#i could add tags for an eternity or i could go hide from that in the wonderful world of Asleep

[wispedvellichor]

WHAT IF WE AS A SOCIETY HAVE MADE A MUSICAL VERSION OF CROWLEYS FINAL FIFTEEN MONOLOGUE

And what if..... it already exists?

And what if it is

Okay, hear me out. Hear me out.

We know that one of the most important distinctions between Crowley's confession and other confessions is that here, the angst is not

"Do you love me?"

They know they love each other. Have known for AGES.

Instead, the true question was

"Do you love me enough to commit to me? To choose me? Over heaven?"

And uh.... well

Yeah.

"We're no strangers to love. You know the rules and so do I"

Azi is NOT a stranger to love. He knows all about the rules and etiquettes and the Jane Austen balls. Way better than Crowley, may I add.

Crowley wants full commitment. He wants to get away, just.... be an us.

And Azi's never getting this from any other guy. They're a team, a group a group of the two of them. Crowley is the only one who understands, and is immortal enough to fully commit anyways.

That was him, the entire monologue. He realised that he could not keep his feelings secret anymore. He just needed Azi to understand.

"I think I understand a whole lot better than you do."

This part is obvious.

Crowley would never hurt azi.

He'd never desert him. *Cue Crowley going back to Azi the moment Beelzebub threatened him with the Book of Life*

He'd never say goodbye. Not really. He'd try but he never could leave his angel behind, could he?

And hes never hurt Azi. He braved hellfire for him. And he would do it again.

"We've known each other a long time. We've been on this planet for a long time. I mean, you and me."

But you're too shy to say it?

"And we've spent our existence pretending that we aren't."

Inside, we both know what's going on

They do know what's going on. It's obvious. They love each other, there was no question about it.

"I mean, the last few years, not really."

They know the game. They've been playing it for eternity, a hide and seek of sorts. Letting their true emotions slip through, just for a second. Then pulling the armour back up.

"Listen. Do you hear that?"

"I don't hear anything."

"That's the point. No nightingales."

@apollos-dodgeball-target @the-cat-demon @weirdly-specific-but-ok tagging yall cuz you need to see this <3

[waterfal-ling]

zenin's shadow - gojo satoru x reader

SYNOPSIS: Y/N, the outcast daughter of the Zenin Clan, a weapon forged from a forbidden union and raised in isolation. Gifted with immense cursed power, she is treated as little more than an instrument in the clan's pursuit of dominance. Her existence is one of obedience and sacrifice, a life defined by brutal training and a relentless drive to serve. Yet beneath the surface of her rigid purpose, a quiet curiosity about the world beyond the Zenin estate begins to grow. Despite the clan’s control, her strength, independence, and the haunting longing for something more are forces she cannot easily suppress. As she grapples with her role as a pawn in the Zenin Clan’s ruthless games, she must confront the delicate balance between her duty as a weapon and the desire for a life outside their cold walls. In a world where power, control, and family define everything, Y/N must explore the internal struggle of a girl caught between the chains of her bloodline and the faint hope for something beyond the shadows of her clan’s ambition.

GENRE: 18+, angst to eventual fluff

WARNING: graphic depictions of violence, profanity, self-harm, abandonment, mental health struggles, violence, abuse and trauma, gender discrimination (it is the Zenin's afterall), self-discovery -- will probably add more and the warnings for individual chapters if needed, grammar issues here and there - but I will try to catch them if I can.

TAGS: f!reader, strangers to friends to lovers, very slow-burn, angst to comfort to eventual fluff (but angst will be a very on-going thing), gojo being super mean - until he isn't, NOT-ADJACENT (will follow aspects of the original timeline, but I have changed the timings of things - e.g., Haibara and Nanami's mission happens on this chapter prior to the Plasma Vessel mission).

TAGLIST: OPEN

a/n: I have been looking for a story like this and thought "why do I not write it myself." I have not written an actual story in a minuteeee, so forgive me for the lack of dialogue in this chapter - or going forward. I will try to improve my grammar as I go (also shout out to grammarly). Additionally, I want to add that I will try to update every week, but I do have a full time job, so updates may be slow. The first chapter should be posted soon, once I figure out how to post anything since tumblr is not letting me share anything.

COMMENTS, LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED

CHAPTER 1: The Unseen Edge > next

The Zenin estate stood in eternal silence, a monolithic cold stone structure with a shrouded purpose. With its aged, worn flags, the courtyard stretched out before her like an empty battlefield, the sharp, frigid wind cutting through the air. It was a place where the sunlight seemed unwilling to linger as if even the skies above could sense the weight of the tragedy below. The estate was a labyrinth of oppressive halls and dim corridors, each corner hiding the darkness that held the Zenin bloodline together—secrets buried in the foundation of this ancestral house, its walls as cold as the hearts of those who inhabited it.

Her only companion was her training ground, a narrow courtyard with uneven stones. The world outside the Zenin gates was something she had never seen, never touched. Her hands were pale and practiced, the weight of her cursed tool familiar, though it was more of an extension of her body than anything resembling a possession. Her movements were precise and calculated, but no joy was found in them. There was no pride. There was only the quiet desperation of someone raised to obey, to serve, and never to question.

The Zenin Clan was a machine, grinding its members into a single purpose: power. And yet, she was something of a glitch in the design, a pawn with the potential to shatter the very foundation the clan had built its empire.

She had been born out of wedlock, a consequence of a fleeting affair between her mother—a woman whose name had long been erased from history—and a powerful Zenin man. Her birth was an event hidden from the eyes of the clan, a shame that would never be acknowledged. The moment her cursed energy had manifested, however, it had been impossible to ignore. It surged through her like an ancient, untamed force, a power that could not be contained by the delicate web of family politics.

Despite the tumultuous nature of her origins, her father had been forced to bring her into the fold—though not as a daughter, not as a person of value. She was a tool, a weapon to elevate the Zenin name. To him, she was an asset—a cursed daughter whose energy could be used to tip the scales in the clan's favor. Her mother had given her a name, a gift of love and identity, but that was stripped away with no regard for her. She was only the Zenin daughter, a pawn without a face or voice.

Her father had no interest in her humanity, and the clan, in turn, had no interest in her existence. She was not a daughter—she was the embodiment of their ambition, the living proof that the Zenin Clan could control the most powerful forces, even if it meant sacrificing everything.

From the moment her powers were recognized, she was severed from everything that could have made her feel whole. She was trained in isolation, pushed to the limits of her endurance, her strength honed not for survival but for the singular purpose of being a weapon. There were no games for her, no childhood pleasures. The other children in the clan played and laughed in the sun while she was in shadow. The difference between her and them was glaring and cruel: the boys were the heirs, the future of the Zenin bloodline, while she was nothing more than a tool to be wielded.

Her instructors, cold and distant, did not see her as a person but an instrument. They taught her obedience as much as technique. When she asked why she was always kept apart, the answer was as swift as harsh: "You are a woman. Play is a luxury for those who are born to rule. You must train, or you will never be anything."

Her mind, like her body, was forged in that same fire. Years of such words and training had worn her down and conditioned her to accept this path. But inside, the seed of something dangerous had been planted—curiosity—the longing for something more, for something beyond the endless cycle of pain and obedience. But a longing had to be hidden, buried deep, because the Zenin Clan did not reward curiosity. It punished it.

She had been forbidden to venture beyond the courtyard's walls, but sometimes, the pull of the kitchens would bring her close to the laughter of children, to the food she would never taste. Their joy felt like an unbearable weight on her heart, a reminder of the life she would never live. She had learned to keep her distance, to ignore the hunger gnawing at her soul. It was easier that way.

Her punishment for curiosity came swiftly: a slap across the face when she ventured too close, a reminder that her place was far from those who lived freely. "You are not like them," one of the higher-ranked women had sneered. You are here to serve, to be useful, nothing more."

And so she continued her training, her cursed tool always in hand, her movements becoming sharper, more deadly each day. Her only purpose, as always, was to serve the clan.

The courtyard was empty that day, but the stillness felt like the calm before a storm. She stood motionless, waiting for the mission to begin. Her eyes narrowed as she sensed the presence of cursed energy nearby—an unusual, twisting force that hummed with malice. Her heart quickened, her cursed energy thrumming in response, but she had no time for hesitation. When the mission was assigned, it was simple: eliminate a cursed user. A clean task. One that needed no questions, no emotions—just a job to be done. She didn’t need to know why, or who.

The early morning air at the train station felt sharp against her skin, the quiet hum of the platform interrupted by the steady shuffle of people. She stood at the edge, her gaze distant, feeling the subtle hum of cursed energy around her. She kept her awareness sharp. Her eyes scanned the crowd, but she had little interest in the everyday interactions around her. The sound of chatter, the clattering of train wheels, the laughter—it all blurred into the background. But something in the atmosphere today made it linger.

She noticed two figures standing near the end of the platform, moving in sync, their cursed energy standing out from the rest. Their presence was hard to miss.

One of them was a tall, serious figure—his posture straight, his expression calm but focused. The other was the complete opposite: relaxed, easygoing, his energy light and unburdened. His laugh was effortless, and his easygoing manner was a stark contrast to the first.

The two were talking in low voices, the carefree one laughing at something the other said, a genuine sound of amusement. It made her pause. The first man’s stoic composure was the complete opposite of the second’s casual ease. There was something about the second man—his laughter, his warmth—that made her wonder.

She watched them longer than she intended, but their eyes met for a brief moment. The serious man’s gaze swept across her, holding no judgment, but there was a quiet wariness. The moment passed, and she quickly averted her eyes, returning her focus to the world beyond.

She looked out toward the busy streets. The train station buzzed with life, the sounds of people moving, laughing, and talking. Children played, couples shared moments together. It was all so ordinary. But it felt so alien to her. She had spent so much of her life detached from these small, human experiences. She could only wonder what it would be like to be a part of it—to laugh for the sake of laughter, to live without a mission hanging over her.

Could that ever be her?

She shook the thought from her mind. She had a place, a purpose—moving forward, serving the clan. There was no room for such distractions.

The train ride passed by in a blur, the steady rocking of the carriage almost calming in its predictability. Upon arrival, the routine followed. The serious man and the carefree one stepped off the train together, but their path took them in the opposite direction. They were headed elsewhere while her mission awaited.

She didn't spare them another glance as she moved toward her target—an infamous cursed user whose trail had led her here. Her mind focused, her steps determined. The hunt was all that mattered. There was no room for hesitation or doubt.

As the evening drew near, the streets darkened. She walked through narrow alleys, her movements precise, like a well-rehearsed routine. The pulse of cursed energy was faint, but present—just out of sight. Her senses sharpened as she moved forward, aware of every detail.

But then, something strange stopped her in her tracks.

The veil.

Her cursed energy flared for a moment as the veil shimmered in the distance, a presence far beyond anything she had encountered before. It was overwhelming, ancient. She felt its oppressive weight, and for a brief moment, something inside her hesitated.

She had always been alone—detached from the world and its simple connections. But now, something stirred inside her. The serious man and the carefree one—they were already near the veil, facing this overwhelming presence. Were they truly capable of dealing with this?

She paused. Her instincts tugged her toward them.

For a brief moment, she was torn. Her mission was still the priority, but curiosity held her for a second longer.

The hesitation passed.

She moved toward the veil.

From the shadows, she observed. The two men were already in the midst of the challenge, their energies fighting against the overwhelming force. The carefree one, usually so lighthearted, now had a determined focus. The serious one remained calculated, but neither could match the power of what they were facing.

Her gaze narrowed.

She could end it.

Without a word, she stepped forward. Her cursed energy flared, cutting through the air with precision. In a single motion, the veil was shattered, the overwhelming presence dissipating almost instantly. She barely used any of her power; just enough to break through.

The two men looked at her in surprise.

The carefree one stood frozen, his mouth slightly open, caught off guard by the speed and power. He almost seemed like he might speak—perhaps thank her. But she didn’t wait for it.

With swift, decisive steps, she turned away. The air around her felt charged, like a storm about to break. She didn’t need their questions or gratitude. There was no need for thanks. Their curiosity wouldn’t change anything.

The serious man watched her walk away, suspicion beginning to flicker in his eyes. She could feel it—the shift in his focus.

Their gaze lingered, but she didn't look back.

The hunt wasn't over.

But as she searched for her target, the familiar pulse of their cursed energy faded. The trail was gone.

Had they sensed her power?

A feeling of unease settled in her chest, but she dismissed it quickly. There was no time for questions. The mission would continue, as it always did.

The mission was over, and the Zenin Clan responded swiftly and brutally. They were enraged by her actions, her audacity in interacting with the other sorcerers, and her independence. But their anger was muted by something deeper—the fear that her power was a force they could no longer control.

She was summoned back to the estate, her punishment inevitable. The scars would form, as they always did, the pain a constant reminder of her place. They believed this would break her. But they underestimated her.

The fire in her eyes could not be snuffed out by pain. It was a fire that would burn brighter and hotter until she would rise above them all.

She healed swiftly, the reversed cursed technique working magic on her body, but the scars on her soul remained. They could not touch those.

And so she endured.

She was a weapon, a tool of unimaginable power, but she was not finished yet. Yes, she was a Zenin daughter, but that was not all she was. And she would find a way to be more.

No matter the cost.

But the truth was, she was finished. The Zenin estate had no place for her beyond her usefulness. The fleeting moments when she could glimpse at something beyond the shadows—those brief seconds of curiosity—were long gone. The world outside was an illusion, a dream never meant to be hers.

She would always return to the cold stone, the empty courtyard, the echo of footsteps that meant nothing to anyone but herself.

The Zenin Clan had made her, and they would break her. And in the end, she would be no more than a footnote in the history of their ambition.

A shadow, always watching but never seen. A tool, always wielded but never acknowledged.

In this world, she was extra. Always a part of the background but never indeed seen.

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 21: Preparations

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 4k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

Astarion weaves Illyria through the streets with her hand in his. He keeps a close eye on her but is rather proud to see his beloved is starting to become a tad more comfortable around the living. She does not squeeze his hand with quite the same ferocity or tug on his clothes at the sound of beating hearts nearby.

He leads her to the Wide, an area in the upper city where merchants set up their stalls to peddle their wares to the patriars and nobles that call the Upper City home. The first stop is a jeweller’s stall, the same one from which he commissioned her ring. She eyes the selection while he chats with the jeweller, who shows him various pieces. He holds up a pair of earrings with large sapphires.

“You know your ears are not pierced, right?�� She teases him with an arched brow.

“Perhaps I will get them pierced just so I can wear them. They are quite fetching,” he taunts her back with a wry grin. “Not for me, little love. Do you like them?”

She lets her fingers run over the stones, which are perfectly polished and sparkling. “They are pretty, but they look… expensive.”

“We’ll take them,” Astarion says, handing them back to the jeweller to place in a box. He returns his attention back to Illyria, who looks rather uncomfortable, though he cannot fathom why. “Love? Is something troubling you?”

“Oh, no. Not really.” She looks askance, her splintered, crimson eyes darting away from him. “I’m—” she trails off, shaking her head, and corrects herself. “You don’t have to buy me things. You know that, right?”

“Have to?” Astarion’s brow arches.

He reaches for their bond, and she lets him access most of her mind freely, but there is something she keeps blocked and hidden, like running into an invisible barrier. It rankles him slightly. He should be granted full access to her mind, no? They are to be married, after all, and now she decides to hide things from him? Astarion takes a deep breath and tries to let it go. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that she’s keeping some things under lock and key after his most recent episode.

Astarion worries that she’s not as okay as she says. There have been times when he’s reached out to her, and she’s reflexively jumped back or grimaced as if she expects pain to follow. Every time is like a barb to his heart. He deserves it; he knows this, but it does not stop it from hurting him nonetheless. She refuses to discuss it, preferring instead to continue reaffirming that she is fine.

But how could she be? He, her husband, her lover, who is supposed to protect her, held her down and carved something into her flesh, and he’s not even sure what. The other version of him might know, but all he can work out is that the symbols are not random and they are not infernal. Astarion is glad he cannot remember it, but he feels guilty for that gladness. If he had to live with the memory of hurting her like that… Gods. He does not know if he would be capable of it.

It makes him feel weak.

“Illyria,” he says, lowering his timbre to something meant to reassure and soothe. “I want to. I want to give you everything.”

She smiles at him, closed-lipped so as not to show her fangs. She places a hand on his chest, patting him gently. “As long as I have you, I already have everything. You are enough.”

Astarion’s heart swells. He is enough. These are not words he ever thought he would hear. “Thank you. But you will indulge your husband in his wishes to buy you gifts, won’t you?”

She sighs with a small chuckle. “I will indulge my husband in whatever makes him happy.”

“Splendid. Nothing would make me happier.” Astarion smiles, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Now, get over here and pick out my ring, will you?”

He’s already commissioned her wedding band. Wedding. Married. Gods. A notion that once filled him with dread. He cannot remember if the mortal man he was ever had any aspirations of marriage, but he is certain that in the last two centuries, he’d never pictured it would happen to him. He dismissed the idea as another dream stolen by Cazador and undeath.

So many years spent in the boudoir, an endless parade of warm bodies, and the resignation that he would spend eternity alone. Until she came long and breathed new life into his inert heart. She made it remember how to feel, taught it how to love, and then restored its beat.

“You want me to pick it out?” Illyria glances at the display. “Are you sure? You can be very fussy.”

“Fussy, am I?” He crosses his arms and feigns irritation, although he cannot wipe the smug smirk off his lips. “Darling, I can make anything look good. I’m positive whatever you pick will be perfect.”

She nods and starts pursuing the various styles of rings staged and offered. He steps behind her, watching over her shoulder as she pursues. He lets his body press into her back slightly, carefully, to see if she will jolt away from him like she does sometimes, but instead she presses her ass into him further and undulates her hips against him.

He’s pleasantly surprised, allowing her to continue until he can feel himself hardening, and then his hands slip down to halt her. He would love to bend her over this stall, vendors and patriars be damned. She catches his thoughts and shoots him a heated look over her shoulder that almost looks like a challenge.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I might just do it,” he projects into her mind. “To Hells with them all.”

She doesn’t miss a beat, asking the jeweller to show her something more unique and answering him back at the same time. “You want all these people to see me come?”

He snorts, answering back with an immediate. “No!”

“I didn’t think so.”

Illyria turns around. “Try this one on, will you?”

Astarion is pleasantly surprised when she holds him an obsidian-coloured band with a fire-opal inlay that glitters underneath an intricate pattern etched into the center of the ring. He slips it on, eyeing the ring now wrapped around his finger. The cool metal feels strange between his fingers, but also right, as most things do when it comes to her.

“I like that one. What do you think?”

“I… I love it,” he glances back at her with soft eyes to let her know that his sentiment is genuine.

Illyria smiles carefully and returns to speaking to the jeweller about alterations, with her main focus on engravings. Astarion loses himself in thought while she speaks, and his fingers smooth over the metal. What will he do if they cannot complete their objective in the Hells? Is marrying her truly fair to her? Is he dooming her by tying her to him in this way? If he cannot be saved, he will have to force her to get away from him before he loses his sanity entirely.

“Ai armiel telere maenen hir, Syolkiir, salen thiramin,” Illyria recites what she wishes be engraved into the inside of the band.

His mind translates his mother tongue into common. “You hold my heart forever, Wild Star, my soulmate.”

Thiramin. Not even merely a soulmate. Not for Elves, at least. A thiramin is someone you are intertwined spiritually with. It’s a love that’s prewritten into the stars and promises eternal devotion. Though it’s not often unrequited, when it is, it’s disastrous. Elves often go mad, ending their lives if they lose their thiramin.

Astarion is too stunned to speak as he takes the wrapped earring box, and they walk away from the little stall. He did not even hear when the jeweller estimated the ring would be done and ready to pick up.

“You don’t have to say it back, Astarion,” Illyria whispers, interlocking her fingers with his. “You don’t even have to feel it back. It won’t change anything.”

He swallows hard. “When did you know?”

“Before the tadpole linked our brains together,” she admits casually.

“I felt it too,” he confesses. “… I feel it too.”

She gives his hand a squeeze, looking at him with concerned eyes, and he shakes his head to dispel his whorling thoughts. Thiramin. Gods. He stands to lose so much; they stand to lose so much. It’s a terrifying prospect.

“There’s one more stop we have to make,” he says, finally coming back to himself. Shoving the panic and fear somewhere deep. He can worry later. Right now should be a happy time for them. “Are you alright, or would you like to go home and have a snack?”

“You’re a very generous juice box, Astarion,” she taunts, trying to lighten his mood.

“I am feeling rather gracious today, thiramin,” he teases back, watching her eyes light up at the word, and the affection she feels spreads through him like sunshine through his veins. “Is that a yes?”

She smirks. “How could I say no?”

Astarion removes his chemise as soon as they enter the manor and ascend the stairs to their room. His consort, no, wife, he reminds himself, is typically good at not spilling as long as she’s not ravenous, but blood hardly ever comes out of white, so it's better to be safe. He throws the shift over the back of the lounge in their room and sits on the bed with his back pressed against the headboard.

He grabs her hips as she crawls up on him and settles in his lap. She places her hands on his shoulders, and a shiver runs down his spine. “Gods. You’re cold.”

“I’m dead, genius,” she laughs lightheartedly.

It makes him smile, but it also sends a shock of remorse through him in equal measure. Where this used to be a sore topic for her, she seems content with the fact that he killed her. Astarion cannot say he regrets doing it, because that would be a heinous untruth, but it does not stop him from feeling a little bad. Even if she did give him permission to do it, he hadn’t exactly given her much of a choice in the matter. It was either be turned or end the relationship, and he was pretty sure she loved him too much to do that.

Which means he really didn’t give her much of a choice at all.

“I’m sorry I did not give you much of a choice,” he says, though it pains him to do so. Sorry is not something he is particularly good at saying. “I look back on it, and I am ashamed of the way I acted.”

She cups his face tenderly with a small smile. “I wanted this, Astarion. We talked about this when you were a spawn, and we had no idea what would come of the Rite.”

“I could have at least given you the choice to wait until you were sure you were ready,” he laments. “As it stands, I did not."

She sighs. “You could have, but my choice would have been the same regardless. I’ve only ever regretted becoming a spawn—“

“Bride,” he corrects quickly. “Spawn is an ugly word.”

“Fine. Bride,” she acquiesces. “I only ever regretted it when you weren’t you. If the Rite had no consequences, I would never have looked back, and I don’t look back on it now. I am fine with what I am. Plus, it’s a little amusing to be the one making you cold now.”

“Cheeky,” he tuts, clicking his tongue. “You do not make me cold. I can just cool my body temperature down on a whim.”

“Bragging, are we? Confidence looks good on you,” Illyria giggles, running her fingers through his hair. “You are magnificent, Ascendant. I will concede that much.”

“Feed, little love,” Astarion instructs, offering his neck. “Or we will be late.”

Illyria rains kisses down his neck, earning her a whine from him. The tingle runs straight to his cock, and he grinds into her involuntarily. Her fangs find their mark, popping through his skin with an icy pinch that dulls quickly into a rather arousing ache. He glances at the window, trying to judge if he has enough time to take her before they must go. To his great disappointment, there is not enough time to make love to her properly.

Even though they’ve decided on having a small affair, there is still some planning that needs to be done, and Astarion does not have a lot of experience in this sort of thing. Where does she want to get married? Certainly not a church. Perhaps the villa where he proposed to her? He purchased the property some time ago on a whim. Who can they get to marry them? Should he invite her friends? He knows she said just them, but is that truly what she wants? Elven marriage ceremonies typically go on for weeks with poetry recitations, musical performances, and a host of other theatrical events.

Is she embarrassed by him? Scared he will lose himself and hurt or kill them at their wedding? If this is what being nervous feels like, he fucking hates it.

She unlatches from him rather abruptly. “Hells, Astarion. You know you can simply ask me these questions, yes? The villa would be perfect. As for who, we can just hire someone. It matters not who officiates as long as, by the end of it, we are married, and not in this weird vampiric way. Our friends, not mine, ours,” she accentuates. “Can come to the great soiree I am sure you will throw as soon as we return. It is not because I am embarrassed or I think you might kill them.”

She pauses for a second, contemplating how to word whatever is coming next. “I want it to be you and me, because that’s how we are going to spend the majority of our lives. Our friends will grow old and die. It is just a fact. Once they are all gone, it’s just us. There might be other friends along the way, and they too will die. In the end, it will always be us for eternity. That is the reason I want it this way.”

Astarion smiles, thumbing some blood away from the corner of her lips and popping it in his mouth before kissing her with an ardent passion. He coaxes her lips to part and tastes himself on her tongue. “As you wish, little love, so shall it be,” he breathes. “What about your parents? Would you like them there or to at least let them know you’re getting married to a very handsome, powerful, and influential lord?”

She giggles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “We’ve never discussed my parents, have we?”

It's true. Despite spending all this time together, they’ve rarely spoken of her past. When he was attempting to seduce her, he did ask her the typical insipid questions one would ask to appear genuinely interested in a person. They were always met with an offhanded comment or her using her silver tongue to cleverly switch topics so seamlessly he did not realize she was avoiding the questions.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “We have not discussed much of your past before the nautiloid.”

“I’m an orphan,” she finally says, her gaze dropping to her hands pressed against his stomach as if using him to bolster herself. “I don’t have any parents to invite or inform.”

“I’m sorry,” Astarion coos, taking her hands in his. “I did not know.”

“You couldn't have known,” she shrugs. “I didn’t tell you. My childhood was not… good. It’s not something I like to think or talk about. Truthfully, if I thought you would, I might request you compel me to forget it entirely.”

Alarm bells go off in Astarion's head. She would request that he compel her to forget large parts of her life? He could. He could do that for her, but it would be to her detriment. He sincerely hopes she never asks him for this, because he would find it difficult to say no. If only because he would do anything for her.

“I would not do it even if you asked,” he lies. He would do it if she begged him to, because he can deny her nothing. “Your past made you who you are, and I love who you are. I will not pry, but I do hope you will tell me more someday.”

“Thank you for not prying.” She leans down and licks the last bits of blood off his neck. Astarion’s wounds are already healed over to pristine ivory skin.

“Now that you have had your snack, we really must be going.”

“Where are we going that you’re in such a rush to get to?” She arches a brow at him.

“You’ll see, little love. Indulge me once more for today.”

The Lower City is much busier than the Upper City, and it makes sense to you now why Astarion offered to stop and give you a snack before heading down this way. He seems to know exactly where he’s going, pushing through the crowds with purposeful steps, but you decidedly don’t. You allow him to drag you along through the torrent of bodies that are brimming with blood.

Astarion opens the door of a shop for you, bows shallowly with a sly grin, and ushers you inside. “After you, my love.”

You arch an inquisitive brow at him, but enter the shop as instructed. The outside appeared rather nondescript. A small, worn sign was all that indicated it was a shop at all. It didn’t strike you as somewhere Astarion would frequent. Once you get inside, the space opens up to an opulent foyer that is empty except for the two of you and, to your great surprise, Shadowheart.

She comes up to you slowly with a guileful grin. “Fancy seeing you here.”

When you look at her, all you see is her blanched, chalky complexion, the only colour afforded to her by her own blood smeared and leaking from her neck. You can hear her pleas gurgling in her throat, feel her hands raking across your skin, and feel her tugging on your clothes. You grimace, remembering the sweet succour of her blood circulating through your veins, easing the coils in your stomach and the webs of confusion in your brain. Without realizing it, you start taking steps backward, away from her as she nears, and jolt when your back bumps into Astarion. His arm wraps around your chest in an almost protective gesture, while his other hand gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“Shadowheart,” he says formally. “I see you got my summons. Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice.”

“Summons?” She snorts, crossing her arms. “Am I even able to counter that haughty attitude anymore, Astarion? Or will you go lose your mind and kill us all?”

Astarion doesn’t show it, but there is a sting that prickles through the bond as her barbed words settle. You nearly scold her, but he’s quick to riposte her cheek. “Darling, don’t be silly. I would be more than happy to kill you. I needn’t lose my mind for that.”

Shadowheart laughs jovially, and Astarion’s grin is crooked and boyish.

“It’s good to see you, Astarion.” Shadowheart says warmly.

