#wiping down every surface too to clear it of dust and such

[themslash]

:/ laid low by the common cold again, my friends

[yungistiny]

Heaven And Back ═ chapter three

[ S. Mingi ]

chapter three: I’m asking

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summary: mingi is trouble wrapped in bleached hair and piercings and maybe that’s exactly what y/n needs

warning: emo mingi, stoner/dealer mingi, virgin reader, use of drugs, first time, unprotected sex

pairing: mingi x afab reader

genre: romance, drama, smut

word count: 6.2k

chapter two

chapter four

masterlist

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The cafe was unusually quiet for a Friday afternoon.

Sunlight spilled across the hardwood floors through the big front windows, catching in soft dust motes that floated through the air. The low hum of indie music buzzed from the speakers, the espresso machine hissed now and then, and somewhere in the back, Wooyoung was arguing with the blender like it had personally wronged him.

Y/N stood behind the counter, chin propped on her hand as she half heartedly wiped down the already clean surface. Her apron was wrinkled, her hair was pulled back messily, and she’d been checking the door every five minutes for the past hour, not that she was waiting for anyone. Supposedly.

It had been three days since that night with Mingi.

Three days since he kissed her senseless, and drove her home like a perfect storm she hadn’t seen coming.

And three days with zero contact.

Not even a text.

She hadn’t texted him either, sure, but that didn’t stop the tiny sting of disappointment every time her phone lit up and it wasn’t him.

“You gonna polish a hole in that counter, babe,” Wooyoung said, sliding back into view with a late in hand. He passed it across the counter to a waiting customer and turned to Y/N with a raised brow. “You good?”

“Peachy,” she muttered.

“You’re brooding,” he noted, crossing his arms. “It’s kind of hot, not gonna lie. But it’s also kind of pathetic. Did you at least text him?”

Y/N groaned. “No.”

Wooyoung sighed like this was a personal inconvenience. “Unbelievable. Mingi gives you the most romantic stoner night of your life, and you ghost him?”

“I didn’t ghost him!” she hissed. “I just… haven’t reached out. Yet.”

Wooyoung gave her a knowing look. “You’re scared.”

Y/N scowled, then looked away, mouth tightening.

Before he could say anything else, the bell above the door jingled.

She glanced up automatically and her breath caught.

Mingi stood in the doorway, hands in his jacket pockets, bleach blond hair a little messy like he’d just run his fingers through it. His black jeans clung low on his hips, and the rings on his fingers glinted as he stepped inside, eyes locking on her immediately.

Wooyoung made a low whistle under his breath. “Speak of the devil…..”

Y/N straightened quickly, heart stuttering like it had been jump started.

Mingi didn’t hesitate. He walked right up to the counter like he owned the place, like he’d known she’d be here. Because other than college, where else would she be?

“Hey, angel,” he said, voice low and casual, but his eyes told a different story.

She stared up at him, caught completely off guard. “Hey.”

“You been hiding from me?” he asked, one corner of his mouth curling.

Y/N opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

Wooyoung, behind her, cleared his throat. “I’ll just… be anywhere else.” And he went towards the back, eavesdropping of course.

Mingi leaned on the counter slightly, his voice dropping. “You alright?”

Y/N nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just… wasn’t sure if I should text you.”

His brows lifted a little. “Why not?”

She fidgeted with the edge of her apron. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to bother you. Or seem clingy. Or…”

Mingi reached across the counter and gently curled his fingers around her wrist, halting her ramble. “Angel,” he said, softer now. “You wouldn’t be bothering me.”

Her heart stuttered again.

“I meant what I said,” he continued. “When you’re ready. But I’m not gonna pretend I’m not thinking about you.”

Y/N felt like her ribcage was too tight for her heart to beat in.

“I’ve got a delivery later,” Mingi said. “But if you’re free tonight…”

Her voice was a whisper. “I’m free.”

He smiled slowly, like that was all he needed to hear. Then he slid a ringed finger down her wrist before letting go and stepped back.

“I’ll text you,” he said. “Be ready.”

And then he was gone, leaving behind the scent of cologne and something smoky and her pulse wrecked beyond repair.

Wooyoung reappeared from the back, a smirk already on his face. “You gonna keep pretending you’re not obsessed with him, or can we finally admit this is spiraling?”

Y/N could only bury her face in her hands and groan.

By the time their shift ended, her nerves were fried.

She’d checked her phone so many times Wooyoung threatened to throw it into the pastry case. Mingi’s text had come through around 4 p.m. pick you up at 9, angel, and she hadn’t stopped spiraling since.

“Come on,” Wooyoung said, grabbing her wrist the moment they clocked out. “You’re too pathetic to be left unsupervised right now. We’re raiding your dorm.”

They made it back in record time, Y/N still in her work clothes and Wooyoung already stripping off his apron as he stormed inside like he owned the place.

Ningning was gone again, probably tangled up with her girlfriend somewhere, but that didn’t stop Wooyoung from throwing open her closet.

“Okay,” he announced, flipping through hangers. “If you’re going to be making out with a hot dealer in a hot car, you need to look the part.”

“Wooyoung,” Y/N said weakly, sinking onto her bed. “This is insane. I haven’t even talked to him since that night. What if he changed his mind?”

Wooyoung turned around, one brow arched. “He showed up at your job like a man on a mission. He didn’t change his mind. You, however, are having a full blown meltdown, so it’s a good thing I’m here to be your hot fairy godmother.”

He turned back and yanked out a hanger triumphantly.

It was Ningning’s dress, the slinky black one she wore once when they went out to Itaewon. Strappy. Short. Barely there back.

Y/N eyes went wide. “I can’t wear that.”

“You can and you will,” he declared. “Trust me, angel, He won’t know what hit him.” Wooyoung teased, using her nickname Mingi had given her.

Thirty minutes later, Y/N stood in front of the mirror, dress clinging to her like a second skin, black boots hugging her calves, and a denim jacket thrown over her shoulders to try and tone it down, not that it worked.

Her makeup was subtle but glowy, lips tinted just enough to tempt.

“Jesus,” Wooyoung muttered, leaning against the doorframe and watching her with wide eyes. “You actually look like someone who could ruin lives.”

Y/N shot him a glare over her shoulder. “You think it’s too much?”

He just grinned. “It’s perfect. He’s gonna lose his damn mind.”

At exactly 8:59, her phone buzzed.

Mingi [ Outside ]

Her stomach flipped.

Wooyoung grabbed her phone before she could overthink. “No chickening out. Go. Be reckless. Be hot. Let him fall in love a little. You’ve earned it.”

She rolled her eyes but hugged him tight. “Thanks.”

Then, heart hammering, she headed downstairs.

The air outside was cool, the sky dark and speckled with stars. Her eyes scanned the curb….

And there he was.

Mingi leaned casually against his shiny black mustang, arms crossed, bleached hair glinting under the streetlight. He was in a black tee and jeans ripped at the knee, rings on every finger, and a chain dangling from his belt loop.

He looked up just as she stepped outside.

For a second, he didn’t move, just let his gaze drag over her slowly, thoroughly, from the curve of her thighs to her face. Then his mouth curved. “Damn, angel.”

Y/N bit her lip, cheeks warm.

He pushed off the car and came toward her, slow and sure.

“You’re dangerous like this,” he murmured, eyes never leaving hers. “You know that?”

“I think you bring that out in me.”

That earned her a low, rough laugh. He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, teasing, almost mocking, except his eyes were too sincere for it to be a joke.

“Ready?” he asked.

Y/N nodded, breath catching.

Mingi opened the passenger door for her with a flourish, and she slid in, the leather cool beneath her thighs, the smell of weed and cologne curling around her like smoke.

As he got in and started the engine, her nerves kicked up again, but not in a bad way.

Not anymore.

The engine purred to life beneath them, low and smooth, and Mingi pulled away from the curb like he had nowhere to be, one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the gearshift.

Y/N sat quietly at first, her nerves still fluttering, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her denim jacket. But it didn’t take long for the silence between them to settle into something softer, something that buzzed gently beneath her skin.

The further they drove from campus, the quieter the world became. City lights gave way to darker roads and wooded curves, the Mustang humming through the night like a secret.

Y/N glanced over at him, at the strong lines of his jaw, the slight furrow in his brow, the way his pierced tongue flicked against his lip now and then like he was lost in thought.

But it was his hands that held her attention.

She didn’t mean to stare, but she couldn’t help it.

His fingers, long and ringed, wrapped around the wheel like they belonged there, confident, controlled, almost too calm. His knuckles shifted as he turned, the faint silver glint of his rings catching in the occasional light.

She remembered how they’d felt when they slid along her jaw. When they’d gripped her hips on the dance floor. When they’d pressed that blunt to her lips for the first time.

“You’re staring, angel,” Mingi said without looking at her, voice low and amused.

Y/N blinked, caught. “Sorry.”

He just smirked. “Don’t be.”

“How old are you?” She didn’t mean to blurt it out like that. Mingi smirked, clearly amused. “Twenty three.” His answer caused her to blush. “What about you, angel?”

Y/N blushed, suddenly nervous to tell him, it’s not like he was that much older than her and Wooyoung. “Nineteen.”

They drove a little while longer in silence after that, until Mingi finally turned off the main road onto a narrow gravel path. Trees loomed tall on either side, their shadows stretching long across the hood of the car.

“Where are we?” she asked softly.

“A spot I like,” he said. “Don’t usually bring people here.”

Y/N heart skipped at that.

The road curved once more, and then they broke through the trees into a small clearing. The ground opened wide beneath a blanket of stars, and ahead of them was a view of the city, tiny lights blinking in the distance like a constellation turned upside down.

Mingi killed the engine, and the sudden quiet wrapped around them like a warm fog.

Y/N slowly stepped out of the car, the night air brushing her bare legs. Mingi came around to her side, one hand sliding into his back pocket as he looked out at the view.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured.

He didn’t answer right away. Just nodded, then glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Figured you might need a place to breathe.”

Y/N looked at him, really looked, and for a second, the chaos inside her dulled into something still and aching.

Maybe he did know her. Or maybe he was just guessing. Either way, he was right.

Mingi popped the trunk and grabbed a blanket, tossing it onto the hood before hopping up and gesturing for her to join him.

“You trust me, angel?”

Y/N smiled faintly, heart pounding. “I think I’m starting to.”

She climbed up beside him, the hood still warm beneath the blanket. The city glittered far below them, a silent reminder of everything she’d left behind for just a little while.

Mingi pulled out a blunt from the inside pocket of his jacket and lit it with a flick of his black matte lighter. He took a slow drag before passing it to her without a word.

Y/N hesitated just long enough for him to notice.

He didn’t tease her for it. Just said, “No pressure.”

But she took it anyway. Inhaled. Let it burn slow.

They passed it back and forth like that, easy and rhythmic, and the silence between them stretched into something calm. Familiar.

After a few more hits, Y/N limbs felt a little looser, her head fuzzier at the edges. The stars above them swirled slightly, and the beat of her heart no longer pressed heavy against her ribs.

“Why here?” she asked finally, voice softer now.

Mingi leaned back on one hand, eyes on the horizon. “It’s quiet.” He said. “Nobody bugs me up here. No one wanting smoke. No noise. Just… space.”

Y/N nodded, understanding more than she meant to.

He glanced at her then, his gaze sharp but unreadable. “You ever feel like the world’s just too much sometimes?”

She let out a slow breath, smoky and quiet. “All the time.”

Mingi smiled at that, a little sad and a little amused. “Yeah. Figured.”

They sat like that for a while, knees brushing, shoulders almost touching. The blunt was nearly gone, and when Mingi reached over to take the last drag, his fingers brushed hers, just a whisper of contact, but it made her shiver anyway.

He noticed.

He didn’t call her out on it, though. Just let the moment stretch between them until it tightened into something almost unbearable.

Then his voice cut through it, low, rough, teasing. “Still running from me?”

Y/N turned to him slowly, eyes half lidded, head hazy and heart loud. “Maybe,” she whispered.

He leaned in just a little, his hand coming to rest on the blanket beside her thigh. “Don’t.” And then, slow and deliberate, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers.

Not a rush. Not a question. Just heat and pressure and a low groan deep in his chest like he’d been waiting for it again just as long as she had.

The kiss was hungry, open mouthed and hot, his pierced tongue brushing hers, his rings cold against her waist when he gripped it. She melted into him without thinking, hands sliding up his chest to curl into the fabric of his shirt.

It wasn’t until her lungs started to burn that she pulled back, panting.

Mingi’s eyes were darker now. Heavy.

“I should get you home,” he murmured, though his fingers didn’t move from her waist.

Y/N nodded, chest still rising and falling. “Yeah. Probably.”

They slid off the hood slowly, reluctantly.

Before she could climb into the passenger seat, Mingi stopped her. He reached into the glove box, pulled out a small ziplock bag, and tucked it into her jacket pocket.

“For next time,” he said with a crooked grin.

Y/N opened her mouth to ask what next time meant, but then he was leaning in again, one hand on her jaw, his mouth hot and slow on hers, a promise wrapped in smoke and tension.

By the time he pulled away, she was breathless all over again.

“Text me when you can’t stop thinking about me,” he said simply.

And then he opened her door for her, the gentleman he absolutely wasn’t, and drove her home in silence, the kind that hummed with everything unspoken between them.

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Y/N hadn’t planned on going out. Her body was still sore from the last few shifts at the cafe, her brain fried from too many hours staring at textbooks she didn’t care about. But Wooyoung showed up at her dorm anyway, all charm and glittery eyes, with a half buttoned shirt and an, I know you don’t want to go, but trust me, look on his face.

“You’ve been in your own head too long,” he said, tugging on her arm like a kid. “Tonight’s not about school, or stress, or brooding over hot drug dealers.”

“I’m not….”

“Yes, you are,” he interrupted, grinning. “And I love you, but we’re not doing this tonight. You’re coming.”

Somehow, he got her dressed, a little black top, her favorite jeans, and glitter around her eyes that she let him apply because she was too tired to argue. The party wasn’t far, just off campus in one of those houses where the lights always flickered and the music never stopped.

The bass hit before they even reached the porch. Inside, it was all bodies and heat and color, red cups passed between hands, laughter echoing off the walls, the floor vibrating like it had a pulse.

Wooyoung handed her a bottle of water and leaned in close, mouth brushing her ear. “Okay, I have a surprise.”

Y/N pulled back, suspicious. “What kind of surprise?”

“The kind that makes everything feel like magic,” he said, producing two tiny capsules from his pocket.

She stared.

“Wanna roll with me?” he asked, eyes wide and warm and full of mischief. “Just this once.”

Y/N hesitated. “What is it?”

“Molly.”

She thought about how tired she was. How hollow. How Mingi had kissed her like fire and then disappeared like smoke.

She took the drug from his hand.

“Just this once.”

They found a couch near the window, the breeze from the open frame a small mercy in the heat. They drank water and waited, leaning against each other, laughing at nothing. It didn’t take long.

The molly hit like sunlight breaking through clouds.

Y/N blinked and the world bloomed, every color too bright, every touch like velvet. Her skin tingled. Her pulse synced with the music. She looked at Wooyoung, who was glowing, and then out over the party like she could suddenly see every heartbeat in the room.

It felt like falling in love with everything.

And then she saw him.

Mingi.

He’d just walked in, black denim and silver chains, bleached hair spiked up, hands in his jacket pockets like he wasn’t fully here yet.

He looked up.

Their eyes met.

Something in her chest cracked open.

And Mingi?

He hadn’t planned to stay long.

He hated most college parties, too loud, too crowded, too many freshmen trying to impress each other. He was here for a quick drop off, a favor to someone who always paid in cash and didn’t talk too much. In and out, that was the plan.

But then he saw her.

Y/N.

Curled up on the couch near the window, glitter dusted over her cheekbones, lips parted in a dreamy smile. Her eyes found him instantly, and they lit up, wide and starry like she’d been waiting for him.

His steps faltered.

She got up, a little too fast, wobbling for just a second before steadying herself with a laugh. The music pulsed between them, but she cut through it like it was nothing, beelining toward him like gravity had tilted in his direction.

“Mingi!” she sang, her voice low and breathy, her smile a little too loose, a little too wide.

He caught her gently when she stumbled into his chest.

“You okay, angel?” he asked, looking her over. Her pupils were blown. Her skin was flushed. She was high, not just a little either.

She nodded, fingers fisting in the front of his jacket. “You came.”

“Didn’t know you’d be here,” he said honestly, steadying her with both hands on her waist.

“Lucky you.” She whispered.

And then, with no warning at all, she rose up on her toes and kissed the corner of his jaw.

Mingi’s breath caught.

“Y/N…” he murmured, but her hands were already sliding up beneath his jacket, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt.

“You smell good,” she said, dreamy and dazed, “You always smell so fucking good, Mingi.”

He swallowed hard. “What did you take?”

“Molly,” she said easily, chin tilting up so she could press her lips to his neck.

Mingi stiffened.

She was warm, soft, relentless, touching him like they were already lovers, like she wasn’t out of her head on one of the most intense highs a body could feel. And when her mouth brushed his ear, and she whispered, “Take me somewhere,” something twisted in his chest.

He wanted her. God, he wanted her.

But not like this.

Not when she wouldn’t remember what she said. Not when everything she felt was amplified and shimmering and not fully hers.

“Y/N,” he said, carefully taking her wrists and stepping back, “you’re not thinking straight.”

She blinked up at him, confused. “Yes, I am.”

“No,” he said gently. “Not enough for this.”

There was a flicker of hurt in her expression, brief but sharp, and she turned her face away, shoulders curling in on themselves.

“Right,” she mumbled. “Okay.”

Mingi exhaled, scrubbing a hand over his jaw.

“Come on,” he said, his voice softening. “you need water.”

And with that, he draped an arm around her shoulders and led her away from the crowd.

Mingi helped her down onto a cushioned bench in one of the quieter rooms, away from the music and swirling lights. He left her for only a second, returning with a cold water bottle that he pressed gently into her hands.

“Drink,” he said, kneeling in front of her. His tone was soft, but there was no room for argument.

Y/N obeyed, taking slow sips. Her hands were a little shaky.

“You okay?” he asked, watching her carefully.

She nodded. “Yeah. Just… floaty.”

He almost smiled, but didn’t. Too much heat still lingered from the way she’d looked at him out there. The way she’d touched him.

When she set the bottle down, her eyes found his again, glassy, slow, but clear enough to be dangerous.

“You don’t want me.” She murmured. Not a question. A statement laced with something sharp.

Mingi sighed, shifting back onto his heels. “That’s not true.”

“Then why didn’t you?” she asked. And before he could answer, she leaned forward, straddling his thighs without hesitation.

Her hands slid into his hair. “I want you, Mingi.”

He caught her wrists again, more firmly this time. “Y/N…”

“I think about you all the time,” she whispered, nose brushing his cheek. “your hands, your mouth… I’ve wanted you since I first met you.”

He stilled.

“And I know what I want. Even now. I’m not a kid, I….”

“You’re a virgin,” Mingi said suddenly. He suspected it and the way Y/N froze, he was right. It’s why he wasn’t pushing her.

Her fingers twitched, and for a second, she looked like she wanted to deny it. But then her chin lifted, defensive. “So?”

Mingi let out a slow breath, releasing her wrists.

“That’s not something I take lightly, angel,” he said. “Especially not like this. Not when you’re high out of your mind and looking at me like I’m the answer to every damn question you’ve ever had.”

“I didn’t ask you to save me,” she snapped, pulling back. “I asked you to touch me.”

“I want to,” he bit out. “But I’m not gonna fuck you just because you’re lit and lonely.”

“Then maybe don’t act like you want me so bad if you’re just gonna treat me like a fucking child the second things get real.” Her voice cracked at the end, all that boldness trembling beneath the weight of rejection.

Mingi stood up slowly, jaw tight. “I treat you like someone who deserves to remember her first time for the right reasons.”

Y/N looked away, lips pressed together, fury and shame warring behind her eyes.

“I’m taking you home,” Mingi said, voice gentler now but still firm. “Let’s go.”

And this time, when he offered his hand, she didn’t take it right away.

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The bell above the cafe door chimed softly as Y/N trudged in behind Wooyoung, the apron slung over her arm like a limp flag of surrender. Her head still throbbed from last night, not quite a hangover, but not not one either.

“So,” Wooyoung whispered as he clocked in, eyes already sparkling. “You vanished with Mingi and never came back. Did you finally get your back blown out, or what?”

Y/N gaped and her stomach flipped. She busied herself tying her apron.

Wooyoung’s grin faltered slightly. “Wait. Don’t tell me…”

“I tried,” Y/N mumbled.

“Tried?”

She sighed, leaning back against the counter and crossing her arms.

“I was high. He showed up and I was feeling… bold, I guess. So I kissed him. Started to, y’know…”

“Ravish him?”

She laughed once, dry. “Yeah. Except he stopped me. Got me water. Took me home.”

Wooyoung’s face softened. “Oh.”

“He knows I’m a virgin.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah.”

They were quiet for a beat, just the faint hiss of the espresso machine behind them.

“Do you want to?” he asked gently. “With him?”

Y/N stared at the tiled floor. “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. But now I feel like he sees me as some fragile baby deer who needs protection and soft music and, like, silk sheets or something.”

Wooyoung snorted. “Okay, first, that man definitely owns silk sheets.”

Y/N cracked a smile.

“And second,” he continued, “he probably sees you as someone he actually gives a shit about. Which, if you ask me, is way hotter than any random hookup.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t disagree.

