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titan-fodder · 4 years ago

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volcanic depression with a diameter many times larger than its included volcanic vents; commonly formed when magma is withdrawn or erupted from a shallow, underground magma reservoir.*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

#aot x reader #aot fanfic #attack on titan fanfic #mike zacharias x reader #snk fanfic #the smut pile collab

474 notes · View notes

milfuen · 3 years ago

Text

close enough

synopsis: in which they spend their night in a rather domestic way.

pairings: kazuha & fem!reader

word count: 3.9k

warnings: present tense used in writing.

(Y/N) can think of a handful of places where he could be right now. But certainly, she wouldn't have thought of him being in her apartment at one in the morning, digging for scraps in her fridge, only to find a box of energy drinks and empty space. Though he shouldn’t have expected anything.

The woman smiles lazily at his failure to find something to fill his stomach, arms splayed across her midriff as she takes up the entire space of her couch. She sighs when Kazuha tries yet again to find food in an obviously empty fridge. He’s better off with those drinks, honestly. He’s gonna be awake and talking the entire night.

"Do you have anything?" he asks, closing her fridge angrily and sitting cross-legged in front of (Y/N). She side-glances the non-existent space in her couch, realizing a tad too late that there’s no way Kazuha would have sat beside her.

"I order takeout, Kaedehara," she murmurs, eyes closing momentarily before she forces it open again. Why'd he even have to wake her up? He could have just stolen anything and kept quiet about it, (Y/N)'s sure she wouldn't even notice.

"Why are you like this?"

"You're not any better than me." For crying out loud, this guy lives on nothing other than water. If she didn't get him food daily, he would have been dead ever since their senior year of high school.

“Can you order something, then?” Kazuha whines a little, obviously exhausted and hungry. (Y/N) squints at this, grumbling to herself. Of course, she doesn’t move to pick up the telephone on one of the side tables.

"I have some Twinkies in my room," she replies. Kazuha doesn't argue further; it's food, why would he? Beggars can’t be choosers. Though he noticed her deliberately noting the snacks in her room after he suffered to save herself the trouble of ordering food this late. He stands up and leaves for (Y/N)'s room.

It's been a few minutes since Kazuha barged into her place. Nothing really changed except for the extra body in her flat. She blows a breath through her mouth, pushing herself up in a sitting position. The tall glass windows are obscured by the blackout curtains she installed months ago. The darkness contributes to why she’s still drowsy even now.

Light usually tells her that it’s time to wake up—or not be tired. (Y/N) doesn’t exactly know why that is so, as she probably only skimmed over the words from a Wikipedia article somewhere. Her heater is the only source of sound amidst Kazuha’s absence. Its whirring occupies the white noise, much like how the engines of cars do.

(Y/N) blows a breath through her mouth again. It’s quiet. It is the night’s generous gift, after all. Silence for yourself. This is nice, in a way. More so since I’m with Kaedehara. If only he let her sleep. It would be much nicer. Applying for jobs isn’t fun, but she has to do it . . . because she’s an adult and stuff.

A hand on her shoulder makes her flinch. “What’s up with you?” It’s in typical horror fashion, too. (Y/N) actually has to take a moment before she responds. It’s mostly her fault since she was being thoughtful and not in a nice person way.

Kazuha gazes at her as light floods into her eyes. He’s holding a half-eaten Twinkie to his mouth. The dim lighting tints his optics in a violet hue. (Y/N) blinks, taking the white remote beside her and warming the room. It is suddenly way too cold. She won’t mention just how pretty he is at the moment.

(Y/N) lets Kazuha settle beside her and she takes his ring finger. Not even his hand, just the ring finger. (Y/N) raises it in a way that has Kazuha’s palm hanging in the air. Kazuha presses his lips together, just observing her as he chews on his Twinkie.

(Y/N) sucks in a breath as she takes a glance at his lower region, dropping the hold she has on his finger. "What the—why is there a knife in your pocket?"

"You want it?" Kazuha turns away, red on his cheeks as he notices what she did and takes a swig of the caffeinated drink he got on the way back to the living room. He definitely misinterpreted what she was doing. Kazuha was thinking that she was checking him out—and that’s perfectly fine. But (Y/N) could have at least been subtle about it.

"How’d you even get that in the complex?"

He sighs, "I haven't killed anyone yet, don't worry."

"You shouldn't!"

"Why would I, even? I just accidentally brought this from my kitchen counter after I failed miserably at cutting apples."

(Y/N) digs her fingers in her hair, frustrated. "You should have started with that!" It’s confirmed, she’s dying early because of this kid. Be it because of a heart attack, or just built up stress because of the things he does. “You had apples; why did you even come here in the first place?”

Kazuha tilts his head thoughtfully. “What if I wanted to bother you?”

“That’s not a clever reason.”

“I don’t need to make up an excuse when I can just be honest.” His serious face and tone seal the deal for (Y/N). This man is in love with her, period. All counter-arguments will be shot down by some imaginary council (Y/N) made up in her head.

In a disgusted way, (Y/N)’s nose scrunches and she pushes Kazuha away from her. “More like what’s up with you?” She shakes filth off of her hands. He plays along, staring at her in disbelief which collapses into laughter. Kazuha balls the plastic wrapper in his palms and tosses it into the kitchen.

“Come on!” (Y/N) points at him, then at the empty Twinkie wrapper. “Throw it in the trash can!” Kazuha ignores her for a moment but stands up to do it anyway, mumbling under his breath. She bets he’s cursing her out.

Their relationship has always been this way. Ridiculous bickering here and there, and the normal conversation mostly. It’s not like how it would be hard to talk to someone you meet daily, they just ease into it. They’ve known each other for years, why would they still have a hard time talking to each other?

(Y/N) looks over the backrest of the couch and sees Kazuha scrutinizing her framed diploma on the wall. “Trying to think of a way to tell me that it’s real proud to hang my diploma where people would be?” She rolls her eyes playfully.

“No, not anything like that,” Kazuha says, and (Y/N) almost laughs. She tells him to go on. “How were your courses?” Right, they did attend different universities. They were in the same years, but attending a singular university won’t offer them what they needed most or only one would be satisfied and the other would be lacking.

“Quite fun—Xiao was with me.” (Y/N) nods approvingly. “He’s a nice guy.” It’s just a shame that he left for Europe after graduating. He has a lot of plans for his future, meanwhile, (Y/N) has none. (Y/N) has to keep in touch with him from time to time since she does remember him mentioning being indebted to her. All she can think of is recognizing him a few weeks into her course, and since then, they’ve been each other’s company in the university.

“Xiao?” Kazuha asks, reading the words on the diploma in his head. The elegant font and dim lighting make it hard to recognize words. It’s typewritten, but he doesn’t understand what the text is saying. How grand.

“You should have met him,” she breathes out, then leaning into the armrest.

“Would I like him?”

“I mean, I did.” (Y/N) shrugs, thinking of the many times she hung out with Xiao. He truly was great company. Xiao gave good book recommendations too, and that’s only a plus. He was already a great person even without that.

“Oh?” Kazuha raises an eyebrow, glancing at (Y/N). He finds it interesting to know what (Y/N) did during university. It’s too bad she won’t tell him about the regrettable and embarrassing moments she had.

“I’m not an elementary student, you idiot.” (Y/N) rolls her eyes, fiddling with her fingers absentmindedly. Seriously, this guy just assumes everything is about romance. Like, come on!

“One of these days, I will be right.” (Y/N) laughs at the resolute look on his face. What a nice joke. She will never say it out loud but Kazuha has never been right about anything in her life. It means a lot for the nearly ten years they’ve known each other. There’s a high chance that a theory of his for a book will be more accurate than his interpretation of (Y/N)’s mind.

“I want to be alive to see it, then.” (Y/N) grins at the pointed look Kazuha sends her. He will never know. “Anyway, let’s go out.” She stands up and draws her curtains open. She supposes that her apartment could use some light, even if it’s barely anything. (Y/N) breathes out through her mouth once and takes a discarded padded jacket from the living room floor.

“What are we doing, anyway?” says Kazuha who is putting on his padded coat and scarf. You best believe he’s wearing his trademark scarf except modernized. (Y/N) walks over to the front door, glancing at the skates on the drawers before shaking her head and opening the door. Naturally, Kazuha follows, albeit confused.

They leave the apartment complex with Kazuha not knowing anything. Who knows? Maybe she’s finally tired of him enough that she decided to dispose of him on such a cold winter night. That's certainly not too far off the beaten path. (Y/N)'s taking him somewhere cold and secluded, but not in the way that Kazuha thinks.

Kazuha huffs. "Where are we going?"

"You mind walking?" she says this, but they're already walking anyway. Their weights crunching into snow lets them stay quiet. To savor the moment, mostly. It’s silent, so why not? Distant hollers of teenagers and cars driving around are familiar sounds of the night. (Y/N) glances at Kazuha from her peripheral vision and sees that he doesn’t want to talk either. They can talk when they reach their destination.

Even kids are still out this late into the night. (Y/N) smiles lightly at a child that they see who is with their parent. At least they had their parent with them, otherwise, it would be very alarming.

Outside the local neighborhood, (Y/N) pushes open a metal gate, snow falling off as she hits it with her forearm multiple times. Kazuha goes ahead of her as she brushes off snow from her hair. This is somewhat of a familiar place to (Y/N). The receptionist guy she comes across once in a while mentioned this from a passing conversation, and since then, she has occasionally been visiting.

(Y/N) leads Kazuha into a dark building, sensors opening the glass doors for them as they come before it. The entrance area is empty, but this isn’t where (Y/N) wants to be. Meanwhile, Kazuha is slowly becoming certain that (Y/N) wants to kill him, and yet he still waits for what she’s planning.

He is silent, all until (Y/N) starts humming, something that startles him so terribly, (Y/N) feels it in front of him. The atmosphere is lightened when she chuckles, and Kazuha thinks, maybe I won't die today. The halls they roam are still quite dark though, it’s reminiscent of the haunted houses in movies, where something bad always happens. Perhaps someone dying, or someone becoming emotionally scarred for life. It’s suspicious how the place doesn’t even feel eerie. Everything, from exterior to interior, is carefully maintained, but the lights are out inside, and there’s no one else except them.

A rush of cold wind from the already cold environment chills what’s visible of Kazuha’s skin. Beyond the door (Y/N) opened is a glimmering ice rink. The almost entirely opaque ice spread across the expanse of the area within borders is enchanting to look at as it faintly reflects light from the overhead bulbs.

Kazuha glances at (Y/N) to find her already looking at him, smiling widely. “Well? What do you think?” she asks as Kazuha looks at the ice again, trying to figure out what to say to her. Frankly, this place is just amazing. It’s his first time in an actual rink, not just the ones you’d see available during winter. He can tell that this place operates all year round.

"Why is it dark outside?" He’s pretty sure (Y/N) already knows what he thinks about this place. All the other places that seem to be open have some indication to tell potential customers that they’re open. Something like lights or signs.

(Y/N) tilts her head thoughtfully. “It’s past-midnight Kaedehara, I’m pretty sure recreational places close fairly early for business the next day.” She then adds, “The person-in-charge this late won’t let me pay for using the place, but they do seem to take money from renting skates.” (Y/N) trails off at the end, implicating something to Kazuha.

"That's why you didn't bring your skates? How nice of you." Really, sometimes, she really can be too selfless. To go out of her way just for tonight to happen and for her to help someone out during that, it’s amazing.

(Y/N) nods happily, maneuvering around the seats and knocking on the window of the kiosk at the edge of the arena. The blinds inside roll up and Kazuha peers in curiously to see a middle-aged woman rubbing her eyes, rousing from a quick nap.