“And you,” he replies coolly.

Your brows pinch as you look between them. Have you slipped into some alternate dimension where they actually seem like friends, or is it you who’s losing your fucking mind?

“And it’s good to see you, Illyria.” Shadowheart smiles. “You look much cleaner than when I saw you last,” she teases.

“Shadowheart,” your voice comes out in an uneven croak. “I… Gods. I don’t know what to say. I…”

She waves her hand flippantly, as if almost draining her dry is so minor that it’s not even worth your apologies. “I did offer to help, though next time, could you perhaps waste a little less?”

Hells below. You don’t know if your body wants to pale or flush. Thankfully, it’s incapable of both.

Astarion waves over a woman, who you didn’t even realize was waiting in the wings of the establishment. “Expense my account for whatever she decides on, Lorne, and do not tell her the cost,” he instructs while giving you a small shake. You grumble under your breath at him in a slurry of elven curses that makes him chuckle.

“As you wish, Lord Ancunín.” Lorne replies tonelessly, shrinking back to wait for you.

He presses a kiss on the top of your head. “Have fun, my sweet. You know how to reach me when you’ve finished up.”

You whirl quickly, grabbing his arm before he can leave, panicked. “You’re not staying?”

“No, but I will remain close by. You need not worry.” The rest of his message is in your head. “About the sun. You’re safe. I will keep you safe. Always.”

It’s not the threat of your sun protection that has you terror-stricken. It’s being in the presence of two living people without him around to stop you should your restraint fail again.

“Compel me,” you say, but make sure it’s loud enough that Shadowheart hears it. You want her to know that you’ve asked for this before she gets any bright ideas about scolding him. “Compel me not to drink the blood of thinking creatures.”

Astarion’s eyes widen, his smile failing as he processes your request. His discomfort is noticeable in the tense set of his shoulders. “I would really rather not.”

“Astarion,” you grab his coat, tugging on it slightly. “You know I can’t be trusted with them, but I trust you. Please.”

He sighs, shaking his head slightly, but you feel the order come through in your head as clear as day, but he adds another in. “You do not feel hungry. You will not feed on the blood of thinking creatures.”

Relief.

Relief from that unrelenting itch in your throat and the ache in your stomach as soon as the order is passed. It’s been so long since you haven’t felt hungry that it feels strange. Why haven’t you been asking him to do this the whole time? Because it makes him uncomfortable, you remind yourself, and you quickly feel sick for making him do something he told you he didn’t want to do.

Astarion nods, though the look on his face is rather grim, and he kisses your forehead and walks out without another word.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” Shadowheart says. “Gods. Why didn’t you tell me he asked you to marry him? I’m so happy for you!”

Her genuine mirth is a surprise. A welcome one, but a surprise nonetheless. “I… You’re not mad?”

“Mad?” Shadowheart smirks. “I do wholeheartedly believe you could do better, but alas, you were always sickeningly in love with him. The way you two used to eye-fuck each other in camp. Gods.” She makes a dramatic expression of disgust, pretending to shudder. “You could have been more subtle about it.”

It’s the first time you’ve been able to be around her without wanting to eat her in a long while, and you rush up to her quickly, but stop short when you realize she might not want to get this close to you. She scoffs and closes the gap, wrapping her arms around you.

“Gods. You’re as cold as you are pale,” she laments mockingly. “Come on. Let’s find you an atrociously expensive dress, shall we?”

The woman fitting your dress seems unconcerned that you have no reflection. Did Astarion compel her to completely miss that? Likely. The woman brings in dress after dress, which Shadowheart helps you into because you don’t want Lorne to see the scars on your back. Every dress is beautiful, you suppose, but nothing you would actually wear.

As Shadowheart undoes claps and places pins in yet another one, she asks, “Why didn’t you tell me, Illyria?”

You sigh. “I should have. It just seemed like a bad time to say something. At best, I was worried you might try to talk me out of it. At worst, I thought you might go down there and try to stake him.”

“That’s surprisingly accurate, actually,” she laughs, standing and turning you around.

You’re letting Shadowheart be your eyes for this. Her brows pinch, and she rotates a finger to make you spin, but it only makes her nose wrinkle up worse.

“I take that expression as a no.”

“Definitely not,” Shadowheart snorts. “That woman is bringing up the worst of the worst. I am sure of it. I’m going to go back there and pick some for you, okay?”

“I don’t think you’re allowed to do that, Shadowheart.”

Shadowheart winks. “I have my ways.”

She disappears while you snicker and ease out of the bulky fabric. You stare into the empty mirrors, letting your fingers crawl over the surface. If there was one time you wanted to be able to see yourself, it’s now, but you will never see your reflection again. You couldn’t possibly have understood it at the time — the sorrow and anger he felt, the mourning of his reflection — but you understand it now.

You understand him now.

Shadowheart steps in with an armful of dresses she’s procured. Lorne squalls in the background, scolding Shadowheart, saying that this is extremely unorthodox.

Shadowheart waves her out of the room with a grin, and she giggles hysterically. “I hope she complains to Astarion.”

Shadowheart helps you slip into a few more dresses, which are vastly better than the ones Lorne was bringing, but it’s not until you slip into the last dress that you think you feel something other than a desperate need to get back to Astarion.

The gown defies the boundaries between clothing and art. The champagne-coloured bodice shimmers with a constellation of the finest diamonds. Each stone sparkles like a thousand stars, casting your form in an ethereal light. The neckline plunges temptingly low, giving you a generous allure.

As the bodice meets the hip-hugging skirt, a cascade of lace descends in a mesmerizing train, as if a waterfall of gossamer had been captured in time. The pattern of the lace is reminiscent of swirling firestorms, and the edges are adorned with a delicate trim of moonstones that appear to glow as if imbued with silvery moonlight.

“I think I like this one,” you say, but glance up at Shadowheart.

Shadowheart’s eyes look wet. “You look otherworldly, Illyria. It’s perfect.”

Shadowheart helps you out of the dress, and Lorne comes to collect it, her face still screwing up into a scowl when she looks at Shadowheart, who smiles politely at her.

Before you can leave the dressing room, Shadowheart stops you and asks tentatively. “Do you think marrying him is a good idea?”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s a good idea or not. I’ve dreamt of it since I met him. Even in his darkest hours, I could never bring myself to stop loving him, and I tried, Shadowheart. I tried to let him go, begged for love to turn into hate, but he’s far too tangled in my soul. For better or worse, I love him, and this is what I want.”

Shadowheart squeezes your shoulder. “As long as you’re happy, I support you. Always. But I think you need to be careful. Astarion will always do what it takes to survive.”

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. As with most fic writers, I am a WHORE for comments. We appreciate even just an emoji. Please feed your fic writers the sustenance of comments 🥰

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

Sorry I've been MIA guys. Life has gotten in the way, and my writing time has been significantly cut down recently. I'm hoping that it will recover, but it might be another month or so of spotty and shorter updates. Also, when patch 7 releases, you know I am DIVING head first into it

[ankles-be-bitten]

i may have fallen victim to the curse of the Bad Aziraphale Take with this post, so i'd like to right my wrongs:

i still agree with this, however i would like to add some insight: the metatron is definitely orchestrating their falling out. he knows exactly what he's doing & he knows that he can't control aziraphale as long as he has crowley on their side--that's emotional abuse 101. the victim is isolated from their real support systems, and the only place they have left to turn is their abuser. i believe that aziraphale knows what he's doing, and that he's just going along with heaven as far as he can in order to protect his demon, but from the metatron's perspective things have to look like they're going according to plan.

i think... maybe this is only half true? not sure what i was thinking when i wrote this; it was late. whatever.

crowley is an optimist, but he clearly had his doubts about how aziraphale would respond, which is indeed based in reality. aziraphale doesn't have a great track record as far as assuming the best of him in the moment (which, i must add, isn't his fault. it is one of his flaws, however). i think the important thing is that he trusts aziraphale to do the right thing in the end.

i still agree with this. however, i want to acknowledge that i felt this was unfair at the time, but in retrospect i was ignoring aziraphale's dependency on external validation that crowley does not have. crowley is far more independent than aziraphale, and i acknowledged this, but i framed it originally as "crowley has an unfulfilled need," rather than what i now think it really is, which is that AZI has an unfulfilled need.

yeah, there it is. different people, different needs.

as far as it being strange that aziraphale didn't pick up on what crowley needed in that moment right away, i do still feel that way--sort of. i honestly at this point just want to pin it down to him being excited.

whatever you have to say can wait--we have all of eternity to say whatever we want, in complete security. we won't have to hide. we can be together. and he wants so badly to be together. that's literally all he wants. he wasn't even a little interested in returning to heaven until the metatron told him that crowley could tag along. this is manipulation 101, people! the metatron knows, or at least can intuit, that crowley wouldn't want to become an angel again. he knows exactly what he's doing to them. this is not a good faith offer.

most of the rest of that post is me rambling about my interpretation of aziraphale's actions and the reasoning behind them. feel free to read the full take if you'd like, but i don't believe it's necessary to break down the whole thing. it mostly boils down to aziraphale needs to see people as people before he can respond properly to their needs. i may or may not still agree with that, i'm on the fence, but if that is the case, it's 100% because heaven has conditioned him to be that way. you need to earn salvation, you need to earn love, you need to earn humanity.

i originally used job as a counter example, but he may actually be a paragon of this interpretation. if anyone deserves salvation, it was job--righteous job, level-headed job, job who lost everything but never, ever lost faith in the Almighty. if anyone has earned aziraphale's sympathy, it's him.

this is just a wonky take. he does care, or else he wouldn't be making the offer. interrupting crowley might have been selfish in the short-term, but to aziraphale, the long-term result is eternity together unhindered. they will have all the time in the world to be an us if they can only get out from under the watchful, dangerous, probing eye of heaven.

i think i was getting close to the point here, but i was still framing it from the perspective that aziraphale had woefully wronged crowley, and that he's not also a victim of the system here. i was in far less certain terms falling into the "aziraphale is naive" trap, when in reality he just wanted to be safe. as archangel, he can do as he pleases without fear of retribution. he has never, ever felt safe before--not safe to ask questions, not safe to be seen with crowley, not safe to run off to alpha centauri with him. blaming him for prioritizing crowley's safety is more than a little silly.

this is just... the ick. it feels like a whole other person wrote this. i am trying so hard to give myself grace for this absolutely rot-gut take.

yikes. yikes yikes yikes. i'm not sure anymore if crowley has ever expressed a pointed distaste for being an angel again; that may just be misguided on my part. somehow i'm victim-blaming both of them here, while also completely misrepresenting aziraphale's intentions. i'm falling into the "he doesn't love crowley enough/the way he deserves" trap, painting him once again as naive, blind, and selfish. oopsie daisy.

i still believe the kiss was an offer akin to the ox rib, extremely alcoholic breakfasts, what have you. it's possible crowley doesn't feel seen--i might even go so far as to say that that's likely--but not in the way i stated originally. he's heartbroken. he's devastated. he might even feel betrayed. but just because he feels that way doesn't make it the truth, and i think a mistake i've made throughout this particular text is mistaking how aziraphale's actions look from the outside for his actual intentions.

i think this was mostly right up until the part about azi being selfish. he's far from selfish, he's not even close to naive. assuming he made a mistake in the f15 at all, he absolutely knows it now. he will do anything it takes to be with crowley.

at the time of this addendum i think he's made a Plan™ and is trying to convince himself he's made the right choice. all will make sense in the end. or maybe it won't. we'll figure it out--some things take time, and we don't have all the information.

i do believe that about covers it. in summary, they are both victims and treating either of them like they're naive or stupid for making the choices they did is unfair because they're both doing the best they can with the information they have available to them. it's heartbreaking, gut-wrenching, and really, really unfortunate. but it's neither of their fault. it's literally all the metatron. if heaven and hell were out of the picture, crowley would've been free to confess and aziraphale free to reciprocate--but that's just not their reality. everything aziraphale does is in order to keep crowley safe, in the interest of us long-term. crowley knows he has a hard time expressing himself, and so he wants to get it out fast, and that's valid; aziraphale having reservations due to safety concerns is just as valid.

it's neither of their fault.

[tiredassmage]

can you tell us the general rundown about bounty hunter tyr for us unenlightened folks? :D (if ok to spoil what that's about)

EHEHEHEHE I have no self control when the question includes "Tyr," that's what slkdfnldsnfsd. Short version, @hyrohkaah (god bestie idk what blog to tag for this eheheheh) & I put Tyr & their Hyroh together for shenanigans and then, naturally, as you do when you play Barbies with you and a friend's blorbos, we said, 'what if Alliance era role swap,' and... then hold on I wrote a checklist about what happens but IN SHORT.

But, essentially, it begged the question of what does Tyr do for five years when Hyroh, the one safe place Tyr had found in the galaxy, is presumed dead, and the answer is, as everything with Tyr is: complicated.

In one sense, he keeps his promise to Hyroh: that he'll walk away, that he won't answer to either side anymore. He'll fight for himself first. For Hyroh, Tyr cut ties with Sith Intelligence after Ziost, using the chaos erupting across the planet as cover and only leaving ongoing contact with a select few - namely Vector, Theron, and Lana, though the latter is with a particularly sharp threat that if she tries to rope him back into Intelligence, his answer has a good chance of being violent. In another, Tyr's "coping" is... not coping and throwing himself back into work and the skills and methodologies of a Cipher like it's going out of style. He's just... not doing it for either side, exactly.

For a few months, then, life was... good. As good as it could be as they hunted a planet-eating force entity across the stretches of the galaxy and waited with baited breath.

[And then she proceeded without the checklist]

Then we more or less know how the big story goes; the Eternal Empire invades in retaliation for the fleet. The Sith Empire and the Republic both keep tight lips about what happened to Marr's expedition and their would-be heroes are quietly presumed killed in action. They'd barely had time to discuss what life was supposed to look like when they finished this. 'If' goes unspoken. Because it wasn't worth tearing up old wounds for both of them.

But if is what he's left with. He's cut ties with both sides and Tyr is tired of watching both of them kick each other under the table instead of ceding that Zakuul is a greater threat than both of them. So, Tyr does the only thing a Cipher could: crafts a new name, a new face, and slips himself back into the life of a hired killer, using his shared intelligence with Ardun Kothe and the Black Codex as an assassin's guide to the political intrigue of both sides. In between building a reputation as a ruthless, but quiet and effective hunter, Tyr hunts those he perceives as corrupt that remain rotting in the power structure - primarily in the Empire, though he's not above or below chasing down a few Senators of the Republic, either.

The internal unrest amongst the Mandalorians splits the titled Grand Champion of the Great Hunt off with Torian Cadera back into Mandalorian business, and such is, eventually, how Nine picks up Mako as a hunt partner and struggles to strike a balance between teaching her a Cipher's ways and "do as I say, not as I do."

She saves his life rather literally when one of his vendetta assassinations goes not quite to plan; he's missing for three days before she interrupts the interrogation trying to figure out who hired him to take shots at an Imperial minister. Tyr's done well to spin them in circles, even if it's nearly killed him to do so. Mako would've beat him over the head herself for being reckless if he wasn't half-way dead by his own doing. So "Kyranthe," as he's met her, reveals some (a very... mild and redacted version, mind) of his mired history with Imperial Intelligence as a former agent by way of explaining why he does these jobs someone may or may not be paying him to carry out.

The paint and ink hide the scars from the... "contract negotiations." And add something to the intimidating persona or whatever when he needs to conduct business in person face-to-face

So, when Lana Beniko comes snaking back into his life a few years into this odd war, he's mistrustful; she doesn't deny knowledge about his "activities," but claims she's not there on Imperial business. Mako's wary of him making any deals with more Sith. Andd... I was gonna save the ficlet it spawned for another day BUT. Since I'm now going. Stay tuned for how her "job offer" goes. ; D

Oh, and of course, I could have just. kept all of this hc and I didn't NEED to turn it into a whole thing. But then I said to myself, "Dot... You need to finish a BH on SF anyway."

And who am I to say no to Tyr?

[oh-no-its-danger-gays]

emerging from the tags for once to actually add my thoughts onto a post:

this is why i don’t believe in the coffee theory. the idea is that metatron miracled the coffee in some way to make aziraphale say yes, because it’s hard to believe that azi would willingly up and leave crowley like that. and on the surface it IS hard to believe, given the things we’ve seen aziraphale do both for crowley and because of him.

BUT. when you actually deeply consider aziraphale’s character and beliefs, it make perfect sense!

for starters, aziraphale is a being of love! he is filled to the brim with love and goodness and hope and has seen first hand that crowley is too. he has seen crowley absolutely amazed and joyous at his creation. and he wants crowley to be able to feel those things again without fear of backlash. he wants to once again be able to see that sort of unrestrained joy on crowley’s face. because now we know that crowley feels those things, he showed us that when he was an angel, but has to stop himself now because he’s a demon. there’s no telling the kind of shit crowley has been through over the years because of his goodness. such as the laudanum incident. crowley did not fall because he was evil!!! he simply asked questions! it is made clear that crowley is still crowley whether he’s an angel or a demon. the difference is that demon crowley has been beaten down by centuries of abuse by hell and is no longer safe to show that sort of openness and vulnerability. in aziraphale’s mind, if crowley were an angel again, he would still be his crowley, he would just no longer have to hide those parts of himself.

(aziraphale also has incredibly black and white thinking when it comes to good and evil, and is fully convinced that heaven is the side of good, hence aziraphale’s refusal to cut ties with heaven like crowley suggests — but that has to do with heavens cult-like brainwashing and that’s not what i’m talking about here)

so along with that, crowley being an angel again means that him and azi could be together without repercussions. we have seen that they are both very afraid of the prospect of being found out by heaven/hell. they can’t be with each other in the way that they want because they can’t let their bosses know that an angel and a demon are friends (aka in love with each other). there is, as far as we know, no actual rules against angels being in relationships with other angels. and that doesn’t necessarily mean that it happens often, but that it can. does azi want to live eternity in heaven? no! he’s made it abundantly clear that he loves humanity and being on earth. but i don’t think that this was azi saying that he would rather live in heaven. this was aziraphale saying he would give up all his earthly possessions in order to be with crowley. because think about it. azi was incredibly hesitant to accept the offer until metatron said that crowley could be restored.

so. even after crowley makes his thoughts on the matter clear, aziraphale still says yes. why? because where crowley thinks the system (heaven and hell) shouldn’t exist at all, aziraphale just thinks it’s broken. and this once again goes back to the brainwashing of heaven and azi thinking it’s inherently the side of good. i believe that aziraphale feels that if he can reform heaven, he could convince crowley to join him.

i think that aziraphale saying yes is motivated entirely by his own feelings and beliefs, not by the persuasion of metatron.

now i DO think something was going on with the coffee. there was a weird amount of emphasis on it for it to be nothing. but i don’t think aziraphale was being miraculously persuaded. i saw someone say in a post that it could be like when someone asks you to hold a pen for them, and you saying yes to that makes you more receptive to saying yes to other things. and we honestly won’t know until s3 but i just don’t personally have a lot of faith in the coffee theory.

all of this incoherent babbling to say; my point is that crowley was at one point just as full of joy and wonder as aziraphale. and i think azi would do anything to get to a place where crowley is safe to be like that again.

(the issue is that azi can’t comprehend that crowley doesn’t feel safe in heaven either.)

I absolutely cannot stop thinking about the version of Crowley we get to see from before the Fall. He smiles differently, he speaks differently. There's so much oppenness in his expression. He loves what he does! Is genuinly mournful when he learns it will be destroyed.

Compared to the Crowley we see after years of solitude, abuse and treading on eggshells around his bosses. Closed off, furious, suspicious. I do truly believe that after he was called back to Hell in the graveyard that the next time Aziraphale saw him was in 1862, when he asked, in that feeble, broken down voice, for Holy Water. He has spent so much of his existence in survival mode, is desperate to cling to the peace he's found.

Nina describes him as the "hard bitten one" who can't trust anyone ever again, and it sort of gobsmacked me that she could see that!!! that Neil Gaiman would have someone say that!!!!! But, of course, she is in many ways the same.

Whatever happened to Crowley after the Laudanum incident certainly wasn't a one-off. He was certainly punished again and again for deeds seen as too good. Enough so that when he is called kind, when he is called good, when he is thanked, his response is violent panic.

It's easy for us to believe that maybe he's always been like that. But no. Gaiman gave us incontestable proof that there was a time where Crowley smiled freely, where he looked with wide and joyful eyes at the parts of the world he created. The difference from that, to the numb and deeply lonely Crowley that we see with Job, the anxious, repressed and angry Crowley that we see in the present day, is one of the biggest tragedies of all.

[my-whumpy-little-heart]

hey, so i've been wanting to make this post for a few days now just as a general note and apology.

content on my blog has been very slow for the past... while. as i'm sure you've all noticed. i keep thinking i'll finally get back into the swing of posting again, create content more consistently, find the creative drive i lost months ago. but i haven't done any of that. and i feel awful every time i finally post something and immediately fall back into a rut for weeks after.

the truth of this whole matter, as i'm slowly coming to realize, is that i'm really not well. in a multitude of ways.

i'll be working on it as best i can, but until i reach a point where i'm able to create more freely and easily again, expect the lack of content and posting here to persist.

again, i apologize for my general lack of presence. i promise i'm always hanging around, but my drive and capacity have been at an all time low, especially in these past weeks.

i'll do what i can when i can, and we'll just have to go from there. thank you to all of you that have borne with me thus far.

[ruiniel]

hi! may i request a short fic for fem!reader x alucard for if the reader was feeling jealous (for some reason lol)/feeling a little insecure and alucard... ;) ;) reassuring them there was nothing to worry about? thank youuu!

Oh look, I finally completed another writing ask. Everyone else, I got you, it's taking a while.

Anon I don't know if I got your ';) ;)' right, but this is an E rated fic. All heed the tags

Thank you for the prompt, hope you like this.

Its claws dig deep

Fandom: Castlevania series (2017-2021)

Alucard x fem!reader

Rating: E / 18+ only

Count: 2.9k

Tags: alternate universe, jealousy, feelings of inadequacy, vampire ball, drunk!Alucard, dom energy Alucard, profanity(from Alucard! gasp), arguing, emotional hurt/comfort, make up sex ig, thigh humping, bodily fluids, not in that order

Summary: Takes place in an AU where Alucard is more involved in the vampire side of his legacy after Dracula’s demise. Sometimes that meant attending events of more or less frivolous nature, and he would not leave his SO behind.

It’s late as you enter the ballroom, where already there is shine and humming beneath pale golden lights, and so many people.

Vampires, all of them.

“That’s a large crowd,” you add, biting your lip at the unfiltered thought.

Adrian looks down at you briefly, smiling. “We’ll navigate it together,” he says, and in comfort, presses his fingers over your hand when it digs into his arm. “But we can still turn back, if you want that. I can do this on my own. The ceremony is really mainly for show.”

“Aren’t they all?” you mumble. You want to take the offered lifeline, as being surrounded by a slew of powerful beings for the first time does sound daunting but... But, another side of you finally wants to come out of hiding. If you’ll be spending more time with their knowledge, you want them to see you as their peer, or foolishly hope they could. Whatever that means to them. And if you fail, at least you won’t regret not trying. 

“Let’s go,” you say, taking a step forward and then you’re entering the hall washed in rouge and gold, smelling of incense and heavy hyacinth.

The invitees look both lively and alive in their mirth, an illusion cast about their presence, and one would never guess they are anything other than merry revelers gathered together from all corners of the globe. 

“Adrian! Adrian, it is you, I cannot believe it!”

The words have you turning your head towards a tall figure of soft grace gliding over to reach you. Adrian ceases walking, and you inch closer to his side.

“Faena,” Adrian says, turning and smiling.

You do a double take at the first-name-basis. Faena?!

“How are you? I haven’t seen a whiff of you in what feels like years.”

“... you actually have not seen me in years, Faena.”

You’re standing there and gaping at them as they exchange pleasantries, both shining and youthful and eternal, wondering all the while who this is and why her hand is on his arm for the entire duration of this exchange.

Damnable heart, you’re so petty. 

“... and who… is this? A human, Adrian?”

You nearly miss the question, but look to find a pair of red-tinted irises assessing you. You tilt your chin upward. 

“Correct,” Adrian says, a hand long settled around your hip.

Faena flicks her bejeweled wrist, her flawless skin puckering in places as she grimaces. “I see. Do you own her?”

What?!

But then again, what did you expect? No really, what? 

The change in Adrian’s voice has you peeking up at his face; the warmth in his features has gone cold. “Nobody owns her. She is here of her own free will, as my partner.”

The vampire looks at you anew, a beautiful raven-dark eyebrow raised, perfect lips pursing in assessment as though a gold nugget were revealed to her in a pile of waste.

You’ve seen, heard, and listened to vampires for long enough to guess with some accuracy as to the meaning behind his words: ... and under my protection. You do your best to keep the physical proof of your unease at bay as you’ve learned to do around them for a while now (expression, heartbeat, posture). You’re not very good at it, you think. Adrian helped you practice, to give you a chance in keeping a shred of your thoughts and feelings your own.

“My apologies,” Faena says finally even as she leans in, and without another glance your way, kisses Adrian on the cheek. “Your father’s son, after all.” Her long, garnet earrings sparkle as she turns her head towards the entrance hall, where new guests are being admitted. “Excuse me, I see the Styrian sisters over there. Carmilla looks upset, which is always amusing. I leave you now, mind yourself tonight Adrian, you and your...” she waves a hand carelessly as she turns away “... human.”

You watch Faena melt, a graceful shadow slithering among the glittering, amorphous mass of underworld.

“Not all of them are this way, I promise.”

“No,” you say, wanting to believe him. “I suppose not.” 

~~

More of similar meetings follow. Most guests seem to know Adrian or at least know of him—not surprising. For you, however, the awkwardness continues. And you try, you really do; but soon it becomes clear just how different this is compared to whatever it was you’d hoped.

You watch him on that elevated platform, bowing to the Lady of this estate, a public expression of alliance in the face of leaderless covens running amok and savaging the lands. He brings a hand to his chest and speaks words in a language unknown, but you know it’s a part of him just as much as his human heart is. Adrian looks your way, briefly—or you think he does. You’re overrun with a need to be away from here, from the stares and side-eyed judgment of these people, away from seeing him so much in his element where you never will be.

After five more minutes of listening to the words exchanged, you give in to the urge: retreat.

~~

You reach your chamber with little issue—somehow, apparently, other vampires knew how to make their abodes navigable, you think sulkily. You kick off your slippers once inside, breathing easier in solitude. Attempts at sleep fail, and an hour later finds you pacing around the room, checking a book or other, gazing out the window, repeat. 

Late, you hear the creak of hinges, the closing of a door; the call of your name. 

“I’m here, Adrian,” you say, currently turned to the window. The mountains are white-capped, shining like liquid mercury under moonlight. You feel his presence, know he’s staring at you though you’re looking away, arms crossed around your middle.

Oh, it might be one of those evenings. Arguing. Throwing hands. Adjusting to each other’s expectations again and again, for—

You can’t complete that thought as Adrian throws his gloves onto a tea table. “You disappeared,” he says. There’s something in his voice you can’t quite trace. Worry? That’s expected, though you realize you hadn’t given it a thought at the time; not one of your best moments. “It’s good I thought to search here after picking through the entire ballroom.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, closing your eyes. Clearly, not one of your best moments. You feel that tiny, growing weight that is guilt pressing down on you. 

A sigh. The barely audible sound of footsteps drawing near. A warm hand wraps slowly but firmly around your arm, and you’re being hedged to turn around.

Adrian looks you in the eye, seeking, wondering; he smells of incense and wine, and his cheeks are flushed. “Did something happen?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I’m sorry.”

“Please stop saying that.” 

You look up at him, the sharper tone a surprise—not a good one, at that. “What do you want me to say?”

“I,” he frowns, sways slightly but just barely; you wonder if you imagined it. “I am merely asking about the matter, the real matter, with you.”

You look away, shrug out of his hold. “Why dwell on it? I told you nothing happened. We’re leaving tomorrow, we—I—survived the strangest event I’ve ever been to, you seemed to enjoy yourself, and no one fed on me, so what is the problem?”

