#hand blender machine

[badlydrawnbeastwars]

she should zap him forever ❤️

[seth-burroughs]

Yomi blue hair era doodles I like to have fun sometimes. he's like 18 in this. he should be griefing a minecraft server not joining the cops Yomi you need to listen to me boy you're gonna go down some fucking pipeline if- aaand he's gone. whatever i'll support him nonetheless, have fun lil guy hope ur life will be better/different somehow<33

[death-at-20k-volts]

The Archangel and His Machine, V1

yes its based on 'Ivan the Terrible and His Son'

some in-progress screenshots/behind-the-scenes under the cut~

Sketching, lineart (which was abandoned eventually, as you can see lmfao) and basic color/lighting blocking:

I created mockup poses using DAZ3D, as well as using Dotflare's 'HD Gabriel' model and Xetirano's 'V1 model' as visual references for drawing some of the details correctly.

I modelled the background by hand in Blender and aligned it with my previously-created DAZ3D poses to get the perspective correct and kinda just...slapped some colors and perspective blur on it and called it a day.

This is about 12 days' worth of work, ish. I can't remember if I worked on it every day or not.

[loonabeeee]

The replies have been VERY SPLIT LMAO

But update!! My BF is team smoothie. And he is a notorious smoothie hater. So im taking that as a win

Do you guys think Donatello is a smoothie hater or enjoyer autistic

[callsign-swan]

Sneaking Around

Bob doesn't mean to be sneaking around. But he can't help it. He's got a secret, and he wants to keep it that way. Too bad he's best friends with Yelena Belova.

Warnings: Thunderbolts* spoilers, minor (and i mean MINOR) talks of addiction

Part two

"Bob."

Yelena watched as he stopped in his tracks. He looked cosy in his sweater and trousers. Not like the rest of them, ready in combat gear.

"Where are you going?"

She didn't mean to so closely keep tabs on him. He was a fully grown man, after all. Not some child that couldn't be trusted. But she still worried.

His sleeves were rolled up slightly, stopping them from falling over his hands. "Out," he said, eyes darting between Yelena and Alexi (the only other person in the room with them).

Yelena raised her eyebrows. "Just... out?"

"Just out." He shook his head slightly, raised his hands and smiled at his shoes.

Yelena looked him over once more. There was nothing remarkable or out of the ordinary about him. Nothing to suggest anything was wrong. "Okay," she said.

"Okay?" The way Bob asked it, it was like he was asking for permission.

Yelena let her expression soften. "Come back safe."

"I will."

With that, Bob left. His hands entered his pockets as he stepped into the elevator and turned around. Still smiling at Yelena as the doors slid shut.

"Okay," Yelena said as she stood up. Moving her heard from side to side, she listened to her neck click before she started towards the window.

"Yelena, where are you going?" Alexi asked, more nosey than anything else.

Yelena ignored him as she opened up the window and jumped out.

***

There was something about the way Bob walked. His steps were kind of bouncy, his head held high. It was something you wouldn't notice, unless you knew what you were looking for.

Yelena knew what she was looking for.

Following Bob was all too easy. He had no idea anybody was behind him, couldn't fathom the idea that someone was following him.

Nowadays, Bob was so content. He wasn't looking over his shoulder, wasn't over thinking every move he made. He wasn't scavenging for his next fix.

He was happier, now. He still had his dark days, sure, but he was overall happier.

Yelena was three steps behind him. She made no move to weave around the New Yorkers walking past her, didn't need to be elusive and sneaky when it came to Bob.

But then Bob stepped into a cafe.

It was just a normal cafe, Independently owned, serving a variety of hot and cold drinks. Cakes were in the display case in front of the counter, three baristas wiping down the space behind it.

Bob went straight over to the counter. Yelena watched from the window as Bob looked up at the chalkboard above the coffee machines. His mouth was open, Yelena could hear the 'uhhhhhh' he was probably letting out.

But then he chose.

One barista began making the coffee. Another barista began making something in the blender. A mixture of milk and ice and some sort of syrup from a pump.

Once they were made, the baristas put the drinks on a tray and passed it to Bob. He thanked them both and headed over to an empty table.

And Bob sat there, alone. He took both drinks from the tray and placed the tray on the empty table beside him. He didn't drink the milkshake in front of him, didn't touch the coffee opposite him.

After a few moment, Yelena stepped towards the door of the cafe. He was waiting for someone, someone who wasn't going to show up. All she had to do was sit opposite him and he wouldn't be so alone.

But then somebody rushed in front of her. They pushed open the cafe, the bell above the door chiming, and walked over to Bob's table.

"I'm so sorry I'm late!" She cried as she sat down.

The tips of Bob's ears became red. "You're not that late," he mumbled and picked up his milkshake.

Grabbing two cubes of sugar from the pot between them, she dropped them into her drink. "Still," she said, stirring her sugar in. "Next time I'll run."

Yelena furrowed her brows. Who the hell? She wondered as she watched the two of them.

Bob must've said something funny, something that had her laughing and him giggling at himself. Of course he did, that was what Bob did. On his good days, he was a light.

But Yelena watched as she reached across the table and placed her hand on top of Bob's. It was a sweet move, her thumb brushing over his wrist. Bob didn't withdraw from her. No, he moved closer.

The two chatted as they drank their drinks. As soon as their cups were drained, she shook up and offered her hand to Bob.

Bob took it. He looked down at her like there was nothing else in the cafe, nothing else in the world.

Linking her arm through his, she dragged him out of the cafe. Well, she didn't need to drag him; he was happy to trail after her.

Yelena had to admit, she was cute. But that didn't make her trustworthy.

Bob was much more than a super weapon. Yelena knew that, she knew that better than anyone. But that was still one of the fears that flashed through her mind as she followed them.

They disappeared into a bookshop. Two seconds later, Bob emerged. Yelena ducked down the side of the building next door to the bookshop. The building Bob entered.

He left the florists a few moments later, a small bouquet in his hands. The flowers were all soft, pastel colours. Baby blues and pinks and whites. It was gorgeous. It was obvious Bob didn't pick it out himself.

It was then that Yelena realised what was happening. Bob had a girlfriend.

As soon as the flowers were in her hands, mystery girl kissed him. She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Yelena backed away. She'd completed her mission, made sure Bob was okay. He was better than okay.

He was in love.

[theatre-of-lies]

My Ultrakill renders, combined.

Self-explainatory, I think.

Here's me learning how to animate a walk cycle using the machines - my only two models with functional rigs at the time. V2 is the first attempt, V1 is the second. Few hours of work for two 1 second gifs. Sighs.

Florp!

GTFO MY PRIME SANCTUM BITCH, Sorry these two are so dark, I'm too lazy to re-render them.

Bonus. The first two renders are mine, the second two are my friend's.

Give me some more ideas if you want - it's been a while since I used Blender and my hands are itching.

[simmeringstarfruit]

Homemade Vanilla Ice Cream

A creamy rich dessert that's perfect for any time of the year! Inspired by the recipe from Stardew Valley, this homemade vanilla ice cream recipe offers dairy and dairy-free options. Make it with an ice cream machine, immersion blender or by hand!

Ingredients

2 cups heavy cream + 1 ⅓ cups milk (dairy version) OR 3 + ⅓ cups full-fat coconut milk (non-dairy version)

1 vanilla bean pod (or substitute 1 tsp vanilla bean paste or extract)...

(continued in post)

[miniseokminnies]

record store day —- c.hs

⭑.ᐟ pairing: chwe hansol (vernon) x fem!reader ⭑.ᐟ theme: acquaintances to lovers, idiots to lovers, record store employee!vernon ⭑.ᐟ w/c: 2.7k ⭑.ᐟ warnings: kissing, awkward reader, awkward vernon, lots of instagram dms ⭑.ᐟ a/n: happy record store day babies! this is based off something that happened to me last year hehe (over dramatized of course) shoutout to my lovely betas @lovetaroandtaemin and @seungkw1 ⭑.ᐟ notice: this blog is intended for 18+ ONLY all ageless and minor blogs will be blocked. i do not condone my work being run through ai in any capacity. my work is my own.