"(Y/N)! What would you like today?” the woman asks, visibly happy to see (Y/N) as she takes out a piece of paper. By the looks of it, (Y/N)’s pretty familiar with her. If she knew this place, then naturally, she would know the people who are usually in it.

"Thank you for staying open so late for me." (Y/N) bows lightly. "Can I get two pairs of skates?" Before Kotone could tell her that it was free of charge, (Y/N) had already tossed money into the cash register, grinning widely. Kotone sighs and (Y/N) drags Kazuha back toward the halls, entering into another room yet again.

(Y/N) hands Kazuha a pair of skates. “I hope your feet size hasn’t changed, we don’t want them to be bigger than they were before,” she says. Lucky for her, it didn’t really change much. Kazuha takes the skates and sits on a bench.

“You can place your shoes in the empty cabinet where that pair came from.” (Y/N) points at a shoe cabinet at the top row. Kazuha doesn’t really speak, or either, he doesn’t know what to say. His shoe size might not have changed, but many things did, apparently.

“Wow,” he absentmindedly blurts out.

“You good? Can’t skate?” (Y/N) chuckles, prompting Kazuha to send a glare her way. “I’ll get you food after this, I’m sure Twinkies couldn’t fill up your stomach,” she teases, walking away with her skates in hand.

“Do you want me to walk over in my socks?” Kazuha follows her.

“That’s why I’m changing my shoes in the rink.” She waves to the woman again when they make it back to the rink. They both swap their shoes over for the more appropriate ice skates and hit the ice. I mean, (Y/N) starts skating while Kazuha’s just staring at her. And don’t worry, they both warmed up, we don’t want any accidents now do we?

The smile on (Y/N)’s face fades and her movement ceases as she notices Kazuha just barely on the ice. “Are you good? Can you really not skate?” She goes over to him and offers her hand. “Come on, I’ll skate with you.”

“No—It’s not that.” Kazuha sighs, finding it hard to tell her anything. He wants to talk about how they’ve both changed and yet he can’t. How (Y/N) seemingly became an even better person than he ever was, something he couldn’t figure out even through rare visits during the time they were apart.

"Say something." (Y/N) nudges him a little. He's being difficult. (Y/N) can't do anything about it if he doesn't talk.

“You’re disgustingly nice.” Kazuha bites his tongue. (Y/N) blinks at him, slightly knowing that he has more to say to her. She could just insult him based on his prior statement, but maybe he’s finally talking to her about something. “You changed a lot, as well.”

“In a good way, I hope.” (Y/N) grins.

Kazuha sighs, “No one hopes for bad things.”

“What a naive kid.”

“Who was the one clinging on my arm during our trip to the mountains, again?” Kazuha asks, pulling (Y/N)’s arm as he skates with her. He can hear the ice beneath the blades of his skates, and their voices echoing as they speak.

That trip was a story indeed. It happened during the summer, and (Y/N) couldn’t sit still at all, so they packed some clothes and booked a trip to the higher parts of the country. Surely did beat the heat, and they didn’t dress as heavy as they would for winters. Now, none of them read the specifications for said trip. They ended up with a comprehensive tour with a guide that rehearsed his lines over twenty times before a mirror.

And that was the better part of the trip. It was quite enjoyable, mind you. Therapeutic and the cold is just an addition. The next day was for activities that none of them were really up for but they paid for it so they kind of had to attend. Who knows if the agency would show up at their cottage and drag them out mom-style.

“Not me, that’s for sure.” (Y/N) rolls her eyes, skating away from Kazuha to stop him from speaking. A pretty admirable effort, he’ll admit.

After what they thought was the only thing that’s happening in the trip, they were dragged higher up in the mountains the day after in a five-hour drive. Dreadful is the only word that can explain what greeted them at their destination. The most feared thing anyone could experience up the mountains: bungee jumping.

Anyone can probably guess what came after. Turns out, the people who operated the place had a knack for giving people heart attacks, perfectly obvious by the way the area was set up to have glass floors. They were tempered and were pretty solid, but that doesn’t reassure anyone who was scared of heights. Thus, (Y/N) practically clinging onto Kazuha like a Koala who couldn’t find a tree.

Kazuha laughed every time he would glance at her, which was often. But how could he not? (Y/N) was red in the face. Her legs were visibly unstable when Kazuha left her to jump off. Kazuha thought it was pretty enjoyable, save for the chilly wind that froze off his butt. He thinks it was numb for the rest of the tour. While (Y/N) spent some time scaring herself and sweating buckets walking over to the edge where a guy attached her to some bungee rope, Kazuha was elated. From his experience and (Y/N) looking like a child who saw the monster in their closet.

It was a good time for Kazuha.

If tonight could end on a good note, it would be fine by (Y/N). Such thoughts echoed through her skull as she used up all that she could of the skating rink. Kazuha isn’t as adept at skating as she is, so he just trailed straight lines, having fun with himself. He’s like a child who just learned how to ride a bike, curious and starry-eyed. (Y/N) can see him visiting the rink often. Maybe he can get to know Kotone.

His movements are gentle and careful, which makes sense since he isn’t comfortable with the ice yet. People like them won’t like to stay in a place like this for long, so when Kazuha finally garners the courage to skate at almost the same speed as (Y/N), both of them laughing as they decide who is the better skater, they leave. Kotone can finally get some sleep after the inconvenience they had given her.

“Are you getting me fast food?” Kazuha asks, breaths leaving him as puffs of cold air as he shivers lightly under the layers of his winter garments.

“You seem cold.”

“You don’t say.” Kazuha looks to the side so (Y/N) doesn’t see him rolling his eyes. Too bad she knows he’s rolling his eyes, but she doesn’t care about it.

“Anyway, choose where we’re going tonight. I know some places, but I figured to let you take the wheel for this one,” (Y/N) says. She nods thoughtfully as some options are presented to her in her head, places that can be really good for the cold. Like a classic winter food place—she doesn’t really know what it’s called—that serves hot chocolate and perhaps some fish cakes if the cuisine is diverse.

“What if I take us to a bar?”

“You’ve turned into that kind of person over the years?” she asks, raising her hands to her chest and backing away. “I mean, I don’t judge.”

Kazuha squints. “You look like you are.”

(Y/N) laughs.

***

Well, they found a place. Somewhere. By the way, the sun’s basically rising now. “Were you betting on an assumption that you might find a suitable place just by walking aimlessly, Kaedehara,” (Y/N), his companion, asks.

“Maybe.” Kazuha’s more focused on the food than the conversation to explain more. They’re already halfway done, but food is food and it’s proper etiquette to finish the food you’re eating rather than leave it on the table.

(Y/N) bites angrily into her fish cake stick. “Good grief. We walked for hours!”

“Was I good company, at least?”

“Eat.”

Kazuha was supposed to be the hungry one yet he spent more time wasting time rather than actually finding a place to eat. (Y/N)’s still pretty angry because of that. But it’s over now, they have food and somewhere to sit before their feet can fall off.

It’s already the next day, but (Y/N) thinks they spent the night well enough with just the two of them. They did boring things, pretty much, but it was good bonding time.

“Hey.”

“What now?” (Y/N) still puts in the effort to seem angry. She’s over it, mostly, but she can do with Kazuha feeling more guilt than he has to.

“Do you like me?” Kazuha asks quietly. His word choice is shy which is unlike him most of the time. Is he feeling insecure? Now of all times?

(Y/N) sighs, thinking to herself. “Close enough.” She didn’t need to hesitate because they’re close enough to doubt their relationship with each other, but Kazuha didn’t deserve an answer that seemed half-hearted.

“Like like-like me?” Kazuha asks again.

“The amount of likes you used in that sentence is almost incomprehensible but I understand it somehow,” she says. “No, I don’t.” (Y/N) doesn’t want to consider him liking her either. That will get weird, fast. If it’s one-sided, she doesn’t know what will happen.

“Okay, that’s good.” Kazuha breathes out a sigh of relief. “I thought you felt the same you did in high school.”

(Y/N) stares at him in disbelief, finishing her stick of fish cake and smacking it on the table. “Don’t look so relieved! Am I that terrible? Also, I never even liked you!”

“You didn’t say I’m ugly, so I guess I look good to you.”

“What a delusional prick!”

#genshin impact #genshin impact kazuha #genshin impact x reader #kazuha x reader #fluff #modern au

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tossawary · 3 years ago

Note

I need to know more about “SVSSS - Baby Brother Liu Qingge” bc I love tiny and very deadly baby LQG

I have a 3k-ish Shang Qinghua POV that was supposed to be the introduction to this fic concept! So... ah... baby Liu Qingge does not appear in this, but you can see the setup for how an 8yo-ish Liu Qingge was supposed to be introduced. My hope is that this will someday become a "Shang Qinghua and Shen Jiu go on a mission with Baby Brother Liu Qingge" one shot.

-cut-

Shang Qinghua didn't really have the words to describe what it was like having Proud Immortal Demon Way's characters finally come into his second life.

He didn't have the words to describe a lot of his transmigration experience, honestly! His words had described a lot of this world already, haha, hadn't they? Sometimes a person just had to put up with it and keep going.

And then excuse himself later to go scream into a pillow! Many times!

At first, life was just him in a body that didn't fit and strange memories that slipped between his fingers like sand. His memories of a past life had settled eventually, the System finally came fully online, and his relationship with his second family was fully fucked forever. That was fine, though! That was fine! With some unsolicited prodding from his System, he left to go seek his fortune soon enough and he never had to talk to his character's birth parents or siblings again.

But Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky had never said much of anything about Shang Qinghua’s family or home village, besides saying that the man had dreamed of more than his mediocre origins, so everything had been unfamiliar and original and real. Getting to Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, which he had described in great detail, was a real headfuck. There were no words for the experience of recognizing things that he’d written in another life.

He saw the glistening rainbow bridge and the intimidating sect entrance and the majestic meeting hall on Qiong Ding, and he nearly screamed. He definitely squawked. His vision got really fuzzy for a minute there and he had to sit down on the ground before he fell over. What the fuck?! What the fuck?! He’d made a world! The System had really made a world out of his web-novel! He was really stuck in Proud Immortal Demon Way!

There were upsides and downsides to joining Cang Qiong Mountain Sect. Downsides included: the hard training, the harder workload, the dangerous missions, the disrespect towards An Ding Peak, and being surrounded by arrogant and foolish teenagers looking to look down on someone. It was really something else to look some of them in the eye and think, "Bro, I don’t know your name, but you kind of owe your existence to me. Could you stop being such a fucking asshole about leaving your chores for me to do?! Respect your father!"

Upsides included: actually becoming a cultivator (pretty cool, even though the work of cultivation sucked more often than not), better living accommodations and food, and actually getting to see some of the cooler places, plants, monsters, and magic that were a part of his world. Sure, carting a monster corpse brought in by Bai Zhan Peak to Xi Jiao Peak for butchering was smelly and heavy and altogether miserable, but seeing an impossible animal was still kind of incredible. If this unwilling Shang Qinghua could stop being pushed around and stepped on long enough to appreciate the upsides, he’d really appreciate it!

It was interesting and infuriating to log the differences between what he’d imagined, what he’d written, and what the System had created. What sort of author described every single object in every single room? Who had time for that? Who wanted to read that? The System had filled in all the living details of An Ding Peak - the Leisure Houses, the training grounds, the storehouses, the warehouses, the kitchens, the lesson halls, the leisure gardens, the farming fields, the livestock fields, the stables, the cart lot, the water supply, the sewage systems, and so on - so that people could actually live here. Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky as an author had done many things worthy of complaint and criticism, but wasting his readers’ time with sewage systems was not one of them!