His expression changes into one of… hurt, and the renewed remorse you feel is like a choking fist. 

“Was this your thought when you left without a word? Leaving me to search for you in the crowd, worrying and angrier by the minute?”

“You said I was safe.”

Adrian pauses, lips parted, baring his teeth in what can only be annoyance. “That is not the point.” His eyes narrow. “Are you upset with me about something? Something I’ve done?”

“No!” you cry, and can’t help but reach for him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You did nothing wrong. It… it’s something I need to get over. Adrian I—” you mellow at the concern on his features. “I’m embarrassed to tell you, it’s… it’s so petty, really.”

“Try me,” he turns away, removes his black cape, then wraps an arm around your waist, leading you to sit on the edge of the bed facing each other. 

You make a sound that’s something between a grunt and a groan, staring at how his wine-dark tunic bares his flushed chest, the soft skin cradling you at night. “You’re so beautiful.”

The corner of a smile. “Thank you,” he runs a hand down your arm, “We make a magnificent pair.”

You roll your eyes. “... and everyone was so… interested in you, all those gorgeous immortals and this society is so different to what I know but I try, I want them to see me as more than prey, I just… I couldn’t stay there any longer. And, that Faena…” you trail away. “So I left. I know it was selfish to walk off through the foreign vampire castle without telling you. I see that. Again, I’m sorry.”

What Adrian does next surprises you: his hand reaches to the nape of your neck, and bringing you in, he slants his mouth over yours.

You freeze at the suddenness of it, but melt almost instantly and just as you’re craving more, he slowly breaks away. You’d very much like to know what is happening, begging him with your eyes.

“Faena,” Adrian smiles, “was my governess. Well, one of them. She was also my trainer in specific types of combat during my brief adolescence. She has her moments, but would not cross a line. And she wanted to eat of you; badly.”

You groan, covering your face with your palms. “... can the dungeons open up and swallow me whole now, please?” 

You’re drawn closer as Adrian moves up onto the bed, pulling you into his lap. “I think it’s sweet,” he says, dragging his nose along your throat; he feels warm and hard against you, and you grip onto him as tightly as you’d wanted to all evening. “But I’m sorry you felt that way,” he says, unceremoniously pushing on your shoulder to lead you on your back. “I’ll do all I can to support you,” he says. His eyes convey something completely different to his words, and you can’t ask anyway between the nips and bites, and his hands covetously grasping your body. “Trust me?”

You sigh when he cups a breast, feeling it in his palm, bringing his lips over the nipple and breathing hot air through the thinness of your dress. “I do trust you.” You arch your hips up into him.

Adrian looks down at you, running his thumbs along your jaw. “Here you were too busy thinking this, that you didn’t notice everyone else staring at you,” he growls into your chest, and the vibration runs down between your legs, tingles through your clit. “... wanting to either eat you or fuck you or both,” he follows, and you’ve never heard him speak this way—

“How drunk are you, exactly?” you ask with a whiff of bemusement through your abject adoration. Then, “... wait, really?” You process his latter words.

“Drunk enough,” Adrian murmurs, pressing his cheek to one tit, nosing at it. “... but that doesn’t account for this. And yes,” his voice is lower, has a slur that gives his timbre an ever alluring warmth. “None of them could approach, only because you’re mine.”

“I thought no one owned me,” you deadpan, hands running up his strong back, fingers digging into his shoulder blades. 

Adrian scoffs against you, then raises his head. “You know I speak not of your personal freedom.”

He’s watching you so intently your barb dies on your tongue. “I know—mmm,” you sigh when he sucks on your lower lip. “You were… splendid up there. Regal… it suits you.”

Adrian snorts a giggle into you. “Yes… and do you know what I was thinking all the while? While I said the words?” his mouth finds your neck, and a soft bite, a graze, has you trembling.

“... do you actually…” you pause as his hands flex, fingers digging into your thighs. “What?”

“I thought of you,” his hands reach under your dress, lifting the folds and this time when he presses you against him you feel all of him. “Of having you, somewhere in this damn castle,” another nip, a lick at the curve of your neck as you melt and wonder if you heard wrong. “Remember that time in the woods?” he breathes, eyelashes fluttering sweetly.

How could you forget? The mere memory of it has you soaking wet. “... yes?”

“Like that,” he says, and you feel his smile, the curve of those soft lips on your skin, his hot, careful touch up your back and tracking your spine until he cups the back of your head. “It’s you, and I,” he gets to say as you hungrily begin kissing him back, all fears forgotten as Adrian repeats, “You and I…” he brings two fingers to your mouth; you lick them, suck on them, staring into the flare of his eyes as he drinks you in.

Adrian hastily withdraws his fingers and rises, taking you with him and the world is spinning; you end snugly in his lap at the edge of the bed, settled with your legs grasping his thigh. This isn’t how you expected the evening to go, but you’re not one to complain here. Your mind gives way to sensation so easily with him, you think through that stubborn need as Adrian works to unlace your underclothes but pauses as though struck, looking up at you. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Are you teasing now?”

He snorts. “I am asking, beastling. Whatever you wish.”

“Fine, then I don’t want you to stop,” you say, breathless, gazing into his now smiling eyes. “I want… I want you to hurt me.”

The smooth lines of his face change, nostrils flaring, features sculpted in amber from the golden candlelight. “Brave, little beast,” he reaches down, cups your mound; you squirm, hiding your nose in his shoulder. His other hand grasps your chin, tilting so you’re looking him in the eye. “Never disappear like that, ever again. I would’ve caused an incident to find you. I would have dealt death to find you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you sigh and tremble, and Adrian’s really, really not the impulsive type. And something about the way he grips you has you meaning it too. 

Adrian seems satisfied, kissing your forehead, his fingers still busy tracing along your silk-covered slit. “Shift your hips,” he says, and you do, feeling him guide you slowly back and forth onto his thigh. “You want me to hurt you,” he murmurs, gasping as your hand cups his hard cock, shapely through the soft material of his trousers. That, you want that.

“No… not so,” he grins, the fiend, pushing your hand gently away though he unbuttons his trousers, and you can only stare at the cock in his hand as he strokes it. “Move for me, will you move for me?” he licks the skin between your breasts before sucking on each, settling on one to nibble and tease, grasping your ass as you try to do what he asks: rubbing against his clothed thigh, feeling the sweet pressure building at each brief contact with that small bundle of nerves.

“I’ll… mess up your clothes…” you moan, but your hips keep gyrating, it feels too good to stop.

“I don’t care,” Adrian growls, and you get wetter watching him pump his own cock, that hot tasty cock in those beautiful hands, staring at you as you fuck yourself on him, timing his strokes with the shift of your hips.

You end with your face hidden against his neck, licking at his Adam’s apple as you move and watch and listen to him moan, as you reach and plunge two fingers into your cunt and desperately thrust. “Oh god Adrian please, I can’t, it’s not enough, please…” you cry into him—and are promptly tilted over onto your back, relieved as you feel his weight over yours; you both moan as he sinks into you, and it takes a mere three thrusts to have you creaming around the base of his cock.

“Fuck…” he feels it just as you do, and in your frenzy you’re both impatient, pulling and grasping at each other as he holds you down and each timed plunge pushes and pushes and floods your cunt with pleasure, the delicious feeling of the head slicking repeatedly inside. “You… are… perfect…”

You squeeze around him, gratified when he curses again and goes faster; and you? You’re riding a continuous high commanded by his hips snapping into yours, by the licks and kisses, of ramming into you so hard your head hits the wooden headboard as he suddenly pulls out and spurts warm cum all over your abdomen. 

You both pant, then laugh with him still hovering above you, licking into your mouth and falling to the side, dragging you to him. 

“What… just happened…” you feel up his shirt, realizing neither of you took your clothes off. You curl a leg over him, satisfied.

Adrian feels your pussy, sleeking fingers around the dripping lips. “I… believe we had a discussion; and then we ate into each other.”

“That’s a way to put it.” You run a hand through the sheen of his hair; he takes your wrist, kisses your palm.

“Mmmh… smells like you,” he licks at your finger, bringing you into him; careless of his disheveled (and excruciatingly charming) appearance: his tunic undone, his shirt crumpled, cock out and wet and drained and coated in you, as you are in him. “Feeling better?”

You nod.

“I need you,” Adrian says as you’re folded against him, his voice low and spent and grave. “I always will.”

“And I, you.” The truth.

“How fortunate,” Adrian smiles, snark whittling away at his tone as he cuddles into you. “How fortunate indeed.”

[starglitterz]

cynosure. (ii)

─── chapter 2 ! ~ can i put my minecraft bed next to yours ?

summary; you and xiao are genmates under the famed streamer company genshin impact. the chemistry between the two of you is undeniable, and your fanbases absolutely love your collaborations. but when you both start meeting up offline more and more, your connection starts to deepen past just harmless flirting and playful banter. with these real feelings starting to affect both your job and reputation online, how will you two react when your relationship becomes the internet’s cynosure?

a/n; reading order is

1 2

3 4

hope you enjoy !! :D

HELP I FORGOT TO ADD THIS AND I WOKE UP TO DO IT ASAP BEFORE IT PUBLISHED 😭😭😭 BUT E/C STANDS FOR EYE COLOUR BTW

previous.┃masterlist.┃next.

please reblog ! it helps a lot :)

twitter !

groupchat (1) !

groupchat (2) !

facts !!

the first gc is from y/n's phone but the second is from xiao's phone

xiao and zhongli have been friends for a long time, since xiao graduated from high school and met zhongli while xiao was doing an internship, which coincidentally is also how he met childe! he became close with aether because they have a lot of mutual friends.

lumine and y/n have been friends since kindergarten, while y/n only became close with everyone else in the gc after joining genshin impact. in fact, you met keqing right after she finished your interview at the company headquarters.

yantao my beloved.

the blank space is bc i have to add four pics or the spacing gets messed up & the xingqiu pic was the most recent cute pic i had in my gallery LOL

a/n; RAWKRKWKFKEJ IM SO HYPED FOR THIS SERIES AAAAA i rlly hope you all enjoy reading this as much as i do writing it 🥺💞 laughs 2 hide the pain of editing in tumblr mobile,,, haha,,, hahaha x_x ahh its rlly late and my phone's at 10% im going to go sleep now LMAO ily guys <3

taglist (open); @noirkkat @bookuya @ohmykazuha @glazelilyy @oreoz-unfortunately @tiny-aroace @xiaophobic @test-tube @yanphobics @storytravelled @mirikusashes @ben6ett @oliviasslut @velionqs @bluexiao @lunachelly @aelatus @mimion @akiiyukii @angelhxneyy @give-xiao-almond-tofu @abyssheart @xuanya @normalisthenewnorm @viagiraffe @fuhuashandholder @astersg4rden @dilucbar @eternism @nachotrash @childe-support @kinekyuroo @axerrri

usernames in bold could not be tagged :(

fan accounts !

- noirrxiao → @noirkkat

- y/nisthenewnorm → @normalisthenewnorm

- abyssxiao → @abyssheart

- y/n-fortunately → @oreoz-unfortunately

© starglitterz 2021. do not repost or modify in any way.

[rynne311]

Pizza and Beer

Summary: When friends move, you help out in exchange for pizza and beer. Those are the rules, even when you don't like beer and you like your friend way more than just a friend.

Word Count: 1353

The offer had been simple enough. Jason offered you pizza and beer if you helped him move. You weren't sure how much help you could actually be, but you weren't about to pass up the chance to spend the day with your friend. Deep down, though, you wished this was a moving in together kind of move instead, but for as well as Jason knew you, he was no mind reader, especially when it came to your feelings for him.

You were surprised when you got out of the moving truck he'd rented to find all of the big furniture had already been moved in. You assumed that meant he'd already moved his gear to avoid any wandering eyes as well. Together, you spent all morning moving all of the smaller boxes in tandem. The time flew by as you both joked around with each pass in the hallway and stairwell.

Before you knew it, every last box was upstairs and you were busying yourself unpacking them while Jason took care of grabbing the pizza he'd promised you. This may not be your home, but you tried to add your personal touch to the apartment.

"Helping reward's here," he announced as he set the pizza box and a couple of beers on the empty coffee table. You made a mental note to grab some large decorative books for him to put there. With a smile, you got up from your spot in front of the bookcase and joined him on the couch for a well deserved break.

The two of you had finished most of the pizza, and were quite satisfied you'd found the best pizza spot in the neighborhood, before Jason noticed he was the only one with an empty bottle. When he looked a little closer he realized you hadn't even touched the beer he'd grabbed for you.

"You good over there?" he asked. You almost thought he might still be joking around and about to make some crack about some pizza spilled on your shirt. When you looked down and confirmed nothing had fallen onto your shirt, you couldn't hide the confusion that painted your face and furrowed your brows together.

"Yeah," you confirmed cautiously. "Why?"

"I mean you've busted your ass all day and now you won't touch your beer," he explained. "You usually go drink for drink with me and now you're not so it seems like something's wrong."

"I'm fine, I promise. I just don't like beer," you explained. His puzzled look begged you to continue. "When we're at the bar I always get mixed drinks or wine. Now if you'd made a pitcher of margaritas, you never would have had a chance to even try them. But a blender really isn't the top of the list to unpack."

You may have answered his question, but you left him with so many more. He brought his own drink to his mouth in an attempt to hide his visible confusion. It almost worked, but you caught the way his brows furrowed from above the bottle.

"It's probably safer this way anyway," you remarked, trying to inject a bit of humor. "You know me and tequila are a dangerous combination. Just like the song, sometimes it just means clothes start falling off."

Jason hummed in absent agreement, but you could tell you'd already lost him. He'd jumped down the rabbit hole of questions, and he wasn't going to be really listening, or at least processing what was said, until he reemerged.

"So why'd you come today?" he asked. "When I asked you, I told you I'd get pizza and beer, so you knew I didn't have anything else to offer, but you still accepted."

It felt like a now or never kind of moment. One of the ones where you could be bold or you could be practical. You mulled over your options for what felt like an eternity, and while you wanted to be bold, you didn't want to lose what you had. Instead of answering, you grabbed another piece of pizza to buy a little time. The eye roll you got in return told you Jason knew exactly what you were doing.

"I thought I could be helpful," you finally answered as you finished your slice.

"That doesn't feel like the whole answer," Jason scoffed.

"Maybe," you confirmed. "But it also begs the question why you asked me to come help today if you already had everything moved in up here but some boxes in a half empty moving truck, or why I'm the only person you asked to come help you?"

Taking a page out of your book, Jason snagged your untouched beer to avoid having to answer.

"You want a full answer? I'll give you as full an answer as you'll get for right now," you began. Now it seemed you may have finally found the courage to be bold. "I wanted to spend time with you. You're always off wrangling supervillains and drug lords, which don't get me wrong is great and all. It has dropped the number of break-ins in my building to almost none. But that doesn't mean I don't miss you, because I do. I always do. A lot."

He started to choke on his drink, telling you you'd given a little more of an answer than you'd wanted to give. You couldn't say you were a fan of this emotional vulnerability, but your chest did feel ever so slightly lighter. You tried to read his face for a moment for some sort of reciprocation, but feeling the heat rise in your own face forced you to turn back to your empty plate. Your eyes only darted back over to him once you heard the bottle connect with the table.

"Maybe I wanted to spend time with you too. Maybe I didn't want all of the noise with my brothers and Roy around, especially when they manage to break something." With each 'maybe,' his voice grew a little more pointed and defensive, and you thought you could see a vulnerability that mirrored your own in his eyes. "Maybe I wanted this place to have your touch and feel like you. Maybe -"

You cut him off, leaning across the couch and kissing him. It was too rare in life that you got a second chance on a now or never moment, and you didn't want to squander it. You could only describe the feeling as a wave of excitement followed by a rush of relief when he raised his hand to your face and pulled you closer, returning the kiss.

"Maybe," his voice was softer now, almost cracking, "Maybe I've wanted that to happen for a very long time."

You felt breathless, but that didn't stop the smile from growing across your face. This time when you looked in his eyes, they seemed to share your mixture of excitement and relief. You couldn't help yourself as a small chuckle broke through.

"You like me, you really, really like me," you teased in a sing-song voice, only pausing to make kissy noises in the air. "You like -"

Having had his own feelings confirmed, Jason cut off your teasing as he pulled you into another kiss. When you both finally let go, he kept his forehead pressed to yours, watching as your eyes shifted back into focus. He wore a self-assured grin as he said, "There's no maybe about that."

"No, I don't think there is," you agreed. You sat back a little, trying to sear this moment into your memory forever. "Who would've thought a stupid beer could make this happen?"

"I should have brought you some beer to not drink ages ago," he joked, pulling you into his side and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You settled into your contentment in his arms, knowing now you may never have to leave this feeling again. "Next time I'll have tequila, it sounded like those consequences are fun."

You rolled your eyes in response as you wiggled a little closer into his side. Yeah, some post-margarita consequences now sounded a lot more appealing.

Tags:

Everything: @societiesholyskittle @pickyblue12 @icycoldbeanieweanies @thoughtfullychaoticdreamer @bloatedandlonly @sakurafille @jason-todd-squad @childofposeidonforlife @webcraft4eveh @bookish-and-shy @dnarez @thirstiestpotato

Jason: @jason-todd-rh @princessowly1234 @manymanyenvelopes @drarrylov3r @axa-vega

Want to be tagged? Let me know via message or ask box!

[maemelany]

Fixing the Broken (Part 3)

Summary: People say that time heals all wounds. In your case, time made it worse.

You’ve been married to Chris for five years, but his absence spoke louder than his words. After 5 years of trying, you’ve decided that you’ve had enough, and you left him. But Chris doesn’t want to let you go; he doesn’t want to give up on your marriage.

Would he be able to fix what you consider irretrievably broken?

Warnings: Angst, tiny tiny mentions of sex

Word Count: 2.6 k

Pairing : Chris Evans x Reader

A/N: I hope you like this one. I can’t wait for your reactions about this one. I can only imagine what @fallenoutofrose will have to say about Chris’s behavior in this part 😂

Enjoy and let me know if you want me to add you to the tag list

Love x  Mae ❤️

Masterlist 

Prologue , Part 1 , Part 2 Part 4 

“It is better to hope than despair.”

-Lailah Gifty Akita,

You finally knocked. After standing in front of that door for what felt like an eternity now, you finally knocked. Your legs felt like jelly, and your heart was pounding in your chest. You were feeling more anxious than the day of your wedding, and the irony of the situation made you almost laugh. Almost, but not quite. You were about to when Lisa opened the door.

She was as radiant as ever, a big, warm smile on her face. Honestly, it surprised you. You knew that she knew. Now that Chris was back, there was no way Lisa wouldn’t know what was going on. That man told everything to his mother.

Lisa let you in, and you followed her into the living room. The house felt like a second home to you. Actually, it felt more like home than your place with Chris sometimes. There was always something happening here. When you left your house, you almost came here. But you felt like it was unfair to Chris. Lisa was his mom, and her house was his safe place, not yours.

“Chris told me everything. How are you holding up honey, are you okay?” Lisa asked you

Her kindness broke your last defence. Her genuine, motherly concern about you made you feel guilty that you didn’t come to her sooner. Lisa had always been so kind to you, taking you in as her own daughter from the moment Chris introduced you as his girlfriend. Your lips started to shiver as you were trying your best to hold the tears back.

“Oh, honey… please don’t cry.”

She took you in her arms, and you broke into tears. It may have lasted five minutes or an hour; you weren’t sure. These days you were crying so much it was just the new normal.

Your best friend had been a great support to you, but she had to. She was your best friend. Chris’s mom was supposed to be on his side, defending her son’s best interest. Not yours.

“Why didn’t you tell me things were that bad, Y/N?” Lisa asked you

You looked away. Somehow ashamed that you thought Lisa would reject you.

“I … I don’t know. Chris is your son, and…”

“And you’re my daughter. Y/N, you’re family. We all love you!” Lisa said, taking your hands into hers. “Plus, I bet some even love you more than Chris,” Lisa joked.

You laughed, feeling a little bit more at ease now. “I’m sorry…” you whispered.

“Don’t be. I am sorry we didn’t see anything,” Lisa said

You shook your head. It wasn’t their fault. They weren’t responsible, Chris and you were. It was your marriage, after all.

Lisa asked for your version of the story, and you could tell she was trying to be as partial as possible. You hated that you had to put her in that situation. She cringed when you told her Chris didn’t notice you were gone until he went to Carly’s place.

“That boy…” she said, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry, honey,” she said, a sad expression on her face.

“It’s not your fault Lisa. Actually, it’s not even Chris’s fault. I can’t force him to stay married to me,” You said

“You think he feels… forced to be with you?”

You shrugged. “I mean… why else would he be as far away from me as he possibly could?”

Lisa watched you closely. You could tell she wanted to say something but was refraining herself.

“You two should talk. Maybe you could solve this…” Lisa said

“I don’t think us talking would do any good. We tried that yesterday; you should have seen how shi… messy it was”

Lisa tried to hide her smile when you stopped yourself from swearing. “If talking to each other doesn’t work, maybe you should try talking to someone else…” Lisa suggested

You frowned. You didn’t see how Chris and you talking to Lisa would help. Yes, Lisa was a wise woman, but as she said herself, she was your mother both. Knowing Chris, he would take it personally if his mother called his shit out about his marriage. You still remembered what happened the last time Lisa agreed with you instead of Chris. He was salty for days.

“I love you, Lisa, but I don’t think talking to you would fix this,” you gently said

Lisa laughed. “I wasn’t talking about me, honey. I meant a therapist.”

“A therapist? Like couples therapy, you want us to go to couples therapy?” you asked.

Lisa nodded. You never thought about that.

“I thought couples therapy was supposed to happen before couples decide they want a divorce.”

“Not necessarily. It could help you express your feelings in a safe place. And, you decided you wanted a divorce, honey. I don’t think Chris agrees with you.”

You frowned. If Lisa thought the warm smile would help you accept the subtle criticism easier, she was wrong. You were even worse than Chris when it came to being right. 

You loved being right and hated being told that you could have done something wrong, especially in that very particular situation. You were right. You had to be right. It would kill you to realize you were wrong and left the man you loved for nothing.

“Do you think I went too far…” You said, the tears resurfacing

“Oh no,” Lisa immediately told you. “You did what was right for you, and that’s the most important. I can’t even imagine how you must have felt, alone in that big house.”

A huge weight lifted off your shoulders. Secretly you thought people didn’t understand you. You were married to Chris Evans, living what they thought should be a fairy tale. 

Even though you and Chris were what people called a private couple, he would sometimes tell things about you or express his love for you when he was being interviewed. When those things happened, your friends would always send you messages, reminding you how lucky you were. 

They didn’t know how far they were from the truth. Most of the time, you were alone in your bed when you were reading their messages. Alone and lonely. 

People think they know things about your life, your marriage, but they don’t. They would have to walk in your shoes, feel what you daily felt to actually understand.

When you left Lisa’s house, she had convinced you. She made you realize that even though things between You and Chris were pretty bad, your relationship was worth saving, or at least you owed it to Chis and yourself to try. Even if therapy didn’t work, you still owed it to yourself and Chris to end things the most peacefully possible. Before being your husband, he was your friend. You needed at least that friendship to be saved.

Instead of going back to your best friend’s place, you went home. It wasn’t even a conscious decision. You started driving and found yourself taking the way home. Instead of turning back, you continued. You realized waiting wouldn’t help. You’d waited so much already, now was the time to act.

As you opened your front door, you felt submerged with that particular sent. You were home. Despite what you told Chris yesterday, this house was your home. You chose almost every piece of furniture.

 Chris was more than happy to leave it to you; he didn’t understand why you needed so many pillows on the bed or a particular shade of beige for the dining chairs. Instead of explaining everything, you would just ask for his opinion when it was absolutely necessary. Plus, it was hard to decorate a house via FaceTime. 

Thinking of it now, decorating this house helped you manage your loneliness for some time. You were proud of every single room, from your bedroom to the laundry room.

You found Chris and Dodger sleeping on the sofa. You weren’t surprised. The couch was probably Chris’ favorite spot in the whole house. You had your office, and he had this sofa. 

You were tempted to lay next to them. They felt like home. But you didn’t want to wake Chris up. If there was one thing Chris was lacking, it was sleep. You also noticed the dark circles under his eyes yesterday, and the current situation was not helping his sleep deprivation.

When you noticed a few takeout boxes in the room, you knew exactly how to occupy yourself. Chris used to love your cooking. Your skills were definitely better than his, but as your husband liked to say, one cannot be good at everything. You smiled when you remembered how you would tease him about his horrible cooking skills, and he would remind you how messy you were.

Even now, after thirty minutes of cooking, the countertop looked more like a war zone than a kitchen island.

“It smells good.”

You jumped. You didn’t see Chris coming, and now you had tomato sauce all over your blouse.

“Chris! You scared me!” you said, looking at him.

He was leaning against the opposite wall, observing you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

You looked at him with more attention. He looked less tired. You wanted to say something, but Dodger was all over you before you could open your mouth.

“Hey, baby. I missed you so much,” you said to your dog.

Dodger started to bark. The high pitch he usually reserved to Chris when he was coming back home after long periods of absence.

It broke your heart.

“He missed you,” Chris finally said

You didn’t know what to reply. You didn’t want to say something that would create a hostile environment for the rest of the evening.

“I need to change myself,” you said, showing your now stained blouse.

You were gone before Chris could even blink. Once in your bedroom, you found everything exactly as you left it. You rolled your eyes, mentally asking yourself how Chris could be so organized. And then you realized he wasn’t that organized. It wasn’t just the bedroom that was exactly as you left it. The walking closet and the bathroom were too.

Chris wasn’t sleeping in your room, and you wondered why.

When you went downstairs, you found him making the table.

“I thought I’d made myself useful,” Chris said when he saw you.

You smiled. That was the kind of evening you used to dream about. You and your husband casually sharing dinner together.

Chris was very attentive, serving you wine, asking you if you needed anything. You wished you could be so relaxed. You wished you weren’t about to drop a massive bomb on him.

“Why aren’t you sleeping in our bedroom?”

Your question surprised you both.

“I… I don’t know. It doesn’t seem… right.”

You looked at each other, your eyes saying more than a thousand words. Again, you were reminded how easy it would be to just give in, to just come back. But it would be a temporary relief, one you would only enjoy until he’d decide to leave again.  

It took you the whole dinner, and filling the dishwasher, and watching the first part of a show to gather enough courage and tell Chris you two needed to see a therapist.

It happened before he was about to kiss you. You could feel it in his eyes, the way they became darker, and the way his body leaned closer to yours. You could feel your heart beating faster and the room suddenly feeling hotter than before.

You wanted to give in, you missed his touch, you missed his kisses. You missed sex with your husband. But you knew it would make things more difficult. Sex had never been a problem in your relationship. Actually, it made you forget about the problems. You couldn’t remember how many times you were on the verge of telling Chris you weren’t happy with the situation and totally forgot about it the minute his hands were on you.

“No,” you said, standing up.

You started walking around the room, trying to compose yourself. It was frustrating how all your perfect, well-prepared plans got ruined the second you were around Chris.

“Y/N,” Chris whispered.

“No, we are not having sex!” you half screamed.

You needed to convince not only Chris but yourself that you were not having sex tonight. But looking at him, looking at him, looking at you made things very hard, literally and figuratively speaking.

“We’re going to therapy,” you quickly said

Chris blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

You cleared your throat. “I said, we are going to therapy.”

You could tell he was surprised. You didn’t know if it was good or bad.

“Y/N… I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

It was your turn to be surprised. You opened your mouth but closed it immediately after. You wanted Chris to explain himself before jumping to conclusions.

“With how public we are and…”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you said, anger quickly possessing your whole body.

“Y/N…”

“You’re worried about your reputation? Do you even want us to be together, Chris?” you asked him.

“I’m not worried about my reputation. I’m worried about… our privacy.”

“Chris, therapists have a duty of confidentiality,” You said, raising your voice.

“Well, you won’t believe how many people would break it given the right sum,” he screamed back.

You wanted to scream, anything that would release the frustration you were feeling inside.

“Do you even want to fix this?” you ask, as calmly as you were able to

Chris huffed. “I was begging you to come home with me yesterday. Of course, I want to fix this.”

