things he didn't think you would. You crawled through glass for him. You stumbled in the dark bleeding and exhausted to do as he asked, to meet him at the end of an endless day.

He gives you the kiss you asked for. There's only one clue that you aren't as happy as you seem. Your breath catches as he leans down, like you thought he might not give you one after all.

It takes you hours to get there and way longer than you thought. You don't realise you're upon it until the grass turns to roads under your feet, and the road turns to parking lot. There's a shattering of glass spread over the floor like a spilled bag of salt that crunches under your shoes. Steve grips your elbow and the three of you creep inside past the doors. They're open, which is bad and good. Bad because someone's been here since the last time, and might still be inside. Good, because Steve's not sure any of you have the energy to open them.

"I don't think I have to say this, but please, let's whisper from here," Steve suggests.

"Damn, do we have to?" Robin whispers. "I was just about to start my rendition of Singing in the Rain."

You laugh through your nose.

"We'll go up to the bedding store, okay? And we'll grab some blankets, and then we'll find a storage room and barricade ourselves in."

"Steve, I wanna sleep on a mattress," Robin whines.

"But we don't know who's here," he says. "Buckley, I swear, I'll carry a mattress back to camp for you if that's what you want, but we have to live to see the morning first."

"It's not like we haven't done it before," you say, nudging her gently. "Can we go back to whispering? I'm really nervous. I don't want to attract anything."

"Sorry," Robin whispers.

Being outside in the dark had felt horrifying but mostly manageable. Being inside is terrifying too, and though your flashlights make it easy to navigate now that there's walls for the light to reflect off of, it's scarier knowing this is an enclosed space. You can only run so far in either direction.

Your fingers twist in the corner of his hoodie. He doesn't say anything. For a split second, he remembers you doing it in the past, before he'd even thought about kissing you, when you were scared and he was more angry than anything else (though not usually at you). He'd pretend he didn't feel it. He was a bitch but he was never cruel, and if you needed to scrunch the hem of his jacket in your hand to feel better then that was alright.

"You okay?" he murmurs.

"I'm okay. I think my cut is weeping."

"What?" he asks, head clicking as he turns to you. "Since when?"

"Not sure, it just feels weird, like it's wet."

"This is the kind of thing I'd love to know." Steve sighs. "The bedding place is up here somewhere. You can let me take a look at it."

You, Steve and Robin walk up the frozen escalators, your footsteps making banging metal sounds that echo through what feels like the entire mall. Hackles raised, Steve ushers you both into the bedding store, pulling Robin by the sleeve before she can stop to deliberate over blankets to the very back of the store where a door demarcates the Staff Only room.

"Listen," he whispers, "we are going to go in there back to back, just like we always do. Robs, I promise, as soon as I've checked her leg, I'll help you do whatever you want. Cool?"

"My leg is fine."

"If it gets infected, I know for a fact there aren't any antibiotics here," he says. They've looked. "We have to stay in front of it. Are you ready?"

"Steve, we're not amateurs," Robin says. She hums. "Okay, I might be, but you owe Y/N some respect."

"No, I'm an amateur."

"You're not an amateur," Steve says. "Girls, please."

"Can we veto 'girls'? I want to be dudes," Robin says.

"Robin–"

"Okay, okay! Let's do it."

—

You wake up with the driest mouth in the world, your head bumping from hunger and bad sleep —the floor still feels like the floor, no matter how many pillows you have— to sounds just outside of the door.

You hike up on elbows and feel your heart climb into your mouth. Steve's hand is on your neck, and Robin's foot is over your calf, and this is a very bad time to be locked in, especially weighed down as you are by fleece blankets.

"Steve," you whisper, blindly reaching out with your own hand. You accidentally smack him in the face with the base of your thumb. "Oh, shit, sorry. Steve, there's something outside."

He's impressively alert when he opens his eyes. He couldn't have been sleeping deeply. "What kind of something?" he whispers back, sitting up.

He pushes the blankets away and climbs onto his knees. The noise happens again, quickly followed by a smash and a third sound like a thump.

Robin flinches awake next to you. You put your hand on her shoulder, hoping it says, Hey, it's fine, you're fine.

"Where's your bag?" Steve asks you, standing up tall.

It's disgusting, but you're holed up in the employee bathroom. As far from the toilet and sinks as physically possible but with a buffer from the door. Staying in a storage closet hadn't been possible, the staff room door hanging off the hinges enough to not close, and the storage room a medium space crammed to bursting with mattresses and shelves of sheets that wobbled threateningly when touched.

Your bag is somewhere under the blankets. You scramble onto your knees and search for it. You'd put your things away for the sake of neatness. Silly move.

"Here," you say, pulling out a flashlight for Steve. He takes it into one hand, pen knife in the other unsheathed. "It's probably a geek."

"Yeah. Can you put your shoes on?" he asks, not unkindly.

You shake yourself and do as he asks you to. Robin helps you up. Steve creeps to the door, waiting for you both before he opens it into the main floor.

"I don't think we need the torch," Robin says.

Daylight illuminates the room through the windows set in the west wall. You all squint and step out, arms in defensive positions, treading softly so as not to be heard.

Another thump. You can't hear footsteps, exactly, just the occasional, irregular thump. Geeks are usually noisier. Dragging steps. They'll walk into walls if they're following a specific scent.

Steve turns to you both and raises his eyebrows. Brace yourselves.

He hits the butt of the knife into the wall three times.

Nothing shows itself. You stand frozen for a few minutes anyways, even when Steve and Robin decide they want to venture further into the room and scope out the place. You watch their backs, heart still pounding and with no signs of stopping.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve curses.

“What?” you and Robin hiss at the same time.

“Come here. Y/N, come over here,” he says, like you aren’t already half-way across the floor to meet them.

Steve gestures at a showcase bed with velvet purple sheets. They’re not even dusty, no signs of time or wear, nothing to speak of a different age. Nothing, that is, beside the dead bird on the pillowcases, and the carpeting of fur surrounding it. It's odd for Steve to point you towards any gore, and you're a tad shocked, until he takes your forearm in his hand and pulls you in front of him. "See?" he murmurs.

He points to the pillow. You follow his finger.

Robin speaks first. Correction, Robin squeaks first.

"Is that a cat?" she asks, all the excitement of her discovery squashed tightly into a frankly impressive whisper-shout.

Robin refuses to move after that. She begs Steve for some of the dried jerky (of unknown origin and animal) from the rucksack and lays down on her stomach when the tugged tabby you've found flees beneath the bed frame. "Here, kitty," she murmurs, her gentlest tones. "Come on, killer, I need your help."

Steve nudges you.

"Oh, you're talking to me?" you ask Robin.

"I need your help," Robin insists, looking at you from over her shoulder. Her hair is limp around her face, her cheeks flushed red with excitement. "She has to know we're all friends."

"Watch my back?" you ask Steve.

He sits on the end of the bed, "Don't have to ask."

You set down carefully next to Robin and peer under the bed for the tabby. Your arrival has scared her half to death.

"Maybe she's only used to seeing geeks," you say.

"Maybe she thinks we're geeks," Robin says agreeably.

"Me and Steve found a dog once, but he wouldn't let us touch. He begged for food and then he ran away," you say.

"The dog wouldn't let you touch him, or Steve wouldn't let you touch the dog?" Robin asks, waving the jerky around.

"A bit of both."

"Kitty," Robin sings.

"Oh, god, this is comfy as fuck," Steve mumbles, laying down in bed. "Robin, you have to get up and watch your six, babe."

You and Robin laugh in sync and aloud at his 'babe'. It's you who stands and continues taking mild guard. You're not worried about intruders anymore, thinking that any company would have presented itself already, but you like keeping them safe. You take check of every corner of the room, spinning in the world's slowest circle. Robin baby talks to the cat under the bed while offering scraps of jerky. Steve, having curled away from the bird, lets his fingertips brush your thigh each time you turn.

"Getting dizzy?" he asks.

"Yes. And hungry, too, which is a weird feeling together. Can I have some of the jerky?"

Steve offers the bag. "If you're hungry, eat what you want, but if you can keep it to a little portion just in case we can't find anything else, honey…"

You stop spinning so much to eat jerky. You eat more than you should, you hunger a cruel, sharpened thing that jabs from your stomach and up into your diaphragm. You hand Steve back the bag before you can eat someone else's share and decide to focus on the other negatives in your life, like your shoes.

"Can we look for shoes soon?" you ask.

"Yeah, honey," Steve says. Honey, honey. His voice is soft with an ever-present fatigue.

"I don't think this cat likes me very much," Robin says, still singing.

"She's just scared. Maybe if we leave and come back again she'll realise we're friendly," Steve says.

"Yes sir." Robin stands, brushing herself down. "Oh, ew, Steven, how can you lie there? You know the cat's probably spayed all over that bed, right?"

Steve springs up. "Okay, ew."

“It’s okay,” she says. “Let’s go get some new clothes.”

It’s harder than it should be. The three of you move from store to store on high alert for what has to be an hour, searching for practical, fitting clothes. The time for modesty is over, and you take turns changing in front of one another while the others make sure you aren’t about to become naked geek feed. You’re so unclean that putting clean clothes on feels wrong, but you do it anyhow. You double back to the store with suitcases and bags and fill a suitcase to bursting point with the clothes that Joyce requested for the children. You sit yourselves down at some point, always exhausted, to try on sneakers. The relief of finding and changing into a pair that fits cannot be understated. When you’re sure there’s at least pants and a sweater for every child, you pack up and head for the fancy soap shop.

Robin is ecstatic. Ideally, you can all carry one bag on your shoulders and pull one suitcase, so you each fill a bag with soaps and brushes and powders, figuring that if you find food or medication worth carrying you can empty one of the bags rather than double back.

“I’m sorry we didn’t actually sleep on a mattress,” Steve says.

Robin shrugs nonchalantly, kicking aside an empty helium tank with her foot as you pass by a card and gift store. She’s grown less happy as time goes on, unsatisfied with the day's events. Finding nice soap hadn’t felt important with no water around to use it. The cat was rabid, you’re all living off of jerky and river water, and now you have to hike home again in the dark, hours of fear and tenseness.

“I miss your car,” Robin says.

You hadn’t ever been in Steve’s car, but you say, “Me too.”