The System had also filled in all the little details and decorations - the paintings on the walls of sect history, the detailing on the rooftops supposedly offering protections from dream demons, the chipped and faded paint of old storehouses that disciples would be tasked with replacing, the statues in the fields to scare off scavengers, the carvings on the doors meant to reduce resentful energy, the childish etchings of bored students the surface of the lesson hall desks, the old bench where the An Ding Peak Lord liked to sit and eat flatcakes - so that it really seemed like people had built this place and maintained it and added to it for generations.

Shang Qinghua had his quibbles here and there. Sometimes the System had made choices that he objected to! He would have done it differently if it had asked him, the author, to contribute. He really felt as though the System should have asked him to clarify the plot holes and the gaps in detail, instead of choosing precedence randomly or building off random implications taken way too literally.

Sometimes he found out that the System had built things out of throwaway lines that Shang Qinghua himself had completely forgotten about. It turned out that Ku Xing Peak made a lot of purification tools and containment vessels because Airplane had offhandedly mentioned that this was their specialty, and now Shang Qinghua had to cart around delicate ceramics to be sold to city merchants or other cultivation sects. He never would have dared to write that if he’d known that it would one day in another life be his job to do things like take inventory and chase down signatures for successful deliveries.

Places, items, and creatures were one thing, but logging the differences between the people he met and the characters he’d created was something else. At first it was okay, because he was surrounded by nameless An Ding Peak nobodies - his fellow disciples, their teachers, the hardworking managers and merchants, even the peak lord - none of them had ever mattered in Proud Immortal Demon Way. If Airplane had been the one to name any of them, he didn’t recognize the names or remember them.

Then he met Yue Qingyuan.

Wow, it was a worse headfuck than first arriving at Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, when Shang Qinghua finally realized that this was the young version of one of his actual characters. It took him a minute. As a lowly outer disciple, Shang Qinghua hadn’t received “Qinghua” as a name yet (his name was Houhua, not that anyone ever used it) and the future Yue Qingyuan was still called Yue Qi.

Shang Qinghua was fourteen at the time. Yue Qingyuan must have been around the same age, so he didn’t strike the tall and handsome figure of the sect leader Airplane had described. The boy was broad, but actually a little short. He had freckles. He had acne.

But he also had a warm smile that seemed to go all the way to his eyes when he offered to give Shang Qinghua directions to the right office on Qiong Ding. He had a steady hand when he helped Shang Qinghua up, after the An Ding disciple had suddenly tripped over nothing upon being introduced. Yue Qingyuan - Yue Qi - walked him to the right office and did his best to make small talk, friendly and kind even though Shang Qinghua was having difficulty stringing more than a few words together in his shock.

Even then, it was obvious that the boy was developing the calm surety and the social charm that would make him a greatly admired sect leader someday! It was all Shang Qinghua could do not to blurt out: “Holy shit, you’re REAL?!” Which would be closely followed by: “Hey, is Shen Qingqiu really real too?!” And then maybe closely followed by: “FUCK!!!”

As the years went by, Shang Qinghua met more of Proud Immortal Demon Way’s characters, and it was weird every time. None of them were exactly like he was expecting. He kept expecting… well… he kept expecting them to look like the fanart, like flawless character models, more or less. Instead, he kept getting… people.

Wei Qingwei, head disciple of the sword-focused Wan Jian Peak, was also shorter than he was expecting, kind of stout, with a wide face and a wider smile. Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky had apparently had the man crack a few jokes upon his rare appearances in the web-novel, usually during tense situations, as he was reminded by the System upon thinking to himself: “Why is this guy LIKE THIS?!” So, because of just a few lines, the real Wei Qingwei had a relentless sense of humor and loved telling jokes.

Upon their first meeting, when Shang Qinghua was fifteen and had been sent over to help renovate some Wan Jian dormitories, fifteen-year-old Wei Qingwei had pretended to fumble a sword and, using a packet of dye and a sleight of hand, made it look like he’d accidentally cut off his own hand at the wrist. Of course Shang Qinghua had screamed and panicked! Anyone would panic! But Wei Qingwei had laughed at him and said, “Got you! Shang-Shidi, the sword wasn’t even unsheathed!” Asshole!

Qi Qingqi, the head disciple of Xian Shu Peak, was much taller than he was expecting. Apparently Airplane had once described a group of some of the peak lords by saying something like: “Each one of them was like a giant to young Luo Binghe.” That group had included Qi Qingqi. The System apparently had taken that to mean that Qi Qingqi was of a height with the likes of Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu. Shang Qinghua discovered this adaptational choice when he was almost sixteen, when this giraffe-like girl came to An Ding Peak to complain about an order someone along the pipeline had dropped completely, and he accidentally found himself (still waiting on a really good growth spurt) eye-level with Qi Qingqi’s chest.

Airplane had apparently once said in Proud Immortal Demon Way that Qian Cao Peak Lord Mu Qingfang appeared a little older than his colleagues, by which he’d probably meant that the man was just tired or something, but this head disciple Mu Qingfang appeared to have ten years on all the other head disciples. Which was good! Shang Qinghua approved of their future head healer not being a teenager and having more training!

On the bad side of things, Airplane had also once said in Proud Immortal Demon Way that the Zui Xian Peak Lord Zhang Qingyan liked his drink too much. This was the peak specializing in alcohol, so it had seemed to make sense! It was supposed to be funny, if anything! Well, at sixteen, Shang Qinghua found out that the System had focused too much on the “too much” part of that statement and now the head disciple of Zui Xian Peak was pretty clearly a budding alcoholic. (Sometimes a cultivator’s constitution and ability to “cure” themselves just… made a person drink more. A lot more.) Which was… not good.

At seventeen, Shang Qinghua met Mobei-Jun.

He didn’t know where to get started with Mobei-Jun.

Somehow he’d… forgotten that Mobei-Jun had been originally based on Airplane’s idea of “the perfect man” and not the super pretty, muscular but slim-waisted protagonist type? The real Mobei-Jun was… tall… and big… and thick. Mobei-Jun’s intimidating features were… more striking than pretty. The first time Shang Qinghua had come back to his Leisure House and found this spoiled brat of an ice demon napping shirtless on his bed, and gotten an eyeful of all that heavy muscle and chest hair, he’d nearly knocked himself out on the doorframe trying to turn away before he had a heart attack.

Mobei-Jun really was going to be the death of him, holy shit.

Especially because this ice demon really was a spoiled brat! Airplane had described this character as being arrogant and apathetic, so now Shang Qinghua had to deal with a Mobei-Jun who took long baths and then carelessly dripped water all over the floor and all over fresh sheets! Who ate all of Shang Qinghua’s cooking and ungratefully only demanded more food, sprawled over furniture not really fit for someone of his size, and then watched Shang Qinghua like a fat tiger! Ahhh, this demon really was lucky he was handsome!

Mobei-Jun was also kind of violent, and mean, which was… well, it sucked.

Back to the sect that Shang Qinghua was now actively betraying, however, as far as he could see, there was still one future peak lord missing.

It wasn’t Shen Qingqiu, who Shang Qinghua had thought would be the last one to show up. Shen Qingqiu had shown up and had been advancing through the ranks of Qing Jing Peak before Shang Qinghua had even met Mobei-Jun, which meant that Yue Qingyuan had finally stopped looking like someone had torn out his soul. (Shang Qinghua had been forced to grit his teeth every time that someone mentioned how privileged that Yue Qingyuan was to have been granted that year of secluded cultivation in the Lingxi Caves at such a young age.)

No, of all the peak lords, it was Liu Qingge who Shang Qinghua had yet to meet.

After meeting Mobei-Jun and becoming an inner disciple, the System had given Shang Qinghua three years to make it to head disciple, probably because the deadline for a new generation of peak lords to ascend was fast approaching. He was working hard to achieve that! Not only did he have to sabotage the current favorite, but he had to make sure all his own training, missions, work, and research were as close to flawless as he could get it! All while keeping an intruding ice demon happy! He wasn’t totally sure that he was going to make it at this rate, even though he’d been here for years.

So it was a little concerning that Liu Qingge hadn't shown up yet. There was so much left to do. A world-state that had yet to be established. Liu Qingge had work to do here!

Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu still had to develop a hatred for each other as disciples that would extend to everyone believing that Shen Qingqiu had murdered Liu Qingge as peak lords, after all. Granted, all Liu Qingge really had to do was beat everyone else on Bai Zhan Peak up to obtain the position, and it wasn’t exactly hard to get Shen Qingqiu to develop a lifelong grudge, but the guy was still cutting it pretty close.

It was possible that Liu Qingge was already on Bai Zhan Peak and making good progress, but that he was just so solitary and focused on searching out the next big battle that Shang Qinghua had just never had the opportunity to meet him. Shang Qinghua did his best to avoid Bai Zhan Peak most of the time, honestly! He was curious about where Liu Qingge was, about what the man looked like, but he didn’t let himself sweat at not seeing the future war god, when he already had so many things to sweat about. The System had taken care of bringing in everyone else, so Shang Qinghua was sure that Liu Qingge would follow sooner or later.

Shang Qinghua’s first sign that something was wrong was that, on the day that Liu Qingge finally announced his existence by beating up everyone on Bai Zhan Peak, everyone was saying things like, “I can’t believe some kid managed to topple all of Bai Zhan like that!”

He… may or may not have ignored this sign.

To be fair to this poor writer-turned-disciple, though, he’d been up all night finishing some paperwork catastrophe the An Ding Peak Lord had thrown at him to fix, as some kind of “test” of his logistics skills. Upon hearing the latest gossip, Shang Qinghua thought, “Oh, finally?” And then his overtired brain collapsed from the effort of thinking two words together in a sentence, and all he could manage from there was to feel the intense need to go to bed at a maximum, static-y volume. No words. No more thinky thoughts. Just the need for speedy sleep.

He stumbled through the rest of his day and then passed out for 18 hours straight. In hindsight, this would have been the time when the gossip was at its hottest. He missed all of it.

When he woke up, everyone was still dealing with the aftermath of what had happened on Bai Zhan Peak, but the conversation had shifted more towards replacing Qian Cao Peak’s depleted supplies and the repairs to Bai Zhan’s training grounds. Liu Qingge was the name on everyone’s lips, still, but everyone knew the basic information now. Now, everyone was just exclaiming over and over again how unbelievably young (and pretty) he was to have bested every other disciple on the sect battle-focused peak. This didn't seem too strange.

The System probably would have based the War God's appearance on his sister, Liu Mingyan, a strong contender for the most beautiful woman in all of Proud Immortal Demon Way. Liu Qingge apparently being a very pretty boy fell neatly into line with all the other character design surprises that Shang Qinghua had gotten smacked with so far.

If Airplane had known that he'd be transmigrating into his novel, maybe there would have been even more handsome men! And everyone would have lived happily ever after and nothing bad would have happened ever, probably, but also there might be more sexy guys too.