“You’re not mad at him, are you?”

“No,” she said slowly. “Just… embarrassed. I basically threw myself at him and he still said no.”

“He didn’t want to while you were high,” Wooyoung corrected. “There’s a big difference.”

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It had been days since the party. Days since the heat of Mingi’s hands on her waist, the weight of his refusal wrapped around the fact that she’d wanted him, really wanted him, and he’d still said no.

But now, the fog had cleared. No molly in her veins. No haze of embarrassment. Just a quiet, unshakable certainty building in her chest.

So she went to him.

Mingi’s apartment door opened after a few knocks, slow and cautious. He wasn’t expecting anyone.

And definitely not her.

His hair was messy, flattened slightly on one side. No shirt, just loose gray pajama pants slung low on his hips. A faint pink line of sleep still marked his cheek.

They both froze.

Y/N eyes flicked downward, shameless.

His nipple piercings gleamed in the dim hallway light. Subtle, silver, stupidly distracting. His tongue ring was visible too, just for a second, when his lips parted slightly in surprise.

He didn’t say anything.

Neither did she.

She looked at him like she was memorizing something, something she’d been thinking about for days.

Then, finally, she lifted her chin.

“I want you,” she said simply.

Mingi didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Y/N heart pounded in her ears, but her voice didn’t shake. “I’m sober. I know what I’m saying.”

A muscle in his jaw jumped.

Still, he didn’t speak. Just stepped aside and let her in.

She hadn’t meant to stare.

But there was something about seeing him like this, skin bare, muscles relaxed, hair a mess, low hanging pajama pants slung across his hips. She’d imagined it once or twice, in flashes she’d felt guilty for later, but this… this was real. And she couldn’t stop her gaze from dipping lower, to the subtle curve of his chest, the glint of metal that pierced through each nipple, the shadows cast by the cut of his abs.

Mingi didn’t speak. Just stood there, closing the door behind her.

And then, finally…

“Are you sure?” he asked.

Y/N nodded. “Completely.”

They stood in silence for a moment once again, her in the middle of his dimly lit apartment, him behind her, his presence as overwhelming as always.

She turned slowly.

He took a step forward.

“I’m not gonna touch you unless you ask me to,” he said quietly, voice low and rough. “You know that, right?”

Y/N swallowed. Her mouth was dry, her skin hot.

“I’m asking.” She whispered.

Something flickered behind his eyes, hunger, maybe. But he didn’t move toward her like she expected. Instead, he asked again, softly, “You want slow?”

She nodded.

And then he kissed her, not the kind of kiss they’d shared before. This one was deeper, slower, like he was tasting her, like he was memorizing the shape of her mouth. His hands didn’t roam. They just cupped her jaw gently, thumbs brushing her cheeks.

When he finally pulled back, she felt dazed.

Mingi kissed down her neck next, and this time, his hands did move, ghosting over her arms, down to her hips, settling low on her waist.

“Let me take care of you,” he murmured, breath hot against her skin.

Y/N let out a shaky breath. “Okay.”

He lifted her then, just like that, like she weighed nothing, and carried her to his bedroom.

Her heart was pounding.

He set her down on his bed, Y/N had to refrain from giggling, because Wooyoung had been right, he did have silk sheets. Black ones.

He knelt between her thighs, bringing her attention full focused back onto him.

The first press of his mouth was over the fabric of her panties, after he pulled her pants off, his hands smoothing down her legs, slow and patient. She felt him breathe her in before he hooked his fingers under the waistband and pulled.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he said, voice low, eyes on hers.

“I won’t,” she whispered. “I just… I want to feel everything.”

Mingi gave her that crooked smile, soft and dangerous all at once, and leaned down again.

He used his fingers first.

One, slow and steady, sliding in with care, letting her get used to the stretch. His mouth followed, warm and firm, tongue dragging in slow, deliberate strokes that made her hips jerk. He held her in place with one hand, murmuring soft praises between each motion, calling her angel, calling her his.

When he added a second finger, her breath hitched.

But it wasn’t too much. Not with the way he kept looking up at her, checking in without saying a word.

She came on his fingers, a soft, desperate moan spilling from her lips as he pressed kisses to the inside of her thighs, riding it out with her until her legs trembled.

Then, and only then, did he reach for a condom in the small black bedside table. “Still with me?” he asked, pressing his forehead to hers.

Y/N smiled, breathless, glowing, full of something warm and wanting. “More than ever.”

He kissed her again before anything else, slower this time, deeper, more reverent. And Y/N couldn’t help the surprised moan that escaped her at tasting herself on his tongue.

His weight came down over her, warm and solid and grounding. One hand braced beside her head, the other smoothing over her hip like he couldn’t stop touching her.

She felt his body everywhere. The heat of his skin, the brush of his piercings against her chest, the soft scrape of his hair when he tilted down to kiss her collarbone, her shoulder, the place just below her ear that made her breath catch.

And when he moved between her thighs, condom on, careful and slow, he paused again at the look on her face when Y/N saw just how big he was.

“Breathe, angel,” he whispered, lips brushing her temple. “You’re doing perfect.”

Y/N hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until then. She let it go in a shaky exhale, hands clutching at his shoulders, the muscles flexing under her palms.

Then Mingi eased in, slow, unbearably slow, stopping the moment he felt her tense.

Her brows pinched, jaw tight. “It’s not that bad, just… full.”

Mingi kissed her again. “That’s it. Let your body catch up. We’ve got time.”

She blinked up at him. That simple thing, time, felt impossibly rare and impossibly generous. But it was Mingi. And Mingi was surprising like that.

He stayed still until her legs shifted around him, a silent invitation.

Then he moved.

Not rough, not rushed, just steady, just deep. Every roll of his hips sent sparks shooting up her spine, her body adjusting with every slow thrust. The stretch turned into a throb, then into heat, then into something she couldn’t name but never wanted to stop feeling.

His mouth found hers again, slow and open and messy. He whispered things against her lips, soft curses, praises, her name.

And then there was just the sound of skin, breath, the creak of the mattress. His fingers stayed laced with hers, her other hand curled tight in his hair.

“Doing so fucking good,” he groaned, dropping his forehead to hers, breath stuttering. “Feel so good around me, angel. Can’t believe this is your first time.”

She whimpered his name, hips rising to meet his, her whole body aching for more, for all of it.

And Mingi gave it to her. Every push, every kiss, every filthy, tender word.

Her body arched when she came, pleasure spilling over in waves that left her shaking beneath him, a soft cry caught in her throat.

He followed soon after, groaning against her neck as he buried himself deep, fingers tightening in hers like he never wanted to let go.

When he finally collapsed beside her, breathless and warm, he didn’t move far. Just pulled her in, her head tucked under his chin, his arms wrapped tight around her.

“You okay?” he murmured against her hair, voice rough and full of something more than just desire.

Y/N nodded, still breathless. “More than okay.”

They laid there like that for a while, the silence comfortable, her body still buzzing.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Y/N woke slowly.

Light filtered through the slats in the blinds, painting faint golden stripes across the sheets. Her body ached, but not in a bad way, just a soft hum low in her thighs, a reminder of the night before.

A reminder of him.

She shifted slightly, and the oversized shirt she wore, his shirt, slipped higher on her legs. The scent of Mingi clung to the fabric, all musk and warmth and a hint of something smoky.

And there he was.

Naked.

Asleep beside her, one arm tossed above his head, the other draped low on his stomach. His chest rose and fell steadily, the sheets barely covering his hips. In the morning light, she could see the line of his collarbone, the swell of his chest, the silver of his nipple piercings glinting faintly.

Y/N stared, openly, greedily, and didn’t feel even a little guilty for it.

She felt a little wild in this moment. Tired and sore and still floating.

And just when she was about to roll over and slip back into sleep, he stirred.

His lashes fluttered, and then his eyes opened, warm and heavy with sleep, pupils still soft, lips parted.

His gaze landed on her.

And he smiled.

“Morning,” he murmured, voice still low and rough with sleep.

Y/N smiled back, cheeks warm. “Hi.”

Mingi stretched, the motion slow and catlike, and then turned onto his side, pulling her close with one arm. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” she said, brushing her fingers over his chest. “A little sore.”

His grin widened. “Yeah?”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling too.

He kissed her shoulder, then her neck, then pushed back the covers. “Shower with me.”

“What?”

He was already getting up, completely unapologetic in his nudity, disappearing into the bathroom.

Y/N followed a second later, heartbeat thudding a little faster.

The water was already running, steam curling into the air.

He pulled her in with him, the heat of the water nothing compared to the heat of his hands as they slid up her waist, under the soaked fabric of his shirt.

“Want this off,” he said, mouth pressed to her ear. “want to feel all of you again.”

The shirt joined the pile on the floor.

His hands were everywhere, slow at first, reverent. Soapy fingers sliding over her arms, her back, down her thighs. But then they lingered, between her legs, over her breasts, teasing until she was clutching at him, breath caught.

“Mingi…”

“Yeah, angel. I got you.”

He lifted her, one hand gripping her thigh, the other braced against the tile as he slid inside her.

She gasped, still sensitive, still tender, but the stretch felt good, better than she expected, better than last night. The water pounded around them, but all she could hear was her breath and the slick sound of their bodies.

Mingi held her tight, his head pressed to her shoulder, his hips grinding slow, deep. “Can’t last like this,” he groaned. “Feel too good. Fuck….” He’d only ever had sex raw once and certainly didn’t feel like this.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders. “Don’t stop.”

His hips stuttered, rhythm slipping.

“Y/N….” He cursed, mouth trailing hot along her jaw. “I’m not wearing anything.”

“I know.”

“I can’t…. I have to pull out.”

She nodded, already breathless. “Okay.”

It was a battle, one she felt him losing, but at the last second, after he held out just long enough for her to come, he did it, pulling out with a choked off moan as he came against her stomach, his hand still wrapped tight around her waist to keep her steady.

They stayed tangled like that for a long moment, the steam thick around them, her forehead resting against his.

When they finally moved, he cleaned her gently, kissed her everywhere he could reach.

And Y/N knew.

This wasn’t just lust.

Not anymore.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

permanent tag list: @straycat420 @autieofthevalley @dejatiny @hannahlilibet411 @xh01bri @jintastic-yuyu @maddycline @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @wooyoungsbrat @lucid-galaxys-world @ecriggs1990 @straytiny127 @sannies-tiddies

tag list: @peachymmk98 @wiktoriaa1wiki @chicksmoothie @m00njinnie @nchhuhi

[drgnflyteabox]

a little kate laswell x gn!reader drabble

-> insecurity, anxiety, hurt/comfort, relationship worries, OCD, sooooo self indulgent lmao, self-hatred, therapy, compulsive behaviors, ableist language used towards self, shame, this is literally nothing and theres no real ending so mb <3

You've been working on it. You have. The anxiety; the fear of abandonment. Kate leaves so often she's probably gone almost half the year, anyway. Your relationship isn't exactly built on physical closeness, and as the years go by you feel more and more secure.

She fits, you fit, your cat Cheddar fits. The house fits, even though it sometimes feels too big when she's gone and you're still a little afraid of being home alone.

Security's tight, babe, she's assured you a dozen times. Locks, alarms, the whole nine yards. Everything works. You're usually close to sure about that.

So, you’ve worked on recognizing which feelings are rooted in reality, and which feelings sometimes come from insecurity, or jealousy.

Sometimes, it's fear. That old braying beast in your head, muddling up reality (Kate loves you) with unreality (she hates you, your life is a lie).

You know where it comes from, but that doesn't always help. On the bad days, it even makes it worse. Something is wrong with you, really really wrong. Irredeemably wrong.

Kate's been on an op three months. Longer than usual, but you've been through it a couple times. It's a serious one, so you haven't even gotten more than the odd phone call maybe once every week and a half.

Which fucking sucks normally, but its worse when you can't seem to shake the voice in your head that says she's found someone else, that she's delaying coming home because she's sick of you.

You do have a small laugh at the one that tells you she's got a secret family – even in the state you're in that's a ridiculous thought.

Still, it doesn’t break you from your worries. You begin backsliding. Your hands chafe from washing them, your water bill climbs and climbs and climbs as a result of your compulsive showering.

Am I too dirty? You think. You feel dirty. Contaminated. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t like you anymore, doesn’t love you. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be, not with your insanity.

This is the cycle.

Someone will break in. You check the locks an even number of times. But did you? Okay, shower to ‘set’ the locks now, or someone really will break in. Don’t think of Kate. She hates you. Oh, hey Cheddar. Good boy. Did you lock the doors?

You’re exhausted. You lose track of the days, working robotically at your computer, burning your nose with the scent of bleach wipes. There’s not even any real cleaning, just you compulsively wiping the same four surfaces over and over.

When the wood starts showing a little damage from the incessant wiping, you cry in the fourth shower of the day.

You lose track so badly that you’re in bed rotting when Kate gets home.

The door opens, and your heart drops with fear – fuck, it’s happening. Then you check your phone and deflate. Fuck, you think again, for a different reason.

“Baby?” Kate’s voice is clear in the empty house. It makes you think of all the dust laying around, about how you usually tidy before she arrives.

You pull the cover over your face. Shame burns your face, injects lead into your muscles.

“You home?” she calls again. Cheddar meows, probably at her feet.

That’s how she finds you. Prone, upset, eyes burning.

“Oh, baby,” she murmurs. Her weight makes you dip towards her when she crawls on the bed. “Bad day?”

You pull the blanket down.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I meant to clean the house for you, and cook you something–”

“Hey,” she puts a finger to your lips, slipping in beside you to cradle one cheek in her rough palm, body pressed to yours.

You can’t help but lean into it despite feeling wretched, despite feeling like you’ve dirtied everything around you lately.

“I don’t need any of that, honey. I appreciate it, but I’m really just excited to see you,” she presses her mouth to your jaw. Not to entice, but to breathe you in, to feel you for the first time in months.

“But it’s awful,” you mumble. “It’s dusty, dirty, disgusting–”

She stops you again.

“Hey now, it looks fine to me,” then a frown. “How long have you been feeling like this?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. It’s the truth.

“Have you called Dr. Klein?”

“No,” finally, a tear slips down your temple. You’re confused, and angry about these feelings; why now? Why when you’ve recovered?

Kate tuts, wiping at your tear with a thumb. She climbs halfway on top of you, looking down at your face. She looks tired, which makes you feel even guiltier.

“God, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to deal with this when you’ve just gotten back.”

Her frown deepens.

“Baby,” she starts. “We take care of each other, remember? What have we talked about?”

“Asking for help is okay,” you murmur. That’s one of the worst parts about this thing you have, the obsessions. They dress themselves up as the world's worst taboos. Speak them aloud and make them not only come true, but alienate everyone around you. In high school, you’d hardly spoken for fear of accidentally revealing your anxiety.

That in and of itself had been a years-long journey to heal in therapy. With Dr. Klein, with Kate, with yourself.

“Think we better set up an appointment, huh?” she says, and there’s no judgment in her voice, no sign of hatred.

“Yeah,” you whisper. You tilt your head towards her, and feel her nose against yours.

“I missed you,” she says, breath mingling with yours.

“I missed you too,” you say back.

[lokiandbuckysdoll]

Early Christmas Gift

Paring: Stucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky and Steve surprise you for Christmas.

Word Count: 820

Warnings: None just some Christmas fluff.

A/N: Happy Holidays to all💗

It was a crisp December morning morenotably, it was Christmas Eve when Steve and Bucky decided to surprise you early for Christmas. The plan had been simple. They'd show up unannounced to your apartment, sneak in, and catch you off guard before you could finish whatever holiday preparations you had in store. They’d expected to see you wrapped up in holiday cheer, maybe a little frantic, but still festive.

But when they arrived at the door and slipped inside quietly, they found something entirely different.

The apartment was warm and smelled of cinnamon, gingerbread, and butter, the scent of holiday baking filling the air. The kitchen, however, was another story. Flour was scattered across the counters like a soft dusting of snow, and pots and pans cluttered every available surface. You stood at the stove, hair tied up in a messy bun, flour streaked across your cheeks, and a little bit of icing smeared on your cheek as you worked over a batch of cookies, humming softly to yourself.

The sight made Steve’s heart swell with affection. Bucky, for his part, couldn't stop smiling as he leaned against the doorframe, taking in the chaos that somehow felt like home.

You didn’t notice them right away, lost in the rhythm of cooking and baking. You were wearing an oversized red sweater with a reindeer on it, the sleeves rolled up to your elbows, and a pair of old leggings that had seen better days. A pair of mismatched Christmas socks peeked out from beneath the leggings, and your feet shuffled back and forth as you worked, clearly oblivious to the world outside the kitchen.

It was the perfect kind of mess. The kind of mess that told them you were relaxing, wrapped in the joy of the holiday spirit and the comfort of your own home.

Bucky cleared his throat, and You jumped, nearly knocking over the bowl of cookie dough in your hands. You spun around, wide-eyed, a little flustered, and immediately blurted out, “You two are home now! I’m in the middle of baking, I look like a disaster, and—”

But Steve was already stepping forward, grinning as he gently cut you off. “You look perfect, Doll. We didn’t mean to surprise you this way, but we couldn’t wait for Christmas.”

Bucky snorted, stepping into the kitchen. “Yeah, Steve’s right. We love seeing you like this—chaos and all.”

You blinked, then looked back at the kitchen. You hadn’t expected your boyfriends to see you like this, especially not before Christmas. There were flour smudges on the floor, sticky sugar dribbled down the front of your sweater, and you felt like a mess. But as you met their eyes, both men looked at you like you were the most beautiful, glowing person in the world.

A little self-conscious, you wiped at your cheek. “Well, I guess if you two can handle the kitchen disaster, I’ll just have to finish baking,” you said, with a teasing tone in your voice.

Bucky chuckled and pulled up a chair at the kitchen table. “Don’t mind us. We’re happy to watch and eat whatever you throw at us. This smells amazing!.”

Steve leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his gaze soft and affectionate as he watched you. “Yeah, we came early to help, but looks like you're handling everything just fine.”

You rolled your eyes but grinned. “You want to help?” You asked, raising an eyebrow, and Bucky immediately jumped up.

“What do you need me to do?” he asked, his enthusiasm making Steve laugh.

You handed him a bowl of pre-made dough. “You can start by rolling out these cookies. Try not to eat too many of them, alright?”

Bucky saluted you, then began rolling the dough with a level of focus that was almost comical. Steve found himself a spot on the counter, watching you both work in a comfortable silence, the sound of flour dusting the air and the soft hum of the oven filling the room.

At that moment, you caught Steve’s gaze again, your smile soft and genuine. There was something about this chaos, about sharing it with them, that made the holiday season feel even more special. They weren’t just coming home for the cookies or the presents or the decorations—they were here because they wanted to be with you, mess and all.

Steve smiled back, his heart full. “We wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, than with you” he leaned over and kissed your forehead. You hummed before going back to helping Bucky.

Sook the kitchen was filled with laughter, the clinking of baking utensils, and the warmth of love, it was clear that this Christmas would be one they'd all remember. No perfectly decorated tree, no perfect holiday meal could ever be more meaningful than moments like these. Just the three of you, together, enjoying each other’s company in the mess of the holiday season.

Tags 🏷️

@caothicshit @missvelvetsstuff @hallecarey1 @just-another-blog34411 @foxherder @springdandelixn @hannibals-favourite-meal @imyourbratzdoll @silverfire475 @vbecker10 @sarahrogersevans @tomandcakes @lyds247 @raajali3 @supraveng @kingkamk @loopsisloops @lokischambermaid @mochie85 @nana1000night @ladyofthestayingpower

[changelingsandothernonsense]

✶Sujumma Morndas (Coz I live in the future)✶

Thank you @skyrim-forever and @sulphuricgrin for tagging me!

tagging @archangelsunited @nyarevar @saltymaplesyrup @pocket-vvardvark @dayundying @vivifriend @viss-and-pinegar @firefly-factory no pressure tagging is no pressures. [This week Sujamma has been brushing up on his literacy. It's hard being a humble Nix-Hound. Reading doesn't come naturally to him, but he's doing his best! This week Sujamma is hoping you will help him learn to read!

Post a favorite scene, favorite sentence, favorite dialogue, favorite anything from any fic you've written! If you haven't written any fic, feel free to share your ideas. If you don't have any, recommend a friend's fic!]

Going to post a snippet from the one shot "The Myriad Realms of Revelry" or that time Josh joined then ran a Cult of Sanguine out in the Alik'r. The section I'm sharing doesn't involve smut but I will drop a NSFT warning on the fic itself. It's about a sex cult and Josh getting caught up in a massacre as a result. This is the point in his history where his brain gets a bit skooma addled, so...

Josh kills some Vigilants and escapes a ruin with a familiar face below the cut.

His ear was ringing something awful as he struggled to sit up, something heavy seemed to be preventing him from moving his legs. Teldryn wiped the dust out of his eyes and looked around him, struggling to understand the scene before him.

Fire was what stood out to him the most. The flickering of orange flames surrounded him, and dust floated through the air…or maybe it was smoke? Teldryn couldn’t tell, there was too much going on around him.

Screaming slowly began to replace the ringing in his ear before the whole scene cleared in his mind. It took one of his followers running past him, robe burning as he ran towards the ancient fountain that sat in the centre of the hall. For him to realise they had been ejected from Oblivion by some extreme force.