“What?!” You shriek at your phone screen.  “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” You shove your phone into the face of the man sitting behind the counter.  

“I can’t see what you’re talking about when the screen is so close to my face,” he deadpans.  

“Live Bowie?” You flop back onto the beanbag chair with a grunt.  “You’ll get these in?” You mutter, loud enough for him to hear you.  

“On Record Store Day, yeah.” He moves to change the record on the turntable behind the counter.  218 Records is where you spend your days off.  You can’t remember when it started but it’s been like this for the better part of a year.  Vernon, the employee who runs the social media, is always working when you’re here.  Sometimes you’re not convinced there are even any other employees here.  

“V,” you spring to your feet again, “you have to save me one, I have to work on Saturday!” 

“Oh no,” he holds his hands up, “I can’t do that, boss’ll have my ass, heartzvinyl” 

V, the single letter he uses to sign off all his comments on the store’s instagram, and heartzvinyl the instagram handle you made when you were still in high school and just starting off your collection.  The first names you knew each other by, which seemed to stick.  You had thought about changing your username to something less cringey, but the way Vernon’s voice sounds saying it deterred you from that.  You might not ever change it at this rate.  Once you graduated high school and started buying more vinyl, with your own money, you found 218 Records, and their instagram.  The small lowercase v’s started popping up in their comments back to customers around the same time.  

You slam your head onto the counter in front of Vernon, and groan loudly.  He looked around for other customers to assist, anything to get himself away from your dramatics.  You roll your head to the side to look up at him.  

“C’mon, V!” You cry, “I’m your most loyal customer! I’m here, like, everyday!”  

“Mark is also here most days,” he reminds you, finally changing out the vinyl, filling the store with a new sound. 

“Fine!” You stand up straight. “I’ll just come after work, like a normie!” 

Your Saturday shifts typically drag, but not like this.  Everytime you dare to glance at the clock on the wall opposite of the counter, only five minutes have passed since the last time. You bounce on the balls of your feet as some snooty woman rattles off the worst coffee order you have ever heard.  

After she inserts her card into the machine you turn to give the cup with her order on it to the other barista.  Just get through this rush and you can rush over to 218 before they close.  There are eight more customers in the lobby.  The coffee shop doesn’t close for another 45 minutes but 218 is open for another 30 after that, without traffic you’ll get there five minutes before.  

“What’s got you in such a hurry?” Your coworker asks you as you rush through the closing routine.  You shake your head, trying to evade her line of questioning.  “It’s that record store, isn’t it? Today’s some big thing right?” 

“Record Store Day, yeah,” you scrub the inside of the blender, “They got an exclusive I really want in my collection, it isn’t about Vernon.” 

“I never said anything about him, Y/N.” She smiles widely, thinking she’s found out some juicy gossip.  You feel your cheeks heat up, realizing she didn’t say anything about Vernon, just his store.  

“Oh, well…” 

“Go, I’ll finish up.” She laughs.  

“Really?” You perk up.  She nods and shoos you toward the door.  “I owe you one, oh my God!” You scramble to the back to grab your bag and fly out of the shop. 

The parking lot at 218 Records is suspiciously empty when you arrive 25 minutes later.  You climb out of your car and immediately spot Vernon sitting in a grassy spot a small ways from the entrance of the store.  He sees you soon after and waves you over.  

“Hey,” he offers, “You’re earlier than I thought you’d be.” 

“But I’m still too late, judging by the fact that Jihoon let you come out and smoke.” You sit down next to him on the grass.  He passes you his joint.  

“Sorry, heartzvinyl,” you take the joint and take a hit, “the Bowie vinyls went real fast.” He leans back on his hands and watches you smoke.  You exhale slowly.  

“I figured they would.” Vernon watches the smoke fall from your lips.  He thinks it’s pretty.  You let the silence hang in the air for a while.  You hand the joint back to him.  He starts to wonder when he started thinking the way you smoke was prettier than anyone he’s ever seen, or when he started thinking about how risking his job might’ve been worth it if it meant you not moping here on the lawn.  He’s not sure if he cares when it started.  

“Hey,” he bumps your shoulder with his, “Jihoon said our stock was lower than he expected.” You look over at him with wide eyes, he thinks about kissing you.  “We might get late stock, do you want me to keep you updated?” 

“You’d do that for me, V?” You whisper. He shrugs.  

“Yeah, I guess I would.” 

Monday April 14 

heartzvinyl [1:46 pm]: hi! just wondering if there has been any additional record store day 

  stock delivered?   

218records.ny [1:55 pm]: nothing yet. -v

Tuesday April 15

heartzvinyl [3:12 pm]: hi me again!! anything new in stock? 

218records.ny [3:33 pm]: new ethel cain vinyls (both colors), but no, not the vinyl you’re in search of. -v

Wednesday April 16

218records.ny [10:13 am]: nothing new today. -v

heartzvinyl [11:32 am]: ? i hadn’t even asked yet ??? 

218records.ny [11:40 am]: yeah but you were going to :) -v

You stare at the smiley face.  Has he ever used that before? You scroll up in the conversation, past the messages from this week. There are a few scattered smiley faces, how have you never noticed before? Furthermore, why do these emoticons make you feel a bit giddy? Surely he uses them with everyone, it doesn’t mean anything.  Then again, would Vernon keep someone else this up to date on the stock in the store? 

Thursday April 17

heartzvinyl [2:19 pm]: hi there! any updates on rsd? 

218records.ny [4:45 pm]: Hi! What exactly are you looking for? We haven’t gotten any additional stock, but I can check if what you’re looking for is still here! -Jihoon 

heartzvinyl [4:56 pm]: oh hey jihoon !! i’m in search of the live ready set go bowie lp, i think vernon said it sold pretty fast on saturday    

218records.ny [6:15 pm]: Yeah unfortunately those did fly off the shelf. Sorry! -Jihoon 

You sigh at your phone, you know you’ll be lucky if they get more stock, but that doesn’t stop the empty feeling in your gut at Jihoon’s message.  He has never answered your dms to the page before either, where is Vernon? 

You toss your phone onto your bed, no use worrying, everyone has their days off.  You pad across the floor of your bedroom over to your shelves of vinyl.  Running your finger across all the spines you stop at one of the first vinyls Vernon recommended to you – Ginger by Brockhampton.  You slide it out of the shelf and carefully place it into the turntable.  Placing the needle the guitar intro fills the stillness of the room.  

You smile, remembering how uniquely Vernon his recommendation was.  Vernon is always himself, especially when people ask him for advice.  You like to hang out in the store on your off days because of this, watching him navigate customer requests and questions was interesting to you, almost like doing a character study in a way.  

Falling back onto your bed you close your eyes and listen until the music slowly lulls you to sleep.  

Friday April 18 

218records.ny [9:35 am]: INCOMING CALL 

You swatted around your duvet for your phone.  The ringtone was unfamiliar.  Finally grabbing onto it you realized it was because someone was calling you on Instagram.  You didn’t even know you could make phone calls on instagram.

“Um…hello?” You rub your eyes.  

“Finally,” Vernon’s voice crackles on the other end, “Get over here, we got it, heartzvinyl.” 

“Really?” You jump up. “Are you fucking with me, V?”

“God, no, why would I do that?” You could hear him grinning, “Just get over here before someone else does!”    

By 10 am you’re busting through the front door of 218 Records.  Your entrance is less than graceful and has everyone in the store looking in your direction.  Lucky for you it’s 10 am on a Friday so the only people here are Vernon, Jihoon, and of course Mark.  You smile sheepishly as everyone, besides Vernon, goes back to what they were doing.  Approaching the counter you try to look casual.  

“Hey V,” you lean your arm on the counter.  

“What are you doing?” He blinks at you.

“I don’t know,” you drop your hands to your sides.  “I didn’t want you to think I only came for Bowie.”

“I told you to come for Bowie.” He points out. Without another word he turns around and retrieves what you have been waiting for all week. “You still want it?” 

“Cut the shit, V.” You laugh, pulling out your card.  

“Sheesh, heartzvinyl,” he scans the barcode, “I just had to be sure!”   You watch as he carefully wraps the vinyl in plastic and places it in the paper bag.  He hands it over to you and grins at you.  “Enjoy it.” You smile back at him and awkwardly start side stepping toward the door.  