TBC

#timetomakeanewwish #tossawary updates #tossawary svsss #shang qinghua #unrealistically young prodigy liu qingge au #ask tossawary

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oatmealcrisp-freak · 3 years ago

Note

Bestie the last thing we need is for you to irreparably damage your hand drawing Saiki K fanart. I’m sure it will still give slay and yass and all those other words the kids use in a few days when your hand is better

its ok bestie I aint gonna irreparably damage my hand doin saiki fanart, thanks so much for thinking of and worrying for me <3 I've been taking lots of breaks and only using my mouse, which has a larger surface area than a pen for easier gripping, with my limbs as supported as possible for max ergonomic relaxation, which is much easier on my situation than a pen right now, and I've been treating this body as right as it'll let me, the overprotective fucker LOL

mapping in those colours wasn't any worse than taking all those screen shots earlier or typing out this reply.

repetitive motion is absolutely a killer for arthritis, which is why I've been taking pains to do as little of that as possible, but i felt up to spending about 10 minutes to get some shit out. I aint in that kinda mood to do permadamage to my already lackluster abilities, trust you me!

but to be honest i also need to take pains for my mental health right now also, and ime pent up creative energy contributes to a bad time. i don't need my brain making up more shit for me to deal with.

when i sense that my body can handle it, i'll go as long as it lets me. it might be saiki k fanart to you, but to me colours and lines are how i release and express and buddy.

i been mad pent the hell up LOL and i know my patterns by now.

this psuedo nearly word salad whatchacallit i couldnt evn say that im talking to you with, is in itself just one such sign that if i dont hit a balance where i can, its not only gonna arthritis fucking w/me.

not to sound absolutely fucking tragic but ive been feeling like a brain in a cage that is my own body, a lovely loving too tight iron maiden hugging me too hard. i will take any leniency it gives me just to move. physically speaking today is the best ive felt in weeks.

sedation keeps me pliant for a time but when i wake up i am awake enough to feel sizzling with the fervor of an addiction for some method of getting me out of me. anything i manage to release after this bizarre sense of captivity is a celebration for me, and im gonna be smug and brag about finding those tricks that let me when slim and smooth things like pens evade me.

if that came across as self destruction, my bad, the last thing i want to do on this blog is promote self harm. we do our best to love our bodies and minds here as much as we can. i want to encourage that as much as possible!!

that the proxy for popping my massive fkn brain zit is a pretty anime boy, well, tale as old as time for me LOLOL i like pretty things. i like creating things i think are pretty. they soothe me immeasurably.

absolutely fucking slim and frustrating as they are, i do have some idea of my limits, and uh. pain sucks. if i can avoid triggering more of that, imma do it. so thank you again, i do appreciate it, and i am doing my best <3 sending you good luck and good health and many soft things

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six-sanctuary · 4 years ago

Text

Homecoming (Will Miller x Reader)

Author’s note: I’ve never written a fic before but was HEAVILY inspired by all the amazing content @lucrezia-thoughts and @charnelhouse generate (Super hope that's okay!) and wanted to try my hand at it and contribute to Triple Frontier Fr-saturday. (I know I'm a day late whoops)

Also I suck at proofreading I’m so sorry for any errors and hope someone enjoys this. Lowkey proud of myself for not being obnoxiously shy and just saving this to my desktop somewhere for eternity.

Anyways here we go no more rambling this is the fic. If I still dig it later on I might write some more in this lil universe either with Will/Reader or throw in some Benny/reader. Maybe even Santiago/reader if I can get his voice right.

Below the cut is 18+ only please and thanks!

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

You’d always been there, and you always would. It was the sort of realization that crept up slowly on Will. Looking back he wishes he could count the times he counted on you. He wishes he could put it into something concrete like numbers, something that he could wrap his head around, but you were there even before the numbers.

You were there before he was shipped off to war, before he had to learn to count as he breathed, in… two… three… four… five… hold… two… three… four… five…. out… two… three… four… five…. You were there before he broke and crumbled, falling into a million little pieces he didn’t know how to put back together again.

He wished he knew the number of warm smiles you’d given him. He wished he knew what number it took for him to fall in love, whether it was the hundredth or hundredth thousandth soft smile. All he knows now is that so much time was wasted, and he didn’t want to lose a second more.

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

You’d moved to Colorado a few months ago. It had always been part of the plan but that timeline got moved up when Will’s parents announced they were selling the house in favor of something smaller now that they were empty nesters. For a solid week, Will hummed and hawed about it, flip flopping back and forth. The thought of giving up something that was so integral to his childhood, something that had always meant home for him, was hard.

After weeks of his thinly veiled discontent, you came to a solution. After one of his talks, you sat him down in the dining room table of your apartment together and laid out the documents one by one. Rather than explain right away, you let Will take them all in, grabbing each one and skimming it before moving on to the next piece of paper.

“This is…. To buy the house?” Will’s thumbs smoothed over the paper as if in need of a reminder that they were real, that this was real. “My parent’s place?” His voice was thick with emotion, which never failed to bring it out of you. Rather than answer in words and risk your voice failing you, you nodded.

From there it was a lot of packing, a lot of hard work, but with the Delta Force boys help you two managed to get everything packed up in a hauler, ready to make the trek halfway across the country. The thought of being holed up in the car for hours on end with Benny made you the slightest bit nervous. The younger Miller was a bundle of energy and while you appreciated that most of the time, you were wary about being stuck in cramped quarters with the lightning bolt of a man. In the end the cars were split with you and Santiago taking Will’s Ford and Will and Benny driving the Uhaul.

You had a week of the gang’s help, well the gang minus Frankie. He had to head back a few days early to his wife and daughter. The others stayed, even Tom, though he was quick to point out several “serious”problems with the house that you’d need to look into. Despite that, it already felt like home. Sure it needed your and Will’s touch on the place, and a number of things had gone into disrepair as the Millers got older. At some point it had become too much for them, but it was the perfect project for a newlywed couple.

Not once did you regret it. Not when you were lugging heavy boxes up the stairs nor when you learned the roof needed to be replaced. No, each problem was taken in stride because you knew with Will by your side, you’d get through it. There was nothing the two of you could not conquer.

Soon the novelty of the new house wore off and with Benny back at his apartment down the street and Santiago and Frankie back home, you and Will fell into a quiet domesticity. You lived in pieces, your life wrapped up in boxes while you made repairs to the house.

Will, though he meant well, was not as handy as he claimed to be. After the shower incident that required a late-night call to an emergency plumber, your big Delta Force husband was relegated to the simpler tasks, or the ones that required his muscle. If a dresser had to be moved, he was your man, rolling up his sleeves and making it look easy. The same went for anything that required reaching high places (the uppermost cabinets in the kitchen were a real bitch). In the end, Will ended up spending more time turning the side yard into a garden while you turned this old house into your home.

After a month, Will had to go back to work. He’d been requested to give a speech in D.C., back to the other side of the country. As much as you wanted him to stay, you knew that this was important to him. You knew how much it mattered to him to feel useful, to feel good about what he did and so with a kiss to the cheek, you promised him that you’d have the kitchen cabinets all painted by the time he came back.

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

Classic rock was softly playing out of the radio you had set up on the counter. Painting was boring work, even more so all by yourself. The radio made you feel less alone and so you hummed along as you worked. Stroke after stroke of paint was rolled onto the cabinets, breathing new life into the space. It was really mindless work and so your thoughts wandered as you painted. You thought about the home, what other projects you had in mind. If you finished the cabinets quickly enough you wanted to tackle the downstairs bathroom too before Will got back.

He'd called every night but it wasn’t the same as him being here. If you were lucky, you got him on FaceTime and got to see his face light up when you appeared on his screen. Even with the small image of him on your phone he was so handsome, golden and bright. You’d called him your Apollo once, god of the sun, and he’d found that funny. Ben was picking him up from the airport tomorrow and driving him home and then you’d have your sun again.

The opening of the front door snapped you out of your thoughts, your head whipping around. “Honey?” His gruff voice was unmistakable to you. Without a second thought your paintbrush was set down, dripping slightly off the drop cloth though that was a problem for later. Your feet carried you to him, flinging yourself into his arms when you saw him standing there in the foyer. “I thought you were coming back tomorrow.” You nuzzled into his neck, breathing in the smell of him as his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. “We finished early and I wanted to surprise you.” It was definitely a surprise.

His hand moved from the small of your back to your chin, gently lifting it to place a soft kiss on your lips. “I missed you,” you breathed before stealing another. “I know.” He always knew. He knew every time he left you would miss him and he would miss you. You’d play this game and then he’d come home and reclaim you. One kiss turned into two, which then turned into three and four. Your hands moved to his short blonde hair, moving to the back of his neck to pull him closer, ever closer.

Leaving his bags at the door, you two tangled, desperate for contact, desperate for two to become one again. He picked you up, something you’d normally protest as your feet worked just fine, but instead you let him carry you up the stairs, deeper into your home, to your bedroom.

With a playful grin he tossed you onto the bed, nearly chuckling at the way you almost bounced. His amusement only lasted a moment before lust and his need to have you took over. He descended on you on the bed, lips crashing into yours for a heated kiss as his tongue grazed against your lower lip. He was everywhere at once, overwhelming all of your senses as his name repeated over and over in your head like a mantra.

Will… Will… Will…

His large hands held your wrists above your head, somehow managing the dichotomy of being gentle but firm, while his lips retraced every curve of your skin. Every time he came back the routine was the same. Will wanted, no needed to learn you again, to cover every soft spot that made you sigh to ensure you were the same as when he had left. He needed to know and so he kissed you, his trimmed beard tickling as he slowly made his way down your body earning soft moans along the way.

He only left your wrists when he got to your legs, separating them and placing one over his shoulder as you laid back on the bed. There he paused, looking down at you so bare and exposed and wet beneath him. It was hard not to move under his gaze. “God you’re so beautiful.” You felt heat rise in your cheeks as you whined out his name. He placed a less-than-chaste kiss on your inner thigh before moving closer, breathing in your heady scent. Licking your folds, he let his tongue circle your clit, smirking at the sounds leaving your lips.

He knew your body like the back of his hand and it took no time at all for him to bring you to that peak of pleasure. Closer and closer, more and more you felt your body respond to him, your hips rolling up against his tongue, hands fisting in the sheets or his hair whichever was closer. “C’mon baby,” he coaxed, slipping a finger into your slick heat, curling it to stroke the soft spot that made you cry out and shudder around him.

“That’s one.”

And you knew your husband would follow through with another. He collected your orgasms like some collected baseball cards, counting each and every one. No night ended with just one, leaving you spent exhausted and so satisfied at the end.

Wiping the wetness from his face, he kneeled next to you, watching as your breathing rate came back down, waiting for the sign that he could have you again. As you blinked the haze away, his hands trailed up and down your side, drawing absent patterns against your soft skin. The look in his eyes of restrained hunger made your mouth go momentarily dry, reigniting the flames of passion within you. Propping yourself up on one elbow, you used your other hand to reach for him, pulling him over you.

It was all the encouragement he needed. After tossing his shirt away, his calloused hands move to your thigh, hiking it up over his hip. You had only a moment to take in the sight of him, the well-toned muscle, the scar on the left side of his stomach, before you two crashed together once more. Your hips ground against the hard bulge in his pants, leaving a dark patch in the denim. You needed more, more friction, more him.

He pulled away only long enough to unbutton his pants, kick off his boots and rid himself of the rest of his clothing. Standing at the edge of the bed, he stroked his impressive length a few times as he admired your naked form. Then the wait was too long and crawled over you, lining himself up and so agonizingly slowly pushing himself into you. You tried to be still but it seemed your body had something else in mind as your legs wrapped around his waist pulling him ever closer.

“Someone’s eager,” he breathed, both of you knowing full well that neither of you had the patience to wait much longer. Pressing his lips firmly against yours, he moved, hips snapping into you at a quick pace, his size stretching you in ways no one else ever could. Your body molded to fit around him, your leg wrapping around him once more in an effort to guide him ever deeper. He bottomed out in you before pulling out and pressing into you again and again and again. Each motion put stars behind your eyes, the fireworks building to another crescendo.

You felt him get closer, the rhythm of his hips losing itself as he continued to thrust into you, hips stuttering as the pleasure overwhelmed. “One more honey, I know you have one more.” His low throaty growl in your ear was enough to push you over the brink, your hands clamoring for purchase on his back and shoulders as you cried out once more. Your core clenched down on him and it took only a few more hurried thrusts before you felt his hot seed shooting into you as he let out a low grunt.

His forehead rested against yours as he remained where he was, not wanting to pull out of you just yet. A thin sheen of sweat covered the both of your bodies and despite that you didn’t think either of you were finished quite yet. You had a full week of time apart to make up for. Will pulled his head back from your forehead to give you another soft kiss, this one lacking the passion and lust but more than making up for that with the love and affection he poured into it. “It’s good to be home.”