Teldryn looked down and was met with the lifeless form of his favourite sprawled across his lap. Her green eyes glazed and unfocused as they stared up at the ceiling. Her mask was broken and blood dripped from her mouth, nose and ear.

This was not what he wanted.

Teldryn leant down and kissed the girl on the lips as he closed her eyes. He carefully moved her to the side as he stood. He would find out what the fuck had happened and he’d fucking kill whoever did it!

He looked around him the room choked by a thick black smoke. His followers were strewn across the hall, some struggling to their feet, some staring about in shock. Most of them were just lying about the room. Still and lifeless, some missing limbs and suffering deep wounds from whatever had caused the blast. He saw a small, delicate hand lying at his feet. He knew who it belonged to.

Teldryn still felt stunned as he took in the whole scene before him. He noticed there was something a little off amongst those Revellers who were still standing. Namely, that several of them were dressed in armoured mages’ robes. The faded teal fabric stood apart from the scarlet decor that his followers had covered every surface with. He watched as one of them ran a blade across the neck of one of his screaming followers, the Redguard falling to the ground as he held his hands to the gaping wound across his throat.

“Stendarr’s Mercy be upon you, for the Vigil has none to spare!”

FUCK!

Those fanatical fuck heads had found them! It was just a question as to how. Though maybe that didn’t matter anymore, everyone was dead. Teldryn felt an intense rage take him, he had not wanted this! The cult was just supposed to continue without him. Find a new leader and keep up Sanguine’s praises. Instead, the bodies of those whom he had spent decades with lay mangled at his feet. Some were so burnt that he couldn’t tell who they used to be…some were still breathing.

He pooled his magicka into his palm and unleashed a jet of fire at the Vigilant, engulfing her in flame. He walked towards her as the fires died down, taking the blade she had dropped to the ground and holding it to the dying woman’s throat. A charred hand reached for his ankle as he placed a foot on her chest, gurgling something as he smiled down at her.

“Pray to your god for mercy,” Teldryn hummed as he plunged the blade into her throat, “For I have none.”

He withdrew his blade from the woman’s throat, twirling it in his hand as he flicked the excess blood from the weapon. The thing was a standard-looking steel sword. Not his favourite weapon but it would do until he got back to his chambers. Teldryn raced out of the banquette hall, and up the set of stairs that led to his living quarters. He dodged the carnage as he raced through the hall, slicing at whichever fuck it was that came at him. Honestly, he couldn’t quite tell who it was half the time! Friend or foe he didn’t fucking care! Everything was just a blur, and the sheer amount of moon sugar he had ingested earlier that night certainly wasn’t fucking helping things!

He had finally gotten back to his private chambers and hurriedly set about gathering his things. Teldryn grabbed his ebony scimitar and slung his pack over his shoulder. He had placed his set of netch leathers in his bag and threw on a pair of boots. His armour would take too long to put on, and he was already feeling light-headed from the lack of air. He coughed as a thick, black smoke began to fill his room. He had to get out of here. Now!

And then something moved out of the corner of his eye.

Teldryn looked up, expecting a Vigilant, weapon ready to take him in combat, which would have been a stupid idea on that fuck’s behalf. He was even more dangerous with a blade when he was off his face and didn’t know which way was up.

Instead, he was met with what looked like one of his followers. Though it couldn’t have been, he was the only Dunmer here. He’d have remembered seeing her around, surely. Had he really become so numb to everything around him that she simply joined without him noticing?

“We have to get out of here!” he wheezed as he staggered towards the door. The girl only nodded, her silver mask glinting in the light of the inferno that surrounded them. A nightingale, the feathers detailed in silver. She smiled at him, before turning, her long, auburn hair swaying behind her as she slinked down the hall.

Her eyes had reminded him of Gidain’s. Amaranth, bright and beautiful.

He raced after her, following her as she ran down the halls and through the ruin. She almost seemed to move right through the chaos, as if the dead and dying were nothing but illusions. Her robe reminded him of starlight as she raced through the halls and then she was gone. Her form lost in the thick, black smoke that threatened to choke the life from him.

Teldryn sank to the ground, choking on the thick smoke. The heat was growing unbearable and he found himself lost in the chaos. His vision began to tunnel as he lay down on the stone floor, heated by the inferno that raged around him.

And then she returned, amaranth eyes bright and sparkling behind that silver mask. She smiled at him and the look made his heart slam against his chest. Who was she? Teldryn took her hand and let her help him to his feet. She let go and started running through the halls again, her form disappearing into the darkness.

‘Follow her!’

It was the first time in decades that Nerevar said something that he actually agreed with.

He set off after the girl, catching up to her as she seemingly ran through a Vigilant, their mace at the ready as Teldryn ran straight into it. The thick steel connected with his ribs and knocked the wind from him. He grabbed at the area that had been hit as he sunk to his knees, trying his best to suck in a breath as an intense ache radiated through his chest. The Vigilant approached him, raising his mace for a final swing.

He wasn’t sure if it had actually connected with his head. Honestly, he didn’t quite know what had happened though he suspected that Nerevar had something to do with it. He could feel a sharp pain behind his eye that told him he must have well and truly spent his miserable stores of magicka. A cool breeze rustled through his hair as he stared at the vast, open night sky. He tried to suck in a breath of air, the act causing his chest to throb, and he cried out in pain.

Teldryn looked down at his abdomen, his fingers brushing painfully against the area on his right side where the mace hit. The skin looked like it was beginning to bruise, the thick, gnarled scar that webbed across his torso oozed that thick, black substance from the small lacerations caused by the edges of the weapon. He was certain that bastard managed to crack his ribs. Fucking fantastic!

Teldryn struggled to his feet and gathered his things, slinging his bag over his shoulder and grabbing his scimitar. He looked around him, hoping that maybe someone else had escaped that inferno. His heart sank when he realised he was alone. Standing half naked in the middle of the fucking desert, covered in soot.

[pandenewie]

34 - Where we went wrong

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As soon as Y/n’s final message comes through on Jungwon’s phone, the realisation of what just happened starts to settle into his brain. He promised himself he would never even speak to Y/n again, and yet here he is inviting them over to his house…

Holy shit. He just invited Y/n to his house. What the hell has he done?

Y/n hasn't come over since they first started dating… well "dating". Even then, they were only over for like 5 minutes and Jungwon had a mass panic-clean before they arrived. It’s a habit he’s picked up over the years whenever someone comes over, even if he knows they won’t care about a little mess. Jungwon knows Y/n especially won’t care, but that doesn’t stop him from quickly wiping down every surface of the house, making sure not a single spec of dust can be found.

The sudden sound of the doorbell causes Jungwon to jump slightly. It takes a second for his brain to register the fact that Y/n has, in fact, arrived. As soon as he fully comprehends this thought, he rushes down the stairs towards the front door - pausing to quickly check his reflection in the hallway mirror.

Jungwon’s not sure what to expect when he opens the door. It’s not like he had much time to prepare himself for Y/n’s arrival (and the time he did have was spent aggressively vacuuming the living room.) But he certainly wasn’t prepared for the instant flutter to the heart he felt at the sight of Y/n, standing at his doorstep in what appears to be their coziest outfit - pyjama pants, a cropped singlet and most importantly, his jacket.

“Hi.” Y/n smiles, trying not to laugh at the way Jungwon stares at them with wide eyes - as if he didn’t know they were coming. The atmosphere between the two is a little awkward, naturally, due to recent events and it takes Jungwon’s brain a few seconds to process the fact that Y/n actually spoke to him.

“Oh, hey. Come in.” Jungwon awkwardly laughs, stepping aside to allow space for Y/n to walk past him and into the house. He watches as Y/n slips off their shoes and takes a quick look around the room before turning back to Jungwon.

It’s quiet for a moment as the two stand in the entranceway of Jungwon’s home. “Did you clean for me?” Y/n asks, causing Jungwon’s face to immediately heat up. “I was… uh… already cleaning when we were texting so…” Jungwon lies. Y/n doesn’t believe him for a second but chooses not to pry any further. “Where did you want to work?” Y/n changes the topic, causing Jungwon’s eyes to widen.

That’s right… Y/n is over to help him do homework. He had been so focused on the fact that they were coming over that he forgot the reason why. “Um… my computer is in my room… if that’s okay?” He mumbles, absentmindedly pointing towards the stairs. Once Y/n agrees, they quietly follow Jungwon up to his room.

Y/n pauses in the middle of Jungwon’s room as he makes himself comfortable at his desk. Are they supposed to sit on his bed? They assume so, given the fact that there are no other chairs… but do they just sit without asking? Noticing their hesitation, Jungwon spins in his chair to look at them. “Oh… you can sit wherever you want.” He mumbles, aimlessly gesturing around the room. Smiling, Y/n makes themself comfortable on Jungwon’s bed.

From where they’re sitting, they get a pretty clear view of Jungwon’s screen. He already has his English work open but judging by the two short paragraphs Y/n can see, it looks like Jungwon still has a long way to go. “Uh… I’ll just… start this.” Jungwon says, pointing at his computer. Y/n nods, a little too enthusiastically. “Of course, let me know if you need anything.”

It’s awkward. Y/n knows it. Jungwon knows it. The sound of Jungwon’s fingers slowly hitting his keyboard is all that fills the silent room. Every few minutes, his eyes dart to where he can see Y/n in the reflection of his computer screen. They seem to be doing their own homework, with some sort of textbook open in their lap.

It’s weird to be in Y/n’s presence and yet have them sit so far away… Jungwon doesn’t like it. Glancing back at his work, he sees that he’s only written about 3 sentences since Y/n arrived. This isn’t working.

Sighing, Jungwon glances at Y/n once more. They’re not paying attention to him, too busy engrossed in whatever information their textbook is supplying. This is not how these “study sessions” used to go. Typically, the two would be sat side-by-side in the library - so close that their knees would touch. Jungwon’s focus would shift between his work and Y/n, whilst Y/n’s stayed completely on him. They’d rest their head on his shoulder, reading what he was writing and pointing out the occasional error. Sometimes, Jungwon would purposefully ignore a typo, just to see the teasing smile on Y/n’s lips when they pointed it out to him. He misses that.

Jungwon suddenly stands from his position at the desk - gaining Y/n’s attention as he does so. He unplugs his laptop and walks towards the bed. “The chair was hurting my back.” He lies, moving to sit next to Y/n. “Oh, okay. We can swap, then.” Y/n smiles, going to get up and move to the desk. Before they can move off the bed, Jungwon quickly grabs Y/n’s hand, pausing Y/n’s movements.

“Wait!... I mean… you don’t have to move.” Jungwon stammers out. It sounded a little more desperate than intended. “I’m trying to set boundaries, Jungwon… isn’t this what you want?” Y/n asks. It’s quiet for a moment as Jungwon processes their words. “I don’t know what I want.” Jungwon sighs. “I thought I wanted to never talk to you again but… I guess I was wrong. Then I thought we could just be friends but… I was wrong about that too.”

Y/n can’t help but roll their eyes at Jungwon’s words as they pull their hand out of his grip. Is this some sort of payback for the whole dress code thing? Stringing them along and giving them false hope? How are they supposed to figure out what to do if Jungwon himself keeps pushing and pulling them back and forth?

“Why did you invite me here?” Y/n asks, refusing to turn around and face him. Jungwon sighs again. “I want things to go back to how they were.” Y/n scoffs at this. “You know that can’t happen, Jungwon. Not after what I did to you.” Now it’s Jungwon’s turn to roll his eyes, as he turns Y/n around to face him.

“I don’t care about what you did to me. Maybe I deserved it. You were right about the dress code, everyone was. I should’ve helped you change it from the start but… I was too uptight and selfish to do it.” Jungwon frowns.

“Maybe uptight but I wouldn't say selfish… and maybe I could’ve been a little less… on your case… about the whole dress code thing.” Y/n mumbles awkwardly. Looking back, there are a lot of things they could have done differently with Jungwon. Not calling him pathetic (among other things) being one of them. “Honestly, I kinda needed that… I was a lot less tense when we were… you know…” Jungwon trails off.

Together.

Y/n smiles. “I get that… I mean, I got in a lot less trouble when we were…”

Together.

The two look at each other for a moment. Y/n can practically feel the way their heart jumps as Jungwon’s eyes flicker to their lips. How badly, they want to just step forward and press them against his in a gentle kiss. It’s been a while since they’ve kissed Jungwon, they’ve almost forgotten how it feels.

Coughing awkwardly, Jungwon takes a step back and Y/n feels their heart shatter ever-so-slightly. “I should do my work.” Jungwon mumbles, settling back into his position on the bed. “Right.” Y/n smiles but they don’t move. “Um… can you… sit with me?” Jungwon asks; his eyes nervous and sensing rejection. Y/n bites their lip and nods slightly before moving to sit up right next to Jungwon on the bed. They don’t relax into it like Jungwon does - far too nervous to do so. Instead, they keep a respectable distance from Jungwon and focus on their own homework.

Even with the small amount of space still between them, Jungwon feels much better than he did before. He knows that Y/n is still holding back from him - something that he is partially grateful for. He can tell how hard they are trying to be “just friends” and the thought puts a small smile on his face. It makes him think that this whole forgiving Y/n thing might be a lot easier than he originally thought.

Meanwhile, Y/n is battling with their own thoughts. They have no right to be upset at Jungwon for not forgiving them right away, but the way he sets boundaries and then stares at them like he’s going to kiss them is definitely confusing. Once again, Y/n has no right to be upset. They hurt him in so many ways, that the fact they are even in his room right now is a miracle. So Y/n will accept any closeness to Jungwon - no matter how confusing it may be.

Jungwon lets out a small groan, leaning his head back and hitting it against the wall a few times. This gains the attention of Y/n, who looks at him with concern. “Are you okay?” Y/n asks, quickly slipping their hand between Jungwon’s head and the wall - cushioning the impact. Their eyes widen as soon as Jungwon’s soft strands touch their skin, and they immediately pull their hand back. God dammit, Y/n. Think before you act.

As Y/n’s brain begins to spiral over the small touch, Jungwon repeats the minuscule moment over and over again in his. He misses Y/n’s touch, they used to play with his hair a lot. “I’ve just been reading the same part over and over again.” Jungwon whines slightly.

Y/n isn’t exactly sure what to do. Jungwon invited them over to help him study, help him focus. They know what they used to do in these situations but… that’s not exactly an option given their current relationship.

“You’ve got writer's block.” Y/n states simply, causing Jungwon’s eyes to snap from the computer screen to Y/n’s. “How did you know?” He asks, earning a smug shrug from Y/n. “I just know you like that.” Y/n jokes. “Also, you haven’t written anything in like, 10 minutes.” They add, making Jungwon sigh.

“I don’t know what else to write.” He mumbles, eyes closing slightly as Y/n’s hand comes up to play with his hair. “Well, staring at the page isn’t going to help.” Y/n mumbles, gently nudging their nose against Jungwon’s jaw.

Jungwon anxiously looks around the library - checking for any teachers or students who are paying attention to them. Seeing that the coast is clear, Jungwon immediately slips his hand down to wrap around Y/n's waist, turning to face them.

“Think I need to take a break.” He whispers, nuzzling his nose against Y/n’s. “Well… I have an idea for that…” Y/n smirks. They look up at him with playful eyes and bring their other hand to hook around the back of Junwon’s neck - pulling him closer until their lips are gently pressed together.

Yeah… Y/n definitely can’t do that. So instead, they settled for sitting cross-legged next to Jungwon, watching him cautiously as he shoves his head in his hands. “Do you need to take a break? You can finish this tomorrow, Jungwon.” Y/n says gently, frowning slightly as Jungwon shakes his head in his hands. “That’ll push back history… which will push back maths… which will mean I fail my maths test… which will mean I fail the class… which will mean I don’t graduate.” Jungwon mumbles out.

Realistically, none of that is going to happen. The worst that will happen is Jungwon will have to pull a few all-nighters and end up acing the test anyway. But Jungwon’s not much of a realist. 

“Okay, Won. Let’s just focus on today, hmm?” Y/n asks, moving closer so that they can see Jungwon’s laptop screen. “It’s only 7 pm… you’ve still got 5 hours left of the day. And look, you’ve almost written 1000 words!” Y/n says, pointing at the screen happily. Jungwon slowly lifts his head up to look at where Y/n is pointing. “Oh.” He mumbles, looking at the screen confused. Since when did he write so much? Last he checked, he was still on the second paragraph.

“See? You’re freaking out over nothing, babe.” Y/n says, the term of endearment slipping so naturally from their lips, that they almost didn’t realise they had said it. But judging by the way Y/n’s eyes widen, they definitely realise what they said. Jungwon’s eyes widen momentarily as well, but he tries to act as normal as possible - anything to not scare Y/n away.

“I guess I could take a break… when do you have to get home?” Jungwon asks, taking note of the time. “I don’t have a curfew, I told my parents I’d be at a friend’s till late.” Y/n shrugs. Jungwon nods at this, part of him relieved that Y/n doesn’t have to go home anytime soon. “Did you uh… wanna watch a movie or something? Then I’ll finish my work afterwards.” Jungwon offers. Y/n nods wordlessly as Jungwon begins to set up his laptop.

…

Are they supposed to move closer? Y/n can’t remember the last time they watched a movie with someone that didn’t involve cuddling in some way. Since that is something Y/n definitely doesn’t want to do, they’re currently in a dilemma.

Once everything is set up, Jungwon turns to look at Y/n. His eyes are almost hopeful, as he looks at them. Y/n can tell what he’s asking without him even opening his mouth. Sending a gentle smile towards him, Y/n moves to sit next to Jungwon - their legs touching slightly. Jungwon places the laptop on both of their laps before leaning back into the pillows he strategically placed. Noticing the way he gets comfy, Y/n decides to relax a little as well, as they turn their attention towards the movie that’s beginning to play.

Y/n still can’t remember the last time they watched a movie with someone that didn’t involve cuddling. As they feel themself begin to drift off, they realise that their head has fallen to Jungwon’s shoulder. Their body tenses slightly at the contact but slowly relaxes once they realise that Jungwon isn’t pulling away.

This is fine. Friends cuddle all the time. Except Y/n can’t help the way their heartbeat quickens at Jungwon’s familiar scent. They’ve always loved cuddling with him - the warmth of his body contrasting the coolness of their own. The way their head can lay perfectly indented in the crook of Jungwon’s neck, almost as if the spot was made just for them.

Before they know it, Y/n’s drifting off to sleep. Possibly the best sleep they’ve had in a while. Jungwon bites his lip in an attempt to stop a grin from spreading across his face. God, how he’s missed the feeling of Y/n cuddled up against him.

Once he’s sure that Y/n is fast asleep, Jungwon pauses the movie and switches back to his homework tab. With the weight of Y/n’s head on his shoulder, Jungwon suddenly feels more determined than ever. The words flow out of him so much easier, his fingers dancing along the keys of his laptop so much quicker. It’s as if having Y/n with him, like this, just makes him so much better.

Jungwon doesn’t think he’s finished a piece of homework so quickly. With Y/n still fast asleep on his shoulder, he takes the time to fully appreciate the moment. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get to be with Y/n like this again, so he has to savour the feeling of their body pressed up against his.

He adjusts the pillow behind him slightly before moving to gently rest his head on top of Y/n’s. They stir for a moment, nuzzling their head further into his neck and mumbling a short sigh before drifting off once more.

As he begins to fall into a slumber himself, Jungwon can’t help but notice the fuzzy feeling in his heart. He doesn’t know what exactly is going to happen between the two when they wake up, but that can be tomorrow’s problem. Because, god, does he want this to never end.

There's nothing worse than waking up with a sore neck. Y/n learns this the hard way as they nuzzle further into their pillow, letting out a small whine of discomfort as the movement causes the muscles in their neck to spasm.

Shifting slightly again, they try to get more comfortable. Has their pillow always been this hard? They swore their parents got them a new one last month.

Suddenly it clicks… they were at Jungwon's last night. That makes more sense, Jungwon has shitty pillows. Their thoughts are interrupted by the feeling of something moving next to them, shifting their own position in the process. Opening their eyes in annoyance, Y/n suddenly realises exactly what has happened. Jungwon doesn't have shitty pillows, he is a shitty pillow.

Sitting up quickly, Y/n almost blacks out at the sudden rush of blood to their head. They look at Jungwon, who appears to still be asleep, with wide eyes. No wonder their neck is so sore, they were using Jungwon as a human pillow!

Noticing the sudden lack of warmth, Jungwon rolls over and attempts to pull Y/n back towards him. "Jungwon." Y/n whispers, gently pushing his hands away. He mumbles something incoherent and laces his fingers with theirs. "Jungwon, we have to get ready for school." Y/n sighs, making no move to separate their hands.

Jungwon's eyes slowly flutter open as he takes in his surroundings. His gaze lands on his and Y/n's intertwined fingers and he immediately freezes. Neither of them say anything, opting to just stare at their hands.

"Sorry." Jungwon mumbles, reluctantly pulling away from Y/n's grasp. "It's okay." They reply, biting their lip nervously. "Did I make you uncomfortable?" Jungwon asks, smiling slightly as Y/n immediately shakes their head. "No… well sleeping against your wall made me uncomfortable but… you didn't." Y/n points out, causing Jungwon to laugh. "Sorry… you fell asleep during the movie and I didn't want to wake you up." He says. He’s blushing slightly and Y/n can’t help but smile at the sight. "It's alright, I'll just be complaining about my neck all day."