You crossed your arms. “me coming home right now would not fix things; it would bring us back to this,” you said, throwing your hands up.

“And this is so bad, right?” Chris asked, bitterness in his voice.

“No, this is perfect. This is what I want permanently. It will kill me to come back to this if this is not forever.”

The room went silent. So many emotions went through Chris’s eyes, and you were trying to decode them all.

Chris finally drew a long breath. “I am not going to couples therapy.”

His words stung more than you could have imagined. They also unleashed the silent anger that was rising inside of you since the beginning of that conversation.

But instead of screaming and crying and pleading with Chris, you reached for your handbag. You were done trying to negotiate with him. You were done trying to spare his feelings.

You removed the divorce papers that had been sitting in your bag for days now. You threw them on the coffee table near Chris and waited for him to look at them.

You could see him become very pale, and if you weren’t that angry, you would be worried.

“Are they…” He started

“Yes. Divorce papers. We go to therapy, or you sign them. It’s your choice.”

Chris was startled. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m more than serious. I have a pen if you want to sign now.”

You looked serene, but inside, your heart was dropping lower with every second Chris wasn’t doing anything. You knew you were forcing his hand, but he left you no other choice.

“So, what is it going to be, Chris?”

Chris took the divorce agreement into his hands, and you held your breath. Your heart started beating again when he tore them in half.

He gave you a deadly stare, but at this point, you didn’t care anymore. He could be angry, scream at you, even hate you, as long as it meant you were doing something to try to fix things, you could take it all.

“Text me when you find a therapist you can trust,” you said before taking your bag to leave.

If he thought you’d be the only one sweating for this, he couldn’t be more wrong. It takes two to tango. It was about damn time for Chris to act. Because you were sure that this time feeling sorry or even good sex wouldn’t fix things.

Tag List (tell me in the comments if you want to be tagged)

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[titan-fodder]

Pyroclastic (Mike Zacharias x Reader)

Summary: Some would argue that the park is dead, but you know better; it’s livelier than it has been in hundreds of thousands of years, a shuddering, breathing monster finally rising to its feet after an eternity of slumber. Soon, it will open its mouth in an earth-shattering scream, and then, everyone will see.

Not dead; just waking up.

Rating: E (explicit)

Word Count: ~19.5K

Warnings: slow burn, friends to lovers, Eruri, implied Mobuhan, spelling Miche ‘Mike’, swearing, fighting, lots of nerdy shit, explicit sexual content, breeding kink

A/N: This is my contribution to the Smut Pile’s Apocalypse collab. I urge everyone to check out all the pieces on the masterlist. A big thanks to @pleasantanathema​ and @whats-her-quirk​ for being about as excited about this as I was, to @shadowworks​ for always encouraging me when I take on projects too big for my own good, and to @mindninjax​ who volunteered her husband’s expertise on this. I’m pretty proud of this piece and had a blast writing and researching for it. This is by no means scientifically accurate, but I did my best to make it realistic (as in I watched Supervolcano again and spent a lot of time on the USGS website). Also, I have been to Yellowstone exactly one (1) time in my life and was terrified the entire time which is where my fixation with it comes from. 

Enjoy~

GLOSSARY

Caldera - large basin-shaped volcanic depression with a diameter many times larger than its included volcanic vents; commonly formed when magma is withdrawn or erupted from a shallow, underground magma reservoir.*

Pyroclastic flow - A hot (typically >800 °C), chaotic mixture of rock fragments, gas, and ash that travels rapidly (tens of meters per second) away from a volcanic vent or collapsing flow front.*

Tephra -  pieces of all fragments of rock ejected into the air by an erupting volcano.

VEI - The Volcanic Explosivity Index (VEI) is a relative measure of the explosiveness of volcanic eruptions.*

*definitions taken from USGS website

4  Y E A R S  B E F O R E 

Levi looks pissed when he’s on screen. He looks pissed all the time, but he looks especially pissed when he’s made to stand in front of pointed cameras and outstretched microphones. 

You can’t blame him; it’s not actually his job to deal with the press, but some years ago, Erwin had twisted his arm this way and that and convinced Levi to take over conferences.

“They understand you better,” he’d said. “You enunciate better than me. We can’t have people misunderstanding me and panicking, can we?” The blond had purposely spoken with an accent thicker than usual, and Levi had called him every name under the sun, but in the end, he’d relented, and now…

“Dr. Ackermann! Dr. Ackermann! Is it true that this has been the largest earthquake in Yellowstone since Hebgen Lake?” 

Levi squints, actually cringes at the question, then waves one of his small, bony hands. “Hebgen Lake was a major quake—7.2 on the Richter scale. This was only a 5.3, and yeah, it’s been a while since the park has had a quake larger than a three, but that doesn’t mean—”

“So, should we be worried about a supereruption?” Another reporter asks, and you clamp a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing as the light leaves your colleague’s eyes. 

Levi’s jaw slides, and he pauses, no doubt to think about how to answer because this is a delicate question, one that the general public always reads extremely far into. He’s good at keeping his expression blank, at least, probably another reason Erwin requested he take over interviews. 

“Listen,” he starts off, slate eyes locking onto the largest camera in front of him. “Yellowstone is a hub of seismic energy. It wouldn’t be the park we know and love today if it wasn’t shaking and letting off steam like it usually does, right?” This gains a few relieved chuckles from the crowd of journalists. 

“Was this earthquake bigger than the ones we’re used to? Yes. Are we monitoring each and every tremor that we pick up? Also, yes. So, don’t make yourself sick worryin’ about sh—stuff you can’t control. We’ll let you know if it’s time to worry.” He sucks his teeth for a second, waiting for his advice to wash over everyone, then adds, “Keep a bug-out bag packed, though. Not because of the volcano or anything. Just because… The world is crazy and so are people, and it’s always good to be prepared.”

They take it as a joke, laugh a little louder as Levi steps down from the podium, but you’ve worked with him long enough to know he had made the comment with serious intent. It’s a lot easier to fly out of town at a moment’s notice when you already have the necessities packed, and though he won't tell them all the facts this early on, there’s a chance that they will eventually have to evacuate, yes. 

“I fucking hate that big, blond bastard,” is the first thing Levi tells you when he’s within earshot, much less well-spoken in casual situations than when his face is being broadcasted. “Voht iff they dunt understahnd me, Lebi?” He mimics your boss badly then pantomimes an uppercut with a dramatic grunt. 

“Why’d you make him sound Russian?”

“I was trying to make him sound stupid ‘cause that’s what he is.”

“I have four doctorates,” Erwin states as he falls into step with both of you, finally moving from his little hiding place behind one of the news trucks. “I’m not stupid. And, I do not sound like that.”

“That’s what you think,” Levi grumbles, doing his best to shrug away from the larger man when Erwin slings an arm around his shoulders. It doesn’t work, and Levi ends up stumbling to keep up with Erwin’s longer strides, which only serves to irritate him further. 

“You looked good up there. I mean, you sounded good. Sounded sure, comforting…” 

You shake your head at Erwin’s obvious struggle to just not be the big weirdo that he is, but it sure is painful to watch sometimes. 

Governor Zachary takes over the conference, leaving the three of you to make your way inside the lodge that the emergency broadcast was set up outside of. Levi and Erwin bicker through the lobby then through the back doors that lead you to the jeep that you all swing yourselves into. 

The sky is still a little dusty with shaken sediment, and some of the park rangers are setting up barricades at the mouths of a couple hiking trails leading to what is now a moderately large crevasse that’s opened up in the Biscuit Basin. 

Other than that, the park doesn’t feel much different as you ride through it on your way back to the lab. The Summer sun brings with it your favorite 70 degree days, and if it weren’t for Erwin’s questionable driving, you’d be tempted to hang half your body out the window just to feel the warmth better. The faint smell of sulfur in the air is soothing at this point—the smell of activity, the smell of science, the smell of home. Geysers are still shooting boiling water to the skies. The mud pots are still bubbling like ominous cauldrons. That earthquake couldn’t have shaken too much out of place if all the geothermal spots are still behaving as they normally do.

The tires kick up rocks and dust as Erwin brakes dramatically outside of the base, right behind another familiar jeep that makes Levi roll his eyes. 

“Great. The boy scout’s here.” 

“Oh, be nice, you little grump,” Erwin chastises him. “Mike’s been nothing but kind to us since he started working here.”

“Yeah, except for the time he misjudged the depth of that puddle and—”

“Splashed you with mud, yeah, yeah, we know, Levi,” you finish for him as you slide out of the vehicle. “You bring it up every time you see the guy. We know.”

“And, didn’t he apologize afterward?” Erwin prompts.

Levi doesn’t answer, but you respond for him: “Profusely. Drove him back to the lab, offered him his spare change of clothes—”

“Useless,” Levi hisses. “The dude’s a giant.”

“Not his fault he’s…” You try not to sound too giddy when you step through the door and see the man in question. “Enormous.” 

You don’t know Mike very well, one of the newer park rangers but with a background in geology which leads him to your neck of the woods very often. The few conversations you have had with him have all been pleasant. He’s soft-spoken but obviously intelligent with good instincts about both the park’s weather and wildlife. 

He’s also the only ranger you’ve seen actually pull off the dorky park uniform, but that could just be because the different shades of green look good against his tan skin and bring out his light eyes. Even taller than Erwin and a little broader too, M. Zacharias (as his little, metal name tag reads) is a slab of a man, and yet, when he grins, it’s almost boyish. 

“Hey, Mike, what’s up?” You greet.

He turns his head to look at you, flipping shaggy hair from his face, then offers one of the soft smiles you were hoping for. “Just came to drop off some samples for Hange.”

“Disgusting,” Levi mutters just for you to hear as he passes, and you shove him hard enough to make him stumble and flip you off. 

“How’d the press conference go?” Hange asks, tossing a small, corked flask of mud from hand to hand—what you assume to be the sample—while twirling in their computer chair. The last member of your team, Moblit Berner, glances away from the holographic model he’s studying to hear the answer. 

“I think it went well,” Erwin says. “Levi handled it like a champion, as always.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, old man,” the brunet bites out, joining Moblit next to the expensive projection table in the middle of the lab. “What’re we lookin’ at?”

“I’m just running the numbers from today’s quake. The possible effects it had underground.”

“And?”

Moblit is quiet for a beat too long.

“Mobs, what is it?” 

You, Erwin, and Hange make your way over to the table, staring at the laser-lit park model and the chamber underneath it. 

“Well, in most of the scenarios, it’s fine,” Moblit tries. “Nothing to worry about.”

“And, in the others?” 

He looks to Erwin, as everyone does in times of concern. Thick eyebrows pinched together, your boss motions to the hologram. “Show us.”

Moblit punches a few things in on the app he uses to control the model, then takes a deep breath and lets it play out for everyone to see, including Mike who slowly makes his way over, curiosity apparently getting the best of him. 

At first, nothing looks to change, just a living, breathing reenactment of what you were seeing today—every geyser, every fumarole, every little rumble, every minute rise and fall of the ground sped up to be detected with the human eye. 

And then, it stops. 

“Why did it…”

“Just watch,” Moblit shushes you. 

The outline of the ground fractures in several different places, statistics for different earthquakes blinking above. The known vents of the park—every geyser, mudpot, and fumarole—are rendered inactive, and under it all, that massive chamber everyone is always so worried about begins to bulge upward and outward, growing larger and larger until…

The map shorts out, flickering then disappearing entirely, leaving the six of you staring at the space where it was shining just seconds ago. 

“Was that…” 

Erwin inhales deeply through his nose before exhaling the word that will eventually bring the nation to its knees.

"Supereruption."

3  Y E A R S  B E F O R E

Even through the thick headset, the whir of the helicopter blades is loud, a rhythm pulsing through the air strong enough to be felt in your chest right alongside your beating heart. 

Thankfully, Mike’s deep voice is loud and clear when he speaks, nodding his head to the right, “Look down at about two o’clock.”

You follow his command, tilting your head and peering down at an empty field. 

“I don’t see anything,” you say.

The microphone hanging in front of his mouth picks up his chuckle, and the sound of it echoes in your ears, making you grin albeit a little confused. 

“Exactly. That’s a big spot for bison this time of year.”

“Then why aren’t they here?”

Mike lets the chopper hover for a while, both hands still on their respective control levers. 

“Ground’s been moving too much,” he says after a few seconds of silent staring. You’d known the answer already but hearing the wildlife expert confirm it fills you with a little more dread than you’d originally harbored. “They feel things we don’t, the tiny quakes, the tremors. Stuff you only think the seismograph picks up—they feel all of it.”

“They know what’s coming,” you say more to yourself than to him. 

Mike offers you one of those charming, close-lipped smiles. “When in doubt, trust the animals.” 

A line you’ve heard him say a few times now. Mike loves everything that lives in the park, from all the common lake trout and sand cranes to the endangered grizzly bears and gray wolves. 

Trust the animals, he says. Because he trusts them. Because he loves them. 

“You wanna fly over the Grand Prismatic?” Mike asks, pulling you from your thoughts, and when you look over, you find your reflection in his mirrored aviators as he stares at you. 

His mouth quirks up at the corners, causing yours to do the same, and you nod. “Yeah, always.”

It’s your favorite view in the park, the colorful spring from up above. Mike had learned that a few months ago, and now whenever you ride in the chopper with him, he makes sure to pass over the beautiful attraction just for you.

Nearly 200° Fahrenheit with a pH of 8.7, the pool, while still dangerous due to its temperature, is one of the more moderate dangers of the national park, tame in comparison to the Norris Geyser Basin with temperatures up to 459° (a thousand meters below the surface, anyway) and a pH of about two. It’s dissolved bones—human bones. And, would claim even more if given the chance. 

You suppose that’s expected for a basin that’s sitting over a chamber of 1,500° molten magma. 

The Grand Prismatic is just as stunning today as it is every other. Its outer orange and yellow rings darken to greens and blues the further inward you look, thick steam rising from all over but more condensed over the middle. 

It was one of the park's biggest attractions, tourists flocking to the spring with their cameras, too stricken by the vivid chromaticism to listen or read about the temperatures and microbials that are responsible for the colors in the first place. 

As you hover above now, just to the side of the steam, your heart aches. There are no ignorant tourists to take pictures of the pool, the boardwalks and trails to these hot spots now blocked off once it became apparent that the earthquake that took place last year was not the last of its kind. Your team as well as the park rangers went to the park board as a unit and suggested that tourists needed to be kept away from as many geothermal features as possible, all of you with the same fear in mind: someone (or many someones) falling in. 

It's always been a risk, but now, with weekly rumblings, that risk has multiplied exponentially. All it takes is someone losing their footing on the boardwalk over the Norris Geyser Basin for serene sightseeing to turn into tragedy, and that's on a good day. Throw a 5.7 earthquake into the mix, and the park could lose an entire tour group to the heat and acid. 

It's just not a risk any of you are willing to take anymore. 

Most of the park remains open. Old Faithful continues to draw people in by the thousands. They sit and watch boiling water shoot into the sky every hour or so, clapping happily at the sight, unaware of the way you and your team hold your breath in wait, hoping for the geyser to go off on its usual schedule. 

One day it will stop. One day they'll all stop. And, then… 

"I can't believe it's all gonna be gone one day," you muse, blinking down at the prismatic pool for as long as Mike will let you. 

"Nah," the man disagrees. "Not gone. Buried, yeah, but not gone."

You snort, turn back to him with a grin and roll your eyes. "Yeah, no big deal. Just miles of pyroclast and ash, probably snow when we get thrust into another ice age 'cause of the crazy climate swing..."

"Alright, alright, I get it. The sun dimeth and the land sinketh."

"Gusheth forth steam and gutting fire," you continue grimly.

Mike turns the helicopter back toward the landing zone, saying nothing else and leaving you to take in the sights below. You're grateful for the silence; it's good for processing, for preparation. 

And, you're grateful for Mike, one of your best friends at this point—soft and kind despite his intimidating stature, smart as a whip, and just as stunning, if not more so, than the Grand Prismatic. 

"Any idea what you'll do afterward?" He asks, holding a hand out to you to help you from your seat in the chopper. 

"Not really. Survive, I guess." 

You land just a little too close to him, your face nearly coming in direct contact with his broad chest, but Mike steps back just in time, making you extend your arm, still connected at the fingers, before he drops your hand. 

"A feat all on its own," he says flatly, but he perks up as you both begin walking to the park ranger base. "Maybe you'll find another team to work on."

"I don't want to find another team," you tell him honestly. "This is my team. This is my home."

Mike hums, an understanding little sound, body warm when he gently bumps into you on the gravel pathway to the lodge. "Yeah, I know."

A geophysics major at UCLA with a specific interest in volcanology, getting to intern with the Erwin Smith at the Yellowstone supervolcano had been a dream come true. You'd expected to gain knowledge and experience—nothing more and nothing less. You'd lived out here for one summer during your graduate program, clocking the field experience you needed to get your degree and taking in everything you could. 

Back then, it felt like all you did was ask questions and get in the way. By the end of that summer, you knew every variation of Levi Ackermann's irritated sighs, every different pitch of Hange Zoe's shouts and how they correlated with their experiments. Moblit had been the newest permanent addition and was even more nervous than he is now, trying and failing to keep up with Hange (which he's much better at doing these days). 

They were all fantastic, but it had been the lead researcher who'd reeled you in. You'd never met anyone as passionate as Dr. Erwin Smith, captivated by the monster underneath the park and thrilled to share his brain with anyone willing to hold their hands out for it. Hell, he'd even helped you with your Master's thesis—hydrothermally altered mineralized systems and their seismic reflections. 

When you graduated, the Yellowstone team was the first you reached out to and the first you heard back from. Erwin said you'd been a perfect fit even as a student (which you hadn't exactly believed but definitely blushed at anyway). Mobs, Hange, and even Levi seemed happy to have you back. It was like you were meant to be here. In this park. With all of them. 

Studying the volcano and all of its properties has always been like breathing to you—natural and necessary. You move when it moves, every shake and tremor a heartbeat in your own chest, every shooting geyser like blood in your veins. The mudpots are your bubbling emotions, the fumaroles, your sense of building pressure and release.

You feel at home in the park because you trust it. Because you love it. 

You don't have room for another team in your heart, but as you walk inside the lodge next to Mike, watching as he takes off his sunglasses and grins at one of the other rangers, you think you at least have room for one more person. 

2  Y E A R S  B E F O R E

The lab has two extra bodies in it—two extra unwelcome bodies who keep getting in your way and touching things as they ask questions that no one has the answers to yet.

“When did you say this was going to happen?” The rotund state governor, Dhalis Zachary, asks for the second time since arriving, picking up a sample test tube that Moblit immediately plucks from his hand with a nervous smile.

“As I said before, it’s difficult to place a concrete timeline on an event like this,” Erwin tells the white-haired man. “We don’t exactly have in depth records of the last three eruptions, so all we have to go off of is the earth itself and our simulations.”

At the edge of the projection table, Nile Dok, FEMA director, cautiously waves a hand through the holographic model displayed in front of him. He obviously doesn’t think anyone is watching him because the slender man jumps in surprise when you snort at your desk, and his angular cheekbones take on a pink tint of embarrassment from having been caught.

He clears his throat, straightens the knot that sits over it, then turns to face Erwin and prompts, “Three eruptions before. One was a lot bigger than the others, though, right?”

Erwin nods. “Huckleberry Ridge. Over two million years ago.”

“We’re hoping—if a supereruption is to occur—it’ll be closer to the size of Mesa Falls,” you pipe up.

“Which one was that?” Zachary asks.

“One-point-three million years ago, two-hundred-and-eighty cubic kilometers of erupted materials…” Levi lists off as he makes his way over to the table with a sanitary wipe in hand. He doesn’t like people in his space, doesn’t like strangers in the lab, even (especially) government officials (“They leave fingerprints, and they breathe on everything, and they waste our fucking time.”).

“Two-hundred-and-eighty cubic kilometers… That’s the best-case scenario?” Zachary looks to Erwin, eyebrows raised high over his wire glasses.

Erwin stares at him for a moment, contemplating the best and easiest way to explain this to someone who has no real experience in the field. Eventually, he settles on, “Moblit, can you run some simulations for me?”

“Of course, sir,” the mousy scientist agrees, phone in hand and pulling up the app before the boss can even finish speaking.

Everyone gathers around the table except for Levi who steps away from it, grumbling under his breath about coming back to clean it later. He at least hits the lights, making the model easier to see as Erwin starts listing off numbers and scenarios.

“The best case, actually, is only one vent opening, maybe two. It would be something comparable to Mount St. Helen’s, though probably a bit bigger, say point-five cubic kilometers of material. It would be necessary to evacuate the park and this region of the state at the very least.”

Zachary hums, “And, how likely is that?”

Erwin shrugs. “Hard to say right now. As the earthquakes increase, though, the likelihood of a small eruption like that, uh, dwindles.”

“Small,” Nile scoffs.

Zachary makes a similar noise, slightly louder, a little more offended, then rattles off, “Mount St. Helen’s killed almost sixty people. The blast, the ash, the lahars—” as if you don’t all already know.

“No one’s discounting the damage of the eruption,” Levi cuts him off. “But, if you’re sweatin’ at those numbers, all due respect, Governor, I don’t know if you’re ready to stomach the rest of this little light show.”

The older man cuts his eyes at Levi who squints right back at him, only turn and shuffle over to his desk when Erwin waves him further away, a silent way of saying ‘keep your smart mouth away from the authority figures’.

“Moving on,” you cough, twirling a finger to get both Erwin and Mobs to continue.

“Yes,” Erwin nods. “So, any eruption is dependent on how much magma in the chamber is eruptible magma. Just because it’s there doesn’t mean it will come out.”

Moblit punches in a few numbers to show what a small-scale eruption would look like, first with one vent then with two.

“With just that amount, even with two vents, it isn’t enough to completely destabilize the chamber.”

“And, destabilizing it would be… bad…” Nile states more than asks, brown eyes lit up by the model in front of him.

“No shit,” everyone hears Levi grumble from his desk, and Erwin huffs and looks at you, expression a little exasperated as he jerks a thumb back toward the grumpy man in yet another one of his silent motions— a plea in this case—'go take care of him’ which you do.

Levi is slumped in his computer chair, arms crossed over his chest as he peers over his desktop at the four men gathered around the hologram.

“Should’a just gone with Hange and the boy scout to collect samples when I had the chance,” he mutters.

“You hate collecting samples, especially sulfur samples. Which is what they’re getting now.”

“Yeah, well I hate these guys even more.” He says it quietly enough so that they won’t be able to hear, and even if they could, both Governor Zachary and Nile are too invested in the information that the scientists are giving them to pay attention to anything else.

“What’d they ever do to you?” You push, curious now because sure, Levi has always been the surliest of the team, but it’s rare that he’s surly and loud about it.

“Nothing. They have done nothing because they don’t belong here. They have no idea—no fucking idea—what’s about to happen.” You can hear his frustration even through his whispers. “Best case scenarios? Why are we even going over those? We know damn well that we’re not looking at one or two vents. And, we’re not lookin’ at Mesa Falls either.”

Letting out a long breath, you lean against Levi’s desk, ignoring the way he grunts in protest.

“I know. I’m sure Erwin and Moblit will prep them for the worst case.”

“There’s no prepping for it,” Levi hisses, gray eyes flashing. “We’re talking about—"

“…A nationwide cataclysmic event.” Both of you register Erwin’s voice at the same time and glance at the other group to find them staring at the lit-up simulation of the Huckleberry Ridge eruption.

“Which would pretty quickly turn into a worldwide problem,” Moblit adds quietly.

“Worldwide?” You hear Nile question in a low but very alarmed tone. “Because of the ash?”

“Well, yes, but, it’s not just ash,” Erwin clarifies, diving into his explanation of tephra and how dangerous it is. He reminds the men how far it traveled after the Mount St. Helen’s eruption since they’ve apparently latched onto that one, then challenges, “Now imagine an eruption about… six hundred times that size.”

“Six…” Nile swallows, turning his entire, slender frame toward Erwin and repeating, “Six hundred times bigger? That’s what we’re expecting?”

In his little rolling chair, Levi’s chest puffs a bit, finally satisfied that the gravity of the situation is beginning to set in. “Maybe they aren’t as dumb as they look.”

Erwin is about to say something, right hand lifted with his index finger extended in a very matter-of-fact way, but before he can manage to get anything out, the door to the lab swings open and Hange walks in, Mike just behind them carrying all the collected samples in what almost looks like a lunchbox.

“We’re back—” Hange stops, taking in their surroundings, the lack of lights, the bright projection, the grim energy, then shouts, “Hey, get some Pink Floyd playing! Like a planetarium in here! Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me…”

“Dr. Zoe,” Moblit clears his throat. “We were just going over the utter devastation a supereruption could wreak on the country.”

“Oh, were you?” Hange pauses, brow rising, lips puckering into a sour expression. “My bad.”

Raising a hand to your forehead, you laugh to yourself for a few seconds before shaking the untimely amusement off and making your way over to Mike to take the sample kit from him.

“Careful,” he warns jokingly as he passes it off. “Got some very fragile gas and mud in there.”

“Yeah?” You tease. “So, I shouldn’t, like, shake it or anything?”

“Definitely should not shake it. Here, here, just—” He takes it back, grinning broadly as he tells you, “I think it’s best if you let a professional handle such dangerous compounds.”

All the doom-and-gloom you had been feeling mere seconds ago evaporates entirely, and you let out a frankly embarrassing giggle as you watch Mike very carefully set the samples down on Hange’s lab table, making a show of securing them and whispering a final, “Stay,” so that you clamp a hand over your mouth.

Levi groans in disgust, and, at the same time, Erwin mutters an apology to Zachary and Nile for, “… employing a team of children.”

Your face heats in embarrassment, but it doesn’t keep you from smiling at Mike when he saunters back over, looking rather sheepish himself.

“Lunchtime soon, right?”

“Yeah, in a bit—”

“Please go now, for the love of God,” Erwin sighs. “And, take Levi and Hange with you.”

None of you need telling twice, quickly grabbing wallets and home-packed meals before rushing from the lab before your boss decides to murder one or all of you.

Levi steers Hange toward his car, leaving you alone with Mike which you don’t mind in the slightest. You take most of your lunches with him anyway, some of your breakfasts and dinners too, so this is simply part of your daily routine.

“I’ve got some sandwiches packed already. Wanna hit Mount Haynes?” He suggests, sliding into the driver’s seat of his jeep.

You point a fingergun at him and nod. “I like the way you think, sir.”

He takes a very specific route, avoiding any damaged areas, having to veer off of the actual road at a certain point to take a safer path he and other rangers have made. You watch the mountains of the park grow closer and closer, what you know to be the ridge of Yellowstone’s caldera looming nearer.

Mike parks at the base of your intended destination then reaches into the backseat to grab the aforementioned lunch. You have no intentions of actually hiking to the top of the mountain—don’t have the time or the will, honestly—but as soon as the two of you have worked up a sweat and are at a decent enough elevation to look out on the park underneath, you drop to the dusty ground and take it all in.

Even from this distance, you can see some of the gases and steam in the air. That’s the only movement there is, though, save for the occasional ranger vehicle zipping along. The land seems almost barren at this point. The grass is still green. The sun is still bright as it is every Summer.

But, there are no animals, no tourists, no real life. Instead, it’s been replaced with cracks and crevasses, with barricades and warning signs.

Trail Closed

Road Closed

Danger: Keep Out

It’s been almost six months since the park decided to shut down to the public, and if you’re being honest, it should have closed its doors long before. It took people dying to bring the board to their senses, an earthquake that shook the ground for minutes, the crust of the earth splitting right under the historical lodge that so many loved.

Fourteen casualties. Twenty-nine injured.

That’s what it took.

You barely recognize the park now, feel like the last endangered species left within its boundaries. It’s just the research team, some of the rangers, and the occasional outside visitor (board members, government officials, or press that gets waved away).

Some would argue that the park is dead, but you know better; it’s livelier than it has been in hundreds of thousands of years, a shuddering, breathing monster finally rising to its feet after an eternity of slumber. Soon, it will open its mouth in an earth-shattering scream, and then, everyone will see.

Not dead; just waking up.

“You look tired.” Mike’s voice may as well be carried by the breeze, light and low, refreshing as it passes over you, and you flash him a smile while nodding.