“Well…I better go…” You trail off.  He nods at you before his eyes grow wide, like he just remembered something.  

“Wait,” he pulls a scrap of paper out of his pocket and rummages around the counter until he finds a pen.  He scribbles something down and holds the paper out to you.  “I, uh, I get outta here at 3 today, if you need someone to listen to the album with.” He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand.  You take the paper and stare down at the handwriting.  

“Vern…online…” You decode his chicken scratch, “is this your personal Instagram?” He nods.  “You could just give me your number, you know?” 

“Yeah I could,” he chuckles, “but this seems more our speed.” You smile at him.  

“I have some errands to run, I’ll let you know.” 

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

Vernon watches you leave the store, feeling a little bit like an idiot.  He has never had a way with words, so he thought that his instagram would be a fun way to be able to talk to you more, but now he feels like you think he’s weird.  He chews on his bottom lip.  

“Did you give her your Instagram?” Jihoon’s voice from behind him makes him jump. Vernon turns to see his boss casually leafing through the vinyls behind the counter.  

“What?” He sputters, “oh..yeah I did.” 

“Good, now you can stop flirting on the business account.” 

You are laying facedown on your bedroom floor, it is 2:56 pm, and you lied about having errands to run.  You have already looked through Vernon’s Instagram three times, which is not a hard feat considering he has four posts and two of them are pictures of the cats that live near the store. You let out a loud groan, trying to convince yourself that he wouldn’t have given you his account if he didn’t want to talk to you.  

Friday April 18

heartzvinyl [2:58 pm]: hey v i think i would like if you came over after work :] 

vernonline [3:03 pm]: send me the addy lol  

You send Vernon your address and throw your phone across the room.  Being nervous made no sense, it’s Vernon.  But it’s Vernon in your space, the dynamic is bound to change.  You jump up and begin to tidy up your room.  The Bowie record stays in its brown paper bag.  

Thirty minutes later there was a knock at your door.  You felt your heartbeat pick up as you went to answer the door.  Opening it, there’s Vernon.  Headphones around his neck and his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. He gives a small wave when he sees you.  

“Hey, come in,” you step aside so he can shuffle past you.  He looks around your apartment and nods.  

“Very you.” He states simply.  For whatever reason this comment has heat settling in your cheeks.  You lead him to your bedroom.  Vernon walks a single circle around the small room, smiling at Ginger still in your record player.  He takes a seat on the floor while you switch out the vinyls, returning Ginger to the shelf and carefully placing Bowie in the turntable. Music fills the room as you sit on the floor next to Vernon.  

The two of you sit in silence for the first few songs before Vernon pulls out a small metal case.  He opens it and pulls a joint out.  

“Do you mind?” He asks.  You shake your head.  He puts the joint between his lips and brings the flame to the end.  You watch him blow the smoke, filling your room with a haze.  He passes it to you and you accept it, wanting to calm your nerves.  

The last notes fade out and you sit in silence for a few moments.  You stretch out your legs and look over at Vernon.  His eyes were cloudy and heavy.  He looks over at you.  You squirm under his gaze.  

“Do you want water or something?” You blurt out.  

“Oh, uh, sure.” He flashes you a lopsided smile.  

You scramble up and grab two glasses of water and return to your room.  His hand wraps around the cool glass as you hold it out to him.  You turn your attention to your collection, looking for what to put on next.  Vernon stands up, knees popping on his way, and wanders toward your desk.  

“Hey do you have a coaster, babe?” Vernon asks.  Your eyes open wide, without looking at him you can picture the face he’s making.  His brow is furrowed, his teeth clenched, he didn’t mean to say that.    

“What did you call me?” You turn to him slowly.  He has started looking at the ceiling, the glass of water clutched in his hand so tightly that if it was real glass you would be concerned he might break it.  

“Nothing.” He muttered.  You move past him to grab a coaster from the drawer of your desk and hold it out to him.  

“You can call me babe, if you want.” He takes the coaster from your hand and hastily sets the water down on the desk.  You stare at him, he stares back at you for several moments before he takes your face between his hands and presses his lips to yours.  

It feels like fireworks are exploding in your stomach.  He deepens the kiss, swiping his tongue across your bottom lip. You grant access and he licks into your mouth.  

“Is this okay?” He breathes, pressing his forehead against your own.  

“More than, V.” You chase his lips.  He makes a small noise at his nickname and kisses you again. He backs you up until you bump against your bed.  Without breaking the kiss you take a fistful of his shirt and pull him down onto the bed, on top of you.  He cages you in with his arms and pulls away just slightly.  

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this?” He dips his head to kiss you again but he stops short, “is it okay that I’ve wanted to do this for a long time?” All you can do is nod.  “Awesome.” He smiles boyishly before connecting his lips to yours again.  He thinks about why he never told you that you’re pretty when you smoke.

[yungistiny]

Heaven And Back ═ chapter three

[ S. Mingi ]

chapter three: I’m asking

╚═════════

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

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

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.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

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.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

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.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

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.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

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[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #12

Danny Fenton never meant to end up in space, much less as part of a dysfunctional alien superhero squad led by a tree, a raccoon with PTSD, and a guy whose only qualification is that he’s listened to every 1980s mixtape ever made. But when you accidentally fly through a NASA portal powered by ectoplasm while trying to stop Technus from hijacking the International Space Station, you don’t really get much of a say in where you land. Which, in Danny’s case, was the cockpit of the Milano. Mid-flight. Mid-chase. Mid-explosion.

Rocket screamed. Gamora drew a blade. Star-Lord yelled, “WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?” And Danny, with his hair floating around his face in zero gravity and a half-melted Fenton Thermos in his hand, went, “Hi. Uh. I’m Danny. Do you have any snacks?”

A lot of things happened after that. For one, Rocket immediately declared Danny a “haunted science gremlin” and demanded he be dissected. Gamora stabbed him (not fatally, but like, “welcome to the crew” levels of stabbing), and Drax attempted to bond by declaring they were both hunted weapons of mass destruction. Groot tried to plant Danny in a flowerpot. Star-Lord, upon learning that Danny was from Earth and had ghost powers, decided he was now the team’s “Spooky Mascot” and handed him a Walkman, which promptly exploded when Danny touched it. Apparently, ghost boy plus alien tech equals “we now need a new comm system.” Danny fixed it in thirty minutes and Rocket reluctantly stopped trying to murder him in his sleep.

The team wasn’t sure if Danny was a ghost or an alien or some weird human mutant until he started phasing through walls and talking to the disembodied soul of a long-dead Xandarian war general haunting their fridge. (Her name was Bev. Danny and Bev played intergalactic chess on Thursdays.) Once the Guardians realized Danny could punch the soul out of people (and then slam-dunk it back in), they promoted him from “weird hitchhiker” to “full member with explosive privileges.” This was a mistake.

Danny was a space nerd, sure. He watched every space documentary, built model rockets, and could name the moons of Jupiter backwards. But what the documentaries didn’t prepare him for was being shot at by a gang of space pirates because Groot accidentally won a planet in a poker game, or Rocket creating a neutron grenade disguised as a cookie (“Don’t eat it, Danny—DANNY THAT’S NOT A REAL COOKIE”), or Star-Lord insisting they stop at an interstellar karaoke bar in the middle of a war. Danny had to fight off a swarm of brain-sucking parasites while singing “Eye of the Tiger” in full ghost mode. He got a standing ovation.

Things got worse when Technus came back, this time infecting Nova Corps servers and announcing himself as “God of Wi-Fi.” Danny had to team up with Rocket, who uploaded himself into a blender for reasons no one fully understood, to create an anti-ghost firewall using a toaster, Gamora’s sword, and Groot’s root clippings. The good news? It worked. The bad news? They accidentally opened a portal to the Ghost Zone mid-fight, unleashing the Box Ghost into the Nova HQ. The Box Ghost was immediately arrested and sent to space prison, where he became king of the vending machines.