“Maybe we should find a real tent,” Steve says, apparently not listening.

“Isn’t that kind of mean?” Robin asks.

“I mean, if the others wanted a tent, they could’ve come.”

“I don’t think it's mean,” you say. “But I don’t see how we can carry it.”

“I can carry it,” Steve says. “Just a small one. Big enough for us.”

“Does us include me?” Robin asks.

Steve laughs. “Duh, it includes you. It’s Y/N that’s gonna have to sleep outside.”

“Or me and her can have the tent and you can be our watchdog.”

“We can’t, um, stay outside forever, right?” you ask quietly.

Steve puts his arm over your shoulder for a quick squeeze. “No, we can’t. We’ll find somewhere permanent soon. There’s barely any geeks the more we get into Michigan, who knows. Maybe there's none at all up top. But…" He lets you go. "I'll find somewhere."

"Steve, you sound ridiculous," Robin says. "'I'll find somewhere,'" she quotes, voice deepened.

Robin might joke, but you feel reassured by Steve's promise. You keep your head up for the rest of the day.

—

Later, much later, when you've travelled back to the camp with aching everythings and taken the world's coldest bath in the river nearby, you, Robin and Steve pitch your brand new tent and near collapse. It was night when you finally reached the camp that day, and so it was morning by the time you laid down. Steve has to admit that bathing and building a tent in the dark had been fun, annoying and indicative of the situation but a pleasure anyhow, to hear his favourite people in the whole world trying not to shriek at the cold water, overjoyed and laughing as you finally washed your face with real soap, and terrified that the river would knock you down.

You're shaking with the cold now in his arms, practically sitting on his thigh as you brush his still damp hair back from his eyes.

"I can't believe you're still cold," he says, kissing the line of your jaw affectionately.

Robin, despite hours without sleep, had volunteered to help Sarah corral the younger kids for some early breakfast. Steve thinks it's because she likes Sarah. Your theory was that she's generous enough to give you a half hour of privacy. She's good like that.

Whatever it is, you're alone for the first time in days. It's no different than when you're with friends, only you're touchier and Steve's an honest fool.

You wrap one of your new blankets tighter around your shoulders and shift. "Am I hurting you?"

"Nope." He squeezes you tightly to his front. "You're shivering. Put your hands under my shirt."

You do it quickly, smiling like he's given you the world. "'Member when you'd let me do this? Even when we weren't really dating?"

"We were dating," he says.

"What, before or after the taco truck incident?"

"Before," he says sharply. He pauses. "Alright, maybe not then. But we were definitely dating when you'd put your hands in my shirt. You don't do that for just anyone, I'm not a run around."

"Steve, you used to let me sleep in your lap. Like, a month after we met."

"'Cos you get so damn cold," he says. You're still shivering. He rests his cheek against your neck. "If I didn't let you, you'd spend the whole night shivering and making these really sad sounds."

He's not even teasing. Just being honest.

"I'm sensitive," you say.

"You're used to sleeping indoors like a normal person."

You ease off of his lap. He doesn't want you to; he'd keep you close forever. Plus, he feels guilty cuddling you in front of Robin because he knows public displays are uncomfortable, so he wants to really take you in while he can.

"I have something to tell you," you say.

"Oh?"

"Or, something to give you. But I can tell you something if that matters."

"Tell me anything." Everything. He wants to know everything you have to say.

"Well… well, before this happened…" You rummage through the bag you'd brought home with you, the tip of your tongue peaking out. "You know, before the world half ended, I wasn't– I don't know if I can say it."

"Please?" he asks.

You pull something into your hand. "Alright. I didn't think I'd ever fall in love. And then the world ended, and I really didn't think I would, but you found me and I love you, so it wasn't true."

He thinks about it. You, years ago, when he'd see you in the halls at school or walking home. He doesn't have much recollection of you beyond that, but it aches in a weird way to think you'd been walking around feeling like you wouldn't be loved.

Steve licks his lips. "I get it, because I kind of worried the same thing. Like I'd keep loving people more than they loved me."

"And then you met Robin?"

"Exactly. She taught me more about love as my best friend than any of the girlfriends I had."

"Well, I didn't get a Robin back then, but I have you now, and I guess I want you to know it's important to me," you say. "I know things are so hard right now, I know," —you clear your throat as emotion creeps in to your tone— "you put on a brave face for me. I know you're tired. But I keep going for you, and you keep going for me, and I want you to have something so you remember that even if I'm… not around."

Steve sits up straight. "Hey, you're not going anywhere."

You blink rapidly.

"Where is it that you think you're going without me?" he asks, softer.

"Nowhere. But I just need you to know how much I loved you."

"Love," he corrects.

"How much I love you," you agree, sniffling. You look around at the tent floor, your shoulders raised just so. "Sorry, I'm not gonna cry or anything, I just hate thinking about it."

You hand him something wrapped in a new sock. He bites his lip to stop from laughing at the wrapping and unpeels his gift.

It's a watch. Silver, heavy, glass unscathed and hands tick tick ticking. Steve doesn't know if the time is accurate. His old watch broke a long time ago, but this one looks vaguely similar.

"You gave me a necklace, once, with a little diamond. I know I don't have it anymore, I shouldn't have taken it off. But you gave it to me when I was miserable, and I know you're not miserable, but–"

"I am," he says, rubbing his thumb over the watch. There's a tiny diamond set at the bottom of the clock face. He has no idea why, but the idea that you saw it and remembered his gift that long ago, that you wanted him to know you love him, that pays for some truth. "I'm miserable. I'm so scared for us." He breathes out hard. "Sorry."

Steve's eyes tear up. He tries not to let it show, but he's looking down at the watch and his vision is blurring, and he's thinking Fuck, fuck, I'm crying in front of her again.

You shuffle across the plastic floor toward him and clutch his hand. He's shaking minutely. You must feel it.

"It's okay, baby," you murmur.

He ducks his head.

"It's okay. I know," you say.

"I know that you know," he says.

"But it's hard," you prompt.

"Yeah."

You needle your arm behind his neck and him close. He can't hold back anymore, throwing his arms around your waist because why would you say that stuff to him? You're so evil, you're horrible, you're the very best thing that's ever happened to him and he loves you and what if you do die? Nobody will ever, ever be like you. There's no one out there with your smile, nobody who turns at the sound of his voice as you do, happy before you've set eyes on him and ecstatic when you have.

And if you live (please, God, if you live), Steve wants to give you a better life than this. He's constantly panicking because he doesn't know how.

But you don't mind. You don't love him less for the situation.

"I don't even know what to tell you," you say, stroking the hair at the back of his neck tenderly, "cos I tell you I love you so much it doesn't feel like what I mean. I love you. I love you, Steve."

He hugs you until he's not crying, wishing his cheeks would dry themselves when he finally raises his head and kisses your cheek. "Thank you," he says roughly.

Steve sits back and wipes his nose. You offer the sock. He laughs and bats it away.

"I love you, too," he says. He thrusts his wrist at you. "Strap me in?"

You fasten Steve's watch and, in what's becoming a theme, you kiss his pulse.

"Sorry things have been so hard," you say, adjusting the watch until it's sat comfortably.

"You make it easier."

"Guys!" Robin says, forcing her way into the tent with an exuberant smile on her face. There's something in her arms, a wriggling mass of matted fur. "Look! The cat followed us home! I'm gonna name him Stinkyboy! Or Shark. Get up, I need help catching a fish!" She waves the cat's paw at you both. "I knew he liked me!"

—-

the Steve zombie au

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

511 notes · View notes

carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 3 months

Text

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 81

Part 1 Part 80

Eddie’s hand is clutching tight enough on Will’s shoulder to hurt, but Will barely notices because Eddie’s sniffling behind him. He can hear it in the way he’s swallowing it down, breath hitching. Will reaches up to clasp Eddie’s hand on his shoulder, not looking away from Steve.

“What do you remember?” Will asks, hoping Steve will say something, anything to prove he’s still in there somewhere.

Steve’s eyes unfocus, like he’s really focusing, trying to pull memories out of his head and coming up with air. There’s no sound in the tight room except Eddie’s breath hitching, the eyes of Dr. Owens, Uncle Wayne, and Will all trained on the same target.

“I remember they hurt me,” Steve says, still unfocused.

Will shifts, looking behind him at Dr. Owens with a glare. “You mean the tests?” Will asks, thinking about how uncomfortable blood draws are, and how much more they might do to someone possessed and unmonitored by a loving parent. How much worse would it be for someone who’s memory has slipped out of their ears and no longer contextualizes the harmlessness of the needle.

Dr. Owens isn’t smiling anymore. He looks grim as he meets Will’s eyes, no congenial twinkle to be found.

“No, the soldiers,” Steve says.

“Someone hurt him?” Uncle Wayne asks, glaring past Will to where Dr. Owens is standing.

Dr. Owens starts, “Now, wait a mi–” before Steve talks right after him in that same, lifeless voice.

“They shouldn’t have done that. It upset him.”

They all know who “he” is, but Uncle Wayne still asks. “Who’d it upset, kid?” He sounds gruff, unaffected, too much a man’s man to let it show, but when Will looks up at his face, his eyes are just as wet as Eddie’s. He looks back to Steve quickly, wiping his own tears as they well.

It’s like Uncle Wayne crying is what makes this real. Eddie always has big emotions and big reactions to them, getting caught up into the dramatics of any given moment like he’s acting out a scene.

But Wayne? Wayne’s solid. Sturdy. Dependable. And he’s crying.

Steve doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t say anything else at all, just settles into his bed and lets them perform more tests, the same battery of them.

Then, a new test, one he’s never seen before. A familiar vine in a box, a flamethrower, and Steve’s steady heartbeat.

Almost immediately, Steve’s heartbeat kicks up, echoing around the room as the scientists turn on the flamethrower and light up the vine.

It writhes in its little box. Steve sits still in his bed.

“Do you feel that?” Dr. Owens asks.

Steve nods, holding his chest, like he can feel it there.

The vine catches fire and Steve writhes in his little bed, heartbeat kicking up until it’s almost deafening in Will’s ears.

“Turn it off!” Eddie demands, running up to Steve like he wants to hold him down in a macabre reenactment of what they’d done in the pumpkin patch. “Now!”

They don’t, until Dr. Owens echoes the orders.