The atmosphere is… weird. It’s not as awkward as it was last night but it’s not the most comfortable thing either. It’s almost as if they’re both unsure of how to act, waiting for the other to confirm what is and isn’t okay. It’s obvious that there are still lingering feelings… are they supposed to act like there isn’t? Are they supposed to pretend that they can be friends when deep down they both know it’s more than that? Neither wants to act out of fear of messing it up again, leaving them in an awkward middle ground. Both Y/n and Jungwon are completely unsure of where to go from here.

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@miumiuoi @lucyinthesky-00 @wrapmeinatortilla

[silverslipstream]

One Shot, One Kill

Nobody on Earth saw it—but then again, that was the point. If humanity’s telescopes had somehow been given advance warning, they would’ve seen a brief gamma flash in the constellation of Draco—a lit match against the interstellar background, a minor course correction which flared for a few seconds before dissipating. Other than that, the intruder streaking towards the Sun left no trail. Its anti-hydrogen tanks were empty, the magnetic coil of its main engine had lain dormant for decades and its electromagnetic emissions were nothing but ghosts of ghosts. As the craft barrelled from interstellar space into the far reaches of the Solar System, the volume of dust particles increased, ionising harmlessly against the craft’s immense shields. There wasn’t a force in the universe that could dissuade it from its chosen path. It had no way of slowing down, but that wasn’t the intruder’s concern. It wasn’t going home again.

Five light-weeks from Earth, still deep in the recesses of the Oort Cloud, the intruder’s payload broke into two halves. Another gamma flare pricked at the stars as the trailing half slowed its approach by an imperceptible amount—just enough to delay interception of its target by a few hours.

Deep in the gravity well of the Solar System, the intruder’s nine billion targets continued sleeping and waking, dreaming and planning, fighting and loving, heedless of the relativistic crosshairs painted squarely on each of their heads.

** Just a few scant seconds from arrival, the leading half of the intruder’s payload burst apart, revealing a field of eight hundred flechettes. These ‘flechettes’ were nothing more than inert bullets of metal, each weighing fifteen tons and small enough to fit within the typical living room. Traveling at 91.37 percent of light-speed, each fragment carried the explosive power of the world’s nuclear arsenals more than three hundred times over. A smattering of the projectiles were diverted to impact the scattered bases on the far side of Earth’s moon. For the briefest fraction of a second, the Moon was outlined in fire: the corona of a second sun, born in the daytime skies of Earth.

Just over a second after lunar impact, the first of the relativistic flechette-bombs entered Earth’s atmosphere, forty miles off the eastern coast of Indonesia. Earth’s atmosphere produced no resistance. It would’ve been like trying to swat back a nuclear missile with a napkin.

An intense spear of light descended through the air, clearing a tunnel of near-vacuum density through which the flechette plummeted. Thirty kilometers above the waters of the Indian Ocean, the air pressure became too much—the flechette dropped another couple of halting kilometers before detonating in a flash of searing blue light, so bright that its ferocious glare wiped away every shadow in Southeast Asia. The entire eastern hemisphere of the Earth was frozen in eerie blue light, the first frame of a grisly slide. Before the human optic nerve could even react, everything in the Indonesian archipelago—every skyscraper, car, sidewalk, apartment block and beachgoer—was instantly liquefied. The skyline of Jakarta began to slip like a melting oil painting, but before it dropped half a meter, it was blasted to disparate atoms, leaving nothing but carbonized streaks across burning soil.

More than seven hundred of its sister flechettes pierced the sky in unison. Millions of square miles of ocean began to steam. From Shanghai to Sydney, from Addis Ababa to Auckland, the side of the planet facing the onslaught was now a giant microwave oven. Six billion people were boiled to vapour in the blink of an eye.

By the time the second round of projectiles reached the Earth eight hours later, every free-standing structure on the planet's surface was already burning.

[thefabulous-mostgroovy]

Here When You're Ready

After Martin is rescued from the Lonely, it takes a long time for him to become comfortable with physical contact again, let alone affection. Jon is willing to be patient with him, no matter how long it takes. And so, it takes three months for Jon and Martin to share their first kiss.

Jon/Martin, 1.7k words, rated T, read on AO3. this is for the prompt 'first kiss' for @jonmartinweek :D

Jon holds Martin's hand the whole way to Scotland.

They sit with their shoulders pressed tight together, with both of Jon's hands wrapped around one of Martin's. His skin is cold and clammy, pale and desaturated. His glasses are misty with the fog pooling on the train carriage floor. His hair is more white than it is blond. His freckles are more of a vague idea than even a suggestion now. But, as Jon rests his cheek on Martin's shoulder, rubs little circles with his thumb on the back of Martin's palm, Martin grows a little more colourful by the time they reach Edinburgh Waverly.

His hair grows warmer and fluffier, his skin more pink, his freckles more stark. Even his eyes are brighter, a cosy hazel. The only feature of the Lonely left is a streak of white cutting through his fringe. Jon still doesn't let go of his hand.

From Edinburgh, it's another train to Glasgow Central, then a Caledonia Sleeper to the Highlands. Trains from dawn till dusk. Their cabin is small, but big enough. They don't stop for dinner—Martin claims not to be hungry, and Jon quite literally doesn't eat anymore—so they simply crawl into the double bed, tangled up in each other's legs and arms. Jon traces patterns over Martin's shoulder blades until he falls asleep, slow and even breaths rustling his hair. Jon follows suit moments after.

Basira had arranged a car to take them to the safehouse, told them what to say to let the driver know they were a friend of Daisy's. The driver doesn't talk to them the whole two hour's drive there; she chucks their bags in the boot, gets in the front, and waits for them to get in the back. Martin sits in the left backseat and Jon sits in the middle. The driver eyes their interlocked hands in the mirror before she adjusts it, then sets off. Martin holds his hand tight, resting his other hand over it. He stares out the window the whole drive, and Jon watches Martin. His eyes flick back and forth as he watches the rolling hills, follows the rain trickling down the glass. The corner of his lips turn up at the sight of sheep, alpacas, horses, highland cows. His cheeks turn pink when he catches Jon staring.

The safehouse was described as a cottage by Basira, but Jon thinks that's a bit of a stretch. The living room and dining room are one room, with a bathroom to the left and a bedroom at the back. The whole place is a bit dingy and musty. Dust sits on every surface, turning everything greyish brown. Luckily, Daisy keeps a seemingly endless supply of wipes and cloths just for the purpose.

They clean the couch and coffee table together, then the kitchen, then the bedroom, then the floors and windows. By the time it gets to the evening, they're too tired to do anything but have a half-hearted dinner and fall into bed. Martin sleeps half on top of Jon, and Jon doesn't mind the pins and needles in his fingers the next morning.

This is all to say, Jon doesn't quite know how they went from 100 to 0 in the span of one day.

The next day, Jon tries to hold Martin's hand again, and Martin flinches away with a nervous laugh and a red face. Over the day, there is lots of blushing and clearing throats and inching away from each other. It only gets worse through the next week.

Jon tries his very best not to Know what's going on, but as far as he can figure, Martin kind of stopped experiencing the human range of emotions when he was thrown fully into the Lonely. Not that it's all bleeding back into him, so too has his tendency to be a nervous, flustered wreck. It's incredibly endearing. But, also a little worrying, considering Jon did give him a whole 'I love you, let's run away to another country' monologue right before they got their train tickets.

So, Jon prepares for a slow journey of becoming accustomed to each other and getting comfortable. After two weeks, they work up to having a long chat about boundaries, especially regarding the bed, as Jon had moved to sleep on the couch that felt more cardboard than stuffing and it was destroying his back more than it already was. Actually sharing the bed is a whole other issue. Martin sleeps like a rock and Jon tosses and turns the whole night. He, luckily, wakes up early enough to remove himself from clinging to Martin's side — he would rather keep over than make him uncomfortable.

It's a long climb to the top where they reach cuddling on the couch and spooning in bed, and every time, Jon has to steel himself to not show how happy it makes him. If he gets too giddy, it might send Martin running. At least, that's what his brain keeps telling him. Either way, after a month, they spend practically every second of the day holding hands, or leaning on each other's shoulders, or folded up in each other's laps.

But still, it takes almost three months for them to kiss for the first time.

When it does happen, it's on a warm evening with golden light pouring through the windows, bathing everything in a golden light.

"Nice break from the rain," Martin mumbles after finishing the last dregs of his tea. Jon hums from his cosy spot under Martin's arm. The radio plays lazily in the background, tinny and static filled, struggling to reach them all the way out here.

"Well, that's Scotland for you," Jon sighs. "Rain and wind and sleet, and occasionally twenty five degrees and sunny."

"Wish we could have visited when we're not on the run." Jon hums again, feeling sleepy and warm in the sunlight (he supposes Martin was not entirely wrong about comparing him to a cat). He wants to keep up the nice conversation, but he's about this close to falling asleep on Martin's shoulder.

The song quietly fades out and back into a new track. Some retro tune that might have been a top 40. The speakers make the lyrics sound garbled, even through the Gaelic, but its slow and soulful plucked guitar still makes it out. Jon watches Martin slowly bounce his knee to the beat, tapping his heel against the rug in a dull thump. Jon smiles as he gets an idea.

With a sluggish reluctance, he untangles himself from Martin's arm, straightening out his jumper and skirt. He holds out a hand to Martin.

"Care for a dance?"

Martin's face lights up in an adorable bright pink, and Jon suddenly Knows that this is a daydream Martin has had for years. He fights down a little smile. He won't tell Martin that one (at least, not for a little while). Martin takes his hand and they stand up.

They fall into position easily; they interlock their right hands, Martin's left on Jon's waist, and Jon's on Martin's shoulder. They sheepishly smile at each other as they start to sway back and forth to the croning of the radio. It's an easy rhythm to fall into, even if Jon keeps accidentally stepping on Martin's toes.

The song fades into another, and another, and eventually, Jon has settled his head on Martin's chest. The sun has set, and the candles in the room are their only light. A faint wind whistles outside the windows, rustles the leaves of the trees. Jon looks back up at Martin, only to be met with adoring eyes and a gentle smile. He moves his hand from Martin's shoulder up to cup his cheek.

Ultimately, it's Martin who makes the move.

His arm winds further around Jon's middle, his hand flat against the plane of his back. He untangles their right hands to stroke Jon's hair out of his face, resting it on his neck after tucking the strands behind his ear. Standing chest to chest — or, as close as they can get with his stature — Jon is sure Martin can feel his heart pounding under his skin. If he does, he mustn't mind all that much, as he leans down and kisses Jon.

Their lips slot together like they were moulded for it, and Jon honestly thinks fireworks might be setting off, or the room is glowing pink, or whatever other cheesy garbage happens in movies. All of them, those sweet tooth rom-coms, he suddenly understands them. He understands why people write poetry in the instant Martin threads his fingers into Jon's hair.

Martin holds him close like he's something precious, rubs his thumb in a gentle circle across his temple. Jon slides his arms up to hold Martin around his middle, slowly rising on his tip toes so Martin doesn't have to lean over as much. The radio fades off into chatter between the two hosts and Jon hardly even notices. Martin's lips are soft and warm, his hands careful and reverent. They pull away from each other for just a second to breathe, then launch back in, holding each other tight.

It's everything Jon imagined and more. His skin tingles all over, but especially where Martin touches him. He's never been one for much physical affection, but Martin seems to have wriggled his way right into Jon's heart (he almost chucks up at how bloody cheesy he's gotten).

Jon very, very reluctantly pulls away after another few moments, his feet aching from standing on his toes, and he draws in a deep, shuddering breath. Martin's face is beet red, and Jon almost—almost—laughs. Instead, he smiles fondly and readjusts his squinty glasses.

"Sorry, I've–" Martin interrupts himself with a little chuckle. "I've basically destroyed your hair."

Jon just laughs, tipping his head forward against Martin's chest. The noise can most accurately be described as a giggle. Jon doesn't think he's ever giggled before. Martin laughs as well, louder than Jon had heard in what could be years.

They blow out the candles and get ready for bed not long after, bundling under the duvet and blankets, wrapped up in each other's arms and peppering each other's faces with kisses. Jon knows the peace won't last. But, right now, he decides to pretend it can last forever.

And it almost feels like it will.

[itsnotzka]

Hello! Huh, what's this? A silly, cheesy little thing, I'd say ;)

TW: (very mild) alcohol, talking about stalking in a not very serious manner Genre: ...fluff? Silly fluff? Confused fluff? Word count: 5,3k Characters: Jake x Phil You can also read it on Ao3.

Not your stalker

With a quiet, contented sigh and a smile on his face, Phil finally let the last customer out and closed the door of Aurora behind them. He turned around and took a few steps towards the center of the pub, taking it all in. The wooden floors creaked softly under his feet. The air was thick with the comforting scent of dust, cigarette smoke, and the faint aroma of old furniture.

He knew it wasn’t the most pleasant smell for most, but for him, it was everything. To Phil, it was more than just a smell; it was a reminder of all he had, and almost lost just a couple of months back. 

Every time he started cleaning up Aurora for the night, he thought about the day he was accused of a crime he didn’t commit and thrown into jail for a few weeks, with basically no explanation. The memories still lingered in his mind, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

For quite some time, nobody really cared about him. They had other things on their minds, such as their missing friends being found. He knew he wasn't a perfect person. People tended to either love him or hate him. However, at that time, those he thought were his friends simply didn't care, while those who couldn't stand him laughed behind his back. There was somehow no in-between.

The bartender couldn't help but smile, still lost in thought. He was released from custody only because someone had paid his bail. Then, mysteriously, his lawyer found evidence of his innocence. Normally, there would be nothing unusual about this—lawyers have their own methods for uncovering the truth and exploiting legal loopholes—but the sudden clarity of this particular situation was nothing short of a miracle. At least it felt that way. Despite the happy outcome, his lawyer seemed eager to sever all ties with Phil as soon as possible. In fact, he refused to even accept any money from him, leaving Phil with a sense of both gratitude and absolute confusion.

He hadn’t told his sisters about it. At first, he suspected they might have been involved, but he quickly dismissed the thought. He knew Jessy and Angela all too well; they were always quick to point out his flaws and mistakes, even the smallest ones. Surely, they wouldn't have helped him without a big, wonderful lecture about his life. So he just told them the case was solved, period.

He stopped caring about it and moved on. At least, that's what he was telling himself. He shook his head in frustration, trying not to overanalyze everything once again.

He walked over to the bar, slowly making his way through the tables, turning off the lights, picking up empty beer mugs, and wiping down the surfaces. Unable to shake his thoughts away, he changed the music to something less modern to keep his mind off things, but it didn't help either. Then he was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of the bell hanging above the door.

“I’m sorry, I already closed the pub,” he said, turning towards the sound. “Come back tomorrow, eh?”

Only then did he look at the person standing in the doorway and frown. He didn't recognize them. He knew basically every face, every name in Duskwood, after all. He knew at least something about everyone. Those were the advantages of running the only pub in town! Rumors came to him, and tourists, if they appeared at all, came early and didn't stay long.

And yet… there was a stranger in front of him.

The man didn’t answer. He just raised his brow slowly, glanced at Phil, and then looked around the pub.

“Look… I'm tired, I've already cleared the tables. I can give you a beer to go, but that's it,” the bartender said again, his tone tinged with a hint of annoyance.

“I don’t drink,” the stranger replied, his voice resonant and clear, his eyes meeting the bartender's.

Phil paused, the corners of his eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to read the stranger's face, but it was particularly hard. “So, can I help you with anything else?” he asked with a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. He wasn't sure, but the stranger seemed to give him a small smile. Then the man closed the door behind him and briskly walked down the two steps that led inside the pub.

“I just thought I could finally visit this place,” the man replied casually.

The bartender sighed deeply, trying to keep his composure. "Listen, man… I already told you, Aurora is closed for the night," Phil said firmly, walking over to the door and opening it wide. "I'm sorry, but I can't let you stay here. Now be so kind and get out, or I'll call the police.”

"Oh? The same police that were stupid enough to arrest you?" the stranger’s mocked.

The pub was quite dark, with most of the lamps already turned off by Phil. But at that moment, the light of a street lamp shone in through the open pub door, casting a warm glow on the stranger's face, finally illuminating his features.

As the bartender glanced at his unexpected guest, he noticed the fairly young man was likely around his age, if not a few years older. His all-black outfit, complete with a backpack clearly designed for carrying a laptop, gave him a serious and tidy vibe. Although his nearly black hair seemed neatly combed, it curled in every direction, as if mocking his efforts to keep it in check. Phil couldn't help but notice the man's tired, dark eyes. Yet there was something about his gaze, a level of… maturity that Phil had not expected to see.

“Get out,” the bar owner repeated, but without much conviction.

The stranger laughed softly but ignored his words, calmly and surely walking over to the bar. Laying his heavy backpack on one of the barstools, he sat on another, resting his hands on the counter.

“Could I get some coffee?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at the somewhat confused bartender.

Phil was not a person to be easily upset. True, sometimes he could say too much or react too harshly, but only with words. He was good with words and with people. But for some reason, the stranger didn't seem to care about that… and it was annoying.

“What do you want from me? Didn't you hear what I said?” Phil snapped, his frustration boiling over. He slammed the door shut, the sound reverberating through the room. Turning to the man, he stomped over, his footsteps echoing in the silence. Grabbing the stranger's arm, he spun him around on the stool with such force that he almost fell off his seat.

Phil was surprised when the stranger didn’t react with fear or surprise, but instead looked at him with an understanding gaze, as if he knew something that Phil didn't. The bartender's anger slowly dissipated as he studied the man's reaction, taking a small step back.

"Now, to answer your questions…”  the man sighed, shifting on the barstool once more. “First, I'd appreciate some coffee or something else with caffeine. For your other concern… of course, I've heard what you said, but I don't necessarily want to leave. The truth is, I feel like I owe you this meeting… or at least an explanation."

Phil scoffed. "Oh, you think so?"

"Correct," the stranger exhaled. "I should have done it sooner, but somehow, well... To be completely honest with you, Hawkins, I think you were getting on my nerves a bit too much," he added with a lopsided smile.

"So, you know who I am?" Phil's anger was replaced by curiosity in less than a few seconds.

The bartender then quickly bit his bottom lip, refraining from asking the stranger more. He was well aware of one of his greatest flaws and, even though he didn't like to admit it to himself too often, he secretly enjoyed being the center of attention. No matter what.

"So... no coffee then? Well, that's a shame," the stranger rested his hands on the counter once more and pointed to a soda drink on the right side behind the bar. "So let’s put it this way. The truth is, I happen to know quite a bit about you accidentally, even though you probably don't know who I am. Before you jump to any conclusions - no, I am not your stalker; no, I am not trying to extort money from you; and no, I am definitely not involved in any scheme or conspiracy that would require your involvement."

"You know about me... accidentally ?" Phil repeated doubtfully, walking behind the bar and facing the stranger. "What kind of bullshit is that?"

"Oh, well..." he chuckled again, "I wouldn't say it’s bullshit. Not entirely, at least. You see, we both became involved in the same case a while back, and I was actually forced to learn more about you. You understand that I did not do this for my own enjoyment, although I must admit..." he hesitated, then cringed, "You are not very cautious with what you post online; that was so easy... So yes. It was, at least to some extent, accidental."

"The same case...? Wait, wait, hold on..." Phil resisted the urge to grab his own head in surprise. "Are you... that guy? That hacker or whatever. That tech-savvy guy that disappeared after Hannah was found? No way it’s you… Police say he's dead. That he died during the mine fire."

“I have two pieces of information for you,” the stranger leaned forward conspiratorially and spread his hands. “The first one... I’ve heard you were a good bartender. I somehow can’t picture that, you know?”

Phil looked completely confused as the man rolled his eyes slightly and nodded meaningfully at the soda bottle once more. Gritting his teeth, Phil blindly reached into the fridge, pulled out a bottle, slammed it against the counter, opened it with the agility of a truly experienced bartender, and pushed it towards the man, ending with a jazz hands gesture.

Annoyed jazz hands gesture.

The man only chuckled and nodded in approval, taking a sip of his long-awaited drink.

"And the second thing?" the bartender urged.

“The second thing!” the stranger chuckled. “The second thing is… I don't think you trust the police after all the trouble they caused you, so do you think you should trust them if they say that guy is dead? You’re talking about that Ironsplinter mine fire, correct?”

“Yeah… there was no way he survived that.”

“Oh?” the man chuckled, “I think his chances were quite good, actually.”

Phil frowned, “How so?”

"Well..." the stranger spread his hands again. "I'm not an expert, but I know a thing or two about mines. Actually, I know a lot about many things, but it doesn't matter now... I won't bore you with the details because you probably don't care, but believe me, there are many safety features in mines like that one that can help you survive fire, explosion, shockwaves... It's just a matter of knowing your surroundings well. The amount of air can be a problem during a fire like that, but it can also be remedied. So… maybe he didn't die after all. But what do I know?”

“That's… interesting,” Phil concluded, and the stranger snorted.

The bartender fell silent, analyzing every single word the stranger had said. It was already clear to Phil that he would not tell him anything directly, especially not about himself. The man didn't confirm anything explicitly, but he didn't have to. Phil already knew the answer to his question.

“Alright, I get it… So should I call you Jake, then? That was the name of that techie guy, if I remember correctly.”

“Was it, really?” the stranger smirked. “In that case, you can call me whatever you want, Hawkins. Jake is a name as good as any.”