Danny tried to explain Earth things to the Guardians. Like taxes. And Target. And what a cow was. Drax was horrified. “You allow milk beasts to rule your society?” Star-Lord cried when he learned Blockbuster was dead. Gamora tried to understand TikTok and ended up nearly assassinating a diplomat during a trend called “smash or pass.” Danny didn’t help by going ghost mid-video and screaming “pass” at the ambassador. They were banned from that planet forever.

But despite the chaos, Danny kind of… fit. He’d never felt truly understood on Earth, where being half-dead meant constant fear of being dissected by the government, but out here? Out here, people didn’t blink when he turned into a glowing, green-eyed wraith who could fly through spaceships and scream in an eldritch tongue. If anything, they applauded. One particularly wild night, Danny exorcised a Kree emperor’s cursed hover-throne live on intergalactic television. Ratings spiked. He was declared a demigod in three sectors. Star-Lord tried to get merchandising rights. Rocket tried to sell his ectoplasm as a weapon. Danny put them both in the Ghost Zone timeout corner.

They kept running into other people. Thor once landed on their ship looking for a beer and a nap, only to get into a flexing contest with Danny. Danny won. Barely. Thor still calls him “the glowing child of sorrow.” Tony Stark tried to recruit Danny for the Avengers. Danny politely declined by phasing through his hologram and turning it into a haunted Tamagotchi. Doctor Strange asked Danny to stop creating micro-rifts in the astral plane every time he hiccuped. Danny said he’d consider it.

The Guardians eventually got wind of a plot involving the Collector trying to obtain Danny’s core to power a ghost-zombie version of Knowhere. Naturally, they handled this in the most reasonable way possible: by launching a full-scale assault while disguised as a musical theater troupe. Danny, dressed as Phantom of the Opera, used his wail to destroy an army of spectral cyborgs, then accidentally set the Collector’s hair on fire. Gamora tackled him out a window. Rocket declared it a success.

Danny missed Earth sometimes. Jazz would call through the interstellar line to check in, often while holding a frying pan and yelling at someone in the background (“NO, TUCKER, YOU CAN’T ORDER CHICK-FIL-A TO SPACE”). Sam once left him a thirty-minute voicemail about ghost gentrification and the ethics of ghost labor unions. But even with all that, Danny knew he wasn’t the same kid from Amity Park. He’d been to star systems no human had seen, danced with sentient nebulae, and accidentally became betrothed to an alien princess after sneezing in her direction. He had battle scars and space memes and an intergalactic criminal record that included the phrase “unauthorized spectral possession of a judge.”

Rocket taught Danny how to rig a ship to explode using only shoelaces and spite. Groot taught him how to grow little plant buddies that helped him cook. Drax taught him the art of standing dramatically in silence, which Danny now did every time someone asked him about his tragic backstory. Star-Lord taught him how to moonwalk in zero gravity. Danny taught them all how to scream “GET BENT, YOU INTERDIMENSIONAL TWERPS” in ghost language, which they used during diplomatic missions. They were banned from another planet.

There were close calls. Danny once got trapped in a black hole and had to phase out by screaming every bad memory he’d ever had at once. He and Rocket were fused for a full day after a teleportation mishap—Danny’s ghost tail merged with Rocket’s back leg, and they had to fight like that. Gamora walked in on Danny watching High School Musical and refused to speak to him for a week. Star-Lord caught Danny crying while watching old Earth footage and tried to cheer him up with mixtapes titled “Sad Boi Vibes Vol. 1-9.”

But for all the wild, unhinged nonsense, Danny had a place. He’d spent so long being hunted, misunderstood, called a freak. But here, with this chaos crew of space weirdos and traumatized murder-huggers, he wasn’t just accepted. He was wanted. He was the team’s go-to for ghost stuff, space stuff, sarcasm, and emotional trauma suppression. He became a Guardian of the Galaxy not because he asked to be—but because he fought a black hole, exorcised a death god, and beat Star-Lord in a dance-off to “Take On Me.”

And when Earth eventually called—when the Avengers requested help with some “small ghost invasion” (Box Ghost had escaped space prison again)—Danny arrived with the Guardians, blazing through the sky like a neon comet. He kicked open a portal, yelled “SUP SLUTS,” and unleashed Groot, Drax, and an emotionally unstable raccoon with a bazooka onto New York.

Nick Fury sighed.

Tony screamed, “Why is there a tree in my penthouse?”

Danny just smiled, green eyes glowing, and said, “I brought friends.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Okay, hear me out...

Sy as a mafia boss and reader who owns the coffee shop.

The Olde Bakery

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: mob!Syverson, plus-size reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Burly is most appropriate to describe the man. Tall, thick, looming. The door shuts behind him without a care as his eyes skim the small shop. In a town as isolated as Springfort everything is smaller; simpler. You can tell at a glance that this man is neither. 

His eyes pass over the specials board and fall on you. More virulent than desolation in a small town is gossip. You’ve heard about the man already, though his appearance still surprises you. A man like him would go to the lawyer’s office and throw his weight around or trash the liquor store, but what business does he have in a cafe. Your cafe. 

For as much as you’ve heard about the mysterious and mercurial newcomer, you know better than to ask that. Instead, you recite the usual. The boring daily routines are what make Springfort safe. Or did. 

“Hello, what can I get you today?” You ask as he nears the counter. You move to face him over the small till.  

There’s not much to the space; enough for you to work. Espresso machine, frother, blender, toaster oven, percolator... the basics and a little more. There’s the display case of your hand-crafted baked goods and not much else. It’s the only place in town beside the diner for locals to sit down, though there are only four tables inside. 

The man doesn’t answer. He stares back at you. You can’t read his expressions. His blues fall to your hands as you place them on either side of the till. 

He wears a quarter-zip with the tab pulled down. The collar folds over as chest hair peaks out unabashedly. His black cargo pants have a military cut to them and his fingerless gloves are a final peculiar accessory. He sports a thick beard but a shaved scalp, and his blunt brows give him a naturally angry affect. 

“Sir? We have a new butterscotch mocha as today’s special,” you suggest. 

“You.” He speaks at last. 

You blink and hold your calm smile. You try to process his question. You point to your name tag an introduce yourself. 

“No, you asked me what you can get me.” 

You nod but don’t understand. 

“I can help you, sir. Sure. What would you like?” 

He looks you up and down and plants his hands on the counter. As he does that, you pull yours offer and fold them over your apron. He leans in and licks his lips. 

“I would like...” he gives a crooked grin, “you.” 

“I...” You open your mouth dumbly. “I don’t...” your voice is brittle. Your throat tightens and you choke on a disbelieving laugh. 

“You laughing at me?” He challenges. 

You gulp and snap your mouth shut, “no, sir. Sorry, I’m just... confused.” 

“What’s confusing?” He bends until he’s leaning on his elbows and twines his fingers together. His knuckles bulge and whiten. You lean back on your heel, resisting the urge to flee. 

“I don’t know,” you murmur. The look in his eyes fills you with icy fear. 

“So, I put my order in...” he drawls. 

“Um. I can’t... I... this is my...” you sputter and recall Sonia’s recount of Osborne and Meyers sacking. The older law partner ended up in emerge though his exact malady varied according the source. “I own the cafe so--” 

“You go on and lock that door,” he says. “Since you’re the boss, you can take a break, can’t ya?” You sway on your feet and stare back at him. He untangles his fingers and brings a hand up to pull at a tuft of his beard. “I don’t know, I was told the service here was speedy.” He sucks his teeth. “But you’re here dragging your feet, wasting my time.” 

You wince and take a cautious step back. He watches you, unmoving, though you brace yourself for him to lunge. You slowly come out around the counter and cross to the door. You twist the lock and flip the sign. 

His footsteps scuff as he grunts into a long groan. You face him reluctantly as he drags one of the chairs from the table and puts it in front of the counter. His attention hangs on the seat as he considers it. You stand where you are, frightened. 

“Come here,” he beckons with two fingers, his other hand on the back of the chair. 

You approach and stop a foot away. He tilts his head to look at you. The gleam in his irises swells over you like frigid water. He lets go of the chair and turns to you fully. He steps closer and you wince as he reaches for you. 