Steve goes still.

It doesn’t connect, what happened to Steve, until the vines been wheeled out of the room, adults trailing after it to talk away from children’s prying ears. But, it’s too late. They already know. It doesn’t matter how much retroactive protection they want to provide, it’s already connected.

The soldiers hurt the vines. The soldiers hurt Steve. The scientists burned the vine and Steve writhed.

They’re connected, Steve and the things that haunt the Upside-Down. Can’t hurt one without the other.

But, why Steve?

They’re all connected, he can feel it still, flickering and ashen, but there. So, why not him? Or Eddie?

Why is it always, eternally Steve?

For the first time, Will wonders if Steve might not make it this time. Big, strong Steve, who’s back he’s more familiar with than his face. Who’s always going first through doorways, toward danger, to make sure it’s safe. What happens when that back bows and breaks?

What if he doesn’t make it this time? Will that tether flicker and go out?

Will Will and Eddie go out with it, connected to the last?

Even as he stares at the stranger wearing Steve Harrington’s face, Will hopes so.

He holds Eddie’s hand and waits with him for the adults to make more decisions about the minutiae of their lives.

Part 82

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @wonderland-girl143-blog @nerdsconquerall @sharingisntkaren

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #my fic #steddie upsidedown au #will byers

173 notes · View notes

biblio-smia · 4 months

Note

Hiiii! Love your work! This is gonna be a lengthy I apologize in advance lol. Do you think you can pls do a tasm! x fashion designer reader? (I’m a fashion major lmaooo) Like where the reader has a big debit show coming up and Peter misses bc he’s out on his spiderly duties. The reader doesn’t know he’s Spider-Man. Very angsty then very fluffy. Love confessions. Thank you!!!!!!

thank you + thank you for the request!! i loveee this idea <3 also definitely watched barbie a fashion fairytale while writing this LMAO

masterlist | requests are open!

Emotions swirled in your chest - beginning with anxiety and just a touch of nausea.

Then came the elation - it was like the feeling when people praised you for your designs only intensified by about a thousand.

You'd spent hours on the pieces now being carried on the runway, survived on less hours of sleep than you'd thought possible, and worked through headaches you were positive where going to split your skull open. You'd pricked your fingers, created permanent callouses on your fingers, and probably caused irreversible damage to your back to make your patterns and ideas come to life. It was one thing to draw them out on paper and another to create them, altering them and scratching out ideas that had looked good on paper but had not ended up liked you'd imagines - and something completely different to see them on models, to watch the audience awe and clap for what you'd created.

Your heart pounded with each excited congratulations! and hug after the show had ended, still reeling a little from the experience. It'd been over so quickly for all the time you'd poured into the preparation and how long the show would take to clean up, but you were sure your work had made an impression that would outlive the night.

But as the crowd died down and people filed out, you stood, waiting, for the congratulations you'd been anticipating all night - the one that'd probably mattered the most to you.

But as the crowd thinned into only a few heads of people that had begun occupying themselves with cleaning up, so dispersed there was no way Peter could've possibly missed you, that's when the realization had set in.

Peter hadn't come.

Now, there was a new feeling a chest. Your heart hadn't stopped pounding, but now there was a pain accompanying it in your chest and a lump in your throat you were struggling to swallow down.

You turned when you heard your name called, not sure what you were expecting - it was only one of your colleagues, asking if you'd like to grab drinks to celebrate.

You teeter, almost let the idea persuade you, but ultimately decide against it with a small maybe next time! - because you're not really sure if you'd be able to hold the tears in if you got intoxicated.

Plus, a little piece of your heart holds out hope that maybe your boy would still show up - maybe he got pushed out by the crowd, or couldn't find you and decided to wait for you outside.

But as you stepped out into the dark night and looked around at the empty street, any last hope died.

The journey home created an ideal environment for your disappointment to brew into a strong, dark anger, scowl on your face sure to scare any strangers on the sidewalk off and away from you. You were nearing furious by the time you reached your door, shoving your keys into the lock and hurting your hands with the intensity you pulled them out with, cold metal painfully digging into your hot fingers.

Your anger didn't mellow as you turned your phone off, refusing to let Peter have any way to contact you - at least for tonight. You needed a few hours away from him. Maybe longer. You'd decide that later.

A shower tamed your flames, water burning you out and leaving behind something that craved only the soft comfort of your bed.

You'd only made it a few steps into your room when your ears perked at the sound of tapping at your window. Your eyes followed, trying to identify the source of the noise, and you jumped when you saw Peter on your fire escape.

If it hadn't been so cold out, you would've left him outside.

At least, that's what you told yourself afterwards.

But that searing rage had returned, warming your entire body and making you resistant to the cold air that blew in along with Peter the second you opened the window.

"Did you climb up here?" You spat out, immediately backing up and crossing your arms, scowl making its way on your face again.

Peter didn't need to look at you to feel your anger.

He'd been so close to making it this time - but, like always, something had come up. That'd been his excuse so many times, to so many people, it was starting to become pathetic even to Peter. He'd paced for close to an hour, biting the inside of his cheek raw while wondering how he was going to make it up to you. Peter knew how much this night had meant to you. He'd promised to be there, to support you and all the work you'd put in; the long hours you spent beside Peter, refusing to accept his help. The days where Peter had to force you away from your desk to have a break, all the snacks he'd made to fuel you and your beautiful brain.

And now, as Peter was so famous for doing, he blew it.

"W...what? Oh, yeah, I just-" Well, Peter had swung here, but he'd get around to explaining that. For now, he was more focused on trying to get his words out without stuttering pathetically. "I just- I needed to tell you something."

You stood, silent, arms crossed and eyes dark. Peter didn't need a translation to know you were telling him to spit it out.

Peter swallows thickly. He takes a deep breath. He forces himself to look straight into your eyes.

"I'm Spiderman." Peter goes the extra mile and tugs on the neckline of his shirt, revealing a sliver of the suit in case you don't believe him.

It's silent, which Peter begins to believe is the worst outcome with each second it drags on. You falter for just a few moments before your eyebrows furrow, somehow even angrier this time, because you, in all your hot anger, cannot bring yourself to fully process the information Peter has just thrown at you - or, frankly, care.

"So? You think that's just gonna fix everything?" You step closer to Peter, words like venom.

"I-"

"You what? You think I'm just gonna forgive you because you're Spiderman? Peter, you know how much this meant to me. And now you show up, hours after you're supposed to, telling me you're Spiderman?"

"Well, I brought these," Peter offers weakly, pulling a bouquet of flowers out of his bag. Crushed. Peter watches as a petal falls lamely to the ground.

"Impressive," you say so sarcastically it hurts, rolling your eyes with a sigh. "God, Peter, you are such a dick!"

Peter can sense you're about to send him out of that window flying, but he just can't leave before saying everything he needed to say.

"W-wait! Please, just hang on, I... I am so sorry," Peter starts, hands on your shoulders desperately. "I really am. Truly. I wanted to be there tonight, I tried so hard to be there, something got in the way... but that doesn't matter. I should've been there, or at least texted, or something, you're right, I'm sorry. And this," Peter motions to his chest. "is not an excuse, at all. I just wanted to tell the truth. I owe you at least that."

"Yeah, you owe a lot more than that," you scoff, shoving Peter's shoulder. It's not hard but Peter winces painfully in a way that fills you immediately with guilt. You roll up Peter's sleeve but see only a pattern of red and black. You look at him expectantly and he does his best to slide his arm out of his suit from under his shirt - all to reveal a nasty bruise, right where you'd hit him.

"Well, now I feel bad," you murmur, dragging Peter to your kitchen for some ice, trying not to think about how dangerous the things he got involved with as Spiderman probably were - how he'd clearly been doing something more important while missing the show.

"Don't," Peter insists, letting you sit him down and press ice against the bruise, focusing on not wincing. "I deserve it."

"You don't, Pete," you sigh, careful not to let your eyes wander to Peter's - it's hard, though, feeling him stare at you so woefully from your peripheral.

But you slip eventually, Peter catching your eyes before you can look away.

"I'm sorry," he says again, reaching for your hand slowly, tenderly, wondering if you'll let him.

You do.

"I know you are, Peter."

It's quiet for a few moments before you sigh, examining Peter's arm for any other bruises.

"It's just the one," Peter confirms, before asking shyly, "Kiss it better?"

You roll your eyes but you push Peter's sleeve up further, careful not to touch the bruise as you place your lips on the top of Peter's shoulder, right next to a small freckle.

"I meant here," Peter taps his lips with a smile.

"Don't push it." You move away from Peter and he stands, following you around as you stop at a cupboard and dig around until you find an empty vase. Peter watches silently as you fill it with water and wordlessly back into your room, where you pick up the flowers from where Peter had left them on your nightstand and place them carefully inside the vase.

"They were beautiful when I bought them," Peter mutters.

"They're still nice," you insist. "So," you begin, taking a seat on your bed. "Do I really want to hear the details about all the dangers Spiderman has faced?"

"Depends on how much you still hate me," Peter replies, opening up a drawer full of your sleep shirts, sure he'll find one (or a few) of his among them. He does, and he's quick to start pulling his clothes off. Unfortunately, Peter hasn't come up with a better way of getting his suit off just yet.

"Is watching people undress part of the job?" Peter asks with a grin, slipping his head through your (his) shirt.

"No, we usually watch them get dressed," you hum.

"So it's just me then?" Peter drops next to you on your bed, pulling your laptop from its place on your nightstand.

"Okay, you were the one who started taking your clothes off in front of me."

"You looked."

You rolled your eyes but you smiled as Peter pulled you into his side, balancing your laptop between the two of you. He's quick to pull up clips of the show and you're surprised to see it already online; you're also surprised to see the few hundreds of views already, considering it had only been a few hours since the show.

"Tell me everything," Peter insists, propping himself up to focus his attention back on you.

So you do.

Peter has always been a good listener when it came to you, captivated by the way you speak. He's told you before that he could listen to you talk about nothing for hours, but he makes an extra effort to really pay attention tonight. He asks questions about the show and about intricacies that he doesn't quite understand.

You can tell when you're beginning to lose him, at some point where you're talking about the different stitches you had to use to create a certain design on one of your pieces.