“Really? Okay then, Techie,” Phil placed his palms on the counter. “You’ve said you owed me… why exactly? Why are you here?” he reiterated, still confused by the stranger’s presence.

Jake paused for a moment, his piercing gaze fixed on the bar owner. Phil was not one to be easily intimidated, but there was something about Jake that made him uneasy yet intrigued at the same time. Was it his unwavering confidence, his carefree attitude, or maybe something else entirely?

“I understand that my visit may seem unnecessary, but I felt compelled to come,” Jake responded, his tone measured and deliberate. “You see, there’s something about you that… let’s say, that doesn’t add up to me.”

“Oh…” the bartender nodded, feeling annoyed and somehow disappointed again. “So you want to accuse me of more things, then? Tell me I should rot in jail, like some other wonderful people?”

“No... nothing like that,” the man chuckled nervously, his dark hair falling onto his forehead. He brushed the locks away with a casual flick of his hand, trying to hide the fact that he was clearly troubled. As he paused to collect his thoughts, his eyes darted around the room. Finally, he spoke again, his voice hesitant and uncertain.

“I know someone anonymously paid your bail, and I may know more about that. I may know a lot about that. And I believe it still bothers you, so I think I should share it with you. And, well… I suppose what I'm trying to say is that this meeting has been weighing heavily on my mind. I've been thinking about it quite often, trying to figure out what to say or… how to say it, and I think I still don’t know… I mean… okay, here's the thing. Do you remember the second person who got involved in this case by accident?” Jake continued, “You… you invited her to Aurora. She never came here, but still, you did, and—”

“The girl? Shit… okay, now I think I get it,” the bartender sighed deeply and nodded, as he couldn’t believe it was that simple. It was always that simple when there were feelings involved. “Don’t tell me… It hit your ego, didn't it? You liked her, right? Did you come to tell me I was not only released from the arrest thanks to you, but they actually arrested me because of you in the first place? You got jealous of that girl, and that's why I had a shitty couple of months? Was it your revenge?”

The stranger shrugged, but his awkward smile said it all.

Guilty as charged.

“Great... so you almost ruined my life over some chick I don't even know?! Only because I invited her here? I did nothing wrong! Couldn't you explain it between you two? You had to get me into this… And you still have the nerve to come to my bar and—”

“No, wait,” the alleged hacker silenced him with a gesture. “I mean… you almost got it right. I do feel guilty you were in that arrest for quite some time, but for a different reason…” the stranger rubbed his neck nervously. “What if… hypothetically, of course, what if I knew right away how to get you out of this? I knew you were innocent and I had proof for that? But... she was so interested in you... and you in her! And I didn't want you to be interested in her… I guess I was just… confused about you. Shit, it doesn't make sense, does it?”

Phil frowned, but slowly the meaning of the stranger's words began to dawn on him. He wasn't after the girl who helped solve the case. Techie was after… him.

He was jealous of… him?

Was that even possible?

He knew he should be angry. Furious even! It was about his life! Countless hours wasted in the arrest he didn’t deserve! Yet, somehow… The guilty look on the stranger’s face made it fade away. He'd be lying if he said he didn't wonder who that mysterious hacker was from back then, or why exactly he was involved in the case. He knew back then that the answers to these questions were just beyond his reach, but now, miraculously, he was sitting in front of him, almost vulnerable and almost exposed. His fascination overcame his anger. The stranger's eyes were full of remorse, and for a moment, he felt a twinge of sympathy.

Sympathy and something else, but he wasn’t sure what it was…

Curiosity!

It had to be just curiosity.

“My, my… So I think you are my stalker, after all…” The bartender hummed, taking two steps away from Jake, but somehow couldn't help but smile.

“No. No, no. Nuh-uh! This statement is definitely not true!” The alleged hacker protested immediately, pointing his finger at Phil as he blushed a bit, his heart pounding in his chest. "I know things about you, and I learned them without your consent, that is correct. Good luck to you with suing me. But I— it’s not my fault. And I didn’t— I wasn’t really— I just wanted to understand you better!" He paused and took a deep breath. "Didn't I help you after all?! You got out, didn’t you? And I am not a stalker! Jesus, I think I need a real drink… " he trailed off.

The bartender was taken aback by the unexpected outburst and blinked a couple of times in confusion. However, he soon burst out laughing, unable to hold it any longer. "Wow, you really lost your cool there, man… You’ve just admitted to some weird things…" he said between chuckles, "I didn’t think it was possible! In fact, you sound exactly like a stalker trying to explain himself, you know." The bartender knew his mocking tone only made the situation more awkward and uncomfortable for the stranger.

“Yeah.. Coming here was a mistake, I guess…” Jake scoffed, grabbed his backpack, and was about to jump off the stool and leave the pub, but Phil, without thinking too much, grabbed his forearm. The stranger winced in surprise, but as his dark eyes met the calm eyes of the bartender, he slowly sat back down.

“Alright, okay. You’re not my stalker, yeah?” Phil smiled,letting go of his arm, “But I think you still owe me more explanation. Fair?”

“F-fair,” the stranger muttered.

To Phil's surprise, Jake leaned forward from his stool and across the counter, invading the bartender's personal space as if it was absolutely nothing unusual. The stranger's arm accidentally grazed Phil's shoulder as he gently pushed him away and reached for a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from behind the bar. Before Phil could even register what was going on, the stranger was already sitting back on his stool, pouring the liquor generously into the glasses.

“I… thought you said you don’t drink,” Phil observed, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah. And I thought you were a self-absorbed, narcissistic, brainless drama queen, and yet here we are, engaging in a somewhat intelligent conversation. How about that?”

Phil chuckled, a bit taken aback, as he watched Jake down his drink in one swift motion, followed by a wince and quiet grunt. With a solid tap, the stranger placed the glass back on the counter, exhaling audibly.

“That’s some terrible whiskey, Hawkins,” he admitted, reaching for the bottle to pour himself another.

“It’s my finest one, Techie,” Phil smirked, “And the most expensive one, too.”

“Still quite terrible, for my sophisticated taste… And don't call me Techie.”

“Then don't call me by my father's stupid name.”

Jake blinked a couple of times, as if realizing something. “Right. I forgot he was an asshole, too. Bigger than you.”

“You forgot— oh, Jesus…” the bartender whined, “Don't tell me you even know about my father? I didn’t post anything about that online… How the fuck? How much do you exactly know about me, Stalker?”

“Again with the stalker…” the hacker poked Phil’s chest with his finger, “Listen, the thing about your father is quite well-known around town, isn't it? It's not that weird that even I know about it… and I didn't have to dig too deep to—”

“Damn it, Stalker.” Phil shook his head in disbelief, “You're a walking red flag. I should have thrown you out as soon as you came here. Why am I even still talking to you?”

“Oh, come on, I've never— I am not that bad.”

“Any other sane person would have handed you over to the police a long time ago, Stalker. You do realize that, don’t you?” Phil finally took the glass into his hand and sipped his whiskey.

“But you won’t do that,” the stranger smiled as he clinked his glass with Phil’s, “You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you?”

“That's very possible. So what do you think about me, then? Besides that I’m a brainless douche, that is…”

The bartender's question lingered in the air for a few seconds before Jake spoke up. His voice was clear and confident, matching the intensity of his gaze, "I have a couple of thoughts, actually," he said, pausing for dramatic effect, taking a sip of his whiskey as well, "Ready? First and foremost, I think that you have an overinflated sense of self-importance," Jake's tone was stern but not unfriendly, "Secondly, you have a habit of getting under my skin. I can't explain it, but something about the way you carry yourself and the things you say just... irks me, but that much you already know. It's like you're actually trying to push my buttons or something!" He shook his head in frustration. "And finally, I think you may be a ginormous asshole, but you're also… intriguing in a way that I don't—don't quite understand." Jake paused once more, letting his words sink in. Then he, once again, angrily poked Phil’s chest with his finger, "And I don't like it. Not. One. Bit.”

“Oh? And you’re very weird, Stalker. You know that, right?” A little pissed off by the stranger's behavior, Phil grabbed Jake's hand and moved it away from his chest, but didn't let it go afterward. Suddenly, he felt a strange warmth spreading throughout his whole body, an electrifying feeling caused by the touch of the hacker's skin on his own. The stranger looked straight at him, his big, dark eyes almost like they were trying to read his soul. The expression on his face reminded Phil of a deer in the headlights and it definitely didn't help him with getting rid of the hacker.

As Phil slowly released his hand, the silence between them engulfed them both. Jake’s Breathing became heavier, and his cheeks, once pale, now glowed with a blush.

The bartender rested his elbows on the counter right next to him. Close enough to feel the slight touch of fabric of Jake's hoodie on his skin. The stranger's earlier confidence seemed to have disappeared, and the bartender couldn't tell whether it was the alcohol or Jake's confessions that had caused this change.

After a brief moment of silence, the stranger spoke up, "I'm sorry," he said, leaning forward slightly.

The bartender furrowed his brows. "What exactly are you sorry for? Because I could name a few things now..."

The hacker smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes, "I didn't mean to be annoying, "he admitted, his hand idly drifting towards the bottle of whiskey on the counter. He rested his hand on it but refrained from lifting it. “I'm not exactly a people person, you see. I just… I wanted to get you out of my head. It didn’t quite work out as I expected…”

Feeling the weight of the moment, Phil gently placed his hand on the whiskey bottle, his fingers brushing against Jake's. The hacker hesitated, his gaze locked onto Phil's intense stare.

In a soft, almost whispered voice, Phil spoke, "Easy there. You're not much of a drinker, and if there's something you want from me, I want you to be clear-headed enough to ask for it. You're already a puzzle without the alcohol. Stick to your soda, Stalker."

Jake's eyes shifted from Phil's to the bottle, as if contemplating its significance. 

After a moment of reflection, Phil continued, his voice measured, "Alright, let's lay it out. You're quiet, so let me see if I understand correctly..." He released his grip on the bottle, meeting Jake's gaze with a steady intensity. "You're suggesting that I'm getting under your skin, but I'd argue otherwise. I have a feeling you actually like me, and you're just not sure how to handle it. That’s your dilemma, Techie.”

"Wow, okay. If what you're saying would even be true," Jake said dismissively, "Would that even be a problem? Like, you know… my problem?”

Phil leaned in closer to Jake once more, a small smile forming on his lips. His fingers traced the hem of the stranger's sleeve playfully as he leaned forward more, "Well, we could always make it my problem, too," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, “Because, believe it or not, you somehow… fascinate me, too.”

“Oh?”

"Don't get me wrong... You obviously have issues, and I have a feeling your mere presence means trouble. But, the thing is, I don't mind trouble. Life’s boring without it, right? And maybe I should keep an eye on you… to stop you from stalking me further. So… which is it? Do you like me or hate me?"

Jake’s dark hair fell across his face, but Phil could still see the glint in his eyes, "I still can’t decide… Can I say it's both?"

Phil’s smirk grew wider, “It never happens, you know. People either love me or hate me. But you…” he shook his head, “You’re different.”

“Is that a compliment? Are you telling me I’m special? It could be good and bad, you know…” Jake chuckled as he playfully pushed him away, his hand lingering on his chest a little too long.

Then Phil realized he was somehow already long gone... The stranger had managed to wrap the bartender around his finger without him even noticing. The mischievous twinkle in Jake's dark, deep eyes was impossible to resist, drawing Phil towards him like two black holes. Phil found himself powerless to resist the pull, feeling as though he had absolutely nowhere to run.

“What?” Jake asked, noticing Phil was staring at him without saying a word, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I have an idea how to help you with your dilemma. Can I… check something?” Phil tilted his “Um, what exact—” Jake wanted to ask, but he didn’t get to finish his question.

Phil was tired of guessing. He sighed, taking the stranger’s face into his hands, his fingers gently entwining with the strands of Jake's dark, tousled hair. As he leaned in, his heart raced, and he could feel the warmth of the hacker's breath on his lips. Yet, to his surprise, Jake tensed up, his eyes widening in a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty. Phil's fingers tightened slightly on Jake's hair, reassuring and firm.

Their kiss was soft, almost tentative, their lips barely grazing each other's. Yet, Phil's tongue slowly found its way into Jake's mouth, and the man welcomed it with a quiet sigh.

That was it. That was what Phil wanted to achieve. 

Phil couldn't suppress a chuckle as the taste of whiskey lingered on Stranger's lips, a soft, breathless sound passing between them. He felt Jake's hesitant smile against his own,a silent acknowledgment that he finally realized what it was all about.

The bartender was suddenly glad that there was a bar counter between them, otherwise he would have pulled the stranger much closer.

“Shit… you really did that,” Jake mumbled as they broke the kiss, but they stayed close, “And you know what’s worse? Fuck, Hawkins, I think I liked that…”

Phil's lips curved into a smirk, his voice low and hoarse as he looked deep into the Stranger’s eyes that no longer felt strange to him, “Liked it, eh? Well, well, well... Seems like we've stumbled upon something interesting here.”

Jake exhaled, his reddened lips still curled into a smile, “Don’t get any ideas, Hawkins…”

The stranger leaned back a bit as Phil’s hands let go of his hair. Then he playfully tugged at Phil's t-shirt, the fabric stretching slightly as he did so.

Suddenly, the watch on the stranger's hand emitted a high, short beep, interrupting the moment. Jake’s expression changed immediately as he glanced at the device. He sighed heavily in frustration, and without any explanation, moved away from the bartender, hopped off the stool, and grabbed his backpack.

Phil was left quite confused. He quickly jumped out from behind the bar and grabbed the stranger's arm, wanting at least some sort of explanation, “Hey, whoa… What is it?”

"I have to go. I'm sorry,” the stranger said quickly, his tone tinged with regret.

"Wha— Why?" Phil asked, his grip on the stranger's arm tightening, “Is it because we–”

"No," he replied with a slight smile. "I don’t really want to go. But it doesn’t matter. You wouldn't believe me anyway."

Phil's brows furrowed in confusion. "So.. you're just leaving me like that? After we–" he scoffed. "Will I… will I even see you again?"

The stranger paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. Then, he smiled slowly, his fingers lightly tugging at the hem of Phil's shirt once more. "Even if I wanted to come back here, which I do not confirm at all," he said, his voice teasing, "I would… probably come here tomorrow, same time. Purely hypothetically, of course. We could… get to know each other better. Properly. Without any hint of stalking."

Phil's heart skipped a beat at the prospect. He needed to see him again.

"Is that so, Stalker?" Phil said, grinning, “You mean I could get to know you better. You already know all about me, right?”

The hacker snorted, “Oh, come on, I thought we’re past it…”

“But I don’t want you to go,” the bartender admitted, his voice softer.

The stranger smiled in a way that made Phil’s head spin, “Too bad, Drama Queen. I’m already gone.”

“Well then, Techie. I’ll be thinking about our next, hypothetical meeting.”

A snort of amusement escaped Jake's lips, but his eyes betrayed his hesitation as he held Phil's gaze, “See you never. I demand coffee next time. And maybe some better whiskey…”

At that moment, it seemed like the hacker wanted to say or do something, but he only managed to muster a frustrated grunt. He shook his head, allowing his dark curls to tumble with the motion, and reluctantly, after a couple of long, long seconds, he finally let go of Phil's shirt. A sly smile then crept across his face, a spark in his eyes that made Phil's heart skip a beat. Despite his temptation to keep the stranger with him for even just a bit longer, Phil grudgingly let him leave. 

With a final glance, the stranger turned on his heels and strode out of the pub, disappearing into the night.

[emiplayzmc]

...So here's that 2.5k+ word one-shot that I wrote in one afternoon + night

@turntableart it's the guys ever :3 And also @bigshot-furbiestm since you said you wouldn't be opposed to reading it in your RB last night :3

Also posted it on AO3 in case it's easier to read there :D

♤~~♡~~♤

♤~~♡~~♤

"It's Not Too Late to Learn to be Alive Again"

Summary:

Two former and forgotten Addisons rummage around in an alley and end up staying for too long, hiding out in a dumpster from the cold rain.

AKA, I have brainrot about an Addison OC that me and Turn have been talking about and I am. Very much adding them to my list of blorbos.

Drip.  Drop.

Tink.  Splat.

The sound of tiny bits of acid rain hitting every surface of this block in Cyber City for the moment.  Hopefully, it wouldn't get any worse than a light drizzle.

The dull-coloured Addison stands at the end of the alley, blankly staring up at the gridlines at the top of the world, watching the droplets fall down around and onto him.  The acidity by itself couldn't clear the dust and grime on his dull, bluish-green casing, but he could feel and see the streaks trickling across it, making them slightly more metallic-looking again instead of the matte that he'd been reduced to.

Plink.  Tap-tap.  Clack.

He blinks as a drop of cold rain lands on the tip of his nose, scrunching his face briefly as he's brought out of the blank trance-like state he was in.  He swivels his head around to look over his shoulder, watching as items get tossed out of trash bags within a green dumpster at random intervals, hitting the opposite wall of the alleyway with clatters, cracks, and occasional wet slaps - the least appealing of those sounds, in his opinion.  He wonders when his companion will find something they deem suitable to sell or edible enough to use as a consumable.  He emits a low hum and draws his coat a little closer to himself, looking back over the back alley wall to the thin strip of buildings between the city and the Cyber Fields beyond, an occasional red light blinking on the unfinished railway.

Pitter-patter, thup-thup.

…and it sounds like the rain is falling a little harder.  That's wonderful.  He steps off of the crate that he'd used to look over the back wall and approaches the dumpster, lurching back to let a slimy-looking something hit the wall before moving forward again and standing on the tips of his toes to peer in.

He can see the greased back, oily hair of his companion rummaging around in a trash bag, their gears clicking inside them as they mutter to themselves while deliberating over a bottle with its label torn off, containing MAYBE some kind of juice.  Could also be motor oil, it's not easy to tell.  The lid of the dumpster must be blocking the rain from hitting them.  He reaches over the edge and taps the other on their shoulder, finding it the tiniest bit amusing when they startled and nearly dropped the bottle of whatever-it-was.

“WH 4T THE- AH, U!!!  SOMETHING [Turn Left]?”

The gratingly loud, glitched voice of Spamton G. Spamton had become a small comfort to the other in the past few months.  To others, it may have been hard to listen to for more than a few minutes, but to him it was familiar.  It was safe.  Friendly.

The corner of his mouth twists into a frown as he points upward before making a sweeping gesture to the alleyway now growing wet with puddles and slowly thickening curtains of acidic precipitation.  Spamton pokes his head out of the garbage receptacle and immediately hisses when he feels rain hitting the top of his pompadour and face, causing the other to smirk lightly at the reaction.

“[$%#/] RA1N…” Spamton grumbles as he peers out, wiping the already accumulating rain away from his nearly opaque multicoloured glasses, “WE’LL LEAF [And It's Going Going] [Going] [Going] [Going]- …SO0N.  JUST GOTTA F 1ND SOME GRUB!!!”

…He doesn't exactly know why they couldn't root through the garbage can of a bakery that's on the route back to Spamton's shop, but he hesitantly nods and pulls the back of his coat over his head to hide from the rain, leaning against the dumpster and listening to Spamton rifling through the garbage bags a little quicker.

…

The frigid acid rain drums and hisses against the roofs and the concrete in the alley, making muted green puddles around his feet and staining more of his cyan shoes.  He shivers underneath his now-soaked coat, and Spamton still hasn't finished, likely getting too fixated on finding something edible to have noticed he's taking too long or that the rain has started pouring.  He kicks the back of his foot against the dumpster hard, earning him a muted “1 SEC OND.”  He grumbles and shivers again.  He's cold and wet and he'd rather go back and miss eating instead of obsessing over finding something for too long.  His internal heaters got busted and clogged long ago, he shouldn't be outside in this mess.

…

Screw it.

He turns around and yanks open the other lid on the dumpster, scrambling inside despite Spamton's startled noise and shutting both lids above them, pulling his legs up to his chest and shoving a gutted trash bag off to the side, huddling onto the side and flicking on the flashlights in his eyes.

“H 3Y!!!” Spamton protests, the lights in his eyes flickering on as well, both their sets of eyes shining dimly in the dumpster with light turquoise and pink-and-yellow light, “I’M ALM0ST [Done and Done!], Y'D U-”

His questioning dies off as he sees his dull greyish green-blue companion shivering in the corner of the dumpster, his legs pulled up to and hugging his chest and the soaking wet coat pulled tightly around him, even though it's likely making the shivering worse.

“...0 H.  RITE…” Spamton wavered, remembering his friend's condition, “SHOULD H4VE [Leave while you still have the chance]...”

‘Idiot, he told you we should leave and you got hooked on something that could've been taken care of on the way back,’ he thinks to himself, berating.  He can't keep doing that when he has this guy following him around with broken systems… if he's going to insist on trailing Spamton like a lost Tasque just because the White Addison found him shut down in the middle of the street unable to move and fixed him up as best that he could, he might as well make sure they're at least safe.  Not that he's actually grown to care about the nameless Addison at all.

“...H3RE, I-” Spamton moves to kneel on his knees instead of squatting, looking through his corrupted inventory quickly to find the slot with his blanket, pulling it out of the 1s and 0s.  He then reaches forward and attempts to snatch the wet coat off of the other, holding up a surrendering hand when they flinch and pull themselves back farther, confused.”