He loops his arms around you and tugs at the knot of the apron. It slackens and he brings his hands up to unhook the strap from around your neck. He pulls it away and drops it on the floor. 

“Sir, I... what did I do?” 

“Chh, chh, chh,” he tuts between his teeth. 

You seal your lips and peer up at him. Your eyes meet again. He brings his large hands to cradle your face and tilts your head. He gives you an appraising look over. 

“You just worry about what you need to do, sweetheart,” he growls. 

His hands drift down to the top of your blouse. You shiver as he plucks open the buttons one at a time. As he does, gritty noises rise in his throat. He pushes the fabric away from your shoulders and down your arms. The blouse falls to your feet. 

You turn your head away as he tugs at the knotted belt of your high-waisted pants. He unties it and stretches the elastic waistband, guiding it past your hips. You sniff as you focus on staying upright. Your pants pool at your feet, heaping over your round-toed flats. 

You gasp as he cups your chest with his large hands. Your nipples harden and poke him through your bra. He purrs and gropes you harder. You shudder and waver with his force. He lifts your tits, jiggling them, and pushes them together. 

“I was told you sell sweets,” he says, “but I wasn’t expecting these.” 

[ki2rins]

⟢ SUGARBOT - pjs

nineteen - the first meet

warnings: -

written wc: 1k words

prev | masterlist | next

never in his life, would jay find himself pacing back and forth outside a starbucks outlet. never in his life, not till this moment. the was approximately twenty steps away from her. his sweet, pretty girl, the girl he hurt. the girl he was trying to win back. the girl who wrecked his world and heart.

jay met clients on the daily, both new and old. the thought of meeting new people never fazed him - until now. his palms were clammy, his heartbeat uneven, and his breath came shorter every time he glanced through the glass window

and then, he saw you.

for a second, his mind short-circuited.

the pictures he had memorised from the time sunghoon showed him your profile, the ones he had secretly scrolled through late at night (resisting as much as he could to not spam likes on each and every photo), didnt do you justice. they couldnt capture the way your hair framed your face, the way your tongue slipped out from the side of your lips as you try to concentrate on shaking the drinks out from the blender, or the effortless grace in your movements as you handed a drink to a customer.

you were beautiful. more than beautiful. he might even risk the chance of dealing with aphrodite’s wrath to compare you to her. and that terrified him.

his fingers curled into fists as he took a step back, swallowing down the sudden wave of emotions tightening his chest. would you even recognise him? would you even want to see him? would you yell at him? hell, would you even look at him?

he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before shoving both hands into his pockets. his feet, however, refused to stay still. he paced, then stopped. checked his phone, then locked it again. adjusted his sleeves, then cursed under his breath because, really, what difference would that make?

like what he admitted to jake, he had nothing planned - no rehearsed speech, no grand gestures. no flowers to impress you (well, he learned his lesson and he really didnt want to make a scene at your work place) all he had in mind was - “one low fat cappuccino, one match frappe with extra whipped cream, one iced vanilla latte, and one cold brew, all venti sized.”

his mind instantly flowed to the night - the night he made his so-called “proposition” to fund your degree, the one that you still hadnt accepted. he chuckled as he remembered his pathetic “nice venti sized cold brew” reply when you asked for repayment.

and yet, mentioning his favourite drink felt like the only way to bridge the gap between him and the girl he wasnt ready to lose.

jay inhaled sharply, then let out a slow, measured sigh.

alright, no more stalling.

pushing the door open, he stepped inside. the familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee and vanilla filled the air, blending with the low hum of conversations and the whir of espresso machines. it was warmer inside, but it did nothing to ease the cold knot of nerves in his stomach.

he swallowed hard and forced his legs to move, making his way towards the counter.

you were focused on the screen in front of you, fingers tapping quickly against the register. your uniform fit the way he imagined - the neat green apron wrapped around you made you look professional, but still you.

“hi, can i get your order?” you asked, short and sweet, voice smooth.

jay parted his lips to speak, but before he could, your eyes flickered up from the screen - and your entire body stiffened.

your breath hitched, lips parting slightly in surprise.

for a second, you just stared at him, taking in his features, for the first time. you werent sure if he was real or just some messed - up coincidence brought to life.

his fingers curled against his palm. he could practically see the realisation dawning in your expression, the exact moment you pieced it together.

“i’ll see you around"

thats what he had texted you, the somewhat cryptic message he sent just before your shift, just before he showed up here, standing barely a foot away from you.

and now, “you found out”.

jay swallowed, his voice lower then he intended when he finally spoke.

“surprise."

you blinked again, your mind scrambling to catch up, to make sense of what was happening.

jay was here. jjongie was here.

the man you have been talking back and forth with. the man you shared late night chats with. the man who validated your insecurities. the man who told that he’ll wait as long as you want, for you to trust. the man who would ease your pain and your troubles.

your throat felt dry.

“you…” the word barely made it out, quiet and unsure. your grip on the register tightened. “youre…”

jay tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching - not quite a smirk, not quite a smile.

“real?” his voice was calm, but there was something beneath it. hesitation, or maybe, nervousness.

you opened your mouth, but no sound came out. what were you supposed to say?

a hesitant laugh escaped you, more out of disbelief than humor. you quickly cleared your throat, hoping the slight sound would ground you. “i… i didn’t expect you to actually show up.”

jay raised an eyebrow, the slight edge of a smirk flickering back into view. “i told you i would.” his tone was easy, casual — like he hadn’t just thrown your entire world off balance by appearing in person.

you nodded stiffly, trying to get your bearings. Your pulse was still erratic, like a drumbeat you couldn’t control.

get it together

you told yourself. but it was impossible.

“uh…” You looked at the register, then back at him, feeling the weight of the silence stretch between you both. “so um…what can i get for you?” the awkwardness was thick, and it wasn’t lost on you that this was no longer just an online conversation. this was real life.

“one low-fat cappuccino, one matcha frappe with extra whipped cream, one iced vanilla latte, and-"

“a nice venti sized cold brew, right?"

————————————

rin’s yap: our lovebirds finally met each other! 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻(wrote this in an ACTUAL starbucks…) btw i'll be closing my taglist since blr only allows 50 mentions per post :(

taglist! : closed!

@kaykay11sworld @jvngw0nlvr @meowseong @enhaz1 @jakeswifez @nshmrarki @ice-dandan20 @ziiao @minawannabealone @enhamonsterghoul @d-dilemma @urmomdotcom5678 @starry-eyed-bimbo @r1kixss @jensyed @notab1tchwho @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @jooniesbears-blog @seongiewon @jayyvvhxss @younjo @siimplestar @suhwife @immprettywhenyoucry @machambrx @luvleyylina @maniluvzyou @ezekiel-bublz @lovingjongseong @in-somnias-world @strayy-kidz @xoaumin @wonnieluv @rairaiblog @dark-moon-light02 @ijustwannareadstuff20 @lelestarmy @trinxt @parkjjongswifey @liliansreality @letwiiparkjay @rodelalaland @melodiessvy @millis-diary @antisocialties @jayhoonvroom @nuki-riki @planetmarlowe @k9llgalner @whateveridontcaresheesh @eonchy @celestialen

© ki2rins 2025, please do not copy or plagiarise my work.

[ironicsoap]

What I've learned from making 2 fursuits!

I've learned a TON from the process of both of these suits, making my 2nd suit I improved on a lot of stuff I had learned from the first! Here's stuff I would've liked to know before I started either of these

For reference, the white cat suit's name is Sophie and she was made first. The blue one is Raine, and she was made second! I'll be referring to them throughout this.

I've learned nearly everything I know about sewing and these types of craft projects from making these 2 suits, I haven't had any prior experience. This is all very much advice From a beginner TO beginners, experienced makers may say some of this is wrong, this is just my lived experience written down. I figured I'd write all this now while it's fresh in my mind! When you get experienced at doing stuff, you tend to forget what problems you faced as a beginner.

Fur Bulk

Fur bulk is REAL and a MASSIVE PROBLEM when making your sculpt. Regardless of what method you use to make your base, 3D printed or foam. Depending on how short you can shave your fur, fur bulk will add about 1cm - 0.5cm of thickness to your base

Look how much her mouth closed up from the base sculpt! I ended up still loving the end result, but it was a bit unexpected. (Despite learning about fur bulk from my first suit, and ALSO testing fur bulk in Blender with a fur particle system when I was making the sculpt for this head.)