#kiki writes #triple frontier #will miller #will miller x reader #will miller x you #will ironhead miller #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fanfiction

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onmykneesforhotdilfs · 4 years ago

Note

#Prompt 15 could be a good time 👀

You ask, i deliver🥰

"Each of my thoughts about you is improper."

Bloom sighed as she let the warm water of her bath wash away the five days worth of stress. She moaned as she submerged her body in almost boiling hot water, wet ends of her hair hanging over the edge of the bathtub. She closed her eyes and with a flick of her finger, the light in the bathroom turned off and strategically placed candles lit on fire giving the whole room romantic and relaxing atmosphere.

Her whole week has been spent running between planets in order to accommodate both pairs of her parents without having the other feeling left out. Not to mention the special training girls had to take in order to test their abilities to the maximum, training which was lead by Griselda. Even after so many years, that woman somehow always managed to make them nervous and she surely knew how to make their muscles quake in exhaustion after the practice. Between all those obligations, Bloom barely had energy to take a quick shower at the end of the day before she collapsed into her bed in Alfea. Sleep wouldn't catch up with her though, no matter how tired her body was.

Valtor was off doing some errands most of the days so the fact that she barely saw her boyfriend this week seemed to contribute to her bad mood and her insomnia.

Bloom couldn't remember the last time she felt so exhausted. Even the continuous fights against enemies of magic dimension never left her feeling so drained. If she was confident enough in herself not to drown, she wouldn't even leave this bath tonight. But as it is, she decided to enjoy the bath for as long as she could milk it, which in her case was, until the water got cold. She was fortunate enough that she managed to snag a night on Domino where she had a big enough bathtub to enjoy solitude.

Bloom was so engrossed in her thoughts, which could be the reason she didn't hear door of her room open, nor did she hear the shuffling of feet across the hardwood floor despite the fact bathroom door has been left open. A low wolf whistle made her jump, however, as she met the mischievous gray eyes of her boyfriend that stood leaning on a doorframe, seemingly enjoying the show.

"Now that's a sight for sore eyes."

Bloom sighed. "Though I appreciate the flattery, I'm pretty sure I look like I could work in a circus as a clown double right now."

Valtor raised one sharp eyebrow. "Do I need to have a chat with Faragonda about Griselda laying off a bit?"

Bloom shook her head. "No." Valtor came closer, his bare feet stepping into puddles that collected on the floor due to a steam. His eyes narrowed as he caught the sight of the bags underneath her eyes. "I've been having trouble sleeping this week. Maybe that's why I'm looking... awful."

Valtor came to sit at the edge of her bathtub. His fingers gently removed a wet lock from Bloom's unusually pale face. The bags underneath her eyes were indeed present, and it made her eyes look sunken and dull compared to its normal bright hue. "You're stunning, as always."

Bloom snorted. "Don't be getting any improper thoughts there mister."

Valtor stood up and took off his shirt in a single moment making Bloom's breath catch in her throat as low lights of candles perfectly accentuated his lean muscles. He was left standing in his signature purple pants but he showed no desire to remove them even as he gathered his hair in a messy bun at the top of his head and stepped into the bath behind Bloom.

Bloom squealed as the water spilled over the edge thanks to the added weight. Valtor pushed her forward a bit, making her bend her legs slightly as he settled himself comfortably behind her, still dressed in his pants. The water continued spilling over as he pulled Bloom to rest her back against his front, but all that Bloom could think about was the heart attack maids will get when one of them inevitably stumbles upon the mess. He leaned towards her, his abdominal muscles practically glued to her back as his hand removed the wet strands of her hair from her shoulders and neck.

He trailed a path of gentle, barely there, kisses across her collarbone. "Don't you know?" He spoke in a low voice that made butterflies scatter all across Bloom's lower abdomen.

"Know what?" She didn't sound breathless, that's what she kept telling herself as Valtor's hands started massaging her shoulders gently.

"Each of my thoughts about you is improper."

Bloom gasped as Valtor's hands started roaming across her chest, his skillful fingers dancing across her skin and lighting her on fire. The butterflies in her abdomen seemed to have evaporated into a pool of steaming hot want, and she gripped the edge of the bath as she felt the heat rushing south. His name was a prayer on her lips as he continued placing feather light kisses where he could reach. His hands slipped underneath the water, one of them around her waist, supporting her as the other one continued its path towards the place she needed him the most.

Valtor avoided the place she wanted him to touch and instead he gripped the soft flesh of her inner thigh as Bloom moaned and threw her head back, giving Valtor more access to her neck. With her head resting on his shoulder, he took the opportunity to explore the thin column of her neck, sucking a bruise to the place he knew clothes wouldn't be able to cover. The thumb of his hand that supported her waist grazed the excited flesh with every movement and Bloom's toes clenched in anticipation.

She heard Valtor chuckle next to her ear, his teeth gently nibbling on the shell, the sound sending bolts of lightning all across her body. She gripped the flesh of his arm as his fingers came dangerously close to her core, but not close enough to alleviate her of the frenzy she found herself in. How he managed to make her so worked up in such short period of time was a complete mystery to her. The flame in her chest burned brighter every time his fingers danced across an erogenous zone but failed to stick around long enough to be anything but a teasing graze.

"Please." It wasn't necessarily the plea as much as the needy, desperate tone of her voice that made Valtor give in and finally place his hand where she desperately needed him to touch her. At the first touch of hot fingers against the wet flesh, Bloom's hips snapped upwards, her spine curved as she let a small, breathless "Fuck yes." slip between her lips. The temperature in the bathroom rose for several degrees as Valtor spoke encouraging things against the skin of Bloom's cheek, the friction his fingers caused forcing her to curve in a way that allowed her maximum contact. At the end, it was the combined effort his touches provided together with his voice telling her to let go, that made her snap like a string of coiled rubber band. The tension broke as waves of ecstasy rushed across her body, her toes clenching as she sobbed softly while Valtor's fingers continued gliding across her skin. She collapsed, utterly boneless, against his chest when the final bolt of pleasure ran through her, making her twitch.

She closed her eyes under the thick mist of blissful silence and endorphin rush, Valtor's voice in her ear seemingly miles away. She felt the water disappearing around her as the feeling of being lifted into the air reached her. She instinctively wrapped her legs around Valtor as he carried her outside, the air turning dry and slightly cold against her heated skin. Her eyes stayed closed even as he muttered a quick spell to dry them both off and lower her onto the bed. She listened as he finally got rid of his pants and shuffled quietly to the bed before slipping in as carefully as possible.

Valtor wrapped his arms around her protectively as Bloom snuggled deeper into his chest. The last thought that ran through her head before she finally slipped into the unconsciousness was that perhaps, it was him, or lack of him in this case, that caused her to loose sleep.

#sparxshipping #bloom x valtor #baltor x bloom #bloom x baltor #valtor x bloom #winx club #bloom #valtor #winx #winx bloom #sparxshipping requests #sparxshipping questions #sparxshipping prompts #sparxshipping smut #sparxshipping fluff

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destinationtoast · 4 years ago

Text

In case it helps anyone to know -- if you struggle, you are not alone.

I think many people who who've followed me or known me for a long time probably think I have my shit pretty together. And in a lot of ways, my life is great, and I have done some cool stuff. But despite that, I struggle with mental health, and my brain is sometimes a terrible place to live. I've spent a bunch of time recently:

Feeling incompetent and like a complete imposter

Feeling like a failure and a disappointment

Feeling like I'll never be able to do any job well and will end up penniless and without healthcare (but still with chronic pain) and an enormous burden to everyone

Feeling like a waste of resources -- "I have so much privilege, and so many advantages, and I squander them by being useless and by not even enjoying my life"

Feeling like I'll never enjoy anything again

Feeling like life will never be anything except stress and despair

Lying awake feeling all my muscles clenched and my heart racing

Having a tremendously hard time getting out of bed

Having an even harder time attending work meetings or doing work

Not being able to eat much and experiencing nausea and digestive issues (where usually I tend to eat larger amounts than usual in response to stress, occasionally it flips and I have to force myself to eat)

Crying unpredictably, e.g. while doing dishes, and having to awkwardly explain to housemates

Feeling numb and impatient and distracted while trying to read/watch TV/browse Tumblr

Feeling So. Much. Guilt. And. Shame. Just constantly.

This is all in spite of the fact that (a) I have substantial and even recent evidence to the contrary about a lot of this stuff (e.g. I got feedback at work not that long ago that I was doing really well and could consider going up for promotion soon). And (b) I've had intense episodes of anxiety in the past and then gotten better, so I have plenty of examples of how these intense feelings don't necessarily predict the future.

Despite all this data, and despite my loved ones telling me wonderful, helpful things, I have spent a lot of time feeling viscerally quite horrible over the past few weeks (as well as for much longer stretches, at times in the past). And parts of my brain have compellingly argued that this will probably last forever.

I've dug myself partially out by talking to a doctor (though I realize healthcare is a privilege not everyone has, though we all should) and getting a short term Rx to help me relax at night enough to sleep. And signing up for therapy again. And discussing longer term possible changes to my meds (I'm on an antidepressant that had been working well till recently). And doing simple breathing exercises. And forcing myself to go do some small amount of work -- especially to make progress on a couple of the things i was most dreading, or to ask others for help with them. And forcing myself to eat and go for walks. And spending time petting kitties. And admitting to my closest peeps that I am struggling, and getting them to say that they'll still like me even if I lose my job. And remembering all those past episodes of anxiety and depression (as well as panicky bad drug trips) that I was sure would last forever at the time, but didn't. And realizing that life is long, and there are many ways to survive and find joy in this world -- and even if I thoroughly fuck up one path, there are other things to try.

I also had to do a big hard thing at work this week that was very stressful (definitely the dread of this has been one contributing factor in my recent spiral). Afterwards, I immediately felt drenched in relief, and feelings of interest and joy and hunger have started to flood back into my life again. "HAHA JUST KIDDING," the unhelpful parts of my brain suddenly said. I still would like to get to a much more stable place mentally, and I'm going to continue to work toward that, and to develop my toolbox for coping. But the sudden easing of some of the terrible sensations feels miraculous, and I'm grateful, and amazed at how fast my internal state can change. And even if maybe it turns out I feel worse again tomorrow, I'm going to enjoy today and try to remember that I did so.

So. If you're struggling, I empathize so much. And it's worth trying to keep in mind that:

Strong feelings of incompetence and/or certainty that the future will suck don't stem from reality. Our brains+bodies sometimes make us feel these things strongly even when actual evidence says otherwise.

That means anxiety/depression is like a bad drug trip. It feels very real, but you're likely to feel at least somewhat differently -- and sometimes substantially better -- if you can hang in there a while.

Just because your brain may be lying to you doesn't mean the resulting struggle isn't real. It's legit hard sometimes to do the basics of survival -- Eat. Sleep. Move the minimal amount needed to get food & water, go to the bathroom, etc. When you're finding those things hard, you're ill. And you deserve time off and self care and a trip to the doctor, if you can manage any of that. If you can't? If you're taking care of others/working or going to school/doing anything else on top of being ill? You're a superhero. I hope you can get others to help take some of your duties for a bit, or to help you book a doctor's/therapist's appointment, or to at least listen and sympathize and send you cute animal pics or memes.

Other people who may appear to have their shit together may not. Many of them are going through big struggles of their own.

The pandemic & state of the world right now are making things much harder for so many people. My doctor (general practitioner) told me that nobody she's seen in the past year is doing that great mentally, and the number of people having acute mental health issues has skyrocketed. Be as kind and forgiving toward yourself as you can manage (in general, and even more so now).