Some of it Peter has heard already, but he listens regardless. He's set the laptop aside now, fingers drawing figures on your arm as he hums and nods.

You've gotten to the end, where you casually mention the invitation for drinks you got. Peter frowns, head propped on his hand so you can see the severity of his pout.

"What would you have done then?" You ask curiously.

"Waited," Peter said like it was obvious.

"What if I stayed out all night?"

"Well then I would've had to break in," Peter grins.

"You're a nuisance."

"The person you've turned me into," Peter rolls onto you, pressing his head into your neck.

"I have a feeling you've always been like this."

"Maybe," Peter hums against your skin, pressing his lips into your skin.

"I haven't forgiven you yet. You're still a dick."

"I am," Peter agrees, pulling his head away to look at you, arms caging you in at your sides. "The worst. Call me Penis Parker."

You can't help but laugh at that one, which of course makes Peter grin.

"You still owe me," you say sternly, hands meeting at the back of Peter's neck, capturing him in a loose hold. "For, like, the rest of your life."

"I owe you," Peter nods quickly, pressing a kiss to the inside of your arm. "For the rest of my life. Just as long as you're in it."

Peter's voice goes quiet towards the end, implicating something you hadn't intended for originally. Peter notices how your eyes widen slightly and he bites his lip.

"Uh, well, I don't think this is really the best time to tell you, but... uh," Peter hesitates, moving off of you, choosing to sit up next to you instead. "I... I love you."

You're sitting him, mouth slightly agape. All you'd expected tonight was a congratulations from Peter, not a love confession.

The silence scares him until Peter manages to hear your elevated heart rate (only barely over his own). Your face is hot and Peter's about to insist that you don't have to respond right now when you're pulling him in, slowly. Your hand is on his cheek and Peter's arms have shyly wrapped around you. Your noses bump and Peter tilts his head, not quite shutting his eyes just yet. His breath comes out a little strained and you know he's not gonna go for it until you do.

"I love you, Peter," you whisper. "But don't ever do that again."

Peter nods, moving to place a hand on your chin. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Good."

And you lean in, finally, capturing Peter's lips in a kiss he was terrified he'd never experience again. He savored it now, hungry, refusing to let you go. He relished the funny feeling that your words created in his chest, pulling you close and making you feel every little ounce of love he had for you.

Peter wouldn't risk losing you again as long as he could help it.

#peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker #tasm peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #tasm spiderman #tasm spiderman x reader #andrew garfield peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction #tasm fanfiction #v + peter #v writes

165 notes · View notes

logo-ssspathosss · 6 months

Text

team bolas rojas gas masks designs??

in THIS day and age?????

it may be more likely than you think..

this was my first time drawing a series of different gas masks, no idea if they’re accurate at all, but it was really fun!!

**notes & closeups under the cut :-D**

it’s a lot of notes so be prepared for an info dump.

NOTES:

Philza: honestly, what more is there to say than “CROW MAN!!”? aside from his goggles being glow-in-the-dark, theres not much more to the mask design. however, i decided, “hey! this is purgatory! i can fuck up these characters!” so, he has a ripped ear(?)wing and messily cut back hair. (i didn’t pay too much attention to the hair in this design, i was mainly trying to get the gas masks down, but maybe i’ll go further into later.)

Cellbit: this is definitely one of my favorites, he looks pretty scary, i would NOT stop my car if i saw him on the side of the road. its based off of a cat mask(obviously) and a painted white streak goes through his mask, inspired by his hair. i didn’t include it, but circles in the goggles are supposed to retract with different emotions (kind of how cat’s eyes do, saucer and dagger pupils.) he’s also covered in blood because he’s going through it lore wise.

Slimecicle: ngl, it was my first time drawing code charlie(other than all the wips i have that i’ll never finish),but i think he’s pretty spooky. his mask is the worst quality, like it USED to work well until he wore it out. thus, there are broken air tubes that let the gas in. (he should probably get those replaced.) the holes for his horns are kind of like an airlock, so the gas can’t enter through them (phil helped him make it.) however, it makes it difficult to take off.

Baghera: baghera’s mask is kind of built like charlie’s, except in much better quality. aside from the loose air tubes, the mask almost goes all the way around her head, not letting even the slightest bit of gas in. theres also a plastic duck beak on top of the regular breathy-thing(i have no idea what i’m doing, so, no, i don’t know the technical term for that) to give it the “bird touch.”

Jaiden: jaiden’s mask was FUN. like i kinda went overboard. i did these all on different days, and this was the night after the big egg battle day. i saw she had fnaf bonnie ears along with her bird gas mask, and said “ok cool. i’ll add that.” she has the same feather/beak thing i gave to baghera. also, hair-wise, she gets a hair bun and her brown roots showing through(we love messy haired cubitos ^^)

Foolish: foolish was interesting, not sure i like the final product, but i’m tired, so it’ll do. his mask is based off of a lemon shark. he gas glowing green eyes and golden splotches on the leather. the air tube foolish has is REALLY long. like unnaturally long. so he wraps it around his neck to get it out of the way. the other members are extremely concerned it’ll choke him one day, but foolish thinks it’s cool and will scare other teams away. kind of like a “yea, i’m crazy, i could choke and die at any minute, and i don’t care.” phil, being the protective father figure of the group, does not like this at all.

Carre: and finally, we have carre. ah, sweet, sweet carre.(he is my favorite.) his mask is based off of a snow leopard because i hc he’s half feline. carre has the lightest, and most simple mask, since it’s entirely plastic, and more so based off of skiing or snowboarding goggles.

ANYWAY, i hope these notes make sense, excuse my rambling about silly designs, i tend to doodle messily, and not really have a plan when i draw, lol.

thanks for reading, BYE!

#qsmp team red #team bolas #bolas rojas #<- do they have any other names?#q!philza #q!cellbit #q!charlie #q!baghera #q!jaiden #q!foolish #q!carre #qsmp purgatory #thats a lot of tags omg #spatcat!!art

205 notes · View notes

a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual · 9 months

Text

Nimona headcanons that I wrote during dinner

Wherever Nimona gets overwhelmed by their emotions they bite things

And you can see that all over the house there are bite marks on cups chopsticks on the couch the boy's arms

You know the normal things

They didn’t mean to draw blood and the boys know that

They do however buy Nimona teething toys because they’re worried she’s gonna break something or hurt herself

There’s a random Polaroid photo of the trio’s arms with matching bite marks

It’s kind of cute in a weird way like matching tattoos except a not nearly as expensive

The trio has a lot of the same vocal stims and they have no clue where half of them came from

One day someone just walks into the house and mumbles “root beer” and the next thing you know the three of them are repeating it until they’re basically screaming it

The funny thing is they know a decent amount of T*kTok audios (or their universe’s equivalent) but they’re never on social media

Most of Ambrosius' life has been dictated by how the media perceives him he’s not gonna stay on social media

Social media is just too damn toxic and chaotic for Bal to handle

He tried to be on multiple social media platforms

It stuck for less than a month and he deleted all of them soon after cause he couldn’t stand it

Nimona just hates social media

In his own words “It’s evil and chaotic but not the good kind”

Everyone in the trio has a weird sixth sense when the other two are even slightly uncomfortable

Ambrosius has gotten multiple calls from Bal in the middle of meetings asking if he’s okay and if he wants to leave

Ambrosius has shown up in the middle of a lot of Nimona’s fights even though he had no idea where he was and that he was even in a fight to begin with

Whenever someone tries to mess with Bal Nimona is just there

Like a weird little fucked up version of state farm

Sometimes when the trio is arguing and Nimona is tired of them talking in circles she will shift some of her features away

Most of the time she’ll get rid of her ears and make a big deal about not being able to hear them

And when she does that they’ll start signing to her and she’ll get rid of her eyes

Sometimes when they're really heated they'll try and tap on her leg in morse code

Which is when she decides to full leave the room and let them calm down

They don't follow her tho cause that's the sign that they've fully pissed her off and they know to walk away and take a breath maybe eat a snack maybe take a nap

Once enough time has passed and they’ve thought shit through they’ll have a little family meeting and talk it out

#nimona 2023 #nimona movie #nimona headcanon #nimona #ballister boldheart #ambrosius goldenloin #ballister x ambrosius #goldenheart #I love these stubborn dorks #they're all hardheaded as fuck #they try really hard to respect people’s boundaries #but when they’re passionate about something they tend to dig their heels in #it’s a problem #they’re working on it

266 notes · View notes

postmodernmulticoloredcloak · 4 months

Text

Supernatural reboot where Sam does not believe in the supernatural when the series starts. Yes the original pitch concept is just soo juicy when you think about it a little too much like I do. This is slightly tweaked.

Sam escapes his family to go to college not because he wants out of the life of the monster-killing business. He escapes them because he thinks they're utterly crazy and there’s no monster-killing business because there are no monsters.

Growing up, John brings Dean along on hunts and leaves Sam sheltered to keep him safe (and keep him away from possible corrupting supernatural influences...) so Sam never really gets to know the monstrous John and Dean go after. If he has glimpses of it growing up, he's ready to dismiss those as deceptions of the brain of an impressionable kid, as tricks of anxiety, of exhaustion, of stress. Maybe even as John and Dean’s craziness rubbing off him, something that scares him, pushing him even more to distance himself from them.

He really does not want to end up like Dean, who has soaked up John’s delusions entirely. He wants to stay sane. He’s worried that the psychosis might be genetic, a weight that’s always in some corner of his mind. He hopes it’s not, and in the meanwhile his best bet is to get away, to live a normal life, to surround himself with normal people.

It works. He goes to college, he lives the most regular of lives imaginable. He has friends and a girlfriend and has good grades and a positive outlook on his future. He never really speaks about his family. His friends can draw some guesses from his vague information—that his mother died when he was very little, too little to remember anything about her; that his father is not exactly winning any parenting awards; that he has a brother who is basically a copy of their father. They can guess that his childhood was not good, but they don’t pester him for details. They know it’s not something Sam wants to talk about. But it’s reasonable. Lots of people have bad childhoods.

Dean doesn’t show up in the middle of the night. He shows up on campus, he joins Sam and his friends for lunch. It’s tense. Sam’s friends’s idea of Dean is not exactly flattering – and it doesn’t help that Dean looks as different as your average nice Stanford student as you can imagine. Leather, tattoos, weird jewelry and creepy amulets. They hope that the thing that dangles from of his earrings and that looks alarmingly like a mouse skull is not authentic. It’s also obvious that the last time the two brothers saw each other didn’t exactly end well.