“U CANT [ Wear all of our latest styles at -] TH4T, YO U’LL [Freeze, criminal scum!],” he grunts out, holding out his hand as if to say ‘ hand it over .’  The other Addison hesitates for a minute, not wanting to give up his coat, but his fans ultimately emit a whirring sigh as he peels it off of himself, balling it up and handing it to Spamton before trying in vain to wipe the wet spots off his stained blue dress shirt underneath.  Spamton tosses the coat into the corner, intending to dry it back at his shop (somehow) when the rain stops and they leave.

Spamton then takes their ratty - but still functional, with no holes or tears - grey blanket and drapes it over the dull Blue's legs, watching as their face morphs into one of surprise before gratefully (and somewhat covetously) pulling it farther over himself, gripping a small part of it to their chest.

‘It won't help much to heat him up, just block a little more cold,’ he muses…

His own internal heaters may not be the best, but they at least function better than the other's.

He shoves the trash bags next to the Addison farther to the side and crawls over to sit next to him, pushing himself close to the other’s body so they can share the heat.  Surprised, the other tilts his head to the side, wondering why all of a sudden Spamton actually… WANTS to be close to him.  Spamton notices the confused expression and scoffs - not in a mean way.

“U L0OK LIKE A- LIKE A- LIKE A- [[- looking like a kicked puppy and down on your luck? ]] SI TING TH3RE SHIV€RING, D0N’T [Expectations, expectations!] TH IS TO BE A REGULAR THING,” he grumbles lightly, gently pulling some of the blanket over himself before opening his inventory again and bringing out his tattered and yellowed pillow, plopping it behind his and the other's backs.  May as well get comfy, they'll likely be here all night.

…

Bonk.

Spamton feels a light thud on his skull, and feels the other pressing even closer to Spamton's body, realizing that he's resting his head on top of Spamton, looking somewhat content for one of the few times since they've been around each other.

“...TH4T DIDN'T T AK LONG,” Spamton snorts amusedly.  The other angles his eyes down at Spamton's face and gives a small smile, nuzzling into his head, which… most people probably wouldn't do, but at the moment, neither of them cared.  Spamton liked feeling like he was needed at the moment, and the nameless Addison loved the warmth, both the literal and metaphorical kind, coming from his companion right now, relishing it.

Spamton sees the unlabelled bottle of liquid from earlier still resting unopened on a pile of trash, and he grabs it, swishing it around in the glass.

“EXP3RI MENTASHUN!!!” Spamton says gleefully, cracking open the bottle just to finally figure out what it is, “[Rock Bottom]’S UPP!!!”  He tips his head back and pours some of the yellow liquid down his throat, clamping his jaw up and down as he tries to discern the… interesting… taste.

“H3RE,” he says, offering the bottle to the Blue, “DUNNO WH4T IT I S, BUTT ITS CONSUMABLE!!!” The other gingerly takes the bottle, eyeing the familiar curved glass of the bottle before taking a small sip… which he immediately regrets, since it burns the whole way down his throat and tastes like someone mixed toothpaste and rotten glass with alcohol that went wrong.  He splutters whatever he can out of his mouth, his face twisted into a grimace.

…it does warm his insides, though.  Probably because it's started eating away at vital fluids that have started leaking everywhere, based on the taste - though that may be a little overdramatic.

…and his reaction to it made Spamton cackle out a glitched and garbled, yet teasing laugh at his reaction.

“HAEHAEHA EHAEH- WH4T, DON'T LIKE THE N3W [Vile! Awful! Downright hideous!] TASTES OF TH E AUTUMN???” Spamton laughs, nudging the other in their torso lightly.  The dull one flicks the arm of Spamton's glasses, sending them askew with a smile, now feeling a lot less miserable and a bit warmer than he was when he climbed into the dumpster, cuddled next to Spamton and his heaters.  He even made him laugh.  He hums softly and lightly bonks the marionette's long nose with the tip of their own nose, attempting to make him laugh again.

“H- H3Y, URE ACTing [Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice], U BUY A SH1NY NEW [ the spark that created life!! ] 0 R SOMTHIN???” Spamton asks, snickering as he reaches up and touches the other's cheek, watching them lean into it like they haven't had such a simple act of touch in decades.

Boop.

He touches their noses together again and nods up and down quickly, pointing a finger at Spamton, and then himself, before pointing at his face and grinning widely.

…Spamton gets the message loud and clear.  Externally, his eyes roll [[HEAVEN ]]wards as if that was a cheesy thing to imply, but internally he's… Actually getting a little emotional.  He hasn't made someone who he may or may not care about smile since…  Well…  not for a long time.

“[Gourmet Wheel of Brie] LINE 2 BUTT ER ME UP,” he says unconvincingly sarcastically, “BUT URE SM1LING FOR 1NCE, SO ILL [ What can I say except ‘you're welcome’? ]!!!”  Spamton reaches his arm up from its position behind his head and claps the other on their shoulder a couple of times fondly.

“S0 GOOD L UCK GETTING Rid of me NOW, BCAUSE URE [Stuck in a ditch? Call-] WITH ME NOW, [Friend Request Accepted], SO I C4N KEEP THAT  GR1N ON YO UR [Beutiful Head]!!!”

…what does it say about the other, when such garbled yet simple words of kindness were enough to nearly well his eyes with tears?  For just the simple act of being with him to make him emotional?

“... th ank you,” he croaks out, the voicebox quality scratchy and sounding alien from disuse, resting his head on Spamton's again.

“D0NT MENTION IT, [Buddy Chum Pal Fr]- [[Stop the presses!!]]” Spamton halts mid-sentence as he snaps his head to fully look at the one sitting beside him, eyes wide behind his glasses as he stares into their blue-green eyes - does he daresay he saw some sort of sparkle in there?  “D ID- DID U JUST [Everybody's raving about our new-]???”

He nods, his small smile stretching a little as he moves his head down to bump his forehead to Spamton's again.

Spamton's face, in return, breaks out into an ear-to-ear, genuine grin as he bumps foreheads back, ecstatic to hear him speak for what may well be the first time since they met.

“I'LL [ -chugalug, chugalug ] 2 TH AT!!!!” Spamton cheers, holding up the still-open bottle of vile fluid and taking a large swig… oh what the Hell?  Just this once he'll try to like it…  The other grabs the bottle and takes a drink from it as well, nearly gagging but managing to keep it down for a few moments before breaking into silent, body-shaking laughter at the fact they just willingly drank that again.

He wonders what he would do - if Trademark License Addison saw his abhorrent alcohol - unfit for a ViroViroKun, the very same that he detested for taking the place of nearly every cheap but decent gas station brand in the store, the very same drink that he expelled from his body into the bathroom sink - in stores a few years ago now being consumed by his future self in a dumpster while giggling over the smallest of things and sharing heat with the former Big Shot himself.

When the entire bottle is drained, Trademark and Spamton lean back against the pillows, the former listening to the drumming of rain on the dumpster lid above them, and to the White Addison yammering on and on about some convoluted make-it-big-again scheme with a tired and tranquil look on his face, until he eventually falls asleep, his head now drooped onto Spamton's shoulder and his arm draped across his torso, gripping him tightly to keep the warmth close to him.  When he finally does notice that the dull, yet so, so bright Blue Addison whom he doesn't even know the name of, has fallen asleep nuzzling him, he feels… content.  Happy, even.  His own arm gently holds Trademark close to himself, as well.

Spamton likes feeling wanted.  Feeling needed.  By someone, for once in years.

…

They could both get used to expecting this to be a regular thing.

♤~~♡~~♤

♤~~♡~~♤

[championcommercialcleaning]

Carpet vs. Hard Floors: Which Is Easier to Maintain?

Pros & Cons of Carpeted vs. Hard Flooring: Which One Wins?

When it comes to commercial spaces, the flooring you choose can make a huge difference in comfort, maintenance, and appearance. The big debate? Carpeted vs. hard flooring. Each has its perks and drawbacks, so let’s break it down in a way that makes choosing easier!

Comfort & Noise: The Cozy Factor vs. the Echo Effect

If you want a workspace that feels warm and inviting, carpeted flooring is the clear winner. It’s soft underfoot, absorbs sound, and keeps noise levels low—perfect for busy offices or hotels where peace and quiet matter. No one likes the echo of every footstep when trying to concentrate!

On the flip side, hard flooring (like tile, vinyl, or hardwood) doesn’t absorb sound as well, which can make a space feel louder. However, it’s easier to clean spills and doesn’t trap dust, which is a big plus for businesses that need a sleek, professional look. If noise is an issue, adding rugs or acoustic panels can help balance things out.

Maintenance & Durability: What’s Easier to Clean?

In the battle of carpeted vs. hard flooring, hard flooring wins in the maintenance department. Spilled coffee? No problem—just wipe it up! With carpet, stains can linger, and dirt loves to hide deep in the fibers, making professional cleaning a must.

However, carpet does have one advantage: it hides dirt better than hard flooring, which means it won’t look messy as quickly. But beware—over time, trapped dust and allergens can lead to poor indoor air quality. Hard flooring, on the other hand, can be mopped and disinfected easily, making it ideal for high-traffic areas like restaurants, medical offices, and retail spaces.

Style & Aesthetic: Which One Looks Better?

This one really depends on the vibe you’re going for. Carpeted flooring brings warmth, texture, and a cozy feel to any space. It’s a great choice for hotels, office lounges, or conference rooms where you want a more relaxed atmosphere.

Hard flooring, though, offers a modern, polished look that works well in corporate offices, showrooms, and lobbies. Plus, with so many options—luxury vinyl planks, polished concrete, and engineered wood—you can match it to any design style. If durability and a sleek, professional look are priorities, hard flooring takes the lead.

Cleaning Challenges for Each Flooring Type: Carpeted vs. Hard Flooring

No matter how beautiful your floors are, they won’t stay that way without proper care. When it comes to carpeted vs. hard flooring, cleaning challenges can be very different—and some are trickier than others. Let’s dive into the dirt (literally) and see what makes each flooring type tough to clean!

Carpet: The Dirt Magnet That Loves Stains

Carpet may feel warm and cozy underfoot, but it’s also a magnet for dust, dirt, and every crumb that falls. Unlike hard flooring, which lets you sweep debris away, carpet fibers trap everything—and that includes allergens, pet hair, and even odors. Vacuuming helps, but deep cleaning is a must if you want to keep carpets fresh and hygienic.

Then, there’s the stain struggle. Spill a coffee on tile, and it wipes right up. Spill it on carpet? Now you’re in a battle against time! Liquid seeps deep into the fibers, making stains harder to remove. Some messes, like ink or red wine, might become permanent if not treated immediately. Regular steam cleaning is key, but let’s be honest—who has time to do that every week?

Hard Flooring: The Streaky & Slippery Challenge

While hard flooring is way easier to clean than carpet, it comes with its own set of issues. Sure, you can sweep up dirt and mop spills, but not all cleaning products play nice with every surface. Hardwood floors, for example, hate excess moisture. Too much water can cause warping, and using the wrong cleaner might leave streaks or even dull the finish.

Tile floors are more forgiving but come with another problem: grout lines. Dirt loves to settle into grout, and over time, it can turn from crisp white to dingy gray. Scrubbing grout is nobody’s idea of fun, but without regular maintenance, it can make even the cleanest tile floor look dirty. Meanwhile, vinyl and laminate floors need gentle cleaning—harsh chemicals can damage the surface, and too much water can cause bubbling or peeling.

Dust, Scratches & Footprint Woes

Another challenge with carpeted vs. hard flooring is how easily they show wear and tear. Carpet can flatten in high-traffic areas, creating visible paths over time. Hard flooring, while more durable, is prone to scratches—especially if people aren’t careful with furniture or high heels. And don’t even get started on footprints! Glossy hard floors look stunning, but they also show smudges, dust, and streaks way too easily.

Cost Comparisons for Long-Term Maintenance: Carpeted vs. Hard Flooring

Choosing between carpeted vs. hard flooring isn’t just about style—it’s also about cost. While the upfront price of materials matters, what really impacts your budget is long-term maintenance. Some floors need constant deep cleaning, while others require special treatments to keep them looking fresh. Let’s break down the real costs of keeping each flooring type in top shape!

Cleaning Costs: Carpet Needs More Frequent Deep Cleaning

When it comes to regular maintenance, carpet tends to be the pricier option. Sure, vacuuming helps, but it only removes surface dirt. Over time, dust, allergens, and bacteria settle deep into the fibers, making professional deep cleaning a necessity. Depending on the size of your space, carpet cleaning services can cost anywhere from $0.15 to $0.50 per square foot—and most carpets need a deep clean at least twice a year.

Hard flooring, on the other hand, is much easier to maintain. A mop, broom, and the right cleaning solution can keep it looking fresh. However, certain types of hard flooring need special care. Hardwood floors, for example, require occasional polishing or refinishing to maintain their shine, which adds to the long-term cost. Tile floors are lower maintenance but may need grout sealing or deep scrubbing to prevent dirt buildup.

Durability: Which Flooring Lasts Longer?

If you’re thinking long-term, hard flooring wins on durability. A well-maintained hardwood, vinyl, or tile floor can last 20 to 50 years, while commercial-grade carpet typically needs replacing every 7 to 10 years. High-traffic areas wear out carpets faster, leaving them looking dull and flattened. Plus, once carpet starts fraying or unraveling, there’s no easy fix—you have to replace it entirely.

Hard floors, while more durable, can still face wear and tear. Scratches, dents, and fading happen over time, especially if heavy furniture isn’t padded or high heels are a regular occurrence. But the upside? Instead of replacing the entire floor, you can often refinish, reseal, or repair small sections, making it a more cost-effective long-term investment.

Replacement Costs: Carpet vs. Hard Flooring Over Time

Replacing carpet is often cheaper upfront, but since it wears out faster, you’ll spend more money on replacements over the years. Carpet installation costs $3 to $7 per square foot, while high-end commercial carpet can cost even more. Multiply that by every time you replace it, and the cost adds up quickly!

Hard flooring, while more expensive to install, offers better long-term value. Luxury vinyl, tile, and hardwood flooring range from $5 to $15 per square foot, but they rarely need full replacement. Instead of tearing up old floors every decade, businesses can simply refinish, reseal, or repair sections, saving thousands in the long run.

Choosing the Best Flooring for Your Business Needs: Carpeted vs. Hard Flooring

When designing a commercial space, flooring plays a huge role in functionality, appearance, and overall maintenance. Choosing between carpeted vs. hard flooring isn’t just about aesthetics—it’s about finding the right balance between comfort, durability, and cost. Different businesses have different needs, so let’s break down the key factors to help you make the best decision!

Traffic & Usage: How Busy Is Your Space?

The first thing to consider is foot traffic. If your business sees a steady stream of customers, clients, or employees moving around all day, durability is a top priority. Hard flooring is a clear winner for high-traffic areas, as it can withstand heavy use without wearing down quickly. Tile, vinyl, and polished concrete are especially tough, making them great for restaurants, retail stores, and office lobbies.

Carpet, on the other hand, works well in lower-traffic spaces like conference rooms, executive offices, and hotel suites. It provides extra comfort underfoot and helps reduce noise, which is perfect for businesses where a quiet, professional atmosphere matters. However, if placed in high-traffic areas, carpet can show wear and tear much faster than hard flooring.

Maintenance & Cleaning: How Much Effort Are You Willing to Put In?

Let’s be honest—nobody enjoys cleaning floors all the time. If you want something low-maintenance, hard flooring is the better option. Sweeping, mopping, and occasional deep cleaning are usually enough to keep it in top shape. Tile, vinyl, and laminate require minimal upkeep, while hardwood may need refinishing every few years to maintain its shine.

Carpet, however, requires frequent vacuuming, stain removal, and professional deep cleaning to stay fresh. Spills and dirt settle into the fibers, making it harder to keep clean, especially in busy environments. If your business is prone to spills—like a café or medical office—hard flooring might save you a lot of headaches in the long run.

Aesthetic & Comfort: What Vibe Do You Want?

Looks matter, and the right flooring can completely change the feel of your space. Hard flooring gives off a sleek, modern, and professional vibe, making it ideal for law firms, showrooms, and high-end retail spaces. It’s also available in endless styles, from polished wood to industrial-chic concrete.

If warmth and coziness are a priority, carpet is the way to go. It makes spaces feel more inviting, absorbs noise, and provides extra insulation, which can help with energy costs in colder months. Hotels, office lounges, and waiting areas benefit from the soft, comfortable feel of carpeted flooring.

Final Thoughts: Carpeted vs. Hard Flooring—Which One Wins?

Choosing between carpeted vs. hard flooring isn’t a simple decision—it depends on your business’s needs, maintenance preferences, and budget. Both options have their strengths and challenges, and the right choice comes down to what works best for your space.

If comfort and noise reduction are top priorities, carpeted flooring provides warmth and a welcoming feel. It’s perfect for offices, hotels, and areas where a quieter atmosphere is needed. However, it does require regular deep cleaning and can wear down faster in high-traffic zones.

On the other hand, hard flooring is a durable, sleek, and low-maintenance option. Whether you choose tile, vinyl, or hardwood, it’s easier to clean and lasts longer with proper care. While it may cost more upfront, it’s a smart long-term investment that can handle heavy foot traffic without frequent replacements.

At the end of the day, the best flooring choice depends on your business’s daily operations, budget, and style preferences. Whether you go with carpeted or hard flooring, keeping it clean and well-maintained is essential to keeping your space looking professional and inviting!

[venactricisfics]

Malibu Desert

Chapter 23

So sorry for the long ass time since my last chapter. Let me know what you think. 18+

Master List

My fingers drummed a restless rhythm against the worn wood of the bar, the only sound in the empty clubhouse. The place was spotless—every surface wiped down, every ashtray emptied, every discarded beer bottle tossed. I had run out of things to clean, but they still weren’t back.

A thousand different things could have gone wrong. A deal turned sour. An ambush. A bullet meant for the wrong man. Or maybe it was just business as usual—biding time, handling what needed to be handled, making sure the message was clear.

All for revenge.

I shifted in my seat, a sharp sting flaring through my shoulder. The dull ache that followed was a reminder—of the chaos, of the blood spilled, of the life I was still lucky enough to have. I pressed my palm over the sling, exhaling slowly. I was still here. But at what cost?

The soft hum of approaching motorcycles pulled me from my thoughts, the distant vibration growing into a low, thunderous rumble as they neared the clubhouse. Relief flickered through me for a brief second—until I saw them.

They weren’t the same men who had left.

There was something heavier in the way they carried themselves, a darkness that clung to them like the dust from the road. Their shoulders were tense, their faces unreadable, their kuttes bearing fresh smears of grime and something darker. Whatever had happened across the border had changed them.

I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around the edge of the bar. I wanted to ask if it was done, if they got what they went for—but I already knew the answer. The weight in their eyes told me everything.

Revenge came at a price. And they had paid it.

—-

The shift was subtle at first, but over the next few months, it became impossible to ignore. The border was locked down tight, ICE crawling all over Santo Padre like vultures picking at a carcass. It put a strain on the club, on business, on the whole damn town. Everyone felt it.

And inside the clubhouse, the tension was thick enough to choke on.

Bishop started pulling away. He spoke less, drank more. The weight of it all—what happened, what came after—pressed down on him, widening the distance between us.

Now, that same door rattled from the force of angry voices behind it. The muffled shouting carried through the clubhouse, but I couldn’t make out the words. I didn’t need to. I already knew what the fight was about.

Angel, EZ, Gilly, and Coco had gotten into it with a bunch of soldiers at a bar. Their way of blowing off steam, I supposed. Not the smartest move, but what the hell was anymore?

“They’ll want drinks when they come out,” I told the new prospect, who nodded stiffly before busying himself behind the bar.

I exhaled, bracing my hands against the counter. When that door finally opened, things would either be settled—or they’d be worse.

“Use a tray—” but it was too late.

Steve, ever the eager but hapless prospect, had loaded his arms with too many beer bottles and trotted across the floor like a newborn foal on ice. Some invisible force—clumsiness, bad luck, or maybe just the universe having a laugh—sent him sprawling face-first onto the dirty hardwood. The crash echoed through the clubhouse as bottles scattered in every direction.

“What the fuck, Steve?” Gilly and Hank barked in unison.

Steve groaned from the floor. “Sorry, Hank.”.

Shaking my head, I grabbed a couple of beers from behind the bar, stepping carefully around the mess. Or at least, that was the plan.

Coco, moving faster than I thought he was capable of, brushed past me in a blur, and the sudden gust of air or sheer momentum sent me slipping. My stomach lurched—this was about to be humiliating.

But before I could face-plant next to the prospect, Angel’s strong grip closed around my arm, yanking me upright just in time.

“You good, Malibu?” he asked, smirking.

I exhaled, heart still racing. “Yeah. Just wasn’t looking to kiss the floor tonight.”

He chuckled, steadying me before letting go. “Might be cleaner than Steve’s face at this point.”

From the ground, Steve groaned. “I can hear you, man.”

EZ sighed and reached down to lift him up while the others surveyed the damage. 

“Clean that shit up,” Hank barked at the prospect.

I barely paid attention as Steve scrambled to gather the broken glass, my focus already shifting elsewhere. I stepped forward, beer bottles still in hand, and walked toward the open stained-glass door. Leaning against the frame, I waited until Bishop met my gaze. His nod was subtle but unmistakable—an invitation.

“Can you believe these fucking kids?” Bishop grumbled, shaking his head as he turned to Taza, both still seated around the table.

Taza smirked, rolling a toothpick between his fingers. “Don’t be so hard on them,” he said.