“Exhausted.”

He grabs a sandwich from the lunchbox, and you fish hand sanitizer from one of the many pockets on your pants, squirting it into your hand first then holding it out to the man beside you.

“Seems like you spend more time here than at your apartment.”

“Oh, most definitely.” You unwrap what looks to be turkey and pepper-jack and try to ignore the way your stomach flips at the fact that it’s your favorite simple-sandwich-combo and that Mike remembered. “Lot to do in the lab. Obviously.” You take a bite—no mustard, only mayo—and feel some of the tension between your shoulder blades begin to unwind.

“Figure you wouldn’t want it any other way, though,” Mike comments before chomping into his own sandwich.

“Right you are. I mean, end of the world, potentially. Scary stuff, but also…” You swallow, lick your lips and stare out at the landscape in front of you as you grapple with words. “It’s like… I’m terrified, but I feel like I’m exactly where I need to be. Like…”

This is how I’m supposed to go out, you almost say, but you’re smart to keep it to yourself. That’s a thought for you and you alone, one you haven’t shared with anyone because nobody else would understand except maybe Erwin.

“This is what you’re meant to do,” Mike supplies, and you look over at him. “This is what you love. I get that.”

And, he’s right. But, the park and volcanology—those aren’t the only things you love.

Mike sits there, legs crossed like an overgrown kindergartener, shaggy hair blowing in the wind, light green eyes so, incredibly warm and bright, and it feels like you can’t breathe anymore, like your lungs and throat are already full of ash that hasn’t fallen yet, tight with dying declarations you can’t bring yourself to make.

“Have you ever heard of Katia and Maurice Krafft?” You ask, and yes, your voice does feel somewhat strangled, the space behind your eyes burning just a little hotter than usual.

Mike shakes his head, takes another bite, and gives you his undivided attention.

“They were these French volcanologists who got really famous for the pictures and footage they took of erupting volcanoes. The recordings they got for the community were—I mean, they were pioneers. They changed the game. There’s photos and videos of them just—” you gesture nebulously with both your hands, nearly flinging your sandwich off the side of the mountain and making Mike reach out and catch your wrist before you can.

“Please, no feeding the park’s wildlife, ma’am,” he jokes easily, and you have to shove the sandwich into your mouth to keep from giggling like a schoolgirl. Mike shows the smallest of satisfied smiles, completely unaware of his own charm, and it’s maddening and intoxicating, and it’s all you can do to keep talking about the brave scientists.

“Anyway,” you continue. “Katia would get, like, within feet of lava flows. Just walkin’ right beside ‘em in her special heat suit. And, they’d wear protective helmets because of, you know—”

“Explosions. Falling rocks.”

 “Yeah, exactly. They were just there, documenting it all happening, nerves of fucking steel. Katia was usually the one gathering samples and stuff while Maurice recorded, but he was right in the thick of it too. This badass couple learning and adventuring together.”

Mike eventually questions, “What happened to them?” but you’re sure he knows the answer when you deflate a bit.

“Mount Unzen eruption—got caught in the pyroclastic flow. Died instantly.”

“At least they were doing what they loved,” he says, and you nod.

You’re silent for a while, neither of you eating but both of you staring. You think about the Kraffts often, especially now with Yellowstone’s imminent eruption. Doing what they loved… They died for their research, and though you never got the chance to meet them or even speak with anyone who has met them, you have a feeling they wouldn’t have wanted it to happen any other way.

“Just so you know,” Mike gets your attention, and when you look over at him, your heart swells.

The sun is reflected in his eyes, making light green glow with more than just warmth and sincerity, and god, you’re so in love with him, you can feel it in your bone marrow. You ache for him, you pine for him, and you want to live for him, but how…

“I’d film you walking next to a lava flow,” he tells you. Despite the little smile playing at his lips, you know he isn’t kidding.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and you have to look away before any actually fall, but your sniffle definitely gives you away. You swear internally, berating yourself for getting emotional in front of Mike, though you can’t say you’re too surprised. Your stress levels have been through the roof, working non-stop for months now, the government breathing down your neck. People have died and the park is literally fracturing before your eyes, and you’re not ready to see it end—to see everything as you know it come to an end.

“Pretty dusty up here,” Mike comments while nudging you. You find him holding out a handkerchief, letting you take it then turning his gaze forward again to allow you a little privacy to dab at your eyes.

Mike has senses beyond the normal human spectrum. He has a sense for weather unlike anyone you’ve ever seen before, from thunderstorms and tornadoes to record snowfall and, on a few occasions, earthquakes. You can still vividly remember being in the lab the day of the fatal quake that damaged the hotel, seeing Mike suddenly look at the seismogram seconds before it started picking up the first tremors. Levi had called it “freakish”, but you had called him “incredible”.

It’s not just the weather, though. Mike has a way with people and animals too, like he can gauge their emotions and act appropriately. It’s how he knows what days he can push Levi’s buttons and get away with it, how he knows when Hange is too busy and overwhelmed to gather samples themself, so he gathers some for them.

And, it’s how he knows exactly when he needs to pull you into a hug, like when the team realized the chances of a small to moderate eruption were next to nothing, like when he had told you how many of those hotel guests had gotten hurt and died and you’d stared at him with wide, watery eyes, and like right now, as you think about Katia and Maurice Krafft, the fate they met and how yours might not be any different.

Will you die doing what you love? Will you be able to welcome it as bravely as they did?

You rest your head on Mike’s shoulder, letting yourself melt into his side, his arm sturdy and grounding where it wraps around you, and as you look out over the sunlit grounds, one last question plagues your mind:

Does a pyroclastic flow burn as hot as the molten feelings inside of you?

You can’t imagine anything does.

1  Y E A R  B E F O R E

The message is broadcasted straight from the state capitol, Levi's expression grim as he reads off the paper hidden on the podium. 

"I know all of this sounds apocalyptic—the ash and blackouts and probable climate change, and it is scary, but we still have some time, so there's no reason to panic. We just urge that if you haven't already started preparing, now's the time. Please."

A couple steps behind him and a little to the right is Erwin, standing tall and nodding at everything Levi says as if he's providing some kind of credibility. 

"Considering we're looking at a VEI eight, the team of volcanologists at Yellowstone have recommended that all of Wyoming and its neighboring states evacuate, but I'll let Homeland Security go over all that."

As he turns to step back, the crowd of reporters and journalists begin shouting out questions, and Levi grimaces as he moves to stand next to Erwin who places a hand in his shoulder. 

You can't hear everything being asked from where you're watching at the lab, but you can't imagine it's anything good judging by the way Levi's frown just keeps growing. 

Fortunately, the vaguely familiar secretary of Homeland Security, Dot Pixis, takes the stand quickly, holding up wrinkled hands in an attempt to calm the crowd. 

"We have some more very important information to cover in this address, so if you'll allow me…" He clears his throat and straightens a stack of papers on the podium, no doubt a huge list of protocols that the public will only half listen to. 

You swivel back and forth in your chair as you watch the thin man on screen, his voice scratchy but strangely soothing as he outlines rationing, supply storage, and evacuation routes. 

"We're also negotiating with our neighboring countries about opening borders. Now, anyone seeking refuge would still be required to fill out an application for a temporary visa, but—"

"God, you know they gotta love that," you mumble to yourself. 

Hange, tinkering somewhere behind you, laughs and agrees, "Yeah, after decades of treating immigrants like trash, and now we're just knocking on their doors, asking for help. Ridiculous."

"Embarrassing, is what it is." 

It was for whichever government official had to make that call, anyway. You're positive that had been a hard pill to swallow. 

As far as you've heard, the foreign affairs part of this mess is actually going quite well. You'd accompanied Erwin to the big meeting with Canadian officials and watched him and Pixis plead a case for America, emphasizing just how bad the eruption will be "at home", then switched tactics at whiplash speed to go into how countries needed to work together since this wouldn't just be the US's problem in the long run. 

It turned into a rather inspiring speech, if you're being honest, prompted you to text Levi a short, how is E so damn charming all the time? to which he'd responded, Believe me, you're asking the wrong fuckin guy. 

With multiple government agencies now backing the states and setting plans in motion, the impending eruption seems even more real. You thought your stress levels were high before, that your sleep pattern left little to be desired, but oh, you had been wrong. 

Case in point being Mike walking into the lab with a brown paper bag and slightly unpleasant expression as he asks, "Have you eaten today?" 

Your glare has no real meaning as you grumble, "Had a granola bar this morning."

"It's nearly six," he groans, pushing you, chair and all, up to your desk and setting the bag in front of you. "Please eat something before you pass out."

"Okay, okay, Christ. You're more attentive than my mother."

"I met your mom last year, and you and I both know she would be hysterical if she knew how you've been treating yourself lately."

He has a point. In fact, you're glad Mike is naturally quiet and didn't bond too strongly with her, otherwise you have a feeling he would have called her by now to complain. 

The chicken salad sandwich you bite into must be imbued with some kind of magic, because you let out an honest to god moan when you swallow the first bite. 

"Oh my god, what did you put in this?" You ask as you blink up at your best friend. 

Mike snorts and rolls his eyes. "Uh, actual nutrients maybe? Weird how your body needs those."

Hands too busy shoving more food into your mouth, you headbutt him right at the hip, just hard enough to make him grunt and sway. He steadies himself, glances down at you like he's annoyed but ends up breaking into a grin when he catches what you assume to be a piece of chicken salad dotting the corner of your mouth. 

"What am I gonna do with you," he mumbles, wiping it with a gentle thumb. 

Your body warms with both embarrassment and affection, but you can't quite find a response even as your head clears for the first time in about two days. You really do need to start taking better care of yourself. 

The undeniable feeling of being watched makes your neck prickle, and you break Mike's gaze to find Hange staring at both of you, a not-so-subtle smile making their mouth curl mischievously. You have a pretty good idea of what they're thinking, and you're heart starts beating a little faster at the thought of them possibly speaking it out loud, but before they get a chance, Mike's phone rings. 

You catch a glimpse of the name displayed before he picks it up—Gelgar—recognize it and tease, "One of the doomsday preppers, right?" 

Because no matter how much Mike denies it, just like he does now— "They're not doomsday preppers—" you know that his friends are a little odd. Extremely well prepared, but odd. 

"Hey man, what's up?" He answers, stepping away from you. "Isn't it almost two there?" 

You don't try to listen in, just look back to Hange and shake your head when their smile grows. 

"Stop."

"What?" They giggle. "I'm not even doing anything!" 

"You're thinking things, though."

"Well yeah, I'm always thinking things. How else would I have gotten this smart?" They flip their ponytail for emphasis and toss a wink your way, but Hange's voice gets oddly sincere when they tell you, "Seriously, though. You guys should get while the getting's good. I don't know why you haven't jumped each other's bones yet."

You splutter, look around frantically to make sure Mike isn't within earshot, and thank god, he's in the next room over. 

"Hange!" 

"I'm just saying! It's like watching Erwin and Levi from a few years ago. God, that was a nightmare."

"How dare you. I am nothing like—"

"Yeah, yeah. When do they get back in anyway?" 

You both look to the TV that's still playing the live address, easily spotting your missing team members behind Secretary Pixis. 

"Probably not 'til later tonight. Levi's gonna try to talk Erwin into getting a hotel, I bet, but he's gonna wanna come back to the lab and check everything before he goes to bed."

"How do you know he wants to come back?" 

You show a sheepish grin, fishing the chips out of the paper sack Mike brought, then answer, "'Cause that’s what I’d wanna do."

*

It's late. Far too late to be at work, but being at home never feels right these days. It's too quiet, too still, too not the lab. The only time you genuinely enjoy being there is when friends are over for a movie or meal over the weekend. Other than that, you're not at all attached. 

Not the way you are here.

Almost midnight, you move from table to table, working, organizing, just keeping busy. You're very awake, still jittery from the quake that shook the park at around three that day. It lasted for almost three minutes, splitting the ground dangerously close to Old Faithful, and the geyser hasn't gone off since which is troubling. If too many of the geothermal spots stop releasing pressure, the eruption will take place sooner than anticipated. 

It's why you're here so late, pouring over the data, studying the numbers and possible effects. 

You're not alone, though. Erwin is also shuffling around the lab, but he's focused on something else, a project of sorts. 

"Can you come take a look at this?" He calls from the projection table, and you drop what you're doing to join him. 

The model isn't lit up as a hologram, surprisingly. Instead, Erwin has paper blueprints laid, curling at the edges from being rolled up. It takes you a second to realize what you're looking at, but when it comes together, you inhale sharply. 

It's a simple design, a square floorplan with a couple entrances. The only exit looks to lead upward, though, and it's easy to tell that means Erwin wants this to be underground. There are notes scribbled in the blank spaces, 4 meters down, bomb proof top, ventilation, generators, gasoline?, rations < 5yrs, medicine, vitamins, guns. The list goes on, handwriting sloppier and sloppier the more thoughts Erwin had at the time. 

"You think this would be ready in a year?"

Erwin shrugs. "With the right construction team, yes. That one bunker designer…" Erwin snaps, trying to think of the name, but it doesn't come to him. "Whoever—He built ten shelters in two years." 

You stick your hands in your back pockets as you lean over to look closer. It could just be your overworked brain, but it looks like a good design, something someone actually has a chance of surviving in. 

Hearing your name makes you look up again. Erwin has you pinned with one of his serious blue gazes. "No one else will understand, so please keep this plan to yourself."

You nod but venture to ask, "You haven't told Levi?" 

"No," he answers, mouth pulling downward. "It's… Going to be a fight."

"Understandably so. You're basically married to the volcano, though, Erwin."

"So are you."

His eyes are shining as your lips twist into a grimace. He's gotten to know you well over the years. You've always shared a certain bond over Yellowstone, one the other team members just don't have. To them, it's just a job, just science. 

To you and Erwin, though, it's a religion. You're in love with the park, all its secrets and eccentricities. It's your home; it's where you belong. 

"Assuming this does get built," Erwin starts, lifting a thick eyebrow in curiosity. "You would want to stay, right?" 

"You mean, ride out a supereruption? Be the first to see the zone-one damage?" 

Erwin doesn't answer, but he does smile, excitement dancing just below the surface of his stare. 

You feel it too, the urge to throw caution to the wind, to take a chance that could very possibly get you both killed. The Kraffts flash through your mind again, their failed attempt at escape.

A breathless, "Fuck yeah," tumbles from your mouth before you can dwell on the consequences for too long. 

It's time to either live it up or go down in ash and flames. 

6  M O N T H S  B E F O R E 

Yellowstone is unrecognizable. The ground is mostly made up of large crevasses and smaller cracks, debris from fallen buildings left in piles with no one to clean them up. 

The geysers are all inactive at this point, but steam is still rising from the springs, and the mudpots are still bubbling. It's the only thing that's keeping the volcano from erupting. 

The ground shakes multiple times a day, the lab seismographs constantly picking up activity. The little ones don't faze you anymore. You and Mike secure the glass samples to make sure they don't break while Erwin and Levi basically hug their computers. Yours was damaged in the quake that prompted Hange and Moblit to leave—a 6.7 that caused Hange to fall into their desk, breaking their collarbone in the process. After getting Hange pain meds and a sling, the two of them were on a plane to D.C. that same night. 

Every day is another risk taken. Now, it's just you, Erwin, Levi, and Mike. 

The latter two spend most of their days dropping hints about leaving soon as well. Mike has already made plans to fly to Norway and join his not-doomsday prepper friends and brings it up often.

"You should come. See the tulip fields while they're still around."

"Gel and Nana have done a great job setting up the ranch. They wanna let as many people stay as they can." 

"You'd really like them. They bicker like an old married couple, but they're good people."

Levi takes a different approach with Erwin, appeals to the other man's desire to help and protect. 

"We really should head to the homeland security office. They don't know what they're dealing with."

"Dok is an idiot. They need a bigger brain over there for guidance or whatever."

"Your long-term plan will be better than anything those government fucks will come up with anyway."

Every time, you and Erwin gently wave them off with promises of "soon" and "just a little longer." Neither of you breathe a word about staying. Despite the fact that construction on the bunker has not started and you're running out of time, both of you are dead set on the plan: go down with the park. 

You're found out before it can come to fruition, however. 

The remaining team is sitting in the lab, busy with their own little projects, when Mike looks up suddenly, takes a deep breath, then says, "Earthquake," just as the seismogram starts going wild. 

He pulls you from your chair quickly, dropping to the ground and bringing you with him to crawl under your desk. On your knees, your body curls in on itself and you lock your hands over the back of your neck as the floor beneath you starts to rumble violently. 

You can hear Levi cursing from somewhere as the sound of glass shattering rings throughout the lab. You think another computer falls, models and books flying from shelves. 

Mike huddles over you, one hand gripping the leg of the desk while the other protects your ribs. You want to tell him to shield himself, but you know there's no use. Besides, the weight and warmth is comforting even in the face of danger—his chest hot against your back, the epitome of a knight in shining armor. 

It lasts for several minutes. The power cuts off, windows crack, doors swing open only to slam shut again. You know the lab is going to be an absolute wreck when it's over. 

When the shaking finally settles, everyone crawls out of their hiding places. Levi warns, "Be ready for aftershocks," as if you don't know, and Erwin fumbles in his desk until he finds a flashlight. 

The ray of light illuminates the damage. Just as you suspected, the place looks like a tornado blew through. Glass litters the floor along with the far-flung books and park models. Both Levi and Erwin's computers fell and disconnected, and your stomach drops as you think about all the potentially lost information. 

"You okay?" Mike asks, pulling you up to your knees so he can look at your face. 

"I'm fine," you tell him, his hands on your cheeks making you flush, so you distract yourself. "E, Levi, you guys okay?" 

"Yes," Erwin answers first. 

Levi shows his face, a deep frown making his brow furrow, as he looks at his desktop. "I'm pissed but uninjured."

The four of you spend the next couple of hours cleaning up what you can, pausing and taking cover when the aftershocks hit, then starting over as the lab sustains more and more damage. 

Mike sweeps up the glass. Erwin focuses on getting the computers back on the desks safely then goes and checks the projection table. You and Levi collect the bigger items, setting books back on shelves. 

You don't think about the mistake before it's too late, when Levi is already pulling out the blueprints that were hidden behind the stack of encyclopedias. 

As he stills completely, you turn to look at him and find him staring down at the large, uncurled papers. Your instinct is to snatch them from his hands, but it's no use. He's already seen enough. 

"What the fuck is this?" His voice comes out like poison as he immediately looks at Erwin. 

The larger man glances at Levi, eyes trailing to what he's holding, then pales. 

"Levi..."

"Is this a god damn bunker? Are you planning on staying in this hellscape?" 

Erwin strides over to him and reaches for the prints, but Levi tugs them out of reach. 

"Answer me," he spits. "Is that your plan?"

"I—" Erwin swallows thickly before answering, "Yes."

It's silent for a long time, and the more it drags on, the tighter Levi's lips get, gray eyes shiny with quiet rage. 

This is what Erwin was trying to avoid, why he insisted on keeping the bunker a secret. 

But while Levi is glaring at Erwin, you feel another gaze on you. Skin crawling, you chance a glance up at Mike, stomach churning when he looks away quickly and bites his lips. He knows. Somehow without anyone saying anything, Mike knows you’re planning to stay too.

Heavy breathing and the distant sound of rumbling earth is all that can be heard, followed by backup generators roaring to life and restoring the overhead lights. 

"You too?" Mike finally speaks. “You wanna stay too?”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, unable to answer. He sounds so disappointed—defeated—and it makes you feel sick. 

"Do you guys know," Levi growls, "How fucking insane that is? This is the dumbest, most reckless, selfish fucking thing you could do! And, I know it's all your thinking!" He drops the blueprints in favor of shoving Erwin roughly, making him stumble back. 

"Hey," you step toward him, but the small man just turns to you and accuses, "And, you egged him on, yeah? Did you even think of us? How we would feel? Staying here is suicide!"

"I have a plan, Levi," Erwin says, raising both hands to his head and effectively disheveling his own hair. "If you just look at the plans. I know what we need to survive. I've done the math, I've studied the—"

"Jesus Christ, we're talking about an eight hundred degree pyroclastic flow! Tephra that will suffocate you. You really think being a few meters down during the eruption will be enough?" Levi is screaming now, his voice cracking, and you think you see tears at his waterline. 

It makes the spaces behind your eyes burn, but it’s only partly out of guilt. The other emotion that’s welling up in you is anger, a betrayal you can barely wrap your head around, but it comes tumbling out anyway.

“Do you even know us? You think we can actually leave the park behind?” Your voice rises to match Levi’s, gains his acidic attention once again. “I don’t even understand how you can run away, after everything you’ve put into this place! How can you just—” You let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a cry as you raise your hands to your face and shove your palms to your eyes. “I get Mike because he doesn’t have anything fucking left here. He’s just been helping out—”

“You think I don’t have anything left here?” He asks quietly from beside you, and when you look at him with a watery stare, you find him wounded. His jaw slides forward as he sucks on his teeth, and fuck, his eyes are getting glossy too. 

“See, this is exactly what I mean,” Levi gestures wildly at the two of you. “Mike and I have stayed because you guys won’t fucking leave, and now it comes out that you were never planning to. When were you gonna tell us? Would you have even given us enough time to get out?”

“Of course!” Erwin takes him by the shoulders, and Levi snarls up at him. “I was working up to it. I wasn’t ready to—to deal with this.”

“I can’t believe this. You really think a whole team of workers is gonna come out here to help build this? You wanna put their lives in jeopardy too?”

“We—”

“You haven’t even thought this through all the way! When did you come up with this? When you hadn’t slept or eaten in forty-eight hours? When your brain wasn’t fucking functioning at full capacity?”

Erwin stays quiet, and so do you because Levi has a point. Taking care of yourselves physically has not been high on either of your lists of priorities, and you’re sure your mental state has suffered for it. All the nights spent at the projection table, mapping out ideas, growing giddy over the idea of staying for the eruption. Was that just two people high off passion, becoming more and more unhinged with each passing day?

Quite possibly. 

You expect the fury to be enough to push Levi away, that he’ll simply give up, drag Mike out with him, and leave you and Erwin to hunker down like you’d planned.

But, that is not the case. 

Instead, he shoves a thin finger into Erwin’s chest, gritting out, “Pack your fucking bags so we can go to D.C. where they need you.”

Erwin takes a breath then slumps in defeat. Now, when faced with the obstacle that is his boyfriend, you figure he’s weighed the pros and cons and made a decision. Between his love for the park and his love for Levi, he’d rather salvage the latter. 

Mike shifts next to you, grumbles out a low, “You too,” that makes the tears finally fall from your eyes. “I’ll take you on one last ride to the springs, but then we’re leaving.”

He stays true to his word, and you cry the entire time you’re in the chopper, headset smushed against one ear as you rest your head on the window and look down at the Grand Prismatic, the steam rising from it. It’s beginning to grow discolored with all the activity, but it’s more stunning now than it’s ever been. 

Soon, it’ll be completely covered. All of it will. And, you could have been too, stuck underground for a couple of years only to be the first to step out into the pure destruction. 

That’s not an option anymore, though, not with Mike looking as grave as he does, not with the way he shadows you in your apartment as you gather the necessities, like he thinks you’re going to bolt and run back to the lab, not when the two of you meet back up with a still-fuming Levi and a despondent Erwin to head to the airport.

The tickets are outrageously priced at such short notice, but that doesn’t stop Levi and Mike from passing their credit cards over.

“Two for Washington D.C.”

“And, two for Bergen, Norway.”

Boarding passes in hand, the four of you walk through the bustling airport together for as long as you can before you have to inevitably split up. Levi glares at you but still pulls you into a tight hug, grunts into your ear, “You’re so stupid,” before letting go and turning to Mike. “Keep her safe, boy scout. I’m trusting you.”

Mike nods, and both of them clasp hands as you turn to look at Erwin. Tears and pathetic sniffles return when you walk into his open arms, clinging to him and mumbling, “‘M sorry, ‘m sorry. I would’ve followed you.”

“I know.” He rubs your back and heaves a sigh. “I know you would have.”

He eventually disentangles you to hold you at arm’s length, wipes the moisture from your face with his thumbs, then shows a sad smile. “See you in a few years, yes?”

“Yeah.”

One more squeeze, and everyone turns away to walk to their respective gate. Mike’s hand splays across your back, warm, guiding you in the right direction, keeping you steady. He’s always kept your feet planted firmly on the ground. You figure, if there’s one person you’d like to experience the downfall of society with—above ground—it’s him. 

S I X  W E E K S  B E F O R E

Norway is kind of incredible. It has a natural beauty that takes your breath away just like Yellowstone used to, but it’s vastly different. Everything is green, including the lights in the sky at night. You’re surrounded by rolling hills and mountains, and you just know it’ll be beautiful under thick layers of snow. 

The once rustic ranch, now restored, is made up of several small houses and a farm full of cows and goats. It’s sad to think about the fate they will eventually meet (slaughter then stomachs), but you know it’s necessary to prepare for the coming years.

And, the owners have definitely prepared. 

Gelgar and Nanaba are everything Mike described and more. Between taking care of the farm and setting up energy sources, they do their best to make you and the other arrivals feel at home. They’ve designed the ranch to house up to about thirty people, a commune of sorts (minus any cult-like vibes). Naturally, everyone pitches in and helps around the place. You find yourself cleaning a lot, but you don’t mind. It’s a nice, mindless task that keeps you from thinking too hard about everything you’ve left behind. 

You also like to join Nana outside, help with the animals and enjoy the sunshine while you still can. Of course, this subjects you to endless teasing especially today when she catches you staring into the distance at Mike who's helping Gelgar fix a solar panel. 

His shirt is starting to stick to his back from sweating, muscles straining under the damp cloth, and good lord, when did he get that broad? Sure, he's always been tall and fit, but working on the homestead has definitely made him more built. That along with the fact that his hair has gotten long enough to tie up in a bun has your mouth going a little dry. 

"Like what you see?" Nanaba asks, accent thick, voice full of amusement. 

You shoot her a look, face all scrunched up when you mumble, "Don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh?" She sticks her tongue out. "Don't be coy. I see the way you both look at each other."

"Tch." 

"And, how both of you volunteer to cook with the other when it's your turn to. You move around each other like you know exactly where the other is. Two halves of a whole."

You roll your eyes. "We've just worked together for a while. We make a good team."

She's not wrong, though. Since coming to Norway, you and Mike have grown even closer. There was a period of time when you could hardly look at him, too guilty for trying to stay at the park, guilty for hurting him, but eventually the two of you fell back into your normal dynamic—joking, laughing, touching just a little too much, smiling when you think no one's looking. You even spent an afternoon together in a nearby field of flowers, just like he'd promised. With a picnic basket full of food, and a blanket to lay on, you'd admired the clouds overhead while enjoying the rustling grass surrounding you. 

It's been your favorite day since coming here, had reminded you of the lunches you used to share on the mountain. 

You're not brave enough to make any sort of move, though. Mike is just so good. There's a chance his affections are simply based in friendship, and that's something you're scared to ruin. He means too much to you. 

"How long did you work together?"

"Like, four years, give or take a few months."

"And, you're still acting like nothing is there?" Nanaba tsks. "Ridiculous."

"How long did it take you and Gel to get together?" You ask, then quickly backtrack, "Not that that's what I want with Mike necessarily."

"Mhm," she smirks. "Gel and I did it backwards. Got pissed at a bar and fell into bed together. Then we started to get to know each other and found out we just worked."

Sounds about right, you think. The couple has an interesting back-and-forth, half bickering, half innuendo. You can always, always see the love in their eyes, though. That's what you want in life. That’s what you want with Mike. Even if you won't admit it out loud. 

You turn your gaze back to the roof he and Gelgar are on just in time to see him making his way down the ladder. Once on the ground, he and the other man start striding over to you. Mike's face is red, sweat beading at his hairline, and Gelgar's pompadour is beginning to fall. 

"Think we got it fixed up," Mike announces, lifting the bottom hem of his shirt to wipe his forehead. 

You stare at his toned stomach for just a little too long, the lines of his hip bones leading into the waistband of his jeans. 