Dean asks Sam to join him in his search for their missing father. Sam obviously refuses, unwilling to get dragged into his family’s paranoias and delusions. But Dean insists. There’s no girlfriend burning on the ceiling in this version. Sam really does not want to go, his friends and girlfriend obviously back him up. But cracks start appearing into Sam’s opposition to Dean’s request. Deep down, he loves his brother. He starts thinking that maybe, if he goes with him, he can help Dean. There’s a chance Dean might rub his craziness off Sam, but also a chance Sam might rub his sanity off Dean. His friends think he’s out of his mind, he has a big fight with his girlfriend about it, but eventually he decides to give Dean a chance. Only for a little while. Just a toe in the water. Just testing the waters. No getting involved in anything crazy, just making sure Dean doesn’t do anything dangerous.

But then he starts suspecting that Dean has something to do with John’s disappearance. That something isn’t quite right. He starts feeling uneasy. He starts getting scared that his fears are coming true, but also chastises himself for being irrational and swayed by foolish concoctions of the illogical side of his mind.

It definitely doesn’t help that weird things happen around them. He rationalizes them every time, but he’s increasingly unsettled.

He’s torn between trusting his feelings and dismissing them as emotional nonsense. He’s torn between wanting to stay away from Dean for his own sake and sticking with him for Dean’s sake.

It’s only at the end of the first season that Sam is faced by the irrefutable proof that it was all real. And it’s a terrifying journey with a terrifying conclusion – but once Sam is in, something shifts. Because Dean is no longer the crazy brother. Because John’s behavior was never a mental illness rooted in his DNA. Sam sheds a weight, after all. And his relationship with his brother can be built all over again – from scratch, which is anything but easy, but on the solid grounds of a shared experience.

#supernatural reboot concept #purely hypothetical mental experiment of course #feel free to tweak it or add your own concepts!!#spn

98 notes · View notes

mint-yooxgi · 1 year

Text

{18} - Hotel California - Yandere!Demonic Entities!Ateez X Reader

Yandere AU & Demon AU - Based off of This ask and Hotel California by Eagles

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Fluff, Slight Humor

Pairing: Ateez X Reader

Words: 7,826

Warnings: Blood and mentions of wounds. Violence. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: So, I know this part is a bit shorter than all the rest, but it’s quite plot heavy in my opinion. It really sets up a lot of what is still yet to come, and essentially what the sequel will be about. I’m super excited to write everything out and tie everything together. Not to mention the repercussions of someone’s anger next chapter hehehe anyways, as always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy~

Main Story - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Ten - Part Eleven - Part Twelve - Part Thirteen - Part Fourteen - Part Fifteen - Part Sixteen - Part Seventeen - Mini Masterlist

The next ten minutes after you lose consciousness are the worst ten minutes of their entire lives.

“Yunho-“

“Already on it,” the taller male cuts his Captain off, gaze focussed on you body as tears line the corners of his vision. Like hell is he going to let you slip away from them now. Concentrating, Yunho holds on to your mind, cradling it gently as he tethers you to him.

San and Mingi are quick to carefully lift your body back onto the desk. Still, those goddamn arrows stick glaringly into the air, the silver gleaming almost mockingly in the light. Each male can smell your scent becoming stronger with every second that your blood continues to spill out of you.

The sound of tearing fabric finally draws Seonghwa back into reality, his tearful gaze locking onto your unconscious form being surrounded by his brothers on all sides. He takes a step forward.

Immediately, Hongjoong’s eyes are flashing, a warning snarl tugging at their leader’s lips as he glares at the eldest.

“Stand down.”

“I can help-“

“You’ve done enough.” Yeosang’s tone is harsh, the younger’s heated gaze being directed towards the eldest for only a brief moment before turning back to the task at hand.

The first arrow is removed from your back.

“Don’t-“

“Seonghwa.” Hongjoong’s stern gaze locks with the eldest’s. “Now is not the time.”

“Like hell you can keep me away from her,” he snarls back, teeth bared threateningly as his emotions consume him once more. Tears fall freely down his face with each breath he takes, a wild look in his eyes.

With a flick of Hongjoong’s head, both San and Jongho part from holding onto your body to restrain Seonghwa from taking another step closer.

“Let me go,” the eldest begins thrashing in their grip as they begin to drag him down the hallway. “I need to see her. I need to help.”

“Do you think you’re going to be the first person she wants to see when she wakes up?” San hisses, quite harshly, in the eldest’s ear. “You fucked up. Big time, Hwa.”

“She could have died!” His voice nearly shakes the whole house as they reach the stairs. “She could still die!”

“You think we don’t realize that?” Jongho spits, fear reflected in his gaze as his grip tightens around the eldest. It’s certainly a task dragging him up the stairs and into his room. “You think I don’t understand the fear you felt seeing her body hunched over like that, with arrows protruding from every angle? You don’t think I felt that same terror consume me when I smelt her blood?”

The eldest goes quiet, yet he still struggles to get free. To get back to you, and help you in any and every way that he can. To beg for your forgiveness, even in your unconscious state. He needs you to know that the words he spoke were some of the worst lies of his life. Words spat harshly in anger. In fear.

“You’re not the only one affected by this, Hwa.” Jongho’s voice is low, stern as he and San practically throw the eldest inside of his room. “But you sure know how to make it worse.”

“And now we are stuck on guard duty while the love of our lives bleeds out downstairs,” San’s eyes are sharp as he glares at the eldest, his hands shaking as he plops himself down into a side chair.

Jongho crosses his arms over his chest as he watches Seonghwa sit, defeated, on the side of his own bed. The eldest rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward as he cradles his head in his hands, gripping onto his hair for dear life. More tears fall shamelessly down his cheeks, dripping onto the rug below.

“She’s going to hate me now, isn’t she?” His voice comes out much softer than before, reflecting how broken he feels. His heart squeezes painfully in his chest.

The two younger demons share a look between each other, blinking at how suddenly Seonghwa’s mood has changed. Neither are expecting the eldest’s voice to go so quiet as they watch his whole body begin to tremble, sobs wracking his entire form.

“I fucked up, and now the last memory she’s going to have is of me making her feel like she’s a burden.” His hands begin to tug at his roots, eyes squeezing shut as tears fall shamelessly from him. “I didn’t mean it. I never meant it. I don’t want to lose her. I can’t-” he chokes on a sob, “I can’t-“

“Seonghwa,” Jongho sighs, moving over to crouch in front of the eldest, and managing to get him to lift his head and meet the younger’s gaze. “No one understands your fear more than we do right now, but that does not excuse what you just said to her. You let your fear control your anger, and your anger control your words. You made your choice to protect her, just as we all did. She made the choice to protect a child. There was no reason to get mad at her for that. We all know that given the situation, if you were in the right state of mind, you would have done the exact same thing.”

“The child wasn’t even a target until she moved to protect him.” He voices, weakly.

“You think I don’t realize that?” Jongho’s eyes narrow slightly. “She had her reasons. You know as well as I do how certain instincts take over in life or death situations. You don’t think, you just move.”

Which is exactly what happened when they saw that very first arrow pierce your shoulder. All logic flew out of the window. All that was left was the urge to protect you, and destroy all those that opposed you. No one hurts you and gets away with it. No one.

“I failed her,” Seonghwa’s voice is but a whisper as more tears fall.

"If that’s what you truly think than you’re dumber than I thought,” Jongho sighs once more, standing back to his feet as he takes a seat beside San, whom they can tell is listening intently to everything that’s going on downstairs as he sits with his eyes closed, back pin straight and grip deadly on the arms of the chair.

“None of us want to lose her,” San blinks, focussing his gaze back in on the male on the bed in front of him. “Sure, it’s fucking shitty what happened, but you’re not going to change it now. We have bigger shit to deal with than whining about who’s fault it is, or ‘what if’s.”

“How can I not blame myself?” Seonghwa stands, his eyes flashing as that familiar fury lights behind his orbs. “I swore I would never let anything hurt her, and now she’s bleeding out because of my mistake!”

In an instant, Jongho has shoved Seonghwa back down into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. He holds the eldest down by his shoulder, his fingers digging harshly into the eldest’s skin.

“You’re not the only one that feels this way, Seonghwa,” Jongho’s voice is cold as he purposely stares straight ahead, refusing to look down at his brother for the time being. “We all let her down. If she hadn’t of caught that first arrow-“

“She what?” Instantly, San is on his feet, his heart pounding as a newfound terror rushes through his veins.

“The first arrow was aimed right at her head,” Seonghwa breathes, eyes staring at his hands as his whole body goes still. “One moment she was gazing out into the forest, as if something caught her eye.” His own squeeze shut in realization. “The next she was holding an arrow pointed directly at her forehead.”

San inhales sharply. “She noticed before any of you.”

“Not even Wyno was the wiser,” Jongho exhales, sitting beside Seonghwa on the bed.

“How many-“ San swallows. “How many times was she actually hit?”

The two on the bed lift their gazes to meet San’s, nothing but pure terror shining in their eyes.

“Five,” Jongho breathes, swallowing the dryness in his own throat. “After she caught the first arrow, she immediately got hit in the left shoulder.”

“Pulled it out instantly, though.” Seonghwa recounts, rubbing a hand over his face. “She was furious.”

“Furious?” San’s brow furrows, recalling the way blood stained the front of your shirt as well. “At you?”

“No, I don’t think it was directed at us,” Jongho says, standing back to his feet. “I think it was at whoever shot at her.”

Before any of them can say much more, Hongjoong’s voice is echoing through their heads.

She’s stabilizing. The tremendous sense of relief that floods the room is visible in the way all of their shoulders relax, chests deflating as they release a breath of air. She’ll be okay.

Where are you now? San asks, already back onto his feet for the moment.

They’re all in her room. Mingi replies. Yeosang and Yunho are washing the blood from her as we speak. Wooyoung and I are making her another tonic for when she wakes up.

If it weren’t for that little bit of Yunho’s blood already in her system, things would have been much worse. Wooyoung comments, and all of them stiffen the slightest bit.