Raine's ear is an unfortunate victim of fur bulk still, but I didn't have time to remake it how I wanted it. I even tried to make it slimmer on purpose since Sophie's ear ended up so stupidly thick 😭

Seam Allowance & Stitches

(Talking PURELY about hand sewing, I've never used a sewing machine, I cannot give any advice for that)

You should be using a blanket or whip stitch for most of your fursuit, in terms of speed and seams, they are the most effective! Whip stitch for most of your face, it's going to be glued down.. so truly you just need the fabric together and not SECURE since it'll be glued. Use the blanket stitch for things like paws or stuff that's more likely to pop a seam (ears? tails? etc)

More experienced suit makers might say use blanket for everything, that may be more correct 🤷‍♀️ Whip/Blanket are nearly the same stitch, blanket is just more secure than a whip stitch, takes a little longer, and uses slightly more thread. I haven't timed other stitches, but the blanket takes me about 5 minutes per inch to do.

On Sophie, I had made up my own bizarre version of a backstitch that was stupidly strong.. but also took a million years to do. It also made my paws near IMPOSSIBLE to turn inside out. Sewing raines face together with a whip stitch was way quicker!

For your face pattern, use next to no seam allowance for the cleanest look. The areas that I added seam allowance on Raine, I really regretted the bulged out look they had. If you aren't confident in your pattern making ability, some seam allowance does give you some wiggle room in terms of how easily your pattern fits onto your base

Designing your suit for airflow

This wasn't actually a problem for me, I did this from the start. But I've worn suits that weren't designed for proper ventilation, and it really just makes suiting a very unpleasant experience. You want to have a mouth hole that is right in front of your own mouth, so you can easily get fresh air in your suit. I'm not saying you HAVE to do this, as not all designs can accommodate this, but it's absolutely something to think about for your comfort!

Another thing I've learned, is the roomier your suit is around the mouth hole, the more overall airflow you get! I tried on my friends head which I sculpted, and they printed in TPU, significantly roomier than Raine, and much more breathable! Raine is still comfortable for me to wear even masked underneath, since I made her ventilation so good!

My future suits I make, I'm going to be looking into TPU due to the sheer weight and breathability difference from my PLA suit!

Non-Fur Supplies

I highly recommend getting hand sewing needles and EVA foam at Daiso if you have one! Daiso has lots of little sewing kits, and I got both of my main needles there. The little circle disks of needles you can find at other stores didn't have needles that were the right size and shape for my hands to comfortably use. Daiso also sells EVA foam in the smaller amounts that you'd need for a suit, unlike hardware stores which usually sell giant square packs of 5

For handsewing, I noticed going for the slightly thicker thread lead to stronger seams overall.

For what you should have in a sewing kit for fursuit, here's what I have (ranked by importance)

Multiple handsewing needles you're comfortable with, just in case you lose one

Pins

Wonder clips (the little plastic rainbow clips) ABSOLUTELY necessary for suit making honestly, they work better than pins in most situations

Seam ripper

Soft measuring tape

Some generic white and/or black thread, as well as your fursuits thread

Safety pins

Overall helpful fursuit supplies

Velcro patches

Masking tape

Duck/Duct Tape

Have garbage shitty scissors, and separate scissors JUST for fabric. Your fabric scissors will remain sharp for much longer if you don't use them on other stuff. (3rd pair of scissors that's not used on tape/sticky stuff, but thread and paper also is helpful. The garbage scissors can get gunky when cutting tape, and your medium scissors remain sharp enough to easily cut other stuff)

Xacto knife + LOTS of new blades. The blades go dull FAST when cutting fur and foam. If you're having to use a lot of pressure to cut through your fur's backing, that means you need a new blade

Box cutter + LOTS of new blades for box cutter. I have a Kobalt box cutter, it's nearly as sharp as my xactos. I use it for cutting out big sections of fur and foam.

I get my eye mesh from Curlworks! I love the visibility on it ^_^

Fur Brands

In terms of my fur company quality rankings, it would be this (I've tried fur from a million different companies on my sample hunt for Raine)

1. Howl Fabrics 2. BigZFabrics 3. MofuMofu.shop

Howl overall is the most dense, relatively soft, and best to shave out of all 3. (Canfur is of very similar quality to Howl, except it has a mild crayon or carpet smell. The smell wears off completely after around 6-7 months, at least on the small sample I got)

BigZ is kind of like a middle ground, but shaves HIGHLY powdery compared to the other 2. As well as shaves a little worse/choppy compared to better quality fur.

MofuMofu is the least dense out of the 3, but I would consider the softest. Best if they have a niche color you need. The fur tends to clump together when it is shaved like sheep wool, and is less powdery than BigZ.

Random furs from etsy are usually LQ/MQ and patchy on their density, not great for shaving super short

Fur Shaving / Length

If you're going for a high quality look on your suit, you want SHORT fur for the face, full-stop. Every suit I've seen that's truly made me go WOW has always had VERY short face fur. Shorter fur shows the look of your sculpt better, instead of hiding it all behind any lumpy fur bulk or unbrushed sections. (Brushing fur doesn't last very long after a suit's been put on haha)

If you can buy your fur in shorter lengths like teddy/beaver, ABSOLUTELY do so. It'll make your shaves much shorter and cleaner. The longer your fur is, is the harder it is to get it to a "HQ" shave length. I personally couldn't get Raine as short as I wanted her to be 😩 But her colors are niche, so I couldn't locate them in shorter fur lengths

Once your suit is complete, don't be afraid to go in there with scissors and your clippers to clean up the fur+markings as well! Raine's mouth opened up a LOT more when i trimmed it down to shape with my scissors

Pattern Making

Avoid putting any seams down the middle of your face, it is noticeable! This is roughly how my pattern for Raine worked, I think the eyebrows helped disguise that horizontal middle seam really well! (the fur from the "eyebrow" piece covers the seam to the forehead piece as it is brushed over it!) I also made the nose bridge it's own piece, to utilize the visible seam to create a crease for it.

I also recommend avoid making any + shaped intersections on your seams if you can avoid it, it's really hard to sew cleanly😭 Sometimes they're unavoidable, but I try my best to avoid doing them.

Wearability

I'm not sure how much this applies to foam suits, but I really recommend using some elastic, a parachute clip, and some velcro to make an adjustable strap to keep your suit on your head! I tried to use foam on Sophie to get a snug fit, it did not work and made her struggle to stay on. The elastic strap on Raine is way better and more secure.

Misc / Random

When making your ears, you don't necessarily need to sew the minky/inner ear onto the fur parts! You can get a much flatter look on your minky if you just glue it on seperate, and have the fur not connected to it

(Specifically for beginner suit makers making personal projects) Not everything has to be perfect! No one will notice your little imperfections, and you don't have to make a nice product for a client. You can leave some things unsewn, you can have tiny bits of foam show from weird angles. You can hot glue some things instead of sewing them to save time. You can have small accidental bald spots. You can have little unsewn holes in corners if it's too hard to sew around those parts. Take it easy on yourself!

You may spring for fleece to save some money on buying minky, I honestly recommend not doing this. Minky feels significantly nicer, and minky from Howl is really not that much more than some fleece, for small pieces like inner mouths, noses, ears, etc, all you need is a "Fat Quarter" sized piece. It's more than enough! And only $6.50 (if you want fleece specifically, ignore this haha. I just regret going for fleece instead of minky on Sophie!)

Carving a foam base, to me, is the hardest part of suit making. So much so, that I never plan to do it again :P It's some people's thing, definitely not mine. If you've been frustrated with how your foam results turn out, consider 3D printing! Or buying a base from someone.