Good luck. Hang in there as best you can. I'm rooting for you. 💗

(Feel free to reblog or to reply, but I may not have energy to respond to comments... responding is hard right now.)

#mental health #anxiety #depression #my stuff #toasty life #long post #50

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lostcoves · 4 years ago

Text

ft. bodyguard!goshiki tsutomu x fem!gang princess!reader

genre: smut

wc & warnings: 1.5k | drunk!(y/n) in the beginning, gun violence, murder, gangs, mention of arranged marriages, cunnilingus, blowjobs, cum swallowing, mommy kink, praise kink, unprotected sex, virgin!(y/n) and virgin!goshiki

premise: as the daughter of one of japan’s most notorious gang leaders, you have a duty to protect the integrity of the gang. but when your father proposes an arranged marriage to a rival gang’s heir, you turn to your bodyguard goshiki tsutomu for a shoulder to cry on.. and something more.

note: my contribution to @theehoneybunii’s back to the streets collab! it was a joy to write! i wanna thank @ultimate-astridwriting for beta reading this piece for me, you’re the best <3 remember to filter #lostcoves.nsfw if you’re a minor and DON’T INTERACT WITH THIS!!!

the casino was buzzing with energy, as bodyguard goshiki tsutomu watched you play craps drunkenly with other attendees. you let out a holler of victory after winning another round, happily accepting your winnings.

goshiki sighed and checked his watch, “miss (y/n), we gotta get going,” he whispered to you, “your father will be expecting you open soon. wouldn’t want to anger him with tardiness.”

“that old man can suck it,” you spat, your words slurred. goshiki ran a hand through his bowlcut and gently grabbed your arm, “please, miss. (y/n).. i don’t want to get in trouble if we show up late.”

your expression softened, “okay, let’s go.”

goshiki helped you pack up the cash you won and placed it in his bag. he offered you a smile and promised to you, “we can come back to the casino tomorrow, miss. (y/n).”

“you won’t be going anywhere,” a security guard approached the two of you, stern and arms crossed over his beefy chest. goshiki stood in front of you protectively and asked the security guard, “is there a problem, sir?”

“your little girlfriend is under suspicion of cheating,” the security guard answered, reaching out for your arm, “she needs to come with me for questioning.”

goshiki latched onto the guard’s arm and glared, “whenever she’s going, i’m coming with her.”

the security guard pulled out his gun, “you’re a dead man, goshiki.”

goshiki smirked and quickly disarmed the security guard, taking the gun and putting a bullet between the guard’s eyes. a loud bang echoed throughout the casino, attendees screaming in terror and scattering about.

“did you really have to kill him?” you asked, pouting slightly. goshiki looped his arm around your waist and smiled, “see that tattoo on his wrist?” he gestured to the dragon tattoo on the dead man’s skin, “it’s the sign of the kokuryū, your father’s rivals.”

“i see,” you replied, as the two of you exited a panicking casino. a limo pulled up and goshiki opened the door for you, you entered the limo with goshiki and took a seat. goshiki signaled the chauffeur to drive.

“here,” goshiki handed you some crackers and a bottle of water, “to sober up.”

“thanks,” you gulped down the water and ate a few crackers.

“your father has news for you.”

“he does?” you asked, eating a few more crackers.

“just don’t get- we’re here,” the chauffeur announced your arrival to the residence of the white jackals. goshiki exited the limo and did a perimeter search to clear the area before letting you out.

“goshiki,” your father- shiro- greeted his daughter’s bodyguard upon entry to the white jackals’ headquarters. goshiki bowed respectfully to shiro, “boss,” before stepping aside. you embraced your father tightly and gave him a kiss on the cheek, “daddy!”

“there’s my precious angel,” shiro squished your cheeks, “it’s good to see you in one piece. did you win anything at the casino?”

“about ten grand,” you smiled.

“that’s my girl,” your father chuckled, “now, let’s get to business.”

“goshiki said you had news for me,” you stood beside goshiki, nervous. you hoped it was good news. your father nodded and answered, “i do. i have arranged a marriage between you and the heir to the blue dart frogs gang.”

“you.. you what?” everything froze.

“it’s necessary to secure our position as a gang, especially since the kokuryū has been gaining more influence,” shiro explained to you, “i don’t expect you to be loyal to your husband and neither does he but i do except you to maintain a public appearance of love with him.”

“daddy..” tears formed in your eyes, “i.. okay,” you admitted defeat.

“thank you for being understanding,” your father sighed, “i’ll be sure to buy you something nice in return. goshiki, take (y/n) to her room.”

“yes, boss!” goshiki exclaimed. he held out his hand to you, “let’s go.”

you took his hand and goshiki led you back to your bedroom. inside, you collapsed on your king-sized bed and sobbed into your pillows. an arranged marriage!? was your father insane?!

“miss. (y/n)..” goshiki sat down next to you on the bed.

“go away..” you cried, your voice muffled by the pillows.

“is there anything i can do for you?” goshiki asked, stroking some hair out of your face. you looked up from your pillows and sniffled, “stop this marriage for me, goshiki.”

“you know i can’t do that,” he responded.

“i know,” you muttered, hugging goshiki for dear life. he held you close and gave you a kiss on the top of your head, “i’ll be here for you, every step of the way. i promise that.”

“goshiki..” you cupped his cheeks, “i love you.”

“(y/n)..” goshiki looked scared. how would your father react if he found out about this? you smiled fondly at goshiki and whispered in his ear, “i’m not married yet. it will only be one night.”

“have you sobered up?” goshiki didn’t want to take advantage of you.

“i have,” you began nipping at his neck, “make love to me, tsutomu.”

“okay,” he answered breathlessly. quickly, goshiki got up and locked the door before returning to your bed. the two of you exchanged passionate kisses, as you stripped one another of their clothes.

“you’re beautiful,” goshiki hummed to you, admiring all of your body. he loved it all, especially what others would consider to be imperfections. to him, you were a shining star.

“so are you, handsome!” you giggled, gesturing to his toned abdomen and lightly tanned skin. goshiki smiled at your laughter, it was warm and joyous. he wanted to hear you laugh more.

“kiss me,” you told goshiki.

“your wish is my command, princess.”

goshiki pressed a trail of kisses against your skin, kissing up your legs towards your face. you giggled more at the sensation, goshiki felt his heart flutter at your giggling. he ended it with a tender kiss on the lips, holding you close.

“you’re wet,” he murmured, his slender fingers rubbing your soaking cunt.

“a- ah! be gentle..” you asked goshiki, face heating up.

goshiki crawled down and kissed your clit, earning a wanton moan from you. eager to please you, he began lapping up your slick juices, nose bumping into your clit.

“f- fuck!” you came, extremely sensitive from being a little virgin baby.

“thanks for the meal!” goshiki thanked you.

“my turn,” you pushed goshiki down on the bed and attacked his neck with kisses. he moaned happily, as you trailed down his body and towards his hardened cock. you took his cock in your hand, admiring its length and thickness, before giving it a few strokes.

“sh- shit..” goshiki moaned, also a little virgin baby.

“want mommy to kiss your cock? mhm? make you feel good with my tongue?” you purred to goshiki teasingly. he nodded rapidly and cried out, “yes, mommy! wanna feel your tongue and mouth on my dick!”

“alrighty then!” you took goshiki’s length in your mouth, slurping and sucking to the best of your ability. it was a bit awkward at first but you managed to figure out to suck dick properly after a few tries. goshiki’s moans made your cunt wetter, as you bobbed your head up and down on his dick.

“coming!” goshiki yelled before shooting his load down your throat. it tasted funny- was this the taste of cum?- and you swallowed it. you removed your mouth from his cock and informed him, “tell mommy that she did a good job.”

“mommy did a great job!” goshiki praised you, hugging you tightly. you chuckled and told goshiki, “my baby boy did a great job, too.”

“can- can i put it in?” goshiki asked of you, his cock still red and hard.

“of course you can,” you laid back on the pillows and spread your legs, showing off your dripping pussy to goshiki.

“this.. this would be my first time,” goshiki confessed to you.

“mine as well so be gentle,” you reminded your bodyguard.

goshiki nodded and pressed a kiss to your cunt before lining himself up to your entrance and sliding himself in. he bottomed out with a shaky breath and checked to see if you were okay, your face already contorting from a mix of pain and pleasure.

“fuck me good, tsutomu!” you shouted, as goshiki thrust himself inside your pussy. your walls were sucking him in like a vice, goshiki nearly came from the sensation. yet, he held out and pounded into you, groping your breasts to stabilize himself.

“fuck, fuck, fuck-” he chanted, “-you’re so tight, mommy! so tight and warm! i love you, i love you, i love!” goshiki sobbed.

“i love you too, baby boy!” you exclaimed before you two came, goshiki shooting hot seed into your womb.

you collapsed in goshiki’s arms, as goshiki pulled his softened cock out of your cunt. some seed spilled out of your pussy, goshiki smiled at the sight. he kissed on you on the forehead and whispered, “i love you.”

“i love you too,” you whispered back.

#bee scribbles #hanimehub #hqcorenet #🥂 — louvre’s angels #lostcoves.nsfw #honey's back to the streets collab #haikyuu!!#hq!!#haikyuu!! x reader #hq!! x reader #shiratorizawa x reader #goshiki #goshiki tsutomu #goshiki x reader #goshiki tsutomu x reader #original work

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queerfictionwriter · 3 years ago

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On Standard Writing Advice

I might’ve ranted about this before, but this is my blog and I’ll be unhinged as much as I like. So much of the writing advice I see comes from a blatantly abled and ableist perspective that I roll my eyes and scroll past it while gnashing my teeth and, sometimes, resisting the urge to scream. It’s not applicable to me, or people like me, so I won’t reblog it and increase its’ reach. But having to see it all the time is infuriating and

Because advice like “write every day!” or “set a routine and stick to it!” ignores the realities of having unpredictable health. You can’t write four days a week when, at any moment, your body might pull rank and leave you bedridden in a flare, or insensate with pain, brain fog, or a migraine, or when all of your plans for the week are thrown into disarray by a sudden doctor’s appointment, or an emergency trip to the hospital or your pain management provider. You do the best you can, obviously, but when that’s your reality, it’s frighteningly easy for goals and targets to become weapons of self-flagellation for factors beyond your control.

The valorizing of routine and steady progress also ignores the unpredictability of minds that cope with mental illness and other forms of neurodivergency. There are days where, no matter what was on the to do list, fuck all is getting done because you’re out of spoons or didn’t sleep, because you’re dealing with a dissociation or med change/adjustment, because all available mental energy has been diverted to basic self-care or Not Spiralling or coping with a trigger. Sometimes there are just Bad Days.

And that’s not even mentioning the fact that basically every disability and chronic condition comes with “chronic fatigue” as a symptom, and creative work is, in fact, work and requires energy no matter how important or rewarding it is to us. and it would be easy and defeatist and ableist to just shrug and assume that disabled people should give up, that it’s too hard, that it’s not worth it. Or to assume that we don’t have anything to say, nothing worth listening to, that our art and writing doesn’t matter, that we should let go of our dreams and goals because it would be “easier”, somehow. and of course this attitude contributes to the whole “i could never live that way” nonsense that gets thrown at disabled people all the time, but that’s a rant for another day

In these situations, you have to be a particular mix of ambitious and relaxed, determined and forgiving, because you have to want to be creative enough to persist, despite the obstacles, and practise enough self-kindness that you don’t overextend yourself because you pushed too hard, or crucify yourself for failing to meet the target you set for yourself. And that is why the advice that I give to all writers, but that I especially the ones with health challenges is:

1) Learn to trust yourself. This one is maybe the hardest thing to do as a creative, but it’s so, so important, because so much of your creative work gets easier once you trust yourself--to tell the story, to know your limits, to finish eventually even if it feels like it’s taking forever.