Did you feed her your own blood, then? Jongho voices the question on all of their minds as both he and Seonghwa stand from the bed.

It was a little more complicated than that. Wooyoung sighs.

Complicated how? San quirks a brow.

Instantly, the three of them are teleporting themselves to your room to see Hongjoong sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. Hands which are still covered in blood. Your blood.

Slowly, they watch their leader lift his head.

Hongjoong’s piercing gaze is immediately on Seonghwa, eyes narrowing at the eldest. “Have you managed to calm down?”

A curt nod is all he receives in response before his gaze is shifting to the other two beside the eldest.

“He’s got a lot to make up for once she wakes up,” San shoots a pointed look at the male beside him, who sends a sharp look back.

“Just let me see her,” Seonghwa turns his gaze back to the man on the couch, sad eyes pleading. “I need to know she’s okay.”

Either Yeosang has impeccable timing, or he’s doing it just to personally torture the eldest, but as soon as the words leave Seonghwa’s lips, the door to your bathroom is opening. Yeosang steps out, immediately followed by Yunho, who is carrying you gently in his arms. Your eyes are closed, arms resting on your stomach as your chest rises with even breaths.

“She’s still unconscious,” Jongho blinks, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“She probably won’t wake up for a while,” Yunho replies, stepping towards your bed where Yeosang has already pulled back the covers. “She’s lost a lot of blood.”

Carefully, and with the gentlest of ease, Yunho settles you beneath your covers. He angles you so that you’re laying on your stomach, pillow tucked securely beneath your head and arms so as not to aggravate the muscles in your back. They may have been able to heal you, but that doesn’t mean the area won’t still be tender for a little while longer.

It was all for naught, though, for in the next second, Yeosang is laying on the bed with you, pulling you into his arms as he curls you into his chest. His one hand gently strokes along your spine, holding onto you tightly, as if you may slip away at any given moment.

“Did you at least gut the bastard that fired those arrows?” His gaze is sharp as he turns to look at both Seonghwa and Jongho.

“We left none alive,” Seonghwa replies, matter of factly.

“So, you managed to kill the man with the red bow, then?” Yunho turns to them before sitting on the edge of your bed, hand reaching out to rest on your lower leg, just to be able to feel your warmth and know you’re still alive. That you’re safe, and what his brothers and he did worked.

“There was no hunter who carried a red bow that I saw,” Jongho’s brow furrows.

“How many ambushed you?” Hongjoong’s brow furrows, intertwining his fingers together in front of himself.

“Twenty.” Wooyoung answers for them as he enters the room with Mingi in tow. “Yet none of them used those silver arrows.”

Walking over to your bedside table, he places a glass of red liquid onto it.

“Are you sure?” Hongjoong shifts his gaze to Wooyoung who’s own eyes are locked onto your sleeping figure.

“Positive,” Jongho nods, brow furrowing.

“Then, he got away,” Yunho frowns.

“How would you know about the man with the red bow?” Seonghwa’s eyes narrow at the younger male.

“I took the liberty of searching her memories once she stabilized,” Yunho meets the eldest’s gaze with a firm one of his own. “First of all, it was a cloaking spell that covered their approach. One that fooled even the likes of you. If she hadn’t bothered looking past Wyno when she did, and taken note of the stillness of the woods, I-“ his voice catches. “We’re lucky she caught the first one.”

Yeosang visibly stiffens in his spot, along with both Hongjoong and Mingi.

“How many arrows were shot at her?” Yeosang’s voice is low, his fingers pressing a little firmer into your skin.

“Six.” Wooyoung replies, noticing how you seem to stretch in your sleep, your one arm draping over Yeosang’s waist and falling directly into his line of sight. Immediately, he’s on his knees, reaching out and grasping your hand in his, holding onto you for dear life. “Five met their marks.”

“Do we at least know who did this?” San spares a look around the room.

“It’s like we said,” Jongho breathes. “Miyeon’s got allies.”

“Wyno was in the midst of telling us how Miyeon prepositioned her with an alliance, along with a man with silver arrows and a red bow,” Seonghwa moves to sit in one of the side chairs, running his hands through his hair. “Apparently, Miyeon has an army now.”

“Well, we think it belongs to that man,” Wooyoung adds. “No one in their right mind would follow Miyeon on her own.”

“Wyno also mentioned that this man and her seemed to be bonded somehow,” Jongho goes on to say. “She said he seemed devoted to her.”

“And the alliance?” Hongjoong quirks a brow.

“Is null,” Seonghwa shakes his head. “Believe me, we got that lecture from Wyno already.”

“Good,” Hongjoong nods. “I didn’t believe Wyno would accept something so rash.”

“Yeah, and apparently Miyeon didn’t appreciate her answer,” Wooyoung sighs.

“Perhaps you all were just at the wrong place, at the wrong time,” Yunho comments, brow furrowed.

“Which raises a whole bunch of other questions, then, too,” San leans against the one pillar in your room.

Briefly, Jongho explains how the rest of the conversation with Wyno went, informing the others about the potential threats to come.

“This man,” Yeosang frowns, lips tugging downwards, “you said Wyno described him as having a scar over his left eye?”

“Yes,” Jongho nods once in confirmation.

Yeosang’s lips purse, brow furrowing even further as his arms tighten subconsciously around your figure.

“Do you know him?” San asks, pushing himself off of the pillar in the process.

Yeosang nods. “His name is Dimitri. He’s one of the most powerful warlocks of the realm. I-“ he lets out a sigh, “I trained him briefly with the bow, and I taught him how to make arrows. I just never thought he’d do something like this.” Then, more to himself, “I thought the style of arrow was familiar.”

“Wait, that Dimitri?” Mingi’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. “I thought he was dead.”

“I thought he settled down with his wife, and two kids,” Yunho blinks, lifting his hand only briefly as you shift slightly before settling it back onto your leg.

“Whatever the case, I’m sure Miyeon has something to do with it,” San spits, anger pulling at his features.

“If the army Miyeon is boasting to have is his, we might be in for a little more trouble than we’re anticipating.” Jongho sighs. “Not to mention the remains of that scattered uprising we have to deal with tonight.”

A sharp inhale is heard throughout the room.

“I’m not going-”

“Like hell you aren’t,” San rounds on the eldest, their gazes locking as both males narrow their eyes at each other.

“I’ve already decided that both Yeosang and Wooyoung will be staying back to watch over her,” Hongjoong shoots them both a sharp look. “The rest of us will have to deal with the council as quickly as possible. You said Wyno wanted us to bring this up to them, anyways. You need to be there to explain what happened.”

“But Jongho-“

“That’s an order,” Hongjoong’s voice is firm as he cuts the eldest off. “I’ve already granted you leniency by allowing you to stay this long in her presence. Don’t push your luck, Hwa.”

“You can’t keep me away from her.” The eldest’s eyes narrow as he watches his captain stand from his spot. “You can’t push me away.”

“No,” Hongjoong meets his gaze, and the fury Seonghwa sees shining behind his eyes has him blinking in shock. “You did that yourself.”

“You think I don’t realize that?” Seonghwa retorts, his own anger bubbling beneath the surface of his skin for the nth time that day.

“I don’t know, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong turns fully to face him. “Do you?”

“You got mad at her for protecting a child, Hwa,” Mingi spares a glance at his brother out of the corner of his eyes. “Then, you went and said that.”

“Did you actually not care if that child died?” Wooyoung, who had been resting his chin on the edge of your bed as he sat on the ground, turns his attention to the eldest.

“Of course I cared,” Seonghwa spits, eyes blazing at that question having to even be posed. “I simply cared more about her in the moment.”

“You have some serious explaining to do when she wakes up,” Yeosang states, quite pointedly. “If she’ll even want to see you.”

Seonghwa’s breath hitches.

“Did any of you know?” San’s voice comes out slightly smaller than they expect.

“About her sister?” Yunho meets the younger male’s gaze. “No. I didn’t.”

Each male shakes their head.

“None of us did,” Hongjoong sighs, running a bloody hand through his hair. “Though, that’s only half of it. Isn’t it?”

At this, they all turn to look at Seonghwa, who visibly shrinks beneath their gaze.

“You don’t need to lecture him,” Jongho shoots a pointed look around the room. “I already did. He already feels bad enough about it.”

“As he fucking should,” Wooyoung spits, nothing but venom lacing his voice. “I was there, too, Hwa. We all felt that panic seize us; that terror taking hold and flooding our veins. It’s not a fucking excuse for making her feel worthless.”

“You don’t think I’ve regretted those words most of all as soon as they left my lips?” Seonghwa rounds on him, eyes shining as tears of frustration line his vision. “I swore I would never hurt her, yet that’s what I seem to be constantly doing.”

“If all you’re going to do is argue over her unconscious form, then leave,” Yeosang snaps, voice low and tone harsh. “She doesn’t need this right now.”

“I get it,” Seonghwa laughs once, dryly, his lips twitching as a single tear blazes a new trail down his cheek. “It’s what you’ve all been thinking since we got back, anyways. She doesn’t need me.”

In the blink of an eye, Seonghwa has disappeared from your room, leaving the others standing there in shock. However, before any of them can go after him, Hongjoong raising a hand in the air stops them.

“Leave him be,” he sighs, rubbing a hand over the side of his face. “Let him cool off first. He needs to sort out his own head. You all know as well as I do that he says things he doesn’t mean when he’s upset.” Hongjoong turns his head towards your sleeping figure, another small rush of relief flooding his veins as he sees the steady rise and fall of your chest against Yeosang’s. “Case in point.”

A few nods is all he receives in confirmation.

Letting out a long exhale through his nose, Yunho reluctantly removes his hand from your leg. Standing to his feet, he cracks his neck. “We should probably get ready for tonight, anyways.”

“Exactly,” Hongjoong nods once. “We need to take care of our own before worrying about anything else.”

Without another word, the five of them leave your room. Not without shooting some longing glances your way first, of course.

Lingering at the door, Hongjoong shoots once final look in your direction.

“Don’t worry, Captain,” Wooyoung smiles at him faintly. “We’ll take care of her.”

“We’ll let you know if anything happens,” Yeosang adds, locking eyes briefly with the elder male who nods once before softly closing the door to your room.