Nanaba's words ring in your head again—fell into bed, fell into bed, fell into bed—and you fixate on the idea of you and Mike doing the same. To have him hovering over you, or maybe you over him, thighs on either side of those hips as his hands trail up your body—

You shake the thought from your head, letting your glazed eyes refocus on the men in front of you. 

"Alright, I'm gonna grab a shower before dinner. Who's cooking tonight?"

“I believe it's Lynne and Henning," Nana answers. 

Mike nods then heads toward the little house he's been living in, right next to yours, of course. He reaches out to let his hand brush yours as he passes, and it takes conscious effort not to grip onto one or two of his large fingers and follow him. 

"God, that's painful to watch," Gelgar snorts. 

Nana laughs and agrees, "I was just telling her the same thing."

"Oh, shut up. Ya' couple of meddlers."

*

A line forms every evening outside of the main house, the one Gelgar and Nanaba share. You and Mike stand together at the back, watching everyone in front of you. Some are families, some are couples, some are here alone. You figure, no matter their status, the ranch is a nice place to be—peaceful, home-y despite its size. So far, everyone gets along. 

Only the kids complain about chores, about seven of them constantly running around together, but that’s to be expected, and honestly, you don’t mind picking up their slack. Life is about to get very difficult for them. They should get to be children for a little while longer. 

Potato soup is poured into your bowl with a ladle, topped with shredded beef and green onions, then you and Mike retire back to your little cottage home to eat and watch TV. It stays on the same channel, world news, and there’s always a long segment that covers Yellowstone and what it’s doing. 

It is not uncommon at all to look up from your food and see Erwin or Levi’s face on screen, speaking with experts, sometimes in interview-like settings.

Tonight, they’re covering a problem that’s been going on for some time, but everyone figured would resolve itself: some people will not leave the most dangerous zones, and it’s because they simply do not believe an eruption will take place. 

Even with the evidence, the science backing it—even with actual federal authorities knocking on their doors and telling them to leave—there are many people who just want to stay put. It’s insane to you, makes your blood boil. Children have been taken from their homes to be placed in safer areas, which only causes the disbelievers to get angrier. They want to say “I told you so”, but that’s not going to happen. 

What’s going to happen is getting burned alive in the flow that pours from the volcano. They will die a painful death, get buried under meters of fallout, ash, snow. There’ll be nothing to recover except for petrified, charred corpses. 

Of course, the irony is not lost on you; you and Erwin were both willing to chance similar fates, but you still think the two of you would have been more prepared than these regular-Joes who think their front door is enough to stop a volcanic eruption. 

“In the end, there’s no reasoning with people like this,” Erwin says on camera, a soft, sad smile playing at his lips. “When a person is so, uh… Dead set on staying, it will take an unstoppable force to move them.”

In your case, that unstoppable force had been Levi screaming at you while holding back tears. 

“Unfortunately for them, this force is the eruption, and they won’t be able to leave when that occurs.”

“Because they’ll be dead,” the reporter states more than asks.

Erwin nods and answers with a grim, “Yes. Yes, they will be.”

They’re not trying to be subtle, obviously hoping that this will get through to the stubborn masses, but you doubt it will. They’re living on borrowed time at this point. Any day could be their last.

Mike is quieter than usual as he eats, barely even looking at the television screen, and you have a feeling he’s thinking about how close you were to staying alongside those stupid assholes. It’s still a touchy subject, one both of you do your best to avoid. You’re mostly happy to be in Europe, spending your days with Mike and his friends and everyone else running around here. 

But, there’s also a part of you, deep down inside, that aches, that misses the park, that still wants to be right in the middle of the destruction. Watching it blow from so far away is going to hurt. This massive monster you’ve fallen in love with over the years will never be the same, and your last good look at it was that tearful helicopter ride. 

You’re not resentful toward Mike or Levi for dragging you out of the lab that day, but you are grieving in a sense. 

The program ends with Erwin giving one last warning— “If you insist on staying, I’d advise bomb-proofing your home, stocking up on several years-worth of rations, and installing one hell of a ventilation system. Good luck.”

Mike clears his throat and stands, grabbing his empty bowl as well as yours, then heads into the kitchen to rinse them off. 

Sighing, you follow him, lean against the counter a couple feet away as you think of something to say that won’t sound too forced.

“Hey,” you start.

Mike gives a low, “Hm?” as he holds the dishes under hot water, finally glancing over when you gently nudge him in the side.

“Thanks for…” You take a deep breath, pinned by light green eyes, then try again. “Thanks for bringing me here.” He blinks but doesn’t say anything, so you continue. “It’s really nice. And, I’ve bonded or whatever with Nana.”

“But, you miss the park,” he says.

You shrug. “I mean, yeah. That park was my life, but… Probably dying in it was not one of my brighter ideas.”

He snorts, shuts off the water, then turns to you. Craning your neck, you take in his face—really take it in—the few strands of hair that hang freely past his jawline, the way his beard, no longer stubble but not exactly thick, forms around his mouth and connects with his sideburns, his strong, slightly curved nose, how his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. He’s so painfully handsome, especially all shaggy and rugged, and it makes your heart beat too hard and too fast in your chest. 

Mike dries his hands on a dish towel, looking down at them when he tells you, “I’m glad we were able to get you out of there. It’s not something I’ll ever feel bad about. Even if you hate me for it.”

“I don’t hate you,” you scoff. “Never could. You’re my best friend, Mike.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smile, then think of Nanaba earlier that day and laugh quietly. 

“What?”

You wave a hand, shake your head. “Nothing, nothing, just… Nana has… Ideas, or something.”

There’s no need to elaborate. Mike understands what you’re trying to say. He inhales then breathes out it out in a chuckle as he posts up against the counter next to you. “Yeah, Gelgar does too.”

“Guess they don’t know us very well.”

A silence hangs between the two of you, one that would normally be comfortable but is now a little thick given the subject matter of your conversation.

You and Mike. Just earlier that day you had been thinking about how scared you are to ruin the friendship, but the more you imagine, the more you get lost in the fantasy…

“Or maybe…” You glance over to see Mike nibbling on his bottom lip, eyes fixed on the ground as he continues, “Maybe they know us better than we know ourselves.”

He raises his head, gaze locking with yours, and you stop breathing. Because that stare is so hesitant, searching for something inside of you as if you have the answer, but you’re just as scared and confused as he is. Over four years of friendship—of good, meaningful friendship—is that worth risking just because you’re both curious? 

Or has it all been leading to this since the start? Since those first, short conversations, since the meals shared with one another, the affectionate gestures. Mike has always kept your head on straight, looked after you with even more care than he had with the park’s wildlife. 

You thought it’d all been one-sided pining, that he was just glad to have someone who understood him a little better than everyone else because you do. You understand his passion for the planet, you understand all his little fixations. You appreciate every eccentricity like he appreciates all your neuroses. 

“Maybe so…” 

Two very large hands are on your face, tilting upward, and your lungs begin to burn as Mike strokes just under your eyes with the pads of his thumbs. He has to lean down quite a bit, pauses just over your lips to let out a tiny huff of surprise, disbelief, awe maybe, then closes the rest of the miniscule distance. 

He is very warm and very firm against you—feels good, all the comfort of someone familiar but still so new. Your lips fit together perfectly, and at last, you’re able to breathe again, mouths moving in an experimental back and forth, feeling each other out until he runs the tip of his tongue along the seam of your lips. Gripping strong shoulders, you let the kiss deepen, opening your mouth for him, and Mike groans when he’s finally able to taste you. 

Hands fall from your face, moving down, down, down, brushing your ribs, settling at your hips, but his fingers are long enough to curl and dig into the meat of your ass, making you gasp and press harder against him.

Rolling his pelvis into yours, you very quickly find yourself pinned between Mike’s body and the counter. Your grasp travels to the back of his neck, pulling him closer—you just need him closer—and he must feel it too because he hoists you up and sets you on the countertop, making room for himself between your legs.

You feel too hot and too desperate, but it’s good, a release that’s needed to happen for far too long. All manner of geothermal metaphors swim through your mind, spurting geysers and boiling mudpots, and it makes you giggle against him, biting down on his bottom lip and smiling around the flesh as he lets out another one of those rumbling, satisfied noises. 

“What’re you laughin’ at?” Mike mumbles, and for some reason, it’s strange to hear his voice so close, so quiet, as you’re pressed together, breathing each other’s air. It’s intimate and different, but it’s right. 

“I’m just…” Another little laugh, “Thinking about the volcano.”

“When are you not thinking about the volcano?” You have a feeling he’s rolling his eyes, but he still grins and kisses you again.

“It’s all dirty things if that helps.”

Mike nods slowly, lips trailing from your mouth toward your neck. “Helps some.”

You tilt your head to give him better access and let out a little whine when you feel him bite down on a patch of skin just beneath the notch of your jaw, wrap your legs around his waist and do your best to rock into him because good god, you want him. 

Fingers tangling under his loosening bun, you tug him back to your mouth, slotting your lips against his and sliding your tongue between his teeth. He presses you closer with a hand on the small of your back, squeezing the air from your lungs so all you can breathe is him. 

“Mm, Mike, Mike,” you pant, barely breaking away only for him to chase after. You laugh, push his chest at the same time you gently tug at his hair, and he backs away just enough for you to get a good look at his half-lidded eyes and spit-slicked lips. 

Honestly, staring at him now, you can’t believe you made so long without ever making a pass at him. He’s gorgeous, built like a roman statue only larger, with sun-kissed skin and a startlingly light gaze that threatens to leave you boneless. 

“D’you wanna, maybe…” You swallow and blink up at him, too many questions suddenly invading your mind—is it too early for sex? Will he think you’re easy? What if it doesn’t actually work out? But, you bite the bullet anyway and finish, “Go to the bedroom?” 

Mike is silent for a few beats, leaving you to second guess yourself and brace for disappointment and embarrassment, but then he clicks his tongue and answers, “Uh, yeah. Yes, let’s do that,” in a voice a little higher than usual, and scoops you from the counter.

Every little house on the ranch is laid out the same, so it does not take him long to find your room. He sets you down at the threshold, and from there, it’s a flurry of discarded clothing and stumbling to the bed.

“How have we never done this before?” He huffs, crawling over you, leaving wet kisses in his wake. 

You’ve still got an arm covering your bare chest, but Mike doesn’t seem self-conscious in the slightest which comes as a surprise considering how reserved he typically is. Not that he has anything worth hiding—not the thin layer of hair that dances over his barrel chest, not the ridiculously cut abdominals or sharp ‘V’ of his hips, and definitely not the thick cock bobbing against his stomach as he moves. You would be intimidated if you didn’t know him as well as you do, but you’re sure that he’ll be gentle with you. Mike may be many things, but careless is not one of them.

He reaches your mouth, kisses you so deeply it makes you dizzy, and as he does, he very slowly pulls your arm from your chest, leaving you vulnerable—free for the taking. 

His touch is soft enough to tickle as he brushes over one of your nipples, making you exhale against him and arch your back like a silent plea for more. He traces around the bud, makes it pebble before carefully rolling it between two fingers.

Warmth spills into your gut, makes you squirm on the bed, and a moan makes its way from your throat as Mike gently tugs at the sensitive flesh. He lowers his head again, lavishing the same kind of attention on your other nipple with his mouth. He nibbles and licks and sucks, and you wriggle and whimper beneath him, one hand trailing down his body until you’re able to close your fingers around the head of his cock. 

Mike grunts, thrusts into your hand a couple times, enough to make precum drool from his tip, but before he can get too carried away, he says just above a whisper, “Let me get you ready,” then moves to lay between your spread legs.

Sliding his arms under your thighs, he locks them into place, and you release a shaky breath, feeling his eyes taking you in for several seconds before licking up your slit once then pushing deeper.

“Oh, fu—”

Both your hands shoot downward, one gripping the messy bun at the back of his head as you shudder at the sensation of his beard against your pussy. You’re wet in seconds, core pulsing as Mike uses his tongue to slowly open you up, then pulls back to flick over your clit. 

“Mike—Mike—”

He hums into you, shaking his head slowly back and forth, no doubt making a mess of his face and you. You don’t have anything to say, just feel your throat tightening like there are unspoken words that need to come out, but you can’t think straight, not when he’s doing what he’s doing, not when you feel the tips of his fingers reaching out to spread your lips. 

He is thorough bordering on methodical, makes sure you’re at the point of full body shakes before he gives you a break, and then, when your breathing returns to a normal rate, he starts all over again. There is a tightness in your gut that builds and builds then dissipates every time he stops, and he must know because when you whine in frustration, Mike just grins and kisses the inside of your thighs. 

The same pattern is repeated with his fingers, just one at first, massaging your walls perfectly, then a second that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. He rubs over the swelling tissue inside of you, seems to enjoy every little gasp and noise you make, including the unsatisfied one you let out when he pulls his fingers from you. 

You can feel how damp the bedspread is underneath you, can see the evidence of your arousal on Mike’s face, and it makes you flush but doesn’t stop you from tugging him down for another messy kiss. 

“You ready?” He asks, sounding just as breathless as you feel, and you nod furiously, bending your knees and planting your feet on the mattress so that you can lift your hips to his. 

Mike chuckles, reaches down between the two of you to take hold of his length and taps your clit with his cockhead a couple times—simultaneously the most infuriating and most erotic thing you’ve ever experienced. Slowly, he lines himself up, just barely pushing forward, and when you bite your lip and squeeze your eyes shut, Mike tells you to, “Breathe, baby, open up for me.”

He already sounds wrecked, like he’s fighting the urge to just sheathe himself entirely, but he waits, giving you one inch at a time with periods of adjustment in between. You always sort of figured he was big, but this burning stretch is something you hadn’t imagined even in your lewdest of fantasies. You’re incredibly full, feel him in your gut and throat and everywhere, but it isn’t bad; it’s just a lot. 

“Okay,” you stroke the forearm next to your head and nod. “Okay, you can start moving more.”

Mike’s brow creases. “You’re sure?”

“About as sure as I can be with a monster cock inside m-me—” Your laugh turns to a moan as Mike begins to pull out, eyes trained on your face for any sign of real discomfort, but your mouth just drops open, your own eyebrows raising at the feeling of his length hitting every one of your most sensitive spots. 

“Holy…”

He pushes back in quickly, still mindful of what your body can take, and when all you do is cry his name and scratch down his back, Mike starts up a steady rhythm that has you seeing god. 

That tightness is back, hotter than before, threatening to burn you up entirely as your cunt flutters and spasms and leaks around Mike’s length. 

The sound of a hoarse groan makes you open your eyes, and you follow Mike’s line of vision to where you’re connected, see his cock sliding in and out of you, dripping slick and ringed in white cream toward the base. The sight makes you clench around him, and Mike swears under his breath then leans forward to gather you in his arms. Your head lolls back as he lifts you, sitting on his knees for just a second before falling onto his back and letting you drop onto him. 

You choke, and Mike pants, but his hands are tight at your hips, moving you up and down his length like a sleeve. His pupils are blown wide when you look down at him, hair nearly entirely out of its tie, bottom row of teeth exposed as his jaw slides almost primally. 

He looks completely lost in you, possessed as he fucks up into your pussy rougher than before. You bounce in his lap, whimpering his name with every thrust, growing in volume when you feel a finger press against your clit. 

“You gonna come for me?” Mike grits out, rubbing a circle over the swollen bundle as his eyes flick from your chest to your face. 

You nod, ignoring the burning in your thighs in favor of the sensation between your hips. “Yeah, I—I—Fuck, Mike—”

“Come on, baby, come on—wanted to see this for years, come all over my cock…”

You snap, legs shaking as your climax crashes through you. Your cunt pulses around Mike, coating him in more of your juices and making him groan and fuck you through it. You whine at the stimulation, swollen walls so sensitive yet taking everything he has to give you.

Every thrust to your g-spot makes you gush a little more, come a little longer, until all you can do is fall onto his chest and let him use you as he needs to. You leave marks on his pecs, bites and scratches, and Mike grunts at every one of them until he sits up and flips you once again.

“Where do you want me?”

“Anywhere, I don’t care, I don’t care,” you babble.

Mike inhales sharply then lets out a long groan as he pulls out and shoots his load onto your stomach. It’s warm and thick, some pooling in your belly button as Mike makes a trail down to your clit where he smears the last few drops. You twitch at the contact, hole clenching around nothing now, but you can already feel soreness settling into your muscles. 

Mike gives you two little pecks on the mouth, then one last, longer kiss before rolling to lay on the mattress beside you, chest rising and falling with deep breaths.

This silence doesn’t bother you. It gives you time to come back to your senses, to reflect, to remember everything that was said which leads you to ask, “You meant that—about wanting this for years?”

Mike turns his head and smiles so sincerely it almost brings tears to your eyes. 

“Well, yeah. Been in love with you pretty much since I started at the park.”

He says it so casually, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and maybe it is, but it still makes your breath catch. 

“Seriously?” You turn to lay on your side, and Mike mimics the action, propping his head up with one hand while he lets the other settle on your waist. 

He lifts an eyebrow and questions, “Is that so hard to believe?” 

“No, I just… Thought it was one-sided on my end, I guess. Like, we were too good of friends.” Mike leans forward to gently headbutt you, and you snort to yourself, “Guess I was wrong.”

“We were both being stupid,” he mumbles. “But, we were also focused on other things, married to the job or whatever.”

Lifting your face makes him lift his, and you smile into another kiss, feeling happier and more balanced than you have in a very long time. 

Without much more discussion, you and Mike get up to rinse off, sharing more soft touches under the spray of the shower before crawling into bed together. Falling asleep feels like coming home.

You don’t even mind the smug grin on Nanaba’s face when she sees you and Mike leave your house together in the morning, nor the teasing jabs Gelgar throws your way over lunch. You don’t know if anything is capable of knocking you out of your perfect, peaceful little world on this perfect, peaceful little homestead.

Except maybe a supereruption, of course. 

E - D A Y 

It happens right in the middle of the morning news. You and Mike are sipping on coffee, expecting the same report you’ve gotten every day— “Nothing yet, closely monitoring, blah blah”—but as the English news anchor tries to introduce the meteorologist, he stops, holds a hand to the speaker in his ear, then looks at the camera with wide yes. 

“I’m—I’m getting news that the Yellowstone supervolcano has just begun to erupt, we’re cutting to the US address at Washington D.C. now—”

And just like that, Levi’s face is suddenly on screen, picking him up mid-sentence. 

“... One vent open at the present time, but more will open shortly. Stay indoors, ration your food. This is what we’ve been preparing for.” He looks tired, and when you do the math, you understand why: seven AM in Norway is one AM in D.C., meaning Levi was probably woken up to make the announcement. 

As always, you can make out Erwin’s figure behind him, hands clasped tight and shaking, and it isn’t until Mike puts a hand on your shoulder that you realize you are trembling right along with your old boss.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay,” he reassures you. “We’re gonna be okay here.”

You nod and let him pull you closer to him as both of you look back to the screen and listen to what your old colleagues have to say.

The news stays on for the rest of the day. At around ten, the second vent opens up. Then another. Then another. Levi keeps track, expression never betraying the fear he must be feeling, even when he delivers the message that a full ring around the caldera has opened up. 

“Obviously, we can’t get in close enough to look, but we estimate at least two thousand four hundred and fifty cubic kilometers of eruptible magma will pour from the volcano. That’s the size of the eruption from around two million years ago, but it could be worse with the current number of vents…”

The journalists on site, usually so ready to ask questions and challenge Levi, are silent today, and you imagine they’re staring with eyes the size of saucers, not quite believing what they’re hearing because it’s happening. It’s finally happening. 

You eat a quiet, solemn lunch at Nanaba and Gelgar’s, no one knowing what to say. You feel nauseous, stunned, not unlike losing a loved one. You’re able to forget the absolute destruction taking place in the states for a few minutes at a time, but it always comes back to you, punching you in the gut with the same, brute force every time.

The park. The lab. The forests. The towns. Cities, states, homes, lives, all wiped off the map. 

Erwin takes Levi’s place as public speaker close to five, probably to let the other man get some sleep, and reports that the portable seismogram, still linked to the remaining seismographs located around the park, show that there are near continuous earthquakes taking place, “Which could either help should enough earth shift to block the magma chamber, or make things worse by disrupting it further.”

“E is not very good at keeping people’s hopes up,” you mutter, and Mike chuckles.

“Yeah, I see why he makes Levi do all the talking now.”

You both receive texts from the rest of the team, Levi’s coming at an appropriate time but the others reaching you at odd hours of the night when you’re nestled in Mike’s arms.

Neither of you sleep as reality sets in the rest of the way. That was it. The beginning of the end of everything you know. Everything is about to change.

You sniff, try to be as quiet as possible as the tears you’ve been holding back all day finally begin to fall, but Mike knows, feels your body stiffen as you curl into yourself. 

He hugs you close to him but doesn’t say anything, just rests his cheek against yours and holds your hand. 

There’s nothing anyone can say to make this better, no amount of optimism or determination that will make this any easier. Your home is covered in miles of pyroclastic flow, and as it hasn’t stopped yet, you know this is just the start. Soon, anything left alive will be suffocated by the tephra, people, animals, and vegetation alike. Though you won’t die where you are, everyone at the ranch will be feeling the effects soon enough.

Your mother calls from France where her and your dad decided to “vacation” for the next several years. She’s worked up about not being able to get through to you for almost an entire day, and even as you reassure her that you’re mostly fine, she hears the way your voice cracks and offers to fly to Norway.

“Mom, the airports are shut down by now,” you sigh. “We already talked about this. We can’t see each other for a while, but we’ll FaceTime until we can’t anymore.” Until the cell towers are knocked out, you don’t say.

“I just know my baby girl is hurting right now. I know how much you loved—”

“I know,” you cut her off, scared that hearing it from her mouth will just make you lose it again. “I know, but I’m okay here with Mike and everyone else.”

“You’re sure?” She sniffles, sounding a lot like you. “Cause your father and I will find a way to get to you if you need us.”

“I’m sure, Mom,” you tell her with a sad smile she can’t see. “Get some rest, okay?”

You share many calls like that, many ill-timed text messages until the eruption finally comes to an end six days later. The damage it’s done is incalculable—the entirety of the United states now covered in a cloud of ash that blocks out the sun. 

It doesn’t reach you for a few days, but every time you go outside, Mike sniffs the air and mumbles something like, “Smells like sulfur,” or “It’s getting closer”, but after another week, the entire globe is covered. 

1  M O N T H  A F T E R

Everything is an estimation. Everyone knows that a massive amount of magma erupted, but they don’t know how much. Everyone knows that a large number of people have died, but they don’t know how many. There are too many mysteries, and it’s nowhere near safe enough to send search crews out. 

Despite all the warnings, people are still trying to go outside—to see the ash, to review the damage, but even with cloth or medical grade masks, they’re breathing in the dangerous particles floating in the air, tiny minerals that turn to a cement-like substance in their lungs, and because of that, the death count is only rising. 

News reports cut in and out, as do phone calls. Some texts never get sent or received, so all you truly have is your little home and Mike. 

And, you cry, and you mourn, and you miss your friends and family—fuck, you don’t even know how you’ll survive so long without them—but you also revel in the fact that you’re safe. Not everyone can say that. The fact that you had almost willingly stayed in the most dangerous zone of the explosion is laughable now. There’s no way you and Erwin would have survived that, something he agrees with you on when you share a short phone call with him just to check how he and Levi are doing. 

They’ll be staying at the Homeland Security compound for the forseeable future, but he assures you they’re well-prepared to brave the years-long gray storm. 

Without any livestock to take care of, or mouths to feed other than yours and Mike’s, you find yourself with an abundance of free time. You still have power thanks to the solar panels and the couple of windmills set up around the ranch, but you don’t know how long that will last. 

You both read a lot, do puzzles together, fall into bed both out of desire and just because there’s not much better to do.

And, that part of your apocalyptic life is kind of great. Mike is great. He takes care of you both in and out of the bedroom, is gentle with you until you tell him not to be, and then he’s more than happy to succumb to your needs. He’d invested in a frankly absurd amount of condoms before the eruption so he wouldn’t have to worry about pulling out every time, but every once in a while you want him like you had him the first time—desperate and passionate and completely raw. 

That’s the feeling you’re experiencing tonight, staring at Mike from your place on the couch rather than at the book in your hands.

You see him smile before he actually looks at you, but when he does, he has a glint in his eyes you’ve gotten very familiar with over the last month. 

“Need something, baby?”

You bite your lip to keep from grinning too bashfully and glance back down at the open pages on your lap. “Nuh uh.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm,” you nod. 

“Really?” Mike puts down the wildlife magazine he’s perusing and leans closer to you. “’Cause it looks like you might want something.”

You cross your legs, flip a page you haven’t even read, and shake your head. 

It’s a dumb game you’ve both started to play, who can hold out the longest. Of course, the longest record is one you both hold—four years and some odd months—but other than that, you usually make it two or three days at most.

But it’s hard with him walking around looking like he does, and for someone so quiet, Mike is mischievous and handsy, knowing just how to rile you up only to walk away and leave you to whatever you were doing before. He whispers in your ear, he grabs your ass, sometimes he’ll just stand right behind you in the kitchen and inhale, trace his nose up your neck so that you shiver and break out in goosebumps, then mumble a shameless, “You smell nice.”

He’s troublingly good at driving you crazy, and you realize this is why it took you so long to actually get together. You can’t imagine being this wound up and wanton in the lab with everyone there to see. 

“You know,” Mike speaks again. You look at him from the corner of your eyes as he leans back against the cushions and nonchalantly kicks an ankle over his thigh. “A lot of people are dying. Like, thousands. Millions.”

Frowning, you nod. “Uh, yeah. Worldwide disaster taking place.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame,” he adds. His lips twitch upward for a second before he purses them, waiting for another couple seconds then stating, “Should probably start thinking about… Efforts to repopulate.”

Eyes widening, you tilt your head to the side in disbelief, a short, incredulous laugh bubbling from your throat.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Mike Zacharias!” 

Reaching behind you, you grab a throw pillow and launch it at him. Mike shields himself easily, choking and chuckling as he tries to defend himself, “I’m just—saying! It’s something to keep in mind!”

“Trying to guilt me into sex—” You smack his forearms with the pillow again, “As if I’m not already easy for you—" smack, smack, “—by bringing up all the people dying out there. What is the matter with you?”

He gets a hold of the pillow and rips it from your hands then hugs it to his chest and stares at you with that uncharacteristically devious look. “Is it working?”

You scoff at him, gently kick at his thigh in one last act of defiance before responding, “I mean, kinda.”

And, that’s all he needs to hear before he’s throwing himself at you, pinning you to the couch even as you giggle and squirm, ridding you of the comfortable clothes you have on so that he can kiss and lick every part of you he can reach. He acts like he’s hungry for you, and you have to use all your strength to shove him off of you just so that you can work his pants off and return the favor. 

Mike is all grunts and curses as you work him over with your tongue, a hand on the back of your head heavy but not pressuring. He trembles as you take him deeper, his tip hitting the back of your throat and sliding just a little further. 

It always hurts your jaw, leaves it sore for a full twenty-four hours at least, but the way his jaw drops and his hands ball into fists make it worth it. 

You use one hand to stroke what your mouth can’t reach, the other settling between your own thighs to get you to where you need to be, and only when Mike is panting and you’re dripping slick into your curled palm do you pull off of him.

He helps you into his lap, lets you take your time sliding down his length, because even after as much practice as you’ve had, it hasn’t exactly gotten easier. He’s still massive, and you still have to will yourself to relax around him, but once your muscles have loosened enough, you begin to rock your hips. 

Mike lets you use him like that for a few minutes, knows he’s at the perfect angle to rub over your g-spot, so he just watches and leans forward to place teasing kisses around your open mouth. 

“Feel good, baby?” His voice drips like honey as he grips onto you to aid in your movement. 

Nodding, you dig your nails into his shoulders, then shift to start moving up and down his length. Mike takes it as his cue to take over completely, strong enough to lift and drop you as he pleases, and you both fall into a frenzy of motion, desperate to get off, to get each other off, to share that euphoria. 

“Do you actually want to?” You ask in a daze.

Mike cracks his eyes open to ask, “What?” and slows down enough to give you enough breathing room to speak. “Do I wanna what?”