2) Learn to listen to yourself. What are your instincts telling you--about this scene, this character, this story, this trope? What is your gut feeling about where you’re at and what you’re capable of today? Is today a day to try, to rest, or to push?

3) Don’t be afraid to suck. We all start somewhere, and there’s no shame in being bad at things, especially things that you were never taught--we’re never done growing and learning and experiencing new things. The important bit about the sucking phase is not giving up--because you can push through it until you’re out the other side with new skills and greater mastery over your craft.

4) Cultivate a healthy relationship with feedback. Not everything you create is going to be for every single person. It’s okay to have a target audience in mind. And, when that happens? You have to let the negative opinions of people who aren’t in that target audience roll off your back, because you will never make everyone happy. One story--or even the collective work of one person--can never be all things to all people. Representation is a team sport. That said, though? It’s worthwhile to cultivate feedback from people that you trust--to understand your intentions, and to be honest with you. We all have blind spots about our own work, because we’re all human. Having someone you trust to point out those blind spots is incredibly valuable, but it’s also okay to be picky about who you choose to take that feedback from.

5) Write for yourself. Do it because you love it--because you love to write, because you love the topic or the characters, because this is your niche interest. Write with love and it will bring your words to life for your readers, in addition to making the overall process more enjoyable for you. (It also helps in letting the haters’ opinions roll, because if you love it, everyone else’s opinion matters a little less.) If you’re just writing it--whatever “it” is, a story or trope or particular plot or character interpretation--because of some notion of “should” or “tradition”, rules or social pressure, that half-heartedness will translate for readers. The words will feel lacklustre.

#K speaks #long post #writing #advice #ableism #writing community #writing is hard #be kind to each other #be kind to yourselves #be kind to writers #disabled people #disabled life #invisible disabilities are still real disabilities #disability politics

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theghostofashton · 3 years ago

Note

hey , when you are free ( only when you're feeling good , i don't want to burden you since you're already in the middle of writing another fic ) can you do a short fic on your interpretation of how both kurt and blaine decided they needed help and went to therapy and how it all played out leading upto s6 where we see them.

you sent me this so long ago and i'm so sorry it took forever. i decided to kind of write two fics? writing kurt and blaine's individual processes felt more natural as separate fics, because they are both in very different places. they got kind of long (i am so sorry - i cannot shut up to save my life lmfao) so i didn't go into the actual therapy sessions, but i can definitely write follow ups that do, if you want!

pretty heavy trigger warnings for depression in both of these. keep that in mind before reading.

i hope you enjoy :)

Blaine is numb.

He doesn’t feel anything. He doesn’t want to feel anything. Everything’s hurt for far longer than he’s been able to bear. It’s finally starting to fade into a slow, steady ache, dull at the edges and no longer as painful, and for that, he is relieved. It’s the kind of hurt that he can tolerate, the kind that just blends into the background, a low buzz that just remains constant.

He just wants to lay here forever. Maybe until the world ends, or his body decomposes, whichever comes first.

It all happened so quickly. Sometimes it feels like someone took a sledgehammer to his life and left it in thousands of tiny pieces. He’s sitting amongst the wreckage, unsure of where to even begin rebuilding. Part of him isn’t sure it’s entirely possible to put back together the smithereens of everything he thought he knew.

The rest of him just doesn’t understand how things got to this point. He doesn’t understand how it happened, how he went from daydreams and decisions about wedding menus, to trying to soften the lump in his throat long enough to deal the last blow. I will never forgive you. I won’t.

I will never forgive you for this.

In the moment, it was all he could do. All of the strength he could summon had been poured into those seven words. He wanted them to hurt, to sting Kurt the way Kurt had stung him, icy hot and merciless. He wanted Kurt to know that it would take more. He wasn’t that easily breakable – at least, not on the outside. He would have the last word, and he would tell it like it was.

He doesn’t know how he could ever forgive Kurt for this.

More important than Kurt, Blaine doesn’t know how he’ll ever forgive himself for the series of bad decisions the past couple of months have dissolved into. Day after day spent in bed, tear tracks drying on his face as he stared at nothing on his walls and tried to keep conscious for a respectable amount of time. He knew it wasn’t a good thing to be sleeping for more hours out of the day than he was awake, but he couldn’t find the energy to do anything else.

Kurt had left.

He was gone.

And Blaine, as much as he tried to fight it, was broken by him. He was broken by the realization that he had put so much of his happiness, so much of himself into his relationship with Kurt and his future wedding, that, now that it had been yanked away, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He didn’t know anything, anymore. His life no longer looked anything like he had envisioned it turning out, and he was forced to live with that. There wasn’t anything he could do.

Kurt doesn’t want him anymore.

There isn’tanything he can do about that.

A part of him isn’t too surprised, if he’s really honest with himself. Things have been different for a while. He’s been scared for a while.

His gut could tell something bad was coming. It was obvious, in the way Kurt moved around the apartment, in the lines of his body in bed at night, the way he was perpetually tensed, stiff with everything he was holding in. Maybe he’d wanted to break up sooner, but held back to preserve Blaine’s feelings.

Blaine isn’t stupid. He knows that that night at the restaurant wasn’t planned. He pushed just the right amount for Kurt to finally blurt out the thing that had had a hold on him. For how long, Blaine isn’t sure, but he knows it had to have been longer than the length of time he kept Kurt waiting at that table.

At least, that’s what he keeps trying to tell himself.

Because the alternative, the biting realization that Kurt hadn’t intended to break up with him, that it just slipped out, something so impulsive yet so final, is too much for Blaine. He doesn’t want it to be true. That isn’t the Kurt he knows. None of this makes sense, but that…that Kurt made the decision to end their relationship, their engagement, so quickly and easily, is too much for him to take.

It was his biggest fear. The thing he kept convincing himself would never happen. Kurt loves you. He always will. He told you he will. He’s not going to leave you. He loves you.

Kurt said he loved him. He said it back, in a moment that Blaine was sure he wouldn’t. But did he? Did he really? The way Blaine sees it, loving someone means fighting for them. Choosing them. Working through the hard things with them.

And Blaine doesn’t know why. He can’t ask. He can only guess. Spend some of these painful hours of consciousness contemplating exactly why he wasn’t good enough for Kurt to stay with. Because the Kurt Hummel he knows is the strongest, toughest fighter he’s ever met. Things had to be dire for him to not even make the effort.

Kurt had finally figured it out. What made him so intolerable, so exhausting to be around. He had realized what he was getting himself into and made a break for it before things could go any deeper. Blaine supposes that is for the best. Get out now, before the papers are signed and things are officially official, before it is much harder to make the break for it.

This is what he’s been scared of, been terrified of, since he and Kurt got back together. And he tried to push it to the back of his mind, because Kurt said yes and invited him to New York and promised to make it safe when he fell. Kurt promised to be there for everything, promised that they belongedto each other, promised that he would never stop loving him.

Blaine wonders when he did.

He wonders when all of this fell apart, how blissfully ignorant and idiotic he must have been not to see it.

How long was Kurt planning to do this? How long was he thinking about it? How long did he keep this to himself, wake up next to Blaine and kiss him goodbye every morning, knowing he was holding onto to the mother of secrets that had the power to destroy everything? Why did he get to be the one making that unilateral decision about their relationship?

Kurt controlled whether they got engaged or not, and Kurt controlled how it ended.

It was all up to him.

Blaine just had to hope they were on the same page about everything, and now it’s clear that they weren’t.

He’s so tired of other people getting to make decisions about his life, and leaving him to deal with the wreckage of their choices. He’s tired of not having any control. He doesn’t know how he ended up here. His life doesn’t feel like his anymore.

Madame Tibideaux had decided that he wasn’t worthy of another year at NYADA, that his emotions weren’t a good enough excuse for the quality - or lack thereof - of his work. It didn’t matter what he was feeling, or how bad it hurt. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t like every other person who could channel their pain into their art. It didn’t matter that he’d been doing it for as long as he could remember, feeling through every lyric he sang, every performance he gave. The cup had to dry up eventually. Something had to happen that was too bad, too painful, for him to sing his way out of. It wasn’t his fault. He’d tried so hard, given everything he could.

It didn’t matter that he desperately, desperately needed someone to see him. Not the things he produced, not the contributions he would make to a performance, him. His real self. The part that no one seemed to want.

It didn’t matter that Blaine Warbler felt like a lie he’d forgotten how to live years ago. He remembers grappling for it, trying to tug on the same mask he’d donned after the Sadie Hawkins dance, turn off his emotions and shift into autopilot, sing and dance and perform like he didn’t wish he could stop existing in that moment.

None of it mattered.

Blaine was just not good enough for NYADA, like he was not good enough for Kurt. He should’ve realized it sooner. It’s his own fault he didn’t.

“Honey?”

Blaine startles at the voice, jolting upward in bed and blinking rapidly against the sunlight pouring into his room. “Huh?”

“I brought you a little something to eat.” His mom sets a plate of buttered toast and a glass of water on his nightstand, and then leans down to drop a kiss against his head. “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbles honestly. He doesn’t want to lie to her. “Tired, I guess.”

“Sam called the house again,” she says. She takes a seat on the edge of his bed and reaches out to brush a hand through his hair. “He left a message, said you haven’t been picking up your cell. He’s worried, Blaine. I’m sure Tina is too.”

Blaine winces, dropping his gaze down to his blankets. Just one more thing you’re sucking at lately.

He hasn’t called Sam or Tina since he got back to Lima. At first, he was too ashamed to tell them the truth, although he knows that Sam is probably aware of what happened. Kurt and Mercedes talk, and even though Sam isn’t with her anymore, he knows that he and Mercedes are still very close. Sam’s been blowing up his phone for weeks. He sent a perfunctory, “back home for a while, but going to be really busy for a while” text, so Sam wouldn’t assume he was ignoring him, but he’s sure Sam has long figured out it was a lie.

“You don’t have to call him back until you’re ready,” his mom tells him. “But I do think he’d love to hear from you, baby. He could come over and keep you company, play some video games, you could-”

“No,” he mutters, shaking his head. “I don’t want him to come over.”

“Why not?”

I just don’t,” he manages. I don’t want him to see me like this.

I don’t want him to be mad at Kurt.

I don’t even know if I want to be mad at Kurt anymore. All of this is just so exhausting.

“Have you given any more thought to what we talked about a while ago?”

Blaine snaps his head up to meet her eyes. “You- no, mom. I’m fine, I promise. I just need a couple more days to…” He trails off with a sigh. To what? Wallow in his sadness? Sleep away and accomplish nothing? He hasn’t been the slightest bit productive since he left New York. It feels like he used up all his energy packing up and moving home.

That was over a month ago, and he still hasn’t recovered from it.

“It’s not really a matter of being fine, sweetheart. You know that. I just think talking about it might-”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” He snaps. And then he watches her face shift and crumples, lump in his throat throbbing as he squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

A pair of hands reaches for him, and he lets himself go, lets her pull him into a hug and buries his face in the crook of her neck. He takes a deep breath, and then another, hot tears burning at his eyes.

He doesn’t want to cry anymore. He feels like he’s done nothing but cry about this. He doesn’t know how he still has tears left.

“I know,” she murmurs, rubbing his back. “And I know you don’t think it’ll help. But you might be surprised, Blaine. I just think you should give it a chance. Get yourself back on your feet and feeling a little better, hm?”

She presses another kiss to the top of his head and props him back against his pillows. “You don’t have to make a decision right now. Just think about it, okay?”

“Okay,” he chokes out.

“I’m just going to be downstairs doing some work. Let me know if you want another piece of toast, all right?”

At his nod, she makes her way out of his room, and Blaine slumps back against his headboard, still fighting tears.