I stepped forward and set the bottles on the table, my presence in the room feeling heavier than I’d anticipated. The air in Templo always carried a certain weight—business conducted here was never light. That weight settled on my shoulders now, and I instinctively turned to leave, not wanting to overstep.

“We were never this dumb,” Bishop added, the words more to himself than anyone else.

Before I could take another step, his hand caught my wrist. It wasn’t forceful, just enough to stop me. He gestured toward the empty chair beside him.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” I said softly, glancing between them. “Everything good?”

Bishop let out a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “No,” he muttered, voice laced with frustration. “But ain’t shit we can do about it ‘til this border thing is done.”

Bishop snuffed out his cigarette and placed his hand on my thigh as he said to Taza, “Between the Feds and a fucking Reaper rotting out there in the ground somewhere and the bullshit with the other Kings.”

“What about Palo?” Taza asked, his voice edged with something unreadable.

I was never privy to this deep of a conversation about club business. I knew better than to pry, but I heard things. The younger guys—the ones Bishop called dumb—were easier to read. They let things slip, pieced together with half-whispered warnings and violent aftershocks.

I felt Bishop glance at me, and for a brief second, I wondered if he regretted letting me hear this much. But instead of shutting me out, he turned back to Taza and said, “It’s fucking done. I don’t want to hear about it anymore.”

That was it. That was all the closure I was going to get. But closure didn’t mean clean. It didn’t mean safe.

He stood from the table and looked back at me. “Let’s go.”

I nodded at Taza, something silent exchanged between us—understanding, maybe. Or acknowledgment. Then I followed Bishop back into the clubhouse.

Something was off. Not just with the club. With him.

I felt it in the way his hands found my hips, the way he pulled me against him, not just with want, but with something deeper. Something unspoken.

“Come with me, querida,” he murmured into my ear, his breath hot against my skin.

I followed without question. Down the hall, past the muffled noise of the clubhouse, to the apartment behind closed doors. The moment they shut, he had me against the wall.

His hands pushed my skirt high on my hips, yanked my panties down with urgency. I gasped, my body already responding, but my mind still tangled in the weight of everything outside this room.

I felt the heat of his need pressed against me through his jeans. His zipper came down in a swift motion, and instinct took over. My legs wrapped around his waist, my fingers curled into the worn leather of his kutte.

He didn’t bother taking our clothes off. Didn’t whisper sweet words. Didn’t waste time with tenderness.

He fucked me. And I let him.

I wanted this. Needed it.

Because this wasn’t just about sex.

It was about anchoring ourselves to something solid when everything else was slipping through our fingers. It was about claiming something real, something tangible, when the world outside this door felt like it was closing in.

His grip was bruising, his pace punishing. He drove into me like he needed this to breathe, like the act itself could burn away the tension curling in his spine. I clung to him, moaning as his rhythm grew rougher, more desperate.

It was raw. It was primal.

It was Bishop, stripped down to his most honest self.

And when his movements faltered, when his breath hitched and he groaned my name like it was the only thing holding him together, I followed him over that edge. My body clenched around him, taking him in, taking everything he had to give.

When it was over, neither of us moved for a long moment. My heart pounded in my chest, my body still trembling from the aftershocks. His forehead rested against mine, his breathing ragged.

I wanted to ask him if he was okay. If the club was okay. If we were okay.

But I didn’t.

Because in this world, in his world, some things didn’t need to be said.

And some things couldn’t be.

I stood there for a moment, my breath still uneven, my body still humming from the way he took me. But the warmth of his touch faded quickly, replaced by the cold emptiness of the space he left behind.

"I’ll be home late tonight."

That was all he said before pulling away, before walking out like nothing had just happened. Like I wasn’t still standing here, legs unsteady, heart pounding, mind spinning.

I nodded, but the words never made it past my lips. Maybe because I knew they wouldn’t matter.

He didn’t wait for me. Didn’t look back. Just opened the door and stepped out into the noise of the clubhouse, slipping right back into his world as if I hadn’t been part of it at all.

And I was left leaning against the wall, trying to decide whether I’d just been pulled closer to him… or pushed even further away.

—-

As soon as the MC pulled out of the clubhouse off to present a show of force for the Kings, I slid in behind the wheel of my SUV and drove home. I wasn’t sure how we were going to get through this. 

Or if we would get through this. Did Bishop even want to anymore?

He’d been colder, more distant since everything went down. I tried to understand his anguish. Everything he’d built for the club was crumbling around him and he was trying to pick up the pieces. 

The drive home felt longer than usual, the silence in the SUV stretching out between my thoughts. Headlights illuminated the dark road ahead, but my mind was stuck on everything behind me—on Bishop, on the club, on the way things had been before. Before the border closed. Before the Reaper in the dirt. Before the weight of it all started pressing down on him, on us.

I wanted to believe this was temporary, that once the dust settled, he’d find his way back to me. But there was a nagging voice in the back of my head whispering doubts I wasn’t ready to face.

Bishop had always carried the burden of the club on his shoulders, but now, it felt like he was shutting me out completely. I understood the stress, the pressure, the rage simmering just beneath his skin. But that understanding didn’t make it any easier to be on the receiving end of his distance, to watch the man I loved become a stranger to me, bit by bit.

I wasn’t sure where I stood anymore. Not with him, not with the club, not with the life we’d built together.

And I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold on if he wasn’t reaching back for me.

That thought sat heavy in my chest, tightening like a vice the longer I let it linger. If I lost Bishop, I lost more than just him—I lost the club. The clubhouse, the family dinners, the nights spent laughing and drinking with the guys, the sense of belonging that had taken me so long to find. They weren’t just his brothers anymore; they were mine too.

But that’s the way it worked, wasn’t it? Women didn’t get to keep the club in the split. If Bishop decided he didn’t want me anymore, there would be no place for me here. No late-night drinks with Angel, no giving shit to EZ, no talking business with Taza while the rest of them got loud in the background.

I tried to shake the thought, but it stayed with me, crawling under my skin.

Maybe that’s why I had let him take me like that back at the clubhouse, why I had clung to him even when I knew he was slipping away. Maybe I thought if I held on tight enough, I could keep us from unraveling completely.

But I wasn’t sure how much longer I could pretend I didn’t feel it coming apart at the seams.

—-

The silence of the house was suffocating. It was too big, too empty, and far too quiet without the usual sounds of his footsteps or the hum of a TV playing in the background. I tossed the blanket off and swung my legs to the floor, standing up and stretching. The motion felt stiff, like my body was resisting the routine that had become too familiar.

I grabbed my phone off the nightstand, scrolling through old messages. Nothing that would ground me, no plans to make, just reminders of the space I had left behind—the one I had to fill.

A part of me had been so consumed with Bishop and the club that I hadn’t even realized how much I’d stopped living for myself. I thought about the things I used to enjoy—shopping, getting lost in books, maybe taking a trip somewhere. I couldn't remember the last time I’d done something just for me.

I knew it was time to find something outside of this life, outside of him. Maybe I’d start small. Take a class. Maybe yoga or painting. I didn’t need to get away from Bishop or the club; I just needed to be more than a reflection of them.

As I moved to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee, the weight of that thought pressed down on me. I had to carve out space for myself, otherwise, I'd lose more than just the identity I had built. I’d lose who I was.

So I started small, day trip to the spa. The calmness of the spa was like a balm to my overworked mind. For the first time in months, I felt like me again, not just an extension of Bishop or the club. The soothing scents, the soft music, the feeling of being pampered—it was exactly what I needed to reset. I hadn’t realized how much I had neglected myself in the whirlwind of everything going on.

When I stepped out of the spa, I felt lighter, more centered. The world outside wasn’t as heavy anymore. As I looked at my reflection in the rearview mirror, I couldn’t help but smile. My skin was glowing, my nails freshly painted in a shade of soft pink that felt like a promise to take better care of myself. It was a small victory, but it was mine.

The drive home felt different too. I didn’t rush to return to the chaos of the clubhouse or wait for the heavy, silent moments when Bishop wasn’t around. I didn’t feel like I had to occupy that space right now. I was just... me.

Maybe this was the start of something. Maybe, just maybe, I could find balance.

And as I turned the corner toward the house, I realized that, for the first time in a while, I was looking forward to whatever came next.

—-

“Yer Mexicans sure fucked dis one up, lass,” Declan’s voice crackled through the phone, thick with irritation.

I tightened my grip on the receiver, leaning against the counter as I glanced out the window. “This whole border situation is outside of their control,” I said evenly. “They can’t move the product if we can’t get the imports through.”

“Aye, but der may be anotha way,” he mused. “Different products. And things ya can do to make our other dealings a little cleaner.”

I straightened at that. “What do you need me to do, Uncle?”

A pause. Then a chuckle. “Ya used to love buyin’ all dos designer clothes and handbags, aye?”

My brow furrowed. “Yeah…?”

“Money will be wired to ya in a few days,” he said smoothly, as if this had already been decided. “Open a store. I’ll make sure yer shelves are stocked. And I’ll be sendin’ yer cousin Patrick to help ya get everything sorted.”

I exhaled sharply, processing what he was really saying. A legitimate front. A way to wash money, move certain things under the radar, and keep myself insulated from the dirtier work.

“A luxury boutique?” I echoed, running a hand through my hair. “I haven’t worked retail since high school.”

“Don’t worry, lass,” he chuckled, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “It’ll all come back to ya.”

I wasn’t sure if that was a promise or a warning.

—-

Two days later, I got an alert, that $500,000 had been wired to my account. Opening expenses. 

There were no shortage of empty buildings in Santo Padre. Businesses were closing, not opening. The empty shop building I found was perfect for what would be needed. Large open floor plan for all the legitimate merchandise and a large storage area upstairs for the off-the-books merchandise. 

I signed the lease, paid the deposit, and first three months upfront. Then went to city planning to get the permits. 

“How long did you say it would take to get these sorted?” I asked the clerk behind the desk. “I really want to get started on the remodel so we can open.” 

“Few weeks,” she responded. 

“Anything I can do to push this along faster?” 

The clerk glanced up at me over her reading glasses, sizing me up. “Few weeks is already pushing it, sweetheart. City’s backed up with requests, and with all the border crackdowns, paperwork’s moving slow.”

I let out a slow breath, pressing my palms flat against the counter. A few weeks was too long. I needed this place up and running before anyone—not Bishop, not the Mayans, and definitely not the Feds—started asking too many questions.

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice just enough. “Look, I’m willing to make it worth your while if there’s anything you can do.”

Her gaze flickered with understanding, but she kept her face neutral. “You offering a bribe, miss?”

I smiled innocently. “I’m offering an incentive for efficiency.”

She sighed, tapping her nails against the stack of forms. “Leave your number. If something opens up, I’ll give you a call.”

I slid my card across the counter. “I’d really appreciate that.”

As I stepped outside into the heat of the afternoon, my phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.

Got word you’re moving fast on something new. Need to talk.

I stared at the screen, a knot forming in my stomach. I wasn’t even open yet, and someone was already paying attention.

I let out a breath before typing out a response.

Local? 

I got a 👍in response. 

We’re not open for business yet. Meet me at Los Cabos Cantina in an hour and we can discuss a preorder.

The response came almost immediately.

See you there.

I slipped my phone back into my bag and scanned the street before heading toward my SUV. My mind raced as I climbed inside and started the engine. Whoever this was, they were watching closely. Maybe too closely.

I didn’t like unknowns. Not in business, and definitely not in this town.

Los Cabos Cantina was neutral ground. Close enough to club territory that I wouldn’t be completely exposed, but not so close that Bishop or the others would catch wind of my meeting before I wanted them to.

By the time I pulled into the lot, the sun was starting to dip low on the horizon. I spotted a dark sedan parked near the back, windows tinted so black I couldn’t see inside. A man leaned against the hood, arms crossed. He was older, early forties maybe, dressed sharp but casual. Not Mayan. Not cartel.

But he knew me.

I took a breath, steeling myself, and stepped out of the SUV. His eyes tracked me as I approached, a slow smirk curling his lips.

“Didn’t think you’d answer,” he said.

I tilted my head, keeping my expression neutral. “I like to know who’s asking questions about me.”

His smirk widened. “Then you’re gonna love this conversation, sweetheart.”

“We’ll see about that,” I responded. Internally willing to keep calm. Who the fuck was this guy? “So Mr…?”

“Let’s just call me James T Kirk,” he stepped closer to me.

“Funny you don’t look like you command the starship Enterprise,” I remarked, “How exactly can I help you, Mr. Kirk.” 

His smirk deepened, amusement flickering in his sharp eyes. "I’m more of a ground-level operations guy. And from what I hear, so are you."

I crossed my arms, keeping my stance relaxed, but my pulse was ticking a little faster. "You’ve been asking around about me."

"Not just me," he said, tilting his head slightly. "Word spreads fast when someone moves big money through town. Especially someone without a crew of their own. That’s… risky."

I exhaled slowly, keeping my expression unreadable. "I have investors."

"Sure you do." He studied me like he was fitting pieces together. "But investors don’t get their hands dirty. And they sure as hell don’t put their face on the front of the operation."

I shrugged. "It’s just a boutique."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "And I’m just a shoe salesman."

I held his gaze, refusing to blink first. "So what exactly do you want, Mr. Kirk?"

He stepped even closer, lowering his voice. "To make sure you’re playing on the right side of the board. Because if you’re not… someone’s gonna make a move. And trust me, sweetheart, you don’t want to be caught in the middle of that game."

“And which side would be the right side?” my brow arched as I looked up at him. 

“The one that makes us both a lot of money,” he responded. “And keeps everyone tidy.” 

“I’m all about keeping things clean,” I told him. He was close enough now the scent of his cologne tickled my nose. Expensive cologne, this man wasn’t a lackey. 

“I’m sure you do, Ms. O’Shay,” he responded. 

His use of my last name sent a chill down my spine, but I didn’t let it show. Instead, I leaned back slightly, feigning a casual confidence I wasn’t sure I fully felt. “Doing your homework, I see.”

“Wouldn’t be very good at my job if I didn’t.” His smirk was practiced, controlled—like everything about him. “You’re moving fast, and fast movements get noticed.”

I tapped my fingers against the table, pretending to consider his words. “And here I thought I was keeping a low profile.”

“Oh, you were,” he said, tilting his head. “But you can’t move half a million dollars into a dying town and expect people not to ask questions. You’re an outsider playing an insider’s game. And that, Ms. O’Shay, makes people curious.”

I let out a slow breath, my expression unreadable. “Curiosity can be dangerous.”

“For the wrong people, yes,” he agreed, his voice smooth. “But for the right people? It’s an opportunity.”

“And you’re here to offer me an opportunity?”

“I’m here to make sure you don’t fuck this up,” he corrected, voice laced with something darker now. “Because you might think you’re just running a boutique, but the second you agreed to be part of this? You stepped into something a hell of a lot bigger.”

I held his gaze, measuring his words, his intent. “And let me guess—you’re offering guidance?”

“I’m offering you a way to keep your business running without any… unnecessary interruptions.”

My stomach tightened. “And what’s the cost?”

His smile returned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Loyalty.”

I exhaled slowly, choosing my words carefully. “Loyalty is earned.”

His smirk deepened. “Then let’s see if I can earn yours.”

He pushed the business card closer to me, his fingers brushing against mine for just a moment before he pulled away. “Call me when you’re ready to talk for real.”

I let the card sit there, untouched, even as he stood and straightened his jacket. “Don’t take too long,” he added. “Santo Padre isn’t exactly known for being patient.”

I didn’t respond. I just watched as he walked away, leaving me alone with the weight of what had just happened.

[nightmare-foundation]

Rwby world building hcs!! Go go go!!

please

[Rubs hands together] okay so!!

Vacuo is, by and large, a fishing/whaling kingdom. It doesn't rely a TON on it, but in terms of food, they eat a lot of seafood as well as any animals that are out in the desert and in its forests near the shore.

Mistral and Vacuo are generally the kingdoms that export the most seafood, but Vacuo has some really weird shit thanks to it basically being Remnant Australia, so some stuff come only from there, and thus end up being really expensive if you buy it elsewhere.

Vacuos capital city, and thus Shade, are closely located to one of the longest rivers on Remnant, specifically one that moves quite a bit. A lot of settlements in Vacuo are located along rivers (naturally) and around oasis', and Vacuos capital is, well, it's capital because it had the most amount of Dust, and it was located right next to a huge river.

Another fun Vacuo headcanon: Vacuo is home to the largest and oldest catacombs on Remnant. It's been around for millennia, and is deep underground. It's part of why Vacuo is so damn dangerous to traverse; sinkholes fall into them (if they're close to the surface, and bc of old Dust mines) a lot, and if you fall into the catacombs, DO NOT MOVE. Getting lost in them is guaranteed, and animals and Grimm alike use them to traverse safely, and both live down there. Getting lost in the Vacuan Catacombs is a death sentence; if you aren't mauled to death by either an animal or a Grimm, you'll likely slowly starve to death. (One of Oz's lives died down there; it... wasn't fun. At all)

Okay, away from Vacuo- I headcanon that Remnants civilization is REALLY old, and is on a sort of 'cycle' thanks to the Grimm. The Ozlem kingdom was THE first kingdom on Remnant post-moonfall, and at that point, organized civilization had only been a thing for... I'd say 3k years? And modern day Remnant takes place 90k years after the Ozlem kingdoms fall. Civilization naturally cycles every ~10k years, where kingdoms and Empires become massive, reaching roughly modern technology, before wars etc cause the Grimm to swarm and destroy them. How bad it is depends entirely on what that kingdom is like; it's been noted by modern scientists that imperialist and fascist kingdoms/countries/Empires get hit the worst, especially if they rely on oppression.

^ absolutely none of this has to do with Salem. It's entirely natural, and if its bad enough, Salem will even try to do damage control. These cycles are more akin to natural disasters, and do have benefits in the long run, though they are horrific. Think how wildfires leave more fertile soil once they clear.

Because of this, and because of how Grimm are in general, Remnants history past its current era is spotty, not just due to the Grimm, but a combination of things; age, people moving into and using old ruins, wars destroying things, natural disasters, etc. The Ozlem kingdom has been entirely forgotten and wiped from history thanks to these things, and other events and fairytales happened in previous eras, and in some cases, are all that's left of some (The Tale of the Two Brothers is one of the oldest surviving fairytales, left over from Ozpins old religious crusade).

Remnants timeline is marked by named eras, and the current era is, in the modern day, labeled by important events (i.e. wars). The current era has lasted around 6k years, and by v1-v3, the year is 80-81 AGW (After Great War), and by v9, 83 AGW. There's also 2 calendars, and the other goes by the current era year (haven't thought abt that one much).

Said modern calendar also has 6 ~8 week months in a ~400 day year. There's also 4 different zodiacs; the Dust zodiac (6), the Grimm zodiac (12), the Fairytale zodiac (12), and the Animal zodiac (16), and the frequency of what zodiac is used differs by region (and race). I haven't thought too deeply about these zodiacs, so I'm not sure what Zodiacs teams RWBY and JNPR have, but what they have would apply to their characters i imagine.

Dust i imagine acts... weirdly. They grow and act more like fungi than actual crystals. It is, in fact, possible to grow Dust at home, but it's actually pretty dangerous and finicky to do, hence why mining is easier; but growing Dust makes it possible to start small Dust selling businesses, if you want an ethical business. It's common practice to leave a little bit of Dust behind in mines, so it grows back. Not doing so leaves the mines completely useless and barren (if you're not mining for other minerals).

^ this is why Vacuo has been colonized for so long. Vacuo is the kingdom with the most amount of Dust- or at least it was. Thanks to Mantle and Mistral, the Dust was mined so thoroughly that a lot of Vacuo was left completely barren of Dust. Pre-v3, Vacuo was actually underway with a replanting effort, since Dust both helps the locals and is actually good for the environment. Quite a few of the oasis' in Vacuo ARE natural, but there's many others that are there thanks to Dust. When most of the Dust in Vacuo was mined, it completely fucked up the environment. Vacuo has gone through this a lot, but the Great War was easily the worst example of it. It's why Vacuans had such a hard time developing modern technology despite Dust kickstarting a lot of modern technology and civilizations in general; the mix of colonization and then the lack of Dust left them floundering.

Unrelated to that, Remnants moon is called Fragmens! It's much larger than our moon (either that or closer, I can't decide which), so eclipses (solar and lunar) are... weird and different from ours. Remnants tides are also more powerful.

Oh I almost forgot- religions on Remnant really AREN'T that common in the modern day anymore. This stems from the century and a half long War that happened a few centuries (at least) prior to the modern day (well- it wasn't one war, it was a ton of wars all over the planet and it was constant warfare, but semantics), all due to religion. By the end of it, pretty much everyone was exhausted, and the wars stopped and a lot was redone out of fear that that would happen again, since by the end, there was nearly as many casualties as there were in the Great War. After that, religion was slowly faded out, and no religion has any place in any government.

^ religions DO still exist! They're just smaller these days, and really aren't common. Spirituality is far more common than organized religion on Remnant. An example of a religion is one that has been fairly common in Mistral, a draconic religion. The modern religion is derived from the old brother cult religions, but currently it has many more deities and different beliefs, though there are stand-ins for the Brothers. One of my ocs, Ying Shi, actually follows this one. Another religion (though it also has its roots in spirituality) is one that actually accidentally came from Oz himself, from one of the many times he's accrued followers over his lifetimes. It deals a lot with the cycle of life, reincarnation, etc, and it's monotheistic (?? Maybe? I haven't thought too deeply on it, i might change it to polytheistic) with multiple branches/interpretations. Another of my ocs, Aurelius Ozymandias Regalia, and some of his family follow this religion <- this is EXTREMELY funny because these are the King of Vales relatives and descendants. Aka Oz. Yes Aurelius technically worships a form(?) Of his grandfather and yes this would embarass him when he finds out.