Making lazy air quotes with your fingers, you mimic his deep voice, “Repopulate,” then elaborate, “Have kids. Do you want that?” 

Everything stops. Your hips still, as do Mike’s, and he stares at you, the lusty haze of his gaze clearing as he processes what you’re asking. 

Feeling completely exposed, you try to rationalize, “I know, I know, we’ve only been doing this for, like, a month, and it’s kind of a terrible time to actually bring new life into the world, but if I’m gonna do it with anyone—”

Mike fists both hands in the hair at the back of your head, pulls you to him to smash your lips together. When he starts bouncing you again, your muffled moan is still loud in the small living room, and Mike’s voice comes out somewhere between desperate and destroyed when he tells you, “Yeah, I want kids. Want you to have my kids.”

“Okay,” you breathe, matching his rhythm, then again, “Okay.”

A switch seems to flip in Mike’s head. You watch and experience him devolve into someone—something—primal. He fucks you like he never has before, long hair hanging in his face, lip caught between his teeth as he groans around it, pistoning into you quick and rough.

“You want it?” He growls, pausing to suck a mark at the swell of your breast. “You want me to come in this pussy?”

Your heart stutters, jaw dropping slightly because Mike isn’t a vulgar man, never has been, but now, the way he’s looking up at you with wild eyes, you know all he needs is the right push, and he’ll lose it completely. 

“Yeah, fuck, want you to fill me up, please,” you whine.

Your world tilts as he tosses you long ways on the couch, sliding back into you with ease and demanding, “Touch yourself.”

You grin slyly, “What, don’t have the focus?”

“Not really,” he admits, flicking sweaty hair from his eyes. 

Two of your fingers find your clit, massaging it the way you always do when you’re desperate for an orgasm. It makes you clamp tighter around Mike, and you tell him again—beg for him— “Please, baby, want you so bad.”

He comes quicker than usual, shooting line after line deep inside of you until it starts dripping out around his cock. 

He can’t stay inside you for long, unable to take the way you keep clenching and twitching from your own ministrations, so Mike pulls out and shimmies down your body so that his face is just above your cunt. At first, he just stares (like always), admiring your swollen folds and how messy you are, but soon he pushes a finger into you, attaching his mouth to your clit shortly after.

It doesn’t take you long. The thought of him fingerfucking his cum further into you paired with the actual sensation of it sends you over the edge within a few minutes, and the two of you are left sweaty and panting, too drunk off each other to really think about the gravity of what you’ve just done but enjoying it all the same. 

The feeling eventually returns to your legs, some of the fog in your brain dissipating as you run your hand through Mike’s hair, and when you find that you can, you voice, “Can we even handle a kid? Or like… Can a kid handle the world as it is?”

“Kids are weirdly resilient,” Mike speaks, face pressed against your stomach so that you can feel the vibrations. “And, maybe there’ll eventually be a race of super babies or something—have enhanced lungs to deal with ash. Darkvision and shit.”

You snort and shake your head. “Dummy.”

He retaliates by blowing a raspberry just above your belly-button, grins lopsidedly when you squeal. 

“But really, our kids’ll be fine. Volcanologist for a mom and an Eagle Scout for a dad? Doesn’t get much better than that.”

“Oh my god, you were actually in Boy Scouts? Does Levi know?”

Mike makes a little ‘pft’ sound and shoots you an unimpressed look. “Of course not. Like, I’d ever let that tiny, tiny man be right about anything.”

Your laugh is so deep and genuine, it makes your whole body shake. Mike raises his head to keep it from bouncing so much, but you can feel him staring for the duration of your giggle fit. Even through squinted, teary eyes, you can see his gaze is full of adoration, and you figure having two parents who love each other as much as the two of you do will at least make the hard life ahead of you a little easier for a child. 

4  Y E A R S  A F T E R

Heavy snow falls outside, adding to the thick layers on the ground and clouding the window you’re staring out of. The carrier is nicely heated, ensuring you and its other two occupants stay toasty as you keep eye out for incoming headlights. 

“Think that’s them,” Mike says, and you swivel to look out his driver’s side window to see two dull beams of light growing brighter and brighter. 

“Don’t know who else it would be,” you joke. “No one else is dumb enough to come back to this place.”

The only sign of your husband raising his eyebrows is the way his hat shifts slightly. “You’re right about that.”

Cinching fur-lined hoods tighter, you both slide out of the tram, boots crunching on ice and snow when you land on the ground. Mike circles to your side, opens the back door, then unbuckles and collects what looks to be a bundle of jackets in his arms. Two light eyes peer out between a beanie and a face mask, gloved hands reaching out and grabbing for you. 

“You want Mama?” Mike coos before passing your son to you.

You settle him on your hip, rub his shielded nose with yours, hoping your body heat will help keep him warm out here.

It’s been winter for… Years, now, the ash from the eruption having behaved exactly as you thought it would, blocking out the sun, and sending the planet hurtling into another ice age. It was something not everyone was prepared for—the intense cold, the food and water shortage, the isolation, but you were lucky. You had everything you needed.

The other snow vehicle stops a ways off, lights left on as two figures jump out, recognizable even when completely covered up. One is nearly as tall as Mike, the other considerably smaller even up close. 

Pulling his mask down, Erwin shows a brilliant smile as he stops in front of you and Mike, and Levi immediately protests— “Oi, cover your mouth, old man! You need it for more than just talking shit.”

Mike laughs, but still reprimands the other man with a pointed, “Levi,” and a nod toward the little boy you’re holding. 

“Fuck—I mean…” Levi takes in a deep breath then apologizes over the whistling wind and falling snow, “Sorry, Huck.”

Bouncing him on your hip, you peer at your son and prompt, “Huckleberry, you remember Levi and Erwin from the computer?” 

Though your team has seen him many times on Zoom and FaceTime, this is first time Huck is meeting any of them in the flesh.

Your son looks between them for a while, quiet as he sizes up both of the men, then he reaches out for Levi the same way he had for you just moments before. Levi makes a dissatisfied noise but still takes him from you, and once Huck is passed off, you shuffle to Erwin and wrap your arms around him, breathing into his chest and warming your face. 

Your boss squeezes you tightly, mutters a low, “I know, I missed you too.”

It isn’t enough to drown out Levi’s sing-song baby voice, and both you and Erwin glance over to find him with his forehead pressed to Huck’s as he teases, “Can’t believe your parents named you after a volcanic eruption. That was pretty dumb, right?”

Mike glides over, places one hand on Huck’s head and the other on Levi’s, then sighs. “Please don’t criticize my wife’s terrible taste in nam—”

“Hey! You agreed to it,” you shout, taking the little boy back from Levi and glaring at both the smiling men. “Better shut up before you give him a complex. He can understand things, you know. He’s three.”

“Huckleberry Pine Zacharias,” Levi scoffs. “I cannot stand you guys.”

“I think it’s a great name,” Erwin interjects, lightly tapping Huck’s nose under his mask. 

“Well, you have shit taste, too.”

“Obviously, if I married a little gremlin like you,” Erwin drawls easily, leaning into the punch that Levi throws into his arm.

“Anyway, we’re here for a reason, right? Other than freezing our asses off?”

“Yeah,” Mike nods, kicking at the snow on the ground like it’ll make a difference. 

All of you know that buried beneath all the white is dried pyroclast, but under that… 

Is what remains of Yellowstone.

“How do we even go about rebuilding?” Mike is the first to ask.

Erwin stares at his own feet, face scrunched up in thought for a while before looking back up and stating, “From the bottom. Everything starts with a good foundation.”

Levi just scoffs, but you and Mike lock eyes and share a hidden grin. 

You take Huck back from Levi, leaning in for a side hug as you do, then suggest to everyone, “Well, then, now that we’ve seen a little of what we’re working with, we should head back to the shelter and start making a plan.”

“Yeah,” Levi agrees. “Gotta start getting ready for the next eruption due in seven hundred thousand years, right?”

“Right.”

After splitting back up into the two separate carriers, Mike follows closely behind the other in order to make it to their newly built bunker without getting lost. It’s perpetually dark from the never ending snow and cloud coverage, hazardous even with the vehicle’s tracks, but you can’t find it in yourself to be scared. Not now, not when life finally feels to be returning to something close to normal. 

[calif0rnia-lovers]

#1: the proposal | plan b.

pairing: angel reyes x black!reader | chapter rating: 💙

total # of parts in series: 10

join my gc for updates since tags are acting weird

I keep falling for boys and mistaking them for men

series sum: After several failed relationships, you decide that you’re over waiting for Mr. Right to come around and help start a family. In a drunken ramble, you ask your best friend if he’ll be your donor. You didn’t expect him to say yes. As you and Angel enter uncharted waters, you both realize neither of you fully thought the initial proposal through.

words: 1.8 K

What is it they say…hope breeds eternal misery.

Or, as Angel Reyes likes to say, “I don’t know why you’re wasting time on that asshole.”

Asshole is the nicest term you can dub your boyfriend--correction, your ex-boyfriend.

Ex-boyfriend.

It’s strange how quickly two letters--a simple prefix--can change your life.

One minute, you’re joining your boyfriend and his family on a getaway to the beach. The next, you’re being kindly escorted out of a restaurant for tossing a drink in his face.

When you’d left Santo Padre Friday afternoon, you had a single thought in your mind. He’s finally going to propose. The nervous behavior, the talks about moving to a bigger apartment, him inviting you to a weekend getaway with his family.

How else would a rational person explain this behavior?

Well, according to Michael, all of those things do not add up to a proposal. They add up to “softening the blow."

As you sit on the curb waiting for your uber, with Michael's big splurge of the evening in hand--a bottle of Cabernet, you realize his explanation was complete bullshit. How is dragging you to Santa Monica for the weekend "softening the blow?" If he was going to break up with you, he could have done it in Santo Padre.

As you double-check the ETA on your uber, you remember.

Michael didn't drag you to Santa Monica to break up with you. He dragged you to Santa Monica to ask you to "take a break."

Apparently, there's a difference.

As Michael put it, with his birthday fast approaching, he'd had an epiphany. He needed time to "get out there" and "explore" his options.

"We're in our thirties," he'd explained. "We only have a few years left before we're expected to settle down, have kids. I think we should take this time to get everything out of our system, so by the time we come back together, we're ready to start that family you're always talking about."

The nervousness you'd seen the past two weeks? Had nothing to do with hiding a ring, or trying to find the perfect opportunity to pop the question. The nervousness was Michael trying to find the right time to ask you not to renew the lease of the apartment, you share, at the end of the month.

The talk about upgrading to a bigger apartment? Had nothing to do with having an extra room for the kid you've both talked about having. It was so that he could move in with his two best friends.

Michael’s epiphany left you in shock. You were caught between realizing the entire revelation wasn’t a complete joke and realizing you were expected to ride home with his family in the morning. The drink tossing didn’t come until Michael rubbed his hands together, a knowing smile sliding onto his face.

Taking your shocked silence as a lack of protest to his idea, Michael nodded over his shoulder. “You wanna head back up to the room...have some fun our last night together?”

The weight of Samantha--wait. No. Savanna...Sabrina? No, Salena.

The weight of Salena’s body presses Angel into the mattress. Her body is nearly directly on top of his, her face nuzzled into the warmth of his neck.

He’s not used to women sleeping over. Angel has one rule. He wants to sleep alone. Translation, be gone when he wakes in the morning.

That’s why, when he wakes to the sound of a slamming door, Angel is pissed.

His initial thought is that Salena let the door slam on her way out. The only problem is, Salena is still in bed with him--sleeping soundly. If she wasn’t, he would have been up able to react quicker. Because if it’s not Salena leaving, it means that someone is coming in.

“You need to go,” Angel mumbles as he manages to escape her grip.

Salena responds by rolling over and ignoring his request.

When he leaves his bedroom, Angel finds his entire house in darkness. His hand runs down his face as your voice fills the air.

"Ow--shit!" Your keys and purse fall to the floor as you bump into the coffee table.

"Y/N, what are you doing?"

“What are you doing?” You counter the slurring of your speech causing Angel’s head to shake. “...standing in the dark like a fucking creep.”

“Are you drunk?”

Your head shakes. Even if half-asleep, Angel knows you’re not drunk. You’re hammered, at least by your standards. He’s known you long enough to realize you’re a lightweight. A two and a half-hour ride with a bottle of Cabernet meant you were well past your limit.

“And why are you back early--did you drive here?”

“No,” you scoff. “I took an uber obviously--”

A second trip into the coffee table silences the rest of your response.

“Alright, come on--” Angel takes your hand in his, preventing you from falling forward.

“I don’t need your help.” Yanking your hand free of his grip--with more force than necessary--you stumble backward. Between the late hour and his body still attempting to shake off its grogginess, the action is too fast for Angel to predict. “Or any man’s help for that matter...fucking men--always thinking they need to save me--”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you--and fucking...fucking Michael--that piece of shit...” Despite your previous attempt to escape him, you turn on your heels causing Angel to bump into you. Instinctively, his hands find your waist. An innocent attempt to help maintain your balance. “--I said I don’t need help walking, Angel--”

“Clearly.” The smirk on his lips narrows your eyes.

The pathetic attempt of a shove you apply to his chest is enough to tip your already unsteady balance.

In his defense, Angel isn’t used to “rescuing” you from a drunk faceplant. Usually, the roles are reversed.

It may not be the smartest move, but it’s the quickest way to prevent another one of your escape attempts. Angel tightens his grip on your waist, pulling a small yelp from your lips as he lifts you off the ground throwing you over his shoulder.

The sudden shift in your posture blurs your vision--sending the room spinning. The rush of blood to your head causes your palm to come down hard in frustration against Angel’s back.

“Put me down…” Angel’s head shakes as your slurred speech trails off for a moment. Seizing the break in your resistance, he carries you across the darkened room towards the security of the sofa. “...what the hell are you doing in my house anyway?”

“This is my house.” Angel huffs as he lowers you onto the sofa. “If you get up, I’m not stopping you. I'm serious, I'll let you bust your ass this time.”

But moving from the sofa has already left your mind. Instead, your focus has drifted. Scanning the living room as Angel disappears. Despite his words, you're still not sure why you've ended up at his house and not yours.

“Here drink this,” Angel sighs as he returns. He hopes the glass of water will miraculously sober you up. Between failing to kick Salena out, and you showing up drunk at 3 in the morning, Angel is considering giving up women. At least for a few hours.

Angel’s steps come to a slow halt as he rounds the sofa to find you gone. Somehow, in the time it took him to fill a glass with water, you have slid down to the floor. Your back against the sofa, you’ve given up the impossible task of unfastening your heels. Instead, you’re tugging at them. Groans of frustration fill the air once the heels remain in place.

The shaky breaths and trembling of your fingers widen Angel’s eyes.

“Shit--are you crying?”

“I’m not crying.” The shaking of your head only seems to push the tears out faster. The blurring of your vision makes the task at hand impossible. “I’m not crying.”

“My bad, you’re not crying,” Angel repeats, hopeful it’ll make the crying stop. Handling a crying woman is not his strongest suit. In fact, he tries to avoid crying women at all costs. He focuses on the easier task of removing your heels. He offers you an encouraging smile once he’s done. “See, you’re all good.”

“No, I’m not.” Reaching forward, you grab the nearest heel, launching it as hard as you can. “Michael got me these.”

You manage to grab the second heel before Angel can. You launch it in the same direction as the first.

“I’ve always hated those ugly fucking shoes.”

The second heel doesn’t land in the middle of the floor like its predecessor. Instead, it flies straight into Salena’s arm as she rounds the corner.

“Ow--what the fuck? Angel!”

The overhead light cuts on, temporarily blinding both you and Angel. When you open your eyes, you find a half-dressed Salena standing over you. Your discarded heel in her left hand, her narrowed eyes focused on you.

"So, this is why you wanted me to leave? Your girlfriend is home?"

"Neither of us is his girlfriend, sweetheart." you correct.

“I’m not sleeping in your bed ever again,” you clarify, your voice muffled against your palms. “Not until you wash your sheets.”

In the time it took to get Salena out of the house you’ve found that your body has begun to crash. The idea of laying down the only thought of your mind. That’s why the moment he’s settled alongside you on the floor, Angel’s shoulder becomes your pillow.

“Please don’t say I told you so.”

Passing up the opportunity to be right, is not in Angel’s nature. But one look at you, he’s biting his tongue.

“I never liked him.”

“You've never liked anyone I’ve dated,” you laugh quietly.

“That’s because you only date assholes.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Exactly.”

Angel's arm drapes around you, the gentle squeeze he gives bringing a weak smile to your lips.

“That’s it,” you sigh. “I’m done dating. Forever.”

“Dating is overrated,” Angel notes.

It’s a phrase Angel has told you nearly a million times over the years. Typically, after you’ve watched him ensnare yet another naive woman with his smile. You typically roll your eyes at Angel's mantra, but right now, you don’t even bother.

“I’m serious, if you see me even blinking at the same guy twice grab me.”

“Yeah, okay,” Angel chuckles.

He knows there's no point in taking the promise any further. If Angel is a cynic when it comes to dating, you’re the poster child for hopeless romantics.

When you fall in love, you fall hard. When you get heartbroken, the fallout hits the hardest.

“I can’t wait until my forties to have a kid.”

“What?”

“I’ll be in my sixties when they graduate high school--my sixties!”

“That’s what this is about?”

“...he doesn’t want kids...at least not right now...he wants time to explore other options before being shackled to me forever.”

“I’m going to kick his fucking ass.”

“When you do, can I watch?”

“Fuck that, you’re getting in a few hits.”

“I can’t believe I wasted three years on him, thinking he was going to help me start a family,” you groan. “When I could’ve just asked you.”

Angel laughs, his smile growing as you giggle.

“I’m serious. Definitely would’ve happened faster.”

“If you want to have sex with me, there are much easier ways--”

“Shut up, it is not about sex,” you assure him as your eyes drift shut. “I actually pride myself in being one of the few women in this town you haven’t slept with. Being immune to your charm is a superpower.”

“You still ended up here tonight,” Angel grins.

You softly smile.

“That’s because you’re my best friend, and you always give the best hugs when I feel like shit.”

series taglist: @youlovetkay @mochachocolatteyaya @chaneajoyyy @sesamepancakes

angel + all mayans tags: @turn-thy-paige @finalgirlhales @jadesid @poetically-0riginal @diaryofkali @babaohhhriley @katastrophic04 @partypoison00 @rose-bliss @mayansxlover @joannasteez @headrushxreeta @brwnlikefoxy @nemesis729 @destiny-tsukino @inyourbackpocketisbutterflies @straightestgay-voice

all stories: @rosieposie0624 @amberritonicole @agoldin @est1887@toni9 @chaneajoyyy @relaxing-najee @awkwardtayler @siempremamita @seize-the-droid @glimmerglittergirl @cutiebubbleboo @pearlkitten33 @tian-monique @megapeacelovemusic-blog @sincerelykas @brattyfics @ladyofsoa@browneyes912 @beiroviski @sadeyesgf @mrsmarvelous1995 @everyhowlmarksthedead @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @demonquartz @appropriate-writers-name @ughdontbeboring @cocotheclown @thesandbeneathmytoes @queenbeered @starrynite7114 @wiccanmetallicrose @tomhardydallasstarsgirl

[ddaengstudies]

Wabi-Sabi Studyblr Challenge

wabi-sabi (侘寂)

Combination of two old words with overlapping definitions, wabi-sabi might be the Buddhist view of the facts of existence: Both life and art are beautiful not because they are perfect and eternal, but because they are imperfect and fleeting. (japanology, 2016)

Hello again! As the semester ends and I'm (finally) graduating college, and after seeing you all enjoy my last challenge, I was willing to create another one, a different one this time, cause I know times have been hard, we are facing new changes as we go back to "normal life" and honestly we all need a bit of relaxation.

info.

wabi-sabi challenge is born out of this need to continuously question and improve the studyblr community, with the goal of visibilizing not only the pleasing aesthetics of it but the hard work and the struggles the students face while striving high to meet their goals.

This is a short challenge, so feel free to adapt it to your schedule, add it to another challenge, use it to post during your summer break, whatever fits you best.

I will be starting the challenge on June 7th, however, feel free to start, end, post, whenever it works best for you.

If you decide to join me in this challenge, use the hashtag #wabi-sabi studyblr challenge so I can keep track of your amazing posts and can reblog them!

aims.

As stated before, the aim of the wabi-sabi challenge is to shine a light and normalize to an extent, that academic journeys are not just the great things we mostly post, that there are as many bad days as there are good days, that we must embrace the journey as something beautiful in all of its imperfection.

Also, as you may already know, this is an effort to provide a safe space for all, times are still hard and we need to keep going, one step at a time.

rules.

If you want to do this challenge, please reblog this post

This is a short challenge, it should not be a burden to the way you post so you can post as frequently as you like/are able to.

Please be respectful. If some of the prompts ask for personal insights please have in mind that everyone has had different experiences and POVs.

prompts.

What series/movie has been sitting on your watchlist forever? And what is it that keeps pushing it back from being enjoyed?

If you're into podcasts, be honest, what podcast was added to your list to listen to someday but is just there? also, please recommend us a podcast.

Share us a playlist that's on top of the list because I'm sure there are others I want to hear but this one is already here on top so I might as well listen to it again.

Name that one book you bought and swear you're going to get to, probably have read the first three pages or so but now it's just there.

How often do you get the need to change your working space layout?

Rank your classes from most to least to make you want to scream your lungs out/cry.

If you're on TikTok, link us to a good one.

A hobby you picked up and haven't really had the time to go back to/didn't end up liking that much

Use this space to tell us anything in a "Today I learned" way

tag game (the linked page is a template, you could, of course, use any other tag game you'd like)

If comfortable, share with us a little bit of your researching process, do you make an outline? a schedule? and how well do you stick by it?

Okay, quick question, when was the last time you had a mental health day?

Pinterest is amazing, what's one pin that you came across and was like yeah, I could do that

Digital agenda, google calendar, notion, bullet journal, paper agenda, or something entirely different? do please tell us how well organizing your time has turned out for you.

Tell us a bit about your life journey, as much as you're comfortable sharing.

taglist.

a special thanks to @just-a-cup-of-anxietea @soaked-in-starlight @godzilla-studies @appreciating-apricity @coco-bean for replying to a post I made that ultimately helped put this challenge together.

I'm tagging people that took part in my last challenge, hopefully you'll want to be part of this too. If you want me to add you to the list so you can get reminded of it, reply to the post or send me a message, i'll remind you.

@myhoneststudyblr @gammastudies @studywithsab @productivebuddy @studyambitiouss @hopebooks @coffeambition @diaryofastemstudent @theologei @study-in-cafes @heyeducateyourself @cofitee @verypolish-studyblr @studycris @future-engr @studydiaryofamedstudent @coffee-catz @illya-studies  @problematicprocrastinator @fiercelittlestudyblr @serendistudy @bulletnotestudies @study-van @bright-goals​ @notebookist @study-van @kaoskuantico @messy-does-cosmology @bulletnotestudies

disclaimer.

I do have to clarify, this is all in good spirits, I do not intend to promote procrastination as self-destructive behaviour, this is all about non-linear productivity and the visibilization of it because we have grown accustomed to hiding the "ugly" the imperfect parts of our journeys as if forgetting that we are multidimensional beings, that we are allowed to not be mainstream productive 24/7. With that being said, don't push your limits too much with this challenge, do what you're comfortable with, share as much or as little as you'd like, you don't owe the internet insight into your personal/academic journey.

[animedaddymilkers]

Kinkmas 2020: Day Four

Prompt: Rope Play w/ Neji

Genre: Smut/18+ || Tags: Rope Play, Praise, Soft Dom, Sex || Characters: Neji Hyuuga, Female Reader || read it on ao3 here

"Don't move, (Y/N). I've already told you twice." Neji's irritated voice sounded from above you, followed by a sigh, "It will only make it hurt."

"But what if I want that~?" You teased with a smirk on your face and even though you couldn't see your boyfriend through the blindfold, you could feel his steely gaze.

He scoffed, "and how many times must I remind you, if you move while I'm tying, it will only result in your limbs going numb. Is that really the pain you want? You're well aware how long it takes to get you out of my rope. Now just hush and keep still, beloved."

No matter how annoyed Neji was with your antics, he always reminded you that his words weren't out of ire. The pet name tacked on to the end of his mini lecture was proof enough of that. So, you heed his warning and tried to stay as still as possible while the velvety rope was wound around your body expertly. Truly, he wasn't kidding when he said it took a while to get you out of his ropes, but it took even longer to get in them. Neji was an expert ropes master by now and you were his prized canvas. The shapes he created on your body were his masterpieces, each created with the utmost love. His fingers led the rope deftly around you, going even as far as undoing parts just to redo them. Everything had to be perfect, it's what you deserve after all.

As his hands deftly wound around your wrists, he pressed soft kisses into your neck. The kisses were light and barely there, until he made it to the one spot he knew you were most sensitive. When he reaches it, he licked your neck before sucking on the skin. You moaned much to his approval and the hand that wasn't holding the rope brushed up your arm, tracing over the material already wound around it. Ever the secret artist, Neji left an array of hickies along the back of your neck and shoulders. Those were definitely going to be a problem for future you. Right now though, you chose to focus on the rope that was finally being finished off after what seemed like an eternity.

"You're gorgeous," his tone was so much softer than before, every word dripping in adoration for you to the point where it made your face heat up, "Are you ready to see, my love?"

"Yes please."

With your answer, he untied your blindfold, light returning to your vision as you took in the sight of yourself in the mirror. His rope work was never something to laugh at. Hell, he never did anything short of perfection and this was clear when you took in every carefully planned knot and twist. Neji brushed his fingers against your hair, just barely touching you. In scenes like this he was always nearly afraid to touch you, as if you were made of glass. The heart shape left in the middle of your chest was a nice touch, usually he only did shapes with sharp edges and right corners. Meaning, he went out of his comfort zone this time and the thought was endearing. Another kiss was left on the unabused side of your neck, his hands wandering over his handiwork and lingering on the places where your flesh bulged in between the ropes.

After an inhale of breath Neji spoke again, his voice deeper now, "You look absolutely intoxicating."

His hands met yours and intertwined your fingers together. Next, your lips met, first in gentle embrace which quickly became more feverish and desperate. Sitting still and waiting as the material was wound around you, only moving when he asked, it was downright torture on a horny bitch. And so when you finally met his lips it was hard to hold back, you just wanted to show him how much you appreciated him making you this pretty. Though if you would voice it out loud with words he'd be quick to assure you that it was you who made the rope pretty, not the other way around. His hands wandered down to your tied together legs and gently pushed you to lean on your side. The new angle gave him access to your wetness from behind and he took advantage of it. He fingers moved up and down, smirking slightly at just how soaked you were from his tying.

A heavy sigh left your lips and you embraced the position more, fully laying down on your side. Neji's free hand continued to run over your skin while the other slowly slipped inside of your heat. He slowly fucked his finger into you before adding another. The rope on your thighs dug in as you tried to separate them to no avail. Another finger invaded you, this time curling and you moaned into the bedsheets.

"Let me hear you, my love. Your sounds are too delectable to hide."

His words alone had you moaning again, this time giving in and lifting your head. Your hips moved back onto his fingers before they completely left you altogether. Not evening giving you enough time to voice your contempt, Neji was helping you position yourself face down ass up on the bed. Or, at least, as ass up as you could get considering you couldn't bend your knees. Still, the sight was intoxicating to him and he attentively put pillows under your hips to help. Your tied arms outstretched in front of you gripped the sheets as Neji slowly slid into you. He bottomed out and groaned, hands running up and down the ropes along your hips. The feeling of him was always breathtaking, stretching you so pleasantly and thrusting solely to pleasure you. His first pace was always agonizingly slow, leaving you breathing heavily and nearly begging for more.

But Neji would never make you beg, no, he was far too infatuated with you to force you to beg on nights like these. Instead, he would whisper more sweet nothings into your ear, playing with your tightly tied breasts. It was good for distracting you for a while until he picked up the pace a bit. His hips kept moving, always trying to find that special spot of yours. And when he did he wouldn't leave it alone. You gasped and pushed your hips back into his and he knew he found it. That's when the show really began. His pace quickened and Neji's grip on your hips tightened, lifting you up to meet his cock. Both of your moans and pants mixed in the air between curses and prayers. The obscene sound of your hips meeting only makes you feel hotter as he kept abusing your g spot, practically daring you to go ahead and cum. Finally, you gave in to the suggestion, yelling out his name as you clenched around him.