She’s probably right. It would help, far more than it would hurt. His mom has been a proponent of him seeing someone ever since Sadie Hawkins. He insisted he’d be okay then, and, seeing his distress, she didn’t push too hard for it. He knows she regrets that now, knows she blames herself for things getting as bad as they have. If he had gone, back then, maybe they would’ve been able to address some of this before it turned so bad.

But talking means talking about everything. About the dance, and meeting Kurt, and it going from so good to so bad, in such a short amount of time. It means talking about the things he hoped would stay buried, the ways in which he and Kurt were not perfect, his tendency to latch onto things and cling to them, tighter than he probably should have.

He isn’t sure he’s ready to think about more than how angry he is, or how much this hurts. He isn’t sure he’s ready to move out of this stage of staying in bed and not facing the world, holing up in his childhood bedroom and not confronting the life that he feels like he put on pause a month ago. He knows things are different now. He just isn’t sure he’s ready to see how much everything’s changed.

He doesn’t feel like he’s ready to move past all of this, but he knows he needs to.

He knows he needs to leave all of this behind, to start talking about it and thinking about it and rebuilding the pieces of his mess of a life. Otherwise, he’s destined to feel like this forever.

And that scares him even more.

---

Kurt is exhausted.

And if he’s really honest with himself, he’s felt this tiredness for a while now, become so accustomed to it that it feels like he’s leeched it into part of his personality, taken on the ache in his chest and the heaviness of his bones like a jacket with rocks in the pockets, weighing him down with every step he tries to take.

It’s the kind of tired that feels consuming, quicksand that swallows him the more he tries to get out of it. The kind that makes him feel like he’s running on empty, with no sign of a gas station for miles, the kind of tired that makes every day, every action, every conversation, feel like too much.

Part of him thought that this would stop once he ended things with Blaine. He didn’t want to go there. He never wanted to believe that Blaine could be the reason for all of this. How could the person that made him feel so, so loved and safe on his worst days also be the person that made him feel like this? It just didn’t make sense.

It never felt true, but the thought continued to linger, and with every passing day, ate more and more away at him. He tried not to spend too much time in that place. It hurt too much to think about until he was blurting out the words he didn’t even plan on saying.

And then, everything changed.

The breath it allowed him to take, the exhale, didn’t last long. Instead, he’s left with the image of Blaine’s crumpled, heartbroken expression every time he closes his eyes, the I will never forgive you for this playing on loop in his head every time he tries to think about what it could mean going forward.

That was it.

He ruined it.

He drove Blaine away for good.

Kurt remembers the day it happened so clearly. Getting home after a long day of classes, worn out and ravenous, only to be greeted by Blaine’s key to the loft sitting on the kitchen table. He’d sent Kurt a text that had far too many periods and was capitalized in all the right places – which, Blaine usually tended to do, but never in his life had Kurt read a message from him that felt so stiff and robotic and formal – about the rest of his portion of rent and bills for the month.

Blaine was gone.

Really, really gone.

And Kurt was alone, feeling further and further away from the people that loved him with each passing day.

In the beginning, he thought that was what he needed. Time away. A chance to be by himself and reevaluate the decisions he’d made over the past year. Crunch the numbers and figure out if Blaine remained in the equation by the end. He just wanted to be certain, be sure, that he wasn’t opening himself up to be hurt again. He wasn’t sure he could take it one more time, give his heart back to Blaine only to have it dropped, shattered like a stone.

He just wanted to feel safe.

He wanted to be sure of it, sure that he could let his heart go, run wild and free like it did in the common room, racing toward the boy with the beautiful voice who had held his hand and made him feel seen for the first time in his life. He wanted it to feel like that again. Untethered, too strong to control, defying each doubt with that wave of invincibility. So pure and open, expansive with all of the potential, broken parts shaved off to make room for the newness.

Maybe he just wasn’t meant to have that with Blaine, he’d thought. Maybe Blaine was supposed to be a bridge that helped him on the road to finding that. Maybe he’d meet someone else that would make him feel like Blaine first had, someone else that would make him feel weightless.

He tries to just go for it, to let it happen, but it never does. It never feels right, never the kind of right that it felt with Blaine. He lets Elliott set him up with friends that the other deems perfect, just your type, and feels nothing.

He tries speed dating, and starts getting more serious about Tindr. He matches with a few guys, goes on a couple of dates, flirts and reciprocates and tries, to let himself fall headfirst. It’s fun. Every date is a good time. They’re warm and light and exploding with newness. But the sparks die out after the first twenty minutes and then Kurt finds himself back in his head, thinking about hair gel and bowties and nonfat mochas, intertwined hands and the insides of coffee shops, the way it all felt like the safest home he’s ever known.

And he hates it, he hates that he feels nothing. He hates that his heart belongs to the hair gel and the bowties, because he fucked that up. He ruined that.

Kurt goes to class, goes to work, and comes home. Sometimes he sees Elliott, and sometimes he stays past his shift to chat with Artie at the diner, but otherwise, he spends every day the same. Sitting and staring through shows on TV, shoving spoonful after spoonful of ice cream in his mouth, and trying desperately to turn his brain off. Trying desperately not to wade into the murky waters of every moment that led up to that night.

I will never forgive you for this.

The realization slaps him in the face.

He’s trying to move on, and then he’s crying in public, humiliating himself in front of a perfectly good Tindr match, overcome with the sheer magnitude of the words that came out of his mouth so many months ago. It hadn’t hit him until then, how insistent, how cruel he had been in the moment. How he had the power to turn Blaine from light and warm and excited, to completely and utterly broken, in the span of a single conversation.

He did that.

And sure, it wasn’t just about toothpaste and towels and Blaine’s newfound habit of tardiness, sure, there was so much painful and deep and wrong underneath the surface. Sure, Kurt had had doubts ever since the car ride and the non-surprise of a proposal, sure, it would have come to the light sooner or later, sure, he was just speeding up the process.

But never in his life has he been so disgusted in himself. Never in his life has he gone back over a moment so many times in his head, wished he could turn back time and that 20/20 happened before hindsight and that he could see the future of misery he’d end up in and not decide to ruin the best thing that had ever happened to him.

They could’ve talked about it. Blaine is one of the most understanding people Kurt has ever met. He would’ve absolutely been open to something like that. One of Kurt’s favorite things about him is that kindness, that space for grace he is able to hold for others.

Talk to me. Tell me you’re unhappy.

We’ve been putting this off for far too long.

Don’t you think we should have the talk?

Wait, Kurt, let’s talk about this.

Blaine always wanted to talk. It was how he felt safe, Kurt is realizing. Blaine wanted the words, the vocalization that everything was okay in that real and concrete way. It was how he grounded himself.

Kurt’s never been one for talking. He keeps his feelings close to his chest, locked up tight. He knows they’re not what people want to hear. They’re messy, and don’t always make sense. Sometimes they feel like the worst parts of him all bundled up into one, complete with pieces of him that haven’t fully left the horrors of high school behind.

Talking about them is effort he doesn’t have to exert. He’ll be opening Pandora’s box with no way to contain the contents. He doesn’t necessarily want to know how the people in his life feel about him. He doesn’t want to hear what they have to say. It scares him too much. There’s just no reason to ruin a perfectly good foundation by having conversations that uncover all of the cracks.

No, it’s better to drop a bomb on the entire thing and destroy it in one fell swoop.

He sometimes feels like he’d fallen asleep after Finn died and is only now being wrenched out of his nightmare, waking into a world that is far different than when he left it. Everything’s been on pause for so long. Hitting play feels like coming back to a reality he barely recognizes. A person he barely recognizes.

He hadn’t realized how much he didn’t like himself until there was nothing to distract from it. And maybe it isn’t his entire self, per say, but who he’s turned into. The person that’s been morphed together after the tiring, tumultuous year they’d all had. The stress, the anxiety, the exhaustion, personified. Even the littlest things – the tiny, stupid, don’t matter in the grand scheme of it, things – make him angry.

He’s been living on fumes for too long and everything feels like it’s at a breaking point. He’s trying to hold on to the reins, but they’re slipping out of his hands too quickly and he’s too tired to keep running to catch up. His life feels like it’s unraveling and it scares him, because he has never been this person. He has never been unable to keep going, unable to push through, to carry on, put all his stock into the rainbow on the other side and his nose down until he reaches it.

But everything that’s happened in the past few years, high school, and Karofsky, and all the little things he let go, all the things he said were okay and tried to move past and eventually decided didn’t mean anything anymore, never truly went away. They laid dormant for a while, so much so that he’d just about forgotten about them, until they decided to come back with a vengeance. Like he’s being reminded of how messed up his life is, because for once, hewas the one to cause it.

He’s spent so long being too gay, or too fragile, or too feminine, to get the things that he really wants. There’s always been something he couldn’t control, something inherently wrong with him, which keeps him from getting anything on the first try. It always takes extra work, extra effort, the need to prove that he does deserve it and has earned the role, or the solo, or the opportunity that is almost inevitably given up to someone else.

Maybe a small part of him thought that Blaine would be like that too.

The proposal wouldn’t be enough to propel them into a lifetime of happiness.

It couldn’t be that easy.

He wouldn’t get to be that happy.

There is so much wrong with him. Kurt knows that. He knows he can be bitchy, sometimes cold, often not someone that’s easy to get close to. He knows he has a tendency to hold everything in until he reaches a breaking point and lashes out.

He knows he’s angry. He knows he’s in pain.

And he knows Blaine didn’t need to see any of it, didn’t deserve any of it. Blaine was too good, too warm, too unimaginably kind, to deserve these parts of him. He didn’t want their relationship to turn into it, go sour and stunted until Blaine began to resent him.

Blaine loved him anyway. In spite of everything. Blaine’s capacity for love was so massive and unlimited, and Kurt couldn’t understand it. Blaine wanted to work on things, always, and Kurt didn’t understand that, either. He’s spent his entire life trying desperately to be okay, to be enough, for people, to not be a problem they will one day resent solving and decide to abandon by the side of the road. People don’t want a mess. They don’t want someone who’s broken. They don’t want to be there when the going gets bad.

But everything is just so much, and Kurt has never been more tired of fighting.

He can’t hide it anymore. Can’t compress it down and pretend it isn’t happening. A recent study session with Elliott turned into a minor – he would deem minor, although Elliott would definitely evaluate it way worse – breakdown over one of his theory papers. What should’ve been some simple frustration over his inability to phrase his argument was instead far more loaded, the depths of his anger and stress seeping through, unable to be contained.

Maybe talking is – finally – what he needs. He’s tried everything else.

He reaches over and into the pocket of the jacket he wore a couple days ago, and pulls out the card Elliott pushed into his hand as they left the coffee shop. For the therapist I used to see when I first got to the city, Elliott had told him. She really helped me sort through some stuff, and I know she can help you too.

Call, he had urged quietly. Please, Kurt. It doesn’t have to be like this.

It isn’t the first time Elliott’s brought up seeing a therapist. That was his first suggestion when Kurt broke the news of his and Blaine’s breakup. Kurt had ignored him then, insisted that the breakup was all he needed. He’d be fine.

But the lump in his throat has been there for weeks, and he is so tired of being on the verge of tears all the time.

That’s what he tells himself, as he grabs his phone. His fingers shake as he puts in the number and presses ‘call’.

He’s so tired of being tired.

#i've been messing around with these for weeks and i am so scared to finally post them #i hope they're what you had in mind i'm so sorry for how much psychoanalysis i ended up doing #klaine fanfiction #klaine #kurt hummel #blaine anderson #glee fanfiction #neha writes #i wanted to finish these before i jumped into anything else so other stuff is def coming!#also requests are open as always so if y'all have anything else in mind please feel free to send a message abt it!

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