^ oh and another religion is the faunus' old animal god worship, though this has soured ever since Menagerie became a thing. Others have become even more intense in their worship out of spite, though it's really not a common religion, especially since it's closed. These days, very few faunus actually follow it, and it's nearing to be a dead religion.

Okay this post is getting really long lmao so I'll stop here with the world building headcanons. I'll eventually post more about my ocs and world building, but if anyone wants to ask about anything specific, go ahead and I'll answer to the best of my abilities :)

[hornedadvance]

Horned Advance

Chapter 0 - Prologue

I am a desert traveller. A vagrant. I travel across the arid pathways and dunes of the Psamathe Desert, looting corpses, hunting wildlife and trading with others that cross my path. I do not live an easy or fulfilling life, but the fact that I am living at all is a gift I would not dare neglect. In my life, there have been many trips to and from smaller towns in this desert, a gargantuan plane stretching 5 million kilometres in surface area. By now I am very experienced in trekking this merciless land, but many others could not say the same, with corpses, lost adventurers and tourists often rocking up in places they should never have been.

That day I had found myself stumbling across one such person, a small, young girl by her lonesome collapsed off the side of a central path. I knew not how she got there, what her intent was crossing this vast land alone, or even what kind of person she may have been. As a poor man myself, I was not one to care for others unnecessarily, as doing so may have resulted in my own demise if I was to be careless. This time however, was different. I was unsure why, but seeing that small, torn cloak laid over a barely breathing body I had felt compelled to help, even with my survivalist instincts firing off all chambers to do the opposite. 'I should loot her and be done with it.' I thought to myself, before taking a moment to reconcile with my humanity and conscience that I had begun to lose my grip on in these rough territories. She could have been a bandit, a murderer, or some other scorned fugitive- but some deep human element within me would not allow me to abandon yet another soul to these sands.

I found myself kneeling down by her side, shaking her gently to see if she was still sapient, aware. She lifted her head slowly and shakily to look in my direction and it was clear she was on her very last legs. Her lips were dry, torn and chapped and it was clear she hadn't gotten any water in far too long of a time. Sand had buried itself into every crevice of her face and it seemed she had long since resigned to dying here; this was until I had caught her eye, a sparkle of vitality returning as she had seen her chance to move forward. I offered her my spare leather canteen, a handful of bread and a hash of sun dried fish to get her back on her feet. The food was gone within moments, as I watched the life flow back into her pale cheeks beneath her rough hood. She never looked me in the eye directly, nor even showed any appreciation for what I'd done and for a moment I thought to regret my actions- had I made a mistake in giving what few supplies I had to this stranger? After a minute of silence and her staring me down like I was some sort of beast, she wiped her face and spoke up. 'Thank ye' She said, regaining composure, dusting herself off and standing up. She was about a foot shorter than me, a man of 6'6 stature, with a low voice, but clearly one of youth. She had clear burn marks on her front side from laying on searing sand, but it didn't seem to bother her much. 'I don't know why you came for me, but I would be dead without your help. Just another stray lost to the sands, I suppose.' She spoke, pulling her hood further forward in an effort to cover her face. 'T'was nothing. Any good man 'dve done the same.' I replied, in what was a blatant lie to the both of us. She was clearly trying to hide her identity now that she had come to, but doing so isn't easy in a face to face conversation. She had loose brown hair that hung down near her shoulders, with messy bangs covering her forehead. I could've sworn I had seen a glint of something dark but shiny adorning the side of her head when she had briefly faced me, but she didn't give me the time to ascertain what it may have been.

Just as fast as she had appeared in my story, she had left, with a humble thanks and a moment to gather herself, she had started walking off into the distance, without so much as a wave goodbye. The next settlement was miles away in that direction, and she seemed short on supplies herself, but she made no note to ask me for anything at all before setting off. Whatever had set her on this path, it seemed she was willing to chase it even if it meant her own demise. I briefly watched her walk unto the horizon, before turning back to my own path and heading on to Muvazani, the town of trade. I had been heading there to sell off wares that I had pilfered and gathered during my travels, before I stumbled across that unfortunate girl. Her odd name hung around in my mind for the rest of the trip until now. Just as she had turned to walk away from me I had asked her name and with a moment of hesitation she had uttered it under her voice. 'Palo.. My name is Palo.'

I knew not the significance of this name at the time, nor the meaning of the strange glimmer beneath her hood, but in future it would all become clear to me. In that moment I had met someone who would do unforeseen things to this humble world of ours.

Next Chapter

Link to All Chapters

[total-drama-takes-takes-2]

tta episode 5

“Last time on Total Takes Action: The teams formed their very own mobs to sell the now-contraband Chef Hatchet's Total Drama Yum Yum Happy Go Time Candy Fish Tails. The Fujoshis, despite a strong lead from Michela, lost after Bonnie ratted the team out, sending them to the Lame-o-Sine- but not without a special goodbye from their “friend” Caesar. Will the Anons keep their lead? Has anyone gotten Michela out of those cuffs yet? Find out now, on Total! Takes! Action!”

A black screen. Nothingness. 

Then, light. 

Caesar picks up the phone and holds the camera to the mirror, using the flash to do his hair in the dark. The bathroom door opens and Joner walks in, pausing to look up at the ceiling. 

“What happened to the lights?”

“They’re out again,” Caesar sighs. “I swear, I’m draining the life out of this thing just from doing my hair!”

“Where’d you even get that?” Sha-Mod asks from a stall. 

Caesar shrugs. “Found it just lying around. I’ve been using it to collect information in case I want to sue later. I have very good lawyers,”

Joner nods and whistles as he pulls a toothbrush out of his back pocket, half of his body out of the view from the camera, and wets it under the tap. There’s a heavy silence over the room. The bags under Caesar’s eyes are dark purple. 

The sound of a toilet flushing and Sha-Mod slamming the stall door follows and he walks in the background before reaching a sink off-screen. 

“Hey,” he says. Caesar looks over. “Sorry about Bonnie, man. It’s not easy.”

Caesar sighs and sets the phone down on the counter, shrouding the screen in darkness again. The audio continues to play without hitch. “It’s not easy. I wish it was,”

“When McLovin got voted off, I didn’t know what that meant for any of us,”

“Well, at least you still have Joner,”

Joner agrees through a mouthful of toothpaste. 

“I only had Bonnie,”

The sound of the door opening follows as someone new enters. “Hey, guys, we’re all meeting outside. We can’t find Chris,”

---

“I knew it was getting too quiet around here!” Scary says. She sounds mad, though the camera is obscured by a curtain of blue- Caesar’s pocket. 

“He probably just left to do something without telling us. Where’s Chef?” Michela asks. 

“Can’t find him either,” O sounds nervous. “No one panic, though, okay? Take deep breaths- everyone count to ten-”

“Oh, can it!” Scary snaps. “This is a challenge, obviously. You are all so juvenile.”

“How do you know?!” Scruffy says, panicking. 

The sound of footsteps. “The gate is locked. It looks like the lot is closed down,” Peter says. “We got evicted.”

Fren clears his throat. “Um… it definitely wasn’t an eviction notice,” 

---

“Oh… oh, this is not good,” O mutters. 

Caesar pulls the camera out of his blazer pocket and begins collecting evidence on the scene. Just inside the gates is a police-taped crime scene, complete with a chalk outline of a mangled body in the middle. Various red stains cover every surface. 

Caesar swallows. “Okay, from now on, this camera stays on,”

Scary ducks under the police tape and walks up to the stain-covered chalk outline. 

“What are you doing!” Peter asks. “This is a crime scene!”

“Oh, please,” they swipe some of the red liquid off the asphalt and lick it off their finger. Everyone gags. “It’s cornstarch and food coloring.”

“Nuh-uh,” O shakes his head. “I’m not playing these games. I’m going back to the trailer and waiting for someone to get us. It’s like my therapist always says-”

Everyone groans. 

"Someone's gonna get him alright," Michela mumbles, wiping some dust off her parka. "If this is a challenge, it must be crime themed."

"But we already had the mobster episode?" Joner asks cautiously. She glares at him for having the audacity to address her.

"There are different subgenres of crime,"

"As much as I hate to admit any of you resemble even the smallest fraction of intelligence, you're likely right," Scary crosses their arms. "Nonetheless, I'm not doing anything until Chris addresses us himself."

And with that, the group disperses.

---

Caesar records the sunset over the city and turns back to the craft services tent, where Michela is trying to open a can of beans with a shank. “Stupid kitchen… I cannot BELIEVE they took the can openers,”

“The sunset is pretty tonight,” Caesar says merrily. 

Peter looks up from the table, where he’s closely seated between Michela and Fren. “Is it?”

Caesar nods, shaking the camera a bit. “Very. And there’s no need to worry, we’ll be fine as long as we stick together, right? They can’t just leave a bunch of teens here,”

“Oh, they can,” Scruffy mumbles from the other table, scratching at a bug bite erratically. “They’ve done it before- but, oh, wait, this isn’t before! This is all new!”

They laugh insanely and Joner and Sha-Mod look between each other uncomfortably. Scary stands. "You people are unbearable. I'm going for a walk,"

Just before they can formally excuse themselves, a scream from the trailer catches everyone’s attention and the group runs outside over the dark set. 

Caesar throws open the trailer door first. “O? O?” But there’s no one there. 

Fren mutters. “Uh-oh,” just as all the lights in camp go out. The screen goes dark. 

A few people scream. Scary laughs. “Oh, God. This is so corny,”

“Hold on, I have a night vision setting on this thing,” Caesar mutters. Suddenly, the vision in the camera returns, everything shrouded in green. 

“Is this really the time to be recording?” Fren asks. “I mean, we’re all on camera anyway.”

“This is for my... personal records, thank you,”

---

The group walks alongside each other back to the craft services tent. Joner walks on one side of Caesar, Michela on the other. They’re very clearly ignoring each other. 

Caesar sighs. “I miss Bonbon,”

Michela gives him a sympathetic look. “Yeah, I get the feeling. I miss Max, too,”

“They’d both love this kind of thing, huh?” 

Joner watches the interaction nervously, looking between the two and Sha-Mod. He stares at Michela for a few moments, working up the courage to say something, but then turns to Sha-Mod again with a sigh. 

“Sha-Mod, I- hey, wait… Sha-Mod?” he looks around. “Sha-Mod?”

“What happened?” Michela asks cautiously. 

“He was right here!” Joner squeals, hurrying closer to the group. 

The group enters the craft services tent and Michela takes a headcount.

“Okay, we’re just missing O and Sha-Mod. Everyone else is accounted for,” she taps her chin. “This doesn't feel like a crime flick. It must be a horror movie challenge, like last season’s.”

Caesar sighs loudly. “Bonnie…”

Michela ignores him. “Which means we need to stick together to avoid getting picked off. Maybe we should work by the buddy system to make sure no one’s alone,”

Scary rolls her eyes but doesn’t protest. “I call Scruffy,”

“Oh, thank God!” They whimper, clinging to her leg. “B-but at least if this is like last season’s… I’ll know what to do, right?”

Scary pats their head. “Sure thing, champ!”

Fren and Peter link arms, the latter shaking slightly, and Caesar coughs awkwardly. “Well… I have the phone…”

“You’re not seriously comparing your phone to a person?” Michela blinks. He shrugs. “I can’t partner up without Bonnie. It’s not right.”

She sighs and turns to Joner. “Okay, fine. Just don’t talk too much,”

---

The hours tick by. It’s now far after dark, nearing midnight. Scary yawns and stands, then begins walking to the tent flap. 

“Um, where are you going?” Caesar asks, holding the phone up to them as they leave. 

“To bed, numbskull. I’m tired,” 

“Haven’t you ever seen a horror movie? You’re gonna get beaten to death in a sleeping bag,” Michela says, rubbing her eyes. 

Fren nods. “We agreed on keeping watch in here,”

“Oh, whatever, you big babies. This is just Chris trying to creep you out, and it’s pathetically working. I have some physics to catch up on,” she walks out into the dark. Scruffy sighs and gets up to follow her. 

“Whatever,” Michela sighs, cradling her head in her hands. Fren pats her back reassuringly. 

---

A few more hours go by. Fren is sleeping, slumped over the table. Peter is rocking back and forth at his feet, and Michela is blinking slowly. 

The phone rests in Caesar’s lap as he snoozes, giving a skewed shot of the table from across the way. Every time he breathes, the camera slowly moves up, then down as he exhales. 

“Hey, don’t fall asleep yet,” Joner nudges Michela’s shoulder. “Remember that one sleepover we had where we pulled an all-nighter?”

She rubs her eyes. “We were twelve,”

“Yeah, but still. We made that pact that whoever passed out first had to take out my mom’s trash the next morning, so we both stayed up and made my little brother do it,” he laughs. “I miss that,” he smiles at her. “I miss us.”

Michela frowns and looks away. “Things are different now,”

“Come on, Miccy. What do I have to do to make it up to you?” 

She sighs and rolls her eyes. “I dunno, why don’t you plan out some huge cheesy gesture to win me over, like in the movies,”

Joner nods in thought as Caesar suddenly wakes with a start, the phone falling off of his lap and onto the grass. He picks it up seconds later and holds it to his face, breathing on the camera and cleaning the lens with his sleeve before turning it back around. “Everyone still here?”

“We heard Scruffy screaming about a half hour ago but nothing else,” Michela leans on the table. “Fren, do you still have to go to the bathroom?”

She nudges him awake. He blinks slowly and nods.

“Okay. Joner, you’re up with me. Let’s go. And stay together,”

The three stand and head out. As they leave the tent, Michela stops them. “What are those?”

Surrounding the tent are dozens of oddly woven branches and piles of rocks. Most of the weaving is shaped like Chris. 

“Symbols!” Joner quivers, hiding behind Michela. 

Michela sighs and continues leading the two out to the bathrooms, avoiding knocking over any of the ornaments. 

---

Caesar sits in the craft services tent, propping up the phone against a box of napkins and pointing it at himself. 

“This is Caesar. Video diary #13,” he folds his hands in his lap. “I’ve been telling everyone I’m collecting evidence, but I just need an outlet. Without Bonnie here, with nothing to do… I feel like I’ve been relying far too much on Bonbon,” he looks down. “I’ve been a burden. I’m useless here. I’m just not built for this show! I’m a host! I-I’m a host! And there’s no shame in that!”

He sighs.

"I just wish I could've done better for Bonnie. I don't know if what we have is platonic or... whatever. But I'd like to figure that out together,"

Peter stirs from under the table and Caesar quickly grabs the camera, flipping it back around. Peter rubs his eyes as he sits up, looking around like he can’t remember where he is. 

“Caesar?” he looks around. “Did everyone else get snatched?”

“Nah, Michela and Joner took Fren to the bathroom… wait, they’ve been gone for like, forty minutes now,” he checks the time on the phone. "Weird."

The tent suddenly begins shaking violently, large shadows on either side casting a menacing frame over the two. Peter jumps and scrambles outside into the dark.

"Peter, wait!" Caesar says, but he disappears. Caesar hugs his knees to his chest and trembles as a dark figure re-enters the tent.

"P-Peter?" he asks, voice shaking.

The figure hurries over, face red and wheezing.

"Joner! What the-"

"Michela and Fren-" he pants. "Dark figures- serial killers- witches!"

Caesar stands. "Okay, that's it!"

Joner collapses to the grass and lies on the ground face-first before looking up as Caesar leaves. "Where are you going?"

"I'm gonna win this dumb challenge!"

---

Joner jogs to catch up with Caesar as he storms ahead.

"This is suicide, dude! You're gonna get snatched!"

He shakes his head. "I can't think about that now. I'm going to win, I'm going to be the last one standing!"

Joner sighs, his shoulders hanging. "You deserve it, man. You're a better dude than I am,"

"Oh?" Caesar raises an eyebrow, his gossipy tendencies getting the better of him. "Why's that?"

"You're a great friend to Bonnie. You two always have each other's backs and stuff, and I..." he sighs, rubbing his shoulder. "I really let down Miccy. We'll never be friends again."

Caesar slows his walk, thinking aloud. "Bonnie and I aren't perfect. We have our own problems, too... is making it up to Michela what you really want?"

Joner nods, kicking a rock across the grass. "Don't feel bad for me, bro. Even if I did win, there's no way she'll ever forgive me,"

Caesar sighs.

---

"This is Caesar. Video diary #14. I just remember feeling so bad for the little guy. Bonnie and I... our story is just beginning. And I want to find out where that goes together. If Bonnie hated me and we got separated for another four weeks? I don't think I could live with myself,"

---

Joner and Caesar approach the communal bathrooms, their footsteps seeming to echo. The camera swings around to Joner, who blinks, and then back to the door. 

Caesar walks in first, and the camera takes a moment to adjust. Fren is standing in the corner of the bathroom, facing the wall, completely still. 

“Fren…?” Joner asks. 

Something offscreen lunges at the two and they both shriek. The camera cuts to and from black before landing in an odd angle on the floor, giving a skewed shot of Caesar tackling a black-robed figure and attacking it on the ground.

The phone tips over. Black. Caesar screaming. Joner picks up the camera and starts running in the opposite direction as Caesar shrieks "MY HAIR!"

The lights in camp suddenly flash on, and the screen goes white. 

---

“Well… that was fun,” Chris chuckles, standing at the podium in the amphitheater. “I hope all of you enjoyed playing that as much as I like watching it.” He chuckles, holding up Caesar’s phone. “Teens today are too easy- you give them a phone and they do your job for you!”

Everyone crosses their arms and glares at Caesar. He smiles nervously. 

“Ultimately, the Anons took the win again, but that doesn’t mean all hope is lost for you. In fact… Joner came up with a pretty sweet idea for me earlier,” he grins wickedly. The campers stare at him, confused. “But nevermind that. Let’s get this started! Michela, you’re safe.”

“Peter,”

“Fren,”

“O- you were the first out- and Caesar- your spelled doom for your team,” Chris holds up the last Gilded Chris Award. “O…

… You’re safe. Caesar- sorry, dude.”

Caesar mumbles to himself and stands passively, almost pleasantly. 

---

CAESAR: “I’m not even mad. Let’s be real- if I wanted to win, I would! But I wasn’t born to play, I was born to lead. I’m a host at heart. Now it's time to find out what this "Aftermath" thing is all about,”

---

“Who will be taking the carpet of shame next time? And who will make it one step closer to the million? Find out next time, on Total! Takes! Action!”

[soleilocverse]

Gel Clings/Window Stickies

Here's pics of some of the gel clings I bought as fic research! The halloween ones were first and would you believe me :) if i said they were on my window until the beginning of this month (march) and then. i sat on this post for 3 weeks DHSKFJH

Fic research notes below:

I got all of these from target btw!! some of them in the seasonal section, some of them in that dollar section. okay so things i have learned:

BUGS. will stick in these. i thought my room was a bug free zone until i woke up to like three of those little tiny (idet they're fruit flies) stuck to the surfaces.

Follow up point. IF. u try and wipe those bugs out normally, and they're not fresh, they will crumble into little bug dust and get all sorts of stuck in your gel cling. so either catch them early (you won't. ness might if he's checking them every day but these things become bg noise for me) or carefully pluck them out with your fingers wrapped in a paper towel or smth. or resign yourself to bug dust <3

they Will rip if you are too rough with them

FOLLOW UP POINT, they rip much easier when they've been sitting in the sun for five months and u decide now's the time to switch them out :)

sitting in the sun makes them soft and hot and floppy!! they feel thinner and more delicate than the fresh ones

sitting in the sun for five months also gives them a distinct scent that, if i was feeling generous, i would describe as "sun-warmed." and if i was feeling Not generous, i would describe as "melted plastic" aDHSKJDS

they don't actually catch as much hair/dust as i would've expected?

BOO, i hate putting together the ones like the taco where there's multiple parts. they're kind of annoying to line up (this was seconded by someone else irl)

they sure will just make these things whatever. "love you 'slow much'" is v funny and i think the sloths are cute but babes what does that have to do with valentine's :sob: same for all the foods. i put the taco and pizza together with a heart between them tho like they're a couple

LOL i actually did have ones that said trick or treat but they were ugly and i dropped them on the floor behind a stack of boxes and forgot it existed until after i took this photo. so point being. sometimes u buy the set just for one or two cute things in it. (i can't remember if it was the pumpkins or the BOO; that pic includes 3 mish-mashed sets)

IF i had space for it, there is no way i would've taken down the halloween ones so now all i can think of is ness and crew slowly filling up their window w/ all these miscellaneous holiday gel clings until it's filled up (bc. idt any of them could bear saying no to Ness one's he's started it this way, and soleil would take his cue from the others)

actually (and this is why i do fic research) thinking more about those implications and, ahh,, atm at least, i think soleil would genuinely be the first to break and clear up the window (some). athena would be too enamored with ness filling up all this space on his own even if it bothers her a bit, cyrill would genuinely think it looks hilarious and send pics to his family gc every time new clings go up, and ray would be too unbothered to care either way, esp when his partners aren't super bothered. but soleil has the most practice saying no to ness/re-routing him into smth else, and he Would like to be able to look outside again, actually.