When looking for fursuit advice and tutorials, beyond the obvious places to look (matrices, youtube, google), I genuinely recommend Tiktok! A lot gets posted there for small niche problems you may have

Use this method for tying a knot on your thread when hand sewing, it's extremely fast https://youtu.be/LWWhRtxl6eE?si=AEt2HDiwp09AigOS

When making a 3D printed base, do not go too thin. I'd do test prints to see what thickness feels right to you, raine was about 0.5-0.7 cm but I wish she was a bit thicker because I worry a lot about her shattering 😨

Removeable eyes are very useful, if i get hair in my face I'm able to pop out Raine's eyes to move it out of my way x)

[dukestags]

Scrap and Smoke

Karl Heisenberg x Male FTM Reader

You woke up on a cold slab of metal, the ache in your bones screaming louder than any alarm. The ceiling above you was stained with rust and pipe residue. The air stank of oil, iron, and heat.

You sat up slowly, biting back a groan. Every part of your body felt used—like you'd been tossed into a blender and barely crawled out. You touched your ribs: fractured, maybe. At least two were bruised. Dried blood clung to your binder under your shirt, stiff with old pain.

Something hissed.

You looked around, startled.

The room was dim, lit by red emergency lights and sparking wire. Machines lined the walls—some looked half-human, half-metal, twitching unnaturally even while dormant. And standing just out of reach, leaning against a steel pillar, was him.

Karl Heisenberg.

Trench coat like a cape of smoke. Sunglasses hiding his eyes, but not the way he studied you. A metal hammer rested against his shoulder like a war banner.

"You alive, or should I start carving your name on a scrap pile?"

Your voice rasped. "Funny. You're a comedian."

He laughed—short, rough, like gravel sliding through gears.

"Smart mouth. Didn't think you'd make it past the front gate. The Lycans almost turned you into mulch."

You forced yourself to stand. Your legs shook, but you held your ground. "I don’t know where I am. I didn’t come here on purpose."

Heisenberg tilted his head. "No shit. Nobody comes to this dump for the scenery. You're in the village—Miranda's little sandbox of horrors. And this—" he motioned grandly to the rust-covered machinery, the echoing scream of unseen engines— "is my kingdom."

Your brow furrowed. “You live in a goddamn factory?”

His grin widened. “Better than a swamp or a haunted dollhouse. You’ll meet the rest of the freak show if you survive long enough.”

You glanced down. Your clothes were torn. Blood had dried along your side. You reeked of smoke and steel and sweat. You didn’t remember how you got here—just snow, panic, running from something. And now... him.

“I’m not part of whatever shit Miranda’s doing,” you said quietly. “I’m just trying to survive.”

He stared at you for a long second. Then another.

“You got balls,” he said finally. “I’ll give you that. Most people piss themselves when they see my pets.”

You glanced warily at a twitching torso of bolts and sinew mounted to the wall. "I might still. Give me time."

That made him laugh, full-bodied and wild. You didn’t smile, but you didn’t flinch either. He noticed that.

“Alright, kid,” he said, voice dropping into something almost thoughtful. “You wanna survive? Then get your ass up. You’re in the factory now. That means you work or you rot.”

...

Your first few days were hell. Heisenberg didn’t treat you gently—he tossed you into the scrap rooms with nothing but gloves, a dented welding mask, and instructions barked through a speaker.

But you worked. You fixed broken drones. Rewired panels. Even salvaged old mechanical limbs from the pile. You weren’t a genius like him, but you could keep up.

And he noticed.

Sometimes, he’d lean over your shoulder, muttering snide commentary. Other times, he’d catch you wincing from your cracked ribs and sigh loudly before tossing a painkiller your way.

One night, you were soldering parts together, biting your lip as your binder dug painfully into your bruised ribs. You shifted too fast—pain shot through your side. You hissed and leaned back against the wall.

Heisenberg caught the sound.

"You binding under that?" he asked suddenly, voice unreadable.

You froze. "...Yeah."

He was quiet.

Then: "You wanna... take a break? I can weld for once and let your masochistic little ribs breathe."

You stared at him, unsure whether to trust the offer. Then: “You gonna make a joke about it?”

He shrugged. “No. I don’t give a damn what’s under your shirt, kid. You pull your weight, you’re good in my book. Just don’t pass out on my damn floor.”

Your throat tightened.

“…Thanks.”

He lit a cigarette, handed you one too. "Don’t get sappy on me. You’re still on shit duty tomorrow."

But his tone was softer. And his eyes lingered just a little longer than before.

The factory was asleep.

Well, as asleep as a place like this could get—pipes still hissed, valves groaned, and unseen machinery churned in the depths below. But the usual barking orders and clanging metal had quieted. Even the Lycans had retreated to the tunnels.

You sat in the corner of the upper catwalk, legs dangling over the edge, watching the fog of your breath swirl in the freezing air. Your ribs ached, even through the new shirt Heisenberg had begrudgingly thrown at you yesterday.

It was oversized. Smelled like motor oil and cigarette smoke. Definitely his.

He didn’t say why he gave it to you. Just grunted, “Yours was useless. Try not to bleed on this one.”

You hadn’t taken it off since.

You heard the footsteps before you saw him—boots clunking along metal walkways, that familiar dragging hum of his hammer behind him.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, coming up behind you.

You shook your head. “Didn’t even try.”

Karl didn’t say anything for a while. Just lowered himself beside you, the metal creaking under his weight. You handed him a cigarette from your pocket. He took it without a word and lit both.

For a moment, the only sound was your breathing and the quiet flicker of flame.

Then he said, “You been here... what? Three weeks now?”

“Give or take.”

“Haven’t tried to run.”

“Wouldn’t get far,” you muttered. “Besides, I don’t have a death wish.”

He smirked around his cigarette. “Could’ve fooled me. You showed up half-dead. Took on a welding torch with cracked ribs. Sleepwalk into the lower mines with the Lycans once, remember that?”

You let out a dry chuckle. “Still better than where I came from.”

Karl turned to look at you. Really looked. He took off the sunglasses for once, resting them on the bridge of his coat. His eyes weren’t what you expected—sharper, yeah, but tired. Human.

“Where was that?” he asked.

You hesitated. “Place that never let me be myself. Made me fight for every inch of who I was. And when I didn’t fit their box, they tried to break me to fit it.”

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t pity you. Just nodded.

“Same,” he said eventually.

You glanced at him. “Miranda?”

Heisenberg’s jaw clenched. “She tore me apart. Rebuilt me into her freak puppet. Thought giving me powers would make me loyal. Thought she could twist me into her little monster.”

He looked down at his hand—metal shrapnel pulsing under the skin, glowing faintly. “But I’m not hers. Never was. I’m my own goddamn machine.”

You nodded slowly. “She did all this to you?”

“She tried to turn me into a weapon. Forgot I could turn myself into a bomb.”

Silence stretched between you again. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence you only shared with someone who understood.

Then softly, without looking at you, Karl said:

“You’re the first person I’ve let stay here this long. Everyone else I either scare off or tear apart.”

“…Why me?” you asked quietly.

His lips twitched, but not in a grin. “Because you don’t flinch when you look at me.”

You swallowed hard, heart thudding like a faulty generator. “Maybe I should.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Maybe. But you don’t.”

He stood up suddenly, flicking his cigarette over the edge. “C’mon. I want to show you something.”

You followed him through twisting catwalks and sealed doors, deeper into the back end of the factory—where the metal walls turned to old stone, remnants of a forgotten castle.

He brought you to a hidden chamber. A place even the Lycans didn’t go.

Inside, lit by a single buzzing lightbulb, was a makeshift workbench—and dozens of hand-welded objects scattered on shelves. Small metal animals. A warped sculpture of a wolf with red glass eyes. A pocketwatch with no face.

“These are yours?” you asked.

He nodded. “Projects. Shit I make when I can’t sleep. When I need to feel like I’m still... me.”

You picked up one of the pieces—a lopsided little figure made of bolts and wire. Looked like a man. One arm outstretched.

Karl stared at it. “…That one’s new.”

“You make it recently?”

His voice was low. “Yeah. After you passed out last week. Thought you were dead.”

You held the figure gently. “You built me.”

He grunted. “Don’t make it weird.”

But you smiled. And he didn’t stop you.

Before you left the room, he touched your shoulder. His hand lingered. Warm. Strong.

“You ever need something,” he muttered, “even if it’s just to breathe... you come here. Got it?”