Only, the door doesn’t stay closed for long, for in the next second, a loud mewl is heard from outside, promptly followed by the door opening just a crack. A tiny, black blur darts in, immediately jumping onto the bed and crawling up alongside your body until he reaches your head, sniffing at your newly healed shoulder lightly.

Another mewl escapes him, Kuroo’s wide, golden eyes turning to look at each male with nothing but concern shining within.

“She’ll be okay,” Yeosang chuckles, reaching over and petting Kuroo’s head lightly. “You don’t need to worry.”

“Why don’t you stay,” Wooyoung grins at the cat who already is curling up against your back, purring lightly. “I’m sure she’ll love knowing you’re protecting her while she sleeps.”

Another mewl is heard, more pointed than the last which has both males chuckling once more.

Soft smiles tug at their features, though, there’s a hint of sorrow to each of them, as they continue watching over your sleeping form for the time being. Both vow to never let anything like this happen to you again. They never want to see you in such a state if they can help it.

Wooyoung can still feel the way his hands shook as he figured out just what type of poison coated those arrows. A simple mixture which only affects humans. It’s one of the reasons why your hands burnt when you touched the metal.

He will never forget having to pour his own blood into your open wounds in order for the antidote to take effect. You were unconscious, and it would have taken to long to feed it to you normally. Thank fuck Mingi was there to get the mixture flowing through your veins, while making sure your heart was still pumping.

Still, you’ll need to drink the tonic as soon as you wake up to make sure there’s no lingering effects from the poison. Also, to make sure you’re properly healed. They all did their best, but you’ll still be a bit stiff. Your body isn’t used to such changes, or magic yet. The shock alone of having been impaled by five arrows within the span of ten minutes would have been enough to kill anybody.

Maybe you’re just lucky.

Wooyoung’s hand tightens around you own, resting his head against his one arm.

No. He shouldn’t be thinking like that. Yes, it’s damn lucky that you survived, but Wooyoung knows you’re strong. Yunho’s blood running through your system be damned. You fought to survive today, and you won.

Besides, they wouldn’t have let you die. Not in a million years, least of all now. Not like this.

At least once Yeosang figured out the type of arrows that were used, he was able to remove them quickly. He will never forget the way your whole body spasmed as he removed the final two. They were the worst ones, embedded deeply within your back and causing you to bleed out almost uncontrollably. They’re seriously lucky you didn’t pass out from blood loss sooner.

At least you’re okay now, and they have an idea of who they’re dealing with. Miyeon and her little ‘army’ won’t get away with this so easily. After all, if you hurt one of them, you hurt all of them. No one touches you and gets away with it. Absolutely no one.

Hours pass like this, with the two of them watching over you as you sleep. Wooyoung opts to move to the other side of the bed, propping himself up with his one arm as Kuroo continues to rest against your back, curled in around Wooyoung’s stomach. His hand rests on the small of your back, thumb gently rubbing circles there as Yeosang continues to hold you in his arms.

Neither male says anything, yet they do not need to. The silence is a bit tense with worry, but with each breath you take, the rise and fall of your chest eases that lingering tension. They both know that it’s only a matter of time before you wake up. They’ve done all that they can for now. All that’s left to do is continue watching over your sleeping figure.

If only it weren’t so hard waiting this time around.

Before they left for the evening, each of their brothers popped their heads in one last time to check up on you. Even Seonghwa lingered for as long as he could in hopes he might catch a glimpse of consciousness returning to your form, so that he could immediately apologize, and beg for your forgiveness.

At least the eldest has seemed to have cooled down, finally.

Only, the longer he lingered with you not so much as shifting, he felt his heart squeezing painfully in his chest. Letting out a sigh, Seonghwa reluctantly pulled himself away, meeting the others swiftly in the foyer.

“Ready to go?” Yunho sighs, straightening out his jacket stiffly.

“No,” San grumbles, voice rough as his arms cross in front of his chest. “Are any of us?”

“The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can get back here and watch over her,” Hongjoong reminds them all. “She’s safe with Yeosang and Wooyoung all the same.”

“We know,” Mingi replies. “It’s just hard leaving her knowing what’s happened today.”

“I know it is,” Hongjoong exhales a long breath through his nose. “Let’s just hurry up, and be done with this.”

Immediately, all six of them are transporting themselves to their throne room. They each take a few minutes to compose themselves before they begin this council. The last thing they want is to fuck something up now, or be ambushed again.

With their guards up, and senses on high alert, the six Kings enter the grand hall.

Seonghwa remains unusually silent, face stoic as he gets lost inside his own head. There’s too many thoughts flitting through his mind right now to focus on one single thing. All he does know, is that he wants to get back to you, and make things right as soon as he possibly can.

The first ten minutes of the council is a blur. Jax goes over some basic things with all of them that they couldn’t really care less about. Until finally, the five rebels that were caught are brought in front of them, four cursing and thrashing all the while.

Each King takes his time to observe the three males, and two females forced to their knees in front of them. Hatred shines in each of their pure black eyes, snarls on their lips as they spit harsh words towards their supposed leaders. That is, until Yunho silences them once and for all.

There is nothing quite like the look of fear that takes over a demon’s face when they realize they’re finally powerless within their own minds.

A twisted smile pulls at Hongjoong’s features as he slowly steps forward, a hush settling over the gathered council.

“I’m only going to ask you this once,” his eyes flash, stalking down the line of the five captives and exerting complete dominance over the entire room. All are silent, waiting for their King to speak once more. “What cause did you think you had to oppose us?”

Hongjoong stops in front of the male furthest to the right, staring down his nose at him. Normally, the scrutinizing gaze is enough to send any demon trembling in their spot, but apparently not this demon.

“Go to hell,” he spits on the floor at Hongjoong’s feet, snarl of disgust tugging at his lips.

Hongjoong’s brows raise, clearly amused by this male’s audacity.

In the blink of an eye, the man’s entire throat is torn out, blood dripping from Hongjoong’s hands as his claws retract. His eyes close as he shakes his head, tutting all the while as the male chokes on his own blood. A moment later, he goes limp, his blood soaking into the floor of the grand hall.

Stepping in front of the next demon, one of the females who visibly cannot keep herself from shaking in fear now, Hongjoong’s eyes flash open.

Immediately, she freezes, transfixed by his piercing gaze.

“I am not in the mood tonight to play games,” his tone is firm, commanding. “Do not test my already thin patience.”

A brief pause, as the female demon takes a deep breath to steady her nerves.

“We were promised a new world,” she begins.

“Shut your fucking mouth, woman!” The second male beside her hisses.

A resounding crack echoes throughout the hall as Jongho snaps the male’s neck without a second thought. Allowing the now limp body to fall to the ground, the youngest sends the woman a polite smile to continue, though she’s not at all reassured.

“Who promised you a new world?” Hongjoong’s voice manages to draw her attention back onto him for the time being.

“Our leader, and his Queen.” She replies, noticing how the six of them all tense at her words. “He said she’s the one true heir to the proper throne.”

“Which throne, prey tell, would that be?” Mingi quirks a brow, a fire lighting behind his eyes as he stares down at this woman.

“One that doesn’t allow whores to rule freely over us,” the second woman spits, ignorant to the way all of the King’s eyes flash as they turn to glare at her. “One that doesn’t submit to dirt.”

A sickening crunch is heard as San tears her heart from her chest, dropping the organ unceremoniously back down to the floor in the next second. A look of disgust rests on his features as he flicks his hand, blood splattering in droplets across the remaining two demon’s faces.

“And just who is this leader of yours?” Hongjoong inquires, noting how the woman’s trembling gaze is back on his in an instant.

“I don’t-“ her whole body shakes as he leans in, “I don’t know.”

“I don’t have time for lies,” Hongjoong hisses, grabbing her harshly by her hair and tilting her head back as his eyes flash. “I need a name.”

“Don’t tell him,” the final man hisses, and despite being forced onto his knees, he rests quite proudly in his spot, head held high. “He’ll just kill you anyways. It’s what happens when you fall in love with a worthless human.”

All of their eyes flash at this, but it’s the eldest who reacts the quickest.

A dull thunk is heard as the man’s head hits the floor, torn clean from his shoulders. A fury ignites behind Seonghwa’s eyes as he scans the crowd of the council, practically daring anyone else to say something negative about you just so he can relieve some more of his anger.

The entire room goes silent.

Hongjoong leans in once more to the final woman left kneeling before him, tears trailing down her cheeks as her whole body continues to tremble.

“I just need a name,” he coos, crouching in front of her and tilting his head almost innocently. “A single name, and all of this will be over.”

Her eyes briefly dart around the room, looking from one King to the next, and finding no sympathy in any of their eyes. She swallows thickly.

“Malik.”

Silent whispers begin to echo throughout the room from the attending council, a few letting out startled gasps. The shunned general’s name is known far and wide throughout the realm. A name which hasn’t been heard in years, ever since his banishment.

“Silence!” Hongjoong’s voice booms, and immediately, the room goes still. Turning back to the woman, a maniacal smile stretches across his features. “And what of his supposed Queen?”

“I don’t know,” she shakes her head vigorously. At least, as much as she can with her hair still in his grip.

Hongjoong tilts his head threateningly, eyes wide and wild. “Don’t test me.”

“I don’t know, I swear!” She sobs. “We never met her in person, Malik only talked about her in passing, saying her identity was best kept hidden until the time is right.”

Hongjoong hums, “I see.”

The woman lets out a small breath in relief, her shoulders relaxing the slightest bit as she believes she is safe for now. She’s answered all of his questions, so they should be letting her go any second.

“We appreciate the information,” Hongjoong grins unnervingly.

In the blink of an eye, the woman collapses to the ground, body still as she lays dead upon the floor.

Letting out a long sigh, Hongjoong stands back to his full height. Briefly, he allows his piercing gaze to scan over the room, noticing how both Mina and Otis stand off to the side, the daughter half hidden behind the father. His eyes narrow.

“Are you aware of what your other daughter has been up to recently?” His tone is firm as he begins his interrogation of Otis in front of the entire council.

“No, Your Majesty,” Otis is quick to shake his head. “I haven’t had contact with her since the last meeting.”

Hongjoong’s brow quirks. “Is that so?”

“Please, whatever she has done,” he immediately drops to the floor in a formal bow, pressing his forehead to the ground beneath their feet, “accept my deepest and humblest apologies.”