Your orgasm shook your whole body, toes curling and pussy clenching. Neji was lucky to be able to fuck you through your orgasm but before you come down he's spiraling down his own climax. He grunts and holds your hips flush to his as his cock twitches inside of you. The aftermath is blissful as you two pant almost in unison, Neji slumped against your back. After regaining the willpower in his legs he slowly pulls out of you, admiring how his cum looks dripping out of you, contrasting the dark color of the rope. It doesn't last long though as he knows you need to be untied. With that he sets about the task, unraveling the rope at only a slightly faster pace than before.

"You were heavenly. I wish I could replay it on command. You're a work of art, beloved. You took it so well too."

His words barely stopped giving you praises as he untied and unwound your body from its aesthetic cage. To add to the praise, with every inch of skin he released, he'd kiss it tenderly. Most nights you found yourself lost in the hazy after sex thoughts about how he could kiss you constantly yet still talk so much. Not like you minded, having Neji talk was something you rarely were able to experience much in public. Given his quiet, stoic nature it was a stark contrast, a very welcome one. Especially given the topic his words were about. Your legs finally free, you stretched them out while Neji rubbed them, savoring in the indents the rope left. His hands slid up your legs and continued the process on your torso, deftly untying the knots.

Once you were finally free of the restraints you cupped your hand around Neji's cheek and pulled him in for a kiss. Now that you were basking in your post orgasm, sleep began to hit you. It felt so pleasant to be so satisfied and sleepy. As if all was right with the world and really, if Neji was by your side it was alright. His hands cleaned you up with a warm washcloth that you weren't exactly sure when he got. Still, the action was endearing, because heaven knows you did not want to get out of bed now. While he returned the washcloth you snuggled underneath the covers, reveling in his reappearance. As if he'd be able to resist coming back to you. Neji climbed into your waiting embrace and returned it happily as his arms wrapped around you. Sweet kisses were pressed to the top of your head as sleep quickly overtook the both of you. If every night you could fall asleep like this, that would truly be the best life.

hope you enjoyed! remember likes & reblogs help me reach more people! :)

[miraculouscontent]

I just checked the ML tag, and apparently, there's a new episode called "Gang of Secrets." Have you seen it? If yes, what happens in it?

Summary below:

- Episode opens with Ladybug having just used Miraculous Ladybug. After landing on a rooftop with her, Chat Noir compliments her strength and states that they’ve never fought a villain that fast before. He then goes to fist-bump her but she ignores him, seemingly distracted as she looks around. Chat Noir calls her, snapping her out of her trance, and asks her what’s wrong. She pretends to be okay and fist-bumps him, then yoyos higher up the rooftop and asks if they should do a patrol since they need to recheck if everything fine in Paris. Chat interjects and asks if she wants to tell him what’s wrong instead, noting that she didn’t even react when he called her “Bugaboo.” Ladybug still insists that everything is fine, saying that she has time left but she also doesn’t want to talk. Chat jumps up to her level and assures her that he knows the ideal place to “not talk,” to which Ladybug happily states that she’ll follow him there.

- Cut to Ladybug and Chat Noir in a movie theater with a romantic movie currently playing. Ladybug calls Chat Noir out for leading her into a “trap,” to which Chat shushes her and reminds her that she didn’t want to talk. Two movie-goers nearby glance at them for talking, Chat waving and then making a “shh” movement in response, to which they smile. Chat then fakes the stereotypical stretching motion to try and land his arm on Ladybug’s shoulder, but she stands up abruptly, shouting at the movie for the female lead to not tell her male love interest anything else.

- Chat Noir tries to tell Ladybug to keep her voice down, but she starts ranting about how romantic movies are lame and unrealistic. She goes to to say that, in real life, the girl takes a crazily long time to tell the boy that she loves him without stuttering, and it’s impossible to know if he loves her too, so she decides that she’s never going to be with him, and “boom,” she falls in love with someone else. Chat is getting progressively more uncomfortable at Ladybug’s outbursts and Ladybug goes onto say that everything is simple, “almost too easy,” no stammering, they hold and kiss, then--surprise, she has secrets and the boy hates secrets, which is normal, but then they have to breakup and everything’s miserable, the end. She criticizes romantic comedies for being “whatever” and Chat notices the the two moviegoers from earlier glaring at them, so he apologizes to them and leads Ladybug out of the theater.

- On the way out, Ladybug is offering the people in line for the theater advice by telling them not to see romantic comedies, suggesting that they see superhero movies instead: special effects, no feelings, no questions, and no one talks to each other because there’s nothing to say. She adds that at least they will have a good time, then finally leaves the theater in a huff, Chat Noir looking awkward and unable to do anything but wave and apologize at everyone before following Ladybug out.

- Chat walks behind Ladybug, who has gone from angry to sad/distressed. He comments that he didn’t understand everything she said and he knows nothing of her personal life, but he knows what a broken heart is like and that’s what she seems to be going through for him. Ladybug turns to face him and denies it, insisting that everything is going perfectly. She then diverts the conversation, suggesting that they go to the swimming pool and she wants to go. Chat tells her that he’s here for her if she needs to talk, but Ladybug swings off and heads for the pool. Chat Noir sighs.

- Cut to AquaBug descending from her balcony and onto her bed, complete in goggles and a towel around her neck. She collapses onto the bed Barkk and Ziggy start flying over. AquaBug looks at her corkboard of Adrien and Luka pictures, then turns away, clearly depressed. Ziggy comments on how sad this all is, to which Barkk said that she told Ziggy previously that they should remove the pictures. They go to do so now but AquaBug turns and tells them to stop, insisting that she’s not sad and the pictures don’t bother her. She insists that they’re just pictures of her friends and that she loves fashion and her friends, telling them to leave them where they are, sulking back onto her bed while insisting there’s no problem. Ziggy and Barkk leave.

- Cut to Alya and JARM (Juleka, Alix, Rose, and Mylene, for those uninitiated) in Alya’s room, where Alya states that Marinette has a problem and it’s lovesickness. She pulls up some pictures on her tablet of Marinette and Adrien (all where Marinette is either anxious or clumsy/screwing up), explains that she was in love with Adrien in the beginning, but never managed to tell him because “it’s Marinette they’re talking about and he’s Adrien.” Alya then shows pictures of Marinette and Luka, adding that then Luka enters the scene and Marinette gets to talk to him because “it’s Luka” and they get together. Rose comments that they’re both cute, but Alya adds that they broke up, to which Juleka nods and mumbles something unintelligible, pulling out her phone to show the girls a picture of Luka looking notably depressed. The girls sigh.

- Alya states that the bottom line is that Marinette never told them about it, and the only reason they knew about the break-up was that Luka told Juleka, who told Rose, who told Mylene, who told Alix, who told Alya herself. Alya laments that she’s Marinette’s best friend and didn’t know, then the scene cuts to a flashback where Alya narrates that she heard Marinette crying in the bathroom. When Alya went to check on her, Marinette opened the door with a diguise (glasses, nose, and a mustache) to cover her face, insisting that she wasn’t crying and she’s never been so happy before in her life, adding that they should throw a party.

- Cut back to the girls in Alya’s room. Rose asks why Marinette would hide things from them and Alix notes that it must be a problem if Marinette didn’t even tell Alya. Mylene asks what they should do an Alya suggests that what Marinette needs is a discussion between friends, proposing that they all call her to talk about it. The girls do some sort of five-way fist-bump completely with making a rabbit ears sign at the end.

- Marinette, still AquaBug, is sulking on her bed when her phone starts ringing, but she ignores it. Back with Alya and JARM, Alya notes that it’ll probably go to the answering machine, which it does. Cut back to AquaBug, who hears that she now has a message and taps her phone without looking to listen to it. Her friends’ voices greet her and tell her that she should know that they’re there to talk, when or where she wants. They request that she call them back, they tell her they love her and add “kisses,” then the message ends. AquaBug simply slumps back onto her bed.

- Some of the kwami hover nearby, with Barkk saying that they must intervene and will need Tikki. Trixx offers to take care of it and flies down, suggesting to AquaBug to communicate with her friends on her “talking device.” AquaBug asks what she’d say because “everything is fine.” Trixx then suggests at least de-transforming, to which AquaBug insists that she’s better off as Ladybug because she’ll be ready if Shadow Moth attacks. Trixx points out Tikki and states that she might want to rest of have a bite to eat, which finally gets AquaBug up in a panic. She de-transforms and Tikki lands in her hands. She asks Tikki if she’s already and Tikki chimes that she’s definitely better than how Marinette is doing, suggesting that they talk. Marinette, already teary-eyed, lowers her head in defeat.

- Back with Alya and JARM, Alya suggests that they all go to Marinette’s house. Mylene then gets an idea of an “eternal friendship bracelet,” pulling out a bracelet of yellow threads along with some beads. She adds that it’s so Marinette doesn’t forget that friends can tell each other everything and that they’re always there for her. She starts passing out beads to each girl (Alya - orange, Juleka - purple, Alix - green, Rose - pink), explaining that she read in an old magazine about an ancient tribe in America who did that, going onto say that they mentally confide a secret to the pearl, adding the pearl to the bracelet, and once Marinette confides her own secret, the bracelet will unite all six of them. She adds hers - the blue one - to the bracelet and asks if the others are ready, to which Alix asks if it’d be easier to just take her out for orange juice to talk. The rest of the girls give her blank expressions in response and Alix relents.

- Meanwhile, Marinette is staring at her corkboard, Tikki besides her eating a macaron, and Marinette laments that she can’t have a love story so long as she’s Ladybug. Tikki, shocked, asks her why she’d think that and Marinette says that Tikki knows very well, explaining that she had to leave Luka because she couldn’t tell him the truth and it’d just be the same for Adrien. She adds that she can’t share her secret with anyone, unable to be honest with her best friend, her parents, or anyone, and condemned to lie, all the time, to everyone. Marinette asks what she can do and Tikki admits that she wishes she could help but kwami don’t fall in love. Marinette laments that no one can help her and her life as Marinette is too complicated. She adds that it might be better to just be Ladybug all the time, then calls upon Tikki to transform her. She then leaves for the balcony and the kwami look upon her, sad, when they hear voices from below.

- Alya and JARM enter Marinette’s room and the kwami quickly flee into the dollhouse concealing the Miracle Box. Rose notices the dollhouse right away and coos over how cute it is, urges the girls to come look as well. Mylene comments that it’s another super creation from Marinette and Alya says that Marinette must be on the roof, saying that she’ll go get her as she heads for the staricase.

- Up on the balcony, Ladybug is shouting at nothing, asking Hawk Moth (not Shadow Moth?) what he’s waiting for and that she’s ready for him. When there’s no response, she sighs and walks back, dropping onto her bed. She hears Alya calling for her as she comes up the steps and Ladybug hurriedly whispers her de-transformation phrase just in time.

- Marinette asks what she’s doing there and Alya says that they’re here to see how she’s doing. Marinette then hears Rose cooing over the house and Marinette panics, hurrying down just as Rose says that she’ll remove the roof to see what’s inside. Marinette avoids the stairs entirely, dropping from the bed to forcefully pull Rose out of the way, standing protectively in front of the dollhouse. Rose drops the roof from the motion and it breaks on the ground, all girls looking on in shock as Rose apologizes for it. She reaches down to pick up the roof and Marinette requests that they get out of her room. Alya insists that it’s nothing and they’ll help her fix it, but Marinette raises her voice and demands that they leave.

- Alya, now annoyed, states that there’s obviously something going on and they won’t leave until she tells them what it is. Mylene holds up the bracelet and says that each one of them has given their secrets to it, so now it’s her turn. Marinette responds that she’ll tell them what’s wrong, then points out that they all walked into her room without her permission. The girls look briefly surprised, then Alya takes the bracelet and holds it out, insisting that they’re friends and Marinette must tell them everything. Rose adds that real friends never let each other down, and the camera cuts to Marinette with her hand behind her, desperately trying to hold the dollhouse behind her together.

- Panicking, Marinette angrily says that she doesn’t want them as friends then, snapping at them and ordering them to leave. The girls are stunned, then begin to file out of the room sadly. Marinette sadly watches them go, but averts her gaze when Alya - the last one out - makes eye contact with her. Now that everyone’s gone, Marinette collapses onto the floor, the dollhouse falling to piece behind her. Tikki flies over and Marinette tells her that she had no other choice. Tikki assures her that she knows, and Marinette says that she doesn’t have to lie anymore since she doesn’t have any friends to lie to. Tikki sighs sadly.

- At the bakery, Sabine watches with concern as Alya and JARM walk past them to leave. Sabine tries to call after them to ask what’s wrong, but they ignore her. Shadow Moth sees his opportunity and sends his akuma.

- At the park next to the bakery, the girls are sitting in a circle. Alya, holding the bracelet, laments that she lost her best friend, then passes the bracelet to Mylene. Mylene says that she’d hoped it would work, then passes it to Rose. Rose sobs about how sad it all is, then passes the bracelet to Juleka. Juleka mumbles something unintelligible, then passes the bracelet to Alix. Alix states that it can’t end like this, at which point the akuma hits the bracelet, all five girls being hit by Shadow Moth’s symbol. Shadow Moth introduces himself and states that their friend didn’t want to tell them her secrets, so he’ll grant them the powers to get them out by force in return for Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculouses. Alya states that Marinette must remain their friend, Alix chimes in that it’ll be whether she wants to or not, Mylene adds that she won’t keep secrets from her friends anymore, and Juleka mumbles something unintelligible again. They all proceed to get akumatized into their most notable forms: Lady Wifi (who says she’ll take care of catching her), Princess Fragrance (who states that Marinette under her scent will have to put up her secrets), Timebreaker (who adds that they’ll turn back time to make everything like it used to be), and Reflekta (who says that they’ll comfort her and she’ll be their friend again). Lady Wifi adds that Horrificator will keep Ladybug and Chat Noir at bay if they try to intervene.

- Back with Marinette, the pieces of the dollhouse have been thrown away and Marinette places the Miracle Box in a brand new contraption of hers, where she has to press switches in a specific order to open and close it. She sighs in relief, at which point her phone goes off and Lady Wifi emerges from it. The kwami hide inside the box and Lady Wifi tells Marinette that she’s here for her and she’s her best friend, adding that she better tell them all of her secrets and she’ll feel much better afterwards. The kwami look on with concern and Trixx starts charging his powers. Wayzz tells to be careful and he shouldn’t do that, with Barkk asking Trixx if he remembers “last time” he used his power without a holder. Trixx points out that Marinette can’t reveal her secret, then uses Mirage.

- “Marinette” runs for the staircase, leaping up and hurrying to the balcony. Lady Wifi gives chase and sees “Marinette” now down from the balcony heading for the school, so she pursues, idly wondering how she did that. She fires at “Marinette,” telling her not to run and reminding her that they’re friends. The rest of the akumatized girls join up with Lady Wifi and they hurry inside the school. “Marinette,” who is not hiding, vanishes, as she was only an illusion.

- The illusion in Marinette’s room drops and Marinette thanks Trixx for it. Marinette then transforms into Ladybug and heads for the stairscase, stopping halfway to ask Trixx about using his powers without a holder since it’s supposed to cause a disaster. Trixx shrugs and states that his power only causes illusions, so any damage will also be illusory. Ladybug leaves and Trixx gets glared at by Wayzz and Barkk, to which he tells them not to be annoyed since Miraculous Ladybug will be everything... he hopes.

- Ladybug leaves her balcony and notices that the Eiffel Tower seems to be gyrating. She groans Trixx’s name, then yoyos away. The scene then cuts to Adrien in his room watching TV, where the news is talking about the Eiffel Tower’s odd behavior. Plagg says that he bet it was Trixx who did it, then explains that it’s the kwami of illusion when Adrien asks who Trixx is. Adrien states that it’s not an illusion and Ladybug needs help, Plagg groaning about needing to help whether it’s him who makes a mistake or not. Adrien transforms.

- In the school’s library, Lady Wifi and Timebreaker enter, the people in the library freaking as as the two go off and uses their powers, Lady Wifi firing randomly and Timebreaker touching people to get more energy to go back in time. Horrificator also scares people in the bathroom in order to power up, while Reflekta and Princess Fragrance enter the art room and asks if anyone’s seen Marinette. When they shake their heads at them, Princess Fragrance adds that they’ll help them find her, both her and Reflekta firing at all of them. The Reflekta copies leave the school and go to search for Marinette. The akumatized girl squad then exit the school, with Lady Wifi saying that Marinette is hidden somewhere and suggesting they separate.

- While the akumatized girl squad goes on a rampage, Chat Noir is running across the rooftops and quckly hides somewhere, calling Ladybug on his baton. Ladybug answers and Chat comments that the supervillains are “having a party and they haven’t been invited.” Ladybug explains that they’re searching for their classmate, Marinette, to which Chat comments that they’ve saved her multiple times yet everyone seems to like her. Ladybug adds that it seems like Marinette got into a fight with her friends all at once, looking down sadly. Chat Noir asks if she’s still there (I legitimately don’t know what else he was expecting her to say considering she answered his question) due to the silence of the call, to which Ladybug tells him that she was thinking. She points out that they’ll have a hard time finding the object since there are five akumatized villains, and Chat infers that she already has an idea. Ladybug does, saying that she wants to isolate one of them so she can tell her where the akuma is, but Chat needs to stop Timebreaker specifically from going back in time or else the plan might fail. Chat agrees and wishes her good luck, Ladybug doing the same in kind before hanging up.

- Timebreaker, who is rollerblading around and touching people, is stopped by Chat Noir, who tries to banter with her. Timebreaker states that she can’t be wasting time with him and attacks, Chat Noir blocking with his baton.

- Meanwhile, Lady Wifi is leaping across rooftops when she’s suddenly entangled and brought down by Ladybug’s yoyo, dropping her phone in the process. Ladybug steps on it, but there’s no akuma inside. Ladybug is surprised and Lady Wifi mocks her, stating that it’s “too bad” and that she’s not the one with the akuma. Ladybug says that it’s no big deal and she just wanted to talk. Lady Wifi responds by saying that she won’t tell Ladybug anything.

- Cut back to Timebreaker and Chat Noir fighting. Shadow Moth contacts the akumatized JARM and tells them that Lady Wifi is struggling against Ladybug, to which they agree to take care of it. Timebreaker leaves even as Chat Noir tries to get her to come back.

- Back with Ladybug and Lady Wifi, Ladybug asks if she’s having problems with her best friend. Lady Wifi isn’t talking, averting her gaze, while the akumatized JARM is shown to be on their way. Ladybug pretends not to know what happened between Alya and Marinette, but says that she’d like to talk to Lady Wifi about a friend of hers; a superhero, Rena Rouge. This catches Lady Wifi’s attention and Ladybug adds that they obviously have secrets between each other, even just because of her secret identity, but that they trust one another anyway even if they can’t tell each other everything, which allows them to fight alongside each other. Lady Wifi looks downwards in thought and Ladybug tells her that she can reject Shadow Moth’s power.

- Lady Wifi shuts her eyes tight, focusing. Shadow Moth’s symbol appears over her face, with Shadow Moth telling her not to listen because she’ll never know Marinette’s secret if she doesn’t, nor Ladybug’s. Lady Wifi falters and Ladybug tells her that she has absolute trust in her and that she needs her; she needs Rena Rouge. Lady Wifi clenches her fists and clutches her head, Ladybug watching tensely as Lady Wifi break freak of Shadow Moth’s mind, Shadow Moth himself shown to be holding his head from the mental impact, stating that such a thing is impossible.

- Lady Wifi de-transforms and Alya collapses. Ladybug goes to her and helps her up, calling her incredible and stating that no one’s ever done that before. Alya says that it’s because Ladybug is an incredible friend and they fist bump. Ladybug then gets a call from Chat that the Gang of Secrets is looking for her, adding that he’s trying to stop them - currently in the middle of fighting all but Horrificator - but doesn’t know how long he can hold them back. Shadow Moth contacts the remaining four akuamtized girls and tells them that Lady Wifi betrayed them and preferred Ladybug’s team, ordering them to hurry up and deal with Chat so they can take care of Ladybug.

- Ladybug asks Alya which object the akuma is in. Alya explains that it’s in a bracelet that Timebreaker should have, but that Ladybug and Chat Noir won’t be able to defeat four villains at the same time (meanwhile, me having flashbacks to “Mayura”). Ladybug says that it’s time to call the mistress of illusions and pulls out her yoyo. She opens it, reaching inside a ladybug-patterned portal to pull out the fox miraculous. Alya is in awe and asks how she did that, Ladybug explaining that it’s something new that happened since she became the guardian of the miraculouses (before anyone asks; no, there was no pre-established moment of her realizing that she could do this). Alya is about to loudly repeating “the guardian of the miraculouses,” but stops halfway and slaps her hands over her mouth. Ladybug tells her to keep the scoop to herself and especially not to post it on the LadyBlog. Alya promises and adds that she knows how to keep a secret, promptly putting on the necklace and transforming.

- Meanwhile, Reflekta has Chat down on the ground, sitting on his back with his arm (the one with his ring) twisted behind him, and . Ladybug and Rena Rouge watch from a distance and Ladybug uses Lucky Charm, getting an inner tube in response. Her lucky visions spots Timebreaker, Chat Noir, Rena Rouge, then the building with the swimming poll. Ladybug tells Rena that she has a plan.

- Back with Chat and the akumatized JARM, Chat threatens Timebreaker that he’ll activate his power if she tries to take the ring, and who knows what’ll happen to her then. Princess Fragrance approaches and asks why they should bother taking it by force when she can just make him her slave and make him give it to her. Ladybug then tells Rena Rouge that it’s time to use her power, Rena hopping up to higher on the rooftop and using Mirage.

- An illusion of Marinette appears, crying out for Chat Noir in concern. The akumatized JARM notice her and all four run off to chase her, even as Hawk Moth protests and orders them to take Chat’s miraculous first. Ladybug and Rena Rouge descend to help Chat Noir up, who thanks them for the help. Ladybug tells him that’s what friends are for, then tells both Chat and Rena to go to the pool. Chat asks what she’s going to do and Ladybug says that she’ll distract the akumatized JARM, adding that Rena will explain the rest of plan.

- The illusion of Marinette runs into the building with the swimming pool, Ladybug descending just as the remaining members of the Gang of Secrets try to pursue her. Shadow Moth orders his group to take Ladybug’s miraculous and Timebreaker tells the other three to deal with Ladybug while she takes care of Marinette. Ladybug lets Timebreaker jump over her to head inside, then tries to defend herself against the remaining three. However, Horrificator (very large from all the people she’s scared) snatches up Ladybug within a few seconds, holding her in one hand while Princess Fragrance holds up to Horrificator’s shoulder and walks along her arm to head for Ladybug.

- Back with Mirage’d Marinette, she looks behind her to see Timebreaker there. Timebreaker says that it’s time to reveal her secrets, and the scene briefly cuts back to Princess Fragrance telling Ladybug not to resist, adding that she’ll soon do everything they’ll tell her to, ordering her to give them her miraculous first. Shadow Moth is in his lair, saying that it’s his time (i.e: that he’s about to win). Timebreaker tells Marinette that she can’t escape her and Marinette runs onto a plank at the center of the pool. Time breaker makes a giant leap up and starts descending on Marinette, reaching out to touch her, but Rena Rouge drops her illusion, both Marinette and the plank underneath her fading. Timebreaker gasps in shock and plummets upside-down into the water, at which point AquaChat slips the inner tube on her, trapping her arms at her sides. He pulls her down, then lets go, forcing Timebreaker up out of the water, flipping and landing right-side-up. Chat then uses Cataclysm and breaks the object, freeing the akuma. Timebreaker de-akumatizes into Alix, who looks around in confusion and watches the akuma fly off.

- Meanwhile, Princess Fragrance is about to take Ladybug’s earrings when she starts de-akumatizing too, as well as Horrificator and Reflekta. Ladybug and Rose fall due to no longer being supported by Horrificator’s body, and Ladybug safely catches Rose, who thanks her. Ladybug lets her go with a smile, then notices the akuma leaving the swimming pool building, pulling out her yoyo and de-akumatizing it. That done, she casts Miraculous Ladybug, returning everything - including the still-gyrating Eiffel Tower - back to normal.

- JARM are hugging Ladybug looks down sadly. Rena holds out her fist for a pound and Ladybug looks over to see that Chat Noir is also ready for one. The three pound it and the scene cuts to Shadow Moth’s lair where he’s seen monologing about how Ladybug’s made mistakes in the past and she will make more (goes without saying, my dude, considering it’s literally a rule of the show and objectively the dumbest one, you ain’t cool for predicting what’s already confirmed), adding that he’ll end up finding out her secret on day.

- Rena Rouge and Ladybug land in an alley and Rena de-transformed, Alya high-fiving Trixx afterwards. Alya returns the miraculous to Ladybug and thanks her, Ladybug adding that - without her and Char Noir’s help - she wouldn’t have been able to succeed. She tells Alya that she’s lucky to have friends like her, thanking her, and Alya hugs her. Ladybug returns the embrace and the scene cuts to Marinette, now holding the “eternal friendship bracelet” in both hands.

- Marinette admits to the girls that her break-up with Luka broke her heart and not being able to tell Adrien how she felt also made her feel terrible. She slumps onto her chaise lounge and laments over how difficult love is, saying that she thinks she’ll focus on friendship from now on because it’s already complicated enough keeping her friends. Rose tells her to take her time and Mylene assures her that everything will work out, Alya approaches and taking Marinette’s hands to say that - whatever happens - they’re always there for her. Alya then pulls Marinette off the chaise and all the girls hug her, Alix chiming into say that - whenever Marinette feels ready - she can say so and they’ll come up with an “awesome plan” to tell Adiren, Luka, or whoever that she loves them. Everyone laughs and Marinette comments that she loves the girls, leading them to hug again.

- Alya and JARM are on their way out, Alix saying good-bye and Rose saying that they’ll see Marinette tomorrow. Marinette waves, then glances at the friendship bracelet now on her wrist, looking down at it sadly. Alya - again, the last one out - notices and tells the other girls that she’ll join them later because she has one last thing to say to Marinette. Alya then shuts the trap door and goes over to Marinette, taking her by the shoulder and leading her back towards the chaise.

- Alya tells Marinette that she didn’t tell them everything, and she can tell because she’s a reporter and her best friend and she feels those kinds of things. Marinette slumps back onto the chaise and Alya assures her that she’s not going to investigate or force Marinette to tell her what it is. She settles down on the chaise and puts a hand on Marinette’s back, saying that it’s in Marinette’s right if she doesn’t want to talk about what’s happening. Marinette asks if they’ll always be friends and Alya says that she’s her best friend and always will be, which is why it hurts her to not be able to help Marinette feel less alone. Marinette averts her gaze sadly and Alya sighs, getting back up and starting to leave.

- Marinette then catches Alya’s hand, telling her to stay. Alya looks back and Marinette admits that Alya’s right and she’s very lonely; more alone than ever before, and she’s finding it harder and hard to resist it. She points out that she didn’t break up with Luka because she didn’t like him - he’s amazing - and the break-up was because there’s something she can’t tell him, adding that she’s drawing a line with Adrien because it’ll be the same with him. She admits that she has secrets and lies all the time - to her friends, to her parents, to everyone - and how the worst part is that she can’t do a thing about it. Alya says that there’s always a choice and Marinette argues that there’s not one for her; that it’s beyond just them and it’s too heavy of a burden to carry. Alya suggests that they’d at least be two to carry it if it’s too heavy, and Marinette laments that things will never be the same if she tells her; that it’ll destroy everything and change it all. Alya assures Marinette that, whatever she says, she’s her friend, and Marinette starts to say something before she cuts herself of, pausing, then turns to Alya and tells her that she’s Ladybug.

- Alya’s brows raises in surprise, the two doing nothing but stare at each other before Alya looks pained and leans in to hug Marinette, who hugs her in return. The kwami are seen hovering above them and the episode ends.