You nodded, voice caught in your throat. “Yeah. Got it.”

And for the first time since you arrived in this nightmare world, you felt something sharp and unfamiliar spark in your chest.

Hope.

[yup-thats-me]

–breakfast smoothie • P. Seonghwa

ᰔpairing; bf!Seonghwa x gf!readerᰔsummary; Its Hwa's bday! and his sweet girl just wants to surprise him; her way is just a bit unsual ♡ᰔwarnings; none ᰔa/n; HAPPY HWA DAY!!🌟🐰🩷

"Baby," Y/n kissed Seonghwa's lips. "Wake up."

The man however, did not wake up. He was sleeping without a care in the world, floating in his dreamland. With a smile, Y/n said a quick apology.

"Sorry, baby."

And with a mischievous grin, she pressed the button on the blender; the blender on the bed; the bed her heartthrob of a national treasure was sleeping in.

The loud sounds of the machine jolted the man awake in a matter of seconds. With wide eyes, he sat up straight, calling out for his lover.

"Y/N! We need to get out! There's an att-"

He paused, his eyes locking with Y/n, who had her mouth covered with her hand, trying to suppress her laughter.

"Wha...?"

Before he could continue, Y/n lunged herself into his arms, hugging him close. "Happy birthday, baby!" She beamed, kissing him all over.

"Happiest birthday to my sweetest boy!" She giggled, loving the way the man's blank reaction.

It took Seonghwa a solid few minutes to register what was happening. When it did, he smiled back lazily, kissing her back. "Thanks, my love." He wanted nothing more than to hold her close against his chest and just lie there on the bed for as long as time permits. But the buzzing blender beside the couple, on the bed, hindered his plans.

"My love," He started, cupping Y/n's face gently. "I love you, but what is this?"

With a cheeky smile, she got off his lap and turned off the blender, pouring its contents into the bowl she had arranged. along with the other cut fruits and whipped cream. With a smile, she handed him the bowl.

"Its for you," She exclaimed, her eyes twinkling. "Ddeonghwa's birthday special!"

A fond smile made its way to Seonghwa's lips. "Why are you the way you are, my love?" He wondered, taking the bowl.

"But you love me. Right?"

"Of," Seonghwa pecked her cheek. "Course."

Y/n watched in anticipation as the man ate her creation. She had planned to surprise her lover for a long time now. After scouring the internet for ways to do so, she devised this one. This is both spontaneous and endearing, she hoped, at least

"How is it?"

Seonghwa did not answer. Instead, he put a spoonful of the dish, and then pressed his lips against hers, feeding her through the kiss. "Good, isn't it, love?" He smirked.

Y/n pouted. "I think it needs to be a bit sweeter?"

"Nope. Can't let anything else outrun my girl's sweetness."

"You're such a simp, Haw," She smiled, shaking her head.

"For my one and only, love."

do not copy, steal or tanslate my work on any other sites all rights belongs to yup-thats-me™ one tumblr

reqs are open!🦦𖹭

[enflixx]

Off script - jake sim

summary: Burned out and buried in student debt, you’re ready to quit acting after years of side jobs and constant rejection. But just as you’re about to give up, your agent calls and turns out you’ve been considered for the lead in a new Netflix series, Dandelion Season, alongside rising star Jake Sim. As you read the script on your walk home, something you thought you’d lost flickers back to life: hope

genre: fluff

warning(s): none!

word count: 920

The low hum of a blender buzzes through the thin drywall before your alarm even goes off.

You groan into your pillow. Another morning, another reminder that your run down studio apartment is basically a glorified closet with a toilet. You blink up at the water stain on the ceiling, a spreading patch like a bruise you’ve learned to ignore.

The phone screen lights up.

7:12 a.m. No new casting calls. No callbacks. Just a fresh rejection email from that micro-budget student film. The one where you auditioned to play “College Girl Who Screams and Dies.”

You drag yourself out of bed, bones aching like you’re twice your age. The floor is cold under your feet. You flick the light on in the kitchen where one flickers and one’s been out for weeks. And of course there is no money to replace the bulb, especially when rent’s due and your last paycheck already vanished into your student loan payment.

You crack an egg into a pan and watch it sizzle off-center. Your reflection in the microwave door looks hollow. Your brain runs on a loop:

What the hell was I thinking?Why did I major in acting of all things?Why UCSD, of all places?

But you were proud back then. A part of their theatre program. Full of hope and ambition. The campus was filled with palm trees and promises. Where everyone said you were “the one who’d make it.”

You sip your instant coffee, bitter and clumpy, and mutter to yourself, “Guess everyone was wrong.”

Your inbox is full of unsubscribed newsletters and payment reminders. One from Earnest reads: New Statement Ready Balance: $82,397.

You shut your laptop before it can suck the air out of your lungs again.

By 8:15 a.m., you’re walking to the café. You pass a billboard for a new rom-com, the lead actress looks like someone who went to your program. Or maybe she just looks like someone who made it.

You don’t feel like someone who made it.

The café smells like desperation and burnt espresso. Your apron is stiff with old stains. You fake your smile for a line of people who’ll never learn your name. One customer points at you like you’re a kiosk.

“I said iced, not hot. Can you fix it?”

You fix it. And you apologize. Twice.

No one tips.

When a kid elbows the table and ketchup flies onto your apron, the mom gasps, horrified. You just smile, dead-eyed.

“It’s okay,” you say. “Really. Happens all the time.”

You think about how you once paid $17,000 in tuition for a class called "Advanced Shakespeare in Movement" where you had to pretend to be a willow tree for thirty minutes. Now you’re taking orders from teenagers named Brooke who order “matcha with almond but like, not too matcha.”

By the time your shift ends, your feet are numb, your hands are dry from soap, and your will to live is somewhere in the floor drain beneath the espresso machine.

You walk home past an alley that smells like piss and old flowers. Your back aches. Your tote bag feels heavier with every step.

Your phone buzzes. Call from: Amanda (Agent).

You almost don’t answer. She’s probably going to offer you another non-union gig for “exposure.” Or a role as “Young Mom Who Cries in Bathroom” in some grimy short film.

But you pick up anyway.

“Hey,” you say, flat.

Amanda sounds like she just sprinted across town. “You’re not gonna believe this.”

You don’t respond. You’re too tired to play games.

“It’s a lead. I’m serious. Netflix. A YA romance series. Think The Summer I Turned Pretty but more grounded. Grittier. Twelve episodes. Working title: Dandelion Season.”

Your feet stop moving.

“What?”

“They want someone fresh. Someone who feels real. I sent them your Hulu self-tape, remember the one where you broke down in the last thirty seconds? They loved it. You’re on a shortlist for the lead. Bella.”

“Me?” you croak.

Amanda’s typing furiously in the background. “Script’s in your inbox. Read it tonight. Like tonight tonight.”

You pull out your phone, still standing on the sidewalk, under a flickering streetlight. Gmail. Subject: Dandelion Season Script: CONFIDENTIAL.

You tap it open, hands trembling.

“Oh,” Amanda adds, almost too casually. “And the male lead’s already cast.”

You brace yourself.

“Guess who.”

“Just tell me.”

“Jake Sim.”

You nearly laugh out loud. “Jake Sim Jake Sim?”

“Yup. Mr. Film Festival himself. They locked him. Word is, he asked for a co-star who could actually act.”

You sink onto a bench, heartbeat thudding. “I’m not… I mean, I’m not like him.”

“You don’t have to be. You just have to be you. Read the damn script.”

You hang up, stunned.

You Google him. Of course.

First image: him in a velvet suit, jaw sharp enough to slice through glass. He’s the kind of handsome that makes people click. The kind of person you thought you’d be standing next to in your twenties, not drooling over while wearing a sour milk-scented apron.

You scroll. Photos of him reading in a bookstore. Walking his dog. He’s beautiful. Effortless. Famous.

You’re... still trying.

You open the script.

The first line:

BELLA (V.O.): I think some people are meant to feel like they’re running late to their own life.

You sit with it.

And for the first time in months you don’t feel like you’re drowning.You feel like maybe, maybe, you still have a shot.