“Oh, it’s far too late for that, now,” Seonghwa spits, eyes blazing as he watches Otis lift his head.

“We all have bigger issues to deal with,” Hongjoong’s voice echoes around the room, drawing every head to him as he paces just in front of the crowd with his hands crossed behind his back. “Miyeon, it seems, has gone forth and promoted a new era amongst us, proclaiming herself the ‘One True Queen’ for this rebel cause.”

“You lie!” Otis gasps, sitting back onto his heals as he observes his Kings with wide eyes.

“You dare accuse us of trickery?” San straightens, shadows being cast over the room as his figure seemingly grows to tower over all those gathered before him.

“No,” Otis is quick to shake his head, shrinking back beneath the scrutinizing gazes of his Kings. “Never, My King.”

“Then, keep your mouth shut.” San’s eyes flash, and immediately Otis goes silent.

“As I was saying,” Hongjoong clears his throat, drawing the room’s full attention back onto himself once more. “Miyeon has aligned herself with the rebel cause, but that’s not all. She has also made it her sole mission to seek alliances with our neighbouring realms in hopes of destroying us.”

“But why?” Mina steps forward, a look of pain shining in her eyes. “Why would she do that?”

“Please, Mina,” Jongho raises a hand to signify her to ‘stand down’. “Let us finish.”

“My apologies, Your Majesties,” she bows her head, taking a step back.

“You were all here last council when she made a scene,” Mingi’s eyes are sharp as he scans the crowd, locking in on Miyeon’s own clan in the next second. “You saw her vain desires first hand.”

“Miyeon has deluded herself into thinking she owns the throne, and she will stop at nothing to claim it.” Hongjoong continues. “Already, she has made an alliance with Dimitri, The High Warlock. One of the most powerful to have lived in centuries.”

A collective gasp travels through the room, more hushed murmurs following.

“Not only that, but she has already propositioned Wyno, The Alpha of the Dragons, to join her cause.” Hongjoong’s steps are slow as he stalks along the edge of the crowd. “She did not take too kindly to Wyno’s rejection, and subsequently attacked the nest in retribution earlier today. That is where your two remaining Kings are right now. Both Wooyoung and Yeosang are dealing with the repercussions as we speak. We are lucky the ambush did not turn one of our own against us.”

“Already, Miyeon boasts of an army she has to destroy our realm in order to create this ‘New World’ of hers,” Yunho goes on to say, his voice commanding and firm. “We surmise it belongs to Dimitri, comprised of his own following of sorcerers and hunters alike, as well as anyone else she can ensnare in her little mind games.”

“We must resolve this quickly, lest we all want a war on our hands,” San speaks once more, gaze narrowed as he scrutinizes the crowd. “Prepare yourselves for the worst, and report any and all sightings of Miyeon, Malik, and Dimitri to us. Immediately.”

“Spread the word, far and wide,” Seonghwa voices, gaze dark and brooding. “A storm is coming, and Your Rulers are prepared for the worst.” His eyes flash. “We will not break easily.”

A moment of silence settles over the entire room as they let the information sink in. That is, until Hongjoong’s sharp gaze is piercing through the crowd once more.

“Someone clean this mess up,” he spits, eyes flashing. “Until then, dismissed.”

None of them wait a moment longer to hear another word from the council, teleporting back to their home in an instant. The front foyer greets them, as empty as it was when they left.

“Were you able to search their minds?” Hongjoong turns towards Yunho, noticing how the other four do the same almost immediately.

“I searched them thoroughly, but it seems as if they knew about as much as that one girl did,” Yunho responds with a sigh. “At least we know she was telling the truth.”

“Years without hearing so much as a peep from that traitor, and this is how Malik decides to return?” San huffs, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, we always knew he was one for grand displays of power,” Mingi exhales a long breath through his nose. “We didn’t appoint him our general for nothing. He was- is strong.”

“Of course Miyeon would align herself with the man who committed treason,” Jongho scoffs, shaking his head. “At least they have something in common.”

“Perhaps that’s how she won him over.” Yunho suggests. “It wouldn’t take much to convince him of violence. Especially against us.”

“How long has it been, anyways?” Seonghwa frowns, crossing his arms over his chest.

“At least twenty years,” Jongho breathes out.

“Let’s just hope, once word spreads, we can find them all quickly and dispose of them without a hassle,” Hongjoong sighs, rubbing a hand over the side of his face. “The last thing we need is for a repeat of today to happen any time soon.”

“Agreed.” The other five all reply at once.

“We should inform Yeosang and Wooyoung of what occurred at the council,” Jongho adds, receiving a curt nod from their captain.

Turning towards your side of the house, all six men begin to slowly make their way to your room. Hongjoong leads the pack, followed closely by San and Yunho. Jongho and Mingi are not far behind, leaving the eldest to take up the rear, much to his discontent. If he had it his way, he would have transported straight to your room the second he got back.

“Do you think she’s woken up yet?” Mingi does his best not to sound too hopeful, but he cannot hide the small gleam in his eyes.

“We’ll see,” Yunho replies, somewhat gruffly. As much as he wants to hope you’ll be awake when they open your door, he know you probably won’t be. You’ve suffered too much damage today, and lost a lot of blood. Besides, it’s far too quiet in the house for you to be awake.

A soft knock is all the two males receive before your door is opening slowly to reveal their brother’s all standing in the doorway.

Hongjoong cannot help it, a small laugh escapes him at the position he finds you in. Kuroo rests like a loaf of bread on your back, while you seem to have trapped one of both Wooyoung’s and Yeosang’s arms beneath your body as you lay on your stomach.

Slowly, the six men file into the room, Kuroo observing them carefully.

“Comfortable?” Yunho chuckles, a small grin pulling at his lips.

“I haven’t been able to feel my arm for the past hour and a half,” Yeosang deadpans, blinking once.

“Oh, like you’re complaining about it,” Wooyoung rolls his eyes playfully. “You practically swooned when she pulled your arm into her grip.”

“Say’s the one who turned as red as a tomato when it happened,” Yeosang counters, shooting his brother a sharp glare.

“I never said I didn’t,” Wooyoung defends himself, voice slightly higher pitched than normal. “I am more than content to lay here with her like this.”

“Who said I wasn’t?” Yeosang quirks a brow, feeling you shift slightly in your sleep.

Wooyoung cannot keep the smug grin off of his face as you tighten your grip subconsciously around his one arm. He chuckles, sticking out his tongue mockingly at Yeosang who seems to now be wearing a slight pout on his lips. Looks like you loosened your grip on his own arm when you tightened it on Wooyoung’s.

“I take it she hasn’t regained consciousness yet, then?” Hongjoong moves to sit at the end of the bed, placing a hand gently over the back of your calf covered by your blankets. The warmth he can feel radiating from your body comforts him, even if only slightly.

“Not long enough to hold a conversation, if you can call it consciousness at all.” Wooyoung replies. “We’ve managed to feed her some of the tonic, but nothing more.”

Sure enough, when they look at the glass on your bedside table, it appears to now be two-thirds full.

“I don’t think she’ll even remember drinking it,” Yeosang sighs, reaching over to brush his free hand lightly over your head and noticing Kuroo turning his head to watch his every move. “Let alone waking up for thirty seconds. Her eyes didn’t even open once.”

As soon as Kuroo deems Yeosang’s movements not a threat to you, he’s turning his head back to the six males all converged around the end of your bed. He starts purring lightly at feeling Yeosang scratch over his back, eyes falling shut as he continues to rest on your back, offering you comfort in his own way.

A nod in understanding is all Yeosang receives from his captain.

“How did the council go?” Wooyoung asks, eyes scanning over each of his brother’s intently.

“About as well as you’d expect,” Seonghwa sighs, eyes never having left your form since entering the room.

So badly does he want to pull you into his own arms, whispering his deepest and sincerest apologies into your ears. To assure you that he’ll always protect you, and that he’ll always be here for you. That you are not a burden, and you never were, nor will you ever be. Only, he cannot. Every time he tries to take a step closer, Yeosang narrows his eyes at him pointedly. Not to mention the fact that both Jongho and San step slightly in front of him as if to block his path.

To say the eldest is frustrated for the moment would be an understatement.

In no time at all, Hongjoong, Yunho, and Jongho have informed both Yeosang and Wooyoung about the events of the council and what they have learned. At the way they see Yeosang’s eyes close, their brother heaving a great breath, they can just tell he’s tense.

“Damn Miyeon,” Yeosang spits. “Should have fucking killed her when we had the chance.”

“Believe me, you’re not the only one feeling that same sentiment,” San flexes his one hand, knuckles cracking as he does so. He can still feel the dried blood caking his nails from when he tore out that woman’s heart earlier that evening.

“I’m surprised Malik is back,” Wooyoung voices. “I would have thought we would have had to deal with him sooner.”

“Still, him popping up now of all times isn’t good,” Mingi states, sharing a look with the younger male.

“How long do you think Miyeon’s been planing this?” Jongho’s brow furrows.

“Probably much longer than any of us would care to admit,” Yunho sighs, rubbing a hand over the side of his face. “The fact that she’s managed to ensnare two deadly men into helping her, and who knows how many others, is not a comforting thought.”

“You’re telling me,” Hongjoong shakes his head, attempting to wrap his head around the situation. “Either way, there’s nothing more we can do tonight. Let’s all just get some rest, and regroup tomorrow.”

“But-“

“Tomorrow.” Hongjoong is quick to cut the eldest’s protests off, Seonghwa’s gaze finally breaking from your form to look at his captain.

“Come on, let’s let her rest,” Jongho begins to usher the eldest out of your room, along with San who attempts to linger behind everyone else in hopes he’ll be asked to trade places with one of his brothers on your bed. “We’re no use to her all high-strung and tense.”

Making it to the door, Hongjoong is quick to turn to the two males still laying on your bed with you. “If anything happens-“

“You’ll be the first to know,” Yeosang nods, assuring his brother with a small smile.

“Don’t worry, Captain,” Wooyoung grins. “She’s in good hands.”

“I know.” Hongjoong smiles softly, gaze flitting over the scene before him one last time. She always will be.

Content hums of agreement echo in all of their throats as their captain’s words resound through their minds for the evening.

With one final look your way, Hongjoong closes the door.

562 notes · View notes